Inside the steam-softened air of the bathroom, a soft chime echoed in Wade's mind.
[Deep Interaction with Female Trainer: Rosa +1]
[Ding—Item Detected. Claim?]
Claim.
The thought was effortless amidst his rhythm.
[Rosa's Blessing (Rainbow)]x1
[Rosa's Blessing (Gold)]x2
The descriptions unfurled before him—potent buffs to recovery, strength, and, most intriguingly, a significant boost to a Pokémon's move power and the likelihood of additional effects. A trainer's boon, manifest. The quality was staggering; one rainbow, two golds. The haul was modest in number but exceptional in value.
Finally, the joyous silver party drew to a close. After tending to the drowsy Rosa and the other satiated Pokémon Girls, Wade's thoughts returned to the system's bounty. The terms were powerful, versatile. He decided to store them for now, a strategic reserve for the future.
But the day's primary task remained.
"Sorry to have kept you waiting."
He approached the corner where Feebas still sat, obedient and unmoving as a forgotten doll. He gently ran his fingers through her soft, light-brown hair. Her compliance was absolute, a quiet submission that was somehow more touching than eager affection. In her stillness, she was exquisite.
"No… It's fine."
Her voice was a faint exhalation, barely disturbing the humid air. She remained in her perfect seiza—a porcelain doll in a duck-sit posture—offering a nod so slight it was almost imaginary. Unlike the others, she was parsimonious with words, her sentences rarely exceeding a handful of syllables. There were no breathy calls of "Master," only this serene, silent acknowledgment.
Wade found no fault in it. His world was richer for its contrasts: Gardevoir's consuming devotion, Mienshao's voluptuous confidence, and now, Feebas's glacial calm.
He slid his hands beneath her arms and lifted her. She offered no resistance, her body limp and pliant. Perhaps from sitting so long, a beautiful, rosy blush stained the tops of her snow-white feet, visible beneath the hem of her simple dress. Even the delicate hair at her nape held a faint, ethereal pink, like the first hint of blossom on a winter branch.
Held thus, she evoked a dangerous temptation—the urge to train this indifference, to crack that flawless composure and coax out a gasped plea or a tearful, yearning look.
"Alright, I'll help you."
Wade's sigh was one of fond helplessness. Like the naive Miltank, Feebas seemed to possess no instinct for disrobing. The task, then, fell to him.
With gentle motions, the coarse linen of her simple dress whispered a path down her body, pooling at her feet.
Under the bathroom's warm, diffused light, her skin was revealed. Her thin shoulders glowed with the serene, opaque warmth of mutton-fat jade. And there, cradled against her chest, were her modest breasts—pale, soft mounds that would fit perfectly in the cup of a palm, their gentle curves now unveiled in the clinging, moist air.
With the simple dress removed, Wade placed a warm hand on the curve of the emotionless girl's jade-smooth back. His palm traced a gentle path downward, seeking the fastening of the final, intimate garment. As it fell away, the pre-adjusted shower stream cascaded over her pale, flawless skin.
"Hmm…"
A sound, soft as a sigh, escaped her. It was barely there, more vibration than voice.
"Is the water too hot?" Wade asked, his tone laced with concern. Given her naturally cool disposition and the recent… activities, he didn't jump to other conclusions.
"No… it's not."
Feebas, cradled in his arms, dipped her chin. Rivulets of warm water plastered strands of her light brown hair to her skin, through which the faintest hint of a pinkened cheek could be glimpsed. For a moment, her expression was shielded.
Observing her rigid posture and her characteristic verbal economy—never offering more than strictly necessary—Wade surmised she was merely being stoic. A fond smile touched his lips, and he gently pinched the cheek hidden beneath the wet curtain of her hair.
So even Feebas has a prideful side.
Chuckling inwardly, he adjusted the dial, cooling the water a fraction.
"This next part might feel a bit… sensitive. Just relax."
Fragrant shower gel met her skin, gliding over the elegant line of her swan-like neck. It gathered in cloud-like suds in the delicate hollow of her collarbone before the warm current carried it in a slow, deliberate cascade down the alluring ravine between her breasts and across the soft plane of her stomach.
Wade took up the bath pouf, laying it softly over one pale, modest mound before beginning a gentle, circular motion.
"O-oh…"
A stifled gasp escaped the usually silent girl. Despite their smaller size, her breasts were perfectly formed—firm, yielding, and impossibly smooth. They felt like ripe, dew-filled fruit, their taut resilience a stark contrast to her overall pliancy.
Why… is this…?
Beyond the blush of embarrassment, a deeper confusion took root within Feebas. Why did her body sing with such startling intensity at this simple, clinical contact?
"Hmm~"
Before she could process the thought, another soft sound was stolen from her. The peaked tips, like tiny, hardened cherries, had stiffened further, sensitive to the very air. And now, the washcloth had migrated firmly to the plush, snow-white curves of her rear.
Her face burned. Her eyelashes fluttered like trapped butterflies. Her normally distant, clear eyes grew hazy, filmed with a moisture that had nothing to do with the shower spray.
Wade glanced down and saw the tight, strained line of her pursed lips.
"Almost done. Just a little longer."
He offered the comfort quietly. Mouthless, heartless, expressionless—the descriptors felt hollow now. Faced with such vulnerable, trembling sensitivity, who could remain unmoved? He worked methodically, spreading the lather across every inch of her, a necessary ritual on the path to the sublime evolution she deserved.
Feebas felt it all. The suds were like tiny, effervescent ships riding the torrents of warm water, charting courses across territories of her own body she never knew could feel so acutely.
This sensation… it's… unprecedented.
As if to hide this profound revelation, she buried her burning face deeper into the waterfall of her own hair. But her body betrayed her, arching slightly of its own accord, offering more of her snow-pale skin to the bath towel's ministrations.
"All done. You can get dressed now."
After a time, Wade spoke, his voice a rumble she felt through his chest. He looked at the girl in his arms with satisfaction. Clean, glowing, and ethereally beautiful—a living sculpture awaiting its final, glorious form. He might just be the first trainer in history to personally groom a Feebas into a Milotic.
It was only as his words cut through the receding roar of the water that Feebas became fully aware of her state. The bath towel had slipped away entirely. She was curled, utterly exposed, in the cradle of his warmth, skin-to-skin.
The realization sent a fresh, scorching wave from the tips of her ears down her spine.
"Master…" Her voice was a thready whisper, muffled against his chest. A tremor ran through her. "I… I require further washing."
Patreon Seasay