Rolled Out

"Yaaaaaaaaas~! Easy-peasy~! Another loser boy gets a taste of his own medicine!" Whitney pumps her fist girlishly, jumping in place, her pink pigtails bouncing.

Damnit, she looks so cutesy, but that Miltank packs a punch. I can't be beaten like this...

"Come on, Cyndaquil!" you call out to your battered and unconscious Pokémon. "Don't let a little Rollout get you down! You can beat a dumb cow." Despite your protests, Cyndaquil remains unresponsive.

Whitney snorts, crossing her slim arms and pushing up her generous breasts. "You Cyndaquil boys are always the worst losers, L-M-A-O~. Probs because you're always the most arrogant boys and you never expect me to wreck you since you picked the cool fire Pokémon."

"This wasn't fair!" Seething as you reluctantly recall your Pokémon, you redirect your attention to Whitney. "Since when does Miltank learn Rollout? Aren't you meant to be Normal type? Cheating is the only way a basic bitch like you could win. Privileged bitches like you get shit handed to them. Life on easy mode."

"The only bitch I see around here is you, beeyatch," Whitney shoots back, looking bored. "Are you gonna get out of my gym or do you want a participation medal?"

Man, this bitch really thinks she's something...

"Your gym?" You laugh derisively, gesturing at the pink and girly décor. "You've made this place into a joke with all this pastel garbage. Fuck you and your cringe yas queen yoga class gym and your fake cheesy Rollout tactics." Spitting, you turn and march away from Goldenrod's teenaged princess, who stands open-mouthed at your rudeness.

"Ohmahgawd, you did not!" Whitney cries. "Just for that, you've earned a spot on my squad."

"What?"

"Miltank, one more Rollout!"

Before you know what's happening, the enormous body of the cow Pokémon collides with your back. Falling forward, your head cracks against the floor and your consciousness fades...

The first thing of which you're aware is that your arms are positioned awkwardly over your head. Trying to move them, you're alarmed to find your limbs restrained and this jolts you to wakefulness. Indeed, you are restrained—tied to a hospital bed, stark naked, under a dim light.

"Wh-What the fuck?"

"Naughty boy," comes the voice of Whitney. "Is that any way to greet your new boss?"

"Boss? What are you talking about?" You swivel your head to find Whitney approaching you from the right with a look of menace in her deep pink eyes. "Where am I?"

"We're under the gym," says Whitney. "This is where I take all the naughtiest loser boys."

"You can't do this to me, you spoilt bitch!" You tug at the ropes holding you down, in a futile gesture of resistance.

"Gawd, you are so rude? You boys never learn your lesson, do you~! Carrie, prepare to inject him."

At your other side, a Lass from Whitney's gym, presumably Carrie, holds up a syringe with a smile, sending shivers down your spine. She's cute, with a cheeky, dimpled grin and a shock of short brown hair, but her attractiveness is the last thing on your mind. "Ready, Goddess."

What the fuck..? Goddess? Is this some kind of anti-male conspiracy?

"This is a crime!" you cry out. "What the fuck is that? What are going to inject me with?"

"Don't you worry," says Carrie, giggling. "It's a special drug to make you cute~! You'll totally love it. I know I did."

"What? You? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Bitch boy, do you think I was always such a cutie?" asks Carrie. With her free hand, she pulls up her skirt and reveals her bare crotch, where rests a tiny, shriveled penis—completely hairless, pink, and infantile.

"Fuck!" You writhe uselessly against the restraints. "This is sick! You can't make me join your fetish cult."

"Carrie, inject him now."

"Yes, Goddess." Swiftly, Carrie reaches down and you feel a stinging sensation in your ballsack as she plunges the needle in.

"Nooooooooo..." you moan, writhing in place. "What the fuck is that going to do to me?"

"Like, think of it as like, gene therapy, or like a super advanced testosterone remover," says Carrie, smirking, "to take away as many of those dirty boy qualities as it can."

Whitney leans over you. You can smell her bubblegum-scented hair and her large breasts are inches from your body; her minty breath tickles your nose. Her trim body, in the prime of youth, is too enticing, and despite yourself, your cock is standing alert in seconds.

"That's right," Whitney says, her slim fingers (nails painted pink, of course) wrap around your shaft and slowly, slowly begin to stroke. "Let them out, all those nasty boy feelings."

