Fey’s New Friends
By Nicolaus
It was a sunny, springtime Saturday afternoon in the quadrangle at the Academy of Augusta. And Fey was done with classes for the day.
As the mint-green Sylveon stepped out through the doors of the classroom building, he smiled and drew in a deep breath of the fragrant, floral air. The broad steps of the porch led down to a grassy field — the quad — cut through with a web of paved footpaths, dotted with pink-flowered trees, and decorated with flowerbeds full of daffodils and tulips around the edges. On a day like this, everyone was outside. Because who would want to stay cooped up in the big stone buildings of campus, when nature was calling right outside the window?
Everywhere he looked, Pokémon filled the space. Beautiflies and Masquerains fluttered amid the trees, getting in the way of Staravias and Talonflames in the branches. Nidokings and Snorlaxes lounged in the shade below, some of them studying, some of them just napping. Eevees and Deerlings and Litleos scampered around in the grass, playing keep-away and tug-of-war and weaving past larger Pokémon sunning themselves on picnic blankets. All of them wore, somewhere on their persons, the iconic Aurum gear of the Academy — the metal trinket that set them apart as students.
But they weren't focusing too hard on studying today.
Fey stepped aside as his peers exited the building around him, wondering how much time he could budget for the outdoors before his studies that evening beckoned. The Academy may have been the center of civilization, but it was still an academy, and he still had a curriculum.
Just then, a ball hit him in the face. All of his senses went BOING.
“Oh no! Sorry!” A Weavile came running up out of nowhere, collecting the bouncing rubber ball off the ground in his icy talons. “So sorry!”
To Fey’s surprise, it didn’t even hurt. The ball seemed to be mostly filled with air. The impact still felt like a comically rubberized slap on the snout. He sputtered and batted at his face with one paw, probably making all kinds of weird expressions in the process. “Pfhah. Bleh. Um! It’s okay!”
The Weavile didn’t move. “Oh, Arceus. You sure you’re OK?”
Fey stepped down to the bottom of the porch and took a closer look at the icy mustelid. He was a young, freshly evolved specimen, with a wiry frame covered by a sports jersey and a pair of running shorts. Behind him, a Typhlosion and a Sawsbuck — fire and grass — looked on with visible concern.
“It’s okay,” the fairy repeated. He paused. “Have I seen you before? I feel like I must have had a class with at least one of you. Intro to Artificing, Professor Rubrum, last year…?”
“Everyone’s studied with Professor Rubrum,” said the Typhlosion. He was a hulking, broad-framed badger, all soft cream-furred from the face to his wide hips, with a rougher dark blue back. He came over and stuck out a paw to shake, which Fey did. “What’s up. I’m Cliff. I was absolutely in the back row for that class. I'm kind of amazed that you remembered. Nice to see you again, Fey. Kind of… hard not to recognize you, with the colors, and the…”
Fey nodded in understanding. He did cut a distinctive figure. Anybody who didn't remember his unique colors — how often was the pink on Sylveon fur replaced with green? — would doubtlessly remember his eyes. Having five-pointed stars in place of round pupils tended to do that.
All the same, Fey racked his brain trying to remember if he had actually interacted with Cliff at any point at all during the class. He supposed it was water under the bridge now. “Yeah, now that you mention it, I do think we shared that class. It was a pretty big one for me, but you know, everything is big here.” He brightened. “So! I’m happy to see you're still in the program, Cliff! What are you all doing out here today?”
“Hitting Sylveons in the face with our ball,” said the Sawsbuck dryly. “Hey. I’m Alain. I don't think
I've had any classes with you. We're all in our second year, though.”
“Hunter,” added the Weavile, since his friends had already shared their names. He clutched the ball against his chest with those rime-white claws of his. Somehow, it didn't burst. “Well, uh, you seem like you’re on your way somewhere, right? I don't wanna get in your way —”
But Alain, the Sawsbuck, cut him off with a raised hoof. “Ahh, hold on, hold on a second there, alright? Hold on.” He flashed a winning smile. He really was a statuesque specimen of a stag — endowed with not just a lithe, muscular, long-limbed cervine body, but also with a pair of dark brown antlers bearing pink flowers like the branches of the trees in the quad. A reflection of nature at its best. He said, “Yes, we were kicking the ball around, trying to keep it in the air and all, but this is springtime. This is the perfect time to mingle. Got an hour to kill, Fey?” “I'm not the best at sports,” Fey started to say with an apologetic smile.
“Yeah, but how are you for sport?” Alain grinned at him.
The two Pokémon held eye contact for a long, long moment. Alain’s grin only widened as he stared down at the Sylveon.
Fey swallowed. “Oh boy.”
—
Cliff threw open the door and strode purposefully into his two-bed dorm room. “Alright, buckaroos, here's how we're gonna do this,” he declared. “Everyone gets a turn with everyone if they want it. No one gets left out. Everyone gets to finish off. And above all: stay quiet. I don't want a noise complaint. Especially seeing as we are not closing the window no matter what.”
Fey’s eyes naturally drew to the open window at the end of the small, plaster-walled space. It was as chaotic inside as any dormitory ever got: bedding bunched up messily all over the mattresses, writing implements strewn about the two desks, collegiate sports team banners hanging from the walls, and indeed, one single window on the far wall, wide open and streaming sunlight and fresh air. Thanks to that window, the perpetually stale thickness of the dorm hall air gave way to a much fresher atmosphere here — and they even had a view down to the quad.
But as he stepped closer to the beds, Fey’s dainty little Sylveon nostrils picked up the scents of way too many male Pokémon for a dorm room. Mammals, reptiles, even humanoids — they all blended together in the sheets. He didn't have to be a master tracker to understand what that door-stopping encyclopedia of odors said about the uses of these two beds. These guys didn’t just hook up for fun. They fucked.
And now, as Hunter closed the door, Fey found himself right in the middle between them all. Now his scent would be one more blending into the mix on the bedding. He grinned brighter than ever.
“Make room up there!” Alain called good-naturedly. “No clobbering people with antlers today!
Not again.”
