Between a 'Roc and a Hard Place

Sabzi hated escort duty. Not that the lycanroc expected explorer work to be glamorous—she’d had that illusion shattered long ago—she just detested being at anyone’s beck and call. But free agents had slimmer pickings than proper teams, she liked food and shelter and gear more than she hated shitty missions, and being a generational evolutionary fluke with orange fur didn’t pay for squat. So here she was, deep in the Verdanian shadow-wilds, spending her time watching some fuckass nerd of a grovyle dig through a pre-Calamity ruin, keeping an ear out for shadows and contemplating where her life had gone all wrong.

The trip had gotten off to a bad start when that stupid overgrown weed—slow breaths, Sabzi,—when her client, Vasil, had vetoed taking the direct route across the coastal lava field. Sabzi knew the lava field well. She could feel the shift and flow of molten rock under the surface, knew where was safe, where wasn’t, had traversed it successfully countless times, and none of this had swayed him in the slightest.

So they’d taken the long way around, turning a single day’s trot into a three-day slog. Three miserable days of trudging through the underbrush, watching the grass-type reptile leap from branch to branch while her neck spikes snagged on every vine and shrub. And for what? Avoiding danger? Going that far inland wasn’t even safer, and Sabzi had the days-old wounds to prove it. The bandages were wrapped around her ribs, pale gauze standing out against her deep orange fur, a memento from when a shadow scyther had tried to bisect her and met a swift and rocky end for its troubles. The dried blood blended in better, drab rusty spots wherever the field staples and oran extract hadn’t quite been enough. Sabzi would’ve preferred no new scars, but at least she’d gotten to say “I told you so.”

If that had even done anything. If Vasil even cared. She had to believe it did, because the alternative was just depressing.

Really, it’s my fault. I knew better and I should have put my paw down, she grumbled to herself. Even now I’m still a doormat.

Their schedule continued to slip even after they got to the ruins, a mess of old stone and weathered walls that the forest hadn’t yet reclaimed. They were supposed to have left already, but her dweeb of a client was too engrossed in his research. Sabzi didn’t see what was so interesting about the place. It’d been what, nine hundred years since it was abandoned? Maybe a bit less; there had been some holdouts, though this didn’t seem like one of them. She could ask Vasil, of course, but she’d rather remodel her skull with a second rocky head spike.

The lycanroc had two main problems. The first was that their rations were running low, which was why she’d been up since just past dawn, foraging for berries and roots to extend them. The panniers slung across her back weren’t as full as she’d like, but it was something.

The other she’d identified only yesterday, and it was the cheri on top: the apothecary at the IES outpost must’ve mixed a bad batch of suppressants, because she was going into heat. Already in it and in denial about it, really. It helped explain why she’d been so grumpy, though knowing why didn’t help. If anything, it made it worse. Just what I fucking need. Already low on food, and in a few days I’ll be wasting my energy getting all gravid and popping out eggs. She couldn’t even cook them properly out here. What was she going to do, eat them raw?

Sabzi plodded out of the woods and back up the hill towards their campsite, trying to push the thoughts of cold and slimy egg out of her mind. Everything sucked enough already that she didn’t want to spend the whole day wallowing. Maybe Vasil would appreciate the fresh berries; she entertained those thoughts instead.

“Thanks for foraging, Sabzi, that’s so forward-thinking of you,” she imitated. “Thanks for saving my life, Sabzi!” “Wow, leppa berries, my favorite!” “Sorry for being an insufferable and prætentious ass!”

Well, she could dream.

It was still solidly morning when she got back to camp, early enough that she was surprised to see Vasil awake. The grovyle was standing there and watching her approach, his leaf-winged arms crossed expectantly over his red-scaled chest. Sabzi wondered what she’d done to attract his attention. Normally he preferred to study the ancient rocks, not the living, lycan-one. Maybe he was worried about her? Nah.

“Morning,” she said. “I was out foraging.”

She knew all her imaginings were fantastical, but she really didn’t expect Vasil’s first words to her today to be “Where have you been? We’re leaving.”

Just like him to ask a question she’d already answered. Sabzi suppressed an eyeroll and ignored it. Leaving was great news, but also, “What? Since when?”

