Hot Feet (F/F, F/FF) - Chapter 7

[AlexUSA3]

@charliesmith, @silvertejp590, @SquidIncMaster, @Switcher1313, @The G-Man, @Caesar73, @Phantomette, @0Kay, @Yewteed, @Solarbeast, @GreyLord, @Kinky_boi,@harveygasson, @hafnermg, @johopp, @Bilmik, @DommeKirsten, @RopeBunny, @LunaDog, @PenelopeRopes, @StrugglingSue

Hot Feet
Monday, August 12, 2019

Got a foot fetish? Then I can hope parts of this story will grab your attention. Want to see some M/F action beyond the usual F/F featured at Maddy Tied Her? Tell me in the comments as we’re going along. After all, we aim to please. I’m Nichole Blakely, and I’ll be telling you what goes down on the beach—hot girls, bondage, and feet—and how I see the girls of the crew.

What makes this different from typical film stories is that (1) I’ll be switching across the roles of camera operator, rigger, and damsel-in-distress, (2) there’ll be wrapping narrations outside of the films themselves, and (3) we are listening to you, our viewers, and aim to please. I promise it’ll not get too dry, and if we have time I’ll even tell you about the tryst I had with my husband and a friend with her husband at the end of a long, hot, busy day.

CHAPTER 1: Florida Summer

We’d finished filming The Pirate Queens on Sunday morning, but following FetCon in St. Petersburg, which I didn’t attend, and even during it, we made films on scene in Florida. I think Maddy’s admirer had granted her continued use of the yacht, but we were going for scenes of a grittier nature. In fact, we decided to seek out the grit. I mean, of course, the beach!

Beautiful sun, heat, and humidity like this aren't foreign to our Minnesota senses, but they have intensity like we’d never experienced. This was going to be something else; I could feel it in my bones; for once, my limp wasn't crippling. It was a day for bikinis, tanning lotion, and bondage. I’ve got to admit, I’d never felt so excited to be working with Mary-Ann and company. There were so many of us here that I am only going to focus on individuals when necessary

“Hot Feet, huh?” I asked Mary-Ann as we rode along to the beach where we were filming.
“Yeah! Since each film features hopping on a hot beach. It’ll be tons of fun!”

Well, seven films, featuring bound and gagged girls hopping on hot sand. How much foot stuff was in each was a variable, but I’m not a foot fetishist anyway. This is for you, the people who like bondage and/or feet. I say this knowing I rode in this vehicle with at least two friends who do enjoy such things and would even be featured doing it in a film still to come.

In this film, I was the camera operator because Mary-Ann said I capture the right moments and know when to zoom in on a particular part of the action, whether a face, the binding of part of the captive’s body, or maybe just exposed breasts. Yes, be prepared to see lots of boobies over the next few chapters. I was getting ready for this, and despite the oppression that may result as a result of the heat, I wore thin blue jeans and a thin-fabricked white turtleneck for protection.

The navy blue kerchief bandana that held my hair back was perfect in this wind. While I could not live here year round, for 10 days, I could tolerate and enjoy it. My leg felt so good despite all the damage it had suffered over the years. In fact, it was the best it had felt since being so badly damaged. I stood up strong, ready to film, and just as ready to adjust as needed.

I turned to watch our rigger of the moment tying up the star for our first film, Ashley Calland, a French girl who was dressed to show off her national identity. Ashley had a French flag bandana as a headband; she always had a bandana headband and never anything else on her head. It was a perfect match for the blue of her bikini. The brown hair danced around her shoulders, but the rest of her was the sight.

Her brown eyes are innocent, profound, mischievous, and seductive. Want to play a simple, fun game? Maybe go kidnap someone? If you like girls, want to make love? Or maybe it’s a deep spiritual conversation you seek? Ashley Calland could do all these things with equal ease. The girl seemed slender, but her strong muscles showed with natural ease. Dress her in something sexy, and she was no longer just any other pretty girl.

Besides the muscles, there were three other things that were apparent: her navel piercing, which for a beach film was something simple and shiny to show off her abs. Second, was her size, as she stands at 5’7” with all the described features. Third was the unassuming smile that greeted her friends, but she had (still has) a heart that guarded itself closely against potential harm.

“This is nice,” she commented while I took a few pictures of her, “I want this just right, girls.”
“What’s that mean, Ashley?” Mary-Ann asked as if they haven’t discussed this before.
“The second time you appear, tighten all the ropes. Be cruel like you hate me. Tighten the gag.”
“Ash,” our boss peered into the French girl’s eyes, “I can see it means something to you. OK.”
“Merci,” Ashley then looked at me for reassurance, and I nodded in approval of her choice.
“Ash,” I even smiled, “You’re a warrior who’s survived so much. Keep on winning.”

We have a strange rule here: if the girl is tied up before the film begins, then someone who is not her in-film-captor ties her up. Ashley’s wrists and elbows were easily tied behind her back, and her ankles, knees, and lower and upper thighs were tied as well. A classic head harness with a 2.5 inch red ball gag silenced her, and the straps were snug but intentionally not too tight either.

Then there was Mary-Ann, playing the part of the kidnapper. She wore a green swimsuit, a one piece, and a green kerchief bandana. This wildcat was so perfect. She did cartwheels down the beach as a warmup. She learned to do these things on her own, and she still has a flip phone at this point of her life despite owning the studio. Ironically, the captive was, and still is, the one in charge of the technology side of the studio, editing videos, uploading them, and managing email.

Ashley was carefully laid down in the sand here, about 6 feet from the edge of the present surf. I set up my camera and shouted “And… we’re live!” with Ashley now pretending to be out cold at the beginning here. We’ll now watch what unfolded through my camera lens as Ashley Calland transformed into the damsel-in-distress Genevieve Badeaux while Mary-Ann transformed into a wild captor named Maddy Vee. We were making a good old-fashioned bondage film, which is a very different thing from classic TUGs but fun in its own right. We’ll see how my limp went.

We had two lines across the sand going south on the beach from where we set up our tent. The first line was bright blue: no one except me was to cross to the south of that line. The second line was red: the actresses were to stay south of that line. Only I crossed lines now. Here we go:

Hot Feet 1: Genevieve Badeaux

The girl laid in the sand, bound and gagged as I described and dressed as I described. She wasn’t stirring, because she was out cold, chloroformed by her captor. The only sounds are the surf and the gulls. The air is salty; the sky is blue; the sun is hot; the clouds are big and puffy. I zoom in on her bound form, starting at her ankles and going up to her head. As I do so, she stirs.

She opened her eyes and immediately could tell something was wrong with her situation. She should be able to stretch out her limbs, but instead she found they’re tied in inescapable fashion. I could feel the groan she let out as she sat up and realized that she’d been knocked out, captured, and abandoned on a hot beach in the heat of Florida summer. She looked around to find solitude.

“Gmmmmmmmmm!” she yelled into the head harness ball gag, starting the drooling.

With a twist, the captive discovered her wrists and elbows were brutally bound. There had been a very carefully planned method in this assault upon her. She looked down, and she saw that she was also bound at her ankles, knees, and lower and upper thighs. This was an extremely tight situation in which she found herself. The groan she let out was distressed and terrified by the situation, and a terrifying question comes to mind. She looked all around and saw no sign of life.

The sun was blazing hot. She could feel it in her bones, but what was really distressing was the location of her captivity. She was alone on an uninhabited island. Her sunscreen was providing a way for sand to stick to her body, and she winced at the temperature. She was in trouble and knew it. She won't get anywhere by sitting around like this and drooling. She had to escape!

She rocked herself back and forth and tried to spring herself up to standing, but she failed on her first attempt. With a deep breath and a growl, she repeated the process with success. She was on her feet now, and the heat of the sand was quite obvious in her body now. Now she had to hop to safety despite the heat that seemed to wish to set her ablaze. I showed her prone feet hopping up and down; her wincing was obvious. The sand was painfully hot on her bare feet. There was no escape from this though. It was horrible, but it was just what she wanted when we planned this.

“Mmmmmmmmm!” she huffed and drooled; it dribbled down her chest or to the sand.

She hopped and drooled. She drooled and hopped. The ropes were good and fast. There was no hope for escape from this ropework, but she still snarled and snapped in frustration when each of her efforts failed. She was determined to escape, but, as she hopped along, a green flash dashed into view and—BOOM! Down the captive went to the sound with a big girl in a green full-body swimsuit on top of her.

“GMMMMMMMMMMMMM!” the captive howled in distress at this treacherous action.
“Hi! Remember me?” the attacker had a matching green kerchief bandana, “From the contest?”
“Hmm?” there was a moment of thought, “Oooohhhh!”
“Yeah, the swimsuit contest. I want to win, and that judge was thinking too much about your tits and figure, so I brought you here so you’ll miss the check-in deadline! Hee hee heeeeeee!”

With a few simple motions, the captive’s bikini top was untied and taken away, exposing her full breasts. The harness passed above and below her breasts, made a V between them, and cinched through the armpits. The rope was tight and unforgiving: it was nylon. White and pristine nylon rope was a tight way to be tied up. When properly made, it's resistant but doesn't cut you either. The waist and crotch rope were just as unforgiving, and together they restrained her trunk; white string was used to tie her big toes. The captor had seemingly thought of everything.

Now, the exposed captive got up on her knees, huffing and puffing because of the brutal Florida August sun. Where was salvation? She dropped to her belly and struggled, rolling in the sand that was the site of her imprisonment. But the unforgiving rope irritated her crotch. She tried to wiggle her toes, but it didn’t help her. She repeated the motion: rock, spring, stand, success. She was really huffing and puffing, but she was strong and regained her strength to hop. Even her piercing seemed affected, losing some of its luster in the heat, sun, and sand. Then the devil of devils, the crotch rope, dropped her to the sand. She let out a squeal, helpless, involuntary and forced. The girl lay down in the sand, huffing and puffing because of the orgasm.

“Gmmmmmmm!” she let out in frustration at the burning sensation that pulsed throughout all of her body. That surge of hormones felt so unfair, especially when it was wrought in such a nasty fashion. For a girl like her, who had an average recovery time, it was even worse because she now was clueless when it would happen again. When is a terrifying word in that context. She knew she would drop to the sand again at some point. It rob you of your agency. The moment allowed me to get on my knees in the sand, capturing the scene to perfection while she lay there so helpless, but I am glad to put the weight in my thighs for a moment instead of that lower leg.

She sat up again, but all this did was allow her to drool all over her breasts. That same technique was used; back to her feet. Hopping isn’t easy when your toes are tied like hers are. My job was to capture all the details, and Ashley hopped up and down the beach like she thought a Wendy’s or a Burger King would show up if she kept trying. Sadly, she was all alone in the metaphorical sense. She was abandoned—left to die? She didn’t know what was happening. She was sweaty, bound, gagged, exposed, and slowly sunburning. She seemed to be on her way to the races, as if she had confidence. The French girl’s hoppi—BOOM! That gave me a break; my leg hurt.

“Well, well, well, having fun, aren’t we?” the captor, Mary-Ann, declared with sadistic glee.
“Nmmmmmmm!” Ashley protested into her gag, desperate for release from this situation.
Mary-Ann held nothing but a solitary rope, "I thought a hogtie would make you happy."

The wild hair, the green kerchief, the natural tan, the wild expression. It was classic Maddy, and she loved her infamous role as the wildcat. Without a thought, the white nylon hogtied Ashley in a brutal manner in the sand, connecting her wrists and elbows. It was a tight spot for sure, but I knew Mary-Ann too well. This was about intensity, and she dialed the notch to 12 upon request.

The hogtie shifted the brunt of the sand’s heat to Ashley’s belly, thighs, and breasts, and the brunt of the sun was on her back and feet. Mary-Ann used a string to connect Ashley’s big toes toward the head harness. It was brutal. She checked and tightened each of the ropes to be very tight. It was all just as Ashley wanted. There was no circulation risk, but the rope marks would be deep. Mary-Ann pulled Ashley’s French flag bandana over her eyes and redid the knot before redoing the head harness straps to ensure there would be dents. The crotch rope was tightened, too.

The next insults were a tether and finger strings. The tether tied her knees to a nearby pole in the sand, restricting her ability to struggle. String tied each of her fingers to its companion from the other hand: one string at the base and one string at the third knuckle. One string to tie her hands at the palms; one for her thumbs. She was screwed, and, with every single rope being tightened just like the others and the fastening of the harness, she had no hope of escape. I sweat too!

Tickling followed, and Mary-Ann didn’t leave anything on the table. Those feet were vulnerable and sensitive. Mary-Ann’s fingers invaded Ashley’s most sensitive spots, but the feet received it more than anywhere else. The tickling was fierce, and I captured it all. Maddy’s fingers did a perfect job, and I made sure to catch the sweating, the jerking of the bound arms, and the drool pouring off the captive’s ball gag. It felt like forever, but it was 25 minutes of laughter, forming a drool pond in the sand, and sweating in the hot sun. Yes, Ashley iwas very red.

"That's good. It's hot. The birds will have fun picking your bones clean for sure!" Maddy taunted Ashley about the situation, "I doubt someone will find you and release you. It won't be me!"
“MMMMMMMMMMMMMM!” the captive wailed, “MMMMMMM!”

And like that, Mary-Ann abandoned Ashley, ending an incredible scene. I didn’t get any burns because I was dressed so well, but Ashley? Man. That was just intense. Too intense. It was a bit too intense for my liking. She genuinely burned. Those wails were real. Why did she want to do this? Ash… this was the first time my friend wrote a script that… that worried me. Ash?

END OF FILM

I put down the camera. I was crying. We’d moved 200 feet down the beach over the course of the last 75 minutes, which was how long it has been since we started filming, despite how brief it might have seemed. I was worried about her. This wasn’t some deplorable form… of self-harm, was it? I quickly untied the tether and removed the head harness, “Ash! Ash!”

“Ohhhhhhh,” she was lost in the moment, the crotch rope doing its thing, “So good.”
“Ash, talk to me! Are you OK?! Quick! Someone help me carry her to the tent! QUICK!”
“What is it?!” Mary-Ann was already on her way, “Ashley Calland, this was foolish!”
“She’s burning. Help me move her first. Then we’ll untie her,” I said, and we picked her up.
"Ashley, I know you really wanted to do this like this," Mary-Ann sighed, "But you're cooked. Definitely some sunburn in patches. I know we like doing dangerous things, but real harm is not allowed on my film set,” I could hear disappointment, “Go to Nabber Cellar for that.”
“I’m sorry… But I wanted to push and feel that danger and suffering.”

We carried Ashley to the tent and put her down in there. It was really an open gazebo alongside a tent where we changed. We undid the hogtie and helped her to sit on a chair while she tried to regain her breath. I could see the regret in her eyes. She knew it: she had an unhealthy desire for pain as a form of catharsis. It was as much an eye-opener for her as it was for the rest of us. She crossed a line, and I think there was guilt mixed with satisfaction. She leaned back in the chair.

"I have never felt so helpless—I have let myself be choked, spanked, and otherwise hurt in hope of discovering something about myself—this was the most hopeless, dehumanizing moment of them all. I can never do something that intense ever again," Ashley sighed and looked around at her sand caked body and vulnerability and smiled with a plaintive sigh before Alexandra Watkins put a bottle up to her lips. Blue Raspberry Gatorade: Ashley’s favorite.

Then Ashley suddenly twitched. Something was rearing its head. Mary-Ann recognized it well after so many years of friendship that began when she and Ashley were in juvenile detention, an experience to which I cannot relate. Then it became clear. The film was a metaphor for Ashley’s life: how her aunt sexually abused her as a child, how her aunt murdered her mother and father in front of dozens of guests on Memorial Day in 2009, how Ashley killed her aunt to prevent others from also being killed, and how the then 11 year-old was brutally sentenced to 6 years in prison. I can’t imagine such pain in my own life, but Ashley cried while Mary-Ann and Alexandra, as a team, untied her. Alexandra had known Ashley longer than I even if she, like me, never went to prison. It was a moment of shared angst for all of us.

Ashley stood in silence while Alexandra sweetly rubbed aloe into her skin. We had two days left of filming scheduled, and Ashley would certainly not be doing anything topless in the films! We had to take care of her. Ash quietly drank her Gatorade until it was gone. I kept up with aloe on her feet and legs. She huffed and puffed just like she did back on the sand under the sun. There was a detectable sadness. No wonder she wanted pain: she had revisited her past and vanquished it through cinematic, cathartic, erotic art. She reclaimed her body, her pain, and her sexuality.

With that, she stooped, opened the cooler, and grabbed a bottle of her favorite ginger beer. She was too cool for root beer or ginger ale. No, this girl drank ginger beer. Wordlessly, she entered the tent. She hadn’t said a word, but everything she’d said had been perfectly understood by all.

END OF CHAPTER 1

[Caesar73]

The Titel says it all - I would say The keyword of this Story is "hot": Hot Sand, Hot Feet, Hot Girls, Hot Bondage! Who could ask for more?

[LunaDog]

Who could indeed?

[AlexUSA3]

The Title says it all - I would say The keyword of this Story is "hot": Hot Sand, Hot Feet, Hot Girls, Hot Bondage! Who could ask for more?

As my character Kylie would say: "Hottie, hottie, hottie"

@charliesmith, @silvertejp590, @SquidIncMaster, @Switcher1313, @The G-Man, @Caesar73, @Phantomette, @0Kay, @Yewteed, @Solarbeast, @GreyLord, @Kinky_boi,@harveygasson, @hafnermg, @johopp, @Bilmik, @DommeKirsten, @RopeBunny, @LunaDog, @PenelopeRopes, @StrugglingSue

CHAPTER 2: The Burial

Whereas Chapter 1 was all about the emotional release and catharsis, Chapter 2 was about being more creative than usual. From here out, except for my film, all the scripts were co-authored by Mary-Ann and Michela Palmeri, the star of our second film. Michela was an interesting girl, an anchor in the lives of many girls. It was going to be me out there on the sand again capturing all of the action. In fact, I’ll bring you inside the last check between Michela and Mary-Ann.

