The Damsel Night

This story features bondage, humiliation, sexism, and implied sexual servitude. Reader discretion is advised.

"The runes demand a sacrifice."

That was Ariel, our annoyingly beautiful blonde cleric. Annoyingly clever, too: she always seemed to know how to translate old writing.

"We're not sacrificing anyone! No one gets left behind."

That's Lyanna. Fighter. Natural leader. Very noble about things like this, even if her behaviour in other areas can be a bit, well, sinful. She often wears short skirts and I once caught her eating chicken on a Tuesday, in clear contravention of the Book of Minerva, chapter 33, verse 3.

"Look, I hear you, but I'm just telling you what it says. The runes are very clear. Sacrifice someone to the goblins, or something Very Bad will happen when we go through the portal."

The last time Ariel predicted something Very Bad we lost two NPCs and a high-level druid. This didn't sound good.

"Leave me. Leave me for the goblins."

I could hear myself saying it, but I couldn't remember deciding it was a good idea.

"What are you saying, Jennifer? You're willing to be the sacrifice?"

"Yes! I will be the sacrifice."

Well, I'd said it now. There was no backing out. Not for a paladin. My word was my bond. The great goddess Minerva tells us very clearly that lying is a sin, and shame and disgrace await any paladin who sins.

(Secretly, of course, I rather fancied my chances against a bunch of goblins. I'd like to see the goblin who could get through my plate armour!)

"It says the sacrifice must be stripped of armour," said Ariel, peering at the runes. Oh, well thanks a bunch, Ariel. You couldn't have read that before, then?

I started fiddling with the straps and the thick, intricately carved plates clanged to the floor. Helen - a sex-mad half-elf thief I often asked Lyanna to remove from the group, for all her undoubted skill with a lock pick and a throwing dagger - gathered them up and made a neat pile.

Now is probably a good time to fill in some details. My name is Jennifer and I am a ninth-level human paladin, which means I defend the honour of the great goddess Minerva through the courage of my heart and the sharpness of my sword. I am 24 years old, five foot ten, fit and strong, with plaited red hair falling to my waist. (Short hair on women is a sin.) I have a pert bottom, a slim waist and buxom, perky breasts, and that's not my opinion: Father Drax has assured me many times that there is nothing sinful about my body, and that Minerva made me this way and wants me to feel good about myself.

Beneath the plate I wear a suit of good-quality quilted armour, but Helen insisted that this had to come off too, leaving me standing there in the simple cotton shift I sleep in. I felt cold, stiff-nippled, and a little embarrassed for my companions to see me dressed so skimpily, but tried to take comfort in Father Drax's favourite saying: if Minerva wanted us to cover up our firm young bodies, she would have given us feathers.

"This armour is too heavy to carry with us, Jenn," said Helen, glancing at Lyanna with one shrewd eyebrow raised. "I'm afraid we'll have to leave it behind."

I didn't much like the idea of goblins getting their filthy hands on my dwarf-forged mithril, and resolved to defeat them swiftly and steal it back. My mighty +5 broadsword had slain many goblins in the past, and it would be good to get some sparring practice. Running through battle routines in my head, I swung Slicer through imaginary foes.

"You'll have to give up the sword too, hon," said Ariel innocently. "The runes are very clear. 'The sacrifice shall carry no blade, nor shall she any weapon bear.' There's no getting round that."

Lyanna stepped forward with her hand out, an odd smile on her face. "We'll hold on to it," she said, "as a tribute to your courage."

Courage is the watchword for a paladin, so this softened the blow. I unbuckled my sword belt and handed it over. I felt naked without it, but besting goblins without a blade would make my victory all the more glorious.

"Are we ready, then?" I said. "Is this farewell?"

"Not quite," replied Ariel. "There are some more instructions."

"What now?"

"'The sacrifice,'" she read, "'must be attired in a manner

pleasing to a man

.' I honestly don't know what that means."

"It means dress sexy, dummy!" laughed Helen. "It means no cotton shifts!"

"It's certainly functional, as clothing goes," Lyanna agreed.

"I think she looks very nice in a shift," said Ariel, kindly. "Her figure is spectacular. Jenn in a shift is a sight that any man would be lucky to see."

Being discussed like this, having my physical attributes weighed up so objectifyingly, was confusing. I felt like I ought to object, but enjoyed the compliment. Besides, Father Drax had assured me that prettiness could be no sin.

