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My Fucking Smooth Criminal (18+)(Michael Jackson)


ADULTS ONLY! VERY (!!!!) STRONG LANGUAGE AND OFFENSIVE CONTENT! Gail was living on the rough side of life. She wasn't a badass criminal, but she sure wasn't any angel, either. When she crosses path with a Police officer, something or someone is about to change. Question is; Is it her... Or is it him? WARNING: This story contains a LOT of swearing. But also drug abuse, violence and sex scenes etc. So if this offends you, keep scrolling. If you read it, don't complain. Also: In this story MJ is NOTHING like he was in reality. Hey, it's fiction, not a book of facts. What did you expect? Viewers discression is advised! Period. (Written and completed in 2018)

Romance / Humor
5.0 1 review
Age Rating:

Ch. 1: Licence and registration

Author's note: Remember that this story contains swearing, and sexual and triggering content. Age: 18+!


"Good evening, ma'am. A bit in a hurry there, are we?"

I can't believe I got pulled over! I didn't go that fast. I just grunted and quickly found some gum to try to hide the alcohol in my breath. I really didn't drink much tonight. It probably wouldn't be a problem anyway. I was barely a little tipsy, that's it.

"May I have your driver's license and registration, ma'am?"

I rolled my eyes as I handed it over, trying to see if he had a name tag or something.

"So... Miss Gail Wetherby. Why didn't you stop at the stop sign?"

"Didn't see it," I answered dryly.

"And why didn't you stop at the red light?"

"Look... Just give me the fine, and get it over with. Sir...?"

He knew my name, so I wanted to know his, so I could curse him out if he gave me any more trouble.


He cocked his head and I could feel his eyes wander from my eyes to my breasts and up to my eyes again. He licked his lips.

Oh, so he's that kind of a cop? Now, this was going to be easy.

"Sooo... Mr. Jackson. You look like a nice guy," I started, pushing my breasts together and fluttered my eyelashes at him. I got the response I wanted.

"Why don't you just let me off with a warning?"

He lifted his eyebrow and smirked. Then he leaned close to me. Real close. So close, I started to feel creeped out. His eyes were narrow and I felt his breath fanning my face.

"I think I can smell some alcohol here too. Am I right?" he almost whispered in my ear.


"Sir, I just had a cou.."

"Please step out of the vehicle, Ms. Wetherby."

I was screwed.

"But, sir..."

"Step...out...of...the...vehicle," he repeated, emphasizing every word. "Am I making myself clear?!"

"All right, all right. No need to act so..." He cut me off.

"So what, Ms. Wetherby?"

Damn again.

Even though I felt quite intimidated by him, I had to admit; he was a good-looking officer. Tall, lean body and his curly, black hair pulled back into a ponytail underneath his police hat. I'd always been a sucker for men with a uniform and this man was no exception.

I wasn't sure how to finish my sentence, so I just did as he said. Or at least tried to do as he said, because I almost fell to the ground.

It must be the heels. I was never good at walking in heels.

I felt his eyes roaming up and down my body, which made me quite uncomfortable. He pulled out an alco-test from his jacket and stepped closer.


"But sir..."

"Open your mouth...and form your... lips...around it. And then, blow," he hissed slowly and pushed it to my face. His lips turned upwards to a cocky smirk, as I inhaled sharply and obeyed. I blew until there was a 'beep' and felt a bit anxious of the result. I swayed a bit.

I must be light headed from the blowing.

"Not good enough."

"But sir, I heard the beep."

"I said; Not good enough!"

"Okay... No need to be rude," I mumbled.

"Now, blow... Deep."

I did. And I felt a bit awkward when I saw him biting his lower lip, only to let it bounce back into normal position when he released it.

He was a cop, wasn't he? No need to be afraid.

I heard the 'beep' again.

"There. Satisfied?"



"It's red."

"So what?"

"Means you're drunk, and shouldn't have been driving, Ms. Wetherby."

I rolled my eyes at him and he stepped closer. Too close for comfort, to say at least.

"Do not push my buttons, Gail," he whispered into my ear.

"I know girls like you."

What the hell is he insinuating?! That I'm a prostitute? Or that I am a regular drunk driver? 'Cause I most certainly don't belong in any of those categories.

"Look, Mr. Jackson. First of all, since when did we agree to call each other by first name?! And second: I'm not drunk! And what the hell do you mean by 'girls like me'? I'm not a fucking p....!"

He interrupted me by harshly, snarling into my ear.

"Put your hands on the roof and spread your legs."

"What the hell?"

I was starting to get seriously pissed at his dominating demeanor.

"You heard me, Ms. Wetherby."

I squinted towards him and could see he was enjoying himself. Sick bastard!

"The fuck is your problem, man?"

"You are."

"Listen, you freak! I said to give me the fine and let me go!"

I was fuming, almost spitting out the words.

"Can't do that, Gail," he answered with a croaky voice.

"Just stand still and I won't hurt you."

"So you're saying that you would actually hurt me if I didn't? A woman? Aren't you a cop? Or are you just pretending to b...?"

I shut silent as soon as I felt his hands slide down my body. Long, slender fingers, that almost felt like they were caressing my curves instead of just doing the job efficiently. When he brushed over my breasts, I could see a hungry glimpse in his eyes, and I couldn't make up my mind on how to react to it.

"Sir... Just..."

His hands reached slowly around and down my ass. Too slow.

Then he snaked his hands down the back side of my thighs, really close to my private parts, and I heard him trying to hold back a groan. This wasn't an ordinary body search. I knew that much.

"Sir, what?" he mimicked with a dark, almost seductive voice.

"Please...?" I begged.

"Please... What?" His voice got even darker, after hearing me plead for mercy. It seemed like it amused him.

"Can't you just please let me go?"

"No can do, Ms. Wetherby."

Then he hesitated for a moment, before he continued more nonchalantly.

"I need you to get down on your knees..."

The hell?!

"...and put your hands on..."

He pushed me down by my head.

"...your back..."

I gasped both in surprise and annoyance about the sudden intensity in the situation.

"And I have to..."

He leaned forward to whisper the next few words into my ear.

"...take you..."

My eyes grew large as fuck, hearing him emphasize that one word. But also by the feeling by being down on my knees, with his hand on my head. He bent over me, closing the gap between us.

"...down to the station."

His nose touched the shell of my ear, which made my deceitful core start burning. How the hell could I be turned on in a situation like this?! I blushed immensely of my own reactions. But then he clasped a pair of handcuffs on me.

"Get up," he demanded and pulled me up.

"You sure like to give commands, Jackson..." I murmured.

"What was that?" he growled.


"Mind your head," he said pushing me into the back of his police car, wearing a large smirk the entire time.


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