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Shortstack Kirlia Have Rights?	By : Tastatura Category: Pokemon > General Views: 65812 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This is a fictional story. I do not own Pokemon. I make no money from writing this. Any resemblance to person(s) living or dead is purely coincidental. Love your pal Jesus.

Chapter List
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Depression and listlessness, though common in un-evolved adult-age SEPH, were feelings that Arthur believed himself to be immune to.

From his perspective, both of these feelings were by-products of dissatisfaction. Whether with regard to one’s life as a whole, financial freedom, romantic entanglements or otherwise, dissatisfaction with any of these areas was typically enough to lower one’s perceived quality of life.

In his experience, there were few exceptions to this rule. The loss of living quality endured by dissatisfied individuals led the majority of his observed ‘examples’ to feelings of self-loathing, thereby spawning depression and further dissatisfaction with their lots in life. As a result of their depression, these individuals began to perceive themselves as powerless to change the complexion of their lives, and thusly became listless.

To a point, the phenomenon was all too simple; a tragic, but easily understood affliction unique to those whose lives were not to their liking.

As a member of society, Arthur believed offering help to these individuals and reminding them of the good things about their lives to be a part of his civic duty. As well, he often took it upon himself to observe those that seemed to be ‘down in the dumps’ so as to better equip himself for helping others in the future.

Never once did it occur to the Ralts that he too might one day feel depressed and unsettled. Such was the quality of his life—a life spent with a loving wife, two adorable daughters, and a boy kind and selfless enough to ease the daily pain induced by his inability to sire a son—that feelings such as these seemed utterly foreign to him. By the definition he had crafted, he would live his life totally immune to their onset and free from the pain that accompanied them.

Much to his surprise, the preceding few months of his life and their off-color contents had forced his definition to change. How and why remained beyond him even in the present, but the fact that his internal definition had been altered remained totally apparent to him.

Something had happened; otherwise, the feelings of depression and unsettlement that had crept into his heart would never have found their way inside of him.

Initially, he mistook these feelings for a temporary affliction caused by the monotony of his work. Sitting at a desk and reviewing financial documentation on a computer had never been extremely enjoyable for him. It put food on his family’s table and maintained their comfort with ease, yet each day he spent within his branch office was a day that he wished he could spend with his wife and daughters. Viewed like this, being overtaken by a temporary lack of fulfillment could be normalized as an inevitability of some kind.

If inevitable, Arthur’s dissatisfaction was hardly temporary. As time passed, the responsibilities allocated to his position and the recognition that he earned from them only increased. Kaona praised him. Suya asked for larger birthday presents. Aya pestered him for details about his job for a show-and-tell day at school. Even his coworkers—both human and SEPH—came to regard him as a capable (but quiet) member of their organization.

Yet he felt nothing. Day by day, he only felt worse—as though the irksome worry nestled within his chest had sprouted tendrils in search of his very soul (that’s such a gay passage b). No amount of support or recognition seemed liable to remove these feelings from his heart, and no amount of investigation as to their cause(s) seemed likely to uncover a solution. Soon enough, their weight became so cumbersome—so innate that he began to believe that these feelings would persist in him forever.

As a boy, Arthur would have succumbed to these feelings without once looking into their origins. The Arthur of the present, a man slightly more capable and made sturdy by his family, was unwilling to accept such a reality.

Thus, he began to think.

Given that the state of his life lacked anything that warranted long-term depression, he reasoned that the ‘cause’ for his affliction was both known and unknown to him. Not known to his conscious mind, but known to his psychic capacity as a Pokemon.

According to this theory, any given part of his life as it was could be the cause for his feelings. Such a wide breadth of possibilities aided him very little in his search for palliative solutions for the negative emotions that plagued him. What it did provide was direction: Someone or something around him had become warped.

Of this he was certain.

-

ARTHUR’S OFFICE- THE AVERAGE WORKDAY—EARLY FALL

One keystroke at a time, Arthur produced, and subsequently logged calculations derived from a weeks’ worth of significant business transactions. Collar unbuttoned and headpiece shielded eyes bored into his desktop monitor, his fatigued frame manipulated his mouse and keyboard such that the process remained as speedy and automatic as it had some hours prior.

He did not do so unobstructed. Whilst relatively secluded at his desk and supported by the standing photograph of his family at its corner, chatter from his coworkers across the office served as a constant obstruction for his internal processes. Attempting to deafen himself via concentration accomplished nothing; the volume at which their conversation was held ensured that every word of it reached his ears.

Strictly speaking, obstruction was not something that he minded. The nature of modern, open-concept office spaces was such that a certain amount of noise pollution was to be expected. Additionally, people were people; his thoughtless addiction to completing his work in a timely manner was an exception amongst employees as opposed the rule.

Nevertheless, he could not help but wish for his coworkers to speak amongst one another more quietly.

“Bro, my nigga, I swear to god, man, her ass was crazy. I would not lie to you, dog. When have I ever lied to you, b?” a suited Buzzswole suggested.

Speaking through a mouth indiscernible to the naked eye, the massive orange male raised both of his hands and gestured with them to emphasize his speech.

“It was like thiiiis wide and the kid somehow totally drenched it in jizz. I’m not gay for telling you this—that’s how fucking impressive it was, b.” whilst speaking, he spread his palms away from one another to convey the span referenced by his utterance. Given the outward slant of his wrists and their distance from one another, a pair of especially-wide beach balls seemed to be the gesture’s intended conveyance. “I can show you the video right now. They have a bunch of them in. Some of them have some wild, racist shit to them, but they’re all so tight, b.”

“You think I’m joking? Actually, fuck this—Johnson, let me use your keyboard for a second…”

Johnson, a Gallade owning a sleek, gelled manipulation of his green headpiece*(hair) and an impressive build for his species, chuckled at his co-worker’s suggestion. Sliding over to allow the larger Pokemon the space that he required, he afterwards shook his head in amused anticipation of the video he would soon observe.

“Bro, how is this not gay? You’re describing a little kid caking jizz onto a girl’s ass, man. That’s fucking gay, bro.”

“No it’s not, nigga.” retorted Michaels . “I know you seen some wild shit yourself—you just won’t talk about it. The fact that I will is PROOF that I’m straight.”

“No, man. You're not--No one normal does this, you faggot.” chuckling heartily, Johnson continued shaking his head as he spoke. “Since when are you even into this shit? I always thought you only liked human girls and Pheromosa?”

