FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The rhydon slams into Beau and she goes sprawling. Paws flail.

She calls out, “Buizel, bui!" in this weak strangled voice like she was born the week before and never saw a fight in her life. Of course, because I have to keep up my plucky demeanor I can't exactly call her a piece of tauros shit to her face like she needs to hear right now. All I can do is watch in horror as my future is beaten into the dirt.

The rhydon only gets two strikes in before it realizes it's tearing apart a pathetic whelp of a buizel. It looks back to Liam, the gym leader, confused. Liam stops it from attacking with a wave of his hand and then raises an eyebrow at me. I know what he's asking.

Really? This is what I have to offer?

But I've got so much more.

Beau and I trained for two years to get to this point. That's time I could've been studying Pokémon science, math, or even riding the gravy train learning the workings of Mom's furniture store. Beau's strength is above and beyond what we need to handle this first gym. I know that for a fact. Liam has only ever served as a milestone. He's a fabulous trainer in his own right, but he knows his place as the inducting fight and doesn't put up much of a contest.

A buizel like Beau, trained like I trained her, should have torn right through his Pokémons' defenses. So much so that our training in the months leading up to the fight wasall about style and how to impress the crowd rather than actual combat ability. She knows when to act exhausted to look like the underdog and when to let go and batter the poor fucker of a Rhydon that iconifies Liam's gym.

But when I tossed her out onto the field, she just stood there, spotlights shining down on her, and froze. The crowd watched with bated breath having just seen my prerecorded sob story video. Of course, Liam and I were both barking instructions right out of the gate so it took us a minute for the adrenaline to fade and realization to set in. His rhydon jumped into action, but my buizel just stared dumbly at the thing. She wrapped her little arms across her chest and, in a full 1080p high definition close-up shot on four massive suspended screens, stood still shaking.

I hate her name. Everyone knows it plays better when you give your Pokémon one of those cutesy fake names instead of a real, respectable one. Worst part is I have her wearing a little bow behind her ear. Beau buizel bow. Makes me wanna throw up. Of course, that doesn't matter. the network execs love it.

Everything had been going for me. All I needed was a sponsorship from this first gym that I can use to coast through the rest. The second gym doesn't matter so much, nor does the third. It's all about that first gym setting you apart from everyone else. Who cares about mediocre trainers struggling through a middling gym when you can catch the progression of a star just starting their climb up the ladder? It's a delicate balance between publicity and actual talent.

I ditched the arbok that took me far enough to consider training as a real career path. He's a good fighter — enough I named him Silas, a real fucking name. But an arbok can't do shit against a rock gym, and, honestly, arboks don't play to the cute factor, the cool factor, or really anything that'd land me a good contract. In fact, my number crunching shows that arbok trainers take home about half the average payout of other Pokémon under similar conditions

I practiced day in and day out. I memorized the perfect lines for every occasion. The sob story about honoring my dead dad while using my contract winnings to support Mom is perfect. Those are the stories that energize audiences. They get the gym leaders to hold back just enough that us heart-throbs can venture out on a sponsored journey to spout bullshit aspirations, then party when no one is looking.

Obviously, for me it's not about becoming a real contender. Delusions of competing against the elite four only pull in gullible fools, the type to fly to high then crash and burn somewhere around badge four. That's about when they realize that there are thousands of hopefuls just as skilled as they are, only a handful of which will reach that last, coveted gauntlet. This isn't their backwater, bumfuck town anymore, where they and their third-rate, garbage-ass Pokémon are the hottest shit in town.

But I've lost. I've lost my first fucking gym battle. And it's all Beau's fault.

When my ears finally stop ringing, I hear my shame being broadcast throughout the stadium — throughout the country on countless living room TVs.

“The poor little buizel got stage fright. Looks somewhat out of its depth, doesn't it? Well, whatever the case, Anthony certainly isn't walking out of here with his first badge."

Humiliation burning my cheeks, I call Beau back to her pokeball. An attendant runs up to me with a mic, so I have to make up some bullshit about how I'm proud of Beau for working so hard to get here, and that I plan to return when I'm sure that my best friend is up to the task. Then, I exit stage right as fast as humanly possible.

The judges are positive. They've seen my excellent prelim rounds and know I'll be back for another go. They don't talk about how even a single gym defeat spells doom for any hope I have of a top tier contract. Sponsors will look at Beau and think 'stage-fright.' Statistically, I'll be lucky to clinch half what I'd been shooting for.

The worst part is that I need even that. I've given so much of my life to this nonsense, I have to see it through, even with that big pay hit. So these two hours after the battle, the worst hours of my life, are spent interviewing with news networks about how the loss makes me feel. What is it like to be a loser? Am I disappointed that my broken, worthless husk of a Pokémon single-handedly fucked up my career path?

Yes, I goddamn am.

I grab a quick meal, and I'm seething throughout it. I think I'm going to calm down on the drive back to the training cabin I rented. But I don't. I'm just as furious as I was standing on the dais.

At least I get to be alone. Secluded off in the deep woods near wild Pokémon, the cabin is perfect for jumping training up that last notch right before the big fight. For all the good that did.

Finally, everything is quiet. After the clamor of the stadium, the bustling traffic around it, then the guttural groaning of my car engine, I'm left with precious silence. It's just me and the whistle of the mild winds against the windows.

