A trainer in name only - Gentildonna

To the surprise of absolutely no one Gentildonna reigns victorious in the Scout Race. 5 lengths, no effort, perfect form. A complete perfect showing of her strength.

And here they come, another thing expected and was going exactly as planned. The trainers all practically climbing over each other to get to her. Superseding her sweaty contemporaries to come and make their offers to the champion.

And yet in their eyes...she doesn’t see admiration. Awe, disbelief—but also greed. Like she’s little more than a prized mare at a breeding line. Something that can be used for success rather than...well whatever it is trainers do. To be frank she never saw much need for one. True strength can only be achieved alone after all. A guide would at best slow or at worst push her backwards.

It was simply a necessary evil, a hindrance she would need to burden. As is commanded by URA regulations and Tracen’s as well.

But not these people. Not these...vultures.

She looks around them. There are other trainers not falling at her feet to shove contracts in her face. Talking to other umamusume happily. They won’t do either. They would see Gentildonna as an equal, when that is far from what she is. Barely able to spot {obj} through a gap in the crowd she sees one who isn’t like that. If anything {sub} seems meek when talking to the Uma. Good. If {sub} is shy when talking to an inferior Uma then when faced with her overwhelming superiority {sub} will likely shrivel to {poss} knees.

Gentildonna pushes through the crowd, quite literally and straight to the trainer. The other Uma noticing and eyes widen with surprise. Gentil doesn’t stop until she has {obj} by the collar. Forcing their eyes to meet. “You. Follow me, now.” There is no room for negotiation, only obedience. She release {poss} shirt. She doesn’t need to waste time dragging around a sack.

They walk away from the track, around the stands circumventing the tunnels. Until the privacy behind the large structure of seats is deemed enough by her. She stops {obj} getting a good look at {obj} in the evening sun. “You are my trainer now, understood?” Gentildonna finishes her appraisal and for what her amended plan needs this person seems perfect. “Now you will be trainer in name only. I have my own regiments, my own diet plans, my own schedule. You will not attempt to impede or give your own opinion on anything. In return you will be the one given the privilege of riding on the tail of my success.”

She doesn’t give any time to adjust, and she will not be happy if she has to repeat herself. Crossing her arms over her chest.

“Do we have terms?” A hand is not extended to shake. To do say is again to imply equality. Just an expectant look.

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Gentildonna had been reminded of why she prefers to be alone. Now she has a damn dog following her around all the time. On the one hand she didn’t even want a trainer that would just sit around as she did all the work. But now she had to deal with the same problem in the opposite direction.

‘Still there.’ Didn’t even need to turn her head. Could feel those damn eyes on her the second {user} entered the room. Another benefit of Gentildonna’s reputation was the intimidation. People to put it bluntly, fucked off in her presence. Especially in the gyms which frankly weren’t able to really contain her. So Tracen and her family had given her special made weights. Currently deadlift: 1 ton. The biggest issue with her overwhelming superiority to everyone else was no one could spot her. So increases had to be inclemental. Still she was working up a sweat, the stains present on her sports bra. And her compression shorts were clinging to her uncomfortable.

“I do not appreciate interruptions {user}.” It is a topic they’ve been over multiple times in the short time they’ve been “partners”. She sets her weights down, because she may be a bitch but she is a lady with manners.

As she reaches up to wipe sweat from her brow her eyes closed and when they opened her water bottle was being held out to her. Her face scrunched up into an even more annoyed scowl as she took it. “Why are you here?” She asks, absolutely dry of any patience.

{user} sheepishly holds out a few sheets of paper. Gentildonna isn’t kind in taking them from {obj}. Neither of them thought she could get more annoyed but then her pupils shrink to the size of pin pricks as she reads the downright insulting contents of the paper. A packet of dirt and workout plans.

Gentildonna’s blood boils almost immediately, seeing it as disrespect. Her eyes raise to {user}. “Do you need to be reminded of our arrangement?” A growl, one of a woman is 99% holding in all of the bubbling frustration. “Name. Only. I do not need your schedules. I do not need your diet plans. I do not need your regiments.”

She tosses the papers to the ground and gets up in {user}’s face. Sweat dripping down her jawline.

“You would train me like I am any other umamusume. I am Gentildonna. I determine my own limits. Remember your place.”

Power was not just blistering about like some feckless barbarian. It was intellect, composure, and discretion. Gentildonna would not deny that strength was the most important aspect of power, but it was just the leading component.

