Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1991922.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Pocket_Monsters_|_Pokemon_-_All_Media_Types
  Relationship:
      Ninetales/Original_Male_Character, Leafeon/Original_Male_Character,
      Espeon/Original_Male_Character
  Character:
      Kyuukon_|_Ninetales, Blacky_|_Umbreon, Sidney, Original_Pokemon_Trainer,
      Darkrai, Leafia_|_Leafeon, Eifie_|_Espeon, Erika_(Pokemon), Natsume_|
      Sabrina
  Additional Tags:
      Humor, Anal_Sex, Anal, Dream_Sex, Wet_Dream, Multiple_Personalities,
      Shota, Oral_Sex, Vaginal_Sex, Large_Cock, Pokephilia, Parody, Body
      Modification, Anal_Fingering, Vaginal_Fingering, Penis_Size, Size_Kink,
      Bestiality, Inflation, Erotica
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-07-20 Completed: 2014-08-26 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 26833
****** The Dream Eater Opens a Junk Food Chain ******
by theway
Summary
     Global Police detective Dave Holder adds excitement in his mind-
     numblingly boring life by conspiring with Darkrai and copulating with
     various people through various orifices, while maintaining a really
     bad sense of humour.
Notes
     Readers should note various groups and demographics are made fun of,
     which is expected to be taken in good humour. If you are here for the
     smut, note that the first chapter will not excite you. Tags will be
     updated regularly to match the content.
     This work is discontinued, so it won't receive further updates. To
     receive notifications about new works and chapters, you can subscribe
     to this_RSS_feed or my_profile.
***** Chapter 1 *****
The lights were on. The host turned to the camera.
“Good evening, everyone. You are watching Kanto News. We have a very special
guest with us tonight, none other than Pokémon League Master and member of
Hoenn’s Elite Four, Sidney, who earlier today lead the largest criminal
organisation bust in years.”
Turning to his right—the viewers’ left—the camera put the aforementioned Sidney
into view.
“Good evening, Sidney,” the host said.
“Evening to you all, too,” Sidney replied, waving at the remote audience.
“It’s an honour to have you here, sir.”
“Well, I don’t know about honour, but I’m not repulsed by the attention, Bert.”
Sidney chuckled.
“It’s been quite the ride, I’m sure.”
“Oh, you have no idea!” Sidney made a grandiose gesture with his arms; he
undeniably had a rich body language. “Just the travel alone put me in close
proximity to my own half-digested food, shall we say.”
Bert, the TV host, chuckled awkwardly, visibly repulsed by the thought of sea-
induced vomiting.
“Hoenn is pretty far away, I must say. What possessed you to come over here
personally?”
Sidney repositioned himself, putting his elbow on the glass-aluminium table,
leaning forward, and resting some of his weight on it.
“A straightforward story if there ever was one, really: Dave—Dave is the guy
behind the whole shebang—came to me and said ‘Sidney, you BLEEP, surely, you
must have an interest in heroics, you can’t permit that Lance BLEEP to take all
the glory forever!’ That’s what he said, legit.”
The look on the host’s face alone was worth the risks associated with
profanity.
“Alright, I’ve had enough surrealism in my life for one day,” Dave said, picked
up the controller, and turned off the TV. He turned from the smug arse that was
Sidney on the screen to the smug arse that was Sidney alive and breathing next
to the door.
“What did I tell ya? Best interview ever, am I right? Heh.”
His grin could swallow a Snorlax whole. Sidney had a sizeable idea of himself,
that one was beyond rejection. His stupid not-quite-bald hairstyle, with an
antenna poking out of his skull, didn’t help this interpretation of him either.
Dave shook his head, inasmuch as one confined to a hospital bed could shake his
head.
“I’ll send you a tape or a link or whatever later,” Sidney said.
“Yes, I’ll make sure to downvote every comment praising you.”
“Pfft. Killjoy. For real, though, this went nicely, hiccups notwithstanding.”
“Yeah, such negligible trivialities as a missing Darkrai, or, well…” Dave
pointed at himself. “Real smooth.”
“Aww,” Sidney said in mock pity, approaching Dave and giving him an emasculated
shove. “It’s okay. Even if you’re crippled for life, I’m sure we’ll find some
way to ease your suffering.”
Dave pushed Sidney’s hand away.
“The nurses’ worry will suffice.”
“Speaking of which, the probability of you being assaulted has officially
increased by an order of magnitude.”
Dave was admittedly not paying much attention to Sidney’s babbling. He was
feeling kind of sleepy, actually. Probably the shit in his meds, he thought, as
he glanced over the IV bags next to him.
“In the interest of seeing you alive post-promotion and all, you should secure
yourself.”
He shrugged.
“Send a couple of grunts to sit outside my door and deny you entry all day
long,” Dave suggested. His suggestions were, expectantly, ignored.
“I went through my stash and got you this.”
Sidney reached for his belt and threw a white Poké Ball at Dave, who barely
managed not to drop it on the floor. A Premier Ball, he noticed, cursing the
Pokémon Master’s affluence.
“Fuck’s sake, Sidney, you know I don’t—”
“Consider it your promotion gift from me. That way, I don’t have to waste time
shopping around for you.” He laughed. He knelt down, and put a hand on Dave’s
shoulder. “You do know how to open it, yes? I can help teach you its ticklish
spots, like you finger this little button over here, and—”
“Sidney, I could be medicated halfway out of my mind, but at this distance, I
can still punch your nose in.”
Sidney stood upright again and roared out an eardrum-shattering laugh.
“That’s the spirit!”
“Seriously though, take it back, you know I’m not a Pokémon trainer.”
Sidney took a few steps back, and raised his hands in the air, well out of
reach of Dave.
“Oh, no, sweetheart, it doesn’t work like that! You take it, you bought it!”
“I didn’t take anything, you threw the damn thing on me!”
He approached the door, and gestured a pair of imaginary handguns, shooting
what must have been sarcasm.
“Have fun, and try not to get yourself killed.”
“Wait, what is even—”
“Nuh-uh. I thought you didn’t need the user’s manual.”
“But what if—”
Sidney opened the door and yelled:
“Busy, busy, busy. So busy all the time. Ah, how I hate leaving, but leave I
must, woe and dismay upon thee. Quoth the Murkrow, ‘Nevermore’.”
And like a premature ejaculator, Sidney came in, didn’t impress, and left too
soon.
Dave looked at the tiny white sphere in his hand, not really sure what to
expect. He wondered what would happen if he swallowed it, giving it the shitty
treatment appropriate for Sidney, but reconsidered, finding the colon
reconstruction surgery too much of a price.
He pressed the central button, inflating the ball to twice its radius. He
weighed his luck. If the ball contained something insane like a Wailord or a
Muk, he would a) die, and b) unironically assassinate Sidney.
Feeling suicidal, he threw it on the ground, it opened, and it jumped back at
him. Dave almost fell off the bed from the side opposite from the one he had
originally thrown the ball, and by the time he stabilised the damn thing, he
could hear one “Umbreon.”
He looked at the striped, black feline and repeated “Umbreon” back at it, as if
it were some sort of commonly understood language. It tilted its head,
rightfully confused. He thought much worse could have happened, given the
circumstances.
“I’m going to sleep. You’re nocturnal, but you sleep, too. I’ll figure out a
way to return you to Sidney after I escape the morphine.”
The funny thing was, it actually worked.
===============================================================================
The food was shit.
“We just want to hear your side of the story,” the reporter explained. “It
won’t take more than ten minutes.”
Dave swallowed his food as quickly as possible. He had noticed that speed made
the hospital food considerably more tolerable, in that it felt like eating
paper instead of turds.
The reporter herself was a 30-something brunette piece of pure annoyance,
refusing to leave him be in peace to enjoy his aching muscles and gourmet
turds. Truly a mystifying case.
“See, I don’t understand you people. I’ve admittedly not interacted with Sidney
all that long, but he seemed to enjoy the attention; why don’t you ask him?”
“Um,” Umbreon interjected.
“Oh,” Dave mocked a sudden epiphany, “but you have asked him! Now I see! You’re
here for a different kind of exclusive. Why, with so little going on in the
world, you probably want to run this story to the ground for, like, a week
straight, or something, am I right?”
“Can I quote that?” she said.
Well, well, well, the little thing could snark back, what a surprise.
“Okay, look, we found some rotting zombie corpses of Team Rocket, and we had
some suspicion they were smuggling a Darkrai. I thought we might need some
professional trainer backup, the Hoenn League was on a break due to their
recent change in Champion, I was brought along in the operation, shit happened,
now I’m here. That’s it. That’s the whole story. Details, you can get from
Sidney.”
“Umbreon,” Umbreon said.
“Yes, yes, ‘Umbreon’. Look, I know the food is shit, there’s nothing I can do
about it. When I return you to Sidney—pray that day comes soon—you can express
your exasperation to him however you please.”
“The Umbreon is not yours?” the reporter asked, pointing her pen at the
suffering Pokémon, torn between starvation and gag reflex.
“No, I’m not sadistic enough to leave poor creatures all alone in hospitals. I
also can’t afford premium balls,” Dave said, tapping the relevant object with
the back of his spoon.
She chuckled, recognising he had a point.
“Why would he give you a Pokémon? Doesn’t he trust your own?”
“Hard to. Don’t own any.”
“Huh.”
“What, suddenly realised you’re talking to a weirdo?”
“Well, no, you’re certainly not alone in that department, but I did expect
someone as… high profile as you to be more serious about his security.”
The woman could snark back!
“Hey, look, it’s not as if I didn’t suggest they put a couple of boys to fend
off assassins or some shit; Sidney insisted his solution was better.”
“I see.”
“Now, if you don’t mind, I need to take a piss. You know where the exit is.”
===============================================================================
Dave’s adventures in staring at the ceiling were interrupted by shouting.
“What the fuck is this shit?!” a woman screamed and threw a newspaper on his
belly.
He was facing his lieutenant, Rachel, who was angry, as per usual. After
restoring his heart rate to something sane, he reached for the scattered pages
of the newspaper, put them back in relative order, and read the frontpage
headlines.
DETECTIVE DAVE HOLDER WALKS THE FINE LINE BETWEEN NAÏVETY AND PARANOIA,
POSSIBLY BRAIN DAMAGED.
That was an entertaining interpretation of his last conversation…
“Huh,” he said.
“Don’t ‘huh’ me!” Rachel exclaimed, shoving the door behind her so it would
close with a loud thud. “What the fuck are you thinking?”
Rachel hadn’t dyed her hair in a while. That was what he was thinking.
“You haven’t dyed your hair in a while.”
She raised her hand, as if to slap him, then stopped mid-way. She grimaced
deeply, and waved the hand back and forth in front of her face, her breaths
increasingly audible.
“If you weren’t hospitalised already, I swear I’d hurt you.”
As for Umbreon, it didn’t know what to make of the situation, so it started
hissing at the intruder.
“And what is this? When did it happen?” Rachel said, turning to the Pokémon,
and pointing rather rudely with both hands.
“Oh wow, you didn’t even read the article, huh?”
“The article includes this, too?”
“Yeah, and it’s a real funny story, like, Sidney said—”
“Please stop talking.”
Rachel raised both of her hands to her face, and massaged all of her features
in trying to digest the P.R. hell that was Dave. She was already picturing the
lawsuits and the demotions and holy shit her life was over.
“You should never talk to any kind of reporter without consulting me in the
future. Understood?”
He shrugged. “Okay.”
“If I were in your position, I’d pray no one is offended by what you said.”
“If you mean Sidney being offended, I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
Rachel sighed.
“Just… I don’t know what you have to do, but get your shit sorted. Alright? The
second you’re out, make sure to steer clear of courtrooms and reporters.”
He was thinking more along the lines of going to a booty bar, getting drunk,
and losing Umbreon along the way somehow.
“And I don’t want to hear any stupid comments about booty bars either, or
you’ll have a free lifetime membership to the official Kanto eunuchs
organisation,” she added, reading his mind.
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, and followed it up with “Okay.”
“Text me when you’re discharged,” she said before exiting the room.
Dave looked at Umbreon, and Umbreon looked at Dave, and both their faces
communicated their confusion.
“Breon?” it asked.
“Yeah, I dunno what the fuck that was either,” he replied.
And he returned to ceiling observation.
===============================================================================
Dave’s entire body was sore. Every muscle he moved, every time any body part
made contact with any surface, his every cell hurt, head-to-toe. Even his butt
muscles hurt. He wasn’t sure how or why those were sore, but he couldn’t deny
reality.
He walked up the stairs to his hotel room, inasmuch as a crippled zombie’s
attempts at elevation could be described as “walking”. The Umbreon by his
side—its reactions ranging from confusion, to pity, to annoyance—didn’t know
how to help the situation.
He was getting tired of this figuratively shitty faux-cold Vermilion weather.
He had been tired of the literally shitty Vermilion smell, what with the fine
aroma of the port pervading the city. He decided he didn’t like ports.
He reached for the room keys in his pocket, the bones in his spine protesting.
He opened the door ever so slowly, as if it was made of glass, and walked
inside, welcoming a room whose bed was soft and its walls weren’t white.
Instead he found various bodies scattered all over the room, sleeping or
fainted or worse. He didn’t know what to make of the situation. He surveyed the
room, squinting his eyes, eventually noticing a part of the room was darker
than it ought to.
He entered the room, closed the door behind him, and turned on the lights.
“They were going to kill you, you know.”
“Yeah, guess so…,” Dave told Darkrai.
Darkrai was hovering in between the bed and a piece of furniture supporting the
television. Dave would put on a façade of seriousness and vague coolness in
front of a creature which need only fart in his direction to kill him, but he
was exhausted enough that anyone’s fart would cause serious damage.
“I can’t tell if you’re really stupid or really crazy.”
Mainly stupid, Dave thought. Then he considered whether the mere act of
thinking it was enough for Darkrai to hear it, since their communication was
telepathic and all. Or, at least, he thought it was. It didn’t feel any
different from normal communication. Perhaps his sleepiness was messing with
his head more than Darkrai ever could.
“Don’t you take any security precautions?”
Dave pointed at Umbreon, which was walking circles on the bed sheets, searching
for the optimal sleeping position.
“Umbreon,” it said.
“Umbreon,” he said.
“Umbreon,” Darkrai said.
They stared blankly at the beauty of transparent air until Umbreon got bored
and fell on the bed.
“I guess that answers my question.”
Seeing Umbreon making itself comfortable on his bed, Dave realised how
incredibly tired he was tonight.
“You don’t mind if I sit down, right?”
He could swear he saw Darkrai intensify its subtle oscillations up and down as
it was hovering, as if to commentate on the stupidity of the affair. He
interpreted it as his cue to sit down.
“You have by far the most nonchalant attitude, out of everyone I’ve met.”
“Thanks, but I think my tiredness is to blame for this one.”
Darkrai eyed the Umbreon, which was in deep sleep now, not minding the
dangerous legendary Pokémon in its presence. Seeing that the indifference had
largely rubbed off on it, it had difficulty believing Dave’s excuses.
“Right. I’m here to thank you for your assistance. Not handing me over to the
Pokémon League, that is,” Darkrai said.
“It’s cool, don’t mention it.”
“Okay, let’s cut to the chase, then. What do you want?”
“Ah.” Dave leaned forward, and rested his chin on his index finger’s first
knuckle. It would have looked cooler, but with his body aching, the effect was
ruined. “The real question is: what do you have to offer me?”
“Smart boy. Try working on not being a such a cliché’d tryhard, though.”
===============================================================================
When the sun dawned, Dave was still sore. He soon realised, trying to comfort
himself, that it wasn’t just the aftermath of yesterday’s soreness, but that an
entirely new kind of flavour had been added onto it, because for some
mysterious reason he had decided to sleep on a chair rather than the bed.
He straightened himself and removed the drool on his face with his sleeve. He
stared blankly at the floor, his brain slowly starting up. He tried standing,
but his thighs could barely lift him. He only left the chair after adding the
support of his arms to it.
Even after a night’s sleep, Dave felt like a zombie. He eyed Umbreon, fast
asleep on his bed, cursing its luck and lack of nocturnal sleep cycle. He
decided a cold shower was the only thing capable of resurrecting him, the
heart-pumping adrenaline forcing wakefulness where none was to be found.
He entered the bathroom and washed his face. What with the hospital debacle, he
hadn’t shaven in days. His unruly black hair was at its worst, too, but the
hospital wasn’t to blame for that. He entered the tiny bathtub and began
washing the filth and lethargy off of himself; hopefully he’d wash off the sore
muscles, too.
The success in the latter department wasn’t notable, but the shower had indeed
helped in waking him up. He approached the balcony, the only redeeming quality
of the tiny hotel room, and breathed in… the foul air of Vermilion, still
reeking of waste and fish.
This jolted his memory. Something was amiss, and he couldn’t put his finger on
it. Last night, he had arrived at the hotel, he had entered his room… and had
seen bodies everywhere.
Disconnected images of last night’s events rushed back at him, but they weren’t
the only thing that rushed at him; someone—a man—grabbed Dave from behind,
turned him around, and pushed him against the balcony door’s glass.
