With seductive, calculated innocence

You approach the defeated trainer with a sultry saunter, a fake, unreadable saccharine smile plastered on your face masking your disdain for the scum before you. "So, you wanted to give me a fun time?" you say, voice filled with curiosity like a prude child unable to grasp the implications of such a comment. You step close, rising slightly on your tiptoes to bring your mouth near his ear, one hand gently cupping the back of his head to draw him closer, your other slowly tracing a finger down his chest, drifting tantalizingly lower, before whispering, "What did you have in mind, I wonder?" Your grip tightens briefly on his erection through the fabric, sealing your control.

"W-well, aren't you eager?" he splutters, confused at first, before his voice shifts to a cocky drawl, a smirk curling his lips as he falls for your ploy. "Knew you'd come around, babe. Why don't you let me show you?" Behind his bravado you catch the telltale signs of nerves—a twitch in his cocky smirk, eyes betraying his confidence. You give a firm squeeze on his bulge, watching as he continues to crack in your hands, before stepping back. You tilt your head, hair spilling over your slender shoulders, smile widening as you play the role of naive ingénue. "Oh, I'm just dying to see," you purr, voice dripping with a seductive innocence as you press your body closer once more, brushing your chest against his unbuttoned shirt. "Why don't you show me, tough guy? I mean you did promise me a good time, didn't you?" Your fingers dance along his waistband, teasing the edge, and you feel him tense, his breath hitching as he sucks up every second of your act.

He fumbles with his belt, hands shaking with anticipation, muttering, "Oh, you're gonna see what I can do, alright," You step back to give him enough room, folding your arms with half a degree of imperiousness, watching with a hidden sneer as he shoves his pants and boxers down in a clumsy motion. His erection springs free, and it takes a particularly fierce bite on your tongue to save you from laughing. It's... underwhelming. You don't know what average is, but Blue's looked almost 10 inches. This in comparison, it's not even half of that. Standing, erect, proud... proud of what, you think, desperately resisting the urge to ask. But not now; for now you resolve to continue—the show must go on. You raise an eyebrow, letting your eyes linger on his crotch before returning his cocky gaze, your smile never wavering. "Oh..." you say, "That's it?", voice trickling with feigned disappointment—just enough to make him blink in confusion. You step closer again, hips swaying, before dropping to a crouch in front of him, face inches from his groin. "I mean... you talked such a big game and all," you continue, a slender finger tracing from the base of his penis, slow and deliberate. "But this? This is what you thought would impress me?"

A mix of embarrassment, rage, and perhaps arousal flood his face, his smirk a meagre echo of the arrogance it previously boasted. With a poor attempt to hide his insecurities, he stammers, "I-it's plenty, alright? You'll feel it, just wait," but you don't wait, cutting his excuses off with a sultry stroke, your grip on his cock firm but teasing, keeping him right on the edge. You look up at him through your lashes, fake smile still plastered fraudulently on your face, letting him think he's about to get what he wants.

"Mmm, you think so?" you murmur, increasing the pace just enough to make his knees buckle, his hands clench into fists, pressing into his sides as some kind of attempt to stay composed. "You really thought this little thing could handle me?" You let out a soft, mocking giggle as his eyes widen, his face a contorted mess of doubt and arousal, his breath ragged in **** pants as you lead him closer and closer to the precipice. "Oh, you're adorable," you coo, "thinking you could just waltz up, insult my Bulbasaur, and then—what? Have me begging for this?"

His expression shifts, confusion giving way to panic as your tone sharpens, the mask slipping just enough to hint at the fury beneath. You stand abruptly, still holding him, tightening your grip as you lean in close, voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "You called my Bulbasaur a waste of space," you hiss, your act of playing nice dead and buried, replaced with a burning rage, pretense forgotten. "My partner, my friend, who's worth a hundred of you, you pathetic, sleazy fuck."

Before he can react, you drive your knee up into his groin, the impact sending him crashing to the ground with a strangled squeal. He clutches himself, gasping, tears forming in his eyes as he curls into the dirt. You bend down, and wipe your hands on his abandoned trousers—as if wiping off filth, your smile returning—this time prideful and true.

"That was for Bulbasaur," you say, voice laced with hate, as you loom over the excuse of a man before you, watching him writhe in pain. "Next time you open your mouth about my Pokémon, I won't be so nice." You turn on your heel, and begin to search his abandoned clothes for anything worthwhile. You find $200 in his wallet, as well as two Potions in his pocket, and for a moment a pang of guilt surges through you as you realize if your Pidgey didn't knock out that Beedrill in one hit, you would've had a real problem on your hands. Resolved to train your Pokémon to never be in a situation as close as that, you scornfully fling his belt into the distant grass, and take a look back over your shoulder as the trainer remains grounded, whimpering, nursing himself. "Crawl home, asshole," you say, before turning your back on him, heart pounding with vicious satisfaction as you stride towards Viridian, Bulbasaur's Pokéball firmly in hand.

The sun creeps higher overhead, its rays illuminating the defeated trainer behind you mercilessly, the blinding orange yielding to a warm complementary yellow. You glance down at Bulbasaur resting in its Pokéball, your thumb brushing over its surface. You vow to never let anyone disrespect your team again. The life of a female trainer may be brutal, you think, but you're learning fast—power isn't just in winning battles. It's making them regret crossing you.