14 Mar 2012
Note: Tidbit of a hentai dystopia. Barely MA. I don't plan to continue it, but you never know. Originally written for the "No Holds Barred" prompt at LJ's Hentai_Contest.
Desperate Measures
It was a dark time. The blight that had taken over much of the Pokémon world swept on. While the strange disease did not affect humans, it devastated Pokémon. Breed after breed fell prey, driven to the brink of extinction or over it. Treasured companions withered and died, and the once flourishing training gyms and well-attended tournaments trickled to nothing, as first one class of Pokémon then another became endangered. Who could risk injury to a single Charmander or Bulbasaur when soon the entire class of flame or grass Pokémon might be no more? While scientists scrambled for a cure, most of the world could only mourn...and wait.
There are, of course, always a few who profit from tragedy, and in this bleak period there were those who argued that desperate times called for desperate measures. When it was discovered that Meowth was immune to the blight, for example, it became the primary focus of the medical community. Some willingly submitted to life in the laboratory, being poked and prodded and tested in hopes that the cause of its imperviousness would be discovered, to help save the world.
Team Rocket's Meowth, however, took another path.
"All hail King Trainer Meowth!" cried James.
The human audience in the magnificent arena echoed, "All hail King Trainer Meowth! All hail King Trainer Meowth! All hail King Trainer Meowth!" They knew their duty. The small group of ailing Pokémon and the fellow Meowths who were protected by their King from forced medical experimentation bowed their heads but were not required to pay vocal tribute in their own languages unless they wished.
With a feline grin, the elegantly clad Pokémon ruler waved lightly to his supplicants with a sparkling, beringed paw, then took his seat upon his enormous golden throne. At once, James began to fan him with one hand while holding out a tray of exotic fruits with the other.
The proud King Trainer surveyed his "kingdom," a spectacular domed stadium that held the only battles left in the ravaged world. He nodded to the pittance of Pokémon who were always welcome in the box seats, alongside the wealthiest of humans. The rest of mankind had to make do with benches—created to be particularly uncomfortable—in the upper balcony. They peered through binoculars rented for the events, if they could afford them.
When Meowth again raised a paw, the crowd was silent. In the hushed atmosphere, the lighting dimmed in the stands as spotlights appeared on the arena floor. It was time.
Meowth cleared his majestic throat and then: "Jessie," he cried, "I choose you!"
Naked and glistening with the oil that she had slathered over her alabaster body to make her more difficult to grasp, the champion Jessie stepped forth into the light. The crowd roared. Her supple body had grown firm and muscular through her many challenges. It bore the scars of battle, both bite marks and scratches. She raised her arms overhead and her small breasts bounced, nipples taut. The proud warrior took the applause of the crowd as her due.
Meowth rubbed his hands together with glee. It had been his idea to insist on nude battles. After all, had anyone provided Pokémon with the dignity of garments for their innumerable and degrading challenges? Yes, this had all been his idea.
From the meager raised box on the opposite side of the fighting floor, Brock was gritting his teeth. His fighter had lost to Jessie more than once. But they had trained hard since then. Even Ash had come out of retirement, older and still mourning the death of his beloved Pikachu, to assist him. Team Rocket must be defeated. He took a deep breath and said what must be said. "Misty, I choose you!"
Tan and fit from all her training in many the forests of Pokémon world, humble yet proud, the flat-chested human entered the ring. Her gaze was determined.
In a flash, the women bolted for the mud-wrestling pit. There would be bloodshed—and no small amount of slippery female flesh grinding—this day.