Do take all the time you need. As in any good story, getting there is (at least) half the fun.
The Church of Silence (F+/F+) [FINISHED 2nd Feb]
Rest assured I shall 
The 'soon' comment was mostly my attempt at being dramatic
. And the fact I'm actually several chapters ahead with writing this, powering along so to speak 
, writing and then going back to change things based on something I've just added in. Having fun really.
Anyway, next part appearing....
Soon
The 'soon' comment was mostly my attempt at being dramatic
. And the fact I'm actually several chapters ahead with writing this, powering along so to speak , writing and then going back to change things based on something I've just added in. Having fun really.Anyway, next part appearing....
Soon
cool: author's having fun! Now, that's a jolly concept!
Love to read this!
Love to read this!
005.
India.
It's a month later, roughly, maybe fifty days. Summer is making way, changing slowly to autumn. And I for one am very pleased to discover that the old restored mansion has a heating system more then equal to the task of keeping a bunch of naked gagged girls warm.
We've three new girls, Julliet and Kilo, who turned up the same day, plus Lima, who arrived two weeks after that, barely four days ago now. This makes me no longer the new recruit. But so far Foxtrot and I still have the bedroom to ourselves.
The days have begun to blur, just as they did prior to my punishment, when for six days I was tied up and, kind of, tortured. Of the experience I still view the tying up part as mostly fun, if uncomfortable. The torture, which consisted of leaving me tied up, completely helpless, and unable to prevent whatever toys were attached to, or inside of, me, from pushing my body through multiple orgasms everyday, was fun too, for the first two days. Then it became too much, more painful then fun. Though, in a way, still fun.
Does that make me weird?
And, do I care?
Fuck no. I've been back to room four twice since then. Once to tie up Echo. And once to be tied up: to a dining hall chair, handily placed in the rooms centre before we arrived, then left to scream the empty room down by one of the new girls, sister Kilo. A skinny little dark skinned girl with deadlocked black hair and tiny breasts, almost boy like in her appearance. These two experiences did at least confirm to me that what I received for those six days was a more extreme, and therefore slightly different, variant of room fours usual setup. Normally, I now know, if people behave, it goes like this: One girl ties the other, making sure along the way to insert or strap on, or otherwise attach, a variety of toys. At which point the now helpless girl is left alone for the duration of lunch, prehaps an hour. Left to struggle and moan, or in some cases scream, as I do, their way through the one or more orgasms the toys force onto them. And all of this being, I assume, recorded by the multiple cameras. After lunch there's no rest, you're untied, but only to be tied a different way, and this time, again all on camera, the other girl remains in the room, sometimes using toys to tease, sometimes stepping away to stand beside the wall mounted flatscreen, leaving you to struggle alone again. There might even be a third tie, if there's time, and if the Silent God on that flatscreen wishes it. Because everything that's done inside of that room is done because Michelle's voice orders it.
I still say it's fun, more fun now I'm no longer spending the entire time trussed and alone. And, taking the heating into account, I'm still better off here then in my poor excuse for a flat.
Today, for the first time, I'm leaving the compound. Foxtrot and me are to accompany Michelle. Somewhere.
Heading to the clothing room, we open the door to find the usual collection of clothes that, whilst better then nothing, aren't exactly going to cover us up well. To put it another way, they aren't anything you'd wear to Church. No shoes, there are never shoes, or socks. Today we're being offered a choice of bikini tops and either shorts or skirts. At least it's sunny outside, and at least we'll be wearing capes too. I settle on a black triangle halter top, which at least appears to be the right size. I'm still showing a ton of cleavage, but that's true of almost any bikini. I pair this with a skirt, which is very short, barely covering my butt, and tartan print. The main colour is blue, but there are lines, some of which make squares, of black and yellow, some thicker then others. The skirt fastens with two small black buckles at the top on one side, like a belt. Foxtrot's chosen top is larger then mine, more like a cross between a sports bra and a crop top, though being larger doesn't actually mean it covers her up any better. Prehaps if her breasts weren't quite so balloon like her pink and white zebra striped top wouldn't be leaving so much of the sides, and tops, of her breasts exposed. Foxtrot pairs this spandex top with faded blue denim short shorts. Neither of us has our hair tied up.
Having done this before, at least once, Foxtrot knows what to do next.
Which is to wait for lunch, which today, like everyday Michelle leaves the compound, will occur early, with a noticeably late dinner always following. So maybe the sirens aren't automated, I muse, shaking my head for managing to forget that pattern, stood in an empty upstairs room, this one unlocked, with a window that looks down onto Michelle's Ford van, parked as usual at an angle close to the mansions porch and main front doors.
The second siren does indeed sound early. "Sister Foxtrot," Michelle nods, having ungagged us all, "sister India. Please make your way to the front door." She gives the two tables, because now there are eleven of us we no longer fit around one, a smile. "Where you'll find me waiting. The rest of you, sisters." Spreading her arms wide. "Remember, remain on the path. I shall be checking on your progress upon my return." With a final nod she leaves us to our chicken soup.
"Sisters." Michelle stands, having been sat on the cushioned bench just inside the mansions front door. I can see two folded red capes, and two of those leather and metal back harnesses, to bind our wrists up behind us, resting on the cushion. She looks as well dressed as always, I think, standing still, allowing myself to be first locked up, then fitted with the cape that helps, I now realise, to at least partially conceal our state. At the very least a casual observer will have no clue that our arms are tightly pinned behind us, that we're helpless. And, with our hoods worn up, our hair arranged so it spills out either side of our faces, even the gags are if not hidden then at least less obvious. Michelle's dress is black, and hugs her skinny figure from chest to below the knee. The neckline is plunging, coming down like a deep v, helping to show off her own enhanced assets. Over the top of this is the same black leather jacket from the first time I saw her. Underneath the dress I can clearly see shiny black boots, the heels of which are adding several inches to Michelle's height, though she's still not eye to eye with Foxtrot. Her hair, like ours, is worn loose, and amongst subtle eye makeup she's also painted her lips a very bright red.
"Today we have two stops to make," leading the way out to her van, "we're collecting new arrivals." Opening the rear doors, Michelle grins, winks. "Willing new additions to the way of Silence." Pointing at us, now sat down on opposite benches in the back. "The two of you are to stay beside me, at all times, to aid me in welcoming our sisters home."
In the van, with my legs spread, as are Foxtrots, to absorb Michelle's speedy cornering, it occurs to me that I could, prehaps, escape today. It's doubtful Michelle can watch me like a hawk, not all the time, and especially not with two or more new girls to herd back to the safety, the very prison like safety some might say, of the compound. Would Foxtrot, or anyone, be ordered to chase me down? Would she like to come with me instead? It isn't like the gag, or wrist cuffs arrangement, is sealed in any way that the right tools couldn't free me. Or us. I look across at Foxtrot, who has her eyes closed. I can't ask her anyway.
In the end, as the van comes to a halt, and the engine dies, I resolve to stay, to be a good sister to Michelle's Church. My curiousity is still piqued, and I'm still keen to discover more, to understand why, to wait for that opportunity, whenever it appears.
The first stop finds Foxtrot and me climbing carefully from the van to discover we're in a multi story car park. "This way sisters." Michelle gestures off down the row of largely empty spaces, towards the enclosed lift and stairs access, which is signposted as being the way 'To the shops.' "Can't park at the bus station." Muttering, having stabbed the lift call button, apparently unwilling to use the adjacent stairs despite us only being on level four. There are two lifts, but the display above one is dark, so we wait, and eventually there's a ping.
But when we climb in, and Michelle presses for the ground floor, we begin to rise rather then fall.
All the way to the roof, where the door opens on a group of four late teens aged girls, possibly at least one of them is even twenty, all dressed for a days shopping in tight jeans and a variety of figure hugging tops. "Plenty of room ladies." Michelle smiles, holding the lift doors open on the button. Giggling, sharing some kind of private joke, all four bundle in, taking up the lifts centre with Foxtrot and me standing against the back wall. Despite the fact we're being ignored I can feel my cheeks colouring slightly, as my skin flushes hot. I've never been outside in this state, wearing so little, not to mention my gag and restraints.
As the lift slowly descends I watch Michelle eying the four girls up, a smile on her face that looks hungry. She wants them, I realise. Wants, blinking as the possibly true revelation suddenly shocks through me, to see at least some of them tied up in room four, naked. Am I right though? If the Church is just a cult after all, just an excuse for something, then that particular quite kinky something definitely has the feel of a top contender about it. It would fit the naked and gagged overall tone of Michelle's sisters, of us. Of me. But, am I right? And, watching her still, I have to wonder, what else is there to this?
My list of questions just keeps on growing.
One of the girls, prehaps acting on some spatial awareness sense, turns to glance over her shoulder, a frown ghosting her pretty young face as she sees Foxtrot and me, very obviously gagged at this close range. Two of the other girls are still giggling, listening to something on one of their's phones, sharing earbuds to do so, but she nudges the forth girl, then points with a jerked head back at us. "What?" The forth girl turns, to look at us more closely. "Are you ladies okay?"
"Sisters Foxtrot and India are quite well I can assure you." Michelle answers for us. "Sisters?" The other girl, having turned too, frowns, her gaze passing from us to Michelle. "What kind of church...?"
"This, ladies," Michelle steps forwards, coming to stand between Foxtrot and me, which in the close confines of the lift puts her suddenly very close to both girls, "is how those in service to the Silent God are required to dress." One of the girls steps back, clearly not being comfortable with Michelle's sudden proximity, but the other, the one who noticed us first, stays still. I realise she has that same half fascinated half dreamy rabbit in headlights look that I recall from my introduction to the Churches attire, which super busty Sister Foxtrot does wear very well. Added to which Michelle looks stunning too, definitely a worthy fantasy for any girl who's ever daydreamed about playing with another girl, as this girl prehaps has. "Silent God?" The only girl now paying us any attention asks, almost whispering, her friend having turned back to face the front, and pulled out her phone too. "Why yes." Michelle's voice has dropped too, she shifts slightly, bringing her curvy full breasted body that slight bit closer to the girl. "My Sisters are gagged," she grins, and reaches forwards to place her hand over the girls mouth, making her gasp, "permanently, to better hear the words our God has to share with the faithful." The girl, unable to talk now, unless she does so through Michelle's hand gag, nods. In the lifts relative quiet I can both see and hear her breathing quicken, and her gaze is locked on Michelle, who is, for the second time I've witnessed, simply amazing in full shark hunting weak prey mode. "Here," Michelle, slowly as the lift pings, before verbally announcing our arrival on the ground floor, reaches into her deep cleavage, and pulls out a small business card, "take this." She smiles. "Sister." The girls breath catches as Michelle slides the card down into her own ample cleavage, quite deliberately stroking the tops of her breasts as she withdraws both that hand and the one she was using as a gag.
"Tasha." Comes the half shout, making the girl blink, and finally break eye contact with a grinning Michelle. "Huh?" She turns, looking half dazed, to discover her friends all waiting outside the lift. Tasha shakes herself, and, giving Michelle a final nervous half smile, reaching up to briefly finger her cleavage, and the card nestled within, she turns and goes to join her friends. "Well Sisters." Michelle steps from the lift. "Shall we proceed to meet our new arrivals?" She looks around as Foxtrot and me step out of the lift too, then points. "I believe the bus station is this way."
But, instead of a simple pick up, what happens next is I get distracted.
It's been forever, at least two years now, since I was last anywhere near a shopping centre. I'd forgotten how bright everything is. Walking behind Foxtrot, herself lagging slightly behind Michelle, a flash of colour, a word slashed across a shop front, causes a flood of memories to return, and without thinking I turn, heading away from the group, for a closer look.
It's a lingerie shop, one of the high end boutique types, small, and only stocking a half dozen of the more exclusive, more expensive, brands. It's the same shop, though not in the same town, that I used to visit for all my undergarment needs, back when I had money, and a life. As a young high flyer, working up in the clouds, or so it felt, in an office in the centre of London, surrounded almost entirely by men, I used to get quite a thrill from deliberately wearing the skimpiest, smallest, and tightest, lingerie, I could find. Concealing my naughtiness underneath the usual fitted long sleeved shirt and either a black just above the knee skirt, or a pair of black fitted trousers that hugged my slim toned legs. The shop is closed, not that I have money anyway, but still I linger, unable to tear my eyes from the green and black camisole clad mannequin in the darkened window.
"Hey look, it's little red riding hood." Turning around, I find myself face to face with three college age boys, all of them grinning, grins which only grow as they catch sight of my bikini top, out of which cleavage is spilling, almost being squeezed out by the tightly cinched belt below my breasts. No doubt my only partially concealed gag is causing them some mirth too. "Well well." The middle one, nodding, turning to his companions. "Maybe she's lost?"
"Maybe," the one on the left, reaching forwards quickly, lifting up my skirt, "she needs to make a quick purchase."
"Ha." The middle one again, stepping close, putting a hand on my naked pussy. "Maybe she wants us all to see her little hairy pussy?" Shocked, I step back quickly, banging my hood covered head and cuffed arms agaisnt the shop window, causing me to bounce forwards again. I've gotten so used to being naked, all the time, that the continued absence of either bras or thongs in the clothing room has ceased to register. I wore the skirt today because I liked it, never even thinking about how its criminaly short length would leave my pussy, and butt, exposed everytime I so much as walk or squat. Now though, as the boys laugh, and one of them steps forwards again, pinning me in place just with his bulk, I feel my face flush with embarrassment, just as the first trickles of icy fear begin climbing up my spine. "What do you say lads?" The one directly in front of me, grinning left and right. "Should we see what she's got up top too?" Without waiting for a response he takes hold of my bikini top, and pulls, using his strength to yank the whole thing off me. "Very nice." Nodding, stepping back. One of his friends points down at my skirt. "Do you think we should finish the j...."
And then, her bare feet masking her silent approach, Foxtrot is suddenly at my side.
She glares at the boys, who all take a step back, one of them even raising his hands as though to ward her off. "What the fuck?" The boy in the centre, almost laughing. "Two of you?" Foxtrot takes a step forwards, putting her both slightly in front of, and a small distance away, from me. "Hey. Girl." He grins, as do the other two, clearly still feeling their advantage with nobody else around. He points at Foxtrot's top. "Want to show us those amazing tits?"
Foxtrots kick comes out of nowhere, completely unexpected, by me and the three boys. Raising one foot off the floor she pivots on the other, turning a perfect quick circle, her flung out roundhouse connecting with the central boys chin, flinging him backwards through the air to land, with an audible crack, behind his friends. There's a moment of stunned silence, a pause, and then the boys hoist their friend up, and all three dash away.
Running straight into Michelle, appearing with perfect timing around the corner, with four still clothed but gagged girls following behind.
Luckily the boys manage to stop in time. "Boys." Michelle steps to the side, giving them room to pass, but then her eyes find me, stood still and topless, with Foxtrot beside me glaring at the three now beside her. As Michelle turns to face them all three flinch. "Naughty." Wagging her finger, which makes one of them laugh. A laugh choked off and turned to coughs when Michelle kicks him square in the crotch.
"Sisters." Holding out her hand. "To me." Ignoring my bikini top, unable to pick it up anyway, I walk to Michelle, with Foxtrot shadowing my side, keeping herself between me and the boys. "Sister India," Michelle steps in close, taking gentle hold of my chin to look me in the eyes, "are you hale?" I nod. "Good. Sister Foxtrot," nodding at my tall blonde rescuer, "I believe it's time to leave this place." Michelle glares down at the three boys, the two trying to help the third, curled up into a ball around his no doubt throbbing balls. "I shall," looking back up at the two of us, "overlook your disregard for my rules, your failure to stay close by me, this time. Now come." Michelle begins to walk away, knowing on some level that we, even the new girls, will follow. "Back to the van. We have three more sisters to collect today."
A couple of the new arrivals are looking from me, and my breasts, to the boys. One is even staring wide eyed at Foxtrot. I guess, were it not for the gags, each would have questions. But, breaking the moment, I set off after Michelle, with Foxtrot still keeping beside me, and the other four, gagged now, their allegiance to the Church of Silence already signed no doubt, fall in behind.