Dave reached around for some kind of weapon, something to hold onto, anything,
really, but found nothing. In that time, the man had opened the door, and
pushed him against the balcony railing.
Dave held on for dear life, only seeing blurred shapes in his panic. His heart
was beating like war drum, and he didn’t dare look behind him and his impeding
doom via gravity, the threat of vertigo an unwanted addition to his 99
problems.
With one strong shove, the man loosened Dave’s grip, and with a second one he
pushed him off the balcony. Dave was falling, head down, on what was probably
asphalt, his senses dominated by the falling sensation, and panicked out of his
mind. The fall couldn’t have lasted more than two seconds.
But when he hit the ground, he didn’t feel his skull splatter and decorate the
road, but rather, its building materials enveloped him as he dove into them, as
if he were diving in a sea.
And then, he woke up for real.
His heart was still racing, and he was breathing very fast, but he was alive.
He stood in disbelief, reliving the scenes, in rapid succession a few times
over a couple of minutes.
As he considered the dream, he realised it hadn’t felt like one at all. It was
more like… a really vivid hallucination. He could remember the events as if
they had transpired for real. Its entirety had felt real.
Apparently, it had also been inspired by reality, because he had been drooling
on a chair outside the dream as well as in inside it. Umbreon, too, was curled
up on his bed. The only thing missing from the fiasco was his sleepiness, for
that matter, and its absence was understandable.
He picked himself up, looking around the room. The real room also lacked
bodies. Maybe Darkrai had disposed of them? Probably yes. There was a note left
on the desk next to the bed. He reached for it and read it.
“That’s what’s coming for you if you don’t take your safety seriously,” it
began.
Yeah, definitely Darkrai at work here.
“You look like a guy who needs entertainment, so I’ve left you an entertaining
gift. Enjoy, Dream Eater,” the note concluded.
And that was all there was to it. He burned the paper, shaved, and took his
cold shower. There would be time to figure out Darkrai’s half of the deal, and
how much he should be annoyed by its absence, after breakfast.
===============================================================================
“Hey, arsehole!”
Sidney turned around, all too aware of who was shouting, and who he was
referring to.
“Hey!” he said, waving one arm, the other busy keeping his shoulder bag stable.
“I see they discharged you at last. How are the wounds?”
“They’ll heal. Will probably leave a scar, though,” Dave said, catching up to
the almost-bald redhead.
Sidney chuckled. “Great, now you have something to show off to the ladies.
Ladies love tough guys.”
Dave had caught Sidney at the airport—and barely at that, too. After all, he
did have to apologise for the newspaper articles… Well, no, that was a lie. He
wanted to get rid of Umbreon, and dump it on Sidney.
“Ah!” Sidney exclaimed, falling to the ground.
Umbreon had tackled him and was now yelling an assortment of combinations of
the syllables in its name at him. Their time together being what it is, Umbreon
had at least taken Dave’s words to heart, and was expressing its
dissatisfaction with its former trainer in a most violent manner.
Sidney eventually managed to contain the irritated beast, and stood up.
“Someone’s not happy.”
“I’m dumping it back to you. Here.” Dave threw the Premier Ball at Sidney, who,
unlike Dave’s first attempts, actually caught it without losing his balance.
“I take it you’ve arranged some kind of security for yourself, then?” he asked.
Uh-oh.
“Well, um…” Dave scratched the back of his head.
And thus the ball was returned to him.
“Tough shit then. Sad day for you. She’s a cutie though, I don’t see what your
problem is with her.”
Dave began slouching. “Oh, come on, man, you know I’m no trainer material!”
“Then so be it. She doubles as a pet. You don’t have any pets. You could use a
pet.”
“I don’t want a pet.”
“You need to expand your friends list, too. Umbreon’s a friend. You totally
need more friends.”
“Sidney, how many times do I have to say this, I don’t want your Pokémon. I’m a
busy man. I have things to do, girls to hit on.”
“Girlfriend!” Sidney snapped his fingers. “Yes, that’s it. You ain’t never
gonna get laid with that kind of attitude. And, you guessed it, Umbreon could
totally work as a—”
“Sidney.”
“Okay, I guess you’re right. She’s probably better off with me, anyway.”
Dave cheered and shouted internally. At last, free to go!
“I guess I should tell my colleagues about how deeply offended I was by the
newspapers here…”
At that point, all alarms went off.
“No, no, no! Sidney, please don’t!” Dave yelled, his hands outstretched, palms
open. “Please, they’ll have my head if you say anything!”
“You mean Rachel will.”
Dave nodded furiously. Sidney rubbed his beard, feigning deep concentration on
Dave’s “intricate” points.
“Oh, I don’t know, Dave, I’m going to have so many Pokémon to take care of, and
you now know how stressful these things can be. I don’t know when I’ll snap and
accidentally spill details to everyone within hearing range. If only there was
someone willing to lighten my load around… I’d ask you, but you said you were
busy.”
So that was the game Sidney wanted to play, huh? His first comment had nailed
it: arsehole. Dave really didn’t want to deal with this kind of bullshit right
now. It was the exact opposite of what he needed. But he liked his head well-
connected to the rest of his body, enough to concede to playing house to keep
it that way.
“Fine, you win. I’ll keep it—her,” Dave said, and put the Poké Ball in his
pocket.
“Great! All’s well that ends well, as the saying goes. Now, if you wouldn’t
mind, I’ve got a plane to catch.”
Sidney turned around, and walked towards his trip back home.
“Oh, one last thing!” he said, turning around to face Dave again. “Put in a
good word for me with Rachel, I could feel her hand on my cheek for three hours
this time!”
Dave giggled at the thought of Rachel rejecting Sidney’s advances so hard.
“Fuck off!” he replied, but his tone gave him away.
“Aye!” Sidney said, and turned around for good this time.
As Umbreon whined about food, Dave thought about how incredibly long this month
was going to be. The longest in recorded history.
Things learned today: Umbreon’s gender.
***** Chapter 2 *****
For the first time in days, the food didn’t taste like shit.
Rachel’s face became increasingly deformed as she watched Dave consume junk
food. He had suggested they meet here so he could grab “a quick bite”, though
the duration of the digestion had been considerably underestimated.
He washed a big bite down with a soft drink, and exhaled loudly in
satisfaction.
“You’ve dyed your hair,” Dave noticed, as the hints of white and grey on
Rachel’s head were replaced by a rather uniform blond.
Rachel immediately reacted to the expected comment by picking up one of his
chips and throwing it at his face.
“If I hear another comment about my hair dying habits…” Rachel raised her
finger and looked threateningly at Dave; she didn’t need to finish her sentence
as Dave imagined the various ways in which she’d torture his testicles.
Umbreon moved about and ate the potato chip on the floor. She began purring,
drawing 8-shapes while rubbing herself on Dave’s legs.
“And what is it with the fucking Umbreon?” Rachel asked. “Honestly, I thought
you’d have dumped it on Sidney by now.”
“Well, it’s not for lack of trying, I’ll tell you that,” he said, and took a
shorter sip out of his drink.
“And will you stop consuming this crap as if it’s the last edible material on
Earth? It’s very rude. And annoying.”
“Oh, lieutenant, you have no idea. This is the best food I’ve eaten in my life,
I think. When you’re stuck in a hospital for that long, you get a deep
appreciation for the baser pleasures in life.”
Rachel rested her face on her palm, only half-believing the inanity coming out
of Dave’s mouth. The more he went on, the more of her body’s weight went on it,
and the deeper her facial deformation.
“You were in the hospital for a week. One week.” She signed it with her
fingers. “You’d have me believe it was the end of the world or something.”
“If I had had food poisoning and died, it would certainly have been the end of
my world.”
She would comment on the vast improvement her life would undergo if that had
been the case, but she wasn’t much for indulging in “base pleasures”.
“In fact,” Dave went on, “I think I’ve been infatuated with this ordeal to such
an extent, that I’m considering opening a junk food chain back home.”
“Oh, Dave, please do,” she replied immediately. She hadn’t meant to vocalise
it, but her irritation had got the better of her.
He was taken aback by the sudden support. “Seriously?”
“Yes! By all means, file your resignation papers right now, and I’ll see to it
that you’re relieved of your duties first thing in the morning.”
Dave stopped being a barbarian with his food and leaned back, resting on his
chair properly, to think about Rachel’s offer. In the few seconds it took him
to reply, she took in her surroundings: the counter girl hating life, the
children screaming about, the obese regulars, and the rest of Vermilion’s high
class.
“I’ll consider it, but not before getting some well-deserved days off, in a
place far, far away, without ports and their distinctive smell.”
Rachel kicked his left leg in retaliation. “I’ll consider it,” she mocked his
voice, “but not before you tell me what’s going on with the impending lawsuit.”
“I told you, Sidney’s not going to be offended.”
Rachel leaned in, squinted her eyes, and shot death rays from her irises.
“Alright, alright, you win. I’ll tell the whole story.” Dave leaned in as well,
rubbed his neck, and began confessing. “I went to dump Umbreon on him, alright?
And he mocked offence, unless I decided to keep her. So I did. Out of respect.”
“Pfft, yeah, respect!” she snorted, but was genuinely relieved. She took her
time to entertain herself with the oxymoron that was Dave mentioning respect.
“And ‘she’?”
“One learns new shit every day.”
“Wow, this is a big day for you, then.”
“Eh, not much into the whole Pokémon training thing, really.”
“No, I mean, this must be the closest you’ve ever been to a woman. Keep it up,
and in six decades you might even get laid without paying for it.”
“Oh, come on!” Dave yelled. Everyone in the room turned to look at them, made
sure no one was going to die, and they returned to their respective junk food.
Quieter, he continued. “You, too? What’s wrong with you people?”
Rachel raised an eyebrow, trying to understand what was being said. Eventually,
it clicked, two plus two equalling four. She tried containing her laughter, to
no avail.
“Oh, please tell me Sidney made the girlfriend comment, too,” she said.
Dave didn’t reply with words, but the look on his face was much more talkative.
“He did! He so did! Holy shit!”
He had embarrassed himself, but, inadvertently, Dave had kept his promise to
Sidney about putting in a good word for him. Things could have gone much worse.
“Okay, for real, though, I want out of here. Like, this city. It’s been getting
on my nerves. The port, the smell, ugh.” He rolled his eyes. “I think the filth
is becoming part of my body.”
“Oh, trust me, I see what you mean. Smell it, even,” she conceded. “You should
take some weeks off, to recover and everything. Celadon will detoxify you.”
“I think—” he began, trying to stand up, but his sore muscles cut him off. With
great effort, he succeeded the second time. “I think I’m going to take you up
on that offer.”
“Great.” She stood up too, and they shook hands.
She left first, having ordered nothing, as Dave would have to pay the bill. A
few steps towards the doors, he interrupted her.
“Do you know what ‘Dream Eater’ is supposed to be?”
“What did Umbreon see you dreaming, Dave? Was it embarrassing? Better pray she
isn’t in heat,” she replied, and left the restaurant.
Well, there was always the internet.
===============================================================================
At the end of the day, Dave’s time had been spent chasing after things; Sidney,
Umbreon, his sanity. And, ultimately, it wasn’t just his time that had been
spent, but also himself.
As a result, he was now trying to make himself comfortable on the hotel bed,
laptop on his, well, lap, blankly staring at the monitor, unsure of what to do,
and too sleepy to figure it out.
“Umbreooon!” yelled Umbreon from the balcony.
He wasn’t particularly pleased with how his gamble had ended up. Darkrai’s end
of the bargain underwhelmed, and Sidney not taking his fucking pet back wasn’t
helping with his mood either.
The fusion dance the foul air of Vermilion carried out with his lungs and cells
went on with undiminished passion. Rachel, bitchy as she was, was right about
the necessity of detoxification.
Dave played the awesome things he ought to do in Celadon over and over in his
head. The list read: sleep, sleep, more sleep, toilet, resume sleeping. His
half-destroyed body would appreciate the rest, if not his mind.
For that matter, Darkrai’s betrayal would have felt far less horrible if he
hadn’t been injured so badly in the process. Dave’s analysis of his misfortunes
was interrupted by Umbreon’s ever-louder repetitions of her name.
“Oy, cunt!” he said, trying to get her attention. No response. “I swear, if
you’re horny and this is some convoluted plot with Rachel trying to get me
imprisoned, I’ll kill you!”
Umbreon turned to face him for almost exactly one second, then resumed her
business… whatever that was.
Dave figured he might as well look up what a “dream eater” was supposed to be.
A few keystrokes later, he found out it was a Pokémon move, which made it all
the more perplexing. The only connection between him and Pokémon was one of
necessity and irritation.
If this was some sort of sick joke, with Umbreon now capable of performing
Dream Eater, he would unironically go homicidal. Go through all this trouble
for… what, exactly?
“Umbreooon!”
A horny Umbreon, apparently. This conspiracy went deep, man.
He sighed, and looked for the fastest and easiest way to leave for Celadon. And
so it came to pass that he would leave via train and never look back.
Umbreon, discovering there would be no shagging tonight, or perhaps having a
sore throat, returned to the inside of the room, greatly disappointed that Dave
was occupying the bed. She curled up next to it, on the carpet.
He figured he might as well join her, since his exhaustion was overcoming him
and dominating all rational processes. He hoped he’d dream something standard
tonight—as in, not dying—preferably a wet dream. That would definitely take him
mind off the trainwreck that was his career choice.
He turned off the lights and slept.
===============================================================================
Dave was eleven years old.
School was out early—much earlier than usual—and he wanted to surprise his
parents and have the rest of the day off. A glorious idea; one might say too
glorious. The sky definitely did.
Soon after his departure from school, it had started raining. The rain went
from a barely audible dribble to a cataclysmic downpour—well, cataclysmic from
11-year-old Dave’s questionable perspective.
So now Dave was running, every step raising tiny waves of droplets. He was
completely soaked, from the hair on his head to his underwear, every part of
him was wet.
The added weight of the water made his movements slow, and far too exerting. It
made him feel heavy. He could almost hear his breaths over the deafening sound
of the rain. He would feel the cold creeping up to him, too, but the heat of
burning calories immunised him against that, for now.
The clouds were covering the sky in all directions as far as the eye could see.
It was noon now, but you couldn’t tell. A distinct “rainy” darkness had fallen
on the town. It wasn’t like the darkness of the night, which swallowed
everything; it was a desaturating one, reducing all colours to grey, blurring
shapes and things together.
After five minutes of running, Dave had arrived home. He stopped before the
doorstep to catch his breath. When his heartbeat had been restored to a sane
rate, he looked for the keys in his soaked pants. He opened the door, took off
his shoes and socks, and entered the house.
“Mom? Dad? I’m home!” he announced. Now inside, the sound of the rain was like
background noise, and his voice was clearer, more distinct. Still, no one
answered. “I’m soaked! I’m gonna go change,” he added.
His fear of the hell he’d have to endure over being so wet was so predominant
that it didn’t occur to him how strange it was not to hear any response
whatsoever. He went upstairs, looking for the bathroom.
Even in his hurry he couldn’t ignore the panting sounds—and the sounds of
creaking wooden planks—coming from the bedroom; his parents’ bedroom. He
interrupted his escape to the bathroom, approaching the source of the noise as
silently as he could, not that he needed to put much effort in his ninja
tactics.
Said source raised more questions than it answered, though it did answer one
too many. It was one of those things that Dave didn’t have any right knowing.
In retrospect, it was probably an instinctive thing; something deeply wired in
human biology for hundreds of thousands of years, so that you never really
needed to be told about it. The onset of puberty probably helped, though.
Roundabout descriptions aside, someone was fucking Ninetales, the family pet,
and it was weird that Dave could identify that fucking was going on.
The sight burned into his corneas permanently. He couldn’t shift his view,
focus on something else, close his eyes, or even be spared during the
milliseconds it took to blink. It did to observers what supermassive black
holes did to local stars.
He could almost feel his soul being poured out, consumed whole by the fox’s
golden-white fur, ruffled by hands or motion, oscillating in wave-like shapes
to match her movements. Her red eyes, occasionally obfuscated by the motions of
her crest, though usually fearsome and perceiving, were now instinctively
squinting in exhaustion and arousal.
And most of all, her tails. Her huge, fluffy, long tails were performing these
enchanting, elegant motions, completely out of touch with the crudeness of the
overall performance, rubbing against against the naked skin of her lover,
sheltering his entire chest and most of his back.
Only by following her tails did Dave finally notice the man’s face. He fell on
his back with a loud thud, making himself public.
“Why, hello there, Dave,” Dave said.
“What the fuck?” Dave replied.
11-year-old Dave was looking at grown-up Dave. He put his hand on the
Ninetales’ back, stopping their mating. Then he approached little Dave with a
massive, knowing grin on his face, like his conspiracy had gone exactly as
planned.
“What were you expecting to see, hmm? Daddy? It wouldn’t be as fun the second
time, though. Been there, done that, the whole shebang.”
Dave’s mouth was open, his brain frozen. Too much stimulation, too many
thoughts were flooding him to process. His doppelgänger, these events… This was
a dream again, wasn’t it?
