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This story was written for Mewtwo over on FA, and kinda goes with the following image.

http://www.furaffinity.net/view/6694672

Anyway, enjoy, comment, and please read despite the length.

A Different Dojo

There were many things that Pokemon didn't do on their own. They didn't go into the deep lakes at the edge of forests, nor did they climb the high mountains, unless they were the stronger ones at high levels. They didn't explore the dungeon at the borders of Cerulean City, nor did they go into the islands off the coast of Cinnabar Island. They didn't delve into the caves unless they lived there, nor did they explore the forests for fun, unless they moved in packs. In fact, most Pokemon moved in packs just to be able to survive when they moved from one place to the next, unless they were with a trainer or were of the strongest sorts, or the stupidest sorts. It was just too dangerous.

But there was one place even the stupidest of Pokemon refused to go alone, and even the packs avoided if there was any other choice. This spot was a small forest at the foot of a mountain, said to hold many different delicious fruits and be a quiet and peaceful place during the day. Indeed, it was a great place for any Pokemon during the day, allowing them a chance to relax and get away from all the fighting that they usually had to do.

However, there was no place for them to rest once night fell. When the sun went down and the shadows covered the branches and the ground, the predators came out to play. Dark types of all sorts wandered the forest, forming up in gangs that took on whoever they found. Anybody that wasn't at least partially a Dark type was fair game, and they would rip apart anyone that didn't quite fit into their group. Bug types were stomped, and water types were hung out to dry. Pokemon left the forest with bruises and cuts, if they were lucky, and if they weren't...well, sometimes they were seen again, sometimes they weren't.

The forest, known as as the Darkbrush, was taboo to most Pokemon, but to none more so than the Psychic types. With their disadvantage, they were prime targets for the Dark gangs wandering the shadows. They avoided the forest like the plague, even those that would dare any other place in the world.

And it is this place, this horror story of a dark wood, that a modified Mewtwo was wandering towards, knowing not a thing about it.

#

Lucas was different from most Mewtwos. Well, he said that, even if there were only a few others out there besides himself, and they were all different from each other. He had the same basic shape as the others: a curved and slightly swollen belly, a head with two ridges along the side, and a second neck that curved up around his primary one. He had two toed feet and thin arms, with the usual three fingers extending from his hand. All fairly normal, really.

What was different about him was the fact that he was colored blue, with red markings along his head, hips and the sides of his chest. His belly and tail were a deep purple, darker than the shade covering the first Mewtwo. Perhaps his muzzle was just slightly more rounded as well. He wasn't quite sure about that, since he'd never compared it that closely, but some he'd met had mentioned that it was just a slightly different shape.

Though, it was rather hard to tell just what he looked like at this time of day. The sun had set almost an hour ago, and the moon didn't shine much through the thick branches of the trees above. Every step tended to feel out the path, showing where it was through his sense of touch rather than his sense of sight. There were a few points, actually, where he would have taken a rather bad fall if he wasn't floating himself along with his psychic powers. Whether he would have smacked his head against the trees or against the ground was immaterial; in fact, Lucas wasn't sure he'd be able to tell which one he would have hit. It was so dark that he was depending more on his psychic senses than anything else to find his way.

He turned, looking at the slope of the mountain that was just barely visible through the trees, and that was only because it was semi-reflective in places. That was his destination, and Lucas was starting to wish that he'd entered the woods a little earlier in the day rather than so late. Having had only a few hours before sunset, he hadn't gotten nearly as far into the forest as he'd wanted. More to the point, the glowing eyes that he'd seen in the distance as he made his way through the trees had him uneasy. He'd never heard of this forest, unlike most of the places in the regions, and he didn't know what was waiting for him inside. Normally, he was...reasonably confident. Not quite as confident as the original might have been, and not as much as...well...HIM...but confident enough for his species. After all, as a Mewtwo, he was one of the legendary species, able to take on most different Pokemon. The forest and its inhabitants shouldn't have held any sort of intimidation value for him.

Yet, something continued to press at the edge of his awareness, something that his subconscious screamed was important, but he couldn't quite lay his finger on it. It felt like something was watching him, yet every time he stopped and looked around, nothing could be seen except the occasional burning pair of eyes. Even his psychic senses couldn't quite pick up any presences around him, at least not in a hundred foot radius, and anything outside of that wasn't an immediate threat.

The further he got into the forest the more nervous he felt. Sweat droplets appeared on his forehead, slowly dripping down his face and muzzle. He used his psychic abilities to wipe them out of the way and kept going, but they kept coming back. Sometimes they dripped into his eyes, and it took all of Lucas's self control to keep from freaking out and running forward while wiping them clear again.

Normally he floated his way across the ground, or made his way along at a slow pace. It was a regal sort of pace, and it made him feel rather comfortable with his travels, letting him see what there was to see.

Now he was on the verge of running like hell, discarding floatation and running on his own two feet. That was his panic speaking, he knew; after all, he could never run as fast as he could float, and he'd be far more likely to trip if he did that. But there was something about feeling the earth under his feet when he was running, giving him a sense of how fast he was going that floating didn't do.

Lucas held back, just barely. Pausing, he pressed his hand to the shadow of a tree trunk, almost falling down before adjusting how he leaned. He dug his fingers into the strong bark that covered it, using the feel of that texture to remind himself that he was awake, that he wasn't in a living nightmare. "There's nothing out there that's going to hurt me right now," Lucas said aloud. "There's nothing out there that you need to worry about. It's not like the whole forest is filled with Dark types just waiting to chase down a psychic after all. There's no way that my luck is that bad."

The Mewtwo told himself that a few times before pulling his fingers off of the tree. Crumbling bark came away with his hand, falling with a soft crackle on dead leaves below. Lucas shivered a bit at the sound, but pushed forward. He lifted himself off of the ground again, carrying himself as proud as he could with all the paranoia filling his mind. Despite his attempts to look proud and strong, he kept looking from side to side, even behind him. Every time he looked around again, he promised himself he would just keep his eyes in front of him, but every time he heard a noise - slight as it might be - he found himself frantically looking around again.

The eyes he'd noticed before were getting more numerous, and they weren't just looking away from him anymore. Those burning orbs were fixed on him, two, four, ten pairs of them. Some were accompanied with glowing or glinting teeth, and Lucas swallowed hard. Despite his best efforts, his psychic senses weren't picking them up; it was like they were invisible to his senses but not to his eyes. That meant one of two things. The first was that there was a ghost somewhere around here managing to put up some kind of illusion...or that there were a great deal of Dark types around that were stalking him.

"Looks like...my luck is that bad," Lucas muttered. He turned around, looking at the pairs of eyes. Yes, they were Dark types, and they had a definite advantage in types against him. He knew that; it had been drilled into him since the first time he'd gone off on his own. Dark beats Psychic, unless there is a massive difference in skill and experience between the two of them. But maybe some of the Dark types didn't know that. After all, his species had a massive reputation for being one of the strongest Pokemon of all, even among the other legendary ones. Maybe some of them would run off if he actually stood his ground, and if enough ran...well, maybe he could press his luck with some of the ones that stuck behind. If there were few enough of them, anyway.

The blue Mewtwo put his hands on his hips, gathering his energy into two balls of condensed power in his fists. They weren't going to be of any use against any Dark type - they somehow could resist any psychic attacks, which was why he couldn't sense them - but they looked pretty impressive. "Leave," he said in a voice deep enough to make even the first Mewtwo proud. "Leave now, and I won't harm you."

Several pairs of eyes closed, and he heard their scampering footsteps as they ran off into the darkness. He wasn't entirely sure that they weren't just regrouping somewhere else, but he hoped that they were just running off. The sight of the energy balls on his fists were somewhat intimidating, he knew; he'd been more than a little frantic when he'd been threatened by them the first time he'd seen them. He glared, taking a step forward. Two more of the remaining six ran off into the trees, but the other four looked like they weren't about to move off. With the slight light coming off of the thrashing, shifting orbs he held, he could just barely make out their features.

One by one, they took a step closer as well. Each one slowly stepped into the light, so they could be seen. Krookodile. Scrafty. Nuzleaf. Weavile. Each one was a powerful Dark type, and from the looks in their eyes, they were not the sort that were just going to play with him a bit and let him go. He looked down, grimacing at the red marks on their muzzles and snouts that were most definitely NOT part of their usual coloring. These weren't just fighters. They were killers.

It only took him a moment to figure out how he was going to deal with this. Lucas held his ground for a moment, then one more. When the Dark types took a step forward, he acted. A thrust forward with each arm sent the balls of energy forward, but not against the other Pokemon. Instead, they slammed into the ground, throwing up a wall of dirt and leaves. It was little more than a more powerful Sand Attack, but it served its purpose, blinding them for a moment. Lucas took advantage of that to start running. Well, floating. Flying. Something like that.

His speed pulled the wind along behind him similar to the human trains, tugging at the leaves and debris on the ground and pulling them into the air for a second. It left quite a trail, but Lucas didn't care. If he wasn't moving at full speed, he wasn't going to get out of here without a fair bit of pain, and while he could recover - perhaps even minutes later - he didn't want to be hurt.

Lucas didn't dare look back to see if he was being pursued. At the speed he was going, one false move would send him headfirst into a tree, and at this speed, that would be more than enough o knock him out for a few minutes at least. No matter how distracted the Dark types had been by his little move, they were going to be tracking him, and at least one of them were quite quick. If they were chasing him, they wouldn't be too far behind, and the small bit of his mind still capable of logical thought reminded him that the fear he'd get from seeing them would only sabotage his escape efforts more.

He darted back and forth between the shadows of the trees, using his tail as a rudder even though the results of that were minimal. The blue Mewtwo hardly cared; if it made it even one percent less likely that he was going to barrel into a tree, he was willing to try it. Part of him wanted to push up and out, but the branches above were solid and strong. Even if he could push enough focus towards using psychic powers in a burst of force, it would mean he'd need to stop his forward momentum a bit to do it, and he didn't dare slow down. And he wasn't physically strong enough to just push through. One of the few disadvantages of his species, he supposed.

As he passed by one of the trees, something grabbed him by the tail. It wasn't enough pull him to a stop, but it was definitely enough to make his next turn impossible, the weight pulling on him throwing him off enough to send him spinning towards a tree. Lucas screamed, but it did no good as he slammed face first against the tree, eyes closed as he blacked out.

#

The sound of clicking teeth and chortling laughter slowly brought Lucas back to consciousness. He slowly shook his head, and immediately regretted doing it. Something about that impact must have done something to his head; the slightest movement made his head throb hard, and it felt like his brain was shaking back and forth inside of his skull. "Ugh," he moaned.

"Oh look, he's awake," a growling, gravely voice said. Lucas froze in mid-reach towards his head, gradually opening his eyes to look at the source of the voice.

Three of the four Dark types that he'd been running from had caught up with him. Krookodile, Scrafty, and Weavile stood in the shadows of a tree just ten feet away, leaning against the trunk with grins on their faces. They chortled at one another, giving one another little high-fives for catching the Mewtwo. Thinking about it, Lucas supposed that he was something of a prize to the Dark types; they probably didn't get psychic types as rare as him in the forest very often.

"What...what do you want?" Lucas asked, his voice slightly slurred. Great, so the impact had done more than give him a headache, it had done something to make it a little hard to think too, hard to speak. He really, really hoped that he could get a chance to use that Recover move soon. If he didn't, he was in deep trouble. "Why were you chasing me?"

"For the sport, of course." Despite the discomfort, Lucas forced himself to look up. Sitting not all that far above him, in the tree's branches, was the missing Nuzleaf of the group. The shifty Pokemon had the tip of Lucas's tail in his hand, and was squeezing at the tip now and then. As soon as Lucas laid eyes on him, the Nuzleaf gave it a sharp tug, hard enough to be painful and yank him back. "It's fun to chase down and beat up you weakling psychics," he said as Lucas slid a bit against the tree, knocking his head against it a bit. "This is our forest, see? This is where we are in control, and we can do whatever the hell we want. But I have to say, you're a hell of a treat; usually the psychics know to stay out of our forest. What are you, some sort of moron?"

Lucas was starting to wonder if that was the case. He should have stayed out of the forest for the night, that was clear. Now the question was how he was going to get out of this with his skin. "What...what are you going to do?"

"What we always do to psychic types." This time it was the magenta and black Krookodile that spoke. The gravely voice from earlier belonged to him, apparently. "We rough 'em up, and if they resist...well, we kill 'em. That's all there is to it."

"Yeah, yeah, that's how we work," the Scrafty said with a grin. He held his hands at his puffy hips, looking 'down' at the Mewtwo as best he could. "You psychic fuckers think you're so high and mighty, so strong. You so weak, ain't ya? You so weak against the Dark."

"Hee hee hee!" The Weavile danced from foot to foot, waving its claws around. "Can I cut him up? Can I cut him up? Please please please?" it called up to the Nuzleaf.

Lucas looked up. The Nuzleaf was the leader? That was a little weird. He'd have thought it would be the Krookodile or maybe the Scrafty, not that guy. "Can we...maybe not have any cutting?" he asked in a weak voice. He wanted to sound strong, but he was getting more and more scared with each passing minute. "I'm...rather attached to my blood...don't want to see it outside my body, you know."

"Hehe, don't try to fight against us, and maybe I'll think about it," Nuzleaf said with a little chuckle. "Now, you gonna be a good little psychic and take your beating, or are you going to make us work for it?" he asked as he squeezed at the tail tip again, giving it just enough of a tug to remind Lucas of how good a grip he had on it.

He thought about it. There was a chance that the beating wouldn't be too bad if he actually went along with it, and that would let him keep going instead of getting killed. But...that was if the Krookodile wasn't exaggerating. Surely there would have been something being passed around about this forest if the Dark types really killed those that didn't just take their beatings? He would have heard about that before coming here, right? And he really, really didn't want to just take a beating. It was humiliating, and more to the point, it would hurt.

So he looked up at them, like he was about to give up. Lucas lowered his head -

Then shoved a blast of energy behind himself, hoping to use it like a big shove to get him launched forward. He hoped that would be enough to break the Nuzleaf's grip on his tail and get him out of reach of the other Dark types. If he was lucky, he could get far enough past the Krookodile and the other two to have a chance to make an escape. And this time he'd keep an eye out for things trying to grab his tail.

It half worked. The blast of energy surprised the Nuzleaf enough to make him let go of his tail, and Lucas went sailing through the air, straight at a gap between the Weavile and the Krookodile. He grinned, a little parting shot coming to his lips.

That parting shot turned into a shriek of pain when the Krookodile snapped his jaws down on the blue furred foot as Lucas sailed by. Those sharp teeth cut through fur, skin and pads, cutting his foot open immediately. That in and of itself was painful, but due to the momentum from shooting forward like that, Lucas's foot was shredded up by the teeth as he more or less yanked himself forward. The jaw strength of a Krookodile was incredible, and by the time that his foot was clear of those jaws, his toes and his foot's underside had been ripped down pretty badly.

