FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Note: Pokemorph referenced as pokemon. Simply anthro, capable of speech pokemon that can battle and have same stats/abilities/etc. as cannon to the mainline series games.

Michael diligently stirred his creation atop the stove, concentrating. He found himself in a state of trance, almost. Though he was concentrating on what he was doing, his mind drifted off to the events of the day. This day was filled with more frustration than most, trying his damnedest to earn some respect from his partner.

He had to keep a small, silver collar on his Pokémon when he wasn't in battle already. A moody, unusually pink sneasel, named Dixon. This sneasel, though being that once-in-a-lifetime color palette, wasn't particularly thrilled by the coloration. Called all sorts of names by the tribe of sneasel he was briefly in, and having no luck with romantic partners because of it, it was a curse he could not escape from. Never breeding like any virile Pokémon would love to, he was naturally frustrated a lot.

For a while, it wasn't his trainer that he despised. In fact, one of the reasons he started off relatively friendly with his trainer was the lack of the mocking, deriding comments and a genuine sense of kindness. But after a while, he reverted back into the behavior of a normal sneasel. Namely, a lack of respect for his battle-inexperienced trainer.

Michael had never had the desire to travel around, battling autistic bug catchers or stuck up models. The thought just bored and frustrated him, and drained his energy away. But after meeting the sneasel that had been rejected from his tribe, and made fun of simply for who he was, he identified with him strongly and caught him. He thought, that he would treat the Pokémon as a normal one, and give him as normal a life as he could. And for a while, it seemed to stay that way. Dixon being happy to have some direction in his life, and the same for Michael. But after losing battle after battle to anyone that came along that was remotely competent, Dixon started to disobey his trainer. Using the wrong moves on purpose, not giving his attacks his all, and even getting aggressive towards Michael.

The pink sneasel entered the kitchen with a very quick cadence. Suppressed by the collar he wore, but still quick, and got in Michael's face.

"Hurry up already, I'm fucking hungry." he demanded. Michael simply sighed, and managed to suppress his frustration.

"It'll be done when it's done. Just go wait somewhere else or it will take me longer."

"Whatever, you're just lazy as fuck. Not fooling me, dickhead." he chided, leaving him alone. This was the fifth time he'd bothered his trainer during the food preparation.

After dealing with this frustration he'd felt for so long, Michael had sought out help from the professor of the region. However, being a very busy man, he'd only kept up with Michael through text-messages. But, through the quiet times, the professor had given him good advice and the collar that the sneasel wore. Michael recalled the time he'd received it.

"A suppression collar, I call it." the professor explained. "I developed this for extremely aggressive Pokémon, so they could live domestically with their trainers without having the ability to rip him apart like in the wild."

Though it had evened the playing field, it still wasn't enough to stop the aggression completely. Leading him to research dark-types and sneasel specifically, he ran across some information that revealed a lot. He learned that they respond to dominance, through physical competitions, especially the females responding to male dominion. He had challenged his sneasel to wrestling from time to time, but it didn't seem to do anything. It was like just another battle, since nothing was really on the line. There was no sincerity behind the actions that often turned fierce, since it was all just a pale imitation of primal struggle. So he had another plan.

From the same researcher, he acquired a new type of stone. This stone was translucent, and though it had no patterns or symbols on it, it was a light blue hue that ran into a pink one. Initially reluctant to do such a thing and change a fundamental part of his Pokémon identity, he kept it at his side as a hail mary. This stone was wrapped in a small cloth, tucked away in his front pocket. He had to keep it on him at all times, as Dixon had no respect for his personal belongings and stole things routinely.

Finally satisfied from the quality of the food, he portioned out two servings and brought them to his dining room table, where the pink sneasel waited, one clawed hand holding his chin and the other tapping extended claws onto the tablecloth. Michael could already see signs of the claws making small nicks in the tablecloth, adding to the frustration he was feeling.

"Finally, god, were you sucking cock in there too?" Dixon sighed. Michael bottled his feelings, and brought his portion to him. He then put his own to the seat right next to him, uncharacteristically; He usually sat across from the table from him, but not this time. Dixon was slightly intrigued by the change, but not enough to avoid snatching the silverware that was laid out at each spot.

"Oh man, now I have to smell pussy while I eat."

Michael ignored his comment again, remaining stone faced, As they both ate in silence.

After a good time had passed, and they both finished, Dixon started to push his chair back to leave.

"Hold on. We're going to settle this." Michael said finally, breaking his silence. He had hoped to keep it reasonable, but a bit too much of frustration had started to leak out into his voice. Dixon turned somewhat quickly, with a challenging look in his eyes.

"Finally, the turbo-fag has a bit of fight in him. Well come on then, what about it big guy?" he challenged.

"I think you know as well as I do that I deserve more respect. I've been patient, but enough is enough."

