The familiar rhythm of farm life resumed. Wade completed his morning transaction with Uncle Yoshino, the exchange of fresh, creamy Miltank milk for a tidy sum of 7,000 League coins as effortless as ever. He returned with a backpack now satisfyingly heavy with tough spider silk and, more importantly, two new companions. By any measure, the day had been a resounding, fruitful success.
"Master, please have some tea."
The soft call came after dinner. Petilil, in her Pokémon Girl form, peeked her adorable face around the kitchen doorframe, carefully balancing a steaming cup of green tea as she padded into the living room.
The dim glow from the overhead lamp didn't wash her out; instead, it seemed to lovingly gild her, making her skin appear even more luminously snow-white. Her emerald green hair was tied into two playful pigtails that just brushed her delicate collarbones, doing a poor but charming job of concealing the gentle, promising slopes beneath her simple white sundress. Her bare calves, extending from the skirt's hem, shone with a smooth, precious luster reminiscent of fine mutton-fat jade—inviting a touch that would be both gentle and reverent.
Her sole, lamentable flaw, in her own eyes, was a distinct lack of development in the chest department—the classic curse of the flat-chested lolita.
"M-Master!"
Noticing where his gaze had lingered, Petilil stomped a small foot in frustration, her round face flushing a vibrant, peach-blossom pink.
Chuckling, Wade reached out to soothe the nearly combustible lolita with a gentle head-pat. He accepted the proffered tea and brought the cup to his lips for a tentative sip.
Instantly, an indescribable, profound bitterness detonated across his tongue and rocketed straight to the crown of his skull.
"So bitter—!"
His face instinctively contorted into a pained grimace.
The vibrant leaf atop Petilil's head was a popular medicinal ingredient in the Pokémon world, often trimmed and dried to brew a potent, revitalizing tea. The benefit was an instant, clarifying jolt to one's spirit—a peculiar hybrid of a stimulant and a tranquilizer. The significant drawback was a bitterness so potent it could make one's vision momentarily swim.
"M-Master, this is very sweet."
Hearing his distress, the naturally innocent Milk Cow Lolita was at his side in an instant. With a gentle, maternal press, she offered the soft, snowy peaks that threatened to overflow, bringing their sweetness directly to the Trainer's lips.
"Mmm…"
His tongue lightly traced a rosy crest, and the rich, delicious milk flowed forth, perfectly diluting and washing away the acrid tea's lingering assault.
*???*
Petilil, who had only intended to help her weary Master recover and perhaps earn a word of praise, stood utterly dumbfounded.
This… this was against the rules! Was this even allowed?!
Her gaze dropped to the immense, soft expanses currently monopolizing the Trainer's attention, and she swallowed subconsciously. Then she looked down at her own modest, underdeveloped plains.
A wave of utter, crushing despair washed over her.
Just you wait! she fumed internally, a fiery determination igniting in her heart. Once I evolve into Lilligant, I'll grow that big too!!!
"Now, now, Petilil, calm down a little!"
After successfully pacifying the green-haired lolita who seemed on the verge of vowing 'Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west of the river—do not bully a young Pokémon Girl for her poverty!', Wade retreated to the peace of his room to begin his next project.
"Eh, can you really make a big net for catching fish with just this?"
Lopunny, who had followed him like a soft shadow, peered at the sizable pile of shimmering spider silk with wide, curious eyes, her head tilted in fascination.
"Of course, no problem at all!"
Wade smiled, deciding it was time to broaden this bunny girl's horizons. After mentally reviewing the steps, he set to work.
First, he gathered ten strands of the resilient silk, twisted them into a robust cord, formed it into a loop, and tied a secure, foundational knot—the anchor point for the entire net.
Lopunny leaned gently against the Trainer's back, her warm weight a comforting presence as she watched his deft movements with rapt attention, her breath a soft whisper against his neck.
Starting from that anchor, Wade pulled out a length of cord in a specific direction, crossed it with the main strand, and with practiced fingers, formed a simple, secure knot.
"This," he explained, glancing over his shoulder at his attentive student, "is one mesh of the fishing net."
"Mmm hmm~" The bunny girl nodded eagerly, her long ears swaying as if she understood perfectly.
"Finally," Wade continued, his fingers now flying in a rhythmic, almost meditative dance of creation, "you just repeat this action along the growing edge, over and over, gradually expanding the net's scope."