He fell to the ground about five feet behind the group, hitting his nose on an uplifted root. It hurt, but it didn't quite knock him out this time.

The group of Dark types quickly surrounded him, each one stomping down on either an arm or a leg. They weren't all that heavy individually - except for maybe the Krookodile - but together they were more than heavy enough to pin the physically weak Mewtwo down to the ground. "I told you not to run," Nuzleaf said. "Didn't I tell him guys? I told him not to run." Various agreements were muttered, most along the lines of 'yes boss' and 'you said it boss'. Lucas couldn't help groaning a bit; they were that crony-like?

His groan turned into a yelp of pain when one of them - Weavile, it felt like - stomped own on his shredded foot. "YEEEEEEEEEOOOOOW!" he shouted to the heavens, throwing his head back and thrashing against his captors. "Get off get off get off!"

Weavile only chuckled, then stomped his foot again, setting his shrieks off again. The Dark types laughed at his pain, and each took a turn stepping on the bloody foot, breaking the flesh and the bones below more. Every time they stomped on him he shrieked louder, and soon it was echoing through the forest. Between his shrieks, Lucas was almost sure that he could hear snickering, and not just from the four that were directly tormenting him. Were there other Dark types nearby there were taking it in as a show or something? Were there others that were going to be hurting him when these four were done, if he was still alive?

That was starting to be a serious worry. He didn't have to be a psychic to tell that these Pokemon weren't normal. Most Pokemon were protective, but they weren't this aggressive over territory. They didn't try to really kill other types that came into a forest or a field or a mountain or whatever. "What did I ever do to you?!" Lucas whimpered as he struggled against the four of them, trying to wiggle out from under their grip. "Why are you doing this?"

"You're here." Krookodile bit down on Lucas's right arm, drawing a scream from him. "You're convenient," he said, biting down on the left one, just as hard. Lucas screamed again. "And you're a fucking psychic type. That's all the reason that we need."

The blue Mewtwo was close to tears. His body was being slammed and pounded with every move that the Dark types made. Apparently the Nuzleaf had decided to let the Weavile start cutting him up, because he could feel those claws slicing along his back, and along his sides. His blood joined the red markings on his skin, making him clench his eyes shut and scream in pain. "Someone! Anyone! Please AGH!" His cries for help were broken off when the Weavile stepped down on his second neck, putting a great deal of pressure on it. Lucas bit his lip, the pain extremely bad on top of everything else. He could feel himself starting to black out and struggled against it.

Lucas made one last plea for mercy, gasping through the spikes of pain shooting through his body. "P-please...just let me...let me go...you made...your point." He panted, looking up at the four of them. "Just...just let me go...I beg you..."

"One of your kind begging us? Oh, now that is rich," Nuzleaf said with a laugh. He looked at the Weavile, slicing his claws against each other. "Go ahead, cut him up. Can't just let him go after he's done all this fighting; everyone around here might think that we've gone soft after that."

"Ooooh, yes," Weavile hissed with a grin, flexing his fingers and his claws. "I've been wanting to spill some Mewtwo blood ever since I heard of them." The Pokemon's grin got every wider as he got closer to Lucas, kneeling down just enough to brush one of his claws against a patch of blue that was still left. "I can't wait to make you bleed out...blood, so much blood....all mine to spill."

Wincing, Lucas closed his eyes and turned his head. He couldn't believe this was happening; this just didn't seem possible. But here it was. The claws that were going to end his life were already swinging down through the air. The back of his neck had never seemed so vulnerable, and he wondered whether he would die from the swing to the back of his neck, or from the severing of his second neck. Either seemed quite possible.

But...but nothing happened.

After a few seconds when he didn't die - at least he didn't think he did, since he could still feel all the crippling pain in his body - Lucas slowly opened an eye. He expected to see the Weavile just waiting for him to do something like that, to see his death coming.

Instead, he saw the Weavile staring with fear in its eyes at something that was, apparently, straddling over his back. Lucas turned his head slowly, trembling in both fear and pain. After all that these Dark types had done to him, just what the hell could be making them tremble in their boots? What else was there in this hellish forest that was left to make even these killers shiver in fear?

Rather than anything completely nightmarish, it was something relatively normal. Well, normal in the sense that a muscled, chiseled figure of a Machoke was normal. This one was bigger than most of the ones that Lucas had seen, admittedly, and had a great deal more pushing at the speedo thing that he wore, but he was still just a regular looking Machoke. He looked from one side to the other, wondering if there was something else that had gotten Weavile's attention, but there was nothing. Were they really this scared of one guy?

"S-Strike?! What are you doing down from the mountain?!" Weavile gasped out.

"I was watching you guys chase him around," the Machoke said with a nod towards Lucas. "Looks like you really did a number on him. More than you should have. And I think it's time that you remembered your place."

The Weavile struggled against the grip the Machoke had on his arm, but there was nothing he could do to pull out of that iron grip. He whimpered and groaned before looking at the other three Dark types. "Come on you guys, aren't you going to help me?" he shouted.

"Hey, you're the one that got caught, I'm not putting my neck on the line to help you out." Nuzleaf shrugged, leaping up into one of the trees, out of range of the fighting type. "You wanna get away from him? Then you get yourself away from him. Don't come crying to me for your mistakes."

"Mistakes? He surprised all of us! Come on, you guys, get me out of -"

Weavile's speech was cut off rather abruptly and violently, the Machoke's empty fist slamming into his face and sending him flying backwards. The blow was so strong that it sent the Dark type flying through a tree and shattering the trunk, the tree falling down into the one that Nuzleaf had taken refuge in. Being a bigger tree, the falling one managed to bring the smaller one down with it, Nuzleaf only barely managing to get out of the branches before they could crush him beneath it. Nuzleaf took one more look at the Machoke before running off into the shadows.

"Oh no you don't!" Lucas watched in astonishment as the fighter grabbed hold of the Scrafty in one hand and threw him like a javelin. Scrafty screamed the whole time he was airborne before slamming into Nuzleaf with the force of a low level Hyper Beam, which was still pretty darn strong. For a moment, Lucas almost wondered if another tree was going to come down from the force, but it seemed the distance had been enough to keep the trees from being threatened too much.

The only one left was the Krookodile, and he didn't look like he was going to try running. The Dark type settled himself into a fighting pose, growling softly as he snapped his snout a few times. "You wanna try throwing me? I wanna see you try. Then I'll watch those arms of yours fall to the ground with my teeth marks in them," he growled. He snapped his jaws a few times more, a move that was very similar to the Crunch that had shattered Lucas's foot earlier. Just thinking about it made the blue Mewtwo shiver a little bit.

"You think that you can bite through my arms?" the Machoke asked, chuckling. He flexed, the already huge muscles bulging out more from the strength gathered in them. "I'd almost like to see you try. But this guy's bleeding here, and I don't have a lot of time. Can't really play with you right now. Pity."

"Play?" Krookodile shouted, snarling as he advanced. "I'll show you play!" He growled and snarled as he charged forward, his body moving like a tank as he barreled across the distance between them -

Right into a Mega Kick from the Machoke. The blow caught Krookodile in the belly and knocked him back several paces. "Play." The Mega Kick was followed up with a Karate Chop, and that was followed up with a High Kick. Each blow knocked the Krookodile back another few feet, and left another bruise on the Dark type's menacing face. Not so menacing now, with bruises under each eye and a fair bit of blood showing on his face and neck. "I say play, because you're in my league. You're not anywhere near it." Another Mega Kick snapped the Krookodile's head to one side, then another snapping it back the other way. "You think you can take me? You couldn't take me in ten years, let alone right now."

The Machoke shook his head at the tottering Dark type, lining himself up for one more blow. "Now...piss off!" The blow following the command was a massively powerful seismic toss. The Machoke grabbed hold of the Krookodile, spinning him faster and faster and faster until they were a blur, even to Lucas's psychic senses. Even if he were at full strength he doubted he would be able to follow their motions. The Machoke was just too fast, too strong for him to track completely.

However, he was able to see the result. With startling immediacy the Machoke came to a full halt, letting go of the Krookodile at the same time. Even in the darkness, Lucas watched the silhouette fly up in the sky, soaring further and further off into the horizon before disappearing completely. Being a Dark type, it seemed that it didn't quite get a twinkle-star from just how far it went. Or maybe it just wasn't quite far enough. He didn't know; in fact, he wasn't even sure how he was still conscious.

Turning towards him, the Machoke quickly moved close and kneeled down. "They really did a number on you, didn't they?" he said with a shake of his head. "Well, I think that I can get you fixed up...can you hold on for a little while longer? I need to get you up the mountain to a safe place before I can start helping you. I can carry you, but it'll probably take about an hour to get there."

An hour? Lucas wasn't sure that he could stay conscious for another five minutes, let alone sixty. Just the thought of staying awake and alive with all this pain pulled whimper from his lips and a yelp shortly after. Just whimpering hurt him now, after all the Dark types had done to him. "I...ugh..." he coughed, spitting out some blood. "I don't know...I...I'll try," Lucas said.

"That's all I'm asking," the Machoke said. He gently reached his arms around Lucas's body, picking him up. Lucas grunted softly every time he was moved, despite the gentleness. By his best guess, he had some broken bones in just about every part of his body, and cuts every place that there weren't broken bones, as well as everyplace there were. He was sure that there was a pool of blood where he'd been laying, and he did NOT care to look down to find out if there was. It was difficult enough to believe he was still alive at this point.

"I'm Strike," said the Machoke as an introduction. "Do you have a name, or do you just go by your species like most Pokemon in the area?" he asked.

"I'm....I'm Lucas...and I'm about to faint..." he muttered. His eyes fluttered a bit, the blacking out he managed to resist earlier coming back with a vengeance. He didn't think he'd be able to resist this time. "Hope to see you...later."

He was right; he couldn't resist falling unconscious this time.

#

Lucas was a little surprised not to hurt - well, not as much - when he woke up. His arms were sore and his legs were in pain, yes, and he didn't even want to think about his foot right now, but on the whole he was doing a lot better than he had any right to be doing. The blue Mewtwo slowly opened his eyes, looking around to see if he was still in the forest, or wherever Strike had decided to take him.

He was covered with a cloth blanket, covering him from the chest down, and his head was cradled with some surprisingly soft pillows. Candles burned in a little circle around him, and there was a small bit of incense off in the corner. The candles lined three of the walls of the small room he was in, and the fourth wall was occupied by a door. The smoke from the candles and incense escaped through a small grill of a window above his head, so it wasn't bad smelling in there, nor was it hard to breathe.

A little bit of grunts and hisses of pain later, Lucas pulled himself to a reclining position. He looked down, nodding a bit at the bed he had. Well, bedroll. Better than the hard stone floor that he could see at the edges, he supposed. The door was made of simple wood, but had been carefully stained. A little mental measurement of the room told him it was about seven feet wide and seven feet long, just big enough for the bed and a few other things.

"Well, at least I got to sleep in a bed for a bit...I'd almost forgotten what that was like," Lucas said with a small smile. He stroked his three fingered hand along the blanket and the bedroll for a moment before pulling it back. "I wonder if I can even stand up right now?"

An attempt at standing quickly proved it was still a little beyond his means. His foot throbbed and he nearly toppled over from the discomfort, gritting his teeth in pain. He sat down again before he could lose his control completely, shaking his head a few times. "That....that would be a no," Lucas said. He took a deep breath, letting it out just as slowly, then took another one. "Let's see if I can do try something else."

There was a move that Psychic types could do, something that put them at an advantage against most of the other types. It was called Recover, and it let them recover from damage that they had taken. The few other Mewtwos that Lucas knew could do it quite easily, but he was still learning how to do it correctly. As a result, he couldn't do it when he was constantly under assault - like with the Dark types earlier - and sometimes if the damage was too severe, he had a hard time pushing through the pain to do the move properly. Now that he was partially healed, though, maybe he could do it right. A meditative pose might help, but considering how his body was injured...well, he didn't think it would be a good idea to stretching it out in that manner.

So, he leaned back on his bedroll again. Folding his hands together in his lap, Lucas closed his eyes and took steady, deep breaths. His heart rate slowed, as did his breathing, until he was barely breathing once every twenty seconds. His attention went deep, deep...It was like meditation, but unlike the humans that practiced this, he actually had something that he was looking for, an energy that he was reaching down to grab.

Bright energy waited for him, and he smiled softly as he 'grasped' it. It wasn't really grabbing it, since he didn't have hands on his inside and it wasn't something one could physically hold anyway, but that was how he thought of it. It filled his mind, then his body as he held it, an invigorating feeling that was almost like a burst of adrenaline and happiness. Lucas sighed, just enjoying the feeling for a moment.

Then he tried to put it to work. He directed his psychic energy through his limbs, guessing half the time just how he was supposed to do this. He touched on various injuries, pushing the power into them. He thought he could feel them healing a little bit, but he couldn't be entirely sure. Nor could he move and test it out; he had a tenuous grip on the energy as it was, and he didn't need to lose that grip when he wasn't done trying this out yet.

The further he pushed the light through his body the better it felt. Whether it was physical healing or just the spreading bliss of using the psychic energy was unclear, but it definitely felt better than sitting there without holding it. Lucas almost grinned as he pushed it all the way down to the tips of his toes and to the top of his head, filling himself up with the energy. For a moment, he was able to forget the pulsing pain in his broken foot and just focus on the good feelings that were filling him.

But as soon as he thought about the contrast between the pain at full strength and at its reduced strength, he lost his concentration. The pain from his foot came rushing back, and his grip on the Recover was lost. He slid hunched forward as the pain replaced the pleasure, shaking his head a few times. "Ugh...that could have gone better," Lucas muttered under his breath. "That could have gone a lot better." On the other hand, he wasn't having quite as much pain in his chest now, and his foot only pulsed with pain every half minute rather than every second. Maybe he had done something a little more effective than he'd thought.

His self-congratulation was interrupted by a knock on the door, making him jump. "Um, come in?" He wasn't sure how else to answer, but it felt weird to invite someone in to a room in someplace he didn't even know where it was.

The door slid open silently, pressing against the wall. On the other side was the Machoke from earlier. What was his name? Strike? Yes, that was it. Strike ducked down under the doorframe before stepping into room, smiling a bit at him. "So, you're finally awake. You spent about 20 hours sleeping after that beating you took. Hope you don't mind but I had to use one of the Hyper Potions that we had up here to get you back to this point. Last one we had, but it was that or risk letting you die."

Blinking, Lucas said, "You really think I'm going to say I mind you not letting me die?"

"Not really, but I see a lot of strange Pokemon out here in the Darkbrush, and usually the ones that are crazy enough to stay here after dark aren't very smart, either," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "Glad to see you're not one of the idiots...or at least, you're someone that's going to learn from your mistakes."

"I'm going to do that, that's for sure," Lucas admitted. "One beating like this is more than enough for me." He started to chuckle, but stopped, holding his hand to his side. Okay, the potion and the Recover might have done something, but it was far from a complete healing. "Ugh..."

