Gothic Bondage "Armor"

"Hmmm... Yes. I do have a number of more..." He plucks at your dress, and you have to calm yourself so as not to take a step back. Mochyn's hand on your shoulder steadies you. "Secure pieces of attire."

Mochyn continues. "I thought the Andalla captain piece would be a perfect fit."
Prycop glances up to Mochyn, who meets his gaze cooly. Not even a flicker of emotion crosses his stoic demeanor.

"It always is..." Prycop chitters softly. "But we must find out if it suits the girl first!" He turns his gaze to you and rises up. "Girl."

"Arvi-" You begin to correct him.

He ignores you. "Strip."

"What?!"

"I did not stutter. If I am to perform my craft, you will strip, and I will tailor the clothing to you."

You stand there defiantly at first, your face twisting in a scowl. You look up to your guardian, your pigman, with the intention of commanding him to teach the drider manners. Instead, you meet Mochyn's eyes and tumble into the deep grey iris. You feel your anger cooled... No, not cooled. Suppressed. An overwhelming suffocating sand has fallen on the fire in your heart, stealing its air and snuffing it out. For a moment, as you stare into his eyes, you wonder just what had made you so angry in the first place. By the time you recall, you wonder why it made you angry in the first place.

Turning back to Prycop, you dimly respond. "O-of course... I can't put clothes on top of my clothes.", and begin to slip out of your dress in a dreamy obedience.

Prycop smiles, a big toothy smile, revealing his needle like teeth. "Of course not silly girl."

You want to correct him again. Have him call you by your name, but you're startled as the drider begins to dexterously slip your dress, and petticoat, and corset, and heels, and stockings off of your body. You stand before the two beasts nude, unaware as Mochyn goes to lock the door to the shop.

Another fire threatens to erupt in you belly. How DARE these DOGS, these BEASTS, these lowly CURS strip you naked before them. But as before, the fire can only pulse. It finds no fuel in your heart or mind to burn. Your face screws up in confusion. "This isn't right." You think frantically. You glance to Mochyn, who's no longer hiding his smirk. You bite your lip and shift your posture. "Is it?"

The garment Prycop returns with hardly looks like a garment at all, rather curious pile of silver metal and ribbons. "The enchantments on this piece are quite powerful." The drider explains. He holds it up and lets it hang before you. Each cuffed piece is only held on by a ribbon, lace, chain, or leather strap connecting it to the next. The only problem is the size. It seems far too large for you, but at Prycop's insistence, you allow yourself to be dressed like a mannequin. Just like what Nealie does every morning. Mochyn hovers over your shoulder.

Prycorp fiddles with a clasp, and removes the anklets from the rest of the suite. They are cute silver cuffs laid into a black leather band. A ruffled black lace sewn between the silver band and leather hide both the leather and a set of D rings riveted into the leather. You slip your feet into them obediently, wondering at first how they could possible fit. They must be as wide as your thighs. But as soon as they are in place, the Dryder begins to rub the silver, which hums like a Tibetan singing bowl. Slowly it shrinks and shrinks until at last it holds your ankle snug. You poke at the band with the toe of your free foot.

"The enchantment of these bands." Prycop states academically as he slips the next band onto your over your foot and onto your ankle. "Makes it so that neither elements nor rough terrain will harm your bare feet." He draws a spindly finger across the soul of your lifted foot. "But keeps them soft, supple, and sensitive to touch." You eep! and attempt to hop backwards, but your ankle is firmly in his grasp as the second anklet sings, shrinks, and settles in place.

He then produces the thigh bands and slips them each into place as well. "These will give you the grace of a dancer, and dexterity of an acrobat." You wonder how the bands will stay in place, and reach down to slip a finger between a thigh cuff and your skin. You succeed, but manage little else. When you tug this side, it might wiggle down a little, but then the other side slides higher. When you tug the other side, it slides down but the side you started with returns to its proper place around your thighs.

"They will also prevent any other garment from passing over them, either on or off." Prycop states, as he continues fiddling with the garment.

"WHAT?!" You cry. You glance up to Mochyn angry at first, but suddenly feel quite meek. Your breath begins to come a bit heavier and you rub your thighs together, feeling the lace tickle your pale bare flesh. You realize you can feel the cool metal of the center band against your skin as well. "Doesn't that... Doesn't that mean I won't be able to put my braies back on?" Nealie may have selected an otherwise feminine wardrobe for you, but you had managed to insist on the rather shapeless and unflattering undergarments.

