Pmu Damians Story Ch 23

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Damian had an easy time preparing for the museum trip because he had slaves to help him dress, and because his roommate was going on the same trip. Damian did not, strictly speaking, need help getting dressed. Boxers, shirt, pants, socks, shoes. It wasn't hugely difficult, but having three monster girls fuss about with his body was enjoyable nonetheless. Beatrice buzzed around his body, tucking, pulling, fiddling, brushing his hair. While it was probably all fairly pointless, he wasn't about to stop his Bee girl from caressing his body or playing with his hair.

The other two slaves were attempting to help as well. Hinako's long limbs spidered over and around him, taking directions from Barbara. He wasn't sure why the Spider Pokegirl was accepting instructions about fashion from the one woman in the room who literally did not have eyes, but she was doing it. Hinako didn't have much of a dress sense, having seemingly lost all notions of appropriate clothing while she had regressed into being a monstrous spider. Now that her limbs had hands and feet again, she always deferred to others about what she should wear. Still, despite all the fussing, the net result was that the slaves decided that he wouldn't wear a hat after all. Naturally, he was the master and they were slaves, so he could easily overrule their sartorial choices, but letting them feel useful to him was important.

His roommate was receiving a more intensive intervention. Adelaide's slave and lover was convinced that she did not know how to dress. Willow, the Dryad Pokegirl was equally convinced that Adelaide's other slave Pippi didn't know how to dress either. As far as the Pathetic Fish Girl went, Damian couldn't say he disagreed. Left to her own devices, Pippi wore stripes on her shirts and socks, and denim everywhere else. The glasses she'd chosen were hipsterish at best. Under Willow's harsh guidance, the redheaded Fish Pokegirl had ended up with tight denim shorts and a plaid blouse that was tied up under her modest breasts to reveal her pale belly. It looked like a virgin's attempt to be a sexy farm girl, which was a bit on the pathetic side but probably the most fuckable look available to Pippi.

Adelaide herself mostly favored dressing in an unobtrusive way. Frumpy dresses. Bulky unisex jackets. Figure-obscuring blouses. All things which Willow was having none of during an excursion to the museum. "When you go out with your slaves, people should

know

that you're the mistress and we're the slaves!" The result was a dark green bodycon dress and black boots that came nearly up to her knees. The Frog Artist trainer keroed in embarrassment, but the truth was that like most students of PMU she actually had a fantastic figure. Damian agreed that Willow really knew how to show off her mistress' assets.

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When they arrived at the front of the museum building, several women he knew from class were already there with their own slaves. The most surprising was Esmeralda, not so much that she was there, but that she was such a submissive that it was weird to think of her owning a slave at all. But as the Goblin Demon

was

a trainer at PMU, she naturally had to have a Pokegirl that she had sexually dominated into slavery. Her slave girl was a Jewel Rabbit Girl named Aurora. That slave was powered by rock and fairy magic, which Damian would have thought meant that she could have escaped from Esmeralda's domination fairly easily. Damian had felt what fairy magic did to dark magic aspected trainers like Esmeralda and himself, and he didn't think dominating a fairy aspected Pokegirl would be safe or simple. His approach to bullying Lucinda was cautious for that exact reason. Still, Aurora's white hair only partially obscured the thick slave collar that she wore without apparent complaint.

Another woman he'd had sex with without first meeting her slave was Robin. The Fire Cow Witch had brought a leashed young woman named Pris. Pris had black stripes drawn across her eyes and elsewhere on her body, which was striking against her blond hair and fair skin. The fishnets she wore on her arms and legs seemed tailor made to draw attention to the black bands on her skin. She was a Rushing Ferret Girl, and she pulled herself to heavy breathing against her mistress' leash and collar. Whichever direction she was pointed, she rushed forward until her collar pulled at her neck and harsh sounds came out of her throat.

