Part I

---

Something about them unnerved him. Maybe their buzz, or their tendency to break. Or maybe because of the part of town he associated their aura with. But with the sun setting, Ernest relied on their glow to see the path ahead.

People passed by him, their hands in their pockets and their gazes finding his face. He looked straight ahead, keeping his expression blank. He had the number of the building in his head. It ran through his body, pounding like a drum. But by the time the rhythm of the numbers had started to lull him, he saw the sign--a small, neon sign. It had no words, just the number and the outline of a bottle. The drum started again.

Ernest approached the door. It was barely as wide as he was. He couldn't see through the foggy glass. Despite the door being light, he trembled while opening it. He took a deep breath, and the air went out uneven.

The bartender watched Ernest walk in. The small handful of other patrons inside looked at him once, then ignored him. It felt like they lowered their voices just so he couldn't hear. He approached the bar.

“What might I be getting you?" Frank said. The bartender's name was sewn into his jacket. A nice jacket. It hid his muscular body poorly. He leaned back against the cabinets, his arms crossed.

“Something–" Ernest croaked. He cleared his throat. “Something sour. Let's do gin."

“Fresh out of gin," Frank said.

“How'd you run out of gin?"

Frank tilted his head down. “We just did."

The tips of Ernest's lips twitched. “Whiskey, then?"

Frank's brow lowered, leaning close to Ernest. The bartender did his best to find the intent hidden in the newcomer's face, just below the skin. Ernest stared back.

“Fine. Whiskey sour."

Once Frank's back turned, Ernest relaxed in a stool. A couple chairs down, two others sat, tipping their drinks as they chatted.

“Hey. You know your way around this place?" Ernest asked them.

The man craned his neck to look at him. He looked to be as big as Frank, but with a belly that bulged out under his jacket. Cleanly shaven. His hair was pulled back with grease. A cigarette hung between his lips as he talked. “What? Trying to get your dick wet?"

Ernest choked on his words.

“Horace, stop," the woman beside him said.

“What? I'm just gauging his reaction. Fuzz always gets weird when you ask 'em shit like that. And he did get kinda clammed, so."

“Anyone would when you're asking that."

“True. Well," Horace said, looking back at Ernest, “is he?"

Ernest swallowed down the lump in his throat. “No, I just like to look. What can I say? Beauty…" he looked for the word, squeezing his fingers together, tapping them against his knuckles. “It transcends, doesn't it?"

“Transcends!" Horace laughed loud. He tapped his cigarette over an ashtray. “Hey. Amen to that one. But looking's all well and good until, well, you know."

Frank put down his Ernest's whisky on the table. Ernest took a sip of the drink and shook his head.

“You're nervous," Horace decided. “Hey, who told you about this place, anyway?"

“Who told me? Melvin told me. Melvin Davis?"

“Rings a bell."

“I've seen Melvin," the bartender said. “Went by Magby."

“Magby?" Horace laughed, “Why didn't you say so? I haven't seen him since--when? When we last see him, doll?

“I don't—" she started.

“Oh it was the start of the month, wasn't it? Where's he been the last week?"

"He's healing," Ernest explained. “Got behind on a loan, got the shit kicked out of him."

“That does sound like him," Horace chuckled. He returned his face to a beer, sipping it deeply. The woman beside him managed to get his attention. At once, Horace seemed to dial into another world, looking off into space. They talked in code: IVs and EVs, breeding and egg groups.

“You know how much dough Jim would cough up for an ash form with damn near perfect IVs? You can't even breed those fuckers," Horace explained quietly.

“It's not worth trading away a Talker with her skill set," the woman said.

“Gwen, that 'eon is sick of our shit. Can't get her to do anything she don't want to. Let someone else manage her."

“I know. It's just," Gwen sighed, “it's tough, you know? I like the gal."

Horace pointed with his drink still in his hand. “But she don't like us," he said.

“She likes me!" Gwen snapped. “It's when you're around that she gets all prissy."

“All the more reason. We're a package deal." Horace tried to peck her lips with a kiss.

Gwen recoiled, sitting back. “You could try being good to her for once."

“We're too far gone, babe!" he complained.

Horace looked back over to Ernest, slouched over his sour drink. “What do you think?"

“I don't know what—" Ernest said.

“What would you rather have: a thousand bucks, or a Poké that would sooner be the death of you than suck you off?"

"Horace!" Gwen chided, her eyes vicious.

“What?" Horace laughed. “It's just a hypothetical."

Ernest grimaced. “I'm not in the business of getting between people," he said.

“Don't worry," Gwen said. She stood up with her purse. “He's plenty good at doing that all by himself."

“Babe, no—babe, c'mon! We haven't even gone down yet," Horace said.

“I'm not feeling it any more. You've embarrassed me. We don't even know this guy!"

“Babe, I'm sorry," he calmed. “Hey, pal, what's your name?" He turned to Gwen. “He's not a stranger if we know his name."

Ernest flicked his eyes over to Gwen, whose purse had gone limp in her arm. He nodded and held out his hand. “Ernest. Friends call me Ernie."

Once Gwen offered her hand to shake, he got a good look at her, no longer overpowered by Horace's presence. She had short, tawny hair, heavily curled. She had a thin face with a tan complexion, no freckles to be seen. Her lavender dress seemed slightly too big for her shoulders.

Gwen looked reserved, sturdy, but her voice was delicate. “It's a pleasure."

“Good to meet ya, Ernie," Horace said, clamping around his hand after.

Gwen returned to her seat at the bar, waiting for Horace to say something stupid again. Instead he grinned, tapped his fingers on the table, and sheepishly drank his beer.

“You said 'down,'" Ernest recalled. “Is this thing in the basement?"

“Did I say 'down?' It's less of a 'down' and more of a 'through.' Er, hell, could be sideways for all I know. The Arceus-forbidden place doesn't have anywhere to let the light in."

“Through?" Ernest repeated.

“You'll see. Bit of otherworldly magic."

Ernest nodded his head but could have just as easily shaken it. His drink was almost empty. He considered ordering another.

