Website Migration Update
I moved the website to a new host, which I think will be more tolerant of the content this website hosts. Nevertheless, I do want to take a moment to remind everyone that the stories and content posted here MUST follow website rules, as it it not only my policy, but it is the policy of the hosts that permit our website to run on their servers. We WILL continue to enforce the rules, especially critical rules that, if broken, put this sites livelihood in jeapordy.
*CALLING FOR MORE PARTICIPATION*
JUST A SMALL ANNOUNCEMENT TO REMIND EVERYONE (GUESTS AND REGISTERED USERS ALIKE) THAT THIS FORUM IS BUILT AROUND USER PARTICIPATION AND PUBLIC INTERACTIONS. IF YOU SEE A THREAD YOU LIKE, PARTICIPATE! IF YOU ENJOYED READING A STORY, POST A COMMENT TO LET THE AUTHOR KNOW! TAKING A FEW EXTRA SECONDS TO LET AN AUTHOR KNOW YOU ENJOYED HIS OR HER WORK IS THE BEST WAY TO ENSURE THAT MORE SIMILAR STORIES ARE POSTED. KEEPING THE COMMUNITY ALIVE IS A GROUP EFFORT. LET'S ALL MAKE AN EFFORT TO PARTICIPATE.
JUST A SMALL ANNOUNCEMENT TO REMIND EVERYONE (GUESTS AND REGISTERED USERS ALIKE) THAT THIS FORUM IS BUILT AROUND USER PARTICIPATION AND PUBLIC INTERACTIONS. IF YOU SEE A THREAD YOU LIKE, PARTICIPATE! IF YOU ENJOYED READING A STORY, POST A COMMENT TO LET THE AUTHOR KNOW! TAKING A FEW EXTRA SECONDS TO LET AN AUTHOR KNOW YOU ENJOYED HIS OR HER WORK IS THE BEST WAY TO ENSURE THAT MORE SIMILAR STORIES ARE POSTED. KEEPING THE COMMUNITY ALIVE IS A GROUP EFFORT. LET'S ALL MAKE AN EFFORT TO PARTICIPATE.
Samantha: out of control (f+/f+) (VOTE STORY) *NEW 01/09 NEW*
A it is. Done and done 
so I'll get to writing.
(Which didn't take long
only a short(er then normal for this tale) chapter below, wanted you to have the 'how is Sammy bound' decision.)
so I'll get to writing.(Which didn't take long
only a short(er then normal for this tale) chapter below, wanted you to have the 'how is Sammy bound' decision.)006.
It's called suffering the consequences. All my- your -fault, could've walked away, left Lucinda as she, snapping at me, clearly wanted. But no.
Standing across from her, waiting. Lucinda looking all around as though the answer to her problem: me, apparently, not leaving her in peace makes me the, her problem.
And honestly I hadn't thought so. I can see the logic of binding me, having freed herself, binding me to prevent my binding her a second time. But I'd thought she wanted more, from and to and with me, that capturing me would be a first step.
No.
Shivering as I hear the whisper of decision, noting Lucinda's small nod, accompanied by a small smile.
Noticing even as she approaches me, standing my ground whilst Lucinda yanks, rough handling, not being polite and treating me in such a manner setting off another tingle in my- exposed feeling -chest. Yanking the scarf gag down around my neck.
And me, noticing. Frowning. Was there always this much rope laying around the immediate area?
"Sammy."
"Lucinda."
"Following me."
"Yes." Swallowing, tamping down on the urge to run and. "Sorry." It's a little too late, for apologies or for escape.
Lucinda shrugging, she knows it too, how this will play out. But I can't help the urges, wanting to act despite not being allowed. Urges translating as a brief wriggle, wrists rubbing together and trying to pull first left then right up, out of the tight bindings.
Failing, a nod from Lucinda at the fact, expecting nothing less and what would she of done, had things played out differently thus far?
"You're staying here, then."
"I." Shiver, not allowed to run. "Know."
"And I'm going to make sure you do." Glancing around, considering possibilities.
"Yes."
"Good." Pulling the gag back up and I make no move to stop her, resigned to my fate as Lucinda settles and presses the scarf back into my open mouth, knot filling the space, the fast becoming familiar taste and texture of wool. Leaning in to reach around, chest brushing against my chest as she yanks and tightens the knot, adding a second to prevent loosening.
