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A Dark Night	By : PokemonPr0nPal3000 Category: Pokemon > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 30773 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
A DARK NIGHT

by Pippy Pika

— — — — — —

Pippy’s Note: So I recently went to a convention and found an amazing first-season poster of a close-up of Ash and Pikachu, with Pikachu sitting on Ash’s head looking cheerful and Ash looking mildly bummed because Pikachu’s the star of the show. It’s adorable, but now I have to leave my room every time I start to work on A Dark Night, because I swear to God Ash is staring straight into my soul, and every time I meet his saddened gaze I’m convinced he’s asking me why the hell I’m writing such an abusive fic about him. I’m starting to think I’ll have to take it down until this story’s over, because it’s creeping me out. (It doesn’t help that Pikachu’s so damn cheerful, either. I think it’s into this stuff.)

Sorry this is so late. Due to rewrites and editing and cons and such, it took a lot longer than I thought to finish. It’s also about, oh, four thousand words longer than I was planning it to be…I was going to cut it again, but then I figured you guys would either sit through it or not. Anyway, that’s why it took so long to come out.

SO WARNINGS: a lot of BSDM stuff, a threesome, torture, plot, and plot sneaked into a sex scene, which I’m sure is illegal.

— — — — — —

Chapter Five: A Spider’s Parlor

— — — — — —

May sighed as she walked to the Pokémon Center, the once-clear sky growing cloudy above her. The hotel had been completely booked, and while Dawn didn’t mind May staying with her until Ash and Brock came back from wherever they’d gone, she needed some time to think. So, she’d dropped Dawn off at her room, and set off for “home”.

Her steps echoed against the buildings as her thoughts turned in on each other. Ash…poor Ash…

She still couldn’t believe it. She’d never heard of such a horrible thing happening before…she almost thought someone had put the Onix up to it, but the idea of someone that cruel existing was even worse. And poor Dawn, so convinced it was somehow her fault!

As she stepped inside the Pokémon Center she saw an Officer Jenny leaning against the counter, talking to Nurse Joy in a low voice.

“He hasn’t even been in to restore his Pokémon? What about the girl? Or…the young man?”

“Nothing all day, Terrier. I’m sorry. My sister must’ve told him he couldn’t stay at her center, so he never bothered to show up here…perhaps the hotel? Quite a few trainers stay there if they can afford it.”

“You’re right…but I need a way in. That bastard won’t admit a thing, and he won’t open up, that’s for sure…I was hoping to get him in on some menial charge, separate him from the bastard, then—oh! but perhaps the girl! If I could get her—”

“Excuse me,” said May. “What are you talking about?”

The two turned and looked at her, then exchanged a glance.

“A trainer who’s in trouble,” Officer Jenny said finally. “But he won’t tell anyone he’s in trouble, because he thinks he has to bear it all himself. I want to help him, but there’s only so much an officer can do…” Now Jenny looked frustrated. “Anything!” she growled, almost to herself. “Misconduct! A thrown punch! Looking at him in a funny way, and I’d find a way to get the bastard for assault—but he’s fourteen! I can’t do this for him!”

Nurse Joy reached across the counter and patted Jenny on the shoulder, comfortingly. “You’ll win, Terrier. You never leave a case unsolved. I know you’ll solve this.”

“I know. At least I got the damn case open again, after a month and a half of yelling. But maybe…maybe the girl is the key…”

“What’s the matter with the trainer?” It slipped out before May could stop it. Something about this whole situation was nagging at her. Shouting. Screaming that here was something important, and she needed to figure out why…

Jenny looked at her, and looked away. “There are some things trainers shouldn’t have to know. What’s happening to him…” She sighed. “Do you travel with friends?”

“No. I travel alone.”

“Good. Good. Sometimes…” There was a faraway look in Jenny’s eyes. It wasn’t a happy one. “I’ve seen too many friends hurt each other.”

She shook her head, and turned to Joy. “Anyway, thanks for the tip. Keep me in touch—if any of them come in here, let me know immediately, and try to keep them here ‘til I arrive.”

“Will do. Good luck, Terrier.”

Jenny sighed. “And you guys will never stop calling me that, will you?”

Joy laughed. “Nope! Good night.”

“Night.”

Jenny waved goodbye to Joy and May, and left the center, her heels clicking smartly against the tiles. Nurse Joy turned to May.

“And you need a room?” she said, smiling. May nodded, quiet, thinking. She was still thinking when she was led to her room, after she finished getting changed into her pajamas, when she crawled between the sheets.

Ash…so hurt…no, not just hurt. She just couldn’t wrap her mind around it. That. The…thing that was whispered…

A trainer who’s in trouble…

Hurt so badly now he couldn’t battle, could barely handle interacting with Pokémon anymore, even standoffish with his human friends.

But he won’t tell anyone he’s in trouble, because he thinks he has to bear it all himself…

Dawn blaming herself. Thinking Ash blamed her. As though she could control wild Pokémon…

There are some things trainers shouldn’t have to know…

Ash was fourteen. He’d just turned, two months ago. She had sent him a birthday card. It had had a Torchic and a Pikachu on it.

