The Bondage Model - Vote Story (F/F, some M/F) - Story 10 Chapter 1 (Apr. 25, 2024)

[GreyLord]

Thank you. Michela was as fun as I thought she would be. And it seems likely there is more ahead.

For now, I think Michela deserves C) Vibration.

[harveygasson]

Great work. I vote C

[Lucky Lottie]

Loving the story. Fantastic character development.

It may not fit the mould but I will say B tickling

[Caesar73]

"B" is my choice

[Switcher1313]

Like the story so far. Lets go with C.

[AlexUSA3]

My apologies to those who didn't get a chance to vote. I decided to post this one early with "C" as the winner because posting on Fridays works better for me at the moment. Tagging @charliesmith, @silvertejp590, @SquidIncMaster, @Switcher1313, @The G-Man, @Caesar73, @Lucky Lottie, @0Kay, @Yewteed, @Solarbeast, @GreyLord, @Kinky_boi, and @harveygasson to the posting of this new chapter!

Please check out the story banner (at the beginning of the story) and let me know what you think

Story 2 Chapter 3: Michela and Me



“Ahhhh ha ha! Look at you, b-tch!” I cackled loudly at Brianna.

Brianna’s arms were ruthlessly tied behind her back with a mile of rope. Likely double-sided tape and a navy bandana gagged her with a cute, immovable OTM. Her harness was nice and tight and pushed her big tits out from her chest. Along her legs were several coils of rope that bound her without mercy. Oh, yes, she had lost the encounter with Kristine.

Brianna glared at me and stomped her feet on the ground while Steve took photos. In a moment, he would be changing to filming, and I would get the motion to attack. She glared at both me and Steve some more and continued stomping and squealing into that gag, which I was certain now included stuffing based on the sounds she made. As she turned on the chair, Brianna moved her hands like she was promising to strangle Kristine, me, and/or Steve after this. I figured she was straight, but I found her struggle to be arousing.

Now she tried the puppy eyes maneuver, and she found I wasn’t too sympathetic in that regard at all. I was bent on revenge for her earlier comment about Michela and me, and I didn’t fall for her routines. Some more stomping followed, but then Steve gave me the motion to move. I was in for part 3 of “Girls Gone Wild” featuring Brianna!

► Show Spoiler

Interlude 09: The Other Podmates
January 13, 2013

Clarissa, what a b-tch. Absolutely horrible and hopeless psychopath. The only reason for her to be in juvie was a clerical error because she was a monster from the get-go even if the offense that got her sent up here was grand theft auto. I was warned she was a dangerous one, and she was.

Clarissa was a big, tall Latina, I think. Anyway, one day she got confrontational with one of our podmates, during my first month or so since we were still wearing orange, and I didn't like it. The guard couldn't tell it was a confrontation because of how they were talking through their teeth, but I put myself between Clarissa and Ashley.

“Get out of the way, Larsson!” Clarissa seethed.
“You're gonna punch her over this. Really? Get an MV?”
“I said to get the F out!” the girl towered over me,
“You want Ash? You're gonna have to take me out first!”
“Fine!” Clarissa grabbed me by the shirt and swung, and I dragged her to the carpet.

There we were rolling around until Phoebe got into it as well and pulled Clarissa off me, but not before she had bruised one of my ribs and I had given her a bloody nose. Guards swarmed around us in an instant, and handcuffs pulled my arms behind me and clipped them to my jumpsuit. Away we went.

“Are you ready to talk?” an officer asked us.
“Nmm mmm,” I shook my head and looked straight ahead.

Clarissa and I sat for real strapped like maniacs. Muzzle gags, straitjackets, and strap chairs bound us up, and Phoebe and Ashley sat simply handcuffed. There was a code of honor not to rat anyone out, and Clarissa would certainly kill whichever of us told the truth. Phoebe was only preventing us from hurting each other, and Ashley had to come as the one previously noticed as being on the other side of me.

“I’ll explain, sir,” Phoebe spoke quietly, “Hannah was jus’ tryin’ to help us.”

Phoebe was an honorable young girl who understood that honor codes were stupid in such cases and that the truth made things easier. She made it easier all right. Soon, I was no longer gagged, but I was being demoted to Level I and forced to talk to a counselor. Clarissa got to stay gagged and was, the next day, sent to the women’s prison over in Shakopee.

“Wanna make comments about me and my friend, huh?” I felt a bit of genuine anger, “Take this!”
SMACK!, I spanked her.

It felt just like being in prison again, only instead Kristine was playing the part of Phoebe and Brianna was playing the part of Clarissa. Rage burned within me about the way Brianna looked at us in disgust when just a month before I had done a shoot with her without any such rudeness on display. She was a cottonmouth who was nice one moment and biting who for thrills just a few moments later. She had messed with the girl who, in November 2013, won the monthly “Pod F Arm Wrestling Contest.”

“A few more for you!” I was boiling now.
BITCH! SMACK!
BITCH! SMACK!
BITCH! SMACK!, I thought and spanked.
“MMMMMM!” she squealed loudly.
“That should teach you. Based on your personality, one for every 10 years of your age, and none for the fraction,” I gave an ingratiating smile.
“Why -ou!”

And then it was tits out, my friends. I pulled her shirt up while she yelled at me angrily for all of my comments I made about her, and that day I learned the ability words and circumstances have to ruin adults as well as children. I later would receive a sternly worded email from Steve, as she also would, telling us to be more professional in our conduct off the screen. Once her tits were exposed, I pushed her down to the ground and stepped back.

Steve took about two more minutes of film while I watched and then resumed taking photos of her. I could tell my words had caused offense, and inside I felt guilt over what had been said. I distracted myself rather than apologize, though, and I walked away to find Kristine and settle the unscheduled fourth and final part of “Girls Gone Wild.”

► Show Spoiler

Interlude 10: Michela Palmeri
January 13, 2013

I was led back to my cell from the office. Through the doors we went with my hands cuffed to my jumpsuit in the same fashion as when I was being led to and from the courthouse. Into the chamber we went past the program rooms until we finally made a right turn and arrived at Pod F, which opened after some communications. Up the stairs I went to my cell at the end, next to the showers, which the pod chief opened after pushing some buttons. I was freed from the cuffs and walked into the cell in silence, and the door shut and locked behind me.

“You're a brave young girl,” Michela praised me even though it was around 11 PM.
“Thanks,” I sheepishly grinned at her, “You’re pretty.”
“No talking in the cell during quiet time,” a guard warned us, and I took my place on the lower bunk.
“Well thank you,” Michela whispered.

I sighed and rubbed my hideously bruised rib cage in pain knowing I couldn't sleep on that side for a while. I still hadn't fully adjusted to the sleep schedule at this point, and I think Michela felt bad for me. On nights where I couldn't fall asleep, she inevitably would show her face between the mattress and the bed frame.

“Want a secret?” she whispered, “I know how to get down unseen!”
“Show me,” I said, and she rearranged her blankets and soon slid around.
“When we're done, I use the toilet and climb up like normal.”
“You want to neck with me?” I asked in shock, “We're 16 and in prison.”
“Mmm hmm. You're sweet and brave,” the new moon kept the cell dark.
“Ummm… all right!” I said.

The thought had already been in my head from when Clarissa was on top of me before. Our lips touched in a special way. We only kissed and pillow talked for about 10 minutes, but they were 10 amazing minutes. Then Michela slipped away and used the toilet before climbing back on the top bunk.

Michela had regular visits from her mother who also made sure she had all the money she needed or wanted for the commissary. As far as her mother was concerned, Michela was a hero for defending herself against a monster. Other friends and family also came to see her. She was my source of companionship during a very dark period of my life. I returned the favor by being her homework buddy and her go-to playmate during rec time.

As I walked toward the garage area, I found a prop gun Steve would sometimes use in scenes to “scare” girls into submission, and Mrs. Moreau in particular would appear to use it to threaten an already gagged girl into shutting up. I turned and saw Kristine walking out of the bathroom, and I pointed the gun at her. Mrs. Moreau had followed me with the filming camera, so all was being captured for us as part of “Girls Gone Wild,” and we had really gone wild!

“You, shed! NOW!” I pointed with my free hand.
“Karina? You got out of that?!” Kristine looked at me in mock surprise.
“I said to get in that f-cking shed!” I feigned rage unlike before.
“OK!” she raised her hands in surrender, “No small talk.”
“Just get moving, you boss b-tch!” I was attacking ghosts through Kristine and Brianna now.
“Just remember you were a b-tch first by asking us to hire that thieving Lucille!”

That did it. As far I was concerned, Lucille was Michela and still my best friend even if in the context of a game of sorts. I forced her to walk into the shed and sit down on the chair there. I was still sore from what Brianna had said before and mad at Kristine for not defending us. We were 18, recovering from being cut off from the world, and hot-headed from bitter emotions about what had happened.

I tied Kristine’s wrists together in front of her using a piece of rope that was so long I wrapped it around 10 times before I cinched it. I forced her against the back of the chair and tied a harness that crushed her torso against the back of the chair and would have made my old friends proud of me. Then, I tied her ankles to the legs of the chair before grabbing some bungee cords I saw lying nearby.

Kristine watched helplessly as I further secured her legs even more using the stiff and tight stretch of the bungees. Not seeing anything else available in the bag I grabbed, I stuffed a bandana into her mouth and wrapped her face in a medical bandage. Almost immediately, she started trying to shake it off, but some nearby electrical tape kept all of it in place.

