Beaumains wrote: ↑2 years ago
My only question is, maybe it was already answered, why is Brooke so attracted to bondage and wanting this career. Would Jessica or any other friend not been able to tie Brooke up before she would decide to do a porn?
Hey Glad you found my story. Glad you liked it.
Your question. I'm not sure if I ever delved deep into her reasoning? I've had a look back. And in 001 Brooke does say she found bondage at fifteen thanks to her Mums lousy internet parental blocks. From there the fascination grew, and she decided she wanted bondage to be a career instead of some occasional adult fun.
I hope that helps? No doubt I could've gone into things more, I was probably in a hurry to get the story moving though.
I totally understand you did not give an entire reasoning. It's quite hard to get a character that really wants to get into serious bondage, but also is a complete novice. Having tried something in those 3 years, self-bondage, asking a friend, or whatever, would have seem a more logical step (for me, at least). Only, skipping some steps in that reasoning is the obvious solution if you want a complete beginner (which is often very charming) and, as this tale is (sadly) fictional, is completely alright. Or maybe you intend to do it this way and is Brooke truly naive and pursuing a fairy tale dream.
A sensible person would, of course, choose no ropes. Especially here. No ropes stands for no gag. No collar. And here wearing either of those things is liable to land you in a variety of interesting situations.
Interesting is my choice of word. Bad. Vulnerable. These are probably closer to the truth.
But I like interesting. For me being bound, in any way so long as the act renders me helpless, is always interesting. Fun. An adventure.
Those are my words too.
It isn't even a decision. There, for me, isn't even a choice. When I'm tied up, as I am now, any sense of normal logic takes a holiday to regions unknown. In this state all I want is more. More bondage. More helplessness. Tightly bound, preferably with a gag, is me in my element, me living my best life. So no, I don't want to be untied.
Please and thank you very much.
I just need to figure out how to tell Yuri?
Except that Yuri's already ahead of me.
"There. Skinny girl." Having unbuckled my gag, and collar, Yuri tosses both towards the tubs. I can't see whether they land inside or beside. It doesn't matter anyway. "Now." Smiling, nodding. "Now we talk like equals."
"Equals?" A teasing tone, accompanied by a shake of my still caught in the laced up sleeve arms. Yuri doesn't rise to the bait, doesn't offer to untie me further, which I didn't want anyway. I, carefully, sit myself back down on the stool.
"You are English girl?"
"Yes."
"And, you are silly yes."
"I am?"
"Yes." Nodding. "Only silly girl gets tied up and given away."
"Prehaps I like being silly."
"It is thing." Nodding, giving me a small smile, enough to show he gets my meaning. "Some girls. Like you. Like to be tied girls. Even if tied means no say. Yes?"
"Yes we do."
"So then, skinny smart girl." I grin, Yuri nods, continues. "I will not be freeing you."
"No thank you."
"Maybe." Looking around the room, then back at me. "Maybe Yuri can do something for you, girl, before plane leaves."
"What can you do for me?" Regag me for a start. Strip me naked. Tie me up in about a hundred feet of rope. Toss me into a cage. Walk me to the lift and cuff me next to, or even chest to chest with, that girl from earlier. The list goes on. Hell, the only thing you can't do for me is let me go.
To be fair he could let me go. But I'd just walk over to those tubs and find a collar to put around my neck. After which I'm fairly certain the rest would take care of itself.
"Well. Girl." Scratching his ear. "Girl has choice now."
"Didn't we cover this already?"
"Ah." Shaking his head. "Not choice of tie or not tie. This choice number two."
"Which is?"
"Choice is." Spreading his arms wide. "Where does girl want Yuri to leave her?"
"Where...." Looking around myself, the feeling of happiness slowly washing up and over me, like being a kid in a candy store. "Oh." Shaking my head slowly. "Wow."
"Girl must choose soon. Yes." Yuri taps his wrist. "Plane is Yuri own plane. But still only wait so long."
"Right." Trying to ignore that, massive, comment he just tossed so casually into our back and forth. How rich do you have to be to own your own plane? "Um." Choice choice choice. "Fuck."
Any one of the dozen or so options would be fine. Even being left to wander as I am would be fine. But. Put on the spot, and not wanting to keep Yuri waiting. I take a deep breath, then another. Trying to find calm.
Then voice the first thought that comes into my head.
"Maybe," a pause, a last minute rebellion, a sudden, attempted, change of plan, quickly put down, "bind me to a table?"
"Okay." Yuri nods, no fuss, a man set a task. "You pick table. Girl. I will fetch rope."
"So. Girl...."
"Brooke."
"Brooke?" Looking puzzled. "Like river?"
"Well." Not really. Oh. Wait. Isn't a brook a tiny river? Fine. "Sure." Nodding, smiling. "Like a river."
"Okay." Returning my smile with a sly one of his own. "River girl." I tut, Yuri's grin widens. "You want be tied how?"
"Laid down please." Turning around, wriggling my arm sleeve. "I'll need this off. Then I'll show you."
I decide not to correct Yuri when he removes not only my sleeve, but my hood too. In honesty having so much skin covered had been making me hot, not to mention I'd been starting to get mild claustrophobia. Besides its good to have my hair out and on display. If I get recognised? What of it. Some kinky person puts the hair and chest together, two plus two equals Plymouth. So what? What are they going to do about it, tie me up?
Yuri's kind enough to, quickly, remove my boots whilst I peel off my gloves. More bare skin, more freedom to breathe. Now all I'm wearing is the skintight white one piece with the trick zip and a black corset.
Freed, and now able to, I lay down in the round tables centre, on my back. Up close the metal rings are more obvious. There are twelve of them, small and silver, placed clock style around the table edge set about a hands span away from the edge. A similar number are placed in the same pattern underneath. The hole on each ring is prehaps two fingers wide. Because the tables are so large even someone tall would have trouble reaching the edges with any limbs once laid as I am.
"Ha ha." Shaking my head, only now realising what's been done to me, and in no position to change things. "Regular funny man aren't we."
"All things should be fun river girl, yes."
"Sure." Looking down and around. Seeing arms bound at eleven and two, legs tied off at five and eight. Completely non symmetrical. At least it was, despite being done with a view to humour, done well. He does good work, I note, having felt each limb in turn pulled taut as the various ropes were fed through metal rings, no doubt tied off below the table. Once finished I, probably, appear to be some kind of science experiment.
Prehaps, given my skintight outfit, I could be some kind of Sci-fi astronaut, first visitor to an alien planet, now captured and splayed out, ready for examination.
The thought of being examined, remembering that my trick zip arrangement would make such a thing very easy. Thinking about this scenario makes my body, specifically my nipples and pussy, tingle.
Yuri gags me, with a red ball. "To match hair." He notes, pointing. I nod, because he's right. I hadn't asked for a gag, or a collar. He doesn't collar me. But I would've asked to be gagged, even though doing so would've given me a huge bout of churning nerves.
Because now, gagged, stretched out on the table watching Yuri wander slowly away- he waves first, which I returned, wiggling fingers since my arm is pinned in place -I'm fair game.
Technically, according to the kink ball's rules, with this gag on I've revoked all my decision making privileges. Anyone here can do anything they want to me.
Literally. Anything.
