Pokemon Ecchi Adventures, Part 4

The growlithe wriggled on the floor. It’s mouth and legs were wrapped up in gooey gray strands of spider silk. It’s trainer, a bank security guard, was similarly bound by his hands and mouth. His legs, though, were spread open, and a certain thief was looking down at the growing bulge between them with a hungry grin on her face.

“Oooh,” Annabelle purred, looking down at the security guard struggling on the bank floor. It was an old bank, an antique with wooden floors and one single security guard.

Her long legs in their high pointed boots clacked across the wooden floor. Her enormous boobs in her black tube top – adorned with a bright red R – shook as she approached, and she tossed her ridiculous blond twin tails, shaped like giant drills behind her.

“MmmnnMMRRNNGG!” The security guard screamed in panic in his gag, the Spider Queen of Team Rocket descending towards him.

Her spinarak, hanging from the ceiling – some holding big sacks with dollar signs – snickered at him.

She lowered herself over his form, over his crotch. Her tight miniskirt rode up and her lacey silk panties came into view. She spread her legs over him in a squat, every muscle in her thighs become taut, defined, and pointing to her barely covered pussy. She lowered herself over him, the burly, sweating man, his biceps and triceps straining with panic in the webbing.

“What do you say, big boy? You think we have time for a little ride?”

She rubbed her crotch against his and the security guard, sweating shook his head.

An then her phone rang, vibrating loudly.

With a sigh and a jiggling clatter, Annabelle stood up and pulled her phone out of a pouch around her belt. She lifted it to her ear, but it slipped out of her hand and fell into her cleavage. Her boobs vibrated violently like possessed Jell-O. Annabelle rummaged through the sea of tits, pulling down her tube top even further, the edges of her areolas poking out.

The phone finally retrieved, she held it to her ear.

“WHAT?”
 In a dim hotel, a short, petite man answered her. He was sitting crisscrossed on the hotel bed with an orange laptop on his lap. Large, 80s style glasses sat on his face.

“You messed up, Annabelle.”

Annabelle pivoted on her heel, fuming. “THE FUCK YOU WANT, TIMOTHY?”

On the floor, the security guard started crawling away on his stomach like an inch worm.

Timothy’s laptop screen ran through equations and programs and screens, but his hands did not touch the keys.

“Two weeks ago. The job at the Pokémon Lab. You couldn’t find the tablet, so they sent me in, and guess what?”

“What?”

Annabelle casually walked over and swung her foot up between the legs of the escaping security officer, slamming it directly into his fat balls with such force that it lifted his ass into the air.

“MMNNGGOUGGHH…” the security officer groaned; he collapsed onto the ground with his eyes crossed and twitched in the horrific blunt pain to his precious nuts.

“I hacked Professor Burgandy’s emails. He had the tablet. He just didn’t give it to you. He gave it to a new trainer, Cecelia Ramos, who’s making the delivery to Eclipse City.”

Annabelle bared her teeth. “That bitch….” she hissed. Her hand went to her ass. She felt phantom pains, remembering in that moment the horrific spanking she received at the hands of Cecelia’s poliwhirl.

“So we just need to find that girl and steal the tablet.”

Timothy pushed his glasses up his nose with a smirk. “Oh Annabelle. She’s a trainer heading north to Eclipse City. We don’t need to find her because we’ll already know where she’ll be. Her next badge is at the Castello City Safari Zone. We just need to get there before her.

Annabelle pulled a pokéball out of her belt, a black pokéball decorated with the trademark R. It opened with a flash and her Abra appeared around her shoulders.

“I’m on my way.”

“Take your time,” Timothy said. “I’m already here. Waiting for her.”

His laptop buzzed and beeped, the beeping forming a sadistic giggling laugh. On the back of the orange laptop a smiling mouth and eyes appeared in the plastic.

***

The forest clearing was filled with flowers, gorgeous flowers, red and oranges and purples, a warm sea of color. Flabébé and combee floated along the flowers, humming and buzzing. Whismur hopped through the flowers sending petals and leaves rustling.

Suddenly a stream of energy like a laser sliced through the flower field. Multiple whismur were hit by the beam and fell to the ground, immediately KO’d.

Cecelia and her goomy stood at the edge of the flower field. It opened it’s mouth, and another blast of dragon breath shot out like it was a tiny, snail-like Godzilla, felling more pokémon immediately. Cecelia tossed out several pokéballs, catching multiple whismur instantly.

She bent down, rubbing Goomy on the head.

“Good boy! Who’s a good strong little boy! Who’s a little weapon of mass destruction! It’s you! It’s you!”