“What the fuck?” he repeated.
“Well, this fuck, obviously.”
Even surreal copies of him maintained Dave’s awful sense of humour.
“Why am I, like, 11?”
“Something to be said about the loss of innocence or some shit. I dunno, ask
the literature major.”
Dave lunged forward in an attempt to attack his other half, or a body part, or
find a neck to choke, preferably. He thought he was pretty fast, but that
wasn’t the only thing he’d ever been wrong about. His doppelgänger though, he
didn’t step aside or kick him back or anything, no. He disappeared in thin air,
and Dave passed right through him.
“Oh, come on!”
All Dave’s lunge forward had achieved was change his pose from being butt-down
on the floor to face-down.
“Sidney did always say you’re too transparent. Woe is me.”
The pun, it hurt. He had never hated himself so much since… since he was a
angsty teenager, actually. He pulled himself together and stood up.
“By now you must be contemplating how far Rachel’s conspiracy goes,” the
doppelgänger went on. “Rest assured, it probably goes nowhere, what with not
existing to begin with. The causality behind present events is much baser.”
Hot damn, he sounded like such a cunt when unveiling a conspiracy! At last, he
understood Rachel’s side.
Dave turned around to see where the voice was coming from, and saw no source.
The disembodied voice of his doppelgänger was being inserted into his head
directly. He was like the voice of reason that everyone ignores, except that he
was neither reasonable nor easy to ignore, which in retrospect made the analogy
terrible.
“I’ve read enough smutfics to know where this is going, and I am not giving in
to your sorry-arse bestiality ‘temptations’.”
“Tone down the moral brigade. No one’s looking.”
“There is nothing for me to tone down!”
As he said that, one of Ninetales’ tails rubbed against his cheek, forcing his
attention back at her. She voiced her name in the sultriest manner a talking
vixen could muster, on top of slow, “tempting” moves. She stared directly in
his eyes, which was unnerving in that Ninetales lack irises.
“That day was a glorious day. Walking in on Dad doing Ninetales must have been
such a traumatic experience for poor 11-year-old Dave. In just a few moments,
you lost a family member and a pet to the evil statist cops. Such a tragedy.
Dave would be haunted by these events forever.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“That’s probably the narrative popular in local newspapers and your
neighbourhood. But as any adult comes to realise, reality has a well-known
politically incorrect bias. Trauma? What trauma? Mere seconds into your peeping
misadventures, you wanted in on the action.”
His inner voice of unreason was getting on his nerves. He wished for him to
shut the fuck up, so that he’d wake up already. But no matter what he did, no
matter how aware he was of the dream, nothing seemed to wake him up. He was
trapped in his mind, in that bedroom, on that wooden floor, listening to bad
voice-overs, tormented by Ninetales’ rocking tails. And the ranting would go
on.
“You can’t deny you’ve felt some of the… charm returning. The thoughts used to
dominate your life. Every day, multiple times a day, you’d fap furiously to the
vixen and bewail your original reactions. You’d wish you hadn’t raised hell.
Maybe Dad would step aside and let the next generation take over. You lusted
for her animal sphincter caressing your underage cock.”
“Shut up!”
“Do you really believe you can muster a fake denial without me knowing it? Do
think it’s your vocal chords you’re using to communicate in here?”
The doppelgänger… had a point. Dave gulped hard.
As if aware of his apprehension, Ninetales dramatised the shitty exposition.
She turned her back at him, and lowered her front body. One by one, she slowly
removed each of the nine tails forming a massive lump on her behind—almost as
big as the rest of her body, actually.
Contrary to his opinion, Dave’s hypocrisy was proven not by what his reactions
were, but what they weren’t. For the entire duration of that ritual, he never
looked away, or commentated on what was sure to happen. Instead, all his senses
remained glued on Ninetales, and what he could only guess were her privates.
He was so indulged in the ritual that he didn’t hear his own heavy breathing.
He didn’t notice his heart beating like a jackhammer. He didn’t even notice his
erect penis, now being pressed annoyingly and awkwardly between his body and
his tight, wet underwear. Just like when he first saw her, she dominated his
consciousness, as if by spellcasting.
And when the ritual was complete, and all her tails were swaying mid-air in
alluring patterns and shapes, he was greeted by her swollen anus, unnaturally
wet. He followed the trails of wet fur down, noticing tiny puddles of the
liquid had formed on the floor between her rear legs.
“Face it: you want her. You never wanted anything else more in your life. You’d
shoot a nun in the face if only you could get a chance to push Ninetales’ shit
in, to waste your sperm in a Pokémon’s bowels.”
Ninetales wobbled her arse ever so slightly, moaning “Tails…,” to accentuate
the doppelgänger’s point. She curved her tails to be convex from Dave’s
perspective, their ends framing her in such a manner that drove attention to
the relevant anatomical feature.
And though Dave hadn’t noticed his previous reactions, he certainly noticed
that one, because the surrealism, and overstimulation, and the depravity of his
thoughts pushed him over the edge. He was ejaculating.
Or rather, he would have been, if a different kind of arsehole wasn’t in
charge. He groaned loudly, reaching halfway to his genitals, before stopping
himself. He did bend his knees together, though.
“Sorry, princess, you’re not taking the easy way out with your own conscience,”
the bad comedian having fashioned himself the defiler said. “I want to hear the
magic word. Curious what a Ninetales’ arsehole feels like?”
“No,” Dave said, but he wasn’t the least bit convincing, in that his voice had
come out broken, and hardly audible. His breathing had grown so heavy and
frequent that he had to breathe in through his mouth.
So it was no surprise that no one gave up. Ninetales’ anus was opening and
closing every few seconds, a circular mouth made up of small bulbs of wrinkled
muscle and flesh, almost as if it had a life of its own. Every time that
happened, tiny droplets of liquid flowed down to her labia, and from then fell
on the floor, or kept flowing down her hind legs.
Gazing into her shit pipe, there sometimes was a sticky trail of the liquid
suspended in the middle, stuck on opposing ends of her rectal walls. It was so
inviting, it was as if copulation was the intended purpose of the hole, not
defecation. As if… if he unleashed enough of his seed in it, she’d shit out his
taboo babies a few months later.
“I didn’t catch that, Dave.”
“No…,” he repeated, this time with even less heart in it. Truthfully, it was
getting incredibly hard to resist. He wanted release, or he was going to go
mad. No, that was a lie. He didn’t want just any release, he wanted Ninetales’
arsehole; a taste of hell itself.
“I didn’t hear you!” the doppelgänger screamed.
“Yes!” he replied, this time with spunk. He took his shirt off. “F-fuck…! Yes!”
He took of his pants and underwear, and tossed everything somewhere, anywhere,
it didn’t matter. “Clear enough?”
“Enjoy.”
His narrator headmate finally silenced, Dave let go of his hesitations,
thoughts of Rachel’s conspiratory involvement, and the lectures drilled into
his head by mental health workers over the course of a decade. He fell down on
his knees, finally within reach of the fox, his most forbidden fantasy.
He grabbed her buttocks, feeling her soft fur and fiery warmth on his palms,
letting some of the strands flow between his fingers. His hands felt small on
her, a result of his physical age in this grandiose hallucination. He tightened
his grip, digging in her body fat, the softness of her insides matching her
silky fur, groomed to perfection, as if it were human hair. He moved his thumbs
to the inside of her butt cheeks, closer to her anus, and spread them apart.
“Ninetales!” she squealed, wiggling her butt ever so slightly. Her anus had
opened very easily, even with his teenage boy grip strength; far too loose and
far too lubricated for any realistic experience. Then again, in real life, he’d
already been cursed or attacked to death by the creature. It was good that this
wasn’t real, and Dave began realising the appeal of the experience.
But he didn’t have time to finish contemplating metaphysics, especially not
with a Ninetales’ arse in his face. Close up, he could now see her bright red
rectal walls, her gape wide enough to allow some ambient light in. Lubricants
once again flowed down, and from up close, he could certainly feel an above-
average body heat wave assaulting him.
Still being wet from the rain, the ensuing chill up his spine made his decision
for more intimate contact easier. He moved in, planting a kiss on her arse,
licking up excess fluids. He could feel the fur of her tails, spawning as
extensions of her spine, rubbing against his forehead, though Ninetales had
bent them back towards her for his convenience.
He moved his hands from her butt to her tails, petting them softly, earning a
well-timed “Tales,” of satisfaction from his lover. He moved his body even
closer to her, wanting to feel more of her heat, and stretched his hands all
the way forward to reach her back and the edges of her mane.
Ninetales responded by wrapping all nine of her massive, fluffy appendages
around Dave, caressing his entire body, almost hiding him in a protective shell
of golden-white fur.
He penetrated her anus with his tongue and enjoyed the insides of the fire
type. The taste was undeniably bitter and salty, and there was the
characteristic body odour of, well, a sweaty arsehole, but in context, the
experience was arousing. The male brain could get over much of its disgust when
motivated by fucking.
Neuroscience trivia notwithstanding, his sense of taste was dulled by the sheer
heat of Ninetales’ intestines. It felt like hot coffee or tea; though not
scalding or otherwise unpleasantly hot, he didn’t want to know what a real
fire-type which didn’t hold back would do to his skin, and he’d seen enough
forest fires to fuel his imagination.
He played with her inner sphincter and toyed with her insides as he rubbed her
back or belly, taking in the heat and softness of both her fur and flesh, to
the sound of her constant cooing. She rubbed her tails on his body, surrounding
him with her warmth, and as a result he was now completely dry.
Save for his penis, of course, which was oozing pre-cum in anticipation of the
main event. When Ninetales began rubbing her tails on his penis and testicles
too, he knew she was begging for the same thing. He moved his head and one hand
back, inserting a finger in her arsehole. Ninetales responded by moving her
butt up, like a cat would, speaking her name between pants as Dave pumped his
finger, simulating future events.
When he was done finger fucking her, he stood up, popped his head through her
tails, and took hold of his cock. There wasn’t much to work with, given the
situation, it being barely larger than a finger, and almost completely bald.
However, it would have to do.
He placed his hands on the middle of her back and moved them slowly towards her
butt, as he moved closer to her arsehole. The tip of his penis touched her anus
and felt its warmth, as well as her intestinal lubricants mixed with his
saliva; a most illegal sensation. It was incredibly arousing, and he would have
ejaculated prematurely right there, but perhaps the doppelgänger had left him
with a gift of unrealistic stamina to go with everything else.
Ninetales once again wrapped her tails around his back and arse, but now she
also pressed him towards her, yearning for penetration as much as he. And who
was he to deny her? He pressed forward as well, entering her rectum with barely
any resistance at all, her rectal walls enveloping his underage penis.
She was obviously loose, something exacerbated by his underwhelming
proportions. However, for some reason, that made it all the more arousing for
him, thinking of her as his depraved anal slut, perpetually gaping, shitting
nothing but her own lubricants and his semen, her intestines marred by constant
use they weren’t intended for.
The warmth of her arse could only be compared with a hot bath; it was on a
whole other level. Her rectum pulsated involuntarily, losing and making contact
with his penis, leaving some of its fluids behind like a passionate kiss.
Dave breathed out slowly with a low sound, lost focus in his eyes, and
eventually closed them. He took in the incomparable feeling of being inside
Ninetales’ promised tailhole. It was bliss. Nirvana, even. There would be no
judge or purgatory for him after this, only public execution and hell.
His penis pulsated in anticipation, which woke him up from his pondering of
long-lost faraway wisdom, and back into more pressing current events. He looked
down on Ninetales’ back, arching ever so slightly to match his height. He was
barely taller than she was despite her being a quadruped, making the experience
more comfortable for everyone involved.
He placed his hands on her back and mane, rubbing the vixen’s soft, fluffy fur
again. The softness would never get old. With some pressure from his hands and
the movements of his hips, he slowly pushed back, removing his penis from her
arse. The rubbing sensation was unmistakable, and so was the suction of her
sphincter, not wanting him out of her body.
He misjudged his length and pulled all the way out—understandable in that
losing length so drastically is hardly an everyday occurrence outside feminist
dystopias—but Ninetales’ looseness made that an easy problem to fix.
“Tales! Nine-ninetales!” she exclaimed, waving her butt, so that his penis hit
on various sides of her shitter in an incredibly arousing sensation. One
needn’t learn the fine art of repeating one’s name to realise she was telling
him to get a move on and fuck her shit pipe.
So he did. He began slowly, both taking in the texture communicated by
friction, and her anal suction. When his breathing wasn’t covering it, he could
hear some slapping sounds, courtesy of the lubrication. With the added massage
of her tails, now even wrapping around his shoulders, it was very much a full
body experience.
As he got a better idea of his body size, he gave in to his arousal and began
pumping faster. He wanted to ravage her anal tube and imprint his cock’s shape
in it, so that she would never forget him. Her tails’ grip on him became
tighter, and so did her body heat. He was sweating not so much due to exertion,
but due to his tail-fur jacket being a living sauna.
He pressed down on her, feeling the shape of her bones and muscles. He was
moving his hips furiously now, and his hearing was dominated by “Tales! Tales!”
whenever she could actually articulate something more intelligible than a
grunt. Every time that he pulled out of her poop hole, one of her tails would
involuntarily twitch, and slap him ever so slightly on the back.
He could actually feel her arousal through her rising body heat. Dave was sure
that were she actually that hot to begin with, he’d probably refrain from
touching her. He bent down, his chest closer to her back, and wrapped his arms
around her chest. Their heads close, he could hear her breathing, smell her
sweat, and feel her mind-rendingly rapid heartbeat. He dug his hands in her
chest hair, and planted a kiss on the back of her head.
He knew he was close. He was grunting due to the effort now. He rocked his hips
as fast as he could—so fast he was worried about cramps—penetrating the fox’s
arsehole. He wanted to fuck her forever. His whole life meant nothing. He was
now reduced to his penis, fucking her shitter.
He yelled, then he had release. He let all of his semen in her bowels, his
potential babies finding no womb or eggs, only a scorching heat and faecal
matter. He kept pumping as he was ejaculating, his vixen mate yelling
maniacally. A few seconds later, it was over. He closed his eyes again,
clutching Ninetales’ hair, and closed his eyes.
===============================================================================
When he came to, he was on his bed in his shitty hotel room, having ruined his
boxers. He was panting as if he had exercised in real life, his heart beating
furiously. He thought of nothing for five minutes, staring blankly at the
ceiling. The hospital ceiling had been far more interesting than the hotel
ceiling.
He had realised two things: that there was a weighted lump on his left, which
was Umbreon curled up and sleeping on the bed, and that Darkrai’s idea of
entertainment was him chasing tail.
It was still far too dark out. He closed his eyes, and slept again. This time,
he’d try shoving far more than an underage dick in Ninetales’ arsehole.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Turns out Dave had been a bit too optimistic when he hoped to wet his pants
with more wet dreams, because nothing had come. Well, besides himself in said
pants, that is. There was no more Ninetales tail to be had, only sleep.
That made him wonder how much of the experience he had hallucinated, and how
much was legit. Of course, none of it was literally legit, but he was
considering whether he had hallucinated himself hallucinating in a grand
recursive hallucination of insanity.
So up another layer of thinking, Dave wondered whether besides physical therapy
he also needed some mental, too, cause recursive hallucinations sounded like
serious business. Someone’s Ph.D would most definitely be helped by studying
Dave.
“Excuse me,” someone said, and opened the door to Dave’s room, breaking him out
of his navel-gazing exercises.
Dave was on a train to Celadon now to “detoxify” himself. Speaking of which,
maybe Vermilion’s atmosphere had affected him. Like the shit and the exhaust
engines reacted with one another in a melting pot of awfulness, producing
methamphetamines and hallucinogens… Probably not. Shitty theory.
He’d brought Umbreon along, because leaving her to rot in Vermilion seemed far
too abusive, even to him, the Pokémon sodomiser. Given his track record, maybe
he should have left her to rot, because, hey, she’d have escaped sodomy. Not
that he planned on turning that joke into reality, but he had thought about her
heightened smell and how awkward it should have smelt sleeping next to him.
And perhaps because of that, Umbreon had lost herself. In fairness, trains are
fun things to explore, and he doubted she had had much “outside time”,
wilderness notwithstanding, while training with Sidney. He only hoped she
didn’t howl at other wandering Pokémon to get laid—if she had been trying to
get laid, at any rate. Rachel’s conspiratory involvement in getting him in jail
was still an open question, after all.
Dave’s departure from Celadon might seem hasty by almost all accounts, but,
truthfully, he was still on the same set of clothes as when he initially
arrived in Kanto to help with the Team Rocket zombies. His hospital stay wasn’t
exactly formulated beforehand, though whether it had resulted in an overall
improvement in his life was equally debatable as the hypothesised conspiracy.
So, there he was, in a train cabin, enjoying his ride, and the trees he passed
by in full speed.
“Come in!” he said, and two men entered. Highly nondescript. Shitty choice in
clothing, though, like something out of those vintage monochrome films.
