“Aaahatschoo!”

Braixen stumbled forward a few steps as a sneeze ripped its way through his nose, the sound loud enough to send birds scrambling out of the nearby trees and off into the sky. Groaning, he raised a paw up to his snout and rubbed at his nose.

He hated summer. Other Fire-types enjoyed the heat of the sun, considered it the ideal season for their kind, but they didn’t have to deal with allergies. To the sniffling fox, summer was a months-long nightmare of pollen, sneezing, congestion, and itching. If it were up to him, he’d dig himself a hole and bury himself until October, when the world became somewhat more amenable to his existence.

Of course, it wasn’t up to him. Thanks to a few bad deals he’d cut with a few bad Pokémon, Braixen was in debt in a very bad way. It was only the latest in a long line of poor choices, tricking stronger and stronger Pokémon into doing his dirty work for him until he’d found a group that wasn’t going to put up with it so easily.

Braixen shook his head, forcing the image of a hulking Seismitoad charging a Hydro Pump against the back of his skull from his mind. The specifics of how he came to be in his current ‘arrangement’ weren’t important right now. What was important was that they promised that if he found a Thunder Stone, they’d let him go scot-free.

They didn’t tell him why they wanted one, which was all well and good, because he didn’t particularly care. However, they also didn’t tell him where to get one. That, combined with their promise to hunt him down and let that huge toad do whatever it wanted to him if he failed to deliver, lit something of a metaphorical fire under his ass.

He’d started by asking the forest’s locals where he could get his hands on one. Some were sympathetic to his plight, but simply didn’t know anything useful. In other cases, Braixen found that his reputation had preceded him, and it certainly wasn’t a positive one. Reactions ranged from assurances that he deserved exactly what he would get, to threats of being blasted with large, forceful jets of water if he didn’t make himself scarce, to say nothing of being told exactly where he could shove his stick.

Having exhausted his repertoire of knowledgeable Pokémon who didn’t want to bash his face in, Braixen turned to the less obvious choices. In his search, he came across a Trubbish rooting through a pile of trash bags, ripping open the thin black plastic and spewing trash across the ground as he feasted upon whatever was inside. He couldn’t think of a less obvious choice than that.

Braixen had never been a fan of the things, or any of the other garbage-based Pokémon, for that matter. Still, desperate for any information that could help him, he put on the friendliest face he could muster and approached.

“Um, hello there!” Braixen said, approaching the Trubbish in as peaceable a manner as he could. Immediately, its head shot out of the pile of garbage it’d been buried in and stared at him, eyes wide and alert. He put his paws up into the air, trying to signal that he wasn’t a threat. “Are you… do you know where a Thunder Stone is?”

The Trubbish just sat there staring at him, unmoving. Were Trubbish able to speak? Did this thing even understand what he was saying? Braixen stared back at the thing, and just as he was ready to give up and move on to another Pokémon, one of its tendrils raised up and pointed in a vaguely easterly direction.

“Factory,” said Trubbish, with a voice that sounded like someone trying to gargle with a mouth full of oatmeal. Satisfied that the fox wasn’t a threat, the Trubbish turned its attention back to its meal, crawling halfway inside of one of the plastic bags before breaking into a symphony of slurping, chewing, and crinkling.

“Thanks,” Braixen replied, suppressing the urge to vomit. After all, the thing clearly had more than enough food, there was no need for him to offer up his own lunch as payment. Instead, he quickly made his way towards the east as the Trubbish had instructed, clutching his middle and willing his stomach to settle.

It didn’t take him long to reach the highway where he found himself now, walking behind the trees running alongside the road to keep out of view of any trainers that might be out for a drive. Braixen weren’t exactly common in the wild, part of why him and his behaviour were so well known around these parts, and part of why he made every possible effort to avoid being seen by humans.

After about a half hour of walking, stopping and hiding at the passing of every car just in case, he could see it. A huge, brutal looking building, hardly more than a block of unpainted concrete with huge metal smokestacks. It was surrounded by a wire fence, but the metal was rusty and blatantly torn open in places, and the smokestacks didn’t let out even the slightest puff of soot. Definitely abandoned.

