Plymouth rising (MF+/F+)

[tickletied84]

Wow, just wow. You have such a skill weaving in an accurate description of the coercion from domestic abuse, mixing it with the rescue of a damsel in distress.

There's such vivid description of the emotions and feelings between Brooke and Deborah despite their perilous situation. Looking forward to the next update!

[RopeBunny]

Thank you, all three, for those comments. It was an interesting chapter to write, due to the Clive Deborah Plymouth three way tug of war/ownership.

I'm glad it was well received.

Next part to follow below.

[RopeBunny]

047

We have to stop. I'm too tired, and the adrenaline high of escaping, facing off with Clive, is fading fast. I try, pushing for more speed on these largely deserted post midnight roads, but, the final third, within sight of home, I'm done. Easing the bike across the lanes, indicating for the slip road, I pull off at the ramp and into a motorway services.

"I just need a Red Bull."
"Are you okay?"
"Tired." Running a hand through my hair, breathing out. "We're close to home. One can ought to get the job done."

But the King has other plans for us.

Opening the door, and alongside the usual blast of heat from above, the smell walks up and slaps us both in the face. Hard. Grilled meat, fries done just right. Food heaven.

"Are you?"
"Starving." Deborah nods. Did she have dinner? I certainly didn't. "I might even need two."
"Indeed." Nodding agreement. "Fuck the energy drink, let's eat."

"You look like you're here to dig up the road." I grin, reaching across the table to finger my bright yellow hi-vis winter coat, which Deborah's wearing. Combined with her jeans and band tee, plus her boots and messy hair, she looks the part. "Well you." Stuffing a half dozen fries dipped in ketchup into her mouth, chewing loudly. "You look like some criminal from a biker gang."
"That." I grin, taking a massive bite of burger. "Is because I am in a biker gang."
"You?" Giving me a questioning look, am I teasing. I smile, but serious not playful. Nod. "Oh." Looking me up and down. "Right. Wow."

We order XL burgers, supersizing our fries, plus onion rings to share, earning bemused looks from the two young guys working behind the counter. We're both skinny, I could see them trying to figure out the math.

"We're both very hungry."
"Yes. Um. Miss."

"What are we going to do?"
"About what?"
"Well. Um." Poor Deborah, almost as many ongoing issues as me. I smile, steal another onion ring.

"Well. Firstly it's Sunday tomorrow, and I plan on sleeping in."
"Am I." Toying with her final half dozen fries. Nervous. "Am I coming back with you?"
"Of course." Realising that she's nervous. "I mean," reaching over, taking one of Deborah's hands in my own, "didn't I already say that?"
"I. Um." A shrug. "I don't remember."
"No. It was all kinda hectic." Squeezing her hand. "Yes though, Debs. You can sleep in with me."
"Oh." Eyes going wide, blushing, but a widening smile. "In your. Um. House?"
"In my bed." Pulling her towards me, placing her hand on my breast, smiling back. "Tonight, let's just cuddle, we'll worry about the world tomorrow. Okay?"
"Um." Gently, as though unsure she's allowed, Deborah gives my breast a squeeze. "Okay." Nodding. "B. Thank you."

Back on the road, refreshed, I race us home, where Deborah waits whilst I wheel the Triumph into the garage.

Inside, bolting the front door behind us, I take Deborah's hand and lead her upstairs. "Bathroom." Waving vaguely, forgetting she's been here several times, waiting for her to go first.

Emerging, I find Deborah already in bed, clothes folded neatly and placed in one corner. "Feel like I should go over there and kick those around a bit." I tut, gesturing. "That is far too neat for oh something in the morning."
"Well. I. Oh...." Voice drying up, watching as I strip all my layers off in three moves: coat, upper layers, bottoms including boots, which I step out of. My own clothes are now scattered to the three remaining corners, and I'm naked.

Climbing into bed I discover. "What's this, hmmm?" That Deborah isn't.

"Oh. Um." She's still in a bra and thong. "Well."
"I'm just fucking with you." Laying back, stretching my limbs out top and bottom, heedless of how the act pushes covers down off my F cups, I yawn. "Night then, Debs."
"Um." Laid on her own back, Deborah smiles. "Night. B."

Flicking off the bedside light, not wanting to pounce. Wanting to give Deborah space, or whatever, given she's just- not four hours and change ago -finally managed to make a clean break from stupid Clive. The last thing I want is for her to think she owes me for helping. So, I lay still, on my back, head resting on my arms.