I’ve seen too many friends hurt each other…

“It’s someone else,” May whispered. “Somebody else. Not him. That’s just not possible.”

But he won’t tell anyone.

“Someone else.”

— — — — — —

“ID?”

Ash stared. Behind the door stood a burly man dressed all in leather, guarding a huge room with dancers and a DJ on one side, and couches and a bar on the other. The place was packed, but had a distinctly rubbery, leathery feel…

“Here.” Brock held up a Boulder Badge and Ash’s pokédex. “Brock Flint. Pewter City Gym Leader. Ash Ketchum. Pokémon trainer.”

The bouncer eyeballed the two, then nodded. Brock walked inside, pulling Ash behind him.

“I called earlier about private rooms,” Brock said loudly over the pounding beat. The bouncer nodded and jerked his head to the bar.

Brock pulled at Ash’s lead and started walking. Ash couldn’t believe what he was seeing—there were people on the couches in handcuffs and chains, and people in leather or latex costumes tickling or hitting them with crops—and the handcuffed people seemed to be enjoying themselves! What the hell was going on?

Then Ash stared. One of the crop-holders had his back to him, but he recognized that shade of lavender hair, even in the dim light, and he knew the jacket…

No…nononononono!

Ash hid behind Brock and practically ran to the bar. He didn’t care what happened next. Please, please, just let that not be who he thought it was—please, so long as he wasn’t seen—he didn’t care, just let him keep that one last shred of dignity he had left…

“Eager, are we?” said Brock, amused. “Hey, barkeep.” The man behind the bar raised an eyebrow. “I called earlier, to reserve a room.”

“Eh? Oh.” The man smiled. Ash didn’t pay attention to the rest of it. He just continued to keep Brock between him and that couch—had he been seen? No, he wasn’t looking this way. But—no!—was he turning, now, to follow that girl on his lap? No, don’t look to the bar—!

“Right! This way,” the man said, and Ash felt a tug on his leash. Never had he been so relieved to follow Brock into an unknown area—he knew Brock was going to do awful things to him soon, but as long as he didn’t know he was here, then he could bear it.

The two walked down a long hallway, punctuated by doorways. From each door came very faint screams or moans, and the pounding beat of the music pierced everything.

“You have ‘til four,” the man said, and Brock nodded. He unlocked the door, handed Brock the key, and left. Brock jerked on the lead, and Ash followed him inside.

Once there, Ash couldn’t hold back a gasp. He barely heard Brock lock the door behind him.

“What…what is this place…?” he whispered, his eyes like saucers. Brock didn’t answer, merely taking the shopping bag from Ash’s limp fingers as Ash tried to take in the room.

The room was filled with every toy and device Brock had ever used on him, and lots that he hadn’t. There was a low, wide, padded bench with manacles on the legs—God knew why—and a giant steel X on the wall with holes along the top and the bottom. There were chains hanging from the ceiling—Ash shuddered—and racks of whips, crops, paddles, and various sex toys. There was a pile of rope, and handcuffs. There was a strange sort of chair with almost no seat but with a long back, curved arms and two flat metal beams bending towards the floor—what did you do with it, straddle it? And over there—

“Oh, no. No, please, no, no…”

—there was a small camp oven, with a poker heating inside.

“Oh God. Please. No. No. No…”

Ash realized he was whimpering.

Brock slowly pulled the poker from the oven door. Ash stepped back until he pressed against the door.

“No! No! I promise! I’ll be good! I’ll do anything! No! No more burning! Brock—please—no!”

Brock smiled and set it down. “I was just taking it out to cool. Relax. We won’t have that sort of fun tonight—so long as you behave, anyway.”

Ash slid to the floor. The scars were burning again. God dammit.

“Calm down. Look, I brought you some presents. I wouldn’t burn my slave if I was giving him presents, would I?”

You would if you brought hospital Potion, Ash thought bitterly. The burning sensation was going away, now.

Brock smiled. “Now that you’ve calmed down…there’s no need for clothes, is there?”

Ash sighed. He knew it hadn’t been a suggestion.

When he was finished undressing, Brock handed him a large box, and Ash wordlessly ripped away the wrapping paper.

The box had, in large letters, “PIKACHU COSPLAY” written on it, and a picture of a Pikachu winking. Ash bit his lip. This could not be good…

“Open the box.”

Ash pulled at the tab. A menagerie of items dropped out.

“What the hell?”

Brock smiled. “Your costume! Give me your wrists.”

Ash held his hands up. There was no point in fighting, he knew that. The door was locked, and Brock had a certain bounciness in his step that said this was going to happen, no matter what.

Besides, he could hear the crackle of the coals…

No no no. He said he wouldn’t. He said he wouldn’t. Don’t think about it. Don’t…

Ash was brought back to reality by the cold clasp of metal around his wrists. He blinked and saw the handcuffs were covered with yellow fluff.

“And they come with these,” Brock said approvingly. They were like yellow rubber mittens, with lines at the top to imply paw pads. “Gloves, so my cute little Pikachu can have cute little Pika paws.”

