I nod and then put my hands on her hips, maneuvering her form. I show her how to stand, how to position her body so she can put the weight of her strength on the downward swing. These are basic swings, designed for maximum slashing effect and not precision. I am teaching Kim as I would a young boy who has not yet developed the fluff in his tail. I pull out a training bot and turn it on to the lowest setting. It wobbles back and forth, occasionally raising a shield to block, and then I position Kim in front of it. “Use your swing and attack.”
She immediately forgets everything I have shown her and stabs at it, clumsily. I bite back a sigh. She is like every person that is handed a sharp weapon—the moment circumstances change, she goes back to instincts and forgets everything she has learned. I put my hand over hers, reset her grip, position her hips again, and this time keep my hands on her hips to remind her how her stance should not move. “Try again.”
“I…I can’t think when your hands are on me,” she stutters.
I withdraw immediately. “Are you frightened?”
“No.” Kim sounds breathless.
My cock rises in response, and I step away from her. “Keep your hips and feet in place and I will not have to correct you,” I grumble. As she swings again, I focus on my cock going down. I think of unpleasant things…like Kim’s fear of me, the state of Kim’s farm equipment, or more of that awful bread. Her next swing is weak, but precise. “Good,” I say. “Again.” I nod as she connects with the bot. “Again. Again.”
I make Kim practice the same move over and over again, until her entire body is trembling with fatigue and her pink skin is sheened with sweat. She pants, bending over to catch her breath, and flings down the sword. “Mercy, okay? Have mercy.”
I want to point out to her that she has only been practicing for an hour. That most young cubs train for eight hours at a time. That a new gladiator trains until he falls over—and then he is beaten for stopping, because weakness is a flaw that must be expunged. But she is human and has not been equipped for such a life.
And she is my Kim, and I am heart-soft when it comes to her.
I eye her sweaty form appreciatively, spending far too long gazing at her rounded bottom. “Very well, if you are tired, we will call it for today. In the morning, we will practice again.”
She moans, and the sound goes straight to my already-primed cock. It rises almost instantly, and now I cannot think of anything but Kim’s glistening skin, Kim’s plump bottom, Kim’s breathless sounds…
“I am going to go shower,” I announce.
“You? I’m the one that worked up a sweat,” she sputters, and straightens. Kim turns to face me, and then stops. Her gaze slides down to my cock, and then my face. “Oh.”
“Yes. Oh.” My tone is far more snappish than it should be. It is not her fault I am distracted. It is not her fault my body does not realize her fear. “I will be fine. You are not in danger. Give me a few moments to compose myself.” I turn and leave the training room as quickly as I can, practically racing for the showers. I will take a cold one, I decide, and if that does not ease the ache between my legs, I will put my hands on my cock and solve the problem one way or another.
It is not Kim’s fault I am easily distracted by her.
I will not paw at her, though. No matter how much I want to.
I retreat to the bathroom and turn the water on, but I do not get in just yet. I rake my claws through my mane, frustrated, as I begin to pace. Why is it that everything I do to help Kim somehow makes her more frightened of me? I am filled with despair.
Perhaps this will never work.
There’s a gentle knock at the door. “Nassakth?”
I bite back a groan of frustration, because just hearing her voice makes me want nothing more than to grab my cock and pump it furiously into my fist. “Not right now, Kim.”
“Actually, I think right now might be a good time.” Her tone is meek and soft. “I’m coming in.”