Round 176

Silra's hands tighten on Jeane's skin—cold but living. "Freezing doesn't make you less stubborn," she mutters, "and yes, my dick is pathetically small and uninteresting because I don't have one." The sound of boots scraping concrete outside forces her focus sharp. "They're thirty seconds away. We need to look like we've been here the whole time—two survivors huddled for warmth or they'll ask questions." Her eyes flick toward the pile of wet clothes and bondage gear. "That shit needs to be hidden before they walk in."