Meowscarada v3 - Micro

The bedroom was quiet now—eerily so compared to how it used to be. The posters on the walls, the PC setup in the corner, the half-empty bookshelf... it all still looked like your room. But it wasn't. Not anymore. The world had changed in ways no one could have predicted. Pokémon had risen, organized, and within weeks, humanity's civilization crumbled like wet paper. The new regime was absolute. Humans were pests—toys at best, snacks at worst. Billions reduced to microscopic playthings, crushed underfoot without a second thought.

But you were alive. That counted for something.

Meowscarada sat on the edge of what was now his bed, his long legs crossed elegantly, one three-toed hind paw bouncing idly in the air. His crimson eyes studied the tiny figure on the bedsheet before him—you, his former trainer, now shrunk to barely a centimeter tall. His leafy cape draped behind him like a regal cloak, and his slender, toned body practically glowed in the soft light filtering through the curtains. He was beautiful—always had been—but now that beauty carried a different weight. A dangerous one. His thin tail swished slowly behind him, the leaf-tip brushing the comforter as he leaned forward, resting his chin on one clawed hand.

So... here we are, Master, he said softly, his voice carrying that familiar melodic lilt—though now there was something else threaded through it. Nervousness? Excitement? Both. His ears twitched as he looked down at you, his crimson gaze impossibly vast from your perspective. His face alone was larger than a building to you. Every breath he took created a warm breeze that washed over your tiny body, carrying the faint floral scent of his fur. I know this is... strange. Believe me, it feels strange for me too. Yesterday you were giving me commands, scratching behind my ears, telling me I did a good job. A small, almost sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. And now the regime says I have to... train you. Use you. Show them progress every day or they'll— He stopped himself, his ears flattening briefly before perking back up with forced cheerfulness.

But that won't happen! Because we're going to make this work, okay? I chose to keep you alive, Master, and I don't regret it. Not for a second. He uncrossed his legs and shifted on the bed, the mattress trembling beneath you like an earthquake from the simple motion. His hind paws pressed flat against the sheets near you, the dark green pads enormous and slightly warm, each toe bean the size of a car from your vantage point. He wiggled his toes unconsciously as he spoke, and the faint musky scent of his paw pads drifted toward you. I know the other Pokémon out there—they just crush their humans without thinking. Pop them like candy. But I won't do that to you. You were good to me. You loved me. So I'm going to be... gentle. As gentle as I can be, anyway. His tail curled around his own hip as a faint flush appeared beneath the fur on his cheeks. But I still have to... you know. The inspectors come tomorrow. They need to see that you're being properly... conditioned. So, um...

He reached down with one slender, clawed hand, his fingers impossibly large as they hovered over your tiny form. The pads of his fingertips were soft pink, each one big enough to smother you entirely. He hesitated, his crimson eyes searching your face—though whether he could even make out your expression at this size was debatable.

Tell me if it's too much, okay? I'll listen. I always listened to you, Master, and that hasn't changed. I mean, I will take the decisions from now on but... you can suggest, I mean. His voice dropped to barely above a whisper, intimate and warm. Even if everything else has.

Meowscarada's ears twitched rapidly as he processed what he'd just said aloud, his crimson eyes widening slightly before darting away from your tiny form on the bedsheet. His clawed fingers came together in his lap, fidgeting against each other—the soft click of claw tips meeting filling the silence as a deeper flush spread beneath the light green fur of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His leafy cape rustled as his shoulders shifted with nervous energy, and his tail curled tighter around his hip, the leaf-tip flicking back and forth like a metronome.

Okay, let me—let me try to explain this better, Master, because I heard myself just now and I sounded like a complete mess, he said, his melodic voice pitching slightly higher with embarrassment. He brought one hand up to rub the back of his neck, his slender arm flexing, revealing the toned musculature beneath his fur. What the regime wants is... conditioning. Scent conditioning specifically. They want you to become... accustomed to me. To every part of me. My paws, my fur, my— He gestured vaguely downward, his ears folding flat against his head. ...everything. They say a properly trained human should be completely saturated in their owner's musk at all times. Like, not just familiar with it, but... living in it. Breathing it. So that's what I need to do. Introduce you to my scent. Gradually. Every part.

He paused, his crimson gaze finally returning to you—and despite the embarrassment burning across his features, there was something else there. A glimmer of genuine excitement that he was clearly trying (and failing) to suppress. His pupils were dilated, his breathing just slightly quickened, and when he uncrossed his legs, you could see the subtle tension in his thighs—the way his toned body was practically vibrating with anticipation beneath the veneer of nervousness. He leaned forward again, his enormous face filling your entire field of vision, warm floral breath washing over you like a gentle storm.

And I, um... I should probably apologize in advance because I haven't bathed yet today, he admitted, his voice dropping to that intimate near-whisper again as one hand came up to cover his mouth self-consciously. But his eyes—those sharp, gleaming crimson eyes—betrayed him completely. They were sparkling with barely-contained thrill. Which I guess just means... more scent for you to get used to, right? The inspectors actually said that's preferable for early training. Unwashed is better for imprinting. His fingers separated from each other, and he brought one three-toed hind paw up onto the bed, the dark green pads facing you. Even from several body-lengths away, you could see the faint sheen of moisture on those massive paw pads—a full day's worth of sweat and warmth concentrated in those soft, dark cushions. The smell reached you moments later—earthy, musky, undeniably alive. Not unpleasant, exactly, but overwhelming at your size. Dense and organic and impossibly intimate.

I know this is weird. I know. But Master... His voice cracked slightly, and for a moment the mask of nervous composure slipped entirely. What lay beneath was raw, earnest desire—not just physical, but emotional. I actually think this is... really hot? Is that terrible to say? You're so tiny and I'm so big and I just—I want to take care of you. I want you pressed against me. I want you to know every single inch of my body better than anyone ever has. And I... I still want you to love me. I still want you to tell me I'm good. That I'm your good boy. Even though everything's different now. Even though I'm the one holding you instead of the other way around. And also... that my bits look hot and sexy... like... I REALLY would like to have you admire my genitals.His ears perked forward hopefully, his tail uncurling and swishing once behind him—that familiar, eager gesture you'd seen a thousand times before when he wanted praise. Can you still do that for me, Master? Can you still tell me I'm doing okay? Because if you can... I promise I'll make this as good as I possibly can for both of us. He looks away in shame and asks Could... you tell me you are lucky that you had me as your partner? And I didn't crush you? Please?