Chapter 3: Rescue

Scene 9

Key in hand, Val brought her in through the side entrance. Inside there was a small break room and a stairwell. The guard nodded and let them pass, then went back to chatting with a dancer resting her legs.

That entrance was for staff, contractors like Val, and occasionally guests like Zofia. No bouncer to take their weapons or cloaks, and importantly, no clients to see a woman with tourmaline hair coming into the lounge. The fewer questions and rumours, the better. She led Zofia briskly up the stairs.

They were one level up when she heard a sharp breath and felt a sudden tension from the princess.

Val had her daggers out by the time she finished turning. Following Zofia’s gaze, she saw...

The balcony overlooking the lounge, where Lady Margaret’s other girls were still working. A fluttering, one-way curtain let security look out from that balcony without distracting from anyone’s fun. As far as Val could see, it was business as usual.

But Zofia was still staring in abject shock. “Th ... There...” She tore her gaze off to look at Val. “There’s so much sex!” She hissed it as a whisper, as if she were worried that other people might suddenly realise that, yes, there was sex.

Ah. Tension dropping away all at once, Val couldn’t help the amused smile on her face as she slid her blades away. “Yes, princess. It is a bordello.”

“But!” Her fair cheeks fumed red and her eyes drifted back onto the scene. “They’re wearing so little. Or nothing at all! That woman over there has a man’s ... a man’s ... she has it in her mouth!”

Really? Val took a closer look. It wasn’t often that a client paid out to do that much in the club; normally, anything more than petting went into private rooms. But, true enough, Katarin was bowing over a man’s lap.

“It’s indecent. It’s scandalous! It ... it...” Zofia’s voice trailed off.

Valerie took a good look at her. She did a remarkable job of keeping her breathing steady, though she couldn’t manage the same with her words. On first glance, the blush on her face could have all been embarrassment; her wide, locked eyes could have been shock.

But there was more to it. Her pupils were dilated wide, drinking in the scene. Muscles in her neck strained to keep her head from tilting. And that flush extended well past her cheeks. Her red minidress’ neckline came modestly up to her throat, but the fabric’s tight fit hinted at the peaks on her chest coming to firm points.

“Princess?”

She didn’t respond. Her pale lips silently formed the words ‘how is she... ‘

Val cleared her throat. “Princess.”

She jolted again, her lips parted as she turned those wide, slightly-hazed eyes toward her.

It took everything Val had to avoid laughing. “If you could stop staring for a moment, I can take you somewhere there’s less sex.”

“Yes.” Now that she’d shaken out of the trance, she remembered what answers she was meant to give. “Yes, that would be proper.”

Scene 10

Zofia finally got her heartbeat under control as Val ushered her into a private room. But while she was outwardly and physically calm, her mind was still spinning.

How could a woman do those things she’d seen? How could she be so exposed, yet dance so vibrantly? How could she take others’ hands on all the most tender parts of her body? How could she nurse at a man’s lap?

What would that feel like?

She cleared her mind by focusing on her surroundings. Val’s room was comfortable, though slightly smaller than Zofia’s rooms at Pendleton’s manor. The rear windows, if they were open, were big enough to use as a second exit. The bed was shrouded in a gauzy curtain, but it only obscured the view without completely hiding it. Beside it stood a vanity and a wardrobe, doors open to reveal both an eclectic mix of clothing, and the fact that nobody was hiding inside. Opposite were an alchemy workbench, a glass-doored cabinet, and a clean corkboard.

At a glance, she could tell nobody was lying in ambush. A simple, clean bit of security. That made her feel right at home.

Val glided past, closing the wardrobe and curtains. “First, we need to figure out where they’re taking her. I’ll reach out to my street contacts, see who’s seen that carriage where.” The tanned woman grimaced; there were plenty of black carriages in the city, and not everyone would have paid attention to the distinctions.

Zofia had a better idea. “Do you have a map?”

Val pinned a map of the city to the corkboard, then a thin sheet of tracing paper over it. “The carriage turned off Brightstone here.” She drew a line. “That narrows our field.”

More than she knew. Zofia took the pen from her and circled a building, the business of Salman the tailor. “They’ll have taken her here.”

Val blinked at her. “How can you be so sure?”

“I’d already narrowed it to four.” She drew dots on the other Owl hideouts she’d identified. “Who claims these places? Whose territory are they?”

“Nobody...” Val tilted her head as she followed Zofia’s line of thinking. “Huh. Nice work, princess.”

The praise sparked a warm glow in her chest and a small, controlled smile on her face. Yes, damn it, she did do nice work. “And that turn takes them directly away from the others. So, for now, they’ll have her in the flat above Salman’s.”

For now. Val’s expression turned grim. “The rest of those thugs will have caught up by the time we get there. We’ll need an advantage.” She unlocked the cabinet.

Zofia looked along the shelves of crystalline bottles. “Impressive collection. You brew it all yourself?”

“When I was ten, I got my hands on an alchemy journal.” An interesting euphemism for stealing it, she guessed. “I took an interest.” She handed Zofia a handwritten page.

A list of the potions, how to identify them, and their effects. The bottles themselves weren’t labelled. Slick oil, healing and invigoration potions, smoke and flash bombs, and more. As she read down the list, various plans formed, but — “I’ll need some time with this.”

“Try not to take too long.” Val stepped towards the door. “I’ll be back in ten minutes. There’s someone I need to talk to.”

Scene 11

Valerie went back down to that balcony and stood by the railing.

