Business or Pleasure

By GayPornAficionado

Story by GayPornAficionado, illustrated by LongLevy, both anonymously commissioned

It was quite late in the evening. That was about as exact as anyone could place the hour, time having long since lost specificity or meaning since the sun set. It was dark, clouds blocking the moon from sight along with whatever dim light it provided.

Which only served to make the light spilling out from the longhouse that much more prominent, a bright orange that meant the building could be seen as far away as it could be heard, the sounds of beating drums, rattling shakers, blowing horns, all blending together with the light to form a beacon of burning life amidst the stillness of the night.

And, of course, there were the wet slaps and moans accompanying the sounds of the instruments. After all, it was the longhouse.

Inside was Kysley. More accurately, inside was a swath of well-off, horny pokémon indulging in the company of other well-off, horny pokémon, but Kysley was among them.

As a snivy, he fell on the smaller end of the size spectrum, as far as current company went. Maybe smallest, but if so, that was a title he shared with the buizel who was currently getting his tailhole stretched and guts rearranged by a friendly druddigon over by the snack table.

That was the way that Kysley preferred it. He wasn’t much given to partners his own size, beyond those who were necessary for him to associate with in the interest of maintaining connections with certain parties of interest. But when it came to pleasure, Kysley always went for pokémon that were larger than him. Much larger. Twice his size, at minimum.

Which was why longhouse parties were such a perfect way for him to spend an evening. The wealthy, the socialites, and the general elite pokémon of the area conjured up all manner of justifications for gathering there—business meetings, holidays, celebrating whatever accomplishment whichever one of them had recently achieved—but really, it was always just an excuse for everyone to get together and fuck.

And engage in the constant, subtle social warfare, information gathering, and backstabbing that preoccupied the lives of all the wealthy, influential pokémon in attendance. But that was just part of the game. If Kysley wasn’t capable of having fun in spite of that ever-present reality, then he would be a very unhappy snivy indeed.

Kysley meandered around, eyeing all the various pairs and groups which had formed: an espeon perched atop and pounding a far larger mightyena, a luxray shoving his wicked looking barbs into a charmeleon’s ass, two male meowstic—brothers—working in concert to polish every inch of a furfrou’s cock with their tongues.

None of them were unappealing, but all of them were were too preoccupied to give Kysley what he was looking for. A thick drool of cum ran down the inside of his thigh and along the underside of Kysley’s tail, the parting gift of an ursaring he’d just spent a few minutes getting reamed by.

Too few, unfortunately. The big bear had blown before Kysley had managed to reach a finish of his own, and while that meant Kysley had that much more ammunition with which to paint the ursaring as an impotent quickshot in the future—should he ever have need to resort to such slander—it also meant he was left all worked up and unsatisfied.

He’d only cum twice the whole night. Twice! At the rate things were going, it was looking as if Kysley would’ve been better suited just staying home and tending to his needs himself.

The moment that thought crossed his mind, though, Kysley felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around, and was met with a faceful of dark grey fur split by a pink tip. The familiar sight of a male’s sheath bulging with arousal.

More familiar than just any male’s, though. The pokémon the sheath was attached to was an obstagoon, all big bulky badger and towering neck, which meant that there was exactly one person it could be. Horn.

Horn was short for horny, if you asked him and he was in the mood. If you asked most anyone else, so long as he wasn’t in earshot, it was short for hornswoggle. More than likely, it was neither of those things and was just an ill-fitting name. But both were rather apt descriptions, meaning he was good company, so long as it was pleasure and not business.

As content as he would’ve been to continue staring at Horn’s crotch, Kysley brought his gaze up to meet the obstagoon’s, purely out of courtesy. Judging by the way Horn was grinning down at him, such a gesture may not have been necessary.

"Kysley," Horn said.

"Horn," Kysley replied. "You don’t reek of sex, yet we’ve been here for over an hour. How is that?"

"You’ve been here for over an hour," Horn said, glancing down at the cum puddle that was forming between Kysley’s legs. "Or at least ten minutes, hard to tell by looking at you. I just got here."

"And you went looking for me because I’m the best lay you’ve ever had?" Kysley made sure to bat his eyes a few times for effect. It didn’t matter if you really thought you were everyone’s best fuck, you had to act like you were. That was rule one.

Horn grinned wider. Obstagoon had a habit of that, no matter how wide their grins were were already. They were all mouth and teeth and tongue. "Well, far be it from me to deny a claim like that. But I had another reason besides. Or part of the same reason, really, if you think about it."

"Come on, Horn," Kysley said, cocking a hip. "We both know words aren’t your strong suit. Get to the point."

"If you insist." Horn’s hand shifted, and as it came to a spot in front of his chest, something slipped from his palm and down to his pinched fingers. Held between them was a small bottle filled with some sort of viscous fluid, thick enough that it hardly even sloshed from the motion.

This was odd. If it were lube, then it ought to have been in a container at least a litre large, considering how much of the stuff one went through during a night in the longhouse. The same reasons applied for it being any sort of beverage. Less confusing and more concerning oddities were the fact that it was pink and completely opaque.

"Is that...?"

"Ditto lube," Horn cut in. "I don’t even bother trying to remember whatever dumb names they call it. Call a spade a spade, right?"

"Well, could you quit showing it off?" Kysley said, perhaps a touch more insistent than he’d been a moment before.

Horn snorted, but wrapped his fingers back around the bottle and hid it in his palm. "Like anyone here is gonna care about it."

That was arguably true, depending on the inclinations of present company and how preoccupied they were with sticking bits of themselves into one another, but owning a bottle of the stuff was certainly a strong bit of ammunition to be used by whoever caught sight of it. After all, there was a reason why that particular spade had so many equivocations. People didn’t like the stuff.

Or rather, some people really liked it, most people didn’t like the fact that you had to hunt down and harvest it from the already endangered ditto that were its namesake, and a handful of people took on the dirty job of satisfying the first group. It wasn’t too much of a surprise which group Horn had fallen in with.

"So, do ya wanna try it or not?"

Kysley stared at the hand gripped around the bottle for a moment, then drew his eyes back up to the obstagoon’s. "Wanna try that? The very much illegal ditto lube you’ve somehow acquired?"

"Yeah," Horn said, the corners of his mouth turning up a bit while his eyes seemed to set harder onto Kysley. "When are you gonna get another chance, right?"


The bottle shifted back to between two fingers, this time held around either end, and Horn shook it. The stuff inside glopped from one side to the other. "If you’re not up to it, wouldn’t be hard to find someone who is. But I figured you ought to have first dibs—seeing as how you’re my best fuck, and all."


Kysley was upside-down, supported by the grip of one of Horn’s hands holding his waist steady. The obstagoon’s other hand was holding the bottle vertical while its contents drained directly into his ass, the mouth of the bottle wedged just inside his hole.

"Is this really necessary?" Kysley asked.

"Well, yes," Horn said. "Lube’s gotta go inside you for it to work. That’s the basis of lube."

"And there wasn’t any easier way you could’ve done that?"

"Like how?"

"I don’t know. Smearing it on your dick, maybe," Kysley said. "Or any other way that meant you didn’t have to stuff a bottle in me."

"Well, if you’d suggested that earlier, maybe we could’ve," Horn said, tugging the bottle free from Kysley’s ass before setting it on the floor. He looked at it for a second, then swept it aside, sending it rolling and skittering across the floor, disappearing under a table supporting two horny meowth passionately kissing one another. "How’s it feel?"

"Like you dumped a bunch of slime in my ass," Kysley replied.

"In that case," Horn said, straightening up and grabbing the snivy by the legs with both hands, flipping him around so that he was facedown, tail up, and most importantly, his hole was aligned with the obstagoon’s cock, "let me fill it with something else, instead."

