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

[RopeBunny]

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

Indeed and I could've gone for it, had Brooke walk away.

Probably could've even recovered from it, kept the Dorothy/Brooke dynamic going despite it, the whole thing becoming a teasing back and forth instead of revenge.

But I'm glad she returned too.

[BlissfulMisery]

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.

The old 'if doing one thing over and over is not working out, maybe I should actually try something different'? What a strangely rational thought for Brooke to have

-

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.

Oof. I mean, I can understand where she is coming from, but it is a painfully unhealthy way to think about yourself/frame ones past experiences.

"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.

Nah, obviously Brooke came over to tie her up while having *zero* interest

I could spend a half hour telling her all the other pie chart divided parts to the fun, of bondage.

Ah, but doing so would spark an endless debate on the optimal ingredients and recipe for said pie (chart)

"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."

Do not think it is playing fair to say something like that to someone you have bound so thoroughly (well, at least from Dorothy's perspective, not Brooke's )

Only broken girls, like me, like being abandoned in helpless bondage.

And 'oof' yet again. Feel like Brooke *really* needs to talk all this out in some serious depth with someone. And like she could use at least a dozen hugs.

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.

See, and this is where normally I would say that it makes little sense to be with someone where you have to deny a core part of yourself like that. But then again, the other way around has only succeeded in bringing her to a dark place, mentally. Hopefully she finds some sort of balance.

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.

Mmm, this is where one would usually call the police

But pesky details like 'safety' aside, seems Fayth could not handle Kira either. Which leaves poor Brooke more or less alone to deal with the person who has a concerningly solid foothold in some of the darkest parts of her psyche... (the darkness in this case being the self-depricating aspects that have become entwined with it, not the bondage on its own)

Well....

See below

Well...

I saw.

And I worry for Brooke, in more ways then one

[RopeBunny]

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.

Oof. I mean, I can understand where she is coming from, but it is a painfully unhealthy way to think about yourself/frame ones past experiences.

Only broken girls, like me, like being abandoned in helpless bondage.

And 'oof' yet again. Feel like Brooke *really* needs to talk all this out in some serious depth with someone. And like she could use at least a dozen hugs.

Partly my fault, these inner observations from Brooke. Probably writing too many, too frequent, but that's what comes from writing chapter by chapter as opposed a whole novel, which you could then go through and remove at least some of the repetition.

The aim here is to show the downward spiral, the low before the eventual- hopeful -high of Dorothy, a proper and safe relationship.

Which of course I shan't guarantee but which is perhaps what Brooke deserves, to be happy, to be well treated.

I could spend a half hour telling her all the other pie chart divided parts to the fun, of bondage.

Ah, but doing so would spark an endless debate on the optimal ingredients and recipe for said pie (chart)

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.

See, and this is where normally I would say that it makes little sense to be with someone where you have to deny a core part of yourself like that. But then again, the other way around has only succeeded in bringing her to a dark place, mentally. Hopefully she finds some sort of balance.

And again, as above. Aiming to highlight the Dorothy/Kira differences, and whilst your point is valid, because nobody should have to bury an aspect of themselves in order to be happy. I'd say it's fair, and even good- healthy -for Brooke if she were with someone who didn't want to do bondage ALL the time

But pesky details like 'safety' aside, seems Fayth could not handle Kira either.

This was a point where I could've closed out the Kira angle, written in both because I liked the angle and dynamic of Fayth offering to help, but mostly as a potential out.

Fayth managing to end Kira's obsession.

But I continued writing (am still a couple of chapters ahead ) and realised I'm still enjoying the Kira angle, and so Fayth lost

And I worry for Brooke, in more ways then one

Ah, but ultimately Brooke/Plymouth is a favourite of mine, 'loved and chosen of the Bunny' and so forth so, fear not, it's fun to write the downs but I've no doubt we'll end things riding high.

No promises for who Brooke winds up walking out of the story with, but this is unlikely to be a story where evil wins.

[RopeBunny]

019.

I don't mention it, and nor does Fayth. We spend the day largely apart, her getting up to leave almost immediately following my rushed, somewhat panicked entrance into our shared cabin.

Because of that photo: Fayth, bound and hooded, Kira's prisoner in some manner or form.

