AGNPH Stories

Pokemon Lover Studios by sigmaweapon


Story Notes:

First chapter is sexless. All following chapters will have sex.

Chapter 3

I've finally uploaded a new chapter. And this time I've actually proofread the damn thing first.
I must warn you here, there won't actually be a sex scene in this chapter. I know I promised there would, but by the time I was nearing completion I realized that the chapter would be WAY too long if I included my intended sex scene. However, there is a brief scene of auto-cunningulus, and I think that because of what I left out, I can actually include two sex scenes in the next chapter. So hopefully, that will be enough to make up for this.

So many thoughts ran through my head at once that I couldn't tell what half of them were. What did I just do? I know what I did, I had sex a Weavile in front of the camera, and I enjoyed it. Thinking back on the sheer enthusiasm with which I did everything, from kissing her, to eating her out, to fucking her, it was hard to imagine not enjoying it. So I knew what I did literally, but I couldn't understand it. Was it just the money that made me so eager? Or did I actually enjoy it for its own sake?
If the answer is the latter, than you are one seriously fucked up individual.
But what about those scars? No one at the studio could've gotten away with beating a Pokemon. Even if it was just one person here, the state would shut down the entire studio for six months of investigation, which would be fully open to the press. If something like that ever happened to this place, it would probably lose the majority of its business. And I don't want to know what kind of sadistic wrath that would incite in Coral toward whoever did it.
So who gave the Weavile those scars? I thought about it for some time, and had no idea. Though it didn't help that half way through it my mind wandered into a total blank.
... ... ... How do they keep that gold leaf so polished without rubbing it off of the molding?
Dammit! This is why I usually don't drink. Now I can't even remember what I just thinking. ... Just what the hell's with Otis anyway?

Brendan sat on a red velvet stool, leaning his arms against the cherry wood counter of a bar. He looked around. Dark stained hardwood floors gave way to red brick walls. Stained glass windows, in meaningless art deco designed, covered one wall. Arcade game and pinball cabinets filled another wall. The far wall had only varnished cherry wood saloon doors. Chairs were stacked atop their unset round tables. Imperious looking crown molding, painted in gold leaf, covered the edges and corners of the walls and floors.
Brendan looked back. Otis, in his tieless suit over tee shirt, stood behind the counter, tapping his fingers on the wood. A quarter empty, star shaped bottle of cola colored rum stood to the side of his hand. Brendan's hand traced over the edge of a brandy glass filled with a couple ounces.
Brendan picked up his glass and took a sip. He propped an elbow up on the counter and rested his head in his hand as his other set the glass down.
"So if you're such a big name here, why are you the one pouring drinks?" Brendan asked.
Otis shrugged his shoulders. "I like to give the impression that I'm a lowly servant," he answered. "Less people bug me that way."
Brendan picked up the brandy glass and swirled it until the rum inside spun almost to the rim. He upended the glass and downed its contents. Otis immediately refilled it with another two ounces.
Brendan leaned his head over the glass and looked down into it with one eye, his other eye closed. Otis snickered under his breath. Brendan looked back up at the crown molding.

I've had four ounces of that rum so far. The stuff's really spicy, sweet and chocolaty, and with none of that waxy coating on your tongue that rum usually has. At this point everything's starting to look two dimensional. I'm feeling like I'm in a video game. It kind of makes me wonder why video game characters never have to go to the bathroom. It doesn't make much sense as bathrooms in video games are almost always perfectly clean. Speaking of which, why is it that the bathrooms in fast food chains are usually cleaner than the bathrooms at universities? I can't help but wonder what the deans at my University would think of a perfect four oh student who fucked an albino Weavile. And where did those scars on Weavile come from?
What the fuck? Now I can't even remember what I just thinking. I know it began with rum and ended with Weavile's scars, but everything in between was a blank. This is why I usually don't drink. Now I can't even remember what I just thinking. No wait I already thought that!
What the hell was I thinking again? Weavile's scars!

"Hey Otis, I wanted to ask you about that Weavile," Brendan mumbled.
Otis looked up at Brendan. "What about her?"
"Well, after the scene, I found these uh..."

I found what? I found a bar. Then I found Otis behind the counter, polishing glasses. Where are my glasses? I left them back on the set where they filmed me having sex with that Weavile. Where did those scars on Weavile come from? And how the fuck did I end up on this train of thought?

"Hey Otis, I wanted to ask you about that Weavile," Brendan mumbled.
Otis raised an eyebrow. "You already said that."
"I did?" Brendan mumbled.
"You said you found something after the scene," Otis said.
"Oh," Brendan said. "It was these... things on Weavile... all over her chest and stomach."
"The scars?"
Brendan nodded his head and swirled his brandy glass so hard he flung drops of rum over rim and onto the counter. Brendan ignored the spilled rum and took a sip before setting the glass down.
"And you wanna know where they came from," Otis said.
Brendan nodded again.
Otis closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He bent back, cracking his sternum before righting himself. He looked away from Brendan and then back, sighing before talking.
"We got the Weavile about six years ago," Otis spoke softly. "She was a rescue from a circus. They came through Skandia fast as they could. I guess they thought they wouldn't get searched if they didn't put on a show. They were wrong. The state inspectors rode their arses from the moment they got through the border til they had em surrounded."
Otis paused, as if not wanting to continue.
"Every one of those Pokemon got abused somehow. That Weavile, when she wouldn't behave, they tied her to a bench and beat her with red hot chains. After the whole circus crew git thrown in jail, the state wanted the Pokemon rehab'ed and Coral said she'd do it for free. We adopted all of em out but two. That Weavile was one of em."
Brendan stared at Otis, his brow furrowed and lips partly open. Otis seemed to want to avert his gaze, but didn't. For a time, nothing more happened. The grandfather clock next to the bar counter ticked. Brendan's eyes eventually unfocused and his vision blurred. Brendan's face relaxed as he looked at something far behind the back wall.