Kysley could only imagine that Horn thought that was a slick line. Before he was able to enlighten the obstagoon as to how abysmal it really was, he was interrupted by the feeling of being suddenly speared open. Horn slid into him with one great thrust, coasting on an utterly impossible amount of slickness that allowed him to bottom out with one smooth stroke, his balls swinging forward to slap against the snivy’s hemipenes.

The air rushed out of him in a wheeze, as if pounded out of him by the force of Horn’s cock. Kysley always pursued bigger partners, but given how small he was, there was always work-up and stretching needed. He’d never taken one of the obstagoon’s size so quickly before.

When Horn drew back for another thrust, the one to thank for that fact made itself known, in the form of a layer of slick pink slime clinging to every surface of Horn’s cock—razor thin, given how little lube there was to stretch over so much shaft, yet still almost entirely opaque in spite of that. It managed to get everywhere, and wherever it was, friction seemed to become nothing more than a faint memory.

Just from that initial insertion, Kysley could already say that it was the best lube that he’d ever had the pleasure of experiencing, and he’d gone through a frightening amount of the stuff in his time. The ease of penetration the lube offered was only half the reason for that glowing opinion, though. The other half owed to the electric shock of pleasure that shot through him with Horn’s next thrust.

They’d hardly been fucking for more than a few moments, yet it already felt miles beyond anything he’d felt from previous trysts with the obstagoon—or even from his best partners. As if every nerve inside him was suddenly hyper-attuned and ringing with bliss at the feeling of being filled with cock.

Kysley slumped forward onto the ground, letting out a wild moan. The side of his face smeared against a puddle of fluids that he was pretty sure hadn’t come from him or Horn, though he couldn’t quite place the origin by smell.

Regardless, it was smeared in a thick layer across his cheek from the force of Horn continuing to slam into him from behind. Kysley’s ass was spread wide and gripping around Horn’s shaft, visibly tugging out with every backstroke before it was forced back in with another thrust of the obstagoon’s hips, the bulge of his knot pressing against Kysley’s hole with a wet kiss at the crest of every stroke before he’d draw back once again.

A frantic tempo with ideal looseness the likes of which Kysley usually took all night to work up to, achieved nigh instantly with the aid of Horn’s party favour. Kysley lost himself in it, and Horn seemed to as well, the noise around them fading to nothing as the sounds of their bodies slapping together came to dominate, wet squelches as the obstagoon rutted Kysley’s hole with fast, deep strokes.

It felt so good that Kysley wouldn’t have minded if it lasted forever. But as with most things that good, it didn’t. The end was heralded by Horn tightening his grip on Kysley’s ankles before slamming his hips forward, yanking back on the snivy’s legs as he did so.

All of it to bring the full force of his body to bear against his knot, pressing against Kysley’s ass, demanding entry. Not that it needed such intensity: with newfound stretchiness, the great bulge of Horn’s knot slipped past the snivy’s tailhole with ease. With ease—not even the slight struggle, the slight resistance that, even after taking so many partners of far greater sizes than Horn, Kysley always needed to overcome.

That was the first surprise. Kysley was still marvelling at it while the obstagoon’s knot grew larger inside him, swelling up to its full potential while Kysley’s insides squeezed down tight around it. Then came the second surprise.

To fully appreciate said surprise, one needed to understand that Kysley enjoyed it when other pokémon came inside him. This was perhaps unsurprising, but it needed to be grasped: it wasn’t his favourite part of sex, but it was a satisfying way to end being pounded silly by whatever partner he’d netted himself on any given night—or, as was more often the case, any given hour.

This, however, was different. It was not the same diffuse sort of satisfaction that a top’s orgasm tended to bring him. Rather, he felt Horn’s cock throb, knot and shaft pulsing against the velvet grip of his insides, then felt the first rope of cum shoot into him. Alongside that wet heat came a wave of sharp, shuddering pleasure, implacable, washing over his whole body.

Somehow, the specific act of Horn cumming inside him was better than any sex he’d ever had—even counting everything that he’d experienced in the minutes leading up to that moment. Horn’s cock throbbed again, more seed surged into Kysley’s guts, and the snivy made a rather high, rather incoherent sounding noise before his hemipenes twitched and throbbed against his belly, letting loose twin streams of white that ran down his underside and converged somewhere around his chest.

"Pretty good, huh?" Horn said, panting as he worked his hips and ground his knot around inside of Kysley’s ass, making the most of both their tie and the snivy’s newfound stretchiness.

"Uuugh," Kysley elocuted, body twitching alongside his pair of dribbling shafts as another rope of cum saturated his guts.

"Exactly." Horn took the rest of that moment to savour the feeling of Kysley wrapped around his cock, wringing out the remainder of his orgasm, in silence—barring a satisfied sigh and, of course, the mush-mouthed cacophony that Kysley was letting out with every twitch of the obstagoon’s cock.

"And another neat thing this stuff does..."

Horn shifted his grip from Kysley’s legs to his torso, both hands able to wrap around it with ease. Then, he gave a sharp tug outwards, away from his crotch.

Pop! Horn’s knot pried free of Kysley’s hole with a nigh-complete lack of resistance, the rest of the obstagoon’s shaft following suit with a wet slurp. Kysley shuddered and groaned at the parting grind against his prostate.

"Now, I would stick around," Horn said, lowering Kysley gently to the floor, "but I’d imagine, you being yourself, that you’re hoping someone will happen along you in this state and help themselves to seconds. That being the case, so long and farewell!"

Properly excused, Horn turned on a heel and strutted off, disappearing into the throng of horny revellers packed into the longhouse, while Kysley was left to lie there and add two new kinds of fluid to the growing puddle he was wallowing in.

Had Kysley been particularly keen or observant, it might have been noticed that there was a conspicuous absence of pink in the effluvia that made up the puddle he was in the process of embiggening. Though given Kysley was a fucked-out mess lying in a puddle of cum on the floor, it was understandable why he didn’t have those qualities in abundance.

It had been a very long night with a very short amount of memory to accompany it, which was rather unusual for Kysley. He didn’t tend to let things get wild in that sort of way too often. But, after running through copious quantities of oran—a drink which was predictably made of oran, and was less predictably a very high proof brandy—and after an equally copious amount of pokémon had run through him, here he was in such a state regardless.

Kysley sat up with a groan and took stock of his environment. He appeared to be in his own bed, which was still located within his own home. His belly looked a good deal rounder than was normal, and he could feel a whole lot of stickiness under his tail, across his front, and generally over every part of his body.

Overall, it was about the same as he usually wound up after any longhouse visit, oran or no. The fact that he hadn’t invited anyone to stay the night while in his drunken stupor left Kysley thinking that things had gone swimmingly.

Until he tried to pull himself out of bed and felt his whole head slosh, as if its insides had been pulverized into a liquid with the unique ability to feel pain. After sitting there for a few seconds to permit his head to settle back into a duller, more tolerable sort of agony, he decided that things had gone just okay. With slow and careful step, Kysley made his way over to the bathroom.

Pounding headache and general hungoverness aside, that was a usual day for Kysley, as was the next. It wasn’t until two days later that things became interesting, in the very same bathroom, Kysley having entered it in much the same way, after crawling out of bed following a good night’s sleep.

He looked at himself in the mirror. He was round. Two days ago, this would have been normal, even expected. On that particular morning, quite sober, having not been pounded into a cum drooling heap the night before, it was less so.

Kysley stared his reflection. It stumped him. It was far too early in the morning for him to have to deal with such a puzzle. He was positive he hadn’t gotten lucky last night. He wasn’t sticky, his ass didn’t feel the residual twinge of getting pounded, and Kysley would’ve remembered if he’d serviced enough pokémon to have a belly like that the morning after—or if he’d shacked up with a goodra, that being just about the only other individual pokémon capable of leaving him in such a state.

It didn’t have that sloshing feel to it like a gut full of cum did, either. Kysley ran his hand along the bulge of his belly, trying to get a feel for the state it was his insides had mysteriously wound up in.

