Cums repeatedly from the boggart

Her cunt clenches around the frigid phallus, the contraction a violent, desperate spasm. The pleasure was not a gentle wave but a tsunami, a crushing force that stole her breath and fractured her vision. It was a pleasure born of pain, of fear, of a complete and utter surrender to the impossible. The orgasm ripped through her, leaving her shaking and gasping, her body a conduit for the overwhelming sensation.

Tlyer roared, a sound of pure, primal victory, as he watched her convulse around the boggart's cock. His own release erupted, hot and thick, splattering across her face and breasts, a stark, visceral contrast to the deep, internal cold. He stroked himself through the aftershocks, milking every last drop of his pleasure from the sight of her undoing.

Cleo would have collapsed, her body spent and trembling, but the dementor held her upright, its grip unyielding. But it didn't stop. It continued its relentless, icy rhythm, its own rattle growing louder, more insistent. The cold was no longer a shock but a constant, a reality she was forced to inhabit.

And then it happened again. Another orgasm, even more intense than the last, tore through her. Her mind went blank, a white void of sensation. She was nothing but a body, a vessel for pleasure and pain, a plaything for the whims of a man and a monster. The line between agony and ecstasy had blurred, then dissolved completely, leaving her in a state of perpetual, excruciating bliss.

She didn't know how long it lasted. Time had lost its meaning, reduced to the endless, rhythmic collision of cold and heat, of fear and surrender. She came again, and again, each orgasm a fresh wave of devastation, erasing another piece of the girl she used to be, leaving only the whore in her place.

Finally, with a deep, guttural rattle that shook the very foundations of the room, the boggart thrust into her one last time, its cold, dead seed flooding her womb, a final, chilling mark of its possession. The creature then dissolved, not into a wisp of smoke, but into a wave of pure, unadulterated cold that washed over her, leaving her shivering and empty on the bed.

https://www.patreon.com/JasonMaster