Then something else caught my eye. A cinder block was perfect. I put the cinder block in front of the chair, and I ran a rope from her wrists to the cinder block, and she tried to move her hands. To my delight, the weak girl, unable to use her back and leg muscles because of how she was tied, could not move the heavy cement. Insurance came by using another bungee to clamp her waist to the chair.

Now, Mrs. Moreau began taking photos of the sweaty and shocked Kristine. She tried to offer resistance, but all she did was make lots of noise. Finally, Mrs. Moreau told me to take the camera on its stand and take photos as she walked up to Kristine and threatened her with the prop gun; a shriek came from the secretary type who had been the unexpected fourth and final captive of the day.

► Show Spoiler

Interlude 11A: My Podmates

Phoebe Enslow was a black girl with naturally puffy hair that she tried so hard to take care of. When I arrived, she was in her third month of a one year term for carjacking even though her friend, now in Shakopee, did all the act. She struck me as too smart to commit a crime without being tricked or framed, and I concluded that she had been sentenced due to racial bias.

If someone needed help in class, they just had to ask her or me. Many slipped us one or two commissary snacks over the time we were there. She helped me toward my GED, and I likewise helped her with hers. As far as I know, we were the only ones to do that, but we helped others toward graduation the hard way.

But Phoebe, poor thing, had bipolar disorder, and when she swung she swung big time across extremes. The result was that she, especially during her down swings, would get herself knocked down levels due to her attitude. No one seemed to notice until I said something, and soon she was on carefully monitored medication that eliminated the mood swings.

“Hey, frien’, whatcha doin’?” she sat down next to me on my second day.
“Wondering how I got here,” I said sadly and looked out the window.
“None o’ ‘dat. Think of it as a long trip to a fancy pants resort, but wi’dout ‘da fancy pants part. Instead, ‘da floors are bare, ‘da service is lousy, and ‘da staff ain’t happy to serve ya.”
“My parents hung up on my first phone call and haven't visited me.”
“You from Mudville, right? My home is in Rochester, girl; my mama is dead and my daddy can't afford no gas to drive on over. Wanna cry together?”
“Yes,” I say despondently.

Phoebe, I love you, girl.

Michela had become the subject for more photos from Steve. The gorgeous damsel was kicking her legs and twisting her arms about as if that would actually accomplish anything more than my entertainment. She yelled into the gag before I playfully pushed her onto her back, and she gave a stern middle finger to Steve and I.

She continued to roll around while Steve continued to photograph her, and I could tell she was hoping she had done her best. Escaping wasn't in the schedule for her today, but she kept striving. Kicking out her legs gave us a stimulating upskirt view, and she did all she could to loosen the ropes. Her sparkle was vanishing, though, as she began to realize she was stuck and helpless as long as we wished for her to remain helpless.

Her moans weren't the best, but they were adorable to me. Her gag talk was absolute garbage, but it didn't matter. I found her to be so cute when tied up like this. She was already a dish in a jumpsuit, and she was an absolute hottie in that wooly skirt and the argyle sweater that she wore so well. I felt myself getting excited at the thought of getting to play with her some more, and Steve said he was done and that we were free to tease and torture and to give the signal when I was ready.



I looked in the duffle at the various things available. There was a wooden spoon if I wanted to spank her; a massager if I wanted to vibrate her; a clipping clothes hanger and clothespins if I wanted to clamp her nipples; I could just fondle her; my heels would be quite stinky by now. I had so many choices, but then I thought about Michela… and myself.

I hefted the massager. It was perfect to prime Michela to come back to my place for a session of smooching and bondage. Was I overstepping what was allowed? I didn’t know. Steve said I was free to use anything, and I knew that the vibrator would do just the job. Taking it in my hand, I gave Steve the signal.

“So, Lucy, thought you’d tarnish my reputation, huh? Well, I’m gonna get you back for this!”
“Huh?” Michela had never seen a photograph of a vibrator let alone experienced one given how young she was when she entered Mudville Juvie.
“Just a little delight, heh heh,” I laughed a little while inwardly lusting after her.
“Eeee!” she tried to withdraw as the buzzer began rubbing against her.
“Don’t get your panties in a knot; we’ll still be friends after this. But you have to learn!”
“Mmmmm!” Michela almost collapsed.

I recalled the first time Michela orgasmed while we ground in the cell. I had to tightly hand gag her because she was so loud. After that time, we always restrained ourselves from reaching that point. I suspected that, under the right circumstances, or with a vibrator, I could get her to go as long as she had the energy, hormones, and moisture to do it.

This girl was such a delight to me on so many levels… friend, lover, cellmate, and now playmate as well. The way her eyes popped when the vibrator dug against her crotch was hilarious, and it encouraged me to keep going. I dug into her with it and increased the setting; I lusted after that sound of her orgasming into that gag. And, when it came, oh, the beauty of a bound and gagged girl squealing because she couldn’t stop me from forcing her to orgasm.

And that was the end of Michela’s first bondage modeling scene and my third.

► Show Spoiler

Interlude 11B: My Podmates

There are 16 to a pod, 8 pods, making a total possible 128 prisoners. 128 girls, all under 18 or 18 but finishing high school or nearing the end of their sentence. My pod, Pod F, with me prisoner 9 and Michela 10. My full state prisoner registry number of “JF11120288” and “F9” were on my badge. The number said I was a juvenile female, I was arrested in November 2012, and I was the 288th juvenile female to go through that facility that year. Michela was JF07110196. Of those 288, probably 50 got sentenced, most to under a year.

01: Bridget Anderson
02: Phoebe Enslow
03: Felice Pryce
04: Kendra Kristensen
05: Clarissa Sanchez, replaced later by Victoria Mueller
06: Brooke Meeks
07: Kylie Svensson
08: Jacqueline Martin
09: Hannah Larsson
10: Michela Palmeri
11: Stacy Langsford
12: Janine Blackwell
13: Annie Anderson
14: Ashley Calland
15: Mary-Ann Voisin
16: LaRyssa Jamison

That was us. Pod F. We even have our own Facebook group called “We survived Pod F 2013”. Those of us who are still on the outside and on this side of life. Sadly, F04 and F16 died; both the original F05 and her replacement are in for life; F13 is incorrigible; F08 didn't learn until it was too late and is sadly now a paraplegic. We all had a story before, and we have, or had, one after. We were the facility for mostly Minnesota south and southeast of the Minneapolis metro, hence the large numbers of French, German, and Scandinavian sounding names.

F02, F04, F07, F09, F10, F11, F14, and F15 are the ones I want to talk about some more.

https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/534 ... 91cb_o.png

I’ll explain the layout another time. But for now you can see where my pod lived in relation to the rest of the pods and the prison.

“Did we really do all of that?” Michela asked me as we sat down in my car.
“It’s early,” I smiled and didn’t answer her, “Want to come back to my place?”
“May we? We were so sexy in there,” I saw her eyes brighten as she rubbed her crotch.
“What didn’t you like about it?” I started driving away and squeezed her thigh a little.
“I wasn’t a fan of the duct tape,” she shuddered, “It was stiff and not form fitting. It’s not sexy.”

We talked about this on the way home, and she explained why she didn’t like the tape. Michela told me of what it was like to be tied, gagged, and photographed, tortured by me, and to do all of this on the outside. We had both been bound and photographed for our mugshots, but it was all so different to do it for money! She told me she had enjoyed being tied up and that, although she had no genuine need for the cash, she wanted to do more of it.

Then we arrived at my hovel. Oh, let me tell you, this place was a genuine hellhole, and Michela frowned at the sight. We looked at each other and smiled though; I felt a warmth in my crotch as I started imagining what was about to happen. For the first time in years, my Cool Girls’ Club TUG toys were about to be used; Miss Michela Palmeri, despite being bigger than me, was to be my lovely captive.

“How about I tie you up?” I ask her as we hold hands into the house.
“Again? This is more about me, though, isn’t it?” she asked me with a grin.
“Yes, how about I get to be on top of you, grinding you, and not worry about guards coming to grab us, cuff us, and put us on MV status for touching another prisoner without permission?”
“While I’m tied up?” Michela stepped back and posed in a seductive manner, “Mayyybbeeee.”
“How about I don’t give you any choice then?” I grabbed my bag from the corner and took a piece of clothesline from it.
“Hannah Larsson, are-are you kidnapping me?!” she asked in mock horror as I bound her wrists.

I didn’t answer Michela and instead tied her hands together behind her back. Turning her around saw me bring my lips to hers, and we kissed in a passionate manner. I pushed her onto the mattress on the floor, because I had no bed, and began to tie her up much more thoroughly, taking her legwear but not her panties off so that it would feel good just like when we secretly ground panty-to-panty in Pod F as high schoolers who were desperate and cut off from the only life they’d ever known. Best of all, we could talk as much as we wanted and be as loud as we pleased. It was the loudest sex I ever had, and I had no regrets!

December, 2014… Oh, what a night!

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Which scene will come next? We get to visit all seven, so just because your favorite doesn’t win this time doesn’t mean we won’t get there.

[silvertejp590]

I like C!

[Lucky Lottie]

I like C too. Loving the story!

[GreyLord]

I will stick with C.

[AlexUSA3]

Everyone likes C it seems. Any dissenters?

