Plymouth rising (MF+/F+)

[tickletied84]

A wonderfully cheery and unique story - glad to see Plymouth is starting to get her mojo back!

[RopeBunny]

041.

I've never had to act for the camera. I don't need to force the squirms. I certainly don't have to fake the moaning. I don't have to pretend because for me being tied up is fun, something I'd do willingly every day.

I wonder how many other bondage porn stars are into it?

Across the clearing, behind Daniel- making a slow circuit of Shauna and me, camera in hand -I can see Scott, and, seeing him, I have an epiphany of sorts.

Which goes, the revelation, like this: this shoot, for Daniel's site Strange Ropes, isn't the first time girls have been tied up in Scott's park. This much I know, Scott and Daniel are old friends, and Scott let's Daniel shoot bondage videos here at Fantasy Land. So, Scott, my thinking goes, must be into it.

Scott likes tied up girls.

He does. He, right now, can't seem to tear his eyes away from Shauna and me. But mostly me. He's like a rabbit caught in the oncoming- yes I know I'm pinned in place but still, it's like a metaphor or something -glare of my F cups.

He is. Transfixed.

And I'm, well, I'm tied up. So, yes, I'm horny as fuck.

So.

Maybe.

Scott would like to play. With me. Later.

I do realise the turn around. Not a half hour ago I was firmly decided not to attempt any flirting with Scott. I didn't feel ready. Brooke wasn't ready. But now I'm tied up, now it's all Plymouth, and Plymouth wants a good seeing too.

I decide to play. To be a tease.

I'm supposed to be struggling anyway. I am struggling, making a good show of my helplessness for the camera, as I've no doubt Shauna's doing behind me, on the opposite side of the signpost.

But there are different kinds of struggles.

Making sure Scott's looking- which of course the cute geek is -I switch things up a gear, turning my helpless girl struggling into something more. Sexual would be a good description. By my reckoning Daniel's shot enough close ups by now, so I'm not ruining the shoot, and some of what I'm doing will make great footage anyway. Basically, I give him the full force of my Plymouth side.

I hold eye contact.

My moans change, becoming more like whimpers.

My struggling alters, emphasising my breasts, which I shake from side to side, and my pussy, which I repeatedly attempt to thrust forwards. At Scott.

Without actually saying the words I am, I hope, making my intentions clear.

Which is great, except.

"I think you scared him off."
"Me?"
"Yeah." Daniel grins at me as the three of us make our way, Daniel carrying Scott's map, out of the maze, equipment spread between us. "I looked round and he'd gone."
"But."
"But...?"
"Ah." I huff. Damn it. "Nothing."

Nothing. Just that I'm. Really. Fucking. Horny.

Damn it.

He really has vanished, which sucks. Guess I came on a little bit too strong. So I head for home, agreeing the final details of our shoots with Daniel, agreeing how long before we post.

Back to normality.

"Sign here."

Well.

"And here. Initial here."

As normal as buying a house, mostly for cash, can be anyway.

I've managed, somehow, to stumble across a good deal. On the outskirts of the city is a new, finished now, housing estate. A couple of hundred houses, two apartment blocks. The whole thing built on old industrial land. All the houses are three or four bedroom, and all the four beds are detached with good sized gardens.

Right place right time really. The final three bed, the old show home, was heavily discounted. And, because it's the show home they built it detached, with a large garden. And I did have Lili's family's money, which I should put to good use.

What could be better use then a house? A nice big house, with plenty of room for bondage shoots.

Which is the plan today.

I haven't moved in yet, not officially. The keys are mine. But this: the house still largely empty, is too good an opportunity to pass up. I can, and intend to, do several photo shoots one after the other, get some content together so I can set my site up.

"Deborah?"
"Hi." A smile, a wave. I smile back, step back, gesture. "Come on in."
"Thanks."

I could've asked Roman. I could've gone to Daniel, maybe. But, a new site, something all my own, I wanted to start fresh. So I went looking for someone I could hire to tie me up, and to shoot the results.

I found Deborah, or rather, she found me, responding along with two dozen others to the advert I posted online. I whittled them all down to her over the phone, reading through the emails they'd sent. Deborah seemed the most competent, the most keen. She came across as very up for the challenge, and I could hear the same enjoyment of bondage in her voice that I knew from my own.

It helped that, as someone with a proper job, like me, she was happy to work for not too much cash.

Now, pointing the way through to my kitchen, following behind, my first impression upon seeing her is, strangely, that I know her.

But I've no clue where?

She's young, if not my age then definitely this side of twenty five. Shorter then me by a couple of inches, Deborah's a curvy fourteen, with a pair of pert round D cups that enhance her figure. Round black glasses match her hair, which is straight, and cut into a very alternative mohawk style, the top and back kept long, semi spiked up in a messy kind of way, leaning left and right as it marches back from her forehead, the sides shaved.

She's very goth. The hair, the silver ring though her right nostril. Her upper right arm has been tattooed, a black castle atop a dark hill, with clouds and a full moon hanging above on her shoulder. It looks new. There might even be more tattoo's, but her legs are covered up by tight black jeans, whilst up top is a black vest top.

"Have we met?" I ask now, unable to shake the feeling as we lean across from each other in the kitchen. "I'd swear I know you from somewhere?"
"Well." Deborah smiles at me, gesturing, waving her drink in my direction. "I think I'd remember meeting you."
"Hmm." Smiling back, at the joke. Maybe if she were larger. Is it absurd, crazy, to say that she looks too thin, that I can picture her fatter?

It is. My mind is, clearly, wandering. Looking for ghosts, or just playing tricks on me. So I shrug. "Well, doesn't matter. Just."
"Yeah." Nodding, breathing out. "So." Putting down her drink. "Want to get started," dropping her voice to a playful whisper, "boss."
"Enough of that boss crap." I laugh. "I get too much of that at work."

The plan is to do three shoots, all photosets. That'll give me five things to put on the site, and next weekend- provided everything between Deborah and me works today -she'll come back to shoot a video.

My new house is a three story. The ground floor is about three quarters lounge, with a kitchen tacked on at the back of the house. The middle floor has two large bedrooms, one either side of the landing, with a bathroom in the middle. Up top, in the roof, is the master. This takes up the whole floor, aside from a small shower fitted ensuite, making it huge despite the slanting roof complete with skylights.

We blow through the first two shoots, me hogtied on the sofa in drawstring trousers and a tee, then chair tied upstairs in one of the empty bedrooms, having changed first into denim shorts and a bikini top.

It's on the third, final shoot, where things get interesting.

"You want me to leave," jerking a thumb at the bedroom- my bedroom now, up in the roof -door, "give you some privacy?"
"Why?"
"Well." Deborah frowns. Shrugs. "Um?"
"No point Debs." Debs? I do a small shrug, it's a good nickname. "You'd only be coming back in and see it all then."
"True." Nodding. "Okay, um." She pauses. "B. Okay."

B. I can't prevent the brief grimace, which luckily Deborah, Debs, doesn't see. Nobody but Lili ever called me B, not before or since. But, well, it, like Debs, is a good nickname. So instead of making a scene- got to move on -I smile, nod, and set about stripping naked.

This final shoot is a bed tie. My bed, alongside the sofas downstairs, is already here. I ordered a custom four poster, which took me the better part of a day to assemble. It isn't fancy, the four posts are thick, square dark wood, connected by the bedframe at top and bottom. It's a bed for bondage, not for looking pretty.

Climbing up onto the bed, the thick mattress covered with a pale blue sheet, I kneel down legs spread in the centre, facing the foot end.

"Ready B?"
"Ready." I nod. Ready, and, no surprises, pretty horny by now. A fact I'm doing my best to conceal. But the first two ties, all that posing, struggling my bound body around on the sofa as Deborah suggested- not too much of a leap for my aroused brain to turn simple suggestions into orders I must obey -positions and angles she could make best use of.

The chair tie didn't help either. My legs had been spread wide apart, amping up the feeling of vulnerable helplessness despite my wearing shorts. All of it made worse when halfway through shooting Deborah had- because we'd discussed it -stepped in close, loosening my belt, pulling my shorts fly down to expose my tiny red lace thong. She'd pulled the bikini top off too, gently, but still, it again wasn't too hard for my brain to imagine this all happening against my will.

And now I'm naked, fully exposed with this young pretty goth girl who is, largely, still a stranger.

All my brain wants right now is for her to kidnap me, for this not to be a shoot, but a real life tie up. Plymouth just wants to submit. I'd even come- ha -willingly.

This isn't going to be a normal bed tie. Despite my love of a good spread eagle there are a shit ton of them around. So, not this time.

Deborah binds a long rope around my left ankle, leaving the two ends trailing, then repeats the process on my right. Each of these ropes are tossed up towards the beds headboard, where there's still sufficient length to feed them between mattress and bed at the top corners. Deborah wraps and ties each rope around a separate thick bed post, making sure to take in the slack, meaning I can no longer move down the bed.

"Arms, B." Which of course in my head is a near barked order, not a semi polite request. I place my arms, wrists and palms together, behind my back, where Deborah's kneeling having climbed up onto the bed.

Two ropes. One for my elbows, the wrapping pulled tight, bringing my arms together, forcing elbow to touch elbow. The second rope is longer, as with my ankles, tied to leave long trailing ends, which Deborah tosses between my legs.

I lower myself backwards, bringing my shoulders and head down towards the mattress. I can't lay flat because of my bent legs, so my upper body ends up arching, head and shoulders touching the bed, my back a gentle C shape. Taking the long rope Deborah binds it down at the foot board, in the centre. She pulls and yanks, forcing my arms straight, bringing my hands underneath my raised butt, making the gentle arched curve more severe as my shoulders are pulled back, bringing them up off the bed again.

The whole thing, the severity of the tie, my naked state, pussy thrust into the sky, breasts likewise pointed ceiling ward, ramps my arousal higher and higher. My breathing quickens, my heart rate following suit.

"B?"
"I'm okay." Breathe, Brooke. Try not to actually pant. "I'm okay, Debs." I try on a smile as Deborah appears in my now limited field of view. She smiles back. "You look great, by the way."
"Thanks." I swallow. Resisting, somehow, the urge to tell her where I keep my sex toys. "Um." Gag me, please, before I break and beg you to fuck me. "Gag time?"
"Okay." Nodding, Deborah fetches the ballgag.