Leaving, brushing passed me as I step back, guilt still writ large on her face, guilt at folding and bending to Kira's will, if that's what happened, or guilt at failing to turn Kira off her obsession, as she'd promised to attempt.

Guilt, writ large. Much like the faded but still there graffiti, a permanent marker tattoo covering Fayth's body, only visible to me on her hands.

Apart, letting her go. For now. My own day full of servicing the Hayabusa, something I enjoy: old clothes and oil, something I'm good at.

Delivering a progress report to Sam, alone. Fayth aware of it as a task we'd pencilled in for the afternoon, but not showing. Frowning to myself on the early evening walk back, saluting the ruins with less enthusiasm, wondering whether this: Kira, whatever happened, might become a wedge between us?

Finding a delicious smell, scent of herbs, chicken, wafting from the open lakeside doors of thirteen as I approach. Climbing onto the decking, avoiding the front door and the table outside is laid, the BBQ smoking and working away at marinated chicken.

And Fayth, back from an apparent shopping trip into Blackpool, stepping out through the main double doors from the cabin to the decking, carrying a freshly baked and purchased tiger baguette, cut into chunks, the wooden board holding butter and a variety of dips.

Scrubbed clean, evidenced by the pastel purple tie side bikini she's wearing, a white sarong tied about her waist, like a knee length skirt but split up one side. Acres of flesh on show and not a single inch of Kira's graffiti to be seen.

"Brooke. I'm...."
"Cooking up a delicious dinner." Nodding, stepping to the BBQ and inhaling deeply, a barrage of smells, at least three different marinades. "Need help?"
"No. I'm...."
"In that case I'm going inside to change," stepping in and planting a kiss on Fayth's cheek. "If you're going to be sitting there distracting the fuck out of me. Least I can do is return the favour."

Winking, my comment earning a smile off Fayth, who nods.

Re-emerging ten minutes later, perfect timing as Fayth is just removing the chicken, piling it onto a plate which she sets down next to the baguette, between our two laid places at the table. Pausing, plate in hand as she catches sight of me. Smiling.

My tie side bottoms rising up at the sides out of demin shorts, cut offs the faded blue material frayed on the hem. Triangle top doing a terrible job of containing my breasts, barely covering my nipples, serving mostly only as a means to press my F cups together. The bikini black.

"The fuck am I supposed to focus on my food, Brooke?"
"Willpower." Toasting her with a beer, and fuck it I guess we're drinking tonight. "Fayth."
"Might as well not even be wearing that top."
"Well." Tugging at the string between the two triangular cups. Letting go. "Maybe if we'd eaten inside I wouldn't need a top. Or." Winking. "Bottoms."
"Teasing bitch." Tossing a slice of baguette at me, but grinning too.

"Brooke. I." Fingering her fork, the good humour of moments ago forgotten, chicken skewered on the end. "I'm."
"Don't." Shaking my head. "Doesn't matter. Okay."
"But I...." Letting out a breath, dropping her fork to clatter on the plate. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine."

Having decided whilst changing, noting Fayth's obvious guilt, her discomfort and I guess she most likely did- for whatever reasons -willingly submit to Kira, but she very obviously doesn't feel good about it in the cold light of day.

So, no more sharing. Kira is my problem, exclusively. My problem, my burden. And I'll handle it, somehow.

"Change the fucking subject. Fayth." Tossing her own baguette chunk back across the table. "No more of this, or I'll have to come over there and confiscate that bikini as evidence or some other made up shit."

Fayth laughing, grinning. Blowing me a kiss and like that, we're okay.

Eating. Drinking. Talking about everything except Kira. Flirting far too much, drink loosening what's already a fairly fluid friendship. Tidying up and taking a dozen more bottles out to the hottub.

Dark now, keeping our voices low, keeping the decking lighting off, nothing beyond a lamp from inside thirteen, barely glimpsed between half shut curtains to illuminate us.

Whispering, giggling softly as the drink continues to flow. Both of us happy, openly flirting, enjoying the company and the easy dynamic we share. Shedding clothes and there's nobody to see: cabin twelve dark, currently unoccupied, and fourteen- a family -having retired over an hour ago, lights out.

Shedding clothes, kissing. Cuddled up side by side and the occasional hand straying to a breast, stroking. Teasing.

