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Your Meloetta is Giving Birth in the Street, B	By : Tastatura Category: -Misc Video Games/RPGs > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 14707 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters portrayed. Pokemon do not belong to me. I make no money by doing this.

Chapter List
- 1-Say no to Organised Crime, Kids
- 1
In the world of Pokemon, it is not uncommon for the weak to be cannibalized by the strong. Pokemon too weak to fend off their would-be captors are forcibly enlisted into the service of school children. Trainers too weak to defeat their peers in Pokemon battles become miniature ATM(s) for anyone with the time to both challenge and defeat them.

In most cases, the form that this cannibalization takes is irrelevant. Regardless of its presentation, it is perceived by those that it pertains to not as a cycle that requires abolishment, but a natural and vital ‘facet’ of the world’s function.

Not surprisingly, only one expression of this phenomenon is regarded by society as requiring ‘correction’: the criminal activities of Pokemon Teams, and to a lesser extent, Pokemon Gangs.

Pokemon Teams—known and feared organizations boasting the manpower and ruthlessness required to achieve their ends—are considered by most as anomalous scourges driven by greed and malice. Regrettably, the size of these organizations is as such that eradicating them is far too tall an ask for the regions that they operate within.

Comparatively, Pokemon Gangs are understood by society as minor nuisances undeserving of what little attention they receive. Typically, their ranks consist of ne'er do well children and young adults without the desire or ability to tread the paths of more typical Pokemon trainers.

Truthfully, the so-called ‘criminal activities’ that they perform rarely amount to more than the occasional minor theft or forcible commandeering of a defenseless youth’s Pokemon. Nevertheless, their numerousness throughout the world affords them considerable attention from ordinary citizens and trainers alike. Whereas most go out of their way to avoid them at all costs, some are saddled with the unsavoury task of tracking down their constituent members and attempting to ‘correct’ their disruptive behaviour.

Others still (primarily children) are terrorized by these gangs as their targets. By virtue of sheer numbers, it is not uncommon for even the most ineffective and financially-strapped Pokemon Gang to successfully shake down a lone target for their valuables.

Not all children are monopolized so easily, however. It also not uncommon for children targeted by these gangs to band together in defense against their efforts and successfully repel them. As fledgling trainers, the Pokemon within their possession often prove more effective weapons than those owned by their assailants, thereby rendering the ‘attempted robberies’ that they endure as meaningless, one-sided refutations.

Similarly, not all Pokemon Gangs are willing to take a defeat to heart. No matter how sound the beating for them or their Pokemon, some gangs will persistently target the same group of children over and over again out of principal.

What, then, is a child targeted by one of these gangs to do?

Being children, most decide to square off against their assailants as many times as is necessary to finally repel them. They do so not out of logic, but under the pretence that good will eventually triumph over evil.

Some, especially those privy to the biological quirks carried by the vast majority of female Pokemon, follow a much more effect course of action:

Destroying the organizations that oppose them from the inside out.
-
AN ALLEYWAY

Planted several feet away from one another within an unseemly alleyway was a man, and for all intents and purpose, a child. Eyes locked in silent confrontation, their postures carried a distinctly ‘spring-loaded’ quality that suggested a move might come from either of them at a moment’s notice.

To a point, this quality was more prevalent in the man. Dressed in a form-fitting black and blue uniform emblemized with a navy blue, block-lettered ‘F’ at the center of its top-half, one could make him out at a glance as a stereotypical example of the average Pokemon Gang member.

The boy that he faced was anything but a stereotype. Short, youthful, and dressed in a combination of t-shirt, jeans, and vest, he seemed the spitting image of a young Pokemon trainer working their way towards greatness.

In spite of this, he stood ahead of a Pokemon Gang member unafraid of his intent for him. Stable and scowling, the boy seemed all too used to situations such as these and the nerve that they required.

Much to his chagrin, he was. Many times had Color found himself blocked from using his favourite shortcut by one member of Team Failure in particular, and many times had he fought his way through him.