"Stop fucking with me—"

Whitney cuts you off. "Shhh, stop whining." She pulls up her t-shirt to reveal the full, rosy skin of her breasts, and you're silenced. "Don't you think I'm cute?"

You swallow awkwardly, directing a longing gaze at the sheen of sweat in her cleavage. "Why does it matter—"

"Answer the Goddess's question, bitch," says Carrie.

"Y-Yes, sure, you're cute, but who gives a shit when you're—"

"Do you want to fuck me, little boy?"

"Don't call me a boy!" Your voice cracks with uncertainty.

"I repeat: do you want to fuck me, little boy?"

You grit your teeth. "Okay, yeah, I'd fuck you—"

"Ewww, gross!" Whitney's strokes grow faster, and a feverish sensation floods your head. Goddamnit, why am I burning up? Feel like I'm drunk...

"You saw Carrie's little clitty, right? She wouldn't fuck anyone with that, would she?"

Your head still swimming, you glance at the pathetic microcock that Carrie is displaying once again. Now that I look at it properly, it's kind of...cute? What am I thinking...? "No? You couldn't f-fuck anything with that..."

"Of course not. Only fully grown men fuck with their cocks. Are you a man?"

A wave of heat emanates through your body, seemingly from your erect cock. For some reason, it's like you can't sustain your anger; you feel uncertain, even submissive. "I mean, yah, of course I'm a man..."

"You don't sound sure."

"I am sure..."

"Aren't you a little boy?" Whitney asks, and your stiff cock twitches eagerly in her grasp. "Your cock says yes."

"No way," you insist. "This is stupid. I would totally, y'know, f-fuck you."

"Tell me how you'd fuck me, big man."

Damn, why's my head so fuzzy...?

"I'd—I'd, like, take you with my hands and, uh..." For some reason, despite Whitney's lithe fingers working your cock, despite her pendulous boobs right over your face, despite the feeling of her flesh on yours, the idea of sexually dominating her is weirdly uninteresting to you, and you struggle to articulate it. It's as though the more aroused you become, the more you want to submit to Whitney. You don't understand why, but rather than an annoying spoilt brat, Whitney increasingly seems like a Goddess of love, an image of Venus, with her shapely, trim body—her pink, flawless skin—her high, lilting voice. She's so sexy, so girly, so cutesy—so perfectly feminine that it makes you want to cry and kneel before her and do whatever she wants. The effects of the drug are truly in full swing now, and you feel helplessly suggestible. What's wrong with me? Don't I want to, y'know, have sex with her...? Pitifully, you try to answer: "Then, I'd put my penis in your hoohah, or something, really hard..."

Whitney laughs cruelly. "Your penis in my hoohah? Is that how a man talks?"

"N-No..."

"So you're not a man, are you?"

"I g-guess not..."

"Who talks like that?"

Little boys talk like that! Oh God, what's happening to me...? Your hips buck at Whitney's humiliating words. "Little boys talk like that...?"

"Yah, you're just a grody little twerp, right? Thought you'd teach us girls a lesson and got your little butt handed back to you, right?"

Fuck, why is it so hot when she talks to me like this? You moan pitifully, your cock twitching and tensing, your dizzy mind and supine body captured by a warm, hypnotic sensation in resonance with the arousal encouraged by Whitney's humiliation.

"Yah, I'm j-just a l-little boy..." you mumble tearfully.

"Louder!" Whitney slaps your balls, and you yip involuntarily.

"I'm a little boy!" you squeak. Whitney's fingers grow more vigorous; you're going to cum soon—to cum at the cute hands of this spoilt brat, this preppy, nubile teenage princess who kidnapped you and made you feel like an idiot child. The shame of your submission, Whitney's easy manipulation of your emotions and sexuality, your total nakedness before her—all of it only makes you even hornier.

"A little boy. And what is a little boy but a little girl with a bunch of gunk thrown in from that dumb little Y chromosome? Just dumber and louder and grosser."

"Wh-What do you mean?"

"Like, if I could make you cum right now, and you just shot out most of that stinky boy stuff so you were basically like a girl, wouldn't that be awesome? Don't you wanna be a basic bitch and live life on easy mode? Isn't that what you said I was?"

"Don't wanna be...a girl..."