Dixon smirked.

"Oh, well excuse me, Mr. I-can't-win-a-battle. What could you have possibly learned through losing every encounter that I haven't?"

Michael sighed, frustration growing.

"Now I understand that I wasn't as experienced as I should have been in the beginning, but that's not an excuse to disobey me. Nobody is going to learn anything as long as you do whatever the fuck you please when I tell you to use a certain move." Michael started to raise his voice.

Dixon laughed sarcastically. "Oh yea, because I forgot that you're actually a retarded savant and just have to 'trust the plan' or some shit." he mocked. "Nah, you're just a weak bitch." Clearly, nothing was getting through to him. Michael stood up, puffed his chest slightly and put his finger in the Pokémon face.

"I would think that you'd understand what it's like to be disrespected you fucking punk. Don't forget what life was like before-" he started, before receiving a claw to the face. Dixon had lost control of his anger, and struck his trainer. Though it wasn't a devastating, full power slash, it was quite painful. Michael held his cheek , and pulled away to confirm what the sudden coppery smell was, and that the substance was staining his fingers.

"Motherfucker! You know not to bring that shit up around me! I swear if you ever-" the sneasel began, before suddenly finding the wind knocked out of him. Doubling over in pain, he was utterly shocked. Just as Dixon had never laid a claw on his trainer, Michael had never raised a fist to his Pokémon. This all changed in a single confrontation, clearly. But more importantly, all boundaries were now meaningless. Michael grabbed him by the neck and slammed him into the wall before he had a chance to recover. Gasping for air, he Dixon used the small amount of breath he had left to blow an icy wind into Michael's face. This was enough of a shock to make him lose grasp of the sneasel's pink neck. They both took a second to recover, before Dixon swiftly and with a yell tackled his trainer and slashed him three times across the chest faster than Michael could process.

Pushing through the searing pain, Michael summoned an adrenaline-filled grasp at one of the nearby chairlegs, and bashed his Pokémon on the top of his head, breaking the chair, more out of raw fury than an exceptional ability in strength. Stunned, it gave Michael time to shove Dixon into the floor and begin pounding his fist into the Pokémon chest. Losing count of the blows, losing any inhibitions and losing all civility, all he saw was red, and all he felt was rage. It was clear that he'd come out the victor. Stopping briefly to reach into his pocket, he held the stone before the Pokémon eyes. And make no mistake, these eyes were filled with fear. A true, genuine defeated look he'd never been able to detect before. He spit on Dixon's face, to bring the point home that he'd won.

"You're MY Pokémon. You listen to MY commands. This bullshit, it stops now. Understand?" the sneasel, bloody and bruised, couldn't say anything. He had never seen this side of his trainer. He bent down to put zero space between their faces. "That was a question, Bitch. That's right, you're my bitch. Understand?" The sneasel feebly nodded, too shocked to defy the fury-filled human before him. He grabbed his neck. "That's not good enough. I want you to say it." he demanded.

Wanting to find something to say, anything besides him admitting defeat, he stayed silent. He didn't want to admit defeat, but he was cornered. Michael tired of waiting.

"That's fine. You don't have to say it. Because, you're going to live it." he smirked, and let go of the sneasel's neck. He unwrapped the stone in his hand, and shoved it into the sneasel's chest. Instantly, the Pokémon was engulfed in a bright, white light. He was helpless to resist any changes that it might impart on him in this battered state.

The Feather-like spike on the top of his head shortened, and so did his stature by about 4 inches. Where as Michael was on top of him at his waist, He shrunk to a point where he was nearly on his chest. Dixon feebly resisted as more changes occurred, namely two masses growing out of his chest. Not particularly large, as this Pokémon would be overburdened by large breasts, but enough to be pronounced. And this wasn't all. Finally, the most devastating and humiliating change came when his privates changed from a male's to a female's. Gone were his gonads, replaced by a shallow gash. The blinding light had faded, and the transformation complete. His sneasel was now female.

She looked up at him terrified at what he'd done. And at the back of her mind, what he'd do next. Michael was clearly in animal mode, hell-bent on dominating his Pokémon. She looked away, defiantly, with the little strength responsible for keeping her conscious. Not only that, Michael noticed a blush forming on her face.

"Hopefully you understand how serious I am now," he paused, hesitating to use sneasel's name. "-Dahlia. Yeah, I like that name. Dahlia. Suits your new form." He said with a smirk. The Blush burned hotter on Dahlia's face. She refused to make eye contact. He grabbed her face with one hand, and put his knees on her shoulders, pinning them. He pulled her face to look directly into her eyes. "You're going to give me the respect I deserve from now on. Got it?" He demanded. Her defiance replaced by fear, she sputtered

"F-fine" in a much higher voice, the reality of her situation hitting her as her own voice betrayed her identity. Wanting to believe it was some sort of trick, or humiliation tactic, she didn't want to acknowledge her new sex. But she was forced to. Pulling her lips into a pucker, causing pain, he got closer.

