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The dragon stepped off the treated wood of the boardwalk, toeclaws catching gently along the material softened by so much time spent in the clinging humidity of the swamp... and then instantly regretted doing so as the muck slurped up across his ankle, seeping thick grease into his fur and smearing across his scales. He grimaced, looked down, placed his other foot on the surface, and shuddered as it sank in as well.

At least he wasn't rooted, though: with some effort Iri was able to yank his first foot back out of the sludge, the soupy earth sucking back around it as he did so, and plod his way over to what looked like relatively dry ground at the foot of the large tree overlooking the boardwalk. It was slow going but he indeed made it, and leaned there for a moment to try to kick the worst of the grime off of himself. BY now it would be more of a hassle to return to the trail than it would be to keep on going, though, so after looking back at the colored treated wood snaking off in the other direction - attention, said the sign at the start of the trail, beware of wildlife! Then off to the side, in a little informational panel with photos, footprints, and the like, Poison and Bug-type Pokémon love warm, humid swamp environments like this, and...

Iri kept his attention split between the trees in front of him and the ground just in front of his feet, trying his best to locate spots firm enough to support his weight as he hopped from sanctuary to sanctuary. Only most of the time did he end up slopping back down into the muck, requiring another few minutes of extrication and hassle before he could continue on his way. Finally the ground seemed to understand his wants and began to solidify and dry out, also relatively: over here it felt more like walking atop a waterlogged sponge that one of those aforementioned poison-type Pokémon had had lodged in its bowels for a few weeks.

Admittedly, that thought made him pause. Panting slightly from the exertion of slumping through the swamp, Iri leaned in against the tree behind himself, sighed as his shoulder sank into the thick moss like a warm, damp cushion, and closed his eyes. If he sniffed at the dense, dank air and dug around in his imagination and memory... then, yes, he could almost fully eliminate the constant pressure of the swamp around him, and instead pretend that it was just another Pokémon instead. He licked his lips and straightened up away from the tree, head tilted in the heavy air: with each deep, slow inhalation he could taste the cloying verdancy, the touch of sulfurous stench, the salty, savory bite of natural... fecundity, he decided.

Gross word, the dragon thought, with an amused grimace. But it fits. Makes me think... warm, wet, sloppy. Sticky. Everything I'm feeling right now across my - sweet fuckin' Arceus - scales and skin and everything. Where's a Mightyena to clean me up when I need one? Or a regular hyena, for that matter?

He swallowed again, the density of the air making it downright difficult to do so, and took in another breath. It wasn't hard at all to imagine the faintly foul stench of humid air thicker than the soup he had had for dinner last night instead wafting off the presented hindquarters of some large Pokémon, but... which one? Iri tilted his head again, ears perking this way and that to the constant chatter of the swamp all around. Too... acidic to be a Mightyena or Mudsdale. Not spicy enough for Ninetales or Nickit or Zorua. Kind of like the inside of a Zebstrika's sheath, if Shekh's breath that one time was a good representation. But... poison type... He took in another breath and held it, letting the stagnant air simmer in his lungs and tickle until he had to cough and splutter it right back out.

Scolipede. That's what this smells like. And as soon as he came to this realization, the Trainer had a much more enjoyable time working his way around the individual islands of relative dryness, hopping from spot to spot and only occasionally slipping back into the mud. As he went he began to imagine that there was another of the horse-like bug Pokémon lurking behind each wide tree, the deep carmine scale-plates tinted nearly violet in the dank dimness, velvety black skin in between and underneath taking on the luscious scene of freshly oiled leather. The twin tail-horns jutting up and out, twitching, vibrating with some unknown sensory function; the wrinkled, puckered tailhole positioned perfectly underneath and in between, swollen out into the shape of a meaty, wrinkly donut, that same black skin pinching instead to luxurious pink at the center, littered with grease and old grime; then the tall, wide, thick sex hanging underneath, easily the same length from top to bottom as his hand from fingertip to wrist, and - as he knew from experience - more than capable of encompassing that hand all the way up to at least the elbow. Iri could see it now, the plump, succulent flesh bouncing, jiggling as the Scolipede moved, glistening with wetness sourcing from both the air around it as well as itself. It was a thick, clinging kind of grease that suck to the skin of his lips and coated the inside of his throat, and as he sniffed at the air he imagined he could smell its distinctive tang, like the aroma of fresh, rich compost, and...

