Kinky adventurers Ch. 02: Pt. 08

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I: Hey Emma, do you want to roleplay this next scene in real-time?

Si: Wait, what?!

E: Yeah, sure! You know I’m always down to clown.

I: Hah! Ok, why don’t you go take those rags off and shower real quick, then. And don’t put anything on–you start this next scene naked.

Si: Wait, what?!

Y: [whistles]

E: [blushes furiously]. Umm, ok. But I’m still chained up [struggles futilely against her bonds].

I: Of course. Yuna? Do you mind?

Y: I mean, I do. But for you, Ingrid? Anything.

R: I have no idea what’s about to happen, but I have a feeling it’s gonna be good.

Kit leans back against the tub and lets the burning sensation of hot water overwhelm her. Heaving a sigh, she allows herself to acknowledge how emotionally exhausted she is. Ever since she and Ilya were attacked in the night market the previous evening (was that really just yesterday?), she has been on high alert, stressed, anxious. The primal part of her that worries and looks out for her own safety and well-being has been working full-time alongside the ‘big sister’ part of her that feels the need to watch out for Ilya.

That is, until Ilya wandered off and never came back.

The wave of guilt, worry, and responsibility crashes over Kit like a tsunami, rising above and flooding everything she thought was solid. For what feels like an endless stretch of hopeless minutes, Kit swirls in its dark currents, utterly unmoored, going wherever it takes her, unable to find anything to hold onto.

A sudden noise–a scratching sound, like metal on metal–abruptly brings her back to the surface. Listening intently, Kit grasps onto the sound like a sailor clinging to the flotsam of her ship.

E: Do I hear anything?

I: Make a perception check for me.

E: 10.

I: Not a sound.

A heavy silence ensues, in which Kit hears nothing at all. Grateful for the reprieve, however, Kit moves her legs about in the bath water, eager to keep sounds going, anything to keep her anchored to this moment, to reality. She feels that at any second she could get sucked back under by those dark currents.

Kit glances around, consciously taking in her surroundings. The bathing room she’s in is small, paneled with a reddish wood, and roughly tiled. A bucket, sponge, and bar of yellow soap lie on a low stool standing over a drain in one corner of the room. Kit spent a good 20 minutes on that stool scrubbing her body until her skin was pink and a little raw.

It isn’t easy undoing Ash’s handiwork, Kit muses to herself, a wry smile stealing unexpectedly across her face. At least not if you let her put her hands all over your body while designing your ‘costume.’ The memory of Ash’s hands touching her face, her stomach, her breasts, her ass and thighs ignites a warm tingling between her legs.

Like the entire apartment that Sixto had led them to, the wash room lies in the basement of a larger building. Daylight streams in through an opaque window set in a small well dug out to let light into the basement. Kit doesn’t know what sort of building she is in (she had been rather emotionally preoccupied with her temporary role as Ashara’s slave at the time they arrived), but she hasn’t heard any noises above her getting here earlier this morning.

Maybe a warehouse? she speculated. Or a residence for someone who is often out of town?

In any case, neither Ash nor Six had stuck around long. Both had decided–seemingly independent of the other–to ‘work their contacts’ in trying to find out where Ilya is being held and how to get to her. Waiting a quarter hour in between departures, each had headed back out into the city, locking the door behind them as they went.

E: Was the sound I heard a minute ago the same as the when Ash and Six locked the door behind them?

Y: Oooh, good thinking, Em!

E: Thanks, babe.

I: Make a history check to see if you can accurately recall the sound.

E: [Rolls]. Oh, that’s actually kinda good! 16?

Now that she thinks of it, the sound of the door locking closely resembled what Kit heard earlier.

Is someone trying to get in?

Suddenly alert, Kit scans the room once more. The rags Ash dressed her in for her slave march across Tristanfell lie in a filthy pile in the corner of the room. The shackles she had worn, as well as her own clothes, armor, and weapons were all in the next room over. Listening intently once more, Kit hears nothing. Deciding she’d rather not get caught by the syndicate without any clothes on, however, Kit reluctantly rises up from the hot water. The air feels cool on her wet, bare skin, but she knows the sensation will soon pass in the hot, muggy, Tristanfell summer.

Grabbing the clean towel hanging on the hook by the door, Kit dries herself just enough to avoid leaving puddles on the floor wherever she walks, but not so much that her bath-hot body will have to replace the moisture with sweat right away.

There’s nothing worse than sweating right after I’ve just gotten clean, Kit gripes to herself. Easier said than done this Osmanbey travesti time of year, though.

