FSE

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Inara, the Quilava, wasn't a bad pokemon. By all rights, he was actually pretty strong - all things considered. He had just had some terrible matchups lately, something in which he had no choice in. Who put a fire type against a water type, or a rock type?

All that aside, ultimately the blame of his failures fell onto his shoulder. He had just lost his last match to a Toxapex who had isolated quite the weak point, that bulging elongated and hideously sensitive clit. It took a little effort, but one of the Toxapex's spikes drove right into the side of that exposed clit and came out the other end.

To say that it was agonizing would be an understatement. The match immediately ended with that move, and of course, Inara collapsed onto the battlefield in tears and screams.

The worst part was the toxic poison that swelled and inflamed that already massive clit.

The owner, however, was not showing any signs of sympathy. They marched right on over with a leather leash and strapped it to either side of the quill protruding from either side of the clit. It was the perfect 'collar' as any attempt to escape or earn freedom would be thought about twice.

It took effort, time, and a little care to leash the spike and subsequently the clit itself, but Inara was still overwhelmed with pain, the growth of the inflamed clit throbbed and made his very thoughts white flame.

The owner took enjoyment and glee in truly showing Inara that failure was not an option.

While Inara curled up into a ball, his furry arms wrapped around his stomach, the owner set to the task of properly outfitting the pokemon into an outfit better suited for the new lifestyle planned for him. Inara couldn't offer any resistance, the horrible roaring pain of having his clit pierced was far too much, but that poison was also coursing through his body like a mass murderer, touching against nerve endings and just utterly ruining and destroying them. The poison, the pain, all of it --- was just too much.

The owner took the sharp edges of the spine that pierced the clit and broke them off, making the endings rough and coarse so that the clit 'bar' would never come out on its own. The spike would never come out of its own volition though as the tender sensitive twitching convulsing clit swelled three sizes under the duress and antagonizing of the poison.

With those severed sharp edges, the owner began to toy with poor Inara, spreading his body enough to drive those serrated and wicked knives through the belly and abdomen of Inara, poking holes which the owner could then thread leather cord through.

By the time the displeased and disgruntled owner was finished, Inara had leather crisscrossing throughout the main meat of his body and it was pulled tight and snug like a corset made of flesh.

The poison inflamed all the nerve endings throughout the body now and Inara was left in a perpetual state of just withering, wilting horror. The pain never went away, it just steadily increased and it seemed that it would never end. There was no getting used to this pain that evolved repeatedly, and increasingly. There was no homeostasis here. No acclimation was possible.

The worst part of it all was that the poison inflamed the nerve endings themselves, allowing them to appreciate the true tortures that his body was enduring. No shock would ever come, no dulling, just a sea of sensations. Utterly unbearable sensations.

Inara could barely stand, but he did, he had to... His owner took the leash that reigned and reined the clit and began to tug, tug and tug. Inara didn't move, unable, unwilling to. But Inara found himself being dragged on the ground by his clit and he immediately found the willpower to stand even under such unusual and unorthodox circumstances.

The throbbing of the clit reached through the very core and essence of his body and thundered directly into his brain. It was a blessing and a relief that when he stood, the dragging ceased. But it only ceased momentarily, enough to slip leather gloves up to his elbow, pry his arms behind him, and lock them in place behind him.

Next the leather hood. Now, no matter what, no flame would even liberate him. He was well and truly enslaved. His effort would be for nothing.

"Inara the Quilava for sale. Not good in a fight, but he sure makes a good little pain slave."

He couldn't see anything, but judging by the airy breeze, and the sun on his furry flesh, he was outside of the gym... outside. Where everybody else was. Where everybody could see. He couldn't hear them, his lovely voice awkwardly and constantly crawling from his throat with every tug of the leash.

He was being marched right on down the streets. His clit is full and on display.

And when he didn't whimper, scream, or cry enough? The guiding jerks of that leash became much more adamant and concrete.

The poison did not leave him though. It would stay with him until he went to the pokecenter. He had serious doubt that was where they were going.

The clit was throbbing, each throb was in tandem with his racing, pulsating, jack-hammering heart. It was brutal and terrible. But that tugging, it was rubbing the tunnel of his clit raw, the bristled spike grinding and sawing away at flesh... It would sever the clit like an open mouth had it not been for the constantly renewed inflammation that the damage caused.

In a brief insane thought, he was warming up to the idea of just pulling himself free ... his clit would be ruined, but anything was better than this.

And after ten minutes of the march downtown, the laughs, the gasps of shock, the cheers and jeers, he realized that splitting his clit was the only solution. Truly a testimony of how desperate and horrible the pain had truly become.

Inara pivoted and tried to dash away. The leash caught him, the spike strayed, and his clit just stretched and stretched...

Until he collapsed on the ground whimpering. Tears no longer fell from his leather-hooded blind eyes, he'd cried them all out. He was unsuccessful.

The wonderful wrapping of blissful passing out wrapped him like a loving blanket - Only to feel the leash being tugged again, his ruined enslaved body dragging down the dusty road. The embrace of unconsciousness escaped him.

"Stand up... Unless you want to be dragged to the next town?"

What else could he do?

He stood up.