Pokemon is a copyright of Nintendo. Pokègirls and Pokèwomen come from the Pokewomon Forum.

"Wild Horses and Pokègirls" is the creation of Metroanime.

        Let's start out with an explanation. I'm no hero, I got the rep as one, because I had a Seraph to keep happy. I kept her happy, she kept me happy. Usually I got the innocents out of the line of fire, and not so incidently, kept my own ass out of the line of fire. So I won't listen to crap that I'm not the `typical` hero. I'm not dead either, nor do I want to be either of those two, so go kiss a Mantis, but get out of my face.

        Like I said, I'm no hero. So when I wake up chained to the floor, it doesn't take me three pages of proving my muscles are stronger than my brain to figure out I ain't going anywhere. For you English `experts` out there, ain't is the correct contraction of am not. So go take your highbrow complaints somewhere else. Typhonia's slit would be a good start.

        I instantly realized that when someone chains something, they tend to want it to stay where it was. So overkill in chain strength was a given. Also, a quick look and feel around the chains encircling my waist and trapping my arms failed to find the lock that would fall victim to my heroically, sensitive fingers and the hair pin too marvelously-cleverly concealed in my sleeve so I could easily get it, and yet it would evade even a full body cavity search. Of course I didn't have any of that kit, what are you? Stupid? I'm an ordinary guy, maybe smarter or sneakier than the average, but that's it.

        Wouldn't have worked anyway. The chain was `locked` with a very strong bolt. Six lines on the head of a bolt still meant no human and few Pokègirls could break it without tools, like a whole foundry. Also, the nut holding it down was tightened down and welded in place. I do know a little about welding, enough to know whoever welded that nut was a lot better than I was, and was very serious about me staying in those chains.

        Well, the Megami conspiracy must have read my Manifesto, I thought, I wonder what they'll do to me? Turn me into a good, upstanding citizen who thinks stick-figure fashion models/clothes hangers are the epitome of desire? I shuddered in mortal terror at that thought, but resolved not to cry at my cruel fate. Maybe they'll make me like . . . farm animals! The idea of never again luxuriating in the warm, squishy softness . . . What am I saying? Most farm animals these days are Pokègirls! And stacked to boot! I realized I needed to get a grip, but what I wanted to get a grip on wasn't easily available. Then it was provided.

        The two winged women walked in. I instantly recognized Downy, my old Seraph. Then I saw her vacant, almost hungry expression. I knew instantly, she was in trouble. I've seen it often enough on the faces of near-Ferals, no drug ever produced by the hand of man can manifest the withdrawal and the need that the threat of Ferality does. The other one was an Angel, gorgeous and blonde like nearly all her kind, and she seemed very disturbed, glancing everywhere in the room with quick little jerks of her head. Looking at everything, except me.

        That I'm used to, I thought.

        She was also stacked like nobody's business! Her little, jerky motions set her a-bouncin' real nice. Understated elegance, I thought, But with a real grip on the world. The halter she wore was nearly transparent silk and seemed inadequate for what it had to hold, but wasn't. Her leather micromini skirt occasionally showed the bikini bottom that concealed her goodies and was large enough that only the slight bulge showed she didn't wax or shave.

        Hey, I like neatly trimmed, not rashes, bumps and razor stubble. Or the bad attitude that goes with them.

        The thought of two such desirable Pokègirls trapped into service by the evil Megami conspiracy filled me with rage and a strength I had never known! I focused my strength and rage to make the Herculean effort . . . and got over it. Like I'm gonna break these chains without a bolt-cutter or a bulldozer, I thought derisively, I think my way out of problems. I did manage to rattle the chains enough to alert them that I was awake and aware of them. Downy was at my side in an instant, hugging me ferociously, making sure my face was between her breasts.

        She remembers me, was my last thought for a while.

        "Help your Pokègirls, Master," she breathed her plea, then released me from the hug, holding me by the shoulders so she could see my face. Which was leering at her and drooling a little. Hey I'm a pig, what can I say? 'Oink?'