Kit hangs the towel back on its hook, opens the door to the bathing room, and heads into the apartment. It’s small–a bed in one corner, a cooking stove and food preparation counter against the wall in another. An old armchair and a round table made of pine wood occupy the portion of the room nearest the door leading up to the side alley. Two glazed windows–with iron bars bolted onto the outside of the frame, Kit recalls–allow in light without permitting her to see out–or prying eyes to see in.

Knowing her friends won’t be back anytime soon, Kit stands naked in the center of the room, in no hurry to do anything. She feels cut off, marooned.

I can’t even leave this place. It’s not safe for me anywhere in this city. It might not even be safe for me here.

Heaving a sigh that carries the weight of all her raw emotions, Kit pads barefoot across the room to the ‘kitchen’ where Ash has left a loaf of bread and some cheese for her.

What a thoughtful soul, Kit thinks, managing a slight smile.

E: Aw, thanks, babe!

Y: Anything for you, sexy.

Si: Get a room!

R: Hahaha! You two are adorable.

Taking the serrated bread knife out of its wooden holder, Kit cuts a hunk of bread, her thoughts back to Ilya and what she might be enduring at the hands of the mob.

We’ll find you, Ilya. I promise! We’ll get you back, and you’re going to be ok!

Kit’s silent reverie is suddenly ruptured in a burst of noise as the door to the safe house swings open! Startled, Kit flips the knife around in her grip and drops to a crouch facing the door. Her stomach churns with fear as she anticipates half a dozen mobsters flooding into the room.

But, to her surprise, Kit sees just one person–a familiar young woman tensely gripping a hefty wooden club in both hands, eyes frantically darting around the room.

“You?” Kit asks, utterly bewildered.

“Where are they?” the young woman cries, breathing heavily and looking from Kit to the sparse furnishings and back to Kit again.

Realizing she isn’t about to battle for her life, Kit relaxes from her crouch. “Where is who? What are you talking about? Why are you here?”

As the adrenaline and fear ebb away, Kit finds herself instead feeling mildly annoyed. The intruder is, without a doubt, the girl from the bullywug swamp. Wisps of light brown hair that had evaded the single, long braid down her back hang across her young face (was she really this young in the swamp, or am I just realizing this now? Kit wonders). She is wearing blue work overalls over a russet colored tunic unbuttoned far enough down to reveal hints of cleavage. The set of her feet betrays a lack of combat training–or any real experience fighting, for that matter–but her tight grip on the club and her grim determination are evidence of ample courage nonetheless.

The young woman looks confused at Kit’s response–her sense of danger is still high. “The people who took you here!” she replies, exasperated. “Who else would I be talking about?”

Now it’s Kit’s turn to look puzzled. “You mean my friends?”

“Friends?!” The young woman retorts, nearly yelling now. “They brought you here in chains!”

Realization begins to dawn on Kit, and as it spreads across her face her would-be rescuer begins to relax as well.

“Ok, can you tell me what’s going on?” the young woman pleads as fear and adrenaline are replaced with awkwardness and confusion. She lowers her club and, in the modest light from the opaque windows, looks Kit over. A cherry red blush rises in her cheeks as she realizes her ‘damsel in distress’ is not wearing anything.

There they are, she thinks to herself, those glorious tits. Every time I see this woman it seems she’s naked.

Kit breathes out a long sigh–of relief, of frustration, of embarrassment, of disbelief.

Can this day get any weirder?

“Ok, this is going to sound a little hard to believe, but I wasn’t being kidnapped earlier.” Her uninvited guest waits in silence for the rest of the explanation. “And I’m not anyone’s slave, either.”

Kit feels embarrassed to have to say those words, but in the incredulous silence that follows, she realizes with a rush of embarrassment how implausible her last statement must sound. “Well… ok, maybe I was a slave the last time you saw me, but I’m not anymore.”

One of Jessica’s eyebrows shoots up and her gaze pointedly drops to take in Kit’s naked body before rising to meet her eyes again. Kit feels her face burn with shame as she remembers, for the first time since her young friend here barged in and scared her half to death, that her entire body is on display. An instinct of modesty kicks in and Kit finds herself reaching down to shield her pussy with one hand while she covers her nipples with her other arm.

Kit lets out a groan of frustration and humiliation. “I swear to you, I’m not a slave!”

“The way you’re yelling it for the whole city to Osmanbey travestileri hear, you’d think no one would believe you,” Jessica replies with much sass, her free hand on her hip.

