Plymouth: damsel for hire (FM+/F+) *STORY UPDATED* Sunday 13th July

[RopeBunny]

Plymouth didn't deserve my frustration fueled rage, and I'm sorry to her for it. Of the few recurring characters I've created here she ranks highest.

Still, done is done.

So, by way of apology, and because I love writing her, we're diving back in.

Hold tight

[RopeBunny]

001.

"Plymouth?"
"Here." Raising a hand, little wave accompanied by a quick shiver, shaking myself loose. "Sorry."
"Everything okay?"
"Definitely."

Finding a smile for him: Leon, who doesn't need to know about the non bondage thoughts I was becoming lost in.

Focus, Plymouth. The man here is paying you after all, fulfilling my role as bondage model, a shoot for Leon's- new -site, which so far only has two photoshoots and one video uploaded, all three featuring the same model who happens, apparently from what little small talk we've engaged in, to not really be a model at all. More a close female friend, willing to help.

Several years experience behind me, definitely an actual, real model and not- despite he seems nice but we aren't -friends, yet. Here I am, fairly popular within the niche of bondage porn, and technically Leon can't afford me.

But he'd reached out, politely, asking for a favour, a little help to make the new venture into something better, wanting a name to draw in the crowds.

Wanting me, and here I am, services offered at a hefty discount, happy to help.

The fact I love my job, crave bondage and helplessness, obviously playing a large role in my decision making.

Can I trust him, Leon? An unknown, no priors, no digital work footprint and nobody to ask outside of that one other: the friend who I could track down but havent. Can I trust him? Maybe, however, I'm sorry- totally not sorry -to say I don't particularly care. One of the worst- best -aspects of my bondage craving is the fact I'm always. Al, ways, secretly hoping for a session to transcend into the real, to be kept bound and gagged beyond the agreed limits.

To be kidnapped, basically.

And I shouldn't want that, but I do.

And of course I can't tell him: Leon, or anyone, because to say it would be to ask for it, and asking to be kidnapped, to be kept in tight bondage beyond my clocking off time. Asking means it isn't actually kidnapping, which means it isn't real.

Which means there's no thrill to be had, so I wouldn't care.

We're in a hotel room. Leon: late twenties, tall and lean, messy dyed blonde hair at total odds with his black skin and dark eyes. He still lives at home, a house with parents and therefore no privacy for this kind of work. So despite neither of us needing to stay the night he's paid for this room, a Premier Inn on the outskirts of a town a half hours drive from his own.

And I'm sure, walking into reception to be met by Leon, glancing across and I'm sure the middle aged guy on desk duty was figuring me for a sex worker, a paid by the hour escort.

The fact not- almost true from certain angles anyway -bothering me in the slightest.

Good natural light filters in through the rooms fourth floor window, banishing most of the shadows. The raised bed a focal point, small wooden desk above which hangs a flatscreen, wooden shelving running down the wall, the short corridor towards the doorway out. A single armchair in one corner, turned to face the window. A single tripod stood between window and bed, facing the white sheet covered boxy shape upon which I'll be tied.

Dressed as Leon requested, and there are times I'll offer up suggestions, times my opinion is sought, but not today. What clothes I arrived in are discarded in the small ensuite, swapped out for baggy grey drawstring joggers and a red thong, the straps of which ride high on my hips. I'm barefoot, and braless beneath a black 'Batman' tee, the symbol picked out in yellow.

The joggers hang off my slender and toned size ten frame, fitted tee hugging the hills and valleys of enhanced F cups, my own personal canons. There was an accident, awhile ago now, serious enough parts of my memory are still like yawning black chasms. For surgery they shaved the left side of my head and it's a style I've kept: long dyed blue hair, white tips, the whole curling and tumbling down my right side and back, the now old scar exposed, twin to a jagged tree branch climbing my left leg and side in stutter stop fashion.

"Photos whilst I bind you," approaching, rope in hand, "video after."
"Photos." Nodding. "Video, yes." The contract, a written explanation and agreement of what's about to occur, freshly signed. But I appreciate his repeating things, a small courtesy.

"Wrists?"
"Please." Taking them as I offer, having stepped around behind, placing them side by side, palm to palm.

Grasping my left in my right, fingers interlaced and holding the position whilst Leon slips- unseen but felt -the doubled rope around my wrists.

"You can go tighter." Squirming a little, wrists secured, but not to the degree he could. "If you want?"
"Well." Coming around front, half grin and a small shrug to match. "I have, with the." A waved hand towards the bed. "Other shoot, and shit. But I didn't know if...?"
"S' fine." Unable to prevent the brief shiver. The surrendering of control. "Maybe, ask. Or." Thinking, nodding. "Often times it's in the contract, written consent telling me-"
"-The model."
"Telling the model, that the bondage will be realistic, or tight. Or some other fucking descriptive term."

Staying still whilst Leon corrects his mistake, or, not a mistake because I'm sure it looked great. I just prefer to feel the ropes digging in.

And now I can, elbows bound too, the doubled rope snaring and wrapping just above them, pinning my forearms together, thrusting out my chest.

Photos, the first batch of several. The whole affair destined to be a stop start and I'm not the least upset. Being paid of course, working girl here, but, stopping frequently, binding me in fits and starts, ultimately what it means is more time spent bound.

And about that I'll never complain.

Leon's demeanor changes, pre-shoot nerves dropping away perhaps? A subtle shift but there, audible in the slightly commanding tone, directing me to assume various poses, smiling or scowling, bent forward arms held up off my body or sat on the bed, legs dangling over the edge or one up and bent, sat on my foot head turned to regard the camera lens.

Legs next. Up off the bed to stand, Leon kneeling in front. Ankles. Looking down, trying to peer down over the considerable swell of my breasts, bending at the waist and Leon glances up, and we swap smiles.

More photos. Declining the offer of help, choosing- rope slut -to hop from beside to on the bed. More smiling, more scowling: Leon unsure whether he'll spin the video and shoot as consensual, or if it'll be pretend I caught Plymouth.

I wish.

"Last bit."
"Last bit." Nodding agreement, laying still, centre of the bed on my belly, allowing Leon to first hogtie then ballgag me, the rope pulled and yanked tight, bending me into a curve, bringing ankles close to elbows, lifting my breasts and shoulders up off the mattress. Ballgag a simple thing, taste of rubber filling my mouth, red, the black leather straps pinning hair to my face, buckled too tightly to spit out.

Following directions, twisting and stretching as requested, rolling and again I- shaken head -decline the offer of help, rolling from belly to side and spreading my legs wide on command, thrusting chest and crotch towards the camera. Staring into the camera. Pleading. Angry.

"Okay, Plymouth?"
"Dddgggssss fffgggtt mmmsss." Nodding, the high sloshing through me, everything fuzzy at the edges, nothing beyond the ropes matters.

Leon actives the main camera, the tripod mount, a fixed location angled to look slightly down on the bed, capturing me to good effect.

A nod from me at the thumbs up, counting silently to ten before giving it my all.

Which isn't hard, of course. For the video it doesn't much matter whether I'm there willingly or not, I find a line between those states, and walk- struggle -it.

Fighting the ropes, getting nowhere but trying. Bucking and rolling, moans cycling upwards, louder and more insistent somewhere between anger at being caught and begging for release, mixed in with panting. Thrusting my crotch at the camera as if to say.

More, please.

Eye contact, not constant but skating on and off, making it from belly over onto my back, balancing on my toes and arms, chest and crotch pumping up down up. Losing that balance, tipping, yelping in- partial -surprise as I roll back to face the camera. Struggling some more.

Leon calling a halt. Fighting to keep my- excited, riding the buzz -breathing even whilst he climbs up beside me, hands not straying, remaining professional throughout the act of stripping me: joggers and thong pulled down to my ankles, tee pulled up, off over my head and left bunched down around the elbows.

F cups and pussy exposed, alongside most of my ink, left hand side virtually covered, the right almost entirely empty. My own personal crusade on symmetry, the highlights of which being a sidewards facing mermaid on my left bicep, arms pulled behind her, upper body wrapped in chains. There's a lighthouse too, sat atop a rock and floating through occasional clouds on my outer left thigh.

On my left lower back a biker, sports bike and anime style rider, a busty female hair streaming out behind her, knights lance lowered, charging.

Too many tattoos to list, here, now, and each tells a story.

Final round of photos, for which I remain on my side, facing the window and tripod. Plenty of closeups, no doubt, breasts and shaved pussy, covering the angles. Even coming to stand over me, a leg on either side, staring down like a winner stood over his prize, his catch.

Barely managing to bury that particular train of thought.

A final struggle, after the final photos, more bucking and wriggling, rolling from side to belly and back only now with added bouncing breasts. Only now when I thrust the camera gets to see my damp pussy too. Fighting the ropes and failing, moaning, sometimes biting down on the gag sometimes turning moans to panting, breathing fast. Chest rising and falling.

Laying still, as I had several times before Leon stripped me, going limp and simply staring, the occasional small stretch of my hogtied body. A low begging moan.

Please free me.

Or: please, more.

And later Leon will do some fancy editing, selecting what footage he wishes, using fading and other tricks to combine the pieces into an amazing- because I'm in it of course -whole. Likewise the photos, time spent poring over the two hundred odd images he's- ha -captured of me, selecting the best, the favourites.

Likely posting both video and shoot within the next five days, but, here and now, the actual sharp end of it, me bound and gagged, wishing and secretly hoping for the impossible, and. Not today.

Eventually it's all over, and Leon frees me without even apologising for the fact. The sod. And, free, doing a perfect job of hiding my disappointment that he didn't do the thing he was never going to do anyway, I get dressed, and leave.

Honry. Frustrated. Without even a girlfriend, not even a 'call and I'll come' fuck buddy to help with this particular problem.

Damn it.

[RopeBunny]

002.

"Brooke?"
"Here." Raising a hand, little wave accompanied by a quick shiver, shaking myself loose. "Sorry."
"Everything okay?"
"Definitely."

Finding a smile for her: Maria, who doesn't need to know about the non forest thoughts I was becoming lost in.

Focus, Brooke. Stop seeing the tree as Plymouth would, thoughts of bondage, ways and methods, potential positions. You agreed to this, so. Focus.

"Right." Clapping my hands together, the sudden burst of noise, the slap of skin on skin- don't think about spanking -contact helping to ground me in the now, finding a smile for Maria, fifteen and attentive, interested. "Let's have us a conversation about why we need to thin this stand of western red cedar."

It'd been Ben's idea. My immediate boss, coming to me as one stop amongst many, doing the rounds and seeking volunteers. The Forestry Commission is a large sprawling entity, many sites all strung out across the length of Britain, some larger then others, some more important or high profile.

Owl wood is mine. Because I'm Brooke first, Plymouth second no matter what the bondage obsessed part of me may say. Brooke is the name on my birth certificate, and it's Brooke I- mostly -present to the world, Plymouth being like some dark often buried shard of me, dangerous in her wants and needs.

All of which makes it sound as though I have some kind of split personality disorder. I really don't, whilst becoming Plymouth may sometimes feel like throwing a lever, it's nothing more then an internal priority shift: that whilst I'm enjoying bondage, I tend to care only about bondage.

The danger being that one of the things I stop caring about is my own safety.

Outdoors, with trees. That's what I told anyone- school guidance councillors -who asked my future plans regarding work, Plymouth nothing more then an idle daydream and someday promise to myself, something I couldn't do until the impossibly far off, it seemed, milestone of my eighteenth.

Off to a specialist college, Forestry, where I thrived once let loose into the working community, mostly, papering over the cracks. Some of which I can't remember beyond the vague shadowy outline anyway. The winding road of employment bringing me eventually to the Commission.

A near permanent tan whether I want it or not, size ten frame kept toned by the near constant physical demands of the tasks Owl requires to be kept in orderly fashion.

The F cups are definitely Plymouth's fault, but I'll forgive her.

Ben's proposal, cleared by upper management was that the Commission should begin slotting itself into school work experience sessions, where fifteen year olds select a local- to them -business, within which they'll spend two weeks shadowing and learning. I agreed to take part, to add Owl to the Commissions list of willing sites.

And Maria, from North Point Comprehensive, located in the nearest town approximately twenty-two miles away straight line distance, is my first.

It's been a pleasant surprise. I'm passionate about trees. Trees, bondage, and- we'll get to them -motorbikes, my three favourite things. When asked I'd been eager for the opportunity to introduce someone else to my world, here in Owl, to talk and to show, to share.

Only after agreeing had it occurred to me that a fair percentage of teenagers simply don't care, about most things. Added to which I'm: slim framed and very busty, to the point there's no top or sports bra capable of hiding the canons I'm packing, and whilst working I don't tend to wear much: jeans or shorts, a vest top and sometimes something shorter. More skimpy and revealing, less being better because at times I'm sweating enough even in just shorts and a sports bra.

