Kinky adventurers Ch. 02: Pt. 10

Sixto slinked his way down side streets and alleys toward Crook's Kitchen, one of Tristanfell's notorious slums. He didn't like what he was doing and he didn't like how he felt about it, but he didn't have a choice at this point. Ilya had been in the hands of the most ruthless people in the Sunshine Coast for hours now, and they were no closer to getting her back.

See?! An angry voice berated him from within the poorly-lit interior of his own mind. This is why we never get close to people. "Just keep it business," you said. "Do the job, get paid, then move on." What happened to the plan, Sixto? Why couldn't you just keep to the gods-damned plan?

Sixto made no effort to reply. He by no means considered himself a wise person, but he had at least learned this much: arguing with yourself gets you nowhere. Plus, the points the angry voice was making were valid, and he could feel the raw emotions underpinning them--frustration, annoyance, indignation. But, most of all, the feeling of being trapped, manipulated, forced. Sixto hated nothing in all this world more than feeling like a pawn in someone else's game. If life had to be shitty--and, in Sixto experience, it was--then he at least wanted to feel like he was charting his own course through the muck.

But that's the trouble with relationships and entanglements, isn't it? The angry voice was clearly not finished. Before you know it, they're the ones running your life and you're just dancing to their tune.

Sixto refused to take the bait. He knew where these thoughts were leading and he didn't have time for it, and didn't want to go there even if he did. He hadn't thought about her in a while and it was just as well he didn't start now. Instead, he started taking deep breaths and focused on feeling his body from the inside out. He poured his attention on his hands, the insides of his fingers, then on up his arms to his shoulders. There was a curious vibration to it, like his whole body was humming or resonating with some kind of energy.

Life, I guess, Sixto mused to himself. He wasn't the religious type, but he had to admit from personal experience that whenever he did this trick--putting his mind and body in the same place, his friend had called it--everything felt more real, vibrant, vivid. He felt like he was alive, honest to goodness alive.

He didn't always feel good, of course. Life was really often shit, and when you feel vivid and alive in a shitty moment, well, the shit gets real, too. But even in those moments being fully present like this made Sixto feel better in some way. He felt more in control, more like the captain of his own little boat and less like a piece of driftwood caught in a strong current.

If I fully face and accept life for the shitstorm that it is, then I'm free to respond however I choose. Otherwise, it's just my fear or anger or resentment making my choices for me, and that's predictable. I don't like being predictable; predictable folks get used.

Sixto found himself sooner than he would have liked standing in front of a worn, wooden door. It belonged to a worn-looking old townhouse at the intersection of two small streets in a generally rundown part of town. The door had no sign over it; old, wooden shutters, the blue-gray paint long since peeled away, covered a small window next to it. Another window looked down from the storey above, but this time heavy curtains hung on the inside.

He hesitated before knocking, suddenly conscious of how he looked, painfully aware that this person knew him from before. Sixto rolled back his shoulders, fixed his slouch, and tried to put a little swagger into his stance. He could feel himself slipping back into old roles, an old identity. It felt like putting on old shoes that used to fit, but either he or they had changed in the interim and now there's just the awkward sense that this should work, but it doesn't.

Knock, knock, knock. Three sharp raps puncture the early afternoon quiet.

Silence.

I know he's in there, the bastard, Sixto gripes to himself. He never leaves home until the sun goes down, then slinks back before it rises again. It's almost like he's allergic to sunlight.

Sixto knocks again, louder this time. Another long silence ensues.

Si: Am I being watched by anyone?

I: Go ahead and make a perception check.

Si: 11?

Paranoid, Six glances nervously about him, but the streets are empty.

He's probably asleep, actually, Six thinks as he pounds his fist against the door three more times.

"I'm coming, you great oaf! I heard you the first time!" Sixto smiles at the sound of the shrill voice from within the shabby residence.

It's him, alright.

There is a rattling and clicking sound from the other side of the door as a series of locks are disengaged, then it opens slightly, begrudgingly. In the crack of the door frame, eyes squinting against the garish light of day, stands a halfling looking for all the world like he's just been woken from slumber--long, wiry hair standing at odd angles, tunic hastily thrown over breeches that still haven't been laced up properly, and a grumpy, 'why am I awake' look pasted across his otherwise handsome face.

