My legs snap shut as I jolt to an upright position, right hand still trapped between my legs. "Mom! What are you doing home?!" I ask dumbly. I hunch over, trying to cover my breasts with my other hand. Right now, my nipples are poking out through my dress shirt, clearly visible despite the garment. "Don't you just look like the sluttiest little school girl I've ever seen," she says, walking slowly into my room and ignoring my question. Her face is blank, so even I don't know how pissed she is (no pun intended). She could even be mildly amused by my antics and I wouldn't even know. The smell of piss, once glorious, is now rank in my nostrils, and I feel cold and dirty and wrong. Mother raises an eyebrow at me as I cower on my disgusting bed. In private, I'd never imagine anything wrong with my little fetish, but there was a reason I never told anyone about it. When another person comes into the picture, I become perfectly aware of how nasty it is. Of how demented I am. "Don't stop on. The announcer was calling his name, and he stepped into the ring of the arena, all thoughts of the beautiful, young gladiator asleep on his bed were put out of his mind and he turned fully to the fight. *** When Silvaeya awoke she had no clue where she was. The next sensation to hit her was the dull throb in her hip. She gingerly reached down and felt the sticky paste that covered the stitching. Her brow wrinkled up in thought, and then it all came crashing back to her. The memories of Dakkoth catching her as she stumbled and passed out, and small parts of the journey back to his room. She carefully eased her way out of the bed. It was then that she realized that her armor and weapons were missing. She started to get frantic, until she noticed them resting up against the wall on the other side of the room. She reached out for her armor and weapons to rearm herself. After accomplishing this she felt much better. The feel of her trusted companions was a welcome and familiar thing. She.
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