Whilst The Boys Had Their Fun...

A burning anger had made its home in the corrupted otters heaving chest. The resentment for her newly turned comrade was palpable in every heated breath she took. Standing over the **** form of the once imposing Milotic, the Oshawott found little cause for celebration.. It had been a surprise, and a pleasant one at that, for the lean cat to simply watch on as the two ferals overwhelmed the seasoned warrior. There had been the expectation of a larger confrontation, a united front against her and the Vaporeon she had awakened to the truth. Instead she was given a rather one sided bout and a curiously willing morsel ripe for the taking.

Yet she was not the one who would get to enjoy her fairly won prize. That damned fox… The one she had tricked into a false assumption of safety when at last they were alone. The one that had tried to scream out for help even as she smothered him with her sopping, corruption laced pussy. The one she had assumed would know his place beneath his maker… Conversely, and infuriatingly, he instead saw fit to defy her; dared to deny her so tantalizing a meal after all she had done for him! Now she watched in silent anger as he smooshed his smooth pelvis against the stupid cat, no doubt in preparation for some lewd act to follow. The thought of him wasting his lust on a weakling instead of devouring it like the snack it was would finally bring the Oshawott to turn away in disgust.

Looking back to her own challenging trial that her rebellious ally had so ‘kindly’ granted her, she gazed mournfully at the mountain of a woman. Even with her newfound, near limitless desire for sustenance, it was quite a stretch of her hazy mind to imagine fitting all of the chieftain into her petite belly. The Milotic easily came in at twice her standing height, and as dearly as she wished to claim that ancient, finely toned form as her meal, even the half crazed otter had to recognize the impossibility of the task.

The sounds of slickened flesh and **** draw her attention away from the slumbering elder and the obstacle she presents. She is irritated, though unsurprised, to see her pupil **** feeding his tapered cock to the cat snack. The Vaporeon continues his firm thrusts in spite of the obvious difficulty the captured feline is having. It's pathetic whimpers, of which the infected otter takes a modicum of sadistic satisfaction, do little to quell the fury still bubbling up within the woman. When at last she can no longer play voyeur to the shameless hedonism, the woman turns violently in a fit of frustration, venting her anger with a blind kick that clips Lyra’s lower calf.

The resulting grunt of discomfort from the slumbering giant is enough to set the fur bristling at the back of the otter's neck. Fear had been a foreign concept since her ‘enlightenment,’ but it would be a falsehood to deny that a primal dread briefly washed over the young woman as thoughts of the titan awakening for a second round took hold. She was confident in her newfound superiority over the former chieftain of course, but the difference in stature couldn’t be ignored. Once again she was faced with the task of how to dispose of this imminent threat to the coming age.

The answer would come in the form of the previously struck leg gently sliding across the wet floorboards. Under the **** woman’s instinctive will, perhaps in response to the slight bruise left by Jona’s tantrum, her affected leg retreats from the source of discomfort. A thin crease at the edge of her lips would grow into a wicked smirk as the feral watch the Milotic’s legs part, revealing an alternative path to ensure the dangerous woman would never trouble her or any of her infected brethren ever again. With devious fantasies swirling about her fractured psyche, Jona would pad leisurely between the two muscled limbs, her stride only coming to a halt when she stood just before the sleeping woman’s exposed mound.

The powerful blow and following tumble had left most of the woman's loincloth upturned and woefully incapable of protecting Lyra’s decency from any wandering eyes. The otter's eyes were anything but wandering, however, as she scrutinized the lewd sight with shameless intent. The graceless plapping of oral violation to her rear made the woman’s grin grow all the wider. Despite the Vaporeon's treachery, one that she had every intent of repaying in kind, the foolish male may have had the right of it. Lowering herself neatly between the mountainous thighs of her prey, the feral would come to a soft, kneeling rest; her nose just inches from the **** nethers beyond. A deep inhale would soon emanate from within that indecent valley.

If she couldn’t claim the worldly woman physically…

Drool would begin to spill from the crazed otters' predatory smile as her imagination out paced her actions. Another intake of the rich, feminine scent would cause the dam of lust and wanton desire to burst completely, propelling the Oshawott forward to drive her muzzle deep into the wettening lips with such **** that their owner might have awoken that instant were it not for the exhaustive fight from earlier. If caution was ever a factor prior to her invasion of the older woman's privates, Jona had surely abandoned what little was left as her first few laps at Lyra’s entrance only fueled her ravenous ****. The Oshawott’s tongue delved further into the vast sea of pink before her, waves of the Milotic’s juices soon slickening her face in return for the unsolicited pleasure. Back and forth the comparatively small strip of flesh danced within the Elder pokemon’s tunnel, only occasionally withdrawing to tease at the quivering nub of her clit. The accompanying spasms each time the little nub was attacked threatened to snap the behemoth's legs shut, trapping the smaller water pokemon between them.