"Lucky to see without getting his block knocked off, you mean!" Helen laughed. "But it's the maiden that's pleasing in that scenario, not the attire she's wearing. To follow the letter of the instructions, she needs to wear a frock."

"I don't see-"

"The question is irrelevant, Hels, unless you've got a frock," Lyanna interrupted, practical as ever. "Because I certainly don't carry around 'man-pleasing' dresses, and I doubt Ariel is the type."

"Well…"

We all turned.

"Ariel!"

"I was planning to go on a date when we got back. It seems silly now… but I brought something to wear. It might be too small, though."

She shyly produced a pink garment from her pack, and you know, I doubt it did too much damage to her weight allowance. It was all lace and pretty bows, hardly any dress at all. There was a lace-up corseted bodice that looked difficult to operate, a microscopically short satin skirt and tiny flouncy sleeves.

"Ariel, you sly little thing!" giggled Helen. "Conan would

ravish

you in that. You wouldn't make it to the starters."

"Well done, Ariel. Jennifer, you must put this on."

Blushing and trying to think of scriptural justification to refuse, I slipped out of the shift and slowly worked my way into the new garment. It was designed for a shorter and less well-endowed lady; on me, it left absolutely nothing to the imagination, with my butt and underwear fully on show at the lower end and my breasts bursting out eagerly at the top. I was accustomed to the power and respect accorded to a knight striding around in full armour, and felt shamed and humiliated in this demeaning, ultra-girlish clothing. I felt like a common tart or serving wench… and with a tingle realised the idea wasn't entirely unappealing. Life must be simpler if you just had to submit and serve a man's every desire.

"Let's get you laced up, shall we?"

Helen, who seemed to know her way around a corset, and Lyanna, who supplied the necessary muscle, worked together to cinch and tighten, cinch and tighten until my tits were pushed up almost into my face and my waist was shrunk down to wasplike proportions. Which reminded me of something… and to take my mind off the disturbing pain and the more disturbing pleasure I thought back to the terrifying, homicidal wasp women we battled in our very first campaign. How happy we were in those innocent days, dragging the queen back to town in chains, wings strapped up, stinger blunted, her frantic buzzing muffled with a thick gag. For all their sins I'd miss this group if we had to part ways.

My colleagues stood back to admire their handiwork, while I tried my best to keep my balance. My posture was completely transformed, everything thrust out, all my assets on show.

"Not bad," Helen conceded. "She might just please the average denizen of a common tavern."

"Don't be so mean! She looks delicious."

"I'm standing right here, you know? I can hear you. Anyway, are we done now?"

"SHOES."

Lyanna ran to her pack and came back with the least practical footwear I had ever seen. They were knee-high boots, shiny scarlet leather, with spike heels that must have been six and a half inches high. How could anyone wear those? And what were they doing in Lyanna's pack of all places? The question hung in the air until she coughed sheepishly and said, "Look, I had plans too."

Helen broke the tension by wolf-whistling and picking the boots up. "These are

magnificent

," she said, grinning. "I had no idea I was in a party with such a pair of sluts."

"Please don't make jokes like that," I said, primly. "Ariel and Lyanna are extremely virtuous… most of the time. And I wish you would

try

to be more like them."

"Maybe we're more alike than I realised…" Helen was running her fingers across the smooth leather, undisguised lust in her eyes. "Anyway, we'd better get you in these - unless you want to back out?"

That was out of the question, of course, and obviously it was better to commit one small sin - wearing slutty shoes like a common whore - than the larger one of going back on my word. Ariel and Lyanna helped me to sit down on a rock while Helen dealt with the laces. This took a while; the laces went all the way up to the top of my calves, and Helen cinched them

tight

. I wasn't getting these off in a hurry, and I was starting to worry about the upcoming battle. With no sword, no armour and these on my feet, even a small gang of goblins would be hard work. I was barely able to stand up. Still: Minerva would protect me.

"You'd better be off," I said. "It'll be dark soon."

"Hold on. There's a little more here."

I was starting to feel distinctly unvirtuous thoughts about the speed and timing of Ariel's rune translation. What now?

Ariel smiled ambiguously and peered again at the text. "'The sacrifice,'" she read, "'must be secured with great care and through all necessary means.' Again, I'm not sure exactly what that means."

"It sounds to me like it means bound with rope."

