Take Russ's hand

You delicately reach out and take the hand of Russ DeLarco, swordsman extraordinaire. The whole tavern seems to groan as the handsome swordsman whisks you into his arms as if you are his dance partner and leads you up the stairs to his room at the inn. Considering the general quality of accommodations, his room is actually quite nice, though you get the impression it does not suit Russ. He draws the shutters over the rain-streaked windows.

"If you would like some water it is in the pitcher by the bed," he offers. "I have a bottle of 40-year portuga I would much rather drink."

He removes the cork from the bottle and pours you each two fingers of the golden liqueur into crystal glasses. It is strong smelling and burns your throat down to your belly as you sip the liquid.

"The first lesson of traveling the road," Russ pauses to down his drink, "is never accept a drink from a strange man in his private room."

Your eyes widen in surprise and you look at the emptied glass in your hand. Russ laughs and snatches it from your fingers.

"A lesson only, my dear. The portuga is delicious. The water I believe is poisoned, though the process is not by my hand, I think they might have thrown a dead goat down their well. Smell the pitcher if you doubt me. Only jesting. It will sour your belly. Now..." With another flourish the glasses disappear. He lightly kicks open the lids of two travel trunks that unfold with racks of clothing and collapsible drawers. "...let us see if I cannot find you something to wear. Please. Undress yourself."

You hesitate and ask, "Take off my clothes?"

"Yes, that would be the main part of the process."

Your cheeks redden and you cover your breasts as if Russ is trying to tear your clothes from your body.

"Please, my lovely cherry, red and ripe." He pulls your hands away from your breasts and looks down at your body in the waterlogged gown. "I have seen one thousand, two hundred and fourteen women nude, not counting my mother, gods rest her. What you have hiding beneath this gown seems to be very nice, but it is not something I have never seen before."

"You have... Why have you seen so many women without their clothes?"

"I am simply so charming," he says. "Their clothes come tumbling off and they cannot resist me. But be at ease, my holy damsel, I respect your vows and make no such attempt. Though I am certain there is some wiggle room in the definition of chastity. The gods do love their loopholes. I ask you to undress because you are trembling with cold and need new clothing and if you are to wear clothing I provide it should be the correct clothing. The finest and best-fitting. Don't you agree?"

"I am not certain what I am agreeing to," you say, more confused by his words than comforted.

You do see the logic in what he is saying. You are quaking with cold, perhaps made worse by the idea of undressing before Russ, but you need to get out of this rain-soaked gown. You try to pretend that the handsome swordsman is one of your fellow sisters. You turn your back and begin by lifting the gown from your head. Your underclothes are just as soaked, clinging like seaweed to your pert breasts and stuffed uncomfortably between the firm cheeks of your bottom. Removing them in the company of a man is strange and exhilarating. You bare your little pink nipples and light areolas to him and he can see the full roundness of your bottom and the fuzzy red peach of your quim.

"My, my," says Russ, clearly admiring your naked body. "As white and lovely as cream for a kitten. I have met girls before who told me they were a virgin, but seeing you standing there, the vision of supple innocence, I suspect they lied to me. You are a virgin. You are THE virgin."

He seems to shake away his fantasies and returns his attention to the trunk of clothes. He sorts frantically through them, occasionally stopping to look back at you and measure you with his eyes. He decides upon underclothes first, though they are nothing at all like the sort of underclothes you wore at the abbey.

"This is called a bra and these are panties," he says, tossing you the black, lacy material. "This is a garter and, here, let me find you some stockings for those long, lovely legs."

You dress in the underclothing. He holds up a silvered mirror so you can see yourself and the effect is shocking. Your pale, slender body is now wrapped in black lace that seems to cradle your hips and bottom and somehow lift your breasts so that you have more cleavage than seems possible. The most dramatic effect is on your long legs, which are now wrapped in the translucent black of the silk stockings held up tight by the garters around your hips. You look like a princess or a courtesan.

"Oh, yes," Russ circles you. "Delicious. Now something a bit more practical for your clothing."

He produces a skirt made from hardened leather planks bound together with wire. It is padded within so that it sits comfortably, but it seems at odds with the loveliness of the underwear Russ has given you. The top seems to match the dark brown of the leather skirt, corseted bodice with armored cups for your breasts. Your arms are left completely uncovered, which seems indecent to you, but Russ explains is necessary for sword fighting.

"And what a sword you have."

He finishes with heeled boots that add a couple of inches to your height.

"I like them," you declare. "They make me feel powerful, even if they will take some getting used to."

Russ lifts the back of your skirt.

"They also do wonderful things to your bottom," he observes and holds the mirror up so you can see your lace-wrapped roundness seems even more lovely.

"I am afraid I cannot repay you for all of this finery," you say.

"Consider it a gift. Though I would not be opposed to certain rewards, I do not request them as payment."

"Rewards?" You knit your brow and look at him. "You mean sex, don't you?"

"As I mentioned before, I fully respect your vows, sister. But I believe chastity under the Burning Rose is only a matter of preserving your maidenhead from defilement by lust." He proceeds to quote the exact scripture to you from the holy scrolls and concludes, "There are certainly ways around that."

"Such as?"

He comes closer to you and places a hand on your hip. You can see the desire in his eyes and it is the first time he has been anything but a gentleman to you.

"A kiss for a start. I am sure we can find places to go from there." He strokes your hip. "Trust me, sister. I intend to join you on your journey. I do not want to spoil your chastity. Just a kiss."

You decide that you very much want to give him a kiss. He is handsome and he has been so kind. But you are afraid of the places that kiss will lead.