They weren't really taking a tour of The Stacks. There was a specific place they intended to go, and then they intended to get there and then get out before anything really dangerous happened. They'd asked for an area of The Stacks where there was a high probability of facing a single feral pocket monster, and preferably one that was weak enough that a couple of freshmen could plausibly defeat and enslave her. Supposedly, there was some kind of pocket monster tracking system, and they'd been advised to go to an area called "The Ring." It was a boxing ring next to some folding chairs in an open place next to "The Scavenger Yard." Pokegirls who had a driving urge to battle were drawn to The Ring. According to the staff at the Fighting Gym, there was a strong possibility of encountering a single pocket monster there.
The Scavenger Yard was a maze of wrecked cars and household appliances, all stacked three meters high or more. It was a place that attracted Pokegirls aspected to urban scavenger animals such as Dogs, Cats, Raccoons, and most worrying for a couple of fighting type freshmen: Pigeons and Crows. Theories for why bird classed pocket monsters were so threatening to trainers and Pokegirls with fighting auras often speculated that it had something to do with angels. Such speculation was frequently accompanied by photos of Eagle Women and Hawk Girls with wings spread in glorious splendor, but the idea was somewhat undermined by the reality that a trash-eating Pigeon Lady could peck through a fighting aura just as well.
But if they
did
stay long enough for a wild Pokegirl to appear, the chances favored her being a Mouse or Rat, as those were by far the most common appropriately aspected Pokegirls. Matilda and Damian weren't looking for that kind of prey, and they moved through the warrens as quickly as they could. The Ring was their goal, and they were in no mood to tempt fate by heading downstairs into The Cellar or the Sewer. While there might be a capturable Pokegirl down there, they wanted to get out as soon as Matilda had dominated a new slave.
The ground in The Stacks was dirty and had pieces of rusty metal and broken glass strewn about without pattern or care. Many trainers thought they did their best sexual domination while wearing sandals or stiletto heels, but The Stacks were absolutely a place for sturdy boots rather than more attractive footwear. Matilda and Damian's footsteps crunched on the junk and soil as they jogged to their destination. Behind them, Hilda's neck bell clunked in time to the heave of her breasts as she did her own Baywatch run.
"What do you think you're gonna get out of this?" Matilda asked Damian. He had volunteered to be her dungeon buddy as a spur of the moment decision. While they had both masturbated their slaves to orgasm in each other's presence, they hadn't actually
spoken
to each other at any point before they teamed up. So Matilda's cautiousness was fairly reasonable.
Every time they came to a corner, they peaked around like they were petty criminals or teenage detectives. There probably wasn't going to be a monster waiting to pull a jump scare the moment they rounded a bend, but it was a pretty distinct possibility that exactly that would happen, and neither Matilda nor Damian wanted to take any more risks than they had to. When they stopped to scout around an old rusty minivan, Damian attempted to explain himself. "I heard that your fuckshake was really powerful and it was going to expire soon. I want to see that potion in action, and my understanding is that the only way to do that is to accompany you on this dungeon raid."
Matilda had a momentary loss of control as she snorted in laughter. She was lucky that she hadn't been drinking something, or she would have sprayed the sides of a broken mommobile with droplets of whatever had been in her cup. "You call it a
fuckshake
? We just called it... Hey Hilda!"
"Moo?" The Pokegirl acknowledged her mistress' accostment, and then immediately regretted it as she realized that she had made the animalistic noise that Matilda kept humiliating her about.
The moo hadn't gone unnoticed by Matilda, who immediately leered at her Cow Girl slave. "Was that a
moo
, Hilda?" Her smile reached her eyes, she definitely wanted to humiliate her slave with public milking and dehumanization. She must have thought better of it, because her expression deflated almost as quickly. "No... we don't have time to give your obscene milkers the abuse they deserve. It's just... this guy called the rape drink we made out of your milk a 'fuckshake' and I think that's very funny. We should call all the potions we make out of your tit-milk as some kind of shakes. Fuckshakes. Manashakes. We could market a whole line. Put your face and tits on the bottles, so people know who the cow is that can't contain her horniness. How does that sound, Hilda?"
The Cow Girl closed her eyes and shuddered. "That sounds... that sounds very embarrassing, Mistress." Matilda smiled again, she had scored a palpable hit.
"We really should get going..." Damian felt bad interrupting Hilda and Matilda's degradation jam session, but they actually had somewhere to be. Grudgingly, Matilda agreed, and they continued to thread their way through the junkyard.
