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Devon had expected his plan to work, of course. He just hadn't expected his plan to work this well! Reynard left his first day the daycare feeling proud of himself, grateful to his Master, and most importantly, stuffed with cum. Devon figured Princess and Percy would think of the scales between them and Reynard as being more balanced, but he expected their rivalry to stay intact. The rest of that workweek, however, Devon didn't hear a word of complaint from anyone. Seemed that Princess and Percy had mostly been concerned about whether Reynard joining Devon at work would mean he wouldn't be fucking them as often. That particular fear was one Devon defeated the very first day, and the rest of the week was no different. There was plenty of Devon's cock to go around, boys, no need to shove!

That wasn't to say that they were exactly friends, though. When Princess wandered through the break room as Devon was giving Slut a good hard spanking, instead of a Heal Pulse, the Rapidash offered his wood-backed hair brush for Devon to use as a paddle. Percy seemed to have settled on simply never acknowledging Reynard's existence, up to and including when directly spoken to. Devon doesn't know for sure that Reynard was crying out to Percy for help when Devon was busily rigging the Delphox up with gift-wrap ribbon as a deal-sweetener for a Poképhiliac client. But there was a good chance he was, and Percy kept walking like he hadn't heard a thing.

Devon watches Percy stroll by with a smirk on his face and the heel of his boot on the back of Slut's head. The Delphox himself drools onto the office floor tile around the prettiest gag Devon owned, a blush-pink and sparkling rubber ball tied into Slut's mouth by a length of shining silver ribbon. That same ribbon threads through Slut's collar, runs down his back, winds into a figure-eight tie pinning Slut's wrists together, and terminates in a loop around the base of his tail tied off in a bow. The thing that really completed the look of a whore wrapped up as a present, however, was the recipient enjoying themselves using him. The would-be client kneeling behind Slut is a typical sort for the daycare, a young man having cut his teeth on battling Pokémon through his childhood, only to find out when he started getting serious about it that high-level play was going to need 'mons of a better calibre than wandering into the grass and flinging Pokéballs could get you. Clients like those were the best ones to target with the old “free sample of 'mon ass" tactic. Devon's completely convinced he's witnessed people lose their virginities (usually to Princess or Percy, but occasionally the odd stud 'mon) right there in his office.

This client in particular didn't seem quite so unpractised as that, though. Despite the rapid pace he's slamming out into Slut's fluffy ass, his eyes are clear and his voice is steady as he carries on talking business with Devon. “He's going to need a female that can pass on Sucker Punch. That'd be the biggest limiting factor for you, wouldn't it?"

Devon scratches down a note on the clipboard on his knee and pushes down on Slut's head a little harder with the same leg. “You'd be right. Perfectly doable, though. Furret, Mightyena, maybe a Lycanroc, I can track down a good physical 'mon with Sucker Punch and the right nature. No need to provide the Everstone, we can lend one out at a very reasonable rate. Adamant or Jolly?"

“Adamant. And yeah it'll have to be on the mom's side. Mine's Hasty. Speed is nice and all but it makes him even more paper-skinned than normal." Devon nods and adds another note as the slapping sound of the client's thrusting hips speeds up. “Fuck, this is some good ass! I'm telling you, bro, I like Arboks bad enough that I want to try and make one work as a warrior Pokémon, but I just don't get people who are into that scaly shit. Now this bitch is hot!"

The pen on Devon's clipboard pauses. He would have smiled to himself, being one of those “people who are into that scaly shit" himself, but he's preoccupied with a more important topic: “So, this male Arbok hasn't been sexually satisfied in a while, then?"

“A while?" The client snorts. “I told you, bro. I don't fuck with scalies. Look, I caught Orochi as an Ekans because he's a bitchin' snake. He's cool as fuck. But I'm not gonna stick my dick in him. And he fuckin' sucked as a warrior 'mon."

Devon doesn't mention that no amount of perfect IVs were going to make an Arbok not suck. That'd be bad for business when he was trying to sell this guy on the idea of renting room and board and an Everstone in order to breed a “better" Arbok. Again, too, there was a bigger topic to bring up instead: “How long has he been an Arbok?"

“I dunno. Like three years?" The client's hips speed up again with a grunt of pleasure from both participants. “There a problem with that?"

