This story contains bondage, kidnapping/damsel-in-distress, and other sexual themes. I recommend you turn away if that does not interest you.

*****

There wasn’t much that Sivir liked about the Shuriman outpost of Bel’Zhun. Noxians came in and out of the place, and their insatiable desires for conquest were an inconvenience to a sellsword who cared little about border disputes. Not to mention how she’d developed a personal distaste after a noxious betrayal. And the ale in the town’s bars wasn’t particularly good, she thought… as she shook the glass over her mouth to get those last few drops.

She was here for a reason, though. The black markets of the outpost thrived greater than the legitimate ones, and Sivir had no qualms with taking advantage of that. An illegal job demanded greater pay, after all. Word of the “Battle Mistress” equipped ready for hire with her crossblade should eventually reach word of a few individuals...

Eventually, the door to the tavern burst open, six cloaked men entering in a line. They walked directly towards the mercenary who sat at the bar, her not even giving them a turn of an eye as they waited behind her. One of them eventually spoke up after a few seconds of silence.

“We would like to hire you.” One stated coldly like a stone, Sivir still refusing to give them a glance.

“How much? And what’s the job?” Her questions were responded to by one of the men slamming a pouch onto the bar, right next to where Sivir’s hand held her emptied glass. The clanging of metals against each other was clear from the jingling sound it made as the bag hit the wooden bar.

That was enough to finally distract the mercenary from her drink. She untied the string around the top of the pouch, revealing a significant collection of gold coins, jewels, a few other valuables, and Sivir had been in this business long enough to know they were all real with just her eye.

So they were serious. Perhaps she’d hear them out.

“This is only what you’re paying me in advance, right?” Sivir spun herself around on the stool, waiting for the confirming nods of the men. As they came, she finally stood herself up, looking up at them in the eye.

“Great,” she continued, “what’s the job, then?”

“The job is Samira. Perhaps you’ve heard the name, but she’s a high ranking mercenary employed by Noxus. She’s been an… issue for us to deal with, and we ask for your help in taking her down.”

“Taking her down? Do you want her... or her head?”

“Preferably her. We can make a greater profit off of live captures, which I’m sure you wouldn’t mind a stake in.” The man clarified. Capturing someone alive was a little harder than just killing them, but he knew just how to make that extra condition worth the effort to Sivir.

“Interesting. So where is this Samira?”

*****

It was rare for Samira to be back in Bel’Zhun. She’d planned on leaving this place behind entirely, but the prospect of a high-risk job was enough for the mercenary to reconsider. Samira lived for the thrill of battle and truthfully…

She was well aware that she was walking directly into an ambush. Whatever they wanted from her, the tanned woman hadn’t the slightest clue, knowing only of their seemingly frivolous efforts at deception. Of course, she kept an eye out for figures that followed her, snuck glances at her before turning to someone else. It was pretty easy to spot Samira out of a crowd: eyepatch, long and curly hair, plus two guns and a sword does that, though these people were just as obvious when trying to blend in. Five… maybe six men, all dressed the same and acting identically? It couldn't possibly be a mere coincidence. They were probably just keeping an eye out for her, as the hour of their “meeting” drew closer and closer. She’d left behind a few enemies in Bel’Zhun, and if you truly planned on meeting someone as equals, as partners in a mission, then you wouldn’t go to these lengths for surveillance.

The impending trap had no effect on Samira’s decision. Normal missions had gotten too easy. Putting herself in a bit of distress… overcoming that would be a thrilling tale. Of course, she wouldn’t get herself killed, but she’d test just how far she could push herself before that became the case.

Her heart hadn’t beat this quickly before a mission in a long time. She continued sauntering around the portside outpost, burning some of that smoldering sunlight with time as she waited for the time to come. “Meet in the outskirts of Bel’Zhun, by the junkyard once the sun is an hour past its peak. If no one’s there, that’s where we’ll be.” That’s what the note had said, and a quick glance at the sun finally told her it was time.

