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SV's Bondage, Slavery, Sex, and Miscellaneous Kink Thread
Servus Venandi
Magistrate
Window Undressing
Happy New Year.
Happy New Year.
Servus Venandi
Magistrate
Recreational Hour Is Over
Sharathyn Bith, convicted slave abuser, doing her time....
Sequel to:
Sharathyn Bith, convicted slave abuser, doing her time....
Sequel to:
Servus Venandi
Magistrate
Taking Out The Trash
Servus Venandi
Magistrate
bobinder
ARTISAN
An interesting development - with a fine blend of casual dilemma and custody scenario. Nice work, SV.
Servus Venandi
Magistrate
An interesting development - with a fine blend of casual dilemma and custody scenario. Nice work, SV.
Thanks. The original holiday one-off was fun, but a pregnant one-legged woman in police custody deserved a second look.
Servus Venandi
Magistrate
Director of Acquisitions
Servus Venandi
Magistrate
I [Repeatedly] Fought The Law....
Chaku "C.J." Jormari, circa EY2420, in one of her many encounters with Klorman law enforcement.
Chaku "C.J." Jormari, circa EY2420, in one of her many encounters with Klorman law enforcement.
Servus Venandi
Magistrate
Bad Boy
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Magistrate
Bionic Bianca's Bad Day
A year of relentless anti-corporate and anti-government cyber-attacks concludes with hacker Bianca Hovorka in handcuffs (and a fat red ballgag).
A year of relentless anti-corporate and anti-government cyber-attacks concludes with hacker Bianca Hovorka in handcuffs (and a fat red ballgag).
Servus Venandi
Magistrate
Modeling
She's overdressed with the crotch strap!!!
Servus Venandi
Magistrate
Normally, I'd agree, but the whole point of this render was to test drive the outfit.
Gibbs505
SERVORUM DOMITOR
And needs whip welts!
Servus Venandi
Magistrate
Trials of Ariana: The Slave Dancer of Clan Byrne
by Servus Venandi
Erik the Horn was one of a few people scattered across New T’Cora to whom Ariana owed her life. As such, the morning after receiving his letter, she saddled up and set off along the eastern shore of the inland Novitia Sea, bound for snow-capped peaks against the northern horizon. In three days she reached the lowland borders of Clan Horn territory, and then spent another day and a half climbing into the rocky, pine-strewn highlands where the disparate clans had dwelled for a thousand years.
He met her in the longhouse, offered a boisterous greeting alongside mead and roasted pork, and finally led Ariana into the steam bath to talk business.
With a full belly and a slight buzz, she stripped and slid into a iron tub so coal-fired mountain water covered her up to the breasts. Beside her, in a separate tub, a naked Erik did the same. Ariana felt content to just soak, but she did not object when a collared slave girl commenced massaging her shoulders, arms, back and neck with a flowery oil. Gentle, dexterous fingers drew a sigh from Ariana’s lips, and she closed her eyes.
“You could live among us, bladedancer,” Erik said. “It clearly suits you.”
Ariana smiled. “You’re buttering me up, Erik, perhaps literally. Why am I here?”
He chuckled. “As I recall, your dancing skills go far beyond combat footwork.”
“By tavern standards, maybe. I’ve turned my share of heads.”
“Well, it just so happens I find myself in need of a slave with dancing talent. Naturally, I thought of you.”
Ariana let her head fall to the right while the girl worked on a particularly hard muscle.
“I’m flattered,” she said, “but I’m more inclined to capture slaves ... or free them, depending on the circumstances. Gods know I’m not entirely opposed to wearing chains, but selling myself into slavery tends to be counterproductive. I tried it once.”
“It would be a temporary arrangement,” Erik replied, “a ruse. Anyone attempting to actually enslave Ariana of Dourheim in Horn lands would find his or her head resting on a spike above Fool’s Ravine.”
“Comforting. Tell me what you need and what’s in it for me, and I’ll tell you if there’s any chance in Ryldia’s Dungeon1 of me agreeing to do it.”
Erik leaned forward as his own slave shifted her attention farther down his back.
“I wish I could say this is for the clan’s benefit,” he said, “and I suppose on some level it is, but what I need from you is mostly a personal matter. It’s about Olaf the Jotuun, my former friend, now the second of Clan Byrne.”
“Never had the pleasure of meeting him,” Ariana interjected.
