Learning from M.O.M. - Serena and Grace (1/3) (Patreon)

Serena and Grace had always shared one dangerous hobby: shopping sprees that lasted longer than most Pokémon battles.

Whenever a new boutique opened in Lumiose City, they were the first through the doors and the last to leave.

Dresses, shoes, ribbons, limited-edition accessories—if it sparkled, they needed it.

At first, they laughed off the shrinking numbers in their accounts.

But one dramatic afternoon at the register, both of their cards were declined at the exact same time. Silence fell heavier than a Snorlax.

After a long stare at their mountain of shopping bags, they realized they had officially run out of money.

Panicking wasn’t stylish, so instead they brainstormed.

Serena suggested offering fashion consulting for Trainers who had no sense of color coordination.

Grace tilted her head, unconvinced. “Babe, most Trainers think neon socks with sandals are peak style—we’d starve before we fixed that disaster.” Grace wasn’t sure if offering consulting was really an option, so she dove deeper into late-night internet research, scrolling through forums, gig apps, and suspiciously titled “side hustle” threads.

Somewhere in the depths of a very questionable subreddit, she stumbled upon ads for “premium companion experiences” that paid in one night what their old shopping hauls cost in a month.

Her eyes widened as she read descriptions like “roleplay as your favorite Contest star… extra for the ribbon tricks” and “Kalos queens available for private victories.”

Grace slammed the laptop shut, cheeks flaming, then reopened it two seconds later because the pay rates were obscene.

“Serena… what if we skipped the consulting and went straight to… premium services? Like, the kind where we keep the outfits but lose most of them?”

Serena froze, eyebrows shooting up. "Grace, that’s… that’s insane.”

Grace bit her lip, then leaned in with a sly smile.

“One question, then: How much did that last limited-edition Sylveon dress cost again?”

Serena blinked. The number flashed in her mind—enough to make her stomach drop.

She stared at the price tag still dangling from the garment bag in the corner, then at the stack of maxed-out cards and the empty wallet between them.

The cold logic settled in: one night could cover that dress, the next could clear rent, and a few more might rebuild what they’d lost.

Her shoulders sagged; the protest died on her lips.

She blinked, then burst out laughing so hard she nearly knocked over their last bottle of fancy perfume. “You mean trade championship poses for… bedroom Contests? With judges who tip in cash instead of points?”

Grace grinned mischievously. “Exactly. We already know how to work a crowd—now we just work one very motivated fan at a time.” They set up the profile that night, giggling hysterically as they captioned photos “Catch these queens if you’ve got the P.o.k.é. Dollars.”

The first booking came in before breakfast: a quiet, well-dressed businessman who requested “the full Rhyhorn-riding fantasy… emphasis on the riding with two trainers.” and he said he will bring a friend.

They arrived at the penthouse suite to find the two men waiting, polite but visibly eager, with an extra envelope of cash already on the table as a “generous incentive.”

Serena straddled one while Grace mounted the other, their hips rolling in slow, practiced rhythm as the men groaned beneath them, hands gripping thighs and waists.

As the session wound down, Serena and Grace collapsed onto the rumpled sheets, exhausted and utterly filled in a way they'd never experienced before—bodies glistening with sweat, thighs trembling, every inch of them still pulsing from the relentless, double-teamed rhythm that had left the two men spent and speechless.

In that silent moment, both minds were already racing ahead: this one high-paying double could easily cover next month's full wardrobe refresh, plus extra for those limited-edition heels they'd been eyeing and a luxurious private spa day to soothe every sore, satisfied muscle.