"Who the fuck are you and why are you knocking on my door at this--" the sleepy veneer is gone in an instant as recognition jolts the halfling to wakefulness. "What the flying harpies... Sixto! Hahaha! I thought I'd never see you again. Come in, come in!" The four-foot man stepped aside, pulled the door open wide, and gestured inward grandly with his free arm. Laughing to himself at such a magnanimous invitation to such a dingy hovel, Sixto swaggers inside, grateful to be away from prying eyes.

"Well, you haven't changed one bit," Six says to his old friend. Glancing around at the messy, cluttered interior and sniffing the stuffy air, he adds, "Nor has your apartment."

"What did you expect?" the halfling retorts, not missing a beat. "When you've reached the top, to change is to go downhill."

"Mmhmm."

And, just like that, they were back to their old banter again, as if years of hard life and profound change hadn't ever separated them. But though his speech was glib, Sixto's heart was heavy. Being back here was a trip to a past he would much rather forget.

Inspecting two ceramic cups and finding them surprisingly clean, his guest pours stale, cold tea and hands one to his guest. Picking his way across the dimly lit interior, Sixto picks up discarded clothes from a chair and sits down across the little kitchen table from his friend.

Former friend. Oh, what the hell. Remus is still my friend.

"To what do I owe this extraordinary pleasure?" Remus asks, acting for all the world like a monarch receiving a foreign ambassador in a luxurious audience chamber.

"Well," Sixto begins, mentally and emotionally leaning into the lie, "I'm back in town and looking to find work."

Remus raises an eyebrow and regards his friend closely.

I: Make a deception check.

Si: Oh, boy... [rolls].

Y: You got this, Silus!

Si: Oooo! That's a natural 20!

Sb: Nice one, Silus!

I: [Rolls behind a screen]. Ok, then.

"Alright, then," Remus cautiously allows. I have to say, I'm surprised. I thought you had gotten out for good." The dapper human spreads his arms wide and grins, as if to say, 'here I am.'

"Well, well, well! I suppose there's always room for the prodigal son. What made you change your mind?"

Sixto pauses a moment before replying. And, in that moment, it isn't hard for him to channel an honest reply--or at least one that feels honest to part of himself. "You know, I've come to realize that if the world's going to treat you like shit, and then kick you when you're down, you might as well work for the people who know how not to get knocked around."

Remus smiles a wide, warm, knowing smile, the kind that says, 'I'm glad you finally understand.'

"Welcome home, brother. Welcome home."

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

"Meanwhile," Ingrid says, turning to Emma, "while the cat's away the mice will play. What is Kit doing?"

Emma, lying on her back on the rug with each wrist bound separately to its respective ankle in a frog-tie, looks up at her DM and says, "Mrmmhmm grnng hrmm frmmng?"

"Oh, right. Yuna, can you ungag her for a moment?"

"Do I have to? I love it when she's gagged."

"I know, so do I," Ingrid replied with a wink. "But I want to roleplay this next little bit with her. Things might go in very different directions, depending on what she chooses and how she rolls." Ingrid's voice goes conspiratorial at the end.

Yuna reluctantly unties Ingrid's bandana holding Emma's thong inside her mouth. "Yelckh!" Emma makes a face as she ejects the wad of cloth. Yuna passes the bandana back to Ingrid.

"I guess you don't like the taste of your own thong?" Reya says with a sing-song tease in her voice. Emma looks over at Reya, blushes, and shakes her head decisively.

"Oh, snap!" Silus says. "The new girl is throwing shade!"

Ingrid smiles at her. "Nice, Reya. Welcome to the group. Now, what's Kit up to?"

"That's a good question," Emma replies, looking down the length of her prone body at Ingrid, who is framed nicely between the twin valleys of Emma's breasts and splayed thighs. "What is Kit's status? What's her situation?"

"You're lying faceup on the mattress. Your wrists and ankles are tied to the four corners of the bed, and you're blindfolded. And you're still naked."

Bored and writhing with anticipation at the same time, Kit pulls at her bonds a bit. They don't give. She feels the soft mattress underneath her, the tension in the ropes pulling her ankles to opposite corners of the bed. Her wrists, bound together, are pulled straight above her. She assumes they are tied to the headboard of the bed she is lying on, but can't be sure because the blindfold she wears prevents her from seeing anything but glimpses of bare skin if she looks straight down her nose.

