Working With Marlon...

Hey Y'all!

First of all, I'd like to extend a warm and heart-felt thank you to each and every person who has been taking the time to come to this blog and read my story. I truly appreciate it and it makes me feel good that you like the story. Makes all my work worthwhile.



Speaking of work, I wanted to reflect a bit on Part Two, which featured Marlon Jackson. Now I won't lie, ever since I had concieved the idea of "The Lockdown" I had been waiting with bated breath to write Marlon's part. It's not because I like Marlon best either.
It's just for the longest time, in my stories, I always made Marlon the comic releif. Within any situation, he's always the one cracking jokes and being silly. Like no one could take him seriously in the way I portrayed him..
And in my writing, I kind of like to throw the curveball now and again and shake up people's perceptions.
So in this story, I got excitied by the idea of having Marlon basically be Loni's pimp. He doesn't think of it that way of course, but if you look REALLY hard, that's what he's doing.
To be perfectly honest, at first I had wanted Jermaine to be the  "pimp" in the story. I don't know why, it just struck me as more a Jermaine role for some reason. But I changed my mind to Marlon. Primarily because I wanted to give Marlon a meatier role (and appeal more to my friends at the Marlon fanclub.) I didn't want the story to be partocularly Michael Jackson-centered. I wanted all the breothers to have more substantial parts. I mean they've sang doo-wop to Michael for 40 years already. LOL.
But with Marlon, I didn't really want to make him mean, I just wanted to encourage little spats with various brothers here and there. And I know with Loni eventually becoming entangled with all of them, it's practically inevitable. I just wanted Marlon to be a little uncharacteristic.  

As of now, I am working on Part Three that features Randy. And I've taken aspects of his personality and put them on steroids, so I think it'll make for an interesting read. More is always on the way.

And thank you again for reading!

Tiffeny.

Visual Aids

Hey Y'all!

I'd like to thank everyone who has been reading the story and commenting on it. I really appreciate you taking the time to peek at this so much.

I wanted to show some pictures to help with the visualization as you read the story. Of course I always have a picture of the Jackson brother being featured in each particular chapter, but as of yet, no one has seen Loni O'Malley.

Until now:



When I first thought of how I wanted Loni to look, I envisioned Linsday Lohan when she was a brunette. But to me, Lindsay seemed to sultry and I wanted someone who looked a bit more innocent. Especially since she was going to wind up being so scandalous before the story was over. This is Jessica Brown Findlay, who plays as Lady Sybil on my favorite drama, Downton Abbey. She looked a lot more wholesome and more like someone the Jacksons might be attracted to.

Also, I'd like to credit my friend Bree for finding a house that looked EXACTLY how I envisioned the Jackson's Spring Beach Mansion:


I simply could not beleive it when I saw this house. Like it was EXACTLY as I had pictured it. The bottom window on the right is the one Michael Jackson got thrown out of in the first chapter.

I just wanted to share that. As I find more pictures that can help with the story, I will share them.

Part THREE is on the way!

Part Two: Loose Lips/Marlon

Loni O’Malley hasn’t been employed as the personal chef for a good twenty-four hours yet, and already she’s trotted off to bed with one of the brothers. In a house where the same seven people are on top of each other nearly every second of the day, a secret is out, before it’s even in. And once one of the two guilty parties unconsciously spills the beans, the repercussions could be damning. Or intriguing.

 

“The Lockdown”

Part Two: Loose Lips/Marlon

A Jacksons Erotica By:

MJsLoveSlave

　

Twelve Days Later

Jackson Compound

Spring Beach, California

Gargling.

That’s what woke me up.

The sound of deep, hearty, merry gargling resounding from the slightly ajar door leading to my private bathroom, where I could see the light was on.

Lying there on my back, clutching the mildly damp covers up to my chin, I felt a mischievous smile curling my lips.

It was a beautiful morning--light streaming through the open windows, a cool, brisk breeze causing the curtains to tremble. That breeze was the precursor of the boiling afternoon to come.

Such a beautiful morning had to follow a beautiful night.

Giggling to myself as I drew the covers closer to my bare body, I could scarcely wrap my brain around what I had done.

The wild, unrestrained, naughty things I had done. The acts I committed…oh it was nearly shameful.

And yet, as I rolled onto my side, staring at the door and listening to the loud gargling and spitting coming from my bathroom, I was tingling with a delightful, happy feeling.

Shame really was the farthest thing from my mind…

“Hey Loni….” A soft masculine voice wafted from the bathroom.

“…I borrowed your toothbrush, I hope you don’t mind….”

Resting my head on the palm of my hand, I snickered,

“After all we’ve shared, I don’t believe I mind you using it!”

There was the sound of musical laughter, and the light flicked off.

A moment later, the door opened and a handsome man, clad in a zebra print, satin robe came strolling out.

A large, pleasant smile lit his attractive brown face as he came closer, taking a seat on the side of the bed.

Rough fingertips pinched my cheek lovingly.

“Good Morning…Loni…” He whispered, eyes roving over my face.

As he bent down and mashed those tender lips to mine, I mumbled, a bit drunk off of him,

“Good Morning…Marlon…”

Kissing him, I could scarcely believe that I was in bed with Marlon Jackson and not Jermaine.

Marlon…

Marlon….

Marlon…!

To consider what all had happened, still seemed very unreal to me and more on par with the plot of a Jackie Collins novel than anything else.

But indeed, it had happened.

* * *

In the days following my “encounter” with Jermaine Jackson, I discovered than an air of awkwardness had emerged betwixt us. We weren’t exactly a couple, and we weren’t exactly apart. And really, I wasn’t quite sure where the line between “chef” began and “lover” ended.

Frankly, I found the entire situation a bit confusing and Jermaine wasn’t exactly helping to point me in the right direction either.

Most of my time was spent in the kitchen, doing my job and preparing meals. Every so often, Jermaine would wander off in there, joining me.

It seemed whenever he would find me alone, which was frequently as none of the rest of the men even knew how to work the microwave, he was quick to show affection.

Kisses to my mouth, cheeks and throat, hand patting my backside…that’s

how Jermaine greeted me. Sometimes the word “Baby” was pitched at me.

I could almost believe we were something.

Then one of his brothers would appear, stopping to grab an apple to munch or a soda to drink.

And Jermaine would change. He’d go tense, move away from me, and largely be indifferent. His reaction was the same when I would serve meals to him in the company of his siblings.

I didn’t quite know how to read him. Did he really like me? Did he not?

What was the score and was I the victor, or the loser?

No matter how hard I tried and struggled, for some reason, I just couldn’t seem to fix my mouth to question him on the fact.

