“Hyahh!” Arc shouted, as his foot lashed out while he was upside down in midair.  His foot impacted his foe’s chest with a solid crack.  It felt like kicking a brick wall, a jolt ran up all the way into Arc’s thigh, and the older boy barely moved.  The mouse landed, leaned out of the way of a counter-kick, and traded punches.  He felt thick, hard knuckles impact his headgear, stunning him.  A sweep knocked his legs out from under him and sent him sprawling.  Arc growled, his cheeks and tail sparking as the bioelectricity built up in his body.


“YAMERU!” barked a raspy, gravelly voice.  It carried no malice, no anger, but had such authority that Arc instantly stopped and let the charge dissipate as the voice continued, “Stop.”


Arc looked up, panting.  His opponent stepped back, sighing.  The boy was a turtle, older than Arc by almost a half-dozen years, just having entered into his early teens.  His light-green skin glistened with sweat, as he stepped back, slipping his thumbs into the orange belt of his white fighting gi.  He was slightly short for his age, and slightly lanky and awkward, but carried himself with an easy confidence.  He wore an orange headband, wristbands, and anklebands.  Arc was almost surprised to note that his eyes were blue, not orange.  He wiped his forehead, adjusting his gi to fit better over his shell where it had bunched up.


The little mouse glanced to the side, to see the man who had spoken.  He was a rat, with a weather-beaten, yet strangely ageless appearance.  He had brown fur, streaked regally with grey, styled into a wispy beard at his chin.  He wore a purple robe, tied with a grey sash.  The rat leaned on a walking stick, but it was clear from his bearing and stance that he had no need for it.  He was hunched over slightly, but Arc knew that was an affectation too.  The rat liked to pretend he was older and more grizzled and gnarled than he was; when in reality he was anything but frail.


“My dojo is a place for the martial arts, Royale-kun.  Fists, feet, weapons.  You dishonor Michelangelo and I both by using your supernatural gifts,” said the rat.  His voice was barely louder than a whisper, yet filled the room, easily audible.  He did not sound upset, merely disappointed.  That made Arc feel all the worse.


“S-Sorry, Splinter-sensei.  I… sorta lost my temper.  Sorry, Mikey,” Arc added, directing his last words to the older boy.


“It’s alright, dude.  I live with Raph.  I’m totally used to guys blowin’ their stacks at the drop of a dime,” Mikey said playfully, waving off the apology carelessly, “Though if ya HAD zapped me, I woulda broken out the nunchaku.”


Arc sweatdropped, knowing Michelangelo was a master of the notoriously difficult weapons.  At the best of times, nunchaku were next to useless and more likely to hurt the wielder than the foe. Michaelangelo had chosen to specialize in their use.  Mikey would have beaten the snot out of Arc with ease.


“You need discipline, Royale-kun.  For starters, address me as Hamato-SAN.  You have not joined my dojo yet, and I am not your teacher,” Splinter said, his walking stick tapping as he walked closer, “I do not understand why you come here every week, yet refuse to enroll.”

“Seriously.  I’ve rarely seen a kid with such talent, but… you never join any of our lessons!” said another boy from nearby.  Another turtle, the boy was taller than Michelangelo, although he was the same age.  He had stronger, less rounded features, a more fierce and serious demeanor.  He wore a crisp blue belt, and similar blue armbands, wristbands, and ankle-bands.  He swung a pair of wooden short-swords, battering a practice dummy effortlessly, with movements so precise, Arc thought a machine would never be able to match them.


“I…” Arc hesitated, running a paw through his short, yellow hair, “I like challenging you guys, Leonardo, but… I don’t want to learn Hamato-ryu ninjutsu, Splin-...  er…  Hamato-san.  I wanna kinda…”


The boy trailed off, trying to express his thoughts.  Another boy spoke up, rolling his eyes as he growled, “If you aren’t gonna join, then get outta here.  We could be spendin’ our time teachin’ kids who wanna learn.”

