Prologue.
Finding a smile, and the mirror smiles back. Which it should, right?
All my life I've suffered a sense of dislocation, can't gaze or even glance into a reflective surface without wondering.
Is she me? Am I her?
Website Migration Update
I moved the website to a new host, which I think will be more tolerant of the content this website hosts. Nevertheless, I do want to take a moment to remind everyone that the stories and content posted here MUST follow website rules, as it it not only my policy, but it is the policy of the hosts that permit our website to run on their servers. We WILL continue to enforce the rules, especially critical rules that, if broken, put this sites livelihood in jeapordy.
Destiny Should Come With a Manual (fF+/fF+)
Destiny Should Come With a Manual (fF+/fF+)
Last edited by RopeBunny 1 month ago, edited 7 times in total.
001.
Present.
"You could've fucking told me."
Pacing, left and right. Stopping to cast the occasional baleful glance at the table. Large and solid, dark rectangular wooden top, old.
Like every- ha -fucking thing in this house.
"Well?"
"Mmnnngggffffdddd." Sally, the object of my ire, nominated representative and my point of contact with Borg and Black, London. Pretty face framed by dyed red curls and not at all- in my opinion, for what it's worth -spoiled by the large black rubber ball buckled between her painted lips. Short black skirt a tight fit, the hem forced higher by her- forcibly -spread legs, arms similarly posed.
Sally's body has been splayed out, on her back limbs pinned and pointing at the tables four corners. Rope tied, stretched, denied anything save the merest hint of a struggle. White shirt, open just low enough so the partners have something to enjoy, the perfect view down into the shadow of bra enhanced C cups. Should I want to enjoy them too?
Splayed out, but not by me.
Pacing, stopping to pick up a sheet at random and there's two whole folders worth spread out on the table, surrounding Sally like a bizarre ritual. Evidence.
Things I should've been told.
Seeing her eyes go wide at the same moment my skin prickles, sense of someone- her -beside me, silent. Waiting.
Whatever I need.
And, I'm not mad, not really. On the whole this, my current situation is a marked improvement on anything before.
Not mad. But a little warning- before people began disappearing, before those two idiots showed up, began camping outside -would've been real helpful, don't you think?
Present.
"You could've fucking told me."
Pacing, left and right. Stopping to cast the occasional baleful glance at the table. Large and solid, dark rectangular wooden top, old.
Like every- ha -fucking thing in this house.
"Well?"
"Mmnnngggffffdddd." Sally, the object of my ire, nominated representative and my point of contact with Borg and Black, London. Pretty face framed by dyed red curls and not at all- in my opinion, for what it's worth -spoiled by the large black rubber ball buckled between her painted lips. Short black skirt a tight fit, the hem forced higher by her- forcibly -spread legs, arms similarly posed.
Sally's body has been splayed out, on her back limbs pinned and pointing at the tables four corners. Rope tied, stretched, denied anything save the merest hint of a struggle. White shirt, open just low enough so the partners have something to enjoy, the perfect view down into the shadow of bra enhanced C cups. Should I want to enjoy them too?
Splayed out, but not by me.
Pacing, stopping to pick up a sheet at random and there's two whole folders worth spread out on the table, surrounding Sally like a bizarre ritual. Evidence.
Things I should've been told.
Seeing her eyes go wide at the same moment my skin prickles, sense of someone- her -beside me, silent. Waiting.
Whatever I need.
And, I'm not mad, not really. On the whole this, my current situation is a marked improvement on anything before.
Not mad. But a little warning- before people began disappearing, before those two idiots showed up, began camping outside -would've been real helpful, don't you think?
002.
Past.
"I hereby declare this first official meeting of Secret club." Pausing, for dramatic effect, which earns Jennifer a tut from me, an eyeroll from Bethany.
"Open."
"Do you want a drink, girls?"
"Muuuuuumm."
Blushing as though one of us were actually tied up, as though her mum just caught the three of us mid act, instead of about to talk about the act.
"You're supposed to knock."
"Oops," glancing back at the door she's still holding, that she'd breezed through. Without knocking and surely a fifteen year old daughter deserves some privacy?
Even from her own mother?
"Sorry Jenny. Love."
"S' okay." Running a hand through her hair, calming, not helped by the fact Bethany and me are giggling. "Just."
"Yes, right." Nodding at Jennifer's waved gesture, backing out and closing the door.
"So," into the silence, exchanged glances and growing smiles, "first I'd say we need somewhere private."
"That'd help."
"I mean," Bethany, shaking her head but still grinning. The humour of it all. "I don't mind the two of you seeing me bound, but."
"Not Jenny's mum."
"Or Bob's eleven year old roommate."
"Fuck off." Sweep of my arm catching the pillow and tossing it at Jennifer, laughing.
Bob is my nickname. Odd, for a girl, but then so is Tempest, which some suit in some office decided to bestow on abandoned at birth me. No parents, no paperwork, a life spent in care, moved from home to hostel and back, circuits and laps of London.
"We need a better name."
"Why?"
"I don't know, just." Shrugging, an old argument. "It isn't very descriptive."
"But we aren't advertising."
"And besides," smiling as though to prove the point, "it makes me smile."
"Yeah." Jennifer, Bethany nodding after the fact. "Me too."
Because there's something amusing, and secretive about the name. Secret club could be anything. Any. Thing, from the mundane to the boring to the forbidden to something so.
Naughty, that you can't name it. Like doing bondage with your two best- only -friends. Or, we would be doing bondage, if we could get some fucking privacy.
They never said it was going to be easy, or, actually they never said anything of the sort, because there is no they. Only me, and Jennifer, and Bethany. Only the three of us, and a desire to try a thing, because we all believe we'll like it. That we'll care.
I'm the only one already turned sixteen, though we're all three in the same final year of school: Underwood Comprehensive.
Go Knights.
Despite being good at sports, enough I'm on the team, I'm still an outcast. A lifetime of never having the chance to settle has left me guarded, defensive and unwilling to fit in. We're a friend group of three, embracing our inner weirdness, pretending at an inner darkness we're too young to have.
We all hover around the ten slash twelve, skinny slash curvy range, aided by D cups mostly on show due to the current fashion for tight clothing. Bethany's a natural redhead, whilst my blonde curls are darker then Jennifer's. Out of uniform, which right now we're not, but when the chance arises we tend to dress as the alternatives we aspire to be: rock and horror, a splash of goth.
"I, um." Fidgeting, more so when Jennifer and me turn to her. Bethany gestures towards her school bag. "I drew a picture?"
"A," probably, but I'm surprised, "bondage picture?"
"Yes."
"And. Um." Jennifer, tentative, all of us feeling our way. "Can we see?"
"I mean. Well." Small smile, accompanied by a small blush. "Sure?"
It isn't anything you'd want to frame, none of us are gifted artists, but you can clearly see Bethany's intentions, her wishes expressed. There's a bed, top down no hint of depth or angles just a rectangle with the head and foot boards drawn in, a circular post at each corner.
And the three of us stretched out side by side by side along the length, Bethany in the middle, flanked with me on her left. And.
"Can't help noticing," tracing the line of them, mine, the shape clear beneath drawn cropped tees "that you've spent a fair amount of time drawing our breasts."
"And we seem to be missing trousers."
"Well...." Blushing, but then so are we all, because average it may be, in terms of skill, but it quite clearly describes something we're all somewhat desperate to try.
Ropes pinning wrists together and up high, ankles held in place to the other board. Tee and pants clad bodies splayed out, held apparently immobile, and all three of us gagged with scarves.
"Who tied us?"
"Um...." Huddled close, sat three abreast on Jennifer's bed, still, Bethany in the middle our positions echoing the drawn image. Mesmerised, breathing gone shallow, our individual imaginations running riot.
"Maybe...."
"Michelle?" The- female -school bully, because boys tend to bully boys, and so forth.
"Or. Um." Jennifer, fingering the paper. "Maybe the girl I babysit?"
And a thirteen year old is hardly a baby, but what other name is there for it?
Daydreaming, all of us lost to it and no doubt the others are feeling the same tingle, a low thing, a flutter in the belly. Nerves and excitement.
"We could...?"
"I think...."
"Well...." Jennifer, looking towards Bethany and me on the far side, biting my lip whilst Bethany's cheeks slowly turn red.
"But not stripping."
"No. Um." Glancing at her door, nervous laugh escaping, setting me off. "Just." Glancing behind her, us all, at the narrow single bed. "Laying down?"
"For awhile."
"Just ten minutes." Nodding agreement, voice gone slightly light and drifting as mine had.
Bethany moves first, which means I, blushing, have to climb over her to reach the far side, up against the wall. But we all assume our various positions, mirrors of Bethany's art: laid side by side by side, on our backs legs held together, arms reaching fingers not quite able to brush the headboard.
Laying still, the small bed forcing us to press close, feeling the warmth of Bethany beside me, listening to her quickened breath whilst trying to keep mine even.
"Like this." Voice shaking. "Then?"
"It's what I drew." Nodding, stretching, chest pushing up and forward the shape becoming obvious beneath her pulled tight blue school shirt. "Um."
"Maybe if your parents ever go out?" Which obviously they do, to work, to see friends and so forth.
But they have to go out and we have to feel brave enough to do this, for real. To bind each other without panicking at every little noise, expecting to be caught at any moment.
Somehow, somewhen, we'll have to try.
Past.
"I hereby declare this first official meeting of Secret club." Pausing, for dramatic effect, which earns Jennifer a tut from me, an eyeroll from Bethany.
"Open."
"Do you want a drink, girls?"
"Muuuuuumm."
Blushing as though one of us were actually tied up, as though her mum just caught the three of us mid act, instead of about to talk about the act.
"You're supposed to knock."
"Oops," glancing back at the door she's still holding, that she'd breezed through. Without knocking and surely a fifteen year old daughter deserves some privacy?
Even from her own mother?
"Sorry Jenny. Love."
"S' okay." Running a hand through her hair, calming, not helped by the fact Bethany and me are giggling. "Just."
"Yes, right." Nodding at Jennifer's waved gesture, backing out and closing the door.
"So," into the silence, exchanged glances and growing smiles, "first I'd say we need somewhere private."
"That'd help."
"I mean," Bethany, shaking her head but still grinning. The humour of it all. "I don't mind the two of you seeing me bound, but."
"Not Jenny's mum."
"Or Bob's eleven year old roommate."
"Fuck off." Sweep of my arm catching the pillow and tossing it at Jennifer, laughing.
Bob is my nickname. Odd, for a girl, but then so is Tempest, which some suit in some office decided to bestow on abandoned at birth me. No parents, no paperwork, a life spent in care, moved from home to hostel and back, circuits and laps of London.
"We need a better name."
"Why?"
"I don't know, just." Shrugging, an old argument. "It isn't very descriptive."
"But we aren't advertising."
"And besides," smiling as though to prove the point, "it makes me smile."
"Yeah." Jennifer, Bethany nodding after the fact. "Me too."
Because there's something amusing, and secretive about the name. Secret club could be anything. Any. Thing, from the mundane to the boring to the forbidden to something so.
Naughty, that you can't name it. Like doing bondage with your two best- only -friends. Or, we would be doing bondage, if we could get some fucking privacy.
They never said it was going to be easy, or, actually they never said anything of the sort, because there is no they. Only me, and Jennifer, and Bethany. Only the three of us, and a desire to try a thing, because we all believe we'll like it. That we'll care.
I'm the only one already turned sixteen, though we're all three in the same final year of school: Underwood Comprehensive.
Go Knights.
Despite being good at sports, enough I'm on the team, I'm still an outcast. A lifetime of never having the chance to settle has left me guarded, defensive and unwilling to fit in. We're a friend group of three, embracing our inner weirdness, pretending at an inner darkness we're too young to have.
We all hover around the ten slash twelve, skinny slash curvy range, aided by D cups mostly on show due to the current fashion for tight clothing. Bethany's a natural redhead, whilst my blonde curls are darker then Jennifer's. Out of uniform, which right now we're not, but when the chance arises we tend to dress as the alternatives we aspire to be: rock and horror, a splash of goth.
"I, um." Fidgeting, more so when Jennifer and me turn to her. Bethany gestures towards her school bag. "I drew a picture?"
"A," probably, but I'm surprised, "bondage picture?"
"Yes."
"And. Um." Jennifer, tentative, all of us feeling our way. "Can we see?"
"I mean. Well." Small smile, accompanied by a small blush. "Sure?"
It isn't anything you'd want to frame, none of us are gifted artists, but you can clearly see Bethany's intentions, her wishes expressed. There's a bed, top down no hint of depth or angles just a rectangle with the head and foot boards drawn in, a circular post at each corner.
And the three of us stretched out side by side by side along the length, Bethany in the middle, flanked with me on her left. And.
"Can't help noticing," tracing the line of them, mine, the shape clear beneath drawn cropped tees "that you've spent a fair amount of time drawing our breasts."
"And we seem to be missing trousers."
"Well...." Blushing, but then so are we all, because average it may be, in terms of skill, but it quite clearly describes something we're all somewhat desperate to try.
Ropes pinning wrists together and up high, ankles held in place to the other board. Tee and pants clad bodies splayed out, held apparently immobile, and all three of us gagged with scarves.
"Who tied us?"
"Um...." Huddled close, sat three abreast on Jennifer's bed, still, Bethany in the middle our positions echoing the drawn image. Mesmerised, breathing gone shallow, our individual imaginations running riot.
"Maybe...."
"Michelle?" The- female -school bully, because boys tend to bully boys, and so forth.
"Or. Um." Jennifer, fingering the paper. "Maybe the girl I babysit?"
And a thirteen year old is hardly a baby, but what other name is there for it?
Daydreaming, all of us lost to it and no doubt the others are feeling the same tingle, a low thing, a flutter in the belly. Nerves and excitement.
"We could...?"
"I think...."
"Well...." Jennifer, looking towards Bethany and me on the far side, biting my lip whilst Bethany's cheeks slowly turn red.
"But not stripping."
"No. Um." Glancing at her door, nervous laugh escaping, setting me off. "Just." Glancing behind her, us all, at the narrow single bed. "Laying down?"
"For awhile."
"Just ten minutes." Nodding agreement, voice gone slightly light and drifting as mine had.
Bethany moves first, which means I, blushing, have to climb over her to reach the far side, up against the wall. But we all assume our various positions, mirrors of Bethany's art: laid side by side by side, on our backs legs held together, arms reaching fingers not quite able to brush the headboard.
Laying still, the small bed forcing us to press close, feeling the warmth of Bethany beside me, listening to her quickened breath whilst trying to keep mine even.
"Like this." Voice shaking. "Then?"
"It's what I drew." Nodding, stretching, chest pushing up and forward the shape becoming obvious beneath her pulled tight blue school shirt. "Um."
"Maybe if your parents ever go out?" Which obviously they do, to work, to see friends and so forth.
But they have to go out and we have to feel brave enough to do this, for real. To bind each other without panicking at every little noise, expecting to be caught at any moment.
Somehow, somewhen, we'll have to try.
-
BlissfulMisery
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 365
- Joined: 3 years ago
Missed this earlier, but as per usual, a great setting of the scene - a bit of mystery to hook the reader in, and then of course the introduction of our (presumably main) characters.
I really liked the use of short, clipped dialogue - helps underscore the uncertainty saturating the scene. Beginners messing around with something new and exciting.
As always, eager to read more!
Made me chuckleRopeBunny wrote: 2 months ago embracing our inner weirdness, pretending at an inner darkness we're too young to have
I really liked the use of short, clipped dialogue - helps underscore the uncertainty saturating the scene. Beginners messing around with something new and exciting.
As always, eager to read more!
Kind of- meant as -a nod to most of what I write, where the main character(s) inevitably wind up changed in some fashion, my continued love of the 'inner darkness' as a plot device.BlissfulMisery wrote: 2 months agoMade me chuckleRopeBunny wrote: 2 months ago embracing our inner weirdness, pretending at an inner darkness we're too young to have
Which is to say it made me smile/chuckle too.
And, thanks for dropping by. Next part shouldn't be too long
003.
Past.
Thing is: when you start at Comprehensive, eleven years old and nervous, everything new and you've gone from King's to small fish suddenly lost in an ocean of sharks. Bigger and older kids.
Thing is: at first you follow the rules. All, the rules, class on time and homework completed, held out and ready. Keen. At first you keep a low profile, head down, blending in not wanting to attract notice.
For awhile.
But, year after year you grow up. Older if not terribly wiser, certain rules becoming instead more like guidelines, optional things you can choose when to discard or bend.
Rules like remaining on school property during school hours, around half the year tens, and almost the whole of year eleven either sneaks or blatantly wanders off site during the two daily breaktimes, and we three are no exception.
The main road runs a dog leg zig zag around three sides of the six sided L shaped boundary fence, houses packed close, with a field on the fourth and woodland bracketing the final two, which- the woodland -used to be larger but people need to live somewhere.
Today, most days it's the depleted yet still dense and somewhat sprawling- large enough, reaching back away from school far enough to become lost in -woodland which we jump the fence to enter. Away from the road and nearby shop, which most kids flock to like moths to the flame, the woodland is mostly quiet, a place to walk and talk awhile. Shelter from the sun or today's light drizzle.
"What the...?"
"What?"
"Hang on." Veering right, walking straight into and through the copse of Hazel, heedless of the whip thin branches slapping at legs and chest. Only protecting my face, plowing through and.
"Oh." The laugh escaping. "Fuck, me."
"What?"
"Bob?"
"Come through." I call out, without looking round, already stepping forward and bending down. Reaching. So that Bethany and Jennifer emerge to find me halfway through untangling the rope from the tree and fence it's been semi wrapped around, caught up in.
"You found...." Disbelief obvious in her tone, Jennifer stepping forward and left to help me. "Rope?"
"Looks like I did." Voice shaking, slightly, the roughness of it, blue and frayed, old and almost certainly tossed out. Useless junk.
A goldmine.
Together the three of us stand, silenced by the overwhelming reality of the rope, something like a hundred feet separated into a half dozen torn and individual lengths, none of which appear to be the same. Running it through our hands, breath shallowing out, feeling my own nipples tent, stabbing at the sky blue bra hidden beneath my fitted pale blue short sleeved shirt.
It is, perhaps, only luck that I think of it first.
"Tie me up."
"What...?"
"You....?" Shock and surprise, a small frown crossing Bethany's face.
Wishing she'd spoken first?
"To. Um." Thinking fast, eyes darting around. Options: not the ground or I'll muddy the uniform, and not the fence which looks broken and slimy.
"The tree." Pointing, nodding. "Could you," shiver chasing across me, taking a deep breath, "please?"
"Now?"
"Now."
"At break, um." Feeding the rope through her hands, already smiling a little, Jennifer steps forward. "Time?"
"We've got time."
"More if we waited?"
"No." Another shiver, voice coming out firm. "Now. Please." Letting go the nervous laugh. "Before I lose my nerve."
The uniform at Underwood, for girls can be a skirt or trousers. Black either way, the skirt option being quite short, hem above the knees with an elasticated waist and fabric. Tight, the trousers likewise, leggings or as I'm wearing today: black and flaring slightly below the knees with a lace up front. Pale blue shirts that always seem to accentuate the bust, short sleeved, and a yellow tie.
To match our sports home kit.
Go Knights.
"You know we don't have a fucking clue how?" Bethany, musing, standing behind me and behind the tree I've backed up against. Pressed myself against, arms reaching behind fingers linking on the other side of the trunk. "Bob?"
"Well...."
"Can't be too hard?" Jennifer, musing too, in front of me hunkered down. Not kneeling else she gets dirty knees off the leaf and dirt patched floor.
Both of them holding rope, nerves obvious in how none of us can stay still, all our voices wavering.
"Just." Voicing my thoughts. "Wrap around me, and the tree, and me separately. And tightly, and stuff?"
"Like. Ankles...."
"And wrists, and your. Um."
"Chest." Blushing, knowing without turning around that Bethany will be too. "Just like in the pictures."
That we've all drawn, and shared. Too scared of somehow being caught out by our parents- my foster carers -to actually look this stuff up online.
"Before the bell rings?" Half pleading, willing them to action, wanting this to happen. Even just five minutes, one minute. It'll be a start, one of us having been bound, by the other two. Something real, solid.
Something we can work off.
Plus we're keeping the rope, which is shitty and halfway broken but so much better then the scarves we've been forced to daydream of. The best we had.
Sudden, unannounced pinch of ropes at the wrists making me gasp, breath catching. Bethany getting to work and moments later Jennifer following suit. Attacked from behind and below, biting my lip and attempting to follow what's being done, to me.
The whole thing bringing on a wash of fresh new sensations.
Wrists crossed, rope fed around and under, between them, knots pinching at my skin Bethany's hands pushing at my butt, wrapping rope around the trunk, pinning my wrists to the damp wood.
Rain leaking through the canopy above, dripping all around us, onto us. Bethany and Jennifer in pull over hoodies, my own lightweight khaki waterproof unzipped, shirt becoming wet.
Me uncaring, hardly noticing.
Jennifer, forgetting and I don't remember until afterwards anyway. Forgetting to wrap my limbs separately, instead passing rope around both the trunk and my legs. Finding the middle, wrapping and knotting down at the ankles before climbing upwards, wrapping and knotting in zigzag fashion. Rope running out as she reaches my thighs.
Fetching more.
All whilst Bethany wraps my chest, reaching around from behind, feeding the rope her hand brushing across the underside of my D cups, across the tops of them on her next pass and both times with an effort I manage not to jump. Or gasp at the contact.
Feeling myself becoming more and further pinned in place.
Jennifer, still climbing. Up and over my crotch her loops capturing my already secured wrists, and then all of a sudden it's.
"Done."
"Done?"
"Well." Bethany joining Jennifer in front, rope still in hand which she dangles, bouncing the half tangled coil of it. "There's still more. But."
"But we've wrapped from shoulders to feet," Jennifer, nodding. Both of them staring and I squirm under the attentions.
Thrilling at how it feels to move, the pinching in multiple spots: wrists and chest, ankles and knees.
"And we'll need to free you soon." Staring at her phone. "Before the bell."
"Not yet though?"
"No." Giving me a small, hopeful smile. "Not for a couple of minutes."
To which I nod, not trusting my voice, offering a little smile to show I understand. That I'm grateful, for the effort made binding me, for- quite clearly given how it feels -doing their best.
I squirm some more, little struggles in fits and starts, punctuated by periods of stillness. Wanting to milk my short amount of time bound for every possible sensation and future memory, because even with the rope, even with the thought we could do this again, at break, that doesn't guarantee we'll be able too.
The woods popularity amongst Underwood attendees varies, rising and falling like a ship caught in a storm and, honestly today we've been lucky.
Which train of thought has my gaze darting around, panic rising. Being seen, caught.
The latter- caught -setting off a flood of imaginings, fantasy running briefly wild inside my head until with a visible shake I tamp it down, damn the flood.
Save those daydreams, of us all being caught and bound, for later.
I struggle, and the other two watch, not even attempting to hide the fact. Staring at me eyes wide and lips occasionally moving. Mesmerised as much as I am, actually inside the ropes I too am mesmerised by it all. And maybe, possibly if I really worked at it, wriggling and bouncing, pushing off and straining at the ropes.
I could get free?
"I could," tasting the words, wriggling as I speak chest thrust forward at- unintentionally -the other two, "get out?"
"Not if I'd tied you."
