by Ze Blitzkrieg » Fri Aug 30, 2024 11:53 am
There's a genuine satisfaction to be had in lounging against Rover following his very vigorous release. His touch is just that much more loving now that he's no longer clouded by his lusts for you, and you find your girls treated to a much kinder fondling as you tilt your head around and press your muzzle up into his own. The gesture seems to take him by surprise somewhat, but once the initial shock wears off, you find he happily returns the gesture, your tongues working against each other in a long, deep, affectionate kiss that brings a tender end to your little quickie in the fields.
Or it would have if you hadn't denied yourself a good dicking. Your pussy practically thrums in frustration from a mixture of the very arousing acts you've just taken part in and the scent of Rover's Riolu recipe clinging to your lower half. The near euphoric rush you get when you scoop up some of his seed with your fingers and give it a taste certainly doesn't help, and it's with a level of smokiness that you deliver your request to the dazed Fighting-type, who only just begins to sit up by the time you flash him a look at your needy pussy.
"I... Well... Of course not, no," He almost seems saddened by the idea that you thought he might leave you unattended, though your request for a little extra does cause him to flush somewhat, "I... I could help, yes."
You can't help but notice his red hues zeroing in on the pussy he had been denied earlier, his tongue rolling around the outside of his lip as he does. How conflicted he feels about lapping up his own cum is somewhat hard to figure, with how hungrily he stares at your sex. It must not be enough to impede him, though, as he slowly clamors to his knees and crawls across the grass to you, stopping once he's managed to settle between your spread legs.
The strong paws you had become accustomed to find their way to your legs after a moment of consideration, and leaning into one of those thick thighs he loves so much, Rover gulps before laying out his tongue and dragging it up and along the fluff of your inner thigh, until the tip of it intersects with one of the fat ropes he had blown only moments earlier. You can't help but wonder if he's ever done something like this before—been on the receiving end of his own plentiful seed—as he retracts the wad of cum into his maw and tenses just a little. A quick look up at your face and an audible swallow later, and he quickly descends back down to your thigh.
What follows is simultaneously empowering and absolutely knee-weakening. Bit by bit, lick by lick, Rover cleans up after himself with a laser-like precision. You can only lean back and bask in it all as he laps his mess away one flick of the tongue at a time, starting with the wispier strands down near your knees and working his way far enough up to the epicenter of his load near your sex where the cum is thick enough that he has to gulp after every few drags just to clear his mouth. He seems a little on the reserved side, so it's hard to say for certain, but you can only imagine the number of townsfolk who would want a little roll around the meadows with Rover if they knew what sort of heat he was packing. How many of the pretty young 'mon of Burrowton got to enjoy his manly flavor? However many, he could certainly count himself among them after you were finished with him.
His loving little licks make their way very poignantly around your sex, however, as he proves himself a very good boy indeed. He doesn't stop his tongue work until he clamors up your body and buries his face between your breasts, suckling up the last of his load as it had landed. And then, looking up at you through lidded, bashful eyes, he works his way back down and down and down until you feel his head sink between your legs. The heat of his breath against your folds is almost too much, but however good it felt, it pales in comparison to what comes next. He drags his tongue, long and hot and wet as it is, along the whole length of your sex, sending shivers up your spine. He repeats the measure once, then twice, and a third time for good measure, his tip flicking against your hardened bud as he reaches the apex of his strokes. Then, clearly satisfied he had gotten you used to his touch, he reaches around to grasp you about the hips and pulls you just forward enough to bury his face entirely beneath your thighs to begin eating you out in earnest, his messy slurping only matched by the quick, involuntary gasps that follow you learning just how long his tongue really was when put to proper use.