The living room sports a TV above the hearth, but I don't want to watch it. I'm sure there's going to be humiliating footage of my loss. Past that, there's really not much to do in the cabin. Some dressers hold inoffensive books with classic literature, the kind of stuff found in classrooms or hotel rooms. I've got my suitcase laying open with clothes strewn about it on the floor near the sliding glass doors to the small clearing in the back. And there's some bland copies of famous paintings on the wall that manage to hold my attention for no more than a dozen seconds.

Stretching out on the large three-cushion couch, I eye the two armchairs to either side, but settle on aiming Beau's pokeball for the hardwood coffee table between the cushy seating and the TV and hearth. She didn't deserve the comfort.

A flash of light zaps from the pokeball and dances where I aimed it for a few moments, before it settles on the shape of my buizel. The light shines bright for a few moments even as a silvery paw reaches up to a vague impression of a muzzle. By the time she's able to wipe her eyes, however, the light's faded and Beau's all there in her orange and tan fur.

She looks up at me, then shrinks. There's this hurt in her eyes, but it's not because of me, it's because of herself. She knows she fucked up, and she's got the same disappointment I've been feeling for the past few hours.

I just sorta grunt and roll onto my back to look at the ceiling. But I glance back at her. When she meets my eyes, something's different. It's a look I've seen in Silas, my arbok, but never really in her. She's got this gritty determination about her, like she could march right back into the arena and wrest the badge from Liam's own hands.

“Buizel bui," she says matter-of-fact.

“Oh, is that right?" I ask, teeth clenched. “Now you fucking step up to it?"

She blinks, and that determined grin on her muzzle sort of droops. It's still there, but as she looks at me and how my eyebrows narrow and my breathing gets heavier, it becomes harder and harder to see.

I sit up on the couch. It's awkward lying down when you're angry like this. Not when you're alone, but when anyone else is around — even a Pokémon. For a second I'm not sure what to do. I've never been great at confrontation; I'm the type that seethes. But I've been seething for the last few hours, and the source of all that frustration is just sitting there and was all chipper and determined a few moments ago, and that just flips some switch in me.

“Get over here, Beau," I say, patting my lap. The look on her face tells me she's thinking that I've gone into that defeated mode, where you just want to fall over and give up while holding someone close. I haven't. I just want to be able to look her in the eyes, and I don't even know what. I've got these violent thoughts going through my head, but I'm trying to push them away because I know they're awful, like when I'm cut off in traffic by some asshole and I have to force myself not to imagine swerving right into their car and sending them spiraling off the road.

Beau doesn't just hop over from the table to me. After swinging herself around to hang over it's edge, she drops to the ground by my feet. Then, with surprising strength for her short limbs, she scrambles up onto the couch cushion next to me, and then onto my lap. She's pushing her whole body against me too, obviously not understanding how fucking furious I am right now.

That look on her face changes when I grip her arm. It's nothing much at first. I'm feeling the thick layer of water-repellant fur and the fatty arm underneath. But then I squeeze a little harder.

“Buizel? B- Bui," Beau says as she tugs her arm. It's not her trying to get away. She just wants to tell me that my grip's a little tight. She's got some panic in her eyes now, but it hasn't reached the rest of her face yet.

That buizel has self control — not when it matters in front of millions of people and potential sponsors of course. But right now she doesn't think anything's actually wrong. Clearly her instincts say to run, but she trusts me and is fighting herself to keep that fear down. That's the wrong choice. I've got my own inner battle going on against the urge to squeeze as hard as I can and then twist so that I hear the snap of the little bone in her arm.

That won't do. She doesn't understand what she's done to me yet.

“Do you know how the sponsors work, Beau? That whole system, how it affects everyone trying to make their careers as Pokémon trainers?"

She hesitates, looking like she was about to nod, but then shakes her head. I realize she's pressing even harder against me when I feel a tremble. She's nervous. With all that venom lacing my voice, I don't blame her.

I open my mouth to talk, but nothing comes out. I'm just looking at her, my heart pounding hard in my chest like it wants to break free and strangle her itself. But then something just clicks.

I stand up from the couch, still holding Beau by just her shoulder. She squeals in pain, her left paw flailing at my hand to pull her arm free of my grip. When I grab her side which helps support her weight, she quiets down and looks at me with this expression that I can't completely decipher. Part of it is confusion. Do I not realize it felt like I was tearing her arm out of its socket there? Was that just a mistake? But then there's also horror and fear mixed in, those little doubts that I intend this whole thing and that we're just getting started. Maybe I'm reading too much of what I want her to think into her expression. That's a bad habit when you speak entirely different languages. But fear is the right idea for her. I hurl her at the brick wall above the fireplace as hard as I can.

There's a satisfying smack when her side hits the brick. I don't know if I threw hard enough to break a bone. I don't give a shit, honestly. Healing supplies are cheap.

“You ruined my fucking career, Beau," I say as go over to her. When she hit the bricks, she just crumpled to the ground like a ragdoll. I think she's in shock.

“Look at me!"

Shaking, she turns her head towards me. I'm actually not used to seeing her afraid. Nervous when we were working our way up to the gym battle, but not raw, instinctual fear like this. Most of all, over top of that fear, she's got these wide eyes looking me up and down like she doesn't even recognize me.

There's not even a token resistance when I grab the scruff of her neck to yank her into the air. A little squeak of pain is the only way I know she's still inside that orange and tan fur, desperately trying to figure out what's happening.