The thought, all the thoughts, my brain expanding outwards as I try and fail to conceive of all the fates potentially awaiting me, very nearly sets me off on a mild panic attack. Not panic like scared, more a case of panic bought about by nerves. The nerves of being forced to wait, of not knowing what will happen once I'm noticed by someone who wants to play. And then, not knowing what that someone will want to do.
There isn't even any guarantee I'll remain here tied to the table.
Okay. I lied. Maybe some of the panic is fear. I just, watching some gagged girl getting stripped and locked into one of the dog sized cages, had a moment. An epiphany of sorts. This, the ball, I've never been helpless in quite this manner before. Helpless on shoots, or with Trevor, I still had a say. A signed contract, an agreement. Even playing with Lili there was always that trust, born out of a growing love, that we would each respect the other.
But here I have no contract. Here, now I'm gagged, I have no say. I could be stripped. Fucked. Teased and toyed with. For a moment genuine fear washes over me, a cold sweat breaking out down my back as my breathing quickens.
Until I regain control, with an effort. It's too late for panic now. And I'm beyond the point of no return. I'm, for better or worse, stuck in this now.
So, still feeling nervous, I do my best to relax, to get back into the bondage loving girl I am mindset. I've rolled the dice, now it's time for someone else to make a move.
Eventually, two guys and a girl show up.
One of the guys- all three are ten to fifteen years older then me -average height and build, messy curling brown hair and clean shaven with black framed glasses. He's wearing faded black jeans and pale yellow tee. This guy, no collar or gag, no person trailing behind him, sits down on one side of me. The other two sit opposite.
The girl is gagged, and collared. From body language alone- how they sit, the light touches exchanged between him and her as the two guys talk -I can see she's with the guy properly and not just for the ball. Dating. Both of them are carrying a dozen or two extra pounds, but seem happy inside their skin, not afraid in his case to wear a tight black Rick and Morty tee to go with his blue jeans, nor in her case to be sporting some very sexy lingerie: a tiny blue and black bra out of which C cups are spilling, paired with a small blue thong and black elastic topped lace stockings.
"There you are mate," gesturing at me, "found you a girl."
"Fuck off Frank." Said with humour though. "Ella will be here in a moment."
"Still though," Frank winks, reaches forwards and flicks the zip sitting up under my chin, "while you wait."
"Behave." Pointing, beside Frank. "Keep that kinda stuff up and Melissa will get...."
"Horny?"
"Jealous."
"Amused?"
"Mmmf pppfdh."
"That's right babe," grinning, leaning over to kiss his girlfriend, Melissa's, cheek, "of course I'd let you play with her too."
"Mmfp mmmfpf ffpmm." Melissa nods, eyes dancing as she looks down at me, a look that has my stomach do a quick flip flop of 'this is it' excitement.
"Oh." The other, apparently not single, guy, stands, pulling out his phone and flicking the screen. "She's here." Tapping away. "I'd best, you know."
"Sure Pete." Smiling, nodding, Frank pretends to shoo his friend away. "Go get a lead on that girl before someone else does."
"Fucking would too." Pete, shaking his head. "Some right opportunists here."
"Well then go already. Mate. Go get her, and bring her back." Frank shakes his head. "Honestly."
Best guess, Ella came here straight from work. From an office. Pete returns, lead in hand, a smile on his face, Ella walking beside him. She's slim, a size eight like me, but flat chested. Her pale blue shirt is untucked and hanging open all the way from top to bottom, revealing bee sting nipple topped breasts and an impressive stomach tattoo of the Disney castle in silhouette, complete with coloured fireworks exploding overhead. Other then a collar and black ballgag, to match her short bobbing hair, the shirt is all she's wearing. Rope dangles down between her legs, the loose ends to whatever knotwork is holding Ella's wrists behind her.
In the time he's been gone, Pete's friends have been busy with me. Well, Melissa has anyway.
My one piece has been unzipped, from neck down to the top of my corset. The outfit is so tight, my breasts so large, they all but burst free, pushing the latex to each side, sprouting into the gap like fresh seedlings breaking through the soil. Having exposed them, Melissa has spent the time until now teasing them. Teasing me. She seems to enjoy making me moan, giggling from behind her own gag each time her questing fingers elicit a response from behind mine.
Frank has remained seated, content to watch, though as Pete and Ella arrive he tugs on his partners leash, calling her back to him.
The four stay with me awhile, feels to me like well over an hour, my bound and half exposed body forming a centrepiece as Frank and Pete talk, a wide range of subjects from tales of bondage to Frank's upcoming wedding. Throughout, the two girls are underneath the table. Both of them have been hogtied- a fact I only know because Frank happened to comment -and joined at the collar. Neither girl is gagged, I can hear muted whispers drifting up through the wood.
Frank and Pete drink, piling up nearly a dozen glasses large and small between them, all of which are arranged around my body. They play cards, several dozen goes around of some game I don't recognise. My flat corset clad belly is used for piling the winning hands on. My breasts become a scoreboard of sorts, a black sharpie marker sitting nestled between them, which each guy takes when needed, adding tally marks to either left or right breast depending on who won. The marks tickle, occasionally making me squirm. An act which each time earns me a tut, but accompanied by a smile, before the not straight mark is redrawn, sometimes with several others added too.
At no point- pen use aside -am I touched by either guy. This fact becomes quite maddening the more time elapses. I'm wound quite tightly, splayed out and on display, my body expecting more. My arousal, only a baseline but it's there, keeps ramping up each time a stray hand brushes my nipple, each time the guys discuss bondage, each time I hear a muted giggle and remember the hogtied pair beneath me.
I'm becoming quite frustrated. And am starting to wish Pete and Frank would leave, that someone else would come along instead. Someone who, despite the acknowledged risk, would want to actually do something with me.
"Come on then." Pete declares, tossing his cards down onto my belly, tutting. "That's four in a row. Let's go buy the girls some dinner."
"Sure." Nodding, packing the cards away. "Come on then mate."
"Should we leave her here, do you think?"
"Babe. Babe." Called out from underneath the table, followed by the sound of struggling, the bump of someone against a table leg. A girl curses. The guys laugh.
"Yes babe?" Pete, hunkering down. "Dinner time right?"
"Sure. But. Can me and Melissa take care of the girl?"
"Got a plan do you?" I can hear Pete's grin, and can see Frank, standing up, wearing a matching one. "Come on out then, she's all yours."
"Yes." Half shouted, like a victory, followed by the sound of both girls laughing.
The plan, I discover, is to put me into the largest cage.
It's a plan I could probably scupper, after all I'm completely untied before we three girls walk from table area to cage area. I'm not collared. But I am still gagged. And, for better or for worse- the thought of worse still gives me tingles of fear, that unknown, that potential for something I don't like, don't want -I've decided to stick to the kink ball's rules.
And the rules say my gag means I have to do as I'm told. So into the cage I go.
"All three of you?"
"No, just her." Ella, prodding me forwards to emphasise her point. Both her and Melissa are no longer collared, which is for the best considering their men are half a room away, watching with matching amused expressions. No collar and no gag makes them safe. Sure, they can, and have been, propositioned, but are quite free to say no. Which they did.