Stepping back, waiting. Both of us waiting because yes, I'm getting left here.
But how?
Kind of a sliding scale here, how mean does Lucinda- you -want to be, to me? Left as I am but (A) tethered to the nearest tree, or (B) somewhat mobile as I'm abandoned hogtied on the woodland floor. Or (C) properly bound to a tree, going nowhere.
It's called suffering the consequences. All my- your -fault, could've walked away, left Lucinda as she, snapping at me, clearly wanted. But no.
Standing across from her, waiting. Lucinda looking all around as though the answer to her problem: me, apparently, not leaving her in peace makes me the, her problem.
And honestly I hadn't thought so. I can see the logic of binding me, having freed herself, binding me to prevent my binding her a second time. But I'd thought she wanted more, from and to and with me, that capturing me would be a first step.
No.
Shivering as I hear the whisper of decision, noting Lucinda's small nod, accompanied by a small smile.
Noticing even as she approaches me, standing my ground whilst Lucinda yanks, rough handling, not being polite and treating me in such a manner setting off another tingle in my- exposed feeling -chest. Yanking the scarf gag down around my neck.
And me, noticing. Frowning. Was there always this much rope laying around the immediate area?
"Sammy."
"Lucinda."
"Following me."
"Yes." Swallowing, tamping down on the urge to run and. "Sorry." It's a little too late, for apologies or for escape.
Lucinda shrugging, she knows it too, how this will play out. But I can't help the urges, wanting to act despite not being allowed. Urges translating as a brief wriggle, wrists rubbing together and trying to pull first left then right up, out of the tight bindings.
Failing, a nod from Lucinda at the fact, expecting nothing less and what would she of done, had things played out differently thus far?
"You're staying here, then."
"I." Shiver, not allowed to run. "Know."
"And I'm going to make sure you do." Glancing around, considering possibilities.
"Yes."
"Good." Pulling the gag back up and I make no move to stop her, resigned to my fate as Lucinda settles and presses the scarf back into my open mouth, knot filling the space, the fast becoming familiar taste and texture of wool. Leaning in to reach around, chest brushing against my chest as she yanks and tightens the knot, adding a second to prevent loosening.
Stepping back, waiting. Both of us waiting because yes, I'm getting left here.
But how?
Kind of a sliding scale here, how mean does Lucinda- you -want to be, to me? Left as I am but (A) tethered to the nearest tree, or (B) somewhat mobile as I'm abandoned hogtied on the woodland floor. Or (C) properly bound to a tree, going nowhere.
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Boundgirl09
- Forum Contributer
- Posts: 42
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- Location: Cornwall
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Solarbeast
- Moderator
- Posts: 908
- Joined: 7 years ago
- Location: Florida
I'll go with option C
B, the middle road, or ground . B wins.
. B wins.007.
"Lay down."
"Rrrsssfffttttt."
"Fine." Small smile of what could be amusement, no longer appearing so angry, so despairing of me. Not now she's getting her way: leaving, safe in the knowledge I won't.
Can't, follow her.
"I'll help you." Stepping forward, taking hold of my shoulders even as- not having been asking for help, as it happens -I begin lowering, bending my knees. Lucinda guiding my controlled collapse and it's unnecessary, but helpful. Bringing me down from standing to laying on the woodland floor, on my belly.
Laying still. No point fighting, just as there had been no point running away.
Can't argue with what is written, decided.
Laying still whilst Lucinda moves around me, stepping and leaning in, moving away, gathering more rope and returning. My only movement coming from her handling of me, the act of wrapping and tightening ropes causing me to rock and jerk.
Laying still, focusing on my breathing, trying not to think of what's happening. Trying to ignore the baseline panic of the fact: that I'm being made more helpless, that I'm about to be abandoned in such a state.
Binding my ankles, crossed like my wrists. Black lace up boots with a slightly chunky sole rise to below the knees, hugging my slim legs, black leggings underneath. I can't feel this rope, the leather is too good a protective layer in that regard, but my boots are pressed together, legs naturally spread by the positioning.
Rope around my chest. Lucinda's hand burrowing underneath as she wraps, uncaring of my modesty it seems, brushing multiple times against my breasts, even going so far as to lift and hold them, allowing her to run rope pressed firmly up underneath.
Heedless of how her touch stills my breath, not seeing my blush.
