You Can’t Give Up! Focus!!

The seconds slip by as the purple eyed fiend relishes in your coming defeat. That smug bastard stands just out of reach, weight shifting from paw to paw in excitement for the coming feast. Soon he would tired of his sadistic gloating, soon he would finish you off before stuffing you inside that jostling belly with barely a care for the nameless Sneasel that he’d stumbled upon. Just another dish to be hastily devoured and just as quickly forgotten come morning. The sad truth of it all cuts deep, jumbling your already fractured mental state and threatening to sap what’s left of your resistance, leaving you helpless before the approaching despair.

Without considering the move, spurred on only by the **** need to survive, you disregard the warnings of previous attempts and once more demand that your limp fist rise to your command. Even now as its fingers twitch to life, its partner still hangs in the air between the Drowzee and yourself, frozen and unwilling to respond. The feeling has all but left that floating forearm forcing you to fight past the coming wave of dizziness each attempt at movement brought on. Sweat beads at your brow as you will yourself to action, silently screaming at that one good arm to cooperate. Unfortunately for you, it listens.

*THHWACK!*

The stars that **** your already shaky vision appear with such swiftness and intensity that at first you assume that damned feral has laid another ray of energy upside your skull. That theory is confronted with a new pain, a much more physical ache than you’d thought this tubby bugger was capable of. The final nail in the coffin for the beam attack hypothesis is the teal arm now obscuring your hazy view. It’s only after your eyes follow that arm skyward, finding a balled fist at its end, that you understand the humiliating truth. Both hands retract immediately to nurse the developing welt your rogue arm had visited upon your own nose.

The growl-like cackling from beyond your cupping hands confirms that the Drowzee did indeed catch your blunder and is taking much pleasure in the hapless morsel before him. Something about receiving any kind of mockery from this near-immobile lump just rubs you the wrong way. slowly, deliberately your fingers curl back into fists and you see the laughing man in the throes of a mirthful fit. He’s not even paying attention to you, so lost is he in continual torment of his prey. Anger flares within you and before you register the movement, the same hand that had smacked you in the gob moments earlier crashes against the ground in frustration. The punch into the dirt sends another wave of soreness up through your knuckles to radiate across your arm and in doing so, it finally dawns on you.

Wha what..?

Jumbled as your thoughts are, even you can’t miss what just happened. Your eyes follow the clench hand to the ground, the punch that you had sent there, that you had CHOSEN to unleash. The fog is already rushing back to steal the already limited mobility your outburst had afforded you, blurring your vision once more and making your movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Disappointing as it is, ultimately it matters not. The anger you’d felt from being mocked, the pain from taking physical damage… They were the key; THEY were what you’d need to use to take back control.

Thankfully, your realization hadn’t been caught by the infected pokemon, still reeling from the hissing laughter he’d had at your expense. The taunts were fading though and soon he’d be back on the hunt. You’d have to act fast if this new strategy was to save you. From your half-kneeling position, only barely managing to stay upright, you send your leading leg in a doomed-to-fail kick out toward the teasing tapir. As expected, due to the rush of dizzying effects of his attack, you only manage to stub a toe on some low hanging roots. The pain is as immediate as it was planned. Again the hurt buffets your injured hindpaw, and again your mind is briefly freed from the mental entanglement placed upon it. Not having enough time to launch a proper counter attack, you risk it to close the gap.

With the last of your self determination waning fast, you manage to launch yourself face first into the hard ground just before the Drowzee. This one hurt a lot more than you’d hoped, leaving you to roll onto your pained side and writhe as another round of uproarious merriment is cast down from on high. The feral, not fully grasping what it was you were concocting, is enjoying every moment of the floundering pest that had dared to oppose its superior might. Its belly jiggles with unconstrained delight, each new guffaw sending it into another wobbly display.

It makes a lovely target.

Despite the fresh agony of face planting, the upside of having eaten dirt comes in the form of crystal clarity, burning fury, and a chunky feral to take it all out on. Though time is too short to properly coat your strike in the usual layer of frost, all your limbs are once again working in tandem, allowing an expertly crafted rising uppercut. The violent connection completely takes the once jovial virus bearer off guard, driving hard into his paunch and expelling much of the air from his rattled chest. With eyes bulging in an apparent mixture of shock and misery, the tall man drops low to one knee, coughing wildly in a **** attempt to fill his lungs. Rather serendipitously this drops his hacking face well within striking distance which you take immediate advantage of.

