Turns out, once I began thinking of a continuation everything just flowed.
And here we are.
As with previous, reintroducing an already featured character, I'll describe relevant details as we go.
Website Migration Update
I moved the website to a new host, which I think will be more tolerant of the content this website hosts. Nevertheless, I do want to take a moment to remind everyone that the stories and content posted here MUST follow website rules, as it it not only my policy, but it is the policy of the hosts that permit our website to run on their servers. We WILL continue to enforce the rules, especially critical rules that, if broken, put this sites livelihood in jeapordy.
War, but with added TUGs (fmF+/fF+) *UPDATED 07/03 UPDATED*
War, but with added TUGs (fmF+/fF+) *UPDATED 07/03 UPDATED*
Last edited by RopeBunny 2 months ago, edited 2 times in total.
Prologue.
Wand bearer.
Okay. So.
S' called hindsight, when you look back after the event, all full of knowledge and say.
Nope.
Except it's always after the event, too late.
I'm in this, conscripted to a war fought between monsters. Nobody asked, nobody- so far -offering an explanation.
I can't give it back, and, worse. I don't want to.
Wand bearer.
Okay. So.
S' called hindsight, when you look back after the event, all full of knowledge and say.
Nope.
Except it's always after the event, too late.
I'm in this, conscripted to a war fought between monsters. Nobody asked, nobody- so far -offering an explanation.
I can't give it back, and, worse. I don't want to.
001.
Bunny.
"Wha...?" Sleeping, but the insistent tugging, like a rope tied around my subconscious, wakes me. Blinking at the bedside clock and.
"Oh for fucks...." Of course it would be. The Rope Bunny, an eons old trickster spirit residing within me. Trapped, but we've learned to coexist.
There is a ritual of sorts, a method of summoning or at least calling out to the Bunny. Asking for her time and it's mostly teenagers, school aged, asking to play. And with a name like Rope Bunny no doubt you can guess what the game will be.
Part of the ritual is a time constraint, it has to be four forty-four local time, which could be morning or afternoon, and could therefore fall, for me in sunny England at any point throughout the day.
Including seriously stupid o'clock, still dark out. And I could ignore it: calling not summons remember. Asking not insisting but.
"This one?" Talking to the Bunny, or her talking to me is like this, audible in only the one direction, answers coming from inside.
"But it's fucking early." Hand covering mouth, failing to block the yawn, rolled onto my back and staring up at the- can't see because it's too damn dark -ceiling. "And a school night."
"Yeah. Fine." Laughing, because she's right. We don't care so much, and we do prefer bondage to being awake in school. "But," looking down at myself, picking at the fabric, "not exactly dressed."
"Okay, well then y-"
Stepping forward as Kayley steps back. Willing, the transition smooth and near instant, only a slight stab of pain as one skin is ripped away, replaced by the other.
The Rope Bunny: my onesie, which isn't actually because it is, actually, my skin. Pale blue this time the colour varies based on my whim and mood. Fluffy and hugging every size ten curve, hood framing Kayley's pretty face her blonde curls tumbling out either side, topped by slightly oversized bunny ears. The front appearing unzipped, though- skin -there is no zip, the v deep enough falling below my cleavage, D cups pressed together the sides and tops, a slice of the bottoms all exposed.
"-ou go." I finish, grinning. Nodding, reaching down inside to find that thread, the hook planted by the calling. Taking hold and tugging back, allowing the link to take hold and take me. Away, to whoever called.
Smoke announcing my arrival, a white pillar tumbling off my fluffy curves to puddle and drift around the floor. I've arrived in a bedroom, which I usually do since most callers desire privacy.
And how do you explain a five foot four and a half inch grinning rabbit to your parents?
Small room, almost box like space for a single bed against one wall, a wardrobe following the line down with a desk opposite, the two flanking her door. Window, curtains open sunlight flooding through, jarring my still dozing senses, the walls pale yellow hung with gothic themed posters and, stood before a small mirror sat atop the desk, pulling off a cleave gag and turning to face me, eyes wide.
Her, my caller.
Thick limbs and a rounded belly, which alongside braless C cups pushes against a black spandex ankle length dress, thin straps and low cut the material hugging and stretched over her larger frame. Mid teens, possibly even sixteen like me, straight black hair with a long fringe that tickles her black framed glasses.
"You're...."
"I am." Fighting the urge to take a bow. "And you are?"
"Beth. Um." Looking down at her removed gag, tossing it hurriedly aside, as though we aren't actually about to need that and more. "Hi."
"Hi."
"So." Because the silence is stretching, Beth fidgeting and despite having called me here likely she's nervous to ask.
Which happens.
"Am I here to help. Or...." Allowing the grin out, letting it run around the room whilst I stretch, up onto tip toes arms spread wide. Raising an eyebrow at Beth. "Are we playing."
"Please." Almost a whisper, blushing. "Can we, well...."
"Definitely." I nod, being helpful.
There's a pile of plastic ties on her bed, scissors too, I move the three steps forward and sit, picking up a tie. Running a finger down the close packed ridges at one end, the simple ratchet mechanism that keeps the black plastic from loosening.
After a couple of aborted attempts, shifting on the spot. Fidgeting. Beth settles down beside me and as she does I turn, folding one leg underneath, bringing my body around to face her.
"Anyone home?"
"No." Shaking her head, glancing at my cleavage then hurriedly away. "Parents are working until seven."
"Right." Good, I hate rushing. "So, what would you like me to do with you?"
"I'd like...." Glancing at me again, reaching out, slowly as though afraid I'll bite.
Which has been known.
Running her hand across my closest knee, managing to look me in the eye.
"Sometimes, I've heard, you don't wear the suit."
Can't escape online chat: forums and message boards, and so on. I know I'm talked about, discussed. People trying to figure out the how of catching my attention, people discussing the what of my visits. There was, deleted now, even a video of me tied up in full costume. Skin.
"Sometimes." I nod, acknowledging the truth. Sometimes Kayley does resurface, or else appears in my place, neither of us bothered enough to change before answering the call. "That it, is it?" Running with my instinct. "You want to bind me, just." Spreading arms wide. "Not like this?"
"Could I?" Hopeful. "Could, you? Please."
"Sure." Not having to ask, because whilst we do frequently monologue the join is near seamless. I know Kayley's up for it. "Hold o-"
"-n." I finish, laughing without spite as Beth falls off the bed in shock. The Bunny's skin shed to reveal prehaps too much pale flesh, because I'd been sleeping, and therefore am dressed in purple cotton pants with a yellow butterfly on the crotch, and something vaguely resembling a sports bra. White, but only elasticated on the band running a circuit below my D cups and each thin shoulder strap, the rest is cotton, and thin, breasts pressing at and filling out the material.
"You okay?" Still smiling, reaching out to help Beth back up. "This is what you wanted, right?"
"It's still you, Bunny?"
"Let's just say yes." Waving the long explanation away like a pesky fly. "Going to tie me up then?" Feeling a shiver run through me, skin prickling. Excitement. "If you ask nicely I might even struggle afterwards."
Winking. Teasing, playing. And Beth blushes some more, before getting on with it.
A reverse hogtie, on the floor as opposed her bed. Ankles and wrists crossed, the latter in front not behind. Bite of plastic as the ties are pulled closed, clicking and tightening. Beth not asking if she can, appearing more comfortable and confident now we're actually into it. Making all my bonds tight, doing a proper job and leaving no slack.
Always nice to see someone committed to realism.
Kneeling behind me and running a triple length of tie around under my chest. Not asking, confidence and despite being centuries removed from a novice at bondage I can't stop the shiver as Beth's hand brushes against the bottoms of my D cups. Feeding the ties, tucking it up underneath and making sure.
An act repeated above my breasts, the twin tracks of plastic serving to pinch and squeeze my assets.
Joining ankles to wrists and I'm forced to lean forward, arms pulled down between spread legs, body pinned in place. Beth using the scarf, long and woolen, comprising stripes of all different colours, wrapping and knotted into an effective gag.
Going further, doing more and, unexpected, I'm caught out. Elbows cable tied to knees before the whole four limb parallel arrangement is looped and cinched tight too. Neck looped, though not all the way around, Beth running the plastic down, joining it to the knees, forcing me into permanently bending forward, body mostly locked.
Soft chuckle as she pushes helpless me over, standing and climbing onto her bed. Laying down on her side, head propped up and resting on one hand, arm bent elbow on the mattress. Something sensual in her stretched out casual pose.
Something of the dominant in her easy- nerves vanished now the task is done -smile, looking down on me. My helplessness combining with the sight of her, curves pressed against fabric, nipples tenting, the whole dynamic setting a tingle off within.
"Fffgggghhh mmmnnnssss." Soft, sounding properly submissive which just makes the tingle worse. Flexing my limbs, testing what turns out to be quite a lack of freedom to move.
"Please." Beth's voice even, sure. And the thought occurs: maybe she's just a really good actress? Pretending at nerves, and now she's got me the true- dominant -streak is revealed.
Not that she can keep me. It's bondage, and I'm the Rope Bunny, there's very little that'll hold me. Which she probably knows?
But I, we both, can pretend.
"I'd like to see you struggle. Bunny." Running a hand back through her hair, pushing breasts towards me like some kind of invitation. "If you'd be kind enough to obey."
Smiling on that final word and she's clearly a natural dominant, the- pretend, but fuck me in the here and now it feels real, is easy to forget -dynamic and her assumption of ownership enough to have my own nipples stirring to life.
"Sssrrrfff mmggdd pprrrfffnnmm." Looking up at Beth, meek, feeling in my place I nod. Yes, boss, of course.
