Plymouth: damsel for hire (FM+/F+) *NEW 30/08 NEW*

[RopeBunny]

Brooke in a crate would have been quite the twist!

I thought so and was so very tempted. Despite the idea would've been completely unbelievable, not even close to reality

I was really tempted.

[BlissfulMisery]

And of course another twist and layer to it all. The fact of Brooke beginning to fall for Kira, manipulated, in part into having feelings, into wanting and missing her.

Quite the tangled web Brooke has found herself caught in... and not just metaphorically tangled either


-

Me negotiating on Fayth's behalf for a job she might not even want, the humour of it all almost bringing laughter at least twice.

Amusing indeed - but a little forward as well of Brooke to, as she says, negotiate on behalf of someone whose opinion is not even known yet. But I can certainly imagine why she might want to bring a friend along, as it were.

And trees, well. I can always seek out volunteer work.

Ah yes, Brooke the wandering arboriculturist chainsaw-for-hire - almost sounds like some kind of strange spin-off

"Pl." Brooke, shouting at myself, causing a flashed smile which she returns with a scowl. "Brooke, from Owl. Is Mrs Castleford available?"

A verbal slip dripping with meaning - Brooke already starting to fully embrace her Plymouth persona. A long held balance that has been upturned. Something that I suspect might not end well, given her penchant for diving ever deeper into bondage. But I suppose we shall have to see.

Certainly some 'well now that we are no longer employer and employee...' vibes between Brooke and Laura, even if it was not really planned - but of course the bondage quota must be fulfilled

"Stay, I'll bind you to the chair and then you get to watch Laura bind me."

A stretched pause, Laura opening her mouth and something muffled emerging. The beginnings of words, nothing intelligible. And, very slowly as though afraid the seat might catch fire, Ruth sits down.

Well with an offer like that, how could anyone refuse?

Quite amused at the bit of self repression on Ruth's part, taking out her own frustrations on Plymouth. Externalizing, as people are want to do, rather then actually face themselves and the parts of their psyche that do not fit neatly into the societal expectations that they allow to bind them (actually did not use 'bind' intentionally, but it definitely works on more then one level )

Not to say that I do not understand - self-understanding and self-acceptance is a long and often painful journey, and Laura does not seem to be very far into it (unfortunately for her).

Al. Most.

Went and rewrote the entire back end of the chapter. Basically something along the lines of Laura casting Brooke out, giving her to Ruth, or simply Ruth taking over, owning both Brooke and Laura.

I even entertained brief thoughts of Brooke somehow being sent back to Owl in a crate.

None of which works particularly well, in the 'real' world. And plus it would've been several chapters, and I was equally keen to move the story along.

Cannot disagree that it would have been interesting, and yet equally, as you mention yourself, stretching credulity more then a little to the point of threatening immersion.

But an alternative reality that never was, existing only as a gleam in the eye of the Rope Bunny

But I wanted to mention it anyway, give a small insight into the mind of the Rope Bunny x

Appreciated!

[RopeBunny]

And trees, well. I can always seek out volunteer work.

Ah yes, Brooke the wandering arboriculturist chainsaw-for-hire - almost sounds like some kind of strange spin-off

And if only this weren't a TUGs site, I'd write this

Certainly some 'well now that we are no longer employer and employee...' vibes between Brooke and Laura, even if it was not really planned - but of course the bondage quota must be fulfilled

That damn quota

Which to be fair I'm happy to fill. It's- for me at least -kind of a game. This is how I want the story to flow, so, how can I add bondage to that?

[RopeBunny]

013.

The benefit of moving from one fully furnished house, courtesy of the Forestry Commission, to a fully furnished luxury cabin, courtesy of Samuel Black, Sam, is that whilst I've got no furniture I don't need any either.

Plenty of stuff, bondage supplies, filming supplies. Twice as many clothes- a whole second wardrobe almost, for shoots -as most. Pictures for walls and keepsakes for shelves, books and music. I've got stuff, a life well lived, but without furniture it amounts to less then a dozen boxes, plus my favourite four plants, sheets and duvet and pillows.

And Arthur, Scourge of the Thirteen Seas. Ruler of Atlantis, the Twisting Shadow. He rides up front, with me. Renting a single Ford van, a self drive, paying extra for a trailer to transport my Hayabusa.

Pausing at the junction, Owl giving way to the main road. Staring in the rear view mirror, wishing my woodland a final, silent goodbye.

Feeling the smile appear, grow. Thinking of Kira: the obsessive stalker I shouldn't encourage but do, ever the instigator of my own doom. Does she know I'm leaving? It's almost like a game, I've come to think, that she somehow found me at the wedding, again at Owl despite my saying nothing towards either subject when we first met.

Where I apparently made such a first impression she can't seem to walk away, whilst simultaneously nor is Kira approaching me in the normal 'hey, we should date' manner.

Picturing her, wondering. Is there a tracker already placed on the van? Or even, actually laughing and almost getting out to check, is Kira right now hanging underneath dressed all in black, some kind of movie spy shit.

Shaking my head. Surely not? And I've no way of reaching out, and shouldn't anyway. This probably dangerous game.

Wondering- if and when she'll appear -though, as I travel.

To Blackpool, and Wickwar.

Five years ago it was national news, though nothing I paid particular attention to. Black Holdings Inc, Samuel's company, after much legal wrangling and several guarantees made to the community of Blackpool and it's surrounds. Samuel eventually concluded the purchase of Wickwar, a castle fallen to ruin, like Dunstanburgh and Corfe, stone battlements and walls, half destroyed towers, everything reaching skywards like bones.

Alongside Wickwar Samuel bought up the surrounding land, mostly farms although to one side of the castle, and National Trust owned too, he acquired a stretch of parkland spread around a large lake.

Wickwar, after which the resort is named. One of those legal guarantees. The ruins now take on a central role, the resort sprawling away on all sides.

An eighteen hole golf course complete with nineteenth hole clubhouse, beside which an equally impressive eighteen hole medieval themed outdoors crazy course. Dragons and towers, knights and damsels.

A waterpark, both indoor and out, the building leading- via a short glass tunnel -to an arcade and restaurant bar, pool and hockey tables. One of two arenas for various shows.

Between golf course and waterpark sits the hotel casino complex, huge, tall, all steel and glass. Blackpool has always tried to emulate Vegas and Samuel's new juggernaut makes the connection more real. The second arena located here, with the hotel.

The lake, sitting behind and slightly apart from everything, several small piers for fishing. And around the back half, like a horseshoe sit twenty-eight luxury wood cabins, in a variety of designs, but all featuring a good sized wooden deck with hottub and BBQ.

The whole resort is stunning, landscaped and spread out so no one thing encroaches or crowds out another. Wickwar visitors benefit from a regular shuttle bus service to Blackpool, famous for it's Pleasure Beach and Tower, and there's even talk of extending the tramline.

Stopping twice- to let Kira catch up, to generally get a fix on my position, and not really but I do smile -it takes most of the day, packing up and driving, steering into Wickwar considerably slower- biker girl, speed freak -then I'd like late in the afternoon. Having phoned ahead, planned ahead, a brief stop at main reception- the hotel is the hub of things -yields my key.

Cabin thirteen.

Traffic on site is sparse, and dissuaded save check in and out. Regular road humps, signs and general courtesy keep the speeds down. At thirteen I pull over, killing the engine and climbing out. Stretching.

Thirteen, like all the cabins is a mixture of wood and steel. Inside it's a left right split, open plan kitchen and lounge to the left, decent sized flatscreen and comfortable seating for six, the back wall is all glass, double doors in the centre leading out onto the lakeside decking. To the right is a bedroom, double bed and ensuite with shower. Straight across from the door in there are stairs up to the second- my -bedroom, another double bed and ensuite. No baths here, the cabin is spacious for what it is, but small in house terms. Storage under the stairs, plus a decent sized lockbox on one side.

I love it though, the view is fantastic: the calm lake, rolling grassland, golf course off to one side, the hotel on the other and between both the skeletal thrusting of the castle.

Fayth arrives several hours later, late afternoon having given way to late evening, darkness fallen. Having been communicating since she landed, a running commentary of plane to train to underground to train. To train and.

Deep breath. Finally to taxi. Knowing and being kept informed of her progress I've cooked something like a stew, meat and vegetables bubbling away in sauce, in a big pot. A long slow cook whilst I mostly unpacked, sorting out my room at least. Placing only some things- books, music and music player, a single framed anime print and my two awards -in the main space, which by mutual agreement we'll sort tomorrow.

Before all that I returned the van to the local hire branch, riding the Hayabusa back, my Falcon now sat slant parked in Thirteens marked bay.

Gentle purr of an engine, slowing to idle outside and by the time I've opened the door, stepping out Fayth is waving the taxi away.

Not long turned forty, a party I was sorry to miss. Fayth is a living legend in bondage modelling, one of the first and still riding high, still in demand. A toned and in shape twelve, enhanced D cups sitting high and pert whilst curling blonde hair tumbles down over her shoulders. She's wearing faded blue jeans and a fading yellow cropped tee, brown stetson on her head, two suitcases flanking her.

By contrast I've stripped down, barely dressed: cropped black 'Honda' tee and white lace hipster style pants, braless and no shoes.

"There she is."
"Hey stranger." Approaching, arms out and Fayth doing likewise, pulling each other into a long, firm hug. Breathing in the foreign scent of her, the sweat of a full day spent traveling and me likely smelling somewhat similar.

"I've missed you."
"Missed you too." Tilting to kiss my cheek, taking a deep breath. Inhaling me. "You look," stepping back, looking me up and down, "amazing."

Smiling at the compliment. We've an interesting shared past: working shoots together. Fucking, ropes and gags and mutual pleasure and it's a long story. Fayth is on the Academie Internationale d'art pour Adultes judging panel, and whilst I don't have two awards because of her, it was her who nominated me for my second.

Outstanding Contributions to the Industry.

Helping her wheel the suitcases in, stetson dropped on the kitchen counter and Fayth making for the bathroom to freshen up. Greeting her with food served up, radio tuned to a local station, background, two opened bottles of Fayth's favourite beer and two steaming bowls of stew on the table, cut slices of thick white bread between us for dipping.

"Cheers."
"To your very good health."
"To certain disaster." Pondering, bottles still held high, Fayth regarding me, waiting. "Or not, obviously, because we've got this."
"Hope so." Clinking with me a second time. "Nothing you haven't-"
"We."
"We." A shrug, a smile. "It's been done before, by you." Waving my open mouth off, which I shut with a grin. "Us, and done well."

Meandering toast made, we drink, and eat largely in silence. Famished from time spent in transit.

"Sam tomorrow?"
"In the morning." Nodding. "Ten, I think?"
"So late?"
"Busy man." Shrugging. "Got an empire to run." Turning to look out the window, the dark lake like a bottomless hole. "Think I'll go for a jog first thing."
"Wake me?"
"Yeah?"
"Unless you don't want the company?" Looking down at her beer and fidgeting, and we've got an interesting history, as I've said.

"Five K too much?"
"No." Looking up, smiling, pleased. "You thinking to do this regularly?"
"Four." Seesawing a hand. "Five mornings a week." Knowing I'll miss Owl, the constant work based exercise. Not worried about weight gain, I'm pretty good at food, no cravings, no desire to eat pizza and chocolates every night. But, I love exercising, the endorphin rush, so jogging is a start.

A new way, and across from me Fayth nodding, and whatever her own reasons, it seems I won't be waking early alone, which is nice.

Washing up, bidding Fayth goodnight, closing the door to her room as I wave, heading upstairs. Not particularly tired but it is late now, and maybe once I lay down sleep will find me.

Or.

"So this is nice."
"Isn't it." Drifting, slowly falling towards sleep and Fayth's voice jolting me. Blinking and she's still there, dim light through half closed curtains illuminating her nakedness, the toned contours of her curves, blonde hair tumbling, breasts perfectly rounded, pert.

Very aware of my own nakedness under the thin duvet, feeling my heart picking up.

"I missed you." Taking a- hesitant -step towards the bed. Stopping. "And I'm not. I don't want. I mean." Small soft laugh. "I'm almost twice your age, but...."

Shrugging. Waiting.

