To be a top-of-the-line Pokemon Connoisseur, one must have an assortment of expert evaluation skills and an innate ability to identify the many wildly varying traits a trainer and their Pokemon may or may not share for efficient compatibility. Battle prowess is believed by many a novice Connoisseur to be the most important measure of compatibility between a trainer and their partner. A very short-sighted train of thought that ignores the multitude of outside factors that can influence the outcome of a match.
Journeyman level Connoisseurs tend to have a more mature grasp on the concepts their profession must juggle, but even they tend to place over-emphasis on the importance of attributes such as typing and age, leading them to forever mantle the burden of mediocrity.
Master-Class Connoisseurs, however, have successfully deduced the most important distinction that everyone, both man and mon, holds that determine the highest likelihood of a perfect match between a trainer and their partner. A quality that Burgundy prides herself on being able to expert evaluate after having gained experience and aptitude for in countless field expeditions and hands-on endeavors.
The endless and exquisite enjoyment and inference ability of the nose. Or being able to eagerly snort the stink off of a Stuntank, in layman's terms.
Even when she first began her journey as a budding Connoisseur apprentice, Burgundy always had an affection for anything involving her nasal organ. She loved to feel the tingly pollen flow off of her petite Deerling and into her nostrils. Giggling as the ticklish fertilizing agent wafted a wonderful aroma that picked her up off of her feet and invigorated her frame. The pleasant feeling that her charming Grass-type and its sweet secretions brought her instantly brightened her day, no matter how many times she nuzzled her face against the flowery fur of her friend.
That's not to say Burgundy was exclusively enthusiastic of typically pleasant scents, however. Her prized Stoutland had a particular tendency of running around the town during rain storms, usually leaving the big beast a sopping wet mess reeking of wet dog and mud-covered fur. A nasty concoction that ordinarily left Burgundy burying her face into and breathing in deeply as if she was in desperate need of oxygen. The feeling of matted hair brushing against her skin, the moistness of fresh dew combined with the filth that only a hound as hairy as her Stoutland can muster making the purple-haired cutie weak in the knees and almost as soaked as her precious Pokemon.
Such acts, of course, she kept secret only to herself and her closest companions. Hidden shame she kept carefully under wraps and only allowed herself to indulge when in the absence of other humans in the safety of her own home. A burden carried alone not meant for the judging eyes of others that would shame her, ridicule her, think less of her. At least, that's what she tried to do, but sometimes the urge to sniff is far too great for any single woman to resist, and Burgundy has a habit of failure when it comes to her weaknesses.
It was an ordinary day like any other in Unova. The Pidove were singing, the Combee buzzing, and all the many people of the region playing, battling, and bonding with their mons as they did normally.
Burgundy's day was much the same at the start. She got up, groomed herself, had breakfast, and then took her Sawsbuck into the nearby forest for a bit of early morning training. She needed to hone the abilities of herself and her Pokemon as much as she can if she were to one day usurp that green-haired twat Cilan and finally prove who the superior Connoisseur was. Natural-born talent like she had was a great boon, something that grassy fop didn't, but experience in battle would be the deciding factor in determining superiority between the two, and at the moment, with his past profession as a Gym Leader, he had her beat.
She wasn't worried, though. A bit of early-bird engagement for a few weeks would certainly remedy any flaws she and her mons had in their physical fortitude, and then she'd wipe that stupid, smug grin off of his face forevermore, and then SHE'D be the one laughing at the end!
So enraptured by her current fantasies of humiliating her one-sided rival, she had almost completely ignored a strange, pungent odor flowing from deeper into the woods as she passed by.
A hefty, noxious aroma that assaulted the senses and made one's eyes water and their lungs burn. Dastardly, down-right nasty bad-air that would leave a normal person huddled over and dry-heaving, stumbling to get away from the foulness of it all.
Burgundy, however, was not a normal person, and her nose was finely attuned enough to notice the stink even if her brain didn't. Her nostrils filled with a burning curiosity, both in a metaphorical and literal sense, steered the young violet woman away from her original destination and instead shifted her directly towards the source of the inebriating fragrance.
The further she followed the scent trail of the toxic fumes, the more focused Burgundy became of it, and by extension, deeper in desperation to snort the source of whatever was pluming the wretched stench. Her expertise in the subject of sniffing nasty shit had given Burgundy the ability to deduce that whatever causing the noxious incense was most definitely a Poison-type, most likely a native to the forest and almost assuredly a Grass-type judging by the pollen she caught mixed in with the almost visible trails of stink flowing out from the bowels of the woods.
Burgundy was once again proven astute(as she always is) when she barged into the clearing containing the originator of the foul musk filling the forest. An entire horde of Gloom was jubilantly exchanging pollen with one another, happily basking in the joys of camaraderie and turning half of the forest into a biohazard zone as a side-effect!
Such an event is typically handled by a local Ranger squad. Ensuring the Glooms are not harmed by other species living in the forest, enraged at the awful odor exuding from them, while also reducing the overall stench significance both in volume and magnitude, to keep proper harmony in the habit that all Pokemon share.
A Ranger, however, Burgundy was not, and nothing besides personal indulgence and the distant thought of Connoisseur experience filled her mind as she picked up one of the Gloom, now bewildered by the sudden elevation, brought its flower up to her face, sunk her nose into it as deep as she can, and then breathe in deeply.
The redolence of freshly boiled, rotten eggs and month-old sink meat filled her body and reverberated throughout her entire being. The acridness of the biological incense shook her insides and made her underwear instantly drenched in gooey girl-shame. Drippings of clear and sweet grool slid down her pale legs as she continued to obliterate her snout with the fetid ravages reminiscent of fresh Mudsdale turds haphazardly peppered with Meowth furballs and mixed with the finely stewed remains of week-old Garbador vomit.
Savory ambrosia caused Burgundy's girl parts to gush a torrent of piping hot fem-slime right through her adorably unbecoming Teddiurse print panties. A hands-free orgasm brought to her courtesy of a very bemused Gloom and her many onlooking but equally stinky friends. A shameless display of complete and total horniness that only a true stank slut like Burgundy can achieve. Someone utterly obedient and submissive to the malodor spice of putridly tangy Poison-type Pokemon.
Her body continued to engorge itself on the burrowing musk of the surrounding Gloom, even as her brain turned off and no thoughts filled her head aside from the unyielding urge to sustain herself completely on the noisome funk of her newly-found accomplices to her fetish.
Her sweat and poison slathered muzzle eagerly dipped itself into the next nearby Gloom once the first was sufficiently drained of all contained attar. Confused yet not harmed, the short-stack flower bud simply looked on as the human performed its unusual ritual once more on its many seed-mates, again and again until they were all "used up" by her words and the purple-haired human girl was crumpled on the floor. Passed out and on her back, face and sniffer swollen and blurple from the toxic brew that all Gloom exude from their bitter flower. A shallow, completely clear puddle pooled around her crotch, pants utterly drenched in an ocean of spent cum and stink-soaked sweat.
One would be forgiven in believing Burgundy was dead from the bucketfuls of poisonous fumes she had just willingly and happily swallowed by way of her beak, but the shallow breaths puffing out of the young woman's chest, and the stupidly satisfied grin adorning her heavily bloated and deeply purple face proved otherwise.