Destiny Should Come With a Manual (fF+/fF+)

[RopeBunny]

11.
Past.

She's there the following morning, brushing my teeth in the ensuite, having come so very close to oversleeping: the bed is that comfortable, and so much larger then the singles I'm used to.

As it is I'm going to be late, for school. I'm unfamiliar with this exact corner of Greater London, unsure exactly how best to plot a transport route.

Maybe I should get a chauffeur?

Stop it.

"Countess." Grinning around a mouthful of water, bending down to spit, coming back up and.

Small scream escaping as I see her, reflected in the mirror, standing behind me in the doorway.

Gone when I spin around to check and confront her.

Only to resurface that evening, back home from school and fed. Florence and Peter gone back to the Gatehouse, clocked off shift and I'm alone, exploring.

Walking an upstairs corridor, dressed down in a baggy black 'Iron Maiden' tee and equally baggy dark red drawstring joggers. Walking slowly but not stopping, eyes roaming over each piece of framed- likely old -artwork as I proceed.

Sudden realisation, startling me into a gasp as I spot her, keeping pace beside me, face turned to regard me even as I regard the paintings.

Small smile, and as before she's gone when I turn to look.

Always dressed the same as that first appearance, meeting, in the mirror bedroom. Or, cage room?

Which I haven't returned to, because it's a room full of mirrors, and I hate mirrors.

Pale blue dress, the garment hugging a slim figure, long sleeves and a plunging neckline, hem down by her ankles. Brown corset, the style cinching her waist by way of laces and thick belts, the top tucked up underneath her large bust, pushing breasts up and out. Presenting them.

Barefoot, long dark blonde hair always worn loose and tumbling. Slight greyish palour to her skin.

"Am I the last?"
"Last?"
"de Montefort?" Standing on the lake edge, home from school and walking up the entrance road, idly kicking gravel and I'd caught sight of Peter, wading slowly around in the water, doing laps. Dredging, it seems, snagging weed and other detritus not meant to be there. "It's just me in the house," feeling silly having to ask, but surely now I'll be told, "isn't it?"
"Just you," pausing, hands on the small of his back, leaning back and working out a kink. Long term spent bent forwards, "Countess."

Feeling a small tingle chase across my bare arms, despite it being sunny enough the black hoodie is folded over my messenger bag.

"But." There's a woman, a woman who was chained to a bed in a locked room upstairs, a room full of ever fucking mirrors and someone should really be shot for building that, and I unlocked the room and I touched her and now she's....

Haunting?

Me?

"Oh."
"Countess?" Leaning on his long wooden handled fork, the same size as Peter and clearly perfect for the task. Concerned half frown on his face. "Is everything okay?"
"Yes." Flashing a smile that feels false. "Um. You do house maintenance, Peter?"
"I do." A nod. "Is there something needing attention?"
"No." Slow shake of my head, feeling my way forward. "There's a. Um. Room, though. Upstairs in the west wing."
"Condemned." Shaking his head, a shrug. "Well before my employment here started. Miss."
"Tempest."
"Countess."
"Right."

Neither of them will refer to me as Tempest, let alone Bob. And I suppose it's to be expected, showing due respect and so on.

It just isn't ever not going to feel weird, to have grown ups curtsey or bow. Addressing me so formally.

"That's why it's locked?"
"Afraid so." Another nod. "Nobody's been in that room for hundreds of years." Thoughtful. "I think?"
"Right."

Florence, who I find cooking, making bread from scratch and the smell is just. Illegally good. She basically backs Peter up. Yes she cleans, but nobody goes up that final staircase.

"No point. Countess." Favouring me with a smile. "The groundskeeper, before Peter. Teddy, good man he was, worked here my first three years before taking retirement. He told me it was bats."
"Bats?"
"Can't disturb bats." A shrug. "So they locked the room, left the hole alone."
"Hole?"
"In the roof." A nod, glancing at me. "Access. There's got to be a hole or a loose something up there."
"Access." Nodding back.

Startling as, right fucking there, in the window looking out into the grounds. The window in front of both me and Florence, both of us looking at and through it.

The lady, reflected in the glass, standing right beside me and I shiver.

"You okay," turning to regard me, "Countess?"
"I'm." Spellbound, watching our reflections, seeing the lady turn and lean in, plant a kiss I can feel.

Actually, fucking, feel.

On my cheek. All whilst Florence is looking right at me. Us. Because when I turn my head, slowly, body beginning to shake and she's.

Still.

There.

No longer a seen reflection, with my own eyes now I can see. Facing me and smiling, pleasant but lips turned up at the edges, something cheeky there.

"Florence....."
"Still here."
"Right." Nervous laugh like a scattergun. "Do you," having to pause, to swallow, and right- fucking -in front of me the lady slowly shaking her head.

"Um. See."
"Hold on." Timer on the oven beeping and Florence walks across the kitchen, from sink to oven, crossing directly beside me on my right side. Walking directly into, through, the lady.

Who gives me a somewhat nonchalant salute as she dissipates, as though she were only smoke, now blown away by Florence's passing.

And I.

Flee.

Just about making it to my room before my legs collapse, tumbling me to the floor to lie huddled, shaking and hyperventilating.

I don't manage to sleep that night, although by the morning I've somehow rationalised my terror down to something more humorous, forgetting all about my earlier thoughts on ghosts and hauntings. Instead, logically: I'm simply going mad, slowly, quietly, in. Sane. It probably runs in the family, aren't rich people always- in stories -cursed somehow?

Seeing things nobody else can see, feeling them, her.

Probably I've spent so long alone, wishing and desperate for a family, and now a family appearing only to discover it's total population is one. Me. So.

"I'm making you up." I tell the mirror, the next morning. The figment of my imagination- which tellingly nobody else can see -refusing to either confirm or deny the fact.

But just to be safe I relock the attic room.

"To keep the bats safe." Nodding, small slightly crazy at the edges laugh escaping.

Friday, and somehow without revealing any details I've managed to arrange Bethany and Jennifer having a sleepover. Somehow I haven't spilled and told them, worlds best actress contender right here.

I told them only that I had the perfect opportunity coming up for. Quote unquote, Secret Club, to which they giggled, full of excitable nerves, and asked no more. Instead we spent the remaining days of the week talking and giggling some more about exactly what we'd try.

Given we had, I'd told them, not only all of Friday evening but Saturday too. A game on Sunday though.

Michelle yet to enter my orbit, or me hers, yet to settle with me. Whatever that means?

Friday drags, as expected, all three of us complaining, to each other whenever we share a class, and at lunch. I continue to fight off the smile, feigning confusion and innocence in equal measure when we, quite pointedly, get on the wrong underground train.

Followed by a further two wrong trains, taking us.

"Fucking miles away?"
"From what?"
"From where you fucking live." No longer buying my act, Bethany playfully punching me on the arm. "What's going on Bob?"
"Countess Bob."
"What?" Staring at me, confused and more so because having delivered my- almost -correct new name, I've dropped into a fit of giggles.

"Just." Coming back up to street level. "This way," stopping, turning to regard my friends, both of them looking around. Unsure. "And I'll explain when we get there."
"Get where?"
"Home."
"You've," Jennifer, aiming for compassion because they both know the constant back and forth can wear me out, "moved. Again?"
"Just." Another laugh, feeling high. "I'll explain, but you have to see first."

The girls stare at the gate, at the twin wolf guardians staring down. Judging. They stare some more- can't really blame them, my own has lingered more then once -at Peter, mowing the grass, arm muscles bulging inside the sleeves of a tight tee, supporting the weight of a strimmer as he slowly walks down the entrance road verge.

Stopping as he glances up, seeing us approaching. Stopping lest the strimmers reinforced plastic cord catches a loose stone, sending it whipping towards us.

"Countess."
"Peter." Ignoring my friends wide and accusing stares, actually smiling in the face of them. "These are my two very best friends. Beth and Jenny."
"Ladies." Tipping the brim of his orange helmet, ear defenders and a mesh face guard, both flipped clear before we began talking.

"Would they be the reason Florence went out for fresh tomatoes and cheese, bottles of Pepsi?"
"It would."
"Right. Well." Favouring me with a small bow, a nod for my friends. "Have a good evening, ladies. Countess."
"Thank you, Peter." And, because I've felt the need at times, to add compliments.

As a good employer should?

"The grounds are looking fantastic."

Which earns me a smile of gratitude, and we part ways.

"Who's Florence," staring at me as we walk on, "Countess?"
"My chef."
"Your." Disbelief, as though they've walked into an alternate dimension. "Chef?"
"And." Bethany this time, equal disbelief. "Countess?"
"de Montefort." I nod. "And," with perfect timing we clear the final bend, rounding the low hills everything opening up ahead, "welcome to Lupin House." Letting the grin out. "My home."

Questions, peppering me from both sides, Jennifer and Bethany wanting to know how and when and what the fuck. And how, and why and fuck me Bob.

"Or." Laughing, Jennifer, head shaking as we all stand staring at the gothic majesty of Lupin, rising and spreading out before us. "Countess Bob."
"Bob is fine." Shaking my head. "I can't stop the grown ups from using my title, but the two of you." Looking from one to the other. "Please."
"Course."
"Yeah," pulling me into a hug, "sorry. Bob."

What I forgot to do, at this point or later is to ask, or even beg them to keep this all to themselves. To not talk about my newfound life, with anyone.

We spend around an hour walking the House, talking and I try to tell a coherent story, but in the mad chaos of it all I keep jumping backwards and forwards, mixing events up.

Confusing everyone.

What I don't mention, what I steer clear of is the attic, and my slow descent- seeing things -into madness.

As expected Jennifer and Bethany have more questions then I have answers for, and I belatedly, again, remember I need to reach out to Borg and Black, to Sally, for those folders. It would be good, helpful to know the history of the de Montefort line, of Lupin.

Not even- foolish girl wandering down the wrong track -considering the attic room to be a part of that history. No. By this point, despite 'seeing' the lady on average once every three days, I'm totally convinced she's a part of my madness. That the attic really is something to do with bats.

What mirrors?

Florence has been busy. Handmade dough, left to prove and rise, stretched and rolled and tossed, becoming three small pizzas, each one made according to the list I'd handed over, detailing toppings. Added to which is a made from scratch garlic baguette, cut into slices and oozing cheese. We eat out in the conservatory, ties off and shirts open lower then we'd dare around anyone except friends, combating the heat though, back door open to allow a slight breeze, radio tuned to something mellow.

Talking. Laughing.

Good times.

We decide to use my bedroom. Because despite having the run of a whole House, huge and sprawling, so many rooms to choose from. And I'm becoming used to it, to the space and the various noises as Lupin settles of an evening, becoming comfortable here. Alone.

But for Jennifer and Bethany it's a lot, so we go to my room, and close the door.

Like most rooms at Lupin the master bedroom is bigger then it strictly needs to be, with both an ensuite large enough for a bath and a walk in wardrobe, almost a room in itself. The bedroom has a dressing table, and two armchairs flanking a small low table over by the window, however pride of place belongs to a King sized four poster bed, carved in dark wood.

It's to two of these posts that I'll be binding Jennifer and Bethany, because although they weren't aware of the bed prior to an hour ago, having told them and the idea appealed.

The bed sits central across the back wall, meaning only two of the posts, at the foot end, are accessible. Each of them takes up position: standing, backed up but not flush, yet, and loosely reaching around the curving wooden post.

"New." Eying it nervously as I approach. "Rope?"
"New rope." Nodding, running the coiled length of it through my hands, white, almost blindingly so it's that new, unused. Smooth in that it isn't made up of twisted strands, instead being coarse but not lumpy in texture. There's a storage shed, double garage sized with a tall roof and inside which sits a tractor plus trailer, and many tools.

Plus this rope, which several days later Peter hasn't come asking after the disappearance of such.

So, all good.

"So I'll. Um, try." Laughing, looking from Bethany to Jennifer, both of them looking back, and unless they've been keeping- Lucy -secrets neither has been tied up yet.

"I'm going to try and tie you both at the same time, okay?"
"Right."
"Sure." Shivering, adrenaline. "Um. Yes."
"Good." Shiver of my own, body shaking briefly as I step closer. Beginning.

The new rope, like the frayed blue lengths we liberated from the woods behind school, is pre cut but not in any necessarily useful fashion. I've had time to sort it into coils of roughly the same size, so I know what's where, which is a start.

Taking a good sized length, tossing a second onto the bed behind Bethany and I begin with Jennifer. Wrists first, bound crossed, and because I remember seeing Lucy do it, and because it seemed to work. I double the rope first.

Passing a loop around the wrists and feeding back through where the rope doubles, pulling tight and using this to change direction, wrapping around but between too and being sure to yank things tight often, using that initial reverse as an anchor to tie things off, which I do several times.

After which I wrap around the bed post, forcing and pinning the wrists to the wood.

Repeating the process on Bethany, hearing Jennifer's increased breathing as she's forced to wait, and watch me tie up our friend.

Ankles next, and whilst they're side by side not crossed the principle, the method of the tie remains the same: rope doubled and wrapped, frequent knots and finishing off by attaching limbs to wooden post.

"You good." Pausing, reaching back for more rope and- distracted -not realising I've plucked the offered length out of the air, not off the chair. "Girls?"
"Esssss."
"Good." Both coming out as whispers, the two of them too distracted, eyes half closed and occasionally squirming.

Knees, which I can't bind to the post due to the frame being in the way.

