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Home Slash Fiction Het/Gen Fiction Donatella's Head

DISCLAIMER: This site is in no way affiliated with the Monkees or personal relations thereof. All fan fiction and fan art is intended for entertainment purposes only and no defamation of character is intended whatsoever. To break it down one more time: It's all just for fun, folks.





Title: Cruisin’
Author: Mini
Rating: R
Pairing: Mike/OFC
Genre: Het-smut.
Warnings: Contains explicit sexual content and some adult language.
Disclaimer: Not real, never happened, completely 100% fictitious. I make no claims as to the personality or sexual proclivities of the real Michael Nesmith, and I glean no profit from this story whatsoever. So don't sue me, cause I'm a broke grad student and I'd have to pay you in little tiny packets of Chinese mustard.
Summary: Michael’s between scene activities on the Monkees set.


The cute blonde tottered down the hallway, heels clacking on the pavement as she walked delicately out of the studio. The fevered whispers and raised eyebrows started almost immediately, with everyone wondering which of the four Monkees’ dressing rooms she had come from.


“Well, she’s not one of Davy’s, is she?” they said, curiously watching her disappear into the distance.


The stiffness in her gait, combined with her flushed, red cheeks, and the makings of a fresh bruise on her thigh—just visible under the hem of her miniskirt—could mean only one thing.


Mike leaned against the doorframe of his dressing room, long legs encased in a pair of very tight-fitting jeans, the last part of a cigarette dangling from the corner of his lips. He’d foregone putting a shirt back on, his skin tingling still with the feel of her body under his, and watched her depart with a smug, satisfied look on his face.


He walked back into the dressing room then, sighing as he flopped down on the dark couch in the corner. It smelt of sex still, and the aroma of pussy lingered heavy in the air. Taking a drag on the cigarette, he thought of how it had begun with her.


She was an extra on the show—one of many blonde chicks parading around the set, but unlike the others, she’d caught his eye. Mike felt himself get hard every time she was around, and he knew he had to fuck her. And she was coy, too—purposely wearing the shortest minidresses that wardrobe would allow, “accidentally” dropping a pen when she saw him looking at her, and bending over slowly, making sure to give him a great view.


Mike grew angry at her teasing, the sort of anger tied too closely too arousal to know the difference. It didn’t take long for him to invite her to visit his dressing room after filming one day, and it took even less time for her to say yes.


He’d opened the door in almost exactly the same state of undress as he was in now, smirking as he saw her jaw fall open, her eyes scanning up the thin trail of hair on his stomach to the patch in between his nipples. He reveled in her embarrassment when she realized he’d caught her, quickly glancing down at the scoop of her cleavage in the low-cut top she had on.


“Come on in, honey,” he drawled, turning away before she even had a chance to answer. He chuckled softly as he heard her walk in behind him, without missing a beat.


He kissed her deeply, the same way he kissed them all—dizzying, with just enough force, his tongue sliding into her mouth. She wrapped her arms around him, moaning as her knees went weak, pressing herself against his chest. The touch of his bare skin electrified her, and she surrendered to him—just as they always did.


More than anything, he wanted to taste her, and he ripped the top and skirt from her body, a low growl escaping him as he spread her legs and felt the overwhelming heat radiating from her center. She was wet for him already, wanton, and he closed his mouth over her pussy, tongue flicking and licking until she was writhing above him. Faster and faster he went until she could hold on no longer, and screamed out her release, back arching as she bucked her hips against his face.


When he had lapped up every last drop, he stood again, unfastening the buckle of his belt. She brushed his hand away with a giggle, biting her lower lip with her teeth as she finished the job reaching her hand into his jeans. She gasped as she felt the full size of him, so hard and aching, and slipped him out from his clothed prison. He slid a hand to the back of her head, threading his fingers in her hair.




She did as she was told, taking his cock into her throat with long pulls, then letting it slide almost all the way out before swallowing it whole again. He groaned loudly, loving the sight of the blonde there on her knees, her mouth so full of his cock like she couldn’t get enough.


Then there was the sex. He’d pulled his cock from her mouth, still slick with saliva, and rammed it into her with one thrust. She screamed, moaning incoherently as he pounded in and out of her, lifting her legs until her ankles rested on his bony shoulders.


He didn’t like to stay in one position for long, and without a word, he slid his arms under her and flipped them over. He gripped her hips, holding them tightly as he thrust up into her again and again. His hands went to her breasts, bouncing urgently with their movements, and gently tweaked her nipples.


The requisite cries out to God came soon after, but that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He lifted her off of him, both their breathing harsh and uneven, and gestured to the couch.


“Get on yer hands and knees.”


She complied, just as they always did, and he moved in behind her, what sounded almost like a purr coming from his throat as he groped her asscheeks. He raised a hand up and brought it down, palm out, against her backside, the collision ringing out with a resonating smack! She yelped in surprise, her eyelids fluttering as the stinging sensation spider-webbed through her body, bringing with it a flood of pleasure.


He issued several more blows to her pert bottom, not stopping until the skin was a satisfying shade of red. He fingered her once again, and was pleased to discover that she’d gotten even wetter from the rough treatment. He wasted no time slicking up his still-hard cock and thrusting it into her.


Now came the home stretch, when neither of them were coherent any longer, when his balls slapped against her ass with every movement, and he angled his thrusts just to hit that spot inside her, driving her wilder still. She twitched around him, muscles contracting, clenching as her orgasm rushed on.




The strangled cry of his name was music, and it sent him over the edge. He came hard, shouting triumphantly as he spent himself deep inside her, his fingers digging so deeply into her hips as to leave marks.


He collapsed on top of her, burying his face in the sweat-damp tangle of her hair, his heart beating so hard against her back she could feel it through his chest. When he felt he could move again, he gently turned her over, silently thrilling at the smile she gave him, and for a brief moment, he felt himself grin. It was almost impish—the kind he never let show—and as quickly as he’d given it, he tucked it away, pressing one last, long kiss to her lips.


She winced as she stood from the couch, ass and pussy both sore and satisfied from his handling. Slowly, she collected her clothing, now scattered across the floor of the room. He glanced down at her bra, studying it for a moment, before picking it up and wordlessly handing it to her.


He’d finally had her, he noted to himself, reaching for the pack of cigarettes in a nearby drawer. He took one out, sliding it between his lips, and offered her one. She declined, straightening her hair in front of the mirror, and turned to give him another kiss, before heading back out into the studio.


The last of her figure was fading from his memory, soon replaced by thoughts of other girls—a pretty brunette from a scene they’d done the day before, or the blonde he’d seen flirting with Davy that afternoon. He rubbed the front of his pants to relieve the hard-on that he’d gotten from thinking of the previous encounter, and the ones to come.


A knock at the door rustled Mike out of his thoughts, and he was pleasantly surprised to see the brunette standing there, script pages in hand.


“E-excuse me, Mr. Nesmith? I don’t mean to bother you. I was hoping we could practice this scene for tomorrow.”


He took in the sight of her blouse, open just enough to reveal the swell of her breasts, and his eyes darkened with lust. He flicked the ash at the end of the cigarette away, then glanced at her, fighting to keep the smug grin from reappearing as he saw her squirm under his heated gaze.


“Come on in, honey.”