Horace stood, shaking his shoulder. “Well, we only have all night. What do you say, Ernesto? You want the grand tour?"

Ernest dropped his glass to the table. “Bah—um, sure. Sure, Horace. Show me around in there. Please."

They paid for their drinks. “Hey," Frank said. “You're really taking the new guy in with you?"

Horace turned around, raising his hands. "Why not? Magby's a swell guy. Any friend of Magby's a friend of mine. Come on, Frank..."

Frank stared Horace down, eventually nodding and taking keys out from his pocket.

Frank led them over to the other end of the room towards a door marked “Janitor." Ernest's anticipation grew, tightening in his throat. He said nothing as Frank picked out a key and unlocked the door.

Inside--was a closet. It was filled with junk and cleaning supplies. Frank knelt and unlocked a small safe on the floor. He fished out a shiny black sphere. Frank opened it, and with a blinding flash, a wobbuffet emerged: a strange cyan creature with stubby legs and a complete lack of apparent bone structure.

“Is Janise taking over yet?" the wobbuffet asked.

“In a couple hours," Frank said.

“Ha! A couple hours! Sure," the creature complained.

“We could always transfer you. You think you'd like it more in there?"

“Very funny."

“Just take these lovely people to the room, will ya?"

“Yeah," the wobbuffet sighed. It glanced over at Ernest, just behind Horace. “We got a newbie?"

“Well, yes," Ernest admitted.

“It's simple. Just keep a hand on me and I'll take care of the rest. A second and we'll be done." The wobbuffet glared at Ernest without warning. “Just don't pinch me! New folks are always pinching. Don't do it! Got it?"

“I got it, but—"

“Just hold your hand to 'em," Frank insisted. Ernest finally joined the Horace and Gwen in holding onto the creature. Its skin felt cold, clammy.

“That's three," the wobbuffet said.

Ernest's eyes rolled back in his skull. He felt nothing. When he regained his vision, he was somewhere else entirely, but still touching the wobbuffet. The air was thick, but not just with smoke. Live music played nearby.

“Aaah!" the wobbuffet cried out, smacking his flippers against the three hands. “Why!? Every time there's a new human!"

“What? I—" Ernest cried.

“Sorry James, that was me this time," Horace admitted.

Somehow, the Wubbuffet's already narrow eyes narrowed further. He raised both arms. “Well, screw you!"

With a gust of air, James teleported again, and the three were left to their own devices. The space was bustling with people and conversations. Ernest still struggled to figure out what happened.

“Did that Pokémon just talk?" he cried.

“Ha!" Horace laughed. “You slow or, hell, what kinda rock-type you've been living under, anyway? That's the whole damn gimmick!"

“Look around, doll," Gwen told him.

He looked at Gwen, then over her shoulder. The conversations he heard didn't limit themselves to the human patrons. They continued through the mouths of monsters.

Part II

---

Ernest sat with his fingers clenched together between his legs. He wet his lips and leaned forward. “So you're what? A trader?"

Horace's eyes stayed locked on the stage in front of them, his elbow on the table. In front, a Pokémon danced: a female delphox. Her fiery fur shimmered like an elaborate blouse, swaying each slow movement on the pole. Her legs would stretch, her tail would rise, and men would watch in delight, peaking for a glimpse through all those long, glossy strands.

“What's that?" Horace said a minute later.

“What do you do for work?" Ernest asked again.

Another long moment passed. The delphox smiled at one excited patron flung dollars onto the stage. The tip of her yellow tail rubbed his cheek as she twisted around.

Gwen blew smoke toward the ceiling. “You're right; we're traders. Technically, he's a grocer. Just as long as they don't fire him."

“They keep telling me to work nights, and I keep telling them I'm busy. It's not my fault they won't listen."

“It is your fault! I've told you I can handle it by myself," Gwen said.

Horace swallowed down his spit and looked back at her, putting a hand on her thigh. “Gwen, baby, I love you."

Gwen scowled at him. “But?"

“No buts about it! I love you, so I can't let you meet with those goons alone. Even if they don't do nothing, they'll be thinking about doing something. Then, one day, they might just do something! You get where I'm coming from?"

Gwen was quiet, but Ernest noticed she was smirking into her hand. She took another puff.

“Why not just quit the grocery work?" Ernest said.

“Appearances," Horace said, to which Ernest shook his head. He explained. “Cause what'll it look like to the goodie-two-shoes out there if I'm never working but I can still pay all our bills and then some? People can't keep their traps shut."

“I see what you mean," Ernest said.

“Believe me, if I find something better, I'll quit tomorrow. Say, what do you do anyway?"

Ernest's eyes flashed bright. “Me? I—"

A cough came over Ernest. For several long seconds, it was all he could do.

“You okay there, champ?" Horace asked with a laugh.

Ernest swallowed down a grimace. “Yeah… yeah. For work? Uh, nothing right now. Between jobs, I guess."

“Between jobs," Horace repeated, “In this economy? You must either be a real piece of work or the unluckiest sonofabitch in the city."

“The second one," Ernest grumbled.

“Well hey, if you're still on the nut when I get out of groceries, I'll recommend ya."

Ernest smiled without having it reach his eyes. “I appreciate it," he said.

Horace finished his liquor. Taking a final oogle of the fox, he stood, looking down to the other end of the room. “Well, whaddya say, Ernie?"

Gwen stood up with him, followed by Ernest. Patrons soon filled their seats behind them.

Ernest followed his gaze, wide-eyed, trying to see through the haze. The lighting was all but too dim. His skin started to itch. “Say about what? What are you asking?" Ernest said.

Horace started walking, and Gwen followed. She put her hand on Ernest's back and dragged him along. “Best to just go along with it, sometimes," she sighed.

“But where are we headed?" Ernest asked her.

“Hell, probably," she said. There was levity in her voice, a kind of relief in saying the words. “Can't you smell it yet? It smells like sin."

For a half breath, Ernest took the air in through his nose. It reeked of smoke, sex, sweat. They walked past another, rowdier stage, surrounded by people. Ernest caught a glimpse through. Two muscular anthros--he couldn't tell which types--were in the throes of sex.