There was something important, something shocking, that I was just thinking about. Was it so freakish that it turned my mind a blank and made me stare into space? No, that was the rum. Still, I was finding it nearly impossible to focus again.

"You alright?" Otis asked.
Brendan shook his head and then blinked his eyes.

That seemed to do it. And I could finally remember what Otis was talking about, I think. The Weavile originally came from a traveling circus. Why do circuses travel anyway? The ones set up in a permanent spot seemed to make good business. What kind of business could I ever make after what I just did with that Weavile? Speaking of which, where did those scars come from? Otis, that's right! He said she originally came from a traveling circus. Why do circuses travel anyway? The ones set up in a permanent spot seemed to make good business.
Dammit Brendan your thinking in circles! Focus! Otis said the circus she came from abused her. That's where those scars came from. And then the PL Studios adopted her from the state after they broke up the circus.
The circus abused her? That would have to mean that PL Studios actually rescued that Weavile! An abused Pokemon rescued by a Pokemon porn studio? What the fuck kind of sense did that make? Back in the US you always heard about Pokemon being rescued
from Pokemon porn studios. Was it even possible for the situation to be reversed?
Thinking about it made my head hurt. There had to be another question I could ask, to distract myself.

"Why did she hit me?" Brendan mumbled.
"Because you tried to get on top of her during sex."
Brendan jumped at the new voice, nearly slipping from his seat, and having to grab the brass rail beneath the bar counter to keep from falling. His arms, flailing for the rail, knocked over his Brandy glass and spilled its rum. Otis snickered under his breath at the display.
Otis immediately pulled a damp white hand towel from beneath the counter and wiped up the spilled rum, staining parts of the towel caramel.
Brendan turned to see Coral standing on the stool to his right, now in a plain black pajamas and suede slippers, her hair let down over her shoulders. One arm on the bar counter propped her head up while the other held a cigar above a white marble ash tray. Coral took a puff of her cigar, holding the smoke in her mouth several seconds before blowing it out.
"Where the hell'd you come from?" Brendan grumbled.
Otis snickered again. Coral stared at a dumbfounded Brendan with one eyebrow raised.
"I've been sitting here for the past ten minutes," Coral answered.

Ten minutes? What the fuck?! How couldn't I have noticed the smell of the cigar? I was so busy staring into space with a brain of whipped shit that I became oblivious to the outside world. This is why I usually don't drink.

"When wild Weavile court each other, they'll fight over who gets to be on top," Coral said. "On occasion they've even been known to kill one another over that issue."
Brendan stared into Coral's eyes for several seconds before blinking. "I had no idea," he whispered.
Coral shrugged her shoulders and took another puff of her cigar, blowing the smoke upwards after a few more seconds.
"Still, most Weavile can be taught to let their trainers on top," Coral continued. "But not ours, for obvious reasons."
Brendan shook his head. "No... what reasons?"
"You really are clueless aren't you?" Coral asked. "It was the circus. It's the memories of the carnies standing over her with glowing hot chains ready to flog her. That's why she can't be trained to let anyone on top. To be honest, I'm amazed she's as well adjusted as she is."
"When she first got here she'd try to attack anyone who got too close," Otis added.

This wasn't making any goddamn sense. How could a Pokemon porn studio not only rescue, but rehabilitate an abused Pokemon?

"The reason I came here was to tell you that Weavile enthusiastically approved of you," Coral said. "That and your lab tests came back. You're STD free; so you're hired. And also, your scene with her was impressive enough to be added to a show of ours called 'Casting Calls'. It's a compilation of assessment scenes by employee hopefuls, and its our best selling product. I'll give you forty thousand scribes right now if you let me include your scene with Weavile."
Upon finishing her sentence, coral pushed a single sheet of paper and a pen from her left in front of Brendan. The contract contained only a few short paragraphs, a bulleted list of terms, and a signature line. Brendan sighed without looking at it and pushed it back.
Brendan shrugged his shoulders. "Why not, there's nothing left for me anyway."
"What do you mean," Coral asked.
Brendan sighed and let his head droop. "Who the fuck is going to hire an ex Pokemon porn star as an engineer? I'm never gonna have a life after this."
"Many of my former employees shared similar sentiments," Coral said. "Believe me, I can make sure you'll have a lucrative career after your time here."
This time Brendan snickered under his breath. "Whatever," he muttered.
Coral reached into a hip pocket on her pajamas, removed a folded envelope, and dropped it on the counter in front of Brendan. Brendan stared at it with half closed eyes.
"The check's in there," Coral said. "All you have to do is sign it."
Brendan reached for the envelope, slapping the counter several times before finally landing his hand on it. He dragged the envelope off the counter and shoved it into his jean pocket.
"Be here ten a.m. tomorrow," Coral said. "You'll be filming your first scene of 'The Estate' then. By the way, that rum is nine hundred scribes a bottle. It's coming out of your next paycheck."
Brendan mumbled something unintelligible and shook his head. He spun his barstool around and then groaned, bent forward, and clutched his head.

Holy shit that made me dizzy.