“Since this morning,” he said, in that reedy voice she’d come to find so grating. “We’re running out of food.”

“Yes, I know,” she said, only mostly keeping the disdain from her voice. “That’s why I was foraging.”

“You’re supposed to be guarding me, not digging in the woods.”

“Can’t fight shadows on an empty stomach. And I wasn’t far. I would’ve heard you scream.”

The grovyle stepped up to her while she was talking and reached for her panniers, presumably to help her take them off. Sabzi widened her stance and half-crouched to lower her back; she was a big lycanroc, taller at the withers than Vasil was at the top of his head, and this was only accentuated by her forelegs being longer than her hindlegs at full extension.

He didn’t take them off, though. He just rummaged through them, studying the contents critically, and tsked. “This is all you got? With how long you were gone, we could have been packed and left already.”

Sabzi had to choose her battles. She abandoned the quality of her foraging—though she felt it wasn’t bad for not having help—and dug in against his hypocrisy instead. “I’m sure you used the time productively to get us started,” she said, looking around at their still-pitched tents and assorted supplies notably not in bags. Of course he hadn’t.

“My packing took only a few minutes,” the grovyle said, simultaneously missing the point and being insufferably lofty about it. (How is his tent not his packing, Sabzi wondered.) “Now stop dawdling. If you hurry we can still make it back before running out of food.”

“If I hurry—” Sabzi began, before she realized something much more vexing. “Wait, you STILL want to go back that way? Inland, through the fucking woods?”

“Yes,” Vasil said, as though it were obvious. “It’s the best way.”

“Best?!” The lycanroc twisted to show off her bandages. “It’s crawling with shadows!”

“That’s your own fault. If you were faster, they’d never have caught us.” The grovyle sighed. “That’s why I wanted to leave early, considering how much you slowed us down on the way here.”

Sabzi stared at him, incredulous. Arguing with Vasil was worse than arguing with a brick wall. Really, the comparison was unfair to bricks. Bricks were made of mud and clay; they’d been rock before and were discovering what it meant to be rock again. Sabzi could convince bricks to move. Vasil was several times more impenetrable and worse at listening.

“Please do set about packing up,” he was saying, his head tipped up so he could look haughtily down his snout at her, despite being shorter. “Don’t just stand there, or you will be making the last leg home on an empty stomach—”

Sabzi didn’t snap. She didn’t lose control, not anymore. All she had to do was reach out; the part of herself she used to call Surkh was always there when she needed her. When she needed to wrap herself not in fury, but in grit and resolve—though there were undertones of fury this time, fury and something else. When she needed to speak that basest of languages, the one that even shadows understood. The language of strength.

A snarl cut Vasil off, a snarl that rose up from deep within her, gathering momentum like a rolling boulder until it rumbled from her jaws with bone-rattling intensity.

“Shut up,” Sabzi said.

For once, the grovyle actually listened. Or maybe he was just stunned into silence, staring at her eyes, which had shifted from gentle green to solid blood-red.

Either way worked for her. The lycanroc stomped closer, her long claws gouging gashes in the earth. “We’re not taking the woods. I’m not going hungry and getting sliced up by shadows because you’re too spineless to handle a little fire.”

Vasil backed away until he ran up against an old stone wall. “B-But, it’s not safe for me,” he stammered.

Before he could slip away, Sabzi put her snout to his chest and shoved him back against the wall, pinning him there. She had her head angled down to glare at him without her muzzle getting in the way. Even on all fours, she had several inches of height on the grovyle, which meant she was truly massive compared to him. Her hackles were raised, her mane sticking out and up in jagged white tufts. The furthermost one arced forward between her ears, white fur stopping midway to expose the wicked, curved spike of slate-brown rock that reached as far as her muzzle did. Right now it was pressed firmly against Vasil’s forehead, its tip blunt enough to be merely very uncomfortable. That bluntness carried an implicit promise, that sharpness was a cheap trick for weak ‘mon and the lycanroc had enough brute strength to skewer him without it, if she wanted. If.

“It’s safe enough, and it’s faster,” she rumbled.

He only didn’t collapse because he had completely frozen in place, but even though Vasil’s body knew when to quit, his mind didn’t. “The w-woods are safe and fast if we navigate them right!”