When he felt it, that was when he started to get truly worried. He let his other hand join in, both of them groping at his middle, running under it and hefting it to feel the resistance of an altogether too solid mass occupying his belly.

"Yup, that’s an egg alright," the cubone said.

"What?" Kysley exclaimed. "You didn’t even use any of your stuff, like... that thing!"

The walls of the cubone’s hut were lined with everything an apothecary, alchemist, or witch doctor could desire, and more adventurous things besides. A shelf of glass jars with strange things suspended within, vegetable and animal alike bobbing in mysterious fluids. Large and fearsome looking masks stared from one corner. A rack hung high, brimming with brass, bronze, and copper, worked into exotic shapes for inscrutable purposes.

Kysley, however, had pointed at a forked stick.

"What, the dowsing rod?" the cubone asked. "Your water hasn’t even broke yet!"

Kysley’s sour face indicated the finger points of medicine doctor humour either went unappreciated or over his head entirely. "I’m not female. I can’t have eggs."

"Don’t be so sure!" the cubone said, stepping around Kysley to shuffle through a shelf of herbs, as if a pregnant male wasn’t anything odd enough to draw him away from his sorting and busywork. "I’ve seen this many a time before."

The cubone paused. "Well, not me, but my father, and his father before him."

"Each?" Kysley asked.

"Eh, collectively."

Kysley groaned. "Okay, well, can you explain why this is happening?"

"Hmm." The cubone drew back from the shelf and tapped his chin in thought. "Have you performed any strange rituals recently?"


"Called upon ancestral spirits to grant you fertility?"

Kysley squinted. "That’s not a strange ritual?"

The cubone shrugged. "I’ve seen stranger."

"Well, still no."

"Did you mate with a black gogoat under the light of the full moon?"

"Oh, come on!"

The cubone threw his hands up in the air. "Well, did you take any strange substances recently? Tinctures, potions, lotions, crevice jellies?"

"N—wait, what was that last one?"


Kysley banged against the door with all the force and volume that a pint-sized grass snake such as himself could muster. It was not drawing as swift a response as he would’ve liked.

"I know you’re in there! Get out here, I’ve got a complaint!"

Horn was not summoned by the threat of customer dissatisfaction. Frankly, considering his business practices, this did not come as much of a surprise.


Kysley’s shouting and pounding was interrupted by the door creaking open, slowly and gradually, revealing who it was behind it one glacial inch at a time.

It was not Horn, nor was it even an obstagoon. Instead, Kysley found himself standing before perhaps the oldest kecleon he’d ever had the fortune to witness.

"Master Horn is not in right now, I’m afraid," the kecleon said, with a voice that brought to mind old parchment, much like the rest of him did.

"Well, where is he?" Kysley asked. "And who are you?"

"I am his interim affairs administrator in light of his temporary absence..." The kecleon stopped to take a breath and push a pair of tiny golden spectacles up his face. " fair Rainwood, on business."

"Rainwood?" Kysley echoed. "That’s a month’s journey there and back!"

"It is very important business," the kecleon rasped, in the sense that every word he spoke was a rasp of one sort or another. "Shall I take a note as to your concerns?"

"Yes, tell him I’m very angr—"

"One moment." The kecleon began, with excruciating slowness, to pivot. "I shall fetch a quill."

The shuffling began. Kysley, with the sort of immense patience that can only come from immense frustration, crossed his arms and prepared to wait.

Kysley returned home in the early evening with three things: extract of monkfruit, an even heavier belly, and anger. He’d gotten the first from the cubone, as an ostensible remedy for his condition—one he had little faith in—the second from Horn, and the third extremely from Horn.

His belly had visibly grown since that morning. Looking at it in the mirror, if he had to guess, Kysley would say that he looked about as large as a female on the cusp of laying would be. Given the fact that he’d only been impregnated a couple days prior—putting aside the more concerning but thoroughly worn-out fact that he, a male, had been impregnated at all—Kysley was troubled.

He ran a hand along the curve of his belly, finding it firm and unyielding under his touch, the strong walls of a shell hidden just under the surface. It jutted from his body, big and heavy to the point of making walking a cumbersome, waddling sort of experience, on top of drawing inquisitive eyes from just about everyone he passed by.

Kysley assumed that nobody had recognized him. That, if for no reason other than the gravid belly he was toting, they had all assumed that he was some new, female snivy that had just come to town. One of the benefits of being a snivy: the boys tended to look quite a bit like the girls.

He intended to make full use of that fact. He was going to stay put inside his home until this all passed. Kysley would be drawn out by neither ‘mon nor god, not even Arceus himself, until the problem was resolved.

Kysley stared at the bottle the cubone had given him. Clay, sealed with a cork. Unlabelled, though he had been promised that it was essence of monkfruit—or was in part, at least, that part being a single drop mixed in alongside the water that made up the rest of the bottle.

When he’d expressed his doubts about the efficacy of such a thing, the cubone had treated Kysley to a long monologue on the merits and intricacies of the homeopathic method. However, he had also offered an alternative solution, in the event Kysley still had any misgivings: trepanation.

Kysley had picked the bottle. Now, he pried the cork free and brought the mouth up to his lips, throwing his head back and gulping down the stuff as quickly as he could, as if it was some foul elixir to be drunk as fast and thoughtlessly as possible. A reflex: all the best medicines that Kysley had ever had tasted like they were trying to kill him in their own right.

This one, however, tasted like water, given that was what it was, barring some infinitesimal, imperceptible percentage of monkfruit. Kysley set down the freshly emptied bottle with a hollow thud, then eyed his pregnant belly in the mirror with as acidic a look as he’d ever given his own body.

Even if the extract didn’t work, it seemed like this problem was going to resolve itself, one way or another.

The problem was resolving itself.

Kysley had taken to bed early, not being able to do much in the state he was in, and had awoken in the middle of the night to a series of sharp muscular contractions rolling through his gut.

There was also a great deal of slimy wetness all over the base of his tail, soaking into the sheets. This was a rather minor detail, from Kysley’s point of view; it certainly didn’t matter very much to him when the next wave of contractions washed over him, leaving him lying on his side, gripping the bedsheets, and groaning as he held on for dear life.

With each gripping spasm of his insides, that huge mass in his belly—bigger than when he’d gone to sleep—slid through him, a fraction of an inch at a time. His insides, never meant to accommodate anything of such a size, strained to allow it passage.

Perhaps, the thought occurred to Kysley as a sedate note to the cacophony that was his mind, he was only able to handle it at even such a crawling pace because of all his thorough practice with large insertions had prepared him for a large exit.

An interesting notion. Kysley took absolutely no time to ponder it, preoccupied with the clenching-cramping of his insides forcing that egg inside him another half-inch toward its exit.

It was... surprisingly not painful, considering. That wasn’t to say it wasn’t intense, or to say it wasn’t uncomfortable, but Kysley certainly wasn’t in any sort of agony, in spite of the huge mass shifting through his guts, his inner walls alternately struggling to accommodate its girth or to push it through to the next section of his straining bowels.

Kysley whimpered and let out strangled groans as his body continued to grapple with the egg shifting through it, leaving him feeling like a passenger inside it. It was big, intense, accompanied by endless stretching. Thought like that, it wasn’t too dissimilar to the way he spent any given night at the longhouse.

No time for such comparisons: the stretching was reaching its peak as the egg neared the end of the path it was moving down. Kysley could feel the rounded end of the thing slot into place on the inner side of his tailhole, before pressure began to mount as the peristaltic motions of his insides worked to shove the thing free.

A whining cry escaped his lips. His hole spread as the tip of the egg began to push its way through, slowly splitting him open and revealing a fraction of shell as a white oval, growing as it steadily pushed itself further toward ultimate freedom, stretching Kysley ever wider in the process.

Kysley looked down. The bulge in his belly had shrunk immensely, while just a bit lower, his ass gripped obscenely around the widest point of a white shelled, green-spotted egg. Just below that was the pink hint of two tips just poking free of his slit, a few drops of clear fluid dripping from each.

