"Worse. She wished helplessness, but could not risk the marks a rope would give. Her self control was not much to write home about, tell her to sit still and she squirms within five seconds just to see if she'll get the strap." He sighs, wry and fond. "Ah, but her solution was- well. Quite risky. At certain concentrations there is a paralytic, you see, a mixture of nightshade and venom from a spider that will prevent someone from being able to move- but will not render them unconscious or prevent them from experiencing sensation. I was familiar with this thing for professional reasons, less for the bedroom. Imagine my surprise to find a wealthy Contessa hiding away a chest of the stuff!"

Even in Antiva? Such a thing is quite strange. Zevran props an elbow on the table, nail tapping it's surface as he lilts through the rest of the tale. "Now there is always a risk- enough to keep you from moving is just half a drop or so off of keeping you from being able to say- breathe. Or keep your heart from beating. This, I think, may have been the draw. The risk."