So, three years as a sexually mature adult, at least. Three breeding seasons (at least!) gone by without a partner. Pokémon might not be capable of violence against a human, but there were a lot of ways to attack a person without necessarily attacking them. This “Orochi" was going to be a handful. “It is generally good practice to ensure one's Pokémon have their instincts satisfied regularly. It won't be a problem, however. The daycare will see to those needs very well."

“Oh. Good. I wondered why Orochi got all pissy lately, but I figured he just needed some play time. So I left him out in the yard before I came in." The client leans in and sucks in a tight breath. “Fuck, I'm gonna c-"

“Reynard! Up, now!" The Delphox springs to his feet, throwing the client onto his ass, cock popping loose and blowing a weak, half-ruined orgasm onto his shirt. Reynard immediately frees himself, drawing his “wand" from his sleeve-like fur with telekinesis and pointing it at the ribbons, burning them clean off while doing no damage to himself at all. The ball gag is cast aside as Pokémon and trainer rush out of the office, leaving behind a bewildered would-be client to sit in his own mess.

Devon throws open the yard door with a bang, and sees the thing he'd been dreading most. Percy, eyes wide and terrified but turning hopeful as he sees Devon, struggles in vain amidst the cobra Pokémon's thick purple coils. The Fairy-type was particularly susceptible to being overcome by Poison-types, and while Princess had his Psychic typing to fight back with, Percy had nothing better than neutral. He was helpless against the frustrated Arbok, and the snake Pokémon's paired cocks standing at the ready from its slit spoke to what the Ninetales was nearly subjected to.

“Nearly" was still too close. Neither Reynard nor the long-time employee Percy have seen Devon's eyes blaze this red-hot. When Devon the Master was “angry" with his subs, it didn't look like this. This was something else, something much, much more real. “Reynard!" He barks, and the Delphox grips his wand and steels himself, steady as any warrior Pokémon. “Psystrike, now!"

Reynard's flaming wand swishes through the air, the witchy fox pronouncing a chant like an incantation. Floating purple shards of pure psychic energy manifest around Arbok's head. It spits something angry and makes as if to dodge, but it's gotten itself too tangled up holding onto Percy to go far. With another wave of Reynard's wand, the shards surge in, crashing into the Arbok's head. It shouts a “Chaa!" in pain, reeling back, its coils going limp as the 'mon is stunned from the powerful hit. Percy scrambles free, sprinting to cower behind Reynard's legs before the Arbok regained control of itself.

Devon passes him going the other way. He wasn't this Arbok's trainer, he couldn't put it back in a ball. Nor, however, could he just let this 'mon keep doing as it liked. He could knock it out, but that wasn't going to solve the problem. This Arbok needed something... and Devon needed to teach it a lesson. So he tackles it to the ground, centring all his weight on the cobra Pokémon's wide hood. He pins the thin membrane down under his knees, both hands seizing the 'mon by its throat, just under its chin. He's not suffocating the Arbok, but the 'mon can't bend its neck in a way that lets it look anywhere but up. Ten feet of serpentine body lashes out behind him, but holding down its torso stopped it from controlling where exactly its body went. Now it was little more than a wind sock flapping in the breeze.

“There. That's better. That's a good boy." Devon's eyes are fire and his tone is ice. One thumb lightly digs in and traces down the Arbok's throat, making it swallow around its own snarling hiss. “A Psychic type is going to be here in a second so you can explain yourself, but I think I have a good idea of what happened already. You just tried to rape one of my Pokémon." The thumb digs in harder, until he feels the breath begin to strain. “I know you're been denied. I know you're over three mating seasons pent up. I understand." One more time, he presses in with his thumb, until he feels the breath stop completely. “But you fucked up. You could've been shown to a stable full of bitches. I was inside making a deal with your trainer to get you a nice fertile female to breed. You were this close to getting everything you wanted, but you thought you could fuck one of mine and get away with it."

He lets up on the Arbok's throat just enough for the cobra Pokémon to suck in a long breath, and as soon as it has, he cuts off the air again. “So now, guess what? I'm not so cruel that I'd force an erect and desperate Pokémon to completely ignore their urges. But I don't trust you to be in my daycare's yard while you're like this, and with your little stunt, you've successfully scared off anyone that would have mated with you willingly. That leaves just one person: me." He leaned his head down, bringing his face just inches from the poison-fang-lined jaws of the cobra Pokémon, and stares into its eyes, unafraid. “Orochi, isn't it? Wrong. Until I'm done with you, your name is Faggot. So brace yourself, Faggot. Master is going to pop your slit cherry."

