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Shortstack Kirlia Have Rights?	By : Tastatura Category: Pokemon > General Views: 65828 -:- 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
- 4
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A popular social trend observed some decades into the initial ‘peace period’ for human and SEPH relations surrounded extreme gestures of bilateral trust and the excessive provision of various resources between those that could be considered close neighbors, family friends, or co-workers. Succinctly, adult members of both races began ‘going out of their way’ for one another more frequently and more extensively than they might for members of their own species.

Several factors contributed to the phenomenon, the majority of which concerned the generational ‘easing’ of the prejudices maintained between the species. Over time, the children of the future replaced the hardliners of the past—individuals raised to be more acceptant and forgiving of their fellow man regardless of his or her appearance and biology. Spared from the trauma (or in the case of humans, feelings of innate superiority) that had consumed their predecessors, peaceful coexistence appeared to this new generation as an achievable and maintainable standard as opposed to a far-flung ideal.

In their pursuit of this ideal, these children subconsciously denied themselves the option of waiting for it to come to them. Influenced by developmental environments wherein equality was the rule and not the exception, they experienced no dissonance in befriending their differently born peers and interacting with them as they would their own kind. When old enough to learn of the conflicts that had separated their species and the atrocities committed by humans towards SEPH, they prioritized progression over further rumination on the past. SEPH ‘turned the other cheek’ for the sake of the future whilst humans took on feelings of second-hand guilt so as to influence their actions for the better.

The generation’s learnt ‘need’ to contribute to a better future allowed SEPH and humans born during this period species to actively moderate their behavior without a felt loss of autonomy. No matter the concession made, not one of them felt as though their forced behavior was in fact forced, or that their feelings towards humans and SEPH respectively were unnecessarily ‘good’. They instead believed that their approaches were for the best, and through this enjoyed the positive affect often inherent in ‘doing the right thing’.

Upon reaching adulthood, the self-moderation invested in by these children became innate. The lives that they lived were not unfairly slanted towards propping SEPH above humans (or vice versa), but whenever one needed help, the other jumped to their aid far more readily than one might expect from two recently integrated species.

As mentioned above, those who displayed this ‘readiness to help’ most often were individuals whose lives necessitated regular interaction with members of another race (ex. families living in the same neighborhood).

Amongst human families, particularly those that contained at least one male child, this readiness was realized in the act of ‘child-loaning’. The inborn physical inadequacy of the majority of adult male SEPH typically necessitated that smaller species of Pokemon seek aid from larger species to complete the grunt work typically designated to the eldest male(s) of a household. So as not to put their smaller neighbors through the sometimes-humiliating task of finding a larger Pokemon to rely on, adult male humans often loaned their male children out to SEPH families in need. As the tasks themselves were well-suited for children, human fathers did not need to present this aid as an imposition of charity. So long as some loose relationship existed between them and a family of SEPH, providing it was as easy as striking up a casual conversation about child rearing or a short stint of babysitting with a neighbor.

Sometimes, it was even easier. In cases wherein a male human and SEPH schooled in the same environment lived within walking distance of one another, their families often became so close that human male children could be found living amongst their SEPH neighbors as often as they might be found at their actual homes.

At the height of this trend, cases such as these were few and far between.

Much more commonly observed between households was the practice of ‘preparatory babysitting’. To better prepare for the eventualities of raising multiple children of different ages, married SEPH females were often petitioned by their husbands to babysit the children of their human neighbors when opportunities to do so presented themselves. Likely because of their desire to project trust and acceptance, these services were offered by SEPH families regardless of the actual state of their households.

Of the practices encompassed by the shared trend, ‘preparatory baby-sitting’ was by far the most successful. Predisposed for effective parenting by their changed genetics, SEPH females successfully juggled however many children were required of them in order to ensure that their families were perceived as welcoming. Their long-standing vaccination against the pheromones put out by human male adolescents* facilitated uniform treatment for males and females, and in general, their softer dispositions prompted the children that they looked after to regard them as loveable ‘aunts’ long after they ceased spending time with them.

It bears repeating at this point that the various pros of this trend and its practices remain underscored by uncertainties even now. Take, for example, the trend itself: Whereas humans and SEPH of this generation initiated the trend through volitional action, it is likely that societal expectations perpetuated it. No one family, human or SPEH, is likely risk marking themselves as pariah by defying the norms set by their neighbors and ‘keeping to their own’ where possible.

