FSE

Furry search engine

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The Rocket grunt sorted through tray after tray of Pokéballs, biting the inside of his cheek as he did so. Rattata. Rattata. Koffing. Raticate. Muk. An endless series of normal and poison-type Pokémon met his gaze--all the standard ones for a low level grunt. Of course, there wasn't much complaining one could do when offered a free Pokémon; it wasn't as bad of a deal as buying a Magikarp 200 Pokédollars, but he could definitely do better than something as run-of-the-mill as a Raticate.

"Hey, man, got anything better than...?" the grunt asked, gesturing towards the assortment of "trash-mon". Hell, he even thought he saw a Trubbish intermixed in there! The scientist behind the counter narrowed his eyes at the grunt, digging through a drawer and tossing the male a Pokéball.

"You can have this, now get out and make some money," sneered he. The trays of Pokéballs were pulled back into their storage-place behind the counter, and the scientist pulled a shutter down over, making that crime outpost appear more like a closed mall kiosk. Making a face, the grunt sighed, and looked at the Pokéball that had been handed to him, scowling further. Zubat. How delightful.

Clipping the ball to his belt, the Rocket left that outpost, stretching out into the sunlight. It didn't take long for his black-sleeved shirt to heat up, and he took shelter under a shaded tree, leaning up against the rough bark.

"Awh... what a goddamn day..." he muttered, wiping the sweat off his brow. He looked down at the dirt road, spotting a traveler coming by. "Guess I'll get to work... let's see what this Zubat can do," he muttered, expanding the Pokéball. He watched that passerby step in front of him and whistled, catching their attention. It was a girl--one of those ritzy ones--and hopefully an easy target.

"Hold it, Lass! I challenge you to a battle!" proclaimed the Rocket grunt, wasting no time in throwing out his Zubat to the field. The bat-Pokémon gave out a screech, flapping to keep in the air.

"I'm gonna go on a shopping spree with your prize money!" the Lass replied cockily, bringing into battle a Pikachu. The mouse's cheeks sparked for a moment, before unleashing a devastating thunderbolt onto the battlefield, ending it before it had even a moment to start. "Hmfph! Pay up, fool!" she laughed, hand over her mouth and smug.

Biting back a few choice words, the grunt dug through his wallet and paid his price. Returning his (useless) Zubat to the Pokéball, he trekked back towards the center and handed the fainted Pokémon over to the nurse before taking a seat in the comfy couch next to the mart. Maybe someone rich would wander by, and he could jump him for some cash after? No sense in doing things "by the book" with such a trashy Pokémon.

Sighing once more, the Rocket member leaned back, closing his eyes for what felt like a moment, only to be awoken by a shake to his shoulder. He ignored it at first, leaning away--but one could only lean so far before he fell onto his side upon that couch, shaking awake.

"Excuse me sir, are you Brendon?" asked the offending person, whose blurry form sharpened into that of the nurse from the front counter. "Your Pokémon is all healed up now, so you're free to go, okay?" she said, giving a gentle smile. The nurse was rather cute--though she probably smiled at all the visitors like that. She produced the grunt's Pokéball and trainer ID, handing them over. "If you're looking for a good place to get stronger, you should try over on Route 7. There's some fairy-type Pokémon there that your Zubat would be good to fight against."

"Uh, thanks, I'll go check it out," Brendon muttered in reply, clipping the Pokéball to his belt. He'd be checking the route out for sure--though not to train up and battle. The route being right next to the daycare, it was a prime place for some Pokéthievery and to upgrade from his pitiful Zubat.

After taking a brief nap in one of the Pokécenter's cots and a short half-hour hike, Brendon hunched down in some tall grass, spying upon the daycare through a pair of binoculars. Already he could see a nice target napping in the grass. Its bristled fur pointed sharply out of that trimmed grass, sticking out like a yellow thumb, while the rest of its blue-furred body blended in a bit nicer. Manectric, the electric lion. Undoubtedly more powerful than the essentially useless Zubat that adorned his belt.

The grunt returned his binoculars to the bag, pulling a balaclava over his face, just his eyes visible. The sun was beginning to set, dusk creeping over that daycare field. Both the owners, having left food out for their chargers, had retired to their house. If there ever was a time to strike, now would be it. He set his pack down under a tree, opposite side to the beaten dirt road.