Followed by chest ties, standing right in front of each of them to bind the chest, rope passed above and below each girls D cups, revealed cleavage and bras- pink on Bethany, grey on Jennifer -which my hands frequently pass across, brushing lace and skin, Jennifer- who I'm binding first -often sighing at the contact, often squirming at the unexpected intimacy.

And, unable to help myself, high off it all, the skin contact, having her- them -bound and helpless, after finishing the chest tie I lean in, running my nose up the line of her cleavage, breathing deeply and planting a small kiss at the top.

Looking across to Bethany, breath caught as she no doubt realises I'm doing her next.

And yes, I smell and kiss her too, thrilling in the involuntary thrusting of her chest, out. Pushing, wanting the attention it seems, unable to help herself.

Moaning as I step back, grinning.

"Right," reaching back, and again I'm too distracted to realise the scarf I'm picking up, isn't actually picked up but instead handed to me, "what now?"

[BlissfulMisery]

Mostly frustration, to be fair. Can be hard to keep going sometimes especially if other ideas begin mounting, sounding better, and longer stories can sometimes become bogged down.

The endless struggle against newer, fresher, more exciting ideas... Good in some ways, to actually have those new and fresh ideas to work with. Bad when it makes one abandon perfectly good old ideas. Well much like many things in the world, there is a balance to be had, and unfortunately no magical easy method of achieving/maintaining it.

Presumably, definitely, yes. So far in the past we've only just had the reveal, and whilst I can't promise to answer everything, because there are always holes, I'm far from perfect and do get carried away with the telling, sometimes forgetting to work out how a thing happened, too busy instead describing the next cool/fun thing

Hah - can certainly understand the feeling. Can lead to that sort of 'backfilling', which as you mention can have a lot of pitfalls with overlooking things. How it goes, I suppose.

Who I couldn't possibly reveal the name of

Of course

Think quite often other people's fears can come across as amusing to those who don't share them?

Spiders, as an example. I've had people try to explain the stupidity, but that doesn't help

To be fair, I can completely understand fears like that, where there is at least theoretically some sort of tangible threat. Plus fear of spiders is probably at least partly rooted in instinct - while most spiders are not dangerous, it is not very conducive to survival to try to determine this the hard way

-

in a locked room upstairs, a room full of ever fucking mirrors and someone should really be shot for building that

Instead, logically: I'm simply going mad, slowly, quietly, in. Sane. It probably runs in the family, aren't rich people always- in stories -cursed somehow?

Well yes Tempest, although the correct term for it is 'inbreeding' (I mostly joke, but this is probably where most of these sorts of stories/myths/rumors stem from in reality).

I told them only that I had the perfect opportunity coming up for. Quote unquote, Secret Club, to which they giggled, full of excitable nerves, and asked no more. Instead we spent the remaining days of the week talking and giggling some more about exactly what we'd try.

Oh I can already guess where this will go/how poorly it will end!

I do completely understand her behaving this way however - wanting to surprise her friends with something cool like this, but also wanting to take her mind off what is happening to her. Anything to feel less isolated, when she feels like she has to deal with something utterly terrifying completely on her own since she (fairly reasonably) expects nobody to believe her.

Not even- foolish girl wandering down the wrong track -considering the attic room to be a part of that history. No. By this point, despite 'seeing' the lady on average once every three days, I'm totally convinced she's a part of my madness. That the attic really is something to do with bats.

What mirrors?

While I do like these lines (since they get it across so well), makes me sad to see how deep she is into the self delusion/coping

Pausing, reaching back for more rope and- distracted -not realising I've plucked the offered length out of the air, not off the chair.

This is where if this were a horror movie, there would be a musical sting of some sorts

"Right," reaching back, and again I'm too distracted to realise the scarf I'm picking up, isn't actually picked up but instead handed to me, "what now?"

What now? Well I suspect it is probably time for her ghostly companion to start having some of *her own* fun instead of merely playing the role of bondage wing-woman

Overall really like the slow build of tension over the course of this chapter - even if we do not get to see the 'payoff/resolution' until (presumably) next time!

[RopeBunny]

Well yes Tempest, although the correct term for it is 'inbreeding'

Pausing, reaching back for more rope and- distracted -not realising I've plucked the offered length out of the air, not off the chair.

This is where if this were a horror movie, there would be a musical sting of some sorts

Which to be fair, I thought exactly that whilst writing those couple of instances. The unseen- Lucille -ghost handing Tempest things, would definitely not be out of place in most horror movies.

Overall really like the slow build of tension over the course of this chapter - even if we do not get to see the 'payoff/resolution' until (presumably) next time!

Sometimes I'll split a chapter up, potentially could've written the whole thing into one, but didn't want either a bloated chapter or one I had to go through and cut, so we instead get a cliffhanger of sorts, and the continuation soon

[RopeBunny]

12.
Past.

"You, could." Glancing at Bethany, both girls breathing a little fast, a little shallow.

Rope bound side by side, separated by a couple of metres, bound standing and pressed back against the wooden posts of my bed. We're all still in school uniform, minus our ties and shoes, shirts open close to halfway bras and cleavage, the obvious hump and shape of D cups very visible.

"Well." Licking her lips, staring I think at the scarf dangling from my hand. "Maybe, gag us?"
"And, um." Bethany, blushing as her gaze tracks down to her cleavage. Which I'd smelled, and kissed.

Her thoughts clear.

"One hour." Looking from Jennifer to Bethany. "Then I'll free you, and." Shivering, body spasming as the want of it chases across me. "Then you can both have revenge on me."
"Yes."
"Okay." Their voices are like whispers, distracted by all that rope and helplessness.

Can't blame them, it is a lot, the flood of sensation, the sheer amazing tightness.

Two scarves, knotted in the middle, placed into willingly opened mouths and tied off behind the head. Gagging them both, stepping back.

"Okay." Smiling at at them both. "Enjoy."
"Fffddmmmnnn."
"Sssrrrpppdddd nnnmmfff."

And, you know, for me personally it's less fun watching then participating. Submissive, is that the word? I think so, having done some discreet reading online.

Discreet, suffering a fear of being caught looking at things I shouldn't, despite there's nobody, no parents and especially not even really any kind of authority over me now. Now I'm a de Montefort, nobody to tell me no, or stop. And yet I still only peeked at those bondage sites, just enough to learn a little.

Words like submissive, which I think I must lean towards because it is fun to see my friends bound and gagged, to know I put them there, but it was hundreds of times more fun to be there myself.

In the woods.

With Lucy.

But I give them the hour, anything less would be mean, and unfair given I expect them to do a good job with and to me, afterwards. So, a glance at the digital radio that doubles as an alarm clock, softly glowing blue digits telling the time, a nod, and away we go.

They don't permanently struggle of course, I don't think you could, for an hour? Even were you bound for real, as a kidnapping or some other- Michelle, in the shower and I still don't understand -plot, even if you wanted to escape I don't think anyone could maintain the fight for too long.

You'd run out of energy, surely.

They do fight though, pushing against the ropes, wriggling whilst they do, moaning. Drooling. Eyes frequently closing and heads rolling back, enjoying how it all feels.

Enjoying the attention, my, attention. Given occasionally, most of my time spent sitting in one of the comfortable fabric chairs, out of view for them, I can see but not be seen and there's a certain thrill to that. To watching without being observed in turn.

I want them to experience what I felt with Lucy, so I take time to stand in front of them, each of them in turn. Standing, close, well within their personal space yet not touching, arms crossed and a small smile as I look at them, watch them.

Asking, telling. Ordering- firm tone -each of them to struggle, for me whilst I stand so close. Promising an immediate switch if only they can escape, that, once free they can post bind me. In my underwear.

The accompanying threat: that if they can't, I'll be fully revealing their bra.

My demands and promises met with wide eyes, panic but a kind of elation too, excitement. And I watch each of them struggle and fail in turn, failing each time to keep my breathing in check, to hide my own excitement at being so close to their scarf muffled groans and their bouncing squirming helplessness.

Failed, both of them fail to escape, and so off each I take my reward: reaching in and yanking, pulling first Jennifer then later Bethany's shirt fully open, tucking and stuffing fabric behind the tight chest ropes, fully exposing each girls bra clad chest.

Going further, leaning in and smelling them again, because I know it's what they both want. What Bethany almost asked for, too embarrassed to say the words.

Running my nose up the line of their cleavage, inhaling the mixed sweat and citrus- something more like flowers for Jennifer -smell of them. Planting a small kiss on the tops of each nestled and rope squeezed breast before stepping back.

Leaving them to continue struggling and enjoying their predicament.

Eventually though, time runs out, so I let both girls go.

"So do we," flexing her limbs whilst Bethany does likewise, only with added back and forth pacing, "bind you to the bedpost too?"
"Well...."
"Is it." Stepping up to me and placing a cheeky hand over my mouth. "Even your choice though, Bob?"
"Um." Shivering, anticipation and Bethany's casual use of control, as I've just spent an hour doing to them.

"I say." Suddenly behind me, Jennifer's playful tones right in my ear as the knotted scarf is jammed into my mouth. "We gag her first."
"Fffgggssssmmmmm."
"Definitely." Bethany in front of me still, taking hold my wrists, just incase- and I wouldn't but they're rolling with it now -I fight. "Go ahead Jenny, I've got her."

How easily roles reverse, slipping and sinking as Jennifer and Bethany rise, likely unplanned and yet managing to work in perfect synch with each other.

Bethany pinning my wrists whilst Jennifer gags me, knotting the scarf tightly, after which the girls switch, passing control of my wrists and me standing still, stunned as Bethany pulls down my skirt and between them my shirt comes off too.

Leaving me dressed in a pale blue push up bra and black cotton pants with a pink hem, cute little white drawn ghost on the crotch, speech bubble saying 'boo' coming off it.

And it really feels as though I blink, and am suddenly bound at the wrists, pulled and crossed behind me. Plus, from somewhere Bethany has produced a brown leather dog collar with matching attached lead, silver metal buckle arrangement joining the two. The collar a shock to feel tight around my neck, a surprise the girls hadn't let me in on.

"Come on then." Grinning as she takes hold my lead, both of them having sealed their shirts up to the point it's all just shadows and hints now, emphasising my own near total exposure. "Let's go for a walk, don't you think Beth?"
"Definitely." Stepping up beside Jennifer, a matching smile and from somewhere she's found a shopping bag, bulging and from the shape it's likely full of rope.

"We're going to find the perfect spot to bind you." Tugging at my lead as they set off, talking to me but looking ahead. "So come on."
"Ggggffffdddddmmm." Moaning as I feel the jerk, at my neck, forced to fall in behind them and this is a scenario I've never daydreamed: being led around like some kind of pet, but it's happening and there's nothing I can do except what they wish.

Taking their time, enjoying it. Enjoying- it definitely seems -having me tied and gagged, on a lead. Together we make a slow tour of the upstairs, stopping often which I think they only do for the pleasure of being able to tug on my lead when they set off again. Catching me out, forcing a moan.

And they do, catch me out, every. Fucking, time, because I'm off in dreamland, mostly, mind lost to pretend thoughts and spun imaginings of kidnap and being owned.

Not entirely sure what that would entail, but I.

Feel, owned?

Right now, being led around in my underwear. At some point I mentally turn Jennifer and Bethany into Michelle, heart thudding in my chest as I remember how she'd grabbed my hair in the locker room. Swapping out roles moments later, picturing the bully being led around, by me, mental images returning of her soaked to the point of being see-through bra, that slim muscular frame, bound and gagged and mine.

Up ahead the girls whisper and giggle, glancing back. And I put up no fight as the lead is unclipped and passed around the upstairs bannister rail, metal clip passed through the loop you'd hold. The lead reattached, leaving me tethered in place and I look at the girls. Blink.

"You stay there now." Wagging her finger at me as Jennifer giggles. "Alright."
"Dddrrrssss pppfffgggnnmm." I nod, meek, feeling properly powerless in the face of this two on one dynamic, the forced removal of my clothes and now, abandoning me as though I were a pet, left to await her masters return.

The girls lean in close as they walk off down the stairs, exchanging words, giggling again and I know there's nothing mean, no seriously evil intent behind this two on one dynamic.

I know these things.

But she doesn't.

Although she isn't real, nothing more then a figment of my encroaching madness: de Montefort syndrome we- I -could call it? And don't people living alone often wind up crazy, more so given I'm living alone in a far greater space then most. A person alone talks to themself, taking comfort from pretend conversations, I've simply moved that concept along a couple of steps, bringing forth into my imagination a lady who I'm talking to.

Who I sense, now, before actually seeing, but there, drifting closer and as I blink, actually looking and she is actually drifting, not walking. Bare feet a good couple of inches clear of the carpet, toes angled slightly down.

Coming closer.

Reflected in framed art, a window, moving closer and then seeming to jump from reflection to real.

Well, not real, but no longer reflected, instead someone I can see.

Drifting closer as I stand, tethered in place and wearing far too little, wrists bound and scarf gagged. Blinking, but she's still there.

Coming closer, welcoming smile becoming a frown as she drifts a circuit of me, unconcerned by either the wooden bannister nor the drop down to the ground floor, she drifts both through the wood and out over, around the drop. Looking at me whilst I stare back, suppressing a shiver at the examination.

Good thing ghosts aren't real.

Stopping in front, close yet drifting closer still, that were she real I'd be able to feel the presence of her body, our breasts almost touching given we're both on the busty side, given both her corset and my bra are engineered to thrust and present our assets.

Hand on my shoulder, foreheads touching, sense of heat like an itch, like each time we make intentional or accidental contact.

Is she, comforting me?