Cliff planted his front paws on the leftward bed, vaulted up onto it and turned around with his broad feet wiggling playfully in the air. The tilt of his hips and the spread of his thighs showed off his goods far better than before. His balls were prodigiously heavy, resting directly on the bedding, and the sheath above them was so thick that its sheer dimensions implied volumes about the flesh that rested inside. “Let’s do thiiiis,” the Typhlosion crooned. “You ready to have a little fun, Fey?”
“Oh, my, yes,” intoned Fey. His tail flew into a fierce wag behind him, brushing all over Alain’s snout as they all scooted forward into the room. Alain clambered up into the rightward bed — a surprisingly easy feat, even with his antlers presumably on the verge of getting caught on every single person in the room.
Fey started to move past both the Pokémon toward the window, wanting to make room for Hunter, but the Weavile’s icy claws laid on his back thigh and stopped him right in front of Cliff.
“That’s far enough,” Hunter said gently, in the middle of pulling off his jersey and shorts. He stood upright with his body fully exposed: sleek, slender, bipedal, a real swimmer’s body. The elegant thickness of his claws just made the rest of him look more nimble. And he sported a nice full sheath, nowhere near as big as Cliff’s but just as shamelessly displayed. “C’mere. Turn around.”
Naturally, Fey’s tail wagged even faster. He turned and sat himself down right on the bare hardwood floor, licking his chops with naked anticipation. Alain towered over him on the left; Cliff on the right. Already, Cliff had begun massaging his sheath with one paw, while Alain gathered up some blankets between his hind legs — perched regally on the bed, but blatantly giving himself something to hump.
And directly in front of him, Hunter leaned in with a soft, seductive smile. His cold talons caressed the back of Fey’s neck, making the Sylveon giggle in a mix of ticklishness and anticipation. He murmured, “I wanna give my friends something to look at.”
“Are we gonna kiss?” Fey almost danced his paws on the floor, he was struggling so hard to contain himself. His grin had just about fully conquered his face.
Hunter glanced to either side, observing his larger peers starting to pleasure themselves on the two beds. “Well, Fey, you look ready for it. So do my friends. Maybe by the time you and I pull back apart, they’ll be your friends too.”
He leaned in and kissed Fey right on the mouth. It was a rough, feral kiss — barely any lips, almost all tongue, his mouth tilted open wide to let them play together in the middle. And it was cold. Not ice-cold, not enough to hurt, but so far below the temperature of the room that Fey’s fur stood up. The fairy let out a moan of delight and sank willingly into the kiss, wrapping his front legs over Hunter’s shoulders to bring them in closer. Their tongues slid and swirled and danced together, and Fey’s loins woke up with arousal with every passing second. The air felt cool on his sensitive tip as it slid out of his sheath into the open air.
After a minute or two of warmup, Fey had reached a nice full state of hardness. But he wasn't the one to stop the kiss. Instead, it was Cliff.
“Hey,” the badger grunted, spreading his legs open wider on the bed. He, too, had hardened up remarkably well. A thick, veined pink spire rose from his furry sheath, tapering with a gradual convex curve down to a torpedo-like point. “I got an idea. You boys want some company?”
Hunter pulled back from Fey with a breathless smile, wiping the wetness from his lower lip. He, too, had hardened up well — another pink length out in the open, although it was something like half the size of Cliff’s endowment. He asked half-lucidly, “What, uh, what do you mean, boss?”
“I mean, I'm loving the sight of you two going at it, but I need a little more warming up. So I’m thinking, Alain: put your front hooves on the floor and come suck me off. That’ll put your cock right where these two lovely things can go at it.”
“I don’t want to finish off that way, but I like the idea,” said Alain. He waited for Hunter and Fey to give their approval — Hunter nodded, and Fey said, “Oh, Arceus has blessed me today,” which was good enough for him. The deer pushed halfway off the bed, walking himself forward on his front hooves while his hind legs stayed bunched on the very edge of his mattress. The two boys on the floor had to lean back out of the way as he came through, but for good reason: now they gazed at each other under Alain’s soft tan underbelly.
Specifically, they gazed at each other with a long, slender pink deer cock twitching in the air between them.
“That’s right,” crooned Cliff. “I’m gonna get all three of you tasting me before long. Why don't you get used to the idea down there?”
“I’ll drink to that,” Hunter grinned. He reached up and stroked the underside of Alain’s cock with the flats of his talons, making it twitch even harder.
Cliff snorted and said, “You’ll drink something to that. Alright, Alain, do your thing.”
Fey couldn't wait any longer. The excitement was too much. He dipped in and wrapped his paws, and his prehensile Sylveon ribbons, around the middle of Alain’s shaft — it was so strong and warm to the touch! Fey stroked it firmly while he fit his mouth over the tip, slurping and licking to his heart's content.
Meanwhile, the deer complied with Cliff without another word. He tucked his snout right in between the spread legs of the Typhlosion, and he took that whole big spear of flesh right into his mouth. His head bobbed up and down dutifully, and he didn't make a sound after that, except for the slick noises of flesh on flesh. Cliff’s paws grabbed firmly onto Alain’s antlers and held them still.
“Ohhh, yeah,” Cliff sighed. “I like this look on you a lot.”
Fey had practically tuned that whole interaction out. All he had room for in his mind was the beauty of the long, pulsing cock right in front of him. But the feeling of a cold, firm claw on his cheek snapped him out of his lusty reverie.
“Don't be greedy,” admonished Hunter, beaming. “I’m still down here too.”
Fey exclaimed with nearly a shout, “Well, join in!”
And Hunter did. He kissed Fey hard on the mouth once again, making a diamond of empty space with their open muzzles pressed together — a playground for their tongues to roam around and glide over one another. But this time, a third presence filled that diamond from the side. Alain’s cock gave them both plenty to work with. They stuck to the very tip, lapping under and over the sensitive point, getting at each other from playful angles. And they breathed hot and cool breaths against each other, washing over the erect flesh on either side.
“All right, that's enough,” declared Cliff, letting go of the Sawsbuck’s antlers. “I wanna give all of you a turn. Come on up here. Both of you, come on.”
Fey almost didn't want to leave the kiss. But Alain slid away and climbed down onto the floor behind Hunter’s back, putting the Weavile in the middle between them. And just like that, all three Pokémon turned their focus upon Cliff’s raging, needy erection. Just as hard as before, and now it glistened with a coating of fresh saliva while it twitched visibly to the time of Cliff’s heartbeat. Which was fast.
