Surprisingly well!

Our blonde bombshell is brought to her starting point. The blindfold drops, and buzzer sounds. The match has begun!

Immediately, Brittany is taken aback by how dimly lit the Attic is. Her eyes strain to adjust to the low light, as the rather large space is illuminated only by a few small, papered-over windows. As she tries to get her bearings, something fuzzy brushes the back of her ankle. She yelps in surprise, and nearly smacks her head against the low ceiling. The blonde looks around frantically for the culprit, but she finds nothing. She's surrounded by boxes and old furniture covered in dusty drop cloths. Too many places for something to hide, and no particular desire on her part to hunt it down at the moment.

Brittany crosses her arms and tries to rub away her goosebumps. "Need to calm down... focus on the game" she whispers, trying to psyche herself up. A low flying fuzzball tags the back of her head, nearly knocking her tight ponytail loose. "MOTHER-FUCK!" she yelps, swinging her arms frantically trying to bat away whatever just hit her. This time she's just barely able to make out the hazy outline of what she might describe as a flying tennis ball in need of a shave. It disappeared behind some discarded furniture, too far to see in the dim light. With huff of frustration, the bikini-clad woman decides to simply start advancing through the room. At least whatever was attacking her would have to hit a moving target.

And hit a moving target they did. Every few steps it seemed, Brittany felt another ****. Fuzz brushing against her legs and feet. Flying assaults to her backside. She was starting to seriously reconsider her team's metallic red uniform. Did it really need to be a thong and micro bikini top? The buxom blonde felt a tad exposed, and the near constant attention her shapely rear was receiving didn't exactly make her feel any better. Around the time Brittany simply resigned herself to her fate and grew accustomed to the fuzzy aggressors, a new problem presented itself. It was one thing for a furball to bump into her ass. It was another entirely when a set of gloved fingers began groping her tight buttocks. The lifeguard nearly leapt out of her skin when she caught a softly glowing gloved hand slink back into a box after fondling her scantily clad rump.

Shocked by the violation, Brittany lost her footing and fell into a cloth covered armchair. Before she could recover, a horde of the glowing gloves emerged from around around the chair. Their phantasmic fingers fondled her relentlessly, while some tried desperately to hold her down. Blind as they were, their sheer number ensured a handful of them would severely invade her personal space at any given time. A few hands seemingly determined that they'd found her wrists and another group located her thighs. Rather than rub or prod, these outlier limbs clamped down, making escape nearly impossible. The phantasms fumbled across her sun kissed skin. Her over-large breasts were an unavoidable target, and the barely there bra did next to nothing to defend her **** chest. She wasn't exactly a stranger to having her womanly charms caressed by more than one set of hands. Hell, she could hardly tell the difference between their blind groping and the drunken enthusiasm of spring break. What was new was the feeling of helplessness as fingers she didn't know brushed against her nipples or lifted and jiggled her breasts. Hands sliding up and down her taught torso and ticking her toned abs felt surprisingly pleasant. She wasn't fully comfortable with that fact. Nor was she comfortable with how close the hands rubbing her thighs were getting to her womanhood. She promised herself she was struggling against the ****, not bucking her hips in anticipation.

Around the time the blind assailants began fumbling with her bikini's drawstrings, the blonde decided she needed to escape. Mustering all the strength she could, she wrenched one hand free and slammed her palm against the wrist of the restraining phantom on her other arm. With both hands newly freed, she began swinging wildly at any other ghosts grasping her limbs. Her **** was ultimately effective, and the voluptuous woman escaped without any unrecoverable losses. Her thong hung limply on her waist, millimeters from revealing her stimulated womanhood. Apparently, the left side string was knocked loose in the ordeal. One of her nipples had managed to escape it's spandex confinement somewhere between the groping and her vigorous struggling. Brittany took a second to ensure her safety from probing phantasms before addressing her multiple wardrobe malfunction. Of course the furry assailants continued their **** as she tightened her thong's drawstring and readjusted her breasts. The annoyance resulted in slightly looser strings than she'd like, but it would work for now... hopefully.