Brock forced the mittens over Ash’s hands, and clipped them so they attached to the handcuffs. Ash could barely move his fingers. Staring down at the ‘paws’ made him feel sick—that he had to connect any aspect of his best friend to…this…

“Legs.”

Ash’s eyes widened in alarm, but Brock didn’t care. He grabbed Ash’s ankle, and clamped a yellow-furred manacle on it. He attached its mate to Ash’s other foot, stretching his legs as far apart as the chain would allow.

“Wide enough for fun, not enough to run,” Brock grinned. He yanked at Ash’s leash, pulling him forward. “But Pikachus don’t have long arms. We have to fix that.”

He stretched a wide piece of yellow latex on the floor. “Fold your arms against your chest and lie down on this.”

Ash did as ordered. His scars were burning. Brock wrapped the latex around him so his arms were neatly pinned from elbow to wrist against his sides. The young man zipped it up from the back, and turned Ash over. Ash tried to move one of his hands, and only ended up waving a ‘paw’ pathetically.

Brock laughed. “Very cute! But you need ears, and a tail, to be a real Pikachu.” He lifted a yellow blindfold from the floor, one side lined with black. A plush Pikachu ear hung on either side, so when Brock tied it on, they flopped over Ash’s own.

“You’re blushing so red we won’t need to bother with paint…hah, that made you get redder! But…”

The tail. He said there’s a tail. Wait—

“No!” Ash cried as Brock spread his legs. He had a foreboding feeling about what was going to happen next. “I—aiiii!”

“It’s just a finger,” Brock laughed. “Just to warm you up. You’ll need it.”

“I—b-but—don’t—gyyahh!”

Brock shoved something hard and wet inside him—wider than he was used to, and cold. It wasn’t the young man’s penis. It was—“Oh, God!” —longer too, and now it was shaking—no, not shaking, vibrating—

“It’s your tail!” Brock crowed, practically howling from laughter as he watched Ash’s body shake. “You should see it! It’s a Pikachu tail vibrator! And you’re enjoying it too, sick fuck. Look at you! Of course, you can’t. But I can.” Brock began to move it in and out, and Ash groaned. Brock’s hand began to stroke his penis, and Ash whimpered. Then Brock gently massaged the head. Ash cried out.

“God, you’re noisy. Get up.”

“Uh…aaah!...Wha’…?”

“Get up. I’ll lead you.” Brock released his hold, and Ash gave a feeble attempt to push himself from the floor, the horrible vibrator driving him to distraction the entire time. Finally Brock pulled the boy up by his leash, half choking him, and led him across the room, his entire body badly shaking.

“Can’t even handle a toy? No wonder you belong to me…”

“D…dick…” It was a gasp.

“You’ll get plenty, don’t worry.” Brock yanked at the lead and Ash fell on the padded bench.

“Good,” Brock said. Ash simply rested and tried to get a handle on himself. He would not get off on a vibrator. That just wasn’t going to happen. And he wasn’t going to make any more noise, either. Brock got off on how loudly he could make Ash scream—

He felt Brock grab him and straighten him so his legs leaned flush against the legs of the bench and his chin hung off the edge of the other side.

“Can’t use the horse’s chains, gotta tie you up the old fashioned way.”

“Don’t…have to sound so excited about it.”

Ash flinched when Brock gave him a ringing slap. “Behave. I may forget my promise about the fire.”

“…Y-yessir.”

Brock bound his torso to the bench (horse?) and his ankles to its legs. Then, though Ash couldn’t see it, he stepped back to study his handiwork critically.

“Looks good, but you’ve been very mouthy so far tonight…and I do want some red by those red cheeks. Ah! I know what to do.”

A moment later, something round and hard was shoved into Ash’s mouth. He knew what it was. The rubbery texture was very familiar, since Brock made him wear it too often to count.

“Your favorite red ball gag,” Brock said approvingly, snapping the gag’s clasp shut. “There. Now you’re my perfect Pikachu.”

Ash didn’t move. Brock tousled his hair almost lovingly, then straightened the tail so it stuck up straight out of Ash’s bottom. Ash whimpered as Brock toyed with it.

“Oh! I almost forgot.”

Brock stopped messing with the tail, and his presence vanished. Ash heard a rustling in the shopping bag, a ping! as something switched on, and then…

Click! Click! Click!

Oh my GOD!

“No! No! NO!” Ash tried to scream, but of course they only came out as muffled cries. He struggled against the ropes, but Brock was an expert with knots and he couldn’t move an inch.

“Don’t you want to see how fuckable you look, slave?” Brock snickered. “Don’t you want to know why I do this? I love you. I can’t resist you. You’re beautiful like this. I realized I have to capture it…”

Ash whimpered. He’s insane, he thought. Then, as the humiliation welled: I won’t cry. I won’t. That’s what he wants. He’s probably taking pictures just to try to break me more…God, won’t he ever stop? No one needs any evidence of this…no! I won’t! I won’t cry, dammit!

The clicking stopped. Ash heard more rustling—Brock putting the camera away, thank God!—and felt Brock’s hand pet his head.