Michela’s a big, strong girl, standing at 5’9”, and built like a girl who just graduated college after playing hockey for all four years of it. She had an orange paisley bikini and a matching bandana headband to hold her hair back. The black sunglasses made her look cool, but the confidence she oozed while standing there was her best feature. She was unafraid and smiling. From her face, there was no sign of any anxiety. In fact, if anything, she was too confident for such dangers.

“All right. I’m ready to be buried. What do I need to know though?” Michela checked again.
“Yeah, head and feet stick out. String to clamps,” Mary-Ann smiled, “Lots of tickling. Got it?”
“My little sisters buried me in the sand every time we went to the beach. This is child’s play.”
“Then why’d you write such a script if it’s child’s play for you. What goes into that?”
“Because,” Michela took off her sunglasses, “My daddy once tickled my feet when…”
“Got it!” Mary-Ann acknowledged the past, “Good memories with sisters are tinged.”
“Thanks,” the captive-to-be put her sunglasses back and regained her mojo, “This’ll be fine.”

Even Michela had her motives, but it was a minor element in her eyes. She’d been to hell in her own way, but she’d survived her own abuse. Her father was in prison, and she’d gone to prison for how she’d stopped said abuse. It wasn’t pretty, and she’d gone from straight to lesbian from the experience. Overall, though, what a good person. She was so many things, and she helped me to confront my own “daddy issues” and move forward in life so that I could function.

Still, Michela stood up tall. The paisley bikini and paisley bandana headband gave her a strong vibe, and she proudly clasped her hands behind her back. Straight and tall, one hand grabbing the other wrist: the mandatory prison pose she now maintained like a badge of honor. Few of us are as soft on the inside while being so physically strong. Seriously, she is a beast when it comes to size and strength even if she’s not the strongest of all. How far she’d come from a frightened young woman recently out of prison who helped me with my personal problems! She had a vibe about her that showed some scars, but the brash young hockey player energy was back and better than ever. It’s no wonder she’s able to wriggle her way into lesbian trysts or simple video games with friends. She’s got an endearing personality. The shoulder length brown hair, the chocolatey eyes, and smile were so welcoming. In fact, just look at her go.

“Mackenzie, you gonna do it?” Michela asked while Xandra tied her crossed wrists behind her.
“This one should be a lot of fun. The question is if you can handle it,” the teen responded.
“Oh, get real, honey,” the captive-to-be laughed and threw her head and hair back, “I’m ready!”
“See how brave you are when your head and feet are above the sand and the rest is 2 feet under!”
“Now you know I’m made for this damsel-in-distress stuff, a natural. Gimme some hot squeals.”
“You,” Mackenzie poked a finger in Michela’s chest, “are a dirty girl. I aim to please though.”

Mackenzie Schaefer was a cleaner case; she was a reformed junkie. Her light brown hair was so long and naturally wavy. Her strong frame made up for being only 5”5.5”. Lots of 5’s there! A confident grin came over her face while she made sure she had all the supplies. She wasn’t one of the Cool Girls, but she was a regular in the filming crew and the baby of the bunch, born only in 1999. Youthful energy was on display, but she carried herself seriously too. Her humor had a light touch of sarcasm, and she relished the power exchanges that were tantamount to our films.

Alexandra tied Michela’s wrists in a tight boxtie, contrary to my earlier observation. A harness and a crotch rope hugged her form for both beauty and function. We were going to start this one with the captive already completely trussed. Michela’s legs were tied at the ankles, either side of her knees, and below her waist. It was done with black nylon this time to showcase all of what she brought : size, that cute orange outfit, figure, muscles, etc.

“Oh, yeah. Just look at me!” Michela smiled, “Where’s a hot babe when I need her?”
“I’m here, bestie,” that was the introduction of Hannah Larsson, Michela’s ex-girlfriend.
“C’mon and help carry me over there.”

Hannah and Maddy carried Michela to the place where we began: in a small skiff. Michela was laid down in the skiff with Mackenzie at the helm and me squished against the side. Yes, we put out a good 500 feet from shore to start. For drama, you have to be willing to do little things that make it more rugged, and Mackenzie could easily get Michela to shallow water in the nightmare scenario. That was how we get ready to start. The boat stopped, and we all got in our positions. Michela Palmeri became Lucille Rossi, and Mackenzie Schaefer became Nichole Shockman.

Hot Feet 2: Lucille Rossi

The skiff motored to the shoreline. The captive Lucille Rossi slept because of “chloroform” that her assailant had used to knock her out. Pretend. We knew what real chloroform does. Trust us. As the boat ran into the sand, Shockman shook Rossi to wake her. The captive groggily opened her eyes and, in a way, recognized Shockman. It took a moment for the captive to process what had occurred. A “deep sleep” like that just takes the wind out of your sails.

"Hey, you're the girl from the bikini contest! What the f-ck?! Why are you doing this to me?!"
"I know stiff opposition on sight," Shockman defiantly responded, "Have to better my odds."

A bikini contest. Such a good reason to kidnap a girl and take her out to an “abandoned” place, isn’t it? Bikini contests were supposed to be where girls flirt (with boys and girls), trash talk each other, and enjoy being ogled. Shockman certainly was aiming for shock factor since she’d gone to such lengths to eliminate some opposition.

Rossi grunted and struggled against the ropes. “Motherf-cking witch,” she muttered to herself, “If I escape this,” she let her thoughts hang in the air. That nylon rope is tight and unforgiving even if it’s not as abrasive as some other ropes. There was a mix of denial—This can’t be happening to me—and defiance—Toolbag! I’d like to hang you!—in both her body language and her facial expressions. She’d worked up a sweat already, but she dropped to lying on her tummy before arching up with tons of strength that makes me very glad I’m not into girls. That was her first so-called “warm squeal,” which is Michela-ese for “orgasm,” so you know.

"Listen up, d-ckh-ad, you'd better untie me so we can forget this happened, or, so help me God, I'll tie you up and parade you through the swimsuit contest tied up so much worse than this!"
"Excuse me?" Shockman dangled an appropriately orange, 2 inch ball gag with a black strap in front of Rossi’s eyes, "Shall we play nice so you're gagged later, or shall we play rough so you're gagged now?" she put the gag back in her tote bag when that stifled Rossi’s defiance, "I thought you'd change your tune. The tough ones always do when I show them a big, bad gag."
"I don't know why you had to take me to this empty key!" Rossi shook her head in frustration, which caused her hair to fly about despite the bandana that held it out of her face.
"Because I don't want to kill you, you idiot! Enough people visit this spot. I'll leave you in a spot where you'll be found all nice and helpless, but not until I've made it certain that you won't appear in that contest this evening," Shockman had an excuse for everything, it seems.
“Your generosity is out of this world. Whatever would I do without you?” Rossi rolled her eyes.
"Get up!" Shockman stood her up and motioned to the beach, "You've got a long way to hop."

Rossi stumbled a little with her first hop; the wet sand tried to hold her down. Shockman would not tolerate any such behavior, though, and punted Rossi right in the rear. There were no spoken words here: domination and humiliation were Shockman’s language now. And did she ever talk down to her captives and make it look like she’s a seasoned veteran and not a girl just shy of 20.

Without any other choice, Rossi hopped; she had to hop; she had no choice but to hop. Hopping was the only option available to her. Well, that and talking to Shockman. What does talking do with a monster like Shockman do except empower her? So she hopped and hopped. Hopping wasn’t good enough for Shockman, so she motioned for Rossi to hop. The nylon restricted Rossi’s balance, but she could still hop. Indeed, she worked up a sweat from the combo of the sun and physical exertion.

“All right, b-tch. Open wide,” Shockman grabbed the bright orange ball gag again.
“What the f-ck are you doing?!” Rossi snapped and threw herself to the sand to resist.
“You think you can escape?” the captor dropped down, “Don’t make this your burial plot.”
“Burial plot?! What are you–mmmmph!” the captive mistakenly opened her mouth for the gag.
“That’s it. The best bikini girl is a bound and gagged one,” Shockman tightened the black strap.
“Mmmmmmmmm!” the big brunette was not going down easily though.

Shockman made sure she pulled stray hairs out of the strap and from Rossi’s mouth. The captor had flip flops to protect her feet, but Rossi didn't. Rossi hopped on the hot beach. The heat was oppressive; the only sounds were the waves and gulls; the only smells were of sand and seaweed. It was emotionally overwhelming, and Rossi realized that she had been completely dominated.

As they went along, Rossi pitifully wailed and sat down on the beach; the crotch rope had done its job well in pushing the captive to another “warm squeal.” Shockman, patient and sympathetic, as if she would expect someone to do the same to her to win the swimsuit contest, kindly helped Rossi back to her feet. Such an approach was but part of Shockman’s domination; she coil be nice but chose not to be. That might be more chilling than Maddy’s approach.

They continued moving, as if Shockman was seeking something. Rossi did nothing but sweat, hop, and drool. It was all so perfectly devised, as if Shockman had secretly targeted this girl for an entire lifetime. Whereas Maddy was spontaneous and brutal, Shockman was calculating, sinister, and dramatic. Shockman lived for the drama itself, not for the captive’s reaction.

“Ah, this is the spot,” Shockman said and shoved Lucille down onto the sand on her stomach.
“-hy -ou hyhohath!” the captive snarled into the ball gag and looked up at her kidnapper.
“Yeah, I’d do the same if I had a crotch rope tied so tightly,” Shockman dryly quipped.

With that, Shockman put down her bag and began looking for something in the dunegrass. I focused the camera on Rossi and captured all the sweating, drooling, struggling, gag talking, and, I would say Michela’s favorite part, warm squealing. Try as she might, she was helpless with the almost-plastic black ropes binding her so well. After a couple of minutes, Shockman returned to put a beach umbrella and shovel down in the sand beside Rossi. The burial was going to be real, but first Shockman set up the beach umbrella, another important part of her tactics.

Shockman began digging a hole. It was not just any hole; it was triangular in shape. Now, I was in the loop. The point of the triangle was where Rossi’s butt would go, and when the sand filled in… you’ll see it in action. The important part was that Rossi understood she was going to go in the hole, and she started freaking out with tons of gag talk that Shockman ignored. She fought as if her life counted on it. Ah, the things we do for art and catharsis. Suck it up, buttercup.

"Have you ever played that game at the beach where someone is lying on the sand sleeping, so you pile sand up around them?" Shockman asked Rossi, "Same thing. I'm winnin' that swimsuit contest, like it or not. Embrace the moment, kid. I’m not a maniac, and I won’t kill you.”

Into the hole went Rossi, but Shockman had some humiliations. First humiliation was removing Rossi’s bikini top to expose her boobs; second was pinching her nipples in binder clips. She tied a good 9 foot long string to the clips and 6 feet of rope to the crotch rope. Rossi breathed heavily in panic, and her attempts to roll out of the hole failed because of its depth. The sand started to fill in around her, and it piled up deeper and deeper until all of the sand was back in its original place. Only Lucille’s head and feet were not buried in the sand. What a trick this was! And the execution of the plot by the two girls before us! Shockman smugly leaned on her shovel.

“See? Told you so. I’m no killer,” the captor held up the two leads, “Wanna see these work?”

The one lead, the string, was yanked, and Rossi let out a shriek. The string lead connected to the binder clips; Shockman just got the buried equivalent of what we call “nipple crippled” here at Maddy Tied Her. That had to hurt like hell. The second one, the rope, was yanked, and it was obvious from Rossi’s reaction. The lead was like jerking on a crotch rope. What cruelty! I would feel bad for any actress in this position, but then again this is Michela’s script!

“Oh, my love, we’re going to have so much fun, aren’t we?” Shockman dripped with sarcasm.
“Ah -anna hill -ou!” Rossi yelled, but all that did was make her drool.
“So brave,” the captor stooped, patted Rossi on the cheek, and jerked the ropes, “And dumb.”
“OWWW! MMM MMM MMM MMM MMMMMMM!” Rossi said it too fast to make it out.
“Isn’t it fun? You’re under 30 inches of sand, yet here I am in charge of your tits and p-ssy.”

That was a chilling line, and it’s clear that when Michela spoke of her father before the scene that this line in particular was rehearsed and planned because there was a snarl like nothing I’d heard before. Rossi was infuriated with the situation and especially with the way Shockman dominated her. There is art; there is catharsis; there is drama; there is darkness. The darkest part of this was coming from what we couldn’t see. Under the sand was what’s hidden in Michela’s heart, a pain she cannot put into words because not just anyone but the person she loved most of all the people in her life had done the worst thing imaginable. Bravo, Michela, for a brilliant script.

The umbrella was perfectly positioned to shade Rossi’s head. Shockman tamped the sand so that she was sure Rossi wouldn't just throw it all off. She then lay down on the sand, her face inches from her captive’s, and smugly propped herself up with her left hand and put the string and rope leads a mere foot from them, where Rossi could see them and be tortured merely by Shockman’s fingers playfully approaching them. The drool formed an obvious puddle beneath Rossi’s chin.

“The great invisible force, like a magician’s hat, right?” Shockman jerked on the rope lead.
“Gmmmmmmmm,” Rossi, despite it being hidden, was struggling beneath the sand.
“I just love that sound you make,” the captor pulled on it more roughly and repeatedly.
“Ohhhhhhhh!” the sound of the ‘squeal’ that explained why Michela calls it ‘warm squeal.’
“That’s the one, although I like the other one as a close second,” the dominatrix pulled the string.
“OWWWWW!” the pain was palpable, and never before did my friend ever seem so vulnerable.
“Don’t worry… It’s not all about the pain. I’ll make sure you laugh too.”

Black string. Shockman flipped herself and used black string to tie Rossi’s big toes together. A bit of foot oil followed, lathering every crevice of her arches, toes, and soles, ensuring the sun would quickly make the feet sensitive and burn. More importantly, long before burning, the oil would make the feet extra sensitive. And I think we all know what the nerve-endings in feet do best, especially when a person is buried in the sand at the beach. Oh, Rossi was going to laugh, and she was going to hate it. Rossi despised it, but Michela was going to be tickled pink.

I showed Rossi’s wiggling toes. The title is Hot Feet. She tried, but the string stopped her from moving as much as she would like. Not that it mattered when she was enduring a combo of brutal rope bondage, an orange ball gag, and Shockman even taunting her by waving her orange paisley bikini top before her eyes. Yes, Shockman, we know, and she reminded us all that she was in control by again jerking that cruel black string that caused Rossi to cry out in pain.

“Mmmmmmm,” Rossi looked at her captor, but eye contact wasn’t returned.

Helplessness was strangely therapeutic to those of us who were once helpless. I’m not talking of girls going to prison. I’m talking about true helplessness. Michela and I with our respective and uniquely despicable fathers. Hannah Larsson and her boyfriend. That same Hannah, Mary-Ann, and others with the prison guards. Some of us were forsaken by our own flesh and blood. We all had a story, and right now Michela was turning this scene into something that helped her to gain a little more control over how she lives with something she can never erase from her memory.

Introducing: therapeutic tickle torture, presented by Nichole Shockman! Rossi’s feet had been toasting long enough that they’re just slightly pink, meaning they were feeling the heat more than would normally arise. That meant that they were nice and tender and that the nerve endings were extra sensitive to the tickling. Shockman would be directly controlling to use her fingers; she’d be cruel to use an electric toothbrush; but she’d be a sinister dominatrix hell bent on ownership if she used a soft bristle brush. This was Shockman’s game, and Rossi was an unwilling player.

“No! Ha ha hah! No! Ha ha ha ha hah! Haaaaaa ha ha haaaaaaaa!” Rossi was powerless now.
“Nothing like the sound of victory,” Shockman smugly grinned, “Some girls sleep around to advance themselves; I like a more hands-on approach to domination and assertion.”

The worst part wasn’t the sensation. It wasn;t the strain on the lungs. It wasn’t the sweating or the weight of the sand and captor. It wasn’t the drooling. It was the diabolical way Shockman jerked on both the lead string and the lead rope. The former yanked on Rossi’s nipples; the latter on her crotch. It was the way shrieks of pain and “warm squeals” were forced into the laughter, a humiliation from which there was no escape. I caught it all: Shockman’s face, the brush torture of Rossi’s feet; and Rossi’s face. It was all happening here on a hot beach in August in Florida. My navy blue kerchief absorbed a little heat, but a shiny white gaiter guarded my head and neck. To put it bluntly, I had protection against the heat, but Rossi’s feet were roasty-toasty and prone.

The puddle beneath Rossi’s chin grew, and the squeals and shrieks became more frequent as she became weaker from the intensity of her punishment. The girl never did anything to deserve an ignominious treatment like this, just like Michela didn’t deserve what happened to her. Tickling on the beach was supposed to be fun, but it was torment for Michela so much that one time that it was the last time she’d allowed, even with all the times she’d traveled to beaches with her sisters and mother since then, anyone to bury her in the sand and tickle her. Nine long years.

The feet twitched and became redder. The legs tried to jerk but couldn't because of the weight above. I think some dramatic acting must have been involved because I thought Michela, even while in her bondage, would be able to get herself out of the sand. But perhaps I’m wrong. The sand was a minor help, though, because it meant, if anything, only Michela’s feet could be burned. Unlike Ashley’s roasted body that would be red and burned everywhere except where the ropes bound her.