Five minutes later I hear, then feel, Deborah shift, coming closer, bringing her still lingerie clad body against mine.

"Hey." Kissing her forehead, snaking an arm around to cup her lower back, holding her sideways laid body in contact with mine. "Okay?"
"Yes." Reaching out, slowly, running her own arm over my belly, just below the swell of my breasts, hugging me back. "Um."
"Get some sleep." I yawn again. "I'll have sex with you tomorrow or something."
"Huh?"
"You heard." Rolling my head to the side, my lips finding hers. We kiss, gently, slowly, like a promise. "Everything tomorrow Debs. Whatever you want."
"Okay. B." Running her hand up over my breasts, the contact tickling both nipples, making me shiver, Deborah strokes my hair. "Tomorrow."

Most of which is gone by the time we wake up.

"Going to pay for that at work." I mutter, shaking my head. I'll be too wired to sleep later, too well rested, which means my shift on Monday could become something of an uphill struggle.

"Hey." Deborah, yawning and stretching beside me. "What time is it?"
"Gone three."
"Oh."
"Yeah." Stretching too. "Guess we both needed that after yesterday."
"Um."
"What?" Looking over, because her tone had been worried. "Debs?"
"About yesterday. B."
"Don't." Holding up a hand. "No more apologies. No more talk about what went down, or why."
"But. I."
"Listen." Rolling onto my side, facing her. "It's fine. Done. In the past. I don't blame you for any of it. Okay?"

Which is, honestly, true. I don't know enough about the levels of control Clive was flexing, I can't pass judgement on whether Deborah should've been able to warn me properly. Or just not do as she'd been told. But. I saw her, in his bedroom whilst Clive and me were facing off.

That fear, plain on her face, of him. That can't be faked.

"Let's eat." I smile, jabbing Deborah in the belly, trying to lighten the mood. "Come on. We skipped breakfast, and it's halfway between lunch and dinner."
"Actually." Rolling onto her side, a small smile on her face, trying to play along. "We had burgers for breakfast."
"True."
"Hey." Deborah sits up, frowning. "Do we have time to get to the shops?"
"Shops?"
"You know." Waving a hand. "Tesco or whatever."
"Hmmm?" I do some quick maths. "If we're quick. Why?"
"I'm." Already out of bed, halfway into yesterday's jeans, Deborah nods. "Going to cook you dinner."

"Delicious."
"Yeah?"
"Definitely." Tapping my clean plate. "And, impressive. Where'd you learn to make that?"
"My Mum." Finishing the last bite of her half of the homemade bacon quiche, full of onions and cheese. "It's an old family recipe apparently."
"Smuggled out of deepest China before the war was it?"
"Huh?" Confused. "War?" And then, finally spotting my grin, Deborah tuts, dipping fingers in her glass, flicking water at me.

After dinner, with the dishes washed, left to soak, we settle down on the sofa, not quite cuddled but not too far apart. Hopping around the channels I find some old black and white called Harvey, which Deborah's never seen.

"You'll love it." I assure her. "For an old movie it's really quite funny."
"Well." Looking dubious, prehaps at the lack of colour. "Okay." She shrugs, we settle down.

"B?"
"Debs." The credits are rolling, I flick across to a music channel. "Yes?"
"Can we...."
"Can we...." Turning to face her across the sofa, twirling a hand. "What?"
"Can we." Taking a breath, giving me a quick smile. "I'd like to play. If you want?"
"You mean like chess?"
"No."
"Monopoly?" Both of us smiling. "I've got an old set upstairs somewhere."
"Not Monopoly." Shaking her head. "Not unless we make the go to jail card mean something."
"Hmmm." Nodding. "You know. Actually. I'd be up for that."
"But." Laughing. "I was kinda joking."
"Yeah, but." I shrug. "Doesnt bondage Monopoly sound fun?"

In truth we, having unpacked the board, realising how complex a game it is, decide to massively simplify matters. Taking all the green houses I give Deborah the red hotels. Then, taking it in turns we pick properties on the board, placing a house or hotel down to prove ownership.

"So." The whole board, aside from the utilities and stations, is now an alternating sea of red and green. "Here's the plan. The. Um. Rules, of bondage Monopoly."
"We're both broke." Deborah, handing over a £1 note, not even enough to pay for a night at Old Kent Road. "Because. Um?"
"Because we made some bad decisions on the stock markets." I decide. We both giggle.

"We take it in turns to roll and move, and."
"Whoever lands on someone else's land first." Deborah, nodding. "Gets tied up. Right?"
"Yes." I nod too, grinning at the random craziness we've invented. All of this just so one of us winds up tied up.

