Toxic Partnership (Patreon)

You’re getting sick and tired of this scaly little brat.

You’ve been in these mountains for a few weeks, now, and frankly you’re long past sick of that, too. Everyone’s adventure is different, and takes them down unique paths, and nobody ever has exactly the same route, and the journey is the important part anyway, and blah, blah, blah—this was just supposed to be a SHORT DETOUR. All you needed was a Fire-type to help you break through that Bug-based Gym, and when you realized the outskirts of town were rocky and hot enough for Salandit and Salazzle to hang around, you thought, great! Dabbling in Poison would give you a solid edge against that snob and his Grass-type ace.

But after days and DAYS, all you could find were male Salandit! It sounds like a real creepy thing to complain about, but you’re trying to train these Pokémon for competition—it wouldn’t do to capture one that couldn’t evolve! The females just have more potential, but they were so damn HARD TO FIND. It really shouldn’t have even taken as long as it did! About one in every eight Salandit is female, at least according to your ‘dex; apparently, most of them evolve in the wild long before they’re caught by Trainers, since they have all their male Salandit servants bringing them plenty of food to grow strong with. But if that were true, then shouldn’t the place be crawling with Salazzle? You hadn’t seen a single one of them the whole time you’d been hiking!

Until, finally, you came across one. The pink underside of her tail was what caught your eye. She was splayed lazily out on a broad, flat stone, sunning herself, and while her skin blended in with the surrounding rock, her fiery markings were impossible to miss. Her long, slender legs stretched along either side of the magenta shock of her tail. You could see how sharp her claws were, even from here, and her snout came to a graceful, imposing point. She was a glorious specimen; the sun beating down on her resting spot gave the air around her a shimmering quality, like she herself was a mirage. According to the Pokédex, she was quite a ways bigger than the average Salazzle, and if the size of her horde of Salandit was anything to go by, she was a real heavy hitter to boot. She was even shiny!

At least, you thought she was shiny. Her skin literally shined, like wet granite. She always looked like she had just climbed out of a pool of water, which you figured was special somehow, because you hadn’t seen so much as a river since you started your trek (thank Arceus you had packed well). You’d heard that shiny Pokémon had different coloration from their counterparts, but that never really made sense to you. Why would you call them “shiny” if that was the only thing that was different? You figured your friends were full of shit, and that they shouldn’t believe everything they hear from Youngster Joey—but boy, would they be blown away when you showed them you’d found the real deal!

Of course, even after catching her, your trouble wasn’t over. Now, you had to hoof it all the way back down the mountain, this time with a disobedient reptile in tow. She butted heads with your other Pokémon when you sat down for snacks, snatching their portions practically out of their mouths. You supposed that a Pokémon with a personal army of gofers would be a big eater, but even when you scolded her, she refused to keep to her fair share. You figure you should have also supposed that, if she was so successful in the wild, she’d think she was too strong to listen to a Trainer like yourself.

And she did, in fact, go out of her way to push your boundaries, too. It started with her mocking you when you tried to get her to battle some of the other local Pokémon, to get a feel for what she was capable of. Sometimes she’d wag her tail-end at you and hop right back into her Pokéball; sometimes she’d melodramatically stretch herself out on the ground and start sunning herself again. Occasionally, if the other Pokémon was particularly small or inexperienced, she’d walk right up to it, bend over—shaking her rear at you again—cradle its snout in her claws, and give it a deep, long kiss.

It would always stumble away with this dazed look on its face, and she’d saunter right back over to you with a self-satisfied look on her face. Sure, it worked, but in any serious fight she wouldn’t be able to get that close to the opponent! At least, not unless she would pay attention to you long enough for you to use the TM for Attract, which she refused to do. Didn’t Salazzle have pheromones to do that with, anyhow? You hadn’t seen her do that, and it seemed much easier. You didn’t see her do it with any of her own Salandit, either. You reasoned that she could probably use venom for the same result, but it had to be easier to just wave some air at a Pokémon and have them roll over to do your bidding, right? You wondered out loud whether she even could do it, hoping it’d spur her to prove you wrong, but instead she just looked offended, almost hurt. She crossed her arms and huffed at you, storming away and scurrying up a sheer rock face. It took hours for her to get over it and let you and the rest of your team keep heading toward home.