“Well, honey, I hope some little kid finds you,” Shockman stood up, “I’ve gotta make check in.”
“Noooooooo! Unhie -e, hleathe! -On’h -eave -ike thith! NOOOOOOO!”

Like that, Shockman stood up and left Rossi behind under the umbrella, feet cooking in the hot sun. Rossi cried out into her gag: “Hell -e! Huhmeuhne hleathe hell -e! Anyuhne?!” She was as alone as she could be. Forsaken. Trapped. Bound and gagged. Helpless. Her every struggle to get her arms out the black nylon ropes caused a jerk on the crotch rope, forcing her to endure a cycle of orgasms that she couldn’t stop if she wanted to be free from this ridiculous situation. It all was so completely unnecessary. But it was necessary in Shockman’s eyes.

I stood back, close to Rossi’s feet, the camera focused on her face, her wailing, and her drooling, the feet turning to a blur. Then I adjusted the focus so her feet were in focus, bright red, caked in sand, and completely helpless while she wailed into the orange ball gag as the film ended… As much as Ashley’s self-destructive script disturbed me, Michela’s script excited me.

END OF FILM

“Baby, you were beautiful!” Hannah ran over and began digging her girlfriend out of the sand.
“Uhhh huh!” Michela grinned happily despite the ropes that bound her and the gag in her mouth.
“Nichole,” my blonde friend looked at me, “We’ll catch up to you. We want to be alone.”

Mackenzie and I nodded in agreement. Michela had done a big thing, and now she deserved an extremely dirty reward. Mackenzie and I walked away, towards our friends, the ones who hid in tents and the shade while I worked. It was my turn to sit and relax and watch another work.

“Nichole,” Mackenzie seemed to be enjoying the sun, “It’s good to feel control and not lose it.”
“I understand,” I understood she was speaking of the grip drugs once had on her.
“Whatever led to it all?” I normally didn’t pry into such matters, but I felt the vulnerability.
“When Grandma Schaefer died… I felt lost without her presence. I grew up with her at home since Grandpa died before I was born. Instead of finding purpose, I tried to escape.”

On that thought, she sat down and cried. I don’t think she’d ever really mourned her grandma’s death in a healthy manner. Right here, halfway between Hannah and Michela’s private orgy and our friends back in the shade, with me, she felt comfortable enough to finally do that.

END OF CHAPTER 2

[Caesar73]

Wonderful, delicious Scenario - beautifully done!

[LunaDog]

Wonderful, delicious Scenario - beautifully done!

Seconded!

[hafnermg]

Excellent update!!

[AlexUSA3]

@charliesmith, @silvertejp590, @SquidIncMaster, @Switcher1313, @The G-Man, @Caesar73, @Phantomette, @0Kay, @Yewteed, @Solarbeast, @GreyLord, @Kinky_boi,@harveygasson, @hafnermg, @johopp, @Bilmik, @DommeKirsten, @RopeBunny, @LunaDog, @PenelopeRopes, @StrugglingSue

CHAPTER 3: The Escape Artist

“Sorry about that quick break,” Hannah laughed while leading a bound Michela back to the tents.

I was still with Mackenzie, rubbing her back, comforting her. Sometimes, reality hits hard when you’ve had a life like many of the girls around us have had. Only two of us here in this Florida film crew could claim to have had trauma-free lives. The fact is that everyone has something to call a regret or a moment where they were despicably misused by someone. What' is different is the severity, the illegality, and inhumanity of what happened to some of us.

“Michela, such indecency! Put a top on!” one Miss Joyce Verdi teased her fellow Italian.
“Oh, really?” the topless girl who just starred in a film shook her head, “I’m too cool for that.”
“Like you're not about to lose yours,” Hannah teased Joyce in return.

Joyce was a sweet looking young woman with a more classic and modest two piece swimsuit and a bandana headband, both being brown. Her shoulder-length brown-blonde straight hair and her glasses combined with hazel eyes to present her as approachable even if a bit reserved. She has a story of her own that has led her to this moment, and she wanted to converse with me while some of the girls got her ready for her own starring adventure. Mackenzie and Michela were now back in the shade, sharing a laugh while the former untied the latter. The camaraderie is so good here!

Joyce and I are more than fellow models or common friends. We went to college together, and I shared a room with her during sophomore year. She was the first of my friends, despite her size, to volunteer to take a turn guarding me after my own brother attacked me. I was there for her as a friend and comfort when she lost her father and mother in a span of 7 months and, during that same time, was brutally violated by her boyfriend. She knows suffering in a terrible way. Now, she came to me to be tied up for the next scene while our friend Felice took the camera.

“How about you, me, and Kendra have a couple's night, and then the two of us… and hubbies?”
“You!” I laughed because she had such a sneaky, seductive tone, “I’m up for a bit of fun.”
“Nichole,” she was really playing, “Don't forget to include a wand so I have fun in the sand.”
“Want me to bury you too?” I asked and grabbed the shovel in a playful manner.
“Not this time. Maybe another time,” the playful tone remained.
“Sorry, love,” I tied the rope around her wrists, “Gangsta Queen is in charge now!”

Joyce doesn't resist me because it's for work. I cross her wrists and tied them tightly behind her back and formed a secure harness and a waist/crotch rope. The better I did, the better I looked in front of all of our friends. After all, Joyce's scene was a solo escape challenge; I should have tied her well! She relished the moment and kept talking to me while I imprisoned her in rope. White rope, classic cotton rope, not nylon, did the job. She wanted this to be just right.

She asked for a wand; she got a wand. I tied her legs at her ankles, knees, and lower and upper thighs. I enjoyed the moment; I really enjoyed doing the tying for these kinds of moments. The feeling of the captive told me so much. Joyce was loose and let me do it all, which told me she was relaxed and enjoying the moment. No anxiety was to be found in her mind at the moment. I could feel anxiety, eagerness, fear, sadness, and many other emotions just in how girls reacted to being bound and gagged. Wordless communication is beautiful, but we were talking about how a two couple tryst could work this evening. I don't want to divulge those details so soon.

The conversation ended when I put her forest green ball gag in her mouth. I secured one strap to hold the gag in her mouth, the strap behind her head, and I also secured the chin strap. Joyce and I went out to the spot Mary-Ann had chosen for this scene to take place. It was fun hopping with her even if she couldn't talk, and I seated her in the sand and pulled her swimsuit top up to reveal her bust. I backed away after turning on the wand so she could get into character for her scene…

Hot Feet 3: Annie Oakes

The young second-generation Italian-American girl lay in the hot sand, unconscious, bound and gagged, helpless. She was exposed and in the burning rays of the last morning sun. Heat seared into her body even though she didn’t know it. All was forlorn out here on the beach where she’d been left by her kidnapper. She didn’t even know she’d been kidnapped. She’d accepted a drink from a person she thought was a friend, and next thing she knew she’d dropped from the mickey.

She stirred in the sand with a whimper before opening her eyes. The green beauties appeared but rapidly appeared and disappeared while the captive adjusted to her surroundings. Before her was a girl with wavy blonde hair, Missy Mischief, a girl with a disarming sadistic smile and quite the vengeful streak, it seemed. The blue eyes seemed so sweet. Annie’s eyes met Jackie’s, and there was a moment of confusion while Annie looked at her captor, so commonly dressed with a white bikini and a matching white kerchief bandana. If anything, Missy seemed a bit perturbed by her own actions. She was patient and kind and let the captive have the first word.

“--ere ae Ah?” Annie asked before realizing there was a ball gag in her mouth.
“Hey, cutie patootie,” Missy greeted her captive, “You slept longer than I expected. You OK?”
“Whah ith -oin- oh heae?!” the captive’s eyes grew wide when she realized she was bound, too.
“Ahhh, keep on struggling, my bathing beauty,” the captor kindly brushed the hair out of Annie’s face, “I just needed you out of the way. You’re a little too cute, so I had to improve my chance of winning the swimsuit contest,” Missy then started folding another white bandana, “I’m sorry.”
“Noooooo!” Annie shook her head when the bandana blindfolded her, “Mmmmmmmmmm!”
“Now, keep calm. I tied you up like this so you’d escape but still miss check-in. See ya!”

With that, Missy ran to a nearby dunecart and motored away from Annie, leaving Annie alone in the hot morning sun. Drool slowly poured off the gag, but now is time to talk about the girl with the camera, Felice Pryce, stage name Roxanne Rutledge. She was a girl with an eye for detail. I know I caught some powerful moments and showed them to you through the camera lens. There was an artistic flair in Felice, too. I watched her with pleasure, knowing we represented distinct but equally effective styles. If you’ve read a Felice narrated story, you know what I mean.

Felice’s approach to camera work saw a perfect capture of certain aspects. She could find sweat droplets beading on the captive’s body and turn them into the most interesting thing in the entire world. Whereas I was a master of focus, she was a master of location, like getting a great zoom of Annie’s face from the side so that the focus was on the drool while the dune grass filled in the background. She captured the struggle so well, too. I was better for physically exact scenes, but Felice was a master when the focus was on the people themselves and their emotions. Like, right now Annie was struggling and crying, and Felice captured the heaving of Annie’s chest and how the drool accumulated on the ball gag and dribbled down her chin and onto her breasts while the captive turned left and right and let out some emotionally palpable wails of despair and fear.

Felice looked perfect for the weather with her neon pink leggings, neon green t-shirt, bright pink bandana headscarf, and a bright yellow gaiter. Her bare feet didn’t bother her because the heat of the sand didn’t affect her in the least. In fact, she seemed right at home in any environment, such a lover of nature she was. From my position, I took a picture of her, one I knew she’d love to see afterwards. Felice had a hard life, and she struggled to find release from the mistakes of the past until only the past few months when she realized that there was a morality tale to be explored via bondage films like these. She was a master storyteller as captive, captor, script writer, producer, and camera operator. She used these skills to produce her own nature films as well.

“Mmmmmmmm!” Annie groaned into her gag while Felice beautifully captured the drooling.

Annie struggled against the ropes and flopped onto her side. Felice captured the wiggling of the red feet; yes, someone must have oiled Annie’s feet when I wasn’t looking because they were a bright shade of red. Felice could make just Annie’s toes a symbol of total captivity without ever showing anything else of Annie’s bondage. There was something incredibly powerful about just her feet and ankles and that brown string around her toes and the view of just Annie’s chest and face when viewed from in front, showing her exposed breasts, the harness, the way her arms had been pulled behind her back, the gag, and the blindfold. Now with Annie on her side, such views had even more significance in the moment.

“Guh huh huhhhhhhhhhh! BLUGGGGGHHHH HUUHH HUUHH HUHHHHH!” Annie cried.

Annie was an artist of captivity, conveying such gut-wrenching emotions. She couldn’t trigger in a film because the only triggers for her involved, to be blunt, boy junk. We didn’t do anything of the kind here at Maddy Tied Her, so even tears were merely masterful acting. For a scout who was tough as nails, she had been cruelly forced by life to become even tougher. I trusted her on the film set more than anyone else in any role because she could be empathetic, hurt by what was transpiring even as a captor, without showing it. She had that engineer’s cold streak, but she truly had emotional depth. She could identify an emotional break, stop a film, and run to be right at the captive’s side in an instant. During scenes like these beach films, she was a precious asset.

There was another talent Annie brought to a film set: that of an escape artist. She rolled onto her stomach and kicked those helpless feet in the air. Felice beautifully got a focus of Annie’s feet in her lens while also getting Annie’s struggling arms in the background. I had been rough with the rope so that Annie would need, hopefully, somewhere in the 30-60 minute range to escape. With a scene focused on the actual escape like this one, you give your best in the hopes of your captive needing a long time before succeeding because that means you did a good job without cutting off her circulation. Annie was a girl who enjoyed nothing more than a simple scene like this.

“MMMMMM!” she struggled in the sand, slowly getting caked with the beige dirt.

Another advantage of Annie’s was that she was hard to get off without physical stimulation. The crotch rope alone was insufficient even if she was aroused by it; she couldn’t orgasm like this. It made films where such elements were the goal much more rewarding when she was one of the captives because you had to work for it but not too much either. It was just enough that you would congratulate yourself on a job well done when you got that squeal out of her.

One thing that Annie struggled with was self-image. She was about 15 pounds overweight even if it was well distributed so that you couldn’t really tell she was overweight, and she was born as a type 1 diabetic for life. We didn’t fool around with her on the set with regards to health since we were aware that she needed constant attention to make sure she wasn’t experiencing a blood sugar crash, although such never happened. She felt like her chubbiness and small boobs were a disadvantage at this job and always felt like she got less “fan mail” than the others. She felt this way despite receiving a number of well-deserved compliments for her acting and escape skills.

When Annie was performing an escape, everyone watched no matter what might have occupied them before. Sure, they quietly converse so as not to be heard, but their eyes are on Annie. My eyes are on Annie too. There is something mesmerizing about her skills that makes every second worthwhile when it’s spent learning from her, whether about acting or escaping. Every word out of her mouth, or rather every attempt to talk into the ball gag, had meaning. Some of us wanted to be better at acting or escaping, so we learned from each other; all learned from Annie though.

Mary-Ann and Hannah Jones crouched to study Annie’s face to learn how to be more empathetic in the heat of the moment. I watched to be a better conveyor of realistic emotions. Jackie was an excellent actress with her own unique strengths, so she watched Felice to better her as a camera operator. Hannah Larsson watched because she wanted to learn how to struggle effectively. One or two others watched to see how the Italian girl worked her way out of the situation. Some were listening carefully to understand the way she gag talked to convey the proper emotions so well.

Even Felice was watching and learning. Felice was in perhaps the best group: the girls watching to learn something about themselves, whether from how Annie handled the potentially triggering situations, how Annie injected her profoundly devout and raw Roman Catholic beliefs into each and every performance, or how she used acting in the films as a way to find release from hidden emotions, to reclaim a sense of agency, or to discover something about herself. There was much to get out of Annie’s performances, and we learned so much from her because Annie was so real. She struggled to reconcile her beliefs with her trauma, and she admitted it. She admitted when it seemed like life was unfair, even when it was because she seemed to get something unfairly good or beneficial. She’d lost her parents as a 21 year-old; she knew what unfairness was. Yet despite everything, despite the attempt she’d made on her own life, she was honest about her faults with a genuine desire to become a better person, whether friend, wife, sister, or fellow congregant.

“Gmmmmpphhhhh!” she proved her mettle, getting an arm out of the ropes that restrained her.

Michela started a high-five exchange—a quiet one—with several girls, to celebrate what was yet another triumph of Joyce Verdi, stage name Annie Oakes. The victory was inevitable, and we all felt the freedom to go about our business in anticipation of the moment Joyce finished her escape and removed the gag. That was going to be a moment to remember because our friends all knew that she would say something that seemed so perfect that we’d scratch our heads and think Oh, why didn’t I think of that? even if it was simple and direct or even just the logical thing to say.

First she got our hands free. There was a rapid and dramatic motion to get the harness off of her body before she pulled the blindfold down to her neck. She squinted against the sun a little bit as she worked the harness completely off herself. Next came the crotch rope before the former girl scout quickly undid the knots that bound her legs and toes. She was practiced and fast, but there wasn’t a sign of panic or hurry in her motions. In fact, it was smooth as silk. Finally, she undid the gag straps. Standing up in the sand, she gathered all the rope in her hands and walked away.

“Motherf-ckin’ b-tch, I’m comin’ to get you. Wait ‘til she sees me walk into that contest hall.”

END OF FILM

“CUT!” Felice shouts, letting us know she’d stopped filming and that we were free to mingle.
“Joyce,” Michela picks up Joyce with a hug and a kiss that are a bit too lesbian, “Awesome stuff! You were such a star out there. I’ve never seen such emotions conveyed by hidden eyes.”
“Ah, paesan, I love you,” Joyce awkwardly returns the kiss, “We’ll visit this little place I know, as friends, tomorrow, OK? And if you’re good, I’ll let you hold my hand in the car, got it?”
“You were amazing!” Mary-Ann joined the congratulations as well, “Oh, Joyce, you did great!”
“You are such an overcomer! I can’t believe how lucky I am to be your friend!” I added.
“Now, now,” our friend didn’t want the attention, “I’m just Joyce. Hannah, no groping!”
“Ha ha!” Miss Larsson cackled, knowing it was no secret she had a crush on Joyce, “Gotcha!”

On these beautiful notes of friendship, Hannah Larsson guided Joyce back to the tent where the damsel-of-the-hour had a bottle of electrolyte water with her name on it. She never once showed any signs of pain despite how red her feet were. That was Joyce for you. Experience had made a stronger person out of her, and how our hearts broke as she sat down and told us how in May she had suffered a miscarriage just three months into her first pregnancy.

Of course, our hearts would later be torn up some more. May 2019, December 2019, June 2020, January 2021, and March 2022 all saw miscarriages for Joyce. In August 2022, she came home from the office around 10 AM because she’d forgotten her lunch; when she used the restroom to do her business in comfort rather than at school, she found a naked woman in her closet. Joyce, a Ph.D. student in Iowa at the time, was ruined; by December 2022, she weighed 90 pounds and had an annulment. Life has never been the same for her or any of her friends ever since then.

But Joyce is an overcomer. This moment was about her, her triumph. We celebrated a friend the way only friends can, by taking turns hugging and kissing her. Hannah and Michela enjoyed the hugs and kisses a bit too much, but Joyce made sure to pull her swimsuit top back down to cover her bosom before the line began. Gone was the despondency of the sadness she’d shared with us just a moment before, and here was the happiness of a job well done.

“Joyce,” Hannah Jones said it best with her delightful twang, “We love you.”

The intersection of former prisoners, organic Cool Girls, and sorority girls was happening on this beach in Pinellas County, Florida. Some of us were two or three of those things, but we all were friends. How good such friendship is, and how good it was to see Joyce smiling so brightly.