"You'd be just like Carrie," continues Whitney. Carrie waves flirtatiously at you and your mind is drawn again to the thought of her tiny dicklet. God, I wish I could suck it...I wish I had one myself...the hell? I'm so fucked up "Your peepee turned into a small and cute clitty only good for spurting out impotent toilet water. Your head full of dumb basic slutty thoughts. And everyone loving you for it! Spoiling you when you're cute, bullying you when you act like a dumb ho. Wouldn't that be hot~?"

"H-Hot?"

"What's hotter, little loser boy?" asks Whitney. "Would it really be hot if you fucked me like a man? Or would it made you hotter if you came like a premature middle schooler from my handjob and freed yourself from your nasty, gross masculinity so you could serve a superior woman? Just let it go and shrink down into a fun-sized slut like Carrie. Do you expect me to believe that you could 'take me and put your penis in my hoohah really hard'? Wouldn't you rather stay in my cute gym and submit to me? You'll get to live in a kyute pink paradise with me and my girls. You'll massage my adorable feeties when I'm tired, and be my toilet when you're naughty, and sometimes I'll even let you smell my old sneakers and yoga pants and hump the pink pillows I've sat on, while they're still warm, until you make cummies in your panties. And I can show you some toys to let you cum just like girrrrl~!"

"C-Cummies in my panties...cum like a dumb slutty girl..." God I feel so slutty...I wanna cum for her so bad—but I can't! But I wanna~! Imagine how kyute and dirty I'd feel to lose to Whitney again, this time permanently...I mean, it's not like she's serious, right? You can't lose your masculinity by cumming—but what about Carrie? "Cumming for Whitney..." It's got to be a bluff...Carrie's just a freak of nature she's using to scare me. God please I don't wanna think about none of this I just wanna cuuuum~

"It sounds like you wanna cum for me, slut," says Whitney. Her small, soft fingers dance on your cock tantalizingly as it quivers at the edge of orgasm. "Say it."

"Yah," you pant. "I wanna...cum...for you." Your cotton candy mind can barely process the words, so deep you are in her drug-induced hypnotic spell. "Pleeeeease~" Your voice comes out thin and reedy, like a whiny kid. Precum dribbles out of your dick as you thrust your hips hungrily.

"Call me by my proper title, then."

Remembering Carrie's words, you desperately cry out: "G-Goddess Whitney, please...please l-lemme have cummiiiiiiiies~"

"Done! Ehehe~!" Whitney grasps your straining cock vigorously, and within seconds you realize that something is wrong as the orgasm hits you with unnatural force. Through cloudy vision and waves of pleasure, you see your cock pumping out a relentless stream of semen, your hips bucking out of your control. You wail in pleasure and confusion, hoping that this is just a fluke, that it'll be over soon.

But it isn't a fluke. And then you see your cock begin to shrink.

Howling with fury, you strain at your ties as the flow of semen slows to a steady pulse, as each further dollop coating your belly seems to shave another inch off your dick. It happens so quickly: it can't be any more than four inches already—then three, then two, and with one last dejected spray of transparent liquid, your balls retract back into you and your penis retreats to the realm of microcock, resembling Carrie's, perhaps smaller. You moan inarticulately. All that remains of your cock is a cute little nub and an enormous quantity of cum that coats your chest and stomach, making you look obscene and whorish.

"Don't worry, little one," say Whitney. "It's just beginning."

Your body seizes up: your joints cracking, your spine compressing. It's as though powerful hands are reshaping you; your naked body spasms and contracts uncontrollably as your mind remains helplessly caught between arousal and terror. You're suddenly much smaller, and your slim wrists fall free of the ropes binding them, though you are in no condition to move. Boyish, rough fingers diminish into a girl's delicate, soft digits before your horrified eyes. A stinging pain runs over the skin of your cheeks, legs, and chest, and you realize that your facial and body hair is falling out. Your ass pops with a crack as your hips start to grow and your body fat redistributes, pushing out the wiry dark hair and leaving the surface of your cute butt smooth and pink.

"Pleeeease stahp," you moan, your voice wavering and androgynous, growing higher with each syllable. "I jus' wanted to cum..."

"You'll get to cum, baby," says Whitney. "You'll get to cum plenty."