Coral stared at Brendan with her lips pursed and one eyebrow raised, as did Otis in an almost mirror-like action. Brendan didn't move for some time, losing the interest of his watchers. Coral tapped her cigar against the ash tray, breaking off the spent tip, and then brought it to her lips for a puff. Otis picked up the spilled glass and wiped it out with his towel.
"How much did he have?" Coral asked as she blew out her cigar smoke.
"Half a cup," Otis answered as he slid the glass back on the hanging rack above the counter.
"Obviously someone can't hold their liquor," Coral muttered. "You'd best take a cab home,"

Take a cab? There's no way I'm too drunk to take public transit... is there? Otis said I only had half a cup of that rum. I'm fine.

Brended sat up, leaned back and cracked his sternum. He Pushed himself off the stool. Brendan's knees collapsed beneath him as he landed on the floor. He fell onto his hip and splayed his arms out in front of him to keep himself from hitting his face on the floor.

Who the hell just put the bar on spin cycle? Come to think of it, why couldn't I just take a yellow-bike home? Boy these floors are a hell of a lot shinier than the ones at my home. Why don't they ever have carpeted floors in grocery stores?

"Like I said, you'd best take a cab home," Coral said.

I wonder if I should take a cab home. Wait! That didn't have anything to do with my previous thought. Where did it come from? Wherever it came from, it seemed like good advice.

Brendan flailed his arms about as if trying to find where they were. He then pushed himself up and sat cross-legged. He breathed deep and stood up, and waddled out the saloon doors like piplup. Coral and Otis stared at him the entire time.
"Only half a cup?" Coral asked, still staring at the doors.
"Only half a cup," Otis answered.
"Only half a cup," Coral sighed. "Don't ever give him the hard stuff again, you here me?"
"Yes ma'am," Otis said, nodding his head.
Coral brought her cigar to her lips and took another puff.
Otis dropped the towel on the counter before walking around it and out of the bar.
Coral blew out her cigar smoke as Otis left. She put out her cigar in the ash tray and sighed, slumping her shoulders down. She ran her fingers through her hair several times and yawned before turning toward the bar. She propped her arms up on the counter by her elbows and rested her chin in her hands. She stared into the mirrored wall behind the shelves of bottles.
"Lumina?" Coral whispered.
Coral's reflection faded from the mirror. In its place appeared two huge almond shaped eyes with blood red irises. The eyes glimmered almost unnaturally. They narrowed, and their pupils dilated as Coral smiled at them.
"I'm assuming you've been watching this Brendan," Coral said.
The pupils dilated a bit more at Brendan's name and then shrunk again. A woman's voice echoed through the room, or perhaps only through Coral's mind. The voice was deep and smooth, and spoke with a slightly monotone authority.
"I've watched him from the moment he entered the property," The voice answered.
"This is the star we've been looking for, for the past eight years. Have you looked through his mind?" Coral asked.
"I've searched every corner and crevice of his psyche," The voice said. "I know more of him than he knows of himself."
"Please tell me he's not too good to be true," Coral begged.
"He's exactly what we're looking for," The voice said. "He is a hopeless Pokephile. He has been ever since he could remember, from long before he even understood what it meant."
"Was he made a Pokephile?" Coral asked.
"No, he was born one," The voice answered, its pupils briefly dilating on speaking the word born. "But he is in denial of it. There's still a risk of him running away."
"That's why I asked you here." Coral said. "I want you to see to it that by the end of tomorrow, he's completely on our side. Would he be able to resist the persona?"
For only a moment after the word persona, the eyes widened and its pupils dilated.
"He'll be helpless against it," The voice answered. "He'll be putty in my hands. I'm going to have a lot of fun with this one."
The eyes closed, and the lines they left behind vanished shortly afterward. Coral's reflection reappeared in the mirror. Coral stared into her reflection for a time before turning the bar stool around to face the saloon doors. She smirked.

* * * * *

It's been four or five hours and my head's starting to clear. I walked outside the gate to PL Studios and a cab was already there waiting for me, the driver asking me where I lived. I remember thinking something about a cab but I certainly didn't call one. Then again, the past few hours were kind of a blur to me. And now it seems I have this check in my pocket for forty thousand scribes, along with a note thanking me for letting me use my scene with the albino Weavile in some show called 'Casting Calls'.
"Easy in, easy out." That's what Flora always said about me and alcohol. She doesn't know the half of it.
I sat on a leather bench on the eleventh floor of a highrise apartment building in downtown Delther city, only a few blocks from the Phibe's University campus. I looked out the window at the traffic bellow.

Brendan sat at the end of a small square hall empty of people. It had turquoise carpets and bare white walls. Houseplants one either side of the armless, backless bench gave the illusion of shade. The bench sat feet away from the far wall, entirely a window.
Brendan looked down at the street below the high rise, at whatever drove through it. There were lime green cabs, compact cars, public transit buses, the yellow public bikes, and not much else. 
Brendan's face looked like he;d just woken up, with hair like a ragged mop. But his posture was still, and his eyes focused. Brendan swung his legs over to the other side of the bench and looked down the square hall into the hallway connected to it. He reached into his inner jacket pocket and fumbled through coins and wrappers before pulling out a scratched plastic card.
Brendan stood up and walked down the hallway, looking down at the floor, but having memorized the route. He turned right, then left, then right, and stopped in front of a plain white door with a card slot beneath the brass handle. The clank of metal signaled the lock opening after he swiped the card through the slot.
Brendan opened the door and stepped into his apartment, shutting the door with his foot. He rummaged through his pockets, dropping coins, wrappers, his card, wallet, and the envelope, onto the floor. He shook his feet, flinging off his shoes, which hit the walls, and left them too on the floor. 
Brendan walked forward, entering the living room of his apartment.

