The Church of Silence (F+/F+) [FINISHED 2nd Feb]

[RopeBunny]

001.
Denise.

Sound travels well in Oakridge Towers. Unfortunately. The walls and floors of this old high rise are paper thin, so I get to hear the couple in one oh two fucking several times a week, plus the amateur opera singer in triple one on the floor above, I swear one day she'll finally succeed in cracking, rather then just vibrating, the full length mirror that sits in the entrance hall. Not that I pay much attention to my appearance these days. The Towers central stairwell is undecorated, by the council anyway, concrete, and always full of echoes. It acts like a giant funnel. An argument between drugged up street racers in the underground car park can appear to be happening right outside my door up on floor thirteen. And Oakridge as a whole is that kind of neighbourhood, this high rise block of flats is that kind of building. The walls are covered in fresh graffiti overlaying either blood stains or old faded street tags, sometimes both. Here the gangs are all openly armed with knives or baseball bats, and police sirens are a rarity.

How did I get here? A straight A student, a promising career in the city where, for a percentage fee, I invested and moved other peoples money around, always aiming for that maximum return.

In truth, because honesty is always important, even if it means explaining your own failings in embarrassing detail, it was the lifestyle that came with my high flying job that put me here. Eventually, if you want to stay on top, hungry, and sharp enough to read the markets, to make the big kills first, making them bigger, you turn to drugs. The human body just isn't built to handle a week of twenty hour days without help. By the time I crashed, and burned, in a manner spectacular enough to make the following days Financial Times, I was on first name terms with nearly every dealer inside the M25 orbital. At the still young age of twenty three I'd made my millions, and then lost them all again, plus the penthouse, and my beautiful white classic 92 plate Honda NSX type-R, a car that had, along with being both young and female, always marked me apart from the other traders and their seeming sheep like quality of only buying red Ferraris.

The trouble was, despite being nearly broke, I was still addicted to all of the worst drugs. My parents were gone, dead some five years by that point, and I had no other family. Of course those same dealers were happy to help, for a fee. So the streets rose up and swallowed me, for the next year, which looking back now is just a drug addled blur, and probably just as well.

And then, one morning, coming to, groggy from whatever shit I'd pumped into me last, staring bleary eyed around me at a roomful of guys, and girls, all as naked as me, and not even sure which of them I'd fucked, or had been fucked by, I knew that I needed help.

So I got clean. Rented this flat. Got a job behind the till in Sainsburys two days a week- all they had -and tried to rebuild my life. Unfortunately, somewhere in the last eighteen months of drugs and then recovery, I'd lost my drive. My will to get up and do something, anything. At twenty five I was all burned out. A hollow shell, going through the motions, earning just enough to live and eat, but not to escape from this shithole in the sky.

SLAM. The sound, faint, but the fifth I've heard now, getting louder each time, coming closer, rouses me from my daydream. Which I can't remember. Like most days I'd been zoning out on my small sofa. Not watching anything, I can't afford to pay for the luxury of daytime television on my 32" flatscreen with the crack high up on the right side. But, if I want to sit down at home it's either this two seater or my bed. And I'm not so lazy that I'll stay there under the duvet all day. Not yet anyway.

SLAM. Closer again. I get up, and go to my small kitchen, because everything here is small, to make one of the three cups of tea a day I'm allowed, if I want the bags to last until payday. "Must be a salesman." I muse aloud, watching the kettle begin to superheat the water. Salesmen, anyone really, are a rarity here, especially up on thirteen with no lift. "Must be bored," I nod, as, SLAM, coming from next door, "or dumb."

The door knock beats my kettle to it. I consider ignoring whoever it is, after all, it isn't as though I can buy anything anyway. But, curiousity gets the better of me, and loneliness. So, abandoning the kitchen I walk out into the small corridor that connects all the rooms of my one bedroom flat, heading for the door.

The mirror waylays me as I pass, as it often does. I really should turn it to face the wall, so I don't have to look at myself, so I don't have to be reminded how far I've fallen. The slim and busty me has vanished alongside all my money. Too many drugs and too many weeks without sleep, too little exercise, and too much junk food. My breasts are still large, but now they sag slightly, larger and less firm with the same added fat that has rounded out my belly and upper legs. Not to mention my expanded butt. My skin, which used to be year round tanned, is now pale and spotty. And my hair, which I used to dye a different shade every other month, now hangs limp and brown, barely curling as it sits on my shoulders. My clothes too are not those I once wore. Baggy dark red drawstring trousers, with frayed ankles, are tight at the waist from recent weight gains, paired with a dirty off white tee, also baggy, in part to hide the fact my one good bra, my work bra I like to call it, is in the washing basket.

I can see two ghost like shadows through the frosted glass of my simple wooden door, one tall, one short, both skinny. They, the shorter one I'm guessing is female, knock again. "Coming, coming." I shout then mutter, flicking the lock off, pulling the handle down and swinging the door open. "Yes?" Which is followed by. "Oh." Because both are female. And I know the taller of the pair.

The shorter of the two is dressed in tight black jeans with a green canvas belt, the end of which dangles down, swinging with every move her body makes. Above these is a fitted white shirt that hugs her lean muscled frame, with the top third open to show off a very pert and tanned pair of E cups, way too perfect looking to be real is my gut feeling. There's a hint of her red lace bra just visible around the edges. Straight black hair is worn long, at least halfway down her back. A black leather biker jacket hangs open, looking far too snug a fit to zip closed over that chest. Her whole clothing ensemble, including shiny black knee high lace up boots with no heel, looks like it cost more then I make in a year. She oozes money, and, though I can't immediately place the face, I'm sure I've seen her somewhere. The taller female, on the other hand, is. "Petra?" I exclaim, taking a step back, which the shorter lady clearly interprets as an invitation. Crossing the threshold, tipping me a nod, she strides off towards my lounge, Petra following close behind, giving me no indication that she recognises me too, which isn't surprising given my radically different look these days. Far too late to stop them, I quickly close my door, throw the bolt, and make my own way to the lounge.

Back in school Petra was chief amongst the girl bullies, the girls who pick on other girls, and me being basically top of near every class just meant I had the biggest target on my back. With Petra it was almost always mental, a war of words that, with help, she won day after day. Often through a combination of grinding me down to the point I simply stood up and left, and the fact I refused to fight back. She did physical too though, on her more spiteful days. I got thrown into the showers after sports every other month, mostly still clothed. And on one memorable occasion she and her crew held me against a lamppost, having cornered me on my way home from school, and trussed me there with several rolls of thick silver tape. It took a dog walker to save me that time, since not one of my fellow pupils did anything other then laugh, with a scattering even being so bold as to grope my chest, handily left tape free, and squeezed from both sides too, making my D cups look like they were being pushed out, offered up for inspection. Alongside all that, my bag was snatched off my shoulder about once a week, the contents tipped all over the floor, always to the accompanying soundtrack of kids laughing. Seeing her, a blast from my past, the same but changed, it's a wonder I didn't simply burst out laughing.