“Don’t worry, slave,” he said softly, and his voice was strangely tender. “They’re just for us. No one else. Our memories.” Then, the old Brock returned. “But you just wait here for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

Brock pushed the twitching vibrator in a little further, making Ash whimper, then unlocked the door and left, locking it again behind him. Ash heard his footsteps pad down the hall, despite the music that seemed to swell up in his absence.

Oh, God…please…someone, please, help me…!

— — — — — —

Dawn couldn’t sleep.

She couldn’t understand what it was—normally she slept like a rock, but tonight she tossed and turned more than a ship in high storm. Perhaps it was because of Ash and Brock—or rather, the lack of Ash and Brock. And Ash had left Pikachu behind, wherever he had gone. That worried her. True, it was sleeping (quite deeply, she was starting to envy it), but even—no, especially after That Night Ash hadn’t gone anywhere without it. For him to leave it here…and to not leave a note for her…!

“Well, they’re not the only ones who can have a night out,” she said out loud sharply, and jumped out of bed. Pulling off her pajamas and yanking on her street clothes, she growled, “I’ve got Piplup, and I can find May, and I’m sure we can—geez, Pikachu, today wasn’t that hard on you, was it?”

She poked the rodent, which was still asleep. She sighed, shrugged, and shouldered her backpack.

“See you later, Pikachu. Sweet dreams!”

— — — — — —

Terrier strode down the boulevard, her heels clicking against the pavement. The Pokémon Center had been a bust, but at least she’d gotten some sort of lead. If only her sister hadn’t told the Joys to keep the boy out! One more fight would become one more night away from that bastard, and that would change everything, if Terrier knew anything about her business…

At least she was back on the chase. Once the fourth trainer had fallen victim to that horrible Onix, the Chief had no choice but to admit Terrier was right about how its attacks were not coincidence. And while there was nothing to directly connect the victims other than the Onix itself, the fact that the first victim had never given testimony, and Terrier’s discovery that his travel associates included a very young Coordinator and a seasoned former Kanto rock type Gym Leader—well, it was enough to let her leave Voldale Town and pursue the trio for further evidence.

Then she noticed something odd. A young girl walked down the street, hugging a Piplup tightly. She seemed a little nervous, especially when an older man approached her and began to talk, a lewd expression on his face. When he began to wiggle his fingers, her own expression turned from shock to disgust. Terrier knew it was time to intervene. In a moment she was next to the two and, in a stern voice, growled, “Is there a problem here, sir?”

The man turned to face her and blanched. “Oh. Uh, no, officer. Just askin’ the young lady about her Piplup…well groomed…” The man appeared to be trying to melt into the wall.

Terrier smiled. That is, she showed her teeth. “Good for you, sir. I’d like to speak with you for a moment.”

She smiled at the girl, a smile that reached her eyes, and pulled the man away. And, in a soft voice, said: “I could bring you in for half a dozen charges, right now. But you want to go home tonight, don’t you?”

The man nodded fearfully.

“Right.” Terrier silkily reached into the man’s pocket and pulled out his wallet. “If my sisters or I see you near any trainers again, Mr. Ferguson—and we will be watching—there will be...consequences.” She quietly pulled out a small device and made a copy of the man’s ID. A moment later, before he quite realized what was happening, she took his hand and shoved his thumb against the screen. It beeped as it registered a thumbprint. His eyes widened as she took a photo, then slipped the little machine into her front pocket.

“We’ll be watching, Mr. Ferguson,” she said, her eyes not leaving his. “I hope we understand each other.”

The man nodded once and took to his heels. As he fled she took the machine back out and sent his information to every other Jenny in the city, with a note for the charge. The man wouldn’t get far.

She turned to the girl, who hadn’t moved. “Are you all right?”

“Y-yes.” The girl looked shaken, and was holding her Piplup tightly. Terrier didn’t blame her.

“Where are you headed? Would you mind it if I escorted you there?”

“Oh, could you?” the girl said, relief bursting from her in waves. “I’m going to the Pokémon Center. But I got lost, and…”

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s not far at all.” Terrier smiled, and began to walk. The girl fell in step beside her. “What’s your name?”

“Dawn. I’m a Coordinator.”

Terrier felt a shock run down her spine. She looked at the girl again, harder this time—and yes, though the girl was in her regular clothes and not pajamas, she recognized the blue hair and the blue eyes. They held more life now, but also more worry.

“I see,” she said casually. “What are you doing out so late, Mi—Dawn? It’s nearly midnight.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” the girl answered after a moment. “It’s funny. Normally I sleep really easy, but…well, the boys are out tonight.” To herself she added, “And it’s so unlike them, especially to be out this late...”

“That must be tough, to have your friends out without you,” said Terrier, mind racing. The two boys were out, leaving the girl behind. Why? The girl said she normally slept well…which meant the bastard could have some sort of setup so he could torment the boy while she slept. So why would they be out…?

“No need to worry, officer!” Dawn said cheerfully. “I have a friend in the Pokémon Center. I can stay with her until I’m sleepy, I’m sure.”

