Like in any other city, a Spikemuth’s musician’s public performance spot is

sacred. It’s code. It’s law. Steal another person’s area—expect to find a music stand

shoved up your ass. And of course, buying a spot is expensive as all hell.

The Jungle Beatdowns say screw that—the world is their stage.

Three prodigies. 100% Pokemon. The first all-Pokemon band in Spikemuth, the

ragtag trio of misfits spend their nights rocking in abandoned buildings and tagging walls

with pilfered spray paint.

And like most ruffians, two of the members have a game.

Clicking, clacking claws clink on black concrete. The neon lights of the city

become cloudy in the mist. Dulled light refracts in his hexagonal, crystal eyes. A short,

thin, body slinks through the dark streets. The goblin approaches an echoing,

cacophonous sound: the far-off roar of a crackling electric guitar.

The goblin? A Sableye. His name? Kyber. A zig-zagging line of white fangs cuts

across his face in a wide grin, wavering a bit as he fails to stifle his excitement. Ever-

bursting with a seemingly limitless amount of chaotic energy, Kyber’s body is never still.

Sometimes twitchy, his movements are usually smooth—body swaying in an unusual

dance: hips pivoting, and arms, hands constantly moving. His tips of his claws twiddle,

cradling a new buddy of his nestled between his palms. And—an accomplice to his

newest prank.

A tiny bug, just small enough to lay hidden in the goblin’s hands. Fluffy yellow fur

sprouts from a puffy body. Four legs with a tip-toe claw dipped in blue, the insect’s

matching four eyes gleam with mischief. A Joltik, she’s being paid in a big, fat IOU if she

helps prank the oblivious Viro.

 “Go run it by me again,” a small voice pops from Kyber’s claws. Her voice lilting,

lifting and dropping with musical melody native to the island west of Galar: the Isle of

Armor. Kyber supposes it’s fitting that bright, stark fur still carries a slight shade of

green.

“We sneak up, you toss me by the amp, and I just make a whole mess of the

electrical currents in there, yeah?”

“Pfff,” Breath rushes through Kyber’s teeth like air leaking from a balloon. Biting

his lips, it all eventually blows out in a rattley cackle. “Pah-hah-hah! Of course, ya

adorable four-eyed fuck-o. Sparky: you’re gonna make his “guitar” sound awful—just

bloody awful. Bad, bad, bad. No good, no good—like a rusty chisel in the ears.”

Click-clack. Claws on pavement. Wind whistles between Kyber’s hands, breezing

past the Joltik. “All over the shop then?” Sparky asks, “just a real rat’s nest o’ sound?”

Kyber grins, “All over the shop. I want to see ‘im blow up like a bomb and throw a

wobbly like that blondie—pissed off ‘bout three Pokemon rockin’ in the road without

license.”

“She was throwing a fit about you playing music?”

“He—” Kyber corrects, “was bein’ snobbish about the license. We’re Pokemon.

Can’t even speak their language. How in Arceus’s arse are we supposed to do that?

That’s like getting your panties in a twist because a squirrel cut you off in the queue.”

“...What’s a squirre—”

“Never mind that, mate. Just know that even the punkiest punk-looking punky

punks around are all bureaucratic ass-posers who gotta sign the dotted line—then hand

over some green before they even start pluckin’ a string. Can’t be bitchin’ about the
system if you’re the pawn, you two-faced fucks.”

“Sharp tongue.”

“Thank you, fluff-arse. I file it every night.”

Dead of night, no one around, a stout-legged reptile strums lazy glides of power

chords. The Pokemon’s back to a wall, the mane of crackling yellow lightning, streaming

from his head down his neck and back, sparks upon contact with the stone surface.

Long and thick arms cradle a blistering-bright light. Shaped into a guitar, the glow lights

him with a dramatic glow. Sporting a purple body, a butter-yellow splotch covers his

chest, belly, and neck like someone splashed a paint can over his front. The lizard’s flat

head sports two nubs that extend outward from the sides. And his eyes are squashed,

half-closed, and permanently morose.

This—is Viro.

A large, three-fingered mitt of a hand strums at the light-guitar’s strings. And the

glow from said guitar lights up the whole of the improvised amphitheatre. Hardly more

than a squarish empty lot, the lizard’s secret stage is hidden from all but the craftiest

streetwise explorers. Nestled from all sides by abandoned buildings, this has been the

crew’s spot for as long as they care to remember.