She's tall, topping six foot without heels and easily over half a foot taller then me or the other lady. And blonde, long straight locks- currently tied back with black cloth into a simple side plait -combined with her skinny muscled frame give the appearance of a long ago Viking warrior. And her breasts are huge, always at least a match for my own D's, I can see she's had hers enhanced at some point, up to F's at least. She's barefoot, which is bizarre, wearing only a simple white slip on dress, which is a small tight fit on her tall and huge breasted frame, barely covering her butt and allowing the crotch of her grey pants to show. The top of the dress is just simple straps, around and over which her breasts are threatening to spill. She isn't wearing a bra. Ontop of the dress she's wearing a hooded cape, which is red and no longer then the dress. The cape is a slip on, permanently joined around the neck but open below. There's a hint of black leather buckled around her neck, with more leather, like a belt, running tightly around her body nestled right up underneath Petra's breasts. This too is buckled. I can't see Petra's arms, and I can't see her mouth either, because of the gag she's wearing.

Which is why I almost laughed, because someone it seems has finally shut her up.

"My lady," tipping an invisible hat at me, now that we're all together, "thank you for inviting myself and sister Foxtrot into your home."
"Petra?" I look from my old bully to the other, the unknown. "Her name is Petra."
"Once maybe," dismissing my comment, "now though she is Foxtrot."
"Petra." I try again, though I can't say why I suddenly feel it's so important this tormentor from my past recognises me. Standing in front of her. "It's me, Denise. From Everest comprehensive." At the mention of my name, and our old school, I see Petra's eyes go briefly wide, and she blinks, looking me up and down. "Yes, quite." the unknown lady coughs politely, breaking the moment, and I turn to see she's now sat down on my sofa. "Prehaps you'd like to come and sit down," giving me a smile, patting the empty cushion, "madam, there's much for us to discuss."

Sitting next to her puts us uncomfortably close, I don't have friends over. I don't actually have friends. Turning her body slightly to face me, giving me a winning smile, all bright red lipstick and perfect white teeth, that causes things long ignored to stir in the pit of my stomach, she pats the satchel I hadn't realised until now she had. "I wonder," popping the catches, "when was the last time you spoke to God?"
"Well." Caught completely off gaurd, I look over at Petra, apparently happy to remain standing over by the door, facing me. I still can't see her arms. Behind her back maybe? "Um." Looking back at her. "I'm really not sure."
"Well," grin widening, apparently I've just given her the opening she required, "prehaps, madam, that is because, by talking, you could not hear the reply?"
"Huh?"
"Please, madam...."
"Denise."
"India."
"No," shaking my head, "Denise."
"Ah." Holding up a hand. "But, if you join us at the Church of Silence, then you will become sister India."
"Why India?" I look at Petra, some old knowledge being dredged up. "Foxtrot." I click my fingers. "We're the alphabet."
"Yes." Nodding, she reaches into the satchel, which is old brown leather, and pulls out two items, handing both to me. "Prehaps, India," she winks- is she really such a good reader of people to already see my longing to leave this place, by possibly any means necessary -"these will explain things to you better then my words. Which we here at the Church frown upon anyway."

The gag I put aside for a moment, needing both hands to open the slim brochure I'm also holding. Inside it's just three pictures: a huge old house, easily large enough to be worthy of mansion status. A room with two double beds bizarrely placed in the centre, not touching any walls. And a close up of a girls face, wearing the gag. There's a single page of text too:
'The Church of Silence.
Because only when we cease to talk, do the words of God become clear.
Founder, M Smith.'
Beneath which is a forth, smaller, photo, of the unknown lady sat across from me. "M?"
"Michelle."
"Right." And then my rarely used sluggish brain wakes up some more. I blink, and point at her. "Fuck me, you're the cult lady."

"I prefer Church founder."
"Yes." I laugh, once, without much humour. "I'm sure you do."
"You no doubt read the article?"
"I did." Nodding. It, the interview, had been in a magazine, I forget which one, in the doctors waiting room, around four months ago, back when I was a weekly visitor to the surgery, to pick up the meds my body needed to get clean. "The guy called your idea a cult." I smile. "Said you weren't to be trusted."
"Did he now."
"Yes." I laugh again, more naturally this time. "He said you were out to steal people's money."
"I see," reaching into her satchel again, pulling out a thick sheaf of papers holepunched and tacked together, attached to which is a pen, "well, India. I do need you to sign these papers." Winking. "Before you can officially wear the Churches gag."
"Wear...?" I'd been daydreaming, and hadn't realised the gag was already halfway to my lips. "Oh."
"Yes." Smiling that winners smile at me, and again, does she sense my pure desperation to grab hold of a lifeline, any lifeline, so easily. Is it tattooed on my face? "Just," taking back the brochure, swapping it out for the pen, Michelle flicks through the pages, not giving me a chance to read anything, "sign here." Pointing. "And date below please. India."
"Denise."
"Not once you sign."
"Hmmm." Looking down at the paper, full of tiny words written in the language of lawyers, taking ten pages to say what the rest of us could in one. "And this," tapping the page with the pen, "this'll give you all my money will it?" I smile, gesturing around. "And my amazing flat?" Enjoying myself. "Then what?" Tapping the gag. "I put that on, and get sold into slavery?" The idea, surprisingly, doesn't actually bother me so much. I'm tired, I discover in that moment, having been offered an out, if a bizarre one I know nothing about. Tired. Bored. Lonely. Michelle shakes her head. "No. You sign to agree to the Churches terms."
"And I can leave?"
"Sure," pointing, offering me to go and look, "page eighteen."
"Course it is." Hanging on the brink, still needing a push. At that point, despite everything, suddenly finding myself too much of a coward to commit. The me of old would've signed already, and fuck the consequences. A real go getter she was.

"And I'll wear this?" Picking up the gag, turning it over. The front is a semi rigid black leather coated panel, contoured to the curve of someone's face. The panel is large enough to cover the entire mouth, but not the chin or nose, and curves narrower at each side, where it becomes straps, both not quite as wide as my thumb is long. These straps end in the two parts of a buckle arrangement, which would go behind the head, with a small padlock to keep the gag in place. On the panels top a further two straps of about the same thickness sprout from each corner. These would appear to frame the nose, looking at Petra to check, feeding diagonally upwards, merging into one via the use of a ring. This one strap joins the others, padlocked behind my head. A final pair of straps go under the chin, from the panels bottom corners, connected by a buckle the same dull silver as the rest, plus the ring above the nose. On the inside of the panel is a bulge, a very cock shaped bulge, if your cock happens to be about five inches long and thick enough that, when combined with the large tight fitted panel, there'll be no chance of saying anything that'll be understood. On the front the panel is smooth, save for a cross shape in the centre, which, I turn it over and use my finger to check, directly lines up with the cock. "All the time?"
"Yes." She gestures at Petra. "The sisters remain locked, at all times, to better hear the words of the Silent God."
"Right." I'm not religious, but, I've a feeling Michelle doesn't care. There's something going on here, and all this Church of Silence stuff is her way of covering it. "Well, Denise," Michelle startles me back to the present, my ever wandering mind a side effect of all the drugs, with the use, for the first time, of my actual name, "are you ready to join sister Foxtrot?" She smiles warmly, a shark closing in, putting it's arm around the unsuspecting smaller fish. "Are you ready to join us in silence?"

I look at Petra, sister Foxtrot. All the times I've glanced at her, since reminding her who I am, who I used to be to her, she's been staring at me. Seeing me looking at her now, pen in one hand, gag in the other, undecided, she nods. Just once, a small down then up. But, it's enough. A push of sorts. "Okay." I sign my name, date below it with a shaky hand. "Isn't like I've got much you can take anyway."
"Sister India." Michelle stands, giving me a formal bow, taking the paperwork from me and vanishing it into her bag. "Please, stand so that I may gag you."