Another grand push. Kysley’s eyes shut tight and he clenched his jaw, feeling ever thicker parts of the egg squeezing free of the clenching ring of his tailhole. It shifted only slowly at first, as it got to its widest point.

Then, he passed it. He was on the tail end, the home stretch: the egg was getting smaller, the last segment of it tapering off as it slid the rest of the way past his ass. Kysley let his eyes crack open, and through the bleary haze of tear-filled vision, he could just make out the last of it squeezing out from his ass. It was left gaping, looking and feeling unnaturally empty as the egg rolled out to a stop, nestled in the rumpled bedsheets. The shell glistened in the moonlight spilling through the window with a slimy sheen.

Kysley stared at it for a moment longer before collapsing back onto the bed, gasping as he tried to catch his breath, feeling his body ache as his insides both recovered from the laying of the egg and adjusted to its absence after so many hours spent carrying it throughout its formation.

He’d been woken up in the middle of the night for this; he was tired. His body had just been put through the wringer accomplishing a feat no male ought to have been even capable of; he was exhausted. By all rights, Kysley should have just let his eyes slip closed and go right back to sleep, and deal with everything that had just happened when he’d at least have the light of the sun to greet him.

But. His hemipenes, agitated by the passing of the egg, jutted halfway out of his slit, refusing to recede even an inch after the laying had somehow roused them.

Kysley laid there for awhile in spite of them, not thinking so much as recouping. But thought gradually returned, and with the steadily growing hardness between his legs, it turned down a predictable, yet insistent road.

When his breathing had finally steadied, Kysley sighed, and without even opening his eyes, shifted the way he was lying just enough to reach down between his legs—and set about the process of getting his breathing back up to the same frantic pace as before.

Kysley slammed the clay bottle down on the counter—that is, as much as he could do so without shattering it into a dozen pieces—and stared at the cubone standing across from him on the other side.

"It didn’t work."

The cubone glanced at the bottle, then back up at Kysley. "What didn’t work?"

Kysley’s eyes bulged. "Wh— The extract!"

The cubone put a hand to his chin, rubbing it as he squinted in the classic look of intense mental activity.

"The extract that you gave me yesterday? For my problem?"

"What problem was that, exactly?"

"The pregnancy!"

The cubone glanced down. "You do not look very pregnant to me, my friend." His eyes brightened, and he snapped his fingers. "Ah, you mean becoming pregnant. For this, you must find a black gogoat—"

"No," Kysley interrupted. "Yesterday, I had an egg in me."

"Hmm. And you laid it?"


The cubone clasped his hands together. "Then the extract worked perfectly. You are no longer pregnant. Behold the raw power of the homeopathic method."

Kysley bridled with barely checked rage. "That would’ve happened anyway!"

The cubone shrugged. "Who can say? All we know is that—with the help of my extract—your problem is resolved. This is a happy day for you, my friend!"

At some point, Kysley had begun gripping the edge of the counter. Now, his fingers were digging into the wood hard enough that he felt like he was going to tear a chunk of it free.

"Is your extract going to keep me from making any more eggs." Kysley spoke through gritted teeth.

"Hmm, that depends. What did you say was the cause of this egg, again?"

"It was—"

The quasi-legal, possibly maybe ambiguously completely illegal, certainly unethically harvested, ditto-based lubricant that Kysley had let someone fuck him with.

"—nothing that I don’t think your excellent extract won’t fix now that I think about it, okay thanks bye!"

Kysley was backpedaling so quickly that it was only through the sheer speed of his frantic babbling that he was able to finish his sentence before he shot through the shop’s door, whipped around the corner, and disappeared from sight.

The cubone sat back, arms crossed across his chest and a smile writ across his face. "Another satisfied customer. Are you proud of me, ancestral spirits?"

A brief pause. The smile fell from his face

"Ancestral spirits, I wish you wouldn’t use so many racial slurs."

Initially, Kysley had been stomping home in something of a flustered worrying fit. But the more he thought about things, the more he realised there was no real reason for him to feel that way.

Ditto lube was something he kinda-sorta knew about in the same way that he kinda-sorta knew about all sorts of bizarre, dubiously legal substances that horny partying pokémon liked to partake in. Those were, if not anything quite so obvious as lifeblood, then something less visible but equally important to the longhouse.

Soul. Shady substances like that were the soul of the longhouse, that was it. But suffering metaphor aside, the point was that Kysley, for all his knowledge of that sort of thing, had never heard anything about ditto lube making you permanently fertile. If he was going to learn about the results of shoving something up your butt from anywhere, it would’ve been the longhouse, but he hadn’t heard a word of it.

So there was no point in worrying about it. It was probably just a rare, one-off kind of thing. He’d wash himself out real good tonight, get out the rest of whatever bits of lube might’ve still been stubbornly clinging to his insides, and then he’d be good to go.

After all, there was another longhouse party tonight. He wanted to take the opportunity to ask around about what Horn was up to. And get fucked a whole lot, too.

A rhydon was behind Kysley, ridged cock slamming all the way down to the base into the snivy’s guts before he pulled back for another thrust, living up to his name as the drill pokémon.

In front of Kysley was a medicham. Something of an unusual choice, perhaps a bit less bulky than the kind of partners that Kysley usually went for, but he was feeling unusually loose that night. Everyone could have a go. Kysley’s face was buried in the psychic’s lap, foreskinned cock pulling back to slide over his tongue before thrusting forward again deep into his throat.

Kysley took it without gagging once, a master of oral pleasure just as much as the other end. Cum was splattered all over his face, and rivulets of the stuff gushed out of his ass with every thrust from the rhydon behind him.

These two were hardly the first of the night, after all, and Kysley had no intention of making them the last.

Kysley woke up in his preferred fashion: not hungover, but still feeling the aftereffects of having been railed by a half dozen huge pokémon in a row. A hangover down there as opposed to up in the ol’ braincase.

Though as content as Kysley might’ve felt, he couldn’t help but notice, as his eyes fluttered open, that he didn’t feel it quite as much as usual. Sure, he could definitely still feel the residual cum on, inside, and generally around himself, but not so much the soreness. That wasn’t necessarily bad, but it always did serve as a happy reminder of exactly how much he’d gotten used the night before.

But that was fine. It wasn’t any sort of dire necessity, just something that was nice to wake up to. Besides, he had the whole rest of the day ahead of him.

And he did. And the next day, as well. Two days passed by in pleasant and mundane fashion, up until the morning of the third.

Kysley, only awake a few minutes, stood in front of the mirror.

His belly bulged with the unmistakable round of an egg.

There wasn’t anything else he could think do to but stand there and stare at it. His mind spun, gears almost audibly grinding in his brain, yet he remained still and utterly lost as to what it was he should do or think.

So this was it, then? He was just going to have to deal with the fact that he could get pregnant now? And he’d wager without any sort of heat cycle, which meant he could get pregnant at any time. Whenever he let someone fuck him.

Kysley wanted to have someone fuck him practically every night. Sometimes multiple times. Sometimes multiple someones. This was untenable.

Other pokémon were going to notice, too. If not the pregnancy, then certainly him disappearing to hide it. Slipping away for one week, that was doable. But another, right on the heels of the first? And what about next week? How often was he going to need to hide?

No. There was no use in freaking out or panicking. What he needed was a plan. He’d assumed that the eggs were a one-time deal, but it was now clear they weren’t, so he needed to think of a way to deal with this one and keep there from being any more.

That meant no fucking. Kysley’s breath was coming faster, and he had to make a conscious effort to slow it and stop himself from slipping into hyperventilation. Stop fucking, just like that? Never again? Or... Arceus forbid... become a top?

No. He was catastrophising. Calm. What was happening had a cause, and if he addressed that cause, he could solve the problem. So what was the cause?

The ditto lube. He knew that. How could he reverse its effects? He didn’t know that. Someone else had to, though. Just nobody that he knew well enough to trust with the knowledge of him having used the stuff.

