7th of March, 876th of NDE. Veidr Fort near the southern border of Naireanth, Skafell Heimrad.
“Nnmn nph.” A weak moan reverberated through the Mirage Room, as Drifiel tried to alert her Sisters patrolling outside. Both the walls and the silver sealing tape strewn across her lips and cheeks muffled her cry for help, whilst she tried to roll around the chair she was bound to. Her movements awkward from the bindings, and an unseen weight.
Drifiel was a young, neonate drengriar of the Bck Rose Order, blessed with a devilish elven beauty thanks to her inherited stygian and dark elven blood. Rich, deep red skin with strong earthen undertones nearly matching with the colrs of her lustrous aetherna satin dress shirt’s brushing against her taped cheeks. Lush, shoulder length straight hair, shaved at the back of her nape, whilst at the front framed her sharp, oval face – naturally parted by her curving and slender horns sprouting at the corners of her broad forehead – possessing a dark shade close to jet bck with streaks of bold rose red at the frame. Her cheeks sharp and sitting below her small, almond-framed searing red eyes set in a mild crater of the same outline. Showering the tape with scented, warm breath were the upturned, rounded tip of her small, delicate nose that accentuated her youthful look. And her body yered in the structured, darkly opulent uniform of the Bck Roses, wiry and slender.
Slowly, the st of the paralytic poison she inhaled hours beforehand faded, along with the phantom pressure around her slender, wiry body left by the firm arms of the orc separatist. Though in the pce of arms, slim, silken textured and glossy ropes winded across her torso, its taut yoke fixing her to the chair hovering, swinging left and right, back and forth.
Then her infernal pupils slid upwards, the Agaevarh-Type II coat and tailored trousers of dragonidh leather emanated a crisp groan accompanying her soft, pleasure filled whimper as the warm twinging across her body signaled the departure of the st of the paralytic poison, their weights fallen and dispersed at st.
She stretched her legs now with a bit more ease, towards the pane of the window, whilst as she moved around her neck, cracking it, she let out a few more moans of light pleasure as the crimson red angled, folded down colr tickled her equally rich, deep red skin with a strong brownish undertone, whilst the jacket’s own triangur folded down wings crumbled softly at the weight of her taped cheeks. Then as if nothing happened, bounced back to their former state and position with a crisp squeak. Pleasant to her ears to the point she nearly forgot the situation she was in.
After feeling a bit better with the fading of the induced numbness, Drifiel pnted her feet into the hardwood floor like an anchor. Heaving her whole, bound form she managed to rotate her towards the corner of the counter near the window. Another heave and she now faced the wall opposite to the entrance, lit by the light of the Mirage Mirrors reflecting the courtyard, the interiors of this frugal base, checkpoint. Then with a third and st, she now faced the Mirage Mirror and its control panel. Feeling a bit victorious, she let out a muffled chuckle, then heaved her legs high.
She nearly fell over, and even saw the two leathery, silk soft ribbons lift up from her shapely breasts. Even the pixie steps on the lever edges of her coat’s imposing colr fpped as her weight almost pushed her down onto the back. Thin, fp panels from which the two ribbons slither down onto their chest lines. The abrasive thud with which her heel arrived to the wooden floor muffled out the soft lulbies of her coat as she squirmed around, pulling her cinched upper body forward. Drifiel’s heart pounced in her chest, even felt as if sweat trickled down beside her right eye, as she expected the imminent, angered return of her captor, but after a few minutes nothing happened and with gentler motions, pulled herself closer to the Mirage Mirror.
“Fnnhlln!” Drifiel let out a half-victorious sigh, her head slumped into the soft embrace of her opened colrs. Then she immediately looked back whilst fidgeted around her arms. Her mild hope came from the fact that her wrists were bound before her, not forced behind, although a few coils made sure she couldn’t lift them up from her thighs. She let out a short groan, as her elbow pushed into her abdomen abruptly, then tried to push down her arms into the slit area between her thighs in as the ropes around her wrists and thighs cshed.