But nothing further, and it isn't that we don't want to, I can sense, feel and it's obvious. Just from looking it's obvious: Fayth wants me, here, now. And, drunk though I don't need the drink to feel the same, but, drunk and therefore more horny then I'd otherwise be, I want her too.

But not tonight. Not with the ghost of Kira looming so fresh. Not with that image, which I've seen and which Fayth actually lived.

If we played it'd feel like comparing, competing against what only just happened. If I bind and gag Fayth, she'll no doubt find herself lost within the memory of Kira's ropes. And if Fayth binds me I'll begin to wonder at deeper meanings.

So. We kiss, we cuddle, we fondle and verbally tease. And afterwards we stumble and giggle our way to separate bedrooms.

And sleep.

Waking, both of us waking too late and in no state to jog. Soaking the leftover alcohol up with toast and omelettes, coffee.

Getting to work.

An already narrow field, and here we are making it more so. Within the wide world of porn bondage is one niche amongst many, and some models will, granted, diversify but others will- like me, like Fayth -be solely bondage focused.

We need models, for Carnival, but only those who first meet certain criteria which Fayth specified in the advert we put out.

Deadline reached, exceeded even, we sit at the table laptop open in front, going through the submissions.

Some we instantly discard, because they live too far away. We'd asked for models within a set radius of Wickwar, a distance easily travelled daily, and yet still we encounter applications from London and other equally far off points.

Others we discard due to availability. Some models, like myself hold down a second job, porn as a part time thing, extra cash. But we need models who will be focused only on Carnival, models willing to put any other career plans on hold for the duration of our run at Wickwar.

We need three, and from thirty-seven applications received Fayth and me spend a whole day slowly whittling it down to a final eight, those few we feel are the closest fit. Four models a day, two days of interviews and each day running the same.

At the warehouse.

Shutter rolled down for privacy, inner space still largely empty, some chairs, a table against one wall. A half dozen boxes. Between us we're keeping the space clean, sweeping and mopping, housekeeping.

Oil stains still patching the floor of to one side, adding character. The whole expanse echoing.

"Good morning." Standing at the front, faded blue jeans and an original 'Carnival of Chains' tee hugging my bust: black, and on the back 'N.E.C, Birmingham' followed by the hall number, the dates we'd somehow successfully run Carnival across.

Both that first exhibition, the theatre tour afterwards feeling dream like at the time. Disbelief that the shred of an idea, cooked up in a bout of depression as a means of escape, had actually become something so different and amazing.

Shock at the success, that thousands actually came to look, to walk our bondage maze, to sit and watch our show.

The legend 'Crew' on my tee, marking me out and you could buy a 'Carnival' tee, or pull over hoodie, but only those who worked the shows got the crew clothing.

Fayth close by, leaning, white jeans hugging her slightly curvier- then me -size twelve hips and legs. Black Sketchers to my black Adidas, her own 'Carnival' tee freshly made, part of the new run. Black, and cropped to leave a slash of belly exposed. 'Wickwar resort. Blackpool.' on the back, followed by the dates our show will run.

Camera in hand, Fayth slipping into Cannes mode again and she hasn't filmed in awhile, hasn't needed to, this thing she's doing, which will or won't become an actual published piece is focused on me, but specifically with regards Carnival.

And so she's filming, tripod already set and ready for when she's unable to hold the camera, which will be soon.

"Hopefully you're already aware of us?" Four girls, nodding, as will the four tomorrow. I smile in response. "I'm Plymouth, and Fayth Hill. There are eight of you." Holding up fingers. "And from this we need three."

Dropping most of my fingers, leaving one on one hand, two on the other. Waiting out the glancing around, the small nervous laugh and the equally nervous half smile.

"Before we begin, let me give you some context, shed some light beyond what anyone of you may already know, about Carnival past or present."

"Carnival is mine." Patting my chest. "My dream to twist and to shape, but that doesn't mean I'll be the centre. Beyond opening and closing Carnival has never focused on any one model, this is a show of equals. I hope." Smiling at them all, tipping Fayth a salute, to which she blows a kiss.

"No single shining star. No spotlight. My show, my name first, yes. Granted, but each of us. Of you." Spreading my arms in a sweep across the four of them, the four tomorrow eventually to become three from the eight.