“He and I ran together well before I met you at Arx Cymarra. Olaf has scarcely ventured beyond the mountains in his life and cares little for the outside world. It’s another reason why I believe you’re perfect for this job. He won’t recognize you.”
“I assume something happened between the two of you. What was it?”
“Mere philosophical differences at first,” Erik replied. “Olaf is an extreme isolationist. I'm a realist. Interacting with civilization at large need not be a net loss for the clans, but some would see us subsist in poverty, like our ancestors, purely through fear of change. These disagreements are as old as the clans themselves, of course, and Folkmoots are the traditional grounds of debate and compromise. Olaf and Byrne, for reasons unknown, chose to spit in the face of civility and overthrow Clan Horn and three others by the sword.”
Ariana let her head fall forward as the slave pressed two thumbs into her traps.
“They seem to have failed,” she remarked.
“The senseless uprising was put down at some cost,” Erik said, “mostly the lives of delusional warriors who willfully drank from the poison well Olaf and Byrne offered, but also some of our own. Also, the four clans standing for sanity lost nine young freewomen to slavery. For all his righteous indignation about trading outside the clans, Olaf was certainly quick to deal with foreign slavers when he needed arms and armor.”
“So you want me to pose as a slave in hopes of rescuing these nine women?”
Erik shook his head. “Those women are gone—chained and gagged and marched down to the lowlands under heavy guard. I expect they are now broken playthings living out their lives in brothels, harems or iron mines.”
Ariana said, “Tragic, but slavery isn't exactly frowned upon among the clans. Present company comes to mind.”
“True, but remember there's no unified position on slaves between all the clans. There are some basic traditions and similarities, but—what is it you lowlanders say? The devils are in the details? Clan Horn uses slavery only as a judicial punishment.”
He gestured at the collared woman behind him. “Freya poisoned her father. After trial she was given a choice between flogging and execution, or flogging and slavery. She chose the latter.” He pointed at Ariana's handmaid. “Miri, an elfin immigrant, betrayed the clan that took her in by arranging to have her sister delivered to Clan Byrne. She was given a choice between banishment and slavery, and she also chose the latter.
“Clans Byrne and Stag, on the other hand, are all too willing to enslave political enemies and outsiders alike, with or without just cause.”
Ariana lifted an eyebrow. “And you don't mind a murderer putting her hands all over you?”
“I hedge my bets on the nature of the murder,” Erik explained. “Freya's beef was with her father, not me. Even if she were to kill me in some misguided escape attempt, her enchanted collar wouldn't allow her to get far, and she would not be afforded the chance to opt out of execution after losing a second trial. She understands this. So I treat her well, and she serves her sentence faithfully.”
“I suppose that isn't so different from how we handle slaves at Arx Aurelia,” Ariana said.
“You bladedancers operate more of a runaway slave haven, but surely a fair portion of them are criminals that must be dealt with.”
Ariana nodded. “Many, in fact. It's a case-by-case thing. So if I am not to rescue your lost freewomen—who are sadly no longer free—what would you have of me?”
Erik shifted his weight to the right, giving Freya access to his lower back.
“I'll have an agent posing as a slaver deliver you to Clan Byrne as an experienced harem girl of royal lowlander blood. Byrne is less likely to care, but Olaf will call for an All-Feast in the longhouse, at which you will be expected to perform. He always makes girls dance before deciding to buy them. If they're attractive enough and don't dance with two left feet, he'll cough up the coin.”
Ariana replied, “That takes care of the slave with dancing talent part of your plan, but I expect to be chained, caged or both when not performing—probably in excessive fashion if they think I'm a royal figure.”
“Indeed,” Erik said, “things will have gone poorly if you actually wind up in Clan Byrne custody. The plan is for you to perform well and convince Olaf to buy you. Once he expresses interest, my agent will return you to the slave wagon and lock you inside … with a key. While he negotiates with Olaf, you will free, clothe and arm yourself, and proceed with the real work.
“Task one is the retrieval of my father's sword from Olaf's cabin. It sits just east of the longhouse and will probably have one or two guards, half-drunk, on patrol. The weapon will likely be on display in his main chamber. You'll know it by the Clan Horn inlay on the blade.”
“How did he get it?” Ariana asked.
“I gave it to him,” Erik replied, “as a show of honor and gratitude after he saved my life years ago. You understand the sentiment, yes? He is no longer worthy of it, but I don't want it back.