Rolling his numerous eyes in derision, Michaels continued his search without taking his eyes off of the monitor ahead of them.

As he worked, Johnson’s eyes wandered between the monitor screen and the office space surrounding his desk. Well aware, and yet entirely indifferent to the less-than-ethical nature of watching a pornographic video at work, he kept watch more so for his coworker’s sake than anyone else’s.

By sheer coincidence, one of these sweeps brought him into eye-contact with another of his coworkers. Though brief, the identity of this individual drove him up from his seat and into a confident stride over to his location.

Once adjacent to his desk, he smiled, and held out his hand in invitation.

“Art,Art,Art, you’ve got to check this out, man.” Johnson admonished. “I know you’ve got that report you’ve got to finish, but we’re all just fucking around right now anyway. No one is going to bust your balls if you take a break for a bit.”

Mildly flustered by his coworker’s approach, Arthur raised his hands in front of his chest and waved them back and forth in a display of defensive tenseness. No part of him wished to watch the video that Michaels had mentioned—this much could be inferred from the anxiety sewn into his profile. Claiming as much at this point was difficult, however. His gaze had lingered in Johnson’s direction for far too long, and past this, his relationship with the larger Pokemon was a positive one.

“A-Ah, t-that’s ok. I’m good—you guys h-have fu—“

Suddenly, Arthur found himself upright. Peeled from his seat by Johnson’s dominant hand, the larger Pokemon dragged him across the office as cordially as one could be dragged. Forced to toddle behind him like a child behind a parent, his frame followed along with his intent without hesitation.

His touch was one devoid of malice. Though they were both adults, struggling against such a placid invitation seemed pointless.

Soon enough, he found himself sandwiched between two of his coworkers in front of a monitor that was not his own.

“Yo, you just in time, b!” greeted Micheals. “Man, fuck you, Johnson. Acting like I’m weird for peeping this shit—even Art is tryna see this!”

Affirming his position to Arthur’s right, Johnson shook his head.

“Nah, you’re still fucked—Arthur’s only here because invited him.” he chuckled. “Anyway, you wanna go ahead and play the thing already? I’m down to risk my job for this, but sitting around wasting time is just asking to get caught.”

Evidently more interested in the video than further bantz with his co-worker, Michaels held his non-existent tongue. First drawing his mouse up to the play-button of the host website’s borderline non-functional, he clicked it, and subsequently retreated from the desktop’s front and center.

Sliding back into a crouched position in closer proximity to Arthur’s frame, a childish excitement overtook him.

“God, I love chilling with my boys, nigga!” he bellowed. “You faggots are going to go wild over this BEST BELIEVE. This is going to be tight!”

Strangely, Arthur agreed. At last a part of a male-bonding activity that did not involve his abuse, his feelings of discomfort were matched by feelings of belonging. Stoked by Michaels’ outbursts, the depression hidden away within his heart was eclipsed, and his awkwardness around others ameliorated.

He had found nirvana. Rather, it was granted to him. From the moment that Michaels initiated the video he had lauded to the instant its fade-in came to an end, the world was a place that the Ralts wished to be.

And then it wasn’t. One second of the video’s contents was all that was required to thrust Arthur back into the nervous abyss that he had struggled to escape.

One second, and a single, smiling face…

MAN, ARTHUR IS MY BOY. MANS WORKED SO HARD TO GET WHERE HE IS AND NOW HE’S GETTING DONE LIKE THIS. LITERATURE IS FUCKED, B

Depicted in the initial seconds of Micheals’ video was a POV scene dominated by obscenity, but accentuated by innocence.

Laid out across a sheet-less bed space were a pair of individuals—one entirely visible and the other not. The former individual, a female Gardevoir bordering 6 feet in height and owning feminine curvature and plumpness well beyond the ‘norm’ for her svelte species, could be seen laid out on her side across the width of the bed’s center.

Whereas the lime-green coloration of her arms suggested her identity to be that of a common female Gardevoir, the blue-green coloration (a trait unique to the shiny variation) of her pony-tailed hair and the jet-black eye-mask that daintily bordered her eyes rendered her true identity as somewhat ambiguous. Otherwise naked from head to toe and seemingly without a hint of shame in spite of the fact, the ‘air’ of her appearance somehow mirrored that of congenial, even-tempered matron in the midst of greeting her husband at the door to their home.

No matter how soothing, ‘air’ alone was ill-equipped to normalize her appearance. The thickness of her thighs as sandwiched atop one another in a comfortable ‘lounge’ atop the mattress was downplayed, yet the rounded hills of buttocks flesh above them were still teased by her position. The appreciably excessive fat offered by her rear and the nearly-athletic pertness that both of the doughy cheeks maintained were discernible from a mere glance at the pale arc peeking up from beneath her lower back. The sheer amount of flesh and meat in the former quality ought to have cancelled out the latter, yet for some reason, they existed in perfect harmony.

Given the presence of the bedroom’s second individual and the position of her frame relative to his, the female Gardevoir was, in truth, very far away from what the air of her presence implied. In truth, she was the female ‘lead’ in a pornographic video undoubtedly plastered all over the internet.

Precisely what kind of female lead could be inferred from the body underneath hers and the phallus situated ahead of her down the length of her counter-part’s frame.

Smothered underneath the bloated mass of her pale breasts and the leaking pancakes of areola flesh at their fronts was a human male. The ridiculous scope of her breasts rendered his skull invisible, but the exposure of his neck and the youth-sized frame that extended down from it more or less guaranteed his presence.

Motionless and silent, the youth’s status as a ‘participant’ in the scene was vouched for by the grotesque erection rooted at his crotch. Arcing backwards towards his midsection and away from its 90 degree point towards the ceiling, the mountainous pipe of drooling phallus-meat was one entirely inappropriate for the frame that it was attached to. Offering the girth of a healthy male bicep and a length bordering 1 ½ feet, its dimensions exceeded those of a healthy, adult male erection in almost every measurable aspect. What ‘normalcy’ the twitching spire offered to the naked eye was limited to the dark-red coloration of its engorged glans—a product of its owner’s pale skin being stressed by its girth—and the trailing of this redness down across an additional 30% of its length.

The rest of it was obscenity incarnate. Wriggling visibly across its face were pudgy veins covered by sweat-greased cock-flesh, the majority of which branched off from the root-like bulk of his urethra. Few in number yet intricately connected, the concise branch-system of pink-white cock-tendrils was made to seem more grotesque—and as a result, more virile—than it was in truth. A half dozen obese pipes twitching in connection with one another was enough to render its initial impression on the eye as menacing.