"You won't need them." Prycop states as he slips a corset on. It feels rather silly to have it slip in place over your head, instead of wrapping it around your body, but with its size, it's not difficult. As soon as it's in place, it too begins to sing. This song is more of an orchestra as each silver bone of the corset carries its own tune. As it becomes snug enough to touch your body, you can feel the singing thrum in your chest. You can see silver bands marked in some foreign script curving up along your body, and feel the coolness of their touch. Between each rib is a strip of black leather, and over it all is an intricately embroidered lace. You realize it's an underbust corset, leaving your top completely exposed. Rather than simply settling snugly into place as the braces, this constricts you tightly, more tightly than you're used to with Nealie. "This will protect your body from all but the cruelest of blows, and give you stamina beyond any mortal woman."

You have a hard time believing him as the corset finally stops shrinking, leaving you panting for breath. Before you can say much else he slips on the cuffs around your wrists and biceps. They sing their metallic tune, and you can feel the vibrations in your body. "These" he explains as they settle into place, "Give you the strength of a ogre, as well as nimbleness and toughness in your fingers, without ever allowing a callous form."

Lastly, he produces the collar. It has a similar aesthetic as the silver and lace cuffs, but also features a large shiny loop at the center of your neck. It's easily 4 inches in diameter and the silver band itself is about a third of an inch thick. It fits easily around your head. Mochyn lifts your hair from underneath the collar with a surprising amount of gentleness, and before you can protest it sings its song and shrinks in place. You cough as it hugs your neck tightly, completely obscuring the **** ivory flesh from collar to chin.

As soon as the singing stops, you're struck with a terrible buzzing in your mind. You go limp and your world reels. You only barely realize you're not tumbling as you expect, and find that Mochyn has caught you and is holding you upright. The drider seems unaware, or uncaring of your predicament. "And this." Prycop concludes. "Along with protecting your mind from many simple charms, Suppresses and channels your innate energies to power the other enchantments, and secure them all in place."

"W-What?!" You stammer. "But I... I'm a witch."

"Oh?" Prycop states with disinterest. "How unfortunate, you should have mentioned that sooner."

"T-take it off. Take it all off!" You struggle to your feet and push away from Mochyn, at last finding a bit of your fire. "I didn't want any of this!"

"I'm afraid I can't." the man shrugs, and you see two of his spider legs turn upwards, as if mimicking his human shrug. "I must admit, these are all quite permanent." He states plainly.

"What do you mean?!"

"The true secret of the Andallan officer's armor is that it cannot be removed."

"This isn't armor! This is.. is..." You gesture useless. All the fires that had been suppressed begin to rage now. "This is bondage!"

"Precisely." He states cheerily, as if congratulating a dull pupil for solving a particularly hard problem.. "Andallan officers serve for life, and serve both on the battlefield and in the bed." He smirks.

You begin to think back on the nature of the enchantments and begin to see the duel functionality. "Can't I just dispel it?"

"Oh that would be a terrible waste of such fine enchantments though. This particular piece was especially powerful. And I'm afraid as long as you're wearing it, YOU won't be dispelling a thing."

"But it CAN be done?" you stammer desperately

"No."

"WHY?" You're red in the face now.

"Like I said, the enchantments, including the ones binding these items to you, are powered by your own innate power, down to your very soul. To attempt to dispel the enchantments would simply drain you of your power, then begin to sap your very life **** to the point of ****."

You gape, unsure of what to say. You turn your thoughts inward, grasping for the magic you once held, but it keeps slipping away, like you're trying to grasp an oily surface on a pool of water.

Prycop wields the lace and fabric now. You cry out for him to stop, but he assures you that these pieces can be removed at the owners convenience. Swiftly, and with the aid of the hidden D rings in the cuffs and corset he finishes clothing you. A diamond shaped piece of lace has a loop to slip around your center toe, and then connect to the ankle cuffs, but leaves the soles of your feet bare. A long tube of fabric and lace, similar to a stocking then traces from your ankle cuffs to your thigh cuffs, clipping in until the seams cannot be seen. Your hips and upper thighs are left bare as he slips another piece, this time smooth satin, from the bottom of your corset front to back between your legs, giving you some small degree of modesty. He attaches a sort of sleeved arm stocking to the cuffs around your wrist and biceps. Finally, another pair of satin fabric triangles clip from the top of your corset to your collar, cupping your modest breasts.

"Marvelous." Prycop proclaims, as he cradles his chin in a spindly hand and appreciates his work.

Mochyn finally interjects. "You will be very powerful with these enchantments. Not delicate at all." He chortles. "Just as miss requested." His finger plays with the ring of your collar. "I slew the bitch that wore this last, and she was not nearly so powerful as you." His tough finger traces your chest, then with a surprising amount of gentleness, cups one of your breasts through the fabric. You bite your bottom lip, breath in a sharp whimpering breath and at last realize just why you had begun to fluster around Mochyn. You rub your thighs together again, and your traitorous eyes glance down to the bulge that had begun to grow in his trousers.