Returning to motion as I, with a smile she likely can't see in the dark. Pulling back the duvet on the other side of the bed, gently patting the mattress. Fayth slipping in beside me and rolling closer, and after an unspoken exchange, shifting and grasping, somehow knowing what she wants, putting my back to her which is as good as permission.

And it takes a professional to hogtie someone in the near darkness: wrists and ankles crossed, a third rope reeled in tight enough I can brush fingers across my toes. Once, long ago it seems, I caught Fayth climaxing to a video of me bound. I'm like her guilty pleasure, wanting me in secret, never outright saying so.

But I know there's a degree of lust whenever she looks at me.

Rolling back in to face her, Fayth sliding forward to meet me, pressing close one leg forced between mine, pressing against my crotch.

"No gag." Asking, teasing and playing her game. "Fayth?"
"Not this time." Tracing patterns up and down my back, laid nose touching nose her other arm buried under the pillow supporting my head.

"Spent most of that fucking awful train journey looking forward to this."
"Which train?" Smiling, voices soft in the quiet darkness. "And," arching my back as Fayth digs her nails in slightly. Pure bliss. "Why not the plane, too?"
"Can't lust after you all day." Leaning in to lick my nose. Playful, and freely using the word, admitting the fact: lust.

"I'm sleeping like this," sometime later, having semi drifted off twice, swimming back up and blinking at Fayth. Finding her asleep once, too. Her hand stopping, slipping off.

"Aren't I?"

Kissing me by way of answering, rolling afterwards, shifting and dragging me, getting herself comfortable. Winding up laid on her back, one outflung leg still resting between mine, laying beside her, on my side, still tightly bound.

"Night." Like a soft mumble. "Brooke."
"Night."

Reaching out to grasp my breast, loosely. Driving me steadily more wild and frustrated for the next five minutes as she strokes me, occasionally flicking the nipple, often stopping as sleep stalks closer.

Fayth's hand finally falling, dropping to the mattress as she begins softly snoring.

[BlissfulMisery]

That damn quota

Which to be fair I'm happy to fill. It's- for me at least -kind of a game. This is how I want the story to flow, so, how can I add bondage to that?

"We've had one bondage scene yes, but what about a second one?", to butcher a quote

-

plus my favourite four plants

Shh, do not let all the other plants know about the fact that you have favorites, Brooke, or they might get jealous

Or even, actually laughing and almost getting out to check, is Kira right now hanging underneath dressed all in black, some kind of movie spy shit.

Well, given the genre we are in, she would probably be tied up at the bottom of the van. Or in the trunk, like a 'normal' person

"Cheers."
"To your very good health."
"To certain disaster." Pondering, bottles still held high, Fayth regarding me, waiting. "Or not, obviously, because we've got this."
"Hope so." Clinking with me a second time. "Nothing you haven't-"
"We."
"We." A shrug, a smile. "It's been done before, by you." Waving my open mouth off, which I shut with a grin. "Us, and done well."

A nice call back to past tales.

And it takes a professional to hogtie someone in the near darkness: wrists and ankles crossed, a third rope reeled in tight enough I can brush fingers across my toes.

...And speaking of 'the quota' rearing it's head again

Playful, and freely using the word, admitting the fact: lust.

Certainly connotations and implications there, with using that specific word.

A tender moment between them, and of course the looming mystery of what *exactly* they are here to do, even if you have already given a considerable number of hints as to what it might be. A bit of a 'setting the stage' chapter overall, transitioning into this new plotline (and reintroducing a previous character). A necessary evil, one might say

[RopeBunny]

That damn quota

Which to be fair I'm happy to fill. It's- for me at least -kind of a game. This is how I want the story to flow, so, how can I add bondage to that?

"We've had one bondage scene yes, but what about a second one?", to butcher a quote

Or a third....

Might have to aim at a high multiple count in a future chapter, just for the fun of it

[

plus my favourite four plants

Shh, do not let all the other plants know about the fact that you have favorites, Brooke, or they might get jealous

didn't want to out too big a number down

Thought it, the chapter, would be a nice reintroduction to Fayth, to an old friend.

Plenty more to come, and the reveal of what- some of you already know -Sam is all about.

Below.

[RopeBunny]

014.

"Wait." Blinking sleep out my eyes, shaking to confirm what my aching limbs are insisting: that I'm still hogtied. "Are you filming me?"

Beside the bed Fayth, standing, grins. Dressed in a purple cropped yet long sleeved pull over hoodie and black leggings, white Sketchers. Hair tied back and looking ready to jog.

Apart that is from the camera held steady in one hand, pointed at me, bottle of water in her other, lifted now in silent toast.

"I'm doing a documentary."
"On." Not the answer I was expecting, voice shocked, frowning. "What?"
"On...." Water bottle waved in a circular gesture.

You know what.

"Oh." Thoughtful, frown slowly shrinking. "I mean...."
"Going to show it at Cannes." Grinning at me. "Or some other pretentious shit. Make a clean sweep."
"Ha." Shifting, everything bar my head, one shoulder is beneath the duvet. Flexing unseen, limbs pushing back crotch and breasts forward. Unseen, but Fayth smiling slightly all the same.

"You know I'm still bound, right?"
"Because this is a reality piece." Nodding to herself. "So we've got to show how Plymouth starts her day."
"Right."

Managing not to laugh, but smirking.

"Want to struggle?"
"For." Almost laughing again, small cough instead but a small blush too. "The camera."
"Yes." But like on the video call I spot the telltale signs: water bottle rubbing idly against her crotch, biting her lip, eyes fluttering. Into it, me.

"Show us you can't escape on your own." Tone dropping towards teasing, small shiver as her deep secret is given voice. "Show us a helpless Plymouth."

The whole degenerating into a copy of Kira and me back in the barn. Me, into it and doing my best. Knowing failure is inevitable but trying anyway, eyes on- Fayth -the camera whilst I moan softly, flexing and grinding under the duvet.

Like flicking a switch Fayth in sudden motion, camera almost dropped onto the drawer unit, shedding clothes as she crosses the final few paces to my bed, pushing the duvet aside and colliding with me, lips locking and hands grasping, squeezing. Raking fingernails down my flat belly, making me gasp, sliding inside me.

Working me towards a fast intense orgasm whilst we kiss, grinding against each other the whole thing likely caught on film.

Freeing me as I sink back down, that slowly fading post climax high. Climbing off the bed and dressing, leaving.

Passing no comment, not her nor me as I enter the main room some ten minutes later, teeth brushed and dressed: cropped grey vest top hiding a black zip up sports bra, khaki spandex shorts and black Adidas, my own hair tied back too.

Fayth proving able, keeping pace, slightly off what I've managed in the past, happy to build up slowly. Following a route I worked out previously: around and out of Wickwar, looping local roads, something between a square and circle, bringing us back on site, back to cabin thirteen just after the actual five K point.

Not talking, which I find only hinders the workout. Fayth nodding at my waved gestures, which way now and so on. Returning sweaty and, stripping off I've got one eye on the closed bedroom door, not exactly hoping. Curious.

Showering alone, though, and that's fine. Expected, despite what happened last night, this morning. Not really expecting anything more so soon. At some point, maybe? Definitely if I go dropping hints.

Which I- rope slut -can't promise not to.

But Fayth has come across the pond alone, and she knows I like her back, that I'm not a fan of no when it comes to ropes.

She'll be back.

Downstairs and smiling, in part because we've both opted for a jeans and cropped tee variation, casual wear and trainers for me, Converse high tops for Fayth and paired with that cowboy style brown stetson. Fayth the American, going for that American look.

Pulling it off beautifully, if I might comment.

Smiling too because there's a folded tripod on the table, strap so it can be shoulder slung and carried. Smiling because she's holding the camera.

"More filming?"
"Film." Sweeping gesture with her free hand. "Everything."
"Quite." Smile becoming a smirk becoming a laugh, raised eyebrows at Fayth and she goes from smiling to laughing too.

Both of us setting off around the lake, on foot. Wickwar is large, sprawling, but not so large you can't walk it end to end, or lake to hotel, should you wish.

Fayth filming the walk, three times and I manage to keep a straight- business, this isn't supposed to be a comedy -face. Mostly. Reverse walking in front of me, walking a circuit to capture my- smirking as she passes behind, out of shot -purposeful strides. Even holding the camera up selfie style, filming us both.

"So we're...."
"Off to see Sam."
"Samuel Black?"
"Wickwars owner, yes." Managing not to roll my eyes, wanting to be helpful, whatever the outcome of Fayth's new bizarre hobbie, side project.

She flew out here to help me, after all.

"And our new boss. Head of Black Holdings Inc."
"Inc?"
"Incorporated?" Shrugging, mostly sure. Fayth nodding at my logic.

"Sam." Behind the camera, voice drifting to in shot me. Picking the conversation back up. "Who you've already met?"
"Once." Nodding. "Plus we've exchanged a couple emails, talked on the phone."
"About me?"
"Amongst other things." Nudging her, professional, yes, but I doubt Fayth wants us to bury our real, true and playful selves.

"Not everything's about you. Fayth."
"Would be nice though."
"Maybe...." Thoughts drifting, to Kira and isn't that what a stalker does: makes you the centre of thier world?

Wondering where she is, missing her though I shouldn't and so far there's been no danger. But, could there be?

I should care more. I won't, typical doom wishing surrender junkie Plymouth, but I should.

Powering down her camera, though Fayth slips back into Cannes mode, as I'm beginning to think of it, with some amusement, once we're at the hotel. A tall, new building, as everything save the lake and castle ruins is new at Wickwar. Steel and glass, seven stories, the top five being hotel rooms, a mixture of normal and a handful of suites. Behind the hotel, connected by short wide corridor is the arena, a mostly windowless box with high vaulting roof, those few windows being across the top on two sides. Offices and other staff only areas, Sam's office on the top, occupying a corner for perfect views of- part of -his empire.

"Brooke." Already crossing the room, seeming unphased by Fayth's camera, doing a slow sweep of the space. "Welcome to Wickwar."
"Sam." Shaking his hand, only slightly surprised to be pulled into a hug, which I return. Stepping back. "Thanks for having us on the payroll."

Waving the comment off, and the fact of our employment should, we all hope, be mutually beneficial anyway.

"And this must be Fayth Hill."
"Fayth." Holding out her hand, pulled into a hug too which she'll probably edit out.

"How do you like England?"
"Has it's good points." Glancing- with her eyes and her camera -over at me, flashed smile as I flip her off, blowing a kiss simultaneously.

Love you too.

"Flight okay?"
"I'm here." A smiled shrug, long haul from America's west coast to London, numerous trains north, not the easiest of routes, but she's here now.

"Come take a seat." Gesturing not to his desk, instead to a collection of fabric armchairs and a three seater sofa, flanking a low round table. Sam claiming an armchair, the two of us sharing the sofa, sitting- unconsciously -close together across the middle span.

Although Fayth scoots back shortly afterwards, for a better angle I imagine.

Three folders, black, two names splashed across the front: Sam's company and- kind of -mine. The folders likely containing everything we've already agreed to: Sam's plan, the tempting carrot dangled and it takes something quite special to lure me away from trees.

Like Carnival.

"Copies of what we've already discussed." Patting his own as both Fayth and me pick up and open ours, finding sheets of printed information, the bare bones.

Wickwar has two arenas. The smaller, sitting next to the waterpark and surrounded by an arcade. And the larger, behind the casino hotel building, for the resorts headline shows.

Sam's plan therefore, to hold a show strictly for adults. A gamble, possibly, but a risk he, and I, felt worth taking.

The Carnival of Chains, and this will be version three point oh. Exhibition, travelling show, and now, because I've said yes, signed legal documentation allowing Black Holdings Inc limited and specified use of the name. Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays. A several months long run, four shows a week, late evening performances. Bondage, but not porn because we're on stage, not on camera, and so there are rules.

The third Carnival not yet created, nothing more then a folder of sheets, outlining timings and location, listing the venues dimensions and equipment: lights and so forth.

Three months and change, and we've- myself and whoever I rope- ha -in, it's been done in less time. Yet still I can already feel the deadline, the weight of it hanging over me.

And as of tomorrow Black Holdings Inc, Wickwar, will begin advertising the fact of their newest show.

Sam giving Fayth and me a chance to flick through the pages, waiting.