Disgustingly so.

Indifferent to her partner’s endowment or perhaps simply accustomed to it, the female Gardevoir’s eyes remained locked on the leaking endowment until a 5 second ‘introductory period’ elapsed.

At its end, she turned towards the viewer, and smiled—eyes closed and facial features warm.

“You all can see me, can’t you?” the female Gardevoir began. “You know exactly what I am, and you know that there is a little boy laying here with me. It’s all obvious, but for those of you who can’t put two and two together…”

Mid-utterance, the female Gardevoir drew her left arm up from off of its settlement atop her diminutive partner’s thighs. Bending the limb inward into a suspended hang by the left side of her face, she spread its index and middle fingers away from one another in the formation of a ‘peace’ sign, and finally flicked her wrist inward to horizontally frame her eye between the two digits.

With this, the sultry expression on her face became a girlish smile.

“I’m a fucking animal—a piece of weaponized livestock for humans to breed and discard as they please.” the Pokemon stated. “I can’t say the same for any of the other Pokemon of my species, but I know that viewing myself this way isn’t wrong. SEPH started out this way—not by choice, of course, but its apart of who we are.”

“It always will be—I’ve just accepted that thought instead of rejecting it.” she finished.

As these words left her lips, her closed eyes sprang open to present an expression of genuine surprise. Subsequently, her hand popped up to her mouth and settled the tips of its fingers against her lips. As if suddenly reminded of something, these gestures culminated in the release of an airy giggle from the back of her throat.

“Oh, please forgive me—I haven’t even introduced myself.” she continued. “You’ll be seeing me quite a bit in the future, so please call me K. If you find that hard to remember, you’re always welcome to refer to me as “the married SEPH fuckmeat addicted to the cock stench of a child”. My daughters sometimes refer to me that way, so I think it works as well as my name ♥.”

“Anyway…”

Seemingly finished with her introduction, K extended her left hand back down into contact with the baseball-bat of cock-flesh that extended upward from her partner’s crotch. As her hand approached it, she spread her fingers apart from one another to fully expose the surface of her palm. Following contact between this region and the right side of her partner’s member, she viciously folded each one of her fingers around the girth of his shaft’s underside. Whilst her thumb was pressed into an ineffective compression of the bulbous assortment of phallus veins bunched up at the root of his cock’s face, her fingers aptly smothered the abnormally-rigid beginnings of his urethra and all of the flesh that surrounded the meat-encased tube.

“Since I’m sure that none of you came here just to listen to me talk, I’m going to start the show that my trainer suggested for me. He’s right under here, so if you have anyone to thank for what you see here, it would be him.” she added.

“And while I’m at it…”

Without warning, the welcoming congeniality K presented was replaced by a sinister disdain.

“If you happen to be the useless faggot of a husband that I married, I sincerely hope that what you see finally pushes that brittle twig you call a psyche into fucking divorcing me.”

Contained within this utterance was more venom than seemed appropriate for K’s demeanor. The words that comprised it were uttered with a smile and her facial features had hardly shifted, yet its toxicity remained both blatant and piercing enough to be perceived as cutting by viewers that it did not concern.

For these individuals, the feelings of hurt and betrayal evoked by K’s admonishment did not last long. As soon as she finished speaking, the hand that she had smothered against her trainer’s shaft began sliding up and down the impossible girth of his endowment at a sharp and punishing pace. First scaling the tower of meat and veins to its tip, K ‘reconvened’ her thumb and fingers at the nose of her trainer’s glans in the formation of an all-encompassing umbrella. Between the undersides of her fingers and palm, her hand maintained just enough surface area to obscure the reddened meat of her trainer’s cocktip and plug-up the perpetual leakage of its tip.

Temporarily, of course.

Seconds following the initial ascent she made with her hand, her coverage of the region was ‘sullied’ by a dull explosion of precum out from underneath her palm. Muted and mild, the eruption of sexual lubricant was flattened out along the bulk of her trainer’s glans by the maintenance of her palm’s position, and was soon enough granted a varied, murky drizzle down along the vulgar tower of cockmeat beneath its point of release.

With this, K began to work. Teasing an uncanny sexual prowess, the descent of these semen-riddled loggies prompted her to begin making use of the wealth of gunk trapped underneath her palm. Instead of dragging her cock-affixed limb back down the length of her trainer’s shaft and applying a veil of precum atop its sweaty luster, she drew the tips of her fingers inwards towards her palm until each one sat atop a patch of cockmeat fractions of an inch away from his glans’ crown. This done, she flattened the digits individually to trap the top-most inches of her suitor’s endowment within a slender, lubricant-gunked cock-vice shaped to mirror a contracted crane claw. Palm settled into a claustrophobic press against his urethra and fingers settled to impose the same stifling compression onto the inches of cockmeat beneath it, the final product of her transition was a hand position akin to an intimate clasping of one’s hand to a doorknob.

K did no turning with the knob that she had captured. Following formation, breakneck wrenches of her wrist in clockwise and counterclockwise rotations swirled the slimy exterior of her palm and fingers all about the captured inches of her suitor’s glans. Through these, she hastily subjected the nerve endings threaded into the reddened region to a stimulation that was as much a slovenly grind as it was greasy-smother.

Achieving such a varied pleasure was no small feat. The speed at which K executed her phallus-wringing glide argued otherwise, but it remained apparent that her efforts maintained a great deal of nuance—if not to the average viewer, then to those willing to look past the sultry smile that K wore and the cock-starved manipulation of her wrist.

Accompanying each of the clockwise wrenches of her wrist was a significant drop off in the force with which she pressed her fingers down into her trainer's length. From the beginning of the rotation right up to the beginning of its counter-clockwise counter-part, K danced her fingers in and out of contact with the surface of her trainer’s glans. Pantomiming a piano rendition, she squeezed, tapped, and rubbed her digits against his slimy flesh such that her fingers seemed to be carried by a wave.

Described shortly, these motions constituted approximately half of the ‘slovenly grind’ imposed onto her trainer’s member. The fluttery slide of her digits atop his cock tip’s surface smeared old and new precum across its exterior in varied amounts, and all the while ensured that a certain amount of pressure was squeezed around half the girth of his member.