It was a factory if Braixen’d ever seen one. He didn’t like to go into old human places like that. That was where you found Electric types, who tended to be quite territorial, or even worse, garbage eaters like Trubbish or Garbodor. There were even rumours of Ghost-types hanging out in places like that, although he’d been blessed with the good fortune to never see one himself.

Staring at the place looming over him from the other side of the highway, Braixen’s mind filled with ideas of exactly what could be inside, growing steadily more and more terrifying. Voltorb. Electabuzz. Gengar. Yet despite how terrifying the ideas of being electrocuted or having his soul eaten were, those were only possibilities, while getting his face punched in with an Aqua Jet was a near certainty if he didn’t get a Thunder Stone.

After only a brief moment of hesitation, Braixen leapt from the treeline and dashed across the pavement, slipping through a hole in the fence. With courage born of momentum and the desire to not be eviscerated by a Water-type, he pushed open the door to the factory and slipped inside.

The interior looked even worse than the outside. About all that remained intact were the metal girders placed at regular intervals, holding up a walkway high above, presumably for the foreman. Everything else was heaped along the ground in various states of decay and ruin. An enormous toothed wheel laid in front of the entrance, slowly turning to rust, offering no hint as to its purpose.

Braixen carefully stepped over it and walked forward past a partially smashed conveyor belt, its old rubber surface ripped in two, small bits of metal spilling out of its side. He knew that it wasn’t unheard of to find evolution stones in places like this. Humans had found some industrial uses for them, and extensive mining operations on their part were a large factor in why they were so rare. Still, if there ever were any in this place, they were almost certainly taken by now. This whole thing was a waste of time.

“Hey, you.” Braixen jumped at the unexpected voice, quickly snatching his stick from out of his tail, a flame sparking to life at its tip. But as he scanned the area, he saw nobody, just debris heaped up as far as the eye could see.

“Over here.” The voice sounded strange, burbling and slurred, like whoever it was didn’t have a solid grasp on controlling their mouth. Or, even worse, didn’t have a solid mouth at all. It was coming from the direction of a tall vat, about five feet across, with a small metal stairway leading up to its lip.

Braixen was hesitant to climb up, but figured that if whoever the voice belonged to was making himself known, they probably weren’t hostile. Besides, they could clearly see him… somehow. It was only fair that he got to see who he was dealing with, too. Creeping up the metal steps, miraculously intact enough to support his weight, he peeked over the side of the vat.

“What’re you doin’ in here?” Inside was a pool of thick, purple sludge, enough to fill the vat about halfway. Two eyes stared up at him, a massive mouth bubbling ooze just below them. It sloshed gently against the sides of the vat, leaving trails of slime that slowly dribbled back down to rejoin the whole. A Muk.

“I—” Braixen started to say something, but it quickly degenerated into a coughing fit as the fumes coming off of the Muk finally hit his nostrils. At first there was nothing but an overwhelming, chemical odour, but that was quickly followed by the burning, like his nose was on fire. He turned his head away and hacked, trying to purge himself of the awful stuff.

“Thunder stone,” Braixen wheezed, finally getting enough control over himself to force out that much. His head had started to throb slightly and he swore could taste that awful chemical scent, like it’d condensed in his sinuses and dripped down the back of his throat. The burning had died down to a mere tingling, though, like his body were adjusting to the Muk’s smell. Either that, or his ability to react to it had been deadened by its sheer potency.

“Oh, a Thunder Stone?” Muk said, then furrowed his brow, bubbles forming and popping as he exerted himself in some unknown way. Something bulged from under his surface, then popped out, floating on top of his body. As the last bits of purple slime slid off of the object, its shiny green surface became visible, a yellow streak running through its centre. “Like this one?”

Braixen’s eyes lit up at the sight even as they watered from the toxic haze surrounding Muk. He needed that stone. “Yes! Can I have it?”

“Yeah, sure, come on and take it.” The stone bobbed up and down on Muk’s surface, roughly in the centre of his body but gradually moving towards the far side of the vat, further and further out of Braixen’s reach. The only way he was going to be able to get it was if he jumped in and swam to get it.

