With a grin, the Weavile quickly thrusts your feline paws into his drenched, throbbing member, quickly shlucking them down to the base of his cock. Mere seconds later, his cock contracts and tugs your yellow ankles inside as well, pushing your feet past where his rod connects to his groin and dropping your toes down into his stretchy balls. You try to resist, but the Weavile firmly grips your Liepard bum and any movement seems to speed up your descent into his rod.
His meaty flesh quickly swallows you up to your thighs, the lithely curves act as a short roadblock before he groans and tugs your body deeper into his manhood. The ice-type Pokemon begins thrusting in unison to his cock's contractions, effectively humping you inch by inch as you descend into his depths. His nuts below stretch and mold as his kitty-meal fills them out. Inside, your legs become drenched in the same jizz he filled you up with. Seems you'll be replacing it.
As the Weavile's rod stretches wide enough to engulf and then consume your meaty, purple ass, any last hope of the Riolu residing in your snatch of escaping is erased. He'll be joining you in becoming this ice-types' next cum batch, whether he wants to or not. As more and more of your form sluices down into his musky sac, his loins stretch down far enough to just barely grace the ground -- and a few seconds later plop down upon it as your forelegs are forcibly sent down his piping.
The Weavile soon rests a clawed finger upon your nose, locking eyes with you for a brief moment before painstakingly sliding you down his pulsing girth, making sure to let the lubrication of his cock and the weight of your body nestled inside his overloaded nuts slowly pull you down through his rod. His tip gradually swallows up your shoulders, neck, and then cheeks -- before consuming the sides of your vision and with a resounding splut!, your entire face is swallowed up by his cock. All you can do is whine and squirm as you flow down, hit his base, then slump into his slimy, white sac.
With the Liepard, or better put as soon to be nutslime, is packed away, the Weavile possessively runs his claws across the gigantic, wriggly cat-sack between his thighs, debating what he should do with the load within...