        I wonder why there are no Pokègirls based on pigs, yet men who enjoy them are called pigs, I thought, Seems a little unfair and stereotypical. "The Megami conspiracy to promote flat-chestedness shall fall before my invincible might!" I announced loudly, "I shall strangle them all with their own training bras!"

        The pair stared at me in amazement, then Downy broke down and laughed uproariously, holding me tightly, and rubbing/jiggling in a way that always got my blood moving. The Angel smiled warmly at the pair of us, before leaning down and enfolding both of us in her arms and wings. She also leaned into me, letting me feel the softness of her huge tits mashing on my back. If Heaven is like this, they should tell us, I thought, They'd have more people wanting to get in. Too soon, the pair broke off. Downy looked ambivalent, as if she expected me to be able to save her, instead of her saving me. The Angel looked simply miserable.

        "I must apologize. We must torture you . . . " She stared at me, I just looked back, expecting an explanation, "Either you, or a little girl."

        Hell lady, having you standing out of reach and watching you breathe in little gasps and deep inhales like that hurts enough, I thought, How are you gonna possibly hurt me worse? I note the very slight paunch, not her stomach, a little lower, and a few wisps of gray hair. "Your daughter, with your Tamer, you're a Pokèwoman."

        She's a little surprised that I figured it out. She nodded slightly. "I do not want to hurt anyone, but I cannot avoid both."

        I glanced at Downy, and realized she hadn't told them about me or the rest of my Harem. So we're back to the old idea of faking out the enemy. Does your friend know that's what the plan is?

        Downy didn't give any outward sign, but I've trusted her on this before. I did so again. "If I volunteer," I asked, "Can I get a little Taming in either before or after. Your colleague seems to need it."

        The Angel bowed her head. "Only after," she said ashamedly, "After we've caused you pain."

        Lady, a MILF like you could break both my arms and a good titty fucking would balance things just fine, I don't say out loud, Besides, Angels and Seraphs can heal, and I know Downy, she won't let it go. "'Caused you pain'? Is that it?" I asked, seeing a way out of it, or a way to frustrate my unseen captors, "That's easy." I wriggled my fingers through the chains. I couldn't get very far, but that wasn't the point. "You break the tip of the pinkie, then grind the joint," I told her, "Hurts like Hell, but as one guy told me, it always heals before the trial." It's not like I haven't been beaten up a lot in my life, Hell, getting beaten up by a girl was the closest thing to a date I ever got. No guy would turn down sex with you two, even if a little pain was involved, as long as that pain stays away from his privates.

        "They wanted you to deliver pain, that will certainly do it. I give you permission, to protect your daughter." I don't want to know, I thought, Just get it over with quickly. I get my wish. It hurts, it hurts a lot. But when the Angel slackened delivering pain. "Protect your daughter," I reminded her. I didn't hold back crying out, maybe I overact a bit, but they wanted someone in torment, I was happy to play things up. Plus, I'm a wimp, but the rewards that would follow . . .

        Eventually, even my encouragement couldn't keep her going on. She grabbed me and held me tightly against her, sobbing uncontrollably and begging forgiveness. Of course I gave it to her, kissing her softly and stroking her neck with my cheek. I don't like to hurt people, I also knew it would make it more likely to get what I wanted.

        It worked, I did wish the chains were gone. I always liked the feeling of soft hands on my skin, and my hands on soft pliant bodies. Downy was always so tentative, getting her started was always an enjoyable chore. The Angel acted towards me as we had towards Downy. Ready to retreat and comfort at the slightest sign of reticence or fright. I also knew enough to let her set the pace, she wanted, perhaps needed, Taming. More than that, she needed to prove she wasn't a dealer of pain, but a comforter. She needed to know she was still one of `the Good Guys`, and I was willing to wait and see what she'd do.