One of them had difficulty entering, because he had brought the most massive of
bags along. It was absolutely hilarious in size. Dave played a game, and tried
to figure out whether a human could fit inside. It would be a tough fit, if at
all possible, because he’d have to bend in really awkward ways.
“Compensating?” he joked. The man seemed confused by the joke, and stared
blankly at him.
“Uh, ha ha,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his head. “I hope not.”
“Cello player,” the other man said. “Too precious to let others handle it.
“Hah, yeah. If my livelihood depended on it, I’d be carrying it around
everywhere with me, too,” Dave conceded. Thoughts of Sidney’s lectures on
security and Umbreon almost surfaced, but were carelessly brushed aside.
Not much was said afterwards. Dave focused instead on the fuckery that was his
life. Assuming he wasn’t, in fact, losing his mind, realistic wet dreams would
be very entertaining, just as Darkrai promised.
However, he remained apprehensive. Too much was unknown about his latest
misadventures. Who was his doppelgänger, and what did he want? Did he have any
control whatsoever over what he dreamt? Not being able to wake up could be
potentially dangerous. What if, next time, he tried fucking a critter’s
prolapsing anus, and it grew teeth to bite his dick off?
He shuddered at the thought. Evil images, go away. He didn’t want any
subconscious aspect of himself getting any ideas. His soul was tortured enough
already, and he didn’t need anyone’s contributions, including his own.
An hour or so later, he had arrived to Celadon. Umbreon was still nowhere to be
found, but not much of value had been lost. Actually, he did secretly hope
she’d see through the little dumping operation he had devised and failed at on
her own initiative, thereby fixing her trainer’s mistakes. Well, her original
trainer’s.
Dave’s co-travellers didn’t seem eager to leave, so he was the first to excuse
himself. He stood up, waved goodbye, and placed his hand on the door to open
it. He never quite finished the motion, because he was interrupted by the
insurmountable finesse of a strike in the back of his head. He instantly fell
like a rag doll physics experiment.
Before hitting the ground, the man who hit him—the one lacking a giant “cello”
bag—put his arms under Dave’s armpits and stopped the fall. The rushing
footsteps of the passengers moving outside could be heard. He turned around to
his partner, who had opened the bag, revealing it was empty.
Dave’s previous thought experiment turned out to be true. A man could actually
fit in the bag, and it was a very awkward fit. His neck and legs were bent in
what must have been the most uncomfortable pose ever, but he did fit.
“He’s heavy,” Dave’s attacker said.
“You’re out of shape. Be happy he fit nicely.”
And the men left the train, with no one suspecting anything.
===============================================================================
Dave tried opening his eyes, and he had the most horrible headache. Everything
was blurry and overexposed. It was like being surrounded by light. It would
have been the afterlife if his neck didn’t feel so sore.
He realised he was lying on the ground. He didn’t know what he was doing on the
ground. He didn’t know whose ground it even was. He stood up, still half
asleep, and rubbed his eyes. Equipped with better eyesight, he discovered that…
the floor was shining pure, featureless white, forever in all directions.
Not the afterlife; he was dreaming again.
He turned around, trying to find someone or something. And there he was, his
doppelgänger, standing behind him, smirking, wearing a pretentious suit.
“It’s a bad time to be sleeping, Dave,” he said.
“You again,” Dave replied. “What’s it gonna be this time, huh? Am I going to be
fucking a Metapod? What is this place, even?”
“Which one do you want me to answer first?”
Oh, the smartarsery was back in full blast, wasn’t it? Alright. So be it. He
could play.
“How about telling me who you are, because the two of us being one and the same
is throwing my internal narrative off.”
The doppelgänger laughed out loud and gestured an imaginary handgun at Dave.
“Good one! But I must disappoint. I’m exactly who I seem to be. Appearances do
not lie in this particular case.”
“Sorry, but that doesn’t make any sense. How could you be me? I’m a funny,
upstanding guy, not a perverted Poképhile anal fetishist. I have a steady job
and a horrible pet. Everything is going fine, then you come in.”
“I’m all the bullshit you repressed, Dave. I’m all the fapping sessions you
chose to forget, all the embarrassing fantasies that came back to haunt you at
night. I’m the part of you you never quite accepted, and I’m here to advise
you.”
“So you’re, like, the anti-Dave.”
He shrugged.
“I’m going to call you Vade, then,” Dave decided. “Do you mind telling me where
you’ve taken me?”
Vade pointed at the ground. “This is you dreaming,” he said, flatly, as if he
was pointing out the obvious.
“Riiight… I might be losing my mind, but I do distinctly remember my dreams
being more vivid than a jizz sheet.”
Vade laughed out loud again. “That’s the downside of Darkrai’s interference, I
guess. You can no longer dream normally.”
Dave hopped up and down, testing the pressure on the floor. “And what do I get
in return? You? My own personal hallucination?”
“Nah, that’s just you. You’re the Dream Eater now. You can do whatever the hell
you want in your sleep.”
Epiphany, at last! Dave could start putting the pieces together, though he
still doubted Vade’s story of secretly being Dave.
“It didn’t feel like ‘whatever the hell I want’ the last time. It was more like
‘Oh I’m a demon and I’ll guide you down the path of sin, mwahahaha!’”
“Touché. I was admittedly messing with you.”
“Had enough? Ready to let the big guy take control?”
“Actually, I had been planning on messing with you a bit more…”
Uh-oh.
“Buuut…?” Dave said.
“But you’re kind of in a mess, you might get killed, and I didn’t want to waste
the opportunity to boast about my achievements.”
Wait, what?
Before he could make any sense of what was being said, Vade approached Dave and
slapped him in the face, hard.
“Ouch! What the fuck?”
Vade slapped him a second time, and this time he woke up for real.
===============================================================================
“Good morning, sunshine!” an alien voice greeted him. Dave groaned
unintelligibly. Another slap, lighter this time. “Get on with it! We don’t have
all day!”
Dave was getting tired of all these abrupt context changes. He tried rubbing
his eyes again. He couldn’t. Something was stopping his arms. He put more and
more strength in trying to raise them, until he realised he had been tied to a
chair. He also felt the distinct soreness of being stuffed in a bag in an
awkward position for way too long. His previous wounds had just started
healing, too. His luck was out of this world.
“What the fuck is wrong with you people?” Dave asked, not really sure who he
was talking to. In fairness, they had shoved a fucking lightbulb right against
his face, and he couldn’t make out much of anything.
Dave was slapped again, but this time it was closer to a punch. “I’m going to
ask the questions here, not you. Get it, sweetheart?” his kidnapper said.
“You’re one of those cunts from the train, aren’t you?”
Yet another slap.
“Man, you need to call a BDSM line, get that pent-up anger out of your sy—ow ow
ow.” This time, Dave was kicked in the balls. “Fuck!”
“And you need to learn when to shut the fuck up. Get it?”
“Sure, baby. What should I put in the sandwich?”
His abductor tried punching him, but was stopped by someone behind him.
“That’s enough.”
Dave opened his mouth and moved his jaw, making sure nothing was broken or
badly damaged. Everything seemed to work fine, save for his cheeks, of course.
No missing teeth or anything. Everything was properly connected to his body.
“So,” he began, reassured by his relative health, “which brand of wackos are
you guys? I swear, I tried finding a way to pay for those pizzas, but I
couldn’t find the name or the address of the restaurant. You didn’t make it
easy, what with moving to eleven different places before I—”
“Dude, we’re Team Rocket,” a third person said. They sounded like a woman.
“Team Rocket? Ohhh, right!” Dave said in mock epiphany. “You’re butthurt about
that Vermilion thing, right? Look, personally, I hold no hard feelings. You
could file a complaint to the Global Police, and I will personally deliver it
to my superiors so that you can have your—”
And Dave was punched, this time from a different side. It had a different feel
to it, too, so he was pretty sure it was a different person than before.
“I thought you said ‘that’s enough’,” his previous torturer mumbled.
“He’s way too annoying,” the other man said.
So, there were at least three people in the room with him. This being Team
Rocket, each one had at least two Pokémon on them, probably a poison or a dark
type, and there most certainly was at least one out of its Poké Ball so that he
could be killed promptly. Which raised one question: why wasn’t he dead?
“Why am I not dead? What do you guys want? If it’s money, I wouldn’t count on
the Global Police cooperating with you. They have very strict policies on
terrorists. It’s not like a while back when you destroyed most of Kanto and
then got wiped out by a teenager and his—fuck!”
Dave was kicked in the belly in retaliation. In all honesty, this was going
much better than expected. They were supposed to be asking him questions, but
instead he had derailed every attempt to a sarcastic monologue. He should write
a book some time. “The Story of the Shit Detective,” an autobiography. “In a
world where true spies are false, one man endured many blunders…”
“You know, we could keep going for a while. As long as it takes. You could talk
forever, but there’s quite a few of us here, and there’s only so much beating a
human can take.” A rather superficial threat, since if they really wanted him
dead, any rational person would do it directly rather than in the most
roundabout way humanly possible. Then again, this was the terrorist
organisation a teenager almost sole-handedly destroyed…
“You’re not as smart as you think you are, you know that?” another person
started. “You didn’t take any precautionary measures. You’d think someone of
your calibre would be more serious about his own security, but this was child’s
play, really.”
“I heard he got an Umbreon from Sidney,” the female member said. “I heard he
wasn’t too excited about it.”
“You gave it back, you idiot?”
Dave shrugged. “What can I say? She was in heat. Do you guys know how annoying
an Umbreon in heat is? Shit got awkward, man.”
His captors mumbled amongst themselves, seemingly agreeing with what he said,
though he did catch a distinctive “Pokémon go in heat?” in the distance.
“Will you people shut up?” someone among them said, silencing the lot. Then
Dave’s interrogation resumed. “I have one question for you, and I want a
straightforward answer, or you’ll be receiving a straightforward amputation.
Where is Darkrai?”
Dave sat there, and considered how much time he could afford. He gave it some
serious thought, because limb regrowth was still a few decades in the future,
and he didn’t feel like waiting that long.
“Honestly, I’ve no idea. Bastard just ran away while I was sleeping. Or floated
away, I guess.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you went through all that trouble out of the goodness of your
heart, hoping it would reward you with the means towards global domination.
Come on. I want a real answer.”
“You’d be surprised by how much you got right…”
“Which limb should we start off with, boss?” someone asked.
“Help me out, Dave. Which is worse: never walking into a bar again, or never
getting to enjoy the spoils of a bar?”
“I wouldn’t be worrying about my limbs in your position.”
They all laughed. “You think you’re in any position to make threats? Okay. Go
ahead. Entertain us. I might even refrain from cutting your tongue off if it’s
legitimately funny.”
“Well, see—”
Dave had this most amazing comeback in mind, however, as fate would have it, no
one heard it, because a Hyper Beam melted the walls off, and sent solid
building material chunks flying towards the Rockets, crashing them to the wall
on his left. The blast thankfully took out the lights up against his face, so
Dave could see that he was in a badly lit, badly cleaned basement floor.
Probably under Game Corner.
As the dust cloud settled a bit, Umbreon walked through the hole that had been
created on the right wall, followed by a Tropius—likely the cause of said
hole—followed by a little girl with short, black hair in a yukata. He wasn’t
much of an expert on the subject, but he made an educated guess she was Erika,
Celadon’s gym leader.
“You cunts!” Dave complained.
“Oh, mister Holder!” Erika exclaimed, raising her hands to her mouth. “I’m so
sorry for endangering you! I did tell Tropius to take it easy, but—”
“No, the Hyper Beam was fine, I’m talking about the timing! Timing is
everything!”
Erika was terribly confused by Dave’s great offence. He did seem aggravated,
but his words indicated that it had nothing to do with him being abducted, or
being so close to a potentially lethal Hyper Beam, for that matter.
“Umm, pardon?”
“I was in the middle of this awesome comeback, and now the listeners are
unconscious or half-dead! Ugh.”
“O…kay, I guess.”
Of course Dave wasn’t stupid enough not to take any security precautions before
travelling to Celadon. And of course he wasn’t stupid enough to think that a
lowly Umbreon could help protect him against Team Rocket. He legitimately
sucked as a trainer, and he had no delusions regarding Umbreon’s ability to
take down multiple opponents at once. Besides, most battles are won or lost by
surprise, not power.
He wanted to protect himself with something that would give Team Rocket some
real pain, something to teach them not to mess with him unless they craved hell
on Earth. So, naturally, he told Umbreon to make herself scarce, and if she saw
anything suspicious, to sniff out his location with her superhuman Pokémon
senses, and then try to communicate the problems somehow.
It had worked like a charm. Actually, it had worked better than he expected. He
thought he’d be saved by his colleagues in the Global Police, not Erika
herself. Then again, Erika had a thing or two to prove, what with Team Rocket
messing with her gym last time.
“Okay, untie me, please.”
A Rocket tried standing up and reached for his Poké Ball belt, but Tropius used
Magical Leaf on his face, knocking him unconscious. Meanwhile, Umbreon bit on
the ropes tying him, and they fell to the ground.
“Now that this is taken care of, please follow me, mister Holder, and please
watch your step.”
Dave wouldn’t lie that being given instructions by a cute little girl he knew
could wipe the floor with him didn’t emasculate him, but he had no right
complaining after his evil split personality convinced him to fuck a Ninetales
in the arse. He lost all claims to overflowing testosterone in one fell swoop.
===============================================================================
It was evening, and Dave was staring blankly at the Game Corner, sat in the
rear end of an ambulance, feet barely touching the ground. Doctors had forced
him to remove his shirt, and he couldn’t be arsed to put it back on, so it was
hanging lazily on his shoulders.
He wasn’t too sure how exactly the situation had escalated, but one thing led
to another, and now Game Corner would have to be shut down for months for
repairs. Probably for the better, since it had always been a haven for criminal
elements. Rachel, at least, would be pleased he was capable of shutting more
things down than her career.
As for Umbreon, she was sleeping on the ambulance bed that was meant for him,
naturally. The little shit had some serious issues with personal space. It was
rather suspicious how she strategically misunderstood the aspects of human
behaviour that conflicted with her being a self-centred cunt. Then again, that
would make her identical to Sidney, so things had come to full circle.
He was particularly entertained by the owner of Game Corner, who was bewailing
the aftermath of Tropius’ Hyper Beams. If the obese man kept at it, he’d need
the ambulance, and specifically its defibrillators, way more than Dave’s sore
muscles ever did.
His entertainment would have to be suspended, however, as Erika had finished
dealing with the media, and now it was his turn. Lights and microphones turned
to him.
“Mister Holder, are you injured?”
“Mister Holder, was this a planned operation?”
“Mister Holder, some people say you’re out to level the Kanto region. What do
you say?”
He raised his hands to block the blinding lights and to calm the pack of 5-
year-olds down.
“Okay, okay, calm down, one at a time.” He stepped down from the ambulance and
stood straight. “I wasn’t really harmed, I only suffered some bruises. I was on
my way here on paid leave, but I expected Team Rocket would retaliate in some
fashion. I had made plans to counter these attempts, and this is the result.”
A particular journalist, who Dave recognised had taken his previous interview
in the hospital, stepped forward.
“Mister Holder, would you say that your lack of preparedness escalated things?”
“No, smartarse, I’d say my plans worked out excellent. I lead a gym leader
straight into their headquarters. Sure, I got punched a few times, but it was
worth it.”
The moral panic brigade went on like that for a few minutes before the police
had to step in and herd them back to the kindergarten. Erika, feeling
sympathetic to his plight, approached him to make his day worse.
“You’re a weird fellow, mister Holder.”
“I’m not taking any criticism from the girl who almost destroyed Game Corner
with Hyper Beams.”
Erika opened her mouth and raised her hands to counter-argue, but noticed the
dust left on her clothes by the walls she had ordered destroyed, and decided
looks alone would invalidate her every point.
“Also, please call me Dave. Everyone else does, and you’re throwing off my
groove.”
“Okay, Dave. I wouldn’t want to throw off your groove. Do you have anywhere to
stay tonight?”
He raised a hand to his chin. “Hmm, let’s see. I had booked a hotel room, but I
missed my check-in by a really long shot due to being held hostage, so it’s
going to be fun trying to explain that one away.”
“I could help.”
“You would?”
Erika hesitated, as if weighing her words. “Yes. It would be unfair if the man
who helped me correct past injustices didn’t have a place to sleep tonight.”
By which she meant that she wanted those motherfuckers deader than disco after
making a fool of her last time, and Dave’s misadventures were the optimal
opportunity on a silver platter.
“Alright, I can’t argue against that, I suppose.”
Thus Dave secured himself a hotel room.
===============================================================================
Dave woke up on the glowing white floor again. He stood up, and was greeted by
his doppelgänger, Vade, who seemed remotely pleased that the both of them were
still alive.
“Am I going to wake up in limbo every time I sleep now?” he asked, rubbing his
eyes.
“Yeah, I guess. Don’t take offence at the featureless void that is your mind.”
“Am I going to wake up tied to a chair too?”
Vade shrugged. “That depends. Are you into bondage?”
Vade started walking around him, almost surveying him. This ought to be the
creepiest metaphor for looking at yourself in the mirror possible.
“So…,” Vade began, “About that Erika girl.”