Most of the activity at the outpost was by the ports, for obvious reasons. A little further inland was where the junkyards laid, and no one bothered with them during the peak hours of the day. She’d come well equipped, her pistol in hand and her sword strapped to her back. Oh, and another gun, just in case. As she entered the depot, she saw piles of trash, unsurprisingly, but not a soul in sight. She was still well on edge, eyes darting around the area as she expected something..!

Only a few feet to her side, a man suddenly jumped out of a pile of garbage. He lurched at her suddenly, only for the woman to show herself to be far quicker on the draw, her eyes not even resting on him for a second longer than necessary as she pressed the trigger with her pistol aimed square at him. Hearing his body crumble back underneath the trash where he belonged was enough.

She only noticed the blade piercing through the air a second before it was set to connect, realizing that someone had been waiting for the opportune moment. It was at the very last moment when Samira unsheathed her sword, deflecting the boomerang blade right back at its sender with a swing of her blade, the sellsword catching it back in her hands.

It was Sivir. Samira didn’t know the woman personally, but she knew that Sivir was a mercenary who fought for money solely. For this sellsword to be willing to take a risk on a mission with the objective of Samira, they must’ve been paying her a ton in gold. In Samira’s eyes, that was a worthless thing to fight for. She’d prove it by winning today in style.

Samira dashed towards the opposing mercenary, hoping to catch her off guard before she could ready her weapon once more. Though Sivir preferred to use her weapon as a tool to deal with foes from range, she could still use it to block the swift slash of Samira, which she did to protect herself. Sivir kicked the woman back, causing her to tumble a few feet away, but that was ample time for Samira to rip her second gun off her back, aim its sights down Sivir’s head, and fire!

Huh? The bullet seemed to make contact with the mercenary, but it was like it was absorbed by a shield of sorts. What type of power did Sivir possess? Her heart was racing. She hadn’t faced a foe worthy of her attention in a long time, and Sivir deserved Samira’s undivided attention before she was finished off. Regardless, she pulled her blade out once again, ready to utilize it for either offense or defense-

Samira realized much too late that she should’ve paid a little more attention to the latter of those two. Sivir had forced so much of the mercenary’s attention, that the possibility of other men, men that she'd initially determined would likely be present, slipped her mind. It was immensely startling when she was suddenly tackled from the side, her blade slipping from outside of her grip as she was shoved harshly into the sand. The man wrestled with the woman’s hand that fumbled for her pistol, unable to pull it off of its holster as he struggled to pin her left hand down to the sandy surface. Her right one strained to grab a hold of her sword..!

A boot suddenly stomped down on her wrist, releasing a cry of pain from the subdued mercenary. Her verdant eye darted up to see another pain, smiling as he easily held her other arm in place with just his foot. The other one kicked her sword a few extra feet away, ensuring she wouldn’t have even a chance of reaching it. Two more men approached her grounded body, one carefully reaching for the pistol she’d struggled for before throwing it away to the side as well, while the other one pulled the rifle equipped to her body off, careful not to give her a chance at shooting it… or misfire the weapon himself. Samira kicked at the men, her last resort at this point, as the pressure on all parts of her body continued to pin her down. They only bothered enduring a few of her futile kicks at their shins before using their own body weight to pin the parts of her down. The woman seemed unequipped at this point, though, and all they needed to do now was make sure she stayed that way.

“Grrh! L-Let me go, you bastards!” Samira couldn't believe she was the one begging for mercy. It was the first time she ever had to, but the words just slipped out of her mouth in the panicked moment.

The pressure on both of her arms and legs was suddenly released, the men seemingly accepting her demand, before she was quickly flipped to her backside, giving Samira not even a moment to flail herself freely before they began to subjugate her again. This time, though, they began to drag her arms together, slowly but surely pinning them against one another behind her back. Once they were pressed uncomfortably against each other, eliciting a few groans of discomfort from Samira who now stayed silent outside of her remaining pride, she felt a grip tighten around them that was different from the men’s burdening hands. It had a rough bite to it, and it began digging deeper into her wrists, tightening its clasp around her hands. She craned her neck over her shoulder to see that one of the men was tying a rope to keep her hands where they wanted them, finishing off her excruciatingly secure knot just as Samira got a peek at it.