“You’ve been holding up here for donkey’s years, yeah?” the Joltik pipes as

Kyber crawls behind a blasting speaker, just large enough to hide him. “Ever wonder

why the place just hasn’t been crushed?”

“It’s simple, mate.” the Sableye chuckles as he unscrews the back panel with the

tip of a claw, “it isn’t because they can’t be arsed. They just forgot these bloody
buildings even existed.”

The speaker’s panel pops open with a pop, tipping over—bopping Kyber

between the eyes. The box-shaped sheet of metal as large as he, the ghost struggles to

not get smushed. His face unwillingly pesses against it—a curious child’s face smushed

against the glass of a candy shop. Grunting and muttering beneath the crackle of

electric guitar, Kyber manages to slide it away. It grinds against stone, the grating noise

unheard by anyone but goblin and bug.

“This is good enough.” Kyber grumbles. “Do your magic. Cracking, crackling

catastrophe, it better be. I’ll be off to Hex the sparky frog.”

The bundle of fluff glares back—not out of any sort of anger—but as a warning.

“Don’t you dare leg it without trotting down to pluck me up. Mess up, and I’ll have you

fess up. ...Even if I have to crawl up your nose and shock you until you’re blue.”

Kyber tilts his head, smile slipping. “I don’t got a nose.”

“...Any hole will do.”

And with the Joltik’s last words still buzzing in his mind, Kyber scuttles into

position. And after mantling the netless skeleton of a basketball hoop, he’s got the high

ground. Dangerously close to the note-plucking Viro, Kyber stays hooked to the hoop,

claws wrapped around the metal frame.

Near invisible in the shadow, his gem-eyes glow ghost-blue. Tips of two of his

claws alight in pinpricks of light, leaving spectral trails as he draws a hexing sigil.

The Joltik begins her chaos. Supercharging the speaker, sparks fly as the sound

grates the ears with brazen, peaked cacophony.

None of them could’ve predicted that a spark would’ve catapulted to Kyber. Or

what happens when Hex is only left half-complete.

The goal: place a curse that swaps his size with Viro’s—the speaker’s noise

explosion absorbing the blame as some weird fluke. And afterwards, a divebomb from

the sky! A perfect jump scare.

But that spark redirected his mind. Kyber no longer thinks of him and Viro. He

thinks of him and Joltik.

And the spell completes in that very instant.

Winds rush as the world grows large. Buildings stretch into monoliths; the hoop’s

rim becomes thicker than his body. Still slippery, Kyber slides off the slightly-rusted

surface. Screaming, his cover is blown in an instant—his tiny voice tickling Viro’s ears.

“What—the—bloody hell is happen—”

Whump! Kyber splats on Viro’s head fins. Scrabbling like stowaway clinging to

plane wings, the dizzy Sableye eyes the faraway ground. Gem eyes glimmering in

panic, he manages to clamber to safety. Just in time too! He sees a truck-sized eye

ogling him with its pure black pupil.

“Creative prank, luv.” He says, voice a half mumble. “Lookin’ like things went

awry.”

Kyber yaps as Viro’s head tilts, turning the ground dangerously unsteady. “You

thinkin’ we can get a do-over?”

“You’ll get your chance some other time. ‘Member our lil’ game?”

“I prank you, you prank me. I didn’t finish—”

Viro’s head tilts. Kyber slides free with a cry. He falls directly in Viro’s mitt.

“My time to shine, doncha think? Your plans are always over-complicated. I’m
gonna keep mine simple—and not clean.”

“I’m not going up your arse again.”

Viro’s face wrinkles, “when the bloody fuck did I ever do that?”

“...That wasn’t a prank?”

“Luv, either you had some weird fuckin’ adventures or some other minging

Toxtricity mistook you for a gem-studded dildo.”

“Or you sat on me, you wanker.”

“Prick.”

“Baby legs.”

“Bejeweled gremlin.”

“Sparky.”
“I told you not to out me, you knob!” A voice cries from the distance.

“Alright you bloody purple muppet.” Viro pinches the bridge of his snout. “It’s late.

I’m gonna get this right over with.”

A hand passes Kyber by. The grip of the displaced air nearly pulls him away. The

gremlin flinches when he dips low too—and hears a nasty-sounding, syrupy peeling

noise.

“Pricks go in the cock hole.” Viro drones, a slight teasing trill in his flat voice,

“cloaca, if you wanna be smart about it. But you ain’t a smart ‘Mon, are ya?”