The largest cage is accessed via a sliding door, very prison cell. Outside the cell is a panel with two buttons: open, and shut down. There's a sign bolted to the panel too, explaining the rules, pointing out that the cell door only opens from the outside.
The buttons can't be reached from inside the cell.
The cells only current occupants are the two slutty school girls, one of whom just addressed Ella. Neither of them are collared or gagged, neither are tied. They both look young, somewhere between my age and mid twenties, meaning the uniforms actually. Almost. Don't look out of place. White trainers, for comfort I guess, lead to white thigh high socks. A small flash of pale skin separates sock from skirt, which is way too short to be school issue. The skirts are black, red, and yellow tartan, pleated and fastened at the side by a buckle on the waistband. Long sleeved white shirts with rolled up sleeves appear to be at least a size too small on both girls. The shirts are undone about half way, pushed open by twin D cups barely contained within matching red plunge bras.
One of the girls is blonde, the other brunette, in both cases the hair is long and straight.
Given they're in the cage, when I spotted them earlier I'd assumed both were here hoping to be tied up. But, seeing the predatory gleam in their eyes as I'm looked up and down. Assessed, my gag, outfit, and exposed chest noted. Maybe not.
"Hey." The blonde, calling out to Ella as she walks back to Melissa, waiting beside the door to let her friend out. "Hmm?" Turning, favouring the school girls with a half smile. "What's up girls?"
"Toss us some rope, please. From the bin." The blonde points towards the bar. "A couple handfuls aught to do it."
"Sure." Ella nods, and leaves the cell.
"What's the plan Stef?" The brunette, doing a slow circuit of me, asks. "I thought we were waiting here?"
"We still are Vix." The blonde, Stef, stood beside the bars as she takes the rope from Melissa and Ella, nodding thanks. "Doesn't mean we can't have some fun in the meantime."
"What can we even do to her anyway?"
Stef grins, stepping in close, reaching for me and taking my right breast in her hand, squeezing. Making me moan. "She's gagged Vix." Leaning down, kissing my nipple. "We can do whatever we want."
Brooke really loves danger, and so far, three groups of strangers have had her in their possession. I kinda expect that this kink ball is quite safe, as any story of someone getting abused/harmed would end the entire thing. On the other hand, these two cellmates seem to be the craziest so far. A very nice cliffhanger.
Brooke really is getting herself into situations - now she's getting frustrated at just being ignored. Love the scene where the guys are playing cards and just using her as a table - she's expecting to get some proper attention but they're more interested in cards and their own girls
Now.
There have been, as we've gone along this journey, a small scattering of comments relating to things like consequences and how lucky Plymouth is on her bondage journey.
At the start of all this I almost called this story: 'The Rise, Fall, and Rise of Plymouth.
FAIR WARNING.
This next chapter, below, is by my usual standards quite dark.
In my original sketched story plan I wanted this to happen, for it not to be all roses. Every rise has to come with at least one stumbling block. This. Clive and the ball. Is Brooke's.
"Hey." The voice, half shouted, pitched to be heard above the general background murmur and moan of the kink ball, is familiar.
But it can't be.
"Yes?" Stef, pausing, looking up, her shifting body giving me a clear view of the cell door, where I see. "Both of you." Lili, stood just inside the open door, points. "Back the fuck away from my girlfriend. Now."
It must be late by now. I've seen no clocks, but, going by whatever sense of timekeeping my internal clock has: Clive and me got here around half four, and by half five I'd been- willingly -abandoned by Yuri. Somewhen after six, by which point I was officially off the clock, Frank and Pete showed up. It might've been close to eight when I went into the cage, and by now it's gone nine.
Stef and Vix have been playing with me for, at a guess, over an hour.
What they did with that double handful of rope, working together, was hogtie me. I doubt they expected a fight, nor a protest, because of the rules. I didn't offer either anyway. Too late really. When Yuri ungagged me, offered freedom, that was my moment.
Wrists and elbows were tied together behind me, all whilst the other schoolgirl bound my legs together in four places from upper thigh to ankle. My wrists were bound to my waist, and a single, very long, length of rope was used to bind my breasts, passing above and below, wrapping my elbows tight against my back, separating and squeezing my round F cups.
With that all done, every knot tight, all the loops and loops of rope pinching my body through the thin latex one piece, they laid me down, and finished the tie. Ankles joined to elbows, one of them pushing my legs, the other pulling the rope, bringing my feet closer and closer until those two points were nearly touching, the severe tie causing my back to arch, bringing my chest up off the floor.
It was around that point I realised we'd got ourselves an audience.
That changed things. Because Stef and Vix decided to make a show of me. Decided to play to the steadily growing crowd.
The removal of my corset mid tie, it was getting in the way of Stef's ropes according to her mutters, allowed the girls to fully unzip me, exposing a wide slash of skin from neck to butt. Wider at my breasts obviously, where the one piece had already been opened, but now Vix made sure to pop my assets out fully, tucking the latex in around them even as I felt Stef's finger prodding at my pussy lips.
"Well well." Grinning at me, amused to find me already so wet, already so turned on by my own helplessness.
Orgasm number one happened easily. Tied up, gagged, being teased by Stef's fingers working my clit and pussy, sliding in and out, rubbing the sweet spot sure to have me screaming even whilst Vix used her mouth to bring my nipples to attention. My whole body shook as I came, voice loud behind the ballgag, eyes closed as I felt the wave of pleasure rushing over me.
And then. Clapping. Cheering. The audience were impressed, and eager for more.
Stef and Vix rose to the occasion. Listening and responding to shouted suggestions, turning my body left and right to better show me off to the wide half circle that had formed beyond the cells bars. Toys: vibes, plugs, clamps, all tossed in, all put to use as I lay, helpless, moaning, my body being expertly played up to and over another half dozen orgasms, one after the other, a never ending march.
And I'm not used to this. Yes I've done porn, am no stranger to performing. But always my only real audience has been a camera lens. This, actual real people, looking at me, seeing me laid bare and used like a thing. It's all so new, and, I'm not sure I like it. There's an element of humiliation, which at first is all part of the appeal, it turns me on to be so on display, to have these unknown masses watching my body be used. Watching me struggle.
But as time passes and I feel myself getting sore, my pussy becoming tender, it begins to stop being fun. It begins to dawn on me that, if I do decide I've had enough, I've no real way of communicating that fact. And no guarantee I'd be listened to anyway.
Now the audience, the humiliation of being watched, changes, becoming like a form of torture, the never ending shouts of encouragement, of ideas on how next to use me.
I could easily still be here. Bound. Exposed. Sore. Well after midnight.
And then someone tosses a riding crop into the cell.
"Do her breasts again."
"Pussy."
"Her butt, whack her on the left cheek."
It stings. The crop. Something I've never experienced before. Something that, I swear, I shall never allow near me again. Ever.
Unfortunately for me Stef appears to be an expert shot. Vix has backed off, out of frame you could say were this a shoot, leaving me to her friend. In the centre of the cell I lay. Squirming, trying to squirm, within the super constrictive hogtie. It doesn't matter how I position my body, I'm discovering, some part of me is always exposed. There's always something for Stef to aim at.