The third turtle was about an inch shorter than Leonardo, but much wider and more muscular.  His skin was a darker shade of green, almost pine-green.  He glared over his shoulders, his light green eyes narrowed in irritation.  Like his brothers, he wore bands around his forehead, wrists, ankles, and a sash around his waist; all crimson red.  He slashed and parried with three-pronged tools, blocking a robotic arm that swung a stick at him from random directions with varying force.  The blunt sais caught the stick, and he wrenched it aside.  Arc was fascinated by the movements; most people had the misconception that sai were sharp cutting weapons; but the truth is that they were blunt striking weapons.


“Hey, Raph… We welcome anyone here.  I’m sure Arc has his reasons for being here,” cut in the fourth brother, looking up from his laptop.  The boy was a little taller than Michelangelo, but much skinnier than the boy.  Like his brothers, he wore bands of purple around him.  His eyes were a shade of violet, softer than his brothers’.   A long quarterstaff rested, half-forgotten in his lap, as his attention was focused more on his keyboard.


“I know, Donnie, but make up your damn mind about what you want, already, kid!” Raph growled irritably.

“Raphael,” Splinter said softly.  The word was quiet, but the admonishment struck like a blow, and Raphael winced.  Arc, not for the first time, found himself impressed by the sheer presence and personality that the rat projected with such minimal effort.

“What is it you want, Royale-kun?” Splinter asked, leaning down to look the boy in the eyes.  Arc felt like Splinter was gazing right into his very soul.


“...I want to develop my own fighting style, not learn yours,” Arc said, after a moment, “I’m not interested in learning yours.  I wanna be a fighter in my own right.”

Splinter was silent for a minute, continuing to stare at the little mouse long enough for Arc to start to feel nervous.  The boy blushed, his red cheeks turning even redder, and he self-consciously adjusted his fighting gi.


“It is a noble goal.  I believe you need to reflect upon it, in order to gain clarity to achieve it.  Will you join us for our meditation?” Splinter asked after a moment.


“Uh… I don’t do a lot of meditation… I mean…” Arc replied, scratching his head, “I don’t even really know how.”

“Do not worry.  Our meditation sessions are guided.  I will talk you through it,” Splinter said gently.  The four brothers all nodded at Arc encouragingly.  Arc sighed and nodded too, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Good. Sit down.  Lotus position, against the wall,” Splinter instructed.  Arc grunted and sat down with his back against the wall.  He crossed his legs “Indian-style,” before adjusting and lifting his feet up over his thighs.  He winced for a moment as his knees and thighs stretched in ways they weren’t quite meant to go.  The mild discomfort receded a moment later and he sighed, resting his hands on his thighs.  He glanced to his sides, noting the four turtles taking position beside him.  They slipped into it more easily than he did, apparently well practiced.

“Empty your minds.  Breathe slowly… in… and out.   In… and out,” Splinter instructed.  Arc did his best to comply, trying to clear his head of all thoughts.  Unfortunately, it was not a skill the boy had quite mastered, and thoughts and observations kept popping in.  Splinter seemed to notice Arc’s difficulty in concentrating, for he leaned in to one of the boy’s black-tipped ears to whisper.


“Imagine a flickering candle, the flame a bright yellow-white,” he instructed.  Arc did as he was told, picturing the candle in his mind.


“As you breathe, the flame flickers and grows.  In… and out…  Each breath makes it sway a little.  Wisps of smoke rise off it,” Splinter whispered, “Breathe in… and out.”


“The flame is all you can see.  It is drawing you in,” the rat instructed, smirking.  Arc’s eyes were closed in concentration, but his ears had drooped down.  His breathing was slowing down.  His hands were limp in his lap, his lightning-bolt tail swishing slowly.


