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The Sperm Appetite of Milf Pheromosa	By : Tastatura Category: -Misc Video Games/RPGs > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 15984 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters portrayed. Pokemon do not belong to me. I make no money by doing this.

Chapter List
- 1-NishikunSP is That Nigga.
- 1
Of the numerous locales wherein one might find a Pokemon trainer, the depths of any given random chunk of wilderness is considered by most as the best place to begin a search. Putting aside the fact that the wilderness contains countless species of the monstrous creatures that they covet, the sprawling locales sometimes offer shortcuts towards a traveller's destination unavailable throughout the 'ROUTES' manufactured for public use.

Take for example a lush and humid tropical forest. While consistently uncomfortable with regard to temperature and terrain, the variance in what a trainer might experience whilst travelling through it (and the Pokemon they may collect along the way) exceed their more typical counterparts in quality.

Among other things, these few-and-far-between provisions often draw more seasoned trainers off of the beaten path, and into the welcoming embrace of the unknown.

Presently amongst those wilfully trudging through the world’s unknowns was a child. Not just any child; his presence within the humid, sun-kissed forest-scape indicated this much. This child was a Pokemon trainer—and a fairly competent one at that. Ostensibly 10 years old (but likely slightly younger), the boy carried his slight and vulnerable frame with an air of confidence. When not grinding his sneakers through a stride across the forest floor, he could often be found in the middle of an alert peek out from underneath the mop of soot-colored hair draped over his skull. Abreast and unafraid of his surroundings, the path that he cut through the forest was placid enough to leave his surroundings relatively undisturbed, but brisk enough for weighty droplets of sweat to have consumed the surface area of his face.

If his gait and posture were any indication, the boy was progressing towards a destination—not the sort close enough to sprint into, but not so far away as to warrant sluggishness. To this end, he carried himself with a purpose that might allow him to arrive in a manner both timely and comfortable.

Prior to his departure, no one close to the boy had taken the time to remind him that consistently putting forth one’s best possible effort seldom translates into consistent success. Several minutes since his last stumble across the uneven forest floor, his stride drove the face of his left foot into a hilled bar of deadfall. With his tiny frame already weighed down by the contents of his knapsack, the collision proved too much for him to offset. Launched forward into a vigorous stumble, he cleared several additional meters through the forest in an attempt at steadying himself before his face collided with a conveniently-slumped tree trunk ahead of him.

Travelling through the forest had acclimated the boy to the idea of stumbling. Falling and bleeding, however, remained distinctly uncomfortable for him. Blood drawn from the dried interior of his nose, the aftermath of his impact left him without the energy to stop himself from falling front first onto the ground below.

As if to counterbalance the boy’s misfortune, another of the ‘frequent happenings’ inherent to his trip through the forest occurred just as soon as he fell. An oddly shaped and colored Pokeball jostled from his pocket during his fall collided with the ground and vacated its contents in a flash of aquamarine and yellow light.

In a way, ‘vacated’ was not quite the right word to describe what came to pass. When a towering Pheromosa materialized at a standing position just off to the left of the face-planted youth, one could fairly state that the Pokeball had not been vacated, but breeched by a creature only barely contained within its confines.

Whatever the case was, the female Pokemon’s appearance delivered aid to the boy. Once formed, the Pheromosa dropped all 6 feet of her frame down to the ground. Taking hold of her trainer’s shoulders, she gently raised the bleeding youth back up to his feet.

Initially, distress and anxiety could be seen gilding her alien visage. Driven by it, she remained in a squat that levelled her face with that of the boy’s to survey his features. Her hands slid inward to cup either side of his face, and for a time, she busied herself only with confirming that the bruising on his face and the bleed streaming from his nose were inconsequential.

Only after this did the reticent creature’s uninterested visage return to her. Once completely upright, her voice returned to her as well.

“Annoying.” she began, voice thin and quiet. “Using one of the others to move through here would be better, yet you persist in moving on foot.”