Jennifer and Bethany spin around, and I yelp. Surprised, feeling heat climbing my chest and neck, flushing across my cheeks as Michelle steps casually out from under the relative protection of a nearby tree.
And clearly we've all been far too- ha -distracted to not of seen her.
A skinny eight and smaller chest to match, raven black hair cut in a messy chop, longer down the left side. Shirt open daringly, teasingly low and her tie fuck knows where? Skirt and knee high black lace up boots. Lit cigarette dangling from her smiling mouth, advancing on us.
"Looking good John."
"Bob."
"I know." Tipping me a wink, walking a circuit and the feel of her attention, the dropped compliment whether meant or teasing, I shiver. Losing the brief internal fight, unable to stop the struggle reflex from pushing my body into a short wriggle.
"No gag?" Fingering my tie, hand dangerously close to my breasts, still smiling. Teasing?
"We, didn't. Um."
"No time." Jennifer, finding her voice though the two of them haven't moved, and surely they could take her, if they really tried?
Except Michelle's a bully, and whilst she's never picked on any of us three, that shit is mostly psychological, and runs deep.
"Pity." Standing directly in front of me. Close, unafraid to have Jennifer and Bethany at her back. Michelle plumes smoke into my face which I, somehow, manage to breath in without coughing. Finding the courage from somewhere to meet her gaze.
She smiles. Nods.
"Not enough rope to bind you two either."
"What?" Dropping the rope Michelle is now holding, because she'd spun while talking, fast. Taking hold Bethany's coiled remaining length.
"Next time you invite me to a party." Shrugging, dropping her cigarette and stubbing it out beneath a booted toe, tossing the rope back at Bethany, who fumbles the catch.
"Make sure and bring more rope, and shit."
Leaning in to kiss- too startled to flinch -Jennifer on the cheek, turning to blow me a kiss too, before sauntering away, hips swishing one hand raised. A cheeky wave not bothering to turn around.
Distant sound of the bell, all three of us too stunned to move.
Past.
Thing is: when you start at Comprehensive, eleven years old and nervous, everything new and you've gone from King's to small fish suddenly lost in an ocean of sharks. Bigger and older kids.
Thing is: at first you follow the rules. All, the rules, class on time and homework completed, held out and ready. Keen. At first you keep a low profile, head down, blending in not wanting to attract notice.
For awhile.
But, year after year you grow up. Older if not terribly wiser, certain rules becoming instead more like guidelines, optional things you can choose when to discard or bend.
Rules like remaining on school property during school hours, around half the year tens, and almost the whole of year eleven either sneaks or blatantly wanders off site during the two daily breaktimes, and we three are no exception.
The main road runs a dog leg zig zag around three sides of the six sided L shaped boundary fence, houses packed close, with a field on the fourth and woodland bracketing the final two, which- the woodland -used to be larger but people need to live somewhere.
Today, most days it's the depleted yet still dense and somewhat sprawling- large enough, reaching back away from school far enough to become lost in -woodland which we jump the fence to enter. Away from the road and nearby shop, which most kids flock to like moths to the flame, the woodland is mostly quiet, a place to walk and talk awhile. Shelter from the sun or today's light drizzle.
"What the...?"
"What?"
"Hang on." Veering right, walking straight into and through the copse of Hazel, heedless of the whip thin branches slapping at legs and chest. Only protecting my face, plowing through and.
"Oh." The laugh escaping. "Fuck, me."
"What?"
"Bob?"
"Come through." I call out, without looking round, already stepping forward and bending down. Reaching. So that Bethany and Jennifer emerge to find me halfway through untangling the rope from the tree and fence it's been semi wrapped around, caught up in.
"You found...." Disbelief obvious in her tone, Jennifer stepping forward and left to help me. "Rope?"
"Looks like I did." Voice shaking, slightly, the roughness of it, blue and frayed, old and almost certainly tossed out. Useless junk.
A goldmine.
Together the three of us stand, silenced by the overwhelming reality of the rope, something like a hundred feet separated into a half dozen torn and individual lengths, none of which appear to be the same. Running it through our hands, breath shallowing out, feeling my own nipples tent, stabbing at the sky blue bra hidden beneath my fitted pale blue short sleeved shirt.
It is, perhaps, only luck that I think of it first.
"Tie me up."
"What...?"
"You....?" Shock and surprise, a small frown crossing Bethany's face.
Wishing she'd spoken first?
"To. Um." Thinking fast, eyes darting around. Options: not the ground or I'll muddy the uniform, and not the fence which looks broken and slimy.
"The tree." Pointing, nodding. "Could you," shiver chasing across me, taking a deep breath, "please?"
"Now?"
"Now."
"At break, um." Feeding the rope through her hands, already smiling a little, Jennifer steps forward. "Time?"
"We've got time."
"More if we waited?"
"No." Another shiver, voice coming out firm. "Now. Please." Letting go the nervous laugh. "Before I lose my nerve."
The uniform at Underwood, for girls can be a skirt or trousers. Black either way, the skirt option being quite short, hem above the knees with an elasticated waist and fabric. Tight, the trousers likewise, leggings or as I'm wearing today: black and flaring slightly below the knees with a lace up front. Pale blue shirts that always seem to accentuate the bust, short sleeved, and a yellow tie.
To match our sports home kit.
Go Knights.
"You know we don't have a fucking clue how?" Bethany, musing, standing behind me and behind the tree I've backed up against. Pressed myself against, arms reaching behind fingers linking on the other side of the trunk. "Bob?"
"Well...."
"Can't be too hard?" Jennifer, musing too, in front of me hunkered down. Not kneeling else she gets dirty knees off the leaf and dirt patched floor.
Both of them holding rope, nerves obvious in how none of us can stay still, all our voices wavering.
"Just." Voicing my thoughts. "Wrap around me, and the tree, and me separately. And tightly, and stuff?"
"Like. Ankles...."
"And wrists, and your. Um."
"Chest." Blushing, knowing without turning around that Bethany will be too. "Just like in the pictures."
That we've all drawn, and shared. Too scared of somehow being caught out by our parents- my foster carers -to actually look this stuff up online.
"Before the bell rings?" Half pleading, willing them to action, wanting this to happen. Even just five minutes, one minute. It'll be a start, one of us having been bound, by the other two. Something real, solid.
Something we can work off.
Plus we're keeping the rope, which is shitty and halfway broken but so much better then the scarves we've been forced to daydream of. The best we had.
Sudden, unannounced pinch of ropes at the wrists making me gasp, breath catching. Bethany getting to work and moments later Jennifer following suit. Attacked from behind and below, biting my lip and attempting to follow what's being done, to me.
The whole thing bringing on a wash of fresh new sensations.
Wrists crossed, rope fed around and under, between them, knots pinching at my skin Bethany's hands pushing at my butt, wrapping rope around the trunk, pinning my wrists to the damp wood.
Rain leaking through the canopy above, dripping all around us, onto us. Bethany and Jennifer in pull over hoodies, my own lightweight khaki waterproof unzipped, shirt becoming wet.
Me uncaring, hardly noticing.
Jennifer, forgetting and I don't remember until afterwards anyway. Forgetting to wrap my limbs separately, instead passing rope around both the trunk and my legs. Finding the middle, wrapping and knotting down at the ankles before climbing upwards, wrapping and knotting in zigzag fashion. Rope running out as she reaches my thighs.
Fetching more.
All whilst Bethany wraps my chest, reaching around from behind, feeding the rope her hand brushing across the underside of my D cups, across the tops of them on her next pass and both times with an effort I manage not to jump. Or gasp at the contact.
Feeling myself becoming more and further pinned in place.
Jennifer, still climbing. Up and over my crotch her loops capturing my already secured wrists, and then all of a sudden it's.
"Done."
"Done?"
"Well." Bethany joining Jennifer in front, rope still in hand which she dangles, bouncing the half tangled coil of it. "There's still more. But."
"But we've wrapped from shoulders to feet," Jennifer, nodding. Both of them staring and I squirm under the attentions.
Thrilling at how it feels to move, the pinching in multiple spots: wrists and chest, ankles and knees.
"And we'll need to free you soon." Staring at her phone. "Before the bell."
"Not yet though?"
"No." Giving me a small, hopeful smile. "Not for a couple of minutes."
To which I nod, not trusting my voice, offering a little smile to show I understand. That I'm grateful, for the effort made binding me, for- quite clearly given how it feels -doing their best.
I squirm some more, little struggles in fits and starts, punctuated by periods of stillness. Wanting to milk my short amount of time bound for every possible sensation and future memory, because even with the rope, even with the thought we could do this again, at break, that doesn't guarantee we'll be able too.
The woods popularity amongst Underwood attendees varies, rising and falling like a ship caught in a storm and, honestly today we've been lucky.
Which train of thought has my gaze darting around, panic rising. Being seen, caught.
The latter- caught -setting off a flood of imaginings, fantasy running briefly wild inside my head until with a visible shake I tamp it down, damn the flood.
Save those daydreams, of us all being caught and bound, for later.
I struggle, and the other two watch, not even attempting to hide the fact. Staring at me eyes wide and lips occasionally moving. Mesmerised as much as I am, actually inside the ropes I too am mesmerised by it all. And maybe, possibly if I really worked at it, wriggling and bouncing, pushing off and straining at the ropes.
I could get free?
"I could," tasting the words, wriggling as I speak chest thrust forward at- unintentionally -the other two, "get out?"
"Not if I'd tied you."
Jennifer and Bethany spin around, and I yelp. Surprised, feeling heat climbing my chest and neck, flushing across my cheeks as Michelle steps casually out from under the relative protection of a nearby tree.
And clearly we've all been far too- ha -distracted to not of seen her.
A skinny eight and smaller chest to match, raven black hair cut in a messy chop, longer down the left side. Shirt open daringly, teasingly low and her tie fuck knows where? Skirt and knee high black lace up boots. Lit cigarette dangling from her smiling mouth, advancing on us.
"Looking good John."
"Bob."
"I know." Tipping me a wink, walking a circuit and the feel of her attention, the dropped compliment whether meant or teasing, I shiver. Losing the brief internal fight, unable to stop the struggle reflex from pushing my body into a short wriggle.
"No gag?" Fingering my tie, hand dangerously close to my breasts, still smiling. Teasing?
"We, didn't. Um."
"No time." Jennifer, finding her voice though the two of them haven't moved, and surely they could take her, if they really tried?
Except Michelle's a bully, and whilst she's never picked on any of us three, that shit is mostly psychological, and runs deep.
"Pity." Standing directly in front of me. Close, unafraid to have Jennifer and Bethany at her back. Michelle plumes smoke into my face which I, somehow, manage to breath in without coughing. Finding the courage from somewhere to meet her gaze.
She smiles. Nods.
"Not enough rope to bind you two either."
"What?" Dropping the rope Michelle is now holding, because she'd spun while talking, fast. Taking hold Bethany's coiled remaining length.
"Next time you invite me to a party." Shrugging, dropping her cigarette and stubbing it out beneath a booted toe, tossing the rope back at Bethany, who fumbles the catch.
"Make sure and bring more rope, and shit."
Leaning in to kiss- too startled to flinch -Jennifer on the cheek, turning to blow me a kiss too, before sauntering away, hips swishing one hand raised. A cheeky wave not bothering to turn around.
Distant sound of the bell, all three of us too stunned to move.
-
BlissfulMisery
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 365
- Joined: 3 years ago
Not wrong thereRopeBunny wrote: 2 months ago Kind of- meant as -a nod to most of what I write, where the main character(s) inevitably wind up changed in some fashion, my continued love of the 'inner darkness' as a plot device.
Thanks for continuing to write your stories
-
Seems like someone is figuring out one of the problems of *everyone* wanting to be tied!RopeBunny wrote: 2 months ago "Tie me up."
"What...?"
"You....?" Shock and surprise, a small frown crossing Bethany's face.
Wishing she'd spoken first?
I really like how their little group has been portrayed, both in this chapter and the previous. Complete, somewhat bumbling novices, and it comes across well (and is quite adorable!)
Also really enjoyed the whole introduction of Michelle, how she casually walks in and effectively forces her way into their little bondage club. The type of confidence that, being honest, the group probably needs more of if they want to see more real, and less imagined, bondage going onRopeBunny wrote: 2 months ago "Next time you invite me to a party." Shrugging, dropping her cigarette and stubbing it out beneath a booted toe, tossing the rope back at Bethany, who fumbles the catch.
"Make sure and bring more rope, and shit."
Isn't always an obvious Domme, or sub. Sometimes everyone wants a go. Possibly at bothBlissfulMisery wrote: 2 months ago
Seems like someone is figuring out one of the problems of *everyone* wanting to be tied!
Yes I liked this, Michelle's introduction too. And needless to say I do have plans, she will resurface although perhaps not for a short while.BlissfulMisery wrote: 2 months ago
Also really enjoyed the whole introduction of Michelle, how she casually walks in and effectively forces her way into their little bondage club. The type of confidence that, being honest, the group probably needs more of if they want to see more real, and less imagined, bondage going on
004.
Present.
"King Temper."
"A royal visit." Both of them, stupid, fucking, boys, smiling too wide. "Charmed. Charmed."
"Fuck off." Not slowing, flipping them off as I climb the steps, opening the door and stepping from the warmth and quiet- dickheads aside -of outside, into the general sometimes organised chaos of inside.
St Joseph's, as close to a permanent home as I've had. Before the good people of Borg and Black turned everything upside down.
I've spent time in numerous foster homes. In and out, in and out.
Shake it all about.
But nothing stuck, and so to St Joseph's I always returned. Like so many hostels for teens and younger it's church funded, good deeds and so forth. Building better lives, and whilst the religion might not of took, personally, I was and am always grateful for the help. Within these walls I tried not to start too many fires.
The building used to be a workhouse, slave labour by any other name, outlawed now and thank fuck. Renovated, the whole internal layout changed and partitioned off into several large dorms, boys in the east wing girls to the west. Separated by whichever staff happen to of pulled the night shift, and there's always at least one of each from the male and female pool on duty. All that plus a large well stocked and fitted kitchen, various rooms available to relax or play.
Lester runs things, mid fifties and balding but a perfectly trimmed beard and sideburns, body running to fat beneath various shirt and jeans combinations, gold rimmed glasses worn right on the tip of his nose, constantly staring over the rims at everyone. A good man, endless patience and a genuine port in the storm that comprises most of our lives.
Evidence of the fact, of his dedication and compassion: despite it being almost seven in the evening he's still in the office.
"Tempest." Putting down the pen, gesturing me inside. "Or, should it be Cou-"
"-No." Cutting him off, head shaking and voice overly harsh because I've had enough. Revelations and answers when it's already far too late.
Little Miss Sally's lucky I freed her, mood I was- still am -in.
"Sorry." Taking a breath and shaking out the tension, dropping the sports bag, full of hastily packed clothes. Letting my school messenger bag fall to the floor too, glancing left and catching my reflection in the glass of a framed wall print, someone over my shoulder and.
Looking away, shiver chasing through me.
"Tempest is fine. Or," trying on a smile. "Bob still works too."
"Tempest then." Nodding as I sit down, the paper and coffee mug strewn desk between us. Lester, not just his bulk but everything in the office: mementos and books, a life lived filling up the space. Familiar sights from a hundred different times I've sat here, the comfort of the familiar warming me, helping dispel some of the dark clouds circling.
"I need." Leaning forward, sleeves of my unzipped black hoodie rolled up and breasts pushed forward, pressing braless and visible beneath a black vest top I'd paired with baggy grey drawstring joggers. Because I'd come home from school and changed, casual, not expecting Sally and her folders.
And what is it I need: help? An exterminator? To rewind time and alter history, to remain hidden?
"Sanctuary."
"This isn't a church Tempest."
"I know, just." Waving one arm, a flourish. "Sorry, Lester. It's been a long hard day."
"Life changing events aren't often easy."
"Ha." Because he doesn't know the half of it. "True."
"I saw the article."
"In the Times?"
"That's the one." Nodding. "You know they rang here." The nod becomes a shake, a tut. "Asking for a photo."
"Thank you." Because I've seen the article too, hard not to read about yourself, especially in the national press. And it's only me if you read between the lines, if you happen to know me. There'd been no photo, and I should be grateful for my age that stopped them simply waltzing into my privacy and taking without consent.
"Can I stay?"
"That bad?"
"Just." Letting out a breath, deflating some more. "Couple of days, get myself straight."
"Make a plan?"
"Make a plan." Because I can't go back home without one.
Home, such a strange word and concept, a thing I've never had, that I'd expected I might never truly have.
"There's space in the upper dorm."
"Thank you." Standing, finding a smile. "Promise I won't be any trouble."
"Ha." His turn to laugh without humour, though there's a small smile too. "If I had a pound for every time one of you kids said that to me...."
"Yeah. But." Picking up both bags, grinning. The old back and forth. "At least we make life interesting."
Squealing moments later as the balled up paper, Lester's reactions fast considering how much time he spends driving a desk, lands a direct hit on my chest. Startling, bringing with it a genuine laugh, which I'm grateful for.
Present.
"King Temper."
"A royal visit." Both of them, stupid, fucking, boys, smiling too wide. "Charmed. Charmed."
"Fuck off." Not slowing, flipping them off as I climb the steps, opening the door and stepping from the warmth and quiet- dickheads aside -of outside, into the general sometimes organised chaos of inside.
St Joseph's, as close to a permanent home as I've had. Before the good people of Borg and Black turned everything upside down.
I've spent time in numerous foster homes. In and out, in and out.
Shake it all about.
But nothing stuck, and so to St Joseph's I always returned. Like so many hostels for teens and younger it's church funded, good deeds and so forth. Building better lives, and whilst the religion might not of took, personally, I was and am always grateful for the help. Within these walls I tried not to start too many fires.
The building used to be a workhouse, slave labour by any other name, outlawed now and thank fuck. Renovated, the whole internal layout changed and partitioned off into several large dorms, boys in the east wing girls to the west. Separated by whichever staff happen to of pulled the night shift, and there's always at least one of each from the male and female pool on duty. All that plus a large well stocked and fitted kitchen, various rooms available to relax or play.
Lester runs things, mid fifties and balding but a perfectly trimmed beard and sideburns, body running to fat beneath various shirt and jeans combinations, gold rimmed glasses worn right on the tip of his nose, constantly staring over the rims at everyone. A good man, endless patience and a genuine port in the storm that comprises most of our lives.
Evidence of the fact, of his dedication and compassion: despite it being almost seven in the evening he's still in the office.
"Tempest." Putting down the pen, gesturing me inside. "Or, should it be Cou-"
"-No." Cutting him off, head shaking and voice overly harsh because I've had enough. Revelations and answers when it's already far too late.
Little Miss Sally's lucky I freed her, mood I was- still am -in.
"Sorry." Taking a breath and shaking out the tension, dropping the sports bag, full of hastily packed clothes. Letting my school messenger bag fall to the floor too, glancing left and catching my reflection in the glass of a framed wall print, someone over my shoulder and.
Looking away, shiver chasing through me.
"Tempest is fine. Or," trying on a smile. "Bob still works too."
"Tempest then." Nodding as I sit down, the paper and coffee mug strewn desk between us. Lester, not just his bulk but everything in the office: mementos and books, a life lived filling up the space. Familiar sights from a hundred different times I've sat here, the comfort of the familiar warming me, helping dispel some of the dark clouds circling.
"I need." Leaning forward, sleeves of my unzipped black hoodie rolled up and breasts pushed forward, pressing braless and visible beneath a black vest top I'd paired with baggy grey drawstring joggers. Because I'd come home from school and changed, casual, not expecting Sally and her folders.
And what is it I need: help? An exterminator? To rewind time and alter history, to remain hidden?
"Sanctuary."
"This isn't a church Tempest."
"I know, just." Waving one arm, a flourish. "Sorry, Lester. It's been a long hard day."
"Life changing events aren't often easy."
"Ha." Because he doesn't know the half of it. "True."
"I saw the article."
"In the Times?"
"That's the one." Nodding. "You know they rang here." The nod becomes a shake, a tut. "Asking for a photo."
"Thank you." Because I've seen the article too, hard not to read about yourself, especially in the national press. And it's only me if you read between the lines, if you happen to know me. There'd been no photo, and I should be grateful for my age that stopped them simply waltzing into my privacy and taking without consent.
"Can I stay?"
"That bad?"
"Just." Letting out a breath, deflating some more. "Couple of days, get myself straight."
"Make a plan?"
"Make a plan." Because I can't go back home without one.
Home, such a strange word and concept, a thing I've never had, that I'd expected I might never truly have.
"There's space in the upper dorm."
"Thank you." Standing, finding a smile. "Promise I won't be any trouble."
"Ha." His turn to laugh without humour, though there's a small smile too. "If I had a pound for every time one of you kids said that to me...."
"Yeah. But." Picking up both bags, grinning. The old back and forth. "At least we make life interesting."
Squealing moments later as the balled up paper, Lester's reactions fast considering how much time he spends driving a desk, lands a direct hit on my chest. Startling, bringing with it a genuine laugh, which I'm grateful for.
005.
Past.
Jennifer, stood in front of me, basically cornering me in the school corridor both of us backed up against the corner of a locker row, her in front blocking my getaway.
Close proximity, the dynamic briefly triggering a flutter in my belly. That I'm caught, before I tamp it down. Focus.
"If it's that important then why aren't you doing it?"
"Because." Literally bouncing on the spot, arms gesturing at everything and nothing. "Henry's going to be there."
"Is that right?" Teasing, not mean I'm playing with her. Henry: Jennifer's current crush, a couple of years older, son of her parents friends and tonight he's going to be in her house. For dinner.
So of course instead of fulfilling her regular babysitting commitment she needs to go straight home, and spend several hours making herself perfect. For Henry.
"Please. Bob." Hands pressed together, pleading and in her voice too. "I can't miss a week sitting Lucy or her parents will ditch. Replace me. Please...."
I leave her hanging, for a half minute, pretending and completely faking a long think about this.
Of course I'll help, she's a friend. And besides Lucy's thirteen, at that age it isn't even sitting, it's just- as Jennifer's repeatedly told slash complained to us, because yes the cash is good but even so -hanging around and making sure Lucy doesn't burn down the house. Or get pregnant.
"Sure."
"Really?"
"Course." Taking out my phone. "No practice tonight, so I'm all good." Sending a quick message to Tom, easier to get hold of then his wife, letting him know I've got something on after school, but I'll be back to the foster home well before curfew.
'Taco's tonight.' Comes the reply a couple of minutes later. 'Shall we keep some mince back for you?'
'Please.' I smile. 'Appreciate it.'
'Stay safe Tempest.'
Putting my phone away, Jennifer wrapping her own WhatsApp exchange up, with Lucy's mum who.
"Yeah." Grinning. "She's good. Just head straight over from school, you'll be there until around eight."
"Right." Nodding, and off we go to class.
At least I'll be able to blitz my homework?
"Tempest?"
"Bob."
"Bob?" Laughing as she stands up off the front porch step, brushing dirt off the butt of her black fitted trousers. Looking at me. "Mum said it'd be someone else."
"Jenny's busy."
"Doing what?"
"Chasing boys." Grinning, walking up the path, giving Lucy a visual once over, seeing her doing the same.
Asian, skin a golden light brown and black hair falling perfectly straight, not quite reaching the shoulders whilst my own tumbles over and down. Lucy hovers around the sixteen slash eighteen, plump slash curvy range. Thick limbs, thighs pressing at trousers and upper arms filling out the sleeves of her white school shirt, belly pressing tight complemented by what look like D cups. Not horribly overweight, but fashion leans towards the tight and fitted, so her larger- then my own ten -frame looks larger still hugged by all that moulded fabric.