I've been bound in place for about ten minutes. Still horny. Moaning away even though this isn't a video shoot, so there's no need- except that I'm horny -to be making any noise. Deborah is taking her time, as she did on the first two shoots. She isn't a prolific photo taker, certainly she isn't snapping away every second. Instead, as with the sofa and chair, she walks back and forth, taking the time to look the scene- to look me -over. Selecting her angles before taking the shot.

If I weren't so into being tied up then I might take issue with this slowness. But her method works, I've seen, via the camera's small screen, the shots she took of me hogtied. It's some good content.

Click.

Click.

Frown. Half smile as I moan, again, trying to- without really being aware I am -push my by now wet pussy up at the ceiling. Deborah walks from behind the footboard to my right. Stops.

Click.

She comes closer. Close enough to touch me. Leaning in, putting her face almost next to mine, going for a down my body from head to pussy angle. I voice a moan that sounds more like a whimper. She's so close. And I'm so fucking horny.

Click.

A phone rings.

I whimper again. Squirm. Turn my head to the side, towards where Deborah's still crouched down beside me. Silly girl left her phone on. Mines off, down in the kitchen, because I'm working. Not to worry, she'll....

Oh.

Looking me in the eye Deborah, the girl who tied me up, for a photoshoot despite what my traitor brain might be wishing, smiles. Then she stands, turns, and pulling the phone from her pocket walks out my open bedroom door. "Hey." She says into her phone, now pressed to her ear. "No." Dissappearing down the stairs, voice growing quieter. "I can talk."

What the fuck?

I should be mad. I should be fuming whilst I try my hardest to escape. She actually abandoned me, walking out the room without so much as a look back, or a sorry. She didn't even check to see if I was okay.

I should be mad. But. What Deborah just did is such a power move, such an easy display of my helplessness- though I doubt she meant it as such -and of how much control she has over me. Well. All it's done is make me more horny. Because nothing gets me off more then genuine helplessness. Nothing makes Plymouth wetter then being tied up to the point I lose all say in what happens to me.

She's gone a long time. I struggle, testing my bonds, finding them far too secure for freedom to be gained by my own hands. Which, yes, only makes me more horny.

And, eventually, footsteps mounting the stairs, followed by Deborah reappearing beside the bed, camera still in hand.

I whimper, looking her in the eye as she towers over me, smiling down upon my still bound naked body.

Will she apologise? Untie me?

For a half minute she stays, looking down at me, the smile small but there. Then, a single nod, and Deborah pulls up her camera.

Click.

Untying me, this time just like the last two, Deborah leaves the gag on until last. More unintentional power trips? Because with professional shoots I've been on before, the gag comes off first, because it's a shoot not real life, so the model deserves to have the gag removed as soon as possible.

Free, of ropes and gag, I take a moment to lay flat on the bed, stretching my body out, enjoying the chance to work my limbs, then stand, fetching my clothes from the floor, slipping back into shorts and top. Waiting to see whether Deborah will apologise now.

Should I bring it up? Do I tell her that what she did was wrong, even though I actually really enjoyed it?

"So." I start, back downstairs, stood in the kitchen.

"So." Deborah nods, closing her messenger bag, her camera put away. "I'll start mocking up the website ready to show you."
"Okay, um. Debs." I nod. Should I say something? "Um."
"Next weekend right?" Smiling. "I'll show you the site, whatever I've got, when I come round to tie you up again."
"Oh." Of course, the video we kind of discussed. "Right." I nod, returning her smile.

"Okay." Deborah nods. "Great." Should I of said no? Was that my moment, my chance to tell her off, to fire her for abandoning me in some really quite extreme bondage for the sake of a phone call?

Is it weird that I actually liked it though? That I'm not really mad, or upset. Is it wrong that I kinda want her to do it- take advantage of me -again?

Deborah goes to leave, but, at my front door she pauses, turns around with one hand on the door handle. She smiles. "Don't worry B, I've got a great plan for you next weekend."
"You...."

But she's already left.

[GreyLord]

Ah! The mystery is afoot. Who is the mysterious Debs? What are her intentions? Does she mean well for Plymouth? [mention]RopeBunny[/mention], you have certainly created a great cliff hanger. Great writing.

[RopeBunny]

Who is the mysterious Debs?

Who indeed I shan't offer up any potential spoilers, but all will become clear in time.

[Caesar73]

Deborah might have an Agenda on her own - and I am curious to learn more I am glad that you continue writing Plymouths Journey, [mention]RopeBunny[/mention]

[GreyLord]

No spoilers needed, [mention]RopeBunny[/mention]. I was just musing. But I do agree strongly with [mention]Caesar73[/mention]. I am very glad that you are continuing your story.

[RopeBunny]

042.

Back in the office, time, the week, seems to drag.

I can't get my head in the game, can't make myself focus on council stuff. My mind keeps wandering to what happened. I can't stop picturing and replaying the moment Deborah abandoned me naked and bound on my bed.

I think- shhhh -that I might actually like her.

"Brooke?"
"Huh? What?"

Looking up, from my open laptop, on my desk, which has nothing but the official council wallpaper on it, no programs. No work. Because I was daydreaming. Above and behind my laptop, behind my desk, Andy stands, smiling. "I called you from over there," waving back at his open office door, "but. You must've been zoned out."
"Oh. Um." Damn it. "Sorry boss."
"I was just going to call you in to discuss something important." Giving me a questioning look. "If you have a moment?"
"Of course." Closing my laptop, standing. "Lead the way boss."

"Here." Handing over a sheet of paper as he sits down "Read this."

I could, almost, laugh. But I don't, because that would be very unprofessional of me.

"Sounds interesting." I comment, handing the paper back. "But surely one of the other...." Marks. "....guys. Here. Um."
"Brooke."
"Boss."
"I think it would benefit you to come along."
"Well." It would benefit one of us anyway. Crafty bastard. "Um."
"Come on." Putting on a let's be friends tone, fooling nobody. "It's all expenses covered, a free bar."
"Well."

I. Vaguely, remember Jeff mentioning this in passing last year. There's a trade show, up North in a big conference centre. The council is sending Andy, plus guest, for the two day event. Which means an overnight stay. Which will mean Andy and me, in a hotel, together.

Now what do you suppose he's hoping will happen?

"Well." Trying to think fast, to find a polite way out. But Andy's way ahead of me. "It'll be fun." He comments, having, I've only just realised, been tapping away on his laptop these past two minutes. "There." Clicking the mouse pad. "I've tagged you in on the email chain, you'll get the hotel details in a week or so."
"Right." Doomed.

I.

Am.

Doomed.

"Hi B." Saturday morning, Deborah, at my door, smiles as she steps inside. "You look nice."
"Debs." Feeling my own smile widen at the unexpected compliment. I look good because I made an effort.

Which I tried not to do. Because this is just work, but, waking up on Saturday, finding Deborah still infecting my brain, I then found myself staring down into my clothing filled suitcases- because I've yet to build most of my furniture -trying to decide what to wear.

Like a schoolgirl going on a first date.

I opted, in the end, for white jeans with small ladder like horizontal rips up the front of both legs, paired with a tight fitting black tee, the legend 'Triumph' printed across my chest in white.

Deborah still looks like a goth. Her dress is covered in red camouflage print, and paired with a black underbust corset, which, combined with the low cut front of the dress, does a great job of thrusting her chest up and out, displaying a whole mass of cleavage. The dress finishes above the knee, revealing thigh high black and white striped socks.

My hair is loose, as per usual. Deborah's is still styled in that messy but cool looking mohawk.

In my kitchen, Deborah pulls an expensive looking black laptop from her messenger bag, and sets it on the counter. "Right." Flipping it open, booting it up. "Hold on." Tap tap. Scroll. Click. "Here." Turning the whole thing around to face me. "What do you think?"

It's my website. The bare bones of it anyway, enough for me to see what it might become with more time. "Wow." I nod, scrolling down. Clicking through. It looks. "Impressive."

Jesters Revenge. That's the name I came up with. Something random. Not dot dot dot bound, or dot dot dot tied. A name to catch the eye. It's going to be a store, not a pay monthly site, a place to buy my content one video or photoset at a time.

Speaking of content.

"That's great Debs." Handing the laptop back, which Deborah closes, puts away. "So." We're stood, leaning, against the same kitchen counter. Close but not close. Nervous, I cross then uncross my arms, fidgeting on the spot. Seeing Deborah open her mouth, close it. Frown.

Maybe I'm not the only one who's been looking forward to this?

"So." I try again. It isn't easy, now that the moment's actually here. Is this just work? Could it be more, something fun, a new beginning?

Did Deborah deliberately abandon me, for fun or other motives, and, just where do I know her from?

"Um." Too many questions. I breathe out. Time to just roll with it. "Time to get to work?"
"Yes." Deborah breathes out too. Nods. "Got a video to shoot, right?"
"Yes." I turn, sliding back into the corner, making it so I'm facing Deborah. "You. Um. Said you had an idea?"
"I did." A brief laugh, shaking her head. "I do. Um. Can I show you?"
"Sure." Spreading my arms wide. A sudden burst of adrenaline. Is she about to tie me up, to show me her idea by just doing it? "Go, um. Go ahead, Debs."

And now there's a steel cage, like you'd put a big dog in only more badass looking, sat next to my flatscreen.

"Not what I was expecting."
"No?" Deborah half smiles, stood beside me. "It's a good idea though," a small, nervous, laugh, "right?"
"It is." I nod, feeling an excited buzzing, a tingle, in my limbs.

"It's foreshadowing."
"Four...?" Leaning back, still kneeling beside Deborah as we both bolt the cage together, I scratch my head. I happen to know what foreshadowing is, but, she'd said the word slowly. So it sounded like. "Four shadow, um." I frown, then laugh. "Who's the fourth shadow?"
"Fourth?" Her turn to lean back, looking sidewards at me. Her turn to frown. "What?"
"Well." I point, explaining. "You, one. Me, two. The cage, I guess? Three. But, what's the fourth shadow?"
"Or who."
"Exactly." Not seeing Deborah's smile, not seeing it's sad edges. I grin at the whole weird point she's trying to make.

And the moment passes.

Together we set up three cameras: one dead in front, the main view, and a second just to the side of it to capture the cage front at an angle. The third camera sits slightly higher, zoomed in to record close ups.