With memories of that Seismitoad still fresh in his mind, the idea was almost tempting.

“Could you, uh, hand it to me?” Braixen asked, hoping against hope that this Muk was in a giving mood.

“Ah, I’d love to, but I’m real tired, y’know?” Muk’s face contorted in an exaggerated yawn, the waves from his shifting face moving the stone even further away. It bumped up gently against the far wall of the vat, but without enough momentum to bounce back, it seemed content to stay there. “Just come in and get it, I won’t mind.”

Braixen’s paw tightened around his stick, knuckles turning white under his fur. There was no way he was going inside the vat, he’d rather go back empty-handed than dip a claw inside this pool of toxic sludge. His tail flicked back and forth as he wracked his brain for ideas, then, his eyes lit up. Maybe he wouldn’t have to.

Muk watched with amusement as the fox above him crouched just over the lip of the vat, stick gripped in his right hand while his left clung to the step below him. Leaning forward, Braixen flailed at the stone opposite him with his stick, trying his best to push it towards him, but finding that he couldn’t quite reach it.

Just a bit more, Braixen thought, straining over the edge while slapping the surface of Muk’s gooey body, jiggling the stone a bit with the ensuing waves but making no real progress. His toes perched precariously on the edge of the step, he leaned forward even further. Just a bit more…

Suddenly, something rammed into him from behind, sending him tumbling head over heels into the vat. Braixen only got a fleeting glimpse of the Grimer that’d snuck up behind him before plunging into the purple goo below.

There was hardly even a splash as he broke the surface of the slime, just a strange glorping noise as he slipped inside, the stuff parting readily to welcome him before closing right back up and leaving him completely sealed in a prison of sludge. He could feel it against his skin, soaking his fur and sliding thickly between every strand, leaving that awful tingling-burning sensation everywhere it touched him.

Brain going into full on panic mode, Braixen flailed wildly at the slime that had engulfed him, paddling as hard as he could in the thick stuff in an effort to reach the surface. He needed air. He needed out. Progress was painfully slow, like trying to swim through a pool of molasses, and his lungs burned with the effort.

But with adrenaline pumping through his veins and every muscle in his body working its hardest to not die, Braixen managed to swim high enough to get his snout above the surface, emerging like the fin of a shark as he gasped for air. Air that was tainted with that chemical odour, air that burned his throat going down and felt like it left residue in his throat, but air all the same.

“No!” Braixen screamed, finally drawing enough breath to speak and feeling desperate enough that he felt he needed to say something, anything, in the faint hope that he might attract some sort of sympathy or pity. Struggling to get his head above Muk’s surface, he looked back up at the stairway. It seemed painfully high to him now, and a Grimer looked down from the top step, smiling at him.

“Yes,” replied Muk, the thing’s burbling voice resonating throughout the whole mass of his body. Braixen could feel his chest vibrate from the deep tone, but only barely, all sensations starting to become indistinguishable as Muk’s slime worked its toxic influence over him. His paddling was getting weaker and weaker, and everything started to feel fuzzy and indistinct.

But before his arms could give out and send him sinking down to the bottom of the vat, an invisible force tightened around his middle, the goo there thickening to hold him in place. The panicked, instinctive part of his mind told him to struggle against it, to get out of there right now, but it was hard to listen to it. His muscles seemed sluggish to obey his commands, and his ears were ringing, a toxic fog settling over his brain that made it hard to think.

“You look hungry.” Muk’s voice vibrated even stronger through the coiled slime around his chest, and even though Braixen’s conscious mind barely comprehended the words, they still managed to set off some instinctive reaction in him. The fox kicked his legs as best he could with them submerged in the thick sludge, arms slapping limply against Muk’s surface, all the while letting out plaintive, whimpering noises.

Muk saw this as the perfect opportunity to strike. When Braixen’s muzzle opened to let out another pitiful whine, a tendril of ooze shot out of the pool and crammed itself into the fox’s mouth. At first only a few fingers in thickness, it quickly pulled more mass from the rest of its body, growing to the width of Braixen’s wrist as it plunged forwards into his throat.