Today, however, he did not intend to beat the man in front of him.

He intended to break him.

Before he could make the first move in their latest confrontation, the uniformed male’s stillness and silence were replaced by nosily flamboyant motion.

“Today’s the day, Meloetta! Get out there and teach that brat a lesson!”

Twisting his torso, the uniformed male dug a hand into his pocket and launched a Pokeball into the airspace between them. At the peak of its arc, an eruption of light and sound released a figureless mass of energy down onto the alley floor. In the blink of an eye, this mass assumed the shape, stature, and appearance of the uniformed male’s only Pokemon: a female Meloetta.

The Meloetta that burst from the Pokeball was hardly recognizable as the svelte and miniaturized creature that most were familiar with. Its basic appearance assured one’s eyes of making the correct judgement as to its identity, but the composition of its feature suggested that something—or perhaps many things—had gone awry with the Pokemon throughout its lifespan.

Most notably, the Meloetta owned disproportionately massive breasts for its 2 foot frame. Ample D-cup mounds engorged with mass from a number of biological sources hung from her chest as heavy, torso-obscuring curtains. Furthermore, they were leaking. Creamy milk flowed not only from the sensitive tips of her bloated, lime-green teats, but from each one of the numerous ducts found throughout her nipple and areola.

Tragically, her breasts’ drooling was not a coincidence. Occupying the space directly beneath the massive swell of the blushing Pokemon’s breasts was a midsection swelled round, smooth, and turgid by pregnancy. The protrusion of something resembling a small belly-button from the globe-shaped distension’s front and the sheer size of her gut left no room for doubt—something had seeded the poor creature at least 8 months prior.

At a glance, the only question was what. Relative to the rest of her frame, the Meloetta’s child seemed far too large to be contained within a traditionally-sized Pokemon egg. Past this, the shape of her stomach seemed to suggest that she was pregnant was something else entirely. Even if one were to disregard this entirely, the persistence of a similarly excessive (and appealing) plushness at her breasts and thighs remained present as succulent departures from the fragile litheness usually displayed by the species.

Color was not at all perturbed by the appearance of the Pokemon sent out to accost him. As the child responsible for the infant curled within her stomach and the hormonally-stimulated gains applied to her bust and thighs, one could argue that 'surprise' was no longer a privilege that he deserved.

Instead, the Meloetta's appearance was immediately followed by the onset of disgust and disinterest for the youth. First scowling at the creature as a familiar eyesore, he eventually rolled his eyes, and finally turned his line of sight back onto the male that had released her.

"Really? You're throwing trash like this at me again?" he asked, exasperation welded to his tone. "I shouldn't be surprised since you try this same crap every single time, but this time really takes the cake. I mean, what the hell is a pregnant Meloetta going to do to me anyway?"

Long since without the guidance of a functional moral compass, the Team Failure operative shrugged off his target's description of reality as another of his countless bluffs. Chortling aloud after the fact, he pointed an incredulous finger at him in a display of utterly un-founded confidence.

"Oh no, you're not going to talk me into backing down!" the Team Failure member spat. "Today's the day I collect on you and your brat friends kid, so if you're not ready to beat down my Meloetta, you'd be better off handing over your Pokemon right now!"

The end of the grown male's utterance only served to increase Color’s disenchantment with proceedings. After nearly a year, the repetition of it all-- the Pokemon he was expected to battle, the man he was expected to repel--everything seemed to him as a pointless investment of time that he never seemed to be able to avoid.

Viewpoint aside, it remained apparent to him that today's 'confrontation' was just as likely to take care of itself as his assailant was to get a clue. Thus, following a deep exhalation and a weary drag of his dominant hand across his face, he dropped his hands down to his waist to begin unfastening his belt buckle.

"Whatever." muttering throughout a practised drag of his pants and underwear along his legs, Color denied his assailant any more of his attention. Upon stepping out of the heap of clothing dropped to his ankles, the Meloetta became the sole target for his anger and frustration.