"Yes of course you're wearing black underwear." I tut, stripping off my own outer layers. "Is it like part of the goth code or something?"
"What?" Looking down at herself, half covering her bra covered breasts with one hand, Deborah looks back up. Tuts, gesturing at me. "Honestly," smiling though, as was I, a friendly back and forth, "could you at least try to act modest?"
"Um." Standing in my own plunge front bra- pink and white thank you - plus all white thong, hands on hips, not in the least embarrassed, I grin.

"You sure you're up for this?"
"Well." Giving me a nervous smile to show how confident she is. "I mean. It sounds fun."
"Oh." I grin, eying up the cage. "It'll definitely be fun. But." Aware of my own nervous tingles, because, for all this is a video. I think I do, am beginning to, like this girl who's still a stranger to me. "It's going to get pretty close in there. So...."
"So...?" Another nervous smile, a quick glance at my chest.

"So." It needs saying. "Thing is Debs." Waving a hand at the cage. "I've done this, lots of times now. Have you ever done this?"
"Have I ever been locked in a cage you mean?"
"Well." Not looking, missing another of those sad smiles because of it, I shrug. "I didn't mean that, specifically. But."
"Relax. B." Taking a couple of steps to the side, nudging my shoulder with hers. "I've been tied up before."
"Yeah?" News to me. Well well.

"Yeah." Nodding. "Haven't been filmed." A smirk, another playful nudge. "We can't all be porn stars and have fun."
"You didn't have fun being tied up?" Nudging her back. "You've been playing with the wrong people Debs."
"Yeah." Blowing out a breath. "Tell me about it."

But she doesn't, tell me about it. We lapse into silence for a minute or too. For my part I'm suddenly very aware of Deborah's smell, her shampoo or maybe her perfume, like a summers day. For all my bluster, my porn star confidence, I have a sudden attack of nerves because, in a minute, we're going to be trapped very close to each other.

"Okay." Shaking herself, apparently that silence was Deborah psyching herself up. Nodding. "Let's do this." She laughs. "Um. Quickly, before I lose my nerve all over again."

I smile, flicking the camera's on, and we begin.

Deborah's lingerie is indeed black, a push up bra and thong, both skimpy, both heavy on the lacework. My own lingerie is mostly lace too, my bra not covering much of my F cups. As we walk into frame, me leading, both of us pale skinned, my tattoo covered enhanced body and Deborah's with only three.

I can see now that, alongside the haunted house she has a kraken on her left leg, the body down by her ankle, tentacles twisting and climbing, ending around her pussy and butt crack, one almost touching her right breast. Her third tattoo, some kind of 3D box covered in symbols, sits high up on her inner right leg.

One by one we climb inside the cage, which is of a size with the large dog cages pet shops sell, a cuboid shape, the long side facing out into my lounge, facing the cameras. The cage is large enough to, just about, accommodate the two of us sat side by side, so long as we don't mind being pressed close. We'll never be able to stand up, sitting or kneeling with lowered heads is all we could manage, and we could lay down, with legs bent at the knee, provided we either lay one atop the other, or lay on our sides pressed close.

Cosy is the word of the day.

Because she climbed in second Deborah locks us in. The door, taking up most of one narrow wall, has two bolts, for which there are two padlocks amongst the handful of things we placed in here earlier. The gaps between the bars are such that you can fit fingers through, just about your whole hand, but not much beyond the wrist.

With that done we need to see to ourselves. Ballgags first, a pair of red balls with black leather straps. We each buckle ourselves in, then, because I'm better at all this, I lock Deborah into her handcuffs.

The cuffs are heavy duty steel, two rings connected by a short chain as is usual. One goes on her ankles, the second locks Deborah's wrists behind her.

With some effort, because there isn't much room, I manage to cuff my own ankles and wrists.

And now we're both helpless, locked up, and locked in.

"For thirty minutes?"
"Yes."
"But." Giving Deborah a 'really' look. "Thirty?"
"Thirty." Nodding, even smiling. "Three zero."
"I know what thirty is." Giving her a playful push, almost tipping her over as we kneel together, building the cage. "Why though?"
"Why so long you mean?"
"Exactly." I wave an arm. "Isn't that too long?"

Turns out. No.

There's a large digital clock positioned on the sofa across the room, a timer so we can see how long it's been. So we know when to call time and stop the video. I've never been caged before- the kink ball doesn't count, because it was a large cage, and because we don't ever, ever, mention the kink ball -but it turns out that ten minutes is about how long a person can sit in semi cramped conditions before they begin to fidget.

We're both sitting side by side, facing the camera, legs in front with knees bent, my arm and side pressed into Deborah's. We're both moaning, softly, not constantly, I couldn't say why she is, but for me it's because I'm a little bit turned on due to my situation, plus the fact that sometime around the seven minute mark Deborah shuffled that tiny bit closer and tilted her head, resting it on my shoulder.

I, at first not so much, but over the course of five minutes it grows into something I really do have to do, something I need to do. Right now. In those five minutes I go from the occasional small fidget, which of course sets Deborah off doing the same, to a pressing need to flex my legs.

And the only real way to flex my legs is if I lay down, which means Deborah has to lay down too.

But, we're both gagged, so I can't tell her what I need.

I wind up gently but firmly pushing her around. The upshot of which is that yes I get to lay down, but Deborah's laid ontop of me- because that's where she ended up given I burrowed my legs underneath, then tipped her up out of my way -her belly and breasts pressing into mine, her face and gagged lips hovering over my own. Which of course means that when she moves, or when I move, our pussy's are pretty much grinding together.

Which is not unpleasant.

This, the crotch grinding, doesn't start out as anything more then the both of us squirming as we seek out a comfortable spot. My legs are spread wide apart, Deborah's are between mine. However, with about twenty minutes on the clock, something just kind of.

Clicks.

Prehaps we're both having one of those eye contact moments at the same time as we both happen to struggle. Prehaps I, because all this is definitely turning me on regardless of how Deborah feels, moan a little too loudly as I rub up against her.

Either way, whatever the catalyst, we both wind up- slowly, quite erotically in my opinion -doing our best to fuck each other. Doing our best given our cuffed limbs, gagged mouths, and the complete lack of space inside the cage.

I even manage, through much struggling, which only makes us both more horny, to roll us both over, reversing our positions so Deborah's now underneath me. Allowing me to better take charge of the grinding occurring at crotch level.

I don't make it to orgasm, I don't think Deborah does either, but I- we -have a damn good time trying.

"Um." Giving me a nervous smile, her pretty body covered back up, Deborah looks down at her blue converse high top clad feet. "Well. Um."
"You've got to go?" I'm still in my lingerie. Part invitation, part simply not caring who sees what. "Well." I shrug. Please stay. I'll let you tie me up to the bed. I'll tie you up to the bed, stop you leaving, take that busty goth body for a proper test drive.

How did we get out? We hid the keys underneath the grey blanket on the cage floor, nice and easy to retrieve. I unlocked Deborah, she in turn unlocked me, then the cage, and out we climbed. Grinning like idiots.

Except now she seems overcome by a sudden attack of nerves, and shyness.

"I've." Taking a step towards the door. "Um." Deborah's phone buzzes, again- it buzzed twice whilst she was getting changed. She takes it from her bag, looks, grimaces. Puts it back. "Sorry."
"S' fine." It kinda isn't, I'm all hot and bothered now, again. All horny. But. It's out of my hands. So I smile. See, everything's okay. There's always another time.

I walk Deborah to my front door, where she turns, offers me a nervous, but happy, smile. "Um." Darting forwards, quickly in and out, like a flitting insect or bird, she kisses my lips. Just a peck. "See you. B."
"Debs."

Leaning in the doorway, heedless of what neighbours might be watching, my smile widens as, at the end of my driveway Deborah turns, glances my way. Without thinking first, acting in the moment, I give my chest a shake, laughing as I see her eyes widen. Mouth fall open.

I wave, she waves back, leaves.

Is there some reason she couldn't stay, given she was displaying all the signs of a girl into the fun we were having?

[Risperdaltied]

Loving this! Another great episode! Poor B must be horny as hell with all these people running out on her!

[GreyLord]

The mystery of Debs deepens. There is something we don't know, [mention]RopeBunny[/mention]. I am sure that you will tell us in your own good time. I thought this was hot, by the way.

[RopeBunny]

043.

The next day, Sunday, I resolve to spend making my house more of a home.

I'll build furniture.

I'll find a spot for my Japanese Imperial Navy flag.

Having made these resolutions on Saturday night, I wake early at oh seven something. Grimace at the bedside clock, then force myself up.

No shower, no point if I'm going to be getting sweaty. I tie my hair back, to keep it out of my way, then dress in an old white tee and a pair of quite small dark blue spandex gym shorts, underneath which I slip on white lace brazilian pants.

No bra, because there's no point. If I go out I'll just wear a hoodie to stop people staring too much.

I start downstairs. My lounge is mostly done, for now. The flatscreen stand, tempered black glass, low and long, plus my sofas- one three seater, one two seater, both pale blue fabric with low arms and scatter cushion backs -are all in place. I just need to build my table. It's designed like a picnic bench, the wooden table is rectangular, with long pull out bench seats on each side. This I place behind the larger sofa, close to the kitchen.

On the middle floor, one of the bedrooms remains empty, the other I'm using for storage. The landing, like an open corridor between the two sets of stairs, is a good width. I build and place a tall wooden bookcase here, for what books I have, alongside some keepsakes. It doesn't take long, but I'm getting hungry by the time it's done, so stop for a quick snack.

I'm up in my bedroom when I hear the muted sound of the doorbell. "Odd?" Frowning at my phone. "No messages."

Do people just turn up, without checking first?

"Might be a salesman." I muse, descending to the ground floor. With a smirk I decide to leave my hoodie off, despite the fact my tee is quite tight, and slightly damp now through sweating, which means the shape of my breasts, both nipples, are clearly visible.

But it isn't a salesman.

"Debs?" I smile, frown, smile again. "Hi?"
"Aren't you sure?" Teasing, smiling back. "Should you be saying goodbye instead?"
"Ha." I step back, gesture with my hand. "Won't you come in."
"Please."