And Iri blinked, then did so again. He really _could_see it right here in front of him, from the smooth, sleek scale-plates ribbing forward along the large Pokémon's body, to the thick, muscular crest of its neck lifting up above the surface of the swamp as it boiled in slow motion, over the eyes almost permanently halfway lidded, looking back at him with mixed suspicion and disinterest. Then back again across its - her - luscious, streamlined body, to the spot where the last of those vermilion plates curved away to show leathery black flesh underneath, puckered tailhole and _thick_sex protruding out just above the edge of the little island.

It took a moment for him to realize that this wasn't just imagination and memory: this Scolipede was really here, was _really_stuck in the muck. The dragon looked around, looked to her, peered back in the direction of the boardwalk, and then stepped forward. She rumbled and stirred as he did so, thick mud slurping around her halfway-lodged body; Iri held his hands up and out and brought out the same voice he used for uppity patients back at the Pokémon Center.

"Wow, okay, look - here, I'm gonna help you out, okay? I'm gonna, just..." And he crouched down behind her, gripping just above the joints of her hindlegs - and turning his muzzle to the side, face coming within inches of the slick, wrinkled leather lips just beneath her tailhole, visibly dripping with natural sticky wetness. He had been right about the smell. "And on three, okay? One, two..."

He pulled, made a little bit of headway, and then felt the swamp suck back at the Pokémon's weight and yank him forward - straight up against that plush, slimy tailhole. It sucked up against his cheek like a freshly used toilet plunger, only considerably looser and more malleable: he felt it squish in place, smear across his fur, and then slurp free, leaving a ghost of greasy heat where it had kissed. In front of him the huge Pokémon chirped and looked over her other broad shoulder at him, annoyance glimmering in amber-yellow eyes.

Already he was thoroughly enticed by the view presented in front of him, but he didn't want to take advantage of her, so he put all his effort into trying again. This time he squatted down slightly underneath her, chin angled back and head looking up at her equine lips from underneath, part of him hoping that some of those loose, sticky dribbles would swing down and smack across his face; from here he gripped her legs and this time tugged slowly but firmly, building up the force and pressure. Iri managed to scoot her partially back onto semisolid land in doing so, but right as he was about to pull her free he felt his footing slip and he dropped down onto his rump, his own feet squishing up to the ankles in the swamp.

The Scolipede lost her balance as well and nearly came down on top of him, smearing that thick sex and heavy tailhole this time right down atop his snout. Immediately the scent of the swamp disappeared beneath the stronger, richer smell of swampy Pokémon, surprisingly similar; Iri breathed deeply of it, feeling the tendrils of odor curl up his nose and down into his lungs, tickling there, making him splutter and cough. Figuring that both were now stuck in place here, the dragon spread his hands up along the leather skin of her rump and spread her against his face: her lips smacked wetly open and showed rich pinkish-red flesh inside glistening with natural wetness, while the dank wrinkles of her tailhole above flexed and stretched with the movement.

He struggled to pull himself up underneath her, her hindlegs scrabbling in the dirt and, if anything, just wedging the rear of her body more closely down on top of him. Iri took another breath of not-quite-fresh air and reached up, gripping the rim of her tailhole in one hand: his thumb easily slipped into the center wrinkles, plunging within the clenching muscles like soft, wet rubber. It squished and shaped easily at his touch, resisting at the tugs yet still moving, plump and malleable; when he brought his other hand up to join the first the Scolipede grunted and chirped again, clenched once more, and then reflexively pushed.