Though her voice was placid, one could almost hear the expressionless female’s desire to frown.

“Seeing you hurt is…annoying.” expressing herself quietly yet again, disdain—as opposed to worry— pushed its way to the forefront of her features. “It is especially annoying because it can be avoided; if you really must confront a Buzzswole, I could take you myself.”

On his feet and no worse for his spill, the boy spent the majority of his Pokemon’s chastisement reorienting himself. Collecting the valuable (ball name) from which she had appeared, he afterwards slipped his knapsack from off of his shoulders to stow it away for safekeeping. By the time he actually turned his gaze upwards to meet his companion’s complaints, the majority of them had already been stated.

He had heard them all, of course. Pretending to be preoccupied provided him with the time to think of a response that the incensed Pokemon might take to. As well, it provided him with an excuse to peer up at her in silence for a few moments.

In these moments, the boy enjoyed a ‘visual reparative’ for the mild pains throbbing from his face.

Above him was a Pheromosa much more proportioned than she was…stalky. Seemingly as a result of her height exceeding that of the average member of her species, the waifish white sticks that ought to have served as her legs were nowhere to be seen. Instead, a pair of plush, ghost-white limbs—each one perfectly smooth and menacingly lengthy—propped up her frame from the high-heel-like foot structure at their bases to the hidden hip curvature that their peeks bled into. Perhaps ‘normal’ for an abnormally large Pheromosa, the span of each of her thighs was well over half the width of the boy’s frame. Both packed more so with flesh that fat, their taut and gleaming appearance suggested that they enjoyed a great deal of use as well.

The boy knew that they did. After passing the obtuse slant of her hips—a region partly concealed underneath a strange torso-structure consisting of stacked, alabaster-white exoskeletal lamp shades—the Pheromosa’s frame became entirely atypical. The entirety of her torso past the convergent slope of her lower abdominals into her crotch sat obscured and weighed down underneath two inhumanely massive breasts.

Presently mounted to her chest were a pair of boulder-sized breasts free from a single visible fault. Though sized similarly to gargantuan chunks of sphere-shaped earth, neither teardrop seemed to have an adverse effect on their owner's posture. The Pheromosa to which they belonged had no trouble standing upright despite her breasts sloping naturally across her front. As well, the monstrous sacs did not sag; save for the natural dip to be expected of breasts, both offered a degree of youthful perkiness to go along with their domineering mass.

Visually speaking, enough flesh, milk, and fat had been packed into the moon-sized-mounds that their weight likely exceeded that of an average pint-sized human male by several times. Encapsulating this flesh was more of the same white skin that padded the Pheromosa's thighs. Smooth and milky in the face of the titanic effort required to encapsulate its owner's breast meat, its qualities—both visual and physical—were appropriately ‘alien’ relative to their insect-like owner.

Topping off both of the engorged milk factories were platinum gold areola and nipples wide enough and thick enough to match the breasts to which they belonged. Whereas her areola spanned a saucer’s width at each mounds front, her nipples—both pliant, cylindrical, and obese—extended upwards from the centers of her areola as a pair of mountainous thimbles.

Being a relatively healthy child, there was no part of the Pheromosa's body that the boy was not healthily enamoured with. Even so, her breasts were a decent sight; not once had he managed to cast a prolonged gaze at the impossible mounds without imagining the sort of offspring that they were meant to feed.

Today, as with every day, the boy’s ogling went unpunished. Smart enough to keep his staring brief, he shrugged his shoulders at the Pheromosa’s suggestion and smiled mildly so as to abate her concerns.

“That’d defeat the point of travelling, wouldn’t it? This place may be kinda uncomfortable, but that’s no excuse for me to not try my best, don’t you think?” he suggested.

Unaffected by the boy’s response, a sharp (and no less emotionless) retort burst from the Phermosa as soon as he finished speaking.

“Yes it is. You’re plenty strong already.”

“Not really. It’s you and the others that are helping me all the time.”

“But it’s you who tells us how to. The others cannot communicate with you as I can, but all of them admit that they would not perform as they do without you.”