Kysley slumped against the wall. No, that wasn’t entirely true, was it? There was one pokémon who he could trust with that information. Especially given they already had it, and were just as involved as he was.

Which only left two problems. The first being that it was Horn. An issue bad enough in its own right, exacerbated by the fact that there was still the better part of a month to go before he would be around again.

Leaning against the wall, hands balled into fists and every muscle in his body tensed, Kysley felt like he’d become part of the structure. Some stiff support beam. That would’ve been preferable; it would’ve been better to be anything but what he actually was.

The end of the month. He just needed to wait until the end of the month. Lay low for a few more days, get rid of this newest egg, then keep from fucking anyone else until Horn came back and he could force the obstagoon to tell him how to deal with this.

That wasn’t too difficult. Wouldn’t even have to hide the entire time, just stop going to the longhouse for a bit, while still showing his face around town to show everyone he was still alive.

Kysley let out a breath held for a few seconds too long and tried to relax, body pressing a bit closer against the wall as muscles released a fraction of the tension wound within them. Yes. It’d be fine.

Kysley let out loud groans into his pillow as an egg squeezed its way through his guts, on an inexorable course toward the exit of his asshole. His hemipenes throbbed and drooled into the blanket under him.

The egg almost out, now. The tip of it was crowning, pushing free into the air, leaving the bulkiest parts of it to squeeze over his prostate as the egg steadily spread him wider.

He let out a squeal. His cocks throbbed and oozed thick streams of white as the egg finally slid free—immense relief, alien pleasure, a wave of something orgasmic but sedate settling over him in the wake of a successful laying, cum drooling everywhere in celebration.

Kysley slumped forward into his own fluids, the egg settling somewhere into the sheets behind him. He laid there in dizziful bliss.

It was fine.

How did you dispose of an egg without people knowing about it? Besides the obvious answer. The one that, despite not being particularly attached to the egg, Kysley had an inherent revulsion toward nonetheless.

Kysley wasn’t sure. So he did the next best thing and dumped the egg in the woods on the edge of town, which didn’t feel very much better, but he honestly had no idea how he was meant to deal with it otherwise. Now, halfway between town centre and said woods, he was sitting by the edge of a stream, toes dipped in the water, and trying to think about something else than what he just did.

Unfortunately, he was discovering that everything else he had to think about was either lacking or equally distressing. Kysley was discovering that, without sex to fill the time, he didn’t have too much to fill the time with. A sizable fortune meant he didn’t have to work. So what was one to do?

Hobbies, probably. But it was surprisingly difficult to just pick up a hobby on a dime, when you had no experience and, really, no idea of what sort of hobby you were going for in the first place.

So, he was sitting by the river. It was a pleasant way to spend the time. Serene, meditative. Kept his mind off baser urges. He figured he could find enough similarly pleasant ways to while away the time until he could solve his big issue and go back to fucking.

"Kysley? Is that you?"

Kysley jolted, snapped his head to the side—and saw a blue cat making his way up the side of the stream toward him. A meowstic. He did remember seeing a meowstic around somewhere, but...

"It’s me, Imsy!" He took up a spot on the grass in front of Kysley, cocked his hip. "You remember me? And my brother? From the longhouse?"

"Oh, yeeeah," Kysley said, nodding. The mention of the longhouse brought it all rushing back. He always had his eyes peeled every night he spent there, soaking up the sights of everyone there. "You’re the two always pairing up with the canines, right?"

"Ha ha, yeah!" Imsy rolled a paw through the air as he spoke. "Arcanine, mightyena, espeon. That one houndoom, when we can find him. If they’ve got a knot, we’ve gone through ‘em at least once!"

Kysley leaned back on his hands, staring out at the water. A bit of relaxation washing over him with the knowledge that this was a fellow bottom. Meaning he wouldn’t pose any threat to Kysley, given the snivy’s current condition. "So where’s your better half, then? Seems to me like I never see you two apart."

"Funny you should mention that." Imsy walked over and set himself down next to Kysley, dipping his feet into the water. "Miso and I, like I said, we go through every dog we can find."


"Always very much on the receiving end."

"I think I saw the two of you making out around a furfrou’s knot last time were there."

Imsy snorted. "Oh, we put more around that knot than just our lips, believe me. But, uh, yeah, I like all that, and I obviously wanna keep doing it, but at the same time, I have been wanting to do something a bit... different."

Kysley stiffened. It had just dawned on him what this conversation was leading to.

"So seeing as how we’re both here, and, y’know, the sorta reputation you have about being loose with this kind of stuff..."

Out of all of the people, out of anyone it could’ve been, for it to be the kitty who spent all his time wrapped around somebody’s knot

"Would you be up for, you know, letting me have a go at you?"

Kysley turned his head just an inch or so to the side, glancing at Imsy out of the corner of his eye. His gaze followed the meowstic’s body down to where his paw sat between his legs, already kneading at his sheath. The tip of his cock was poking free, barbs on display, a trickle of precum drooling down over them.

If Kysley agreed, he was going to have another egg in him, so the answer was obvious.

Imsy was panting. Laid over top of Kysley like he was, the snivy could’ve inspected every barb on the meowstic’s lolling tongue, if he so wanted.

Not that he did. He was altogether too focused on other things, like the furry balls slapping against the base of his tail, the way Imsy’s furry belly ground against Kysley’s own as they laid in the grass—or, most prominently, the barbs dragging against his insides with every thrust of the meowstic’s hips.

This was a far smaller partner than Kysley was used to. Yet it seemed that with the combination of the ditto lube’s lingering effects, plus the fleshy barbs covering the tip of Imsy’s cock—something the snivy, for all his experience, had yet to encounter—was enough to leave Kysley moaning under the press of the meowstic’s body, in spite of his stature.

"Ah, I—I think," Imsy said, doing his best to eke out his sentence a word at a time between pants and grunts, thrusting wildly into Kysley’s ass. "I get it now. T-topping, I mean."

It seemed like Kysley had the distinct honour of having delivered Imsy the knowledge that sticking your cock in someone feels good. Kysley didn’t have time to bask in the banality of that realisation, as he was too busy trying to hold himself together in the wake of the barbed cock pounding his tailhole.

The swell in temptation and dissipation of restraint was one thing, but the fact that getting fucked by any male felt so amazing, even the ones Kysley had previously ignored in favour of larger pokémon, was another. The former felt artificial, like something he’d be able to deal with so long as he avoided the pokémon those temptations were aimed at, but the latter was different. It was real, genuine euphoria, outpacing any pleasure sex had offered him in the past. How was he supposed to avoid getting impregnated when it felt that good?

That was a moot point, because there certainly wasn’t going to be any avoiding getting impregnated right now. Kysley couldn’t even bring himself to reply to Imsy with coherent language, only writhe and moan as the meowstic kept up his frantic humping, displaying all the sexual skill of a teenager sticking it in for the first time. Yet his clumsiness had no effect on his ability to beat raw bliss out of the snivy with every crude, scraping thrust.

"Your ass feels really good," Imsy moaned. The meowstic seemed to have a kind of mastery over all that was trite. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to expect any kind of response from Kysley, more content with staring off with a half-lidded stare and drooling as he luxuriated in the pleasure of the tight, warm hole wrapped around his cock.

Imsy’s movements were getting shorter, harder, more erratic. It was clear the meowstic was getting close, even though they’d only been at it for a few minutes. Unsurprising, if it really was his first time fucking anyone else, as opposed to purely receiving.

Not that long ago, Kysley would’ve felt disappointed at that sort of speed. Wouldn’t have even been close to his own finish. Would’ve kept Imsy’s sexual inexperience in mind to use against him, in case the need ever arose. But right then, his hemipenes were erect and oozing pre that smeared against the fur of Imsy’s belly, almost ready to pop himself.