“And so, task two: I want you take my father's sword to Byrne—likely ensconced in his private room on the second floor of the mead hall—and kill him with it. Leave the sword buried in his chest. I'll also give you a silver chain holding the name rings of the nine freewomen Clan Byrne enslaved. Drape it around the crossguard as a message.”
Miri relocated to the opposite end of the tub and fished Ariana's left foot out of the heated water. After a wry smile and a playful lick and kiss placed on Ariana's toes, the elfin slave massaged her sole with gentle, well-practiced motions.
“That's a fine display of revenge,” Ariana said, “but revenge is a vicious circle. Is there a strategic advantage to assassinating Byrne?”
“Byrne is the iron-fisted leader of Clan Byrne,” Erik replied, “as you might have guessed. He is also the brain of the clan, and the charismatic center of it. Everyone who deserted other clans to join him was convinced to do. It is as much a cult as a clan, and without Byrne's leadership, Clan Byrne will crumble.
“Olaf will pretend to fill the void for a time, but he is no leader, and the manner of his chieftain's death will leave him impotent and emasculated. It might take a year or two for the collapse to happen, but no one will follow Olaf into battle simply because he commands it while standing on Byrne's cold corpse, a corpse pierced with the blade of my father, weathered in glory and stamped with the rune of Clan Horn. I can wait, and all the remaining clans will be better for Byrne's passing.”
Ariana looked at Erik. “That doesn't break the circle, though.”
“No,” Erik agreed, “but it's a necessary step. When the circle comes back to me, I'll deal with Olaf myself. In the meantime, I need your help. Name your price, bladedancer.”
“You're asking a lot of me.”
“I know. I'll pay a lot. Clan Horn trades with the outside world. We have honest gold.”
While Miri continued work on her sole, Ariana sighed and leaned back, arms hugging the rim of the tub.
“I'll help you, Erik, but not immediately. Give me till the coals have cooled, and maybe a night to sleep off that pork and mead. We can talk gold in the morning, and I'd like to meet this agent of yours since my life will largely depend on his competence. Fair enough?”
Erik settled back himself as Freya returned her hands to his shoulders.
“It's a deal, lowlander. Thank you.”
“Thank me when it's done, but you're welcome.”
*
Note:
Far as I can remember, previously posted Trials of Ariana stories went in their own threads, but this one was too short to bother.
by Servus Venandi
Erik the Horn was one of a few people scattered across New T’Cora to whom Ariana owed her life. As such, the morning after receiving his letter, she saddled up and set off along the eastern shore of the inland Novitia Sea, bound for snow-capped peaks against the northern horizon. In three days she reached the lowland borders of Clan Horn territory, and then spent another day and a half climbing into the rocky, pine-strewn highlands where the disparate clans had dwelled for a thousand years.
He met her in the longhouse, offered a boisterous greeting alongside mead and roasted pork, and finally led Ariana into the steam bath to talk business.
With a full belly and a slight buzz, she stripped and slid into a iron tub so coal-fired mountain water covered her up to the breasts. Beside her, in a separate tub, a naked Erik did the same. Ariana felt content to just soak, but she did not object when a collared slave girl commenced massaging her shoulders, arms, back and neck with a flowery oil. Gentle, dexterous fingers drew a sigh from Ariana’s lips, and she closed her eyes.
“You could live among us, bladedancer,” Erik said. “It clearly suits you.”
Ariana smiled. “You’re buttering me up, Erik, perhaps literally. Why am I here?”
He chuckled. “As I recall, your dancing skills go far beyond combat footwork.”
“By tavern standards, maybe. I’ve turned my share of heads.”
“Well, it just so happens I find myself in need of a slave with dancing talent. Naturally, I thought of you.”
Ariana let her head fall to the right while the girl worked on a particularly hard muscle.
“I’m flattered,” she said, “but I’m more inclined to capture slaves ... or free them, depending on the circumstances. Gods know I’m not entirely opposed to wearing chains, but selling myself into slavery tends to be counterproductive. I tried it once.”
“It would be a temporary arrangement,” Erik replied, “a ruse. Anyone attempting to actually enslave Ariana of Dourheim in Horn lands would find his or her head resting on a spike above Fool’s Ravine.”
“Comforting. Tell me what you need and what’s in it for me, and I’ll tell you if there’s any chance in Ryldia’s Dungeon1 of me agreeing to do it.”
