Re: being Plymouth (MF+/F+) *NEW CHAPTERS 30th October*
Posted: Sun Nov 05, 2023 4:08 pm
006.
Carnival.
Part one.
Not a grand wide space, but nor is the theatre small. A capacity around the five hundred mark, and almost every seat full.
Dark blue curtain blocking the slightly curved stage, the top third and centre of which is obscured by a ginormous hanging flatscreen. Currently blank.
Time. The lights dim, the general background murmurs fall silent.
A spotlight strikes, centre stage.
Enter Plymouth, pushing through the dark blue fabric. Black thigh high slip on boots and a string bikini the same colour, triangles barely containing her canon sized breasts. Black top hat perched atop her blue haired half shaved head, and an open red coat like a fetish version of a ringmaster, black belts hanging loose left and right, a long tail at the back.
Behind Plymouth, on a collar and lead, emerges Fayth Hill. Dressed only in a skimpy half lace nightie, plunging neckline and string like shoulder straps, high hem you can almost. Almost. See her thong clad crotch. Silver chain wraps and binds her upper body, wrists crossed in front, breasts squeezed and arms pinned. The chain wrapping up around the neck, gag like forced into the mouth.
"Welcome." A mic hooked over one ear, discreet and wire like the bulb positioned just right, before Plymouth's mouth. "Everyone."
Arms spread wide, still holding Fayth's lead.
"To the Carnival of Chains."
A bow, top hat doffed then placed back as she stands. Smiles.
"We ask that you remain seated throughout, and remind you that," a shrug tone becoming teasing, "no matter how much you may wish it, there will be no nudity tonight."
"Rules."
Shauna. And you've already looked in the slim yet well made glossy brochure, bought in the lobby. Have already seen the models names and photos.
Dark skinned and black haired. Curvy. Shiny wet look black leggings and barefoot the same as Fayth, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and open at the collar, cleavage visible.
"No nudity but." Stopping beside Plymouth and dropping all but the end of the long chain she'd been holding. Sound like a rattling thunder. "Plenty of fun."
"Fun." Plymouth, nodding.
"We've got quite the show for you." Plymouth, talking as Fayth looks on, as Shauna kneels and begins wrapping chain around her ankles. Legs becoming pinned together a padlock clicked closed.
Wrapping higher.
"A carnival of bound and gagged ladies." Not reacting as Shauna snares her wrists behind, wrapping them, wrapping more to pin them to her waist. "Eager and willing to please."
Wrapping higher.
Breasts, above and below. Squeezed and looking damn good.
Higher.
Chain wrapped and wedged in Plymouth's mouth, willingly held open and now forced to remain. A final padlock to seal the metres upon yards of chain. Plymouth cocooned. Immobile. Helpless.
"Ladies. Gentlemen." Shauna takes Fayth's lead from Plymouth, her hat too. She turns to the audience, bows.
"Enjoy the show."
Shauna walks Fayth through the curtains central gap, abandoning Plymouth alone on stage.
She stares out at the audience.
Wriggles, proving her inability to escape.
Hops an on the spot circle, chest bouncing and whilst she does the ginormous flatscreen flickers to life. Some hidden camera, or cameras, providing close ups and angles of her bound body.
As Plymouth slowly lowers herself, from standing to kneeling to a controlled collapse laying down.
Rolling gently around, moaning. Struggling.
After prehaps five minutes two crew appear. All of them, backstage workers male and female are dressed in black boots and blue zip front boiler style worksuits.
Setting down a long box, coffin like only smaller metal edges and some form of thickened see through plastic on all the sides and top, and bottom. A snug fit for Plymouth whom they lift- one at the shoulders the other the feet -up and lower inside. Closing and locking the lid as she continues to struggle.
Walking away. Transparent coffin left behind. Plymouth, left behind. Locked in chain and now locked in the box.
Left to struggle some more.
Until those same workers return. Pick up the box and carry it through the curtains.