Despite the idea that I saw Jermaine every single day. All the damn day!

In his jammies eating crepes for breakfast, in his jeans and tees, while composing music and cursing out one of his brothers when a disagreement arose, toweling off after a dip in the ocean before dinner.

Jermaine never left; he was always there.

In the meantime, while I was trying to figure what Jermaine thought of me, I was also deathly scared of what the rest of his brothers thought of me at the same time.

For quite a while it worried me that Jermaine had opened his mouth and told his brothers of his little exploit with me. It only seemed natural to me that a man would brag about something such as bedding the female cook within hours of meeting her.

I had a few sleepless nights at the notion, I won’t lie.

My biggest concern was if Jermaine had talked, how would I run damage control?

The Jacksons all had the same blood coursing through their veins, and if all of them were like Jermaine…I didn’t know what I’d do.

For the last few days and nights, that had been one almost obsessive, compulsive, unrelenting thought in my head: what could I really do if the rest of the Jacksons flocked to me? (All at once?)

I was only one woman facing a crowd of very strong, fit men. Even I said no, it would just be words. If they truly wanted me, they’d have me. They surely wouldn’t let me leave.

From time to time, I’d look at the Jacksons out the sides of my eyes, wondering just what was going on under their heads of lustrous, well-groomed hair. What the truth was behind the jokes they shared and the laughs they had when I wasn’t in the room.

I was a more than a bit scared.

As time went on though, aside from Jermaine riding both sides of the fence, I couldn’t see any change in his brothers, and concluded for the point in time, perhaps he’d kept our scandalous romp to himself.

That is, until I had a rather interesting conversation with his brother, Michael.

It was my very first weekend in the Jackson mansion.

With the way composing for Joseph Jackson’s new Broadway musical was going, he’d be dead and buried before he received a score for it.

From what I could tell, the Jackson brother’s did more bickering than music making, and more than once, had the arguments turned physical, resulting in a shoving match, or a flying fist.

Each Jackson had some state of bruising healing on their bodies at all times. Whether it was a fresh one, like the one Randy wore over his right kidney--after a spat about musical arrangement--to the mark almost gone decorating Michael’s legs and thighs, from his being thrown out that window.

I was surprised that no one had been rushed to the hospital yet.

It was the early evening, and dinner had just ended with the Jacksons breaking up and scattering around the house and property.

The only person I had seen near the music room was Marlon, and every so often I could hear him trying out melodies on the piano.

Everyone else was out of sight.

My work in the kitchen done, plates and flatware in the dishwasher, I found myself out on the beach behind the house.

I wasn’t really doing anything, just lounging on one of the half-dozen deck chairs out there, watching the blue water lapping the shore.

Far off, I could make out someone on a jet skip, skipping over the surf.

Though the surroundings were something out of a dream--waning sunlight, warm, salt-tinged breeze in the air, a seagull cawing overhead--my mind couldn’t enjoy it.

Unwillingly my thoughts kept going back to Jermaine. How I liked Jermaine. How I did want Jermaine to declare me his woman.

I don’t know how I had reached that conclusion, that I wanted to be with Jermaine…I had just come to it.

I barely knew the guy, but I knew that…

“Hi Loni!”

I nearly leapt out of my skin at the kind and gentle greeting.

Sitting up in my chair, I found that I was no longer alone.

A couple of yards from me, Michael Jackson stood, smiling in his shy way. He was dressed casually in an untucked black oxford shirt tee-shirt and grey jeans.

At his bare feet were several plastic pails, all in bright colors. A small purple shovel was in his large hand as he dropped to his knees and started digging, scooping sand into a few of the pails.

I stared at him curiously.

Was this man really sitting on the beach at the ass crack of dusk, preparing to build a sand castle?

In between worrying about Jermaine having an open mouth, I had observed quite a bit of “odd” behavior on the part of Michael Jackson.

When he wasn’t working on music with his brothers, Michael was typically off to himself. A bit of a loner.

I often found him doing a few things that seemed on the young side for a grown man.

If he wasn’t sitting in front of the television in his room watching Disney cartoons--and audibly singing the theme song to Duck Tales-- he was reading Archie comic books.

(Author’s Note: I own dozens of Archie comic books myself!)

He’d only left the house once since I had arrived, and that was to make a trip to the video store for rentals.

And, much to his brother’s dismay he returned with All Dogs Go To Heaven, The Rescuers Down Under and The Little Mermaid.

Somewhere Walt Disney adored Michael Jackson.

Once I had even saw him lying on his bed playing with a G. I. Joe doll.

It was all behavior that would have been normal, had Michael been ten years old. I figured him to be at least in his twenties.

Twice as old.

As Michael continued digging, cursing softly as he knocked one of his pails over spilling the contents, I questioned,

“Michael--?”

“Yup?” He was scooping more sand.

“How…how old are you?” I wondered, playing with the buttons on my uniform.

He didn’t even pause.

“I’m thirty-one. I’ll make thirty-two in August.” He replied and I was taken aback momentarily.

Staring.

He was in his thirties? He certainly didn’t look it. I would have completely placed him closer to my age. Perhaps there was something beneficial in all his childish exploits.

For a minute I wanted to run out and buy a pack of Barbie dolls.

But, had I risen, I wouldn’t have heard Michael’s next timid comment.

“Loni, if you’re half-Spanish, how come your last name is O’Malley?”

Reclining back on my deck chair and looking past him to the sun sinking into the horizon, I began to explain,

“Well, my real last name is long and too difficult for most people to pronounce, so I adopted my mother’s maiden name as my professional one…”

I trailed off and gazed upon Michael my brows going skyward.

How in the Hell did he know I was half-Spanish?

My background had never come up in general conversation at all. For all I knew, the Jacksons thought I was a White woman.

I mean I hadn’t disclosed my ethnic background to anyone except--

Every hair on my head stood as a realization hit me.

I looked to Michael again.

He was still playing in the sand, letting the granules slip through his long fingers.

I don’t know how, but I found myself up and standing over him. Staring down at his frizzy head.

“Would you like to help me build a castle, before you go in?” Michael offered politely, and was holding his shovel out to me. “With your help, we could make a big one, I bet!”

Pushing his hand aside, I heard myself hiss,

“Where’s Jermaine?”

“--he’s in the music room--” Michael Jackson was talking to my back as I stormed away from him.

As I neared the back of the house my head was pounding. Jermaine was the only I had told that I was Spanish, Black and Irish.

And for Michael to know, it meant that Jermaine had to have been discussing it. Discussing me--and who knew what else?

The house was relatively quiet as I let myself in through the backdoors of the kitchen and made my way towards the music room in the front.