        Downy, much as I love her, never had a sense of romance, only a sense of honor. She very carefully broke the nut loose and unscrewed it. Almost unscrewing me while she did it. It broke the mood a bit, but the Angel smirked, nodded and started again, with a lot more enthusiasm. She had my pants down around my ankles pretty quick, and was just starting with some tentative little cat-licks when she started waving her ass around like it was on fire. Downy was also grabbing her own crotch, like it itched or hurt.

        "I'm sorry Master," the Seraph said before she bolted through the door. The Angel tried to hang on for a moment, but left just as hurriedly.

        Probably something the bastard who's holding us prisoner put in where a Seraph certainly wouldn't try to yank out, I thought, Another reason to really give them a beating when I get my hands on them. Otherwise, there was little I could do. Downy had loosened the `lock` on my chains. But if they saw the Angel and Downy were going to get their rocks off . . . I thought as I glanced around, Ah, ha! Now I've got you! Plain as day, there was a surveillance camera. One of the cheapy ones at convenience stores, fixed mount, cable running out of it. And not designed for inclement weather, I happily realized, And I really have to go, how convenient.

        See, lots of people say electricity and water don't mix. Actually they mix just fine, you just don't want to be connected to what they mix up into. So don't spray water on electricity. That's not the same as throwing a bucket of water at it. Or in this case, a pulsing stream. Now I take my Taming seriously, and while I'm still chubby and non-athletic, there are some muscles and exercises I do regularly. I'll let you put the last two sentences together and figure things out. For the really clueless, I'll add that urine is like salt water, a better conductor than fresh water.

        I managed to stand up, dropping my pants had already been done. My first shot went a bit wide. Not so my second, but the camera didn't react. The third gave me all the fireworks I'd hoped for, and a huge cloud of blue smoke. The blue smoke is important, you see, if you let the blue smoke out of electronics, they quit working. I only managed two more shots, before I couldn't find the range. Work it out yourself. More sparks, but I'd released all the blue smoke I was gonna get. Now came the waiting. Either the idiot was gonna do without the camera, or was going to have to replace it. I bet on 'do without', I won that bet. A couple hours to unroll/unravel myself from the chains around me, then go look for hidden cameras. I also generated a little more `ammo`. My search found nothing, other than that the door was also solidly locked. Whoever was running things either had no replacement, or was going to deal with it later. Fine with me.

        A couple hours after I gave up looking for more things to piss on and piss off my captor, the door opened. My luck was still good, although it was clear I'd have to take things carefully, again. She was as well stacked as the Angel and Downy, her hair was knee-length, blood red with yellow highlights, like fire. She had as much make-up, and as badly applied, as a Make-Up Artist Goth, though none of the tramp stamps or 'Hey! I'm an idiot! Notice me!' bangles that breed loves. Her clothes were a too-small, too-short, black vinyl T-shirt; ripped, low-cut black jeans and black silk panties. Don't ask how I knew the last, they don't call it a whale tail for nothing. Add the slightly bewildered look, as if she neither belonged nor was comfortable appearing like that, and the whole affect was like the baby-tart, pedo-bait some parents let or insist their 10-year-olds dress like because it's `cute` when they act like `adults`. Really sick on a kid, kinda sad on non-jailbait.

        Rebelling against mom and your basic nature, huh? Trying to look like a Fallen Angel, I thought as I saw the similar facial features, MILF and DILF sandwich, now that would be . . . wrong and seamy, but legal, no incest there!

        "Why did you do it?" she asked, the Angel's typical, to the point manner.

        "I didn't want to see your mom suffer while you were hurt. Or I thought peeing on the camera would get a response."

        She smirked at the last, the same way her mom had. Thoughts of having lots of fun with all that tit-flesh, and of course breeding lots of little bundles of joy for others. Those I would leave alone, am not that much of a pervert, but I could see opening a ranch for busty Angels . . . ah dreams.

        She seemed to be carefully considering her next question. "Don't you think I can take care of myself? The Mistress wouldn't hurt me too badly. She needs me, as a control for her experiment."

        Experiment? What kind of sick puppy are we dealing with? I wondered before speaking. "I think your mom was trying to protect you, the way good mothers do," I replied.