You nipples begin to itch and ache as they swell into small but noticeable breasts. Your thighs plump up, your hips swell, and your legs taper down to small, feminine feet. Your pretty, slender ankles slip out of their restraints and you kick pathetically as you protest your humiliating transformation. You gasp in a girl's voice as your lips puff up into a permanent pout and your nose flattens into an upturned button; a sting at the crotch leaves you girlishly bereft of public hair—though your babydick makes womanhood an impossible prospect anyway.

Finally, the feverish sensations end, leaving you remade as a diminished and pitiful being. Sweat and cum coats your glistening and strangely hairless body, and you feel scarily small and vulnerable as you never have in your life. Your tiny bare feet don't come close to the end of the hospital bed even as you stretch your little toes, and though you're free to move, Whitney and Carrie look much larger than they did a few minutes ago, and you're frozen, like a frightened little Buneary in front of a predator, as their curious eyes drink up the sight of your new body. They're so big...one of them could totally hold me on their own now... Your nudity next to their state of dress, combined with the overwhelming scent of semen on your form, already makes you feel inferior and slutty, like a used-up toy, and with that comes a feeling of arousal and shame mixed with a bratty and submissive urge that you don't really understand. You want to whine and complain like a child, knowing that you'll be shot down.

"Y-You bitches," you pout. "You totally tricked me." Both girls laugh: your voice is cartoonishly high. You cringe and clear your throat with a dainty cough that renews their hysterics. No one will take you seriously with this voice, and they probably shouldn't anyway.

"We totally gave you a choice, actually," says Whitney.

"You gave me, like, a drug?" You know you don't talk like this, but you can't help it. Something compels you to adopt a hyperfeminine lilt that matches your squeaky, breathy voice. "That's, like, totally illegal."

"Oh, are you gonna report me to the cops?"

"Like, yeah. That's a totally great idea. I am so going to tell the cops." Huffily, you sit up and get off the bed, which causes you to fall with a shriek as you misjudge the drop from the bed. Just how much smaller are you? Standing up, your center of balance is all wrong, and the smaller surface area of your soles makes your steps feel unfamiliar. Carrie has a few inches on you, and Whitney a few more. You'd be lucky if you clear five feet. You could probably rest your chin on Whitney's boobs. They're looking down on you and it makes you feel so weird. An embarrassing, welling sensation takes ahold of you; part of you wants to break down and meekly obey your betters, and another part wants to stand on your tippy toes and protest that you're big and strong, like a little runt trying to stand up to the older girls. I'd totally get a spank on the butt for that...Gawd, I'm such a bratty little half-pint! Why does that make me so hot...?

This is way too confusing! Flushed and angry, you stomp your little foot. "O-M-G~, this is just, like, the worst! I'm like, way too tiny and way too horny?" This only makes Whitney laugh again, so you storm away to find the nearest door. However, you only make it a yard or two before something catches your eye in your peripheral vision: a mirror. For the first time, you see yourself, and thoughts of escape vanish from your simple mind.

"Like...I'm totally kyuute~." In the mirror you see a strange, tiny androgyne: the puffy breasts of a preteen girl, the unmistakable slope of feminine hips, a firm bubble butt—yet, nestled in the bare crotch, an adorable little cocklet with an adorable stiffy. Because of your reduction in size, your chestnut hair looks much longer on your head, and has a lush, glossy sheen it never possessed before; it's not far off from Carrie's short cut. Could I be as kyute as her...? Your own semen still drips slickly over your flat tummy, adding to the humiliating obscenity of your appearance, and you collect it eagerly with one hand. Your big doe eyes bat at you coquettishly; your mouth hangs open in a cute pout, giving you a somewhat braindead appearance. Goddess Whitney made me such a sexy whore... You thought you wanted to escape but now all you can think of is bringing yourself to orgasm again, hopefully in front of Goddess Whitney. Soft, stubby fingers, wet with cum, slide between your plush lips as your other hand teases your clitty, and you watch intently as your sloppy tongue slurps up the delicious salty liquid.

Suddenly your horny reverie is broken by a rough slap to the behind. "Behave, slut," says Goddess Whitney. God, why did I do that? I wanted to make Goddess happy—no, I wanted to escape...?

"Owie..." You rub your red butt. "Goddess Whitney, what's wrong with like, my head? Why do I wanna make cummies so bad?"

"Girl, like, you asked to be a dumb basic slut, so I made you a dumb basic slut." Whitney shrugs.

"I'm not dumb! I was, like, good in school and stuff. Like, I got at least a B, I think?"