“Are you staying at the hotel, then?”

Dawn nodded. “It’s nice. It has bigger beds than at the Pokémon Center.”

“Oh. That’s good.” Terrier nodded her head. Then, after a moment: “Miss Dawn, I wondered, do you recognize me at all…?”

“Hmm?” Dawn blinked, clearly confused. Terrier smiled, grimly. “I suppose you wouldn’t. The last time we met was almost two months ago, in Voldale Town—”

“Look! It’s the Pokémon Center!”

Terrier sighed as Dawn darted through the front doors, and followed her at a more sedate pace. Inside, Joy raised an amused eyebrow.

“Back again, are we?” she said, grinning. Terrier shook her head.

“The blue-haired girl, did she—?”

“She’s gone up to the dorms. Looking for—”

“—a friend of hers, yes.” Terrier bit her lip in thought. “Who’s she gone to see? Did she say?”

“No, she just ran up.” Joy laughed. “I don’t think she quite realizes how late it is.”

“No, or she wouldn’t have left her hotel. Joy, that’s her! The one I was looking for! The one that might help me crack this case!”

“No kidding?” Joy looked up the stairs in wonder. “Lucky…”

“Yes. But…I have to be careful. She’s just a child. If I press this too hard, especially if she hasn’t noticed anything…” Terrier bit at a hangnail, eyes still glued to the stairs.

“What are you thinking?”

“…She’s said the boys are out. And she can’t sleep well tonight even though she normally sleeps soundly. I wonder…remember the Garcia case?”

“I’m not a cop, Terrier.”

“Sorry…this boy that’d been drugged, came to us the next morning with no bag or memory of the night before. The only reason we knew anything happened was because he wanted to know where his wallet and pokédex had gone…”

There was a sudden shout from above. A moment later, stomping, heading to the stairs. Joy gave a near imperceptible nod and, as Dawn angrily pounded her way down the staircase, said just a touch too loudly: “Your Growlithe is just fine, Officer. I’ve yet to see a police-trained Growlithe in less than perfect condition, and yours is no exception.”

“Thank you, Nurse,” Terrier said gravely, quietly palming a pokéball in case the girl noticed the lack thereof. However, Dawn didn’t notice a thing, being far too busy fuming.

“She threw a pillow at me!” she snarled indignantly. “And then yelled at me for making her lose her pillow!”

Terrier hid a smile. “Oh, dear. I suppose you’ll be heading back to your hotel, then?”

“I don’t think I can go anywhere else.” Dawn looked outside. “Oh, no. It’s raining!”

“I’ve got an umbrella. I’ll walk you back,” Terrier said quickly. Dawn smiled gratefully, and the two walked once more through the Pokémon Center’s doors, Nurse Joy waving them a cheerful goodbye.

— — — — — —

Footsteps down the hall. A click of a lock, to a different room. Screams of pain and moans of pleasure pulsating with the music, leaking through the thin walls…Ash couldn’t know how long he’d been left there, the horrible tail still buzzing away inside him, stimulating him, driving him half mad, leaving his fevered mind only the knowledge that worse was to come…

Footsteps down the hall. A click of a lock.

The door opened.

“Here he is,” Brock said, voice dripping with self-satisfaction. Ash trembled. Whenever Brock sounded that pleased…

“Holy shit…”

Ash froze. No. Oh, God, no. Not him. Please. Anyone. Anyone but him…

“You saw me lead him in. You didn’t think—”

“Yeah, but…” There was a sigh. And, said so softly that Ash was sure no one was meant to actually hear it: “He really is a weakling. Almost thought…”

No! You’re seeing this wrong! You don’t understand! God, no! No!

“He told me he really wants you to fuck him. Both of us, actually. At the same time. He’s never had that happen before.”

WHAT?!

“NO!” Ash screamed, but the only sound that came out was a desperate mmph! Brock, standing by his head, slapped his face gently.

“Now now, no need to sound so enthusiastic,” he smirked. Ash could hear the smirk and loathed him for it. “Go on, Paul. You’ve my permission. Fuck his ass as hard as you can…but his mouth belongs to me.”

He bent and nibbled at Ash’s ear. Then, whispered so low Ash himself barely caught it, “Tonight’s a celebration, slave. But if you start acting funny, embarrass me…I might forget my promise about the fire.”

Ash whimpered, and bent his head until his chin hit the cushion of the horse. He didn’t know what was more horrifying—what he knew was about to happen, or Brock with a poker in his hands…

He groaned as Paul pulled the vibrator out of his bottom.

“Stretched and ready for ya,” said Brock, and Ash heard the soft flump of clothing discarded. The gag was removed. Quickly, saliva dripping down his chin, Ash gasped, “Paul, stop, you don’t—”

But Brock was kissing him now, a hard domination that trapped his tongue and mouth, and Paul was massaging his buttocks in a sweet, almost loving way, a way Brock never had—

Ash couldn’t hold back a soft moan, and Paul laughed coarsely, a stark contrast to his ministrations. “Just from being touched? Then what happens if I do…this?” He slipped a finger inside and wiggled it. Ash jerked, but Brock wouldn’t break the kiss, possibly in fear that Ash would say something if given the chance.

