Chapter 1
'Lea, out shopping, back tonight, love mom.'
"Again? Really mom? We've already got everything we need," the brunette trainer mused to herself as she watched the crumpled little scrap of paper sail through the air and rustle into the waste basket. The waste basket stared gaping and eyeless back at her, as if to say 'you're not getting any applause from me.'
It was with an uncharacteristic melancholy that Whitlea proceeded through her everyday homecoming routine; boots thudding as she kicked them off, backpack sitting lonely and neglected on the kitchen table, her Pokéballs stripped with the swish of one hand from her belt promptly tossed aside as she pocketed the little plastic spheres. Her fingers unconsciously scooped out the one two three she'd had on her mind most of the day and the others stayed in her jacket, which ended up hanging limply from the hook by the stair.
"Huh." Before the hall mirror she paused, looking herself in the eye. "Maybe I'm getting too used to being back home again. I should take another trip soon." Decided with a nod, Whitlea proceeded up to her room to investigate those three of her animal charges that had worried her most of the...hello? That wasn't right at all, was it?
As always, the young trainer's bedroom door stood slightly ajar, inviting her back inside to the comforting warmth of just a bit too much pink for her liking. On the other side of the hallway, there yawned another open door, and the unusual sight caught her in her tracks.
"Mom never leaves her bedroom door open, does she? Why would she leave it open?"
A creeping feeling of dread in the back of her mind told her she already knew the answer, as totally outlandish as it seemed. As she rounded the edge of the doorframe and gazed within, that unsettling surety turn to enraged irritation.
"Oh, hello there," called Whitlea up at her blue-eyed twin from her place on the softly carpeted floor. "I was wondering when you'd get back. You won't believe what I found under your mom's bed."
Belief wasn't necessary. The young brunette could see for herself, arrayed in a rough circle upon the bed itself, a collection of objects most obscene in nature that her blood immediately boiled up to her ears. Her twin...the impostor...also had her, ITS, hands full with what was unmistakeably a fake rubber penis. A very inhuman fake rubber penis, judging solely from the teenager's (somewhat embarrassingly) extensive collection of video pornography.
"You."
The impostor showed not the faintest shred of apprehension towards the simmering rage in that single word. Instead, she...IT...very slowly and very deliberately put its smiling, shark-toothed mouth around the bulbous, maroon-hued knob of the faux phallus balanced carefully on its palm, and pushed until its dainty nose and succulent pinkish lips touched its own hand. The noise as it closed its eyes in perverse satisfaction on its way along the unusually large 'toy' was something somewhere between a hungry moan and a moist, sucking, slurping sound, punctuated by the slightest hiccup of a 'ggkh' at the end.
"I'm going to fucking kill you," Whitlea told the thing with the twinkling red eyes, somehow restraining herself from ripping the damned impostor limb from limb with her bare hands. The impostor replied with nothing more than another brief, muffled sound of half-choked breath, and a thin sliver of saliva dangled from the corner of its mouth. As the thing that was undeniably a dildo (her mother's dildo, Whitlea tried NOT to think) emerged once again from the impostor's grinning shark-mouth in a steaming wet mess of saliva, the look it gave her was complete and contemptuous contentment.
"I think I know where you get it from now. I guess the cock fascination runs in the family," it said in the brunette's own voice, with a tender flick of its petite pink tongue to caress the rounded end of its rubber handful.
"I am going to fucking KILL you!"
No sooner had the creature found its feet again than did the young trainer hurl herself bodily towards her monstrous stalker, tackling her self-image onto her mother's large peach sheeted bed with an inarticulate howl of unrestrained rage. She did not care much at all for the plastic and silicone menagerie that was sent bouncing onto the floor by her actions. All that mattered was the impostor.
Whitlea was not a girl slight of body, nor was she unfamiliar with exerting herself physically on a regular basis. She knew enough from her early days to twist a person's limbs into the correct position, and even the impostor's inhuman strength could not keep it from being ultimately pinned and pressed face-first into the bedsheets. However, this sudden change of circumstance failed to engender the kind of response the brunette had been hoping for; instead of begging for mercy or wailing in pain, the creature was in fact laughing at her.
"Ah! Stop! S-s-s-stop aaaaahhahahaha stop stop stop," it yammered incoherently. "I can't tahahake it, you're too ticklish!"