I half expected everything to be gone, replaced with either hippy or goth decor, as if I'd walked into the wrong apartment, even thought I knew I didn't. I don't why I thought that. It's just that-

Something slammed into Brendan's chest before he could finish the thought, knocking him back into the wall. Brendan slid down the wall until he sat, before looking down at what it was.
The giant caramel and chocolate striped sock had leaped onto him. She wrapped her tail around his arm and rubbed her cheek in circles against his chest. Her claws dug into his jacket and pulled at it.
"Furrret..." she cooed.

Where the hell did Furret come from?! Every single time I walk into my apartment there's no sign of her, like she's turned invisible, and then wham! she hits me so hard I fall over. That's a hell of a lot of strength for something that was supposedly knocked out from two hits by a level four Rattata. Or maybe it'ss just me, I don't know.
Either way, I know what she's saying.

Brendan sighed and rubbed a hand hard from his Furret's head all the way to the base of her tail, causing her to shiver and press her cheek harder into Brendan's shirt and clutch his jacket tighter. Brendan's other hand followed where the first one left off, rubbing from Furret's head to the base of her tail. One hand after the other, Brendan's Furret cooed and squeed from the attention. Brendan finally brought both his hands down to the base of his Furret's tail and scratched.
"Furr!" she squealed.
Brendan's Furret shivered from the touch and tightened the grip of her tail around Brendan's arm while pushing her back end up against Brendan's fingernails.
Brendan Breathed deep. His Furret lifted her head and sniffed as he exhaled. Her body suddenly tensed and the fur on her neck and back stood on end. She tightened her tail's grip on Brendan's arm further. She stood straight up and stiff on Brendan's lap, staring into his eyes. Her eyes wide and pupils narrow, her mouth hanging open. She covered her mouth with her paws.
"Furr!!" she gasped.
Brendan's Furret backflipped off of him and dashed to the other end of the living room. She slinked her way up the black casing of the entertainment center and perched atop the flat panel television. She continued to stare at Brendan eyes wide, pupils narrow, and mouth open, while repeatedly slapping her tail against the back of the television.

What the fuck was that for? As long as I've known her she's never done that. What the hell could possibly freak her out like that? We sat there staring at each other for however long I lost track of. 
She smelled my breath just before she flipped out. Was it the alcohol? No, she's smelled alcohol on my breath before and never reacted to it. What do I smell like? I smell like I just fucked a Weavile, that's what I smell like! From the instant she smelled my breath, she knew my mouth had been all over another Pokemon's pussy. She knew exactly what I did. 
Now that's just plain sad. It's only with my own Pokemon that I have any sense of deduction, and I'm clueless in any other matter.
What could possibly be going through her head now? Is she afraid of me now? Does she think that I might try to molest her or something? Will she ever let me touch her again? Or is she thinking something else entirely? Could she possibly be... jealous? Jealous that I had such filthy sex with a Weavile and not her? That's just stupid and you know it. She's probably just in shock.
But still, will she ever let me touch her again?

Brendan stared into his Furret's eyes from across the living room. She stared back. Except for Furret's tail slapping against the television, the scene was as still as a photograph.
Brendan sighed and let his head drop down until his chin rested on his chest. The scene stilled again. After so long, a single tear fell from both of Brendan's eyes, but he didn't make a sound or a move except for breathing.

I got that Furret for Christmas when I was only ten, and still living in Seattle. From the day we met we slept together every night. She could never stand to be without me for more than a day. But what have I done to her now? Another casualty taken by my new job.
I can't think of this right now; I'm too damn tired, and I wouldn't be able to take it. I have to think about something else, at least until I get a day off.

Brendan stood up, sliding his back up against the wall, and walked with his head down toward his bedroom. 
Brendan shoved his hands in his pockets and forced his pants down around his ankles. He stepped out of them while struggling to pull both his jacket and shirt over and off of him simultaneously. He threw them to the floor outside his room and looked around in only his socks and underwear.
A thirty six inch LCD TV was bolted to the wall opposite his bed, head and footboard free, with its double-thick latex foam mattress, five memory foam pillows all in different shapes, and three black and red checkerboard blankets, all of which twirled into a spaghetti like pile. A plain black bookshelf reaching all the way to the ceiling held hundreds of textbooks from high school and his previous university, and about half of them from Phibes. The corner of the room had an oversized, jet black credenza desk piled with notebooks and rolls of blueprint paper, and the flat screen monitor of a hidden computer
Brendan shoved the door closed with his foot and walked over to sit down in his desk chair. He pulled out a keyboard and mouse tray on a swivel beneath the desk. He clicked a button and the screen turned on.

I need to find something to distract myself from what I've just done to my future with Furret. I can't tell for sure if I'm lucky or unfortunate to have the perfect thing to distract me with.
I went online to the usual reference sources, Wikipedia, Yahoo Answers, HighBeam, I looked for anything I could possibly find about Coral and PL Studios. I found a trove.
Coral DuHart, born and raised in the Kanto province of... whatever that country was. God dammit! Even the references don't tell the actual name of the country, they just assume it's so famous that absent minded schmoes would just know what the hell they're talking about! Anywho, Coral DuHart, born and raised in Kanto province, became a Pokemon Trainer at the standard age of ten. She had twenty badges from all around Kanto, Jhoto, and Hoenn, and had won the Kanto league championship, earning her the right to face Kanto's Elite Four in order to earn the title of Pokemon Master.
Three days before she was to fight the elite four, Coral was caught having sex with her Pokemon. In... Kanto's parent country, that meant all the usual things, confiscation of a trainer's license and Pokemon, being banned from ever owning or working with Pokemon, along with one year of jail time and registration as a sex offender. Although none of it could be enacted until after a two month period of court hearings.
Coral reacted to it all very strangely. Most Pokephiles go into terminal denial mode when they get caught in a country like that. But Coral not only fessed up to everything, but championed Pokephilia, ranting and raving its endorsement to anyone who'd listen until only two days before the final court hearing would take everything from her. On that day she spent everything she had to get her and her Pokemon smuggled out of her country and into Skandia.
Skandia, being the refugee welcome wagon it is, immediately offered her asylum and citizenship, but little else. For two years Coral and her Pokemon were homeless, living off food banks and social welfare programs, until a small time producer offered her and her Pokemon a job staring in Pokemon porn scenes.
She accepted the gig out of desperation, and her scenes sold record numbers due to the Pokemon that starred in it. An Infernape, a Gabite, a Xatu, all were species that had never before been seen in Pokemon porn. After a year, she had her own studio, and after ten years, she had her own empire.
But right now I'm more interested in that Weavile, and that won't be so easy to find.