Drawing closer, I saw that the double, pocket doors of the room were hanging open, and through them, I could hear Super Freak by Rick James playing.

(Of all the songs in the world, why did that have to be on then?)

Peeking into the room, I saw two figures.

Standing and looking out the window Michael had been thrown from my first day there, was Jermaine.

The louse.

Across from him, lounging lazily in an arm chair was Marlon, holding a tape deck in his lap.

Both men were dressed in college tees--Jermaine in a Howard one, and Marlon in a Princeton one--and loose sweatpants.

Smile creasing his features, Marlon sniggled, and was shaking his head at something Jermaine had said--that I had missed.

“Nah way…you gotta be bullshitting me, Man. I don’t believe it!” He exclaimed his head still going back and forth.

Shifting from one leg to the next, still focused on the window, Jermaine stated with a soft chuckle.

“No, Marlon…it really happened.”

My heart instantly fell down to my stomach and proceeded to slip from my backside.

Automatically, I knew what was being referenced and as my knees became jelly, I clung to the doorway for support.

I saw one of Marlon’s thick, arched brows going up wickedly.

Leaning forward, another song, by MC Hammer starting, he questioned,

“Well, is she nasty? You know I love the nasty girls.”

The hallway was spinning and swirling around me.

Wasn’t it bad enough that Jermaine was letting the cat out the bag, but now Marlon was curious as to whether or not I was “nasty”?

I wanted to dig a hole and throw them both into it!

I mean I kind of knew eventually Jermaine would talk, I just suppose I never expected to be there in real time to hear the conversation!

Scratching at his slick head. Jermaine shrugged.

“…I’m not sure. Man, everything happened so damn fast, it was nearly over before I knew what I was doing--”

“Oh!” Marlon interrupted with a dejected outburst, sitting up and fiddling with the tape player. “I see you went and pulled your ‘minute-man’ act, huh?”

At the indication he was speedy in intimate affairs, Jermaine whirled like a top and jumped on the defensive,

“Why don’t you go to Hell! It lasted longer than a minute! I know that for sure!”

Cracking my knuckles, I saw that Marlon Jackson was starting to get some bright ideas, the way his eyes were dancing and glinting as he looked upon Jermaine.

I didn’t like it and wanted to smack the sparkle out his face.

“Tell me…” Marlon trailed off as he stopped the tape and was rewinding it. “You think Loni would go for someone like me? I know I ain’t you, but that might work in my favor, Ha--”

As the men continued joshing each other, I was biting on my bottom lip.

What wouldn’t I say to that scoundrel?

“Is her body nice? You can’t tell under that damn bulky ass uniform--” Marlon was saying, and stopped abruptly when his gaze happened to find me.

The unmistakable look of fear and regret crossed his mug.

His eyes widened, but he remained silent.

Jermaine seemed not to notice the shift in his brother’s demeanor.

“Nice? N(bad word), I can’t even begin to describe…”

Turning to start reading his brother the riot act, Jermaine was smiling as he looked at Marlon.

Who was still looking at me.

Eyes following Marlon’s gaze, Jermaine spotted me.

Though I couldn’t hear it, he clearly mouthed the words “Oh shit!”

“Loni--” He extended a hand towards me and really, thoroughly fed up with Jermaine Jackson, I took flight.

I literally was a blur, as I darted from the hallway, up the stairs and did not stop until I was behind the locked door of my bedroom.

I didn’t cry.

I couldn’t cry.

This was all my fault. Everything on my head, really was my fault.

I had walked across that hall and climbed into bed with Jermaine.

I wasn’t forced. I wasn’t raped.

I had been a willing participant

And that was the worst part of it all--I had allowed it to happen, because I had wanted it to happen!

* * *

I was in a foul mood the following morning as I went about my duties, crafting a gourmet breakfast for the Jacksons.

I was kind of over the idea that I had been outted with my sexual dalliances, and that by now, I was more upset with Jermaine than anything else.

He hadn’t left me alone.

For the greater part of the night, he’d been knocking at my door, asking me to speak with him--please?

I truly had nothing to say to him, nor did I want to set eyes on him.

Thankfully, after a couple hours of knocking--to the point his knuckles had left faint streaks of blood on the paint of my door--Jermaine went off to his own room.

Where all the trouble had started in the first place.

So there I was, stirring leaves of tarragon into a frittata to be baked off in the oven .

“What’s on the menu for today, Julia Child?”

Looking up from the basil leaves I was chopping, a grimace had my face in its grips.

Sauntering through the swinging door of the kitchen, was Marlon Jackson.

It seemed he was determined to get as close to naked as humanly possible that morning, in a pair electric blue, spandex swim shorts, and black flip flops.

Draped around his bare shoulders was a fluffy white towel…he was destined for a pre-meal swim that morning.

Dropping more herbs into the egg mixture filling my bowl, I replied curtly and professionally,

“I’m preparing a goat cheese-herb frittata. It will be served with fresh fruit, coffee and juice.”

Slipping onto one of the stools in front of the island, Marlon waved a finger at me, and did some of that infernal laughing of his for a few seconds.

“Ha-ha! Don’t go getting an attitude with me. I know you’re all in knots about what happened last night…”

Not wanting to mention the sordid matters, I held my silence, and busied myself pouring the egg mixture into a greased pan.

My apparent iciness did nothing to freeze Marlon’s flapping mouth.

Taking a pear from the bowl of fruit on the island, the man took a large bite before speaking around a mouthful,

“If you ask me, I think you’re needlessly getting bent out of shape…”

I paused, staring at him, donning mitts before opening the door to the oven.

“I didn’t ask what you thought--”

“I’m telling you anyway!” Marlon declared shaking the half-massacred piece of fruit at me. “The way I see it, we’re all grown-ass folks in this here house. Me, you, Jermaine, the other brothers--we’re all grown. Ain’t no little snot-nosed children here. Whatever in the hell you do, and who you do it with, that’s your affair. Besides, someone was bound to come onto you eventually, Loni…”

I started to walk away from Marlon and hand up, he ordered sternly,

“You stay put and listen to me!”

Frowning, I did remain, and glared at him.

Setting the bare core of his pear on the counter, he stood and holding onto the towel over his shoulders, he approached me.

“Now, you need to quit messing around and fooling yourself, Loni. You’ve got a pleasant face and features. And with the six of us dudes hanging around with only each other’s ugly faces to stare at, you’re refreshing. We’d have to be brain-damaged not to notice you’re an attractive woman.”

Honey-gold eyes widened at me seriously as they swept me up and down.

