[The noises Pinocchio makes fills him with a fear that only leaves him moure aroused than fearful. Alight with lust, his senses seem to merely be stuck on the shape of Pinocchio's cock that fills him so wonderfully.
The aching pain burned something so pleasurable that he can only choke on the sounds that slip from his throat. The slap of skin, Wriothesley's cries, and Pinocchio's snarls was a symphony of sounds that filled the small space they had taken over.
Wriothesley comes first. A sobbing moan of the man's name on his lips as he spills his seed into the sheets underneath. Despite the way he clenches around Pinocchio's cock and his orgasm fills his mind his static, it does nothing to slow his movements. He continues to meet each thrust with a roll of his hips, chasing that pleasure even into oversensitivity. Lost in the throes of his suit and his rabbit senses, he could only want for being "eaten" alive as he was.]
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The aching pain burned something so pleasurable that he can only choke on the sounds that slip from his throat. The slap of skin, Wriothesley's cries, and Pinocchio's snarls was a symphony of sounds that filled the small space they had taken over.
Wriothesley comes first. A sobbing moan of the man's name on his lips as he spills his seed into the sheets underneath. Despite the way he clenches around Pinocchio's cock and his orgasm fills his mind his static, it does nothing to slow his movements. He continues to meet each thrust with a roll of his hips, chasing that pleasure even into oversensitivity. Lost in the throes of his suit and his rabbit senses, he could only want for being "eaten" alive as he was.]