Samantha's slaves Madison and Jeanie were both present, dressed in the simple slave-standard of underwear and high heels. Both blond slaves had been dressed for fuckability, something that augmented the apparent status of their mistress. Anyone looking at an owner flaunting sexy and blatantly fuckable slaves would naturally see that mistress as dominant and be submissive toward them. Sometimes a dominant would be propositioned by submissives eager to be dominated simply by the power of advertisement. Samantha's two pieces of fuck meat would juice up the pussy of many a sub who had no choice but to imagine themselves fucked into slavery upon seeing the beautiful results of the Tapir Witch's training. Damian looked at them carefully because they were dressed like they worked in a strip club, and he noticed that Samantha's Madison looked very similar to Robin's Pris. He wondered if they had been cousins or something before they became Pokegirls. There was a substantial genetic component to who transformed into a Pokegirl and who did not, so it wouldn't be strange for two Pokegirls to be closely related.

He was gratified to see Paige hanging out with Robin and Samantha. The Bibliophile had her own Pokegirl slave, a Shikigami named Fawn. Fawn's face was literally painted on, which made her look like she was wearing a Halloween costume.

Not everyone who had arrived was happy to see Damian. There were several Witches in the Mathemagic class, and most of them shared Rini's negative opinion of him sodomizing Witches and training them as ass to mouth bitches. He didn't know most of their names, as they tended to avoid him. What surprised him was that there were Witches from the other Mathemagic class, the one that met in the evenings, who seemed to know and resent him. The field trip was organized by Professor Agnesi, and there were two whole classes of hers that were invited. It was a Saturday, so not everyone could come, but attendance at such things was pretty high at Pocket Monster University. Who

wouldn't

want to go to lectures and class trips when the curriculum had so much nudity in it?

Rini herself arrived not only with her own slaves, but with two of her coven members who were from the other class. A blue haired woman with twin tails and a brown haired woman with a bob and two long locks. Rini pointed him out to them, and both Witches looked like they'd chewed a grapefruit rind.

The men from Class Two didn't seem nearly as polarizing. Archie the Artist and Dexter the Sensei both seemed popular with the ladies. The two redheaded men had their own harems of slaves, of course. Archie had come with two slaves, one blond and the other with black hair. Dexter had come with three lithe slaves dressed in leotards, one African American, one Asian American, and the third one pale and blond. Aside from the five slaves, the two men were the objects of attention for more than half a dozen trainers, a reminder of how scarce a commodity dick was at Pocket Monster University.

Some of the students from Class Two were also in Damian's Alchemy class. Joy, the student and not her very similar looking cousin who worked a the health center, was there with her slave, and Matilda had come with all three Pokegirls that belonged to her. Damian greeted them cordially. Matilda's slaves wanted to rub themselves on Damian's slaves, it was very cute.

All told, there were about fifty freshmen, with just over a hundred Pokegirls. Professor Agnesi flew in and did a head count. Having determined that there were enough attendees, she gave them the general idea. First, they would go to two of the large display halls, then they'd break for lunch, then they'd meet up again in a third display hall, and finally form smaller groups and tackle some of the smaller exhibit areas. It was really a full day at the museum, and there promised to be a lot of math.

At the front door, they were greeted by four security guards, which seemed like kind of a lot for a building that was already on campus.

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The Hall of Historical Pokeballs, or The Ballroom as it was sometimes called, was the first place Professor Agnesi had instructed them to go. One thing that immediately jumped out at Damian was how many of the Pokeballs simply weren't very

ball

-like. Intellectually he'd known that a Pokeball didn't have to be spherical, but the math got pretty funky when making them into other shapes. A display case showed ancient Chinese Pokeballs that were a stack of wooden plaques, a set of beads, a sheathed sword, and a lidded bowl. Each was a container of sorts, and to the extent that things could go inside them, a Pokegirl who had been rendered unconscious or enslaved could be trapped within. A casual check with his Pokedex revealed that each contained a Demon of one type or another. Regardless of how many centuries had passed, a Fish Demon could be unleashed by untying the beads, and a demonic catgirl could be unleashed by unsheathing the sword. If any of those Demons had ever accepted an owner, their trainer would have been dead many generations in the past, and an immediate rampage could be expected should any of them be released in the modern era.