Then Paul mounted him.

Ash screamed. Not from pain, he was so stretched out from the vibrator that Paul’s smaller penis didn’t hurt at all. Not from physical pain.

No. It was the fact that his rival, his hated rival, his polar opposite in every way…

Was fucking him. And from the sound of it, he was enjoying it.

Ash screamed.

Brock pulled away. Ash tried to scream again—

“Open up,” Brock laughed, shoving several fingers into Ash’s mouth to widen it—

—And shoved his penis in.

Brock began to thrust, and the two fell into a horrific rhythm. Brock clutched at Ash’s hair, and Paul’s fingernails dug into the small of Ash’s back—and all the time Ash whimpered and moaned, tears stopped by the blindfold, eyes tightly clenched though no one could see, the Pikachu ears flopping against his face in time to the thrusts as his face and bottom mashed into his partners’.

Brock came first. Ash swallowed, like he always did, and Brock pulled out. Paul, however, wasn’t finished—he continued to pound into Ash furiously, grunt loudly with each thrust. Now that Ash’s mouth was open, he was free to scream and plead—but Paul thought he was roleplaying, or didn’t care, perhaps simply didn’t hear, so focused was he on the sensations he felt. He was too involved in his own world of pleasure derived from pain, and couldn’t be bothered to leave it.

“God—Ash—aah!”

“Please! Paul—sto—oh God!”

Paul cried out louder than he had before, and a trickle of white fluid dribbled out from between Ash’s legs. Ash screamed a second later, and the bench became wet and stained where Ash’s penis had been pressed against it.

Ash began to sob as Paul pulled out. Brock sighed.

“Stop acting, there’s clear evidence that you loved every minute of it.”

If anything, the sobs grew louder. Paul frowned, but Brock only sighed again. “The only way to shut him up when he’s like this is to gag him,” he said, picking up the abandoned ball gag. “Mind—?”

Paul’s frown grew deeper. Something about this seemed a little off—it almost felt like Ash needed to have the ability to use his safeword here, and Paul had always preferred hearing the subs scream. Still, clearly Ash and Brock had a thing going. Ash was even collared. Brock would know.

“All right,” he said, and watched as Ash was unwillingly gagged once again.

“Much better,” said Brock, tickling Ash under the chin. “But my little Pikachu’s lost his tail!”

Ash whimpered, and his body began to shake. Without a word Brock picked up the Pikachu-tail vibrator and shoved it back home, eliciting another muffled scream from the boy. Then he picked up a knife and carefully cut Ash free of the horse. Ash slipped to the floor in a heap.

“Stop acting, slave,” Brock purred, grabbing onto the end of Ash’s leash. “You like the feel of that tail between your legs, don’t you? Let me help you up.” He pulled Ash up by the lead and led him to the chair without a seat.

Ash collapsed. Brock pushed him into a sitting position and, with a curiously businesslike look on his face, took some rope and bound Ash to the chair. Paul blinked and the expression was gone, replaced with raw lust.

“We had fun with him,” he said simply. “Now it’s time for him to have fun.”

He began to move the vibrator up and down, and Ash twitched in rhythm, soft sounds coming through the already wet gag. Brock slowly stroked Ash’s penis and testicles, continuing each teasing stroke down to tickle the sensitive skin on his inner thighs. Ash’s head jerked, and the soft sounds started to become louder.

Paul grinned. He leaned over and kissed Ash’s neck, tenderly, softly, leading up to suck on his earlobe. The boy moaned. Paul remembered his reaction to the piddling amount of foreplay he’d used earlier, and roguishly tickled Ash’s collarbone. Ash gasped through the gag and his back arched from the chair.

“…mmm…mmph…!”

Paul sucked on Ash’s earlobe again and kissed it, then moved his kisses across Ash’s cheek. Ash whimpered and tried to turn his head away, but Paul gently caught his chin and, after giving his nose a kiss, began to leave a trail of kisses down his neck. Ash started to shiver. Brock was still playing with the vibrator, and Ash’s penis. The boy buckled against the restraints, but couldn’t stop the two as they stimulated his every nerve. After an uncounted period of hours or minutes, Paul looked down and saw Ash had an erection again.

“Let me,” he said, and gently pushed Brock away. Brock frowned, but Paul didn’t care. He just wished he could ungag Ash now…what he was going to do would make him scream and beg for more…

Brock backed away. Paul pulled out the vibrator—Ash gave a loud groan—and knelt in front of Ash. He took the boy’s penis into his mouth..

Behind the blindfold, Ash’s eyes flew open. What the hell was this? He’d heard Paul say ‘let me,’ and felt Brock move away, and now…now…

“Oh, God!” he tried to say, but it came out more like “mm mmmph!” Something warm and wet surrounded his penis. And something strong and flexible was stroking it and….oh…God…

Paul was sucking on him.

Ash shivered, his hands flexing in the latex gloves. Was this what it felt like? Was this why Brock made him do it all the time?