"I've told you this probably 20 times by now, but I'm not going to waste my time battling such a useless Pokemon with one of mine. I'm going to take care of this myself, then you're going to run away and let me get on with the rest of my day, understand?"

Speaking these words throughout a short stride right up to defenceless Shortstack ahead of him, the end of his utterance coincided with his arrival directly in front of her.

Here, his displeasure birthed actions. Hands and torso surging downward, he roughly hoisted the Meloetta's timid frame up into midair via two differing grasps on her frame. Left hand tightly clasped around her neck and right hand smothered deeply into the ample meat of her right thigh, he subsequently rotated her frame within these grasps to leave her back poorly supported against his chest.

Though well aware of the fate that would soon befall her, the Meloetta hardly struggled throughout these events. Her 'impotence' as a supposedly-legendary Pokemon held no bearing on this assessment--even without psychic abilities, she remained perfectly capable of pushing back against Color with her fingerless hands or striking his frame in an attempt at loosening his grasps.

She did neither of these things. Not because she couldn't, but because she did not want to.

Experience had taught the swelled Pokemon that there was nothing she could do about her situation. In the past, all of her attempts at struggling, pushing, and writhing against her mate's abusive aggression had failed to alter his course of action. In the end she was penetrated from cunt to uterus, and fucked until a gut-bloating load of semen was rudely spewed into her womb.

With this in mind, she met Color’s force with only as much 'resistance' as was required to satisfy her fight or flight instincts. Once set back first against his chest, she reached up with both hands to paw at the crushing vice he had sealed around her neck--a pointless protective gesture if one considered the exposure of her gravid midsection and Color 's strength as a human.

All the while, her eyes watched the meat of his endowment extend further and further up the length of her torso. It was this drooling pipe of flesh, an approximate foot of throbbing cockmeat decorated with bloated, hole-rending blood vessels that had seeded her vulnerable womanhood months prior. Since then, its oversized (relative to her two foot frame) girth had repeatedly fucked her womanhood into a sputtering sewage pipe of flesh, lubrication, and semen.

What it caused her to feel wasn't pleasure. Perhaps pleasure was apart of the sensation itself, but her mind regarded it as something different.

As the brutalization of her innards as a single, malleable fuckhole for male pleasure.

Despite this, the Meloetta could not take her fear-widened eyes off of it. From her settlement against her mate's chest to the upward grind of back along the region, she watched it throb and drool in anticipation of her own penetration.

Only after a sound upward stab from Color’s hips gored his glans between her arousal-fattened cuntlips did her gaze's focal point shift. As inch after inch of unruly phallus was forced through her overly-sensitive canal, her instincts as a soon-to-be mother drove her gaze up to her stomach.

Just as quickly as she did, the penetration of her quivering innards reached her womb. A second thrust from her mate's hips and the application of downward force onto her neck squeezed a gutting fraction of his breeding instrument through the turgid meat of her cervix and straight into her womb. Even whilst swelled by the mass of a human child, the passage of these inches into her baby-maker was conveyed through the creation of a massive, phallic bulge amidst the taut bloating of her stomach.

The sensation was crippling. Rendered cross-eyed by the conduction of several spreading sensations through her frame alongside the electrifying pleasure injected into the meat of her cunt, the Meloetta's eyes were drawn off of her stomach and into a teary, cross-eyed configuration towards one another.

After the fact, an incoherent exclamation burst from her lipless maw.

“AUUUU-AHHHH~!!!”

Neither Color nor the Team Failure operative paid much attention to the noise that the Meloetta produced. Instead focused on their own 'confrontation', the Team Failure operative grit his teeth as if pressed into a corner, and Color stated his intention in such a way that left no room for misinterpretation.

“Y-You’re going to regret this! Meloetta, as soon as you can, fry that punk’s brain with psychic!” he barked.

Like all of those that had come before it, this command went unheeded. Lost in the sensation of penetration, the Meloetta had already forgotten that her trainer was even present…

-

DSS

The annoyance and frustration that Color felt each time Team Failure accosted him or his companions was not quite severe enough to detract from the pleasure he derived from fighting back against them.