"Yeah, I wouldn't start laughing just yet. You're better than you were, but you got a good week before you're going anywhere," Strike said. He chuckled. "That's if you just run off. You probably shouldn't get back to the forest for a while, particularly with those jerks probably waiting for you to come back down the mountain. They carry grudges really well, those Dark ones."

Lucas nodded. "I guess I'll just have to find someplace up here to day," he said. He paused. "I mean, as long as you don't mind having me around. I mean, you did carry me up here, and set this room up, so I thought...but if you want me to -"

Strike's finger pressed against his lips, silencing him. "Hey. Stop talking." The Fighting type leaned against the wall, shutting the door. "Listen. I picked you out of that fight and helped you feel better because you were obviously WAY out of your depth. I don't know what you were doing out there, but you should have known better. Now, you're on your way to recovery, and since I had to use that last Hyper Potion, I think you need to help out around here to make up for it. A little chores to make up for the item use, I guess. Maybe you'll pick up some new moves too, and if you heal up quick enough, hell, I might even teach you a move to keep those Dark types off your back."

"That's be helpful, I admit." Lucas shook his head a little bit, leaning back a little more on the bedroll. "You sure that you don't mind, though. I don't want to take up more space than I need, and I'm pretty sure that you're busy most of the time. If I'm going to be a bother -"

"I'm going to say it one more time, and if you don't listen, then I'm not saying it again. I brought you here so you could get better. That's done, that's over with, and you're going to stay here until you're strong enough to get out of the Darkbrush again. I'm not going to let you argue about that; if you're going to go with that modesty and humility or whatever else you think you're showing, then go ahead. Just letting you know that it makes you look ridiculous around here." Strike shrugged his shoulders, turning around. "Now, you get back to sleep. Maybe use that Recover move I see you Psychics use to get a little bit healthier. I want you able to move around on your own by tomorrow morning."

Sighing, Lucas laid himself back down. "I'll do that, then." He hesitated, and spoke up again just as Strike was about to shut the door again. "Um, Strike?"

He stopped in mid-motion, looking through the crack left open. "Yeah?"

"Thanks for bringing me here. I really owe you one for that." Lucas blushed a bit, pulling his tail up to his chest as he floated the blanket back on top of him. The candles provided just a little extra warmth, and the scents coming from them were rather soothing compared to a lot of the smells outside in the real world. It was very nice, and he already felt tired enough to drift off into sleep again.

"You're welcome. Now, go to sleep." Strike shut the door, sealing in the warmth and the calming scents. Lucas smiled, closing his eyes and nuzzling his cheek against the pillow he had. It was nice to have a bed, even one as small as this. It was comforting, and it was quickly enough to send him off to sleep.

#

The next day started with a shout, a loud one echoing through the halls outside Lucas's room and also in his room. It jolted him right out of his blankets, and if he had been on a regular human bed he would have fallen right on the floor. As it was he rolled right across the room, slamming his back into the big wooden door. He grunted at the impact, shaking his head and slowly pulling himself to his feet. The simple movement was a little easier today, and he was actually able to stand on his feet without feeling like he was about to collapse from pain. Encouraged, he gave his body a once over with both his eyes and his senses.

It seemed that all of the bones that were broken had healed, and the few cuts that hadn't closed over and healed were just scabbed up. There was still some soreness in his muscles, but considering he was on death's door not that long ago he didn't feel like he had a right to complain too much. Chuckling, Lucas sat down, going through the same ritual as the day before. It wasn't quite as hard to find that energy this time around, particularly since he wasn't in as much pain, and he quickly started up the same move. Admittedly he was in a bit of a hurry this time around since he was curious about that shout, but he was as thorough as he could be before he stopped with the healing and hurried out his door.

The halls were rather interesting, made of stone and covered in carved murals. History of the monastery, Lucas supposed, though he couldn't quite tell what the history was in the dimness. He had to fall back on his psychic senses to make sure that he saw everything clearly, and that was more the direction of the halls to make sure that he didn't run into the walls while he moved. Still, he couldn't help dragging his fingers over the carvings on the wall as he moved along; they were interesting enough that he wanted to come back and see what they were.

First, however, he wanted to see what the source of that shout had been and whether it was a problem.

He walked down a set of stairs and followed a few more halls, following fresh echoes of shouts to make sure that he was going the right way. It didn't take him too long to find them, as the shouts got louder as he made his way deeper and deeper into the monastery. At least, that was what he thought it was. It could have been something else quite easily.

Finally he reached a door with a small sign on it. He leaned in close, holding it in one hand to see if he could get a better reading angle for it. Without light in the hallway, though, it made it next to impossible. "Well, it can't be that important if they don't have enough light to actually read it out here," Lucas said with a shrug. He turned the knob and pushed the door open, stepping through the doorframe.

Immediately he was forced to duck, a Machop sailing through the air where his head had been. Lucas stared at the unconscious Fighting type as he sailed down the hall, bouncing a few times on the ground before coming to a stop about twenty feet away. "Wow..."

"I see you're awake. Nice to see." Lucas turned around, seeing Strike right behind him. A look over the Machoke's shoulder - or rather, above it, since Lucas wasn't quite tall enough to just look past it - showed that the walls in here were made of wood paneling and there were several lights in the ceiling. Not electrical ones, but torches, throwing light down on the ground below. "Ah, yes, I suppose I should have welcomed you into the training room without throwing someone at you. Heh, sorry about that. Good reflexes though."

"Um...thanks," Lucas said. He nodded his head down the hall. "Should I be worried about that happening to me sometime?"

"Not unless you decide you want to get into a fight with one of the masters here at the dojo. Yes, I am one, so no you don't need to ask," Strike said. "And he'll be alright. He's pretty tough for being one of the lower level people here. I half wonder if he's been taking some Iron with his diet, but so long as he's not overdoing it I don't think that we need to worry about him." Strike smiled a bit, turning around and gesturing for Lucas to follow him.

He did, but Lucas's attention was as much on Strike's body as anything else. His eyes drifted over the chiseled, statuesque muscles that adorned the Machoke, looking over them from the head to the the shoulders, and all the way down the back. Blushing, he lingered a little over the butt cheeks that filled up that all too skimpy speedo before continuing further along. The thighs and the calves were bulging with corded muscles, throbbing with every step that Strike took. Lucas blushed, wanting to reach down and stroke his hand along the muscles, feeling just how large they are, just how much work it would take to stretch his hands out around them.

All the attention he paid to the muscled Machoke left little to pay to the rest of the room, and it was perhaps inevitable that he walked into Strike's back from inattention. Grunting at the feeling of walking into something at least as hard as a wall of rock, Lucas almost tumbled over backwards. He had to float a bit to make sure to make sure that he didn't hit the ground and embarrass himself. "Why'd you stop?" Lucas asked as Strike turned around.

"Because I was going to ask if you were paying attention to what I was saying." Lucas blinked and Strike chuckled. "You don't think you're the first one to watch me from behind, do you? It's my way of finding out just how focused anybody staying here is. If they're going to keep watching me instead of listening to what I have to say, then I'm going to have to put them in the lower level classes. If they can pay attention to the real world instead of my muscles, I can trust them with the better moves." Strike laughed again, clapping a large, muscled hand on Lucas's shoulder. "Good thing you weren't applying for a class, huh? Would have had to put you at the very bottom."

Lucas blushed like the sun. That...that had been completely humiliating. He was supposed to be a Mewtwo, a Psychic above other Psychics, and one that could deal with Fighting types with no trouble at all. He should have been able to split his attention without the slightest bit of trouble. Yet here was Strike, a muscled man with a great deal of sex appeal to him, and suddenly he had been completely adrift.

He wondered if he could get the Machoke to take advantage of that. After all, they were here in a dojo, and if he guessed right, he would be that the males were probably rather lonely for someone to 'play' with. More to the point, all the Fighting types here probably loved it when they were appreciated for how muscular and powerful they were. Just the thought of getting on his knees and showing that 'appreciation' for these big guys got Lucas excited and eager, and he forced himself to think of other things. After all, he didn't want Strike to see him 'showing off' right yet.

Judging by the grin on the Machoke's face, however, Lucas wasn't sure that had been all that effective. He braced himself for the Machoke to make fun of him, to comment on not doing that sort of stuff here, or anything else along those lines.

Instead, Strike patted him on the shoulder again. "Anyway, I wanted to get you started on some of your chores here. The masters of the dojo - other than me - are currently out and about, and won't get back until later today. I'd like you to help put this training room back together before they get back. It's always better to have a little more orderly place before the students run it all to hell." Strike opened a closet nearby and pulled out a few mats, as well as a duster and a broom. "The smell of sweat's alright, we're all used to that, but when we're all going around barefoot, I don't want us all to have dust stuck to our feet when we're duking it out."

"Barefoot?" Lucas asked, barely managing to hold back a stammer.

"Yeah. You know any other way to fight in a dojo?" Strike asked, shaking his head with a small smile. He tossed one of the brooms to the Mewtwo. "Get sweeping. We got a lot of room to cover and only an hour or so to make sure that it's all clean for training."

Lucas nodded slowly, his eyes locked onto Strike as the Machoke moved over to the other end of the room. He didn't really know what to think; all the Pokemon in here training, getting sweaty...barefoot...It was all so enticing, so perfect, so -

"Soooo not the time!" Lucas hissed as he saw his sheath starting to plump up, the tip of his member starting to peek out. He turned his back to the Machoke, blushing and working the broom curiously along the floor and kicking up more than a little bit of dust. "Please don't have seen, please don't have seen, please don't have seen!" he begged fate as he worked at his cleaning. It just didn't want to go down, not one little bit.

Looking over his shoulder at the calm Strike, Lucas forced himself to act a little calmer, shaking his head until he wasn't quite so freaked out. Slowly, he pushed his calm down to his groin, forcing himself to go soft, forcing his arousal to go back down. The last thing he needed right now was to have Strike calling him out for a pervert. After all, Strike had done a lot for him, considering the healing and the carrying him up here and rescuing him as well. If he just looked like he was after some sort of sex after all of that...Lucas wasn't sure what would happen.

So he forced himself soft, using a little bit of psychic power to keep himself from poking free of his sheath. It wasn't very comfortable, and it felt like something was trying to bend the wrong way, but he was able to keep it inside. "Now stay in there!" he muttered to it, shaking his head and muttering under his breath as he got back to doing his bit of cleaning.

It took him a moment or two, but soon he had forgotten about the bare feet that would soon be filling this hall as well as the smell that would be coming off of those bodies. All that had his attention was the dust on the floor. It was like the place hadn't been used for training for a long time, considering the piles of dust around him, and Lucas half wondered if he would do better using Psychic powers to get everything done. After all, if he did do that, then he'd be able to pick up the individual pieces of dirt and dust quickly, gather them together, and just throw them off to wherever Strike wanted the filth to be.

The more he thought about it, the better the idea sounded. Putting the broom against the wall, Lucas looked over at his rescuer. "Strike?"

"Hmm?" Strike didn't look up from his sweeping, just continuing the work.

"Would you mind if I gathered all this up with my psychic powers? It would make the whole thing take a lot less time, and you'd be able to do other stuff."

Strike paused, then shook his head before going back to sweeping. "I'd like you to just sweep right now. It's better to do it by hand, rather than getting lazy and using your mind."

"But-"

"No buts," Strike said with a shake of his head. "The only person in this whole dojo that uses Psychic powers is the archivist, and that's because he kind of has to use it in order to find half of the things down there. If you're going to be here in the dojo, if you're going to be doing chores and recovering, I want you to use your body, not your mind. I want you to work and sweat and get tired just like the rest of us. There's something about hard work that teaches you, and I think that you need to learn that." Throughout the entire speech Strike didn't bother looking up. He kept his eyes on the dust and the broom, sweeping in swift but controlled movements, almost like he was herding the dirt instead of just sweeping it into one spot.

Then the Machoke made a strange move, one that Lucas couldn't quite follow with his eyes. The collected pile of dirt was shoved from its spot near the door right out into the hall, where it hit the Machop that was only now waking up and walking back to the room. It sent him flying back down the hall again, and Lucas winced in sympathy from the thud he heard. "Do you have some sort of grudge against that guy or something? That's the second time you've sent him down that hall."

"Whoops," Strike said. He shook his head, tossing his broom over to the side. "Well, I better go help him out a bit, make sure he's alright. You just keep working on your sweeping. I'll be back in a little bit." The Machoke hurried out, and Lucas chanced another little look at the big guy's backside and his bulging physique. Trembling to himself, Lucas quickly turned away and looked back at his work.

"Well, better get back to it," he said to himself. Lucas's tail swished lightly as he worked across the room. Every now and then he would reach down, focusing his powers over a rather stubborn bit of dirt and pulling it out of a corner, but for the most part he stuck to his instructions. His arms quickly tired, however, since he wasn't used to sweeping them back and forth quite so often. "How do people do this so much?" he muttered, wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead as he finished the first half of the room.

The blue Mewtwo looked at the rest of the room. Even though he'd done half of his side and Strike had done his half of the training room, there was still a large part of the room that needed to be swept. The wooden floor seemed like it was magnetized to attract dirt, and the whole thing would probably take another twenty minutes for him to finish. His arms were already quite tired and sore, and standing was starting to get really hard for him. The Recover hadn't been fully effective, after all, and he wasn't sure how much he had left to heal. "Ugh," Lucas grunted as he took a few steps. His legs hurt, and so did his foot. Healed it might have been, but there was still some residual pain to it that pressure seemed to trigger.

Well, there was another option. Lucas looked over his shoulder, then down the hall Strike had gone down. There was no sign of any of the Fighting types now...maybe he could cheat just a little bit. "I don't think anyone would really be bothered that much," he muttered under his breath.

Looking back and forth again, Lucas flicked a hand at the door at the far end of the room. A little telekinesis was easy enough to summon, and he pushed the door shut. He did the same with the one behind him, making sure that neither would be opening without him knowing. "Okay, now let's make this place shine."

Lucas grinned as he started spreading his attention across the room, filling his senses with the details that surrounded him. It wasn't quite to the point of counting every one of the dust particles, but it came pretty close. With that sort of knowledge, it wasn't hard at all to pull them from the floor, lifting them up and floating them up in the air. Almost immediately Lucas started coughing, the dust right in front of his mouth, and he used his power to push it a little further away, condensing the vast but thin layer together. The dust was light, so light pressure was all he needed to keep condensing and concentrating it down further and further. With each passing second it took up less and less space in the room, filtering down to a smaller and smaller shape.

Finally it was done, the whole room full of dust pressured together in the shape of a little ball. Lucas floated it over to his hand, chuckling as he bounced it up and down a few times. "Who says that it's the lazy way out?" he said.

"Well, I would." Lucas leaped about ten feet in the air at the sound of the Machoke's voice, floating only a few inches away from the ceiling. Strike laughed below him, a great deep belly laugh that echoed around the room. "Come on back down you scaredy cat, no harm done, no harm done."