"Time to get to work..." Brendon mumbled under his breath, creeping through some underbrush and hefting himself over the daycare's fence. Black boots crunched dried leaves underfoot, grinding them to debris. Twigs snapped, the rogue hunching down and compacting his form as he snuck forwards, crouched. The plan was simple, knock the Manectric out with his Zubat and toss a Pokéball at him. With no trainer around to block, it'd be the perfect crime.

One hand dipped down to his belt, expanding his Zubat's ball and cracking it behind his back, letting the blue bat free. It flapped and fluttered behind him, the Rocket grunt closing the distance between himself and the Manectric, said critter lying on its side, snoozing away. The sky above stained deep red, the moon already risen.

"Alright Zubat, supersonic," the grunt whispered, pointing towards the Manectric. The flying bat obliged, sending a high-frequency wave of sound towards the sleeping electric, who was subsequently jostled from slumber, sparking and spinning around dizzily. "Alright, now bite 'im!" Brendon ordered, growing a bit more confident now that the Manectric was dazed and confused.

The bat flew forward in a blur, sinking its fangs into the electric critter's neck. The darkened field of that daycare erupted in a flash of thunder, sending smoke billowing into the air. Brendon coughed, his eyes watering. Bringing his arm to cover his mouth, the grunt threw that Pokéball blindly, hearing it smack with contact. He coughed further, narrowing his eyes. The smoke slowly dissipated away--only one Pokémon left standing. The Manectric's fur bristle with electricity, charred remains of a Zubat sizzling in a blackened lump, knocked out in a single blow.

"Ugh, fuck," Brendon cursed--he wasn't going to get anywhere with such a shitty Pokémon--and fled the scene, returning the Zubat to its ball, and sneaking back into headquarters. He dropped the fainted bat off into a pile of those all-but-useless 'mon, letting its next owner to take care of healing it up. "There's gotta be somethin' more useful around here..." he mumbled, pushing past the rows of Pokémon balls, into the gadget section of HQ. All sorts of devices lined the walls--smoke balls and concealable parachutes, hot-air balloons somehow contained in a single brief-case (though a fire Pokémon would be necessary to actually make them float), as well as some more experimental tools.

One in particular caught his sight, hanging behind a glass window with a warning scribbled upon it. It was a silver pocket watch with a Pokémon motif etched in its clock-face cover, glinting in the incandescent light of the display. His fingers brushed against the warning sticker--"Buggy, but operational, do not use until further notice"--before Brendon opened the glass case and picked the watch off of its hanger. The way the silver on it glinted and shimmered in the light was rather attractive--and he found himself drawn, almost hypnotized by the thing.

"Where's that manual..." he mumbled, looking down to the bottom of the case, finding something scarcely more than a promotional pamphlet, though it was easy enough to work out the usage of it from that trifold.

Harness the power of Attract* for yourself, and hypnotize your opponent's Pokémon into fighting for you! Capture their attention with just 3 swings of the Hypnotiwatch, and be amazed as you steal a Pokémon with NO EFFORT required upon your part!

It was undeniably interesting--that was for certain. Though, according to the asterisked caveat, the watch would only work on gendered Pokémon. Perhaps that was the bug with it, thought Brendon, as he slipped the watch into his pocket, closing the case carefully and slipping back to the main area of headquarters, grabbing an empty Pokéball and one containing a Rattata--if just for back-up use.

Being as late at night as it was, the rocket grunt had hardly any expectations of seeing another trainer wandering about on the roads like he was--though his uniform gave moderate camouflage to himself. He wondered what kind of Pokémon he should steal with the watch--only to bumble straight into a Lass, a different one from before, who challenged him to a battle immediately.

"Alright Smeargle, let's paint a frown on this low-life's face!" she said, throwing forth the only Pokéball on her purse-strap, a Smeargle. The beagle-looking Pokémon had a sharp glare on its face, hunched down and ready to fight with Brendon's called-out Rattata. It'd unfortunately not get the chance.