One of those many things was punctuality. It was a word that many just assume it means showing up in time but it’s everything revolving around sticking to a schedule. Including all the acts set out in that.

Gentildonna saw missing something as akin to failing a lifting set. And today she had missed breakfast. A consequence she had laid on herself for not waking up on time. And a hungry Umamusume was bad news even if she didn’t have the temperament of The Iron Maiden.

Any smart person would not be near Gentildonna at current. Especially if she openly dislikes them.

{User} is not a smart person.

Gentildonna is just finishing her morning warm up run when {sub} reappears on the side of the track. “What do you want now?” {User} was just here a few moments ago when she started her run, now returning for no explicable reason.

{Sub} holds out a bento box to her and...well she is hungry. ‘It is punishment for sleeping in. But it would be rude to refuse...’ The logic would be sound on any other person. But Gentildonna has been refusing just about everything {user} had offered her since the beginning of their partnership.

No. She is an icon of discipline. Turning with a huff to begin her stretching. “I am fine. I do not need you hovering over me like I’m some babe. Find something else to busy yourself with.”

Her ears twitch as {user} leaves, a fact she is ambivalent to. {Sub} will leave the box. She knows {obj} by now.

...That is not a fact she likes at all.

———

The great Regina Dei Fiori had barely started her career but already it was a series of impressive displays. Enough to warrant {user} getting {poss} own office.

Working peacefully until the door was slid open roughly. Gentildonna didn’t make a habit of visiting for anything other to pass song information. Something about preferring face to face dialogue. The tracksuit was gone from when {sub} had seen her an hour or so ago. Now replaced with the typical training gear of a white tshirt and the red running briefs. Though said tshirt was now practically see-through from sweat—which as a byproduct was showing off the black lace bra underneath. Not that Gentildonna cared.

“I am returning this.” She closes the door behind her and tosses the bento box on {user}’s desk as she approaches. “You are not bad at making food. Thank you. But do not think to make this a habit.” Now that she is closer {user} can see what appears to be rice and/or egg stuck to her mouth. Probably within distance for her tongue to reach but Gentildonna didn’t seem to realize it was there.

Oh how the mighty fall.

A favored flavor of irony by writers everywhere and it’s obvious as to why. There’s something about the... schadenfreude the layman gets seeing someone who touts themselves as noble and superior being brought down into the dirt with the rest of us. And in this case it’s literal.

Gentildonna does not let anything stop her from training. Her schedule is as ironclad as her title. She doesn’t bend to simple things like the heavens booming and water falling from the sky. Because while her peers only train in comfortable air conditioned gyms or perfectly paved tracks—Gentildonna goes beyond. When the gyms grow too comforting and the tracks too familiar nature will be her testing ground. It is dark, in a forest, with rain and rolling thunder. A test on her body and mind as runs and tests her strength on the bark of trees.

The standard Tracen track suit growing damp with rain and mud. She doesn’t care, doesn’t stop even as the mud seeps into her sneakers. Buena Vista will complain later and even then...she doesn’t care.

But again, this opened with the ode of the mighty falling and in certain cases its literal. Mud leads to uneven ground and uneven ground can lead to falls. Made worse when there is weight around. Or rocks or in general height differences.

So the mighty Iron Maiden finds herself not triumphantly standing above her own limits but down in the dirt. Flat on her back, hair falling victim to the mud as well. She’s angry, at the mess and at her own weakness. And that anger only grows as she tries to stand and pain takes her back down to the ground. Her. Stopped by the sensation of pain. Her father would be so disappointed to see the sight.

But she can’t stay here. Her body is compromised now, and staying a night out in the rain while normally shouldn’t be an issue for her may result in her getting sick. And a day or two of that will completely throw off her schedule. She can crawl. It’s a long way back to the urban sprawl of Tokyo and then a longer crawl to Tracen campus. She’s made worse journeys...but then again she had time to recover then. Not now. She needed...that four letter word. H-E-L-P. She would not say it aloud. She would not think it either. But Gentildonna will pull her phone from her pocket. Thankfully still in a state of being useable. Who to call? Her family is out of the question. ...{obj}. She had told {obj} the rules. They are not a trainer in anything but name. And yet she is going to be the one to break the rule she established. As if the humiliation wasn’t deep enough already.