+-+-+
Fighting rings took a substantial amount of work to keep together. There was a bit of cleaning done before, after, and
during
every boxing match. Damian didn't see how a fighting ring in the middle of The Stacks could still be standing and not get claimed by entropy, vandalism, and garbage within a week, but it was right there in front of him, looking as clean and solid as any mob-run underground fighting ring in Vegas. He suspected the answer was just "magic." There was a collection of metal folding chairs, and Damian thought it likely that they hadn't collapsed or been claimed by rust for the same reason.
Seemingly waiting for them in the red corner was a clown. She had frizzy blue hair, and white skin with dark blue circles on her chest. Her mouth was extended by deep cuts that ran from the meeting point of her lips up into her cheeks. This permanent smile was surrounded by red pigment, and her eyes and nose were also surrounded by bold patches of color, creating an exaggerated facial expression that could be seen from across the clearing. Other cuts and scars ran all over her body, with some being new enough that dried blood was starkly visible against her paper-white skin. Her breasts were slightly larger than her hands, just big enough that they looked slightly out of place on the pocket monster's thin and athletic frame. She tapped her foot, but made no move to get out of the ring. This left plenty of time for Matilda and Damian to check her out on their Pokedexes.
The Pokegirl's name was Clara, and she was a Cutting Clown Warrior. Affinities for Fighting and Metal. Level 14, so she probably wasn't going to go down easily. Matilda pointed at her and shouted "I'm Matilda! And before this night is over, I will claim you as my prize! You will lick my pussy and call me Mistress. Those are the stakes of our battle: you will be my bitch and I will own you as a slave for the rest of your life. If that appeals to you, you can surrender at once, and begin putting that big mouth of yours to good use right away." She pulled on her own bikini bottom, momentarily demonstrating a delectable camel toe. There was a small set of steps that made it easier to ascend into the ring, and Matilda began taking them.
Bold as the taunting was, Clara did seem to be pondering the offer. Or at least, she made a pantomime of contemplation. When Matilda had passed through the ropes into the blue corner, the Pokegirl opened her mouth. This also pulled open the slits in her cheeks, causing the maw to be literally wider than the outside corners of her eyes. Even more inhumanly, the revealed teeth all came to triangular points, like the teeth of a shark. Her monstrous mouth thus revealed, she uttered her response. "HONK! HONK!" The Clown Warrior then put her entire hand into her mouth and withdrew it holding a pair of scissors large enough to use as garden shears. It strained credibility that such blades could have fit in the woman's throat, but the explanation was almost certainly actual magic rather than some sort of clownish sleight of hand.
The display unnerved Matilda, and her confident swagger was disrupted. She had been hoping for a very different kind of confrontation, and had brought a flogger and handcuffs rather than a blade. Damian had noted that she was a Blade Goblin Artist herself, and probably did have a knife or sword that she could have brought, had she realized that such things might be necessary.
Before the two began their fight in earnest, a gust of wind swirled from a great flapping of wings as three dark figures alighted among the folding chairs. Dark skin, black hair, and black wings, they were Pokegirls, and Damian feared that his group was no longer in contention for being the most powerful at The Ring. Both trainer and clown stopped and eyed the new visitors. They looked like they could be sisters, but equally that could be an artifact of them all having similar corruption effects. It didn't take much to imagine similarities in facial structure for women who all had the same black feathers on their wings. Each had a very distinct hairstyle: braids, afro puffs, and a relaxed bob. They were all dressed much the same, with tight white tops that scooped down in the front low enough to give cleavage for days, and scooped down in the back low enough to leave their wings free. They wore even tighter black bicycle shorts that left little to the imagination of the meeting of thigh and booty. But of course, hairstyles and clothing said little about genetic relationships.
"Please continue," cawed the eldest and boobiest of the harpies, "you cannot have a bout without an audience. We are here, not to spread havoc, death, and fear, but to observe it far and near. We may see the Clown give up her pussy and freedom dear, and we will masturbate to that and cheer. And we may see the student bleed to death with cuts to her major vessels severe, and we will masturbate to that should such future appear. There are possible fates where both are true, and in that case we would surely masturbate." All three women cocked their heads at Damian, as if daring him to object. Or to finish the rhyme.
Damian had no such intentions, knowing that he was outnumbered and at a disadvantage in open conflict with bird women, he remained studiously polite. "You say that you intend to simply observe and pleasure yourselves while they struggle for dominance? So you won't put your claws onto the scales to affect a preferred outcome?"
His earnest and worried plea brought out a rattle of chuckling from the women. "No," the second of the women said, "interfering in the match is why
you're
here, is it not? You have no intention of letting that Pokegirl see the sunrise with an unenslaved pussy. But any way it comes out, there will be blood or cum, and we will have something to touch ourselves to." She gestured to one of the remaining folding chairs. "You should take a seat."