Jessica tied her up like this before leaving the basement apartment altogether. Kit can't remember how long ago that was, but it feels like a long while. At first, Kit lay there patiently, leaning into the submissive energy that seems to have swept through her recently. But as the minutes dragged on, boredom and anxiety in equal measure began to creep into her mind and body.

What if Jessica never comes back? Will my friends find me?

What if Ash or Sixto comes back before Jessica and finds me like this?!

What if the mob waltzes in and finds me all tied up and ready to... whatever they intend to do?

What is Jessie planning to do when she gets back?

Am I really just going to lie here and wait for her to have her way with me?

E: Has Kit already tested the ropes tying her down?

I: Go ahead and make an athletics or acrobatics check.

E: I'll go with athletics. Can you roll for me, Silus? I'm a little tied up.

Si: With pleasure! [Rolls]. Ok, 16.

With nothing else to do but lie there like a naked damsel in distress, Kit spends a few minutes pulling, tugging, squirming, and struggling against her bonds. While the effort in the warm air of the basement apartment earns her body a thin layer of sweat, none of the ropes loosen. In fact, it feels like, if anything, some of them tighten. Breathing heavily in the blindfold-imposed dark, Kit feels newly helpless and frustrated.

I: Does Kit submit to her bonds? What does she do next?

E: Kit is not one to just roll over and take it. Hmm, let me see. If she can't get her wrists or ankles free, can she move about on the bed at all? How much mobility does she have?

I: Kit's previous struggling has earned her a little slack in the ropes tying her limbs to the bed frame. She can scoot about a bit on the bed.

E: Alright, then she's going to try and follow the wrist rope to where it's tied to the bed.

I: Ok. Make an investigation check with disadvantage, since you're both bound and blindfolded.

Si: Investigation? Here we go. [Rolls]. Wow, I rolled a 19 and an 18. So, 19 total.

It's painstaking work in the dark, but straining her back, flexing her abs, and stretching her arms out allows Kit to follow the rope leading from her bound her wrists to the headboard of the bed. Panting with exertion, Kit finally touches a small knot, nearly out of reach along the frame.

E: Kit's going to try and pick this knot.

I: Alright, then. Make a sleight of hand check.

E: Silus?

Si: On it... [rolls]. Ok, that's a 12.

Kit quickly realizes that picking this knot will not be easy. For starters, it's at the very edge of her reach, even when she pulls hard on her ankle ropes and arches her back (thrusting her breasts upward) to give herself every last inch. To make matters worse her aggressive struggling has pulled it very tight. On the other hand, there's literally nothing else to do but wait for the next person or people to find her.

Long minutes of straining and sweating later, the knot finally comes free. With a massive sigh of relief, Kit brings her arms down to rest atop her belly. Rolling up into a sitting position and peeling off the blindfold, Kit takes stock of her situation. The room is as she recalls it, and is empty; before her are her legs, ankles bound to opposite corners at the foot of the bed.

I: What does it do now? She's still gagged, her wrists are still bound, and her ankles are tied to the bed

E: Kit will work on the gag, then on her ankles one by one.

I: Make another sleight of hand check. Things could go any number of ways at this point.

Si: Alright. [Rolls]. Ouch! That's a 5.

Instinctively, Kit goes to remove the cloth gagging her. Unfortunately, the knot is at the back of her head and is very tight. Long, frustrating moments pass as Kit fights with the knot, grunting into her gag. She feels implicitly that she is working against the clock: time is ticking until someone returns. Who will that be? What will they do?

Finally, the gag comes loose and Kit spits out the thong Jessica had shoved into her mouth.

"Yech! Remind me never to put my underwear in my mouth again," Kit says to herself out loud. Leaning forward, Kit goes to work on her ankle bonds, but her gaining reach to pick the knot binding her wrists above her head collapsed these down on themselves. Kit is about to work her left leg free when a creak on wooden steps announces the arrival of visitors.

Kit's stomach lurches. Who is it? No matter who it is, though, it can't be good.

The door clicks open and in walks a nineteen year-old, brown-haired stable girl in overalls. Kit freezes, upright on the bed, her hands at her left ankle. While relieved it isn't mafia thugs, Kit immediately realizes she's just been caught red handed trying to escape from her bonds. Jessica glances over at the bed with a confident look on her face, about to taunt her prey, then freezes. Dropping the canvas bag she has slung over one shoulder, she dashes across the room. The still-tied Kit can only watch as, in a few swift strides, Jessica reaches the bed, leaps onto it, and shoves Kit firmly down onto her back.