"Serves you right," the young trainer howled at her adversary, and promptly switched her strategy from 'subdue with grievous bodily harm' to 'torture mercilessly'. Fortunately, she knew all her own weakest points, so a mere fidgeting of a few fingers across the soles of her impostor's feet had the infuriating creature squirming and kicking and hollering for mercy. This, at least, gave Whitlea's brain just a scant few moments to think to itself just what the hell it was going to DO now that it had the damned thing at its mercy.
After satisfying her need for some kind of retribution, whatever form it might take, by tickling the monster-in-her-skin to total verbal incoherence, she left her stalker clone to its aching ribs and shortness of breath and clambered off her mother's bed.
Ah. The toys.
She may not have been the most naive of girls, but such a sight was not exactly one Whitlea was well accustomed to. Especially the matter of this all taking place in her own mother's bedroom.
She shuddered at that thought.
"You're disgusting," she told the monster that was stealing her image as she bent to, very tentatively indeed, attempt to pick up one of the...toys...without actually touching it. Had it been anything but her mother's, she thought, she might not have such a problem. After all, rubber is only rubber.
"You're calling ME disgusting?"
She hadn't taken her eyes off of it for more than a few seconds and already the confounded creature, seemingly in no great hurry to leave the room or even the bed, had another of those accursed things in its grasp. It looked at the brunette with what could only be described as a leer as it stroked fond fingers along an artificial organ of such proportions that Whitlea felt a whole fresh wave of nausea coming on to go with the incredible awkwardness.
"Your mom has the most wonderful collection of inhuman cocks I've ever seen in my entire life, and I have seen more of those than you'd care to imagine. I mean really, look at this beauty!" It...she...it...held aloft the thing in its hands as though it were an artefact most wondrous, some lost ancient treasure. To Whitlea, it looked very much like the elongated tubular penis of a gratuitously well endowed Bouffalant, though the brunette had only artwork of questionable validity to rely on. "I haven't even seen a dick this big in years, never mind sucked one. Your mom must have one really hungry pussy if she needs this gorgeous fuckstick to keep her satisfied."
She couldn't stand it any longer. Almost forgetting the mess the thing had made of her mother's bedroom, and the imminent return thereof at some unspecified time later that evening, Whitlea vaulted the bed like a practiced gymnast and planted her knees firmly to either side of the impostor's waist. Before it could so much as yelp with surprise it was pinned, with the young trainer's rear end settled down over its shoulders, trapping it between Whitlea's thighs and the bedspread.
"What the fuck are yo-OW!" The creature yelled when Whitlea met its backside with her hand, a satisfying thwack of her palm against the illusory denim of the clone's shorts. Or rather, that was what Whitlea had expected. Instead, the fleshy CRACK of bare skin on skin was almost deafening, and the brunette could only stare in some kind of twisted fascination watching what was effectively her own pale and broadly rounded buttocks quivering from the impact, not hearing the creature's sudden shriek of agony.
"Shit, that hurt! Bitch!"
"Oh yeah?" Whitlea's flustered confusion abruptly gave way to a dangerous indignation. She struck the clone's naked behind again, and then three more times in rapid succession, and was delighted by the agonized screams that ensued from the creature's mouth. Despite herself, she couldn't help but watch in fascination at every slightest motion of the flesh beneath her hand, such as it was her own body and all. On top of which, the screaming was actually rather disconcerting in a most unsettlingly entertaining manner, hearing her own voice yowling out in shuddering agony at her own hand.
Still, regardless of all the strangeness, it was incredibly satisfying to cause the creature such undeniable pain after all the months of psychological torment she had previously put up with.
"Please," the thing gasped when she paused for more than just the slightest moment. Its voice was shivering and unsteady, its breathing barely-restrained sobs after mere minutes of this unexpected punishment. "Please, fuck, j-just stop. Stop. Can't...can't t-t-take any"
"Shut UP!"
The thing screamed yet again in answer to her redoubled efforts. As she tanned the pale and slightly-too-fleshy-for-her-self-esteem buttocks from their natural whitish to a healthy throbbing red, Whitlea could not bring herself to ponder too long on just how...damp...the inside of her shorts was becoming. Nor could she linger too long on the disturbingly erotic tone the creature's gasping, shallow-breathed sobbing had become.
"Ah, put a sock in it," she told the thing as she gave her body-double a mouthful of phallic rubber to choke on. Choke she did, a stuttering wet gagging noise most undignified, and a gurgling snort of mucus and saliva erupted from the fake Whitlea's nose and mouth, making even more of an unsightly mess on her reddened face. For a moment, Whitlea almost felt sorry for her.