She's wearing red- mostly red, there's yellow blue and green in the mix -tartan trousers. Not leggings, but not jeans, the material hugs her legs, dissappearing into some very chunky black lace up boots below the knee. The trousers are finished off by a black leather belt, above which is a slash of pale skin, and above that Deborah's chest is covered by a black Slipknot tee, the bands name scrawled in yellow across her breasts with tour dates for two years ago listed on the back.

"I. Um." She doesn't have a bag I notice, or a coat, and is carrying her phone and house keys, which are on a black and yellow striped lanyard. She puts these things down on my newly built table, turns to face me. "Sorry about the other day."
"You mean yesterday?"
"Yesterday."
"It's fine." I tell her, again. "When you've gotta go." I smile, Deborah grimaces though, giving her phone a quick jabbing nudge.

"Did you drive over?"
"I can't drive." Shaking her head. "I took the bus."
"Oh." Where does she live again? I'm not sure she's ever said. "Right. Well."
"If you want me to go though?" She'd been sitting, we both were, across from each other at my table. She goes to stand, I wave her back down. "No no."
"Only." Eying me up and down, the semi mess that is my current look, Deborah smiles. "You look. Um. Busy."
"I'm building furniture."
"From scratch?" Smiling.

"Tell you what." I stand. "Why don't you come up and help, see whether you still look so nice after a couple of hours."
"You." A small smile, flickering. Deborah looks down at herself. "You. Think I look nice?"
"I." Damn. I mean, she does, but. Ahh, fuck it. Stop being embarrassed. I grin, nod. "You look very pretty Debs. However." Holding up a hand to stop whatever comment she'd been opening her mouth to make. "If you do help, then you'll wind up looking like this." I run a hand through my sweaty hair. "Within an hour or two."

Deborah grins, a cheeky smile. "So, if I build furniture I'll grow a pair of F cups?"
"You might." Grabbing one of my breasts in each hand, squeezing, bouncing. Deborah blushes, but smiles. She stands up. "Okay, come on then. Show me what you're up to."

Apparently, in Deborah's world, helping is when you slouch on the bed, stealing the instructions, and don't even do an accurate job of relaying what needs to be bolted to what next.

"What size screw?"
"Size?"
"Look at the picture," I shake my head, you'd think by now, and this is about the seventh time on this merry go round, that she'd of got it, "there's a letter next to the screw I need." I gesture to the floor beside me. "See, all the screws I've piled, nice and ordered, A thru F. So, which letter do I need?"
"Um."

"Look." Having stood, I wander over, pointing at the page, having to turn it over first, because she's on the wrong page. "See. Four times E screws."
"Oh." Smiling. "Right. B?"
"Yes," I can't help but smile back, "Debs?"
"You need four E screws next."
"Thanks Debs." Shaking my head, still smiling, I turn back to the drawer unit I'm building.

"Might as well tie you to that bed." I call back over my shoulder playfully. "At least then you'd have an excuse for not helping."
"Only if I let you."

She'd said it playfully, matching my tone. But it had sounded like a challenge too.

"Only if you let me?" Still working, still being playful. "Not if I just come over there and do it?"
"I don't think you could."
"No?"
"Nah." I hear Deborah climb off the bed, I stand up, turn. "I mean." Flashing me a teasing smile. "I think you're too slow."
"Too slow?"
"Well." Pointing at my door. "Go get some rope, or whatever, and let's see."
"If you're sure?" Feeling the need to check, because, in my head tying Deborah up will only lead to one thing. Playtime. So I have to ask.

"Go." Waving at my door. "Otherwise you'll see my magic trick."

What trick? I tut. "Fine," walking out the door, "see." Calling back up the stairs. "I'm going." Deborah laughs. I grin, beginning to feel excited for what, suddenly, lays ahead.

"I'm ba...? Um. Debs?" Wandering back into my room, arms full of rope, and a gag, I frown. "Where...?"
"Ta dah." From behind the door, right behind me. I can hear the grin in her voice as her hand slips over my mouth, her other arm wrapping my two, pinning them together- with unexpected strength -behind my back.

"Oh." I giggle, slightly muffled. "Damn. Nice trick."
"Too slow B."
"Hmmm." I do a brief struggle, hoping, not much but maybe, to catch Deborah off guard and reverse the situation. But nothing happens beyond my breasts bouncing side to side, she's got too good a grip on me. "Right." I laugh again, Deborah joins in. "So, what?" Speaking over my shoulder. "Am I just supposed to surrender now?"
"Those are the rules."
"Rules?"
"Yes. Um." Squeezing my arms a tiny bit tighter. "We did say whoever catches the other gets to tie them to the bed."

We didn't. But, I would've agreed to it had she suggested it. So. "Okay then." I nod. "I surrender. You can let go Debs. I'll come quietly."
"Good." Deborah let's go, gives me a small shove. "Now go stand against that bed post."

Two of my beds four posts are against a wall, but the foot end pair are out in the room. I pick one, and stand with my back pressed against it, arms behind me, hands linked together behind the post. Being super helpful.

"Right." Climbing up behind me, I hear my bed creak slightly as Deborah kneels. "Let's get you nice and secure."

Wrists first, I can't see, but it feels like the basic kind of tie, the same style I use. Tight and effective. Doubled over rope wrapped, then reversed and wrapped again. The rope gets fed through the initial double back loop, then wrapped between my limbs, which helps- as she pulls it tight -to bring my wrists closer, sealing them into the tie.

She's binding me tightly, I can feel that too. Plenty of yanking, no half measures.

Elbows follow wrists, bound behind the post, which is quite extreme if I do say so. I'm not complaining, the tighter the better of course. As a bonus- for Deborah -this does force my chest forward, thrusting my breasts out.

Climbing off the bed Deborah repeats the rope tie three more times: my ankles, above and below my knees. Then she uses two additional ropes to bind my body to the wooden post, wrapping my ankles and wrists, binding them in place.

As if, given my lower arms are on the opposite side of the post to the rest of me, I could simply walk- hop -away anyway.

"You were going to use this," holding up the offending item, the largest ballgag I own, Deborah stands in front of me, "on me?"
"Um." I can't stop the grin chasing itself across my face. "Well."
"It's fucking huge."
"Yeah." Licking my lips, squirming slightly, knowing what's coming, the anticipation of such is giving me happy butterflies.

The ballgag, dangling on it's black leather strap inches from my face, is indeed fucking huge. The red ball is close to twice the size of normal, a real mouth filler, guaranteed to make anyone drool and moan.

"Open wide B." Stepping closer, and again, her body almost touching mine, our faces very close, our lips only separated by a double handspan of space, and the gag, which Deborah is holding up by each strap, offering it forwards.

I open wide- super helpful -but, the ball is so big it pushes my jaws even wider as Deborah slips it in. "Mmggfgg." I exclaim, having not used this particular silencer for some time, having forgotten just how large it is. "Ggmmmgfffmm." I can bite down on the red rubber ball, which offers some relief, but. Damn.

Am I drooling already? Sure feels like it.

"Very cute." Having leaned in close to reach around my head, buckling the gag, Deborah takes a half step back. "You look great B."
"Mmffpmm mgmgggmp fffggmmm."
"Indeed." Reaching out, brushing a hand, gently, over my chest, Deborah smiles. "Got to finish the tie off."

Which she does still standing in front of me, which means more leaning in close, more pressing her tee clad breasts into mine as a long rope is wrapped first below, then above my F cups, tied off behind, bought over one shoulder then back up over the other, squeezing and squashing my breasts.

"There." Still close, smiling, our bodies no longer touching. But the closeness, not touching me, not allowing me to touch her, whilst being close enough that I can smell her, is quite teasing. Another power move, another easy display of my helplessness and Deborah's ability to do as she pleases.

She's looking right at me, our gazes locked, and I am slowly losing myself in her eyes. My breathing has shallowed out, becoming slower, my moans, near constant due to the gag, have quietened. If my pussy weren't feeling so tender, so hyper sensitive due to my aroused state, I might not even realise she'd begun touching me.

"Mmmggmmmmm." I moan, eyes closing opening again, feeling questing fingers sliding up and down, into, out of, my wet slit. When did she pull my shorts and pants down? Deborah smiles, like a victory, not evil, but she knows I'm putty in her hands as she continues working me over, one finger becoming two, her thumb joining the party as it finds my swollen clit, rubbing.

If it weren't for these ropes pinning me in place I'd be a puddle on the floor.

Building up speed, ripping my tee up on one side with a series of harsh tugs, exposing my left breast which her mouth clamps over, biting down on my nipple hard enough to turn my current moan into a gasp.

And faster still. Faster. Working me over, clit and pussy, nipple. My moans become pants, my heart hammers in my chest, my whole body lights up, the tingle spreading, racing up then down my spine as the orgasm builds.

Climbing.

Climbing.

Abandoning my breast Deborah brings her head up, lips locking onto my ballgagged mouth, sucking away my drool, moaning herself as my arousal leaks into her, and, in the corner of my field of view I see her spare hand plunge down the front of her tartan trousers, seeking out her own pussy, desperate to join me.

And now we're both moaning, out lips and eyes locked, Deborah's breathing quickens, racing towards mine.

Climbing.

And.

Over, plunging down, my body locks rigid as the orgasm washes over me, every nerve ending exploding at once as I scream through my gag at Deborah, who moments later, eyes going wide, orgarms too, pressing her body into mine as she does, pinning her fingers inside me, squashing her chest into mine.

And then I'm blindfolded.

Lost to the afterglow, like floating, I'm only vaguely aware of Deborah stepping back, of her fingers leaving me. I blink, squirm, and then a scarf is placed over my eyes, wrapped around my head and yanked tight at the back.

I hear footsteps, walking away, the soft creak of Deborah descending the stairs.

Abandoning me.

Wait.

What? Again? Now?

Darkness, silence, all around. I can feel the air moving, gently passing, brushing against my exposed pussy and left breast.

Where has she gone? Will she- of course she will, but, will she -come back?

Just like last time I'm completely helpless, vulnerable, exposed. Just like last time Deborah offered no words, no apology or explanation.

And just like last time, I'm not even mad. I can already feel my heart rate quickening alongside my breathing, my constant moans, soft but there, are the sounds of arousal not of distress.

Could she leave me here overnight? I, silly Brooke, silly little rope obsessed girl sparing no thoughts for her safety. She could, and I wouldn't even mind.

So I wait, squirming occasionally within my tight bonds, not seeking freedom.