Erik leaned forward as his own slave shifted her attention farther down his back.
“I wish I could say this is for the clan’s benefit,” he said, “and I suppose on some level it is, but what I need from you is mostly a personal matter. It’s about Olaf the Jotuun, my former friend, now the second of Clan Byrne.”
“Never had the pleasure of meeting him,” Ariana interjected.
“He and I ran together well before I met you at Arx Cymarra. Olaf has scarcely ventured beyond the mountains in his life and cares little for the outside world. It’s another reason why I believe you’re perfect for this job. He won’t recognize you.”
“I assume something happened between the two of you. What was it?”
“Mere philosophical differences at first,” Erik replied. “Olaf is an extreme isolationist. I'm a realist. Interacting with civilization at large need not be a net loss for the clans, but some would see us subsist in poverty, like our ancestors, purely through fear of change. These disagreements are as old as the clans themselves, of course, and Folkmoots are the traditional grounds of debate and compromise. Olaf and Byrne, for reasons unknown, chose to spit in the face of civility and overthrow Clan Horn and three others by the sword.”
Ariana let her head fall forward as the slave pressed two thumbs into her traps.
“They seem to have failed,” she remarked.
“The senseless uprising was put down at some cost,” Erik said, “mostly the lives of delusional warriors who willfully drank from the poison well Olaf and Byrne offered, but also some of our own. Also, the four clans standing for sanity lost nine young freewomen to slavery. For all his righteous indignation about trading outside the clans, Olaf was certainly quick to deal with foreign slavers when he needed arms and armor.”
“So you want me to pose as a slave in hopes of rescuing these nine women?”
Erik shook his head. “Those women are gone—chained and gagged and marched down to the lowlands under heavy guard. I expect they are now broken playthings living out their lives in brothels, harems or iron mines.”
Ariana said, “Tragic, but slavery isn't exactly frowned upon among the clans. Present company comes to mind.”
“True, but remember there's no unified position on slaves between all the clans. There are some basic traditions and similarities, but—what is it you lowlanders say? The devils are in the details? Clan Horn uses slavery only as a judicial punishment.”
He gestured at the collared woman behind him. “Freya poisoned her father. After trial she was given a choice between flogging and execution, or flogging and slavery. She chose the latter.” He pointed at Ariana's handmaid. “Miri, an elfin immigrant, betrayed the clan that took her in by arranging to have her sister delivered to Clan Byrne. She was given a choice between banishment and slavery, and she also chose the latter.
“Clans Byrne and Stag, on the other hand, are all too willing to enslave political enemies and outsiders alike, with or without just cause.”
Ariana lifted an eyebrow. “And you don't mind a murderer putting her hands all over you?”
“I hedge my bets on the nature of the murder,” Erik explained. “Freya's beef was with her father, not me. Even if she were to kill me in some misguided escape attempt, her enchanted collar wouldn't allow her to get far, and she would not be afforded the chance to opt out of execution after losing a second trial. She understands this. So I treat her well, and she serves her sentence faithfully.”
“I suppose that isn't so different from how we handle slaves at Arx Aurelia,” Ariana said.
“You bladedancers operate more of a runaway slave haven, but surely a fair portion of them are criminals that must be dealt with.”
Ariana nodded. “Many, in fact. It's a case-by-case thing. So if I am not to rescue your lost freewomen—who are sadly no longer free—what would you have of me?”
Erik shifted his weight to the right, giving Freya access to his lower back.
“I'll have an agent posing as a slaver deliver you to Clan Byrne as an experienced harem girl of royal lowlander blood. Byrne is less likely to care, but Olaf will call for an All-Feast in the longhouse, at which you will be expected to perform. He always makes girls dance before deciding to buy them. If they're attractive enough and don't dance with two left feet, he'll cough up the coin.”
Ariana replied, “That takes care of the slave with dancing talent part of your plan, but I expect to be chained, caged or both when not performing—probably in excessive fashion if they think I'm a royal figure.”
“Indeed,” Erik said, “things will have gone poorly if you actually wind up in Clan Byrne custody. The plan is for you to perform well and convince Olaf to buy you. Once he expresses interest, my agent will return you to the slave wagon and lock you inside … with a key. While he negotiates with Olaf, you will free, clothe and arm yourself, and proceed with the real work.