Failing to get out, of course. Both because I don't resort to my special skills, and because Beth knows her way around bondage.
Flopping around, moaning. Flexing legs which pulls on my arms, neither of which can travel far. Struggling, having a really good fucking attempt at escaping, unable to take my eyes off Beth the whole time, watching me back breath occasionally catching. Unashamed smile on her face, liking what she sees.
Me. Helpless. All- not really but, like I said it's easy to forget -hers.
Not even making it back upright, trying, flinging myself one way then the other but I can't gain the momentum. Am stuck on the floor, laid down.
Struggles winding down, sweating, stopping. Laying still.
"That it?"
"Wwsssmm." I nod, Beth nods back.
"Too much rope for the Bunny then?"
"Pppffftt." Flexing, pulling at wrists and ankles in a- failed -attempt to straighten locked limbs, chest pushing out. Bunny quiet within, not reminding me we can escape. Anytime, because sometimes she half forgets too.
Sometimes she enjoys the game a little too much, too.
"Tttrrrsssmm ggfffmmmnnn."
"Well...." Grinning, stretching as though teasing her own freedom. "I'm not letting you out yet. Bunny."
"Hhhffffsssmm."
"No." Mistaking my meekness for a plea, shaking her head, still smiling. "I'm going to relax here, watch you be helpless awhile longer."
Which she does. Like a queen, relaxed and looking down, eyes rarely leaving me.
Asking, demanding twice to see me struggle some more, for her. Which request or order I submit to, ramping my occasional- trying to get comfortable -squirm up to a full on moan and wriggle event. Kicking and bucking, breasts mostly hidden within the folds of my body but bouncing all the same, and I'm sure she can see them.
"It's true then," leaning forward to run fingers across my shoulder, down across the bicep. Tracing old wounds, bullet scaring, proof of how far the Bunny and me have travelled together. "You really have been shot."
"Dddggrrrrmm." Shivering at the contact, nodding. Yes. Unable to stop staring at Beth's chest, this new angle, body slightly forward off the bed and her C cups now pushing even harder against the dress. Chest and face close, triggering thoughts of bound cuddles and haven't I been good enough to warrant a treat?
Of Beth kissing my gagged lips.
But. No. Shortly after, glancing at her phone, an occasional thing most likely keeping track. Beth comes fully down off the bed and frees me.
After which, body a mess of unfulfilled emotion, submissiveness sloshing through me, wanting more. Wanting some form of closure beyond simply being freed. But it's time to leave, so I do. Letting the smoke take us home, Rope Bunny and Kayley.
And how am I supposed to sleep now?
Bunny.
"Wha...?" Sleeping, but the insistent tugging, like a rope tied around my subconscious, wakes me. Blinking at the bedside clock and.
"Oh for fucks...." Of course it would be. The Rope Bunny, an eons old trickster spirit residing within me. Trapped, but we've learned to coexist.
There is a ritual of sorts, a method of summoning or at least calling out to the Bunny. Asking for her time and it's mostly teenagers, school aged, asking to play. And with a name like Rope Bunny no doubt you can guess what the game will be.
Part of the ritual is a time constraint, it has to be four forty-four local time, which could be morning or afternoon, and could therefore fall, for me in sunny England at any point throughout the day.
Including seriously stupid o'clock, still dark out. And I could ignore it: calling not summons remember. Asking not insisting but.
"This one?" Talking to the Bunny, or her talking to me is like this, audible in only the one direction, answers coming from inside.
"But it's fucking early." Hand covering mouth, failing to block the yawn, rolled onto my back and staring up at the- can't see because it's too damn dark -ceiling. "And a school night."
"Yeah. Fine." Laughing, because she's right. We don't care so much, and we do prefer bondage to being awake in school. "But," looking down at myself, picking at the fabric, "not exactly dressed."
"Okay, well then y-"
Stepping forward as Kayley steps back. Willing, the transition smooth and near instant, only a slight stab of pain as one skin is ripped away, replaced by the other.
The Rope Bunny: my onesie, which isn't actually because it is, actually, my skin. Pale blue this time the colour varies based on my whim and mood. Fluffy and hugging every size ten curve, hood framing Kayley's pretty face her blonde curls tumbling out either side, topped by slightly oversized bunny ears. The front appearing unzipped, though- skin -there is no zip, the v deep enough falling below my cleavage, D cups pressed together the sides and tops, a slice of the bottoms all exposed.
"-ou go." I finish, grinning. Nodding, reaching down inside to find that thread, the hook planted by the calling. Taking hold and tugging back, allowing the link to take hold and take me. Away, to whoever called.
Smoke announcing my arrival, a white pillar tumbling off my fluffy curves to puddle and drift around the floor. I've arrived in a bedroom, which I usually do since most callers desire privacy.
And how do you explain a five foot four and a half inch grinning rabbit to your parents?
Small room, almost box like space for a single bed against one wall, a wardrobe following the line down with a desk opposite, the two flanking her door. Window, curtains open sunlight flooding through, jarring my still dozing senses, the walls pale yellow hung with gothic themed posters and, stood before a small mirror sat atop the desk, pulling off a cleave gag and turning to face me, eyes wide.
Her, my caller.
Thick limbs and a rounded belly, which alongside braless C cups pushes against a black spandex ankle length dress, thin straps and low cut the material hugging and stretched over her larger frame. Mid teens, possibly even sixteen like me, straight black hair with a long fringe that tickles her black framed glasses.
"You're...."
"I am." Fighting the urge to take a bow. "And you are?"
"Beth. Um." Looking down at her removed gag, tossing it hurriedly aside, as though we aren't actually about to need that and more. "Hi."
"Hi."
"So." Because the silence is stretching, Beth fidgeting and despite having called me here likely she's nervous to ask.
Which happens.
"Am I here to help. Or...." Allowing the grin out, letting it run around the room whilst I stretch, up onto tip toes arms spread wide. Raising an eyebrow at Beth. "Are we playing."
"Please." Almost a whisper, blushing. "Can we, well...."
"Definitely." I nod, being helpful.
There's a pile of plastic ties on her bed, scissors too, I move the three steps forward and sit, picking up a tie. Running a finger down the close packed ridges at one end, the simple ratchet mechanism that keeps the black plastic from loosening.
After a couple of aborted attempts, shifting on the spot. Fidgeting. Beth settles down beside me and as she does I turn, folding one leg underneath, bringing my body around to face her.
"Anyone home?"
"No." Shaking her head, glancing at my cleavage then hurriedly away. "Parents are working until seven."
"Right." Good, I hate rushing. "So, what would you like me to do with you?"
"I'd like...." Glancing at me again, reaching out, slowly as though afraid I'll bite.
Which has been known.
Running her hand across my closest knee, managing to look me in the eye.
"Sometimes, I've heard, you don't wear the suit."
Can't escape online chat: forums and message boards, and so on. I know I'm talked about, discussed. People trying to figure out the how of catching my attention, people discussing the what of my visits. There was, deleted now, even a video of me tied up in full costume. Skin.
"Sometimes." I nod, acknowledging the truth. Sometimes Kayley does resurface, or else appears in my place, neither of us bothered enough to change before answering the call. "That it, is it?" Running with my instinct. "You want to bind me, just." Spreading arms wide. "Not like this?"
"Could I?" Hopeful. "Could, you? Please."
"Sure." Not having to ask, because whilst we do frequently monologue the join is near seamless. I know Kayley's up for it. "Hold o-"
"-n." I finish, laughing without spite as Beth falls off the bed in shock. The Bunny's skin shed to reveal prehaps too much pale flesh, because I'd been sleeping, and therefore am dressed in purple cotton pants with a yellow butterfly on the crotch, and something vaguely resembling a sports bra. White, but only elasticated on the band running a circuit below my D cups and each thin shoulder strap, the rest is cotton, and thin, breasts pressing at and filling out the material.
"You okay?" Still smiling, reaching out to help Beth back up. "This is what you wanted, right?"
"It's still you, Bunny?"
"Let's just say yes." Waving the long explanation away like a pesky fly. "Going to tie me up then?" Feeling a shiver run through me, skin prickling. Excitement. "If you ask nicely I might even struggle afterwards."
Winking. Teasing, playing. And Beth blushes some more, before getting on with it.
A reverse hogtie, on the floor as opposed her bed. Ankles and wrists crossed, the latter in front not behind. Bite of plastic as the ties are pulled closed, clicking and tightening. Beth not asking if she can, appearing more comfortable and confident now we're actually into it. Making all my bonds tight, doing a proper job and leaving no slack.
Always nice to see someone committed to realism.
Kneeling behind me and running a triple length of tie around under my chest. Not asking, confidence and despite being centuries removed from a novice at bondage I can't stop the shiver as Beth's hand brushes against the bottoms of my D cups. Feeding the ties, tucking it up underneath and making sure.
An act repeated above my breasts, the twin tracks of plastic serving to pinch and squeeze my assets.
Joining ankles to wrists and I'm forced to lean forward, arms pulled down between spread legs, body pinned in place. Beth using the scarf, long and woolen, comprising stripes of all different colours, wrapping and knotted into an effective gag.
Going further, doing more and, unexpected, I'm caught out. Elbows cable tied to knees before the whole four limb parallel arrangement is looped and cinched tight too. Neck looped, though not all the way around, Beth running the plastic down, joining it to the knees, forcing me into permanently bending forward, body mostly locked.
Soft chuckle as she pushes helpless me over, standing and climbing onto her bed. Laying down on her side, head propped up and resting on one hand, arm bent elbow on the mattress. Something sensual in her stretched out casual pose.