Doing so was cathartic. As a regular victim of attempted robbery by a Pokemon Gang, his youthful mindset framed the violent abuse that he subjected the gang's Meloetta as justified retribution. No matter the remorselessness he injected into his thrusting pattern, no matter how deeply he lodged his cock inside her seeded cunt, he would never be in the wrong.

He was simply doing what any other self-respecting Pokemon trainer would do if faced with a similar situation: He was defending himself, his friends, and his Pokemon from organized crime.

This mindset made it much easier (and much more enjoyable) for him to skewer his crotch through to repeated, fetus-disturbing hilts through the Meloetta's cunt whilst bracing her body against his chest via the compression of his left palm across the face of her neck. Like this, the grind of his erection's right side against a swollen and drooling uterine lining whilst its left side was repeatedly squeezed against an unborn child did not instill a shred of guilt within him. Instead, each stomach-rending spike of his crotch urged him to appreciate these sensations for what they were: sexual pleasure granted to him by virtue of perseverance on his part and stupidity on the part of his opponent.

The smothering of his shaft through two leaking orifices hellbent on blending his member amidst their meat was not something the boy could have processed otherwise.

Behind the first, the thrusts that he produced pulled several inches of the Meloetta's convulsing cunt-lining out from her depths alongside his member. The density of her inner walls' meat and their needy suckling to the exterior of his member resulted in the production of horrid *SCLRSCH* noises each time these cunt-wrapped inches escaped her frame.

For as quickly as they were removed, curved stabs from his crotch complimented by downward pressure exerted against the Meloetta's frame through her right ankle righted her cunt's partial prolapsing just as quickly.

Not long after the beginning of his thrusting ministrations, Color began to perceive holding the Meloetta's right thigh out and away from her crotch as far too tiresome an activity to maintain. Thus, whilst maintaining his left hand at her neck, he shifted his right upwards along the fattened meat of her thigh until it slipped into contact with the thinner 'end portion' of the white stalks that represented her legs. By fastening his palm to where her ankle ought to have been and pulling the limb-section up to parity with the right side of her head, Color found that pushing her tiny frame onto his cock became considerably easier. Soon enough, the increased distance between her inner thigh and the cock-skewered sinkhole at her crotch granted his thrusts additional depth as well.

As a result of this adjustment, the rapid-fire injections of cock into cunt that the youth managed could be described as far more ghastly and invasive than any one of his retractions. Preceding every sodden collision of his cock's root with the flared exterior of the Meloetta's cunt were several inches of greasy orifice-spreading for her folds. Following these came uncountable 'fistings' of her cervix by a syrup-lubricated erection, and as a consequence, the bloom of many a fleshy arc at her pregnant middle.

Of course, it was the final 'event' cleared by his upwards thrusts that was most significant. In forcing the flesh of the Meloetta's uterus (and her abdominals by proxy) to stretch away from her child to better accommodate his cock, Color’s member regularly jostled the 9-month-old life within the organ as some sort of forgotten obstruction. Sometimes pressed more tightly against the right side of her uterus by its girth and other times abandoned by the ceiling of her womb, the trapped child endured these disturbances in sequence as its mother's innards were pounded as a fleshy masturbation toy.

Naturally, the Meloetta felt each and every shift of her child alongside Color’s thrusts. Mentally wrecked by the chained explosions of sensation lit within her gut by the second, the sustained grunts and squeals that had she produced in response progressively degenerated into screeches and coos indicative of mania.

Given that her womb was disfigured on a second-by-second basis, the fact that her exclamations stopped at this point was impressive from a general standpoint.

Regrettably, this was not where Color stood. Every thrust of his hips reminded him more and more of the time he was wasting on the timid, ineffective bitch of a Pokemon thrust at him time and time again.

Somehow irritating himself by focusing in on his own euphoria, his thrusts acquired a biting increase in pace. The voracious squelching and slurping produced in time with his thrusts was sharpened commensurately, as was the appearance and disappearance of cock at the Meloetta's gut.