Then, you started finding her in your sleeping bag. You'd let everybody out to stretch their legs while you set up camp, you’d pitch your tent, and at some point, while you were putting out the campfire, or making sure the rest of your Pokémon were comfortable before turning in, she’d sneak in without you noticing. She was always sprawled out right on top of your covers, just like on the rock where you first found her. Queenly. Like she owned the place. Looking you right in the eye and daring you to do something about it. So, you did: you would yank the sleeping back from beneath her like a magician doing a cloth trick, and you’d flick her out the front of the tent in the same motion. She might be cold-blooded, but she’d survived plenty of time on this mountain without crowding you out of your own damn bed for warmth. You worried she’d stain it with whatever oil made her scales so slick-looking, but you never saw her leave a mark. In fact, it didn’t even smell any different, which was another relief—what would someone think if you smelled like your brand-new catch? You figured maybe the mutation that made her shiny really did make it so she didn’t produce any pheromones. That’s a shame, but she can still obviously handle herself. Plus, it wouldn’t feel right to kick someone off the team for a quirk like that. You’d have to apologize for teasing her about it, at some point.

Now, though, she’s refusing to get back into her Pokéball. Again. When you held it up to her, she whipped it out of your hand with her tail, turning up her nose like you’d just offered her a ride in a rickety, smelly car.

“What the hell, girl? You too good for a Pokéball, now?”

She shakes her head at you, pointing a claw at your chest and then holding her arms up and out. Did she want you to carry her the rest of the way down the mountain? She must be out of her damn mind.

“Oh, but you’re not too good for me, all of a sudden.”

She just opens and closes her claws, expectantly. She’s giving you that same, shit-eating look. Daring you. This is a game of chicken, you’d come to learn. She wants to see who was really in charge; to see whether you were worth taking orders from. Well, you’d played this game with her dozens of times already, and you hadn’t been the one to back down yet… but you’re starting to see that it isn’t getting you anywhere. Maybe the battle of wills isn’t important. Maybe it’d be better to try to meet her halfway. A Trainer/Pokémon relationship is about give and take, right? You gotta respect them if you want them to respect you. And if it means doing something silly to let her know you’re not asking her to do all your bidding, then maybe it’ll be fine.

She’s a big girl, but you’ve got the build for this. You’ve walked across the region and back anyhow, so what’s one stretch with a little extra weight? You bend your legs and hook an arm behind her knees, wrapping the other one around her back. Bridal style would probably be easiest, especially since you were already hauling a backpack. It did bring that snotty, pointy smile of hers much closer to your face, though, and as she wrapped her arms around your shoulders to hold on, she hissed a sardonic little laugh right into your ear. You turned to shoot her a look, and as you opened your mouth to speak, you realized that this was the closest look at her she’d let you get so far.

Her skin didn’t just look wet, it was wet. You could see a thin film of liquid running slowly along the surface, like rain crawling down the slant of a road toward the curb. But she hadn’t stained your clothes before, and she wasn’t getting you all wet now, right? You look down to double-check and, to your shock, she’s shedding oil all over your arms, your chest, your neck. Runny, slate-gray sludge, the same color as her skin, crawls up along the fibers of your clothes, like ink flowing from the tip of a marker into paper. Holes start to show in the fabric—whatever this is, it’s dissolving your clothes! You nearly drop her in surprise, but when it touches your skin, it doesn’t burn. It just tingles. You feel your heart beating faster, and look back up at her.

Her eyes have narrowed, and her grin has widened to match. The look in her eye is no longer the one she gave you as she taunted you in front of wild Pokémon—it’s the one she gave you when she stole food from the rest of your team. It’s the superiority a predator feels as its jaws encircle its prey. She looks hungry. Her claws slide up from around your shoulders, across your back, and up your neck (she leaves a trail as she grazes your skin, thin, oily). You’re sensitive all over now; it makes you shiver. She pulls your face close and offers you a kiss, and you don’t even consider denying her. More of her venom pours into your mouth, along with her tongue—slimy, writhing, dominant, powerful. You feel lightheaded. Your knees buckle, but even though you feel her on top of you, you don’t feel yourself hit the ground. Where is she? You can’t reach around for her. You can’t see through all this sludge. How long have your eyes been closed? Since she went for the kiss? You feel small. She looms large.