Something of the dominant in her easy- nerves vanished now the task is done -smile, looking down on me. My helplessness combining with the sight of her, curves pressed against fabric, nipples tenting, the whole dynamic setting a tingle off within.
"Fffgggghhh mmmnnnssss." Soft, sounding properly submissive which just makes the tingle worse. Flexing my limbs, testing what turns out to be quite a lack of freedom to move.
"Please." Beth's voice even, sure. And the thought occurs: maybe she's just a really good actress? Pretending at nerves, and now she's got me the true- dominant -streak is revealed.
Not that she can keep me. It's bondage, and I'm the Rope Bunny, there's very little that'll hold me. Which she probably knows?
But I, we both, can pretend.
"I'd like to see you struggle. Bunny." Running a hand back through her hair, pushing breasts towards me like some kind of invitation. "If you'd be kind enough to obey."
Smiling on that final word and she's clearly a natural dominant, the- pretend, but fuck me in the here and now it feels real, is easy to forget -dynamic and her assumption of ownership enough to have my own nipples stirring to life.
"Sssrrrfff mmggdd pprrrfffnnmm." Looking up at Beth, meek, feeling in my place I nod. Yes, boss, of course.
Failing to get out, of course. Both because I don't resort to my special skills, and because Beth knows her way around bondage.
Flopping around, moaning. Flexing legs which pulls on my arms, neither of which can travel far. Struggling, having a really good fucking attempt at escaping, unable to take my eyes off Beth the whole time, watching me back breath occasionally catching. Unashamed smile on her face, liking what she sees.
Me. Helpless. All- not really but, like I said it's easy to forget -hers.
Not even making it back upright, trying, flinging myself one way then the other but I can't gain the momentum. Am stuck on the floor, laid down.
Struggles winding down, sweating, stopping. Laying still.
"That it?"
"Wwsssmm." I nod, Beth nods back.
"Too much rope for the Bunny then?"
"Pppffftt." Flexing, pulling at wrists and ankles in a- failed -attempt to straighten locked limbs, chest pushing out. Bunny quiet within, not reminding me we can escape. Anytime, because sometimes she half forgets too.
Sometimes she enjoys the game a little too much, too.
"Tttrrrsssmm ggfffmmmnnn."
"Well...." Grinning, stretching as though teasing her own freedom. "I'm not letting you out yet. Bunny."
"Hhhffffsssmm."
"No." Mistaking my meekness for a plea, shaking her head, still smiling. "I'm going to relax here, watch you be helpless awhile longer."
Which she does. Like a queen, relaxed and looking down, eyes rarely leaving me.
Asking, demanding twice to see me struggle some more, for her. Which request or order I submit to, ramping my occasional- trying to get comfortable -squirm up to a full on moan and wriggle event. Kicking and bucking, breasts mostly hidden within the folds of my body but bouncing all the same, and I'm sure she can see them.
"It's true then," leaning forward to run fingers across my shoulder, down across the bicep. Tracing old wounds, bullet scaring, proof of how far the Bunny and me have travelled together. "You really have been shot."
"Dddggrrrrmm." Shivering at the contact, nodding. Yes. Unable to stop staring at Beth's chest, this new angle, body slightly forward off the bed and her C cups now pushing even harder against the dress. Chest and face close, triggering thoughts of bound cuddles and haven't I been good enough to warrant a treat?
Of Beth kissing my gagged lips.
But. No. Shortly after, glancing at her phone, an occasional thing most likely keeping track. Beth comes fully down off the bed and frees me.
After which, body a mess of unfulfilled emotion, submissiveness sloshing through me, wanting more. Wanting some form of closure beyond simply being freed. But it's time to leave, so I do. Letting the smoke take us home, Rope Bunny and Kayley.
And how am I supposed to sleep now?
002.
Dark God.
Firstly, I'm not particularly surprised it took them almost a month to notice. And, secondly, maybe I should be glad. That it was her, and not him.
Because had it been dad, not mum, I'm not sure he'd of been walking away, or even alive. After.
School noticed, other pupils, teachers. How could they not? I'd made no effort to cover up, to hide, and why should I? I am not afraid, I am not meek.
I am Livyatan. The Once and Forever. Ruler of the Never Sunset, Commander of the Forgotten Legion. Keeper of the blade Western Sorrow in the Rain. Friend to Sharks.
To explain.
Hi, I'm Jane. Sixteen, a skinny ten made curvy by E cups all the boys, and some of the girls, constantly stare at. About a year ago I fell, tumbling into a coma and as good as dead, until a Dark God saved me.
Livyatan. He'd offered a trade, knowledge and power, everything. Freely given and in return I only had to live, and when I die Livyatan goes on. Forward, but until then I am Livyatan, there's no voice inside, nobody to fight or ask permission before I wield the power, or the blade.
The transformation changed me however, how could it not? Something of this magnitude. Blonde hair turned black, eyes likewise: twin pools of midnight.
Limbs, from toes and fingertips to above elbows and knees, solid black like fresh tattoo ink, after which the colour twists and unravels, fading. My own pale pink skin showing through.
Added to which the scars: down the left side of my face and neck, the right forearm and a long cross on the right thigh that descends below the knee. Wounds inflicted by the Ever Raging Wind, now my prisoner. Her weapon: Darkness Reaps the Maelstrom, a scythe, a thing of power. I'll never fully heal.
And nor will- a lucky blow, upward swing slicing through skin, her face, pulverising the eye -she.
That first day, following the change and the battle. Walking into school, feeling everyone's eyes on me, sun warm overhead and I hadn't even- I am not meek, I do not hide -worn a jacket. Short sleeved white school shirt and black above the knee hugging skirt, showing everything off.
The new and vastly improved me.
Whispers following me down corridors, a tidal wave of murmurs not a single one of them brave enough to come and ask. All of them, the whole History class waiting to see what happens when Mr Evans walked in.
"Miss Reaver."
"Sir?"
"Stand up, come here. Please."
To which, shrugging, I'd complied, rising from my seat, the whispers growing louder. Half seen gestures, pointing to my limbs as I crossed the room. A boy flinching as my gaze briefly picked him out.
"Would you care to explain yourself?"
"Not particularly." Which blunt truth earns me scattered quiet laughter, a huff of annoyance from Mr Evans.
"This," gesturing at my limbs, "clothing, isn't official uniform."
"Right. Well." Making a show of plucking at my arm, the black reacting just like skin.
Because it is.
"These aren't clothes."
"Well then," temper rising, red like heat on his face, "go to the bathroom and wash it off."
"No." I can't, I don't add. My blunt refusal to comply earning both more laughter, and an instant dismissal from class, sent to Mr Hood, the headteacher.
Where we go through the merry-go-round a second time. No I won't explain. No I can't wash off or otherwise remove the inky blackness climbing up each limb, invading. For almost a half hour we circle, Mr Hood becoming more then less annoyed, from ordering to asking. Walking- mostly storming in exasperation -out on me, returning with Miss Summers, the school nurse slash councillor.
Which commences the next round, more of the same whilst she listens, at times changing track, attempting some form of friendship and perhaps they think I've been abused in some manner.
That I need to confide.
Tell me, Jane. Who hurt you?
Ha.
A stalemate. I'm sent back to class, with an actual note excusing my appearance, as though a piece of paper will squash this, will quell the stares and whispers I don't care about anyway. But they likely think I do. And meanwhile a letter is sent home, and good luck with that.
Because neither of my parents cares, about me. Not for years, a fact proven yet again, as if I needed more proof of a thing I've long ago learned to live with, but just over a week later I discover the letter, school headed envelope. Unopened.
Ripped in half and tossed in the trash.
So nothing gets done. I can't be expelled for being different, there's a whole chapter in the school charter, not to mention a couple of dozen laws, most likely, guaranteeing the fact. People stare: boys and girls, teachers when they think I'm not looking, but- E cups -I'm used to garnering attention, wanted or not.
Life moves on, the daily routine. Friends who understand, my small group. Charley, Abbey, Sarah. Slightly wary of me these days, slight distance opening up and I can't blame them, I'm not strictly the same girl they knew, before.
But they still talk to me, sit with me. We still hang out, and I can forgive the occasional flinch if I move too fast. They, above everyone at school, know what I'm capable of.
That I could bring it all crashing down, effortlessly.
So things are fine, a week. Two, then three, a handful of days more, no issues.
"What the...." Voice rising to a shriek, mum, sudden flare of angered surprise from the kitchen as I pass the doorway. "Fuck?"
Pausing, I wait, counting. Not making it to ten before.
"You get back here right now. Jane." Still more a shriek, words climbing to a near scream each sentence. "Right, now."
"Here I am." Keeping my tones level, wandering in, still in uniform bag dropped when mum began screaming, when it became clear it was today.
Now.
"What do you call this?"
"Hi. Jane." Still deadpan, working hard at checking the anger which wants to spill out, over. Drown her whole fucking world. "How are you? I'm goo-"
"-Don't you smartmouth me little lady." Talking over me, she's sitting at the table, half smoked cigarette in the ashtray surrounded by a half dozen of its fallen brothers. "You come here right now a-"
"-Good, thanks. Mum."
Talking over her back, my calm tones briefly injected with the flat menace of approaching thunder, of distant canon fire. Livyatan's voice and mum's mouth shuts with an audible snap.
Glaring at me, which casual hatred, of me and I've never really understood why. Why even have me if all you'll do after the event is hate and ignore me? I've learned to hide, to remain invisible in my own house, taking just enough: food, drink, hot water and soap, to survive.
But today, now. I stare back, a black eyed gaze and mum blinks first. Tutting and lighting another cigarette to cover the lost point.
