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Story 7 Chapter 2: Sorority Girls
Sold into slavery is perhaps too dark of a thought. No one would want me anyway, or so my mind started to convince me. One of the most empowering experiences I have had in my life was learning that I have a genuine mental illness that I cannot help. All the thoughts, from su¡c¡de to fears of abandonment to extreme lust could be explained all under the blanket term: “Borderline Personality Disorder.” In my developmental years, I had been subject to so much trauma that basically my brain had corrupted. As a result, my brain rewired everything to behave and respond in quite proper ways for what I was experiencing then. I had been abandoned, survived a murder attempt, been assaulted, dealt drugs, gone to prison… My problem was that I still saw these natural processes as being 100% my fault for my decisions as if the decisions made by others around me didn't matter.
I still struggle with it. I do sometimes get a fixation for hours or days where my mind decides that my husband is planning to take our daughter and leave me. That any day now I will go on Facebook and find someone I love has blocked me; once in a while I give in to the thought and check to make sure my Facebook still has 79 friends on it. I randomly worry that a stranger is planning to kidnap me and hurt me. Now is an odd time, you might think, to talk about this, but it's spot on.
During this scene, I temporarily experience genuine fear. I was scared of men and had been for a while at this point. Despite Marcy, Kristine, Emilia, Joyce, Boss B-tch, and Michela (most of all) being there with me, I still distrusted Steve. Would he suddenly decide to turn this into a ThatFetishGirl or Steve Villa type of scene or take advantage of the fact that I was tied up in general? I’d experienced good c-ck before and loved it and craved it as much as Kylie’s or Michela’s p-ssy, but I was afraid of men. In 2015, you could not pay me to be alone with a man or go on a date with one.
My struggle with my tits exposed showed my fear. The fear had become genuine. I’d been consumed by my condition in a sense, and my only comfort was to see and taste my Valentine. Her dirty old socks were so good. Actually, they were awfully rancid, but they were hers. As long as the only bodily fluids are cum and sweat, I am going to conclude that it's delicious. Now I realize it's a miracle I don't have an STD.
But the result was that I was now being seen as the bondage model who was the future of
Tied After Class. I showed off my tits, my squeals, and my wails to the world and began a decided shift in my and my friends’ lives. We were on our way to the top of the business!
The chair was gone now, and I was left to writhe on the floor as I did my duty. I did it all as was expected: writhe, squeal, grunt, groan, struggle, twist, wail, yell, kick, and more. My heels were long gone. I spent time on my stomach trying to reach the ropes on my ankles and sat up to kick my legs out in an effort to loosen anything if I could. Soon, Marcy knelt down to untie me, and then it was time for my favorite part of it all.
Pre-shoot and post-shoot scenes were the best. We got to smile for the camera and act naturally, once in a while even showing off our bare tits. Rope marks were of course a cornerstone of this as well, and upon this occasion the marks in my body were deep. I feel like I’m in another world and am almost morally obligated to be happy. Mostly, it is because I am happy when I am modeling for a bondage shoot. I walk to Marcy and reclaim my bandana turned gag, which was in the pile of things that had been used on me.
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► Show Spoiler
Interlude 54: Outdoor Volleyball
January 31, 2013
I loved freezing my ass off in the snow playing outdoor volleyball. Not! Our gym instructor had a screwy thing for seeing teenagers in prison jumpsuits working up a star-spangled banner frostbite. During soccer we went on the undersized field split pod so we were always moving, but volleyball still required rotations that left you on the sideline wishing for a fireplace or death.
It's still fun as long as you're not having an amputation. If you're Mary-Ann, you are still a demi-God with otherworldly powers who destroys the opposition with ease. A genuine talent in so many ways, Mary-Ann Voisin was energetic and did a worse job of containing her energy than her black bandana did of containing that crazy hair. She never stopped smiling while playing sports, even soccer where she was awful.
Enigmatic is the right word for this situation. Were we having fun playing a game, or were we pseudo-masochists pantomiming an elaborate assassination by subjection to extreme cold until hypothermia euthanized us? It's more fun when there's snow on the ground, though. Frozen ground is harder and no fun.
“Did I do well?” Mary-Ann asked me as she put her glasses back on.
“Always,” I say as we march in towards the pod again.
Back to silence.
Boss B-tch, I am coming for you. Look at you strutting about with those fake big Botox tits and those white high heels. If this were a rougher studio, I’d stuff those white knee socks in your mouth. I’ll put you in your place, though. Just you wait.