This aside, question marks remain over the conditions in which SEPH mothers looked after human children. It can be inferred from the reports of children who experienced these conditions that they are largely safe and up building, but whether or not this is the case uniformly is just as questionable as the quality of the environment provided by surrogate human caregivers.

What if, for example, a SEPH mother willfully accepted an adolescent child into her home whilst knowing that she had not been vaccinated as a youth? Further, what if the child that she was tasked to look after, in all of his youthful inexperience, could be convinced not to utter a word about her ‘wrongdoings’ when and if they occurred?

Though morbid, the possibility of such a hypothetical reality existing as a part of this trend beg a question to be considered in later reports:

What might become of the mind and nature a child made to grow up through such conditions?
-
A BEDROOM
Cruz was not supposed to be bothered by the muffled sound of crying. Save the loose sympathy felt by older children towards their younger and more vulnerable counterparts, he should not have felt anything at all.

Of course, he realized this. Laid out back first against a mattress more familiar than his own and taken up in activities far less ‘grating’ than the crying of children, his ears shouldn’t have perceived the noise at all.

But it was all he could hear. Noises rhythmically created at his crotch and a sweet voice projected overtop him competed with the sound of sobbing for prevalence to no avail. His sweat-moistened features remained slanted towards the side of the room from which they stemmed, and his attention remained firmly split between the goings-on around him and whatever unfortunate ‘cause’ had induced the crying in the first place.

Such was his preoccupation that the only other person aware of the ‘insignificant’ noise thought to question him on it for his own good.

“What’s…”

*SPLATTT!*

“Wrong…”

*PLAPP!*

“Cruz?”

*PLAPP!*

“You stopped kissing me—is something bothering you? If there is, all you have to do is say so. I don’t wanna be the kind of greedy pig that lets her trainer miss out on feeling good just ‘cause of what his dick is doing to her brain ♥.”

The woman responsible for the utterances that flowed into Cruz’s ear was Helena—the mother of the children worked to a wail somewhere within the house and the SEPH woman with whom he spent many of his mornings and afternoons. Speaking out in the midst of intimately smothering his chest with the plump swell of her breasts and ruthlessly driving the fat of her buttocks and upper thighs along the length of his cock, Cruz reasoned that she had busied herself with far too many ‘enjoyable’ activities for the extraneous noise produced by her children to reach her.

To him, this was both surprising and entirely not. Ignoring the complaints of her children was something that Helena did quite often. Even now, however, her doing so plucked a chord within him. A mother that could become so enamored with goring her cunt with his cock did not seem like much of a mother at all. Other facts within his mind contradicted this point, but their existence did little to change his feelings in the present.

Far too innocent to dwell on the thought as it occurred, Cruz turned his sweat-slickened features away from their absentminded slant off towards the edge of the bedroom and back towards a face-to-face position underneath Helena’s. Immune to the endearingly-depraved expression that shone down on him after the fact, he parted his lips to respond to her question.

The words he intended to produce never left his throat. Right as he began to form them, a droplet of blood fed volume from a thick trickling of the substance from Helena’s right nostril slipped off her upper lip and collided with his cheek.

This—not the ravenous bouncing of her gelatinous rear or the perverse language that she uttered in the presence of child—moved Helena to bashfulness. Quickly raising her right hand away from its embrace of Cruz’s upper back, she swiped the blood into a smear across the side of her face and blushed.

“Sorry, sorry; I can’t really help myself anymore, sweetie. Destroying my brain with your cock just feels too nice sometimes…” she exhaled wistfully. “Here, it’s okay. I can feel that you’re really close to squirting more baby-juice into my useless bitch factory again. That’ll make you feel better, right?”

“Making sure I give birth to more useless feral cunts will make you feel better, right?”

“Of course it will ♥.”

Cruz did not have an answer to the Helena’s question. He was not so fatigued as to abandon thought, and contrary to what ought to have been the case, the ‘topic’ she had referenced was not obscured by his inexperience.

As was natural for a child, he was torn. Helena regularly referred to herself as a disposable animal and went as far as showing him the way that one behaved over and over again. She had reminded him on several occasions that she was not a person and did not need to be treated as such whenever they were alone, and even rewarded him for using her as she ‘ought to be used’.