At thirteen she's, surely, closing in on no longer needing supervision. But for now, here I am. According to Jennifer this is the one school night Lucy doesn't have a club to attend, the one school night both her parents work late.
"Why Bob?" Sat on opposite sides of the sofa, shoes and jackets discarded, bags too. Lucy removes her blue school tie, tossing it onto the low table between sofa and flatscreen, opening up the top of her shirt. "It's, kinda odd."
"Honestly." Stopping to remove my own tie, standing and crossing the room to dump it in my bag, opening my own shirt as I return. "I got pissed off hearing people mangling Tempest, trying to find some new way to shorten it. So."
I shrug, Lucy giving me a thoughtful look.
"So do I actually have to do anything?"
"Apart from keep me company." Small smile. "Entertain me." Growing. "Do whatever I say."
"Ha." Shaking my head, smiling too. "Seriously though?"
"I. Am." Almost laughing. "Being serious. My house." Flicking water out of her glass at me. "My rules."
"Okay. Fine." Huffing, flicking a second spray at me, fingers dipped in the glass before being waved in my direction. "Spoilsport."
"Hey." Hands up in mock surrender. "I didn't say no."
"Yeah. Well." Shaking her head. "Forget it. And, no. Just. Sometimes Jenny and me play PC, or watch a movie. Or whatever we can find on."
Turns out Lucy has homework too, though, the bane of all our lives, so we decamp to her room: easily large enough for two beds but she's got it to herself, pink everywhere and over two dozen plushies of various origin decorating or generally hanging around, staring. Full length mirror, which I glare at in passing, resisting the urge to stick my tongue- childish -out at.
Not looking. Isn't my bedroom, I don't need to fix my hair, or check or apply any make-up. So I'm not looking.
Because if I do all I'll see is mirror me looking back, she won't move strangely, won't grin too wide or wink, won't not be there. It'll be normal, and I don't need to look to prove the fact.
Right?
Lucy claims the chair, a fancy black gamer thing on wheels, pink- of course -highlight edging and lots of racecar style padding. Doing so gets her the desk too, pushing her keyboard and mouse aside, making room for books and paper.
"Can I?"
"Sure." Waving yes so I sit down on her- pink duvet covered -single bed, scooting back to lean against the wall, legs crossed, which does cause my too short black school skirt to ride up, but luckily placing a pad of writing paper on my lap covers the fact of purple pants covered in white skulls being exposed.
Messenger bag beside me, access to both a water bottle and my books, and for awhile we sit, studying in relative silence. The occasional stretch or grunt of recognition at a vital fact discovered, sometimes a tut at the stupidity of something.
A couple of times we catch each other's eye, not staring more glancing around the room, taking a quick break. Exchanged smiles before plunging back in.
"Right." Lucy's voice breaking the silence and I blink, look up to see her standing, stretching hands on the small of her back, crotch pushing forward upper body bending over. My view point of her side on, my attention caught unexpectedly on the way her body fills out the uniform as mine never does: tight across the bust and hips but Lucy's presses and shows the whole of her off.
"Enough."
"Enough?"
"Definitely." Scowling at her books, before turning a smile on me, sauntering across the room and climbing up onto her bed to sit leaning against the headboard, hands in her lap legs straight and pointed, toes level with my crossed feet and close enough she could, if she wriggled, touch them.
"Can we do something else?"
"You mean am I bored of essay writing too?"
"I had maths." Screwing her face up, the effect making me giggle. Lucy nods. "But, yes. Do you need to continue with," waved hand at my writing pad, still in my lap, "that?"
"It'll keep." Shrugging, folding the pad, dropping it and my pen, assorted reference books back into my bag. Heedless of the fact my bare legs, not to mention my pants are now mostly on show.
"Why Tempest?"
"Why Lucy?"
"Ha." Nudging my leg with her foot. "Funny girl."
"I try."
"Why, though?"
"Why do I try?"
"Behave," another nudge, "or I'll have to come over there."
"Promises promises."
"It wasn't my choice." Looking down at my hands, which are in my lap.
Flinching as I notice, realise how on display my crotch is, but. Lucy doesn't seem to of noticed, or at least isn't staring. And besides I'm comfortable, so I stay cross legged.
"I'm an orphan, since birth. No paperwork, so whoever, in whatever government office deals with this stuff got to name me."
"Oh...." Various emotions- sadness, confusion, surprise -flitting across her face. "I'm, sorry?"
"Don't be." I shrug. "I came to terms with it all years ago. Sure, I raged and screamed myself hoarse, angry at how little about myself I knew. How anyone, any good person, could abandon a baby. But."
Taking a deep breath, because even now I can feel it all bubbling, the anger that never, really, goes away.
"Tempest is weird, but I like that."
"And Bob?"
"Honestly I can't remember exactly when?" Thinking, shaking my head. "Probably started as a joke, and then stuck, and now...."
Lucy, nodding.
"What do you do," looking around her room, "for fun. Do you...?"
"No." She'd waved at her desktop setup, one of those fancy ones where a glass side let's you see the fans spinning. "I mean, I play. But I don't own."
"Right."
"Too much moving." Smiling to show I'm okay, that I've come to terms. "Foster home to hostel and so on, I travel light."
To the point everything I own, clothes included could fit into a large suitcase plus my school messenger bag.
"I read." Because the Library's free, and books are an easy world to get lost in. "And. I...."
"And you....?" Giving my bag a playful shove with her foot, which tips it over and off the bed, spilling various books and my water bottle out onto the floor.
Plus the rope. Which I hadn't wanted to remove, because having it on me day after day makes for some brilliant daydreams.
Like the time the girl I was babysitting found my bondage suppli....
Ah.
Shit.
"Why do you have," leaning forward to peer down at the floor, my tangle of frayed blue, "rope?"
"Oh. Um." Feeling the heat up my neck and across both cheeks, belly fluttering. "Because I. Um, well."
"Were you going to kidnap me?" Shocked, laughing moments later at the absurdity of the idea.
"No." Blushing some more, because that's exactly one of many things I'd been imagining whilst failing to focus on my French essay. "I just...."
"Mind you any half decent kidnapper would deny it. Of course." Nodding, and in my shock, and embarrassment I almost miss her growing, teasing smile.
Almost.
"I should. Probably." Acting, pretending to give the idea she's clearly already had due thought. "Bind you, instead. To stop you kidnapping me."
"So." Biting my lip, shiver running through me. "To stop me kidnapping you." Pointing at Lucy. "You'll kidnap me?"
"Perfectly logical."
"It." Shaking my head, shivering again. "Ha."
Too nervous to properly laugh, because alongside binding her, somehow having Lucy bind me was something else I've spent the last hour thinking far too much about.
And she's moving, whilst I remain rooted to the spot, fear at what I really want to happen, excitement that it actually seems to be happening. As I watch, wide eyed, Lucy slips off her bed and picks up a length of rope. Turning to me.
"Lay on your belly."
"Do you." Body complying, seemingly without any green light from my consciousness. I swallow, sliding forward and rolling, turning to lay lengthways along the bed, on my belly. "Do you know what you're doing?"
"Fuck no." Small laugh, nerves at the edges but she's grinning. Waving the rope at me like a tease.
Like she knows how into it I already am? And she can't, but teasing is teasing.
"Figure if I use this whole pile though that should hold you."
"The whole...."
"Arms behind you." Slight edge to her tone, command I feel like a kick to the stomach, setting loose a whole swarm of fluttering nerves. Chest beginning to tingle as I comply.
The rope bites, coarse strands digging into skin, Lucy wrapping around and between my crossed wrists.
Keeping my face buried in the duvet so she can't hear either my gasps, or my quickened breathing. Completely unable to maintain composure, because this is so much more intimate then the tree.
And Lucy a stranger, who I'm allowing, it appears, to take total advantage of me.
Ankles follow wrists, followed by Lucy wrapping above my knees, everything pulled and yanked really, really fucking tight. Knots and loops that don't loosen, don't slacken off after she's done and moved to the next point.
"Can you sit up?"
"Can I." Shaking, wriggling and my limbs are pinned, freedom to move my arms but only behind me, back and forth wrists won't budge.
I'm caught.
"Can I what?"
"Can you sit up." Standing beside her bed, looking down with a smile as I turn to look at her. "Hi."
"Hi."
"Am I doing good?"
"Feels like it."
"Excellent." Smiling wider. "Sit up then."
Lucy's eyes on me as I wriggle and shift, rolling and bucking, D cups bouncing as I try and fail and try and fail, eventually managing on the third attempt to thrust my upper body up off the bed, bringing legs round to hang off the edge. Sitting up.
"Good." Picking up more rope, stopping, looking at me. Thoughtful. "Should I ask whether you're okay?"
"Bit fucking late for that."
"Fair enough." Nodding. "Best finish kidnapping you then."
"Please." Swallowing, being brave. "I'm. Enjoying it."
"Good." Flashing me a quick smile. "Me too."
Almost leaping up behind me, out of sight but not before I catch the beginnings of a blush, twin to my own.
Binding my chest. Occasional heat and weight of Lucy pressing in behind me, breath hot on my neck. Maddening, forced intimacy which has me squirming inside whilst simultaneously missing the contact each time she pulls away. Lucy passes two separate ropes around my upper body, one above one below my bra and pale blue shirt filling D cups, hands brushing several times across and against them but not lingering. All business, except for her quickened breathing.
Arms pinned to my sides and nipples feeling like little rocks by the time Lucy climbs back off the bed.
"Lay back down."
"Are you done?"
"Not, um, quite." Flashing another nervous excited smile. "Want to try something I saw in a cartoon."
"Right?" Confused, but I've come too far, am way too invested now to back out or protest, so Lucy gets to enjoy- I assume -watching me bounce and squirm around some more, flopping back to lay down, then rolling and throwing myself around to wind up face down along the beds length. Again.
"Last bit."
"Right." Nodding as the mattress shifts, Lucy climbing up and I remain still, waiting patiently.
And a short time later my legs move, without my wanting or directing them too, ankles rising up off the bed and knees bending, wrists lifted too and she's.
"Hogtying me?"
"Is that what it's called?" Not stopping, talking whilst the ropes, her pulling on them is bringing my limbs closer. Forcing them closer. "I only ever saw it on some cartoon, fucking." Laughing. "Years ago."
And I'm now too distracted to reply, because this: Lucy's hogtie is a hundred times more restrictive, is so much tighter and more real feeling then being bound to the tree.
Fucking.
Wow.
Past.
Jennifer, stood in front of me, basically cornering me in the school corridor both of us backed up against the corner of a locker row, her in front blocking my getaway.
Close proximity, the dynamic briefly triggering a flutter in my belly. That I'm caught, before I tamp it down. Focus.
"If it's that important then why aren't you doing it?"
"Because." Literally bouncing on the spot, arms gesturing at everything and nothing. "Henry's going to be there."
"Is that right?" Teasing, not mean I'm playing with her. Henry: Jennifer's current crush, a couple of years older, son of her parents friends and tonight he's going to be in her house. For dinner.
So of course instead of fulfilling her regular babysitting commitment she needs to go straight home, and spend several hours making herself perfect. For Henry.
"Please. Bob." Hands pressed together, pleading and in her voice too. "I can't miss a week sitting Lucy or her parents will ditch. Replace me. Please...."
I leave her hanging, for a half minute, pretending and completely faking a long think about this.
Of course I'll help, she's a friend. And besides Lucy's thirteen, at that age it isn't even sitting, it's just- as Jennifer's repeatedly told slash complained to us, because yes the cash is good but even so -hanging around and making sure Lucy doesn't burn down the house. Or get pregnant.
"Sure."
"Really?"
"Course." Taking out my phone. "No practice tonight, so I'm all good." Sending a quick message to Tom, easier to get hold of then his wife, letting him know I've got something on after school, but I'll be back to the foster home well before curfew.
'Taco's tonight.' Comes the reply a couple of minutes later. 'Shall we keep some mince back for you?'
'Please.' I smile. 'Appreciate it.'
'Stay safe Tempest.'
Putting my phone away, Jennifer wrapping her own WhatsApp exchange up, with Lucy's mum who.
"Yeah." Grinning. "She's good. Just head straight over from school, you'll be there until around eight."
"Right." Nodding, and off we go to class.
At least I'll be able to blitz my homework?
"Tempest?"
"Bob."
"Bob?" Laughing as she stands up off the front porch step, brushing dirt off the butt of her black fitted trousers. Looking at me. "Mum said it'd be someone else."
"Jenny's busy."
"Doing what?"
"Chasing boys." Grinning, walking up the path, giving Lucy a visual once over, seeing her doing the same.
Asian, skin a golden light brown and black hair falling perfectly straight, not quite reaching the shoulders whilst my own tumbles over and down. Lucy hovers around the sixteen slash eighteen, plump slash curvy range. Thick limbs, thighs pressing at trousers and upper arms filling out the sleeves of her white school shirt, belly pressing tight complemented by what look like D cups. Not horribly overweight, but fashion leans towards the tight and fitted, so her larger- then my own ten -frame looks larger still hugged by all that moulded fabric.
At thirteen she's, surely, closing in on no longer needing supervision. But for now, here I am. According to Jennifer this is the one school night Lucy doesn't have a club to attend, the one school night both her parents work late.
"Why Bob?" Sat on opposite sides of the sofa, shoes and jackets discarded, bags too. Lucy removes her blue school tie, tossing it onto the low table between sofa and flatscreen, opening up the top of her shirt. "It's, kinda odd."
"Honestly." Stopping to remove my own tie, standing and crossing the room to dump it in my bag, opening my own shirt as I return. "I got pissed off hearing people mangling Tempest, trying to find some new way to shorten it. So."
I shrug, Lucy giving me a thoughtful look.
"So do I actually have to do anything?"
"Apart from keep me company." Small smile. "Entertain me." Growing. "Do whatever I say."
"Ha." Shaking my head, smiling too. "Seriously though?"
"I. Am." Almost laughing. "Being serious. My house." Flicking water out of her glass at me. "My rules."
"Okay. Fine." Huffing, flicking a second spray at me, fingers dipped in the glass before being waved in my direction. "Spoilsport."
"Hey." Hands up in mock surrender. "I didn't say no."
"Yeah. Well." Shaking her head. "Forget it. And, no. Just. Sometimes Jenny and me play PC, or watch a movie. Or whatever we can find on."
Turns out Lucy has homework too, though, the bane of all our lives, so we decamp to her room: easily large enough for two beds but she's got it to herself, pink everywhere and over two dozen plushies of various origin decorating or generally hanging around, staring. Full length mirror, which I glare at in passing, resisting the urge to stick my tongue- childish -out at.
Not looking. Isn't my bedroom, I don't need to fix my hair, or check or apply any make-up. So I'm not looking.
Because if I do all I'll see is mirror me looking back, she won't move strangely, won't grin too wide or wink, won't not be there. It'll be normal, and I don't need to look to prove the fact.
Right?
Lucy claims the chair, a fancy black gamer thing on wheels, pink- of course -highlight edging and lots of racecar style padding. Doing so gets her the desk too, pushing her keyboard and mouse aside, making room for books and paper.
"Can I?"
"Sure." Waving yes so I sit down on her- pink duvet covered -single bed, scooting back to lean against the wall, legs crossed, which does cause my too short black school skirt to ride up, but luckily placing a pad of writing paper on my lap covers the fact of purple pants covered in white skulls being exposed.
Messenger bag beside me, access to both a water bottle and my books, and for awhile we sit, studying in relative silence. The occasional stretch or grunt of recognition at a vital fact discovered, sometimes a tut at the stupidity of something.
A couple of times we catch each other's eye, not staring more glancing around the room, taking a quick break. Exchanged smiles before plunging back in.
"Right." Lucy's voice breaking the silence and I blink, look up to see her standing, stretching hands on the small of her back, crotch pushing forward upper body bending over. My view point of her side on, my attention caught unexpectedly on the way her body fills out the uniform as mine never does: tight across the bust and hips but Lucy's presses and shows the whole of her off.
"Enough."
"Enough?"
"Definitely." Scowling at her books, before turning a smile on me, sauntering across the room and climbing up onto her bed to sit leaning against the headboard, hands in her lap legs straight and pointed, toes level with my crossed feet and close enough she could, if she wriggled, touch them.
"Can we do something else?"
"You mean am I bored of essay writing too?"
"I had maths." Screwing her face up, the effect making me giggle. Lucy nods. "But, yes. Do you need to continue with," waved hand at my writing pad, still in my lap, "that?"
"It'll keep." Shrugging, folding the pad, dropping it and my pen, assorted reference books back into my bag. Heedless of the fact my bare legs, not to mention my pants are now mostly on show.
"Why Tempest?"
"Why Lucy?"
"Ha." Nudging my leg with her foot. "Funny girl."
"I try."
"Why, though?"
"Why do I try?"
"Behave," another nudge, "or I'll have to come over there."
"Promises promises."
"It wasn't my choice." Looking down at my hands, which are in my lap.
Flinching as I notice, realise how on display my crotch is, but. Lucy doesn't seem to of noticed, or at least isn't staring. And besides I'm comfortable, so I stay cross legged.
"I'm an orphan, since birth. No paperwork, so whoever, in whatever government office deals with this stuff got to name me."
"Oh...." Various emotions- sadness, confusion, surprise -flitting across her face. "I'm, sorry?"
"Don't be." I shrug. "I came to terms with it all years ago. Sure, I raged and screamed myself hoarse, angry at how little about myself I knew. How anyone, any good person, could abandon a baby. But."
Taking a deep breath, because even now I can feel it all bubbling, the anger that never, really, goes away.
"Tempest is weird, but I like that."
"And Bob?"
"Honestly I can't remember exactly when?" Thinking, shaking my head. "Probably started as a joke, and then stuck, and now...."
Lucy, nodding.
"What do you do," looking around her room, "for fun. Do you...?"
"No." She'd waved at her desktop setup, one of those fancy ones where a glass side let's you see the fans spinning. "I mean, I play. But I don't own."
"Right."
"Too much moving." Smiling to show I'm okay, that I've come to terms. "Foster home to hostel and so on, I travel light."
To the point everything I own, clothes included could fit into a large suitcase plus my school messenger bag.
"I read." Because the Library's free, and books are an easy world to get lost in. "And. I...."
"And you....?" Giving my bag a playful shove with her foot, which tips it over and off the bed, spilling various books and my water bottle out onto the floor.
Plus the rope. Which I hadn't wanted to remove, because having it on me day after day makes for some brilliant daydreams.
Like the time the girl I was babysitting found my bondage suppli....
Ah.
Shit.
"Why do you have," leaning forward to peer down at the floor, my tangle of frayed blue, "rope?"
"Oh. Um." Feeling the heat up my neck and across both cheeks, belly fluttering. "Because I. Um, well."
"Were you going to kidnap me?" Shocked, laughing moments later at the absurdity of the idea.
"No." Blushing some more, because that's exactly one of many things I'd been imagining whilst failing to focus on my French essay. "I just...."
"Mind you any half decent kidnapper would deny it. Of course." Nodding, and in my shock, and embarrassment I almost miss her growing, teasing smile.
Almost.
"I should. Probably." Acting, pretending to give the idea she's clearly already had due thought. "Bind you, instead. To stop you kidnapping me."
"So." Biting my lip, shiver running through me. "To stop me kidnapping you." Pointing at Lucy. "You'll kidnap me?"
"Perfectly logical."
"It." Shaking my head, shivering again. "Ha."
Too nervous to properly laugh, because alongside binding her, somehow having Lucy bind me was something else I've spent the last hour thinking far too much about.
And she's moving, whilst I remain rooted to the spot, fear at what I really want to happen, excitement that it actually seems to be happening. As I watch, wide eyed, Lucy slips off her bed and picks up a length of rope. Turning to me.
"Lay on your belly."
"Do you." Body complying, seemingly without any green light from my consciousness. I swallow, sliding forward and rolling, turning to lay lengthways along the bed, on my belly. "Do you know what you're doing?"
"Fuck no." Small laugh, nerves at the edges but she's grinning. Waving the rope at me like a tease.
Like she knows how into it I already am? And she can't, but teasing is teasing.
"Figure if I use this whole pile though that should hold you."
"The whole...."
"Arms behind you." Slight edge to her tone, command I feel like a kick to the stomach, setting loose a whole swarm of fluttering nerves. Chest beginning to tingle as I comply.
The rope bites, coarse strands digging into skin, Lucy wrapping around and between my crossed wrists.
Keeping my face buried in the duvet so she can't hear either my gasps, or my quickened breathing. Completely unable to maintain composure, because this is so much more intimate then the tree.
And Lucy a stranger, who I'm allowing, it appears, to take total advantage of me.
Ankles follow wrists, followed by Lucy wrapping above my knees, everything pulled and yanked really, really fucking tight. Knots and loops that don't loosen, don't slacken off after she's done and moved to the next point.
"Can you sit up?"
"Can I." Shaking, wriggling and my limbs are pinned, freedom to move my arms but only behind me, back and forth wrists won't budge.
I'm caught.
"Can I what?"
"Can you sit up." Standing beside her bed, looking down with a smile as I turn to look at her. "Hi."
"Hi."
"Am I doing good?"
"Feels like it."
"Excellent." Smiling wider. "Sit up then."
Lucy's eyes on me as I wriggle and shift, rolling and bucking, D cups bouncing as I try and fail and try and fail, eventually managing on the third attempt to thrust my upper body up off the bed, bringing legs round to hang off the edge. Sitting up.
"Good." Picking up more rope, stopping, looking at me. Thoughtful. "Should I ask whether you're okay?"
"Bit fucking late for that."
"Fair enough." Nodding. "Best finish kidnapping you then."
"Please." Swallowing, being brave. "I'm. Enjoying it."
"Good." Flashing me a quick smile. "Me too."
Almost leaping up behind me, out of sight but not before I catch the beginnings of a blush, twin to my own.
Binding my chest. Occasional heat and weight of Lucy pressing in behind me, breath hot on my neck. Maddening, forced intimacy which has me squirming inside whilst simultaneously missing the contact each time she pulls away. Lucy passes two separate ropes around my upper body, one above one below my bra and pale blue shirt filling D cups, hands brushing several times across and against them but not lingering. All business, except for her quickened breathing.
Arms pinned to my sides and nipples feeling like little rocks by the time Lucy climbs back off the bed.
"Lay back down."
"Are you done?"
"Not, um, quite." Flashing another nervous excited smile. "Want to try something I saw in a cartoon."
"Right?" Confused, but I've come too far, am way too invested now to back out or protest, so Lucy gets to enjoy- I assume -watching me bounce and squirm around some more, flopping back to lay down, then rolling and throwing myself around to wind up face down along the beds length. Again.
"Last bit."
"Right." Nodding as the mattress shifts, Lucy climbing up and I remain still, waiting patiently.
And a short time later my legs move, without my wanting or directing them too, ankles rising up off the bed and knees bending, wrists lifted too and she's.
"Hogtying me?"
"Is that what it's called?" Not stopping, talking whilst the ropes, her pulling on them is bringing my limbs closer. Forcing them closer. "I only ever saw it on some cartoon, fucking." Laughing. "Years ago."
And I'm now too distracted to reply, because this: Lucy's hogtie is a hundred times more restrictive, is so much tighter and more real feeling then being bound to the tree.