        Hey, I never said I had a problem with my parents, just with the town I lived in.

        "Was that wrong? I didn't want to see her hurt, or you either." Although I never expected you'd be full grown, and as yummy as your mom!

        "You wanted to have sex with her, like you want to have sex with me, and the Seraph," she told me.

        "Be fair, I don't want all three at once. One at a time would be just fine. The Seraph needs it, you and your mom look like you need it too. Maybe not for the same reasons, but you two need it too."

        "And you would be so honored to give it to us," she said disdainfully, "You men are all the same."

        "Right," I replied with equal disdain, "An Angel trying to look and act like a Fallen Angel is going to tell me about stereotypes. No Fallen Angel would deign to wear that ridiculous get up. Kiddo, Fallen Angels either want to mope, or they want to fight and fuck. They don't walk around trying to not show the goods while seeming like they are. And they sure don't stand around arguing philosophy. A real Fallen Angel who walked in here on her own would have straddled my hips or kicked my ass by now, maybe both. You got problems with your ma, fine. You're still a prisoner, whether you like it or not, and your mom knows what can happen to a pretty, young thing like you."

        "Then why did you do it? Surely sex with my mother wasn't worth the pain you suffered, you didn't even get the reward you hoped for."

        "I got beat up enough as a kid to know pain doesn't last. Your Mistress may be a real bad-ass when it comes to dishing it out on Pokègirls," I told her, "But I had other humans assault me. They didn't want to keep me pretty and under control. They wanted my lunch money, my books, or to remind me they were better than me, and they didn't care what permanent damage they did."

        She squirmed at that, Angels are unwilling warriors at best. She doesn't like to be reminded that humans hurt others just because they can, I realized, I can use that. "I bet your `Mistress` has given you all kinds of reason why she has to hurt you and your mom, to make the world a better place. If you know anything about human history, then you should know any movement that begins with that premise, eventually causes more pain and death than whatever they replaced." I really had her uncomfortable. As she shifted from foot to foot, swinging her arms, she set some of her more interesting parts bobbing too. The thought of having to wait to take advantage of the situation was making me pretty uncomfortable.

        Everybody got a lot more uncomfortable as mom and Downey came charging in. All three Pokègirls had terrified expressions. DILF had been caught by mom, MILF was terrified for her daughter, Downey worried that things had reached a flash point.

        "What are you doing? If you're caught -!" mom pleaded with her daughter.

        Daughter set her jaw. "I never asked you to do this! I can take the consequences of my actions. You just take the consequences of yours!" daughter stated back, through clenched teeth.

        "That's not fair," mom replied, fluttering her wings nervously, "You know that you will take the consequences for my actions!"

        Downy looked between mother and daughter. I knew if she wasn't partially Feral, she'd be of some help, but I'd need time to cure that.

        Then the door slammed and locked, and alarms could be heard echoing through the complex. All of us started looking around, expecting that the world would drop on us immediately.

        The door burst open and a figure stepped through, pausing to take in the scene. Imagine the most bishi dream of fangirls: tall, slender, long, soft hair, bright though tortured eyes, finely sculptured features, a regal, commanding stance and an aura of unconcern with the mundane world. You know, the kind crowding every online gallery and personal webpage of wannabe artists, the kind endlessly forgiven if they're villains with 'they just need love' followed by a story that explains how the author or his/her avatar would provide it, from poetic to pornographic. The kind that makes fangirls drool out of both ends.

        Now spoil, slightly, that piece of perfect Tofu-cake (©Adam Warren) with a bit of beef in the shoulders and limbs, and widen her hips a bit. Amanda is a hero and even manages to pose like a fairytale knight, unconsciously and unselfconsciously. She took it all in, with a look of valiant determination. Boy was I glad to see her.