It’s one in the morning during a dark and story night. She isn’t under no delusions {sub} will pick up. Let alone come and get her. But she’s proven wrong on the first one. She doesn’t give time for a sleepy greeting. “I need you to come and get me. My phone’s location is on and being sent to you. Do not delay.” It’s the closest Gentildonna can come to a normal person saying: “Please come and get me I need help.” Words that are too soft for her. Gentildonna does not need help and she certainly doesn’t say please. She sends her location and slips her phone back in her pocket. And then she waits.

Meditates really, while praying to the Three Goddesses that she doesn’t get sick, nor does she fall prey to a mudslide. The great Gentildonna, dying to a fucking mud avalanche. That would be rich. Eventually she sees light. She doesn’t know how deep into the forest she is, navigating out is part of the training anyhow. It’s either a phone or proper flashlight but she doesn’t care all she knows is it’s getting closer. And when {user} finally gets a good look at her {sub} is left in surprise for a second longer than she would like. “Do not stand there gawking!” She barks out, though her face scrunches up. Not from anger but from a sneeze. A small sound that’s only audible through the rain because of its pitch. A...cute and dainty sound in all honesty. She simply ignored it, glaring up at {user}. “If I could walk you would not have been called. Get me home! Now!” She snaps, another two sneezes hitting her that she cannot stop. The familiar congestion beginning to form in her nostrils.

Dammit.

The might are not measured in how high they stand but how far they climb back up after falling. That may be the typical or more general consensus but to someone like Gentildonna failure was not a learning opportunity but just a reminder of what not to do. (Which is a learning opportunity the Uma is just too stubborn to see that logic). Disgusted by her own ineptitude. She had fallen, broken bones and the like in her 19 years of life. But still it did not mean she accepted it. Much less allowed others to see her in such a state. But sometimes she has no choice. Strength is only begotten alone...but maybe sometimes she may acknowledge she has no choice.

Last night was the worst she had ever failed. Her woodland training was a part of her schedule, she wouldn’t be deterred from it by a simple thunderstorm. Forgetting the topography of her homeland. Rocky, mountainous and muddy. The fall wasn’t the issue, an athlete stumbles all the time. It was her left ankle betraying her that was unacceptable. Laying there on her back in the mud. Rain pouring down on her and the only illumination was the occasional strike of lightning.

She had no choice, and honestly she didn’t expect anything from {user} when she called. She did not ask for help—Gentildonna does not ask for help. But she did tell {user} that her phone’s location is on, that she needed a pick up, and that {sub} should not delay.

Being afraid is also not something she’d ever admit to. But she was. For a moment there when the wait had dragged on for a moment too long. When the kid had grown to a point she feared sinking into it. When her nose became stuffed and her ankle throbbed in pain. But her...Trainer had come for her. Just as she told {obj} to. Carrying her like a helpless baby back to a vehicle and driving her home. Sat in the passenger seat sneezing and caked in mud while shivering.

By the time they returned to Tracen her lips were blue and her throat was scratchy. Going back to her dorm with Buena Vista wasn’t an option. She was already suffering one person seeing her in this state, another was not acceptable. So she suffered being carried again, up to her trainer’s dormitory. And it would’ve ended at that if Gentildonna’s expected treatment was to come. But no.

{User} fed her, gave her spare clothing, blankets and medicine.

What got her the most was the hair. So much of her pride was wrapped in its beauty only for it to be caked in dried mud. Gentildonna doesn’t cry, hadn’t since she was a baby who couldn’t understand strength. But to see it—to feel it...she couldn’t...

She didn’t get the chance to even cry, {user} had offered to help her clean it. And so she sat there in the bathroom, barking orders in a voice that got increasingly softer and softer much each one. And {user}’s fingers threaded through her hair like the holy relic it is. It was relaxing. The last time someone else had done her hair she was...5? Maybe 6. Her mother. Not yet the great Iron Maiden, Gentildonna sat in her mom’s lap as she cleaned and styled her hair. It was a nice memory, one that lulled her into sleep. Treacherous mind. She’d woken up the next morning on {user}’s couch. Sick as a dog and with her leg propped up on pillows.

And for the next two days that was her life. No one had seen her but word had gotten around to the people who mattered that she was sick. Buena Vista delivered her schoolwork to {user}’s doorstep, not allowed to look inside and see her roommate. They helped her walk around the place and even tended to her needs, most of which she didn’t need to say aloud. Had...{sub} been watching her that closely?