At the next and final stop, Michelle doesn't let us out. Instead we all wait together in the back for the remaining three arrivals to be ushered, already gagged despite the fact I've not seen Michelle carrying a bag at any point today, into the vans rear. And then we all return to the compound.
Michelle's Church of Silence, or, to put it another way, her cult of occasionally tied up but always naked, and always gagged, girls, now has eighteen members.
India.
It's a month later, roughly, maybe fifty days. Summer is making way, changing slowly to autumn. And I for one am very pleased to discover that the old restored mansion has a heating system more then equal to the task of keeping a bunch of naked gagged girls warm.
We've three new girls, Julliet and Kilo, who turned up the same day, plus Lima, who arrived two weeks after that, barely four days ago now. This makes me no longer the new recruit. But so far Foxtrot and I still have the bedroom to ourselves.
The days have begun to blur, just as they did prior to my punishment, when for six days I was tied up and, kind of, tortured. Of the experience I still view the tying up part as mostly fun, if uncomfortable. The torture, which consisted of leaving me tied up, completely helpless, and unable to prevent whatever toys were attached to, or inside of, me, from pushing my body through multiple orgasms everyday, was fun too, for the first two days. Then it became too much, more painful then fun. Though, in a way, still fun.
Does that make me weird?
And, do I care?
Fuck no. I've been back to room four twice since then. Once to tie up Echo. And once to be tied up: to a dining hall chair, handily placed in the rooms centre before we arrived, then left to scream the empty room down by one of the new girls, sister Kilo. A skinny little dark skinned girl with deadlocked black hair and tiny breasts, almost boy like in her appearance. These two experiences did at least confirm to me that what I received for those six days was a more extreme, and therefore slightly different, variant of room fours usual setup. Normally, I now know, if people behave, it goes like this: One girl ties the other, making sure along the way to insert or strap on, or otherwise attach, a variety of toys. At which point the now helpless girl is left alone for the duration of lunch, prehaps an hour. Left to struggle and moan, or in some cases scream, as I do, their way through the one or more orgasms the toys force onto them. And all of this being, I assume, recorded by the multiple cameras. After lunch there's no rest, you're untied, but only to be tied a different way, and this time, again all on camera, the other girl remains in the room, sometimes using toys to tease, sometimes stepping away to stand beside the wall mounted flatscreen, leaving you to struggle alone again. There might even be a third tie, if there's time, and if the Silent God on that flatscreen wishes it. Because everything that's done inside of that room is done because Michelle's voice orders it.
I still say it's fun, more fun now I'm no longer spending the entire time trussed and alone. And, taking the heating into account, I'm still better off here then in my poor excuse for a flat.
Today, for the first time, I'm leaving the compound. Foxtrot and me are to accompany Michelle. Somewhere.
Heading to the clothing room, we open the door to find the usual collection of clothes that, whilst better then nothing, aren't exactly going to cover us up well. To put it another way, they aren't anything you'd wear to Church. No shoes, there are never shoes, or socks. Today we're being offered a choice of bikini tops and either shorts or skirts. At least it's sunny outside, and at least we'll be wearing capes too. I settle on a black triangle halter top, which at least appears to be the right size. I'm still showing a ton of cleavage, but that's true of almost any bikini. I pair this with a skirt, which is very short, barely covering my butt, and tartan print. The main colour is blue, but there are lines, some of which make squares, of black and yellow, some thicker then others. The skirt fastens with two small black buckles at the top on one side, like a belt. Foxtrot's chosen top is larger then mine, more like a cross between a sports bra and a crop top, though being larger doesn't actually mean it covers her up any better. Prehaps if her breasts weren't quite so balloon like her pink and white zebra striped top wouldn't be leaving so much of the sides, and tops, of her breasts exposed. Foxtrot pairs this spandex top with faded blue denim short shorts. Neither of us has our hair tied up.
Having done this before, at least once, Foxtrot knows what to do next.
Which is to wait for lunch, which today, like everyday Michelle leaves the compound, will occur early, with a noticeably late dinner always following. So maybe the sirens aren't automated, I muse, shaking my head for managing to forget that pattern, stood in an empty upstairs room, this one unlocked, with a window that looks down onto Michelle's Ford van, parked as usual at an angle close to the mansions porch and main front doors.
The second siren does indeed sound early. "Sister Foxtrot," Michelle nods, having ungagged us all, "sister India. Please make your way to the front door." She gives the two tables, because now there are eleven of us we no longer fit around one, a smile. "Where you'll find me waiting. The rest of you, sisters." Spreading her arms wide. "Remember, remain on the path. I shall be checking on your progress upon my return." With a final nod she leaves us to our chicken soup.
"Sisters." Michelle stands, having been sat on the cushioned bench just inside the mansions front door. I can see two folded red capes, and two of those leather and metal back harnesses, to bind our wrists up behind us, resting on the cushion. She looks as well dressed as always, I think, standing still, allowing myself to be first locked up, then fitted with the cape that helps, I now realise, to at least partially conceal our state. At the very least a casual observer will have no clue that our arms are tightly pinned behind us, that we're helpless. And, with our hoods worn up, our hair arranged so it spills out either side of our faces, even the gags are if not hidden then at least less obvious. Michelle's dress is black, and hugs her skinny figure from chest to below the knee. The neckline is plunging, coming down like a deep v, helping to show off her own enhanced assets. Over the top of this is the same black leather jacket from the first time I saw her. Underneath the dress I can clearly see shiny black boots, the heels of which are adding several inches to Michelle's height, though she's still not eye to eye with Foxtrot. Her hair, like ours, is worn loose, and amongst subtle eye makeup she's also painted her lips a very bright red.
"Today we have two stops to make," leading the way out to her van, "we're collecting new arrivals." Opening the rear doors, Michelle grins, winks. "Willing new additions to the way of Silence." Pointing at us, now sat down on opposite benches in the back. "The two of you are to stay beside me, at all times, to aid me in welcoming our sisters home."
In the van, with my legs spread, as are Foxtrots, to absorb Michelle's speedy cornering, it occurs to me that I could, prehaps, escape today. It's doubtful Michelle can watch me like a hawk, not all the time, and especially not with two or more new girls to herd back to the safety, the very prison like safety some might say, of the compound. Would Foxtrot, or anyone, be ordered to chase me down? Would she like to come with me instead? It isn't like the gag, or wrist cuffs arrangement, is sealed in any way that the right tools couldn't free me. Or us. I look across at Foxtrot, who has her eyes closed. I can't ask her anyway.
In the end, as the van comes to a halt, and the engine dies, I resolve to stay, to be a good sister to Michelle's Church. My curiousity is still piqued, and I'm still keen to discover more, to understand why, to wait for that opportunity, whenever it appears.
The first stop finds Foxtrot and me climbing carefully from the van to discover we're in a multi story car park. "This way sisters." Michelle gestures off down the row of largely empty spaces, towards the enclosed lift and stairs access, which is signposted as being the way 'To the shops.' "Can't park at the bus station." Muttering, having stabbed the lift call button, apparently unwilling to use the adjacent stairs despite us only being on level four. There are two lifts, but the display above one is dark, so we wait, and eventually there's a ping.
But when we climb in, and Michelle presses for the ground floor, we begin to rise rather then fall.
All the way to the roof, where the door opens on a group of four late teens aged girls, possibly at least one of them is even twenty, all dressed for a days shopping in tight jeans and a variety of figure hugging tops. "Plenty of room ladies." Michelle smiles, holding the lift doors open on the button. Giggling, sharing some kind of private joke, all four bundle in, taking up the lifts centre with Foxtrot and me standing against the back wall. Despite the fact we're being ignored I can feel my cheeks colouring slightly, as my skin flushes hot. I've never been outside in this state, wearing so little, not to mention my gag and restraints.
As the lift slowly descends I watch Michelle eying the four girls up, a smile on her face that looks hungry. She wants them, I realise. Wants, blinking as the possibly true revelation suddenly shocks through me, to see at least some of them tied up in room four, naked. Am I right though? If the Church is just a cult after all, just an excuse for something, then that particular quite kinky something definitely has the feel of a top contender about it. It would fit the naked and gagged overall tone of Michelle's sisters, of us. Of me. But, am I right? And, watching her still, I have to wonder, what else is there to this?
My list of questions just keeps on growing.
One of the girls, prehaps acting on some spatial awareness sense, turns to glance over her shoulder, a frown ghosting her pretty young face as she sees Foxtrot and me, very obviously gagged at this close range. Two of the other girls are still giggling, listening to something on one of their's phones, sharing earbuds to do so, but she nudges the forth girl, then points with a jerked head back at us. "What?" The forth girl turns, to look at us more closely. "Are you ladies okay?"
"Sisters Foxtrot and India are quite well I can assure you." Michelle answers for us. "Sisters?" The other girl, having turned too, frowns, her gaze passing from us to Michelle. "What kind of church...?"
"This, ladies," Michelle steps forwards, coming to stand between Foxtrot and me, which in the close confines of the lift puts her suddenly very close to both girls, "is how those in service to the Silent God are required to dress." One of the girls steps back, clearly not being comfortable with Michelle's sudden proximity, but the other, the one who noticed us first, stays still. I realise she has that same half fascinated half dreamy rabbit in headlights look that I recall from my introduction to the Churches attire, which super busty Sister Foxtrot does wear very well. Added to which Michelle looks stunning too, definitely a worthy fantasy for any girl who's ever daydreamed about playing with another girl, as this girl prehaps has. "Silent God?" The only girl now paying us any attention asks, almost whispering, her friend having turned back to face the front, and pulled out her phone too. "Why yes." Michelle's voice has dropped too, she shifts slightly, bringing her curvy full breasted body that slight bit closer to the girl. "My Sisters are gagged," she grins, and reaches forwards to place her hand over the girls mouth, making her gasp, "permanently, to better hear the words our God has to share with the faithful." The girl, unable to talk now, unless she does so through Michelle's hand gag, nods. In the lifts relative quiet I can both see and hear her breathing quicken, and her gaze is locked on Michelle, who is, for the second time I've witnessed, simply amazing in full shark hunting weak prey mode. "Here," Michelle, slowly as the lift pings, before verbally announcing our arrival on the ground floor, reaches into her deep cleavage, and pulls out a small business card, "take this." She smiles. "Sister." The girls breath catches as Michelle slides the card down into her own ample cleavage, quite deliberately stroking the tops of her breasts as she withdraws both that hand and the one she was using as a gag.
"Tasha." Comes the half shout, making the girl blink, and finally break eye contact with a grinning Michelle. "Huh?" She turns, looking half dazed, to discover her friends all waiting outside the lift. Tasha shakes herself, and, giving Michelle a final nervous half smile, reaching up to briefly finger her cleavage, and the card nestled within, she turns and goes to join her friends. "Well Sisters." Michelle steps from the lift. "Shall we proceed to meet our new arrivals?" She looks around as Foxtrot and me step out of the lift too, then points. "I believe the bus station is this way."
But, instead of a simple pick up, what happens next is I get distracted.
It's been forever, at least two years now, since I was last anywhere near a shopping centre. I'd forgotten how bright everything is. Walking behind Foxtrot, herself lagging slightly behind Michelle, a flash of colour, a word slashed across a shop front, causes a flood of memories to return, and without thinking I turn, heading away from the group, for a closer look.
It's a lingerie shop, one of the high end boutique types, small, and only stocking a half dozen of the more exclusive, more expensive, brands. It's the same shop, though not in the same town, that I used to visit for all my undergarment needs, back when I had money, and a life. As a young high flyer, working up in the clouds, or so it felt, in an office in the centre of London, surrounded almost entirely by men, I used to get quite a thrill from deliberately wearing the skimpiest, smallest, and tightest, lingerie, I could find. Concealing my naughtiness underneath the usual fitted long sleeved shirt and either a black just above the knee skirt, or a pair of black fitted trousers that hugged my slim toned legs. The shop is closed, not that I have money anyway, but still I linger, unable to tear my eyes from the green and black camisole clad mannequin in the darkened window.
"Hey look, it's little red riding hood." Turning around, I find myself face to face with three college age boys, all of them grinning, grins which only grow as they catch sight of my bikini top, out of which cleavage is spilling, almost being squeezed out by the tightly cinched belt below my breasts. No doubt my only partially concealed gag is causing them some mirth too. "Well well." The middle one, nodding, turning to his companions. "Maybe she's lost?"
"Maybe," the one on the left, reaching forwards quickly, lifting up my skirt, "she needs to make a quick purchase."
"Ha." The middle one again, stepping close, putting a hand on my naked pussy. "Maybe she wants us all to see her little hairy pussy?" Shocked, I step back quickly, banging my hood covered head and cuffed arms agaisnt the shop window, causing me to bounce forwards again. I've gotten so used to being naked, all the time, that the continued absence of either bras or thongs in the clothing room has ceased to register. I wore the skirt today because I liked it, never even thinking about how its criminaly short length would leave my pussy, and butt, exposed everytime I so much as walk or squat. Now though, as the boys laugh, and one of them steps forwards again, pinning me in place just with his bulk, I feel my face flush with embarrassment, just as the first trickles of icy fear begin climbing up my spine. "What do you say lads?" The one directly in front of me, grinning left and right. "Should we see what she's got up top too?" Without waiting for a response he takes hold of my bikini top, and pulls, using his strength to yank the whole thing off me. "Very nice." Nodding, stepping back. One of his friends points down at my skirt. "Do you think we should finish the j...."
And then, her bare feet masking her silent approach, Foxtrot is suddenly at my side.
She glares at the boys, who all take a step back, one of them even raising his hands as though to ward her off. "What the fuck?" The boy in the centre, almost laughing. "Two of you?" Foxtrot takes a step forwards, putting her both slightly in front of, and a small distance away, from me. "Hey. Girl." He grins, as do the other two, clearly still feeling their advantage with nobody else around. He points at Foxtrot's top. "Want to show us those amazing tits?"
Foxtrots kick comes out of nowhere, completely unexpected, by me and the three boys. Raising one foot off the floor she pivots on the other, turning a perfect quick circle, her flung out roundhouse connecting with the central boys chin, flinging him backwards through the air to land, with an audible crack, behind his friends. There's a moment of stunned silence, a pause, and then the boys hoist their friend up, and all three dash away.
Running straight into Michelle, appearing with perfect timing around the corner, with four still clothed but gagged girls following behind.
Luckily the boys manage to stop in time. "Boys." Michelle steps to the side, giving them room to pass, but then her eyes find me, stood still and topless, with Foxtrot beside me glaring at the three now beside her. As Michelle turns to face them all three flinch. "Naughty." Wagging her finger, which makes one of them laugh. A laugh choked off and turned to coughs when Michelle kicks him square in the crotch.
"Sisters." Holding out her hand. "To me." Ignoring my bikini top, unable to pick it up anyway, I walk to Michelle, with Foxtrot shadowing my side, keeping herself between me and the boys. "Sister India," Michelle steps in close, taking gentle hold of my chin to look me in the eyes, "are you hale?" I nod. "Good. Sister Foxtrot," nodding at my tall blonde rescuer, "I believe it's time to leave this place." Michelle glares down at the three boys, the two trying to help the third, curled up into a ball around his no doubt throbbing balls. "I shall," looking back up at the two of us, "overlook your disregard for my rules, your failure to stay close by me, this time. Now come." Michelle begins to walk away, knowing on some level that we, even the new girls, will follow. "Back to the van. We have three more sisters to collect today."
A couple of the new arrivals are looking from me, and my breasts, to the boys. One is even staring wide eyed at Foxtrot. I guess, were it not for the gags, each would have questions. But, breaking the moment, I set off after Michelle, with Foxtrot still keeping beside me, and the other four, gagged now, their allegiance to the Church of Silence already signed no doubt, fall in behind.
At the next and final stop, Michelle doesn't let us out. Instead we all wait together in the back for the remaining three arrivals to be ushered, already gagged despite the fact I've not seen Michelle carrying a bag at any point today, into the vans rear. And then we all return to the compound.
Michelle's Church of Silence, or, to put it another way, her cult of occasionally tied up but always naked, and always gagged, girls, now has eighteen members.
if this going on they might need an even bigger building, huh? Great news!