“You say that like it's this grand thing," Ernest said.

“We're all sinners," Gwen said. “The only difference is if you accept it."

“Part of me isn't," he said.

She laughed louder than Ernest felt was warranted. “What about the other part?"

Behind them, a male meowstic rode another Pokémon in reverse. The fur on his head bounced lazily; the musty air seemed to keep it suspended. He was moaning for the crowd, for the dollars they rained his way. Ernest's throat constricted. He couldn't look away. The Pokémon spotted him, giving him a wink.

Ernest turned back to Gwen, whispering fiercely. “Did you see that?"

“Just keep walking," she murmured.

They approached Horace, who was talking to a man behind a counter. In front of the man there were rows and rows of Pokéballs behind crystal glass. Each had the same glossy black finish as the one with the wobbuffet. Each had a description beneath.

“What are you thinking, gorgeous?" Horace asked. “Two for tonight?"

“We could almost make it three for our friend," Gwen supposed.

Horace blew his razzberry. “Yeah, and why not take a Lucario back with us! Not unless he's paying his way."

Ernest shook his head, motioning behind him. “This is all… generous, but I don't think I want--"

“No, no, come on," Horace said.

Ernest tried to interrupt.

“It'll be fun, Ernie," Gwen said.

Horace nudged him. “You did say you liked to look, am I right?"

“Rrright," Ernest said, scratching his chest.

“Then there's no need to be all red in the face. Me and Gwen are anything but plain Janes."

“Oh, what about him!" Gwen said, pointing at a ball.

He chuckled low. “Now you're talking, kitten."

“Don't you be calling him a kitten," Gwen teased.

Horace nodded to the clerk. “Him for sure." He perused the rows a final time, stopping when one caught his eye. “And her. Suppose we'll keep the theme, eh?"

“She'll keep things interesting," Gwen said.

“If she's not all over the new guy, first," he said.

“I'll stick to—" Ernest coughed. “—spectating, if it's all the same."

“Not if I can help it," Horace said.

Part III

---

The musk made Ernest want to go into another coughing fit. The hallway around him felt constricted, lighting almost absent. Behind the many doors, Ernest heard a muffled cacophony of sounds: some by people, but some sounds that humans were surely incapable of producing. Horace turned down a corner, almost disappearing. Gwen giggled to herself, pulling Ernest along by his limp hand.

Suddenly they were in a room. It wasn't quite as dim as the hallway. Red neon marked the edge of the ceiling, humming, filling his vision. There was a large bed, low to the floor, taking up half the space in the room.

“Look at this dame," Horace said to Gwen, standing close, “looks like she can't hardly contain herself. What, those clothes getting warm on ya?"

Gwen shook her head, smirking. “I'm positively steaming in here. What's a gal to do about it?"

Horace rubbed her shoulders. They kissed, lips tight. “Come on, then," he grunted.

He fished the newly acquired Pokéballs out of her purse and gave one back to her. “Count of three, ready? 123."

The room flashed with white light. Ernest shielded his eyes.

“Harry!" Gwen complained. With a second flash, she released her Pokémon too.

Ernest was drawn into the orange fur, looking ready to catch fire under the red light. The Pokémon's green eyes cut through the blaze. Her stony claws tapped against the floor as she stretched herself out, her head to the ground and her butt raised. As her joints loosened, she sent a rumble through the floor and up Ernest's feet.

“Ahhh." The dusk lycanroc relaxed her pose. “I can't speak for you, Trent, but sometimes it really does feel like I'm curled up in that tiny ball."

“Well, the accommodations are anything but spacious, but—." Trent paused, positioning himself into a stretch of his own. His long tail pulled itself straight back, its sharp point cutting close to Ernest. The human took a step away from the houndoom.

“Oh, who's this?" Trent asked, looking at Ernest with his head tilted to the side. “These two don't typically bring company. You must be special!"

“I… guess," Ernest agreed with a shake of his head.

“Looks like a blank slate to me," the lycanroc said.

“He's dessert," Gwen replied, sitting down on the bed. She kicked her dress off of her feet, sailing to the floor. Lacy undergarments hid her subtle curves.

Horace eyed her all the while, unbuttoning his shirt. “Eh, what do you think Gwen? How should we do this?" he asked. “Oh, I know."

“Then why'd you ask?" Gwen cut.

“Cause I know now!" He turned to the two Pokémon. “I need to get acquainted with Gwen. How about you two…" he waved his hand around. “Go at it."

“Oh, now you're talking!" Trent said, his spiked tail wagging hazardously. “How long has it been, Charlotte?"

“A while," the lycanroc said. She walked beside him, their furs rubbing together. She followed the spines along his back down till she got to the base of his swinging tail.

“If I could make a suggestion," Charlotte said, her snout sniffing him. “It would be that you shouldn't bring all of your excitement into the first encounter. Save yourself for another lady."

Gwen tried to calm her beating heart by placing the palm of her hand over it. “That would be wonderful," she said.

“I thought so," Charlotte nodded.

Charlotte let Trent lean forward to smell her crotch. Trent smiled. “If it pleases the gals, who would I be to deny them?" he said.

“You're sure you can contain yourself this time?"

“I promise," Trent said.

“Then don't delay," Charlotte smirked. “There's work to do."

She bent her head, pressing her snout to his sack. She inhaled, then sent a lick along the bottom. Gwen and Horace sat on the bed, holding each other, their hands drifting over each other's bodies.

Trent held in a growl. The lycanroc had turned completely behind him, leaving him unable to lap in her scent in kind. Charlotte strained her head, sending her licks over the tip of his penis. She grew bored with this, unable to slip him between her jaws, unable to make more of his erection known.

Charlotte pawed at the houndoom's sturdy haunches, murmuring to him. Trent tilted his head back to listen, then nodded. He turned around on his feet, his nose meeting hers. “You smell something wonderful," he whispered.

She raised a paw to his shoulder. “Just you wait."