Sabzi pretended to entertain this. “Well, if you insist,” she said. “We can go that way, and you can keep my belly full yourself.”

The grovyle had nearly an entire second to try and flee, and he wasted it staring at her. He was still staring when the lycanroc turned her head to the side, opened her mouth, and lunged. Vasil squeaked in terror and flung up his leafed arms to protect himself. He gripped at her jaws, hands on her jagged rock-shearing teeth, straining to hold them open and keep her back. It was maybe the bravest thing he’d ever done and definitely the stupidest.

Her maw gaped right in front of him and he could not look away, could not tear his eyes from the glistening flesh eager to engulf him. The mottled pink and black ridges of her palate above, the squishy bed of her tongue below, flanked by rows of white teeth and black lips. Hot wolf breath washed over his face, carrying the scent of trail rations.

Her tongue reached him, dragging across his face and leaving a trail of slobber. His arms were buckling. “Wait,” he pleaded. “Don’t eat me! Please! We can go your way! I’m sorry!”

Sabzi’s rock-tipped ears perked and she laughed, two hot guffaws of breath right in his face. Funny what it takes to get people to take us seriously. It felt way too good to hear him plead like that. Do it, part of her said. Do it anyway. A day of squirming in our gut will teach him a lesson.

She considered it. It’d be easy, it’d keep him out of the way, it’d protect him from those flames he was so afraid of; wins all around. I think I will. She casually closed her jaws on him, slow and inexorable, her bite force more than enough to overpower his arms. The lycanroc gripped at his head with her teeth, licking at his face, listening to him whimper and relishing in it.

The grovyle tried to pry her mouth open a few more times and gave up, limp and helpless. When he wasn’t muffled by her tongue, he choked out “Please, I hired you.” While this was maybe the most pitiful thing to say yet, it did avert his gutbound fate, at least for the moment. Sabzi felt she had to knock some sense into him first.

She let him go and Vasil collapsed to his knees, panting for fresh air. “Thank you,” he gasped. “I’ll—”

“You did hire me. You know what that means?”

“…you have to listen to me?” Vasil ventured.

The lycanroc stomped the ground so hard it would’ve shaken him even if he hadn’t flinched. “Wrong,” she snarled. “You hired me to keep you safe in the wilds. To risk my life for yours. And I have, and I would again, and you’d better start acting like you appreciate it.” She snorted hot air in his face. “You hired me for my expertise. You put your life in my paws. But for me to do my job you have to trust me.”

Vasil was nodding rapidly, his head bobbing up and down like it was on a spring. “I do! I do trust you, I do appreciate you, I do,” he babbled, rushing to get all the words out.

It didn’t matter whether he meant it. The point was making him say it. He looked soggy and pathetic and in Sabzi’s eyes, he’d never looked better. It was incredibly satisfying to see him like that; Sabzi had rarely felt such a carnal rush. No doubt the warmth under her tail was related. Well, maybe she could paw off after she ate him.

The lycanroc took a breath and found she wasn’t done. “Out here, I’m the only thing standing between you and evisceration. Out here I am your god. Now worship me.” She wasn’t entirely sure where that’d come from, but she was going to roll with it.

The grovyle stared up at her in confusion; he didn’t know what to make of it either.

Sabzi gave him a nudge. “You’re already on your knees; that’s a good start. Now make like your namesake and grovel.”

A deep frown flit across Vasil’s face, like he would’ve said something about the pun if his spine hadn’t turned to jelly ages ago. Instead he leaned over further, bowing his head. “Um, thanks for protecting me, and please forgive me for my—for my insolence,” he said, speaking slowly like he was having to think between each clump of words. “I’m sorry I, uh, didn’t acknowledge your expertise. Please don’t eat me.”

He’s really hung up on this eating thing, Sabzi thought, amused. Well, since he asked so nicely, I suppose I can put him somewhere else. She started turning around in place. “Could’ve been worse, I suppose,” she said. “It’ll have to do.” Now facing away from him, she stepped back and shoved her rump in his face, tail flagged to expose her dark-lipped spade. It was puffy from her heat, glistening and dripping with arousal, a hint of pink teasing what lay deeper.

The grovyle looked up to find her pussy mere inches away, so close his snout brushed slick and engorged flesh as he lifted his head. He jerked back, his long head-leaves giving barely enough warning to keep him from slamming his head into the stone wall. “What the fuck?”