-
tickletied84
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 490
- Joined: 6 years ago
- Location: Scotland
The Church is certainly increasing in size - lovely update and good job you're keeping those pesky boys out of the way!
Absolutely. The number of believers grows, which is good. I like that churchtickletied84 wrote: ↑3 years ago The Church is certainly increasing in size - lovely update and good job you're keeping those pesky boys out of the way!
006.
India.
We're planting trees. Everyday at least half, but normally more, of us dress in figure hugging spandex leggings and tiny crop tops- because whilst it's no longer bikini weather, apparently autumn doesn't qualify as cold enough for sleeves -to tackle the small forests worth of saplings, delivered and left in pots, row upon row like an invading army, across one side of the mansion. Each day there are new maps, hand drawn- by Michelle most likely -showing the grounds, each new map highlights the spot we need to plant next, describing too which trees to put where. The broadleaves are being grouped in small clumps, but, over in one corner against the boundary fence, we're planting a huge stand of pine and cedar in rows.
Even after nearly a month we're nowhere near finished.
Every tree has to be loaded onto a four wheeled wooden cart, then pulled and pushed across the vast grounds to the correct spot. There are only two carts, and each cart can, just about, hold three trees. We have to dig all the holes too, which requires the map. And, once planted, the dirt backfilled and tamped down, some of the saplings require staking.
It's been easy to spot those girls on planting duty, at dinner every evening they're the ones, naked again, yet marked out by the dirt and grass stains covering arms and stomachs, and faces. Stains which, like the body writing I once wore for seven days, can't be washed off until the following morning.
With all of this, plus the various other tasks: including, now we are more, an increase in room four activity alongside the appearance of rooms one through three on the daily tasks sheet, you'd think I'd be too tired to do anything but sleep like the dead each night. But no. Once Michelle locks me up next to Foxtrot, my mind refuses to slow down. I can't forget recent events. Can't not see, each time I close my eyes, Foxtrots own eyes as she came to my rescue. I'd swear there was real concern there, a look totally at odds with the childhood her I remember, the her, for lack of knowing any different, that I'd assumed she still was.
I know we can't talk. The gag prevents that, but there's nothing to stop Foxtrot from at least being with me, if she cared. And yet she's missing every evening. The only free time we have. Regardless of where I go, what I do, I don't see her. Am I being avoided? Did she rescue me from those dick boys just because? And if that is the case, if she doesn't care, then why do I- still -catch her glancing at me, nearly always when my back is turned, only a well placed mirror betraying her. If she cares, if the feelings I can feel beginning to bubble up in me towards her, feelings I'm too shy and confused to act on myself, are shared, then wouldn't she at least be seeking me out for a cuddle? I've seen some of the others doing this, though not yet in a sexual way, and seeing them just makes me want to talk to Foxtrot more. Which I can't, because of the gag, which brings us full circle.
I'm very confused, and that confusion keeps me awake.
But it's today now. Friday, again because who's going to say otherwise? Today there are two envelopes tacked to the easel.
This isn't uncommon. Two or more different tasks, each requiring more then a couple of words to explain. The envelopes are numbered, and, according to the days list, envelope two is solely mine.
Inside, is a single sheet of paper, and a key.
'Sister India.
I shall be leaving the compound today, from second until third siren, as is usual in these matters. Whilst I am away, you must use this key to access my personal rooms up on the second floor, and clean them. Let me be clear Sister, ANYTHING that does not belong in my rooms is to be removed.
Michelle.'
Is the short instruction I find written in the same flowing script as the daily list. Frowning, I read the note again. As far as I can recall, none of the girls has ever cleaned, or even set foot in, Michelle's private area of the mansion. So why now? Why me? The best I can come up with is that this is, in a way, Michelle's idea of an easy day. Almost like a belated day of rest following what happened to me in the shopping centre.
Without a pocket I retain the envelope, and head in search of cleaning supplies, deciding the best course, with no idea how large Michelle's rooms are or how dirty, is to be ready to begin cleaning as soon as I've eaten.
There are plenty of locked rooms in the mansion, most of them on the first floor, where with only two exceptions the only accessible rooms are either our bedrooms or the small no bath bathrooms. On the ground floor are plenty of empty unlocked rooms that simply contain nothing, or nothing more exciting then a soil filled but empty terracotta pot, or an old wooden study desk with missing drawers. Two of the rooms on the ground floor though are given over to storage, and one of those is where all the cleaning supplies live. The girl, sometimes girls plural if a particular room is to be blitzed, such as the kitchen or shower room, comes here to collect whatever she needs for each task. The room is always well stocked, by the same magic that keeps plenty of everything you could put into a soup readily available in the pantry, which is located through the kitchen, too. Which of course is no magic. I've been woken more then once by the sounds of delivery trucks crunching up the driveway in the early pre dawn hours, the sounds of men laughing as they unload and pile up various boxes. Boxes which we then have to spend the day lifting, carrying, and sorting. Just another task in the service of the Silent God of course.
I spend some time, right up until the siren announces lunch, filling two buckets with anything I consider useful: spray cleaners for various tasks, a dustpan and brush, polish and dusters, air freshener. Next to all of this, which I place beside the storage rooms door, I lean a broom, and a third bucket out of which sticks a mop.
After some internal debate I place the envelope, still containing the key, inside one of the buckets.
With Michelle off the premises, and lunch eaten, I collect all my supplies, which I'm just about able to carry in one hit, and make for the locked door on the first floor.
The key, of course, fits. Stepping in I let the door swing closed behind me, hearing an audible click as it self locks, then I look around. I'm stood at the foot of a small flight- just over a dozen -of stairs, at the top of which appears to be a small landing. Grabbing up my things, but leaving the key, and envelope, on the floor beside the door lest I lose it in unfamiliar surroundings, I ascend to the top.
And find that the landing isn't so small after all. I'd been half expecting a second front door, but it seems not. The landing area is more like a corridor, with five doorway openings leading off it, two of which don't have doors. Putting down all my cleaning things, I decide to explore first, completely justifying my curiousity with the half truth that I need to see what needs cleaning, so I might best prioritise my time.
I work my way from doorway to doorway, beginning with the one nearest, on the left.
Which turns out to be a small storage cupboard. Coats hang on the walls, a large dark green below the knee length waterproof puffer jacket, which looks quite skinny and fitted for a slim lady despite the usual inflated quality those coats tend to have, and several hoodies. One wall has shelves, on which sit a dozen different shoes and boots, with gaps between for more. On the floor is a hoover, and two buckets like mine, both full of cleaning supplies.
The next doorway, an open one, leads through to a very modern kitchen. Here at least is evidence of cleaning needing doing, dirty dishes in the sink, two wine glasses, and the leftover plates as evidence of dinner for two, on the small round wooden table in the rooms corner. The fridge, because I can't resist a peek, is well stocked, as are the cupboards. And a wide variety of alcohol lines a shelf above the kitchen counter. This room has a tiled floor, a faded light red and light grey check pattern of large squares. So far the rest of the house, from the door at the bottom of the stairs, has been covered in thick dark red carpet, which feels amazing beneath my bare feet.
The lounge, next, and the other open doorway here, is huge. It's almost like two rooms. In one corner a three seater fabric sofa is placed facing a wall, fixed to which is the largest flatscreen I've ever seen, flanked and surrounded by speakers and a Sky box, plus the latest Nintendo and Sony consoles. The other side of the room is dominated by the large floor to ceiling window I saw on my first day here. Two armchairs, both large and comfortable, flank the window, both angled to enjoy the simply breathtaking view. From this height the compound seems to stretch on forever, laid out below and before me like a really well done painting. In the distance is the lake, and above everything hangs an ocean of blue sky speckled with white cloud. I can't resist taking a moment, sitting in one of the chairs, arms resting on the plush arms. Doing this I find myself wondering, not for the first time, who is Michelle really? And, why do all this?
Next comes a bathroom, also tiled, this time in white. The square tiles here though climb halfway up the four walls. In one corner sits a large square bathtub, large enough for two, and above the sink is a wide tall mirror, reaching up to the ceiling.
The final room, it appears with the exception of the cupboard every room up here is larger then normal, is a bedroom. A king sized wooden four poster sits against one wall, the wood is very ornate, the tops of the posts curling and twisting as they join together. Off to one side is a walk in wardrobe, and against another wall is a wooden make-up desk complete with oval mirror.
Having explored, at least I can see why Michelle felt the need to capitalise the word anything. Before I can do any cleaning, I'd best untie the girls.
Firstly, Echo, in the lounge. Between the large window and comfy armchairs, where I'd sat for a moment of 'how the other half live' contemplation, is a low rectangular table. Echo has been trussed to it, laid on her back with limbs spread to the corners. She's a curvy girl, older then me by about ten years, and in this position her large breasts are somewhat sunken in, unlike Foxtrots surgically enhanced assets which are rounded no matter her orientation, though you can still see she's around a D cup from the size and shape of the slight humps. Her hair is brown like mine, but more curly. She's been loosely blindfolded with a black scarf. Around her, on the table, are almost a dozen shot glasses, plus several cans of beer, and an empty vodka bottle. On her belly someone has drawn a chess, or checkers, board, though all of the pieces are either on the table or laid on the floor.
Has she been here all night? I thought all of us spent every night chained up, no exceptions. But up here, Michelle's quarters, looks like the aftermath of an evening spent entertaining, complete with naked centre ornament.
Having untied, and helped her up, I gesture her to follow, which she does, through to the bedroom, and one of the new girls.
I think it's Oscar. A skinny small breasted Asian, her straight dark hair tied into twin small plaits either side of her head. She's been tied up on one side of Michelle's bed, arms over her head, legs together. Blindfolded too. Beside her, atop the rumbpled duvet, sits a fair sized black strap on, which tells me a fair bit about what she's doing bound to Michelle's bed, most likely overnight like Echo. Together we untie her, and then, holding hands, the two of them leave me to clean up.
Whilst cleaning, tidying up whatever it was Michelle plus at least one other mystery guest has spent the night doing here, I make two interesting discoveries.
Beside the storage cupboard, fixed to the wall at the top of the stairs, is the sirens control system. It resembles a black tablet, the screen dark until I tap it, then the display fades in. Four sections, each one a touch sensitive scroll wheel to adjust the time, and each one labelled 'Siren one' down to 'Siren four' from top to bottom. The tablet doesn't display the current time, all these absent clocks certainly explains why Michelle wears a watch, but it does have a section at the bottom, a touch slider allowing the siren to be completely disabled.
In the lounge, on one wall hanging above a low table decorated with several small cacti in pots, is an art print of oil rigs out at sea, the photo shot from some distance away, at dusk, so the rigs are largely in shadow. Making a lap of the room, dusting, as I work my way around the frames edge the whole thing pivots, like a door, coming away from the wall to reveal a hidden recess behind. Immediately feeling guilty, I spin around, expecting Michelle to be stood, most likely tapping her foot and glaring at me. But I'm alone. So I turn back around, seeing that the recess contains keys on hooks. Each hook, labeled, holds anywhere from two to eight keys, and between them these keys will open anything within the mansion, including my gag. Surely this is a trap? A test to see what I'll do when faced with temptation. Despite no two hooks holding the same number of keys, Michelle must know the count, so she'll know if I take some, and then....
And then what though? I pause, having been about to close the secret door properly. I'll be punished, right? Which actually makes me smile, the thought of all those forced orgasms, trussed in all that tight rope. The passage of time has turned what was doubtless a trail into more of a fond memory. Do I really want to throw away the potential chance at discovering Michelle's secrets just because I might get myself tied up?
I take the keys.
Not all of them. There are only two of the cross keys here, the key that removes my gags central part, which I don't need if I'm taking one of the keys that'll remove the whole gag instead. Luckily lots of the keys are attached to those metal rings, the double loops that people use to bunch keys together, so, making a point of memorising what each one's purpose is as I go, I take the keys and collect them all onto a single ring.
Luckily, twice, that I bound my hair up today. With some work I'm able to, after slipping my back cloth strip through the metal ring, tie my hair back up in such a way that the keys are concealed inside my thick ponytail.
I debate leaving the painting open. But, if my theory, my hope, that this was an error on Michelle's part, that she thought it was locked, is true, then coming home to discover it open will only arouse suspicion. And if I'm wrong, and it is all a trap, then closing it will affect nothing since she'll still discover the missing keys, and I'll get punished regardless.
It clicks as I push it closed. Which key would unlock it again? I don't think it matters, I have what I need. And now, full of nervous butterflies, I finish my task, managing to be just putting my unused supplies away when the siren sounds for dinner.
Michelle doesn't accuse me then. Nor does she come for me as I sit alone in an empty downstairs room between dinner and bed, staring at my hands, trying to figure everything out. And, when bedtime comes, and I know I can't sit on this even for one night, I make my way to my room, with the keys concealed in one closed fist.
The bedtime routine is unchanged. Michelle throws no accusations my way, nor does she demand to know why both my hands are balled into loose fists as she chains both myself and Foxtrot in place. "Goodnight sisters." The usual smile, and nod. And then she's gone, and soon, it'll be time to see whether I'm a rat caught in a trap, or a very clever girl indeed.
India.
We're planting trees. Everyday at least half, but normally more, of us dress in figure hugging spandex leggings and tiny crop tops- because whilst it's no longer bikini weather, apparently autumn doesn't qualify as cold enough for sleeves -to tackle the small forests worth of saplings, delivered and left in pots, row upon row like an invading army, across one side of the mansion. Each day there are new maps, hand drawn- by Michelle most likely -showing the grounds, each new map highlights the spot we need to plant next, describing too which trees to put where. The broadleaves are being grouped in small clumps, but, over in one corner against the boundary fence, we're planting a huge stand of pine and cedar in rows.
Even after nearly a month we're nowhere near finished.
Every tree has to be loaded onto a four wheeled wooden cart, then pulled and pushed across the vast grounds to the correct spot. There are only two carts, and each cart can, just about, hold three trees. We have to dig all the holes too, which requires the map. And, once planted, the dirt backfilled and tamped down, some of the saplings require staking.
It's been easy to spot those girls on planting duty, at dinner every evening they're the ones, naked again, yet marked out by the dirt and grass stains covering arms and stomachs, and faces. Stains which, like the body writing I once wore for seven days, can't be washed off until the following morning.
With all of this, plus the various other tasks: including, now we are more, an increase in room four activity alongside the appearance of rooms one through three on the daily tasks sheet, you'd think I'd be too tired to do anything but sleep like the dead each night. But no. Once Michelle locks me up next to Foxtrot, my mind refuses to slow down. I can't forget recent events. Can't not see, each time I close my eyes, Foxtrots own eyes as she came to my rescue. I'd swear there was real concern there, a look totally at odds with the childhood her I remember, the her, for lack of knowing any different, that I'd assumed she still was.
I know we can't talk. The gag prevents that, but there's nothing to stop Foxtrot from at least being with me, if she cared. And yet she's missing every evening. The only free time we have. Regardless of where I go, what I do, I don't see her. Am I being avoided? Did she rescue me from those dick boys just because? And if that is the case, if she doesn't care, then why do I- still -catch her glancing at me, nearly always when my back is turned, only a well placed mirror betraying her. If she cares, if the feelings I can feel beginning to bubble up in me towards her, feelings I'm too shy and confused to act on myself, are shared, then wouldn't she at least be seeking me out for a cuddle? I've seen some of the others doing this, though not yet in a sexual way, and seeing them just makes me want to talk to Foxtrot more. Which I can't, because of the gag, which brings us full circle.
I'm very confused, and that confusion keeps me awake.
But it's today now. Friday, again because who's going to say otherwise? Today there are two envelopes tacked to the easel.
This isn't uncommon. Two or more different tasks, each requiring more then a couple of words to explain. The envelopes are numbered, and, according to the days list, envelope two is solely mine.
Inside, is a single sheet of paper, and a key.
'Sister India.
I shall be leaving the compound today, from second until third siren, as is usual in these matters. Whilst I am away, you must use this key to access my personal rooms up on the second floor, and clean them. Let me be clear Sister, ANYTHING that does not belong in my rooms is to be removed.
Michelle.'