“Then I’ve just got to keep getting better, don’t I? That way, I’ll have earned their respect, and will also be able to keep it.”

“You infuriate me. You’re little; be little.”

“I’ve told you this before, but that’s not what—“

Seeing no end to the latest installment in the non-committal arguments shared between her and her trainer, the Pheromosa abandoned discourse entirely. Opting to leverage a tool more effective than her intellect, she bent her legs ever so slightly and dipped her arms down along with them. Swiftly taking hold of her comparatively-miniscule owner by his waist, she effortlessly plucked him off of the ground and up into a position suspended opposite her massive breasts.

She only paused here for a moment; what was coming did not require a verbal explanation between the two of them.

Wearing the same face as moments prior, the Pheromosa aggressively shoved her trainer forward. Driving him downward part way through the act, she forced him into a seated position atop the tree trunk he had smashed his face into before her arrival. Indifferent towards his comfort, she followed up the strangely-parental gesture with the abandonment of his hips, and a reorientation of her hands about his frame.

Her left went right to the hem of the boy’s ¾ pants. One at a time, she hooked its smooth, platinum gold claws underneath the garment’s waistline, and at the end of their securement wrenched her arm downwards to seamlessly dispossess the boy of its fabric. Knowing better than to tear them lest her trainer have nothing to wear in the future, she deftly peeled them off from around his ankles down to the forest floor beneath them.

Awaiting her as a ‘reward’ for her proactivity was a semi-rigid cudgel of musk-bathed cock. Owning a paleness comparable to her own, the twitching tower sat moistened by the sweat of its owner’s travels and leaking precum from its tip as a result of his wandering eye. Already as thick as an adult human male’s wrist—or so she assumed—all 9 inches of the curved phallus nevertheless offered the boyish charm that made her heart race and her stomach growl.

On her trainer, the obese nightstick of phallus meat was abnormal—a statement of manhood juxtaposed against a tiny and helpless youth. The Pheromosa did not regard it as such, however. To her, it was the bare minimum of manhood required for her to submit herself to and feed from a child.

Far too driven to be rendered dumbstruck by the pent-up semen pipe’s reveal, the Pheromosa complimented her left hand’s motions with a single one from her right. As was within her capacity as the larger and stronger being between the two of them, she pressed the underside of her claws flat against the boy’s stomach and pushed downward.

Up until this point, the boy had sat through the Phermosa’s manipulations in silence. Whilst in this sort of mood, there was little that could be said or done to prevent his Pokemon from acting as she pleased.

Being pressed back first along the girth of a tree-trunk warranted a response. Pushing his frame upwards against the Phermosa’s palm, he drove himself just far enough to catch sight of her features amidst a steady encroachment towards his crotch.

“You know that thing I sometimes say about overreacting?” he began. “This is another good example.”

This time, the Phermosa actually responded to his utterance. With her lipless mouth inches from the grimy tip of his member, she pushed the thin warmth of her voice and breath against his member’s muggy underside.

“I don’t care; if you’re going to be so difficult, you’re going to feed me while you do it.”

With this, she performed the act that all of her actions thus far had teased. Opening her seemingly pin-wide mouth, she shamelessly presented a cavern of gooey, bulbous, liquorice-red flesh to the open air. Drawing its entranceway wider and wider by the second, a meaty, bubblegum-pink tongue owning a monstrous girth and length became visible at the base of her oral cavity.

Mouth exposed, she plunged her head downwards. Entirely unstifled by her trainer’s endowment, every inch of his cock from root to tip was slotted into the wriggling sinkhole behind the production of a slight *PLRT*.

In an instant, the boy felt his cock swallowed into a grossly-unnatural orifice hell-bent on either squeezing or drawing every drop of seed welled within him through his erection like a straw.

