It takes only a few minutes to climax, to squirm with my fingers deep inside, plunging into me, while my thumb’s circling excites my clit to climax.I laugh into the dark when it’s done, cresting and releasing me through the lassitude that follows.
It makes me think of my loves, but not sadly this time.And, as I whisper their names while I close my eyes, I sleep like it’s their hands that cup my breast, their fingers still inside me.
A dreamless sleep for once.
***
Chapter Twelve
Prenese the armorer’s eyes barely reach my chin, the hunched and wiry old woman squinting at me like I’m some puzzle she needs to sort out, her silver hair cropped close to her scalp that she rubs incessantly as though trying to wipe some memory from her mind.
“Tall but not tall,” she mutters as she thinks out loud, “broad but shapely.”I’ve never thought of myself that way, though I suppose she’s right, despite what the sailor who planned to rape me thought.No one’s ever complained that my breasts are too small, nor my hips narrow, my waist the smallest part, usually bound tight by leather under my armor.I don’t have my mother’s physique—or my father’s, for that matter—whatever drakonkin heritage I have from him stopping at his eyes and from her, well.I’m much more like her mother, my grandmother, and my aunt in stature than anyone.
Comparing myself to Vivenne these days still stings, but it’s the truth, and I know better than to look away from honesty.
Prenese snaps her fingers, the small woman spinning, one shoulder hunching sideways as she hobbles quickly across the armory and lunges for something that she brings back to me.I’ve been standing here for several minutes, entered her domain just minutes before that, already planning to tell themistresseof this part of the arena what I need from her.
Only to be silenced immediately, grasped and pulled into the center of the room, enduring her prodding with sharp fingers, her muttering and measuring, all without being acknowledged as a person at all.I’m a statue for all the attention she pays me, and I quickly fell quiet, bemused by her studious focus and seeming inability to register that I’m speaking.
She tries to fasten one of those ridiculous girdle belts around my waist, the ones I’ve seen some of the others wear.It’s barely a length of thick leather with a buckle, a few more strips hanging ineffectually from it with large, metal bolts decorating the edges to hold the silly bits down.I’m inhaling to tell her absolutely not when she tuts softly under her breath and retreats with a frown, shaking her head.
“No, no, too common,” she says, “too ordinary.You need remarkable for this one, Prenese, individual.”She turns away from me, her continuing chatter to herself including addressing herself by name, which is how I know what to call her.
I try again despite my failure previously.“I want a full suit—”
She tosses the girdle and hefts a shield before dropping it and turning toward a cabinet that she jerks open.Out she pulls a handful of more leather, dyed dark red, like the tunic Vunoshe dressed me in, though I’ve chosen to adopt the pale, bleached fabric of the short one that was left to me in my quarters.It barely skims mid-thigh and is open at the throat, exposing my arms completely, but I understand the reasons.It’s hot already, despite the shade in the arena, and once the sun crests the edge of the Dome’s open roof, the interior will turn sweltering.
I have to adapt to that, too.
Prenese hurries to me, tugging on one of my feet to make me lift it, like a horse in need of a hoof trim.I do as she instructs with a sigh and a hand toss, because she’s not going to relent, that much is obvious.Once I’ve stepped into the leather, she slides it up my legs to my hips, settling the band at my waist, cinching it so tight I feel like Gorgon for certain, grunting at the pressure of the wide leather belt.I’d have preferred full leggings for protection, but while these leather bottoms cut off just below my crotch, they at least form a sort of short protective layer, almost an undergarment, but thicker and sturdier.
At least I won’t be flashing my pussy to the crowd when I kick someone in the face.This is a different kind of show I’m part of, after all.
The top she forces over my arms laces at the back, pulled tighter than any corset, and I’m struggling to breathe until the leather warms and then eases its grip, molding to me.Now I understand her methods and relax into it, though I’m still unsatisfied with the result.How am I meant to shield my waist or lower back from stray blade edges with my midriff exposed?And while the vest-like top cups my breasts firmly enough, it’s so low that I’ll be giving watchers a flash of my areolas if I lift my arms too high.Which I’ll be doing frequently.
“No,” I say, scowling at her as she spins me around with firm, strong hands despite her size.“this won’t—”
“She won’t hear you.”I look up in surprise to see a stranger watching.She’s tiny, the smallest warrior I’ve ever seen, barely bigger than Apple, but carries herself with an aggressive strut that she deploys when she approaches me.“Prenese is in her own little world, aren’t you, armorer?”
The hunched older woman ignores us both, standing back to observe me before hustling away again, rooting around for more things to drape about my person in this ridiculous farce.
“How do I get proper armor, then?”I ask that with more forceful annoyance than perhaps is wise, but I’m frustrated now.
The small woman shrugs, heading for a rack at the far end of the room.She casually discards her tunic, nakedness quickly covered with a short, leather dress, her long, black hair bound by a length of dark cloth.She ties it off, her hands fast and sure, draping a portion of it over her shoulder.Despite her small size, she’s superbly muscled and proportioned, and I’ll choose not to underestimate her when we face off in the ring outside.
“If you find out,” she grimaces at me as she carries on dressing, “do let me know.I’m Brem of Olshed.”
“Remi of Heald,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest when Prenese rushes at me with more leather in her hands.“No,” I snap, glaring.“No.”
She blinks at me in surprise, stopping in her tracks.Looks at me for the first time.“Yes,” she says, holding the pieces up.I have no idea what they are for, but she’s not going to take my no for an answer and lunges for me yet again.
Brem giggles, an oddly youthful sound, binding her footwear to her feet with those long, leather straps.“Told you,” she says.
It turns out the bits are meant to wrap around my biceps in brutally tight and winding decoration, and when she forces me to stand on the soles and straps me into them, I’m complete, I guess, because Prenese turns her back on me and goes back to the hammering, cutting and sorting she was doing when I first entered.
I splutter at her because this is ridiculous, but Brem’s tight grin has me sighing.“I can’t fight like this,” I say, flapping my arms, the straps flailing around.
“You look pretty,” she says with a shrug.