“In… and out… In… and out… The flame is flickering again.  It’s so warm.  So bright.  Its light is filling your mind…” Splinter’s voice was a soft purr with a lilting sing-song tone to it.  Arc felt dizzy and lightheaded, his head was lolling onto his chest as he breathed in rhythm with Splinter’s instructions.  The light of the imagined flame was wiping away all of his thoughts, its warmth making him feel strangely sleepy.  His head dipped forward, but jerked upward again as he forced himself to remain awake, only to begin dipping again.  It was harder and harder to wake up each time.


“I am going to count down from three,” Splinter instructed softly, “and with each number, the flame will begin to flicker and grow dim.  When I reach zero, the candle will go out, and leave your mind empty and dark.  Three…”


Arc gave the faintest hint of a groan.  The imagined candle was sputtering a little, the flame losing some of its enthusiasm, its brightness.


“Two…” 


Arc lost the battle to keep his head upright.  His chin touched his chest, his neck no longer able to support it.  He was so sleepy… so sleepy…


“One…” 


Tension flowed out of Arc’s body, even as blood surged into his loins.  Even though his mind was empty, conditioning and instinct knew what was happening.  His groin felt hot, and his gi’s pants were tightening as inch after inch of shaft emerged from his sheath slowly.


“Zero.”


And with that, Arc knew nothing more.  Sleep claimed his mind as he sighed softly.


Arc’s chin rested against his chest, his eyes closed.  His body was limp, only his position keeping him upright and not slumped over.  His gi’s pants were slowly tenting, a pulsing bulge pushing them out.  The four brothers were in a similar state, their breathing slow and steady, all the tension flowing out of their bodies.  Unlike Arc, it seemed that they put themselves in the trance with little instruction, having been well-trained to do it to themselves.

“Open your eyes, my students,” Splinter said softly.  The five boys’ eyes fluttered open slowly, and they lifted their heads.  Their gazes were unfocused, glassy.  They did not look at Splinter, but through him, somewhere off in the distance, not really seeing him.  


“Can you hear me?” he asked, tapping his staff on the floor lightly.


“Hai, sensei,” Leo, Mikey, Donnie, and Raph breathed softly, nearly in unison, their voice a low monotone.


“Yes, Hamato-san…” agreed Arc.


“My sons, you know what you must do, as always.  Please begin,” he instructed.  The boys did not react to his words openly, but they closed their eyes and shivered from head to toe.  Arc, drifting in his own trance, was almost interested to see bulges beginning to swell in their gi pants. 


“Arc, tomorrow you will return here and enroll in my special apprentice-level classes.  I will provide you an extreme discount of two school credits per week,” Splinter said, referencing the allowance that every student of the Twin Schools was afforded every week.  The school credits could be used for anything at any shop in Breezeport, from meals at restaurants to clothes, video games, and more. 


Splinter looked into the boy’s eyes, reaching down to slide his fingers firmly along the growing, slithering snake down Arc’s right pant leg.  


“...I will enroll in your apprentice level classes…” Arc repeated numbly, shivering as Splinter’s fingers caressed his groin slowly.


“SPECIAL apprentice-level,” Splinter corrected, “I only offer these to students who show particular promise.”


“...Special apprentice,” Arc repeated, blinking slowly and sleepily.


“I will train you, not in Hamato-ryu ninjutsu, but in learning to develop your own fighting style, just as you wish.  And this way, you will be my student,” Splinter said softly.


“...Your student…” Arc mumbled, shuddering.  A damp spot appeared at the front of the bulge in his pant leg, almost at his knee.


“Yes, good.  And now that you are my student, you will do as I tell you without hesitation, do you understand?” Splinter purred, continuing to caress the boy’s groin, feeling the bulge swell and harden at his touch.  Arc moaned softly, his eyes falling half-lidded as he lifted his hips against Splinter’s palm.


“Yes, Hamato-san…” Arc murmured.


“Now that you are my student, Arc-kun, you will refer to me as Master Splinter or Splinter-sensei,” the older man instructed, poking the boy’s nose.  Arc did not react to the poke, not even blinking.