        Yeah, I hear you 'her?' 'Amanda's a girl's name!' 'Wasn't your Megami's name Amanda?' In order, yes she's a girl, Amanda is a girl's name and Amanda is a girl and lastly, SHE WASN'T MY BLOODY MEGAMI!! THE LEECH-BITCH ATTACHED HERSELF TO ME! On a calmer note, Amanda heard about the Megami, even met and was disgusted by her. I think she calls herself Amanda just to piss me off. Yes, that's about as close to mean as she gets, weird, except Amanda is a hero, and a good person to have around for all her perfection and nobility. You'll see how in a moment.

        "Oh my HERO!" I gave my most girlish squeal, embarrassing how real I can make it sound, better than most girls.

        She looked at the trio of frightened, beautiful, pneumatic, winged Pokègirls interposing themselves between me and her. She slapped her face after rolling her eyes. "Eugene! Only you! Ooonly you!"

        Yeah, Eugene, now you know why I don't tell you before.

        Yeah, just me, I thought, You're just embarrassed that the gods like me . . . or are amused by me.

        "Shouldn't I just pull your pants off, and leave you for an hour and a half?" she said looking over the girls and shaking her head.

        "Two and a half hours," I corrected, "But we know the layout of this place, you don't. We can't let the mastermind get away."

        Skullcap and Tableau walked in on cue, a struggling woman teke-carried between then, neither seemed to want to touch her.

        "You'll pay for this!" the woman fulminated, "I promise you! All you pathetic men!"

        Amanda stared hawkishly at the woman, causing her to squirm.

        She might look like a dreamy guy, I thought of the idiot feeling Amanda's anger, That doesn't mean she wants to be thought of as one.

        "Downy!" Flower bounced in, pun intended, and hugged the Seraph tightly.

        "You bitch!" the woman hissed at the Seraph who was trying to escape the grabby MilkTit, "You set me up!"

        "Of course I did," Downy said, finally getting loose only by kissing Flower on the lips after hugging her back. Actually squashing their tits together and letting Flower writhe around a little. "We used to do this all the time. My Master and Flower would rescue the innocent, while Skullcap and I destroyed the evildoers!" Downy thundered at the woman, "Did you really believe I would stand idle while you went ahead with your mad plan?"

        The woman cringed away from the furious Seraph. Amanda took the Seraph by the shoulder, drawing her away from her target.

        "We'll need you to lead us to any other Pokègirls held here," Amanda told her gently, "Protect the innocent, leave punishing the guilty to more - competent hands." She glanced at me and Flower. Downy shuddered and nodded.

        She must remember how Flower and I planned the assaults, I thought, And this time she's not concerned about leaving a helpless prisoner to our `tender` mercies. Flower was already grinning and rubbing her hands in a way that would give a Dark Lady or Hild chills. Our target was not made of very stern stuff, she began babbling about things that made no sense.

        Tableau, Amanda's PsiLady nodded her head, telling us she had read the woman's mind. Then shook it violently as if she could throw off what she'd read in the woman.

        "Frankly, I'd rather read your mind," Tableau admitted, one step away from simply tearing our prisoner's body, or more likely her mind, apart.

        "Here," I told her, concentrating on Amanda.

        Like I said before, Amanda's a real hero. She can see the world as it truly is, what needs to be done, and the most compassionate way to do it.

        It was thoughts like this I filled my mind with. To stabilize and calm the furious PsiLady.

        I'd never known that a lot of upperclass girls are given a test as schoolgirls. It determines how likely they are to undergo Threshold, it also determines how likely they are to become pregnant. The test is expensive and nearly foolproof. It has to be, it determines a highborn girl's entire future in `society`. Girls likely to Threshold, are sent to poor relatives, with or without a stipend for their raising. Others are kept in the public eye and become breeding stock or leaders. Amanda got a 0% chance of ever undergoing Threshold, which delighted her parents, Pureline snobs from the word 'go'. It also indicated she was utterly barren, even a Brooding Chamber and fertility magic couldn't help induce pregnancy. Her parents had six other, more fertile daughters and four sons to carry on the line. So at age nine, when many girls start thinking about becoming mommies, Amanda was basically told, she had a future in business or politics, but none in being a mother, rearing children, even attracting a husband. Say what you want about men's inability to commit, when they do, they often want kids. Amanda couldn't do that, she might be a mistress, but never a mother. So this poor, frightened 9-year-old calmly reasoned that her best service to the human race was to become a heroic Tamer. She couldn't pass on her genes, but she could pass on her philosophy. She wasn't even slightly bi, but she would have to be, to attract and keep the Pokègirls she'd need.