END OF CHAPTER 3

[Caesar73]

I must say, among the many high quality Products you grace us with? This Mini Series is becoming a Favourite of mine. Great Escape Attempt!

[LunaDog]

Yes, you're not the only one @Caesar73 who is very much enjoying this.

[AlexUSA3]

I must say, among the many high quality Products you grace us with? This Mini Series is becoming a Favourite of mine. Great Escape Attempt!

Yes, you're not the only one @Caesar73 who is very much enjoying this.

Many thanks for the kind words. The escape quest was a different flavor from what preceded it, and now we dive into a comedy.

@charliesmith, @silvertejp590, @SquidIncMaster, @Switcher1313, @The G-Man, @Caesar73, @Phantomette, @0Kay, @Yewteed, @Solarbeast, @GreyLord, @Kinky_boi,@harveygasson, @hafnermg, @johopp, @Bilmik, @DommeKirsten, @RopeBunny, @LunaDog, @PenelopeRopes, @StrugglingSue

CHAPTER 4: The Newark Gangster and the Arizona Kid

“Yeah, yeah, just wait until ya got a big gag in yer mouth!” Destiny Reilly teased Alexandra.

Destiny was a girl with a poignant story. She was 11 when her father died, and she loved being a Roman Catholic with a purely Irish dad and a purely Sicilian mother. It was an ultimate blend of two different Roman Catholic backgrounds, and she wears both green and orange on St. Patrick’s Day yet wears red on St. Joseph’s day. When her father died, her mother remarried to a Baptist who loved Destiny and whom Destiny loved back, but she hated being the “freak” at church. As a result, she rebelled, and it became more awkward when her mother had a son with step-dad, an unintentional emotional wedge between Destiny and Mom that Destiny held in.

How did she rebel? Destiny, a Newark native, joined a real gang shortly after her family moved to Mudville in 2011. Sure, the gang she joined wasn’t the kind that wore bandanas, but the black bandana with the red paisley pattern and the black paisley patterned one-piece swimsuit she wore at the moment were her way of reclaiming some sense of toughness without being criminal. She managed to stay out of real trouble, but she did bad things. She never told me much, but all of us heard at some point that (1) she never killed but (2) she definitely beat up people. Assaulting an enemy gang member in the middle of Mall of America landed Destiny two years in the slammer, one in Mudville Juvenile Detention Center (teenage girl’s prison) and one in the women’s prison in nearby Shakopee. She reformed, but man what a tough cookie she still could be despite being brought back to her Roman Catholic roots thanks to the beautiful circle of friendship that Hannah Larsson had founded through bondage modeling for a company called Tied After Class.

Over time, Destiny became a Cool Girl and a sorority girl. She really belonged with the CGC as a girl with a spicy attitude and an indomitable spirit. She rewrote the gangster narrative by being a CGC bandana-wearing TUG-loving gangster and a bondage movie gangster for Maddy Tied Her. There is so much more I could say, but this colorful girl will show you in her own way if that introduction to the upcoming film with Alexandra didn’t tell you enough already!

Alexandra Watkins, native of Phoenix, Arizona. Moved to Mudville at 13. Went to the classical Catholic high school and graduated as valedictorian. Studied pre-law at St. Catherine’s College in St. Paul from 2014 to 2018 and graduated with a perfect 4.0 GPA. As a freshman in January 2015, while walking her dog, she stumbled upon an outdoor moment at Tied After Class where Hannah was the captive, did her research, used her Christmas money to buy a membership to TAC’s online feed, and sent them an email to ask if they were interested in her services as a model! A couple of weeks later, she made her bondage scene debut and had fallen in love with it. By the start of her sophomore winter semester, in 2016, she was a Cool Girl. Through her, it was later in 2016 that Mary-Ann found Maddy Tied Her. What an impact she had on us!

“I’m going to look so freaking hot if I get sunburn tan lines like Ashley,” Alexandra laughed.
“Try explaining that to yer parents. Oh, wait, ya already did,” Destiny taunted Xandra again.
“Save it for the camera, tough girl,” I held out a fist for Destiny to bump while I set up a camera.
“Yeah, I gotta listen to th’ Gangsta Queen,” she lovingly used my nickname and bumped my fist.
“Just think, I’m the only girl slick enough to get Mary-Ann to found a studio,” Xandra added.
“She’s so proud of herself,” Michela threw her hair back, “If she weren’t a bestie.”

Michela Palmeri, Jackie Martin, Hannah Larsson, Mackenzie Schaefer, Hilary Knoll, and Taylor Zawislak were all sunning themselves… topless. Bridget Anderson, Emilia Albuquerque, and Kendra Gentry (née Kristensen) were all sunning themselves in normal fashion. I say normal as I don’t exactly consider frontal nudity to be ideal no matter how badly I want a perfect tan. The joys we brought each other in such silly and minor ways, even reclining on beach chairs or lying in the sand! What friendships we shared despite our various backgrounds, even if Alexandra had a saccharine sweet personality and a trauma-free life story. TUGs and the CGC united us all!

“Michela, sweetie, would you tie me up for this scene?” Alexandra smiled sweetly.
“Of course. What are friends for, right?” Michela eagerly acquiesced.

Through Alexandra, Michela got into St. Catherine’s College too, albeit a year later, and every day they traveled back and forth from school together, and Michela just graduated this past term also summa cum laude, although not perfect. They shared a dream: being lawyers helping the girls of the Mudville Juvie. Yeah, they took turns being the driver, but it was worth it. They had become best friends, even if Michela and Hannah Larsson had been lovers. Alexandra was a lovably open-minded agnostic, the 180 of Michela’s devout Roman Catholicism. How sweet!

Michela took the rough brown rope and bound Xandra’s legs at the ankles, knees, and lower and upper thighs. A strand of brown string bound her big toes together. Her arms were tightly bound at the wrists and both above and below her elbows. The blue and pink splotchy tiedye bikini was an obviously provocative choice. The 5’5” blonde-haired blue-eyed girl had such a round face, a sweet smile, and a perfect figure. Yes, those are C cups, for those wondering such things.

Contrast Destiny, the big 5’8” girl with a natural tan, brown hair, and brown eyes. Straight hair was in season in film 4, but they couldn’t seemingly be more different. What you see like this is so very different from the film personas that were about to unfold. Destiny had her black paisley swimsuit and her black paisley bandana with the red patterns. She was tough, muscular, bearing a large bust, and having a larger mouth. Let’s watch it all unfold on the beach. This was another of Michela and Mary-Ann’s scripts; watch knowing it was made perfectly for these two. I held the camera, and we were ready to go. Let’s do this!

Those weren’t Destiny Reilly and Xandra Watkins getting in the cart; they were Destiny Child and Kaci-Lee Masters. Kendra drove up the beach about 500 feet, and we got out, with Destiny having the fun of getting the captive in and out of the cart. It’s time to start filming in the heat!

Hot Feet 4: Kaci-Lee Masters

The scene opened with a shot of Kaci-Lee Masters' feet looking at her from the right side. Her toes were tied in brown twine. The camera panned up her legs, showing the ropes binding her legs together, showing first the rope binding her ankles, then the one below her knees, then the one above her knees, and then the one below her waist. Her arms were tied together behind her back at her wrists, and the camera panned to be behind her. It continued going up to show the ropes binding her arms together below her elbows and above her elbows. It seemed to be tight, but it was natural and comfortable for the flexible girl.

Now, Kaci-Lee's face was shown, red-faced in anger. She started raging, almost spitting out a spew in her anger. "You total c-nt. I'm gonna get out of this, and I will get you back for this!”

A laugh is heard, and the camera panned to show Destiny Child, the impenitent gangster who’d orchestrated this scene, "Ha,” she laughed and paused for two seconds, “Ha,” she repeated that dramatic pause, “NO!" Destiny mocked the captive without any remorse.

“Come. On!” Kaci-Lee said and struggled against the ropes, “Untie me, you b-tch!”

“Aw, geez,” Destiny rolled her eyes with total exasperation and let her words hang in the air for a moment, “Uhhhhhh NOooooOOO!” her words were quite mocking, “In fact, you and me is goin' for a walk down the beach. C'mon, toots, get hoppin' before I start pushin'! C’mon! Move it or lose it, hot stuff!” she seemed bored already, but the confidence oozed out of her skin pores.

Kaci-Lee frantically struggled, twisting her arms and hopping in place. She was determined to get out of this despite the impossibility of escaping because of Destiny’s looming presence. If looks could kill, Destiny had one laser chop her big breasts clean off her chest and another cut her head clean off her body. Kaci-Lee was a master at raging against her kidnapper(s), and she took her sweet time before deciding to hop along the beach. She had no trouble at all with this.

"One of us is hot, strong, dreamy, and so gonna win that swimsuit contest, and one of us is tied up and completely helpless. Gimme a guess, which is which?" Destiny's classic Newark mockery continued while they traveled down the shoreline, and she picked through a tote bag she carried, "So, which would you like? The socks I was wearin' before I got dressed for the contest? Maybe some duct tape? Ya got choices, my sweet! I’ll be nice and letcha choose whatcha wanna eat."

“Why don't you untie me?” Kaci-Lee asked as she stopped her helpless hop, before adding, “And let me...,” her face became bright red before she shrieks, “STRANGLE YOU with these ropes?!” the seething anger was such classic Kaci-Lee, “Motherf-cking c-nt! I hate you so much!” with a twist, her arms were in front of her, her hands squeezing like she was imagining killing Destiny.

“Testy, testy. Remember, toots, I'm half-Sicilian, and I won't take no flack from a pale-skinned twit like you!” Destiny gave Kaci-Lee a playful spank on the butt, “Now, move it, hot stuff!”

“I’d like to kill you!” Kaci-Lee continued her imitation strangulation of Destiny.

“I'd like to gag you, but instead I'll give you a nice treat!" Destiny took out a piece of brown rope and tied a waist and crotch rope that pins Kaci-Lee's arms to her torso. Kaci-Lee profanely yelled at Destiny and resisted throughout while Destiny laughed it all off. I mean, it was really bad. I’ll just let you know it started with “N-N-NO! You f-ckh-ad!” and rambled with words like “p-ssy,” “c-nt,” “b-tch,” and a whole host of other colorful words that aren’t fit for print.

Kaci-Lee thrashed like a wild animal against this addition to be her bondage. It was tight and the way I knew she secretly liked it. She bucked like a bronco, but Destiny was too strong for her. It was quite the show, and the anger was such that only guttural grunts like “Ugh!” and “F-ck!” and “GRRRR!” came through even though Kaci-Lee wasn’t even gagged yet! What a show!

“Yeah, yer really workin’ yourself up, huh?” Destiny teased. “That rope’s gotta be ridin’ up yer cl-t somethin’ fierce,” the captor then repeated her cruel, “Ha…………… Ha………… Ha!”

Kaci-Lee's response was completely unintelligible, but if looks could kill, Destiny would be six feet under the sand. She was freaking out and hopping in place and unknowingly making some significant progress down the beach. The hair flew as she shook her head, and she dropped like a light when the crotch rope forced the first of what I knew would be many orgasms from her. Oh, what shriek she let out when it hit her like a Destiny Child punch in the face!

“Yer sputterin' so much I can't make out what yer sayin'! Thanks, but I don't do that to mothers; I'm straight as an arrow and have a wonderful boyfriend who makes me very, very wet.”

Kaci-Lee finally stopped talking and resumed hopping down the beach. Destiny yawned a little to reinforce her control of the situation. The red-faced captive showed no signs of backing down but merely was in compliance. Her breath was heavy, but she was in control of herself now. The rivalry was palpable and intense, giving an unique atmosphere to the scene.

“Y’know,” Destiny mused, turning while Kaci-Lee struggled beside her, “this was meant to be a fun little beach stroll, but you’re makin’ it awful dramatic. You comfy in them ropes, toots?”

“I'm just dandy, thank you kindly, Destiny,” Kaci-Lee's voice dripped with sarcasm as she put on her sweetest, most adorable tone, “How about you? I hope you're dying of cancer.”

Destiny gasped, putting a hand upon her chest in mock horror, “Oh, Kaci-LeeEEEEE, that’s just mean!” she exclaimed, with a grin, “And here I thought we was bondin’ like best friends!”

Kaci-Lee gave her an exaggerated smile, before venomously responding, “Oh, I love a cute date and a walk on the beach like we’re having,” the saccharine sweet voice glowed, “The sun and the sand, the sound of waves crashing—oh, and the ropes! Just a dream come true!” her voice then dropped into a deep growl, “Go f-ck yourself! Bring me back to the swimsuit contest. NOW!”

Destiny cackled so loudly she doubled-over from the force, “Oh, you’re a delight, toots. A real peach!” she proceed to wipe a fake tear from her eye, “I swear, if I weren’t havin’ such a good time, I’d be almost tempted to let ya go. But I gotta win that swimsuit contest, my beauty.”

Kaci-Lee clenched her fists behind her back and shot daggers at her captor, “Do it. I dare you.”

Destiny waved a hand in the air, “Mmm... Nah. I think I’ll just keep watchin’ you hop about like a fish outta warter. It’s doin’ wonders for my mood! So, how's the crotch rope feelin', darlin'? I bet it's makin' ya feel really good,” Destiny taunted her by jerking roughly on said rope.

“It!” Kaci-Lee caught herself again before turning to the sarcastic, sweet tone, “I hope you go the rest of your life never feeling any such sensations unless you're using your own fingers to do it!”

At that, Destiny let out a long, decreasing whistle to silenced, “Wow, honey! That’s a mean way of sayin’ ya hope I’ll be a miserable old hag some day. Ya should get outta beauty and become a poet. There’s a song just springin’ outta that black hole ya once called a heart, y’know?”

At this, Kaci-Lee’s glare turned to a frown because she again turned on the charm, “Oh, I meant every word,” she replied so sweetly. “And I hope it haunts you for the rest of your life.”

“Oh, I’m just destroyed by that. Oh, Kaci, ya got me in the heart on that one. Whatever will I do? Oh, wait—I know!” she snapped her fingers, “Winning the swimsuit contest while you’re stuck out here tied up like a Christmas ham and waitin’ for me to waltz back and save ya!”

“Why don't you go running out there into the water and try to swim to Cancun?” Kaci-Lee asked her captor as she hopped along one of many beaches in Pinellas County, Florida, “And die?”

“And miss all this fun with you?” Destiny jerked Kaci-Lee's arms out a bit, which jerked on the crotch rope, “3That’d be too much. Besides, I gotta win that contest tonight… without ya there to see me take home the trophy,” the black paisley gangster continued in pride, “I wanna win it, and bring it here for ya to enjoy the sight and shininess of that trophy. Look, we’re bonding!”

“It'd be such a shame, wouldn't it?” the blue-and-pink tiedye turned on the charm, “Besides, girls like me could never beat you in that contest. She might beat your head in with a steel mallet!”

Destiny threw her head back and laughed, “Oh, Kaci, you’re just full of sweet talk today! First, you want you suggest a romantic trip to Cancun, and now you’re talkin’ about crackin’ my skull open like a coconut—how positively romantic! Ah, I’d ask ya to marry me if I weren’t straight.”

“Destiny,” Kaci-Lee reveled in her sarcasm, “You bring out the best in me. I love you.”

“Well, I am an inspiration. But let’s be real, toots, you ain’t convincin’ me to let ya go just ‘cause yer tryin’ to charm me with murder threats,” she gave Kaci-Lee’s arms another rough pull on the crotch rope, causing a burning sensation, “But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll love the surprise I got planned for you when we get to our destination!”

“Look, it’s a five-star dinner at an Italian restaurant, forgiveness might be considered,” Kaci-Lee had a sharp response, “Only if I get to tie you out taut and whip you and spank you and…”

“Uh uh uhhhhh! Aw, toots, I wish,” Destiny grinned, “I’m thinkin’ somethin’ more interactive.”

“Listen to me, you bondage toad! Tie your bandana around your throat so tight that—!”

But Destiny wagged a finger, “Ah-ah-ah! No spoilers! Just keep hoppin’, sunshine and joy!”

Kaci-Lee scowled and kept hopping along the beach. She had the bunny beach hop down to an exact science, and I panned the camera down to show her feet. Even the toe bondage wasn’t able to stop this bendy girl from moving along. She was torqued like a Christmas ham, and all this on account of a silly swimsuit contest, nothing else. Kaci-Lee felt it: secondhand embarrassment for Destiny. A girl with a bust as big as Destiny’s ought to be able to win the contest by jiggling her boobs enough during her walk down the aisle because she was big but wasn’t too big. Then a jolt shot through her because of the crotch rope; how Destiny fed off this though!

“Y’know, toots, I gotta say—this crotch rope is bringin’ out yer best side,” Destiny teased, her grin widening as she watched Kaci-Lee’s squirming, “You got pep in yer step.”

“YOU. ARE. THE. WORST!” Kaci-Lee snapped with her usual venom and passion.

“Oh, Kaci-Lee, you hurt me with yer words,” Destiny feigned a heart attack, “I gotta teach ya a lesson about bad words. You really are such a poet. Your toes are gettin’ red, toots!”

“God damn you!” Kaci-Lee was clearly in a crotch rope frenzy, “Shut up, or I’m gonna—”

“Drop to your knees in a joyous climax? For me? Honey, you’re in love!” Destiny jerked on the crotch rope, “Oh, sweetie, this is sudden! I wasn’t expectin’ such a fast marriage proposal!”

“I hope a seagull swoops down and pecks your eyes out,” Kaci-Lee erotically moaned at that.