“So who starts?” Fey asked.
“You,” Cliff said, before he reached down and grabbed the back of Fey’s head.
To a casual observer, Cliff looked like any Typhlosion looked — big, but mainly just soft. That appearance was deceiving. His size came entirely from brawn under the plush surface of his fur, and the paw on the back of Fey’s head controlled his movement unstoppably. It pulled him in close, sliding his mouth down like a toy over the length of Cliff’s slick cock. That huge, rigid member stuffed his mouth oppressively full, all the way to the back of his throat, and it pushed even deeper as Cliff tugged him closer. His vocal folds gave. He struggled not to gag, not to let his eyes water. Fey’s entire world narrowed down to the sensation of the pulsing fire-type meat that speared him at Cliff’s leisure.
Hunter rapidly understood his role in the middle. While he and Alain waited, he reached down to either side of himself and wrapped his long-clawed mustelid paws around Fey and Alain’s lengths, rubbing them from below in a deceptively firm rhythm. Fey shuddered and thrust his hips forward, even though they could barely move with his butt on the floor. It didn't matter. He needed this.
Cliff grunted, “Now, I said all of you, and I meant it.” And just like that, he pushed Fey back off of him, revealing that pink monster to the world again, and he pulled Hunter down in the Sylveon’s place. Hunter’s paws stiffened and stopped their hard work — understandably, because he had just taken that whole fiery organ deep into his throat, his woefully short Weavile muzzle buried in Cliff’s crotch. Fey was treated to the visual of his new friend getting, effectively, face-fucked right next to him.
Hunter wasn’t as good at stopping his eyes from watering. Fey wondered if the little teardrops were going to freeze on his fur.
Fey kept himself plenty busy, of course. He glanced at Alain over Hunter’s hunched shoulders, and the two of them exchanged a nod. Both Pokémon nosed in to either side of Hunter (with some care from Alain not to hit anyone with the antlers), and they pressed their lips in sync right on the curves of Cliff’s huge ballsack. The Typhlosion rumbled in appreciation and curled his toes while the two males got to work with their tongues, sliding and slurping all over his soft downy fur. The scent of male arousal was overpowering to Fey’s nose. He could barely take it.
He thought he understood now why Cliff was the guy in charge for this group. The Typhlosion just had such a powerful presence. Nobody could stand up to it. Nobody wished to.
And Cliff didn’t stop there. He pleasured himself on Hunter’s mouth for a little while, but then he pulled out and started anew on Alain’s mouth. The deer took it better than either of the others — although with his greater body size and his longer snout, it wasn't exactly a fair contest. He just leaned in and started diligently bobbing along Cliff’s length, much like he had the first time, except now Hunter squirmed under him to take his spot worshiping the badger’s right nut. Already wet, already hot, and just as ready to be kissed by a Weavile.
Fey honestly did his best to pay attention to all these details around him. But the truth was, all he could think about was the beauty of Cliff’s arousal. It was so massive, so terrible. He wanted it down his throat.
And a minute later, he got his wish. Cliff announced briskly, “Gonna cum,” and pulled out of Alain one more time — only to shove Fey’s snout with both paws onto his first few inches of huge erect cock. The flesh had hardened like iron since the last time Fey had touched it, and now the hot tip twitched forcefully in his lips. For a second, Fey thought the twitching was all from Cliff’s heartbeat, but no — it was the first clenches of the badger’s orgasm. Cliff let out a low, moaning sigh, studiously quiet with the open window nearby, and he shivered as his balls twitched against Hunter’s face. A huge, gushing rope of cum leapt into Fey’s waiting mouth, filling it instantly.
“Don’t swallow it all,” Hunter said into Fey’s ear. “I want a taste.”
“Mmmmh?” Fey wondered out loud, without the benefit of words — but he obeyed. The hot, steamy payload filled his mouth to the brim with a weirdly musky, simmering tangy-sweet taste, and with an oppressive amount of volume. He swallowed once, involuntarily, making room for the last of the shots to spill in. Before he knew it, his mouth was full and Cliff’s balls were empty, that spire still twitching gently in its final aftershocks.
He pulled back with his mouth shut tight, admiring not just the curves of the slowly softening cock before his eyes, but also the blissfully satisfied look of pleasure on Cliff’s face. Instantly, Hunter grabbed Fey by the scruff and yanked him into one more kiss.
But this one was different. Because when their mouths opened, all of that built-up cum poured out of Fey’s mouth into Hunter’s. Some of it spilled, thick white strands oozing from their chins, but most made it onto the Weavile’s tongue — which cradled the fluid in a glimmering pool on the way in, all the way to the back of his throat without swallowing. A deft, brisk show of experience. Fey pressed the kiss anyway, slathering his tongue all over Hunter’s, relishing the way that their tastes all mixed together. He wanted more. He needed it. He hadn't finished off yet.
And with nobody playing with his length, maybe finishing off would take a while.
Hunter didn't wait for long. He tilted his head and locked his muzzle together with Fey’s, one short snout sealed tight around the other. His tongue rolled forward, and all of that delicious Typhlosion cum sloshed back into Fey’s mouth, mixed with plenty of Weavile spit. Gone was the near-scalding heat of Cliff’s insides. Instead, the distinctive, tangy fluid poured onto Fey’s tongue thoroughly chilled. Almost freezing. The Sylveon shuddered and lifted his paws at random in a frantic little dance, trying to handle the sudden plunge in temperature inside his mouth.
He hoped he didn't get brain freeze! That was somehow the biggest thought in his mind, or maybe the only one he had room for, other than aching so bad between the legs that he wanted to whine.
Up above, Cliff had just about retired from the action. He fell flat on his back and sprawled out wide on the bed, panting for breath. But Alain had no such satisfaction. The Sawsbuck didn't say a word. He just rested one of his front hooves on Hunter’s shoulder, silently imploring him to share.
Fey got the gist. He snowballed that big full load right back into Hunter’s mouth, then leaned back out of the kiss, wiping his mouth with the back of a paw. “Oh, Arceus,” he breathed. “What was that?”