[AlexUSA3]

Very few votes this time, but all were for C. I can post earlier since no one voted on this one anyway.
@charliesmith, @silvertejp590, @SquidIncMaster, @Switcher1313, @The G-Man, @Caesar73, @Lucky Lottie, @0Kay, @Yewteed, @Solarbeast, @GreyLord, @Kinky_boi,@harveygasson

Story 3 Chapter 1: Christmas Sadness

December 18, 2014

I apologize for the long descriptions in this story and its chapters. Here you are going to learn about daily life in prison, me and my friends, our suffering… our lost lives.

“Seasons don't fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain,” my alarm went off at 6 AM on the dot to the sound of the song.

I was honestly at that point where I was considering… that. I hated my life, and I went to my bathroom, used the toilet, and splashed water on my face to wake myself up while waiting for it to heat up. I then washed my face in the lukewarm, at best, water to get any grease off it. I went to my room and did some stretches to limber up before I stood up straight and tall and decided I was going to enjoy a rare day off; school was done for a few weeks, and it was my day off from work.

Breakfast wasn’t so great, really. A plain bowl of cereal; milk was a luxury. I only got cereals that were on BOGO that day; a fried egg sometimes accompanied that. I crammed myself at the chair between the table and the sofa and checked my phone. Was I really missing out on things if I… rubbish thoughts. I had a little Charlie Brown Christmas tree on the floor by the bathroom door because I wanted the holiday cheer more than a new outfit; was it worth it? Christmas in juvie was better than this; I should know since I spent two Christmases there.

After a brief period to digest, I began my morning exercise while still in my pajamas, which were just my summer wear of blue spandex running shorts with white trimming and a white sports bra. Out the door I went for a 15 minute run before I came back into my home and began my shadow boxing routine. Every morning went like this unless I had early class or work. I had no equipment for strength training, so I used cinder blocks and furniture in any way I could to at least keep my strength from faltering. I was the only girl in Best Buy who didn’t need assistance to lift anything, and I was keeping it that way.

Then I took a nasty shower–the water was also lukewarm–and put on my clothes for the day: orange sweatpants, a blue sweatshirt, and an orange bandana headband. I only had 3 of each piece of clothing to go through: blue, orange, and white. I had bought myself the orange as a treat after my last modeling gig; I needed that money for next semester’s tuition and books. I clung to my headgear though after spending my first 6 months in juvie banned from having even scrunchies. Today I added my solitary white scrunchie as well.



There are 48 pixels to the foot. Do the math. This place was like 300-something square feet total. After our little afternoon of passion, Michela looked at my mattress and how I jammed it into the one gap and remarked “Home sweet cell, huh?” I was so disturbed by that comment I started crying. I was living in a pod once again, and I was even having quiet time in my cell…

BRRRRRRRRIINGGGGGG! my phone rang.
I stood up at attention and began waiting for a guard to arrive.
BRRRRRRRRIINGGGGGG! it rang again.
I continued my attention before remembering that I was no longer inside.
BRRRRRRRRIINGGGGGG! the phone rang a third time.
I looked at it. It was a couple digits from Michela’s, so I answered it with confidence.

“Hello.”
“Is this Miss Hannah Larsson?” an older sounding Michela answered.
“Yes, ma’am!”
“Hi, this is Michela’s mom…”

Mrs. Palmeri told me of how Michela now slept with the door shut, sometimes took her food to eat at her desk in the bedroom instead of at the kitchen table, sometimes with the door shut, had times of day where she kept a strict silence, and sometimes would be found standing around with her legs spread and her hand clasping her wrist while facing a wall and waiting for an order to do something.

“Tell Michela I am going to come pick her up after I have done my laundry.”
“Thank you, Hannah. Michela talks so much about you. See you soon.”

I put my laundry in the washer and started crying.

► Show Spoiler

Interlude 12A: A Day in Prison Part 1
February 20, 2013

Ding! Ding! Ding! the bell rings repeatedly for one minute every morning at 6 AM on the dot, and the fluorescent lights automatically turn on.

“Good morning!” Michela sprang off the bunk as she woke up just before the bell.
“I want to sleep,” I groaned.
“Well, excuse me,” she dropped her pants to pee on our toilet that was against the same wall as the door.
“How can you be so happy?” I asked as I stretched to unstiffen myself.
“I’m alive at least. I could be getting tied up and r-ped by my dad instead,” she flushed the pot.
“Let me have a turn,” I growled and sat down to do my own.

Michela turned on the sink and splashed some cold water on her face, and I then washed my hands and did the same while waiting for it to heat up. Despite 128 girls doing this at once, we did have nice hot water with which to wash up. Then Michela every single day led me in doing my stretches until the familiar voice came over the audio system that listened to us… and spoke to us too.

Prisoners F-0-9 and F-1-0 please step away from the door, they even talked in f-cking “Courier New.”
“Couldn’t they at least call us ‘Larsson’ and ‘Palmeri’?” I asked rhetorically.
“Shut up,” Michela smiled at me knowing it was 6:15 AM.

The sound of a key rattling followed, and through the slot came first one tray and then the other. We took our breakfast trays which were, frankly, the best breakfasts I had outside my grandma’s house. Two small pancakes, a sausage link, some eggs, and breakfast potatoes… even a pod of syrup! Plastic utensils ensured we didn’t stab each other to death. We pulled and locked our folding chairs and table from the wall so that we could sit and eat. We get 45 minutes to eat, but of course Michela and I are done long before that.

At 7:00 AM… quiet time… we stay locked in our cell on school days despite the schedule using the word “pod” in that column, and we’re not allowed to talk to each other. That got counted as a form of “talking in line” since that got us docked 2 points. Instead, I studied my school books during this time while the I’s had their lone hour out of the cell for the morning. You hear the announcements for the others. When the voices ring out about thirty minutes later, it’s 7:30!

Prisoners F-0-9 and F-1-0 please step away from the door.”

Michela and I again face the wall and wait for the unlocking of the door from the electronic desk. The door swings open, and I lead Michela out the door, turn to the right, take 4 steps, turn to the right again, step forward, and face the wall. Our hands are clasped behind our backs, and we stand straight and tall with our legs spread so that our feet are aligned with our shoulders. We remain silent, and soon Michela and I get the order to walk with each of the succeeding cells following behind us. We are allowed to use one hand to grip the rail as we head down the stairs.

Pods F & G are one-sided two stories with stairs because the laundry room and control room would block the sunlight if these were full-sized pods like in A-E and H. Out we go… Bridget, Phoebe, Kendra, Brooke, Kylie, Hannah, Michela, Stacy, Janine, Ashley, Mary-Ann, and LaRyssa. The rest stay behind… they’re I’s.

“Good morning,” the guard says cheerfully as we go by.
“Good morning, Mrs. Copley,” I reply in earnest.

Out we turn right, still straight and tall with our arms clasped behind our backs, filing in behind the II’s and up from Pod E while Pods G & H file in behind us. Today we go into the indoor gymnasium, and the instructors order us from Pods E & F to file onto the treadmills, which means I go for the one labeled #209. We change up, but we all get a 15 minute window on the treadmill during the day. It’s 15 minutes of treadmill, of strength training, of rhythm training, and of something fun. Strength is always a weight machine; rhythm is shadow boxing for today; and fun is basketball. We rotate players on clocks so that no one gets left out, and the gym is big enough to have two courts and all the rest that happens. When the game’s done, we are expected to congratulate each other on a job well done even when one team f-cks the other.

“One two one two,” the guards try to keep the slow ones from lagging.

We file back into line now that we’re sweaty and go back in order, still straight and tall and still with one hand clasping the other wrist behind our backs. On the way back, H peels off first, then G, and then us. The pod door unlocks, and we enter an empty room as the I’s are now in their cells until their afternoon rec hour. I lead the train of inmates 9 to 16 up the stairs. Eight stalls are along the north wall with a small bottle of shampoo, soap, cream, and razors. Along the opposite wall are hooks and shelves for our clothes. I take off my shoes, my jumpsuit, my panties, and my bra, and I am facing 6 other buck naked teenage girls. How has my life come to this?

After we’ve had our showers, the jumpsuits go back on along with our shoes, and the same group of us is marched out to school.

My washer and dryer were behind the refrigerator and in my bedroom. So screwy. Just as I was putting the sheets in the dryer, I noticed a glowing light on my cell phone where it sat in the dark corner on the table. I never got texts; all my friends use apps. Rushing over to it in strange excitement, I saw that the text was from Steve.

“Are you and/or Michela available for a shoot on short notice? My scheduled one canceled.”
“I sure am; will check with her.”

Just then, my phone started chirping with a phone call from yet another number I did not recognize. I took the phone and my things and answered the call with a fearful “Hello” because the last phone call I made to an unknown number ended in me getting busted for felony drug possession. I wasn’t going inside again!

“Hannah Larsson?” a calm voice asked me on the other end.
“Who is this?” I seemed to recognize it.
“It’s… me… Kendra, Kendra Kristensen.”
“Hey, Kenny! Wassup?” I responded cheerfully.
“I’m in sin right now, and I asked around and was told you were the Pod F queen of finding quick, legal dough. Ever since I got out, I’ve been living poor and at home.”

Kendra had been one of my customers, if you will, and it was through her phone getting tagged by her parents that I had been caught. She was the only other person I really knew in there from out here, and I could hear that jonesing shake in her voice. Someone had told her the truth, though; I was good at getting legal dough and getting troubled friends out of trounle. I had gotten our podmate Stacy to go into rehab after our little disaster with Greg, and she was doing much better.