"You're too young to get a tattoo."
"I know."
"Well then...." Waving her hands around, clearly still annoyed even though her tone has dropped back towards normal. "Explain yourself."
"No."
"What?"
"No." Not flinching at the angered shriek as I once would've, arms crossed beneath my breasts, staring at her.
Late thirties and a slim twelve with natural D's that, evidenced by the fact she never wears a bra, are still quite pert and yet to be caught by gravity. Mum's curves are spoiled by her belly though, a twin of dad's because both of them live on junk. In this house we, they because I do try, eat zero of our five a day. Hair a dirty off blonde, cut short so it tickles her neck. Mum almost exclusively wears baggy jogging bottoms and tight cropped tops.
"Don't you dare." Working her anger up, nostrils flaring and because I'm mostly invisible at home it's rare, for them to find issue with me. But occasionally they do. "Don't you dare talk back to me. Jane. Or I'll...."
"You'll what?" A shrug, still stood arms crossed. Probably doesn't help that a small smile flits across my face.
"I'm going to my room."
"Good." Shouted as I turn and step away. "Go to your room and think, young lady. You need to learn some respect and-"
"-What?" Stopped, dead, and half turned. My tone and gaze stopping mum's rant in it's tracks.
Into the silence I finish turning, feeling the power
be good be good be good don't kill anyone be good she's a bitch but she's still mum be good
thrumming like a well maintained engine, like my body, every nerve and muscle is singing. Alive.
Stepping back to the table.
"Respect." Hard not to bite the word out. "Like the two of you show me?"
"You drop that tone."
"Fuck you, mum." Slipping out, casually, dropped without thinking because school has been long, and despite not caring it still isn't easy to live in the goldfish bowl of everybody staring and whispering.
Mum's eyes go wide, mouth compressing into a thin line and she's rising, one arm coming back leaning forward and it won't be the first time either of them has hit me.
Rare, but not the first time.
"Don't." Small shake of my head. "I won't let you."
"Won't...." Disbelief in her voice, anger still there around the edges, sloshing, looking for an outlet.
"You. Little. Bitch."
And she swings for me, flinching as I let loose a snarl of pure pent up long overdue rage. That I've been forced to endure this life, the two of them, for so very long. Screaming it all into her face, letting loose the power, darkness filling the small kitchen.
Glass shattering, wood splintering and burning the overhead light blowing, showering sparks. Mum screaming, the very centre, the eye of my destruction. Left alone, but not quite.
Like smoke the darkness dissipates, revealing a kitchen in ruins, the aftermath of an exploded bomb everything shredded or burned beyond recognition, except for one chair, and mum, sat on it.
Bound to it. Arms yanked behind the chair back, rope harsh at elbows and wrists, the latter lashed to the wooden frame whilst more rope pins her upper body, D cups squeezed. Mum's legs are spread wide, ankles pulled up and back tied off to the rear legs, high up.
Large ballgag filling her mouth. Blinking in surprise, moaning.
Looking up at me and I nod, before turning and walking out, leaving her for dad to sort out. When he finally makes it home from work, or the pub.
Dark God.
Firstly, I'm not particularly surprised it took them almost a month to notice. And, secondly, maybe I should be glad. That it was her, and not him.
Because had it been dad, not mum, I'm not sure he'd of been walking away, or even alive. After.
School noticed, other pupils, teachers. How could they not? I'd made no effort to cover up, to hide, and why should I? I am not afraid, I am not meek.
I am Livyatan. The Once and Forever. Ruler of the Never Sunset, Commander of the Forgotten Legion. Keeper of the blade Western Sorrow in the Rain. Friend to Sharks.
To explain.
Hi, I'm Jane. Sixteen, a skinny ten made curvy by E cups all the boys, and some of the girls, constantly stare at. About a year ago I fell, tumbling into a coma and as good as dead, until a Dark God saved me.
Livyatan. He'd offered a trade, knowledge and power, everything. Freely given and in return I only had to live, and when I die Livyatan goes on. Forward, but until then I am Livyatan, there's no voice inside, nobody to fight or ask permission before I wield the power, or the blade.
The transformation changed me however, how could it not? Something of this magnitude. Blonde hair turned black, eyes likewise: twin pools of midnight.
Limbs, from toes and fingertips to above elbows and knees, solid black like fresh tattoo ink, after which the colour twists and unravels, fading. My own pale pink skin showing through.
Added to which the scars: down the left side of my face and neck, the right forearm and a long cross on the right thigh that descends below the knee. Wounds inflicted by the Ever Raging Wind, now my prisoner. Her weapon: Darkness Reaps the Maelstrom, a scythe, a thing of power. I'll never fully heal.
And nor will- a lucky blow, upward swing slicing through skin, her face, pulverising the eye -she.
That first day, following the change and the battle. Walking into school, feeling everyone's eyes on me, sun warm overhead and I hadn't even- I am not meek, I do not hide -worn a jacket. Short sleeved white school shirt and black above the knee hugging skirt, showing everything off.
The new and vastly improved me.
Whispers following me down corridors, a tidal wave of murmurs not a single one of them brave enough to come and ask. All of them, the whole History class waiting to see what happens when Mr Evans walked in.
"Miss Reaver."
"Sir?"
"Stand up, come here. Please."
To which, shrugging, I'd complied, rising from my seat, the whispers growing louder. Half seen gestures, pointing to my limbs as I crossed the room. A boy flinching as my gaze briefly picked him out.
"Would you care to explain yourself?"
"Not particularly." Which blunt truth earns me scattered quiet laughter, a huff of annoyance from Mr Evans.
"This," gesturing at my limbs, "clothing, isn't official uniform."
"Right. Well." Making a show of plucking at my arm, the black reacting just like skin.
Because it is.
"These aren't clothes."
"Well then," temper rising, red like heat on his face, "go to the bathroom and wash it off."
"No." I can't, I don't add. My blunt refusal to comply earning both more laughter, and an instant dismissal from class, sent to Mr Hood, the headteacher.
Where we go through the merry-go-round a second time. No I won't explain. No I can't wash off or otherwise remove the inky blackness climbing up each limb, invading. For almost a half hour we circle, Mr Hood becoming more then less annoyed, from ordering to asking. Walking- mostly storming in exasperation -out on me, returning with Miss Summers, the school nurse slash councillor.
Which commences the next round, more of the same whilst she listens, at times changing track, attempting some form of friendship and perhaps they think I've been abused in some manner.
That I need to confide.
Tell me, Jane. Who hurt you?
Ha.
A stalemate. I'm sent back to class, with an actual note excusing my appearance, as though a piece of paper will squash this, will quell the stares and whispers I don't care about anyway. But they likely think I do. And meanwhile a letter is sent home, and good luck with that.
Because neither of my parents cares, about me. Not for years, a fact proven yet again, as if I needed more proof of a thing I've long ago learned to live with, but just over a week later I discover the letter, school headed envelope. Unopened.
Ripped in half and tossed in the trash.
So nothing gets done. I can't be expelled for being different, there's a whole chapter in the school charter, not to mention a couple of dozen laws, most likely, guaranteeing the fact. People stare: boys and girls, teachers when they think I'm not looking, but- E cups -I'm used to garnering attention, wanted or not.
Life moves on, the daily routine. Friends who understand, my small group. Charley, Abbey, Sarah. Slightly wary of me these days, slight distance opening up and I can't blame them, I'm not strictly the same girl they knew, before.
But they still talk to me, sit with me. We still hang out, and I can forgive the occasional flinch if I move too fast. They, above everyone at school, know what I'm capable of.
That I could bring it all crashing down, effortlessly.
So things are fine, a week. Two, then three, a handful of days more, no issues.
"What the...." Voice rising to a shriek, mum, sudden flare of angered surprise from the kitchen as I pass the doorway. "Fuck?"
Pausing, I wait, counting. Not making it to ten before.
"You get back here right now. Jane." Still more a shriek, words climbing to a near scream each sentence. "Right, now."
"Here I am." Keeping my tones level, wandering in, still in uniform bag dropped when mum began screaming, when it became clear it was today.
Now.
"What do you call this?"
"Hi. Jane." Still deadpan, working hard at checking the anger which wants to spill out, over. Drown her whole fucking world. "How are you? I'm goo-"
"-Don't you smartmouth me little lady." Talking over me, she's sitting at the table, half smoked cigarette in the ashtray surrounded by a half dozen of its fallen brothers. "You come here right now a-"
"-Good, thanks. Mum."
Talking over her back, my calm tones briefly injected with the flat menace of approaching thunder, of distant canon fire. Livyatan's voice and mum's mouth shuts with an audible snap.
Glaring at me, which casual hatred, of me and I've never really understood why. Why even have me if all you'll do after the event is hate and ignore me? I've learned to hide, to remain invisible in my own house, taking just enough: food, drink, hot water and soap, to survive.
But today, now. I stare back, a black eyed gaze and mum blinks first. Tutting and lighting another cigarette to cover the lost point.
"You're too young to get a tattoo."
"I know."
"Well then...." Waving her hands around, clearly still annoyed even though her tone has dropped back towards normal. "Explain yourself."
"No."
"What?"
"No." Not flinching at the angered shriek as I once would've, arms crossed beneath my breasts, staring at her.
Late thirties and a slim twelve with natural D's that, evidenced by the fact she never wears a bra, are still quite pert and yet to be caught by gravity. Mum's curves are spoiled by her belly though, a twin of dad's because both of them live on junk. In this house we, they because I do try, eat zero of our five a day. Hair a dirty off blonde, cut short so it tickles her neck. Mum almost exclusively wears baggy jogging bottoms and tight cropped tops.