“Such language! And here I was thinkin’ of lettin’ you pick yer gag,” Destiny cackled, “But, it’s hard to remember, yer not in control, are ya? Ha………… Ha………… HA!”

“Gag?!” Kaci-Lee shrieked like a banshee her temper boiling over. “Listen, you f-cking—”

“Careful with yer words, toots,” Destiny hand gagged Kaci-Lee, “You wanna tick me off? Ya do me a favor, toots,” the big girl held her captive in her hands, “Quit trying to escape this, or else!”

That shift in Destiny’s tone was the reminder that this is a bondage film with me filming all of it in stunning high-definition. Kaci-Lee struggled herself into another orgasm so quickly from how tightly Destiny was clutching her and hand gagging her. That was part of the thrill of Kaci-Lee; she could sink into the erotic aspects and make them seem like the natural and appropriate way for the scene to progress. The squeal was high pitched, and Destiny’s laugh was loud. The way Destiny’s hand sealed Kaci-Lee’s lips was absolute perfection of bondage domination.

Destiny let out a soft chuckle while Kaci-Lee resumed hopping, “We’re almost there,” and then she pointed to her tote bag, “And then I’m gonna tie ya so good you’ll never get outta it.”

"Do you mind if I take a break?" Kaci-Lee asked and tried to sit down, but Destiny stopped her.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart. You think kidnappers let the captives take five?” Destiny pulled Kaci-Lee back to standing, “You ain’t gettin’ off so easily, not on my watch. Bathin’ beauty, my ass.”

Kaci-Lee’s legs shook a little, from the arousal not the hopping. She was soaking in sweat as an 11:30 sun passed over our heads. I had my clothing to protect me from the sun, the white gaiter over my face and neck to protect me from the sun. Them? They had nothing but swimsuits, but what a pair of hotties! You’re going to be happy when you pay $16.95 to download this movie!

“GUHHHH!” Kaci-Lee moaned while jerking on her own crotch rope for some sort of relief, “I hope every single electronic in your house stops working, and when you call tech support, they keep you on hold for four hours just to tell you to push the power button!”

Destiny rolled her eyes, “Is that the best you can do, now? Geez, are ya tired or somethin’?”

“I hope you get a paper cut every time you touch a piece of paper,” Kaci-Lee kept struggling.

“OK, now you’re gettin’ blood all over my swimsuit, doll. That ain’t nice,” Destiny cackled.

Kaci-Lee exhaled sharply through her nose, “I hope you develop a lactose intolerance just after,” she collapsed in a quest to find another orgasm, “after discovering your love for cheesecake!”

“Now, yer being mean,” Destiny acts like she’s hurt by this before laughing, “HA… HA… HA!”

The ropes don’t bother Kaci-Lee except for the crotch rope. She’s practically made of rubber but is slowly turning to Jell-O as her legs get more and more exhausted from the heat, hopping, and crotch irritation. An unsatisfied major orgasm will indeed turn you into a crybaby. There’s so much rope, and we’re not even at the juicy stuff yet! The four ropes along her legs are basic; the three along her arms are cruel; the toe string is mean; but the crotch rope? Damn.

“Would you at least help me so the crotch rope will finish me off?" Kaci-Lee asked with a moan.

“What do I look like? A kidnapper, or a concierge service?" Destiny snapped.

“You look like an incel,” Kaci-Lee smiled, “Who'd make even the most desperate men turn gay.”

“It's a good thing I brought my tannin' sunscreen, but I might oil your feet," Destiny finally fired back, “Then the sun'll cook 'em in half the time,” she picked Kaci-Lee up by the hair.

“OWWWW! MOTHERF-CKING C-NT! I’ll wreck your p-ssy when I’m done,” Kaci-Lee lost nothing, “You really think you can just walk around, playing the big bad boss? I'm not some toy you can fondle whenever you feel like it,” she gritted her teeth, trying desperately to get relief, “But go ahead, oil 'em up. See if I care! You’ll regret crossing my path some day!” There was a certain comic charm to Kaci-Lee’s suffering. “Please, finish this off! That does it!” Kaci-Lee begged for an orgasm, but I saw it coming.

I focused the camera on Destiny rolling her eyes while a squeal was heard from Kaci-Lee. These facial reactions were comedy gold, but the best part was the dialogue. Destiny was not sweating yet, but Kaci-Lee’s hops were getting slower. Sweat was rolling down her body, and sand stuck to her from the last collapse. The fire never died in Kaci-Lee’s eyes. Remember: $16.95! If you didn’t buy it from Maddy Tied Her, you’re guilty of the crime of piracy!

“Was that the first climax in yer life?” Destiny asked wryly, “‘Cause I'm sure ya don’t get any of them from all those men you invite into your home for a one-night stand.”

“What would you know about these things?” Kaci-Lee snapped, “You're the incel, remember?”

“Yeah, sure, I’m the incel,” Destiny laughed at her, “But at least I’m not begging for a hand job from the person who kidnapped me. Who’s really got the upper hand here?" She gave Kaci-Lee a look of mock sympathy before jerking on the crotch rope enough to be annoying, “I bet ya love bein’ in control, huh? But right now, toots, yer who’s tied up, tryin’ to squirm yer way out."

Kaci-Lee glared, her patience having run out, "You keep talking, but I don’t see you doing much of anything useful. So go ahead, keep being the smart-ass. It’s not gonna save you when I get out of this and kill you with my bare hands!” she fought against the ropes, but it’s clear she’s feeling the effects of the struggle, “F-ck you and your toe bondage!”

“That f-ckin’ does it,” Destiny, in a flash of color, attacked Kaci-Lee with a pre-prepared purple bandana, “Feel smart now, do ya? Who’s da boss? Huh? TELL ME! B-TCH!”

Then the fight began to gag Kaci-Lee. Kaci-Lee turned away and tried to buck like a bronco to toss Destiny, but it was hopeless. Instead, Destiny jerk on the crotch rope three times in vicious succession, forcing Kaci-Lee to reach an awkward, angry climax, paralyzing her for a moment that allowed Destiny to knot the bandana and finish the gag. A spank for Kaci-Lee followed.

"I han thill halk ho hou!" Kaci-Lee tried to snarl but got frustrated, "UGH!"

I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. I’m trying to hold this camera steady while these two have a comedy classic going before my eyes. Kaci-Lee is red-faced, and it’s only been 15 or so minutes in reality. This seemed like a firm escalation, but it wasn’t. That’s right: $16.95! This is so good we might charge $19.95 instead, especially after we release the 30 second preview!

Can’t you see it? Destiny and Kaci-Lee are known as two of our smartest mouths. Now, on a hot Florida beach in the peak of summer, Destiny and Kaci-Lee get into the best verbal joust you have ever seen! Watch Destiny lead a captive Kaci-Lee down the beach while they trade barbs— until Destiny has enough and gags Kaci-Lee with a purple bandana. What’ll happen when these two reach their destination? Find out in Hot Feet 4: Kaci-Lee’s Big Mouth Part 1! Only $19.95 for the most hilarious bondage film you’ve seen, only at Maddy Tied Her!

Kaci-Lee took one deep breath after another. Sand covered her body from the frantic fight with Destiny, and the fire in her eyes burned brightly. Destiny put one hand behind Kaci-Lee, tightly gripping the elbow ropes, and one gripping the crotch rope in front, and hauled her up. Kaci-Lee had a lot to say about this one, but it was all muffled by the gag… and profane. The gag talk was another source of amusement to Destiny, who repeated her “Ha………Ha………Ha!” laugh.

“C’mon, toots, hop right to that pole, or I’ll drag ya there by the hair! Move it!” Destiny barked.

The captive flashed a double middle finger at Destiny and resumed her miserable hop. The piece of string around her big toes did a good job of hindering her balance after so long, and Kaci-Lee approached the narrow pole, maybe 6 inches in diameter. The Gangster dramatically fixed both her bandana and her swimsuit, including cracking her knuckles as part of this phase of the dance.

Destiny pushed Kaci-Lee against the pole and pulled a really cruel trick. Sure she untied each of the arm ropes because she's so generous. She also wrapped Kaci-Lee’s arms around the pole and retied each of them in the same spots: elbows, forearms, and wrists. Now the pole was between the captive's arms and her torso! Destiny is such a sweet lady, and Kaci-Lee was powerless with a fully assertive and controlling Destiny at work. That didn't stop the diatribe though.

Here we are folks! Part 2 of this thriller, featuring Destiny Child and Kaci-Lee Masters, starts in a tumultuous fashion, with Kaci-Lee staggering to a pole and getting up like a sack of meat. The captive can’t resist running off her mouth, though, and forces Destiny's hand. See what Destiny does to Kaci-Lee in this action packed thriller! Will busty broad Destiny or sickeningly sweet Kaci-Lee prevail? Now only $14.95 for a limited time. Buy the whole film for just $26.95!

“-ou thick -otherh-hher! Ah’m -onna hie -ou in a knoh an- hrown -ou!” Kaci-Lee snarled, “Then ah’ll hall all -y hriennth tho -e han all -augh ah -ou uhhlin- ho heath!”

“I’m shakin’ in my boots! So friggin’ scared o’ ya, Kaci-Lee! Not! Dumb b -tch. Ya still don't get it, do ya?” Destiny took out more rope, “Ya dumb broad, I ain't afraid of yer threats!”

“Ah -anna kick -our athth,” Kaci-Lee fired despite the purple bandana cleave gag.

Then Destiny escalated things by tying a chest harness that saw the rope pass below and above Kaci-Lee's boobs. There were the classic V between the boobs and cinching through the armpits, as are so common, and there was cinching to secure Kaci-Lee's arms and chest to the pole too. A second rope followed to form a new, tighter, waist and crotch rope, and, like the harness, it had a tight cinching to make the most of the pole. Kaci-Lee was going nowhere fast.

Kaci-Lee tried to push and struggled, but she was trapped and helpless. She shook her head, but she was tightly against that pole. It was such a perfect spot, the same one from Ashley's scene, a little iconic spot on the beach now. She wanted release, but the only things released were bikini strings. She wanted to unleash herself on Destiny, but the only things unleashed were her boobs.

“Aw, what’s wrong, hun? Pole ain’t comfy? Ya wanna cushion? Too bad—yer ass is the cushion now,” Destiny playfully fondled Kaci-Lee now, “Eh, these are pretty cushy, too. Pretty sad.”

“-ou h-hhin’ her-ert! -et -e -o! GAAAHHHHH!” Kaci-Lee fought, “EEEEEKKKKK!”

“Oh, I am sorry, is that the first time anyone cared enough to grope ya?” Destiny taunted her.

Destiny took a pair of socks and put them under Kaci-Lee’s bikini bottom. She took out rope to tie Kaci-Lee's legs to the pole, too. The first rope went at her ankles, and the second went above her knees. Daggers shot from her eyes, and middle fingers shot from her hands. She crossed the line of no return with that one; Destiny had had enough of Kaci-Lee’s defiant bullsh-t.

“Still got an attitude theree, do ya? Well, ah’m gonna teach a lesson, ya sad chested broad!”

Destiny jerked on the crotch rope three times in succession, forcing a climax from Kaci-Lee. As that finished, Destiny took out strings and taught Kaci-Lee a lesson indeed. The strings tied each of the fingers on one hand to their counterpart on the other hand, one string at the base and one at the third knuckle. The string tied her thumbs and palms together as well. How Kaci-Lee fought in spite of her inability to move! She earned her $125/hour for this one.

“Eeeeeekkkkkkk!” Kaci-Lee shrieked again, but that just spurred Destiny some more.

“Yeah, you like this, doncha?” Destiny tortured her with the crotch rope, “Yer gettin’ yer kicks outta this one, aincha? Yeah, you know it! C’mon, Kaci-Lee! Gimma another squeal!”

“Noooo! Ah’m -onna hill -ou! Ah -ill! Ah -ill!” Kaci-Lee yelled into the purple bandana cleave gag, “No! No! No!” before she orgasmed again, “Eeeeeekkkkkkk! Noooooooooo!”

“Dat pole’s holdin’ ya tight, ain't it? Yer stuck!” Destiny gave a masterclass in brutally arousing a defiant damsel-in-distress, “Can’t move much, can ya? No. Yer allllll mine, baby!”

The daggers continued shooting out of Kaci-Lee's eyes as much as the pole allowed her, which was almost nothing at all. She endured it all through another 2 or 3 brutal orgasms. What there was to learn from this though! Right here, through my camera lens, and look at Kaci-Lee’s toes turning a bright shade of red. Yes, indeed, two hotties going at it. The Daring Destiny Child and the Kindly Kaci-Lee Masters: only here at Maddy Tied Her! Are you entertained yet?

Remember those socks? The ones against Kaci-Lee's body? Yuck, right? Destiny unknotted the bandana, took those socks back out, and stuffed them in Kaci-Lee's mouth. Gross! This girl had earned every penny today! Just think, for $14.95 you’re able to buy Hot Feet 4: Kaci-Lee’s Big Mouth Part 2! I’ve done similar things like this, but never on camera.

“That good?” Destiny asked while wrapping Kaci-Lee’s head in 8 layers of gray duct tape, “The socks should taste scrumptious between my feet and your c-m, yeah? You enjoyin’ that?”

“Mmmm mmmm mmmmmmmmm!” Kaci-Lee still fired daggers from her eyes as she hadn't yet lost the will to fight, “Gmmm mmm ooooohhhhhhhhhhh! Owwwwwwww! Mmmmph!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Destiny wrapped more layers of the tape around Kaci-Lee’s mouth and the pole now so that her head couldn't move either, “It's just gettin’ worse ‘n’ worse. Betcha wishin’ ya’d played nicer before, huh? Yeah,” Destiny pats her on the cheek, “Ya had it comin’ to ya.”

“Nmmmmmm,” Kaci-Lee was almost completely immobilized now, “Mmmmmmm.”

“Night, night,” the last insult from Destiny, a yellow bandana blindfold, “Have fuuUUUNNnn!”

On that last word, Destiny took out her phone and took a selfie with Kaci-Lee before she quietly walked away, going up the beach, leaving Kaci-Lee to suffer in the sun. Despite everything, the captive maintained her defiance and continued unintelligibly mumbling, unaware she was alone out here. She squirmed, but her bonds were tied so that squirming only… Led to orgasm.

I panned on a zoomed in view. I started the movie by panning from her feet up to her face, and I ended it by panning from face down to her feet, bringing this bizarre movie to a close.

END OF FILM

“Xandra, I bet you're in hog heaven!” I laughed while letting her know the movie was done.
“Mmmmmmmmm!” she squealed with ecstatic pleasure because of the crotch rope.
“Ha ha haaaaa! That's our kinky Alexandra Watkins for you!” Destiny returned, “I loved it!”
“Wheeeeeeee!” our friend was in a brutal cycle of pleasure and pain, the kind she loved most.
“That was the most brilliant script break, especially without asking!” I mentioned the gag.
“Oh, I knew she wanted it. I could feel it in her body language. She's a glutton for punishment.”
“In fact, you want more, don't you?” I whispered in her ear, and got a happy cooing response.

It was time for our lunch break, but I felt like Alexandra had lunch and dessert already. She was a girl who could keep jerking off as long as she had the ability to ride that crotch rope. Actually, I am such a girl, too, and you’ll get to see it after lunch. Every girl except Hannah Jones, Jackie Martin, and Destiny herself took a turn doing some sequence of crotch rope pulling, groping, and kissing Alexandra, to her delight and satisfaction. With friends like us, who needs enemies? We knew too well how to be friends and enemies to each other. And Destiny? Punishment time.

END OF CHAPTER 4

[LunaDog]

The beginning reminds me of the opening of an old song by Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark - 'Joan of Arc.'

"Little Catholic Girl has fallen in love..."

[Caesar73]

Another wonderful Movie of this Series!

The scene opened with a shot of Kaci-Lee Masters' feet looking at her from the right side. Her toes were tied in brown twine. The camera panned up her legs, showing the ropes binding her legs together, showing first the rope binding her ankles, then the one below her knees, then the one above her knees, and then the one below her waist. Her arms were tied together behind her back at her wrists, and the camera panned to be behind her. It continued going up to show the ropes binding her arms together below her elbows and above her elbows. It seemed to be tight, but it was natural and comfortable for the flexible girl.

This Entry alone is a Testimony to the Author´s Skill: Precise and with attention to Detail. The Reader has really the feeling following the Camera - and this is only the beginning

[AlexUSA3]

The beginning reminds me of the opening of an old song by Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark - 'Joan of Arc.'

"Little Catholic Girl has fallen in love..."

Don't know it.

Another wonderful Movie of this Series!

This Entry alone is a Testimony to the Author´s Skill: Precise and with attention to Detail. The Reader has really the feeling following the Camera - and this is only the beginning

Thank you for the kind words!

@charliesmith, @silvertejp590, @SquidIncMaster, @Switcher1313, @The G-Man, @Caesar73, @Phantomette, @0Kay, @Yewteed, @Solarbeast, @GreyLord, @Kinky_boi,@harveygasson, @hafnermg, @johopp, @Bilmik, @DommeKirsten, @RopeBunny, @LunaDog, @PenelopeRopes, @StrugglingSue

INTERLUDE: Lunch

“Destiny Reilly? You broke the script without asking first?!” Mary-Ann asked in horror.
“I knew she loves those and has said they're OK during regular games!” Destiny shrank a bit.
“As the creator of the orgasm gag, I admit,” I contributed, “ I’ve allowed it without asking.”
“Look, the thrill of kidnapping TUGs is the agreed rules of blurred consent,” Mary-Ann agreed, “Making a girl orgasm into a pair of socks and making her suck on it is just disgusting.”
“Look, Xandra allows it within her limits in play,” Michela defended Destiny, “I would have let a pair of socks soaked in my own warm squeal juice be used like that too. C’mon, M.A.”
“I’ll allow this to slide on the condition that Destiny is my co-captive tomorrow,” Mary-Ann said with a sigh, “Destiny, don't do it again. At least tease audibles so we can signal consent.”