The giant snake can't snap at Devon even if it wanted to, so it settled for baring its fangs and trying to flare its hood. That Intimidate trick wasn't going to work. In fact, Devon's so unfazed by it that he takes his eyes off the Arbok to look over his shoulder for Reynard. The fiery fox still has their wand out, trained on the snake's face, but Devon can see the ease sweep through Reynard's body when the Pokémon sees how in control of the situation his trainer is. He gives a little bow, like he's about to ask Devon how he wants his tea rather than for orders concerning the eleven-foot angry cobra Pokémon under his knees. “Master?" he asks.

“Slut, enter his mind. Tell me everything he says. Don't filter anything. I'm not going to punish you for things he's saying."

“...Hm!" Devon's brow lifts as the witch-fox taps his chin with his wand. “Actually, darling..." he purrs with a smile playing on his lips. “May I humbly suggest doing you one better?" He jabs the flaming end of his wand at Arbok's head, a wave of light-bending force warping the air between the Delphox and their target.

It hits the Arbok square-on, the snake unable to wriggle away from Devon's grasp. That grasp almost slips, however, when out of nowhere an incensed voice layers over Arbok's hissing Pokémon language: “—do you think you're doing, prey? Ha! Your attack lands, but I don't feel a thing! Weak little fox! You're better off in my belly or taking my cocks!"

Devon looks between the Arbok's smug face, and Slut's smug face. “Now how did you...?" he wonders.

“Hehe!" The minxy fox sticks out the tip of his tongue. “Poison-types are weak to Psychic attacks, of course! It's because they're simple creatures, you see." Slut starts drawling their words, miming swirling a glass of wine, to their Master's amusement. “These Poison-types are so very droll. Always such ceaseless chatter about their instincts and their urges and their predator drives. Oh, it is so very pedestrian, darling! As I said, they are such base little creatures! It's hardly a drop of effort to infiltrate their primitive minds and so naturally it's just as easy to let you into our little three-way! I can't wait for you to hear how precious him trying to have thoughts like a real Pokémon is, darling!"

“Gah! Shut up!" The Arbok thrashes its long body, a good deal of corded, tight muscle writhing between Devon's knees, but it still doesn't go anywhere. “You! I can smell your bitch essence, beta! Another male was mating you before you came here, weren't they? Submit to me! I will enter you with both of my manhoods and mate you, nice and rough, yes? Do it, beta! Now-!"

The Arbok's thoughts are knocked from its head, literally, by Devon backhanding them across the face. Before the stunned 'mon coughs and spits, but before it can collect itself to speak again, Devon swings the same slap the other way, forehanding the snake's other cheek. The Pokémon's eyes unfocus and it lolls its head back, but Devon simply releases its throat in favour of clamping his fist over the Arbok's jaws, pinning them shut. With that grip, he can drag the Arbok's face as far up as its pinned hood will allow, which turns out to be about mid-torso on Devon. The snake's eyes refocus, and narrow when they have to look up to meet the human's. “What did I say, Faggot?" Devon growls at the trapped 'mon.

He feels the jaw under his hand try to move to speak, but he doesn't budge his grip. Instead, Faggot resorts to thinking, and apparently they assume that thinking loudly meant Devon would be able to hear him better, somehow. “I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU SAID, HUMAN!" he shouts in thought.

Wrong answer. “Slut. Pull the part of his tail with the slit in it up here, right next to me. Hold it there." Up it comes, sliding on the grass as if it itself was another, separate snake... that's being dragged along by a leash of psychic energy. Faggot is now bent into a U, its slit upside-down and spread open around the bases of its double penises. Devon drags a half-interested finger up the underside of one of them, teasing extremely sensitive rut-swollen flesh and making the snake lurch and twist. Devon observes them a moment, then clicks his tongue. “Hm. No, you don't deserve pleasure from your cocks. Percy!" Devon raises his voice to carry over the yard and holds out his free right hand palm-up. “Ice Shard."