"Right." I nod, closed folder in my lap, Fayth filming beside me, and it's a camera more then up to the task of Cannes, or similar. I recognise it from her setup back home, from shoots. Bulkier then mine yet still smaller then you'd think, more a filming instrument then one for photos as I and most other semi professionals use, flip out screen and a top mounted fluffy grey microphone.

"Is there anything I can help you ladies with," looking from me to Fayth, "at this stage?"
"Access to the arena." Fayth nodding agreement. "A schedule of when it's empty, for practice."
"I'll see to it." Scribbling a note on the pad beside his own still closed folder. "We've got a row of five warehouses in the city, though, two currently empty. One of them is yours. For massing equipment and props, for practice since it won't always be practical to use the arena."
"Because of other shows?"
"Just so."

"I'd like twice weekly update meetings." Tapping his pen. "Nothing ridged, set, and I expect to be seeing plenty of you both regardless." Nodding to himself. "I expect you'll need plenty of acquisitions signed off as we go."
"I expect we'll easily manage that meeting quota." Nodding, smiling.

Not poor, but I'm far from rich. Something like Carnival is a huge financial undertaking: props and costumes to make or buy in, models to hire. A hundred small things and it is my Carnival, my hand on the creative tiller. But there's always been a backer, someone writing the checks.

Letting out the smile, knowing Fayth is panning to catch it, not caring. Picturing him: old, but still vital, alive. A boxers build and similarly gruff no nonsense voice, an easy smile and a hundred interesting stories of a life lived. Trevor, my occasional- paid work, a thing I always enjoyed -keeper and original Carnival business partner. A friend.

Trevor Smalls, founder and owner, sometime driver for 'It's a Smalls World' Global Logistics. He'd been there for me, twice, to help make Carnival a reality. I only own the name and the rights now because Trevor had the foresight to buy it up for me, to gift me.

I've already called him, wondering and in those brief minutes managing to confirm that he had a hand in steering Sam my way.

My friend, and like Fayth someone I feel lucky, blessed, to know.

"Well then." Standing, we two following. "Ladies. I believe you have an appointment to attend?"
"We do." Shaking hands, waiting for Fayth to do likewise. Almost at the door when.

"The filming?"
"Yes?" Turning, Fayth beside me, camera still running, panning between us. Sam gestures to her, smiling though, not mad.

"I assume there's a point?"
"She's doing a documentary." Letting my own smile out, amused.

"On," gesturing, smile widening slightly as mine catches, spreads, "you?"
"Amongst other things." Fayth, smiling too. "I'm going to air it at Cannes."
"Or somewhere."
"Cannes." Nodding as though at a point closed. Flipping me off in response to a stuck out tongue.

"I see." Sam nodding, having followed our- playful -back and forth. Nodding, gaze finding Fayth specifically. "Well. If you need access to editing facilities. Fayth, do say."
"Got it." A thumbs up, and we leave.

Heading to our duel purpose photo session.

The first part easy: taking turns standing before a plain background. The nearest wooden door serving just fine. A half dozen photos taken, one of which- head and shoulders, apparently the cut just low enough to include cleavage -will be scanned onto our new credit card style ID badges, something everyone at Wickwar wears on a lanyard, each badge allowing varied levels of access throughout the complex when pressed to various door locks.

Mine and Fayth's will be universal, allowing us to freely roam almost everywhere barring Sam's office, main security and the underground safe.

Before the second round of photos we sit for hair and make-up. Taking over a dressing room behind the main arena, sat side by side and Fayth's camera positioned in front of me, filming for the half hour it takes, doing our own, both of us models and used to the prep work. Fayth and me naked underneath loosely belted robes, which we slip off upon entering the room temporarily set up for the shoot. Black sheet hung against a wall. Background.

Stepping close, grinning at each other and it's far from our first time. Patient, complying, allowing the specially hired in photographer to work: wrapping chain around each of our crossed wrists, not effective as a binding method, the chain isn't sealed with a padlock for one, but aesthetically it looks right. Our arms around each other, bodies pressed conveniently close. Breasts slightly squashed together which not only plumps both enhanced pairs up, but hides the nipples too.

Taking around a hundred photos, more. The two of us following direction like the pros we are: kissing, pulling back just enough to stare into each other's eyes, lips slightly parted, twin lust filled stares which- given our history, given last night and this morning -isn't hard.

Maintaining that slight distance, tongues out and touching, tip on tip. Fayth staring at the camera whilst I kiss her cheek, lick her cheek. Reversing the role, my turn to stare at the lens. Both of us gagged, individually and together, artfully knotted strips of white cloth.

Sam's and my joint plan, to which Fayth had nodded approval when I'd explained it to her. We'll use the best five poses, shots. Each rendered to black and white, shades of grey across the spectrum. Head and upper body shots, nothing below mid belly no chance of breaking any rules, no visible crotch and our nipples teasingly covered by the chest to chest press.

Above us will be written 'Black Holdings Inc proudly presents, only at Wickwar' whilst below us 'The Carnival of Chains' and, beneath that 'coming soon' with an associated link. The wording will be gothic script for the name, something more normal for the rest. The advert will go live on various adult platforms, various sites more frequently visited by adults, plus the most tasteful, the least blatant of the images will appear on Wickwars website.

And, strangely all that forced intimacy doesn't lead to anything more? Fayth and me returning to cabin thirteen, sharing dinner and watching whatever takes our fancy on the wall mounted flatscreen. Talking, but no bondage, no sex.

Perhaps she's had her fill of me?

[BlissfulMisery]

Might have to aim at a high multiple count in a future chapter, just for the fun of it

So, going for a bondage high score?

-

"So we've got to show how Plymouth starts her day."

Well... more like 'how Plymouth wishes every day would start'

"Want to struggle?"
"For." Almost laughing again, small cough instead but a small blush too. "The camera."

Of course - for the camera

that I'm not a fan of no when it comes to ropes.

I would make a joke about how her vocabulary of choice in such regards is limited to a certain three letter word... but honestly, in reality it is more along the lines of gagged moaning

Thoughts drifting, to Kira and isn't that what a stalker does: makes you the centre of thier world?

Wondering where she is, missing her though I shouldn't and so far there's been no danger. But, could there be?

Kira has *really* wormed her way into Brooke's thoughts...

Bondage, but not porn because we're on stage, not on camera, and so there are rules.

Ah yes, an amusing bit of legal distinction there (that I presume you are poking fun at).

I only own the name and the rights now because Trevor had the foresight to buy it up for me, to gift me.

Had been thinking about/remembering exactly that before you mentioned it. A nice callback.

And of course the very carefully done 'for the camera' photoshoot, in more ways then one. Appreciated the mention of the little details.

Each rendered to black and white, shades of grey across the spectrum.

There is a terrible joke in there that I will let lie

Perhaps she's had her fill of me?

Mmm... I suspect not, Brooke.

And so the Carnival makes a return - each time it has transformed into something considerably different, yet retaining the same core essence. Feel like there is a connection/comment to be made about the nature of writing 'serial' style works (and how to do it 'well').

[RopeBunny]

"So we've got to show how Plymouth starts her day."

Well... more like 'how Plymouth wishes every day would start'

that I'm not a fan of no when it comes to ropes.

I would make a joke about how her vocabulary of choice in such regards is limited to a certain three letter word... but honestly, in reality it is more along the lines of gagged moaning

True

I only own the name and the rights now because Trevor had the foresight to buy it up for me, to gift me.

Had been thinking about/remembering exactly that before you mentioned it. A nice callback.

Second draft addition there, Trevor making it into the rewrite where I go through and expand on what needs it, change what no longer works.

Happy I included him too.

Each rendered to black and white, shades of grey across the spectrum.

There is a terrible joke in there that I will let lie

A terrible joke I couldn't help but include, which yes, doesn't need mentioning

[RopeBunny]

015.

"Going to take a couple of weeks." Thinking, the following evening sat out on the decking, drinking water because beer is a bad habit, something to be savoured rarely. "Maybe three?"
"Probably three." Fayth, nodding. "I can have the call out."
"Advert."
"That." Nodding. "Take me a day or two. But we've got to allow time for online circulation."

True.

"Leave it with you then?"
"This part." Leaning across to toast me. "Sure. Interviews together though?"
"Together." Toasting her back.

And there's plenty we can do whilst waiting for applicants, we won't be bored nor idle.

The following morning I wake up to a WhatsApp, from an unrecognised number: a two minutes twenty-six video, which I have to watch twice.

Not quite believing it the first go through.

It's me, on my own small phone screen. Bound and gagged, naked, trussed and stretched to the four corners of my Scottish hotel bed. Sleeping, snoring the soft inhale exhale of the drunk. And it has to be Kira, who else saw me, who else is obsessed with me.

The video is more though. Five times during the short length additional footage has been spliced and added in. Five times we jump from sleeping and bound me to one of the byproducts of my numerous modelling contracts. Brief bursts of me bound and gagged five different ways, each time moaning, struggling.

Five different clips she's sought out, found and possibly payed for.

In the final, fifth clip I'm working up and through a wand vibrator forced orgasm: post tied naked, the wand bound in place and F cups bouncing. Body locking out and screaming into the ballgag filling my mouth. Staring at the camera.

Arousal swamping me, not scared, nor afraid though I probably should be, this new level and twist to Kira's game. The whole thing is like a creepy love letter, and instead of shivering I catch myself slipping a finger across my already damp slit.

Horny.

'Kira?' I send back. Frowning as only one tick appears. Sent but not received, not at first, not the following day, and that evening when I pluck up the courage to ring I find a dead number. No tone.

And that night I can't sleep, nor the next night nor the next.

And the night following that, awake at gone two when my phone quietly pings. Another message, from a different yet still unrecognised number.

A photo: of me, naked again. Sat leaning back on my sofa at Owl, legs spread wide pussy on display, arms pinned and trussed up between my shoulder blades, ballgag filling a smiling mouth.

'Kira?' Quicker this time, but again only the single tick.

Phone pinging again ten minutes later, another unrecognised number, another photo: ballgagged, and naked again. Kneeling, leaning forward breasts pressed and half squashed against a plush chair, arms pulled behind me and you can clearly see the black latex armbinder pinning them in place. Head resting, gagged lips pressed into Kira's- unmistakably hers, that tan skin tone -crotch.

'Please xx'

Begging, but still only one tick.

And the following afternoon, feeling like a hollow shell, mind wrecked, checking my phone near constantly, staring holes through that line of three single ticks.

A fourth WhatsApp.

'Do you want to play a game? Yes/No.'

'Yes.' Not even pausing to think, the fourth number unrecognised too, uncaring though. Almost crying when two ticks quickly replace one, turning blue moments later.

'Go here. Tonight. Twenty-one hundred hours. Do not be late.' Followed by a Google maps link, a hotel. A Premier Inn roughly a hundred miles from Owl, even further from here.

I don't have much time.

'Okay. Yes x' Almost howling in frustration as only one tick appears, Kira's- and who else, really could it be -rapid disappearance, her assumption of my willingness to play. Coming, going, treating me like a toy, like a thing she can click her fingers and command.

Thinking this all whilst throwing on jeans and biker jacket, phone and bank card stuffed into a pocket. No change of clothes, not even fresh lingerie. Scribbled note for Fayth which basically amounts to goodbye, and helmet in hand I leave.

Cursing every speed hump and every metre of the slow crawl through Wickwar. Opening the Hayabusa up once through the perimeter gates, letting the Falcon fly.

Stopping. Forced to stop for petrol and cursing every ever fucking wasted minute of stillness. Body singing with the need to be underway, to race towards who the fuck even knows what.

Not wanting to keep Kira waiting.

Desperate to please, not thinking, not worrying about what I may find, or why, or Kira's larger plan. Desperate to arrive, and doom myself some more.

Walking, but only because the first thing I did once off the bike, in the hotel car park was check the time, and. I'm good. Walking into reception at twenty-fifty. Strung out, aching, road dirty and smelling of sweat, a somewhat manic smile.

"Help you." A young man, standing at reception having just checked in a family. Ignored by the husband and wife, the ten- roughly -year old son. Teenage- fourteen, sixteen, hard to be sure -daughter slowing as she passes, casting a longer then expected glance at my ink and overall appearance.

Not interested as in wanting me, more like interested in my being older, looking like someone she might want to be.