Five words in, Dave could already see where this was going and he wanted
precisely none of it. His previous excursion would offend enough people
already, and he didn’t need to make the follow-ups any worse by including
actual people in them, and specifically people who could literally order him
melted. So he raised his hand and interrupted what was sure to become a stupid
comment.
“No.”
“You have no ambition, Dave! Aim higher! Aim for more!” Vade groaned.
“Dude, the direction you’re thinking of is lower.”
“Eh,” Vade flicked his hand dismissively. “Direction is a matter of
perspective.”
“More like mirrors. Besides, there’s not much to aim for in limbo. I could aim
for you, but I doubt that’s the direction either of us have in mind.”
“It’s up to you now,” Vade said, raising his hands in surrender.
That was weird. “What do you mean, it’s up to me?”
“I mean that I’ve been demoted to commentator. You’re in charge.”
That clarified nothing. Instead of asking another obvious question, Dave
crossed his arms and stared at his copy until he got the idea. When he did, he
rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation.
“You are the Dream Eater, dude, and this is your dream. You’re, like, a deity
in your own head. Whatever you think of, is.”
Still not getting it, Dave raised one of his hands to his chin and maintained
his uncomprehending poker face. Vade closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.
“This scenery is rather stale. It would be really good if you could think back
to your old neighbourhood,” he suggested ever so unsubtly.
Dave wasn’t quite sure of the point of the exercise, but there was nothing to
lose. The scenery was indeed stale and the exposure was getting on his nerves.
So, he closed his eyes and thought back to said old neighbourhood, the same one
Vade had him running through with rainfall.
And as Vade had suggested, just as he thought it, it… became. Complete with
rainfall, thanks to accidental flashbacks.
“There you g— Oh come on!” Vade exclaimed. “I knew it was a stupid-arse
decision to trust you with any kind of authority. I just knew it. That’s what I
get for counting on the moralfag part of me to make sane decisions.”
The both of them were getting considerably wet. “This feels surprisingly
realistic,” Dave said.
Vade raised his hands to his hips, walking back and forth, not looking at Dave.
“Yeah, well, it fooled you for a solid amount of time previously, so it’s
pretty realistic. It’s actually the other way around. Your conscious brain
emulates most of your experiences and memories, because it really sucks as a
storage or sensory organ.”
It was peculiar listening to himself give him information he didn’t know
before. By all accounts, it should be impossible. Then again, it did jolt his
memory a bit. So Vade was better at remembering stuff he had read at some point
in the past, or he remembered it before he could, and his thoughts manifested
as Vade in his dream. Dave would consider seeking therapy if he wasn’t afraid
of jail time.
Vade turned to him again. “Look, man, can we go somewhere sunnier?”
Conceding to this rare sane suggestion, Dave moved them on a green hill with a
single tree and a rock.
“Thank you.”
“So, I have free reign here, right?”
“Yes, that’s the point.”
Dave tried wishing Vade away. It actually worked. Vade disappeared, nowhere to
be found.
“You’re a cunt,” he said in headmate narrator mode.
“Shut up.”
It was funny. He’d spent most of his life fantasising about things, dreaming of
the most elaborate and insane situations, but now that he could do anything he
wanted, he was starved for ideas.
“Spawn Erika,” his stupid half suggested.
“Not happening. Maybe I’ll get some more Ninetales action. You did leave me
wanting for more the last time.”
“That’s boring. Why would you do the same thing two times in a row? Are you
going to marry your hallucination?”
“Uh, no.”
“Good, cause that would be crazy. Open yourself up to variety like a healthy
single man with multiple personality disorder.”
“Erika still ain’t happening.”
“Fine, whatever. I’m sure there’s some middle ground to be found here.”
Dave sat on the big rock under the tree. Remembering his wet clothes, he
imagined them dry. Then he considered what sort of middle ground would satisfy
Vade so that he’d shut up. He wondered whether wishing him gone forever would
work, and then he wondered whether wishing death upon himself would count as
suicide. Shortly after, his decision showed herself.
“Leafeon,” she announced upon seeing him.
“Ha! Good one! Not quite I had in mind with ‘middle ground’, but your
interpretation is admirably literal.”
“Shut up for real now,” Dave said. He looked at his creation and leaned back,
resting his weight on his hands, inviting the Pokémon to approach him. She
moved close to him, her footsteps barely audible on the grass. When she came
within reach, Dave stretched his arm and petted her head.
She was quite short, he realised, as he moved down to pet her light brown back.
Her head would be below even his hip in an upright position. That, or he’d got
too used to the 11-year-old version of himself.
She began rubbing herself on him, drawing 8-shapes between his legs. The
constant movement made petting her more difficult, although she did rub her
cheek against his hand wherever she could find it. Dave began noticing a change
in the smell of the air; the clean oxygen had migrated to a more… arousing mix.
He had definitely begun noticing the difference in his pants.
Leafeon stopped rubbing herself on him, and looked at his face. “Leaf,” she
said, drawing his attention. He leaned in closer to her. As he did, she turned
around, her leaf-shaped tail drawing a cute arch in the air. Her arse turned to
him, she moved her tail straight up to present her goods.
Dave stood up, his resistance to depravity much lower than the last time. He
unbuttoned his shirt and his trousers, throwing them together with his
underwear behind him somewhere. It didn’t matter. He knelt down before her,
once again noticing how short she was. He’d have to be on all fours to be at
the same height as her.
He noticed the sweet smell of pheromones in the air was coming from her
genitals. It was a much different smell from what Ninetales offered. Much less
of sweat, and more like… a flower, actually. Her being a grass type, it all
made sense.
He moved in to taste the source, surrounded by the cutest, puffiest lips he’d
seen in a while. He placed his hands on her hips, and when his tongue touched
her labia, she began making cute sounds. Her tail fell down and rested on the
top of his head, as he traced circles around the critter pussy.
She tasted like sweet nectar, like honey, but with less surface tension. She
was hot, but not nearly at the fiery level of Ninetales. Instead, his nostrils
were being assaulted with everything she could throw at him. It was almost hard
to breathe, but his arousal kept him going.
He moved his hands to her underside, rubbing her soft, green chest hair. He
penetrated her pussy with his tongue, entering the mother lode of her juice.
The intensity burned against his tongue not like heat, but like spice, almost
numbing it through overdose. The substance made him light-headed and the
experience a blur. It was amazing.
Finishing his lunch, he looked again at her beautiful, innocent-looking pussy
lips, with their variety of colours, from the red blush of her skin, to her
soft fur, transitioning from light brown to green at the ends. She was begging
to be defiled. He stopped eyeing her, and tried penetrating her with his
finger. He had some difficulty getting the first two knuckles in, her vaginal
walls tightening around his appendage. Leafeon panted her name, her front legs
giving in, lowering to the ground.
He removed his finger, glistening with her arousal. Only then did it cross his
mind that her small stature might interfere with the fucking. She was very well
lubricated, true, but Leafeon cunts were built for Leafeon cocks, not human
ones. During the fantasy Vade had set up, the size discrepancy was a non-issue,
which made him realise some of the usefulness of the setup.
“This is going to be a tight fit,” he thought aloud.
“You worry too much,” Vade replied.
“Huh? What are you talking about? I don’t want to rip her apart. Leave your
gore fetish elsewhere.”
“Dude, you’re in your mind. Do you think things are capable of breaking? Do you
think there’s anything corporeal to break in the first place?”
He had a point. Dave shrugged. He moved back closer to Leafeon, who was shaking
her arse sideways invitingly. He inserted his index finger again, putting the
other on her hip to apply pressure. Once he had the second knuckle in, he
replayed Vade’s snark in his head, and took a leap of faith. He twisted his
hand, moved it back a bit, and then inserted a second finger, his middle one,
into Leafeon’s tight vagina.
“Leafeon! Leaf! Leafeon!” she protested, raising her voice, but with sufficient
effort, Dave’s second finger did fit in. She was tight enough to give him
trouble with his blood flow. Her heartbeats could be felt through her vagina,
her heavy breathing rocking her whole body up and down regularly.
Encouraged, he tried spreading his two fingers apart. It was incredibly
difficult, but it worked. Her tiny pussy spread, and he could see a bit of the
bright red that were her insides, a beautiful contrast with her light brown and
green fur. He moved his other hand to the lower part of her pussy, rubbing her
little clitoris, barely visible between her labia and her fur.
He began pumping his fingers as well, Leafeon’s pants increasing in volume and
frequency. She was breathing so fast now. Motivated by her arousal and
stretchability, he tried shoving a third finger in her canal, bringing the cute
grass type to climax. There was a gush of juices, showering his belly in
Leafeon lubricants.
Dave removed his fingers from Leafeon’s vagina, and it was left gaping for a
second. He was rock hard by now, and didn’t expect to last long, but then
again, he didn’t expect Leafeon to stretch that far either. Vade was right:
whatever he thought, was. It didn’t have to make sense. He could probably fuck
her peehole with a horse cock, and it would still work if he suspended his
disbelief sufficiently.
He put his hand on his cock, and smeared Leafeon’s lubricants on it. He rather
enjoyed his adult size, perhaps overstated by an inch or two in his dream.
Compensating in his sleep was quite the hilarious thought, but then again, his
imagination’s vividness deviated enough from the median for it to cross the
line between self-esteem issues and genius.
Leafeon’s protests for increased urgency meant Dave’s excursion in the
psychological dynamics of his masturbation would have to be redirected to more
mundane applications; namely, Pokémon pussy. He lined up his cock to her baby
maker. He was rather curious of the size discrepancy now, so he pressed
forward, his pole sliding right between her hind legs, applying friction on her
clitoris.
“On!” cried the critter, aroused by the contact. Dave wrapped one of his palms
around her back, his fingers reaching her underbelly and his organ. He was
right; if he attempted full penetration, he’d reach halfway to her stomach. His
inner critic advised against what was bound to fail, but Vade’s calls for a
little more imagination won.
“Creative thinking, Dave,” he told himself, pulling back, and going in for
penetration for real. Her labia spread apart, and her vaginal entrance
stretched wide open to accommodate her human lover.
She yelled her name with protracted vowels as Dave managed to get the head of
his penis inside, her walls gripping him like the inescapable choke of a late
night wrestling match. More lubricants were released to ease the insertion on
an object not meant for that species to enjoy.
Gradually, Dave progressed, and a minute or so later he was mostly inside her,
with just a little less than a couple of inches left to go. He’d reached a
point where he couldn’t penetrate further, and by Leafeon’s spasms and cries
every time he touched that end, he was pressing against her cervix.
It was fortunate that Vade’s suggestions were the dominant ones now, cause if
the critic held more than a distant sway, Leafeon would have chopped his dick
off with her titular leaves and left him there to bleed to death. Compared to
impromptu sex change operations, he hadn’t cut that bad of a deal.
Leafeon had become accustomed to his size by now. Her tightness didn’t fight
against the blood flow in his dick, for one, so his sense of heat and friction
had returned to notice the pleasant warmth and wetness of Leafeon’s cunt. Some
of her fluids were dripping out of her, despite the seemingly airtight lock,
and her seductive smell reached up to his nostrils.
With her hind legs stretched all the way up to match his height, but not her
front ones, there was an alluring arch in her spine. Dave put his hands on her
back and butt, taking in the feeling of her fur; not as long as his previous
mate’s, but still soft, like well-tended grass.
He pulled out, experiencing the suction that Leafeon’s hole had produced. Her
entrance moved outwards, stuck on his penis, to match his movements, before
returning to their original position, like a trail of meat. Then he thrust
forward again, meeting some resistance, but significantly less than originally.
When inside, her cunt didn’t want him out, but still made him work for his
reward every time he tried getting back in. It was as moody as a teenage girl
on her period, fittingly so. Dave intensified his thrusts, leaning down to
Leafeon, putting more pressure on her back to ease his effort.
Every so often, he became too excited and scraped against her cervix, making
Leafeon shudder and pant in a higher pitch than usual. Her insides reacted too,
tightening around his cock. She seemed to be enjoying the stimulation. Dave
most definitely did.
His only grievance was that he wasn’t fully inside her, which made him bottom
out more and more often as he got more excited. Eventually, Leafeon could take
no more, and her shudders intensified to an orgasm, way before he was near it,
her vagina tightening like never before. It brought his pistoning to an end. He
was glad her mouth wasn’t turned in his direction, as her scream was remarkably
loud.
With her orgasm, Leafeon’s hind legs gave weight too. He managed to support her
weight with his hand before he slipped out completely, but this was going to
become a problem now. Would this session have to end? He was extremely aroused,
and he most definitely didn’t want to be blue-balled in his sleep.
Creative thinking, he remembered. He placed both his hands on Leafeon’s sides,
turning her around, legs up, able to face him directly. Her eyes were half-
closed and unfocused due to strain, and her chest was visibly moving with deep
breaths. He put his hands under her, supporting her butt in the air, as her
upper half rested on the grass.
Re-energised by the cute look in her face, and the depravity of force fucking
the quadruped, Dave resumed his thrusts, now with even more force. He was
pressing against her cervix every time now, sending shivers down Leafeon’s
spine, making her legs jerk in random directions every time.
Dancing to the music of the slapping sounds and Leafeon’s syllabic cries, Dave
wanted to fuck the living shit out of her. The little slut had shown she could
take far more than what he expected. He wanted to fuck parts of her nothing
should ever enter, and impale himself in her deepest cavern. He wanted to waste
his seed in a womb he could never impregnate, unleash sperm in the wrong
species’ meat pipe, his potential offspring committing seppuku in the name of
his pleasure.
And after a dozen thrusts, his dream became reality. Something inside Leafeon
gave way, and he could penetrate further than he could before. At first, he
didn’t notice, focused on screwing her living shit out of her. But then, he
felt the unmistakable grip of an entrance around his shaft, and then the
feeling of a whole new cavity.
He was in her womb. He looked down on Leafeon to see her positively losing her
mind. She orgasmed again, putting a pause to his thrusts. He doubted she was
aware of much of anything beyond his dick spreading her wide inside her. Lower,
he could make out a tiny bulge, the tip of his penis, showing in her belly.
The sight aroused him further, and propelled even more powerful thrusts before
she was done orgasming. Fluids were gushing out from her pussy, wetting his
testicles; he was balls deep inside her now. He felt her cervix refusing him
exit, and then reluctantly opening wide, giving him entry to Leafeon’s
innermost chamber, the storage space for the children she’d never have. With
every thrust, the bulge caved in and then reappeared, every time in a slightly
different location. It was such an erotic sight.
He was loving it. The thought of using the furry creature as an oversized
pocket pussy felt awesome. Invading Leafeon’s reproductive pipe felt awesome.
Bestiality felt awesome. Being a sick bastard was in all imaginable ways
awesome.
That was the thought that brought him over the edge. He entered Leafeon’s womb
one last time with a powerful thrust, his organ visible through her flesh, and
unleashed his jizz directly inside it, ready for stirring. Leafeon’s eyes
rolled back, apparently coming as well, or perhaps having been coming this
entire time.
Dave pulled the creature away, exiting her pussy, pulling a little bit of both
her mouths with him. Her juices and his semen were spilling out of her hole,
gaping widely, her abused cervix aching and visible for anyone willing to stare
inside. He let the Leafeon rest, her mouth open, her tongue poking outside.
As a last motion of depravity, Dave leaned in and kissed Leafeon, penetrating
her tiny open mouth with his tongue, tasting her animalistic saliva. In
accepting his nature, he had ironically become one with nature.
Vade ought to be proud, if not shuddering at the horrible pun.
===============================================================================
When he came to, Dave found himself with ruined boxers in the middle of the
night again. Sleep quickly took over, as he was exhausted by the long day and
the mental strain of the ultimate form of masturbation.
Or perhaps it was just the sleeping powder of the Exeggcute in the corner of
the room, eating his dreams.
***** Chapter 4 *****
With the insurmountable elegance of an Exploud’s lullaby, Dave was woken up by
his cellphone. And had the elegance been limited to that, it would have been
fine, but the woe that were Dave’s reflexes contributed, and consequently
Umbreon, who in now characteristic respect for humans’ space had been sleeping
on his lap, introduced her own reflexes to jump straight up and hit the
underside of Dave’s chin, stopping his gasp and screams, and compromising the
integrity of his tongue.
“Umbreon! Um, um, Umbreon!” yelled Umbreon, greatly confused and annoyed by the
state of affairs. Perhaps merely annoyed.
“Mmm!” groaned Dave, having a mouth, but not having to scream desperately
enough to risk opening it and suffering more. He’d only scratched his tongue on
the side, but hot damn did it hurt. Meanwhile, the cellphone kept on going.
Umbreon, in response to the device that refused to shut up, started yelling her
name at it. Surrounded by the trinity of evil that were his nerves, Umbreon,
and mobile telephony, Dave picked it up to defuse the situation.
“Mm,” he mumbled.
“Good morning, my mute sunshine! How does verbosity find you today? Cat ate
your tongue?” Sidney said from the other side.
“Mmm!” Dave complained. Meanwhile, Umbreon, butthurt about being woken up in a
manner most unfitting of royalty, was nudging Dave into an upright position.