Soon after, locked into the gag, feeling and tasting the unfamiliar rubber and leather, my hair now tied into a simple tail, keeping it mostly free of the new straps enveloping my head, we leave my flat. Michelle closes and bolts the door behind us, leaving my phone, my bankcard with its twelve pounds thirty two, even my work bra, behind. I don't even turn to look back as I follow Michelle and sister Foxtrot to the stairwell, there's nothing there I'm going to miss.

[BoundJana]

A very interesting beginning ^-^ well done so far [mention]RopeBunny[/mention]!

[Caesar73]

A very interesting beginning ^-^ well done so far @RopeBunny!

Absolutely! The opener is intriguing and makes appetite for more. I like the title! Church of Silence

[RopeBunny]

Thank you both

The bare bones for this story started out as my story contest idea.
However, I kept finding myself adding a next part and then a next, until it became clear I couldn't possibly limit myself here to something short.

I look forward to showing you, and anyone else along for the ride, all the Churches secrets

[BoundJana]

That sounds very exciting ^-^

[Nainur]

Again a delicious read if one takes the time, but my! it's worth. Excellent character-study, I dare say!

[slackywacky]

There are a few writers on this board that stand out above the others and you are one of them. Thank you for this new story, dragging us into the this interesting but strange world you came up with.

[RopeBunny]

002.
Denise.

Down on the ground floor, sat waiting at the kerb, with no driver behind the wheel, is a non descript white van. A Ford. Michelle leads the way over, unlocking it with a keyfob as we approach. I'm quite surprised it doesn't have 'Church of Silence' or similar scrawled across the side. "In you go please sisters." Smiling, opening the back door. Petra. Foxtrot, I remind myself, not that I can actually talk to say her name wrong, isn't using her hands to climb in as most would, she steps in instead, her upper body angled forwards like someone ascending a steep hill. I still haven't actually seen her arms, though I can see the bulk of her shoulders beneath the cloak, so, she does have them. Frowning, I climb in after her, finding a plush interior waiting. The floor is black carpet, and cushioned benches line each side. The rear has no windows, not even on the back doors, and a solid wooden partition blocks off the front. The only illumination comes from a faint glow underneath the benches, what appear to be strip lights turned to a low setting. "Sit down please sister India," Michelle instructs, "the journey back to our compound will take awhile." Foxtrot has already sat, so I take the bench opposite her. "When we get back," Michelle has paused, a door in each hand, "I'll run you through what happens at the Church." Smiling. "Give you an induction, so to speak." She nods, and closes the doors. Moments later the drivers door opens, slams shut again, and then with a throaty roar we're underway. Back to the compound, which, I think shaking my head, sounds just like the name a cult would give to it's home.

The journey stretches out, with no view to mark the miles off we could easily just be driving repeated circuits from my home town out to the one two junctions up on the motorway, and back. After several sharp corners, the first couple of which have me falling over sideways, on each occasion Foxtrot shakes her head slightly, managing to ride Michelle's aggressive driving style out with spread legs to absorb the vans movements. Spread legs that, I can't help but notice, pull her short dress wide open, giving me quite the view. Spreading my own wide, with some trail and error, I remain upright too, even receiving a nod of congratulations from my tall silent travel companion. After the corners, and the stop start of traffic, comes a series of fast, more gently curving roads. Then, towards the end, we twist and turn some more, Michelle working the van up and down through the gears, braking harshly at times, swerving suddenly left as though to get out of someone's way. Finally we stop, the front door opens, then closes several moments later. We pull forwards several feet, and the door opens again. This time when Michelle gets back in our progress is slow yet steady.

The van crunches to a halt, the engine dies, the front door opens and closes a final time. Our own doors are swung wide. "We're home." Michelle smiles in at us. She moves to the side, gesturing out with one hand at the view. "Welcome to Church sister India."

Stepping out, with Foxtrot following, the view that greets me is quite something. The mansion from the brochure photo is directly in front of me, It's wide, covered, front porch area leading down to a huge stone covered circle which the van is currently slew parked in the middle of. The mansion is huge, two stories, each taller then those of a normal house, that I can see, plus a tall pointed roof. The whole thing, from the front anyway, appears to be a rough E shape but with the middle part being the porch, and so not really sticking out at all. Just as in the photo, it looks amazing. The whole building is like a contrast between old and new. Old design, but renovated, prehaps in places even rebuilt, using new materials. Most of the windows are old styled, with sills and wooden surrounds, but in a couple of places, on the ground floor in one corner, and part of the roof, a multi glass pane has been installed, large enough that I'd guess the whole outer wall of one room is just glass. The mansion is mostly brick, mostly red, with a roof of black tiles. The grounds though aren't up to the same standards as the building sitting within them. Weeds grow everywhere outside, in the flower beds, which have no flowers, on the stone covered drive, and that's just the small area I can see.

Turning back around I find Foxtrot's cape has been removed, and, with her back to Michelle, and both of them side on to me, I can finally see her arms. The underbust belt and collar I saw earlier are both part of the same thing, which looks like a rigid black plate, in much the same vein as my new gag, but this one covers the entire upper back. Somehow, the angle is slightly off, but my guess is steel hoops of some kind, Foxtrot's wrists are secured to the plate, though Michelle is freeing them now. The way they'd been bent up behind her is strange, the upper arms heading down, then forearms almost touching as they come straight back up again. The hands are held in position with the palms facing. Almost like, I realise, like praying. With her arms free it hardly surprises me when next her dress comes off, surrendered to Michelle without a fight. Naked, wearing only her gag, Foxtrot gives me a look as I look back, taking in those, definitely fake, but amazingly sexy, breasts, her landing strip shaved pussy, and the black lightning strike style tattoo that climbs her right arm from hand to shoulder. "Be about God's work sister." Michelle instructs, breaking the moment. Foxtrot stares a moment longer- and it's hard to tell, just from the eyes, but I definitely feel as though I'm being sized up, just like back in school -then leaves, her bare feet crunching on the rounded stones. "Come sister India," Michelle is walking too, towards the main doors whilst Foxtrot's angle will take her curving around one side of the house, "let me show you around."

"There are only three main rules here," closing the door, which booms, "though there are plenty more. Which," waving a hand, as though they don't matter right now, "you'll learn as you go. Follow where the other sisters lead." She holds up a fist, extending a finger. "One." Pointing. "The gag never comes off. To eat," tapping her mouth, in the centre, "there's a. Keyhole. It removes the central part." She grins. "Plenty of soup here sister India." I shake my head, she holds up a second finger. "Two. The sisters are always naked within the mansion." Holding out a hand. "So, your clothes please sister." I'd guessed, due to Foxtrot, what was coming. And it's too late now to argue, so I strip, quickly, handing over each item as I remove it, until I'm naked. Thank fuck for summer. "Here." Handing me a small strip of cloth, no longer holding my clothes, no clue where they went, black like the one Foxtrot had on her hair. "Hair up, using this instead." She smiles as I take the offered cloth, performing the swap. "It isn't a requirement to wear your hair so," gesturing at her own long loose falling locks, "but if you wish to wear it up, then these strips are all you'll find here to use." Michelle next holds up a third finger. "Finally, India, if you leave the mansion, for outdoors tasks, then Church approved clothing is permitted." Smiling. "Of course. And, if you're required to leave the compound, as sister Foxtrot did today, with me, on official business, then whilst off site your hands must remain permanently bound, as a sign of your continued devotion to the way of Silence."