“You see, the sponsors, they were all watching today, and what they saw was a failure who can't even deal with Liam's bullshit Pokémon that he hand-selects to be weak shits that even a worthless water rat like you could beat."

There's a silence while I see if she's going to do anything. I've got this awful gut feeling about how I actually want to see her fighting here so that I can crush that resistance, but I push it away.

Then, I think that's a terrible thought. I can't do this. I've gone this far already, though. The damage is done. There's no way she's ever gonna look at me the same.

Finally, Beau stutters out, “buizel… buizel bui…"

I don't actually understand the words she's saying. The trainers who say they can are lying. The fact of the matter is that Pokémon are really expressive in ways that tell you exactly what they mean.

I know she's saying how she's so sorry. She's so so sorry. She says it again, pleading.

I punch her in the gut, right along that line where orange fur turns to tan. She crumples around my fist.

“So even if we went to the gym again," I growl at her, digging my clenched hand into her stomach, “even if we trounce that fucker like we planned, half those sponsors won't be willing to take a chance on you. The other half will offer next to nothing. You fucked my career. You're worthless."

She's crying now. It's such a stark difference from that bold look of determination she had before, ready to take on the world if that's what it took. All of that is forgotten.

I grab her midsection so that I can let go of her scruff, then slam her back against the brick mantle. Standing there, heart pounding, ears and cheeks hot with rage, I don't quite know what to do. But then, looking at her, something clicks for me, and I know exactly how this is going to play out.

“No," I correct myself, “you're not completely worthless."

She hesitantly looks up at me, then shudders. There's no hope in her eyes. She's waiting for the 'but' that she knows is coming.

“I was just wrong to think you could amount to anything. But hey, there's still uses for shitty excuses of Pokémon like you, especially females."

She's confused for a moment. Her head tilts on instinct. But then, when my fingers tickle the fur of her belly under when my hand is pressing her midsection to the wall, her eyes go wide as saucers.

“B… bui?" she asks.

“That's right," I say. My fingers drift lower, teasing through her fur with a light, tickling touch. “You'll at least be able to make up for a small fraction of what you've cost me."

My fingers brush over a small nipple, nestled imperceptibly under her tan belly fur. Right then, as I squeeze that little nub, is when I see the wave of realization rush over her.

Her muzzle hangs open slightly, as if she can't believe what I'm doing, and the propeller tail that had been hanging loosely behind her curls up between her legs. She shakes her head. “Buizel, bui — bui bui! Buizel! Buizel!"

Her cries, pleading and horrified, grow louder as I fondle her belly, squeezing and rubbing at the nipple I've got a hold on before my fingers move on to find a new one to molest.

She'd taken the beating without complaint, but now her arms are flailing. They're yanking against my arms as her feet struggle to find purchase on my chest to push away from me. I'm too far away though, so she's just kicking the air.

She doesn't use an attack or anything. I know she won't. Captured Pokémon have some sort of conditioning — maybe it's the pokeballs, I don't really know — that keeps them from hurting their trainers. Either way, her struggles don't mean anything to me. Silas, my arbok, is in a pokeball on my belt if things get to be too much to handle.

“Well, Beau, lets see what kinda stuff you got here, whether you'll suit the task."

“Bui… bui buizel…" she begs, looking at me with her last-chance pitiful eyes. They aren't just for show like when she tries to get extra desert. These are so completely sincere, pleading with me not to go forward. I can almost hear her saying that if I stop now, we can forget this ever happened.

Her slit is a small pink line that blends into the tan belly-fur, almost entirely obscured. You can tell its there from how the fur thins around it, but it's hard to see unless you're close. I'm right up against her though. Her nose curls at my breath.

Slipping my hand down from that nipple, my fingers slide down along that slit. They don't push in, just feel how the skin there is hotter and a bit puffier, almost imperceptibly so. There's a bit of humidity too, giving it resistance like how your finger hops a bit when dragging down damp rubber.

I've been with horny girls before, had to move my fingers through a fucking waterpark down there. Beau is anything but. Her whole body shudders with a violent rattle from that fin at the back of her head all the way to the tip of her propeller tails.

Those fingers press down, one on each side of her slit, and spread her wide open. The skin down there wants to stick together, but after readjusting, it splays easy enough.

For a moment, I just take it all in. Her squirming has stopped too, replaced with a hurt look on her face as she tries to meet my eyes. But I'm not looking at her face. I've pulled back just a bit, so I can see how that soft pink contrasts so intensely against the tan fur above it and the orange around it.

She's a lot smaller than a human, but there's plenty of familiarity to her foreign animalistic slit. Holding her open like that, I get a good look at the pattern of skin circling up into the tiny hood over her clit, and all that texture down near her entrance which squeezes taut and then relaxes back open.

“Buizel? Bui bui… bui buizel." She's got this strained calmness to her voice, like she thinks she can win with a logical, reasoned argument. Maybe she wants me to see that, and realize she thinks just as well as people do. That's the case with most Pokémon, I think. Doesn't matter to me right now. I want what she has, and her suddenly speaking English and telling me she could do calculus wouldn't change that.

Still holding her open with two fingers, I snake a third from the top of that delicate pink over onto her clit — which results in a particularly sharp breath from her — and then all the way down until it can't go further without me moving my hand.