Fucking.
Wow.
-
BlissfulMisery
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 365
- Joined: 3 years ago
RopeBunny wrote: 2 months ago
Isn't always an obvious Domme, or sub. Sometimes everyone wants a go. Possibly at both
-
Liking the slow drip of additional information about whatever is going on in the 'present'.
Interesting tidbit, considering the reference to mirrors right at the start of the story, and the confirmation in the previous chapter that everything so far has been from the same point of view (I word it that way since it seems obvious *something* has fundamentally changed in between)...RopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago Full length mirror, which I glare at in passing, resisting the urge to stick my tongue- childish -out at.
...And of course the very next sentence pretty much comes right out and says itRopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago Because if I do all I'll see is mirror me looking back, she won't move strangely, won't grin too wide or wink, won't not be there. It'll be normal, and I don't need to look to prove the fact.
Right?
Probably a little too on the nose, but with how often the odd name and nickname has come up makes me think there is some subconscious (or maybe outright conscious?) effort to differentiate herself from whatever is existing alongside her (or the other way around?) Suspecting it is not a coincidence the government worker chose to give her that name...
Perfectly logical indeed - these characters obviously understand exactly what kind of story they are participating inRopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago "I should. Probably." Acting, pretending to give the idea she's clearly already had due thought. "Bind you, instead. To stop you kidnapping me."
"So." Biting my lip, shiver running through me. "To stop me kidnapping you." Pointing at Lucy. "You'll kidnap me?"
"Perfectly logical."
Love the line - as usual you have a way of encapsulating the various contradictions of bondage.RopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago Maddening, forced intimacy which has me squirming inside whilst simultaneously missing the contact each time she pulls away.
Great chapters as usual!
Think this might all be me. Might not be doing the best job here, with regards the mirrors.BlissfulMisery wrote: 1 month agoInteresting tidbit, considering the reference to mirrors right at the start of the story, and the confirmation in the previous chapter that everything so far has been from the same point of view (I word it that way since it seems obvious *something* has fundamentally changed in between)...RopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago Full length mirror, which I glare at in passing, resisting the urge to stick my tongue- childish -out at.
...And of course the very next sentence pretty much comes right out and says itRopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago Because if I do all I'll see is mirror me looking back, she won't move strangely, won't grin too wide or wink, won't not be there. It'll be normal, and I don't need to look to prove the fact.
Right?
Probably a little too on the nose, but with how often the odd name and nickname has come up makes me think there is some subconscious (or maybe outright conscious?) effort to differentiate herself from whatever is existing alongside her (or the other way around?) Suspecting it is not a coincidence the government worker chose to give her that name...
There is supposed to be a form of distrust, in Tempest regarding her reflection, but nothing more then a hang up. Nothing abnormal has ever happened to her, it's just one of those irrational fears: that your reflection will move all on it's own, or simply won't even be there.
However, moving to the 'Present' and we find glimpses/hints that now, for some reason there is something off with Tempest and mirrors, the figure glimpsed behind her in the picture frame at St Joseph's.
As I said, my fault this one, hoping that clears some of it up.
A line I too am proud off, so thank you for highlighting it.BlissfulMisery wrote: 1 month agoLove the line - as usual you have a way of encapsulating the various contradictions of bondage.RopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago Maddening, forced intimacy which has me squirming inside whilst simultaneously missing the contact each time she pulls away.
006.
Past.
"I.... Think?" A final tug, which I barely register amongst all the various tightly bound pieces of me clamouring for attention, shouting loudly about how fucking awesome this is.
"I'm done?"
"D." Momentarily forgetting how to talk. "Done?"
"Ran out of rope, so." A shrug I hear. "Guess that's it?"
"Is it?" Because she'd sounded unsure, and for me, now I'm tied up, now I'm in this.
I don't want it to end.
"You could gag me?"
"I could?" Amused, climbing around behind me and off her bed. Turning my head to the side I find Lucy, hunkered down in front of me. Eye to eye.
"What's up. Bob." Pausing before my name, almost tasting it. "Aren't you kidnapped enough?"
"Well...." Not daring to wriggle, not yet. Savouring how everything feels in this static state.
Roped, wrists crossed and bound ankles pulled back to meet them, a hogtie. Chest wrapped, squeezed. Knees bound too. Laid on Lucy's bed in Lucy's pink filled bedroom, still in my blue shirt and black skirt Underwood uniform, Lucy wearing her white shirt and black trousers variant, from some other Comprehensive and I haven't asked where.
"When I was preparing to kidnap you."
"I thought you weren't?" Shaking her head but smiling at me, because having found my rope, when my bag tipped over, Lucy's first thought had been kidnap. Though she'd laughed immediately after.
The absurdity- ha -of it.
"Well." Smiling back, keeping my tone easy, like hers. "Anyway. When I was considering kidnapping you, I'd planned on gagging you, too."
"Gagging me too?" Reaching out to pluck at my hogtie rope, highlighting the dynamics at play though my pinched on fire and.
Loving it?
Body needs no reminder.
"And, what." Laughing, though she blushes slightly. "Were you going to just say fuck it and strip me, complete the full sweep."
Which has me blushing too, because of course I'd instantly, mentally deleted her shirt and trousers, imagining what I might find beneath.
"Tell you what." Having spent a good few minutes simply staring at me whilst I looked back, occasionally having to glance away out of nerves or embarrassment at being under such scrutiny. "If I gag you," pausing, swallowing, "then you'll have to stay tied up."
"You mean, like." Having to swallow too, "all evening?"
"No. Silly." Laughing. "But for, like. An hour at least."
"Whilst I game."
"Right."
"Okay, good."
"But I...." Hadn't actually said yes, although I would've. But Lucy doesn't wait, or ask again, thrusting a pink woolen scarf towards my mouth, which I open. Willing, Lucy leans in close and wraps it around my head, fastening a knot behind, stepping back.
"Okay?"
"Mmmnnnhhhfffffff."
"Oh." Grinning. "Wow, that sounds a. Mazing."
"Gggdddd fffppmmnn." Rolling, managing to get onto my side at the third attempt, facing Lucy, standing regarding me arms crossed beneath her chest. "Ssrrggnn."
"And you look so god damn cute too"
"Ggghhhffmmmnnn." Straining, pushing at the ropes, stretching my body arms and legs pushed back chest thrusting forwards. Blushing at the compliment. "Ddrrsssggg."
"Do that again." Biting her lip. "Please. Can you. Um." Sitting down, almost falling backwards into her gaming chair, backing up without looking or feeling for it, wide eyes fixed on me. "Could you pretend to be pissed at me? Fight and curse and, stuff? Like you don't want to be bound and gagged and, well." Eyes going to the corner, not looking at me as she speaks. "If you manage to get free, then. Um. I'll let you bind and gag me instead."
Gaze returning, hopeful.
I do my best, for her, but because the idea sounded a. Mazing, too.
Struggling. Fighting, building up a sweat and wearing myself out, muscles aching like a weeks worth of team practices afterwards. Wriggling and bucking, squirming, rolling from side to belly and eventually back onto my side, facing a spellbound mouth open Lucy. Pushing at the ropes attempting multiple times to force arms and legs apart, D cups bouncing as I shake my body, searching for slack or some rope becoming loose due to my efforts.
A steady near constant stream of sounds coming muffled and garbled though my gagged lips: curses and grunts, pleading a couple of times, almost begging Lucy for freedom.
Playing the game?
Winding down to a stop, body on fire, spent yet buzzing. Singing at how it feels to be so tightly restrained, the deliciousness of my total- tested and proved -helplessness.
Stopping, breathless, laying on her bed, watching Lucy and waiting.
For her to comment.
For the next set of instructions.
Totally unprepared for what happens, for Lucy to suddenly close the distance, like pouncing, moving from chair to bed in one fluid seeming movement, weight and strength of her pushing and forcing me back against the wall, making room as she presses forward, taking up the remaining mattress space.
Lips suddenly locked onto mine, kissing me pressing herself into me one hand snaked around behind, grabbing my butt and squeezing. Pulling me into her.
Kissing my gagged lips, panting and I'm panting back, still out of breath from the struggles.
"Sorry." Half climbing off the bed, blushing, face flushed eyes darting all over me. Swallowing. "I."
"Fffgggmmmnnn." Bouncing, trying to follow her, to wriggle closer. "Cccgggffffddd mmmnn rrrsssddd ggpppmm."
Come back here and kiss me, because taking advantage or not I don't.
Fucking.
Care.
No I haven't, ever, kissed a girl. And, no, I hadn't ever planned on it. But. Making out whilst helpless had been utterly mind blowing, and I want more.
"Dddfffmmmmnngggffffppp." I scream, muffled at Lucy, begging, pushing my chest at her.
Please.
And with a grin, like victory and I don't care if that means I lost. Lucy comes back. More kisses, her hands between us and it takes my bondage fogged brain whole seconds to realise.
She's opening up my shirt, pulling at the front, forcing it wider despite the tight ropes, exposing my blue bra and D cups cleavage, kissing me whilst she does, kissing me and driving me wild whilst one long fingernail traces the curve of the top of each breast.
Pulling back, smiling at me, nodding.
"And now you look even cuter."
"Fffddssss." Small nod, small wriggle not trying to close the distance, but feeling exposed. Vulnerable and helpless, slightly embarrassed to be on display, but loving the use of power, Lucy wanting to do it, and doing it without asking first.
"Maybe I should do that gaming now?"
"Pppggffff." Wriggling, shaking my head. Please, no. "Sssrrgggmm."
"No?" Teasing, reaching out to trace a pattern across my cleavage.
Feels like her name?
"Won't you wait here," rubbing her thumb across my lip and I moan, "patiently, for me?"
Worst time ever to suddenly need a pee.
I blink rapidly at Lucy. Hoping, and thank fuck she registers something off, leaning in and removing my gag.
"Sorry." Needing to breathe, in, out. "Sorry. I," blushing, "would. But. Um. Sorry, I need a pee."
"Fuck." Laughing. "Right, well. I'll let you go. But only so long as you understand I'm binding you right back up, after."
"I neeeeeeeeed," squirming, "to fucking pee. Lu. Please."
"Then say it." Grinning, bending down to kiss the top of my left breast and for an instant the urge is forgetten. I sigh.
"Yes." Sounding like a sigh. "Okay, of course. I'll surrender. I promise."
"Good." Planting a second, quick, kiss on my lips before mostly ripping the ropes off.
Attacking me as I wander- clueless -back into her bedroom, managing to yank off my still open shirt.
And, okay, I don't exactly put up that big a fight.
Demanding my skirt in such authority laden tones, hand out and stern expression, the essence of a dominant. A crash course, ordering me, and I comply without even worrying over the fact of being left wearing my blue bra and purple pants, black socks. I'm not, at first, even embarrassed or conscious of how exposed I am.
That's the depth of the hold she's managed to place over me, with the tight hogtie and the forced taking of kisses and fondles, of the mindset I slipped into whilst fighting and cursing her for kidnapping me. Begging for my freedom, slipping and forgetting in part that it's a game.
A part of me believing, then and still, that Lucy has some power over me. That I belong to her in some fashion and must do as I'm told.
A thing she's slipped into too, because like me Lucy has zero experience at this bondage game stuff. Like me but on the opposite, climbing track, she's gone from casually asking me to pretend, to enjoying that I did, to taking charge because it all feels so natural in the moment.
"Lay down."
"Yes."
"On your back." No please, and besides I'm already obeying, climbing up onto Lucy's bed and rolling over, shuffling into the rough centre. Laying still, waiting for the next instructions.
Orders.
Binding both ankles without a word, from either of us. Taking hold of each in turn, wrapping and securing a rope to it, then a tug, a yank and a pull as Lucy uses the rope and the nearest bedpost to fix each leg stretched out and straight, the two spread but not so wide, because her bed is a single. Narrow.
Climbing up, kneeling on my stomach legs each side, straddling me looking down and smiling whilst I look up, blinking. Lucy's belly and breasts pressing at her shirt and for the first time I- belatedly -become aware of my exposure. The play of air ghosting over miles of bare skin, seeing my cleavage framed in blue, bra right there.
Slight prickle of worry, of nerves. What am I doing?
"Wrist." And yet I obey, without hesitation or protest, giving Lucy my wrist and watching as it's placed on her leg, rope wrapping it and several knots tied. Pinching against my bare skin.
Leaning forward and reaching, pulling my wrist upwards and there's cleavage pressing into my face, Lucy's shirt front open just low enough her D cups fill my world, pressing and shifting as she does, and unable to help myself I breathe in, taking in the scent of her, sweat mixed vaguely with lavender, the yank and tugging of my arm, limbs straightened and locked out, pulled tight.
My binding feeling inconsequential, like it's happening to someone else, a different Tempest, who doesn't matter.
"Wrist." Sitting back up, hand out her tone flat and demanding, mixed with a small smile. Enjoying this, repeating the process, finishing the task of immobilising me, each limb now stretched and spread wide, my body made a tight X shape and as Lucy sits back up, removing her cleavage from my face I give a small wriggle.
Finding a complete lack of freedom, all four limbs are locked, muscles already aching slightly from the tautness.
"I'm going to game now."
"Okay."
"No gag though."
"No?" Small frown, because I'd thought. "You don't want me to struggle, and. Um." Blushing as I imagine how it- struggling -would look wearing so little. "Curse you, try to escape?"
"Well." Tracing idle patterns across my belly, that tiny gap between her crotch and the bottom of my bra. "You can try, to escape. But."
Giving my breast a playful, except it's more a proof that she can do anything and I can't stop her, squeeze. And I basically melt right there on the bed, sighing, body shuddering nipple leaping to attention.
"I think we answered that question with the...."
"Hogtie."
"The hogtie." Nodding, hands resting on my belly. "So, you're basically mine."
"Yes."
"Good." Grin surfacing, that victory smile.
Slipping into roles, like I said.
"So I'm going to game, and you're going to lay here looking cute, and if I want to talk, no gag means you can talk."
"O." Nodding, staring up at her. "Kay."
"And if you're really good I might," leaning down, coming in close lips brushing mine as she finishes talking, "kiss you some more."
After which she kisses me, hand coming up to squeeze my breast again whilst I kiss her back, moaning.
The sudden absence of Lucy as she climbs off is like a sting. Across the room she saunters, looking high on life.
And she does game, and we do talk, on and off I only answer if Lucy speaks first, otherwise I'm still. Silent. Alternating panic at my helplessness and exposure with sheer joy at my helplessness and exposure. Occasionally- mostly whilst the panic rises, breath quickening and body flushing hot with worry -I'll struggle, fighting at the ropes, pulling and wriggling.
This, of course always attracts Lucy's attention, which most times leads her across the room to me, for kisses and to spend a long time or a little time stroking her fingernails across me.
Needless to say she dies, in the game, countless times, but doesn't seem the least put out.
Ha.
Slowly though reality sets in, the buzz can't be sustained forever. Lucy shutting down her desktop and coming over, freeing me.
"I'm." Looking down at her hands whilst I dress, as though now I'm no longer bound she suddenly isn't allowed to look. "Sorry?"
"For what?"
"Kinda. Might've." Glancing at me, a small grin on her face. "Gotten out of hand there."
"Well." Dressed, sitting down beside her. "Maybe, but I'm not sorry."
"Maybe you didn't ask, first." I shrug. "But I had fun. So."
"I'm just not sure I'm into all this."
"No?" Could've fucking fooled me, but we did both kinda feed off each other, looping and letting the dynamic grow, letting the game run away however it wished.
We didn't stop to discuss anything, or to check if we should even be playing.
"I had fun too." Small blush to match her small grin. "I just don't know if I want to do that again. Um. Sorry?"
"S' fine." Because it is, I playfully bump shoulders with her. "Promise I won't be kicking down your door. Just, don't be sorry. It really was fine, and I'm okay."
"Well." Looking at me, searching my face and nodding at what she finds. "Good. Thanks."
Time to go, as with perfect timing Lucy's parents walk in through the front door as we're coming down the stairs, so, after a slightly- because their daughter just spent several hours treating me like her personal slave, and I loved it -awkward hello and introduction, Lucy sees me out.
Past.
"I.... Think?" A final tug, which I barely register amongst all the various tightly bound pieces of me clamouring for attention, shouting loudly about how fucking awesome this is.
"I'm done?"
"D." Momentarily forgetting how to talk. "Done?"
"Ran out of rope, so." A shrug I hear. "Guess that's it?"
"Is it?" Because she'd sounded unsure, and for me, now I'm tied up, now I'm in this.
I don't want it to end.
"You could gag me?"
"I could?" Amused, climbing around behind me and off her bed. Turning my head to the side I find Lucy, hunkered down in front of me. Eye to eye.
"What's up. Bob." Pausing before my name, almost tasting it. "Aren't you kidnapped enough?"
"Well...." Not daring to wriggle, not yet. Savouring how everything feels in this static state.
Roped, wrists crossed and bound ankles pulled back to meet them, a hogtie. Chest wrapped, squeezed. Knees bound too. Laid on Lucy's bed in Lucy's pink filled bedroom, still in my blue shirt and black skirt Underwood uniform, Lucy wearing her white shirt and black trousers variant, from some other Comprehensive and I haven't asked where.
"When I was preparing to kidnap you."
"I thought you weren't?" Shaking her head but smiling at me, because having found my rope, when my bag tipped over, Lucy's first thought had been kidnap. Though she'd laughed immediately after.
The absurdity- ha -of it.
"Well." Smiling back, keeping my tone easy, like hers. "Anyway. When I was considering kidnapping you, I'd planned on gagging you, too."
"Gagging me too?" Reaching out to pluck at my hogtie rope, highlighting the dynamics at play though my pinched on fire and.
Loving it?
Body needs no reminder.
"And, what." Laughing, though she blushes slightly. "Were you going to just say fuck it and strip me, complete the full sweep."
Which has me blushing too, because of course I'd instantly, mentally deleted her shirt and trousers, imagining what I might find beneath.
"Tell you what." Having spent a good few minutes simply staring at me whilst I looked back, occasionally having to glance away out of nerves or embarrassment at being under such scrutiny. "If I gag you," pausing, swallowing, "then you'll have to stay tied up."
"You mean, like." Having to swallow too, "all evening?"
"No. Silly." Laughing. "But for, like. An hour at least."
"Whilst I game."
"Right."
"Okay, good."
"But I...." Hadn't actually said yes, although I would've. But Lucy doesn't wait, or ask again, thrusting a pink woolen scarf towards my mouth, which I open. Willing, Lucy leans in close and wraps it around my head, fastening a knot behind, stepping back.
"Okay?"
"Mmmnnnhhhfffffff."
"Oh." Grinning. "Wow, that sounds a. Mazing."
"Gggdddd fffppmmnn." Rolling, managing to get onto my side at the third attempt, facing Lucy, standing regarding me arms crossed beneath her chest. "Ssrrggnn."
"And you look so god damn cute too"
"Ggghhhffmmmnnn." Straining, pushing at the ropes, stretching my body arms and legs pushed back chest thrusting forwards. Blushing at the compliment. "Ddrrsssggg."
"Do that again." Biting her lip. "Please. Can you. Um." Sitting down, almost falling backwards into her gaming chair, backing up without looking or feeling for it, wide eyes fixed on me. "Could you pretend to be pissed at me? Fight and curse and, stuff? Like you don't want to be bound and gagged and, well." Eyes going to the corner, not looking at me as she speaks. "If you manage to get free, then. Um. I'll let you bind and gag me instead."
Gaze returning, hopeful.
I do my best, for her, but because the idea sounded a. Mazing, too.
Struggling. Fighting, building up a sweat and wearing myself out, muscles aching like a weeks worth of team practices afterwards. Wriggling and bucking, squirming, rolling from side to belly and eventually back onto my side, facing a spellbound mouth open Lucy. Pushing at the ropes attempting multiple times to force arms and legs apart, D cups bouncing as I shake my body, searching for slack or some rope becoming loose due to my efforts.
A steady near constant stream of sounds coming muffled and garbled though my gagged lips: curses and grunts, pleading a couple of times, almost begging Lucy for freedom.
Playing the game?
Winding down to a stop, body on fire, spent yet buzzing. Singing at how it feels to be so tightly restrained, the deliciousness of my total- tested and proved -helplessness.
Stopping, breathless, laying on her bed, watching Lucy and waiting.
For her to comment.
For the next set of instructions.
Totally unprepared for what happens, for Lucy to suddenly close the distance, like pouncing, moving from chair to bed in one fluid seeming movement, weight and strength of her pushing and forcing me back against the wall, making room as she presses forward, taking up the remaining mattress space.
Lips suddenly locked onto mine, kissing me pressing herself into me one hand snaked around behind, grabbing my butt and squeezing. Pulling me into her.
Kissing my gagged lips, panting and I'm panting back, still out of breath from the struggles.
"Sorry." Half climbing off the bed, blushing, face flushed eyes darting all over me. Swallowing. "I."
"Fffgggmmmnnn." Bouncing, trying to follow her, to wriggle closer. "Cccgggffffddd mmmnn rrrsssddd ggpppmm."
Come back here and kiss me, because taking advantage or not I don't.
Fucking.
Care.
No I haven't, ever, kissed a girl. And, no, I hadn't ever planned on it. But. Making out whilst helpless had been utterly mind blowing, and I want more.
"Dddfffmmmmnngggffffppp." I scream, muffled at Lucy, begging, pushing my chest at her.
Please.
And with a grin, like victory and I don't care if that means I lost. Lucy comes back. More kisses, her hands between us and it takes my bondage fogged brain whole seconds to realise.
She's opening up my shirt, pulling at the front, forcing it wider despite the tight ropes, exposing my blue bra and D cups cleavage, kissing me whilst she does, kissing me and driving me wild whilst one long fingernail traces the curve of the top of each breast.
Pulling back, smiling at me, nodding.
"And now you look even cuter."
"Fffddssss." Small nod, small wriggle not trying to close the distance, but feeling exposed. Vulnerable and helpless, slightly embarrassed to be on display, but loving the use of power, Lucy wanting to do it, and doing it without asking first.
"Maybe I should do that gaming now?"
"Pppggffff." Wriggling, shaking my head. Please, no. "Sssrrgggmm."
"No?" Teasing, reaching out to trace a pattern across my cleavage.
Feels like her name?
"Won't you wait here," rubbing her thumb across my lip and I moan, "patiently, for me?"
Worst time ever to suddenly need a pee.
I blink rapidly at Lucy. Hoping, and thank fuck she registers something off, leaning in and removing my gag.
"Sorry." Needing to breathe, in, out. "Sorry. I," blushing, "would. But. Um. Sorry, I need a pee."
"Fuck." Laughing. "Right, well. I'll let you go. But only so long as you understand I'm binding you right back up, after."
"I neeeeeeeeed," squirming, "to fucking pee. Lu. Please."
"Then say it." Grinning, bending down to kiss the top of my left breast and for an instant the urge is forgetten. I sigh.
"Yes." Sounding like a sigh. "Okay, of course. I'll surrender. I promise."
"Good." Planting a second, quick, kiss on my lips before mostly ripping the ropes off.
Attacking me as I wander- clueless -back into her bedroom, managing to yank off my still open shirt.
And, okay, I don't exactly put up that big a fight.
Demanding my skirt in such authority laden tones, hand out and stern expression, the essence of a dominant. A crash course, ordering me, and I comply without even worrying over the fact of being left wearing my blue bra and purple pants, black socks. I'm not, at first, even embarrassed or conscious of how exposed I am.