Having laid down the law, Michelle shows me around the house and grounds, though I'm offered no clothes on this outdoors occasion. The whole tour takes until dinner time.

There's room for twenty-four 'sisters' within the house. "Because," shaking her head, but smiling, "I'm the only Alpha here. And having a sister X Ray just sounds like some kind of bad joke." I nod, and we continue. The sisters will be four to a room, which I'll be shown later, at bedtime. There's a communal dining hall beside a large half dirty half clean kitchen, and a huge shower room down in the basement. The only wash room in the whole mansion I'm informed. "Everyone washes together, every morning." And then, closing the door, waving me towards the stairs back up, because the shower room is apparently the only below ground part of this huge sprawling place. "Moving on, sister."

Up in the roof are Michelle's living quarters, and doubtless the location of that glass area, which I'm not shown, just the locked door in a first floor corridor, behind which must be stairs.

We don't venture around the whole grounds, sticking instead to the smooth stoned driveway, which in itself seems to take forever to walk as it winds up and down a small rise, gently cornering around the occasional tree. I'm sure I see a huge lake in the distance. At the gate Michelle shows me the security system, linked to a card she keeps on a grass green coloured lanyard around her neck, the mostly white credit card shaped and sized key nestled down inside that huge deep cleavage. The gate is tall, and definitely unclimbable. Marching off in both directions, marking the perimeter of her massive property, are walls equally as tall as the gate, topped with razor wire. As we walk back, in silence- ha -it strikes me that, in showing me the gate Michelle is trying both to reassure me of my safety, and show me that escape from her Church is now impossible.

Back inside the house I'm led to what was, once, a library I'd guess. Empty bookshelves line three walls, with one of those fancy ladders on rails to push around the room helping someone reach the higher areas. "Here," gesturing at a wooden easel set up in the rooms centre, "is where I post the daily list. After washing, every morning, you must come here, to see what tasks our Silent God requires of you." Looking at the single crisp sheet of white paper I see seven names, Bravo to Hotel, which figures, and beside each a written thing that must be done. I nod, to show my understanding of the fact that, tomorrow morning, India will be added to the list.

And then it's dinner time, announced by a highly creepy old air raid siren, which winds up and down the scale for at least two minutes, noisy enough to surely be heard for miles.

The dining hall, huge like I said, has a long table running down the rooms centre with seven chairs set out, to which I add an eighth, making for four per side. There are three more tables, all the same size, stacked and pushed against the wall, plus all the spare wooden chairs. "One of the sisters is always assigned cooking duties," Michelle points me towards the open kitchen door, "go on through and collect your soup bowl India. Then bring it back to the table. Already four of the girls are doing just that, all of them naked, and gagged, most of them skinny with a variety of breast sizes on open display. Another, prehaps the largest girl present, arrives, and I fall in behind her, with Foxtrot, wandering into the dining hall, falling in behind me.

The soup, served up already in plain white bowls, is steaming hot, and smells delicious to my day in day out frozen ready meal numbed nose. Based on the colour it's tomato and something. Once we're all sat down Michelle makes her way around the table, using a key shaped like a cross, one of several on a ring she retrieves from a coat pocket, to unlock and pull out the central 'cock' part of our gags. As each is removed, the girl gives a small nod, which is returned as Michelle places the 'cock' onto the table beside them. When my turn comes I follow suit, receiving a smile in return, no doubt for doing the right thing without having to be told. Just a good girl me.

"Sisters." Stood at the head of the table, which has no chair, and gesturing at me, "we have a new recruit today. Please welcome India, who will be sleeping with Foxtrot." Around the table the other sisters nod, with Foxtrot giving me that same look. I nod back. "Sister India." Michelle, looking back at me. "Prehaps it can be your turn to clear up today." It isn't phrased like a question, but I nod anyway. "And then," pointing at the expensive looking silver watch on her wrist, "when the siren sounds again make sure you're upstairs." Smiling. "I'm sure sister Foxtrot will show you the right room."

Michelle turns, and walks away, to go fuck knows where. Leaving us eight alone with our soup.

Turns out the metal spoon is actually also a metal straw, a hollow middle, which is very helpful, since I can't actually chew my food and even swallowing takes some learning. Because of this I'm the last to finish, which at least means I get to see each girl replace her 'cock' once she's done drinking both the soup and an accompanying glass of water. The central part to the gag clicks as it's pressed back into the rest, which apparently has a small shaft inside which the cock fits, which prevents use of the mouth since that shaft is what I'm biting down on. All of the girls leave their empty bowl and glass on the table, since cleaning up isn't their job. So, once finished myself, and regagged, I set about my task, carrying everything through to the kitchen, washing up, and finally wiping down the kitchen and table.

Then I go in search of the others, curious as to what they're doing now before bed, with no God set tasks to occupy them.

I had thought, maybe, though I've no desire to join them, that some of the girls would be fucking. Or at least feeling each other up. But no. Three times as I'm wandering the mansion a lone girl appears around a corner ahead, on two of those occasions she nods as we pass. One of the nods comes from Foxtrot. Two girls are sat together on the floor of a room, which isn't the library, but is filled with stacked piles of books. Both girls are reading, and neither looks up at me. The sixth girl, the larger one I'd queued behind earlier, I discover in one of the bathrooms. There are four, that I've found so far, all containing a toilet and sink, but no shower or bath. In three I found the remains of such though, pipes jutting from the floor, tiling that stops halfway down a wall, right at the level a baths rim would sit. She's stood at the sink, one hand resting on each side, staring at her gagged reflection in the mirror. I don't knock, and she seems oblivious to my presence, though I stand watching her for almost five minutes, as fascinated by what might be going on in her brain as she seems by her own face. Or maybe she's just lost in thought, staring beyond the mirror at something only she can see. At one point, lifting her hands off the sink, she rubs each wrist in turn with her other hand. Of the seventh girl there's no sign.

The air raid siren, sounding for the second time, makes me jump. I really hope Michelle doesn't have any close neighbours.

Heading upstairs, I find Foxtrot stood at the doorway, in the centre of the doorway, to one of the bedrooms, which I hadn't reached on my exploration yet. She nods, gesturing me into the room first, not moving aside though which means I'm forced to brush my body against hers, even stood on tiptoes and flattened against the doorframe, in order to pass, which winds up being a breast to breast, face to face, brief contact, since I'd been walking towards her, and didn't think or care to spin around just to pass. The fleeting contact of our nipples, rubbing together in that moment, makes mine tingle, which jerks my head up to look at her, seeing her looking back down at me. And then I'm in the room, and the moment's gone.

The bedroom is square, with a single window devoid of curtains through which a cloud spotted nighttime sky is visible. The paint is all over white, with the same dark blue carpet I'd found throughout most of the mansions common areas. The rooms only furniture is two beds. Both are doubles, arranged in the centre so neither is touching any walls. A strange looking arrangement of chains is present though, and, looking, I can't quite work out what's going on.

Then Michelle appears, and answers my unasked questions by showing me.