"Or possibly chains? Although we haven't got any chains, so I suppose it doesn't matter. Rope will have to do."

What was going on? Where was this all headed? "Does it actually say to tie me up? Or are you reading between the lines?"

"It's difficult to give a literal translation. Runic grammar is very strange. But I think we'd better tie your hands, hon. To be on the safe side."

"Fine. Who has the rope?"

I crossed my wrists and held them out.

"I think they need to be behind your back, hon."

Could I fight goblins with my hands bound behind my back? I wasn't sure. I once kicked a troll to death, but I wasn't wearing stiletto heels that day. And I wasn't dressed like a floozy, for that matter. But I could see no honourable way out of what increasingly seemed like a suicide mission and turned my back obediently.

Helen took my wrists and guided them upwards behind my back. It got more and more awkward and uncomfortable the higher she pushed, until my fingers were brushing the nape of my neck. I could feel my strength, my capabilities draining from me. "This is called a reverse prayer, sweetie," she said, "so try to think of it as an act of worship." All three laughed, and I blushed with annoyance.

"That's not an appropriate thing to s-aaaagh!"

Helen had looped the cord three, four, five times around my wrists, cinched it cruelly tight and knotted it securely. It was pinching my skin agonisingly. But she kept holding my hands in position. "Lyanna," she said quietly, "I need your help. Come and tie three loops around her throat, then we'll join these up." Lyanna did so, her fingers surprisingly fast and adept. They connected the loops - the throat and the wrists - with a short length of cord, doubled it up to bring them still closer, and knotted it securely. Helen now released her grip, but my hands didn't go anywhere. Their work was effective: my wrists were held immovably in position, cruelly high up behind my back. Any time I pulled downwards, the cord about my neck tightened and I started to choke. I tested the bonds but there was no trace of slack. They had bound my hands carefully and well, just as the runes instructed.

"This seems like overkill. Did you have to tie my neck too? I can hardly breathe."

"It's all implied in the runes, Jenn," Ariel explained, sympathetically. "You really must be unable to use your hands, and the throat bindings are just a way to make sure. You're very strong, remember."

Well, that made sense. I supposed that having my hands bound in a way that was escapable would be a form of trickery, which was of course a sin.

"I still think she could break free," said Helen thoughtfully, "when the adrenaline of battle kicks in. Perhaps we should add some more bonds. To make it clear that we're not trying to cheat the rules."

Cheating was definitely a sin.

"Very well. But my hands are helpless. What more could you do?"

"For a start," said Lyanna, "we should get more ropes around your chest. Really reduce the movement of your arms, keep you bound in one position. So you can't get any leverage on the bonds."

"And that," added Helen, grinning, "will make you even more 'pleasing to a man', I suspect."

"Why?"

"Oh, just wait and see."

They started wrapping up my torso with tight ropes. Four or five loops went above my breasts, then four or five more went below. Then they went crossways, looping rope under my arms and around my shoulders, tightening the whole harness up until it was as snug and inescapable as a pony's rigging. And I saw what Helen meant when I realised that my bound posture was now even more exaggeratedly alluring, bum shoved out at the back, tits shoved out at the front, and that the tight bonds above and below my breasts were making them jut out like coach lanterns. There was a very real danger that I would have someone's eye out with one of my nipples, which were mithril-hard with confused stimulation. Maybe I could take out a couple of goblins that way; it wasn't like I was going to be doing anything with my arms.

All three of my comrades were smiling with what seemed disturbingly like delight.

"This is excellent work," said Ariel. "The runes could have no objection to this arrangement. These bonds are wonderfully tight. She's utterly helpless - at least, her top half is."

"Oh? Do the runes speak of her lower half at all?" Lyanna was always conscientious about the details. I truly admired that about her.

"I'll do my best to translate. 'The sacrifice shall be unable to walk, nor run, nor shall she kick or otherwise fight with her lower limbs.' I don't suppose that means we need to bind her legs?"

"Well, if that's what the runes say, I suppose we'd better follow the letter of the law. What do you think, Jenn?"

Loopholes are a sin, and half measures are a sin too. "Very well, if you're sure this is necessary. But I'm starting to wonder how I'm expected to defeat these goblins. I suppose I can hop up to them and bite them. And I've got a couple of lower-level priest spells that only have verbal components. Still, this is going to be difficult!"

