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Probably won't be the only dead heat, voting wise. Won't be the only time I'm required to step in and decide.
It's been 16 hours without a comment/vote, so I'm calling it. Eager to write
We're saying B, because there will likely be other chances for a collar, but, if I free Samantha's legs, she might run away, plus I feel the cart offers more scope, at this stage.
"I think...." Exchanging glances and Alex, slightly taller, gesturing. Pointing back into the bracken. "Did we see?"
"You mean...." Erika, frown as she half turns, pivoting at the waist to stare back into the wall of green. "And we could maybe...."
Watching, the two girls towering over me. Not moving, not struggling and it'll do no good. I've tried already, failed, already. And even were I able to escape now, some sudden twist, a change to the advertised plan and my ropes falling off.
These two would chase me down, catch me, and we'd be right back here.
Like or not, I'm theirs. Helpless, all decision making privileges revoked. The whole situation giving me butterfly nerves and a tingle in the chest, the ghost feeling of exposure, breasts squeezed and rope pinched, pushed forward by the hogtie. Offered up, almost.
Abandoned, and found by possibly the worst of all choices. Because haven't I heard, don't I remember overhearing the year eleven talk up some kind of inter school rivalry? Tower Hill and St Christopher's, some kind of kid version of war.
Or something anyway?
By unspoken agreement Erika wanders off, Alex remaining behind, seeing to the pointless and unnecessary task of keeping an eye on me.
Two minutes, three? Erika returning, backing up through the bracken, pulling a cart behind. Silver, though patched with rust, and cage framed. About five feet by three, caged sides about one high. A handle at one end, coming up at the sides and joining via a horizontal bar across the top. The cart has two large balloon tyres, one each side in the rough centre. Perfect for an uneven woodland floor.
Stopping, Erika lets go, the cart tilting forward slightly to rest on triangular legs, one on each corner making sure that, at rest the cart won't tip too far forward or back.
Advancing on me and I squirm, a token effort and already too late, doomed anyway. Alex and Erika laughing, hoisting me easily between them, manoeuvring, crossing the short space and placing me down in the cart bed.
"There." Straightening, hand brushing hair back off her face. "Happy?"
"Dddgggrrr." Rolling from one side of the cart to the other, side to belly to other side, wriggling, feeling the unforgiving steel press into my skin, the many holes of the cage built structure uncomfortable beneath me. "Fffssstt pppggdddmmmnn."
"Fascinating." Nodding. "Only thing though."
"We don't care."
Both of them grinning, smiles of assured victory and I can't prevent the shiver running through me.
"You're all ours, Tower Hill girl." Alex, Erika nodding agreement.
So what do they do with me, where am I being taken?
Most likely we're headed for St Christopher's. But is it (A) the dorms, or (B) the sports complex on site.
WhereAmI wrote: 3 days ago
Well as long a CART CAGE was involved almost everything is better. Mumbles and Grumbles.
C: To the guillotine perhaps?
.
So, if this is genuine annoyance at me for casting the deciding vote, I'm sorry.
Trying to write a chapter a day, short chapters, keeping the story flowing. And I did wait sixteen hours without any further voting, doubt anyone else had anything to say, so I went ahead and made the choice based on what's best for the story.
Hoping you understand.
And
johopp wrote: 3 days ago
I love @WhereAmI's idea with the guillotine. If your neck is directly under the sharp edge, you'll surely promise anything and do what they want.
So C Guillotine
C isn't a vote.
Whilst my stories do dive towards playful torture at times, I can't ever.
Ev. Er.
See me going this direction.
Happy for the two of you to vote again, should you wish?
Then B.
The sports field offers many possibilities.
e.g., having to achieve a certain minimum distance in the long jump or the 400-meter dash with bound bare feet to avoid being punished (thats what I would start with)
and after failing this challenge either: being tied up spread eagle in the soccer goal – or tied on the post of the high jump facility or the basketball hoop - or hogtied in the long jump sand pit – or locked in the locker room lockers – or locked in the ball cage - or in the (running?) shower (fully clothed, of course), or or...
I'm torn two ways, as we travel, as Alex and Erika take me someplace I haven't been consulted on.
