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New Dimension, New Pokemon, More Trouble



Guzma gets a bit more than he bargained for when he goes after a Nihilego.

This place is batshit.

It’s the first observation Guzma makes when he finds himself in Ultra Space, and it’s one he keeps coming back to. It could be a normal cave back home, but there are glowing crystals sticking out of all the walls and strange rock formations everywhere. And there aren’t any cave Pokémon. There are just those… things.

He got lost when Lusamine wandered away, muttering something about “beautiful creatures,” ignoring him entirely, simply shaking him off when he tried asking her what to do. So now he’s on his own, trying to think of what he’s supposed to be doing here, when he sees one.

Guzma scrambles behind a rock pile and peeks up at it – it’s a big jellyfish, he’s seen plenty of Tentacools and Tentacruels, why is this one intimidating? It’s all soft and squishy, no fearsome beak or weird bug-eyes – no eyes at all, from what he can tell. It’s just… really big. And floating over the ground. It doesn’t seem to have noticed him.

Well, fuck it, he decides, she thinks they’re beautiful, she wants one? He’ll get her one. Before he can think further (and risk chickening out), he climbs the rock pile, crouches down, and launches himself at it.

It doesn’t hurt too much – he basically just slams himself into a sack of weird, rubbery goop. What does hurt is the fall from the thing’s head (he thinks it’s a head) to the ground – he lands on his stomach with a whoomph that knocks the air out of him and a jarring smack to his head.

He doesn’t exactly pass out, but it takes a minute to be fully aware of himself again. There’s something strange touching him somewhere in the back region. When he does come to, he looks up and realizes the… thing is running a tentacle over him.

Bolting upright, he scrambles away from it, yelling, “What the hell?!” It didn’t hurt, at least. The thing looks like a jelly to him, but the touch didn’t seem to shock him, at least – or it wasn’t noticeable over the general pain in the everything he was just experiencing. Is still experiencing. He backs himself up into the rock pile as the thing advances – and suddenly he realizes he let himself get trapped.

He starts to yank at his hair, instinct going against the voice in his head saying that’s not doing anything helpful, do SOMETHING else, fucking hell. Then something touches his arm. He pulls back hard, banging his elbow into the rocks – then they’re touching everywhere, running over him, how fucking many tentacles does this thing have?

There’s a strange smell in the air now – is this thing releasing something on him, or did he hit his head too hard? Whatever it is, it’s pleasant, calming. He tenses as the thing rubs a tentacle through his hair, but it doesn’t pull, just pushes the strands back and forth as it – what? What is it doing?

As the tentacles roam over his body, the best thing he can call its touches is exploring – figuring him out. He hopes he’s too big for this thing to eat. Jellyfish eat, what, plankton, right? Well, Tentacools do. Tentacruels, however…

He’s jarred out of his thoughts by a tentacle that’s wrapped around to his back, poking around under his hoodie, only his thin shirt between him and it. The touch sends an electric charge up his spine – not a real one, he’s pretty sure, but a jolt to his system. He reaches around and grabs at it, pulling it away – the touch is a little too… close for his liking.

Then another one slides up the front of his shirt, brushing over his stomach. He scrabbles at that one, too, but somehow this one’s tougher than the other one, resisting his attempts to get it off of him. The one up his back goes back at it, and he pushes at it too, but again, it’s stronger – how strong is this thing? Lusamine’d said they were stronger than normal Pokémon…

What has he gotten himself into?

One tentacle runs up his neck in an almost intimate way, making him flush red and shout “Hey – mmf!” While he was trying to talk, it trailed up his chin and, a little bit sickeningly, into his mouth. He tries to spit it out, but again, it resists. Tries to pull it out with his hands, angle his head away from it – nothing works. At least it’s less slimy than he thought it would be… And soon there are tentacles trailing over his arms, wrapping around them, pulling them apart from each other so he can’t struggle as easily.

Slowly, he begins to wonder why he’s struggling so hard – the touches actually feel kinda nice, in a weird way. There’s a tentacle still trailing through his hair, over his face occasionally, and its strokes feel soothing.