Nervously Lucas descended to the floor again, reaching down and picking up the solidified ball of dust with a small blush on his face. "I, erm, know you said not to use my mind, but I was getting really exhausted, and I didn't want to not be done before you got down here." Lucas looked back and forth. "Um...is there a place I should put it?"

"Oh, just toss it over in the corner. Looking like this, no one else is really gonna guess what it is, and I don't think it's going to make anyone dirty like this," Strike said. "I understand not wanting to be seen as slow, but next time just do it the way I say. There's a reason for it, and you need to trust me for that." Shaking his head, the Machoke picked up a few of the mats that were lying around, tossing one at the Mewtwo. "Anyway, help me lay these out. Four at the head of the room, and then one every two feet on each side. By hand, now, not by mind."

Blushing from the reminder, Lucas moved as quickly as he could. That wasn't as fast as the Machoke of course, but he did his best to keep up. He laid down the mats as evenly as he could, but even as he moved on to the next one he was seeing mistakes on the ones he'd already put down. Wincing and blushing at his failures - at least in his head - Lucas just moved faster, hoping he'd have time to go back and fix up the other pads when he was done.

As soon as he reached the end of the room and turned around, he found Strike already doing that. He blushed worse, looking at the ground. Great, he was slower than the sexy Machoke, and he was having to get his mstakes corrected by him as well. Leaning down, he started working on fixing his mistakes, lining them up a little more neatly as he made his way back towards the other end of the room.

About halfway there he almost bumped into Strike again. The Machoke caught him in one hand, patting him on the back. "Thanks for the help. Maybe you should get back to your room for a little bit, just so you can get a little more rest. You are recovering after all, and you don't want to get yourself all worn out and put yourself back."

"Well, if you think I should..."

"I do." Strike patted Lucas's back a few times before keeping his hand on his upper back. The Machoke's thumb stroked over Lucas's second neck, and Lucas had to hold back a little tremble from the sensations that followed the touch. "You just get back into the bedroll and get some rest. And get some real rest, because I'll be coming along later to check on you to make sure that you're doing as you should."

Half wishing he could just stay under the Machoke's strong arms and grip, Lucas reluctantly pulled himself free from the Fighting type. "Alright...see you later, then," he said as he walked off. His tail drooped just a little bit, and he moved a little quicker than he really meant to.

He supposed there was one good thing about being sent out to his room. He was finally going to get some privacy, and he would be able to relax that psychic grip on his member and let it come out. It still didn't want to be held down, and it was starting to get really uncomfortable. More to the point, he wasn't wanting to hold it in very much, so his psychic barrier was getting weaker by the moment.

Moving so fast that he almost felt like he was teleporting, Lucas made his way through the halls and stairs of the monastery. He dodged around the still dirty Machop with a shouted apology, made his way back to the chamber he'd been given. He shut the door, searched for a lock. There wasn't one, but at this point, he no longer cared. He pushed himself back on the bedroll, looking down at his groin and his sheath.

With the psychic barrier removed from it, his shaft shot out like a spring-loaded toy. He wanted to grab at it immediately but he held himself back, just watching his shaft slide out and harden completely. The tip of it was shaped somewhat humanoid, but it was curved a bit, the head sort of upside-down compared to anatomy of humans. He couldn't help but think it still looked rather different, no matter how many times he saw it. The tip was already wet with some pre, and another droplet was well on the way out, dripping down to his belly after a second.

Rubbing the little droplet against a fingertip, Lucas smiled to himself. "Oh, I need this," the Mewtwo muttered to himself. His free hand reached down to his shaft, stroking the fingertips along the length a few times before actually wrapping them around the shaft. After getting a light grip - he didn't dare grip too strong right off the bat, considering just how close he was - he started the slow journey from the base to the tip of his shaft. He stroked teasingly slowly, even as every instinct in his body begged him to go faster, to stroke himself hard and fast to get a quick orgasm. But there was no way that he was going to hurry this particular orgasm.

That was going to be a little difficult though; after at least a day of doing nothing, coupled with the ideas of how everybody in the dojo went barefoot for training - and maybe just around the place as well - Lucas found his fantasies and his libido running away with him. Fingers twitched along his length, tightening for a moment as he thought of Strike in particular, of those muscled limbs and those smooth butt cheeks, of the bulging arms and packed front. But perhaps what he thought of the most were those big feet belonging to the Machoke. Though the training room had been filled with the smell of sweat and exertion and sheer manliness, there had been something of a stronger, more recent smell, and it had been quite strong. He couldn't help but think that it belonged to Strike.

Just thinking of the room and the scent brought the memory back to him, and with his psychic powers he could think of it in perfect recall. His head jerked back, his hand having to cease any movement along his shaft to keep from pushing himself over the edge too soon. "Ooooooh," he moaned, bringing his free hand up to his mouth to muffle himself. "Oh, Strike...let me...let me see your feet." His thoughts drifted down the Machoke's body, visualizing it as if the master fighter was in the room with him. Mental eyes drifted down from the head to the chest and to the crotch. It lingered there, wondering what lay behind that small barrier of cloth, before they slid down past the legs to the feet.

Gray skin, chiseled and toughened through years of walking barefoot, covered those feet. The undersides were presented to him slowly as the mental image of Strike shifted, pulling his leg up and pointing his foot at Lucas's face. He'd only gotten small glimpses of them before, but his psychic abilities recreated all that he'd seen in perfect detail, making him grin wide. Just the thought of those big sweaty feet had his cock throbbing, his body trembling. He imagined that foot slowly pushing down against his face.

His fingers were barely pressing against his shaft, barely stroking, but he still felt like he was going to go over the edge at any moment. Licking at the imaginary foot, Lucas pulled all of his power into making the fantasy as real as possible. It couldn't compare to the real thing, sadly, but it was really good for a stroking fantasy. He panted, arching his back as he stroked himself faster, faster.

Imagination was working on its own, fueled by his libido and his need. The Machoke's other foot lifted, then pressed down on his shaft. It stroked up and down his member, drawing pre out of him by the bucketful. His belly was getting slick from just how much was leaking from it, and he reached down, licking it up and enjoying the taste.

"Oooh....ooooooh!" he groaned, his stroking getting faster, harder, his grip tightening despite his wish to make this last a little longer. With all the extra lubrication from his own excitement, his hand was practically flying along his shaft, teasing it and stroking it. No, not just stroking anymore; this was too violent and fast for it to be simple stroking. Lucas was practically fucking his hand, thrusting with his hips as much as he squeezing it with his hand. He was just about to go over the edge.

And then the door opened.

Lucas's eyes went from nearly closed to wide open as Strike stepped inside. The Machoke's mouth was open as if he was about to say something, but then it froze in mid-word as he just stared. Lucas could feel that look pointed right at his cock, too, and even as embarrassing as it was to be caught, he just couldn't stop. His hand kept moving on its own, and perhaps even getting caught fueled his desire to keep going. Hell, it might even have pushed him over the edge, because it only took one more touch to push him over the edge. Groaning loudly, he closed his eyes again, squeezing his hand tight around the base of his shaft as it spurted his load all over his stomach. He could hear the droplets smacking down on his stomach, hot and plentiful, but not as hot as the blush on his cheeks.

Even as he came, Lucas floated a blanket between him and Strike. "Sorry, sorry!" he said when he could speak again. He turned his head, floating the blanket back on top of him. "I didn't...I wasn't...I didn't think you'd walk in on me like that." Lucas looked down at his groin, mentally begging for his embarrassing bulge to go back down, for this whole moment to just end.

"Well...can't say that I expected to walk in on you doing that," Strike said with a little shrug. "Guess I should have, though. Most of the fighters tend to run off like you did when they're feeling the 'urge', you know? Shoulda taken the hint." Strike laughed when Lucas looked up at him in surprise. "You think that you were being all that subtle? For an exhausted guy you were moving like the wind. The main reason I came up after you was because I was thinking I could get a little more work out of you if you still had that much energy."

Lucas looked away again, his cheeks burning hot enough to remind him of a Burn effect. "Um...yeah...just...yeah. I was really pent up, you know," he said, trying to cover himself a little.

"Oh really? I woulda thought that after a few days you'd have more in you than that," Strike said in a good-natured teasing tone. He took a step closer, his feet standing on top of Lucas's blanket. He tugged it down a little bit. "Come on, you've been exposed almost the whole time you've been here. You think that I haven't seen you get little tents while you were sleeping off that Hyper Potion and attack?"

Oh, that's right....Lucas remembered that he had been asleep for a while before actually waking up that first time. Depending on just what had been in his dreams, then...oh yeah, there were so many potential moments for him to be humiliated from that. He buried his face in his hands to hide the blush that tried to grow stronger, shaking his head. "Oh heavens," he muttered to himself. "Just how much did you see?"

"To be honest, not as much as when I look at my own crotch."

That admission brought Lucas's head right back up, staring at Strike. "What?"

"I mean that I see more when I look at myself then when I look at you," Strike explained. "I mean, yeah, you got a decent dick, but I'm packing a bit more than you are down there." The Machoke laughed, laying a finger on the waistband of his speedo. "You wanna see?"

It took every bit of self-control that Lucas had to keep from just shouting 'YES' at the top of his lungs. Self-control and a hand over his mouth. When the urge to shout like that dissipated, Lucas lowered his hand and nodded his head. Even that was more eager than he wanted it to be, but there was a point where self-control just disappeared, and this was it. He wanted to see this, particularly after hearing Strike say that he had a fair bit down there.

Apparently the nod was enough for Strike. He chuckled as he slid his thumb into the waistband, giving the side of it a little tug. It shifted back and forth a few times, the tight clothing having a bit of a hard time sliding down the muscled hips and thighs. Was there such a thing as being too muscled? Maybe for the sake of clothing, but in the case of eye candy like this? Lucas didn't really think so. Unconsciously leaning forward, Lucas put his head where he thought that Machoke's shaft would poke out to.

He got the surprise of it flopping down on top of his head instead, laying across his muzzle and pressing between his eyes. The base of the cock was nearly 6 inches away, and there was another 4 at least across the top of his muzzle. He went cross-eyed, trying to stare at it, and his nose was filled with the scent of musk and sweat held inside the little bit of clothing. Instinctively his nose flared, sucking in the smell of both the Machoke's crotch and his balls. It was...exquisite, and he could feel his shaft hardening again, throbbing immediately.

"Heh." Strike smiled, reaching around and stroking a finger along the back of Lucas's head. He blushed a little bit at the meaty finger, feeling the same little tingle as before as the finger rubbed his second neck. It made his whole body shiver. "Oh, is that a sensitive spot?" Strike asked, stroking a little more firmly, but still quite light. The gentle touch and longer stroke pulled a slow moan from Lucas's lips. "I'd say it is."

Every few seconds the Machoke stroked a fingertip down the back of Lucas's second neck, taking his time to tease the Mewtwo with it. Lucas panted, his breath barely coming fast enough to keep him from falling unconscious, and every time he breathed in he tasted the musk and manly, virile scent that clung to the Machoke's crotch. He moaned uncontrollably, his whole body in need for more. But he couldn't move; the stroking of his second neck had him as close to purring as his species could get, and he just couldn't bring himself to move away from the source of that feeling, no matter how much more he wanted.

Thankfully, Strike seemed to understand that he wanted more. The muscled male pulled back a little bit, pulling his dick along as he did. It slid along Lucas's muzzle, and he watched it move the whole way until it was prodding lightly at his lips. "You sure you want this, little guy?" Strike asked. "What am I saying? You've got a hard-on after just cumming and you're drooling over my dick. Of course you want it. Go ahead and -"

Lucas hated to interrupt, but he was horny, and there was something he could play with right in front of him. He darted forward, pulling the musky thick shaft into his mouth. For a change, the skin wasn't as hard as the rest of the body looked, and he was thankful for that. That would have been just a little difficult to deal with. Not impossible, just difficult.

But it wasn't, so that was good. He bobbed back and forth, sliding his tongue along the underside and around the head before pulling the full tip into his mouth. He tasted and swallowed, shivering a little bit as the full force of the taste of male hit him. It was just amazing, so strong and powerful, and his body craved more. Sliding down a few more inches, Lucas forced himself to stop, bobbing along the first four inches of the Fighting type's cock. His tongue went crazy, licking over as much as it could reach, just wanting to get more of the exquisite taste.

Sadly, the Machoke chose that point to pull out. Lucas tried to grab hold of Strike's thighs, his rump, but the bigger male was just too strong. Plus he got a gentle grip on Lucas's second neck as leverage, and it made him about as docile as a kitten when it was grabbed by its mother. He looked up at Strike, feeling just a little disappointed that he had to stop doing that right then.

"Sorry, didn't think that you'd get quite that into sucking my dick," Strike admitted with a shake of his head. "Never thought that you'd like a Fighting type that much either, for that matter."

Lucas hadn't thought that he'd get like that either. He looked at the Machoke with a little shake of his head. "I didn't really think that would happen myself...but you are a really...really..." Lucas looked down. Why was it so hard to say it? He just had Strike's cock in his mouth, had been going crazy over the musky dick, but he couldn't say that the Fighting type was hot as hell? What the heck was wrong with him?

The two of them just stared at one another for a bit before Strike pulled his clothes back up, his shaft thudding against his crotch as he manipulated it back under the fabric. Even as it was, there was still quite a bulge there, and Lucas wondered how he ever could have missed the package the Machoke was packing. "Look, come back to the training room with me. If you still got the energy, I think that you can make yourself useful to me down there, and pay off a little more of your debt," he said. "You do still have some energy, right?"

"Energy...yeah, yeah," Lucas said absently, half-lost in his thoughts. "Yeah, I'll come. Lead the...the way."

The blue Mewtwo followed behind the Machoke, shaking his head and looking down at his still half-erect shaft. It seemed to refuse to go down, no matter what tricks or thoughts he tried to fill his head with. Then again, that might have been because all of his thoughts eventually shifted back to Strike and other things that they might be able to do. Plus, since he was looking down, he kept getting a good look at the Fighting type's feet. They were just as sexy as he had thought they were in his imagination, and no matter how he tried to stop his thoughts they quickly turned to naughty things he could do with them.

Stop, stop! He kept telling himself to stop thinking of that, but it just wouldn't work. Shaking his head, Lucas kept his hands folded at his crotch. It didn't help to cover his testicles - now quite visible with his arousal where they had been hidden little bumps before - but it did cover his shaft, at least from the front. If anyone actually looked at him from the side, though, they'd get quite a show.

At least the hallways were quite narrow, so that didn't seem possible. Maybe they were all one way hallways? That would explain why they were all so narrow...

His thoughts drifted off as he looked more at the walls of the dojo, if that was what it was. It was made of stone outside of the training room, and it was definitely different for it to shift around a little bit like that. He turned his attention back to Strike. "You know, I had a, um, a little question."