"Each of us will, at some point, perform each part of the show. Thus it has ever been with Carnival. A merry-go-round of bondage."

"You've all got at least some experience in this field of ropes, but I want to be clear that, whatever you know, whatever methods or practices for binding you currently use, in Carnival we do things my way. My bondage isn't complex, won't be hard to pick up. But this is my show, and so we bind, and gag." Winking, unable to help being playful. "To my design."

"Today I'll be evaluating you on that binding. I don't need to see you instantly mirroring what I'll show, but I need to see a willingness to try, an aptitude for the basics of the skillset: tight ropes, and a reasonable speed."

"Alongside that Fayth and me will talk to each of you, fifteen." Seesawing a hand. "Twenty minutes. No traps and no silly questions, we'll just go through what you've already submitted on the form. Checking. This will be a chance for you, too, a chance to ask."

"We need to be a team. One unit. No stars in Carnival, remember. So, relax, be yourself, and to the five of you. I'm sorry, but thank you all the same. Now."

Clapping my hands together.

"Enough talking, let's begin."

Taking a moment to slot her camera into the tripod, positioned off to one side but close, pointing at the posts. Three in a row which we spent yesterday building, freestanding things, tall. Wooden.

Good enough.

Fayth positioning herself, stood against the centre post legs together and arms reaching around behind. Standing still, keeping quiet as I bind her and what an odd thing to do this with an audience, not on- yes Fayth is filming but it isn't the same -camera, for a shoot. Strange to be talking the four girls, the other four tomorrow through my process.

Doubling the rope, passing through self made loops and reversing. Wrapping and binding, switching it towards the end to wrap between the limbs. A simple yet effective method, tight. And in my opinion at least it looks good.

Keeping it simple: wrists, elbows, both bound behind the pole, to the pole in the case of Fayth's wrists. Ankles and knees, which again I bind to the pole. Nothing more save a ballgag and.

"There." Stepping back, turning to face them all. Gesturing at Fayth, who gives a small wriggle and I work at not noticing.

"So." Pointing at random. "You, and you. Which leaves you and you. Decide who goes first." Waiting a moment, the girls, suddenly thrust together and I watch half nervous smiles and a couple of equally nervous laughs being exchanged.

"This isn't a race, remember." Looking to each girl in turn. "Fayth will be remaining here, bound. For the duration, as reference. And just as it isn't a race, you'll lose no points for repeatedly checking the how of it."

"I'll be watching, scribbling notes, but just." A shrug, and I know it's hard, to ignore the fact but. "Do you, okay. Just do the task, and say done when you are, so I can come see the finished product. Okay?"

Four girls, nodding. As they will tomorrow. So off we go.

Eight pole tied girls to judge, eight slight variations on the theme of what I did to Fayth, and I'm not expecting exact copies. I want the technique to match, but it doesn't have to look exactly the same. One less wrap, or that rope going left not right, or whatever. It's fine.

I make notes, photograph each bound girl from several angles so that Fayth can see, later. Photograph her too, seeing the amusement in her eyes and later she'll tease me about having so much porn on my phone, so many photos of so many pretty pole tied girls.

Bitch.

But not really, of course.

There's coffee, tea, water and cans of diet Pepsi on a table. The girls relax, drinking and doing that semi awkward talking you do to strangers, sometimes. Waiting whilst one after the other Fayth and me have them into the office, for a chat.

Asking each girl the same questions, going over resumes, wondering out loud regarding how good a team player they are, trying to gauge attitude, and can we work with them?

Making the eight into three. Carnival, beginning.

[BlissfulMisery]

Partly my fault, these inner observations from Brooke. Probably writing too many, too frequent, but that's what comes from writing chapter by chapter as opposed a whole novel, which you could then go through and remove at least some of the repetition.

The aim here is to show the downward spiral, the low before the eventual- hopeful -high of Dorothy, a proper and safe relationship.

Which of course I shan't guarantee but which is perhaps what Brooke deserves, to be happy, to be well treated.

Spoilers

But in seriousness, I did not have an issue with the repetition, was merely commenting on, well, as you put it, the downward spiral. Which I think you did a great job showing in an immersive manner.