“It really is kind of a shame you insist on wearing that uniform all the time. I bet if you put on some normal clothes and fixed up your hair, put on a little make up, you’d really be a piece of something terrific…”

Dropping my gaze down to his little nubby toes, I retorted sharply,

“I was hired by your father to cook and only to cook. You want someone to put on a fashion show, I suggest you call Cindy Crawford.”

Marlon threw his head back indignantly,

“Oh, shit, girl! In case you haven’t noticed, this is really casual house. You’re lucky if any of us bother to put on shoes. You can dress like a girl. Does it make a difference in the taste of the food if you’re wearing those black pants or a pair of Levi’s?”

Feeling a bit silly and smiling in spite of myself, I corrected him,

“I don’t wear Levi‘s--I wear Calvin Klein.”

His feel-good, carefree attitude was rubbing off.

“Whatever…” Those light eyes rolled. ‘Why don’t you run and change into something cooler?”

“I can’t.” I admitted, absently picking at the bun at the back of my head. “I only brought my uniforms.”

Marlon pondered a moment, before snapping his fingers, an idea striking him.

“I tell you what, after breakfast, set out something simple for dinner--something to marinade, you know that‘s easy to throw together--and I’ll drive you into town to go shopping. My treat--”

At the mention that Marlon intended to buy clothing for me, I had to stop him before he started. Because if I knew if I let this man open his check book, he might have expected other things to be opened to him.

Without thinking I put out a hand and gripped Marlon’s arm.

I was pleasantly surprised by how muscular and solid it was under my palm. He was no stranger to a gym, that was for sure…he was toned all over from what I could tell of him in those shorts.

“Uh…” I stammered trying to recall what it was I wanted to say.

“I can pay for my own clothing. I’ve been paid well enough to cover anything I select.”

Plump lips parted in a grin.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind--”

“I insist.”

Seeing I meant business, Marlon nodded deeply.

“Alright, then. I’m gonna go throw myself into the ocean and scare the sea life. Remember, after breakfast--you and me!” With that, Marlon was a ghost, running off through the open back doors, destined for the beach.

Leaning against the counter, my mind was racing.

Just what had I gotten myself into now?

* * *

A Few Hours Later

Downtown Spring Beach, California

The afternoon I spent in town with Marlon Jackson had been more pleasant than anything.

Spring Beach was an affluent enclave and it’s shopping district boasted nothing but higher-end retail stores.

In general, I was never the type of person to be loose with my money, as my cooking jobs in the past had been so scarce, I’d always been pinching and counting pennies.

But now, armed with a generous salary from Joseph Jackson, for the first time in my life, I could be open-handed with my money and buy whatever I liked.

Which I did.

I lost complete track of time after Marlon and I parked the Jackson’s black van--I believe he sensed I was going to go wild in the stores--and I went from one boutique to the next.

Nothing was off-limits it seemed as I turned shops inside out and emerged with at least a dozen bags of goodies from each.

I was really refurbishing a wardrobe and starting from scratch.

Eventually, I had a good stock of clothing, in my particular loud and flashy style, along with more practical items like make up and hairstyling tools.

One thing I noticed, was that Marlon had yet to complain that I was taking too long or too much of his time in the stores.

The only time he opened his mouth, was to offer to hold my purse if my hands became full. Every so often he’d take the bags back to the van and deposit them in there.

If I squinted hard enough Marlon gave the appearance of enjoying himself as he was dragged along the shopping district behind me.

Honestly, I had never shopped like that before in my life and was a bit surprised that when I added up all the receipts for the things I had purchased, the total had come to over five thousand dollars!

My first car hadn’t cost that much, and even with such an amount gone from my bank account, much more remained.

I could have gotten used to that kind of luxury and a part of me hoped the Jacksons would never complete their score so that their father would continue to pay me for my cooking services.

It was the late afternoon by the time I finally called it quits, as I couldn’t seem to think of anything else I needed or wanted to buy.

Marlon insisted that after all the spending I had done, to let him at least buy me something cool to eat, as we had been back and forth in the sweltering sun all day.

I relented and agreed to let him, and found myself standing in line with him at a small, brightly painted shack, that was selling Sno-Cones.

We were waited on by a young girl, who looked no older than ten years old, in a Barbie swimsuit.

Marlon ordered two large Cones--his was Piña Colada flavored (non-alcoholic) and mine was White Cherry--paying less than five dollars for the two.

The two of us took a seat at one of the small one tables decorating the lot, reserved for the Sno-Cone patrons. I was happy, even on that little hard wooden bench, as it had been the first time I had sat down since coming into town.

Even though it was called a “cone” my treat came in a big Styrofoam cup, with a spoon and straw sticking from it.

Spooning a mound of mildly beige colored ice from his cup into his mouth, Marlon hummed happily,

“This is some good stuff, isn’t it? I love this place!”

Slurping some of the cold sweetness from my cup, via the straw, I bobbed my head in agreement.

“It is good. Just what I needed after all the moving I did today--thank you.”

With a wave of the hand, Marlon smiled,

“Aw, don’t mention it. I’m just glad you had a good time. But, then again, I never have met a woman that didn’t like shopping!”

Eating some ice chips with my spoon, I remarked,

“Well, it was fun…I’ve never been able to spend like that before. I’m really thankful for how well your father pays me. Sometimes I feel like Wolfgang Puck when I see my bank statements!”

It was true. For the first time in my life, I felt financially secure and independent, not worrying about how I was going to pay bills and keep my Los Angeles apartment.

Everything was absolutely fine.

We both laughed for a moment, then fell silent as we continued eating.

I had been enjoying the surroundings, the bright, hot sun shining on us, most people in nothing more than a Lycra swimsuit, walking back and forth going about their business. Every so often, a child on a skateboard or rollerblades would go whizzing by.

Turning my attention back to Marlon, I noticed a queer expression on his face.

He was staring, not at me, but past me, off into space. I also noticed he’d stop eating his treat which was starting to melt and drop onto the worn tabletop.

He…he seemed troubled.

“Are you alright?” I questioned, taking another sip of my Sno-Cone. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”

Shifting on the seat, with it creaking loudly beneath him, a rush of air exited Marlon’s lips as he brought a hand up and stroked at his mustache thoughtfully.

“Yeah…it’s just I was thinking about something, Loni. I don’t really know if I should mention it to you or not.” He finally said, picking his cup up and drinking from it.

Feeling nosy, I pushed,

“If it’s something about me, I’d like to hear it. Whatever it is, get it off your chest. You said it yourself this morning: we‘re both adults..”

Scratching at the thick hair on his head, Marlon sighed deeply, linking his hands together on the tabletop.

“You see, I want to lay a proposition before you--” A large hand came up in his defense, “--but I want to stress to you, that you reserve the complete right to refuse it, if you don’t like it.”