Belatedly I realised that not only might whoever I get not care about trees, they may simply spend the entire two weeks shamelessly flirting and staring at my chest, despite the roughly ten year age gap.

But Maria has been a breath of fresh air. Yes, I've caught her staring. Girls can like girls after all, and more then once I've thought, looking at her, that she was building up to ask the rather obvious question: what is ink covered and blue hair, fake tits me doing sweating in the woods when I look more suited to modelling?

Ha.

She hasn't asked, thank fuck. Sneaky glances aside Maria's listened, and asked mostly useful relevant questions. She's helped, hauling wood beside me, uncaring of dirt on her jeans and face. A slim girl, black hair tied back and an often determined looking half frown on her face. She catches the train, two stops on a small three car sprinter type, followed by a twenty odd minute cycle down twisting lanes, which isn't particularly safe so after day two I've been picking her up, dropping her off.

All the way home in one instance, the train cancelled without explanation, bike slung in the bed of the works pickup.

"So." A pause I don't helpfully fill, giving her a chance to work through it, this drip feed of knowledge I've been imparting over eight days. "We thin the herd."

A smile, shared, using my own choice of words at me.

"We take out half."
"Roughly." Seesawed hand. "Half."
"Roughly." A nod. "Half, in order to improve conditions for the rest."
"Basically." Stepping forward to pat the nearest cedar, the whole stand full of tightly packed rows, tall thin trees, the western red being a fast, straight grower. "At this height and girth."

No laugh, but she smiles. Teenagers.

"Harvesting now is worthwhile, taking some and leaving the rest to continue."
"And the oak?"
"Some stands have trees like that." Nodding at the old oak, branches reaching and twisting, looking completely at odds with the spear like cedar all around. "It's like a feature tree, something we leave in regardless of what's planted throughout the rest."

"How do we choose?"
"Do you remember?" Amusement I don't let show at Maria's blank look. "Dead, and...."
"Dying." Crossing them off on her raised fingers, and it feels good, seeing the proof she's been listening. "Diseased, dangerous. And...."
"Crossing."
"Crossing." Clicking her fingers, nodding. "Right."
"We take those, of course, then thin any extra required based on retaining the best."
"Fair." Nodding, casting a- not yet -professional eye across the canopy above.

We take the pickup back to the entrance, the main gate though there are several others and one of my many tasks is to monitor access into Owl. Close to the main gate is my cottage, a small two bed that came with the posting, where I live, alone but mostly content to be such.

Because dating for me seems to be somewhat of a minefield, harmless looking, except nobody gives me a map and so invariably I wind up stumbling through, setting off all the munitions.

Next to the cottage are a shed and the barn. From the barn we fetch the Fastrac: a huge yellow beast of a tractor, which we hook up to the flat bed trailer and whilst Maria fetches our lunch, I load up chainsaw and bowsaws, rope.

Down girl.

And fuel, helmet with built in flip down ear defenders and mesh face guard, plus another for Maria. Gloves and billhooks, long wickedly sharp curved knives.

Tooled up we drive back out to the cedar, spending the late morning and the whole afternoon working: Maria stood in safety whilst I fell a half dozen, after which we move in and cut away the small whip like side branches, which she piles up in the trailer while I chainsaw the trunks into set lengths, stacking them ready to collect with the logging trailer soon.

Days end finding us both sweating, tees plastered to skin, the shape of her C cups equally visible as my F's, hair a mess despite being tied back, dried tree sap and sawdust all down my bare legs, Maria's skin and mine covered in a red rash that working with cedar always seems to bring on.

I see her safely to the station, returning home to a shower and reheated lasagne, salad, and afterwards, the radio on I fire up the laptop, going through first Brooke and then Plymouth's correspondence.

Finding Leon's gratitude, my contribution to his site having caused quite the bump in revenue. His message in part a tentative request to hire me again.

Alongside which I find a more straightforward offer, a more established site, clear in what they want, from me.

Of course I respond in the affirmative.

[GreyLord]

Wonderful to be reading you, once again, @RopeBunny. It is also very nice to be reading about Plymouth. Well done.

[RopeBunny]

It is also very nice to be reading about Plymouth. Well done.

Nice to be writing her. As already said she's my favourite, putting Plymouth/Brooke to paper always seems to come so easily and naturally. So much of myself reflected in her

Thanks for dropping a comment.

[BlissfulMisery]

Not sure exactly what I was expecting, but it wasn't you writing about Brooke again.

Not that I am not pleased - as you said, she is one of your best recurring characters.

So, by way of apology, and because I love writing her, we're diving back in.

Ah, of course, apologize to your fictional character by coming up with more predicaments to put them in - bondage logic

-

And I shouldn't want that, but I do.

And speaking of bondage logic, I think this quote sums it up quite nicely!

Eventually it's all over, and Leon frees me without even apologising for the fact. The sod.

"Brooke?"
"Here." Raising a hand, little wave accompanied by a quick shiver, shaking myself loose. "Sorry."
"Everything okay?"
"Definitely."

Finding a smile for her: Maria, who doesn't need to know about the non forest thoughts I was becoming lost in.

Focus, Brooke.

Like the mirroring with both chapters started the same, but with the subtle differences. A juxtaposition of the twin lives she leads.

Also not surprised you opened with the bondage half, as it were

In general quite a few of her intrusive thoughts worming their way in - nothing new for Brooke, but it seems a little more common then I remember. Wonder if it is a case of easing back into the character (or easing the reader(s) back into the character). Or some change in her demeanor. Or maybe I am reading far far too much into it

Either way, enjoyable as usual. A return to a sort of 'slice of bondage life' style that you often use - even in stories with large overarching plots you do tend to fall back into that pattern during the intermediate/in between plot points portions (I do not mean anything negative by any of this, just some casual observations - it makes a lot of sense for the forum board style of writing).

[RopeBunny]

Not sure exactly what I was expecting, but it wasn't you writing about Brooke again.

Not that I am not pleased - as you said, she is one of your best recurring characters.

Which about sums up the why of my returning, alongside the mentioned- at the beginning -need to make right a wrong. Since deciding to return I've been forst working out then putting flesh to the bones of this Plymouth story, and with no other immediate ideas.

Here we are

Eventually it's all over, and Leon frees me without even apologising for the fact. The sod.

As always, thank you for laughing at my humour.

Like the mirroring with both chapters started the same, but with the subtle differences. A juxtaposition of the twin lives she leads.

Also not surprised you opened with the bondage half, as it were

And, thank you for commenting on this

Like most authors here I put a fair amount of effort into the writing, dropping interesting asides and little hidden fun things in. Adding touches such as this, the mirrored beginning to 001 and 002, purposefully done to echo the Brooke/Plymouth split.

Though because this is a TUGs site I'll always lead with Plymouth, regardless of how much I enjoy Brooke and her trees and her bikes.

In general quite a few of her intrusive thoughts worming their way in - nothing new for Brooke, but it seems a little more common then I remember.

Probably nothing more then a case of my attempting to reintroduce an old character, that some of you may know, but not others, attempting in a short span and without becoming a bore, not wanting to resort to list writing and so on.

Plymouth's secret wish to be kidnapped is a big part of her bondage life, so if it seemed I was overdoing the mentions of it, I'd say that's easily done.

Thanks for commenting.

[RopeBunny]

003.

Owl wood isn't like working in an office, there's no clocking on and off, and whilst I do have set weekly hours, as in a total figure, I'm supposed to spread these out across four to six of the seven, gaining extra pay for any overtime worked, so long as it's justified by a full report.

This flexibility is what allows me to work my other job: bondage model. Plymouth. So long as I'm organised, so long as certain things are done to expected levels, I can finish midday Tuesday and take Wednesday off.

For instance.

Because Foxe lives some considerable distance away, not far enough I'm unwilling to make the journey, for a paid shoot doing a thing I willingly, with the right girl, do for free. Far enough though I've reached out to friends, biker friends who live close to Foxe's town and are willing to put me up for the night, because I'll be riding there, because I own a Falcon and not some stupid automobile.

Bikes, my third passion, and we'll get to that soon enough.

'Foxe's World', that's her site, within which eight uploads in ten feature her, and you can count the times she's played the Domme role on one hand.

Without using your thumb.

And I'm very much the submissive, both in front of the camera and in those rare moments of private play. I can Domme, and I have, I just don't get the same level of enjoyment. But this isn't for fun, despite what my inner cravings are loudly insisting, this is a shoot, work, so.

Foxe wants a Domme, I can oblige.

A small, old mid terrace house, faded red brickwork and the typical child drawn facade presented to the road: one door and three windows, a tall roof. No front garden, but during our email exchange, discussing various wants and needs I'd bought up my travel arrangements, and so instead of the front I continue on down the road a short ways, finding a crossroads, a left turn bringing me around the back.

Foxe opening the back gate, revealing a small garden run to riot, the Brooke half of me recoiling in horror at such plant based chaos: weeds overrunning the grass and path, bramble choking out the bushes and amongst it all, at the back a tiny patio, upon which sits a chair, a parasol and an open ice box half full of beer.

She's, apparently and it is a nice day, been waiting for me.

"Got to be Plymouth."
"Got to be." Grinning back as, kick stand deployed, bike resting on that overgrown mess of lawn I turn, pulling off my black helmet and shaking loose, running a hand through my blue hair and brushing it back off the shaved left side.

"Want a beer?"
"I'm," waving the helmet, "riding."
"So that's a no?"
"No."
"Kay." Pausing, during which short time a cheeky smile creeps onto her face. "Want a fuck?"
"Thought that was why I'm here?" Letting loose my own cheek, if she wants to be bold, I can play this game. "To own you, to fuck you."

Little shiver off her, infectious enough to jump the divide, running down me too.

"That it is." Nodding, stepping closer, coming well inside my invisible personal space cordon. I stand my ground though, unafraid, skin prickling at her proximity combined with the simple fact we are, amongst other things here to fuck.

"That's what I'm here for."
"To fuck?"
"To be." Leaning forward slightly, bold, very obviously and deliberately taking a deep breath, inhaling my scent. "Fucked."
"For the site."
"Sure." A carefree shrug. "For the site. Course, or." Dropping a wink. "Just, if you wanted to."

Fuck me. Caught off guard, this whole back and forth, and me only having just arrived, I rally. But the natural sub within me comes out, and my rally twists to follow.

"Don't want to fuck me back then?"
"Swing you mean?"
"Switch."
"Is it?" A smile, teasing. "You here to be fucked too, Plymouth?"
"Well...."
"Want to be my little."

Fast, moving before I even spot her intention, reaching out to plunge a hand down inside my half open black leather biker jacket, passing the low neckline of my grey vest top and burrowing inside my bra.

Foxe, from submissive to teasing to suddenly grabbing hold my nipple, twisting so savagely I gasp, eyes springing water even as a jolt of pure pleasure drops and explodes across my pussy. Breaking at least a hundred of the rules, not appearing to care.

"Bitch, after I've been yours?"
"I...."
"That a yes." Eyebrow raised, still applying pressure to my nipple, still stepped in close, smiling, voice all casual as though none of this is happening. "Plymouth?"
"Sure." Like a sigh, struggling to match her easy tones. "If you." Swallowing, and in my pause Foxe, so fucking bold and launching a second attack.

Other hand this time, and she's already close, a simple matter- considering I'm frozen, all but falling over myself to submit -to unbuckle and open my faded blue jeans, to slip down into my hipster boypants, easily finding my pussy slit, already wet, and within my throbbing clit.

"Fuuuuccckk."
"Take that as a yes shall I?"
"Yyyee...." Breathe, can't seem to move, to take my eyes off hers. "Yes."
"Good." A flourish of movement, backing off a half dozen steps to her single chair, beer suddenly in hand as though it flew there, toasting me, stood immobile with my jeans open and one breast halfway popped out of my top. "Sounds absolutely great."

And it takes me until my jeans are fastened and my top rearranged, until I've followed Foxe inside, to stop shaking, to calm and dump the sudden spike of unused adrenaline.

Standing in her kitchen, contract on the table but I'm not looking, instead I'm staring at her. Foxe.

Pale skinned like she's allergic to the sun, contrasted by dyed black hair cut and styled, a messy short chop that leaves her ears exposed. A curving fourteen yet barely any muscle to her, breasts twin small humps looking too little for her frame, curves everywhere but here. Braless, barely there beneath a tight purple cropped tee, baggy oversized black jeans hanging off her waist.

"I thought."

"Thought?" Arms crossed, smile like she knows every fucking thing on her face, word like a small prod after my own simply dried up. Died.