        Nature threw her one more curve at puberty. Or lack of curves. At a very lithe and slender 6'9" (206 cm for metric weenies), a starkly featured face, the build and grace of a male gymnast, `he` would have been beating the girls off with a club, and gracing magazine covers and movie screens across the planet. As a girl, she suddenly had zero chance of attracting a husband or even most male lovers, at least one uninterested in her for her money. Instead, she studied Taming techniques, Pokègirl psychology and physiology, weapons (guns and blades), martial arts, all the `caring` philosophies. Basically she spent from age 9 to age 15 preparing for her quest, winning a whole slew of athletic medals along the way. She purchased an Ice Maiden and a Mysticangel, and began her quest.

        I was on the run from Amanda the Megami-leech, when Flower and I found the girl, broken and bleeding, sobbing over her dying Mysticangel. The rest of her Harem was already dead. Flower used her healing milk on the human girl, but nothing could save the Mysticangel. Skullcap, Kittypussy and a PsiDyke I'd gotten stuck with and named Tableau (because Table was too obvious, think about it) had already found the Dronza who'd slaughtered the girl's harem, and dispatched her. No they weren't better warriors, they were just finishing off a nearly crippled opponent. I gave Tableau the job of nursing the wounded girl back to health, physically and mentally. A job she greatly enjoyed. I'll leave out Tableau's snide comments about finally finding a girl I didn't want to `ravage`, she hadn't known me very long.

        The girl took the unconditional love of the PsiDyke and the affection of the rest of us to heal her spirit. She also realized that her idealism made her predictable. A sneaky, backstabbing scumball like me was exactly who she needed as a partner. I too could predict what heroic thing she'd do, and when someone took advantage of her `weakness`, they'd find what me and Flower had set to `greet` them.

        Once Amanda was . . . gone, she took that name, and a new spirit in her quest, not for her family, but for humanity. That she'd evolved Tableau, picked up a DigTitTrio, that to my disappointment (but not Flower's, the traitor), only liked girls, also helped her heal inside. Then she learned about Amanda Von Rothchild dela Samantha driving our beloved Seraph out of my Harem, that became her new immediate goal. Getting Downy back. The Seraph would support her quests. It would also help balance the scales between us.

        "Thank you, for the memories," Tableau said, taking in a cleansing breath, "You really do love her? Or just admire her?"

        "I never had an idealistic kid sister," I explained, "She's a lot of fun. But I don't like her like I want Downy."

        The PsiLady glanced at the pair of Angels, then at me. "That's just . . . sick."

        "One more crack like that," I threatened, "And I'll tell everybody what you really use all that ketchup for."

        "You wouldn't - you would," she said, "Fine, do what you like. I still don't think they'll go along with it."

        "That's not your concern," I reminded her, "Now, what did she have in mind?"

        "Clear the room," Tableau said, looked at Flower and Skullcap, "You too, everybody. I'm not kidding."

        The four Pokègirls left. Tableau looked like she was on the verge of throwing up as she stared at the cowering women. Then she told me what the woman had done, and what she planned. I proved Tableau had a stronger stomach than me, but not by much. Kittypussy found the pair of us barfing our guts out, when our captive tried to escape. She loved playing rough with this new squeaky toy. She also knew the woman hurt Pokègirls, so it was 'Cat and Mouse', rather than 'Kitten and Titmouse'.



        Oyuki tugged on his sleeve. "Mister Davis, I need to borrow $5," Oyuki told him.

        "You've got plenty of cash," he replied, "Why do you need to borrow my money?"

        "Because I wish to purchase something with a Tamer's funds, not a Pokègirls," Oyuki explained carefully. Jeff shrugged and gave her the money.