“Task one is the retrieval of my father's sword from Olaf's cabin. It sits just east of the longhouse and will probably have one or two guards, half-drunk, on patrol. The weapon will likely be on display in his main chamber. You'll know it by the Clan Horn inlay on the blade.”
“How did he get it?” Ariana asked.
“I gave it to him,” Erik replied, “as a show of honor and gratitude after he saved my life years ago. You understand the sentiment, yes? He is no longer worthy of it, but I don't want it back.
“And so, task two: I want you take my father's sword to Byrne—likely ensconced in his private room on the second floor of the mead hall—and kill him with it. Leave the sword buried in his chest. I'll also give you a silver chain holding the name rings of the nine freewomen Clan Byrne enslaved. Drape it around the crossguard as a message.”
Miri relocated to the opposite end of the tub and fished Ariana's left foot out of the heated water. After a wry smile and a playful lick and kiss placed on Ariana's toes, the elfin slave massaged her sole with gentle, well-practiced motions.
“That's a fine display of revenge,” Ariana said, “but revenge is a vicious circle. Is there a strategic advantage to assassinating Byrne?”
“Byrne is the iron-fisted leader of Clan Byrne,” Erik replied, “as you might have guessed. He is also the brain of the clan, and the charismatic center of it. Everyone who deserted other clans to join him was convinced to do. It is as much a cult as a clan, and without Byrne's leadership, Clan Byrne will crumble.
“Olaf will pretend to fill the void for a time, but he is no leader, and the manner of his chieftain's death will leave him impotent and emasculated. It might take a year or two for the collapse to happen, but no one will follow Olaf into battle simply because he commands it while standing on Byrne's cold corpse, a corpse pierced with the blade of my father, weathered in glory and stamped with the rune of Clan Horn. I can wait, and all the remaining clans will be better for Byrne's passing.”
Ariana looked at Erik. “That doesn't break the circle, though.”
“No,” Erik agreed, “but it's a necessary step. When the circle comes back to me, I'll deal with Olaf myself. In the meantime, I need your help. Name your price, bladedancer.”
“You're asking a lot of me.”
“I know. I'll pay a lot. Clan Horn trades with the outside world. We have honest gold.”
While Miri continued work on her sole, Ariana sighed and leaned back, arms hugging the rim of the tub.
“I'll help you, Erik, but not immediately. Give me till the coals have cooled, and maybe a night to sleep off that pork and mead. We can talk gold in the morning, and I'd like to meet this agent of yours since my life will largely depend on his competence. Fair enough?”
Erik settled back himself as Freya returned her hands to his shoulders.
“It's a deal, lowlander. Thank you.”
“Thank me when it's done, but you're welcome.”
*
Far as I can remember, previously posted Trials of Ariana stories went in their own threads, but this one was too short to bother.
Servus Venandi
Magistrate
Product Testing
Servus Venandi
Magistrate
Bejeweled
Servus Venandi
Magistrate
Trials of Kimberly: The Nabbing of the Nymphs
by Servus Venandi
NORDIN-1 FIELD REPORT
For Internal Use
Fwd: Charles Taburn / Sol Survivors, Inc.
CONTRACTOR:
Kimberly A. Nordin / Nordin Galactic, LLC.
LOG DATE:
EY2421-02-22
LOG TIME:
17:22 (local)
LOCATION:
Morose, Devon | Blue District
POI:
REMARKS:
After several days tracking and waiting, I nabbed this group on Devon, in the locker room of a popular Blue District fitness center. Caught Gannon alone in the shower, cuffed her, and then subdued Mirales and Steele one-by-one as they came in a few minutes later. It was the perfect storm, so to speak, whereby I let them all come together in one place, but still had the luxury of handling them separately.
They all surrendered with little resistance. Seems life in hiding isn't all it was cracked up to be.
Little resistance, but not zero.
Gannon complained—loudly—probably because she's the only one of the three accused of personal violence during the Jovian Alliance station riots last year, and she faces the worst charges. A ballgag turned her arguing into frustrated gibberish. By the time Mirales and Steele joined her, she'd fallen mostly silent.
Mirales and Steele—well, they're an odd pair who had the audacity to "flirt" as I processed them. Not sure if it was a misguided ploy, harmless shenanigans, or if they're somehow thrilled with the idea of being imprisoned/enslaved, but it was unacceptable behavior regardless.