Then she came to her senses, and went right back to spanking the living daylights out of the damned thing.
With her mouth absolutely crammed full with a synthetic penis that was probably quite a bit too large for oral use, the fake Whitlea could make an awful lot less noise, but she still managed to snort and gurgle and gag and utter muffled half-shouts of pain as her backside blistered under the ferocious treatment. She had seemingly worn herself out completely with her constant attempts to scream and thrash about underneath the brunette when the young trainer finally ceased...for the time being.
Absently, Whitlea thanked her blind luck that whatever toy she had randomly snatched to hand appeared to made of sterner stuff than the fake's sharkteeth could chew through in her pain-induced gnawing. Having to explain a dildo bitten in half to her mother would probably be just about the most embarrassing, awkward thing she'd ever faced.
Being of sound mind and rational thought, Whitlea might have kicked the godforsaken monster out of her house right then and there and gotten back to the task of clearing up the mess it had made. Instead, returning the helpless, imploring gaze of the teary-eyed and runny-nosed copy of herself, scarlet face still full of half-swallowed rubber, the young trainer felt a sadistic impulse rising in her.
"Oh no," she whispered venomously at the thing as she fished the three Pokéballs from the pocket of her shorts. "We're not done yet, you little slut. Not by a long way."
Ruby eyes as wet as the uncomfortable moistness inside Whitlea's shorts, the clone rolled only halfway, over onto one side, to catch the young trainer with an unexpectedly heated look. For but a moment, her resolution wavered the tiniest bit. Something else promptly shoved the apprehension aside; probably her rising arousal.
A brief stare down ensued, Whitlea frozen between her common sense telling her to throw the damn thing out and the bizarre temptations of her sexual id, unable to put her brain back on track. The clone replied once again with wordless action, and began to slowly and deliberately fellate the thick piece of plastic Whitlea vaguely recognized as a synthesized pignite cock, never once taking its eyes off her. A dozen different thoughts, ranging from barely-repressed rage to libidinous curiosity to stark terror, failed to do anything but bounce around aimlessly inside the young brunette's head as she stood paralyzed, watching the strangely contoured reddish-black...thing...sliding back and forth between the clone's lips.
At long last, the clone relinquished its oral treat with a sucking wet pop, and let the end of the phallic toy rest against its chin like a child with a lollipop.
"Is that the best you've got?"
Whitlea thumbed a button and let one of her three Pokéballs fall to the ground, where it snapped open in a burst of white and red light.
"Cujo," she barked at the sandy furred canine as he materialized before her. The stoutland turned an eye to his mistress, seemingly startled silent by the presence of two identical Whitleas.
"Now that's more like it. Even the best toy's no substitute for some real cock."
Things were definitely moving out of her control, and the young trainer just couldn't wrap her brain around it. She was watching a mirror image of her own self, now shuffling itself right off the end of her mother's bed until both feet touched the floor and its upper half laid flat across the sheets. Whitlea herself added the completely out of place fluffy black brush of a flicking canine tail to the growing collection of confusion and emotional turmoil in her brain. It seemed that her clone was not quite as perfect a duplicate as she had previously thought, then, if it could not maintain an illusion strong enough to hide its...HER...inhuman ears and bushy black tail, on top of the sparkling scarlet eyes and the jarring shark teeth.
At that moment, Whitlea wasn't really paying much attention to any of that though. She was staring at her own vagina, from an angle she had never seen before and had quite possibly never even imagined before, while the clone wormed one of her hands beneath her to play with herself in front of the crowd of one human and one dog. Seeing her own pale and slightly plump labia being forced apart by her own probing fingers, staring into the blood-pink fleshiness of her own tender folds, was definitely getting to her. She hadn't been this soaking wet in...ever.
"Here Cujo," cooed the clone, in a perfect mimicry of Whitlea's voice. If it could get that right, why not the eyes, you useless bitch? "Good boy. Come lick some pussy, boy. Eat Whitlea's pussy."
"You absolute fucking slut," snapped Whitlea with a lot less venom than she would have liked.
"That's right, Cujo. Whitlea's just a dirty slut. She just wants your doggy dick in her, so get over here and get to it."
Cujo wasted all of a few short seconds puzzling the situation through, glancing from one Whitlea to the other in consternation, and ultimately decided to think with his nose instead. His nose led him straight to the steaming wet scent of fresh, fertile female flesh, and his tongue joined the party with rabid enthusiasm.