The two wrestled to the floor. The houndoom came to rest on his back, his dick starting to stand tall. Each ruddy inch seemed to have its own unique geometry. Roughly like all canine types: a tip at the end, a knot still hidden in his sheath. But with small bulges of flesh running along the bottom of his cock, he looked to be entirely his own. Charlotte studied his geometry, planning her next move. Her backside itched with need.

The lycanroc backed up, her hind legs straddling his head, fluffy tail crossing his face. Trent pushed it out of the way, greeted by a beautiful display of lust. The canine's pussy dripped down her flanks, swollen, red despite the black exterior. He let his tongue hang out, his dick revealing more of itself from the smell alone.

At a relaxed pace, Charlotte lowered herself. She was immediately greeted by the heated passes of an excited houndoom. Though her estrus had her spade already inflamed, it couldn't compare to the fire of his tongue.

“Ah! Holy shit!" she cried. Her tail wagged behind her. But she paused. She scanned the room and felt herself blush. “I, h-um. Excuse me."

Gwen jacked off Horace with one unwavering hand. Horace sat back, smirking, watching the canines placidly. “No need to apologize for enjoying yourself," he said.

“Well, of course, but I didn't mean to–" Charlotte paused. “Anyway."

Charlotte gave herself one full breath to calm down. Below her, Trent remained stifled under her folds, licking them in a futile attempt to lap them clean. She lowered her front half, sniffed his cock, and began sliding it between her jaws. She gripped him against her tongue, fitting all that was visible between her powerful jaws. The houndoom hardly noticed, his licks at her spade continuing to make her flesh dance.

Gwen kissed Horace's neck, whispered into his ear. “She's in heat, I think."

“You think," he muttered back. His right hand pressed against the warm skin of her belly, slipping under her panties. “So you think I might finally do it."

Gwen sat back, pushing her hips up to meet him. “Every girl has her weakness. Even her."

“Arceus," Horace moaned. “Imagine her finally loosening up. Begging for it." He slipped two fingertips into Gwen, feeling her in all her silk. “Hard to imagine," he said.

Charlotte raised up off of Trent. She let out a moan from the back of her throat, tail straight back. Trent's tongue was greeted by a wave of arousal, filled with musk, pulsating against his tongue. She gracefully turned around, showing herself off to the two humans on the bed, their hands still occupied with each other's crotches.

The lycanroc kept her tail raised. She clenched her pussy together, letting juices ooze out. Underneath, Trent still stood achingly tall, spit running down his cock. “You just tell us when you want a turn," Charlotte told the humans.

With one paw down on Trent's chest, she brought her crotch straight down onto his. She spread herself. A movement that would look unnatural for most quadrupeds, she pulled off fluidly, sinking herself down without pause. Liquids gushed out.

Trent let out a short breath, submitting. “Hhuhh. Charlotte."

Her spade parted his width, reaching halfway as each of his smooth spines sunk in, clicking into her warmth.

“Remember to save yourself," she said.

“But you make it so hard," Trent complained, the end of his tail flicking side to side.

“Tooo baaad," Charlotte sung.

Charlotte kept sitting down on Trent's cock, feeling herself nearly filled to capacity again and again. Except for reminding herself to keep her tail raised for their clients, she forced her mind to wonder. She didn't want to let Trent's addicting spines bring her to another orgasm and tire her out. Pleasing two human males would be no small feat.

She looked around for the other one. The new arrival. She found him sitting in a chair in a dark corner, trying to become invisible and fit into the chair itself. He passively touched himself, pants still on. She quickly dismissed the idea that she was somehow unappealing, long since mastering the appearance as a bit of eye candy. Something was troubling him. His eyes were distant. Though not set on finding out why he was this way, she did make a little game with herself to imagine the possible reasons. All while Trent struggled not to explode whenever his knot pressed against her pliable spade.

Horace stopped Gwen's slow-moving hand. “Okay, enough of that, Charlotte," he called.

Charlotte abruptly stopped. She came to rest on Trent, his cock still buried, twitching, drooling with pre in her walls. She twisted to look over to her clients. Her white fur framed her head like a mane, rising into stiff peaks. But her eyes were sharper, more demanding still.

Horace shook his head, raising his hands up innocently. “What I mean is you were beautiful. Just beautiful. Now get up here, please. You too, Trent."

Gwen sat up. Her shirt sat askew on her chest, her breasts perking through the thin fabric. Her panties resided on the bed, kicked off entirely. “You still have some left for me?" Gwen said to Trent.

Trent put his front paws on the bed, smiling at the sight. “All of it–just barely–if you'd believe it."

He leapt up. His dick wagged more than his tail.

Charlotte followed after him, leaping on in one movement. She managed to stall her movement without another step, Horace's feet just in front of her.

“You're remarkable, Trent," Gwen sighed. She flipped herself around, climbing on her hands over to him. “You know what it's like to receive, but when you have a knot in there? Simply divine. Oh, have you ever been tied before, dear?"

Trent's expression shone like fire, radiating with warmth. “Oh, I know. I know! I have. By a growlithe, if you'd be so inclined to believe it! Just reached mating age. Imagine me, that little thing pumping me full, dangling behind me. He made me cum all over the covers! Oh, just adorable."

Gwen shifted herself off to one side, letting her tush take up more of the houndoom's senses. “You wouldn't care to replicate that act on me, would you?"

The houndoom chuckled in a growl. His knot still hung free of his sheath, penis swelling and shrinking in a hazardous rhythm. “I think it would be to our mutual pleasure, miss."

Gwen turned around, presenting herself. “So polite. Of course, you are right."

“I am quite excited," Trent warned.

“Good. Now hop up."

On the other side of the bed, Horace had his fingers busy. He played with Charlotte's mound aimlessly, feeling the thickness of her, finding where things were already most slick. But his goals started to materialize, focusing on an inch inside her warmth, a couple fingers spreading her. He could feel the slightest change in texture, the peak area of sensitivity hidden from view but all too real. But Horace didn't address this, so neither could the lycanroc.