That shredded denim mini skirt the shirt made her look like a sl-tty female version of Waldo, and I knew just where she was going. F-ck you, Boss B-tch, and your arrogant asshole mannerisms. I had just the remedy for her, clearly a typical rich kid. Clothesline, a purple bandana, and a pair of pantyhose were all I needed to work on this one.
Cassie was a sorority girl, and I, severely, both overestimated her attitude and underestimated her kinkiness. I did, however, wipe the cockiness right out of her. I tied her wrists together behind her back and was disappointed by how stiff she was. The b-tch simply screwed up her face while testing how tightly I was tying her. I tied her legs in the usual three spots, and I started a typical (for the studio) breast harness before deciding to add a nice V-rope between those big artificial tits. I cinched it much tighter than normal so that her breasts thrust out.
“Have a snack,” I stuffed the bandana into her mouth.
“GUH?!” she did not appreciate the wrapping of the pantyhose around her head for a cleave gag.
“This is how we humiliate new girls who need to be humbled,” I was being worse than her.
“H-ck -ou!” she is quite good with the gag talk.
“Now, now, cutie,” I grabbed her by the cheek, “Let’s bring you upstairs to the sitting room.”
“Ah -ill naw!” she defied me before I spanked her, “GRRRRR!”
“Come on! Up the f-cking stairs!”
► Show Spoiler
Interlude 55: Dodgeball
February 1, 2013
Dodgeball was my specialty for sure. It was psychological warfare of the violent kind like bondage. The goal was to whack, not bruise. We’d split into teams by pod and go at it. Kylie liked this game a lot, and so did Phoebe.
“Take that!” Phoebe said as she eliminated the girl from Pod A.
“You got your groove on, Phoebes!” Kylie complimented her.
“Naturally, because I got moves, Miss Svensson!”
“I dunno,” I effortlessly dodged a lob, “Most of these Pod A kids get out in a week.”
“Easy pickings,” Kylie shrugged.
“Then we make them wish they were Level I’s,” Phoebe cackled as I blotted another.
Phoebe was right; just have fun! In typical fashion, Pod A lost while Pod F still had 9 of its starting 13. We had the advantage of being long term and sane. OK, some of us had problems, but except for Annie Anderson and Clarissa Sanchez no one who came through Pod F during my 14 months was about to commit first-degree homicide.
We had so much fun indeed! Imagine that… prison girls making their own fun.
“GMMM!” Cassie grunted when I pushed her onto the sofa in the living room.
“Listen, b-tch, I caught you red-handed stealing from the petty cash box!” I snarled at her.
“Nooo!” she groaned into the bandana that filled her mouth.
“You can either suffer as my plaything, or I can tell the boss and cause real trouble for you!”
“Mmmmmmm,” she turned away fearfully.
“I’ll be back,” I threatened her as I stepped back so Steve could do his thing.
Now Cassie was free to ham it up. I was hoping she’d screw it up instead so I could be rid of her prissy attitude. That hair with its bleached highlights did her no favors; I unfortunately think she liked it except for the gag. I kept forgetting that these were no ordinary sorority girls; these were bondage sorority girls. Of course she'd enjoy what I had done to her. Duh!
The pretentious girl was quite disgusted with the gag, and she clearly had misgivings about me because she kept looking toward me with distrust while Steve photographed her in her bondage. I wasn't too impressed; she made lots of gag talk while moving a bit too little for my liking. There were girls who more or less stayed put and tried to pick at the knots, and then there was Cassie.
Even when I hauled Cassie off the couch and onto the carpet, she mostly focused her energy on being annoying and talkative and squirming in place. I walked over to give her a spank, and she loudly cursed into the gag. I smiled and reminded her that she’d take the spanking over me calling the cops, and she had to agree when I spanked her a second time.
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Cassie stared at the camera with shock. I no longer could tell how much of her behavior was an act as opposed to real reactions. I thought she had to have had experience with nearly anything given that she was one of the older sorority girls. Boss b-tch eagerly ditched a heel too. Part of me wanted to be a real animal and just feel her up and rub her p-ssy until she was in a frenzy.
“Hannah, you OK?” Michela pulled me aside.
“Just putting a b-tch in her place,” I smiled wryly and squeezed Michela’s cheek.