Ha. Don't do it, girl, I could say. Except I wouldn't, of course. Instead I'd likely give her a thirty minute lecture on the benefits of surrender, the perks of having no respect for such trivial things as personal safety.

Probably a good thing she hurries on.

"Miss?"
"Oh." Biting my lip. Can he help?

"I'm...." Here to be kidnapped, or fucked. Both? Laughter escaping before I can stop it, waving his half frown off. No, you likely can't help me, but. What am I doing here?

Is Kira coming down in- pulling out my phone, checking -six minutes?

"I'm Brooke, and."
"Brooke." Nodding, tapping at keys and my turn to frown. What?

"Here." Handing over a purple room card, a rectangle of plastic. "Room four-one-seven. Your. Roommate, has already checked in."
"Oh." Feeling the smile spread as I take the card, key. Hand shaking slightly, rising adrenaline.

Turning, hunting out and almost running up the stairs. Bounding, going faster.

She's here. I'm going to kiss her so fucking hard, tear my clothes off and yank down her. Whatever? Thrust my tongue inside her pussy slit and lick, probe and work Kira over until she screams.

I'm going to walk in that room and kneel, before the bed, hands at the small of my back head bowed. I'm going to wait, be good and wait. I'm going to submit, and Kira will tell me what to do, and I'll be a good and do as I'm told.

She'll be bound, gagged, just like in Owl. Helpless and waiting for me, a damsel but not in distress and I'm going to sit beside her, look Kira in the eye and tell her I love her.

Probably it'll be some kind of long narrow bag, like a ridged case on four wheels. Kira's going to bind me, scrunch me into a naked and gagged ball before locking me in the case. Wheeling me down corridors and riding the lift. Out the building me having become her cargo. Such a long, aching journey back to her house, wheeled down streets all the people unawares. Taking the coach and me stored underneath with the luggage. Back to her house, and a cage I'll never leave.

Thoughts running, heart pounding and throat dry as I reach four-one-seven. Click as my key card unlocks the door. Deep breath, fighting back a shiver and.

Enter.

"The fuck...?"

Empty. The room so obviously empty but I look anyway. Bathroom, under the bed and even inside the wardrobe.

"Fucking...?" Where is she? Empty, yet the room feels occupied, used. Flatscreen on, playing some random cartoon on low volume, stuff on the bed and one used cup on the desk and.

Wait.

Almost ripping the single sheet of paper as I yank it out from under the collection of things weighting it down. White, standard size, handwritten words in a flowing script on one side, blank on the other.

'Strip.
Use what is provided here.'

And at the bottom, almost cheeky.

'If you don't, then I'll assume you don't like me, that we aren't friends. But, more importantly I'll know you DON'T do as you're told x'

Heart now threatening to explode out my chest, feeling light headed, faint. Not scared, so suddenly, so fucking into it. So ready, Kira's parting words bringing me high, issuing the challenge to my very core.

Stripping naked with shaking hands: boots and jeans, jacket and tee, underwear. Everything folded and placed neatly on the desk. Feeling somehow that my attention to detail matters, not wanting to be messy.

Wishing I had a pen, so I could write a reply. Knowing I'd need several sheets to express just how I feel, in this moment.

Looking at the bed, taking in what's there, understanding, ready for when I can't see, and with a nod, I begin.

Fitting the hood, black latex, total coverage down to the base of my neck. No eye holes, no nose holes, nothing except a wide white rimmed circle for my mouth. Surprised to discover small bulbous protrusions inside, two, lining up with and burrowing down into each ear like those small headphone buds, manging to virtually erase any external noise. The hood lacing up at the back.

Feeling my way up onto the bed, feeling out the centre and laying down, reaching for the cuffs.

Two pairs: using the first on my ankles, each set having a small chain strung between the two metal hoops, standard things. Unable to hear the clicking, going by feel, pressing each closed until it digs into skin.

Second cuffs for my wrists, behind me and difficult, bucking and rolling, reaching blindly backwards, taking three failed attempts, misaligned each time. Finally succeeding, attaching the second hoop after checking, making completely sure the small chain is looped around behind my ankle cuffs chain, meaning my wrist and ankle cuffs are intertwined.

Meaning I'm hogtied, with cuffs.

Laying back, settling on my side. A single stretch but no fight, no struggles nor distress. I've come here willingly, hooded and locked myself up with no thought nor care for the location or even existence of the key.

I'm in this, committed.

So what use fighting.

Aware, but not, of time passing. Unable to see or hear, to judge each ticking minute. Waiting. Nothing but the occasional stretch or slight squirm, flexing limbs and muscles, tensing then relaxing.

Waiting.

Falling asleep, a slow drift, losing, inactivity giving way to yawning, eyes closing blackness replacing blackness.

Sleeping.

Jerked awake by a clamped nipple. Gasping, an indrawn hiss of breath as metal teeth bite down, spring loaded and seconds later, as though to temper the pain with pleasure: a kiss. Soft, brush of warm lips against mine which open in welcome, feeling a tongue slipping in, probing.

Breath catching as the nipple clamp is tugged, twisted. Pain to temper the pleasure and I moan, not pulling away nor attempting to wriggle free, instead I push, thrust forward, offering my nipple up.

More, please.

"Kira?" Can't even hear my own voice, in a pause between kisses, nothing more then vibrations through my head.

The response instant. Clamp yanked off, biting my lip to silence the moaned cry even whilst the bed shifts.

Climbing off?

Leaving me?

"No. Wait." Bucking, beginning to fight the cuffs, arms and legs flung back, shaken, trying to feel out the cuffs, searching for freedom whilst my mind races, frantic.

"Please." Pushing breasts and crotch forwards. "Don't leave me. Please." Flopping, going still, voice going quiet.

"I'm begging."

"Please." Everything around me quiet, still. And I could be talking to an empty room, wouldn't have a fucking clue but I continue, talking.

Dooming myself some more, not caring. Thinking only of the now.

"I'm here, like you asked, and I." Swallowing, shivering even though it's isn't cold. Adrenaline. "I locked myself up, like you asked."

"Are you...." Still here? Breathing, waiting.

Nothing.

"Do you." Another shiver, but the smile comes, Plymouth the flirt. "Like, me? Like this." Thrusting out my chest. "Are you happy, with me? I did this for you." Spreading my legs wide, imagining Kira, stood, watching me one hand straying to her crotch, lips slightly parted, breathing a little fast.

"I locked myself up for you." Licking dry lips, blinking behind the hood. "I, wanted to. I love."

Words drying up as I realise what I just said, what I almost just said next.

You.

"Love, your attentions. So, please." Pushing my chest out again, voice coming out a little wavering now, because I'm asking. "May I have the clamp back."

Nothing ever so delicious as the feel of cold hard steel, unforgiving, biting down on my soft protruding nipple.

"Thank you." Like a sigh, not pain but pleasure, the warm fuzz of my pinched nipple sending ripples of delight down to my crotch. Twisting and struggling, angling until I'm properly on my side, both breasts out from underneath, shaking myself, bouncing them both.

Offering.

Feeling the second clamp, no less severe yet no less welcome. Kira's- no thought of it being anyone else -attentions like a balm, like peace after the long dash here.

Sudden invasion, a panicked instant of worry at the cock- not Kira, fuck and shit and fuck -teasing it's way into my open gasping mouth, tongue coming automatically out to taste it.

And relaxing, body flushing as the heat fades, the cock is fake, smooth rubber. Probably a strap on.

Which pulls away, out and off. Imagining Kira's cheeky grin, kneeling on the bed having shuffled away, strap on dangled and bouncing between her slender legs. Come and get it, she could, likely is saying. And with a moan I comply.

Wriggling across the bed, mouth open tongue hanging, flicking out. A snake seeking the scent, searching for a taste. Bite of pain each time a clamped nipple brushes, rubs across the bed but I keep struggling forwards.

Eventually finding her, locating the smooth tip, bulbous, large.

Getting to work.

Tonguing it, kissing the tip, licking up then down the smooth long length. Taking it into my mouth, craning forward to swallow the whole length. Teasing and throat fucking the strap on which remains still, the wearer- Kira -unmoving, letting me entertain.

Until the cock- Kira -does move, pulling away, bed shifting and moments later I feel the tip pressing at my pussy lips, already damp from my endeavours, from my predicament. Spreading my legs, nodding.

Sighing as the cock slides slowly, easily forwards, filling me up, huge and thick, feeling stretched and me unused to cock, the sensation still a surprise each time.

Fucking me. Kissing and humping, tugging and twisting at my tender, painful yet singing with joy nipples. Fucking me, fast and slow, filling me up only to pause, holding the cock fully inside, only to ease out only to ram it back in, hard.

Making me pant, moan. Losing self control.

Making me climax, screaming her name, body locking out cock buried as my back arches, holding it inside as I slowly climb back down.

Sliding out. Turning my sigh into a gasp as both clamps are yanked off one following the other.

Feeling sleep rise up to claim me a second time, too happy and content, too mellow to fight it off. Drifting.

Falling.

Waking alone, with a start, limbs flopping back down from spasming, almost coming up off the bed mind and insides such a mess of conflicting information and memories.

Finding myself freed, no cuffs no hood. No sign of anything nor anybody in the room. Nothing save my own neatly folded and stacked pile of clothes, helmet.

Kira gone, if she'd been here at all, and were it not for the note I'd easily talk myself into the whole episode being just a fever dream of arousal and want and lustful need.

Except for the note. A single sheet of white paper, placed just under my piled clothes, hanging out, flapping gently.

'I love....'

Like a tease, making me shiver, still naked, reading and rereading the line. Shivering more at the image filling the whole middle of the page: a heart, red outline and within.

'P 4 K'

Like something a schoolgirl would write, like a crush. And at the very bottom, written so small I miss it at first.

'I'll be in touch x'

[Caesar73]

I have some catching up to do? But from what I read so far? Excellent as usual! I promise to comment in more detail soon, @RopeBunny

[BlissfulMisery]

drinking water because beer is a bad habit, something to be savoured rarely.

Now if only she were so diligent with keeping a lid on other bad habits.

Then again, if that were the case, there would be about half as much story to tell

It's me, on my own small phone screen. Bound and gagged, naked, trussed and stretched to the four corners of my Scottish hotel bed. Sleeping, snoring the soft inhale exhale of the drunk.

Ah yes, nothing like waking up to a video of yourself (that you never knew was even recorded). Creepy love letter indeed...

'Okay. Yes x' Almost howling in frustration as only one tick appears, Kira's- and who else, really could it be -rapid disappearance, her assumption of my willingness to play. Coming, going, treating me like a toy, like a thing she can click her fingers and command.

Just the right mix of exciting and yet a little terrifying.

Instead I'd likely give her a thirty minute lecture on the benefits of surrender, the perks of having no respect for such trivial things as personal safety.

The perks of being an adult - being free to ignore all the good advice you have been given. When one is a child, one wants to grow up so they can do whatever they want, not realizing that the restrictions placed upon them are often a safety net rather then a burden (well, not implying that *all* restrictions are always for ones benefit/good of course, but the problem is that it is often hard to tell the difference when younger).

and I'll be a good and do as I'm told.

Think there is a word missing - multiple options, but all of them leading to pretty much the same end result/meaning, I suppose.

'If you don't, then I'll assume you don't like me, that we aren't friends. But, more importantly I'll know you DON'T do as you're told x'

Ah, so the answer to 'what' they are - just friends (with bondage benefits), apparently

Liked the description of her mind racing through various scenarios - fitting for the headspace she is in.

Jerked awake by a clamped nipple.

A fun way to wake up

and seconds later, as though to temper the pain with pleasure: a kiss. Soft, brush of warm lips against mine which open in welcome, feeling a tongue slipping in, probing.

Breath catching as the nipple clamp is tugged, twisted. Pain to temper the pleasure and I moan

Love the symmetry, the oscillation back and forth. Being 'led around' by the sensations, only serving to further highlight ones complete helplessness.

"I, wanted to. I love."

Words drying up as I realise what I just said, what I almost just said next.

You.

"Love, your attentions. So, please." Pushing my chest out again, voice coming out a little wavering now, because I'm asking. "May I have the clamp back."

Nothing ever so delicious as the feel of cold hard steel, unforgiving, biting down on my soft protruding nipple.

Nice catch, Brooke, although far far too late

She is in *deep*, far far into the headspace. A great description overall (not just the quoted parts).

