Dust clouds billow behind the approaching riders like storm fronts, their horses' hooves pounding the earth with military precision. I clutch my staff tighter, unsure whether to run or wave them down. Not that I'd get far in this flimsy hospital gown anyway.
The lead rider, a woman with a shock of crimson hair braided tight against her scalp, reins her mount to a halt about twenty paces from me. Her eyes widen slightly as she takes me in, her gaze lingering on the charred goblin corpse at my feet.
"Well," she calls out to her companions without taking her eyes off me, "seems those goblins weren't lying after all."
Only then do I notice the gruesome trophies strapped to one of the rear horses, two goblin bodies, presumably the ones who fled from me earlier. Their yellow eyes stare lifelessly at the sky.
The redhead dismounts with practiced ease, her leather armor creaking as she approaches. She's tall, at least six feet, with a sword hanging casually at her hip and a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"Hello there, little bird," she says, her voice honey-smooth. "Lost your way, have you?"
A memory flashes through my mind, Kayla's face, fierce and serious as she made me promise never to speak to other women without her present. "It's for your own safety," she'd insisted, golden eyes blazing with that protective fire I'd always found both endearing and slightly unnerving. Kayla was toxic, but I didn't mind.
My throat tightens. Kayla. I'll never see her again, will I? The reality of my situation crashes down on me with renewed force. I'm truly alone in this strange world. I blink rapidly, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill.
God, I miss her. Her weird possessiveness, her white hair catching the morning light, the way she'd curl around me like I was something precious.
"Cat got your tongue?" The redhead stops a few feet away, hand resting casually on her sword hilt.
I clear my throat. "Sorry, I'm just... a little disoriented."
She circles me slowly, like a wolf sizing up its prey. Her companions remain mounted, watching with expressions ranging from curiosity to outright hunger.
"A man wandering alone," she muses. "No brand, no collar... How very unusual."
The way she says "man" sends a chill down my spine, like I'm some rare commodity rather than a person. Her smile widens as she completes her circuit around me.
"My name is Vessa," she says, extending a hand. "Captain of the Crimson Riders. And you are...?"
I shift uncomfortably under Vessa's intense gaze, acutely aware of how ridiculous I must look standing in the middle of nowhere in this gown.
"Sam. I'm feeling a little lost right now, to be honest," I admit, gripping my staff tighter. "I've had a very odd day. Do you know where the nearest city is?"
Vessa's expression shifts, her eyebrows lifting in what appears to be genuine surprise. For just a fleeting moment, I swear I see something like pity flash across her face, but it's gone so quickly I might have imagined it.
Before she can respond, a sharp whistle cuts through the air from one of her mounted companions.
"Lift his dress," calls a voice from behind her, followed by several snickers.
Vessa's eyes travel down to my hospital gown, her lips curving into an amused smile. "That sure is a strange-looking outfit you have on."
She steps closer, and before I can react, her fingers grasp the hem of my gown, lifting it just enough to expose me to the open air. I yelp and scramble to push the fabric back down, my face burning with embarrassment.
"Hey!" I protest, backing away a step.
The women laugh openly now, exchanging glances that make my skin crawl. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to maintain what little dignity I have left.
"I'm, uh, honestly a bit at a loss on how to explain why I'm this... indecent," I stammer, looking anywhere but at their faces.
Vessa crosses her arms, studying me with renewed interest. "Where are you from?" she asks, her tone more commanding than curious.
I sigh, knowing how ridiculous my answer will sound. "Boston."
"What is Boston?" Vessa tilts her head, confirming my fears.
"It's a city," I explain weakly. "Back where I'm from. But I'm guessing it doesn't exist here."
Vessa exchanges meaningful glances with her companions. "Never heard of it." She circles me again, this time with more purpose. "And men don't just wander alone."
The way she says "alone" makes it sound like something sinister. I clutch my staff tighter, ready to defend myself if necessary, though I doubt I could even try to take them.
"Look," I say, trying to sound reasonable, "I don't know how I got here or what's going on. One minute I was..." Dying. I was dying with Kayla holding my hand. The memory hits me like a physical blow, and I have to pause to steady myself. "I was somewhere else, and then I just woke up here."
Vessa narrows her eyes, scrutinizing me like I'm a puzzle she can't quite solve. "This almost feels like a trap," she says slowly, circling me again. "Too easy. Like someone just left you here for us to find."