Do I need that? No, I'm okay, having fun although given my circumstances there aren't many, a select few, who would find this particular activity fun. Hand still on my shoulder but pulling away slightly, to stare at me, eye to eye. Searching my face?

"Fffgggsssmmmmmnn." I'm okay, I attempt to tell this figment of myself, wriggling as though it'll help, breasts shifting within my bra cups, wrists rubbing together the rope remaining firm. Tight.

Yet her frown deepens, changing. Something like anger surfacing, a scowl and worse. Eyes blazing and mouth setting into a thin, firm line.

Softening briefly, leaning in to plant a single light kiss on my gagged lips, a nod as the anger bubbles back up.

And gone, drifting, and fast, straight line like a descending arrow, sinking down through the floor even whilst her hands are bunching into fists at her side.

Heading.

Straight towards my friends?

A scream, suddenly cut off and muffled, followed by a second. Longer.

Followed nearly a minute later by the sight of my friends, fleeing. Jennifer carrying not only her bag but Bethany's too, pausing at the front door to hurriedly scoop up both pairs of shoes, her hoodie and Bethany's lightweight waterproof.

Bethany following close behind, thick scarf wedged and secured in her mouth, arms wrenched up to the horizontal and bound behind her, rope wrapping her chest, bouncing- as she runs -breasts squeezed.

Neither of them so much as glances at me, they run, to and through the door once opened, not even bothering to close it.

And behind them, leisurely, drifts the figment of my imagination and madness, which they both

just

saw? Which not only did they see, but which actually tied

my

friend

up? Which, means?

Fuck.

Staring, blinking at her, this floating lady, sometimes reflected and sometimes actually here, but not. Watching her drift across to the doorway and peer out, tipping a mock salute to whatever she sees, before backing up and slamming the front door. After which she turns to me, nods.

Smiling.

[BlissfulMisery]

Sometimes I'll split a chapter up, potentially could've written the whole thing into one, but didn't want either a bloated chapter or one I had to go through and cut, so we instead get a cliffhanger of sorts, and the continuation soon

Figured as much. Was already a decently sized chapter.

-

"Yes."
"Okay." Their voices are like whispers, distracted by all that rope and helplessness.

See, this is a good example of what I often mention, with you having a way with describing the experience of bondage. I would never have thought to describe it that way myself, but I know exactly what you mean with the 'voice being like a whisper', and the deeper feelings/sensations that this alludes to. Short and to the point, yet still very descriptive. Perhaps this relies a little on the readers knowledge of the subject matter, but I would argue that is called 'knowing your audience'

Asking, telling. Ordering- firm tone -each of them to struggle, for me whilst I stand so close. Promising an immediate switch if only they can escape, that, once free they can post bind me. In my underwear.

The accompanying threat: that if they can't, I'll be fully revealing their bra.

My demands and promises met with wide eyes, panic but a kind of elation too, excitement.

And speaking of 'the experience of bondage', I suppose it is never quite complete without the games/'threats'

Also it seems our *unnamed* ( ) ghost takes the family motto quite seriously. Too bad her and Tempest seem to have a communication problem

Honestly had expected her to do worse, but it seems this version of her is far more concerned with family then outsiders. Or maybe just interested in/grateful to the person who (apparently) set her free

Going to be a really awkward next schoolday for Tempest...

[RopeBunny]

See, this is a good example of what I often mention, with you having a way with describing the experience of bondage. I would never have thought to describe it that way myself, but I know exactly what you mean with the 'voice being like a whisper', and the deeper feelings/sensations that this alludes to. Short and to the point, yet still very descriptive. Perhaps this relies a little on the readers knowledge of the subject matter, but I would argue that is called 'knowing your audience'

As always it's good of you to notice/pick out various moments, a knack for singling out what I'm especially proud off too

Practice I suppose, as far as a reason for how I manage the descriptions. I do think about it all, spending time, but ultimately it comes down to going with my gut, writing what feels right and keeping everything flowing.

I'm a huge fan of making sure what I write flows

Honestly had expected her to do worse

Just getting warmed up

[RopeBunny]

013.
Past.

I can't be alone, in the house. A sleepless night and a stress filled Saturday: raining, confining me to quarters and so I move from room to room like a girl hunted, proves that. I can't relax, don't dare look at anything with a reflection lest I somehow summon or entice her to come.

Which, breathed sigh of relief as I slip between cold sheets, she doesn't. As though smart enough to realise any appearance now will only incur my wrath, for what little that might be worth to her?

The ghost.

Not some kind of personal madness, instead the lady in the cage is a.

Ghost?

The idea, the very concept so absurd I'd laugh. Would've laughed, before mounting evidence showed me the truth of things. Because a figment of my madness, that only I can see or interact with, so I'd thought.

But they saw her, and she in turn interacted with them.

My friends: Jennifer and Bethany, who understandably don't message or phone, who I want to phone, message. Except what do I even say?

How do I even begin explaining this?

At least she'd freed me. Drifting up the stairs, having slammed the front door and now coming closer, and me too scared, too shocked by the revelation of what she is unfolding inside me. Rooted to the spot and staring as she, calmly, sets about removing my wrist bindings. Gone moments later and I don't see her leave but I. Feel? It, gone before I can talk to or shout at her.

Left to remove the collar and gag myself, to wander the House awhile in my underwear, finding and wrapping a blanket around my shoulders at some point. Confused.

I can't be alone in the house, and yet I've got no choice. This, Lupin House, is home. The de Montefort family home, for generations based off of all the various keepsakes and so forth that populate the space. I can't leave, I won't leave. I will be the wolf, I will face this thing, moving forward not back.

For the hundredth time I remember the- history -folders, that I really. Really, ought to acquire them.

Promptly forgetting to do so.

Sunday arrives, and we've got a game. A perfect excuse to not be at home, luckily. A game we win, and so afterwards, all of us girls loud and boisterous in the changing rooms, shouting and singing, and me once again forgetting about such worries as what might happen if and when the larger world discovers what I now am.

Countess Tempest de Montefort.

Riding the victory high, I first mention and then insist that the whole team come back to my house.

Yes, Jody, my actual House. With a capital fucking Huh for House, please and thank you.

And Michelle, staring at me as I'd talked, feels as though she's assessing me, am I winding everyone up? Because my status: orphan, living in hostels, isn't a secret. But she must see something in my eyes and tone, because she weighs in, bullying at times and getting everyone to message various parents.

Baffled looks when I'm called upon to recite my address, one of the girls curious.

"But that's...?"
"You fucking having us on Bob?"
"The fuck...?"
"Where even is that?"
"Can we get pizza?"
"It's east? Isn't it?"

The barrage of questions I mostly field, answer. Sealing the deal by promising copious amounts of takeout pizza and various favourite sides.

More assessing looks from Michelle, who remains silent. But I can see her thoughts: who the fuck can afford that much pizza, without parents?

So, changed, we set off enmasse, the mood jubilant, the win taking us an important step closer to a cup game, a chance at glory. Gang like we descend down into the underground, singing and chanting, laughter echoing in the tight confines of the tunnels and most of us still brandishing our sticks.

Needless to say space opens up around us.

"Are you," leaning close to me as the underground sways and rocks, apparently accelerating and braking without thought for those travelling. Michelle, faded blue denim shorts, the hem high and frayed. Shorts regardless of the weather because: even following a shower, after all that sweat and exertion it still feels horrible to cover up. Paired with a purple vest top that hugs her small bust and the team hoodie worn- we're all wearing -unzipped, black with 'Underwood Knights' in yellow across the back, our team number stamped on the left breast in that same striking shade.

A dress for me, white and shades of grey camouflage, couple of black patches. Hugging and tight above the waist with string like shoulder straps and an elasticated bust, the kind of dress you don't wear a bra with. Flaring out below the waist with a hem above the knees.

Her voice in my ear, holding onto the same pole as me and her proximity sparking memories of recent times.

In her too, judging by the way my glance down at our closeness brings her to do the same, visibly backing off with a scowl, before the rocking train throws her physically into me, chests bouncing off each other and I laugh.

And she actually smiles.

"Are you fucking with us all," back in my ear, "Bob?"
"Fucking," smirking, which she sees, "with you?"
"Do you really live all the way out here?"
"I moved."
"Moved?"
"Yes." I nod, Michelle frowning, but nodding back.

And on the third train, having not left my immediate orbit the whole time. Or maybe I haven't left hers? On that final, longest train, sharing a pole and Michelle appears to use the trains initial forward burst of speed, that first harsh jerk. Using the motion to step closer, bringing our bodies to touching, staring at me like a challenge and not backing off.

Nor do I, back off, so we spend that final stop go rush through tunnels practically leaning into one another, chests pressed together and faces inches apart.

Sharing a small smile.

Up out of darkness and artificial light, noise accompanying us, some of the girls singing Enter Sandman, infecting the rest of us and soon we're all screaming the lyrics. A team anthem we pinched from people, who pinched it from people and back and back.

Up into late afternoon sun to walk down now familiar- to me -roads. Crossing like an uncoordinated attack, yet not enough gaps as we do for traffic to slip between, forcing drivers to wait, annoying some to the point of blaring horns.

Our laughter not helping.

Lupin's gates coming up and I can't keep the smile off, despite what happened, two friendships I've no fucking clue how to save. It's good to have a home.

Stopping to punch in the code and those in front, plus a couple others simply wandering on, oblivious to the fact we've arrived, turning belatedly to notice and.

"Bob?"
"Are we," scattergun laughter, "breaking in?"
"Isn't this a park?" Frowning. "Why's it closed?"
"The fuck you doing Bob? S' locked."
"Countess?"
"...."

This last word from Peter, suddenly appeared on the other side of the- now swinging slowly open -double gates. Peter, and two other same age, and build, guys. Giants, bulk and height, all three in sports shorts and pull over hoodies, bags slung over shoulders and I'm not surprised to find the girls visibly staring, some to the point of drooling.

Hair hurriedly brushed behind ears, nervous flirty smiles deployed and chests either surreptitiously or blatantly thrust out.

"Are we," looking around at us all, an actual mob, "being invaded?"
"We're celebrating." Holding up my stick. "Knights."
"Gunna fucking crush ya." A forest of sticks joining mine, held vertical and smashed together at the upper tips, the retort slightly off harmony, because it's shouted.

"A win then," nodding at my grin, "good for you."
"Thanks."

"You off out?"
"Practice." Nodding to his friends, already through the gate and waiting a dozen metres away, looking back towards us and quite clearly commenting on, if I had to guess.

Me. Peter's new- teenage, and a girl too -boss.

"No game this week for us."
"Game?"
"Rugby."
"Right." Knew it. "Well," Tipping a salute with my stick, "see you. Peter."
"Bye Peter." Holly, layering it on thick, fluttered eyelashes and striking a pose, a cheeky little wave which of course causes Peter to fidget, and flee.

Laughter from his friends, and I can't suppress the smile. Big strong man, scared of a bunch of teenage girls.

"So who was that?"
"Damn Bob your new foster dad is hot."
"And rich."
"He," Michelle, who alongside me hadn't shown the least interest in Peter and his muscular friends, "called you." Pausing, like she's considering the word, this as we walk up the long gently twisting drive. "Countess?"
"He did."
"And he came out of that house."
"Yes."
"That we've walked passed."
"Yes."
"Because...." Looking at me, which becomes a glare as I remain silent.

Becoming a hard nudge as a grin splits my face, a warning of sorts but.

Rounding the corner and I hear several gasps from behind, my smile widening.

"Because I don't live in that house." Telling Michelle, but loudly enough for them all to hear. "I live in this one."

Luckily, or maybe it's a respect thing, because as loud and as boisterous as we all are, I am on this team and so have earned the other girls respect. Regardless of our not strictly being friends, we're a team, and that bond runs deep.

So, luckily nothing gets broken.

We mostly congregate in the conservatory, fast becoming my favourite place to eat or relax, a real heat trap, remaining warm long after the sun begins to sink, and beautiful during the day. I order pizza, sides, running up a massive bill, which I pay.

Which surprises most of them, and so an explanation is asked and generally bullied out of me, something shortened because I doubt they've got the patience, that since we're teammates as opposed friends they mostly won't care about details.

The music gets cranked, the food and various drink choices flow, as does the conversation and laughter. Girls dance, or sing, wandering in and out of rooms.

Respecting my request: don't go upstairs, because I don't want people in my bedroom, and I'm not willing to play chaperone to several roaming groups at once. So, I ask that one thing, and am too distracted by the point Jody, with Laura and Deborah in tow, asks.

"No going. Upstairs, Bob?"
"Please." A nod, not picking up on the single word emphasised. Upstairs.

Too distracted, by Michelle, who I catch several times glancing at me whilst she talks with others. Who actually brings me an extra slice of the exact pizza- I'd ordered a dozen, a mixed spread of toppings but all stuffed crust, because any other option sucks -I'd been eating, depositing it onto my plate and moving on without a word.

And, later, by the time Jody comes looking, asking her loaded question, by that point Michelle is sitting with me, and the combination of her proximity, plus the conversation itself, is taking up all my attention.

[tickletied84]

Just found this story after a couple of weeks away. Wonderful update, the mix of the school, friendship, bondage and then an air of mystique - both of the ghosts, and the unexpected acquisition of the title of Countess.

Looking forward to the next update

[RopeBunny]

the mix of the school, friendship, bondage and then an air of mystique - both of the ghosts, and the unexpected acquisition of the title of Countess.

Good to find your comment thank you, for posting.

Juggling all those factors helps keep things interesting, makes it more fun to write too.