“I’m not the one who shoved a bevvy bottle up his arse!”

A grumpy stare.

“What?” Kyber shouts, “I’m right!”

Silently, Viro tilts his hand forward. The yellow flesh becomes an imbalance

incline. Viro’s feet instantly slip. Tumble and fall, he rolls down from palm to the flesh
hammock of the curved last joint of the lizard’s finger. Screaming and cursing all the

way, Kyber bumps his back against flesh wall—upside-down, ass in the air and feet

over face.

The warmth of Viro’s finger glows with pleasant heat. The cooler air is a nice

contrast, streaming past his body as the Toxtricity’s wrist turns. Kyber’s perch swivels.

Viro pushes his finger forward. And Kyber stares dangerously close, face-to-crotch with

Viro’s splayed-open slit, peeled apart by two fingers. The heat is palpable—wet musk

radiating from the subtly-clenching insides. Nasty, clearish lubricant soaks the wet flesh,

spewing an odor of unmistakable masculine salt-tang. Musky, the stench isn’t an

overpowering reek. Kyber isn’t in a rush to claw at his neck or anything. But it’s that

lewd whiff he’d get if the goblin face-planted a rockstar’s just-stripped underwear.

He twists himself like a cat, vying to flip himself upright. Kicking and scrabbling,

he’s too slow. With a simple, effortless motion, Viro moves his finger forward, nudging it

into his cloaca. He hums as a pleasant warmth fills his body, his digit squishing into his

slimy privates as Kyber grinds across the ceiling, propelled through bodily syrup.

Blech! Kyber gags in his mind as he squishes through the muggy heat of the

paradoxically warm-blooded reptile. Feeling like he’s been shoved some sort of Viro-

scented hell, the Sableye locks his lips shut as the Pokemon’s finger begins to play.

Teasingly, he swabs Kyber along the walls, letting goo collect on his body as he mops

along the smooth walls. Viro’s fingertip takes him for a ride, swishing him a full 180 so

that he goes from ceiling to floor. Or—at least—what Kyber thought was floor. The

Sableye plunks down on a firm, cylindrical… thing! Invisible heat and musk rises from

the thing like stink lines from a drawing. Bombarding poor Kyber, his dribble-coated
body begins to sweat in the sultry, rainforest steam. Beads of cloacal fluid, lubricant, are

squashed by drooling hug as the groty walls squeeze—Viro’s groin muscles on the

outside tensing. Kyber is shoved into the hot, humid member—obviously Viro’s lengthy

cock. The droplets of fluid get crushed with splattering deaths, becoming webs of gook

when the walls ease up. Peering past the strings and wretched flesh, Kyber sees the

glowing mouth of the cave. Light from his guitar shining in, Kyber’s cheeks puff with

barely-held disgust as slimy sounds erupt around him—and he notices the ambient shift

of the world outside. Viro’s fidgets are monumental at this size. And despite standing

still, he’s treated to the reality that even the ground holds more say in his current life

than he. The “earth” will shift, sway, and move in any way it damn pleases—and Kyber

can’t do a thing about it.

Not that he’d see much for longer anyway. The light from the outside world grows

dimmer as Viro’s fingers begin to weaken their hold. VIro’s flesh begins to close. The

glowing chasm to the outside world begins to close. And Kyber is terrified when he feels

the nighttime breeze begin to lessen—the lights darkening as more and more of his

world is ripped away. He swears, bashing his palms and kicking his feet into Viro’s cock.

Hoping to elicit a response, he recieve it—but it isn’t one he likes. Viro grunts, surprised

as his arousal grows. His dick slides forward, just a little bit. But it’s enough to bash

Kyber to the cloaca ceiling—pinning him there in musky darkness as cock crawls and

the gremlin grinds.

Viro stills his lust with an affectionate rub of his now-closed slit. A triumphant

smile breaking across his face, he grabs his light-guitar once again. Fingers strum once

more, and Viro’s tongue falls from his lips. The lizard delights in the tiny pattering along
the innards of his groin. Kyber’s curses are muffled in their entirety—unheard.

But for the goblin, he’s trapped in a harshly-vibrating and drooling cave. The

sound form Viro’s guitar travels through his body, shuddering his innards with powerful

chords. And the tiny Sableye’s body rattles, dragging side-to-side against lizard cock as

Viro sways his hips to the rhythm—enjoying the pleasure music brings him.