Is the short instruction I find written in the same flowing script as the daily list. Frowning, I read the note again. As far as I can recall, none of the girls has ever cleaned, or even set foot in, Michelle's private area of the mansion. So why now? Why me? The best I can come up with is that this is, in a way, Michelle's idea of an easy day. Almost like a belated day of rest following what happened to me in the shopping centre.
Without a pocket I retain the envelope, and head in search of cleaning supplies, deciding the best course, with no idea how large Michelle's rooms are or how dirty, is to be ready to begin cleaning as soon as I've eaten.
There are plenty of locked rooms in the mansion, most of them on the first floor, where with only two exceptions the only accessible rooms are either our bedrooms or the small no bath bathrooms. On the ground floor are plenty of empty unlocked rooms that simply contain nothing, or nothing more exciting then a soil filled but empty terracotta pot, or an old wooden study desk with missing drawers. Two of the rooms on the ground floor though are given over to storage, and one of those is where all the cleaning supplies live. The girl, sometimes girls plural if a particular room is to be blitzed, such as the kitchen or shower room, comes here to collect whatever she needs for each task. The room is always well stocked, by the same magic that keeps plenty of everything you could put into a soup readily available in the pantry, which is located through the kitchen, too. Which of course is no magic. I've been woken more then once by the sounds of delivery trucks crunching up the driveway in the early pre dawn hours, the sounds of men laughing as they unload and pile up various boxes. Boxes which we then have to spend the day lifting, carrying, and sorting. Just another task in the service of the Silent God of course.
I spend some time, right up until the siren announces lunch, filling two buckets with anything I consider useful: spray cleaners for various tasks, a dustpan and brush, polish and dusters, air freshener. Next to all of this, which I place beside the storage rooms door, I lean a broom, and a third bucket out of which sticks a mop.
After some internal debate I place the envelope, still containing the key, inside one of the buckets.
With Michelle off the premises, and lunch eaten, I collect all my supplies, which I'm just about able to carry in one hit, and make for the locked door on the first floor.
The key, of course, fits. Stepping in I let the door swing closed behind me, hearing an audible click as it self locks, then I look around. I'm stood at the foot of a small flight- just over a dozen -of stairs, at the top of which appears to be a small landing. Grabbing up my things, but leaving the key, and envelope, on the floor beside the door lest I lose it in unfamiliar surroundings, I ascend to the top.
And find that the landing isn't so small after all. I'd been half expecting a second front door, but it seems not. The landing area is more like a corridor, with five doorway openings leading off it, two of which don't have doors. Putting down all my cleaning things, I decide to explore first, completely justifying my curiousity with the half truth that I need to see what needs cleaning, so I might best prioritise my time.
I work my way from doorway to doorway, beginning with the one nearest, on the left.
Which turns out to be a small storage cupboard. Coats hang on the walls, a large dark green below the knee length waterproof puffer jacket, which looks quite skinny and fitted for a slim lady despite the usual inflated quality those coats tend to have, and several hoodies. One wall has shelves, on which sit a dozen different shoes and boots, with gaps between for more. On the floor is a hoover, and two buckets like mine, both full of cleaning supplies.
The next doorway, an open one, leads through to a very modern kitchen. Here at least is evidence of cleaning needing doing, dirty dishes in the sink, two wine glasses, and the leftover plates as evidence of dinner for two, on the small round wooden table in the rooms corner. The fridge, because I can't resist a peek, is well stocked, as are the cupboards. And a wide variety of alcohol lines a shelf above the kitchen counter. This room has a tiled floor, a faded light red and light grey check pattern of large squares. So far the rest of the house, from the door at the bottom of the stairs, has been covered in thick dark red carpet, which feels amazing beneath my bare feet.
The lounge, next, and the other open doorway here, is huge. It's almost like two rooms. In one corner a three seater fabric sofa is placed facing a wall, fixed to which is the largest flatscreen I've ever seen, flanked and surrounded by speakers and a Sky box, plus the latest Nintendo and Sony consoles. The other side of the room is dominated by the large floor to ceiling window I saw on my first day here. Two armchairs, both large and comfortable, flank the window, both angled to enjoy the simply breathtaking view. From this height the compound seems to stretch on forever, laid out below and before me like a really well done painting. In the distance is the lake, and above everything hangs an ocean of blue sky speckled with white cloud. I can't resist taking a moment, sitting in one of the chairs, arms resting on the plush arms. Doing this I find myself wondering, not for the first time, who is Michelle really? And, why do all this?
Next comes a bathroom, also tiled, this time in white. The square tiles here though climb halfway up the four walls. In one corner sits a large square bathtub, large enough for two, and above the sink is a wide tall mirror, reaching up to the ceiling.
The final room, it appears with the exception of the cupboard every room up here is larger then normal, is a bedroom. A king sized wooden four poster sits against one wall, the wood is very ornate, the tops of the posts curling and twisting as they join together. Off to one side is a walk in wardrobe, and against another wall is a wooden make-up desk complete with oval mirror.
Having explored, at least I can see why Michelle felt the need to capitalise the word anything. Before I can do any cleaning, I'd best untie the girls.
Firstly, Echo, in the lounge. Between the large window and comfy armchairs, where I'd sat for a moment of 'how the other half live' contemplation, is a low rectangular table. Echo has been trussed to it, laid on her back with limbs spread to the corners. She's a curvy girl, older then me by about ten years, and in this position her large breasts are somewhat sunken in, unlike Foxtrots surgically enhanced assets which are rounded no matter her orientation, though you can still see she's around a D cup from the size and shape of the slight humps. Her hair is brown like mine, but more curly. She's been loosely blindfolded with a black scarf. Around her, on the table, are almost a dozen shot glasses, plus several cans of beer, and an empty vodka bottle. On her belly someone has drawn a chess, or checkers, board, though all of the pieces are either on the table or laid on the floor.
Has she been here all night? I thought all of us spent every night chained up, no exceptions. But up here, Michelle's quarters, looks like the aftermath of an evening spent entertaining, complete with naked centre ornament.
Having untied, and helped her up, I gesture her to follow, which she does, through to the bedroom, and one of the new girls.
I think it's Oscar. A skinny small breasted Asian, her straight dark hair tied into twin small plaits either side of her head. She's been tied up on one side of Michelle's bed, arms over her head, legs together. Blindfolded too. Beside her, atop the rumbpled duvet, sits a fair sized black strap on, which tells me a fair bit about what she's doing bound to Michelle's bed, most likely overnight like Echo. Together we untie her, and then, holding hands, the two of them leave me to clean up.
Whilst cleaning, tidying up whatever it was Michelle plus at least one other mystery guest has spent the night doing here, I make two interesting discoveries.
Beside the storage cupboard, fixed to the wall at the top of the stairs, is the sirens control system. It resembles a black tablet, the screen dark until I tap it, then the display fades in. Four sections, each one a touch sensitive scroll wheel to adjust the time, and each one labelled 'Siren one' down to 'Siren four' from top to bottom. The tablet doesn't display the current time, all these absent clocks certainly explains why Michelle wears a watch, but it does have a section at the bottom, a touch slider allowing the siren to be completely disabled.
In the lounge, on one wall hanging above a low table decorated with several small cacti in pots, is an art print of oil rigs out at sea, the photo shot from some distance away, at dusk, so the rigs are largely in shadow. Making a lap of the room, dusting, as I work my way around the frames edge the whole thing pivots, like a door, coming away from the wall to reveal a hidden recess behind. Immediately feeling guilty, I spin around, expecting Michelle to be stood, most likely tapping her foot and glaring at me. But I'm alone. So I turn back around, seeing that the recess contains keys on hooks. Each hook, labeled, holds anywhere from two to eight keys, and between them these keys will open anything within the mansion, including my gag. Surely this is a trap? A test to see what I'll do when faced with temptation. Despite no two hooks holding the same number of keys, Michelle must know the count, so she'll know if I take some, and then....
And then what though? I pause, having been about to close the secret door properly. I'll be punished, right? Which actually makes me smile, the thought of all those forced orgasms, trussed in all that tight rope. The passage of time has turned what was doubtless a trail into more of a fond memory. Do I really want to throw away the potential chance at discovering Michelle's secrets just because I might get myself tied up?
I take the keys.
Not all of them. There are only two of the cross keys here, the key that removes my gags central part, which I don't need if I'm taking one of the keys that'll remove the whole gag instead. Luckily lots of the keys are attached to those metal rings, the double loops that people use to bunch keys together, so, making a point of memorising what each one's purpose is as I go, I take the keys and collect them all onto a single ring.
Luckily, twice, that I bound my hair up today. With some work I'm able to, after slipping my back cloth strip through the metal ring, tie my hair back up in such a way that the keys are concealed inside my thick ponytail.
I debate leaving the painting open. But, if my theory, my hope, that this was an error on Michelle's part, that she thought it was locked, is true, then coming home to discover it open will only arouse suspicion. And if I'm wrong, and it is all a trap, then closing it will affect nothing since she'll still discover the missing keys, and I'll get punished regardless.
It clicks as I push it closed. Which key would unlock it again? I don't think it matters, I have what I need. And now, full of nervous butterflies, I finish my task, managing to be just putting my unused supplies away when the siren sounds for dinner.
Michelle doesn't accuse me then. Nor does she come for me as I sit alone in an empty downstairs room between dinner and bed, staring at my hands, trying to figure everything out. And, when bedtime comes, and I know I can't sit on this even for one night, I make my way to my room, with the keys concealed in one closed fist.
The bedtime routine is unchanged. Michelle throws no accusations my way, nor does she demand to know why both my hands are balled into loose fists as she chains both myself and Foxtrot in place. "Goodnight sisters." The usual smile, and nod. And then she's gone, and soon, it'll be time to see whether I'm a rat caught in a trap, or a very clever girl indeed.
"work and pray" are old cloister-rules indeed. Very proper!
But stealing? I do not think so... uh-oh!
But stealing? I do not think so... uh-oh!
-
tickletied84
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 490
- Joined: 6 years ago
- Location: Scotland
Abusing privileges given by Michelle...although I guess at least India didn't take advantage of the tied girls!
007.
Denise.
I wait as long as I dare, not because of the slim chance that Michelle will return, she never has. It's falling asleep I fear. I might not feel tired, but dozing for even one second would be enough to relax my grip, to send the keys tumbling from my hand, if I'm lucky only onto the bed, but if not then all the way to the floor, out of reach, and then it's game over. In the morning Michelle would discover them, and that would be that. Hello another week of, at a minimum, being tightly trussed up for most of the day.
So I wait only long enough to, in my opinion, allow Michelle time to chain up all eighteen of us. Then I add a count of two hundred for luck.
In the total silence of the room the click of my unlocked wrist cuff sounds deafening. The only sound louder being the second cuff clicking open a minute later.
Sitting up, leaving my open cuffs resting on the mattress, listening even though it's now way too late to avoid getting caught- even if I do hear Michelle I'd never reverse what I've just done in time -the next task is to release my ankles. I leave those cuffs resting where they are too, and swinging my body around to the side, legs hanging off the bed, I look at the keys. My brain, always something I could rely on, always running like a well oiled machine as it got me through first school, and college- both with nothing but the highest grades -then proceeded to make me a whole truck full of money, more or less spluttered and died under the weight of my repeated drug abuse. For over a year I lived in a fog, or so it seemed, unable to recall anything save basic details. Getting clean helped, but my brain was still sluggish, as I said earlier I'd lost the will and motivation to do anything, which included bringing what was once my greatest asset back up to speed. Now though, all this pondering about Michelle, all these secrets to unlock. These past months I've felt like my old self again. The evidence of which is right before me, as, looking at the many, in some cases near identical, keys in my hand, I know without any doubt what name each one had written above its hook.
Grinning, feeling good, I select the correct key, and, reaching around behind me, unlock my gag.
There are now four of us in the bedroom, the recent influx means that each of the seven double bed filled rooms now has at least three girls chained up within each night. Chained to the other bed, looking at me with wide eyes as I toss my gag onto my bed next to the wrist cuffs, are November and Sierra. November is dark skinned, but not as much as a couple of the other girls here. Her hair is black, and curly, though nowhere near Michelle's near butt length locks. Her body is curvy without being fat, skinny belly, wide butt and hips. Her breasts, a C cup, are topped with dark, almost black, large nipples. Sierra, in contrast, is skinny enough that a strong breeze could probably blow her away. Her skin is very pale and covered in a mish mash of different sized and themed tattoos. Her breasts are small enough to be almost non existent. Dyed blue hair is cut short, and very messy.
"Sisters." Climbing up onto the bed, straddling Sierra with my legs bent at the knee, placed either side of her, my pussy- unintentionally -pressing against her own. Sierra wriggles beneath me, whilst beside her November grunts, tugging at her chains. Both girls eyes are pleading. "No." Shaking my head, reaching across to stroke November's flat belly, making her wriggle some more and moan quietly. "No freedom for you girls tonight." I look from one chained girl to the other, ensuring I still have their attention, all whilst tracing swirls on November's belly. "Listen to me, carefully. For now," I smile, "Sisters. I want you to spend some time thinking about the word trust. And the word loyalty." I hold up a hand, five fingers splayed out wide, impossible to miss even in the rooms dim light. "Let's call this night one," wiggling my thumb, "on night five," wiggling my little finger, "I'll free you." I give each girls nipple a gentle, playful, twist. "Both of you. But," I lean down, putting my head level with both of thiers, whispering, "only if you've proven to me you can be trusted. Proven you can be loyal. To me." I climb off them. "Sleep well girls," blowing them a kiss, "remember this talk."
"You though," I smile down at Foxtrot, kneeling next to her head, arms resting on my upper legs, "I owe you." I gesture, waving my hand. "Lean your head up." Which she does, allowing me to reach around behind, and unlock her gag, which I pull off, and place beside mine.
"Fuck." Working her jaw, swallowing several times, Foxtrot looks up at me. "How did...."
"Not yet." I interrupt, putting a finger on her lips. "Would you," I grin, "like to come for a walk with me, Petra?"
"Yes." She gives me a small, but not shy, smile back. "Denise. I'd like that."
"Good." I select the correct key, seeing Petra's eyes widen slightly at the sight of so many in my hand, then I climb off the bed, and unlock her.
"Shall we?" Offering Petra my hand as she stands up, having spent a moment simply doing a starfish style stretch across the bed. "Yes." Nodding, taking my hand, allowing me to lead her from the room.
"Where are we going?" Petra whispers from behind me. The corridors, the whole mansion really, is super eerie at night. Like something haunted only without the fog. I think, as we walk quietly along, bare feet making no sound on the carpet, that the feeling comes from knowing there are sixteen chained up girls here, none of whom can speak, or walk around. Plus Michelle of course. And wouldn't running into her just be the worst of luck. "Hold on." I stop, and turn around, realising as I do how close together we're stood. Petra gives me an amused smile as I take a half step back. "What?" She whispers, both of us are whispering, it just feels appropriate to what we're doing. "Where are we going?"
"I need to explain something." Waving her comment away, holding up the keys. "You need to understand, I'm not supposed to have these."
"I figured that," giving me a playful shove, "silly."
"Well." Giving her a shove back. Am I flirting? "I want you to realise, my taking them could be some kind of elaborate trap." I point to the next corner, where the first floor corridor we're on takes a blind turn right. "Michelle could be waiting just around the next bend, to catch me in the act."
"So?"
"So," I dangle the keys. "If I'm caught with these, I'll be punished, tied up as a minimum...."
"Thought you looked quite cute trussed to the table." Petra muses, a smile spreading across her face as she takes hold of my arms, bringing them up to simulate my being in an X position. "Quite the dinnertime distraction."
"Is that right?" Giving my body a shake, since I'm still being, kind of, held in place. I very pointedly stare at Petras huge breasts. "I can think of someone who'd look better tied to the tabletop."
"Pervert." Smiling though, giving me a wiggle back, letting go of my wrists. "Seriously though, Denise, what's your point?"
"If I get caught, and you're with me, you get caught too."
"So? I should, what? Go back to the bed, spend the night chained up, again?"
"Well." I shrug. "I'm not saying it's a good choice. But, if you're stood with me, then you'll be suffering with me too."