"But?"
"But?" About to roll. "What?"
"How does the loser get tied up?"
"Oh." I think. "Got it. Hold on."

"There." Smiling, proud of myself. Each of the property colours now has a slip of paper next to it, with a type of tie up- hogtie, bed tie, tied with belts -written on it. Deborah and me mostly just shouted out ideas for that, arguing with good humour over the choices and where each should go.

Ready, grinning, we begin.

And within five minutes, though I'm surprised it took that long, Deborah's giggling and I'm pretty happy as she lands on Oxford Street, which is mine. Which means I- finally -get to tie her up.

"Can I keep them on?"
"Sure." A not fussed shrug. Does she really think her clothes are staying on after I've bound her in rope? "Not like I can just remove your clothes is it?"
"Well." Eying me, my too wide smile is making her nervous, but she doesn't know why. "No." Shaking her head.

I decide to tie her up in the lounge, so we can keep the music as background.

"If you want out." Talking over Deborah's shoulder, holding her hands, which are clasped together behind her, with one of mine. "Just blink a bunch of times, or. Um. Hum a tune."
"Hum a tune?" Turning her head, giving me an amused look. "Really?"
"Really." I nod. "Just remember Debs, this isn't for real. It's just fun. So, if you want out I promise hand on heart to let you out."
"Okay." Turning back to face front. "Thanks."

"So." Laying down on my back next to Deborah. "Do you want out yet?"
"Mmgmmfff mmmm." Shaking her head, wriggling, flexing her fingers where they sit pinned by my ropework behind her back.

Oxford Street meant a hogtie. I decided to go easy on her: no chest ropes, no elbow tie, just three ropes.

Three tight ropes mind. Easy doesn't have to mean loose.

Deborah's wrists and ankles are crossed. I usually bind limbs pressed together, but fancied a change, mixing it up for no other reason then why not. The connecting rope isn't as strict as I could make it. As I just said, it's tight, but her limbs aren't touching.

A scarf gag- going easy on her, more comfy then a ball -finishes everything off.

A really cheeky, evil, thought, flashes through my mind: I could abandon Deborah, hogtied and gagged, on my lounge floor. I could turn the tables.

But I don't. Because she looks far too cute right now, and I'm too horny to not play.

[RopeBunny]

048.

"Come here."

Not a command, not an order. I smile, patting the comfortable area- I've laid several blankets down on the floor -beside me.

Deborah comes. Already laid on her belly, she struggles across the couple of metres gap, crawling, looking something like a caterpillar, grunting all the way. I reach out as she closes in, pulling, helping her at the end, bringing her body close enough to easily touch and feel up.

She's laid on her side now, as am I. Pressing myself into her, reaching around and up inside Deborah's tee, I begin running a hand up and down her spine. Slowly. Gently. All the way up to her neck, all the way down to the top of her butt crack.

I like hearing her moan, watching her squirm, knowing I'm- my slow teasing -is the cause.

Pulling her gag down, leaving it tied, but now hanging around her neck, we start kissing. Wet and slow, plenty of tongue on both sides. As we kiss, as I sense and see Deborah beginning to lose herself in the moment, I run the hand on her back down and around, use it to unfasten her jeans, pulling the front open, slipping my hand inside.

I feel her stiffen, briefly, as my finger slides inside. But then Deborah relaxes, her kisses continuing. After a few minutes she begins pushing back, matching- after a few false starts -her own thrusts with mine.

With a final kiss I pull away, lips and hand. "Wha...?" Deborah, opening her eyes, trying to focus on me. I smile, and place the scarf back in her mouth, making it tight, before returning my hand to her pussy.

But not before pulling her tee and bra up over her head, leaving both puddled down behind her atop her bound wrists.

Now, unable to properly kiss her lips, I transfer my mouth to Deborah's chest, alternating between nipples, licking, nipping gently with my teeth. All whilst I work her pussy over, adding my thumb to the mix, rubbing at her clit, smiling around the erect nipple between my teeth as I hear her breathing begin to quicken.

She's going to cum.

I pick up speed.

There's no orgasm for me this time, but I don't mind. Once she's safely over the edge, panting, her whole body seeming to shiver with the dumped high, I pull her into a close hug, removing my fingers, instead stroking Deborah's hair.

I thought she might offer, insist, on tying me up afterwards. I thought she might want to remain bound on my floor awhile longer.

I'd want to remain bound on my floor awhile longer.

But. No.