While some of us prepared the site for lunch, some of us took delight in teasing Alexandra, a girl who loved nothing more than getting forced into a cruel cycle of repetitive orgasms. I really did invent the orgasm gag, a salty sweet way to amplify a game. It's just my own c-m, and I figured it had to be safe if I could safely swallow my husband's c-m. Destiny's socks likely weren't worn in several hours, if not since yesterday, so it wasn't too strong. Now imagine how it would be if a girl had to go through that with socks fresh off her captor's feet? Oh, it is heaven and hell. Yum! It was something that few of us enjoyed even in private games, understandably. Mary-Ann had a strange enjoyment of their use in intense film scenes, but not in games. But, she triggered if you nabbed her, a rare girl who had a “no kidnapping TUG” rule in place, and with good cause.

Alexandra was so happy, a girl who just loved kink. The only reason Mackenzie insisted that we untie her was because she was afraid Alexandra would get sunburn. It was only fair. I grabbed the camera, though, and took a delightful series of photos of the release of Alexandra before the best part: photographing the rope marks as well as just general pinup shots on the beach. Yeah, we were having fun, and we were getting paid for it, too. I’ll never forget this day.

“If you’d asked, I’d have said ‘Yes,’” Alexandra gave Destiny a fist bump, “That was awesome!”
“Thanks, toots. I knew it. But I guess Mary’s right that I still should have hinted it.”
“Don't sweat it. Enjoy going in the Human Solar Cooker!”
“Yeah, Xandra. And maybe I’ll get to climax into Ashley's socks and eat ‘em,” Destiny laughed.
“Sounds like a winning situation to me,” on that note, Xandra drank from a can of Dr. Pepper.
“Keep drinkin’ sh-t soda, too,” the Irish-Sicilian gangster taunted, and Xandra flipped her off.

And then everyone who saw it burst into laughter. It was hard work, but it was so much fun!

END OF INTERLUDE

CHAPTER 5: War of the Iberians

I stepped into the tent to prepare for my starring vehicle and found someone in there already: my beloved soulmate, my trusted guardian, my fountain of bl-wj-bs, my personal kidnapper, and my eternal betrothed… my husband, Chris Petersen. With a word, I embraced him and kissed him as only a wife can, and I whispered a dirty promise in his ear. Oh, we would have fun tonight after a fun time at dinner. I could see it now, and I knew I was ready to try again for maternity.

I had my navy blue bikini under my clothes already, but he didn’t know that because I’d dressed while he was still showering. Our Florida vacation had been full of kink and adventure, and that distinctive grin he gave when I engaged in a striptease before his eyes made it worthwhile every single time. He wasn’t expecting the jeans, shirt, and gaiter to give way to the bikini. The secret of my life had been hidden, although it wasn’t a secret to my husband or my friends.

The scar on my left leg from when I pushed my best friend out of the way of a speeding car, with me getting thrown up and across its windshield, right in the university parking lot, cracking both the tibia and my pride. The scars on my arms from my two year battle against cutting, beginning in May of 2015 and ending in January of 2017. The scars from when my younger brother, who’d started at my college as a football-playing freshman, pounded the snot out of me on my birthday right on my birthday in September 2017, using brass knuckles, too. Broken legs, a broken tooth, broken jaw, broken arm, broken ribs, blood loss! What my friends and husband couldn’t see!

The mental scars. The scars of my older sister being thrown out of the house because she’d been busted for real crime activity. The scars of being told that since I’m a girl that I’ll inevitably be a worthless gangster too, so I was no longer allowed to have new clothes, which led to me wearing those same clothes and becoming the “Gangsta Queen.” The scars of having my bed taken away from me and given to my younger brother and having to sleep on the floor for 6 years. The scars of my father inappropriately touching me, sometimes while my wrists were tied behind my back. The scars of him beating me until I was bruised and bloodied. Of my brothers feeling me up too. Of 6 years of suffering when I’d done nothing wrong. Nothing. Until I took my few things and left forever. Of the horror of learning that when I left they just did it to my mother instead.

I’m proud to be the Gangsta Queen, the one whose adoption of the bandana as her symbol of her femininity and rebellion led her best friend to wear bandanas too. Growing up in a small town to the south of Minneapolis, we were free to do so outside school in a town bereft of gangs. Soon, I collected the interest of others, and together we founded the Cool Girls’ Club, a group that would soon take a vow, in January 2011, to love and to forgive, unconditionally. Christian love applied to a group of friends. They were my anchor through it all, and, oh, what they did for me.

“Where is that hot Spaniard, Miss Emilia Albuquerque?” I asked when I strutted out of the tent.
“Oh, mierda, what I have done this time?” she asked in exaggerated Spanish-grammar English.
“C’mon, hot stuff, don’t be afraid,” I laughed at her response, “No estoy enojado con te.”
“Ah, grathias,” Emilia answered with her accent, “My sorority sisters only use my last name if I am being sought for some form of comical… eh… something like… uh… spain-keen-guh.”
“No, no,” I took her by the hand, “It’s time for you and me to star in the sun, sand, and surf.”
“Oh, time for your solo orgía!” the smile was infectious, “Yes, let us do this.”

Me. The girl wearing a navy blue kerchief bandana to hold her hair back. The girl with the navy bikini. The girl with the scars. The girl whose friend’s mother, the counselor, saw my behavior one day ahead of Christmas, saw my face, took me aside, grilled me, and ran out the door to add me to the family’s cell phone plan. The one whose best friend’s family knew the truth and more than once took me aside because my best friend’s dad worked for the police system, but I refused to betray my own father for years. Instead, they gave me my own bed and chest of drawers as if I was their own daughter, and I was free to spend the night there any time I wanted.

The ropes. I’m not flexible, so my friend Kendra Gentry, a wife and mother and my best friend’s slightly older cousin, tied my arms in a boxtie behind my back. Why Kendra? Because she gets it all too well. She went through a rift with her own family over something so silly that you’ll be devastated to learn what went down between them, but when the time comes you’ll be tickled by the way the family reunited and put the years of sorrow behind them, uniting as a true family in a powerful manner that only is tinged by the sad reality that they still lost 6 years of love. But God used that time to make something beautiful in Kendra’s life. You’ll see in Chapter 6.

White nylon rope wrapped below my breasts and above; it cinched through my armpits; it did so little for my figure, but they made it all tighter. I have small boobs that are only C’s because they are so hemispherical, but they were robbed of their meaning at the hands of creeps who hated me for the one thing I couldn’t change: that I was a girl. The V in between my breasts made it all so good. I was becoming helpless, but I was helpless on my terms. That made it fun.

Kendra has a caring touch. Much as she denies it to this day, she likes bondage. If she hated it, she wouldn’t keep “unretiring” two months after a baby when she “retires for good” one there is a detectable baby belly. She’s “retired” from it three times across four pregnancies (yes, she has four children and is only 30 years old), but back in August of 2019 she still only had one. What a life she’s had, and she loves few things more than tying up her cousin (my bestie) and her own three best friends despite her insistence that she only likes the work and camaraderie. That’s all why she has such a loving touch: she loves the camaraderie and the BDSM, not the TUGs. The way she jerked things tight was absolute perfection; she knew how to be tight and loving.

“Did you squeak?” Emilia used her favorite word to ask about the crotch rope Kendra tied.
“Yes,” I giggled a little, “I did squeak, because I’m with many of my favorite people.”
“That’s not why you squeak!” the Spaniard saw through my tease, “You liked that.”
“Oh, no,” Kendra insisted while working the crotch rope into the boxtie, “It’s a love squeak.”
“Yeah, Emilia, don’t you have love squeaks in TUGs in your sorority, or is it a CGC thing?”
“Oy, dios mío; Padre, Hijo y Espíritu Santo,” she made the sign of the cross and looked up.

That was a great lead in, right? Me, the wavy haired girl with a Portuguese grandmother who somehow inherited the wavy brown locks that bounced around the tops of my shoulders, those beautiful brown eyes, a scrawny figure, and a slight olive tone that loves to burn. Me, 5’4” and weak. Against our Spanish beauty, Emilia Albuquerque, the 5’8” hottie with jet black hair and the most disarming smile you’ve ever seen, a Queen of Mischief. Her eyes are chocolatey and dark and so friendly. This girl is as sweet and innocent as Alexandra, but, unlike Xandra (sorry, not sorry), she is a dynamic and fun force in both the captor and captive roles.

Nichole Petersen and Emilia Albuquerque? Nonsense! Now we’re Paulina Oliveira and Teresa Perez. I walk over to the red line? The two lines across the sand going south on the beach from where we set up our tent? The first line was bright blue: no one except the camera operator was to cross to the south of that line. The second line was red: the actresses were to stay south of that line. This time, I had to stay south of the red line. And action!

Hot Feet 5: Paulina Oliveira

“My beautiful Portuguese Queen, you are all mine,” Teresa pushed me while we walked.
“Oh, however wonderful this is. C’mon, I entered that contest for fun, not to win!” I groaned.
“Ah, ah, ahhhhhh, but your husband is a judge. He could easily slip you through a round or two at my expense,” she wagged a disapproving finger, “That would be bad for me, you see?”
“This sand is freaking hot!” I stared at Teresa’s blue bikini, “My toes are roasting!”
“Oh, but you will have so much fun when I tickle your tootsies until you are in tears,” she rubbed her fists in her eyes to exaggerate her words before tickling me in the belly with a laugh.
“Gah! No! Get away from me! I don’t even know your name!” I sized her up in an instant.
“You do not have a choice, I am afraid,” she motioned to a white metal chaise lounge with bright yellow fabric, “Now, you will sit, and I will eliminate you from the swimsuit contest.”

I couldn’t fight, especially not with the white nylon ropes that were being used on me. I couldn’t fight back at all! Damn these ropes! “Damn you, Spanish wh-re!” I snarled quite loudly, and she only raised an eyebrow while tying my ankles together with the white rope. It was tight, and that post-noon sun was absolutely brutal. We had picked such a perfect atmosphere in which to film, but Paulina? She was living hell on earth. Nichole Petersen, on the other hand, was in heaven.

“Not bad for a wh-re, hmm?” Teresa asked me while running the rope from my ankles to the front crossbar of the chaise lounge, “It appears that I’m craftier than you are, Miss Oliveira.”

Teresa continued to bind my legs in the unforgiving white nylon ropes. She tied my legs below and above my knees, and she tied them together below the waist too. There was no forgiveness in her methodology. She opened the chaise lounge to be flat like a bed before using the electric purple 2 inch ball gag on me. Teresa hated Paulina; Emilia sweetly pushed Nichole’s buttons to turn on all the erotic arousal lines. We were artists at work, and Emilia loved and cared. Teresa put a standard black collar around my neck and ran a rope from it to the upper crossbar. Stuck.

I’m a chemist, and boy was the chemistry at work now! I mean the crotch rope. As I said when Alexandra was out on the sand with Destiny, I’m one of those girls who can get off without any stimulation beyond a crotch rope. It wasn’t much of a blessing, but it wasn’t a curse either. The way God made me was just perfect, even if some people in this world hated me for that fact. It was a delight when she used white string to tie my big toes together as a perfect finishing piece.

“I think a little oil on your toes will make the toothbrush more… eh… effeesheent,” Teresa had a way of presenting inhuman methods of torture as perfectly reasonable and humane logical deeds.
“Noooooo,” I groaned into the ball gag, “Hleathe hon’h ho thith!” I tried to reason with her.
“My dear, you do not understand, do you? I have gone this far, and I have time to spare before it is check-in at the contest,” Teresa smiled and shrugged her shoulders, “Make the most of it.”
“Nmmmmmm!” tied up like this, I couldn’t resist the way the applied the oil all over my feet.
“Hmmmm,” she rubbed the ointment into every crevice like she was my personal trainer instead.
“Guh!” I jerked at the ropes, but she calmly held the ankle ropes in one hand and used the other to continue oiling my feet in a way that betrayed she’d done this to many people, many times.

Heaven or hell? Tickling goes through phases, and when it’s this hot outside you just sweat like a pig while that electric toothbrush spins away on your soles. As you’ve noticed, vibrators don’t appear in these films, because no one could see someone abandoning captives with something so expensive strapped to their body, but Emilia didn’t care. She wanted this to be her acme of the day, and not wanting to leave a wand behind, in theory, didn’t mean she couldn’t use it. That justification is sufficient for me, and I receive her wand against my thigh, gently pushing against my crotch. Yes, her personal battery-powered wand, used only with her closest friends.

Ohhhhhhhhh, yeaahhhhhh! Sorry, I’m going to be like this. I instantly climaxed when the wand began to buzz me, and I’m going to be enjoying every moment of it. Paulina was in danger, but Nichole was safe and loved. It’s a dichotomy, really. Even the way Emilia removed my top and stuffed it in her bag like a keepsake was empowering to me, even as she oiled my tits in a clever trick that was going to set this film apart from any of the ones before. The thought of burning at my feet and breasts alone was bizarrely exciting, and Emilia deserved credit for creativity when she didn’t even do anything outstanding, flamboyant, or intense. It was subtle, quiet, and cute.

“Mmmmmmmmmm!” I pushed myself up in an arch in response to the unceasing stimulation.
“Hmm, I might be a Spanish wh-re, but you are a Portuguese c-m sl-t,” Teresa smartly quipped.

Damn right, Emilia. Oh, I can tell she’s really embracing our friendship today. She gropes me in a seemingly heartless manner, making comments about things while doing so. I’ll share a few of the things she said below. Still, the goal was obvious: to evoke a breast orgasm before beginning the tickling. She wanted time for the oil to tenderize my feet before she tortured me in that way. I got the breast orgasm, too, and I dug down into the chair before arching and loudly sighing.

“You call these teats? Mi amor, you need breast implants. These are small and sad.”
“God loves women more. We can get breast orgasms, yes? You’re too easy to get off though.”
“My dear, where is the challenge? You’re kidnapped, not at a spa. Truly, you are a c-m sl-t.”
“Seriously, señora? Getting off again so soon? Such arches! You release fluid like an old car.”
“I’m sorry this is the best breast massage you ever got. Your husband will massage mine soon.”
“With a flick of my magic wand, I turned you into great St. Louis sightline.”

“Paulina, Paulina, whatever will I do with you?” she finally asked the rhetorical question.

Then came the peak of the hell Paulina experiences at Teresa’s hands, the mark of Emilia’s love for me. The tickling. The element which I craved. You see what’s at work here? Reclaiming my breasts through forced breast orgasms, just like… Like… I cannot even write it because it’s so hard. Michela and I were both so abused by our respective fathers, but in very different ways that I cannot describe. My father only did that to me once, right after breaking a bowl using my back as the object into which he crunched it, and… and… I can’t say it. I think you understand what I mean he did to me. I left home that day, and I never told my friends. They understood it though. F-ck you, Gordon J. Blakely. You threw out the older daughter; chased off the younger daughter; and terrorized your wife so that she left too. I laughed when I… read… I read… your obituary, you drunken abusive piece of sh-t. And then I cried because I missed the daddy of my elementary years and wondered how you became a monster that Mom, Claire, and I all detested.

Tickling is in beautiful blurred lines of increasing pain. I was laughing and drooling all over the place at first, then I was chuckling and drooling all over the place, and then I was groaning and drooling all over the place. It would have been to tell the shine of the oil on my breasts from the shine of the drool, but the rope around my neck kept lying in the bed of chaise lounge torture. I couldn’t drool anywhere except down my cheeks and chin like that! Still, I was drooling while I was tickled by the toothbrush, and how much delight it brought to my soul even as Miss Paulina Oliveira absolutely lost her mind throughout the torture. Oiling my feet had worked.

“Mmmmmmmm!” I arched and sighed once again because I soooo easily orgasm even like this.
“Even tickling cannot override the power of the magic wand, no? I am pleased,” Teresa smiled.
“Ohhhhh,” I took deep heavy breaths while Teresa turned off the brush and took away the wand.
“Well, my sweet,” she took a pink bandana out of the bag, “I must be off to the contest.”
“Nmmmmm,” I shook my head, but she blindfolded me with the bandana. Nice and tight, too.
“Farewell, and best of luck. I suspect you will escape, but it will be too late for you to make it.”

Like that, I was abandoned on the beach. What a brilliant script Michela and Mary-Ann wrote to give me a moment here under the sun. When this scene took place in 2019, my father was alive, and I often wonder, now in 2025, if there was ever anything I could have done to help him find a sense of newness, maybe to return to the father I loved as an 8 year-old. The answer is probably a tragic “No,” but it haunts me every so often. Was I wrong to laugh at his obituary in 2023? Do I owe the Blakely family anything when even his parents believed the lies he told about me? My maternal relations, including Grandma Oliveira, in whose honor I chose my stage name, were so far away, in Massachusetts, and I felt so helpless against all that was happening to me.

Now I was metaphorically alone. I haven’t spoken of Felice Pryce at all and her brilliant camera work, capturing the scene with such clarity and with an eye for drama. She showed my breasts at the time of Teresa’s brilliant oiling, my feet during the tickling, and a beautiful side profile of my arching motions during my orgasms. Yes, yes, Michela, I mean “warm squeals.” I hate to talk of getting wet, but my bikini bottom was going to be soaking wet by the end of this one.