"Don't you dare." Working her anger up, nostrils flaring and because I'm mostly invisible at home it's rare, for them to find issue with me. But occasionally they do. "Don't you dare talk back to me. Jane. Or I'll...."
"You'll what?" A shrug, still stood arms crossed. Probably doesn't help that a small smile flits across my face.
"I'm going to my room."
"Good." Shouted as I turn and step away. "Go to your room and think, young lady. You need to learn some respect and-"
"-What?" Stopped, dead, and half turned. My tone and gaze stopping mum's rant in it's tracks.
Into the silence I finish turning, feeling the power
be good be good be good don't kill anyone be good she's a bitch but she's still mum be good
thrumming like a well maintained engine, like my body, every nerve and muscle is singing. Alive.
Stepping back to the table.
"Respect." Hard not to bite the word out. "Like the two of you show me?"
"You drop that tone."
"Fuck you, mum." Slipping out, casually, dropped without thinking because school has been long, and despite not caring it still isn't easy to live in the goldfish bowl of everybody staring and whispering.
Mum's eyes go wide, mouth compressing into a thin line and she's rising, one arm coming back leaning forward and it won't be the first time either of them has hit me.
Rare, but not the first time.
"Don't." Small shake of my head. "I won't let you."
"Won't...." Disbelief in her voice, anger still there around the edges, sloshing, looking for an outlet.
"You. Little. Bitch."
And she swings for me, flinching as I let loose a snarl of pure pent up long overdue rage. That I've been forced to endure this life, the two of them, for so very long. Screaming it all into her face, letting loose the power, darkness filling the small kitchen.
Glass shattering, wood splintering and burning the overhead light blowing, showering sparks. Mum screaming, the very centre, the eye of my destruction. Left alone, but not quite.
Like smoke the darkness dissipates, revealing a kitchen in ruins, the aftermath of an exploded bomb everything shredded or burned beyond recognition, except for one chair, and mum, sat on it.
Bound to it. Arms yanked behind the chair back, rope harsh at elbows and wrists, the latter lashed to the wooden frame whilst more rope pins her upper body, D cups squeezed. Mum's legs are spread wide, ankles pulled up and back tied off to the rear legs, high up.
Large ballgag filling her mouth. Blinking in surprise, moaning.
Looking up at me and I nod, before turning and walking out, leaving her for dad to sort out. When he finally makes it home from work, or the pub.
-
BlissfulMisery
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 365
- Joined: 3 years ago
Nice to see you start up another story/follow up on the previous one!
Or perhaps a cheeky partial retcon to the details of their joining
Not new information, given the previous story, but quite the way to make the point.
And quite the heavy scene between Jane and her mother. Not a 'fun' to read, of course, but it was well written. Raw and emotional, in the right/intended way.
Overall, obviously introductory chapters, but I think they kept a good balance between providing context/background and having things happen.
And quite the contrast (I assume intended) between the almost happy-go-lucky nature of Kayley/The Rope Bunny, versus the much more serious/brooding Jane/Livyatan who is having to deal with... well, a lot. From every angle of her life.
Based on this, seems that this takes place earlier in the timeline - before Kayley and the Bunny became one and the same.RopeBunny wrote: 3 months ago "This one?" Talking to the Bunny, or her talking to me is like this, audible in only the one direction, answers coming from inside.
Or perhaps a cheeky partial retcon to the details of their joining
The eternal contradiction/push and pull of bondage - all 'pretend', but the point is for it to feel real in the moment, as it were. Liked the way you described the dynamic between them.RopeBunny wrote: 3 months ago Smiling on that final word and she's clearly a natural dominant, the- pretend, but fuck me in the here and now it feels real, is easy to forget -dynamic
IndeedRopeBunny wrote: 3 months ago After which, body a mess of unfulfilled emotion, submissiveness sloshing through me, wanting more. Wanting some form of closure beyond simply being freed. But it's time to leave, so I do. Letting the smoke take us home, Rope Bunny and Kayley.
And how am I supposed to sleep now?
Relevant contrast to the earlier point about Kayley and Bunny having a different relationship/coexistence. Wonder if this will come up at some point.RopeBunny wrote: 3 months ago Forward, but until then I am Livyatan, there's no voice inside, nobody to fight or ask permission before I wield the power, or the blade.
OoohRopeBunny wrote: 3 months ago Because neither of my parents cares, about me. Not for years, a fact proven yet again, as if I needed more proof of a thing I've long ago learned to live with, but just over a week later I discover the letter, school headed envelope. Unopened.
Ripped in half and tossed in the trash.
Not new information, given the previous story, but quite the way to make the point.
And quite the heavy scene between Jane and her mother. Not a 'fun' to read, of course, but it was well written. Raw and emotional, in the right/intended way.
Overall, obviously introductory chapters, but I think they kept a good balance between providing context/background and having things happen.
And quite the contrast (I assume intended) between the almost happy-go-lucky nature of Kayley/The Rope Bunny, versus the much more serious/brooding Jane/Livyatan who is having to deal with... well, a lot. From every angle of her life.
Pretty certain Kayley and the Bunny became a complete one in my second Bunny story, the adult one.BlissfulMisery wrote: 2 months agoBased on this, seems that this takes place earlier in the timeline - before Kayley and the Bunny became one and the same.RopeBunny wrote: 3 months ago "This one?" Talking to the Bunny, or her talking to me is like this, audible in only the one direction, answers coming from inside.
Or perhaps a cheeky partial retcon to the details of their joining
Now retconned/deleted.
As a schoolgirl, the barrier is down, to a point. No longer needing permission or a summoning to step forward, Kayley and the Bunny share willingly, seamlessly, whilst remaining two separate identities, hence the changing skin.
I've a future chapter planned, something like sitting down and talking, a chance to share and explain details.
Indeed.BlissfulMisery wrote: 2 months ago
And quite the heavy scene between Jane and her mother. Not a 'fun' to read, of course, but it was well written. Raw and emotional, in the right/intended way.
Thought Jane deserved this though, a chance to rise up and finally right the wrong, although things might not, of course, end there.
Thanks for commenting, final 'introduction' chapter below, felt like a good way to begin, each of the 3 (4
) main characters getting a solo chapter, no reference to any of the others within.003.
Nightmare.
"If you're sure," frowning and looking anything but herself, looking full of doubts, "Char?"
"Yes, Laur." Taking a deep breath to hide the shiver of nervous half fear. The unknown. "I'm sure."
Laur, Lauren. And Char for Charlotte. Pet names from when we were younger, from before Lauren lost interest in me, in anything bar being a Goth and hating the world. Resurrected now she's my slave.
We're sisters, twenty year old her sitting a permanent four years ahead, and there's a thing inside me. A Nightmare, darkness and malevolence. We fought for control, of me, and I won. Consuming her. Echo, gaining power I've had to work at controlling and learning.
It was Echo who dominated my sister, branding her. Literally, making Lauren Echo's, now my slave. Willing to do an. Y. Thing, to please me. Unaware of the power that binds her, Lauren craves my attentions, begs for bondage, the whole thing a toxic drug and I've been slipping, all too easy to play my role, to own her.
Bad sister. Bad Charlotte.
Maybe though, a revelation: if I have Lauren bind and gag me, lord it over me, might that change things? Bring her back?
Worth a try.
Which brings us to her bedroom, on a Sunday our parents out for the day. Empty house, perfect. Lauren coming to find me within minutes, as I'd expected, keen to spend time with her sister, keen to be used.
Frowning down at the rope in her hand now, unsure.
"But?"
"It's what I want." Voice firm, and if I have to ask her to do it, okay. "Laur."
"What do I do, though?" Half holding the rope out to me, as though I could bind myself.
"Well...." I can't tell her what to do though. Surely walking Lauren through binding me defeats the object here, that she takes control, and hopefully enjoys it. Somehow snapping out of her Echo made prison.
"What if I said to do the best job you can?" Leg spasming, a flight reflex at my suggestion: please make me completely helpless. "Tie me up. Gag me." A second spasm, brief shake. I breathe, find a welcoming smile. "Make it so I'm all yours."
"All." Frowning. "Mine?"
"Like a role reversal."
"So I'm." Thinking, tiny smile. "In charge of you?"
"Yes."
She insists on dressing up for me, today being no different: curvy fourteen pale skinned frame almost completely on show, luminous green tie side thong style bikini bottoms paired with a black triangle top, C's filling it out and white skeletal hands on each cup as though gripping her breasts. Purple hair tied back into a loose tail.
I've dressed up too, though, this time. Hoping that in emulating her I'll help. Same bikini style, tie sides and stupidly small triangles though mine is a matching set in green camouflage, C cups equally barely contained, size twelve curves exposed, black hair left loose and tumbling.
Nerves, worry, which means I've slipped on and belted a silk bathrobe, hem barely below my crotch, red with a black strip up and back down along the front edge, a black belt.
"I'll hogtie you."
"Right." Stay calm don't shake, nod in response to Lauren's nod. This is what you want. Try to smile like she always does. "Where do you want me?"
"On my bed. But." Word stopping me mid step. "Here, first."
"Right."
And I've been tied up, several times by various people, but never by my sister, and, especially given the dynamic, the underlying backstory.
It's weird.
The plan falls apart within seconds, Lauren's first attempt at binding my wrists, behind me and at the first small wriggle everything comes loose. Tumbling to the ground.
"Oh?"
"Needs to be tighter, Laur."
"Tighter." Thoughtful, standing behind me and I'm still looking ahead.
"Could you show me?"