Where the Pheromosa was concerned, this descriptive comparison was not much of an exaggeration. Past the mucus-coated bulk of her oral cavity's protrusion-laden flesh was a tube comparable to that of a human esophagus. Typically narrow and thin, the Phermosa's engulfment of the boy's cock injected a flow of blood and chemicals into its flesh. When the female creature's face completed its crotch-depressing descent onto his member, the entirety of her neck had swelled to match human proportions.

The conditions within her neck were anything but human. Grafted to the entirety of her esophagus' surface area were thumb width stretches of rigid, hill-crested flesh. Owning the same mucus glands and coloration as her oral cavity's flesh, the steaming bulbs at the same time offered something that no human frame ever could--perpetual motion. When first their exteriors were inflated into contact with the pudgy veins and sturdy cock-flesh introduced into their midst, each one began squirming around the region that they kissed. Like insects, the gooey glands vigorously distributed a grinding, cock-wringing pleasure into every exposed nerve ending on the boy's shaft. From tip to root, the depression of the Pheromosa skull subjected his meat to a slime-caked swarming of flesh that exceeded the average female orgasm in convulsive magnitude.

And the Pheromosa had not even begun to move.

Knowing full well what the automatic reflexes of her digestive system had imposed onto her trainer's shaft, the Pheromosa was quick to drive her skull right back up to the meagre swell of the boy's glans. Taking her tube of quivering throatmeat along with her, she carefully adjusted the sharpness of her ascent such that the top-most inches of the boy's cock were subjected to oppression from her alien innards for as long as possible.

From here, her mercilessness only escalated. Stopping well short of freeing any of his glans’ inches to the open air, her maw's arrival just underneath the beet-red crown saw her punch her skull back downwards and re-skewer the length of his shaft through to a pleasant, neck-swelling hilt into her gullet.

This dive was just as ravenous as the first. Heavy strands of mucus stretched between the corners of her mouth and the boy's crotch were smoothly smeared across his member throughout it, and the guttural *SLURSH* yoked from her face by the re-introduction of cockmeat into her flesh-congested esophagus sounded absolutely horrid.

Behind it, the Pheromosa began 'feeding' on the boy in earnest. Following her initial descent, she dragged her maw back up the full length of the boy’s shaft to hammer her first link into a vigorous chain of plunging and soaring. Facially non-plussed as she worked—save the sexual grime she smeared into her cheeks and the odd inexplicable pubic hair offered by the boy’s hairless crotch—she gored her complex digestive orifice full of her trainer’s pulsing phallus as though she had a vendetta to settle with the pent-up organ. Harried only by the unpredictable squirming of her gullet around the phallus itself, she pumped and slammed its increasingly-bloated exterior through her innards with a speed that made their hellish environs that much more effective at grinding stimulation into his flesh.

For all of the effort that she put forth; all of the haggard eruptions of murky sex-mucus from her lips; all of the depraved gulping from her mouths innards; the Pheromosa never once appeared taken up with the act she was performing.

As always, her features suggested a sole pair of conditions as belonging to her: boredom and indifference.

In truth, she was. While ‘feeding’ on the boy’s phallus was sexually stimulating for her—this made evident by the denser wetness flowing from between her legs—doing so with her mouth was far from her favorite activity. Subjectively, she perceived her slovenly throating effort to be the same as eating. Its fundamental purpose was the consumption of the boy’s semen, and by proxy, the procurement of sexual satisfaction for herself from an entirely different source.

The source in question was none other than the boy’s distress. Not pleasure; not sadness; only discomfort and exertion as produced by the little boy was enough to scratch the itch she had come to harbor for him. Watching as his sweaty features flinched and tightened throughout her unrelenting gut-job assured her that it was not some emotionally-bereft genius child that had managed to subjugate her.

For better or worse, he was a boy—one with the misfortune of producing a plaster-quality semen that she could not help but enjoy.

However much he worked to mitigate his reactions and prolong his resistance against the stimulation she imposed, his expression of these things kept the Pheromosa invested in stuffing her throat with his cock until it burst.