"I," fighting for a calm I don't feel, too much, the day suddenly changed beyond comprehension as though someone set fire to all the order. "Thought, that you were a sub?"
"S' what the camera's want." An easy shrug. "Girl gets dominated." Looking right at me. "Fucked. But...."

"Want to sign." More silence, and I don't know what to say. What can I say? Part of me screaming to walk away but I'm not listening. "Plymouth."

Pushing the contract forward and I step in, picking the single sheet up, seeing the words: our agreed run through the shoot I thought I was coming here to do, except below it in red pen Foxe has scrawled.

'I'll be Foxe's bitch after, she can bind me and fuck me until she gets bored.'

"I...."
"You." Coming around the table and it's all I can do not to run. Not to flinch. "What?"

Taking hold my hair, a fistful, pulling my face down to hers and taking a kiss, forceful, teeth nipping and biting at my lower lip as I begin kissing her back.

"Sign it." Still holding my hair, having pulled my face slightly off hers, eyes drilling into mine, feels like she can see my soul. Breathing fast herself, the only outward sign of her own perhaps tenuous control, of her own arousal and nerves at the unfolding situation. "We both know you want to."

Breaking all the rules, and how is it she can see into the very core of me? How is Foxe able to know my secret desires, that she can pull and control me, tug on the strings and set me to dancing for her amusement?

"Yes." A small nod. Dooming myself, reaching out and signing.

Seems all these houses come with basements, a set of external stairs leading down from one corner of the back garden, a locked door and within Foxe has made the space her own. A dungeon: bare stone wall and wooden board floor, a variety of cages in one corner and several strong looking hooks sprouting from the ceiling. Whips and other associated fun things lining the wall, two large chests beside the door, opening to reveal rope and more.

Camera's have been set up, angled to face a St Andrews cross of dark wood and metal fixings, either placed or moved into the rooms centre.

"Made specifically for me." Running a hand down the right side vertical, glancing at me, flashing a cheeky smile. "So we'll have to find some other way of binding you."
"Right." Somewhat recovered, to the point I don't shiver at the implied threat slash promise. "Well," finding a wink from somewhere, "I look forward to it."
"Definitely." Licking her lips, the pure blatant seduction of it making me shiver.

Not so calm after all it seems.

"Ready?"
"You want me to change?"
"Can you change here?" Something of the challenge in her voice, how brave do you feel, Plymouth?

"Sure." An easy shrug, even slightly off balance by the oncoming surrender I'm still me enough to be completely uncaring regarding public nudity. Porn tends to burn that particular worry away, the constant shoots in front of strangers, site owners you've only just met.

I could, easily and without a care, walk down the street naked.

So, with Foxe rather obviously watching, perving, I strip naked: jeans and jacket, boots and vest top, and lingerie. Everything off, replaced by the outfit I've filled almost my entire saddlebag with.

A Domme outfit, as requested. Everything in black and everything skintight, starting with something not unlike a swimsuit, a one piece, high waisted with a thong like crotch to show off my entire thigh and waist, sleeveless and high necked with a two way zip running from neck down and under to the top of my butt.

Over the elbow gloves, and knee high lace up boots, the heel quite high, the ensemble allowing only occasional slashes of inked- or not -skin to show.

Added to all this I buckle on a harness, twin black leather belts running a circuit each below, and above my F cups, squeezing them. Down my sides a further matching pair run, linked to a final matching set around the upper thighs.

Finished, zipped up and buckled in I turn to find Foxe naked, waiting. Small shiver from her as our eyes lock and it's good to see she's not entirely immune to the power exchange sloshing and warring between us.

Without a word, nothing bar another lick of her lips, Foxe backs up against the cross. And without a word I lock her to it.

She wasn't lying, the cross has clearly been custom built, modified for her fourteen curves. Up and down the length are steel half hoops, hinged open and waiting, each one closing with a click, followed by a further click as I set the appropriate padlock, that each time sets my heart racing that little bit faster. Each half hoop is a snug almost pinching tight fit against Foxe's limbs and body.

Wrists, down to elbows next, her arms reaching upwards and spread. Ankles, knees and upper thighs, legs similarly spread, body following the X shape of the cross. Waist, and neck.

Foxe completely immobilised. Helpless. Mine.

For the shoot.

"I could." Teasing, feeling the adrenaline like a thrum in my chest, dangling the gag as I stand before her. "Gag you and keep you."
"True." And her far away, quiet tone says she's thinking it too, that a part of her is daydreaming it too. "But," small smile, and a cheeky knowing wink, "then I wouldn't be binding and fucking you, after."

Eye contact, and despite her being bound I can feel the dominance leaking across the space, the shared knowledge that I've signed, that I. Have, to free her and submit.

Opening her mouth, camera's already running, checked, and later Foxe will edit all this out.

Small muffled moan from her as I lean in, latex clad breasts brushing her own naked far smaller humps, buckling the gag tight.

Brief eye contact as I pull away, before turning and walking away, out of shot.

Ready.

Striding back into frame, thoughts of after forgetten, put aside. Game time, game face, nothing else matters but the shoot.

Riding crop in hand, black leather grip and same colour pole, red looped crop at the tip. Walking a circuit of Foxe, trailing the crop across her skin, upper thighs as I pass in front.

Foxe, whimpering, squirming and I pause behind her, facing the camera set up to film directly in front. Smile.

Continue my walk, winding up back in front, facing her my back to one camera but there are others. Stepping in close I trail the crop all the way up her left side, slowly, ankle to finger tips and back down. Catching the sideswell of her small breasts each time, completely missing her pussy.

Foxe moans, wriggles. I smile, tongue flicking out to run slowly across my lip.

Repeating the same bottom to top and back slow pass on her right side.

Stepping closer still and leaning in, taking her left nipple in my mouth, licking and nipping at it with my teeth, crop rubbing at Foxe's pussy lips whilst she moans like begging. More? Or stop? It makes no difference.

Backing off, spending over a minute idly aiming at and striking her nipples and pussy with the crop, mostly gentle. Mostly. Foxe whimpering, yelping and flinching at each harsher contact.

And then I fetch the clamps. Dark metal clips, spring loaded and harsh. Each nipple in turn I gently kiss, sucking on each to encourage them out, before taking hold between thumb and finger, applying the clamps left then right.

Spending a half minute afterwards, kissing Foxe passionately on her gagged lips whilst slipping and drilling fingers inside her pussy, forcing and urging her towards an orgasm only to step back, a cheeky smile and wave as she- clearly -gets close. Sauntering off out of frame.

Leaving her to stew for a minute, uncomfortable, helpless and waiting on me. More wriggles, more begging moans.

Please, come back. Please, help me.

Wand vibrator in hand I return, wasting no time. The agreed script had called for teasing, for light playful torture and at least one denied orgasm. After which I was to use the vibrator now in hand to end things, her.

Quickly.

Like me Foxe screams as she climaxes, a combination of the vibrator grinding against her pussy and my flicking and tugging on her clamps, body bouncing and pushing at the numerous steel hoops, eyes wide, panting.

Seeming to deflate in the aftermath, sinking within herself, almost wilting as I bestow a final gagged lips kiss before leaving.

Waiting a full minute, unsure how much post climax footage Foxe will want? But, wand replaced I step back in, removing the clamps first then the gag, finally unlocking all the hoops, freeing Foxe, helping her climb off the slightly backwards leaning cross and stand.

Shaking herself out, crossing the room to a hook beside the door and collecting, slipping on an upper thigh length black silk bathrobe with an octopus silhouette in yellow on the back, criminally short and only loosely belted closed over her nakedness.

Coming back towards me, and in my own post bondage, post shoot funk it takes me until after she's finished to realise, Foxe acquiring a black leather dog collar and leash from somewhere, stepping in close to buckle me in. Stepping back and giving the- my -leash a firm tug.

"Wha...?"
"Come on."
"But." Reaching up, half reaching. Stopped and hands falling obediently to my sides as Foxe tugs again. Harshly.

"Time to fulfill your contract." Stepping back, a single firm nod as I begin moving before the leash is pulled taut, following her. Unbound, except for the contract, doing as I'm told, as I'd agreed.

Already, as we climb the stairs, feeling the growing tingle of nerves and fear, mixed through with excitement.

[slackywacky]

Another nice chapter. Love reading about Plymouth's experiences. Please keep writing.

[RopeBunny]

Love reading about Plymouth's experiences. Please keep writing.

Intend to

Thanks, I love writing her, Plymouth/Brooke and those various adventures and dilemmas she stumbles through

[BlissfulMisery]

And, thank you for commenting on this

Figure it is only fair I show at least a little appreciation for the effort that goes into it

regardless of how much I enjoy Brooke and her trees and her bikes.

Even as you take many opportunities to poke fun at her about it (at least about the trees)?

Probably nothing more then a case of my attempting to reintroduce an old character, that some of you may know, but not others, attempting in a short span and without becoming a bore, not wanting to resort to list writing and so on.

Fair enough!

-

and the typical child drawn facade presented to the road

Liked that bit of description - very evocative but to the point.

And Foxe certainly knows how to say hello! Unfortunately (or fortunately) for Plymouth, she seems to very keenly understand exactly who she is dealing with.

Also seems like the site name was a bit of not-so-subtle foreshadowing

"I thought."

"Thought?" Arms crossed, smile like she knows every fucking thing on her face, word like a small prod after my own simply dried up. Died.

Obviously their whole interaction was quite charged, but again, a lot unsaid/implied here that really gets the point across.

except below it in red pen Foxe has scrawled.

'I'll be Foxe's bitch after, she can bind me and fuck me until she gets bored.'

"I...."
"You." Coming around the table and it's all I can do not to run. Not to flinch. "What?"

Fantasy becoming reality, with all the consequent nerves and second guessing.

Overall really enjoyed the dynamic between them. As Brooke puts it, 'breaking all the rules', but in all the right ways that Plymouth was secretly hoping for.

Unbound, except for the contract, doing as I'm told, as I'd agreed.

A convenient excuse

[tickletied84]

Welcome back Plymouth/Brooke! Love the maturation of both sides of the character - Plymouth helping with new businesses, and Brooke educating the next generation!

[RopeBunny]

Fantasy becoming reality, with all the consequent nerves and second guessing.

Overall really enjoyed the dynamic between them. As Brooke puts it, 'breaking all the rules', but in all the right ways that Plymouth was secretly hoping for.

Indeed and this- in part -is one of the reasons I perhaps overdid the mentions of Plymouth's 'secret' before, because i knew this was coming and so wanted to set the notion up.

Glad the dynamic worked well, will be interesting to see what you (anyone ) makes of the second part, below.

Love the maturation of both sides of the character - Plymouth helping with new businesses, and Brooke educating the next generation!

Definitely, moving the character on, thought the twin aspects there worked well too

Thought it fit in with Plymouth's attitude to be willing to help a new site.

[RopeBunny]

004.

Upstairs we go, one flight, two. Foxe leading, the stupidly high hem of her loosely belted black silk robe swishing, the occasional tease of her pussy, flashing in and out of view from behind.

A pussy I took, forced through orgasm not fifteen minutes ago, for a shoot.

A shoot Foxe altered the contract of, scribbling her wish to dominate, to bind and fuck me until. Quote unquote, I- she -gets bored. A total and blatant disregard of the rules, of etiquette, and I've still no clue why she did it. But I do know why I agreed.

My secret most dangerous wish, and fantasy: that a shoot will turn real, that I'll be kidnapped. Which, collared, being led upstairs, looks to be happening.

Upstairs there's a small corridor, three sides of a square around the stairs. Foxe leads me towards and through the end door, into a bedroom.

"I'm supposed to be spending the night with friends."
"You don't get to talk." Copying my casual tone, something I felt needed to be said but there's a slight added edge to Foxe's retort. Dropping my leash and wandering across to a drawer unit.

Returning with a full leather head harness, black ballgag nestled within. Not asking, Foxe simply walking forward like an unstoppable force, leading with the gag and the submissive in me, collared, wilting, opens wide.

Head jerked and tugged around as Foxe works, buckling me in: around the head and over the top, under the jaw, hair becoming plastered in places, messy in others.

"You don't get to talk." Stepping back, removing my collar and letting it fall. "And now you can't."
"Sssrrrgggmmm." Like a low moan, like acceptance. Fighting to stay still and not fidget, eyes roaming the room.

A small bare space, dominated by a King sized wooden framed bed, a low simple thing without either foot or head board. Aside from the window there's nothing else adorning the walls, and aside from the bed the only furniture is that drawer unit.

A bare, unlived look and yet I'm certain this is Foxe's actual bedroom and not some other place to shoot bondage for her site.