Very quickly the pain climbs to a level where I just can't stop moaning, whimpering. Tears fill my eyes, unseen by anyone due to my dyed red hair, which is plastered all over my face because I'm sweating. Each swipe of the crop brings a stinging pain, raises a cheer from my audience. My butt feels on fire, likewise both nipples. My tender pussy- already swollen from so many orgasms -burns too, but even now I can feel another coming on.
Each swipe, each sting, only highlights my helplessness, and my traitor body is just drinking that shit up. Despite all the pain I'm still incredibly aroused, my moans and whimpers are beginning to increase in volume as Stef, grinning, strikes again, five in a row, lighting up my left cheek, sending me over the edge one more time.
Out of which, emerging from the semi daze that latest orgasm caused, comes Lili's voice.
It's quiet, I realise. Blinking, clearing my eyes, looking as best my prone position allows. Where did everyone go? There are people beyond the bars, a roomful, but not one is close by anymore. Except for: behind Lili, just outside the open cell door. A lady journeying through her fifties, curling grey white hair falling around her shoulders. She's wearing a dark red dress, cinched tightly by a black corset above which huge breasts are threatening to spill out. She's quite plump, and is flanked- that feels like the right word -by two of the jeans and tee wearing walking tanks that I figured were staff here.
I switch my attention from her, from everything, to Lili.
Blonde hair looking slightly crazy, as it always does after she's been riding, she's carrying her black helmet in one hand. Blue jeans, faded and ripped at the knee, are tucked into black steel toed boots laced tight. Her black tee is cut low, flashing D cup cleavage and her clock tattoo, on top of which she's wearing her leather jacket, the back of which has her motorcycle clubs patch sewn on. 'Three Kings' arches across the top, underneath which sit two white and one black chess king piece, drawn close together, seeming to loom over something or someone. Each of those kings represents an original founding member of the club, three friends who used to tear it up in their late teens, before age and growing family commitments forced all three to slow down. They formed the club as a means to share their passion with others.
One of those kings is Lili's dad. An original hellraiser.
"Hey. B." Smiling down at me as she moves closer, hunkering down, running a cool hand over my cheek. "I missed you, so," coming lower still, kissing me, gently, on my ballgagged lips, "I thought I'd ride over. Say hi."
I can't help it. All that built up tension, all my fears. Of another hour of stinging torture. Of being taken away- because twice already during my ordeal people had loudly proclaimed they were coming in to claim me -to a room, to be fucked some more. To be used. Suddenly the dam breaks, and all I can do is cry as Lili puts down her helmet, sliding her body down fully onto the floor, putting her arms around me to pull my hogtied body into the safety of her embrace.
"A long time ago, far far away."
"What?"
We're on a train, heading back to mine. There's no way I can ride, or even just sit, on a bike right now my butt and pussy are so tender.
Lili, acting like some kind of psychic, had thought ahead.
She had my clothes, and bag, waiting for me. Held by reception alongside a single black saddlebag. Lili's. Not really feeling in the mood, not caring who saw my latex second skin, I simply pulled on jeans, shrugged on my biker jacket and boots, before heading outside.
To find my bike, Lili's too, already loaded onto a trailer pulled by an impressive looking jacked up dark green pick-up. A young guy wearing a black Yamaha tee, a blue denim waistcoat with the 'Kings' patch on the back, was waiting by the drivers door. He smiled, nodded, Lili smiled back, and in we climbed.
For a lift, in silence as Lili cuddled me into her on the trucks back seat, to the train station.
And now here we are. Sat in first class sharing a bottle of vodka- which is actually helping to dull the pain -heading home.
"A story. Silly." We're sat side by side, her arm around me, the non stop display of caring since she rescued- because that's pretty much what she did -me showing no sign of letting up. Lili kisses me, grins. "Isn't that how all stories begin?"
"Is it true though?"
"True?"
"Yes." Sitting up slightly, turning to face her, feeling myself warm to the idea of playing the game, the teasing back and forth I love. "This story. Did it really take place a long time ago?"
"Well." Doing a seesaw with her hand. "Maybe. Um. Seven years ago."
"I'm not sure the whole Disney 'A Long Time Ago' ever referred to seven years Lil."
"Yes. But." Thinking. "If it was done as days though."
"Hmmm."
"And." Leaning in again, slipping a hand up inside her tee, and bra, resting it on her breast, needing to feel her. Lili leans down, kisses my forehead. I continue. "What about far far away?"
"You can't take that off me too."
"No?"
"I've got to have some way of starting this story."
"I guess." Thinking myself. "How about? Once upon a time."
"Isn't that Disney too?"
"Not a fucking clue." I shrug. "Maybe none of them are. But it'll work."
"Fine." Stroking my hair, sighing slightly as I shift my hand, brushing it across her nipple as I shift down onto her belly. "Listen."
"Once upon a time. I used to go to the ball."
"You did?"
"I did." Nodding. "I was young when I discovered bondage. Used to tie myself up at thirteen with scarves. All the bloody time. But. Well." A sigh, but not a happy one. I look up. Lili's frowning, staring off into the middle distance. Lost. "Hey." Stroking her face. "You don't have to tell me Lil."
"I do." Another sigh. "It'll help you understand. I just." A shrug. "I don't do my past."
"Well then." Wincing slightly I climb up onto Lili's lap, sat sideways on now, and bring her head down onto my cleavage. "Let's just cuddle. I did a stupid thing." My voice breaks slightly. "And. I'm sorry. And I won't do it again."
"I'm not mad at you."
"Well." Trying to bring the tone back up, I unzip the latex, letting my breasts out, pushing Lili's face into my cleavage with playful force. "How could you be mad anyway, Lil, when dating me means you've got these on tap."
"Mmfpf stommffm. Ffmbrooppffmmf."
"Huh?" Pushing her head down some more, ignoring the occasional small sting as Lili, accidentally, brushes against my sore nipples. "I can't hear you?"
"Mmbrooffmmkemmf."
"Well, I would imagine you're ha...."
"Tickets please."
"Oops."
"I know right." Sat properly again, zipped up, breasts put back away. But we can't help the shared grin, being caught doing playful mischief. "B." Lili takes my hand. "Just, let me say my piece. Kay?"
"If you want to," I nod, "then. Go for it."
"I always liked the bad boys." A huff, shake of her head. She's staring again, down the carriage, into her past. "And. Well. Cutting this down to just the important stuff. For now. At seventeen I was dating a thirty year old. And. Well." A grimace, bad memories. I squeeze her hand tighter, she squeezes back. "This guy. He lived for bondage."
"But it wasn't nice bondage. It wasn't fun," giving my breast a playful stroke, "like we do. Back then my parents were going through some stuff. Mum was ill, Dad was distracted. They never realised how much time I was spending away, never questioned the marks."
"Marks?" I can't help the small shiver. Because I know. Because I too have marks now.
Lili nods. "Yeah. I spent more nights sleeping in a dog cage then I care to remember. Used to keep me naked. No clothes allowed in the house. Ever. Kept me chained up, cuffed, padlocked." Another shiver. "Even when his friends came over."
"And. He took you to the ball?"
"Yeah." Nodding. "He used to love showing me off, leading his naked teenage slave around the hall, lashing me to the cross and letting people take a turn with the crop."
