Pokemon is a copyright of Nintendo. Pokègirls and Pokèwomen come from the Pokewomon Forum.
"Wild Horses and Pokègirls" is the creation of Metroanime.
"HA!" her Master shouted and spun around in joy, "It says his hard drive is on the fritz and he'll be offline for at least a week. And he's left ME in charge!! Now I can make things the way they SHOULD be!"
"Good news, Master?" the CyberNymph asked hopefully, leaning forward for a congratulatory kiss for her work. Or maybe he'll be so pleased, I'll get a Taming, she thought, I want a Taming. I need a Taming!
Her Master, as usual, missed all the not-so-subtle signals she was giving him. "There's no way to trace it back to me?"
Other than the note I left for his DataDog to find? A list of all the Fetish sites her Master has been visiting lately and a few suggestions what to do with him when he isn't IM'ing all his new `friends`, she desperately longed to ask, And the instructions on how to do it to us, so I can get some Taming in, instead of watching you play 'Skerg of the Erth' online and plan your coup of the Anime Club through e-mail and instant messages? It's not as if you'd actually go out and talk to the others face to face. "Absolutely not Master!" she strove to sound affronted. Not hard considering how he's been ignoring me lately . . . for her! It was with real, seething rage she continued, "The virus will write itself into hard drive upgrade buffer, erase itself from the rest of the system and reside there. It will be impossible to find or scan with any virus eradication system currently known. They'll have to replace those chips, and even if he gets them back, the virus will erase itself in a week." She pursed her lips and leaned close again, hoping this time he'd get the message.
He ignored his loyal Pokègirl - for her again. "I bet you're glad to put one over on that . . . what was her name? Petia? Pentina? Whatever?"
"Pentiyumyummy," she said coldly. And frankly, on long, cold nights, when we're both so lonely . . . she's not half bad in the sack, she thought of her `rival` computer expert warmly, And when she has stolen you - and 'Yumyummy's Master away - I'd help a Widow to hurt her, she fumed inwardly.
"Go, do whatever you want," he said as lavished his attention, attention that should have come to her, on her hated rival.
I'll tell you what I want to do, Master, the CyberNymph thought, rubbing her hands gleefully, I'd take her out to a lonely field somewhere. Lay her on the ground, tear off her coverings. Then I'd take a pliers, put them oh so carefully on her most sensitive and delicate bits. The CyberNymph's gleeful smile turned ugly. Then I'd slowly crush, and twist, and tear, first one part, then another, then another. Scattering them all over that field, just wrench them loose and throw them away! she thought as she suppressed a giggle at the fate of her rival, lying helpless before her. Then I'd take my red-hot soldering iron, and dig it into her 'marvelous curves', leave deep burning furrows in her 'majestic and innovative form'. I'd leave her so torn up and disfigured, that even the scavengers wouldn't pick over what was left, she concluded in a rage.
She paused and gathered herself together. Why do I do this to myself? Why do you do this to me, Master? she wondered sadly, It's always the same, about two months of being nearly inseparable, of spending every available hour . . . with her . . . of me groveling, pulling down your pants and sucking you off, while you're with her. Just to get the attention I need. Then two months of growing boredom and dissatisfaction as she doesn't live up to your dreams and fantasies, then another two months fantasizing how you're going to get rid of her, and get the new one who's caught you eye and all your fantasies and tied up in the pursuit. Those two months are wonderful, working together, loving you so passionately . . . then you throw me over for your new love. She sighed sadly and continued to herself, You never see how much joy some underclassman or newbie gets from your cast offs, how they and their Pokègirl work at making her what they want and truly love.
She sighed and stared at her rival, and the tiny spot she wished for all the world to drive a knife through. Every six months, she thought, It's the same.
'Contains the New Uptanil GSXT III ChipSet!!!' the sticker read. As he tapped away on her keyboard.
"And how it is that much better than the GSXT II?" she quietly asked and returned to her Master's bed, where she'd cry herself to sleep that once again, she'd lost him to a machine.
Author's Note: This story is in no way intended to imply that KnightMysterio's recent computer problems are sabotage, or that A-Kun would ever do such a thing, or ignore his Pokègirls. But that little worm of suspicion is the source of this. I do stand behind any assertion that I am Leonard of Quirm's descendant/inheritor, or I should be institutionalized for my protection and that of society.