He blinks when one runs over his nipple and stops. It runs over again, and another time – maybe it’s curious about the metal there? But its playing sends another uncomfortable jolt through him – this time downwards, to his dick.

He’s not getting turned on by this, is he? Can’t be, no way – a tentacle caresses his stomach and he melts. More tentacles wrapped around his legs keep him from falling as his knees go weak. One pushes up under his pant leg, and the feel of it against his bare skin is almost overwhelming. He wouldn’t say he’s touch-starved, not exactly, but the way this is filling his ache for someone else’s hands on him is startling.

There are a few tentacles under his shirt now, rubbing him, feeling him. He gives a little moan and accidentally licks the tentacle in his mouth, enjoying it more than he’d care to admit. One of the tentacles moves lower, near the bulge in his pants – he wants it to touch him so bad now, needs relief.

The one going up his leg’s reached his thigh now, getting uncomfortably close, but not quite there yet. He chokes on a gasp when it pushes up into his boxers – god, touch him, feel him. There are tendrils writhing over his arms, pushing themselves between his fingers, over his palms, stopping at the feel of his watch and bracelets before touching them again and again, the jolts through his wrists overpowering. Goddamn, he wishes he could touch himself.

Finally, finally the tentacle over his stomach dips low enough to run over his groin – he groans into the tentacle in his mouth, tensing at the feeling. It seems to have noticed his reaction – it runs over him again and again. He can’t help trying to buck into it – every brush makes him desperate for more. Needs release, needs it now.

His eyes go wide when he feels the tendril that’s been winding its way up his leg poke at his ass. Fuck, what is it doing? It seems to have discovered there’s another hole here, wants entry into it as well. He winces partly in discomfort and partly in pleasure as the tip probes his asshole, presses against it. Screws his eyes shut as it slowly makes its way in.

It’s not like fucking, exactly – this thing has no idea how to fuck, he thinks (kind of hopes, actually, and yet wishes). It simply pushes up into him, wiggling a little and waiting for him to relax so it can press further. At some point it brushes up against his prostate – and the thing definitely takes notice then as he clenches and squirms, shouting muffled by the tentacle in his mouth. It tries it one more time before pushing farther, farther.

By this point Guzma’s just blissed out, going along with whatever it wants to do to him – fuck, it feels so good. Somewhere in the background there’s this pounding need to come, but it’s not as urgent as it usually is – it would just feel fucking great right now. At least the thing seems interested in his reactions, enough to keep touching him, make him screw his eyes shut and weakly hump into it.

Then the tendril in his mouth starts pushing back farther.

This is new, and a bit painful – he’s tried deepthroating cock before and this is pushing back past the comfortable point for him. It’s actually making it a little hard to breathe. He tries to cough it back up as it pushes against his gag reflex, but it won’t stop. And something about the lack of oxygen’s doing something to his head – to his dick.

It only takes another little push from both directions, another rub from the tentacle over his groin to make him come, harder than he can remember doing in a long time. His back arches and his hips tense as the tentacle in his throat chokes his cries. He goes limp as the thing holds him up, in a cloudy haze, his only feeling the satisfaction of an intense orgasm.

Before he passes out, he vaguely wonders how it took this to make him realize he’s into being choked.

When Guzma wakes up, he’s a mess – a thin layer of some kind of slime over his skin and clothes, hair doing who-the-hell-knows what, semen drying in his pants, throat and ass raw. It takes him a moment to remember where he is, what happened – he curls up and covers his face with his hands. Did that really just happen – with the – fuckin’ shit.

He manages to sit up on weak muscles and looks around – at least he’s alone, no beasts anywhere in sight. With effort, he gets to his feet, looks himself over – there are a couple rips in his shirt and pant leg. Could someone look at him and tell he’d just been fucked by an extradimensional being? He hopes to god they can’t.

Speaking of dimensions, where the fuck is he? At least he could try finding Lusamine. That’s better than nothing, being stuck in this place.

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