Nevertheless, a part of the boy’s mind refused to budge. Completely internalizing the idea that the ‘nice lady’ his father had introduced him to a year ago was a simple, sex-drunk animal to be used and thrown away did not sit well with him. Past this, what a ‘sex-drunk animal’ was—and whether or not this thing was good or bad—was not entirely clear to him.

Helena did not care what this part of Cruz thought. Privy to its existence and its muddling of her perfect partner’s behavior, she followed up her assurance to Cruz with a deft peeling of her sex-drenched frame from off of the boy’s chest. Transitioning into a deep, open-crotch (and toe-supported) squat atop his crotch, its completion saw her reassume her embrace of his upper back and drag him into an abbreviated seated position that again mashed his face into the clothed bloat of her breasts.

The young mother sought no ‘intimate contact’ from the gesture. The moment she rose into her squat, the unruly, semen-plastered pipe of cockmeat within her was driven to a deeper wedge against the ceiling of her womb.

From the harshened contact between Cruz’s glans and her well-used baby-pocket came wave after wave of wriggling and throbbing through the root system of blood vessels that enveloped its exterior. Essentially, everything about her semen-greased hilt along the boy’s member became better—so much so that she found herself acting in search of further improvements almost immediately.

In the blink of an eye, she slid her hips outwards and upwards by a precious handful of inches. Drawing an equivalent chunk of puffy phallus-meat from her depths behind noisy splutters of chunked semen in the process, she received for her troubles a strenuous grind of oversized boy-cock through her feminine inwards. Just as soon as these inches were free from the greedy suction of her cunt, she curled her hips through a monstrous, balls-deep slam to send their girth back inside of her. Messily displacing a wet *GLORP* of discolored cock juice through her lower lips in the process, she happily pressed several inches of vein-studded cockmeat back through her swollen folds and into the delivery of a pleasantly-nauseating punch of glans flesh against her womb.

The stinging bliss that resounded through her female organ after the fact motivated her to further obscenities. Following the first outward flick of her rear, she swiftly took to reproducing her gut-wrenching ‘hump’ of Cruz’s crotch at a speed that turned the ‘punches’ of cockmeat against her womb into a repeated, organ-fattening pummel of the domesticated baby-maker’s ceiling.

Whether by virtue of stimuli or exertion, silence whilst producing these thrusts was impossible.

“J-Just—l-like—t-this…” eyes up-turned in bliss and lips curled into a smile as soft as it was deranged, Helena narrated her humping chain in a tone of voice that matched the gulping and squelching that was repeatedly fucked from her cunt. “You deserve to use my meat j-just like this, C-Cruz. I-I’m just a stupid SEPH pig who is only good at spitting out babies and getting s-stuffed w-with human cock juice. I-I don’t matter, s-so you don’t have to think about anything e-else, okay? J-Just l-let me fuck myself r-retarded on your c-cock and throw me awauuu♥♥—a-away after ♥.”

Precisely as she had intended, her pumping and driving along Cruz’s member rendered the meat of her cunt as a glutted onahole of flesh and lubrication—one that was certain to bring the youth to an orgasm at the expense of grinding destructive amounts of pleasure into her brain.

But this was the point. Cruz was her trainer—her better in every way possible and the person to which the rest of her lifespan belonged. Even if he was not entirely aware of it or convinced of it as a reality, he deserved the opportunity to masturbate with her innards and seed them as he saw fit.

She intended to give him this opportunity. Not once or twice, but as many times as was necessary for him to recognize his superiority and grant her the same ‘purpose’ that SEPH had once prided themselves in.

With this in mind—or as much as was possible as she continued to fuck away fractions of her ‘self’—Helena made certain that her bouncing along the boy’s cock did not become homogenous with time. Likely as a result of her filling herself with the boy’s cock volitionally, she eventually found it within herself to peel her eyes from their euphoric upturning and shift them back down to stare at the skull she had mashed into her sweaty breasts.

Loosening her embrace to allow her dizzied ‘owner’ the opportunity to breathe, she again beamed an expression of perverse (and disarmingly bloody) adulation at him.

“D-Doesn’t getting jerked off with a sow’s cunt feel good, Cruz?” she asked, voice and facial features in stark contrast with one another. “I’m gutting my womb with your c-cock so hard t-that I wanna fucking puke, b-but you haven’t cum yetttt. My insides a-aren’t getting boring f-for you, are they?”

Comically, it was the Mew’s faux pouting that motivated the youth to speech as opposed to the ball-draining pleasure that her cunt squeezed up and down the meat of his erection.

