Kinky adventurers Ch. 01: Pt. 01-04

Ilya started to struggle desperately, but someone pushed her forward in the small of her back. She tripped over an unseen leg and would have crashed hard to the cobblestones but the hands on her cushioned the fall somewhat. The impact was still enough to knock some of the air out of her lungs. While she lay there, stunned and struggling to breathe, she felt ropes being wound around her ankles and wrists. A heavy weight on her thighs prevented her from kicking or thrashing her legs. The gloved hand, smelling heavily of leather, clamped itself firmly over her mouth again.

Within seconds, it was over. Ilya lay face down, pinned to the street, and bound. Once her ankles were tightly tied, she felt the weight on her legs ease. Immediately, however, a tension on her ankle bonds pulled her feet up and over her butt, then that same tension pulled her wrists down toward her ankles. The tension didn't relent as she felt hands tying more knots between her feet and hands.

Then all the hands but the one covering her mouth withdrew. Ilya felt the cool cobblestones against her stomach, the hand keeping her silent, and the ropes binding her in a tight hogtie. She tried to move, but only managed to wiggle her body slightly. She cried out, but only the smallest, muffled sound escaped.

In that moment, a switch deep inside Ilya flipped. An overwhelming feeling of powerlessness and helplessness flooded her mind and body, and without deciding anything at all, she surrendered to it.

The feeling was oddly comforting and familiar, like sinking into a well-worn groove or slipping into a role you know by heart. She continued to wiggle her body and make muffled attempts at protest, but they were more to reinforce the helplessness of her situation, to convince herself it was ok to just surrender.

Ilya heard voices chuckle mockingly.

"Pitiful, isn't it?"

"Like a helpless little worm."

"Luke, put her in the cart."

"And if she starts making a racket?"

"Then cover her mouth again, you dolt. And punish her."

Ilya felt arms reach under her body and she was lifted into the air. The hand over her mouth momentarily came free, and the sudden urge to scream filled her mind.

Just as suddenly, however, and with even more smothering force came a cautioning feeling. They have you now, it said. You're helpless and in their power. If you resist or disobey it won't do you any good. But they will certainly punish you. And they can punish you in any way they like. The vulnerability of her blindness--both physical and magical--compounded with the helplessness of her body overwhelmed any fight left within her.

Ilya went limp and let whoever had captured her deposit her on a hard surface that smelled of wood and canvas.

"You make a sound and I'll make you regret it," came a harsh voice next to her. Ilya felt the flat of a cold blade press against her naked belly, then slide slowly down to the hem of her skirt. The blade then slipped underneath her skirt, meandered down a couple inches against her naked flesh, then stopped.

Ilya's body went still and she said nothing as the cart began to move.

Si: Oh, shit.

E: I'm so sorry, Sebastian!

Y: Well, this just got exciting.

*********************************

"Hey, so does this mean Sebastian gets tied up now?" Yuna's face exuded devious excitement.

"Good point!" Silus said, adding his enthusiasm to Yuna's. All eyes now turned to Sebastian, who shrank back from all the attention and was glad his long, black bangs covered half of his narrow face.

"Seb?" Ingrid asked, her voice gentle and full of equanimity. "Our kinky D&D concept means that there's the possibility of a rope scene here. But only if it feels right to you." She flashed a devious grin for a moment, then returned her expression to the quiet solicitude she had begun with, her attention tuned to her friend's emotional state.

Seb looked pensive, as if exploring his own feelings. After a moment of respectful silence, he said, "Maybe not right now." The others nodded supportively. "I'm thinking there will be ample opportunity for kinky scenes in the near-term, given the predicament Ilya's in. Let's move on for now and see how things go."

"Sounds like a plan," Ingrid said with a smile. Emma reached over and squeezed Seb's leg. He looked over at her and she gave him a wink that said, from one bottom to another, "Good job. Way to listen to yourself and exercise consent." But no words were necessary.

"We can definitely help with that, you know, Seb," Silus offered. "If you want to take your time easing into it, we can always just delay rescuing Ilya until you've had ample opportunity to try things out." Then he, too, winked.

"Or if we botch the rescue attempt," Yuna added eagerly, "we can arrange to get Kit captured again and then you and Emma can be fucked together!"

Emma gave her girlfriend a smack on the leg with the back of her hand in disgust. Sebastian smirked and blushed.

