my sexy singer

The heavy oak door of the VIP lounge clicked shut, sealing out the outside world. Mary stepped inside hesitantly, her slight frame contrasting with the vastness of the room. She wore that crimson outfit that made her look like a tiny flame in the center of an ice palace. Her wide, curious eyes fixed on Michael, and she instantly sensed she was not facing an ordinary man, but something both predatory and divine.

Sensing the tension in the air, Odette performed an elegant curtsy.

"I will leave the logistics regarding the criminals from the North to my henchmen, Michael. They will learn that, while your patience has limits, my cruelty is infinite."

With a final look of devotion and a knowing smile toward the singer, Odette withdrew, leaving them alone.

The ensuing silence was broken only by Mary’s shallow breathing. Michael rose from his armchair, moving with the calm of someone who had won the battle before it even began. He circled the girl, catching the scent of vanilla and fear radiating from her.

"Your voice is magnificent, Mary," he whispered, stopping right behind her. "But I wonder if you are as harmonious as your song when there is no audience."

Without waiting for an answer, Michael reached for the crimson fabric. With a fluid, possessive motion, he undid the dress’s clasp; it slid down Mary’s porcelain shoulders like a cascade of blood, revealing her pale, trembling skin. He stripped her quickly, leaving her in nothing but a pair of tiny black lace panties that contrasted sharply with the whiteness of her thighs.

Mary let out a sharp gasp, feeling the lounge’s air conditioning chill her bare skin, yet the heat radiating from Michael felt like a blazing fire. He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her against his body, and with a sharp, commanding motion, gave a firm tug at the side of her panties. The fabric strained against her sensitive skin, wringing a moan from Mary—not a melodic one, but a sound born of pure need.

"You sing for thousands, Mary... but now, you sing only for me," he murmured.

Michael spun her around, positioning her facing the massive glass window overlooking Gotham City, forcing her to press her hands against the cold pane. The stance left her vulnerable, the curve of her hips offering the perfect invitation. He didn't hesitate. With a decisive movement, he pushed aside the lace and filled her from behind in a single, deep thrust.

Mary let out a muffled cry against the glass, her fingers sliding across the smooth surface as she felt the power of Michael’s dominance. He fucked her standing up, with a visceral, relentless rhythm; every thrust made her slender body shudder and slam against the glass. The contrast was absolute: the fragility of the "doll" being shaped by the raw strength of a god. The sound of colliding flesh echoed through the room, setting the pace for the singer's desperate breathing; she was making guttural sounds now, abandoning all vocal technique to surrender to primal pleasure.

As the peak of ecstasy began to cloud their vision, Michael turned her in his arms, gently lowering her onto the black velvet rug.

He positioned her in the missionary style, hoisting her legs onto his shoulders and exposing every inch of her surrender. Now he could see her eyes—dilated, lost, focused solely on him. Michael plunged into her with full intensity; his movements were slower now, yet deeper, filling her completely. Mary wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingernails digging into his back, as her hips rose and fell in a dance of total surrender. Pleasure surged like a devastating wave, and when the climax finally overtook them, Mary let out a long, piercing cry that would have silenced any audience—but there, within those four walls, it was the only music Michael wanted to hear.

(images created by Lawless)