"Fuck. Lil. That's...." No words. I can't even imagine. What she's describing is the worst I pictured whilst suffering under Stef's abuse. People lining up, each in turn having their way with me. And all of it allowed under the rules, that crazy loophole that means gagged people get no say, but assumed anyone gagged is happy to be so, and happy with whatver anyone else might desire to do.
A real dark side, bubbling under the kink ball's surface. I can't help but wonder, for a moment, how many people have fallen down that particular hole?
"So." I swallow. "What happened?"
"She saved me."
"She?" A sudden mental leap. I'd seen, at the cage door. "The older lady?"
"Yes." Nodding. "It's her ball. Her hotel actually, which is an even longer story for another day. But. To be brief. She watches events, gets reports from her staff."
"The tanks?" Lili smiles, nods. "The tanks. She'd seen me, seen how it was each time. And. Well." A shrug. "Bondage is tricky. Such a fine line between yes and no when it comes to what people want and are willing to have done to them."
"Anyway. Fifth time, or sixth, she intervened. Kicked him out. Took me upstairs, talked to me. Really talked. Made me see the spiral I was on. I'd come to want the chains and nakedness. I was happy being his little obedient toy, thought that was the best I could get. You follow?"
"I follow." Nodding, swallowing. Fuck.
"But. She helped me see, helped me understand. I went home, came clean to my parents." Shaking her head. "We all cried buckets, even Dad."
"Your Dad's pretty scary."
"Yeah." A laugh without humour. "Mum and me had to talk him down from rounding up the Kings and riding on my ex. He gets quite protective."
"So. Filling in the rest. I still wanted to be tied up. I'd grown to love it too, but it had to be safe. Because, thanks to the ex I had no safety switch."
"So." Her parents were in on this from day one? "Porn?"
"Porn." Nodding. Smiling. "And." Pulling me into a hug. "No more boys."
"Lucky me."
"Yes you are."
"How did you know though?"
"Know what?"
"To come save me?"
"Oh." A grin. "Well. Should've remembered the hotel name straight away. But, when I did. Realised the date, put it together. I just," a sigh, "couldn't help but worry. And. Well. I didn't want to barge in on your work. But. I...."
"You needed to know I was safe."
"Yes. So I rode over, went and saw the lady. The boss. And, well, she found you, and...." A shrug, close to tears herself now, at what state she'd seen me in no doubt. Echoes of her own younger self. "I couldn't...."
"I love you."
Which shuts us both up. Me, blushing. Did I really just say that, express the feelings I've been secretly harbouring for over two weeks now. Lili, my knight, dashing to my rescue on her metal beast, a smile spreading slowly across her face, making her even more beautiful.
"I love you too B."
"You do?"
"Yes." Kissing me. "You are." Another kiss. I giggle. She smiles. "Easily." Another kiss. "The best thing that's ever happened to me."
Such a deep storyline, the realities of life hitting home for both Lili and Brooke. Very glad that Brooke has learnt her lesson without being truly hurt, and now - let's hope that true love blossoms
This was quite the chapter, and it was no problem it was dark. Actually, I gad expected something much worse when I read that. The sweet ending made up for a lot. Also, I like you added a lot more backstory. Well done!
Thanks, for the comments, I'm glad it all came across well.
Normally takes several days of dipping in and out, writing whenever I have time and am feeling in a TUGs mood, but that chapter I knocked out in almost one sitting. Brookes ordeal and Lili's backstory all felt quite intense, to me at least. And it all just flowed out.
I can't go to work. Can't sit on my bouncing mower any more then I could've sat on mine or Lili's bike. So I take the week off, phoning in sick. Mum, who I spin some tale to, which I don't like having to do, is very welcoming when I ask if Lili can stay the week.
On Monday we barely leave my bed. Me only to pee, and to shower. Lili only for those reasons plus food and drink for us both. An unexpected side effect of my injuries- red marks, angry looking in many cases, crisscross both butt cheeks and both breasts, not to mention the area around my pussy -is that Lili needs to, or at least has decided to, rub cream onto me every few hours. This leads, every time, to some kind of sex. But careful, gentle, sex. Because I'm still sore.
Tuesday and Wednesday are like transition days. We sleep in late, then wake and explore, taking slow gentle walks around the local area, stopping off in a pub for lunch. We talk, hold hands, kiss. We say "I love you" and smile, enjoying this new phase in our relationship. We even, tentatively, for the first time, discuss the future: where we'd live, what we'd do for work. We make sure to be home in time to cook for Mum, filling the house with delicious smells for her to walk in from work to. We stay up late, cuddled up in my bed, kissing some more.
On Thursday I take Lili with me to visit Arthur. Clives money, which I was tempted to simply burn as some kind of healing exercise, is instead used to ink two new designs onto my body.
On my left lower back, just above my butt. A black motorcycle. It's back half, complete with monstrous rear tyre, turned into long horizontal streaks to show speed. Sat on the bike, bent forwards, is a women, also largely in silhouette. She's busty, with anime length hair billowing out behind her, and is carrying a lowered lance. This is Lili, my very own knight.
Second, on my belly, I have a black and grey sharks mouth. Just the upper and lower jaw, just the teeth open wide in a rough circle, like you see in museums. This tattoo is centred on my belly button, and is large, covering most of the area from breasts to crotch.
Lastly we visit a salon, where I get my hair professionally dyed blue, with around the bottom third, the tips, dyed white.
On Friday Lili's parents visit, turning up on her Dad's noisy chopper, and the five of us go out to a steak and burger house for dinner. For this I use the last of Clives money, ensuring that, from the disaster of my kink ball debut, I now only have happy memories.
All in all, injuries aside, which by Friday are as good as healed anyway, it's as close to a perfect week as I've ever had.
Ten days later the letter arrives.
"Mum."
"Yes Dear?" Looking up from her sudoku book, finding the flatscreen turned off, and me, stood in front of it, in front of her, fidgeting. "Brooke?" Putting the book down. "What's going on?"
"Well. Um." I smile, despite my nerves. A good move, because Mum, who I suddenly realise was probably mistaking my nervous bouncing up and down for the imminent arrival of bad news, smiles back. Pats the sofa beside her.
I sit myself down, thrusting the letter, which I found two hours ago when I got in from work, at her. "Here."
"Isn't this addressed to you?"
"Yes. But." Making a vague twirling gesture with one hand. "I. Um. Well." How do you, finally, tell your Mum you're a porn star? "I need you to read this. Because, well. I'm crap at explaining stuff. So." Gently pushing the letter, which she's already holding, closer to her. "Read it. Please Mum. Then we can talk."
"Oh." She says. "This is." Finger reaching out, pointing at words on the single sheet. "But." Looking over the letter, at me. "You're?"
"Yes Mum." I grin, proud actually, proud to be Plymouth. I nod. "I am."
"I guess I should've known." A small shake of her head, a small smile to match. "Probably did," tapping her head, "somewhere." Mum raises her wine glass, the best drink we currently have in the house, gesturing at me with it. "All these changes you've made."
"My breasts you mean?" Looking down. I'm wearing a baggy grey tee, one I've had for years with the various Whacky Races cars on the front. Trouble is, baggy for a size eight becomes tight when you throw my F cups into the equation.