"You're full of good ideas today, Yuna!" Silus exclaimed.

"Don't give her ideas!" Emma protested, nodding her head in the direction of the DM, who smiled deviously.

"What do you mean?!" Yuna replied, wounded. "I would never do that!"

"Methinks the woman doth protest too much," Silus said under his breath, provoking laughter from Ingrid and the others.

"Alright, then," Ingrid said once she had gotten her laughter under control. "We'll move onto the next scene. I'm just glad Seb felt comfortable saying 'no thanks.' Feeling safe to say 'no' is a crucial part of enthusiastic consent and I want everyone here to feel totally empowered to do so." Then, turning to Sebastian, she added, "Thanks, Seb, for modeling that courage for us."

Seb smiled and looked down at his feet.

*********************************

"You did what?"

Sixto and Ashara had just returned from their disappointing trip to the Clothier's Guild to find Kit anxiously pacing in her room at the Hearthstone Inn. Perhaps it was the lack of a quick resolution to a gig he had resented from day one, but Sixto was feeling snappy, impatient and bitter. And he wasn't one to keep those sorts of feelings to himself.

Kit looked at him with an expression that he couldn't immediately process. There was anger in her eyes, for sure, but it felt more like the wounded anger of a mamma bear whose cub has been stolen from her than a defensive retaliation. It only took Sixto a second or two to register the guilt, and worry behind the angry mask.

And that must mean she's really hurting, he acknowledged to himself, since I'm not usually the most perceptive of other people's emotions.

Deciding that now was as good a time as any to let his mindful realizations alter his behavior, Sixto closed his eyes, relaxed his facial muscles to a neutral position (which, to an observer, probably looked more like 'resigned sadness' or 'patient longsuffering'), and took a deep breath.

"Ok," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral and calm. "Let's start over." Opening his eyes again, Sixto looked at Kit. The anger had drained from her face as well, leaving it a mask of anxiety and guilt. A strange, unfamiliar feeling started crawling around his insides and he wasn't sure he liked it. Fortunately for him, however, he had a dumpster fire to distract him from it. He had already had enough mindful emotional processing for one morning.

"How long has she been gone?"

Kit looked at the floor. "Over an hour, now," she said, sounding miserable.

"Alright. How long did she say she would be gone for?"

"She didn't give a time," Kit admitted, sounding even more dejected. "But she said she'd be out for a breath of fresh air and come right back. She should definitely have come back by now."

Sixto heaved another deep sigh. "Well, that's really bad. I suppose we assume the worst. At least she didn't have the box."

"Oh, is that what you care about!" Kit snapped. "I may have been negligent in allowing her to leave, but I'm not that callous, Sixto!"

"Fuck you, Kit!" Sixto yelled back. "This damn box is more important than any of us realizes."

"I know that!" Kit retorted. "Quit acting like I'm naive."

"That's not what Six meant, Kit," Ash said quietly.

Kit slumped down to the bed, looking exhausted and defeated. "I know," she replied in an equally quiet voice. "I just resent the fact that this damn thing is in some way as important as Ilya. I hate that it's put her in danger. And it has."

A long pause ensued, the three of them taking in the situation. It didn't look good, no matter how Sixto sliced it. He was up to his eyeballs in a pile of shit that smelled of organized crime. And at the middle of it all was a strange box with unknown contents that exerted a mysterious pull on forces near and far. His gaze drifted to the box lying in the corner of the room and felt a sudden urge to destroy it, or run away, or both. That's certainly what he would have done just a few weeks ago.

Then his thoughts drifted to Ilya--that bright, beautiful, hopeful, naive creature--who was now in all likelihood in the hands of dangerous, terrible people. People willing to do all kinds of things that Ilya steadfastly refused to believe anyone capable of. He felt a fear crawl over his skin, thinking of what might be happening to her. But another feeling lay there, too. And the more he let it speak (so much for no more emotional processing, he sighed inwardly) the more it felt like protectiveness and anger. Specifically, anger that Ilya's beautiful, fragile optimism and benefit-of-the-doubt attitude could be so cruelly and suddenly destroyed.

Damn, what is happening to me?

Y: Character development! Woot, woot!

E: Haha!

Si: Shut up, you two.

"What do we do?" Kit's anguished, self-accusatory voice quietly reverberated in the small, shared space. After a brief moment, Sixto spoke.

