She's a bounty hunter

The elf jerked suddenly and Eilwy flinched. The elf laughed, stepped back slightly and patted Eilwy mockingly on the cheek.

"Don't worry Eilwy, I'm not going to fuck you. You're not my type. But I'm not going to free you either. I like you bound and gagged, just the way you are - I know your reputation and I've got no interest in being fried by your magic!"

Eilwy glowered at her. The damned gag! If only she were free to strike this elf with her fury!

The elf noticed the look in Eilwy's eye and a momentary cloud of doubt crossed her face. This was the Black Reaver after all - might it be some kind of complex trap? She stepped backwards. But the moment passed, and she smiled.

"You're quite harmless, aren't you, trussed up like that? I'm very lucky. I've been tracking you for months and I thought capturing you would be a lot harder than this. Perhaps you would like to know who I work for?"

Eilwy growled into her gag.

The elf grins. "Why, the Marquess de Rousseau of course!"

Eilwy paled, much to the elf's delight, and her heart sank. This was bad news indeed.

The Marquess de Rousseau was a powerful woman who owned most of the fertile lands north of Crow Rock. She was rich, beautiful and cruel. Several years previously Eilwy had met her at a ball at the Court of King Lothar. They had never liked each other, and the Marquess was looking for an opportunity to slight the enchantress. The chance came when a beautiful troop of dancing girl slaves, wearing little fabric underclothes and just tassels over their nipples, came onto the court stage. Speaking loudly enough for others to hear, the Marquess remarked archly that she would like to see Eilwy in a **** outfit like that, as befitted her station, but that the enchantress's little tits would not be able to keep the tassels on.

Everyone had laughed of course, even those who feared Eilwy. But it was a mistake to cross the Black Reaver in such a fashion. Eilwy had responded by transforming the Marquess into a frog. One moment the Marquess was basking in the adulation of her peers, the next, looking startled, she'd turned green and shrunk into her clothes, which collapsed and fell all around her. Eilwy had bent theatrically to collect the Marquess, now a helpless frog, from where she sat croaking indignantly in her own purple panties. The earlier laughter had now turned riotous - what a punchline this was! Eilwy had presented the frog to the King as a gift, and whilst he feigned annoyance she had seen he was secretly amused. Afterwards, bards had written songs about the incident, the Marquess's fallen clothes has been taken by her delighted enemies as mementos, and taverns roared with laughter at her froggy fate. After the curse had worn off, the Marquess had retreated shamefacedly back to her castle to get away from the court rebuild her reputation.

"She can't wait to see you. She's wanted to get her hands on you for so many years." The elf said, eyes sparking mischievously. "We can be at her castle by nightfall, so you'll soon get the chance to say hello."

Eilwy grunted into her gag.

"So I guess I am fucking you," the elf smiled cheekily. "Just not in the way you expected."

The elf stepped back to the bag of nymphs and chewed her lip thoughtfully. "You nymphs I don't need though. And I don't want you chasing after us either. So what to do with you?"