[ Ears prick forward, the pink triangle of tongue that wets his lips a clear illustration of how he drinks down the sound of Wriothesley's ecstasy. Untouched, the man enjoys getting fucked enough to come like this; even the way his body quakes and grips him fills the puppet with a sense of soaring victory. He's pleased Wriothesley, he's making Wrio crumble under the weight of his pleasure. And Pinocchio's not finished with him, not by far. ]
That's it, [ he hilts himself in deep, a clap of his hips against his seat, ] I'll give it all to you.
[ The unrelenting chain of forceful thrusts continues unabated, even as Wriothesley's sensitivity might make it too much to bear. Twisting his long train of hair around his wrist and fist, he pulls, slow and firm as he pistons into him. ] A meal this fine, I want another serving. —Come here.
[ His metal arm pushes across his midsection, hefting him upright, back to Pinocchio's chest, planting a foot on the mattress so that he can fuck up into him. His tongue drags, wet and warm, up the rivulet of sweat clinging to his cheek. ]
[A yelp caught in his throat. Pain sears in a way that only makes him want for more of that burn. It feels too good. The pleasure. The pain. His body sings for the way that Pinocchio treats it. He wants to hurt like this. He wants the ache of it all.
Hands scrabble to find something to hold onto, nails digging into Pinocchio's sides as he reaches back to hold onto the other thrusting into him relentlessly. There's a needy sob that spills from the rabbit's lips, his cock still twitching and dripping cum as the smaller man continues to piston into him.
His mind is stuck in a haze that he doesn't realize how loud he is. He doesn't realize the way he cries out for more. For Pinocchio to be harsher, faster, deeper inside him. He's lost in the ecstasy, his first orgasm doing nothing to abate his needs after resisting his suit for so long.]
[ The need in Wriothesley's voice, so keen, so unabashedly raw, makes him hasten to get a more secure grip on him. His metal fingers sink into warm, pliant muscle, keeping him held up off his feet, knees bent and feet left to dangle in the air. He forces Wriothesley back against his chest, folded nearly in half, helpless but to endure.
The wolf's hot breath gusts over his throat, the position all but demands Wriothesly throw back his head over Pinocchio's shoulder, or let it swing as each slap of skin on skin makes his head bob forward. He pistons into him, driven by a primal hunger he could never have been made with. To take, to claim, to fill, and every cry torn from Wriothesley is one that sounds to his altered ears like sheer gratification.
This is what he was so desperately hungry for, and now he will feast.
He's every bit the beast this hunt demands of him, has made him into, marking up his neck, his shoulder with snaps and nips and bites hard enough to bruise. Holds his muscular thighs open, as though he won't let Wriothesley chase pleasure with the friction against his own skin, no, that all the pleasure he takes will be from the puppet's cock, brutal and unrelenting. ]
[All his senses feel like they're on fire. Every thrust shakes him to the core, carving him deep and leaving him empty when they pull out. It feels so good to be eaten up like this. To be of use to feed the wolfish man making him fall apart is the greatest thing he could be doing right now.
His head drops onto Pinocchio's shoulder, drools dripping down into sweat damp fur, his entire body only seems to know the pleasure being wrought through him and the shape of Pinocchio's cock. Pinocchio seems to take as he pleases and Wriothesley is nothing but ecstatic to offer it to them.
Their refusal to let him seek pleasure in any other way is almost humorous. He doesn't need anymore than whatever the beast gives him. He comes with a broken sob again, spilling more of his seed onto sheets. Every thrust and every bite is only fuel to his arousal and Wriothesley wonders how many times he might come before he's either milked dry or before Pinocchio is fully sated.
[ The Hunt makes him savage. Wriothesley's suit makes him insatiable. He's slick and perfect, taking the relentless pistoning of his cock like he was made to be bred like this. Pinocchio can't spare a thought beyond how desperately he wants to fill him full. His ecstasy isn't the only goal; the puppet wants him consumed, utterly, shaking himself to pieces on his knot.
It's impossible for him to gauge how long it is before he finally feels orgasm approach. In the interim, he has brought him back down to the debauched bed, has flipped him onto his back to hilt himself into Wriothesley again, his knees pushed up towards his generous chest. Wriothesley's long hair fans out behind his broad shoulders like a pale corona, the tufted fur over his chest and around his neckline clumped together with sweat.