"I can answer it, probably," Strike said. "What were you wondering?"

"Just what is this place?" Lucas gestured at the stone walls that were barely lit around them. "It's like it's a monastery from older times, but that training room looked like some sort of modern dojo? Which is it? And where are we, anyway?"

"Ah, that would be a little confusing at first, I guess." Strike placed a hand on the wall. "This place used to belong to some human monks a long time ago, at least from what we've been able to figure out, and what the Medicham down in the archives has been able to pull out. They abandoned it a while back, though, and we moved in instead of living down there in the Darkbrush. We might be able to take on the Dark types down there, but when you have neighbors that all hate you, it's kind of difficult to have a peaceful life."

"And the dojo part?"

"What, did you expect us to not practice as much now that we live up here?" Strike laughed. "No, no, we practice as often as we can, keeping up our skills and making sure that we're all as strong as we can be." He talked about how they had found the materials for the dojo buried in the basement of the monastery. Strike wasn't sure whether the materials had been there and used by the monks, or whether they had packed it up themselves a while back, but it had been good enough for them to build up a practice room for themselves. Yes they had to change out some of the wood paneling now and then - after all, Pokemon did have greater strength than humans did as a general rule - but they had it pretty good. There was a forest down below, and after enough research and practice they had figured out how to keep things all fixed up.

The whole thing was rather impressive to Lucas; one didn't usually find Pokemon that not only lived in buildings rather than the wild, but actually maintained the building as well. Most of the time Pokemon would just live in their environment, not work to make it better or maintain it when it broke down. That was a little more of a human thing. Lucas wondered what else the Pokemon training here did that others didn't.

"Well, we're here."

He jumped in surprise. Looking past Strike, Lucas was shocked to see that they were at the door of the training room, and quickly looked down. Thankfully, the non-sexy talk had been enough to get him to shrink down and slide back into his sheath. He wouldn't be going into the room with his cock leading the way and look like an idiot. "Well, at least I don't have to worry about that," Lucas muttered under his breath, shaking his head in relief.

Strike paused, turning to look back at him. "Don't have to worry about what? Your little embarrassment?" he asked with a nod towards Lucas's groin.

Blushing, Lucas shook his head. "Don't mention that," he muttered. "Let's...let's just go into the training room, huh? Why don't we just get in there, and you tell me what you'd like me to do." He was sort of looking forward to getting back to his chambers later, so he could actually play with himself again, or...or maybe, if he was lucky, get Strike to come back to bed with him. There was a lot he'd like to do. Not much that he was likely to do, but he could always hope.

No, no, bad thought, bad thought! He mentally shoved that thought away, putting out a quick psychic barrier as his sheath started bulging again. No matter how hard it tried to strain through, he wasn't going to let his member just pop out again after he had only just gotten it back where it was supposed to be. "Um...yeah...come on, just go in so I can get inside too, and we can start working again."

"Well, if you insist." Strike smiled as he stepped forward, and Lucas followed after, suddenly more than a little nervous. Why would he -

As Strike stepped out of the way, Lucas realized that the room wasn't empty anymore. There were a good ten Fighting types in the training room now, and each one was looking right at him. It almost felt like their gazes shifted from his face to his groin, but Lucas made himself keep a straight face. With all the self control he could muster, he managed to keep from blushing. He floated himself off of the ground into the room, using all the remaining concentration he had to keep that barrier up on the top of his sheath. The last thing that he needed was for that to disappear; with all the eyes on him right now and his brain still filled with various fantasies of -

Stop thinking about that, he told himself. Every time he thought of...that person...his sheath tried to bulge out all the more, the tip of his member pushing at the psychic barrier. And just because it was invisible didn't mean that it didn't hurt; his shaft was not in a good position, trying to harden and only being forced down into his sheath again. He half thought he should have prepared some sort of psychic illusion to cover himself there, but it was too late now.

Strike gestured for him to take a spot in front of the mats at the front of the room, where several strong looking Fighting types waited. A Hitmonlee, a Poliwrath, and a Blaziken all sat waiting, looking at him as he approached. None of them said anything, but they watched him with unblinking eyes. Lucas suppressed a tremble at the eyes; they felt almost like judging eyes. Had he done something wrong? Was Strike putting him through some sort of ritual before he was allowed to stay around here? What was going on?

He paused about five feet in front of the center one, the Hitmonlee. Despite his calm exterior, Lucas was more than a little worried, intimidated. "I am Lucas. Strike brought me here to be healed," he said, bowing his head in submission. It was the only thing he could think of to do. "I guess...you're the ones in charge here? The masters that he talked about?" He felt like their eyes were taking him in and judging him for everything, from his type all the way down to the way that his sheath bulged with need. It throbbed, and it almost broke his concentration with just how much his cock wanted to get out. For the moment, though, the barrier held.

The Hitmonlee nodded once, giving a slight bow in return. "Yes, we are. Strike is the training master, and we are the dojo masters. I am Rock." Rock gestured to his left, at the Blaziken. "He is Burst." Then he gestured to the right, at the Poliwrath. "And he is Shatter." The two introduced gave a small bow, which Lucas returned. "Now, it seems that you have recovered enough to work. Is that true?"

Lucas nodded.

"Good." Rock gestured off to the side. A Hitmontop stood up, walking over to stand next to Lucas. "This is Topper. He's still learning. Now, I want you two to spar."

His eyes went wide. He looked from Rock to Topper and back, then stammered a bit. "U-um, you...you want me and him to fight? Like...battle?"

"No. I want you to spar. There is a difference, because this is only to teach a lesson. There will be two rounds; the first, you will not use your psychic powers, and the second, you will." Rock gestured towards the rest of the students, who quickly pulled back from the center of the room, leaving it clear and open for the Mewtwo and the Hitmontop. Rock, Strike, and the other masters stood at the front of the room, looking down at them. "Begin."

Before Lucas could protest at all, Topper leaped at him. He barely turned in time to bring his arms up in an attempt to block, but the Fighter type was too strong. The blow collided with his arms and sent him sliding back along the wooden floor. He was grateful it was so smooth; being barefoot, it would have been all too easily to fill his feet with splinters from doing something like that.

Lucas looked up over his arms still held in a blocking position to see Topper flipping over onto his head. He blinked, then stared as his opponent started to spin. Faster and faster he spun, before shooting across the floor. "Oh, crap." Lucas dodged to the side, the rapidly spinning Pokemon shooting past him. He looked over his shoulder, hoping to see Topper hit the wall, but it didn't happen. Instead, the student managed to get a turn going, a very sharp one that he could swear left a mark in the floor before shooting around towards him again.

Already off balance, and forbidden from using his psychic powers, Lucas didn't have a chance. Topper's legs, spinning around at rapid speed, collided with him in a rapid kicking move. Each one was a little weak, but it was the accumulated damage and the speed at which the blows were delivered that caused him to feel all the pain from it. He couldn't keep his arms up against them for long, and soon the blows were coming down on his side and his head.

One final kick sent him flying back, slamming against the wall hard enough to make him grunt. He pulled himself up just as Rock stood up and stomped a foot for attention. Immediately Topper stopped his spin, setting himself back on his feet.

Rock looked between the two of them. "Students, as you see, our fighting moves are quite strong. Even against a Psychic type that is at the top of the food chain, they can be powerful enough to send him flying across the room when we manage to land a hit."

Lucas wasn't precisely happy about that. He looked over at Topper, who was grinning rather cockily. Some of the other students that had been watching were also looking rather smug, seeing one of their own knocking him against the wall. Were the students that dull?

It seemed that the Hitmonlee was thinking along those same lines. Rock shook his head. "Of course, in this case, you were relying on your opponent to not use any of his more powerful moves. If he had, the type advantage our guest has would more than overcome our physical strength." He turned his head to Lucas. "Do you have it in you to give a demonstration of a Psychic blast?" he asked.

"I believe I do," Lucas said. "Shall I show Topper what happens when a Fighting type gets hit with one?" He looked at the Hitmontop, who was suddenly looking just a little nervous. Not that he could blame him. A Psychic blast against a Fighting type tended to have a pretty powerful effect, after all, and considering he had seen nothing but Fighting types here, it was possible that nobody had ever experienced one for themselves.

"Please do." Rock looked at the Hitmontop. "I think he needs to learn a little lesson, as do all of the other students."

Grinning a bit, Lucas stepped forward from the wall. Settling himself in place, he mentally grasped at his power. He could tell by the look on Topper's face that his eyes had stated glowing slightly. Throwing his hands forward, he directed the power through them, sending it flying in a blurring wave right at his opponent.

He went flying backwards from the blast, hitting the wall on the other side of the room before collapsing to the ground. Unlike Lucas, Topper was completely unconscious when he hit the ground, rolling over more through his body's position as he hit the ground rather than any action on his part. The other students gathered around him, staring with wide eyes. Lucas didn't need psychic powers to know that they had lost all of the smugness that they'd had a few minutes ago after seeing him slammed against a wall.

After a few minutes, Topper gradually managed to get to his feet. He was more than a little dizzy looking and he tottered back and forth when he tried to walk. Rock nodded at him. "Why don't you go back to your quarters and get some rest, Topper? I think you need it after taking a Psychic blast of that strength." Topper nodded, walking out of the room. One of the other students, after getting a nod of approval from Strike, walked along with the Hitmontop, giving him a little support on the way out.

The other students looked back to the masters, apparently expecting another lesson, or in the case of a few worried ones, their turn to be blasted with a Psychic attack. Rock looked over them a bit then gave a slow, lazy wave. "You are dismissed for the moment. The masters need their practice too, and they wish privacy. As do I. Go ahead and relax," he said.

Lucas's eyes went wide as the students flooded out of the room as fast as their legs would carry them. He stared a bit even after the room was cleared before looking over at Strike. "Um...do they do that every time they are given a break?" he asked.

"Most of the time," the Machoke admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. "We do work them pretty darn hard, after all, and they like to get out of the training with as few bruises as they can get away with. So when there's a chance for them to get out of here without having to do any fighting for the day they take as much advantage of it as they can." Strike grunted a bit as he got up, stretching his legs out and then his arms. "Anyway, the other masters tend to spar among themselves. Mind giving me a bit of a partner to work with?"

"Uh, you sure you want me?" Lucas asked. He nodded his head towards the indentation on the other wall. "Either I'm going to be the one hitting the wall, or you will if you want me to use my type's moves."

"Eh, you might be surprised," Strike said with a shrug of his shoulders. "Besides, I want a challenge. It's been a while since I've seen someone knocked against the wall that way when they weren't fighting a master of the dojo. Let's see if I can get around this type disadvantage. What do you say?"

He blinked. If he was totally honest with himself, he didn't really want to fight Strike. There was something about the Machoke that had him wondering if it was really a good idea, plus that confidence coming off of the muscular male had him thinking Strike had some secret move that would bring him down pretty fast. His common sense were begging him to just put any sort of fight out of his mind and sit down, just watch if he had to do anything. His libido was telling him to fight and fake a loss so he could maybe be asked to do something else.

In the end, neither could win, so they came to a compromise; fight as best he could and give Strike the 'challenge' he wanted, and end the fight as soon as he reasonably could. So, he nodded. "You just tell me when you're ready to sta-"

He didn't get a chance to finish before Strike had a kick flying up towards his head. Lucas ducked down, just barely managing to keep from getting brained by the blow before the Machoke spun on his foot and brought his fist up into Lucas's stomach. The blow as enough to knock him back again, right off of his feet and making him bounce as he came back down.

Grunting, he pulled himself back to his feet, giving a bit of a glare to Strike. "You wanna pull those punches a bit? I'm still healing, remember?" he said, wrapping one of his arms around his stomach.

"It's a sparring match, and I want a challenge. Gimme one," Strike said with a chuckle. He kept his foot pointed at Lucas, holding his pose from the kick and punch combo for a brief moment, a moment Lucas took full advantage of.

Not in a combat sense, but rather in a memorizing sense. His eyes flicked over the Machoke's foot, seeing the little creases along the bottom when the toes curled, seeing little shiny spots from where the foot was just a little bit sweaty. He blushed at the thoughts that slipped into his head, and shook it rapidly, trying to get his head clear.

When he opened his eyes again, Strike was charging right at him. Really not wanting to get kicked or punched again, Lucas lashed out with a Psychic blast. He was sorry for doing it, but he didn't need another bruise on his body right now.

Surprisingly, Strike leaped partly to the side, managing to get to the edge of the Psychic blast. It still hit him, judging by the momentary wince on his face, but the main force of the attack hadn't been enough to push him back or even slow him down. Lucas went wide eyed as the large Machoke leaped, his legs pointing forward in a kick, and his bare foot flying right at his face.

At the last moment his self preservation won out over shock and fascination, and he managed to throw his hand forward and direct a barrier against the blow. He watched it form, heaving a sigh of relief in his head. That should keep it -

POW!

To his great surprise the foot shot straight through the barrier. Not at full force, thankfully, but with enough to hit him right in the face. It pushed him back with the force of the impact, sending him flying back along the wooden floor. Only a quick projection of his power behind him kept Lucas from creating a Mewtwo shaped hole in the wall. He panted as he pulled himself back together. "How did you do that? That barrier should have kept you on the other side, no matter how hard you were kicking out."

"No Guard." Strike chuckled, getting into another posture. "It's a special move for my species. No matter what you do, my blows are going to land. Maybe at full strength, maybe not, but they are all going to land. Same with yours, yes, but I think that it's a good trade off." Hopping from foot to foot like a boxer, Strike punched the air a few times. "You want a free blow? You'll need it if you wanna win the match."

Panting a bit, Lucas pulled himself back together. What he would have given for some of the techniques that the other Mewtwos he knew had; they would have been more than good enough to hand him the match here and now. But he'd have to rely on the ones he had, and if he could just land one Psychic attack, he could probably turn the whole darn thing around. "No...I'm not going to fight unfairly like that," Lucas muttered.

"Good. You've got a bit of honor to you. Shoulda taken that attack though; you need all the advantages you can get," Strike said. He leaped forward again, this time leading with his fist.

Undistracted for a change, Lucas lashed out with a full power blast, hitting Strike right in the chest with a Psychic attack. The fact that it didn't shoot Strike across the room the way it had done with Topper gave him a pretty good clue at their relative levels, and it made him just a little nervous. Considering that he was just below mid-level, that meant that Strike had to be pretty darn high to stand up to the attack like that.

His nervousness must have shown on his face, because Strike chuckled as he pulled himself back together from the attack. "I said that I might surprise you," Strike said with a chuckle. He flexed his arm a bit. "Good shot, though. Haven't felt something like that since a wandering Alakazam hit me with one of those. Knocked me right through a couple trees." He smiled. "I've gotten stronger since then, though."

He could tell. There weren't a lot of Fighting types that could just shrug off a Psychic attack like that. The fact that Strike could made Lucas wonder if there was a chance for him to win this fight or not; his most potent move had basically been rendered useless...well, not completely, but it wasn't as good as he was hoping it would be.