The shiny fabric hugged her every curve and highlighted her outrageous physique. She always undeniably the center of attention every moment she spent on the beach. Normally she deeply enjoyed the attention, the affirmation of the beauty her hard work in the gym and waves provided. At this particular moment, however, she'd prefer receiving just a little less attention. With her composure regained, Brittany made the lovely discovery that the gloves left behind faint handprints wherever they made firm contact. Her breasts and inner thighs had a light dusting of glowing powder, and she was quite sure the first hand left a distinct full handprint across her left buttock. She took a few moments to rub her herself clean, and while it took more effort than she'd like, the dust did eventually dissipate. How foolish she must've looked, strenuously rubbing her breasts and thighs, teasingly near her alluring crotch. At least she wouldn't continue the rest of the game with pervy pawprints highlighting just how thoroughly her personal space had been violated.

After finally settling down, Brittany once again began trekking through the gauntlet. Now, however, she kept a nervous eye out for every crevice and blind corner. Any furniture or cluster of boxes large enough to hide a person was given a wide berth. She paused a moment when she ran across a strange picture on the wall. She recognized the picture from somewhere. "Oh it's the... Birth of Venus or something? Maybe Aphrodite? One of the goddesses in Greece or Italy or wherever." The blonde stuttered and stumbled over her thoughts for a moment, trying to recall a hazy memory she couldn't place. Regardless of the name, she decided to inspect the picture more thoroughly.

At the center, there was a beautiful nude woman. She stood on an open clamshell with rays of light illuminating her. The beach faded into the ocean, then the horizon behind her. So far so good, at least to her memory... however, something about the figures on either side of her seemed... strange. They weren't human, but maybe goblins or demons or something. The ones on the right held ropes and nets and chains in their hands. On the left, they held strange outfits... rather kinky shit now that Brittany had a better look at the image. As her eyes drifted back to the woman, her heart skipped a beat. It was her. No mistaking it. From the high ponytail to her soft jawline, her impressive assets, her curves, it was remarkably accurate. The blonde was fairly sure the woman in the original painting was quite modest in covering herself. Her doppelganger in the picture was far less demure. She was definitely masturbating. Biting her bottom lip, rubbing her nipple rather than covering it, fingers disappearing into a puffy pink slit. At least she was enjoying herself. It was a strange thing seeing porn of herself. Even moreso to find it unsolicited in a dusty maze on a gameshow. Curiosity got the better of her and she tried to remove the painting to get an even closer look.

Brittany flipped the painting over, not entirely sure what she was expecting. Much to her surprise, things got even more lurid. The back of the painting played host to a collage of images. The were all variances on a shared theme: Brittany bound and sexually tormented in a variety of kinky outfits. A cowgirl with her tits out riding a sybian. A slutty cop with her hands cuffed sucking cock at a glory hole. The pretty blonde being spit roasted in a cat themed bitch suit. It was equal parts stimulating and horrifying. Who the fuck would make something like this? Why did they hide it up here? Did they want her to see this? Why did she like some of these ideas? Before her intrusive thoughts could take over, the blonde tossed the painting to the side.

A pair of hands shot up in response, fumbling about the frame before realizing they'd been fooled and retreated back into the darkness from whence they came. The incident gave the buxom blonde an idea... and after testing her theory with a few cautious and deliberately quick taps on a few nearby objects, things started lining up. Even in the dim light, Brittany noticed a pattern. While the occasional hand did startle her, she began noticing something useful: The hands only appeared out of "clean" surfaces. Anything coated in a thick layer of dust was safe. Anything with minimal dust, or looked recently disturbed was a dead give away that a gloved hand was about to attack. Putting her newly gained knowledge to the test, Brittany navigated through a particularly daunting corridor of junk, and save for one cheeky spanking, the lifeguard managed to reach an interesting cabinet with minimal ****.

