The Tiger's Toy
A very brief story featuring the pokemon Zeraora. A trainer goes looking for Zeraora and bites off more than she can chew. The mythical pokemon doesn't mind too much, though, since he has a new playmate - and a new broodmother.
Zeraora's new mate was heavily gravid and swollen with kits, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
He leaned in close to the human, trailing one of his digits down her bare flesh, delivering small sparks to her and watching with amusement as she hissed in response. Scents played about her, gloomful and uncertain. Humans were so easy to read with their scents and the ways they carried themselves.
Zeraora didn't mind, though. After all, she had tried to take him away.
Like many Mythical pokemon, Zeraora had lived separate from the humans who thought they tamed the planet, hunting and fighting and testing his skills out in the wild. And he had told himself that he was happy like this, though he still remembered the long-gone days when human cities weren't eating the world and he had the whole landscape to play in.
The fires of industry had caged him, and what's more, sometimes cocky trainers tried to catch themselves a myth, forcing him deeper and deeper into the wilderness. And so his resentment had seethed until the day when she came along.
His new mate had been a tall, confident trainer with a team of powerful pokemon. She had pursued him further than any human had before, finally cornering him in a den and unleashing her team. She had smirked at him, telling him how fun it would be to show off a pet legend to the world.
It had been a long and fiercely fought battle, but Zeraora had triumphed. Scattering her teammates and shattering their poke balls, he had advanced on the cocky trainer. Her face and her fearful scent betrayed that she thought he would claim her life.
In fact, he had claimed something else that day.
It had been effortless to pin her wrist to the cavern floor, angling his cock and sinking into her. The sharp squeal of her voice as his feline barbs bit against her inner walls was like heaven, and he had brought his muzzle close to her face, purring with pleasure as he'd rutted her again and again and again. Her face and her scents had burned with shock and shame--shock that she was getting fucked by the pokemon she had sought to claim, shame that she had been reduced to this, nothing more than a tiger's toy.
He'd kept her all through the night, fucking her and claiming her, filling her with his cock and his seed and easily overcoming any token opposition through use of his feral strength.
In the morning he'd left to go hunt, but not before making sparks fly, leaving her paralyzed on the floor of his den. When he'd returned she'd still been incapacitated, and he'd traced one claw along her thighs and her sides, running his hands through her hair before bringing her close and sinking into her again.
Even paralyzed, her pussy had still involuntarily clenched around his cock, milking it for all it was worth, and Zeraora had happily hilted her, growling high in triumph as he filled her with seed. The whole time she'd just laid there, incapable of movement.
They'd settled into a routine after that--when he was in the den he'd furiously fuck her, either pinning her against the floor or paralyzing her first, and when he hunted she was left in the den, sometimes paralyzed and sometimes leashed with thick and sturdy vines. He couldn't have his new toy wandering off, after all.
For a while, Zeraora had contented himself with that, until he smelled the change in her.
She was carrying kits.
It was at that moment, delighting in the subtle changes in her scent that marked her as his, truly his, that Zeraora realized he didn't just just have a playtoy. What he had was a genuine, bona fide mate--a breeder to bear him all the kits he wanted. That evening he had fucked her even more energetically, putting his muzzle in the crook of her neck and purring with delight as he pictured the young that were growing in her belly.
She had discovered her own conditions a few weeks later, gasping as she realized what the new bulge in her belly meant. As the weeks passed she had slowly swelled like a ripe berry, her tummy lush with new life. Zeraora rarely bothered to paralyze her anymore; she was far too gravid to go anywhere, and besides, she'd mostly given up her willfulness, resigning herself to her new role as his personal breeding pet.
Now, looking down at her gravid form, her belly round and taut and firm like a river-smoothed stone, heavy with life, his life, Zeraora chuffed with pride. He placed his paws on her tummy, steadying himself, and slid his cock right into her.
Her pussy fit just right around him, succulent and sweetly tight, and he started hammering into her without abandon, his barbs scraping against her walls. Every thrust send delight pushing through his body, echoed by the pliant whimpers she gave every time she was plumbed.
Reaching up to cup her blossoming, milky tits, Zeraora squeezed one until a little bit of sustenance dribbled out. He lapped at it with his rough catlike tongue, smirking at the way she squirmed at the sensation, before taking himself out of her. She had just enough time to register shock before he put his mouth to hers, forcing his tongue inside, swirling around and savoring the taste of his kitmaker's mouth.
She birthed only a few days later, the experience long. When she was done, her eyes half-lidded from exhaustion, there was a trio of tiny, yellow-furred kits. Zeraora picked them up, cradling them with pride. All three were male, of course; there were no females in his species. After their adolescence they would be set free into the world. He wondered if they would seclude themselves away, or find and claim a mate as he had. He pictured more of the arrogant humans taking tiger dick and swelling with baby pokemon, and he glowed with a satisfied pride.
Raising his young to his mate's chest, Zeraora watched proudly as they suckled away. They were already energetic. They would make for strong, powerful pokemon when they grew. He was pleased with his new mate; she bred well. He stroked her thigh, observing her shudder lightly at the touch, and thought to himself that this trio of young were only going to be the first of so, so many. He was done hiding from humans and being alone. Now he had a way to rectify the problem.
His lovely, luscious, succulent little broodmother. No longer was he angry at her one-time intrusion; now he was grateful.
This was only the beginning, after all. She had so much left to do, and so many young to bear.