At that time, Brendan's Furret still stood on top of the television in the living room, still slapping her tail against the back, still staring at where Brendan was with the same expression.
A thousand thoughts an images of sex flipped through her mind like riffling pages of a book, images of her master and a female Weavile. None lasted longer than a fraction of a second before being replaced. The briefest sniff of his breath and she knew he had his mouth on her mouth, and on her pussy. 
Brendan's Furret started breathing deeper, and slowly getting over the initial shock of her discovery. Her body leaned over and she fell forward off the television. She curled her body, somersaulting twice as she hit the floor, and then unwound, belly up, on the bamboo floor.
"Furrret..." she sighed.
Now comprehending what she knew factually, feelings and thoughts flooded her mind, but none were what Brendan had guessed. It was neither fear nor jealousy.
Brendan's Furret rolled over and trotted forward, between the couch and coffee table, around the end-table and the wall corner it was pressed against, into the hallway and toward the pile of Brendan's clothes. She jumped into the clothes and threw them about the floor with her paws and muzzle, so they no longer laid on top of each other. She then sniffed each one thoroughly, looking desperately for the same smell she found on her master's breath.
She found that smell on the crotch of his pants. Not only was it the smell of Weavile's pussy, but also the smell of school glue with the tiniest hint of bleach, the smell of a human male's cum. Brendan had gone all the way with that Weavile, and from just how strong a smell she left behind on him, Brendan's Furret knew she loved it.
"Fur!" she squeaked.
Brendan's Furret tensed at the new discovery. Even her tail stood straight out and motionless. The fur on her neck and back stood on end and her ears stood straight up. Her heartrate leaped and her breath fluttered. A few seconds later and they both calmed The Furret Shoved her muzzle into the crotch of Brendan's pants again and inhaled. The scent made her mouth water and animated her brain with movies of all the different things Brendan and this Weavile could possibly have done together. She made up her mind the second time that day. She had to see those videos.
In the meantime, she had only her imagination to satiate her. She flopped down on her side and squeezed her eyes and jaws shut, focusing all her attention on the tingle between her legs. She then curled herself into a ring, with both her mouth and her own sex right above the crotch of Brendan's pants.
Brendan's Furret reached her tiny arms into her crotch and ran her fingers through its tuft of fur until they rubbed against the lips of her pussy. She grasped the fur around her cunt and dragged it back and fourth in opposite directions, rubbing her pussy lips against each other, encouraging blood to flow into and swell them, and her fluids to flow out.
The scent of Brendan and the Weavile's mutual cum still wafting into her nose, Brendan's Furret shoved her face into her crotch and pulled apart the tuft of fur revealing her pussy to her face. A simply shaped organ, it was just a slit and hole with a tiny clit below a urethra, none of the folds, flaps, or hoods that complicated a human female's sex.
The Furret dragged her highlighter pink tongue hard over own pussy, licking up almost all the fluids it leaked, but careful to let just a few specks add to the cocktail on Brendan's pants.
She murred and grred each time she licked her own cunt, dragging her tongue harder and faster over the insides of her pussy lips each time until she finally couldn't lick herself more intensely without craning her neck. She worked her other end as well, shoving her back end hard into her face every time pink tongue touched pink flesh.
Furret had practiced and mastered these actions for years. But never had she done, nor considered doing them on top of her master's clothes. But what she knew, and the fantasies it inspired, drove her crazy for release, and the stronger the smell of her masters fornication with another Pokemon, the greater her release would be.
Brendan, in his room, stared into his computer screen, ignorant of what happened at that very moment.

After another five or so minutes of searching I found a few sources on that Weavile of theirs. It was insane! There's no way what I read could possibly be true. But four different publications all said the same thing, along with the Skandian Unitary Court Database, and there was no way they could all be wrong.
Still, I found it hard to believe. All these sources told the exact same story as Coral and Otis. A traveling Pokemon circus collecting Pokemon oddities-which I guess an albino Weavile would be considered one of-tried to pass through Skandia undetected, but they got caught. The inspectors found that every one of the Pokemon belonging them was physically abused in some way. The owners were jailed, and the Pokemon seized and held while they looked for places that could rehabilitate them. PL Studios volunteered to take on almost half the load, and those Pokemon were given to them no questions asked.
Only a couple short years later, The Pokemon oddities, former circus freaks, were all adopted out to Skandian residences, all but two.
Every word they said was true! They didn't harm that Weavile; they saved her. Pokemon rescue and rehab performed by a Pokemon porn studio? It was absurd, it was idiotic, it was nonsensical... and it was true.

