Strange Encounters (Fem)

	With a flick of the wrist and a flash of light, your recent capture re-emerges. Tall and elegant, with an impossibly thin figure, she stands before you, scanning the motel room with barely hidden distaste. The long, swooping gossamer wings that float from her head gently sway as she peers across the wooden floor. Both the long antennae and the ruffles of her torso bob with each slow, deliberate movement, the gold tips of her extremities shining brightly in fluorescent lighting. A small mouth curls as alien eyes consider the bed and drawers, both simple but charming, until finally her investigation is finished. She stands before you, one golden hand on her hips and the circlet on her head denoting her status as queen of all she surveys.

	Well, at least she likes the motel better than the outside, you think. You shake the fuzz from your head and her regal countenance lessens; you still have to get used to that pheromone of hers. You sigh and sit yourself on the bed, watching Pheromosa as she paces across the small space. Outside, she was recoiling from everything; plants, grass, Pokémon and people alike. She seems to be able to stand you, assuming you don’t try to touch her again. You rub the bruise gently, wondering if the specialised pokeball had actually improved her temperament or not. You hear a click, your head snapping up in time to catch her slipping into the bathroom. You quietly follow, peering through the doorframe as she resumes her habit of standing still and scanning. She startles you by letting out a shrill little chirp, before settling herself into a corner of the white-tiled room. She runs a delicate finger along the wall, chirping again as it comes back unmarked. You sigh with relief; figures she’d be a clean freak.

	You tell her you’ll be going out soon, and she cocks her head at you. You open your mouth to explain further, but stop yourself; she’s not even from this dimension, she probably can’t speak to Pokémon, let alone understand English. You sigh, stepping back from the frame as she begins examining the soap and shampoo. You lock the door behind you as you leave, quickly patting your jeans and avoiding a heart-attack as you feel your wallet. The trip to the next town is short –all these islands seem small, even by the usual standard- and fairly routine, despite the many exotic delicacies being peddled. You weave amongst crowds, begging apologies from the occasional collision and being jostled about by the many pre-teens abusing their Ride Pokémon. By the time you return the motel it’s already dark and your arms are tired from carrying two laden bags; you have no idea if Pheromosa will eat the pokepuffs or berries you normally feed your companions, so you decided to bring a long a wide selection of human food as well. At the very least, you’ll have something to enjoy if she turns her… well, she doesn’t have a nose, but the sentiment is there.

	You call out to her as you open the door. Your heart leaps for a second; there is no way you left the room this organised. It’s almost… alien how neatly arranged it all is. Unnatural. You sigh, placing the bags on the perfectly flat bedsheets, and peer into the bathroom. Yep, there she is; standing in a corner and chirping to herself. You rap a knuckle on the door frame. Immediate regret fills your head as a golden blur stops short of your throat, and you find yourself staring into her large, mesmerising eyes. Her violet irises and pale blue pupils seem to draw you in, your breath catching as she pulls away. Fuck, that pheromone is weird. You shake your head clear again, sidling along to the sink and splashing cold water over your face. She recoils a little, eying up the drips suspiciously.

	You arrange the food carefully on the bed, cautiously aware of her watching you from the door. Opting for caution yourself, you step away from the spread of delicacies and sit yourself in a corner on the far side of the room. Her eyes narrow, looking from you to the bed. You blink and already she’s across the room, golden hands carefully dissecting each and every meal. She’s expressionless, stock still save for the blur of white her arms have become, and her fingers barely touch the food for fractions of a second. You blink again and she’s retreated to bathroom, leaving a neat, but sticky, mess on the bed. And by the time you’ve cleared it away the same could be said for you.

	With your skin crawling slightly and your stomach more than a little turned at the smell of so many meals stuck to your fingers, you step into the bathroom. You begin to pull away your shirt, but hesitate; she’s still in her corner, watching you with barely disguised contempt. All of sudden, you find yourself a little embarrassed. Which is silly, you think to yourself, she’s just a Pokémon. Sort of. Surely it wouldn’t be much different if it was a Rockruff or a Minior, right? Yet you can’t help but feel your skin grow hot as you strip down; the alien eyes moving from the mess on your hands to your exposed flesh. Your hands shake as you pull away your underwear, tossing it into the pile before quickly covering your groin. Was that a smirk on her face, or did you just imagine it? You slip into the shower a little faster than intended, closing the door behind you and taking a second to stare at her blurry form through the frosted glass. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and reach for the tap. A surprised yelp and a curse later you’re standing under the warm water, eyes closed and letting yourself relax as the droplets patter to the floor. You can just about hear her scurrying about outside over the sound of the water; probably re-arranging your dirty clothes. You rest your head against the wall for a second, letting your head clear as your hair plasters itself to your head and neck.