A mist of frosty white coalesces and then condenses over his hand, gaining more and more mass until it became a spike of ice the size and conical shape of a large carrot. Still holding tight to Arbok's face, he forces them to look down at their own slit... and watch with growing tension as Devon lowered the ice toward it. “Let's put these away," Devon purrs with malice. “You won't be needing them." In one quick move, he pushes the tip in under the lip of Faggot's slit, and wedges the chunk of ice down between the twinned cocks. The Arbok howls and thrashes, trying to twist away from the burning cold on its sensitive members, but between Devon and Slut, Faggot couldn't escape. The heat of the swollen manhoods melt a thin layer of the shard and drool icy water down their lengths, chilling skin the ice couldn't reach. The more Faggot tried to escape, the more his own wriggling grinds his erections against the shard and spreads the freezing cold. The reptilian dicks respond particularly quickly to the cold, and soon Devon's pushing the shard further and further down and in, chasing the retreating cocks. A guttural moan vibrates through Faggot's whole hood, thinking he's finally escaped the searing icy-hot pain when his manhoods withdraw entirely. But Devon simply pushes the shard harder, penetrating the snake's slit with the ice spike and then up to the first joint of his middle finger, when the ice is deep enough for the slit to close over it. He lays his palm over top to ensure it's not pushed out, and then he waits, and watches Faggot's expression.

Even under his grasping hand, Faggot's grimace is unmistakable. They're still twitching hard, and occasionally squirm when the discomfort is too great. Two signs it was still hurting. That was a solid chunk of ice, however. It was going to take a while to melt, and Devon wasn't going to take the shard out. It was going to be leaked out, so that Faggot could have a nice dripping-wet cunt for his Master to ruin. That meant Faggot was going to have to take the pain of the ice being inside him for a while more.

Devon knew temperature play. And the thing about temperature play was that bodies were very good at habituating to long-term sensations. He watches Faggot's face because he's predicting that, soon enough, the tortuous cold was going to numb into the sensation of merely being full of something deep in their slit. Once the pain faded, the pleasure that was left behind felt so, so much stronger in contrast. Tale as old as time.

Sure enough, it's a tale that plays out once more. He sees the gaze lose focus, the pupils dilate, the wince morphing into mere uncertainty. A wave of heat lights under Devon's skin. For as much as Slut had made fun of Faggot for their “base" predator instincts, his Master knew the feeling. It did feel like a wolf seeing a rabbit dart in front of them. He can sense the seed of a submissive, whimpering, needy whore in this big-talking Arbok, and every muscle in Devon's body is fired and tight with the urge to strike.

The difference between him and a wolf was that a wolf was slave to those instincts. A wolf would chase and catch and kill without question. Devon did not want a corpse of a creature to consume and dispose of. He wanted a cum-thirsty cock-slut who'd drag themselves on their bellies to beg for a drop of his pre. That's not what he would get from the truly unwilling. That was why he waited for that look in Faggot's eyes.

Now he could strike. He digs two fingers roughly into Faggot's slit, shoving them in to the knuckle and sloshing cold water over the Pokémon's scales. He feels around until he finds the last lingering bit of ice and purposefully massages it into the tiny, shrunken manhoods cowering at the back, making the snake spit in a moment of renewed pain. “Feels good, doesn't it, Faggot?" Devon taunts him, twisting his fingers and spreading them, stretching the passage open.

“Tss! I-Idiot human!" Faggot tries to squirm again and Devon punishes him by pulling their opening painfully wide. “TSS! Stop that! I am a male! My slit is not female's cunt for you to toy with!"

“Wrong on all counts, Faggot." Devon adds a third finger, piling them into a triangle shape to work open the snake's hole in all directions at once. “You are not a male. You are a faggot, and so your name is Faggot. This slit is not a female's cunt, it is a faggot's cunt. You are a weak little boy who deserves to be fucked by thick human cock." He looks to the side, almost exactly the right height to be level with the pink, knotted dick bobbing and leaking pre poking out from the damp fur between Slut's legs. “No psychic powers this time, Slut. Use your paws and take out Master's dick. Show Faggot what's about to be forced into his femboy pussy."

Slut scurries forward, kneeling at Devon's hip and reaching out to open the fly of his pants. Soft, small fingers delve in, and with only a gentle tug, Master's throbbing cock springs free. Even when Faggot was at full mast, both of their dicks stacked on top of each other still wouldn't come close to what Devon's packing. Devon didn't need to be fingering Faggot's slit all the way in to know the Pokémon's masculinity was shrinking at the sight. Slut doesn't need their Master's instruction to begin worshipping their mast with loving licks and long strokes. Slut knew at this point knew Master liked his whores so cock-addicted that they couldn't help but touch it every time they saw it. Now especially, the sparks of pleasure are making it twitch and leak, throbbing at max hardness, and Devon loves that Faggot can't bear to look at it.