Now my interest was piqued. A proposition? What kind of a proposition? I know this man wasn’t going to ask me to marry him--we’d never even touched each other beyond shaking hands.

Staring at him, I rolled my own hand rapidly, indicating he get on with it.

Leaning on the table towards me, Marlon’s eyes sparkled as he began to confide in my in a low voice,

“You probably haven’t noticed it, Loni, since you’ve been occupied with your work and all, but the brothers and I have never really stopped talking about you. Not since we met you. Believe it or not, you’re actually the reason why we haven’t completed a single song since the lockdown began. And already, just this morning, Dad called from his office cussing us up and down about not having the score to his play done…”

A long finger was pointed at me.

“…I can’t lie--we all like you Loni. I mean look at you: right now, in those chef whites, without a lick of makeup on your face, you’re gorgeous! And I know good and damn well, once you put on some street clothes and do it up properly, you’ll have tongues dragging the ground all over the house after you.”

The Jacksons liked me? Liked me, liked me? I was starting to get the feeling that perhaps Marlon’s intentions in wanting me to dress more “casual” went beyond his wanting me to be more comfortable as I worked. I didn’t have to wait long for the idea to rear it’s crooked, unsavory head.

“That brings me back to my proposition.” Marlon suddenly had a great interest in the gold Rolex on his wrist and began fiddling with it as he continued to speak.

His eyes came up and landed on me. I saw a grim seriousness in them that they had lacked before. All the joking was gone.

“Everyone in the house is pretty much cockeyed after you. And if you’d let me…I’d show you around to the rest of them. You know, excluding Jermaine, since he already jumped the damn gun…”

Marlon Jackson’s lips were still moving and flapping in the wind, but I heard nothing else he said after that comment about Jermaine.

Was this man really insinuating what I thought he was? Asking me to do something so ridiculously reckless I couldn’t have thought of it, even if I had sat and tried?

To…to…to…

Before I was even conscious of it, my hand had been drawn back and what was left of my Sno-Cone was airborne.

Marlon had no time to react, before he had a face full of ice shavings and White Cherry flavorings.

“--son of a bitch!--” He sputtered, trying to wipe the mess from his mug and the bit dripping down onto the white shirt he wore.

Feeling my cheeks starting to glow with a heat more intense than the sun over us was radiating, my voice came out as a bare, lethal whisper.

“Marlon Jackson--have you gotten a brain-freeze and lost your fucking mind? ‘Show you around to the brothers’?” I threw my head back and laughed scathingly, as Marlon was digging for napkins in the tin holder on the table.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a chef, not a hooker! And furthermore, I’m damn sure not going to let you craft yourself into my PIMP!”

That man had some kind of wicked nerve to even twist his face to say something like that to me and forget the employer/employee ties. I was within an inch of beating the living dog shit out of him.

I had to get away from Marlon, or I wouldn’t have been held accountable for the hurting I was going to put on him.

“Loni--come back!”

I was up and walking. Not sure where I was going, just knowing I wanted to put as much pavement between me and Marlon Jackson as I could.

I had been told some out the ways things before but nothing like that.

In the distance, I could see the black van I had ridden into town in. I didn’t have the keys--that slime in chinos had the key ring. I had a good mind to walk all the way back to the house on the outskirts, pack my things and hand in a resignation to Joseph Jackson.

I wasn’t the kind of girl to do such things and if The Jacksons thought I was, they’d better come up with something else, and quickly.

Getting to the van, I screamed as I was grabbed around my waist and tossed into the side of that metal behemoth.

As I tried to sort what was up from what was down, I saw that Marlon had caught up to me, breathing heavily, and was looming over me.

“Damn, you move fast…” He panted, placing both of his hands on the van, effectively, trapping me within his arms.

“I’m about to move even faster!” I spit out at him, and tried to shove him away. The man didn’t budge a centimeter. “Move your ass out my way!”

“Hell no!” Hands gripped my shoulders and held me against the side of the van. “I’m not demanding an answer right now from you, Loni! I’m just asking you to consider it for a while. Take a couple days if you have to! Just think about it!”

Unwillingly, Marlon pressed himself against me to keep me from fleeing again and was speaking rapidly off into my ear.

“Just think about it. You’ve been in the house for almost a week now. When the brothers and I aren’t fighting and flinging one another out the windows, we’re a pretty decent group of guys. If you play your card rights, you could end up in the best possible position--”

“ What position is that? Under a pile of you? A whore?” I tried to knee Marlon to get him off me, but missed as he twisted his lower body and I bumped his thigh rather than his groin.

“Not a whore! None of us think of you that way! Did I call you a whore? Did you hear me say that? I never said that, Loni! You got the potential to have not one, not two, but up to six boyfriends!” Marlon struggled with me as I kept trying to get away from him, and was winded as I punched him in the abdomen.

“Loni…you got access…to some of the wealthiest…men….to congregate in one place at one time!” He gasped, doubling over from the hit.

“You could be very well taken care of!”

Looking at the back of his head as Marlon dropping to one knee, doing his best to force air into his deflated lungs, I hissed,

“I do believe you have me confused for something I’m not: a gold-digger! I’m doing just fine with my cooking! I studied six years at Le Cordon Bleu and I’m not gonna throw it away because you and your brother can’t keep it in your pants! Move out the way, or I’m gonna start shouting for the police!”

“I didn’t call you a goddamned gold-digger, Loni! Did you hear that word come out my mouth? Did you? Hell no! You have an opportunity not many women get presented to you. If you go along with this, everyone will be happy! Us guys can focus on our work, you’ll have plenty of ‘company’, and Dad will get his stupid music! This could be advantageous to us all!”

“Bullshit--it’ll be ‘advantageous’ to you and your stinking brothers! That’s all, because you’d all get your hands on me!”

With Marlon bent before me, I pushed him in the side, causing him to tumble into the street.

Storming away, I heard him call after me,

“Don’t think I didn’t notice to you checking me out in my swimsuit this morning, Loni O’Malley!”

Oh, how that statement burned me.

Spinning around on my heel, I was faced with a rather amusing sight: Marlon, sitting in the middle of the street, cars veering around him, a few honking horns.

In spite of myself, I called back,

“How could I not look? All that spandex left very little to the imagination!”

The man had been practically vacuum-sealed into those little shorts. Ray Charles and his “Uh-Huh” Girls could have seen all of Marlon’s business in that scrap of fabric.

Climbing to his feet, Marlon took his time in approaching me on the sidewalk.

