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Two bars of soap sat on the ledge. I chose at random. Efficiency was key in the academy; I could scrub from nose to toes in one minute flat. It was the cascades of hair that ate up the rest of my minutes before rotation would be called.
But I got caught. There was a new part of my body needing care that made me nervous to address. The seam between my legs was soft and a bit swollen, still extremely sensitive, and uncomfortable for me to acknowledge.
But he had touched me there, fluids had been inside me, and I was an adult and this was my body. So, with careful fingers, I parted the slit and washed at what had been the cause of so much pain.
No longer oozing slick fluid, it was almost innocuous, just a tender opening in my flesh. Yet the vibrant purple that flashed when the scales were pulled aside made it clear this was an opening designed to draw the eye.
A mate’s eye.
I ran a finger over the soft tissues, and though it was stimulating, it wasn’t like the mind-bending sensation that had left me vulnerable when the general had done the same. The opening that would lead to my reproductive tract seemed tight when I tested it by dipping a finger inside. The mechanics of how it stretched to accommodate that horriblethingwrithing between his legs was miraculous.
What had he actually done inside of me?
Hand to my lower belly, I thought of the children he claimed were now waiting there. Fertilized embryos sleeping under my touch. How strange to know I was now carrying around life.
I loved children, but I would never allow them to suffer all I had been through.
Whatever he placed inside me would remain there, wasted. No child of mine would be handed over to the academy.
Sober, sad, I set the bar of oat-scented soap back in its place on the ledge. Turning to a soft-pink bottle nearby, I gave it a sniff.
It wasn’t a smell I could place, but it reminded me of the fruit cubes we were sometimes served in the warmer months. Pleasant and light. From the texture, it seemed to be for washing hair, but it might have been anything. However, it lathered when I worked it into my scalp. My hair was my greatest vanity, a feminine part of myself I had been allowed to nurture as a recruit, so long as I kept it tied up outside the dorms. Those long, silky strands… I loved them.
Rich lather felt good as it cleansed what had become tangled and unkempt, soft bubbles soothing hot skin as they ran down to the drain.
For a brief moment, I did enjoy such luxury.
Under frigid spray, all suds rinsed away, and my body was clean enough to corrupt.
Certainly, my time under that water passed the standard four minutes allotted at the academy, yet water still flowed. Which gave me time to explore the other bottles dotting the shelves. The pink bottle I just used had a partner. Like its twin, it smelled divine.
Inside was something creamy that a small label on the back claimed would make my hair soft, shiny, and pretty.
The general provided thisfor me, chosen those scents and textures. Prepared for the day I would be brought back to this place.
Female things I might enjoy after a lifetime of being denied them.
Which was confusing and equally infuriating.
Iwantedto try these luxuries, no matter if this was some kind of trick, so I read the directions and rubbed some of the creamy stuff into my hair.
It felt nice as I finger-combed snarls with the slippery product, much nicer than the weapon grease the girls at the academy worked into our locks in secret.
It rinsed out easily, my hair soft and smelling beautiful, leaving me with no other reason to stay under the cool spray. Conditioned to conserve water, having already wasted an extra three minutes, I turned off the shower.
There were no regulation drying cloths, but some sort of fluffy blanket things were stacked to the side of the shower’s exit. Snagging one, I pulled it into the shower stall and found it worked just fine to blot water from clean skin.
There was even enough dry fabric left to wrap it around my hair and squeeze out excess moisture. Usually, I had to squeeze it out by hand, my mane a dripping mess no matter how efficient I had been.
Covering my nakedness with the fluffy rectangle of material, I opened the shower door and growled lowly.
My discarded sheet had been stolen. In its place, folded fabric was left on a small woven table.
The general had invaded my privacy.
He had dared.
Had he watched me bathe? Was he watching me even now from some corner in the overly large lavatory?