But these were background thoughts, because all the rest of him was lost in what was quite possibly the first sexual act ever done for no reason but to make him feel good. As Paul picked up the pace, Ash’s moans grew into cries, then screams. Neither of the boys heard the clicks—

Ash came, and Paul swallowed. He released Ash slowly, and grinned when he saw Ash’s red cheeks and heaving chest.

“Liked it, huh?” Paul panted. Ash gasped for air through the gag, but made no other movements. Paul heard raucous laughter behind him. He turned, and saw Brock sitting on the floor, a leering grin on his face.

“You’ll never get him to admit anything,” he sneered. “That was pretty hot, by the way. Love to see you do it again.”

Paul glared at him, then looked away. There was something vaguely unsettling about the man. The moment Paul began to enjoy himself, the moment he sensed Ash beginning to relax, Brock’s brashness and unsettling cheerfulness tarred everything with a strange, predatory tint…

There was a knock at the door.

Brock frowned. “What?” he snapped.

“You got three people in there,” growled a gruff, no-nonsense voice from the other side of the door.

“Yeah. So?”

“You only paid for two. And the card you gave us don’t cover three.”

Brock looked at Paul, who shrugged. “Hey, you invited me. Deal with it.”

Brock, his face contorted in anger at having his fun interrupted, yanked on his pants and snatched his wallet. He stomped through the door and slammed it behind him. Both boys heard the lock click and footsteps pound down the hall.

“That gets rid of him,” Paul smirked. He snatched the knife by the horse and cut the ropes pinning Ash to the chair. Ash shifted and slipped, falling straight into Paul’s arms. He nearly screamed as Paul accidentally pressed the metal of the knife against his skin.

“Don’t worry about that,” Paul said gruffly. “I don’t use knives.” He gently turned Ash until he could reach the boy’s back. Carefully, he unzipped the latex wrap, and pulled it off. Ash’s bright pink skin clung to the covering grimly, so drenched was he in sweat, but soon the boy was free.

Ash’s hands fell limply into his lap. Paul looked around for a moment, then smiled.

“He’ll be gone for a while,” he said, and pushed Ash towards a short pole with a hook at the end. He pulled his arms up and over the hook so the handcuffs caught on the pole. Ash was effectively pinned.

Paul stroked the side of Ash’s face, then realized what he’d forgotten to do. He quickly reached behind Ash’s head and released the gag’s clasp. Ash gasped for air, his chin covered with saliva, red marks on either side of his mouth.

“P-Paul..” His voice cracked. “Stop.” Another gasp, and then: “Please. Please. I’m…I can’t…”

Ash started to shake. Paul crawled on top of him.

“You won’t want me to stop.”

“I already do! Please…you’re—you’re acting like him…and I thought…I thought you…” The shaking grew worse.

Paul, who’d been kissing his neck, stopped. There was a catch in the boy’s voice he’d never heard before, not from any sub. But he hadn’t said anything that sounded like a safeword—

…Brock had never mentioned if he even had one…

Confused, and not a little apprehensive, Paul pushed the blindfold up Ash’s forehead so it was more like a yellow headband, and for the first time stared into Ash’s eyes.

After a paralyzing moment, he shuddered and looked away.

Silently he crawled off the boy and pulled his arms free of the hook. Ash curled into a ball, facing away from Paul.

“You…” Paul ran out of words, and tried again. “You…you weren’t…”

“No.”

Oh my God…

Paul looked at Ash again, and this time he looked hard. The dim lighting and the latex had hidden what was now obvious. Ash’s back was a map of whorls and indents all scars from unknown tortures. There were dark, shiny, raised sections of once-burned skin next to small valleys from too many hits from whips and crops. The scars continued around his shoulders and sides, but stopped towards his bottom and neck. Paul had a sick feeling it was so Ash could hide the wounds better and be easier to violate.

“Oh, God…what happened to you?”

Ash’s frame shuddered, and a soft sound escaped. Paul realized he was trying not to sob.

“He…” It was soft, almost impossible to hear over the music. “He…brought you in…to…to torture…” The soft sobbing sound again. “H-he knows…”

Ash curled into a tighter ball. Paul didn’t move.

After an eternity, Ash turned over and sat up. Paul saw more scars on his chest, and realized for the first time the real reason Ash had been wearing latex was to hide all the damage Brock had given him.

“You have to leave. Before he finds a way to hold you.”

Paul blinked. “What do you mean? He can’t hold me anywhere.”

Ash started to laugh. It was bitter, hollow, horrible. “He holds me. He could hold me without all this and he knows it. He just does it because he thinks it’s fun. I…” Ash looked away. “You have to leave. He’ll—he’ll find what you care for, and then…then…”

Footsteps down the hall.

Ash looked at Paul in terror. “Oh my God,” he gasped. “He’s coming back! And you’ve—you’ve taken it all off—and we’ve talked—he’s going to kill me! There’s a—there’s a fire here!” The sentence ended in a panicked squeak. Paul followed Ash’s gaze to the coal-filled stove, and his eye drew themselves like magnets back to the maze of scars on Ash’s chest. Shiny, fresh, burn scars.

