Unexpected Reactions
This lemon, a rape fic, for the squeamish or those who dislike the concept, was revised by Flareon Lover, so kudos to her for the help. You all know what I'd put if I bothered with a disclaimer.
Angst, angst, angst...
Like a wrist-cutting teenager, it tugs away at the back of my mind and heart more and more with each passing day.
So yeah. I wasn't covered in cuddly fur, and there probably weren't too many stuffed dolls of my species available anywhere.
So what?
I had positives to consider, horizons to broaden, sights to see...
So I was born a Weedle, and grew into a Beedrill. Yeah, yeah. That means I've wings, stingers.... masculinity!
At least, I suppose I have that last one. Ours isn't exactly a feminine species, anyway.
Right. Masculinity stays.
But, back on topic, despite the great things a strong, fit Beedrill like myself had going for him, I was still just a tad depressed, recently. Loneliness reared its ugly, pus-covered head yet again, and not even sweet smelling flowers and beautiful weather was about to remedy that fucker's poison. No, sir.
Here we were, out at a park in some human town, the name of which eludes me, if I'd ever even known it. The usual deal with these parks the tiny ones loved to play around and upon: strange plastic slabs attached to metal swings, chutes that dropped them upon what I presumed was soft sand, and long slender metal poles...
My, I realized then that that was why humans were such a queer species.
But all of those odd objects and...playthings...were of no real concern to me. Hell, the Sandshrew and Rattata that had "accompanied" me even found other ways to entertain themselves. Predictably, I'd sit upon a tree branch, probing each flower, enjoying the scent, my wings humming every so often. This, of course, was all done in silence, and not just because I was the friendly neighborhood recluse.
We don't speak the way most Pokémon do, you see, and I really couldn't be bothered to teach the others the complicated stinger, leg, and head motions, a kind of dance, if want, that made up our language. The hell was the point, anyway?
The others thought so too, apparently, because they kept their distance. Trust me, though, it was all good. Receiving treats and attention from the trainer wasn't an issue in the slightest when the others cleared out to handle themselves whenever you hung around the room like an unwanted fly. Or bee, maybe? Heh, heh.
When I grow bored with sweet scents and bright colors, I can't help but throw my attention elsewhere, to my party members, both chattering animatedly to one another.
The Sandshrew was a chubby little fellow, tan colored on his back, but with crack-like patterns running all over it. It was his belly that gave him that cuddly, chubby look really, and then maybe the stubby arms and legs. A living stuffed animal, practically, big coal eyes and all.
Subject number two, the Rattata, was rodent-like in and of himself, but in a different manner. Four legged, with a lengthy, curling tail, and a neat, purple coat running down a small back. Perhaps I should put a bit of emphasis on small, because this creature really was quite small, even if big, pointy ears, whiskers, and razor sharp teeth sometimes detracted from this.
In other words, another living doll. How sweet.
The same, however, could not be said for the way the two were getting along. I could already see them growing hostile, extending claws, exchanging looks, occasionally increasing the volume at which they spoke. When a tan colored claw came down to slap hard against the top of a purple head, I figured it'd do us all good if this was stopped before it began.
Fighting was always entertaining, but the aftermath sure as hell wasn't.
So there I went, flying into the sky, my sheer body mass likely blocking out the sun overhead for the feuding mice boys, only to dive-bomb my way into the fray and pin the stronger of the two, I speak of the Sandshrew here, to the ground with two stingers.
It is not easy, I can assure you. As soon as I hit the ground the combatants scatter, and my skinny legs dart all about the ground, my stingers, dexterous and tough things they are, and very much lethal, trying hard to subdue, but not injure, the bigger, tougher shrew.
My, my, did things go bad from there. My little foe retaliated, and in a nasty way. Sand and grass went flying into my eyes, cutting off my sight, and, before I knew it, claw swipes and bites from two sources assaulted into my armored hide as I flailed about blindly, sometimes leaping into the air out of pain and confusion. Frankly, it was impossible to tell if I was angry, as I was, but I don't believe they really cared, anyway.
Then, the part of my story that I wish I didn't have to tell came into play.
I should have known something was wrong when the attacks stopped. I should of known that, when my eyes stopped stinging and my sight returned, the Rattata backing away in fear was a bad thing. I did know that the glowing aura surrounding the Sandshrew would spell trouble for the both of us.
In mere seconds, the little toy mole's silhouette grew larger and wider. The middle claw retreated back into the paw and the remaining claws grew considerably longer. Worst of all, thick spines sprouted from where the smooth back once was.
When the glow of evolution subsided, what stood before me on four paws, his black eyes devoid of emotion, was a Pokémon I knew to possess strength I certainly couldn't hope to control.
For a while, he had to take time to admire himself, glance about and collect his bearings after such an important event in his life. This was something I could definitely sympathize about, considering my brief life as a Kakuna.
Forgetting petty things like aggression and anger, I waved congratulation to him with either stinger.
He, on the other hand, growled and tossed his heavy body atop mine. When he dug his claws into my abdomen and the pain seared through me, I'd originally thought he intended to kill me. His actual plan, however, was much worse.