Partially irate at the interruption to his thoughts, the rocket grunt pulled free the watch and held it by its silver chain, about a half a foot from his hand. In the light of that waxing moon, that silver shimmered and rippled eye-catchingly, and gave a light sway from the natural shakiness of Brendon's hand.

"We'll see about that, missy," called that grunt in reply, seeing the Smeargle's eyes shifting away from his Rattata--the poor 'mon quivering and shaking a bit in nervousness--to that glimmering, shiny watch. One swing--the Smeargle's body relaxed. Two swings--his glare dropped, eyes starting to droop and mouth hanging open. Three swings--that slack maw started to drool, the Pokémon completely mesmerized by the silver, swaying watch.

"Smeargle, use Close Combat!" the Lass ordered, and though the Rattata squeaked and squeezed his eyes shut in preparation for the hit, that Smeargle didn't move. "Smeargle, go! What's wrong with you?!" she continued, but the critter was in a daze, captured by the Hypnotiwatch's power. Its glazed over eyes seemed to reflect swirls of that silver-glint within them, not noticing as its trainer ran up behind it.

"Smeargle, come to me!" Brendon ordered--and the Pokémon obeyed. The pamphlet was right--that watch was easy to use. Crossing the distance faster than that Lass could catch up, the Smeargle stopped a few feet in front of the Rocket grunt, looking up at him--or rather that watch--adoringly. Brendon withdrew that empty Pokéball. "Smeargle, return," he said, holding the ball out to the Pokémon. With a flash of white light, the Smeargle's trainer became that Rocket grunt, and the Lass had lost the battle.

"Give him back!" screamed she, shoving a hand into her purse and pulling out some pepper-spray. Brendon returned his (useless) Rattata to its own Pokéball, and quickly fled into the trees, huffing as he leapt over roots and ducked below branches, the Lass hot on his heels. In the dead of night, dressed in almost all black, it didn't take long for the grunt to lose that Lass, breaking line of sight with her and ducking behind a tree as she continued to run after him.

Brendon was too excited to feel sorry for the girl--he had just successfully stolen his first Pokémon! By the sound of it, the critter had sketched some fairly decent moves, too. He'd have to check later--for now the grunt was focused on slipping away from that part of the forest the Lass, and whatever authorities she'd call for, would be searching.

An hour later, the grunt huffed and puffed, relaxing against a tree a few routes over. He was a little ways off the beaten path of the road--but at three in the godforsaken morning, no one should be bothering him if he propped up a tent and camped out for the night. And so, throwing together a single-sleeper tent, the grunt hunkered down in it, stretching out on a soft blanket he had folded up in his bag. He rolled over onto his side, the ball on his belt containing that Smeargle depressing into the ground a little before opening in a flash, releasing the Pokémon into that small space of the tent--making it even more cramped.

"Mnfgh! Easy there," Brendon grunted, squirming a bit, pushing at the Smeargle and trying to reach for its ball. The critter grasped hold of the human's arm, tugging the grunt forward and licking his face affectionately. "Hffhh! Stop it!" Up so close, the Smeargle's eyes seemed to gaze right through Brendon, the effects of hypnosis keeping that critter in a permanent trance. Behind, a green paint-tail swished and stroked across the inside of that tent, marking it up with the normal-type's natural oil-paint.

The rocket grunt continued to search and grope around for the Smeargle's Pokéball, suspiciously hard to find within the small tent. Of course, being assaulted with licks and squeezing hugs from the critter wasn't helping much either. Finally, he took a firm grip to the critter's chest-fur and pushed the Pokémon onto its back, holding it steady as he lifted aside the blanket and mat he had been sleeping on. The Smeargle painted on the ground of the tent, laying down thick lines of green, which grew moss over and out emerged lengthy vines that wrapped around Brendon's ankles, tugging him off the Smeargle and freeing the critter.

"Hyffph! Who sketches Vine-whip!?" he huffed out as he was pulled and secured to the floor of the tent by those vines, the beagle-like Pokémon moving in closer to plant a firm, deep smooch on his lips. Brendon squirmed further, eyes widening as the critter pushed passionately into that Pokémon-on-human kiss. The Smeargle's eyes had closed in the smooch, but when the grunt had managed to free a hand and push the critter back they flicked open. "Hffh, hff--what's wrong with you!?" Brendon asked, spitting a bit. With that paint-tail, the Pokémon drew a crude green heart on the tent's wall, before dragging it down onto the floor and doodling an arrow towards its new trainer.

