Began to rock back on the dementor cock

The movement was involuntary, a muscle memory of survival. Her hips, moving with a will of their own, began to rock back to meet the dementor's thrusts. It was a small movement at first, a subtle tilt of the pelvis, a shallow arch in her back. But the effect was immediate. The friction changed, the deep, hollowing invasion becoming a fuller, more complete possession.

The dementor responded to her participation, its rhythm becoming more forceful, more certain. The cold, which had been a constant, oppressive presence, began to feel less like a violation and more like a state of being. She was no longer being fucked by the cold; she was the cold. Her blood ran sluggish in her veins, her breath came in slow, icy puffs, and her thoughts, once a frantic jumble of terror and shame, began to crystallize into a single, clear, terrifying thought, she was starting to enjoy this.

Tlyer's eyes widened in surprise, then delight. A slow, cruel smile spread across his face. "That's it," he encouraged, his voice thick with lust. "Take it. Show me how much you want it."

His words were a key, unlocking a door she hadn't known was there. The last of her resistance crumbled, replaced by a desperate, aching need to please him, to be the whore he wanted her to be.

https://www.patreon.com/JasonMaster