A Firebug Gets Punished Pt 01

I like to burn things. I burned down my city's library once; it was an old and useless thing anyway, with many out-of-date and boring books only of interest to some obscure mages. The sight of it lit up was beautiful. Fire sparking and flowing around the building, smoke billowing to the air, and the wood crumbling and collapsing. Nobody got seriously hurt - there were some people who got smoke in their lungs, but nothing they couldn't handle. After that, I caught the bug - going from village to village, seeking out vulnerable and old buildings to burn down. I had covered my tracks well.

Which is why I was very surprised to be in the forest with a man on a horse pointing a crossbow at me.

"You are under arrest in the name of the King for the crime of arson," he said in a steady voice.

"Now, now," I said, my hands in the air in surrender. "You have surely got the wrong woman. I'm Lara Aegmon, daughter of Lord Barrisot Aegmon. I would never do anything like arson."

"Don't bother lying," said the man. "I know it was you. You're going to come with me to answer for your crimes. Take off your clothes."

"What?"

"I said take off your clothes."

"Why, you pervert! You're going to ravish me. My father will hear about thi--"

He interrupted me by firing an arrow past my ear. I jerked in terror, and by the time I looked back up at him, he had already loaded a new arrow.

"Your father knows all about your hobby. He was the one who sent me. He knows exactly what I have to do here." He pulled a scroll from within his cloak and tossed it to me, one hand still on the crossbow. I unfurled it. It did indeed have my father's handwriting.

You have brought great shame on your family, Lara, so it's only fair that you bring great shame upon yourself. Do everything this man tells you, starting with taking off your clothes, or you will be disowned and not see a cent from my will.

I looked up at the man in horror. My father had finally done it. How unfair! How dare he ruin my fun! Nobody got hurt, not really. And now here I was, being told to submit myself to some humiliation. How could Father and this strange man do this to me?

The man nodded.

"Take off your clothes."

I closed my eyes, my cheeks burning. I unhooked my cloak and let it fall to the ground. I pulled my shirt over my head and dropped it onto my cloak. I undid my belt and pushed my trousers down.

"Underthings too."

"What?!"

"You're stripping all the way. You lost the right to your clothes when you burned those buildings."

I seethed. I had known this was coming, but I thought maybe stretching it out would help. Was burning down a library really so bad? They were only books.

I undid the back of my corset and dropped it onto my other clothes. I then slipped my undergown over my head, exposing my large breasts to the man on the horse. I pulled my panties and stockings off. I stood before him, covering my breasts as best I could with one hand and my pussy with the other.

"Put your hands behind your head," he said.

"Oh come on!" I cried out. Why was he taking every last shred of my dignity?

"Do it," he said, with the air of someone who neither wanted nor had to raise his voice.

I felt myself start to cry, and the shame of cracking under pressure compounded with the shame of being naked in the woods at the behest of a male stranger. I sobbed as I raised my hands.

"Y-y-you're a ba-bastard and my daddy is g-g-going to throw you in a d-d-dungeon!"

"I doubt it." He climbed off the horse and took a jar out of his cloak. He used his fingers to scoop some clear jelly-like substance out of it, spread it on his hands, and then started rubbing it on my shoulders.

"That's cold!" I shrieked, jerking.

"Stay still," he said patiently. "And keep your hands behind your head."

I obeyed. Something about me being naked and him being clothed and his voice being so clear and yet so gentle made me obey. I felt so vulnerable and small. His hands were rough on my skin. He rubbed the cream into my shoulders and back. He scooped a little more out of the jar and applied it to my breasts, causing me to gently gasp. I scowled at him and he ignored me. Somehow the fact that he seemed to derive no sexual pleasure from touching my most intimate body parts made it worse. I was an object for him to use - like a tanner with a hide. I asked him what the cream was for and he ignored me.

He moved down my body, applying the cream to my belly. When he rubbed it into my pussy, I let out a little moan. He moved onto my legs, getting me to lift my feet one by one so he could apply it to the underside of them. He then moved up to my arms and hands. For some reason, he did not apply it to my bottom. When he finished, he picked up some dirt and sticks and then threw it against my body. It simply bounced off and I barely felt it. He nodded to himself.

He went back to his horse and pulled some rope out of his knapsack. He came over to me, grabbed me by the wrist, and started tying me up. The rope was oddly soft and comfortable. He was tying my arms behind my back, so I couldn't see what was happening; the way he did it involved wrapping the rope around my belly, so that he lead the end of it to my front. He walked around to my back.

"Try to break free," he said. I struggled, but it was tight. He nodded again. He carried the end of the rope and climbed up on his horse. He turned and looked at me. "I'm going to lead the horse forward. Tell me if you fall back."

"Wait! Can't I ride up with you?"

"No. You're being punished. You've been a bad girl. Bad girls are stripped naked, tied up, and made to walk. Oh, and from now, you're to call me Sir. Let's go."

He got his horse to start moving, and before I could be pulled over I started rushing forward. He kept a slow enough pace that I could keep up.

I fumed. It wasn't just that anyone who walked up could see my naked body - although it was that. It was being made to feel small and shameful through everything he did. When he rubbed me down with cream, it was like being a small child getting some cure for an ailment, although nobody had ever rubbed cure on my private area. It had reminded me of my mother rubbing horrid anti-lice cream into my hair. He was an authority touching my body without my permission. He had tied my body like I was a hog he was leading around.

Worst of all was how he had done all of this. He hadn't demanded it, he hadn't forced me; he was polite but firm, expecting me to obey and allowing no debate, like a firm teacher. It made me hate him more. He was polite because he knew he could afford to be. As I walked, I scowled up at the back of his head. He was an authority figure, and I'd find a way to break him down.