A hooded stranger (dominated and humiliated)

Beneath the pale lamplight, the bound Bard player shifted, bare skin prickling in the chill. From across the street, a figure emerged - lean and tall, wrapped in a gray hoodie and loose jeans. The hood shadowed his face, but the lamplight caught a strong jawline and the faint stubble that roughened it. His voice was deep and steady.

“Quite the sight,” he murmured, stopping in front of the lamppost. "You always put on shows like this?"

The bard gave a muffled, flustered sound, cheeks flushed as she tugged against the tape. The man’s hand reached out, caressing fingers brushing along her flank. His other hand slid up her stomach, trading the shape of her chest before closing possessively around her breast. The bard gave a gasp as his thumb circled the peak. "Looks like someone’s already done the hard part for me," he drawled. "No sense in wasting it." His hands glided up and down her sides, exploring, fondling and squeezing with confident familiarity. His grip grew rougher, his palms kneading her flesh. The Bard’s gagged noises hitched somewhere between protest and thrill.

The man’s gaze turned towards a nearby yard. He let the Bard’s boobs drop, and strode over, disappearing behind the hedges. Soon enough he returned, carrying a small stepladder he’d pilfered and a pair of laundry clips. "Improvisation’s part of the fun, don’t you agree" he said, voice velvet-smooth. He applied the clips, which bit snugly against the skin of her nipples. The Bard squeaked when each was applied, and her struggling made it seem like the clips were shivering in the night air.

His eyes lingered a beat longer before he set up the stepladder in front of her, and he ascended to stand with his waist level to her eyeline. The man unzipped his jeans, already bulging with concealed peril, and pulled out his dick with an unhurried motion, unfurling it directly before her face. Where was he hiding all of that? His hand moved slowly, rhythmically, stroking himself with increasing speed as the Bard’s ragged breaths quickened in tune. When his breathing deepened, he released a low, pleased sound and a sticky substance spattered across the Bard’s face. Splashes struck the bridge of her nose and her cheek, the ballgag, and her collarbone, glistening faintly under the lamplight. She shuddered, eyes wide, as droplets of the substance dripped down between her bare breasts and trailed along their curves to her clamped nipples, making her gag softly and squirm with arousal as if she were reacting to a release of her own. The man descended the ladder and quietly circled her, wiping the rest of his release between her taut, rounded ass-cheeks, gripping both sides firmly in his hands and slowly smearing the cum to clear his cock as the bard moaned a surprised protest into the ballgag.

The man put his member away and produced a marker from his bag. "Hope you don’t mind if I leave some autographs," he added, "I'm a big fan of your work." Slowly, he began to write lewd phrases across her skin. Slut across the swell of one breast. Public property along her thigh. Firm and juicy looping along the top of her ass and sprawling over onto the small of her back. Cumslut strategically placed on her stomach, just beneath the lowest extent of the trickles of cum dripping down her chin and into her chest. The Bard felt the tickle of every stroke on her skin, embarrassed whimpers escaping from behind the gag. Marked like a piece of property, she caught herself thinking as the words Pump me dry were scrawled onto her inner thigh. Each word was a brand of submission. The man glanced at the vibrator dangling around her neck. He hadn't even touched it yet, as if such an obvious tool of humiliation was beneath him, an affront to his artistry. He took it, tested the switch, and the Bard could see a faint smile creep across his face as he crouched to repurpose some of the tape binding her to the pole. He tied the device firmly between her ass-cheeks, angled so the sensations would be at their most intense. He gripped her hips and adjusted the placement a little, as his hands roamed across her curves, caressing her buttocks with purposeful attentiveness while the vibrator buzzed gently in the quiet night. The Bard felt like her legs might buckle.

The mystery man judged his handiwork; the Bard had been transformed into a whirling palette of vulgar prose and glistening splotches of cum across red-flushed skin. A painting of sexual subjugation. "Mhmmm," he drawled, glancing downward, "I think you need some routine maintenance, darling." He began rummaging through his backpack. What does that mean? A moment later the man produced a small electric razor from his back, holding it up with a mock flourish and spinning it in his hand. "Hold still, love." A few ragged breaths escaped the Bard, trembling but doing as instructed and trying to remain unmoving as the man knelt before her. With careful strokes he shaved away the fine hair of her pubic region. What was there to begin with was modest, but there was enough for him to leave a visible mark: A small heart-shaped design, left a short distance above her clit. Her body quivered from the combination of stimulation and embarrassment, a mix of protest and secret enjoyment. Satisfied, the man stepped back. "Don’t go anywhere, gorgeous. You wear the night well."

He zipped his bag, and gave her a cursory nod as he passed by the lamppost. "Maybe I'll see you around again sometime." The Bard hadn't even gotten a proper look at his face. The man's footsteps receded into the night, and the Bard was left alone in her predicament. Trembling, flushed and sticky, the clamps biting her nipples and filled in like a lewd crossword puzzle while the relentless thrum of the vibrator pressing mercilessly between her ass, aware of every sensation and every lingering touch from that mysterious, dominant figure. Goodness knew who might be watched her from the window of their home right now - except for the other players inside...

The other players watched as the man receded into the darkness. What kind of forbidden, voyeuristic spectacle had they just participated in? A suffocating quiet fell over them, until the Rogue finally spoke up.

ROGUE: ...I want one of those.

DM: >Making a face at her< Really?

SORCERER: Mate, you need to read what women’s romantic fiction is like. Getting ravaged by a werewolf is tame.