Though he didn’t. Not first, anyway. Not because of any surplus of experience compared to Imsy—though the gulf between them in that regard was immense—but because, as close as he was, there was no way that he would be able to finish before feeling the meowstic cum inside him.

Something that was only moments away. Imsy slammed his hips forward, barbed cock pushing deep into Kysley’s ass until the snivy could feel spines pressing into his inner walls, deeper than before. He’d bottomed out; Kysley could feel Imsy’s sheath pressing flush against his tailhole.

Imsy seemed like the type who’d announce his orgasm. A real "I’m gonna cum!" type of guy. But he didn’t. A gasp was all the warning he gave before his dick throbbed, his barbs seeming to stiffen and dig into Kysley’s insides even more, and he came.

The moment Kysley felt the first rope of cum shoot into his guts, hot and wet as it splattered over his insides, the already immense amount of pleasure he was feeling rocketed up to a frankly absurd level of intensity. There was no area, no specific place he could localize it to; the moment the meowstic’s seed was inside him, waves of euphoria washed over him from head to toe.

Kysley lasted perhaps a few seconds before his own orgasm kicked off, a loud moan tearing its way out of his throat before his whole body tensed up, internal muscles clenching down and milking that barbed cock for as much cum as it had to offer. His own hemipenes throbbed in unison, spilling cum all over himself, where it was wicked up and smeared around by the fur of Imsy’s belly.

They both stayed there for a moment, recovering, basking in the afterglow. Imsy pulled out, and both of them shuddered as the barbs of his cock raked along Kysley’s insides, before he rolled to the side and laid in the grass alongside Kysley.

"Wow," Imsy breathed. "That was really good."

"Yeah," Kysley said. It was really good, was being the operative word. Now that it was over, it was beginning to sink in exactly what Kysley had allowed to happen.

"I wonder if Miso would let me do that to him." Imsy stared up at the sky, eyes half-lidded, idly reaching down to toy with his softening cock.

Kysley sat up. "Ha ha, yeah. Anyway, I’ve gotta go. I just remembered that I have, a. Thing. To go to."

Imsy looked over as Kysley stood up, pleased look on his face fading a little. "Oh. Okay. Uh, well, see you around, then."

"Yup! See ya!" Kysley said, turning and waving, already walking down the shore and back toward town.

See him around, sure. But hopefully not before Horn was back. He didn’t need any repeats.

Kysley was pregnant again. This was no longer a surprise, but it remained just as inconvenient as before.

Even more so, as a matter of fact. Before, Kysley had been able to coast by on the food he had in his home, certain that once he’d laid his latest egg, he’d be able to just go and buy more as he needed it.

He’d gotten some. Not enough to last him more than a day or two, after which he’d be quite heavily, very obviously pregnant—meaning hardly fit to so much as leave his home, let alone acquire food. Admittedly, that was mostly his own fault for not thinking far enough ahead, but regardless, he was going to have to restock.

Which was why he was out in the woods in the middle of the night, a basket held in one hand, searching for wild edibles by the light of the moon. Because that was the only reasonable course of action. Going to the market was certainly out of the question. What if people saw?

Admittedly, he was not having much luck. That was partially due to his bulky middle getting in the way, filled with an egg probably about two-thirds of the way formed. Though it may have also been partly due to it being so dark. Or him having essentially no knowledge of how to forage. Frankly, the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a terrible idea in general.

Kysley stumbled over a root as he rounded a particularly large tree, barely managing to catch himself before faceplanting into a bush of thorns. He straightened up, turned to the right, and his basket slipped from his fingers as he found himself suddenly face-to-face—or rather, face-to-crotch—with a towering, lanky mass of fur and claws.

And, most obviously, a sheath and balls, those being level with his face. But when he looked up higher, Kysley’s eyes were met by a pair high above, staring down at him, glowing a piercing red in the dim light of the forest.

A midnight lycanroc. Probably an inhabitant of these very woods. Meaning, not a civilized pokémon he could talk to, but a feral beast that, even if it weren’t over twice Kysley’s size, would pose a very real threat. They were often powerful, but were always unpredictable.

The lycanroc stared at him. Kysley stared back, up into those crimson eyes, gleaming with inscrutable intentions. Fighting was obviously not an option. Given this was the lycanroc’s home terrain and Kysley could barely navigate it without stumbling over the underbrush, running was not much of an option, either.

Kysley had no idea what to do. Yet evidently, some deeper part of him did; before he could fully comprehend what he was doing, some instinct moved him to turn away, to expose his back to the lycanroc—then, to bend down low, hiking up his tail to bare his rear to the beast.

Evidently, this was the survival strategy of his reptile brain: try to get the obvious threat to fuck you instead of eat you. Kysley was baffled. He couldn’t believe how completely and utterly his thought processes and reasoning had been fucked by means of one encounter with ditto lube that he would even think of this as a reasonable course of action.

He couldn’t believe it when clawed hands wrapped around his body, big enough that they would’ve completely encircled his torso in their grip, were it not for the bulge of his egg-heavy belly forcing the lycanroc to hold him by the sides. Nor could he believe the warm fur covering them, every tuft and strand of it brimming with the bestial scent of what was undeniably a wild pokémon. Or, as he was lifted up and moved into position, the feeling of a tip oozing moisture being aligned with the underside of his tail.

Then, with a staggering shift, things became quite believable. It no longer mattered that it was a feral lycanroc holding him—that did not factor into the belief. Rather, all that mattered was the familiar feeling of a cock pressing against his well-loved hole, gentle for only the few seconds it would take for the lycanroc to align himself. It didn’t really matter who or what was doing it: all mating was intrinsically similar, equally necessary, regardless of the state it had left him in already.

Sure enough, once the lycanroc had gotten himself in place, he shoved Kysley down onto his cock like the snivy was nothing more than a cheap sex toy. The pre and the residual moisture from his sheath was enough lubrication for the lycanroc to spear past his tailhole, and Kysley’s insides did the rest: they were entirely coated with that impossible slickness the ditto lube had afforded them, with a stretchiness to match. Built—or rather, changed—to endure the exact kind of abuse that the lycanroc was eager to dish out.

That one shove was enough to bring Kysley all the way down to the beginning of the beast’s knot. A growling noise of pleasure and surprise at once rolled out from the lycanroc’s chest, the snivy letting out a moan of his own to match. His own pair of cocks, already erect, were pushed down and out by his gravid belly, throbbing and oozed a spurt of pre in sympathy with the one deep inside his guts.

Deep being the operative word. Kysley was far smaller than the lycanroc, as he was with all his partners—or, almost all—meaning the wolf ought to have been deep enough inside him to stir up the clutch of eggs inside him.

Yet the lycanroc never seemed to make contact with them. The powers of the ditto lube didn’t stop at making him fertile, self-lubricating, and capable of miraculously fast gestation, but also seemed to extend to somehow shifting the eggs inside him out of the way, warping his insides to make him into an even more effective fucksleeve for whatever male it was using him at any given moment.

What did that indicate? Some manner of sentience on the part of the ditto lube, somehow still remaining inside of him to incite all these effects? Or that it was long gone, but had somehow changed him on some deep, intrinsic level, leaving his body suitable to do all these things on its own?

In the end, it didn’t matter, because Kysley was not pondering things at nearly such an intricate level of detail. His mind had become another extension of his body’s desire to breed, higher thought lying in wait until needed to aid in his own fertilization, but happily dormant until such a need arose.

It certainly wasn’t needed at that moment. The lycanroc worked Kysley up and down his shaft with ease, pace matching the thrusting of his hips, all the while snorting, grunting, and growling with animal lust. Kysley was powerless but to receive it, hemipenes bobbing up and down, slapping against his belly with smears and splatters of pre to mirror that gushing out of his ass as the wolf pounded it.

With each thrust, the lycanroc’s knot kissed the ring of Kysley’s asshole, pressing dangerously against it before he pulled back for another. Every time, another, though Kysley knew he was stretchy enough that he could take that knot without any work-up or effort, could take just about any pokémon regardless of size.