While he was thinking, Strike had darted forward. Lucas grunted as he shifted to the side, pushing himself along with his psychic powers. Floating allowed him to move a great deal faster than walking, though he had a hard time feeling just how fast he was moving when he did. However, even as he shifted his position, the Machoke seemed to shift along, his fist still pointed right at him. The Mewtwo's eyes went wide, and he could nothing but stare as the blow hit him right in the stomach, knocking the air right out of him as well as sending him flying back another few paces.

Falling to the wooden floor with a grunt, Lucas rolled a few times. He landed on his back, and pressed his hand to his head, feeling around for any bruises or bad marks. There were none, but his head did hurt more than a little bit.

Knowing that it was probably a bad idea, Lucas closed his eyes and pulled at his energy. He focused his power through him quickly, pushing out a fast Recover move. It was difficult to hold it together and still do the job quickly, but he felt a lot better when he opened his eyes a few seconds later. Looking down, he found himself blushing immediately.

Apparently a good bit of feeling better had come from the fact that Strike had walked over to him and basically used him as a stool for one foot. Used his sheath for that, specifically.

And his barrier had failed when he had done the Recover move.

He looked up at the Machoke with the biggest blush of his life on his face, then looked away. "Um, sorry about that...let me up?"

"Hehe, sure," Strike said. His gray foot moved back and forth for a second, just long enough for Lucas to feel the texture of the bottom of the foot against his shaft. Stifling a moan before it could get too loud, he picked himself up and patted his body down. He tried to ignore the fact that he was hard and showing it, but his blush from that fact refused to go away. More to the point, every time he moved he felt the bit of strain from it, the familiar tugging on the tissues inside when it was hard and didn't want to be pointed in a different direction.

For once, his psychic abilities were useless with his member. Now that it was out, there was no way that he was going to be able to force it back into his sheath until it had softened at least a little bit. More to the point, he was too flustered to make any kind of psychic illusion to conceal it. "Great...now I gotta fight with you out in mid-air," he muttered at his dick. He felt it throb lightly; great, his own body was mocking him now.

He looked up to see Strike had taken up a fighting posture about a dozen feet away. This time, he wasn't going to just take the blows. Yeah, he was a little bit off guard the last time, but Lucas wanted to prove that he wasn't quite so easy to-

"So, are you thinking of my cock, or are you thinking of my feet?"

Whatever confidence and preparations that Lucas had managed to put together were promptly dashed, and he almost stumbled over his own feet in shock. "Wha-what did you say? What the heck are you talking about?" Lucas asked.

The other masters of the dojo looked up with a curious look on each of their faces, which only made Lucas's blush worse. Strike was chuckling the whole time. "You seriously think that I'm blind, Lucas? You think that I didn't notice some of the stuff you've been staring at? And you think that I forgot about what happened back in your quarters, when you -"

"Don't!" With a blush on his face and a throb of his dick, Lucas lashed out with a powerful Psychic blast. It was just enough to shove the Machoke back a few steps, and more than enough to make him stop talking for a moment. He flew forward, floating off of the ground by a good six inches. While Strike was still recovering, Lucas shoved himself forward with another blast, forcing the Fighting type back a few steps this time. All the while his dick was throbbing, reacting in embarrassment to being seen like this and from how close a call it had been. If Strike had really continued...well, he didn't know what he'd do.

As he prepared another Psychic blast, Strike leaped into the air. Lucas was unable to help himself, following the Machoke's aerial path. He gathered his hands together, collecting the energy for another blast. He was going to win this, he thought; he was going to win!

Then he saw Strike's bare feet. The thought of the Machoke teasing him and breaking his concentration this way hadn't occurred to him, and despite his self-preservation screaming for him to do some move, to do something that would blow Strike back, his libido just wanted to let the battle to go. There was a part of him that wanted this, to be somewhat humiliated...And for now, that part was stronger.

His hands came down just as Strike's feet slammed into his body. It knocked him back to the wooden floor with a slam, the wood cracking a bit from just how hard he'd hit it. The blow was just strong enough to make him black out, his eyes closing and consciousness fleeing.

#

He wasn't sure just how long he'd been out, but one thing was for sure. His face had a nice little cushion on it. Had the masters of the dojo given him some sort of pillow to lay against while he recovered again? Or was it Strike? It would have been rather nice for them to do that, but it seemed a little weird. More to the point, the longer he thought about it, the less that the pressure on his face seemed to come from a pillow. It was smooth enough, but it was curved against his face too. And it wasn't so wide as he thought a pillow would be.

And...and he was still laying on his back. There shouldn't be a pillow on his face unless someone was trying to suffocate him or something.

A little alarmed at that idea, Lucas jerked, opening his eyes to see what was going on.

His face burned with a blush as soon as he opened his eyes. Well, it wasn't a pillow on his face, that was for sure. It was too warm, too gray, and far too musky to be a pillow, unless someone had been humping one. The material on his face was a little too well shaped to be a pillow too, for that matter.

And why shouldn't it be well shaped, considering that the pressure came from Strike's feet?

Lucas shook his head a few times, but the feet followed it around as he did. He squirmed this way and that, but there was just enough pressure on his body to keep from getting away. Considering that the bottom of the feet covered his eyes as well as his snout, it kept him from seeing what was going on, so he couldn't even figure out how to get out of this. Please, he begged in his head, please let it just be me and him, without the masters looking at us.

"Well, Strike, it seems that your little guest has quite the liking for his position," Rock's voice said. Lucas groaned under the feet, and he would have buried his face in his hands if they had been free and if his face hadn't already been covered in feet. "Oh, and he's awake. Why don't you let him take a look around?"

"Good idea," Strike said. Slowly the feet were lifted off of Lucas's face, and he blinked, looking around to see what was going on.

Strike looked down at him from a low level table, one that seemed to have adjustable legs. He supposed that it would be slid up to let him out later, considering that it's pressure and legs were keeping him from pulling back or squirming away. His arms were pinned against the legs of the table, and try as he might, there was no way for him to move out of there without Strike stopping him somehow. Well, if he were honest, he wasn't sure that he wanted to squirm out of the way. But what had the rest of the group meant when they'd said that it looked like he was enjoying himself? He couldn't see anything that would give them that kind of evidence.

Strike must have seen his confusion, because the Machoke chuckled. "This table isn't that long, you know," he said. "Go ahead, try and move your legs. You can."

Lucas blinked, but did. He found out that his legs were quite free, and so was his tail. He experimented a little, wondering just how much they had left free. As soon as he found out that his freedom ended above his waist, his blush deepened. So...so they had left his shaft totally exposed to the group. He groaned, closing his eyes and turning his head to the side, even as his shaft throbbed in need and desire. With each throb he swore he could feel the masters eyes on his member, just looking at it, and that made him all the harder, all the more horny.

"Hmm, you know, you never answered my question before." Lucas groaned as Strike brought that up again. "You remember, the one that I asked you before you started throwing some super powered Psychic moves around. You remember the question, right?"

"....I remember," Lucas admitted.

"Good." Strike leaned back, his feet extending again and laying over Lucas's face. "Why don't you answer me now, then? Are you thinking of my cock? Or maybe you're thinking of the feet in front of your face. Which of those two makes you harder, hmm? Which one has you throbbing and leaking pre in front of us?"

Oh, god, the Mewtwo thought to himself. Just the questions would have been embarrassing enough, but his body was answering them for him. Every time he felt the slightest movement of those feet along his face, his cock throbbed more. When the toes curled, drumming along his face, his member dripped more pre, falling on his belly hard enough and with enough volume for him to feel it. Every time the foot flesh pressed against his nose, where he could smell it more and not smell anything else, he groaned loudly, pressing himself more firmly against it to get more of the smells. He just couldn't help himself; it was like he needed it.

The Machoke chuckled. "Well, I guess that's a good enough answer for me." He pulled his feet back a bit, just enough for Lucas to be able to look around the room again. The other Fighting types were staring at him, Burst and Shatter in utter shock, Rock in amusement. Strike gestured at Lucas. "I think we should let him out."

"You sure about that, Strike?" Rock said as he walked over. His bare feet were at perfect eye level for Lucas, and he couldn't help staring at them as the Hitmonlee spoke. The toes were rather rigid, but the bottom of the foot had the little balls and dots of sweat that he couldn't help but sniff and poke his tongue out at. "He looks like he would enjoy some time being held there. Besides, we could all use a good foot cleaning, and if he wants to do it, what's the harm?"

"Mostly because I say so, Rock." Strike shrugged his shoulders. "I think he'll do a better job if he has a little less restraints, and actually feels a little more exposed. And he only cleans as many feet as he wants, too; he seems to like mine, but I don't know if he'll like yours."

"Whatever you say, Strike," Rock said.

Rock and Strike worked together to get the table up and out of the way. They lifted it right off of Lucas's body, using only one hand each in such a way that he had to wonder if they were just showing off a bit. After setting it down not more than a few feet away, they pushed a lever on the underside, lowering the top down and shrinking the legs until it was pressed right against the ground, only a few inches of clearance under it. Strike sat down on top of it, smiling so cockily that it was almost a smirk. "Come on, Lucas, wake up. Pay attention."

He shook his head a few times, pulling himself upright. Gathering his faculties, he looked back and forth between the various masters. Instinctively looking at their crotches and feet - instinctively because of what sort of mindset he was in - he forced himself to look up at their faces. "Um...may I ask a few questions?"

They shrugged, so he took it as permission. "What happened after I got knocked out? And why are you all so sure of what I'm wanting to do, what I'm thinking?"

"I think I should answer that," Strike said. Lucas nodded, and Strike leaned back on the table. "Well, aside from the fact that you were hard and throbbing for the entire time that you were sparring with me, there were a few other signs. You know that you talk in your sleep?" Lucas shook his head. "Well, you might want to remember that you do that. And you talk a LOT." Chuckling, Strike pushed his legs out, settling the heels on the floor just a few inches away from Lucas. "And you talked about what you'd do with these a lot. Granted, it was mostly in mutters, but you talked about them. My dick too, but mostly these."

He talked in his sleep? He hadn't thought that he did; no one else had mentioned it. Then again, with all the fantasies running about in his head, it wasn't surprising that some of them would have been voiced. The stronger that the thought was in one's mind, the more likely it was that it would eventually be exposed, and that was particular rule was stronger and more true for Psychics than anyone else, considering that they were able to bring their imagination to life, at least to a degree.

All the logic in the world, however, wasn't enough to deny the fact that Strike knew of his fascination now, and so did all of the other masters of the dojo. Lucas looked away from the feet, though that was a struggle, staring down at the ground. "So...what...what are you going to do?"

"Well, contrary to what Rock was suggesting, I'm going to offer you a choice." Strike shifted forward a little further on the table, reaching out with one leg to adjust Lucas's face, turning his head until he was looking the Machoke in the eyes. "I don't mind that fascination. In fact, I like it, just like I liked it when you started gulping down my dick back in your quarters."

"You mean he actually pulled that massive meat down his throat?" Burst the Blaziken asked.

"You got it. Course, he might have been practicing with other Pokemon while he was out and about; you never know with submissives like him." Lucas barely paid attention to them, nuzzling against the foot holding his face. It felt so good, so smooth...and it smelled rather good, too, very manly, virile, musky. "Save your questions until later, guys; I kinda need to talk to Lucas right now." Strike pulled his feet away from Lucas's face, and the Mewtwo couldn't help whimpering a little bit in disappointment. "Calm down. I need you to be a little more focused right now. This is important.

"Look, you still need to recover, but you also need to help us out around the dojo to help make up for us helping you out. I think, with this latest development, we have a pretty good compromise for you." Strike chuckled, and Shatter the Poliwrath pressed Lucas forward a bit. Now right in front of the Machoke, Lucas blushed as those sweaty feet pressed against his chest, using him as a footstool, or a foot rest. "You see, this new little chore only has you laying down, maybe lifting your arms or your head up to do what we ask you to do. Just some licking, some massaging. Maybe have you get up and lick in other places, if you can't quite reach them while you're laying down. Nothing hard, not like being a sparring partner again."

Lucas thought about it. "You mean...I basically keep resting, but get up when you have needs? Any needs, or just...just..." He paused, looking down at the big gray feet on his chest. He drooled just a bit, licking his lips slightly. "Or just...just ones related to...to these?" he said with a gesture at them.

"We'll figure that out as we go along. But it's up to you, Lucas," Strike said with a shrug of his shoulders. His feet rubbed up and down, the toes sometimes curling and drumming along his skin. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to. I'll even go easier on you with the sparring matches if that's what you want to do. But, judging by the throbbing that little cock of yours is doing, I think you're as eager for this particular way to pay us back as I am," he said with a nod down at said cock.

He didn't need to look down to know that his cock was throbbing, nor did he have to look around to know that Rock, Burst, and Shatter were all looking at it as well. Lucas didn't dare look at them; if Strike was as much bigger than him as he was, he didn't want to think about the size of the others. It would be all the more humiliating, and thus...thus...all the more arousing.

Still, he had to think about the offer. His libido, obviously, wanted to go along with the idea, no questions asked. So did his self-preservation; after all, it wouldn't even injure his dignity at this point. The masters of the dojo knew that he wanted to do this, and he wouldn't be asked to do anything that he didn't already want to do. Better still, he wouldn't have to deal with any more bruises or blows from sparring. Yes, he'd probably have to do some stuff for the other three - something he didn't really mind, but he wasn't quite as attracted to them as Strike - but he had the feeling that the Machoke would be keeping an eye on him and what happened with the others. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

Maybe Strike thought he was hesitating a bit out of worry, or maybe he thought he was trying to get a better deal. Either way, it prompted the Machoke to speak up again. "How about this? If you agree to play along like this, I'll teach you a new move before you have to leave? A move that will keep those Dark types from bothering you while you make your way out of the forest. Can't ask for a better deal than that, can you?"

Honestly, he hadn't expected an offer like that, nor had he thought about how he was going to get through the forest after he was all the way healed. Lucas hadn't even thought about when he was going to leave the dojo. Oh, he'd known he would need to leave at some point, but the when had been easily ignored. With all the possible problems with the Dark types, he'd just avoided thinking about it.

But if Strike had a move that could get him through the Darkbrush without as much problems, he would be a fool to ignore the chance to learn it.

All this took longer than usual to go through his head due to the stimulation and humiliation that he was getting by being teased by those big gray feet. He kept looking down at them while he thought, and whenever he did, the thoughts drifted off into fantasies of what he wanted to do with those musky, sexy feet. Eventually, however, he managed to get his mind to think it through completely, and he slowly nodded his head. "Yes..."

"Yes what, Lucas?" Strike said, ceasing the up and down rubbing of his feet.

"Yes...yes...I'll...I'll satisfy your needs," Lucas moaned, reaching up to grab at the ankles of those sexy feet. He wanted to pull them to his face, to hold them and nuzzle them and lick them clean of all their sweat and musk. He wanted to taste it along his tongue, to show just how much he loved them, and show his gratitude for all that Strike had done for him and intended to do for him.

