Love & Death On The Pokemon World

BY : Wendell Urth
Category: Pokemon > General
Dragon prints: 203
Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon or created any of the characters in this story. I have no financial interest, expect no money, etc. for this story. If you are not an adult, scat!

Part 4: The Trailer

Disclaimer continues, aint mine, no money, no kids

Ash stepped inside the trailer, hoping at least it would be cooler than it was outside. It wasn’t. 

The trailer was a single room, mostly taken up by a smallish cot in the center of the room. Later he would realize it was nailed to the floor, the thin mattress was bolted to the frame. There was a single chair, also nailed to the floor. A shower stall, no curtain in one corner over a drain, next to an exposed toilet. Ash had been living rough for over a year, but even he thought these were piss poor accommodations.

And the color of course was green… floor, walls, toilet, single thin sheet on the cot, everything the same color as that stupid card in his hand. The only bit of color was the woman sitting on the cot. Jessie was the brightest thing in the room. She was always the brightest thing anyplace she went.

It had been 3 months since the trial. She looked different; her hair had grown out. Oh, it wasn’t the long sweeping trademarked style that Misty always called “Death by Mousse”. And it wasn’t that terrible punk cut she had during the trial when most of her hair had been cut off because of… the fire. It was combed back now, tied off in a ponytail. It accentuated her natural widow’s peak hairline. Was it darker now? Misty always swore Jessie couldn’t be a natural redhead. She and Brock had some sort of bet that depended on catching her naked. Ash used to laugh nervously at that. He wasn’t sure what the joke was but had to pretend he did. Now that he thought of it, Misty & Brock shared a lot of jokes that he was excluded from.

Well, he didn’t want to think about his friends anymore… not since the video.

Jessie continued to stare at the boy, not speaking… letting him take it all in, the room, the cot, and her. Ash had never realized how much makeup she had always worn before. Her skin looked different, she looked different. She was pale, but not as white as she always appeared, her skin was a pale pink, like the white roses his mother raised, and she had freckles. He had never seen them before, tiny pale freckles dusting the bridge of her nose and her arms.

Her legs.

Oh, her legs.

Her eyebrows were fuller, less shaped, more natural. Without the shadow and eyeliner her natural expression was different. Less… less… haughty, less controlling.

Without lipstick she looked… was it younger? More innocent? There was a naturalness to her face that he had never seen on anyone before, not on Misty, not on his mother.

Oh, her legs. Her beautiful long legs.

She was wearing the same green work shirt he wore. It fit her better. Where his hung down below his knees, hers… hers…

Oh, her legs.

She smiled at him, as if reading his mind. “It’s still me twerp. Still the same evil bitch.” She laughed. For a moment he was sure it was that same evil sound he knew so well, the one that always sent shivers down his spine. But that was different too, somehow.

“Sit down,” then “Please” she indicated space next to her on the bed.

He looked around nervously. The chair faced the other direction, but he couldn’t move, bolted to the floor as it was.

He turned to face her again.

She was still watching him, waiting. Waiting for him to make a decision.

He looked down at his hand, he was still holding the green card. That damn dull muddy green card. He looked at her, then handed her the card.

She looked at card, studying it, turning it over as if to look for a secret message. She turned back to him, her expression seeming to say “Now what do I do with it?” A moment, then they both broke into laughter. Long, loud, hysterical laughter.

He collapsed next to her.

Later. “Oh, this isn’t so bad, you should see what the cells inside this place look like, makes this look like the Vermilion City Hilton.”

Ash shivered, the less said about the rest of this prison the better. A bell chimed. Ash looked up and saw a loudspeaker in the ceiling behind a wire screen. Jessie stood. “Yes, they’re listening, probably watching too, all the time. It’s called a suicide watch.”

She turned her back on him and pulled the work shirt over her head, dropping it on the floor. Naked.

Her voice cracked, “It’s to make sure I don’t try to kill myself and spoil their fun.”

He wanted to look away, he couldn’t. She had lost weight, he noticed, but was beautiful. Her ass. He had secretly dreamed about her ass; it beat all his expectations. Round, smooth, high. He wanted to touch it, he wanted to kiss it, to bury his face in it and never let go.

The muscles of her back and shoulders were well defined when she moved, lowering her arms. He wanted to hug her.

A second bell rang. He asked himself, "Were they supposed to have sex now? Was this place that regulated? How am I…” He heard the shower start.

“We have ten minutes; it only comes on once a day. We need to use it now. It’s ‘use or lose it’.”

She turned to face him.

He gasped, she was so beautiful. Her breasts, so full. Her nipples a deep rose pink were crinkling, pointing upwards low on her breasts.

She was covered in sweat. She was glowing.

She let him look. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “Sorry about… the scars.” And went to the shower. She was crying, quietly.

He watched her, marveling at the narrowness of her hips, the sleekness of her thighs, the shape of her sex, her pussy. A tangle of thick curly brown hair with copper highlights covered her sex, darkened by the spray. It was the most beautiful erotic thing he had ever seen.

Ash bit his lip, then kicked off his flip flops and stripped off his shirt. “You’re beautiful,” he said, taking the small hard lump of soap. “No, let me” she said rubbing a soapy hand down his chest. She lathered him, he lathered her. Locking hands together they kissed for the first time.

Ash kissed her shoulder. She sighed. He kissed the space between her breasts, her arms, found her scar and kissed it too. She was weeping openly now. Hugging his soapy body to hers, his hands on her ass. That wonderful ass. He knew what to do. To do the things he dreamed of. He found her slit, rubbing gently as she moaned into his chest.

She pressed his face against her breast obliging him, welcoming him to take a firm warm nipple into his mouth, sucking it, tonguing her, biting, licking, loving. They slid to the shower floor in a tangle of arms and legs, bellies and thighs and lips as the warm water poured down on them.

“I know… God, I know you don’t love me Ash,” she moaned. “And that’s… that’s OK… but you loved James. And I… I loved James.” He kissed her again, harder, he didn’t need to hear this but she continued. “But for a little while... can you…?” He held her face, gently, firmly between his hands. He looked deeply into those wonderful blue eyes, “I do love you. I always have.”

His cock was a hard-hot spike pressed against her belly. She moved a hand and gently began to rub his cockhead against her warm slick skin. “Well, I guess at least ‘he’s’ glad to see me!”

He was going to save her. Somehow, he would save her life. He swore it to himself.

You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story