“Are you sure you’re willing?” the lady asked, manoeuvring around the cluttered room stirring this and adding sprinkles of this to the other. Her dark robes swished behind her as she danced between piles of books, awkwardly placed furniture and assorted bags and boxes.
The man managed only a grunt, or perhaps a moan, it was hard to tell. He had come entirely of his free will, a respondent to a witches wanted poster requesting “enthusiastic and willing men who know their rightful places at the feet of their Queens”. It hadn’t taken him entirely long to find himself gagged, blindfolded and tied naked to a chair.
Saliva trailed meekly down his chest as it fell from his mouth in his attempts to answer through his gag. His wrists and ankles wrestled with the bindings around the chair. His eyes searched for light behind a mask that offered nothing. Outside of the feeling of his bindings or the grain of his wooden throne, his senses were muted entirely. Everything was dark.