Which swing open to reveal the first set in mid build. A running theme of the show: things being placed and models being bound not behind the curtain but in full view, allowing you to see the bondage.
According to the brochure the models swap and rotate each show, each one taking multiple turns at each spot the only exception being that beginning scene you just witnessed.
And now.
Mini, or crazy, golf.
Three holes.
The first featuring a windmill, to the slowly turning blades of which Shauna has been bolted, still in her shirt and leggings. Metal ridged clamp like hoops fix her ankles and wrists to the far end of each sail, whilst a ballgag fills her mouth.
Long black hair dangling.
The second features Pixie Queen, a skinny flat chested girl with flame red hair cut into a short messy bob. Dressed in tiny grey spandex gym shorts and a pink sports bra, plenty of white skin showing including a giant colourful snake curling and climbing her right leg. She's been post tied with ropes, wrists and elbows behind the post and her, legs together. Rope as a gag her neck wrapped too. Around her a slide, helter skelter style, twists and spirals down. The hole includes a long two tiered gentle run up to the entrance of the slide ramp, the hole behind her.
Third, lastly.
Plymouth, free and in only her bikini no coat or boots, walks back on stage. Kiss and a wave flung out as she approaches the final hole, is strapped in place.
A wooden board, raised to stand upright against which she stands. Two crew use the fixed belts to pin her body to it. Arms by her sides but not touching legs apart not too wide. Belts at wrist and ankle, elbow and knee, waist and chest. Neck, forehead. A ballgag.
Stepping back and a thumbs up. The windmill comes to slow spinning life, as does the third hole. Slowly, smoothly, Plymouth is lowered forwards like a damsel over a lava filled pit. Lowered into the bottom half of the box that her board is the lid of, a box the balls must be shot into. A box seemingly full of upward pointing sharp spikes. Which, as the box closes, certainly appear to be perilously close to touching Plymouth's exposed skin.
Fayth reappears as the crew leave, with her is Natalya: curvy frame like Fayth but with a chest equal to Plymouth's. Hair dyed white but skin all over tanned. Haunted house and graveyard ink design climbing her right leg, a wolf howling on left bicep and a skeleton stood tall up her spine with arms spread wide from shoulder to shoulder.
Both are wearing too short tartan pull up pleated skirts and tiny vest tops with no bra.
Behind them walks Ashe: curvy and plump, thick limbs and round belly. Asian skintone and black curling hair. Wearing a bra and thong. Ashe's arms are pinned behind with a black leather armbinder and she's gagged by a full head harness. The armbinder is somehow combined into a golf bag, hanging down from one side out of which a half dozen clubs protrude.
Fayth and Natalya bow at centre stage. Then, without talking yet employing plenty of arm waving and gesturing, at least some of it eliciting laughs from the audience. Purposefully it seems. The two golfers, followed by their bound caddy, spend close to twenty minutes shooting all three holes.
Progress followed both by watching the stage, and the flatscreen too, those cameras providing better angles at times. Closeups.
And at the end, no clear winner but keeping score wasn't exactly the point, the audience murmurs as the models are freed, as the golf holes are removed and all six ladies walk off stage.
Returning minutes later now all dressed in variations on the theme of lace bras and thongs. Skimpy and largely see-through. Hinting and teasing.
As the crew wheel in a long wooden frame, like a fence made up of horizontal and vertical boards with arm sized gaps between, the whole structure as long as the stage and half as tall again as the models.
A crew member delivers a large plastic tub, full of rope, to the stage.
The models, to more general murmured laughs from on stage and in the seats, play rock paper scissors to elect a winner.
Ashe tonight. Who rope binds each of the others to the wooden structure, one at a time those yet to be tied leaving stage left or right, re-entering one at a time as required.
As you watch.
Fayth is bound standing, her limbs splayed into an X as she faces front. Ballgagged.
