Inking your Pokémon
Never leave an ass unadorned
Kinktober day 14: Permanent marks
Inking your Pokémon
Never leave an ass unadorned
Kinktober day 14: Permanent marks
Smeargle’s ink. Quilladin quills. Pungent Ariados' venom.
There were moments when the reshaped quill was dipped in the ink. Droplets dripped from the elongated tip, drips and drabs. Then, once only the tip was covered in glimmering black. It descended. The pinprick was minimal, lessened by the venom. And so, the skin and scales were pierced.
A tiny puncture, one to let the ink sink in before the quill was pulled, cleaned, left to simmer in poison, and another was picked.
It repeated, slowly, steadily, in the tiny hut.
The flames flickered along with the wagging tail, following it even though there was no breeze, no gust, nothing. Only the pendulous movements of a tail that moved not with boredom, but with cautious expectation.
With desire, too, as the elongated neck sometimes turned to see who handled the quills with that expertise. And then, satisfied, the blue eyes went ahead.
“You can tell me if it hurts.”
“It doesn’t. But I can’t wait to see it.”
“Hah. They always say that.” A laugh. “But it is important to wait. Now, tell me. What pushed you to finally accept?”
“I don’t know. It has been what? Practically two years? Since we’ve become an item?”
A grunted nod followed one quill being thrown aside and another being pulled.
Meanwhile, the elongated neck pointed at different places. The cavern itself, their ‘home’ as much as it could. There was a fire pit ahead, but it hadn’t been lit. Instead, braseros had been placed around, bringing a much dimmer and comfortable lighting.
The woven bedding was similar to the woven tapestries or the mats. But the feather filling had endured much under them. And scratch marks could be seen on the rock if you glanced at the basalt.
However, it was homely. And during the day, a sunray would descend from the chimney, illuminating the place. It even reached their pantry, which was filled with berries, seeds, and sometimes meat.
Again, one quill pierced in an almost silent movement, only betrayed by the low huff behind.
Ink was added, the quill was thrown until it clicked against the terracotta cup, and then another- No, this time, fabric was dipped in the venom and applied to the posterior. It was smeared, coating the orange scales until they had a slightly purple sheen that was then absorbed. Numbness followed, down to the thighs but not the legs, entirely, nor above.
Even the tail could move if there were some mind put to it.
A flickering tail-tip that continued to sway, bringing more light.
“Practically. My previous partners took more time to warm up to it. Or were in from the get-go.”
The quill pierced again, bringing more of that design before a sigh occurred.
“You, however...”
“Me… Yes. I am an explorer. I used to.”
“You didn’t have to leave the guild for me.”
“They already have enough hands; they’ve grown far beyond what I offer. Plus… It is better to give the younger generation more room to grow.”
“The younger generation! Ah! You’re telling me that!”
“You used to repeat it to me when I asked for your help.”
“And look at you, you’ve grown fine and talented. Many would think it’s a waste of skills that you’ve decided to settle.”
“A waste for them. But it had to happen. I cannot be an explorer and wear the ink. Now… I can.”
“That’s an argument I cannot deny.”
Again, shift of quills. The air itself was rather heavy with hints of musk, even dry plants and burnt herbs couldn’t chase away. The Reptilian musk clung to the fabric even when they brought the old scarves and clothes outside.
Semen could be hinted at whenever you came close to their den, to their little hidey-hole. Not so little, but it was remote and small compared to Treasure Town. But that place was where they could enjoy a life together… Bliss and pleasure came and went, in a sort of dungeon they’d brought themselves… Though with old help and experience.
This time, however, there was no harness. Only the ink, the quill, the venom. And the promise of a mark that would be.
One that would adorn Charizard’s ass posterior: ‘Tyrantrum’s property’.
Tyrantrum. The very same, aged, bearded, and experienced Pokémon. Though the reality between the two was that Tyrantrum had been Charizard’s mentor ever since Charizard was a little Charmander in the guild.
Curiosity and respect blossomed in kinship before it turned into something akin to a romance. No, exactly a romance. In which Tyrantrum helped Charizard discover parts of himself with toys, made by Tyrantrum’s hands, and sensations.