Conversely, it was the counter-clockwise wrenches of her wrist that made up the ‘smothering’ of his member. Nearly mechanized in execution, each clockwise grind of K’s palm was reversed halfway around the circumference of her trainer’s phallus. With this, her loosened fingers snapped inwards and clamped downward to recreate the doorknob-like smother she had started with. Consequentially, the reversal of her palm back around his glans was completed with its entirety mashed into a woefully insufficient vice comprised of cock-greased flesh. By the time K’s palm was drawn past its initial start point and through to a cloying ‘hug’ of the other half of his member, the pressure applied by her vice forced several sludgy blurts of precum through his length and out against the exterior of her palm and fingers. Undaunted by the progressive drenching of her hand, K completed each of these wrenches without noticeable difficulty, and followed each one with a complimentary clockwise stir.

By itself, K’s oscillation between these two motions sets and the speed and expertise that she displayed in doing so was more than enough to legitimize it as pornographic content (as opposed to some kind of intimate prank).

Legitimacy was not what K sought, however. As she worked, it was made increasingly apparent that there was a message that she wished to convey to her viewers. Rather than focusing herself solely on pleasuring the youth smothered underneath her breasts—and the viewer by proxy—her eyes remained glued to the camera ahead of her as though her partner wasn’t actually present. The massive cock that she was pleasuring and the stirring of her palm remained visible, but compared to the crazed congeniality on K’s face, it almost wasn’t worth attending to.

“There, this is much more interesting for you, isn’t it?” she suggested, voice returned to its initial inviting sultriness. “The way that I’m moving my hand right now is something that I learned from my trainer—something that I learned by accepting the fact that I was born to be another breeding pig destined to birth as many children as my trainer desires of me.”

Quizzically, this utterance drained a great deal of sensuality from K’s expression. Apparently mild by nature, her tone shifted to match this flatness as well.

“Just learning to stroke and squeeze a stinking human cock like this required that I forget how to do a lot of other things. I can’t even cook the way my husband likes anymore, but he’s too much of a compliant little bitch to call me out on it. He doesn’t even seem to notice that my hands constantly reek of a human’s cock juice, either—it’s almost sad, really...”

With this, K intentionally shifted her gaze back towards the phallus that she was pleasuring. Licking her lips from corner to corner, she swiftly turned her gaze back towards her viewers.

This time, she treated them to eyes lidded with a perverse hunger and lips coated on both sides with strands spittle.

“But that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? I’m here because I want to have the stench of human virility injected into my brain over and over again. I’m here because I want to have it mashed into my pores—I want to stink of human cock juice so that everyone around me will know what I am without me having to even say a word.” she continued.

Still drooling, a soft giggle rumbled out from the back of her throat.

“I especially hope that my husband is watching this. Not because I want to hurt him—he’s already had to deal with so many other people taking advantage of how much of a brittle bitch he is.” she added. “I want him to see this and divorce me already. That way, he’ll be someone else’s problem, and I won’t have to go to lengths like this to show people that I’d rather snort a human child’s baby juice right out of his crotch than mate with another limp-dick reject of my species…”

Just as the shift in her intonation had suggested, K’s demeanor delved further into the realm of the obscene. All at once, she pressed herself further forward to deepen her eye-contact with her viewers. Holding her angled position throughout the shift (and further accentuating her trainer’s cock in the process), she stopped herself at a point that allowed her facial features to completely consume the right side of her scene’s camera shot.

With this, she injected further energy into her right hand to see the soaked grinding ministrations applied by her palm accelerated. Knowing full well that her trainer’s shaft now sat at the front and center of her audience’s view, she went out of her way to intensify her preparative teasing in the messiest and noisiest manner possible. Abruptly, her well-paced molestation of his glans became a vehement volley between the two masturbatory patterns that comprised it. The taut, swirling-finger dance that she performed became a pretense for sinking her fingers as deeply into the boy’s sensitive phallus as her meagre hand-strength could muster. Similarly, the restrictive knob-grasps she produced became comparable the envelopment of a volcano’s peak within a ‘catcher’.

Produced in the process were heavy blurts of precum whose contents were swirled around his glans’ circumference prior to beginning on their own jaded descents across his mast. Unlike those that had preceded them, these were thick enough to see the depressive swirling of her fingers altered for the better. Following the onset of K’s intensity-injection, these ministrations began to produce muddy *PLITCH*(s) timed to the moments at which her fingers pulled out of contact with their beloved phallus.

So evocative were these noises that, were it that their shared source was invisible, one would have no difficulty imagining their own unique and disgustingly-effective handjob to go along with them.

Their source was visible, however. From the introduction of these noses right into their reproduction, K’s manipulation of her precum-caked hand in the expert pseudo-handjob she had learned from her trainer was entirely apparent to her audience.

Despite her achievement, K did not derive any additional pleasure from her work. If she was not working towards filling one of her holes with the tarred nut swirling within her trainer’s balls or snorting his poisonous aroma into her sinuses, her accomplishments did not warrant celebration. Not so far as she was concerned, at least.

This was not to say she did not enjoy herself. As the additional attention she had drawn to herself did nothing for her libido, she used the resource as a means with which to create for herself satisfaction of an entirely different sort.

Eyes focused on her audience, she spoke.

“…I know you. You’re watching, aren’t you?” she suggested. “You won’t admit it, but you get off to more porn that a married man should ever have to use.”

“You don’t do it because you hate me, though, do you? No—you love me more than you’ll ever love yourself. Deep down you know that I deserve more of a reward than that watery slime you call cum, so you waste as much of it as you can stroking yourself to women that aren’t me.” she taunted.

Momentarily, K peeked ahead of herself such that her profile remained still, but her eyes and adoration were sent backwards towards her trainer’s member.

Eyes curled towards it, she continued speaking as though the nameless individual she had addressed was no longer present.

“Do you see what you’re missing ♥? Look at what my hand can do to a cock that’s actually thicker than a pencil? I’m working my wrist as hard as I can, but all I can really do is fold and lather my trainer’s dick juice all over his cock. My palm is no better than a tiny, useless fleshlight for him, but he’ll use it anyway.”

“Because that’s his fucking right ♥. I owe it to him—understand, bitch?”

(Woah, calm down, jeez.)

"Look at it! Watch my hand fold and stir his greasy precum all over his cock! Watch me use my hand as a pointless fucktoy for his pleasure!" she bellowed. "You have to understand how worthless you are, dear! Do your best to burn it into your brain while I use myself like a sentient breeding sow for my betters' pleasure!"