But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not for lack of ability, but merely because it wasn’t time. Where would the pleasure be if his job was merely to have his partner stuff their knot into him instead of having a little fun first?

Though it wouldn’t be too much longer before they got to that point. The lycanroc’s huffing and grunting had gotten heavier, the pace of his thrusting clipped and insistent, seemingly more focused on battering that knot against Kysley’s hole than anything else. That bulging knot, throbbing with just as much promise as all the runny pre continually gushing into Kysley’s guts.

Faster than Kysley had expected, though that was the approach of wild pokémon to everything: fast and intense. Rutting was no exception.

The lycanroc was openly panting as he shoved Kysley down, the snivy’s body meeting the wolf’s hips as they slammed forward, the force from both sides meeting at one point: that knot, kept out by nothing more than the taut ring of Kysley’s tailhole.

Under such pressure, it didn’t offer much resistance. Muscles increasingly suited to accepting harsh and sudden intrusion gave way with a level of ease that utterly belied the force that had been used to insert it. Kysley’s ass swallowed up the fat bulge of the lycanroc’s knot, and when he felt Kysley clenching down around the root of his cock, he let out a howl again filled with the two emotions the snivy most elicited within him: surprise, and pleasure.

Subject to the squeezing of the snivy’s ass, the lycanroc’s knot began to swell almost immediately, dying for the chance to tie itself to a fertile hole. Kysley felt it grow inside him, moaned, clamped down on it even tighter. This was it. Any second now, he would...

The lycanroc’s cock throbbed, knot swelling to its full size, and the howls he was emitting took on a warbling note as the first jet of seed shot into Kysley’s guts. A powerful blast of heat, with enough pressure that Kysley swore he could feel it washing over his eggs—and with his body being as it was, such a deep, voluminous insemination left no choice but to experience an equally deep, powerful wave of pleasure, seeming to spring from the very heart of his being.

Just as quickly as the wolf had started cumming in him, Kysley’s own orgasm was crashing down on him. He let out a hapless moan to complement the lycanroc’s own dragging howls as his hemipenes throbbed and shot off ropes of white, some splattering across the bottom of his own gravid belly, others spraying further and splattering somewhere in the grass below.

They stayed like that for awhile, locked in the throes of orgasm and, more literally, locked together, tied at the hip by the lycanroc’s knot as Kysley was filled with his cum. It had been quick, but was shaping up to be long: a brief rutting, as expected of a wild pokémon, but with the long wait mandated by a canine’s knot.

Or it would be mandated, at any rate, if it weren’t for the particularities of Kysley’s body and the impatience of a wild pokémon like the lycanroc, unwilling to stay knotted to what was—ostensibly—a male incapable of bearing his young. Kysley was a convenient way to relieve his lusts, but nothing worth waiting through a tie with.

As soon as the lycanroc’s orgasm had begun to ebb, those hands that were once pulling Kysley down onto his cock shifted direction and started shoving him off, the fully inflated bulge of the wolf’s knot now tugging at the inside of Kysley’s asshole as he struggled to pry it free.

Kysley gasped, grit his teeth—but, ultimately, had little trouble allowing the knot to slip out. After laying multiple full-sized eggs, it seemed like there was nothing that his insides weren’t capable of handling. His tailhole released its grip on the lycanroc’s knot with a familiar stretchy ease, and it slipped out of him with a slurping sound and a gush of cum spilling out of his guts.

The rest of the wolf’s cock was quick to follow, and when the tip of it slipped out of Kysley’s ass, he felt his newfound freedom from being tethered to the lycanroc’s crotch manifest as upward motion, his body lifted up parallel to the lycanroc’s muzzle.

A wide, flat tongue planted itself against the base of his tail, delivering a single lick to gaping, drooling hole. With that parting note, the lycanroc lowered Kysley down to the ground—not quite dumping him onto the grass, but certainly not setting him down with any care or gentleness—before turning and loping off back into the forest, cock still swinging and dripping between his legs.

Kysley laid there, oozing cum, next to his forgotten basket. Foraging had been a bust. Best to just go home before any more wild pokémon came along to fuck him. Right as soon as his legs stopped shaking.

Two days had passed, and life had transformed into something of a dreamlike fugue. Not to say that it didn’t feel good, but simply to say that it was difficult to believe that life was even capable of assuming such a form as it had.

Kysley had thought he had been full before. Being pregnant had a way of moving one to make that assumption. Since his encounter with the lycanroc, though, Kysley had been led to the realisation that his being pregnant didn’t preclude him from becoming more pregnant.

Which left him in his current predicament, belly swollen to twice that of a female ready to lay. That left him more or less wholly immobile, sprawled out on his bed with the weight of his egg-laden gut resting beside him.

He had been lying there for perhaps a few hours now. The experience had granted him an odd sense of perspective on the whole situation. It wasn’t that getting fucked and being full of eggs didn’t feel good. At this point, he no longer struggled with that fact. The issue was more the fact that, having both lost all inhibition and gained the ability to completely debilitate himself like this, he wasn’t really sure how he was going to be able to operate in the world anymore.

Both on a long term scale and a short one. Considering the fact that he was more or less confined to his bed without any idea of how he was going to escape it, Kysley felt surprisingly calm. That must have been the effect of becoming more egg than snivy. Maybe in awhile, he’d start screaming, and someone would come along to help him, or describe to him a new means of existence, or fuck him. All would be more or less acceptable.

A noise. The sound of pounding on wood. Perhaps his thoughts had summoned someone; thoughts and desires seemed to hold a great deal of power in recent days. Kysley stirred toward the sound, as it, without waiting for any response from him, blossomed into the creaking of a door, the sound of approaching footsteps.

A figure appeared from around the corner, bathed in the sunlight spilling in from the open door behind him. Large and familiar. Obstagoon shaped. It immediately turned toward Kysley, honed in on him.

"Kysley!" Horn sounded jovial. "My assistant said you were looking for me, so I figured I’d stop by, see how you were doing. Your door is unlocked, by the way."

"Looking for you?" Kysley echoed.

"Yes, I think he said you were angry about something?" Horn was very forward—literally and figuratively, in that he walked forward and immediately sat down on the bed next to Kysley, leaning on an arm to better look the snivy in the eyes. "What were you mad about, exactly?"

"Oh. Yeah." Kysley did remember being angry. Although he no longer felt angry so much as he did mildly dazed, he surmised it would be best to pursue that anger regardless. "Did you know that the ditto lube did this?"

"Well, of course." Horn’s response was immediate and unhesitating. "You don’t think I’d give you something without knowing what it did, right?"

"I guess that makes sense." It didn’t really make much sense to Kysley, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to say. "Why did you give it to me, then?"

"I just thought you’d enjoy it," Horn said, then reached over and pulled something out of a satchel hanging from his side. He held it up to the light, and it sparkled as the sun passed through, a bright, scintillating green. Some manner of bottle. "I do have an antidote, of course. It would be quite rude if I didn’t. Or, more of a purgative, but the effect is the same."

This was more considerate than Kysley would’ve expected from Horn. "Oh. Thank you. Can I have it?"



"It’s five hundred thousand poké."

Kysley squinted, brain churning as he tried his hardest to figure out what was going on. "To buy it?"

Horn nodded. "Yes."

"Why do I need to buy it?"

"Because I’m a merchant, and money is used to buy goods and services."

"But you gave me the lube for free."

"That was pleasure. This is business."

"I don’t have that much."

That wasn’t entirely true. Kysley did have that much, but if he spent that much, then he would obliterate the inheritance he’d spent most of his life coasting on, and would need to—Arceus forbid—get a job. Even in his current state, such a thing seemed like a non-option.

Horn hummed, placing the bottle back into his satchel, out of sight. "That is something of an issue. But I am sympathetic to your plight. I’ll offer you a different means of payment. Shall I continue?"