He examined my clear blood for a while, sniffed it, watched me beat my wings and buzz alarmingly in vain. In my desperation and fear I cast about for someone, any one, in the hopes that I may be rescued. Even the human children, however, had gone away, evidently frightened by the spiny beast.
I felt one of the bloodied claws explore my armored body, briefly, and then felt the tip of a single one reach my taihole.
In my own way, I couldn't help but scream.
My assailant drove the sharp thing into my body with little remorse, spreading my virgin rear open, provoking tears to run unchecked down my yellow face. It was for the first time since I was a Weedle that I had cried, I realized.
Then, as he pulled free of my now bleeding orifice, for only Mew knew why, he decided to speak.
"Hehe. I'll have fun with you, little Beedrill."
The voice was deep and strong, and punctuated by the tip of the Sandslash's glory poking my entrance.
He practically stabbed the five inches into my ass, bit by bit, causing my whole body to scream and shudder and vibrate with pain, the salty tears splattering onto the ground nearly as freely as the semen beginning to fill my insides, allowing the ground type's penetration to proceed quicker.
It was when I felt the ivory testicles against my thick tail that I knew he'd entered me fully. He smiled and flashed two rows of pointed teeth at me.
Pulling out about halfway, he thrust back with a well timed lick to my neck. It repulsed me, but I knew there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. Again and again he'd grind his hips into my abused anus, only without the fake affection, if you could call it that.
Eventually, his thrusts grew faster, more and more of the hot pre-cum beginning to fill my body as he decided he'd fuck my mind as well as my body.
Try as I might, I couldn't fight the erection growing between our bodies, the two inches exposed a jet black color, no less. He knew, and he managed to bring a single claw back, knowing my body was to weak to retaliate in any manner anyway, to grasp one of my yellow balls. A buzz of surprise was met with a grin and another lick to my neck.
He fondled my ball sack in a rough manner, and, like his hips shoving red member into and out of my bloodied, semen filled pucker, rather I wanted to admit it or not I enjoyed it.
Soon all four inches of black beehood were exposed. He positioned himself so that each thrust into my tired body would cause his belly to roll over the slender, hardened flesh. It was all I could do but close my all and turn my head away as my own fluids began to sputter out onto both our bodies.
As my humiliation came to an end, I felt his thrust become less rhythmic and all the more violent. Though my arousal hadn't peaked quite like it could have at the time, I was glad I didn't hum out in ecstasy along, before, or after my attacker did, his crimson glory vibrating as it fired load after hot load into me again and again.
It was that thought, right before I lost consciousness, that I held onto.
Angst, angst, angst...
Like a wrist-cutting teenager, it tugs away at the back of my mind and heart more and more with each passing day.
So yeah. I wasn't covered in cuddly fur, and there probably weren't too many stuffed dolls of my species available anywhere.
So what?
I had positives to consider, horizons to broaden, sights to see...
So I was born a Weedle, and grew into a Beedrill. Yeah, yeah. That means I've wings, stingers.... masculinity!
At least, I suppose I have that last one. Ours isn't exactly a feminine species, anyway.
Right. Masculinity stays.
But, back on topic, despite the great things a strong, fit Beedrill like myself had going for him, I was still just a tad depressed, recently. Loneliness reared its ugly, pus-covered head yet again, and not even sweet smelling flowers and beautiful weather was about to remedy that fucker's poison. No, sir.
Here we were, out at a park in some human town, the name of which eludes me, if I'd ever even known it. The usual deal with these parks the tiny ones loved to play around and upon: strange plastic slabs attached to metal swings, chutes that dropped them upon what I presumed was soft sand, and long slender metal poles...
My, I realized then that that was why humans were such a queer species.
But all of those odd objects and...playthings...were of no real concern to me. Hell, the Sandshrew and Rattata that had "accompanied" me even found other ways to entertain themselves. Predictably, I'd sit upon a tree branch, probing each flower, enjoying the scent, my wings humming every so often. This, of course, was all done in silence, and not just because I was the friendly neighborhood recluse.
We don't speak the way most Pokémon do, you see, and I really couldn't be bothered to teach the others the complicated stinger, leg, and head motions, a kind of dance, if want, that made up our language. The hell was the point, anyway?
The others thought so too, apparently, because they kept their distance. Trust me, though, it was all good. Receiving treats and attention from the trainer wasn't an issue in the slightest when the others cleared out to handle themselves whenever you hung around the room like an unwanted fly. Or bee, maybe? Heh, heh.
When I grow bored with sweet scents and bright colors, I can't help but throw my attention elsewhere, to my party members, both chattering animatedly to one another.
The Sandshrew was a chubby little fellow, tan colored on his back, but with crack-like patterns running all over it. It was his belly that gave him that cuddly, chubby look really, and then maybe the stubby arms and legs. A living stuffed animal, practically, big coal eyes and all.