"Can you

imagine?

" Willow gushed, looking at the ancient prisons. "A Pokeball that's a work of art, a display of the owner's craft and will that the Pokegirl is forced to reside in. This Snail Demon Pokegirl was so... so...

owned

. Her mistress painted her onto those pieces of wood, and she

became

the art of her mistress. That's so romantic." Of course, the Demons had been sealed away so long ago that no one

really

knew if they'd ever become the pussy-slaves of any mistress; but Willow's imagination had filled her own pussy with syrup and there was no way she was going to let any

but actually

get in the way of her horny speculation. The tall, green haired woman put her hand on her mistress' shoulder. "Mistress Addie, would you like to design a Pokeball for me? All the other slaves would be so jealous. They'd see that my owner-wife had molded my bonds as much as she'd molded my soul." Willow rustled in excitement at the prospect.

Adelaide looked at the ancient craftsmanship. It was in its way primitive, having been made with crude tools the crafters had probably had to make themselves. She could probably do better herself, using tools of much finer precision in work areas that had better light, better clamps, better cleanliness. On the other hand, whatever woman had made the sword had been making swords for longer than Adelaide had been alive. There was a weight of experience that could be

felt

in every compositional choice. "I would love for my wife to go into a Pokeball I designed. It's just... a big responsibility. Kero." Her mind raced to all the ways she could imprison her beloved, and felt on the verge of a panic attack from all the possible choices. Whatever she bound her lover with needed to be

perfect

. She loved Willow so much, and her brain spun in circles with worry over putting her into a Pokeball that was wrong, insufficient, aesthetically poor. At the moment, she had a standard issue starter ball that she'd been given in high-school. It was sentimental in the sense that it was what Willow had submitted to after Adelaide had licked her to orgasm for the first time, but that memory was horrible. Willow had been drunk, crying in anger and shame, calling her names, and calling herself names. She hated the memories that Pokeball engendered in her, but she loved the Pokegirl she had enslaved and bound into it.

The Dryad pulled her mistress into her side and lovingly stroked her. "I'm so glad you own me, Mistress Addie. Whatever you confine me in is going to be wonderful, because it will come from you." And just like that, Adelaide's anxiety was calmed. She snuggled into her slave. Slightly behind them, Pippi pathetically watched her owner's public display of affection. The Pathetic Fish Girl wanted her mistress to design her a prison of her own as well, but she knew her pussy wasn't good enough to deserve such treatment.

"Mmmmm?" Beatrice hummed at her own owner. Her compound eyes were unreadable, of course, but Damian had a pretty good idea of what she wanted.

He thought he might have a real future in alchemy, but sculpture and design weren't remotely his strong suits. "I'm not an

artist

, Beatrice. It's not that I don't think you deserve a beautiful and personalized Pokeball. I mean, you absolutely do. But I'm not the person to design it." He put his finger in front of her mouth and she dutifully sucked on it, humming happily at the chance to publicly display her submission. "You're right though, a some point we need to get you a forever ball. We could do a whole ceremony with it, maybe put you in during the summer so that my mom can see your first confinement." The timbre of the humming and enthusiasm of the sucking indicated that the Bee Pokegirl approved of the idea. Approved of it very much.

Around the hall were other displays of Pokeballs from Sumeria, Aztlan, Egypt, Rome, Mali, Cambodia, and Japan. The time periods involved were actually quite different, the Aztec boxes being six

hundred

years old, while the Sumerian jars were six

thousand

years old. It was humbling to remember that Pokegirls had been being fucked into submission since before the inventions of writing and bronze and the techniques of sexual domination were still very recognizable even during his own life. It didn't seem like there was any particular rhyme or reason for the regions that were being displayed, it was almost certainly a mere accident of what the museum had managed to get their hands on. The enthusiasms of the donors had presumably made much more of an impression than any broader pedagogical point.