That was good, right? Kysley was pretty sure he wanted the antidote, and not having to pay five thousand poké for it seemed good. "Yes."

"Excellent." Horn fished out a sheet of rolled parchment from his satchel, swinging it through the air in sweeping gestures as he spoke. "Now, seeing as how you do not have money, I am quite willing to accept payment in service. Something of an indenture. You see, I am starting a new business venture, and require personnel of very specific skill. You would be paid lucratively, and at the end of your contract, I will grant you the antidote, free of any additional charge. You’d be hard pressed to find a more generous offer!"

Kysley listened to it, but he didn’t grasp a whole lot of it, and he got the feeling that was less because of his own state of mind and more because a distinct vaguery present in every word that came out of Horn’s mouth. "Service doing what?"

Horn pointed the rolled parchment at him with a sharp motion. "You’re inquisitive. An incisive mind, craving every detail before making a decision. I like that, I want to surround myself with sharp people. You would be filling the role of surrogate."


Horn went on, possessed of unstoppable momentum. "Two months! That’s eight weeks of secure employment and a guaranteed antidote at the end of it, all for the price of doing..."

He swung the parchment over to Kysley’s swollen belly, prodding at it. "...what you’ve evidently already been spending your time doing. I’ve got clients lined up already, Kysley. This is no uncertain, risky venture. This is a sure thing, just waiting to materialize."

Oh, surrogate. It finally clicked in Kysley’s mind that what Horn was offering was the chance to spend the next two months getting fucked and filled with eggs literally constantly, as a form of income. On the one hand, this seemed like an ideal scenario. On the other, something about it seemed enormously concerning in a way that Kysley couldn’t quite place.

Ah. That was it. It meant that he’d be spending the majority of his waking moments in a state something similar to what he was in now.

"I don’t know, Horn," Kysley said. "I kind of want to... not be full of eggs constantly."

Horn fixed him with an odd, skeptical look. "You don’t? You could’ve fooled me. From what I’ve heard, nobody’s seen you not pregnant since I left town." He glanced back at the absurd roundness that was Kysley’s belly. "And, frankly, I can’t imagine anyone getting this pregnant without a mind to."

"That was an accident," Kysley said. That was at least half-true. After all, he hadn’t gone out into the woods intending to be double impregnated. In fact, he hadn’t even known that was even possible.

"Well, you can count on a whole lot more accidents in your future if you don’t get the antidote," Horn said. "Difference being, you can either spend two months working and walk away with that antidote plus a healthy heap of poké, or spend the same amount of time having accidents and going nowhere. Make sense?"

"I guess," Kysley said. He couldn’t find any fault in that logic, anyway.

"I’ve got a client waiting, tonight," Horn said, going on as if Kysley’s hesitation was already a thing of the past. "A goodra. You like those, I remember, I’ve seen what you do at the longhouse! So you accept, I put you two together, and we kick off your employment and hit the ground running."

"Tonight?" Kysley asked. "But I’m..." He looked down at himself. The biggest part of himself. The part so swollen with eggs that he was incapable of even moving under his own volition. "Big."

"That’s fine, he likes ‘em big," Horn said, waving away Kysley’s concerns and flipping open the roll of parchment in a single motion, letting it unfurl and reveal its surface, covered in long paragraphs of sprawling, spidery text. "Just like you, eh? Now, sign and date this, and we’ll get this whole show on the road."

Horn seemed to summon a quill with a flick of his hand, already dripping with ink, while positioning the parchment in such a way that Kysley could reach it, even given his small arms and bloated middle. Kysley couldn’t read it. He could make out the words, if he squinted, but they all paired together into such dense legalese that his head ached if he tried to process it into any sort of meaning.

"Don’t worry about the wording," Horn said. "It’s mostly boilerplate. I told you all the important stuff. You signing is just a formality."

"Oh, okay." After a second’s search and the guidance of Horn’s insistently prodding finger, Kysley sought out the dotted line and filled it with a scrawling, flowery scribble—his signature, accompanied by the date scratched in next to it.

"Excellent." Horn held the paper up in front of him, examined it, blew on the ink once or twice to help it dry, then rolled it back up and stuffed it into his satchel. Then, he leaned over and slid his arms up under Kysley’s shoulders, hefting him up off the bed with a grunt and an impressive amount of strength. "Now, onto goodra, and employment, and bigger and better things! Business!"

"Yay," Kysley said, voice brimming with a dull, muted enthusiasm.

Kysley was in a bed. It was not, however, his own bed, nor was it his own room, although he did tend to spend the majority of his time there in recent days. The nature of his employment meant it was easier to keep him on-site than have to figure out some means of carting around his generally heavily pregnant self to and from work.

Though he wasn’t very heavy at that particular moment. That was because, huffing and grunting with effort of doing so, Kysley was forcing out the last of the eggs that had been occupying him for the past week or so. It slipped out of his well-stretched tailhole with a wet sucking sound, rolling to join the rest of its fellows in a slimy heap at Kysley’s feet, some four eggs large.

A decently sized clutch. Not Kysley’s biggest, but pretty good. He flopped back onto the bed in the sort of satisfied exhaustion that came in the wake of all his layings.

The door squealed as it swung open. Horn strutted through, without so much as knocking, as was his tendency.

"Kysley!" Horn exclaimed, gloved hands spread wide as if he was greeting an old friend. "Just finished? Wonderful, let me get those for you."

Horn strode over and started grabbing the eggs off the bed, shifting them into the fabric-lined basket at the foot of it, awaiting transport to... wherever it was they went after Kysley laid them. He didn’t really keep tabs on how the eggs were handled once he’d laid them.

He did know the employee who was in charge of taking them away, though, and it wasn’t Horn. Kysley stared at Horn, mystified, as he set down the last of the eggs, then shifted his attention back to the one who’d laid them.

"Big news," Horn said, tugging off one glove and tossing it onto the bed, his freshly bare hand gripping at the fingers of the other to do the same to it. "It’s been two months. Contract’s over. Got the antidote and everything."

Kysley looked up, and sure enough, Horn was telling the truth: he dipped a hand into his satchel, and it emerged holding the shimmery green bottle that he’d, frankly, completely forgotten about after the first week and a half of working here. He’d just sort of been... enjoying himself. Had it really been a whole two months?

There ought to have been some feeling of accomplishment. Instead, Kysley felt strange. His whole life had been interrupted, then completely upturned by this whole pregnancy thing, whereas working for Horn had reoriented it, in a sense. But he hadn’t at all thought about what he was going to do at the end of it, when he finally had the freedom to return to his old life.

No more having to worry about eggs, or enjoying the feeling of making them and being full of them. Back to whatever it was he did every day before all of this had happened. What did he do before all this, anyway?

Well, he supposed he fucked at the longhouse a lot. But apart from a change of scenery, what was the difference?

"Kysley?" Horn said, drawing a jolt out of the snivy. How long had he been spacing out? "Any thoughts on this, at all?"

"Uh, yes," Kysley said. "Do I... have to accept the antidote?"

"You know, it’s funny you should ask," Horn said, stuffing the bottle into his satchel and drawing his hand back out holding a familiar looking sheet of parchment. "New contract, intermediate engagement, five years. All made out, just requires a signature. The price of the antidote’ll be chalked up as bonus pay. Interested?"

Kysley pushed himself up into a sitting position and stared at the contract for a minute, contemplated the logistics of signing himself over as a long-term egg factory for the sake of pleasure as much as profit—then shrugged. "Sure, bring it over."

Horn swaggered over and gave Kysley a clap on the back with his free hand, before it slid over to the snivy’s side, already bearing a quill between two fingers. "Kysley, you’re the best business partner a ‘mon could ask for."

Tags: anus, belly, big belly, black and white, cum, knot, lycanroc, medicham, meowstic, midnight lycanroc, mpreg, obstagoon, oviposition, penis, pokemon, rhydon, rimming, scrotum, sex, sheath, sketch, snivy, story