Lead her into the tunnel

Liz's plan was not overly elegant, nor was it burdened by too many details. Perhaps 'twas more the start of a plan, but leading her leather clad tormentor into the tunnels around the arena would surely present some opportunities. At the very least her chariot's advantage would disappear in such tight quarters.

Mayhaps the pirate could even plunder The Mistress's whip. As Liz's hind quarters had started to smart from the leather lash and the keel scraping from her earlier tumble, a dollopping of **** seemed a hearty indulgence indeed.

But this was all in the bush if the gates to these tunnels stayed closed. To her left, wooden doors blocked the entrance she'd arrived from. Liz ran towards the obstacle, intent to try her shoulder against it. Perhaps a tad foolish given how little she knew of the wooden slabs aside from their presumed duty to barricade against fierce beasts. Yet she'd raided the high seas and bashed many a door in with such anthropomorphic battering rams; one could hope this door would be little different. Pounding the sand beneath her feet, Liz felt confidence and valor boil through her veins as the wooden door approached oblivious to the doom she brought. The accomplished raider smashed into the door with all the speed of a canon ball, and promptly found herself back on her arse much to the amusement of her onlookers.

"Rapscallion?" admonished The Mistress, "if you wanted to flee to the tunnels, why didn't you simply say so?" The scheming Eve waved her hand and the gate on the opposite side of the arena slowly began to open.

Swinging her legs acrobatically, Liz twirled to her feet. She glanced warily at The Mistress, who for once was not swinging her whip. This was a trap; Liz knew it, yet she trotted towards the open escape route all the same. Her caution was prudent as just when her toes reached the coliseum's center point she heard the gate behind her begin to open and watched the one before her slowly close; no doubt The Mistress intended to toy and taunt with her rapscallion, dangling each open door in turn. But Liz would have non of it. Emulating a pouncing cheetah, she bolted toward the steadily falling portcullis. A dangerously optimistic estimate told her she had just enough time. Behind, The Mistress's whip barked through the air, but Liz looked ahead, daren't she waste a second looking on anything that wasn't her prize. The iron lattice was still descending, now barely more than waist height. She had a dozen paces to go. Her breath ran hot. Her thundering heart cheered her on. The gate dropped lower.

And so did Liz. She tucked her shoulder first then leaped, just tumbling through the narrowing gap with only a minnow's fin of clearance. She hopped to her feet, and raised a fist in huzzah. What crowd could see her joined in her elation. Her cheer was cut a tid short as Liz realized that some were likely cheering her exposed bosom and pleasure valley rather than her accomplishment. the embarrassment of her exposure again painted that beautiful red across the canvas of her face while her hands sprung to sheepishly shroud her Susans.

'Twasn't the time to dwell on such frivolities, though, as her huntswoman's chariot slowly approached and the gate between them began to rise. Evidently the chase was still on.

Taking only a breath more to bulwark her lungs, Liz sprang off. For the first fistful of steps she galloped forward with confident strides; though the dimness hindered her progress once she penetrated it. Nonetheless, she pressed on, arms ahead to feel for danger until her eyes adjusted enough to provide tattered images of the path ahead. 'Twas a path of simple brick with closed doors on either side, which, with the clippity clop of her pursuer nipping in her ears, Liz elected not to waste time rattling upon. Blinking against the lack of light, she instead pressed on quite annoyed at the tardiness of the plan, for it had yet to arrive in her bonce.

The air behind her cracked with The Mistress's whip and fidgeted against her jostling stern, a welcome reminder of the danger that made this chase all the more exhilarating. This thunder in her heart brought swiftness to her feet, yet Liz knew a race would likely not favor a runner over a chariotee. Finding a path to change the chase or shed her pursuer seemed the best course. And at that instant she saw it, a door whose upper half seemed to be made of paper. Liz thought little of why, only seeing a sure passage. Indeed the opaque barrier may have seemed of equal risk to the untried handles if one had stopped to analyze the situation, but with flighted foot and the snap of reflex, Liz turned her sprint and dove, tearing headlong through the weaker section.

A startled scream greeted her. Within her chosen escape route, a young woman of the far east was mid position in putting on a robe. Yet this dame of cinnamon skin quickly dropped her garment so her hands would be free to cover her nakedness. Large eyes wide and small mouth agape, she stared with shocked admiration at the door-crashing corsair.

Unfortunately Liz only got a second to stare back at the bare beauty. With a crack, The Mistress coiled the tool of her trade around the handle of the pirate-blasted door, opening it with a quick tug. The faint hope that a side room would discourage the chariot faded as its humanoid pony trotted in.

