Michael Jackson

The rain seemed to intensify with their l’amour making, almost encouraging them ou even daring them. Another blast of lightning bathed them momentarily and the thunder made itself known - almost as loud as Michael. He rode Mark furiously as he wailed to the ceiling of his ranch bedroom. He pawed up his neck and nipples and tossed his messy dark hair. Fresh sweat dripped from his relaxed locks and forhead and fell to Mark's chest like little raindrops.

Mark tried to concentrate and held onto Michael's small hips encouragingly. He thrust up into his tight wet l’amour hole so hard that Michael would...