I had just gotten an affirmation from Michela, and I told her that a third was going to join us on this expedition while I was stopped at a red light. Kendra came from a more strained family as one of 4 children and the middle girl. She strove to get noticed by trying to do well in school and excelling at sports and, when it all failed, she waved the white flag and turned to me for supplies instead of her other relations for support. Apparently, Kendra squealed as she had been caught when she was going to provide supplies to her own ring, and the money had been stolen from her parents. She went inside one week before I did and exited 6 months earlier in exchange for squealing. An exemption was made for her to stay in juvie even though she graduated high school that spring and was 18. How could I say no when it was my fault that she was in this spot anyway? I had no clue just how bad it was for her.

“Hey, Larsson,” Kendra sits in the passenger seat.
“I'm headed up to Elko. Is that cool?” I ask her, “We have to grab Michela.”
“Did Palmeri and you resume rubbing?”
“Yeah. Why?” I get defensive.
“Just checking. I'm not into girls. Glad someone's happy.”
“I'm sorry I got you into so much trouble.”

I was far from the ring leader, but I was the one who was Greg’s girlfriend. I often stowed things on me and made the transactions on his behalf with those in Mudville High. I even had a burner phone I used just for the business side and dealt with all of the customers in code. I knew all the terms and not to touch any h, horse, or brown, but I transported enough weed, blow, and meth. I was just lucky that I only had weed when I got flipped. I felt bad for doing it, but I wanted my own weed which I got for free as Greg’s girl, and I liked how his d-ck felt inside me.

I don't know which was harder… Walking up to a 3000 square foot, fully paid home and realizing it was Michela’s family's home, or walking into the house and seeing her staring at the wall in that chilling position. Only now did I realize that I was wearing orange, and she was dressed similarly. She had an orange knee skirt, a black t-shirt, and an orange bandana headband like me. Orange, orange, orange! I still strangely comfort myself, to this day, by wearing orange or, like the later jumpsuits, lavender and black!

“Michela? Michela, it's me, Hannah,” I know not to touch her and stand at similar attention.
“You back from doing the whites?” she asks me blankly.

► Show Spoiler

Interlude 12B: A Day in Prison Part 2
February 20, 2013

Number 13 is unlucky. Time to look at the layout of the prison. See the orange doors like going from the pod to the hall and going to the cells and going down the pink to the arrow marked “the world”? Those doors had electronic locks. In the pod, they were controlled by the orange box that marks the guard station. When we are told to stand back from the door, they are using the computer to control the door lock. The ones in and out of the pod were big, heavy sliding doors; we called them “Incredible Sliding Securidoors.” All locks were also run from the control room. Most white doors stayed open during times we would be needing to pass through them.

Out we marched, in typical fashion, but now with our school books, to the left and toward the white door for our morning classes. We had the usual courses: science, history, math, English, and an elective. The elective I chose was a computer course. Science and math were definitely my favorites because those required smaller groups and used Classrooms 1 and 2, whereas we basically did silent busywork for the other two and thus used the auditorium. Teachers were there more to help us if the guided lesson didn't make sense and to assign and grade quizzes and tests as needed.

We scattered by grade for different parts of the day, as possible. Most of us were in high school with accommodations made as needed in the rare case of someone not in high school. Thus, the system worked well for us! Ms. Schumaker made sure we all knew that we were just as special as high schoolers on the outside, and never once did I feel patronized or ashamed in her class.

Classrooms 1 and 2 were special. In the cell, we had the described cramped folding table and chairs. In the pod, we had rigid setups with the chairs attached to the table via a metal framework with all bolted to the floor (the yellow you see in the pod is the four chairs around a round table). In the auditorium, we had rigid chairs with a folding desk arm. In Classrooms 1 and 2, we had rolling chairs! We had so much fun with those in the few moments between taking our seats and class beginning, and the teachers, especially Ms. Schumaker, allowed us this because it was a rare chance for us to feel like kids again. 8:45 AM is my history in Classroom 2, and at 9:20 AM is my chemistry class in Classroom 1.

After two classes, at 10 AM, we are marched back to our pods for a brief rest, a snack, and to exchange books for our other classes. The snack is a crappy packaged snack cake like those sh-tzo Hostess ones. Then, at 10:15 AM, we march to Classroom 1 with my group’s English, which takes the entire period. Classes are nice in that we are free to sit anywhere, unlike gym class where I have to use machine {even number}-09. I can forget that I am in juvie until I look up and see all the identical outfits everywhere.

At 11:30, we have a “break” in the pod. It's a break because we are allowed to talk as opposed to quiet time, but us II’s and up are expected to work on homework. I do that with Phoebe, Michela, and Stacy most of the time, and Kendra and Mary-Ann, who were graduated and nearing the end of their sentences anyway, would help. The four of us were all in that hybrid 11th-12th grade phase because even summer weekdays are school days in juvie. You just keep progressing until you take the GED exam.

Lunch is the first meal for which we leave the pod… if you're a II and up. We all file out regardless, though, and head down to the dining hall in the same kind of march. At the door, we scan our badges; if it's green, we can sit in there and eat our lunch but otherwise have to wait in the hallway and then file in afterwards and file back to the pod with our trays. Like school, we can sit anywhere we want. We are expected to keep any conversation at a low volume, but laughter and such inevitably happens. On a cold day, a bowl of chicken soup hits the spot as does cheap garlic toast. I couldn't complain as my parents never put half the effort into meals at home. In fact, I was wishing for seconds after this meal, but I had to wait.

At 12:30 PM, it's back to the pod because why not? It's a prison, so you should have minimum free time, little to no time to talk, and little to no time outside your cell, am I right? We are free to take showers during this break, if we wish, and today I had put in a razor request to shave my armpits and legs. I turn the water to as hot as I can tolerate because my sensitive skin will cut otherwise. I finish my homework for the earlier classes already as well and am more than ready for the school march.

1:30 PM is some bullsh-t class on sociology and psychology designed to remind us we are inmates who somehow failed or were failed; this is in the auditorium as it’s mostly workbook style and can have two or more grades mixed together. I hate the material, but I strive for A’s and succeed. At 2:10 PM, I head to the computer lab for my programming class. It is amazing how they have all the materials available for research papers and computer programming and such all on a system disconnected from the internet. Whoever did this was really dedicated to his job. At 2:45 PM, it's back to the auditorium for my math class which is also workbook. Again, I do my best but am not crazy about it.

Then the 3:30 bell rings. At this time, I take a detour. While the rest of the pod goes back to, well, the pod, I don't. I accompany a guard to my volunteer duty of folding white towels, washcloths, panties, and sports bras that were used in showers during the morning and pre-lunch breaks.

“I didn't do whites; I have so little clothing I do it all at once.”
“Your jumpsuit is the wrong color. They'll take 2 off your score for that.”
“Snap out of it!” I snap myself.
“Gotcha,” Michela grins, “I snapped out of it as soon as you said they weren't whites.”
“How dare you!” I see a vacant smile; inside she's crying, “Let's go.”
“All right. See ya, Mom! Be back before dinner.”

That was so disturbing to my peace I shuddered. What a cruel prank to play on me, but… she never played pranks in juvie. Was she showing the first sign of life? We held hands as we walked to my car, and I gave her a kiss on the cheek before opening the door for her and then got into the car.

“I gotta stay in-county, FYI. Probation,” Kendra said regretfully.
“You're still on probation even with a six month stay?” I was confused.
“You weren't bagged while holding enough snow for four to have a real party.”
“I tried that sh-t. I don't get why anyone does it. So… what’d you get for me?”
“I was gonna get 5 years in Shakopee min. I got 6 months in juvie and 18 house arrest for you and that girl in Pod B, Wendy Martin. I only turned rat when they promised to send you to juvie if you pleaded guilty.”
“That’s why you were at my hearing. What you did saved me from myself. Thank you.”
“I didn't f-cking do it for you! I did it for me, and now I have a f-cking ankle monitor and a f-cking probation officer and a f-cking tapped phone and a ma who b-tches me out every day cuz no one will hire me and CC won't take me and even my little sis is being an absolute c-nt that won't let me live it down. Oh, I get tons of f-cking attention now I don't want none of it! I’m sorry. You have proven to be a nice girl and all, but I’m just bitter that I f-cked it all up. We helped each other out, but now I need help.”
“You two were acquainted before juvie?” Michela didn't realize she wasn't helping.
“Get bent, Palmeri,” Kendra snarled.

I carefully explained to Kendra how I made my money, and she decided that she didn't care any more as long as it was green, because she was now treated like a total reject. By law she had to live at home; her parents would have to accept her income since it was legal for her as a 19 year old to engage in fetish modeling. It was legal, and that was good enough for her. Like me, she wanted her life before drugs, warts and all, back and was struggling to accept it was never coming back.

► Show Spoiler

Interlude 14: A Day in Prison Part 3
February 20, 2013

By 4:00 PM, I and the other laundry girls are back in our respective pods. It's quiet time, so we're locked in our cell. I’m not allowed to talk to Michela, and she seems to be taking a nap. I pass the time by reading more of my chemistry book as I strive to finish this class in my first February here.

The 4:30 PM bell rings, which means it's dinner time. Same routine as lunch, but we get 45 minutes to eat, can get more as long as it's available, and get choices instead of a common meal. The remaining 45 minutes are so those inmates who volunteer for kitchen duty can do that; for the rest of us, it's back to the pod for, you guessed it, quiet time where we're locked in the cell! This time it's I waiting on Michela like she waited on me with the laundry. The usual Courier New voice tells me to stay away from the door when she comes back.