Really, he was in no way immune to the sensations—he had simply resigned himself to consumption by them.

“N-No…” Cruz began, voice breathless and strained. “I-It’s just…the n-noi—“

Alarmingly astute for a SEPH so utterly attached to her ‘biological roots’, Helena cut Cruz’s sentence short before its contents could infect proceedings with matters irrelevant to his pleasure. Pushing her skull downwards, she aggressively smothered her lips down against his own to ensure that no words passed through them. This done, she invaded the confines of his mouth with her tongue and made a concerted effort to use the organ as a ‘stopper’ for the back of his throat.

All the while, her inward thrusting continued uninhibited. Kissing whilst producing a sex-act had never been an activity that required her to split her focus, so executing both acts at the same time was never very effortful for her.

After silencing the boy, her attentions turned to using what remained of her ‘thinking ability’ within the sex-ruined mush of her brain to keep Cruz on the path that she had set for him.

“Still distracted. It’s all their fucking fault, I swear.” she muttered internally. “I’ll have to take a different approach to this because of them. I wanted his dick juice inside me so bad, but now I have to wait. None of those girls are going to amount to anything when they grow up...”

“Whatever.”

Path set, Helena altered the shape of her coupling with Cruz for a second time. Behind a final, cunt-flattening *SPLAT* of her leaking lower lips against the exterior of his crotch and a needy rolling of her hips that swirled the meat of his erection around inside her folds, she began sliding her hips upwards with no signs of stopping. Clearing the maximum height of her thrusts and several inches of cock past that, she afterwards continued past this point into an ascent to her feet and a complete extraction of his cock from her folds.

Her doing so eventually did not make the lead up to the happening anymore painstaking. Every inch that she extracted from her slobbering folds released numerous wads of semen down into noisy, glue-like slithers against the reddened flesh of his member. As if this was not enough sensation for the youth to deal with, the force with which her folds suckled against his shaft’s girth made their ‘peeling’ from off of it feel akin to the removal of a disgustingly pleasurable bandage.

Before it was off, Cruz’s eyes were squeezed shut in catharsis, and his lips were drawn far enough apart in exhalation that saliva began drooling from their right corner. Surprisingly, though, he did not shudder at the clogged *PLORTT!* of semen that burst from the SEPH’s cunt after it was uncorked. Compared to loss of her fattened canal’s squeezing and grinding around his member, the expulsion of a softball width dollop of semen back onto his crotch was almost negligible.

Much like an in-patient unfortunate enough to be conscious during an operation, Cruz dared to pull his visage from its upturning in an attempt at ascertaining what was to happen to him next.

What this was exactly no longer mattered to him. In his time under Helena’s supervision, he had engaged in so many different kinds of ‘sex’ that he was no longer certain as to what did and did not qualify as it.

His decision to peer down at the event was a matter of curiosity both masculine and morbid. No matter their age, a boy was a boy—even endowed with enough stinking cockmeat and chewy semen to tempt a mother of two into destroying her own life without so much as a word.

Until now, of course.

“I-I thought…y-you were going to finish…” Cruz panted, eyes trained on the pink frame rising up ahead of his erection. “W-Wouldn’t it be better if you just finish now? T-That way, maybe…”

“Maybe you can help the babies with—”

Cruz’s speaking coincided with Helena’s first step on her ‘alternative route to success’. A shortstack through and through, the half-naked Mew descended from her squat down into a knee-bent straddling of Cruz’s crotch, then lowered her skull and bust to ideal positions opposite the underside of his cock. This done, her lips sat inches above the engorged fist-mushroom of glans flesh at its tip, and her breasts sat only a short inward slide away from a sweat-slickened envelopment of his trunk’s bulk.

Here, she removed all need for the boy to concern himself with the duration of proceedings. Reaching forward with both hands, she affectionately sandwiched the semen-smeared girth of his cock’s midsection between both of her palms. Incapable of decency or moderation where her trainer’s stinking flesh-tower was concerned, she next parted her lips, and finally plunged her gooey maw down into a slovenly ‘consumption’ of Cruz’s cock. Indifferent to her lips’ perverse accommodation (stretching) of his glans’ softball-like thickness, she did not stop the descent of her skull until the congealed depths of her esophagus forced her to.