I'm still wearing my shoot outfit, my Domme outfit, feeling anything but. Latex one piece, thong like crotch and a two way zip running from buttcrack to a high neck. Sleeveless, complemented by latex over the elbow gloves and heeled lace up knee high boots. A belt harness which brackets my F cups and upper thighs.

Which Foxe, working quickly removes, tossing aside.

"It'll get in the way of the ropes."
"Pppfffsss." I nod, still fighting to stay still, drool I can't stop finally erupting out the bottom of my gagged mouth, running down my chin.

Foxe, returning back to me with a whole armful of rope, stopping, head cocked. Dropping the rope and stepping in to lick up my spillage. The intimacy of the act, her silk clad small chest brushing my latex covered canons and I almost sigh.

Behind me, unaware she'd moved until I feel the rope pinching. Coarse, rough, the texture unforgiving when it does contact skin, Foxe merciless in her binding, yanking my limbs around, not playing.

Or, playing, but it's a specific kind of playing: real bondage, for keeps.

Wrists, followed by elbows, arms locked side by side and chest forcibly thrust out. Foxe stepping in close, very close, reaching around often as she binds my chest, over and under my F cups, up each side plunging beneath the armpit and behind the neck.

Standing so close my hands are pressed against her crotch, an invitation? I reach out, finding my way blind, gently scratching her nest of wiry black pubic hair and.

"Gggdddssssffff." Sudden harsh stinging pain, fire briefly blooming on my right butt cheek. A slap, the thong like design of my one piece leaving half of each cheek exposed.

"No." Snap of command, God, or Goddess, laying down her law. "You don't get to touch me without permission."
"Mmmsssrrr fffssssnnnttt." Nodding, sorry. Foxe's dominance of me, the slap, her tone, the whole only serving to ramp up my desire, my fear slash love of what's happening.

"On the bed." Coming around beside me, chest harness clearly finished. Clicking her finger and pointing. "Kneel, legs spread."
"Ffftttmmm." Complying, climbing up and shuffling across to the centre, kneeling legs bent double and spread wide, crotch almost touching the purple duvet covered mattress.

Foxe binding each leg separately, upper thigh to ankle, digging in hard where the rope touches skin up near my crotch. Adding extra rope to my wrists too, wrapping my waist, further pinning my arms to my back.

Kneeling in front of me and I feel all kinds of disconnected, having to blink to focus on Foxe, her smile, the ropes and the echo of that slap still bouncing around inside. The blurred lines between shoot and not, that this isn't and yet there's a signed contract downstairs allowing her to treat me as she pleases.

A signed shoot contract.

Holding up a small silver bullet shaped vibrator, kissing the smooth surface before flicking it on. Tracing the shape of my lips, each breast and tapping my nipples in turn, the low barely there buzz still managing to elicit a low moan from me.

Reaching down, hearing the zip and feeling cool air brush across my already wet pussy. Foxe's hands, her touch, slipping the bullet inside me, pushed and nestled within my centre before the zip is closed.

Adding a crotch rope, tight around my skinny ten waist, plunging underneath and up the back, yanked to the point it burrows up into my buttcrack, pressing firmly against and half invading my pussy. Pressing the latex, which in turn presses the bullet, pinning it in place.

"You won't cum." Standing, the move unnoticed, off the bed and smiling down, arms crossed beneath her half revealed small B cups. "I guarantee it."

"I'll return in an hour." Meeting my eyes, the smile on her face like victory. "By then you'll be begging me to end you."

Turning, walking out not waiting for a response, closing the door. Abandoning me.

What follows is pure tortured bliss. Horrible, but amazing. Frustrating, but incredible. Because I want so badly to orgasm, even without the bullet buzzing away at my core there's all the ropes, the gag. My submission and capture, my abandonment is already enough of a thrill to leave me in ecstasy.

But tight ropes alone aren't enough to climax, and unfortunately the bullet is set to it's lowest setting, a constant buzz, pressure against my clit and pussy, pleasure I can feel, and enjoy, but nowhere near hard or deep enough to bring me to and over the peak.

A fact Foxe clearly knows.

The passage of time bringing only growing frustration. No matter what I do, I can't heighten the buzzing. However I lay, whatever position I struggle into: on my back and gyrating at the ceiling, on my belly crotch pressed to the mattress.

Nothing. Just that constant low buzz, whether I lay still or fight the ropes, seriously attempting freedom if only so I can masturbate, desperate to climax. Moans becoming screams of frustration, becoming begging, pleading with a Domme who isn't here.

Secretly loving every fucking minute of it, the torture and denial, the complete and total helplessness, proven time and again as I fail time and again to slacken or fight free of a single rope. The gag, straps biting in either side of my jaw, drool running freely soaking Foxe's bed. Thrilling in my willing surrender, in how completely Foxe is dominating me.

Using me, and there's no script here, no laid out terms and rules, no set limits or safety net for me.

"Ssssssrrrrrrmmmmm." Turning my head to find Foxe, suddenly as if by magic and I'm clearly too fogged and lost to of heard her enter. She's standing beside the bed, enjoying the sight of me.

"Dddfffrrrrppp." Rolling onto my side, facing her legs spread wide, pushing my crotch repeatedly at Foxe. "Ssslllmmmnnn."
"Having fun?"
"Rrrtttmmmmggg."
"Should I leave, then?" Easy smile growing. "Give you another hour."
"Mmmmdddd." Shaking my head, more crotch thrusts. Begging all whilst the bullet continues to buzz and frustrate. No, please. "Ttsssfff pppgggrrrmmmn."
"Ready for me?"
"Dddfffsssmm." Yes, nodding, tone gone soft and submissive, the begging, Foxe's control flicking all kinds of internal switches.

Lighting me up, causing all kinds of tingles and pleasure to race through me.

Foxe comes in, climbing atop the bed robe falling open, wild untrimmed pussy and small chest revealed. My crotch rope is removed, the latex one piece unzipped from neck all the way down and round, teased and tugged open, parted and tucked to completely expose my breasts, pussy and butt.

The bullet is removed.

"Better?"
"Fffgggggmmmm." Nodding, still on my side legs spread wide, Foxe kneeling in front down at my crotch, one hand on my pussy fingers slipped back inside, seeking out and gently beginning to tease at my clit.

"Good." Leaning in, bending, tongue flicking slowly out to run across the closest of my nipples, which instantly hardens.

"Say. Thank you."
"Ttfffrrrk." Forced to stop, overwhelmed by her licking the other nipple. "Rrrpppgggmm."
"Foxe."
"Rrrggmmmddsssss." Expecting something else: Goddess, Mistress, libido even taking a brief nosedive as I hate those words, always sounding forced, too much too soon in most cases.

Spiking just as quickly though, excitement. Foxe treating her name like a weapon, thrusting the fact of it at me, respect me her tone demands and the wetness in my pussy proving my enjoyment at being told my place in things.

"Say." Planting a kiss now, to each in turn. "Please."
"Ffpppllggssss." Fighting for breath. "Rrggmmddsssssssss."

Watching, helpless and biting down on my gag to silence the hiss of pain as Foxe adds a large metal clamp to each erect nipple.

After which, a combination of her quickening thrusts and flicked finger inside me, plus the crop I wasn't even aware she'd bought to the bed, repeated stinging or gentle swipes to my exposed buttcheeks, my breasts. Occasionally using the crop to tease at and flick my clamped nipples.

Foxe pushes and bullies the orgasm out of me, going harder as I scream, body locking save one leg which won't still, bucking and she doesn't relent, won't allow me the enjoyment of a come down instead the crop comes down harder, again and again striking my butt whilst her fingers pinch at my clit.

Destroying the orgasm, ruining it turning pleasure into a sense of loss. Ruling me, controlling even that part of me and my submissiveness eats it up, loving how total Foxe's ownership has grown.

Not stopping.

"Again." Crop discarded, slipping into and buckling on a fake cock. A large thick black strap on, rolling me onto my back and kneeling between my legs.

Sudden pressure of Foxe's tongue, slipping inside me whilst her hands reach up, flicking and teasing at, jerking my clamps.

"Again." Pausing, coming up for air and looking me in the eyes.

"Rrrgggggmmdddssssss."
"Cum for me." Slapping my left breast. "Again."

And following my second orgasm Foxe immediately buries the strap on inside my pussy, ramming herself against me like an attacking army, no quarter given. Not allowing me to gently come down, instead I'm, barely off the peak and now turned around, climbing again.

Body helpless, bouncing breasts flopping and rolling, fighting to breathe, panting and moaning, louder and faster.

Foxe thrusting into me at the point of orgasm, holding the position cock buried up to the hilt. Filling and impaling me, leaning in to cover my gagged lips with kisses whilst I scream into her mouth. The combination pleasure and pain, the extremes she's pushed and forced me through bringing tears spilling from my eyes.

Floating, only vaguely aware of Foxe moving me, working. Only surfacing some time later, finding myself free of clamps and the harness gag, free of rope.

Sort of.

I'm naked? Clearly I'd been so far gone, so removed from current reality that Foxe was able to unbind and gag me, strip me of clothes and boots, only to place me back into helplessness because, coming to, swimming up and I'm laid in bed, actually in bed the soft duvet pulled up, covering. Laid on my side, wrists and ankles rope bound, a front variant hogtie, legs bent up everything locked out at crotch height.

Something that tastes like cloth filling my mouth, something that feels like thick tape wrapping my head, holding it in.

Pressure of Foxe behind me, spooning, feel of her nipples stabbing my back, one hand resting on my breast, her other on my crotch. Tickle of the strap on, rubbing at my pussy lips, insistent, demanding entry I'm- bound and gagged -in no position to refuse.

"Rrrggmmmddsssss." Leaning back into her, stretching, voice a low submissive moan. "Pppfffmmmss."
"Welcome back." Soft kisses on my neck, increased pressure on my breast, squeezing. "Good of you to kinda pass out, gave me the chance to strip and change your gag."
"Gggdddrrrr."
"Do you approve." Shifting, voice whipser like directly into my ear, finger flicking and rolling my nipple, driving me crazy. "I raided the laundry, you're eating a half dozen of my dirty thongs."

The humiliation hitting like a spike, Foxe's smug tone and the realisation of the strange odour and taste: her sweat and juices, in my mouth. A truly massive power trip on her part and far from disgust instead my pussy throbs, nipples tingling at what a rope slut I am, at how Foxe is using and abusing me, doing as she pleases.

"Dddrrrssssmmm."
"You like it." Beginning to gently tease at my clit, still gripping my breast, pinning me to her and no doubt she can feel my gentle insistent gyrations, pushing myself back against her and that thick fake cock. "Don't you. Slut."
"Sssfffmm." Yes, the acknowledgement bringing a blush Foxe can't see, for all I'm not shy, not ashamed of what I am.

A rope slut and surrender junkie.

It's been a long time since anyone actually took advantage of me to this degree.

She fucks me, but this time it's all different. The power is still hers, I'm tightly bound, gagged, helpless and undeniably Foxe's toy to use and abuse, but there's no pain this time, no forcing.

Slow, sensual. Matching my gentle rocking, reaching down and slipping the thick rubber cock strapped to her waist inside my pussy. Planting what feel like endless soft kisses across my neck whilst she fucks me, a slow but insistent in out in motion, all the way each time and from the beginning I'm practically whimpering in pleasure, putty in Foxe's hands.

Hands on my breasts, reaching out and around not only pinning me to her but teasing too, rolling my nipples between thumb and finger, gently tugging at them, using her whole hand to massage and fondle my F cups. Often reaching down with one hand, finding my swollen throbbing clit and spending long moments applying pressure. Driving me insane with lust and want.

Increasing her tempo, after an age, Foxe bridging the gap between drawn out pleasure and climax, nudging me towards the peak, beginning to whisper in my ear, bondage talk, dirty talk. Calling me her slut and whore, promising she'll keep me bound all. Fucking, day. Talking of the cage downstairs, promising to lock me away tonight, that I belong to her now.

All but calling me her slave without actually using the word.

My pace matching hers, my moans becoming louder, trying through the dirty thongs filling my mouth to agree, to say yes. Do it, use me. Keep me. Yes.

Cuddling me afterwards, through the comedown, tip of the rubber cock resting pressed against my pussy lips, Foxe reaching around from behind one hand on my breast the other my belly.

Holding me against her.

Freeing me, sending me, confused and uncertain because I really thought we weren't done, that she'd meant at least half of those whispered threats and promises?

But apparently not, Foxe shows me out with almost casual indifference, shutting the door on at least a hundred questions, my insides like a painful knot of what the fuck just happened.

[BlissfulMisery]

Indeed and this- in part -is one of the reasons I perhaps overdid the mentions of Plymouth's 'secret' before, because i knew this was coming and so wanted to set the notion up.