Not long after this increase, Color reached his limit. Pressed equally by sexual pleasure and seething anger, the wellspring of semen within him was squished and prodded until it finally burst…

But not before his shaft had its weekly fill of the Meloetta’s innards.
-

NEW PARENTS

Of the many sexual qualities liable to become a double-edged sword when realized within a particular situation, ‘protective stability’ was not the first that Color had imagined himself as encountering.

Whilst pounding the bulk of his glans up against the sealed bloat of the Meloetta’s cervix, his perception of the engorged baby-button had been positive. No matter how cutting the blows he delivered with his crotch or how much of his member’s throbbing exterior was squished up through it, the organ-section successfully refuted his efforts with only further pleasure and sexual noise as a consequence.

Succinctly, the nature of the Meloetta’s cervix had provided him with both a target and a goal. Jerking off with the wadded meat of her leaking cunt-lining was something he could accomplish by simply slamming his hips upwards and downwards. Contrastively, the cock-sucking stubbornness of her cervix and its refusal to swallow the entirety of his member (as opposed to several of its inches) required thought and effort on his part to be overcome. By exerting these things (i.e by modifying the pace of his thrusts into a ruthless session of syrup-displacing impalement and learning to derive ‘satisfaction’ from the grind of his member through her occupied uterus), he had procured a form of stimulation much more visceral than any of the one-sided masturbation sessions he had forced upon the undersized Pokemon prior.

The idea that the very same qualities responsible for his most satisfying instance of self-defense yet were also responsible for the curtailment of his latest orgasm took Color by surprise. In a word, he felt that all of the experience he had accrued in violent Pokemon breeding had been rendered purposeless.

Following an especially sharp upward thrust of his hips, the girth of his bloated organ was plunged straight through the Meloetta’s cunt to the hilt. Every inch of his sex-fattened member—the turgid, earthworm-sized blood vessels that crept around its surface area and the thicker meat located at its midsection included—completed a final, cunt-splitting invasion of the Meloetta’s reddened lower lips.

Without warning, bliss overtook him. Having measured the approach of his release up until this point, Color knew precisely what to expect when the Meloetta’s lower lips were forced to squirt and convulse around the root of his member. Semen welled within his balls from the last time he had gored the pregnant Pokemon’s innards began a harried surge from his internal reservoir up towards the tip of his member. First in the form of an obese burst of reproductive plaster from the tip of his glans, then in the form of repeated, organ-scalding strands of the substance, the murky sludge that had long-since seeded the mewling Pokemon’s cunt was once again squeezed out into a progressive inundation of her uterus.

As if to validate the vindictive aggression that he had applied to the Meloetta’s fucking, signs of a ‘deviation’ appeared within seconds of his shaft’s initial eruption. The explosion of muddy semen caked, and subsequently compressed against the partly-occupied ceiling of the Meloetta’s uterus disturbed the ‘balance’ held within her pliant baby-maker so soundly that it couldn’t help but react. In time with the delivery of a second glutted thread of semen into the cordoned-off pocket of seed beneath her child’s feet, the Meloetta’s uterus began to reject its breeder’s release. First with the discharge of a massive burst of gluey cunt-syrup from between her lower lips, repeated, gut-wrenching contractions soon surged unchecked throughout the organ.

Eventually, their culmination took on the appearance of a very ‘natural’ biological event. Even the Meloetta was familiar with it. Although distracted by the sensation of her suitor’s heavy, organ-staining jizz being blasted out against the back end of her womb had nearly fried her brain, the events occurring within her womb were so familiar to her that she could not help but flick her tear-stained visage down to her stomach.

Just as soon as she did, a physiological reaction ingrained within her species and gender grit her teeth in resistance, and sent her hands up into a protective clutching of the life squirming within her stomach.

