The 'Afterparty'

They remove the blindfold, and you blink at the sudden light. A handful of wealthy looking men sit around the room. Standing at your sides are a line of women, and John. “Welcome to our annual Post-Tournament Party,” Black Jack talks from behind you. “We almost caught them all this year, but a couple of the girlies ran before we could offer a fun time. But to make up for it, we’ve got a couple other volunteers, Yuruki of the Saffron Sirens,” the gathering of men give a polite and controlled clap, “the tall, dark, and handsome John, and the Professor’s own granddaughter Daisy Oak.”

Black Jack’s hands come to rest upon your shoulders. “And our guest of honor the victor of the Rookie Tournament, the lovely and apparently mythically beloved,” the room chuckles, “Amber of Pallet Town.” He nudges the strap of your dress to the side, the clothing falling away to reveal your bra on that side. You move on instinct to put it back in place, but Black Jack’s hand sweeps down your arm to stop you.

“Now we’ve all drawn lots for first taste. And no worries, there will be plenty of time for everyone to get a taste tonight.” He steps aside to Opal at your right, he holds her face in place, running his tongue along her cheek. “Now who’s got first lot?”

You watch as the men in the crowd, standing along the walls or sitting at tables, check their slips of paper. As if they would have just forgotten if they were the first. “No, nobody has first? Oh, that’s right,” Black Jack pulls a slip from his pocket, “I’ve got first lot.” The crowd bemoans their luck, despite already knowing their lots. “I’ll take our little champ here,” Black Jack smirks, stepping behind you once again. “Now who’s got second?”

An elderly gentlemen raises from his seat. His knees are shaky, supported by a walking cane, you reckon he must be at least 70 maybe older. “I’ll take Ashley, always had a soft spot for the girlie.” Chuckles propagate through the crowd.

Black Jack’s hands leave you, “To your suitor, girl,” he says pushing upon Ashley’s back. The raven haired girl scowls but descends from the stage to the elderly man. He takes his seat pulling the pierced girl to his lap. His hand immediately slipping beneath her shirt, playing with her tits. “And third?”

The procession of selections continues in this manner. The third and fourth picking women you don’t recognize. When Black Jack calls out for a fifth, a woman claims the lot. She’s older, age showing across her face, but her body still demanding everyone’s eyes. You see movement out of your peripherals. You look over to see Yuruki blowing kisses, trying her best to attract the woman’s attention. “I’ll take the blue haired girl.”

“This one?” Black Jack says his hand on Opal’s head.

The mature woman grins, “Yes, she’ll do fine.” Opal makes her way across the room, her legs quivering. The woman immediately discards Opal’s top.

Another couple men claim their prizes, until a fat little man stands to claim Daisy. A lean man with a square jaw calls out for John, who’s shoulders slump as he makes his way across the room. Paris is claimed by someone in the dark corner of the room. Another man stands, you recognize him. Dean from the Pewter Miners, an pro-MPL player, and the man who defeated you and Jack outside of Pewter City. “I’ll take Yuruki.” Your stomach drops for your girlfriend, you’ve been at his mercy and you doubt that him and Yuruki are on friendly terms. The last of your group to be claimed is Jack, who is eventually claimed by another familiar face, Admiral Lars Harvey. The old man who’d Black Jack had gave your time back in Cerulean.

You stand among the remaining women, each claimed one after the other. Until at last, it is just you. Black Jack wraps one hand firmly around your neck, “Well, that’s the lots for first taste. You’ve got time to make your claims before the rest of the rabble filter in for some fun.”

The room of men and Opal’s madam cheer. “This way, my dear,” Black Jack whispers, a guiding hand at the small of your back. He guides you down the steps of the stage to a set of double doors. He pushes through into a room that could only truly be described as a sex dungeon. Couches and plush chairs, benches with straps, a few large wooden X’s with cuffs at each end. The wall is lined with whips, dildos, cuffs, riding crops, candles, shock wands, and any other toy or utensil you can think of, as well as several that you couldn’t even guess their purpose.

The other men and women filter into the room from behind you and Black Jack. Those in power guiding their prizes to their furniture of choice. Black Jack takes you to an empty section of the floor, a large round rug marks your spot.

You search the room, looking for your friends and lovers in various compromising positions. You feel bad that there is nothing you can do to save them. Your heartbeat is thumping in your ears, a crack of a whip, and Black Jack says something but you weren’t paying attention. You turn to look at him, but his hand meets your face. A stinging slap burns across your cheek.

“I said, open your whore mouth.” You wince from the pain, but follow his command having grown used to submitting during your journey, starting with your first time with Blue. He presses his thumb against your tongue, his hand cupping your chin. He gives you a devilish grin, his mustache curled as an effect. At this closeness, you can spot the sparse gray in his raven black hair hinting at his age.

“Now let’s have some fun,” he chuckles, guiding you to your knees.