Needless to say we are, eventually, going to reach a conclusion.

[BlissfulMisery]

Honestly had expected her to do worse

Just getting warmed up

Fair enough!

-

For the hundredth time I remember the- history -folders, that I really. Really, ought to acquire them.

Promptly forgetting to do so.

Ah, seems Tempest has caught a case of the 'plot complicating selective amnesia'

And indeed it seems the illness is getting worse, given that she decided to invite *her whole team* over after seeing what happened to her friends.

Or you know, she is just completely unable to mentally cope with what is happening and is trying to distract herself with anything she can think of. One of the two

"No going. Upstairs, Bob?"
"Please." A nod, not picking up on the single word emphasised. Upstairs.

Well I think we all know how this is going to end

One of those chapters that primarily serves to set up for the next one, so definitely curious as to what exactly will happen!

Does seem likely that Michelle ends up being the first person Tempest has (or more accurately will end up forced to by circumstance) a *real* conversation about all this with though, at least the way it is being setup. A logical next narrative step in their mostly forced acquaintance to date.

Or not. Guess I will have to see

[RopeBunny]

Ah, seems Tempest has caught a case of the 'plot complicating selective amnesia'

Sometimes necessary, I do find this in stories, there's a shorter route open, a way to tie ( ) the story up quicker, characters who do the logical or correct thing, but mostly it's more fun to stretch things out, as I'm doing here.

And indeed it seems the illness is getting worse, given that she decided to invite *her whole team* over after seeing what happened to her friends.

Or you know, she is just completely unable to mentally cope with what is happening and is trying to distract herself with anything she can think of. One of the two

Aiming for the second one, the need for company perhaps combined with a general forgetfulness regarding consequences.

Definitely getting closer to Michelle, so there's a chance at some kind of sharing of what's actually going on, or of course I may simply be about to veer off a different way

[RopeBunny]

014.
Past.

"This seat taken?"
"No...." Glancing up and the word drying in my mouth, shrinking to nothing as I find Michelle standing beside me, hands on hips and seeing the reaction she's evoked she grins, and I rally.

"But nor is that one." Pointing to a completely unoccupied sofa. "Or there." Alongside the sofa and- occupied -armchairs, there's a table out here too, an eight seater with, currently three spaces.

It really is a big conservatory, three separate seating groups: two comprising comfortable sofas and the third being that metal and wood table.

"But what about this seat." Gesturing to the other half of the two seater I'm sat on half of. "Is anyone sitting here?"
"Well." Small tingle chasing up my spine, a little rush. "No."
"Good." A nod, stepping forward and turning, dropping down into the empty seat. Beside me.

"So...."
"So...."
"Bit out of left field this?"
"Yeah, well." I laugh. "Imagine how I felt."
"True." Smiling, thoughtful and then her mouth opening in a kind of surprised gasp.

"This is where you were headed?"
"It was." Not having to ask for clarification, she's talking about the shower stall, when I freed her only to run. "Really did have places. Um," a shrug, "important places to go."
"And I thought you were running away." Said with a smile, and no malice.

"And you didn't know?"
"That I was. Am," glancing down at myself, as though something physical and obvious will of changed with the fact, "a Countess? Not a clue."
"But what does it mean though?"
"Mean?"
"Do you...." Thinking, followed by a wave of her hand. "Do you have, like, official duties and stuff?"
"Um...." Shit, do I?

Michelle laughing at my confused frown, and as we've talked we've shifted positions, going from both facing front, to both facing inwards, toward each other, one leg up and bent the other trailing off the sofa onto the tiled floor, bodies leaning back into the cushion, my arms crossed, mostly, Michelle's mostly in her lap. Leaning back but leaning in too.

So we don't have to shout to be heard over the music, honest.

"What happened?"
"Well." Flashed grin, she knows what I'm asking. "I'd say it was a tough game."
"Ha."
"A tough." Another flashed grin as I shake my head, despairing. "Game. But, ultimately the wedge held up, and we kicked their ass."

Leaning further forward to high five, me having joined in those last two and a half words, grinning and leaning in myself.

Go Knights.

"Yes. Well, and go Knights, but." Making eye contact and Michelle doesn't flinch nor look away, holding my gaze. "What happened?"
"Look around." Flicking her eyes, at the room and a cheeky smile. "Countess."
"Fuck off."
"If you can make me?"
"I can fucking try."
"Fucking lose." Snorting laughter. "More like."
"Fucking." Darting in quick, aiming for her cheek. Just a slap but Michelle's arm becoming a blur too, batting mine aside and then turning. Grabbing me by the wrist and yanking.

Gasp escaping as I'm forcefully pulled forwards, off balance and tumbling into Michelle, clearly not expecting such a result because her eyes and mouth open wide in shock, and an instant later I collide into her, a messy tangle of limbs my D cups in her face and Michelle's empty hand brushing at my thighs having somehow slipped under my dress.

"Get a room." Someone shouts amid a scattering of laughter, as my momentum carries us both tumbling to the floor, laughing too, untangling ourselves and standing. Smirking because otherwise we'll likely blush.

"Go for a walk?"
"Sure."
"Yeah." Another good humoured shout, from somewhere and I don't care enough to spot who. "Go for a walk, girls."
"Go for a walk and find a room."
"Fuck you all." Michelle, grinning even whilst flipping them all off with both hands.

"Jealous." I comment, stepping up and putting my arm around Michelle's waist, like it's nothing whilst my heart beats double time. "Come on, Chelle."
"Yeah." Leaning into me, actually- breath catching -planting a small kiss on my cheek. "Let's go find us some privacy."

No destination in mind, and Michelle walking level, not steering nor being especially led and we wind up sat at the top of the left hand banking staircase, side by side arms back for support, looking down onto the huge entrance hall, the main doors, and from this distance the music is nothing more then a low insistent thump and occasional blare of tune.

"Look around?"
"Oh." Laughing. "Right." Michelle shrugs, smiling. "Who isn't here?"
"Isn't here?" She nods, so I do a mental headcount, replaying the day, the match and after, coming up with.

"Ashley?"
"Ashley."

Ashley: we're a team, the Underwood Knights, moving parts and none more important than the others. Except, every team has strikers, a position that tends to come with or generate a certain amount of ego. For the Knights we have Michelle, point of the wedge.

Star player, some would say, and a position Ashley coveted.

"And now," turning from the waist to regard Michelle, looking awful pleased with herself, "no Ashley?"
"Revenge can be a bitch."
"She just," pushing the issue and curious, kinda knowing but I want to hear her say it, "decided not to be on the team anymore?"
"Well." Examining her nails, acting like some kind of prohibition era gangster. "Maybe I had to persuade her some."
"Like she persuaded you?"

Earning me a grimace: the bully who hates to lose.

"Along those lines." Grimace becoming a tight smile, still the gangster: it's just business, even if it is fun at times. "She made her play, and fucked it. So," smile becoming more genuine, a wink, "I showed her how it ought to be done."
"Right." With an effort I stop my thoughts diving down the rabbit hole of possibilities, trying to conjure various Ashley bound and gagged scenarios. Forcing myself instead to focus on Michelle. Talking?

"...e fuck is it?"
"Huh?"
"Stop thinking about me in the shower stall, Bob." Laughing as I blush. "Now, where's the bathroom?"
"Oh." Turning to look, pointing. "Third door."
"Kay." Standing, wandering off all casual.

Only spoiled by the backwards glance, smile splitting her face before she can stop it.

Because I was watching her?

Turning back to face the entrance hall, the House stretched and sprawled out before me. Idle thoughts.

How am I ever going to fill even one room with things that mean as much to me, as those banners clearly meant to the de Monteforts of old?

What do I do about college? From the various pictures it appears military service is some kind of de Montefort right of passage, so, what? Do I walk out of my exams on that final day and straight into a recruiting office?

"Sergeant general Bob de Montefort, reporting for duty Admiral."

Shaken head and a smirk at my humour. But seriously though, should I follow an apparent tradition? It isn't as though I had any firm plans regarding my future.

I should throw a party, though, after exams? I could turn the grounds into some kinda funfair slash food market, except everything's free. And, well, whether anyone else even turns up, I'd love to end the school year, or even end school for good given this is my final year.

What a grand way that would be to celebrate.

Becoming aware of time having passed as I surface from one random train of thought, not yet coupled to the next. Stopping, glancing back over my shoulder and no sign of Michelle? Who, in all fairness might not be as into me as I'm imagining, who might've gotten a better offer from those other girls I'm pretty certain she hangs out with more often then me.

There's a chance I'm sat here waiting for someone who won't be returning. Or....

Or....

Blinking, which does no good, she doesn't vanish. Standing- floating, like always -across the room at the top of the other sweeping staircase, looking directly at me as though she's been there awhile, waiting for me to notice?

Smiling as she no doubt notices my focus, my blink, sitting up straighter.

"What?" Half shouted, letting my voice carry the distance. I've not tried actually talking to her, yet. "Talk to me already."

Shake of her head and a slight frown, can't? Or won't?

"Why are you here?" Still sitting but my body turned now, facing her across the empty divide. "Why me?"

Answering smile, very deliberately pointing at herself, at her chest and.

"Fuuuuuck." Falling backwards even whilst flinching as she's suddenly right in front of me, hunkered down legs bent beneath her dress and one hand resting on a knee, hunkered yet floating still. Reaching out and I'm pressed back against the floor, nowhere to go, watching as she, equally deliberately points at me, at my chest.

Standing and floating backwards, giving me room and I stand too. Facing her.

"You've got to give me something." Searching her face, realising there's a familiarity there. We could be, almost, sisters. Those grey eyes, the shape of her wide slashed mouth.

"Please?" Arms spread, asking. And in response she, smile growing, holds up three fingers, before- purposefully slowly it feels like -rising a fourth.

"Four." Confused. "Four, what?"

Staring at me, and I realise there's something cheeky about that smile she's wearing, on the backs of which I remember the last time I had guests over.

Jennifer and Bethany.

"You...?" Michelle, who has been gone awhile, mouth dropping open and she nods, dropping her first three fingers and using the fourth to point.

At my bedroom.

Patting me on the shoulder like we're friends, as though I'm welcome for whatever it is she's gone and done, and I'm already moving, almost running towards my room.

Already forgetting those initial three- people -fingers, solely focused on the fourth.

"Love what you've done with the place." All casual her voice only wavering slightly, despite where and how she is, as I burst through the- closed -door, skidding to an abrupt halt upon seeing.

"Took your fucking time." Michelle grins at me, only a little nervous, smile falling off a little around the edges, breathing a little fast which is to be expected. Considering.

My bedroom, a huge room dominated by that ancient wooden four poster, and Michelle, slim and raven haired looking lost atop it. She's been- purposefully I can't help but think, leaving the other half teasingly empty, an invite -bound and stretched along one half of the bed. Arms pinned up, reaching towards the headboard and legs together, pulled down.

Limbs pressed side by side, not crossed, with rope at the wrists and ankles, nowhere else and to be honest given how her muscles at belly and bicep, thigh and calf. I can see how locked out and taut her body is, and the reason I can see this, the reason there's a blush racing up my neck and cheeks as I stare.

Michelle's been stripped, denim shorts and vest top folded, placed neatly over the arm of a plush chair her shoes ontop socks tucked inside, leaving her in a lace heavy black bra and very small looking black thong, red love heart printed on the crotch drawing my gaze like a beacon.

"Oh."
"Don't suppose you'd care to leap into action and free me?"
"What...?"
"Thought not." Laughing, shaking her head at my confusion, my wide eyes and the fact I'm standing just inside the room. Staring.

"Well." Pulling a face as she wriggles, attempting to bend herself from rigid and straight into something else, jerking at legs and arms, body shaking side to side her small chest bouncing as she bucks. Going nowhere, barely moving beyond that hypnotic shaking.

"Fuck."
"What," taking a step forward and pushing my door closed with vague thoughts of privacy, three more steps, coming closer, "happened?"
"Would you believe," brief laughter, "I don't know?"
"You," having reached the bed, the side closest to Michelle, closest the door and I slide down to sit, on the edge, perched and yet sitting sideways one leg up and folded beneath me the other trailing off foot brushing the floor.

Without necessarily meaning to I've wound up very close to her, and without conscious thought my hand is now resting on Michelle's belly.

And she hasn't, isn't yelling at me to take it the fuck off.

"You don't know?"
"Third door," nodding, to herself, "I." A shrug, little laugh. "You know. And then I just felt tired?"
"Tired?"
"Really fucking tired." Actually yawning, which of course sets me off. Lifting my hand to cover it, dropping it back down onto Michelle's belly.

And again she doesn't protest, doesn't flinch.

"Like, weird. But." Looking at me, something serious in gaze and tone, imploring me to believe this strange- except I know a thing she doesn't -thing. "It's like I fell asleep standing up. Woke up here?"
"Woke up," looking her up and down, "tied up?"
"Without my clothes too." Small blush which her forced sounding laughter, bravado doesn't appear able to stop.

Should I tell her?

"You a wizard Bob?"
"What?"
"Or," smiling at my surprised laugh, "a. Um, witch, or whatever."
"Me?"
"Well." Flexing, tugging and straining, small side to side shake, contained breasts wobbling slightly at the distruption. "How else did I fall asleep and wake up here?"

I should tell her?

"Listen, Chelle." Swallow, deep breath. "It's-"
"-Not that I. Um. Mind."
"What?"
"Since it's you." Actually offering me a small, somewhat nervous smile, the revelation enough to stop my train of thought dead, someone bricking up the exit to the tunnel and not telling the driver.