Though she claimed otherwise, K's efforts did not gain much more intensity than they had already achieved. Just as she had noted, her physical capabilities had a ceiling; there was only so much pleasure she could rub into her trainer's cock with a single hand.

In spite of this, the effort that she expended after demanding that her nameless addressee pay attention to her efforts seemed much 'happier' than that which had preceded it. Her smile had widened, and the warmth that bled from her features had somehow become balmier.

To her viewers, this difference was obvious. K was content to provide those watching her with masturbatory fuel, but what truly spurred her onward was her desire to make one in particular amongst them rue the day he had decided to couple with her.

Further proof of this fact streamed from her lips within seconds of her initial outburst. This time, however, revulsion could be discerned as mingling with the female Gardevoir's matronly tone.

"Get it into your fucking head and divorce me already! You're not good enough and you never were! No female Pokémon with the slightest grasp on what she is would ever allow herself to be bred by you. There's more sperm in a single drop of stinking ♥, human ♥, ball juice ♥than you'll ever produce in your life! For prime females, that's all that matters!" she shouted.

"Divorce me! Divorceme Divorceme Divorceme!" inexplicably, the timing of the words that she released began to match the pace at which she applied her palm to her trainer's shaft. "Your children aren't even fucking yours! All of them were spewed into me by the same cock you're looking at right now! I can still remember what its squirmy veins felt like throbbing and writhing against my cunt while my trainer emptied his balls inside of me!

"Feels bad, doesn't it ♥? Hearing that your wife's cunt was fucked into an obedient human cock-sleeve must make you feel awful h)!"

"You deserve it, though!" finally, condescension found its way into the tone of her delivery. "You dared to try to have more than a useless faggot deserves, and this is the price you're going to pay. You're going to watch your loving wife snort human cock juice into her brain like a fucking retard !"

"And she's going to love every second of i--"

Motion.

Privy to the escalation of K's tirade and the less-than-ideal end-point set out for it, the human child smothered underneath her breasts stirred in hopes that the SEPH might hold her tongue. Squirming upwards, he progressively dragged himself out from under the weight of her breasts until the back of his head popped into the shot captured by the scene's recording device.

I.E

----------------                           .        ------------------     *The second arrow depicts the direction of
K’s breasts          ----->           .                                        her trainer’s upward slide from under her breasts
-----------------                         /      ------------------

                                                Trainer’s head

Once upright, the faceless youth spoke.

“Alright, that’s about enough I think. People do enjoy when you talk all hateful like that, but it’s probably getting hard for them to tell if you actually hate them or not, y’know?” he suggested.

At once, the hateful air about K vanished. Somehow returned to her mild baseline, she blinked in apparent astonishment at her own behavior. Afterwards nodding her head in agreement, she committed herself to a silent adherence towards whatever words or behavior might come from her trainer next.

Naturally, the mechanical speed of her pseudo-handjob remained just as impressive as it had been all throughout.

“Here, let’s try it this way.” raising his left hand, the boy pointed towards the Pokemon at his front. “Gardevoir, use psychic.”

With these words, K’s composure vanished. Her facial features tightened into a smiley grimace that exposed her fang-like teeth, and her eyes rolled upward within their sockets as if searching for a visual snapshot of her brain. As soon as they reached the peak of her eye-sockets, a thin trail of dark-red blood was forced out of her right nostril into a telling dribble across her upper lip.

At a glance, it seemed as though the very core of K’s being had been electrocuted. Strictly speaking, it had been—for a SEPH, there existed no greater pleasure (or pain) than the activation of their ability cortex.

Not far behind the discharge of blood from her nose came a larger, heavier expulsion of fluid from between her legs. Largely hidden from K’s viewers by the compression of her thighs and the slant of her frame, the unmistakable hiss of compressed fluid from out of a reservoir and the decadent splatter of this gooey fluid against a pair of meaty thighs ensured that those paying attention were not denied perception of K’s orgasm.

Though very clearly overtaken by her release (this marked by the unhinged giggles that seeped from the back of her throat and the ‘hold’ of her euphoric trance some seconds after the event), K did not allow her mental state to deny her trainer his command.

Abandoning her teasing of his member, she raised her left hand in an invocation of her psychic abilities. With it, she dragged the camera mounted above the back of her trainer’s head into midair and suspended it above its perch.

Next, she slid herself downward. Holding her left hand as it had been, she trailed down from her position at her trainer’s side to one set out on her knees behind his member. Here, she curled her left wrist inward to drag the still-suspended camera inwards. Halting its ingress several inches above her trainer’s pectorals (chest height for her knee-planted frame), she in doing so granted her viewers a much better idea of the scale of her frame relative to his own.

If not for the ivory tower of over-stuffed cockmeat twitching ahead of her midsection, the disparity between their heights would have appeared to most as very…’disconcerting’ given the sex acts the pair had engaged in.

With it present, however, these same individuals were cajoled into the same opinion:

The two of them were perfect for one another.

With her moves complete, K dropped her hand back down to her side to bind the camera to its current position. Displaying ludicrous amounts of psychic ability and feverish cocklust, she successfully maintained the device’s motionlessness throughout a starved lunge towards her trainer’s cock. Right hand outstretched, she curled its index finger around as much of his phallus’ girth as the thin digit could muster, and dug the face of its thumb into a pointless squish against the iron-rubber bulk of his urethra. Simultaneously, she popped her skull inwards and downwards to begin peppering the reeking log’s crown with a mixture of affectionate kisses and suckles.

Try as she might to continue ‘pacing’ her shared scene as a professional, K’s hunger got the better of her. Seconds of inhaling the sweaty, semen-tinged miasma hanging around her suitor’s cock saw her part her lips, and shamelessly smash the ruinous breeding pipe’s length down her throat inch by esophagus-fattening inch. Stopping only after a foot of sex-flavored cock had been dragged across her tongue—the tip of this foot squeezed through her esophagus down to a curved ‘point down towards her stomach—the mush of her lips against her trainer’s hairless crotch served as the ‘OK’ signal for her trainer to continue speaking.

“Sorry about that—she can get pretty out of hand at times.” the trainer explained. “She used to be a lot quieter…almost kinda sullen now that I think about. Giving birth to her kids and snorting so much of my cum probably ended up doing something weird to her brain.”

“But yeah,”

Still faceless to his audience, the boy raised his left hand in a point back down towards K’s face. Holding the gesture for some time after its performance, he purposelessly ‘bent’ the scene’s focal point away from himself and back towards the cock-skewered woman working at his crotch.