A puzzled look shifted across the Rocket grunt's face, his brow furrowing a little bit, unsure as to what the glyphs meant, until finally he pieced things together, eyes widening a bit. Shaking his head, Brendon tried to scoot away from the Smeargle, but those vines around his ankles held him tight and secure.

"Oofhh... no, no," he started, still shaking that head. "You're my Pokémon! You can't like me like that--I'm your trainer!" he said. Having been a perpetual virgin, Brendon had never even gone on a date with a human--let alone had his first kiss--a kiss that the Smeargle seemed to have stolen. "Plus you're male!" he added--though it didn't seem to matter much to the Smeargle, who brought his tail forward to doodle little paint-hearts on the trapped trainer's face.

The paint felt moist and slimy, slightly drooling down his chin in a slow, gooey fashion. It was rather oily as well--undoubtedly produced by some sebaceous glands amongst the tail-tip's tips. Brendon wondered if the paint would be easily washed off or not as he tugged a bit more with his ankles, finally breaking free of the drawn vine's grasp. They seemed to disintegrate away into dust, and the grunt made a move to the zipped entrance of the tent, only to have his pant-leg grasped hold by the Smeargle and pulled backwards sharply.

The silver pocket-watch fell out of Brendon's pocket and onto the tent floor with a small clack, its mechanisms coming unmeshed and locking the second-hand in its place. Realization crossed the trainer's mind, and he reached backwards to grasp hold of the watch, squeezing it in his hand. That brief moment caused his pants to be tugged further down, the black jeans a bit too loose for the trainer to wear.

"This is your fault!" he said to the inanimate watch, giving it a little shake as he was tugged backwards by some more sketched-to-life vines. Rather than being content to wrap themselves around his ankles, they crept up Brendon's thighs and hooked under the male's waistband, pulling those pants down further to the trainer's knees and revealing his white briefs to that Attract-locked Smeargle. Casting away the busted watch, Brendon lowered his hands down to his pants, attempting to pull them back up to cover his immodesty, only to find vines entwining around his wrists too.

"Knock that off!" the trainer ordered uselessly--it seemed as if the Smeargle would only follow orders that allowed him to get closer to the male he was attracted to, rather than ones a normal Pokémon would follow if ordered by its trainer. Instead, the vines tugged Brendon onto his back, and pulled those jeans down to his ankles, the Smeargle crawling atop and between the Rocket grunt's knees, pushing and kneading a paw at the human's groin.

A bright red flush lit up the human's pale face, his eyes darting to the side as his flaccid rod was patted and felt up by the feral Pokémon. Such a touch felt undeniably wrong--though his body reacted to it in a definite opposite way. The Smeargle continued to grope and squeeze through those briefs with his paw, bringing that painterly tail up and doodling a quick "X" upon that plumped bulge, letting that oil-paint sink in and stain the white briefs with green pigment.

"Stop! Listen to me, dammit!" Brendon barked, squirming a bit as he felt that lukewarm paint soak through his undies and against his shaft, undoubtedly giving his flaccid length a bit of coloration to its uncut outside. Defiantly, the Smeargle brought both hands up to the grunt's hips and tugged down his new trainer's underwear as well, leaving that partially swollen rod to flop outwards into the open air, exposing Brendon fully to the Pokémon. The male's face blushed even brighter, trying to squeeze his knees together and hide himself, only to fail with that Smeargle sitting smack between them, bringing that tail forward and touching it to his shaft.

The soft "bristles" of the Smeargle's fur-brush sent little pulses of pleasure up the teen's shaft, causing it to twitch and start to fill out slowly. Brendon gritted his teeth, trying to fight back an urge to moan as he struggled with the vines around his wrist. They should have disintegrated a while ago, but they were definitely putting up a fight to last an extra few turns. When the Smeargle's paw grasped hold of his shaft and held that uncut malehood steady, he gulped--and finally gave into giving a muffled moan as the very tip of that oily tail tickled downwards into his foreskin, tracing a circle around his glans and that frenulum bridge.

