Negotiation

The pause in conversation has long ago grown awkward and now approaches the absurd. This unnamed lizard still sits, silent and unmoving, upon his soft flowery throne. It's clear that he expects you to capitulate to his demeaning request. You have no intention of entertaining his sick sense of retribution and as such, the words start spilling instead.

“This really isn't necessary… Please..”

It’s almost as if he doesn’t hear your plea, remaining completely stoic and in place. The urge to continue stating your case is defeated by his unflinching stare. It is neither cold, nor superior, but it is firm in its silent regard. It is clear he expects you to break, the fear of a certain doom crumbling your resolve, but you have not survived against all odds these last few weeks just to sacrifice your dignity upon the altar of this deviant's twisted enjoyment. If simpering defeat won’t sway his sympathies, then perhaps a more subtle approach is called for..

“I guess… I’m not really in a position to argue, am I? I mean, I’m the one all gaffled up here… captured like a damned kitten on his first trek…” You try your best to play up your failure without laying it on too thick, shooting more for crestfallen than pathetic. The ruse, though humiliating, had worn down that egomaniacal ranger not so long ago and in your mind, was worth a second shot.

“I really made a mess of things this time…” Despite your opening rhetoric, the reptile remains stone-faced, completely unmoved by your self-depreciation. There he sits, eyes laser focused on your shackled form, leg still extended with your ‘test’ swaying slightly before your muzzle. No matter, you think, as it had been expected that this one might be a bit tougher to crack than the blustering owl (a low bar to be sure).

“Not you though..!” Your tone shifts toward a more hopeful affectation as you take a jab at his pride, “Certainly know your way around this dumb brute, too be sure!” A sharp *huff* is all your praise elicits in the hither-to silent man, seemingly unimpressed with your words. You’re just about to reverse tactics, thinking that you might’ve insulted some unknown sensibility when you are thrown further of kilter by his unexpected action.

You watch as his brow, unflinching until now in his firm consideration of you, appears to soften a bit. Perhaps this was it, the crack in his mental armor through which you can begin to chip away at his resolve. Again you pick a target and work your magic. “Those vines of yours.. how do you claim such control over them..?! Lowering yourself without a sound.. I’ve never seen such practiced grace!”

“You talk too much, Sneasel.”

The curt statement catches you off-balance. You’d hoped for some kind of break in the tension, even expected some kind of annoyance at your fake admiration. All things you could work with, things you could use to your advantage. What you did not expect was.. boredom? You recognise it now, seeing the easing brow from earlier for what it was; Not a weakness to exploit or anger at being found out… Just simple boredom. The weariness of dealing with it all…

The hindpaw drops from your restricted view in a blink, joining its brother upon the plush flower interior. Confusion at the sudden withdrawal lasts for only a moment before the truth of matter grasps coldly at your heart. The gecko shakes his head before once more hopping to a stand atop the pedal once occupied by his rear end. Knowing now your grave misjudgment of the situation, you attempt to backpedal. You barely stammer out a ‘w-wait..!’ before you are cut off.

“I had thought you’d have been more interesting. My hunches aren’t usually proven wrong.” He shrugs before turning back to the dark forest beyond your enclosure.

“Congrats, I guess.”

Cold sweat begins to bead at your crown and your brain races to find the right combination of words to repair your bumbled attempt at negotiation. The green pokemon crouches low, obviously preparing to leap away and leave you to your certain end. What comes out is little more than a jumbled mess of fearful whines, begging for a chance to earn your freedom. In your mindless haste, you might’ve even promised to do things that would make the man's previous request sound downright chaste in comparison. Your vulgar offerings fall on deaf ears, and in one flick of his wrist, the vine that had previously hung limply from his shoulders is launched skyward toward the canopy.

“I’ll scream..!!” You’re really stretching the definition of whispering now as you hiss your threat to the cold-blooded reptile. With nothing else left to you, a final **** attempt to stop the man from leaving comes in the form of promising to wake the behemoth below, sealing not one but both of your fates. Though you’d been half mad when the ploy had come to you, the man's hesitation to jump encourages more of the crazy plot to spill forth.

“I am trapped and have nothing left to lose, ‘friend’..! If you refuse to help then I'll- glk mmph!?”

Your nonsensical babble is silenced in a blink, snuffed out by a vine coiling your muzzle with blinding speed. You didn’t even see the lizard twitch before the thing, seemingly acting on its own, stealing your words and shutting down any possibility of enacting your devious plan.

“No…” he whispers, back still turned, words calm and foreboding. With the ferals vines still wound tight around your wrists and ankles, there is little you can utter besides muffled gagging as the pressure builds. The man turns, a half lidded gaze now turned upon you. “... I don't think you will.”

