Trained

tags: transformation, post-tf, swampert, pokemon, human, male, totally 100% willing and not brainwashed at all yup, post-betrayal, domination, submission, unfair, pet play, mind control, hypnosis, pokeball, gay

Two safe-for-work stories in a row? Who even am I anymore?

by donedonedone




Part 1: Captured
Part 2: Trained [you are here]
Part 3: ???

“Go, Swampert!”

Your world shifts and red light fills your eyes. As it fades, you register the smell of soup, the texture of the wet earth beneath your paws, and the sound of your trainer. Hearing your trainer say your name energizes you.

You rear up on your hind legs then slam back down. “Swampert!” you bellow. Your whole heavy-set amphibian body feels fantastically well-rested.

Your trainer laughs. “Good Swampert! (Holy shit—this is amazing!) You look great, dude! Come over here.”

Without a second thought you turn around. Your human trainer is standing there, grinning. He’s much smaller than you, and compared to your tree-trunk arms his human limbs are like twigs. At your full height you would loom over him, but since you’re on all-fours you have to look up slightly to meet his eyes. You don’t mind. It feels nice to be below your trainer.

You notice that your trainer is holding your Swampert-styled pokeball in his hand. Seeing that pokeball jogs your memory. That pokeball… It was supposed to belong to you, wasn’t it? You remember buying it at the store but… pokemon like you don’t buy things, do they? It’s hard to think. You feel angry seeing that ball in your trainer’s hand, but why? It’s the pokeball that he captured you with, fair and square.

“Come boy,” your trainer says, like you’re his pet. …But you are his pet. That was a strange thought. You pad your way over to him. “Good boy!” he says. Your trainer pockets your ball and starts petting your head with both hands. “Very good Swampert…”

“Swamp…” you croak, enjoying the praise and the massage in equal measure. Your trainer seems so happy to play with you, and seeing him happy makes you happy. You can’t remember ever feeling such pure joy.

Your trainer pulls on your cheeks and touches your fins. “Wow,” he repeats, as if in disbelief. “You really look just like a Swampert…”

“Swamp…” You’re more focused on enjoying his touch, but the human’s words still confuse you. Of course you look like a Swampert, he just caught you. Luckily, it doesn’t matter if you’re confused. Now that you’ve been captured, your trainer will be the one thinking your complex thoughts for you. It’s such a weight off your shoulders to know you’ll be following his lead from now on.

When your trainer is done petting you he points to an extra pack by the campfire. You pick it up obediently. Through words and hand gestures he asks you to hide it nearby. You nod and lumber off on your hind legs, happy to have a task from your trainer to accomplish.

As you carry the pack through the forest, you get another flash of memory. The bag you hold is shockingly familiar. You can somehow guess what would be in every pocket. How strange. What would a Swampert like you need a pack for?

You shut your eyes, trying to clear your mind. Thinking un-pokemon-like thoughts doesn’t give you the same pleasure that obeying your trainer’s commands does. So why think? You put all your brainpower back into finding a suitable tree-hollow to stash your trainer’s suspiciously familiar spare pack inside. Once you find one, Wurmple scurry away as you gather branches.

When the bag is sufficiently hidden you pad back to camp on all fours. You feel lighter. It’s nice that the bag is gone, it was distracting you from being your trainer’s Swampert. His smirk upon seeing you come back empty-armed makes your tailfin wag.

Your trainer is already eating. He motions you to the bowl of soup he set out on the stump beside him. You would have preferred berries, but the gesture of your trainer offering you the same food he’s eating is not lost on you. Plus you’re starving. You take your place beside him and start slurping directly from the bowl.

You don’t mind that your trainer is watching you while you eat. “Incredible… This is so cool,” he mumbles to himself. It makes you happy that you can impress him so easily. The warm, hearty soup trickles down your throat. Your trainer is such a good cook!

Your trainer experiments by saying an old name of yours. You recognize it, but you don’t respond. If your trainer wanted your attention he’d call you by your real name, the one that makes you feel good to react to.

“Swampert,” your trainer says. That’s your name. You lift your head obediently. Your trainer laughs and motions for you to keep eating. It’s nice and simple to be named after your species. Human names are so complicated, and you don’t really need one.

When you’re both done eating your trainer stands up and aims your pokeball at you. He watches you with a smile, as if expecting you to react.

You cock your head. “Swamp…?”

“Swampert, return!”

Red light zips from the pokeball and connects with your head. Your whole body freezes, then you are once again sucked into your pokeball. This time you don’t fight, even though part of you wants to. The idea of being safe and compact in your trainer’s palm excites you.

As you sit in your void, confident that you’re now safe in your ball on your trainer’s belt, you think about how easy it is being his obedient Swampert. The voice in the back of your mind that keeps insisting you were supposed to be his trainer must be mistaken. You were always meant to obey your trainer, he’s your trainer.

You relax and let your ball’s programming back into your mind. The pokeball has already done such a good job making you think like a Swampert, but you could still be better. The ball will do a better job of deciding how you should think than you ever did. You take a back seat as it does its work on you.

——

“Come on out, Swampert!”

Your ball opens up and once again you are deposited lightly on the ground. When the beam of red light clears you breathe in the damp morning air and do a little shake to stretch out. “Swampert!” you cry. It’s another good day to be a water type.

“That will never get old,” your trainer says to himself. “This is going to be the best week ever…”

“Swampert,” you agree, without needing to think about what you’re agreeing to.

“Alright, ‘Swampert,’” your trainer continues, “it’s time for your training. You do want to be a big and strong Swampert for me, don’t you?”

“Swampert!” Yes! You stomp the ground with your front paws, unable to restrain your excitement. You love being his big and strong Swampert more than anything, even berries.