Goomy gurgled happily under her hand.

***

The forest was thinning. The immense pines and oaks were giving way to more scattered, younger trees. The hoothoot that Cecelia would see calling down from her in the trees had all disappeared. The dirt path running through the forest was wider and well worn.

Cecelia hopped in place as she walked down the path. Discomfort was apparent on her face. Her jeans felt tighter and a deep urge was spreading throughout her crotch: her bladder was bursting.

She winced. She had gotten so wrapped up with training that she didn’t feel the urge until this instant, but now it was hitting her like a wave, a painful bursting need. She staggered forward to the grass by the side of the path, her hands moving to her waist…

“HEY! YOU’RE A TRAINER! LET’S BATTLE!”

Cecelia’s hand immediately went to her sides, but she was still bent over slightly, staggered by the urge to piss. A young boy bounced out of the forest. He was wearing shorts, a t-shirt, and a backward cap. He pulled a pokeball out of his pocket.

“GET READY TO BATTLE! I WON’T GO EASY ON YOU!”

Cecelia squinted in pain. The stupid child’s screaming voice seemed to shake her bladder like powerful sonic waves. Her left knee shook violently, barely containing the need to break out in a panicked pee pee dance.

"Listen, I’m not feeling well. Go play in the woods or something.”

Cecelia waved him away with her hand, casting her eyes to the sweet, sweet bushes just a few feet down the path which she would soon bury her butt in and safely, relea-

“NO WAY! THERE’S NO RUNNING FROM TRAINER BATTLES! WHAT ARE YOU? A CHICKEN!?”
 Cecelia swallowed. She dug in deep into her soul, finding, somewhere, the resolve to quiet the shouting need to pee. She grabbed Poliwhirl’s pokéball from her belt.

“Fine. Poliwhirl, use double slap!”

The kid tossed out his pokéball with a big grin, but Poliwhirl was already charging forward out of its ball. Its boxing gloved hands were raised to attack whatever was going to emerge from the kid’s pokéball.

CLANG CLANG

Poliwhirl recoiled, grabbing at his throbbing, swollen boxing glove hand. A forretress sat in front of it. The metal bagworm pokémon was unphased and looked at the wincing poliwhirl with uninterested eyes.

The kid put his hands on his hips. “YOU’LL NEVER STOP MY INVINCIBLE FORRETRESS!”

Cecelia stared at him, existential horror creeping across her face. Her eyes were wide, twitching. She clenched her entire body and barely succeeded in not pissing her jeans right there.

She was realizing what this situation was. She was remembering.

Ten years ago. In the fields outside of Bristol Town, a new, young trainer was leading his clefairy around by a lease. It was resisting him every step, dragging its feet into the ground. A flash emerged from the tall grass and a young girl leapt in front of them. A nine-year-old Cecelia, covered in dirt and mud, wearing shorts, a t-shirt, a straw hat, and holding a butterfly net over her shoulder.

The trainer and his clefairy stood completely stunned.

The dirty little tomboy tossed her pokéball and a silcoon emerged.

The silcoon hardened immediately, tightening its silk coccoon and gaining a metallic finish.

“YOU’LL NEVER BREAK THROUGH MY SILCOON’S IRON DEFENSES!” nine-year-old Cecelia screamed triumphantly.

“Noooooo,” adult Cecelia whimpered, wriggling now, shaking, the remembered cringe of childhood and her bursting bladder crushing her soul. Her hands moved in the air in a strange twitchy dance, trying not to grab her crotch and stem the tide of urine with her grip. “Is this… Is this karma…?” she asked the sky.

Poliwhirl, sweating, swung its hands again and again on the metal shell, but it was unphased. The forretress spun on the ground with a metallic whirl, knocking poliwhirl away.

Down the path, in Cecelia’s coveted bushes, an unseen stranger chuckled. He was crouching, completely hidden in the leaves. He was wearing a grey gi and a big smile on his face.

“Ah ha. The unstoppable force meets an immovable object. But no matter, the victor will fall before, I, Marco, and my Gliscor. Neither of these filthy northerners can stand up to the strength of a native from the hidden city of Suiboku!”

Marco huddled in his bush. He had been camped out here for days, attacking any trainer that used the forest path. The ground under his bush was littered with the winnings from his highway robbery. Money, pokeballs, and clothes from his defeated foes. Many a trainer had been left streaking away from his bush, futilely covering their shame and defeat.

WHAM

“Poliwhirl!”