No matter how much she tried. Panting, she looked around on the console and tried to lean over, to use her nose to press the arm. Four times she nearly reached the bulbous, rubbery bold violet button against the shimmering, metallic framing, but each time the rope around her shapely bosom and abdomen sprung her back.
Twice she nearly stumbled back, down onto the floor. Though she pondered whether that was possible with hovering chair. With rolling and legged chairs, she fell over a few times during her academy years and in her first few posts, but this was her first time sitting in one inscribed with low grade levitation spell. Her imagination instead presented a situation where it would – for some reason that evaded her reasoning – would have propelled her into the wall below the window. A prospect that made her all the more careful as she took a break and looked how things fared, whether there was a takeover or things still went as before.
On a few Mirrors, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. A few of her fellow drengriars and volvaeths patrolled the meager courtyard with a straight road that led into the built-out tunnel at the foot of the mountain. On the inside of the lone headquarters built upon the ancient temple of the God of the Hunt and Natural Order, the corridors remained quiet, devoid of her Sisters. A structure following the original outline of the temple which itself was fashioned after the long boats of Kraken Hunters, the changes made were mostly towards the interior that belonged more to a luxurious hotel rather than a military checkpoint, and the addition of two more floors.
Like the fifth where she sat fitted to her chair by six coils of thin ropes with silken smooth texture and gloss, sapping her mana, and to some extent her stamina. Or at least forced them to remain in their exhausted state after she heaved herself to the Mirage Mirror.
For a moment, she felt eased by the sight of a nairenthian sol-elven Sister of hers appearing in the corner, a suspicious countenance on her bright, fair golden and lovely visage but the feeling evaporated as quickly as the prospect of movement when the soaked rag was cmped over her pretty, devilish elven face. She watched as a tall, blonde man with a strong, square jaw and arms like logs dressed in dark greenish waist coat zipped up completely to the round, high unfolded neck, trousers with each side lined by pouch pockets, the cuffs tucked into heavy, tracking boots wrapped one arm around her waist, locking her arms to her sides, his other cmped over her mouth as she dragged her out of sight whilst a lean, half-dwarf women followed after them with a few coils of rope thrown over her broad shoulders, a roll of glossy, thick and broad silver sealing tape in her left hand, wide mirth adorning her wide, roundish face adorned by a high bridge, slender nose.
As she searched for them, Drifiel’s gaze stopped on the Mirage Eye reflecting the cabin near snting road leading into the forest below the elevation the base sat on. She watched as two more separatist agents disguised as the merchants who arrived earlier from Scohia finish binding and gagging two more of her Sisters – a wood elf with regal antlers and a bronzish complexion and voluminous hair bundled into a low bun, her forehead left free, the other a fellow stygian with light vender like skin and a pastel green hair tumbling down onto her shoulders and with thick bangs falling over her forehead, disturbed only by the meager horns which tips peeked out from the soft, silken strands.
Even on the courtyard previously in its same, boring but peaceful state, her Sisters were grabbed one by one before a battle broke out near the small space between the parked down vehicles and the warehouses. A few of the separatists fell, but a few more slipped behind the cover of the few remaining drengriars led by a tall, snow dracorith Volvaeth with snow white skin with a mild rose red undertone and a lush white silvery lob with feathered ends. Quickly, they were seized by the separatists draped in full-body suit – even covering their heads – and sedated with a sleeping or paralytic gas, Drifiel was unsure.
Before her eyes, all hope of freedom vanished and the fear she felt whilst being drugged, bound and gagged returned all at once as she watched those in the courtyard dragged to the center where the separatists secured them after searching through their uniforms. Then left them bound and gagged in the warehouses, then returned to the vehicles they arrived with. Slowly they unloaded their freight into the warehouses and even the main building of the checkpoint. She felt stupefied, pondering whether these were loaded with explosives. “Ht hhf th bm!” She mumbled, as she began to look around, trying to find anything to free herself from the yoke of the rope.