"No, I want you to say it like you mean it." He demanded. She was in no position to argue. After a sharp gasp, she complied.

"I-I will, uh, be nicer, Michael." She started. He knew this had to stick harder than it currently was. As he pondered what to do, he felt a slight wetness in the seat of his pants, and turned to inspect it. Thinking he was just below her chest, which he was before, he at some point had been over her gushing snatch, dampening the clothes he wore slightly and the carpet underneath them. He grinned. Leaning backwards, he felt around with his hands until he felt her furry thigh, and snaked his way upwards until he found what he was looking for. Leaning back like this he freed her arms, but she put up no fight. Out of fear or lack of willpower, she was still. That is, until he pushed a digit into her newly formed, incredibly tight cunt. She writhed pathetically against the intrusion, letting out high-pitched moans and squeaks, to more of her humiliation, body continuing to betray her. She dare not yell or protest in the situation she was in, and she knew it. So all that she produced were pitiful sounds of a captured animal.

He pulled out the offending finger, and lowered it to her mouth. "Suck your own juices, you pathetic slut." he demanded. He pushed the finger into her mouth, which she sheepishly allowed, not wanting to find out the consequences of disobeying. Cool tongue running across his finger, and sucking it diligently, he enjoyed the display in front of him. She continued, not daring to ask when she would stop. Getting her answer, he quickly pulled his finger towards the front of her mouth, fish-hooking her and revealing her sharp teeth. Still holding her face like this, he demanded;

"Who am I?" In a daze, she responded after a confused delay.

"M-Michael, my trainer." he pulled his finger from her mouth, letting her cheek relax and mouth fully close. He sat back, not acknowledging her response. He moved in such a way that he had enough space to remove his belt and unbutton his pants. He pulled them off, tossing them into the corner of the room, and assumed a position with his cock in front of her mouth.

"Not quite, whore. You're going to take this, and so help me if you put any fucking teeth on my cock I'm knocking them out." He demanded, and plunged himself inside her mouth. Her head against the floor, eyes wide, and frightened, she was trapped as he pushed halfway inside her. She coughed and gagged, struggling to comply and began sucking him off. Tears rolled from her eyes as not only was she now a female, completely opposite to how she had lived before, she was now sucking her trainers cock. The sheer realization of this defeated within her the defiance that so clearly caused all this. This was her fault, and she knew it.

She slightly bobbed her head, and was terrifyingly careful to keep her teeth off of it. Though she was inexperienced, she definitely tried. He began to slowly push more and more into her mouth until his balls rested against her chin, making her gag uncontrollably. Cool saliva welling in her mouth and eyes watering, she felt the urge to puke. He pulled out and let her catch some air, as he stood up completely. She began to rise too, foolishly thinking they were done, before his hand on her shoulder told her otherwise. He pushed her to her knees.

"No. I'm not done with my slut." he barked. She looked to the floor with shame and disappointment. "Open your mouth and look at me." he demanded. She reluctantly complied, a slight jolt of fear as she faced her trainer, before it was replaced with shock, finding yet another facefull of cock. She gagged again, and seeing the look of panic and fear on her face only served to arouse him more. The cool, almost tingly sensation of her mouth was different than anything he'd experienced before, but it grew on him as he pumped slowly in and out of her mouth. She had started the humiliating act with her hands to the side or behind her, hanging limp, but she eventually rested her clawed digits on his thighs to brace herself. He smirked at the submissive sign, and began to move much faster, putting a hand on the back of her head ensuring no escape. Without warning or slowing down in the slightest, he pulled back enough to not force his hot seed down her throat. Her eyes widened as the salty load filled her mouth, clearly much more than she was expecting. He pulled out, and held a hand over her closed mouth.

"Do not fucking swallow it. You will wait." he demanded as he fished through his pants pockets, and pulled out his phone. "Open your mouth." he demanded. She closed her eyes in shame and did it, revealing all of his seed pooled on her tongue and spilling onto the carpet with a sob. He took a picture of it, and put his phone away. "Now, you will swallow what's left." he said coldly, which she did with little choice. It was a little easier than she thought it would be; the alien taste on her tongue wasn't as terrible as she'd anticipated. After a couple of hard swallows, she opened her eyes and looked up at her trainer, anticipating his next move. Bingo. That's what he wanted; that pause before moving, that anticipation and expectation from his partner. No matter how humiliated she might be.

"Now. Who am I?"

"Y-you're, m-my-" she closed her eyes and hung her head. "Master." She eeked out. He smiled, placing a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, meeting his eyes.

"That's all I wanted to hear. Now, clean up this mess and go to bed. Training starts tomorrow."

"Yes, Master."