Through eyes stretched wide from the dark promise of that simple pronouncement, you watch the slender reptile turn on his heel and drop into your shared flower prison, landing gracefully with scarcely a sound. As he rises to a full stand, he towers over your encumbered frame, his face showing no clue as to what he’s got planned. His eyes rove over you coldly, analytically, in search of something you cannot begin to deduce before finally settling on your own frantic gaze. With so little leverage in the visual standoff, it's no wonder that you break first and turn your panicky eyes somewhere, ANYWHERE other than the look of utter disappointment the grass-type is giving you. They settle on the only other source of concern in the immediate area which is a sizable sheath and the pair of cherry red testicles dangling just below. You hadn’t noticed it before but now restrained as you are and locked at eye level to the man’s crotch, it’s rather hard to miss. You must stare longer than you’d thought as a snicker from above snaps you back to reality.

“Clever boy… thinking to slip back into my good graces, eh?” Embarrassment burns your cheeks hot when you realize he has assumed the worst about you. The viney restraints and gag make it difficult to mount a defense of your honor, amounting to little more than useless struggling set to a muffled chorus of hushed denials. Your pitiful display gets a grin from the otherwise stoic man and his reply comes forth.

“Unfortunately for you, I don’t swoon for cheap head.” The insult bites deep as he crouches low, thankfully dropping his package from view, though this now brings his domineering gaze back over you. It is impossible to look away as he continues.

“See *friend*, I've met bad ‘mons before. Seen ‘em do terrible things not only to survive but because they enjoyed it. I know a bad one from the rest…”

He leans in close, enough that each word or exhalation tickles the fur across your bound muzzle.

“You're not a bad one…” A glimmer of hope dares to glow within your chest, the thought of being spared this grim fate taking root. Fate proceeds to pluck it immediately.

“I think you’re worse.” A cold clawing fist begins to close around your heart. The gecko remains calm, almost disinterested as he goes in on you. “I think you’re brash. Unwilling to adapt on the fly and accept what you must in order to get the task done. I think you’re cowardly. You didn’t bite it since the last time we met so you’re not totally helpless, but in this new world running isn't going to cut it.”

“And lastly…” He speaks as if scolding an unruly child, with soft language dripping with obvious superiority. Normally being talked down to in such a way would be too much for your pride, an annoyed snap back coming soon after. If the gag hadn’t denied you this small bit of justice, what came next certainly would have.

“I think you’re food.” If he takes any pleasure in your horrified expression, he doesn’t show it. Paying no mind to your renewed, but still ineffective struggling, he resumes. “Not for me, of course, but rather for this new age. Something is happening to the people of this region, perhaps even further, and we must adapt to these changing times… or fall victim to their whims...”

This lizard is INSANE!

Your thoughts are burnt through almost as soon as they register. This nameless crazy person, having shown up out of nowhere to profit off of your misfortune, is now waxing philosophical in the pedals of a soon to wake monstrosity instead of aiding you in your time of need. Fate can have a cruel sense of humor…

That dismal thought is too burned at the stake of your frantic mental faculties when a smooth, three fingered grip is felt on your exhausted testicles. Your startled grunt gets a small grin out of the man, the first time you’ve seen anything close to an emotion upon his face. A thumb rolls your drained package around in his palm as he continues his lesson.

“We all have a part to play and in the end, we should embrace it. I’ll put what you’ve harvested for me to good use and you…” A wry wrinkle creases his cheek as his grin widens, his free hand gently grasping one of the resting Venusaur’s tendrils, “.. you’ll provide sustenance for a greater being.” Composure all but shot at this point, the green nutjob basically signing your **** warrant is the breaking point. You begin to beg, whimpering and sobbing through your wrapped muzzle, **** to express that you weren’t just food, that you indeed had a larger part to play.

The other man would hear no objections to his judgment though, instead insisting that you need not fret; that your role, however small, would be important to the behemoth and thus, a worthwhile expenditure. Continued pleas for mercy would be interrupted by the miserably familiar sensation of the ferals yawning tentacle, still slickened from your previous sessions, sliding back into place upon your tired member. The reptile even gives the tendril a good squeeze, squishing your aching penis within, before withdrawing his hand and allowing the vine to begin its harvesting once more.

Your **** groans of pleasure signal an end to diplomatic relations and the tendril clamping your maw slips free, returning to its psychotic master. You try to babble out some kind of apology, or perhaps it was closer to a promise…? Of obedience.. or even subservience..? It is unclear as your few seconds of unblocked vocal chords are once more silenced when another of the ferals vines finds its way home inside your quivering maw, already spurting little strings of the mind numbing sap. The other man straightens, leaving you to knelt in your despair.

“Thank you once again Sneasel. For the sap and the conversation, such as it was.” You strain to look up at the lizard as he stands tall before you, praying for a single shred of compassion. Instead you receive a smooth, light green sole that eclipses your gaze as it *PAMFS* atop your head. There is no time to comprehend this humiliating gesture before you feel it tense and your head is violently propelled toward the flower prison’s plush floor. The sadistic pokemon, having used your face as a stringboard can be heard to offer, “.. And thanks for the leg up!”