"Well, if she's been kidnapped, it's almost certainly the syndicate at work; and if this is about the box and the incident last night, then they're probably going to extract information from her. Since she knows nothing except the location of this room, they'll quickly change plans and use her as a hostage, hoping we care more about her than we do about the box."

"Thoughts?" he asked. "Am I off target?"

"No, that sounds about right," Ash concurred.

"Then we have to leave this room immediately," Kit concluded.

"Certainly," Ash replied. "But where do we go, and how do we get there without Kit being seen?"

Wow, I really am invested in this, Sixto thought, then spoke up. "I know a place where we can lie low for a while." Kit and Ash turned to look at him. He thought Ash looked particularly surprised, and found that he resented the reaction. "It's a friend's place," he continued. "Usually empty, since she's most often out of town. We won't have her permission, but then again it's usually easier to ask for forgiveness, isn't it?" His expression as he said this was almost apologetic.

"As for how to get Kit there without being noticed, I'm open to suggestions. Maybe a good disguise would work?"

"How about I give you money to go buy a heavy cloak," Kit offered. "I'll wear it with the hood pulled down over my face."

While Ash and Sixto considered this, Kit quietly added, "And thanks for offering a place to hide out, Six. That's really generous of you." Sixto looked distinctly uncomfortable in response.

Y: Is it just me, or does that sound like a really boring solution?

Si: Hear, hear.

E: What's wrong with boring solutions?

Si: They're an insult to the DM. They risk provoking her wrath.

E: Wait, what? Is that true, Ingrid?

I: This is player problem-solving; I'm not getting involved.

Si: I'm telling you, it's true. You go the easy route and they'll see right through our disguise. We go the extra mile, and she'll give us the benefit of the doubt.

Y: Plus, boring solutions are boring. This is kinky D&D, after all.

E: This is starting to sound sinister.

"Agreed," Ash chimed in with her smooth, placid tone. "But I think we can do better than a long cloak with a deep hood. Seems more likely to attract attention than deflect it."

"As much as I hate to admit it, I'm in agreement with Ashara," Sixto said.

E: You guys are assholes.

Si: Why? We haven't even suggested anything yet.

E: I don't have to know what you're thinking to know it's going to be terrible.

Kit looked from one to the other, perplexed. "What do you have in mind?"

"Oh, something less conventional," Ash remarked. "Something they're unlikely to expect us to try." She looked over at Six, who caught her eye and grinned.

E: You guys are assholes.

****************************

Ilya briefly panicked as the person carrying her bound form, fireman style, swung her off of their shoulder. She felt a powerful centrifugal force as the combination of gravity and her captor's sudden action hurtled her toward the ground. With her hands bound behind her back (someone had released the hogtie before hauling her out of the cart) and the sack still pulled tight over her head, Ilya had no idea where she was falling and was powerless to brace against the impending impact.

When she touched down, however, it was against a soft, forgiving surface. It felt like a bed.

She took stock of her situation. The cart ride had taken some time, though she suspected that there may have been extraneous twists and turns added to confuse her. All the while, one of the guards in the cart with her had run his blade across her bare skin--sometimes the flat, sometimes the tip, sometimes the edge. He had never hurt her, but the strong implication was that he could have at any time. Considering how tightly she was bound, Ilya had taken the hint and lain, quiet and motionless, in the cart.

When they had finally halted, she was unceremoniously hoisted over someone's shoulder and carried into a building. She could tell because the sound of the street quieted, the temperature dropped, and the smells changed. The heavy coffee smell of the sack over her head made it hard to make out subtle scents, but the change was noticeable nonetheless. The room she was in now, for instance, smelled of roses and citrus.

I must be in a bedroom, Ilya surmised.

"Thank you, Brutus," a voice to her right sounded, softly.

Sb: What vibe do I get from this voice?

I: Great question. Make an insight check.

Sb: [Rolls]. 19?

The voice sounded calm and in control, and Ilya detected a sinister undertone, like a viciousness concealed in velvet clothes.

"That will do. Leave us." Ilya heard heavy footfalls--the same that had carried her here--retreat, then a door closed. She lay where she had been deposited--on her back, her bound hands pinned beneath her body. Ilya's legs, still tied together at the ankle and above the knee, dangled off the edge of whatever she was lying on. She felt vulnerable knowing at least one other person could see her, but she couldn't see them. Her clothes felt particularly flimsy and insubstantial as she felt the unseen gaze on her bare stomach and bralette. She had no idea what they were planning to do, but at this point Ilya felt pretty acutely that they could do pretty much anything they wanted.