“Look, I can explain,” Kit begins, her body slightly hunched, her arms covering her sexy bits.

“Mmmhmm. I’m sure you can,” Jessica agrees, with more heavy sass. She strolls over to the armchair, sets her club against the wall, and sits down.

“Are you seriously just going to sit down and hang out? I’m naked!”

“I noticed.”

“You just broke into my house!”

“To save you!”

“From what?!”

“I don’t know, maybe the people who had you chained up in those skimpy, tattered rags, looking like they’d just bought you from a swamp king or something!” Jessica throws up her hands in exasperation, and Kit is forced to admit she has a point. From this woman’s perspective, how else could she interpret what she had seen this morning? She hadn’t seen Kit’s friends rescue her from the bullywugs, nor had she been privy to Ash’s crazy plan to throw the mob off their tail by making Kit look like a slave recently dragged from a very filthy place.

With the wind knocked out of her sails, Kit considers for a moment what this stranger just did. She broke into a locked, basement apartment, armed and ready to fight, to save her from a terrible fate.

I don’t even know this girl’s name, Kit realizes, but she just put her life on the line for mine. And I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know my name, either.

The silence stretches on. Despite her comfortable position in the arm chair, Kit notices her would-be-rescuer’s chest rising and falling rapidly.

She must have really screwed up her courage before busting in here, Kit thinks. She’s still all wound up. And I can’t blame her.

Making up her mind, Kit says, “What the hell,” and walks over to her unexpected friend, hand outstretched. “My name’s Kit. Kit’seneth Lunasaria.”

The young woman tenses as this beautiful, older woman approaches her, naked and shameless. Her eyes watch Kit’s tits, bouncing slightly as she walks, then fall to her bush and pussy (now at eye level). Finally, she pulls herself together enough to notice her outstretched hand and shake it.

“Jessie,” she stammers. “Jessica Brown.”

“It’s nice to get to formally make your acquaintance at last, Jessie,” Kit replies warmly. “Gods know we’ve been through a lot in the meantime.” Kit says this last part with a cynical tone that would make Sixto proud.

“Um, yeah,” is all Jessie can manage. It’s all she can do just to keep her eyes on Kit’s face.

Her pussy is only two feet from my tongue. The thoughts come unbidden to Jessica’s mind.

Act cool! Act cool! comes another frantic voice from within her mind.

Noticing Jessie’s discomfort, Kit suddenly becomes shy again and her left arm reaches across her chest to cover her breasts. “Um… I think I’m gonna put some clothes on now.”

Kit turns and heads to her pile of clothes on the bed. Jessica watches her as she walks, hypnotized by the sway of her tight ass, the slight ripple across her bare flesh with each footfall.

As Kit picks up her underwear, Jessica blurts out, “Or maybe not.” Surprised by her subconscious audacity, Jessie hears her own words phrased as a suggestion.

What am I doing?!

Equally surprised, Kit turns half around and looks back at Jessica. “Huh?”

Oh, gods. Her voice sounded so innocent and unsuspecting. And oh, gods, she looks so good in profile! Her ass is so tight and round and her belly is so trim. How does she have such a fantastic body?

A long second or two pass before Jessica realizes she’s been staring in silence and Kit is standing there naked, waiting for her to say something. “I mean, umm, you don’t really have to put on clothes.” Jessie gestured pointlessly with her hands, trying to buy time for words to come. “I mean, you were pretty comfortable here without them before I so rudely barged in.” Shrugging apologetically, she continued lamely, “And it isn’t like I haven’t seen you naked before.”

Kit blushes, but manages to raise a skeptical eyebrow.

“I’m sorry! That sounded really wrong. What I meant to say was… that it’s honestly really hot here this time of year–whoa, see? I’m sweating–and I wouldn’t want to make you get all sweaty on my account.”

This comment, of course, immediately raises in both women’s minds images of Kit getting all sweaty on Jessie’s account. Jessie blushes furiously and drops her eyes to the floor.

“I’ll shut up now.”

Holding her thong in her hands, Kit considers this girl for a moment. “What are you trying to say, Jessie?” she asks, making sure her voice sounds openly curious rather than accusatory or suspicious. “You want me to stay naked like this?”

There’s a long silence. Then, “Yeah.”

Kit absentmindedly drops her thong onto the floor. Damn, she thinks. This girl’s got courage, alright.

“I like you like this.” Jessie says it with her eyes still fixed on the floor, but Travesti osmanbey both of them hear the difference in her voice, so different from the apologetic, awkward tone just a moment ago. She says it quietly but decisively, as shameless of her desires as Kit was for a moment of her naked body when she offered her hand in introduction.