“No, of course not," Charlotte explained. “I always found it fairly amusing. Humans seem to have a certain fascination with us. I'm just willing to entertain the notion. Boss them around. Mmph. Speaking of, why don't you–."

“Well, surely you realize what's at play here. Only the humans who are particularly interested in you are going to cough up the cash in the first place. "

Charlotte blushed, in part because his hand wiggled itself against her clit. She laid on her back, her paw on her snout but unable to hide her face from the human. “Well, regardless… Maybe I can't explain why, you know, why I do it."

“There'd be no shame in admitting it," he said.

“I-I'm not admitting to anything," she said, rocking around on her back. Horace kept her back end still. “Humans are always going to be the ones with their–damn… cravings! I just keep them wanting more!"

“But you're always there for pampering. My guess is that you like having your needs met. All of your needs."

His fingers dug in more assuredly, in and out, filling the width of her tight, warm walls. He stopped abruptly. Briefly tilting his head to look down, he spotted her tail wagging. He winked back at her.

“With my…" she trailed. Her ears drooped, whimpering.

Horace kept his fingers buried, holding on to the tension. “Oh, if you want something just let me know."

“You're utterly appalling, you know that?" Charlotte pouted.

“I'm sorry dear. I just really want to hear it from you," Horace said.

Charlotte pushed her snout back, showing off her chin. She snorted. “Please, you can't just get me that close without finishing me off."

Horace flipped around, getting above the canine in something approaching missionary, half erect with his dick drooping towards her crotch. He lowered his hips but stopped when they touched. “Well, I'd love to screw you, but I'm not quite there yet. Maybe you can get your kisser to help me out."

“Really?" she complained.

“Come on, I saw how low you could get on Trent."

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Get closer."

The human shuffled closer to her head, straddling her chest. His dick stood in front of her face. “That's a good girl," he sighed.

Glaring up at him, Charlotte drew his penis into her maw. Horace inhaled, moving his hips forward, pushing himself in until his balls hit her chin. His dick slid against her tongue with a texture that absorbed him. He put his arms on the headboard for support, and he started working himself between her wide jaws.

The bed made his movements less fluid than he would have liked. Trent rammed into Gwen beside them, sending their momentum through the fabric. Horace had to hold the back of the lycanroc's fluffy head still to keep her teeth from impeding his growing erection. Still blushing, Charlotte closed her eyes, sending her tongue licking across the bottom of his balls. Her paws found his thighs, keeping him in place.

But Horace pulled back. Saliva drooled down her chin.

“Stand up," he grumbled. “Come on."

They weaved around each other. Hesitant, Charlotte looked back, raising her tail for him.

He debated teasing her further. Sending some licks over her privates, but he couldn't take it. He grabbed her hip with one hand and pressed his dick into her with the other. With a single, delicious push, he was enveloped, feeling her every twinge of embarrassment for not putting up a fight, for not taking control. He grabbed her other hip and pressed himself flat against her swollen spade. She gave up another twinge of needing warmth, another whimper. Starting to move his hips, he took control of Charlotte.

It was only after he let loose inside her that he noticed something was off. Only after pulling out, letting his cum drool down over her labia, and after he caught his first few breaths from out on the other side of bliss. Gwen was beside him, her butt raised, tied to the houndoom. Grabbing hold of Gwen's sweaty hand, he finally took notice. Ernest wasn't in the room.

Part IV

---

Ernest put both hands on either side of the sink, staring down at the water. He tried not to puke. He grunted, splashed the water over his hands. Cupping them, he sipped from the resulting puddle until his stomach settled.

Leaving them alone would only arouse more suspicion. Ernest pushed his hair back, rubbing his eyes and muttering to himself.

He looked up and squinted at his disheveled expression in the mirror. He shook himself, straightening out his face, fixing up his hair. The itch in his lungs came back. Coughing, he went back across the hall.

He stood in front of the door. Horace was clearly raising his voice inside, but Ernest couldn't make sense of what either were saying. He turned the door handle before fear got the better of him.

“I told you he'd be back. Poor thing was just overwhelmed," Gwen said.

Horace's teeth showed. “Overwhelmed. Overwhelmed?" he said to Gwen.

“Something like that," Ernest said. He tried in vain to remove the shake from his voice. “Just needed some water. You two were very, uuhhm."

Horace's expression stopped him. “What is it you said? Huh? Something about beauty… transcending, right?"

Horace stood up and approached him. He didn't have any clothes on, but Ernest failed to notice. All he paid attention to was his face and the distrust written on it.

“Right," Ernest said.

The trader shook his head. “Then Arceus-be-damned, because it looks like you just saw your own funeral."

“Harry, don't screw with him. He–"

“No, no Gwen, you're right," he nodded. Clapping his hands, he smiled placidly. “Overwhelmed is all. I've been there. He just needs some privacy."

“Please don't–" she cut herself off.

Trent and Charlotte were still on the bed. Charlotte looked on with her ears pulled back. When Trent tried to sniff under her tail, she jerked away, growling at him.

Horace put his underwear back on. “There's someone I'd like you to meet. Baby, give me your purse."

Gwen huffed, reaching off of the bed for it.

“We have an espeon that I'm trying to sell. Maybe you can get her to cooperate," Horace said.

“Okay," Ernest said, eyes shifting between Gwen and him. “But."

“If not, well."

Horace seemed to look right through him. There was an air of finality to what he said. Like he was saying goodbye. Ernest couldn't breathe, couldn't feel his heart beating, with only the hum of neon to remind Ernest that he wasn't quite dead.

“Come on. Let's find an empty room," Horace said. “I'll be right back."

Still in his underwear, Horace walked out into the hall. Ernest looked over to Gwen trying to light a cigarette. She kept fumbling with the match, struggling to get the flame to take.

Ernest stepped out with the trader. His eyes shifted frantically; his breathing was shallow. The doors around them echoed with their occupants. The guttural reactions of clients and monsters made the walls shake, sag, and constrict down around them. They writhed like a million tiny snakes.