"Into bed then sisters." She gestures, gently pushing me further into the room. Foxtrot has already laid down, face up, on one side of one bed, and without really thinking anything through I lay myself down next to her, on my back too. I notice she has her legs together, and arms above her head, so I copy. The bed is just a simple wooden frame, no head or foot boards, just four short legs and a mattress. I'm not kicked out of the bed, though having realised my error I expect to be, instead I'm, we're both, chained to it. From my limited viewpoint I can see, aided by what I feel, that the chains on the wall are for our limbs. Each chain ends in a thick metal and padded leather cuff, which is strapped and fastened tightly around a seperate limb, wrist or ankle, then padlocked closed and tight. Presumably the leather inner is to prevent chafing. Once all four, eight for the two of us, limbs are locked, Michelle somehow pulls the chains taut, I hear a click claking as she does, stretching both mine and Foxtrot's body tight, removing our ability to move, to potentially roll closer, or even to stratch our nose. "Sleep well sisters." She smiles down at the two of us. Then, flicking out the light, closing the door, she leaves.

In the dim moonlight from the window I lay, reflecting on the multiple twists today has taken, trying to decide whether my gut impulse to join Michelle's crazy cult- because it is a cult, whatever she's calling it -was the right thing to do. It appears to be too late now anyway. The gate, my gag. Besides, the other seven don't seem upset, don't seem to be mass plotting an escape. So, with a mental shrug I decide to give it time. It's not a good comment to pass on my life to say that being here, chained naked to a bed next to my former bully, also naked and chained, both of us gagged, with no blanket, is actually still an improvement on the past eighteen months of drug fueled madness and recovery blues.

Knowing sleep will be a long time coming, as much due to the fact I've never had to sleep chained up before as due to how much my life has changed since sunrise, I content myself with staring out of the window. This entails looking over and around the slope of Foxtrots breasts, rising up off her body in gravity defying perfection. Soon my gaze is fixed only on those breasts, mesmerised by the gentle up down heave and sigh caused by her breathing. And then, looking down, I'm shocked to find Foxtrot, eyes open, staring at me. Having locked gazes, her eyes very deliberately track down to my own smaller and prehaps less impressive breasts. Acting on impulse, not thinking just doing, I give them a wiggle, deciding as I do that, like the rest of me, they aren't actually as bad as I imagine day to day. My depression has created a second me, in my head, a very fat sagging and ugly me. But maybe I'm not.

Foxtrots eyes return to my own, and she treats me to an answering shake of her own breasts. Then she drifts off, eyes closing, breath slowing, more used to this then me clearly.

Eventually, I join her in dream town.

[Solarbeast]

This is a promising start so far, but I very much enjoy all your other stories so I definitely think I’ll enjoy this one as well. I can’t wait to read where Denise’s, (sister India’s), adventures will lead in this new church of silence tale.

[Nainur]

wll, that I call strict order.... Devotees of Discipine would be another good name.

[Caesar73]

I enjoyed the second part as much as the second. The detailed description of the quarters, the diner - I like that.

[BoundJana]

I can only agree with the opinions above, a great continuation! ^-^

[RopeBunny]

Thanks everyone

Long chapters, as is usual for me so I doubt I'll be posting daily due to the writing and checking time involved.

Still. It's good to see my latest TUGs effort being well received.

[tickletied84]

Agree that the title is intriguing, and a different idea - a cult with some links to nuns and their vows.

Well written as always with great descriptions, looking forward to hearing more!

[RopeBunny]

003.
India.

Only to be woken with a start by the climbing wail of the air raid siren, the first of four times it'll sound today, like everyday I come to discover, as I learn the life of a sister in the Church of Silence.

Whether fixed on a timer, or turned on and off by Michelle- I'm unsure which -the sirens call alerts us all to wake up, eat one of our two meals, and go to bed. There are no clocks in the mansion, so I don't know the times these occur, only that we always wake to daylight, and always get chained to the bed under a star filled black sky.

The daily routine, which I learn by following the others, by trail and error since none of the girls can actually tell me anything, is the same every day as that first day.

Having woken, and it takes me a week to not do so with a jump, which yanks my limbs, briefly, painfully taut against the tight chains each time, the wait for Michelle isn't long. Heard before she's seen, making her way down the corridor, room to room. "Good morning sisters." A nod, almost formal, as she moves around the bed, performing the reverse of whatever magic pulley system cranks the chains tight, slackening them off. Then we're unlocked, and Michelle, with a second nod, leaves.

I'm to discover she rarely speaks, or interacts, with any of us. In fact aside from morning, meals, and bed, she's rarely even seen.

With one or two exceptions anyway. But I'll get to them later.

Freed, it's time to wash. Which means the basement. The shower room is a long rectangle, I'd guess the same width as the mansion it sits below, though possibly only a quarter as long. A dozen sinks line one wall, with a long sink to ceiling mirror bolted to the wall, running the length of the room. There are shelves below the sinks, on which sit packets of disposable razors and shaving foam, for those girls who want to trim up down below. My own pubic bush has been untamed for months, uncared for like everything else in my life. Toothbrushes and paste sit on the shelves too, alongside a variety of female bodysprays, not to mention all the various shampoo and body wash bottles in a rainbow variety of flavours. The opposite wall is lined with hooks, almost fifty, and on each hangs a large towel. In the rooms centre, the whole floor is tiled, thirty shower heads hang from the ceiling in a six by five grid, the floor area directly underneath is ringed by a metal drain. Somehow, possibly a trip sensor on the stairs, these showers all kick on at once shortly after the final girl appears. Once on the, nicely warm and quite powerful, rainstorm, runs for twenty minutes, then stops. It won't run again until tomorrow. Luckily I discover, the head harness gag has been strapped on carefully, in a way that still allows easy access to my hair. The gags over the top and down the back central strap runs across my centre parting, and my hair is, mostly, not pinned to my head by the side straps. What little is pinned comes free with some persuasion. Looking around me, watching the other seven girls wash and generally enjoy a good hot soak, it appears Michelle was careful to make sure everyone's hair could be washed without difficulty.

The wet towels go into a pile, and the dry clean girls go back upstairs, to the library. Here we find the days list.

It would seem there are a great many ways to serve the Silent God, though how any of them, such as cooking or cleaning, help us to better understand the path we should be taking is never explained. Because, most likely, there is no Silent God, because it's all a cult. Obviously. My first week is spent on cleaning detail. Which also includes the laundry. A fact one of the girls luckily shows me when, gently taking my arm she leads me away from the hallway I'd been sweeping, and, down in the basement, dumps the mornings wet towels into my arms, then shows me the large washing machine installed at the back of the house, where a door leads out to a sunlit area of grass upon which washing lines have been erected. Eventually I get to cook, finding a well stocked kitchen, allowing for almost any soup you can imagine to be made. On any day at least three girls are assigned to 'envelope' which refers to the envelope tacked to the easel. I get my first after ten days. Myself and two other girls finding inside the simple instruction:
'Tidy the lake.'
Which means we get to wear clothes.

One of the rooms, on the other side of the house from the dining area, which puts it roughly above the showers, is where our clothes are. The room is empty, because I've checked, full only of metal hooks and wooden shelves, plus a half dozen wooden dining room chairs. Unless clothes are required that day, then it will be stocked with whatever our God, or Michelle prehaps, feels we should be wearing in order to best perform the required outdoor tasks set on that day. On lake day we three get to wear bikini tops and long swim shorts in bright colours that come down to the knees.

