Rude introduction to the competetive world of pokémon

Chloe, my magnificent prize, with my cum gloriously glittering her face... wasn't quite a Pokémon yet. Now she was just a beautiful, broken doll who couldn't even defend herself. She needed to be tempered, forged in the fires of combat like any other Pokémon.

I needed her to be strong, to be a survivor, to be a weapon. And there was only one way to do that: the old-fashioned way. Grind.

I recalled her to her pokéball, the flash of red light this time a familiar, comforting sight. Then, with a click, she was gone, safely stored in her sphere. I grabbed a flashlight from my bag and slipped out into the cool night air, heading for the sprawling forest that bordered the city. The Viridian Forest's northern cousin was a notorious hotspot for low-level wild Pokémon, the perfect training ground for a newbie.

Deep within the woods, the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and nocturnal pollen. The only light came from the moon filtering through the dense canopy and the beam of my flashlight. I found a small clearing and stood in the center, the pokéball feeling heavy and significant in my hand.

This was it. Her first real test.

"Alright, Chloe," I muttered to the sphere. "Time for your tutorial."

I tossed the ball. It landed on the mossy ground with a soft thud and opened, releasing Chloe in another flash of crimson light. She appeared, still naked, my dried-up cum still splattered on her face. She stumbled slightly on the uneven ground. She looked around wildly, her eyes wide with a fresh wave of panic as she took in the dark, imposing trees and the eerie sounds of the night.

"Where are we? What's going on?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"Training," I said simply. "You need to learn to defend yourself."

As if on cue, a rustling in the nearby bushes announced our first opponent. A Rattata, scrappy and mean-looking, emerged into the clearing, its beady red eyes fixed on her. It bared its long incisors and let out a menacing chitter.

Chloe didn't scream this time. Instead, she gasped, a look of pure horror on her face. "No! I can't fight a Pokémon! I'm... I'm a human! I can't hurt Pokémon!"

"Guess what? You're a Pokémon now too, so get over it. Fight it, Chloe!" I commanded, my voice sharp. "Use Tackle!"

The pokéball's influence compelled her to move, but her love for the creatures warred with my command. She took a hesitant step forward and then back, her hands held up pleadingly. "Please, don't make me! We can just leave it alone!"

Her hesitation was all the Rattata needed. Seeing her as a threat, it darted forward, a blur of purple fur. It leaped, sinking its sharp teeth not into her leg or arm, but directly into the soft, fleshy mound of her left breast.

Chloe's scream was a thing of pure agony, a high-pitched shriek of pain and violation that tore through the quiet forest. She stumbled backward, clutching her injured tit, blood welling up from the puncture marks and trickling down her pale skin. The Rattata, its taste for blood now whetted, scampered up her leg and sank its claws into her thigh, leaving three thin, red lines.

"Chloe, use Scratch! Hit it back!" I roared, my patience gone. This was pathetic.

She sobbed, swatting weakly at the creature, unable to make it give up on its attack.

The Rattata, seeing her as an easy meal, darted in again and again. Each time, Chloe would cry out, a symphony of pained whimpers and sobs. She was turning into a living, bleeding chew toy. After a particularly nasty bite to her arm, she finally crumpled, her body giving out.

The Rattata gave a final, victorious squeak and scurried back into the undergrowth, leaving her shivering and crying on the forest floor, a canvas of bites, scratches, and bloody tears.

I sighed, walking over and nudging her with my foot. She was a mess, covered in dirt, scratches, and bite marks. Her eyes were glazed with pain and shock. "Useless," I muttered, pulling out her pokéball. "Return."

The beam of red light enveloped her, and she was gone, leaving only a few spots of blood on the leaves. I looked at the pokéball in my hand. It felt cooler now. I had pushed her too far, too fast. A trainer couldn't let their first Pokémon faint in the woods. They needed a Pokécenter.

Thankfully, Cerulean City's center was a 24/7 operation. I walked in, trying to look nonchalant as I approached the counter. Nurse Joy, with her perpetually cheerful expression, didn't bat an eye.

"Welcome to the Cerulean Pokécenter! How can I help you today?"

"I, uh, I had a bit of a rough training session," I said, placing Chloe's pokéball on the counter. "She needs some patching up."

"Not a problem! We'll have your Pokémon back to full health in no time," she chirped, taking the ball and placing it on a strange, humming machine.

I watched the monitor as a generic, featureless Pokéball silhouette appeared, a series of diagnostics scrolling next to it. "My goodness, it looks like she had a run-in with a particularly aggressive Rattata! Don't you worry, we'll have her feeling right as rain."

I paid the modest fee and took a seat in the waiting area, pretending to browse my phone while my mind raced. This was a setback, but a necessary one. She needed to learn that pain was a part of this new life, and that I was the only one who could heal her.

It was a lesson in dependency.

A few minutes later, Nurse Joy returned with the pokéball, now glowing with a healthy, vibrant light. "All better! Just try to be a bit more careful out there. The forest can be tough on new Pokémon."

"Thanks, I will," I said, taking the ball and heading back out into the night.

I didn't go back to the same clearing. I found a new one, closer to the city's edge, where the wild Pokémon were smaller and less aggressive.

"Okay, Chloe. Round two," I said, releasing her again.

She appeared, still naked, but this time she was different. The scratches and bites were gone, but her eyes held a new, haunted look. She was scared, but it was a different kind of fear—a weary, resigned terror. She looked at me, not the forest, and I saw a flicker of understanding. She knew I was the source of her relief.

Before she could even speak, a tiny, blue creature with a small green sprout on its head waddled into the clearing. It was an Oddish, one of the weakest Pokémon in the region. It looked up at her with its big, red eyes and let out a pathetic little "Oddish!"

Chloe flinched, but she didn't scream this time. She just stood there, trembling, her lower lip quivering. "No... not another one..." she whispered.

"Chloe," I said, my voice low and steady. "That is your enemy. It will hurt you if you let it. You need to hurt it first. Use Scratch. Now."

The command hit her. Her body tensed, and for a moment, I thought she would resist.

But then, her hand shot out. It wasn't a graceful, practiced attack. It was a ****, panicked swipe, her nails raking across the Oddish's leafy head. The creature let out a surprised squeak and stumbled back, shaken but unharmed.

"Again!" I yelled.

She lunged forward, a guttural cry tearing from her throat. She slapped the Oddish again, this time knocking it onto its side. The little Pokémon lay there, dazed and whimpering. It was clearly defeated, but it wasn't over.

"Finish it," I commanded. "Use Tackle."

With a sob of pure, self-loathing, Chloe threw herself forward, colliding with the small creature.

The Oddish let out one last, sad "Oddish..." and fainted, its little body going limp.

Chloe stood over it, panting, her body shaking violently. She looked down at her hands, then at the fainted Pokémon, and finally at me. Tears streamed down her face, but there was something new in her eyes.

It wasn't just terror or pain. It was a flicker of something else. A tiny, nascent spark of power. She had done it. She had won.

She was still my helpless, broken toy, but she was a toy that had just learned how to fight. And I knew, with a certainty that thrilled me to my core, that training her was going to be real fun.