Abandoned in a muggy interior, Kyber sprawls glued to a wretched spire of wet,

slimy flesh. Broiling in the moist, sunless interior—the Ghost-type could hardly move

without tickling the sensitive, goopy walls. And when the giant ‘Mon tromped home,

Kyber goes from dick-riding to dick sliding, lodging beside the right of Viro’s cock while

the lizard bounces on the asphalt street. Limbs all tangled like wild vines, the Sableye is

thoroughly smushed into wet as the insides of a dog’s cheek. His face smushed into a

pudgy-looking press, the irate goblin grumbles. A scratching is heard. Viro relieves an

itch “down there”.

Groty moisture drips down Kyber’s noggin when he notices the sounds below

change. No longer scale slapping upon asphalt, the texture becomes coarse. Viro is

stepping on grass. The torrid, musky sauna has done a number on Kyber’s mind. It

takes an embarrassingly long time of him to process: his bandmate is in the park. At this

time of night, only ghosts are picnicking—the park is abandoned. Well, by humans.

Pokemon thrive in the night. Skwovet scamper; Noctowl call. But Viro—he retires.

Settling beside a wonderful smelling berry bush, the reptile lets the grasses be

his bed. The plush fibres of a cared-for lawn provide the perfect pillow. His spine is
cradled by ground, back curving comfortably with a natural hill. Though, the night is a bit

chilly. And to keep warm, Viro squishes his thighs just a bit more—sharing his body heat

with himself. Of course, this has a wonderful effect on the ghost inside. The tunnel

cramps with a groty squish, vile fluids spurting unseen as the Sableye is pressed into

slick, lizard manhood.

“Get muff mweh!” Kyber wriggles and grinds. A short grunt pipes from Viro—but

nothing more. “Bwoody awful prwank, you know that!? Fwuck this!”

Kyber hears Viro’s heartbeat slip into sluggishness. The lizard’s pumping blood

becomes a lazy river. Viro—has gone to sleep. And Kyber is left alone. There's nothing

but his thoughts… and the horrible environment. And he thinks of all kinds of colorful

thoughts.

Screw you, Sparky his mind echoes before a fierce cringe twists his face; Viro’s

dick twitched. I hope she was sleepin’ on this hill. And Viro stuffed her up his bloody ass

when he sat down.

A crunch of grass, farawry. Fucking dick! Your man-cunt is too tight for me to

bloody crawl. Loosen up, maybe luv?

Closer. Stomping. You know, thinkin’ about it, why the hell are you so tight?

You’re mucking around with Lowen every blithering day. Your dick’s a fucking pogo-

stick. Sliding out, sliding in. Your cloaca ought to be loose as an old wallet slathered in

listerine.

STOMP.

Wait.

Kyber freezes.
 Mucking every night. Every night. Tonight. No muck. No fuck. ...Fuck!

The Ghost-type’s soul rips when his ears catch a long, drawn out slurp. A bit of

light filters in from Viro’s nudged slit. A long, fat tongue laps at his crotch—pulling the

flesh up, letting Kyber glimpse at what lay ahead. Orange fur; threads of hair of a burly

ape’s muzzle.

Lowen. THe Rillaboom is a cartoonish gorilla. Decked out in respectable muscles

and with a honed physique, Lowen wears them well. He doesn’t bloat into a cartoonish

caricature of a bodybuilder. Instead, he’s a painted marble statue. A mane of bushy

plant life drapes from his scalp, covering his back of warm brown fur. And the ape’s red

eyes look ahead towards Viro’s, eyelids fluttering as he rouses from sleep.

“Mhhm? Wha?” The lizard’s throat bubbles with half-formed words. Yellow pupils

look ahead, peering between his own legs to see the mountainous gorilla hunched by

his crotch.

“Lowen…?”

“The one and only.” His voice is a gentle, quiet rumble—travelling far despite

being hardly louder than a whisper. And it travels deep as well. His sonorous tone easily

reaches the squirming Kyber, scrabbling like mad as lizard cloaca gush glazes him like

a bakery pastry.

Viro’s sleepy face flushes red. His thighs tighten; he tries to hide his arousal—to

not appear needy. “Funny… place to be hangin’.”

“Gorillas hang near wood.” He smirks as Kyber screams, voice unheard to them

both.

Viro feels an odd scratching on his dick. He squelches it with a lift of his core and
a crush of his crotch muscles. “Lowen, monkeys hang from trees.”

Lowen puffs the string of his plant mane that’s drooped over his left eye. “And

what’s stopping an ape from monkeying around?”