"No." Damn it, her voice had been hopeful, wanting to be tied, still. "Just." Placing my wrists together, thinking fast and saying whatever comes to mind. "Picture how I tie you, and do that. As though you don't want me to leave."
"So I can cuddle you?"
"That's up to you." Shrugging, how do I bring her mean streak back?
"Or you could abandon me."
"I could," pausing, rope semi tight around my wrists she hasn't yet pulled the loop, "leave you?"
"I leave you."
"I don't mind you leaving me."
"I know Laur." Small huff, this whole thing likely doomed. But I've got to try. "Carry on."
But her second attempt fails too, slipping off once I move, so.
Sitting down on the bed, Lauren- insisting she does -kneeling in front of me, I take the time to demonstrate proper bondage. Binding my legs together just above the knees, wrapping and looping the doubled over rope, yanking the whole thing tight, talking her through it.
Feeding the last part through and around, between my pinned legs, cinching and tightening those first loops. Tying off a double knot and.
"There." Wriggling my legs, which can move but can't, crucially, be pulled apart. "Okay?"
"Right." Nodding, and she'd followed the whole thing through like the worlds best pupil. Like an obedient pet eager to please.
Taking the rope I hand her, still kneeling, Lauren sets to work on my ankles.
Succeeding, her loops and knots pulled tight, yanked and I'm repeatedly biting down on my lip to hide gasps and smother curses, because she's doing it right.
Making me helpless.
"Gag me."
"Now?"
"Please." So I don't have to hide anymore choice words. "So I can't tell you to stop."
"You want me to stop?"
"No." Smile, because I'd been joking, dropping off my face. Damn it, still seeing me as in charge. "Just."
Holding out the scarf, which she takes, standing with a slight frown, a small nod. Definitely doomed, but I'll keep it going, hoping.
Lauren climbs up behind me whilst I remain sitting, legs dangled off the edge. The scarf is already knotted, a large double sized wad in the centre and I keep this particular scarf solely for gagging her.
The fact of which, that sometimes the scarf goes missing for a couple of days at a time, the fact she'll sometimes wander round the- empty, parents out somewhere or other -house wearing it, having self gagged. The fact of her constant easy submission and acceptance of me, as her Master, shows how far into it all I've sunk.
Mouth open, tongue licking the thick green and white wool, the taste strange as the large knot slips and jams into place, Lauren pulling the scarf tight behind, sealing my voice.
The rest of the hogtie passing in somewhat of a blur, not used to being gagged, it's been awhile. These days, since Echo ripped my life apart I'm almost exclusively in charge, in matters rope. Have forgotten what it feels like to submit, the pinch of rope, the lack of free movement.
Have forgotten the drugged quality of it, the euphoria, the high on a par with how it feels to make someone else submit.
Wrists, followed by my chest, Lauren working methodically and I can occasionally hear her muttering, as though talking herself through the stages. Ropes squeezing my C cups, biting down to silence an involuntary moan as a hand brushes across my chest, closing the robe back up.
Lauren climbing off the bed and I take the advantage, not waiting to be told, or for help. Flopping down and rolling, bringing bound legs up onto the mattress, bouncing and wriggling some more, fighting my way snake like across her double bed, aiming for the centre. Thrilling in the remembered feel of helplessness.
"That's fine Char."
"Dddgggffmmm." Stopping, flopping onto my belly already feeling somewhat spent. The brief struggle exhausting.
Shift of the mattress as Lauren climbs back up, and moments later. Rope, the coarseness setting off a tingle, slipping between my ankles and I'm already bending, moving ankles closer to wrists, offering.
Buzz running through me as I feel the rope tightening, forcing wrists and ankles closer.
And suddenly it all comes apart.
It's been months since I won, since Echo and I fought, braving the m
a
ze
inside. Months since I consumed her, winning and gaining everything she was. But I'm still not fully in control, and the Nightmare hates to lose.
Stab of pain across my back. Old wounds, a two across by four down line of scars running from shoulder blades to butt, tears that are remade each time the tentacles appear, scars that'll never get the chance to heal.
Cry of pain, biting down on the gag as darkness engulfs our world and from Lauren.
A sigh, like welcoming an old friend.
The tentacles are things made of darkness and shadow, extra appendages to call on and use as the need arises. Variable in length, flexible and able to pass through solid things without hindrance although for some reason they always, fucking always shred- goodbye favourite bathrobe -whatever I'm wearing whilst emerging. Responding to my will, or not.
Unless, deep down I am in control, that my will to control Lauren is so rooted in my core that I don't want her to bind me?
Sensation of being tossed left and right, limbs falling, going floppy and slightly numb as the rope comes off.
Bump, like a nudge from behind as the tentacles withdraw, returning.
Blinking, stretching and rolling onto my side already knowing what I'll find.
Unable, unwilling to stop the smile forming, Lauren smiling back despite how damn uncomfortable she likely is. Genuinely happy to be put in, returned to her- natural -place in the me/her scheme.
Wrists and elbows bound, arms forced together at her back with wrists additionally pinned to her waist, elbow ropes extended out to wrap Lauren's C cups. Each breast wrapped too, a figure eight style second harness, squeezing and pushing them up, out, nipples pressed hard against her small black bikini cups, only just managing the task of hiding what she's got.
Legs bound individually, like a frog. Rope linking ankle to upper thigh, a second at the knee, Lauren's ankles then tied together, looped and linked to her elbows, body forced to bend and arch.
The whole tie severe. Extra tight, like a. Punishment? For binding me, despite I'd asked. Like putting Lauren in her place, a reminder.
"Hi."
"Hi." Reaching out, Lauren rolling onto her side, facing me across a short distance, moaning softly and thrusting her chest and belly forward, enhancing the contact of my hand, fingers trailing down her stomach.
"Thank you."
"For?"
"For the attention." Wriggling slightly. "Char. For binding me."
"You're welcome." How easily we, I, slip back into it all, the addictivness of having Lauren as my slave. Willing, available.
Mine.
Her scarf, mine, but hers. Lauren's gag, resting loosely wrapped and knotted around her neck. Inviting, small soft sigh of acceptance and pleasure as I lean in, placing the large double knot into her willingly open mouth, tightening it behind her head.
"Stay there." Rolling off the bed and Lauren only nods, not a whimper of protest as I walk away, abandoning her to tight bondage. Hating myself but thrilling at the control all the same, loving it. Wanting it, more and more.
Taking the time to fetch a drink, to change into normal clothes: skinny fit green jeans and a white cropped top with 'Queen of the whole f#*king world' slashed graffiti like across the bust in black, bikini changed out for pants and a bra.
Returning, finding Lauren where I left her, head coming up off the bed as I approach, beginning to struggle, to moan and flop around. Not in anger, she's genuinely happy to see me.
She, genuinely, craves my attention.
Going still whilst I remove the worst ropes, freeing her breasts, turning a truly evil frogtie come hogtie into a simple hogtie: ankles, wrists, a third to connect them, which I do take a perverse thrill in yanking tight, forcing her back into an arch of sorts.
Less extreme, less ropes, but still fucking tight. As I want and wish.
"Better?"
"Sssrrrmmm fffggghhhfff." Nodding, watching as I settle down across from her on the double bed, laid on my back one arm up and under the pillow, staring at the ceiling. Occasional glance at Lauren.
Seeing her slow blink, wriggle of barely contained C cups. Asking, begging.
"Come here then." Watching properly as she wriggles and bounces across the space, struggling. Breathing faster at the exertion. Low moan of contentment upon reaching me, snuggling close her mostly naked body pressed into mine, Lauren on her side my free arm curled under and around, holding her close, breasts puddled and pressing into me, the heat of her nice. Comforting and pleasant.
"Better?"
"Gggfffmmm sssrrdd pppfffnnnmm."
"Good girl." Planting a kiss on her forehead, smiling. And I still know this is bad, wrong, and I'm still going to have to sort this, fix this.
Release her from my power.
Just not today.
Nightmare.
"If you're sure," frowning and looking anything but herself, looking full of doubts, "Char?"
"Yes, Laur." Taking a deep breath to hide the shiver of nervous half fear. The unknown. "I'm sure."
Laur, Lauren. And Char for Charlotte. Pet names from when we were younger, from before Lauren lost interest in me, in anything bar being a Goth and hating the world. Resurrected now she's my slave.
We're sisters, twenty year old her sitting a permanent four years ahead, and there's a thing inside me. A Nightmare, darkness and malevolence. We fought for control, of me, and I won. Consuming her. Echo, gaining power I've had to work at controlling and learning.
It was Echo who dominated my sister, branding her. Literally, making Lauren Echo's, now my slave. Willing to do an. Y. Thing, to please me. Unaware of the power that binds her, Lauren craves my attentions, begs for bondage, the whole thing a toxic drug and I've been slipping, all too easy to play my role, to own her.
Bad sister. Bad Charlotte.
Maybe though, a revelation: if I have Lauren bind and gag me, lord it over me, might that change things? Bring her back?
Worth a try.
Which brings us to her bedroom, on a Sunday our parents out for the day. Empty house, perfect. Lauren coming to find me within minutes, as I'd expected, keen to spend time with her sister, keen to be used.
Frowning down at the rope in her hand now, unsure.
"But?"
"It's what I want." Voice firm, and if I have to ask her to do it, okay. "Laur."
"What do I do, though?" Half holding the rope out to me, as though I could bind myself.
"Well...." I can't tell her what to do though. Surely walking Lauren through binding me defeats the object here, that she takes control, and hopefully enjoys it. Somehow snapping out of her Echo made prison.
