… extrapolating

“Hello there my pretty slavegirl! I am Lark,” A man in a Scaramouche mask and pirate hat said to her with a florid bow, using the name Diam had told her to expect from her escort. He seemed familiar but the broad sneer on his masks face made her feel oddly cowed and submissive.

“Master I am Kat,” she said nervously, secretly relishing this submissive playacting as she stepped from her cloak which pooled about her ankles on the cobbles. She knelt and dutifully presented her leash to Lark. The action was everything she had dreamed it would be. Giving herself to an unknown master was fraught with danger. Her nipples hardened noticeably.

Lark regarded her with a quiet intensity for a moment. She was all but naked and he could see the dark outline of her nipples and sex through her **** silks. He reached down and touched the **** mark lingeringly. “Hmmm it would seem you belong to the Prince. As the Dread Pirate Lark I claim you as booty, fairly stolen! Quick, put your cloak back on before his guards see!”

Kat nodded obediently as she picked up her cloak and covered her nakedness as instructed. Behind him, Lark’s two masked bravo companions that regarded the slavegirl proffering herself with interest. One had a hooked hand as part of his costume. The other an eye patch.

"Ah, slavegirl Kat," Lark said with a knowing smirk, taking her leash with a firm grip. "Tonight you are mine to do with as I wish."

He tugged gently on the leash and she rose to her feet, the thrill of submission sending a shiver down her spine. His companions, both tall and broad-shouldered, watched her every move with hungry eyes. The tension in the air was palpable, and she felt the wetness between her legs spreading, soaking the already flimsy fabric of her serum girl attire.

“Come. Let us not tarry ****! We have a party to attend. The princes gala!” Lark said as he led her by her leash off through the streets.

Kat felt her heart skip as she struggled to keep up. The princes gala would be attended by everyone she knew. Would she be recognised? It made her uncertain… in a quite titillating way.

Lark guided her by her leash through the crowded streets, her heels clicking with every step as her barely contained breasts swayed in time to her breaths. She felt a thrill with every tug on the leash, her body responding eagerly to his commands. The bravo’s flanked them, ensuring no one got too close, and she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of fearful excitement at the thought of what might happen if they did.

As they approached the grand castle, the music grew louder, the laughter more raucous. The masquerade was in full swing, and the courtyard was alive with dancers and acrobats performing for the delighted crowd. Lark steered her through the throng, the leash a constant reminder of her role for the night. The touch of his hand on her naked back was surprisingly gentle, sending a rush of warmth through her that made her knees wobble.

The herald took their invited and, with a loud downward crack of his official standard on the marble foor announced their party to the assembled revellers. “The Dread Pirate Lark, scourge of the inner seas and deflowerer of maidens everywhere,” Lark bowed with exagerated floridness to the tittering amusement of the assembled masqueraders, “next, Lark’s scurvey second mate Cliff the Impaler,” Cliff drew his sword and saluted the crowd to cheers and heartfelt laughter. The herald paused and seemed **** to introduce the second bravo “… ahem… yes… master Bates the … five fingered cook’s chef,” Bates held up and waggled his fake hook hand to lewdly good natured jeers. “Lastly and leastly, Kat, the Dread Pirate Lark’s **** girl!” There was some chuckling at her ignominious introduction. Lark took this moment to relieve her of her cloak.