The next day, Monday, I've got work. We still haven't had a chance to really discuss what Deborah wants to do. So, on my way in I resolve to have that talk over dinner later. I'm not about to kick her out, or to propose marriage on the other end of the scale. I am, quite willing, to let Deborah call the pace and shots on her future. Id just like to know what that future consists of.

Every Monday morning, first thing, we have a staff meeting. A chance for Andy to point out any ongoing or freshly appeared wider council issues to us. His staff.

We're ten minutes in when everything kicks off. When my phone rings.

"It'll have to wait Brooke."
"It." Looking, seeing Deborah's number. "It can't boss." Hitting the green phone icon on screen, sliding it across to accept the incoming call. "What's up?" I say, conscious of everyone's eyes, and ears, on me. Aware of Andy's annoyed frown at my disobedience.

"Brooke." Panicking, breathing fast. Not at all the friendly semi flirt smiled greeting I was expecting.

"Debs." I'm standing up instantly. "What's happening?"
"He's here." Whispered. "Outside."

My blood turns cold. I don't need to ask who 'he' is. The skinny little fuck- feeling my lips press together as anger rises inside me like a flood -couldn't listen to reason. Had to come try to get his assumed possession. Maybe even- crazy idiot -both of them, back.

"Brooke." Andy, taking a step towards me. "Sit down please, We're in the middle of a meeting."
"I'm coming." Shrugging my leather jacket on, swapping the phone to my other hand. "Do not open the door."
"Brooke." Andy again. Was that a note of anger in his tone? Guess he hates being ignored.

Too bad.

"Andy." Tapping away at my phone. Send. I look up. Shake my head. "I need to leave. Now."
"But." He actually huffs. Like a child. "Whatever it is." Pointing at my chair. "Will have to wait."
"Boss." Les, the old man of the team, offers me a small smile, gestures. "If it's an emergency." He shrugs. Mutters, to general nods from the other Mark's. "It is only Monday meeting."
"No." Andy, actually literally putting his foot down, doing a small stamp even as I flash Les a quick smile of thanks. "Sit down Brooke. Ten minutes." Holding up five fingers. "Then you may leave."

"No. Boss." Turning, walking to the door. "I have to go. It's...." How do I explain Clive, the mixture of anger pushing me to ride at and straight over him even whilst fear at his close proximity, to my house, is filling my belly up with icicles.

"Brooke." I'm at the door now. I turn, seeing Andy stood in place, not happy. Whilst around him the team looks, frankly, bewildered, at his sudden attempt at dictator status.

Oh. Of course. He thinks he's in charge. Of me. Because of the gag, because at some point- in his head anyway, I'm still not sure what I'll do when he does click those fingers -he gets to have me, Plymouth, all to himself.

"Ahhhh." Waving him off. Shaking my head. Enough. "Just. Add it to my tab Andy."

I can see by his face that he gets it.

There's a WhatsApp group for Three Kings members, a place to organise meets, or to tease. A place to talk bikes, or life. A place where friends hang out. 'Trouble.' I'd written, even whilst Andy had been frowning, being petty. 'My house.' Adding the address. 'Back up needed, I'm riding from city centre, now, eastbound. Please. Help.'

I'm halfway home, pushing ninety on the dual carriageway, when with a howl a thousand cc's of Honda sports bike, some kind of red and blue livery painted over the white, appears on the inside lane, pulling ahead just enough for me to see the Kings patch on the riders leather jacket, before he eases off, falling in behind me.

Five minutes later, taking a roundabout at speed, I spy a midnight black Kawasaki tourer waiting to pull out, the girl rider- wearing a purple puffer jacket and black leather trousers -rasies a hand as I pass. Moments later in my rearview I see her pull out, slotting in behind the Honda.

Two roads away, riding slower, on the left ahead outside a drive thru Starbucks two fifty something grey haired guys are stood, flanked by a pair of Ducati sports bikes an easy equal to the Honda behind. As I pass they pitch plastic cups into the bin, one of them tipping me a salute. I raise a hand briefly off the handlebar, seeing them mount up in my rear view, slotting into line.

We must make for quite the sight, five bikes, in convoy, all tearing up the short road leading to my house before coming to a messy line abreast stop level with my front lawn.

It does my own fear the world of good to see Clive's mouth drop open as he turns from my front door, one fist still raised where he was likely pounding. Demanding entry.

And, is that rope? In his other hand.

Fucks sake.

Kicking out my stand, climbing off, I unbuckle my helmet and stalk forwards, aware of my backup dismounting, remaining in place ready to back and assist whatever play I'm about to make.

