A perfect Tuesday morning. Gardevoir was in the kitchen, making breakfast, when she saw you walk by without a shirt on. I was sitting at the table trying to be normal. She didn’t say a word, just walked over, grabbed my face, and turned my head so I had to look. She leaned down and whispered, ‘Look at him, Gallade. Look how badly he needs to be taken care of.’

It was the most effective form of psychological torture I’ve ever experienced. I had to just sit there, with my sisters watching me squirm, and try to eat toast while imagining what your skin tastes like. I could practically feel the weight of you pinning me down, the stretch of your cock in my ass, the sting of your hand on my thigh if I got too loud. My whole body went hot and tight, and I couldn’t speak for an hour.

They know exactly how to break me. Sometimes I think they enjoy it more than the thought of you fucking them—just watching me come completely undone from a single, shared fantasy. Do your Pokémon ever conspire against you like this? Just completely dismantle your composure before you’ve even had your coffee?