But before he could grab them he found them grabbed, his hands pulled behind his back. Another pair of his hands grabbed his ankles, yanking them back behind him and holding them in place against his struggles. Lucas squirmed against the hands, but it availed him not. The hands were too strong, and when they tied his wrists together with some sort of rope and did the same to his ankles, it was completely hopeless. He turned his head to Strike. "What's...what's going on, you guys? What are you doing?" He was able to control his voice and keep from stuttering, if only barely.

"If you're going to satisfy my needs, I need you to be restrained first," Strike said. Lucas could only stare at the Machoke and his grin as he was slowly restrained, his arms held behind his back and knotted tightly. Pulling at the bonds just didn't work, and he couldn't focus his psychic abilities enough to pull his arms free from the the knots. "Don't worry. You're going to like it, I'm sure. I just want to make sure that you're not going to do something too preemptive here. So, calm down, and just trust me."

"Well..." Lucas paused, turning his head to the other masters. They were grinning, but not in the malevolent ways of the Dark types down in the forest. They didn't look like they were trying to hurt him; rather, they looked playful, a slightly more mature version of the look younger Pokemon had just before they started one of their games. "Well...I guess I can go with that."

"I'm glad you decided that," Strike said as the final knots were tied. Lucas pulled against them, but not in a way that suggested he was trying to escape. Willingly in them or not, he wanted to know just strong the restraints were and whether he could get out of them if he had to. He pulled with his arms, then with his legs. He squirmed this way and that, testing out the knots and the ropes themselves, searching for any form of weakness.

There was none. He was stuck good and tight, and no matter what little trick he thought of, it was either insufficient or the Fighting types had already thought of a way to get around it. Finally giving up, he lowered his head in submission.

It was quickly lifted again, and he found himself staring up at Strike. "Look, don't worry about it. We're going to take good care of you, so long as you keep taking good care of us. That's a pretty good deal, isn't it?" Lucas nodded. "I'm glad you think so. And don't forget, I'm still going to teach you that move later. Now, just relax and do what I tell you to do. Understand?"

"Yes...Master Strike." Lucas wasn't sure if that was the best way to address Strike right now, but considering his new role, he figured he might as well give the greatest respect that he could think of. Master seemed to be the right word, both for the respect and for the tasks that he would be doing. The only question was whether Strike would be the kind master that Lucas believed he was.

The other masters pushed him forward, picking him up and holding him until he had his balance. Still, he wobbled back and forth, his bound ankles making it a little hard to keep upright. He actually had to use a little bit of power to push out to his sides to keep himself from falling down. His eyes were locked on Strike's feet as he stood up from his table seat and walked over, standing almost toe to toe with him. Yet Lucas couldn't bring himself to look up. It just didn't seem right, not unless he was invited.

He felt the Machoke's hand on his chin, and lifted his eyes as his chin was pushed up. To his surprise, Strike leaned in and kissed him right on the lips. It was a short kiss, but it was so shocking that Lucas didn't have any chance to respond or even participate in the tongue tasting kiss before Strike pulled back. Chuckling with a cocky grin on his face, the fighter stepped back a pace, stretching his arms out over his head and striking a pose. "You know, I think this body is a little bit too strong and powerful and wonderful for me to bother with a regular bath. But I'm still so sweaty and musky after training, so I need to get clean. You know what I think I need?"

Lucas shook his head.

"I think I need another Pokemon to lick me clean. I think I need to have someone to give my whole body a good tongue bathing from head to foot. And you know what else?" Strike grinned, his hand shooting out and grabbing Lucas by the shoulder at lightning speed. "That Pokemon is you."

Pulled along faster than he thought possible, Lucas went from balancing precariously through the use of his powers to leaning against Strike's side, his head barely level with the gray male's armpit. In fact, his nose was basically pressed right up against it, his nostrils flaring as he took in the heavy scent of sweat coming off of the moist skin. Grunting, he pushed against the rock-hard muscles Strike had, pushing against him to try and get his head back. He wiggled and pushed, squirmed and even went so far as to try breaking his restraints to punch Strike in the side to get him to let go, but everything he tried only made the big guy smile a little bit more.

And it was quite easy to see why. Despite the stink of sweat and just how strong the smell was, no matter how much Strike needed a shower - and he really did need one - the smell was pushing all the right buttons for Lucas. It had his cock throbbing again, pushing out at full erection and dripping down on the floor. It was completely insane, but he could swear that he heard every drop that fell to the growing puddle on the ground. That was why he struggled, so that there was some chance that the other masters wouldn't see how much he liked this, so that they wouldn't see how much he loved being used and taken advantage of like this, controlled by the smell of a strong, virile male.

For a moment, it even seemed that he would be able to make it free from the bigger male. He had managed to get his shoulder out from under the Machoke's grip, and he was about to turn and push himself back with a push of psychic energies, but a very simple - and humiliating - move stopped him.

It was a simple grab to his secondary neck that stopped him. One would not have thought that such a thin tube that ran from the back of his head to the top of his spine would have such significance, but for a Mewtwo it was incredibly significant. It was the channel of a great deal of the species power and allowed them to control it better. It also contained a great deal of sensitive nerves, all of them clustered very close together. If another Psychic type were to manipulate it, it could do a lot to scramble him with pleasure. Tactile manipulation, while less refined, was still more than capable of completely paralyzing him with pleasure.

Gasping, he stopped, freezing in place, still facing Strike. The hand at the back of his head, gently wrapped around his second neck, pushed him forward again. He went along with it, barely managing to suppress his moans in the process. Barely able to think, there was no way he could move or squirm as he was guided back to Strike's armpit, gently pushed against it and held there.

Briefly he considered trying to escape, but before he could act on it the grip shifted to a gentle stroking, rubbing up and down the back of his second neck. Strike's thumb pressed gently but firmly against the back of it, rubbing down it before it was pulled up to the top again, rubbing down once more. Each little rub sent a tremble through his body, and a twitch through his cock. The gentle rubbing combined with the musk and sweat smell coming off of the armpit had him panting in seconds.

The other Pokemon around chuckled to each other, but he could barely hear them for two reasons. The first was because he was very focused on the smell and the feelings he was getting through that tube being rubbed. The second was because Strike had lowered his arm, basically trapping his head in place.

"He-hey! What- what are you doing?!" Lucas grunted from the Machoke's pit. He squirmed for a moment, but he was quieted again by a gentle rub to the back of his second neck again. He moaned softly, closing his eyes until they were held tightly shut. "Oooooh," he moaned, the hand on his second neck having tightened into a grip similar to what someone would have along a cock they were about to stroke. He wasn't...Strike wouldn't do that...in front of everyone, would he?

Oh, yes he would. Lucas's body went completely slack as the Machoke's big hand started stroking up and down his neck, squeezing ever so gently as it slid up and down, about the same speed as a relaxed handjob. The Mewtwo's mind got more and more blank, thought getting harder and harder as he pressed his face deeper into Strike's armpit. Unconsciously his tongue poked out, licking over the flesh gently. The gentle lick turned into a frantic licking as soon as he got a good taste, licking up the sweat and drawing more moans from him. Manliness and virility; the sweat tasted of just that, and Lucas couldn't get enough of the taste. He squirmed, but not to pull away. Instead, he pushed himself further into the grip, nuzzling under the armpit to get a little closer.

Everything going on more than a few feet away had disappeared from his awareness. There was a hint of a blush on his face, but the pleasure from the stroking behind his head and the taste of the sweat on his tongue kept him from really noticing even that little fact. He moaned, every lick of Strike's armpit followed by a twitch of his cock, so hard, so aroused. Every stroke of his neck was followed by a small squirt of pre, falling into a little pool at his feet. That he could feel; the edge of the pool touched his toes, moistening them with his own juices.

Just as exciting, he could just barely hear Strike's voice. "Yes, you are such a horny little slut, aren't you?" Strike said, his voice like a whisper in Lucas's ear. "Licking up my sweaty pits like that...yes, keep doing it...keep licking while I keep stroking you...you love it, don't you? Yes, yes you do..." Moaning, Lucas answered by licking harder, pressing his nose and lips more against the musky pit. "Mmm, yes...that's it...lick it clean...worship that pit. Make love to it with your tongue. Make sure you get absolutely everything."

The gentle touches on the back of his neck encouraged him as much as the words did, and he groaned as he kept up the worship. He panted, his dick throbbing in time with his licks, with the strokes. He was...he was....

He was cumming! Without any direct attention to his cock or anything that usually got him off, he was cumming, shooting his load to the ground below. He could feel each pulse through his body, feel the squirts shooting out through his tip. More than that, he could feel and hear the Machoke chuckling all the while. He panted, going completely slack in Strike's grip, only held up from being trapped in the Machoke's armpit like this.

Gradually his load tapered off into a drip drip of an ooze, and Strike finally lifted his arm back up. Without the support, there was no way for Lucas to stay on his feet, and he fell down to his knees. He panted, his eyes dazed and his cock still throbbing. The smell of the sweaty pit had been ground against his face and he could still smell it, albeit at a lesser strength. It was just enough to keep him from going soft just yet, and he throbbed, his dick displaying itself for everyone around.

"It definitely doesn't look like what we see in the showers, does it?" Strike said. Lucas was vaguely aware that he was being talked about, but his head was too muddled, too filled with pleasure for him to be able to figure it out. "I mean, I swear that all of us are a little bigger than him. Even you, Shatter."

"Well, we're all smaller than your monster, Strike." That was Rock, and there was a chuckle in his voice. "But yeah, that's smaller than anything I've seen in the showers after we clean up. Another reason to have him as a little toy, huh?"

"No doubt." Strike reached down and patted Lucas on the cheek, and Lucas slowly woke up at the contact. He shook his head a few times, his eyes clearing up a little before Strike looked him right in the eye. "Alright, you did pretty well with that. Time for you to show these guys another one of your talents."

Lucas nodded absently, slowly pulling himself back together. He was starting to get his head back on straight, and he was pretty sure that he would be alright now. No more blanking out, unless Strike did something he didn't expect, like -

"Now, show me - and my fellow masters - just how good you can suck my cock." Lucas could only stare as Strike stood up straight, his hands pulling down the bit of clothes he wore. It was done faster and more eagerly than in the Mewtwo's quarters before, but the shaft hidden behind it was still just as big. And just like before, the musk that it exuded, the fantastic fragrance, completely filled his head. "I told them that you swallowed this whole thing. Why don't you show them that I'm not a liar about that."

The blush from before, only slightly faded, returned at full force. Lucas blushed, his cock suddenly throbbing at full arousal again from the cock musk. He could smell pre, could smell sweat, could smell the smell of male coming right at his nose, and every little scent only made it that much harder to think. "I...I...but...in...in front..." he stammered, hesitating, trying to think, trying to figure this out. He wanted it - wanted it bad - but there was something that tried to hold him back. He didn't know what it was.

And he didn't care, he realized. He wanted this; they wanted him to do this. Even if it was a little embarrassing, it was what they all wanted. If he wanted to suck Strike's dick, then that was just what he was going to do. The fact that Strike wanted him to do it wasn't an embarrassment, it was an honor.

Wiggling forward as best as his bound legs would allow, Lucas leaned forward. He grunted, almost reaching the tip of the cock the first time. He wiggled forward a little more, then leaned forward again. This time, he was able to pull the tip of the Machoke's dick into his mouth. The taste was just as good as he remembered, the musky flavor not dulled at all from his previous play time with it. Just the little lick of the tip made him moan, rolling his eyes back like he had just tasted an exquisite dish.

Eager for more, he shoved his head forward, pulling more and more of that big thick dick down his throat. His tongue went crazy, licking and lapping along the underside, seeking out any further source of the flavor. He barely kept his eyes open for a few seconds before he closed them to focus on what he was doing more. He bobbed his head up and down, up and down, each little bob getting him further down the Machoke's cock.

Strike wasn't quiet about how he liked it, either. His moans were loud and encouraging, driving Lucas further down his shaft. Every time the Machoke grunted, moaned, and sighed in pleasure, Lucas remembered where that spot was, knowing that it was a sensitive one and a spot that he would need to pay attention to. But that was all secondary. What Lucas wanted most was to swallow the whole damn thing into his mouth, and that was what almost all of his focus was directed at.

Bob, bob, back and forth, thrusting his face forward to take more cock into it. His tongue lashed along the head whenever he pulled back, gathering up any fresh pre for him to swallow before bobbing down again. He had reached eight inches...then nine. He groaned, having to pause for a moment as he pulled back. Swallowing down some pre and doing his best to relax his throat, he thrust his head forward one more time.

The gasps from the other masters told him that nobody had expected him to swallow the whole thing down his throat. Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure he would have been able to do it this time, but he had. He grinned as best he could around the thick shaft, slowly opening his eyes and looking up. Due to the angle he could barely see more than Strike's belly, but he hoped that the Machoke was looking down at him happily. That's what he imagined on the Fighting type's face anyway.

After holding himself there for a bit, Lucas slowly pulled back. He felt the exact moment the tip of Strike's dick left his throat, and he felt it when it slid past his lips. Both felt rather stretched from the pressure that had been between them, and he was sure that his lips looked a little stretched from it. Rather than wait for further comments or commands, however, Lucas nuzzled along the underside of the Machoke's dick. It dripped with some pre he missed and with a little bit of saliva, making it slick and smooth. His cheek glided along it as a result, and he was down to those big, low hanging balls faster than he thought. Rather than go back to the tip, he started nuzzling them, sniffing at them before lipping, licking them. He worshiped them with tongue and lips, kissing them and nuzzling them, treating them well. The moans from above told him that he was doing a pretty good job, and the return of the gentle grip on the back of his second neck confirmed it.

With the big dick laid across his face, Lucas focused his attention on those sweaty but sexy balls, both swollen with seed. If he'd actually continued with the blow job earlier, he was sure that he would have had quite a mouthful from them. They were so big that no matter how hard he tried he couldn't actually fit them into his mouth. Even when he tried one at a time, they just didn't fit. That didn't stop him from trying, however; he nuzzled them, pressing his lips against them in obscene kisses. He licked them, lifting them a little with his tongue before letting them fall again. He pressed his lips to them and sucked at what little he could fit into his mouth. He did everything he could think of, his entire mind consumed with finding a way to make the experience better for Strike. Every time he did something right, he got a little stroke along the back of his second neck, rewarding him with pleasure and making him drip a little more pre onto the growing puddle on the ground.

Sadly, Strike seemed to get a little bored with it, and gave him a gentle tug, pulling him back from those succulent balls. Lucas thought he might have really enjoyed himself down there for another half hour, perhaps longer, but he went with it, not in a small part because the tugging was pulling on his second neck. Eventually, he looked up at Strike's face, panting and covered with the pre that had dripped down the shaft onto his forehead. "What...why...why stop? Why did you make me stop?" he panted.