“Yes, Master,” agreed Arc sleepily, his lightning bolt tail swishing slowly.


“Good.  Now, for your first promotional lesson.  Everyone, please disrobe,” Splinter ordered, directing his words to the other boys as well.


“Yes, sensei,” the five boys intoned.  There was a flurry of movement as the little mouse and the four turtles stood up and began to pull off their clothes.  It was quick work to slip out of the loose-fitting gis and pants.  The four turtles kept on their various colored bands, for which the small part of Arc’s remaining consciousness was thankful, as it made it much easier to identify them separately.


Arc stood at attention, his arms and tail sagging limp.  Contrasting this, Arc’s enormous penis jutted powerfully from his hips, its sheer size incongruous with the rest of his small body.  Fifteen inches of pulsing, swollen flesh stood from small hips, as thick as his own wrist.  A pair of softball-sized testicles hung in a fuzzy yellow pouch below.  A sticky dribble of clear fluid already leaked from the tip, trickling over the foreskin.


Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, and Donatello all stood in a line, towering over Arc by almost a head.  At thirteen years old, the boys had hit their first major growth spurts of puberty, and it made the little eight-year-old Pikachu seem all the smaller by comparison.  The four young teens almost looked identical at first glance, until one bothered to try to look closer.  


Leonardo’s penis was long and deep green, and it glistened in the overhead light.  An inch shorter than Arc’s in length, the pink head contrasted astoundingly with the thick green foreskin.  Leo’s testicles were larger than Arc’s, the hairless green sac swollen with its burden.  It pulsed softly as Leo swayed on his feet slowly, his eyes nearly closed.


Like Raphael himself, Raph’s penis had an almost angry appearance.  It was as long as Leo’s, but slightly thicker, more plumped with blood.  Wide, ropy veins pulsed along the sides, and the head bulged out under the hood, a deep red-purple in color; compared to the pleasant pink of his brother’s.  Pre leaked out from the head, looking thicker and gloopier than the others’.  His deep green sac was distended, stretched tight around his balls, which were the size of small coconuts.  


Mikey’s cock was shorter than Leo and Raph’s by about an inch, but it was as thick as theirs. His penis twitched and jumped constantly. While he himself was entranced and calm, breathing slowly and staring vacantly; his cock bounced up hard enough to slap his stomach every time his pelvic muscles twitched, as if burning off the extra energy he wasn’t using.  The foreskin was taut around the fat pink head.  Pre sprinkled liberally from the tip, spattering the floor in scattered droplets.


Donnie was roughly the same size as Mikey, but he had something the others did not.  A second thirteen-inch penis jutted straight out from his pelvis below the first.  Arc was unsurprised to see it; dual males (males with two penises) were uncommon, but not incredibly so.  A strange quirk of genetics among the humanoid races was that when one had more children at once, particularly triplets or quadruplets or more, the odds of one of them being doubly endowed skyrocketed.  Arc knew several dual males at his school.  Donnie’s shafts were a pleasant grass-green, pulsing softly as his head hung low.  His heads were a red-pink color, deeper than Mikey and Leo’s, but not quite as dark as Raphael’s.  Below his lower penis, two pairs of heavy testicles hung in a leathery green scrotum, churning with seed.


The four turtle brothers stood and drifted in their hypnotic trances, awaiting instructions from their teacher.  Splinter smirked softly, pacing back and forth before the children as he appraised them.  His fingers flicked deftly along Leo’s shaft, fondled Donatello’s doubled sack, and ran down through the flat, soft fur of Arc’s stomach.  His other hand squeezed his own penis, pumping it slowly.  The adult’s cock was poking through his maroon robes, pulsing as it stood out from his hips.  It was almost 18 inches and as thick as Leo’s muscular bicep.  It was not the biggest penis Arc had ever seen (that was his older brother Mewtwo’s), but on a normal person, it was certainly one of the fattest.  His testicles were the size of a cantaloupe together, bouncing off his thighs as he walked.  