Hunter, with his mouth visibly very full, held up a single claw to Fey in a silent ‘one moment’ gesture. He turned around, giving Fey a faceful of his feathered red crest, and kissed Alain firmly on the mouth. Fey couldn’t help but join in — his ribbons sneaked down around Hunter’s side and wrapped around both males’ lengths, rubbing intently and helping them get closer to their own satisfaction. The feeling of those two girths throbbing in his grasp made him grin with anticipation, almost to the point of giggling.
Fey expected them both to enjoy it. And they did – Hunter thrust his hips into Fey’s ribbon, and Alain draped his front legs over the smaller male’s shoulders, much like Fey had done before. What the Sylveon didn’t expect was for Alain to finish off from it. That long, thin deer cock jerked hard in his ribbon’s grasp, and a big pent-up orgasm leapt out into the air, pattering audibly on the floorboards next to the bed. There was no stopping it. No controlling it. Fey just kept dutifully rubbing his ribbons up and down both lengths until the orgasm subsided, and his two partners broke away from the kiss.
Alain leaned back and put his front feet on the floor, trembling deeply. Maybe a little too deeply.
“Oh fuck,” he sighed, his eyes flashing wide. “I can’t… I can’t hold the shape anymore.”
“Wh-umghf —” Fey started to speak, only to realize that his throat was still clogged up with
Typhlosion gunk. He swallowed and coughed a couple times. “Umm. What does he mean?”
“He means he’s only taking the shape of a Sawsbuck,” explained Hunter, leaning back against the opposite bed. “He’s actually a Ditto.”
Fey blinked. “What?”
But it was too late to ask more questions. The ‘deer’ in front of him collapsed onto the floor, and all of those limbs and antlers and ears and every single distinct feature melted together like modeling clay. The colors all reverted smoothly to a uniform pink, a curious gelatinous blob on the floor, no larger than the ball that had hit Fey in the face earlier. Two dot-like eyes and a flat line of a mouth appeared on the front.
“Holy moly, you were not kidding,” Fey said, laughing in disbelief. “What the heck!”
The little Ditto spat out a burnished dark Aurum gear onto the floor and said, “There we go.
Where were we?”
Hunter and Cliff both looked right at him on the floor, suddenly attentive.
“First of all: Thank you, Fey. And the both of you as well. That was a lovely climax.” Alain paused, letting the terse words of praise sink in. “Second: I'm not done yet. We have a lot of fun ahead of us still today. So I have a little question for you, Fey. How do you feel about getting a
little weird?”
As Alain talked, Fey’s initial surprise gave way to a much deeper curiosity. He didn’t actually know how many Dittos were on campus. They were shapeshifters in the truest sense, not illusionists like Zoroarks. That meant they tended to blend into the crowd, perfectly obvious to their friends and colleagues, but invisible to everybody else. Alain could have been the only one in his class, or maybe one in fifty.
Fey murmured, “I did have a class with you sometime, didn’t I? That’s what I was thinking earlier. Something about your voice.”
“I spent most of last year as an Infernape during classes,” the little pink creature said. “Nothing special about it. I just wanted to be able to hold a pen easier. This year I’m doing more fieldwork, so — heavy lifting. Sawsbuck it is.”
The possibilities flitted rapid-fire through Fey’s mind. A Pokémon who could imitate any species they came in contact with — even right here in the room, they had a couple of astonishingly sexy options. Fey wondered how it would feel to be double-teamed by a pair of hulking Typhlosions, or by a pair of slender Weaviles.
Or…
“Oh, you’re thinking it already, aren’t you?” Alain’s thin, featureless line of a mouth pulled into a smirk. “You’re wondering the same thing everybody does when they realize what I offer. You’re wondering what you look like from the outside.”
The Sylveon’s knees went weak. He had been seen through, just like that. But he couldn’t keep the shamelessly excited grin off of his face. “Yeeee-es,” he admitted, the single word wobbling its way off his lips. “I am wondering.”
Alain’s smirk turned the Ditto version of wicked. “In that case, let me enlighten you.”
It was strange, watching how the amorphous little blob’s body grew and changed. Like the melting transformation out of the Sawsbuck look just now, but in reverse. The colors happened first: an artist’s palette of white, mint green, blue and pink, swirling seemingly at random. The mass expanded out and took a four-legged feral form, and all the undulating currents of color slid into position as Alain’s body solidified as a cute, soft-furred, literally starry-eyed Sylveon. The last details to form were the smallest: the green heart on the right shoulder, and the white butterfly pattern on the ribbon below his throat. He grinned with his brand new mouth, and his pointed teeth glinted in the sunlight.
While Fey stood stock-still in amazement, Alain reached out with a ribbon and plucked the Aurum gear necklace from Fey’s neck, sliding it onto his own head without a hint of struggle. The getup was complete.
Fey’s mouth opened silently. For once, his words had failed him. So had his small but powerful vocabulary of canine body language. The creature looking at him now was just… Fey himself. A little different than he had expected, a little softer and fluffier, and not quite right in the face — all of the tiny asymmetries that Fey filtered out whenever he saw himself in the mirror were much more obvious now. This was how he looked to the rest of the world, not himself.
What did he say to something like this? What did he do?
Alain broke the silence first. He said in Fey’s own voice, “I could try acting like you, but I usually need longer than an afternoon to get a good impression of someone.” And again, it didn't seem quite right! His voice was so high up in the nose, not back in the throat like Fey thought of himself as speaking.
Fey scrambled for words. “Uh, uhhhh, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery?”
Alain grinned. “Yeah. Consider yourself flattered. This is exactly how you look, this is exactly how you sound. I might not be able to nail down exactly how you talk, but if you’d just step in, I can take a shot at exactly how you kiss.”
The blush that swept over Fey’s cheeks heated his face up to the point of burning under his fur.
He stood up, his tail wagging furiously, and he stepped closer with wide, wondering eyes. There was one more thing about Alain that didn’t match up: the expression. That cool, casual smirk, perfectly happy in control of the moment. That was a new look for Fey’s sweet, soft Sylveon face.
Hunter, meanwhile, climbed up onto the bed beside Cliff. He massaged the prone Typhlosion’s chest idly with one paw as he smiled back and said, “I don't know, Alain. I don't think you're gonna blend into a crowd with this look.”