"Q-quit..." he huffed, mind starting to haze over a bit from the conflicts of his mind and body. Having sex with a Pokémon was wrong--but he had already broken quite a few laws in stealing the Smeargle... it's not like this one was any more sacred than the others, right? And even if that was the case, it's not like he was raping the Pokémon--if anything, he was the one getting raped!

As that slimy-slick tail swirled around his cocktip, Brendon found his resistance to the Smeargle dropping more and more, leaning backwards and propping himself up with unbound hands, hardly even realizing their new freedom. The Rocket grunt's member twitched and stiffened with heat further, coming to a full firmness within the Smeargle's grasp and receiving a quick pump for its trouble. Brendon's hips instinctively pushed upwards as that paw slid downwards and pulled that foreskin back, releasing the accumulated green paint from inside it, coating the Pokémon's own paw and a good majority of Brendon's shaft.

"Aaahh... geeze..." he muttered with a low grumble, grinding his teeth a little. He shifted, starting to kick off his pants, becoming more and more into the idea of becoming intimate with the Smeargle. After all--the Pokémon could quite easily overpower him if it wanted too, and make things much more painful and prolonged if he fought back. It was better to just go with the flow--and maybe lose his virginity on his own terms--than to be forced into it by a stolen Pokémon's hand, rationalized Brendon.

"Smeaarr..." rumbled the critter in return, giving a smile with his eyes closed, as if he could sense the change in the other's thoughts. He dropped his tail, letting the mostly prehensile thing sloppily ooze its paint upon Brendon's inner calve as the Smeargle kneeled down closer to the trainer's shaft and exhaled over it, giving quick little laps to its tip, stroking across the pigmented shaft, licking clean the little beads of clear precum that budded from the tip. His tail swished around a bit before the beagle-like Pokémon opened his mouth just enough to envelope the tip of that throbbing member into its muzzle, lightly suckling and stroking, giving a steady bob atop his trainer's shaft.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Brendon gave out a louder, less muffled moan as that critter's maw swept across his glans, semi-rough tongue rubbing down his frenulum and pushing the top of that glans right up snug to the Pokémon's palate. So this is what a blowjob felt like, thought Brendon--though he was fairly certain that a human--human girl, for that matter--would have a softer tongue, and less fuzz on her paws--her hands--than the Pokémon did.

More and more of his member was slurped down into that muzzle, the beagle-like Pokémon rolling that glans around in a circle with its tongue as he bobbed lower and lower onto that shaft, past where that pigment had spilled and dyed the shaft and right to the point where his little button nose smushed itself upon Brendon's groin, grinding against the base of that shaft and small mound of brown pubic hair, inhaling the trainer's scent. Whatever that Smeargle had inhaled, he certainly seemed to enjoy it, as that tail wriggled and smacked between Brendon's calves, wetting them with sticky paint.

"Oohhh... aaahhh..." moaned the Rocket grunt, leaning back further, losing his grip on the ground with his palms and falling onto his back, and pushing his hips up to meet the Smeargle's snout and lips. Brendon let his arms slide back to his sides, gripping and squeezing the blanket a bit in thick bunches, tugging on it as the Smeargle's tongue smacked along the underside of his shaft. The Pokémon seemed to bob and rock his head back and forth slightly in just enough of a motion to stimulate a suction--though not pulling so far off as to release the malehood from its mouth, and let the cool air touch along the length of that uncut shaft.

A paw wrapped around Brendon's base, thumb-claw plopping underneath that pair of testes, lifting them upwards slightly to feel their heft, rubbing slightly at the same time against the trainer's taint, feeling the twitch and pulse of that healthy, slightly plump perineum. It squeezed, stroking the male's length slowly, pumping it into that warm, wet muzzle, drool starting to dribble out from the critter's mouth, leaking along that smooth cockflesh and causing it to glisten.

"Smearffh," muffled that critter as he bobbed his head a bit, his maw making a rather wet and slimy noise as it slurped and suckled around his trainer's length, reaching its base once more. The Smeargle gagged lewdly against that fully erect shaft, the uncovered tip of it pressing down the back of his throat, throbbing and oozing a steady line of precum down into the male's belly. "Gllep," finished he, pulling off that shaft and giving an audible swallow, the malehood glistening and twitching in the dim, lamp-lit light of the tent.