In the meantime, Brendan's Furret still worked hard on her cunt. She gave up licking some minutes ago and now sucked hard on her pussy, holding it stretched open with her paws while shoving her tongue as far as it will go down the insides of her vagina, twirling it around and around, rubbing her tiny clit on every completed twist. She squeaked under her breath every time she brushed passed her clit or managed to shove her tongue far enough into her vagina to brush up against the sensitive mound just beneath the flesh of her inner cunt.
Furret's tail slapped quickly against the bamboo flooring, sounding like snaps of a belt. Her body wriggled and her rear paws tried to run involuntarily, even though they moved only through air.
Her pussy now leaked fluids around the insides of her lips, and into her own mouth, wetting the fur around her cunt. She swallowed her own lubrication as soon as she lapped it up, not even bothering to savor it.
The tingling in the deepest parts of Furret's sex grew stronger, prompting her to suck her own pussy harder, and lap at the inside of her twat as fast as she could. A wave of warmth built up on the sides of her belly while a cold flowed into the middle. Her tail slapped slower, but harder, against the floor in response. She began to growl at the sensations, which steadily became stronger. Finally the warmth and tickling feeling started to take over her tiny clit and urethra.
Just before Furret's pussy became hypersensitive, she flipped over and uncurled herself, pressing her sex down against the crotch of Brendan's pants. She rubbed her hips, and thus her pussy, in circles against Brendan's pants, the friction given only to the lips of her cunt, the only part that could still take it, intensifying her orgasm. She clamped her mouth and eyes shut to avoid making too much noise and alerting her master. Still, she squeed through her nostrils at the sexual release.
As soon as it was over, Brendan's Furret fell over on her side and panted to recover from her ordeal. The fire in her pussy was gone now, but the alternating warmth and cold in her belly remained, and continued to pleasure.
A minute later and Brendan's Furret stood up and shook herself off. She ran three circles around Brendan's pants before stopping to inspect them. She spilled only a small amount of fluid onto Brendan's pants, making a tiny stain, but it was enough. She brought her head forward, closed her eyes, and inhaled. The scent of her orgasm now thoroughly mixed with that of her master's and the mysterious Weavile's. It sent her into an uncontrollable shiver. The desire grew ever stronger from the scent. It now wasn't enough that she had to see the videos he was in, she had to see her master in action, fucking another Pokemon in person.

Brendan, in his room, reached behind his monitor and pressed a button that instantly switched his computer into hibernation mode, turning off every component except for a tiny blinking light on the hidden chassis.
Brendan leaned back in his chair, raising his arms and arching his chest forward to crack his sternum. He yawned and then collapsed back into a lazy position. He ran his fingers through his hair several times and then breathed deeply, snorting on the exhale. He continued to stair at the blank monitor.

It's only six o'clock and already I need to go to sleep. Too much for my brain to absorb in one night, or at least too much history and sociology and surprises and confusion and... shit that went against common American sense.
God how I miss the days where the hardest I've ever had to think was in trying to come up with formulas to predict the path of electricity through a thousand types of broken circuits, or of lasers through sloshing water. Give me shit like that all day and I'll whip through it in a semi-conscious, blissfully ignorant state. But this was too much.

Brendan stood up from his chair and walked toward his bedroom door. He twisted the knob and pushed it open with his foot.
"Bedtime!" Brendan said halfway between a shout and a mumble.
Brendan walked over to his bed and fell over on top of it. He squirmed, pushing and pulling the swirled mess of blankets and pillows until he had something that passingly resembled a sleeping surface. He rolled onto his side, pulled the blankets over him, and laid his head against a crooked pillow. He kept his eyes open, staring at the wall.

I don't know why I called out to Furret, or even opened the door. After what she just found out about me, I don't know if she'll ever even come into my room again.

No sooner did Brendan finish his thought than the giant furry sock jumped up onto the foot of his bed and trotted up the blanked and stuck her face in his.
"Furr!" she squealed.
With that, Brendan's Furret began slapping her tail against the bed and licking his face as fast as she could before her master could react, for she knew how he would react.
Brendan batted his hands around in front of him as if trying to swat a fly, swings which his Furret expertly dodged. 
"Get off me!" Brendan yelled.
Brendan's Furret obeyed. She stopped licking him and shoved her head against Brendan's neck, curling her body and wriggling under the blankets so her tail could drape over his chest. Brendan extended one arm out and wrapped it around his Furret's shoulder, resting his hand on her hip.
"Furr..." she sighed.

What the fuck was that about? Of all the things that happened today, I understood this one the least. After finding out what I did, I was sure I'd scared my Furret to death, or at least pissed her off beyond comprehension. And now she jumps into bed with me and licks my face the same way she did when I first got her! In the way she hasn't done to me for the past six years. How could she forgive me so easily and eagerly after I upset her so bad?
Suddenly the day didn't seem quite as bad as it once was. It turned out that Coral and Otis's unbelievable stories about having rescued their Pokemon from abuse, rather than abusing them, were actually true. I had a forty thousand scribe check sitting on the floor in the entryway to my apartment. And Furret still loved me even after knowing what I did at PL Studios earlier today. For a moment I almost found myself believing Coral's promise that I can still be a famous and honored engineer.
But I still know the reality of my situation. I've dug myself into a shithole, and now there's no way out.

Brendan closed his eyes.
He was clueless as to what exactly his Furret spread all over his face moments ago.

It was next morning at around nine thirty. I took the bus to the same stop in front of that country club, took a yellow bike to the front gate of PL studios. The same woman let me inside as yesterday. For some reason I felt comfortable walking into the place in my digital camo cargo shorts and Hard Rock tee shirt. Now I walked down the same path to the main building, looking from side to side at all the occupants, this time knowing exactly what each of them were there for. Most of them gave me only a passing glance as I walked by. But I couldn't help but look at each of them a bit longer than they looked at me. How many of them would I be asked to fuck over the next eight years here? And for each one, my dignity-or at least what the world at large would see as my dignity-would sink that much lower. Normally, I'd just say 'shove it up your ass' to whoever made that point, but this was my future we were talking about!
Could Coral really keep her promise? Was such a thing even possible?