Devon never did let go of Faggot's face. He pilots their head closer, ensuring his grip stays tight, and buries the snake's lips into his heavy, sloshing balls. Then, he lets up on his hand's strength just a little, not nearly enough to let their jaws open meaningfully wide. But it is loose enough that he's sure the Arbok's going to flick their tongue out for a smell of their environment after so long being denied it. They do, and when they do, what they get is, naturally, a tongue full of the scents and tastes of Master's cum sack. The snake stiffens, and Devon's buried fingers feel Faggot's penises twitch. “You like that." It's not a question. He knows it. “You like a head full of my scent. It makes you feel like a beta bitch. It gets you turned on for a good hard dicking."

“...No!" The stubborn petulance is almost cute. “It doesn't! I-I'm an alphaaa_aaaah!_" Devon had had enough denial from Faggot. So he'd pinched one of their cocks between two fingertips... and started twisting. He holds their tiny, shrunken “man"hood at the pain point, lessening it a little and then worsening it, dancing back and forth over the line, until Faggot's cries wither as the helplessness set in. The constantly-hissing snake falls quiet.

Master softens the twist, taking away the pain but threatening returning it at any moment. By now, Slut working over his dick has made an absolute sticky mess out of Faggot's face from the pre dripping onto it. Devon knows his scent has been completely soaked into Faggot's brain by now. This “alpha" Arbok is right on the brink. It was time to issue an ultimatum. “Faggot. Look at my cock." Hazy, dark eyes slowly roll upward to stare at the mass of human meat throbbing just overhead. “It's big, isn't it? Way bigger than your tiny femboy clits. So, tell you what... I feel generous. Instead of raping your tight little slit, I'll just fuck your face."

With some shifting of his grip, he slides the hand on Faggot's head back, wedges his fingertips between the bones of their skull and jaw, and forces open the snake's mouth. A row of teeth line the bottom, but a pair of long, vicious fangs gleam front and centre on the top. “Ah yes, these," he says like he'd only just remembered. “Can't go getting my cock nicked on those. Quite alright though." He removes his hand from Faggot's slit, and just like he'd hoped, they've turned wrinkled from being plunged in water for minutes straight. He combs his hand through Slut's very warm fur, drying off in seconds while also giving the boy a well-earned stroke between the ears. Between his fingers being pruned and dried, they now had a very good grip.

He closes his hand around the shaft of a fang. The tip pokes out harmlessly, now dripping venom from the sensation of being “buried" in flesh, the thick purple liquid falling to the grass below. Devon stares into Faggot's upturned eyes, the Pokémon too confused by what's happening to move. “Hold still, Faggot," Devon says, smiling with cruel amusement. “I'm going to pull out your fangs." He starts to tug.

Just to really sell it.

“NO!" Once again, the Arbok thinks a yell, but this time Devon's sure it's involuntary. “No! N-No, don't! Without my venom, I-! I-I!"

“I what?" Devon tilts his head. “You'll still be a pathetic, clit-dicked bitch. I'm helping you by doing this. You wanted me to fuck your throat instead of your slit. ...Didn't you?" There's the pitch.

“...Uh..." Strike one. Devon tugs on the fang again, a little harder. “N-No, I-!" Strike two. This pull is the hardest yet, enough for it to hurt. “Okay okay!" The panic is obvious, so Devon stays the pressure, letting the snake having a moment to gather their thoughts. “I... I don't want to lose my fangs! Th-that's the only reason I'm-!"

Foul ball on a possible strike three. A reminder shock of pain from another firm tug gets Faggot on track. “I-I'll take you in my slit!"

There's the grand slam. Now all Devon had to do was watch Faggot do the victory lap around the bases. “Beg."

“...P... Pl... Please..."

“Please what?"

“Please... fuck my slit."

“You want me to fuck your slit. What does that make you?"

“A... a faggot."

“What are you?"

“I'm... I'm a faggot."

“Who are you?"

“I'm... I'm Faggot."

“Now, put it all together. Beg for Master's cock like a faggot should."