“Just trust me, and follow my lead,” Paul said quickly, and pulled Ash’s blindfold down.

Footsteps outside the door. A click the lock.

Brock stepped inside to see Ash struggling underneath Paul, who was kissing him passionately.

“Hey!” he snarled. “He’s mine! Get off!”

Paul sat up, pulling Ash into his lap. Ash shivered as he heard Brock’s footsteps approach, and instinctively pressed himself against Paul’s chest. Paul found himself holding the boy tightly, his skin rubbing against Ash’s scars. Despite his distaste for showing affection, he didn’t care—not when that monster was in the room.

“What’s the matter?” he leered. “You’ve been sharing all night.”

“Not his mouth. His kisses are mine.” Brock growled and grabbed at Ash’s leash. He yanked at it hard, and Ash fell out of Paul’s arms with a cry.

“You took the costume off,” he said, dragging Ash closer. Paul’s hands balled into fists. “I didn’t tell you to do that.”

“I didn’t like it that much. And I like to hear them scream.”

“And you like other things, I assume.” Brock glared. Paul shrugged.

“He’s got nice lips. And you shared everything else.”

Brock yanked at the leash again, pulling Ash across the floor to lie at his feet. Ash didn’t move. “He’s in trouble, then. He needs some punishment for allowing anyone but me to kiss him.”

A soft whimper escaped from Ash’s lips, and he turned his face to the floor.

Paul’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve had enough,” he growled, and stood up. “Get away from him. He’s not yours.”

“He’s wearing my collar. He’s been my slave for months. Everything about him is mine.”

“You’re foul.” He strode over to Ash and pushed Brock away. He quickly pulled Ash onto his lap and pulled the blindfold off. Ash blinked and stared at him. “I’m taking him out of here. Don’t think of stopping me. My Pokémon are more than powerful enough to take you down.”

“Paul…” Ash whispered. “You…”

Brock laughed. “You can try to take him. He won’t come. Will you, slave?”

Ash buried his face in the curve of Paul’s neck. Paul felt wetness against his skin. Anger boiled.

“We’re going,” he snarled, and moved to pick Ash up.

A handcuffed, gloved hand stopped him.

“Paul…” It was just a breath in his ear. “You…thank you. Someone…cares…”

Paul’s grip tightened.

Then Ash pushed himself away. And for the first time Paul saw the despair in his eyes replaced by the determined glint he had always seen in them before.

“You’ll take her if I leave, won’t you, master?” he said clearly, still staring into Paul’s eyes.

Brock simply laughed.

Ash looked down, and sighed. He leaned his head briefly in the hollow of Paul’s neck. And again, in a breath of a whisper, so his master couldn’t hear: “Leave. Before he finds a way to hold you. If you’re free…” A soft sob. “Maybe …you can free us.”

Paul squeezed Ash’s arm, gently.

He then pushed him away. In the same movement, he stood up and snatched on his pants. His shirt and jacket in one hand, pokéball belt in the other—he wouldn’t have stayed another second to get fully dressed for any amount of power or glory—he bolted to the door. He couldn’t stand seeing Ash lying there, and Brock’s smug face…

“Oh, Paul?”

Paul, hand on the doorknob, paused. He heard Ash whimper, and did not turn around.

“Tonight is a celebration of his collaring, so I took some…memories of him. Some of him earlier, before you came in…then, when you were fucking him on the horse, so I could remind him…and of course when you two were so hot and you were sucking him off…”

Paul tensed. His grip on the doorknob tightened.

“So if you try to damage my slave’s reputation…well…”

There was a small snap. Ash screamed.

“I’ll find a way to kill you,” Paul whispered…and fled.

Until that night, he had never been a coward.

He swore, as he ran down the hallways and out into the silvery rain, he would make Brock pay for turning him into one.

— — — — — —

Pippy’s note: in BSDM, being collared is the equivalent of getting a wedding ring. Slaves have Masters who use them and discipline them, but it’s a relationship with an understanding that the Master won’t abuse them to the point of intolerance. It’s the same with dom/sub. Subs usually have a safeword or code they can use when they’ve had too much. Obviously Paul would be a dom, but honestly if Ash were into it for reals I couldn’t see him being a sub. He’s only in the role because Brock’s been putting him there, and unfortunately Ash is starting to believe it’s to be expected and is the only option he’s got short of letting it all go to hell.

Paul is hopefully IC in this chapter, but I purposely made him a little OOC because in the show he’s an abusive sociopath (I don’t know what it is with the rivals these days, the new one’s almost as bad). I decided to make it so that he had the ability to feel empathy for those in extreme duress. Considering how they actively showed he was physically and emotionally abusive with Chimchar, a submissive creature, and how he treated others at that point in the show, he would probably not be this nice. But I can only handle one horrifically psychotic bastard in this story, so Paul loses the spotlight in that regard. I hope you guys don’t mind.

Reviews are awesome! They encourage me to write faster, cos I’ve got people to write for!
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A Dark Night