Monere [Mythos] - Rosey Gold

 

Summary | Large as they may be, they still desire to be pampered and bound
Characters |  Petrichor the charlotte lycanthrope
Contents | BDSM bondage, size difference, hand job, fingering, fisting
Length | 1,884w

Beneath the amber warmth the lycanthrope breathes.

Though well bound beneath a satin mask, they are still more than aware of their surrounds as their body lies behold in dusk's wake. In a balance precarious, the flex of their dorsals moves them every so slight on the metal beam beneath their shins - pulled into a crouch as tie straps yield their thighs beside the thickness of their lowered abdomen. Their body shifts with every deep of their resound, controlled as they await a return, tendered as they can do naught but wait as a ring hold their mouth agape.

Footsteps paced along the old floors, a hand meets the softness of their exposed stomach, the flex of their pedipalps tugged by the ropes that hold them squeezed.

"There we go," the voice mewls as a hand holds beneath their heavy girth, lifting it arm over hand as the lycanthrope's muscles draw their pelvic muscles taut. About just the size of their arm, the foreskin rests against their shoulder as another hand strokes, petting the slick of lubricant base to head and draws a sigh to yield. "Hold still, foul beast," the voice coos, laying a kiss upon the golden girth, "in time I'll take care …" their hand they all so favors finds the metal, and pulls short.

Unable to deny, the spider form lycanthrope groans, and wiggles in their restraints. Their lower abdomen teased as the chain returns to its place beneath their massive thighs, led down between the nest of their spinnerets as the bulge lies beneath. Coveted by the thick white fur as the peak of golden flesh cradles the metal round.

But their attention neither returns there for long as the hands clad in rubber gloves returns to their meat - stroking thick and wet as the dominant grips the knotting swell. From tip to base their hands stroke powerful and strong, attentive to the wiggles of the restrained pedipalps as they lean into the lycanthrope, delivering a kiss as a wet palm grips their balls. Fondled, kissed, sucked upon the tender parts, Petrichor groans open and wide before tousling their thick neck as their bound secondaries hold over the blinds.

"Good, that's it, lean into me," breathes upon a soaked pedipalps, sucked once more as a wet hand feels the glans resting over their shoulder. "Relax for me, that's it," praises beneath slicken pleads, taunting the sensitive restraint of the lycanthrope as a finger presses at the glan's divot.

Though not more than a teasing prelude, Petrichor still breathes for the prospect of more. Guttural in their pleasure as the hands cup around the girth of their erection, pleading it tight and drawn till they only remain upon the soft of the foreskin - kissed to depart as pre drools between the dual hand strokes.

They wander further down - following the lead of the chain.

Pulling it back from the beam, it makes the lycanthrope groan and their talons to curl. The rattle of metal upon metal briefly echoes in the quiet of the barn, muffled by the lycan's full body sigh as the dorsal claws grip desperately to the wall behind them. A yearning the doesn't go unnoticed as a hand returns to their glans, kissed as the end of their lowered abdomen is -made- to follow by the swallowed metal.

Though the tail junction makes it more than heavy, Petrichor lifts it upwards all the same as they try to rest against the wall - their dorsals too thick to find easy comfort as a block is moved to rest beneath it. It props them further against the wall, crammed by their restraints as the tie down between the armor of their knees squeeze tight. As they breathe, deep and guttural, a sound breaks fast as the hook is gestures back - taunting their muscles to give as they reflexively squeeze.

"Comfortable?" the voice asks as the lower abdomen is crested upon a wooden stump, lifted from the ground to where the clasp can drag along the concrete form.

Petrichor huffs, their pedipalps gesturing to the strap between their legs.

"Need me to move it?"

The lycanthrope nods.

So it is done - moved from between to above as the leading strap is pulled from their legs and wrapped over their thighs, pulling them more complete against the sturdy metal beam. "How's this?" And Petrichor answers with a nod - rewarded with a kiss upon their golden foreskin. "Good, want you to be safely secured," more than well aware of the delicate balance of the lycanthrope's weight. "Are you ready?" The voice dances as the hands meet the metal swollen, letting lubricant drool around the tender golden that holds it all in place.

As the spinneret large and small twitches, Petrichor breathes a gentle sigh - letting muscles relax into the wet latex touch. And nods.

"I'm going to move it slowly," the voice coos as a hand takes the neck of the hook, turning it to one side as the spinneret twitch. "Just relax for me," breathes as a mouth meets the head of the lycanthrope's dick, kissing the drooling glans as the hook's bulge presses for release. "That's it, breathe for me," and a latex clad hand holds against the slicken gold muscle, leverage made as they continue to kiss, guiding until the large metal ball finally pops from Petrichor's hole.

Discarded, the anal hook finds audible rest upon the floor.