Shauna is hogtied, laying down yet on her side to face front, her back lashed to the boards one leg pinned up high to prevent her closing them. She too is ballgagged.
Plymouth and Natalya are bound back to back either side of a vertical post from which all the horizontal boards are attached behind, making the post stand proud and out, allowing this tie to occur. Plymouth's wrists are tied in front of Natalya, to her waist, her own are bound crossed and raised upwards overhead. Both girls breasts are criss-cross cinched in tight ropes figure eight style. Squeezing and pinching. Both are gagged using the same long scarf.
Pixie Queen is bound kneeling, facing to the side, facing Plymouth. Pixie's face is pressed up against Plymouth's crotch a complex harness tie of ropes pinning her there. Pixie's arms lifted up and straight out behind, a strappado pose. She's ballgagged too, the red rubber sphere buried in and no doubt rubbing constantly on Plymouth's pussy.
Ashe. Satisfied. Takes up a riding crop from the now half empty tub. She spends ten plus minutes walking slowly up and down, back up the line of bound girls. None of whom are struck hard, small insistent taps, a half dozen each time to breasts or belly. Crotch. Butt. Enough to elicit a moan and a wriggle from the victim.
Sometimes she simply runs and trails the crops tip along the exposed flesh of a model, making them squirm.
And of course each time she spanks Pixie's butt it makes her wriggle, makes her ballgag rub harder against Plymouth. Who wriggles too. Which causes her bound wrists, her fingers, to stray and rub against Natalya's thong. Which makes her moan and wriggle too.
Eventually each girl, starting with Fayth and running down the line, is freed. But in such a way that they wind up with wrists metal cuffed in front, collared, leads attached to the wooden frame.
Each freed girl is led towards Fayth and tethered in place, making an expanding group.
Once all five are there, cuffed and collared, Ashe takes up all the leads, and off stage they go as the curtains swing closed.
Intermission.
The message floating into being on the screen as the house lights come up, as the low bass line heavy track that's been a constant though rarely noticed companion this whole time becomes slightly louder.
End of part one.
Carnival.
Part one.
Not a grand wide space, but nor is the theatre small. A capacity around the five hundred mark, and almost every seat full.
Dark blue curtain blocking the slightly curved stage, the top third and centre of which is obscured by a ginormous hanging flatscreen. Currently blank.
Time. The lights dim, the general background murmurs fall silent.
A spotlight strikes, centre stage.
Enter Plymouth, pushing through the dark blue fabric. Black thigh high slip on boots and a string bikini the same colour, triangles barely containing her canon sized breasts. Black top hat perched atop her blue haired half shaved head, and an open red coat like a fetish version of a ringmaster, black belts hanging loose left and right, a long tail at the back.
Behind Plymouth, on a collar and lead, emerges Fayth Hill. Dressed only in a skimpy half lace nightie, plunging neckline and string like shoulder straps, high hem you can almost. Almost. See her thong clad crotch. Silver chain wraps and binds her upper body, wrists crossed in front, breasts squeezed and arms pinned. The chain wrapping up around the neck, gag like forced into the mouth.
"Welcome." A mic hooked over one ear, discreet and wire like the bulb positioned just right, before Plymouth's mouth. "Everyone."
Arms spread wide, still holding Fayth's lead.
"To the Carnival of Chains."
A bow, top hat doffed then placed back as she stands. Smiles.
"We ask that you remain seated throughout, and remind you that," a shrug tone becoming teasing, "no matter how much you may wish it, there will be no nudity tonight."
"Rules."
Shauna. And you've already looked in the slim yet well made glossy brochure, bought in the lobby. Have already seen the models names and photos.
Dark skinned and black haired. Curvy. Shiny wet look black leggings and barefoot the same as Fayth, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and open at the collar, cleavage visible.
"No nudity but." Stopping beside Plymouth and dropping all but the end of the long chain she'd been holding. Sound like a rattling thunder. "Plenty of fun."