After enough pressure, Dave conceded and stepped up, at which point Umbreon hid
herself under the covers.
“I am surprisingly correct this time. Between you and I, Umbreon is not insured
against whatever damage she inflicts upon you, so I claim no responsibility.”
“M-mm! Mmmm. Mm…,” Dave said, expressing his deep interest in the financial
affairs of his dear friend, Sidney.
“So, as I was saying, I was reading the news the other day—yeah, yeah, I know.
‘Sidney, you can read? Wow, the Elite Four sure does love its socialised
education, doesn’t it? That the only perk of the job, or are there more
creative ways to mug innocents, literally at gunpoint?’”
“Mhm,” Dave agreed. He didn’t agree to the straw campy libertarian homosexual
persona he used to communicate his emulated thoughts, but you gotta work with
what you got.
“But there you have it: I was reading the news, and, lo and behold, you were on
the frontpage again! ‘Sidney, go light on the LSD, dog. Why would I be on the
frontpage on Hoenn newspapers? Do I look like a talentless teenage pop star
breaking down emotionally after driving under the influence? Cause I’m not.’”
“Mm.”
“Strange as it might sound, I had the sneaking suspicion I might want to check
up on Kanto news, cause I had this feeling; this aura, even; a foul air of
eventfulness that are your farts. ‘What the fuck, man? I thought I had been
real careful with fucking your—I mean my Umbreon! What kind of arsehole would
install a spy cam in a public restroom in Vermilion’s ghetto, I swear…’”
“Mm!” This “fucking Umbreon” running gag was getting old and it had to die a
swift but horrible death.
“I have the headlines right in front of me, for that matter. Just listen to
this: ‘Dave Holder out to level the Kanto region.’ Well, that’s aggressive. Or
this one: ‘Detective Holder’s trainwreck of a career choice still endangering
polite society.’ Man, hope you stocked up on those Burn Heals. Or, my
favourite: ‘Dave Holder: nihilistic double agent, or Horseman of the
Apocalypse?’ You’re making a killing, bro! I mean, literally, too. We’re
literally mourning victims here—well, perhaps mourn is too strong a word for
Rocket grunts, but still.”
“Mmm…,” Dave groaned.
“Man, I can’t wait for when Rachel gets her hands on this. Speaking of Rachel,
did you put in a good word for me, as I requested? ‘Fuck you, Sidney, I hope
you die alone.’ Joke’s on you, baby; I’ve got the best pussy in town.”
“Absol?” his Absol said over the phone.
“‘Ha, ha, very funny, Sidney. Your puns are the best. I’m laughing so much, I
can’t even speak properly.’ Well, that’s all, I guess. That was a very engaging
conversation we’ve had. I’ll catch up with you later. Share Rachel’s going
haywire! Toodles.”
Toodles? Motherfucking toodles? Sidney did need to go light on the LSD.
Thankfully, he hung up, so Dave wouldn’t have to endure his perpetually stoned
state any longer. It nevertheless took him quite a while to recover, staring
blankly at the display, questioning his mother’s decision to bear him.
When the display shut itself off to save battery, the difference in luminosity
woke Dave up from his depressive episode, at which point he decided nothing but
the coldest of freezing showers could restore him to life. He proceeded to do
just that, Umbreon still comfortably snuggling with the pillow that was
rightfully his.
===============================================================================
With less oral trauma and cellular acid trips, Dave decided to exit the hotel.
What with his stay in Kanto having no prospect of ending any time soon, he
should go buy some more clothes, because the ones on him had gone through way
too many adventures, and it was showing. His exit was interrupted by the
receptionist, however.
“Mister Holder,” he called out. Dave began pondering what hilarious plot twist
would take over his life this time. “We do not allow furry creatures in the
hotel, which is why we’re going to file a lawsuit for damages in excess of
seven billion, which you are free to pay back by working for us as a stripper
in our subsidiary in Unova,” he imagined.
“Miss Erika said you should go meet her when you woke up,” was what was
actually said. Alas, reality had conditioned Dave to think so pessimistically
that his imagination was officially worse than reality itself, which was a
considerable feat, in light of his recent life experiences involving
hospitalisation, an assassination attempt, getting mindfucked, and abduction.
He was not sure what Erika wanted from him. “She wants your dick,” he imagined
Vade would say if he had the misfortune to experience his commentary wakefully,
too. But again, with his luck, Erika might really want his dick, in the sense
of nailing it on her wall to celebrate the destruction of the patriarchy. She
wouldn’t be entirely unjustified in wanting him dead, either.
Perhaps in consideration of vast man-hating conspiracies, Dave prioritised
buying new clothes to visiting Erika. The reasoning behind it was that if he
looked less like a hobo, Erika would feel less inclined to murder him, what
with sending “good, upstanding citizen” vibes. Devil’s advocate argued that new
clothes might have the opposite effect, communicating his affluence and
privilege to Erika.
Both thoughts ultimately conceded to the undeniable reality of the latest
events having left his wardrobe severely battered and uncomfortable to walk
around in, thereby making the new purchases almost a matter of public hygiene.
===============================================================================
Equipped with the latest and greatest from the land of flowery swag, Dave then
proceeded to the gym, where he assumed he’d find Erika. The prospect of the
unknown brought back some paranoia, which was interrupted but in no way subdued
by a call from Rachel, the other woman in his life with good reason to kill
him.
Apprehensive, he answered the call. “Yes?”
“Didn’t I tell you to call me before dealing with journalists? Actually, didn’t
I tell you not to deal with journalists at all?” screamed Rachel on the other
side. As a matter of fact, she did say both, but Dave was never a devout
follower of her teachings.
“Y-yes?”
“I swear to my mum’s grave, Dave, if I lose my job over this, I’m gonna come
over there and do things to you you didn’t know were possible to be done on
your body.”
That threat would have sounded horrible a week ago, but he had already had
things done to him that he hadn’t known were possible to be done on his body,
so his reaction ended up being a verbal shrug.
“Meh.”
“Don’t you ‘meh’ me! Grow up! Why do you keep getting into trouble? Why is your
trouble always explosive or virtually indistinguishable from terrorist
activity? Do you need a shrink?”
“I, uh… don’t know?”
That was rather conveniently an answer to all three questions.
“You are a public relations catastrophe. I don’t know how you even made it in
the Global Police. I’m going to find who cleared you and make sure they blame
their joblessness on you, too.”
“Look, let’s all calm down for a short while, okay?”
“Don’t you tell me to calm down!” She yelled that so loudly, Dave had to
increase the distance of the speaker from his ear, or he’d have to consult a
doctor in addition to a psychologist.
“Okay, calm up, then.” Rachel groaned. “I mean, I did lead you to a whole bunch
of Rockets, and put an end to their activities with a distinctive sense of
finality.”
“The sun going supernova is final, but not the kind of finality most people are
looking forward to.”
She had a point. But to be fair, he hadn’t truly expected Erika to appear and
Hyper Beam the place up. He’d honestly thought a couple of his colleagues would
have shown up to rough them up without putting controlled demolition experts to
shame. He communicated as much to Rachel.
“You know what, it doesn’t matter. If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck,
and quacks like a duck, people are going to think it’s a duck.”
Rachel might want to consider going light on the LSD, too.
“What?”
“It doesn’t matter how much you think you’ve helped; if everyone thinks you’re
spreading mayhem, then you’re going to be treated like a source of mayhem. Now,
if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to try salvaging what remains of my integrity,
and you better hope it turns out good.”
She ended the call. Well, that was entertaining. Dave had a bad track record
the past few days with absolutely bewildering conversations and circumstances.
Umbreon stared idly at her surroundings, not catching onto the remotely
delivered threats to Dave’s professional and perhaps physical well-being.
He decided not to focus on the future lest he encounter clinical depression,
and instead live in the present. Thus, he stood before Erika’s gym, which was
no less disturbing than said mood disorder. He had an unmistakable sense of
woe, agony, and, in fact, tears. Why, he could practically hear the wailing.
And indeed, a young woman walked out of the gym, almost crashing into him,
running off in the distance, trying to hold back her tears. Yet another Pokémon
trainer encountering the major roadblock to her career that were the gym
leaders, he assumed. Now, if teenage angst was the only thing his internal woe-
meter had warned about, everything would be swell.
He eyed Umbreon, who looked back up at him in supreme indifference. He wanted
to hope that, if things took a turn for the worse, Umbreon would discover her
inner comic book heroine, transform into a magical girl and take out the evil
tentacled monsters that grass types amounted to. Dave rarely got what he
wanted.
So he entered the gym, even if it led to suicide, and was met with plants and
oestrogen in that order. If ever there was a secret feminist conspiracy
planning to take over the world, these would be their headquarters, for there
was precisely one male in the entire building at the moment, and that was Dave.
If it were any other day, he would rejoice at the prospect of being in the
middle of this harem. However, with his paranoia having inflated to roughly the
size of the observable universe, he wasn’t going to start enjoying anything but
his adrenal glands running out of fuel. His heart was beating like a
tachycardia sufferer being prescribed bradycardia medication because the local
pharmacist dropped out of etymology class and yet was allowed to keep his job
as a public hazard because small government aficionados had taken over the
regulatory committees.
He walked past the hanging gardens of Celadon’s gym, nodding just enough at
Erika’s underlings surrounding him to not look awkward, but no more. He did
find it a bit weird that none had approached him to challenge him, which was
simultaneously a good thing in that he didn’t have to explain himself, and a
downer in that his “security precautions” gifted by Sidney were interpreted as
the blatant quadruped joke he always knew they were.
He walked up to the podium that housed the fighting ring and Erika herself. Her
Pokémon were out and busy tidying up the place from the tragedy that had
doubtlessly been the previous fight. The smell of disappointment was still
evident from the challenger’s side of the field. Having seen how she’d handled
the Rockets, Dave had newfound certainty in choosing not to become a Pokémon
trainer.
Erika noticed his approach. “Oh, mister Ho—Dave. Good morning. I see you’ve
received my message, then.”
“More of a request, really. You’ve been busy this early on.”
“It was terribly unexciting, honestly. Goodness, some of these new trainers
just make me…,” she trailed off, rubbing the back of her neck. “I hate being
interrupted and making a mess of my gym.”
“Naturally,” he said, taking in the sights of Erika’s gardening skills. Being
the last things he’d see, the shrubbery didn’t look all that bad. He was ready
to enter the afterlife peacefully now.
“I had something I wanted to discuss with you,” Erika said, and began walking
towards the wall on his left, and the door behind which she could enjoy
murdering him privately. “Please,” she beckoned him inside.
Erika’s private chambers were in many ways similar to the rest of the gym, the
walls lined with plant pots completely unidentifiable using Dave’s nonexistent
taxonomic skills. There was furniture and pillows in the room, but no bed, so
Dave guessed Erika’s proper residence lied elsewhere in Celadon.
She entered after him, walked behind him and sat on a cushion. She gestured on
another, politely requesting he follow suit, perhaps so as not to strain her
neck looking up at him. Afraid of being accused of height privilege, Dave
obeyed. Needless to say, Umbreon had already made herself comfortable in
another cushion in the distance, returning to her precious beauty sleep that
seemed to last 20 hours a day.
“You lead an interesting life, Dave,” she said.
He chucked. “Ha, I wouldn’t jump to conclusions.” He wasn’t being modest. “A
few days ago, I was constantly complaining about how mundane and boring my life
was.”
“But no more?”
“Actually, I could use some peace and quiet now.”
“Hmm.” Erika seemed to be deep in thought, as if weighing her words very
carefully. “I wonder what brought about this sudden change?”
He laughed as politely as he could. “I wouldn’t know, really. Perhaps fate is
finally paying me back?”
“So, do you believe in fate, Dave? I had you for a firm believer in cutting out
one’s own destiny.” The direction of the conversation was creeping him out.
There was a deafening silence. “Perhaps your interesting night life is related
to Darkrai, then?”
“I, uh… what?”
“Oh, there’s no need to maintain pretext. I too very much enjoy constructive
naps, and I couldn’t help but notice yours were far more constructive than
usual. I thought you might want to part with some advice, as one loyal fan to
another.”
Wait a minute. None of this made any sense. There was in fact some sort of
conspiracy going on, but it did not involve his death. On the other hand, all
his secrets were now loose. How where they loose? What was Erika expecting out
of him, exactly?
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“Oh, I had Exeggcute stalk you in your sleep last night,” she said, with her
tone never changing from the cute, high-pitched whisper expected from the
serene leader of Celadon’s gym. The dissonance made it all the more creepy.
“I must admit, it wasn’t what I expected. I mean, I didn’t know what to expect,
save for the obviousness of your peculiarity,” she continued. “But
nevertheless, I was a little overwhelmed. The indecent thoughts, I can fathom,
but as for the rest…”
Oh boy…
“Are you sure you don’t need a therapist?”
“I’d rather remain therapist-free and not risk imprisonment,” he admitted.
“Don’t we all. Don’t we all,” Erika muttered. “Well, I suppose the source of
your entertainment is inconsequential. I am far more interested in how
entertaining it is. Do you agree?”
He was still not sure where this conversation was going, so he opted for the
safe approach: playing ball.
“I guess.”
“I don’t want to be judgemental, but with abilities as unique as yours, isn’t
it a waste, and dare I say selfish not to share them?”
Dave would have loved having a mirror in front of him, as his grimaces ought to
be priceless. It was as if he could vaguely follow Erika along, but he couldn’t
put his finger on it.
“I don’t understand what you mean by sharing them.”
“Though unrefined, your dreams are a delicacy. Why should only you get to feast
on them?”
“Um…”
That was it, then. That was the conspiracy’s master plan, after all. He had bet
they wanted him dead, and that was a miscalculation. They wanted him to grind
perverted dreams instead. He would be drugged and locked up in an old dungeon
for eternity, getting mindfucked day in, day out, until he lost touch with
reality and his rational faculties, and all that remained was sodomy.
“That’s why I called you here, to help you reconsider your career choice.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, I don’t want to be crude, but you could be compensated very handsomely
for your services. Healthy things are nice to consume, but I sincerely believe
there has to be balance in nature. Don’t you? Even the prettiest flowers wither
away, rot, and smell bad. They end up being…”
“Junk?” Dave offered.
“Well, yes. One can’t subsist on sterilised things only. I think dreams are
much the same. And as the trailblazer in eating dreams, you should lead in that
endeavour. Why be an insignificant part of maintaining the order of things when
you can lead in the reintroduction of… junk?”
In other words, he should open a junk food chain.
“So, how exactly do I selflessly share my services?”
“I’ve been thinking…”
===============================================================================
Dave’s first contact with the economic capital that was Saffron wasn’t through
political corruption, or unsupervised derivatives trading, or desperate hookers
tending to the needs of men with more cash than their houses’ bricks weighed,
but through collapse. And not some financial metaphor thereof, but physical
collapse, as in collapsing on the ground, panting and heaving and almost dying.
He did consider how strange the sight ought to look to passers-by, but as with
many things recently, Dave had let go of decent emotions, such as shame. So he
lay on the street, looking up but not really seeing anything, trying to
regulate his breathing. His bicycle’s wheels were still rolling, making
clicking sounds, and Umbreon was surveying him, confused as to whether he
needed immediate hospitalisation or immediate disregard.
As with the previous ones, the story behind this episode of Dave’s borderline
demise was surreal and karmic in dosages as equal as the genders. Erika’s plan
involved acquiring a Technical Machine of extremely limited availability, for
which he had to travel to the nearby city of Saffron. “Sure, why not?” was his
reaction, because Saffron was right next to Celadon. What could possibly go
wrong?
Amidst the neverending mindfuck that his life had devolved into, he forgot one
of his Ten Commandments, his High Concept, even; in fact, let this henceforth
be known as Dave’s Law: whenever you have to ask yourself “what could possibly
go wrong?”, the universe will align itself in such a fashion as to make
everything go wrong, particularly the impossible rather than the possible. A
modern omen of bad luck, so to speak. As opposed to, say, black cats, like the
one he dragged behind him wherever he went. Quite the suspicious coincidence,
in retrospect…
Back to the topic at hand, Dave had gone to the train station to commute
nearby. So focused was he on making sense of his psyche, that it had slipped
his mind that that had been the very train that had carried him into Saffron,
by the very same company that was now conducting a thorough investigation
because a grown man happened to get kidnapped and disappear without anyone
taking note. Because, unlike him and some of his friends, there were people who
took legal matters very seriously, a thought whose absence would have worried
Dave if his potential anti-psychotic prescription wasn’t already monopolising
his worries.
Sans obvious ways to commute, Dave gradually moved to ones whose obviousness
was the inverse of his desperation, and one thing led to another, until he was
biking to Saffron. He soon discovered that masturbating in your sleep proper
exercise did not make. That, and his body remembered it had received the full
brunt of one too many Pokémon attacks earlier this week, backpedalling what
little physical therapy he had undergone.