"It’s so hungry," the voice teases, hand already finding grip in the stretched out muscle, petting the reflexive clenches. "Such a greedy hole," dances with a smile, thumbs easily spreading the golden hole, "it wants something, doesn't it, Petri? I don't think just anything will do, now will it."

Above, the lycanthrope sighs, leaning into the touches upon their wanton hole, rumbling deep as their voice remains taken by the ring gag that continues to hold them agape - but not more shape than they are below.

Two hands take charge in tending to the tender gold, petting against the entrance glans for the lycanthrope's silk, kissing the smallest of the fuzzy twitches that desire for attention more. A chuckle lingers, dancing as the pre drools not too far over the fondled golden, "if only you could fit inside," a hand wanders, reaching up to the yearning cock to place another kiss into the rest of the foreskin. "Nothing less larger than a hand would do, now won't it?"

Above, the lycanthrope's mouth drools endless over the gag. The white of their mouth parts split by the gold of tiny teeth, a hole just a slight more shape than they are below. Wiggling with the prospect, eager to be filled once more in the absence of the anal hook, Petrichor chips. Twice more as the restraint to their limb is put under strain, shifted as their dorsals curl up upon the wall in their packaging binds made of yellow and pink.

Thumbs caress the stretched muscles to gape, gripping to spread them wide as moment by moment the lycanthrope eases them to lax - fulfilled as the lubricant wanders deeper, making them shiver as the slicken gloves follow in pursuit. Gilding in guidance, one to another begins the active spread, a rhythm first marked by the gentle stroke of fingers at the inner restraint, upon the ring of muscles still yet unready to yield until a flat joint of fingers mark their place.

Kissing once more, a distraction duels from end to end as deeper the black latex find between the golden. Four fingers into five, a gentle sawing motion shifts to slope as one hand pushes the end of the lower abdomen against the wood as the other fulfills - thrusting from just knuckles to entire hand. "What a greedy hole you have," laughs with a smile, noise slickened as the hands retreats - to allow the other to make its place, "it's just sucking my arm in," coos, kissing upon their hooded glans. "Will it want just my hand, or will it take my entire arm?"

Petrichor wiggles, groaning once more as they're stretched around the latex. Where a mark of gasps continue to shift, hums that resound with every slicken thrust as golden swallows their dominant's limb. For more, wanton, they do their best to arch into the thrusts that shake their lower abdomen, moans loud in their proclaim and gasp that mark each sudden expand of their toyed with hole. Their voice, long broken by the open gag, pleads as their erection drools, needy as each full strength thrust journeys deeper into their innards.

Gasps that have been long broken waver as the pressure suddenly subsides - shivering as their body gapes.

"What a beautiful hole," the voice sighs, thumbs holding deep against the weakened clenches, "it's just beckoning me to fill it, so fucking greedy," flourishes with a smile, spreading deeper - pulling it wide even as further the muscles press lubricant to pool.

There's a shift, and an arm yanks the end of the lycanthrope's lower abdomen between an arm and chest, cradling into place. A single hand spreads open the weakened and weary hole, petting it as muscles flex. "There we go," the voice purrs, more than aware of where the head now rests against their back where pre splatters over fur and skin. "Ready?" Their hand lingers, spreading the flood of lube down into the golden hole.

Leaning in, reveling with a loud rumbling chip, Petrichor's spinneret spread.

 

Given the gold - the latex delves once more. Thrusts firm and strong curl into the lycanthrope's innards as the fist curls into the crest, fingers joint in their efforts as above Petrichor groans, rumbling deep as the wet slips make a choir in the forgotten barn. Overtly noisy, slickening muscles to give well against the limber limb, the moist pops and wet gasps make the lycanthrope shiver in the barrage, filled again and again. Again and again as the wet of the lube sticks to their fur, as webbing material sticks against the glove before attention is turned to the stimulated glans that is pressed with every deep thrust.

Their voice is guttural, shifting as the dominant moves again, straddling their lower anatomy, sitting upon their lower abdomen and exploring deeper as their back bend in a strain, twitching against the bent over spine as thrusts move elbow deep.

For someone their size - it's a remarkable sensation.

For much further, their breathing heaves, their body twitches as they press their aching balls against the metal beam in desire to rut against the spine as once again there is the succinct pop of flesh gaping once more, spread open and wide. With not less than a shiver that remains before it's sated once more - filled to the brim as they ache. Remarking with a deep groan, an open gasp, the lycanthrope becomes undone.

Releasing the heave as their pelvis muscles contract, sputtering thick white upon the dominant's back as their spinnerets spindle and grip the intruding limb. It pulls them just ever so slightly deeper, to fulfill until the last of their orgasm remains.

One of many more, they chatter in the lingering quiet, still sensitive as ever as the hand retreats. For now.