“Please Master... fuck Faggot's slit. Faggot wants Master's big human cock in his slit." Devon stays quiet, pressuring the snake with silence. “I-I... I'm a faggot, Master! I'm a sissy boy 'mon who loves it when real males put their cocks inside me!" For the first time, Devon feels him squirm, but not to try to escape. “F-Faggot wants Master's cum in his slit! Faggot wants a giant human load filling his belly! Faggot wants his tiny clits to only get pleasure when Master's balls-deep in my cunt!" It was like nudging a round stone onto a downhill slope with Pokémon sometimes. Devon doesn't even need to provoke Faggot's last whines. Master's grabbed Faggot's tail and is bringing over the sloppy, dripping pussy to his waiting steel-hard manhood, but the Arbok is lost in another world talking himself off. “Rape Faggot please, Master! Pop Faggot's slit-cherry, Master! Fuck Faggot, Master, fuck me fuck me fuck me!"

Devon's blunt, girthy head kisses Faggot's slit, pre and chilly water slicking the meeting so well that his cock is slipping rather than penetrating. Slut, however, is more than ready to aid in the breaking of a new bitch. His tiny claws hook into the slit's opening, and he pulls open their entrance to expose the cooled, wet, soft insides. Devon wastes no time, forcing his manhood into the large snake's constricting insides. Even with all the prep work, Faggot is crushingly tight. So much so that without that work, he'd be impenetrable. With it, however, Master can manhandle the tail section and drag Faggot's pussy down. Feeling fleshy walls parting around his girth is deeply satisfying, especially when those walls belong to an eleven-foot cobra he'd dominated into a sissified bitch. “Tell me how much you love it!" Master snarls with half his cock inside them and no sign of slowing his descent.

Faggot's full-body shudder is so hard it's almost just thrashing. “It's so good, Master!" he slurs out like he's drunk. “Soooo biiiiiiig! Nnnngh, Master's opening me so wide! It hurtssss, it's so goooood! More, more cock, deeper, fill me full, ngh, fuck yes!" For all his talk earlier of being above base instincts, Devon's losing patience with going slow. He snaps his hips, piledriving the rest of his shaft into the snake's receptive pussy and burying the head between the twin clits deep inside them. Faggot lashes and moans loudly, the wet dripping down Master's balls turning hot as blood mixes with the cold water runoff. Down where the slit is, the Arbok's body is narrow enough for Devon's dick to bulge them out, a thin layer of purple scales stretched tight over the outline of a throbbing human manhood. Every time his dick pulses, the clits in the back of Faggot's pussy massage his cock head. All this picture-perfect scene needed was a splash more white.

“Slut. Jerk off on his face watching Master break in your new fellow cock-slave." Devon doesn't start moving until he's seen Slut touch themselves, because he knows the second they do they're going to cum. Sure enough, only three or so pumps later of their cherry-red dick, they moan an ecstatic prayer of thanks to their Master as their cock paints Faggot's face and leaks in his mouth. As soon as semen graces Faggot's tongue, even femboy semen, Faggot loses their mind. They undulate their body, bucking in Devon's hands and practically bouncing on his cock. “Down, Faggot," he grunts, smacking the coils in his grasp in a “spank". “You get fucked how Master wants you. Lie there and take it like a good bitch."

“Y-Yes, Masterrr_rrrrrr_!" Devon's hips spatter precum and water in all directions as they collide with the snake's muscled body, picking up a frenzied rutting pace so that Faggot would feel just like he was being raped by a male 'mon out in the wild. Heavy swinging nuts clap on their scales, striking like mini-spanks to their slit's underside. Faggot whines an odd time or two when the brutal fuck tears their slit open further, but there's so, so much more of them screaming to the entire daycare yard that he's Master's good little Faggot cocksleeve, and that he needs Master to pump him full of human seed and give him a cum-egg belly, and that he wants to spend forever getting mated by Master's massive thick meat, and that his clits are squirting femboy pussy slick so that Master can rape him harder and faster and deeper and rougher and harder and harder and harder...

Master slams to the hilt, crushing Faggot's body to him, his cock lurches, his cumvein bulges, and thick, long spurts of hot cream spurt all over Faggot's feminised dicks. Pumping the ropes of cum into Faggot's slit stretches their hole to its limit, inflating their insides with human seed until they looked like they were with egg. With their orgasm winding down, there was just one step left he always did with new bitches. “Slut," he grinds out over the winded breaths of himself and both Pokémon in front of him. “Get the cum plug."

Slut knew exactly the one. The same one he'd been subjected to himself on his first night. It's inevitable a bit spills between pulling free his own manhood and sliding in the dildo, but overflow is minimal as he hilts the knotted base, locking it inside them. The slit doesn't quite close, leaving a provocative sliver of bright lavender clashing blatantly with their natural purple. Only once the dildo has plugged Master's load into him does Devon stand to crack his back and put away his manhood.