“You seem tense,” my girlfriend reminded me, “Remember it's just a bondage film.”
“Well, she is a fake-titted, brain-bleached, patronizing jack-ss.”
“Look here, Hannah,” Joyce walked over, “It's not personal. She's that way with everyone.”
“So are you defending her?” I got a bit attitudinal in my own right.
“No, but I’m saying to calm down. Nichole and Casey have told me about you; that's why I picked here. Hannah,” this new girl put a hand on my shoulder, “I see a lot of good in you. Have fun. Let it shine, and we'll all have fun.”
“I see a good friendship ahead for us,” Michela's words comforted me.
“I do, too, if you girls are willing to have a girl scout in your circle of friends.”
I had good friends that were positive, but Joyce was the first friend I had who could be so quietly optimistic. I missed that Joyce for a long time; that Joyce got destroyed and replaced by a shell later, with me finally finding a good use for my own experiences in life, before finally making a triumphant return. Life is tough; Joyce was tougher, then weaker, then tougher again. Stories for later.
I liked Joyce and Emilia. Joyce spoke for both of them, but they had humility. I could be a philosophical humbug at times and often pasted others when my rationalistic way of thought was challenged. It's part of why Michela loves me, though, because I have an infinite imagination that I try to use for good even if I fail. I turned to her and saw a vacant stare; I just then realized that her stare is vacant because her mind is empty. For a girl who is extremely intelligent, a girl who can maintain several thought trains at will, to be empty so much of the time because it's the only way to ensure the terror cannot resurface… I realized I could be the same way and that Michela and I were in prison pose together. Just then reaches out and touches my hand and points to Emilia.
Cassie is tragically enjoying herself. I can't bring myself to even respect her. She is too much like Annie Anderson for my liking; Cassie however would never commit a crime. I strutted over to Cassie and held one of her long since thrown high heels right up against her nose. She was less than amused, and Steve stopped filming again after a few minutes.
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“Relax. Have fun,” I cautioned her, “Think of it as a game now; I’ll be back.”
Just then Kristine returned; I had completely forgotten about her. It was time for fun with Kristine and Emilia. I owed Cassie an apology.
► Show Spoiler
Interlude 56: Arm Wrestling
February 1, 2013
It technically was against the rules because it was contact, but the guards arranged for us to do it anyway. Mrs. Copley was always trying to find ways to improve life for us girls. First of the month was the monthly arm-wrestling competition for those of us in Pod F who were II’s and up.
We did it in a double round robin to be fair. If you're not familiar, it means everyone takes on each of the others twice, and then we repeat if there's more than a basic tie at the end with just the tied girls going. If two are tied, we have a one-on-one finale. It's a ton of fun, but we're not allowed to cheer as it's too much commotion. Everything is quite sterile to keep with the standards of the environment.
“Come on, M.A.,” I cheered our unofficial pod brute.
“Oh, that wasn't even fun,” she whacked Annie Anderson’s arm down without effort.
“But you're the winner!” I said afterwards over a game of Upwords.
“I’ve got 15 or 20 wins in that tournament. Whatever,” she shrugged.
Annie and Bridget Anderson were sisters with Annie being younger. Annie was a nut if I ever saw one. She’d get people to do her bidding like stealing things, slinging on the street, and, the thing that got her arrested and finally busted, ordering someone to beat up another girl. Bridget was innocent and likable and had fallen prey to her little sister's bullying tactics.
Now, in 2024, Annie is on year 8 of a 255 year sentence because police finally linked all of her various crimes. She's spending her life in Shakopee, and Bridget ghosted at that point and last I knew lived at home with her parents and had a quiet, stable, happy life. Two girls, same rearing, different outcomes.
“Emilia, you didn't get dolled up?” I asked the shy young girl.
“Oh? I had to? I thought I’d just stay in my own clothes,” she blushed and cowered.
“It's fine by me as long as Steve is OK with it.”
“It's fine. We're not scripted anyway. It's a debut,” Steve supported the new girl.
“All right,” Emilia’s eyes brightened as she walked over.
“Tell me about your bondage experiences with the sorority.”
Emilia admitted that she was a founding member of the bondage sorority alongside one of my old Cool Girls’ Club friends who was a couple of years older. A freshman at the time of the founding, Emilia discovered bondage by pure chance: walking into that friend's dorm during a bondage game while seeking the advice of that friend who was in the same major as her. That was two weeks into freshman year, the Spaniard explained. A week later, the sorority was born.