“I don't have to blend in.” Alain sniffed mirthfully as he stepped in close, winding a ribbon around the inside of Fey’s front leg. He still looked just like Fey! Down to the last strand of fur! But there was no mistaking the smooth, mischievous confidence on that face. “I never seem to hold onto the shape after I cum anyway.”
Fey whimpered in delight as the Ditto’s ribbon slid to his hind leg, then dipped in between to caress his aching erection. That was one last difference between them, he realized. He had never lost his desperate hardness. Alain, who had just climaxed, was starting his arousal from a dead stop. That sheath down there had looked completely dormant — although now it engorged visibly with the start of a perfect facsimile of Fey’s own canine member. Just the pink tip pointing out, teasing him with lustful possibility.
He asked, “What next?”
“Well, I’ll tell you this right now. Whatever is coming next, we're not gonna do it on the floor.” Alain jerked his head towards the unoccupied bed on Fey’s left — the one that he had originally climbed onto as a Sawsbuck. “Hop up there.”
Fey leapt from the floor onto the bed in one single bound. He rolled onto his side and pushed the balled-up blanket out of the way just as Alain jumped up after him. Across from them, Hunter was kneeling with his legs wide apart astride Cliff’s face, fidgeting and grasping at the Typhlosion’s paws with his big icy talons as a fiery tongue penetrated him. They seemed like they would be nice and busy for a little while.
“I’m gonna mount you here and now,” Alain murmured, using a single paw to roll Fey onto his back. He stepped over the Sylveon with all four legs, smiling down at him with just as much eagerness as slyness. His cock had poked out of its sheath in a nice little pink lipstick bud — rapidly growing out as he got ready. “You’re a real cutie, you know that? Everyone could use a little more self-love. Cliff and Hunter know what I’m talking about.” Hunter looked bashfully away, still riding Cliff’s muzzle.
In hindsight, Fey wasn't sure how he had even gotten the idea that Cliff was the most dominant presence in the room. Alain had been in charge from the beginning. He just hadn't realized how deep that authority went.
Because now, there was nothing to do but lie back and take it. Fey was a willing captive under Alain’s effortless control. His paws, tucked in against his chest, were pinned there by the Ditto’s furred forelegs. The scents of sex wreathed him on the bed, suffusing his deepest nerves with the accumulated pheromones of days or weeks of humping and grinding. He’d never been so pointedly aware of the proximity of someone’s body to his — so close but not quite touching. So open, so ready to play, but hovering just out of reach.
Well, maybe there was a little something Fey could do. He wrapped his ribbons around the back of Alain’s neck and pulled the shape-changed fairy down into one more kiss.
It was different this time. Alain didn’t just look and sound like Fey — he felt and even smelled and tasted like the Sylveon, so vividly exact that when the two Pokémon met in the middle, Fey experienced the dizzying, vertigo-inducing sensation of being outside his own body. The tongue that met Fey’s was a perfect match for the taste and feel of his mouth, to the point that it tasted almost like nothing.
But from there, the differences gradually sank in. Just like Alain spoke unlike Fey, he made out unlike Fey too. He shoved his tongue eagerly, almost rudely into Fey’s mouth, swirling and probing like he was already out to penetrate the Sylveon’s body, even though all they had done was kiss. His breaths washed over Fey’s face, hot and heavy through flared nostrils. The pressure of arousal in the fairy’s lower reaches, which had paused during their transition to the bed, woke right back up.
And soon, Alain gradually lowered himself down. His chest touched Fey’s first, a firm reassuring pressure that pinned Fey warmly on the bed. But the real pleasure began when he lowered his hips. His cock, pointed at the end and knotted at the base just like Fey’s, rested directly alongside the original, pinning both lengths between their bellies. That wasn't a surprise.
A smooth, prehensile ribbon slithered in between them and wrapped around both of their cocks, first above the knots in a single loop, then below them in a skillful figure-8. It drew tight and stayed that way. That part was a surprise.
Fey let out a long, shuddering moan into the kiss while Alain started thrusting. It was all he could do to match the pace of the motions, bucking his hips upward and grinding into their soft, perfectly matched underbellies. The real kicker was the pressure on the base of his knot — telling his brain that he was already inside something, already tied. It made him want to cum.
But first, there was the entire rest of his buildup.
He realized before long that Alain was exploring the same body in two different ways. While the Ditto settled down over him and pinned him tight, he wasn’t just feeling Fey up close. He was enjoying the feelings of being a Sylveon — one with Fey’s exact quirks, from the tips of his soft green ears to the tip of his thick pink shaft. There was no detail, no innermost pocket of sensation too intimate for Alain to share with him.
Their cocks had grown so intensely hard already, it was difficult just to keep them side by side. The knots were too wide. Alain ended up putting the crest of his knot against the base of Fey’s, staggered just enough to press the bulk of their pulsing shafts together. If those heated, throbbing twitches had been any more alike, they would have been twitching in unison. Once again, that feeling of being outside his own body dominated Fey’s senses. A dizzying sensation of absolute familiarity with the cock pressed up against his — an instinct that told Fey that the length of flesh, like the whole four-legged body attached to it, really belonged to Fey himself. But it was wielded instead by his partner. All that intimate detail was being used deliciously against him.
It wasn't just new. For a little moment there, the Sylveon lost track of where he lay — of what he was doing, and how it felt. There was only the pluperfect match of their bodies, intertwined and locked tight in the embrace of those ribbons. And Fey didn’t know if he felt romantic or narcissistic for loving Alain’s new form so, so much.
But one thing was for sure: His climax was coming in fast. There was no escaping the pressure behind his knot. Fey had been building up momentum ever since he had stepped into the dorm room and seen Cliff casually display himself on the bed. That first glance at the Typhlosion’s balls felt like an eternity ago. Now his pressure was all between him and Alain.
“Oh, man,” he breathed, in between hot deep presses of their tonguing kiss. “What if I finish off right here?”
“Do it,” urged the Ditto. He grinned with his cute little black button of a nose right against Alain’s. “I mean, after all, I’m gonna.”