Below, and above my C cups, diving under the armpit, snagging and lifting the ropes, up and around the back of my neck, diving back down under the other side. Lucinda's chest harness squeezing my breasts, pinching at the bra and pale blue shirt. Feeling strange and new.
Lastly a rope linking ankles to wrists. Caught by surprise, not having seen anything she's done, to me. Going by feel alone, tracking Lucinda's progress, tracking my growing helplessness by way of where she's standing, where she's touching me.
Ankles suddenly pulled, yanked up, lower legs lifted and knees bending, wrists tugged but not lifting, secured to my waist still. Legs bending back, and more, spreading wider as I feel ankles and wrists tugged. Held fast, grunting from Lucinda.
And then the small rush of wind as she steps back, finding in her wake my wrists and ankles now tethered, joined and without much slack.
Rolling onto my side, rocking, making it on the second attempt.
Just in time to see Lucinda dissappear around the corner, following the path out, away. Leaving me, not even turning for a last look, not waving nor saying goodbye. Abandoning me in bondage.
Hogtied.
Gagged.
Fuck.
But. Can I (A) escape, if I struggle. Or (B) am I stuck?
"Lay down."
"Rrrsssfffttttt."
"Fine." Small smile of what could be amusement, no longer appearing so angry, so despairing of me. Not now she's getting her way: leaving, safe in the knowledge I won't.
Can't, follow her.
"I'll help you." Stepping forward, taking hold of my shoulders even as- not having been asking for help, as it happens -I begin lowering, bending my knees. Lucinda guiding my controlled collapse and it's unnecessary, but helpful. Bringing me down from standing to laying on the woodland floor, on my belly.
Laying still. No point fighting, just as there had been no point running away.
Can't argue with what is written, decided.
Laying still whilst Lucinda moves around me, stepping and leaning in, moving away, gathering more rope and returning. My only movement coming from her handling of me, the act of wrapping and tightening ropes causing me to rock and jerk.
Laying still, focusing on my breathing, trying not to think of what's happening. Trying to ignore the baseline panic of the fact: that I'm being made more helpless, that I'm about to be abandoned in such a state.
Binding my ankles, crossed like my wrists. Black lace up boots with a slightly chunky sole rise to below the knees, hugging my slim legs, black leggings underneath. I can't feel this rope, the leather is too good a protective layer in that regard, but my boots are pressed together, legs naturally spread by the positioning.
Rope around my chest. Lucinda's hand burrowing underneath as she wraps, uncaring of my modesty it seems, brushing multiple times against my breasts, even going so far as to lift and hold them, allowing her to run rope pressed firmly up underneath.
Heedless of how her touch stills my breath, not seeing my blush.
Below, and above my C cups, diving under the armpit, snagging and lifting the ropes, up and around the back of my neck, diving back down under the other side. Lucinda's chest harness squeezing my breasts, pinching at the bra and pale blue shirt. Feeling strange and new.
Lastly a rope linking ankles to wrists. Caught by surprise, not having seen anything she's done, to me. Going by feel alone, tracking Lucinda's progress, tracking my growing helplessness by way of where she's standing, where she's touching me.
Ankles suddenly pulled, yanked up, lower legs lifted and knees bending, wrists tugged but not lifting, secured to my waist still. Legs bending back, and more, spreading wider as I feel ankles and wrists tugged. Held fast, grunting from Lucinda.
And then the small rush of wind as she steps back, finding in her wake my wrists and ankles now tethered, joined and without much slack.
Rolling onto my side, rocking, making it on the second attempt.
Just in time to see Lucinda dissappear around the corner, following the path out, away. Leaving me, not even turning for a last look, not waving nor saying goodbye. Abandoning me in bondage.
Hogtied.
Gagged.
Fuck.
But. Can I (A) escape, if I struggle. Or (B) am I stuck?
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Solarbeast
- Moderator
- Posts: 908
- Joined: 7 years ago
- Location: Florida
I'll go with option B
Wasn't expecting anything other then B votes, although there are places I could've taken this had Sammy escaped.
But.
B, and onwards soon. Thank you.
But.
B, and onwards soon. Thank you.
008.
Alone.
Bound, and alone.
Bound, and gagged, and alone.
Shit.
And possibly fuck, too. And I expect you're all happy, enjoying the show?