Someone. Deborah surely? Returns. Footsteps approach, stop. I moan, the stranger pats my right leg. Something tickles my right leg, high up on the inner thigh, close enough to my pussy to make me squirm. The stranger moves, stops. Moves again. Leaves.

I don't know how much time passes, but, Deborah showed up just before one, and, when I do finally- afterwards -think to check my phone, it's close to six.

I might've spent anywhere from two to five hours bound to my bed post basically.

Footsteps again, ascending the stairs, crossing the room. My blindfold is pulled off revealing, Deborah, smiling as I blink in the sudden wash of sunlight coming through my wall and roof windows. Leaning in, she gives me a quick kiss on the cheek, then unties me.

Leaving the huge ballgag for last of course.

"You're leaving?" Sat on my bed, unable to stand after so long spent bound, every limb feels weary as though I just spent the last several hours working out down the gym.

"Can't miss my train." Deborah nods, chunky boots already on her feet, phone and keys in hand. "I. Um." Giving me a nervous smile. "I had fun."
"Me too." Shame you can't stay, let me return the favour, maybe stay the night. We can flip a coin to see who gets to sleep tied to the bed. I shake my head. "Well...." A shrug, she's running off, again, just when things were getting interesting.

Why? All the signs say she likes me too, so why can't she just stay here and play?

"Take care Debs."
"I'll." A quick, there and gone, like blinking, glance down to her phone, an equally quick grimace. "I will. Um. You too B."

Afte, now. After she's left, seeing herself out since I really can't stand up. After I've checked the time. I run myself a bath to soak away the aches.

Where, standing naked before my large mirror- I had the back wall of my bathroom, running behind bath and sink, from tiles to ceiling, fitted with a large mirror -I discover the reason for that rouge tickling on my leg. There's a box, just like Deborah's tattoo, drawn in black sharpie marker high up on my inner right leg.

What the...?

And didn't she arrive by bus, so why is she leaving by train?

[RopeBunny]

There is something we don't know, I am sure that you will tell us in your own good time.

I've just written (the rough draft of) chapter 045, where all will be reveled. Not much further to go for those of you enjoying the mystery.

Thanks for reading, and for commenting.

[tickletied84]

Fabulous! I wish that happened every time I went to help a pretty girl with DIY....

[GreyLord]

Way to go, [mention]RopeBunny[/mention]

Not much further to go for those of you enjoying the mystery.

While I am looking with anticipation for 045, I promise not to skip 044.

You surprised me, I thought that Plymouth was going to top Debs. Maybe later, or maybe not.

[TightsBound]

A great pair of chapters! Sweet and tender, but also hot and sexy. I’m looking forward to seeing where things go from here!

[Switcher1313]

Just managed to read this story [mention]RopeBunny[/mention]! I like it! Plymouth is quite a character and her adventures are excellent! Keep up the good work!

[RopeBunny]

Thanks all, new and old readers alike, for stopping to comment

I'm always grateful.

[RopeBunny]

044.

"Hey Bill, how's Catherine?"
"She's good Brooke." Bill, one of the two remaining Kings- leaders -takes the tub of homemade cookies- something I spent all yesterday evening baking -off me, handing them in turn to a young guy who happens to be walking passed. "It's good to see you here."
"Thanks for the invite."
"Anytime." Bill steps forwards, giving me a hug. "You'll always be a King, Brooke, remember that. We're family, and family sticks together."

Which is why I came, to this Friday evening barbecue. The Three Kings, Lili's old motorcycle club, is one of the only solid links I still have to her. Before she died I'd become a King myself, gifted my own patch, which I wear on the back of my leather jacket with pride. And now that she's gone it, being around these largely older men and women, the smell of oil, it brings a smile to my face.

I stay until the end, helping to tidy up afterwards. My cookies, it seems I'm quite the chef, have been very well received.

"Take care Brooke." Catherine, Bills wife, wearing a red scarf to cover her bald head, a side effect of the meds she's on, sees me off with a kiss. "Don't be a stranger."
"I won't." I smile, meaning it, making my way down the road to where I left the Triumph.

The ride home, through deserted streets, walking my bike up to an easy ninety on the long straights and gentle curves of the outer dual carriageway ring road, feels good. Calming. Out here, surrounded by darkness and small pockets of light, it's just me, and the road. No problems, no cares.

Peace.

"Something on your mind dear?"
"Hmmm?" Look up, focus, Mum's sat across the table of the American themed steakhouse, half smiling at me. "Um."
"You looked miles away." Cocking her head to the side, slight concern skating across her face. "Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine, Mum."

Except my new boss has hatched a scheme to get me alone in a hotel. For work. Ha.

Except that, having managed to reawaken the bondage loving side of me, making my way back to the land of the living, I'm slowly slipping down the rabbit hole that Deborah, my new rigger, is making.

"How's the new house?"
"The house." I smile, a safe topic thank fuck. "It's great." Nodding. "Strange to have all that space to myself. But...."
"You could get a cat?"
"I could...." I could. Maybe. Or maybe a dog, since I've already got the cage.

Over the next hour we polish off the bottle, plus a large bowl of ice cream. I make more of an effort, I smile, ask Mum about her own life. Keeping the conversation away from my own strange days. And, after, we share a taxi, dropping Mum off first, then me.

Home. I open another bottle and slouch down on the sofa, feet up, shoes kicked off across the room. I probably shouldn't, since I've work tomorrow and it's late. But I need to think.

What am I going to do? About Deborah.

It's like she's two people, sometimes. She puts out all the signs of being into me, of wanting to get closer. And we have. After lashing me to my bed post we'd gotten. "Pretty fucking friendly indeed." I nod, smirking, remembering.

But there's another side to her. Less fun filled, more. "Business." I muse, nodding. It sounds right. "Like a person doing a job." Twice she's abandoned me in some very tight ropes, walking away with no explanation, and no apology afterwards. Now, I didn't mind, not really, because I happen to be really into total helplessness. Which isn't a healthy obsession to have, but.

"Can't be helped." I shrug. Giggle.

There are other issues, questions, too. Why does she often grimace at her phone? Why did she draw that symbol, a match for her own, on my leg?

I should just leave, break contact, run before something happens. Because, I've got the strangest feeling that somethings going to happen, if I stay, eventually. But I can't leave. Because I do kind of like her, and I do kind of like being abandoned. And. "I want to see what's behind the curtain."

"I should just ask." I decide, coming to a perfectly logical conclusion. Sure, it's gone midnight, on a weeknight, but. "I'll ask." Downing the last of the wine. "Now." Looking left, right. "Where's that damn phone?"

'Debs.' I type out. 'Hey.' "Um?" Think. I look up, spotting the cage, sitting empty, door hanging open, and giggle. 'You awake?'

"Wakey wakey." I giggle again, wondering if I should get more wine? Or a snack?

My phone buzzes five minutes later, jerking me out an alcohol fueled doze.

'Evening B.'

"That's it?" Staring at my screen. "Now what?" I've got to think of something to say. Because I'm definitely not going to say what's really on my mind. "Please, Debs," eying up the cage, smirking some more, "won't you come on over and lock me back up."

"Fuck. Um." At which point my phone buzzes again, in my hand, making me jump.

'Miss me huh.'

Not a question, I note. Is she playing? Should I play too? "Stupid question." Shaking my head. 'Yes.' "And." A small shiver chases itself up my spine. "Send."

'Behind your Sky box. Use a ballgag. TIGHT. Send me proof.'

"What?" Staring at my phone. "What the? Behind my...?" Staring at my Sky box, heart speeding up. I lick my lips. Those capitals, like an order.

Which is new.

"Oh. Wow." I exclaim, holding the small gold padlock I've just found in the palm of my right hand. "When did she...?" When she was here, at the weekend. She had plenty of time whilst I was tied and blindfolded upstairs.

It's only by dumb luck that I haven't already found this.

Up in one of the spare rooms is a nice wooden chest, think buried treasure style, inside of which is my collection of ropes and other bondage supplies. Including my gags. Tapping finger to lips I stand staring down inside, pondering. "Black." Nodding. "To match my hair."

Pulling the strap- working it under my hair -tight as per Deborah's message, her order, feels good. I feel another small shiver, accompanied by a dull throb in my pussy as the leather digs in at either side of my mouth where top and bottom lips meet. Buckle the gag closed, clip the padlock through the small ring on the buckle, preventing me from unfastening it. I'm now locked in.

Which is when I, my far too drunk brain, stops to think about where the key for this lock might be?

"Mmfpfmmm." Too late now, I shrug. Heading for my bathroom mirror, wobbling slightly, I take two photos: one full frontal, me gagged, still wearing the tight blue jeans and pink tee I wore out, and one close up of the padlock, in place at the back of my head.

Back in the lounge, feeling very horny, and tingly I type. 'Done.' attach the two photos, and hit send.

And. Nothing happens. The ticks appear, the one, becoming two, becoming blue as Deborah reads my message, sees my photos. But, she doesn't reply.

Now what?

"Mmfpfppmm." Jerking upright. Awake. Phone tumbling off my belly onto the carpeted floor. I stare bleary eyed at my flatscreen, gone dark at some point as the powersaving feature automatically turned off my Sky. Had I even been watching Sky? "Mmfm?" Reaching up to touch my ballgag, confused for a moment. Then, nodding. Of course. Did she reply?

I pick up my phone, tap the screen to wake it up. No message. But. "Mnmnnnnnfffff." Fuck. Shit fuck fuck shit shit shit. Damn. I didnt set an alarm, and have less then twenty minutes to get to work. But. "Mmfmm." What the fuck do I do about the ballgag I can't take off?

"Hey Brooke," Colin pats me on the shoulder as we pass, him heading for the kitchen area, me just in the door, heading for my desk, helmet still on, "cutting it close today." Colin taps his watch, laughs, but not nastily. I nod, shrug. What can you do.

What can you do, with barely enough time to swap out my pink tee for a more sensible white shirt, underneath which I'm still wearing last nights black bra, which is quite visible. What can you do indeed, when there's a ballgag locked on your face?

"Nice scarf." Haley, nodding on the way to her own desk. I nod back, reach up to finger the dark green wool. It's a long scarf, wrapped as best I can to ensure it remains in place, covering my face from the nose down. The best I can do. I have to stay here, in work, for five hours minimum today, since the work I need to get done will take about that long, provided I don't stop for lunch.