"What if I said to do the best job you can?" Leg spasming, a flight reflex at my suggestion: please make me completely helpless. "Tie me up. Gag me." A second spasm, brief shake. I breathe, find a welcoming smile. "Make it so I'm all yours."
"All." Frowning. "Mine?"
"Like a role reversal."
"So I'm." Thinking, tiny smile. "In charge of you?"
"Yes."
She insists on dressing up for me, today being no different: curvy fourteen pale skinned frame almost completely on show, luminous green tie side thong style bikini bottoms paired with a black triangle top, C's filling it out and white skeletal hands on each cup as though gripping her breasts. Purple hair tied back into a loose tail.
I've dressed up too, though, this time. Hoping that in emulating her I'll help. Same bikini style, tie sides and stupidly small triangles though mine is a matching set in green camouflage, C cups equally barely contained, size twelve curves exposed, black hair left loose and tumbling.
Nerves, worry, which means I've slipped on and belted a silk bathrobe, hem barely below my crotch, red with a black strip up and back down along the front edge, a black belt.
"I'll hogtie you."
"Right." Stay calm don't shake, nod in response to Lauren's nod. This is what you want. Try to smile like she always does. "Where do you want me?"
"On my bed. But." Word stopping me mid step. "Here, first."
"Right."
And I've been tied up, several times by various people, but never by my sister, and, especially given the dynamic, the underlying backstory.
It's weird.
The plan falls apart within seconds, Lauren's first attempt at binding my wrists, behind me and at the first small wriggle everything comes loose. Tumbling to the ground.
"Oh?"
"Needs to be tighter, Laur."
"Tighter." Thoughtful, standing behind me and I'm still looking ahead.
"Could you show me?"
"No." Damn it, her voice had been hopeful, wanting to be tied, still. "Just." Placing my wrists together, thinking fast and saying whatever comes to mind. "Picture how I tie you, and do that. As though you don't want me to leave."
"So I can cuddle you?"
"That's up to you." Shrugging, how do I bring her mean streak back?
"Or you could abandon me."
"I could," pausing, rope semi tight around my wrists she hasn't yet pulled the loop, "leave you?"
"I leave you."
"I don't mind you leaving me."
"I know Laur." Small huff, this whole thing likely doomed. But I've got to try. "Carry on."
But her second attempt fails too, slipping off once I move, so.
Sitting down on the bed, Lauren- insisting she does -kneeling in front of me, I take the time to demonstrate proper bondage. Binding my legs together just above the knees, wrapping and looping the doubled over rope, yanking the whole thing tight, talking her through it.
Feeding the last part through and around, between my pinned legs, cinching and tightening those first loops. Tying off a double knot and.
"There." Wriggling my legs, which can move but can't, crucially, be pulled apart. "Okay?"
"Right." Nodding, and she'd followed the whole thing through like the worlds best pupil. Like an obedient pet eager to please.
Taking the rope I hand her, still kneeling, Lauren sets to work on my ankles.
Succeeding, her loops and knots pulled tight, yanked and I'm repeatedly biting down on my lip to hide gasps and smother curses, because she's doing it right.
Making me helpless.
"Gag me."
"Now?"
"Please." So I don't have to hide anymore choice words. "So I can't tell you to stop."
"You want me to stop?"
"No." Smile, because I'd been joking, dropping off my face. Damn it, still seeing me as in charge. "Just."
Holding out the scarf, which she takes, standing with a slight frown, a small nod. Definitely doomed, but I'll keep it going, hoping.
Lauren climbs up behind me whilst I remain sitting, legs dangled off the edge. The scarf is already knotted, a large double sized wad in the centre and I keep this particular scarf solely for gagging her.
The fact of which, that sometimes the scarf goes missing for a couple of days at a time, the fact she'll sometimes wander round the- empty, parents out somewhere or other -house wearing it, having self gagged. The fact of her constant easy submission and acceptance of me, as her Master, shows how far into it all I've sunk.
Mouth open, tongue licking the thick green and white wool, the taste strange as the large knot slips and jams into place, Lauren pulling the scarf tight behind, sealing my voice.
The rest of the hogtie passing in somewhat of a blur, not used to being gagged, it's been awhile. These days, since Echo ripped my life apart I'm almost exclusively in charge, in matters rope. Have forgotten what it feels like to submit, the pinch of rope, the lack of free movement.
Have forgotten the drugged quality of it, the euphoria, the high on a par with how it feels to make someone else submit.
Wrists, followed by my chest, Lauren working methodically and I can occasionally hear her muttering, as though talking herself through the stages. Ropes squeezing my C cups, biting down to silence an involuntary moan as a hand brushes across my chest, closing the robe back up.
Lauren climbing off the bed and I take the advantage, not waiting to be told, or for help. Flopping down and rolling, bringing bound legs up onto the mattress, bouncing and wriggling some more, fighting my way snake like across her double bed, aiming for the centre. Thrilling in the remembered feel of helplessness.
"That's fine Char."
"Dddgggffmmm." Stopping, flopping onto my belly already feeling somewhat spent. The brief struggle exhausting.
Shift of the mattress as Lauren climbs back up, and moments later. Rope, the coarseness setting off a tingle, slipping between my ankles and I'm already bending, moving ankles closer to wrists, offering.
Buzz running through me as I feel the rope tightening, forcing wrists and ankles closer.
And suddenly it all comes apart.
It's been months since I won, since Echo and I fought, braving the m
a
ze
inside. Months since I consumed her, winning and gaining everything she was. But I'm still not fully in control, and the Nightmare hates to lose.
Stab of pain across my back. Old wounds, a two across by four down line of scars running from shoulder blades to butt, tears that are remade each time the tentacles appear, scars that'll never get the chance to heal.
Cry of pain, biting down on the gag as darkness engulfs our world and from Lauren.
A sigh, like welcoming an old friend.
The tentacles are things made of darkness and shadow, extra appendages to call on and use as the need arises. Variable in length, flexible and able to pass through solid things without hindrance although for some reason they always, fucking always shred- goodbye favourite bathrobe -whatever I'm wearing whilst emerging. Responding to my will, or not.
Unless, deep down I am in control, that my will to control Lauren is so rooted in my core that I don't want her to bind me?
Sensation of being tossed left and right, limbs falling, going floppy and slightly numb as the rope comes off.
Bump, like a nudge from behind as the tentacles withdraw, returning.
Blinking, stretching and rolling onto my side already knowing what I'll find.
Unable, unwilling to stop the smile forming, Lauren smiling back despite how damn uncomfortable she likely is. Genuinely happy to be put in, returned to her- natural -place in the me/her scheme.
Wrists and elbows bound, arms forced together at her back with wrists additionally pinned to her waist, elbow ropes extended out to wrap Lauren's C cups. Each breast wrapped too, a figure eight style second harness, squeezing and pushing them up, out, nipples pressed hard against her small black bikini cups, only just managing the task of hiding what she's got.
Legs bound individually, like a frog. Rope linking ankle to upper thigh, a second at the knee, Lauren's ankles then tied together, looped and linked to her elbows, body forced to bend and arch.
The whole tie severe. Extra tight, like a. Punishment? For binding me, despite I'd asked. Like putting Lauren in her place, a reminder.
"Hi."
"Hi." Reaching out, Lauren rolling onto her side, facing me across a short distance, moaning softly and thrusting her chest and belly forward, enhancing the contact of my hand, fingers trailing down her stomach.
"Thank you."
"For?"
"For the attention." Wriggling slightly. "Char. For binding me."
"You're welcome." How easily we, I, slip back into it all, the addictivness of having Lauren as my slave. Willing, available.
Mine.
Her scarf, mine, but hers. Lauren's gag, resting loosely wrapped and knotted around her neck. Inviting, small soft sigh of acceptance and pleasure as I lean in, placing the large double knot into her willingly open mouth, tightening it behind her head.
"Stay there." Rolling off the bed and Lauren only nods, not a whimper of protest as I walk away, abandoning her to tight bondage. Hating myself but thrilling at the control all the same, loving it. Wanting it, more and more.
Taking the time to fetch a drink, to change into normal clothes: skinny fit green jeans and a white cropped top with 'Queen of the whole f#*king world' slashed graffiti like across the bust in black, bikini changed out for pants and a bra.
Returning, finding Lauren where I left her, head coming up off the bed as I approach, beginning to struggle, to moan and flop around. Not in anger, she's genuinely happy to see me.
She, genuinely, craves my attention.
Going still whilst I remove the worst ropes, freeing her breasts, turning a truly evil frogtie come hogtie into a simple hogtie: ankles, wrists, a third to connect them, which I do take a perverse thrill in yanking tight, forcing her back into an arch of sorts.
Less extreme, less ropes, but still fucking tight. As I want and wish.
"Better?"
"Sssrrrmmm fffggghhhfff." Nodding, watching as I settle down across from her on the double bed, laid on my back one arm up and under the pillow, staring at the ceiling. Occasional glance at Lauren.
Seeing her slow blink, wriggle of barely contained C cups. Asking, begging.
"Come here then." Watching properly as she wriggles and bounces across the space, struggling. Breathing faster at the exertion. Low moan of contentment upon reaching me, snuggling close her mostly naked body pressed into mine, Lauren on her side my free arm curled under and around, holding her close, breasts puddled and pressing into me, the heat of her nice. Comforting and pleasant.
"Better?"
"Gggfffmmm sssrrdd pppfffnnnmm."
"Good girl." Planting a kiss on her forehead, smiling. And I still know this is bad, wrong, and I'm still going to have to sort this, fix this.
Release her from my power.
Just not today.
Interlude.
r/realmyths/the3
Wizard_David started a new thread on r/realmyths
-------
[1132]
Wizard_David.
