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Your lungs are burning. The peace of the forest that had soothed you mear moments ago was gone, replaced entirely by the sound of your feet smashing against the ground at a rushed pace, your breath coming out in hitches as you run for dear life from your pursuer. The sound of shattering branches and the feeling of ill intent blooming from whatever has its sights set on you, hidden in the looming darkness of the trees, following you like a wave.
The fact your belt was unbuckled, a consequence of deciding to rub one out amidst the beauty of nature certainly didn't help the speed of your gait as your struggled to escape your current predator, fingertips holding up your pants by their hem.
With a sudden turn into the underbrush, you trudge through several small bushes and brambles, attempting to make distance away from the monster. Stumbling your way through the shrubbery, you throw a glance back to the path and try to see just what is chasing you, long enough for you not to see the large root aloft on the earth, sending you falling onto the ground with harshness and a strained grunt.
A surge of pain hits you like a brick as you begin to cradle your ankle in your hands. It throbs against your fingers and begins to swell, the damn thing sprained, and you're in no position to waste time with that damn thing still chasing you. The echo of destruction grows louder as the beast approaches.
Your eyes dart back and forth along the forest floor as panic floods your senses. You spot a fallen trunk a few feet away and crawl towards it in a hurry. The chances of it being enough to save you are slim, but anything is better than staying out in the open at this point.
You slip behind the dead wood and cover your mouth as the booming of the bulldozed flora grows louder and louder until the thunderous noise suddenly stops. The entirety of the forest seems to cease its activity as if it's waiting to see what happens next. So you sit there, waiting, sweat seeping down your neck as you dread whatever comes next.
You aren't left waiting for long as you feel the fallen tree shift and stir from behind you. Leaping forward, you turn your head back, eyes widening as the moss-covered log floats into the air before quickly being hurled out of view in a glow of purple energy.
A tall, cloaked figure, clad in a coat of pink and blue walks out of the seclusion of the trees and towards you slowly. Beady black eyes hidden behind another lavender hue of psychic energy gaze at you with disdain, a frown painted across her lily white face.
"It's a Hatterene." you think to yourself with fear, gulping down the uncomfortableness of the situation as you eyeball your alien-like captor. You've heard stories of what they do to people that let their emotions run wild. Losing control of yourself is all but an invitation for a beating from a tempest-like empath such as a Hatterene.
You struggle to stand up, slowly bringing your body to full height, trying not to put excess pressure onto your injured leg as you bring your eyes to meet Hatterene's. Were you not in what could very well be a life or death situation, you'd feel shame at your pants falling to your ankles. Tighty whities exposed to the open air for all to see.
That was a mistake. With a swift punch from its weaving fist, you're crumpled and on your knees, coughing. With a flick of her forefinger to your head, you're on your back, Hatterene standing above you with a dangerous leer. As ominous and imposing as a three-foot-tall witch in a dress made out of hair could ever be.
You cover your face with your hands and try to make yourself as small as you physically can. Looking like a pathetic, cowering mess with your pants down is a small price to avoid being brained to death by a psychotic spell-caster.
No blow comes, however, instead, you're lifted into the air and turned upside down by a wave of psychic energy. Hatterene brings you down to eye level and glares with silent fury, her "eyebrows" scrunched down and a coating of red painted across her pale cheeks, making you fidget and squirm in anticipation of becoming the half-tall Fairy-type's punching bag.
Your trepidation turns into confusion, and then that itself is transformed into horror as you're lowered slightly further towards the ground, now horizontal to earth, presented with a staff of turgid Mon meat far too unseemly in its size to be wielded by such a small creature.
You swing your eyes towards Hatterene's, desperately attempting but unable to utter a plea for mercy from the impending oral annihilation. Your words fail to fall out of your lips, half out of anxiety, the other due to the mage holding your mouth wide open.
A hum fills your head. The sound of crystalized moonlight and magic made manifest trembles through your insides, bringing your entire being to attention. A soft, sadistic voice trundles through your mind, reverberating through it like rolling thunder. A single sentence drips with flavorless bile from the witch's mouth, sealing your fate.
