First, heal up

Fortunately, the chaos you unleashed takes most people's attention off of you, so the ambient noise from everyone's minds is mostly screams of terror. They're disturbing, but they don't send you into heat. You enter the Pokemon center to heal up. You manage to beat the crowd, and get service immediately.

You're surprised when Nurse Joy invites you around the counter for your own treatment. Apparently, she recognizes you as a pokemon. You figure having energy beamed into your body is a good deal, so you take her up on her offer. Sadly, Nurse Joy informs you that a wild pokemon, like yourself, can't use the machine, but other forms of treatment are available.

Before you can follow up on that, Joy hoist you onto the counter and lays you down on your back. She takes a bottle and squirts some jelly in her hand to warm it up. You try to climb off the counter, but with years of experience wrangling uncooperative pokemon, Joy leaves no openings for escape.

Joy pulls the string holding your bikini top on, letting it fall from your breast. Her goo coated hands take its place. You feel warm and tingly where she touches you, making you recoil from her touch. You can't hear Joy's words, but after speaking, she starts moving. She wrings your plump flesh with practiced skill, spreading the lotion over your chest. You let out a feminine gasp and arch your back, thrusting your chest into Joy's fingers. Her hands sink into your bounty.

As if Joy's ministrations weren't enough to set off your overactive libido, you start to sense onlookers as their thoughts seep into your mind. You focus your efforts, and look out on the room.

There's a couple in matching knit sweaters gossiping a few feet away. The guy looks a bit like an older Gary with less hair. The girl stands about six inches shorter than you and her chestnut hair falls to her shoulders. They waffle and tease each other about making out as well or even joining in. They fuel each other's fantasies, and it would only take a push to spur them into action.

A fashionable woman looks on with disgust. Her curly black hair tumbles down the back of her chair. She's in a haltertop that displays more breast than your comparatively modest bikini top and a microskirt with a belt nearly as wide hanging from her right hip. Her uncovered limbs seem like long strips of cream. She has her phone out, calling her friends to come.

A nerd continues to glance over and awkwardly watch you. If it wasn't a game, you'd think this guy with his thick glasses and pocket protector was trying to make himself a caricature. While he lacks the courage to do anything, his thoughts are the most vile.