And sure enough, Alain’s cock had grown just as rock-hard as Fey’s, twitching just as desperately, even though he had already enjoyed a release mere minutes before. It didn't matter. He was already charged up, so virile and energized that he could have been holding it in all week. Just feeling that rhythmic twitch against his cock, against his belly, stole Fey’s attention.
Fey, to his delight, climaxed first. He had been building up for so long, he almost hadn’t expected to get his turn yet. He shuddered again, wrapping Alain tightly down against him with all four limbs, and he finally broke out of the kiss in order to tuck his snout in against the Ditto’s sloping shoulder. His balls twitched hard, and his knot bulged obscenely, filling in the shoulder above Alain’s own knot as his loins churned into furious action.
Warmth surged up out of his balls. Liquid volume flooded through the underside of his shaft. And wetness spilled all into the crease of fur between their bellies. The underlying sensation, the hair-raising crescendo in his nerves, was electrifying. He shot his load so hard that he heard the noise — a sticky, fluid dribble — even over the sound of his own breathy moans. If they could hear him outside in the quad, he didn’t care.
His nose pressed against the mint-green heart in the white fur of Alain’s shoulder during the act — and he wondered for a split second if that was how it felt for everybody else, getting up close and personal with his many decorations. He wondered if he would ever see his own heart outline quite the same way. Because now it wasn’t just his own decoration. It was part of the magic.
Alain orgasmed just a moment later. The way his knot bulged against Fey’s balls, and his shaft lengthened out to its utmost between them, was just as precisely familiar as the long buildup of arousal first. He sighed, rather than moaned, in pleasure — a much more discreet enjoyment of his release than Fey just now. But his payload shot out hard, every bit as messy as Fey’s, and the sound was much wetter, liquid shooting into liquid. The warm wetness spread until white droplets rolled down Fey’s sides onto the mattress.
Belatedly, as Fey cooled down from his own climax, he wondered how many stains his load would join on the sheet. Clearly, none of his companions now cared much about washing away their dorm room’s badges of honor.
“That was incredible,” the Sylveon murmured. His tail started to wag again.
Over on the other bed, Hunter had sat back behind Cliff’s head. A few brand-new white ribbons of fluid decorated the badger’s chest, gently steaming with the sudden change from cold to hot. The mustelid smiled wearily and raised a leaden paw in acknowledgment of Fey’s beautiful deed, while Cliff stayed exactly where he was on the bed, no longer sporting any arousal to speak of. It took Fey a moment to notice the white dribbles down Hunter’s chin and chest. He hadn't even noticed when Cliff had finished off — but apparently, he had.
Alain pushed himself up on unsteady feet, withdrawing his ribbon from his and Fey’s spent cocks with a sigh. The breathless frown on his face mixed exhaustion with urgency. “Whew. Well, I'm going to just relax a second now… I’m good, I just need to…”
Before Fey could really process what he had just heard, Alain settled down again on his front — and promptly melted. Just like earlier on the floor, when he had cast off his Sawsbuck form and reverted to the original. But this time, the whole thing happened on Fey’s chest. The seeming Sylveon withdrew into a prehensile, putty-like blob of colors that sat heavily on Fey’s cum-streaked belly, right underneath the ribcage. For a second, it felt like the blob was going to soak right into his fur. But instead, the colors wiped away in favor of uniform pink, and the minimalistic eyes and mouth of Alain’s face popped back into existence one by one.
“Hey,” Fey said to the strange little creature perching on his belly.
“Hey yourself,” said Alain, smiling ever so wide, while the now-discarded Aurum gear slid down onto the sheets. He wiggled side to side, rolling his pseudopod-like outer extremities like a liquid sex toy over Fey’s bare flesh. The feeling teetered on the very verge of overstimulation. “I hope you're having fun, because we're not done yet.”
Fey grinned. “Heck yeah. That's what I love to hear. See, most people would stop by now!”
“Just because everybody had at least one turn shooting a load? C’mon. I'm still getting to know you. This is all just one big extended introduction. And I want to learn about you inside and out. So far, I've mostly focused and the ‘out.’”
The Sylveon squinted curiously, tilting his head as he tried to figure out the innuendo he was obviously being served.
Alain rolled in close and loomed on top of Fey’s chest. That comically simplistic face had never looked more smugly sensual. “I’m going to get myself inside you. All of me. No shape-changing, no tricks. Just you, me, and every last feeling of your body.”
Before Fey could puzzle out the slightest detail about what he had just heard, he blurted out, “Can you really do that?”
“You bet I can.” Alain leaned back in satisfaction, as best a creature like him could. “It won’t hurt a bit. In fact, all you really need to do is lie still and relax. I already have access to everything I need.”
Now Fey lit up with a knowing little smile of his own. He asked, “You’re definitely not thinking about jumping down my throat, are you?”
“Not so much.”
Fey wasn't sure what to expect. He had imagined a difficult process, maybe a serious stretch. Something that would really push his limits. Because whenever somebody said something like, ‘It won’t hurt a bit,’ they really just wanted to brace the other person for a rough ride.
But he didn't get one. Alain’s body rolled up and narrowed into a pink liquid snake, and he poured himself off Fey’s front like an iron chain out of a bucket, cascading down past the fairy’s balls to push straight into the muscular hole underneath. Fey relaxed his muscles instinctively, but it was barely necessary. The Ditto didn't just insert into him — he flooded in, pouring all of that amorphous volume into Fey’s rear end without ever opening up the hole beyond perhaps half an inch. The living liquid surface tickled his puckered star on the way inside, only to morph and fit smoothly to the contours of his inner passage. And it raced in deep, so deep, pushing open his walls far beyond the reach of any appendage from any ordinary creature. An otherworldly sensation.
Just like that, Alain was inside him. Fey’s hole squeezed shut just as swiftly as it had opened up.
The only evidence of the Ditto from the outside was a subtle roundness to Fey’s cum-soaked belly — and a rekindled hardness in the fairy’s shaft. It almost wasn't even fair. He had just enjoyed such a big finish, and now the deep, heavy pressure inside him focused all on his prostate, forcing his body into a sudden state of arousal before his mind had even caught up.
Hunter exclaimed, “Nice! … Hey, can I give you a little hand with that?”
Fey blinked a couple of times in surprise. He looked down at his full midriff, the growing pink cock just above it, then back at Hunter with a bemused smile. “Hey, um, there's a Ditto inside me.”
