No Escape

For hours now had she been rolling around on the floor of the small, dark cell, in the deep Carrandel catacombs. Trashing about, straining her muscles to the max.
Nothing budged: the leather belt harness completely controlled her. And the belts were not even that impressive! It was infuriating: under normal circumstances, she was sure she could have busted loose. The harness had been undoubtedly magically enhanced.

Badhul Rasith was one of the greatest champions of the Badhul Kahni; her strength and speed were almost legendary. During the cowardly attack on the junior Kahnili camp, she had singlehandedly staved off five Buka thugs, unarmed, until enforcements had come to the rescue. And now here she found herself, helpless as a first season Kahnili, squirming in vain, cursing.

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The Shift

The deep financial crisis had changed everything. That, and the dramatic Shift of the new administration to a form of the most radical capitalism the world had ever seen. In many ways, Thorin didn't recognize the country anymore, compared to what it had been five years before. The change felt almost science fiction like or fantasy.

Of course, Barry finished up first again. That was because he worked with leather and rubber restraints; things that went 'zip and click', as Thorin liked to call them.
Rope work was much more intricate, but then again, had so much more esthetic value in his opinion. And he wasn't even that far behind.

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Althea’s new dress

Chris Wright watched with growing fascination as his wife undertook vehement efforts to free herself from the rubber minidress that held her captive. The shiny fabric clung to her body in such a way that not only her breasts but even her vulva was lined out embarrassingly clearly. The main feature of the garment, however, was the integral pouch that kept her arms folded behind her back.

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Corporate revenge

So here she was. Naked but for her boots. She was kneeling, her arms and legs tied around a large wooden pole behind her back, arms overhead. She couldn't really see it but she could feel that there was a rope running from her wrists to her ankles on top of that.
Grunting, she tried to arch her back, looking for a bit of relief. Not much room for movement. She wondered who her capturer might be. Certainly not the two gorillas who had picked her from the street and threw her in the van. Those had been just hired hands. Professionals though. Sure, they had made her undress, but apart from the tying, they hadn't laid a finger on her. Not even after they had finished and she was sitting there like... on a silver platter, with her titties thrust out and her legs spread. But then again, perhaps she just wasn't their type. 'Hey, it's not you, it's us. We're just not into green hair.'

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