Only now that he was lying on Saffron’s streets did it occur to him that Erika
was the proud owner of a Tropius, the same one that had levelled the Game
Corner yesterday, and which was fully capable of flight. Not that Dave was a
big fan of hanging on for dear life as a Pokémon flew him about, but it was
suspicious how Erika hadn’t so much as mentioned the possibility and had left
him to his own devices. If he didn’t know better, he’d suspect a nefarious
plan, but his more encyclopedically literate part suggested that Erika was
napping, as she is somewhat infamous for.
Putting the surrealism behind him, Dave had his resurrection, and moved on to a
new age, a brave new world, the land of shopping malls and supermarkets 47
stories tall. Frankly, that kind of world kind of sucked; he would prefer a 47
story tall hotel, its rooms occasionally welcoming teenagers putting their high
school sex education to the test, but mostly empty beds on which he could laze
the rest of his days away and hope he wasn’t rubbing his face on the aftermath
of a post-menopausal orgasm.
The next thirty minutes of Dave’s life were wasted on franchises that had and
would never stock the merchandise he was after. Though its two gyms might
indicate otherwise, Saffron was home to a single, small, and humble Poké Mart;
the towering skyline of the metropolis did provide many outlets for vapid
shopping therapy, but not all that much tending to the needs of trainers. He
didn’t even want to imagine how annoying it had to be supplying not one, but
two gyms filled with professional trainers. No wonder the Celadon–Saffron
commute lines were so popular.
After confusion only comparable to the heads of mathematics undergrads first
encountering the zeta function, the resulting summation of all natural numbers
to -1/12, and the associated delays with changing their major, Dave was finally
in what was properly labelled as a Poké Mart. Not publicising the similes his
internal narrative subsisted on, he spoke his request in a manner unfitting an
institutionalised case with a sudden love for Riemann.
“I’m looking for TM85, Dream Eater.” Though the the process was long and
arduous and he’d never want to repeat it, he was pleased that he had reached
his destination and acquired his trophy. With the Technical Machine in his
hands, he would be able to give Erika’s plan a try, and then, perhaps…
“Hold your horses, champ,” a woman resting her elbows on the counter said.
“That one is destined for me, you see.”
And of course no part of this excursion was going to be easy. Never mind. Dave
would solve this trivial issue with his top-notch persuasion skills.
“Destiny notwithstanding, this is an urgent matter. I wouldn’t insist if it
wasn’t of professional value.”
Dave thought he had her with that. He really did. Dave had a habit of being
very wrong.
“You don’t say?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, dripping sarcasm like a
hydroelectric power station dripped water.
The giggles from the store owners hinted to him that something was amiss. He
reassessed his situation. A few moments in, it clicked: the purple tank top,
the black hair, and those ridiculous bracers; he was talking to Sabrina. He was
so fucked.
“Oh, come on!”
“Language,” she chastised him. “I take it you’re the poor soul Erika sent for?
Though, looking into it… ‘poor’ is inappropriate wording.”
“Wait, how did y— Oh, right. Psychic types.” Sabrina nodded. “Alright, so how
do we do this?”
“How do you want to do this?”
“It’s not up to me. Cause if it were, I’d give up on it and we’d each go our
merry ways. In fact, I wouldn’t have come here in the first place. I would
probably have bought a big box of cigars and boarded a cruise ship for the
Sevii Islands for the next five years or so, at the end of which I’d go skiing
elsewhere for a change of pace and temperature.”
Sabrina grinned widely, twirling her fingers, as if in anticipation of
something. “I see how it is now. You value your head’s attachment to your
shoulders more than my authority. Sounds sensible.”
He wouldn’t have worded it like that, but it wasn’t inaccurate. Sabrina eyed
Umbreon, who was hopefully immune to the psychic expert’s manipulation. They do
say hope dies last.
“I think I know what you’re trying to do. Tell you what, drop by the gym in,
say, twenty minutes, and I’ll make you a proposition.”
“Do I have a choice?” She shrugged. “Did you know this was going to happen?”
Another shrug. “Is the universe fucking with me?”
He didn’t say that last one aloud.
===============================================================================
Dave opened his eyelids with about as much effort as what enduring haemorrhoids
in an hour-long post-laxative shit following six months of constipation ought
to require. It did not occur to him how strange his capacity for over-the-top
comparisons was in a semi-conscious state. It did occur to him that he had no
particular reason to feel this sleepy.
He arrived to the inexorable realisation like an anarchist to an appreciation
for the government and its courts following domain name and intellectual
property disputes, but with less blatant hypocrisy and more repetition, so in
hindsight very unlike the anarchist: he was tied to a chair. Again.
“Oh, come on, man! You said this wasn’t going to happen any more!” he yelled.
Actually, he’d said this was a function of his BDSM fetish, but never mind the
trivialities. Looking around, he took in the sight of the apartment he
occupied. Hipster minimalism, wooden floor, everything painted orange because
of the setting sun, too many floors for this to be anything but a gym leader’s
booty call resort in Saffron. His genre savviness had definitely received an
upgrade, as if in response to his degrading luck.
“Who are you talking to?” a woman, undoubtedly Sabrina, asked, wearing her
amusement on her sleeves.
“I, uh…” He looked around more. A suited copy of himself lay tied up and
motionless in another corner. Somehow, this felt doubly uncomfortable.
“Pardon me asking, but which one of you is, you know, you?”
He found the question very strange for the first half a minute, but then
noticed how Vade looking identical to him meant no one could tell the two
apart, which explained Sabrina’s strategically equidistant positioning between
the bodies.
“I’m Dave. The other’s my doppelgänger. Before you ask,” he stopped her with
her mouth open, “I’m roughly as illuminated on the subject as you are. I call
him Vade, if it helps.”
Sabrina couldn’t contain her chuckle. “Vade, you say?” This time she laughed
much louder. “That’s so creatively uncreative. My goodness. Erika must’ve had a
hell of a time with you.”
He didn’t comprehend much of what was being said or was occurring. He should
have been in the gym, where he was set to discuss the—ohhh, right! The top-
notch Umbreon security was paying off once again. Sidney truly was looking out
for him, yup. He should write him a thank-you postcard from the afterlife,
peppered with cocaine and promptly reported to the nearest policeman for drug
dealing.
Conveniently, it happened to answer the question of why Erika hadn’t helped him
acquire the Technical Machine to begin with. Why, if she’d known Sabrina was
going to mess with him, it was probably not a good idea to tag along.
“I wonder, though…,” Sabrina thought aloud. She closed her eyes, and a few
moments later, an Espeon opaqued into existence. “Ohh, it works!” She jumped in
excitement. “Not the most elegant of transitions, but we can work on the
finesse later, no?”
“We?” His question was answered in the form of an evil stare and a grin with
too many plans behind it. “All of a sudden, I’ve stopped feeling safe. Behold
an esoteric mystery. Perhaps it would be best discussing this over tea? You
have a desk, right? Well, if you don’t, I know this great vegan rest—”
“Espeon, off with his pants.”
All humans involved had turned out bloodmouths despite hints to the contrary,
but Dave was less interested in his incorrect assumption than the manifestation
of a literal bloodmouth, should some genitals be ripped off along with the
lower body garments.
“Wait, no!” he exclaimed, but there was no stopping the mayhem. Espeon used
telekinesis instead of fangs to rid him of excess clothing, though it was
unclear whether that increased the probability of gore. It didn’t feel gory, at
least, which should count for something, maybe. His boxers removed, he looked
down, feeling an unprecedented attachment to his repro—
“Why?” he screamed, rocking the chair back and forth. “Stop fucking with me!
I’ve had enough pregnancies for several lifetimes!”
There was no way of phrasing this without sounding ridiculous, but the feminist
conspiracy had succeeded: he now lacked a penis. A thousand voices screamed in
sudden glee and quickly subsided, because the fandom of the International
Castration Day numbered only that many and they were loose and disorganised
across highly introverted online blogs.
“Ha! This worked out better than expected!” Sabrina said. Genitalia woes aside,
she was enjoying the situation a lot, but not with the flavour of sadism
expected from intellectually bankrupt ideologues comparing all pornographic
production and vaginal penetration to rape. And this interpretation would be
immediately put into question, as she kicked him in the chest, dropped him and
his chair on the floor, then kept pressing down on his diaphragm with her left
foot. Honestly, this would feel far more convincing as a BDSM fantasy if she
wore latex and stupidly high heels instead of pink slippers. Putting more than
just a symbolic pressure on his chest would also help. His back pressing down
on his hands, tied behind him on the chair, was more troublesome than
everything else.
“I was planning to threaten you with emasculation, but I figured motivating you
with de-emasculation would work out better,” she said. “Cause I think positive
emotion trumps negative emotion every time. We all yearn for reconciliation,
for catharsis.”
“Motivate me for what? If no one’s gone down on you for a while, I could’ve
offered my ser— Okay! Alright!” Dave shut up as he felt her foot moving down,
preferring not to have his balls crushed like free speech in a room full with
concerned mums of the conservative persuasion.
“I guess the most relevant question here is… how is this possible? I’ve
experimented in the past, but whatever it is you’re doing is some prodigy
material.”
“What can I say? I’ve always been special.”
“Keep this up and the rest of your life will be a whole new type of special.”
“I don’t know, okay? It just… happens, you know?”
“Much like a double lobotomy.” Sabrina squinted her eyes to ensure the threat
was correctly understood with its full neurologically crippling weight.
“For fuck’s sake! Remember the Rocket operation, like, a week back? We went to
recover a Darkrai, alright? And I let it go instead of turning it in to the
global police.”
“So a Darkrai went and, what? Rewarded you?”
“Y-yes?”
“A more sceptical person would tell you to fuck off, but with current events
being what they are, I suppose there isn’t much value in scepticism.”
With that concession, Dave recovered a small but vital part of himself. He was
now the proud owner of the world’s smallest wiener, less than the size of his
pinkie finger. Definitely the stuff of micropenis genetic deformities, but an
infinite improvement to nothing, if calculus is to be trusted. Though it would
have helped if it weren’t erect.
“Ha…,” Dave chuckled, as if that would make his awkwardness invisible.
“Well, that’s new. Are you a huge pervert, perchance?”
“No!”
“Then, since only prepubescent boys are pure, surely you wouldn’t mind staying
one?”
“I may have experimented a bit. But it’s nothing regular.”
“Define experiment.”
“Ugh.” The pressure on his chest was a constant reminder of how close to brain
death he was, despite the equally prominent fear of social death. In
retrospect, it was retarded how humans were social to such an extent that the
potential of shame was even comparable to death. “Okay, I fucked a Ninetales in
her arse while being forced to cosplay 11-year-old me, and then I womb-fucked a
Leafeon because my alter ego complained doing Ninetales multiple times in a row
was mentally unsound.”
“Holy shit, too much information.”
The gross detail he had described his symptoms of schizophrenia with earned him
another impromptu penis enlargement surgery, so he was now sporting something
less embarrassing, though still erect and still far less than what he had
started off with. The ease with which his own mind was bent was a definite
warning not to mess with professional-grade psychics in the future.
“What are you doing here?” the interrogation continued.
“Erika found out about me. She suggested I come to Saffron to acquire a Dream
Eater Technical Machine to teach to Umbreon, so that she could—”
“Sync your and other people’s dreams in a group hallucination worthy of
Hollywood adaptations,” Sabrina completed his sentence. “That wasn’t hard to
figure out,” she explained. To be fair, what else would a professional
hallucination producer need from a Dream Eater Technical Machine?
Dave had returned to his original size. “Oh, holy cows, thank you.” He sighed
in relief. “Man, that was a trip. Holy shit. Never messing with feminists
again.”
“Excuse me.” Sabrina pressed down harder, redirecting his attention. “What’s
the big idea? What’s your end-game?”
Dave opened his mouth to answer by reflex, but he had caught on to the ploy by
then. “Excuse you. I’m done being motivated. If you would be so kind as to
untie me, maybe we can discuss my career plans in a more hospitable
environment.”
Sabrina smirked and leaned in towards him. “You mustn’t be afraid to dream a
little bigger, darling.”
The answer sprung to his lips at the speed of light. “My whole life’s been a
bore, save for the past week. And now I get to let people feast on their
ugliest, unhealthiest dreams in exchange for money. I’m thinking of opening a
junk food chain.”
“Big enough.”
Dave’s shackles and the chair he was tied onto disappeared as fast as his
façade of selflessness. Free from the ever powerful and pervasive influence of
the matriarchy, he could now regain control of his life and move on to greener
pastures, idly golfing with a clientele less threatening to his body integrity,
or at least less than to the lawn. However entertaining playing the most
pretentious sport sounded, there was something more deserving of attention than
the privilege of the shamelessly affluent: a twelve inch cock.
“This looks excessive,” he said, stupefied by the technically foot-long
appendage, protruding out of his groin like an arm. That comparison was more
literal than his typical one; a quick eye check hinted the distance of his
fingers from his elbow wasn’t much different from his almost grotesquely
inflated manhood, to the point of uselessness, one might add.
“Oh my,” Sabrina said. She covered her mouth, trying to contain a shower of
giggles. “I’ve read about twelve-inchers in bad homoerotic fiction before, and
it does indeed look as comically unrealistic as I imagined it to be before
setting the book on fire.”
Not only comically, Dave figured, recalling the little anatomical knowledge
he’d acquired yet regularly ignored during his REM journeys. Displaying the
rock-solid erection he did in real life would either be impossible or put
enough strain on his heart to warrant arrhythmia medication for the rest of his
life, if not a premature visit to the morgue.
Lightly slapping his member on the side, he could see it waving left and right
like a flagpole planted on a wasteland of expired gummy bears instead of stable
ground. A sight worthy of bad fiction if there were any, and one that summoned
more laughter from Sabrina. It would have looked more ridiculous had he
retained his original girth, but his sorry genetic freak circus act was
stripped of that opportunity by the few bounds of reason still remaining in
Sabrina’s head. He tried putting his hand around it, and judging by the
relative difficulty of the feat, the value of pi hinted at a circumference of
seven, maybe seven and half inches. Mathematics class had finally paid back.
Sabrina began approaching him—something he didn’t associate with good
intentions—and in response he crawled away, matching her walking speed. The
futility of the motion became obvious as his back touched a wall. Or rather, a
massive window pane acting as a wall. The existence of things outside the
apartment shed light on, well, the lighting. The sun was still setting, but
nothing was getting darker, the laws of gravity and celestial motion apparently
no less broken than anatomy’s.
“Um. What are you doing?” One might mistake his apprehension as unmanly, given
the advances of the woman before him, but a more nuanced interpretation
revealed very valid fears indeed. After all, who wouldn’t be apprehensive to
arbitrary body modification they didn’t have control over? He worried which
parts of him she’d magnify next. His feet? His ears? His self-esteem issues?
They were treading on dangerous grounds.
“I’ve been thinking…,” she said, Espeon catching up with her, rubbing
itself—herself?—whatever, on her leg. He gulped as audibly as he could, his
worst nightmares rapidly becoming reality, like explosion-ridden sequels to big
screen adaptations of toy lines.
“Y-yes?”
“I wonder how many rules I could break.”
“Well, uh… It depends, I guess.” Dave considered that maybe this wasn’t the
most opportune moment to give legitimate consideration to Sabrina’s thought
experiments. As per usual, he threw caution to the wind. “What kind of rules?”
“Oh, well, you know. Legal, physical…” She looked down on her Espeon, purring
like the exhaust engine of an unmaintained motorbike. She stared blankly, then
widened her eyes, then grinned as if achieving anti-Nirvana, in a series of
facial expressions spelling out bad times for Dave. “Ethical.”
A chair appeared behind her, and Sabrina sat down. For a moment, he thought
he’d be left off the hook without additional agony. That moment counted its
duration in the milliseconds, as Espeon took over Sabrina in approaching him,
the plan behind her grin coming to fruition.
“Um, Sabrina?” The Espeon was now close enough to him that he could feel some
of her fur tickling his feet.
“Don’t worry, Dave. I’m going to run some more ‘experiments’ for you. I’m sure
you understand. You know, as a senior researcher.”
Now, on the one hand, his previous experiments has turned out to be more
enjoyable than Dave would publicly admit, so the mere announcement of more
wasn’t a worrisome happenstance. On the other hand, the person announcing them
was the same one who literally made his dick go away a short while back. Who
knew what sort of bullshit she had prepared for him? Someone as fucked up as
her, she might have perceived his body language as begging for pegging.
The clash of two strong and contradictory emotions produced nothing but
stillness in his body. In an immense display of decisiveness, Dave stood by,
not moving an inch, and watched the events unfolding before him without trying
to prevent them or encourage them. He could hear Espeon breathing. He looked at
her, and got weirded out by her inverted eyeballs; dark purple sclera, white
irises. He didn’t know if the red gem on her forehead was looking at him, or
how deep this weird manifestation of the third eye could see into him. He hoped
it only went as far as his intestines; any further would by icky.
Espeon lowered her head down to his crotch, where his pole was subtly shaking
to the pulse of the blood circulating in it. Her long ears and whiskers tickled
him enough to break his motionlessness streak and spread his thighs, giving
Espeon easier access to his genitals. Whether she’d use this opportunity to
pleasure him or castrate him was unresolved.