“Simple luv—your cheesy dirty talk.” And despite Viro’s words, his cock twitches

and begins to slide. And the gremlin attached begins to gag. Bashed and grinding

against the walls, Kyber’s plans turn a complete 180. The slit above? Kyber tries to get

away. Pushing, hugging Toxtricity cock, Kyber fights to not be exposed. The dumb,

horny brute would never notice him. And Viro seems to have forgotten.

Foregoing all dignity, Kyber unashamedly squashes him to the slimy pecker.

Forcing himself into as flat as a profile as possible, he cups his legs around the massive

spire. And being so small, he can’t even reach all the way around. He’s left wriggling in

a futile attempt to descend, grinding his balls against the ripe fluid of his bandmate. No

longer protecting himself, he’s quickly drenched head to toe. The warm stuff licks his

asshole and waters his chest, bespattering his face as the pitiful ant attempts to outpace

Viro’s growing cock. But the fluids glue him fast, leaving him to shout as Lowen gets to

work—tonguing Viro’s tailhole as the lizard’s tiny tail goes thumping on the ground. The

ape’s large hand removes the spiky belt around Viro’s hip—then leaves a long, slobbery

line of ape spit from ass to cloaca.

The nub of Viro’s cock greets the world, steaming with musk and excitement.

And as softspoken as Lowen is, he’s not a patient man. He slucks his tongue deep into

Viro’s slit,grunting deep from his belly as the Toxtricity’s body rumbles with a loud,

stifled moan.

And inside the jungly swelter, Kyber gets the briefest look outside before the
stars replace with the deep red slimy skies of gorilla throat. And a fat tongue strikes

forth, delving into the tight cavern like a horrific, squelching, burrowing worm.

“Fuck! No! Viroooo!”

Splrtch! Kyber is pasted to cock base as Lowen’s licker laps with disgusting

practice and precision. And though Kyber’s all for a good round of head, seeing the

process this close is both horrific and revolting. Droll fills his tiny pocket, bathing him in

slobber as Lowen’s tongue wrings around Viro’s cock. And for a moment, Kyber thinks

he’s spared. But the delving taster snatches him in its circling motion—clocking him

hard and squishing him to the lizard’s dick. Body squashed like a zit that refuses to pop,

he’s cycled around as Viro’s cock exits—reaching the cool air of the outside moments

before Lowen plunges the whole thing into his mouth.

Wedged in the middle crevice of the Rillaboom’s tongue, Kyber’s gut curdles as

he hears the lewd slurping begin. Blood engorges Viro’s prick, pumping and twitching as

the lizard’s hips start to buck. Fur and scale grind, lubed by spit as pre pumps into

Lowen’s salt-filled mouth.

Kyber struggles to see the world as anything but a blend of color. Pink cock, red

flesh, white teeth, black throat. Kyber’s gem-eyes see total darkness as dim light. And

he’s granted the pleasure of seeing every vile detail in living color. Lowen’s got his

mouth full, the lizard’s tapered dick barreling across his tongue like an organic piston.

Milky fluids drool from the tip, spiraling into monkey spit that washes into Kyber. Swirled

away, he duels with the pungent flood. Tacky cum drips from his face, oozing down his

body until they’re hanging tendrils from his arms.

Sucking—spirawling—deafening noise bombards the Sableye as Viro’s groans

cut off, crackling with restrained pleasure. Mouth zipped shut, Kyber whines high and

shrill—a desperate wail that’s lost in the slurping cacophony. Spit sloshing in the

gorilla’s mouth, the two giant’s movements bring Kyber on a tour: sliding around Viro’s

meat, slushed in cummy spit, all before ending face-down on the Rillaboom’s tongue—

splattered in a hot pool of gunk.

Sopping with filth, Kyber lifts his heavy head. Slowly, his gaze focuses—just in

time to see Viro’s cock ram forward.

The head pulses; the base twitches.

Kyber pastes to the drooling head, throat bubbling in terror as goo slithers over

him.

An eruption. Expulsion; explosion—a blast of wretchedly-warm white.

A long-brewed moan finally bursts from the lizard's belly, flooding his throat with

moans as Lowen’s fills with cum. THe ape’s strong throat bobs without a hitch,

swallowing with no hesitation. To notice Kyber amongst the flood would be impossible.