I gotta hand it to her, she's still dry as a desert down there and doing the best she can to talk me down. Though I've stopped saying anything, she keeps it up with her “Bui bui buizel. Buizel! Bui buizel?" trying to be calm and collected, even though I can hear her voice shaking.

I nod, then toss her back towards the couch. I miss, and she hits shoulder first against the coffee table, which is hardwood, so it's not a pretty sounding impact.

Really, I don't give her credit for her intelligence. Shitty fighter, but she knows she can't run since I have her pokeball and she can't fight either. So, despite her trembling, she pulls herself up from the coffee table, and gestures up to her shoulder. There's no blood, but I've worked enough with Pokémon to see it's going to be a nasty bruise there.

“Bui! Buizel bui bui!" she says firmly. There are tears in her eyes still, but she's fighting them so she can fight me the only way she has a chance — words that I can't even understand.

Of course, that doesn't last long.

“Alright, Beau," I say as I walk over to the couch and sit down on it. “Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to tell you what to do. And you're going to be a good little buizel and listen. Now, you could choose not to listen — like you did at the stadium — and that got you into this mess. You don't want to see what happens then, do you? I mean, you were just complaining about your shoulder there. That'd be fucking nothing next to it."

She starts nodding at breakneck speed before I even finish threatening her.

“Come over here, undo my pants, and then take them off."

“Buizel…"

“Beau, get the fuck over here and do what I said."

For a moment, she just stands there, staring at me, her words cut off. But then, shaking, she puts one foot in front of the other until she's at the edge of the coffee table and jumps over next to me on the couch.

I lounge back, legs spread slightly so she's got easy access. That doesn't help much though, since the real problem is her trembling paws. When she reaches down to undo the button on my jeans, she can barely keep her grip on it.

She figures it out eventually though. Button through the hole, zipper slowly down to its base. My blue boxers are exposed through the V shape of my open fly. They're bulging with my arousal.

She looks at me, then down at my pants again, so I lift my ass up a bit off the couch so she can pull the jeans down herself. It's not a fast process. She pulls one side, then the other, then back to the first. Her paws don't quite have the strength or grip to get it all at once. However, the jeans eventually go down over my knees, and I kick them off my feet.

“Go ahead," I say. “Reach a paw inside. Give me a feel."

She shakes her head. “B… Buizel bui."

“That wasn't a suggestion, Beau."

First, she hesitantly places a paw on my boxers, right over the tent of my arousal. After looking back up at me with that same pleading expression as before, she takes a big gulp, and then shifts her paw up to the waistband. Her pads are rough against my skin there, but in a good way, like getting a tender back scratch. That's especially true with how it's trembling.

Her paw slides down under the fabric, and it doesn't have to go far before her fur presses against the head of my cock, already dribbling with my anticipation. Her face scrunches up, but she doesn't stop. She knows I won't stand for that, and I've already shown I'm not afraid to beat her senseless. Her revulsion still holds her back, though. That's why she's pausing here. With her paw down my boxers she's got her chest up against me and I can feel a hammering heart beat.

I'm about to say something, but she catches my eye as I open my mouth. She cringes, and immediately her paw starts doing its job, groping at my thick cock. Good for her. I'm tired of talking.

I'm watching her expression here. Her paw feels kind of good, but that's not why I'm doing this. She's not going to get me off with an awkwardly positioned paw doing its best to touch my cock exactly enough to placate me. No, I'm watching for that cringe and shudder when she feels my shaft throb in her grip and more of my precum drools down to sticky her fur.

“There you go. You're getting the hang of this Beau. Might not be a complete waste of space after all. Go ahead and get all that pre on my tip onto your paw. Then you can take it out."

She does as I ask. When those rough pads drag over my tip, they're coated with a respectable layering of my fluids. And, after looking to me to make sure she isn't doing something wrong — a good call given what a fuck up she is — she pulls her paw out from under my boxers. The pre is plenty slimy, strands of it hanging between her little digits. She winces at the sight.

“Lick it."

With the look she gives me, I'd think I asked her to turn into a fire type. Somewhere between aghast, incredulous, and revolted, her eyes narrow, brow furrows, and muzzle hangs just so slightly open. Her tails, though, curl noticeably against the couch, trying to find their way under her rear.

To get my point across, I slap her across the face. There's no need to hold back either — she's a Pokémon. She's used to being in fights. Doesn't mean pain hurts any less though, and I can see that hurt in her eyes clear as day.

After I hit her, it's back to the trembling. But despite that, she raises her paw steadily towards her muzzle. She hesitates. Then, finally, a tentative tongue slips out to lick along a pad.

Her eyes squeeze shut. Despite the ongoing tremors, I see a distinct shiver run down her body. Clearly not a fan.

“Now suckle it — like you mean it too, no half-assed bullshit." I say. I'm getting bored too, so as she faces down her own paw with that look of disgust, stuck between a rock and a hard place with no good choices, I decide to do some more exploring.

I'm not gentle, nor subtle. After grabbing her orange-furred propeller tail and yanking at it a bit, my fingers delve lower, down past her little pucker and into that delicate little Pokémon slit. It's still just as dry as before, but that doesn't matter to me. I'm happy to play with it anyway.

She pretends not to care at first — though the shifting, and soft hissing offers clear evidence to the contrary. But then — still staring down her precum-soaked paw — when my fingers molest her folds again she lets out this long, pitiful whine.