In fairness, The Mistress did tilt her head slightly as her compact chariot passed through the doorway, but this seemed the only hindrance. Fortunately, our pirate had already divined a plan. Her feet kicked about the rug and other floor coverings in search of an entrance to the sub-tunnels that had allowed her previous escape. She found it, a small hatch with an in-carved handle, just as The Mistress finished her deliberately slow entrance. Liz hooked her foot into the inset grip and flung the horizontal door open. The thus bared ladder, she descend as quick as she could. With leather looped hands on either of the rails, the swashbuckler slid the ladder, daring not even a glimpse back.

Yet what she heard provided tale enough.

"Shame on you, Yuki, running in the halls naked like this," disciplined The Mistress.

"But Mistress-san, this is my changing-- yipe, my bum,"

On the floor below, Liz jogged a cautious speed as light was scarce. And scarcer still when The Mistress's shadow devoured the pirate's access point. "You'll be taking the shortcut?" the deviless asked as cool as an angler baiting a hook. "Good, I'll head around and catch you later."

A meek illumination, seemingly ever present, provided a limited guide of the basement Liz had plunged into. She slowed to a skulking pass. In part this was as mentioned before due to the significant diminishment of light. But the larger cause was that she knew The Mistress's whip was no longer licking at her heels. Indeed from her last gird, The Mistress made clear that she'd reach Liz from another route. A feat she could no doubt perform as the rapscallion's previous scampering had already led her unavoidably to that tiff in the sand. 'Twas quite the conundrum indeed; the demoness would again ambush the pirate in one fashion or another. Yet when faced with that was counter logically unavoidable and unexpectable, a lord's serving of caution could do great things.

Thusly, Liz padded slowly through the dimness, with a wide stance and a wary peak given to every corner. The advantage of The Mistress's chariot still echoed in her mind, so when the way ahead forked with one possibility offering smaller quarters, Liz partook in that path. This chosen routeway was in fact quite cramped, requiring Liz to first crouch then crawl to advance.

Darkness thickened about her with only flickering of light in the distance to promise a way through. Perhaps it was best the pirate couldn't see as the floor felt strange beneath her. 'Twas like bones under a thin leather tarp, an unsettling prospect indeed, but as the flickering light became a window into the room beyond, Liz pressed on, optimistic. For of the two rooms the reaver had barged in appropriately unannounced, both had contained a view as enjoyable as it was scandalous. Perhaps Miss Fortune would favor her a third time.

'Twas an optimism well rewarded, for Liz soon saw her luck hadn't faltered. As she drew near enough to see into the room beyond, she clapped eye on a woman facing away, her back and arse so bare she could be clad in not but her skin. She was no damsel: her back was lean and dimpled with muscles, and her blonde hair was cut short and shaved on the sides like she was of the Mohawk tribe (yet her skin was as pale as any European). A simple braid descending to tickle her shoulders hinted at her femininity.

As did her moans. Though husky and brash they trailed high with demure delight. The cause of these moans was seemingly a saddle like device which worked mechanically between the legs of the naked and kneeling woman.

Liz crept closer, crawling on her belly with little care for the knotted nature of this tunnel's floor. Why should she when such a wanton specimen was so displayed? Quite right. The intrigued pirate cast out her fancy. What an impressive view this was, yet Liz also hungered for a view of the front. Steel bars blocked her advance; however, if the pirate could detach them, then sneak around... To be sure, it carried a sizable risk of being seen, but even then perhaps the golden-locked bear of a woman could be persuaded to continue with an audience. If a fight broke out, Liz wasn't worried either. This woman was likely stronger but might not be as skilled. Moreover if she was as desire-hooked as her rolling shoulders and thrusting chest would suggest, the gentle touch on certain parts of her body could prove quite the stumble. Liz licked her lips.

"Rho is quite delicious to watch when she thinks she's alone," whispered The Mistress in the pirate's ear.

Liz spasmed, twisting about to counter her ambusher with whatever weapon she could muster. But it was all for not as the floor itself wrapped her in gnarled tendrils. It seemed the whole thing changed beneath her, prompting Liz to wonder what she'd actually been crawling on. As she was lowered into a room below her previous tunnel and unknown lights flickered to life, she was given her answer. 'Twas a hand, individually larger than a person, with unnaturally long fingers even for its unsettling largeness. It had five such fingers and a thumb wrapped tight around the squirming pirate's trunk and arms, handily preventing any escape.

The Mistress stood before her looking all the more direful as shadows flickered across her firm body. "Much like a rapscallion I'm rather fond of," she mused, continuing her earlier comment. She deliberately coiled her whip for a moment before regarding her wriggling fish with an incredulous smirk. "Still enticing me?" Her ruby lips extended into a mock pout. "Now's not the time for more naughtiness, Rapscallion. We have places to be."

So it would seem, and mystical forces were intent to assist. For only a moment after The Mistress concluded her admonishment, the abomination of a hand thoroughly grasping Liz pulled her further down into the blackness below.