"What?"
"Well." Eyes skating on then off then onto me, and- with an effort it seems -remaining focused on me. "I've, um, kept thinking about the shower. About it being you. Finding me and." Stopping for a breath, the rest coming out in a flood.

"I can't stop thinking about how you walked away and left me bound and gagged, wet and how helpless I was and that you chose to leave me there like you owned me or something or...."

Licking her lips, eyes tracking down to the humps of my D cups, dropping lower still to her own mostly revealed- the bra is mostly lace on the cups -smaller assets, my hand resting on her toned belly. Somewhat possessive even though I hadn't consciously meant it to be.

"I...."
"Kiss me." Voice small, the helpless bully, asking. "Please."

Volley of blows coming some unknown time later, too lost to care. Kissing, and by this point I've gone from tentatively leaning over Michelle to laying beside and halfway atop her, the hand that had been on her belly now loosely cupping just shy of touching her lace clad breast.

Kissing, breathless.

Startling as laughter, at least three different sources, coming in off the back of the knocks.

"Chelle?"
"You in here?"

And, slightly quieter.

"Running out of fucking doors to knock on."

Which brings more laughter.

"Kerri?"
"Hey girl." Still calling through the wood. "Bob got you kidnapped or something? Been looking fucking all over. S' time to go."
"Ha." Blushing, our eyes meeting across mere inches. The hidden- from these others -truth of it. "Kay."

Opening her mouth but I cut Michelle off with a nod, yes. Not thinking of it as permission: you can leave, and yet the grateful smile I receive speaks volumes to the developing dynamic.

Is there?

"Wait for me?"
"Sure."

Some muffled words.

"We'll be outside, need a damn smoke after all that pizza."
"Couple of minutes." Another look as though seeking approval, permission. "I'm coming."

To which I'm forced to roll over her, quickly burying my head in the pillow to muffle the sudden attack of giggles.

[RopeBunny]

015.
Present.

"Tempest?"
"Countess." Not in the fucking mood, annoyed enough that I haven't even bothered walking to school.

Not, to clarify, annoyed at her: the Lady in the cage, history all- finally -laid out. No, it's every other part of this I'm mad at: Sally fucking Kolt and her deliberate or otherwise concealment of the truth, the whole family de Montefort, stretching back and back. Fucking cowards all, passing the problem on and down the generations, leaving the mess to me.

Alone and unequipped, no warning.

Thing is, I think? With forewarning, knowledge, I believe I still likely would've freed her, but at least I'd of known what she was, who, she was first. I could've- attempted to -lay down rules of some form.

Nobody deserves to spend eternity in a cage.

And so I'm back, for answers and a confrontation of sorts. Smart enough to realise the benefits of help.

"Going to invite me in?"
"In?"
"Little wet." Flicking rain at Tasha, basically soaked even from the short walk, underground station to Lupin's gates. "Can we talk." Catching and holding her gaze. "Inside?"

Sounds of movement within, likely Emily and I've no clue whether the two are sharing a bed, although the converted camper van doesn't look big enough for two otherwise?

Not that I've been inside before, not that we've talked since that first encounter, and I suppose I've somewhat admired the tenacity: to remain camped across the road these past days. Hoping, waiting.

"You want...?"
"Help." I nod. "Little bit of quid pro quo before you accompany me into Lupin."
"Oh...." Eyes straying to the high stone wall, the house invisible beyond. "Right, well."

Stepping back but holding the door.

"Come in, Countess."

[tickletied84]

Am loving the mix of historical concealment of secrets, and our hero having to solve the mysteries to help herself - and whilst managing her emotions, relationships and kink!

[BlissfulMisery]

...a way to tie the story up quicker...

-

"Do you...." Thinking, followed by a wave of her hand. "Do you have, like, official duties and stuff?"

Michelle asking the real questions!

How am I ever going to fill even one room with things that mean as much to me, as those banners clearly meant to the de Monteforts of old?

And Tempest... maybe not quite as much

Joking aside, I liked the little aside of her thinking about how best to uphold family traditions. Silly, but in a way that fits her age and personality perfectly.

Also Michelle takes what happens... shockingly well. I mean, I think we all know why, but still

And it seems things are moving along in the present as well. A little more information on 'the two camped outside' that were mentioned a long time ago. Plus further hints (not that this was not obvious already I suppose) that things have been getting quite out of hand with regards to Lucille as time went on.

Curious when past Tempest will start wondering about that fourth finger Lucille was holding up... Suspect it might end up having to do with how exactly things start to 'get out of hand'.

[RopeBunny]

Michelle asking the real questions!

Someone has to

Joking aside, I liked the little aside of her thinking about how best to uphold family traditions. Silly, but in a way that fits her age and personality perfectly.

As did I, pleased with it. Mostly irrelevant, as most of my better, more favourite asides tend to be. It's nice to take a paragraph or two break from the TUGs at times, to write backstory or random wanderings.

Lucille

Stop saying her name you'll spoil my big reveal

Curious when past Tempest will start wondering about that fourth finger Lucille was holding up... Suspect it might end up having to do with how exactly things start to 'get out of hand'.

Could be another instance of me not filling things out well enough? The fourth finger, the single finger that remained up when the ghost pointed, was Michelle, bound to Tempest's bed.

It's those first three fingers that are the mystery, which Tempest will come to understand/realise/figure out soon.

Am loving the mix of historical concealment of secrets, and our hero having to solve the mysteries to help herself

Is going well so far

[RopeBunny]

016.
Past.

Two things happen, over the course of roughly ten days, with the second directly leading to a third, it seems likely anyway. And out of the second comes a fourth, too.

Again, most likely.

Jody, Laura, and Deborah. Teammates, but not friends, which is why their absence from school Monday through Wednesday goes unnoticed, by me. Aside from which I've got my own issues.

The gates at Lupin, like the house, are old, but modernised. For exiting vehicles there's a sensor: you stop, and the twin black metal gates swing inwards allowing egress. Magic, except not. The sensors aren't meant for people, who need to press on a touch pad located on the stone wall, beside the gates, and for entry there's the code panel, for those few in the know, and located on that same post is the intercom.

During nine to five, regular working hours there's Florence, a chime sounds in a half dozen locations throughout the house, alerting her to attend the front door, where the intercom receiver unit is mounted to a wall. Peter carries a small box, which chimes too, with both him and Florence having a two-way, allowing communication regarding House matters, including who happens to be calling.

The police turn up on Wednesday, at sixteen fifty-nine.

"I'll get it, Countess." Called out through the entrance hall, Florence's voice easily reaching me in the study, supposedly doing homework but mostly just moping, staring at the page, pen in hand mind wandering dark corners.

Wishing I had friends.

Wishing I understood even one small part- the lady in the cage, Michelle, Jennifer and Bethany -of my current turmoil.

For something to do, a distraction. Any distraction, I stand, and make my way out towards the front door, meeting Florence halfway, concerned frown on her face.

"It's the police?"
"The," just about stopping the laugh, because that wouldn't look good, "police?"
"Wanting to talk," a nod, "to you."
"Oh?"
"Then you." Pausing, and I can visibly see the employer employee, child adult dynamic sloshing and warring inside her. "Weren't expecting them?"
"Florence." Finding that smile. "I'm not a hooligan."
"Right." Half smiling back. "Sorry, Countess."
"All good." Waving her apology and doubts aside.

I am a teenage girl after all.

"Let them in."
"Should I stay?"
"No." I've got nothing- the ghost -to hide. "Whatever it is, some routine bollocks."

Flinch from Florence at my casual swearing, guess it's not becoming in a lady of my age and status?

Fuck it.

"I can handle this, and besides you're off the clock, so." A waved gesture. "Go."

Stepping up to the intercom as Florence opens the front door.

"This is Countess Tempest de Montefort." Catching Florence's smile, no doubt humour at the tone behind my words, title thrust out like a weapon. "Please, drive up to the House, I'll be at the front door, waiting."
"Understood, Countess." A female? I push the required sequence, and wave Florence off, staying by the door to wait.

Jody, Laura and Deborah. Who it appears not only haven't been in school, they haven't been home either. Haven't, in fact been seen, by anyone, since the party.

Here.

And it's taken the police these three days to work the backstory, to trace events and so on, back to Lupin.

And I'm, halfway, helpful. Halfway because both the officers come in swinging, attitude for days and clearly having the opinion a teenage girl can easily be bullied and intimidated.

Not this time. Even before I inherited the title I've been fending for myself, all my life I've had no backup save me, so, whilst it doesn't come out often, I'm more then capable of standing up to anyone, adults included.

I push back, blunt and deliberately obtuse, point blank refusing to allow a search of the House. I do answer every question honestly: no I didn't see them leave, but, yes they were all here. The entire team was here.

No they aren't here now, I'd know.

It's only after the police leave, the following day in fact, running things through my head and the realisation hits: Jody, coming to see me when I'd only had eyes and attention for Michelle, asking something about exploring?

However by then, around this time the second event hits.

Like a dropped bomb onto my life it hits, detonating, burning my world down.

Word gets out. Someone, singular or multiple and I never do find out exactly who. Or whom? But the fact of my newly acquired birthright, my title and estates, the drastic change in fortune making me a multi millionaire teenager. These are not necessarily secrets and yet I still wasn't ready to share, but everything gets leaked.

And the press goes wild.

No photos, luckily. But speculation runs rife: who am I? What school in which part of London do I attend, because they've got my age, and due to that they can't simply snatch a candid on the street. But enough of them know, find out who I am.

And so I'm- surreptitiously, at times blatantly -followed most days, the morning and evening run from Lupin to Underwood. Because whilst my identity is a legal secret, that doesn't prevent every.

Fucking.

Detail, of my life from being reported on and analysed. So long as exact places and so forth aren't mentioned, the press can simply write and print as they please.

A half hours screaming down the phone at Sally, who weather's the storm of my annoyance, promising to look into things, but ultimately there's nothing she or anyone can do.

It changes things. Everything, and how could it not? No, my identity isn't specifically revealed but to anyone reading between the lines, anyone who knows of me, even vaguely. The whole thing practically screams Tempest.

People at school, not only the other kids, teachers too, everywhere I go I'm being looked at differently, assessed.

Judged, like the twin gatepost statues.

And there's nowhere, aside from Lupin, where I can hide. Nobody I can talk to.

Damn it.

Moving on, though, and before the fourth thing, somewhere in the middle of all of this.

I came home, approaching the gate oblivious to the white brick like vehicle parked close by, not seeing the lady, standing at the gate peering through.

"Excuse me." Light tap on the shoulder as I punch in the code, a call for attention I ignore, having spent the final two lessons daydreaming of a long relaxing bath, music as background and an ice cold drink beside me.

"I was wondering." The voice, insistent. "If you could help us, we're looking for Countess Tempest de Montefo...." Drying up as I turn, not in the mood to be nice, not any day recently.

Life isn't being particularly nice to me after all.

Casting a flat eyed stare at her, and I can see dots being joined mentally: a young Countess, a schoolgirl even. And here I am, in uniform and everything.

"Oh."
"Yes. Well." A shrug, finding a smile because I can't, shouldn't be mad at everyone. "I don't have a prize to hand out or anything but."

And she stares, waiting for the rest only there is no, rest. I'm tired, and I'll smile, do politeness. But I'm not in the mood.

"Countess."
"Okay. Fine." With an effort taking my gaze off the opening gates, the bath waiting beyond. "Yes?"
"My name's Tasha and that's." Pointing at the brick, a camper van on closer inspection, actually caring enough to look. "Emily."

A second girl, lady, late twenties, pushing at or just crossing that three oh barrier.

Emily waves, smiling, I raise a hand back.

"We were wondering...."
"Wondering?"
"Hoping." A nod, liking the sound of that better apparently. "If we could come and look around."
"Look." Are they tourists? Am I living in some landmark on some map, famous Houses of London? "Around?"
"Yes."
"Why?"

"We're ghost hunters."

Blinking as I laugh, mostly in her face, a release of tension and just when I thought things couldn't get any more fucked up and weird.

The sisters Venkman and Stantz are come to investigate.

"Please." The other one, out of the camper and the two of them wearing matching serious expressions and I almost want to laugh all over again. Such sincerity. "We know the history."
"More then I fucking know."
"We can help. We."
"Please, Countess. This might only be a hobby but we're hardly amateurs. We've got equipment, and we both took time off work to come."

And I, actually consider it. The serious expressions, the claim to knowledge severely lacking at my end, the sharp end. What could they tell me?

What could- apart from the actual ghost that is actually here -they find?

Idly wondering, looking them up and down and, okay they aren't amateurs but: have they ever really seen a ghost?

Realising I'm smiling, and not in a good way. Tasha stepping forward.

"Please. Countess. She's down there, let us help."

Which, down, fucking idiots earns them a second laugh. And a decision made.

They don't know anything.

"No."
"But Cou-"
"-No." Shaking my head, letting the blank stare back out to play. "Go home, before she eats you both up."

Like she did my friends, and Michelle. And perhaps they see some of that truth on my face, because Emily nods, taking Tasha's arm and gently pulling her away.

"We paid for the full two weeks." A nod back at the camper. "And, we genuinely do want to help. So." Meeting my blank stare with her own, more hopeful eyes. "We'll be here, awhile, should you reconsider."

Needless to say with that all swirling around inside bathtime is ruined.

Damn it.

About a week after, after the police and the press bombardment, lonely school days and a weekend spent moping, eyeballing the camper each time I come and go, parked across the road about two dozen metres down.