That one touch sealed his fate. It was electric, a jolt of both pleasure and blissful relief like giving an itch a really good scratch. The lycanroc shivered, then dug her claws into the ground and stifled a whimper. Just like scratching an itch, the relief was ephemeral and her need had only come back stronger. She wanted more, now. “I won’t eat you,” she began, preparing to slam her cunt over his head and then sit on him.

Vasil just stared at her nethers, oblivious. It was a view he was lucky to get: the outer dark brown, almost black flesh blushed rosy towards the center, fading out in speckles to a glistening pink that was more prominent since his accidental touch. One sniff of the air had him reeling from her scent. “You’re in heat!” he said, shocked.

No shit, Sabzi thought, again reminded that other species didn’t have the same nose she did. Still, it gave her pause. It was true. She was in heat. Maybe she should be doing something about it. Maybe the grovyle’s big mouth could do something useful for once. She chose not to sit on him and mulled it over, letting her brain reply automatically in the meantime. “Not by choice. Apothecary must’ve mixed a bad batch—look, it’s not important,” she said, as inspiration struck. “Words seemed too hard for you, so I thought of a better way you can use your tongue to apologize.”

He pretended like he hadn’t heard her. Classic Vasil. “No wonder you’ve been so b—grumpy,” he murmured.

Say it, I fucking dare you. I won’t let you out for a week.

“You poor thing.”

Ugh. Anything was better than pity. She’d rather he do it because she ordered him to than that. Speaking of, Vasil seemed to be forgetting who was in charge here, so Sabzi reminded him with a ferocious growl. (He squeaked.) “I don’t want your pity, I want your tongue in my cunt.”

“That’s—this has all been unprofessional, but this is just too far,” the grovyle protested, tilting his head as far away from her bits as possible, even as they dripped slick fluid onto his chest scales.

“I’m not asking.” Sabzi grit her teeth, dug her front paws into the ground, and shoved herself back against him, pinning him between her rump and the wall. Immediate, tongue-lolling pleasure rolled over her as her plump spade ground against his scales, smearing slickness on any part of him it found. Red underjaw, green cheek, the ridge above his eye, whatever, she couldn’t really tell and she also didn’t care.

Eventually the roar of pleasure quieted enough for her to notice Vasil was saying something. She perked her ears; he was rotating between “Okay!” and “I yield!” whenever he wasn’t muffled by rock-wolf ass. She rolled her eyes and shifted her weight forward slightly. I suppose I should give him a chance.

Behind her, Vasil took deep gasping breaths of slightly fresher air. “Thank you,” he panted. “I hope this helps to quench—”

“Less talking, more licking, or I will eat you after all,” she snapped. In the way you’re afraid of, anyway.

He finally took the hint—after only two (maybe three) direct statements and a threat, which might have been a new record—and didn’t say anything else. The grovyle’s two-clawed hands grasped her haunches and hesitantly tried to reposition her. (Sabzi allowed it, shifting her weight at his timid nudges.) His breath brushed across her impatient labia, teasing and fanning her burning need in a way that couldn’t have been more frustratingly tantalizing if he’d tried. It took all of her tremendous red-eyed willpower to let him keep going instead of slamming her hips back against the wall.

Then the grovyle flicked his tongue across her spade and nuzzled into the center, where her plump lips squished together in a threefold crease.

Sabzi’s eyes nearly rolled back. Ffuuck. Heat was inconvenient, yeah, but it sure made everything feel ten times better. This nerd she had pinned wasn’t even doing anything special and it still cleared most of the sex she’d had. He rubbed his snout at her swollen lips, lapping up the droplets of nectar soaking her cookie. Once he’d finished a couple circles of that he delved deeper, his long tongue snaking into her tunnel and wriggling against her silken walls.

She imagined he was her old girlfriend. He was about the same height, he was also a grass-type—there was something about grass-types that did it for her—but as his efforts dragged on, it became clear that in one way, one of the more important ways, he fell very short. The floragato’s raspy and skillful tongue would have made her cum twice already and turned her legs to jelly. Vasil was… edging her, if she squinted and put it as charitably as possible. He was doing his best, probably, wasn’t that depressing, but he had no idea where to lick. I miss Suri so much.