I: Sorry, Em! I tried to give Kit a chance to turn the tables on Jessica, but she flubbed the check.

E: To be fair, Silus flubbed the check.

Si: Hey now!

"Oof!"

"You naughty, naughty girl!" Jessica exclaims. "I told you to wait patiently just as I left you until I came back, didn't I?" Kit looks up into the glittering amber eyes of her captor who now kneels across her midriff, straddling her. Part of Kit reacts strongly to being called 'girl' by someone far younger who is scarcely more than a girl herself, but she can also plainly see a gleam of eager wickedness in her face, clearly delighted to have caught Kit in the act of attempting to escape. Her body still bound, nothing Kit says at this point will matter, so she remains silent.

Jessica leans forward across Kit's face and quickly reties her wrist rope to the bed frame above Kit's head. In the process, she puts her crotch near Kit's face. Part of Kit sighs at being back in this compromised position once again, while another part excitedly breathes in her smell--dust, horses, and something unique and intangible: Jessica herself.

"We'll come up with something better in a moment," Jessie says. "But for now, some punishment is in order."

Here I am again, Kit thinks, tied up and awaiting punishment. She looks down her naked, restrained body and feels with certainty that Jessica can punish her any way she chooses. The thought is both scary and exciting, though Kit finds the excitement significantly outweighing the fear. I want this girl to have her way, Kit realizes.

Climbing off the bed, Jessie kicks off her boots then pulls one strap of her overalls after the other off of her young shoulders. A couple of buttons later, the durable, dusty cloth slides down her slender frame revealing skinny, white legs and light pink panties. Unable to do anything else, Kit looks her captor over.

This is the girl that owns me? She's kinda cute.

Without hardly even pausing, Jessica grabs her off-white tunic at the hem and pulls it over her head, exposing a skinny, flat tummy and white, cotton bra. Kit feels her heart flutter as her captor reveals herself, the vulnerability of her bare skin mingling in Kit's veins with her own lust. As Jessica reaches behind her head to untie her bra, Kit's eyes are riveted on the two firm nipples poking through the tight cloth. A moment later and the bra is gone, leaving small, round breasts with perky, pink nipples open to Kit's view. Kit's heart pounds and her breathing quickens as Jessica, topless now, takes a step forward and places a hand on Kit's stomach, a finger absent-mindedly exploring her belly button.

"Now the question is," Jessica begins, "do I make you suck my tits or lick my pussy?"

Kit moans involuntarily, squirming and tugging at the ropes, her belly rising and falling rapidly with her shallow breaths. Jessica grins wickedly as she gazes down at her helpless captive. Kit, meanwhile, burns with humiliation and lust in equal parts.

After a short moment of hesitation, Jessica hooks her thumbs into the waist of her panties and pulls them straight down. Knowing what's coming next, Kit looks at her mistress' crotch as she climbs onto the bed and kneels directly over her, a patch of brown hair above an already wet vagina. Sighing as with one hand she squeezes her own breast, Jessica splays her knees to either side and lowers herself onto Kit's waiting mouth.

"Pleasure me good, you horny slut. My pussy doesn't come off your face until you make me cum."

As the warmth, moisture, and smell of Jessica's junk overwhelms her, Kit feels fingers gently pinch one of her nipples.

"How does Kit respond, Em?" Ingrid asks. Emma, still lying naked on her back, wrists frog-tied to her ankles, moans softly as Yuna plays with one of her nipples. "Does she resist? Does she reluctantly obey? Does she enthusiastically lean into her role?"

Emma, trying to think through the pleasure shooting through her body from Yuna's fingers, replies, "Kit's never pleasured a woman before, but she's really turned on at this point and feeling completely dominated. She'll totally lean into it."

Kit goes to work, working her tongue from ass to clit, swirling and probing at Jessie's vagina. Her flesh is soft and receptive, and to her surprise Kit finds herself feeling powerful and in control, despite being tied up. She quickly discovers she can tease her captor, flicking her bean repeatedly with her tongue, then licking up to it but not touching it. Jessie's sighs, gasps, flinches, and cries for more send ample information about the effect of her patterns of touch and stimulation. Before long, Kit is passionately playing the game, relishing her newfound, submissive control.