As far as she could tell, success in this effort was not far off. Several minutes into repeatedly plugging the boy’s cock into her face and wrenching it from out of the studded grasp of her esophagus had seen the occasional squirm work its way into his stalwart resistance. Up until this point, he had refused to lean on any of the physiological coping mechanisms available to him. His lips refused to choke up the groans that she so adored and his fists remained unclenched, but in the end, his frame sought escape in release without his consent.

In response to these wriggles and writhes, the Pheromosa drove her flattened claws down further against his stomach.

She was no fool; unspoken words were unlikely to receive a formal response. Nevertheless, she wished to hear a response from the boy—a justification for making her work so hard for her food.

The fact that she was enjoying herself took little away from the boy’s oddities, after all.

In spite of this, the boy remained silent. At present, his mind existed both within reality and a realm of its own making. In reality, he perceived his Pokemon as throwing a strange tantrum in an attempt at proving her point. The exact content of this hunger was comprised of excessive concern for his well-being and sexual hunger; two qualities that she seemed to carry in spades whilst dealing with him.

Even so, her argument wasn’t wrong.

His wasn’t either—hence their disagreement. As such, chastising her for her behavior was illogical.

Or at least it was from the perspective of a relatively soft-tempered youth.

In the world his mind had generated throughout the milking of his member, the matter of their disagreement didn’t actually exist. In this world, there was only the ascent of a blended tube of wriggling, bulb-studded esophagus flesh up along the exterior of his member, and the same tube’s descent down into an all-encompassing envelopment of his cock’s exterior. The former act was always followed by the latter, but both offered a speed of execution and a vividness of quality of an equally compelling nature. At any given moment throughout his persistence in his world, his cock either sat as a slime-caked tower of veins and pleasantly-bruised flesh exposed to the open air, or a reproductive organ compressed inside the grasp of a meaty tract meant for the consumption of matter that he did not wish to imagine.

Since their initiation, the chained compression and extrication of his shaft had become disgusting. Throughout each ascent of the Pheromosa’s skull, a curtain of vicious lubrication-strands were sent throughout a haggard tumble down the length of his shaft towards his crotch. Modest yet numerous, their short-lived sputtering throughout the peaks and valleys established by his member’s vascularity felt to him as the flutter of warmed tendrils in the midst of melting. (Man what the fuck are you talking about?)

The flesh mounted to the interior of the Pheromosa’s esophagus played a part in his erection’s torment. Whilst some took the time to press into his erection with the force of a thumb against the boil, some committed themselves to motion and re-applied their muddy grease across his throbbing cock-surface by way of a much lighter pressure. Last but not least, the throat-slop strands dumped from her lip-less maw during her earlier ascent were either smeared back down onto his member, or ‘ploughed’ down the spire to play the part of added volume for the mucus coating his crotch.

It sufficed to say that, while different, the opposing halves of the Pheromosa’s throating effort shouldered equal responsibility for the stupor that had partway consumed the boy’s mind. Dwelling within a world that consisted solely of these pleasures and their constituents demanded performative resources that his cutely-sized frame had only recently cultivated. Really, were it not for his experiencing the stupor several times in the past, withstanding it would have been impossible.

Impressively, his circumstance had yet to blind him to the finer facets of his experience. Though his consciousness was split, his attentions remained firmly fixed on what facets of his ‘dual reality’ blended with one another.

It was his eyes and ears that conveyed these things to him. A short glance from underneath the messy assortment of sweat-moistened curls that hugged to his forehead captured the image of his Pokemon’s face in the midst of milking his shaft. Though her eyes were the same, the entire lower half of her face had acquired a becoming plaster of precum and throatslop. Implanted into this gleaming glaze were numerous strands of the substance connected between her cheeks and his crotch.

And then there was the noise. After settling into her stride, the Pheromosa’s starved bobbing had acquired its own soundtrack. Horrid slurping noises reminiscent of a sinkhole’s grasp on a human arm rang out each time she drew her bulky cocksleeve up the length of his member. Produced just long enough to be perceived and appreciated, each one of these was outdone by a slogged *SPLATT* of her face against his crotch, and the congested *GLRP* produced behind the spreading of her esophagus flesh. Chained to one another by fractions of a second, all three of these noises constituted ‘sets’ that played out for every throating cycle the Pheromosa completed.

