today's cat stats: 5-ish smooth innie bits with a knotted cookie plug buried inside (shop.foxfur.dk/products/puffy-cookie-shaft) tube going from its urethra to the appropriate spot on the toy clit locked in a smooth rose gold cage so it can't feel anything from it housebroken, but not potty trained
guess the brain has decided its 'spermicidal takeover' kink hours…
five year old kitten complaining it's getting teased by the older kids cause its balls keep retreating back inside, so one of its parent's/babysitter decide to help by filling its balls up with their cum until they can't anymore…
Odd coincidence that lore notes has the kitten at 2'8" from ages 2-12 and a Fennekin is officially 1'4"… So bound up the kitten should be roughly the same size…
curls up on a pet bed in the corner of the server; the shiny ‘fennekin’ still in its matte full-body rubber suit with the addition of a pillow-thick poképamper around its hips, too cold outside for walkies and its owners much too busy aside.
Every time the fennekin nee cat is released from its Love Ball, its bits change due to an inconsistency between the Pokédex and the ball’s concept of gender.
Bondage, pokemon on anthro, diaper mention, dubcon, mindbreakPolly Fennekin whined softly as it gingerly plod around the house; hole still sore from its time with Soleil.
The cat’s mind getting thoroughly broken during the continuous cycle: 15 minutes of rough fucking, 30 minutes locked on the knot, and 15 minutes of refractory time; just long enough for the young felid to tighten back up to its original snugness.
By the time the absol was shooting blanks, roughly four hours later, the house was mostly quiet. The ‘day shift’ drifting off to bed while the nighttime residents weren’t quite awake yet, except for one.
The newly minted fennekin still tied to Soleil as she’s returned to her ball by its unknown voyeur. A soft yip sneaking out its thoroughly charcoal-coated maw at the sudden emptiness; having been forced to chomp through three briquettes through the cycles.
In the near darkness, the ‘fennekin’ couldn’t make out its savior (not that its brain could cobble together coherent thoughts to figure it out anyways.) A few scritches behind the ears keeping it compliant, a bit of slight pressure to the top of its head and locked limbs keeping it in its breeding position, only a single dribble of sol seed leaking down its stretched rim; hole still confused after being suddenly empty, gaping wide.
Not that it stays empty for long, boicunt quickly filled by the morning wood of the nighttime resident. The soft yet deeper thrusts of adult cock a stark contrast to the rough and thicker absol length.
Any pain from the deeper thrusts offset by gentle ear scritches every few times its hilted. Its psyche shattering more, fennekin speech slipping out its maw more often than kitten mewls each time the length drags against its battered and bruised p-spot.
While the fen doesn’t reach a peak, the length under its tail does; adding another few ropes of warmth to its already bulging tum. A questioning ‘fen’ sneaking out its maw as it’s scooped up while still impaled, only getting a few shushes in response.
The fen must have passed out sometime during their conjoined walk, the exhaustion finally catching up to it. Coming back to curled up by the couch, belly still stuffed full of seed and a PokéPamper taped snugly around its hips. The padding still dry in the front, although the fading pokéballs a little mussed up in the rear from the leaking fluids from under its tail.
Plastic backed protection rustling softly as it stretches its bound limbs and starts to toddle around with the pillow thick padding modifying its already off gait, the rumble of its tum coaxing it towards the kitchen.
A whimper sneaking out from the last remnants of its normal thoughts as it spied a bowl of mid grade pokéchow on the floor, somehow knowing the meal was left for it; ‘Soleil would never touch the cheap stuff.’
Tear running down its cheek as the last humanoid thoughts fade even more once it digs in. The dry grainy pellets almost completely bland against its tongue at first, just a few little bursts of berry here and there. Until it hits a few pieces coated in an off white powder; tongue lighting up as its tastebuds get rewired to match its new place in life. The fen digging in with gusto once it can taste every nuance of berry in the pellets, pausing occasionally to lap up some nearby fresh water.
With the meal done, the fen plods back to its nap spot until the house awakens; charcoal taste somehow refilling its maw along the way.