Damian had only barely started reading the descriptions of Aztec techniques to build boxes that could contain the Bat and Bird women of Meso America when the teacher started a lecture. She was primarily interested in discussing how ancient Pokeballs had been

tuned

into magitech items that were capable of holding Pokegirls. Where modern Pokeballs were calculated to sub-millimeter precision before they were made, archaic Pokeballs could only be calculated very roughly, and were then modified until they functioned. It was why the ancient Pokeballs were all covered in etchings and adornments. The chances of them working properly with initial smooth surfaces were vanishingly low. It was a bit ironic that the simple and industrially sterile look that came on mass market magitech was an aesthetic that people had been trying to achieve for thousands of years, and that the gorgeous baroque filigree of ancient works had been a necessity that the people of the time thought they had to put up with.

The big revelation was in the

how

of the tuning. The old magitech was of course made by trainers, or at least by people who would be called trainers in the modern day. And that meant that they were Pocket Monsters themselves, and that meant Pokeballs would react to them. During the decoration, the overall dimensional transformation would be created by the fractal nature of the adornments, and in so doing the creator would themselves begin to feel the pull of the Pokeball. It was a reminder that Damian could himself be captured in a Pokeball given the right circumstances. He wanted to avoid that kind of thing.

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The next place they were to meet up was the Fossil Paradise exhibit, which was on the other side of the complex. There were a number of ways to get there, and students were encouraged to take different paths so that the exhibits in between could still be enjoyed along the way. He doubted that anyone would enjoy any painting or historical artifacts if they were traveling in a flock of a hundred and fifty trainers and Pokegirls. As it was, a number of women had chosen to take the path that Damian had done, in many cases specifically

because

it was the path that Damian was taking.

"Is that a

bitching post?

" Samantha asked. Sure enough, it was a working replica of a nineteenth century bitching post, a place where subs could be left for later pickup. They were also places were the submission curious could bind themselves such that they could be found and dominated by anyone dominant enough to do so. In the Old West, there weren't any claiming parties outside of the rowdiest of towns, and so any submissive looking for an owner would bind themselves to a bitching post and wait to be dominated and taken. They were also used in less savory ways where submissives were sometimes bound to bitching posts against their will and then publicly broken to sexual slavery.

It was a part of history that was grossly over represented in fiction. If one went by western movies and TV shows, it would seem there was a bitching post in every cow town, mining camp, and whistle stop from New Orleans to San Francisco. Even in westerns aimed at children there would always be a scene where some damsel was voluntarily or involuntarily strapped to a bitching post, the only difference was that the camera would cut away and leave the action to the imaginations of the parents. In reality, only larger towns and cities would have a bitching post, and many submissives would have to take a train to get to a place where they could be publicly dominated and find someone to collar them.

Bitching posts were still

used

, of course, but no longer in any official capacity. Since they weren't 'real' anymore, people could set them up wherever they wanted, and they did! A temporary bitching post would frequently be seen at taking parties and bachelorette parties, and more permanent bitching posts were often installed at taming salons and sex dungeons. Damian remembered when his mom had come home furious that someone at her office had set up a temporary bitching post in the break room of the office she worked at. Karen had called it an "attractive nuisance," something that was simply there to tempt people who worked there into becoming sex slaves. Damian had been confused as to why his mom had been so angry about it, seeing as it wasn't pretending to be anything else. She had come home after work fuming about it tricking interns and junior staff into sexual subservience, but Damian never understood what the

trick

was supposed to be.

At the museum they did indeed have a usable bitching post, and it was a replica of one of the largest, the one put up in Houston in eighteen seventy-five. It had room to tie up six submissives on each side. "Um... do

we

have time to get tied to the post?" Robin's earnest question was a matryoshka doll that contained so many other questions. Like, did anyone

want

to be tied to the post? Or perhaps, was it

safe

to tie anyone to the post? Or even the most basic of needed clarifications:

who

exactly was the

we

in that question? But the Fire Witch just blew past all of that, as if it was simply a foregone conclusion that someone would get bound to the post if there was enough time for that to happen.

Damian checked his Pokedex. They were actually doing pretty OK for time. "Um... yeah, I guess." He shrugged.