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Riverside Desires

Slipping out of the water and onto the bank, the dog otter raised his nose to the sky, whiskers twitching wildly as he inhaled in short, urgent bursts. Her scent... it was everywhere. He scampered up the bank and onto the grassy ground beyond the mud, and the scent grew stronger. Pressing his nose to the earth, a sharp, rasping bark of instinctive hunger escaped the male. She had been here, and recently too. Dragging her belly along the ground as though seeking relief from the heat boiling within it. His tongue flicked out, and sure enough upon the grass there were droplets, the smallest droplets, of her nectar. Her arousal. She was primed. She was ready. And from the continued dominance of her feminine scent, she was yet to be visited by any other male.

It didn't take long for him to find her. She wasn't as fast or as lively as she should have been given how strong and fertile a figure she bore, paralysed by her heat. She was whimpering and mewling in the hollow of a large oak's roots, bent double, hind-legs wiggling in the air and forepaws clawing at the ground either side of her tail as she licked at herself. There was no way she could quell the urges her body was experiencing with her tongue of course, but it was obvious to the dog otter that her rough, urgent lapping did at least offer her some comfort and pleasure. The base of her tail was stained with a wetness that was born neither of water nor saliva, and even as he came upon her and she lifted her head to observe his approach, the dog otter watched a little gush of liquids pour from her nether regions in obvious excitement.

He crept closer, keeping low to the ground and snaking from side to side. She took up a similar stance, and they circled one another. Sniffing. Shuddering. Overwhelmed by the other's scent, but nervous, both so desperate for this to go well that it terrified them. She licked his face. He barked, but as she shrank back his demeanour softened. He pressed forward, and licked her in return. When her tongue lashed his face again, he accepted it. She mewled. The sow rolled over, a full three-hundred and sixty degree barrel roll, then back again playfully. She gave a gruff little bark of her own when the male crept around to her lower end, and once more she rolled over, exposing her hindquarters and the rich scent pouring forth from them to his snuffling nose and panting maw.

The dog otter licked at the female just as she had been doing to herself, and was rewarded with similar results. The scent of her juices became overwhelming as they boiled forth from within her, gushing across his lips and over his whiskers and the fur surrounding his panting maw. She squealed and pawed at the air with her forelimbs, and the more he licked, his tongue roaming across her nether regions with indiscriminate hunger, the more the male's mind was flooded by his need for this gorgeous specimen of femininity and fertility alike.

His tongue hit a spot, a little bump of flesh at the very crest of her body's intimate reaches, and with a mewling screech the otter sow flipped over once more. Her eyes bulged as she dug the claws of all four feet into the mossy earth in her little makeshift shelter, and as her tail flagged up and her hips rose to expose her nether regions once more, she began to urinate uncontrollably. This was it. Her showing of complete surrender. Her body, her mind letting down the last of its defences, and opening itself up to anything and everything that this male had planned for her.

With a delirious bark as he sniffed at the puddle of acrid urine, soaking into the earth rapidly but leaving behind the hormone laced scent of the female's heat, the dog otter lurched forward. He mounted her, clawing his way up her back and snuffling at the back of her neck. His hips were already jerking, member exposed, erect and dribbling pre-cum over the female's brown fur in its haste to do the job for which it had risen to such prominence. Their lithe bodies pressed together, slinking, quivering. His hindquarters wrapped themselves around hers, and with her tail set to one side in an open and pleading welcome, instinct led the male to his mark in a matter of seconds.

The sow gave a long, keening cry as the dog otter began to breed her, his hips switching between what seemed almost like two wholly distinct settings, feverishly bucking and thrusting into the female one second, then holding himself to the hilt within her the next. He strained and scratched at the floor with his hind-legs as he let his erection twitch, quiver and be milked by the other otter's own responsive body. The heat was incredible. The tightness. The moisture. He had felt it before, but it was an impossible sensation to truly recall unless you were living it. His eyes rolled, and he gave a gruff, urgent bark as his brain switched gears once more and his hips began to helplessly twitch and buck.

A savage yelp escaped the female as she climaxed. The pleasure was like nothing her lengthy exploration with her tongue had provoked. It radiated out from her very core, and for a few brief moments there was no need to be bred. There was no need to feel the male's seed filling her and rendering her heavy with a litter. There was only the urge for that one, wonderful sensation to last. To go on, and on, and on for an eternity.

The sow's orgasm was all it took to trigger the dog otter's own though, and as soon as she felt his hot seed lashing at her innermost reaches, as soon as her body began to respond instinctively to the throbbing release of his arousal letting loose within her, the sheer physical enjoyment of the pleasure took a back seat once more. This was about more than pleasure. It was about survival. About passing on her legacy to her young. She mewled, and clawed at the ground for a short while longer as the male finished depositing his load inside her trembling and squeezing depths, but as soon as his erection had ceased its straining the female was scrabbling her way out from underneath the other otter.

She turned to face him, her chest heaving against the ground with the effort of every panting breath. She barked, and licked at his muzzle as the pleasure-stricken glaze began to fade from his eyes. She knew what she wanted. She knew what he needed to do for her now. And so too did he.

Again she barked, and the dog otter did so in turn before bolting away back towards the river.

He would be back soon, of course. With fish. Food for her, and for the young he would hopefully have implanted inside her by the end of this very night.

She would eat. Feast, and maybe even let him share it with her. And then... then they would breed again.

The otter shivered, and rolled over onto her back.

She looked down at herself, clawing and scrabbling her way back into a sitting position, curled round so she could peer at her own nether regions, glistening, swollen and now with a white residue oozing from her opening. Sniffing at it, her nose wrinkled, but not in disgust. It smelled like him. Like the male. Her mate. Only... more concentrated. The very essence of masculinity.

She licked it, and she growled softly. It tasted good, but it felt better. Her body was still responsive. Still desirous of further contact.

It wanted to breed again, that was only natural. But... right then, it felt like there was more to it than a simple physiological urge.

The sow otter licked herself again. And again. She reminded herself of that one spot he had licked, and after a little nuzzling and testing with her tongue, she found it upon herself. Her eyes widened, and another growling, desperate sound of pleasure escaped her.

It felt good.

Mating... breeding... all of that necessary action aside, it felt good to lick and explore down there, and it had felt really, really good to have the male do so.

Good enough, in fact, that she couldn't help wondering something that had never before occurred to the wild creature. Whether she might be able to convince the male to mate with her more often. Not just when her body needed it, but... when she herself wanted it.

By Jeeves