Pulling herself towards the corner, her coat gave out calming, rousing hushes whilst the rope groaned as the lower loop attached to the sharp corner. Contrary to her expectation, instead of loosening, the rope tightened and she let out a muffled grunt, a stronger outline of her lips appeared on the glossy, dimpled and grainy surface of the tape strewn across her lips and cheeks. Gd for softness of her dress shirt lessening the pain of the rope cutting into her, Drifiel slumped forward and turned at the moaning of the door.
“Look, this piece of fiery ass is trying to free herself!” Drifiel assumed a calmer expression in her eyes as she turned and faced a rugged looking woman who spoke with the accent of the Noyachny folk. A wicked grin on her face as she entered holding one of those crates Drifiels searing red eyes focused on immediately. “This? I guess you got the idea already.” She added approaching her after pcing down the crate in the center of the spacious Mirage Mirror Room.
“Nothing better to start the day with a bit of fireworks ain’t it right, Oleg?” She turned to the second separatist, a tall, bulky man whose face carried the signs of orcish heritage. Signs of small tusk behind his lower lip, skin harsh and dry, eyes sunken and roundish with a green tint in the blue. His head shaved with a long scar running across, slicing into his thick, bushy brow. He simply grunted before leaving the two alone.
“You know, we have a little time.” She approached Drifiel slowly who tried to back away, but proved too slow. “A st pleasure.” Her rancid breath blown a few strands of her hair, and for a moment she wanted to threw up when she felt the tape press onto her lips as the separatist women kissed her on the cheeks. “Katya, come we still have to hit another base of the Snow-Scaled!” Oleg called out to her and she grunted. “Right, though I wish they would have had this base instead of you guys. Then we would have more time.”
She pulled away; her firm hold over her shoulders released. “Maybe in another life. Hope then Myelia grants you the same beauty my love.” She blew a kiss then disappeared, leaving the distressed Drifiel staring at the closed door. Then when the engines started up and the roaring of the wheeled vessels became distant, she broke out from the mild stupor and began to look around, tried every edge and with each try, the ropes cut further into her uniformed form, pushing her further against the soft, leathery coating whilst the dents along the angur silhouette grew deeper until she could barely breath and passed out unconscious whilst the bluish bckness of the night shifted into a light violet, blue and amber.
“Mmm hmmm, hhhmm!” As bckness slowly curtained her vision, Drifiel let out a weak, muffled cry for help as she may have heard the sound of rushing footsteps outside the door…
Afterword:
Another one as I stir from my winter slumber. Though from next year onward, I designate January as my break month.
Now in regards, this time I chose a simpler scenario, involving the one plot point that always comes up and screams in my head in all kinds of stories. The security guard in the cam room getting neutralized first, so the enemy can skulk around without worrying about the cams. Or floating invisible eyes in this case.
This one, I am half liking the end result. And kinda have an idea for a ter Bound Diary story, featuring a longer staring at the screen segment, a bit more action oriented so to speak.
Another idea I believe mentioned here, and will feature in the second rger story this year, uniform attachments, including the stripe mentioned here that is both ornamental, but also has a function. In this case, one stripe/string is essentially a torchlight beaming from the bosom, whilst the other may vary, but as of now more of a sense invisible, skulking infiltrators.
In regards of next month, the first longer story of the year titled Passion Ride is scheduled at the end of the month. It will feature Maleern featured as of now once in a short story a year or two ago from, and Arvindel who I believe got upgraded into an umbral dracorith tasked with protecting the possible next president of the United Republics, on a train. Because trains are cool.
Anyhow, that is enough rambling from me. The next story will be up on early access on my patreon and subscribestar, and up free here on next Thursday. Simirly, the unedited first chapter of the next story will be up on those two.
So till then, take care and have a nice weekend folks!
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