Can't eat lunch anyway.

Slipping on a pair of over ear headphones, the chunky kind, I open my laptop, acting all 'in the zone' in hopes of dissuading any attempts my colleagues might make at conversation.

And it works. Until.

"Brooke."

Andy. Damn it. Can't tell the boss to sod off. He's levered one of my phones off, so I can hear him. With a sigh I take them completely off, looking up. He smiles. "Can I see you," gesturing, "in my office."

No. Fuck off. Not today Andy, please.

None of which I can say, because he's the boss, not because of the gag. So, I nod, stand up, and follow.

This should be interesting.

"Have a seat Brooke." Gesturing, sitting down himself. "I won't keep you long."

There's no way I can get through this, whatever it's going to be, without talking. Fuck. But I can't leave either, so, out of ideas, resigned to playing this out on an as it comes basis, I nod, and sit down.

"It's been a couple of weeks." Looking up, from a sheet- some kind of form -that he's scribbling on, Andy smiles. Seesaws a hand. "Near enough. So. I figured it was time to check in. See how you're doing. Okay?"

I nod, give him a thumbs up.

"Great." Scribble. "We, the bosses, have to do a yearly review for all our staff anyway. Did Jeff ever do one for you?"

Actually. Yes. I remember now, more like a chat then a sit down meeting though, and no form in sight. Maybe Jeff filled it out afterwards? Still. Yes, so I nod again.

"Well." Andy frowns. At my silence? Shit. "Okay. Good." Scribble. "Let's see," tapping pen against paper, "are you having any issues with the apps? The council internal net?"

No. I shake my head.

"Okay." Scribble, tap. Andy looks me in the eye, gaze narrowed slightly. "What about the staff here? Any problems?"

Apart from you? My lips quirk at the thought, which Andy can't see luckily. But. No. Another head shake.

"Hmmm." A big frown now. Andy puts down his pen. Shit. "Brooke. Is." Looking over my shoulder, I turn too, his office door's closed, the room beyond empty, which is rare. But, it does happen. Andy returns his gaze to me. "Is something going on?"

I don't think I can nod and shake my way out of this. Not now.

Leaning forwards, taking Andy's pen, the paper, I scrawl 'I'm wearing a ballgag' across the top of the page, then sit back.

"You're wearing a bal...." Andy reads aloud, voice drying up, eyes going wide and darting to me. He smiles, stops himself. Smiles again. He looks. Hungry. But not for food. "You're...." Staring now, at my scarf. "Why?"

I gesture for the paper. Andy pushes it towards me without a word.

"Does it matter?" Frowning, looking up, back at me. I try to make my eyes say 'well, does it?' Because I'm certainly not telling Andy the truth, and I don't feel like making something up. "Um." Looking from paper, to me. "Well." Shaking his head. "No. Brooke. Okay. But." Holding up a hand. A sudden smile on his face, something crafty. "If I'm going to let you off. If." Sneaky bastard. "If I'm going to overlook this. Then." He doesn't even look embarrassed about it, just goes on and says. "Then I'm going to need something back."

Fucks sake. Is this, is this what blackmail is?

'Fine.' I scribble. 'What?' Then I toss the pen into his bin, and glare. Fucking. Sod. I know what he wants.

"I want to tie you up." Grinning. Not even sorry. He's like the person who won everything. "Not now." Waving a hand, as though it's all up to him. Which I guess it is. "But. When I say." He smiles, winks, as though I'm actually happy about it too, "Plymouth. Then I get to tie you up any way I want."

Honestly. I mean. Fine. It isn't like I hate being bound, and, this. The Andy thing. Is a game I've known was coming for some time. So I nod. Sure, Andy, you can tie me up.

If you can tie me up.

Of course, now he has what he wants, I can go. So I go home.

I'm not even mad at Deborah. This, the Andy thing, it could be argued that it's all her fault. Nothing that just occurred would've happened had I not been locked into a ballgag. But, I locked myself up. I messaged Deborah. I asked to play.

Besides which, throughout the whole day, even the meeting with Andy, my helplessness- because of the gag I'm locked into -has been like a constant tingle at the back of my mind, and low down in my belly.

I don't regret locking myself in.

I just want to know what happens next? When will Deborah get back in touch?

Turns out the answer is waiting for me.

Opening my front door, I tread on a small white envelope. Inside is a single piece of folded paper, out of which falls a small silver key.

'Good girl, Brooke.' I read, fingering the key, which I use straight away, placing both padlock and key, and the note, on the kitchen counter afterwards.

Should I message her?

Will she message me?

She was here, outside my, at, my house. Why didn't she stay?

"If you'd stayed," stood in the lounge, still dressed for work, idly reaching inside my shirt and bra to finger a nipple as I stare at the open empty cage, "I would've let you lock me away." I smile. "Or, maybe." Pinching, the sudden spike of sensation feeling good. "I'd lock you up. Stop you running."

[tickletied84]

The mystery deepens - and Brooke is falling back into bondage! A ballgag at work - and locked on too...

I suspect a cat won't be quite as much fun!

[Risperdaltied]

Wow! What a couple of chapters!

[RopeBunny]

And....

Here....

We....

Go.

[RopeBunny]

045.

On Saturday, easing the Triumph onto my driveway having been out for a late afternoon blow, my stomach does a quick flip flop of happy nerves as I spy Deborah, sat outside my front door dressed in tight dark blue jeans and a black Iron Maiden tee, the usual chunky lace up boots on her feet.

"Nice bike."
"Thanks." Shutting down the engine, kicking out the stand, climbing off and removing my helmet. "Hi." I smile, shaking out my hair. "You're an unexpected surprise."
"That's me." Smiling back. "Full of surprises."
"Didn't think we had a shoot booked?"
"We don't."
"So," biting my lip, happy nerves, "you aren't here for business?"
"Well." Pausing, looking me up and down.

The silence stretches. I wait. Deborah grimaces, frowns. Looks down at her phone, shakes her head. Nods. Decision made? She offers me a half smile. "I thought you might like to come over my place?"
"Really?" Wow. But. "Can't we just play here?" I flash a cheeky smile. Come inside, I have rope.

"No." Shaking her head. "We need." Pause, again, huffing out a breath. "No. Let's go to mine."
"Sure." I shrug. Mine. Hers. What does it matter. "I'll need to shower first. Change. Okay?"
"No rush."
"Good." I think. "How did you get here?"
"Oh. Um." Looking at my bike. "I don't suppose you've got a spare helmet B?"
"I do. Will you be okay, on the back?"
"I. Um. Think so?"

Deborah stays downstairs, watching Sky whilst I jump in the shower and blow dry my hair. I opt for black jeans, better then leggings for the bike, and a pale blue Vans tee. Like the jeans my work boots, black lace ups with steel toes, are better for the bike. I shrug on my Kings leather jacket, then head downstairs.

Stopping halfway. "Hmmmm." A sudden thought. "Well, should I ask?" Ask if I'm staying the night, the weekend, either willingly, or. "Please." I grin, looking down the stairs where I know Deborah's sat. Maybe I'll be staying because I've been tied up.

"Is that your plan?" I whisper, not wanting to be heard. "Okay." Nodding, heading back upstairs. "Let's come prepared."

Which means clothes. Jeans and a second tee, extra pants and bra. Socks. I pack some sexy lingerie too: fishnet mesh pull ups and a lace teddy. Everything goes into my saddlebag, including an armful of rope, a ballgag, and some toys. "Just incase she doesn't have anything."

"Okay." Appearing in the lounge, dumping my saddlebag on the table beside my helmet. "Ready?"
"Sure." Flicking my Sky off, standing and coming over. "Where's my...?"
"Here." Handing over my yellow high vis coat, which is large, and warm. "You're going to need this."
"I am?"
"Extra padding." A half smile, it isn't a joke, but, it isn't really a fun thing to consider either. "Plus it gets chilly at speed."
"Oh." Nodding, shrugging the coat on. "Right."
"And helmet." Putting my spare, actually my old white helmet, down beside my new black one.

I help Deborah into the helmet, buckle on my own, then lock up behind us, stashing the housekeys alongside my phone and card wallet in the small internal pocket of my saddlebag.

"Right then." Kicking my Triumph into life. "Climb on."
"Like this?" Levering her leg up and over, sitting down with her arms gripping my sides. "There was a handle behind me?"
"Me or the handle." I shrug. "Whichever feels better. Where am I going?"

She tells me, an easy ride, but long. I nod, knowing how to get to the outskirts of her town.

And off we go.

Arriving quite late, well after the sun's gone down, at a block of fairly new looking flats.

Finding a handy lamppost, one not too obvious but not hidden either, I chain my bike up, and remove the saddlebag.

Up the stairs, the block is six stories high, but we only climb two, walking from the stairwell to a long corridor, stopping just over halfway down at number eighteen.

Which is a small two bedroom. A short corridor, short but wide, with a bathroom halfway down, and the bedrooms one each side near the end, where the corridor opens out into the main lounge, which has a kitchen tacked on the side.

First impressions: the flat looks, busy. There's a fair amount of stuff around, paperwork of some kind piled on the sofa, DVD's and PS4 game cases laid on the floor in front of and beside the flatscreen. There's rope too, which makes me smile, a couple of lengths laid over the sofa back, plus a third, still half tied into some kind of knot, on the floor.

"Want to give me your coat and boots?"
"Just my coat and boots?" Teasing, smiling. Deborah smiles back. "For now. We'll get to the rest of it soon."
"You better." Handing over my stuff, which Deborah tosses into one of the bedrooms, along with her own boots and borrowed coat. She closes the door, returning to me in the lounge.

"I was going to trick you."
"You were?" I frown. "Why?"
"Why not." A shrug. Deborah half smiles. "Sounded fun. But." Looking across at me, leaning on a sofa back whilst she stands in the kitchen doorway. "I don't expect you need tricking?"
"Nah." Shaking my head. "This is your flat, so, surely you're the boss here."

Which actually makes her laugh, briefly.

"Um." From laughter to nervous, Deborah approaches me, stops. Fidgets on the spot with one of the ropes which she snagged off the sofa back on her way over. "If you want to...."
"To...?"
"Um." Looking at the floor, muttering. "You can leave. Um. If...."
"Debs."
"B?" Looking up now, finding me grinning at her, which turns her frown into a half smile. I shake my head. "I'm not leaving. Now." Pulling up my tee and bra, tossing both across the room. "Let me get naked, then you can put that to good use."

