You idly chat to pass the time

You remain seated at the table for a while, waiting for Evellyn to show her face. You watch the slow swirl of ale in your mug, lounging on your chair with your boots kicked out. Vanessa lazily shifts her hips and leans over, one elbow hooked over the back of her seat.

“While while we wait for our beloved, ever‑righteous Evellyn to come stomping in here… have you heard what happened to the Valiant the other day?”

The Valiant; you’ve heard plenty about them since arriving in this region. They’re an adventuring quartet famous across the Erusian Lows and the wider Outlands, very brave and virtuous and full of themselves with moral rectitude, formed by a bunch of skilled warrior women who came together for their separate reasons to battle evil, etcetera. They’d probably not be particularly fond of you - a thief - but everybody else seemed to love them. “The Valiant, the ones who everybody, including themselves, won’t shut up about?”

“That’s the ones.” Vanessa grins. “And there’s been some rumors going about…”

You lean in, lowering your voice into a conspiratorial tone: “Go on…”

“Apparently they decided to storm the lair of a succubus temptress, the Archconsort Neramira. Ancient, gorgeous, powerful, wicked. Just the sort who enjoys making her prey squirm.”

“This already sounds promising,” you reply.

Vanessa continues. “They burst in all dramatic, weapons blazing, armor gleaming, righteousness practically dripping from their pores, declaring Neramira’s evil reign is at an end. And before anyone can even start a monologue the berserker, Tusyn of the Southsands, shouts her warcry and charges in.”

You nod. “That’s the one who once suplexed an ogre, right?”

“That’s her. But then… You know what, how about instead of telling you- An illusory capture has been going all around the sorcerous circuit the past week. Neramira’s doing, I highly suspect.”

Vanessa makes an arcane gesture with her fingers and a small magical display sparks into being on the table, an phantom depiction of events brought to life by an illusion spell. You watch as the a tall, muscular amazon of a woman, with deep bronze skin and clad in a patchwork of leather and fur, races forward with a pair twin battleaxes raised, her curly black hair billowing behind her, even as the rest of her party behind her vainly bid her to halt. On the far side of the image the buxom succubus reclines on her throne with her long legs thrown across the armrest. She casually lifts a single finger.

There’s a pink spark. A flash. A crackling pop.

The barbarian is left utterly, devastatingly naked. Her teammates watch with mouths agape as they’re staring right at Tusyn’s toned back and bared ass. The woman’s breasts bounce free, her nipples hard from the magical shock. But what’s more, rather than roaring in surprise, or shock, or defiance, all she lets out is a thin, needy little moan. Her eyes roll back and her tongue lols out her open mouth with unconcealed sensual delight. Her legs tremble. Both her axes have been transformed into thick, throbbing, phallic substitutes, and she is clearly fighting the imposed desire to use them on herself.

Before any of the other members of the group could get over their shock and astonishment at seeing their ally’s sudden degradation, Neramira gave a low chuckle and pointed a finger at each of them in turn. Their armor, their clothes, their weapons and items, all of them vanished or were twisted into new, pleasing shapes in a haze of pink mist. The paladin’s armor melts away into a scandalous garter, fishnet stockings and high heels, comedically leaving merely her bucket helmet intact behind which to hide her shamed whimpers, even as she tries her best to clasp her tits in her hands. Their divine priestess’ robes unmake and remake themselves, coiling around her into a set of white ropes which clenched tight across her body, tied her hands behind her back and whipped her legs together. Her holy amulet itself melts and quickly reforms and solidifies into the form of a golden ballgag. Stifling her prayers into pleading moans. Finally, their sworddancer, a fierce redheaded elvish martial mage, falls to her knees, her naked body shuddering from head to toe with unrelenting pleasure. You watch as her hands roam her exposed chest, kneading and rubbing her modest tits and seeking some form of relief from the overwhelming desire. Eventually she manages to get back to her feet, stumbling over to fondle the bound priestess’ fleshy mounds in place of her own to stymy these surging desires thrust upon her psyche … as if this groping was somehow less acutely humiliating for either of them. The illusion slowly fades away, as the four bare-assed adventurers continue to squirm and moan on the floor.

“Any idea what happened to them next?” You ask.

Vanessa gives a low chuckle. “From what I hear, once they were a trembling, flushed mess, and begging for mercy, she enchanted all of them with irresistible obedience and sent them off to perform some volunteer work in the nearby township.”

You blink. “Like what, at a local shelter?”

“No.” Vanessa’s grin widens. “At a brothel.”

You cover your mouth. “Gods.”

“Charity work, Neramira called it. To give the local whores a short holiday break. Beautifully humiliating.”

Vanessa glances aside towards the tavern door and sits up straighter, her grin turning sharp. “And speaking of beautifully humiliated women…” she murmurs. “my favorite knight has arrived.”