Mirales explicitly requested nipple clamps and “battery-operated entertainment.” I informed her that Nordin Galactic does not use “battery-operated entertainment” on captives under any circumstances, and nipple clamps are strictly disciplinary. Her reply: “So what do I have to do to get disciplined?”
Strange gal, gave me the creeps. I gagged her summarily, but withheld punishment for fear she would enjoy it.
Steele received the bondage with barely-contained excitement, though she questioned the adequacy of my gag supply. While the 5 cm ball impressed her well enough in the end, the moaning and giggling that accompanied its application were every bit as unnerving as Mirales's masochistic requests.
All subjects were escorted to Spacedock Alpha in the Port District and taken aboard the Nordin-1 without incident. Due to extreme creepiness, they are currently restrained and sensory-deprived within separate transport pods, with real-time medical telemetry monitored by a class bravo AI. I have no intention of letting them out.
Note: Ms. Mirales requested nipple clamps again while being strapped into her pod. She struggled with moderate vigor, explaining that she was in fact “a very bad girl.” When I dismissed this behavior as manipulative nonsense, she suggested I place the clamps on myself “for fun” and that I “don't know what [I'm] missing.”
Delivery window is EY2421-03-02 to EY2421-03-05, subject to change based on transit parameters. The sooner this trio exits my cargo hold, the better.
Anyone taking custody of these submissive nymphs in the coming weeks should exercise caution.
by Servus Venandi
NORDIN-1 FIELD REPORT
For Internal Use
Fwd: Charles Taburn / Sol Survivors, Inc.
CONTRACTOR:
Kimberly A. Nordin / Nordin Galactic, LLC.
LOG DATE:
EY2421-02-22
LOG TIME:
17:22 (local)
LOCATION:
Morose, Devon | Blue District
POI:
- Steele, Izzy Felicia
- Gannon, Sydney Juliana
- Mirales, Ella Elisabeth
REMARKS:
After several days tracking and waiting, I nabbed this group on Devon, in the locker room of a popular Blue District fitness center. Caught Gannon alone in the shower, cuffed her, and then subdued Mirales and Steele one-by-one as they came in a few minutes later. It was the perfect storm, so to speak, whereby I let them all come together in one place, but still had the luxury of handling them separately.
They all surrendered with little resistance. Seems life in hiding isn't all it was cracked up to be.
Little resistance, but not zero.
Gannon complained—loudly—probably because she's the only one of the three accused of personal violence during the Jovian Alliance station riots last year, and she faces the worst charges. A ballgag turned her arguing into frustrated gibberish. By the time Mirales and Steele joined her, she'd fallen mostly silent.
Mirales and Steele—well, they're an odd pair who had the audacity to "flirt" as I processed them. Not sure if it was a misguided ploy, harmless shenanigans, or if they're somehow thrilled with the idea of being imprisoned/enslaved, but it was unacceptable behavior regardless.
Mirales explicitly requested nipple clamps and “battery-operated entertainment.” I informed her that Nordin Galactic does not use “battery-operated entertainment” on captives under any circumstances, and nipple clamps are strictly disciplinary. Her reply: “So what do I have to do to get disciplined?”
Strange gal, gave me the creeps. I gagged her summarily, but withheld punishment for fear she would enjoy it.
Steele received the bondage with barely-contained excitement, though she questioned the adequacy of my gag supply. While the 5 cm ball impressed her well enough in the end, the moaning and giggling that accompanied its application were every bit as unnerving as Mirales's masochistic requests.
All subjects were escorted to Spacedock Alpha in the Port District and taken aboard the Nordin-1 without incident. Due to extreme creepiness, they are currently restrained and sensory-deprived within separate transport pods, with real-time medical telemetry monitored by a class bravo AI. I have no intention of letting them out.
Note: Ms. Mirales requested nipple clamps again while being strapped into her pod. She struggled with moderate vigor, explaining that she was in fact “a very bad girl.” When I dismissed this behavior as manipulative nonsense, she suggested I place the clamps on myself “for fun” and that I “don't know what [I'm] missing.”
Delivery window is EY2421-03-02 to EY2421-03-05, subject to change based on transit parameters. The sooner this trio exits my cargo hold, the better.
Anyone taking custody of these submissive nymphs in the coming weeks should exercise caution.
*
Servus Venandi
Magistrate
X