With your temporary strength once again fading into the psychically induced mire of fog and confusion, you know this one has to count and whip your right leg around to catch him in the chin, mid gasp. The **** of the hit took you clear off your balance, sending a pair of disheveled pokemon back into the dirt. Waves of nausea are your reward for refusing to obey the urge to submit and accept your fate. It is impossible to move with all the stars bouncing about your vision and as such, you groan into the soil, comforted only by the sounds of ragged groaning from where you’d left your opponent. That blow had hurt him just as much as the recoil had you, leaving both in a similarly pathetic state.

This goes on for a time, whimpers answered by non committal growls promising retaliation just as soon as the spinning stops. The ridiculous scene would eventually have to end and again hostilities would have to resume for an ultimate victor to be crowned. Somewhere in your weary mind you knew that the first to act would likely be the one who walks away so with monumental effort, you drag an arm beneath your wheezing chest. Surprisingly, the limb complies with little to no hesitation, giving breath to the hope that the rays' effects are starting to wear off. This hope is bolstered when you curl a leg against your belly and proceed to push against the earth, rising to a shaky crawl.

Early optimism is soon challenged by cold, uncaring reality as your half lidded eyes catch sight of the larger pokemon already sitting upright, one hand rubbing his jaw as miserable grumbles flow. Thought’s that you might have fared better than he in the exchange are also tested when his violet orbs snap open, devoid of anything other than pure unfettered rage and instantly find the object of his burning hatred. Locking eyes with the source of all his troubles that night, the hand that was nursing the developing bruise shifts upward towards his temple. The feeling that settles in your gut is worryingly familiar and the Drowzee isn’t exactly subtle with his intentions.

Another round of discordant self-harm is the very last thing you need right now and as such, you make every possible effort to get your still slightly numb legs moving you in the right direction. After a stumble and another fog clearing stubbed toe, your second step lands with purpose and you steal a couple feet from the Drowzee, closing in as he struggles to aim at your riding form. Another step and nearly half the distance between you has been conquered and you could swear that the anger in his blazing scowl is cut with the tiniest bit of worry.

Not so smug, now…

Deciding not to go down without a fight, the chubbster makes a pitiable attempt at scooching back to regain some distance as his attack builds. The effort is wasted as your own stride, sure and filling with renewed vigor, takes back what he gains and more. Panic is clear in his eyes now, and it’s becoming clear that you won’t be deterred and it’s with one final quick step to build some momentum, you thrust off with your leading paw and launch into a dive, arm reeled back and ready to smash against that formerly smug kisser.

That’s when the purple rings burst forth from the ferals distressed eyes in an obviously ****, last ditch effort to stave off the flying tree cat. Bit it poor luck or a final burst of cunning from the near defeated tapir, the rings fly true toward your exposed form. Airborne as you are, it is impossible to change course and those devious hoops envelop your entire world. You flinch when they make contact, expecting another eruption of stars and agony like before, though what is expected never comes, instead your finely tuned figure, poised and primed to strike as the feral goes completely limp midair.

You can’t even put an arm up to shield your face before you smack nose first into the pudgy belly of an equally surprised Drowzee. To its credit, the pudge serves well enough as a cushion to pad your fall, saving you from any real injury. Any reassurances that might have been offered are dashed when you realize your unfortunate predicament. The uncontrolled flight left you sprawled across the heaving gut of your foe, who is now seen to have reacquired that stupid grin. This time, however, that smile lacks any of the tease and mischief from previous mockeries, the line of saliva running from his lips signaling only one thing.

Perhaps all this excitement has worked up his appetite, or maybe he simply decided that you won’t be allowed another chance to escape, but it is clear he’s made up his mind. You can’t even fidget when his powerful hands grip tightly at your torso, and those smirking lips part to reveal your final destination. A long, steamy exhale coats your face with beads of moisture, and you can do nothing as you're pulled forth toward that dark embrace…

*SKKREEEEHHH*

Eardrums scream in protest as they come under **** from a piercing note. The horrible screech reverberates in your skull, its blaring volume both painful and… familiar..? You’d come to know why that is when the equally bewildered face of your feral captor is violently driven to the side, a cream colored talon colliding hard with its cheek. Neither you or your almost dinnermate are prepared for the sudden arrival of a furious avian scout (first class), and the two of you are caught up in the momentum of the terrible blow. Naturally, the Drowzee takes the worst of it, howling in agony as his large form is **** into a roll. That’s not to say you were spared all that much as your limp body is thrown from the wreckage of feather and fat, landing hard on your side amongst the tangled undergrowth. Despite the fresh misery you’re sure to feel the moment this paralyzation wore off, the idea of being smothered under the flailing feral is even less desirable.