That normally would have been a major downer, but her heat-fueled arousal couldn’t be doused by some little thing like pining for her ex. That was something to be thankful for, she supposed. Her hormone-wracked body was too busy clamoring for sex to have any room for sad. Still, below the foggy lust-goggles of her heat, the grovyle’s oral was mediocre at best. Maybe she could still salvage it. “Lick lower,” she grunted.

Vasil grunted back, moving his tongue to the bottom of her canal, which was technically what she’d said but did not actually help.

“No, like,” Sabzi huffed. “Not as deep.”

He pulled back to nuzzle at her puffy cookie, squishing and stretching it under his snout. He let out a rising, questioning hum.

It wasn’t like it felt bad. It felt great. The attention to her outer lips was a significant improvement, her tail twitching and her legs even giving a quiver now and then, but he still hadn’t found the most important bundle of nerves. “Found” like it’s hidden, it’s right fucking there, a couple inches deep on the pointy side, Sabzi grumbled. She tried to figure out how to steer him better, but abstract thinking like that was nigh-impossible with her limbic system chanting “I want to have fuck” over and over again, so that was the best she got.

“A couple inches deep,” she panted, “on the pointy side—on the bottom.”

Vasil’s exploration was hesitant, uncertain. He nosed around, unwilling to bring his claws to her folds, reluctant to poke his snout in deep enough to get a good angle.

The lycanroc grunted in exasperation. “Haven’t you ever been with a canine before?”

There was some muffled noise from behind her that she could only assume was “No?”.

Probably hasn’t been with anyone before, Sabzi almost thought, but managed to derail that train of thought before it reached any implications. She shook her head, twisting her neck spikes back and forth. “Rrgh. You’re hopeless,” she grumbled. By this point, she was confident the grovyle wouldn’t recognize a clitoris if one hit him in the face. Wait, good idea.

The lycanroc adjusted her stance, spreading her hindlegs a little wider and preparing to shove with her forelegs. She shuffled back slowly, forcing the grovyle gently against the wall so as not to give him a concussion. (Finding himself unable to pull back, he made a soft, concerned mrfl? noise and tried futilely to push her haunches away.) His efforts were almost cute; a smirk flit over Sabzi’s muzzle as she prepared herself, taking a few deeper breaths.

Then she thrust herself backwards, hard, like Vasil’s arms weren’t even there. Her sodden spade stretched, spreading over and engulfing the grovyle’s head with an evocative squelch. Her rump hit the wall with a wumph, almost but not quite drowning out the squish of her puffy vulva stamping a print on the stone behind him. Sabzi shuddered, reveling in the feeling of his head stretching her folds and her clit squishing into the crook of his neck. “Ffuck, that’s better,” she moaned, leaning heavily against the ancient wall to keep herself upright while her legs quivered.

When she felt she could stand on her own again, the lycanroc stepped away from the wall, pulling Vasil with her. He tipped forward, his head making a wet shlunk as it sank fully into her spade. Her black lips wrapped loosely around his neck, pinning his long head leaf down against his back. Sabzi panted, tongue lolling. Why had she even been bothering letting him lick her? He made a much better toy.

Her toy seemed to disagree; he braced his hands against her rump and tried to pull back, but she flexed her spade almost on instinct, tightening it around his neck. It bulged as he tugged against it, the grovyle’s head trapped in her knot pocket. Overpowering him with just her cunt was a rush all its own, and on top of that his muffled protests buzzed against her walls, against the nub buried in her spade, finally giving her the push she needed.

Sabzi braced herself against the ground as a shuddering climax rocked her body. She stared at nothing, eyes unfocused, the noises coming from her mouth bouncing between whines and growls. Her pussy clamped down, holding him close and drenching him in slickness that trickled down his body. It stayed clenched even as she drifted away on waves of pleasure, holding the grovyle far too tight for him to escape.

She was still standing there when she came to, breathing hard. There was a questioning grunt from her lower belly and a tug against her spade, still squeezed as though in a tie around the grass-type’s head.

Sabzi wasn’t sure what he’d said, but she knew what the answer was. “No,” she declared, between panting breaths. Her heat had dampened a bit, but it was far from sated. “I’m not done with you.”