Okay. So. Excuse the looong first post, especially you @:Rockthe(sea)Bass.
Just bringing the uninitiated noobs up to speed.
Monsters are real, and if you don't believe me you should. Because they believe in you.
For starters we have the Rope Bunny, her own thread here [/RopeBunny] alongside the less popular but in some respects vastly more entertaining
[/BindtheBunny] and
[/BindmeBunny]
Much of what we have, on any of this stuff, is hearsay and rumour, information garnered from old books. Facts which can't be checked but are nonetheless debated endlessly, on both the aforementioned threads and elsewhere.
But we who believe, believe, and I invite you to do likewise.
The Bunny is old, several thousands of years. She's a trickster, mischief maker, an occasional kidnapper and often binder, for fun. She can be called, petitioned either for help or for play.
It seems.
[*insert*]photo, Bunnyoutofcostume?
[*insert*]photo, ItiedtheBunny005 facecloseup
[*insert*]photo, she_posed_for_me
Legend paints the Rope Bunny as a thing of smoke, but there's growing evidence this blonde haired mid teens British schoolgirl IS the Bunny. Online accounts stretching back these past two years, and a good percentage of those who successfully summon/call the Rope Bunny post about it.
Every recent account describes the same blonde hair and build. And, interestingly one of the most recent claim they called, and were answered BY the schoolgirl?
Why is she a schoolgirl? Is the Rope Bunny trapped? Does she need help?
Are you allowed to bind her? A few say, claim yes.
What are the extents and limits of her power?
Someone really should ask, instead of simply playing tie ups with her, although somehow- can't think why -I don't see that happening.
Our second can be found here.
[*insert*]video file, schoolgirlfightwtf
[*insert*]video file, Bunnyvsunknown
And here.
[*insert*]photo, RopeBunnyandwho
[*insert*]photo, RopeBunny_&_friend shopping
[*insert*]photo, schoolgirltentacles creepyasfuck
Based on my own reading material, and research- prove me wrong -this is, looks like based mostly on those midnight black tentacles in both the (jumpy as fuck, sorry, but they aren't mine) video files and last photo.
I'd say it's a Nightmare.
Capital N. Nightmare as a physical thing, not a bad dream although you'll wish you could. Wake up. There are five of them. Malevolent things, old evil.
And I'd love to know the story here, how the Rope Bunny went- apparently, based off the evidence -from fighting a Nightmare to wandering around Primark with her?
Nightmares don't go to school, and yet it appears she's wearing the same blue shirt uniform as the Bunny. The puzzle here is that Nightmares DON'T inhabit others?
Don't make friends.
Based on the 'Hierarchy' and for more information read here
[*insert*]link, don'treadbeforebed
a Nightmare outranks the Bunny in terms of power, what they can wield, the damage potential.
And, speaking of damage potential. Lastly, our third.
[*insert*]photo, tooyoung4ink
Another mid teens girl, white shirt this time, different school.
Before anyone says it, yes I am aware we're spending what could be seen as a creepily long length of time discussing, basically. Schoolgirls.
But even so. She bares the same markings as.
[*insert*]photo, Ushinattacoolsword
Admittedly Ushinatta is (twenties?) older, but it's the same markings and, okay. I'm just going to say it.
Dark God.
Fucked if I know the how of it, rumour has it Ushinatta was born to the bloodline, so what of our mysterious third.
Who is she, both in human and Dark God terms?
What does it mean that we've now got fairly solid evidence to suggest there are three monsters, at least one of whom could easily level a building, all either pretending to be or who actually are schoolgirls?
Throwing the floor open, let's science the crap out of this people.
-------
r/realmyths/the3
Wizard_David started a new thread on r/realmyths
-------
[1132]
Wizard_David.
Okay. So. Excuse the looong first post, especially you @:Rockthe(sea)Bass.
Just bringing the uninitiated noobs up to speed.
Monsters are real, and if you don't believe me you should. Because they believe in you.
For starters we have the Rope Bunny, her own thread here [/RopeBunny] alongside the less popular but in some respects vastly more entertaining
[/BindtheBunny] and
[/BindmeBunny]
Much of what we have, on any of this stuff, is hearsay and rumour, information garnered from old books. Facts which can't be checked but are nonetheless debated endlessly, on both the aforementioned threads and elsewhere.
But we who believe, believe, and I invite you to do likewise.
The Bunny is old, several thousands of years. She's a trickster, mischief maker, an occasional kidnapper and often binder, for fun. She can be called, petitioned either for help or for play.
It seems.
[*insert*]photo, Bunnyoutofcostume?
[*insert*]photo, ItiedtheBunny005 facecloseup
[*insert*]photo, she_posed_for_me
Legend paints the Rope Bunny as a thing of smoke, but there's growing evidence this blonde haired mid teens British schoolgirl IS the Bunny. Online accounts stretching back these past two years, and a good percentage of those who successfully summon/call the Rope Bunny post about it.
Every recent account describes the same blonde hair and build. And, interestingly one of the most recent claim they called, and were answered BY the schoolgirl?
Why is she a schoolgirl? Is the Rope Bunny trapped? Does she need help?
Are you allowed to bind her? A few say, claim yes.
What are the extents and limits of her power?
Someone really should ask, instead of simply playing tie ups with her, although somehow- can't think why -I don't see that happening.
Our second can be found here.
[*insert*]video file, schoolgirlfightwtf
[*insert*]video file, Bunnyvsunknown
And here.
[*insert*]photo, RopeBunnyandwho
[*insert*]photo, RopeBunny_&_friend shopping
[*insert*]photo, schoolgirltentacles creepyasfuck
Based on my own reading material, and research- prove me wrong -this is, looks like based mostly on those midnight black tentacles in both the (jumpy as fuck, sorry, but they aren't mine) video files and last photo.
I'd say it's a Nightmare.
Capital N. Nightmare as a physical thing, not a bad dream although you'll wish you could. Wake up. There are five of them. Malevolent things, old evil.
And I'd love to know the story here, how the Rope Bunny went- apparently, based off the evidence -from fighting a Nightmare to wandering around Primark with her?
Nightmares don't go to school, and yet it appears she's wearing the same blue shirt uniform as the Bunny. The puzzle here is that Nightmares DON'T inhabit others?
Don't make friends.
Based on the 'Hierarchy' and for more information read here
[*insert*]link, don'treadbeforebed
a Nightmare outranks the Bunny in terms of power, what they can wield, the damage potential.
And, speaking of damage potential. Lastly, our third.
[*insert*]photo, tooyoung4ink
Another mid teens girl, white shirt this time, different school.
Before anyone says it, yes I am aware we're spending what could be seen as a creepily long length of time discussing, basically. Schoolgirls.
But even so. She bares the same markings as.
[*insert*]photo, Ushinattacoolsword
Admittedly Ushinatta is (twenties?) older, but it's the same markings and, okay. I'm just going to say it.
Dark God.
Fucked if I know the how of it, rumour has it Ushinatta was born to the bloodline, so what of our mysterious third.
Who is she, both in human and Dark God terms?
What does it mean that we've now got fairly solid evidence to suggest there are three monsters, at least one of whom could easily level a building, all either pretending to be or who actually are schoolgirls?
Throwing the floor open, let's science the crap out of this people.
-------
-
BlissfulMisery
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 365
- Joined: 3 years ago
Ahh, that was the story I must have been remembering. Kind of lost track, as there have been multiple, and some unfinished as you mention with that one.RopeBunny wrote: 2 months ago
Pretty certain Kayley and the Bunny became a complete one in my second Bunny story, the adult one.
Now retconned/deleted.
Fair enough!RopeBunny wrote: 2 months ago As a schoolgirl, the barrier is down, to a point. No longer needing permission or a summoning to step forward, Kayley and the Bunny share willingly, seamlessly, whilst remaining two separate identities, hence the changing skin.
I've a future chapter planned, something like sitting down and talking, a chance to share and explain details.
Certainly, but as you allude to in your response, such situations are not usually something to be fixed in one fell swoop. Cathartic to turn the tables, so to speak, to have power when one was (or at least felt) powerless before, but Jane still has to live in that house going forward.RopeBunny wrote: 2 months agoIndeed.BlissfulMisery wrote: 2 months ago
And quite the heavy scene between Jane and her mother. Not a 'fun' to read, of course, but it was well written. Raw and emotional, in the right/intended way.
Thought Jane deserved this though, a chance to rise up and finally right the wrong, although things might not, of course, end there.
Or not, I suppose, since given her supernatural powers she arguably has other options. But I suspect that is not the route you plan to take this, given the various choices made with the character(s) and story structure/setting.
Speaking of... quite the fitting tone for Charlottes introduction - her story always had a more sinister, less playful bent, and this chapter does a good job of showcasing the chaotic, unrestrained nature of her powers.RopeBunny wrote: 2 months ago final 'introduction' chapter below, felt like a good way to begin, each of the 3 (4
And there is irony in her trying to take back control of the situation by trying to give up control - and even this managing to backfire on her.
Well you know what they say about power...RopeBunny wrote: 2 months ago "Good girl." Planting a kiss on her forehead, smiling. And I still know this is bad, wrong, and I'm still going to have to sort this, fix this.
Release her from my power.
Just not today.
Poking fun at the framework of your own story I seeRopeBunny wrote: 2 months ago What does it mean that we've now got fairly solid evidence to suggest there are three monsters, at least one of whom could easily level a building, all either pretending to be or who actually are schoolgirls?
Really liked the interlude - you have a very 'found footage' style of doing those, and it makes for a great read.