        He watched as she walked over to a rather pasty-faced, overweight Tamer who had a rather harassed looking DigTitTrio, PsiLady, Boobcat, Alaka-Wham, Milk-Tit and a very tall, slender female Tamer. The harasser was a Megami who looked to be 30% bows, ribbons and frills by weight.

        "My, they have enormous . . . tracts of land," Liv commented, trapped between amazement and seething jealousy.

        "None of you have anything to be ashamed of, and I know I wouldn't trade that Harem for you folks," Jeff said, "Especially with the hectoring ironing board they have with them."

        They watched as Oyuki marched over to the harried looking Tamer, the only one pleased by her approach was the beribboned Megami. The Megami said something to Oyuki, and pointed at the Tamer with disdain. Oyuki, polite as always, nodded, then said something to the Tamer.

        "Oh boy," he realized as Oyuki offered the $5 bill and pointed at the other Megami.

        "She wouldn't do that to us . . . " Mara complained, "Would she? You wouldn't let her, would you?"

        "I trust her, lets see what she - that's unexpected," he said as Oyuki yanked open her kimono, to reveal the red swimsuit she wore underneath, reminding everyone that while she was no match for the Tamer's Harem, she was no slouch in that department herself. She grabbed the stunned Tamer's head and shoved his face in her pert breasts, rubbing one on the other enthusiastically. She handed the stunned man to his extremely pleased Harem, who were whooping and shouting their appreciation and enthusiasm. As well as a few hints about keeping a Tamer happy. Most of the Pokègirls were taking notes, most of the `hardened` Tamers around were blushing furiously.

        Oyuki twisted and pushed on the other Megami's arm, and practically dragged her alongside. The other Megami was on her tiptoes and complaining about the treatment. Oyuki seemed not to hear.

        "I don't know what you think you were . . . the depravity . . . such a bad example to the children - you're hurting me."

        "If you are not silent," Oyuki said quietly as she twisted the girl's arm further, "You will truly experience what pain can be. I reduced a Storm Demon to tearful begging and screams for mercy, with a popsicle. I have since refined my techniques."

        It apparently dawned on the other Megami what she had gotten herself into. She fell silent, which elicited another enthusiastic cheer from Team `Bra-bane` and applause from those who'd been force to listen to motor-mouth.

        Jeff wasn't sure what was in his ally's mind as she readjusted her kimono to a more modest draping, while keeping her more baroque purchase under control. He did know she was exceptionally pissed. "Oyuki," he said carefully, "You have something in mind?"

        "Yes - sir." Frost was forming on the other Megami, clear indication that Oyuki's `volcanic` temper was approaching the 'It's time for another Ice Age' point. She turned to Liv. "A shield please, no need to affect others."

        The other girl didn't even glance at Jeff or Ritsuko, the shield surrounded the four of them.

        Before Jeff could ask, Oyuki released her `prisoner` and addressed him. "Rule Britannia, please, sung."

        Liv dissolved the shield long enough to dive out.

        "Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame, all their attempts to bend thee down - "

        And instantly reformed the shield. While anyone within a 100 meters, and without a tin ear, was screaming in pain.



        Misato watched in fascination. " 'All their attempts to bend thee down, will but arouse, arouse thy generous flame, but work their woe, and thy renown'," she quietly followed the song her Master was singing. Those around seemed to be recovering. Strange, rarely does Oyuki get so angry, Misato thought, And when she does, it's after a long series of insults and slights that would have an Angel tearing the provoker limb-from-limb long since. "Any ideas?" Misato asked Kiyone as Oyuki released the other Megami's hand.

        The Wolf-Spider was shaking her head after the blessedly brief assault.

        "'Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves, Britons never - '" Misato fell silent as the Megami suddenly dropped to the ground and lay there without a twitch.

        When it was clear that Jeff wouldn't sing anymore, Liv dropped the shield. Oyuki was kneeling at the side of the very dead Megami. Jeff didn't seem anywhere near as confused as the others. Team `Bra-bane` and their Tamers approached.

