date night with a mothman
I was being taken advantage of by Mothman. And he was fucking good at it.
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.