It was an odd sensation, a tentacle of slime almost as big as his arm forcing its way down his esophagus. Braixen knew he should be more worried than he was, that the sickly prickling that he felt wherever the slime touched his insides was bad, but the knowledge felt abstract and distant. He couldn’t bring himself to care about it any more than he could bring himself to care about the theory of gravity.

Still, out of a sense of loyalty to the rapidly diminishing sensible part of his brain, Braixen tried to close his jaws around the invader stretching them open. It was like trying to stop the flow of a hose, the more he clenched down around it, the more slime gushed through the space it had left. When he felt it start to drop into his stomach, he couldn’t even muster the effort to do that much, relaxing his jaw and letting Muk force his muzzle wide open.

Muk let out a pleased rumble, bubbling and wet, as he felt the last bits of resistance slip from Braixen. The foxes always seemed to break the fastest. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t particularly care. It just made things easier for him, after all. A thick lump travelled up the length of slime, squeezing past Braixen’s teeth and noticeably bulging his neck as it worked its way into him, ending in a muffled splatting as it joined the steadily growing mass of Muk goo in his belly.

Braixen writhed as the Muk continued to force more and more slime into him, sometimes in a smooth stream, sometimes in thick lumps that stretched his throat wide, seemingly on a whim. He could hardly even taste it anymore, the harsh chemical tang having long since deadened his taste buds. Part of him almost wished that it hadn’t, so that there was something to focus on besides the feeling of his rapidly filling stomach.

It didn’t take long for him to reach capacity, sure that he couldn’t swallow another gulp of slime, but the Muk didn’t seem to agree. Braixen gave him a pleading look, begging him to stop, but the Muk just looked back at him with a grin on that huge, dripping mouth, and malice gleaming in his eyes.

As Braixen felt the newest clump of sludge slip down his throat and drop into his stomach, he noticed something that revitalized his sense of panic. Packed full of the creature’s foul ooze, his belly had begun to bloat and swell outwards, gurgling as more and more of the stuff was pumped into it. Looking at the walls of the vat, he was certain that they were lower down than they’d been when he first fell in, but it was difficult to tell how much. Maybe a couple inches, a foot? How much slime had he been packed with? How much was yet to come?

He tried to squirm free of the Muk’s grip, to somehow free himself now when every one of his last attempts had failed, but all he succeeded in doing was jiggling his rapidly growing gut. The feeling of so much liquid sloshing around inside of him forced a groan out of him, muffled by the ever-moving current of slime in his throat.

Muk smiled at the fox inside him, his grip slackening slightly as he diverted slime from it down the poor thing’s throat, distending his belly more and more. They’d lowered down enough that Braixen was actually resting on the floor of the vat now, rather than floating inside of Muk’s body, and his grip was weak enough that the Fire-type could probably escape if he had a mind to. If he wasn’t weighed down by a stomach fit for a pregnant Nidoqueen, anyway.

Braixen could hear bubbling laughter reverberate off of the walls of the vat as his back touched down onto a cool, metal surface. The floor of the vat. Did that mean—? Craning his neck to look at his body, he saw that his middle had swollen to the point that he was pinned under it, not even able to roll onto his side with the Muk’s toxic slime draining the strength from his limbs. If he was healthy and strong, he could, might even be able to stand up, but…

Would this awful thing inside of him ever let that happen?

Braixen let out a surprised gasp as the last of the sludge forced its way past his throat and settled down into his stomach, followed by coughing and spitting as he struggled to clear his mouth of the residue. Like it mattered, when his gut was nearly the size of him and churning with the stuff. He laid there, panting and groaning, alternating waves of heat and cold rushing through his body.

If he didn’t feel like every disease in the world had suddenly declared a personal war on him, he might’ve wondered what the Muk even wanted from him in the first place. Instead, he let his head drop limply to the side, where his attention was grabbed by something entirely. Two Grimer, standing right beside him, looking down at him and smiling.

Had he not already been coated in sweat, he would’ve broken out in one right then. He didn’t have the strength to plead, didn’t even know if they would understand him if he tried. All he could do was look at them with his best puppy dog eyes, begging for a shred of mercy.