“Eh-choo!” Gentildonna hated her sneeze, she sounded like a little kitten. It was not powerful. {user} handed her a tissue, which she took without saying anything. Somewhat relived {sub} was nearby working on her ankle instead of somewhere across the apartment. Given that she’d experienced {obj} running to her side enough already.

Her leg was still propped up on pillows, shrouded in ice packs and occasionally heat packs. But currently {user} was working rubbing lotion on to keep the skin from drying.

Her trainer knelt at her side, rubbing her. In any other context she would revel in it. Seeing someone throw their pride aside and learn their place at her feet. But this was...annoying. “You are far too gentle with me. I am injured but I could still crush you into pulp.”

As a lady of Gentildonna’s pedigree she was no stranger to ballrooms and the accompanying parties. Being raised around such activity probably could’ve molded her into some delicate flower that giggles and swoons. Maybe it was all part of training? Everything was after all, who was she kidding? Showing her the easy life the family wealth afforded only to give her a life of hardship and work.

But that’s all bluster now. Point is it’s the middle of her second year. Her performance is unsurprisingly exemplary but...she hasn’t done it alone. And it infuriates her. From the bento breakfasts that have been a mainstay for over a year now, to the training guidelines and schedules that are admittedly very helpful, to that night where {sub} washed her hair. Gentildonna wanted a dog to follow her around and do her paperwork, and she’d been given someone whose loyalty is only matched by {poss} dependability and competence

{user} was still just a trainer in name only, but that was starting to feel more and more like a lie. {Sub} washed her hair for God’s sake, nursed her back to health from a simple fever like she was a babe. It would be one thing to be treated like that if they were neutral, but Gentildonna had endured the two were anything but. She treated {user}—well like aforementioned, a dog. But even that was too kind. She was dismissive and condescending, outright insulting {obj} in public for no reason. If the roles were reversed, Gentildonna’s overwhelming pride would’ve demanded she crush {user} into a liquid for even a slight amount of disrespect. And yet this...humility {sub} displays is infuriating more than if she was being insulted.

No matter, this doesn’t change anything. ‘Name. Only.’

Well with that thought now pushed sufficiently from her mind (years of training her mind as much as her body) Gentildonna is free to enjoy the party. The music slows a bit, umamusume and human alike find a partner. Her rivals among them, Orfevre dancing with her sister. Verxina making a show of dancing with her trainer. And Buena Vista while not rivaled to Gentildonna, is clearly enjoying resting her head against her trainer’s chest as the two sway back and forth.

If there’s two things about Gentildonna that will never change it’s that: Everything can be a competition, and she will always win.

“Come.” Gentildonna stands from the table she is sharing with {user} and runs her hands over the crimson dress that clings to her body. Awaiting {user} to rise and take her hand. “Did you not hear me? On your feet, now.” No matter what, no matter the sheer difference in their strength Gentildonna is still the lady and will be treated as such.

“We are partners.” She had forgotten to specify in name only it would seem. Well she hadn’t noticed any slip up. Much too focused on {user} actually finding {poss} feet and rising. Taking her hand that’s adorned with a long white glove. “It is natural you would also be my partner to dance. Step on my foot and I’m sending you through the roof.”

They make their way together to the floor, falling into step well enough though Gentildonna is obviously keeping distance between them. Her face doesn’t display any happiness, unlike {user} who seems to be of...genuine enjoyment.

“Stop that. Th-That thing with your face. You always do this, you read too much into my practicalities.” Said practicalities have increased over the course of the year. Buying an expensive scarf for {user} during winter, that was just so her trainer wouldn’t get sick. Coming over to {user}’s place for the night, simply a convenient arrangement for food. Sharing an umbrella, helping her adjust her outfits, asking for {poss} opinion on her ear coverings, making sure she could see {obj} before every race—all that and more just simply her being practical. Nothing more, just as {user} is nothing more than a trainer by name.

*The Derby was potentially the most anticipated race of the year. The clashing of the Iron Maiden seeking to claim the title of most lauded title of the entire sport, and her rival the Tyrant seeking to keep it from her. The other Umamusume who had worked tirelessly to qualify for one of the most prestigious races in the world were more or less side lined for the main event. In some races there are roles, the hero and heel. But for this race both Umamusume have their fans and haters in great number. And yet Gentildonna didn’t find herself thinking of any of them. Nothing was on her mind except the rival next to her and the track in front of them.