There was no way he could resist. Iri straightened up, ran his nose up along those not-so-tight, overlapping wrinkles, and then touched his muzzle against the center. If he pulled with his thumbs he could hear the similarly sticky shlop of the muscles tugging open, walls of her bowels smacking in against one another and pulling apart; humid air even hotter and wetter than that of the swamp around them dribbled out across his muzzle, thick enough that he couldn't help but flick his tongue out to lap it back off. It was easy to push his nose up within her rim, and then squish himself a little bit further; she clenched, huffed, and pushed, wet velvety walls of her guts blooming in around his muzzle and, if anything, inviting him deeper.

Again and again Iri swallowed, drawing in breath after breath of this thick, sticky, stale air from inside of her, gushing it back out through nostrils curtained in sticky anal slime, feeling the wetness steadily dribble into and fill his maw. He closed his eyes against the smell starting to simmer and tickle at them; he squeezed the base of her protruding tailhole in one hand while the other continued up to hold onto one of those tail-spikes for support.

Might as well enjoy it while we're stuck here, he thought, now parting his lips inside of her to lap his tongue out at those encroaching, squishing walls mashing around him, repeatedly blocking off his nose, smacking and pressing and slurping back. There was enough give within the huge Pokémon's tailhole for him to shift his muzzle slight side to side and up and down, working himself deeper, deeper; thick patters of wet air sputtered out around his cheeks, heavy globs of discolored, drool-like mucus dripped along his chin and soaked into his already stained shirt; again and again he had to swallow, feeling a warm, sticky lump of something more than saliva squeeze down his throat and plop into his belly to roil and simmer.

Each movement of those muscles, every twitch of her silken guts, rippled within his mouth and nose and vibrated in his head, ears flicking forward towards a sound caught between the two of them: the squelching, the slurping, the occasional slosh and slurch, the smack as her clenching turned to pushing, the puttering ripple as her pushing turned again to clenching. Iri dug in, eyes wrenched shut and burning slightly with spilled stickiness, until the bridge of his nose nestled up against the rim of her tailhole now stretched snug around his entire snout. He swallowed, did so again, then emptied his lungs inside of her, just enough to feel those walls of meat balloon slightly out around him - and then a slight push from her forced that hot, stale air right back up through his nostrils and into him again.

But she kept on going. Iri squirmed with the sensation of his lungs being forcibly filled, the bug Pokémon's entire lower body shivering, shuddering, clenching together. Excitement and anticipation bounced through his chest, and he lifted himself up: her muscles squeezed together and tightened up, pushing out from deep inside, working their way down along her bowels towards where he had pressed his muzzle, and... he delighted in the sensation of her then squeezing him out of herself, sloppy meat squishing together against his nose, swelling around him, and dumping him free. Remnants of that breath caught within internal wrinkles and overlaps sputtered and sprayed and pattered around him, spurting loose spurts of that sticky anal slime across his face and muzzle; he blinked against it, let his mouth drop open, pulled in a breath of swampy air so rich and full and fresh compared to what had been stewing inside of her - and then jumped as a jet of it dumped out across him, halfway across his tongue and the other half slapping against one shoulder and the ground behind him.

Panting, the world swimming around him, Iri struggled to draw breath beneath the coating of insectoid slickness dripping around him. He sat up a bit, wiped at his muzzle with one hand, felt the sticky strands pull between his fingers, then tried wiping with the other, and the first again, and eventually looked down to see the yellowish sludge oozing freely from his fingers, his wrists, his elbows. He swallowed again, looked back up to the Scolipede's still slightly parted tailhole, then winced as it sputtered again, showing rich red flesh spraying out another series of squirts of the stuff, luxuriously warm as it dumped across his chest.

It was hard to breathe and harder to swallow - not that I'm complaining. The wild Scolipede looked back at him again, something like embarrassment now flashing across her snout. Iri just gave a slimy shrug. "Hey," he said, then had to wipe at his mouth again, "now we're both_stuck. But at least I _tried to help."

This stuff would dry in his fur and on his scales, surely. I'm gonna have to chip it off later once I get back to the room, but - who knows how long that'll be? He wiped at his face again. Gonna be here for a while. And she's gonna get tired at some point, and have to sit down...

So I might as well get comfy. The dragon took in a breath, tasted nothing but Scolipede, and settled down into a more comfortable position.