The Smeargle turned, falling onto his paws and knees and reaching back to his tail, painting a cross on his rear, the center of it landing right upon his painted-green pucker, adding a few arrow-headed lines to those cream-furred cheeks to point right at the center of that bottom. With that bottom all marked up, the Pokémon rested his chest down on the floor of the tent, bringing both forepaws backwards to grasp and squeeze his cheeks, spreading them apart and stretching that rim open a small centimeter.

Brendon paused for a moment, his heart beating in his throat. It was one thing to let the Pokémon suck him off--and damn, what an intense feeling--but it was a whole different level to proactively stick himself into that Smeargle's rump. The painter Pokémon gave a little needy whine, spreading its legs apart more, flopping his tail from one side to the other. Green paint dribbled down the Pokémon's taint, rolling across his cream colored balls, and dripping down onto the tent-floor. A fat maleness swung between the Smeargle's spread legs, drooling from the tip just as much as the Pokémon was from his mouth.

Coming closer to the Smeargle, Brendon reached his hand between the male's legs and gave a gentle touch and squeeze to that swollen shaft, hearing the critter groan and rumble out in return, pushing his hips backwards. Giving the malehood a slow pump, the trainer steadily moved himself over the Smeargle, adjusting his grip so that it wrapped over and around the creature's hip and thigh, his bare belly brushing against the fur of that tail. Heat flushed through his face, Brendon hardly able to believe that he was in such a situation that he was about to fuck a Pokémon--about to lose his virginity to one, no less! It was all so wrong--he felt as though he was taking advantage of that Smeargle's hypnotic attraction to himself, but at the same time being taken advantage of by the Pokémon himself as well!

"Here I go..." he muttered aloud, the tips of his ears (hidden beneath a head of somewhat wavy brown hair) warmed up and turned red. His spit-wetted tip touched against that oil-painted hind, smudging and smearing against that stretched pucker, one of the Smeargle's paws reaching back and grasping midway around Brendon's shaft, holding it steady as the critter guided it inside. "Hhnnffhh... oh god..." groaned the trainer, squeezing his eyes shut as he focused purely on the tight, muscular grip of that hole.

It wasn't at all like the Smeargle's mouth, he thought--though it was hard to tell if it was any better or not. Sure, the Smeargle's tunnel had a tight, virginal grip around his length as he slipped inside--but there was no quasi-rough tongue to grind away at that frenulum and stimulate it further than just a warm tightness could. At the same time, however, that rim came in complete and full contact with his slickened shaft, holding it in a squishy, somewhat stretchy embrace in comparison to that hard palate the Pokémon had pushed his tip up against it.

Lost in his thoughts, Brendon stuffed his hips closer and closer until his bare groin smushed up against that oil-painted tush, the still-wet paint slimily pasting together the two bodies for a moment in intimate, erotic contact. Only when that smooth-muscled rim of the Smeargle pulsed around Brendon's hilt did he peek his eyes open, finding his stomach atop the Smeargle's back, chest near the smaller critter's head as the Pokémon pushed back against his shaft, flexing that tunnel around it.

"Aahh... it's... hfff... warm..." muttered the trainer, unable to think of much more as he crammed himself deeper into that pucker, straining to push the root of his cock further into the critter's rear. That Smeargle's bottom was just plump enough to depress a bit with Brendon's forward push, and the teen bounced back from the critter's hind, giving a deep groan of pleasure. "Haahh... so this is what it's like..." he muttered, closing his eyes. He tried to imagine that it wasn't a small dog-like Pokémon he was starting to rock his hips into--trying quite hard, too--though ultimately his thoughts returned to the feeling of fur against his bare thighs and legs and the non-human vocalizations that critter made when his prostate was jabbed by that uncut cock.