However familiar, the pleasure that the boy accrued from these sources was significant. Through them, two more of his senses were drawn into adherence of the Pheromosa’s latest attempt at draining him into exhaustion. Sight, sound, smell, taste—in a way, each of these were engaged by the event in a manner that his youthful mind could actually appreciate.

Only one remained.

Tempted equally by the nature of his experience and the veritable ocean of reproductive fluid stirring within his crotch, the boy raised a hand away from his side. Drawing it down to a hover just above the pale white head sliding up and down his cock, he allowed it to linger here for just a moment before dropping the meagre span of his palm straight down into contact with the Pheromosa’s skull.

With this, he moved. Slamming his hips upwards and pressing her head downwards (as much so as was possible), he used the latest elevation of her skull as an opportunity to aggressively implant himself back into the squirming flesh-scape she had freed him from.

In doing so, he pushed himself over the edge. Several seconds into holding his sex-swamped crotch up against the Pheromosa’s face, a pleasured groan burst from his lips. Behind it, the protein-rich nut welled within his crotch found release. Slowly but surely, an obese thread of clotted, off-white baby-juice strenuously surged from the root of his crotch up through to a pressurized expulsion from the tip of his member.

Having finally attained an orgasm via the involvement of his final sense, the boy’s thoughts turned towards catharsis—one wrought from an action of his own rather than his Pheromosa’s.

Regrettably, even this was denied to him. Just as soon as he ceased to

A hand was rubbing his stomach.

-
LONG STORY SHORT, A NIGGA SAW A BUNCH OF ART OF TWITTER DEPICTING PHEROMOSA WITH MASSIVE BREASTS

Those ‘unfortunate’ enough to be subjected to regular oral intercourse with a Pheromosa typically cite the female species’ capacity for fluid consumption as the most ‘difficult’ thing about managing them. Of the few trainers that live long enough to capture the elusive Ultra Beast (and the fewer still who live long enough to end up participating in a sexual relationship with one), these select few male trainers tell tales of the loss of ludicrous volumes of semen for each orgasm poured into one of the species’ stomachs.

Having yet to meet another owner of the Pokemon he had captured, the boy knew nothing of these tales. If asked, the only ‘tale’ that he could tell was his own:

Each and every time his Pheromosa brought him to the point of release, his balls seemed to produce additional semen solely for the purpose of satiating the hunger that drove her.

True to form, the latest orgasm that the youth enjoyed was as maddeningly-prolonged as the last one he had enjoyed like the day before or something. As long as this story is going to be as short as it is, we might as well say that this shit happens every day.

Anyway,

The first hooked blast of semen to be shot down into the depths of the Pheromosa’s esophagus failed to so much as stain the flesh it was plastered across. Squeezed through a yet-uncorked stretch of esophagus meat as a dense fluid through a narrow crevice, its contents ‘filled in’ the slight gaps that separated one of her esophagus’ bulbs from the next. If only for a moment, it served the purpose of a gunked ‘filler’ comprised of hyperactive, abnormally-large sperm cells.

Well before its volume could properly affix itself to her innards, further motion from the Pheromosa’s flesh did away with it. Flushed by a combination of force and pressure, the living tract of fuckmeat peeled every drop of its sludgy contents into her stomach like a conveyor belt. If churned and pressed, the heated fluid was delivered into her stomach owning all of the platted, plaster-like thickness that it had maintained upon release.

Every rope of seed ejected from his cocktip was managed in exactly the same way. Once spewed from his urethra and delivered into contact with some taut stretch of sensitive gut-flesh, the same convulsive motions that had ground his member into orgasm carried the slime straight down into her stomach.