That's the depth of the hold she's managed to place over me, with the tight hogtie and the forced taking of kisses and fondles, of the mindset I slipped into whilst fighting and cursing her for kidnapping me. Begging for my freedom, slipping and forgetting in part that it's a game.
A part of me believing, then and still, that Lucy has some power over me. That I belong to her in some fashion and must do as I'm told.
A thing she's slipped into too, because like me Lucy has zero experience at this bondage game stuff. Like me but on the opposite, climbing track, she's gone from casually asking me to pretend, to enjoying that I did, to taking charge because it all feels so natural in the moment.
"Lay down."
"Yes."
"On your back." No please, and besides I'm already obeying, climbing up onto Lucy's bed and rolling over, shuffling into the rough centre. Laying still, waiting for the next instructions.
Orders.
Binding both ankles without a word, from either of us. Taking hold of each in turn, wrapping and securing a rope to it, then a tug, a yank and a pull as Lucy uses the rope and the nearest bedpost to fix each leg stretched out and straight, the two spread but not so wide, because her bed is a single. Narrow.
Climbing up, kneeling on my stomach legs each side, straddling me looking down and smiling whilst I look up, blinking. Lucy's belly and breasts pressing at her shirt and for the first time I- belatedly -become aware of my exposure. The play of air ghosting over miles of bare skin, seeing my cleavage framed in blue, bra right there.
Slight prickle of worry, of nerves. What am I doing?
"Wrist." And yet I obey, without hesitation or protest, giving Lucy my wrist and watching as it's placed on her leg, rope wrapping it and several knots tied. Pinching against my bare skin.
Leaning forward and reaching, pulling my wrist upwards and there's cleavage pressing into my face, Lucy's shirt front open just low enough her D cups fill my world, pressing and shifting as she does, and unable to help myself I breathe in, taking in the scent of her, sweat mixed vaguely with lavender, the yank and tugging of my arm, limbs straightened and locked out, pulled tight.
My binding feeling inconsequential, like it's happening to someone else, a different Tempest, who doesn't matter.
"Wrist." Sitting back up, hand out her tone flat and demanding, mixed with a small smile. Enjoying this, repeating the process, finishing the task of immobilising me, each limb now stretched and spread wide, my body made a tight X shape and as Lucy sits back up, removing her cleavage from my face I give a small wriggle.
Finding a complete lack of freedom, all four limbs are locked, muscles already aching slightly from the tautness.
"I'm going to game now."
"Okay."
"No gag though."
"No?" Small frown, because I'd thought. "You don't want me to struggle, and. Um." Blushing as I imagine how it- struggling -would look wearing so little. "Curse you, try to escape?"
"Well." Tracing idle patterns across my belly, that tiny gap between her crotch and the bottom of my bra. "You can try, to escape. But."
Giving my breast a playful, except it's more a proof that she can do anything and I can't stop her, squeeze. And I basically melt right there on the bed, sighing, body shuddering nipple leaping to attention.
"I think we answered that question with the...."
"Hogtie."
"The hogtie." Nodding, hands resting on my belly. "So, you're basically mine."
"Yes."
"Good." Grin surfacing, that victory smile.
Slipping into roles, like I said.
"So I'm going to game, and you're going to lay here looking cute, and if I want to talk, no gag means you can talk."
"O." Nodding, staring up at her. "Kay."
"And if you're really good I might," leaning down, coming in close lips brushing mine as she finishes talking, "kiss you some more."
After which she kisses me, hand coming up to squeeze my breast again whilst I kiss her back, moaning.
The sudden absence of Lucy as she climbs off is like a sting. Across the room she saunters, looking high on life.
And she does game, and we do talk, on and off I only answer if Lucy speaks first, otherwise I'm still. Silent. Alternating panic at my helplessness and exposure with sheer joy at my helplessness and exposure. Occasionally- mostly whilst the panic rises, breath quickening and body flushing hot with worry -I'll struggle, fighting at the ropes, pulling and wriggling.
This, of course always attracts Lucy's attention, which most times leads her across the room to me, for kisses and to spend a long time or a little time stroking her fingernails across me.
Needless to say she dies, in the game, countless times, but doesn't seem the least put out.
Ha.
Slowly though reality sets in, the buzz can't be sustained forever. Lucy shutting down her desktop and coming over, freeing me.
"I'm." Looking down at her hands whilst I dress, as though now I'm no longer bound she suddenly isn't allowed to look. "Sorry?"
"For what?"
"Kinda. Might've." Glancing at me, a small grin on her face. "Gotten out of hand there."
"Well." Dressed, sitting down beside her. "Maybe, but I'm not sorry."
"Maybe you didn't ask, first." I shrug. "But I had fun. So."
"I'm just not sure I'm into all this."
"No?" Could've fucking fooled me, but we did both kinda feed off each other, looping and letting the dynamic grow, letting the game run away however it wished.
We didn't stop to discuss anything, or to check if we should even be playing.
"I had fun too." Small blush to match her small grin. "I just don't know if I want to do that again. Um. Sorry?"
"S' fine." Because it is, I playfully bump shoulders with her. "Promise I won't be kicking down your door. Just, don't be sorry. It really was fine, and I'm okay."
"Well." Looking at me, searching my face and nodding at what she finds. "Good. Thanks."
Time to go, as with perfect timing Lucy's parents walk in through the front door as we're coming down the stairs, so, after a slightly- because their daughter just spent several hours treating me like her personal slave, and I loved it -awkward hello and introduction, Lucy sees me out.
-
BlissfulMisery
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 365
- Joined: 3 years ago
Ahh, I suppose that makes more sense. Have to agree it has been a little inconsistent, or at least unclear - she seemed a little too concerned about the mirror, in a way that was more then in passing, more then just an irrational fear.RopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago
Think this might all be me. Might not be doing the best job here, with regards the mirrors.
There is supposed to be a form of distrust, in Tempest regarding her reflection, but nothing more then a hang up. Nothing abnormal has ever happened to her, it's just one of those irrational fears: that your reflection will move all on it's own, or simply won't even be there.
However, moving to the 'Present' and we find glimpses/hints that now, for some reason there is something off with Tempest and mirrors, the figure glimpsed behind her in the picture frame at St Joseph's.
As I said, my fault this one, hoping that clears some of it up.
Feels like an all too common occurrence these days that people do not take the time to mention/show appreciation for the things they like. And while the reasons for it are fairly obvious, it does often cause problems down the line, especially in any sort of creative spaces. Apathy is an insidious poison. Ties into the whole saying about taking things for granted until they are gone.
So I do try my best to avoid that pitfall. Besides, I think it is only fair that given the effort you put into writing it/adding various little things, I should take the effort to actually engage with it beyond the most surface level.
Though in fairness I often do not mention *everything* I noticed/particularly liked, just to avoid having my responses turn into quote-athons
-
And speaking of, a great set of sentences - like the combination of 'ramping up', and using the subtext to say a lot without actually saying it outright. Lets it stay short, which helps maintain the pacing.RopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago Stopping, breathless, laying on her bed, watching Lucy and waiting.
For her to comment.
For the next set of instructions.
And yet again brings to mind the (wonderful) contradictions. Wanting it to 'be real' in the moment, even while the obvious issues loom ever-presently. Always fascinating what we can dig up inside ourselves, if we dare to look deep.RopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago "Fffddssss." Small nod, small wriggle not trying to close the distance, but feeling exposed. Vulnerable and helpless, slightly embarrassed to be on display, but loving the use of power, Lucy wanting to do it, and doing it without asking first.
Really liked the whole interplay between them - so easily falling into their respective roles, yet both having those bits of hesitation, playing off each other as it were in order to get past them. Natural yet awkward at the same time (and I can certainly understand why!) Great scene!
As I said, my fault. Ideas don't always come across perfectly. I'm often running at speed, so much I want to say and put across, easy to become carried away by a good- in my opinion -piece of writing, a fun idea. Not always stopping to consider whether it does a perfect job of fitting in, or whether it goes too far/not far enough.BlissfulMisery wrote: 1 month ago
Ahh, I suppose that makes more sense. Have to agree it has been a little inconsistent, or at least unclear - she seemed a little too concerned about the mirror, in a way that was more then in passing, more then just an irrational fear.
Mentioning something, one thing, is better then nothing. I'm always gratefulBlissfulMisery wrote: 1 month ago
Though in fairness I often do not mention *everything* I noticed/particularly liked, just to avoid having my responses turn into quote-athons
Next chapter below, short and lacking in TUGs, hence being short
Surprising how much room TUGs take up, how into the writing of them I can get
Probably (due to the lack of any fun/action) won't wait too long to post a follow up.
007.
Past.
I keep the promise. Maintaining a straight face, fighting the urge to grin or fall to fits of laughter the next couple of times bondage comes into our conversations. I manage, keeping mine and Lucy's little adventure to myself, because she'd asked.
And I'm not mean.
"Doesn't mean I won't fancy playing again, sometime." A shrug, her parents home and we're both at the front door, a little privacy and shared smiles at what we did. No regrets despite how deep we both went, not meaning too it's just- apparently -so damn easy to become caught up in it all.
"Just."
"I won't tell." Nodding. "Promise."
"Appreciate that, and if I change my mind."
"Then make the call." My turn to shrug, because I'm not really expecting it, and because even if she does, call. Even if I answer, and we play, there's no guarantees it'll turn out the same way.
It might be hard, or even impossible to be swept away by the same carefree flood a second time, to do what we did without worrying about consequences and deeper meanings. The fact we'll- likely -never meet again is partly what made all that intimacy so easy.
But, who knows. For now I've got a whole host of memories, which, sometimes.
You take what is offered, and that must be enough.
Tuesday afternoon. Sports, a perfect- in my opinion -way to end the school day and, if the sun happens to be out, if it isn't raining, and today we're good, most of us choose not to shower and change at days end, instead wearing our sports kit home.
Black skirt for the girls, pleated with an elasticated waist and somehow managing to be even shorter then the regular issue, paired off with a pale blue tee, school logo on the left breast, and v necked.
It's a green tree sat atop a grey stone arch, black like a tunnel inside. In case you were wondering.
Sports bra to keep things in check. It tends to be two classes taking sports at the same time, and today we've been split between football and hockey, the school field large enough to accommodate both pitches, and whilst we aren't necessarily playing the correct numbered teams, and whilst we are playing mixed sex.
It's fun. A chance to enjoy, to worry less given how focused I need to be when practicing with the Knights, or during matches.
Hockey, running the flanks and dashing in wherever I'm needed, feeling the burn and loving it. Neither Bethany nor Jennifer really enjoys or has any particular talent for sport, but they understand I do, both that I love and that I'm good at it, so they don't expect much of my attention whilst we're in lesson.
I'm in the zone.
So much so Mr Vickers, the teacher slash coach has to basically stop the game in order to grab my attention.
"Smith." Walking onto the field, straight towards me. "Tempest."
"Sir?"
"Office."
"What?" Confusion, because I haven't been, wasn't misbehaving. "But...."
"Go on." Shooing me away. "Double time it Smith."
"Sir." Double time, a favourite phrase of his during practice sessions. Most of Mr Vickers tactics and plays revolve around speed, the Knights being a blitzkreig team with numbers stacked high in the win column as proof of his methods.
I smile, nod, and set off at a jog.
"Come in Tempest."
"Sir." Opening the door to Mr Ford's office, not such a large space, desk and filling cabinets, a large potted fern in one corner next to an actual coat and hat stand. Our headteacher always wears a fedora, outside and during whole school assembly, some kind of personal affection.
Smoked glass across one wall gives a view out into reception, whilst a window opposite looks outside, towards the playing fields.
There's a woman sat at the desk, on my side in one of two chairs.
"I'll," coming around the desk as she stands and Mr Ford shakes her hand, "leave you to it Miss Kolt."
"Thank you," smiling, both of them smiling, like flirting, "Mr Ford."
After which, a nod to me and out he goes, leaving us alone.
Odd?
Late twenties at a guess, young for an adult. Curvy twelve accentuated by the black waist cincher corset, a vertical line of three thick black leather belts, dull brass buckles. Under the cincher a low cut short hem black dress, flaring at the legs and that pinched waist plus the plunging front helping show off C cups. Hair dyed red, tied back in a sensible tail at odds with the alternative bold colour and outfit choice. Chunky brown Doc Martins on her feet, bare legs and arms though there's a white zip front hoodie on Mr Ford's coat stand.
"Miss." Hand out but glancing at an open folder, beside a laptop on our side of the desk. "Smith. Tempest."
"I am." Shaking hands, very conscious of my sweaty grass stained- going in for countless tackles, playing rough -clothes and legs. My general appearance next to this well tailored lady.
"My name is Sally Kolt, I'm here today representing the firm of Borg and Black, London." Actually handing me a small sky blue business card, raised typeface in black Gothic script, all super posh and old school.
Handing me this, as though I'm a prospective client?
"Could I ask," selecting a sheet of paper from her folder, holding it out, "is this you. Could you confirm?"
"Well...." At a loss, frowning because I don't particularly want to be holding two things, and the hockey stick is still in my right hand.
Sally frowning, and perhaps it's bad corporate etiquette to slip business cards down my bra?
With a hand free I take the offered sheet, which turns out to be two sheets: a copy of my birth certificate, written confirmation of my lack of parents and I've got the original, tend not to look at it too often lest I rip the ever fucking thing up in a bout of madness and anger.
Tacked to this, flipping the certificate over and I'm confronted by my latest transfer authorisation sheet: various signatures, my own included, stating officially my short term- agreed by all parties -placement out of St Joseph's and into the foster home I've been in these past five months, and am due to remain at for a further seven.
"Is this me?"
"That's what I need from you, please."
"Well." Handing the sheets back, nodding. "Sure. This is me, I'm Tempest Smith."
And as Sally replaces the sheets I can see she's got my Underwood Comprehensive admission forms too, clipped to which is a- four years old but still recognisable -head and shoulders photo of me.
"Good. So." Gesturing me into the other chair, sitting herself both of us side by side, Mr Ford's plush leather chair empty and us all friendly and close, despite how bad I likely smell. "If you could," nodding as I sit, "yes. Thank you. Tempest. Is Tempest okay?"
"Sure." Or Bob, and I'm- orphan, constantly shifting and changing living arrangements, several pages worth of meetings in my sixteen years -likely more used to adult interaction then most my age, but it still feels a little weird.
The forced familiarity with someone you barely know.
"Great." Giving me a deal sealing smile, one all the good partners at Borg and Black must love, paired with that cleavage. "Well." Unfolding her laptop, and I wait, eyes cast idly around the room, out the window and I can't see the hockey pitch.
Are we winning? It isn't a proper game, more a fun knockabout. And yet, being on the team, all that competitiveness and there ceases to be such a thing as 'just for fun' anymore.
"Right." Sally's voice bringing me back, laptop now turned to include me in events. Some kind of video, paused, filling the screen. "Well. Tempest, if you'd please watch, and then afterwards I'll answer any questions you may have."
"Sure?" Because I don't know the old man on screen, or the room behind him. But. "Go ahead."
Sally clicks the track pad, starting the reel.
Past.
I keep the promise. Maintaining a straight face, fighting the urge to grin or fall to fits of laughter the next couple of times bondage comes into our conversations. I manage, keeping mine and Lucy's little adventure to myself, because she'd asked.
And I'm not mean.
"Doesn't mean I won't fancy playing again, sometime." A shrug, her parents home and we're both at the front door, a little privacy and shared smiles at what we did. No regrets despite how deep we both went, not meaning too it's just- apparently -so damn easy to become caught up in it all.
"Just."
"I won't tell." Nodding. "Promise."
"Appreciate that, and if I change my mind."
"Then make the call." My turn to shrug, because I'm not really expecting it, and because even if she does, call. Even if I answer, and we play, there's no guarantees it'll turn out the same way.
It might be hard, or even impossible to be swept away by the same carefree flood a second time, to do what we did without worrying about consequences and deeper meanings. The fact we'll- likely -never meet again is partly what made all that intimacy so easy.
But, who knows. For now I've got a whole host of memories, which, sometimes.
You take what is offered, and that must be enough.
Tuesday afternoon. Sports, a perfect- in my opinion -way to end the school day and, if the sun happens to be out, if it isn't raining, and today we're good, most of us choose not to shower and change at days end, instead wearing our sports kit home.
Black skirt for the girls, pleated with an elasticated waist and somehow managing to be even shorter then the regular issue, paired off with a pale blue tee, school logo on the left breast, and v necked.
It's a green tree sat atop a grey stone arch, black like a tunnel inside. In case you were wondering.
Sports bra to keep things in check. It tends to be two classes taking sports at the same time, and today we've been split between football and hockey, the school field large enough to accommodate both pitches, and whilst we aren't necessarily playing the correct numbered teams, and whilst we are playing mixed sex.
It's fun. A chance to enjoy, to worry less given how focused I need to be when practicing with the Knights, or during matches.
Hockey, running the flanks and dashing in wherever I'm needed, feeling the burn and loving it. Neither Bethany nor Jennifer really enjoys or has any particular talent for sport, but they understand I do, both that I love and that I'm good at it, so they don't expect much of my attention whilst we're in lesson.
I'm in the zone.
So much so Mr Vickers, the teacher slash coach has to basically stop the game in order to grab my attention.
"Smith." Walking onto the field, straight towards me. "Tempest."
"Sir?"
"Office."
"What?" Confusion, because I haven't been, wasn't misbehaving. "But...."
"Go on." Shooing me away. "Double time it Smith."
"Sir." Double time, a favourite phrase of his during practice sessions. Most of Mr Vickers tactics and plays revolve around speed, the Knights being a blitzkreig team with numbers stacked high in the win column as proof of his methods.
I smile, nod, and set off at a jog.
"Come in Tempest."
"Sir." Opening the door to Mr Ford's office, not such a large space, desk and filling cabinets, a large potted fern in one corner next to an actual coat and hat stand. Our headteacher always wears a fedora, outside and during whole school assembly, some kind of personal affection.
Smoked glass across one wall gives a view out into reception, whilst a window opposite looks outside, towards the playing fields.
There's a woman sat at the desk, on my side in one of two chairs.
"I'll," coming around the desk as she stands and Mr Ford shakes her hand, "leave you to it Miss Kolt."
"Thank you," smiling, both of them smiling, like flirting, "Mr Ford."
After which, a nod to me and out he goes, leaving us alone.
Odd?
Late twenties at a guess, young for an adult. Curvy twelve accentuated by the black waist cincher corset, a vertical line of three thick black leather belts, dull brass buckles. Under the cincher a low cut short hem black dress, flaring at the legs and that pinched waist plus the plunging front helping show off C cups. Hair dyed red, tied back in a sensible tail at odds with the alternative bold colour and outfit choice. Chunky brown Doc Martins on her feet, bare legs and arms though there's a white zip front hoodie on Mr Ford's coat stand.
"Miss." Hand out but glancing at an open folder, beside a laptop on our side of the desk. "Smith. Tempest."
"I am." Shaking hands, very conscious of my sweaty grass stained- going in for countless tackles, playing rough -clothes and legs. My general appearance next to this well tailored lady.
"My name is Sally Kolt, I'm here today representing the firm of Borg and Black, London." Actually handing me a small sky blue business card, raised typeface in black Gothic script, all super posh and old school.
Handing me this, as though I'm a prospective client?
"Could I ask," selecting a sheet of paper from her folder, holding it out, "is this you. Could you confirm?"
"Well...." At a loss, frowning because I don't particularly want to be holding two things, and the hockey stick is still in my right hand.
Sally frowning, and perhaps it's bad corporate etiquette to slip business cards down my bra?
With a hand free I take the offered sheet, which turns out to be two sheets: a copy of my birth certificate, written confirmation of my lack of parents and I've got the original, tend not to look at it too often lest I rip the ever fucking thing up in a bout of madness and anger.
Tacked to this, flipping the certificate over and I'm confronted by my latest transfer authorisation sheet: various signatures, my own included, stating officially my short term- agreed by all parties -placement out of St Joseph's and into the foster home I've been in these past five months, and am due to remain at for a further seven.
"Is this me?"
"That's what I need from you, please."
"Well." Handing the sheets back, nodding. "Sure. This is me, I'm Tempest Smith."
And as Sally replaces the sheets I can see she's got my Underwood Comprehensive admission forms too, clipped to which is a- four years old but still recognisable -head and shoulders photo of me.
"Good. So." Gesturing me into the other chair, sitting herself both of us side by side, Mr Ford's plush leather chair empty and us all friendly and close, despite how bad I likely smell. "If you could," nodding as I sit, "yes. Thank you. Tempest. Is Tempest okay?"
"Sure." Or Bob, and I'm- orphan, constantly shifting and changing living arrangements, several pages worth of meetings in my sixteen years -likely more used to adult interaction then most my age, but it still feels a little weird.
The forced familiarity with someone you barely know.
"Great." Giving me a deal sealing smile, one all the good partners at Borg and Black must love, paired with that cleavage. "Well." Unfolding her laptop, and I wait, eyes cast idly around the room, out the window and I can't see the hockey pitch.
Are we winning? It isn't a proper game, more a fun knockabout. And yet, being on the team, all that competitiveness and there ceases to be such a thing as 'just for fun' anymore.
"Right." Sally's voice bringing me back, laptop now turned to include me in events. Some kind of video, paused, filling the screen. "Well. Tempest, if you'd please watch, and then afterwards I'll answer any questions you may have."
"Sure?" Because I don't know the old man on screen, or the room behind him. But. "Go ahead."
Sally clicks the track pad, starting the reel.
-
BlissfulMisery
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 365
- Joined: 3 years ago
The eternal challenge of having to translate ones internal world into all too limited language! Quite easy to get lost and erroneously assume you had mentioned something already, or to just assume everyone else has the same understanding of something - even if that something is an internally created character.RopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago As I said, my fault. Ideas don't always come across perfectly. I'm often running at speed, so much I want to say and put across, easy to become carried away by a good- in my opinion -piece of writing, a fun idea. Not always stopping to consider whether it does a perfect job of fitting in, or whether it goes too far/not far enough.
So certainly can sympathize
RopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago Mentioning something, one thing, is better then nothing. I'm always grateful
To be fair, there is a lot to say when describing TUGs. It is one of those things that is a 'complete' experience with many facets - there is the physical, in the sense of actually describing the specific tie/what is happening, but there are also many sensory and emotional/internal mental angles to explore. Often a case of having to cherry pick at least a little for the sake of brevity! So maybe not so surprising that they tend to take up a lot of words.RopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago Next chapter below, short and lacking in TUGs, hence being short
Surprising how much room TUGs take up, how into the writing of them I can get
-
She is not wrong there, in more ways then one, and this applies to many shared experiences even outside of bondage. The first time is often 'simpler', and 'just flows naturally', likely because (and especially true if it was not planned) there are less expectations. The second time around, well there is the baggage of trying to live up to what came before. And like it or not, that bit of subconscious (or sometimes conscious) stress can change quite a bit.RopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago It might be hard, or even impossible to be swept away by the same carefree flood a second time, to do what we did without worrying about consequences and deeper meanings. The fact we'll- likely -never meet again is partly what made all that intimacy so easy.
But, who knows. For now I've got a whole host of memories, which, sometimes.
You take what is offered, and that must be enough.