Except there is no show. There's only me, laying on the leaf littered and grass patchy woodland floor. Fourteen and blonde, a skinny ten girl wearing black spandex leggings and knee high boots, blue short sleeved school shirt and yellow tie, C cups pressed and somewhat moulded to the fabric.
Hogtied, wrists and ankles bound crossed. Wrists pinned to my slim waist, shirt not tucked in, rope around the leggings not the shirt. More rope wrapping and squeezing my breasts, the effect being to press and slightly squash them, the sensation, the whole body sensation of tight ropes is strangely, interestingly.
Not as bad as I'd worried it would be.
Hogtied, ankles linked to wrists, some small amount of slack, enough to bounce my legs up and down, a little anyway, maybe a half foot of freedom. And I'm gagged too, wouldn't be true helplessness without the scarf, purple wool, digging in at the corners of my mouth, huge knot pressed inside, tongue forced back.
No show. Nothing to see here, so maybe I could- should, I expect it's what you all want -change that.
I could, try, to escape? Make the effort?
Especially because, being bound and gagged alone in the woods isn't particularly good, or safe.
Probably.
"Fffgggddddmmm." Straining, pushing backwards with wrists and arms whilst laid on my side, feeling the rope joining both pull tight, briefly jerking at my wrists before the rope pinning them to my waist prevents further freedom.
Wriggling, just the wrists at first, seesawing and rubbing them together as though trying to start a fire, hoping to create slack, to force the bindings looser by sheer strength.
No.
"Sssrrrtttmm tttgggfffppp." Wriggles spreading out, becoming a whole body event, pivoting at the waist, rocking back and forth as I actively fight the bindings, body almost bouncing with effort, rolling from side to belly, back to my side.
Really fucking trying. Biting down on the gag I grunt and strain. Becoming sweaty, shirt riding up only to be pushed back down by my next struggle, only to ride up again minutes later.
And, I hope you liked it?
Stopping some unknown time later, flopping down body spent, limbs aching. Laid on my side back slightly arched by the hogtie, chest slightly thrusting forward, pinched C cups tingling, on and off since Lucinda first bound me, the continued feeling of exposure not going away.
That I couldn't stop Lucinda touching them, can't stop anyone else.
Stuck. Helpless, the fact proved and for all my efforts nothing happened. No freedom, not even a small amount of slack. I can't get out, am destined to remain hogtied.
I'm- small shiver chasing across my body at the thought, nipples gone hard as my breath catches, worry and fear warring with an odd feeling of excitement
I'm at the mercy of whoever finds me.
But, who will find me?
Hopefully not (A) Lauren, returned from handing in coursework and she doesn't seem to like me. Could be (B) Jane, a friend, who'll at least remove my gag, before anything else happens.
Might (C) fall foul of two girls from St Christopher's, the other nearby Comprehensive.
Alone.
Bound, and alone.
Bound, and gagged, and alone.
Shit.
And possibly fuck, too. And I expect you're all happy, enjoying the show?
Except there is no show. There's only me, laying on the leaf littered and grass patchy woodland floor. Fourteen and blonde, a skinny ten girl wearing black spandex leggings and knee high boots, blue short sleeved school shirt and yellow tie, C cups pressed and somewhat moulded to the fabric.
Hogtied, wrists and ankles bound crossed. Wrists pinned to my slim waist, shirt not tucked in, rope around the leggings not the shirt. More rope wrapping and squeezing my breasts, the effect being to press and slightly squash them, the sensation, the whole body sensation of tight ropes is strangely, interestingly.
Not as bad as I'd worried it would be.
Hogtied, ankles linked to wrists, some small amount of slack, enough to bounce my legs up and down, a little anyway, maybe a half foot of freedom. And I'm gagged too, wouldn't be true helplessness without the scarf, purple wool, digging in at the corners of my mouth, huge knot pressed inside, tongue forced back.
No show. Nothing to see here, so maybe I could- should, I expect it's what you all want -change that.
I could, try, to escape? Make the effort?
Especially because, being bound and gagged alone in the woods isn't particularly good, or safe.
Probably.
"Fffgggddddmmm." Straining, pushing backwards with wrists and arms whilst laid on my side, feeling the rope joining both pull tight, briefly jerking at my wrists before the rope pinning them to my waist prevents further freedom.
Wriggling, just the wrists at first, seesawing and rubbing them together as though trying to start a fire, hoping to create slack, to force the bindings looser by sheer strength.