Don’t get me wrong. I love, as I like to say, “c-mming my brains out,” but it’s always hard to say it to others in such detail without feeling dirty. Believe me, I’m pushing myself a bit because my personal record is 22 orgasms in 47 minutes of film time, and I want to bring the record below 2 minutes. Just so I can say I did it. Dad, the day he… I’m trying to say it out loud… the day that he cracked that bowl on my back… I’m squeezing my hands… at the thought as I sit here at my desk writing all this for you and even feeling the hormones like it was an hour ago. He forced a warm squeal out of me… His daughter…. He didn’t care… He hated me. I’ve never voiced that thought before; it was an… implicit understanding I’ve held for nearly 10 years. If he did that… worse would soon follow. I will not talk about the Blakely men any longer; it hurts me too much to talk about them.

How to accomplish my goal? I freaked out like a cage animal, struggling frantically against each of the ropes that bound me. The boxtie; the rope harness; the crotch rope; the two on my thighs; the two on my lower legs; the string on my big toes. An arch, a sigh, and two emissions, one out of my gag and one out of my p-ssy. Yes, I can talk about these things. Yes, I can reclaim myself in a powerful way. I am my own person, made in the image of God, and I can tell you about this.

Struggling there in the hot sun, the oil afflicting my feet and breasts was so good, and I just about broke the chair. Yes, we’d release the parts featuring Emilia as “Part 1”, for $19.95 since all that torture and tickling did take a good 45 minutes, and now this is “Part 2” which’ll be only $14.95! Remember, it’s piracy if you don’t buy through one of Maddy Tied Her’s official channels and stores! I can’t imagine how much Felice is enjoying this because she’s a genuine sadist who struggles to accept that side of herself without shame. Is she disgusted by her own feelings, or is she leaning into the moment and allowing herself that burn in her own crotch?

Teresa didn’t tie my neck too tightly, and that rope loosened with some struggle. Of course, we pause this bondage escape quest for another arch and a sigh. I love that feeling. Am I bad since what I really want now is to end the film, go into the dune grass, and have Chris romance me? I find an escape in moments like these. My other escape is music, but that’s not for this story. Am I really so easy to please like this? I don’t know, but I felt loved at this particular moment.

“AAUGHH!! HEEELLLLL -EEEEEEEEEE!” I loudly cried into the electrical purple ball gag.

I was really struggling and thrashing on the chair like my life depended on it, and I accidentally threw myself off the chair and into the sand. That rope tethering my ankles to the chair was such a beautiful part of the moment. The oil on my breasts provided a perfect surface for sand to glue itself to my body there. Oh, how charming a sensation it was. I loved it, and I loved feeling the increased heat in my breasts because of the oil. An arch, a sigh, and a collapse into the sand. We all have our own reactions; I was a girl who naturally arched and sighed, apparently. Such fun!

The ball gag allowed drool to pour out over me, and the chaise lounge was a real hindrance to an otherwise extremely dramatic performance. It made me feel more powerless against the efficient white nylon rope bondage. Sweat dripped off me and beaded up all over the place. Oh, can you feel the empowerment? It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I was loving this, but Paulina hated it. How that damsel-in-distress wanted to escape it as quickly as possible, but I wanted it to take 15 minutes longer to escape so that I could orgasm, drool, and sweat as much as possible before I got out of this. Paulina and Nichole are two and the same; but they’re entirely different people. Amazing.

Escape is such a beautiful thing. It’s a fun cycle. Thrash, drool, collapse, arch, sigh, drool. Just keep repeating it until you physically escape the source of psychological escape. I’m not usually a show like this, but I don’t know that every eye is staring at me in admiration. I shrieked into a 2 inch ball gag like my life counted on it. My toes dug into the sand, and I finally contorted into a position that made it possible for me to untie that tether to the chaise lounge. Take that, Teresa!

Rinse. Dry. Repeat. What a beautiful cycle. How I love c-mming my brains out. Only way the moment could be hotter is if there’d been dirty socks against my crotch for someone to stuff into my mouth to gag me with them. It’s the most delicious gag on earth and arousingly humiliating in all the best ways. I repeated the cycle over and over again, feeling more and more excitement until I reached a point where I was feeling the same thrill I feel when I’m out at the go-kart track or some other amusement type establishment with friends or Chris. I’m having fun.

That’s why the escape feels so good. It took a film script that Michela, the girl who first knew in implicit terms the true story of my first orgasm, and Mary-Ann, a girl who happened to be at my friend’s house the day I walked out of my childhood home forever… Michela and Mary-Ann had written a script just for my empowerment, for my victory. Obviously, you know because I write this in 2025 that some parts are still underlying, but now you’ve read the story of the day that my breasts finally became mine. Unbuckling the gag, untying the blindfold, standing up on the sand, facing my friends, and looking down at my own breasts and joyfully grabbing the reddest part of my body, ahead of even my feet or face was a victory. A true victory.

And you can share in my victory for $19.95 for Part 1, $14.95 for Part 2, or $29.95 for the whole thing as one continuous movie!

END OF FILM

Michela wrote the script for me, and Michela ran to tackle me to the sand and beautifully kiss me in that lovable mix of confused platonic and erotic emotions because of how badly her father had ruined her. We could share in this moment, and she managed to suppress the erotic part while we rolled in the sand, laughed, and smiled. Few people can so powerfully non-verbally express love like Michela can. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but it was a daring tease for her to force a playfully breast orgasm out me while we wrestled. It was our way of loving each other because of our common backgrounds. It was dirty, but it was consensual and fun.

And then Chris. He’s my first love. I saw him on the beach, and I dumped Michela in an instant to go run and, despite the pain in my leg, jumped into his arms. I kissed my husband and hugged him so tightly that it caught him by surprise. Him, the one I love. He carried me to the tent with a loving gaze; we were on this ride together “to death do us part.” He cried so much the horrible day I miscarried our child. I loved him; he loved me; we loved each other. With love, he put me down on a chair next to Joyce, my beloved friend.

“So, how about tonight, you, Kendra, and I go to dinner with our hubbies?” Joyce asked, “After, you and I perhaps have some dirty big girl TUGs with our husbands. Sounds good?”
“It’s a date. We’ll leave Mary-Ann to produce films with the single girls!” I laugh and sighed.
“You won, Nichole,” Joyce took my hand, “I’m so proud of you.”

She suffered with me through each of the incidents in college, and I suffered with her. Love is an absolute hallmark of friendship. True friendship is knowing how to love each other properly.

END OF CHAPTER 5

[Caesar73]

"I had my navy blue bikini under my clothes already, but he didn’t know that because I’d dressed while he was still showering. Our Florida vacation had been full of kink and adventure, and that distinctive grin he gave when I engaged in a striptease before his eyes made it worthwhile every single time. He wasn’t expecting the jeans, shirt, and gaiter to give way to the bikini. The secret of my life had been hidden, although it wasn’t a secret to my husband or my friends."

I like that Paragraph - very creative! The Bikini under the Clothes? Fine Idea.

And the Flow of the Narrative is like a River. Flowing gently. Never forced.

The Tickle Scene is fantastic!

[LunaDog]

The Tickle Scene is fantastic!

Agreed! I can almost feel it myself, so vividly it is told.

[AlexUSA3]

My gratitude for the kind comments cannot be stated enough. Time for things to get a little... stinky.

CHAPTER 6: Enjoy the Smell!

Feet, they’re a funny topic. Some of us had a love of feet. Not me! I mean Kendra and Hannah Jones. Both loved the humiliation and atmosphere of smelling feet, having shoes tied over their noses, being gagged with dirty socks (especially from other people), and even being forced just to sniff their captor’s feet or be gagged with a fellow captive’s toes, as disgusting as some of that sounds to me even though I can handle it. I don’t like feet just for being feet. I like humiliation.

Enter Hannah Jones. She’d recently graduated with a 4.0 GPA in Chemistry with minors in both biochemistry and psychology. Impressive for a girl who spent a year in prison for drunk driving after a boy tried to hurt her during a New Year’s party that went to hell in a handbasket. She was the prude of the group: she wouldn’t appear in a scene that involved nudity. Like, she wouldn’t play any role in the film if someone was going to be exposed. Only once or twice did she allow even fondling or vibrators to appear in a scene where she was a character on the camera. She is really strict. She held firm to certain aspects of her upbringing despite the tragedy of her life. I would say that we all loved her, and I lovingly call her a prude. She’s a beautiful soul who has had a profound influence on so many people, and she believes God let her escape her attacker so that she could go to prison and become part of this bizarre circle of friendship and bondage. The majority of these psychological aspects were pure speculation on my part, but she affirmed them all when I asked her. Now, I’ve rambled on for much too long. Bring on the hotties!

“Well, howdy,” I heard that distinct twang, and turned to see that beautiful long straight brown hair, the pretty blue eyes, the moderately olive Portuguese skin tone, and a pink swimsuit. This girl, about 5’6”, was the gorgeous Hannah Jones. The twang came from living in Alabama until she was 15 years old because her dad was an Air Force officer. The pastel pink was a one-piece swimsuit that covered her entire torso. This was paired with a matching paisley bandana that she wore as a headband. Her love of pastels and earthen tones couldn’t be matched on the film set.

Then Kendra and Felice Pryce arrived together, having changed into their own swimsuits. Felice had a solid black one piece, and her long wavy brown hair was held in a ponytail by her favorite shiny black scrunchie. She needed nothing else for this scene. Kendra, on the other hand, went for her usual provocative style: a bright yellow two-piece swimsuit, a matching yellow bandana headband, and her hair in a bun held by a bright green scrunchie. Citrusy sweet. Kendra was all of 5’0”… when you included the quarter to half an inch her shoes gave her; compared to Kendra, Felice was a giant: all of 5’2”! They were nothing but midgets compared to Hannah Jones.

Mary-Ann was of course the one who volunteered to tie up Kendra for this film. Best friends of so many years. They lived together between the end of Kendra’s house arrest and the beginning of Kendra’s marriage to Ross. Such was their love that their respective first born daughters were named after each other. When you heard a loud cackle followed by “MARY!” you knew Kendra was somewhere in the vicinity, and that Mary-Ann had done something that was hilarious either in Kendra’s eyes or sweet. Mary-Ann was known by either her full name, M.A., or Maddy, but she was exclusively Mary to Kendra. It took no time for a cackle and the familiar breathy, doubled-over laughter with the call of “MARY!” to fill the air even as Mary-Ann simply took a pair of ropes and tied Kendra’s wrists and elbows together behind her back. I’m sure the laughter had nothing to do with Mary-Ann jumping Kendra from behind.

Me though? I was taking a break. Felice was getting tied up by Hannah Larsson as a warm up for film 7. We let Jackie Martin take the camera for this one; her filming style gave her an eye for an unforgettable moment that was perfect for a more lighthearted scene like we planned this one to be. It was well under control, and Joyce and I enjoyed walking over to listen to the girls banter. Oh,what a treat filming sets could be, but my true love was the pure CGC TUGs.

Hannah moved down to the legs, tying Felice's legs together at her ankles, her knees, above her knees, and below her waist. Mary-Ann did the same to Kendra. Kendra refuses to admit she likes TUGs, hence her constant cycles of retiring and unretiring from filming. It's a “fact” that Kendra does not like being tied up; but she loves everything else that goes with it enough that she, for all intents and purposes, likes being bound and gagged more than most of us. The feet aspect of our adventures is an acknowledged fact about Kendra. In fact, as I listened in, I heard some teasing.

“So, Kendra, are you ready to enjoy Hannah’s tootsies?” Mary-Ann pointed to Hannah Jones.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m ready,” Kendra cackled, “Ha ha! To suffer at her hands.”
“All right then!” Jackie shooed all of us away, “It’s awfully hot. Let’s get going on this one!”

And we all moved to the north side of the blue line across the sand. Kendra Gentry transformed into Penny Nichols; Felice Pryce into Roxanne Rutledge; and Hannah Jones into Sarah Johnson. The fun was only just beginning. Once again, it’s another delight of dialogue like Alexandra and Destiny gave us in their scene. I couldn’t help but sit back and enjoy this one.

Hot Feet 6: Penny Nichols and Roxanne Rutledge

"When I get my hands on that c-nt," Roxanne snarled through clenched teeth.

"Calm yourself," Penny warned her, "We need active minds to be able to get out of this."

“I’m active… actively imagining how I’ll kill her,” the brunette sneered.

“Watch it, Rox,” the blonde captive cautioned Roxanne, “We’ve been through worse.”

“Because of a f-cking swimsuit contest?! No f-cking way. She’s a do-chebag!”

"Good afternoon, babes," Sarah strutted into view, but the camera angle only showed her lower legs and, of course, her feet. As the camera panned up, her hands were confidently planted on her hips, and she had a tote bag on her shoulder. "You gorgeous dolls will be so much prettier here than in that swimsuit contest."

“We’d look much prettier without these ropes you used to tie us up, b-tch!” Roxanne snapped.

“Yes, yes, yes, you two need gags, harnesses, and…,” Sarah mused with a finger to her mouth.

Sarah snapped her fingers and reached into her bag. She patiently performed a search, unafraid of her two captives. This was all like a twisted game to Sarah, but she knew that patience led to great rewards. That’s why she took her time; she was amused by Roxanne’s overreaction.

“This is f-cking crazy,” Roxanne growled, her muscles tense while Sarah rummaged through her bag, “You think this is gonna keep me from getting free and killing you in 6 different ways?”

Sarah chuckled, completely unbothered. “Oh, love, I know it will. You’re good ‘n’ stuck.”

“Oh, so now you're a rope expert?” Penny scoffed as Sarah looped a rope around her shoulders, “Tying up girls instead of practicing for the contest? You must be so proud of yourself.”

Sarah tied a perfect breast harness on Penny. Despite her personal limits concerning nudity and crotch ropes, Sarah sure could tie the meanest crotch rope you’ve ever seen. She had an eye for perfectly objectifying a woman’s breasts with a strand or two of rope. Penny may have been the runt, but she was a beautiful runt with a bosom that couldn’t be missed.

Sarah smirked, unfazed, “Dang right I am, “she pulled the rope tight, forcing Penny’s arms snug against her sides, “Don’t worry, love, you’ll still get your moment in the spotlight—just not the way you wanted. I’m not done with y’all just yet. I’ve got time, and I’ve got plans.”

“The woman is a f-cking c-nt!” Roxanne repeated her harsh words and looked deep into Sarah's eyes, “I'd like to show her just f-gly she is in body and spirit.”

“OK, so she's a c-nt. So what?!” Penny turned to Roxanne, “At least my insults are personal.”

“Oh, my feelings are so hurt by this,” Sarah reached into her bag and pulled out a bright orange ball gag; she took the strap and held with her index finger and thumb like it was a game show prize, “Won't this look perfect with your outfit, Penny?”

“Oh, just lovely,” Penny thought of her yellow outfit, “I love this soooooo much.”

“Why don't you take the ball off the strap and stick it down your windpipe?” Roxanne snarled.

Sarah dangled the gag in front of Penny’s face, “This’ll look much better where it belongs.”

"NO!" Penny showed her closed jaws, but Sarah shook her head and pinched Penny's nose shut.

Roxanne kept up her tirade, hurling every profane insult she could think of at Sarah, “You smug, self-absorbed little b-stard! Such an inept braindead redneck who thinks she can just eliminate the competition. I’ve never seen anything so pathetic, really. You’re so f-cking brave, are you?”

The little girl in the bright yellow bikini and matching bandana headband tried her best to fight off her kidnapper, but she couldn’t hold her breath forever. Penny finally gasped for air, and in an instant, Sarah seized her chance. She shoved the bright orange ball between Penny’s lips and swiftly buckled the strap behind her head with fluid movements.

"Mmph!" Penny glared at Sarah, furious but silenced.

“Thank you much, love,” Sarah sweetly put a hand on Penny’s shoulder and gave her an adorable kiss on the cheek, “I knew you’d see reason eventually. Now, where were we?”

“You were just getting ready to use me as a test subject to demonstrate the proper technique for untying a gorgeous girl and letting her go free on her pinky swear that she won't call the cops,” Roxanne tried catching more flies with honey than vinegar.

Sarah smirked, crossed her arms, and tilted her head in faux contemplation, “Hmm… mighty tempting offer, really,” she muses, “But yer temper undoes yer pinky swear.”

Roxanne huffed and puffed with her eyes wide, shifting against the ropes and squirming all over the sand, “Oh, come on. What have I ever done to make you doubt my integrity?”

Sarah reached into her bag and pulled out a nice red ball gag, fiery like Roxanne’s temper, “Hey, now, don’t take it personally. I think you’d look adorable with this in yer mouth. Let’s give yer colorful vocabulary a little break.”

"NO! F-CKING B-ST-RD! I'LL!" Roxanne’s s vocabulary came to an end, "Mmph! Mmmm!"

Sarah reached into her tote and pulled out a small handheld mirror, showing Rox and Penny their reflections. She mocked them with their own beauty, and it was the kind of moment that showed our camaraderie on and off the set. It was through Kendra’s kind efforts to reach out to someone who had no one left in her life that Felice joined the crew of rejects, misfits, and victims. Felice was one of the ones who stayed with Kendra for a week when Kendra had a life-saving surgery to remove a tumor from her brain that otherwise would have ended her life.

With a sense of calm, Sarah grabbed some more rope to truss Roxanne like a Thanksgiving bird with a breast harness. Again, for someone with strict limits on nudity, she’s an expert at tying a harness, arguably the only part of actual rope bondage that is primarily objectifying. Miss Sarah Johnson was such a delightful girl, though, that she made it fun to watch some simple action. In a blink, the harness was tied, and Rox was objectified. Sarah taunted, “Nice bust, Roxie, baby.”