"Them." Mum smiles, points with her glass again. I'm holding my own. A toast. "The tattoo isn't exactly subtle."
"No." I grin, turning my left arm to better see my chained mermaid. "I guess that does kinda advertise the fact."
"You look good though."
"I do?" I mean, I feel good. I'm happy to be this way, looking this way. And I know Lili likes how I look. She loves my blue hair. But, a compliment from Mum, especially on the back of learning why I've done what I've done to my body. That's a compliment I'm happy to receive.
The letter is from the Academie Internationale d'art pour Adultes. I think they just have it in French to be fancy.
Basically. And I know these things only because since receiving the letter I've looked it all up on my laptop, diving down link after link, checking things out. Somewhen in the seventies a bunch of adult movie directors, and stars, decided they wanted an adult oscars. Popular rumour appears to be that the whole thing, the Academie- or, you know, Academy for those of us not trying to be pretentious -was cooked up at a party whilst the dozen founding members were all drunk as skunks, or high as kites.
The rumour is the whole thing began as a laugh. A 'they've got awards why can't we have some' part jest part challenge.
Every year the members, now and forever numbering an even thousand, always a fifty fifty split between those behind and those in front of the camera. Every year they select and vote, whittling a long list for each of the twenty eight categories down to five choices. Then they vote again, this time limited to the potential five, and out of those votes the twenty eight winners arise.
The trophies are awarded at a posh ceremony, held each year in a different city. Last year was Prague, this year all the hopefuls will be congregating in Las Vegas, Nevada.
It would seem I'm up for best newcomer.
Wow. And fuck me. And. How was or am I even that good when all I've been doing is just having fun?
"I want you to come."
"But." A smile, happiness, there and gone. She wants to come too. Which is great. But. "You should take your girlfriend. Lili."
"But I want to take you."
I'd phoned Lili after doing my research.
"Hey B."
"Put a top on Lil." I grin, pointing behind her, because we're on video via our laptops, which means I can see. "I know you had that tee on until my call came through."
"Fine." A huff, accompanied by a cheeky smile. "You sure?" Lili wiggles her upper body, causing her exposed and enhanced D cups to bounce side to side.
"Top." I point again, using a mock serious 'I'm in charge' tone. "On."
"Spoilsport." Sticking her tongue out, but complying.
"There. Better?"
"It'll have to be." Shaking my head. Yes Lili now has a tee on. A tight tee. Which hugs everything. She might as well still be topless given my memory of her body is only too happy to fill in the blanks. "Now, Lil.... What are you doing now?"
"Just." An innocent smile. A shrug, looking down at her now cuffed hands. "What? This?"
"Honestly Lil." Little tease. "I'm trying to have a serious talk with you. So." Making a key turning gesture. "Where's the key?"
"I sent it to you."
"What?"
"Posted it yesterday." Lili grins. "Maybe you could come by tomorrow, after work?"
"Posted me the key...." I repeat in disbelief, whilst at the same time feeling a jerk of arousal at the thought, the idea, of Lili actually doing this. Remaining cuffed for over a day until I come to visit. However, she's still wearing that cheeky smile. So. "You've got the key." Nodding. "Don't you?"
"Yes." Huffing, reaching into the drawer beside her, digging out and, with only a small amount of difficulty, using a small silver key. "You're no fun B."
"Well." I let some teasing leak into my own voice. "If you can manage a serious conversation with me for the next five minutes. Then." I wink. "Maybe I'll come over tomorrow evening anyway. Put those cuffs to good use."
"Wow." She'd said, when I told her, showing the letter as best a webcam would allow. "Good for you B."
"I. Um." Would she feel snubbed? I hoped not, plunging ahead. "Id like to take my Mum. I hope you're okay with that?"
"Course." Smiling. Nodding. "I think that sounds wonderful."
"You don't mind? Really?"
"Nope." Shaking her head. "I mean. Sure B, I'd love to come to Las Vegas with you, have a holiday. But. Your Mum deserves this."
"Thanks Lil."
"Just," a wink, "come over tomorrow. Thank me personally."
"Will do." I blow her a kiss. "Love you Lil."
"Love you B." She blows one back, and we hang up.
"I want to take you." Clinking glasses with Mum. Smiling as her own grin returns. "And don't even think about paying."
"But."
"No buts." Clinking glasses again. "My treat."
But of course she pays for some of it. Being a parent means, for my Mum at least, that she can't jet away across the pond without contributing.
First step is to email the Academy, confirming my attendance. Within a half hour they've replied, happy, with attachments containing a room booking for two nights- the night before and the night of -at the hotel where the ceremony will be taking place. A call to the hotel manages, with minimul fuss- after all it's already paid for -to change my double to a twin room. Mum and me will be more comfortable in seperate beds.
The hotel is the only thing the Academy's paying for. They want me there, makes sense to have as many nominees as possible in attendance, more people to actually accept an award in person. But no way the budget would stretch to flights from the four corners of the globe.
So. Using one of those plan your own trip websites Mum and me, polishing off the bottle plus its friend, who looked lonely in the cupboard anyway, manage to find some cheap last minute deals.
Last minute because the ceremony is in two weeks.
We'll be staying four nights in one casino hotel, then switching across the Vegas strip to our prebooked hotel for two, making an almost week of it, a mini holiday.
We go shopping, buying a new dress and shoes each for the big night.
Luckily we're both able to get the time off, though doing so uses up the last of my own leave. So. "It had better be worth it." I proclaim, mock serious, to Mum. "Just saying."
"I'm sure you'll win dear," giving me a smile, "no doubt you're the best at.... well.... Oh." Poor Mum, bless. I can't help but laugh. Trying to do her parent duty, to back up her daughter. But what is it I'm the best at when the award is for porn? Oops. She laughs too, her face turning bright red.
Lili comes over the night before. Taking Mum and me out for a last meal, a couple of drinks. "Like a pre celebration send off good luck toast well done." She proclaims, glass of champagne raised across the circular table at me. I grin back, mine and Mum's glasses meeting hers. "Thanks Lil."
The next morning, bleary eyed, half asleep, Mum and me- having kissed Lili goodbye, waved her motorbike away -climb into a taxi, then take a pre dawn train up to London, to the airport.
"Whatever happens Brooke," Mum, giving me a cuddle as we wait in the queue at check in, "I want you to know I'm proud of you."
"Thanks Mum."
"It might not be what I pictured you becoming." She smiles as I cuddle her back. "But, if you're happy?"
"I'm happy." Nodding, the close horror of the kink ball now just an occasional memory, long overtaken and forgotten behind new tattoo's and shared 'I love you's' and now a trip to America. Where I almost certainly won't but might but no way can I ever possibly definitely be a runner up winner for....
Awwww. Once again, adorable, wonderful and, well, you doing what you do so well. A fine chapter, echoes of past hurts and all. Nice to see Brooke&Lili's relationship grow - and her mom taking it in stride. Lovely.
What a nice turn of events. From the supportive Mom to Plymouth rising to to top to Lil being a great sport. Best wishes for you keeping up your good work. Readers want to know where she will go from here.
It's very nice to see how much love Brooke receives from Lili and her mother. Her career choice is accepted, and her success seems to be infinite. The sky is the limit, and she seems to have learned from her failures. It was a hard lesson with a bad ending, but it could have been worse. Good stuff!