"If we get caught."
"Right." Nodding. "If we get caught. I just wanted you to have the option."
"Well." Reaching forwards, taking my hands in hers, stepping in close, Petra leans down and kisses me. Something which lasts for what feels like an hour as, stunned at first, my body soon responds, my mouth opening as her tongue darts out, and I kiss her back. Smiling, Petra steps back, breaking the moment. "Does that suffice as my answer?" She grins. "I'm with you, Denise. And, I'm glad you're here."
"You are?"
"Sure." Kissing me again. "Now, where are we going?" Eying my keys. "Exploring?"
"Not tonight." Shaking my head. "This is just to have a stretch," feeling bold, I reach up, and stroke one of Petra's nipples, "feel out my allies so to speak."
"And," smiling, not moving my hand, "now that you've got me, what now?"
"How about some food?"
Behind the kitchen, which itself is located through the large dining hall, is a pantry. Given the mansions size, the sheer scale of it's entrance and dining halls, not to mention the number of upstairs bedrooms, it's no wonder both the kitchen and pantry are large enough to make hosting a medieval banquet an easy task. A half dozen chefs could work here without tripping over each other. The pantry, alongside numerous shelves, has a walk in fridge and freezer. It also has a locked door, just plain wood, set into one wall. My 'mansion master' key slots easily into the lock, and, with a click, and a pull, the door opens, revealing an Alladins cave of treasures. Food treasures anyway.
Inside is a small room, a cupboard really. In one corner sits a freezer, next to a fridge, both full up of expensive- to my ex high rolling lifestyle eye -cuts of meat, plenty of alcohol, and several gallons worth of ice cream. Filling the rest of the room are shelves, upon which sit boxes of posh chocolate, mostly, along with bottles of wine housed in racks. "Must be her personal stash." I grin, stepping in and perusing the bottles. "Red?" I ask Petra, selecting a brand I remember, a twenty year old vintage. "We can't." Shaking her head, but staring longingly at the stacked chocolates. "She'll know."
"She won't know." I point. "Look. There are three of these exact bottles, and they aren't even side by side." I look around. "There's no order here." I grab a box off the top of a pile. "And besides," turning to face Petra, shaking my plunder, "fuck it right. Let's go find a sofa to curl up on and get mildly buzzed."
"Sounds good." Smiling, Petra nods, taking the bottle from me. "Fuck it then. "She can only catch us once."
One of the downstairs rooms has an old tatty sofa placed against one wall. Once it was dark green, and quite posh looking judging by the gold thread design on the chewed looking cushions, and the wooden legs, which spiral down to the floor. It's not very large, but the arms and back are high, and it's seats are quite wide. Petra sits down, her body sideways, with her head leaning on one arm and one leg trailing down the sofas length, the other resting on the floor. "Come join me," she winks, "I'm definitely far more comfy then an old sofa."
"I'll bet." Grinning back, shaking my head as I sit myself down in front of her. Leaning back my head is now resting on Petra's large breasts, and, with both my legs on the sofa, she brings up her other one, folding it at the knee and gently pinning me against her. We'd already uncorked the bottle, in the kitchen, and have been taking the occasional swig as we walked. Now though I open the chocolates, allowing the smell of the mixed posh flavours to drift up towards us both. "Damn I've missed chocolate." Petra reaches around me, selecting one of the dozen available, the box only being small, but likely still costing three figures. "Here." She passes me the bottle. "Thanks." I select something orange flavoured for myself, sighing as the first bite sets off a small explosion in my mouth. "Fuck."
"I know right." Taking the bottle back off me. "If Michelle turns up now can we at least finish the box first, do you think?"
"I'm sure she'd listen to reason," I grin, "if we ask nicely."
"Do you think it's a trap?"
"Honestly?" I think, then shake my head. "No. If anything the wine tells me no."
"The wine is talking to you?" Petra holds up the bottle, giving it a shake. "Hey." Whispering loudly. "Mr wine." Giving it a shake. "Should we fuck now, or later?"
"Shhh." Hoping Petra can't see me blushing, glad no part of her is touching my hair covered pussy, which would allow her to feel my very obvious arousal, caused mostly by the feel of her breasts beneath me. "I meant because it was just dumped into the rack. No organisation."
"And your point?"
"I don't know." Blowing out a breath. "But my gut tells me...."
"Your gut is talking to you too?"
"Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"Just." Shaking my head. "No fucking."
"No fucking?" Suddenly I feel Petra's hand on my crotch, then she kisses my ear at the same time as sliding a finger easily inside my wet pussy. "Are you sure?"
"Behave." Though I make no move to push her away. "I don't need you to do...." I bite my lip as she begins to tease, flicking and rubbing her finger against me. "This."
"Do what?" All innocent, as her other arm comes around, her fingers finding my nipple, rolling it gently. "I'm just," a kiss to my neck, making me shiver, "enjoying you."
"But." I shudder. "You don't want me though."
"I do."
"No." Closing my eyes, because it just feels that good, to be touched. But. "No." Taking hold of Petra's hand, sliding her out of me, climbing off the sofa. "It's," I smile down at her, at her pout, "nice of you. But you don't need to fuck me just because I freed you."
"I'm not doing it because you freed me." Shaking her head, swallowing the final chocolate. "I want to fuck you because I want to."
"But." I gesture at her, the stretched out large breasted and tanned awesomeness of her. "Look at you."
"I wish you would," blowing me a kiss, spreading her legs wider, "come back here and touch instead of just look at the goods." She winks, I shake my head, gesture down at myself. "You don't want me." Pulling a face. "I mean, I'm not exactly looking my best these days."
"Not...?" Petra stares at me, open mouthed. "Right." She all but jumps up, and, grabbing my hand, drags me from the room.
"Look." Petra gestures, at the long tall mirror running the length of the shower room. "Go on."
"At what," turning to face her, "I see myself everyday."
"No." Coming to stand behind me, turning me so I'm facing the mirror, holding me in place with a hand on each shoulder. "You're still seeing the you I saw that day, in the flat." She shakes her head. "The girl who looked, to me, like she'd stopped caring about everything. Now look."
"Fine." I huff, blinking a couple of times, trying hard to see any point to all of this. "I can see you," I smirk, "giving speeches. Talking shit like back in school."
"And...?"
"And...." I see Petra reach around, from behind, taking one of my breasts in her hand, giving it a playful squeeze, making me gasp, but not just at the contact. I gasp because the breast she'd groped, my breast, had been firm, and pert. And tanned like the body it was attached to. My body, tanned now from a summer spent working outdoors. Just as, I realise, I'm skinny again, and very toned, from day after day of endless physical tasks. "Oh. Wow." I grin, seeing the me of two years ago, only missing the crazy coloured hair, grinning back at me. "Wow indeed." Petra replies, nodding, reaching around me with her other hand, which snakes down to my pussy, sliding inside me again.
It doesn't take either of us long to orgasm, especially once I reach around behind me, slipping a finger inside her, working at Petra's sweet spot even as she pins me against her.
Afterwards, very aware that I've no clue as to the time, I take her hand and lead her back upstairs.
"We can't stay free," walking beside me, Petra shakes her head, "can we?"
"No." I squeeze her hand. "I've got to chain us both up again."
"Why though?"
"Because I've got a plan," I frown, "of sorts."
"We could just run."
"We could." Nodding. "But, even if we made it over the fence, where would we go?"
"I. Well." Petra frowns too. "We." She grimaces, shaking her head. "I don't know."
"Don't worry." Stopped close to our room, still whispering like two kids afraid of waking Mum, which is true in a way. "We need to talk some more."
"So," stepping forwards, giving me a kiss, "no fucking?"
"Oh," I push her, gently but firmly, up against the wall, being sure to trap her wrists behind her as I do, pinning them in place with a combination of my hands holding them, and my body pressing on hers, "plenty more fucking." I kiss her, using my free hand to fondle one large breast, twirling one finger around the nipple, enjoying how Petra moans into my mouth as I tease her. "But we need to talk too."
"Mmm." Grinning, pressing her wet pussy into mine. "Anything you say boss."
"Good girl." I give her a final kiss, then step back. "Next chance we get," I shrug, "probably tomorrow night. You can tell me your story, and I'll tell you mine."
"It's a date." Nodding, still not trying to shake herself free of my grip on her wrists, Petra waits for me to release her, then we continue to our room.
I lock Petra up first, making sure to be quiet since Sierra and November are both sleeping. Then, after giving her a quick kiss on the gagged mouth, making sure my keys are tied back into my hair, I gag and chain myself back up too.
Not that I manage to sleep much, and nor, given how long we lay side by side, chained up and unable to touch each other, yet staring into each others eyes, does Petra.
Denise.
I wait as long as I dare, not because of the slim chance that Michelle will return, she never has. It's falling asleep I fear. I might not feel tired, but dozing for even one second would be enough to relax my grip, to send the keys tumbling from my hand, if I'm lucky only onto the bed, but if not then all the way to the floor, out of reach, and then it's game over. In the morning Michelle would discover them, and that would be that. Hello another week of, at a minimum, being tightly trussed up for most of the day.
So I wait only long enough to, in my opinion, allow Michelle time to chain up all eighteen of us. Then I add a count of two hundred for luck.
In the total silence of the room the click of my unlocked wrist cuff sounds deafening. The only sound louder being the second cuff clicking open a minute later.
Sitting up, leaving my open cuffs resting on the mattress, listening even though it's now way too late to avoid getting caught- even if I do hear Michelle I'd never reverse what I've just done in time -the next task is to release my ankles. I leave those cuffs resting where they are too, and swinging my body around to the side, legs hanging off the bed, I look at the keys. My brain, always something I could rely on, always running like a well oiled machine as it got me through first school, and college- both with nothing but the highest grades -then proceeded to make me a whole truck full of money, more or less spluttered and died under the weight of my repeated drug abuse. For over a year I lived in a fog, or so it seemed, unable to recall anything save basic details. Getting clean helped, but my brain was still sluggish, as I said earlier I'd lost the will and motivation to do anything, which included bringing what was once my greatest asset back up to speed. Now though, all this pondering about Michelle, all these secrets to unlock. These past months I've felt like my old self again. The evidence of which is right before me, as, looking at the many, in some cases near identical, keys in my hand, I know without any doubt what name each one had written above its hook.
Grinning, feeling good, I select the correct key, and, reaching around behind me, unlock my gag.
There are now four of us in the bedroom, the recent influx means that each of the seven double bed filled rooms now has at least three girls chained up within each night. Chained to the other bed, looking at me with wide eyes as I toss my gag onto my bed next to the wrist cuffs, are November and Sierra. November is dark skinned, but not as much as a couple of the other girls here. Her hair is black, and curly, though nowhere near Michelle's near butt length locks. Her body is curvy without being fat, skinny belly, wide butt and hips. Her breasts, a C cup, are topped with dark, almost black, large nipples. Sierra, in contrast, is skinny enough that a strong breeze could probably blow her away. Her skin is very pale and covered in a mish mash of different sized and themed tattoos. Her breasts are small enough to be almost non existent. Dyed blue hair is cut short, and very messy.
"Sisters." Climbing up onto the bed, straddling Sierra with my legs bent at the knee, placed either side of her, my pussy- unintentionally -pressing against her own. Sierra wriggles beneath me, whilst beside her November grunts, tugging at her chains. Both girls eyes are pleading. "No." Shaking my head, reaching across to stroke November's flat belly, making her wriggle some more and moan quietly. "No freedom for you girls tonight." I look from one chained girl to the other, ensuring I still have their attention, all whilst tracing swirls on November's belly. "Listen to me, carefully. For now," I smile, "Sisters. I want you to spend some time thinking about the word trust. And the word loyalty." I hold up a hand, five fingers splayed out wide, impossible to miss even in the rooms dim light. "Let's call this night one," wiggling my thumb, "on night five," wiggling my little finger, "I'll free you." I give each girls nipple a gentle, playful, twist. "Both of you. But," I lean down, putting my head level with both of thiers, whispering, "only if you've proven to me you can be trusted. Proven you can be loyal. To me." I climb off them. "Sleep well girls," blowing them a kiss, "remember this talk."
"You though," I smile down at Foxtrot, kneeling next to her head, arms resting on my upper legs, "I owe you." I gesture, waving my hand. "Lean your head up." Which she does, allowing me to reach around behind, and unlock her gag, which I pull off, and place beside mine.
"Fuck." Working her jaw, swallowing several times, Foxtrot looks up at me. "How did...."
"Not yet." I interrupt, putting a finger on her lips. "Would you," I grin, "like to come for a walk with me, Petra?"
"Yes." She gives me a small, but not shy, smile back. "Denise. I'd like that."
"Good." I select the correct key, seeing Petra's eyes widen slightly at the sight of so many in my hand, then I climb off the bed, and unlock her.
"Shall we?" Offering Petra my hand as she stands up, having spent a moment simply doing a starfish style stretch across the bed. "Yes." Nodding, taking my hand, allowing me to lead her from the room.
"Where are we going?" Petra whispers from behind me. The corridors, the whole mansion really, is super eerie at night. Like something haunted only without the fog. I think, as we walk quietly along, bare feet making no sound on the carpet, that the feeling comes from knowing there are sixteen chained up girls here, none of whom can speak, or walk around. Plus Michelle of course. And wouldn't running into her just be the worst of luck. "Hold on." I stop, and turn around, realising as I do how close together we're stood. Petra gives me an amused smile as I take a half step back. "What?" She whispers, both of us are whispering, it just feels appropriate to what we're doing. "Where are we going?"
"I need to explain something." Waving her comment away, holding up the keys. "You need to understand, I'm not supposed to have these."
"I figured that," giving me a playful shove, "silly."
"Well." Giving her a shove back. Am I flirting? "I want you to realise, my taking them could be some kind of elaborate trap." I point to the next corner, where the first floor corridor we're on takes a blind turn right. "Michelle could be waiting just around the next bend, to catch me in the act."
"So?"
"So," I dangle the keys. "If I'm caught with these, I'll be punished, tied up as a minimum...."
"Thought you looked quite cute trussed to the table." Petra muses, a smile spreading across her face as she takes hold of my arms, bringing them up to simulate my being in an X position. "Quite the dinnertime distraction."
"Is that right?" Giving my body a shake, since I'm still being, kind of, held in place. I very pointedly stare at Petras huge breasts. "I can think of someone who'd look better tied to the tabletop."
"Pervert." Smiling though, giving me a wiggle back, letting go of my wrists. "Seriously though, Denise, what's your point?"
"If I get caught, and you're with me, you get caught too."
"So? I should, what? Go back to the bed, spend the night chained up, again?"
"Well." I shrug. "I'm not saying it's a good choice. But, if you're stood with me, then you'll be suffering with me too."
"If we get caught."
"Right." Nodding. "If we get caught. I just wanted you to have the option."
"Well." Reaching forwards, taking my hands in hers, stepping in close, Petra leans down and kisses me. Something which lasts for what feels like an hour as, stunned at first, my body soon responds, my mouth opening as her tongue darts out, and I kiss her back. Smiling, Petra steps back, breaking the moment. "Does that suffice as my answer?" She grins. "I'm with you, Denise. And, I'm glad you're here."
"You are?"
"Sure." Kissing me again. "Now, where are we going?" Eying my keys. "Exploring?"
"Not tonight." Shaking my head. "This is just to have a stretch," feeling bold, I reach up, and stroke one of Petra's nipples, "feel out my allies so to speak."
"And," smiling, not moving my hand, "now that you've got me, what now?"
"How about some food?"
Behind the kitchen, which itself is located through the large dining hall, is a pantry. Given the mansions size, the sheer scale of it's entrance and dining halls, not to mention the number of upstairs bedrooms, it's no wonder both the kitchen and pantry are large enough to make hosting a medieval banquet an easy task. A half dozen chefs could work here without tripping over each other. The pantry, alongside numerous shelves, has a walk in fridge and freezer. It also has a locked door, just plain wood, set into one wall. My 'mansion master' key slots easily into the lock, and, with a click, and a pull, the door opens, revealing an Alladins cave of treasures. Food treasures anyway.