The waist ropes were just those, waist ropes. Sarah wouldn’t tie a crotch rope for any reason you could suggest. They weren’t allowed in her world, but her waist ropes were just as effective as if she had tied the crotch rope. She showed her intolerance for Roxanne’s behavior by using a pink bandana to blindfold Roxanne. Roxanne’s situation was much worse than Penny’s now.

“Those ropes firmly holdin’ you?” Sarah tested by tugging at Penny’s arms, “Yep. Yer stuck.”

“Mmmmmmmm!” Penny struggled in her thoroughly tight bondage, “Hleathe unhie uth.”

“No, no, honey, I ain’t doin’ that for anythin’ just yet. We gotta play still!” Sarah’s twang had an endearing quality to it, “We’re just gettin’ started with the best parts now. "So," Sarah sat down, “how does the beach smell?” she taunted Penny by putting her sole up to Penny's nose.

Penny of course backed away from Sarah’s foot despite the real Kendra’s love of such torture; to resist is the natural course of both film and play, or it isn’t fun. Sarah’s foot followed Penny all the way to Penny lying on her back in the sand while Roxanne helplessly and blindly struggled and drooled. It was hot; of course there was lots of drool coming from both captives.

“Maybe you'd rather smell Rox's feet?” Sarah asked Penny and grabbed her by the hair, “I hear they're rancid this time of year,” Sarah also wrapped arm around Roxanne, rolling her onto her stomach in the sand with a loud shocked wail, “SMELL. THEM.”

“GMMMMM!” Penny’s nose was brought against Roxanne’s feet without any mercy.

It’s hard to believe, watching these three so naturally play out this scene, that one year ago we all feared that Kendra would die. She was diagnosed with a brain tumor, and the doctors had to saw her head open to remove it because it was causing seizures, migraines, and other issues. She not only won that battle but also mended her broken relationship with her parents and sisters. She is a winner, but she was losing big time on the sand. Sarah ordered again, “SMELL. THEM.”

Kendra also was a spiritual winner. She’d converted to Roman Catholicism thanks to Mary-Ann, and she was a driving force in leading and helping many others either to convert to her church or to revive their lost interest in it: Destiny, Hannah Jones, Hannah Larsson, Jackie, Felice, Taylor, Emilia, and Mackenzie. She had so much support in her illness despite all the fears of what was going to happen to her daughter and her husband if she didn’t survive, but Kendra was quite the survivor. So much that “Survivor F04” is tattooed on one wrist and “JF11120286” on the other. “F04” meant she was in prison Pod F and was assigned to bed #4, and “JF11120286” meant she was a juvenile female arrested in November 2012 and was the 286th arrest that year.

Hannah Jones, here Sarah Johnson, and Hannah Larsson were the biggest leaps of them all. The former was raised in a bigoted Baptist home; the latter was raised in a bigoted atheist home. The latter’s parents were so bigoted that they actually cut Miss Larsson out of their lives completely for becoming a Christian. Seriously. It’s absolutely disgusting, and she left home for good just 3 months before the events of this story. She was never anything but a status item to her parents. Miss Jones was a good girl, even if she was having fun forcing the little blonde girl to smell the helpless brunette’s feet right now. Hannah Jones’ story is even more heartbreaking.

For Larsson, what a journey. Drug user and dealer at 16. Arrested in November 2012. Legally disowned by her parents. Released in January 2014. Goes back to dealing. Gets pregnant. Her boyfriend savagely forced her to abort and beat her. June 2014 her boyfriend tried to kill her; she went back to prison for a week while the system decided whether to charge her for dealing. Was homeless for a month or two. Moved into a hovel and stooped to bondage modeling for income. Moved in with Michela in January 2015; fixed her life. At Christmas 2017, through her grandma who never rejected her, she had a tearful reunion with her parents. Became a Roman Catholic in July 2018. Followed her parents to North Carolina in August 2018. Back to Minnesota in May 2019. Not fair. Not fair at all. Not relevant at all to the present, but it’s relevant because I did all I could to be by her side through all of it. The words, “They hate me, Nichole,” are seared in my mind. I know what it’s like to be hated by my parents, as I told you before about my dad.

For Jones, it was as silly as sniffing feet. New Years party, December 31, 2013, went to hell for the 16 year old girl. She got drunk; a boy tried to take advantage and ripped her clothes even; she ran and tried to drive home; hit a house. 18 months in juvenile detention. Parents said that to get drunk was proof she was predestined for hell, and every single person surnamed “Jones” anathematized her. Legally disowned. Moved into the Palmeri home upon release, where she was loved simply for being Michela’s prison friend. Never heard from her parents or siblings ever again, although her Roman Catholic Portuguese relations back home in Louisiana sure do love to hear from her and even invite her to visit! A good girl with a good heart. End of rant.

“MMMMMMMMM!” Penny Nichols tried to fight back, but she couldn’t.

“SMELL. THOSE. FEET!” Hannah Jones could not be more sugary sweet in reality, but on the battlefield, what a bruiser she could be because she never gave up the prison gym routines, like a number of these girls, “COME ON, LOVE! Take a good deep breath of those tootsies.”

I was never Calvinist even though I’m Protestant. I’m so glad I’m not Calvinist, bunch of cold and judgmental b-stards, pardon my language. Those horrible people; they never loved Hannah. Parents never truly loved their children; children never truly loved their parents or siblings. The story of Hannah Jones makes my blood boil; a judge basically asked Hannah Jones “Why didn’t you just let that boy f-ck you?” What. A. Piece. Of. Sh-t. Yes, it upsets me! At least Larsson and I have this consolation: my father’s dead, and her ex was murdered in a prison brawl.

“Y’all looooovvvvvvveeeee this, doncha?” Sarah Johnson had a much more exaggerated twang than the real Hannah Jones, “Yes, indeed, Miss Nichols, you and Roxie are droolin’ a lot!”

“All right, you're had enough fun,” Sarah rolled Penny onto her stomach and grabbed one final rope, which was used to hogtie Penny in classic ankles to wrists fashion. She then did the same to Roxanne, “Thanks for playing, ladies, but I'm heading to the contest before I miss the check-in deadline,” Sarah picked up her bag, “HaaaaaAAVVVVEEEE fuuuuuuUUNNNNNNN!” she then pets Rox one last time before leaving Roxanne and Penny behind.

The two girls struggled in their hogties on the beach, the sun beating on their feet. A fun scene is a good way to break up the drama. I’m sorry for getting off topic and upset like that.

END OF FILM

Once Jackie yelled, “CUT!” a multitude of us went out, but I was stopped by a fellow Portuguese girl, who playfully handgagged me and wrapped another arm around my chest, “There’s my long lost cousin. You ever dream that maybe we’re related in some distant past?” Hannah asked that in a most rhetorical manner since I couldn’t answer her, “What do you say, Miss Palmeri?”

“Well,” Michela stooped to untie Felice, “I say it’s rude to gag someone and ask them questions.”

“Awww, c’mon,” the adorable twang was back to its usual subtle self, “You never dream that you and Destiny and Joyce might somehow all be distant cousins?” Miss Jones’ question was cute.

On such an adorable note, I will end the chapter and resume the fun in the next one.

END OF CHAPTER 6

@charliesmith, @silvertejp590, @SquidIncMaster, @Switcher1313, @The G-Man, @Caesar73, @Phantomette, @0Kay, @Yewteed, @Solarbeast, @GreyLord, @Kinky_boi,@harveygasson, @hafnermg, @johopp, @Bilmik, @DommeKirsten, @RopeBunny, @LunaDog, @PenelopeRopes, @StrugglingSue

[LunaDog]

Time for things to get a little... stinky.

“SMELL. THOSE. FEET!”

I almost can from here!

[AlexUSA3]

Time for things to get a little... stinky.

“SMELL. THOSE. FEET!”

I almost can from here!

Time to enjoy one more scene!

@charliesmith, @silvertejp590, @SquidIncMaster, @Switcher1313, @The G-Man, @Caesar73, @Phantomette, @0Kay, @Yewteed, @Solarbeast, @GreyLord, @Kinky_boi,@harveygasson, @hafnermg, @johopp, @Bilmik, @DommeKirsten, @RopeBunny, @LunaDog, @PenelopeRopes, @StrugglingSue

CHAPTER 7: Twists, Turns, and Kisses

Then came the love. With so many lesbian or bisexual girls, we have made lots of films in which one of said lesbian or bisexual girls attempts to win the affections of their captive(s). It was such a simple method that worked well for a film plot that had direction. In the last film of the set, the bisexual Romeo was Hannah Larsson, competing for the affections of two Juliet’s, played by our colleagues Taylor Zawislak and Bridget Anderson. Jackie was holding the camera for this one.

“Taylor,” I questioned the tall brunette while preparing her for the scene, “how do you do it?”
“Do what?” she cheerfully responded while I bound her crossed wrists behind her back.
“You’re straight, yet you seem to enjoy being lez-dommed more than the lez girls,” I explained.
“It’s just fun, Nichole,” she laughed a little, “It’s not real,” and showed her clear headedness.
“You especially like when Hannah is the one doing it to you,” I smiled and bound her ankles too.
“We share a lot, Nichole. Things I’m glad you don’t understand from personal experience.”

I knew what she meant. Hannah and Taylor both were junkies who slept with older men in order to get free weed, and both eventually became the more cunning and conniving member of a drug dealing ring. Hannah was caught through a sting, but Taylor was abandoned during a robbery of an unpaying customer. Unlike Hannah, Taylor had been raised Roman Catholic and abandoned her faith, but, like Destiny, Taylor reclaimed her faith and now had a boyfriend with whom she’d been steady for 2 or 3 years now. Now, Taylor was a bondagette, but not a Cool Girl. She loved the work environment and friendship, but bondage wasn’t a real part of her life.

Bridget Anderson could not have been more of an enigma. She pretty much only talked to Kylie about anything personal, and I had no relationship whatsoever with her. We were colleagues and nothing else. It was kind of sad, really, but I knew her Irish twin younger sister led their personal crime ring and often physically abused Bridget and that said sister was facing a life sentence for a cold-blooded murder. Bridget had no faith in anything and unlike most of our agnostic friends, like Xandra, it showed that she was lacking something in her life by her actions and mannerisms. The pale blonde-brown hair and the blue-grey eyes lacked something that the rest of us had. But, she was a good employee, even if a bit undependable. Mary-Ann more than once had to audible her shooting schedule because Bridget failed to show and wouldn’t answer phone calls for days.

We started Taylor and Bridget off in the same initial bondage: crossed wrists, ankles, and thighs all bound with rope. They were starting without a gag for this one because conversation was the driving force of this one while they hopped along the beach away from camp. I had no plans of even following behind at a distance or out of sight on this one; binoculars were my choice. They had it all under control, and I sat down on a beach chair next to the amicable Joyce Verdi while I watched through the binoculars. Ashley sat down at my left side with a ginger beer, and Joyce, a type-1 diabetic, enjoyed a simple bottle of ice cold water. Me? I had grape soda for a fun twist.

There we sat on the beach: me, Joyce, Ashley, Destiny, Mary-Ann, Mackenzie, Michela, Xandra, Destiny, Emilia, Hannah Jones, and Kendra, basking in the afterglow of a good day of filming. I am sure you’ve possibly noticed no mention of a few girls, and that’s because they didn’t want to get into the heat of things today. Jackie and Felice had the cameras to film the scene, and Taylor and Bridget were now Hannah’s captives.

Did I say Taylor, Bridget, and Hannah? No! Julia Pulaski, Jessica Sanders, and Karina Nilsson.

Hot Feet 7: Jessica Sanders and Julia Pulaski

At this distance, I’ll summarize what I saw since I couldn’t hear. I saw Jessica and Julia arguing with Karina about their captivity, and Julia was very passionate. Julia had 3+ inches on Karina to make the moment more awkward for her, and Bridget had 2+ inches on their captor. After an extended argument while hopping up the beach, Julia had a pink 2 point-something inch ball gag stuffed in her mouth while Karina lecherously felt her up. This was classic for Julia and Karina.

Karina then turned her attention to Jessica, who seemed wary of her. Kari was a wordsmith, and she slowly began breaking down barriers during their beach hop (Kari walked). Julia, however, soon refused to cooperate, and she found the strings of her orange bikini top being pulled one at a time until her bust was exposed and her top was left on the sand. This was Mary-Ann’s place to jump up, stay behind Jackie, and pick up the discarded piece of clothing.

That Karina is a really naughty girl, and she eagerly fondled Julia’s breasts before dropping her to the sand to tie a harness, a waist rope, and a hogtie. A leash was tied around Julia’s knees for Karina to drag Julia behind herself while she and Jessica continued to travel conventionally. It’s brutal in description, but the soft sand made the actions purely humiliating with no physical harm done. What a dynamic it was, and I could see Ashley was still in the afterglow of her own scene and the way she was tightly bound, dreaming of being dragged up a beach. Next year, I hoped.

“I wish I understood why I enjoy the tight and brutal scenes so much,” Ashley quietly mused.
“Because you’re strong and resilient,” I responded with a warm rub of her arm.
“Yes,” she nodded and smiled, “Destiny, Kendra, Mary-Ann, and you would enjoy that too.”
“We’d enjoy it for sure,” I laughed, “But Taylor’s doing it; Hannah, Jackie, and Felice would do it too. Most of us would do it. What’s brave is the willingness to endure a real hanging for art.”
“I don’t like talking about asphyxiation,” Emilia admitted, “Please don’t go there, for me.”
“No problem,” I turned to the Spanish beauty, “I’m just making observations because I can.”

I took a deep breath and grabbed my binoculars to see Karina taking the lecherous route with her hopping captive. Jessica’s sea green bikini top was gone, and she had a more comfortable, small ball gag in her mouth, likely 2 inches or smaller. She was getting more directly vamped, and she was feeling it all. This was classic Jessica: unsure but slowly melting into the moment without a moment to realize what was happening. I couldn’t help but smile to see that she had a niche here in the dynamics of film production. Karina knew how to break down sensual barriers so well.

Then Joyce and I began quietly talking about things that Emilia, Destiny, Xandra, and Ashley all could agree was wonderful: the feeling of being bound and gagged and willingly submitting to a man for the act of procreation. The bigger problem with that discussion was that only Joyce and I were married. Xandra wasn’t of any religious inclination for me to comment, but Destiny, Ash, and Emilia? Tsk, tsk, young ladies. I had to tease them, but they knew it was love. If I leveled with any of them on a serious level, they’d blush and admit that they knew it was wrong, but the common thread of trauma sometimes leads to seeking fulfillment in this manner. I could see all of them someday being happily married, though, and I especially knew it was inevitably coming for Destiny, Taylor, and Emilia. The point is: we had faith and knew what was a violation of our beliefs and could be both honest about our flaws, our temptations, and our guilt.

“Well, well, well,” I cackled, “Looks like Miss Nilsson is… yikes! She’s really getting into the moment with both of them, but Taylor’s still putting up a stiff resistance at the moment!”

I could see Joyce and Ashley around me had melted. Ashley was in the calm, serene peace of a TUG in which she was being gently, kindly pushed towards subspace in any one of various ways that worked on her. Joyce was contemplating the Italian food she, Kendra, and I would eat as the appetizer to an evening in which Joyce and I were in willing submission to our husbands. That Mary-Ann had to lead an evening of filming was a bummer for her, but she wasn’t willing to do much of anything in front of others when it came to marital games anyway. Joyce and I only did such things with each other, and that was the end of the line. We had friends back home who did the marital deed in front of others if it worked into the agreed roleplay, but that was a no go. My panties had to be on me if others were around; Joyce didn’t makes babies during bondage even if she was OK with crotch exposure. God, it was hot out here, wasn’t it?! I’m sweating bullets!

Nope, it’s just me. Damn, I made myself get aroused; thank God I was wearing sunglasses since I was likely bug-eyed now from the way I just got myself all excited like this. The way Chris put his hand on my shoulder and kissed me right on the spot where the floral emblem of my Western paisley bandana was centered told me that he’d seen it and noticed it. Oh, how I love him. We’d been through loss via miscarriage, and I can still remember telling my best friend that I needed a trip to the restroom, thinking it was my stomach, and losing the baby right then and there. What a horror it was to see our baby in the toilet the very day I was getting ready to tell my bestie that I was expecting. Joyce had had at least one miscarriage that I knew. My best friend? Hit it out of the park with her husband on her first try and was due in January. Jealous? No. Hurt that I seemed to be hopelessly infertile? Yes, yes, and absolutely yes.

“Oooooh! Kari’s removing the gag from Jules’ mouth. Yep, their kissing, and Kari’s undoing the hogtie! Ohhhhh! She must have really wanted Julia because she’s hogtying Jessica now. Oh for sure, she wanted Julia because she just slinged Julia over her shoulder and walked away from Jessica!” I narrated for those who couldn’t see what was happening.

That was a funny twist and an hilarious way to end the film.

END OF FILM

That was a brief but fun way to end a busy day of filming on the beach, and we’d managed to go the day without any major interruptions. The entire sequence was a lot of fun, and I enjoyed all of it. With that, though, filming of Hot Feet was complete. There was a lot of cleanup to be done though: dismantling tents, making sure that cameras were safely stored and that the info on them was safe, gathering chairs and coolers, and other such jobs. All went into the Maddy Tied Her van for the trip back to the hotel. Mary-Ann, Ashley, and I would move the films to Ashley’s computer for a duplication before Mary-Ann and the single girls went filming tonight.

On that thought, we left the beach and ended Hot Feet, but I made you a promise that I do intend to fulfill. It was going to be a crazy night in my hotel room with Joyce, the husbands, and I having a crazy adventure that was going to be better than any film.

END OF CHAPTER 7

[Caesar73]

Another excellent Part of this Series! Well done!