Thinking too hard about nothing, I arrive home to find Jennifer and Bethany's school bags in Lupin's kitchen.

But let me go- slightly -back, first.

Since around the time the police showed up I'd begun, after a couple of days absence, to see her again. The lady, my own personal haunting. She had, in fact, returned during the intense- at times -questioning: a reflection in the window, standing beside me and there for- ha -real when I turned to glance, to look. There for me at least, but not for officer whatever and Sergeant I don't give a shit. The lady, fists clenching and mouth set into a thin line, shoulder to ghostly shoulder.

In solidarity?

And forgetting myself I'd smiled, at her, a small nod of thanks, receiving one back.

Once more she'd begun to appear, the timings and locations random like before, no schedule or specific places. Inside Lupin, as I come and go there she'd be. Even, one bad night and emotion overcoming me, too much happening, quietly sobbing into my pillow and suddenly that itchy warmth and I turn, finding her laid beside me, stroking my back her grey cast face close.

Offering much- who are you -needed comfort, and dared I hope that we were friends?

Not fucking likely.

But it isn't just the lady I see reflected. Three times, and on each occasion the sight is fleeting, corner of the eye as I wander passed the mirrored or glassy surface. Each time, by the time I register what I- think I -saw, stopping abruptly and backing up.

Gone?

But I saw them: Jody, hogtied on a plush but worn looking dark red carpet I don't recognise, laid on her side small A cup chest pushing braless at her tight pale grey tee, some kind of rubber ball filling her mouth. Laura, our goalie, brute of a girl, rounded, muscle underneath the layers of fat, lashed to some kind of stone pillar, ropes wrapped so tightly her belly and breasts appear to be squeezing through the gaps, more rope serving as a gag. And Deborah, stripped to her bra but still wearing white jeans, laid on her back atop a circular wooden table, arms spread cruciform legs pressed together, held in place by various ropes pinning her to the tables slatted top, the various gaps making it possible.

All three girls appear to be sleeping? All three are, when I briefly see them, wearing matching contented smiles, even around their gags.

"Is this real?" Talking to the bathroom mirror, the morning of the day I find my- ex, possibly -friends bags. "Are they here, in Lupin?"

"Would you even tell me?"

The worrying thought, trying to piece details: the night of the party, the last time anyone saw the three of them. The ghost, mocking, holding three fingers up before she'd added a fourth, for Michelle.

Are they still in Lupin?

Where, though?

She doesn't appear, can't seem to speak anyway, or else is refusing to? Either way I go to school, ignoring the small collection of reporters I spot, knowing there will be others I haven't. And afterwards I walk more of the route home then normal, enjoying the fresh air and unwilling, today, to hurry home.

Which means I find Jennifer's WhatsApp messages as I'm coming up Lupin's winding entrance road. I often keep my phone off, currently, because who's going to be calling anyway?

An apology of sorts, for abandoning me, followed by a promise to come straight over after school, to talk, because they both miss me, and hope I'll be forgiving of the way they've handled events.

I try to ring, because it's late and surely they never made it through the gate, are likely home now. So, I attempt to ring, to reschedule. But get no answer?

And Florence has already clocked off, so she's not there to explain the bags. Bags but no Jennifer? No Bethany?

"What the...?" Looking around, as though they're only hiding, ready to jump out, all smiles and laughter.

Startling as I find the lady standing- floating -behind me, smile on her face.

"Right." I nod, taking a breath to calm my heart because for all I'm used to her, the more sudden appearances still somewhat trigger my fear reflex. "Afternoon."

Returning my nod.

"Don't suppose," asking for something to say, not expecting an answer, "you'd know where they went?"

Her smile widens, becoming something wicked, half turning and gesturing to the window and following her swept arm I look, and see.

Both of my friends, wearing those same contented smiles, eyes lidded. Sleeping? Or, are they in a trance?

Both are stripped to sensible white bra and pants, typical beneath the uniform underwear. Slumped on a stone floor, side by side with a wall of similar grey rising close behind, which they're attached to. Thick iron rings are locked around the necks, and each limb individually at wrists and ankles, each ring sprouting a chain which trails back to iron brackets on the wall.

Wrists are yanked behind and lifted, the chains pulled taut and it looks like one long chain for each ankle and only one for both wrists, the brackets for each being a loop which the chains pass through, or are locked to depending. Ankles are on the floor, legs bent, and whilst their heads are laid flat too, this chain copies the wrist one, stretched tight to a high bracket, the appearance that they've barely got the slack to lay down.

Like the carpet, like the table and the pillar, I don't recognise this place?

A reflection, they aren't really in the window, beyond the window. Jennifer and Bethany are, somewhere?

"What have you done?" Voice like indrawn breath, shocked. Horrified, to see my friends chained up in unfamiliar surroundings, I turn back to confront the lady.

Finding the kitchen empty.

Damn it.

And, well.

Four things, I'd said, and four things I've told. Each one like a mountain peak, pushing up and through the cloudy sky of my life. Four events worth telling, which isn't to say the clouds themselves aren't worthy of note, of comment.

Frequently I've made reference to being alone, depressed. A lone- ha -wolf.

Fucking wolves, I'll show her a wolf I'll tear this whole building down and her with it fucking ghost I'll.

Sorry, deep breath and.

Lonely, but not always. Because throughout, like an occasional companion, a hiker who instead of climbing the hills and valleys simply calls for an airlift to the next interesting location.

Michelle.

Who ignores me, going so far out of her way to ignore me during the general ebb and flow of school that it becomes something comical, to the point I find myself smiling in the face of her scowls as we pass.

Keeping up appearances, I guess, although what there is to gain from being seen to actively not favour my company I've no clue?

And, I don't ask, because those moments we do find, those times I round a corner to find her, waiting, the corridor magically empty as though she personally set about clearing it by force of will. Which I could almost believe. Eye contact and then she's retreating, bag slipped to drop to the floor, backing up against the wall hands held behind her, waiting, breathing fast, faster as I step in close and reach around to pin her hands in mine, pressing my chest against hers. Breathing in the scent of her our lips brushing and Michelle all but melting, it seems.

Waiting outside Lupin's gates on a weekend afternoon, not, for some bizarre reason using the intercom, instead sat on a low wall across the far side of the road, crossing as I emerge and falling wordlessly into step. Sudden contact and I almost jump, Michelle's hand slipping into mine, gripping and when I turn she leans in, planting a kiss on my lips.

Shadow falling over me one lunchtime, looking up to find her stood, silent my bag already in her hands. Backing off and I stand, follow. Michelle leading me into the woods and off the path, stopping before a tree and pulling ropes that look oil stained and old from her bag, handing them wordlessly over, remaining still as I bind and lash her to a tree, rope crisscrossing her slender frame, small chest made obvious. Eyes gone wide as I force rope into her mouth but no protest, nothing more then a sigh, helpless and- because I can, because I can see in her eyes that she wants it -exposed, shirt opened, the pink bra clearly new, a special purchase. For me?

We barely talk, I don't ask, don't push for an explanation of what we are or why the bully actually quite likes surrendering to me, actually seeks out my company, apparently enjoying and thrilling to it.

I take what is offered, by her, and for those few scattered moments I bask in the warmth that comes from being wanted, needed.

It helps.

[BlissfulMisery]

Stop saying her name you'll spoil my big reveal

Make me Lucille, Lucille, Lucille!

But fair enough. Though I think that particular ship has sailed long ago

Could be another instance of me not filling things out well enough? The fourth finger, the single finger that remained up when the ghost pointed, was Michelle, bound to Tempest's bed.

It's those first three fingers that are the mystery, which Tempest will come to understand/realise/figure out soon.

Ah, actually it is me who was unclear. I understood this much, but worded it very poorly - I meant the other fingers.

So no issue with how you wrote it.

-

Word gets out. Someone, singular or multiple and I never do find out exactly who. Or whom? But the fact of my newly acquired birthright, my title and estates, the drastic change in fortune making me a multi millionaire teenager. These are not necessarily secrets and yet I still wasn't ready to share, but everything gets leaked.

Oof

Exactly what she does not need right now.

Thinking too hard about nothing, I arrive home

Love the way you put that. Again, know exactly what you/she means.

Four things, I'd said, and four things I've told. Each one like a mountain peak, pushing up and through the cloudy sky of my life. Four events worth telling, which isn't to say the clouds themselves aren't worthy of note, of comment.

Lonely, but not always. Because throughout, like an occasional companion, a hiker who instead of climbing the hills and valleys simply calls for an airlift to the next interesting location.

Michelle.

Same for both of these. Evocative descriptions that get the point across while being concise.

I take what is offered, by her, and for those few scattered moments I bask in the warmth that comes from being wanted, needed.

It helps.

Michelle, the unexpected port in the proverbial storm. Glad to see at least one thing going right for poor Tempest.

Unfortunately I doubt things are going to get any better, given what has been set up...

And on an unrelated note, I find it amusing that our resident bondage-happy ghost was herself trapped in a similar manner (for presumably a long time). A case of live by the rope... well you know how that saying ends.

[RopeBunny]

Managed to finish the story during the recent board outage/changeover, and I don't see the point in drip feeding.

So here it is, the remaining four chapters.

Enjoy

[RopeBunny]

017.
Past.

"Wha...?"
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry?"
"For breaking all the." Waving an irritated hand through the air as though capable of swatting the ever fucking things away. "Unwritten rules, for coming here."
"Unwritten," small frown replacing what had, I belatedly realise, been a small smile.

That I'm here, at her house?

"Rules?"
"You never acknowledge me." Blurting it out, having not run, but the journey from Lupin to here, scouring the Internet and various socials, ultimately phoning the school and all but pulling rank.

And, it's nice to know Countess carries the appropriate amount of clout.

The journey, blundering out in the wake of seeing my friends reflected in the window, bound and gagged. Creepy as fuck smiles and even thinking it briefly now I shiver. The journey across rush hour London has done nothing to calm me down. Tensions and patience are running high, stretched tight.

"Like you're embarrassed to be seen with me and it pisses me off and I, can't stop thinking about you and I need help and I...."

Running out of steam, still in uniform tie loosened shirt open at the neck, skirt and knee high black lace up boots. Facing Michelle, baggy grey drawstring joggers looking fit to fall off her skinny waist whilst her purple vest top looks more like a bra it's so short, thin string like straps the garment hanging off her B cups, halfway hugging the slope of them yet loose after, nipples standing semi proud.

Into the space between us I make another gesture, as though to convey everything I've just said.

"I," feeling the emotion beginning to rise, threatening tears, "think about you, and...."

Michelle closing the distance in a sudden blur, folding me into her embrace, arms going around left and right, one coming up to stroke my hair and soft kisses planted across my cheek.

"You, silly. Beautiful. Fucking." Softly though, shaking her head, a couple more kisses. "I don't know how." Backing her face off mine, slightly, looking me in the eyes. "To do this, I bully people." A soft laugh. "I don't, be with them and...."

Moving in to kiss me again and this time I tilt, bringing my head around to meet her lips with mine.

Taking hold my hand, some point later, after we've kissed, the warmth and pressure of Michelle's body against mine like a tonic, like the best medicine ever invented. Calming, better as she leads me inside, closing the door and still holding hands we ascend the stairs, to her room and.

"What?" Half shouted, forgetting myself. Turning to see Michelle with a small smile, and small nod.

"Weren't expecting this, huh?"
"It's just so...." Looking around. "Pink?"
"Dad raised me," a shrug and so much unsaid, "and he doesn't do girl stuff. So." Gesturing around at the sea of pink: rug and duvet, curtains. Cuddly toys abound on most surfaces, posters of unicorns and faeries.

"He taut me how to fight, and stand up for myself. How to be a man." Michelle laughs, picking up a large fluffy rabbit, taking the- well made but cardboard -crown off it's head, placing it on hers before tossing the ball of fluff at me.

"But to compensate he kinda went overboard, and I get to live in a princess room."
"And does." Feeling something build in the space, a charge. Michelle's small nervous yet excited smile reflected on my face, her nipples pressing against the fabric of her top, my own pushing aside the lace of my bra cups, atrempting to burrow through it feels like.

I step closer, tossing the rabbit back to her.

"Does princess outrank Countess?"

Wordlessly, and slowly, the whole thing like some kind of amazingly sexy dream. Michelle tosses the rabbit aside, stepping closer and reaching up, meeting my gaze and that charge jumping the gap, rooting me in place as she un-knots and pulls my tie free. Placing it in her mouth, wrapping the long strip of fabric twice around her head, knotting it tightly.

Dropping her hands, waiting.

I find scarves, opening drawers whilst Michelle stands immobile. Waiting, being a- my -good little submissive. And with supplies in hand I set about binding her: wrists behind and ankles together.

Complying when I tell her to get on the bed, hopping, small breasts bouncing. Michelle struggling and rolling, crawling caterpillar like across her becoming rumpled duvet. Stopping when I ask- tell -her, laying still whilst I climb up too, completing the hogtie.

Laying down beside her, and whilst Michelle watches, silent yet I can feel her eyes. That charge. Opening my shirt and in a rare display of strength I grab hold of and mostly drag Michelle across and up.

Helping a little, squirming and flexing against the scarves, the restrictions I've placed her in.

Positioning her on me, laid belly to belly letting Michelle's head rest on the slope of my cleavage, feeling the tingle as I feel her breathing, shallow but even against my breast. Keeping my legs together so hers have something to rest on, bringing both hands up, one to stroke her hair, holding Michelle's face pressed to my cleavage.