I include the previous part for context, but that last line is a heavy one. Matter-of-fact on the surface, but so much left unsaid, implied instead. Sad, driving home everything else that she has mentioned/thought about the circumstances of her life until nowRopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago "Sure." Or Bob, and I'm- orphan, constantly shifting and changing living arrangements, several pages worth of meetings in my sixteen years -likely more used to adult interaction then most my age, but it still feels a little weird.
The forced familiarity with someone you barely know.
And of course the cliffhanger! I suspect we will be learning at least something about whatever entity seems to have been accompanying her (wllingly or not) all this time.
Or maybe it will be something else. Either way, excited to see where it goes!
Interlude.
Video file: B.B_SK_dM.00824B
[A room. Shelves line the visible walls, full of books, mostly thick and leather bound. Old, like the world map, oceans populated by drawn monsters, the continents yet to be properly shaped.]
[Sunlight lances down from an unseen window, and in the rooms centre a sofa and armchair, both plush dark blue fabric, flank a low wooden table. In the armchair, dead centre of the image, sits a man. Old, like the room, with a full head of white hair grown long and bound back into a tail, beard just on the trimmed side of becoming unkempt. Made skinny by the long years yet sitting straight, a wooden stick held firm and vertical between his legs. Dressed immaculately, the shirt, tie and uniform of a colonel in the British army. Hat resting on the table alongside a small black marble statue: a wolf, head lowered and hind quarters raised. Poised to pounce.]
[He stares into the camera, at you, in silence for almost a full minute. Pale grey eyes seeming to cross the distance and digital divide, as though he's actually able to see you.]
"Well." [Banging his stick against the carpeted floor.] "To business, then. My lawyers tell me. Promise me, that you're out there. Somewhere. But my doctors tell me I likely won't be here to meet you."
"Granddaughter. Grandso...." [Pausing, Scowling softening to an almost smile, shake of his head.] "No. I feel, here." [Tapping the tip of the stick to his breast.] "That it is granddaughter."
"I wish." [Sudden coughing fit, half doubling over and from the left a young lady in blue scrubs, a nurse, walks into frame. Only to be waved off by the old colonel.]
"Damned cancer." [Looking down in obvious distaste at the white handkerchief, now spotted with blood.] "I'm sorry, granddaughter. I tried. Please, whatever else, please believe that I tried, to find you. To reach you sooner. I wish with all my heart we'd discovered even the merest hint of you before. Just."
[Another bout of coughing, the colonel gratefully accepting a glass of water from the nurse: slim, black hair bound in the same fashion as his. Waving her back out of frame.]
"There's so much I want to tell you. Forgive an old man his memory. Read, there will be things you need to read. Things that will be hard for you to understand."
"But." [Glancing up, as though at something unseen, perhaps in another room.] "She means no harm. If you....." [Shaking his head.] "Choose. I am old now, it is not for me. But. Family runs deep." [Staring at the camera, imploring.] "If you choose."
"Cowards." [Shaking his bowed head.] "All of us cowards, and now it falls to you." [Looking up, grey eyes tear stained but unblinking.] "Granddaughter, I am sorry."
"I was the last. Now, you are the last. Living. Descendent. You are of my line, a de Montefort. Whatever name you have, whatever you are called. Cast it off. Be the wolf."
"Hunter, not hunted. That is our way, the de Montefort way. I only."
[Wiping at his eyes, head bowed for almost a full minute, fighting and eventually winning against emotion. Looking back up, steel in his eyes and voice.]
"Everything we are. Everything I am, I leave to you."
[Staring. Back straight, a proud pose.]
[File ends.]
Video file: B.B_SK_dM.00824B
[A room. Shelves line the visible walls, full of books, mostly thick and leather bound. Old, like the world map, oceans populated by drawn monsters, the continents yet to be properly shaped.]
[Sunlight lances down from an unseen window, and in the rooms centre a sofa and armchair, both plush dark blue fabric, flank a low wooden table. In the armchair, dead centre of the image, sits a man. Old, like the room, with a full head of white hair grown long and bound back into a tail, beard just on the trimmed side of becoming unkempt. Made skinny by the long years yet sitting straight, a wooden stick held firm and vertical between his legs. Dressed immaculately, the shirt, tie and uniform of a colonel in the British army. Hat resting on the table alongside a small black marble statue: a wolf, head lowered and hind quarters raised. Poised to pounce.]
[He stares into the camera, at you, in silence for almost a full minute. Pale grey eyes seeming to cross the distance and digital divide, as though he's actually able to see you.]
"Well." [Banging his stick against the carpeted floor.] "To business, then. My lawyers tell me. Promise me, that you're out there. Somewhere. But my doctors tell me I likely won't be here to meet you."
"Granddaughter. Grandso...." [Pausing, Scowling softening to an almost smile, shake of his head.] "No. I feel, here." [Tapping the tip of the stick to his breast.] "That it is granddaughter."
"I wish." [Sudden coughing fit, half doubling over and from the left a young lady in blue scrubs, a nurse, walks into frame. Only to be waved off by the old colonel.]
"Damned cancer." [Looking down in obvious distaste at the white handkerchief, now spotted with blood.] "I'm sorry, granddaughter. I tried. Please, whatever else, please believe that I tried, to find you. To reach you sooner. I wish with all my heart we'd discovered even the merest hint of you before. Just."
[Another bout of coughing, the colonel gratefully accepting a glass of water from the nurse: slim, black hair bound in the same fashion as his. Waving her back out of frame.]
"There's so much I want to tell you. Forgive an old man his memory. Read, there will be things you need to read. Things that will be hard for you to understand."
"But." [Glancing up, as though at something unseen, perhaps in another room.] "She means no harm. If you....." [Shaking his head.] "Choose. I am old now, it is not for me. But. Family runs deep." [Staring at the camera, imploring.] "If you choose."
"Cowards." [Shaking his bowed head.] "All of us cowards, and now it falls to you." [Looking up, grey eyes tear stained but unblinking.] "Granddaughter, I am sorry."
"I was the last. Now, you are the last. Living. Descendent. You are of my line, a de Montefort. Whatever name you have, whatever you are called. Cast it off. Be the wolf."
"Hunter, not hunted. That is our way, the de Montefort way. I only."
[Wiping at his eyes, head bowed for almost a full minute, fighting and eventually winning against emotion. Looking back up, steel in his eyes and voice.]
"Everything we are. Everything I am, I leave to you."
[Staring. Back straight, a proud pose.]
[File ends.]
008.
Past.
"There's paperwork, a mountain of signatures." Offering me an apologetic frown. "Back at the office, but." A shrug. "Couple of hours, wire the authorisation for your new account, answer any questions."
Having to pause at my barked laughter.
In order to have questions, I'd have to know anything. Anything that made actual sense anyway.
"And then I can drive you home."
"Home...?" Blinking at her, Sally, still not quite able to take it all in.
Was that really my.
Grandfather?
"To Lupin House." Nodding, laptop already folded, collecting her few papers together, everything back into it's pale blue folder, folder and laptop back into her black leather briefcase. "Ready?"
"I'm." Uanble to help the laugh, looking down at myself, picking at the blue v necked top. "Halfway through sports."
"Which I'm sure you don't need to finish. Hold on." Brief flashed smile, like I'm part of some secret. "Countess."
And. No, just. No. I can, not, see me getting used to that. Ever.
Stepping out of the headteachers office, and he'd willingly surrendered it to Sally and her corporate weight, which should've told me how this would play out.
"Okay." Stepping back in. "Go fetch your bag, and. Change?"
"Right." Wasn't planning on it, but I guess so.
"I'll be waiting out in the car park, Tempest?"
"Twenty minutes." Thinking. "I won't be long."
The changing room feels weird, being empty. Even after practice or a match there's other girls in here: laughing and talking, covering the awkwardness of being half naked in front of each other with words. But everyone's still out on the field, will be for almost a half hour more. So the large open space is quiet. Empty.
I thought.
Tiled floor and walls a creamy off yellow colour, almost white. The changing and shower area are one long rectangle, benches and hooks line the changing half walls, whilst the shower stalls are all lined up facing inwards, with toilet cubicles at the far end.
And I'm so distracted, everything swirling and chasing tails through my head that I don't realise until afterwards, toweling myself dry, that there's another shower running?
Has been running the whole time?
"Hello?" Confused, not worried or suspicious. But Mr Vickers doesn't send anyone in for early showers. If you misbehave you run laps, you don't get to leave. Naked, looking from the towel in my hands to the pile of clothes, to the closed- only now noticing the fact -shower stall, sound of cascading water within.
Right, I wrap myself in the towel, black but cheap, not especially fluffy, covering from armpits to upper thighs, and still dripping water, I investigate.
"Anyone?" Standing in front of the closed stall door. "Hello?"
"Dddgggsssrrffffffffffmm." Accompanied by what sounds like the metal water pipe being shaken.
What?
Giving the door a gentle, experimental push and it opens. Slightly, and I blink, looking down at the quite clearly in the red 'occupied' indicator.
Unless: someone shut the door, and using some kind of tool, or something, they somehow managed to slide the lock closed enough to register into occupied, and red on the dial, without actually locking it?
And most of the doors in here are stiff, so the door would naturally stick to the frame, appearing closed.
"I'm." Deep breath, no clue what I'm about to find, but. "I'm coming in."
After which I don't wait for a reply, positive or negative, before giving the door a hard kick, forcing it loose, swinging open to bang and stop against the side. Revealing.
"Fuck."
"Rrrsstttfffffppppmmmm."
Michelle. And, honestly I'd wondered where she was. Like me Michelle's on the team.
Go Knights.
And no, we don't mix off the field, she's a bully and I'm a sometime loner sometime pretend goth. Different worlds. But on the pitch she's our striker, the main thrust of multiple attacks whilst flanker me operates a form of protection and assistance.
She isn't even in sports kit. Kneeling, legs spread which has pushed her skirt up high enough to clearly show off white pants complete with a pink waistband and small same colour bow in the centre. Not exactly bully chic and I can't prevent the smile. Shirt pulled open low enough to show off the matching white and pink bra, lace cups and another central bow as detailing.
Michelle's been quite effectively, if I'm any judge, tied up, someone, or someones have used what looks like a whole roll of thick silver packing tape on her.
Legs secured and pinned as though turning her into a frog, bent double at the knees and tape wrapping thighs down to ankles, this tape a further reason her skirt is forced up. Michelle's arms have been raised above her head, wrists crossed behind the vertical metal water pipe that splits off from the horizontal one, which runs the rooms length. There's a fairly high bracket, and she's been secured above it, forcing her to stretch since the leg bindings prevent Michelle rising any higher.
More tape wrapping her mouth, wrapped all the way around her head, multiple times, hair plastered down.
Added to everything she's been quite deliberately positioned and then left under the flow of lukewarm water, not exactly hot or comfortable yet not cold. Michelle's entirely soaked, skin and hair, clothing her blue shirt and white bra gone transparent, nipples plainly visible.
And I pointedly do not look down, at her pants because I know exactly what I'll see if I do.
"Dddsssrrr mmmnnpppff tttrrsssssff." Screaming at me, breaking the spell. Water pipe rattling some more as Michelle shakes herself at me. Raging.
Worse when I laugh.
"Sorry." Taking a breath which doesn't help, can't seem to wipe off the smile. "It's just. It's you." Gesturing at her, signing my own death warrant by laughing a second time. "And you're all wet."
"Dddrrrsssstttmmmmm."
"Right." Covering my mouth. "Sorry. Um." I'm totally not sorry, at all. "It's just." Staring, and Michelle stares back. Daggers and hate and rage, which I don't notice.
"Who bullies a bully?"
"Fffgggdddd sssmmmtttrr." More rattling and it's a wonder she hasn't broken the pipe clean off the wall by now. Muffled words but obviously cursing. "Tttggdddmm gggfffr-"
"-But you look so cute though." Not thinking, but Michelle goes still. Blinks.
Silence which lasts approximately five seconds. Or a lifetime.
"Dddggghhhffffffmmmmnnnnpppptttssss." Bouncing herself, shaking the pipe and glaring at me. Soaking wet and furious, a bully not accustomed to losing.
But.
"I can't." Fighting to be rid of the smile, failing. Failing too in my doomed bid not to stare. "I don't have anything to cut the tape. Chelle."
"Pppffftttt mmmrrrsssgggnn." Staring back at me, very pointedly shaking only her wrists.
Help. Me. Now.
Luckily something inside still works, isn't drinking in the sight of Michelle, because: Sally, outside and waiting. Surely she carries something sharp around in that briefcase? Because otherwise it's a teacher, and I'm guessing Michelle doesn't want that.
"Right. I'll be back." A nod, closing the door on Michelle's scream of protest. Because I haven't freed her, haven't even turned the water off.
And I'm probably going to pay for that.
I dress, pants and- normal plunge -bra, blue shirt and black skirt. White Adidas since I'm not staying in school. Bag packed but left behind and I jog, out the sports hall door and around the outside of the school complex, to the car park.
Finding Sally talking on her phone, leaning against the bonnet of something white and low slung, but with the shape of a family car. Sporty but not a sports car.
"Scissors."
"What?" Taking the phone away from her ear, blinking at me. "Tempest?"
"Or a knife." Holding out one hand. "Please."
"Right...?" Frowning but digging in her briefcase, handing over a small flip knife, dark wooden handle. Looks expensive.
Back to the changing rooms, everyone else still visible on the field as I jog passed. Lucky. Straight to the one closed shower door, and with a hard shove it swings open on Michelle, still- I hadn't expected otherwise -tape bound and gagged, soaked.
"Fffggggdddsssmmmnnn." No longer screaming, remaining still but her muffled words still sound somewhat like a curse as I lean in, shutting off the water.
Kneeling, socks and lower legs getting wet, eye to eye with her now, Michelle's going wide, her body going very still as I bring up the knife, flipping out the- seems so much longer then it possibly could be -blade.
Gentle.
Careful.
Sliding the metal blade, glinting as it catches the overheads, easing the tip, and further in, between skin and tape. Michelle's cheek and she's barely even breathing, body statue like as I saw, up and down and in and pressing against the tape. Leaning in close, making damn sure I'm not catching skin, alert for the telltale flash of red.
Slicing through layers, and finally breaking out the other side. Knife down and using my fingers to prise and slowly rip the tape off Michelle's face, still leaning in, bodies close almost touching. Paying attention to the work in hand, tape removed and I let it fall, leaning in, missing the movement.
Sudden pressure, Michelle's lips on mine and it feels like a release of tension. Like a form of surrender. Helpless, still, and perhaps showing gratitude for her rescue.
And I'm kissing her back automatically, hand reaching out to cup her face, running fingers through her wet hair.
"No." Forcing myself to stop, to back off. "It's."
Words cut off by more kisses, Michelle basically lunging- as much as she's able -at me, forcing her lips onto mine. Again.
"No." More forceful, taking hold of her hair, yanking, pulling Michelle off me.
Probably going to pay for that, too.
"Everyone will be here any moment." Living in the moment, a flood of dominance and I take hold of her breast, squeezing and twisting. Harshly enough to make Michelle cry out, something like a whimper.
"I'm." Looking down at the floor. "Sorry. Bob."
"Just," taking a deep breath, forcing myself back to the light before I do something else, something worse, "let me get you free."
"Yes." Voice small, the submissive to my Dominant. "Sorry."
Manging to make short work of her wrists, and frog tied legs, after which I help Michelle stand, hold her steady, legs shaking and a couple of small wobbles, after which she straightens.
Seeming okay, clearly evidenced by the rapidly forming scowl growing like a storm cloud on her face, turning towards me.
"If you. Ev-"
"Look." Grabbing up my bag. "You'll have to threaten me some other time. Chelle." Stepping towards her, not at all surprised when she steps to the side, blocking my path.
I sigh.
"I. Need to go." Looking her in the eye. "So, can we maybe do this." Small smile, from somewhere, flitting across my face. "Whatever it is, can we save it for another time? Please."
Staring at me, from inches away. And for the second time I'm not watching for, am caught unawares by her sudden movement: grabbing a handful of my hair, yanking, pressing my face forwards and meeting it with hers. Pinning me to her, kissing me.
Fucking, again.
But harshly, doing to me as I'd done to her. Pushing and forcing, burrowing one hand up inside my shirt, finding a bra covered breast and squeezing, applying pressure, and more. My turn to gasp and whimper, mid kiss.
Michelle letting me go and stepping back, smile large across her face and she clearly thinks the scales have been- slightly if not more so -evened out.
"Go. Then." Jerk of her head. "I'll settle up with you later."
Eye contact that, for whole seconds feels impossible to break. Like an electrical current running between us. Until I blink, nod, and breathing hard- noticing Michelle doing likewise -I escape.
Back to Sally.
Who drives me into and through the suburbs, to a business district and a modern tower block, fifteen stories of glass and steel, the top three occupied by Borg and Black.
"Grunts on thirteen." Making conversation as we ride the lift up, as though I were a prospective client instead of already in. "Meeting rooms and various upper middle staff on fourteen, partners up in the clouds, looking down."
"And you're on?"
"Fourteen." Flashing me a smile. "For now," shrugging, "girl can dream."
"True."
"Here." Lift pinging, slowing. Doors opening with a mostly silent rumble.
And it appears Sally isn't doing too badly, corner office, though it isn't huge, and she doesn't have a personal secretary. But she does have privacy, blinds she can and does lower, a door she closes and given how many looks I've attracted crossing just this one office floor, I'm grateful.
Foreshadowing: those looks, the attention, I'm just too blown away by it all to realise.
She's patient with me, which is as well because everything is new, everything is unexpected and like nothing I've ever dealt with before.
Paperwork: forms to read and sign, for Sally to scan and email off, both of us waiting for the reply and I find myself often pacing the confines of her office that long crazy, dreamlike afternoon. Sally has a telescope on a tripod in the corner, angled down onto the street below. I look through whilst waiting, some suit in some government office reading through the completed forms.
Sending back rubberstamped confirmation, those that matter are satisfied with Borg and Blacks proof, with the paperchain linking me back and back, DNA, other sources.
A thickening folder, for me and the first batch of printed sheets added testify, legally, to my title and claim.
Countess Tempest de Montefort.
Which, the first time anyone- Sally -says it out loud I laugh, full of crazy humour until I see her face, the seriousness, the sudden unearned but given respect for a lady of my station.
Fuck.
Following which, the first issue, Sally spends close to an hour with the bank, frequently either putting them or having herself placed on hold, to send or receive documents, more stuff to read and to sign.
I spend the time practicing my new, freshly worked out and now one hundred percent legal and real signature, a thing of loops and curls: T de Montefort.
It doesn't feel real.
Finally the bank must feel they've wasted enough of our time, that we've jumped the hoops and danced to their tune, because the next sheaf of papers Sally adds to my folder are those transferring the de Montefort family accounts over to me, the last de Montefort, and therefore sole beneficiary.
I am, suddenly, rich. Eight figure rich, and that's only what sits in the various accounts, not including assets and shares.
"Right." Stretching. "And, well...." Covering a yawn, the appearance of which sets my own off. Eyes feeling heavy, weighed down.
"Let's get you home."
"Really?" Instantly perking up, is it over? "But what about?" Waving a hand at Sally's desk, and beside the folder I'm taking sit two more, thick things with 'de Montefort. History.' clearly printed across the front.
"Those." Shiver chasing across her shoulders, for some reason? It isn't cold. Glancing from the folders to me, then for some reason upstairs, as though peering through the roof at the partners above.
"They'll keep."
"Okay." Too tired, don't care.
Obviously I do, care, about the no doubt long and colourful history of this bloodline I've just discovered myself a part of.
I just can't bring the energy to care right now.
It isn't as though anything in those two folders is so urgent as to affect me having a quick explore and then sleeping my first night at my new home.
Right?
Past.
"There's paperwork, a mountain of signatures." Offering me an apologetic frown. "Back at the office, but." A shrug. "Couple of hours, wire the authorisation for your new account, answer any questions."
Having to pause at my barked laughter.
In order to have questions, I'd have to know anything. Anything that made actual sense anyway.
"And then I can drive you home."
"Home...?" Blinking at her, Sally, still not quite able to take it all in.
Was that really my.
Grandfather?
"To Lupin House." Nodding, laptop already folded, collecting her few papers together, everything back into it's pale blue folder, folder and laptop back into her black leather briefcase. "Ready?"
"I'm." Uanble to help the laugh, looking down at myself, picking at the blue v necked top. "Halfway through sports."
"Which I'm sure you don't need to finish. Hold on." Brief flashed smile, like I'm part of some secret. "Countess."
And. No, just. No. I can, not, see me getting used to that. Ever.
Stepping out of the headteachers office, and he'd willingly surrendered it to Sally and her corporate weight, which should've told me how this would play out.
"Okay." Stepping back in. "Go fetch your bag, and. Change?"
"Right." Wasn't planning on it, but I guess so.
"I'll be waiting out in the car park, Tempest?"
"Twenty minutes." Thinking. "I won't be long."
The changing room feels weird, being empty. Even after practice or a match there's other girls in here: laughing and talking, covering the awkwardness of being half naked in front of each other with words. But everyone's still out on the field, will be for almost a half hour more. So the large open space is quiet. Empty.
I thought.
Tiled floor and walls a creamy off yellow colour, almost white. The changing and shower area are one long rectangle, benches and hooks line the changing half walls, whilst the shower stalls are all lined up facing inwards, with toilet cubicles at the far end.
And I'm so distracted, everything swirling and chasing tails through my head that I don't realise until afterwards, toweling myself dry, that there's another shower running?
Has been running the whole time?
"Hello?" Confused, not worried or suspicious. But Mr Vickers doesn't send anyone in for early showers. If you misbehave you run laps, you don't get to leave. Naked, looking from the towel in my hands to the pile of clothes, to the closed- only now noticing the fact -shower stall, sound of cascading water within.
Right, I wrap myself in the towel, black but cheap, not especially fluffy, covering from armpits to upper thighs, and still dripping water, I investigate.
"Anyone?" Standing in front of the closed stall door. "Hello?"
"Dddgggsssrrffffffffffmm." Accompanied by what sounds like the metal water pipe being shaken.
What?
Giving the door a gentle, experimental push and it opens. Slightly, and I blink, looking down at the quite clearly in the red 'occupied' indicator.
Unless: someone shut the door, and using some kind of tool, or something, they somehow managed to slide the lock closed enough to register into occupied, and red on the dial, without actually locking it?
And most of the doors in here are stiff, so the door would naturally stick to the frame, appearing closed.
"I'm." Deep breath, no clue what I'm about to find, but. "I'm coming in."
After which I don't wait for a reply, positive or negative, before giving the door a hard kick, forcing it loose, swinging open to bang and stop against the side. Revealing.
"Fuck."
"Rrrsstttfffffppppmmmm."
Michelle. And, honestly I'd wondered where she was. Like me Michelle's on the team.
Go Knights.
And no, we don't mix off the field, she's a bully and I'm a sometime loner sometime pretend goth. Different worlds. But on the pitch she's our striker, the main thrust of multiple attacks whilst flanker me operates a form of protection and assistance.
She isn't even in sports kit. Kneeling, legs spread which has pushed her skirt up high enough to clearly show off white pants complete with a pink waistband and small same colour bow in the centre. Not exactly bully chic and I can't prevent the smile. Shirt pulled open low enough to show off the matching white and pink bra, lace cups and another central bow as detailing.