Her paw goes into her muzzle like a pacifier, and tears begin to stream down over her orange-furred cheeks. It's as if all that show of strength and resistance she's put up to this point just breaks right down. Well, it was bound to happen that sooner or later that she realizes there's no possible way out.

“Pull out my cock and start sucking." I'm not playing coy anymore. It's fun, the teasing and all, but my shaft is hard as a brick and I need my release. I deserve it after all the humiliation Beau caused me at the stadium.

Tears mat down the fur on her cheeks and still flow like a faucet. She looks back up to me and croaks out another. “Buizel… buizel? Buizel bui…" A sob interrupts her halfway through and she has to pause to wipe her nose on the back of a paw, but I let her finish.

When I squeeze her upper arm just a little too tight, however, she gets that I'm serious. She manages to squeak out another short plea, but her face is downcast and her eyes are focused on my boxers.

I don't think Beau's ever seen my cock before — which means she's probably never seen a human one before at all. I mean, it's not like I ever did anything with her outside regular training regimens. Of course, that thought gets me curious.

“You ever fuck anyone before, Beau? Pokémon or human?"

Reaching down to pull on the edges of my boxers, Beau hesitates, then shakes her head.

My laugh is more of a pitying one, not based in any actual humor. “Virgin then. But hey, you only got yourself to blame that this is your first time."

She reaches for my boxers then, yanking at the waistband with very little effect. I think she wants to get away from that thought I just planted in her head. This is her first time.

A frustrated growl resonates from her muzzle — surprisingly the first I've heard from her since this began. After lifting myself somewhat off the couch cushion, the boxers slide down easier.

My cock isn't small by any means. It's not huge either, but I imagine that for a Pokémon of Beau's size it's gargantuan. When it springs free in its veiny, throbbing glory, the buizel arched over my lap just stares. The shaft is thoroughly wet with precum that got spread around with it rubbing against fabric. And, being uncut, I've got a good quantity of that slimy fluid pooled up and shimmering where my foreskin wraps over my tip.

“Now, since you're a virgin," I say as she's staring and wrinkling her nose in revulsion, “I guess I got to help you out here, don't I? You gotta pull down the foreskin like this if you wanna give a good blowjob to an uncut guy like me."

I've got an ulterior motive here though. I'm not good about washing under my foreskin. I do so when I'm expecting to get lucky and sparingly otherwise. But I've been so focused on training, that I haven't expected that in weeks. So Beau's nose, far more sensitive than a human's, wrinkles like it wants to implode in on itself when I peel back my foreskin.

My cock is speckled with bits of dried cum leftover from each time jerking off since I gave it a good clean, same with the foreskin that I've pulled back until it's bunched up in a ring below my head.

Part of me hates how much I'm enjoying this, but theres this combination of sexual pleasure and abject hatred that I've still got for this failure of a buizel that lets me shove that to the back of my mind. “Suck on it."

She looks up at me, brows raised, eyes wide, and muzzle twisted in pure disgust. “Buizel! Buizel, bui!" Her voice carries her incredulity.

“It's just been a few days. It's perfectly safe," I say. I don't know if that's what she wanted to know. Maybe she actually said something about cleaning my junk. But I don't give a shit either way. I want her to suffer.

“Get sucking, bitch," I say again, and there's a hint of a growl behind my words. The precum that pooled at my tip is already seeping down the sticky red flesh.

I can see the gulp that she swallows go down her throat before she finally opens her muzzle back up, hovers it above the head of my cock, then descends.

Her warm lips seal around my head, and I feel that pleasurable electric tingle run up my shaft as it brushes her teeth and tongue. It's like heaven after so much time spent toying with her. However, the tongue immediately jolts away to hide after that initial brush. Her whole body shudders. With her belly over one of my knees and a paw on my chest for support, I can feel it course through her body.

Her eyes water, and this pitiful whine comes out as a hum with her muzzle sealed around my cock. It had been clear that she didn't like the taste of my pre, but this is a wholly different degree of revulsion.

“Use that tongue of yours, Beau. Get it nice and clean."

Her tails quiver, and then her eyes squeeze shut, but she does as I say. Her little tongue darts across my cock-head. It flickers back and forth, touching just long enough to satisfy me — I see her looking up to check my expression with wide, fearful eyes — before darting away so her suffering taste-buds can regroup.

I'm loving it though. Not just the humiliation which is also really damn satisfying, but her muzzle feels incredible. When I absentmindedly remember that I've got fingers fiddling with her folds, I don't even bother to set them back to work. Her muzzle and my cock are where it's at right now. My other hand rests over the back of her head. My back arches, and I've got this desire to look up at the ceiling as I ride out the blowjob, but I can't tear my eyes off the sobbing little orange-furred buizel sucking my cock.

She is full on sobbing now. Her blue eyes shine with tears that have left these dark streaks down her cheek fur. I notice the quivering of her body again, but really it hasn't ever stopped.

After a little bit of this treatment, I'm ready for more. The hand gripping behind her head presses firmly down, and the rest of my sizable cock somehow disappears down that stubby muzzle.

She squeals. Her eyes, which had been tracking my face for reactions, bug out. Her paws thrash against me in an attempt to find purchase. And when a paw does plant in the center of my chest, she tries to push herself off from my shaft. However, the hand behind the back of her head stays firm, keeping her nose pressed up into wiry crotch hair.