After trying a series of handles, Horace arrived at an unlocked door. He peered into the dark interior. “Here, use this one."

Horace's tall frame became obvious to Ernest, exacerbated by a sternness that made Ernest shrivel. It took all of him to speak normally.

“What's her name?" Ernest asked.

Horace looked ready to shove him in. “Whose fucking name?"

“The espeon."

This made Horace pause, looking down at the Pokéball in his hand. Ernest considered running, but then Horace looked up.

“I don't remember," he said.

Ernest looked at his own feet. Sweat dripped down his back. “Oh."

“Ernie, I don't know what shit you got caught in, but I'm getting the feeling you didn't want it either."

“I'm just nervous, Horace."

Horace shook his head. “That's a load of rapidash feathers."

“I can prove it to you."

“This espeon: she's a bitch. She'll sniff you out if–"

“Espeons are feline, right? I'm good with cat-types."

“Ernie…" Horace sighed.

“I'm serious. Let me prove it. Please."

Horace read his face like the bartender at the start of the night. But it dragged on. Horace blinked, and for an instant, Ernest thought he saw hope. “I'll give you however long it takes me to hump another round or two in to convince me you're not here to call copper. Otherwise, well."

“I'm not a rat," Ernest begged. “I'm not."

Horace smiled sadly. He handed him the Pokéball.

---

Ernest paced his prison. He struggled to find enough air, to find enough room to think. His attention was split between thinking of ways out and the Pokéball in his hand. Cussing himself out repeatedly, he released the espeon.

Once the flash on his retinas dissipated, he got a good look at her. They were both caught off guard.

“Wait, who the hell are you?" the espeon said.

The human stared wide-eyed. The espeon's large frame approached him. Her fluffy pink fur did nothing to suggest feelings of friendliness. “I'm Ernest. Ernest Calloway. Friend of–er–Horace and Gwen brought me in."

Her whiskers twitched: the start of a snarl. “Not friends, then. And you don't look too turned on, if I'm being honest. So what is this?"

Horace scratched his chest. “No, I mean, so uh, what is your name then? Horace wouldn't tell me."

She snorted. “Humans and their names."

She stalked close enough for him to see the jewel on her forehead. He couldn't tell if it was red, or if it was just the way it caught the neon. But her eyes made their own light. Her tail waved idly. She walked past him, around him.

“You're very uncomfortable," she said.

“What makes you say that?" Horace tried.

The espeon frowned. “Are you stupid or something?"

Ernest turned to face her, even as she continued circling. “I've had a long night, okay? A longer day. And I just want it to be… over. What are you doing?"

“Am I supposed to make the night end, then?" The espeon's tone mocked him. “Make the sun come up over the horizon?"

She stopped circling her prey, moving in some steps closer. He took a step back.

“What's this about?" she demanded. “Don't make me force it out of you."

Despite her threat, there was something about her that calmed him. Her eyes held some serenity inside, obfuscated by seas of purple. He remembered the meowstic outside. Both creatures had a similar pull, one that made his skin crawl.

“You can read minds," Ernest realized.

“Duh," she said.

Ernest took in several breaths, each shallower than the last. His shaky legs hit a cushioned surface behind him, and he sat down. “That's it then. There's no point." Horace's last words ran through him, and his eyes went vacant.

The espeon sat down at the foot of the bed, looking at him sideways. “I'm not sure I'd want to touch whatever's in that noodle of yours, Calloway."

“I'm a dead man, Espeon."

She blinked. Once, then twice. “Well that sounds pretty bad."

He sighed and let his body fall. The gentle red fabric embraced his head. “It's been a long time coming, but deadlines have a way of sneaking up on us people, I guess."

She gave a worried glance, pouncing onto the bed beside him. “Growing up with my littermates, I had a brother. He was always moping around. I avoided him like the plague."

The espeon waited another few moments. She curled around herself, putting her head to rest beside the human. “Wish I didn't, though. I think he was ahead of the curve. Maybe the rest of us are all just too happy for our own goods."

Ernest felt tears start to swell. He glared at himself, forcing them to stop their flow. “Why do you do it? Have sex with humans?"

The feline stood up again, looking down at this crotch. When she saw no movement, she said, “It's funny you asking that. No one asks that."

“I'd imagine not."

She put her paws onto his belly. Ernest failed to react. “Security, mostly," she said. “I don't think I could make it out there in the wild."

Ernest felt anger attack his throat out of nowhere. “Why couldn't you?"

Her claws dug through his shirt. “What? You think it's easy or something?"

He sighed, letting his abs relax again. “No, I don't. I don't know what I think."

Her paws kneaded his chest a few more times before she hopped up on him, getting face-to-face with his sad eyes. “I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it some. Sometimes. The problem is that I don't get the pick the schedule."

Ernest let himself look at her eyes again. They seemed too big, too dynamic. “I'm starting to get why Horace and you don't get along," he said.

“Oh, that fuckface."

“He wanted me to… convince you to stay, or else."

She had to parse his innuendo. “Excuse me?"

“It's a long story, but I don't think it matters, now."

She let out an amused snort. “Well, sure it does. We can have some fun if you're so desperate for some ass."

Ernest held in a grimace. He caressed her head, sliding his thumb against the fur of her cheek. “Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't have it in me."

The espeon's ears tilted back. Her tail flickered. “Sure you do."

He shook his head. “I don't. I-I can't."

“But it sounds like you have to. How sad," she poked fun.

Ernest stiffened. He sat up, pushing the espeon off of him. “No. No, I'm serious."

She almost spit. “I don't get it. You're too good for this? You're in the same boat as me. We all have to do what it takes.'

Ernest couldn't look at her. He put his head in his hands. “It's not worth it any more. I'm tired… I'm tired of acting like it is."

“That's it, then?" she said. After a few seconds, when Ernest didn't reply, she shook her head and stepped down onto the floor.

For the next few minutes, she paced the floor. As every thought ran through her head, as she weighed her every option, she hoped that Ernest would say something. Ideally, he would change his mind, play the game with her. It could even be fun if he just pretended.