There's an actual red carpet here. Which is funny, because the carpet is outside the hotel, running from the horseshoe shaped drop off road to the permanently open double entrance doors. But all, well most, of the attendees are already inside, staying as guests.
So a funny pantomime ensues.
Whilst Mum, looking good in her knee length dark red dress- no plunging neckline for her just sensible cleavage and a black wrap across her shoulders -is shown towards the main room, I'm ushered out of the back door and into a waiting black Audi saloon. The car is one of eight: two Audi, two Mercedes, one BMW, and three posh US Chevrolet. All eight are on a constant loop, the heart of this little feint, picking us up at the back, depositing us around the front to walk the carpet, before completing the circuit to pick up the next model or producer or cameraman around the back.
I wonder if any of the fans have noticed that mostly the same cars keep showing up?
"Here we are Miss." My driver, an older white haired man in white shirt and black tie, nods at me in the rear view mirror. "Good luck Miss." I smile. But before I can reply. To thank him. To ask whether he wishes everybody luck? My door is opened, and a tattooed arm is reaching in, offering me help climbing out.
Out, from the quiet of the car, to the noise and flashbulb brightness of the red carpet. And the fans.
Is this what Hollywood feels like? I find myself wondering more then once. Ahead of me the carpet, like a runway, stretches. Bracketed on either side by people held back by waist height wooden picket fencing. How utterly bizarre. Every age and colour of skin is here, prehaps more men but plenty of ladies too. Because porn is universal. Whatever your fetish, whatever floats your boat, porn has that. Enough of that to sink said boat and then some. As I imagine they do for everyone walking the carpet tonight, tonight because it's early evening, the crowd goes wild.
So I play to the crowd, and having walked a half dozen paces onto the carpet proper, I strike a pose.
My dress is black, and ankle length. Underneath I'm only wearing a tiny white thong, allowing the tight material to hug my braless curves without any unsightly bumps. Thin shoulder straps become the dress proper as it scoops low in a gentle curve, revealing prehaps the top third of my breasts. There's a split up the left side, running from ankle to upper thigh, exposing my left leg as I walk, as my breasts bounce. Exposing my lighthouse, proving myself Plymouth despite the new hair, which is worn loose, tumbling down over both shoulders. It was tempting to go with some classy heels. But. Chunky knee high black lace up boots, like some kind of goth, are my choice. Like a small hint of rebellion, like the bad girl you really want peeking out from behind the good girl dress you'd introduce to Mum and Dad.
Standing, legs apart, tattoo's on show, I turn to each of the compass points, counting under my breath to ten each time, giving everyone who wants one- and there are a lot of camera phones being waved around -a look at my best side.
Which. Psst. It's my boobs.
I grin. Wave. Blow kisses to the dozen or so people who I manage to hear scream my name. My stage name of course, but prehaps tonight there is no Brooke, only Plymouth.
Further down the carpet, just this side of those propped open doors, is a film crew. I don't recognise the symbol printed on the microphone being held by the short red dress wearing interviewer, a flat chested smiling young Asian girl, but as I approach she waves, beckoning me closer. So I smile back and angle towards them.
"Plymouth." Reading off a tablet held in her other hand, probably a list so she knows what order we're all arriving in. Can't really expect her to know us all, especially those behind the camera, on sight, but greeting us by name is very professional. She nods as I come to a stand, sidles up closer to me. Sidles up very close, my right breast is now squashing into her arm. "Thanks for stopping."
"Happy to say hello," I wave, "to...?"
"Oh. Right." She giggles. "New hair Plymouth?"
"Yes." Reaching up to finger my white tips. "I thought it was time for a change."
"You look great." She fingers some of my hair too, grinning. I smile back, trying to decide whether I'm being flirted with, or if this is just how she behaves around every porn star.
Maybe being in porn means, or at least makes others think, that you've done away with the usual boundaries? Like asking before touching.
Never mind. She's cute anyway. Not Lili cute, but, she'd look great lashed to that fencing. Dress pulled down. Or up. Maybe down and up. Maybe she has no dress. Prehaps she could be gagged somehow with that microphone? Or just gagged with some of the rope I'd need to bind her skinny ass in place.
And. Focus. Stop daydreaming she's talking to me.
"We're with." She stops herself, seems to think. Grins. "Do you speak Japanese, Plymouth?"
"I don't." Shake my head. "But I'd love to come visit Tokyo one day."
"We're shooting for JAEPN." But she says it fast, as a word not what I assume is an acronym, so it sounds like she says Japan, especially with her accent.
"And," glancing at her tablet, "you do bondage shoots, yes?"
"Yes."
"You like being tied up?"
"Love it."
"Have you ever tried Japanese Shibari?"
"I'm sorry," I frown, "what?"
"Shibari. It's a special form of bondage. Tight, ropes tied like art."
"Really." Wow. I nod. Impressed, and quite interested. Tied up like a piece of art huh? "I'd love to try." I grin, playfully nudge the interviewer, which entails bumping her arm with my breast. "Prehaps you could put in a good word for me back home?"
Which seems to fluster her, but only for a moment. "You're up for best newcomer?"
"Yes."
"What do you think, is it going to be your night?"
"Well...."
"Are you aware no bondage performer has ever won best newcomer."
"No?" Really? Damn. She must see how the smile drops off my face, because a brief grimace crosses hers. She feels bad it seems that she delivered this bit of bad news. "Well. Hey." Grinning, I feel my own mouth quirk in response. "Good luck tonight."
"Thanks." Fuck it. Push the knowledge away, just enjoy the moment. I grin wider, wave to the camera, and step away.
Whilst we've been speaking two guys and one girl have walked passed us into the hotel, with a third guy just now climbing from a large black SUV. Time to move on, inside.
Where I find Mum, loitering in the corridor. Not already inside. Seated.
"I'm sorry dear," shaking her head, "stupid really. But. I forgot your. Um. Your other name, and they can't seat me without it."
"Don't worry. We'll go in together, now. Are you okay?"
"Yes yes." Mum gestures. "This nice gentleman has been keeping me company."
"Oh, well. That's very kind of y...." I manage to get out, before the gentleman in question turns to face me. Smiles.
"Roman." Smiling myself, shaking my head. Of all the places. And of all the porn stars who could've possibly offered to babysit my Mum, it's the one guy who's cum all over my face and breasts.
"Plymouth." Nodding. "Nice hair."
"Thank you."
"Do you two..." Mum, looking from tall dark skinned Roman to me, and back, her brain putting the pieces together. Trying. "Brooke, do you. Um. Know this man?"
"Brooke?" Romans smile widens. Does he have a real, second, name? "And this beautiful lady would be your...?"
"My Mum." Who at this moment is at least halfway towards swooning over Roman. She, like most of us, is a sucker for some flattery delivered by a handsome man. "Behave yourself Roman."
"Yes." Nodding. "This is my Mum. And, yes, Mum, I do know Roman." I can't, don't want to, say how. But I want to say something. "He's." Got a big cock? "Well." He's got good aim? "He's a good man."
Roman winks, which my Mum sees, she giggles. I shake my head. "We'd better be off. Mum."
