The dream began in silence.
Nurse Joy stood behind the pristine white counter of the Viridian City Pokémon Center. The familiar hum of the healing machines was gone. The lobby, usually a chaotic thoroughfare of trainers, injured Pokémon, and buzzing intercoms, was completely, unnervingly empty.
The lights overhead were too bright, casting no shadows. The air smelled of nothing—no antiseptic, no coffee, no ozone. Just a sterile, white void.
Joy sighed, the sound echoing loudly in the vast emptiness. She slumped onto the high stool behind the counter, resting her chin in her hands. Her limbs felt heavy, weighed down by a fatigue that went deeper than bone. It was a weariness of the soul.
"So much work," she murmured to the empty room, her voice trembling. "Day after day. Smile. Bow. Heal. Repeat. I rarely get a moment... I never get time for me."
She looked down at her hands. They were pale, delicate, trembling slightly. The white gloves she usually wore were gone, leaving her skin exposed. She ran her fingers along the cool, smooth surface of the counter, then slowly, almost involuntarily, her hand drifted up to her chest.
Her uniform, usually a symbol of her pride and discipline, suddenly felt restrictive. It felt like a cage.
Her fingers brushed against the fabric covering her left breast.
"It's so... frustrating," she whispered.
She pressed down. Through the stiff cotton of her dress and the underwire of her bra, she felt the soft yield of her own flesh. She squeezed, tentatively at first. A jolt of electricity—sharp and foreign—shot from her nipple straight to her groin.
"Oh..."
Joy gasped, her eyes widening. The sensation wasn't normal. It was amplified, resonant, as if her nerves had been stripped raw. She squeezed again, harder this time, kneading the soft mound.
"Ahhh... I don't know why, but... I am feeling something different."
"You deserve it."
The voice didn't come from the lobby. It echoed inside her skull, reverberating through her ribcage. It was smooth, seductive, and sounded suspiciously like her own thoughts, but darker. Freer.
Joy jumped, her heart hammering. She spun around on the stool, looking at the empty hallway.
"What the heck...?" she stammered, clutching her chest. "Who are you?"
"I am you," the voice purred back, wrapping around her mind like warm silk. "I am the part of you that is tired of serving others. I am the part that wants to take. Feel pleasure, Joy. Take time for yourself. You do so much for everyone else... don't you deserve a reward?"
Joy hesitated. The logic was twisted, yet it made perfect sense in the haze of the dream. The moral barriers that usually governed her life felt thin, brittle.
She looked down at her hand, still resting on her breast. The heat radiating from her skin was intoxicating.
"Yeah..." she breathed, her eyes glazing over as the psychic suggestion took root. "It's right. I don't have time for myself. I can pleasure myself... there's nothing wrong in it. No one is here."
Her other hand moved. It slid down her stomach, over the flat plane of her abdomen, and settled between her legs. The fabric of her skirt was bunched up as she pressed her palm against her crotch.
Even through the layers of her uniform and panties, she was wet. Soaking wet.
"Ahhh..."
She began to rub. Circular, desperate motions. She ground the heel of her hand against her clitoris, friction building heat until it felt like a fire was starting in her belly.
"Fuck..." she cursed—a word she would never use in reality—shutting her eyes tight as a wave of pleasure crashed over her. Her head fell back, exposing her neck. "It feels... so good."
She was lost in the sensation, her hips bucking involuntarily against the stool, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
Then, the temperature in the room shifted.
She felt it before she saw it. A presence. Large. Dominant. Masculine.
Warm, large hands suddenly clamped over her breasts.
Joy's eyes snapped open.
Standing behind her, pressing his chest against her back, was Kian. But he wasn't the polite trainer who had asked for a room. In this dreamscape, he was larger, his eyes darker, radiating an aura of absolute command.
"Kian?" Joy gasped, freezing. Her hands hovered uselessly in the air. "What... what are you doing here?"
He didn't pull away. His hands squeezed her breasts firmly, possessively, his thumbs digging into the sensitive tissue through her uniform.
"I am helping you, Joy," Kian whispered, his voice a low rumble right against her ear. It sent shivers racing down her spine.
He spun the stool around slowly so she was facing him. He stepped between her spread legs, invading her personal space completely.
Joy looked up into his eyes. They were deep, hypnotic, swirling with intent.
"Helping me?" she stammered, trying to find her professional voice but failing miserably. "What... what do you mean?"
"I mean that I can help you relieve your stress, Joy," Kian said smoothly. He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw. "You don't have to feel like that. Lonely. Frustrated. You don't have to do it alone."
Joy shook her head, a weak protest rising in her throat. "No... that's not right. I am a Nurse. You are a Trainer. It's... it's wrong to do this... strict regulations..."
Kian didn't argue with words. He argued with touch.
His hands dropped back to her chest. He didn't just hold them; he claimed them. He grabbed both breasts, his fingers sinking deep into the softness, and squeezed hard.
"Ahhh!"
Joy arched her back, a loud, wanton moan ripping from her throat. The pleasure was agonizingly intense. It short-circuited her logic. Her hands flew up to grip his forearms, not to push him away, but to hold on as the world spun.
"See?" Kian murmured. He used his thumbs to circle her nipples through the white fabric, rubbing them until they were hard points of pain and pleasure. "Your body doesn't think it's wrong. Your body thinks it's perfect."
"Fuck... yess... ahh!" Joy cried out, her head rolling back. "It's so good... oh my god...!"
She was panting, her face flushed a deep crimson. The sensation of his rough hands on her sensitive skin was overwhelming everything else. The "thinking fog" Gardevoir had mentioned was gone, replaced by a red haze of lust.
Kian released one breast and reached up, grabbing her chin firmly. He forced her face down, making her lock eyes with him again.
"Look at you, Joy," he commanded, his voice stern yet seductive. "Stop lying to yourself. This is the real you. The you who wants pleasure. The you who wants to be used."
"No... it's not..." Joy whimpered, tears of arousal pricking her eyes. "I... I am... not..."
"Really?" Kian challenged, a cruel, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "You can't lie to yourself, Joy. Not here. You can't hide."
"No, I am not lying!" she insisted desperately, her hips grinding forward instinctively against him even as she denied it. "I am telling the truth! I am a good nurse!"
"Then what is this?"
Kian laughed darkly. He released her chin and grabbed her face with both hands, physically turning her head to the side.
"Look."
Joy's eyes went wide.
The sterile white walls of the Pokémon Center flickered and dissolved. In their place, floor-to-ceiling mirrors materialized, surrounding them in a 360-degree circle.
But they didn't reflect the room as it was.
In every single mirror, there was a version of Nurse Joy.
Hundreds of them. Infinite reflections stretching out into the darkness.
But they weren't wearing the white uniform.
They were naked.
Joy gasped, the air sucked from her lungs.
In one mirror, a naked Joy was on her knees, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure. In another, she was bent over the counter, her ass in the air, fingers spreading her cheeks. In yet another, she was pressing her heavy, bare breasts against the glass, her nipples wet and swollen.
All of them were her. All of them were naked. And all of them were looking back at her with hungry, desperate eyes.
"See?" Kian's voice echoed from everywhere at once. "This is who you really are."