"Shall we let our cute little friend see us, Leonardo?" It was the same voice as before, soft and polite, yet causing a cold pool of fear and apprehension began to well up in the pit of Ilya's stomach.

Ilya felt fingers at the base of her throat untying the drawstrings of the bag over her head. A moment later, in a sudden rush that caught Ilya's shaggy, light blue mane and tousled it all over the place, she could see. Squinting against the sunlight streaming in through several tall, glass windows, Ilya saw two people standing over her. One was female, with long, lustrous, black hair, dark eyes and eyebrows, and a cold, pale face. She wore a long, black, silk robe--partly open so that her pale skin was partly visible down to nearly her navel. Her expression was one of condescension, covetousness, and control.

The other figure, standing next to the first in a protective sort of way, was a handsome half-orc man. His skin was a light lavender color, and he wore a smart leather vest and trousers. His hair was short and parted to one side, his eyes a light gray, his expression soft and self-confident, though Ilya thought it hid a fierce, alert intelligence. The top of what Ilya surmised was a quarterstaff extended over one shoulder.

"Oh, she is cute," the woman purred, looking over Ilya's hair-swept face. "Mmmm," she continued, sounding to Ilya like a contented cat, "I want this one, Leonardo. This one is mine."

Ilya helplessly observed her lustful gaze with trepidation. She squirmed and tested her bonds. No good--they were still as hopelessly tight as before.

"Be careful, my lady," the half-orc playfully warned, his voice a deep, playful, honey-rumble. "This one's a struggler."

"Is she?" the woman asked innocently, as if learning something wonderful about a gift she had just received. Then her tone dropped and the vicious undertone made itself felt again. "I love the strugglers the most."

The woman took a step closer and sat down next to Ilya. It was now clear she had been laid on a bed. The mattress was unbelievably soft, the sheets red silk with subtle patterns of flowers embroidered on them. Ilya's captor placed a hand on her thigh and slowly ran it up her leg toward her crotch as she spoke.

"Hello, darling. Do you have any idea where you are, or who I am?" Ilya looked at her warily and shook her head ever so slightly. "Good. Then let me introduce myself. You may call me mistress, madame, or master." The absurd assertion of dominance--taking away even the right to know one's captor's name--came out so matter-of-factly that Ilya found herself accepting it almost as soon as she heard it.

"As for where you are, you are in your new home. This place is your world now. You will stay where I put you and come where I take you. Is that understood?" Again, the steel-cold control lay just beneath the soft velvet voice.

This was all happening too fast for Ilya to even begin to respond. For a moment she lay there, silent, bound and helpless, feeling this woman's cool hand slide up her thigh toward her womanhood, her breathing becoming faster and shallower. The thugs who had captured her in the street were one thing--rough, strong, violent, smelly. They were easy to understand and reckon with. This was something else entirely. The rules of engagement here were unclear, the consequences of missteps or resistance equally so. This woman seemed poised to hurt her and pleasure her at the same time, leaving Ilya excited, afraid, and confused.

"It seems you don't quite understand yet," the woman continued. She placed her other hand gently on Ilya's cheek and looked deep in her eyes and she leaned over her. "What's your name, sweet thing?"

Ilya resented the patronizing condescension in her captor's voice. She remembered this feeling; she had been in this position before. This woman's arrogant control and her own helplessness were stirring up memories and deeply repressed feelings. They were not pleasant and she instinctively shoved them back down inside of her.

Meanwhile, Ilya had to give her captor a name. She was wary of giving her real name, yet already feared displeasing this woman even more. "Rosie," Ilya replied, her voice sounding meek and quiet.

"Rosie," the woman repeated with false care. "That's a lovely name. Except it isn't yours." Her voice became abruptly cold as she spoke the last sentence. "I'm getting the sense that you still believe you can lie to me, that you can resist me." The hand on Ilya's cheek slipped behind her head and gripped her hair tightly. Ilya breathed in as pain bit into the roots of her hair.

Then the other hand--the one resting just inches from her nethers--suddenly grabbed her pussy, just as tightly as the one gripping her hair. Ilya's legs buckled upward in reaction but could do nothing to relieve the sudden, painful pressure on her sensitive spot. She cried out in pain and shock.