Yes...

I sigh in defeat, picking up the dreaded article of underwear. It's undeniably cute, light pink and frilly at the edges, matching my panties. But its charm is that of a boa constrictor, luring you in with its pretty colors, then squeezing the life out of you when you get too close. I slip my hands through the straps and hike them up to my shoulders, waves of aversion upsetting my stomach as the cups pick my breasts from below and prop them up. I feel them squish against my chest, the bonds getting tighter, until the pillory closes when I clasp the bra behind my back, and the humiliation is complete.

I throw the shirt on and button it up quickly, eager to leave the spring behind. I throw my leftover gear in the box, with barely enough space left in it for the lid to close. It's not too heavy, but carrying it myself is out of the question. I’ll just have to send someone to pick it up. Finally, my sword; a standard crossguard longsword, two oval pieces of translucent amber adorn the center of its guard on both sides, another at its pommel. She rests in a leather-wrapped wooden scabbard, brick red in color, matching the leather of the sword’s handle, embroidered with various flowers. Two straps are hanging as I pick it up, I tighten the big one around my waist and the small one around my right thigh, locking the sword in place in its correct position across my leg.