Ah, once again the not-so-subtle foreshadowing

-

"I'm supposed to be spending the night with friends."

Feels like something she should have thought about before signing

(Yes aware that it is very much a fake protest as one tends to do, just poking fun)

Using me, and there's no script here, no laid out terms and rules, no set limits or safety net for me.

As mentioned before, quite the fantasy she is getting to live through.

Freeing me, sending me, confused and uncertain because I really thought we weren't done, that she'd meant at least half of those whispered threats and promises?

But apparently not, Foxe shows me out with almost casual indifference, shutting the door on at least a hundred questions, my insides like a painful knot of what the fuck just happened.

Like the abrupt ending - gets her confusion across quite well.

Glad the dynamic worked well, will be interesting to see what you (anyone ) makes of the second part, below.

Being honest, reading that originally made me think you were about to flip the script somehow - was waiting for the other shoe to drop for most of it. But I suppose you meant more in the sense of the overall dynamic, and in that regard, I would have to say 'a seamless continuation from the first part'. Foxe's World indeed, and Plymouth is lucky to be living in it

[RopeBunny]

Ah, once again the not-so-subtle foreshadowing

Might not always be obvious but I do love some foreshadowing

As mentioned before, quite the fantasy she is getting to live through.

Freeing me, sending me, confused and uncertain because I really thought we weren't done, that she'd meant at least half of those whispered threats and promises?

But apparently not, Foxe shows me out with almost casual indifference, shutting the door on at least a hundred questions, my insides like a painful knot of what the fuck just happened.

Like the abrupt ending - gets her confusion across quite well.

Fantasy, everything she's- Plymouth -wanted and daydreamed after, but followed by that, as you say, abrupt ending. Confusion, not so clean cut.

Plus it gives me an angle to write: Foxe not simply serving up exactly what Plymouth wants/was expecting.

Glad the dynamic worked well, will be interesting to see what you (anyone ) makes of the second part, below.

Being honest, reading that originally made me think you were about to flip the script somehow - was waiting for the other shoe to drop for most of it. But I suppose you meant more in the sense of the overall dynamic, and in that regard, I would have to say 'a seamless continuation from the first part'. Foxe's World indeed, and Plymouth is lucky to be living in it

Meant it to be seamless, so good

Mostly my dropped comment was by way of invite, for comments in return.

[Solarbeast]

These stories you continue to post on this site are always my favorites. I can't wait to see what's coming for Plymouth.

[RopeBunny]

These stories you continue to post on this site are always my favorites.

Good of you to say so

I've got plenty planned here, we're basically running through part one at the moment, just me having fun and enjoying writing Plymouth and TUGs, part two, when it happens, that'll be the main story arc.

[RopeBunny]

005.

"The sun was shining on the sea, shining with all his might. He did his very best to make the billows smooth and bright. And this was odd, because it was, the middle of the night."

Words coming out too fast, slightly slurred by drink, pauses in all the wrong places but. Glancing left, right. Smirking, feeling very clever as Hayley- to the left -tuts, her apparent long suffering of us younger people spoiled by a smile. As Todd- to the right -laughs, despite I doubt, due to being younger then me, it's unlikely he knows the quote I'm about to deliberately mangle.

"The time has come, the Walrus said to talk of many things. Of-"
"-Brooke."
"Of speed and bikes and sealing. Um."

Waving my hand as though banishing the word, my thought to speech train having been derailed by that word: sealing. Because sealing leads- for me, mentally -to binding which leads to bondage which leads far away from here.

And I want to be here.

"Of friendship and our Three King's." Lifting my glass, the eight other bikers sharing the table all clinking or otherwise smashing glasses, a massed crash in the centre.

"And why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings."

The last bringing a scattering of laughter: pigs, occasional slang for the police and they'd need fucking wings to catch us.

"To bikes." Standing, on a roll and very drunk, voice rising to a screeching shout that carries over the jukebox and general background murmur. Glass raised high. "To freedom and open roads."
"Aye." Adrian, standing across from me the accent of his long since left homeland always more obvious once the drink begins to flow, Hayley's husband and an original King: imposing, bulky frame and faded ink covered arms, an impressive mostly grey beard. "To fucking bikes."

His own shout and raised glass like a carrion call, bringing others, different patches and affiliations but still bikers, still family. The whole bar coming to it's feet in fits and starts, glasses raised, the toast chasing laps of the large dimly lit space, mixed odours of sweat and meat and beer and engine oil.

Feeling the buzz of belonging, like warmth, like a hug.

I didn't intend becoming a biker, unlike porn it wasn't something I talked about with my best girlfriends whilst we marched through comprehensive school.

Okay, I didn't exactly shout my bondage model plans for world domination for all to hear either, but I did share them with those few closest to me, and being the very best of friends they understood, encouraged.

My first real girlfriend was a biker, and when love blooms interests become shared, her gang became my gang.

And every fucking day it sucks that she's gone, dying young, on a bike of all the stupid fucking ways to go. And it sucks even harder, worse, because the injuries sustained in my own crash mean large chunks of my memories are nothing more then gaping chasms of emptiness.

There's so much I've forgotten, about her, and so much more besides.

Still, though.

Yes, an actual gang, a bunch of rowdy noisy tearaways, an uncontrollable speeding mass of don't fucking mess with us. The Three King's, whose patch I proudly wear: three chess piece kings, representing the founding members, two white a single black on the right side, the angle somewhat low, looking up the pieces looming.

Despite that quite horrible accident I still ride, swapping out the- wrecked -custom chopper for the often terrifying thrill of a racer. A series one, 99 plate Hayabusa, a God amongst bikes. Having bought mine in pieces, necessitating the apparently scandalous yet I couldn't ride it without rebuild using custom parts, underneath a matt black fairing lurks more power then could be called sensible. A single Japanese character in luminous green sits large across the left flank.

Hayabusa: Falcon, it means. Because to ride it is to soar. Uncatchable.

Why are we all here? Not just King's but others, this bar and plenty more in the surrounding area, numerous hotels, all full of bikers, gangs and lone riders, couples, even families. A pilgrimage to Birmingham, for one of the largest bike shows around. A chance for me, long since moved away from the King's stomping ground, to enjoy the company my hermit like existence in Owl Wood is sorely lacking.

Those of us who opted to stay overnight all booked the same hotel, and alongside three dozen others, plus a scattering of regulars, we've mostly taken over 'The Ducks Back' pub, a ten minute wander from the hotel and to those in the know, biker friendly.

Which means tolerant of the general noise, and occasional boisterous flair ups that never make it to actual fighting as we all get steadily drunk together.

Having arrived on the Hayabusa, of course, I've travelled light: bare minimum toiletries and no clothes beyond a change of tee and underwear, all stuffed into a khaki messenger bag. Nothing to wear to bed, and no spare shoes. Having left my jacket back in the hotel, like most due to the warm evening, I'm left in faded blue skinny fit jeans and black lace up steel toed boots. Plus my black 'Carnival of Chains' tee.

Most of the King's know what I am. I'm not shy, or ashamed, and besides word gets around I suppose. It's a fun occasional game of mine to attempt figuring out which of them either has or still does watch me. Plymouth, rolling and moaning and otherwise showing off my best bondage loving side.

The Carnival of Chains, my Carnival. My idea, birthed and with help made real, made flesh. Financial backing from a good, close friend who made his fortune in Logistics, alongside him another friend, a couple who run one of my favourite sites to work for, where all the bondage is just a little bit, strange.

Together we took Carnival from nothing more then a name and some vague sketches, transforming first an empty exhibition centre hall, followed the next year by numerous theatres across Europe, Carnival on tour. We made a beautiful fantastic thing, a crazy surreal dive into bondage, the exhibition hall a maze like exploration of some abandoned dark dream, the theatre smaller, more compact given we had to break it down and rebuilt it anew each week.

Regardless, both evolutions of Carnival were a sellout success, enough so to earn me my second 'Academie Internationale d'art pour Adultes' award, for Outstanding Contributions to the industry no less.

Yes, I was shocked too.

And yes, the Academy isn't French, just pretentious.

We sold souvenir programmes, fancy leather bound things bursting with photos and various observational short writings, contributed by models and crew. Those of us who worked Carnival have programmes within which the pages are full of handwritten messages and signatures.

Clothing too, hoodies and tees, 'Carnival of Chains' writ in gothic white script across the bust, tour dates- theatre -or opening schedule and location -exhibition hall -across the back. Those of us who worked Carnival had the added 'Crew' on the back, making our own clothes something special.

I like to wear mine, out in public and the vast majority haven't a clue, yet occasionally I'll get a knowing smile, a nod as the thought connects for a passer by.

But for the first time, tonight, wandering back from the bar fresh pint in hand I pass a thirty something lady: curvy with blonde hair pulled into a high tail. Stopped by a hand on my arm, turning to find her staring in open mouthed shock, gesturing silently with her own glass at my tee even whilst shock turns to a wide grin.

Turns out she used to run, still does run the lighting and audio rig for a theatre up north, a theatre we descended on with Carnival.

Small world.

Jody, with the 'Wraiths' and riding a sunbright yellow Triumph tourer. Nine of the gang burning up the long road south to attend the show, all of them booked into a close by hotel, though not the same as our 'Kings' choice.

Recognising the tee before realising it's me beneath, one of Carnivals founders and, heading outside, Jody smoking as we talk and reminisce, quickly managing to unearth several shared memories of setting up and running the show at her theatre, her remarking on how impressed she'd been, of me: so young and yet calling the shots, deferred to by the whole travelling crew.

From there we expand, trading industry stories from the amusing to the downright odd. Jody telling me of the time she, leaning over the board, slipping and knocking the bass gain to maximum and nearly, almost, blowing out half the theatres speakers. To which I, laughing, respond by telling how myself and another- cough, Fayth, cough -model had gotten slightly too wasted after a show, climbing into the wrong coach and stripping, before attempting to climb into already occupied beds.

Back inside for another drink and I fully expect Jody to drift away, for either her friends or mine to materialise out of the crowd.

But instead.

"What's bondage like?"
"What?" Actually spitting out a little drink, causing Jody to snort laughter, spitting out her own half swallowed mouthful.

"It's...." Fun? Amazing? Literally better then sex at times? Dangerously addictive?

"That good?" Laughing some more at my half open mouth, my drunken attempts at thinking.

"No." Taking a long swallow, after which I gesture with my glass, several waved circles. "It's. Strange." Strange? "The first couple of times." I nod, plunging on. "Feels different, not being able to move freely, letting someone get away with whatever they want. But...."
"But you like it?"
"Fucking," downing some more beer, "love it."

And the obvious, to me at least and internally im already busy stoking the fire, warming up feeling that small bubble of excitement form deep down. Clearly the next stage from here is for either Jody or me to- casually, innocently -suggest she give it a go.

With me.

Except at that point Jody's friends do magically- the world's worst trick -appear, and her drink reduced attention span effortlessly switches across to them, completing forgetting I'm even here.

And off they all go.

[BlissfulMisery]

Plus it gives me an angle to write: Foxe not simply serving up exactly what Plymouth wants/was expecting.

Ahh but then there is the eternal question of the difference between what one 'wants' and 'what is actually a good idea'.

Because in fairness, what Foxe did was simultaneously the logical/'realistic' outcome of the situation, and also probably ultimately a better result from Brooke's perspective (but maybe not Plymouth's )

Mostly my dropped comment was by way of invite, for comments in return.

Of course, the endless struggle

-

"The sun was shining on the sea, shining with all his might. He did his very best to make the billows smooth and bright. And this was odd, because it was, the middle of the night."

Certainly not your first Carrol reference, but always love seeing them! (Surprising exactly nobody, I suppose)

Feeling the buzz of belonging, like warmth, like a hug.

Oh no, now she is going to be thinking about bondage again

In more seriousness, a nice moment, and a great re-introduction to the other part of her life.

And yes, the Academy isn't French, just pretentious.

Mean

"What's bondage like?"
"What?" Actually spitting out a little drink, causing Jody to snort laughter, spitting out her own half swallowed mouthful.

"It's...." Fun? Amazing? Literally better then sex at times? Dangerously addictive?

Cannot argue with any of that, Brooke

Except at that point Jody's friends do magically- the world's worst trick -appear, and her drink reduced attention span effortlessly switches across to them, completing forgetting I'm even here.

And off they all go.

Wonder if this is a case of a fake-out, or if the proverbial seed has been planted. Could easily be either, given that you have mentioned that these chapters are more of a warm-up/easing back in before the 'real' plot kicks off.

[RopeBunny]

And yes, the Academy isn't French, just pretentious.

