Anthill

Like a seal or a dog

i really wanted to make one ok

send me a number and i’ll make an audio post with the prompt!

I’ll say my own URL, and where it came from

I’ll talk about my favorite foods

I’ll talk about my favorite outfit

I’ll talk about my siblings

I’ll talk about what I did today

I’ll talk about something I’m obsessed with/currently interested in

I’ll sing verses from a song

I’ll read a page from a book

I’ll say a sentence in an accent that isn’t mine

I’ll describe where I’m sitting at the moment

I’ll talk about my pets/what pets I want

I’ll talk about my sexuality

I’ll talk about my favorite character

I’ll talk about something embarrassing that happened to me

I’ll talk about a dream I had

I’ll tell a story

I’ll talk about something I miss

I’ll talk about something I’ve never done

I’ll talk about something I’m proud of

I’ll talk about the music I’m listening to at the moment

I’ll talk about something that bothers me

I’ll talk about something that makes me happy

I’ll talk in a voice I don’t usually use

I’ll talk about something! (my choice)

I’ll talk about something! (your choice)

Sometimes you wondered if Pantalone booked seats for mediocre operas on purpose so he could redirect your attention from the flat performance on stage to the one between your legs. At first it was just an passing thought, but the frequency of which he started to attend boring operas with you and then slide a hand down your leg was starting to become a bit too commonplace for it to be a coincidence.

But that thought wasn't important, because the banker had already shuffled down your bottoms, adjusting his glasses to properly examine your dampness. It was a sight that no one would ever believe, even if they saw it for themselves. Because seeing Pantalone, a man of such high status and power, kneeling on the theater's floor for you without a second thought still managed to make you wonder if you were dreaming. But the light caught on Pantalone's glasses and the way he smiled with less than good intentions made your heart flip.

"That's no good. It's rather dark in here. You'll have to come a bit closer." His voice was just a whisper tingling your thighs, and yet you could hear it louder than the noise on stage. It wasn't like you had a choice, not when Pantalone's hands gripped your thighs and dragged them closer to him, until you were nearly on the edge of your seat, perfectly lined up with his face.

"Much better," he approved. The coolness of his numerous rings made contact with your clothed cunt first, the metal nudging against your entrance, pulling a breathy sigh out of you. But it left all too quickly, because the Harbinger wanted to see you squirm around his tongue already, and so your underwear was pulled down to settle at your ankles with the rest of your clothes.

Even if you see yourself that way, your F/O never would. They see how hard you're trying and they are so proud of you and your efforts, regardless of the outcome.

They don't care about how many awards you win, they don't care how much money you make, and they don't care if you struggle to do what is "simple" or "easy" for others.

They love you unconditionally, wholly, and indefinitely. You are their second half, and they are so, so proud of you for continuing to get up every morning and face the world, even if it's cruel and unfair in its expectations of you.

Riding em

Licking em

Fucking myself with em