I wake on a bed, after being passed out for a while. Not a filthy cot, but a king sized bed with velvet blankets and crisp white sheets. Why, you may ask, is completely unknown to me.
"Who are you?" Says a man with dark hair that looks so sharp it could cut an apple clean in half, and shiny eyes that look delighted to see me.
"I could ask you the same question." I reply.
"You call me master, understand?"
"What exactly are you the master of?"
"Tow things, one you are about to see. And second, of the empire known as the Chess Pieces."
"Well can't you just show me what I need to see to answer my question?"
"Depends, how old are you? Twelve, thirtee-"
"I am fifteen. Newly." I turned fifteen a month ago, and spent it nursing a broken finger from a dud trap I set in the woods.
"Ah, well, yes, you may see. Put your hands above your head please."
"Do it." He seems to lose his temper a bit, but then returns to smiling, "Please."
"Well, sense you asked nicely." I reach above my head, and immediately feel something slithering around my wrists. I can't break away, it binds me to the bed posts. When I look up, I see leather strands, hooked almost magically around my wrists.
"Now, lets get rid of that silly cloak. Oh, and that shirt? Ugly color on you." I wriggle as he criticizes all my clothing, and uses a knife to cut it off, piece by piece. Until in in just a bra and underwear.
"Stop." I say sternly. He doesn't listen. His index finger slowly starts to pull my bra straps down.
"Now that's more like it." He smiles again, his devious smile. So this is what the Chess Pieces do. This is what he is the master of. And I'm about to witness it, all of it. What have I done?
A/n: I am stopping this scene here because I am not a dirty, smut writing low life. So if you can't figure the rest out, then you probably aren't old enough. Or you don't attend public school, either way, figure it out.