No.
"Sssrrrtttmm tttgggfffppp." Wriggles spreading out, becoming a whole body event, pivoting at the waist, rocking back and forth as I actively fight the bindings, body almost bouncing with effort, rolling from side to belly, back to my side.
Really fucking trying. Biting down on the gag I grunt and strain. Becoming sweaty, shirt riding up only to be pushed back down by my next struggle, only to ride up again minutes later.
And, I hope you liked it?
Stopping some unknown time later, flopping down body spent, limbs aching. Laid on my side back slightly arched by the hogtie, chest slightly thrusting forward, pinched C cups tingling, on and off since Lucinda first bound me, the continued feeling of exposure not going away.
That I couldn't stop Lucinda touching them, can't stop anyone else.
Stuck. Helpless, the fact proved and for all my efforts nothing happened. No freedom, not even a small amount of slack. I can't get out, am destined to remain hogtied.
I'm- small shiver chasing across my body at the thought, nipples gone hard as my breath catches, worry and fear warring with an odd feeling of excitement
I'm at the mercy of whoever finds me.
But, who will find me?
Hopefully not (A) Lauren, returned from handing in coursework and she doesn't seem to like me. Could be (B) Jane, a friend, who'll at least remove my gag, before anything else happens.
Might (C) fall foul of two girls from St Christopher's, the other nearby Comprehensive.
Agree with JulieG.
C, you are hold for ransom by them.
C, you are hold for ransom by them.
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Solarbeast
- Moderator
- Posts: 908
- Joined: 7 years ago
- Location: Florida
Ill go with option A
Yeah A.
Wife, mother, daughter, sister. Bound and gagged by boys and men since 5.
Please stop asking me to post my life stories.
Please stop asking me to post my life stories.
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Bondageboi
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 243
- Joined: 2 years ago
- Location: England
C
Kidnapped ransomed and tortured by the rivals
Kidnapped ransomed and tortured by the rivals
Can't promise
C wins though, so I suppose we'll see
Or
Because it's down to all of you, the story could flow almost anywhere based off my whims following your votes.
C wins though, so I suppose we'll see
009.
Heard before I see them.
Them, plural.
Twenty something minutes of struggling, on and off but mostly off.
No point when I've already heard the whispers, heard you. What point fighting to gain a freedom I already know is denied, because everybody wants to see Sammy bound, and in trouble.
An hour, roughly, hard to tell the flow of time, no access and everything feels warped, too fast then too slow. But an hour of laying there, hogtied and gagged, breathing. Waiting.
Considering then discarding any thoughts of movement, of travel in this state. Suppose I could? There is- some, barely any but some -room to manoeuvre in the hogtie. Struggling I'd discovered the ability to crawl caterpillar like across the woodland floor, going nowhere fast.
Electing to stay put, somewhat disorientated anyway, the low angle and my not knowing the woodland intimately, not a fucking clue which way leads towards home, or Tower Hill?
Not a fucking clue what I'd do, if I reached either location anyway.
So, laying still, on my side, breathing. Waiting.
Blinking, rapidly in vain hopes I'm imagining them, that by sheer force of will I might cause these two St Christopher's girls to disappear.
Not a fucking chance.
Stepping into the clearing, coming out through and not around the bracken, already close from the first moment.
Stopping, eyes going wide in stereo, wearing matching shocked expressions, quickly replaced by giggles, smiles enough to make my heart flutter, sink.
Knowing they aren't interested in freeing me.
Some unknown exact age, somewhere between fourteen and sixteen. Definitely not younger then me. And they could almost be twins, save for the difference in facial features, one an inch or two taller, yet both topping me by a clear margin.
Blondes, long curling hair like mine, and both of them a skinny ten, like me. Yet in the chest department I'm a far off, poor second. Both girls sport shirt straining E cups.
The St Christopher's- an all girls school, and a proper Church run and funded one to boot -uniform is white shirts, short sleeved and paired with blood red ties, a yellow cross prominent at the bottom. Short black skirts, no leggings permitted, and sensible black lace up shoes, black socks pulled to just below the knee.
"Fffggghhhdddmmmm." Not expecting, but trying. Shaking my bound self at them, getting nothing in return but more happy laughter.
Fucked.
"She wants our help."