Mean

But fair

Wonder if this is a case of a fake-out, or if the proverbial seed has been planted. Could easily be either, given that you have mentioned that these chapters are more of a warm-up/easing back in before the 'real' plot kicks off.

Mostly Jody was there to help fill out and add interest to the chapter, I wanted/needed to bring up Carnival, the Acadamy, these aspects of Plymouth's past. But can't do such with a list of facts, and so Jody.

Who I don't expect to be using again.

As you said, and as I said, we're in the 'warm up' part still, plus the part where I just enjoy the writing, for awhile longer yet.

[RopeBunny]

006.

'Sorry.'

"For what?" Asking the empty, this particular patch at least and it better fucking be since I'm felling, wood. Paused for a brief rest and to check the blade sharpness, because I've been going at it awhile and consistent use does tend to blunt chainsaws.

That and occasional pinching, which can't be helped.

Head tilted back to down some water, sun in my eyes coming through the- lesser now -canopy, phone held low in my other hand, Foxe's one word email on the screen and I know what she's sorry for: taking apparent advantage, possibly she even thinks I was tricked into submitting?

Ha. Would be fun, to be genuinely tricked into tight bondage but. Ha, no, I'd seen her play coming, could've stopped it despite being caught by her hook.

I just hadn't wanted to, stop it.

"Nothing to be sorry for." Talking the words as I type them, wanting to prevent any worry or upset. "I had fun."

But I don't want to explain either, at times it's a somewhat badly kept secret: that I love being taken advantage of, love being bound and used. It isn't something I hide, once it comes out, but nor do I advertise my willingness. Foxe had- blatantly it has to be said -asked, pushed, and so I'd willingly folded.

But if she hadn't, pushed, I'd not of offered.

Satisfied, email sent and phone stowed. Back to work.

'I had fun too, and I'd worried, so it's really good to hear that you did. Plymouth. Still feel I should explain though x'

"With a kiss and everything." I exclaim, turning my phone to show Arthur, my constant mealtime and occasional evening companion.

Well aware of what it says about me, the sometime loneliness, that Arthur is a quite large purple octopus plush, with white underside, who sits- sprawls is perhaps the more accurate term -permanently across the small dining table from my own seat, aside from those times I dump him beside me on the sofa.

Arthur isn't his full name of course, that would be: Arthur. Scourge of the Thirteen Seas. Ruler of Atlantis, the Twisting Shadow.

Yes, I realise I have too much time and very little social life. What's your point?

It's closing in on a month since Foxe's shoot, and what came- me, ha -after, and two days following her first single word email I'm now looking at the follow-up.

"Explain what?" Sipping at my water, mostly all I drink day to day, saving coke and especially alcohol for special occasions or at least trips out. Phone on the table, fingers of my free hand playing a tattoo on the wood. Thinking.

"You asked, I said yes, so we played. What more is there?"

Arthur, perhaps wisely remains silent, and after a nod at his well thought out advice, I ignore it and type a reply much to the tune of my voiced thoughts, adding that if she feels the need to explain.

"Then okay."

Passing more days in Owl, keeping busy with the cedar stand, finishing off the felling, thining the herd, cutting and stacking logs into piles.

Unable to clear them as instead I wake up to an email, a report passed on by headquarters, relaying a visitor phone call and it seems some absolute wanker has dumped a whole load of unwanted furniture, and other household rubbish deep inside Owl, about as far off the tracks as you can go without actually having to take whatever piece of shit van you're driving off the tracks.

Clearing up takes the whole day, and the following morning I'm up and straight out, on the Hayabusa.

Off to a second shoot with Leon.

"No hotel this time I see."
"They're in Spain for the week." Holding open what must, because he'd said so in our email exchanges and why would you lie? Leon, smiling as I step through the door he's holding open. "Said I could go too, but...."
"But shooting bondage is so much more fun."
"Right." Nodding, shutting the door behind and gesturing for me to go first, through to the main room and.

"Kira," stepping closer as she stands, meeting her hand with mine, "right?"
"Hi, Ply.... Oh." That last a grunt of surprise as instead of shaking I pull her into a hug.

Skinny, eight or even a six though it's only from her legs I can tell, nothing but tiny black spandex shorts, paired with a red 'Swansea University' pullover hoodie, a baggy fit but I can't see much in the way of breasts beneath. Dark Asian skin, Filipino if I had to guess, from her features and accent. Hair straight and falling over the shoulders, black with a thick purple streak running down the right side front.

Having rode here I'm dressed in the usual: faded black jeans and lace up boots, white vest top beneath my King's jacket.

Phone, in my pocket vibrating. A message tone but having only just arrived I ignore it, for now.

"So you're Leon's friend?"
"I am."
"The porn star."
"Well." A nervous giggle, blushing but the smile leaking through is enough to show me I haven't just caused offence, that she volunteered out of, potentially, genuine interest and not for any reason I should be worried about.

Leon forcing her for instance.

"Not sure I can keep cutting you these deals." Turning to Leon, smiling too in baggy grey joggers and an oversized black Adidas tee. Casual and it's his house so why not.

"I know." Nodding, arms spread wide. "But it's appreciated."
"I'll bet." Shaking my head but smiling. Cheeky, asking me back but only if I'm able to discount him, again. For a two girl shoot with his willing to help friend. Kira. And it's lucky, for Leon that my Forestry Commission paycheck takes care of all the bills, that since my Plymouth earned cash is something I use for fun, I'm not chasing it the way most models likely are.

"Got to finish setting up, Plymouth."
"Right?"
"So." Already backing towards the doorway, the stairs I glimpsed walking through his house earlier beyond. "Half hour?"
"No rush." Offering a thumbs up. "Need a hand?"
"Only making my room, not look like my room." A laugh I join in on.

Understanding the need, not only to create an interesting backdrop to a shoot but in this case Leon likely doesn't want his bedroom being recognised. And how it: the fact he's shooting porn in their house, the chances of it getting back to his parents must be so small.

But even so.

"So." Wandering around the room, allowing my attention to drift from framed art- some kind of pre industrial farming scene, a horse drawn plough, cloud filled blue sky as backdrop -to a tall well stocked bookcase. "Happy?"
"Happy?"

Frowning when I turn to glance at her, sat on the three seater, in the middle hands together on her lap. Fiddling.

Nervous.

"Happy." Turning to face her with a nod, my own hands thrust into jeans pockets lest I begin waving them around. I'm terrible when it comes to constant gesturing whilst I talk. "Excited. Nervous. Scared shitless." Winking, injecting a little tease into my voice, dropping towards a whisper and I probably shouldn't but I can't help it.

"Horny?"
"Oh." Blushing, eyes dropping into her lap. "Well...."
"Sorry." Coming around the low table set in the rooms centre and dropping down beside her. "I've been doing this awhile, forget how it can be, for some."
"S'okay." Finding a small smile for me, a little sidewards glance. "Kinda scared shitless." Nervous laugh erupting before Kira slaps a hand over her mouth.

"It'll be fun, you know."
"Yeah?"
"Sure." Teasing all gone, trying to be helpful, to ease whatever nerves Kira has. "Can I ask why?"
"Why...?" Frowning at me.

"Are you trying to kick start a career?"
"In porn?" Shocked. "I. No, definitely not I." Laughing. "I don't want to be a pornstar, to be paid to fuck and-"

Eyes going wide and clamping a hand, again, over her mouth. Looking at me.

Looking if possible even more shocked as I laugh, a carefree unbothered sound because I am, unbothered. Liking what I do, having come to terms with the more sordid and blunt fact: yes, I technically do fuck for money.

But so what?

"I mean. Um."
"Isn't for everyone." Back under control though there's still a humour filled grin splitting my face. "Am curious why though? Seems quite a big deal, doing this for a 'friend'".

My use of air quotes, hands out of my pockets now and let loose, earning a smile.

"To help." A small shrug. "But to try it too."
"Got to be easier ways to try bondage then doing an actual shoot." Pushing, gentle and I'm sure she's figured it out but I still want to say it. "Those photos, video, stuff you did before and this one today, too. It's out there now, forever. People seeing you."
"I know." Nodding, and only an idiot wouldn't know. Small smile flitting across her face, turning mischievous.

"I grew up in the Philippines." Talking to her hands. "Strict, lots of rules and a different culture."
"I imagine so."
"Not a bad culture." Looking at me, seeking acknowledgment and I nod, understanding her point: different, but not hated.

"But here I can be free, here I can date."

A very pointed look at my chest, rather obvious anyway in a tight vest top, cleavage and even the sideswell clearly visible now my jackets off, discarded on an armchair. The unspoken point: I like girls, but back home I couldn't.

Possibly due to her parents, I don't ask.

"So." Because she'd drifted off, in truth she's still staring at my chest, somewhat lost. I nudge Kira gently and she blinks, gaze rising to meet mine and a small blush at what she now sees I've caught her doing.

Staring at my breasts, having admitted she's into girls. Not me specifically, just. Girls.

"These shoots are like freedom?"
"In a way." Nodding. "A chance to try new things, to help a friend and to see where the path may lead."

To which I nod, liking the metaphor, the imagery of walking a path, exploring by way of bondage.

"What?" Asking, leaning forward and turning to look at me, this crazy model who just randomly started laughing. "Plymouth?"
"You've done." Brief shake, mostly back under control. "Two shoots?"
"And a video."
"Three shoots." Nodding to accept the point. "All of which you were tied up in."
"And...?"
"Well," looking at my wrists, countless rope marks, all lost to time, "do you even know how to tie me up?"
"I mean," reaching out, almost tentative and stroking across my wrist, "how hard can it be?"

"What?" Because I'm laughing again, killing whatever intimacy definitely wasn't growing in the first place.

"Sorry." Stop laughing Plymouth, don't you know- fighting off the rising smirk -porn is supposed to be serious business. "For fun, probably it doesn't matter how you bind someone."

Although to me it definitely- the tighter it is, the more extreme, the better -does.

"But for a shoot." Nodding at the idea, waving a hand at the door. "Go bother Leon for some rope."
"Why?"
"So I can see how good a rigger you are."
"Rigger?"
"Just get rope." Giving Kira a forceful push upwards as she stands, helping. "Then you can show me your skills."
"On." Swallowing. "You?"
"Yes on me." Waving her off. "Go."

Taking the opportunity of solitude, and silence, to check the earlier alert.

'Probably, you'll think I'm crazy, or weird. But I dont care. (Okay I kinda do) I have this secret fetish, or fantasy. Something: in basic terms it revolves around having a Domme at my mercy, capturing and using her as I please.

And- almost -every shoot I'm the submissive, and I look at whatever Domme I've hired in, whatever model, and I wish and I daydream. But it's just a shoot, it's just a paid job. And of course they leave.

Except you. Plymouth, and if I'm crazy/weird surely you are too? (Sorry, but, are you?) Because I flirted, but this time there you were, the other, the hired Domme, flirting back and what's more letting me fulfill my secret desire. And I kept waiting for you to laugh it off and walk away.

But you didn't? Why didn't you leave? Why did you allow me to bind and control and use and fuck you?

And do you know it was the best most amazing thing I've ever done?

Honest xx'

"Rope." Followed moments later by impact, something bouncing off the sofa beside me but I'm too lost in Foxe's words, completely unawares in these moments of the real world turning around me.

Is she like my twin? Her own desire to control a Domme some warped mirror image of mine to be tricked into everlasting bondage?

Okay, not quite, but it feels bizarre to run across someone else with a secret rope based fantasy, one roughly as impossible to make real as mine. Hers to bind, mine to be bound, which is a mirror of sorts and-

"Plymouth?"
"What." Blinking, finding Kira settling next to me, again, two lengths of coiled light brown rope in hand. "Sorry. Miles away."

Stowing my phone, reaching out and Kira relinquishes one of the coils, running my hand down the length and feeling the familiar small internal shiver as my skin rubs against the coarse texture.

"Okay." Dropping the rope back into Kira's lap and bending forwards to loosen and remove my boots, kicking each off before sliding off and tossing the associated sock too. Unbuckling my belt, jeans shimmied halfway down my legs before I realise I'm being regarded with something like shock, and panic.

"Why are you stripping?"
"Only my jeans." Everything perfectly logical in my head. Voice calm. "Can't practice binding me otherwise."
"I." Staring, at my half exposed flesh and ink, the Lighthouse. Quite possibly staring at my bright red and quite small thong too. "Can't?"
"I'll be naked for the shoot." A shrug, having pulled off and tossed my jeans, facing Kira in nothing but vest top, bra and thong. "And you'll be binding against skin then, so."

So logically she should practice against skin. The fact I could've simply rolled up my jeans only now occurring, because I'm not shy, or embarrassed regarding nudity around strangers.