“You didn’t pick this video to hear a retard like her talk, right? Human or SEPH, you’re watching this because you wanted to watch a pig debase her entire species and gargle some cock juice.” the boy suggested.

“Or at least I assume you are.” finally dropping his left hand, a lackadaisical exhalation blew past the youth’s lips—the sort released by an individual largely indifferent to the events occurring around them. “If I’m right, you’re in luck. She basically won’t stop until my nut is leaking out of her fucking nose, so you’ll have plenty to enjoy if that’s your thing.”

“If you’re that loser that she was talking about, I guess that’d actually equate to some pretty painful shit though, haha!”

Just as had been the case with K, a hint of emotion consumed the boy’s placid tone with time. Unlike her, however, the feelings discernable from his shift in tone were not at all negative. By the sound of his voice alone, one could tell that the youth was genuinely amused at the arousal and suffering that his Pokemon had doled out.

It went without saying that the positive affect that he felt was not shared amongst the audience presently observing the rise and fall of K’s skull. From the very moment the boy had pointed down at her face, all those still viewing the scene had been made to forget his presence, and prompted to repurpose their mental resources in the observation of a facefucking session.

As it turned out, K was every bit the pig that her trainer had made her out to be. Subsequent to the first plunge of her skull and the engorgement of her esophagus with her suitor’s ludicrous erection came an ascent that matched it in vehemence. Perversely spread lips made to ascend along the reddened meat of her trainer’s shaft, the muted gleam of sweat and precum that had previously ‘enhanced’ the phallus’ visual qualities was replaced by spittle for each inch that she climbed. Less than a second after the beginning of her jump, both of her mouth’s plump, cock-greased pillows could be seen returned to a loving, pubic-hair flecked suckle at her lover’s cocktip.

K wasted no time here, either. Far too famished to attempt satiating herself with gulps of smemga or slurps against the mess of precum her hand had smeared to his glans’ surface, the end of her ascent saw her drive her lips straight back down to her trainer’s cock-root. Curling her skull throughout the blinding dive, her lips’ return to the increasingly-sludgy base of her trainer’s shaft biased their placement off to the left side of his crotch.

On impact, her eyes snapped upwards. Heart-swelled irises conveying an affection-flecked sexual hunger handed her audience a reason to focus on her face as opposed to her lips. If only for a moment, sure ensured that the wired pubic hairs glued to the corners of her lips and the mucus trickling out from her right nostril were as evident to them as the leakage of throatslop between her lips.

As well, she made certain to ‘smile’ as they laid eyes on her. Though limited to the use of her eyes and cheeks, she made certain that all those who laid eyes on her in this instance would see a woman all too happy with the disgusting mess she had made of herself.

This done, she went right back to applying herself. Abruptly, she wrenched herself back up to the tip of her trainer’s member to begin her cycle of ascent and descent anew. Seemingly without any sort of gag-reflex or ‘limit’ to the abandon with which she could fatten her neck with an unkempt human cock, the unfolding of her efforts quickly took on the appearance of a consciousness and shameless woman in the midst of purposing her gullet as a grimy ‘mouth-pussy’ defined for her partner’s pleasure.

No matter the terms by which one defined a mouth-pussy, some part of K’s display validated her face as such. Whilst pressing her lips along the span of her trainer’s shaft, her lips displayed the same sort of mild elasticity one might observe from an over-matched pair of labial lips. Additionally, a dense, murky-white syrup churned to fruition within her esophagus regularly spluttered out from the corners of her lips throughout her skull's descent. The thickness of this steaming muck and its inability to cleanly pool at the base of her trainer’s crotch prior to her lips arrival there was eerily similar to discharges of cunt-syrup from out of a too-stuffed vaginal canal. Even the final product wrought from these things—a slanted mash of her lips into layered slob mounted atop a nubile crotch—seemed far too remiscent of vaginal sex to be discounted as such.

Amongst K’s viewers, the primary argument against what was apparent was built atop the sights produced by her lips’ ascent. The elasticity and leakiness inherent to the facial pillows was equally evident throughout these stretches. Differently, K’s tongue could be seen engaged in the delivery of a flurry of gooey lashes against her trainer’s cock-surface for each inch that they travelled up his spire. The wild movements that her mouth’s organ was put up to resulted in several fractions of it peeking out from underneath her lips at unpredictable intervals. No discernable rhyme or reason could observed in these flashes—only more of the slovenly hunger that had prompted K to engulf her suitor’s cock in the first place.

Appearances aside, these tongue lashes were not without purpose. More often than not, their streaking carried residual smears of throatslop left from earlier plunges of K’s skull into her mouth, or further across the surface area of her trainer’s member. Like this, her gullet’s mucus-based lubricant was evenly plastered across the hill-like veins mounted atop its surface, and even allowed to pool into a visible ‘caking’ to the stretches of cockmeat in between them.

Naturally, the work done by her tongue was repeatedly erased by subsequent dives of her skull, and afterwards reapplied by the instances of ascent that followed them. Nevertheless, her viewers had ammunition; no mere vaginal canal could provide such an obscene scrubbing to the exterior of a cock.

To those of this opinion, K’s lips and throat exceeded the definitional limits of a ‘mouth pussy’ in quality. So far as they were concerned, the beginnings of the Gardevoir’s G.I tract were being purposed as a fabricated fuckhole that few human males would live to experience.

Ultimately, the split opinions of K’s viewers changed little in regards to what the musk-drink SEPH had engaged herself in. Based solely on the throat-slop that regularly spurted out from underneath her lips and the repeated *GLRP—GLRP—GLRP* that echoed from the back of her throat each time she hilted her trainer’s member down into her esophagus, an unbiased observer would define her actions as an especially brutal (and messy) instance of oral sex.

K’s trainer was one such observer. Having subjected the massive SEPH to sexual acts far more violent and putrid than what she was enduring at present, his view of proceedings was decidedly non-plussed.

K’s efforts were admiral, but base. His knowledge of her habits marked her performance as one steeped in hunger more so than technical ability, and served as a reiteration of a fact that he had already internalized: Female SEPH were happiest when siphoning semen out of humans, or being used as meat with which to breed their young.

Succinctly, her display was nothing new. As very little changed about her presentation from its introduction onward, the passage of several minutes prompted him to once again inject himself into proceedings.

This time raising his right hand, he spoke.