Liking how it feels, her gagged lips nestled within.

My other hand resting on the waistband of her joggers, stroking slow back and forth lines across her bare skin.

For what seems and feels like forever we lay, hardly moving beyond my hands, stroking, and Michelle's occasional wriggle, seeking comfort the harsh tie won't allow her. Several times she nuzzles my cleavage, nose and gagged lips pressing further in, breathing me in and moaning, a long low thing. Not a plea, not distress. The sound of contentment.

However.

"Thing is." Speaking into the silence, ruining everything. "I actually came here to talk."

Letting go of Michelle as I feel her stir, head coming up and muscles tensing, lifting my own head to regard her, hogtied and laid atop me, small breasts puddled against my larger and.

"You." Running a finger across her gag spread lips, wanting her, at the tail end of this perfect moment to know what I see. "Look amazing."
"Mmmffffffsssstttttt." Half closing her eyes and a small blush.

"You do, though." Brushing a come loose strand of raven hair off her face, tucking it behind one ear. Smiling. "I'd keep you like this all day if I could."
"Sssrrrmmmddddffff."
"Hold on." Reaching around behind her, finding and working at the gone tight double knot, school ties having a nasty habit of constricting.

Michelle, laid patiently, chin resting on my upper chest.

"There."
"You don't have to free me."
"Right?"
"Only. Um." Quick smile, perhaps realising how eager she'd just sounded, to remain bound. "Dad works til almost midnight."
"Wow."
"Permanent evenings at the depot," a shrug, "at least he's here in the mornings. For breakfast."
"Is he a good dad, then?"
"The best."

"Growing up." Struggling, like a snake, slithering up me and I grab hold her armpits, pulling, bringing Michelle's face level with mine. "Thanks. Growing up it was only the two of us and." Nodding, at the memories I guess. "I know he had, um. Girls."
"Like." Feeling heat on my cheeks, Michelle basically laying on me, her crotch pressed to mine and yes we're wearing clothes, but still. "Sex?"
"Um." Blushing too, nodding.

"Thing is he always put me first. So."
"So he's a good dad." Nodding. "I'm happy for you, Chelle."
"Must've been hard for you, at times?"
"Going without?" She nods. "Well." I think, mentally reaching back, way back.

"Not really." Shaking my head, Michelle frowning. "See, I never had parents, so, I didn't know what I should be missing."
"But what about," attempting to move her arm, the automatic urge to gesture except what actually happens is Michelle's body jerks to the side and I have to put out a hand to stop her sliding off me.

"Yeah okay." Tutting as I laugh, softly. "Very funny."
"I try."
"Seriously, though." Obviously something she wants to explore, even if only a little, so I compose myself. Nod.

"Foster parents."
"What about them?"
"You never get, attached?" The whole back and forth feeling somewhat intense, given Michelle's head looming over mine, although it's all tempered by the knowledge the rest of her is bound, contained.

And laying on me, press and weight of her, the feel of her breasts and crotch against mine.

"No." A shrug. "I know some of the kids did, some of the parents too. But I found independence at an early age, I." Shaking my head, the armour I've forged, buckled and covered myself in. "I don't tend to rely on anyone."
"Lone wolf Bob." Grinning, to which I grin back.

Be the wolf, except.

"Thing is," biting my lip, "I. Might, need some help now."
"Tell me."
"I should, maybe, get you free first?"
"Bored of me already?"

Only half playful, because I can see the worry behind her eyes: Michelle the bully, about as used to relationships as me, and, having found me, got to the apparent stage of wanting me, even.

Is she really, genuinely scared to lose me? That my interest in her will fade?

"No." Letting her see what's in my eyes, my heart: the developing feelings, the enjoyment I'm taking from this situation, her, bound and- sometimes -gagged. Letting Michelle see how much I like that she likes me.

Reaching up to stroke her face, cheek back towards her hair which I take a loose fistful of, guiding her lips to mine.

And eventually we come up for air, somewhat breathless and flushed, my other hand having strayed to first the sideswell of her small breast, tracing at the shape down her side and back up, over her top, before moving on, lower, finding and cupping her pert, firm butt cheek, pulling her into me.

"Anytime you want," having to pause, to breathe, "to be bound, to be helpless, and mine, I'll happily oblige."
"I might," fighting for breath too, slow burning grins on us both, "have to, invite you round more often."
"You, didn't invite me, I came."
"Came?"

Snorting laughter, becoming a gasp as I, acting without thinking pull down the back of Michelle's joggers and pants in one quick tug, delivering a sudden harsh spank with my other hand to her now exposed left cheek.

Instantly feeling bad.

"Sorry." Already half flinching, expecting some kind of retaliation, even with Michelle bound I suddenly feel vulnerable.

"No. I." Blushing, tone low, her voice quiet, submissive as I use both hands to pull her two waistbands back into place, wishing I'd caught more then a fleeting corner glimpse of her butt. "You can. Um, do that again. If you want?"
"Oh." What? She, liked it?

"Anyway." Lowering her head onto my upper chest and shoulder. "You wanted to talk? Needed help?"
"Right."

Michelle listens, occasionally raising her head to stare at me, blinking and it is a lot to take in. I spend twenty odd minutes talking, mostly uninterrupted, pausing to think, Michelle asking a rare question or simply commenting.

Mostly by swearing softly.

What she doesn't do is laugh, tell me to fuck off. I'm believed, which is a huge relief.

Her advice, when I ask, the whole reason, aside from a sudden need for companionship I'd blundered my way here hoping for, wanting help. Michelle's advice: be the bully, find someone who knows more then you, and get them to talk.

Right.

[RopeBunny]

Interlude.


-------


printed file: B.B_SK_DM.00172K

--

Friday.

And you're welcome. Really, the whole useless clan of you, the great family de Montefort.

Ha.

Really, you're all welcome: for Lupin, for this estate the Crown gifted me. Not us, me. For I wield the title Countess, for whilst you sheep may follow it is I, Lucille, who will lead.

So. Come, live in this House I have built. Your ignorance is my bliss.

--

Wednesday.

Beneath your feet, you fools. But I want to laugh, so much ignorance.

Lupin is merely the shell, the outer face, acceptable. Whilst underneath, extending down and down: my empire, the true and only purpose and I'm close. So very close and I swear.

I. Countess Lucille de Montefort swear.

Are you listening to me. Death, Reaper of souls, great leveller whose toll we all must pay.

I will not.

--

Monday.

I miss him.

If I could talk to you, a letter, if I dared, I would tell you: all these reasons why you cannot remain at my side.

My son, my heir.

Which is why you must go, away.

When this is over, when I hold life eternal in the palm of my hand.

I shall come for you.

Mommy promises.

--

Friday.

Weeks. Months. Years, passing but the time

time time time time time

is immaterial. Every discovery and every purchase, every supposed expert and for each bringing real knowledge there are a dozen charlatans.

I'm getting closer, and there's still so much time

time time time

left to me. In this mortal existence I am still young, and I shall trap this body, at this age.

And immortality will be mine, not theirs. You think living in my house, you think the name: de Montefort, you think the old names carry so much weight.

Pampered, disgusting things that you are.

I shall enjoy disposing of the family chaff, after I am done, downstairs.

--

Tuesday.

Oh, but what will it be like?

The future: will we fly, I should love to, soaring and tumbling, riding the sky like a bird. Majestic. Free. Will we grow, humans, spreading across the land until all the green is vanished?

I hope not. This, the rolling hills, the quiet of outer London. I would miss this.

Not long now.

--

Monday.

Another party, all they do is drink and dance and talk. Worthless words, useless meetings, they have no power, they have the name, but I have the power.

I am scoffed at, thought less of for being Countess not Count, they assume because of imagined female 'weaknesses' that I cannot, am unable to govern.

I will enjoy showing them all, they think me idle, frittering away what time

time time time time

I have on useless fancies. Because I am gone so much underground, and they do not know of this secret beneath Lupin. Because I am not in their orbit they think me off chasing foolish dreams of courtship and marriage.

Ha.

I was. Married: a secret ceremony, in France, and I never told him.

Henry, I never told you, I should, I wish I'd told you, before you rode off to doomed battle. You, I could already feel our son growing in my belly.

But you died.

Ten times the soldier these peacocking buffoons will ever be.

Sleep well, my love, I swear our son shall know of you, one day, that you will be honoured.

--

Sunday.

Tonight.

Now. The stars are- quite literally -aligned. The moon, full and blooded, rising in the east.

Tonight, destiny comes for me.

--


-------


Printed file: B.B_SK_DM.14033F

Sir. Brother.

It is done, she is contained.

Save us all, but: it worked. Lucille succeeded, her madness becoming true. Life everlasting, and all it took was her death.

And now. The basements at Lupin are sealed, the entrance bricked over, hidden behind a specially purchased, truly ornate full height mirror. And, of Lucille. She is now permanent resident in the West wing attic, a room purpose built to exacting specification.

Locked away. Chained. Gagged, and of no more harm or menance to anyone.

Therefore I write to you now as Count, the title properly bestowed, legal. I, we, have buried her, brother, severed her branch of the de Montefort tree.

It is done.

[RopeBunny]

018.
Present.

Dried off, changed- using the campers criminally small excuse for a bathroom -out of my wet uniform, into faded blue denim shorts and a black vest top. All three of us sipping coffee, the silent aftermath of my having told what I know, of everyone having read the all.

But one.

Sheets, of paper Sally so kindly delivered yesterday. Which, honestly, feels like a hundred years ago.

"So what do you know?" Looking from Tasha to Emily, both wearing similar variations on the same denim shorts as me, because despite the rain it's a warm bordering on hot day out, cropped tees on them both, all three of us showing a fair amount of skin.

No challenge in my tone, an open invitation, and after exchanging a look, Emily leans forward.

"Bare in mind. The de Monteforts, Lupin, it's all a closed book."
"Because they buried her."
"Seems so." Nodding, fingering the copied and printed letter, old swirling handwriting beneath which some helpful secretary has typed every word. "Understandable they'd want this all kept secret."
"But hardly fair."

Tone coming out harsh, ready for a war. That connection I've always felt to her: Lucille, knowing the reason, now, I can't help but feel anger. Hatred for the wider family de Montefort.

Who stood back, those many who looked away whilst a cowardly few commited unspeakable crimes towards one of their own.

I've vowed, to myself, to make this right. Whatever the cost.

Emily and Tasha, wisely keep quiet on this particular thought of mine.

"So what is it you want to do, Countess." Snaring my attention back from dark thoughts. "What do you need from us?"
"I want to find her."
"Lucille."
"Yes. I need to talk to her, reason with her." Staring at my clenching unclenching hand. "Help her."
"Talk to...." Pause long enough I look up, catch the worried glances being traded.

"You two," a crazy thought, asking though, "are actually ghost hunters, right?"
"Yes."
"And." Studying their faces, and neither can hold my gaze. "You've seen. Been close to, ghosts. Right?"
"Well...."
"You see...."
"Really?" The word like an eruption, humour, being chased by a peel of laughter as I regard them both.

Venkman and Stantz, looking properly embarrassed.

"Not even once?"
"We've seen...."
"Shadows." Tasha, looking properly embarrassed. "And we get temperature fluctuations. Drops."
"Stuff gets moved, occasionally." Emily, hand seesawing in a way that conveys maybe is, likely. Once, possibly twice. "Or. We've recorded voices."
"Voices?" Because one thing Lucille hasn't done is talk. Ever.

"Ghosts, talk?"
"Well." A shrug.

"We are hunters, but." Tasha, shrugging too. "It's not like ghosts just. Appear out of the wall, coming to say hi. What?"

That last because I'm suddenly laughing, because coming out the wall. Mirror, to say. Hi, is exactly what Lucille mostly does.

"Okay. Listen." And how is it me, the schoolgirl Countess, teaching the actual hunters about ghosts? "Mostly, it seems only I can see her. But, couple of times she's appeared visible to others, too."
"Was there a reason?"
"Kinda." Managing to hold a straight face. Yes I've told my story, I've just left out the bondage entirely, focusing on the revelation of myself as long lost Countess, the discovery of Lucille and okay, bondage there. But I haven't mentioned the disappearances, haven't mentioned what she did to my friends, or to Michelle.

"If we start upstairs. Search the attic room for clues and shit, then."
"The basement?"
"Which I've never seen, don't even know where it is, how to access?"
"Well." Thoughtful, but it's Tasha who answers.

"Might be our equipment will detect it? Temperature and electromagnetic field changes?"
"Possibly?"
"Electro what now?"
"Electronic radiation." Smiling at my confusion. "Some people think ghosts distrupt electric fields as they move."
"And." Still frowning. "Do you, think?"
"Well...."
"As with all of this." Emily, swept arm to indicate the whole mess of things, of hunting. "It isn't necessarily exact, or Science. We guess, we probe, and sometimes we get what we think is something."

Which, fair enough. I only hope they're ready for whatever Lucille chooses to throw at them.

Couple of WhatsApps, giving Florence and Peter the day off, asking- telling, since I am the boss -both to steer clear of the House. Making up some excuse, friends coming over. Not wanting either one of them anywhere near whatevers about to go down.

We drive in, Emily stopping so I can hop back in having jogged across the road, hood up and splashing water all up my bare legs, punching in the code and waving them through. Slowly up the curving road, feeling both of them: Emily who I'm sat beside and Tasha leaning in from behind. Feeling the growing excitement fear mix like a solid thing, like I could touch it.