	You turn around, letting the water hit your back. With a quick wipe your eyes are clear enough to open; and they meet the mesmerising blue and violet gaze of Pheromosa. Your breath catches and you shrink back, the combination of her pheromone and the bright light coming through the open door making her white and gold form seem angelic. She stares at you, slowly clambering into the cramped space. The water doesn’t seem to bother her anymore; the droplets running down her smooth body and gently flattening her sheer veil onto her thin frame. Her slender arms reach forwards, and her gold fingers trace the trails of water droplets down your body. Her eyes stay fixed on yours as your cheeks redden and your body trembles beneath her delicate touch. They flick down, taking all of you in. Her fingers move from following drops to tracing the subtle lines of muscle and fat; to exploring each and every contour. Her touch is electric; she drags her finger along the hollow of your soaked cheek and you find yourself gently leaning forward as it leaves, as if begging for her touch you again. A shiver runs down your spine as she slowly brushes along each vertebrae, slipping between your cheeks for a second before relocating to your thighs with a slight flick.

	Eventually she reaches your cunt, her fingers brushing along the sensitive flesh and forcing the first sound out of you. She hesitates. And then brushes along you again, tilting her head as you whimper. Her delicate fingers rub and poke and press the soaked skin, eyes focused downwards as your body twitches. She watches with the faintest expression of curiosity as you yield to her touch; her ministrations growing in fervour. She brushes your clit slowly and you have to bite your lip. She slips the first full digit inside and your breath sharpens. Her other hand cups your breast and you’re struggling to keep yourself standing, teasing tugs on your nipple eliciting yelps of pleasure. Her eyes flick from her work on your body and back to your face as she tests and teases and finds just the right spots to make your moans louder and panting shallower. You have no idea if she knows what she’s doing or just likes to hear you make these sounds, but you stopped caring the moment she walked in here with you. Your hands scramble to find something to grip, opting to press against the walls rather than dare touch the divine presence in front of you. You know for a fact her pheromone is driving you wild but amidst the pleasure of her touch you’ve long abandoned yourself to her.

	You cry out as the orgasm wracks your body; your legs threatening to collapse as spasms ripple through your core. She recoils from you, leaving you to collapse to the wet floor as the aftershocks render you a shuddering heap. You lay there breathless and aching. Your thoughts swim lazily through the pheromonal and orgasmic haze, barely registering her as she pulls you from the pooling water. By the time your head has fully cleared you’re already lying on the recently remade bed; still naked and soaked. She stands above you, the light casting an imposing silhouette. On an embarrassed instinct you pull the covers out from under you and scurry beneath them, a deep blush blooming on your cheeks: the fuck just happened? You’d heard stories about perverted trainers taking advantage of Machamps and the like, but never… You shake your head, close your eyes and force yourself to at least imitate sleep.

	It comes and goes a lot easier than you imagined. You faintly recall your dreams being filled with those enchanting eyes; staring into you, drinking up your resistance as you melt into her delicate hands. Memories of the smooth chitin dancing across your wet flesh drift in and out, merging with long held fantasies and half-imagined romantic trysts. Old flames and embarrassing daydreams slowly change; the feminine faces slowly distorting until they’re replaced wholly by hers. For a few brief hours you’re awash in a sea of Pheromosa as she coaxes quivers from your body and brain.

As your eyes flicker open again, you’re briefly relieved at the thought that all of it had been a dream. That you hadn’t been molested by a beautiful, alien creature. That is, until you register the wonderful sensation of a hand gliding up and down your morning wood. You sit up, sputtering indignantly before the smell of her knocks you back down. She’s there, kneeling beside the bed and gently stroking her fingers across your clit. Your queen pays you little attention, seemingly just as enamoured with her view as you are with yours. Her motions last night had been explorative, experimental. This morning they’re methodical and precise; every stroke, every squeeze, every rub all designed to send the strongest spike of pleasure through you. You can feel the pressure build and build, her hands moving at impossible speeds yet dancing like gnats across your skin and within your folds. With a half-strangled groan feel yourself quake, the pleasure far more intense than anything you’ve ever felt before. Her hands slow as your body trembles the white haze heavy on your thoughts. She stands, looking down at you in your haze, and gives you the most perplexing expression.

If you had to guess, it was a smile.