Brendan walked down the same cobblestone path to the Victorian mansion as he did yesterday. He looked around at the same places and saw many of the same Pokemon, though their presence now had entirely different meanings
The Grovyle now lay on its back on the ledge of a brick fountain. A towel draped over its eyes and its right arm and leg dipped into the water. The Kadabra sat in a lounge chair beneath a white gazebo reading a different book than yesterday's. It turned the pages with its mind, waving its empty hand, once every five to eight seconds. The Flygon was nowhere to be found, but in its place sat a Charmeleon staring into the sky, sitting on an arranged pile of boulders serving a small waterfall into a pond.
Brendan walked up to the split staircase surrounding its fountain, up to the balcony to the entrance to the mansion. One of the doors was opened halfway and two men talked next the closed door. Two more walked out of the open door carrying sound poles wrapped in plastic sheeting.
Brendan walked inside. People now filled the foyer walking back and forth carrying video and stereo equipment, boxes full of costumes, and drapes of a dozen colors. Though there were actually few people when considering the size of the foyer, it seemed like many compared to yesterday's emptiness.
A scruffy man in a black suit walked by, carrying a tray of martinis. Brendan reached for one, but the man swung the tray away from him.
"Sorry new guy," he said, "You don't get anything stronger than beer."

Why would he say that? I honestly couldn't come up with a reason for someone targeting me specifically for their alcohol prohibition.

"Mr. Hopkins," a voice called out.
Brendan looked from side to side, seeing only the people passing through the foyer and the hallways.
"Up here!"
Brendan looked up, seeing only the ceiling, and then a bit more down, until finally seeing Coral on the rounded balcony between the tops of the split staircase. She looked much different than the day before. She wore her hair in a ponytail out the back of a red baseball cap embroidered with the logo of the Pokemon league, and otherwise dressed in jeans and an olive drab army field jacket with the sleeves cut off.
"Get up here," she said, waving at Brendan again.
Brendan shoved his hands in his pockets and squeezed his eyes shut.

What'll she have me do this time?

Brendan walked toward the split staircase with his eyes still closed. He opened them after hitting his sneaker against a step. He looked up to the balcony at an impatient Coral DuHart staring at him with her arms crossed and brow raised. Brendan walked up the stairs as slow as he could think to do without making himself look suspicious. He looked down at the stairs as he did so.
Brendan looked up as he reached the next floor. He saw the second floor then for the first time beyond just the carpet. It seemed to be set up like a living room. An open, circular stone fireplace-unlit-was placed just outside the balcony, with an iron chimney rising up to the ceiling above it. craftsman style furniture and potted plants lined the balcony and the room roughly along its shape. The walls were like those of the floor below, paneled to look like wood and marble with gold molding and trimming.
"I wanted you to shoot your first scene in a schoolboy uniform, but I actually like what you're wearing better,"
Brendan jumped and turned his head toward his left. Coral stood beside him.
"At least the shirt anyway," Coral continued, "But you'll still be wearing the schoolboy pants and shoes."

Why the hell does that always happen to me?

"By the way," Coral said. "you left your glasses here last time."
Coral reached into a front jacket pocket, removed the familiar folded glasses and handed them to Brendan. Brendan played with the glasses in his hands as he listened to coral talk.
"You'll be wearing prop glasses however, and you're hair will have to be perfectly permed. The Hard Rock shirt has to add to the cute factor, you know what I mean."
Brendan put on his glasses and looked up at Coral.
"I'm sorry what were you saying?" Brendan asked.
Coral sneered on one side of her mouth.
"Never mind, just follow me," she said.
Coral began walking and Brendan followed blindly, as once again he looked down at the floor. Coral continued talking as she walked.
"I know you have many questions about our show 'The Estate' and your role in it, which knowing you, you've probably forgotten about by now. So I'm going to be sure to answer everything I can think of from here until we reach the makeup rooms."
Brendan and Coral left the larger halls and walked through a series of hallways. Coral continued.
"The Estate is based very loosely on people I know from real life. I play a character named Fuchsia in it, a widow and heiress of a mega-billionaire. My character's devoted her life to doing two things with her fortune, giving to charity, and spoiling her countless Pokemon."
As they walked, the carpets changed colors and became less ornate. Coral continued.
"You're going to play Fuchsia's newest employee, an ex-pokemon lab assistant boy named Jimmy who took up Fuchsia's job offer as a Pokemon groomer since it pays three times more than the lab job. Although he's a groomer in name only, as his real job will be giving Fuchsia's Pokemon anything they want, which includes copious amounts of sex. Although by the time you realize this it'll be too late."

Why does that remind me of someone I know?

"The ad you read in yesterday's paper has actually been there for the past eight years," Coral continued. "We've been looking for the perfect subject to play Jimmy for that long. No doubt I have at least a quarter of a million fans giddy in anticipation now that the ad's not there anymore."
"I know this is off the subject, but what exactly can you do to make sure I actually have some sort of future in Engineering?" Brendan interrupted.
"I can ensure your anonymity," Coral answered.
"I doubt that," Brendan mumbled.
Coral chuckled. "They all do at first."

