Well... Tongues *do* sound nice...

A deep and consumptive heat radiates through my abdomen and climbs its way upwards until the chitin covering my entrance slides itself to the side unbidden. A shiver works itself from the tips of my antennae down to my toes, curling in the sod, and my voice comes from me more breathless than I'd prefer, heat rising to my face tinting my vision a Carnachian yellow as I hear myself "W-well... you do make a good point."

Almost the moment the words are out of my mouth it seems like a dozen of the diminutive creatures are around me, one grasping each of my lower hands and guiding me towards the peak of the hill, while others return to the side of the injured warrior, probably to nurse his wounds further. Such matters are not so relevant right now, even as a needful heat burns away at my loins the crawling skittering feeling of filth begins to chew away at me, but even that slowly dawning sensory nightmare is short-lived when I reach the summit, for what these diminutive creatures have here was surely worth dying for in this hostile place.

A veritable oasis in the desert, a calm in the storm, a miniature valley in-between about a dozen large hills. The area has its own miniature version of the jungle surrounding it, with a massive pool of crystal clear water at its center, surrounded by trees bearing low hanging fruit and berry-laden vines, flowers covering most everything, colorful and colorless alike. There is a scar within the beauty, on the side opposite, where a few trees were felled and much of the growth is battered or crushed, but it bears signs of tending. My little guides lead me to a place of soft and lush vegetation, and looking around i find myself surrounded by over a dozen of the creatures, as one of those holding my hand pats what looks suspiciously like a bed formed of thick dark moss, and another comes around a tree with a carved wooden bucket full of that crystalline water.

The throng that's formed around me are all in various shades of soft brown fur, with occasional patches of black or white. The one in front of me, patting the bed of moss has a particularly large black spot over one of her eyes

Race: Tier I Dogbold

Sex: Female

Name: Virika

HP: 4

Str: 3

End: 2

Agi: 9

Wis: 2

Int: 2

Cha: 11

Her voice is a higher pitch than khergud's, but in the way you'd expect of some sort of singer - "please kneel for us." as I tilt my head towards the bucket but before i can speak she says "water to keep our mouths fresh, we won't wet your wings." and with the last bit of trepidation slaughtered like a lamb I drop to my knees on the bed of thick plush moss, and they begin swiftly.

Virika begins at my chest, her surprisingly long tongue, longer than her snout by at least half a foot, slides across the carapace of my chest, up the subtle curves of my breasts, clearing blood from me and sending a shiver through me as her compatriots get to work on the other parts of my body, one leans up upon the very tips of his toes to reach the left side of my throat, more work in pairs to slither their tongues along the grooves and ridges of each of my hands, encircling my fingers and working over them reverently. They take from me the filth of blood and mud, of plant and viscera, then cleanse themselves with the sparkling crystaline water they've gathered and then return to defile themselves further for me.

One of them, a male with a white mask of fur over both eyes kneels between my legs and laps his tongue ever so close to my quivering quim, cleaning the plates that covered it, licking at everything else between my thighs as two more of them approach me from behind. He laps his tongue around my entrance, focusing first on the section of chitin that once covered my femininity, getting his nimble tongue around and beneath one side of it, and then the other, the warmth of his tongue piercing through my chitinous plating. His tongue grows closer to my entrance but never presses that warmth directly against it, teasing its way up one thigh and then down the other.

The two who went behind me gently grasp at my wings and carefully lick the grime from them, their tongues as gentle as butterflies, gathering up the smallest bits and only ever vaguely caressing the sensitive membranes they so diligently cleanse, freeing more of my senses, letting me hear the subtle whines and whimpers of the pack around me, filled with yearning and need, keening and high pitched. The diminutive little creatures surround me on all sides, their group-lust reaching some sort of fevered pitch, tongues of different lengths lapping away at my grooves of my fingers and toes, others take care of my arms, and each hand inevitable strokes between the ears of those who clean them so diligently.

The pair that were taking such delicate care of my wings move downwards, one's face is drawn towards my ass beneath my abdomen, and the other is drawn to the abdomen itself, desperately cleaning the curved extremity, their their tongue only slowing down when near one of the spiracles and, near the end of their journey when they get to the barbed stinger. Their companion continues licking and rubbing his face against my cheeks until I move my lower right hand back to him "I think that area is clean enough, no?" Their oversized eyes blink up at me in a panic for a moment before they calm themselves enough to say "But... it could be... shinier?"

The thought of the sheen of my ass dazzling a mate sent a tingling thrill through my system, so I shove his face back between my cheeks "get back to work".

My stinger finally reenters its sheath and a moment later the dogbold who had been cleaning it raises bits of venom-dripping meat and I take it into my mouth and am hit with a wave of pleasure, these smalls scraps of meat filled with far more of that strange sweetness than even the beasts hart was, the unexpected sensation sending me over the edge of a cliff of ravenous lust, my brilliant wings pulse dark tones as I writhe, my quim spraying a thin jelly like substance all over that white-masked face, the thick scent of pheromones' marking him and staining him with my scent.

Virika drops to her knees and attempts to rush my vagina even as i spray her face, but the white masked male is apparently rather territorial, pushing and growling at her to get her away from his prize, which he quickly latches onto, pushing his tongue deep into me. The sudden deep warmth and pressure only intensifies my orgasm my sight going such a deep yellow that it stains my vision.

Virika rises up as much as she can to reach my mouthparts with her tongue, she laps at my mouthparts, my tubular tongue extending to meet hers of its own will. Her mouth tastes of hints of blood, and an odd tangy sourness, but overwhelming that is my own sickly-sweet flavor, the taste of my own nectar drives me forward, wrapping my tongue around hers and forcing hers down my throat, her small barely fitting between my mouthparts even at full extension.

I lean my head downwards, allowing Virika to lap at the insides of my mouth and throat at her own pace as I explore her mouth with my own tongue, though there's little to find beyond some small teeth and more of that sour taste.

The white masked kobold, presses his mouth open wide against my pubic area and pushes his tongue into me again, I squeeze against him so tightly his mouth is pulled even tighter against me. My pussy strokes and glides over his tongue, massaging at his tastebuds as he tries to wiggle the tip of his tongue, or grind it between cilia. Every now and again his tongue just manages to glance against that gate within me, igniting a brief yet brilliant spark through me and sending another short burst of nectar into his mouth.

Khergud knew what he was doing, suggesting this. I might be able to live without daily tongue baths, but by the mother gods would it be hard.

By this point, excepting the pair that are taking this opportunity to clean my head, most of them are either polishing my chitin or worshipping me. All the parts of me I can see sparkle in the last dregs of light, even the backs of the hands gently massaging dogbold scalps.

After what feels like a small, blissful eternity of tongues pressing against the back of my throat and the gate of my womb, and polishing every inch of my carapace to a brilliant sheen, I release the dogbold below me from my depths and the pack eventually scatters from my shaking form. When a few minutes later my legs are stable enough to put beneath me I slowly rise and walk at a leisurely pace to the crystal clear lake below, where I drink my fill of the cool, unnaturally refreshing water.