#michele

[dark-words]

[tabsdreamz]

Continuing trying to repost most of the stuff from my old blog @cddreamz.

[a-rchhive]

“no.. too much” you cry burying your face in the pillow. the fabric is wet soaked with tears running down your cheeks from the strong stimulation

it started not so long ago when you bought a car too good for a price tag too small. one reason - suicide in it, so you were told, under too strange circumstances when the police did not deal with this case, as if someone wanted this case to be forgotten without any investigation

then the strangeness began. the radio in the car was jamming and no matter how many times you went to the dealership, they couldn't fix it. if you accidentally left your bag inside the car, all the items would be scattered on the leather seats.

and then in your apartment. things were out of place, there were occasional fingerprints on the mirror that were still foggy from taking a hot shower, and there was always a squeak of something happening to your headphones when you were listening to music, especially at night.

and then you felt it. the touch. on your skin. you put it down to exhaustion, from tossing and turning too much in your sleep, and your t-shirt was up, and it was cold at night.

until one night you felt like someone was breathing right in your ear. the cold air was too much on your skin. and the touch on your body became more distinct. you felt like invisible hands were sliding over your body, but no matter how much you looked behind you, it was empty. always

and one day it went too far. you couldn't ignore your own fear and the tension of being uncomfortable inside your own apartment. but the arousal haunted you for much longer

and only one evening when you decided to satisfy yourself everything went smoothly and forever was calm. your hand was under the fabric of your underwear, your body was spread out on the pillows and the sheets were crumpled. you almost came

suddenly this push on your shoulder, as if something unknown, invisible, turned you on your stomach. fear enveloped your body. you felt pressure on the top of your head, as if someone's hand was pushing you into your own pillow, and as if someone was lifting your hips

you swear your hands were near your head when you tried to get up, but you felt the fabric of your underwear sliding down your thighs, with a touch too cold on your skin

you were going to scream, call for help, when you felt the penetration of the vault of the pussy, how someone's cock stretched you. abruptly, without any preparation, too quickly, starting to push immediately into you. the body, almost experiencing the first orgasm, shook, legs spread apart

«fuck! what the fuck—" you were horrified when your voice was muffled by the soft down of the pillow, and your hips jerked as if someone's fingers were touching your clit, rubbing against it as something you couldn't see continued to thrust into you, finally finding a rhythm.

you gave up too quickly. if it was a ghost or a poltergeist, you let it use your body and achieve the long-awaited release. but it didn't end after the first orgasm.

you felt cold touches on your neck, like kisses lingering on your skin, and your tits were squeezed by invisible hands.

the second time, you came too quickly, dripping onto the bed before the pressure and support disappeared, causing your body to collapse on the bed, gasping for air.

after that, everything became too quiet. you spent two whole weeks without any otherworldly presence, thinking that it was finally over.

and then it happened again.

and it became frequent.

and tonight was no exception. you remember listening to music in your headphones, getting ready for bed, when you heard that same squeak you had heard before. the music faded away, and you heard a man's voice, "did you buy new lace underwear? It looks good."

a foreign voice made you sit down too quickly, and then there was pressure on your mouth that you couldn't even scream. you felt trapped in someone else's presence, "shh, be more obedient today, and I'll give you more."

the voice coming through your headphones played like a record in your head. you tried to breathe through your nose, watching your shorts slide down, your underwear tightening, and something you couldn't see sliding through your folds, playing with your clit.

your hands were trying to grab onto something, until you found a blanket on the bed. too vulgar. without any shame. your back arched, your hips twitched to get more touch and friction.

if it were a ghost, you could say that it was playing with your pussy with its fingers, finding your hole to insert two fingers at once, "you take me so well, even though I don't have any matter," and a deep laugh in your ears

you feel the pressure on your lips disappear, and he slides under your t-shirt, rolling your nipples. he pushes his fingers into your pussy, stretching you, sliding in, and making a slurping sound every time he enters you.

"More, —please" you say, throwing your head back and feeling the support behind you. He kisses your temple, and his movements become faster as he brings you to orgasm.

but without any break, you're turned over on your stomach, and he's getting into position from behind, entering your trembling pussy slowly, stretching you out, "you're so tight every time...—fuck, you're too tight," and you could swear you heard a heavy sigh coming through your headphones.

The thrusts are shallow and slow, and before he picks up the pace, you're hugging the pillow and propping yourself up on your elbows, looking back to make sure no one is behind you, "fuck, what are you—ah!"

a slap on the ass, you feel it all too clearly, but there's no sound, just his voice, "at least tonight, don't ask questions and just moan like you usually do when I'm fucking you—"

you mumble, burying your face in the soft fuzz, but you don't protest. you moan like a fucking whore every time he thrusts into you.

too stimulated, with no hint of rest, you feel pain in your clit when you come. for how many times? third or fifth? you lost track at the moment when his hands were twisting your nipples under your shirt

"fuck, I can't take it anymore—god please" you could hear his laughter echoing in your ears, the tempo picking up, the pain coursing through your body, your eyes already wet with tears of overstimulation, and the sheets completely soaked beneath your dripping cunt.

you can't take it anymore, feeling yourself squirting, spurting into the void, and his tempo finally becoming unsteady, incoherent words in your headphones before it all calms down

you breathe deeply, trying to raise your eyes, clinging to the large mirror in the room. and clearly see a man's figure. his thighs flush with your ass, the body leaning over you, eyes looking at your common reflection, his fingers slide on your waist, lazily, carelessly stroking

"if you need me again, just call me. I'm Michele"

and again, that feeling of being lost, when you fall onto your bed completely exhausted, shaking, and completely alone

and then again this silence that lasted so long. two weeks without his presence. you hesitated. for a long time and did not dare to say his name out loud. before sitting in front of the mirror with only a t-shirt, putting on headphones and looking at yourself in the mirror, "Michele?"

you see his figure in the reflection, vaguely and blurry before the lines become clear, "yes, darling?" now you saw his hands sliding down your neck, his chest pressing against your back, and his lips sliding along the curve of your neck, his eyes fixed on your face from behind his glasses.

you reach your hand towards his head, feeling the cool air under your fingertips, and it's like you're pressing on the flow of air, and in the reflection, you touch his hair as he rubs his head against your palm, grabbing your hand with his own, leaving a kiss on your knuckles, and never breaking eye contact.

"Fuck me. Again"

His lips stretch into a smile, his eyes close, and the voice in your headphones seems to sound like a thought in your own head.

"If my sweetheart wants it, I'm ready to fulfill it. Again"

[richiethekewlguy]

I lowkey think I cooked with ts

[jeongyeon-steponm]

I become a feral little dog each time I see Lesbyler on my timeline. They’re just so gorgeous in every single fanart I can’t not lose my mind over it each time. They could both approach me at a bar and ask me to third and I’d actually lose my ever loving mind and say yes.

That would never happen tho as we know, but a girl can dream💔

*insert spitfire meme that I can’t find*

[annericefacts]

Often when people describe Anne Rice writing the book Interview With the Vampire, they say that Rice set out to write a fictionalized account of the death of her own daughter, Michele.

However, Rice was always clear in interviews that it wasn’t until after she wrote the book that she realized she had used it to grapple with her grief.

In an interview with Charlie Rose on November 10th, 1994, Rice mentioned: “A year and a half later [after Michele’s death] I write this book, not really aware that it’s about the loss of my daughter…”

[youngcreatorfanbear]