When at last the world stops spinning, you’re granted a front row seat to a Decidueye’s righteous fury made manifest upon the hapless tapir. Rowan wastes no time in following up his surprise attack with a chain of merciless kicks and talon stomps, all targeting the Drowzee’s face and upper body, denying him the slightest bit of recourse. With no way to rise from his back, the feral is **** to accept all of what the squawking man had to offer and before long… it’s all over. At last, the fallen Drowzee goes limp and remains still under the avian hindpaw now grinding his face into the dirt. Rowan stays there awhile, back turned and weight pressing down upon his defeated adversary, ensuring that the infected pokemon would trouble no one else this night. Numbed as you are, there is no chance that you’ll be ambulatory anytime soon and so, you are **** to watch the whole scene play out…

Though… ‘****’ might not be the best description of your inadvertent gawking, as with each prodding kick and every stamp to root out deception… A subtle heat spreads further through your face. The fresh warmth is culled immediately however, an icy chill drowning the confusingly delightful feelings you have when those unforgettable violet eyes whip back over the bird’s shoulder, directly into your own petrified expression. With an overly cruel, final stomp to the feral's rattled skull, the ranger turns fully to give you the attention you’ve so clearly earned...

You lay there under his withering glare, feeling just as exposed as you had been sprawled out on your would-be devourer. The man you’d left humiliated and promising **** those nights ago stood tall, a silent menace hanging in the air about the grove.

“Five days…”

His words are like venom in your ear, a simmering hatred that has not only lingered since your departure… but grown deeper..

“I have flown… I have hunted… I have fought…”

Methodically and with a singular purpose, his legs slowly come to life… Each violent hind fall brings him closer to your helpless figure.

“Through it all I have thought of NOTHING else..!”

One last powerful stomp settles the remainder of the gap, close enough to pelt your shivering face with dirt and pebbles ejected from the ****. Barely able to shift your pupils skyward, those purple irises burn down upon you with an intensity to match his tone.

“And after five days… I have you, Treecat!”

That final word, an insult that you’ve grown so very tired of, is punctuated with a breath stealing blow as that terrible talon comes down on your midsection. All you can offer in response to the malicious chattering is a miserable wheeze as the wind flies from your lungs.

“Nothing to say, ha? No witty remarks or tricks to appeal to my ‘merciful side’?!”

The spurned archer rails on for a time, either unaware or simply unconcerned with your lack of rebuttal. Despite his nearly week-long desire to tear down every last moral failing of you and your kind, he does need to take a breath to avoid passing out. It is during this period of heated hyperventilation that it must’ve finally dawned on the overblown rooster that you’ve made no attempts to refute, retort, attack or evade his righteous indignation. A puzzled glance to where lay his query and at last he sees your half conscious form desperately trying to draw air against the press of his hind claw.

Moments later he’s at your side, embarrassment and concern warring over what emotion will win out as he jostles you this way and that, squawking question after question about what ails you. The speed at which he dropped the hard-nosed justiciar act might have made you laugh if the effects of that Drowzee's attack were still working its way out of your system. Unable to answer his never ending stream of queries, you are **** to take his clueless prodding until finally..

“A-Ahh! The fiend! He must’ve done something to you..!”

Brilliant observation, featherbrain…

“Right so… th-this is a Drowzee, yes.. Known for psychic attacks and.. a-and..!!”

“.. Paralysis..”

The word scratches hard at your throat as it’s **** out. To his credit, Rowan somehow managed to catch your whisper over his rambling. In an instant he’s knelt beside you once more, a barrage of questions and accusations of trickery. When it becomes clear that he’d have to wait for the effects to fade before his barbs would be given proper attention, he huffs in annoyance before grabbing a wobbly arm and tossing it over his shoulder. Though you can’t show your surprise, you are no less shocked when he hoists the pair of you to a stand, albeit with a bit of effort on his part due to your dead weight.

