Cunt full of dementor cock as she get fucks harder

She felt the dementor picks up the pace. The slow, glacial pressure gave way to a rhythmic, punishing rhythm. Each withdrawal was a new shock of cold against her overheated flesh, each thrust a deep, hollowing invasion that seemed to reach her very center.

The creature's skeletal hands on her hips were the only point of warmth in her world, and even that was a cruel illusion, a phantom heat that only highlighted the absolute zero of its cock. The wet, sucking sounds of its movements were an obscene counterpoint to the rattle of its breath, a soundtrack to her undoing. "So tight... even for a whore." Tlyer grunt as he jerked himself.

Her body was no longer her own. It was a vessel, a conduit for this strange, terrifying union of fear and lust. The cold had seeped so deeply that it had begun to feel like a kind of heat, a burning numbness that made her skin feel tight and stretched over her bones. She could feel the dementor's cock hitting a spot inside her that sent a jolt of pure, white-hot agony through her, a sensation so intense it was almost pleasurable.

Tlyer was transfixed, his eyes glued to the point where the dementor's obsidian phallus disappeared into her body. He stroked himself with a slow, deliberate hand, his gaze hungry and possessive. "You see that?" he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "That's what I paid for. That's fear, and it's beautiful." He tap the spot where the boggart fat cock is pressing from.

Her world had shrunk to the relentless, icy rhythm, the pain in her nipples, and the sight of Tlyer's face, twisted in a mask of grotesque pleasure. She was an observer in her own violation, a disembodied spirit watching a slut named Cleo get fucked by a monster.

And in that moment of disassociation, a strange thing happened. The fear, her constant companion, began to recede. It didn't disappear, but it became background noise, a dull hum beneath the cacophony of sensation.

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