After half an hour of focused, quiet work,
A large, intricate, and formidable fishing net lay completed before them!
"It's quite sturdy."
Wade gave the net an experimental, powerful tug. The spider-silk material held firm without a whisper of strain, meeting his every expectation. He nodded in deep satisfaction.
A mischievous, almost whimsical thought crossed his mind: If this net were just a bit bigger, you could probably snare a Legendary like Suicune with it.
*[Farm Upgrade Task 4 Completed]*
Under your skillful hands, you have successfully woven a strong fishing net. It is time to let the fish in the farm's waters know who dictates their fate. Please complete the farm's first fishing operation tomorrow and construct a small fish pond.
*[Rewards]*
Healthy Fish Fry × 500
**Sun Stone (Gold)**
A stone as brilliantly red-gold as the sun itself, pulsating with evolutionary energy capable of awakening specific Pokémon.
"…"
Wade was momentarily stunned, then sighed inwardly.
You damn, biased system… You've practically gift-wrapped her evolution stone, haven't you? — — —
Beside him, Lopunny gazed at the large, expertly crafted fishing net the Trainer had conjured from mere threads in just half an hour. Her eyes sparkled, reflecting the lamplight, filled with pure, unadulterated admiration.
"So amazing, Master. I want to learn too~"
Lopunny's whisper was breathless with admiration, her eyes wide and sparkling as they darted from the completed net to Wade's face. He glanced at the substantial heap of glistening spider silk still piled on the table, then back at the bunny girl before him. Her pretty face was flushed from their prolonged closeness, a delicate pink that warmed her cheeks and quickened her breath. A slow, knowing smile touched his lips.
"Then… how about I teach you something new?"
The promise in his tone, low and intimate, made her shiver. "Master…"
The word was less a title and more a surrendered sigh. Now, Lopunny lay curled upon the soft expanse of his bed, the quilt yielding beneath her. A pair of slender, exquisitely shaped legs were cradled firmly in the Trainer's grasp, utterly pliant to his touch.
Her feet were a sculptor's dream—delicate arches, graceful ankles, skin like polished jade. The black silk stockings sheathing them performed a seductive alchemy, not concealing but accentuating every tender curve. The sheer material, hinting at the flesh beneath, created a devastating contrast of dark sheen against fair skin, making the revealed glimpses at her thighs and the subtle depression of her soles unbearably alluring.
"Mmm…"
As his large, warm hand began a slow, purposeful massage, kneading the hypersensitive sole of her foot with just the right pressure, a full-body tremor wracked her. A soft, involuntary moan escaped her throat, echoing in the quiet room.
Wade watched her reaction, a thought flashing privately. These legs… I could devote a year to their appreciation alone. Yet his intent was layered, more than simple indulgence. This was pedagogy of a most intimate kind, a lesson crafted specifically for this beautifully shy bunny girl.
"Mmm… Master… it feels like I'm going to come apart~"
Lopunny hid her burning face behind her hands, peeking out tremblingly from between her fingers. Her breath hitched as the Trainer's focus shifted. His fingertips found the taut top edge of her stockings, that second skin encasing her lower half. With a slow, deliberate glide that spoke of absolute control, he began to peel the fine black silk downward. The material whispered a secret against her skin as it retreated, his touch a firm, scorching line tracing a path from the delicate bones of her toes, along the sensitive arch, past the slender knob of her ankle, and up the tantalizing slope of her calf… A journey so deliberate it coiled tension deep in her belly, a telltale, aching warmth blossoming in immediate, shameless response.
"Look," his voice was a low, patient rumble, his gaze ostensibly fixed on the technique despite the profound intimacy of the demonstration. He held the partially removed stocking, pinching the woven threads. "Observe the foundational diamond pattern. The tension here, the cross-weave here. This… is how you begin fishnet stockings."
After a long, trembling interval—a lesson measured in shuddering breaths, stifled sounds, and skin flushed with revelation—Lopunny, glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration, finally summoned a coherent thought.
"I… I should bathe," she stammered, her voice hoarse, her face a spectacular scarlet. In a flurry of lingering sensation and profound fluster, she slipped from the bed and fled the Trainer's room, the phantom of his touch imprinted on her very nerves.
Inside the steam-cloaked sanctuary of the bathroom, the lesson's aftermath hummed like a live wire under her skin.