Potential slaves, damsels- not quite yet but most likely soon -in distress, kidnapped schoolgirls. I'm at least one of the three, probably all, which point equals I don't get an opinion.
About anything.
Torn, then. Do I want to be discovered or not?
By a passer by, an adult unconnected to current events, someone who'll see what's going on and put an end to it. And you'd think this would only be a plus, after all to be discovered in the metal cage framed cart- which doesn't have a roof but is impossible to escape all the same, due to being hogtied, due to the sides being too high to simply roll out -would almost certainly lead to freedom, to an end. No more craziness.
But it's the embarrassment which has me pausing, bad enough to be seen by other schoolgirls in this bound and gagged state, breasts rope squeezed, vulnerable. So much worse to have an adult see me like this.
Added to which, this is in part my own fault. I agreed, in a way, entering at the beginning of my own free will, knowing the various twisting and spinning of events might not go my way.
My own fault, and so no. I don't want to be spotted.
Through the woods we travel, cart bouncing, throwing me around in turn, forcibly rolled from side to belly, moaning at the joint discomfort: the cage like floor harsh against my skin, only thin layers of clothing, limbs striking the steel often.
Leaving the trees behind and entering a field, crossing the expanse and from there to a road, and another. Somehow seeing nobody or perhaps I don't see them? Twice we pause, Erika pushing ahead whilst Alex waiting, gripping the cart handle with a kind of nervous energy.
And what might happen to them, if we're caught?
Catching her gaze once, just us two. Blinking and Alex's lips lifting into a small smile. Reaching down, patting my spandex leggings clad butt.
"Not far now Tower Hill girl."
"Fffrrrgggmmmmnn." Squriming at the- not exactly harsh but still it points glaringly to my helplessness -attention. But Alex's attention already shifted away, nodding, and moving.
Finding St Christopher's ahead, as I'd known, heavily suspected it would be.
I don't know much, about our apparent nearby rival. St Christopher's is a private school, posh, expensive. Attended mostly by girls sent from far away, girls who live on site five or even seven days in seven. A school of elites, routinely trouncing Tower Hill in sports contests, which would account for the rumoured hatred.
Seeing it for the first time now. Fucking, huge.
The school buildings alone are more numerous, in part formed by an old stately home. I catch sight, the angle bad and it's only a brief glimpse, but the sports hall looks new, dome roofed and I'd swear I see a swimming pool through the windows of the long low building next to it.
Skirting the school, though, my captors advancing in fits and starts, clearly avoiding, trying to avoid contact.
With adults anyway, because we pass by a half dozen groups or single uniformed girls along the way, the sudden appearance of each a shock, a kick to my belly, blush flushing my cheeks chest feeling hot. Each girl staring as we pass, expressions ranging from mild interest to outright smirking.
Passing from school to the dorms, buildings all the same, almost military like in the way everything is ordered. Laid on my side, the path smooth no longer being bounced and tossed around.
Looking, trying to distract from whatever impending thing is waiting at journeys end, my thoughts all to ready to provide multiple possibilities.
So, looking around. Spotting names: Hangman. Pyre. Bizarre names, some kind of torture, death or execution theme.
The fuck?
Cart coming to a halt at the entrance to Guillotine, and.
"What the fuck is this?"
Wriggling, arching my back and tilting, straining at the ropes in an effort to see, unable to simply turn and look, the cart too small for easy movement. Finding a girl, who appears to be barring the doorway, hands on hips, staring not at me, but at Alex and Erika.
Older, I think then me, around sixteen. Body an almost mirror of my captors, that skinny ten frame, and only D cups for her but doesn't she look good. Black hair, somewhat messy, a chopped style, hint of the goth about her.
"You." Glancing down at me, not smiling. No help there. "Kidnapped a Tower Hill girl?"
"Found her like that."
"Found her." Choking out a laugh. "Tied up, in a cart?"
"No. We...."
"Put her in the cart."
"But she was already bound?" Disbelief in the goth girls voice, another glance at me, shaking her head but still un-smiling.
"And you bought her here?" Again with the disbelief, and I can't see Alex, Erika, but I can picture the twin smiles.