He answers your wordless confusion with a shrug, “We need to get your heart pumping…” Something must’ve finally shown on your face as he quickly clarifies that you need to shake the numbness from your limbs, mumbling something about ‘possibly being more predators around’. You are in no position to refuse his ‘help’ and for the next few minutes you’re dragged along at a marching pace. The height difference has your hinds dangling rather than dragging more often than not, but eventually they do start to register tiny scrapes and bumps, signalling that the feral’s affliction was wearing off. Another minute and you’re propped up against a nearby tree, standing on your own power. Heavy panting is shared due to the unexpected workout, but you can’t argue with the results.

“Just take it slow…” The uncharacteristically gentle words catch you off guard, drawing your attention to Rowan who now wears an equally out of place look of compassion. Another tense silence hangs in the air, each of you considering the other and the role they’ve played this evening. When the quiet becomes too much to ignore, you speak.

“Why did you… save me?”

A flush that can be seen clearly beneath his leafy hood forms across his fluffy cheeks. Naturally such a shameful reaction must be crushed by his ever inflated ego and he quickly explains that your safety is secondary to the information you could share with the Nest. He goes on about how he hadn’t wasted all this time just for you to wind up and feral pudge, how he had so many ideas of how to punish you for your crimes, how badly he wanted to see your whole crazy clan…

“... Thank you…” Your soft reply to his scree is enough to silence it all together. He straightens as you stare back, flustered and frozen to the spot, completely ill equipped to deal with this sudden change in tone. One last breath fills your lungs before you too stand tall (for a Sneasel) both to affirm that the numbness was gone and to properly look into the eyes of the man who had saved you.

You must’ve broken through his capacity for uncomfortable moments as he breaks the stare down first, turning away and curtly responding, “I did what duty demands… It was nothing.” He begins to step away..

Oh no. You weren’t going to let him off that easy. Without thinking, you step away from the supporting tree truck, arm out stretched in an attempt to get a hold of his shoulder. You legs pick the absolute worst time to go on break and you barely get a panicked “Uuaahh..!” before you’re falling. Rowan's arm is there in an instant, cupping your chest and clasping his other arm around you to secure the hold. You expect a look of annoyance for the ‘clumsy treecat’ to greet you, but again you are taken aback by the face of a man only concerned for your wellbeing. No insults, no admonishment.. just another careful inspection of your person with a few pats to be sure.

Regardless of the half-baked explanation he’d given earlier, here he was. The Pokemon that had now twice saved you from the literal jaws of ****.. the ranger so duty bound that he’d spent days searching for the one who’d escaped his custody…

Your hand rises on its own, interrupting his inspection, to rest its palm upon his silken chin. His eyes go wide at the forward gesture, but this time he doesn’t shake you loose. You can almost feel the burning red under those feathers…

“I- you.. Wha-” His sputtering is cute, but it’s not what you’re after…

“Let me down, Rowan. It’s okay…” Still in shock from your tenderness, or perhaps simply wishing for the awkwardness to be over, he obliges. Pity for him that the awkwardness has only just begun. His arms loosen their grip and you are guided to your knees by his plumed hands. Once he is sure you’re okay by yourself on the ground, his leg begins to retreat in an attempt to give you space. Space is the last thing you want, though, and a firm grasp upon his hip is your way of articulating as such. His poorly disguised apprehension falls apart completely now, unable to rationalize away what your intentions might be.

“... You’ve done so much for me, Rowan…” Your nerves are on clear display as you speak, unsure of yourself and your desires. He stands transfixed, little black pinpoint in his bulging purple orbs. Not like him to be so quiet… best not to waste it, you decide. Your other hand begins to snake its way up and between two trembling legs, earning a jolt when it comes to a rest upon his inner thigh. “.. and I haven’t even apologized for what I did yet..”

The reference to past aggrievements makes him jerk reflexively, perhaps fearing a repeat of what you’ve put him through. You do recall that at least part of him liked that treatment, though these thoughts are better kept to yourself as you continue your ‘apology’. You release the hold you have on his thigh so that wandering hand can find purchase on something far softer. A whimper along with renewed trembling is your reward as you guide those warm feathers away from your ultimate prize. He hasn’t yet stopped you, but he does have some words for you.

