Cerulean Pokecenter Lobby

Walking down the hallway and then down the stairs, you can't help but shake the awful feeling like you're walking to your execution.

You certainly feel like you're dressed in ceremonial attire.

Blue walks a few steps behind you, adding to the impression that you're sauntering down to the lobby like this of your own volition.

As you near the bottom of the stairs, the loud murmur of countless voices ripples through the air. Blue wasn't lying, it's busy. Way busier then normal.

If someone challenges you, others will hear that you're still out of useable Pokémon (Blue hasn't permitted you to take them to the healing counter), and then you'll quickly find yourself in the biggest gangbang of your life.

Thank Arceus nobody is allowed to challenge you while you're actually inside the Pokémon Center.

But there's no turning back now.

You put one hand on your hip, the other on the back of your neck, and 'Cumslut' struts down the last few steps into the lobby.

It's somehow even worse than you feared. It's not just a couple of people that instantly notice you, it's everyone.

The lobby goes silent as 25 sets of eyes, 24 male, gaze at you with disbelief.

"No way!"

"What a slut!"

"Wait, I know her from somewhere."

"She was on-stage with the Cerulean sisters, creaming over Bruno's cock! She's a total whore!"

"Oh yeah, it is her!"

"Fuck yeah!"

You are **** to move your hands from their provocative positions, to cover your modesty, but you aren't allowed.

"Um, I'd love to stay and chat, guys, but I've got somewhere to be!" You call as loudly as you can.

"I've got a place to be too - inside your cunt!" Some asshole shouts from the back. Everybody laughs.

You frown, and start to attempt to push through the crowd, towards the door.

It turns out, trying to push through a crowd when you can use your hands to make a path is much, much easier than trying to push through a crowd with a hand on your hip and the other on your neck. Not only do you have to use the main parts of your body to push between large, stubbornly stationary men, but those same men understand your pose to be a communication of consent. Surely a woman who didn't want to be groped would have her hands protecting herself, rather than showing herself off so confidently!

So as you push through the tight throng of trainers, no part of your body escapes exploration by several different pairs of hands. Big hands, smaller hands, warm hands, cooler hands, long fingers, chubby fingers, hairy fingers. They grab your breasts, tweak your nipples, caress your ass, tickle your slit.

At one point, as you turn sideways to try and squish your body through two especially overweight and gross-looking men, the one who ends up behind you slips a fat finger into your asshole from behind, making you let out a tender, wobbly moan. When neither of your hands move to stop him, a second chubby finger follows the first, and then the two invading digits quickly begin finger-fucking you. By hooking his fingers back slightly, and pressing his palm into your butt from the outside, he tightly secures his grip on your body.

This is so unfair! Blue is supposed to only have control over what happens to the outside of your body, but in this world, in some ways that relegates him to the person with the least power to **** you. By sending you, dressed like this, posed like this, into a horde of horny men, he has essentially directly doomed you to internal invasion, but technically without overstepping the bounds of what he is allowed to do to you, or instruct you to do.

Spurred on by your complete lack of resistance, the huge man behind you presses on, sending his two bulbous invaders deeper and deeper up inside your poor defenceless passage. Within moments, he is so deep that his forceful pushing is threatening to lift you up off the ground, and also is pressing you forward. Your face and tits are smushed even deeper into the soft, pillowy flesh of the similarly obese trainer in front of you. Essentially, instead of managing to pass between them, you just squeezed between them, and then ended up getting gently crushed by them.

And this entire time, your pointless fucking hands remain glued to your neck and hip. How pathetic you must look, sandwiched between these two gross lard-asses.

The man behind you places his other hand on your shoulder, not excessively forcefully, but clearly encouraging you to stay put. The man in front of you has two hands, too, and is running his hands along the outsides of your thighs, enjoying your smooth, shapely flesh.

When you try to draw a labored breath through his sweaty shirt, your olfactory senses are assaulted by the scent of unwashed hiker odor.

That, even more than the anal fingering, gives you the desperation you need to get out of this situation.

You throw all your body weight in the direction you want to travel, no longer invested in remaining balanced. You slip out from between their bulging bellies, and immediately stumble and fall to the ground. The molester's fingers shoot out of your hole with an audible 'pop', and your hands finally leave their assigned posts as you instinctively throw them in front of you to catch your fall.

Surely nobody can fault you for that.

Still, it's not all good news. You're now near the door to the outside, but you're on your hands and knees, your butt facing the majority of the crowd, and every eye is still on you. Even worse, you can feel your anal sphincter spasming, effectively winking lewdly at the eager wannabe suitors behind you. Open, closed, open closed, open, and finally closed properly.

"Arceus above, this chick is a fucking animal!" Someone says, with equal parts disgust and excitement.

"Her asshole's got a mind of its own!" Another says in amazement.

"I'd like to take it out for dinner!" Another chuckles, eliciting another round of laughter at your expense.

You desperately crawl for the door now, which earns you a number of spanks from the final few people you have to crawl past to get there. This wouldn't usually be too bad, but your butt cheeks received enough punishment last night, and while the paddle-shaped marks have significantly faded, the bruising has not.

You whine in pain as you trot on all fours out the automatic door, which mercifully still detects you, and opens to facilitate your escape.

Sighing with relief as the warm outside breeze hits your skin. It's still rather early, and many people will still be sleeping, or having breakfast. Despite being near the city center, this particular side road is nice and empty, thank goodness.

You turn around, expecting to see Blue exiting behind you, and the doors sliding shut after that, sealing the trainers in.

But that's not what you see at all. Blue is in fact nowhere to be seen, and instead, you see the entire crowd of men filtering out into the street after you. And every single one has the same thing in their hands - a condom wrapper. And every single one has a huge smile on his face.

"Now that you're outside, little Cumslut..." One of the closest one begins.

"How about a Pokemon battle?" Another continues.

"You wouldn't be out of useable Pokemon, would you, by any chance?" The first one finishes.

A low, evil chuckle resonates through the terrifyingly large group of men.

It all clicks into place in your mind.

This isn't normal.

There's no way the Pokecenter should be this busy, at such an early hour. On most days, you'd be unlucky to encounter more than two trainers.

A whole crowd of 25 male trainers? Just milling around? No way. Doesn't make any sense at all.

And they just called you 'Cumslut'. And they know you're out of useable Pokemon.

They all turned to look at you at the same time as you came down the stairs. As if... As if they were expecting you.

Blue didn't just plan this.

That motherfucker arranged this.