“Very nice, Arc-kun.  You clearly have been taking care of your penis.  It is a tool and weapon as potent and strong as any sword or staff,” Splinter complimented the boy, gently wrapping his hand around the child’s shaft.  Arc’s crimson-marked cheeks flushed even deeper, as his cock pulsed in Splinter’s palm.


“Yes, sensei.  I do pelvic muscle exercises that Mrs. Diggers-’Gia taught me, and I rub this lotion-cream-stuff that she gave me into it every day,” Arc murmured sleepily.


“It certainly explains why it is so perfectly hard, yet soft-skinned,” Splinter purred, smirking, “But it is one thing to have a nice weapon or tool.  It is another to learn to use it properly.”


“One must master one’s body to master one’s fighting style.  One must be in complete control of every fiber of one’s being, Arc-kun.  In addition to hand-to-hand combat, in my special apprentice class, I will train you in that level of self-control,” Splinter explained.


“Yes, sensei,” Arc mumbled obediently.  Splinter nodded, pleased.


“Leonardo, my son.  Demonstrate.  Shasei suru!” Splinter barked in command.  


“Hai, sensei,” Leonardo replied in a monotone, as he took one step forward, “Shasei shite imasu.”


Leo’s entire body tensed from head to toe.  His fists clenched and rested against his thighs.  He thrust his hips forward once, then a second time.  His penis pulsed hard, and his balls drew tight against his shaft.  Without a noise, without a gasp or a grunt, without touching his penis even once, Leo had what appeared to be a truly enormous orgasm.  His cock jerked upward, and Arc could actually see a ripple rush up the underside, before a mighty spout of milky white fluid blasted from Leo’s swollen head.  The eruption of semen launched across the dojo, splattering the tatami mat.


Leo stood and trembled, his penis twitching hard as milky white goo burst from his tip.  The turtle’s cock leapt up and down, firing again and again.  Arc watched in dazed awe as the teenager shuddered in pleasure, his hands-free orgasm raging through his body.  He could see Leo’s testicles churning, watch his pelvic muscles spasm.  Arc desperately wanted to learn how to do that himself; imagining his enormous log of a cock bouncing up and down and spraying his sister without even a single touch.


Despite the size of Leo’s orgasm, the thirteen-year-old barely made a sound.  Not a grunt nor moan escaped the boy.  Indeed, despite the occasional shudder of pleasure, he barely moved.  It was a display of discipline and control.  His cock was the only part of him that was in motion, jumping up and down with each pelvic muscle spasm.  
 








Leonardo panted as he finally reached down and squeezed his penis, milking out the last dribbles of semen.  He flicked his wrist, splashing most of it onto the floor, and wiped what was left over his armband, staining the fabric.  The boy moved with almost machine-like precision as he placed his fist into his palm and gave a warrior's bow towards Splinter with a brief, short shout.  Splinter nodded with approval. Leo straightened and took his place back in line with his brothers and Arc.  His chest rose and fell calmly, so much so that it was almost impossible to tell that he had moved in the first place.  The only visible signs were the last droplets of white cum running down his shaft.


“What did you think of that, Arc-kun?” Splinter asked, eyeing the boy.


“I… uh… thought it was totally radical.  Awesome… I want to learn how to do something so gnarly,” Arc said, flicking his long, cone-shaped ears.  Splinter stared at him for a moment and sighed wearily.


“Well, if nothing else, you will fit in quite well with my sons, because of your shared vernacular,” Splinter said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.  He crossed his arms and watched the five naked children drifting away in their trances, awaiting orders.  A smile grew on the old rat's muzzle.


“For your first lesson in self-control, we will begin with inkei kumite,” Splinter said aloud.


“Uh…  gazundheit, sensei?” Arc asked, uncomprehending. 