Her next restraints were worked on simultaneously. The man who’d dealt with her wrists moved onto her elbows, intent on completely securing her arms that wielded so many deadly weapons. Samira’s legs had been forced together, the rope running over her boots to secure her ankles together. The grip of the rope wasn’t quite as direct or uncomfortable, but as she began to flail them around, it became clear that it was just as effective.

So far, she’d grit her teeth, mostly out of pride, aside from a few sudden outbursts that’d escaped her mouth. She’d been defeated, her grade for this mission certainly an “F”, and she mulled in her defeat, barely noticing the men removing her metal chestpiece until-

She felt the sudden squeeze upon her chest, the only barrier between the man’s hand and her bare skin a thin, crimson cloth that was tied around her chest. It was easily more invasive than the rough grip of the strict rope, moans from him entering her ear as the man blissfully played with her bountiful bosom.

“J-Just what in oblivion do you think you’re doing?!” She spouted out, her words willfully ignored by the man. She continued her verbal resistance aggressively, demanding them to “get your filthy, perverted, idiotic hands off-”

Before she was subsequently cut off by a cloth being shoved into her mouth, which was fairly easy given how long she kept it open, sputtering out insults at the men. She screamed into it, struggling as she tried to cough or push it out with her tongue, one of the men quickly tying another yellow cloth over her mouth to keep that one in place. The stuffed cloth easily suppressed her cries when supported by the other one, and the groping man enjoyed the quieter atmosphere as he continued to fondle her chest. He took greedy squeezes and handfuls, pinching the woman’s nipples beneath her velvet cloth to force those slightly suppressed squeals out of the once-powerful mercenary’s mouth.

They still had a few other additions for her bondage planned, however. The man took a short break from squeezing her chest to weave a few ropes around it instead, running them along her shoulders and the undersides of them to form it into a solid harness that would accentuate her already sizable chest even further. The harness did have some restrictive purpose though, as her elbow and wrist ropes were connected to it, ensuring she couldn’t struggle around too much with them.

The same logic was applied to her fingers. Little, dexterous bastards in the eyes of the slavers, who could easily undo a set of carefully crafted ropes. They had two, small leather pouches, and fit one hand in each one, forcing them into useless balls that couldn’t even brush against a rope effectively. Between the tightness of the leather and how it boiled in the blazing sun, she felt her hands begin to perspire within their clutches. Tying the pouches shut as well made it practically impossible for her to remove those, not to mention what it did for the rest of her chances at escape.

And perhaps it was a bit cruel of the slavers, but wasting an entire blindfold on a woman with only one eye seemed a little inefficient. One of them, however, was also an eyepatch wearer and did have a few spares. Samira was confused for a moment as her only working eye was suddenly shrouded in darkness, the odd angle at which it was tightened around her head the necessary clue for her to realize that they’d given her a second eyepatch. Whether it was for mockery or for pure efficiency, it was certainly humiliating.

The last restraint they wanted for the mercenary was the most crucial one to a slaver. She felt the cool touch of metal against her neck, the item obviously hidden from the sun’s intense desert rays before it came to Samira. She felt it clang shut around her neck, almost a bold declaration that her future would be as a slave. Samira felt a sudden tug around her neck, revealing to her that the item came with a leash, pulling her face forward into the desert sand. And with this much finished, their hands finally returned to Samira’s body, this time letting no curve go unused, multiple pairs squeezing and spanking her bottom, running along her thighs, and of course, giving her chest its well-deserved attention. Her body shook and struggled in response, another set of screams escaping her gag in their suppressed state-

“You can have your fun after I get paid.” Sivir coldly stated, walking towards the men, and the bound body. She held out her pouch of riches, before reminding them that she was promised three.