There is a delightful Mediterranean accent on the girl who is much more enthusiastic than her friends even if they probably all looked forward to this day. Emilia tells me about the things the sorority girls do to her, receive from her, and do to others. I can tell that some parts excite Michela while others frighten her; frankly, I feel similarly about them.
“Can you take a tight tie, because I love elbow ties!” I felt a strange pleasure at this.
“I love elbow ties!” her eyes brightened, “Just remember, ladies, I’m only into boys.”
“Sorry, baby, no threesomes with this one,” I winked at Michela.
“No, but your girlfriend is pretty and sweet and ready for Valentine's night.”
“Most of it's for me,” Michela blushed and grabbed the St. Michael medal she wore,
“I am ready, and I went commando for when you inevitably take a peek at my boobs.”
“Yes, Hannah loves exposing titties,” my girlfriend started lusting.
It was then that I first realized just how conflicted Michela was on account of me. She had a genuine sexual attraction to me but also had a genuine religious conviction that our relationship was wrong. I had no qualms, but Joyce shared Michela's opinions of the matter. Cassie clearly didn't care like the Moreau's and Kristine, and Emilia here could as easily have an inclination to quit school to be a nun as to become the world's number 1 p0rn star because she revealed nothing about herself in anything she said or did.
I gave Emilia elbow bondage. Welcome, girl, to the world of getting paid to have fun, look sexy, and enjoy yourself with the occasional orgasm. The smile that appeared on Emilia’s face when I bound her elbows and wrists told me that she was one of those girls who genuinely had fun with bondage and wasn’t too interested in highly sexualized or intense torture. She just wanted to be tied up as I liked, left to do her own thing, and be the subject of her captor’s commentary, maybe while trying to escape.
I bound her scrawny but untoned thighs with two ropes and her lower legs with two and admired her fashionable but simple choices of a pink sleeveless t-shirt and white short shorts, socks and canvas sneakers. I made sure the ropes went deep into her skin without hurting her, and Joyce suggested we go back to the basement. I wanted to pull on her pigtails.
“Let’s go, hot stuff,” Kristine and I picked up the new girl.
“Hey! Ha ha!” Emilia laughed as I led from the legs with Kristine holding her torso.
“I’ll make sure Cassie is taken care of,” Joyce pointed to the girl smiling for post-shoot photos.
“See you soon,” Emilia smiled.
“Nice bra,” Kristine pulled and snapped the shoulder strap when we put Emilia down.
“Pick out a modeling name… a fake name that we can use on camera.”
“How about Teresa?” Michela suggested for obvious reasons, “Perfect Spanish girl name.”
► Show Spoiler
Interlude 57: On God and Letters
November 1, 2013
“Hannah, do you believe in God?” Michela stared out the window towards the sky.
“Not really. If He existed, wouldn't He have protected you?” I responded confidently.
“If He doesn't exist, why did He give me the strength to pull the trigger?”
“If He existed, you wouldn't have needed to pull the trigger.”
“If that were the case, then people have no free will. But we do.”
“Are you crazy enough to say that your faith was stronger when you were being led out of that house in shackles than before it started?”
Michela smiled a little. I was her only understanding of emotion left in life. She took her bandana off her head and played with it in her hands. We had many of these kinds of interactions since Michela finished her GED in September. I am reading Kant after having just finished a book by Chesterton. These aren't small books, either. Michela was proudly telling me that she truly believes her namesake, the Archangel Michael, kept her from worse harm and gave her the strength to defend herself. She still tells people this whenever her story comes up; I’m so glad she's my friend.
At the moment, I was writing a letter to Nichole. She loved my letters, and she could visit me since she was an adult! Michela was writing to her younger sisters; she wrote to them weekly from the beginning of her incarceration and asked them to keep each and every letter so that they have a running memory of their sister during a difficult phase. Her mother sneaked photos during visits and sometimes printed them to put with the letters. What an odd but beautiful treasure!
“I’m sorry I’m being snobbish about my books,” I apologized as I wrote my latest hot quote.
“I'm sorry for being pushy. I’m just… Hannah, I care about you.”
“I love you, too,” I said to her, “We just have to agree to disagree.”
“No, I need to learn to shut up and just pray for you,” she winked at me.
“You're welcome to do that,” I smiled and quickly finished my letter.