“Kumite is freestyle sparring practice,” Leonardo explained as he stared straight ahead unseeing, his voice a quiet drone, “Inkei means…  uh…”


“It means ‘cock,’ dude,” interjected Mikey interrupting Leo's attempt to phrase it more politely, “Dick, rod, dingus, thingie, big throbbing dripping meaty-”


“Michelangelo, that is enough, thank you,” said Splinter, cutting off the orange-clad boy before he could continue listing euphemisms.   Mikey's jaw snapped shut as he returned to standing at attention.


“Normally, inkei kumite is a one-on-one duel, but as this is your first lesson, we will do a different format,” Splinter said, walking off to the side of the room.  He rummaged about in an equipment bin for a moment, before pulling out a couple of wooden boxes.  He glanced over his shoulder at Arc, squinting in thought for a second, then picked one of the boxes and put the others back.  He carried it back to the boys and sat it down in front of Arc.  He took the boy’s hand and gently guided him up on top of it.  Arc did not resist, numbly stepping up without a thought.  On the box, Arc was more on level with the older boys, his pelvis at the same height as theirs.


“Place your arms behind your backs,” Splinter ordered.  Arc obeyed, feeling the others move beside him more than seeing it.  Splinter moved quickly from boy to boy, tying their wrists loosely with lengths of ribbon.


“These ribbons are as strong as steel handcuffs.  You cannot free yourself,” Splinter said softly.  The suggestion was the truth in Arc’s hypnotized mind.  The ribbon was soft and loose around his wrists, but to Arc, the bond was as unyielding as anything he had ever felt.  He could not budge his arms even an inch.


“This will be a free-for-all.  The last one to orgasm is the winner,” Splinter explained.  The rat’s penis twitched at the comment, brushing against Arc’s hip as the old man walked by.  The little mouse shuddered as he felt a splotch of pre in his fur, dripping down slowly.


“There will be no penetration allowed.  Get into position, my sons,” Splinter ordered.  


“Hai, sensei,” the four turtles intoned emotionlessly.  They shuffled around awkwardly with their hands bound behind their backs.  They gathered around in front of Arc, forming a loose circle, with their long, thick green shafts aiming inward at the center.  They kept a precise distance apart from each other; so close that Arc could feel the heat of their flesh and the occasional splash of Mikey’s precum, but not actually touching.  Despite being almost half their size overall, he was an inch longer than Leo and Raph, though they were thicker.  Arc’s pink cock contrasted dramatically with their green.  


The boys stood still, each staring into space somewhere beyond the others’ shoulders.  Not a single independent thought floated amongst them, their minds all completely empty.  Deep in their trances, they awaited commands with infinite patience, unable to do anything else.


“Begin!” Splinter’s voice came from somewhere to Arc’s right, a sharp loud bark.


Arc had barely heard the command and had absolutely no time to react as he suddenly felt five rock hard shafts collide with his.  He moaned as the four brothers attacked, thrusting their hips forward so that their penises rubbed against his and each other’s.  Caught off-guard, Arc’s cock surged at the sudden attention, and the boy gasped.  He arched his back, feeling Leo’s firm shaft sliding up against the top six inches of his penis, while Raph’s pulsed against the lower half.  Arc could feel spatters of warm, syrupy wetness and Mikey thrust haphazardly into the mix, the damp head of his cock bumping repeatedly against Arc’s shaft.  Donnie’s twin shafts slipped between Arc’s thighs, prodding the Pikachu’s heavy, fuzzy balls.


Getting his senses back after the sudden team assault, Arc swept his hips from side to side roughly.  His thick cock swung like a small baseball bat, and knocked aside the other boys’ shafts.  He growled deep in his throat, his member pulsing eagerly as it clashed against theirs.  The turtles attacked en masse again, but Arc was ready this time, gyrating his hips to parry them.