Of the two males, that Smeargle definitely was the more vocal. He grunted and squeaked, calling out his species name a few times as his hips rocked backwards and smacked against Brendon's lap, hilting that stiff cock in his hind. The Pokémon's maleness throbbed and drooled further between his legs, steadily leaking onto the floor of the tent, making a slippery mess of pre that'd undoubtedly be unpleasant to lay down upon later in the near-dawn. His painted tail smeared a line on the ground, vegetation growing from it once more, a pair of thick vines wrapping around the very base of that trainer's shaft in a crude cockring while the other drifted up Brendon's thigh, prodding its bulbed tip against the Rocket grunt's pucker.

"W-wait a se--" the trainer managed to sputter out before his hind was stuffed into by the Pokémon's sketched vine, gripping the Smeargle tightly around his stomach, groaning hard as his tunnel was intruded into. It pushed deeper and deeper into his body, clearly searching for something--up until it finally smushed against that searched-for gland, sending a potent pulse of pleasure through the trainer's body. "Hfffuuuckk!" Brendon coughed, eyes widening a bit as the vine around the base of his shaft pulled him into a rhythm to match the other vine's fucking.

The sensation of that vine interfered with that rippling grip of the Smeargle's tunnel; the Pokémon nearing his own orgasm as he shoved back against that hard rod, one paw dropping down to even jerk away at his maleness. Once more that trainer was reduced to being used by the Pokémon for its pleasure--though with the budding tension in his lower groin and the building sensation from that rolling rear, Brendon was finding himself nearing quickly nearing an intense limit.

"Smmearrrr!" cried the normal-type out first, hitting his own peak just a few moments before the trainer's. That Pokémon's tunnel squeezed tightly around that intruding cock, his paint-controlled vines giving a firm squeeze around the base of it as well and pulling it to a hilt inside that milking rump. Withdrawing down the other vine, the Smeargle forced the firmer bulb on that penetrating vine to grind away against Brendon's prostate; combined, the sensations pushed the teenager over the edge, and he groaned in orgasm.

"Fffhhuugghhhck!" huffed Brendon, his body pulsing with pleasure. That orgasm, while intense and undoubtedly making the teen light headed--did not have a strong jet of seed accompanying it. That constant, heavy pressure and stimulation to his prostate made that orgasm drool out slowly, splurting from his tip in twitchy, lack-luster jerks. The milking clenches of that Smeargle's rear did more to squirt the seed from Brendon's shaft than the human himself, whose body shuddered under the effort, eyes crossing a bit and toes curling from the deep, intense sensation.

As the Smeargle relaxed underneath Brendon, those vines started to crumble away. They slipped out of his hole and from around his shaft, flopping to the floor of the tent before vanishing into dust. The Pokémon slumped forward a moment later, popping that spent cock out from its rear, letting it dribble its prostate-milked load into that puddle of precum and semen the critter had shot onto the ground, his painted pucker giving a stretched, gaping flex as it twitched from the filling it had received.

Brendon's arms shook a bit, now the only thing (aside from his knees) that were holding him upright. He felt exhausted--a small bit used by the Pokémon, ironic since he was the one who stole and hypnotized the male into attraction in the first place. Feeling the energy in his right arm crumple first, Brendon rolled onto his side, loosely spooning with the Smeargle and giving a low groan as he managed to land on his bed mat. His left arm hung loosely around the normal-type, curling a little bit as he shifted his fingers through the soft, if a bit sweaty, fur. Adjusting and rolling a bit more, his back found that hard, shrunken Pokéball, and lifted it up, examining it in his hand.

"Ugh... sheesh..." he snorted out, tossing the ball into his bag at the end of the tent, giving a long yawn before pulling the covers over himself, adding an extra bit of fringe to cover the Smeargle a bit as well. It wasn't as if much of the blanket was needed--the hypnotically attuned critter had rolled to face the Rocket grunt, burying his beagle-like snout into the male's shirt and clutching at it with his paws. It was rather endearing, though the Smeargle's wide, hazily-entranced eyes told a different story to the Rocket grunt.

He gulped a bit guiltily, starting to feel a slight bit of regret in the pit of his stomach. Did he make a mistake in having sex with the Pokémon he had stolen? With the Smeargle breathing slow and steadily in restfulness against his chest, however, Brendon couldn't do much to change the past. Instead, he settled himself in for a long, sleepless night.