But he sat there, his eyes on the ceiling, almost motionless. Occasionally he'd cough, breaking her out of her thoughts. Each time, the pressure in her throat grew, inescapable. She couldn't plead ignorance. She knew what would happen.

So she sat down at the foot of the bed, staring at his legs hanging off the edge.

“You know, Calloway, I think we have to act. Now or never."

“So be it, Espeon. But I hope you find a way out of this mess," he said.

The espeon laughed with a sad sigh. She jumped back onto the bed beside him. “Fuck you, you know that?" Fuck you for being nice to me."

“What's that supposed to–" Ernest started asking, but he couldn't continue. The monster was on top of him. The gem on her forehead shined a bright red. He had caught a glimpse of her eyes. They shined without light. They grew without growing. When he looked into their depth, he was pulled further in. It was a fractal of color, one that he found himself desperate to find the center of.

The fur around her eyes shifted. She had to blink, clear the tears from her eyes, possibly risking her influence. But the effect was now set, needing only to be periodically renewed.

“Some people are into this stuff. Buncha weirdos," she sobbed.

Of course, Ernest said nothing. Did nothing.

“Okay, okay. Come on, girl. I can-I can. Ernest, take off your pants," she said.

Ernest sprung to life, sitting up and removing his belt with routine efficiency. His pants followed.

“...Your underwear too."

He sat still on the foot of the bed. His dick was flaccid, pale even in the dim lighting.

“Now lie down on the bed… fuck," she breathed. “Okay. Maybe you didn't want this. But you'll enjoy it, right? Eventually, anyway? Everyone likes having their... I'm good at it! You'll tell me, right? Please?"

“Yes," Ernest replied without inflection.

“Hhuuh," she shuddered. “I guess that's good, right?"

He didn't reply, his arms and legs splayed flat on the bed. She got between his legs.

The room they found themselves in was filled with noxious air. Sniffing his crotch provided some relief from that, some distraction. Her tongue slipped out of her mouth, and she got to work.

The eeveelution licked the base of his dick. His hairs rubbed along the spines of her tongue. She worked up, slipping his soft length into her mouth. Occasionally, she forced herself to look up into his eyes to keep her spell going.

The espeon moaned around his dick: a pained cry. He felt cold in her mouth. She couldn't do it; she couldn't will herself on. Slipping off, she squeezed the tears out of her eyes. Her head buried itself into the sheets.

“What… the hell was that?" Ernest said.

She jerked up at his words, her claws digging into the covers. “I…"

Her eyes flickered with energy, preparing for the worst, to steal away if she had to. But Ernest just caught his breath, looking at her, looking at his penis. He sat against the baseboard, scowling at the empty space between them.

“I don't. I don't… but I guess I get it. It's just–why? Why would you do that?" he said.

She took a step toward him. “I couldn't just–no, no I could just watch it happen to you!"

“You could have. I wanted you to."

The espeon looked back at the door to hide her face. “I'll go."

In the second it took him to reply, she had started to turn around.

“Wait," he said.

A lump in her throat came back. She waited.

“You can," he paused, “I guess you can."

The feline's lips parted, staring at him. His legs hung apart. He was barely any less flaccid. Maybe her imagination. But the hope on his face looked real enough.

She couldn't think of any words to give. Encouragement felt misplaced, a sultry tone: misguided. So she leaned down and sniffed his wet dick, gauging his genuine reaction. He twitched but didn't move away.

She started again, giving little licks to the base of his shaft. Ernest looked away with a slight grimace, trying to let his imagination take over. But beautiful human women didn't have tongues that size, shape, and texture. He gave up and watched the espeon groom his crotch.

She watched his length finally start to stiffen. Her licks grew fuller, less careful. His dick bobbed up and down with each stroke. Ernest grabbed himself at the base, holding it still. She licked higher, till finally her lips kissed against the head of his dick. She wrapped around it and pushed herself down with a kind of familiarity. Ernest drew in air.

She quickly stopped again. “Oh, right… I have some experience. Sorry."

“How do you find the room," he breathed.

Offering a small laugh, she licked him again. Her paws grabbed his legs, and she sank back down until she felt her throat start to spread. Her nose rubbed on the hairs at his base. She looked up and saw his eyes. They were filled with fascination. His hands hovered near her, unsure where to go. She bobbed her head, feeling his dick tense against the back of her maw. She settled in, tail wagging idly.

Eventually, his hands found her back. He was scrunched up over her, almost hugging her head. Thoughts passed him by a mile a minute. He couldn't grasp any part of this, nothing familiar. Her hot breath snorted onto his belly. Spittle drooled down his cock. His balls tensed. He couldn't make a sound.

“Ease up there," she said around his penis.

He pulled back instantly. “What? I wasn't–I didn't mean to do that."

She licked her lips, catching the rest of the spit with her paw, licking it off. “It's okay," she offered.

Ernest wanted to ask what came next, but he couldn't make himself. It would be an admission to something he couldn't even admit to himself. He looked at her and closed his mouth. His eyes radiated their regret.

The feline stood on all fours. “You don't have to talk," she said. “I can get us through this. I think that'll be enough for them."

“Okay," he grunted softly.

Air left his nostrils uneven. She climbed on top of him. Her legs straddled him, and her thin arms held his shoulders. He could see every hair on her face. He could see her front canines as she looked back, adjusting herself against his erection. There was something very human about the way she did it. Much to his dismay, he felt himself stiffen. Tangles of her warm belly fur blanketed his cock. Where her crotch met his, he felt utter softness, a wet kind of warmth.

She read his face. “I can put you under if you want."

“No," he exhaled. “No, it's fine."

“Okay."

Her hind legs stretched up. In a practiced motion, the silky fur of her labia pressed down on the head of his cock. His rod resisted the force, splitting her apart. The espeon started sinking herself down his width. She grunted, pausing after only the first inch. She pulled off.

“Give me a minute," she said.

Blood pounding in his ears, his breathing was erratic. He gripped her waist in an effort to calm himself. “How do I… do I…?"