At some point in these tasks the siren will wail, announcing the first meal, and a welcome break from what is, with prehaps two or three exceptions, hard physical labour. Later the days third wail will announce the end of tasks, and dinner. After which, unless you're on cleaning detail and still have to wash up dinner, plus give the kitchen a final scrub, the time is all yours. Until that final siren anyway.

Every seven days Michelle leaves. Roughly. Once it occurs twice in four days, and sometimes the van remains parked in front of the mansion for ten. Every third time she leaves, again roughly, one or more of us accompanies her. Where does she go? What does she, sometimes, need to bring us along for? I don't know. I've yet to be selected for an offsite task. Whatever it is, she always leaves after the first meal, and always returns before, or as, the siren calls us all to dinner. Which is just as well really, given our dependence on her, on her keys, in order to eat.

Every third day two of us are allocated the task of 'room 4.' Given there are only eight of us here, I'm surprised when it's nearly two months- I think -before my name appears beside those words. The days are hard to count without access to paper or pens, or not easy access to them anyway, because I've looked. No writing materials also renders any intergirl communication beyond pointing impossible. There are many locked doors in the mansion, a fact I discover each evening, spending my small allocation of free time each day exploring, building up a mental picture of the interior layout for no other reason then to give my brain something to do. Most of these doors are unmarked, anything could be inside. But up in the roof, on the opposite side of the mansion from where the locked door to Michelle's rooms are located, is an archway. Through the archway, and up a small staircase, are five doors, one blank, the others labeled one to four.

On the day I pull room four detail the name above mine is Charlie. Today is Thursday, simply because I said so, and, with everybody except Michelle the invisible lady gagged, who can tell me otherwise. Naming the days is my current favourite game. I don't follow any kind of order, or pattern- nine days ago it was Thursday two days in a row -I simply decide, sometime between waking up and the first meal, what kind of day it feels like. Turning around, unsure who Charlie is, I find only four girls left in the room besides me, all of whom are peering at todays envelope task. So, with a shrug, I make my way up to the roof.

And find Charlie already waiting for me, stood outside the door with a black metal on wood 4 fixed above it.

Charlie, I see now, is the biggest of our group, something like what I was probably heading towards, in my former life of fatty foods and never leaving the sofa, except to work, so I could buy more fatty food. Her body is bigger all over, the extra fat evenly distributed over arms, legs, butt, belly and breasts. Which does make her breasts quite large, at least F cups, but not perky F's like Foxtrot's, Charlie's are, not saggy exactly, because she looks young, more like large teardrops. Her shoulder length hair is black, and curly, held up in a black cloth tied tail, like everyone's if they decide to wear it up. She has no tattoos, whilst my own, visible now I'm naked, sits on my chubby but not fat belly. It's an outlined black raincloud, flat across the bottom and fluffy across the top. Black rain, made up of a dozen different currency symbols: the pound, dollar, euro and yen amongst others, fall diagonally down into my bush like pussy hair. Charlie is shaved. Seeing me she steps forwards, giving me a quick hug, which makes me briefly flinch before hugging her back. Contact between girls is a rarity here I've discovered, though I don't know if there's a reason why, or if in fact everybody's fucking every evening whilst I'm off exploring and generally being a loner, and I'm just not invited.

Just one more question I'd have for someone, anyone, if only it weren't for this damn gag.

The door isn't locked. Charlie pushes it open, and I follow her through.

Room four is square, and larger then a good sized bedroom. There are no windows. The rooms interior is very busy with stuff. In the centre is a padded area of floor easily large enough for a half dozen girls to lay down on, like the crash mats I remember from doing indoor sports in school. The remaining floor is dark wood planks, smooth beneath my feet. The ceiling, which houses enough lights to dispel any shadows, is painted white, and the walls black. Off to one side is a large wooden wardrobe, no drawers on this model, the two sets of doors take up the entire height. Around the room, fixed to the wall, sprouting from the floor, hanging from the ceiling, are eight mounted cameras, all of which look very expensive, all of which have built in microphones mounted atop them. On the opposite wall from the door is a huge flatscreen, flanked by tall narrow speakers. As the door closes behind us the flatscreen comes to life, revealing what I'd assume, after taking a moment, is a depiction of the Silent God.

First up, just saying, but she's a she. Aside from that it's a very typical God like image. She's clearly beautiful, with long flowing black hair, and a skinny figure beneath a long white robe that, despite not being a tight fit, still manages to show off both her lack of any body fat, and the shape of her large perfectly rounded breasts. She's gagged too. Which figures from certain angles. A simple white cloth is worn over, not jammed into, her mouth, the trailing ends of the cloth hang down behind, mixing in with her hair. Behind the Silent God is blue sky, full of slowly drifting white clouds. She appears to be floating, since nothing solid is apparent beneath her bare feet.

"Sisters." The voice is definitely Michelle's, coming through the speakers. "Welcome. Sister India, it is your first time here, I know. The rules of room four are simple enough though: Do as the Silent God, as I, command. Do you understand?" I look to Charlie, who can't really help me, and is in any case looking from Michelle, sorry, the Silent God, to the wardrobe. In the end what can I do but nod, having basically given up my right to resistance when I agreed to be gagged. So I nod, facing the flatscreen. "Good." For all that she's talking, or at least that's the gimmick here, the God hasn't moved, she remains standing with legs slightly spread and arms by her side. I briefly find myself wondering, remembering that fifth, unmarked closed door, whether I'm the only one getting Wizard of Oz vibes. And then, from the speakers. "Let us begin."

"Sister India," bringing my attention back to the flatscreen, I'd been looking from camera to camera, noting the blinking red light on each, "stand in the rooms centre." Which is almost where I was anyway, but I make sure, looking down at my feet, not wanting to be called out by my God over a couple of inches. "Good." I can hear the nod. "Sister Charlie, you will now bind India's wrists behind her."

What? I think, even as I hear Charlie actually sigh. With relief? Does one of the girls always get tied in room four? And, if they do, is it really that bad? Staying put, I watch Charlie walk over to the wardrobe, and open the doors on one side. It's full of shelves, and each shelf on one side is full of rope, stacked and coiled, all of it white. Prehaps each shelf holds a different length? On the other side every shelf looks like a piled bundle of black leather. Selecting a length of rope, from near the wardrobes bottom, Charlie returns to me.

"Side by side, India." Seeing no reason to be anything except compliant, as I said it's too late for fighting now, and besides whatever is about to happen to me is something all the other girls have endured several times already, my wrists were already placed, crossed, behind me. Because that's how it's done right? Charlie, now stood behind me, gently takes hold of my arms, and places them side by side, but still behind me. Turning to look at her, over my shoulder, I nod, trying to show I understand now, receiving a nod back. And then she ties me up.

Maybe, at some point during that lost year, I was tied up? Certainly I have a hazy memory of waking up chained spread eagled on a large double bed in just my bra, of wanting to get up and drink something, and not being able to, because of the chains, so drifting back down into sleep, or oblivion. But, most times, like everything else from that year that I do occasionally recall, it doesn't feel real. So to all intents this is my first ever time.

I can't see the method Charlie uses, but it feels tight. "Good, now the elbows sister." Comes the next instruction. Which becomes Charlie's second of what proves to be many trips to the open wardrobe, each time for just the one item, which I guess is a rule, one you're shown by seeing others do but aren't ever directly told.