“I know.” The Weavile moved past Cliff, slid down to the floor and climbed up on the bed right next to Fey, putting his naturally slinky agility to use. He knelt down and rested his talons right on the Sylveon’s belly, right where it was roundest. “You can get pretty busy in there. But there's nothing like a little help on the outside to push things along. Wouldn't you agree?”
“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Fey said. He paused. “Heck yes, I agree. Whatever you wanna do, I am so, so for it.”
“What I want to do? No.” Hunter shook his head, smiling down at Fey. “You should think about what Alain wants to do. All I really want to do is get close and watch.”
Fey opened his mouth and drew in a breath, ready to ask Hunter what that meant. After all, there wasn't a lot to look at on the outside — Alain had just slipped completely inside his body.
The only thing to observe was his full belly, which looked pretty featureless to him.
Then Alain moved.
It wasn’t like another male’s cock, pushing in and out along a straight axis. It didn’t grind, didn’t gyrate, didn't even throb or pulse. Alain moved with complete flexibility inside Fey’s belly, rippling and undulating with deep peristaltic waves that pressed rhythmically along Fey’s sensitive prostate. The Sylveon gasped in pleasure and arched his back, but he could have moved anywhere he wanted. He could have lain perfectly still, or he could have sat up and started making out with Hunter again — or he could have gotten out of bed and fled the room. It didn't matter. That Ditto was locked inside him, perfectly secure and using his inner passage like a little playground. Every time those ripples pressed in, Fey twitched his muscles, and his cock twitched with them.
Hunter smiled ever so slightly and started petting Fey’s belly with his icy talons. Just a soft, gentle ruffle, politely avoiding the increasingly rigid member just inches away from his wrist. He murmured, “Oh, yes. This is another thing that our Ditto friend is known for. I kind of wish Cliff were able to get up off his back and join us, because he's much better at the teasing than I am.”
“Gimme a minute,” Cliff grunted, still lying on his back. He waved a paw vaguely in the air.
The Weavile went on, “Instead, I think I just want to enjoy some nice quality time with my new Sylveon friend here. Look at you. Look how cute you are.” His smile grew as he kept on petting.
“You’re a sweet little thing. I’m so glad you came back up here with us.”
“Aaa-aahh,” moaned Fey. He was sure he had something more to say, but whatever he had been thinking, it didn't matter now. His body was occupied, literally, and now his mind was lost along with it. All he could do was keep his front paws tucked in and present his belly for petting. Which he didn't mind in the slightest. Hunter’s claws felt remarkably cool and refreshing on his skin, dragging through his fur in a repeating, predictable stroke along the grain. For all the difference that the grain of his fur made when his belly fur was so fluffy and soft.
He liked being pet. He liked being loved on so much. And, he decided, he liked this little trio of friends. They treated him right.
And Alain wasn’t done. A thin, liquid tendril poked back out the way he’d come, then a second, then a third. Soft, squishy pseudopods, effortless to squeeze down on — until they suddenly exerted a force of their own. The three tendrils hardened into hooks of smooth Ditto flesh, and they spread outward in a triangle, pulling Fey’s anal ring wide open until he gasped and stiffened like a top had just mounted him.
“That’s…” Fey trailed off. He didn't even know how to finish his own sentence.
“That it is,” Hunter agreed with a sly smile.
And just when Fey started to wonder why it was three hooks instead of a solid flared base, the hooks started revolving in place.
It wasn't the powerful, brisk experience he expected. Those soft little hooks from Alain’s body didn't slide or twist, they didn't create any new friction against his hole — but instead, they rolled within that tight space, turning so that they presented new faces to Fey’s inner ring as they pressed ahead. It wasn't a fast movement, either, but a slow, fractionally careful thing, like rotating the last few degrees of a combination lock. No single part of Fey’s ring had the chance to feel too stretched out, because it was constantly moving. And it was moving in a way that no other living creature had ever manipulated his body.
There was a good chance he wouldn't need Hunter’s help to finish off. Nobody needed to touch his length to help it along. The bulbous knot at his base already protruded from his sheath, standing out as plain as could be in the warm air of the bedroom. He could have wrapped his own prehensile ribbons around it, squeezed the base just like Alain had, but there was no need.
The pressure on his prostate alone could have gotten him all the rest of the way. Now that the Ditto was playing with his entrance on top of that, there was nothing left for Fey to wonder after.
“There we go,” crooned Hunter. He must have noticed what was going on down below with
Alain. Or maybe he just noticed the obvious from Fey’s cock. “Now we're getting somewhere.” The mustelid scooted up on the bed to sit next to Fey’s shoulders. His right paw stayed exactly where it was, gliding down Fey’s belly — and the other paw came down to rest right between his ears, petting smoothly along the top and back of the Sylveon’s head. That combination of sensations melted the rest of his reserves, and he closed his eyes gratefully, basking in the constant affection from inside and out. He could have stayed like this all day if his body had the stamina.
Fey’s tail had started wagging again. In this posture, that just meant that it swept from side to side along the bedsheets. He didn't fight it. He didn't fight anything. He was exactly where he needed to be.
The real mystery was how Alain managed to perform so many moves together. No amorphous creature deserved to be so well-coordinated. Even while those three hooks kept on stretching and pulling at Fey’s hole in that slow steady revolution, the entire rest of his body stayed hard at work. He undulated his body from end to end, sending wide, heavy bulges up the length of his body like he was moving himself deeper, except — maybe thanks to those lovely, pesky hooks — the Ditto stayed exactly where he was. Every single bulge passed over Fey’s prostate, pushing firmly with enough pressure to make him feel the subtle, silky enormity of Alain’s real strength. This creature could have done anything inside him. Could have stretched him vastly wider, could have dove improbably deeper. But he stayed put. He worked Fey from the inside.
And the fireworks show of sensations stretched Fey’s imagination just as much as his muscles.
“You’re such a good dog,” Hunter said with a grin.
Fey whined.
And just a moment later, his climax overtook him.