"Lawl, okay," says Whitney. "Sorry, little slut, but you'll never solve a crossword puzzle on your own again."

"This is totally illegal!" you repeat, maybe because it's one of the only big words you remember.

As way of response, Whitney pulls of her shirt and unclasps her bra, letting her large, pink breasts hang free. As befits a girl of her age and beauty, they're perfectly shaped: round, firm, with large, suckable nipples. Your anger once again vanishes as you imagine sucking on them like a baby, perhaps as Goddess Whitney rubs your clitty on her lap, her perfectly kyute face looking down on you, framed by her pretty pink hair. Goddess Whitney is so kyuuuute~, like a real princess! Your lips have almost closed on her rosy nipple before Whitney draws away with a smirk.

"So easy to distract, aren't you?" Whitney looks down at you with her hands on her hips, breasts still bared towards you, a look of pity in her eyes.

"Stoppit!" You ball up your little hands by your sides and pout. "Stop teasing meeee~!"

Whitney ignores you as Carrie hands her something. "This will be your new Lass uniform once you're showered up. You're probably as much of a dirty whore as Carrie, but like, you're kind of stupid, so try not to get caught going commando, kay?"

Whitney waves a folded set of clothes at you, and you're immediately distracted. "Ohmahgawd, I get to wear that? Thank you so much, Goddess! So kyute..." Suddenly, vague memories of a Pokémon battle flash through your mind, memories of losing to Whitney. Thinking about it makes you wanna kneel down in front of her for being so dumb that you thought you could beat her. "Goddess Whitney, what happened to, like, my Pokémon? My, uhm, Cindykill?"

"I've taken him for safekeeping," says Whitney. "Maybe, like, my Daddy wants him? Besides, you don't want a grody boy Pokémon like that anyway. Probably smells like boogers."

You realize Goddess is right. She's so smart. "Ew, no."

"Instead, hmm..." begins Whitney. "Oh, I know the perfect thing! You'll be using Jigglypuff in the gym."

Jigglypuff? No way, that thing is just so pink...and cute...and adorable...ohmahgawd that Jigglypuff? KYUUUUTE! "Yaaaaaaas~!" you cry. "I, like, love Jigglypuff! It's like, so round and pink, like, a big bouncy booby Pokémon, LMAO. It makes me think about you, Goddess. It's so kyute~! Thank you, like, so much~!"

"As for your name—I mean, it doesn't matter too much since I'll just call you slut most of the time, ehehe," says Whitney, and turns to Carrie. "What do you think?"

"I know a name, Goddess! She can be Cathy," says Carrie. "So we match names. Carrie and Cathy, the cute sisters of Goldenrod Gym!"

"Oh. My. GAWD," you say. "I totally love it, big sis!"

And there, with a simple smile on your lips and semen smeared over your naked body, your fate was sealed. All thoughts of your old life forgotten, you became Lass Cathy, Carrie's dumb, fun-loving little sister and the bratty runt of Goldenrod Gym. Almost every trainer could beat your team of practically harmless Jigglypuff, but you didn't mind; after all, it was only when you lost that you could offer the victor the use of your ruined body and fulfil your purpose as a pleasure slave. And all of that misbehavior added up on the occasions when Goddess Whitney herself saw fit to use you, since the sluttier you were, the more she'd bully and humiliate you. A masochistic whore like you just can't get enough of it!

It's only a few months hence when another boy arrives at Goldenrod Gym. After beating the trainers and making his way to Goddess Whitney, he finds her playing a video game in pastel pink yoga pants that emphasize her perfect, apple-shaped butt, her pretty bare feet thrown out in front of her and resting on a naked back—your back, of course, held as straight as possible so as to be the best rest for her immaculate heels. Ignoring the depravity of the scene, the boy claims that he's here looking for a missing friend who was last seen entering this gym with his Cyndaquil. Something stirs in you, and you smile at his ignorance as the exchange with your Goddess becomes heated. He challenges her to a battle—with his own Cyndaquil, of course.

"Basic bitches like you have the world handed to them on a silver platter," he says. "I'll teach you a lesson myself in place of my lost friend."

As Goddess Whitney, the brat princess of Goldenrod, arches her back and wiggles her toes lazily, she aims a grin of complicity at her footstool. "Someone sure will learn their lesson today," she says, "but it's not going to be me."