"Right." Nodding, small slow movements and she's still staring, at my crotch. "Well...."
"Here." Sitting back down on the far cushion, lifting up both legs and turning sidewards, dumping both feet- pressed together -into Kira's lap. "Show me what you can do. Bind my ankles."

She doesn't do badly. Admittedly there's a whole five minutes when Kira simply stares from my ankles to the rope now uncoiled in her hands, and back. But.

"S' too loose." Showing her by way of wriggling my legs, which within seconds have pulled and forced Kira's wrapped and only single knotted rope wide open. Her loops collapsing. "See."
"Oh?" Genuinely puzzled, my ankles still in her lap, reaching out to tug at the rope, which comes further apart.

"Want to try again?"
"Would it," frowning as she picks the loosened knot open, retrieving the rope, "help?"
"Depends." Seesawing my hand, struck by an idea.

"Hand me that."
"Oh." Blinking at the rope before holding it out. "Um, here."
"Thanks." Lifting my legs off her, swivelling around and shuffling slightly closer so I'm sat properly. "Now, give me yours and I'll show you."

Kira becoming like a statue, confused and possibly a little scared, despite she has been bound before. Into this I smile, leaning forward and hoisting her un-resisting legs up, ankles planted side by side in my lap.

"So." Doubling the rope, glancing up. "Watching?"
"What." Jumping, little jolt through her body. "Sorry."
"Just," offering her a smile, friendly, "watch me, and then you can try again."

Watching, intent leaning forwards one arm resting on the sofa back, head resting in that hand. And afterwards we swap back, Kira, free of the rope and my ankles back in her lap, me leaning back, legs bent to allow my head to rest on the sofa arm, one hand trailing patterns on the floor, the other resting on my belly.

Feeling the tug and pull as Kira works, and it certainly feels tighter. Better.

"Right."
"Right?"
"I." Lifting my legs up, dropping them. "Think so?"
"Well." Wriggling, immediately feeling a small amount of slack, which I know could be increased with struggling.

"Afraid not."
"No?"
"Almost got it." Sitting up but keeping my ankles on Kira's lap, studying her workings, nodding. Pointing whilst I explain. "You've got the beginning right, but the knots are too slack, and you could wrap between."
"How do I-"
"Pass me the other rope."

Step by step, Kira's ankles resting beside me as mine are beside her. Two times, all the way through before loosening and removing the ropes, going again. Showing her how, reversed direction which helps to tighten things up, following which you wrap and bind, finishing by going between the legs, helping to pinch everything, making the ropes snug against skin, loops you can't simply wriggle out of.

"Okay?"
"Wow." Wriggling her legs whilst simultaneously attempting to explore the freshly bound ropes around mine. "It's...."
"Tight?" Grinning, levering my legs up and over Kira's, off the sofa and standing. "New but amazing?" Arms out for balance, doing a half dozen small on the spot hops and laughing as Kira's eyes track magnet like to my bouncing F cups. "Fun?"

"It's." Swinging her own legs off the sofa, reaching up and I take hold her hand, pulling and Kira rises with a small yelp of shock, almost losing her balance, grabbing hold my shoulder with her other hand.

"New?"
"New bad and I hate it, or new brilliant fun?"
"Well." Finding a smile. "It'll be you tied upstairs anyway."
"Ha." Giving her a small push, laughing as with a gasp, hilarious open mouthed shock on her face Kira topples backwards arms windmilling.

"You'll be tied up too and." Tutting as I remember, silly Plymouth. "Not like this."
"Not like....?" Looking down at my ankles, at hers. Frowning before I see the realisation hit home. "Right."
"Indeed. So." Hopping closer. "Let's get out of these and try something else."

Something else being both of us sat on the floor and leaning against the sofa, one leg each extended and pressed against a low table leg, showing Kira first how to bind a single limb so you've still got plenty of rope left, two long ends trailing.

After which, step by step how best to wrap and secure limb to table two different ways: either ankle pressed to wood or ankle and wood far apart as with a spread eagle, where the aim is to secure the limb by way of reeling it in until both limb and rope are pulled taut.

Leon- looking highly amused -wandering in towards the end, passing no comment as to my state of half undress, stopping long enough to look over our work, giving a nod I- trained professional -don't need, but the extra praise helps Kira. Asking if we want a drink, continuing towards the kitchen when we both- nod and thumbs up -silently say yes.

Free from the clutches of the evil and dastardly table monster by the time he returns, we three share a drink and some small talk, after which it's time for the shoot.

Pausing downstairs a moment though after the others have moved ahead, pulling my phone free. Typing out a quick reply to Foxe, telling her I'd like to meet, to talk. Because I think we should talk, and I'd rather do it to her face although I've no clue what I might say.

What I might do, or agree to, or possibly- because she does have a submissive streak, the same way I have a dominant streak -what I might bully Foxe into agreeing to.

But I'd like to see her and find out.

[BlissfulMisery]

Mostly Jody was there to help fill out and add interest to the chapter, I wanted/needed to bring up Carnival, the Acadamy, these aspects of Plymouth's past. But can't do such with a list of facts, and so Jody.

Who I don't expect to be using again.

As you said, and as I said, we're in the 'warm up' part still, plus the part where I just enjoy the writing, for awhile longer yet.

Fair enough!

-

Arthur isn't his full name of course, that would be: Arthur. Scourge of the Thirteen Seas. Ruler of Atlantis, the Twisting Shadow.

I suppose you had to get the requisite title bloat into the story *somehow*

More seriously, thought the aside about her being lonely was a good one. Makes sense, of course - she spends most of her time alone in Owl Wood, and when she is meeting people, it is almost always for work, which does not really count.

Arthur, perhaps wisely remains silent, and after a nod at his well thought out advice, I ignore it and type a reply much to the tune of my voiced thoughts, adding that if she feels the need to explain.

Yep... far too lonely

But you didn't? Why didn't you leave? Why did you allow me to bind and control and use and fuck you?

A case of her probably already knowing the answer - but still wanting to hear it from Plymouth's mouth as it were.

And a nice scene between Plymouth and Kira - quite literally showing her the ropes

Reminds me of that strange feeling one gets when you realize you are mentoring someone on a subject that, while it may have been years ago that you started learning it yourself, still feels like 'you just started yesterday'.

Well maybe not a common feeling, but sure feels that way with Plymouth, even though it has literally been years (both in reality, and in-universe) in her case.

Time flies, I suppose.

[RopeBunny]

Arthur isn't his full name of course, that would be: Arthur. Scourge of the Thirteen Seas. Ruler of Atlantis, the Twisting Shadow.

I suppose you had to get the requisite title bloat into the story *somehow*

Can't help myself the naming is something I really enjoy thinking up.

And a nice scene between Plymouth and Kira - quite literally showing her the ropes

Indeed

Of course we've part two of this set-up to come, Kira and Plymouth doing the shoot together, following which no doubt, due to the messaging back and forth, we'll be heading off to see Foxe again

Basically, lots of fun things coming up.

[RopeBunny]

007.

Upstairs then, to Leon's bedroom and the shoot.

Negotiating a corridor full of furniture and other removed things, slipping and squeezing through narrow gaps and eventually through the open door, and I've no clue what it looked like before but.

"Looks good."
"Yeah?"
"Kinda spartan." Sweeping one hand out and round, nodding. "But the effect works, makes the room seem bigger."
"What I hoped."

Nothing but the bed remains, a large King, wooden framed with a low headboard and nothing at the other end. Positioned against one wall halfway along, flanked by a tripod to the right, another at the bottom, a couple of large ferns in pots sit close by the headboard on the left, adding a splash of colour.

On the wall above the bed hangs a framed A2 photo print, the kind you buy: sunset over a calm ocean.

"Bathroom if you need it?"
"What," pulling a face, cheeky and not the least annoyed by the fact that. "Back through the assault course?"

To which Kira, looking fidgety, giggles. I smile, shake my head.

"I'm good."

Taking the lead, hoping to inspire confidence, plus the fact I'm shameless, and not shy. Facing Kira and offering a small encouraging smile I pull off vest top and bra in one sweeping movement, casting both aside before stepping out of my underwear, tossing it after the rest.

Pleased to find Kira, as I toss the final item she's in the process of balling her hoodie up, which with a nerve filled smile, at me, she tosses towards the pile I'm making in a corner, out of shot. A white cropped top, skintight and clinging, plus her shorts and a black thong pulled off in one go, follow the hoodie, leaving her naked too.

Grinning too wide at me, fidgeting.

Definitely a six, slender limbs and there are curves to her, a distinctly feminine silhouette but the lack of muscle, plus small A cups, slight humps topped by budded dark nipples. Her skinny frame, that dark Asian tan Kira looks so different from toned and canon sized chest me, but no less stunning.

"Hey." Stepping in and touching her arm, making Kira flinch, swallow then giggle. Nerves.

"Sorry."
"You'll do fine." Slowly, yet deliberately stepping in some more, crossing from beside to in front of her, Kira like a frozen rabbit as I circle. Wanting to show her it's- I'm -okay, wanting to remove the awkwardness.

Slowly, carefully pulling her into an embrace, Kira stiff as wood, sharp inhale of breath as our breasts connect but I keep bringing her in, close, until our whole bodies are touching.

"Hug me back." Glancing across at Leon, who glances up from the tripod he'd been adjusting, clearly trying very hard to ignore the obvious: two naked women hugging in his actual bedroom. A genuine male fantasy happening just feet away. Not looking- beyond the no doubt occasional sneaky glance -though, offering me a thumbs up to which I nod.

"Please."

Brief shiver like a spasm, exhaling and with it Kira's stiffness melts away, her arms moving, slow and careful as though I'm a dangerous beast who may bite. Pulling me into a return hug, hands resting on the small of my back, head on my shoulder.

Deep, even breaths.

"Okay."
"Okay?"
"This is." Dropping one hand slightly, a single scratch at my butt cheek. Hastily stopped and luckily she can't see my smile. "Um, nice."
"Good."

"Could I...."
"If you want."
"But." Pulling her face clear, glancing, more like full on staring down at my breasts before looking back at me. Smiling. "I didn't say what."
"So." A shrug. "Do it anyway."

Taking advantage. Shamelessly flirting because we're naked, and cuddling, and the ropes are about to come out and I'm getting fucking horny.

Shifting my hands to grasp Kira's butt cheeks, squeezing both at the same time I tilt and bend down, in, planting a- not wet or sloppy but not a simple peck either -kiss on her lips.

Following me as I pull away, eyes half closed. Lost to it. Blinking at me and I smile, no malice.

"I'm trying to help you feel more comfortable." Neither of us has gone above a whisper the whole time. "To relax."
"So I could...?"
"Anything you want."

And these are things I've never done with another model, never hugged pre-shoot nor kissed. But Kira isn't technically a model, so it's okay to cross the line into intimacy. If it helps her relax.

Realising she's moving even whilst having those thoughts, feeling my wrists snared by Kira's firm grip and both being pulled around behind me, crossed and tugged further still, making my back arch, chest pushing into hers and a gasp escaping my lips at the sudden unexpected display of dominance.

Kira's lips locking onto mine moments later, taking a kiss. Lingering and damn she's good at it, catching my flicking tongue in her teeth, gently pulling at it causing a small moan, from me.

Stepping back and letting go, leaving me somewhat of a mess, pussy throbbing like a repeated kick, nipples erect and tingling. Kira, as we both skate eyes on and off each other, she's breathing a little fast, offering me a shy nervous smile and I respond by blowing her a kiss.

To which she giggles.

And it's time.

Aside from the two tripod cameras Leon has a third, which he'll be roaming with, getting alternative angles, close ups. Flicking everything on, a thumbs up Kira and me return.

Waiting, counting. Small nod to her and. Go.

Walking into shot, hand in hand towards the bed wearing matching half smiles. Happy, playful. Stopping on the far side from the tripod Kira walks a half circle of me, fingers trailing across my back and side, and once she's come from left to right I lean in, and we share a kiss.

Her hand- off script but I'm professional, so barely flinch -slipping around to my breast as we do, giving a gentle squeeze to the side. Nor do I outwardly react beyond an audible- for the camera's, I swear -sigh as, having pulled away Kira bends slightly, planting a kiss atop the breast she just groped.

Guiding me by way of gentle pushes up onto the bed, Kira walks out of shot whilst I lay down atop the white sheet devoid of either duvet or pillows, placing myself in the centre, on my back limbs resting legs slightly apart arms by my sides.

Kira returning with rope, I raise myself up on one elbow as she returns, eyes dancing at the sight, small smile, small nod and she grins back.

Freshly learned knowledge put to practice. With Leon hovering, leaning in often to better capture the action, Kira makes her way around the bed, binding me to it.

Although she doesn't follow a circular route.