"Coming into my forest was a mistake, forgivable. Beating your pin dick like it's an Audino, so loudly at that, was not. Now you must suffer the consequences of treating my domain like your personal pleasure palace by becoming a temple, my temple, built to worship ME." echoes the voice of your new Goddess. She flips you over telekinetically without finesse, and the tip of her throbbing erection plunges itself into your mouth and down your throat with a single, powerful thrust of her petite hips.
It's unwashed, warm, and she's not at all gentle in her fucking of your face. Her noodle-like arms are planted as firmly as they can be on either side of your head as she abuses your orifice with that determined frown still plastered above her chin. Her silver-skinned ballsack smacks against yours in tandem with her forceful pushes. Equally as enormous as her pixie stick, churning with unspent Life Dew so heavy they hang almost as low as her feminity is long.
The feeling of fleshly marbles barraging your chin is minor compared to having your esophagus treated like a cheap sex toy. Hatterene's inelegant log shovels itself down your mucus-filled cavern inch by inch until her supreme scepter has finished bottoming out inside of you, only to pull itself back to the crown of her cock just to do it all over again.
Tears fall across your cheeks as you try your best to endure the battering of Hatterene's ram to your voicebox. You can't help but gurgle and groan around her extraterrestrial fuck-pipe as it lodges itself deep inside your upper hole. The impromptu acapella you're performing does nothing but encourage the pint-sized spell purveyor to double up her efforts in impregnating your innards.
Feeling the pronounced veins of the fairy's she-slag slither forward and backward against your tongue is the most demeaning part of the whole ordeal as man, you think with shame. How they bulge and pulse against your tastebuds with every lick and slobber that you're skull is forced to give the insane gremlin. Your moist oral member glides against her glans, foreskin, and sensitive tip as you eke out drops of salty-sweet pre-cum like a tap to a maple tree.
Still staring at you, cold, displeased, she recedes her considerable member from your mouth chute and allows you a moment of reprieve from your punishment. You sputter and gasp for air as if you were drowning, hacking and wheezing, and gulping down precious breaths like a Magikarp brought to land. The pink-toned tip of her queenly majesty seeping a large droplet of pre.
With a snap of her fingers, the aura of energy around you turns your entire body around once more, still horizontal to the earth. Another crash of terror shakes you down to the bone as you look down and see your underwear swiftly meet your pants down by your ankles. A hard, merciless smack, more like a punch, courtesy of Hatterene's hair fist collides with your rear, a blow that surely would have sent you to the ground were it not for the swath of psychokinesis keeping you up. That'll certainly leave a bruise...
You have more important things to worry about at the moment than purple skin, however, like feeling a certain pocket princess push her spit-soaked tip against your virgin pucker. A scream begins in your sore throat but never breaks out before your lips are sealed shut with another wave of mystic force. All that manages to come out as she continues to prod your backdoor with greatly decreasing gentleness is a muffled cry for mercy.
The Raging Goddess's persistence pays of shortly. The combined lubrication from your spittle mixed with determination and carelessness about if it'll hurt or not for you proves fruitful. Hatterene pops your cherry and then pushes further into your brown eye without a moment allowing you to adjust to the sudden home invader. Another bellow of agony erupts from your abused windpipe, but just as before it's for naught. You can do nothing but take every inch of the magician's womanhood up your derriere that she gives you.
By Arceus, inch after inch is just what that she-devil gives you. The all-encompassing feeling of warmth and painful fullness that Hatterene's foot-long fuck-meat fills your tender rump with is something you'll never forget. How her hot, thick, length furrows itself into your funnel with only your leftover salvia and her semen as lube. You push your backside down onto her pillar of grey as much as you can while underneath her control, just so that the end of her prick can finally be met.
Hatterene isn't so kind as to allow you that one mercy, sadly. Once more she retreats from your posterior, before spelunking into your insides again and again, with each new thrust feeding your arse more of the empathy-less Pokemon's column of cruelty before finally does she completely hilt herself inside of you. An engorged shaft of pink and white feminity, more akin to a tool of torture than a proper sex organ, you think, through a haze of pain and prostate stimulation.