The first starburst of tingling orgasmic sensation spread all the way up to his face. Fey’s legs tensed, and his back arched above the bedding, and everything electrified inside him as the first clench of his climax squeezed hard against Alain’s hooks. He wanted to pinch those things in! He wanted to tug them inside him and hold on tight! But Alain kept him stubbornly spread open, so that when Fey’s muscles squeezed in, they met an impassable obstacle. A delay to his pleasure. An external force holding the floodgates open for unnaturally long.
He was about to let himself moan, louder than he had ever let himself in this room, when Hunter leaned down and kissed him right on the mouth. Not just a meeting of their tongues in the middle, but a fierce clasp of his cool ice-type lips over Fey’s, muffling the noise just as it came out. All he could do was shudder and twitch under Hunter’s kiss — and under those cold, satisfying talons on his skin.
But the climax itself couldn't be stopped. All of that pressure came rushing up out of Fey’s balls, and his first shot of cum lanced out just a split second later. Sticky wetness landed all over his belly, all up his throat and chin, even some on Hunter’s cheek. The next shot flung past his shoulder and landed audibly on the soft fabric bedding — one more stain to join the rest of them. After that, his payload coursed out generously, fiercely, wracking Fey’s body with a hammer-blow pulse of deliciously futile squeezes around Alain’s willful girth. Every squeeze came with another shot of seed, and he didn't care where they landed anymore. The pressure of Alain’s form inside of him, along his prostate and all through his walls, drove the entire orgasm so hard that Fey didn’t just cum — he lost track of time. He lost track of himself. He was just an animal, writhing in the throes of climactic ecstasy, at the mercy of Alain’s impossible affections. He was everything he needed to be.
He didn't notice a single point where the release ended. Gradually, the spurts of cum reduced to dribbles, then to dry aftershocks as his muscles kept on squeezing for another little while. And just as gradually, the pressure within his body stopped pushing back so hard, or maybe it was that his muscles stopped squeezing so hard to begin with. Either way, Hunter rose back up out of the kiss with another smile, leaving Fey to observe the results.
“Hey,” Hunter said cheerfully, finally raising his paws to wipe the single streak of white goo off his cheek. He licked his talon clean and added, “You look good.”
Because Fey had just redecorated his entire front with a lashing, avant-garde spatter of glistening white. He stared down at it in disbelief — the sheer volume of his load defied his expectations of his own limits. It was like Cliff had come over and jerked out a Typhlosion-sized wad on his front. But no, the culprit was right in front of him: his own twitching pink cock, the knot still blatantly engorged even though his member was sensitive and softening. A final drop of white drooled from his tip.
Before he could formulate an answer, Alain slipped out of the Sylveon’s rear just as easily as he had entered. He didn't even stretch out the hole any more on the way. He just gathered up on the bedding, briefly sitting right on top of Fey’s wagging tail (and pinning it in place), before he rolled up past Fey’s spent arousal onto his belly. It was like being licked clean by a single, giant tongue. The Ditto scooped up all the mess with his underside, just by rolling over it, leaving behind damp but somewhat cleaner fur in his wake. He only stopped when he was perched right on top of Fey’s chest.
“W-hi there,” Fey stammered, unsure what to even say.
“And hi to you too,” murmured the soft, squishy pink Ditto, just as smooth and suave as ever. He flashed that sneaky little smile of his. “Although I think I'm far past the point of giving you any greetings. I just learned a lot about you.”
“Like what?” Fey asked, before he could hold back his own words.
“Like, you're not just a Sylveon with fancy fur. You’re a sweetie.” Alain reached out another pseudopod and ruffled Fey’s chin, which turned out to actually be him wiping up the last of the mess on the fairy’s fur. “You… are so easy to work with. Everything is right there to handle. I didn't have to fight to get you to enjoy any of my moves in there. I felt how your heart raced and your breath caught. I felt the way your muscles tensed up. Not just during the big cum, but even before that, when you were building up. I knew pretty early on that we could get you to finish without touching your cock. And it worked!”
Fey’s ears tilted back. A blush crept up under the white fur of his face. He had plenty of experience behind him, but the things that Alain mentioned now weren’t just the reactions he showed the world. They were things he barely understood about his own body and mind. The Ditto wasn’t kidding — he really did have a deep understanding of Fey’s inner workings. Physically and otherwise.
“Oh, and this belongs to you.” Alain reached beside himself and lifted up the cord of Fey’s Aurum gear. Hunter took it in his claws and carefully lowered the cord around Fey’s head, returning the icon to its rightful spot on his chest.
“Thanks,” breathed Fey, smiling and nodding gratefully at the Ditto on top of him. “What now?”
Alain tilted his body in a good-natured shrug. “Now, I’m feeling pretty satisfied. It's not as obvious when I’m like this, but I am actually capable of orgasming while I'm in this form. It doesn't involve sex organs, but it’s very sensual, and I had one while I was inside you just now. It was extremely gratifying.”
“Nice,” Hunter beamed. “I was wondering if you’d managed to get off in there.”
Fey shook his head wonderingly. He still had a lot to learn about these three Pokémon. But he felt like he was learning quickly.
Cliff sat up with a low, rumbling groan. He stretched out his arms and looked to the window, still wide open and streaming sunlight into the room. “Well, I don't know about all of you, but it's still amazing outside today. I want to get up and move.”
“Well, we could go back out to the quad,” offered Hunter. “I'm pretty sure that ball is still downstairs. We can just grab it and go.”
Alain looked down at Fey. His smile turned softer as he slid off Fey’s chest to sit on the bedisde. “Hey, want to come outside with us for a little while? We can get some water or something first. Whatever you need.”
“Well…” Fey took the opportunity to roll onto his front, then sit upright on the mattress, looking at his three new acquaintances. “First of all, thank you for all of this! That was amazing. I knew I was in for a fun time, but I don't think I really understood how fun until we were in the middle of it.”
“You’re welcome,” said Cliff, and the other two echoed his sentiment.
“Second, I would absolutely love to join you all outside.”
Cliff nodded. “I’ll try to keep the ball away from your face.” Hunter snorted. The Typhlosion didn't dignify that with a reaction.
“Third…” Fey looked down at the pink blob sitting innocently next to him on the bed. “You’re not going to stay looking like this, are you? What species are you going to mimic when we go back out?”
Alain looked back up at him. That smile turned into a crafty smirk. “Take a guess.”