And again, as above. Aiming to highlight the Dorothy/Kira differences, and whilst your point is valid, because nobody should have to bury an aspect of themselves in order to be happy. I'd say it's fair, and even good- healthy -for Brooke if she were with someone who didn't want to do bondage ALL the time

Cannot disagree with that. As I mentioned, hopefully she finds the correct balance.

But I continued writing (am still a couple of chapters ahead ) and realised I'm still enjoying the Kira angle, and so Fayth lost

Besides, it would make it more annoying to maintain the bondage quota if there was no longer a crazed stalker in the picture

Ah, but ultimately Brooke/Plymouth is a favourite of mine, 'loved and chosen of the Bunny' and so forth so, fear not, it's fun to write the downs but I've no doubt we'll end things riding high.

No promises for who Brooke winds up walking out of the story with, but this is unlikely to be a story where evil wins.

Was not expecting it to be such. But part of enjoying a story is riding/experiencing those highs and lows - without the lows, the highs would not mean much. My 'worry' was more in the context of reacting to the story/situation, rather then some overarching concern that you were going to turn this into some sort of endless misery spiral.

-

"But I...." Letting out a breath, dropping her fork to clatter on the plate. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine."

Ah yes, the ever burgeoning with subtext 'fine' (Yes I know she did not mean it that way, but I intentionally took it out of context)

If we played it'd feel like comparing, competing against what only just happened. If I bind and gag Fayth, she'll no doubt find herself lost within the memory of Kira's ropes. And if Fayth binds me I'll begin to wonder at deeper meanings.

And the ever looming presence of Kira continues to dominate (har har) everything Brooke does - at this rate they might as well have invited her over and made her unspoken presence official

The legend 'Crew' on my tee,

I suppose that was supposed to be 'legendary', not that it really changes the meaning.

this is a show of equals. I hope."

Ah, but as always, some are more equal then others

I make notes, photograph each bound girl from several angles so that Fayth can see, later. Photograph her too, seeing the amusement in her eyes and later she'll tease me about having so much porn on my phone, so many photos of so many pretty pole tied girls.

Bitch.

Well *someone* has to help keep Brooke's bondage obsession in check

And nice to see the other major plotline getting some time, the Carnival's latest iteration beginning to take shape.

A promising start.

[RopeBunny]

The aim here is to show the downward spiral, the low before the eventual- hopeful -high of Dorothy, a proper and safe relationship.

Which of course I shan't guarantee but which is perhaps what Brooke deserves, to be happy, to be well treated.

Spoilers

Oops

Besides, it would make it more annoying to maintain the bondage quota if there was no longer a crazed stalker in the picture

I mean we jest, and I'm aware not every author sees things my way, and in fairness some of those who don't go all out on the TUGs are actually pulling in more views/comments then me. So maybe I'm in the wrong?

But, that said, we jest but for me the quota is almost a real thing, if I didn't want to write a TUGs story then I'd go write elsewhere, the fact of posting here means bondage has to be involved, which for me means why not go all in

My 'worry' was more in the context of reacting to the story/situation, rather then some overarching concern that you were going to turn this into some sort of endless misery spiral.

Fair.

The legend 'Crew' on my tee,

I suppose that was supposed to be 'legendary', not that it really changes the meaning.

Fairly certain legend is correct? Have seen it written before, 'legend' meaning writing on something, but I might be wrong?

[RopeBunny]

020.

Two weeks, almost.

Blissful days, peace. Life and all it's separate parts ticking over, meshing like a well oiled machine.

Carnival moving along, the decisions made, those fortunate- we can only hope -three informed, given a date to return at which point we'll begin in earnest.

Fayth, still and always my friend. Backing off though on anything more, unspoken, I haven't asked and she hasn't said, but as a friend she knows. She can see I'm no longer available.

And Dorothy, proceeding slowly but wonderfully. Two dates, a shared meal on her lunch break, and an afternoon off, time spent walking the famous promenade. Holding hands and kissing. No sex, no ropes, but I'm happy.

Two blips. Two messages from unrecognised numbers both of which I deleted without opening. Being good, content with this newly developing thing, with Dorothy.

Ten days of bliss.

Should've known it wouldn't last.

Waking with my alarm, stretching, yawning. Eyes still halfway sleep fogged as I roll out of bed and wander naked to the ensuite, teeth and a quick wash, shower after jogging, following the routine. Stepping out the bathroom, awake and.