Her gaze intensifies, boring into me with suspicious curiosity. "I've never in my life seen a man without its owner. Not once."
The way she says "its" instead of "his" makes my stomach clench. I'm not a person to her—I'm a thing.
"Look," I say, desperation creeping into my voice, "I'm just trying to find a city, get some clothes." I gesture at my ridiculous hospital gown. "Maybe find a job or something..."
Without warning, she places her hand firmly on my shoulder.
The effect is immediate and terrifying. My entire body seizes up, every muscle locking in place as if I've been turned to stone. I can't move my arms, my legs, even my fingers refuse to twitch. Only my lungs still function, and barely at that, shallow, panicked breaths that don't bring nearly enough air.
"Look," Vessa says, her voice softer now, "I feel a little bad about this, but..."
She leans in closer, examining my face. Her eyes widen suddenly, and she bursts into uncontrolled laughter, the kind that comes from genuine shock.
"You're fucking cursed too," she gasps between peals of laughter. "No fucking way."
She whistles to her companions, never breaking contact with my shoulder. "Ladies! This guy's fucking cursed!"
The other women exchange glances, some looking intrigued, others concerned. They dismount and approach cautiously, forming a circle around me.
"I'm sorry, Sam," Vessa says, still chuckling. "Today's really not your day."
My lips barely move as I force out the words: "What's... happening... to me?"
Vessa's expression shifts to genuine confusion as she studies my face. "Wait, you don't know what's happening to you right now?"
"No," I manage to force out through nearly frozen lips, my body still locked in place by her touch.
The women exchange meaningful glances. Without warning, several pairs of hands grip me firmly, lowering my rigid body to the ground. I can't resist as they position me on my back, the grass tickling my neck. My eyes dart frantically between their faces hovering above me.
"Most men are kept in line with magic shock collars or the occasional whip," Vessa explains casually, as if discussing the weather. She kneels beside me, her hand still firmly on my shoulder. "But some..." She pauses, her expression darkening. "Well, let's just say Goddess Velthara hates some men a lot more than others. And apparently, you did something to seriously piss her off."
Before I can process this, several of the women reach for the hem of my hospital gown, pushing it upward to expose me completely. I try to protest, but my body won't respond.
"Ain't much at all," one of the women snickers, leaning over to get a better look.
Vessa rolls her eyes. "Because he's not hard yet, dumbass."
My face burns with humiliation as I lie helpless under their scrutiny.
Vessa shifts position, placing her index finger directly on my forehead. The contact sends a strange tingling sensation throughout my body, like static electricity, but somehow deeper.
"You see," she explains, her voice taking on an almost professorial tone, "this little curse makes it so you can't disobey any woman who touches you. Your body isn't your own anymore."
"What the fuck?" I gasp, the words barely escaping.
"Yeah," Vessa nods sympathetically. "You got it tough, buddy."
She leans down until her lips brush against my ear, her breath warm against my skin. "Get hard for me," she whispers.
My body responds instantly, as if her words have flipped some internal switch. Blood rushes to my groin, and I'm suddenly, painfully erect. It's not arousal, not really. It's mechanical, forced, completely divorced from desire or emotion. My mind screams in protest while my body betrays me.
"Oh shit!" exclaims the woman who'd mocked me earlier. "That's gotta be what, 10 centimeters at least?"
Her friend reaches over and slaps her upside the head. "That's at least 13 centimeters, idiot. Don't you know anything?"
I close my eyes, wishing I could sink into the earth and disappear. The violation feels complete, not just my body, but my very autonomy stripped away.
Vessa's hand brushes across my cheek, her touch sending fresh waves of that paralyzing sensation through my body. I can't even flinch away.
"Don't sulk, Sam," she says, her voice almost gentle despite the cruelty of what's happening. "Me and my girls are gonna take really good care of you."
My stomach turns as she shifts her weight, her free hand moving to the waistband of her leather pants. The other women lean in closer, their expressions a disturbing mix of excitement and anticipation.
I'm completely helpless, unable to do anything but watch as Vessa begins to shimmy her pants down her hips. My mind races frantically, searching for any way out of this nightmare.
Then, a deep, resonant horn blast cuts through the air.
The women freeze, heads snapping up in unison. Vessa's hands stop mid-motion, her expression shifting from playful cruelty to something close to alarm.
"Fuck," she hisses, yanking her pants back up in one quick motion.