"Fat fucking chance." Walking a slow circle of me whilst her friend hunkers down, reaching out to tug on my waist wrappings, smile as she discovers the tightness of my bindings. "Someone told us we'd find a gift in this clearing, and here you are."
Someone? Lucinda? You?
"Little Tower Hill girl." Both of them in front of me, looming, arms crossed beneath equally impressive chests, looking down wearing matching smiles of victory. "Lost and alone. Alex."
"Like a present. Erika." Nodding. "All wrapped up, all ours."
"What shall we do with her?"
"Well...."
Well?
Maybe I'll (A) get off- relatively -easy, bound tightly to a tree.
Or, Alex and Erika take me with them. In which case either (B) there's a cart nearby, which I'm loaded into, still hogtied. Or (C) my legs are freed, and I'm collared and leashed.
Heard before I see them.
Them, plural.
Twenty something minutes of struggling, on and off but mostly off.
No point when I've already heard the whispers, heard you. What point fighting to gain a freedom I already know is denied, because everybody wants to see Sammy bound, and in trouble.
An hour, roughly, hard to tell the flow of time, no access and everything feels warped, too fast then too slow. But an hour of laying there, hogtied and gagged, breathing. Waiting.
Considering then discarding any thoughts of movement, of travel in this state. Suppose I could? There is- some, barely any but some -room to manoeuvre in the hogtie. Struggling I'd discovered the ability to crawl caterpillar like across the woodland floor, going nowhere fast.
Electing to stay put, somewhat disorientated anyway, the low angle and my not knowing the woodland intimately, not a fucking clue which way leads towards home, or Tower Hill?
Not a fucking clue what I'd do, if I reached either location anyway.
So, laying still, on my side, breathing. Waiting.
Blinking, rapidly in vain hopes I'm imagining them, that by sheer force of will I might cause these two St Christopher's girls to disappear.
Not a fucking chance.
Stepping into the clearing, coming out through and not around the bracken, already close from the first moment.
Stopping, eyes going wide in stereo, wearing matching shocked expressions, quickly replaced by giggles, smiles enough to make my heart flutter, sink.
Knowing they aren't interested in freeing me.
Some unknown exact age, somewhere between fourteen and sixteen. Definitely not younger then me. And they could almost be twins, save for the difference in facial features, one an inch or two taller, yet both topping me by a clear margin.
Blondes, long curling hair like mine, and both of them a skinny ten, like me. Yet in the chest department I'm a far off, poor second. Both girls sport shirt straining E cups.
The St Christopher's- an all girls school, and a proper Church run and funded one to boot -uniform is white shirts, short sleeved and paired with blood red ties, a yellow cross prominent at the bottom. Short black skirts, no leggings permitted, and sensible black lace up shoes, black socks pulled to just below the knee.
"Fffggghhhdddmmmm." Not expecting, but trying. Shaking my bound self at them, getting nothing in return but more happy laughter.
Fucked.
"She wants our help."
"Fat fucking chance." Walking a slow circle of me whilst her friend hunkers down, reaching out to tug on my waist wrappings, smile as she discovers the tightness of my bindings. "Someone told us we'd find a gift in this clearing, and here you are."
Someone? Lucinda? You?
"Little Tower Hill girl." Both of them in front of me, looming, arms crossed beneath equally impressive chests, looking down wearing matching smiles of victory. "Lost and alone. Alex."
"Like a present. Erika." Nodding. "All wrapped up, all ours."
"What shall we do with her?"
"Well...."
Well?
Maybe I'll (A) get off- relatively -easy, bound tightly to a tree.
Or, Alex and Erika take me with them. In which case either (B) there's a cart nearby, which I'm loaded into, still hogtied. Or (C) my legs are freed, and I'm collared and leashed.
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WhereAmI
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 279
- Joined: 4 months ago
- Location: You Are Tied Spread Eagle Over The Dining Room Table For My Dinner
C. Slave Collars and Leashes are always fun, take your slave with you and show them off to your friends.
To tie you up is human, to tie you up and tickle you is divine. ME 
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Solarbeast
- Moderator
- Posts: 908
- Joined: 7 years ago
- Location: Florida
As much as I like the collar and slave option, I'm going to chose option B to stay hogtied and loaded into a cart that could become a cage like trap if connected to other carts.
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milagros317
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 287
- Joined: 6 years ago
- Location: New York City
I am most interested in C.