Great chapter - loved the utilization of her disorientation/limited point of view. Slowly taking us through the journey of Brooke's descent...

Also seems like you were playing at trying to fit as much bondage in as possible as discussed/mentioned, with the various imagining/dream scenarios

[RopeBunny]

I have some catching up to do? But from what I read so far? Excellent as usual!

Take your time, and- hopefully -enjoy the rest as you catch up

Comment again, please, it's always nice to get feedback.

[RopeBunny]

Then again, if that were the case, there would be about half as much story to tell

definitely not going to be giving up ALL her bad habits, I'd have nothing to write

and I'll be a good and do as I'm told.

Think there is a word missing - multiple options, but all of them leading to pretty much the same end result/meaning, I suppose.

Perils of editing. Either I forgot to add 'girl' after good, or I forgot to remove the 'a'

Liked the description of her mind racing through various scenarios - fitting for the headspace she is in.

Also seems like you were playing at trying to fit as much bondage in as possible as discussed/mentioned, with the various imagining/dream scenarios

Actually I'm back to being around 3 to 4 chapters ahead, at least in the draft stage. Polishing each and small tweaks before posting.

But what I wrote there, the multiple bondage scenarios running through Brooke's head whilst she ran towards the hotel room. I'd done those awhile ago, so no, it wasn't an intentional attempt

Thanks for commenting. Still can't say exactly what the endgame will be for Kira/Plymouth, but we're definitely getting deeper.

I'm enjoying letting things unfold naturally anyway, seeing where my gut and the flow takes things.

[RopeBunny]

016.

It isn't the first time I've riden home sore, aching from bondage, or if I'm incredibly lucky aching from bondage and sex.

It isn't the first time I've riden home with a too wide smile plastered across my face, stinking, wearing yesterday's sweaty clothes hair unwashed.

Halfway home, tearing up the motorway, Hayabusa howling, a solid ninety and I remember today Fayth and me are supposed to be touring the arena.

Highly unprofessional of me to run off at Kira's cryptic demand.

"Where are you Brooke?" Concern in her voice, which is nice to hear. I'd left Fayth a note, but it had amounted to nothing beyond 'Goodbye, back tomorrow.'

"On my way home." Pacing, walking lines back and forth on the grass, Hayabusa ticking over, engine cooling nearby. Turning my face to the sky, enjoying the breeze. "Couple more hours."
"You're okay?"
"Yes." Nodding. "I had a...."

Urgent appointment? A demanding stalker, obsessed fan? A complete loss of self regard, again?

"Thing."
"Right. Well."
"Can you reschedule the tour, please. Fayth."
"Tomorrow?"
"Ideally." Letting out a breath. "Sorry. It, slipped my mind."
"I'll make the call."
"Thanks."

Back on the bike, continuing. Back to Wickwar.

Finding Fayth outside cabin thirteen, sat on one of the decking chairs though she rises as I'm guiding the Hayabusa into our allocated spot. Looking about as fresh, as clean as I am post fuck dirty: skinny fit dark blue jeans and a white tee, stetson and black Adidas, black lightweight waterproof unzipped, flicked and caught in the wind.

"You certainly know some." Pausing, flashing a smile as I stand, unsure. "Interesting friends."
"I." What? "Do?"
"I'll be home around ten." Nodding, holding my gaze and still that smile, cheeky, somewhat teasing. "Can you move your surprise present out the main room by then?"
"My." The fuck? "What?"

Confused, thoughts still not aligned as it is.

"Fayth?"
"Said she wanted to surprise you." Pointing towards the front door, stepping passed me and turning to walk backwards, blowing me a somewhat teasing kiss. "Have fun, Brooke."

Watching Fayth go, trying really fucking hard to understand.

Surprise present? Wanted to surprise me? Move it out of the main room? Move.

Her.

Kira?

Connecting the dots and who else? Somehow beating me back here, knowing where here is, what exact cabin. Somehow managing to talk Fayth into letting her in, to wait for me.

And I'm not bound, so I can cuddle her, kiss her. Enjoy, her.

Stumbling into the cabin, almost falling through the door in my rush to get inside, to see her.

"You beautiful and sexy minx I could ki...." Words drying on my lips, mouth working but no more sound, shock bringing me to an abrupt halt. Staring, and across the room, impossibly: Dorothy, blush rising on her cheeks, a small nerve filled giggle erupting from her lips.

"Dorothy?"
"Hi." Clearing her throat, blushing some more. "Um. Surprise."
"Well." Laughing myself, head shaking. Trying to mask the crashing disappointment inside, like a dropped weight into my belly, falling into a dark pit and it isn't fair, on Dorothy.

Who I should be overjoyed to see, however she's here. But instead, in the moment all I seem able to focus on is her not being Kira. I'm still- mostly -back in that hotel room, or the hotel room in Scotland, my bedroom in Owl. Thoughts and insides flooded with the abso- fucking -lutely certain knowledge of my impending surrender. Again, to her.

Get a fucking grip, Brooke. Breathe, focus on the now.

Open your eyes and fucking look.

Easy to see the plan, I might not understand the how, the specific details, but I can see the big picture.

The surprise.

Keys on the table: for the cuffs, but somehow there's a second: on a ring with a tag exclaiming 'Cabins, master' which, how did Dorothy even get this?

Dorothy, who I suppose had Fayth's help, but equally appears to of been ready to do this solo, is stripped to lace heavy black lingerie, a plunge bra out of which her C cups rise, and a small thong, her belly mostly hiding the string like waistband.

Brunette curls worn loose, pink dyed tips dangling.

Cuffed by Fayth, I'd assume, given that knowing smile, but it appears Dorothy was prepared all the same. Sat in the chair, facing me, wrists behind her, behind the chair back and ankles together. A third set of cuffs links the two, pulling her ankles back, pinning Dorothy to the chair.

And the trouble is, it's a near exact copy of how I found Kira, in Owl. Cuffed, helpless. And the trouble is Kira did it- naked, gagged -better.

And the trouble is, right now she's filling my head, invading my waking and dreaming thoughts. Standing a rooms length apart and Dorothy already fidgeting, sensing something not quite right.

A plan not quite going, to plan.

I can hardly see her for the overlaid image of Kira, on the tree stump.

"I'm...."
"Brooke?"
"Sorry." Letting out a breath, shaking my head. "It's just...."
"But." Looking down at herself, another fidget and I think, remembering: Dorothy, panicking that first time in ropes. "I did this for you?"

Picking up speed as I cross the room, already too late. Dorothy going from slightly lost: a plan derailed. To frustration, to anger.

Freeing her, and by some unspoken series of events, some combination of my feeling like shit, like a person not entirely there anyway and Dorothy clearly super pissed.

At me.

Letting her release the tension, the frustration, on me. Certain I deserve it, playing dead, gone doll like not fighting back.

Dorothy walking out, leaving me.

What I deserve. Maybe.

"Brooke." Twenty-two hundred hours, or ten PM if you'd prefer, and I wouldn't. Right on schedule and. Knocking, gentle lest she- fat fucking chance -wakes me, but knocking all the same. Courtesy. "Are you two," slight tease in Fayth's voice, "decent? Are you...."

Walking into the cabin, and it isn't hard to spot me, since the main room is where you enter, since the table is close to the door, kitchen area up this end, sofas down by the window, for the view.

"Oh...."
"Hi. Fayth." Raising my head off the table, giving her a single nod. "Can we talk?"

I've been here for five hours, plus or minus. Dorothy's revenge, which I basically rolled over and took, feeling like it was deserved, justified. Letting her hogtie me, anger on display in the harshly yanked ropes, the complete lack of freedom I've had since she left.

Not even glancing back, closing the door and storming out.

And me abandoned. Still dressed in yesterday's faded blue skinny fit jeans and purple cropped tee, yesterday's black bra and pink hipster pants with the grinning white skull on my crotch. Dirty, sweaty and smelling somewhat from a combination of the hard, long ride to the hotel and back.

Smelling because of Kira, a night spent cuffed, an hour spent as her fuck toy and I can still taste the strap on in my mouth, can still feel the ghost of it's thick girth in my pussy.

Dorothy's hogtie surprisingly proficient for someone I thought a rookie, at ropes. Legs bound upper thigh to calf, arms pinned behind me at elbow and wrists. Elbow rope extended around my breasts, wrist rope around the waist.

Pinned, secured. Helpless.

Five hours, time enough to dwell on and think about my recent life choices, my direction of travel.

Downwards, basically.

Time enough to take a step back from Kira, to see, to begin to understand the potentially vicious spiral I'm becoming trapped in.

"Want me." At the table, reaching out to roll me, to examine the ropes, my bindings. "To free you?"
"Maybe in the morning." Shaking my head. "Need to be punished."
"Wow." Nodding in apparent understanding, of my obvious sadness, depression, walking to the sink and filling a glass with water, shedding her lightweight waterproof and stetson, Adidas. Coming to sit down across from me, close by my head, me laid side on now, whole body facing Fayth.

"Drink?"
"What." Blinking, focusing on Fayth, the offered glass. "Oh. Please."

Tilting awkwardly, both my head and the glass, Fayth unable to avoid the small spillage. Drinking about half of what's left herself, placing the glass down and leaning back, arms crossed.

And I get the sudden notion, like a truth being shown: that she's deliberately putting what distance she can between us lest she begins taking advantage of my state.

"What?"
"Sorry." I'd begun to grin, and. You're supposed to be sad, Brooke, down in the hole of your own making. Not thinking about flirting with Fayth.

I really am impossible.

"Who was she?"
"Could've been my girlfriend." Shake of my head, lost opportunities, two now. "At least twice."
"Still suck at dating then?" Slight tease, trying to lift me out of the funk, being a friend.

We talk often, so Fayth is quite aware of the train wreck that is my love life. My consistently bad choices: drawn to girls who spell doom, for me, whilst seemingly incapable of finding, keeping a normal, healthy relationship going.

"Always."
"No. Hey." Smile instantly falling at my dead tones, pushing back the chair and climbing up to sit on the table, taking hold and pulling me closer, one leg flung out wide her other bent at the knee, Fayth placing my head here and the angles are such that my face winds up against her crotch.

Gently- but firmly it has to be said, hand loosely gripping my hair -holding my head in place, Fayth's other hand stroking up and down my lower back, having lifted my tee, skin on skin contact and it feels really good.

Calming.

"Talk to me, Brooke."
"It's just...."

Taking a deep breath, shivering as the memories flood in, the short road travelled, from the hotel last night, winding and those unseen- at the time -twists, all the way back to the first meeting: Leon's house, and all those things I did, to and with Kira.

Opening my mouth, letting it all wash out and if I can't confidence in Fayth, possibly my closest friend, who can I tell?

"And." Shifting, flexing long bound limbs, muscles, pressing my face closer into Fayth's crotch, breathing deeply of her scent, her baseline arousal.

And Fayth's my friend, my close friend. And I love her as she loves me but. But, she's quite clearly getting off on my predicament, my helplessness. And on the tale I've told too. From the shift of her body, from her gone quiet tones it's obvious Fayth is aroused.

Which only serves to arouse me in turn, beyond my own baseline of willingly surrendering to Dorothy, taking my punishment and the long hours of abandonment between her leaving and Fayth appearing.

It's a twisted and strange thing we have and share, that I can be down in the pit, and Fayth can simultaneously want to help me, and get off on the fact of my state at the same time.

That I can be okay with that, can even take some pleasure in her enjoyment of me back, like a loop.

"I thought I was fucking helping." Letting loose a crazy laugh.

The whole run of events, that instead of helping I drew Kira to me, moth to the brightly burning flame of my playfulness around bondage. Sending out all the wrong signals as I casually stripped, cuddling her, going above and beyond the modelling remit.

Helping, only she saw it as so much more.

Falling for me, deep and hard. Wanting me, and yet instead of attempting to court and win me, like a normal sane person, instead Kira went down the road of obsession.

"Does she know you're here?"
"She found me at the wedding." Laughing again, doomed. I am, fucking doomed. "At Owl. If she doesn't know yet, she'll figure it out."
"Because of the advert."
"Won't help." A shrug, in no doubt Kira already knows, probably already has my cabin number. Is.

Shiver chasing through me, and damn my traitor body, wanting it even whilst admitting the wrongness.