"The namesake of Cú Chulainn and Kerrebus dear. The beast that bit the hand of Tyr. Answer the cry of the moon or leave shackled in fear." It was quite an inscription. Beneath it sat a series of handles: A moon, a bear, a woman, a deer, a wolf, and a man. Brittany thought for a moment, or at least tried to as dust bunnies pestered her relentlessly. "The fuck is a 'Cú Chulainn'? Or a 'Kerrebus'?" At this precise moment, the blonde deeply regretted zoning out so much in school. Again, the furry assailants slapped her ass, which now sported a lovely pink hue that cut through her otherwise bronzed complexion. "Screw it... wolves cry at the moon right?" The impatient blonde turned the wolf handle towards the moon insignia. *Da-da-da-daaaa!* A pleasant little jingle chimed out as the cabinet opened. Inside, the blonde found a highly decorative spear. Despite it's ornate design and rugged appearance, the weapon was surprisingly light. And... squishy. After a moment's thought, the blonde bombshell realized she probably wouldn't be allowed to use an actual medieval weapon on her opponents. If nothing else, maybe now she could take care of the damned dust bunnies.

Despite her best efforts, the flying fuzzballs were harder to hit than the heroine had hoped. She was, however, able to enact some level of **** against the phantom hands hiding amongst the junk. A few good whacks, and the grabby gloves learned better than to try anything funny. With renewed confidence, Brittany continued on her way. Still warry of any object freshly cleared of dust, an old steamer trunk caught her eye. The temptation for more loot was simply too great to ignore.

It took a little doing, and more than a few whacks with her newly acquired weapon, but soon enough she made her way to the trunk. She was a bit surprised that there wasn't any obvious inscription or even any indication on how she was supposed to open it. The blonde whacked the container until she feared she might break her new spear. With a heavy sigh and great hesitation, Brittany laid her spear on the ground, safely away from any potential phantasmal fingers. Then she began tracing the seams of the lid with her fingers and palms, hoping to find a latch or lever. She entirely did not expect the lid to suddenly burst open. Even more unexpectedly, three faintly glowing ghosts suddenly rose from the chest and grappled her. At her best, she would've been mostly helpless against three assailants. Surprised, and wearing nothing but a flimsy bikini, she especially stood no chance. The blonde was **** into the trunk, and the lid slammed down behind her. The sounds of a great commotion and bitter struggle erupted from the container. A short while later, the lid popped open, and the blonde bombshell was unceremoniously dumped onto the floor... albeit in slightly different attire than before.

An elaborate headdress sporting a bouquet of bright red feathers hid her wavy golden locks. A full harness bit gag kept her plump red lips spread, and her tongue in check. A small lock at the back ensured it wouldn't be removed anytime soon, and obnoxious black leather flaps on either side of her eyes effectively removed her peripheral vision. A tall, shiny red and black posture collar kept her chin high and made it rather difficult to see what exactly had been done to her. The blonde's enviously large chest sat in proud display. A cup-less red leather bra **** her breasts up, and pressed them together to form rather ridiculous cleavage. Ruby red bejeweled nipple pasties with long feathery tassels adorned her nipples and tickled her exposed breasts. An uncomfortably tight red and black leather corset accentuated her already incredible figure, and **** ever so slightly more mass to her chest and buttocks. More disconcertingly, the top band of a shiny metal chastity belt was woven through a series of loops in the corset, and sealed itself with a sturdy padlock. The rest of the shiny metal cage encapsulated her womanhood and a fine chain split her muscular posterior. An obnoxiously obtrusive plug filled her anus, and thick "tail" of horsehair flowed out behind it. She could feel the fibers graze her exposed buttocks and the back of her thighs whenever she stopped walking. A bunny eared intruder partially filled her sex, and the nubs caressed her entrapped clit. Every now and then, she would swear the intruder rumbled against her, but so soon as she noticed it, the sensation faded. Over time, it would surely drive her mad. A pair of thick, stiff thigh-high boots **** the woman onto the balls of her feet with an unsupported heel. It was difficult, but not impossible to bend her knees. Walking would take some getting used to, but it was manageable. Her arms were similarly encased in stiff, unforgiving leather gloves that reached nearly to her armpits. With her reduced flexibility and grip, the lifeguard found it impossible to remove any part of her new outfit.

After a brief struggle, the buxom blonde accepted her fate, and did her best to reclaim her spear. It took more effort than she would like, but she was eventually successful. With a huff and bit of drool spilling onto her exposed chest, the woman took unsteady steps deeper into the Attic. While she did encounter a few more chests and wardrobes, the blonde had soured on the idea of earning any additional loot. Her focus now lie squarely on escaping the Attic before any more misfortune could befall her.

To her her credit, she did indeed eventually find her escape...