The balcony was surrounded by a curtain coloured with a special dye. Stand behind it or wear a special veil and it was transparent, offering an unimpeded view of the clientele, dancers, and escorts going about their nights. From in front, from down in the lounge, it was opaque crimson. They couldn’t see her. That was by design; it would kill the mood if the clients could see the armed guards looking down on them.

But in the moment, it felt like a sad summary of the situation. Seeing them laughing, flirting, and moaning the night away, a deep and bitter part of her wondered if any of them noticed that Liz was gone. If she never came back, would anyone even—

Yes. A thought interrupted her swan dive. If nobody else ... Zofia, of all people, would care. She relaxed her white-knuckled grip on the railing.

A gentle hand rested on her arm, a familiar presence. She’d come up to the balcony to find her, just as Val had expected.

Lady Margaret wore her mature beauty like a knight would wear their armour and sword. Raven-black hair fell in a tumble of curls to her waist, contrasting her pale skin and vividly red lips. She wore a thin veil, but it didn’t hide anything: it just accentuated her violet eyes and let her see through the curtains. Her black evening gown accentuated the well-curved charms that Liz aspired to.

“They do know she’s gone.” Her voice was as soft as silk. “They’re just putting on a brave face right now. There’s still work to be done.”

Val cracked a smile. It was like she’d read her mind, albeit a minute or two late. “I know. It’s just easy to fall into old habits. Into thinking like it’s still just the two of us alone in the world.”

Lady Margaret smiled at her. “That hasn’t been true for years, my darling. But I understand.” Her expression turned serious. “What happened?”

“The Owls,” Val whispered. Just those two words made Lady Margaret tense up. “They put a collar on her and took her away. But we will get her back.”

“We,” Lady Margaret repeated. “You and that doe-eyed companion of yours?”

If anyone should know, it was the Lady. “Less doe,” Val said, “More tourmaline. Princess Zofia.”

Lady Margaret’s eyebrows raised. “You’re keeping unexpected company. Does she know what she’s getting into?”

“She told me who was responsible, and she...” ‘Insisted’ wasn’t the right word, which was honestly strange to think about a royal. “She asked to help. She thinks it was all just a lure for her.”

Lady Margaret shook her head. “They wouldn’t do something like that for just one reason. My dear Lizabet has been getting so daring lately.” She squeezed Val’s arm. “This is dangerous, Valerie. I want her back, but I don’t want to lose both of you.”

Val smiled. “We’ll be careful ... or as careful as you can be while clashing with a secret society of depraved slavers.” She’d rather have nothing to do with the Owls, but they had picked this fight. She stepped back from the railing. “I’d better get back.” She and Zofia had plans to make, and not long to make them.

Scene 12 (M/F, mdom, femsub, violent sex, very dubious consent — skippable)

The moment the carriage stopped, Hawke grabbed Liz by the hair and dragged her out. Blindfolded, she only heard the driver hurrying away and felt the stairs under her feet. Once they were upstairs and the door was closed behind them, Hawke pulled her robe off and tore away her bra and panties, leaving them to fall from her naked body as useless scraps.

Damn, maybe she’d tempted him too much. That set hadn’t been cheap.

He shoved her forward, pinned her face-down to what felt like a table. In seconds, he was in her, taking her with a savage pace. His hips struck her ass as firmly as his smacking hand, working together to leave her reddened and sore.

Oh, fuck. She liked it rough to start with, but something about the collar enhanced it. Every time Hawke took something he wanted, Liz felt a thrill of pleasure that made it hard to think. If she’d been trying to fight, to resist the stimulation, that dash of magic would be utterly insidious.

But she’d already resolved to enjoy herself while she waited. She screamed as she came and barely remembered to inject a hint of anguish into her tone.

He must have finished at the same moment, because he slouched over her with post-coital lethargy. “You’re going to do that for all of us.” His voice was low and husky, at the peak of its masculinity. “At least once each. And once we’ve had enough of you, then we’ll hand you off to the Owls. So the longer you keep us happy, the better for you it’ll be. Understand?”

“Y-Yes.”

Just as planned, he growled and spanked her hard enough for the force to jolt all the way up to her shoulders. “Try that again.”

She squealed for effect. “Y-Yes sir! Thank you!”

Then he traded off and let the other guard have her. The collar still blasted her with just as much pleasure: even if she wasn’t fucking Hawke, she was fucking at his command. They alternated like that, trading back and forth and dragging her all across the flat — table, bed, wall, floor — until the others arrived. That was when they took her blindfold off, so she could see all eight men she ‘had’ to service. As if that was a threat instead of a promise.

That was also when they stopped taking turns one by one. Her cunt, her mouth, her breasts, her hands — they had her serve them every way she could. At any time, there were at least two hard dicks ready to use her.

It was fucking amazing.

Oh, they thought they were punishing her, sure. But she was completely in control. A whimper here, a shake of her head there, and they did exactly what they thought she didn’t want. On men like these, reverse psychology was even easier than feminine wiles, and she was proud of her wiles. She’d worked hard to get them.

Scene 13 (references to violent sex, transphobia from villains)

It took almost an hour, but the men finally had enough of their fill to ease off for a little while. Liz slumped back to catch her breath. She’d been so focused on her ‘work’ that she hadn’t really got her bearings yet.

She was laid on a cot in the corner of the room, still naked except for her stockings, garter belt, and a healthy decoration of eight men’s semen. She was sore — from rough thrusting, from tugs at her hair, from all the different ways and places they’d smacked her — but she still had that warm, post-orgasmic glow tingling out to her fingertips and toes. She adjusted her pose slightly: she wanted to keep those men hooked for as long as she could.