Mind and body, she’s got you wrapped around her claw. More accurately, she’s wrapped her inky self around you, subsuming you, coating you in her venom—coating you in her, you realize—until she surrounds you entirely. She opens your eyes for you, and you blink (or try to) at the unfamiliar sensation of vertical eyelids parting. Your chest bounces as she chuckles again, her hiss escaping your lips. She licks them for you, and you feel a pang of her satisfaction, reveling with her for a moment in gloating over a full belly from a successful ambush. You don’t feel like you’ve been ambushed. You feel like you’ve done a good job! You did what Salazzle asked, just like you’re supposed to. This is a reward. You should feel satisfied with yourself.

I run your claws along your new scales. They ripple slightly under my touch, and you shudder again. My curves look so lovely on you, don’t they? Aren’t the two of us just the sexiest thing on this whole mountain? This is looking like the start of a wonderful partnership. You should celebrate. In fact, I demand that the two of us celebrate. A single claw traces a raw line along your tummy, down, past hot-pink waves, down, down, between your legs. The pink of your tail stops just shy of your crotch, now a smooth patch, without so much as a reptilian slit. How exactly do I mean for you to do that?

Come, now, it can’t be that hard to figure out…. but I’ll demonstrate for you nonetheless! I trace a digit around the mound of your crotch, and it’s like lava shooting through your body. Heat rockets up your spine and floods your head, hammering off the top of your skull and shooting back down your limbs, leaving your tail standing on end and your hands trembling. I keep firm control of them, though, and I just keep pushing. Pressing down on your crotch, rubbing it, squeezing it. Your fingers are slick with my venom, but even though the slippery sensation is like heaven, even though my scales are like a second skin, the touch doesn’t quite translate directly—not there, at least. It’s a mouthwatering smell from inside a bakery, and you’ve just gotten back into town from a days-long hike. You’re stuck on the other side of the glass. It’s a warm bed after weeks on the cold, hard ground, and the sheets just won’t turn down for you to crawl underneath them. It’s a bottle of ice-cold water on a scorching summer day, and the lid is stuck fast.

The look on your face must be quite a sight to see! Your tongue is hanging out of your mouth, and you’re drooling my venom all over yourself. I can even feel your eyes rolling back! You’d be on your knees again if I weren’t holding them up for you. You’d beg, if you could still talk—if your mouth were still yours. I can practically taste it. Sweet, sweet admission of defeat… I suppose I shouldn't tease you too much longer, though. You’ve been so obedient today! It’s a wonderful change of pace from all this huffing and puffing about “training” me. You’ve earned a treat, haven’t you? I’m just gonna keep rubbing you down here (I can feel the outline through my scales, you know. What a lovely new toy this is!), and you’re going to obey one more little instruction for me, alright?

That’s a good Trainer.

Cum.

The heat building up throughout your body, all at once, at her command, at her mere thought, boils over. You scream through her mouth, hissing and squealing uncontrollably. Your head swims. Your limbs tense, lock up; finally, she allows you to sink to the ground to ride out her poison-powered ecstasy. You make a mess of yourself, but you can’t really tell; it mixes with your venom, and she licks your lips as though you’ve given her yet another portion past her fair share. Slowly, you feel the oily substance recede, leaving your flushed skin freezing in the broad, arid daylight of the mountainside.

She stands over you like a long shadow, reaching down to tilt your chin with her claws. She meets your eyes again, no longer bearing conceit or a challenge, but instead intent. You make for an adorable Salandit, she seems to be saying. You don’t speak Pokémon, and she doesn’t speak at all, but the message is clear. You don’t know how its so incredibly clear; you feel as though you understand her on some deeper level now. And you know the rules of being a Salandit. Keep making me happy, and I might just let you inside me again. She winks at you, letting your head drop back to the ground, and sashays fully into your view, tossing her Pokéball up and down. With one last smoldering look over her shoulder, she tucks herself away, letting it fall to the dirt as well. It rolls over to you, bumping into your bare thigh. Oh, right. You’re naked now. She burned all your fucking clothes away. You spring to your feet, covering yourself as best you can with your hands, fuming and sputtering. You thank Arceus that you were still in the middle of nowhere, and swear to it that you are not gonna let this lizard own you just like that. At least not without giving her a turn at having to play brat tamer.