But, either not understanding how he felt or simply not caring, they ignored his silent plea and moved towards his legs. With his enormous belly blocking his view of anything below his rib cage, Braixen had no idea what they were planning to do to him, only able to guess as he felt their ooze collect around his paws.

He wasn’t left guessing for long. The slime crept inwards from under his feet, sliding over his tail and across the back of his thighs, until everything between his knees and his waist was coated with the stuff. Its intention quickly became clear when he felt it press inquisitively against him, just above the base of his tail.

Under his fur, Braixen’s face blanched, eyes shooting wide. There was no way he could possibly fit another drop of slime inside of him! He tried to rock onto his side, to get away, but couldn’t summon the effort needed to get out from under the weight of his own gut pinning him to the ground. Letting out panicked whines, he kicked out with his legs, only to have them go right through the Grimer’s goopy body.

Apparently satisfied with his complete inability to resist, the Grimer’s gentle pressure changed, becoming focused and insistent. Braixen clenched down against it, tried his best to keep it from going inside of him, but it was a hopeless effort. The stuff was too strong, too slippery, and his entrance quickly gave way to a small tendril of slime.

Once he’d been breached, everything started happening incredibly fast. What was at first no more than a finger of slime inside him expanded to double that, then triple, growing until it felt like an entire arm had been shoved inside of him. Letting out a warbling howl, Braixen clenched down around the intruder, more an instinctive reaction than a conscious effort to resist what was being done to him. Regardless, it was just as effective as biting had been, the stuff only momentarily giving way before spreading him back open with even more force.

Having apparently opened him wide enough, the Grimer began its true work. The slime stopped expanding outward and started working its way inward,  oozing across his inner walls. Rather than the burning tingle that the Muk gave him, the Grimer just left a mild heat wherever it touched him, almost pleasant.

Braixen was hardly in a situation to appreciate the feeling. He let out small yips as he felt the goo start to flow deeper into him, slowly at first, as if it were exploring his body. Such a leisurely pace was too good to last, and only moments later the Grimer started moving in earnest, its slime letting out wet schlorping noises as it surged inside of him.

The fox let out a shriek as he felt litres of sludge pushing inside of him at a breakneck pace, his stomach starting to bulge out even further from the mass of the ooze being packed into him. It was even worse than it had been coming in through the front. With the Muk, he’d at least had room for everything, but being stuffed like this made him feel like he was going to burst.

Thankfully, the Grimer wasn’t nearly as big as its fully evolved counterpart. After what couldn’t have been more than a minute or so of goo slurping under his tail and into his guts, it’d finished, the last dregs of the stuff wriggling in and settling into his insides.

His stomach had bulged out another few inches with all the extra mass, hardly noticeable at a glance with its already impressive bulk, but certainly felt by Braixen. It was another dozen gallons of sludge, sitting heavily in him and jiggling with every little motion. At least it was finally over now.

Or so he thought, until he felt more of the stuff creeping over him, sliding under his fur. That was only the first Grimer, and now the second wanted a turn. Braixen wanted to scream.

Instead of focusing on what was under his tail like the other one had, this one seemed to be more interested in his front. It squeezed up over his thighs and started probing at his crotch, quickly finding what it was looking for. Braixen felt the thing’s slimy feelers brush roughly across his sheath, then probe inside of it, goop seeping into every nook and cranny of his most private area.

He shuddered as the stuff squeezed inside of his sheath, filling him with an uncomfortable pressure and pushing against the head of his flaccid member. It had wrapped a good portion of its form around his balls as well, squeezing them slightly in its wet embrace. Braixen could feel himself starting to breathe quicker, fear and uncertainty taking root in his mind. There was nowhere for him to enter there, so what was he planning?

Then, something he didn’t expect happened. The Grimer started kneading itself, massaging his sheath inside and out with its entire body, drawing a surprised and pleasured gasp out of him. He’d touched himself before, even had the pleasure of mating once, but neither had ever felt anything like this.