Through a clenched beak, he manages to groan something about this being another trick and that consequences would be swift. You offer his accusations a mischievous grin before replying, “Does this feel like a trick~?”

You face nuzzles into his freshly exposed sheath, any attempts at retreat are thwarted as your cupping palm grips his sizable balls. Without waiting for his reaction, you go to work dragging your tongue across the rim of his sheath, eager to see that monster again. You don’t have to wait long as that tapered penis begins to make itself known. While its owner might need some convincing, there is no denying what this growing beast wants as it emerges from its den inch by inch, lick by lick. Soon it pulses with expectation against your cheek and you are able to properly appreciate how gifted Rowan is.

The aforementioned Decidueye watches silently from above, the occasional huff escaping his noticeably tighter cowl. You suppress a smirk at the idea of him drawing the hood shut from embarrassment, not wanting him to chicken out now. Instead you put on your best seductive face, eyes at half mast and heated panting warming his crotch, as you offer him one last out.

“This ‘treecat’ is ready for his punishment~” The change in his expression upon hearing those exaggerated words is almost instantaneous. Your light tease seems to break something in him, eases him out of his shell both figuratively and physically as you watch a self-assured grin emerge from that hood. Admittedly, a part of you begins to fear that you’ve pushed things too far as he leans in, a dark shadow covering the once playful guise you’d worn.

“Then proceed…” His words are calm, devoid of even a shred of the inhibition he’d shown previously. Now it is your turn to doubt as a small shiver runs down your spine, those purple eyes almost glowing in the darkness of that cowl. Thankfully, you are offered a lifeline when he bookends with, “... Fool cat~”

That childish insult ignites something in you and the feelings you’ve had since he held you in his arms erupt into a flurry of motion. Given leave to attend to this near foot long member, you waste no more time and take the tip into your mouth. A satisfied moan from above only spurs you on further, taking in more and more of the saliva slickened flesh. Though it was obvious from the get go that you never had a hope of taking the entirety of this beast, you had hoped it would take longer before the head was tickling the back of your throat. Taking stock, you aren’t completely ashamed of your progress, holding half of the penis firmly in your maw with your tongue working overtime along its underside.

Rowan certainly isn’t complaining which is probably a first for you. Encouraged by a fluffy hand that plants itself on your head, you begin to bob back and forth along the length, both your hands massaging its thick base to make up the difference. You continue on for a time, switching up where your tongue has its fun to keep the groaning bird guessing. By the time you’re forcing that probing tip deeper into your throat, most of his cocky attitude has drained away into delightfully hushed whimpers and gasps. A smile edges your packed lips as you surmise his end is insight. Putting aside the tempting idea of teasing him for having a short fuse, you prepare to take what will no doubt be a challenging load.

Any arrangements, mental or otherwise, are gone in a blink when you feel his fingers clench your scalp and **** as much of himself down your throat as it would allow. He offers no warnings, though none would have sufficed anyway. When that first shot of boiling jizz fills your mouth, you know it’s a moot point. You give a noble effort, but his cum is spurting from your lips halfway through his second volley and by the third you have to **** yourself off his rod to avoid drowning in the stuff. This matters little to the proud avian as he gleefully strokes himself through the rest of his powerful orgasm, eagerly leaving his ‘mark’ all over your face and chest. When at last his peak begins to wane, you’re quite certain you’ll need to find a pond…

Despite the mess, your mind races. Through the one eye not matted shut, you watch the supremely satisfied scout teeter on wobbly legs and are unsurprised when a shaky hand falls to your shoulder, balancing the man. The afterglow passes slowly, only broken with the occasional half chuckle or euphoric exhale. Not one to ruin a good come down, you let the owl bask in your fine work, a tinge of pride welling up in recognition of his lust drunk smile. The bliss must end at some point, as all things do, and before long his free hand comes down to join the first upon your opposite shoulder.

The sudden weight pressing down upon your frame is a bit startling, though the beaming face of your savior more than makes up for it. As your eyes meet, his gratitude is on full display. An open-mouthed smirk allows for a thin, drool coated tongue to dangle free just above your painted muzzle. Each puff of his hot breath slips past your fur to warm the weary body beneath. The moment feels better than any release you’ve ever had before and you find that you wish it could go on…

“Now that’s how you atone~” The quip, though surprising from the uptight bird, gets a laugh out of you. When the shared amusement at this whole ridiculous scene comes to a close, you raise a hand to clasp his own that sits atop your right shoulder. You give it a few light pats, hoping to convey that you’d like for him to find another spot for his heavy figure to lean on. You’re unsure if he gets the message, only receiving a slightly widened grin in response. Perhaps if you put it into words…

“I know I’m good, Rowan, but I don’t have a second round left in me~”

He doesn’t laugh this time, and that grin continues to creep across his beak. You’re about to be a bit more direct with your desire to get off your knees when he cuts you off.