And after my elbows, which I hadn't been prepared for the sheer tightness of, the way my arms are forcibly pinned together behind me by the combination of those two ropes, comes my ankles. I'm not told to sit, so a strange kind of balancing act is required, like pretending to walk a tightrope only this time I'm unable to hold the arms out to steady myself. Peering down though, over the swell of my breasts, I at least finally get to see the method of tying Charlie uses, which I should probably learn, since I've a feeling, a hunch, that at some point I'll be back. And next time in room four it may be me the Silent God is commanding to do the tying. Luckily Charlie's tie is a simple one. Having doubled the rope, she loops it around both ankles, and passes the loose ends back through the loop. Using this as a means of changing the direction she wraps the rope, but also a chance to pull things tight, my ankles are then wrapped until not much rope remains. Now the two loose ends are fed separately through the loop she made changing directions, and these are wrapped top and bottom through between my legs, which pulls the whole thing tight, especially when she ties it off. Glancing up, seeing me looking back down as she's beginning, Charlie gives me a secret wink, proceeding to do this tie what seems like extra slowly. Helping me out. Finished, she looks up again. I nod, and she nods back, before standing. And then the air raid siren begins to wail.

"Charlie. Leave." Which she does, turning and walking out the door, without a backwards glance. "India." Which makes my head jerk back around from Charlie's large wobbling butt, which I'd been watching as the door swung closed. "Go to the wardrobe," the Silent God commands, "choose wisely from the third shelf on the closed far left side." This is followed by an audible click, then silence.

For awhile I just stand there, because everything that's just happened is in direct conflict with the rules as I'd come to understand them. The siren means food. Except, and the thought makes me both nervous, scared, and bizarrely even a tiny bit excited, haven't I noticed that some days there's a girl missing at lunch? And, aren't those days also the days that room four appears on the board? Turning around, shuffling my feet on the spot, I eye up the door. It's probably locked, I decide. Surely. Because otherwise I could, even bound, have some food.

But what if it isn't?

Yes, the God commanded me to go to the wardrobe, but it's lunch. Surely I'm allowed to eat? And, if I'm not meant to leave, then won't the door be locked, or wouldn't I of been tied up to something, making my leaving impossible? Can't I go and eat, and then choose wisely from the shelf? Nodding, satisfied, I begin to hop towards the door.

Which turns out to be unlocked, which I take as yet another sign I'm right.

Unfortunately, entering the dining hall, realising I'm definitely wrong, by that point it's far too late to go back and do as I'd been told.

It takes forever to reach the hall. Even opening the door involves turning around, looking over my shoulder and working mostly by feel alone. Once clear of the room I have to carry on hopping, my bound together ankles make walking impossible, and even the hops have to be measured, steady, since I have no arms to help with balance. No doubt I look both silly, and, prehaps, quite appealing, my large breasts and chubby belly bouncing with each up and down. For the stairs I carefully lower myself onto my butt, then use feet and hands to bump a step at a time, nice and easy. Then it's more hopping to the dining hall, and the others, somehow still there despite how long I feel the journey has taken me.

I get halfway to the table before anyone notices me, at which point they drop their straw and spoon combination cutlery, an act of surprise clear enough to alert the whole table. Charlie stands, as do Foxtrot and another girl. But then all three sit back down, fast. The reason becoming obvious when Michelle strides past me, coming fully into the room.

"Sisters, leave." She growls, before pointing at Charlie. "Go and help the envelope detail." She orders, waiting as the seven girls quickly replace their gags central core, and hurry out, leaving me alone to face the consequences.

[Nainur]

Wow: you have got some fantastic ideas...

[Solarbeast]

Interesting continuation. I can’t wait to see what is in store for “sister India”.

[RopeBunny]

Thanks guys

[RopeBunny]

004.
India.

Alone with Michelle, I watch as she paces the room, picking up the soup bowls- most of which aren't more then half eaten -and dumping them in the kitchen. Throughout all this the obvious fact of several bunched coils of rope, hanging from her tight blue jeans back pocket, hasn't escaped my attention.

"There are rules," pacing back and forth in front of me, scowling, "sister India. You were given a task. An easy task. You were not granted permission to leave the confines of room four." Which, I feel, though can't say, manages to overlook the fact I wasn't specifically ordered to stay either. "You," stopped now, pointing at me, "must learn to do as the Silent God commands sister." Michelle smiles. "And to help you remember, I believe a punishment, some corrective thinking, is in order."

Working quickly, with little thought for how her speed is jerking and tugging my body every which way, Michelle removes my three ropes. "Onto the table sister," pointing, "and lay down on your back, in the centre." Which I do, not really seeing any alternative, or not one that would actually work anyway. "Good." Michelle nods. "Now, sister India, it's time to show you the correct path. To help you remember."

She lashes me to the table using four lengths of rope, one each for wrists and ankles. My body is mostly in the tables centre, my head resting on the hard wooden top, with each limb stretched out and pointed at a different corner leg. The rope, secured tightly around the limb, is then wrapped and tied around the table leg, pulled as it is to ensure I have zero movement, though I don't check straight away. I imagine that were I to do anything, even grunt, right now it would only make Michelle angry. And despite the smile on her face, glimpsed as she moves around the table trussing me up, she certainly seemed angry enough that I'd broken a direct rule of her Church. Maybe none of the other girls has stepped out of line yet. Maybe this is the first challenge to her authority she's had to ensure, the first mutiny to be put down and quashed.

Do you think she'd go easier on me if I pointed out that I was hungry is all, and that I'd fully intended to return, still bound, to room four after lunch, selecting whatever it was from whatever shelf it was then? Probably not.

"Well, India." Having bound me in place, Michelle has climbed up onto the table too, and is now sat straddling my belly, a bent jeans clad leg on either side, her tight black tee clad breasts mostly filling my vision, with her still smiling face above them. "I wonder," she muses, reaching down to stroke my breasts with her hands, almost kneading at them, but gently, her smile growing as my body shifts without conscious thought from me, responding to her touch, "whether you're having second thoughts?" She winks, continuing without waiting for for an answer. "I wonder if prehaps this lesson will infact help you," nodding, "bring you closer to the Silent God." She leans down, giving me a face full of her large perfect breasts whilst kissing me on the forehead. "I think," climbing off, leaving me feeling strangely aroused, despite the fact none of this is supposed to be good things, "that some time spent in silent thought, here, will be good for you." Grinning again, stood at the tables head, next to my head, Michelle pulls out a black marker and, bending down, begins to write.

Once she's left, I tilt my head up off the table, but, though I can see writing on my chest, the angle prevents me from reading it. And besides it isn't only on my chest. Michelle made a complete circuit around the table, I could both see and feel her marking what felt like my whole tied down and exposed body.

Alone now, and not going anywhere, I try to think, to sort out my feelings regarding the Church of Silence, or, Michelle's personal little cult for....something.

The important thing, prehaps the only thing that matters, really, is I'm still better off here then at home. If nothing else the Church has given me purpose. Here I have a reason to wake up, tasks to be completed, and, though I can't actually talk to them, I have friends. Surely I can count at least some of the other seven as friends? And what of the tying up? That camera filled room? Is this what Michelle's cult is all about? Do I care if the whole Church of Silence exists purely so she can watch naked girls tie each other up under her instruction?