Despite his best efforts to suppress it, Braixen’s body started to respond to the stimulation the goo creature was providing. Sliding through the sludge that’d filled his sheath, his cock started to swell with blood, slipping out and growing to its full size inside a cocoon of slime. But as soon as his knot had slipped out, still deflated, the kneading stopped.

Braixen let out a confused whine, trying in vain to crane his neck around his belly to get a look at what was going on. Why’d it stop? If it’s intention wasn’t to get him to cum, then what was it?

That question was quickly answered as he felt a tendril of slime poking at his urethra, pushing against it with clear intent.

A scream tore its way out of his throat as that tendril squeezed inside of him and started slipping further into his body, stretching out his most sensitive area. Nerves that he didn’t even know he had lit up like a Christmas tree as the ooze crept further inside of him, running through his body like a maze. His brain made him hyper aware of every millimetre that the slime passed through, seconds feeling like minutes, even hours, as he struggled to process the stimulation.

The Grimer seemed to know where it was going. Soon, Braixen could feel that thin tentacle of slime dribbling inside of him as it reached its destination: the inside of his scrotum. Sludge pooled at the bottom of his sack, for now only a trickle of fluid, but he was sure that it wasn’t going to stay that way for long.

He was right. As soon as it was sure that it had found the right place, the Grimer let out a bubbling sound and the amount of fluid flowing through his cock tripled, his shaft bulging out with pressurized slime. Tears formed in Braixen’s eyes at the sheer strength of the sensation, every inch of his urethra swelling with toxic ooze. It was uncomfortable, downright agonizing, but every nerve that was being hit by the sludge was crying out just as much in pleasure as it was in pain.

Gnashing his teeth and whining, the Fire-type beat his fists against the ground as he felt his balls start to swell, the warmth of the slime completely encapsulating his testicles. His sack doubled in size, growing to the size of a pair of lemons, then tripling to the size of a melon. That was only the beginning. He felt his scrotum expand more and more, growing until it had to be at least the size of a Mareep, sloshing with ooze and laying heavily across his thighs.

Braixen could hardly even scream anymore, only gasp for air and make choked hissing noises, sounding more like an Arbok than a fox Pokémon. His knot had inflated, surrounded by what little of the slime was outside of him. The only thing preventing him from dripping with his own fluids was the Grimer, blocking anything from moving through his urethra but the steady torrent of sludge invading his body. It wasn’t long before the Grimer finally slipped fully inside of him, the last drips of goo sliding down inside of him to settle into his balls, already swollen to the point that they’d pinned his legs beneath him.

As if it’d been waiting for this moment, Braixen’s dick throbbed and his knot swelled, his body trying in vain to pull his ridiculously oversized testicles up against itself. His cock shot thick ropes of cum with incredible intensity, most of it blocked by and splattering against the swollen bulge of his stomach. Still, a couple of them managed to clear it entirely, arcing up high and raining down onto his chest fur.

Groaning, Braixen dipped a finger in the stuff, raising it to his face to look at it. Purple. His eyes fluttered closed as he lost consciousness, still shooting seemingly endless amounts of tainted cum all over himself.

---

Some amount of time later, though how long he couldn’t even begin to guess, Braixen woke up. He was still lying there at the bottom of the vat, but something else caught the attention of his still groggy mind. Mere inches from his snout was the Thunder Stone, lying in a small puddle of gunk, twinkling in the dim light. The sight immediately purged the sleepiness from Braixen’s mind, and his paw snatched out to grab it.

The regret was immediate. Even the slight motion of lifting his arm sent his massive gut and balls sloshing, his stomach letting out a gurgling noise as slime churned within. Braixen let out a hiss of discomfort, doing his best to stop moving and let everything settle, but risked a slight turn of his head to glance at his distended belly.

Had it not currently been occupied by a Muk, Braixen’s stomach would’ve dropped at what he saw. He was even larger than he’d been before, his middle having expanded by about half a foot since he passed out. Like it’d felt his gaze, Braixen’s stomach rumbled and swelled outwards another inch, jiggling slightly as he looked on with a grim expression.

Resting his head against the floor of the vat, Braixen stared up at the ceiling, letting out a sigh. He was going to be here awhile.