Subject number two, the Rattata, was rodent-like in and of himself, but in a different manner. Four legged, with a lengthy, curling tail, and a neat, purple coat running down a small back. Perhaps I should put a bit of emphasis on small, because this creature really was quite small, even if big, pointy ears, whiskers, and razor sharp teeth sometimes detracted from this.
In other words, another living doll. How sweet.
The same, however, could not be said for the way the two were getting along. I could already see them growing hostile, extending claws, exchanging looks, occasionally increasing the volume at which they spoke. When a tan colored claw came down to slap hard against the top of a purple head, I figured it'd do us all good if this was stopped before it began.
Fighting was always entertaining, but the aftermath sure as hell wasn't.
So there I went, flying into the sky, my sheer body mass likely blocking out the sun overhead for the feuding mice boys, only to dive-bomb my way into the fray and pin the stronger of the two, I speak of the Sandshrew here, to the ground with two stingers.
It is not easy, I can assure you. As soon as I hit the ground the combatants scatter, and my skinny legs dart all about the ground, my stingers, dexterous and tough things they are, and very much lethal, trying hard to subdue, but not injure, the bigger, tougher shrew.
My, my, did things go bad from there. My little foe retaliated, and in a nasty way. Sand and grass went flying into my eyes, cutting off my sight, and, before I knew it, claw swipes and bites from two sources assaulted into my armored hide as I flailed about blindly, sometimes leaping into the air out of pain and confusion. Frankly, it was impossible to tell if I was angry, as I was, but I don't believe they really cared, anyway.
Then, the part of my story that I wish I didn't have to tell came into play.
I should have known something was wrong when the attacks stopped. I should of known that, when my eyes stopped stinging and my sight returned, the Rattata backing away in fear was a bad thing. I did know that the glowing aura surrounding the Sandshrew would spell trouble for the both of us.
In mere seconds, the little toy mole's silhouette grew larger and wider. The middle claw retreated back into the paw and the remaining claws grew considerably longer. Worst of all, thick spines sprouted from where the smooth back once was.
When the glow of evolution subsided, what stood before me on four paws, his black eyes devoid of emotion, was a Pokémon I knew to possess strength I certainly couldn't hope to control.
For a while, he had to take time to admire himself, glance about and collect his bearings after such an important event in his life. This was something I could definitely sympathize about, considering my brief life as a Kakuna.
Forgetting petty things like aggression and anger, I waved congratulation to him with either stinger.
He, on the other hand, growled and tossed his heavy body atop mine. When he dug his claws into my abdomen and the pain seared through me, I'd originally thought he intended to kill me. His actual plan, however, was much worse.
He examined my clear blood for a while, sniffed it, watched me beat my wings and buzz alarmingly in vain. In my desperation and fear I cast about for someone, any one, in the hopes that I may be rescued. Even the human children, however, had gone away, evidently frightened by the spiny beast.
I felt one of the bloodied claws explore my armored body, briefly, and then felt the tip of a single one reach my taihole.
In my own way, I couldn't help but scream.
My assailant drove the sharp thing into my body with little remorse, spreading my virgin rear open, provoking tears to run unchecked down my yellow face. It was for the first time since I was a Weedle that I had cried, I realized.
Then, as he pulled free of my now bleeding orifice, for only Mew knew why, he decided to speak.
"Hehe. I'll have fun with you, little Beedrill."
The voice was deep and strong, and punctuated by the tip of the Sandslash's glory poking my entrance.
He practically stabbed the five inches into my ass, bit by bit, causing my whole body to scream and shudder and vibrate with pain, the salty tears splattering onto the ground nearly as freely as the semen beginning to fill my insides, allowing the ground type's penetration to proceed quicker.
It was when I felt the ivory testicles against my thick tail that I knew he'd entered me fully. He smiled and flashed two rows of pointed teeth at me.
Pulling out about halfway, he thrust back with a well timed lick to my neck. It repulsed me, but I knew there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. Again and again he'd grind his hips into my abused anus, only without the fake affection, if you could call it that.
Eventually, his thrusts grew faster, more and more of the hot pre-cum beginning to fill my body as he decided he'd fuck my mind as well as my body.
Try as I might, I couldn't fight the erection growing between our bodies, the two inches exposed a jet black color, no less. He knew, and he managed to bring a single claw back, knowing my body was to weak to retaliate in any manner anyway, to grasp one of my yellow balls. A buzz of surprise was met with a grin and another lick to my neck.
He fondled my ball sack in a rough manner, and, like his hips shoving red member into and out of my bloodied, semen filled pucker, rather I wanted to admit it or not I enjoyed it.
Soon all four inches of black beehood were exposed. He positioned himself so that each thrust into my tired body would cause his belly to roll over the slender, hardened flesh. It was all I could do but close my all and turn my head away as my own fluids began to sputter out onto both our bodies.
As my humiliation came to an end, I felt his thrust become less rhythmic and all the more violent. Though my arousal hadn't peaked quite like it could have at the time, I was glad I didn't hum out in ecstasy along, before, or after my attacker did, his crimson glory vibrating as it fired load after hot load into me again and again.
It was that thought, right before I lost consciousness, that I held onto.