"What the actual...."
"Hi."

Kira, smiling at me, all knowing and more then a hint of mischief in her eyes.

Kira. In my fucking bed. Tied, to my fucking bed and she's mostly under the covers, but I'd put money on her being naked.

Eyes darting to my- left open, because I like the breeze -window, and a brief moment of being quite impressed: scaling the wall, climbing through and binding herself, all without waking me.

Can't see her feet, but the rope emerging from under my duvet, twin ropes diving down under the bed, looking tight, to me this looks like her ankles will be bound together? Whilst up the other end Kira's head and shoulders are visible, plus her arms, raised and pinned above her head, wrists together and bound, rope diving again down and under.

Looks like some complex system, looks, at a glance, to be that she was able to pull on the rope ends to tighten her own wrist to bed bindings.

Sealing herself in.

Clever girl.

"I missed you."
"Yeah. Well." Running a hand through my hair. "Fuck."
"If you want."
"I didn't mean...." Staring at her, mouth open as Kira grins back. Playful.

Staring at each other, Kira's humour and my frustration.

"Want to cuddle?"
"No. I've got-"

Knock at my door.

"Shit."
"Brooke?" Fayth's voice, and already I'm glancing at my phone, grimacing to see how much time I've wasted, lost. Time spent staring at Kira, falling a little. "You awake?" Small laugh from beyond the wood, echoed on this side by Kira.

"I'm not going jogging on my own."
"I'm here." Looking at Kira as I answer, willing her to silence because I. Am not explaining this. "Two minutes."
"Kay."

"Guess I'll wait here then?"
"You." Yanking on pants and shorts, a sports bra and vest top. "Can...."

Shaking my head. Despairing. Looking at Kira, who grins. So fucking pleased with herself and from somewhere I feel it, the urge to wipe that smugness off her face.

Stalking forward, silent, methodically and quickly going from bottom bindings to top, checking Kira's work, going so far as to loosen those parts tethering her to my bed, pulling them tighter and resealing. Kira's breath quickening as I work, squirming, and less as I take away her small freedom, stretching her out more. A gasp as I pull off and toss the duvet, exposing her naked tan skinned body.

Going still as I climb atop her, straddling, opening wide eyes on mine as I lean in, Kira accepting the ballgag, small moan as I climb back off, grabbing phone and key.

Door open, turning to regard her, Kira staring back, still breathing slightly fast, blinking at me and shaking herself, small breasts bouncing and I've crossed the room before I can stop myself, leaning in, down, running my tongue up Kira's nakedness from crotch to ballgagged lips.

Stepping back, breathing a little fast myself, now.

"I'll." Shivering, spasm chasing through me. "Deal with you later."

Silent nod from Kira, shutting the door and it feels like retreat, fleeing downstairs and out. Pounding through the jog pushing hard, too hard Fayth getting left behind. Three times I throttle back, apologising.

Finishing, a sweaty mess as we walk back into the cabin, evidence of the push, trying and failing to outrun the knowledge of Kira, waiting for me and I should've freed her, sent her away.

I should've done that, why didn't I do that?

Handing Fayth a glass of fresh water, leaning back against the counter top and downing my own, looking across the room at her, sweaty too, tee plastered to skin as mine is.

"What?"
"Nothing." Shaking my head, I can't ask Fayth for help, I promised.

"Got any plans?"
"No." Cursing myself immediately afterwards, my answer like a denial of wrongdoing, coming too loud and fast.

"I." Letting out a breath, feeling no calmer. "It's tomorrow, day one, right?"
"Tomorrow." Nodding, downing the last of her water and crossing the room, coming closer. "Want to go check the warehouse?"
"For what?"
"Well." Glass on the sink, turned around and leaning back, beside me, her proximity close and I squirm. Suddenly feeling like somehow Fayth will smell Kira on me.

"To prep?"
"Sure." Grasping at the idea like a girl drowning, mind having skipped over and forgotten the logical: let Kira go, instead I'm thinking of distance, that, away from the cabin I can't be tempted, by her.

"Let me shower, and we'll. Um...."
"Bus?"
"Bus." Nodding. "Ten minutes?"
"Ten?" Looking at me as though I were mad. "Give me an hour."

Laughing at my look of dismay, giving me a playful nudge.