“Well Kale…”

His tone is low and edged with a coldness that doesn’t sit right with you. Like he is telling a joke that’s only funny to those who've heard it before..

“It looks like you’ve gotten your meal for the evening…”

The hands on your shoulders feel heavier with each word, and you find yourself struggling to maintain eye-contact. There was that look again. That soulless glare that you’d seen when Rowan had come out of his cowl earlier. It looked wrong… Though that’s not what froze the blood in your veins. It was what came next.

“Time for mine.”

He gave you just long enough to receive his meaning, just long enough to know your doom before the weight left your shoulders and he descended. “Nn-!” was that last thing that left your lips as you entered his. With gravity aiding his fall, your head was instantly stolen from view and within seconds your shoulders had entered his gulping maw. Darkness eclipsed your vision and the world is lost to you before you even have time to-

“Nuuhh- Nooooo!!"

Your eyes snap open and the darkness flees from the golden rays of a lazy afternoon sun. The once oppressive scent of warm bird breath is gone, replaced with a refreshingly balmy aroma carried on the cool midday breeze. As your eyes take their time to focus, the sounds of roiling water reach your ears first. As your senses come back to you, the sensation of moist heat below your prone form causes you to jolt against the surface in an attempt to struggle away..

Two muscled arms wrap you snuggly, denying your flight and forcing you to focus on the slightly startled face of Chieftain Lyra. Though there is concern clear in her expression for your outburst, the Milotic wears a broad smile. As your eyes shed their glaze, you come to find yourself in the chieftain's home back in the tranquil Cove Crest. Rather, you find yourself inside her bedroom.. laying atop her relaxed figure… with your head nestled between her bare breasts.

Though this is a marked improvement to where you had been headed, your mind is still racing. Your desire for answers overrides your capacity for proper sentences and so, you blurt your confusion out all at once. To her credit, Lyra allows you to stumble over yourself for a while before quieting you. You were completely unprepared for how she does so as she leans in and hushes your words with a soothing kiss. Your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets as your body stiffens from the abrupt affection. This doesn’t seem to bother the woman one bit, though, as she loosens the grip on your torso, instead laying a massive hand against the side of your face. So stunned by this reversal of fortunes that you almost space on the moment she breaks the kiss. More questions are about to flow from your stammering mouth but the Milotic knows best and that large mitt eases your face back down betwixt her bosom.

“More nightmares, my dear Kale..?” Her words are as gentle as the waves below, and you find that your questions have left you. Your ridged limbs slowly relax, molding around her perfect form. She notices your change in posture, of course. Nothing escapes her powers of perception. Offering a loving ruffle of your neck scruff, she continues. “I had hoped that they would have been dealt with by now. Or at least somewhat diminished after all this time…” As sweet as they are, her words puzzle you.

All this time..?

Your befuddlement must come through in your eyes and it doesn’t go beneath notice. The woman gives you a firm squeeze that makes it hard to think of such dreary things.

“It matters not. Ever since Arro convinced you to stay, your presence has been nothing but a boon for our humble village~” For the briefest of moments the confusion threatens to return, clouding Lyra's compliment. It is quickly **** away as her nails scratch at your ears, inviting the memories to surface. You had helped the Vaporeon, that lovely man defend his village from a feral attack. He had taken a liking to you and, with Lyra’s permission, they had set you up in the Vaporeon’s own cabin. The day’s had been spent helping the towns folk with simple repairs or gathering greens from the nearby forest. The night’s had been spent…

Your cheeks begin to burn when the evenings you’d spent with both Arro and his wizened mentor come rushing back. Sometimes you’d been the subject of what Lyra had called ‘therapeutic hypnosis’ in an effort to heal some of the past's scars; sometimes you’d simply been asked to share in their pleasure… Judging by the soreness you felt all throughout your lower body, and the viscous fluid that tugged at your crotch whenever you shifted, this had been one of the latter sessions.