"Fun." Plymouth, nodding.
"We've got quite the show for you." Plymouth, talking as Fayth looks on, as Shauna kneels and begins wrapping chain around her ankles. Legs becoming pinned together a padlock clicked closed.
Wrapping higher.
"A carnival of bound and gagged ladies." Not reacting as Shauna snares her wrists behind, wrapping them, wrapping more to pin them to her waist. "Eager and willing to please."
Wrapping higher.
Breasts, above and below. Squeezed and looking damn good.
Higher.
Chain wrapped and wedged in Plymouth's mouth, willingly held open and now forced to remain. A final padlock to seal the metres upon yards of chain. Plymouth cocooned. Immobile. Helpless.
"Ladies. Gentlemen." Shauna takes Fayth's lead from Plymouth, her hat too. She turns to the audience, bows.
"Enjoy the show."
Shauna walks Fayth through the curtains central gap, abandoning Plymouth alone on stage.
She stares out at the audience.
Wriggles, proving her inability to escape.
Hops an on the spot circle, chest bouncing and whilst she does the ginormous flatscreen flickers to life. Some hidden camera, or cameras, providing close ups and angles of her bound body.
As Plymouth slowly lowers herself, from standing to kneeling to a controlled collapse laying down.
Rolling gently around, moaning. Struggling.
After prehaps five minutes two crew appear. All of them, backstage workers male and female are dressed in black boots and blue zip front boiler style worksuits.
Setting down a long box, coffin like only smaller metal edges and some form of thickened see through plastic on all the sides and top, and bottom. A snug fit for Plymouth whom they lift- one at the shoulders the other the feet -up and lower inside. Closing and locking the lid as she continues to struggle.
Walking away. Transparent coffin left behind. Plymouth, left behind. Locked in chain and now locked in the box.
Left to struggle some more.
Until those same workers return. Pick up the box and carry it through the curtains.
Which swing open to reveal the first set in mid build. A running theme of the show: things being placed and models being bound not behind the curtain but in full view, allowing you to see the bondage.
According to the brochure the models swap and rotate each show, each one taking multiple turns at each spot the only exception being that beginning scene you just witnessed.
And now.
Mini, or crazy, golf.
Three holes.
The first featuring a windmill, to the slowly turning blades of which Shauna has been bolted, still in her shirt and leggings. Metal ridged clamp like hoops fix her ankles and wrists to the far end of each sail, whilst a ballgag fills her mouth.
Long black hair dangling.
The second features Pixie Queen, a skinny flat chested girl with flame red hair cut into a short messy bob. Dressed in tiny grey spandex gym shorts and a pink sports bra, plenty of white skin showing including a giant colourful snake curling and climbing her right leg. She's been post tied with ropes, wrists and elbows behind the post and her, legs together. Rope as a gag her neck wrapped too. Around her a slide, helter skelter style, twists and spirals down. The hole includes a long two tiered gentle run up to the entrance of the slide ramp, the hole behind her.
Third, lastly.
Plymouth, free and in only her bikini no coat or boots, walks back on stage. Kiss and a wave flung out as she approaches the final hole, is strapped in place.
A wooden board, raised to stand upright against which she stands. Two crew use the fixed belts to pin her body to it. Arms by her sides but not touching legs apart not too wide. Belts at wrist and ankle, elbow and knee, waist and chest. Neck, forehead. A ballgag.
Stepping back and a thumbs up. The windmill comes to slow spinning life, as does the third hole. Slowly, smoothly, Plymouth is lowered forwards like a damsel over a lava filled pit. Lowered into the bottom half of the box that her board is the lid of, a box the balls must be shot into. A box seemingly full of upward pointing sharp spikes. Which, as the box closes, certainly appear to be perilously close to touching Plymouth's exposed skin.