"Feel like having a proper shower."
"Right." Watching Fayth leave, and she hasn't. She doesn't even know. But I can't help the thought she's conspiring with Kira, forcing me to spend more time in my room.

Kira jumping visibly as I kick the door open, closed. Huffing, staring at her and shaking my head.

Annoyed though I'm not sure at what, specifically. Strangely not pissed at Kira, in the moment, my slight rage is unfocused, sloshing around inside.

"Well." Having spent five minutes loosening Kira's ropes, bringing them to the point she can wriggle her arms free, bend down and sort out her ankles, remove her own gag. Bottle of water beside her. "There." Stepping back, nodding as she stares at me, blinking and making no immediate move towards freedom.

"I'm having a shower, and." Waving somewhat irritably at the door. "I'm busy. All day. So." Huffing again, and I suppose at least part of my mood is down to the illogical fact of not actually wanting to play with Kira, not actually wanting her here, and yet now she is here I'm not allowed to play with her.

The whole thing like a confusing diagram in my head, like a flow chart which keeps bending back on itself.

"You'd best leave. I guess." I comment, before walking into the bathroom, shutting the door.

Emerging fifteen minutes later, having stayed under the water longer then normal, promising myself it wasn't hiding. Stepping back into my room, hair still damp body glistening, water trickling down me. Wrapped in a fluffy blue towel.

Failing completely to hide the- natural reaction -smile upon finding Kira, still naked. Completely free of ropes sat cross legged on my bed, leaning back against the headboard book in her lap. Reading.

"You aren't even dressed."
"No." Not looking up. "But I thought about it. Promise."

Lips lifting in a small smile, not looking at me.

"I'm busy." Sitting on the bed, at the far end legs dangling, looking at my hands. "Do you understand?"
"Sure." A nod I half see. "In demand."
"No." Fighting off the smile, Kira's semi teasing tone. "It isn't like that."
"Okay."
"I'm busy."
"And I'm." Closing her book, the thud of it bringing my gaze up and around. Kira's hands on the book, in her lap. Naked, small breasts like pointers, stabbing out at me.

"I'm happy to wait."
"But...."
"Tell me to leave." An easy shrug, a smile. See, we're all friends. "Again. Plymouth. And I will."

Quite aside from the fact I, mostly, already said she should.

"I'll be gone hours."
"And I'm happy to wait." Picking up a coiled rope and tossing it across to me. "For you to keep me, here." Small shiver chasing across her, jumping the gap to me. "In the manner of your choosing."

"Or." Another easy shrug. "Tell me to leave."

"We're not going to fuck." For some reason I'm unable to say the word 'leave' to her, with or without the please. I can't force or coax it out, so feel forced into this weird kind of bargaining, trying to make staying seem so unattractive that Kira chooses to leave.

"Not now, not later."
"Okay."
"I might not even want to talk."
"Okay."
"Maybe," getting annoyed, her calm tone, deflecting my attempts with such ease.

"What if I decide to use my crop later, make you beg me to stop, to let you go."
"S' pretty much what I'd do to you." Nodding, like you would upon hearing a particularly good idea. "If you came into my house and refused to leave."

Smiling, all innocent and sweet as her words sink in, causing my breath to catch, my pussy to throb.

Wishing, in that one second that this were Kira's house, wishing our roles were reversed.

And afterwards, riding the bus with Fayth I can't help the feeling she tricked me into it. Kira, somehow winning the war of words, manipulating me into a corner, teasing and pushing until I'd bound and gagged her to shut her up, to prove that I was winning. Not her.

Prep at the warehouse, basically nothing more then talking through ideas for Carnival, checking for the fifth time what equipment- ropes and so on -we've already got. And in ny heightened state it takes everything I've got to avoid turning the event into a play session. Fairly confident of my ability to push or lead Fayth into it.

But no. For the sake of my own sanity I hold off. And prep becomes lunch in a beachfront cafe, a shared plate of chips and I try not to grin too wide, manage not to laugh as the minutes continue to tick by.

Kira, bound and waiting.

"Fancy the casino?"
"Tonight?" Surprised, walking back through Wickwar.

"Why not?" A shrug. "I haven't been yet, have you?"
"No."
"Well then...."
"Sure." I nod. "Not blowing my savings though."
"Fuck that." Laughing. "Maybe forty each?"
"I can do forty."