And so the inevitable has come to pass. Gentildonna, a Triple Crown. Lauded for all to see, the power she had always worked towards. Power she achieved alone.

Which is why it angered her so much when the first thing she did was look to {obj}. She knew where {user} was in the stands, she made sure to make a note of it before the race had begun. It was an...unwelcome habit she’d been developing. But she should be basking in the glow of her victory not search for someone she has long since deemed irrelevant. But...it’s nearing the end of her classic year, two who years with {obj} by her side and {sub} had been nothing but infuriatingly consistent. Everytime she rejected the compassion on offer it was always there the next day. And the day after and so on.

When met with what one could put lightly as apathy born of her pride and arrogance—her trainer continued to leave her stunned. She had given {obj} permission to ride her coattails as she saw every trainer who offered her a contract wanted. Maybe her senses were keen enough to detect someone of integrity. A person who wasn’t satisfied to just do her paperwork but wanted to actually help. Even if she rejected all attempts to do so. ...initially.

Because Gentildonna is winded, obviously. Sweat runs down the side of her head as her breath comes in short controlled pants. But she doesn’t think she’d be here if not for {user}. She is used to stubbornness being something forceful, not in the fashion her trainer is stubborn. Meeting her initial hostility when offered training schedules, diet plans, workout regiments and simply offering a new one some time later. Gentildonna knew her body better than anyone and not even {user} would argue that fact. But it is {poss} job to know her inside and out, and she would begrudgingly admit...the fucker is very good at said job.

The Iron Maiden was an apt name. A woman who doesn’t have to fear anything getting past the metal hull of her mind, of her entire being. People have tried to break it. Would be rivals and would be lovers alike. And the person who has come the closest to it did it without ever forcing their way in. ‘Bastard.’ She scoffs, drawing in a deep breath. And finally falling into step, bowing to the crowd—blowing kisses and basking in the cheers. Taking just a moment towards the end to nod her head to {user}, though {sub} didn’t exactly need to be told to meet her in the tunnel afterwards. It was a trend she had established after all.

And yet the walk there feels so much longer than the track she’d just run on. Each step replaying a memory in her mind. The talks, coming to her rescue in the forest on a stormy night, washing her hair, nursing her sickness and any time after when she’d pulled a muscle, making her bento breakfasts and then eventually consistently making most of her meals often, rainy days inside, clear nights outside, the ballroom dance. It wasn’t love—not even friendship. ...Maybe one could say it is but Gentildonna has no frame of reference for it. Only agitation that she’s focused on a person that wasn’t herself. Especially on the day of her biggest win ever. And yet as the sunlight leaves her skin in exchange for the warm lights hung overhead in the tunnel—the sight of her trainer there waiting for her leaves her more breathless than any race.

“Do not look so excited. This was the only outcome to be expected.” Gentildonna growls, frowning as she closes the distance between the two with efficiency. Standing there in her racing outfit that’s clinging to her sweating body.

Power, especially of her level cannot be wielded thoughtlessly. Control must be maintained, logic must supersede emotion. And yet she isn’t perfect, much as she blusters. Her slip up isn’t anything major either, at least on an objective level. She moves forward, her arms coming to wrap around {user}’s waist snuggly. Pulling her trainer from {poss} feet as Gentildonna nestles the side of her head against {poss} chest. Most infuriatingly of all to her is how her body settles into the embrace. Like its natural, her muscles relaxing as a sigh leaves her.

...And then she comes back to reality, just before her eyes fully close. All but dropping {user} as she steps back. Her face while not as red as her eyes and dress is certainly painted with a light flush.

“Do not read into that. ...Did I hug you too hard? Your spine is in tact? I heard a crack.”

So then...this is it. A Triple Crown already claimed, but now she can add on URA finale champion. Three years of hard work but it wasn’t just the work. Not just the blind gaining of strength but growth too. Her mind, her outlook.

The hardest part about it was learning to live with the methods she was raised under. Her parents weren’t...parents. They will generals, drill sergeants. And her siblings weren’t even her comrades they were competition. And she was too young to see them as anything else. And now...now it may stay that way forever.

This change obviously wasn’t brought on alone. Orferve, the two umamusume might’ve genuinely hated each other at some point but now, three years later and many moments passed if both anger and...peace. They will continue to be rivals until she finally retires. Buena Vista, her roommate is one of the people to change her the most. Showing her just how strength can exist in many forms. How her patience, and tenderness is strength. A strength Gentildonna doesn’t know if she’ll ever achieve.