And I know, because we're family, that whatever happens here they're on team Brooke. No questions asked. I know this because, were it me reading the message I sent, then, time and distance willing, it would be me stood with my fellow Kings now, ready to lend a hand.

"You." Pointing, tossing my helmet onto the grass. "Fucking." Shouting. I'm not sure when, if ever, I've been this angry. "I should beat the shit out of you now for what you did. To me." Stopping in front of him, hands clenching, unclenching. Adrenaline flowing. I jab a finger over Clive's shoulder, towards my house. "To her."

Clive just stares, mouth working but no sound emerging.

"I warned you." Stepping in, pushing him, which feels good. "I told you. Fucking." Another push. "I told you we were done. I told you to...."

At which point, stepping in for another push, Clive pushes me first, showing more strength then I'd credit someone with so few muscles.

Had I not been stood on grass, I could've kept my balance. But it rained last night, and I'm too distracted to think about such trivial things as planting my feet to aid stability.

I fall over, backwards, landing on my jeans clad butt, hearing- wanker -Clive actually laugh as the wind is whooshed out of my lungs by the ground.

Shaking my head, blinking, I find Clive closer, having stepped into his push. He looks down at me, no doubt- he is grinning like an idiot -enjoying my being at his feet. He opens his mouth.

And.

One of the sportsbike guys, appearing from behind me, steps forwards, punching Clive square in the jaw.

"Wait." Holding up both hands, because the purple coated girl is right there, behind the guy, ready it appears to boot a now downed Clive in the gut. "Stop."

Getting my legs under me I kneel, then manage to stand, except I stay hunkered down, knees bent, resting on my toes. Eye to eye with Clive. At his house I'd told him, come after Deborah, or me, and I'll burn you down. Words, but, with my backup I really could. Clive could be a mangled heap, I'd only have to start the ball rolling, give the order, make that first move.

But I won't.

"Listen," trying, mostly managing, to be calm, "fucker." Clive glares at me, passed me. I can sense the four bikers at my back, poised, waiting. I shake my head. "This time fucking listen." I stand up, Clive stands too.

At least he isn't holding that stupid rope anymore. Must've dropped it. I mean, seriously, in what screwed up world did he expect to just turn up and, what? Tie us both up, like the good obedient little girls he clearly believes us to be. He really thought he could just lead us bound- and gagged no doubt -back to his flat.

I mean.

Fucks sake.

"Deborah chose to leave. Do you hear me? She chose, because people can choose, because she isn't your fucking slave forever. Got it?"

Mumbles, a brief glance, eye contact, then back to the floor.

"Go." I wave a hand at him, dismissive. "Go home Clive. And this time listen to me." I spread my arms out wide- look at the friends I have -and smile. "No more. Understand? You don't get to come anywhere near me, or Deborah, anymore."

Clive mumbles again. Possibly nods? I shrug. "I see you. Fucks sake." Huffing out a breath, should I really have to be making threats? "Just." I turn my back on him. "Just fuck off. Okay."

But, suddenly, I feel the anger rising inside me like a brewing storm. Just like that I'm mad, all over again. Angry beyond words at this man, this arrogant skinny fuck, at his assumed ownership of not just Deborah. But now me too.

Turning back, facing him. "Fucking." Screaming now, stalking forwards, getting in his face. "Why did you have to come back. I was happy." All my anger, all my hate, pouring out of me, draining me. And still I'm screaming, heedless of who hears. "I was happy to forget you. I." Crying now, still screaming, but my world has turned blurry. "I buried you."

Lashing out, half blind, I feel more then see my open hand connecting with Clives face.

"Why couldn't you stay gone." Crumpling, falling in on myself, like a rag doll heap, collapsing down to sit on the floor like a spent force. Whispering, all the fight has left me. "Just. Fucking. Please. Just leave me alone."

And. He does. Wiping my eyes, flanked by the girl on one side, her hand protective on my shoulder, surrounded in a horseshoe by the guys, I watch Clive walk to his car- some battered old Ford I hadn't even realised was on my driveway -back out onto the road.

Leave.

"No, of course I don't mind." Trying on a smile I don't really feel. I'm way too strung out for emotions just now. Shaking my head. "It's okay, really."

Of course Deborah's leaving. It's what she does.

Her parents will be here within a half hour. She'd rang them this morning, moments before Clive showed up, asking to come home, to stay for a month or six, to sort herself out.

Of course they'd said yes.