Then, just as had been the case with her rear, she began to bob. Intentionally choking mucus-laden gagging noises from out of the back of her throat as she worked, she took to squeezing her lips up and down the cock-section as sloppily and angrily as she could.

In this, she utilized every perverse ‘tool’ gifted to her by her genetics. Using the throat-slop and mucus yoked from her throat each time she skewered her lips down to their ‘stopping point’ directly above her hands’ compression of his cock, she kept each of her neck-fattening strokes both smooth and undeniably greasy. Capable of functioning with far less oxygen than a human whilst choking herself on a cock, she used what little breathing time she could eek out for herself to aggressively snort and huff at the air each time as she worked. By feeding additional musk into her sinuses, she injected further energy into vehemently plunging her esophagus up and down the boy’s length, and in doing so perpetuated her efforts by flooding her brain with destructive narcotics.

The result of her efforts was a half-length throatfucking that lost nothing for its abbreviation—not so far as the boy enjoying it was concerned, anyway.

At any given moment, Cruz was subjected to the sensation of having nearly half of his length gored inside an orifice on par with Helena’s cunt. Tighter, sloppier, and apparently bottomless, each second that his cock spent constricted by its glutted interior edged him closer still towards a release.

But a second was all he ever received. For Helena, mushing half of a sex-greased human cock down her throat was effectively child’s-play. Consequentially, no matter how loud the *GLRPS!* that she squeezed from her throat and the expulsions of throat-slime that she forced herself to spew over her own hands, she never needed more than a second or so to move between bloating her esophagus with cockmeat and vacating it.

Again, this was precisely what the Mew had intended. All throughout the initial minute of her efforts, Helena projected a voracious hunger towards the sprawled out youth ahead of her. She knew exactly what she was doing and how quickly it would make her trainer orgasm…

Right down to the second.

“Cum.”

“Down.”

“My.

“Throat♥. Baste my fucking tonsils in your cock juice ♥.”

Well into her chain of plunges and ascents, these words rang out within Helena’s mind. Unspoken and impotent, she produced them in hopes that her desire to feel Cruz’s cock juice cake her esophagus and warm the base of her stomach might make the happening a reality.

Subconsciously, she knew that she did not need them to. He did not produce the feverish throbbing of the veins impressed against her esophagus lining and the desperate pants that slithered through his lips for fun. He was already at his limit; the only thing that was required for her to have what she desired was a push.

As such, her body produced one. Without warning, Helena followed up her deepest and wettest socketing of drooling throatflesh along his member with a sluggish upward drag of her skull back along his length. Lips spread perversely around his girth throughout her ascent, she imposed as much pressure as she could with the squishy pillows to see several strands of her own throat-slop sucked back into her mouth as she moved upwards.

At his glans, she ceased moving entirely. When the ascent of her lips left only the tip of his cock within her mouth, she replaced the suction that they applied to his member with a vigorous swirling of her tongue from his shaft’s underside up to its top-half. In the midst of the ravenous scrubbing, she allowed all of the opaque muck drawn into her mouth throughout her ascent to begin drizzling back down the length of his cock. Like this, every revolution she completed with her tongue whipped a fraction of her throat’s mudslide around Cruz’s glans, and in turn compiled a gooey smoothness to the scrubbing that she applied with the organ.

A half minute of this treatment was all that the youth could stand.

After this point, an engorged rope of semen was flushed through a strenuous crawl up the length of his urethra before bursting from the tip of his cock like a sludge-laden bullet.

Having timed the event down to the second it occurred, the caking of freshly produced nut-sludge to the back of her throat came as no surprise to Helena. Instead perceiving the happening as a signal, she responded to the weighted mire’s discharge with another starved compression of her lips across the grime-caked exterior of Cruz’s member. This time, however, she did not stop at the consumption of half of its meat. As the slop-gunked limbs served no further purpose, she peeled both of her hands from out of their envelopment of his member well before they could interfere with her neck-bloating descent. In doing so, the entirety of Cruz’s second and third ropes of semen spurted out against the inner lining of her esophagus as opposed to her throat. By the release fourth, all of the boy’s writhing shaft had disappeared. In the blink of an eye—and without a gag or stutter— Helena floored her gullet along his cock down to a nostril-plugging kiss with his crotch.