His hands slipped lower. Her hips widened near her tail. He groped her, pushing her against his erection. Dick melded with fur.

“Touch me wherever you want, hon," she muttered into his chest.

His fingers poked around, her ass raised just enough to slip a finger under her tail. He found the center of her warmth, of what every client seemed to crave from her. But he could barely touch her. Everything told him he needed to blink, focus, wake up to reality again. The tip of Ernest's finger ran along her crease, distinctly inhuman, sopping wet. He found the further end to her pussy, and he pressed a finger inside.

“Mrphh," she murred. “Good… Good, ah–"

Her tail flagged up. Her snout rubbed on his shoulder, leaving spit behind. She licked him there, then bit him gently. His fingers spread her apart, sinking into the cat and staying there.

“That doesn't feel so bad, Mr. Calloway," she whispered.

Their eyes met. The espeon's jewel shined again, not as bright this time. His penis flexed against her belly. She had started sliding up and down, only an inch, mating his fingers. Precum started dribbling from him, rubbing into tufts of fur. Ernest looked at her, breathing the same air as her, moaning gently like her.

The strokes grew longer. Ernest couldn't keep his fingers inside her anymore, hands on her butt instead. He burned at the thought of cumming all over her fur, not even inside. As though that would somehow be an improvement for him.

“Okay, stop, stop, let's try," he muttered.

The espeon smiled, licking up his neck. She raised herself. Again, she found the head of his dick and pressed down against it. But this time, she felt herself wrapping around, sinking down, until several inches sat comfortably buried.

Ernest swore at the tightness. The warmth.

“It's okay baby," she said. “I'll take care of you."

Overstimulated, he felt the urge to cum inside her depths. Her walls gripped him with the same pull her eyes had: the kneading, the ripples of soft flesh squeezing him at all times, pulling him in. She had all of him squishing him into her, sinking closer to the bottom.

He gripped her by the chest. An orgasm meant crossing a line he never wanted to cross. It also meant this could be done. But a small creature inside him didn't want it to be done. Not yet. But soon, it wasn't up to him. His belly sucked in. His fingers and toes dug in. He pushed in till his balls were pressed against her and erupted.

Feeling his dick pulse against her flesh, he thought he'd feel regret, unimaginable shame. But he was filled with euphoria. The feline milked the final spurts, and a shudder from her sent cum drooling down his balls. A quick release, all things considered.

She pushed off his chest, getting eye-to-eye. Her eyes were serious. “You didn't mind that, right?"

His lips pressed together, and he struggled to swallow. “Yeah, I…"

The espeon leaned in and pecked his cheek. She raised herself, letting his dick slip out of her. But she fell back down, pressing their messy crotches against each other again. His dick rubbed between her labia.

“You'll be okay, Calloway."

Part V

---

It didn't take long for them to get into it again. Ernest and the espeon stayed together, talking aimlessly about politics and sexuality. Eventually, the small shifts in her position awoke something in him. She started sliding against him, keeping his length pressed against his belly, his cum a kind of lubricant.

Ernest grabbed her. He put her back against the bed and got on top of her. Her legs hung open for him, her crotch a warm invitation. She gave a small smile, and he was pulled in.

His dick stuffed her again. The cat was just as tight, even more slick. But this time, he was granted endurance, almost free from shame. His balls would press against her, filling her up just to slide out. Her pronged tail tickled his legs, and still she smiled, watching him work himself up.

Her paws found his chest. She found her voice, encouraging him along, all while his strokes rocked her against the bed. When her influence touched his mind, she felt his raw emotion, washing over her like a drug. She thought it felt best when they meant it. She came, squeezing him tighter than ever, mewling with passion.

Ernest moaned, falling on top of her. Their bellies met, his hips still pulling back just to press up against her again. After a few minutes, Ernest felt himself swell, hard as ever, before letting loose. This time his cum stayed buried deep inside her, doing its best to impregnate someone he had no business trying to.

Horace had walked in on them. Ernest didn't know when, exactly. But when he did notice, Horace gave him a nod. “How was he?"

“Like a dream," the espeon said. Despite further probing, she stayed firm, and Horace relented.

“Let's get you some help cleaning up. Trent loves cleaning up these kinds of messes."

“Just a minute," Ernest said.

Horace walked out, leaving the human and feline in bed together.

“You going to be okay?" Ernest asked.

“Hm," she thought. “Probably. I'm a tough girl."

“I can try to help. There's gotta be a way out of this for you."

“You're kind, Ernest. But you should know not to make promises you can't keep."

He bit the corner of his lip. “You're right. I'm sorry."

“Don't worry about it, dear. You were fun tonight."

Ernest got outside without issue. Horace gave him their rough schedule, and Ernest agreed to stop by again in the future.

“But you gotta pay for yourself next time. I'm not made of butter and eggs, you get me?"

“Sure," Ernest said. “I'll see you."

“See you, doll!" Gwen said.

---

Another hour had passed when he met them outside in an alleyway. The sky overhead started to turn a dark blue.

“Well, how do we get in?" the officer asked Ernest.

Ernest shook his head. “No."

The officer looked down at him, over his glasses. “Don't play with me, son. I know what's in there. How did you get in?"

“I'm not doing it. Arrest me. Beat the shit out of me. I'm not doing it."

The officer sighed, looking away. Most of his face stayed hidden in the darkness. He looked more annoyed than anything.

“You're a lucky sonofabitch, you know that?" he said.

“What are you talking about?" Ernest replied.

“Your alleged partner in crime: the fuck was his name?"

“Melvin."

“Melvin, yeah. Melvin didn't rat on you. We only got shit on him, so you're getting off scot-free unless we find something."

Ernest shook his head. “Why?"

“I don't know, kid. Ask him during visiting hours." The officer started walking away, back to his car. “Just don't ditch town, alright? Lucky bitch."

Ernest stayed where he was, watching him go. The cop's partner revved up the engine, and soon they were gone. He inhaled for a deep sigh, the air cool in his lungs for once. But the itch returned. Ernest coughed and coughed. Once the red started to fade, he walked towards home.