“Man, we're letter writing machines!”
We don't have class, so we spend lots of time in the pod and cell now. It wasn't much of a life, but it was better than nothing. Post-graduation was harder because of all the newfound time on our hands that was mostly spent in confinement, often quiet time in the cell akin to a I when we're IV’s. Michela puts her headband back on, folds up her latest letter, and kisses it as she always does.
“Do I get tied up too?” Joyce eagerly asked me while bounding down despite the brown heels on her feet.
“Yes, yes you do. Let’s get on it so that you two can get your turns being photographed.”
“Thanks, Hannah!”
“Go get her, tiger,” Kristine gave me a kinky rap on the butt.
“All right, all right, I was asked to do this, and I’ll do it.”
“I just want you to know, Hannah,” Joyce liked saying people’s names, “I’m not wearing a bra.”
“She’s seen right through you and is giving you the green light to play,” Cassie suddenly came up behind me and whispered in my ear.
“What do you mean?”
“Joyce is funny and kind. Straight as an arrow, but she lets the girls who are into girls… have fun.”
“Just keep it within what Steve and Marcy want,” Kristine encouraged me.
I smiled at Joyce, and she smiled back. She just wanted to have fun with me, her new friend, and all I had to do was deliver. I admit that I tried tying Joyce’s elbows and that it didn’t last long as I overestimated her flexibility. Wrists, the standard harness, and the standard leg ropes– three on the lower legs and one above the knees– followed. Joyce’s tits weren’t too large, and I figured a detailed harness while kinkier would make it harder for me to expose her.
I stuffed a clean green bandana in Joyce’s mouth, cleave gagged her with pantyhose just like I’d gagged Cassie, and covered her mouth with more strips of tape than what you’ll see in the photo sets. I just finally noticed that Joyce was so excited she was sweating. I’d never seen such spirit in a girl I’d tied up. Kristine set up the tripod with the second camera; she was a business partner to Steve and Marcy; and I was quickly becoming queen of the ropework.
In the darker far corner by the washer and dryer, Steve was taking photos of the newly christened Teresa, who had that big old white ball gag in her mouth. Her big brown eyes betray a genuinely distressed expression; this girl is a star in the making if she so chooses. She now stands alone in the frame of the camera wailing in fear.
Emilia hops in place until she’s sideways, looks down, crouches a little, stretches her arms, wails loudly and shakes her body uselessly before letting out a loud and resounding clomp on the floor despite the carpet beneath her feet. She straightens up and turns to look at Steve and his camera presently perched on a step ladder. Another bend and a shriek is followed by Emilia turning the other direction before looking over her shoulder to see Marcy coming.
Tits out my friends.
Marcy rolls up Emilia’s shirt while she cries for the camera and looks for help. Marcy has such a dominatrix death grip though and wraps her arms around Emilia. Marcy puts the captive’s pretty pigtails together and yanks them harshly while sternly warning her with threats of violence if she is uncooperative. While yanking the pigtails, Marcy exposes Emilia’s tits.
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Then there is Joyce, my charge, my girl to dominate. She looks at the camera as if I’d drugged her for a moment, but the face changes to one of desperation. She thinks she has been nabbed by a potentially violent maniac, and she starts working on an escape from her bondage. Approaches to scenes vary, and Joyce’s is to only grunt when it’s natural, making her sounds be an expression of her emotions of the moment as opposed to sexy utterances that serve no purpose.
Joyce appeared to be looking in no particular direction because she wasn’t. She was working on the ropes that bound her arms together behind her back. I stood by the camera and waved to get her attention, and Joyce scowled at me and tried talking into the gag to express her displeasure at her imprisonment. Anger became apparent now in her struggles.
“Ha!” Joyce whipped a rope around, the rope from her soft elbow bond.
“Very good,” I patted her on the head and grabbed the rope, “But there are two more.”
“Hmmmm,” she was very proud of herself, and her eyes brightened a little.
“I have to punish you for your attitude,” I started pulling her shirt up.
“No!” she almost tipped the chair.
“Tits out, my dear Wendy,” I exposed her torso and realized just how high she wore the skirt.
Joyce renewed her anger for the camera, and we’ll resume her and “Teresa’s” struggles in the next chapter!
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What surprise will Joyce have for Emilia after her own photoshoot is done?
(A) Strappado
(B) Hogtie
(C) Blindfold
(D) Combo of (C) + (B)