"Good boy," gasped the clone as canine tongue slapped wildly at her splayed loins. "Eat that slut pussy, Cujo. Eat Whitlea's naughty cunt."
The real Whitlea was rubbing herself through her shorts before she even realized it, and hadn't the presence of mind left to do anything about it even once she did. Watching the large dog attack her own soaking pink twat with his tongue was strange and disgusting and frighteningly stimulating all at once.
Then, without warning, Cujo reared up on his hind legs over the clone's backside, and the whole thing dove straight into a whole new level of perverse.
The fake squealed with barely restrained laughter, excited and amused both at once by the surprisingly forward behaviour of her canine partner. A hand reached back in anticipation, eagerly groping for the shock of crimson flesh that had caught the real Whitlea's eye. Narrow fingers closed around the tubular mass of naked red meat, which only elicited a sudden and violent thrusting of Cujo's hindquarters before the lustily giggling clone could calm him once again.
"You're really big for a stoutland, aren't you Cujo?" The clone looked at her again, looked straight into her with its bloody, smiling eyes. "I guess Whitlea really is just a sucker for a nice big dog dick, aren't I?"
"You're disgusting," said Whitlea. Again.
"Looks like it runs in the family. I wonder if"
Whatever else the clone was about to say was cut off by a startled gasp, turned to a moan of satisfied joy halfway through, as the stout red rod in clone Whitlea's hand found its mark and was unceremoniously forced into her dripping, invitingly spread cunt. Cujo immediately began humping at the fake's still crimson-stained backside like a true wild animal, sparing not the slightest shred of tenderness or restraint in drilling his cock as deep as he could possibly lodge it inside his trainer's supple pink flesh.
Whitlea buried two fingers, and matched her clone's throaty low grunting with a sharp, girlish yell of pleasure. Her hand quickly matched the rhythm of Cujo's hips, bouncing against the clone's aching backside with ferocious rapidity. The young brunette, unable somehow to tear her eyes from the scene for even a moment, watched herself being savagely and remorselessly fucked by her faithful canine companion, the wet splotching slurping slapping of rapid-fire sex almost drowning out the clone's constant verbal stream of inventively compounded expletives and inarticulate bestial noises. She was dumbfounded. She was entranced by not only the sight, or the sound, but even the smell of her own unbelievable arousal twice over mixed in with a scent that she could only assume was the pungent musk of animal cock in use.
"Fuck Whitlea's dirty pussy," shouted the clone in a stuttering, orgasmic voice as Cujo assaulted her hungry body from behind. "Fuck it hard. Bury that big dick in Whitlea's slutty hole and fill it up with spunk."
"Do it boy." Whitlea could hardly believe the words were coming from her own mouth, but her tongue was moving and her lips were wet and she couldn't tear her fingers out of her sore, suckling cunt. "Wreck her, Cujo. Wreck that bitch."
"Yes! Ruin Whitlea's slutty cunt with your dirty doggy dick!"
"You sick freak."
"Whitlea wants your dick juice. Wants your doggy jizz inside her. Fill Whitlea up, Cujo, fill her pussy."
"Cum in her cunt, you bastard!" shouted the brunette suddenly, a frothing sticky mess flowing down her thighs. She couldn't tear her eyes away. She couldn't stop masturbating, watching her own body being screwed by an animal, convulsing with ecstasy as Cujo abruptly stopped battering his hips against the clone's upturned bottom. She watched the canine panting atop her naked, wriggling body. The clone's fuzzy black ears folded back against her head and a gurgling cry of passion reverberated through Whitlea's bones. She could almost FEEL the watery heat of dog semen gushing into the intimate depths of her supple, suckling teenage twat.
The swollen red bulb of flesh slipped out of the clone's spasmodically quivering pinkness before it could properly become lodged inside her, and a burst of fluid followed it, splashing across the animal's balls and making an unsightly mess down the clone's thighs.
Without even a moment to get his bearings after the tumultuous events of the evening, the Stoutland disappeared back into his Pokéball in a red blur. Whitlea switched one ball for the next in her palm, and called forth the monochrome magnificence of her Zebstrika into a room that really wasn't big enough for it, not that he seemed to mind the cramped conditions very much at all.
The handsome equine was already prepared, it seemed. Had he heard? Did he know what was going on? Was he anticipating what his mistress would say next, eager to have a piece of the action for himself?
