Don't Be a Thief!
Mat trotted through the forest, making his way to town. He had no Pokémon with him, but that was okay. He'd been through this area many times before and had nothing to be afraid of. He walked by a pond and felt a sudden desire to jump in, but decided against it.
Mat was an otter. Standing at almost six feet tall, he had brown fur, lighter on his front torso than on his back. There was a green stripe that circled his muzzle and went down his chin, outlining his belly. His eyes were two different colors, one green and one red. He had the pose of someone with great potential, but held himself awkwardly. He'd just started his training to become a Pokémon Master. Something moved out of the corner of his eye. He grabbed at his side for a Pokémon, but remembered that he had none.
The figure moved again, closer this time, and Mat caught a glimpse of it. The breath caught in his throat. It was a Lucario. Since he was an otter pup, Mat had always dreamed of owning a Lucario. They had the perfect combination of strength and balance. Powerful, yet smart. But he'd never seen one in the wild. Maybe this was his chance.
There it was again! There was no mistaking the Pokémon, but this one seemed different. Was that red mixed with its blue fur? Maybe it was a shiny! Without thinking, he pulled an empty Poke Ball from his bag and threw it.
The Lucario froze. The Poke Ball flew through the air and Mat tensed with excitement. But the ball hadn't gotten two feet from the Pokémon before a force field appeared and it was sent flying back towards him. Mat caught the ball with a shaky hand.
He'd just tried to catch another trainer's Pokémon. Now he was in trouble! He waited to be scolded but no one came into view. The Lucario trotted towards him and he saw that the red coloring he had seen was in fact . . . a dress?
"You there!" the Pokémon said sharply, interrupting his confusion. "Did you just throw a Poke Ball at me?"
Mat gasped. A talking Lucario! "I-I'm sorry. I didn't see a trainer . . . I thought you were wild . . ."
"And so you try to capture me without even giving me a chance to fight? Some trainer you are!"
Mat's ears drooped. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "But where's your trainer? And how can you talk?"
The Lucario laughed. "Oh, he's out and about somewhere. My name's Drake."
"Drake?" The Lucario was obviously male, although Mat could have been fooled at first glance.
Drake flicked a paw at his earring-covered ear. "Well, you may be a lousy trainer, but I'll bite. Now get ready."
"Ready for what?" Mat asked, alarmed.
"For battle," Drake said, as though it was obvious. "You are a trainer, aren't you?"
"Yeah . . . but I don't have any Pokémon with me."
"No Pokémon," Drake repeated. "And you're walking through the woods, full of dangerous wild Pokémon and trainers, and who knows what else?"
"I . . . I just needed some time to myself," Mat said pathetically.
Drake stared. A helpless, inexperienced trainer, hand-delivered right to him on a silver platter. It was almost perfect. "Well," he said smoothly. "That makes sense. I'll just have to fight you, then." He smiled and winked one of his own mismatched eyes.
"Fight me?!" Mat asked, alarmed. "But . . . I'm not a Pokémon! I - I can't fight. . . Wah!!" he yelled as the Lucario used Swords Dance, buffing itself up for battle. He turned and ran.
Drake giggled. He chased after the otter with Extremespeed. "Where do you think you're going?" He asked sweetly as Mat slammed right into him. Mat was knocked to the ground. He cringed.
"I don't want to fight!" he cried. "Can't you just let me go? I'm sorry for trying to catch you!"
"Well, I can't just do that now, can I? But . . . I won't attack you anymore if you stay still." He stared mischievously into the otter's eyes.
"But . . . then why . . . are you using . . . Psychic . . .?" Mat trailed off.
"No more fighting, but you still have work to do," Drake said. He sat down and stretched out his legs. He pointed, and Mat wordlessly took ahold of one of his paws, and started to massage it. "At least you're good for something," Drake commented happily, putting his hands behind his head.
Mat rubbed up and down the paw, squeezing and pushing. He was hypnotized, but the part of his brain that was still awake didn't fight it. He was in complete servitude. He switched paws and started all over again. Drake cooed as he felt the strength the massage gave him coursing through his veins.
"Now softer."
Mat obeyed. His own hand paws let up on the squeezing, and his motions became lighter. His tongue wandered out of his mouth and joined in, lapping at the feet paws and making Drake laugh.
After a while, Drake decided to have some more fun. The otter was ordered to sit, and under hypnosis, Mat obeyed. Drake caught sight of the otter's own foot paws and couldn't resist. They were a dark brown, with green pads, and looked irresistibly tasty to Drake. He buried his face in them and savored the sweet aroma. He gave them a few long slurps and nodded with approval. This otter was definitely tasty!
Mat sat dumbly as Drake placed both his feet in his mouth and swallowed them, slowly at first, and then faster. His legs followed, and then his tail and waist. He blinked. Once. Twice. What was going on?
Drake quickly scarfed down the otter's belly and pulled him further in. He nuzzled the chest and breathed heavily. By now Mat was almost completely out of the trance and was struggling hard. That only made Drake's job more enjoyable.
"Why are you doing this?!" Mat managed to gasp as he was swallowed up to his neck. His feet wiggled in the Pokémon's belly, and his face was covered by the slimy tongue that pulled the rest of him in.
Drake laughed, and with a "Gulp!" sent the otter straight to his belly. "You really should make sure it's okay with the Pokémon before you go trying to imprison them in Poke Balls," he said. "Nasty things, they are."
Mat stammered in response and Drake looked up into the sky. It was getting late. Drago was going to wonder where he'd got off to. But once he saw Drake's large form, he'd understand. He set off through the woods to find his trainer, rubbing absentmindedly at his squirming belly.