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A Late Night Order

Oh, it's such a wonderful night. There is no moon anymore - that slowly waxing crescent has slipped beneath the lip of the Café's dark roof, lost somewhere in the forests beyond, leaving the stars as masters. Above, in that deep, surrounding infinity, they shimmer and sparkle like handfuls of glitter cast with reckless jubilation to the wonder of life.

But that's not what you're thinking about, is it? The night sky is beyond few in splendour, but here - before you - is the Grail, a prize so alive and vibrant that simple stars would beg to be reflected in its crystal waters.

Café Plaisir is spread below. In that bliss and freedom which only arrive once midnight departs, the clientele rejoice. The lights are bright, glaring from windows that line the inner garden, which sits nicely and compactly in the small square surrounded by the bedrooms of the establishment. The lights dance from silhouettes of drinking and laughing, and below, the shadows fall on rhythmically shaking branches and disturbed hedges, sitting in clouds of hushed giggles and gasps. Staring down at those two floors, full of life, fill you with warmth....

"You're the customer from room em-oh-three, I take it?" The voice carries across the balcony. You turn, and there he is - the star on the end of his tail lit up in a crackling display to light his path across the varnished wood. "Yes, I thought so. Jack told me what you looked like. Your order has arrived, my dear sir."

The Luxray grins at you, straightening up as he sits on his haunches. His scruffy blue and black fur is outlined in the light of the inner corridors behind him. After ending his comments in an impossibly polite British voice, he flashes you a winning smile, letting his tail flick across in front of him in a semi Pokémon-styled bow. He's not carrying any drinks or food, not even a tray.

You've disregarded the electronic tablet now laying on a nearby, empty wooden table, upon which still dimly glows the live list of currently available waiters. A small banner at the top displays "Your chosen waiter, Ceylon, is on his way to you now. We hope he fulfils your utmost expectations and deepest desires."

The smile remains on the Pokémon's face.

The wood is damp under your hands from earlier rain, and the late spring air threatens to chill, but all that seems to fade away. You find it difficult to concentrate on anything but the feeling of those paws grasping your shoulders, scratching at your chest. Big, warm, fluffy, they knead at your front as the bulky feline easily straddles your unresisting, open form. His breath across your scalp, the insides of his thighs brushing over your rear, the large, hot and wet length pressed firmly down between your legs. You let him - you were hoping for this. You needed this.

The paws grasp tighter when he slides it inside you. Your legs almost lose grip on the balcony floor as through your body slides a warm shiver. He breathes again, a low purr as he drives half that tapering length into you. He must have done this a hundred times, you find yourself thinking. He puts every bit of that experience and that intensity into that thrust.

You're loving it. You tense up as he pulls back, and for the first time you feel those barbs. They don't cut or even hurt, but they drag against your insides, stimulating them, sending a million tiny sensations coursing to the brain. You lean forwards, hanging over empty space, nothing beyond the balcony rail you're grasping and those whispering hedges far below.

And back in... he purrs again, tail flowing backwards and forwards, a flicker of cyan casting through your peripheral vision. You gasp, feeling even more than before, the girth growing larger and larger as he drives it inside you... delightfully so. How thick, how deep? How will it feel when he - Oh, fuck!

He pulls his hips back again, and again a shiver and delight from the small, fleshy barbs. But this time he doesn't take the time to let you recover, and he shoves himself back in. You clench your fists, and you can even begin to feel the fur of his sheath.

He bends you forward further, a hind paw clutches the balcony rail you're gripping, and then he begins to really play. You're powerless, caught by the large electric type, your body being held and enjoyed. And yet, you ordered it, and so here you are - body afire with pleasure.

The two of you stay there, combined in your throes. This is a dance of the purest, most bestial form. His other hindpaw holds your leg now, leaving him supported on just you. It's an effort to stay up with such a huge feral weighing you down, but with everything he's doing you can't even begin to imagine giving up. He throws his weight into each motion, growling and purring as he shoves that large, feline shaft into you over and over, stretching you, letting you feel every little ridge and every needy, heart-racing throb.

Over and over again, your body cries out, ringing the most feral of acts across the glowing Café spread below you. You're here, used, giving yourself to your waiter. You wanted this so badly, and now you have it - his service it to sate his desires with you.

When he finally orgasms, when his paws grasp and fight for grip, when his shaft begins to jerk and swell even further, you can't help but follow. Selfish grunts and great shouts of pleasure speak of your shameless taboo into the vista before you. Ripples of something curious and tingling snake their way through your limbs, making you wonder if your partner had used some of that pent-up electricity on you.

How long did you order him for...? Oh, you don't recall. Not that you mind right now - no, don't worry about the future. The present... yes, this is what matters. Your body swims with utter delight, and you can feel him above you, panting, laughing, and keeping you there, grasped beneath him.

Oh, it's such a wonderful night.