But holy shit if it doesn't feel amazing. Beau's throat is so tight. I can feel the contractions as she tries to breathe around my cock. They're an involuntary massage on my throbbing shaft. I'm sure she can also feel each throb of my thick shaft stretching the walls of her throat, since I can see how each time her eyes water and her paws — now just gripping my chest having been entirely ineffective at pushing herself off me — squeeze until the little knuckles are white through orange fur.

“Do you want me to stop?" I ask. It's a stupid question — of course she does — but I ask anyway. Her eyes light up with desperation, her paws drag along my chest for Arceus-only-knows what reason, and a muffled, squealing, “Bui bui!" comes out entirely incomprehensible with her muzzle pressed to my crotch.

I'm going to stop soon anyway. But, for good measure since I've never gotten a good opportunity to throat-fuck anyone before, I use that knobby, fin-like protrusion on the back of her head as a handle to thrust her up and down on my throbbing shaft. That feels really nice. Though, with her muzzle loose and trying to open as she struggles to draw breath, it doesn't get all that tight till past the back of her mouth.

Her throat is rumbling with a constant moaning sort of squeal. I'm not entirely sure what it's supposed to be since it's so muffled. But those vibrations feel amazing to slide into.

And I do. I figure that buizels, being water types, can hold their breath pretty good, so I keep throat-fucking that muzzle for almost a minute until I feel her struggling start to die down. Only then do I finally lift her up off my cock.

Beau falls backward onto the couch cushion next to me, paws scrambling to drag her as far away from me as possible. She's gasping for air and must not be thinking straight, or else she'd probably still have that same sort of resignation she had before about not being able to run away.

I don't mind, of course. I want to see the fear and pain. She deserves it. This is what she gets for ruining my life.

“Get back over here."

She shakes her head. It's barely perceptible now that she's curled herself up in a tight ball, shuddering with her ragged breath. I'm watching for those reactions, though.

“Last warning, Beau."

She doesn't move. Hell, I don't know if she could move herself if she wanted to. Her eyes are squeezed tightly shut, and her trembling is more violent than it's been yet. Her propeller tail is curled tight between her legs. I bet every instinct in her body is telling her to say still right now, since she can't run and she can't fight.

Of course, that's not her way out. As much as it makes her feel just that much more secure, she's still as vulnerable as when I had her up against the wall with her cunt spread wide open.

I grab her tail and yank it back. It strains against my fingers, but it's got a bad angle and the muscles there aren't that strong in the first place, so I've got no problem getting a grip on it. Without letting myself pause to reconsider what I'm about to do, I slide down my grip until both hands are holding one of the tail halves past where it branches partway down, right where the orange fur meets tan. Then, I fold it down against itself, grab the point where it bends, and squeeze as hard as I can.

The snap of the bone breaking is louder than I thought it'd be. Beau's scream is louder than that.

That's the first thing she does. It's almost immediate, but not quite, like her body needs a moment to register what's happening. Then, that slinky form uncurls. Her eyes bug wide out. Her claws dig deep into the couch cushions. At first, it's like she tries to go as taut as possible. Her tail is flat against the couch after it slips from my hand, and her back arches. Then, she curls again, but this time upright. She shifts so she's sitting with her back against the back of the couch and lifts up her tail from between her legs as tenderly as a mother with a baby.

The tail is clearly broken. While one side of the branching propeller end is lifted taut in the same direction as the rest of the tail, the other hangs limp. When she lifts it vertically, the broken half dangles against the rest of her tail. She's staring at the break like she can't believe it's real. You can see how bad the bruising is through the tan furred tip past the break, but not through the orange fur before it. It's a strange sight. Now that I think of it, even through our rigorous training, I don't think she's ever broken a bone.

“Maybe now you'll listen when I tell you to get back over here," I say. My voice is flat.

This time when she looks up at me, the fear in her eyes isn't about what I'm going to do. Instead, it's fear of me. I've never seen this from anyone before. And honestly, it causes my heart to skip a beat before going back to normal while I try to forget that look.

She listens, though. Cradling her tail in her arms and trying to keep the break from moving too much, she carefully waddles back across the couch over to where I'm sitting.

“Buizel… Bui bui," she whimpers.

“Get on my lap facing me, and spread open your cunt."

She looks at me like I'm crazy, and stands there. But then, when I shift against the couch cushion I'm on, Beau winces. She hurries up onto my lap and carefully sets her tail down to rest on the couch beside us. She makes sure to give it a bit of slack. I'm sure the intuitive little buizel knows what's coming.

With one paw on either side of her slit, and after a long, quivering breath, she spreads her folds open for me to see in all their delicate, pink glory. There's a bit of glisten to the skin there, but I'm not exactly under any delusions about my cock just sliding right in. Even if she were wet as a river right now, she's not even half my height. It's going to take some determination to manage the size issue. Of course, I'm not one to shy away from hard work.

I'm also not one to rush things. I bend my stiff cock, still sticky with the buizel's saliva, to the side so I can see with a better angle. I already got a good view earlier, but there's something so crazy hot about how she has to spread herself.

And it's not like you can only admire a work of art once. I'm happy to relish the sight of that delicate little slit again, all the contours of skin wrapping down from the small nub of her hooded clit. I draw a finger slowly along the inside, pressing up against that tender spot near the top. Her whole body shudders. She's fighting against offering me any measure of satisfaction. It's written all over her stoic grimace. Ironically, that expression of hers offers me plenty of satisfaction.