A million feelings and thoughts squirm around inside Kit’s body, all talking and yelling and panicking at once.

What is she actually implying? Does she want to have sex with me? How do I feel about this? I’ve only just met her. She’s already seen all there is to see, why not stay naked? I’ve never had sex with a woman before. What does she want to do with me? What do I want her to do with me? What if Ash finds out?

They arrive so thick and fast Kit can hardly think straight, much less tease them apart and make sense of them. But the last one sticks with her.

What does it mean that I thought that? Kit thinks. Ash and I aren’t a thing, that’s ridiculous. I don’t owe her anything like that. There’s nothing between us in that way, is there?

Is there?

Just great. Now I’m thinking about my thoughts. Next, I’m gonna start thinking about how I’m thinking about my thoughts.

Fuck. I just did.

With effort, Kit pulls herself out of the thought whirlpool and comes back to her body, to the room she’s in, to this precise moment in time and space. Using her breath to still her thoughts, she simply notices her actual circumstances:

I’m naked

There’s a cute young woman (a girl, if I’m being honest) fifteen feet away from me who just asked me not to put any clothes on; and

She’s waiting for me to say something

The silence creeps on as Kit ponders her feelings. The last few minutes have whiplashed back and forth from danger to awkwardness to lust so quickly that she finds it hard to make sense of them. Eventually, Jessie looks up–a vulnerable expression on her face.

This girl’s just put her guts on the table for me; she deserves the same in return.

After another deep breath, Kit says, “You’re a bold one, aren’t you?” Jessie’s eyes drop back to the floor. “No, I didn’t mean it like that,” Kit adds. “I wasn’t implying you don’t have the right to be.” Now it’s Kit’s turn to look at the floor. She clasps her hands in front of her naked belly to keep from fidgeting, then continues. “I meant to say I think it’s really hot.”

Jessica’s eyes dart up to Kit’s face once more, the vulnerable embarrassment replaced with hope.

“I mean, you come crashing in here thinking I’m in trouble, ready to fight who knows who in order to bust me out. Then you have no qualms telling me that you like me naked. I mean, you’ve only been here a few minutes, I hardly know you from Eve, and yet you’ve got me all turned on.”

It takes saying it out loud for Kit to finally acknowledge that it’s true–her womanhood is hot as a furnace, she’s wet between the legs, and a quick glance down at her chest confirms that her nipples are indeed firm and erect. Kit looks up from her chest to find that Jessica has noticed as well.

“So, does that mean I can… That you want me to…”

A moment of panic and uncertainty ensues within Kit’s mind and belly. She intuitively senses this is a moment of truth of sorts. Maybe Jessica’s boldness is rubbing off on her, or maybe her lust wins out, but Kit nods once.

I don’t even know what she wants to do, but I’m dead certain I want her to do it.

A naughty smile slowly spreads across Jessie’s face. She stands up from the arm chair and saunters across the room to where Kit stands by the bed.

“Your nipples sure get hard when you’re horny, don’t they?”

Jessie’s tone is condescending, almost shaming. Part of Kit wants to protest the way this girl is talking to her. Another part of her, though, desperately wants this girl to see and desire her firm tits, her bare belly, her wet pussy, her firm ass. More than that, this part of Kit loves that this girl–by a significant stretch her junior–is asserting control, pointing out Kit’s exposed, vulnerable emotions and body.

“They were like this when you were tied up in the swamp, too. Being enslaved by the bullywugs really turned you on, didn’t it?”

A powerful wave of emotion washes over Kit. Hearing Jessie say it, she realizes it’s true: despite all the things she didn’t like about being a bullywug slave, parts of Kit had loved it. She had loved the helplessness, the humiliation. She had loved being put on display, the way it declared unequivocally to everyone who saw her that she had been bested, beaten, captured, that someone else was now in control of her body.

Shit. Is this honestly what I crave?

Jessie stares lustfully at Kit’s body as she approaches, stopping just in front of her, less than an arm’s reach away. Kit feels her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

“Gods, your tits are fucking gorgeous,” Jessie breathes. The compliment flows over Kit like a warm oil, gently rubbed into her bare skin. She finds herself surrendering to this part of her that desires to submit and be used and is unashamed of it; as the eros rises like a tide, she feels the judgmental, analytical thought narrative fade into the background. Jessica reaches out and slowly, gently, reverently takes each of Kit’s tits in her fingers and softly squeezes.

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