Michelle's been quite effectively, if I'm any judge, tied up, someone, or someones have used what looks like a whole roll of thick silver packing tape on her.
Legs secured and pinned as though turning her into a frog, bent double at the knees and tape wrapping thighs down to ankles, this tape a further reason her skirt is forced up. Michelle's arms have been raised above her head, wrists crossed behind the vertical metal water pipe that splits off from the horizontal one, which runs the rooms length. There's a fairly high bracket, and she's been secured above it, forcing her to stretch since the leg bindings prevent Michelle rising any higher.
More tape wrapping her mouth, wrapped all the way around her head, multiple times, hair plastered down.
Added to everything she's been quite deliberately positioned and then left under the flow of lukewarm water, not exactly hot or comfortable yet not cold. Michelle's entirely soaked, skin and hair, clothing her blue shirt and white bra gone transparent, nipples plainly visible.
And I pointedly do not look down, at her pants because I know exactly what I'll see if I do.
"Dddsssrrr mmmnnpppff tttrrsssssff." Screaming at me, breaking the spell. Water pipe rattling some more as Michelle shakes herself at me. Raging.
Worse when I laugh.
"Sorry." Taking a breath which doesn't help, can't seem to wipe off the smile. "It's just. It's you." Gesturing at her, signing my own death warrant by laughing a second time. "And you're all wet."
"Dddrrrsssstttmmmmm."
"Right." Covering my mouth. "Sorry. Um." I'm totally not sorry, at all. "It's just." Staring, and Michelle stares back. Daggers and hate and rage, which I don't notice.
"Who bullies a bully?"
"Fffgggdddd sssmmmtttrr." More rattling and it's a wonder she hasn't broken the pipe clean off the wall by now. Muffled words but obviously cursing. "Tttggdddmm gggfffr-"
"-But you look so cute though." Not thinking, but Michelle goes still. Blinks.
Silence which lasts approximately five seconds. Or a lifetime.
"Dddggghhhffffffmmmmnnnnpppptttssss." Bouncing herself, shaking the pipe and glaring at me. Soaking wet and furious, a bully not accustomed to losing.
But.
"I can't." Fighting to be rid of the smile, failing. Failing too in my doomed bid not to stare. "I don't have anything to cut the tape. Chelle."
"Pppffftttt mmmrrrsssgggnn." Staring back at me, very pointedly shaking only her wrists.
Help. Me. Now.
Luckily something inside still works, isn't drinking in the sight of Michelle, because: Sally, outside and waiting. Surely she carries something sharp around in that briefcase? Because otherwise it's a teacher, and I'm guessing Michelle doesn't want that.
"Right. I'll be back." A nod, closing the door on Michelle's scream of protest. Because I haven't freed her, haven't even turned the water off.
And I'm probably going to pay for that.
I dress, pants and- normal plunge -bra, blue shirt and black skirt. White Adidas since I'm not staying in school. Bag packed but left behind and I jog, out the sports hall door and around the outside of the school complex, to the car park.
Finding Sally talking on her phone, leaning against the bonnet of something white and low slung, but with the shape of a family car. Sporty but not a sports car.
"Scissors."
"What?" Taking the phone away from her ear, blinking at me. "Tempest?"
"Or a knife." Holding out one hand. "Please."
"Right...?" Frowning but digging in her briefcase, handing over a small flip knife, dark wooden handle. Looks expensive.
Back to the changing rooms, everyone else still visible on the field as I jog passed. Lucky. Straight to the one closed shower door, and with a hard shove it swings open on Michelle, still- I hadn't expected otherwise -tape bound and gagged, soaked.
"Fffggggdddsssmmmnnn." No longer screaming, remaining still but her muffled words still sound somewhat like a curse as I lean in, shutting off the water.
Kneeling, socks and lower legs getting wet, eye to eye with her now, Michelle's going wide, her body going very still as I bring up the knife, flipping out the- seems so much longer then it possibly could be -blade.
Gentle.
Careful.
Sliding the metal blade, glinting as it catches the overheads, easing the tip, and further in, between skin and tape. Michelle's cheek and she's barely even breathing, body statue like as I saw, up and down and in and pressing against the tape. Leaning in close, making damn sure I'm not catching skin, alert for the telltale flash of red.
Slicing through layers, and finally breaking out the other side. Knife down and using my fingers to prise and slowly rip the tape off Michelle's face, still leaning in, bodies close almost touching. Paying attention to the work in hand, tape removed and I let it fall, leaning in, missing the movement.
Sudden pressure, Michelle's lips on mine and it feels like a release of tension. Like a form of surrender. Helpless, still, and perhaps showing gratitude for her rescue.
And I'm kissing her back automatically, hand reaching out to cup her face, running fingers through her wet hair.
"No." Forcing myself to stop, to back off. "It's."
Words cut off by more kisses, Michelle basically lunging- as much as she's able -at me, forcing her lips onto mine. Again.
"No." More forceful, taking hold of her hair, yanking, pulling Michelle off me.
Probably going to pay for that, too.
"Everyone will be here any moment." Living in the moment, a flood of dominance and I take hold of her breast, squeezing and twisting. Harshly enough to make Michelle cry out, something like a whimper.
"I'm." Looking down at the floor. "Sorry. Bob."
"Just," taking a deep breath, forcing myself back to the light before I do something else, something worse, "let me get you free."
"Yes." Voice small, the submissive to my Dominant. "Sorry."
Manging to make short work of her wrists, and frog tied legs, after which I help Michelle stand, hold her steady, legs shaking and a couple of small wobbles, after which she straightens.
Seeming okay, clearly evidenced by the rapidly forming scowl growing like a storm cloud on her face, turning towards me.
"If you. Ev-"
"Look." Grabbing up my bag. "You'll have to threaten me some other time. Chelle." Stepping towards her, not at all surprised when she steps to the side, blocking my path.
I sigh.
"I. Need to go." Looking her in the eye. "So, can we maybe do this." Small smile, from somewhere, flitting across my face. "Whatever it is, can we save it for another time? Please."
Staring at me, from inches away. And for the second time I'm not watching for, am caught unawares by her sudden movement: grabbing a handful of my hair, yanking, pressing my face forwards and meeting it with hers. Pinning me to her, kissing me.
Fucking, again.
But harshly, doing to me as I'd done to her. Pushing and forcing, burrowing one hand up inside my shirt, finding a bra covered breast and squeezing, applying pressure, and more. My turn to gasp and whimper, mid kiss.
Michelle letting me go and stepping back, smile large across her face and she clearly thinks the scales have been- slightly if not more so -evened out.
"Go. Then." Jerk of her head. "I'll settle up with you later."
Eye contact that, for whole seconds feels impossible to break. Like an electrical current running between us. Until I blink, nod, and breathing hard- noticing Michelle doing likewise -I escape.
Back to Sally.
Who drives me into and through the suburbs, to a business district and a modern tower block, fifteen stories of glass and steel, the top three occupied by Borg and Black.
"Grunts on thirteen." Making conversation as we ride the lift up, as though I were a prospective client instead of already in. "Meeting rooms and various upper middle staff on fourteen, partners up in the clouds, looking down."
"And you're on?"
"Fourteen." Flashing me a smile. "For now," shrugging, "girl can dream."
"True."
"Here." Lift pinging, slowing. Doors opening with a mostly silent rumble.
And it appears Sally isn't doing too badly, corner office, though it isn't huge, and she doesn't have a personal secretary. But she does have privacy, blinds she can and does lower, a door she closes and given how many looks I've attracted crossing just this one office floor, I'm grateful.
Foreshadowing: those looks, the attention, I'm just too blown away by it all to realise.
She's patient with me, which is as well because everything is new, everything is unexpected and like nothing I've ever dealt with before.
Paperwork: forms to read and sign, for Sally to scan and email off, both of us waiting for the reply and I find myself often pacing the confines of her office that long crazy, dreamlike afternoon. Sally has a telescope on a tripod in the corner, angled down onto the street below. I look through whilst waiting, some suit in some government office reading through the completed forms.
Sending back rubberstamped confirmation, those that matter are satisfied with Borg and Blacks proof, with the paperchain linking me back and back, DNA, other sources.
A thickening folder, for me and the first batch of printed sheets added testify, legally, to my title and claim.
Countess Tempest de Montefort.
Which, the first time anyone- Sally -says it out loud I laugh, full of crazy humour until I see her face, the seriousness, the sudden unearned but given respect for a lady of my station.
Fuck.
Following which, the first issue, Sally spends close to an hour with the bank, frequently either putting them or having herself placed on hold, to send or receive documents, more stuff to read and to sign.
I spend the time practicing my new, freshly worked out and now one hundred percent legal and real signature, a thing of loops and curls: T de Montefort.
It doesn't feel real.
Finally the bank must feel they've wasted enough of our time, that we've jumped the hoops and danced to their tune, because the next sheaf of papers Sally adds to my folder are those transferring the de Montefort family accounts over to me, the last de Montefort, and therefore sole beneficiary.
I am, suddenly, rich. Eight figure rich, and that's only what sits in the various accounts, not including assets and shares.
"Right." Stretching. "And, well...." Covering a yawn, the appearance of which sets my own off. Eyes feeling heavy, weighed down.
"Let's get you home."
"Really?" Instantly perking up, is it over? "But what about?" Waving a hand at Sally's desk, and beside the folder I'm taking sit two more, thick things with 'de Montefort. History.' clearly printed across the front.
"Those." Shiver chasing across her shoulders, for some reason? It isn't cold. Glancing from the folders to me, then for some reason upstairs, as though peering through the roof at the partners above.
"They'll keep."
"Okay." Too tired, don't care.
Obviously I do, care, about the no doubt long and colourful history of this bloodline I've just discovered myself a part of.
I just can't bring the energy to care right now.
It isn't as though anything in those two folders is so urgent as to affect me having a quick explore and then sleeping my first night at my new home.
Right?
-
BlissfulMisery
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 365
- Joined: 3 years ago
Ah. Well. That certainly answers a lot to anyone in the know
Wonder if Lucille will make a return in this story. Or if whatever is going on is some entirely other type of family curse/secret.
Quite the tone shift in just a pair of words!RopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago The changing room feels weird, being empty. Even after practice or a match there's other girls in here: laughing and talking, covering the awkwardness of being half naked in front of each other with words. But everyone's still out on the field, will be for almost a half hour more. So the large open space is quiet. Empty.
I thought.
Surprisingly tense for what is essentially cutting through tape (not that it is 'wrong', obviously using a knife for something like this is not to be taken lightly).RopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago Kneeling, socks and lower legs getting wet, eye to eye with her now, Michelle's going wide, her body going very still as I bring up the knife, flipping out the- seems so much longer then it possibly could be -blade.
Gentle.
Careful.
Sliding the metal blade, glinting as it catches the overheads, easing the tip, and further in, between skin and tape. Michelle's cheek and she's barely even breathing, body statue like as I saw, up and down and in and pressing against the tape. Leaning in close, making damn sure I'm not catching skin, alert for the telltale flash of red.
It is also interesting how she constantly thinks to herself that she is 'going to pay for that' (not freeing Michelle fast enough ect), as if her life has not just been flipped upside down. Not a strange reaction - likely it does not quite seem real to her, and it is quite normal to cling to... well normality when our understanding of our place in the world is shaken.
Overall quite the strange encounter with Michelle - raises a lot of questions as to how she ended up that way, and where this back and forth/push-and-pull dynamic between her and Tempest is going/will end up.
Or maybe it was just a one-off 'TUG quota' type of addition and I am way overthinking it
Regardless of where (if anywhere) it ends up going, was a great scene - very psychological.
RopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago Obviously I do, care, about the no doubt long and colourful history of this bloodline I've just discovered myself a part of.
I just can't bring the energy to care right now.
It isn't as though anything in those two folders is so urgent as to affect me having a quick explore and then sleeping my first night at my new home.
Right?
I suspect she is going to come to regret those oh so foreshadowing words.BlissfulMisery wrote: 1 month ago
Or maybe it was just a one-off 'TUG quota' type of addition and I am way overthinking it
TUG quota, love it. A brilliant phrase, and true. I won't comment specifically regards the wider implications of this TUG, of course, but yes, there are numerous occasions in all my stories on the site where I'll drop in a TUG which doesn't entirely need to be there, something the story doesn't require but also, because this is a TUGs board, it kinda does.IndeedBlissfulMisery wrote: 1 month agoAh. Well. That certainly answers a lot to anyone in the know
Wonder if Lucille will make a return in this story. Or if whatever is going on is some entirely other type of family curse/secret.
It's the recurring premise (de Montefort, and everything I've ever associated with it through something like 3 failed attempts now) that I can't seem to nail down and stick with, can't seem to finish despite always entering with what I feel is a brilliant story layout.
Fingers crossed then, no pressure
I suspect you're right....BlissfulMisery wrote: 1 month ago
Aiming for a buildup here, little future (present, those chapters set in the present) hints and eventually we'll catch up with the Tempest who does, now, know everything.
Or thinks she does, perhaps
009.
Present.
"I'm sorry. Tempest."
"Yeah." Exhaling loudly. "So am I."
Back in Lester's office, school uniform on, sports bag packed. Because I'm leaving.
No choice. Having woken to discover all eight of the other girls in the dorm, ranging in age from eleven to eighteen, bound either to or on their beds. Gagged.
I'd dressed, packed. Calm, breathe, walking myself to Lester's office and.
Well.
No.
Not quite.
I owe- you -myself the truth.
Waking after a good night's sleep, stretching eyes still closed, knowing yes it is a school day, but surely I can have five minutes of calm first?
No.
Eyes jerked open, sitting up too fast, head swimming briefly. Sound of moaning filling the world and an impossible sight filling the room: eight girls, the rest of the dorm all of them bound and gagged.
Three hogtied. Two spread and stretched X like across their beds. One forced into a ball, legs bent and arms pinned down between them. One mummified in tape. And the final, eighth girl bound into a truly uncomfortable- yet thrilling and I can't help storing the sight away for later inspiration -shape, kneeling and bent over backwards.
All the girls are ballgagged, and thank fuck all are clothed in some fashion: onesies, bra and pants, baggy shorts and a vest top or simply an oversized tee.
Moaning, struggling and fighting. Useless, and all of them looking to me with anger or hope, cursing me and pleading with me in equal measure, all of it lost to the gags.
Looking, staring at it all and feeling my own emotions rise. Anger making me bold.
"Where are you." Screaming at the wall mounted full length mirror I'd so carefully ignored last night. "You fuck, sho-"
Behind me and I've stalked into the rooms centre, and there in the mirror, and actually there for- ha -real when I turn.
The lady from the cage.
"But...." Anger drained, wilted under that grey eyed gaze, the same shade as grandfather's. The same shade as mine.
Confusion in it's place. "You can't leave?"
Shaking her head, smiling and drifting slowly closer and.
Jumping.
Suddenly right in front of me hand out to cup my face. Gentle. Caring, and I can feel the connection, like warmth.
"Anywhere I go...."
I can go. She mouths back.
Present.
"I'm sorry. Tempest."
"Yeah." Exhaling loudly. "So am I."
Back in Lester's office, school uniform on, sports bag packed. Because I'm leaving.
No choice. Having woken to discover all eight of the other girls in the dorm, ranging in age from eleven to eighteen, bound either to or on their beds. Gagged.
I'd dressed, packed. Calm, breathe, walking myself to Lester's office and.
Well.
No.
Not quite.
I owe- you -myself the truth.
Waking after a good night's sleep, stretching eyes still closed, knowing yes it is a school day, but surely I can have five minutes of calm first?
No.
Eyes jerked open, sitting up too fast, head swimming briefly. Sound of moaning filling the world and an impossible sight filling the room: eight girls, the rest of the dorm all of them bound and gagged.
Three hogtied. Two spread and stretched X like across their beds. One forced into a ball, legs bent and arms pinned down between them. One mummified in tape. And the final, eighth girl bound into a truly uncomfortable- yet thrilling and I can't help storing the sight away for later inspiration -shape, kneeling and bent over backwards.
All the girls are ballgagged, and thank fuck all are clothed in some fashion: onesies, bra and pants, baggy shorts and a vest top or simply an oversized tee.
Moaning, struggling and fighting. Useless, and all of them looking to me with anger or hope, cursing me and pleading with me in equal measure, all of it lost to the gags.
Looking, staring at it all and feeling my own emotions rise. Anger making me bold.
"Where are you." Screaming at the wall mounted full length mirror I'd so carefully ignored last night. "You fuck, sho-"
Behind me and I've stalked into the rooms centre, and there in the mirror, and actually there for- ha -real when I turn.
The lady from the cage.
"But...." Anger drained, wilted under that grey eyed gaze, the same shade as grandfather's. The same shade as mine.
Confusion in it's place. "You can't leave?"
Shaking her head, smiling and drifting slowly closer and.
Jumping.
Suddenly right in front of me hand out to cup my face. Gentle. Caring, and I can feel the connection, like warmth.
"Anywhere I go...."
I can go. She mouths back.
010.
Past.
Sally phones ahead, negotiating the stop start, stop and mostly stop, the crawl of London at rush hour.
Somewhere in Greenwich? Or the borough next door, my exact London geography isn't perfect. Far enough away though, regardless, that I'll need two, possibly three changes on the underground to reach school and my- old -life. Worrying enough that I ask.
"Will I have to change schools?"
"Do you," huffing at a taxi, ruthlessly cutting off our access despite some kind of yellow box, cage like and I think that means keep clear?
"Do you want to transfer?"
"No."
"You could go private." Glancing at me, small smile, possibly encouragement. "Some very highly rated schools in the vicinity. Top rate education."
"I guess." Thinking, still tired and the sudden influx of funds, that I could literally do anything. Any, thing. It's all quite jarring, and crazy to the point I'm forever forcing back a laugh.
"Maybe I'll save that for college." A shrug. "I'm close to exams, to leaving anyway. So...."
Letting my thoughts trail off, Sally nodding as though she can hear them anyway. Too much potential disruption in leaving, plus those few friendships I've made. Plus the team.
Go- and I could buy them or sponsor them or force everyone to wear tiny pink bikinis even Michelle or -Knights.
"Something funny, Tempest?"
"What. Um." Hand over my mouth, smile leaking out. "No, sorry."
Watching the shift and play, the mostly lack of either. Lapsing into silence and Sally finds something on the radio, background filler, time passing.
"Here."
"Really?"
"Just there." Pointing, high gates of dark metal, topped by spikes and flanked by taller stone pillars, an imposing wall sprouting from each, marking the boundary. Atop each pillar a grey stone wolf sits on hind legs, angled to stare down.
Judging.
On the right, as we're parked facing the gates, and set just inside the wall sits a two story structure, grey stone and roughly comparable in size to an average house. It looks lived in, curtains open, shadowed hint of bookcases and a flatscreen visible through the closest window.
"Here." Handing me a scrap of paper, clearly prepared earlier, six scrawled digits. "There's an intercom for visitors, might as well get used to seeing yourself in though."
"Right?" Unsure, beyond the gate I can see parkland, the gentle slope of a hill and scattered trees the entrance road cutting through. No sign of a house.
There's a security camera mounted high on a post, a half dozen feet inside the fence and next to the gatehouse, pointed down to observe the gate and I feel watched, judged not only by the wolf guardians of my new family, tapping in the digits.
Messing up. Tired, but succeeding at the second attempt, the gates clicking and swinging slowing inwards, opening by way of splitting down the centre, allowing Sally to drive inside, stopping to pick me back up and I can see the sensors placed either side of the road: to automatically open them for egress, and to ensure the gates only close once the entrance is clear.
Crunch of gravel under her tyres, driving slowly and it's impossible, this oasis of apparent calm so close to central London, and likely there are many more: gated buildings or hidden estates. The road runs valley like between and through the low hills of grass and occasional shade, a large pond, almost lake like as everything dips back down but by that point all my attention has been stolen, along with my breath, by the house.
Lupin House, Sally had said, because as the old man- grandfather -had said: hunter, not hunted.
"Be the wolf."
"What's that." Glancing at me as she eases to a stop on the large gravelled circle out front, like a roundabout with only the one access road. "Tempest?"
"Nothing."
Completely hidden from the road, those low hills and that high wall, the distance from road to house no doubt a factor too. Grey stone walls, a blend of shades across the imposing looking structure, tall pointed roof the same pallete, topped by several low chimneys, two of which currently expelling gentle drifts of smoke. A distinct centre and wings, east and west and the house rising taller at the wing, whilst at the front steps lead to a covered entrance, dark wooden double doors with black metal detailing.
The doors, one door, opening as we step out of Sally's car, two people stepping out and advancing to greet us: Him, early thirties and a rugby players build, bulk and muscle, clean shaven with spiked messy brown hair. Tall. Wearing blue jeans over black workman's boots and a dark blue lightweight waterproof beneath which a grey tee is untucked.
And, her: older, but only by a handful of years. Slim with a small chest and dyed purple hair tied back off a pretty face, a nice smile. Black camouflage leggings and a tight white tee through which I can clearly see the shape of her bra cups, a black hoodie worn unzipped.
Peter and Florence. The estates groundskeeper slash one man maintenance team, and chef slash cleaner.
"The Count preferred minimal staff." A shrug. "Any big jobs that come up, we hire in on a temporary basis, otherwise it's just us, and a van that comes on Wednesdays to help with the weekly full clean."
"Well...." Am I meant, supposed, to make some form of decision? Here, now? "Okay." I nod, finding a smile when Florence smiles, Peter nodding.
"We're minutes away, anyway." Pulling out and offering me a folded paper, both thier names and mobile numbers. "The de Montefort estate has always kept the gatehouse for staff."
"Converted." Peter. "There's an upstairs downstairs split, two separate apartments."
"Right." Great, because suddenly I'm feeling awfully alone, as a girl- orphan -who grew up permanently sharing a bedroom with at least two others, if not a dozen. And now I'm staring up, and up, at this tall stone ancient house, a cavernous looking thing and inside will be.
Just.
Me.
"I'll. Um." Thinking. "Can I WhatsApp you both, later, so you've got mine too?"
"WhatsApp?" Amusement flitting across her face. "Definitely going to be some changes under you." A small nod and an actual curtsey, respectful. "Countess."
"Yes." Squirming slightly, strange to have someone possibly twice my age talking to me as though I- sort of -own them.
There's more said, brief helpful comments on such things as heating controls- apparently for an old building it has some nicely modern internals -and what preprepared food Florence has left in the fridge.
Sally offers to stay, but I can hear it in her voice: places she'd rather be, or needs to be. She's off the clock no doubt, and besides I'm a big girl.
I can go exploring alone.
Waving them all off, the folder, phone numbers slipped inside and the folder itself slipped inside my school bag. Keys in hand I turn to face Lupin House.
Home.
I'm going to have to draw a map. It isn't hard, or terribly complex: two stories across the larger middle section, rising to three on each wing. The entrance hall alone would accommodate, space wise, enough square metre area for a decent house. Cavernous, with sweeping staircases left and right.
"Fuck. Me." I find myself whispering, too many times to count.
The wolf is a recurring theme, placed at the bottom of those main curving bannisters, clawed feet on the bathtub in the master ensuite, water that cascades from an open teeth filled maw. Banners too, and weapons, both featuring often throughout, and I get the distinct impression at least some of both were taken by force.
Spoils of various historical victories.
The map isn't because the house is too big, it isn't even particularly maze like. I need a map simply because I know it's going to be im-fucking-possible, at least at first, to remember which room is which.