“Jeez, you are such a fucking slob when it comes to bloating your guts with cock, huh?” he chuckled wryly. “ And here I thought you’d try to show a bit of decorum to the nice people at home. I guess once you blow slop bubbles out of your nose once, doing it in front of other people stops mattering so much...”

Still consumed by her trainer’s cock, K could not be bothered to produce a response to his insult. She’d have welcomed it were she able to, but in the moment, the most that she could manage was another cock-clogged gargling of throatslop around the pulsing meat compressed at the back of her throat.

Amused, her trainer forgot his disgust towards her simplicity and continued with his orders as planned.

“Everyone watching is going to get bored if all you do is make yourself look like brainless animal, though. All of your talking a little while ago was probably too much, though, so how about this:

“It’s time for your feeding, ‘K’. Obedient SEPH pigs like you know how to ask for their meals properly, don’t they?”

Yet again, K acted without hesitation. Spurred on by a sensation different from the activation of her brain’s command centers, she forced her face up from the root of her trainer’s crotch until her spread lips popped off of his erection’s bloated glans. Trailing viscous strands of sputum up along the sullied spire as she went, the final disengagement of her mouth from his glans left the once-sodden cock-region utterly caked in her honeyed-throatslop.

Not a drop of this substance went to waste. Acting in adherence to her trainer’s command, K raised both of her hands up to the crown of his shaft. Next, she smothered both of her palms inwards to finally encapsulate the beet-red cock-section into a vice suited for it. In its formation, she threaded her fingers in-between one another, and progressively increased the pressure imposed on either side of the phallus up to an orifice-like extent. This imposition ‘juiced’ the sludge mounted to her trainer’s member up through the creases of her fingers, and in doing so granted her fingers and palms the lubrication that they would soon require to function.

With this, K began stroking. Purposing both of her palms as another masturbatory device, she hurriedly stimulated her trainer’s glans in anticipation of her feeding.

Proof that she had actually comprehended the words that her trainer had produced came several seconds into the gesture. Mouth drawn agape, the female Gardevoir teased the dense meat of her tongue towards her audience via a series of wriggles and writhes before finally purposing the organ in speech.

“Please feed me ♥ F-Feed me your chewy baby-juice! Shoot it so deeply down my throat it splatters out of my fucking nose ♥.” she cooed. “I want it I want it I waaaaaant it~! I wanna taste the gluey sperm cells that impregnated me instead of husband. I want to feel human cock juice swirling and swelling inside my stomach!”

K did not merely beg. In tandem with her utterances, the double-ended palm sleeve she had pressed around her trainer’s cock was repeatedly pressed up and down the span of his glans to squelch-inducing effect. Kept stringent by K’s intent and nasty by the cock-slime coating her fingers, the *SCHRLP* produced by her ministrations only grew louder as time passed.

Not to be outdone by a by-product of one of her actions, K pushed herself to continue providing her trainer with reasons to feed her. In between her utterances, she regularly pushed and held her tongue out of her mouth to flaunt its cock-milking flesh in front of those still watching her. Whereas she could have manipulated it as she had earlier, she instead used it to present herself as the animal that she claimed to be. Panting and groaning with a debased, yet somehow adorable hunger, these instances of exposure were punctuated by an idle, dog-like dangle for her tongue and the outflow of saliva strands across its surface.

For all of these complexities, these periods of tongue-flaunting were few and far between.

“I-I only want to taste human jizz! I-I’m such a f-fuckin’ whore for it that I reek o-of it on a daily basis. I-I’ll die if I can’t feel your cock sludge clogging my throat and your stink dick stink burning my nostrils ♥.” she cooed. “T-That’s why your Gardevoir wants you to shoot out as m-much you can r-right down her drooling throat-cunt♥ M-Make it so t-that my breath stinks of i-it when it’s time for m-me to kiss him today ♥.”

Mania notwithstanding, K performed well all throughout her animalistic begging. Her eyes remained trained on the camera ahead of her as opposed to the human youth that she loved, and when they were not, curled inward in cross-eyed appreciation of the swollen cock that she was pleasuring. Separately, not a single second of stroking passed without some form of smile being apparent on her face.

Her trainer appreciated this. Much more ‘involved’ with her efforts as a result of his pent erection and the manner in which it was milked, the boy acknowledged her debased begging and gooey stroking both for what they conveyed and what they provided him.

Yet again, K had made it apparent that she did not intend to go back to the way that she once was. Whether she knew it or not, she had also conveyed to her viewers that the mind of a female SEPH could be reduced to a malleable pin-cushion given enough exposure to a single stimuli: Human cock.

As her trainer, he couldn’t have asked for a better performance than this. As such, he let himself go. First releasing the rigid hold that he had placed on himself throughout K’s efforts, he subsequently threw his head backwards to begin enjoying her efforts ‘for real’.

No sooner did he commit himself to this did his frame fail him. All at once, a surge of bliss conducted from the base of his spine up through to the root of his cock disturbed the fragile equilibrium maintained within balls. Whilst further semen was pumped into the engorged reservoir at his member’s root, the reservoir itself was robbed of all of its internal supports.

Consequentially, it burst. Behind the release of a pleasured grunt from the youth’s throat, a knotted strand of discoloured, harshly-scented cock juice exploded from the base of his crotch up through a taxing wriggle up the length of his urethra. Bloating the tube inches through which it rose and occasionally shaping its malleable flesh into unpredictable zig-zags and curves, its eventual eruption from the tip of the youth’s cock was backed by only a fraction of the pressure that originally propelled it. Nevertheless, what pressure backed it still proved sufficient in blurting out the curdled, triple-thick thread outwards and upwards into contact with K’s face.

Happily startled by the strand’s release, K did not attempt to avoid the yellow-white mire’s affixation to her face. If anything, she welcomed it. Statuesque throughout its release, she spent its brief period of airtime enjoying the rank stench of fresh semen that had merged with her musky airspace. Whilst the strand’s contents were messily drawn across a diagonal bisection of her face (beginning above her left eyebrow and extending across the bridge of her nose down into a caking of her right jaw), she appeared happier than she had been at any point throughout her coupling with the boy who had produced it.

She had not forgotten her hunger, however. Before a second strand of nut could be regurgitated through her trainer’s shaft, K peeled her hands off of his glans, and snapped her skull inwards to ensure that her ‘meal’ did not go to waste. Fanged maw exposed, she engulfed his glans, and smashed her skull straight down along the convulsing tower until her lips were reintroduced to the congealed mess of fluids built up at his crotch. Free from visible signs of discomfort right up to the congested *GRLPP ♥* released by the hilting of the youth’s member, her eyes naturally curled upwards to bathe her suitor with yet more mindless affection.