"Fuck yes," coughed the clone, her voice almost breaking from exhaustion and all the screaming she'd been doing for the past...who knew how long. Minutes? Hours? It felt like forever to Whitlea. The fake Whitlea rolled onto her back with nary a moment's pause and opened her arms to the striped equine. "Come and pound Whitlea's pussy, you beautiful beast. Ruin me with that huge cock."
It was huge. Huge hardly even described it. Seeing the wide, almost-flat crown of the Zeb's mottled black penis butting up against Whitlea's already thoroughly fucked cunt brought a shiver of fear and twisted excitement to the real trainer. It couldn't possibly fit. There was no way...
As the equine shuffled and side-stepped and crawled his folded forelegs across the bed, it became quite clear that it would, in fact, fit. A moan quickly became a scream, and the clone's previously battered, stretched and sloppy empty vagina was filled well beyond anything Whitlea had ever seen, even in porn. Even in bad, fake porn. The sight of a cock that unbelievably thick disappearing into such a narrow hole made her shudder bodily. Heat rushed from her loins to her brain, and the whole world vanished into white for a microsecond as Whitlea shivered in paralytic orgasm.
"Fuuuuuuuck..." The clone's voice sounded almost pitiful in its girlish shrillness, no longer sultry and lascivious. "Fuck Whitlea. Whitlea's just a dirty dog-fucker."
"Fuck her, baby. Do it. Rape that dumb whore." Whitlea wasn't even aware just when she'd swapped her fingers for one of her mother's toys. All she knew was that the pointed rubber Mightyena cock was quite a good deal bigger than Cujo's, and yet her ravenously drooling teenage pussy seemed to devour the damn thing in a single squelching gulp. It was tapping at her deepest, most tender spot in no time, and her breath hitched at the feeling of being eye-wateringly full.
"Rape Whitlea! Rape Whitlea right in her filthy animal-loving cunt. Whitlea wants your sperm inside her!"
"Fuck Whitlea! FUCK Whitlea! Fuck her right in her bitch pussy!"
The fake soon lost the ability to talk outright. She was too busy straining just to get enough breath, gasping like a hyperventilating child, clinging with all four limbs to the underside of the animal that was now practically lying down on top of her, crushing her into the bed. Even so, there was still a good enough angle for Whitlea to see the tubular bulge that the Zebstrika's inhumanly oversized organ made as it was forced into her battered, bruised and broken twat.
"Fuck Whitlea! Fuck me! Fucking rape me! Shit, please, just put it all in and cum inside me. Just fill my pussy up and screw me! Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckohfuckshit..."
Her whole body was on fire. The thick, scalding heat of Mightyena's dick inside her made her soft, fleshy passage pulsate around him, begging the beast for every last drop of his inhuman seed. Harder she fell with every single stroke, jamming her own bouncing hips down against the canine body beneath her in a desperate effort to feel his pointed end poking at her most sensitive spot one more time.
Whitlea rolled her eyes up over Emboar's rotund bulk, tears blurring her vision, not that she could see anything anyway. The scent of thick animal penis was enough to trigger her lustful instincts, and her lips closed around the fist-like head of Emboar's endowment in an obscene attempt to fit the huge thing in her mouth. She mumbled something, followed by another muffled shout of brain-fried ecstasy as her sweaty hips slammed down onto Mightyena with a tremulous finality and pulses of runny canine spunk gushed into the deepest recesses of her trembling pink tunnel.
She couldn't see a thing. She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. The whole world had disappeared in a flood of emotions and confusion and chaotic white noise. All that remained was cock. Cock. Cock was the only thing she could think of. All she could smell. All she could taste, feel, touch... All she knew.
The young brunette trainer's cheeks bulged comically when Emboar forced her head down his unforgivingly thick penis, and a slurry of saliva and semen squirted from her stretched lips, along with a disgusting gurgling choking noise.
"You are one sick, twisted bastard."
Zoroark's common syrupy-sweet, seductive tone hardly reached the trainer's ears as she stroked at one gelatinous green 'ear'. The Reuniclus replied with little more than an expression that could possibly be called a smile on what could possibly be called its face, and wriggled its tentacular fingers in Whitlea's ears, sending the helpless trainer into another mind-shattering torrent of multiple orgasm.
"I wonder if we can get that lovely little brown girl too..."
Chapter End Notes:
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended, and is applicable for all consecutive chapters that follow.