The lycanroc leaned back on him, her cookie squishing against his shoulders. She outweighed Vasil at least fourfold and put all of it to use, forcing the grovyle to drop to his knees, powerless to resist her. Sabzi rested more and more of her weight onto him until his arms gave way and she sank over him with a lewd squelch, plunging the grovyle into her depths. His scales offered no resistance, easily slurped up by her cookie. Slick and tight pussy walls pinned his arms to his sides, holding him helpless.

She sat down until he couldn’t go any deeper, his head scrunched against the end of her tunnel. It took several seconds for her to notice through the pleasure, for her to ease off the pressure and take stock of herself. Sabzi looked down, her lower body swollen and stuffed. With what, one couldn’t tell; her fluffy white belly fur obscured any specific shapes or bulges.

“Fuck,” she moaned. “Finally found what you’re useful for.”

The lycanroc struggled to stand back up, moving mostly with her forelegs to drag herself up and off the grovyle. His green and red scales slowly emerged from under her tail, back into the light, glistening with fragrant moisture. Then she slammed her rump down and they shlicked right back into her, vanishing into her greedy black spade. Sabzi growled with pleasure, flexing and squeezing the grovyle with her tunnel. His lithe body made such a good toy…

Inside her, Vasil didn’t have the energy to resist anymore. The air within the lycanroc was thick and heady and smelled so strongly of sex it made his head spin. He just held still on his knees while she rode him like a giant exotic dildo, listening to her groans whenever they weren’t drowned out by squelching and squishing pussy flesh. His head kept mashing against some hard barrier deep within her, some sturdy ring, until one time his snout lined up and squeezed into its center.

Sabzi froze, half-crouched over her sodden grass-type toy. She’d felt the familiar twinge and was almost disappointed to move forward; she’d been enjoying her new toy. But this was what she’d been planning from the beginning, or at least since she’d turned around and shoved her spade in his face. This way she could shut up her stupid hormonal instincts and keep the grovyle out of the way at the same time. It was perfect.

She leaned her weight on him, took a deep, shuddering breath, and relaxed herself. Her inner gate shifted slowly, ponderously, like a boulder being rolled out of the way. Then she lurched down all at once, engulfing the grovyle nearly to his hips while his bulge jumped upward under her belly fur. His head punched into the back of her womb and Sabzi wheezed, almost winded, seeing stars and not just from pleasure.

It hurt so good, though. That was one of her favorite parts, how her deepest insides were oversensitive at first, pins and needles rolling in waves from her stretched cervix, from her womb adjusting to having something within it again. She panted and gasped, recovering slowly, flexing whatever muscles felt right and giving her grovyle toy crushing hugs from all sides.

Something he seemed to quite enjoy: Sabzi felt a throbbing warmth against the front of her cookie and looked down. Past her thick chest fluff, past the less-faint bulges in her lower belly, of the grovyle’s head in her womb and his body filling the rest, a tapered pink rod was peeking out past the black lip of her spade. She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Is this why you stopped struggling?” she rumbled, reaching down one paw to touch it with the smooth back of one tough slate-brown claw.

Vasil groaned inside her, his shaft twitching against the touch. His head was in a more open space, but the rest of him was pinned so tight he couldn’t move, gripped by the lycanroc’s intimate muscles. “Please,” he panted, taking deep breaths of the air in her deepest depths. His sensitivity felt heightened, like he was about to peak just from that one touch of her claw. He flexed his hands, held uselessly at his sides, unable to reach himself. “Please…”

“Please what?” Sabzi rumbled around him, her voice reverberating in his ears like a landslide. “Please stop? Please let me out?”

Logically, he felt, those were what he should be saying. That would make sense, even though she’d probably get off to his pleas. But those weren’t the words coming to his lips at all. “Please keep going,” he said, “I’m so close…” Is this what heat is like? he wondered.