Venom was not only made to harm, but it could also heighten sensations. Seeds could be used in novel ways, just like orbs. The old Mentor had a mind that would keep giving: ideas, perverse desires he wanted to explore.
It brought him a bad reputation when he left the Guild, enough that any action imitating “Tyrantrum’s lustful actions’ was to cause an exile from the Guild.
A reason why Charizard had been pushing against the ink, against the marking, against anything that might bring the opprobrium, even though many saw his relationship with Tyrantrum as perverse. A cloud of suspicion that would remain while around the pudibund Pokémons. But Charizard was feeling good with his partner. No, safe. Even when Tyrantrum used quills to ink his posterior, pulling and pushing against the buttcheeks until the surface was smooth and could be pierced.
“You never told me how they took it.”
“I don’t want you to worry.”
“As bad as it can be without fighting, then.”
Charizard nodded, closing his eyelids for a second.
“But it’s fine. Plus, it is not like we are persona non grata in Treasure Town.”
“Persona non grata?”
“Isolated.”
A nod, and Tyrantrum leaned on the left and right, observing his work while Charizard continued.
“It is no longer a weight on my mind, though. I no longer fear they’d see us. Or sneak up on us. Same for the constant suspicion.”
“You endured it enough.”
Loud steps echoed, enough for Charizard to turn his head and feel the old Tyrantrum’s hands reach for his chin. For his cheeks that were cupped. The lips that were guided to the larger Pokémon’s mouth. A kiss. One tender, careful. One loving as the taste of Oran berries filled their breath.
Tyrantrum’s hands danced on that neck, following it. And Charizard remained still, enjoying that touch of affection.
“It’s done. You want to see it?”
Charizard nodded.
Tyrantrum stepped away, brought a shard of glass, and Charizard turned his elongated head. Then, Tyrantrum held up the shard, changed the angle, and allowed Charizard to see what the ‘brand’. Clean, without any smear.
‘Tyrantrum’s Property’. It wasn’t slavery. It wasn’t like those ghost Pokémons forcing their will on others. It was consent, it was love, it was the way for Charizard to declare who he belonged to beyond a mere exchanged scarf.
It was something that was directly inscribed on him, on them.
Much like how Tyrantrum’s groin had one of such markings: not as clean since Charizard had to do it. But it was something just as kinky and delightful for Charizard to see; ‘Charizard’s favorite toy’ written right above the genitals.
Without surprise, they had to cover it once they were in Treasure Town. But underneath the woven fabric, it was there: the brand of their love. Their desires. Their yearnings as Charizard kissed Tyrantrum in return, pushing against that mouth until he could feel the air within the den heat up. The reptilian musk was headier, too. Stronger. An earthy flavor that spread and permeated the place until each breath was marked with it.
And as their lips parted, Charizard glanced down.
His lover’s penis was hard. As hard as it could be with a raw golden ring going through the cocktip, massive enough to bulge underneath the foreskin and slightly pull on it.
An organ, as raw as it could be, as musky as it should be. It seemed that Tyrantrum was excited at the prospect, much like Charizard, whose cock was already dripping and hard between his legs.
“Any recommendation?” asked Charizard, extending one hand to caress the words etched on Tyrantrum’s groin, then down those fluffy bushes that were above that stiff cock. One, he ended up touching, stroking, exploring with the veins underneath the tactful fingers.
“Simple,” huffed Tyrantrum. “No anal for us until it is healed.”
“What? No anal?” burst Charizard, his eyes meeting with his mentor.
“No anal. No fingering. No teasing. No kissing. No bumping uglies, no toys, nothing,” listed the Tyrantrum, with a slightly paternalistic tone.
“Tsch. You’re making me regret making that choice,” said Charizard, though he continued stroking that shaft, feeling it getting hard underneath his touch and pressing against his palm.
“Regret?” laughed Tyrantrum. “I know you don’t… And you know I have a surprise for you when it is healed.”
“You do?”
“I do,” huffed the Tyrantrum, moving closer, tiptoeing so he could lift his groin and approach it to Charizard’s face. “Only for good boys who know how to please their daddy.”
“Daddy better be very generous with his gift.”
“Do not worry, Daddy is very generous with his property,” said Tyrantrum with a grin, stroking Charizard’s cheeks and guiding him to swallow that erect shaft.