Parking in front of Lupin, climbing out and waiting for the other two, emerging from the back some five minutes later, oversized goggles perched on Tasha's head, raised, both of them sporting thick belts with a two-way and other associated boxes.

Equipment they neither offer nor do I ask to share.

Together we make our way up the steps, into Lupin and through the entrance hall, up the staircase and along the corridor, quiet and emptiness all around, and it's only because I live alone but.

"Place feels haunted."
"Like." Both of them talking in hushed tones, treading carefully as though afraid of setting off traps. "We're being watched."

To which I, in front by some half dozen metres, unafraid. Mostly. Tut and shake my head.

Honestly.

Upstairs, that additional narrow flight not repeated in the east wing, keyring in hand, those two larger, older keys and I suppose the other must be for the basement?

Opening the door, and no blast of stale air, this time, but still I flinch, taking an instinctive step back as all those damn fucking mirrors come into view.

"Wow."
"Amazing."
"Wow." Deliberately mimicking. "Amazing. So really very cool."
"What?"
"Sorry." Taking a breath, forcing myself to step forward, taking the lead. "I don't like." Waving at the walls.

"Mirrors?"
"Yes."
"Who doesn't like mirrors?"
"Me." Losing my temper, a little. "I don't like mirrors. Okay."
"Right. Um."
"Sorry." Taking another breath. "I'll take a breath, or ten, and I'll be fine."

Nods from them both, equipment already out, focus already shifted to the room, walking slowly together around the perimeter, that metre or so space between mirrored walls and cage bars. Talking in hushed tones, equipment beeping and whilst Tasha, and Emily gradually disappear from easy viewing I look around.

From the doorway, where it's safe.

Markings on the floor, last time, too transfixed by the bed, by Lucille chained atop it, I hadn't even bothered looking around properly. But now I see: what looks like a large circle carved into the wooden floor, the bed wholly contained within, whilst around the circle, both inside and out, a multitude of symbols and.

A woman screams.

And I set off running, too slow, too far away to see Tasha, but I'm close enough, moments later having rounded the corner, to see Lucille take Emily.

She comes out of the mirror.

The ever fucking- told you they were bad slash evil -damn mirror.

Emily still looks shocked, mouth open turning left and right and left, head shaking as though struggling to process whatever she just saw.

Which is likely the exact same thing I witness.

Lucille, drifting out of a mirror, behind Emily yet some sense alerts her and she spins. Stumbling backwards as Lucille closes in at speed, smiling, like everything's a game.

Catching Emily as she begins turning, to flee most likely, taking hold her wrists with one hand, pinning both behind her whilst Lucille's other hand begins moving in a fast spinning motion, and I, stunned, coming to a halt and staring.

I watch as Lucille wraps and binds Emily's wrists behind her, before yanking them upwards, forcing her arms to bend at the elbow, wrists coming up level with her shoulder blades at which point the excess rope is wrapped around Emily's chest.

Binding that too.

And without slowing, having not stopped but instead drifting and circling Emily as she'd worked, Lucille picks the now partially helpless Emily up and.

Somehow, both ghost and ghost hunter pass straight through the mirror, leaving me alone.

Stunned.

[RopeBunny]

019.
Present.

"Lucille." Shouting, screaming more like. Anger and rage, that I've come here with a- rough and vague -plan to be reasonable, to talk.

Show and tell.

And instead my eternally alive, now ghost relative, decided to be her usual mischievous and borderline evil self. Swooping in, kidnapping both of the ghost hunters.

Yes, I laughed too.

At the fact of them: ghost hunters, and yet before today neither Tasha nor Emily have ever seen a ghost. And after today they probably don't want to. Ever. Again.

"Lucille." Stomping down the corridor, down the gentle curve of one half of the entrance staircase, an ornate and completely unnecessary thing. But who, having the money doesn't throw some of it at pointless displays of exactly how rich they are?

Oh, you mean you only have the one, staircase to travel on? How, quaint.

"Fucks sake." Still shouting, rounding the corner and heading for behind the stairs, a part of the House in permanent shadow, some small area I've glanced into but never actually bothered inspecting.

Who puts a mirror where nobody will ever think to go looking for one?

And now, thanks to Sally- fucking -Kolt and her belated delivery of the family de Montefort history, most of which I still need to read. Except I've read what matters right now.

Lucille, who plotted and researched. Who somehow discovered and then executed a means of cheating death himself. Who was then betrayed by the rest of her family, locked away in the attic room, in the cage.

Her diary, the extracts I've read, make several references to a vast basement complex beneath Lupin, her underground realm.

And, from the letter I now know her family sealed the basement up, covering the entrance with a large mirror.

Which I'm staring at right now.

"Lucille." Take a breath, Tempest. Calm, you aren't mad at her, or, you are. But, only because she isnt- now you know a thing -apparently willing to stop and talk.

"Let me in. Talk to me, listen." Another breath. "Please."

And, as I watch, the mirror slowly mists over, a localised patch almost as though- breath catching at the thought, skin tingling at the knowledge of sudden invisible proximity -someone's breathing directly onto it.

Words, an invisible finger tracing each letter in turn, each one loops and curls a style centuries out of date.

'Ready or not'

Following which the mirror, a huge thing easily my height plus a half metre, wide enough to stand three abreast the whole monstrosity framed by carved dark wood. I scream and jump backwards as the reflective surface cracks, a jagged vertical line up the middle, the whole breaking into two, collapsing left and right, forwards as it comes off the wall to land before me. Shattering.

Revealing bare brickwork.

Which an hour later, sweating and cursing I've managed to destroy. Repeated attacks from the large two handed hammer I found in the shed out back, the old bricks breaking apart and tumbling down, to be kicked aside.

Revealing a door, solid dark wood and gunmetal fixings, a larger then expected keyhole slot which.

Yes.

Easily accepts the second of those large ancient keys on my House ring.

With an overly loud- empty, silent House -creak the door opens. Into darkness.

So back to the shed, cursing myself for not thinking ahead.

"It's a fucking fifteen something something hundred basement. Bob." Telling myself off, for something to do, and to relieve the growing tension and fear of the thought I'm about to walk into the wolfs open jaws.

"Not like there's going to be a handy fucking lightswitch."

Torch in hand, that single sheet of paper burning a hole in my shorts pocket, it feels like, I walk slowly through the doorway.

Into darkness.

Which turns out to be the top of a staircase, a spiral excepting it's all done with right angles. Down and turn and down and turn and so on. Just a contained shaft which someone built stairs around the inside of, no inner wall, just more darkness and a drop.

If I slip.

It just keeps going down, with no doorways or entrances leading off any of the small landings I reach at each turn, those small square flat areas where presumably you could put a door, or.

Something other then more stairs down?

And just how deep am I, already? And why?

After ten minutes I think to stop, to turn and shine the beam of my torch back up.

"What the." Stunned, and confused beyond reasoning. "Fuck?"

Two flights, not ten minutes worth of down and round and down and so on. Two. Flights, ascending up to the top.

Except when I get back up there, the door back out has gone? Replaced by three others, identical, each leading off into darkness.

Playing- shiver chasing down my spine -games with me. Somehow. The diary tells of Lucille having this basement complex built, specially, and whilst I've not the first clue how you build shifting staircases and doorways, clearly that's what she commissioned.

Or, the only logical- ha -alternative being she, having cheated death by way of becoming a ghost now has some form of supernatural control over the House?

Below ground at least.

Knowing already, with a shrug I choose a door at random, not the least surprised to find the short, straight corridor within leading me directly back out to the top of the staircase.

Which I know is the same ever fucking staircase I just left because of the water bottle, which I drank on that second- torch -walk to the shed and back, putting down before my descent.

Where it now sits, mocking me.

Back down, then. And after some time I reach the bottom, sudden cessation of the stairs outer wall bringing me down into what feels and sounds, from the echoes of my feet, to be a truly vast open space.

"I'm here." Turning a slow circle, torch beam playing across the darkness, piercing but only so far, and all I find out there is more room.

"We need to talk." Anger banished from my voice, but I'm far from pleading. "Lucille."

There. As I turn a second circle, finding her close enough to reach out and touch, small smile on her lips. Enjoying herself.

"I need them all back." Calm, even tones. Don't be scared don't be angry. "You've had your fun, but things can't go this way."

Drifting a slow circle around me, and with an effort I remain facing forward, not turning to keep her in sight. Not letting her have any more points in this bizarre game, which ends. Now.

"Give them back, Lucille." Which, as she passes earns me a- warning -glare, and yet there's a distant rumbling, a creaking, sounds of movement off in the dark.

And into the light they come: Jody, Laura, Deborah. Jennifer and Bethany. The darkness receding, giving a couple metres ground, an expanding circle to reveal walls, the huge cavernous actually nothing more then a hall sized room.

Except from the gentle flow of wind, that low sigh, plus the echoing of my voice when I speak, it still sounds and feels far larger.

Each of the five are still bound as I saw them: chained to the wall, post tied in rope or hogtied atop a plush yet old carpet. All of them are gagged, still, each girl apparently waking up as though from a long sleep.

Thank fuck none of them screams, although they all recoil upon spotting Lucille. Jennifer and Bethany blinking at me, I drop them a small wave in return.

I've got this.

I hope.

Tasha and Emily are here too, each of them standing, still fully clothed. Arms pinned and wrenched up behind them, rope wrapped around the chest, breasts squeezed. Both the ghost hunters are collared, chains leading off to ring attachments on the wall.

"Now let them go."

Stopped before me, shaking her head. No.

"But I freed you." Holding out both hands, emploring. "I'm Countess, now. A de Montefort. You need to listen to me."

The change to Lucille's face comes quickly, like storm clouds on a summers day. From half smiled enjoyment to a frown to a scowl, eyes gone slitted and suddenly, somehow.

My wrists are bound, wrapped in rope, crossed and pinned the coarse loops pinching and.

"No." Wriggling, managing to shrug the rope off, looped but not yet knotted. "Listen to me. Lucille." Digging into my pocket, finding nothing. Panicking only to remember- idiot -it's on the other side and.

"Here." Shaking out the paper. "Please, look."

Snatching the paper from my hand.

Looking.

Eyes going suddenly wide, mouth dropping even as the paper tumbles from her spasmed open fingers the shock, staring at me her whole demeanor changing again, like a disc caught on shuffle play.

"Yes." I nod, taking a tentative step closer, reaching out, Lucille reaching too, sliding her hand up my arm, to my neck and up through my hair, her still wide eyes staring at me as though she can't believe.

I'd shown her the de Montefort family tree, the revised and updated version. A single sheet, the bottom half a printout of the original tree, the original Count and Countess, down and down branching and dividing through the generations, reaching Lucille and each time it seems age is what wins.

Not male over female, but, oldest child of the current Count, or Countess, gets to inherit.

And where Lucille's branch- did -stop, where her traitor brothers continued down and down, splitting and slowly coming to a halt: Grandfather, who actually isn't, mine, only having one child, who died young and childless.

Hence the search.

A search which apparently turned up the original diary, and with it the family secret, and so the tree has been reworked, added to and made right.

Across from Lucille now sits Henry, her short lived husband, and off them comes the son, Henry. His line continues down and down, branching and dividing, slowly dying until all that's left is.

Me, truly the last de Montefort, but more then that.

"I'm your direct ancestor." Looking into her eyes, my great times fuck knows what grandmother. "I am not from the traitor line, I am not a usurper. I am Tempest, Countess of the de Montefort line by right of blood." Placing my palm up, flat against her offered palm. "Your, blood."

Smiling at her, smiling at me. And I think we can be friends now.

[BlissfulMisery]

"I," feeling the emotion beginning to rise, threatening tears, "think about you, and...."

Michelle closing the distance in a sudden blur, folding me into her embrace, arms going around left and right, one coming up to stroke my hair and soft kisses planted across my cheek.

"You, silly. Beautiful. Fucking." Softly though, shaking her head, a couple more kisses. "I don't know how." Backing her face off mine, slightly, looking me in the eyes. "To do this, I bully people." A soft laugh. "I don't, be with them and...."

And the proverbial dam between them breaks. Was about time - the story is almost over, and the plot waits for nobody

Liked the scene between them - the right mix of touching and awkward.

A lot revealed in the interlude - seems that Lucille should have given the rest of her family a little more credit.

The ever fucking- told you they were bad slash evil -damn mirror.

A bit of amateur hour with the ghost-hunters. Not that I suspect they could have done much about what happened.

Yes, I laughed too.

Seems me and Tempest were on the same page

A bit of an abrupt ending, but it does actually tie up quite a few loose ends/answer a bunch of questions. Suspect you did not want to drag things out with too much 'what happened after', which I can certainly understand.

Enjoy

Planned to - and did!

All in all, quite the fun journey. Not the first story you have done with out-of-order storytelling, but I think it was well executed. Seems Lucille finally got her justice - in more ways then one

As always, looking forward to whatever might be next!

[RopeBunny]

The ever fucking- told you they were bad slash evil -damn mirror.

A bit of amateur hour with the ghost-hunters. Not that I suspect they could have done much about what happened.

Enjoyed writing the ghost hunters, removed mostly from the bondage, and sometimes it's nice/fun to write those parts of a tale. A chance to step aside and let something else out, without feeling forced to focus on TUGs.

A bit of an abrupt ending,

True, but I'd lost some of my steam, wasn't willing or sufficiently motivated enough to draw out the ending. Could've, wouldn't of been hard to turn Tempest's descent into some kind of quest to retrieve the others, too rescue them all.

But no.

As always, looking forward to whatever might be next!

It's in the works