“We will find a way to help you, my friend… You have my word.” The playfulness was gone from her voice now, overtaken by that stoic, yet endlessly sage like tone you’d grown to respect so much. Yes, you had set aside your journey for the time being to find a smaller but no less important way to help. It had been one of the few GOOD decisions you’d made in recent years and one that you’d never-

“The slumbering beauty returns to us, does he~?”

There’s no mistaking that pompous, eternally wry tone and allow your head the freedom to turn. There he stands, hand on hip and leaning easily against the archway into Lyra’s chambers. The ever-present smirk aside, it’s always a pleasure to see him. Especially when he’s sporting that familiar bit of fun between his legs as he is now. Offering your eye roll a smug wink in return, he begins to pad his way over.

“Haven’t had you literally faint in the Chieftain's arms before… Must've been a bit overwhelmed for your first time trying that out~” His meaning becomes clear when Elder Lyra slips her other hand down your side, slowing as it wanders over your plush backside, to then drag a teasing flinger along your recently used rim. Gods you can still feel him there, pinning you in place atop your Chieftain, his own ball slapping thrusts aiding your own efforts to delve into Lyra’s depths…

“Always teasing you, isn't he.. Kale dear~?” Your attention returns to the woman, her eyes sparkling in the shaded rays of light. A soft shrug is all you can muster, each drag of that devilish digit across your pucker earning her another shiver. The pair share a knowing look as Arro reaches the bed beside you both, coming up on his knees to join in the cuddles.

“Perish the thought Ma’am~” The Vaporeon quips, faux annoyance in his voice. You feel him lower himself to rest his weight across your back, one arm snaking under your own to pull himself close. His breath tickles the back of your neck as he plays his games. “You have your ways of helping him heal…”, You turn your head a bit to accept the expected nuzzle, his nose gracing the side of your face.

“.. and I have mine~”

A bemused chuckle can be heard from the woman. She briefly attempts to explain what she does will actually help you sift through trauma and allow for a path towards lasting effects. Not to be outdone in a game of wits, Arro playfully responds that ‘distractions’ are also a valid way to escape the gloom of darker days. You could listen to these dorks forever…

The pair has other things in mind.

“So kitten, you up for round two~?” The haughty fox asks, already knowing the answer.

“If that prodding against my thigh is any indication…” The Milotic matches Arro’s energy, deciding your fate without ever needing to consult you. It's doubtful that you could've said no to one of them at this point. Against their combined front, though? You never had a chance.

Mere moments later your manhood is plunging into the tight folds of your Chieftain, a symphony of moans and gasps to mark your progress. Arro, naturally, refuses to remain the odd man out and waits for a slow in your rhythm to ‘insert himself’ into the composition you’d been writing with your mistress. The feeling of taking while being taken is indescribable and with these two seasoned pros prodding you on… it was going to be a very satisfying afternoon~

---

The groans tumbling past the Sneasel's lolling tongue were almost comical. Here he lay atop the Drowzee's pudgy belly, completely under the sway of the Drowzee's hypnotic influence, and still he made the silliest faces. Not that the feral could blame the cat, of course. With all these lovely things rattling around in the poor feline's head, it had been all too easy to guide his dreams toward moments of pure ecstasy only to strip it all away for a horrific conclusion. The bad dreams were always the tastiest for the infected pokemon and more often than not he’d settle for a simple scare before devouring the dreams of his victims.

This one though… With all of those nasty little kinks buried deep into his psyche, all that trauma from a hard lived life filled with misfortune… The tapir could barely contain himself when he thought of all the delightful terrors he could wreak upon this cat’s mind before harvesting those tainted illusions for himself. Fear tinged with a hint of betrayal was always a favorite of the feral and so he would have to ruin this fool's pleasant dream eventually. Perhaps the Vaporeon would tear the cat away from his Milotic lover just before climax, giving the cat enough time to grasp the deception before the Drowzee had his snack…

Yes, that would be most enjoyable. Both to witness and to ingest. He’d take his time breaking down every last memory, of course, as meals such as this were far and few between. Though, part of the Drowzee really wanted to see what torments lay behind a tall, imposing Weavile that kept popping into his prey's mind. The figure had a grin that unsettled even the rotund hypnotist and was bound to have some exquisite insights into the Sneasel with which to flavor his next meal~