"Seven?"
"Not forty?"
"Ha." Shaking her head at my bad humour. "Seven, to meet."
"Right." Glancing at my phone, finding the clock climbing up off half four, the day heading towards evening.

Fayth, stopping beside the ruins, nodding towards the golf course.

"I've got some friends. Going to have a practice."
"Golf?"
"Can't play for shit." Laughing. "But a couple of the cooks, they go on the course when it's quiet, just for a knockabout. For fun, so."
"Sounds nice." I nod.

"So you won't be home?"
"I'll see you in reception."
"Right." Hugging, parting, and it's only approaching the door to thirteen that I realise: I've got a couple of hours, alone, with Kira.

A half hour of which I spend on the decking. Afraid to go inside, scared of what might happen, what Kira's smile, her casual way of flirting like it doesn't matter all whilst manoeuvring everything towards what she seems to want.

Should've told her to leave.

"Fucking coward." Tutting at myself.

Going inside. Taking time in the kitchen, reheating the half quiche from two days ago, adding salad, dumping two cans of diet Pepsi and a bottle of ketchup, cutlery into a bag. Carrying everything upstairs.

Finding Kira how I'd left her: naked, mouth stuffed with- trying to win, to wipe the smugness off her face -my sweaty jogging pants, sealed in with rolls of self adhesive bandaging. Her body splayed out and bound to the beds four corners, rope at each limb, slender frame stretched tight to the point she's surely uncomfortable.

Especially given I've been gone hours.

Eyes darting to the doorway as I enter, squriming, small whimper like moans coming from her gagged mouth.

Limbs flopping as I free each in turn, taking her time to sit up, standing and walking to the bathroom. Emerging five minutes later and downing half her drink, sitting on the floor to eat, leaning back against the wall plate in one hand fork in the other, not bothering with the knife.

"Are you back?" To be with me, the unspoken addition that I see in her eyes, small brief flare of hope, quickly stamped down.

"I'm going out." Pausing to swallow some quiche, sat on the bed. Because we'd caught the bus, therefore no bike and therefore no inforced dress code, I'm wearing a dress: black, with a ghost half there purple pattern, like camouflage print. Thin shoulder straps and a plunging neckline, hugging my F cups and below, front and back from bust to waist the dress is mesh-like, semi see-through. Flaring out slightly on the legs, an above the knee hem.

Paired with knee high lace up boots, black with chunky goth soles.

"Another hour."
"Right." Nodding.

"If you ask me to leave, I will." Looking at me, repeating herself from earlier. The ultimatum and I still can't seem to find the words.

Plate empty, can beside me, leaning back against the headboard. Making no move against her, passing no comment as Kira stands, silently approaching and carefully placing her plate atop mine.

Climbing- still naked -up onto the bed, crawling forwards, pausing, kneeling close to me. Waiting, and without a word I shift positions, leaving one leg dangling off the bed but spreading my other out wide.

A silent invitation.

Fucking- ask her to leave for fucks sake -coward.

Shifting slightly as Kira comes in, laying down between my legs, on her side arms around my leg, pressing her chest and belly, her crotch against my leg, resting her head underneath my dress, face pressed against my crotch.

Stroking idle patterns up and down my leg. Planting the occasional- so rare and spread out I'm caught out each time, spend the five minutes after wishing she'd do it again, unwilling to ask yet on edge -small kiss or lick to my cotton covered pussy.

Acting very much like a slave, showing attention and affection whilst expecting nothing back.

Shifting wordlessly as I stand up, time. Kira returning to the centre of my bed, spreading her limbs out and laying on her back. Staring at the ceiling. Waiting.

And aside from that one loss of control first thing, licking the naked length of her I've shown Kira no attention, given no love to her and yet she's ready to stay.

To remain the evening in bondage. Waiting.

Binding her, treating the task as a task, putting no extra thought nor care into the act: placing Kira back into a tightly spread and pinned state, nakedness on display, tethered to my bed and going nowhere.

Doing this as avoidance. Un- able -willing to simply speak the word 'leave' either politely or with force. Bossing her. Not able to tell Kira to leave, and so I bind her to my bed.

Something to deal with later. Procrastinating, and trying not to enjoy the view.