Something I love about Tumblr is having over a thousand followers and yet absolutely zero activity when I make a post. Thank you everybody for ignoring me 🙏🙏 allow my sillyness to slip into the silent succulent dark
FUCK ICE, free palestine, free congo, FUCK trump, FUCK musk, no one is illegal on stolen land, and if u disagree, FUCK YOU TOO!!!
i’ve said this before but if u support that fuckass orange in office, idc if ur a silent follower or ur like is ur only form of interacting with me, just know, i don’t want it!!! and u are a terrible person!!! 😛
An alien of such higher intelligence that you’re basically not sentient to them. Sure, you can talk and stuff, but so can parrots. That’s doesn’t mean you’re a person to them. In a twist of great cosmic irony, your pheromones are like some sort of aphrodisiac to each other. They can’t stay away from you. And once they’re inside you, they become an even lower life form than you are. Just drooling and rutting, trying fruitlessly to breed you despite how incompatible your species are. They’re so fucked out, so addicted to your body, that their ship doesn’t even recognize them as conscious anymore. You’ve literally fucked their brains out.
I tipped my head back and licked up the last drops. When I finished, Mothman was watching me closely, antennae fluttering curiously. I hummed the song to myself again as the sticky sweet taste coated my tongue once last time, “My pussy tastes like cherry cola…”
Mothman’s red eyes shone a light on my legs, then on the empty can in my hand, then back between my legs. He wasn’t moving all that quickly but my brain was starting to go so slow that I seemed to blink and he had leaned forward and buried his face between my thighs. Something long and thinner than a human tongue touched the white damp gusset of my panties. I was too relaxed from weed and stargazing to really do anything. I just stared down at him between my legs, trying to figure out what was going on and how I was supposed to react. Did that even just happen?
Mothman lifted his strangely shaped head and looked at the Coke can again while his antennae fluttered around his mouth, seeming to gather the taste of me on his face. Why would he do that? What was-
“Oh my god, can you understand me?” I asked with a slight slur.
He assessed the can, picking up a stray drop on the rim with a froglike flick of his very very long tongue, and then leaned back over to investigate between my legs. This time, I felt the brush of one velvety-furred finger peel my panties away and his tongue make contact with my pussy. I gasped at the still unexpected intrusion and the very inhuman texture between my legs. It almost felt more like a silicone toy, only way more flexible.
“My pussy doesn’t actually taste like Coke, sorry.”
He maybe wasn’t listening or maybe I was mumbling too much for him to understand. His tongue investigated me all over, first on the outside, playing with my clit curiously when I moaned, then dipping inside to see how deep it could get. Very, very deep, as it turned out.
“But you could keep doing that if, ummm, if you want to.”
He apparently did want to.
The familiar dizzy, sticky pleasure of being touched while obliteratingly high curled out from my clit and blanketed my body, the effect so much stronger when it wasn’t my own hand. I was heavy, so heavy, my legs falling open to make all the room for him he needed. I held onto the blanket for balance as I tried to lift my head to make sure this was really happening. And sure enough, it was. There was really a something between my legs. A something with tickly antennae and long elegant wings that very politely kept my feet warm.
I was being taken advantage of by Mothman. And he was fucking good at it.
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I was being taken advantage of by Mothman. And he was fucking good at it.
Vampires needed permission to enter, and Dracula was doing his very best to earn an invitation. The Big Bad himself, the vampire of all vampires, was on his knees on my welcome mat proving that real fangs did not leave people tongue-tied the way fake Halloween ones did. The heavy silver ring on my finger (just in case) was biting into my lip where I had my hand clamped over my mouth to muffle any of my moans from disturbing the neighbors. I was very aware that despite how late it was, anyone on my floor could turn the corner at any moment and see me pressed up against my door with my leg hooked over Dracula’s shoulder, but it wasn’t enough to make me stop him. It wasn’t every day you got a guy with centuries of experience between your legs—I wasn’t about to waste this opportunity.
Long pale fingers slid over the front of my red dress, up my belly to rest on my chest, just slightly to the left. The other hand gripping my thigh dug in hard enough to leave a bruise as he groaned into my pussy. Oh. My heartbeat. I would’ve said something, would’ve made sure this was the only part of me he wanted to eat since I definitely wasn’t a blood-donation-on-a-first-date kind of girl, but there was something slick and unfamiliar coating his tongue that stole all of my common sense. Dracula had explained it over (my) dinner, how vampires stayed a secret, how they healed the puncture wounds of their fangs with a special protein-rich venom on their tongues. How it made the feeding process not completely horrifying and uncomfortable. A gentle, temporary high, he’d said.
It did not feel gentle on my clit.
As he toyed with it, rolling it around with the tip of his coated tongue, lapping at the hyper-sensitive underside, I fought off a fourth orgasm in a shockingly short amount of time. I was going to die. He was trying to kill me. The only reason I was even upright was because of his pale hands and his inhumanly strong shoulders holding me up. His tongue was slippery like good lube, soft like new silicone, fizzy like soda, and I was going to die. Was this how undeath happened? Pleasure that transcended mortality? I didn’t want to live forever but god, did I want to feel this way for eternity.
Dracula hummed, his spread fingers flexing over my heart, and I could tell I was in for it. I gripped the back of that hand for some kind of support and tried to breathe, tried to stay calm, tried not to lose–
The fangs that had been clamped on either side of my clit pulled back, allowing all the blood he’d been summoning with his mouth to rush in. It was so acute, so perfectly on the edge of pain and pleasure as if he’d found a way to mimic the line he straddled between life and death, that I came harder than I ever had in my life. The orgasm was like a punch to the gut, driving all the air out of me with one barely-muffled shriek. My hips writhed and shook, the orgasm drawn out by the gentle, dizzy strokes of his tongue. My legs gave out and this time he let me slide down the door and collapse into his lap.
Dracula chuckled as I shook in his arms, still coming without any stimulation. My muscles cramped and tears slid down my face, dripping onto my fingers still covering my mouth. Cool fingers plucked them away as an equally cool forehead pressed to mine. The less-than-human temp had turned me off at first when he’d taken my hand on the walk back to my apartment, but now it was relief against my fevered skin. Orgasming four times in a leather trench coat and matching thigh-high boots was like getting fucked in a boiler room. I struggled out of my coat with clumsy hands and wrapped my noodly body around him to cool me off.
His kiss was strange with the fangs but not unpleasant. When he slipped his tongue between my lips, I sucked on it in gratitude for the pleasure it’d just given me until he groaned against my mouth. The slightly unearthly sound of it shivered through my body, probably some sort of survival instinct that I was too stupid to listen to. I wanted to hear more. I wanted his pleasure. I wanted to drive such a powerful creature to the brink.
“Inside,” I gasped against his mouth, unsure if I meant my apartment or my body. “I want you inside.”
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“I invited you to come inside,” I told him, waving the condom at him, “Not come inside.”
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