Winking at me, he cooed,

“That was the point. I only wear spandex to swim…It’s the closest I can get to swimming naked without fear of something coming along and biting my dick off…”

Something needed to yank it off.

His hand circled my bicep again.

Eyes narrowing, he commanded,

“Come on, we’re going back home.”

Reluctantly, I allowed myself to be led back to the van.

* * *

It had been quite a while since I had done “full-face” make up, and it had taken me nearly and hour, and the muttering of a fair amount bad words to get it right.

Following my return from town with Marlon, I had hurriedly thrown some T-bones into a marinade of red wine with sliced garlic, white onion and rosemary--and the tops of Portobello mushrooms for vegetarian Michael and non-drinking Jermaine. The food was destined for the grill, once I had finished changing clothes.

I don’t really have an explanation why, after my skirmish with Marlon Jackson, that I actually went through the trouble of putting together a non-chef ensemble and worried with my hair and make up.

I suppose it came more from a need to keep my mind on something else, instead of complying with Marlon’s wishes.

So there I was, examining my appearance in the mirror.

I had to admit, I did clean up pretty nice.

I wore an electric blue t-shirt dress that brought out my eyes. The look was offset by a braided day-glo pink leather belt and color blocked flats.

Picking at my hair, which bore deep waves from being braided all the time, flowed down to my mid back and framed my face.

The blue and pink Lucite bracelets stacked on my right wrist clacked as I fluffed and combed out my hair, until it reached the volume I desired.

Putting on the brightly colored clothing, for the first time in a long time, I felt like myself. I was never all too fond of my chef’s whites, and felt I really did look and feel like the Loni O’Malley I knew.

It was also coming close to dinner time and those steaks and mushroom caps weren’t going to throw themselves onto a hot grill. There was cooking to do, and I was still the only cook in the house.

Starting out of the door to my bathroom, I was greeted with an unexpected sight.

On the foot of my bed, was a small, brown paper bag, it’s top folded down neatly. Taped to the front of it was an envelope with my name written on it.

I knew it wasn’t from Jermaine--the handwriting was much neater than his.

Pulling the envelope loose and opening it, I discovered a note inside.

Consider this gift one of the perks of being the girlfriend of The Jacksons.

~~Marlon~~

Gift?

Snatching up the bag, I found it quite heavy in my hands, and opening it, I soon discovered why.

The bag was full of money. Stacks and stacks of crisp, one hundred dollar bills.

Counting carefully, albeit dumbstruck, I saw that the amount of money in the bag was the exact total--to the penny--of what I had spent on my shopping that morning.

That’s when it hit me. The sore, flaming realization hit me:

Marlon assumed my answer to his “showing around” idea was YES!

And it just wasn’t so. It was not!

I was on the fence, mostly leaning towards the word NO, every time I even tried to think of what Marlon had said to me. And I knew I couldn’t accept this money.

Not when Marlon thought I was in with him on this scheme.

Gripping the bag in my hands, I started downstairs to find Marlon and swiftly return it.

I didn’t have to go far to find him.

Standing at the island, inspecting the two large bowls of marinating food, was Marlon.

Going farther into the kitchen, I saw that I wasn’t the only who had changed clothes. Earlier that day I had spoiled the white silk shirt Marlon had been wearing with grey chinos.

Now he wore a dark blue 1988 Olympics sweatshirt, featuring a red and yellow stripes on the front, with a pair of plain jeans.

“Marlon--” I was interrupted by him chattering cheerfully,

“Damn, Loni! You look great!” Coming around the island, Marlon gave me a sharp hug, before holding me out at arm’s length to admire me, grinning so hard his eyes nearly closed.

“This is even better than I expect. Yowza! Judging by how you look, I’m so glad you took me up on my offer!” He gushed, pleased, clapping his hands together. “Look like an ad for the United Colors of Benetton!”

“No, I didn’t--”

“Marlon! What the hell is this?” A new voice cried out suddenly.

We had company.

Piling in through the back doors were the five other Jacksons, wearing a variety of swim bottoms, a few toweling off their wet bodies as they stood, leaving puddles on the floor.

Leaving the pack, bare feet plopping on the tiles, Tito came at Marlon and was mashing a stubby finger into his chest.

Glancing at me, he scolded,

“You know damn well that when we’re on lockdown, we can’t have girlfriends in this house man! You must really want Dad to hang one of his alligator shoes so deep in yo’ ass, you’ll be spitting the laces out!”

Did I really look that different? To the point where Tito, who had said hello to me and eaten my food each day--sometimes seconds and thirds--didn’t know me?

“That ain’t right…”

Marlon’s eyes darkened with a glazed rage, and I started inching away, the scent of an impending fight in the air.

“Motherfuc--”

In the back of the crowd as Marlon was about to go upside Tito’s soggy head, Randy Jackson, his dark eyes bulging, exclaimed,

“I’ll be rightly damned--that’s Loni!”

The argument between Tito and Marlon came to an abrupt end as the others rushed forward, clamoring to get a good look at me.

“Oh my God!”

“I’d have never know it Loni!”

“Shiiiiit! You look fantastic, girl!”

“That uniform did nothing for you, Honey!”

“Very pretty!”

“Hot! Hot! Incredibly hot!”

The compliments were flowing like water out a faucet as each man was talking to me, walking around me looking from all angles.

Even a scarlet-cheeked Michael shyly whispered that I “look just like a supermodel!”

With all the hubbub around me, I saw that Marlon wasn’t in the mass competing for my attention.

Jermaine hanging close to me, telling me something quietly I looked for Marlon.

He sat to himself, in the breakfast nook, watching his brothers. A smug smile curling those lips on his face.

This wasn’t what I had wanted.

Marlon thought he had a yes, and was now baiting the hook with his brothers.

And I wasn’t bait.

I was just a woman.

In a situation I didn’t understand.

* * *

I don’t know how long I had been in the upstairs hallways, working a groove into the carpet, pacing back and forth.

Pondering and contemplating Marlon’s scheme.

That particular night in the Jackson household was one of the nicest I’d had since starting to work there.

It was extremely evident that the men liked how I looked and were attracted to me. Everything Marlon had told me.

The whole night, they had never stopped chattering about my appearance, showering me with compliments and words of sweetness.

I had even been invited to eat dinner with them in the formal dining room. I typically ate alone, in the kitchen, separate from them. (As a personal chef was supposed to do.)

Tonight though, I was welcomed, not as an employee, but a friend.

And I liked that feeling. Being included in a conversation that didn’t center around food preparation. Being treated like a person. I liked it very much.

The more I thought about it, reflected on that dinner, the more I was starting to warm up to the idea of messing around with the Jacksons.

It was beginning to appeal to me.

