Page 32 of Thawed Gladiator Thrax

When evening arrives, I make my way to the pool, nervously adjusting the swimming trunks Laura provided. After my last misstep with the phallus pendant and how prudish modern people seem to be, I thought to ask if there were any customs I should be aware of. Swimming attire was certainly a surprise, one I didn’t understand, but I’m glad I’d learned before turning up to the pool naked. The water shimmers invitingly in the low light, the room peaceful and full of quiet, watery echoes.

Skye arrives moments later, and my breath catches in my throat. When she pulls off her dress, I gasp, wondering if she’s nude underneath. I must admit, I hope she is. Unfortunately, she’s wearing what must be a female version of swimwear. Her swimsuit reveals more of her body than I’ve seen before, and she’s breathtakingly beautiful. She blushes under my gaze, and I realize I’ve been staring.

“You look…splendidis,” I manage, almost choking on the last word as I offer her my hand.

Her fingers intertwine with mine as she steps closer. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she teases, her eyesroaming over my chest. I hold my breath for a while. She’s seen my chest dozens of times. I used to wear my loincloth and nothing else. It’s just that our relationship is different now. Sadly, now that my ear looks normal, I’m more aware of the scarring on my back and thighs—the ones that bring me such deep shame.

After placing my phone on the side of the pool, not too close to the edge, we enter the water together. It’s warmer than I expected. For a moment, we simply float, enjoying the sensation. Then, a mischievous glint appears in Skye’s eyes, and she splashes water in my face.

Sputtering in surprise, I grin. “Oh, you dare tease a gladiator? You should have thought that through,” I warn playfully, sending a wave of water her way.

What follows is a joyous battle, laughter echoing off the tiled walls as we chase each other around the small pool. I’m bigger than her, stronger. She barely gets a few feet away before I capture her, over and over.

She’s wet, slippery, wearing little other than that scrap of fabric. I try not to touch the parts her suit covers, but in our rowdy play, my palms can’t help but graze a thigh here and a breast there. I’m hard as granite in this stretchy suit that hides nothing.

Skye squeals with pleasure when she pushes herself out of the water and runs her fingers through my hair. Her body presses close, and her hard nipples graze my chest. Her touch leaves hot trails across my skin, mapping every intimate caress.

Though I’ve never wanted a woman this much, I force myself to focus on anything other than the insistent pulsing in my phallus that echoes the beating of my heart.

I turn, encouraging her to leap on my back. While I hold her under the back of her knees, she grips one hand on my shoulder, then leans back and swings the other hand around her head, hollering something about riding cowboys.

She can holler all she wants because in this position, she can’t see my obvious interest. I bounce her around the pool, trying not to think about the apex of her thighs riding my lower back.

Finally, as my phallus returns to its normal state, I ease her off my back and we find ourselves at the edge of the pool. Skye’s back is against the wall, my arms braced on either side of her. Our laughter fades into something softer, more intimate. I’m aware of how close we are, of the way water droplets cling to her eyelashes, how our gazes interlock.

“I’ve never had this before,” I admit quietly, dipping my head, suddenly shy.

Skye cups my cheek with her palm. “Had what?”

“Fun,” I say simply. “The chance to play, to be… free.”

Her eyes soften with understanding, and something deeper. She leans in, and I meet her halfway, our lips coming together in a wet kiss that tastes of strange-smelling water and promise.

As we part, Skye’s hand trails down my chest, her touch igniting sparks beneath my skin. But then her nail catches on one of my thicker scars, and I can’t suppress a small flinch.

Concern immediately floods her features. “Thrax? Did I hurt you?”

I shake my head, trying to banish the memories her touch accidentally stirred. “No, it’s just… an old wound.”

Skye’s gaze turns serious, her hand now resting gently on my shoulder. “Can you tell me about it?” Her voice is soft and full of compassion. “About your scars?”

For a moment, panic grips me, my eyes wild and my mouth moving, with no words coming out. To speak of my past, to reveal the depths of the horrors I’ve endured… But as I look into Skye’s eyes, I see only tenderness and genuine care. Perhaps it’s time to unburden myself, to trust her with the darkest parts of my history.

After taking a deep breath, I speak. I gloss over my battle scars, the ones I earned in the arena. She’s not stupid. She has to know most of the wounds on myback are not from combat.

I tell her of cruel masters who saw me as nothing more than property to be used, sent to the arena, rented out for the night, or discarded. I manage to keep my voice steady as I relate the nights spent in agony as patricians carved me, burned me with hot wax, and played in my blood for their entertainment. Dancing around the memories, I use all my might not to tip over from this reality to that one—not to fall into the past as I did the night of the costume party.

As I speak, Skye listens intently, her eyes never leaving mine. She doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t flinch away from the brutality of my past. Instead, her hand finds mine beneath the water, squeezing gently in silent support.

When I finish, my voice hoarse from the telling, silence falls between us with only the softly lapping water to fill the moment. I wait, heart pounding, for her reaction. Will she recoil in horror? Pity me? See me differently now that she knows the extent of my suffering? Will she finally see deep enough into my soul to know that perhaps I deserved the abuse and pain?

Even though Skye’s voice is a whisper, the unfeeling translated voice echoes loudly in the silent space. “The costume party. Everyone dressed like elite Romans. That’s what really triggered your reaction.”

I can only nod in agreement, my throat almost closed as I await her next response to what I just admitted to her.

But Skye surprises me once again. Slowly, deliberately, she leans forward. Her lips press and then linger, against the jagged scar on my pectoral, the one she accidentally scraped. The kiss is so tender it nearly undoes me.

“You survived,” she whispers against my skin. “You endured so much, and you’re still here. Stillkind, still capable of joy and love. Thrax, you’re incredible.”

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