6:00 PM is, tonight, visitation hour. The guards come in and announce the names of those with scheduled visitors, and they are brought out for their visit while the rest of us are locked in our cells for the hour. Many of us, including me, cry at this time because we haven't visitors. Michela gets denied visitors because several people want to see her every visitation time; her family misses her.

7:00 PM begins rec time for us II’s and up. This is the real highlight of the day. Our cells are unlocked and even the pod door is unlocked, and we're allowed to go to the commissary and get board games, supplies to use for personal purposes (like combs that we keep; special toothpastes if we so desire, etc.), a snack if we have the behavior points. What we're allowed to get is more defined on a personal basis.

Grandma gave me a little money after I asked her in my last letter, and Michela and I go down for three things: a deck of Uno cards, a better comb because she broke yet another on her hair, and a snack each because we had the behavior points. In some prisons, money can buys snacks, but here it only gets you extra hygiene products, hair accessories if you're on the permitted list, and hair cuts.

We're allowed to talk and laugh and enjoy being kids for a little while. Reality only sinks in if you look away from the faces and game or when the announcement comes that II’s have to go back to their cells and get locked in. That's at 8:30 PM. At 9:00 PM, the III’s go away, which means Mary-Ann and Phoebe get taken away from our game; Kylie takes one place and Ashley the other. Then at 9:30 PM, we all go back to being locked in our cells. The doors ominously shut, and Michela and I have 30 minutes to, in silence, comb our hair, brush our teeth, wash our faces, study, and do any remaining homework if we didn't do it during rec time. At 10:00 PM, a voice comes over the PA telling us to be quiet, and the lights turn out.

I am sorry this was so long.

“So, Larsson, Palmeri, still addicted to orange, huh?” Kendra’s voice seems hurt.
“I only spent a little while in it,” I laugh it off, “I liked it before.”
“You were always a bit of a d-ck, Kendra,” Michela was less amused.
“We all are; that's why we were in juvie,” her words ring true.
“Kenny, I really think the person you need is your cousin Jenny,” I am brutally honest.
“She's too busy having fun at Minnesota Tech to give two sh-ts about me.”
“I am sure she of all people would still love you just the same.”
“Let's do this. If either of you touches my p-ssy this time, I’ll cut your hair off.”
“Big words from a midget who likes two kinds of blow,” Michela was seething again.
“Look,” I was woefully aware Kendra was just 5’ flat, “Be nice, both of you. Don't sweat it, Kenny. Honoring boundaries is vital to surviving in this industry.”

I saw relief show on both girls' faces as we got out of the car. I held Michela’s hand in my right hand and had my left arm wrapped around Kendra’s body as we walked up to the door of Steve’s home. We were all defeated, but there were multiple rounds in this fight, so we were fighting to win the war still. I confidently knocked on the door and waited. I guess I should tell you that Kendra had shoulder length platinum blonde hair and a stocky build without much muscle.

“You brought another friend, I see,” Mrs. Moreau was sympathetic to our situation.
“I did. Sorry to keep doing this without asking, ma’am,” I shivered with my friends beside me.
“We’re more than understanding; Kristine came here from a battered women’s shelter.”
“See,” I looked at Kendra, “I told you, Kenny. It’s like a family here.”
“Yeah,” I saw hope in her eyes, “You said it.”

Kendra let go of me in one of her “tough girl” routines while I cuddled up against Michela, who gave me a kiss on the cheek. I barely noticed Kendra talking to Steve and quickly flying through the paperwork to do the gig. I realized that to have all this the Moreau’s had quite a bit of money that could not have come from running a modeling agency. Michela and I were invited to sit and cuddle on the couch, and we were all given cups of hot chocolate to enjoy. I was so cold that we were given a blanket to warm ourselves some more. I did all that talking while Michela held me tightly in her arms.

“You’re the world to that girl,” Mrs. Moreau observed.
“We were cell mates, so it’s a little bit natural,” I defended my vacant girlfriend.
“That explains it. You’re so much happier together.”
“Oh, for sure. Come on, Michela, let’s go get dressed.”
“Oh, all right. Coming, Kendra?” my spaced out lover let go of me.
“Just a moment. Here I come,” Kendra followed us to the basement.

I picked through the clothing pile and selected something really hot, just for Michela, who was going to be tying me up for the first time. The three of us shamelessly stripped, although Kendra kept her bra and panties on. Michela and I even stripped off our (shameful) sports bras. All three of us wore sports bras exclusively, it seemed, and I do to this day. I put on a floral bikini top, some hose, a red garter, and a pair of matching blue heels. I glugged my hot chocolate in one gulp and put the mug down on the nearby counter.

“Are you already done with that?” Mrs. Moreau asked me.
“I guess so. Been so long since I drank anything but water,” I laughed without realizing how disturbing that really was.
“Um… when was the last time you had anything but water?” she probed unknowingly.
“Probably before,” I froze a little and grew pale, “Look up Greg Lofton.”
“Hannah, what does that mean?” my lover noticed my disturbed spirit.
“Larsson, what did he do to you?” Kendra noticed I was hyperventilating.
“I’m not going there yet. Between him and Mr. Reardon and… they just… I just…”

Then I blacked out.

=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=

Since Kendra has limits about her clothes staying on, Hannah and Michela are going to…

(A) Spank Kendra
(B) Pull Kendra’s hair
(C) Tickle Kendra

[Caesar73]

"C" it is.

[Lucky Lottie]

I'll say C too

I like how fleshed out these characters are. Definitely hits an emotional note.

[silvertejp590]

C!

[Kinky_boi]

B

[harveygasson]

A for me

[GreyLord]

Hey, I am going to be contrary here and vote A.

[Switcher1313]

I go for C.

[AlexUSA3]

Do all of you just blindly pick C?
@charliesmith, @silvertejp590, @SquidIncMaster, @Switcher1313, @The G-Man, @Caesar73, @Lucky Lottie, @0Kay, @Yewteed, @Solarbeast, @GreyLord, @Kinky_boi,@harveygasson

Story 3 Chapter 2: Our Own Little Shells

Nightmare: My hands are being duct taped behind my back. Into my mouth go the socks I have worn all day long. More tape is wrapped around my face and my body until I am helpless. It all happens so quickly. Then sex, the illegal kind where you’re screaming for help, comes next. I am brought to the basement and left there. Some 48 hours pass before I escape while hungry and starved and soaked in my own urine. I help the other girl who is also tied with me, and a piece of 2x4 helps us escape to a neighbor. Police come; I’m temporarily sent back to juvie because of my past offenses. Then I am free again. More courtroom stuff follows, and the nightmare ends.

“Please, Kendra, won’t you put on a pair of heels?” I heard Mrs. Moreau asking kindly.
“Either you get a girl without heels, or you get no girl at all. Just like this girl isn’t ever showing her tits for no camera.”
“I think it’s fair,” Steve said, “Other girls have a ‘No tits’ policy.”
“She's waking up!” Michela announced clearly.

I opened my eyes to Michela kneeling by the sofa while Kendra sat under my legs with anxiety all over her face. As soon as my eyes opened, Michela gave me a tender hug. The Moreau’s are clearly distraught by something, and I remember what I had told Mrs. Moreau before I blacked out. Now I saw Michela was crying with the distance somehow stronger than ever while her life seemed more real than at any other point, and I saw this as the first sign of her dignity returning to her body. We had found something that made our lives worthwhile: each other.

“Sorry to disrupt the proceedings,” I hated getting any sort of attention except by choice.
“Are you all right?” Kendra asked me with concern for my well-being first.
“Just don’t tie me up first. We’ll do you first so that I can have more fun with Michela.”
“Hannah, don’t push yourself,” Michela watched me sit up.
“Are you kidding? We’ve got three scenes to shoot. Let’s go do this,” I insisted.
“Hannah, you really don’t have to do it unless you want to do it,” Steve implored me not to hurt myself.
“I’m good.”
“While you were down, you got a phone call,” Michela handed me my phone: Casey Clark.

Kendra was now wearing a lovely striped turtleneck sweater and a tight tan denim skirt. She had her own footwear still on her feet, and a red bandana she wore as a kerchief head her hair back. I felt a little light-headed, and I decided it was best for Steve or, as I now knew, Marcy tied her up for her debut and sat down on the sofa to call Casey. Michela, now wearing a striped sweater, a pink denim skirt, black hose, and black heels, stayed with me while the others went to the basement.

“You’re really horny, aren’t you?” I asked, and Michela just smiled at me and blushed.
“I dunno… I lost all of the friends I had before, so I only have you and Kendra.”
“Hold on, she’s answering. Hi, Casey!”
“Hey, Hannah Bandana. How’s the Cool Girl?” her friendly voice cut me deep.
“Not so Cool; she’s at work and sneaking away to do this,” I covered my sins just like before.
“Let me know when you’re out so I can come see you.”
“Ummmmm…”
“Pleeeeeaassseeeee?”
“All right.”

► Show Spoiler

Interlude 15: Grandma Larsson
December 18, 2012

”Attention, there will be visitation hour tonight. A guard will come by your door and give a visitor pass to those who have visitors and have visitation privileges.”

Every Tuesday and Thursday was visitation night where we were allowed to spend up to 15 minutes each with up to 3 different visitors. I was so used to having no visitors that I initially ignored my pass dropping through the same slot where we got our food trays and our mail until Michela said something.