Sabzi smirked. “That’s a good toy,” she said. (Vasil thought maybe she’d said “boy”; her words were muffled by her own body. He wasn’t sure which was worse.) She obliged him, tucking his shaft into her spade, just above it. Even stretched around the grovyle’s hips, her cookie was still puffy and squishy, perfect to grind against. And if she lined him up just right…

The grass-lizard’s shaft brushed a spot that made her shudder. Sabzi kept him there and held her paw to her lower belly while she rocked back and forth, stimulating herself with every inch of him that she could. She dug her paw into her belly to squish his head within her womb and rocked to wiggle his shoulders in her cervix, to grind his body against her pussy and squish his dick against her clit. Her tongue lolled over one fang, flopping against her jaw, her breaths coming short and fast.

Then Vasil moved, not to struggle, but to buck his hips against her, thrusting his cock into her spade. She heard and felt his desperate moans, which would have been adorable were she not already overwhelmed with pleasure from everywhere, but especially her clit, repeatedly stroked by his tapered shaft. “See, you found it,” she wheezed out. “Was that so hard?”

If Vasil said anything, she didn’t hear it, and after that she lost the ability to form complete sentences entirely. “Rrrf,” Sabzi huffed, rocking into his weak thrusts, “yes, fuck, yesss.” She rumbled like an amorous rockslide, kneading her paw at her lower belly, the bulges within shifting back as the grovyle nuzzled and licked at her womb walls. She sailed past her peak and kept going, kept rocking and stroking and squeezing to build the wave up even higher before it crashed on her.

Finally she could resist no longer. She sprang onto all fours, the grovyle’s hindlegs dangling from under her tail. Sabzi threw her head back to howl and only just barely remembered she was deep in the shadow-wilds and that was a terrible idea. It forced its way through as a strangled squealing, highly undignified for a majestic lycanroc such as herself.

Not that Vasil was in any state to judge. The grovyle ground his head against her uterine lining, nuzzling the velvety fuzz while trying to buck his hips as much as he could, thrusting his shaft against her squishy spade. It slipped free when she jumped up and jostled him, but it didn’t matter. He was already shuddering in bliss, his cries of pleasure muffled by layers of flesh and muscle and fur, splattering ropes of seed across the ground under Sabzi’s belly.

The lycanroc tipped her front down and locked her back legs just in time, the only way she’d manage to keep standing with her head spinning so much. She groaned as her climax crested and crashed down on her, ecstatic pleasure roaring through her nerves so much more powerfully than the first time. The grass-type buried in her cunt lurched, gripped by her muscles and rippled deeper. His cock bent back, still spurting seed down between her hindlegs, then behind her as the his hips schlurped into her spade. One more cumshot splattered his tail-leaves, the rest not making it out of her pussy.

His green-scaled hindlegs squished together, vanishing inch by inch past her greedy black cookie and into the pink tunnel beyond. Sabzi panted and whined, her belly sagging below her as she dragged and clenched and shoved the grovyle into her womb, her possessive muscles forcing him to curl up tight in the cushy chamber. His bulges shifted under her fur, moving upward and gathering in a growing swell.

The final schlp of his feet slipping past her lips would have been anticlimactic were it not for the feeling of her spade closing back up after them, relaxed and only slightly gaped. Sabzi wished she could have seen it, but settled for feeling it, feeling the last of the grovyle shuttled inward by her rippling muscles, until he was entirely packed within her womb.

Feeling her cervix clench shut behind him was like another mini climax all its own. Her afterglow had never felt so good, so blissful. The lycanroc sighed and flopped onto her side, her neck spikes digging into the ground. She looked down at her belly and smiled, watching vague lumps shift, jut out and fade back in under her fur as her womb kneaded at the grovyle, forcing him into the most compact shape possible. He seemed too exhausted to even try resist her muscles. “Good toy,” she said and gave her belly a few pats.

He didn’t reply, or if he did she didn’t hear it. Sabzi shifted her patting into rubbing, moving her foreleg in narrow, slightly awkward circles. Her lower belly was quite distended with an entire grovyle, though that made the rubs feel even better. It looked (and felt) like she was gravid with a clutch and a half of eggs all at once, enough to make them bulge and tent her womb. The heat-fried bits of her brain were quite pleased with this, and the rest of her was nearly as pleased to hear them be quiet.

She let out a long sigh, letting her smile get extra dopey as she enjoyed the afterglow.

---

Sabzi caught her breath pretty quick, and eventually after that her afterglow faded enough that she could no longer ignore her obligations. She had to break camp, and now she had to do it by herself. The lycanroc sighed in resignation and hefted herself back to her paws.