The forretress rammed at poliwhirl, throwing its full weight into him with a powerful heavy slam. Poliwhirl was thrown back into the air by the impact and flopped onto the ground in a cloud of dust.

“MY FORRESTRESS HAS NO WEAKNESS!” the kid shouted.

Cecelia hopped on the balls of her feet. The squirming urge told her to release, release the aching urine pushing within her, so much urine that it seemed to be weighing her down like an anchor inside her crotch, between her legs. But when she looked at her poliwhirl, stumbling to its feet, she knew that she couldn’t let this stupid brat have the satisfaction of either winning or watching her piss her pants.

“POLIWHIRL! Use bubblebeam!”

A blast of bubbles hit the forretress dead on. The bubbles splashed against the bagworm pokémon’s shell, sending droplets of water in every direction, but it didn’t move.

“AH!” Cecelia gasped. The sound of gurgling bubbles and splashing water was almost too much for her. Shame forgotten, she clamped both hands over her crotch and began to hop  in place.

“Oh MY GOD, you’re totally going to pee yourself!” the boy shouted, suddenly realizing what was the matter.

“Poliwhirl keep it up!” Cecelia shouted, ignoring the boy.

Poliwhirl warbled in affirmative and continued its stream of splashing bubbles against the forretress, who was now squinting, taking damage from the bubblebeam even though it could not move him.

“Ouhhlll,” Cecelia squirmed, arching her back and whimpering in pure piss panic. Her fingers dug into her mound through her jeans, and she felt herself break into a burning sweat, her body fighting her for control of its basic functions.

“Forretress use rapid spin! Get out of there!” the kid shouted.

His forretress spun in place but did not move. It skidded and whirled but couldn’t escape the barrage of bubbles.

“Forretress?” the kid gasped, confused.

The bug pokémon spun in place again all while taking more bubbles to the face. As it spun, not dust, but mud splashed around it, stopping it from gaining friction. The bubbles splashing against forretress’s body had turned the dirt path into mud, trapping it in place, slowly chipping away at its health.

“Now Poliwhirl! Send it flying!” Cecelia said.

Poliwhirl charged forward and slammed its body against the forretress. With a muddy SLURP, the forretress was launched into the air, propelled by the charging frog pokémon and a wave of mud. The forretress flew over the trees, disappearing into the distance.

“FORRETRESS!” the kid shouted, running after his pokemon.

Cecelia did not care. She ran, a stumbling gait, toward the bushes. Inside, Marc pulled out his pokeball.

“Aha!” he thought. “In her weakened state there’s no way she can defeat-“

He had underestimated the speed of Cecelia’s lanky legs. She was already over the bush. Her pants were already around her knees. He was staring at her fuzzy pubic hair, the pale naked expanse of crotch and belly and thighs.

Marco stared, paralyzed, trembling. He could smell her unwashed musk at this distance, the result of two weeks of backpacking through the forest.

Then Cecelia turned around. Her wide hips and round ass buried into the leaves of the bush with a soft rustling, beneath it, the flowering lips of her pussy, the bright pinkness, the soft wavy skin, the curves of it leading down toward her vagina. Her urethra pointed directly at Marco’s face.

He stared, dumbfounded, horrified. His mouth opened, stammering words of protest that died in his throat. Opening his mouth was perhaps the worst thing he could have done.

PSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

“OUUHGGGHHH OHHHHHH FUCCKKKKK~!” Cecelia threw her head up, moaning with orgasmic relief, deep throaty animal moans that were mostly masked by the horrific, waterfall sound of burning piss streaming out of her, splashing down into the bushes, gallons and gallons in an infinite stream.

“OOOUHHHHhhhh….” Cecelia moaned, shudders running through her whole body. A large puddle of piss was slowly forming at the base of the bush, leaking out across the grass and dirt.

The high-pressure geyser of piss slowly stopped. Cecelia, still in her half-squatting state gave her ass an awkward up and down shake, twerking into the bush to try and air dry her pussy as best she could. Then she stood up, buttoned up her pants, wiped the sweat from her face, and walked away, glowing with euphoria, feeling lighter, freer.

When she had disappeared down the trail, the bush rustled.

Marco emerged. His grey gi was stained black with liquid. His hair and faced were drenched with piss. His expression was empty, shellshocked, humiliated. His soul had been crushed. His eyes stared forward, the blank and empty stare of someone with PTSD. Piss Traumatic Stress Disorder. His dick was sticking straight forward through his gi, a shameful flag of defeat, a marker of the shameful, unspeakable fetishes awakened in his brain during this, his lowest, most pathetic moment, cursing him for the rest of his days.