All of these acts were completed just in time to allow the second rope of semen released by the youth a relatively clean shot directly into her stomach. Following the addition of its cloying warmth to the depths of her esophagus and the beginnings of her stomach, K began to drink.

Now was the time to reward herself—thinking about her performance could come later…

-

HOW’S IT GOING ARTHUR? YOU GOOD, DOG?

Arthur had attempted to excuse himself from observation of his co-worker’s video on several occasions. Whispers about the work that remained for him to do trickled weakly from the back of his throat. Whines as to the possibility of one of their supervisors approaching bordered these, and short-lived protests as to the inappropriate content that they were observing complimented them.

Fundamentally, no part of him wished to take in the video’s contents. Despite this, he stood still and observed it just as his coworkers did. No matter how he begged his limbs to carry him away from the monitor or turn his line of sight away from it, the unsettled depression threaded into his heart demanded that he stand and attend as Johnson had suggested.

Masochism was not his body’s aim—contrary to K’s comments, his frame was one that prioritized the avoidance of pain above all else. Though Arthur himself took naught but arousal and discomfort from the video’s contents, the abilities that defined him as a psychic Pokemon took from it a number of clues related to his long-standing distress.

Bit by bit, his abilities became more certain of something. Pieces of information inferred from K’s comments and the debased hunger that she continually displayed were compared amongst one another and sorted until another conclusion took shape:

Contained within the video was the cause for the depressed self-loathing that threatened to destroy Arthur from the inside out.

Tragically, the timing of his psyche’s processing rendered this conclusion as vaguely discernable to him only after K had slammed her skull through a final starved encapsulation of her trainer’s cock.

By this point, Arthur was far too invested in the abhorrent sight to be drawn away from it. Try as he might to focus on the knowledge he had gained and drag his eyes away from K’s display, he could not help but stand in dedicated observation of K’s stomach-depth oral creampie.

Following K’s dive, very little about the scene that his eyes captured changed. At the front and center of the screen was K’s face—hearts glowing within her irises and cheeks smattered with cock-grease and pubic hair. Her skull remained motionless post descent, and her lips remained partly-visible amidst the phallic grime created during her throat-fucking session.

Soon, however, the scene changed. No sooner did K complete her descent did audible *GLORP*(s) begin echoing out from her face. In time with them, the position of K’s skull hiccupped ever-so-slightly to its immediate left and right, and her lips curled further inward in what seemed to be an attempt at applying more pressure to the cockmeat surrounding her trainer’s urethra.

Arthur was no fool. Given all he had seen and the distinctly glutted quality of the chained noises, only one event could have produced them.

K was swallowing. One voluminous cock-juice strand at a time, she had committed herself to swallowing down the same, off-white custard-slime denaturing across her face.

It was difficult for her as well. Her frame responded positively each time a burst of molten-sludge was spewed out into the esophagus inches nearest her stomach, but the decibel level of the *GLROPS* produced by her jizz chugging conveyed a great deal of strain. To him, it sounded as though she was attempting to push a heady mouthfuls’ worth of boiling cement into her stomach each time one of the noises rumbled out of the monitor’s speakers. Considered alongside the adaptive nature of a SEPH female’s esophagus and stomach capacity, it was likely that a great deal of chunked residue remained glued to her esophagus lining following each of her gulps, and equally likely that the capacity of her stomach was being consumed by cock juice at an alarming pace.

As a SEPH both ignorant and naïve, Arthur could not imagine a more uncomfortable event for an adult woman. So far as he was concerned, suffocating on a reeking cock as it coated the confines one’s stomach with innumerable streaks of dense reproductive-sewage could not be considered as an act of love.

At best, it was the contrivance of a whore—one too invested in her craft to ever be considered as deserving of genuine love.

*GRLP—GLORP—GRLP*

The longer that Arthur listened to K’s chugging was the more certain of his conclusion he became. Despite this, he remained incapable of a making one extremely vital connection—No matter what he heard or saw, his mind refused to classify K as the twisted whore that she had presented herself to be. If coincidence could be blamed for his coming into contact with the video in the first place, his inability to accept this fact was a fault entirely his own.

Some seconds into her gulping, further proof of K’s identity was handed out in spades.

By this point, the sludgy bursts of cock juice introduced into her stomach by her swallowing had filled her stomach well past its already-ludicrous capacity. A minute of chunked nut threads being shot out against the organ’s flooring and vomited into obscene splatters against its walls had been enough to well a putrid pool of the substance within it.

One large enough to warrant immediate and vigorous rejection.

Though invisible to K’s viewers, this body of fluid progressively inflated the fat-padded curvature of K’s middle into a strained mimicry of a beachball. Following formation, the continued spurting of cum from her trainer’s member resulted in a reflexive surge of excess cock juice back up through her esophagus at an alarming pace.

Still, K remained motionless. The regurgitation of several mouthfuls of muddy semen from underneath her lips was not enough to move her. The drowning of her lips in lukewarm, writhing nut was irrelevant. Sluggish blurts of the substance from out of both of her nostrils was to her a flattering gift that only her trainer could provide.

Thusly, she remained as she had been—a SEPH engorging herself on the same stinking dick-milk that had bred her ancestors into insanity.

At this creature did Arthur stare until even he could not help but see the beauty in it. He stared and he stared, burning his eyes into the monitor screen ahead of him in hopes that what it depicted might become a part of reality.

It never did. Moments before Arthur could be consumed by his despair-fashioned trance, the scene playing out across the monitor disappeared.

Eyes immediately snapping down to its on/off switch, Arthur found that Michaels had shut it off.

“You know what, in retrospect…” Michaels began, both sets of arms crossed at his chest. “That was actually kind of gay, yeah. I’m sorry, boys, I ain’t mean to do no gay shit. I just thought the video was tight.”

“We can still be boys, right?” suddenly, his intonation shifted to that of a plea. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad—tell me we can still be boys, dog.”

Ambivalent as to the video’s contents and unoffended by Michaels’ attempt at camaraderie, Johnson shrugged his shoulders to convey precisely how little he cared either way.

Arthur said nothing. Dead for all intents and purposes, he hadn’t heard a word that Michaels’ had uttered.

Even now, the only thing that he could hear was her voice.

Not K’s.

Kaona’s.
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