“Right, right… settle down, men. If her bonds are to your satisfaction, then we can be on our way.”

Sivir wasn’t quite sure why they required her approval, given that one of them was a gang of slavers, and the other had more than that in her life. But she figured she’d get it over with, kneeling over Samira’s body, which had been vacated of the many men that enjoyed it only a minute ago. Sivir put her crossblade down a few feet away before she began her own inspection.

Her fingers ran over the ropes, thoughts drifting to other places as she looked at the most secure set of restraints she’d ever seen.

“Are any of you going to help your buddy that she shot? Or are you just gonna let him bleed out?”

“One less cut, right?” One of the men replied, as he slowly approached the distracted Sivir.

“I suppose that’s… true.” One less cut… The words rang in her head, and her instincts were a second too late in response.

The set of arms wrapped around her body in an instant, pinning both of her’s to her sides. She shifted and struggled in the same second, trying to wrench them free before her condition came anything close to Samira’s.

“Backstabbing--gah-b-betraying..!” Sivir stammered out before a hand came over her mouth, serving as an effective gag while they began to subdue her too. They were efficient in their subjugation, having already gotten a practice run at it, working Sivir identically to the other mercenary, who looked upon her adversary’s struggle with…

Glee wasn’t the exact word, given Samira’s current predicament. Perhaps… a bit of retributed satisfaction?

Sivir thrashed as best she could as her predicament began to mirror Samira’s: thrown down towards the ground, turned over to her backside, arms wrenched together before the stiff bite of rope met her wrists too. Knowing the predicament their target was in, outnumbered so heavily as she was, hands wasted no time in exploring her body, checking for hidden weapons of course. Given that she was skimpily clothed to handle the desert heat, those searches just so happened to revolve around her curves, checking if she was hiding anything other than her modest breasts underneath the black cloth tied around her chest. As much as she wanted to verbally protest as her struggles continued, she’d seen what happened to Samira when she’d opened her mouth, so she shut her own tightly instead, eyeing to the cloth wavering in one of their hands. She endured the violations, biting her bottom lip to hold off any involuntary squeals from endangering her efforts, while still trying to prevent her arms or legs from meeting their doomed fate. Physically she wasn’t quite as strong as Samira, and it was difficult to keep her arms and legs apart while only taking quick, short breaths through her nose-

A single pinch on her bottom was enough to break that all apart. Her arms suddenly spasmed, weakening underneath the strain and sudden pain, and the moment they were pushed together, the slavers were ready to tie her wrists together. Strength faded from her legs as well, and the squeal that the sudden pinch was enough to leave her vulnerable to the stuffing of a cloth.

From there, the rest of her bondage was easy. Not a single issue arose with securing her arms together, and they’d even decided to use the woman’s white scarf in her bondage, tying the large sheath around her entire face, serving as both the cloth to hold her stuffing in and an effective blindfold as well.

What enraged Sivir the most was the jingling of her pouch, her share as one of the men picked it up, shaking it around joyously. They’d gotten their initial payment to the mercenary back… and a little more, he remembered, as he looked at the struggling Sivir.

The heavy weight of the collar signaled Sivir’s defeat, but she felt the connected leash pull her up instead of pushing her deeper into the ground as Samira had endured. She did here a set of chains jingling next to her, and the gagged “Mmphf!”s that the two shared were not out of pity for one another, but blame instead.

Though they were on their feet, they began traveling deeper into the junkyard. The two slaves had to hop along at every tug of their leash, careful not to lose their footing in the unsteady sand that shifted around with every step. Behind the largest pile of trash the slavers could find, was when they finally stopped.

“We can’t exactly bring you two into our hideout until there’s no one around. Even a place like this has a few laws. Looks like we’ll have to kill a little bit of time before we bring you girls in, and…”

He glanced up at the sky, seeing it was still high within the air. The two slaves squirmed as their touch began to invade them once again, cupping and squeezing every cup as he finished his little thought.

“There’s a lotta time for us to kill.”