"Arms first, then legs, but first grab hold of both and pull."
"Pull?" Confused. "Your legs?"
"To." Waving my arms, the words failing me and Kira smiling at the display. "Fuck off." Tossing my rope at her, which she catches, tossing back. "You'll see, just take the advice and follow through."
"Right."

Which she does, is. Small frown of concentration quickly leaving her face, falling into the bondage, everything coming naturally now, it seems, starting with my left wrist Kira wraps and secures one length of doubled up rope around the limb, knotting and tightening, coarse fabric pinching at my skin.

Biting my lip, Leon not filming me but his head jerks up as the small sigh escapes through anyway.

She's sat on the edge of the bed, top left corner my wrist in her lap but standing now, moving and coming down into a crouch, feeding the twin trailing rope ends through the slatted headboard, bringing them down beside the wooden leg. Wrapping rope around the leg, below the frame like I showed her on the table downstairs, using the frame like a buttress to stop the rope slipping upwards.

Pulling, and my arm being dragged and forced out straight. Feeling the slight strain, which doesn't slacken as Kira binds the rope to the bed leg.

Repeating the process on the right side: wrist in her lap, tied, before crouching she again wraps and loops below the frame, forcing my second arm out flat, straight. After which Kira walks half the circle back around, coming to and taking hold my ankles, giving them a hard yank which pulls my body down the bed towards her.

Or at least a little way, my journey halted, suddenly and a gasped hiss as my already straight arms lock out, yanked to the point the rope goes taut, feeling my muscles forced to tense.

And not that I- rope slut -would attempt to wriggle and bounce back up the bed, but Kira wastes no time in binding my ankles in mirror of my wrists, each one wrapped, each one tethered and reeled in towards it's corresponding corner bed post. The end result being me, roped into a very tight naked spread eagle, on my back. Legs forcibly pinned wide open, everything on display.

Kira looking down at me, at what she's done. A smile crossing her face and a single nod before she walks out of frame.

And Leon's phone rings.

"Shit."
"Problem?" Actually having to try really hard not to laugh. Mid shoot, trussed too tightly to even move, pretty fucking horny, and now from the scowl on Leon's face we may be calling it all off.

Shit.

"It's." Staring at his phone, the ringtone an insistent trumpeting, looking like he's genuinely considering tossing it out the window. "I've got to take this. Girls, sorry." Running a hand through his messy dyed blonde hair. "So. Um...."
"How long?"
"What?"
"How long," glancing at Kira, hovering, one hand covering her breasts as though the ringing phone has broken some spell, "will you be?"

"Twenty." Seesawing his hand. "Fuck, could be." Shaking his head. "I don't know, Plymouth. Fifteen? An hour?"
"Okay."
"I'll." Already having flicked the camera's off, advancing on me. "Call you. Or." A helpless shrug. "To reschedule."
"No." Smiling, failing to suppress a small shiver. "I meant. Okay, go take your call. I'll wait."
"You'll...."
"Wait."

"What?" Kira, hoodie already shrugged back on though bizarrely she's holding her tee, thong and shorts still in the corner. Looking from me to Leon, confused.

"Be a shame." Stretching, aware of how both Kira's and Leon's eyes instantly shift to track the lift and roll of my F cups. "To lose what footage we've already got. So." Gesturing with my face, like a flicked nod at the door. "Go, we'll press play again when you come back."
"Really?"
"Really." Giving him a smile, a touch of cheek mirrored in my tone. "Now go before I change my mind."
"Thanks Plymouth." Double timing it to the door, phone already beginning to ring a second time.

And yes, it is decent of me to remain bound, beyond the remit of the shoot.

And of course my being an obsessive rope slut, craving bondage like plants crave the sun, has nothing to do with it.

Stop laughing, don't you remember: porn is supposed to be serious business.

"I could." Glancing at the door, crossing the room and closing it yet still she's talking in quiet tones, like a conspiracy, like it's all a secret. "I don't mind freeing you."
"Don't you dare."
"But."
"I'm fine." Laughing, trying to cover how forceful my refusal had just sounded. "Seriously." Looking at Kira, standing beside the bed, arms crossed and still naked below the waist. Perfect view of her trimmed pussy.

My own letting go a little stabbing throb at the sight. Itching to be touched.

"I've spent whole nights bound and gagged." Grin surfacing at the memories, those I can still remember. "Twenty odd minutes or an hour here is nothing."
"Whole nights?" Climbing up onto the bed, one leg folded underneath her, body pressed against my waist head turned slightly to face me.

One hand coming to rest on my belly though I'd swear she doesn't realise she has.

"Really?"
"Yes." Combination of the images flowing behind my eyes, plus my current helplessness, causing my nipples to bud, to harden. I stretch, shifting left and right, small wriggles which cause Kira's hand to slide across then back atop my belly. "I don't just do bondage for shoots."

"So you." Taking her hand off my belly and I resist the urge to squirm at the lost contact, leaning forward and for some reason giving my closest wrist rope a tug. As though checking I'm still secure? "Like, bondage?"
"Yes."
"Being tied up?" Hand finding it's way back onto my belly by way of tracing a dancing line down my arm, across one breast narrowly missing the nipple and I still don't think she realises.

"So long as it's this tight." Smiling up at her, feeling comfortable, relaxed in Kira's company. Feeling flirty. "If you want me all night, you'll have to bind me so I can't escape."
"If I...?"
"Figure of speech." Having another stretch, limbs pulled inwards belly and crotch lifted, dropped.

"If. Someone." Winking at her, Kira blushing. "Wants to bind me, they need to do it fucking tightly so I can't run away."
"Feel like I should be taking notes." Actually flirting back, smiling through her blush.

"So what do I-"
"-Somone."
"I." Hand darting forward, displaying a sudden spike of confidence as she swats at my left nipple, hard enough to make me gasp. "What's allowed once I've got you tied up, Plymouth?"
"Brooke."
"Brooke?"
"If you're going to be kidnapping me," brief quiet laugh, Kira smiling, "you ought to know my real name."

"Depends on whether I'm gagged."
"Why?"
"Because if I'm gagged I can't tell you to stop."
"But." Thoughtful, her hand beginning to move, tracing idle swirling patterns across and over my belly, sliding occasionally up to skate close enough her hand brushes the underside of my breasts, and low to the point she grazes the edge of my pussy lips.

Her touch light, almost casual yet quickly becoming maddening in that it's missing those parts of me craving contact the most.

I struggle- ha -and try really fucking hard not to squirm. And mostly succeed.

"Surely there are rules?"
"Not if I'm gagged."
"But...." Looking at me, hand still tracing as though on autopilot. "I could do anything with you...."

Voice trailing off, eyes drifting away too and I fight to control the shiver that chases across me. The spike of adrenaline as I picture myself, mentally changing Leon's bedroom for some bland nondescript hotel room, or whatever Kira's room looks like, me tied to the bed as here, only now her prisoner.

An impossible, silly daydream. This girl I barely know, who I've no intention of swapping numbers with, she with her life and friends, me with my sometime lack of either.

Pulling her hand off me as though burnt, sudden thump as Leon shoulders his way back in, head bent and typing on his phone.

"Sorry." Stowing the phone and looking up, by which point a guilty looking Kira has climbed off the bed and put several metres distance between us. And me grinning at the fact.

All our talk forgotten in that sudden shift and loss of building intimacy.

"Sorted?"
"Temporarily." Grimacing, tossing his phone onto the pile of our clothes. "Finish shouting at them tomorrow."
"Right." Not going to dig for details, in the same way I won't bore either of them with my roughly sketched out plan for the next months work at Owl. "Well...?"
"Yes." Already at one of his cameras, looking from me to Kira. "If you ladies are ready to resume?"

Me, nodding. Eager. Kira, deep breath and a shiver before lifting off her hoodie, tossing it. One hand half moving to cover her A cups before dropping.

"Yes." A shy smile for me in the face of what comes next, a thumbs up for Leon. "Do we?"

Sweeping her arm up then back down in the direction of my stretched and rope pinned body, another shiver as Leon nods. Nerves and adrenaline warring, whilst within me there's only the second because whilst we're strangers about to become very intimate, it isn't anything I haven't done a variation of several times now.

Bondage sex, forced fucking. And I'd love to know who's idea this was, out of the two of them.

"It's okay." Smiling up at Kira, paused having climbed up onto the bed, kneeling beside me, her back to me one hand resting on my belly as though in need of the support. Or possibly my strength?

Head darting around at the sound of my voice, calm tones. Experience and again I've never done this before either, reassuring the other model. We all know pre-shoot what we're being asked to do, and, if you can't, don't want to or doubt your ability to see it through. You walk away, you don't sign on the dotted line.

But Kira isn't a model, so.

"It'll be." Grinning, all the confidence injected with about a mile of cheek, Winking and very deliberately running my tongue out and around my upper lips. Licking. "Fun."

Kira giggling, blushing. But she nods.

"Thank you."
"S' what I'm here for." Blowing her a kiss and- deliberately -shaking, F cups bouncing and rolling left to right. "Well, alongside being bound of course."
"Yes." Bold, rediscovering some confidence the hand on my belly skating down then up, sliding across my pussy lips as it passes. "Something you seem to do very well."

Another breath, appearing calm. Moving again, climbing, carefully ontop of me, glancing down and back as she moves, checking lest she accidentally kick me in the face. Kira, eventually and after a couple of final wriggles that spike my already climbing arousal up towards eleven.

Finally settled, laying on me, face down to my face up except her body reversed: Kira's head hovering above my crotch, her own trimmed pussy suspended inches from my face, the sight and smell of her filling my world.

Moving counter clockwise around his bed, Leon binds Kira in the same manner she'd trussed me in place: each limb wrapped in rope, the trailing ends of which then fed down and around the corresponding bed post, leg, wrapped and yanked tight and knotted below the frame. He makes Kira into an upside down and back to front mirror of me. Pinning her above me.

Pinning her pussy above my face, my own already wet and throbbing pussy below hers.

Gagging us, Leon showing his inexperience, forgetting and so he has to basically lean all over Kira's back and butt in order to reach and fumble to get mine on, her own easier to apply. Ring gags, jaws forced wide by a ridged circle of metal, strapped in place by leather running around the head.

Unable to talk, yet the ring offers us the use of our tongues.

Which is the whole point.

I forget the story being attached here? Whether Kira bound me before falling foul of a burglar or other unwanted pest, or is Leon playing the role of boyfriend, either willingly helping or interrupting and mad slash jealous at our female games? Are we bound like this as punishment, or because we agreed?

Not that it matters, editing is Leon's business. I signed, I've been paid, therefore whatever happens to the footage isn't my concern. All my attention is quite understandably caught up and swallowed by Kira's glistening, almost appearing to pulse, pussy.

"Ready." Leon's voice from a hundred miles away, beside the bed. "Thumbs up, please."

Feeling Kira shift slightly, squirm, before settling. Offering up my own raised thumb. Ready.

"Okay then," sound of footsteps on carpet, "in your own time. Let's go."

Laying still, as per the script. Breathing, staring straight ahead as Kira will be. Catching sight of Leon, corner vision seeing him walking a slow circuit camera in hand, pausing to zoom in on my face, no doubt Kira's pussy too. No doubt doing similar when he reaches the other end.

Waiting for Leon to step back. Becoming slowly more animated, flexing my hands, fists and open, closed. Stretching, feeling Kira react above me, rubbing herself across me to what little she can. Small drawn out moan from her and I respond in kind.

Jolting at the first feel of my tongue running across her pussy slit, like shock and the thought flashes across my subconscious: has she ever actually been with another girl?

Am I her first?

Discarding the train though, useless and- right now -irrelevant, and by the time we finish I've forgotten anyway. A second lick and I stop, and Kira moans, flexing her skinny size six frame, attempting to push her pussy down towards me.

Asking for more.

I oblige, lifting my head, tongue going to work, licking and probing, feeling pressure on my own pussy lips as Kira begins exploring, and from there things escalate quickly.

Pushing each other, me feeding off her moans feeding no doubt off mine, increasing speed, Kira's pussy mashing into my face as she bucks and wriggles, my own pinned down frame less able but I'm soon fighting at the ropes too, unable to lay still.

Climax ripping through me, moments later hearing Kira's own panting reach a similar crescendo, my body locking out save one leg, the foot bouncing whilst above me Kira shakes as her orgasm rages.

Coming down off the combined high, slowly regaining the ability to breathe without shaking or moaning, Kira's juices dripping from my forced wide mouth, the taste of her invading me.

Freed, we dress, and shortly afterwards I leave, declining the offer of the pub since I've got the bike. We don't swap numbers, which I didn't expect anyway.

Different lives, as I said. Kira isn't a model, so I'd helped her.

Nothing more.