Picturing Kira, right now in the dark, camped out on a fishing pier across the lake, all in black, long lens camera in hand, photographing us on the table.

Can't help myself shifting, grunting but making it up off Fayth, kneeling on the table now bound legs making standing impossible. Staring, curtains still open and darkness beyond the bay windows and door out to thirteens decking, Wickwar in shadow.

Staring, almost laughing yet again, crazy, doomed, realising I'm flexing, subconscious having taken over and I'm kneeling here pushing out my chest. Towards imagined Kira.

Offering myself to the mad crazy Asian who's motives and endgame remain a total mystery. And I really need to stop.

"I." Letting out a breath, still kneeling, turning my head to regard Fayth. "Really need to stop."
"Probably best not to encourage her." Nodding, giving me a small smile, a thumbs up.

"It's hard though." Slumping, collapsing back down and Fayth reaching out to guide me, face first back into her crotch. "Really fucking hard not to crave that kind of attention."
"What about this other girl, though?"
"What about her?" Bitterness leaking through, body straining at the ropes, seeking action of some kind, a release of tension and emotion. "It's all fucked, it's...."

Huffing out a disgusted, at myself, breath, and, suddenly like flicking a switch I.

"Can I sleep with you." Pulling away to look up at Fayth, wanting very much to not be alone, with my own thoughts. From uncaring to desperate. "Please?"
"What happened to punish..."

Giving me a look as she speaks, wondering at angles and leverage, into me and always interested in playing, with me.

Which must make this, us living together like Christmas for her.

Voice drying up though, clearly catching the needing look in my eyes, tone of my voice gone small and lonely. And Fayth's a friend, and yes she has, will again take full advantage of me. But she's a friend, and right now I need her, and she spots that.

And I love her for it, for putting my needs above what had been her steadily building arousal.

Freeing me, propping me up in the shower and waiting outside the stall, handing me a fresh towel.

Cuddling up to me in bed, no touching not a single kiss, holding me. Being there for me.

Being a friend.

[Caesar73]

Just read the last Part. I have to do some catching up. Plymouth had no easy Time. But she is not ale. Magnificent.

[tickletied84]

Risky move from Brooke to shoot off down the motorway to the Premier Inn - what an amazing scene with the sensory deprivation and bondage.

I'm glad she's got friends to help her make sense of the complex web she's in - it's a good job it's not a 24/7 reality film that Fayth is filming

[RopeBunny]

Plymouth had no easy Time.

True, but it's the trials that make everything interesting

Risky move from Brooke to shoot off down the motorway

Definitely but not the first time, and I can't see it being the last.

The film, Fayth's random Cannes idea is just something I found myself adding in as I wrote. But, liking it so onwards and we'll see what becomes of it.

Thanks for commenting.

[BlissfulMisery]

definitely not going to be giving up ALL her bad habits, I'd have nothing to write

Indeed

But what I wrote there, the multiple bondage scenarios running through Brooke's head whilst she ran towards the hotel room. I'd done those awhile ago, so no, it wasn't an intentional attempt

Fair enough - just seemed strangely coincidental

I'm enjoying letting things unfold naturally anyway, seeing where my gut and the flow takes things.

Very much enjoying being along for the ride.

-

Urgent appointment? A demanding stalker, obsessed fan? A complete loss of self regard, again?

All of the above?

"You beautiful and sexy minx I could ki...." Words drying on my lips, mouth working but no more sound, shock bringing me to an abrupt halt. Staring, and across the room, impossibly: Dorothy, blush rising on her cheeks, a small nerve filled giggle erupting from her lips.

"Dorothy?"
"Hi." Clearing her throat, blushing some more. "Um. Surprise."
"Well." Laughing myself, head shaking. Trying to mask the crashing disappointment inside, like a dropped weight into my belly, falling into a dark pit and it isn't fair, on Dorothy.

A good argument for 'look before you speak', I suppose.

And seems the whirlwind chaos of Brooke's 'new' life only continues to increase. Hopefully her various 'associates' do not find out about each other, or things might get a little awkward/complicated - the scheduling alone already promises to be a nightmare at this rate

Letting her release the tension, the frustration, on me. Certain I deserve it, playing dead, gone doll like not fighting back.

Dorothy walking out, leaving me.

What I deserve. Maybe.

Twenty-two hundred hours, or ten PM if you'd prefer, and I wouldn't.

She has a bit of an obsession with military time I see...

I've been here for five hours, plus or minus. Dorothy's revenge, which I basically rolled over and took, feeling like it was deserved, justified. Letting her hogtie me, anger on display in the harshly yanked ropes, the complete lack of freedom I've had since she left.

Not even glancing back, closing the door and storming out.

Oof. Not very responsible of either of them, but I fully understand both perspectives. Dorothy's being obvious (feeling snubbed after Brooke kind of led her on), and for Brooke, the desire to be punished in some way for a self-perceived wrongdoing. For we can often be our own worst critics (well, not true for narcissists I suppose, but you know), and guilt can be an extremely difficult emotion to work through.

Ironic too - being tied up and abandoned is one of Brooke's biggest fantasies, and yet obviously it is not nearly as much fun when there is more behind it then just playing (even high-stakes/risky/intense play is still worlds different then genuine anger and guilt, as in this case)... Brooke really needs a hug

We talk often, so Fayth is quite aware of the train wreck that is my love life. My consistently bad choices: drawn to girls who spell doom, for me, whilst seemingly incapable of finding, keeping a normal, healthy relationship going.

Or, you know, they wind up dead

It's a twisted and strange thing we have and share, that I can be down in the pit, and Fayth can simultaneously want to help me, and get off on the fact of my state at the same time.

That I can be okay with that, can even take some pleasure in her enjoyment of me back, like a loop.

Twisted, strange, one might even say tangled... One of the endless conundrums and contradictions of such interests.

Giving me a look as she speaks, wondering at angles and leverage, into me and always interested in playing, with me.

In fairness I do not think Fayth (or anyone really) needs much 'leverage' over Brooke to convince her into bondage

But joking aside, touching to see Fayth be there for her. The funny thing is Kira also cares, in her own twisted way - Brooke's problem is not that she is associating with people who only want to use or exploit her. More that both her and her partners interests and desires have a tendency to get in the way.

But the games they (and we) all love to play do not *actually* have to compete for space with 'regular' affection/connection though - I suspect this is the lesson Brooke needs to learn going forward, if she wants to cultivate more stable/healthier relationships.

[RopeBunny]

But what I wrote there, the multiple bondage scenarios running through Brooke's head whilst she ran towards the hotel room. I'd done those awhile ago, so no, it wasn't an intentional attempt

Fair enough - just seemed strangely coincidental

True

Hopefully her various 'associates' do not find out about each other, or things might get a little awkward/complicated - the scheduling alone already promises to be a nightmare at this rate

Going to mark this up as potential foreshadowing because it's likely too much fun and games NOT to have some kind of crash, at some future point. And indeed the idea had already appeared.

Letting her release the tension, the frustration, on me. Certain I deserve it, playing dead, gone doll like not fighting back.

Dorothy walking out, leaving me.

What I deserve. Maybe.

Indeed, aiming for depression there, feeling bad, sorry for herself.

Or, you know, they wind up dead

Again, true.

Whether it was obvious or not I actually merged two shorter chapters: Brooke coming home to find Dorothy, followed by the initially separate Fayth coming home to find Brooke.

I had let the second part of this run away from me. That bondage quota getting filled as Fayth took advantage, but on reading back I didn't like it, didn't want yet another instance of Brooke being taken advantage of, even willingly, so what you see is the result.

[RopeBunny]

017.

"Fucking." The following morning, post waking up, post jog, a different route this time and I'll keep mixing it up. Woodland today, out of Wickwar and downhill, into and around a smaller wood then Owl, back out and climbing towards home.

Stopping at the hotel, necessary, and in reception I discover.

"Found you."

Reception being no different to everything here: plush, tasteful. On the wall beside the lifts, the short corridor from reception hall to lifts, stairs. Three framed photographs, each one of a different Wickwar staff set.

Hotel and casino staff all lined up on the casino floor.

Grounds, golf staff spread out in front of the castle ruins.

And lastly, waterpark staff, the multiple slides and pools behind them, everyone smiling, and in the centre, dressed in smart black skinny fit trousers and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up and untucked.

Dorothy.

Who works in the waterpark, as a manager of some kind, judging by the individuality of her clothing.

"Well." Fayth, who came out for exercise too, who hasn't missed a session and only grumbles a little. Leaning back against the wall a couple of metres away, but hearing my exclamation she'd come in for a look. Nodding now. "So she works here then?"
"Looks like it?"
"Would explain the key."
"True." That 'cabin master' she'd had, and surely a manager, high up the rankings at Wickwar could swing access to such a thing.

"Any thoughts, Brooke?"
"Not yet." Tapping a finger against my lips, thinking.

Collecting our company ID cards from reception, dangling off our new black- get it -Wickwar lanyards, heading back to thirteen, to shower.

Thinking, and still, five days later starting early, no Fayth today, having a quote unquote well deserved lie in. Instead I'm solo, slipping on helmet and jacket having showered and changed post jog, boots, wheeling the Hayabusa halfway down the lakeside cabin feeder road, being considerate to my sleeping friend.

Firing the beast up and heading towards Blackpool, to the empty warehouse set aside for Carnival use.

And it's as expected: number four in a row of five, relatively new builds and each roughly the size of a decent sized tyre fitting shop slash mechanics garage, high roof angled backwards, lower at the rear and a small office off to one side, empty the whole place empty.

Swept and made clean save for some old oil stains on the floor.

Phone pinging whilst I'm standing in the office, staring out through the handy- boss keeping an eye -window, perfect view of the warehouse, the rolled up shutter door and my Hayabusa parked just beyond.

Not thinking, pulling out my phone and swiping, clicking WhatsApp open, clicking again and a third time to start the video.

Not thinking.

Legs suddenly collapsing from under me, feeling weak even whilst blood rushes to my crotch, pussy beginning to throb, nipples leaping to rock hard attention, pressing almost painfully at my bra.

Sat on the floor, staring at my screen mouth open in shock. Pressing play again.

"I'm begging." My voice through the speakers, and I really am, was, begging. The tone is real, not laid on for the camera I couldn't see anyway in that hotel room, hogtied with two pairs of cuffs, hooded and laid on the bed.

Self bondage, all for Kira.

"Please."

A jump cut, spliced footage. Several jump cuts in fact: the following ten seconds, during which I push out my chest, spread my legs. Four times the image switches, eyeblink fast, to a still shot of Kira, the angle from ground level looking up. Boots and tight jeans, topless with hands on hips, looking down over the thick length of a strap-on, smiling.

The imagery blatant, unmistakable and having the- Kira's -desired effect. Showing herself as my master, and the wobbles in my gut proving her hit a success. On target.

"Do you." Me, smiling. "Like, me? Like this."

Screen going black, but the mashed clip isn't done, instead white words ghost onto the black.

'Yes.
And you'll do it again, when I wish it.'

"Yes." Real, actual me. Not even aware I'm speaking, the acknowledgement, promise something automatic.

The video ends noisily: me, screaming her- Kira's -name as I climax, my hooded face in closeup, her strap-on pounding me again and again, relentless, unseen but watching I can feel the ghost of it. Legs opening wide in memory.

"Here."
"What?" Confused frown as I hold out my phone, waving it at her. "What do you...?"
"Delete my WhatsApps."
"Delete your...." Blinking, and I see the reasoning drop behind Fayth's eyes, as she nods. "Right. Good thinking."

"She messaged?"
"Earlier." Neglecting to mention the four times I watched Kira's message, video, before tearing myself away. Neglecting to mention the internal war, the raging argument on the ride home, wanting to keep it, knowing it won't help me break free.

"Keep fighting."
"I will." Taking back my phone, nodding. Feeling strong.

"Here for dinner?"
"Not sure."
"No?" Laughing, because. "Why not?"
"Because I'm going swimming."
"Swimming." Frowning, because despite not coming with she knows I exercised earlier, and we are sticking to a regular schedule, plus all the on site walking around. "Here?"
"Up at the Waterpark, yes."

And she gets it, reasoning again dropping behind Fayth's eyes, as she grins.

"Good luck Brooke."
"Tell you about it later Fayth." Kissing her cheek, heading upstairs to get my stuff.