Is the only flatscreen in the house in the east, or west wing? For instance. Because there are, not including the industrial sized conservatory at the back, three whole rooms just for relaxing in.
Rich people's problems- laughing as I consider this -am I right?
So many bedrooms I give up counting. Ten? Becoming constantly distracted by everything, every little detail. Countless lives lived, mementos collected and displayed from those various banners and weapons.
Full suit of traditional Samurai armour arranged mannequin like next to an equally impressive suit of English plate.
To artwork, various framed oil renditions of battles or landscapes.
What looks to be a genuine nameplate off- at a guess -a steam locomotive, black with silver edging and 'de Montefort' across the centre. Looks old, hanging behind the desk in the- my -study. Which is in desperate need of an actual computer and not the scary looking ancient typewriter I find.
I find a door, and what makes this door strange is that it's locked? Upstairs in the west wing, up in the roofspace and accessible by a narrow staircase which I don't recall finding a replica of anywhere in the east wing? So far most of the internal doors haven't even been closed, and those that are have opened, so I wind up walking into this one, literally, with a small bang.
Bouncing off and frowning, still holding the handle, which I push down, rattle. Nothing.
Noticing the oversized keyhole, almost ancient looking the dark metal plating of the bolted on handle assembly gone rusty, flaking off in my hands as I let go, holding up the keys Sally handed over.
Looking from them to the door, and aside from what I assume to be various front and back door access, perhaps some kind of shed and I did glimpse such out of a rear upstairs window, some distance removed from the house. There's a key for the- my -study, which requires locking for security and privacy reasons. But why else lock an internal door?
Who are you keeping- the reverse not occurring until after, when it's too late -out?
Two rings of keys, joined but clearly separated, internal and external I'd guess, and on the internal: the slim modern study door key, shiny, accompanied by two far larger and bulkier, flaky black metal like the handle before me, old looking keys centuries out of date.
Staring at the door, tapping both old keys- which though worn by age clearly have different cuts, not for the same door -against my palm.
Wondering.
Fuck it.
Screaming in mixed fear and surprise as the hinges shriek, as the first key works, quite obvious lack of use but the door, with a shove does open.
Blast of cold, stale air wafting out and I shiver, arms crossed beneath my D cups, hugging myself and rubbing, wishing I'd kept the hoodie on, that I wasn't wearing my thin school shirt and short skirt.
Two steps inside the room, carried forward by momentum. Two steps before I stop, to shiver, to look up and.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck." Backing out, almost running out and halfway down the stairs. "Nope, nope. Fuuuuuuuck."
Staring up at the door, open but not an invite, more a taunt.
Come back, Tempest. Countess, come back and see.
Deep breaths. Deep, calming breaths, hands at my sides the one not holding the keys flexing, open and closed, open and closed, the other death gripping.
Slowly, forcing myself to climb back up. "I am the wolf." Like a mantra, stepping up to and over the threshold, into my worst nightmare.
Mirrors. Floor to ceiling and covering every wall, everywhere aside from the doorway, vaulted ceiling above and the floor both dark, almost black wood, two small skylights letting in the minimum, the room rendered dim, creepy.
Mirrors. Mother, fucking, mirrors. Fuck and damn it, from every angle my reflection stares back and stares back, copy upon echo of me, staring and blinking and trying really fucking hard to be brave.
"I. Am," another breath, come on Tempest, "the mother fucking wolf."
Brave, but it's so hard and in part because am I really the wolf? This thing, this family totem I've only just discovered a claim to.
Hard to be brave, when my deepest fears have materialised in front- and to the left and to the right and in twenty other places -of me. The mirrors catch and double and treble me, to the point I have to keep- mentally -telling myself that.
"I'm the real Tempest."
And, hearing my voice, from my own mouth, works.
But the room is more then just mirrors, as if that wasn't weird enough. There's about a metre of floor, a perimeter running all the way around, a metre gap between mirrored walls and the rusted metal- like the door handle and lock -of a cage. Four walls and a roof, an internal height you could put a horse in and bars spaced too widely to hold a person, yet too narrow for the horse to escape.
There's a low hum in the air, heard and felt, something like electricity, like a cheap special effect occasionally playing and snaking over the bars.
Inside the cage, occupying the dead centre of the room is an old looking ornate wooden bed, something like Pine, a lighter coloured wood to the floors and ceiling. White sheet on the thick mattress, and laying atop it: a woman, chained in place.
Looking at me.
Spread to the four corners, limbs and body stretched tight, the chains are thick metal, yet untouched by rust. Manacles are locked around her ankles and wrists, tight enough to pinch, the chains running four straight lines out from pulled taut limbs across to each corner, down and underneath the frame.
Who is she? And, why? Late twenties, slim even without a corset which pushes and thrusts an already large chest to greater proportions. Long dark blonde hair hanging down loosely, the brown corset worn above a pale blue dress with a plunging front and long sleeves, the whole thing, the outfit like something centuries out of date, it hugs her though, bare feet visible beneath.
A dirty white cloth has been forced and tied into her mouth, and that same electric like force crawls occasionally over her, though she seems unbothered.
She simply stares, at me. No struggles, no moans, begging or cursing. Silent.
Waiting?
I should probably leave, go back downstairs and relocate my bedroom, sleep. Thinking this even whilst some other part of me has other ideas, taking over on auto and I'm stepping forwards, through the nearest gap body tensed for the jolt that doesn't come. Approaching the bed.
Reaching out, dreamlike and slow.
Something about her?
"Have we." Met?
Touching, my hand on her arm and contact brings a sensation like being thrown across the room, except I can't let go.
Her head suddenly thrown back in a silent scream, my own less so, expelled breath like a wail and in the mirrors I see.
Her rise up off the bed, standing, the chains gone loose, manacles gaping open and gag simply falling off to tumble and flutter down, away.
Twenty plus reflections of her smile, at me, and twenty odd reflections of me smiling back, feeling my own mouth lift.
Her reflections converging, vanishing into the corners, into the open maw of the doorway one by one, swallowed as she walks- drifts -towards and then through the opening.
Which, the door, closes with a bang, making me jump.
A small scream escaping, eyes darting all around the room. Blinking.
Finally coming to rest on the- now empty -bed. Nothing there save four now slackened chains, a dirty white knotted scarf and the vague barely there imprint of a person. The low hum and felt vibration of the room stopped. Silent. Empty.
"What. The." Actual. "Fuck?"
Past.
Sally phones ahead, negotiating the stop start, stop and mostly stop, the crawl of London at rush hour.
Somewhere in Greenwich? Or the borough next door, my exact London geography isn't perfect. Far enough away though, regardless, that I'll need two, possibly three changes on the underground to reach school and my- old -life. Worrying enough that I ask.
"Will I have to change schools?"
"Do you," huffing at a taxi, ruthlessly cutting off our access despite some kind of yellow box, cage like and I think that means keep clear?
"Do you want to transfer?"
"No."
"You could go private." Glancing at me, small smile, possibly encouragement. "Some very highly rated schools in the vicinity. Top rate education."
"I guess." Thinking, still tired and the sudden influx of funds, that I could literally do anything. Any, thing. It's all quite jarring, and crazy to the point I'm forever forcing back a laugh.
"Maybe I'll save that for college." A shrug. "I'm close to exams, to leaving anyway. So...."
Letting my thoughts trail off, Sally nodding as though she can hear them anyway. Too much potential disruption in leaving, plus those few friendships I've made. Plus the team.
Go- and I could buy them or sponsor them or force everyone to wear tiny pink bikinis even Michelle or -Knights.
"Something funny, Tempest?"
"What. Um." Hand over my mouth, smile leaking out. "No, sorry."
Watching the shift and play, the mostly lack of either. Lapsing into silence and Sally finds something on the radio, background filler, time passing.
"Here."
"Really?"
"Just there." Pointing, high gates of dark metal, topped by spikes and flanked by taller stone pillars, an imposing wall sprouting from each, marking the boundary. Atop each pillar a grey stone wolf sits on hind legs, angled to stare down.
Judging.
On the right, as we're parked facing the gates, and set just inside the wall sits a two story structure, grey stone and roughly comparable in size to an average house. It looks lived in, curtains open, shadowed hint of bookcases and a flatscreen visible through the closest window.
"Here." Handing me a scrap of paper, clearly prepared earlier, six scrawled digits. "There's an intercom for visitors, might as well get used to seeing yourself in though."
"Right?" Unsure, beyond the gate I can see parkland, the gentle slope of a hill and scattered trees the entrance road cutting through. No sign of a house.
There's a security camera mounted high on a post, a half dozen feet inside the fence and next to the gatehouse, pointed down to observe the gate and I feel watched, judged not only by the wolf guardians of my new family, tapping in the digits.
Messing up. Tired, but succeeding at the second attempt, the gates clicking and swinging slowing inwards, opening by way of splitting down the centre, allowing Sally to drive inside, stopping to pick me back up and I can see the sensors placed either side of the road: to automatically open them for egress, and to ensure the gates only close once the entrance is clear.
Crunch of gravel under her tyres, driving slowly and it's impossible, this oasis of apparent calm so close to central London, and likely there are many more: gated buildings or hidden estates. The road runs valley like between and through the low hills of grass and occasional shade, a large pond, almost lake like as everything dips back down but by that point all my attention has been stolen, along with my breath, by the house.
Lupin House, Sally had said, because as the old man- grandfather -had said: hunter, not hunted.
"Be the wolf."
"What's that." Glancing at me as she eases to a stop on the large gravelled circle out front, like a roundabout with only the one access road. "Tempest?"
"Nothing."
Completely hidden from the road, those low hills and that high wall, the distance from road to house no doubt a factor too. Grey stone walls, a blend of shades across the imposing looking structure, tall pointed roof the same pallete, topped by several low chimneys, two of which currently expelling gentle drifts of smoke. A distinct centre and wings, east and west and the house rising taller at the wing, whilst at the front steps lead to a covered entrance, dark wooden double doors with black metal detailing.
The doors, one door, opening as we step out of Sally's car, two people stepping out and advancing to greet us: Him, early thirties and a rugby players build, bulk and muscle, clean shaven with spiked messy brown hair. Tall. Wearing blue jeans over black workman's boots and a dark blue lightweight waterproof beneath which a grey tee is untucked.
And, her: older, but only by a handful of years. Slim with a small chest and dyed purple hair tied back off a pretty face, a nice smile. Black camouflage leggings and a tight white tee through which I can clearly see the shape of her bra cups, a black hoodie worn unzipped.
Peter and Florence. The estates groundskeeper slash one man maintenance team, and chef slash cleaner.
"The Count preferred minimal staff." A shrug. "Any big jobs that come up, we hire in on a temporary basis, otherwise it's just us, and a van that comes on Wednesdays to help with the weekly full clean."
"Well...." Am I meant, supposed, to make some form of decision? Here, now? "Okay." I nod, finding a smile when Florence smiles, Peter nodding.
"We're minutes away, anyway." Pulling out and offering me a folded paper, both thier names and mobile numbers. "The de Montefort estate has always kept the gatehouse for staff."
"Converted." Peter. "There's an upstairs downstairs split, two separate apartments."
"Right." Great, because suddenly I'm feeling awfully alone, as a girl- orphan -who grew up permanently sharing a bedroom with at least two others, if not a dozen. And now I'm staring up, and up, at this tall stone ancient house, a cavernous looking thing and inside will be.
Just.
Me.
"I'll. Um." Thinking. "Can I WhatsApp you both, later, so you've got mine too?"
"WhatsApp?" Amusement flitting across her face. "Definitely going to be some changes under you." A small nod and an actual curtsey, respectful. "Countess."
"Yes." Squirming slightly, strange to have someone possibly twice my age talking to me as though I- sort of -own them.
There's more said, brief helpful comments on such things as heating controls- apparently for an old building it has some nicely modern internals -and what preprepared food Florence has left in the fridge.
Sally offers to stay, but I can hear it in her voice: places she'd rather be, or needs to be. She's off the clock no doubt, and besides I'm a big girl.
I can go exploring alone.
Waving them all off, the folder, phone numbers slipped inside and the folder itself slipped inside my school bag. Keys in hand I turn to face Lupin House.
Home.
I'm going to have to draw a map. It isn't hard, or terribly complex: two stories across the larger middle section, rising to three on each wing. The entrance hall alone would accommodate, space wise, enough square metre area for a decent house. Cavernous, with sweeping staircases left and right.
"Fuck. Me." I find myself whispering, too many times to count.
The wolf is a recurring theme, placed at the bottom of those main curving bannisters, clawed feet on the bathtub in the master ensuite, water that cascades from an open teeth filled maw. Banners too, and weapons, both featuring often throughout, and I get the distinct impression at least some of both were taken by force.
Spoils of various historical victories.
The map isn't because the house is too big, it isn't even particularly maze like. I need a map simply because I know it's going to be im-fucking-possible, at least at first, to remember which room is which.
Is the only flatscreen in the house in the east, or west wing? For instance. Because there are, not including the industrial sized conservatory at the back, three whole rooms just for relaxing in.
Rich people's problems- laughing as I consider this -am I right?
So many bedrooms I give up counting. Ten? Becoming constantly distracted by everything, every little detail. Countless lives lived, mementos collected and displayed from those various banners and weapons.
Full suit of traditional Samurai armour arranged mannequin like next to an equally impressive suit of English plate.
To artwork, various framed oil renditions of battles or landscapes.
What looks to be a genuine nameplate off- at a guess -a steam locomotive, black with silver edging and 'de Montefort' across the centre. Looks old, hanging behind the desk in the- my -study. Which is in desperate need of an actual computer and not the scary looking ancient typewriter I find.
I find a door, and what makes this door strange is that it's locked? Upstairs in the west wing, up in the roofspace and accessible by a narrow staircase which I don't recall finding a replica of anywhere in the east wing? So far most of the internal doors haven't even been closed, and those that are have opened, so I wind up walking into this one, literally, with a small bang.
Bouncing off and frowning, still holding the handle, which I push down, rattle. Nothing.
Noticing the oversized keyhole, almost ancient looking the dark metal plating of the bolted on handle assembly gone rusty, flaking off in my hands as I let go, holding up the keys Sally handed over.
Looking from them to the door, and aside from what I assume to be various front and back door access, perhaps some kind of shed and I did glimpse such out of a rear upstairs window, some distance removed from the house. There's a key for the- my -study, which requires locking for security and privacy reasons. But why else lock an internal door?
Who are you keeping- the reverse not occurring until after, when it's too late -out?
Two rings of keys, joined but clearly separated, internal and external I'd guess, and on the internal: the slim modern study door key, shiny, accompanied by two far larger and bulkier, flaky black metal like the handle before me, old looking keys centuries out of date.
Staring at the door, tapping both old keys- which though worn by age clearly have different cuts, not for the same door -against my palm.
Wondering.
Fuck it.
Screaming in mixed fear and surprise as the hinges shriek, as the first key works, quite obvious lack of use but the door, with a shove does open.
Blast of cold, stale air wafting out and I shiver, arms crossed beneath my D cups, hugging myself and rubbing, wishing I'd kept the hoodie on, that I wasn't wearing my thin school shirt and short skirt.
Two steps inside the room, carried forward by momentum. Two steps before I stop, to shiver, to look up and.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck." Backing out, almost running out and halfway down the stairs. "Nope, nope. Fuuuuuuuck."
Staring up at the door, open but not an invite, more a taunt.
Come back, Tempest. Countess, come back and see.
Deep breaths. Deep, calming breaths, hands at my sides the one not holding the keys flexing, open and closed, open and closed, the other death gripping.
Slowly, forcing myself to climb back up. "I am the wolf." Like a mantra, stepping up to and over the threshold, into my worst nightmare.
Mirrors. Floor to ceiling and covering every wall, everywhere aside from the doorway, vaulted ceiling above and the floor both dark, almost black wood, two small skylights letting in the minimum, the room rendered dim, creepy.
Mirrors. Mother, fucking, mirrors. Fuck and damn it, from every angle my reflection stares back and stares back, copy upon echo of me, staring and blinking and trying really fucking hard to be brave.
"I. Am," another breath, come on Tempest, "the mother fucking wolf."
Brave, but it's so hard and in part because am I really the wolf? This thing, this family totem I've only just discovered a claim to.
Hard to be brave, when my deepest fears have materialised in front- and to the left and to the right and in twenty other places -of me. The mirrors catch and double and treble me, to the point I have to keep- mentally -telling myself that.
"I'm the real Tempest."
And, hearing my voice, from my own mouth, works.
But the room is more then just mirrors, as if that wasn't weird enough. There's about a metre of floor, a perimeter running all the way around, a metre gap between mirrored walls and the rusted metal- like the door handle and lock -of a cage. Four walls and a roof, an internal height you could put a horse in and bars spaced too widely to hold a person, yet too narrow for the horse to escape.
There's a low hum in the air, heard and felt, something like electricity, like a cheap special effect occasionally playing and snaking over the bars.
Inside the cage, occupying the dead centre of the room is an old looking ornate wooden bed, something like Pine, a lighter coloured wood to the floors and ceiling. White sheet on the thick mattress, and laying atop it: a woman, chained in place.
Looking at me.
Spread to the four corners, limbs and body stretched tight, the chains are thick metal, yet untouched by rust. Manacles are locked around her ankles and wrists, tight enough to pinch, the chains running four straight lines out from pulled taut limbs across to each corner, down and underneath the frame.
Who is she? And, why? Late twenties, slim even without a corset which pushes and thrusts an already large chest to greater proportions. Long dark blonde hair hanging down loosely, the brown corset worn above a pale blue dress with a plunging front and long sleeves, the whole thing, the outfit like something centuries out of date, it hugs her though, bare feet visible beneath.
A dirty white cloth has been forced and tied into her mouth, and that same electric like force crawls occasionally over her, though she seems unbothered.
She simply stares, at me. No struggles, no moans, begging or cursing. Silent.
Waiting?
I should probably leave, go back downstairs and relocate my bedroom, sleep. Thinking this even whilst some other part of me has other ideas, taking over on auto and I'm stepping forwards, through the nearest gap body tensed for the jolt that doesn't come. Approaching the bed.
Reaching out, dreamlike and slow.
Something about her?
"Have we." Met?
Touching, my hand on her arm and contact brings a sensation like being thrown across the room, except I can't let go.
Her head suddenly thrown back in a silent scream, my own less so, expelled breath like a wail and in the mirrors I see.
Her rise up off the bed, standing, the chains gone loose, manacles gaping open and gag simply falling off to tumble and flutter down, away.
Twenty plus reflections of her smile, at me, and twenty odd reflections of me smiling back, feeling my own mouth lift.
Her reflections converging, vanishing into the corners, into the open maw of the doorway one by one, swallowed as she walks- drifts -towards and then through the opening.
Which, the door, closes with a bang, making me jump.
A small scream escaping, eyes darting all around the room. Blinking.
Finally coming to rest on the- now empty -bed. Nothing there save four now slackened chains, a dirty white knotted scarf and the vague barely there imprint of a person. The low hum and felt vibration of the room stopped. Silent. Empty.
"What. The." Actual. "Fuck?"
-
BlissfulMisery
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 365
- Joined: 3 years ago
Well, at least you are/have been trying different things to make it work - maybe this time will be the proverbial charm. I do agree it is a good concept, just seems to be difficult to nail down as it were, at least in a way that does not lead you into a dead end of frustration/uncertainty with where to take it.RopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago It's the recurring premise (de Montefort, and everything I've ever associated with it through something like 3 failed attempts now) that I can't seem to nail down and stick with, can't seem to finish despite always entering with what I feel is a brilliant story layout.
Fingers crossed then, no pressure
-
So, it seems that Lucille? is directly attached to Tempest somehow via their family blood, which is interesting. Although does not answer the obvious question of why she needed to tie up the whole dorm. Or why she did not do it at any point before/reveal herself fully before.RopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago Suddenly right in front of me hand out to cup my face. Gentle. Caring, and I can feel the connection, like warmth.
"Anywhere I go...."
I can go. She mouths back.
Well presumably things have happened between past and present, so as always, eager to learn more.
And honestly, pretty gauche of a Victorian era ghost to use tape to bind someone
Certainly not the only example of this, but again, does a good job of showing how off balance she is, having to grapple with her new life and possibly new responsibilities.RopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago "The Count preferred minimal staff." A shrug. "Any big jobs that come up, we hire in on a temporary basis, otherwise it's just us, and a van that comes on Wednesdays to help with the weekly full clean."
"Well...." Am I meant, supposed, to make some form of decision? Here, now? "Okay." I nod, finding a smile when Florence smiles, Peter nodding.
Again, a great juxtaposition of her old life to her new, but also the obvious ironic foreshadowing.RopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago "Right." Great, because suddenly I'm feeling awfully alone, as a girl- orphan -who grew up permanently sharing a bedroom with at least two others, if not a dozen. And now I'm staring up, and up, at this tall stone ancient house, a cavernous looking thing and inside will be.
Just.
Me.
I do get that this is supposed to highlight her hesitation around mirrors/her reflection, but I have to admit, it comes off as a little amusing/absurd just how scared she is of themRopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago Mirrors. Floor to ceiling and covering every wall, everywhere aside from the doorway, vaulted ceiling above and the floor both dark, almost black wood, two small skylights letting in the minimum, the room rendered dim, creepy.
Mirrors. Mother, fucking, mirrors. Fuck and damn it, from every angle my reflection stares back and stares back, copy upon echo of me, staring and blinking and trying really fucking hard to be brave.
"I. Am," another breath, come on Tempest, "the mother fucking wolf."
Brave, but it's so hard and in part because am I really the wolf? This thing, this family totem I've only just discovered a claim to.
Ahh yes, the perfectly normal reaction to finding out your 'new' house comes included with someone chained up inside a cageRopeBunny wrote: 1 month ago I should probably leave, go back downstairs and relocate my bedroom, sleep.
...And that is more like it
Suppose this chapter (mostly) answers my earlier question about 'what changed between past and present'. I suspect Tempest is going to come to regret not reviewing those old documents sooner...
And I also suspect we are getting quite close to the very first scene that kicked this story off...
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.BlissfulMisery wrote: 1 month ago
Well, at least you are/have been trying different things to make it work - maybe this time will be the proverbial charm. I do agree it is a good concept, just seems to be difficult to nail down as it were, at least in a way that does not lead you into a dead end of frustration/uncertainty with where to take 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 thingBlissfulMisery wrote: 1 month ago
Although does not answer the obvious question of why she needed to tie up the whole dorm. Or why she did not do it at any point before/reveal herself fully before.
Well presumably things have happened between past and present, so as always, eager to learn more.
There will be more explanation coming though, more interaction with the 'Lady in the cage'
Who I couldn't possibly reveal the name of
(And most likely tying up the whole dorm was a fun little filler for me to write, not necessarily any kind of plot point, the greater point being she- the ghost lady -isn't tied to the House)
Think quite often other people's fears can come across as amusing to those who don't share them?BlissfulMisery wrote: 1 month ago
I do get that this is supposed to highlight her hesitation around mirrors/her reflection, but I have to admit, it comes off as a little amusing/absurd just how scared she is of them
Spiders, as an example. I've had people try to explain the stupidity, but that doesn't help
Closer, but not there yet.BlissfulMisery wrote: 1 month ago
And I also suspect we are getting quite close to the very first scene that kicked this story off...
Got a little further to go. At least 1 more 'present' chapter before we properly catch ourselves up.
I think?