Blue

As pokemon battles go, it's anticlimactic: it's a bit like watching two toddlers having a slapfight. You and Blue stand there and watch awkwardly as your pokemon waddle toward each other with cutely fierce battle cries.

"Go get him, Squirtle!" you call. Pokemon fight better if you cheer them on, right? "You can do it! Best water monster!"

As he's standing next to you, Blue slips his hand around your leg and slides his fingers up your inner thigh. "Bulbasaur! Use Tackle!"

Blue's hand is warm, and your skin is sensitive. In retrospect, you really should have masturbated this morning; you've been low-level horny since waking up, and the sudden sensation is making it much worse. You can feel your body reacting to his touch. You control your breathing, at least -- if he realizes you're getting turned on, he'll never let you hear the end of it.

"Bulbasaur! Tackle now!" Blue calls again. His fingers are exploring your crotch from behind, rubbing through your shorts. He's weirdly good at that, for someone who just turned eighteen. His fingers are squeezed awkwardly between your thighs; you move your leg a bit to relieve the pressure, which ends up giving him better access.

Your breath catches as the pressure reaches your most sensitive spot. He can't tell that you're wet, right? Surely you're not so wet that he can feel it through two layers of fabric. You probably should move away, or tell him to stop. Or - wait. The pokemon battle! "Squirtle! Keep fighting!" you call, your voice a little breathier than you intended.

Blue has found just where you're sensitive, and his fingers rub in slow circles. His other hand slides up your shirt, moves your bra, and squeezes your breast. "One more!" he calls. "Tackle! Go for the throat!"

With an effort of will you wrench yourself away from him. You need to win this battle now, so you can find a private room and finish what Blue started. "Squirtle!" you call --

But Squirtle is on the floor, knocked out. "Bulbasaur!" the other pokemon shouts in triumph.

Fuck.

Blue is absolutely insufferable. "You're mine now, turtle slut," he cackles. "What sort of bitch-ass trainer forgets her pokemon in the middle of a fight?"

"But you were... distracting me..." you mumble.

"Sluts like you are only good for one thing," he says. "If that. Strip! Now!"

You strip, as ordered. The lab is air-conditioned, and you feel distinctly exposed in the cold air. The evidence of your arousal is plain: your nipples are hard, and a bead of moisture trickles down your thigh. You take a bit of comfort in the fact that Blue's pants are bulging as well. You've had that much effect on him, at least.

"Sit on the edge of the table!" he orders. "Legs open!" You obey silently, blushing furiously as you realize what you're about to get. Whether you want it or not.

Blue stands in front of you, still wearing his trainer outfit. He opens his fly, and you catch a glimpse of his cock. (It would've been nice if it were small, and you could mock him for it. But no. It's big.) You only catch a glimpse, though, before his hand tangles in your hair and pulls your head back. "No looking, bitch!" he growls. "You want to see me naked, you earn it!"

And you can only stare at the ceiling as he presses up into you.

You're more than wet enough, but it's still a tight fit. He takes you slowly, thrust by thrust. You feel the fabric of his shirt as it presses against your naked torso; you feel his hand tangled in your hair; you feel the heat of his breath on your neck. But mostly you feel his cock inside you. And however you may feel mentally about the insults, the embarrassment, the sheer awfulness that is Blue Oak: your body is loving this.

Blue sets a steady pace, breathing hard into your neck as he thrusts up into you. You can't help but match him, the two of you moving in unison, working together toward a shared goal. Your arousal builds and builds. His breath comes faster, harder, and soon he hilts himself inside you and cums. The feel of his cock pulsing inside you sets you off as well. You wrap your arms and legs around him and hold him tight as the orgasm shudders through you.

When it's over, Blue stays in your arms for a moment, breathing hard. He's let go of your hair, and he's holding you almost tenderly, with his face in your neck. He pulls back only reluctantly.

Blue laughs, weakly. "Yeah," he says. "That's what you get... turtle slut!" He pulls his pants up. His clothes are damp with your fluids; you wonder if he's got a spare, or if he's going to wear that all day.

"It's Hazel," you tell him, trying not to sound affectionate. This is Blue, after all. "Not 'turtle slut'. Call me Hazel."

"Whatever," he sneers, with just the ghost of a smile. "Bye now. Don't forget to heal your Squirtle. Turtle slut." And he leaves.

You stare after him. In his haste to make a cool exit, did he forget to heal his own pokemon?