Oh, hi! Back again, with a little art inspired comment porn - a "caption" to your lovely illustration, you might say.
(Needless to say, this contains bestiality.)
~~
His back hurt.
That feeling was trying to assert itself over the pain in his behind. The werewolf lay heavy on his back, his swollen knot locked inside Snape, stretching him to a point that was almost unbearable. But he had to bear it, didn't he? He had no choice. He was trapped, tied to the wolf until the great beast was done with him. Done breeding him.
Snape slowly lowered his shoulders to the ground, bending his elbows and resting his cheek in the dirt. The movement, careful though it was, made his back muscles jerk in protest. The wolf, perhaps sensing his discomfort, unwrapped his front legs from Snape's waist and planted his paws firmly on the ground, taking most of the weight off Snape's back. Merlin knew he was tall enough.
They stayed quiet and still in the forest, the light of the moon turning everything around them shades of grey. The wolf panted softly, occasionally sniffing the night air, and each breath moved his cock slightly, sending sparks of fresh pain through Snape's body as his tortured hole threatened to tear open. Snape tried to relax, to let the pain disperse through his body, to let it become pleasure.
He could feel the wolf's seed flooding him. The wolf's higher body temperature made each spurt of come known to Snape's insides. It seemed as though the flow would never end, and he imagined his belly was actually swelling with the wolf's gift.
Finally, when he was almost dozing, the wolf shifted. Pain came in waves as the wolf dismounted, pulling his shrinking, but still over-sized knot from Snape's body with a slow, sucking sound. Snape flinched at the sudden empty sensation, and moaned as he felt rivulets of the wolf's seed running down his legs. He tried to squeeze his numb hole closed, but the muscles couldn't obey, and he remained open, empty, and feeling somehow desolate.
He looked back at the wolf, afraid to move, afraid the wolf would leave him. But the wolf wasn't going away. He stared at Snape for a moment as though evaluating him, then came forward, and started to clean him. The warm, slightly rough tongue lapped his thighs, cleaned the back of his sack, then moved to his gaping hole. Snape shivered as the tormented tissue protested, then the pain receded as the strong tongue laved and soothed, massaging the muscles. Soon that long tongue was inside, pushing deep, cleaning him, stroking him, caring for him.
Snape moaned softly as he felt his hole gradually close, twitching under the wolf's ministrations. Then the wolf was licking his bollocks, and his cock - which had gone limp during the breeding - started to come to life. Again and again the wolf's tongue wound around his cock, and when he took Snape's bollocks into his mouth, biting oh-so-gently, Snape nearly swooned. In minutes, he was climaxing, pouring forth his come for his beastly lover.
Spent, exhausted, Snape stayed, face pressed to the dirt, arse in the air, waiting for a sign from the wolf that he might rise. He was the werewolf's bitch, now, and never had anything felt so right.
(Needless to say, this contains bestiality.)
His back hurt.
That feeling was trying to assert itself over the pain in his behind. The werewolf lay heavy on his back, his swollen knot locked inside Snape, stretching him to a point that was almost unbearable. But he had to bear it, didn't he? He had no choice. He was trapped, tied to the wolf until the great beast was done with him. Done breeding him.
Snape slowly lowered his shoulders to the ground, bending his elbows and resting his cheek in the dirt. The movement, careful though it was, made his back muscles jerk in protest. The wolf, perhaps sensing his discomfort, unwrapped his front legs from Snape's waist and planted his paws firmly on the ground, taking most of the weight off Snape's back. Merlin knew he was tall enough.
They stayed quiet and still in the forest, the light of the moon turning everything around them shades of grey. The wolf panted softly, occasionally sniffing the night air, and each breath moved his cock slightly, sending sparks of fresh pain through Snape's body as his tortured hole threatened to tear open. Snape tried to relax, to let the pain disperse through his body, to let it become pleasure.
He could feel the wolf's seed flooding him. The wolf's higher body temperature made each spurt of come known to Snape's insides. It seemed as though the flow would never end, and he imagined his belly was actually swelling with the wolf's gift.
Finally, when he was almost dozing, the wolf shifted. Pain came in waves as the wolf dismounted, pulling his shrinking, but still over-sized knot from Snape's body with a slow, sucking sound. Snape flinched at the sudden empty sensation, and moaned as he felt rivulets of the wolf's seed running down his legs. He tried to squeeze his numb hole closed, but the muscles couldn't obey, and he remained open, empty, and feeling somehow desolate.
He looked back at the wolf, afraid to move, afraid the wolf would leave him. But the wolf wasn't going away. He stared at Snape for a moment as though evaluating him, then came forward, and started to clean him. The warm, slightly rough tongue lapped his thighs, cleaned the back of his sack, then moved to his gaping hole. Snape shivered as the tormented tissue protested, then the pain receded as the strong tongue laved and soothed, massaging the muscles. Soon that long tongue was inside, pushing deep, cleaning him, stroking him, caring for him.
Snape moaned softly as he felt his hole gradually close, twitching under the wolf's ministrations. Then the wolf was licking his bollocks, and his cock - which had gone limp during the breeding - started to come to life. Again and again the wolf's tongue wound around his cock, and when he took Snape's bollocks into his mouth, biting oh-so-gently, Snape nearly swooned. In minutes, he was climaxing, pouring forth his come for his beastly lover.
Spent, exhausted, Snape stayed, face pressed to the dirt, arse in the air, waiting for a sign from the wolf that he might rise. He was the werewolf's bitch, now, and never had anything felt so right.