By the time you are able to collect yourself and crane your eyes skyward, he is long gone and with him, your last hope for freedom. You lay there on your side, eyes still fixed on where you’d last heard the man in the vain hope that this was just another test, one more chance to make things right. The seconds turn to minutes and the crushing dread finally snuffs what little defiance you have left. Slowly, solemnly, your head sinks back to rest against the soft plant flesh, eyes forward and allowed to lose their focus. You lay there, still full of fear for what happens when the giant beneath you wakes, but now… You just accept it… Broken by dread and forsaken by the world you’d hoped to aid, you let the dark thoughts consume you.

You don’t fight the vine pumping globs of sweet aphrodisiac down your throat, nor do you shy away from the encroaching orgasm being wrought from the two tentacles working you stern to stem. You simply give up, your last coherent thoughts being ones of hedonism and lust. Perhaps this devious nature was buried within you all along… Perhaps you just wanted to focus on something other than the crushing guilt of failure… Either way, when next you cry out in bliss, penis pumping hot essence into your captors hungry appendages, you do so willingly, embracing the forbidden heat scorching your loins.

By the third, frothy expulsion, your eyes hang lidded in abject ecstasy, all thoughts of life or quest lost to the haze. You barely register it when the beast yawns and begins to stir…

It was the little things for him. Those small moments of quiet reflection, of past and of purpose, that kept the Treecko certain of his course. Calm breeze, interspersed occasionally by the swishing of liquid, ruffled the foliage about his treetop perch. The distilling process for the recently procured sap was always the least interesting part. As such, the slender pokemon often found himself a nice view or some other curiosity to distract from the banal work of slowly stirring the liquid until the sticky resin rose to the top, leaving the precious extract below.

Today's chosen view was that of a lumbering feral Venusaur whose long, wobbly steps rocked the earth even as far as the Treecko's leafy hideaway. The man watched the infected quadruped plod its way through the undergrowth, obviously seeking a midday snack. The mindless one had been at it for quite awhile now, as early as daybreak in fact, though its heavy stomps had likely scared off any prey long ago.

The Treecko idly rolled the sap filled gourd in one hand, pondering where next his travels should take him. The obligations that had brought him this far south had been wrapped up nicely for weeks now, and there wasn't anything particularly urgent to call him from the field. Even this bit of sap collection had been more of a personal whim, rather than a practical necessity. He could go north, of course, spending time around the lowlands until business demanded his attention. There were the eastern forests where plenty of rare resources could be found and benefited from. His standing with the stern folk of the Grand Nest was lacking though, and he wasn't in a hurry to endure that headache. His travel plans are interrupted when the great beast let loose a low roar, obviously frustrated in its failure to find lunch.

“Show time..” The Treecko's soft voice is heard only by the trees as he settled in for what came next. Clearly the infected pokemon had been hoping for another chase, another contest of strength that he might savor the struggles of fresh fear. Despite being denied this wicked pleasure, the corrupted Venusaur was not so stupid as to go hungry when a meal was already well in hand. With a huff of heated resignation, the bloated amphibian plops itself down upon its grumbling belly, flattening some unfortunate foliage in due course. The vibrant floral pod atop his back opens wide, its petals drooping low enough for the gecko to catch sight of the arrogant cat within.

As the Sneasel is hoisted from his colorful prison, it becomes obvious just how broken the hours of milking had left him. His chest heaves weakly, accepting only the barest minimum of air to keep him from passing out. His fur is matted with sweat and doused in a myriad of substances both foreign and locally produced. Limbs dangle loosely in the breeze with nothing left in the way of resistance. Even as the cat is hung upside-down, a thick vine wrapping a single ankle, there is no struggle. No hope..

The feral look up upon the lethargic form of his morsel, given its tendril a few rough shakes to spur resistance in the cat. Despondent groans and lifeless limbs dancing to the rhythm of the vines are all the corrupted toad would receive. Obviously disappointed that his vines had sapped all the fun from his capture, the Venusaur ceases his cruel games and opens wide his maw. With little fanfare, not that this pathetic Sneasel deserved any, the vine loosens its grip and the cat falls from the gecko's view, lost forever in a sea of tongue flesh and saliva. A resounding gulp echoes out, filling the forest with a sense of grim finality.

“Rest now, Sneasel. Your sacrifice has been observed and is appreciated.”

The Treecko's words, offered only to the wind, serve as a small epitaph to the lone Sneasel that had once piqued his curiosity. Though their meetings had been brief, there was something about that cat that made the Treecko's thoughts linger. Perhaps there was something beyond the suspicion and pride that had defined the cat in his eyes. Something at his core that made him out to be more than just another snack. A sigh escapes the reptile as he returns to his distilling duties. Whatever that cat might have become was now irrelevant. Tao the Treecko had better things to put his attention towards.