Inside is a small room, a cupboard really. In one corner sits a freezer, next to a fridge, both full up of expensive- to my ex high rolling lifestyle eye -cuts of meat, plenty of alcohol, and several gallons worth of ice cream. Filling the rest of the room are shelves, upon which sit boxes of posh chocolate, mostly, along with bottles of wine housed in racks. "Must be her personal stash." I grin, stepping in and perusing the bottles. "Red?" I ask Petra, selecting a brand I remember, a twenty year old vintage. "We can't." Shaking her head, but staring longingly at the stacked chocolates. "She'll know."
"She won't know." I point. "Look. There are three of these exact bottles, and they aren't even side by side." I look around. "There's no order here." I grab a box off the top of a pile. "And besides," turning to face Petra, shaking my plunder, "fuck it right. Let's go find a sofa to curl up on and get mildly buzzed."
"Sounds good." Smiling, Petra nods, taking the bottle from me. "Fuck it then. "She can only catch us once."
One of the downstairs rooms has an old tatty sofa placed against one wall. Once it was dark green, and quite posh looking judging by the gold thread design on the chewed looking cushions, and the wooden legs, which spiral down to the floor. It's not very large, but the arms and back are high, and it's seats are quite wide. Petra sits down, her body sideways, with her head leaning on one arm and one leg trailing down the sofas length, the other resting on the floor. "Come join me," she winks, "I'm definitely far more comfy then an old sofa."
"I'll bet." Grinning back, shaking my head as I sit myself down in front of her. Leaning back my head is now resting on Petra's large breasts, and, with both my legs on the sofa, she brings up her other one, folding it at the knee and gently pinning me against her. We'd already uncorked the bottle, in the kitchen, and have been taking the occasional swig as we walked. Now though I open the chocolates, allowing the smell of the mixed posh flavours to drift up towards us both. "Damn I've missed chocolate." Petra reaches around me, selecting one of the dozen available, the box only being small, but likely still costing three figures. "Here." She passes me the bottle. "Thanks." I select something orange flavoured for myself, sighing as the first bite sets off a small explosion in my mouth. "Fuck."
"I know right." Taking the bottle back off me. "If Michelle turns up now can we at least finish the box first, do you think?"
"I'm sure she'd listen to reason," I grin, "if we ask nicely."
"Do you think it's a trap?"
"Honestly?" I think, then shake my head. "No. If anything the wine tells me no."
"The wine is talking to you?" Petra holds up the bottle, giving it a shake. "Hey." Whispering loudly. "Mr wine." Giving it a shake. "Should we fuck now, or later?"
"Shhh." Hoping Petra can't see me blushing, glad no part of her is touching my hair covered pussy, which would allow her to feel my very obvious arousal, caused mostly by the feel of her breasts beneath me. "I meant because it was just dumped into the rack. No organisation."
"And your point?"
"I don't know." Blowing out a breath. "But my gut tells me...."
"Your gut is talking to you too?"
"Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"Just." Shaking my head. "No fucking."
"No fucking?" Suddenly I feel Petra's hand on my crotch, then she kisses my ear at the same time as sliding a finger easily inside my wet pussy. "Are you sure?"
"Behave." Though I make no move to push her away. "I don't need you to do...." I bite my lip as she begins to tease, flicking and rubbing her finger against me. "This."
"Do what?" All innocent, as her other arm comes around, her fingers finding my nipple, rolling it gently. "I'm just," a kiss to my neck, making me shiver, "enjoying you."
"But." I shudder. "You don't want me though."
"I do."
"No." Closing my eyes, because it just feels that good, to be touched. But. "No." Taking hold of Petra's hand, sliding her out of me, climbing off the sofa. "It's," I smile down at her, at her pout, "nice of you. But you don't need to fuck me just because I freed you."
"I'm not doing it because you freed me." Shaking her head, swallowing the final chocolate. "I want to fuck you because I want to."
"But." I gesture at her, the stretched out large breasted and tanned awesomeness of her. "Look at you."
"I wish you would," blowing me a kiss, spreading her legs wider, "come back here and touch instead of just look at the goods." She winks, I shake my head, gesture down at myself. "You don't want me." Pulling a face. "I mean, I'm not exactly looking my best these days."
"Not...?" Petra stares at me, open mouthed. "Right." She all but jumps up, and, grabbing my hand, drags me from the room.
"Look." Petra gestures, at the long tall mirror running the length of the shower room. "Go on."
"At what," turning to face her, "I see myself everyday."
"No." Coming to stand behind me, turning me so I'm facing the mirror, holding me in place with a hand on each shoulder. "You're still seeing the you I saw that day, in the flat." She shakes her head. "The girl who looked, to me, like she'd stopped caring about everything. Now look."
"Fine." I huff, blinking a couple of times, trying hard to see any point to all of this. "I can see you," I smirk, "giving speeches. Talking shit like back in school."
"And...?"
"And...." I see Petra reach around, from behind, taking one of my breasts in her hand, giving it a playful squeeze, making me gasp, but not just at the contact. I gasp because the breast she'd groped, my breast, had been firm, and pert. And tanned like the body it was attached to. My body, tanned now from a summer spent working outdoors. Just as, I realise, I'm skinny again, and very toned, from day after day of endless physical tasks. "Oh. Wow." I grin, seeing the me of two years ago, only missing the crazy coloured hair, grinning back at me. "Wow indeed." Petra replies, nodding, reaching around me with her other hand, which snakes down to my pussy, sliding inside me again.
It doesn't take either of us long to orgasm, especially once I reach around behind me, slipping a finger inside her, working at Petra's sweet spot even as she pins me against her.
Afterwards, very aware that I've no clue as to the time, I take her hand and lead her back upstairs.
"We can't stay free," walking beside me, Petra shakes her head, "can we?"
"No." I squeeze her hand. "I've got to chain us both up again."
"Why though?"
"Because I've got a plan," I frown, "of sorts."
"We could just run."
"We could." Nodding. "But, even if we made it over the fence, where would we go?"
"I. Well." Petra frowns too. "We." She grimaces, shaking her head. "I don't know."
"Don't worry." Stopped close to our room, still whispering like two kids afraid of waking Mum, which is true in a way. "We need to talk some more."
"So," stepping forwards, giving me a kiss, "no fucking?"
"Oh," I push her, gently but firmly, up against the wall, being sure to trap her wrists behind her as I do, pinning them in place with a combination of my hands holding them, and my body pressing on hers, "plenty more fucking." I kiss her, using my free hand to fondle one large breast, twirling one finger around the nipple, enjoying how Petra moans into my mouth as I tease her. "But we need to talk too."
"Mmm." Grinning, pressing her wet pussy into mine. "Anything you say boss."
"Good girl." I give her a final kiss, then step back. "Next chance we get," I shrug, "probably tomorrow night. You can tell me your story, and I'll tell you mine."
"It's a date." Nodding, still not trying to shake herself free of my grip on her wrists, Petra waits for me to release her, then we continue to our room.
I lock Petra up first, making sure to be quiet since Sierra and November are both sleeping. Then, after giving her a quick kiss on the gagged mouth, making sure my keys are tied back into my hair, I gag and chain myself back up too.
Not that I manage to sleep much, and nor, given how long we lay side by side, chained up and unable to touch each other, yet staring into each others eyes, does Petra.
-
tickletied84
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 490
- Joined: 6 years ago
- Location: Scotland
Fantastic twist to the story, not only getting free but releasing her bully and drinking wine. Loved the tender aspect of Foxtrot/Petra encouraging Denise that she's come so far. I'm torn between wanting their nighttime adventures continuing, and Michelle catching and 'punishing' them!
My feelings exactlytickletied84 wrote: ↑3 years ago Fantastic twist to the story, not only getting free but releasing her bully and drinking wine. Loved the tender aspect of Foxtrot/Petra encouraging Denise that she's come so far. I'm torn between wanting their nighttime adventures continuing, and Michelle catching and 'punishing' them!
superb stuff!
I sense a 'take over' in the making...
I sense a 'take over' in the making...
Thank you all, for the continued comments, and for reading this as it develops . It's good to have company along for the ride.
[mention]tickletied84[/mention] the part you refer to, with the mirror, was one of the first 'scenes' I came up with for the story. I'm glad it came across well.
. It's good to have company along for the ride.[mention]tickletied84[/mention] the part you refer to, with the mirror, was one of the first 'scenes' I came up with for the story. I'm glad it came across well.
008.
Denise.
With the keys, it begins to feel as though I'm living a double life.
I wake up all in a panic, but have to lay in bed, trying to at least act a calm I don't feel, waiting for Michelle to come and release us. Last night I forgot to tidy up the empty wine bottle, and the empty box of expensive chocolates. A rookie mistake that could, right now, be sinking me before I've even begun.
"Sisters." Michelle appears, smiling as always. She goes first to November and Sierra, and I tense up, inside. This too, either one of them, could sink me. But, once free, of their cuffs at least, both girls leave, and I allow myself to breathe again. For now.
Foxtrot, or prehaps she should be Petra to me now, raises her eyebrow at me once Michelle's gone. I shake my head, not knowing the question anyway, and we leave too.
Halfway to the kitchen, where there's a large bin in which I can easily dispose of the bottle and box, mixing them up amongst all our food waste, I'm, literally, almost knocked over by Petra. Having just about avoided colliding with me, she hurriedly points back the way I just came. I wave the remains of our secret binge at her, and she shakes her head, giving me a small silent clap. Luckily the kitchen is still deserted, and, job done, we head to the shower room at a fast walk, hoping we aren't being missed too much.
In the shower, feeling like a new me after last night's mirror aided revelation, I shave all of my pussy hair off, completing- almost, but I doubt there's any hair dye around -my transformation back to the me of old. My tattooed rain of black currency now falls all the way down to my slit, where three small black trees are now visible, growing and twisting up from my pussy. Because, if you're good enough, as I once was, money really can seem like it grows on trees.
The day passes normally. I'm back outside, along with, as usual, fully half the girls. Working this time in what seems like a never ending light drizzling rain, moving and planting the seemingly never ending army of saplings. Interestingly, three girls have been assigned to room four, and three more to room one. Normally, up until today anyway, it's been two girls per room. Of my roommates: Petra's back in room four, which means I won't get to see her, probably, until dinner, whilst November's on cleaning detail and Sierra's taking a turn in the kitchen.
Sure enough, when the nine of us come trudging inside for lunch, trailing water puddles behind us- luckily there are two girls on cleaning detail -there's no sign of Petra. I don't get to see her until dinner, by which point we're all naked again, those of us who've been outside having removed and dumped our soaked clothing out back in the laundry room, preferring warm- because of the heating -nakedness to being clothed yet freezing. As expected of someone who's spent the day at the mercy of room fours televised Silent God, gagged but still luckily able to speak, and doing a spot on impression of Michelle as she does, Petra's wrists and ankles are red rimmed from where the ropes have spent hours digging in, as are her breasts.
We don't get a chance to talk until the next day though, as, chained to the bed that night, I look over beside me to find Petra already fast asleep. No doubt tired from a combination of a late night and a day spent tightly tied up.
Awake, and showered, I first discover, courtesy of the daily list, that Petra and me are on cleaning detail, before shortly afterwards the second sirens early call to lunch is followed by Michelle's departure, alone, from the compound. Both of which combined are a green light, to ungag ourselves and explore, if ever I saw one.
"But we've been in room four."
"Yes," turning my head, talking over my shoulder as we ascend the stairs, "and between us we've done rooms one and two. But neither of us has seen the inside if three." I tap at room fours locked door. "You were in here yesterday, right?"
"Yeah." Petra rubs her wrists absently. "Had two of us tied up she did."
"She?" Asking, realising that for all I firmly believe the Silent God is simply an excuse for something, that doesn't mean the other girls share my doubt. "You know," Petra draws a square in front of her, "the. Silent God girl. On the flatscreen."
"So." Making sure I'm not smiling, because everyone's entitled to their beliefs, but also, if Petra is a faithful worshipper at the altar of Silence, then if I laugh I'll probably find myself overpowered and taken to Michelle all trussed up like the little Judas I clearly am. "The God told whoever to tie you up then," I ponder aloud, "right?"
"Don't be daft." Giving me a push. "It's all smoke and mirrors. Michelle's little porn empire is what's going on up here."
"Not a believer then?"
"Fuck no." Shaking her head. "Trust me," a half smile crosses her face, "I've seen porn. And this," gesturing around the interior of room three, which I've just opened, "this is definitely porn."
Room three, predictably, is the same as the others. Crash mats in the centre, though each rooms are a different colour, and the mats surrounded by cameras, placed and fixed to cover every angle, every shot you could say. Each room has a tall wooden wardrobe, and each has the same large flatscreen bolted to the wall, flanked by speakers.
"We can't be certain what it is." I comment, doing a circuit around the rooms edge. "I get it," patting a camera, "these. She's definitely filming us. But." A shrug. "Maybe it's just for her benefit."
"Kinky bitch getting off watching us struggle and moan huh?" Petra comes over to stand with me, placing her hand on the same camera, a couple of fingers laid on mine. She shrugs. "Maybe." Then she grins, looking cheeky. "Hey," twinning her fingers through mine, pulling me up off the camera, bringing me closer, "want to take the room for a test drive?"
"Do what now?"
"When I was younger," walking towards the wardrobe, purposefully wiggling her butt, "I used to, sometimes, have these fantasies about you besting me."
"Really?"
"Sure." Petra nods, opening one of the doors, pulling out some rope, she turns to me and grins. "You always looked good, you know, back then."
"And now I'm not?" I tease, smiling to conceal my quickening pulse as Petra walks back over to me, a bunch of ropes in her hand. She smiles back. "Don't be silly." Leaning in to kiss me. "I was young, and," she huffs, "always angry. Bullying was like my go to for dealing with the world."
"Hey." Pulling her to me, kissing her this time. "None of that matters now." I shrug. "You bullied me," I smirk, "got me wet," Petra smirks too, her hand finding it's way onto my already damp pussy, catching my double meaning, "but." I reach up and caress her breast. "Kids are mean. Who gives a shit now."
"Thanks." Kissing me, her hand still on my pussy, Petra grins. "The point is though," pressing a finger into my sweet spot, making me gasp, "the story I was telling."
"Go on then." Squeezing her nipple, earning a gasp of my own. "Tell me."
"Back then," beginning to slide in and out of me as she talks, whilst still rubbing at my spot, making it hard for me to stay standing, "in school. More then once I had this daydream of you actually standing up to me." Kissing me, clearly enjoying the look of pleasure on my face. "My favourite of these daydreams always involved you tying me up, somehow." She grins down at herself. "Stipping me out of my uniform, leaving me someplace in that state."
"I would've liked that." I just about manage to get out, hands by my side now, unable to focus on much besides Petra's touch, her other hand now massaging my right breast. That, and not falling down as my legs are threatening to buckle. "I'll bet you'd of tied me up real tight." Grinning, still working me like her own personal instrument. "Turned me into a proper helpless little bully huh?"
"Yes." Nodding. "Oh fuck. Yes, I'd of." I close my eyes. "Fuck me. I'd of left you out in the playground tied to a bench."
"And would you of stripped me?" Licking my ear, whispering. "Got my tits out to show everyone."
"Yes."
"And I bet," squeezing my own breast, "that you'd feel me up first, before abandoning me."
"Yes. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fffffffff." At which point the combination of Petra's whispered dirty talk, and everything her hands and mouth are doing to me, plunges me over the edge, and I race down through a body shaking intense orgasm, only remaining standing because I'm being held in place by Petra's hand both on and inside my pussy, and by the fact of my head, leant against her.
And after all of that, of course I need to repay her. So, taking the rope, I make Petra's fantasy of old as real as circumstances will allow.
I am, definitely, not a rope expert. I've watched the others tie me up, and I've learnt what I can. Which mostly amounts to the basics: double the rope first, reverse directions, pass the final strands between the tied limbs as that'll make everything tighter. Some of the girls techniques were different, but all of them had the same result. My complete and total helplessness. Now, feeling pretty horny, with Petra smiling back at me, I tie her up.