The ‘perks’ as Marlon had called them were exceptional, though I was still stunned by how easily he had come up with the five grand, in cash.

Was it really, truly that easy? To have the spoils of life laid in my lap by six, bored, overindulged, affection-starved men?

I came to a halt in the hallway, my heart starting to race.

I…I had reached my decision.

And it wasn’t coming from a place of no.

It was coming from a place of yes.

Yes. I was going to do this.

Yes. I was going to be the girlfriend of the Jacksons.

Yes. I must have lost my mind.

Crossing the hallway and venturing a few doors down, I stood outside the closed one to Marlon Jackson’s bedroom.

Timidly at first, then with more vigor, I began knocking on the smooth, cool, polished wood of the door.

Oh, why didn’t he open the door? Did he want to drive me mad?

I jumped as the door next to Marlon’s cracked, and Jackie Jackson, wearing yellow sweatpants, a large pillow hugged to his bare chest, groaned,

“Hey, hey, hey! Quit knocking a hole in the damn door. I’m trying to sleep! You want Marlon, his gargoyle-looking ass is in the living room watching TV. Cut that shit out!”

The living room. I vaguely remembered hearing Marlon saying something about watching a movie that night. I only recalled it vaguely, because at the time, Tito was cutting my grilled steak into small cubes for me.

Leaving Jackie to return to whatever it was he had been doing in his room before I had disturbed him, I was flying down to the living room.

Two steps at a time.

In the hallway, I came to the open, pocket doors of the living room, set directly across from the music room.

Faintly, through the closed doors of the music room, I could hear Michael singing in a high falsetto as someone played what sounded like an electric guitar. He had such a lovely voice. If he hadn’t been stuck working for his father eternally, he might have hit it big as a professional entertainer.

Passing through the doors of the living room, I saw a Bruce Lee, kung fu picture playing on the big screen television that sat against one wall.

The room, boasting furniture dressed in golden brocade and gleaming oak appointments, was very formal. The movie almost seemed out of place on the TV.

Stretched out on one of the two couches in the room, eating from an overflowing bowl of popcorn on the glass-topped coffee table, I could make out Marlon’s mouthing the words as they were spoken onscreen.

“Um…Marlon?” I questioned softly as the movie broke for a commercial.

“Oh!” He was brushing kernels off his lap as he sat up. “Hey there, sit down! Sit down!”

“I--I wanted to talk to you.” I stammered as I took a seat on the opposite end of the couch from him. “If I’m not taking you from your movie.”

“Nah…I’ve seen Enter the Dragon a million times on Channel 13’s Asian Invasion. What’s up?”

I stuttered the next few seconds as Marlon looked at me expectantly, waiting for my next statement.

Finally, unable to vocalize myself in any better manner, I spit out,

“I, I…I want to go along with what you said, Marlon. About the showing around thing…if you and the other brothers are genuinely interested me, of course.”

The room shook as Marlon threw his head back and crowed.

“Loni, in the last few hours, have you gone deaf and blind? Have you not heard all the nice things my brothers said to you, all the compliments you were paid? Didn’t see all the smiles and gestures? Hell, Michael stuck his fork up his nose he was staring at you so hard. The only way you could have gotten a better reception was to be dipped in platinum!”

Running a shaking hand through my hair, I made myself ask,

“How will…how will this all work?”

Toying with the watch on his wrist, he explained,

“Well, think of me as the middleman. It all relies on your choice. If you want a certain one of us, you let me know. I’ll get the wheels into motion. And if anyone gets hot under the collar after you before you choose them, they’ll do the same. I’ll let you know. My main objective is to keep the peace in this house. There’s six men here. Tempers flare easily, especially with a beautiful woman stirring us up.”

I looked downward as Marlon playfully pinched my cheek and poked at my chin.

“It’s really all as simple as that. You can put a stop to the whole affair whenever you feel. You can say no…and no will mean no…Baby.”

Well, I felt as light headed as if I had drank an entire magnum of champagne.

Sort of giggly and wobbly.

“Alright…” I was trembling a bit as I started to stand. To make my exit.

“Don’t go just yet.” Marlon cautioned, tugging at the hem of my skirt. “You, ah, already have an offer on the table. One of us Jacksons is interested in you…”

Snickering, I interjected,

“The way you tell it, all of you Jacksons are interested at the very same time. Which one is it?”

Don’t tell me Jermaine had decided to open that cavern he called a mouth again. And not to Marlon. He’d managed to negotiate his way to me pretty well without Marlon’s help at all in the first place.

Crossing one leg over the other, Marlon leaned back into the cushions and was showing every tooth in his head.

“It’s probably the last one you’d expect.”

Crossing my own legs, I joked,

“Who? Michael? I suppose if he got that fork pried loose from his nose.”

I was beginning to feel calmer with this whole gag.

“Nah…it ain’t Michael…” Marlon’s voice was softer and a bit deeper, as he was tickling at my arm.

His hand dropped down and was squeezing my thigh through the thin fabric covering it.

“You are a very pretty girl Loni…”

I bounced slightly as Marlon scooted closer to me. “I’ve thought that since the first day I met you. Surprised me when I opened the door and saw you standing there. When Dad said we had a professional chef, I envisioned something with a face like Julia Child and a figure like Paul Prudhome.”

“I don’t put everything I cook into my mouth. If I did, I would look like old Paulie.” I smiled as Marlon rose, going over and closing the doors to the room.

I heard the distinctive click of the lock.

As he made his way back to me, a thought occurred.

“Marlon…” I took his hand and was intertwining my fingers with his. “I want you to answer something for me.”

Kissing at the top of my hand, he murmured,

“Anything, Baby…”

“When I met your father and interviewed for this job, he wanted very much to make sure I had no baggage. No boyfriend, no husband…no children. Did…did he know I would be entangled in all of this?”

“No, Baby…” Marlon was pecking at my cheeks, his lips warm and soft. “Mere coincidence. Good coincidence…”

He inhaled deeply. “Damn it all, what perfume is that? You smell like a cupcake!”

I had heard that line before!

“Vanilla Musk…” I chuckled as his lips found their way onto my neck.

“I’ll remember that. I’ll buy you a case of it in the morning!” Marlon vowed, arms looping around me and tugging me against him.

“I can pay for my own things--” I began and was silenced when Marlon’s lip, damn and tasting of the butter from his popcorn pressed mine, sweetly rubbing against mine, as he forced them harder to mine, his hand grasping the back of my neck, holding me in place.

Those lips, those plump, tender lips. They were so…so sweet. So seducing.

“What, do you want to do with me?” I questioned as Marlon was hugging me tighter, so tight I was starting to have difficulty drawing a breath.