Pleased with themselves.
But where is this exchange leading, because even I- in no position to influence -can sense the coming crossroads of a decision to be made....
The goth girl might (A) insist I be handed over, outranking my captors in some manner, wheeling me back to her room. Or, the reverse (B) that the three argue, leading to Alex and Erika overpowering the goth in a fit of anger.
Could be that we're- they're -all friends, that (C) Alex and Erika are allowed to pass, wheeling me to their room.
"So," the goth, still blocking our path through the doorway into Guillotine.
And if that isn't a doom filled name for a private school dorm house. I mean, honestly, what were they thinking?
"If you caught her-"
"-Found her."
"If you found her." Sudden challenge in her tone, and me belatedly noticing her school tie, a deep sky blue as opposed blood red, a yellow line above and below the yellow cross. A Prefect? A girl placed above the others, above Alex and Erika.
A girl in charge of other girls.
"Then I can. Find, her too."
"We caught her."
"Caught her." Erika, falling over herself to agree. "Definitely, Tasha."
"What I thought." Tone returned to casual indifference. Uncaring of me, my fate going forward. "In which case just," stepping to the side, waving her hand as though I were an annoying fly, something to be forgotten, "keep her out of sight of...."
Staring, hard, at Alex and Erika. Tasha, conveying with a look more then words ever could.
"We will."
"Good." Uncaring, or maybe not? "Because I'll be keeping an eye on the two of you."
"Right, Tasha."
"Yes, Tasha."
My captors, cowed. Verbally bowing down, the whole bringing me some small amusement, a helpful and welcome distraction as we continue inside, towards the next installment of my fate.
All the dorms- four identical buildings -are two story, no windows in the sloping roof which presumably holds cabling, piping and other such essentials. Halfway down the long central corridor, adjacent doors, each numbered and all of them shut, and once what appears to be a communal bathroom, no door, simply a doorway. Open, leading into the large open space of sinks and cubicles for showering or toilets.
Once we pass another doorway, a large open room, flatscreen on the wall and sofa's arranged around it, table and chairs. A common room, a place to relax.
"Leave it here?"
"We'll have to come back." And I've squirmed and rolled back around, no longer bending so uncomfortably, able to see Alex and Erika again.
"After." Alex, nodding down at me. And with an effort the two hoist me up off the now abandoned cart, Alex taking my shoulders, Erika my legs. Carrying me upstairs, huffing and puffing and grunting and cursing me, the irony: that they didn't have to be lifting me, if they'd only walked on, away, leaving me to a different fate, lost on them it seems.
Halfway down the upper central corridor. Pausing at a closed door: two-two-six, and I don't see who out of them opens it, just that with a click it does, and we're inside.
Dumped on the floor like a sack of something you don't need to be particularly careful with, impact knocking the wind from me, grunting behind the gag and.
"Hush." Erika. "Tower Hill girl, we don't care."
"Deal with you in a moment." Alex, nodding as both girls step over and around me, into the room proper.
Just one room, with just one bed. St Christopher's justifying what I suspect is quite an expensive yearly fee: every girl gets her own private room, not a large room, but a private one. Box shaped, with a single window at the far end and I'm too low down to see the view. Single bed pushed against the left side, drawer unit beside it doubling as bedside table.
Wardrobe against the opposite wall to the bed, close to the door, and on the other wall a desk, a chair. Not much room, in this room, the girls clearly encouraged to mix, to spend time together.
Returning my attention to my captors and finding them in hushed conversation, complete with plenty of expressive arm waving, gestures towards me and various spots around the room, the door. My fate, again being decided by- you -others.
And, hogtied, gagged, all I can do is wait.
And it feels as though not one, but multiple decisions are being made across the room, starting with whether (Yes or No) my uniform is confiscated, removed. Am I stripped down to my underwear?
Secondly, how am I going to be secured, in this room? Possibly (A) another hogtie, on the bed. Or (B) tied to the actual bed, or (C) the single wooden framed chair.
Finally, will anyone remain? Maybe (1) Alex or possibly (2) Erika, or (3) neither of them, both girls closing the door and leaving me.