"Because you still have another spot to give a tongue bath to," Strike said. He nodded to the other masters, who stepped forward to take Lucas by the arms, pulling him back a little bit and setting him on top of a small stool. The bonds on his ankles were attached to the legs of the stool, holding him in a kneeling, seated position. Strike chuckled, sliding back onto the table from earlier and lifting his legs up. "You got a little taste of being a foot stool before, but now I think it's time for you to actually do the job of cleaning them."

As Strike extended his legs towards him, Lucas just watched the feet, seeing them getting closer and closer by the second. His eyes were wide and his jaws were slack, his tongue sticking out just a bit, drooling in anticipation of that foot on his face, of one or the other pressing against his body or - if he was lucky - against his crotch. Stuck against the chair the way he was, however, he could only wait until it was pressed against his body, and Strike was taking his time. The feet got closer and closer, but would dart back just before they could get close enough for him to really enjoy them. He whimpered, straining forward against his bonds, tongue poking forward to try and lick at them despite knowing he couldn't reach them.

Just as they came close enough for his tongue to get a taste Strike yanked them back again. "You know, I think I want to try something else." He reached down to a sock on the ground near the table, throwing it over to the Blaziken. "Wrap this around his snout, tie it tight. Make sure that it's not going to come loose anytime soon," he said.

Lucas turned his head to protest, but no sooner had he opened his mouth than the Blaziken had grabbed him. With his greater physical strength, the Fighting and Fire type was easily able to snap his jaws shut again. The master only needed one hand to keep it shut, and he used the other to wrap the sock around his snout. Once it was around, the Blaziken moved quick, releasing his snout to quickly tie the edges of the sock together. The edge of it was around his nostrils a bit, not enough to make breathing difficult but more than enough to taint every breath in with the smell of sweat and feet. For someone like Lucas, it was erotic torture, and he whimpered softly as it pushed his overworked libido up again.

And that was with just the sight of Strike's sexy feet to deal with. He didn't know how much worse it was going to get - or rather, how much better - when those feet were actually pressed against his body, but he wanted to find out. Heavens above did he want to find out. Straining against his bonds, he leaned forward, almost overbalancing himself as he pushed his head towards those feet that dangled before his face, teasing him with their smell and their presence. He could see little drops of sweat running along the gray skin, never quite enough of it to form a full droplet that would fall to the floor. It was just enough to collect at the heel and roll a little bit down the leg, but sufficient enough to be seen rather than completely invisible. Every bit of his mind and his body wanted those feet pressed against his face, and he whimpered, begging with his actions since he couldn't speak aloud anymore.

"You want them that bad, Lucas?" Strike asked, his toes curling and wiggling, wiggling then curling. "You want these big, sweaty, manly feet right up against your face, using it like a foot rest, rubbing all over it and leaving my smell all over your face? Well, fine; you can have them." He grinned widely as he pushed his feet forward, finally pressing the hot flesh right against the Mewtwo's face.

It was all he could have wanted .The heat and the bit of moisture clinging to the feet were absolutely perfect in combination with one another, and he almost purred from the sheer pleasure that it gave him. Despite the blush of humiliation on his face from enjoying this so much in front of the other Pokemon, he continued nuzzling his face against the bottoms of them, soaking up whatever they were willing to give him, whether that was sweat, musk, or anything else that was on them. He would have licked at them, but the sock gag on his face was just strong enough and just well tied enough to keep him from snapping it and going for what he wanted.

They weren't staying still, either, waiting for him to move. Instead, they were rubbing against his face like it was a doormat. Up and down, then down to rub against the sides of face. Several times the broad feet almost managed to knock the gag out of the way, but one of the masters always noticed it just in time to get it back in place before it could fall off. Every time that happened Lucas groaned, looking at them with a glance that begged them to just let it fall off so he could enjoy himself fully. Every time they gave a look back that said that he would need to wait to do what he wanted most. He supposed that it was supposed to be particularly good if he was willing to wait, but he wasn't sure if it was going to be worth it. He wanted to play with those feet he way he wanted to now. Right. Now!

His squirms and whimpers drew smiles from the masters, most particularly from Strike. Whenever he leaned in to make contact last longer or feel one of those feet pressed more firmly against his face, Strike's grin got a little more cocky, a little more teasing. And the more that he did that, the more Strike actually teased him with the feet, pulling them back a little more than he had to. Sometimes he would slide one foot down Lucas's chest, stroking his feet and his toes along his - comparably - less muscled chest and along his belly. It seemed like he was going for the Mewtwo's dripping shaft, but he'd always pull back just before the heel could brush against the top of his needy member.

This was driving him absolutely crazy. He needed this, needed it so bad. If he had been slightly more coherent, he would have thought about using telepathy, but his mind was mostly gone. All that remained was the sheer need for pleasure, the desire for those feet, and getting them pressed against his body. He wobbled back and forth on his stool, pleading with begging eyes and low whimpers for the pleasure and release and play that he so desperately craved.

Finally Strike seemed to be moved to give him it. Nodding at the other masters, Strike pushed his feet forward against Lucas's face as soon as the sock gag was removed. It was like he had finally been lifted out of a long - albeit it pleasurable - hell and placed in heaven. Though he would have liked his arms free so he could worship those feet properly, Lucas was just thankful that he could finally open his mouth and taste them. His tongue darted out, licking along the underside of those warm feet, finally tasting the musk that had been rubbed all over his face. A little flick of his head got rid of the bit of drool that tried to leak out, and he went right back to giving them the tongue bath that they so badly deserved.

"Good boy...such a good boy," Strike said. Lucas did purr a bit at that point, nuzzling against those feet. He licked up little drops of sweat, moaning softly and nuzzling them between the long licks he gave along the heel, along the ball of the foot. He could feel his cock throbbing, twitching as it approached a second orgasm. Amazing that he could get this close to a second one, pushed to be so horny, without even a light touch to his cock. He wanted to cum again, wanted to stroke himself while he played with those feet, but his arms were still tied. And he couldn't actually ask anyone to untie him; he wasn't even sure that he wanted something like that. The restraints actually made this that much better.

But he wanted to cum, and when he finally had a moment between licks, he pulled his head back. It took a great deal of willpower to actually stop, but he actually managed it. Panting with both excitement and a little bit of tiredness, he looked between the feet at Strike. "Please...Please...I...I beg you...Please..." he paused, looking down. He could see his cock throbbing, barely a few strokes away from full orgasm. 'Please...Let me....let me get off...help me get off...Please!"

"Well, since you asked so nicely..." Strike trailed off, and his feet lowered. Lucas panted as he watched them go lower and lower, rubbing along his chest, then over his belly. He panted, pleading mentally for this not to be a trick, not to be another tease on the Machoke's part. He didn't think that he could take another of those right now.

It wasn't a tease. Both feet pressed against his shaft, sandwiching it between the two. They stroked up and down, hard and fast. There was no tease, no further foreplay to keep Lucas on the edge. It was full speed ahead destination: orgasm.

And there was little Lucas could have done to stop the orgasm if he wanted to. His bondage kept him from leaning more than a few inches forward or back, and he couldn't wobble to the sides without falling completely off balance. All he could do was hold as still as he could, not even hump forward against the feet to hurry up the pleasure, to push himself to orgasm faster. All he could do was wait, and let Machoke milk him with those feet. He moaned, his eyes closing tight as his climax approached faster and faster.

Finally it happened, and it hit him like a freight train. His whole body spasmed, his cock twitching beneath Strike's feet. It would have bounced up and down and sprayed his load everywhere if it hadn't been held down by those feet. Even with that, it was throbbing against them, spraying against every inch of their undersides. He felt the skin get much slicker under the rain of cum against them, and he wondered what it would be like to hump against them like that. Groaning, Lucas wondered whether he'd be made to lick it all up again, to clean up the mess that he'd made along Strike's feet.

The thought of that was enough to push another mini orgasm out of him, adding one small final spurt to his load before it finally ceased, dribbling down to an ooze that fell to the floor in the puddle of pre that he'd already made.

He panted softly, leaning forward as much as his bonds would allow him to do. Every move seemed to push at his oversensitive body, adding more sensations to his overloaded mind. Every thought was an exercise greater than a world-changing physics equation, so much harder than he thought.

The robes holding his arms and his legs were slowly released, and he slumped off of the stool. He would have fallen to the floor, but was caught at the last minute by Strike. He looked through bleary eyes at the Machoke, unable to help the grin that slipped over his face as he saw how much Strike was grinning, as if holding back a laugh. "What...what's so...funny?" he asked. "I...thought I did...a good job..."

"Oh, you did, but you just look so funny after getting off." Strike shook his head, slowly lowering him down to the ground. Lucas looked up tiredly, and only groaned as one of those cummed on feet were held over his face. "Usually I'd have you clean this off...but you're tired. Next time, I guess." The foot was slowly lowered back to ground, and Lucas's eyes started to close. "Go ahead and rest...we'll come for you when you need to 'work' again," Strike said.

The blue Mewtwo nodded, slowly falling into slumber. It was...good...to be liked and used like this, he thought. He slowly smiled, the sound of Strike's deep chuckle slowly lulling him off to sleep.

#

When one is the sexual servant of four strong Fighting types, always sweaty and eager for relief from anyone, a week can pass quite quickly. Though he was never pushed more than his recovery could handle, Lucas was used and played with by Strike every day for the week he spent at the monastery. Some of the others sometimes had their fun with him, but only the masters, and then only after asking Strike's permission. When Lucas asked why that was, Strike had said something about how, as training master, he outranked every other master by the simple fact that he did the training no one else wanted to do. Unless the other masters wanted to get off their butts and do more work, they needed to listen to him and let him do what he wanted.

That wasn't to say that the other masters were selfish or that they were lazy; they pushed him just as hard as Strike did when he was 'relieving' them, and they were never cruel about it, always making sure that he enjoyed what he did, whether that was worshiping Rock's feet for three hours or more, or tending to Shatter's cock for three orgasms, or sex wrestling with Burst. They never made him into a thing; a slave, sometimes, but never a thing.

But there was something more fun when he was spending time with Strike that was missing with the others, and it was Strike that he enjoyed spending time with most. Particularly when he got to spend time in the Machoke's bed, sleeping with his head down at those musky feet and waking the always horny male up with a blowjob in the morning, getting that massive cock well 'polished' with his tongue before going back to recovering.

Strike was true to his word, too; between his time relieving the masters and recovering, Strike worked on teaching him a move that would keep the Dark types in the Darkbrush off of his back, and more importantly, give him time to get moving if he couldn't take them on directly. Considering the fact that his upper body strength was negligible, they had decided that he would actually be better off with a leg move. Lucas wasn't sure just how good he was with the Low Sweep attack, considering he'd never managed to do a thing with it to Strike or the students, but it was a Fighting move. Not necessarily something that would be too effective on them.

When the day finally came for him to leave, it was both a great and a sad occasion. There was a celebration, a going away party, and there was all sorts of fun for Lucas there. Some of the students had figured out what he had been doing for some of the masters, and a few of them had managed to corner him during the party. They thought that they were taking advantage of him, but in reality, they were taking advantage of each other. Lucas enjoyed servicing the Machop and Topper from before, giving them some foot worship and actually getting off on their feet afterward. They blushed after the event, always looking a little abashed when they met his eyes, but he only grinned at them. They'd given him more memories to enjoy in his travels.

The party stretched out for hours, almost to sunset, and then it became a little sad. Everyone started saying their goodbyes, and Lucas said his goodbyes in return. Eventually, it was only him and Strike left outside the dojo, standing at the path leading down the mountain. They both looked off in the distance, at the setting sun, at the Darkbrush down below, anywhere but at each other.

"Um...I'll...I'll miss seeing you around every day," Lucas said, crossing an arm across his chest, rubbing his arm a bit. "I...really am glad that I met you."

"Yeah...yeah...I'm glad I did too," Strike said. He looked down at the forest before turning to actually look at Lucas. "Are you sure that you're recovered completely? Do you have the move down? I think we can keep you here another day or two if you think that you need it."

Lucas shook his head. "I can't. There are some things I have to do out there, and I can't do them here. But...but you made it so I could actually keep going. You saved me in the Darkbrush. And I owe you for that. Hopefully I can come back and visit you sometime, but right now, I gotta go." He paused, then gave up his hesitation. Leaning over, he wrapped his arms around Strike, holding him tight in a hug. He kinda wished he could stay and spend more time with the big Machoke and the others, but he just couldn't. Not right now.

Eventually Strike hugged him back. They continued that for a little while before finally letting go. "Be careful down there. I don't want to have to rescue you again," Strike said.

"You won't have to. You're too good a teacher for me to need that now." He leaned up, patting the Machoke on the cheek. "I'll see you again. You just wait."

"I will. Don't make me wait too long."

Lucas chuckled, nodding as he slowly let go of his friend. With a final wave, he floated over the path, taking the long trip down the mountain. He looked back, seeing that Strike hadn't left. The two of them watched each other until they were too far apart to see one another any more, and Lucas had disappeared into the woods, into the Darkbrush.

Strike shook his head. "Good luck," he whispered.

#

It wasn't long before Lucas knew that one of the Dark types of the woods was following him. Though he couldn't tell just what it was, he was pretty sure that it wasn't one of the ones Strike had taken down before. They wouldn't have been waiting for him to make a mistake; they would have just attacked him and been done with it. This one seemed to be sizing him up from the shadows, waiting for the chance to hit him hard and fast, hopefully ending it in one blow.

He was pretty sure he had a surprise for this one.

He kept floating along. Now and then he caught sight of the Dark type behind him. Hmm, he thought to himself. It was another Weavile. He couldn't be sure that it was the one that wanted to cut him apart before - there were no marks on it to remember it by - but it was stalking him with a murderous purpose. He didn't need his powers to tell that it would kill him the first chance it had. So he would need to show it that wasn't possible, and hope that the others in the forest would get the message.

Without warning, he turned around. The Weavile had been about to take another step, masking its steps with his, and was utterly shocked. It stepped out into the open, staring at him. Then it pulled up its claws, grinning sadistically. "Time to finish the job," it growled.

So it was the one from earlier, Lucas thought. Well, that just meant he could get a message across. He watched it charge at him, running across the open ground between them. This time, he didn't show fear, and he didn't try to run away. He just waited.

When it was close enough, he swept out his leg. Unlike his arms, his legs had a great deal of power behind them, and the kick had been trained by a high level fighter. He had to suppress a little grin at the surprise on the Dark type's face as his leg connected with him. Hard. His foot connected with the Weavile's cheek, hitting it and compacting it a bit. The blow held for a moment before the Weavile went flying off to the side, connecting with a tree and slumping down against the trunk. He didn't get up, his eyes closed.

"Well...that worked..." Lucas was almost surprised, but happy. He looked back and forth. There were no other eyes around him, and he figured that he might have a little more time in the Darkbrush than he thought he had. His eyes drifted back to the Weavile. Hmmm....maybe there was time for something else...

Maybe indeed...