Hitting your backdoor bitch-button, in this case, is more of an inevitably rather than something done on purpose for Hatterene. Her eyes still stare bleakly down at you, her face ever so slightly darker with red than before, albeit with a focus almost entirely on your brown starfish currently being parted by her tremendous tower. She doesn't seem to want to kill you, at least, but any pleasure you receive during this soon-to-be exchange of fluids is purely accidental.
And by Arceus, even buried beneath an avalanche of ass pain is it impossible to not feel a bubbling deep inside your very being as your p-spot is all but beaten into submission by the Fairy type's prodigious size. Your penis stiffens without your consent as your body desperately searches for that surge of arousal hidden amid the burning.
Hatterene's heaving nutsack bashing against yours as she pumps your bum silly only adds to the swirling mixture of pain, pleasure, and no small amount of shame as the Queen of the forest ruts you like little more than a toy. Whatever remains of your spit is making a terribly lewd squelching sound as she pounds your powerless form without mercy.
For what seems like hours she fucks you. Skewering your virginal rim until it'd be practically agape the second she pulled out of you. Your half-strength erection still leaking a pitiful puddle of cum embarrassingly, your own body betraying you as punishment for believing you could indulge in self-love freely in someone else's forest. The sharp pain of the first insertion via Psychic pipe was replaced with a deep, dull ache that'll surely take at least a week to go away.
Only when the moon has reached its peak and Midnight has arrived does your new Goddess finish renovating her new "temple". Hatterene's thrusting grows exponentially in speed and force, the sound of her hip meeting hip fills the forest air as she fucks you like the bitch she's turned you into. Her bitch.
It hurts, no shit, but even with the old pain meeting the new your prostate can't help but love every moment of it. Your breath hitches and quickens even against your magical mouth gag and you both dread and beg for the coming flood of biblical proportions that'll fill your guts in just a few moments as the Queen continues to clap your cheeks as if there's an audience begging for an encore of your shared performance of non-consensual buggery.
She cums. Hatterene begins to impregnate your ass mid-thrust and she doesn't stop. Not for the next one, the next one, or even the one after that. She just keeps on fucking you as hard as she physically can even as her thick and virile baby batter buries your insides underneath a deluge of hot, white spunk. The unbearable heat of her ceaseless discharge combined with the seemingly never-ending assault against your anal integrity pushes you over the edge yourself. You practically paint the forest floor with your seed. A river-like load of creamy, freshly milked man-nut that'd be impressive was it not for the lake of fem slime being spewed up your butt by what feels like the liter.
Pump, pump, pump. Even after a full minute of continued splatter, she doesn't stop raping your bruised and battered backside. Rope after rope of fresh nut slop replaces the previous until in an instant, she's retreated from your desecrated derriere and places it atop your cheeks Your well-used tailpipe belching out her heavenly gift of virility shamelessly, agape, and endlessly sore. Her wizard's rod still dripping a stream of spent semen onto your reddened butt.
Hatterene relinquishes her control of you, and you fall without ceremony about a foot onto the earth. You're too worn out and exhausted both mentally and physically to yell, the only thing coming out of your released mouth being a dull, droning moan of agony as Hatterene tucks her shrinking womanhood back underneath her dress.
The witch looms over you and you look up at her. She frowns still, without the red adorning her pretty face, but her arm aims itself at your ankle and you feel a pulse of relief at it and only it.
"That's all you're getting. Let the rest of it serve as a reminder not to trespass where you don't belong and aren't wanted. Next time I won't let you leave until I'm satisfied." she says telepathically. You nod, or at least as best as you can with your face to the ground subserviently.
Hatterene turns away once she's certain her threat towards you has been acknowledged, and she walks back into the forest with that same, slow gait she had when you first saw her.
It takes minutes before you raise your eyes to look at where she was before, and many more before you're certain she's left for good and you salvage what little you can of your strength and begin the long trudge back home. Clothes disheveled, aching all over, ass agape, and still leaking the cum of your (hopefully) one-time Goddess by the ounce into your underwear.
That'll be the last time you try to get some privacy in the woods away from your Pokemon, that's for sure.