A hunky yuppie (strait-laced but assertive)

The Bard's heart pounded with a blend of humiliation and thrill. From the window the group watched their friend, tied naked beneath the lamppost, flatteringly spotlighting her auburn hair and the swell of her breasts, helpfully complemented by the exaggerated shadows cast by the overhead light.

For a while, the street remained quiet.

Then came the sound of dress shoes clicking briskly against the pavement.

A man approached, emerging from the summer dark. A sharply dressed young professional wearing a loosened tie and fitted coat, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose. There was something distinctly… Clark Kent-like about him: Handsome, strait-laced, but with a faint awkwardness in his demeanor. His steps faltered when he saw the Bard on his path. “Well… this is new,” he muttered, adjusting his glasses. He looked at the paper sign taped above her head, “Free to use?” he repeated softly, “Guess I should follow instructions.”

The man placed his briefcase on the pavement next to the hedges and gave her another visual inspection. He got his phone out and initially held a respectable arm’s length distance, circling her slowly to snap pictures from different angles. The Bard squirmed against the pole, a flush spreading across her face as she tried to twist away. Where might those pictures end up? A private folder? A public website? Phone cameras are better and better these days, how crisply do they capture my… everything? Do I want him to come get close-ups perhaps? Muffled moans came in ragged bursts against the ball gag.

After a small album worth of shots, he slipped his phone into his pocket and stepped closer, up to a much more intimate distance. His touch was assertive and deliberate, firmly gripping the plumpest folds of her skin. He stood alongside her and began with grips along her thighs and buttocks, as if standing face-to-face was too confrontational for him, but it took barely any time at all before his hands roamed upwards, brushing against her ribs and up to close around the swell of her right breast. He gave it a calculated squeeze, playfully bouncing the soft flesh in his hand like a water balloon, as if exploring their weight. Then he began to circle to her front, firmly gripping both of her tits at once and kneading them with assertive intent, his thumbs brushing along her hardened nipples. By the book, the Bard caught herself thinking amidst the stirring shivers. She let out muffled whimpers and breathy gasps as his hands roamed, shifted, and applied more pressure. The only perfunctory resistance she could muster to his ownership was the creeping blush across her cheeks. He squished her milkers together, and then let them drop back down to their natural positions with a respectable wobble.

Finally, he took hold of the vibrator dangling from her neck. He examined it for a moment, pushing his glasses back up his nose. The man moved behind her for a moment, and the Bard could hear and feel the tearing of a strip of duct tape. What's he doing? Is he setting me free? No, instead the man returned to face her and leaned down. he took the vibrator, pressed it firmly against her upper inner thigh, and then looped the piece of duct tape around her leg to tie it firmly in place, placing it so the tip was positioned to brush against her crotch. He activated it. The Bard quivered, boobs jostling, shifting against the sensations but unable to move the device out of reach of her crotch. The man offered a polite smile, and then leaned back down again... to put the vibrator on its maximum setting, and confirm its placement was secure and offered the utmost sensation. The Bard moaned pitifully, pathetically, into the gag. This humiliating pleasure would potentially last the entire night unless she freed herself or the battery ran out.

"Thanks for the company," the man said simply, straightening his tie. "You made my night." And with that, he snapped a final picture of her squirming form, retrieved his briefcase and walked down the street. Inside, the others peered out from behind the blinds with quiet amusement.

DM: ...More creative than I would've given an office-worker credit for.

SORCERER: You think she’s ever gonna forgive us?

From outside, through the night air, came the faintest muffled moan.

ROGUE grinned: Eventually.