“Hey, Hannah, you’ve got a visitor coming!” she didn’t smile at all.
“What?” I jumped off my bed.
“Yeah, you have two visitors, actually,” she said, “Ruth Larsson and James Clark.”
“Grandma!” I bounced like a little girl, “Oh, I knew Grandma would still love me!”
“The letters weren’t enough?”
“Seeing her face will be so different!”

I was so excited to have a visitor that, in a rarity, the guards had to reprimand me for not standing still. Michela had visitors as much as juvie allowed, as did Kylie. There were only four Pod F girls tonight, but for once one was me. We followed the guard in our trademark march, to the right, then to the left down the hall between the outdoor gym and the program rooms and through the process of each and every “Incredible Sliding Securidoor,” as we called the ones I mentioned before, to the security room where we each had our hands cuffed in front and our ankles shackled as a security precaution. Then, we were let out, passed the third and final Incredible Sliding Securidoor and into the visitation room.

“Grandma!” I excitedly sat down, “I miss you so much.”
“My sweet Hannah banana!” a wall and a plastic shield separated us, “How are you?”

I was honest with her about how horrible I felt for my actions and similarly honest that I had made good friends with some of the other people and that we were working together to become better people. She was clearly hurt by what I had done, but she was more hurt by being unable to hug me and give me a mug of warm apple cider. Then I asked the question.

“Are Mom and Dad ever going to answer my calls or come see me?”
“Honey, I’m sorry. Your parents changed their phone numbers and legally turned over custody of you and all your belongings to me.”
“WHAT?!”

Part of my story will include more about what happened with my parents. For tonight, a good time had been ruined.

“Well, well, well, look at you!” Michela approached Kendra.
“Mmmmph!” Kendra cutely grunted into her stuffed cleave gag.
“You are in trouble, aren’t you little dear Penny?” Michele grabbed her by the face and stepped aside.
“My goodness, she is a hottie,” I added in a teasing way.
“Nooooo!” she shook her head at that.

Kendra, now dubbed Penny after Michela’s favorite TV character, was in quite the pickle with her wrists and elbows tied behind her. Her thighs were also tied with the familiar clothesline, and her lower legs were tied in three places. It was astounding how much energy she put on for the show though! It was like watching her cousin once again. I wish I cherished those and these moments more because I never appreciated that a moment passes and is gone for good.

Kendra looked this way and that and then at each of us before letting out an angry growl that the handkerchief and pale blue bandana stifled. She wanted to be understood so badly and stomped her feet on the floor even though it sounded like she was telling us to go f-ck ourselves. She twisted about on the carpet with an admirable determination like her determination to reclaim her life.

Once again, she looked around in hopes of getting some kind of mercy, but this time the resulting wail was more despondent. She twisted, kicked, and rolled about until she found herself propped against the wall. One last glance toward me in hope of getting help availed her nothing, but eyes are traitors. Whilst her body language and sounds were of anger, her eyes seemed quite pleased with the situation.



“Ever been tickled?” I asked Kendra.
“Mmm hmm,” she nodded nervously and began struggling some more.
“Ever been spanked?” I taunted her.
“Mmm hmm,” she again nodded.
“Today you’ll get just tickled,” I smile, “Lucy, gimme a hand?”
“I’ll pass,” Michela stayed off camera.

Kendra was sexy, and I wanted to dominate her while she was tied up and wearing the present outfit. Again, if I were a boy, instant wood would have occurred. Instead, my fingers began to explore her trunk to discover the most sensitive spot for tickling. If I got a sudden jerking response in my less sensual and more mechanical search, then I’d know I had the right spot. Sure enough, there was a spot along her rib cage just under her bra that evoked an instant shriek.

Torture time.

Which felt better? Just tickling Kendra or her being helpless against it? I really did like tickling, I thought then and now, and there was a dominant streak in me that just really clicked with her submissive side. With just 5 minutes to tickle Kendra, I tried to do the most forceful tickling possible all while she growled and “Mmmphed” into that stuffed gag. She started sweating, and her face lit up with a strange reaction that suggested she was experiencing a foreign sensation of wanting to do something to stop me.

After so many years of being the unwanted child, Kendra had simply stopped caring. She didn't care about others or herself and just chased brief moments of mirth and the occasional fleeting smile. Very little brought her any satisfaction except the monthly Pod F arm wrestling competition. Prison had actually brought life into her despite her negative worldview and had, in a sense, given her a sense of meaning and belonging that she didn't get at home. This was like those arm wrestling competitions for her. I actually felt some of that happiness emanate from her body; I miss it so badly now that I realize it was that she finally had people she loved.

Her loud cackles even brought a smile to the face of Michela, who watched us tumble and roll with that usual vacant, lustful smile. How messed she was in particular, such that observing her too closely would make one realize she wasn't perverted but simply dead on the inside and helplessly waiting for an antidote. Kendra’s laughter brought much joy to three lonely souls.

Was I the antidote? Maybe we were the antidote for each other?

► Show Spoiler

Interlude 16: Casey Clark
December 18, 2012

I dried my tears, and between visitors Michela comforted me in a way that I cannot forget even if I don’t recall what she said. I was still wondering who this mysterious James Clark was when I turned and saw a very familiar and different face: Casey Clark.

“How did you know I was here?” I asked in a sad voice.
“Pop was one of the officers on the team that arrested you; Jenny’s dad transported you.”
“So everyone knows,” I fell against the chair in horror.
“We’d have known regardless considering everyone knew or at least suspected. Pop warned me that they were coming for you and begged me to try to reform you, but I failed.”
“I own my mistakes and regret them.”
“Once a Cool Girl, always a Cool Girl, and we’re here to help any way we can. All of us.”

I smiled but didn’t really feel deserving of such a notion and internally rejected the offer. I was a monster in my own eyes, and I told Casey of my parent’s treachery. As it turned out, Officer Pop Clark had pulled some strings to allow his 17 year-old daughter to visit her friend. Despite my actions, father and daughter alike both had confidence in me that I could come out of this and become a good person. Casey had spent her Black Friday reuniting with our old Club; I spent it pushing snow, and I don’t mean the wintery stuff that falls from the sky.

I kept that confidence and asked them to visit as much as possible and got Casey’s mother on my list of permitted numbers so that I could call them since I couldn’t call my parents any longer. I still had people who cared, and one of the greatest regrets I have is that I hid for a full year after I was sprung. Only good people would go through that kind of effort to see me.

“I wish this place would change its bandana policy,” Casey joked, “My head is cold, and I don’t feel like me.”
“Write them and ask them,” I smiled at her, “Thanks for coming by.”

Despite it being against the rules, as soon as we were back in the pod, Michela hugged me, and the guards didn’t stop us either because they could only imagine my devastation. We were just friends to the guards, but that was the day Michela fell in love with me. We just had to wait for the previously mentioned incident with Clarissa for her to admit it.

With Kendra being more or less left to her own amusement, I turned my attention to Michela, the object of my lust. When she knelt on the floor to pose for a pre-bondage photo, she made sure every bit of her clothing was how she liked it, and she had the sweater tucked into her skirt. If I were a guy, it would have been instant wood. She put the heels back on and took a seat.

Clothesline was standard, but I decided I was introducing Michela to bondage toys this time with a matte red ball gag for her gag. I put that in her mouth before tying her up so that she could try playing with it and figuring out what it did while I tied her legs up in standard studio fashion: three along the lower legs and one on the thighs. Once those were all tied, I sensually pulled Michela’s arms together behind her back and bound her wrists and then her breasts, stealing a squeeze of her breasts along the way.

Immediately, I could tell she didn’t like the ball gag either, but she gave a good brief struggle, flailing her arms along her left side. A loud groan told me her displeasure with the gag, and she began to writhe about on the chair seeking any slack in my rope work. She yelled at me quite a bit until the matte finish was no longer matte but nice and shiny from her drool. It was amusing how terrible she was at handling bondage because she was too focused on grabbing my eyes. It still is this way even today, and it’s still cute so many years later.



I admit that I now did spend some of my free time looking at bondage films seeking inspiration for when I played with Michela or for when I was here. I came up behind her and grabbed both of her breasts to squeeze them before I began pulling her shirt up to find nothing underneath. She was quite the clever girl and knew exactly what she was doing, and drool poured off her gag as I stepped back so Steve could photograph her some more. When he was done, I took Michela to task and effortlessly rolled her across my thigh.

“So, you’re trying to seduce me with those lustful eyes, huh?” I asked and spanked her.
“Yow! MMMMMM!” she yelled and shook her head.
“Bad girl!” I spanked her on the other cheek.
“MMMM!” she groaned through each of the six spanks I gave.
“You ready?” I asked her, “To come out?”
“Mmm hmm!” she nodded.
“Good,” I whispered in her ear, “Because you’re going to tie me, gag me with your hose, and get to punish me.”

► Show Spoiler

Interlude 17: Christmas #1 Part 1
December 25, 2012

Denial.

I hammered the phone button and dialed the number once again. This was my fifth attempt at dialing my parents despite what Grandma had said. I hadn’t at this point even gone to trial yet; it couldn’t be real. On that fifth attempt, I finally gave up; how many times was a machine going to tell me that the number had been disconnected?

It was Christmas. It wasn’t bad enough that I had to spend around 15 hours in the cell today? I finally gave up and, at random, made three phone calls, one minute each, in rapid succession: Grandma, Casey, and Nichole. The last one was so stunned that we hardly talked, but she said she missed me. I put the phone on the receiver and moved out so another person could have a turn.

I didn’t feel like me.