“Now you're listening! The other cute little propeller end of your tail's got to be thanking you. Now show me you're good at something and plug that hole of yours."

“Buizel…" she says. She doesn't hesitate too long though. With tears streaming down into the matted wet fur on her cheeks, she raises her up hips near where the head of my cock wobbles in the air, then takes it in one paw to line up with her entrance. Then, after squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she lowers herself.

The buizel's inexperience with sex shows with how confused she is about my slimy, precum-coated cock head pressing to her cunt and not just sliding right in. On someone more excited about fucking me, it would've slid up along towards her belly with how she angled it, but instead it just bunches up against the upper end of her folds.

“Lower," I say.

Her glower could knock out a pidgeotto. However, without a word, she raises herself up again, sticky, unlubricated labia clinging to my cock head as it pulls away. Then, when she drops down again, it's right on the mark.

Honestly it's slightly painful how my foreskin is clumped back while my head forces its way inside her. She's wincing and gritting her teeth, so clearly she's not having a field day either. The pain, however, is vastly overshadowed by the pleasure of her insides squeezing tight around me. Even with her dry folds, her passage is naturally wet. When I shift my body back down against the cushion a bit, it's easy to thrust upwards to get deeper inside her.

She's the tightest thing my cock's ever been inside. As an uncut guy, my head is really damn sensitive, and her insides are hitting all those notes of pleasure. They squeeze around me while my foreskin is bunched by her folds. Even as she stands there motionless on my lap, as if paralyzed, her eyes streaming tears like a waterfall, I make up for the difference with quick, shallow thrusts of my cock head into her dry cunt.

As I thrust, my cock spreads the natural moisture from inside her back along her dryer walls and lips, along with a healthy mixing of precum from my throbbing shaft, making it easier and easier to slip into her with each rocking of my hips.

It's an awkward angle trying to thrust up into her while she stays still, so I set my hands on either side of her waist, right above her haunches. She flinches, then, shaking, begins to lower herself onto my cock. I guess she'd rather go at her own pace. I don't mind, of course. I always enjoyed a good cowgirl fucking, and Beau's the tightest little fuzzy cowgirl I've had the pleasure of being ridden by.

She doesn't think the same, and it's not just the tears that give me that impression. She hunches slightly. Then her paws, in a sudden movement, go to her muzzle. She lets go with one and gestures wildly towards the side of the couch.

My heart skips a beat. Did someone see? No, that wouldn't make sense. Oh, shit, the trash is over there. I lean over, cock head still nestled in the buizel's unwanting cunt, and stretch past the couch's armrest to grab the trash bin and pass it over to Beau. She immediately ducks her head inside and I can hear her losing her lunch. It makes my own stomach a bit queasy and threatens to kill my boner. I give her four rows of tiny nipples each a groping squeeze between thumb and forefinger, and that hardens me back up inside her while she shoves the trash onto the counter behind her.

At this point, I'm not feeling like letting her go at her pace anymore. Not after she nearly killed the mood for me. So, after groping those last two nipples just a little too hard, enough to cause her to flinch and squeal, my hands wrap around her sides again.

“B… Bui! Buizel…"

I ignore her cries and force her body down on my throbbing shaft. God damn, it feels amazing to have my cock head sliding inside that tightness. And with her lack of arousal leaving her just barely lubricated enough, well, I'm sure it's crazy painful for her, but that extra friction is enough to amp the pleasure up tenfold.

Another thrust lubricates her entrance just enough for my foreskin to finally slip in. From there on, it's smooth sailing for me. Not so much for her.

I hammer her down onto my cock in a series of short gravity-assisted shoves on her hips. Each one buries me half an inch to an inch deeper inside her body, and, honestly, though it's feeling amazing, I'm mostly curious now to see how deep I can get. Much of the pleasure comes from her amazing, hot, wet tightness around my throbbing head. Getting the rest of my shaft in there is just icing on the cake at this point.

And sweet Arceus, it's so much wetter deep inside her. Hotter too. Though her pussy's still mostly dry with the pink lips sticking to my skin, all that wetness deep inside her is plenty for me to get past any initial discomfort I'd had. That tiny modicum of pain that had been overshadowed by pleasure is replaced with even more pleasure.

Her body is so hot and tight, and I can feel it squeeze down at almost regular intervals while trying to push me out, only to instead send wave after wave of tingling ecstasy up through my cock. I'm throbbing rock-hard against her inner walls and basking in the ecstasy of her wringing passage. Her body was never meant for someone my size, but god damn if it doesn't feel amazing.

My hips thrust up to meet her every time I yank her down on my lap. With just about an inch of my shaft left outside her body, I'm pressing up against some serious resistance inside her. A strangled gasp escapes Beau's muzzle every time I ram up against the spot, accompanied by a fresh burst of tears, so I assume her body isn't meant to take any more than that.

I mean, I absolutely try to get more in. Full restores are miraculous things, after all, but her body just isn't large enough. No matter how hard I ram her down onto my lap, thrusting my cock up to meet her, I just can't get the whole thing in. Yet, with the tingling pleasure radiating through my shaft and her body squeezing so desperately tight around me, I don't care at all about whether I can actually get it all inside. It's all about the attempt.

I'm getting close to finishing. There's the feeling building like a pleasurable fire that's ignited behind my cock growing ever more present. I'm almost sad that it'll be over soon, but I also can't wait to feel my climax inside her almost-too-tight body.