He has him by the legs, just behind the knees, each pounding thrust clapping into his seat so roughly that Wriothesley's heels bounce off the backs of the puppet's shoulders each and every time. Sweat drips from him, but not from Pinocchio, whose pants and growls emit from lips parted around sharpened canines, wolfish ears pricked to catch every moan. ]
[Wriothesley has lost count on how long they've been at it. His body is completely pliant under Pinocchio's weight, hands unable to even cling to the sheets underneath him. Whimpers and moans to sobs and whines spill from his lips like an unending river. His gaze is unfocused, expression blissed out as Pinocchio fills him with their cock over and over again.]
P-Pinocchio... [He doesn't even know if he can feel pleasure so much his body just accepting what the puppet will give him. He's soaked in sweat, his pheromones heavy in the air, as though to entice the other to breed him full.
He writhes a little, shaky hands trying to reach out to them.] C-Come on...fill me up.
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armwriostle) wrote2024-07-22 12:13 am
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That's it, [ he hilts himself in deep, a clap of his hips against his seat, ] I'll give it all to you.
[ The unrelenting chain of forceful thrusts continues unabated, even as Wriothesley's sensitivity might make it too much to bear. Twisting his long train of hair around his wrist and fist, he pulls, slow and firm as he pistons into him. ] A meal this fine, I want another serving. —Come here.
[ His metal arm pushes across his midsection, hefting him upright, back to Pinocchio's chest, planting a foot on the mattress so that he can fuck up into him. His tongue drags, wet and warm, up the rivulet of sweat clinging to his cheek. ]
no subject
Hands scrabble to find something to hold onto, nails digging into Pinocchio's sides as he reaches back to hold onto the other thrusting into him relentlessly. There's a needy sob that spills from the rabbit's lips, his cock still twitching and dripping cum as the smaller man continues to piston into him.
His mind is stuck in a haze that he doesn't realize how loud he is. He doesn't realize the way he cries out for more. For Pinocchio to be harsher, faster, deeper inside him. He's lost in the ecstasy, his first orgasm doing nothing to abate his needs after resisting his suit for so long.]
no subject
The wolf's hot breath gusts over his throat, the position all but demands Wriothesly throw back his head over Pinocchio's shoulder, or let it swing as each slap of skin on skin makes his head bob forward. He pistons into him, driven by a primal hunger he could never have been made with. To take, to claim, to fill, and every cry torn from Wriothesley is one that sounds to his altered ears like sheer gratification.
This is what he was so desperately hungry for, and now he will feast.
He's every bit the beast this hunt demands of him, has made him into, marking up his neck, his shoulder with snaps and nips and bites hard enough to bruise. Holds his muscular thighs open, as though he won't let Wriothesley chase pleasure with the friction against his own skin, no, that all the pleasure he takes will be from the puppet's cock, brutal and unrelenting. ]
no subject
His head drops onto Pinocchio's shoulder, drools dripping down into sweat damp fur, his entire body only seems to know the pleasure being wrought through him and the shape of Pinocchio's cock. Pinocchio seems to take as he pleases and Wriothesley is nothing but ecstatic to offer it to them.
Their refusal to let him seek pleasure in any other way is almost humorous. He doesn't need anymore than whatever the beast gives him. He comes with a broken sob again, spilling more of his seed onto sheets. Every thrust and every bite is only fuel to his arousal and Wriothesley wonders how many times he might come before he's either milked dry or before Pinocchio is fully sated.
When he'll be fully sated himself.]
no subject
It's impossible for him to gauge how long it is before he finally feels orgasm approach. In the interim, he has brought him back down to the debauched bed, has flipped him onto his back to hilt himself into Wriothesley again, his knees pushed up towards his generous chest. Wriothesley's long hair fans out behind his broad shoulders like a pale corona, the tufted fur over his chest and around his neckline clumped together with sweat.
He has him by the legs, just behind the knees, each pounding thrust clapping into his seat so roughly that Wriothesley's heels bounce off the backs of the puppet's shoulders each and every time. Sweat drips from him, but not from Pinocchio, whose pants and growls emit from lips parted around sharpened canines, wolfish ears pricked to catch every moan. ]
no subject
P-Pinocchio... [He doesn't even know if he can feel pleasure so much his body just accepting what the puppet will give him. He's soaked in sweat, his pheromones heavy in the air, as though to entice the other to breed him full.
He writhes a little, shaky hands trying to reach out to them.] C-Come on...fill me up.