All I could remember was the comment he’d made to Jermaine. How he liked “nasty girls” and for the greater part of the day, I wondered just what he meant by that.

Marlon smacked my mouth again before replying, eyes widening excitedly,

“I love cupcakes…I eat cupcakes….” A brow was raised wickedly. “Guess I’m gonna eat you, Loni…”

Pulling his sweat shirt off and tossing it aside, knocking the popcorn over, Marlon added arrogantly,

“I ain’t like Jermaine. Speeding through good shit that needs to be savored. His ass always was fast.”

I pressed a finger to his lips.

“If I wanted to talk to Jermaine, I’d go find him. I don’t want him.”

Eyeing Marlon’s supremely sculpted and toned upper body, I pinched his little brown nipple.

“You like what you see, don’t you?” Marlon teased with a wink, standing.

His red loafers and socks were kicked off.

Reclining back I bit my bottom lip sheepishly and nodded.

Slowly, Marlon began undoing the button and zipper on the fly of his jeans.

Watching me, opened them and dropped the fabric to his ankles.

Revealing he had no underwear on.

Marlon Jackson was very much like his brother Jermaine, in the fact he’d been blessed with an enormous shaft, dangling between his solid, thick thighs.

Unlike Jermaine, who was exceedingly hairy, Marlon was well trimmed, the only hair on him, directly above that hardening piece of flesh, trimmed down into the shape of a triangle.

He wasn’t even touching himself and before my eyes Marlon was rising.

Approaching me, a hand grasped my chin and I was made to look up at him.

“Loni…you know I like nasty girls…” He told me, voice becoming even deeper. “It’s been so long since I’ve…I’ve had….”

He didn’t finish his statement.

One hand grabbing the back of my head, the other, holding onto himself, Marlon was plunging his penis past my lips and down my throat.

“Ah! Yes! That’s it! Suck me! Suck it, Baby! That’s what I want….been wanting! Ooooh!” He growled placing my hands on his thighs as they began slowly rocking, causing that cock to slip in and out my mouth.

Holding onto him, tasting his warm slightly salty flesh, I was growing warm myself.

Hands going around me, Marlon had no trouble in loosening my strapless bra, freeing my bosom.

“Holy shit! That’s it girl….that’s it, right there….Ah!” Fingertips down, Marlon was gently, gingerly playing with my breasts.

Holding my hair up and out the way, Marlon was watching me intently, eyes wide, unblinking and clear shade of gold.

I don’t know where it came from, as I had been staring right at him during this entire lewd act, but somehow one of Marlon’s hands appeared in my underwear.

Tickling after my love “button”.

And a feeling so intense slapped me that I quite literally spit Marlon out and shrieked,

“No! Don’t do that! Don’t! Marlon--”

Automatically, a free hand came up and clamped my mouth.

Marlon straddled me on the couch, pressing his cheek to mine.

“I…I want to do something crazy, Loni. I have to do it. It’s been on my mind for the longest…”

My panties came off, shredded in those big hands of his.

Lightly, I was pushed down, onto my back, my legs being pushed open.

And Marlon was on me.

The weight of his body on me, as he started to lie on top of me, his face hovering over my naughty bits.

At the same time, he was shoving that girth of a dick into my mouth.

I was helpless, my cries of sexual ecstasy muffled as Marlon fell forward, his tongue starting to whip at me and work its way deeply within me.

I found myself clawing at his sinewy backside, unable to pleasure him, as I felt him pushing the inner folds of my vagina back, getting as deeply as anyone had ever gotten to me.

“No…No! NO! NO! NO! NO!”
I was barely audible as I began succumbing to Marlon Jackson, flowing freely.

There was loud slurping as Marlon wasn’t letting a drop be wasted.

It was a bit of a blur after that. Foggy.

I was pulled up on shaky feet, I remembered seeing Marlon wiping the dampness from his face.

Then I was against the back of the couch, Marlon hugging me tightly to him, and ramming his way inside of me.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! I’ll show you what a fucking is, Baby! Oh God--YES!” Marlon cried, before burying his face into my shoulder, clutching me possessively, as he was bouncing his bare groin against mine.

“Marlon…Marlon please…Marlon…” I gasped, verging on exhaustion as he continued to tear me up. I gripped at his sweaty, glistening shoulders, pressing my lips along his neck.

I was going crazy…I was so wrapped up in this man. I didn’t know what the emotion was. Was it love? Was it lust? I just didn’t know!

We were so wet. I didn’t know if all the perspiration was mine. Marlon had so much fluid flowing from his naked body, he resembled a large chocolate bar melting.

Sweat drenched him and me.

He was much quieter than Jermaine. Jermaine had screamed as he reached his climax.

The only knowledge I had of Marlon nearing his peak, was a groan, passed through gritted teeth.

Then suddenly, his cock was out, pointed at my face and being jerked wildly, Marlon’s head falling back, him panting like an animal.

The fevered tugging continued for several moments, Marlon’s smooth shiny balls jangling freely.

“Oh God…Oh God…Oh…my…AH!” The noise popped from his mouth as in a few spurts he ejaculated.

A few droplets flew upwards, and hit my in my chin, the rest, as Marlon released himself, splashed the hardwood floor and plopped on his feet.

“Goddamn…” He seemed awed by what he had done, as he dragged a hand over his face and down his chest, before gripping my raw hips.

“You’re amazing, girl…woo, shit!”

Large lips were eclipsing mine as Marlon kissing me greedily, his tongue pressing into my mouth and flopping around, strong arms holding me like they never wanted to let go.

Holding onto his face, I returned the favor, nastily pushing my tongue against his.

Both of us winded, and struggling for any breath of air, we stood, embraced and breathing into each other, as our dampened cheeks touched.

Glancing over Marlon’s shoulder, as he was burying his face in my throat and sucking at it--I would be covering a hickey the next morning--I noticed something strange.

Perhaps my eyes were playing tricks on me, but I was sure, in the bottom pane of the large bay window on the opposite side of the room, I saw a face.

The round, brown face of Randy Jackson, watching Marlon and me as we basked in the afterglow of our lascivious act.

Marlon’s head came up, blocking my view and I was victim to another heart-stopping smooch…and I forgot all thought and sight of Randy.

At least at that moment.

I would see the youngest of the Jackson brothers soon enough.

End of Part Two.

Gosh, what a way to go. Marlon Jackson coming up with this strange, odd idea to “show” Loni to all the rest of The Jacksons. But could this really, truly work? A girl fooling around and fulfilling the lusty needs of not only six men, but six brothers? With out incident or argument?

Could this really go off without a hitch, or cause problems unforeseen?