Just in time. Footsteps crossing the grass sound behind him. Arriving on the scene is who else but Arbok's trainer. While Devon might have gotten himself decent, Slut's cock leaking the last of their fifth cum onto Faggot's open mouth and lolling tongue told quite the tale. “Is... uh..." The trainer swallows and gestures at the cum-stuffed Arbok. “Is Orochi... okay?"

“Yes." Devon answered breezily for the stupefied snake. “Just a bit pent up. Nothing I couldn't handle, as I said."

“Yeah. Well. Uh, while I was waiting for you to come back, I did a bit of looking stuff up on my phone? And, uh... so, turns out Arbok is real mid."

Assflash, newshole. No shit.

“So... I don't really need him. Is it cool if I just leave him here? He hasn't been a Wild 'mon since he was an Ekans."

Devon eyes the trainer for a moment. He considers giving them the earful that's on the tip of his tongue about “What happened to all that friendship stuff from earlier?", and “So before you were going to try to make it work but now it's 'oh, forget it, whatever'?" He feels his fingers curling as tension ripples over him. Who did this little shit think he is? He catches a Wild 'mon, battles with them day in and day out but never pays enough attention to notice they don't perform terribly well, and all that without giving the Pokémon the time off to rut they needed, resulting in all this, and now he was going to just wash his hands of it all once it started getting hard?

...Devon had a better idea. He'd do something better than getting mad, and better than getting even. He'd get a new faggot—a faggot that deserved better.

“Sure. Gimme the ball, no charge. I've got something in mind for them."

The trainer shrugs. “Whatever, dude," he says, and he hands over a Great Ball. Not a Poké Ball, for a 'mon he's had forever, but not an Ultra Ball for a catch he could be proud of. Just a Great Ball for a “mid" Pokémon. The trainer walks away while Devon's still contemplating the ball, but he didn't care for a lengthy goodbye anyway.

He turns back to the two cum-spattered 'mons. And while Devon's never been one for much sentimentality, there's a look in that Arbok's eyes as he watches his former trainer walk away that drives something hot and sharp into Devon's breastbone. He marches in front of Faggot's line of sight, cutting off the view of the trainer's back. The Arbok looks to the ball in Devon's hand, and then up. It's clear he's not sure what to think now.

Devon taps the Ball's button, enlarging it. He considers it a moment longer. Then he tosses it aside. Fuck that. “Hey, Reynard," he says, the Delphox perking, a smile breaking out. “Pop to the office and get Orochi one of those promo Premier Balls the stores keep stuffing into our orders of Poké Balls for the new hatches."

A little dusting off, and the fox boy does indeed pop to the office, leaving Devon with an increasingly confused Orochi. Actually, about that: “Is Orochi still okay?"

“Ah..." The Arbok blinks, tongue flicking. “Yes. It's just a name."

“Sure. You change your mind about that, you just say so."

“...Yes."

“Sorry about the Premier Ball. It's not a Beast Ball or something wild, but it's nicer than the basic model at least."

“...Why?"

“Fuck, I dunno. Guess they figure if they give away something shiny every now and then people will come back for—"

“No. Not the ball. Why... me?" Devon's fairly sure there's more to the question. After a moment more to think, Orochi finishes, “I am... not strong. So... why?"

Devon just raises his brows... and smiles. “After all I did to you? What makes you think I want strong, huh?" He waves a hand at the yard full of lazing pregnant females, more than content to pleasure themselves in the atmosphere (and smell) of the rut's completion, or take an afternoon nap. “It's not exactly high-octane action here. I don't battle. On purpose, anyway." He bounces his shoulders. “It's not what I'm after. What I'm after is submissive little cum-sluts, who also don't mind a bit of... practical gynecology work at the daycare. It don't pay much, but it comes with room, board, and my cock. Pitch of the century, am I right?"

Despite the sardonic humour, the light sparking in Orochi's eyes is genuinely happy. “...Yes. I agree. It is a good pitch. I accept. Thank you, Master."

“Hey." Reynard arrives just then, and Devon takes the Premier Ball and bounces it in his palm. “Once you're in the ball, we're partners. I'm 'Master' in the bedroom, but nowhere else. It's Devon." He holds out the ball.

Orochi approaches, lifting the tip of his tail to hover just in front of the button. “Thank you, Devon."

“You're very welcome, Orochi."