[HD] Furry Wife of the Week: Meowscarada (Covered - Smaller Bikini)

So I have been thinking, this picture is uploaded first then the variant uploaded quite later, is this alright with all of you? I would love to upload it earlier, but for the sake of scheduling (I always uploads here on Saturday), I upload it kinda late. I'm alright with uploading it earlier though to be honest.

What do you think?

Btw, the short story!

Short Story

A Dance of Leaves

The sun’s bleeding into the horizon, turning the training field into some kind of golden stage, and I’m drenched—sweat sticking my shirt to my chest, my lungs burning from barking orders. Vera’s out there twirling like it’s a damn performance, her hips rolling with every step, her latest flurry of leafy blades slicing through the targets with that smug little flourish she loves. She’s been mine since forever—back when she was a scrappy little Sprigatito nipping at my heels, and I was a kid with big dreams and bad hair. We grew up together, her and me, but lately… lately, my Meowscarada’s not the partner I used to know.

It’s not her moves—those are still perfect, lethal, all that jazz. It’s her. She’s got these… human vibes now. Curves that don’t belong on a Pokémon, like those full, bouncing—ugh, I can’t even say it in my head without feeling like a creep. Her hips sway when she walks, her chest jiggles when she lands a jump, and I’m over here pretending I don’t see it. But I do. And she knows I do, because she’s smirking at me again, that flirty little tilt to her lips that’s been driving me nuts for months.

We’re out here for the league—big stakes, one week out—and I’m trying to keep it professional. She’s not helping. That outfit? Barely there. Some leafy thing tied around her chest like it’s daring me to stare, and this leafy thong that’s more gaps than fabric, all leaving nothing to the imagination. “Focus,” I mutter, tossing a stick high. She leaps, slashes it clean in half, and lands with a hip-cock and a wink. “How’s that, Master?” she purrs, dragging out the word like it’s a caress. My throat goes dry, and I grunt, “Good. Again.”

She giggles—giggles!—and saunters closer, tail flicking like a metronome of mischief. “You’re so serious today. Don’t I get a little praise?” Her voice is all syrup and spark, and she’s close enough now that I can smell her—something floral and wild, pure Meowscarada. I step back, waving her off. “You’ll get praise when we win. Move it.” She pouts, but it’s fake, and then she’s back at it, flirting with every damn move—spinning extra slow, bending just a little too far, that thong shifting with every step. I’m a mess, half-yelling commands, half-praying she doesn’t see where my eyes dart.

We train hard, though—always do. By the end, I’m wiped, sprawled on the grass with my chest heaving, and she’s flopped beside me, panting in this exaggerated way that makes her… assets bounce. I look away fast, but not fast enough. “Water,” I croak, scrambling up. “Gonna grab some. Stay put.” I don’t look back—can’t risk it—and practically sprint to the shop down the path. Two bottles, cold as hell, and I press one to my forehead, trying to cool off the heat that’s not just from running. She’s my Pokémon. My Vera. But the way my blood’s rushing—lower than I’d like to admit—it’s not exactly platonic.

When I trudge back, I’m not ready. She’s there, legs splayed wide like she’s posing for some magazine I’d never buy, one hand propping her up like a queen, the other… oh, hell, she’s sliding it up her thigh, slow and deliberate, right where that thong’s barely clinging. Her eyes catch mine, green and wicked, and she grins. “Master…” she says, voice dripping with tease, “don’t forget I need this kind of training, too.” Her fingers brush higher, grazing the edge of her nethers, and she giggles again, watching me like a Meowscarada with a trapped Pidgey.

The bottles slip—one hits the dirt, the other I barely catch—and I feel it, that traitor twitch down below, hot and sudden. “Vera!” I snap, but it’s shaky, and my face is on fire. She stretches, arching her back way more than necessary, and chirps, “What? I’m just saying… we’re a team. Gotta work on all our skills, right?” She winks, popping a claw out to tap her lips, and I swear she’s enjoying this too much.

“Drink,” I mutter, chucking the bottle at her—hard. She snags it midair, still grinning like she’s won already. “Oh, I’m thirsty, alright,” she says, twisting the cap off with a slow, suggestive turn. I spin around, hands jammed in my pockets, trying to hide… everything. “League,” I growl. “Focus on the league.” But her laugh chases me, light and taunting, and I know she’s not letting this go.

She’s my partner—my best friend, my flirty, impossible Meowscarada—and I’m stuck somewhere between wanting to throttle her and… something else. Something I’m not ready to name, even as it’s stirring down there, loud and clear. The league’s coming, sure, but right now? Vera’s the one winning, and I’m not sure I mind losing.