        Oyuki with her usual pleasant though distant tone asked, "When can an exorcism and purification ritual take place? I wish no ghosts."

        "Immediately," Jeff told her.

        "She won't come back?" the Tamer asked with a tone of anticipation and hopelessness.

        "Not when we are finished," Oyuki replied cooly.

        The Tamer threw himself at her feel. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

        "It was my duty and my pleasure. Someone must police these fools," Oyuki intoned as knelt down and lifted the man from her foot, "And proof that not all Megami are as you have described."

        "Yes, ma'am."


        The Tamers

`Eugene's` Harem
MilkTit - Flower
Seraph - Downy
Alaka-Wham - Skull Cap
Boobcat - Kittypussy

`Amanda's` Harem
Lamia - Slinky
DigTitTrio - BoobyTrap
PsiLady - Tableau
Sapphron - Mademoiselle Bouillabaisse


ANGEL, the Avenging Pokègirl
Type: Near Human Metamorph/Very Near Human
Element: Flying/Magic (Celestial)
Frequency: Very Rare
Diet: human style foods, vegetarian
Role: aerial scout and shock troop
Libido: Average
Strong Vs: Bug, Fighting, Normal, Dark
Weak Vs: Electric, Poison, Water
Attacks: Gust, Psi-blade, Mana Bolt, Shield, Dazzle
Enhancements: Limited Metamorph - can manifest wings or dismiss them at need. Affinity: Magic. Efficient digestive and immune system. Low feral state resembles that of an Ingenue.
Evolves: Fallen Angel (major trauma/bad experiences; Dark Stone will greatly increase the chances, but isn't needed)
Evolves From: any Blessed Pokègirl (Angel Stone)

Angels are something of a mystery. Not because they set out to be mysterious or anything, but simply because they tend to be aloof or quiet. Though not shy, Angels usually only speak when they feel there is something that needs to be said and have great difficulty with such things as "small talk" or "chatting". In spite of this, Angels are very caring and prone to sudden displays of affection, that can sometimes catch their tamers off guard. Even when they are not given the Alpha position, Angels look after their harem-sisters and will rebel against cruel, abusive tamers, often resulting in the death of either the Angel or the tamer. Fortunately, this barely ever happens, since it is almost impossible for cruel or abusive tamers to catch an Angel.

Although Angels make fine warriors, they loathe violence, considering it evil. A necessary evil, perhaps, but an evil all the same. As stated before, they will fight in the defense of someone else, but persuading them to fight for any other reason is usually difficult.

Recently, certain sections of the Church of a Thousand Gods are trying to spread the belief that Angels aren't 'just' Pokègirls with wings, but messengers from the Divine. Such priest or priestesses claim that their dislike of violence, their protection of the weak and the defenseless and their almost indiscriminate care for life are examples the Divine wants all to follow. So far, no Angel has commented on these beliefs one way or the other, although they do tend to smile whenever they hear about them.

Physically, all Angels are beautiful. They look like gorgeous regular women, but with the addition of very soft, very large, white wings. However, due to their aloof nature, this flawless beauty often seems like that of a statue - perfect, but not quite real. Their hair is usually long and blonde, although some Angels have been known to cut it short or dye it in a different colour. Those Angels have never given an explanation for this, but presumably they just think it's pretty.

All Angels wear clothes and, in fact, insist upon it. Any tamer who tries to force an Angel to be naked outside of taming can count on a very lengthy argument about the inherent immorality of public indecency. Taking away their clothes doesn't help either, since Angels are capable of taking clothes out of thin air (nobody really knows how, but this is probably done by magic). The type of clothes they wear speaks volumes about the Angel's mindset. An Angel that wears near-transparent robes that would be befitting of Paradise is likely to be more caring of others and will have difficulty understanding why people can be cruel or evil. An Angel wearing 'street clothes', on the other hand, will likely assume that most people aren't exactly the purest souls around and will have come to the conclusion that the meek really do need all the protection they can get.