She was giving birth. The orgasmic stimulation and strain rippling through her uterus told her as much, and demanded that she ride out the event as best as possible for the sake of the child that had grown within her. Whilst skewered on the cock of her child’s father and mentally disarmed by the wriggling warmth that his cock juice had introduced into her uterus’ interior, the best that she could manage with regard to ‘riding out’ the event was ensuring that she did not die (gritting her teeth), and offering her soon-to-be born child comfort in the form of contact.
When the weight and span of her human child’s skull finally began to press down against her cock-spread uterus, a third coping activity was presented to her.

Screaming.

“HINNNNNGH♥♥♥” indistinguishable as an exclamation of pleasure or pain, a strained groan burst from between the Meloetta’s grit teeth. Behind it—and further downward motion from the infant trapped within her womb—her maw was drawn further apart in the production of much more varied exclamations.

“AH-AHH—AH-AHH♥!”

It was not long after the Meloetta’s laborious breathing began that Color’s orgasm was well and truly interrupted. While his cock remained partly inserted within her uterus throughout the organ’s expulsive convulsions, the semen repeatedly spurt from the tip of his cock was denied its usual organ-bloating compilation within the organ. For as quickly as semen strands were jetted out into its exterior, wringing convulsions from her womb’s inner walls carried significant volumes of the substance out alongside the infant frame steadily snaking its way through the grossly-spread width of the Meloetta’s cervix.

Mentally flabbergasted—both by the discharge of his semen onto the ground and the sensation of human flesh grinding past the bulk his erection—Color gave up. Releasing his grasp on the Meloetta’s neck, he pressed his palms back down into contact with the curvature of her hips. Making full use of the grooves installed at the regions, he applied pressure, and finally wrenched the squealing Pokemon up and off of his cock entirely. Ignorant as to the frayed crater of spurting cunt-flesh that he left behind, his sole thought following the event was a heartless abandonment of the Meloetta’s frame onto the ground.

He did not stop to think about where he might drop the Meloetta, either. Following the guttural *SPLORCH* of his cocktip from between her ruined folds and the weighty splatter of semen against the ground that followed, he released her hips and stepped backwards to dump her frame face first into the steaming pile of semen and sexual lubricant created atop the ground beneath her.

This done, his attention turned to making the most of the remainder of his orgasm. Taking hold of the midsection of his member with his left hand, he began to aggressively stroke his palm across several inches of its girth in hopes of coaxing the remainder of his release out onto the Meloetta’s body.

One by one, his efforts delivered voluminous threads of the same opaque sludge beneath her face onto her face. With time, the haphazard effort event coated some of her buttocks and back with the substance.

Predictably, the Meloetta cared little for the streams of mess pasted to her frame. Still cringing and mewling against the ground, she was visibly more concerned with wiggling her hips and willing the infant crowning from her semen-smeared lower lips out of her body.

The inches that her child had travelled through the well-fucked flesh of her vaginal canal was to her more mind-rotting than even the most severe of her suitor’s thrusting efforts. Fairly stated, debilitation was to be expected. Human life squirming against her convulsing folds and spreading them wider than her frame suggested to be possible was not a sensation that her species had been bred to deal with.

As such, her only option was to survive. Features drawn cross-eyed by the event’s burning stimulation, she nonetheless willed herself to push the life within her cunt outwards.

First, her squeezing freed a human skull fettered with lime-green hair from out of her cunt. Eyes closed and unassuming, the genetically-mixed child did not seem at all irritated by the circumstances of its birth. Somehow still asleep upon exposure to the outside world, its arms could be found cutely hugged to the front of its torso once squeezed through the Meloetta’s inner walls while its feet (following their sputtering eruption from the Meloetta’s lower lips) owned the twitchy motionlessness of any other sleeping babe.

It was only after the expelled child collided with the ground that its circumstances jarred it. Wetly thudding onto the ground beneath its mothers-crotch, the ghostly-pale infant began to wail—presumably for its mother or food.

Refutation complete, Color responded to this event by shrugging his shoulders and speaking over his child’s crying.

“Yeah, good luck with that. Anyway, see you later.”

“You suck at this Pokemon battling thing, by the way.”
- 1
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Your Meloetta is Giving Birth in the Street, B