Walking across the resort, heading from lake to Waterpark, passing the castle and tipping a salute, for no reason other then it's become habit, Fayth even copying me. It's already late into the afternoon but I've checked and today is Dorothy's late shift.

Dressing in as little as I dare, considering this is a public, family pool. Considering I- technically -work here, can be fired from here. And good fucking luck getting Carnival off the ground without me, but still.

Finding a cubicle and changing, stripping off Adidas and faded black jeans, cropped purple vest top. Thong and matching sky blue lace bra and.

Phone pinging, an incoming message and already knowing I shouldn't look.

I look.

A photo, and I'm instantly, insanely jealous because someone. Some, unknown- to me -has tied Kira up.

Just for this one photo?

Did they touch her afterwards, play with her, make her cum?

Hogtied on a plush grey rug, the kind with long thick strands all tangled and messy. The angle is low and downwards, but behind her a red fabric sofa can be seen, the bottom of its front anyway.

Naked and laid on her side, facing the camera, ropes pulling her into quite an arch. Harsh and unforgiving. Rope squeezing her A cups, like small pinched hills both nipples clamped. Legs pinned together by all the bindings, crotch rope digging in, pinching her size six waist even tighter. Kira's eyes wide, mouth clamped around a red ballgag.

'property of Plymouth' written in black sharpie across her belly.

Another unrecognised number and she must've bought SIM's in bulk, I muse, even whilst a second message comes through below.

'Missing you x
Wishing this were YOUR handiwork.
But....
Do you miss me?
Two minutes to reply x'

"Fuuuuuuucccckkkk." Fogetting I'm in a family Waterpark, in the communal, the whole changing room is mixed sex nothing but cubicles. Venting my frustration and shouting, heedless of who can hear.

"Two?" Fucking minutes.

And I want to reply but shouldn't. But I want to and in two minutes I can't, the window somehow closing. But I'm supposed to be ignoring Kira and her advances and demands and clever games, but if I don't reply she'll think I don't miss her when in fact I.

"Do."

Acting before I can think any harder. Lifting my phone and taking a single self shot with the front facing- top of the screen -camera: chest and above, lifting one F cup, nipple towards my mouth, tongue out to lick.

Sending it, adding.

'Wishing it were MY handiwork, on you.
Wishing YOUR handiwork was on me.
Missing you, too xx'

Stuffing the phone into my jeans, on silent and already regretting my message but too late now. Pulling out and slipping the- somewhat risque bikini on: khaki green thong style bottoms, slip on not tie side, paired with a black halter style top which offers up and presses my F cups together, each side of the front having skeletal hands, gripping my breasts.

Bag in a locker, heading out to the noise and chaos of the Waterpark, which despite looking perhaps half empty is still full of laughing running kids, chased by parents, or not in the case of those older.

There are cameras, which I'd asked after the presence of, checking and making plans. And as predicted, hoped, it doesn't take Dorothy long to appear: standing at the end of a waterslide run off, my bag at her feet, arms folded and regarding me with mild amusement as I stand, dripping, shaking out my hair.

Positively overdressed, in a dress: long sleeved with a low hem brushing black lace up boots, dark blue with a low scooped neckline, cleavage thrusting and the curves of Dorothy's belly pressing the material tight. Lanyard dangling, alongside a second holding a whistle, a third holding a half dozen actual keys. One of which presumably gave her access to my bag and.

"Awful presumptuous." Nodding down at my stuff, but grinning to remove the sting. "Wouldn't you say?"
"And I suppose," giving back the same semi teasing tone, the same confidence, "you just really wanted to go for a swim?"
"I'm here for you."
"Well you're obviously here for someone." Pointedly looking at my cleavage, breasts ballooning inside the small bikini top.

Flicking the excess water still on my fingers at her, Dorothy shrieking in shock and dancing back, which makes me laugh.

"Fuck but you look good."
"So do you."
"Ha." Picking at her dress. "Next to you?"
"Next to anyone." Kira forgotten in the moment, focused solely on Dorothy, actually here.

Dorothy, blushing at the compliment.

"I wanted to come back." Biting her lip. "I. Fuck." Shaking her head. "So many times I turned around."
"Still left me there though." And again, smiling to take the edge off. We're playing here, I'm not mad.

"Well." A casual shrug, half smile. "Only because I knew you'd get some kind of twisted high out of it."
"Twisted." Eyebrows going up. "High?"
"You didn't like it?"
"Sure. Dorothy." Feeling hot, a flush up my neck to be admitting something I don't tend to share, even if we are- maybe -joking. "I got a kick out of being bound and abandoned."
"By me."
"By you." Or, you know. Anyone, which is the whole problem, but we won't go there just now.

"Want. Um...." Fidgeting, working herself up to it. "Want to try again?"
"I mean." Yes. And definitely yes. The whole reason I'd come was to attempt setting right the wrong of Dorothy's aborted first move.

"Feel like I should explain though." Why I was off, somehow? Without doing the deep dive into Kira territory.

And there she is, but I flick the name away, irritated, ignoring the small voice insisting that maybe I should go check my phone.

"No." Shaking her head. "Just." Nodding now, decision made. "Can we just wipe the slate, go again?"
"Sure." Finding a cheeky smile. "Want me to go away and come back, to my cabin? Give you time to set up?"
"How about you come over mine?" Glancing at her phone. "Around eight?"
"Sure." Glancing myself, at one of three wall mounted clocks. Two hours and change.

"Message the address?"
"Soon."
"Well, okay then." Stepping in and giving Dorothy a small kiss on one cheek.

Walking off, bag in hand.

Making it two paces before Dorothy grabs my trailing hand, yanking me backwards, catching me as I spin and collide with her, the impact knocking air from my lungs and it's suddenly impossible, or at least really hard to draw more in.

Because she's kissing me, properly.

"Sorry." Pulling away. "Um...."
"I'm not." Grinning, running my tongue across first one lip, then the other. "Eight?"
"Eight." A nod as I step back, turn.

Back to the cubicles, changing, walking back to thirteen, to change again, to make myself up for Dorothy.

For a second chance which I will not fuck up.

"Help me."
"Brooke?"
"Please." Naked, and not embarrassed to be standing in the main room with a fully clothed Fayth in this state. Waving my phone at her, the message having come in two minutes ago.

Dorothy and me exchanging occasional flirts for the last fifteen minutes, she having started things by way of sending her address. Asking me to bring some 'rope and toys' along.

And I'd thought this message was another from her, but no.

"What is it?" Taking my proffered phone, glancing at the screen. Looking again, longer. "Oh."
"Indeed." Letting out a breath, running a hand back through my hair.

Frustration, both at my inability to control myself, because even stood here naked part of me wants to leave, to walk out the door and go to her. Frustration too at Kira, for not leaving me alone despite I haven't actually told her to leave me alone.

That she should just be psychic, or something, and know, is apparently perfectly obvious, in my head anyway.

It. Is a photo: Kira, dressed in white lace bra and thong, matching stockings and suspender belt, a very posh, very sexy looking outfit. Very skimpy, too. She's lounging on a bed, the purple heavy design of the room behind giving it away as another Premier Inn.

'Come to me. Bind me. Use me.' Is written below, followed by a postcode.

"For the hotel?"
"Most likely."
"Fuck."
"Yeah." Blowing out a breath. "What do I do, Fayth?"

"I'll go." Into the developing silence, with a decisive nod.

"You'll." Caught by surprise. "Go, and...."
"Not to play." Handing back my phone, tutting and shaking her head. "Let me talk to her, make her understand some fucking sense."
"Well...." Thinking, turning the idea over and. I haven't tried that yet, talking.

Too busy surrendering.

"Sure." Smiling. "Thanks."
"All good." Pulling out her own phone. "Message me that." Waving her phone at mine. "And you go have fun, whilst I go shout at this girl."
"Ha." Grinning, because I kinda want to come now, to see.

Fayth calling a taxi, which I insist on paying for, plus her train fair and luckily this hotel is closer. Whether by accident, or Kira slowly managing to close in on me.

Fighting off the shiver of pleasure at the thought.

Fayth leaves, and I leave. Off to see Dorothy, off to have some fun.

[BlissfulMisery]

Whether it was obvious or not I actually merged two shorter chapters: Brooke coming home to find Dorothy, followed by the initially separate Fayth coming home to find Brooke.

I had let the second part of this run away from me. That bondage quota getting filled as Fayth took advantage, but on reading back I didn't like it, didn't want yet another instance of Brooke being taken advantage of, even willingly, so what you see is the result.

Had noticed it seemed like a longer chapter then usual. And cannot disagree with anything you said - makes sense for multiple reasons.

-

Dorothy.

Who works in the waterpark, as a manager of some kind, judging by the individuality of her clothing.

Small world, I suppose.

Seems Kira is getting better at filming her impromptu 'shoots' with Plymouth - more complex editing and camerawork this time around. Maybe not the best thing letting your stalker get that much practice...

Another unrecognised number and she must've bought SIM's in bulk, I muse

Of course - as any professional stalker worth her salt would

But I'm supposed to be ignoring Kira and her advances and demands and clever games, but if I don't reply she'll think I don't miss her when in fact I.

"Do."

Brooke is *really* lost in the proverbial weeds here. Also not sure if Kira's games are really all *that* clever given she mostly just repeatedly pulls on the same thread of Brooke's personality - not too difficult to manipulate someone who melts if you dangle a pair of shiny handcuffs in front of them. (Exaggerating a little for comedic effect, but you know it is kind of true )

For a second chance which I will not fuck up.

Well, not unless a certain individual sends you another message...

Frustration too at Kira, for not leaving me alone despite I haven't actually told her to leave me alone.

That she should just be psychic, or something, and know, is apparently perfectly obvious, in my head anyway.

And as if on cue...

Not surprising Brooke expects Kira to read her mind, given how deep in Brooke's head she has gotten - seems a logical leap, really

"I'll go." Into the developing silence, with a decisive nod.

Not that she needed to prove it, but Fayth really is a true friend to Brooke.

Fayth leaves, and I leave. Off to see Dorothy, off to have some fun.

Hmm... even odds on if this actually goes according to plan. Not in the sense that I think Kira will somehow sabotage anything, but more that Brooke will self-sabotage/be unable to take her mind off Kira.

[RopeBunny]

Dorothy.

Who works in the waterpark, as a manager of some kind, judging by the individuality of her clothing.

Small world, I suppose.

This was my original idea, the base premise that everything else slowly grew out of.

Upset- at myself -for what I'd done to Plymouth, seeking a way back in. A new tale. And my first good thought was to pair Brooke with someone from outside the industry, for Brooke to date a non model, non rigger.

For a second chance which I will not fuck up.

Well, not unless a certain individual sends you another message...

Which to be fair is almost a given, the Plymouth/Kira angle is far from over.

Hmm... even odds on if this actually goes according to plan. Not in the sense that I think Kira will somehow sabotage anything, but more that Brooke will self-sabotage/be unable to take her mind off Kira.

Well....

See below

[RopeBunny]

018.

Being a- committed -biker girl has it's drawbacks. For instance, my insistence on riding everywhere, even to Dorothy's house for a date.

A first date.

Because whatever flirting we did in Scotland, whatever it was that transpired in the kitchen, none of that counts, officially.

Taking the Hayabusa severely cuts down my clothing options, no dresses or skirts, no shorts. But fuck it, this- a King -is who I am. No point pretending otherwise, so, messenger bag stuffed with rope, and other interesting things. All of which Dorothy asked me to bring.

Because of course- ha -I'd never turn up for a date with bondage supplies in my bag.

"Won't this be a fun first date." I muse, buckling my helmet, firing up the Falcon.

Riding to Dorothy's address, stopping twice to check in with my phone, using Google maps to locate first myself, and then checking I'm still making the correct set of pre-memorised turns.

Finding at the end a flat, not a house, or rather a house, divided into flats and bedsits, the one communal front door having stacked doorbells next to it, distant sound of ringing within, a door opening, closing. Footsteps and I surpress a fidget.

Find a smile as the front door swings wide revealing Dorothy and.

"Wow."
"Thanks." Blushing, very obviously blushing. Obvious, due to how little she's wearing. "Come in. Um." Casting a quick glance behind. "Quickly, before any of the others see my butt."