Whether or not residual cock juice eventually succeeded in clinging to the tube flesh it came into contact with was not a question that he thought to ask himself, nor did he think much on whether or not his circumstance was ‘normal’.

Where the Pheromosa was concerned, this was it.

This was how she consumed his seed if and when she desired to consume it.

Unlike the facefucking session he had enjoyed moments prior, the insect’s siphoning of his seed was much more difficult for him to endure without motion. The delivery of semen into her stomach exposed his spewing erection to further studded squeezes from the confines of her esophagus. Worse still, the slime glazed to his erection’s exterior throughout the event had finally begun serving its true purpose.

The mucus that bled from her gullet was not merely a digestive aid and sexual lubricant. Regular sex with the creature had revealed to the boy that within the stimulating slime was a venom responsible for the copious volumes of seed he produced each time she worked his member to the point of orgasm.

Thus far, the effects of this venom had contributed to the compilation of several congealed layers of semen within the Pheromosa’s stomach. After the formation of the first—a grimy patch work consisting of several esopahus-processed strands of seed— additional volumes of semen were messily splattered onto its surface until the Pheromosa’s stomach began to resemble a giant-sized dinner glass whose base contained curdled milk.
Slowly but surely, the squirting of nut into her digestive organ dragged the ‘fill’ of this glass up to a level befitting the alien organ that comprised it. ‘Injections’ of semen comparable to the ejection of filament from an industrial hose (but far sloppier and unpredictable) regularly blasted glutted volumes of nut spewed into her esophagus down into a disruptive impact into her gut’s jizz-basin.

Rightly, the boy spent the duration of the Pheromosa’s feeding trembling. Ears clogged with the extraterrestrial gurgling and gulping that rang out from her skull and frame otherwise overtaken by the euphoria of his release, further catharsis in the form of physical freedom became his sole aim.

Free motion was the sole freedom denied to him by his circumstance. Until she finished feeding, the Pheromosa intended to keep the boy’s frame pinned as a means of reminding him of the ‘danger’s concerned with over-exertion. For every squirm or writhe he produced, she reaffirmed the position and pressure imposed by her claws such that these qualities remained as they had been at the outset of her commandeering his body.

For her, this was nearly as satisfying as the dense warmth progressively swelling her stomach.

“That’s right. This is what happens when you’re outmatched...” she thought to herself. “You can’t do what you want and have no other choice but to dance to the whims of someone else—as a child should.”

“You’re going to stay right there until all of the cum you’ve saved up is poured into my stomach. Not because you want to, but because I said so.” amidst thinking these thought, the Pheromosa could not help but smile with her eyes. “Then, when every drop of gooey mud inside you is stuffed inside my stomach, I’m going to move you to the end of this hellish place so that you can get some rest.”

Precisely as she thought these words, the outflow of semen from the boy’s member ebbed into cessation. Utterly unattached* (mostly) to the feeling of her cock-fattened esophagus, the dribble of his erection’s final dollop of semen from its tip saw her drag her skull upwards against the childish hand that remained atop it. Peeling backwards until the connective slime strands joining the lower half of her face with his crotch were severed, her emotionless visage returned to her the moment the boy’s semi-erect glans flopped from out of her maw.

At this, she spoke.

“No more fussing.” as usual, her voice was thin and quiet—as though she had not spent the preceding minutes gorging herself on cock and cum.

“We’re leaving. If you refuse, I’ll do it again.”

Resisting this suggestion never crossed the boy’s mind. Though his frame was functional and his mind alert, holding to the prideful stubbornness that had drove him to this point no longer seemed to him as the right thing to do.

Even whilst dizzied by euphoria and dehydration his Pheromosa’s intent to preserve his wellbeing was clear. Lest he bring her to further poutiness, compliance was his only option. His aching cock and worn lung concurred—more ‘misbehavior’ was unnecessary.

Thus, whilst believing himself to have aptly handled a situation entirely outside of his control, the boy nodded.

And so did the Pheromosa.
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The Sperm Appetite of Milf Pheromosa