Mienshao vs. Nidoqueen

Here's a few paragraphs inspired by a recent pic by FallenArts. I know it ain't much, but I hope it's better than nothing!

In the meantime, I'm still working on that Underground League fic about a Lucario chick – check out the draft-in-progress and let me know if you have any comments.


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She really had no idea why – or how – he was still managing to climb to his feet. That last kick had made a dozen even: twelve times that the Mienshao had sunk to the ground wailing, hands clasped between his legs. Each time, it took him longer to stop moaning, longer to climb to his feet, longer to give the OK. And although it was difficult to tell without a hands-on inspection, the Nidoqueen had the distinct impression that the poor orbs between his legs were not nearly as round as they had been at the start.

“Again,” the male croaked.

And with a shake of her head, the female obeyed, driving her foot up between his legs with yet another vicious Mega Kick. Toes met testicles with all the gentle tenderness of a freight train, the poor eggs flattened to a fraction of their usual plumpness. The Nidoqueen noted with some satisfaction that she had managed to lift him off the ground with the force of the kick, supporting her partner only by his gonads. That made three times in a row.

As expected, the Mienshao let out a squawk, eyes rolling back into his head. His paws had begun moving towards his groin even as the female’s leg was still swinging upwards, and now, as he crumpled into the fetal position, they clutched at the swollen spuds that made him male, trying and failing to soothe their terrible ache. Agony racked his frame and a bit of drool escaped his mouth, his body shaking from the overload. Oh fuck, the pain! For a while, a part of him had almost liked it – the dull smack as foot met groin; the way her tits bounced as he collapsed to his knees. But then she’d really splattered his left nut somewhere around kick #10, and now each kick made it feel like it was splitting along a seam.

For the third time (or was it the fourth?), he checked, letting out a mental exhale as he found his spunkmaker still intact. Still – at this rate, it was just a matter of time before the poor thing went pop. But did it matter? Was he sterile already? Didn’t he only need one, anyway?

Slowly, oh-so-slowly, the Mienshao forced himself to his hands and knees. It could be any kick now. He wondered if the Nidoqueen realized how close she was to turning his plums into pudding. Whether she’d stop if she knew, or continue on prupose.

Another few moments and he was on his feet, legs spread, staring straight into her eyes.

“Again,” the male repeated, a quiver in his voice.