There's a disc on my table, the raw code for Jesters Revenge, in need of finishing, but not by Deborah. I mean, she's said she'll be in touch, hugging me, a quick peck on the lips to seal the promise, but, I'm not expecting it.

I'm not bitter, not mad, at her. In truth Clive, hopefully gone for good this time, would've always sat between us. I'm not sure anything could ever of grown given our shared past.

Deborah needs a fresh start.

Maybe I do too?

[Caesar73]

Pretty intense, the Confrontation between Clive and Plymouth - and it was good to see how she stood up to him Well done [mention]RopeBunny[/mention] !

[TightsBound]

Oh wow these last few chapters have been really intense and exciting! I figuratively couldn’t put my book down!

[GreyLord]

Indeed, powerful and intense. But as exciting as your recent chapters have been, I am looking forward to whatever the 'fresh start' may bring.

[RopeBunny]

Pretty intense

intense and exciting! I figuratively couldn’t put my book down!

It's always nice when what I'm trying to write, the emotion, comes across. This, the Clive-Plymouth play out, was written to be intense and highly charged.

I am looking forward to whatever the 'fresh start' may bring.

When I came back to Plymouth it was only with the vague plan for Clive's return. But you'll all be (I hope) pleased to know I do have plans regarding this 'fresh start' and am writing now.

Again, thank you all, for reading what I write.

[Bandit666]

Well it’s taken me a while to catch up on events. Due mainly to. Like other authors I follow intently the shear number of regular posts that a added. But it’s great to see both yourself and Plymouth return to the site. It is as [mention]TightsBound[/mention] stated like reading a good book. All be it figuratively.

Yet while it’s a shame to see Deb leave I also can’t wait for the ‘fresh start’ you’ve promised. Keep up the great work and hugely appreciated effort [mention]RopeBunny[/mention] .

[tickletied84]

Intense, emotionally charged, wonderful bonds of friendship, and defeat of the evil Clive.

Just fantastic - and looking forward to the reset for Brooke - here's hoping for happier (yet still bondage filled!) days

[RopeBunny]

it’s great to see both yourself and Plymouth return to the site.

Yes, I was indeed gone for awhile. Needed a break, time away to get certain things right in my life and in my head.

I missed it here though, missed writing.

Thanks for commenting. It's good to be back

defeat of the evil Clive.

Plymouth wins out in the end. And that's definitely (spoiler alert but not really) the last we'll see of Clive.

Onwards now. To....

Well. I'll be posting the answer soon

[RopeBunny]

049.

Has a room you've walked into ever gone quiet, like old Western movie bar scene quiet? You walk in, and all the talking just.

Stops.

Crossing the large office I can sense, can see, all the Mark's staring. Noting my new very much non council regulation hair: shaved completely on the left side, dyed blue streaked through with white everywhere else, brushed so it cascades down my right side and back. I've got some new piercings too, a pair of silver snakebite rings on my lower lip, right now set in a thin, determined, line. My eyes too are focused, staring up into Andy's office, seeing him register my presence, do a double take at my changed appearance, at my all black ensemble of jeans, jacket, and low cut vest top.

I have a new tattoo too, high up on my inner right thigh, right where a sharpie drawn box once sat: a silhouetted bird, some kind of hawk, all in black, wings spread wide. Because the bird is free, and so am I.

I don't bother knocking.

"Brooke?"
"Boss." Stopping before his desk, not sitting, I nod. Hold out the single sheet of paper I hand wrote- with Mum and Roman's help -last night. "Here."
"And this is?"
"I'm leaving." Looking around, shrugging. "It's my notice."

"Leaving?"
"Yes."
"But." Glancing at the paper, putting it down unread. "Why?"

How about: living a normal life, when all I want to be is Plymouth, feels like a slow death?

How about: I can't stand to be in my house anymore. I know he never- thank fuck -made it inside. But that house has the stink of Clive all over it. I'm afraid if I stay there I'll burn it down, or wake- again -at two in the morning, convinced he's outside. Waiting. For me.

How about.

"I need a fresh start."
"But."
"No." Shaking my head, tossing my phone, my works keys, onto the desk. "Here. I'm out, boss. Done."

I almost make it too, one hand on his office door and everything.

"But." Damn it. I huff, close my eyes, turn. We're really going to have to do this.

"But?"
"Well." He's standing, still behind his desk though. Andy waves his arms, some kind of point making gesture. "We had...."
"Seriously?" Half shouted. Calm it down Brooke. After everything I've just been through it's hard though, hard to be polite and quiet when my now ex boss is- still -attempting to push me into a private bondage show.