Beginning with her wrists, which I bind separately, tying each one to the very tops of her legs. Right to right, left to left. I make sure, of course, to check that my rope isn't accidentally touching any part of her pussy whilst I'm working, and I complete these checks by sliding a finger into and around her damp slit. "Tease."
"Is that a complaint?" I tease back, slipping in a second finger. "Are we not happy with my method of working?"
"Well." Eyes briefly closing, biting her lip. "Uuhhh. Fuck me."
"Maybe you should lay down?"
"Probably best." Petra nods, managing, just about, to get herself down without falling, given she no longer has the use of her hands. Having removed my fingers from inside her, and helped her down, I continue tying her up, using more rope to bind each leg separately, bent like a frogs. The rope I wrap runs around both the ankle, and the upper thigh, preventing Petra from straightening her legs back out. "Can you get up?"
"What?" Rolling around on the crash mats, back and forth, trying but mostly looking like a helpless baby turtle as she remains on her back, Petra looks over at me. "No, I don't think I...." She glares at me, but smiles too. "Are you laughing at me?"
"No." I reply, laughing, giving her a small push just as she was, almost, up. "Hey." Toppling back over, rolling onto her side. "Bitch."
"Now now." Coming over again, kneeling so my crotch is covering her face, my pussy basically jammed into her mouth. "That's not a nice way of addressing a person."
"Mmmffh ffppm mmf."
"Huh?" I hoist myself up, standing again, looking down to see Petra grinning. "What was that?"
"I said," shaking her breasts at me, winking, "you missed a spot."
"Is that so?"
"Yep."
"Well then," grabbing up more rope, "I'll just fix that error."
The breast tie always looked super complicated, so, using the rope I simply wrap Petra's breasts up in a tight figure eight. Which seems to do the trick. "There," giving her left nipple a flick, making her moan, "Good enough?"
"Feels tight." Nodding, wriggling her bound body, not a bad sight, and definitely enough to reawaken my still ticking over feelings of arousal. "Good." I come down onto the mats, laying my body down beside her as Petra rolls, with some effort, onto her side to face me, making me smile as she puts too much force into the manoeuvre and I wind up with a face full of super sized breast. "Oops." Laughing, which turns into a moan halfway as I flick out my tongue and lick her nipple, before moving my hand down onto her pussy, finding her still wet as I slide fingers up inside, taking charge.
Afterwards, both of us spent, I lazily untie her, and, without really realising what's happening, or stopping to consider the risks involved in doing so, we drift off to sleep, cuddled together in each others arms, right there on the crash mats in the centre of room three. Neither of us is gagged, and the door, for which nobody but Michelle should have a key, hangs wide open.
Denise.
With the keys, it begins to feel as though I'm living a double life.
I wake up all in a panic, but have to lay in bed, trying to at least act a calm I don't feel, waiting for Michelle to come and release us. Last night I forgot to tidy up the empty wine bottle, and the empty box of expensive chocolates. A rookie mistake that could, right now, be sinking me before I've even begun.
"Sisters." Michelle appears, smiling as always. She goes first to November and Sierra, and I tense up, inside. This too, either one of them, could sink me. But, once free, of their cuffs at least, both girls leave, and I allow myself to breathe again. For now.
Foxtrot, or prehaps she should be Petra to me now, raises her eyebrow at me once Michelle's gone. I shake my head, not knowing the question anyway, and we leave too.
Halfway to the kitchen, where there's a large bin in which I can easily dispose of the bottle and box, mixing them up amongst all our food waste, I'm, literally, almost knocked over by Petra. Having just about avoided colliding with me, she hurriedly points back the way I just came. I wave the remains of our secret binge at her, and she shakes her head, giving me a small silent clap. Luckily the kitchen is still deserted, and, job done, we head to the shower room at a fast walk, hoping we aren't being missed too much.
In the shower, feeling like a new me after last night's mirror aided revelation, I shave all of my pussy hair off, completing- almost, but I doubt there's any hair dye around -my transformation back to the me of old. My tattooed rain of black currency now falls all the way down to my slit, where three small black trees are now visible, growing and twisting up from my pussy. Because, if you're good enough, as I once was, money really can seem like it grows on trees.
The day passes normally. I'm back outside, along with, as usual, fully half the girls. Working this time in what seems like a never ending light drizzling rain, moving and planting the seemingly never ending army of saplings. Interestingly, three girls have been assigned to room four, and three more to room one. Normally, up until today anyway, it's been two girls per room. Of my roommates: Petra's back in room four, which means I won't get to see her, probably, until dinner, whilst November's on cleaning detail and Sierra's taking a turn in the kitchen.
Sure enough, when the nine of us come trudging inside for lunch, trailing water puddles behind us- luckily there are two girls on cleaning detail -there's no sign of Petra. I don't get to see her until dinner, by which point we're all naked again, those of us who've been outside having removed and dumped our soaked clothing out back in the laundry room, preferring warm- because of the heating -nakedness to being clothed yet freezing. As expected of someone who's spent the day at the mercy of room fours televised Silent God, gagged but still luckily able to speak, and doing a spot on impression of Michelle as she does, Petra's wrists and ankles are red rimmed from where the ropes have spent hours digging in, as are her breasts.
We don't get a chance to talk until the next day though, as, chained to the bed that night, I look over beside me to find Petra already fast asleep. No doubt tired from a combination of a late night and a day spent tightly tied up.
Awake, and showered, I first discover, courtesy of the daily list, that Petra and me are on cleaning detail, before shortly afterwards the second sirens early call to lunch is followed by Michelle's departure, alone, from the compound. Both of which combined are a green light, to ungag ourselves and explore, if ever I saw one.
"But we've been in room four."
"Yes," turning my head, talking over my shoulder as we ascend the stairs, "and between us we've done rooms one and two. But neither of us has seen the inside if three." I tap at room fours locked door. "You were in here yesterday, right?"
"Yeah." Petra rubs her wrists absently. "Had two of us tied up she did."
"She?" Asking, realising that for all I firmly believe the Silent God is simply an excuse for something, that doesn't mean the other girls share my doubt. "You know," Petra draws a square in front of her, "the. Silent God girl. On the flatscreen."
"So." Making sure I'm not smiling, because everyone's entitled to their beliefs, but also, if Petra is a faithful worshipper at the altar of Silence, then if I laugh I'll probably find myself overpowered and taken to Michelle all trussed up like the little Judas I clearly am. "The God told whoever to tie you up then," I ponder aloud, "right?"
"Don't be daft." Giving me a push. "It's all smoke and mirrors. Michelle's little porn empire is what's going on up here."
"Not a believer then?"
"Fuck no." Shaking her head. "Trust me," a half smile crosses her face, "I've seen porn. And this," gesturing around the interior of room three, which I've just opened, "this is definitely porn."
Room three, predictably, is the same as the others. Crash mats in the centre, though each rooms are a different colour, and the mats surrounded by cameras, placed and fixed to cover every angle, every shot you could say. Each room has a tall wooden wardrobe, and each has the same large flatscreen bolted to the wall, flanked by speakers.
"We can't be certain what it is." I comment, doing a circuit around the rooms edge. "I get it," patting a camera, "these. She's definitely filming us. But." A shrug. "Maybe it's just for her benefit."
"Kinky bitch getting off watching us struggle and moan huh?" Petra comes over to stand with me, placing her hand on the same camera, a couple of fingers laid on mine. She shrugs. "Maybe." Then she grins, looking cheeky. "Hey," twinning her fingers through mine, pulling me up off the camera, bringing me closer, "want to take the room for a test drive?"
"Do what now?"
"When I was younger," walking towards the wardrobe, purposefully wiggling her butt, "I used to, sometimes, have these fantasies about you besting me."
"Really?"
"Sure." Petra nods, opening one of the doors, pulling out some rope, she turns to me and grins. "You always looked good, you know, back then."
"And now I'm not?" I tease, smiling to conceal my quickening pulse as Petra walks back over to me, a bunch of ropes in her hand. She smiles back. "Don't be silly." Leaning in to kiss me. "I was young, and," she huffs, "always angry. Bullying was like my go to for dealing with the world."
"Hey." Pulling her to me, kissing her this time. "None of that matters now." I shrug. "You bullied me," I smirk, "got me wet," Petra smirks too, her hand finding it's way onto my already damp pussy, catching my double meaning, "but." I reach up and caress her breast. "Kids are mean. Who gives a shit now."
"Thanks." Kissing me, her hand still on my pussy, Petra grins. "The point is though," pressing a finger into my sweet spot, making me gasp, "the story I was telling."
"Go on then." Squeezing her nipple, earning a gasp of my own. "Tell me."
"Back then," beginning to slide in and out of me as she talks, whilst still rubbing at my spot, making it hard for me to stay standing, "in school. More then once I had this daydream of you actually standing up to me." Kissing me, clearly enjoying the look of pleasure on my face. "My favourite of these daydreams always involved you tying me up, somehow." She grins down at herself. "Stipping me out of my uniform, leaving me someplace in that state."
"I would've liked that." I just about manage to get out, hands by my side now, unable to focus on much besides Petra's touch, her other hand now massaging my right breast. That, and not falling down as my legs are threatening to buckle. "I'll bet you'd of tied me up real tight." Grinning, still working me like her own personal instrument. "Turned me into a proper helpless little bully huh?"
"Yes." Nodding. "Oh fuck. Yes, I'd of." I close my eyes. "Fuck me. I'd of left you out in the playground tied to a bench."
"And would you of stripped me?" Licking my ear, whispering. "Got my tits out to show everyone."
"Yes."
"And I bet," squeezing my own breast, "that you'd feel me up first, before abandoning me."
"Yes. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fffffffff." At which point the combination of Petra's whispered dirty talk, and everything her hands and mouth are doing to me, plunges me over the edge, and I race down through a body shaking intense orgasm, only remaining standing because I'm being held in place by Petra's hand both on and inside my pussy, and by the fact of my head, leant against her.
And after all of that, of course I need to repay her. So, taking the rope, I make Petra's fantasy of old as real as circumstances will allow.
I am, definitely, not a rope expert. I've watched the others tie me up, and I've learnt what I can. Which mostly amounts to the basics: double the rope first, reverse directions, pass the final strands between the tied limbs as that'll make everything tighter. Some of the girls techniques were different, but all of them had the same result. My complete and total helplessness. Now, feeling pretty horny, with Petra smiling back at me, I tie her up.
Beginning with her wrists, which I bind separately, tying each one to the very tops of her legs. Right to right, left to left. I make sure, of course, to check that my rope isn't accidentally touching any part of her pussy whilst I'm working, and I complete these checks by sliding a finger into and around her damp slit. "Tease."
"Is that a complaint?" I tease back, slipping in a second finger. "Are we not happy with my method of working?"
"Well." Eyes briefly closing, biting her lip. "Uuhhh. Fuck me."
"Maybe you should lay down?"
"Probably best." Petra nods, managing, just about, to get herself down without falling, given she no longer has the use of her hands. Having removed my fingers from inside her, and helped her down, I continue tying her up, using more rope to bind each leg separately, bent like a frogs. The rope I wrap runs around both the ankle, and the upper thigh, preventing Petra from straightening her legs back out. "Can you get up?"
"What?" Rolling around on the crash mats, back and forth, trying but mostly looking like a helpless baby turtle as she remains on her back, Petra looks over at me. "No, I don't think I...." She glares at me, but smiles too. "Are you laughing at me?"
"No." I reply, laughing, giving her a small push just as she was, almost, up. "Hey." Toppling back over, rolling onto her side. "Bitch."
"Now now." Coming over again, kneeling so my crotch is covering her face, my pussy basically jammed into her mouth. "That's not a nice way of addressing a person."
"Mmmffh ffppm mmf."
"Huh?" I hoist myself up, standing again, looking down to see Petra grinning. "What was that?"
"I said," shaking her breasts at me, winking, "you missed a spot."
"Is that so?"
"Yep."
"Well then," grabbing up more rope, "I'll just fix that error."
The breast tie always looked super complicated, so, using the rope I simply wrap Petra's breasts up in a tight figure eight. Which seems to do the trick. "There," giving her left nipple a flick, making her moan, "Good enough?"
"Feels tight." Nodding, wriggling her bound body, not a bad sight, and definitely enough to reawaken my still ticking over feelings of arousal. "Good." I come down onto the mats, laying my body down beside her as Petra rolls, with some effort, onto her side to face me, making me smile as she puts too much force into the manoeuvre and I wind up with a face full of super sized breast. "Oops." Laughing, which turns into a moan halfway as I flick out my tongue and lick her nipple, before moving my hand down onto her pussy, finding her still wet as I slide fingers up inside, taking charge.
Afterwards, both of us spent, I lazily untie her, and, without really realising what's happening, or stopping to consider the risks involved in doing so, we drift off to sleep, cuddled together in each others arms, right there on the crash mats in the centre of room three. Neither of us is gagged, and the door, for which nobody but Michelle should have a key, hangs wide open.
-
tickletied84
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 490
- Joined: 6 years ago
- Location: Scotland
Wonderfully descriptive update - the mix of fear of being caught, to exploring the mysterious room 3, through teenage fantasies and then exposure in a cliff hanger...just great!
so detailed!!!
.
Last edited by sian26uk 3 years ago, edited 1 time in total.
[mention]sian26uk[/mention] thanks for joining us and for commenting.
and for commenting..
Last edited by sian26uk 3 years ago, edited 1 time in total.
009.
Denise.
Shaking. No. Shaken. I'm being shaken, roused from sleep, but I don't want to wake up, don't want to spoil the perfect moment of being laid here, with Petra, on the floor of room three.
Shit.
I'm sat up before my eyes have even opened fully, seeing Sierra's crouched form, her worry line creased brow, next to me as my eyes swim into focus. She's holding something out to me, my gag. And, looking around I see Petra already strapping hers on, whilst across the room November is packing our borrowed ropes away in the wardrobe, closing the doors.
And now my brain registers the sound, not some background buzz, not the alarm clock I was dreaming as Sierra shook me awake. No, it's the siren I can hear, it's wailing already winding down as it calls us all to dinner. Which means. "Fuck." I curse. The siren means Michelle's back. Were it not for my roommates I, we counting Petra, would've been no shows for dinner, and no doubt Michelle would've come looking for us, and would've found us in the worst possible circumstances. "Shit." I curse again. That's twice I've let myself get carried away, twice I've forgotten how dangerous this all is. No more though.
"Right." Standing, nodding to November and Sierra. "Thank you both, consider your loyalty proven, and trust earned. Now go," I point at the door, "don't be late for dinner." With a nod they leave, quickly, near skipping away out of the room. "Sorry." I tell Petra, grimacing. I don't have time for this, but, it feels important to say it. She comes over, already gagged, and gives me a hug. "My fault." I shake my head, hugging her back. "You're just too much of a sexy distraction." Petra wiggles her breasts against me, making me grin. "No more fucking for awhile," I hold her face, looking into her eyes, "we need to focus on all this." I drop one hand, gesturing around me. "Figuring this out is what counts." Petra nods, I kiss her forehead, then each perfectly rounded breast in turn. "Right." Strapping my own gag back on even as we walk out the door, hoping we aren't going to be too late to the dining hall.
"Sisters," Michelle looks up, having been circling one of the now three dinner tables, removing the central core to the Sisters gags, "what kept you both?" In the lead, I hold up my cleaning supplies, everything needed to tidy up after dinner all bundled hastily into a bucket. "Okay." Michelle nods, as Petra moves beside and then past me, into the room, then through it to the kitchen. "Good work Sisters." Putting the bucket down, I follow Petra's lead, collecting my own soup and utensil, seating myself on the same table, but diagonally opposite her. Michelle finishes her tour of the room, unlocking each of us, receiving her nod in return, before leaving without a word.
I'm too busy eating, then after too busy cleaning, to discover we've another new Sister. And that night, overly paranoid, feeling like I've pushed my luck slightly too far for one day, I remain chained up.
The next morning though I see the name, Tango, added to the list. But, before that, I see her.