Foreshadowing. Remember? I didn't, but, it's coming. And that, just then, was my last chance to avoid it.

This clearly isn't a bedroom made for sleeping.

Having followed Deborah into the room, stepping out of jeans and lace shorts as I entered, leaving me naked. I look around. There's no furniture in here beyond the bed, a wooden framed double with no duvet or pillows. One wall has steel rings, an X drawn between them, screwed into the wall. They look about right for securing someone in place with little or no freedom of movement. Against another wall is a long wooden box, hinged lid open. Peering inside I can see several metal eyes on the base, perfect for lashing a girl in place, closing the lid, shutting her away.

It's a fun room.

"Hands." Standing in front of me, rope in hand, Deborah makes a come here gesture. I offer up my wrists, crossed, in front of me, which Deborah doesn't correct, binding them tightly together one atop the other, feeding the rope between and around, capturing both wrists from several angles, yanking the rope tight several times. Doing a proper job.

The remainder of the rope is tossed up over a metal hook fixed to the ceiling. Deborah, grabbing the rope as it comes back down, steps away from me, pulling in the slack. As she backs away my arms are forced higher, up level with then above my head, then higher still. And higher, forcing me to stand straight, not quite but almost on tip toe.

Stopping, looping the rope through a series of steel rings bolted to the wall in a pattern clearly designed for this rope, Deborah comes back over. Using two short ropes she binds my feet to rings I hadn't realised were set into the floor in this exact spot. My legs are now forced just over shoulder width apart.

Back across the room, Deborah finishes wrapping and tying the rope off to the wall rings, completing the task of rendering me immobile.

The final knot tied, Deborah nods, at her ropework, then leaves the room, leaving me- almost -hanging naked in the centre.

She isn't gone long though, returning with a ballgag, and a hood.

Without a word she offers up the gag, holding it against my lips. I quirk a small, quick, smile- seems take charge Deborah, who likes to abandon me, has come out to play -and open wide. Strapping the gag in place Deborah places the hood on me next, which is made of shiny black latex. Lacing up at the back it covers my whole head and neck, causing my hair to spill out at the back from underneath in a crazy looking fountain. There are two small holes for my nostrils, and an oval for each eye, nothing more.

Another nod, at me this time, and she leaves. Again. Closing the door behind her.

I mean, I thought I'd at least get a kiss before being trussed up and abandoned.

Sound is muted inside the hood. I hear footsteps, but couldn't say whether they were even coming from this flat. I hear talking, which again could be another flat, or the television.

I can't move, and my back is to the door, facing a curtained window. All of this, the hood, my nakedness, the fact I can't see the door, is ramping up my feeling of vulnerability, and helplessness. Here in this strange flat I've allowed a strange girl to tie me up.

You could say, I must be mad. To which I would reply: yes, quite mad. Thank you.

Deborah returns. And with no teasing, no play, not even a smile, she transfers me from hanging in the middle of the room to laying on the bed.

My wrists remain tied, Deborah simply switches the long trailing rope ends from wall to bed. Having untied my ankles, she points to one side of the bed. And what can I do but nod, and comply, climbing up and laying down, on my back, body laying legs together on one side of the bed.

My wrists are bound, pulled tight, lashed in place to the headboard. After which my ankles are tied together and bound to the footboard. My body is now stretched out again, this time in an I shape, forced to lay flat as my muscles on arms, legs, and belly, strain against the ropes.

Looking down at me, looking- why -sad, Deborah opens her mouth. "I...." She swallows. "I.... B...." Shaking her head, giving me a small smile. She leaves.

I'm alone for longer this time, hearing the same phantom noises, left to ponder just what it is Deborah wouldn't, couldn't, say?

And then, like a bad joke, like the worst day you ever had returned to say hello.

Clive leads a naked Deborah, hooded and masked in the same fashion as me, into the bedroom by her bound wrists.

And now, far too late, now I see her. Now I remember. She was fatter, without the tattoo's and with a simpler haircut. And her D cups, I'm sure she was busty before, but now her breasts are fake, like mine, pert and rounded. The glasses- which she of course isn't wearing now, because of the hood -the goth fashion sense, they're still the same.

Fucking Clive and the fucking Kink Ball.

I used to be on an escorting site, I still am, but my profile is currently deactivated due to everything with Lili. I didn't see many clients, I was quite particular, but someone I did see was Clive.

There's an event called the Kink Ball. Picture a large hall full of rope and cages, full of people enjoying that rope. Clive booked me to accompany him, so he'd have someone pretty on his arm, he said.

But. No. Turns out the fucking skinny no muscle little beardless liar, having bound me inside of a skintight latex one piece, was only using me as a thing. He'd booked me just to trade me away to some guy, so he could get Deborah back.

Yes, full disclosure, what happened after was my fault. But he still lied. And, because everything that came after happened because he tricked me into being there, well, I've got quite the complex swirl of emotions- which up until this moment I'd managed to bury way down deep -concerning fucking Clive.

Laid on the bed, bound in place, gagged, utterly helpless and unable to do either of the things my fight or flight reflexes are screaming at me to do, I feel my whole body go tense even as a mix of fear and nerves dumps bucketfuls of adrenaline into my system.

"Good evening Plymouth." Giving me a smile, a nod. The little shits voice is polite, we're all friends here after all. "Or." He, actually, winks, like this is all some fun day out. "Should that be Brooke?"

Having led Deborah- who, traitor, no surprises, can't even look at me -around the bed, Clive binds her in place beside me. Making her my rope twin.

Bending down he kisses Deborah- staring up at the ceiling -on the gag and mask covered lips, then walks around the bed.

To.

Shit shit help fuck crap help shit shit shit.

Me.

"I've waited a long time for this." Sat on the bed beside me, one hand resting on my belly, Clive looks down at me, smiles.

Can he see the emotion- a mixture of fear and hatred, that I should be thus caught, by him of all people -in my eyes?

Bending down, Clive kisses my gagged and masked lips. Just a peck. He then kisses each of my nipples, and lastly -prehaps it's lucky I'm so tightly trussed up, otherwise I'd shiver -just above my pussy lips.

"Well." Standing, walking to the bedroom door. "Goodnight, ladies. Get some sleep." Looking, I feel certain, right at me, Clive winks. Again. Smiles as though he knows I'm just as happy as him at the way this all turned out. He nods. "Yes, sleep well." Backing out of the room. "We've got lots of fun things to do tomorrow."

With a click the door closes, plunging Deborah and me into near total darkness.

[GreyLord]

Oh, no. Not Kink Ball Clive. I think that Plymouth would have had a lot more fun with Andy.

[RopeBunny]

046.

"Pay attention B."

One of many times in my room at home. Lili and me, playing with ropes, and each other.

I've got her all tied up- in a hogtie this time -and, like always, I'm keen to enjoy her bound body before she slips free of my amateur rope work. Which she always. Always. Manages to do.

"B." Rolling over, putting us face to face. "Are you listening?"
"No." I grin, flicking Lili's closest nipple. "I thought I'd play instead."
"Honestly." Tutting, smiling too. She loves the attention. "Well. I need you to see something."
"I've seen you escape two dozen times already Lil." My turn to tut. "After which you usually wind up using the ropes on me."
"And the problem with that is...?"
"Oh." Flicking her nipple again. "No problem. Just. I don't need to see you escape. I've seen it before."
"Yes. But." Lili winks. "This time, B, let me show you how I always escape."

Of course, it's dark in Clives spare bedroom, so I don't get to see Deborah's eyes go wide as I suddenly sit up, free of my wrist ropes. I can't see her, but I still hear her grunt of surprise.

It, the trick, is no guarantee. It's a shot though, one chance instead of none.

Thank fuck Clive used rope.

"Thanks Lil." I whisper, free of the ankle ropes too. Everything: ropes, gag, hood, getting pitched into the nearest corner. Kissing my right hand, I place it briefly over the knight riding a motorcycle tattoo- lance lowered, charging in -that sits on my belly, the inkwork I got after Lili saved me from the Kink Ball, because she was, that day and always, my hero.

Luckily, opening the curtains allows the dim glow of a nearby streetlight to infect the room, bringing shadowed details out of the darkness.

"So." Whispering. Sat on the edge of the bed, between Deborah and the window, with one leg cocked underneath me and the other keeping me balanced. Looking down, watching Deborah's eyes skate on and off me, I'm not mad. At her. "I mean." Letting out a shaky breath, I can still feel his kisses on me. Yuck. "I'm super pissed," trying my best to keep my voice down, still managing it, "but." Reaching out, patting her stretched tight belly. "I like you, Debs."

"Mmfmff mmmmmm." Gentle, she's keeping quiet too. Deborah shakes her bound body at me, her gaze finding and holding mine now. "Mmmfffff."
"Look." Patting her belly again, almost forgetting my anger, and the danger- ha, little no muscles skinny fuck -of Clive. Almost the pat becomes a stroke down towards her pussy. Which is right there. Damn it. I shake my head to clear it of kinky thoughts. "I'm going to take off that stupid hood, so we can talk. After that." I shrug.

After that, I guess, depends on what she's got to say.

"I am so sorry B." Shaking her head, looking up at me from her still bound position. "I...."
"Explain it to me." Feeling like I want to jab her in the tit, resisting the urge. "Tell me why I'm even here?"
"But." Looking at the closed door. "What if...?"
"Just tell me." Breathe. Calm. "Because I remember you now, from the Ball. So." Reaching down, stroking the hair off her pretty face, I try on a smile. "I'm not mad, at you." Not yet. "So. Debs. Tell me a story."

"We've been dating since school you know."
"You and Clive?"
"Well. On and off." A small shrug. "We went to different colleges." She tuts. "He dumped me to play the field, or some shit."
"And the rope stuff?"
"Only in the last few years." A pause. "He's always been controlling, this." Shaking her body, I completely fail to hide a smile at the sight. "This is just his love of controlling cranked up to eleven."
"So you let him be in charge?"
"I. Um." A brief smile. "I kinda liked it. Being his little slave on a lead, tied up or caged whenever he felt the urge."
"Hmmm." Sounds, kinda, no different from how Lili and me played at times, except we took turns. And it was never serious. "Go on."