If not in the manner that she had hoped for, doing so granted her the ‘filling’ that her ruined genetics yearned for. Double-thick blurts of mildly-discolored ejaculate were vomited from Cruz’s glans into innumerable streaks and blotches against the inner lining of her esophagus. Owning a consistency comparable to a mixture of industrial glue and melted cheese, their contents immediately invoked peristalsis within the tube of smooth muscle lest its owner asphyxiate herself on cock juice within seconds. Though ‘successful’ in the sense that the jellied shoelaces of nut never amounted to an outright clogging of its interior, the contractions produced by her esophagus were nowhere near as effective as they might’ve been with another substance. Nauseating *GLORPS* better suited to the chugging of peat through a pipe rumbled out from Helena’s face for each ‘gulp’ she produced, and for all of the gullet-staining seed that she flushed into her stomach, comparable amounts of the substance were left smeared to her esophagus as though it were a poorly maintained drainage pipe.

In the moment, Helena could have cared less. Since the settlement of her nostrils to Cruz’s crotch, every slop-threaded breath of air that she took was one saturated in the mixed scents of cock sweat and semen. Having been denied vaccination as a developing young woman, each one of these noisome inhalations was to her as an injection of high-grade heroin might’ve been to an addict. Everything felt right to her, and as a result, the inefficiencies in her esophagus’ chugging of cock juice went disregarded by her psyche as irrelevant.

To her, this was living. Not raising children, not being a good wife; not even being a person.

Only this: rotting her brain on the stench of human cockmeat and filling her stomach with the semen of a child.

As such, she enjoyed the sensation for as long as she could. When her stomach was halfway swollen with the seed Cruz produced, she continued to breathe and swallow. When the organ’s expectations for the volume of sludge it was to contain were exceeded—which in turn resulted in an embarrassing rejection of nut back up through her esophagus—she continued to breathe and swallow through the event. Even when this excess volume messily burbled out from underneath her lips and through her nostrils, she refused to budge. Her only response was a short-lived twitching of her lower body tied to an orgasmic splutter of female lubrication from her lower lips and onto her inner thighs.

It was only when the smell of stale semen overpowered the stench of Cruz’s cock that she began thinking again. Prone to much more lucid thoughts when not in need of ‘fulfillment’, these thoughts were devoid of the euphoric babbling that could be expected of a woman post orgasm.

Instead, most of them concerned the only matter of relevance that remained for her: experiencing the blissful fulfillment that had come over her all over again.

Most, anyway.

“All of this cum could have ended up squirming inside my womb instead of my stomach. I’d have gotten pregnant for sure, and Cruz would have been able to breed another sow out of me. It’s really such a shame…” lamenting her circumstance in the same way that a younger girl might’ve a lost chance at ice cream or some shit, Helena repeated what she had missed out on to herself before moving along to mull over its silver lining.

“This did save a little bit of time, though. As long as I stick to the plan, I’ll still have plenty of time to be of use to my trainer.”

“I just have to…”

“Pull him out and stand up. Let’s start with that…”

The coherent thoughts produced within Helena’s core did not magically undo the numbing of her nervous system. Borderline invalid from what she had put herself through at the base of Cruz’s cock, extracting his member from her throat required far more effort from her than it usually did. Even with the combined repulsion of her hands (set against his crotch) and the backwards yanking of her skull, the effort still required several long, semen-laden seconds of ‘investment’ from her.

What came afterwards was no better. When finally she succeeded in popping her lips from out of their sodden embrace with his glans, she found that she could not hold herself upright. Flopping backwards onto the surface of her mattress, waves of nausea and debilitating pleasure crashed against her psyche simultaneously.

These were not sensation that she could handle with grace. After a few short seconds of attempting to catch her breath, excess semen still welled within her esophagus burst from the back of her throat in the form of a muted geyser. Large enough and heavy enough to clear her parted lips without drawing her body into the throes of regurgitation, its contents splattered out against the black fabric of her t-shirt in the form of a single, disjointed puddle of cock juice.

In isolation, the happening didn’t require explanation. The unnatural volume of semen she had consumed and her brain’s lack of administrative ability primed her stomach for some form of consequence.

Comically, as if to exonerate itself of failure—or perhaps to remind its owner what had been done to it—a second strand of fresh blood from Helena’s brain began leaking from her right nostril after the fact.

Embarrassed, Helena could not help but speak out in response to the happenings.