Fayth reappears as the crew leave, with her is Natalya: curvy frame like Fayth but with a chest equal to Plymouth's. Hair dyed white but skin all over tanned. Haunted house and graveyard ink design climbing her right leg, a wolf howling on left bicep and a skeleton stood tall up her spine with arms spread wide from shoulder to shoulder.
Both are wearing too short tartan pull up pleated skirts and tiny vest tops with no bra.
Behind them walks Ashe: curvy and plump, thick limbs and round belly. Asian skintone and black curling hair. Wearing a bra and thong. Ashe's arms are pinned behind with a black leather armbinder and she's gagged by a full head harness. The armbinder is somehow combined into a golf bag, hanging down from one side out of which a half dozen clubs protrude.
Fayth and Natalya bow at centre stage. Then, without talking yet employing plenty of arm waving and gesturing, at least some of it eliciting laughs from the audience. Purposefully it seems. The two golfers, followed by their bound caddy, spend close to twenty minutes shooting all three holes.
Progress followed both by watching the stage, and the flatscreen too, those cameras providing better angles at times. Closeups.
And at the end, no clear winner but keeping score wasn't exactly the point, the audience murmurs as the models are freed, as the golf holes are removed and all six ladies walk off stage.
Returning minutes later now all dressed in variations on the theme of lace bras and thongs. Skimpy and largely see-through. Hinting and teasing.
As the crew wheel in a long wooden frame, like a fence made up of horizontal and vertical boards with arm sized gaps between, the whole structure as long as the stage and half as tall again as the models.
A crew member delivers a large plastic tub, full of rope, to the stage.
The models, to more general murmured laughs from on stage and in the seats, play rock paper scissors to elect a winner.
Ashe tonight. Who rope binds each of the others to the wooden structure, one at a time those yet to be tied leaving stage left or right, re-entering one at a time as required.
As you watch.
Fayth is bound standing, her limbs splayed into an X as she faces front. Ballgagged.
Shauna is hogtied, laying down yet on her side to face front, her back lashed to the boards one leg pinned up high to prevent her closing them. She too is ballgagged.
Plymouth and Natalya are bound back to back either side of a vertical post from which all the horizontal boards are attached behind, making the post stand proud and out, allowing this tie to occur. Plymouth's wrists are tied in front of Natalya, to her waist, her own are bound crossed and raised upwards overhead. Both girls breasts are criss-cross cinched in tight ropes figure eight style. Squeezing and pinching. Both are gagged using the same long scarf.
Pixie Queen is bound kneeling, facing to the side, facing Plymouth. Pixie's face is pressed up against Plymouth's crotch a complex harness tie of ropes pinning her there. Pixie's arms lifted up and straight out behind, a strappado pose. She's ballgagged too, the red rubber sphere buried in and no doubt rubbing constantly on Plymouth's pussy.
Ashe. Satisfied. Takes up a riding crop from the now half empty tub. She spends ten plus minutes walking slowly up and down, back up the line of bound girls. None of whom are struck hard, small insistent taps, a half dozen each time to breasts or belly. Crotch. Butt. Enough to elicit a moan and a wriggle from the victim.
Sometimes she simply runs and trails the crops tip along the exposed flesh of a model, making them squirm.
And of course each time she spanks Pixie's butt it makes her wriggle, makes her ballgag rub harder against Plymouth. Who wriggles too. Which causes her bound wrists, her fingers, to stray and rub against Natalya's thong. Which makes her moan and wriggle too.
Eventually each girl, starting with Fayth and running down the line, is freed. But in such a way that they wind up with wrists metal cuffed in front, collared, leads attached to the wooden frame.
Each freed girl is led towards Fayth and tethered in place, making an expanding group.
Once all five are there, cuffed and collared, Ashe takes up all the leads, and off stage they go as the curtains swing closed.
Intermission.
The message floating into being on the screen as the house lights come up, as the low bass line heavy track that's been a constant though rarely noticed companion this whole time becomes slightly louder.
End of part one.