As the hours pass, as I remain tied to the table, I realise two things: Firstly, that being tied up isn't actually so bad. That sure it's not entirely comfortable, but, surprisingly, I'm actually quite enjoying myself. Secondly, that I want to know more. About Michelle. About the Church. Of course that won't be easy, but, I resolve to be patient with this, to be a good sister day to day, to live my best Church life. Eventually an opportunity will present itself.

Dinner time is actually funny. It's probably a good thing I'm gagged, because I don't think Michelle would take kindly to my laughing when I'm supposed to be learning my lesson. The other seven are forced to sit and place their bowls, and glasses of water, around my spread out limbs, which leads to a not very organised looking table. Of course none of them touches me. They sit, and eat, then regag themselves and leave.

Michelle comes for me at bedtime, appearing as the forth siren is winding back up the scale, wailing it's call around the mansion and grounds. I had wondered whether I'd be forced to spend the night laying on wood, but no, it seems I've learned my lesson. Silently I'm untied, then escorted up to bed, with Michelle even waiting patiently, though I'd guess not happily, when I take a sudden detour left and use one of the mansions many toilets.

I'm chained up in my spot, next to Foxtrot. "Goodnight sisters." Michelle gives us both a nod, adding a small smile for me.

The next morning, in the shower room, I get to see the full extent of Michelle's handiwork. The words 'Obey the Silent God' are written on me, over and over, everywhere. Even across my forehead. Every grouping appears to be a different size. And the marker doesn't wash off. It fades, becoming ghost like, but at least half of my skin graffiti is still legible, even though I remain under the water longer then any of the other girls. Unfortunately for Michelle though, since I know being forced to walk around like this is supposed to be a punishment, I just find it funny. So, hair all brushed and tied back up in a loose tail, my skin towelled dry, I join the others in heading up to the library, already looking forward to lunch after not having eaten yesterday.

But there's no lunch for me, not for the next six days.

In the library I find my name at the bottom, alongside Bravo, both of us allocated to room four. And over the coming five days after that Delta to Hotel all get a turn at joining me upstairs too.

Everyday follows the same pattern as that first day, Saturday.

Up in the room, under the God's televised instruction, Bravo ties me up. Using cling film, having first used tape to bind my wrists to the tops of my legs, Bravo mummifys me. She wraps everything except my breasts, even wrapping my entire head save my nose. As she wraps me Bravo holds a wand vibrator against my pussy, using the clingfilm to hold it in place, making sure the lead is nicely feeding out through the layers. Having finished with the film, Bravo adds two full rolls of thick black tape to my wrappings, making sure, because the God tells her, to wrap enough at eye level to blind me, and to crisscross my body all up and down, making absolutely sure I can't escape. Then she lays me down. Shortly after, though I'm blind so can't see the specifics, someone attaches nipple clamps, the sharp sudden pinch, unexpected, makes my body jerk. Just then the second siren, muted through all my layers but still audible, sounds. I'm not untied though. Instead the vibrator is switched on, to a low setting, and I'm abandoned.

Nobody touches me again until the third siren is wailing through the mansion. By which point I'm a sweaty horny mess, having been forced to have somewhere between a half dozen and ten orgasms, it's been hard to keep track. Bravo unwraps me, carefully using a knife to aid her. Then, with an outstretched hand she helps me up, and we go to dinner.

On day two, Tuesday, Delta ties me stretched out across the bed that's found its way, somehow, into room four. The bed is a simple wooden frame, with no mattress, which means my limbs are bound to the wooden slats in multiple places. Once again a vibrator makes me orgasm too many times to count as I'm abandoned from second siren to third.

Day three, Monday. Echo hogties me, which, given the ties beginnings, appears to be what the Silent God had in mind for me when Charlie was here. My wrists and elbows are bound behind me, my ankles are bound together, and some kind of fancy ropework is done around my breasts, squeezing them, making my nipples tingle. Laid down on the crash mats, my ankles are tied off to my elbows, forcing my bound body into an arching C shape. This time, as a torment, a fairly large butt plug and dildo are first lubed up- in full view of me, like some form of taunt -then Echo slides both deep inside my holes, before tying a rope under my crotch, and around my waist, holding the toys, which of course vibrate for the whole time I'm abandoned.

The following two days first Foxtrot and then Golf repeat the exact same tie, with the exact same toys, as Echo. This clearly makes both days a Monday, because how else could I possibly explain all that repetition.

And then, on the sixth day, Friday, because thank fuck, Hotel does something different to my poor tired abused body. Leather and metal cuffs are locked tightly around my ankles, with rope being used to bind my wrists and elbows behind me. The cuffs are then attached to a strong looking steel cable, which, whilst a motor hums, retracts and spools up, raising me up off the floor until I'm left hanging upside down in the centre of room four, my head at crotch height as I gently swing back and forth. Hotel attaches clamps to each nipple, and uses tape to strap a wand vibrator fixed to a super long extention cord to my upper right leg, ensuring it's pressed snugly against my pussy. And, for the final time I'm to discover the next day, I'm abandoned, left to my never ending orgasms. Left to scream and beg, as the pleasure rises inside me again and again, each time no matter what I do, no matter how much I fight, my body takes over, rushing me up and over the edge, making me moan and shake as the waves wash over me. And all of this, everyday for all those hours, no doubt being faithfully recorded by all those cameras.

Each night too, once I'm chained securely to my bed, laid naked beside Foxtrot, Michelle spends several minutes adding a whole marker pens worth of fresh graffiti to my body, overlaying the still ghostly visible remains of previous days. Always it's the same words, always when I check myself over at shower time the following morning the coverage is complete. She never speaks whilst doing this, she simply covers my sore and wrung out body in words, then leaves.

On the seventh day, weary, genuinely not sure my body can take any more orgasms my pussy and nipples feel so sore, I trudge up to the library behind the others, already resigned to my fate. Sure, the tying up has actually been fun, an intensive crash course introduction to what I've discovered can be a very thrilling game. It's the daily dose of multiple orgasms, combined with the sheer length of time my body is being kept in such tight and restrictive positions, that's killing me though. But there's no room four on the board. Today, I'm on cooking duty, prehaps the easiest of all our Silent God aiding tasks.

It would seem Michelle's decided I've now learnt my lesson. Thank fuck.

[NotSeen]

Wow. I don't think I'm the only one wondering (among other things) 'What is this place?' Michelle fulfilling her personal fantasies? Michelle fulfilling someone else's fantasies? Michelle thinking she's actually doing this for a deity?
In other words, I'm interested to see how this plays out.

[Nainur]

Wow. I don't think I'm the only one wondering (among other things) 'What is this place?' Michelle fulfilling her personal fantasies? Michelle fulfilling someone else's fantasies? Michelle thinking she's actually doing this for a deity?
In other words, I'm interested to see how this plays out.

seconded!

[BoundJana]

Once again a very enjoyable continuation ^-^

[Solarbeast]

I agree with everything said above. I fully can’t wait to see where her adventures take this story.

[RopeBunny]

[mention]NotSeen[/mention] , but everyone else too. Of course . All good questions. Rest assured all will become clear.

Soon....

[tickletied84]

Well the Church certainly stepped up a level in the last update, it didn't seem to be what India was expecting, although it seems she hasn't quite got the hang of the rules yet!