“S-Shit. I-I thought I was past b-being such an inefficient pig...” she muttered, voice congested by semen. “I r-really need your help, Cruz. I want you to be able to…use me for as long as possible…so I need you to do something for me…”

Since Cruz’s release, Helena hadn’t bothered to ascertain whether the boy was still conscious. There was no need for her to; the boy that she had selected as her trainer would never succumb to an orgasm as ‘half-assed’ as the one she had provided.

And she was right. Not long after posing her question, a small voice thinned by fatigue rang out to match her own.

“…W-What’s that, Helena? I’m r-really kind kinda sleepy now…” Cruz replied, weakly.

“It’s okay, I know you can do it ♥. W-We’ve already practiced a bunch. Once you do, you can go to sleep, okay?” Helena assured.

Understandably without the desire to think or question the adult woman, Cruz took the affection in her voice to mean that whatever she asked of him was likely to be for the best.

“O-Okay…I-I’ll try…”

“G-Good. Now, just like we practiced: What do you say when you want Helena to feel better?”

Much to Cruz’s surprise, what was asked of him was far easier than he had expected it to be. Utilizing his last vestiges of consciousness, he curled his lips to produce the response that Helena had helped pound into the very core of his brain.

“MEW, use RECOVER…”

This uttered, the boy abandoned consciousness. The moment he allowed weighted eyelids the closure that they yearned for, his perception of the world around him disappeared alongside his sight.

He would never know it, but his doing so spared what remained of his innocence from Helena’s warping of his psyche. No sooner his words reach Helena’s ears was the interior of her bedroom made a site for orgasmic groaning and a vehement discharge of steaming cunt-syrup from between the legs of a SEPH…

All whilst the flow of blood from her nose continued uninhibited.

-
WHAT YOU ARE

There was once a SEPH girl with everything in life.

Born as the only child of a loving mother and father blessed with generational wealth, most every facet of her life from birth to adulthood could be encapsulated within a stereotype.

As a little girl, she was treasured by her parents, doted on by those closest to her, and quietly envied by her tottering peers. Opportunities denied to other children were availed to her in spades, and the resources upon which her future would be built were continuously stockpiled by her family to ensure that she would never want for anything as an adult.

Despite having everything, the SEPH girl was unspoiled and generous. Wise enough to recognize what their love might do to their daughter’s sense of self overtime, her parents worked to impress ‘normalcy’ into her personality from her formative years right into her adolescence. Their intent was to raise a daughter and not an heiress; a young woman respected and admired by her peers in spite of her wealth and not because of it.

Rigid in their hopes for her ideal future, the SEPH girl’s parents made certain to succeed. By the age of 18, none familiar with their daughter had a negative thing to say about her. As capable, lovable, and desirable as a young woman could be, the pair were sometimes reduced to a wordless marvelling at the person that they had helped create.

Their reason for desiring such a daughter was not wholly unselfish. Within them, separate and apart from their parental love, was an old-fashioned traditionalism: customs and value systems maintained by most SEPH, but exacerbated in extent and perceived importance.

Succinctly, they desired for their daughter to marry one of her kind as early into adulthood as possible and contribute to the new world primarily as a mother and wife, and secondarily as whatever she wished to be.

If she was to accomplish this, she needed to be perfect. Though early arranged marriages amongst SEPH had persisted as a broadly observed convention, the number of unmarried male SEPH dwindled by the day. Worse still, families willing to conscript their children to a partner from birth were few and far between. Times had changed—whereas SEPH had once married solely for the sake of ‘fixing’ a problem that their species was not responsible for, the majority now opted to do so for romantic reasons. Thusly, their daughter’s finding success in marriage hinged on her casting as wide a ‘net’ for potential males as possible.

Regrettably, in their efforts to create an ideal young woman, they instead created a nearly unapproachable one. When the year of her vaccination arrived, they did the unthinkable and quietly purposed their vast resources to see records of a successful administration fabricated. Per the beliefs held by most traditionalists, sparing her the treatment would allow her to grow to her full potential. And she did; between her status and the physical assets that she acquired as she grew, most male SEPH aged similarly to their daughter were made to face a young woman too ideal and too attractive. Fearing inadequacy and rejection, the young men around her presumed her to be spoken for and passed over her for more ‘attainable’ women.

Just as the pair began to lose hope in their daughter’s ideal future, a ray of hope shone into their lives in the form of a male Drowzee. 3 decades their daughter’s senior, he did not seem to be an appropriate partner for her at a glance. Not even the most desperate of parents could look at a rotund older man prone to leering and see “success”.