Any worry this might have caused the otter was dismissed when at last she caught the subtle whisper of a moan from above, exactly as she had planned. With one more lustful nip at the now fully drenched crevasse, markedly more aggressive than its predecessors, a smug infected Jona would rise to look upon her work with pride. The limp form of the once great Lyra laid there still, though now her unknowing arousal was clear for all to see. The woman had a fine layer of beaded sweat collecting about her belly, her chest heaved from the ragged breaths she now drew, the nipples of each teat clearly hard beneath the thin fabric atop. The Milotics face was the very image of burning passion as her nostrils flared from each inhale and her already creamy cheeks now burned a bright scarlet. The Oshawott noted with some annoyance, however, that Lyra’s maw stubbornly remained shut, and that wouldn’t do for Jona.

Not. One. Bit.

Emboldened that her molestation had done nothing to rouse the chieftain from her rest, the seafaring pokemon would plant one hindpaw upon the pubic mound of her captive, giving it a firm stamp to further test the limits. As expected, the matron mother grunted in disapproval at the rough treatment, but was lulled back beneath the waves of bliss Jona offered as the petite paw began to stroke across the whole of the pre-soaked pussy. The sensation sliding across her arch tickled a bit, but Jona was the one in control here and quickly repressed the urge to giggle as her paw continued its massage. The moans would begin in earnest now, as the otter switched up her approach to keep her toy guessing. She would drop a heel into the vaginal opening to grind it against the inner walls, only to reward Lyra’s blissful murmurs with a savage stomp, mixing pain with pleasure to finally get what she was after.

A few more moments of the rough treatment would ultimately draw back the Milotic's mouth in a wide moan, tongue lolling out and presenting Jona with the opening she needed. With one final pinch to the clit trapped between her toes, the feral would put her full weight onto the sensitive flesh, stepping up and atop the groaning woman, confident that her plaything could take the ****. Correct in her assessment, the aged woman did not stir from her pleasant dreams, nor did that oh so tempting maw close even an inch as Jona stalked further, her one soaked paw leaving a lewd sign of her passing. Her steps brought her beyond the sunken pelvis, past the quivering belly and straight on through the valley of chest flesh toward her target. The thought to stamp down on one of the generous breasts as she made her way had occurred to the younger woman. She would decide against it in the end, as the risk was not with the reward. Already realizing the fantasy of having the domineering older woman beneath HER for a change already had Jona more than sufficiently dripping for what came next.

A dainty hop would carry the infected from Lyra’s shoulders to land with one leg on either side of the unresponsive woman's face. Jona would linger there for a while, taking a rare pleasure from the warm puffs of air each exhalation brought. The steamy gusts would draw the marine ‘mons hands back to her own opening, fingers darting in and out to prepare the pot for its new seat. Carnal screams from behind told the girl that her foxy counterpart had likely just added the should-be snack to the growing feral horde. She scoffs again at the idea of anointing the weak with such a gift. The coming dawn required strength and those able to wield it. Her own contribution to the cause would far surpass anything that feline whelp could hope to deliver.

Delusions of grandeur fresh in her addled head, the Oshawott wasted not one second more before dropping to her knees within the welcoming maw of her conquest. The sensation of lubricated wetness, while heavenly in its own right, is second only to the immense heat now encompassing most of her lower body. A moan is shared between the two women as the feral drags the wayward serpentine tongue back into it’s owners mouth before finding a comfy spot to settle upon it. To any onlookers who dare gawk at the lascivious scene, they would spy an Oshawott girl buried up to the hip in the pointed beak of the Milotic elder with only her legs protruding from either side of the maw to straddle others droopy face. Having been denied her way for far too long, Jona would unceremoniously begin to roll her hips back and forth within the sweltering sauna, one hand atop the elder’s muzzle to keep her ride in place.

The romp was deliciously exciting from the very first gyration. Keeping the upper jaw of her prey locked in place with one hand for her sadistic bliss, Jona would use her free hand to guide her former mistress’s tongue across her own seeping pussy. The makeshift oral toy did wonders for the heat building within the otters chest. Along with each involuntary swipe of the Milotic’s tongue, Jona would fill her corrupted brain with visions of the future. About the things she would accomplish, all the pawns that could be wiped away with such power bound to her whims. These notions alone were nearly enough to drive her over the edge…

At least until her seat stopped moaning.

In her lustful haze, her body registered the lack of pleasurable vibrations before her mind could catch up to its meaning. With a snarl of vexation at yet another denial of her desire, the feral would pitch forward to find the reason for the lack of breathy vocalizations. Her purple gaze would come to a grinding halt as they met with Lyra’s sluggishly widening red orbs. Again that innate sense of foreboding plagued the ferals heart, knowing that she would have a tough go of it putting the Milotic down a second time. The first grunts of dazed confusion rippled across the otters nethers, redirecting her broken attention to the task at hand. With her fiery libido under threat of yet more denials, the feral would clamp her hands tight upon the two rosy red fins adoring the Milotic's head and redouble her lecherous efforts, humping at the sputtering maw with reckless abandon.

