I knew I couldn’t tell anyone what I was doing. If I did, they would have stopped me or, worse, contacted authorities who’d do so. My plan ran against nearly every personal safety rule in the book when it comes to being in a remote area inhabited by Pokémon. I was going alone; my Inteleon’s Poké Ball would stay holstered and provide the thinnest veil of plausible deniability.

Poképhilia wasn’t *technically* illegal here. Maybe it was because they figured anyone dumb enough to try deserved what they got. Maybe they’d never bothered passing laws to ban it. But I had … calling it a plan would be a strong word, but I at least had an idea. While most Pokémon would probably be unreceptive to the advances of a trainer, Salazzle seemed like it just might be interested. Its tendency to keep a harem of pheromone–hypnotized Salandit was well documented, but I’d heard rumors that, sometimes, other Pokémon could be temporarily enthralled.

So, if she could even seduce other Pokémon into having a good time, maybe, just maybe, she could seduce a trainer into having a good time too.

I’d prepared for a day of trudging through tall grass and backing away from unwanted encounters. I wasn’t prepared for a Salazzle lazily sunning herself on a flat rock this early in the morning. She looked completely relaxed; she *knew* she had nothing to fear. Even as I got closer, she only looked up in curiosity, rather than taking an aggressive battle stance. Once I was within arm’s reach, she stood on her hindlegs and looked me in the eyes.

This was the moment things could go horribly wrong. One attack from her and I could be seriously hurt or worse. I was fortunate, however; instead of a fire lash or poison fang, Salazzle seemed more interested in a nasty plot. She scrambled off her rock, firmly shoved her nose between my legs, and inhaled deeply to sample my scent. Salazzle knew why I was here. My body answered her unspoken question in a way words could not. I looked down at her. She locked eyes with me. The ‘battle’ was on.

In contrast to hundreds (thousands?) of times before, my first move wasn’t to open a Poké Ball. It was to crouch in front of the Salazzle and bow my head in submission… and at least a small measure of shame. She rose to her hindlegs and placed a forepaw on my shoulder both to steady and assert herself. Her snout pressed against my nostrils; her warmth radiated across my face. Then, with a single breath laced with pungent sweetness, everything else in the world fell away.

Nearly all thoughts disappeared. Only three remained.

1. Salazzle was, for all practical purposes, my Mistress—no, *Goddess*—until she was satisfied.
2. I was hornier than I’d ever been in my life and completely unashamed of my pleasure.
3. Salazzle expected me to eat her out like her pussy was a five-star buffet and I was getting my last meal.

Salazzle knew I wasn’t in a state to act on any of those thoughts. If a Salandit can spend a lifetime beneath her and barely retain free will, what chance did I have as a first-timer? The paw on my shoulder became heavier until I laid flat on the ground. The cool grass was a stark contrast to the heat of her body, and I felt every single blade brushing against my arms and legs as I was pressed into position.

When I reached down to undo my pants, Salazzle sat on my hips and hissed at me. This was about *her* pleasure first; mine was secondary. She only moved on when my hands did. Salazzle quickly slithered up my body, perhaps in the same way she’d climbed on her rock, until her groin came clearly into view. Her vent glistened like a natural hot spring and I was about to plunge in head-first. She didn’t want any further foreplay. She was ready to use me as part of her harem.

The heat struck me first. Though her entire body was warm, it was almost oppressive near her slit. It was the difference between standing next to an oven and opening its door; I couldn’t tell if I was sweating profusely or if the cool morning air was condensing on my face like dew. Salazzle’s scent crescendoed and I became aware of complexities I’d previously missed. There were hints of sweetness and spice amongst the inferno and a smoldering earthiness from her poisons. Her crotch filled my view fully. Then Salazzle pressed her underside against my face and I saw nothing at all.

I knew *roughly* what I was supposed to be doing. I just didn’t know how, exactly, to do it. My hesitation was met with impatience; Salazzle snarled in disapproval as her toy wouldn’t start. She rubbed herself against my face until the pressure forced my jaws apart and my tongue into service. Though I could practically taste her in the air, the moment Salazzle’s fluids met my tongue the flavor intensified tenfold. Like her scent, it was hot as I could handle, with sweetness, spice, and that hint of poison. If I were lucid, I might have recognized the danger; in my current state, I didn’t care about anything but pleasure. Her pleasure.

Salazzle pushed herself just far enough off my face for me to desperately gasp for air. That deep breath inflicted a further dose of her pheromones upon me and pushed me further under her spell. I was delirious as her heat and scent assaulted my body and mind. As Salazzle settled back onto my face, I offered my tongue immediately; I had learned that lesson well.

As for what to *do* with my tongue, now that I knew to use it, I was following her lead. Salazzle moved upon me to guide me attention to the places she liked best. Her aggressive snarls transitioned to a satisfying purring as my understanding of her body and her wants improved. My reward for obedience? Another breath of pheromone-saturated air.

# The End (for now)
There’s probably a joke to be made about the protagonist not knowing how to finish off Salazzle and me as an author not knowing how to finish off this story. It’s as unsatisfying for me as a writer as it would be for her as a Dominatrix.