“Are you OK?” Michela asked me as I walked away from the wall.
“Not even slightly. At least I am supposed to get visitors, and I got sent so many sweet letters.”
“Hannah, don’t snap on us. Sit down and play a game with us as friends. Look forward to when the visitors come later.”
“Come on, Larsson, sit down,” Kendra encouraged me.
“Yeah, you, me, Kristensen, and Palmeri will make a nice foursome!” Mary-Ann also tried.
“Sorry, girls,” I curled on one of the seats instead.
“She’s snapping,” I heard pain in Mary-Ann’s voice.
“Larsson, come out of it. Even if stooges outside don’t care, we want you to play with us. Not just because we’re stuck here together; we want you because we like you,” Kendra tried again.
“All right.”

This was Mary-Ann’s sixth Christmas here, four in this pod. How could I be so selfish when it was my first?

Michela had never tied me up. In the past week or so since our last appearance here, we had been taking off to become two of the top models at the studio with requests almost immediately coming in for “that hot brunette Lucille” and “that gorgeous blonde Karina.” Steve only told us this after I had untied Michela, and it felt good to have done well enough that people enjoyed our performance. At this stage, the thought of being one of Tied After Class Productions’ top-5 girls to whom perverted guys liked to masturbate hadn’t come to me.

Michela was so excited she didn’t know what to do. Steve and I carefully instructed her in the art of tying my arms together behind my back. One by one, she bound my wrists, below my elbows, and above my elbows. Most newbies are too loose with rope; Michela might have been too tight. To say I liked that was an understatement: I loved it because I was at her mercy. With an equal touch, Michela bound my legs at my ankles and on either side of my knees.

“You asked for it; you get it,” Michela slowly pulled her hose off.
“I know I did. Bring it on,” I opened my mouth without a second thought.
“They’re not that smelly; it’s only been an hour.”
“Mmmmmm,” I nevertheless was aroused by being gagged with her hose.
“Enjoy, baby,” she began putting strips of silver duct tape over my lips.
“Mmmmm,” I repeated as the foreign flavors hit my tongue.

Now it was my turn to do my thing, and I lined up at the tape spot on the carpet and began to do what the fans wanted: to see me squirm and twist and to hear my moan. Twisting about was easy as was groaning, especially when I had an audience member I really did want to arouse. I could hide my feelings so easily and would look like I was genuinely scared and in distress. I looked into the camera quizzically as if there was someone on the other side who could see me and help me out of this. A quick look at my thighs gave me an idea of how tight things were, and I let out a loan squeal of distress.



Michela smiled at me when Steve paused to give us a moment to be on camera together. While the cameras were off, she gave me a kiss that was so erotic I felt a strange emotion overcome me just for a moment, especially after she fondled my breasts. I leaned back and enjoyed my first orgasm… ever.

Michela was just turning me over to spank me when Kendra entered the room with a determined, mischievous look on her face.

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Hannah will be forced to sniff whose sneakers?

(A) Kendra’s
(B) Michela’s
(C) Hannah’s

[silvertejp590]

I’d go with B!

And another good installment, too. Really liking these characters; I always love it when stories on here offer a little extra something in addition to the bondage.

[harveygasson]

Really enjoying this and I vote B

[Lucky Lottie]

I'll say B too.

Loving the characters and the bondage, keep it up

[AlexUSA3]

Shockingly few votes this time. "B" was the unanimous choice among those who voted though!

@charliesmith, @silvertejp590, @SquidIncMaster, @Switcher1313, @The G-Man, @Caesar73, @Lucky Lottie, @Phantomette, @0Kay, @Yewteed, @Solarbeast, @GreyLord, @Kinky_boi,@harveygasson

Story 3 Chapter 3: Shame

Kendra’s entrance encouraged Steve to pause my punishment and take more photos because I was visibly perturbed because I knew revenge was coming my way. Upon request, I grabbed the heels as if I was hogtied and began squirming on the floor and flailing my arms. I rolled over onto my back and began kicking my legs high in the hair in the hope of loosening the leg ropes. Really, any rope loosening would have been good. I let my knees fall toward my face and turned to face the camera for my masturbating fans.



“It’s time, Miss Karina,” Kendra announced as she knelt on the floor, “To sniff.”
“Ooh,” Michela smiled as Kendra took a heel off her foot, “We’re gassing her out.”
“Yes, indeed, and who better to gas her out with than you?” Kendra’s voice became menacing.
“Mmmmm!” I grunted helplessly.
“Sniff!” she pushed the heel against my face.
“MMMMM!” at least it was Michela’s personal shoe?

The shoe was inescapable, and every breath I took filled my nostrils with the scent of my friend’s feet. Michela had likely not had the heels for too long, but they smelled bad enough I suspected that they were given to her from her mother. When I tried to turn away from it, Michela jumped me and pinned me to the floor. She laid on my back like she was going for anal sex and grabbed me by the hair and pulled my head up. Against my nose went her heel all while I felt Michela’s warm breath down my neck, her heart pumping slowly and strongly because she was in fantastic shape, and her breasts hardening from the excitement of torturing me

“Does it smell good? Hmmm?” Michela taunted me while petting my head.
“GRRRMMM!” I bucked her enough to roll onto my side.
“Oh, none of that!” Michela pushed me back down.
“Behave yourself, you dirty girl!” Kendra reached over and spanked me on the butt.
“Ugggggghhhh!” I groaned at the scent of my lover’s feet.
“I think she likes it,” Michela was chronically horny.

I looked up and saw it: Kendra was happy. Maybe it wasn't her favorite thing in life, but I could see she was enjoying her company. She finally felt like she belonged. The glimmer of hope in her eyes was like a shot in the arm; I had more than just Michela to justify my existence. I had my own little family of whom I was now the common bond. I hated the smell so badly, but Kendra was getting a thrill out of being on top for once. Being so small, she always finished last in the arm-wrestling competition, twice being eliminated by me in the first round, so there was a little comeuppance at work here.

► Show Spoiler

Interlude 18: Christmas #1 Part 2
December 25, 2012

“Well, girls, I see others getting up, so it must be time for mass,” Mary-Ann stands up, “Be back soon. Keep an eye on Larsson for me.”
“Oh, we will,” Phoebe smiled and took her place.
“Be back soon, bucko,” Michela followed Mary-Ann and waved to us.
“Have I missed anything?” Kylie takes Michela’s place.
“Larsson is experiencing the pain of Christmas. For me, it’s no big deal. My folks won’t visit or call most likely,” Kendra shrugged, “Maybe my grandparents will come later.”
“I’ll tell you, Larsson, it’s not easy. It’s not supposed to be. If it’s too much, tell Mrs. Copley.”

I sat there mindlessly playing the game with nary a care in the world. So many mistakes were made without me noticing, and I quickly found myself eliminated from the round. Kylie did not like the look on my face at all, and she seemed to be the most human of us all at times. Most of us were here because we had rejected either the world around us or ourselves, but she was, truth be told, almost too virtuous so that it seemed like she must have been framed. After a moment, I saw her stand up out of the corner of my eye, and she must have whispered something to one of the guards because I soon found Mrs. Copley standing by me.

“Need to get away?” her voice made me feel safe.
“Mmm hmm,” I grunted sadly and stood up.

Now was time for my grand finale. The shoe was removed, and Michela and Kendra stood afar off watching me and taking pictures with their cellphones. Michela began to play with herself a little bit as she watched me, much to my amusement. She wasn't exactly the paragon of a healthy relationship with sex, but there was so much more to her story as well.

I rolled on my side and looked at the camera and let out a loud wail into my gag. My body moved from my moans. Rolling onto my stomach, I played with my heels some more before kicking my legs out and groaning loudly as I moved my upper body up into the air. My arms swung back and forth in my struggle to loosen the inescapable ropes that bound me tightly. My arms were a little discolored from being tightly tied for so long, which told me this was more severe than my normal elbow bondages.

Rolling onto my back again, I began shimmying and kicking my legs out as best as my body allows, but it did nothing. Soon, my legs rolled back so well that my knees were on my nose while my head, neck, and arms were flat on the floor! Mrs. Moreau and my friends applauded my display of flexibility before Steve ended the scene.



“You were wonderful!” Michela kissed me on the gagged lips and began untying me.
“That was so cool! You are so flexy!” Kendra pulled the bandana off her own head.
“You are so sexy, promise me you will do another scene in that outfit!”
“All right, all right, Palm—Michela,” our friend smiled and helped as I was untied.
“You're having fun, aren't you?” Michela asked me as she unpeeled the tape.
“That was so sexy being gagged with that,” I kissed her, “I love you!”

We were soon back in our own clothes a little richer. In a display of power, Michela and I carried Kendra back to my car, which was somewhere in a triangle between a car, a jalopy, and what the Australians call a paddock basher. Most importantly, we all were a little bit better friends than when the day began.

► Show Spoiler

Interlude 19: Christmas #1 Part 3
December 25, 2012

Mrs. Copley led me out of the pod, away from rec time, away from my friends, away from my terror, the terror of being without the people every child needs most in life. There was nothing I could do: no phone calls, no letters, no signal flares. Nothing could connect me to my childhood home any longer. I was facing between 1 and 15 years in prison with no one standing by my side throughout the process.

Poor Mary-Ann.

Out of the south wing we walked, toward the world, but we turned into one of the security rooms where my hands were cuffed behind my back and my ankles were shackled. I looked at Mrs. Copley, who seemed to feel whatever the inmates in Pod F felt. Another guard has taken her place for the moment so she can keep watch over me.