"Well." Nodding at me. "Skipping ahead some. Everything changed after he met you."

"I'd been having doubts anyway, about being with him. The whole Yuri thing was, kinda. Well. It could've been my chance at a clean break. At getting away."
"But?"
"But." Deborah grimaces. "When he came, with you, to get me back. Turned out I'd." A tut. "A little bit, missed him. Part of me was glad to be back."
"You were happy?"
"I was." She tuts. "For awhile. But. Clive didn't want me anymore. He wanted you."

"In his head you see, he'd forgotten that he paid you. So."
"Hey." Resting a hand on her belly, because she, suddenly, looks really sad. "It's okay."

"He just." Looking down at herself. "He wanted you. He was." She's staring at the ceiling, beyond the ceiling, the things being seen aren't making her happy. "He became obsessed. Stalking you online, watching your content again and again." A shaky laugh. "I had to talk him down from flying out to Japan."
"Fuck." Damn, that is obsession. "No shit?"
"No shit."

"So." Deborah let's out a breath. "He wanted you, but there was no easy way to have you. To make you his, the same way...." Closing her eyes, opening them again, looking at me. "The same way I was." Shaking her bound body, incase I missed the point. I didn't. Clive wanted what he had at the Ball, slave Plymouth, but all the time. For free.

Which he never could've had. Ever. I might, sure, I'll play the helpless damsel. I enjoy it. I love being bound beyond hopes of self rescue. But. I'm not a fucking sheep.

"So."
"So." A half smile, Deborah shakes her chest. "If not you, then...."
"Oh." Looking at Deborah, making the connections. "Fuck."
"Yeah." Nodding. "He tried to make me into you."

The tattoo's. The fake tits. The lost weight and toned figure. "But." I frown. "You...."
"I let him?"
"Well." Yes. "I mean."
"Old habits." Another sad smile. "The trouble is, I was too used to being controlled. So, it was easy for him to have his way. I." She swallows, shakes her head. "Fuck me I wanted to change myself. For him."
"But it still wasn't enough?" I guess. "Was it?"
"No. He still wanted you. And, well, he saw your ad, and I did photography as an evening course in college. So."

So. Clive made a plan. For Deborah to get close, to lure me in with teasing and flirting. To, in Clive's mind, begin to mould me into something he could control through those abandonment stunts and power trips Deborah kept pulling.

"Basically then." Thinking it over. "It was all him, telling you what to do? The box on my leg, abandoning me tied up those two times. All just some crazy plan."
"Basically." Biting her lip. "But. Um."
"But?"
"But," letting out a breath, "but I like you too. I like being with you. B. Playing with you." She fixes me with a look. I can see the want in her eyes, her liking of me a mirror of mine for her. Something small, but given the chance to grow? "I like you. I just...."
"You just couldn't break free of him."

"I'm not strong enough." Shaking her head. "It's been to long, to much time being his toy, doing as I'm told. I feel, sometimes." Staring up at the ceiling. "Sometimes I feel brainwashed."

"B?"
"Hold on." Fucking shadow hiding knots. "There." Tossing Deborah's ankle ropes onto the floor, making my way up the bed to untie her wrists.

Deborah sits up as her wrist ropes join the rest, and our hoods, our gags, piled in the corner. "Um. B?"
"Debs?" Sitting down beside her, the two of us still naked. I smile at Deborah's half confused half happy expression. "Okay?"
"Um." Staring at her wrists. Has she, ever, in the past handful of years, not been tied up at night, I suddenly wonder? "Yeah. But."
"But?"
"Well." Now she looks guilty. "What are we doing?"
"We're leaving."

"But." She grins, wide, I feel my own mouth stretch in reflection. "But." Just as quickly, having glanced at the bedroom door, she's frowning. "We can't."
"No?"
"Well."
"Come here." Half pulling half helping Deborah scoot her butt up into my lap, after which I cuddle her into me, my arms around her, enjoying the feel of her skin, the heat from her pussy on my leg, so close to mine.

"Once." I smile, briefly, remembering how it all went down, after the Ball. "A long time ago, far far away."
"What?"
"It's a story." Kissing her cheek. "Hush. My point is. Once, someone saved me. So. Now I'm going to save you."
"Really?" The smile, that light up the room grin, is back.
"Yes." Nodding. "Now, he...."

Is about all I get out, before Deborah using the added leverage of being sat on me, pushes me down onto the bed, laying her body ontop of mine, kissing me on the lips even whilst she hugs me tightly.

"Okay." Laughing, making too much noise but, damn, I can't help it. "Okay. Stop."
"You really mean it?" Still covering my body with hers, our breasts and crotches pressed together, Deborah reaches down, brushing gently at my hair. "Really. I can." She sniffs. "I can come to?"
"Yes." And. Push. Roll. Throwing Deborah off me, but keeping hold of her, rolling us both over so now I'm on top. Wrapping my legs around hers, pinning her arms above her, to the mattress. I smile down at her, lean in.

"Now." Putting my head against hers, lips almost touching. I flick my tongue out, licking her lips, enjoying Deborah's muted squeel of delight. "Listen, Debs."
"Yes." Whispering too. "B."
"I'm going to empty my saddlebag. Put on the clothes you were wearing, and put anything you want to bring into the bag. But." Kissing her lips, pressing my body into hers, feeling the wetness in my pussy as Deborah kisses me back, moaning softly. "Understand this. Debs. We aren't coming back. So."
"Whatever I leave here." She nods. "Stays here."
"Yes."

Quietly, slowly, I open the bedroom door, finding the flat dark, quiet.

Together we move into the lounge, finding our clothes, dressing. Boots too, and coats. Whilst Deborah packs- two books, her laptop, an important looking folder from a drawer, a glasses case and a small cuddly shark -I move both helmets to beside the front door.

"I." Nodding at the closed bedroom door. "Um. I need stuff from in there."
"Okay."
"Sorry."
"Don't be." Pulling her into a sideways hug. "I needed to go in there anyway."
"You." Confused. "Do? But, why?"
"I need," grinning, this should be fun, "to say goodbye."

"What the fuuuuuuck?"
"Wake up time sleepy." Making my voice as cheerful, as loud, as possible. Enjoying Clive's shock as I tip both him and the mattress off the bedframe.

"What?" Shouting, fighting clear of the mattress and finally managing to stand up. My smile widens, because Clive sleeps naked, and despite having an impressive looking cock for a skinny boy he doesn't appear best pleased that I can see it.

He huffs, at me, still not having noticed Deborah, across the room stuffing what few clothes she can into what room remains in my not large saddlebag. Clive fishes a pair of dark blue Nike shorts from the floor, steps into them, yanks them up. Then returns his attention to me.

"You." He glares. "Why aren't you...." And now he's seen Deborah. "Fucking." Taking a step towards her, Deborah flinches back against the wardrobe. "Get over here." Click of fingers, pointing at the floor. "Now."
"No." Stepping forwards, placing myself in Clives path should he step forwards again. I cross my arms beneath my breasts. "No. Clive. We're both leaving. Now. Understand."

There's a drawer unit next to Clive, atop which, resting next to some aftershave and a candle, plus some thick books, is a riding crop. Clive, looking from Deborah to the crop to me, sneers. Reaches out.

"Pick that up." Somehow managing to keep my voice calm, I fucking hate crops, can sometimes- I'd swear -still feel the phantom stings across my butt and breasts. I take a step towards Clive, hands balled into fists. "And I'll break your fucking nose."

I turned Clive's light on when we came in, to help Deborah pack. It means Clive can see me, properly, too. Seems he can see the anger written across my face, because he drops his hand.

"She isn't yours to take."
"She isn't yours to keep."
"She's mine." Jabbing a finger at his naked chest. "Mine."
"Why?" Still angry, mad at Clive for tricking me here. Mad too for the control he's been, wrongly given she wants to leave, holding over Deborah. "Why is she yours?"
"I don't have to explain myself to you." Shouted in my face, Clive takes a half step forwards, his own anger building. "This is my house. Now." Grabbing up a length of rope- is the whole flat just littered with the stuff or something -pointing. "Both of you. Get the fuck back in that bedroom so I can tie you up properly."

And I'm, a little, shocked, to realise he really does expect the two of us to just walk back into the spare room, strip, and lay down for him to truss back up.

"No." Being calm, though it takes an effort. "I meant it Clive, Deborah isn't your property. She wants to leave." I turn, look, hoping Deborah isn't completely cowed by Clive's anger. Looking at the floor, my zipped and sealed bag hugged to her chest, Deborah glances up, eyes never touching Clive. But. She nods, one tiny up then down.

It's enough.

"We're leaving." I, deliberately, turn my back on Clive, and ushering Deborah before me leave the room.

"Leave then." Shouted after me, Clive stood in his bedroom doorway as I stand in the front doorway. "Go ahead." Turning to look, Deborah already gone, I watch a slow, somewhat crafty and evil looking smile appear on Clive's face. "Leave." He repeats, nodding. "I'll come over next week, we can talk then."

Because he knows where I live, because Deborah knows where I live. Fucks sake.

"I'm only going to say this once." Still calm, not marching back inside and punting Clive in the cock with my steel toed boots. I point. "This. Me leaving now. This is me being polite, me saying leave Deborah, and me, the fuck alone. Don't come around my house. Don't call. Don't text."
"Maybe I will." A shrug, cocky asshole.

"First and last warning." I shake my head. "Go find some other girl to brainwash. You step anywhere near me, or her, again. And I'll burn you to the mother fucking ground."

"Is it. Um." I find Deborah stood beside my bike, my saddlebag on the floor, one helmet in each hand. "Is he?"
"If he's got any sense," fat fucking chance, I tut, "then he'll stay away."
"But he...."
"Come on." Putting Deborah's helmet on, then my own. "Let's go. We've a long ride ahead, and I'm tired."

[GreyLord]

Way to go, Plymouth. And, way to go, [mention]RopeBunny[/mention]. That was hot, detailed, well thought out. and exciting.

[Caesar73]

I have to admit I found only time to do some serious catching up and what a Roller Coaster! It was so great to read how Plymouth stood up to Clive and hit him where it hurts. He earned that, what sick, manipulative fellow and he did some serious mistake Also great the Way stood on Deborah´s Side.

So all in all? A great reat [mention]RopeBunny[/mention] !