Almost running away, bounding up a short flight of stairs and through a door on the right, the stairs taking a sharp dog leg left turn on the small landing, heading up to a second floor and two more doors. Plus the three at ground level, immediately right of the front door, a corridor running beside the stairs on the left, two doors along it's opposite wall.

Amused, having paused and definitely checking out Dorothy's butt, I follow her, finding the door open, walking in.

She's wearing the same lace heavy black lingerie as last time, thong no more then a string between Dorothy's plump butt cheeks, breasts spilling out of the low cupped lace plunge bra.

"We...." Picking at the nail of one finger, fidgeting as I shed coat and bag, helmet and boots. Dorothy lives in a bedsit, everything in one L shaped room bed at one end, sofa and flatscreen at the other. Kitchen making the L, bathroom up a short flight of stairs.

"We don't have much luck so far." Glancing at me then away. "With ropes."
"Suppose not."

Dorothy panicking the first time, in Scotland, and me ruining the second, bringing her to anger.

"We don't have to."
"No." Shaking her head. "But I got all dressed up." Grinning, false bravery, and picking at her bra. "Be a shame to waste it."
"Okay, well." Thinking. "How about you bind m-"
"-No." Shaking her head again. "I'm good."

Okay.

"Sofa?"
"Not." Shivering as she points. "The bed?"
"Well, I can fuck you and leave you," pausing to smile as Dorothy laughs, too loud and too fast. Nerves. "If you want? Or." Waving at the sofa. "We can have a cuddle, go slower."
"I'd." Smiling at me, stepping forward to take my hand in hers. "Like that. Please."
"Good."

So it's to be something more, then? Aiming higher then a simple fuck, aiming to begin building towards that deeper connection.

Which I'll almost certainly fuck up, given my track record, but it's bad luck to mention such things on a first date.

So I don't.

I have her sit down, in the middle of the three seater, faded red fabric and I know, remember Dorothy's family have money, so maybe this bedsit, small and old furniture is her attempt at going it alone? Or maybe it's something else entirely?

Keeping it simple, despite how severely she hogtied me Dorothy is still, in my eyes at least a rookie. So: ankles together, and wrists behind her back, wrapped and pinned to her waist. Enough to immobilise, enough that she isn't going anywhere, and knows it.

"There."
"Right." Wriggling her limbs as I, having crossed the room take off boots and socks, leaving me in faded blue skinny jeans and a cropped black 'Suzuki' tee. "Feels good."
"Good?"
"Tight as fuck." Laughing, wriggling some more. Stopping, blushing as she looks up and notices me watching from across the room. "Um."
"Pretty."
"You think?" Glancing down at herself, smiling whilst blushing harder.

"I do." Crossing the room, coming back and after scooping up the remote, sitting down next to her.

Putting my hand very deliberately down on Dorothy's leg, high up on her thigh fingers curled around the plump limb, her size sixteen plus frame adding natural curves, her shape something enjoyable to look at and touch.

Thumb almost brushing what little material her thong has at the front. Running the hand up and down, trailing fingers back and forth whilst finding something to watch, keeping the volume low.

Background.

"Tease."
"It's half the fun."
"That right?" Nodding in response to my nod. "What's the other half?"
"The fucking." Leaning in to kiss her cheek, pulling back. "After."
"Nice." Voice breaking slightly, small shiver.

I could spend a half hour telling her all the other pie chart divided parts to the fun, of bondage. But not today.

"I'm." Swallowing. "Sorry I left."
"Don't be." Shaking my head, hand off her leg instead snaking around behind, pulling Dorothy closer. "Fresh start remember."
"Why don't you hate me though?" Voice soft, but asking all the same. "Why did you let me do that to you?"

I am not. Not, going to talk about Kira. Not here, not now. Not ever again, if I can be strong, if Fayth makes it work. My phone is off, a purposeful decision, having arrived I don't want the distraction of a message alert. Wondering.

"I felt bad." Leaning my head back, stroking up and down Dorothy's side, not looking at her. "You'd gone to so much effort, for me. And I just wasn't in the right mind...."

Shaking, my head and myself. Small spasm and I will not mention Kira.

"I liked you."
"Liked?"
"Like." Leaning forward, and in. Running my tongue across the tops of both of Dorothy's breasts, making her shiver, sigh. "You. And I thought." Letting the laugh out, because in part I'm- Kira -covering the truth, but in part it might as well be true. Because it is how my thoughts normally run.

"I thought: if I surrendered, let you bind me, you might decide to stay and play."
"Fuck." Laughing. "I could've stayed?"
"If you'd wanted."
"And fucked you?"
"Not like I could've stopped you."

As close to my deep truth as I'm willing to tread, the stark fact that I wouldn't stop her. Anyone, from fucking me, if they bind me. Unsure how Dorothy would take such a fact anyway, so I'll leave it buried.

"Want to bind me and try?"
"I'll." Squriming, more like finding a relaxed pose then seeking escape though. "Pass."
"Okay." Hiding the disappointment, wanting to know whether her expert binding of me was a one off, or if Dorothy really has learned some skills.

Lasping into silence, watching but not paying attention to the show. And over the following fifteen odd minutes we go from sitting to laying, me pressed back against the sofa cushions, one arm around Dorothy's waist to hold her in place, belly to belly my free hand teasing at the one breast I've eased free of her bra.

Stripped down to my own white lace bra and grey cotton hipster pants, luminous green piping around the waistband and leg hems.

Dorothy moaning, sighing. Losing herself to the surrender and I want more, to do more, to her. But I don't feel confident in simply taking advantage.

"I want." Kissing her, tipping the scales rubbing my chest against hers. Trying to distract from the seriousness of it all by ramping up her arousal. "To bind you. More."
"More?" Breathless. Kissing me back, body dry humping mine. "Ropes, on me?"
"And a gag."
"Gagging me." Another kiss, a moan as I pinch her nipple, gently. Teasing at it. Tugging. "I." Breathing. "Want you to. Please."

A green light. Rolling off, over her I quickly grab two ropes and a ballgag. Returning.

Making short work of first wrapping Dorothy's breasts into a harness, being quick yet ensuring I pause at least twice to grope them, to lean in and kiss her properly. Using the second rope to hogtie her, ankles to wrists. Tugging, reeling her limbs in. Dorothy moaning but not protesting and I keep pulling.

Bringing her ankles almost to touching the wrists, Dorothy's hands reaching, questing, finding and exploring her feet. Moaning but not in distress, so I bind her in place, making the hogtie a sealed thing.

Taking the ballgag and climbing back over her, laying down.

"Is that." Tongue, cautiously out, licking the red ball as I glide it over her lips. "For me?"
"Yes."
"And you." Swallowing. "Like me, bound and gagged?"
"Dorothy." Smiling, a lazy aroused thing. Kissing the top of her breast. "I am going to fuck you so hard you'll need this just to stop the neighbours complaining."

Gasping, blushing. Breathing harder, faster as I take her breast into my mouth, sucking on Dorothy's nipple, teasing it with my tongue and feeling it bud, go erect.

Nodding as I pull back, opening wide. Staying still whilst I strap the ball in place.

And I have the worst thought, in the worst moment. Only just managing to contain the laugh, to stamp on it, kill it at source so nothing beyond a smile escapes.

Imagining leaving Dorothy, walking out without an explanation or a backwards glance. Abandoning her to tight bondage just as she had me.

Evening the score, and of course I won't. Only broken girls, like me, like being abandoned in helpless bondage.

Instead, with a flourish, and some wriggling I strip off bra and pants, enjoying Dorothy's wide eyes, her contented sigh, a moan of what sounds like enjoyment as I rub my canons across her gagged lips.

Pulling her in close to me, one hand holding Dorothy in place lest she slip off, my other taking the long slow route down towards her pussy. Teasing at both breasts before trailing over the hump of her belly.

Finding her already wet, ready for me. Beginning to dry hump as I slip inside, finding and softly pinching her clit between finger and thumb, rubbing at it. Dorothy bucking and moaning, my attentions slowly pushing her towards the edge of control.

Only getting louder, only wriggling and fighting the ropes more as her climax approaches.

Screaming as she cums. After which, not waiting not pushing my luck, taking no chances not wanting to ruin the moment. Freeing her, pulling the duvet off her bed and laying it atop us, rolling Dorothy on top of me, stroking her back whilst she lays still, breathing gently slowing head resting on my chest.

Wondering if she'll want to bind me now? But instead we order pizza takeout, staying under the duvet until the doorbell rings, Dorothy hastily pulling on an oversized baggy 'Weyland Yutani' tee, and by the time she returns I've- taking the hint -dressed too, back into jeans and tee.

Eating in front of the flatscreen, a box each despite I could've shared, don't eat much but Dorothy causally pointing out the 'buy one get one free' offer which I take to mean she wants a whole pizza. So okay.

Cuddling back up, after, watching the rest of the movie we found, missing the first twenty minutes but we've both seen it before.

Cuddling, leaning into each other hands stroking idle patterns, loosely gripping and I wonder if maybe this will all lead to more ropes. A second round?

Except, reminding myself: Dorothy isn't necessarily into the ropes in the same way as me, she hasn't the long history, isn't a surrender junkie or a lover of binding and gagging, of owning. Certainly she's had fun, tonight, but she isn't desperate for it the way I am.

So I keep silent, content with a cuddle, which does slowly lead to more, to kissing and groping, more blatant as we each become more aroused. From sitting to laying, and from sofa to bed, stripping.

Fucking, but unrushed, taking our time, enjoying the slow build.

Falling asleep. So much unsaid, questions of how she ended up at the same Wickwar as me, things to ask and show and tell.

But we'll get there.

"I still don't have a helmet."
"Well." Sat astride my bike, dressed in yesterday's clothes, but this time I'm shower fresh, clean smelling. Sharing a smile with Dorothy, dressed in white shirt and black spandex leggings with the Adidas stripes down the outside of each leg.

"Maybe soon."
"Maybe." Fidgeting slightly, stepping forward then back, leaning in and taking my hand. "If you'd like?"
"Sure." Nodding, brief squeeze of her hand. "No rush."

Meaning: we're only just starting this, so, no need to go too deep too fast. Dorothy nodding, understanding.

"But, one day I'll take you riding."
"One day, Brooke." Stepping in now, sharing a kiss, a hug. Before with a wave Dorothy sees me off, following- on foot, and a bus -herself.

Back to Wickwar.

Parking the Hayabusa outside cabin thirteen, taking a moment to stretch, helmet off and jacket open, enjoying the morning for what it is: cloudy, overcast and very little sun, but, a good day.

Firing up my phone, waiting. Clicking on the WhatsApp.

Nearly dropping my phone.

Unrecognised number, of course. Two messages, sent late last night. The first an image: Fayth, trussed into a tight rope hogtie, back arched, laid naked on her side breasts and pussy pushed, thrust towards the camera. Hooded, the same hood I wore for Kira. Fayth's mouth open slightly. Her whole body is covered in graffiti, black permanent marker, the same handwriting but all different sizes, as though someone- Kira, and who else, really -wanted to cover every.

Fucking, inch of her. The phrase 'not Plymouth' repeated, over and over.

And below, the second message. A single line of text. 'Wishing you'd come? x'

Bursting into the cabin to find Fayth, looking up as I open my mouth, closing it again, because just from looking I can see enough.

She isn't mad. In fact there's a kind of half smile, mixed in with guilt, refusing to meet my gaze at first and likely because she so obviously failed at talking Kira down, did infact, somehow? Kira managed to talk or bully or trick Fayth into that hogtie, which my friend from across the pond doesn't seem the least upset about the experience.

Willing, it seems. Certainly there's no rage.

Only guilt.

And the photo isn't faked. I know technology can do things, fantastic things. But despite wearing a baggy hoodie and leggings, her body covered, there's a faded but not yet washed off 'no' visible on Fayth's right hand, a match for the photo.

And the absolute worst part, despite how good last night went, how happy I'd felt riding back to Wickwar. Looking at that photo, I'm jealous of Fayth, of the attention Kira showed her.

Her message, the words almost taunting but she's right. I do wish I'd gone.

[tickletied84]

Oh the turmoil of emotions - what will Brooke choose?

Enjoyed the fleeting evil thought of leaving Dorothy tied up, but glad the thoughtful Brooke returned to counteract it!