A Disgusting Debut

The air in the stadium tunnel was thick with the smell of ozone and cheap popcorn. I could hear the roar of the crowd from the main arena, a rhythmic chant of some other trainer's name.

This was it. The moment of truth.

I stood by the large metal gate, Chloe's pokéball feeling like a loaded gun in my hand. She was probably terrified in there, a prisoner in her own tiny, red-walled world, awaiting her public humiliation. The thought made me smile.

"And now, entering Field Three," the announcer's voice boomed over the PA system, echoing through the concrete corridor, "we have a newcomer to the league! Please welcome… Alex and his… partner… Chloe!"

I stepped through the gate and into the blinding light of the arena. A wave of sound hit me, a mixed reaction of cheers and boos. The controversy of my registration had clearly spread. The crowd was buzzing, eager to see what kind of creature I had brought to fight. They were expecting a rare Pokémon, maybe a newly discovered variant or a bizarre-looking import. Their curiosity was a palpable energy.

I took my position on the trainer's podium. Across the field, my opponent was a beefy guy with a ridiculous mustache, and next to him stood his Pokémon: a Machoke, a gray, muscle-bound creature that looked like it had been chiseled from granite. The crowd roared for the familiar powerhouse, ready for a good, solid brawl.

I held up Chloe's pokéball. "You're up, girl. Don't disappoint me."

I threw the ball. It landed in the center of the field, and in a flash of red light, Chloe appeared.

The change in the atmosphere was instantaneous and absolute. The cheers and boos died, replaced by a collective, horrified gasp. It was as if someone had sucked all the air out of the stadium. A low, guttural murmur of disgust rippled through the stands, quickly growing into a roar of outrage. The crowd wasn't just curious anymore; they were sickened.

Chloe stumbled, her bare feet slapping the dirt, and immediately tried to cover herself with her arms, her body a portrait of shame. She looked out at the sea of disgusted faces, and I saw her knees begin to buckle.

"Look at her!" a woman in the front row screamed. "She's just a girl! This is monstrous!"

"Stop the match! Get her out of there!" someone else yelled.

The referee, a man in a black-and-white uniform who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, raised a green flag. "The match is sanctioned by league rules! Begin!"

"Machoke, use Karate Chop!" Rick roared, without missing a beat, a cruel grin on his face.

The Machoke flexed its enormous muscles and charged, its hand glowing with white energy. Chloe was frozen, paralyzed by a cocktail of terror and humiliation.

"Chloe, dodge!" I commanded, my voice sharp and clear.

The pokéball's power kicked in, overriding her fear. She threw herself to the side, a clumsy, **** roll that just barely avoided the devastating blow. The Machoke's hand slammed into the ground where she had been standing, sending a spray of dirt into the air.

"Good. Now, use Scratch!" I ordered.

She scrambled to her feet and ran at the hulking creature. She leaped, her nails raking uselessly across its rock-hard bicep. It was like scratching a statue. The Machoke didn't even flinch.

"Pathetic!" Rick laughed. "Machoke, Seismic Toss!"

The Machoke grabbed her before she could retreat. One of its massive hands wrapped around her waist, the other grabbing her arm. It lifted her into the air, her naked body kicking and squirming. The crowd watched in horrified silence as the Pokémon began to spin, building momentum. With a final, powerful grunt, it hurled her across the arena. She hit the dirt with a sickening thud and skidded, leaving a trail in the packed earth.

She didn't get up. She just lay there, a broken, dirty heap.

"Get up!" I screamed, my voice raw. "Get up or I'll make you wish you had!"

A shudder ran through her body. Slowly, painfully, she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. She was covered in dirt and scrapes, her body trembling with exhaustion and pain. The Machoke was already stomping towards her, ready to finish the job.

This was it. The moment I'd been waiting for. "Chloe," I yelled, my voice cutting through the noise. "You know what to do! Use Pussy-bomb!"

Her head snapped up, her tear-streaked face locking onto the advancing monster. A guttural scream, a sound of pure, unadulterated rage and despair, ripped from her throat. She pushed herself to her feet, her hands clenched into fists, and slammed them together in front of her chest.

For a second, nothing happened. Then, a wave of shimmering, violent pink energy erupted from her body. It was a physical ****, a shockwave of pure feminine fury that slammed into the Machoke like a freight train.

The muscle-bound Pokémon's eyes went wide with shock as it was thrown backward, its feet leaving the ground. It flew ten feet through the air and crashed into the electrified barrier, which sparked and crackled on contact. It slumped to the ground, its eyes crossed, completely knocked out.

Silence.

The entire stadium was silent. Thousands of people stared in stunned disbelief at the naked, panting girl standing alone in the center of the field.

The referee raised a red flag. "Machoke is unable to battle! The winner is… Alex and Chloe."

The silence was broken by a wave of boos. It wasn't a polite, sporting boo; it was a visceral, angry roar of outrage. They threw cups and programs onto the field, their faces contorted with disgust.

They hated her. They hated me. It was the most beautiful music I had ever heard.

I recalled Chloe, the red light enveloping her victorious, exhausted form, and walked off the field to a cacophony of jeers. Back in the tunnel, I was ecstatic. I laughed, a loud, genuine laugh of pure delight. I had done it. I was winning with my battle-bitch and having fun with it.

When I got back to the private waiting room, I immediately released her. She collapsed to the floor, sobbing, her body still filthy and bruised.

"Oh, stop your crying," I said, crouching down in front of her. I grabbed her chin and **** her to look at me. "You were magnificent. You made your trainer proud."

I let go of her chin and stood up, towering over her. "You see what happens when you a good girl? You win. And for being such a good little battle-bitch today, I've got a special treat for you." I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small, brightly wrapped piece of candy, a simple berry-flavored hard candy you could buy for a few pennies at any mart. I unwrapped it and held it out to her.

Her eyes, still swimming in tears, fixated on the small, glistening sphere of sugar. It was the most mundane object in the world, but in her current reality, it was a treasure.

It was a kindness, however small and calculated. A strange flicker of something passed through her tear-filled eyes. It wasn't happiness, not really, but it was a close cousin. It was the profound, gut-wrenching relief of a starving animal being tossed a scrap of food.

Her sobbing quieted slightly, the **** edge softening into a more manageable, weary sadness. The prospect of a single, fleeting moment of sweetness was a beacon of light in her endless darkness.

She hesitantly reached out a trembling hand and took the candy from my fingers, her touch barely there.

"See?" I said, my voice dripping with condescending approval. "You perform for me, and you get rewarded. Isn't that nice? Now, keep your mind sharp. We've got another fight in one hour."