Not entirely by herself, she reflected, because Vasil’s weight sagged her lower belly and swayed just before her hindlegs. She shuddered from the rush of sensation, letting her clutch instincts clench and tighten around him, holding him closer to her body so he didn’t shift against her sensitive inner walls. The swell still reached halfway to the ground, but it was manageable enough.

With him handled, Sabzi set about breaking camp, taking down the tent and packing up their things. It took a bit, but it was barely more work to do just by herself, since Vasil had hardly helped anyway. Honestly, he’s more useful as a bulge in my womb, since at least that way he can’t hover over my shoulder and nag me.

As though he’d heard her, the grovyle stirred within her. He tried to stretch out against the velvet-soft walls of her womb. Bulges pressed out in her swollen lower belly, tenting the rounded, heavy swell.

Sabzi shuddered, his motions causing jolts of pleasure and twinges of minor discomfort. It didn’t hurt, but it was very distracting. She clenched around him, and the grovyle found her stretchy walls were backed by bands of stony muscle, compacting him back into a tight ball. By the Three, it felt good to do that, to put him in his place. Sating her heat had already put in a good mood, and this just made it even better.

“Enjoy your nap?” she said.

”…It was refreshing,” Vasil said, his voice muffled from her belly. “Now that you’ve let off some steam, as it were, do you feel better?”

“Oh, yes,” Sabzi said, truthfully. “I feel great. Best I’ve felt all trip.”

“Wonderful. I’m glad to hear it. Now, can you let me out, and we can be reasonable about things?”

“No need!” She was almost giddy in her cheerfulness. “We’re taking the fast route back, as we ‘discussed’ earlier, and you can stay right there.”

“What?”

“I’ll carry you!” she continued. “It’s my treat. To make up for putting you through that, you know.”

“You’re still putting me through it!”

“No, I’m carry—” Sabzi trailed off into a pleasured squeal as her prisoner found the way out and shoved his leafy arms past her cervix. She widened her stance, panting as bulges shifted in her lower belly, moving down towards her hinds.

A pair of two-clawed green hands burst out under her tail, spreading her spade wide for Vasil’s head to follow. He squinted in the sunlight, taking deep breaths of fresh air.

Sabzi found enough composure to clench her muscles, clamping her cookie down to try and hold him in place. (Vasil grunted.)

“Really, Sabzi,” he said. “It’s fine. We can take your route back. But I’d prefer to walk.” He squirmed against her grip, trying to find something to grab or brace against, but there was nothing except her.

“Oh, I can’t let you walk!” the lycanroc said, with exaggerated concern. “You were telling me how the lava fields would burn you to a crisp!”

“Well, perhaps I was exaggerating—”

“You hired me to keep you safe,” Sabzi said, ignoring him, “and that’s just, what I’m going, to DO!” She punctuated her words with rippling clenches, squeezing and tugging at the grovyle. He hadn’t enough room to lock his legs, his hands could only reach her rump and her slick spade; each clench pulled him back an inch or two, even as he struggled to push back out. A lewd squelch muffled whatever protests Vasil had as his head shlrked back into her folds. One grasping hand found her tail and gripped it, which managed to momentarily halt his return, until the lycanroc loosed a bone-rattling growl and he thought better of it.

He slipped back inside, her cookie closing back up behind him. Sabzi let out a long breath, half in satisfaction and half in pleasure, as the grovyle’s weight settled back into her womb, sagging her lower belly. She relished this, reveling in the sensations as her inner muscles hugged him, squeezing him into a tight ball, lifting her swaying hammock of a womb further from the ground.

“Just sit tight,” Sabzi said, voice as drenched with smugness as the grovyle was with her slick inner fluids. “I might let you out early for good behavior.”

He prodded at her cervix again, but it’d sealed tight and all he accomplished was making her shudder with pleasure.

“Naughty… off to a bad start,” she teased. “If you want to stay longer, you can just ask!”

Sabzi hummed cheerfully to herself as she finished packing their tents and supplies and loaded herself up, clipping everything into her explorer harness. The lycanroc turned towards home, head held high. Even with the extra weight of his things (the ones she hadn’t already been carrying) and the grovyle himself, her paws had never felt lighter.