Blackmail, that was the word.

"No. Andy." Voice calm, but I'm scowling at him. The cheek. "No tie up the coworker day for you."
"But." Licking his lips. "We had...."
"We really didn't." Shaking my head. "Fucks sake boss. You don't get to have me. Especially not like that."
"Brooke."
"No." I can hear that reasonable 'let's be friends' negotiating tone. I pull open the door. "Goodbye. Boss." I nod, try on at least a half smile. Better then leaving on a bad note. "Be well."

Lucky for me the house was new, barely lived in, and because I agreed to throw in the furniture the developers bought it back off me for cost, so my loses were minimal. My bank account once again quite full.

Why should I try to be normal? Plymouth is who I am, who I want to be. It's time to embrace that.

"Hank." The voice, the American accent thick, the name is barked down the phone line. "This better not be another gods damned cancellation."
"Not this call."
"A Brit?" Pause. "Well, British girl, what can this old Yank do for you today?"
"Actually, Hank." Feeling the smile creep onto my face. "It's more a case of what I can do for you."
"Who is this?" Curious.

So I tell him, told him, three days ago. The back end of the week I took off work to recover from Clive. A week where I sat: at home, trying, failing, not to think about how close Clive actually came to winning, to having me. With Sky cranked too loud, with my foam katana- from Fantasy Land -a strangely reassuring presence beside me, I spent hours staring at my flatscreen, not watching a single thing.

Or: on my bike, when I could no longer stand being indoors. I'd ride, anywhere, nowhere, always eventually winding up someplace with a view. A view, like the endless shows on my flatscreen, that I'd ignore, staring instead into the middle distance, trying to figure out. What now?

Boundcon.

Lucky for me those other girls cancelled. Hank, desperately attempting to plug the holes with a week to go, couldn't believe his luck when a genuine British bondage porn star called up asking if, maybe, he was still a model short?

"You want any more Plymouth?"
"More?"
"You know." A pause, I can picture Hank, who I'm giving- in my head -a bulky muscled frame, like a retired builder, twirling his finger. "You want me to let any of the studio's know you'll be in town."
"Hank." Yes yes yes. I, somehow, resist the urge to do a little dance. Somehow manage to keep my tone normal. "That would be great, please."
"What's the email kid?"
"Plymouth, at jesters revenge, dot com."
"Jesters," writing, I can hear the pen scratching, "revenge?"
"It's my website."
"Yeah?" Not disbelief, more an impressed kind of question. "S' a good name."
"Thanks."

Flooded. My inbox lights up, ping ping ping. It's good to be in demand, makes me warm and happy to find my services- as a British bondage porn star -so valued by the American pay sites. I say yes to Fayth, an actual legend, and Roped Damsels, setting up phonecalls to finalise the details and my fee. The others: I don't turn anything down, I agree to further discussions, once I'm actually across the pond on US soil.

"Stay safe Brooke."
"I will Mum." Returning her hug as, over the airport tannoy my flight is announced. At such short notice I've had to pay a premium, but with the deal Hank and me thrashed out on the phone- the signed contract for which I've got in my suitcase -plus those extras, the trip will more then pay for itself.

Quite aside from the fact that, with a name like Boundcon, how could it not be wall to wall fun.

"Brooke." Roman steps in next, his big arms wrapping me, briefly, tight. "Here." Stepping back, handing over a small parcel. "Open it in the hotel." Pulling my Mum into a hug, both of them grinning at me. "Just a small something, from us both."
"Thanks." Smiling, stowing the gift in my large wheeled case. "I'll call you when I land."

The convention, because con is short for convention, runs every year. Always in the United States, always taking over the same large hotel complex and adjoining exhibition hall on the East coast. It's a Friday to Sunday event, focusing solely on bondage in it's many forms, strictly for adults only.

Thanks to those cancellations, and my willingness to get stuck in and be a busy little bee, I have a rather packed schedule: various interesting activities on the main stage, plus other assorted jobs, people to help. General bondage stuff. On at least one of the evenings, after hours, I've agreed to take part in a shoot for one of the many US based bondage pay sites who'll be attending.

Like I said. Wall to wall fun.

"Drop me here please."
"You sure Miss?" The driver points. "This is just the exhibition hall. Hotel's next door."
"Here is fine." Leaning forwards to pat him on the shoulder. Here, because I've just seen a familiar face, and it'd be rude not to say hi. "Thanks."