He’s a gnat drowning in a lava flow. Walls of meat crush and smash, cruelly shoving

him downwards as he follows the contour of the Pokemon’s throat. And within six

seconds, he vomits forth into the gloppy center of Lowen’s gurgling GI.

Indescribable in its unique blend of pandemonium, the walls are dressed in slop-

slathered wrinkles and splotched with gushy mush. For the time Kyber is airborne, a

sticky wad of ghost and gush flung from a white waterfall, he sees the angry churning of

the broiling mix below. Mud—delicacies of all of Spikemuth have been crushed,

chewed, and stirred into a batter that’s been drained of its once-vibrant colors. Hot-dogs

and dressing-drenched salads have merged into a brownish glop, mustard and ketchup
floating on top like pond scum. Stubborn leaves remain undigested, wobbling in a marsh

that bubbles with gasses released from digesting meats. Fried tater tots have lost all

definition, their crispy breading occasionally poking from beneath the sordid field of

sloshing slop. And it’s not as if Lowen’s current activities haven’t disrupted this

abhorrent realm. His gut’s been clenching in sexual pleasure, sucking in gook and

splashing it high—crushing the walls and sending ape vomit exploding into the steamy

sgtratosphere.

“N-nooo, shi—”

Kyber plunks. Viro’s load crashes. Dreadfully hot—chunky, monkey soup plinks

Kyber-sized bits of vegetable into his delving body. Somewhat gluey in texture, the

terrible feeling is body-encompassing. Bubbles blip from Kyber’s miniscule nose, the

goblin nearly puking as he’s washed along—a helpless speck as his devourer shuffles

around. Forward, left, back—Kyber hears faint words: soft whispers, lewd groans. Then,

he feels movement. Forward, back. Forward, back. Slight shuffle; hips grind.

Kyber holds his breath for dear life, counting his fortune in that air isn’t a need for

him. A ghost may wish to breathe, to immerse itself in the pleasures of the living. But

there isn’t a single good thing to be found here. Sloshing beneath the waves in a

gorilla’s gut, stuffed with every raunchy food the city could offer—a kernel of

nothingness that’s sloshed around as Lowen begins to fuck.

Worse—Kyber can even tell he’s on top. Each impact of Lowen’s hips sends a

shockwave through the ape’s body. And his stomach being liquid, it absorbs much of

the force. Terrible squishing and squirting sounds around him—nasty juices and muck

squirting from clamped stomach folds. Gases pop and goo splurts; he even hears a
burp bubble up into the gorilla’s throat—to which he then swallows down, condemning

Kyber to fester in it once more… if he could ever breach the surface.

Ape pants and grunts boom like thunder. And the motion of his hips serves to

pound Kyber deeper.

Lower.

Pushing to the danker bottom of Lowen’s belly, the waters grow thick with

sediment. Slimy, old food that’s digested to terrible oatmeal-texture lurk. Sausages,

deep-fried Oran berries, and even salty shrimp—it’s become a sewage goo that rolls

around Kyber. His claws claw through the gook, slowed to molasses in the stuff that’s

thick as melted marshmellow—courtesy of the caramel taffies filched off a generous

Rookidee, and Viro’s own sticky cum.

A frightful sound pops in the nasty waters.

Plock! A drain opening; a sewerway forms, sweeping Kyber in the current. Hips

grind as Lowen’s first climax approaches, the slaps of their bodies colliding oh-so

audible to the poor Sableye, so wrapped in mush to resemble a smushed pea. And

though Kyber’s not the brightest bulb in the world, he does know his anatomy. Food

goes in.

Food comes out.

Kyber unleashes a bubbling scream as Lowen’s constant thrusting drives him

into the mouth of a hole—a sphincter swallowing him whole. Fetid rubbish spills in with

him, gushing out in a momentous flood as Lowen’s stomach clenches—an explosive,

gloppy noise bombing; Lowen cums. And half of his stomach drains in an instant.

And for the couple, their night doesn’t end there. While they wait for their
refractory periods to end, they cuddle. They kiss. They rim. And they haven’t a clue of

the torture they deal to their forgotten bandmate. Their closest hint?

Lowen is magically “clean” the next night. Why? A tiny Sableye used Safeguard

to dam the food he was swept along with—getting a notable, and clean, headstart.

And by this point, Viro’s got an idea where lil’ ol’ Kyber ended up.

“Hey—Lo,” he smirks.

“My tongue. Your ass. Next night—let’s reverse it. Alternate our schedules,

yeah? Let’s keep that up for a couple nights, hm?”