Coral continued her rant about The Estate, and after so long it all turned into white noise as I started thinking about so many other things.
What was it that could've possibly made Furret forgive me so quickly? Just from the look on her face I knew she was convinced I was going rape her at any moment. How could she possibly trust me again so soon? I know that if I were stoned I'd probably just say that the shock of the experience made her so horny that she suddenly wanted me in such nasty ways. But I know how stupid that sounds.
I then began wondering about Coral herself. If I remember correctly, she was nearing the status of Pokemon Master before they caught her fucking her Pokemon. Why didn't she try for it once she got settled in here? I mean, Skandia has its own Pokemon League center with its own Elite Four. And just what Pokemon was she caught with anyway?

"Were you listening to a word I said?" Coral asked.
Brendan shook his head and looked up at Coral.
"Otis plays the villain?" Brendan said.
"What kind of villain?" Corals asked.
Brendan stared at Coral for a few seconds and blinked his eyes.
"A priest Brendan!" Coral said irritated. "He plays a priest named Garth whose bent on destroying Fuchsia's estate, despite the fact that his character's a closet Pokephile himself."
"Coral?" Brendan asked. "Why didn't you ever try to endorse Pokephilia in your home country again? I mean, even if you couldn't actually go back there."
"I see you read up on me," Coral answered. "For a nation that claims to have blanketly illegalized Pokephilia and Pokephiliac materials, their people are the biggest consumers of my movies. That pisses off the politicians to the point of heart attacks in some of them, especially since their customs agencies won't even follow their own rules as they make so much money off of me. It delights me to no end. Any more questions?"
"Yeah," Brendan said, "Why didn't you ever try for your Master's badge here in Skandia? I mean, this country's got its own Elite Four, after all."
"Well, after I became famous, I got hold of the press and gave a few choice words to the Pokemon League... many choice words actually. After what I said about them, they swore never to let me compete again. And yes they can do that since they're a private organization. By the way, we're at the makeup rooms."

We are?

Brendan looked around. He stood in the same hallway in front of the same door as yesterday, leading to the warehouse with so many sets. Coral walked ahead and pushed open the door.
"Wait, I thought the sets were here," Brendan said.
"So are the makeup rooms," Coral answered.

The makeup room I now sat in was the inside of a trailer that had somehow been parked in the warehouse full of sets. I've been sitting in this chair for twenty minutes as these two short haired, freckled girls stuffed wax and powder into my hair to simulate a perfect bobcut parted down the middle, and sprayed makeup on my face with an airbrush. Then they told me to stand up, pulled off my shorts and shoes and fit me with these cream polyester slacks and caramel plastic dress shoes. And those glasses they gave me, at first I thought they were oversized. Nobody wears glasses with frames that big and completely round. But then again, they did want to make me look as awkward as possible.
Then my partner showed up...

Brendan sat in a barber's chair in front of a mirror with bright lights shining on him. He looked down at the counter in front of him. Bottles of different colored makeup and airbrushes with nozzles of all shaped and sized cluttered it. There were scissors, clippers, combs and brushes. There was a pile of wigs and next to it, a pile of fake facial hair all in individual ziptop bags.
Brendan looked up, the makeup room was relatively small, and there were only four more chairs, two on either side of him, and their counters were all similarly crowded.
Brendan looked to one side.

Where did those two girls go?

Brendan jumped and spun his chair around to his other side. Huge yellow eyes stared back into his own. Brendan flailed his arms around trying to struggle against imaginary restraints, and almost falling out of the chair.
The act brought out nasal laughs from the creature staring at him. Only then did Brendan get a good look at it. Cream colored antennae fell down the sides of an almost amphibian lime-green face. The long neck connected to the body through a giant red bloom.

A Meganium?! I've never seen one up close before. I always thought that its skin would a bit more crackly, like leather. But this one's skin seemed as smooth as polished chrome.
Where the hell did it come from anyway?

The Meganium smiled, narrowed its eyes, and pushed its muzzle briefly against Brendan's hand. Brendan brought his hand up and held it against the Meganium's cheek. The Meganium closed her eyes in response.

It's skin also felt so different from what I thought it would. I imagined suede or the rough skin of those huge tropical leaves. But this one felt so much different. It was like shoe leather that was so polished and buffed that I couldn't even grip it, my hand would slip off if the creature moved.
That's when I noticed it, the smell of honey and mint. That's what Meganium supposedly smelled like, and it seemed like a kind of tranquilizer. My thoughts were clear, but my muscles went slightly limp from the smell. They couldn't respond with violent force even if I wanted them to. It was similar to being on Benedryl.
That still didn't tell me where the Meganium came from. Then again, I've never been difficult to sneak up on.

"Mey," the Meganium murmured.
A clatter caused Brendan to jump again and spin to the other side.
A freckled, teenage redhead girl in Jeans and a jean shirt dropped a small plastic crate to the floor. Four, three liter jugs of buttermilk filled the crate.

Buttermilk? What the hell was with that?

"What's the buttermilk for?" Brendan asked.
"It's for your scene with Meganium coming up in a few minutes," The girl answered.
Brendan turned back toward the Meganium, staring at her with his brow furrowed and his mouth slightly open. Meganium narrowed her eyes and grinned at him.

They want me to fuck a Meganium? Out of all the Pokemon they could've chosen, they want me to fuck a Meganium! At the very least I thought PL Studios would limit their movies to Pokemon with at least a semblance of a humanoid shape. There went the last vestige of hope I had left for my next eight years.
Even so, maybe it was just the scent, but I didn't feel so apprehensive about this as I thought I would. It seems it's a lot easier to get used to having sex with Pokemon than I first thought. Again, maybe it was just the scent, but as I stared at this Meganium, I was already imagining what her pussy would taste like, and what it would feel like.

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