Your trainer smirks, then points at what’s left of the campfire. “Go, Swampert, use Water Pulse!”

Your first pokemon move! The instant your trainer gives the command you feel something building up in your throat. “Swam-PERT!” you shout. A burst of cool, fresh water rushes past your tongue, shoots through the air, and slams into the remnants of the campfire. The smoldering logs scatter, sizzling and steaming.

Your satisfaction is immeasurable. You created that water at your trainer’s command! You turn to him for approval, amazed at what he was able to get you to do.

“Good job, Swampert!” he praises. “I knew you could do it.”

You sway energetically, wagging your tail fin. “Swamp!” you croak.

Your trainer laughs. “(Man, he is going to hate remembering all this when I change him back.) I mean. Ahem. Let’s see what else you can do…” Your human trainer pulls out his pokedex and aims its camera at you.

The pokedex beeps and your trainer’s eyes glaze over as he scans the screen. You know from… experience…? that it’s telling him everything he might need to know about you, from your moves, to your level, to your ability. For a moment you feel a little strange about being on the other side of a pokedex, but then you realize how nice it is. You have the strength, power, and body of a Swampert now. All you need is a trainer to tell you how to use it.

Your trainer raises his eyebrows at his pokedex. “Wow,” he mumbles, “your stats are better than I thought, dude. You might actually be stronger than all of my current team. And your type is just perfect...”

“Swamp.”

“Right, right, the training. Now, Swampert, use Mud Shot on that tree!”

“Swamp!” Once again, you know exactly what to do. You rear up on your hind legs, then slam your blue, three-fingered paws into the dirt. The mud responds to your will and you hurl it forward.

Your Mud Shot strikes the tree you aimed at with a THUMP, spraying dark brown mud everywhere and scaring some Swablu into flight.

“Good work, now use Take Down!”

“SWAMP!” you roar and charge forward. For this move, raw power courses through your limbs. You feel stronger than you’ve ever felt before, and you use that strength to tackle the tree your trainer pointed to.

SLAM! Your shoulder connects with the tree at full speed, sending painful vibrations through your bulk. With an almighty CRACK the tree loses its battle against your muscles and topples. Twigs and splinters fly as it falls with a whumf.

You leap up onto the fallen log and cheer with the only word you ever need to say: “Swampert!”

——

Half an hour later you’re tired and breathing hard. Your slick blue skin is covered in mud and scrapes from repeated Take Downs, but despite that you feel amazing. Your whole body was put to work in your training. You already feel stronger than when you started.

Of course the mud coating your four legs doesn’t bother you. It’s your element. Since you don’t wear clothes you get to feel mud all over your body with nothing weighing you down. The concept of “dirty” doesn’t really apply to ground types like you.

You summon up a torrent of water and use it to uppercut the final tree in the glade. “SWAMP!” you bellow as you fell it with ease.

“Amazing Waterfall!” your trainer shouts and claps as the tree branches snap. “You’re so strong, buddy! Come over here.”

“Swamp!” You hurry over to your trainer’s side.

“Haha! Look at you, man.” He brushes a leaf from your head. “You really got into the training, huh? Did you like it?”

“Swamp!” Yes! You love being trained by him!

“Dude, I never knew you’d make such a strong pokemon,” your trainer says, surveying the wreckage you created. Fallen and repeatedly snapped tree trunks are everywhere, most of them covered with mud. “You seem like you’re having so much fun, you’re almost making me jealous,” your trainer says. “No hard feelings about me using that ball on you, right?”

“Swamp!” You are having fun, and it is so good that your trainer captured you. Your tail fin wags at the reminder that you belong to him.

“Good Swampert,” your trainer says, rubbing one of your head fins.

You close your eyes and relax. Being pet always feels amazing. As your heartrate slows you become more aware of your exhaustion. Your trainer’s human hand provides much-needed comfort, which you lean into.

“Hey, hey!” your trainer laughs as you bump into him. “Cool it, you’re gonna get me dirty!”

In your tired thoughtlessness, you don’t process your trainer’s words. The pleasure of being pet is too much to pass up. You press closer to him. “Hey!” Your trainer tries to push you away, but his laughter only encourages you to push back harder.

Thinking you’re being gentle, you accidentally tackle your trainer to the ground. He grunts as he falls backwards into a puddle and you end up on top of him.

The slightest suggestion of your trainer being in pain snaps you to attention. You quickly lift yourself off, placing your front limbs on either side of his delicate head and scanning his face, fearful that you’ve hurt him.

Now that he can move, your trainer winces and lifts an arm to rub the back of his head. When he finally opens his eyes you watch as he blinks up at you.

Your trainer seems unhurt, but he spends an awfully long time just watching you loom over him. In all the time you’ve known him, he is very rarely so quiet. What if your human hit his head and it’s all your fault? “Swamp…?” you ask.

Your trainer blinks again, then seems to realize how long he’s been lying in the mud with you. He shakes himself out of his trance and chuckles. “I’m ok, dude, seriously. I’m not hurt.” He pauses awkwardly. “…You can get off of me now.”

“Swamp!” You hop off, suddenly aware of how little space you gave your trainer to maneuver.

He slowly sits up. Your trainers cheeks look a little flushed and he doesn’t meet your eyes, instead focusing on brushing himself off. As you watch him, you think about how small and fragile he is compared to you. Flecked with mud on his face, and with a huge splotch of it all along his back, he looks a bit helpless. He doesn’t thrive in the mud the way you do. You’ll have to be more careful to look after him in the future…

“Something wrong, Swampert?” your trainer asks, finally noticing your staring. He tries to wipe his arm clean, but all he accomplishes is smearing it. “Also, do you remember if there was a river nearby?”

In response, you prep the warmest, gentlest Water Gun you can manage… and spray him directly in the face.














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