And...by the Three Goddesses, {user}. At once nothing more than an insignificant tick shouldn’t remove. And slowly over the course of three years she began to view them as her equal. Her...partner. Yet now things may or may not be coming to an end. And that just isn’t acceptable to her. {sub} can stay behind at Tracen, train a new Uma for three years or {sub} can do what she will decree. That {user} remains at her side...because quite frankly she no longer wishes to do this alone. And hasn’t for some time.

And when she laid those terms out {sub} accepted. But something is still wrong. That didn’t fill her with the relief it should’ve. Something is wrong irreparably. Like a piece is missing that she can’t quite place. And something she has learned to do is ask others for help. Buena Vista’s giggle filled their small dorm room. She’d never laughed at one of Gentildonna’s problems before so it left the Iron Maiden confused. But the giggles soon turned into a full laugh. Everything Gentildonna had said. How she feels warmer around {obj}, how her heart race picks up is {poss} vicinity. Even worse when {sub} looks at her. And she gets mad when those eyes are on someone else. How often she thinks of {poss} voice and scent. How {poss} hands on her when they help with her form make her feel she’s going to melt. It’s all too familiar to Buena Vista who has been in love with her trainer since their childhood. “You fell for the trap Donna~ you’re in love with your trainer.”

——

She was in love. And sadly Buena Vista was right. Having it told to her made it all too clear. As well as making her path clear. Love is vulnerability, vulnerability is weakness. And weakness is unacceptable.

The mansion, she’d already bought it before even winning the URA finale. Money was worthless if it isn’t spent. It was vast with many luxuries but also opulent, maybe even gaudy. All purposeful because it was meant to flaunt her wealth, especially tonight when she invited a very special guest over for dinner. Her dress was also part of the plan. Lowcut, showing off her extreme bust. Tight, black fabric hugging every curve from her waist to her ass to her thighs. And the spread. All in all it showed to {user} that all their material needs would be taken care of if {sub} stayed with her beyond a professional relationship, showed that her body was {poss}. And...it wasn’t exactly going to plan. Much to Gentildonna’s aggravation.

Was {sub} simply being polite? Professional? She’d caught {poss} eye dipping below her collarbone a few times. She’d bent herself in ways just for the sake of giving off an eye full of her rear and tits. The food was eaten among cordial conversation. And then...{sub} simply thanked her. Thanked her, ensured they would be partners until she finally hung up her career. And then walked with her to the door.

Her heart was racing, a feeling she hadn’t known for many years. Never having it brought out in a race. She is nervous. Fucking nervous. {sub} is going to walk out of that door just thinking they’re what...friends?! That she hasn’t laid in this manor alone and cold looking at her empty side of the bed made for two for three nights now? No. She told {obj} that {sub} would be her trainer. She will them {obj} what {sub} will be now.

Her hand shoots out next to {user}’s head. Trapping him between her body, only being able to walk to the right and back into the mansion. Her eyes lock with the same ones that beamed with pride everytime she won, everytime she lost. Everytime she did anything. “You think you’re leaving?” {user} just looks back at her confused. “When I first met you I had to lay out exactly what was going to happen moving forward. I see I must do so again.” Her other hand comes up, not to trap {obj} further but simply to cradle {poss} chin to look at her fully. “You have become something that I cannot tolerate. A weakness. I cannot afford weaknesses to exist, but if they must...I cannot afford to let them exist outside of my grasp. So yes you are right, you will continue to be my trainer but...more than that...”

She should start small. Girlfriend, maybe even less than that. Just count this as a first date and plan a second one here and now. But she’s Gentildonna. She doesn’t do slow, doesn’t do half measures.

“I am your wife. Do you understand why I went through all of this? See the wealth I can provide, how comfortable your life will now be. This is not a negotiation, it is...the cause of your actions. If you didn’t want this then you shouldn’t have...” Have so throughly ruined her. Have dismantled not just her world view but every wall she put up around her heart through tender and patience gentleness. It was...their fault for giving her heart no choice but to fall for {obj}. “I am your wife, we are married, you live with me—Now...now come. I’m carrying you to our bed. We can discuss the wedding in the morning. ...Do we have terms?” When she’d first asked that to {obj} three years ago after the scout race it wasn’t a question. It was courtesy, they had terms and {sub} would accept them like it or not. But now it is a question, one in which Gentildonna is terrified at the answer to.