But he was. He hailed form a family of comparable wealth to their own—meaning that their daughter would be well cared for—and had “somehow” (Look at these niggas trusting a Drowzee.) established positive rapport with all those that they inquired about him to. Apparently, his looks were only part of the story. Beneath his appearance was a caring and upright individual likely to treat his wife* (semen-toilet) with care for the rest of her days.

Denied their sole reason for refusing the man, the couple accepted his proposal and only presented it to their daughter after the fact.

The SEPH girl did not complain. Her investment in the SEPH value system was far from dogmatic, but the comforts of her youth had rendered her prone to trusting her parents’ judgement over her own. All that she needed to be convinced that marrying the Drowzee was best was their say so.

And she received it. After being visually molested by him on their first meeting, she received it. On their wedding day, she was promised the future that all idyllic little girls dream of. Pregnant with her first child just shy of her 19th birthday, they repeated themselves and claimed to be proud of the woman she had become.

Each time she was told, the SEPH girl believed them. She believed that the daily clogging of her holes with the Drowzee’s rancid, bestial cock would come to an end. She believed that she might be able to do something with her life after giving birth to her daughter—something that did not involve gargling her husband’s semen in front of him while he recorded it.

She believed, believed, and believed until at last their words rang true.

One day, the Drowzee that she married passed away in his sleep. Investigative authorities wrongly suspected that he may’ve been suffocated by someone close to him, but his medical report removed all need for suspicion and doubt.

A blood vessel within his brain had ruptured—one so deeply nestled within the organ that jarring it without signage of blunt trauma would be impossible.

Not unless one knew magic.

And so, at the age of 20, the SEPH girl was freed. Left an unreasonable amount of personal wealth by law and sheltered from further hardship by her guilt-ridden parents, the simple life of safety and comfort she had once enjoyed was returned to her.

But she was no longer the same. The SEPH girl who loved her mother and father and desired only to live a life that might make them proud died with the man who had decided to subject her to sexual brutality on a daily basis. In her place was born another SEPH girl—one mutilated at her core and without trust in her kind and their customs.

This girl and her predecessor could not have been more different. Whereas the last girl hated the Drowzee’s treatment of her, this girl despised only the man responsible for it. The last girl’s love for her parents and starry-eyed dreams for the future stood out to this girl as useless distractions from a life she could be living more freely. Most importantly, this girl was of the opinion that she had no value.

Deep within her, perhaps from the same otherworldly wellspring that her magic had come from, something assured her as much.

Convinced, this girl set out to live the remainder of her life in a way that might confirm the statement that she felt within herself. Using the money left to her by her husband, she took her infant child and moved to a pocket of suburbia far enough away from her home that those who once knew her would never follow.

Here, she finally began to live. She changed the way that she dressed, the people that she associated with—everything that she could to distance herself from the deceased wretch that she that had once owned her name and face.

She did not do so carelessly, however. Privy to her status as a SEPH and the environment she had placed herself in, she used the knowledge acquired within her last life to present herself to all those she came into contact with as the ‘endearing single mother down the street’.

If trying at times, the decision paid dividends. By effortfully projecting herself as something she wasn’t, the SEPH girl attracted individuals who genuinely believed that she was what she appeared to be. More often than not, these individuals were human.

Human adults with children.

As a woman of the modern age, the SEPH girl held no ill will towards these humans. Everything that she had been taught, everything that she had experienced; all of these things suggested that the interest and affect projected by these humans was genuine.

Months of playing along with their kindness prompted the ‘place’ within her heart to speak out on the subject.

This time, it had a suggestion:

What better way for a valueless piece of meat to prove herself than by betraying the goodwill extended towards her in the worst way possible?

According to history books, there was once a time when humans regarded SEPH as worthless and SEPH regarded themselves as animals. Now long since passed, arguing for the validity of such mindsets was a sure fire means of marking oneself as deranged.

But what if arguing for it was unnecessary? What if a human was raised from childhood to believe himself better than all of the SEPH in the world? That their very existences were predicated on satisfying his whims and multiplying for his satiation?

The SEPH girl rather liked the idea of such a human. At first solely as an idea, the increasing number of malleable and impressionable children brought into her presence made it seem more and more attainable to her as a reality.

When finally her repute amongst the families within her neighborhood landed her with an opportunity to babysit, the voice within her made a decision on her behalf:

She would create a boy who would see to it that girls like her never be born ever again.
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