Splinter sat back and watched his four adopted sons attack Arc. He knelt, taking a classic seiza position as he observed the boys’ combat.  He did not masturbate; indeed, his hands remained on his thighs at rest.  Yet, the old man’s cock jerked violently up and down of its own accord; bobbing down until it stuck straight out from his hips, then bouncing up with enough force to sap his furry stomach.  With no discernable motion from his hips, his penis even swung from side to side occasionally, touching his thighs.  The incredible power and control of Splinter’s pelvic muscles alone caused his shaft to lurch and leap about without a touch.


Arc managed to separate the brothers through some tricky maneuvering. Leo and Raph were on his left, and Donnie and Mikey were on his right. This afforded him the tiniest bit of breathing room, as he was no longer dealing with five hot, pulsing turtle-cocks stabbing at him at once, but now only two or three at a time. He twisted his hips as Leo and Raph tried to jockey for position, knocking Leo’s cock into Raph’s.  The turtles groaned, grinding against each other involuntarily.  Raph grunted, trying to shove Leo aside to continue assaulting the mouse, but Leo refused to give him room. Their tussling grew rougher and more aggressive, and suddenly Leo and Raph were fencing against each other, Arc completely forgotten.


“Clever, Arc-kun. I said this was a free-for-all, not a four-on-one team match. One must be flexible and adaptable to play one’s foes against each other,” Splinter praised, smirking.


Arc was far too busy to acknowledge the praise, as Mikey and Donnie showed no sign of the discord that consumed their siblings.  He was gasping, moaning in pleasure despite himself as both teens thrust against him, trapping his penis between his soft, fuzzy stomach, and three rock-hard, steaming-hot shafts.  His mind was empty of everything but the task at hand, his hips thrusting, his cock drooling pre steadily.  








******
Breezeport was a veritable wonderland of delights for a child of the Twin Schools who had plenty of credits on their personalized chit.  Every child got an allowance of credits every week, with bonus credits for good behavior,  good grades, and helping out the Headmaster in any number of ways.  These credits were as good as cash at any and every store in town.  The children could use them for restaurants for meals out, rather than the free (but exceedingly high-quality) cafeteria on-campus, or to purchase pretty much anything from clothes, to toys, to video games, to books, to sex toys at any number of stores around town.  However, the kids were also expected to purchase any school supplies that their dorm room matter replicators could not produce.


Skye generally loved going out on the town after school, feeling the metaphorical weight of her full credit chit, ready to spend.  This week, however, her chit was metaphorically lighter than usual.


Skye had not been particularly well-behaved this week.  She had lost her temper with her brother and gotten in a brawl in front of Mr. Bugs; she had failed a math exam and forgotten to do three different homework assignments; and she had forgotten to show up for a shift in the school “farm” to be “milked,” not that she would have remembered it even if she had gone.


Skye generally loved shopping, but she usually had quite a bit more credit than she had.  She had not just not earned any bonus money, she had been penalized a portion of her allowance. 


And thus it was that Skye looked forlornly at the readout on her chit telling her that she was ten credits too short to afford an outfit she desperately wanted. It was [describe lingerie here.]


“Really, Mommy Skye?” Raye sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.  Skye looked over at her daughter from the future.  The pink-furred fennec brushed one of her long crimson tresses over her shoulder lazily.


“You wouldn’t understand.  You spend all day nakie in the future.  But some clothes like this are super-sexy!” Skye complained, sighing wistfully as she checked the price tag for the tenth time, as if hoping it would have changed while she was looking away.


“Yeah, I don’t understand,” Raye agreed, shrugging, “Clothes are clothes.  They’re all the same to me.”


Skye sighed.  She did not have much of a fashion sense herself to be honest.  When not in her school uniform, she tended to wear t-shirts and jeans.  She was a tomboy through and through, but on those rare occasions she wanted to be feminine, she did like dressing up.  Her daughter, who had not worn clothes for more than a handful of days in her entire life before coming back in time, had even less of a fashion sense than she did.  Skye at least picked out her clothes in the morning.  Raye just threw on whatever she dug out of the closet without a care for whether or not it matched or not.


“It’d look wonderful on you, darling,” said the shopkeeper.