My speed ramps up in anticipation. She's constantly in motion. I've got her firmly by her hips, yanking her up and down with fervor. Her eyes are shut tight, and her paws are wrapped across her chest, hugging herself. Her yelps and squeals of pain are accompanied by strangled, gasping cries of “Buizel! B… Buizel bui!" that are cut off each time she's impaled on my throbbing shaft.

“Oh… Fuck! Beau!"

The buildup of pressure in my balls happens in a second, then I'm overwhelmed by pleasure. I ram her down again as hard as I can, so that I can feel as much of her incredible tightness squeezing around me as possible. My cock begins throbs hard inside her body. Once, twice, three times. I feel the cum burst out and flowing around to occupying every possible space that hasn't already had to stretch wide to fit my shaft, twice the size of what a buizel's would be.

She can feel it too. I can tell from the sobs that convulse through her body, accidentally squeezing further around my pulsing cock. However, all that does is coax my load out into her body even faster.

I thrust again, short and abrupt. It's pure bliss spurting out inside the trembling buizel's body, leaking down my shaft and clinging to her lips. It doesn't want to stop. Spurt after spurt shoot up into her with the strongest orgasm I've had in years.

However, it doesn't last forever. When it starts to die down, I slowly lift her up off of me, a squelching sound accompanying my shaft pulling free from her lips. The motion feels like lighting jolting across my length.

As I sit her down right in front of my cock, a last few meager spurts of cum land on the fur around her stretched-open cunt. She's leaking plenty herself as well. I dig a finger inside her — to the squeaks and squirms of her trying to push away from me — and gather a scoop of thick, pearly white seed.

I hold those fingers up to her muzzle, but she wrinkles her nose and turns away.

“Eat it, Beau."

After a long pause, she does so. Her muzzle tilts back up towards my hand and she envelops my scooped fingers into her muzzle. She winces, but obediently holds her muzzle in place, gulping again and again with a scrunched up face, until I pull my hand free.

“Now suck me clean."

She looks at my cock, translucent with a slimy layer of cum and her own fluids, then back up at me. If her face could have scrunched more, I'm sure it would have. Those crystal blue eyes that used to shine with all her playful enthusiasm have gone dull. They don't expect things to get better. All they're looking for is the best way to get this horror over with as soon as possible.

So she leans forward and takes my half-mast, slimy cock into her muzzle. With a few seconds of gagging, she manages to get control over herself and drags her tongue around my tip. It feels great, and I want myself to get hard again, I want to fuck her face some more and finish in her muzzle, spray my cum all over that smug orange loser face, but my groin is protesting and needs its rest. So, without a word to her, I flip out her pokeball and call her back with her muzzle still suckling my length.

It's a weird sensation having a Pokémon dematerialize like that. I still felt the wetness, and there was a moment where I felt the tightness and pressure even after she started to absorb into the ball. Then, after an odd, tingling sensation, she was gone. The still air was chill to my buizel-saliva coated shaft.

I don't quite know what to do. I'm still breathing hard. There's adrenaline coursing through my veins. So, after standing up on shaky, post-coital legs, I walk over to the sliding door, pause, and then return to the couch to pull my boxers back on.

Then, instead of going back outside or something like I was about to do, I flop back down on the couch which reeks of our sex, and turn on the TV. I watch a shitty rerun of a late-night drama for an hour, then get up and go to bed. Not to sleep, though. I'm not done with Beau.

When I pop her back out of her pokeball, her muzzle is in an 'o' shape, suckling at some some invisible length. She falls to her knees and retches, then coughs hard as she braces herself on the springy mattress.

I use her again right there. She's still coughing from the blowjob an hour before. I drag her over by her head-fin and start face-fucking her harder than I had before, since now I know how well she can take it. After I finish with my seed squirting down her throat and push her off so I can paint her muzzle with cum, I draw her back into her pokeball.

Two hours later, I let her out again so I can yank her in the air by her broken tails and fuck her wonderfully tight little cunt with her suspended in front of me, screaming and squirming for a while.

For the remainder of the night, every few hours I abuse her throat or her cunt some more, each time coming somewhere else on her fur.

After a while I'm not sure why I keep on doing it, but I do. It's not as fun anymore. I let her out and just lay there, looking at her trembling, cum-drenched form for a minute until she looks at me, or she won't look at me, and I just can't take it and have to send her back into her ball.

I get a new buizel and call her Beau to fake out the reporters and keep the Pokémon rights people from investigating. But I don't know what to do with the old one. I mean — I keep using the old one. She's around. She fucked up my life. This is what she gets. But sweet Arceus if she got into the cops' hands… Whatever people say about Pokémon having lower intelligence, it's absolutely not true. Pokémon can think, and there's this case the other day that got on the news where a Pokémon eyewitness implicated a man in a crime. Fucking hell.

I mean, I can't just kill her. That's horrifying. Sure, I raped her. I did. I'm still raping her every night when new Beau goes back in her ball after training. But she deserves it. She ruined my life. I just, I have to get her away from here, somewhere no one will find out about her, where no one will ever be able to tell it was me. I can do it. I'll take a vacation to some exotic place under the pretense of training and get rid of old Beau. Then I can get away with pretending this new Buizel is her. I can use new Beau to take on the league. I can get some of my life back.

But if new Beau gets fucking stage fright—