"Master… mmm, ah…"
Lopunny's reflection in the fogged mirror showed a face flushed a deep, peony pink, her eyes glazed and distant. Her fingers, moving almost autonomously, reached for the soft, worn bath towel hanging nearby—his towel, saturated with the familiar, deeply comforting scent of him: clean cotton, sunshine, and a hint of the forest.
Since the first time her exquisitely sensitive, velvety ears had been caressed to the brink of overwhelming pleasure, this marked the second, desperate time she had sought solace with this particular cloth.
She stood barefoot on the cool tiles, hot water beading on her skin. Her chestnut-brown hair, darkened by moisture, clung in wet, serpentine tendrils to the snowy landscape of her back. Droplets traced lonely, meandering paths from the delicate hollow of her collarbones, gathering for a trembling moment before falling into the deep, honeyed valley between her breasts—two perfectly rounded, heavy mounds that glistened under the spray. At their peaks, two rosy buds, taut and desperately sensitive like flower buds swollen with morning dew, trembled and puckered with every slight shift, every echoing memory of the touch that had mapped her legs.
The practical lesson on weaving, on the creation of that provocative, open net-like fabric, had somehow translated into a profound, hollow ache within her. It was a void that had driven her into panicked flight, and now, in the solitary confinement of steam and falling water, it pulsed with a relentless, demanding rhythm.
"Mmm… I really… I need to be filled…"
The admission was a broken whisper, stolen by the shower's hiss. Her plush, supple waist swayed with a restless, undulating motion, and the perfect, peach-like curve of her upturned rear was a pale, tantalizing shadow in the mist, a symbol of softness and yearning.
As the damp towel, overwhelmingly saturated with his scent, found its tentative way deeper, she couldn't help but squeeze her silken thighs together, trapping it, guiding its rough, familiar texture toward that aching, empty warmth.
"Woo… ah…!"
She bit sharply into her lower lip, the sharp pain a fleeting anchor. The towel became a frantic instrument in her grasp—sometimes a slow, grinding mimicry of a caress she craved, sometimes the focus of a swift, desperate storm of friction, the weave scratching deliciously against her oversensitive nerves.
In a short, feverish time, as the rhythm lost all grace and became frantic, her entire body coiled like a overwound spring, every muscle locked taut. Broken, gasped moans were ripped from her throat, no longer containable, echoing off the tiled walls.
A small eternity later, Lopunny lay collapsed on the damp floor, a spent and beautiful creature against the cold tiles. Her chestnut hair fanned out around her head like a spilled dark halo. A deep, crimson blush—the flag of her release—had spread from her cheeks down her neck, flowing over her collarbones and across her heaving chest, painting her entire body a fevered, glowing pink. Even her previously alabaster toes were now curled and dusted with the same delicate, satisfied hue.
But it was a hollow victory, a transient peace.
The emptiness, momentarily quieted, returned not as an absence but as a sharper, more intelligent hunger. It hadn't been quenched; it had been teased, awakened to its own potential, and now it burned with a clearer, more insistent flame. It had been fed a glimpse, and now it demanded the feast.
A treacherous, thrilling thought crystallized from the steam and the aftermath.
Should she… should she go to him? Tonight?
A night raid on the Trainer's room. The concept was audacious, thrilling.
The moment the idea fully formed, her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat syncopated with the imagined, tempting whisper of a demon in her ear—a voice that sounded suspiciously like her own deepest longing.
Memories, vivid and sensory, assaulted her—the crushing, wonderful weight of his large hand on her chest, the deliberate, mapping trails of his fingers along the inside of her thighs, the searing heat of his gaze that felt like a physical touch. Her already-flushed cheeks burned anew, a fresh wave of heat pooling low in her belly.
And then, unbidden and crystal clear, the memory of the distinct, formidable hardness she'd felt pressed against her during their close contact surfaced. The latent power of it, the implicit promise. Her breath grew ragged, the steam in the room suddenly suffocating, too thick, too hot.
Could it… could something of that magnitude… possibly fit? The thought was terrifying, exhilarating.
Sitting limply on the water-stained floor, her body humming with a renewed, more profound ache, Lopunny's beautiful eyes grew distant and soft. A fresh, misty layer of unshed tears and overwhelming, confused desire clouded her vision, blurring her reflection into a mere impression of yearning in the foggy glass. The decision hung in the saturated air, charged, terrifying, and inescapable.
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