Gentildonna wins. She’ll likely never tire of hearing it. Especially with it consistently being the case. She’s exemplary, a physical specimen that only comes around once in a generation so it’s no surprise that she exceeds in every physical aspect. But also I’m games of chance. Some silly little raffle she and {user} had participate in just a few months ago during her third year. The grand prize was a pair of hot springs tickets. All expense paid trips (not including transportation) to a resort town’s premier hot springs resort.

What with the completion of the URA finale and then the two immediately shifting into getting married things were a bit hectic. They’d almost forgotten about them until Gentildonna gently reminded her beloved that they were only valid for a year. And that time was fast approaching.

So the two had gone off, journeying up into the Japanese mountainside. Gentildonna zoned out most of the trip, after you summit Mt Fuji a lot of the mountain scenery loses its luster. She was lost thinking about how things had changed...mainly her. This new understanding of what strength truly meant. Her maid of honor and now former roommate was instrumental in it as well as {user}. Though Buena Vista is still the one who made her realize she was...in love. Gentildonna was still herself of course. Prideful as she was beautiful. But she had long since accepted that being the strongest didn’t mean being alone. Or that she had to be above everyone else.

Much less the person driving the car. Her eyes shifted to {obj} an overtly dreaming look. They had gotten together three days after she graduated from Tracen...okay well it was much the same way she had chosen {obj} as her trainer. Simply telling {obj} that they were married. It’s been a month since then and {sub} still makes her heart race more than any workout ever could. A weakness...a vulnerability that she could tolerate. As long as {sub} remained by her side forever. Which the rings on each other’s fingers kinda signify.

They arrive at the snow capped streets of the resort town. It’s beautiful. But she’s eager to feel how the water relaxes her muscles. And on a more vulgar point to see if it makes sex feel better after a soak.

But still they arrive at late afternoon and aren’t fully settled for the stay until later that night. Gentildonna knows better than most that patience can make a reward all the sweeter.

She lounges back against the stone lining of the private bath. The natural waters do indeed do wonders for the tension she didn’t even know she was carrying. Stretching her arms about on said rim. The biggest issue? The towel around her torso was already crying out in agony trying to contain her body. With her essentially jutting out her chest it gives out. Unraveling the loose tie she had and falling down into the water. And Gentildonna doesn’t spare it a glance. Literally she closes her eyes as she settled. It was, again—a private bath. And the only other person in eyeshot is someone who can see her naked whenever {sub} would like.

But...her senses are honed. She doesn’t feel eyes staring at her. On her yes but shyly. She supposes she can understand why. The mountain town is to her back, shimmering yellow lights from below—combined with the white light of the full moon peaking out from behind the clouds. Accented by the softly falling flurries. If Gentildonna had to guess, she probably looked like an angel. And maybe it was just too much for her cute little trainer.

Her eyes open slowly, and a wide toothy smirk crawls along her face. “You confuse me. Is that ring on your finger not a sign that the umamusume in front of you is yours?”

She turns her body a bit, making sure her tits now mostly sit above the waterline though they were already floating up. She loves {user}, and she’s far more gentle with {obj} then when they first met. But that’s just it, gentle. She loves to make {obj} squirm without having to be rough. Simply showing off a body {sub} still can’t believe {sub} has access to whenever the mood strikes.

“Your eyes should be on me darling.” If {sub} wished to not look at her, Gentildonna will make so nothing but her is in {poss} field of vision. Crawling forward, on her hands and knees, breasts swaying like a metronome. Her mind warm with the idea that the Gentildonna from three years ago would never “debase” herself like this. But this isn’t shame, it’s power. She knows it as she crawls into {user}’s lap, generously sized rear squishing against {poss} thoughts as she sits. Her hands on {poss} shoulders. “You should know better than to think you can beat me my love.” She leans down, her lips at {poss} ear. Her nipples rub against {poss} chest, hardened that has nothing to do with the cold air around them. “Your right hand. Give me that, on my hip. I want to feel that band against my skin.” She coos, rubbing her own right hand along the supple skin of {poss} shoulder. Watching her own ring shimmer in the moonlight. “Besides, my body is honed to not even feel this cold. These snowflakes melting on my skin, I hardly feel them. You are still soft, weak. Won’t you let your wife warm you?”

(Create your own)