She poked her tongue out, and laid a testing lick on the tip of his penis. He
shivered to the touch. He’d been lacking the bottom half of his clothes for a
long while, and with the stress of his interrogation proceedings, he hadn’t
noticed how cold he’d felt. The lick was surprising in its contrast with the
rest of the fuckery he’d endured that day. Warm and soft. Actually, too soft.
He’d expected her papillae to shred his skin, draw blood, and feel awful in
general. Benefits of surrealism, he figured.
“Oh, I think he might fancy it!” Sabrina commented from behind Espeon, smugly
overseeing the scene. “You weren’t lying about being a pervert. Honesty pleases
me.”
He had so many comebacks planned; so many comebacks he wanted to say. But
Espeon’s advances made it hard to focus on outsnarking Sabrina. No longer
feigning shyness, Espeon became more proactive in pleasuring him with her
tongue. Poking it out as far as it was comfortable, she brushed it all over his
glans, enveloping it in spit, and then under his foreskin for additional
stimulation.
“For the record, rubbing peanut butter on it won’t work for human females,”
Sabrina joked. He was going to ask her if that was the reason she had no luck
with people going down on her, but every time he opened his mouth, only grunts
and gasps came out.
The synchronisation between Espeon and Sabrina was rather unlikely, he came to
realise. There was no way a Pokémon would know exactly when he was about to
respond, and which responses Sabrina wanted to hear. And then it dawned on him:
of course it was impossible; everything in this dream was utterly impossible.
The presence of Espeon herself was no less an impossibility. She was as much
under the control of Sabrina as the room, the temperature, or the lighting.
Having played with his cockhead to her satisfaction, Espeon paid some attention
to the rest of his shaft. Again, if this were real life, there would be some
sensitivity impairments owning to the size of his organ, once again proving the
superiority of ignorance to realism. Espeon licked the sides and underside of
his penis as if consuming an oversized lollipop, spreading her warm spit evenly
on it, a sensation both wet and velvety. The stupidest thing he could liken it
to was fucking a cloud.
Espeon widened her motions and kept reaching further down his shaft, eventually
all the way down to the base. He wondered if the constant movement made her
neck hurt, but of course, fictional muscles suffered from fictional strain, so
not much of value was at risk. Droplets of her saliva trailed down his dick,
down to his scrotum. Her ears and the tufts of fur on her cheeks were now
rubbing on the insides of his thighs regularly for bonus effect. It reminded
him of the fluffiness of Ninetales’ tails.
Espeon’s licking came to an end as she diverted her attention to his balls,
which had only got wet by proxy. He expected the licking to resume there, but,
as had become customary by then, she surprised him by taking a mouthful of his
testicles in her mouth. The slight contact with her teeth reminded him how
close he was to insurmountable agony should he offend Sabrina. Nevertheless,
the embrace of the hot, wet cavity around his most private parts was a new one.
The sensation was so unique and so surprising, he couldn’t resist looking down
on her to see her work, despite his unconvincing attempts at looking
indifferent. She looked back up at him, his massive organ over her forehead and
red gem, right between her eyes. The size difference was obscene. His dick
arched over her head almost completely. The sight lighted a fire inside him,
his penis pulsing, and his testicles tightening in arousal and wanting.
“How do you like her mouth, Dave? Does it feel good, having your balls sucked
by a furry little creature? What do you think your higher-ups would say if they
found you with your balls inside an Espeon?”
“P-probably a few decades in prison,” he managed to reply, despite the
stimulation of Espeon’s tongue working on his balls. He could feel her hot
breath coming out of her nostrils on the underside of his cock. He could feel
her soft, light purple fur as he rubbed the rest of his organ on her head.
“Why don’t you touch her as well? It’s rude being selfish.”
She had a point; there were no pretexts left to be upheld. He put his hands
under her neck, on her head, and on her back in alternating positions, petting
the Espeon, almost thanking her for the service she was giving him. He let his
fingers dig into her smooth fur, short but well-maintained; letting the feeling
engrave itself on his palms and between his fingers. He could feel her purring,
pleased by his massage, the vibrations reaching to his balls through her mouth.
She stopped sucking on him, removing his semen pipelines from her mouth. Excess
spit dropped on the floor, strands flailing under his testicles and her open
mouth. “Espeon,” she said between deep breaths and gasps. She moved back up a
bit, so that his cockhead was lined up with her head. She looked down on it,
planning her next move.
“Well done, pet,” said Sabrina, clapping her hands. “Honesty is a great virtue,
and so I reward it. Have a mouthful.”
As if on cue, Espeon opened her mouth wide and leaned in on his cock. This
time, there was no licking, as she inserted the entire head in her mouth,
giving him an actual blowjob. Dave put his hands around her head and back
again, this time petting her more furiously. But she didn’t stop there; she
leaned in even further, shoving more and more of his cock in her little
mouth—stretched to its limits in order to accept his girth—until he hit the
back of her throat with a loud groan.
“Are Espeon mouths to your satisfaction?” Sabrina wondered aloud.
Dave felt no need to respond. As Espeon began pulling back, removing his organ
from her mouth, he reached further down her back, toward her behind. And then
Espeon moved back in, slowly, allowing him to feel the full length of her
smooth tongue, the wetness of her mouth, overflowing with spit, and the wall of
her throat he was hitting against.
Not wanting to be the only one being pleasured, Dave reached to Espeon’s tail.
As soon as he touched the bone at its base, it shot straight up, presenting
herself to Sabrina, sitting behind her, idly observing their acts of
bestiality. Dave grabbed Espeon’s arse cheeks, spreading them apart, then used
one of his fingers to trail the unmistakable wrinkles of her anus. With Espeon
yelling her muffled name with his cock still in her mouth, he inserted a finger
in her arsehole.
Sabrina positively lost it. Dave taking the initiative to act more depraved was
the highest form of entertainment for her. “Really?!” she said, between loud
laughs. “An anal fetish too? You have a tight pussy available to you, and yet
you got for her butt? Is there no depths you won’t sink to?”
“Try me.”
Espeon increased her efforts, and began pumping his dick in her mouth hole. The
increased speed stripped him of some of the finer sensations of her orifice, in
exchange for more intense, albeit rougher stimulation. She pulled back, so that
only his glans were inside her, spit falling out of her mouth as its lock
became less airtight, then shoved as much as she could back in, sending the
sensations of her tongue down his shaft, and hitting the end of her throat
every time.
Dave escalated his own efforts as well. Both his hands focusing on her rear, he
alternated between spreading her shit pipe and penetrating it. He’d fit both
his hands’ index fingers in it, soaking in the temperature, texture, and
wetness of her colon. Espeon seemed to enjoy the sensation of having her
intestines spread out by something other than a turd. He kept spreading her
out, and she kept making muffled yells, until he could fit four fingers in her
butt. The pleasure overloaded her, stopping her pumping motions on his dick, as
she visibly shivered, dropping vaginal fluids between her rear legs, even
though her pussy had been left alone, lusting for attention.
But with all that being done, all the effort both of them put into their
intercourse, three inches of Dave’s cock—about a forth of it—were getting all
of the action. It was a consequence of both his inflated size and an Espeon’s
natural smallness. Less than three feet tall, she could barely reach a grown
man’s waist standing up. And yet there was a feeling of dissatisfaction in
Sabrina’s mind, as if some part of her genius was being wasted, despite the
top-notch entertainment playing out before her.
“We need to go deeper,” she announced in an ominous voice. And that was Dave’s
chance to show her the true extent of the depths he was capable of sinking
into, metaphorically and literally in equal parts.
Diverting his attention from Espeon’s pooper, he pressed down a thumb on her
forehead, making her remove his penis from her mouth. And then he stood up, and
sat on his knees rather than his butt. He put the same thumb on her mouth,
signalling her to open it, then shoved his dick back in, this time taking
charge of the motions.
Both hands behind her ears, in full grasp of her head, he started shoving
himself in her entrance. His pumping grew rougher by the minute, but with every
thrust, he took some time to line up his waist, her head, and the rest of her
body in as straight a line as he could. And every time he felt like he’d made
some progress, he thrust harder. Muffled sounds left Espeon when he thrust, as
air exited her lungs forcibly, taking some of her drool with it, as it spilled
down on the floor.
He’d managed to fit a little more of his dick inside her with a more strategic
placement of flesh tubes and pipes, but he didn’t plan on stopping to such a
superficial interpretation of Sabrina’s words. After all, this wasn’t reality,
and if Sabrina could think up a sexual organ whose size broke all common sense
on biology and hydraulics, then by Darkrai, he could figure out an hole capable
of taking it.
With more and more force, and more optimisation of their positioning, Dave
finally felt something inside Espeon giving way, a sphincter giving up and
letting things in. Giving her some time to breathe, he thrust forward one more
time, and this time he penetrated more deeply than ever before: half his penis
was inside her mouth now, although the mouth itself enveloped a negligible part
of him. With six inches inside of Espeon, and a visible bulge on her neck, he
knew he was inside her esophagus now.
“Holy shit!” Sabrina said, not believing what she was seeing. “You’re no joke.
You’re for real!”
Her commentary inspired no reaction, as he was more interested in the grip
Espeon’s food pipe had on his dick, a rhapsody for the use of the hole in a way
it wasn’t meant to. He stayed motionless for a while, enjoying the tightness of
a tube that she clearly didn’t expect to be fucked through. Espeon was trying
to yell something, and eventually Dave pulled out fully, allowing her some air.
“Oooon…,” she said, incapable of voicing some of the finer consonants of her
name, her mouth so used to being wide open, she felt uncomfortable closing it.
She coughed, spit leaving her mouth in larger amounts than before.
Dave didn’t waste much time. He didn’t want her sphincter to tighten back down
again. Knowing what to do better now, he grabbed her head and shoved himself
in. Six inches of his meat disappeared inside Espeon’s upper digestive tract.
He could make out his dick where he had penetrated her, her neck gaining an
additional half of its volume from being stretched out by his member.
He pulled out almost all of his dick from inside her in a somewhat
uncomfortably wide move, allowing her a breath, then thrust inside her with one
motion. The amount of material getting lost inside her was unbelievable, and
unbelievably arousing. He put his hands around her neck, so he could feel it
inflating and bulging every time he penetrated its entire length.
With each thrust, more of his organ was shoved inside Espeon. Now, nine solid
inches of dick were forced inside Espeon when he moved his hips forward. He
dragged saliva down to her esophagus so that it could serve as lubrication for
her incredibly tight gullet, which was almost protesting for being abused in
such a manner.
But if it wasn’t meant to be used as thus, why did her mouth pussy feel so
good? He bet her throat felt better than her actual pussy, as if she’d trained
it all along to take his massive member inside her, rather than eating. Dave
lost himself in the feeling of tightness surrounding his dick, the
insurmountable pleasure he extracted from this furry little creature’s mouth
hole. He had a small mental chuckle, thinking of Rachel’s surprised face if she
could see him with his dick buried so deep down an Espeon’s cavern.
He didn’t waste any more time in tertiary thoughts. The world around him
disappeared. Sabrina disappeared. Espeon disappeared. Even himself disappeared.
All that existed in his world now were his monster cock and the non-human food
pipe he was using as a vagina. He didn’t care much for Espeon’s needs any more,
as he focused solely on shoving himself as much as he could inside her with a
single thrust.
The sensation of yet another blockage in her orifice brought him back to
reality, but only for a brief moment, enough to remind him of the familiarity
of the sensation to when he’d first started fucking her mouth. And then it was
business as usual. More wide strokes pulling in and out of Espeon; nine inches,
ten inches of meat. Almost a foot of his pole was getting shoved inside her
with each motion. Almost as if he’d shoved his entire arm down her throat until
her teeth were biting down on his elbow, and he was punching another weak,
fleshy wall; another sphincter.
And when it gave way too; when Dave thrust so deep inside Espeon that his
entire organ had entered her, had almost become one with her; when her nostrils
were up against his groin and her lips were touching his testicles; when not
just her throat, but her thorax and some of her abdomen had bulged and acquired
the shape of a vaguely cylindrical insertion; when Espeon started making
muffled screams again; only then did Dave realise what he’d done, that he’d
fucked her digestive pipes so thoroughly and so deeply that he had penetrated
into the deepest organ the upper half of her body had to offer, an excellent
womb to wrap up her mouth pussy. Dave was inside Espeon’s stomach.
Sabrina was saying something that he couldn’t really make out. She sounded
excited, but he doubted it was any more exciting than what he was experiencing
now. Thrice did openings wrap around Dave’s dick with a full penetration:
Espeon’s lips, and her two esophageal sphincters, normally preventing
foodstuffs from spilling out, but currently abused and gaping in order to let
his dick inside.
Dave pulled back as far as he could, removing himself almost completely from
Espeon. So much spit was let out as he exited that it was almost as if she was
puking her own drool. “Oooo,” she said, her tongue too numb to even make the N
sound of her name.
He looked down on her, seeing his massive member line up, about to penetrate
her. He wanted to see this. In reciprocation, she looked back up at him, both
her white eyes and her red gem facing him. He placed his hands on her throat
and chest, wanting to feel himself pushing her insides around, rearranging her.
And so he did. He moved forward, slowly, feeding her all of his phallus, making
it disappear inside her, inch by inch, in its entirety. Her lips welcomed him,
then her esophagus, then finally her stomach, all with their unique charms. A
foot of penis, lost, somewhere in her flesh. He’d felt the tip of his penis
with his hands pave a path and bulge her throat, then her chest, all the way
down. He didn’t so much fuck an Espeon’s stomach as a fleshlight with light
purple fur resembling an Espeon.
He repeated the same motion, but more rapidly this time. His thrusts grew
rougher every time, and her pipe grew looser. Little to none of the original
resistance remained; her entire upper digestive tract was more like a single
continuous orifice than a series of organs delimited by sphincters. He kept
looking down on her, feeling her bulge, though she didn’t always return the
gesture; sometimes her eyes rolled back, as if blanking out, shivering in
orgasm. The orgasms were messing with her rhythm, not knowing when to breathe
and when not to, making her gag, feeling like puking. Of course, he didn’t pay
much heed to her. If she were truly in trouble, she wouldn’t be having
successive orgasms.
It wasn’t long before he could feel his own orgasm approaching. What with his
pole appearing and disappearing inside her, the friction, the tightness, the
depravity of it all, he couldn’t take much more. He buried himself in her
stomach one last time, and let go of her throat and chest. He leaned forward,
grabbed her Y-shaped tail with his left hand, and shoved as much of his right
hand—all five of his fingers—inside her arsehole.
She had one final orgasm to match his. She squirted material everywhere, at the
same time as he let out all his jizz inside her stomach; her digestive womb.
Unfortunately, her mouth pussy was a pussy in name only. There were no eggs to
even attempt to fertilise. All of his semen would meet their end in her
stomach, unable to find anything to penetrate, but perhaps infusing their
nutrients so deeply in her cells that he might as well have fertilised every
single tissue in her body.
Or, he would have liked that, had Sabrina not inflated one last part of his
reproductive system. Yes, he was larger in length and girth, but he hadn’t
accounted for his semen production whatsoever. He began ejaculating, buried
inside her, but his orgasm knew no end. Ten shots, twenty. He didn’t know how
much liquid he’d unleashed inside her. Before long, her stomach couldn’t
contain the material, and with her sphincters abused to such an extent, his
semen overflowed towards the nearest exit. Like a faucet, it ran up her gullet,
into her mouth, and out of her mouth and nostrils.
When he was almost done ejaculating, Dave removed his hand from Espeon’s
arsehole, and then his penis from her larynx. Espeon faced down, whatever semen
was left in her pummelled stomach spilling out, meeting no resistance in any of
the usual places. She was puking his offspring out. He ought to be offended.
The last of his ejaculation was spread all over her head and fur, painting the
Espeon whiter than usual.
Dave sat back down, rested against the wall, exhausted from the effort. Sabrina
had sat up, and now clapping with full force. “Bravo! Bravo! A performance that
will live down the ages and remembered forever.”
He had to admit, she’d make him giggle. Only… Only he could still make out a
grin on her face, even blurry as his vision was. And his erection wasn’t going
away.
“Oh, no, Dave,” she said. “It’s not over yet. I’m afraid there’s a few more
surprises left,” Sabrina said.
He didn’t know what to think. He felt the sense of worry come back to him,
somewhat, but he was too exhausted to think about it. Espeon turned about in
the little pool of his semen the both of them were sitting on, and presented to
him the arsehole he’d worked on so far. Opening and closing, as if a second
mouth, breathing air from the bottom end much like the top end.
“Es… peon…,” she said, her voice hoarse from the rough handling. She lined up
her gaping arsehole with his massive dick. She pressed closer and closer, until
her pucker was touching his penis. Dave wondered whether he could penetrate her
just as deeply from this end of her digestive system, and whether he’d be able
to reach her stomach through her intestines, absolutely ridiculous though that
sounded.
He reached forward for her butt, and forced it down on his shaft. He sensed
penetrating her…
===============================================================================
And then he saw the light, and felt the disappointment of an abrupt awakening.
One last insult from Sabrina.
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