"I'm sure you'll manage, hon. Minerva will protect you, won't she?" There was a knowing look in Ariel's eye, but I trusted her.

"In faith, she will. Proceed, then, bind my legs."

Lyanna produced yet more coils of strong white rope from her pack - I had no idea we were so well provisioned in that regard - and worked together with Helen to tightly bind my ankles, knees and thighs, looping, frapping and cinching systematically until the two limbs were inseparable. The bonds were pinching painfully into my pale freckled skin, but I resolved not to complain. Complaining is a sin, as you might have guessed.

"Can you escape?"

I strained the powerful muscles of my legs. The ropes held. Held easily, I suspected. "Absolutely not! These ropes aren't going anywhere. You've got me trussed up very thoroughly. Well done."

All three girls laughed at this. There was an odd atmosphere. Almost

merry

.

"So now we're done, I suppose? You leave me, and I try to bite a bunch of goblins to death." I hated the smell of goblins. I dreaded to think what they tasted like.

"I guess we're done," agreed Lyanna. "Unless-"

"Hold on, there's something more."

"Ariel! Where do you keep finding these new details?"

"You're not complaining, are you?" Helen smiled. "I thought that was a-"

"No, no, I'm not complaining. Fine. What else does it say?"

"It says something about your voice. Listen: 'The sacrifice shall not cry out for aid, nor speak, nor even shall she squeak like unto a humble little mouse. Her submission must be silent.' I'm sorry to say this, hon, but I think you might need to be gagged."

"Surely it isn't necessary to gag me."

"Look," said Helen, "if you're going off the idea you can back out and we won't blame you. But if we're doing this, I think we should follow the instructions in full. No half measures."

Well, if it was just a matter of a simple cloth tied over my mouth I'd not have too much trouble getting out a spell or two.

"Open wide, Jenn, and I'll pop in some stuffing. To keep you properly silent, you know."

So much for that idea. Helen pushed a bundle of rags past my teeth; they tasted foul, but it was too late to complain about that. Then she took a strip of fabric - it looked suspiciously like she'd torn it from my white cotton shift; what was I going to wear in bed? - and cleaved my lips with it, shoving the stuffing firmly in and pulling back on the corners of my mouth. She pulled it as tight as she could, which was very tight indeed, and tied a secure double knot around the back of my head. Then the three of them looked at me curiously.

"Can she still talk? Can she cast a spell?"

"Try, Jenn. Do your best to call for rescue."

"Hmmmph mmmmmphh!" It was pitifully quiet. Nobody more than a few feet away would have heard a thing. (As a side note, just trying to shout "Help me!" made me feel distinctly

peculiar

. I was accustomed to being the one who did the rescuing, striding in and saving the day. Now I was the damsel in distress, calling out for a rescuer. And unable even to achieve that, thanks to this humiliating, silencing muzzle.)

"Now try a spell. Try to cast

Thunderous Smite

. That has a verbal component, doesn't it?"

It did. I formed the words, did my best to push them past the gag, but nothing happened. The three girls looked pleased.

"What do you think, Ariel? Have we satisfied the runes?"

"I guess so."

"How about we go through it item by item, then you tell me if everything is covered." Lyanna was in control of the situation as ever. "Right. First of all, our sacrificial victim has been disarmed and stripped of both of her suits of armour. In their place, she has been dressed up like a common hussy in a skimpy pink micro-dress that I can only describe as a trollop's lingerie - sorry, Ariel."

"No, I quite agree. That's why I bought it."

"Fair enough. A trollop's lingerie, carefully tailored to show off her long legs, her pert arse and her lovely tits. She hates being displayed like this, but has no choice in the matter. This is all helped by my shoes, which I suppose in fairness I should call trollop boots. These alone keep her almost immobile, teetering about on those high heels, and push and prod her into a lovely posture of defenceless sexual availability. This stuck-up princess probably never wore a pair of heels before today."

I hadn't. But that wasn't the point, and I didn't like this new air of undisguised spite. I mmmpphed a couple of times to try to get Lyanna's attention, but she ignored me.

"So you see that the choice of attire has been selected at every point to please a man and, more importantly, to displease and humiliate the poor helpless woman who has to wear it. Are we following the runes so far?"

"Oh yes, very good."

"Then of course our victim is carefully and thoroughly trussed up. Her wrists are bound tightly together behind her back in… what did you call it, Hels?"