I get my hands and knees, wailing and crying in hysteria. It’s been nearly 10 years, and I still do not understand why my parents’ response was to hate me. I was literally crying like a baby that had fallen and bonked its head. It was loud, and tears poured down my cheeks in a river. I can’t tell you how terrible it felt; at the moment, I only had, out there, a grandmother and a couple of friends.

I wasn’t the only one who was in this situation nor the only one to respond in this way.

“Hannah, I’m sorry,” Mrs. Copley’s kind voice comforted me, “I know you’re sorry for what you did. Some are only sorry they got caught.”
“I want to go home and sleep in my own bed and go to my old friends and say I’m sorry.”
“You’re 16; that’s where you should be. I’m sorry someone convinced you to make the choices you made.”
“May we go back to the pod?”
“You want to walk and talk?”
“Mmm hmm,” someone who wanted to help me! Finally!

As we walked, Mrs. Copley told me of her own family and how she loved them and tried to love those of us who were receptive to it because she knew how distressing this all could be, and that is one reason why I still love her to this day.

“Palmeri, can we crash at your place?” Kendra asks Michela as we drive away.
“Not yet. I’m still convincing Mom you’re not a snowglobe. Give it a week.”
“Say, Larsson, remember the time you tried to snort?”
“God, don’t bring that up! I still can’t believe anyone likes that feeling!” I reprimanded her and added, “Kendra, would you please call us by our first names?”
“Oh, sh-t, sorry. I’ll try. Hard to truly care for anyone when only you two ever cared about me.”
“I hated the ball gag too,” Michela is back to catatonic, “Maybe one of those clear tape bandana gags next time?”

Michela is truly a trainwreck and doesn’t realize it anymore. I had no idea that we were soon to be part of the greatest triumph of her young life, but Kendra and I did it. Her soul is empty and devoid of trust because she spent years being violated by her own father, the person a girl usually trusts the most. Dad’s are supposed to be strong leaders and guardians, and hers was a monster. All day long it’s just that same catatonic, empty smile except when she’s doing something with her friends or family or when she’s horny.

Kendra is a different kind of mess. She’s a hot mess. I can tell by her body language that she is mentally craving the things that put her inside, and right now I am the only thing convincing her that keeping clean is the way to be. Desperation was one thing to feel, but I could hear it in her voice, the voice of one convinced that she was cursed from birth to have a doomed lifetime. We all had something in common: we weren’t loved by those who were morally obligated to love us. Even some of the other girls I still considered my friends were failed in some way. We made the choice, though, to seek solace in hanging around bad folks instead of hanging around good ones.

“Who’s the bleach blonde on your doorstep?” Kendra asks as I pull into my driveway.
“That, if you recall, is Casey Clark,” I say with a groan, “F-cking morality cop!”
“Hannah!” the stroke-crippled girl leaned on a crutch and waved, “Oh, hi Michela!”
“She’s a sweetie and hottie even if she doesn’t like p-ssy and t-tty. Let’s be welcoming,” Michela jumps out of the car.
“F-ck my life! F-ck it! F-ck it! F-ck it!” I knew I shouldn’t be living a life where I’m ashamed to be seen by those who know me.
“Calm down!” Kendra said and opened the door, “I, for one, liked when she visited because she sometimes came to see me too, don’t forget, and brought Jenny with her.”

Now both are against me. I have no choice but to welcome the twit into my home. I’m glad they were with me because I would have otherwise admitted to everything wrong I’d done and then told Casey to go screw with a razor blade. Instead, I took the first baby step toward reclaiming my life. A hug awaited us all although Kendra’s was awkward and Michela’s was, on request, turned to a handshake.

“It’s been so long since I got to do this,” Casey didn’t want to let go, “How’s the Cool Girl?”
“Come in and take a seat on the sofa,” I motioned to the hovel.
“Wait, isn’t this the shed?” Kendra asks, “Isn’t the house the bigger thing behind you?”
“No, this is… my home. Come on,” I led my company into my hellhole, “Sorry, I’ve nothing to offer except tap water. I have just enough to keep myself from losing weight.”
“Nice cell,” Kendra teased me on my bed against the wall.
“That f-cking prison ruined us!” I collapsed on the floor and burst into tears.

I then cried for the next three minutes. Whoever said prison girls are so tough they don’t cry?

► Show Spoiler

Interlude 20: Christmas #1 Part 4
December 25, 2012

”Attention, there will be 2 hours of visitation today. A guard will come by your door and give a visitor pass to those who have visitors and have visitation privileges.”

Sure enough, there was Grandma on my pass… and Casey again. What brought Casey back here again? Did she like to see me in orange, or did she really still care about me? Why did she keep trying with me when I was woefully inadequate after she had her stroke and insulted her when she went through her spiritual rejuvenation? I was a junkie and a pusher who got what was well deserved for her crimes. I wasn’t surprised by my grandmother because I was her grandchild.

“Casey Clark, our friend the guitarist.”
“Hannah Larsson, our friend the singer. Merry Christmas.”
“Well,” I clinked the shackles, “I have my court date on the 3rd,” then I paused, “Why are you here?”
“Because I remember the girl I met 5 years ago… and I believe that’s still who you are.”
“They fed us a Christmas dinner. Want to hear about it?”
“As long as it’ll make you happier.”

And I proceeded to excitedly tell her about sweet potatoes, ham, and cheap apple pie. For the next 15 minutes, I forgot that this was a prison and not just a boarding school for miscreants. I wish I embraced her love more while in there and that I hadn’t refused it for so long after.

After my brief outburst, it became apparent that first the bed was a thing I did because it made me feel safe and second that it was not a thing to joke about. I had worked hard to make this place look as nice as possible and keep it bug free, but it was readily apparent that the heat was turned off. None of us dared to address that. I sat on the sofa with Michela on my lap and Casey next to me while Kendra sat backward on the chair.

“Hannah,” Michela suggested, “Mom’s cool with us. Move in with me!”
“I…,” I turn to Casey, who is clearly disturbed by something, “Which is it? Bondage modeling or my friend?”
“Modeling,” she was candid, “Hannah… oh… even my folks would let you two smooch in their living room before letting you live in this dump.”
“I have to side with the goody two-shoes,” Kendra admitted, “You’re going to either starve or freeze or commit suicide living like this.”
“What about your grandma?” Casey suggested, “You had a thing for girls before. I don’t care about that! I want to see you be as happy as you were before things went bad. You will never forget the past, but you can still be happy in spite of it!”
“Come on, Hannah, you’ve got options, I’m sure,” Michela wrapped her arms around me, “It’s kind of cute to be alone sometimes, but I do worry about you.”

I froze at that point and felt my mouth go dry. All three of them were against me. How could I so brazenly refuse their kindness? I did with a condition: I had until the end of January, 6 weeks, to make a decision before they’d either have the place condemned or just take me from here by force. They, right there, made a pact, despite barely knowing each other. I was officially my own worst enemy now. Casey and Kendra hit it off so well as natural friends that the former offered to take the latter back to her home.

“Michela…”
“Don’t push yourself. Think about what will be best for you,” she said.
“No… I want you… to tie me up again,” I admitted, “only now I’ll be in prison style panties and a sports bra.”
“Ooooohhhh, sexy time. You and me taking a nice afternoon nap on your bed.”
“I never orgasmed in my life before today. All those times we’ve ground only you went.”
“I will make sure you get set off this time.”

Michela never even took her clothes off. Orange and orange, rubbing and loving, my lips taped and sealed shut, her lips against mine… we had a memorable time there in my… cell. So many times getting it, willingly and unwillingly with Greg, with that one boy when I was a freshman, with Michela here and in juvie, yet I never got my own pleasure. When Michela was past her own second, though, I felt it while our lips met through the gag. And it was so good.

That day was the start of a change in my life. My mind wasn’t made up on where to go, but I knew I needed to get out of this dump. Kendra was right that I was trending toward suicide; I was already idealizing it and growing desensitized to it. There were people to live for at least, and Michela was giving me a good time. I loved how it felt when the person on the bottom was tape gagged, whichever side I was on.

I had Kendra and Casey both supporting me. In fact, none of these three ever left my side unless there was distance between us, like when Casey and her folks vacationed in Arizona one summer and were a bit hard to reach at times. Kendra was with me while she could be. Oh, how do I say this?

Kendra and I had a lot of fun doing gigs; she never got into TUGs. She did, however, like the money and work enough that she appeared in other studios productions and became quite the regular model. When she was 21, a light bulb went off in her head, though; it was, I think, the influence of her cousin. I was there for Kendra’s wedding, and I was there shortly after her first baby was born. When the baby was about 5 months old was the last time I saw Kendra in person.

Those of you familiar with the Cool Girls’ Club know my friend Jenny already. Well, Kendra was a second cousin of Jenny’s. Some of you may know that nearly everyone in Jenny’s family has a child before they're 25 and lives into their 80s and 90s… or they get a brain tumor and die. Kendra… I am struggling to write this… she did both. Two days after my last visit, our fellow survivor Kendra Kristensen died from brain cancer at the age of 23; my visit was in the hospice ward. Some Pod F survivors were the only people besides her own family at her funeral.

From texting daily to gone, just like that. I miss her so much.

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Which scene will come next? We will get through all of them eventually, so just pick whatever makes you happy or what seems like an appropriate next scene for Hannah!

[Caesar73]

E it is!

[The G-Man]

I'm enjoying the story so far, and I'm voting for 'G'