It's the young girl, twenty years old at best, from my one trip outside the compound. The girl from the lift who Michelle bewitched with her smile and her soft words. Not to mention her own teasingly displayed perfect body. Tasha, now become Sister Tango. Stood opposite me in the shower she has no reason to pick me out from the crowd, though I can see her casting glances at Petra, who's breasts, far larger then Michelle's own assets, would be hard to forget. But I remember her. The age, the slim busty figure, but most of all the hair. Dyed a bright fire engine red with black tips, it curls and tumbles around her gagged face.
Not like I can ask her what she's doing here though. Well, actually I can, but it isn't worth the risk. And besides, I need to talk with Petra.
That evening, having eaten, Petra follows me to one of the ground floor rooms, prehaps the smallest one, completely empty save for a dozen or so heaped blankets in one corner. We're both filthy from a day spent outside, but can't really do anything about it. I use my key to unlock both of our gags, before Petra leans her back up against the door, which should prevent us being easily barged in on, being caught in this current state. I lay down, resting my head in her lap, the angle giving me a lovely view of her breasts.
"So," because she's dropped small details several times, but has yet to actually tell me, I ask, "what about you?"
"What about me?" Shrugging, tracing idle circles around my stomach and breasts. "You want to know why I'm here, is that it?"
"I'd like to understand yes." Nodding. "If you're okay with sharing?"
"Sure," a half smile, "I'll tell you a story." Petra thinks. "The highlights anyway."
"I did porn for awhile." Giving one of her breasts a squeeze. "That's why I've got these." A shrug. "Helped to get me more work if I went supersized."
"That's why the comment in room three?"
"Yep." Nodding. "Those rooms, the cameras, the way she gives instructions. Just the whole thing gives me porn vibes."
"Hmm." I think. "We need to check out the fifth room."
"The unmarked door?"
"Yes." Nodding. "We'll go later."
"Sure." Nodding too. "Anyway," twirling a hand, "it was good money. The porn. And," a grin, "I actually enjoyed it. Girl girl stuff mostly." A laugh. "Less wear and tear on the old equipment. But, I wound up getting mixed up with the wrong people."
"What do you mean?"
"For awhile, I was filming here and in the US. Jetting back and forth. One of the American guys. A producer. He was quite deep in with some of the drug gangs, moving product for them." She shakes her head. "It was a clever idea really. I mean," gesturing at herself. "Imagine how much I stand out in a crowd. Would you suspect me of having a suitcase full of coke?"
"Well." I think of the angles, nodding. "It is clever."
"Was nervous as fuck the first time," shaking her head, looking far away at the memory, "even with a promised cut of the profits."
"Is that why you agreed, for the money?"
"Yeah," a grin, "planning for my retirement." Screwing her face up into a grimace. "I certainly wasn't in it for the coke. Never went any harder then weed, despite all the parties, everyone getting shitfaced then jumping naked and wasted into the pool out back."
"Oh." I swallow, remembering my own wild binges: whole weekends, and in some cases most of Monday too, lost to the drugs. I'd traded hundreds of thousands, sometimes millions, of other peoples dollars, all whilst too out of it to even remember to put on a bra when I dressed that morning. Looking up, seeing Petra's half smile as she peers down at me over the curves of her supersized breasts, I decide now isn't the time for confession. So instead. "What happened then," I ask, giving one of her nipples a flick, "you got caught?"
"I got caught." Her smile turning sad, nodding. "I've still no clue how."
"Did you go to jail though?"
"Yeah." Her smile lifts somewhat. "I ain't no rat, so, I kept quiet. But," a shake of the head, the smile slipping off, "that meant I got pinned for the whole lot."
"How long?"
"Fifteen years."
"But." I do the maths. "Even with good behaviour you'd never...?"
"That's why I'm here." Looking around her, patting the wall. "Cutting out the finer details. I had a visitor one day."
"Michelle?" I guess, Petra nods. "Michelle. Spun me some preachy crap about early release into her Churches care. Tried to explain the whole Silence game to me."
"Game?"
"You know," giving my breast a playful slap, "the gag and stuff." Shaking her head. "I didn't care though. All I could see was my freedom."
"Oops." I can't help but giggle, luckily Petra joins me. "Indeed." Looking down at our gags on the floor. "All I did was swap one prison for another."
"It isn't all bad though."
"No." Nodding. "I'm," she looks down, grinning, prodding my flat toned belly, "we're all, probably in better shape then we've ever been." She thinks. "And the tying up isn't that bad."
"No," nodding too, "there are worse ways to spend a day."
"Still trapped though." She frowns. "Which sucks." Leaning down, at the same time pushing my head up, we kiss. She smiles after. "But then luckily you came along."
"Why is that lucky?" I scratch my nose. "I mean," flicking her nipples again, which I can't seem to stop doing given both are right above me, "I'm glad you've got company now. But," shrugging, "how is my being here helping?"
"Because you're smart." Tapping the side of her head. "Back in school, I used to watch you blow through the work, whatever it was, easily."
"Didn't help me keep a job though." I huff, feeling bitter despite my tumble having nothing to do with my smarts. "I saw the article." Petra nods. "Couple of years ago."
"You read that?"
"I was stuck," shaking her head, "in jail." She smiles. "Bored shitless enough to read anything. But, I recognised your name." She strokes my hair. "I'm sorry."
"S'okay." Putting my hand on hers. "In the past now anyway." I think. "So, that day in my crappy flat. You, what?" Looking up at her. "Wanted me here in hopes I could get you out of this?"
"Sorry." Giving me a cheeky smile. "Guess I kinda did get you locked up alongside me in hopes you could then free us both."
"Hmmm."
"If it helps then we could fuck again?" Wiggling her breasts. "I'll even let you tie me up."
"I'll hold you to that." I laugh, not mad. "I'm not mad," stroking her toned belly, just below her breasts, "all this got me out of a pretty vicious and one way spiral." I shake my head. "I'd probably never of made it out of that flat without this Church."
"So maybe not so evil after all?"
"I never said it was evil." I sit up, coming to lean beside Petra. "And, no, I don't think it is. Maybe some of the girls here were conned in. But, some...."
"Like you?"
".... like me." Nodding. "Some of us this all helped."
"So what now then?"
At which point the siren begins to wail. I grin, picking up the gags as we both stand. "Now we go to bed."
"To sleep?"
"No." Shaking my head. "I need to let November and Sierra out." A shrug. "They deserve it."
"And we're checking out the other room?"
"Yes." Nodding. "We're going to explore some more."
"Good plan." Petra steps in close to me, and we share a final kiss as the siren provides a backing track. Then, gags strapped firmly back in place, we head upstairs to bed.
Denise.
Shaking. No. Shaken. I'm being shaken, roused from sleep, but I don't want to wake up, don't want to spoil the perfect moment of being laid here, with Petra, on the floor of room three.
Shit.
I'm sat up before my eyes have even opened fully, seeing Sierra's crouched form, her worry line creased brow, next to me as my eyes swim into focus. She's holding something out to me, my gag. And, looking around I see Petra already strapping hers on, whilst across the room November is packing our borrowed ropes away in the wardrobe, closing the doors.
And now my brain registers the sound, not some background buzz, not the alarm clock I was dreaming as Sierra shook me awake. No, it's the siren I can hear, it's wailing already winding down as it calls us all to dinner. Which means. "Fuck." I curse. The siren means Michelle's back. Were it not for my roommates I, we counting Petra, would've been no shows for dinner, and no doubt Michelle would've come looking for us, and would've found us in the worst possible circumstances. "Shit." I curse again. That's twice I've let myself get carried away, twice I've forgotten how dangerous this all is. No more though.
"Right." Standing, nodding to November and Sierra. "Thank you both, consider your loyalty proven, and trust earned. Now go," I point at the door, "don't be late for dinner." With a nod they leave, quickly, near skipping away out of the room. "Sorry." I tell Petra, grimacing. I don't have time for this, but, it feels important to say it. She comes over, already gagged, and gives me a hug. "My fault." I shake my head, hugging her back. "You're just too much of a sexy distraction." Petra wiggles her breasts against me, making me grin. "No more fucking for awhile," I hold her face, looking into her eyes, "we need to focus on all this." I drop one hand, gesturing around me. "Figuring this out is what counts." Petra nods, I kiss her forehead, then each perfectly rounded breast in turn. "Right." Strapping my own gag back on even as we walk out the door, hoping we aren't going to be too late to the dining hall.
"Sisters," Michelle looks up, having been circling one of the now three dinner tables, removing the central core to the Sisters gags, "what kept you both?" In the lead, I hold up my cleaning supplies, everything needed to tidy up after dinner all bundled hastily into a bucket. "Okay." Michelle nods, as Petra moves beside and then past me, into the room, then through it to the kitchen. "Good work Sisters." Putting the bucket down, I follow Petra's lead, collecting my own soup and utensil, seating myself on the same table, but diagonally opposite her. Michelle finishes her tour of the room, unlocking each of us, receiving her nod in return, before leaving without a word.
I'm too busy eating, then after too busy cleaning, to discover we've another new Sister. And that night, overly paranoid, feeling like I've pushed my luck slightly too far for one day, I remain chained up.
The next morning though I see the name, Tango, added to the list. But, before that, I see her.
It's the young girl, twenty years old at best, from my one trip outside the compound. The girl from the lift who Michelle bewitched with her smile and her soft words. Not to mention her own teasingly displayed perfect body. Tasha, now become Sister Tango. Stood opposite me in the shower she has no reason to pick me out from the crowd, though I can see her casting glances at Petra, who's breasts, far larger then Michelle's own assets, would be hard to forget. But I remember her. The age, the slim busty figure, but most of all the hair. Dyed a bright fire engine red with black tips, it curls and tumbles around her gagged face.
Not like I can ask her what she's doing here though. Well, actually I can, but it isn't worth the risk. And besides, I need to talk with Petra.
That evening, having eaten, Petra follows me to one of the ground floor rooms, prehaps the smallest one, completely empty save for a dozen or so heaped blankets in one corner. We're both filthy from a day spent outside, but can't really do anything about it. I use my key to unlock both of our gags, before Petra leans her back up against the door, which should prevent us being easily barged in on, being caught in this current state. I lay down, resting my head in her lap, the angle giving me a lovely view of her breasts.
"So," because she's dropped small details several times, but has yet to actually tell me, I ask, "what about you?"
"What about me?" Shrugging, tracing idle circles around my stomach and breasts. "You want to know why I'm here, is that it?"
"I'd like to understand yes." Nodding. "If you're okay with sharing?"
"Sure," a half smile, "I'll tell you a story." Petra thinks. "The highlights anyway."
"I did porn for awhile." Giving one of her breasts a squeeze. "That's why I've got these." A shrug. "Helped to get me more work if I went supersized."
"That's why the comment in room three?"
"Yep." Nodding. "Those rooms, the cameras, the way she gives instructions. Just the whole thing gives me porn vibes."
"Hmm." I think. "We need to check out the fifth room."
"The unmarked door?"
"Yes." Nodding. "We'll go later."
"Sure." Nodding too. "Anyway," twirling a hand, "it was good money. The porn. And," a grin, "I actually enjoyed it. Girl girl stuff mostly." A laugh. "Less wear and tear on the old equipment. But, I wound up getting mixed up with the wrong people."
"What do you mean?"
"For awhile, I was filming here and in the US. Jetting back and forth. One of the American guys. A producer. He was quite deep in with some of the drug gangs, moving product for them." She shakes her head. "It was a clever idea really. I mean," gesturing at herself. "Imagine how much I stand out in a crowd. Would you suspect me of having a suitcase full of coke?"
"Well." I think of the angles, nodding. "It is clever."
"Was nervous as fuck the first time," shaking her head, looking far away at the memory, "even with a promised cut of the profits."
"Is that why you agreed, for the money?"
"Yeah," a grin, "planning for my retirement." Screwing her face up into a grimace. "I certainly wasn't in it for the coke. Never went any harder then weed, despite all the parties, everyone getting shitfaced then jumping naked and wasted into the pool out back."
"Oh." I swallow, remembering my own wild binges: whole weekends, and in some cases most of Monday too, lost to the drugs. I'd traded hundreds of thousands, sometimes millions, of other peoples dollars, all whilst too out of it to even remember to put on a bra when I dressed that morning. Looking up, seeing Petra's half smile as she peers down at me over the curves of her supersized breasts, I decide now isn't the time for confession. So instead. "What happened then," I ask, giving one of her nipples a flick, "you got caught?"
"I got caught." Her smile turning sad, nodding. "I've still no clue how."
"Did you go to jail though?"
"Yeah." Her smile lifts somewhat. "I ain't no rat, so, I kept quiet. But," a shake of the head, the smile slipping off, "that meant I got pinned for the whole lot."
"How long?"
"Fifteen years."
"But." I do the maths. "Even with good behaviour you'd never...?"
"That's why I'm here." Looking around her, patting the wall. "Cutting out the finer details. I had a visitor one day."
"Michelle?" I guess, Petra nods. "Michelle. Spun me some preachy crap about early release into her Churches care. Tried to explain the whole Silence game to me."
"Game?"
"You know," giving my breast a playful slap, "the gag and stuff." Shaking her head. "I didn't care though. All I could see was my freedom."
"Oops." I can't help but giggle, luckily Petra joins me. "Indeed." Looking down at our gags on the floor. "All I did was swap one prison for another."
"It isn't all bad though."
"No." Nodding. "I'm," she looks down, grinning, prodding my flat toned belly, "we're all, probably in better shape then we've ever been." She thinks. "And the tying up isn't that bad."
"No," nodding too, "there are worse ways to spend a day."
"Still trapped though." She frowns. "Which sucks." Leaning down, at the same time pushing my head up, we kiss. She smiles after. "But then luckily you came along."
"Why is that lucky?" I scratch my nose. "I mean," flicking her nipples again, which I can't seem to stop doing given both are right above me, "I'm glad you've got company now. But," shrugging, "how is my being here helping?"
"Because you're smart." Tapping the side of her head. "Back in school, I used to watch you blow through the work, whatever it was, easily."
"Didn't help me keep a job though." I huff, feeling bitter despite my tumble having nothing to do with my smarts. "I saw the article." Petra nods. "Couple of years ago."
"You read that?"
"I was stuck," shaking her head, "in jail." She smiles. "Bored shitless enough to read anything. But, I recognised your name." She strokes my hair. "I'm sorry."
"S'okay." Putting my hand on hers. "In the past now anyway." I think. "So, that day in my crappy flat. You, what?" Looking up at her. "Wanted me here in hopes I could get you out of this?"
"Sorry." Giving me a cheeky smile. "Guess I kinda did get you locked up alongside me in hopes you could then free us both."
"Hmmm."
"If it helps then we could fuck again?" Wiggling her breasts. "I'll even let you tie me up."
"I'll hold you to that." I laugh, not mad. "I'm not mad," stroking her toned belly, just below her breasts, "all this got me out of a pretty vicious and one way spiral." I shake my head. "I'd probably never of made it out of that flat without this Church."
"So maybe not so evil after all?"
"I never said it was evil." I sit up, coming to lean beside Petra. "And, no, I don't think it is. Maybe some of the girls here were conned in. But, some...."
"Like you?"
".... like me." Nodding. "Some of us this all helped."
"So what now then?"
At which point the siren begins to wail. I grin, picking up the gags as we both stand. "Now we go to bed."
"To sleep?"
"No." Shaking my head. "I need to let November and Sierra out." A shrug. "They deserve it."
"And we're checking out the other room?"
"Yes." Nodding. "We're going to explore some more."
"Good plan." Petra steps in close to me, and we share a final kiss as the siren provides a backing track. Then, gags strapped firmly back in place, we head upstairs to bed.
-
tickletied84
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 490
- Joined: 6 years ago
- Location: Scotland
Well, the tale gets more complex, yet more intriguing! I'm really starting to want your characters to succeed in finding out what/who's behind the organisation - even if it has been good for them.
They need to be careful not to slip back into bad habits though...almost caught again.
They need to be careful not to slip back into bad habits though...almost caught again.
couldn't phrased it better! Could be very dangerous to stay - why not building their own chapter of the order?tickletied84 wrote: ↑3 years ago Well, the tale gets more complex, yet more intriguing! I'm really starting to want your characters to succeed in finding out what/who's behind the organisation - even if it has been good for them.
They need to be careful not to slip back into bad habits though...almost caught again.