"What? Oh." She just can't keep her eyes from straying to that tall muscled frame. "We must?"
"You must?"
"Yes."
"Very well." Kissing the back of Mums hand. She giggles again. I roll my eyes. Honestly. "What are you nominated for, Plymouth?"
"Best newcomer."
"Ouch." Sharp intake of breath, a shake of his head. "You are aware, I would hope, that it's never been won by a...."
"I know." Taking hold of Mum, steering her away. "I know. Thanks Roman."
Roman waves us away, as we head to the main hall.
Which is huge. This hotel must host shows, because the main hall is basically a theatre, stage at one end with steps leading up from each side, with tiered seating rising up in rows that march back across the room. There's an upper seating area too, maybe for those not nominated? Everything looks very posh in shades of reds, yellows, and blacks.
Mum and me are halfway back in the lower seating, sat together halfway along the row to the left of the central aisle. We've got a good view of the stage, the lectern and freestanding microphones in the centre.
Everything kicks off with a musical number, something with a deep and fast bass track. Bikini clad girls and thong clad boys, all of them covered in luminous make up or paint which glows under the on off, at times strobe like, spots. All these skinny young people prance down the centre aisle and up onto the stage, all in perfect symmetry.
It all feels very Vegas.
"And now," the off stage and hidden announcers voice booms through the speakers, "to present the award for best newcomer. Please welcome to the stage. Grace Dawes and Timothy Llewelyn."
Everybody claps, this will be award nineteen of twenty eight.
Grace: young, blonde, flat chested. Timothy: older with slicked back black hair and a mustache. Both are wearing black trousers, shoes for him, army boots for her. White shirts times two too. But where Timothy's is paired with a sky blue tie and matching black jacket, Grace's is unbuttoned all the way down to where she's tucked it into her trousers waistband. The shirt flaps open as she walks, revealing her flat man like chest, though not quite open wide enough to give a flash of nipple.
"Good evening everyone." Timothy smiles and waves out at us. "Are we all having a good time?" We all dutifully clap, cheer. A well behaved audience, most of whom are at least halfway drunk by now. But happy drunk of course. This, even for the losers, is a fun night, with the promise of an after party, a choice of several actually according to the gossip I've overheard, still to come.
"The nominees," Grace begins, holding a hot pink coloured envelope, "for best newcomer are: Chris the Cock. Plymouth. Dasher. Robbie Red. And Phil the Mint.
We clap some more as the names are read out, each name causing a photo, sourced from that performers work, to appear on the big screen suspended over and behind the stage until there we all are, five in a row. Chris really does have a big cock. Dasher is a skinny dark skinned girl with breasts an easy match for mine and dyed white hair. Robbie is quite fat, but rugby fat not too many burgers fat, with a shock of ginger hair. And Phil, Phil is naked from the waist down, but wearing a very expensive suit up top.
And me. I'm tied spread eagle to the bed, courtesy of my second shoot with Zak, dressed in that tiny bikini that barely covered my new, at the time, F cups.
At least I'd known this was coming, because they've done similar- shown porn photos -of all the stars so far. So at least I've been able to warn Mum. But, looking across, she doesn't seem phased, so far she's taken the whole night, all the big screen cocks and barely dressed people sitting around us, in her stride.
What a trooper.
"And. The winner is." Grace pauses, for effect of course. Mum squeezes my hand. I suddenly realise I'm forgetting to breathe.
Time stretches. Minutes that are actually seconds crawl passed.
Grace takes a breath. Smiles.
"Plymouth."
Time speeds up. A wall of noise hits me. Clapping. Applause. Hundreds of people cheering, for me. I stand up, giddy, unsure whether my legs will even take my weight.
I. Won?
One of the overhead spots finds me, lighting me up. Mum, shouting over the noise. "Brooke, you did it. Oh my god." She kisses my hand, I grin down at her. And then an usher is there, beside me, having carved a path down the aisle, ready to lead me towards the stage. And my statue.
The awards, the statue, is called a Stiffy. Because of course. As Grace hugs me, kissing me full on the mouth, her lips tasting of vodka. And then Timothy behind her, a more restrained handshake, a beamed. "Well done Plymouth." He thrusts the Stiffy into my hand, where I get my first proper look at one.
The whole thing stands about as tall as an A4 page placed in portrait. The base is redwood, polished to a shine, with a small silver plaque screwed onto the front which says 'Best Newcomer' accompanied by the year, and underneath 'Plymouth'. The figure which stands atop the plinth is silver too, and very alternative oscars. It's a person, slim, tall, but with no facial features aside from shoulder length straight hair. The pose is one of showing off, of command: Hands on hips, legs spread level with shoulders. A large pair of perfectly rounded breasts juts from the figures chest, topped by pointy nipples, and between its legs is an impressive looking cock, dangling downwards, but stiff all the same.
Timothy, discharging his final duty, gently pushes me towards the lectern, stepping back with Grace as he does.
I stare out, blinded by the lights, seeing nothing but a sea of shadows. I have to say something. What do I say?
I should thank people. But. Who? My mind is just mush, empty and devoid of a single useful idea.
Talk Brooke. Plymouth. Everybody's waiting.
"This." Holding my award up high in one hand, the other resting on the lectern lest my legs give way, which they're still threatening to do. "This is just. Wow." I grin. Somewhere a wolf whistle sounds. "Fuck me." Shaking my head. "Thank you." Bringing the Stiffy down I kiss it on the forehead. "This. All of you. Damn but what an adventure. I love you all, let's keep playing forever."
I blow a kiss, the audience erupts into applause and more whistles. Someone, another usher or the same, appears beside me, leading me back to my seat. Back to Mum.
I offer to put the statue in my room, on my desk. But Mum insists on placing my Stiffy in our living room on a small shelf just beside the flatscreen. Pride of place alongside a photo of us both in Vegas, all dressed up on awards night, smiling.
Plymouth rising (MF+/F+) (NEW 025 THE END? August 8th)
Oh noes? Surely not the end?
Then again, the award ceremony would be a fitting place to end - from a total novice to an industry star. Quite a trip for Plymouth, ups and downs and all.
...though, I'd love to see some kind of denouement for Brooke and Lili (okay, not a wedding, no, but a kind of 'happily ever after' or at least 'happily for now, whoever knows what tomorrow may bring').
This chapter marks an end of sorts. The awards ceremony was the final part of my pre story plan, I've written every twist and turn I set out to in the beginning.
So, I could end things here. It does feel like a good ending.
But I've enjoyed writing Plymouth. Is there an appetite for more?
And if so, what?
Any ideas feel free to pass them on, via post or message. Might even have to do a poll, if I can think of enough choices.
[mention]RopeBunny[/mention], this has been a splendid story, well written, enjoyable to read. I would truly hate to say goodby to Plymouth and I'm hoping that you will see fit to continuing it. Some possible threads for future stories:
1) A trip to Japan with a good introduction to shibari and kimbaku.
2) Another bondage convention where she gets tickets for her lawn maintenance coworkers. Maybe even so light play with some of them.
3) A bondage challenge between Brooke and Lili.
4) A bondage business venture with Brooke and Lili.
Of course, we know your fertile imagination could come up with a dozen more in the time I thought of these four.
Glad you found my story. Glad you liked it.