The raucous pace set by the wild pokemon had the added side effect of quickening Lyra’s return to the land of the lucid, the soreness of her jaw offset by the fresh pain in her sensitive crown ribbons. When at long last her eyes were able to blink away the stars and focus on the scene before, or rather atop her, a look befitting her shock would be met by the sadistic grin of her rider. Acting on instinct alone, Lyra would try to shift her considerable weight to unseat the rabid otter making use of her exposed mouth. Despite the awkward angle, Lyra would be able to get one arm beneath her to rise slightly, taking the girl along with her. Not to be bested, her former friend and ally used the empty space between Lyra and the floor to wrap her legs in a tight leg lock around the Milotic’s head. Jona reveled in the look of frantic dismay as the larger woman came to realize her mistake, using that pitiable expression to fuel the flame in her loins all the more.

“J-jooma..!” Her words, mostly garbled as they were desperately **** past the bucking pussy of her infected friend, would have little effect on their intended target. “puh-pluhays..! Oouu cand.!!”

Oh but she could, as it would turn out, as the otter used those misguided words and flapping tongue to reach new heights of sexual bliss. As the pathetic mistress of Cove Crest attempted one last plea for mercy, Jona would savagely thrust forward, pinning that sinfully delightful tongue to the roof of it’s owners mouth before tightening the crushing leg lock all the more. Even if she still had the capacity for coherent speech, Jona would have a hard time putting into words the positively indescribable feeling of rapidly swishing her light blue lady lips across the bottom of the Milotics ribbed tongue. Her screams of utter ecstasy signaled the end of the panic stricken elder as Lyra would weakly claw at the firmly entrenched feral as the first powerful spurt of corrupted juice blasted against her tongue.

She would fight the gagging urge to swallow the foreign liquid at first, clinging to the fleeting hope that she could resist until she could dismount the girl. Jona would be having none of it, however, as after the second shot of potent femcum, she would reach down to easily snatch up the trapped tongue and lean back against the Milotic’s lower jaw, still rubbing her clit against the captured flesh. With the one bulwark shielding her gullet from the torrent of otter juice, her willpower would waver for just a moment too long as her throat involuntarily contracted, dragging a fair amount of the viscous brew deep within.

Crimson eyes went wide when the newfound terror of what she had done sank in her furiously beating heart. Jona was rounding the corner on her fifth gush when the frantic elder, having thrown all sense of restraint to the wind, would catch her cheek with a wild hook. Still in the throes of her climax, there was little for the smaller woman to do than to take the hit and topple off to the side. Slightly dazed but supremely satisfied, Jona would lay casually on her back and simply ride out the last of her orgasm, watching the once great warrior chief roll to her knees as she foolishly fought the inevitable.

Lyra wretched in a blind panic upon the wetted wood of her home. No thoughts were spared for dearest Jona who had violated her so depraved a manner. None for Arro, her stalwart companion and shoulder to help bear the burdens of this world. Least of all, none for the strange feline that had come to her for aid.

No…

She could not distract herself with such trivialities. A storm was coming… One that had overwhelmed all that it had touched. All those before her, sent to a mindless abyss of hate and hunger. But she was not like those who came before… She needed every last ounce of willpower, every single scrap of mental fortitude to survive what was coming.

…And come it did.

The discordant maelstrom clashed against the foundations of her psyche, causing her to drop to the side, clutching the sides of her head that pounded with furious intent against her defiance. With gritted teeth and wrathful anger the mighty Lyra, Matron Mother of Cove Crest, sounded her rebuke with a shout that shook the very pier beneath their forms. It was enough to make Jona recoil in fear, doubts of accomplishing her task welling up within. It shook Arro from his newly minted cat toy, denying him a second climax. But most importantly, it planted seeds of resistance deep in the elders ancient heart.

Wise enough to know this **** was far from over, she would block out the pain radiating within her skull with images of those she held dear. Friends, past lovers; All those who might find safety and kindness within her warm embrace. This shield proved useful against the second withering **** on her faculties, notably dampening the fresh stinging sensation behind her tear filled eyes.

She was winning… She could..

Why do you resist?

The whisper was so soft against the chaos swirling within her beleaguered mind that she was scarcely sure she heard it. The pain was lessening now, though she would keep her stubborn vigil up to deny what tricks this plague may bring to bear. Lyra curled up into a fetal ball and strained hard to keep the next wave at bay… but it would not come. What did, would prove to be far worse..

You think you are protecting them…

The voice rang clearer now with nothing to distract from it. Lyra refused to listen to a single venomous syllable, knowing naught but disaster could come from it. With no answer forthcoming, the soft spoken voice continued to press in.

Admirable, but pointless if shown the way..

In an instant, the painful throbbing was gone as if it had never been. Taking its place was an all encompassing scree of indecipherable words, images, and notions all forcing themselves upon the exhausted woman. What paltry defenses she may have erected were nothing in the face of this cacophonous stream. Her red eyes went wide as the pain and fear assaulted her now shattered barriers, easily consuming the last of what was once known and Lyra the Milotic...

Not too much time would pass before the shell bead strands marking the elder’s home would part to reveal it’s purple eyed occupants. A healer, a champion, a stranger, and a deposed chieftain would all take stock of the small crowd now forming along the pier, eager to know what all the commotion was about. A sickening malice was shared by the pack of ferals as they eagerly bestowed their gift upon the remnants of Cove Crest…