With Mr. Porter's massive werewolf form against my back, I'm fairly certain death is inevitable. What's the point of fighting such a feral creature? I can think of nothing that would end in success.
Maybe if I fall to the fetal position, he will think me dead and find someone else to rut. But the mate bond would tell him if I was dead, so he might take the fetal as my invitation to spoon, and spooning will just end with me being taken from behind.
Resolved to accept my end, I slump my shoulders. The creature behind me lowers as well, but much lower. Warm breath precedes a long, hot tongue that laps the length of my dripping slit. Now this is sinfully worth whatever punishment I may reap from Sir. He can run that appendage along my nub anytime he wants. If you think I'm too wishy washy, maybe you are the sort of prude that can't get into tongue action.
"Down," he orders, and I obey. On hands and knees, I wait like a bitch in heat. He continues to work that magical tongue into my core. And I greedily want more, pressing my ass harder against his face. The move is foolish since he opts to raise his head and use his big, clawed hands to yank me back onto his behemoth cock that fills me.
The pounding that ensues has me certain Sir will thoroughly punish my already bruised sex. But that's for later, right now I have to focus on not being ripped in half as his length lands deep enough to cause me to shriek.
I tilt my head to bite my shoulder in order to handle the pain. I should have considered the act might draw blood, but he's the one to inform me of the mistake as he sucks the painful wound and adding another with his fangs.
The unmistakable feeling of his engorged cock's knot begins to press against my entrance. And he forces it in--every painful bit. I get no reprieve, even once it's popping into place. Well, the stimulation finally improves when the pulsing in the swell pounds my nub in such a way that my core explodes from the sensation. Like all the aged pipes in my home, I release with fury.
He moans, long and deep, a primal sound that arouses my desire. Instead of tearing me to shreds, it turns out. this werewolf is more of a puppy, cuddling as he plants his seed to breed me. I know you've probably been obsessing with what my thoughts about the status of my birth control, but it's not a good time to mention plan B. At least, not while my self-proclaimed mate still has those giant claws near my neck. They're protective of pups.
I'm relieved at the wind that brings clouds over the full moon. And frankly, the rest of my time spent with Mr. Porter isn't that impressive, he did mention public sources to contact to share the images of myself against a collapsing wall. Advice I happily added to memory in case i need to, but let's move onto the reason the largest concentration of people read this, which isn't the boring details that take place. If you really want to know what delicious treats slid down my throat or what I was doing while sending a demanding email on my phone, too bad.