"Gentlemen." Having walked up behind the pair of thirty somethings waiting beside the exhibition halls side road, which allows access to the loading bay and rear staff entrances, I tap the shorter one on the shoulder. "Nice to see some fellow Brits here."

"Plymouth?" Having spun around, stared, both are now smiling at me as I smile back. "Well well." Nudging his companion, who I recall can't- for some reason I shan't pry into -talk. "Look Phil. Plymouth."
"Good morning."
"We didn't know you were here Miss, did we Phil."

Phil shakes his head, holding up a sheet of paper, a posh looking flyer, for me to see.

"No mention of you here Miss."
"I'm a last minute addition. She," stepping forwards, tapping a name on the flyer, "and. Um. Those two. Had to drop out."
"Oh dear." An almost comical, I manage not to laugh, double shaking of the head, in perfect synch. "That's a shame, isn't it Phil? Still." Giving me a smile as Phil nods. "It's good to see you again Miss."
"It's good to be seen." Nodding back, meaning it.

Like last time, the first time I saw them, at a porn convention in Scotland, I pose for photos. Glad I made the effort clothes wise- a figure hugging low cut short red dress, army boots and a black unzipped hoodie -despite having spent the day doing nothing more exciting then flying. We exchange some more small talk, they're staying in the same hotel which, it seems, the whole building has been block booked for the convention, which makes sense.

With a wave, a blown kiss, a smile, I leave them to it.

The convention, in Scotland, that's the first time I met Lili.

"Enough." Reminding myself, pushing through the large revolving doors into the hotel lobby. "I love you Lil. And." Nodding, to myself. "You would've loved it here. But." Breathing out. "It's time."

Time to move on. No more Lili. No more Clive. No more Deborah and no more Andy.

Just me. Just Plymouth.

[GreyLord]

You have Plymouth off and running, [mention]RopeBunny[/mention]. Although I will have to admit that I was looking forward to a scene with Plymouth and Andy, I feel very sure that you will provide more than adequate compensation.

[RopeBunny]

a scene with Plymouth and Andy

I did have plans for such. When I wrote the ballgag chapter, when Andy insists on having a private tie up, it was going to happen.

But, my stories tend to change as I write them sometimes. An idea gets warped. Such was the case here. Andy became a not nice person, and with that I didn't want to write a Plymouth Andy chapter with him being mean. Not after the Clive business.

So. Anyway. Fun things happening below

[RopeBunny]

050.

The top five floors of the hotel, a towering giant of a building compared to anything I've stayed in back home, are exclusively for those attending the convention in a professional capacity. The Left hand bank- as you stand in the lobby looking at reception -of elevators have had their floor twenty through twenty-five access electronically revoked accordingly. Whilst the right hand bank can only be used by those who possess certain key cards, and then only- electronics again -to access those top five floors.

There's permanent security posted in each stairwell too, I'm informed at check in. A twenty four hour manned station on floor nineteen, ensuring nobody can slip through the net.

Plus, just to be absolutely certain we can't mix. Ever. Of the three hotel restaurants, one is exclusively for our- my -use. And, yes, good guess, access to the restaurants is via our key cards.

"Just," smiling, handing over the small plastic rectangle, black all over, a coded strip on one side, a small red star on the other, "don't lose this."
"Right." Indeed.

The most impressive thing about my room is the view. "Wow." Not afraid of heights, but, I'm not often, not ever, up this high. "A. Mazing." Staring down, out, at the city stretching away in all directions. A sea of glass and concrete, scattered green spaces, all crisscrossed by straight roads covered in tiny little cars.

The room is as expected. A king sized bed. Very comfy, passes the bounce test. En suite complete with good sized bath, the bath has a raised shower head at one end, plus fold away clear plastic screen. I've got an armchair positioned to enjoy the view, a desk complete with a kettle sat ontop, and underslung fridge below. The wardrobe is doorless, shelves next to a metal rail, more then enough space.

I unpack, having turned on the wall mounted flatscreen first. A simple thing which turns into a twenty minute event, because I forgot I was in America, and therefore all the channels are different. But, eventually locating some music, I unpack, filling the wardrobe, hanging what needs hanging, placing makeup and toiletries in the bathroom.

Mum and Roman's gift turns out to be two bars of Cadbury chocolate, a little taste of home. The bars are wrapped in an oversized blue tee, the front of which is covered completely by a stretched print of the Union Jack flag. Perfect for lounging around in the evenings, for wearing as I wind down before bed.

Which I should go to now, because I need to be well rested for tomorrow.

But, I'm too wired. I need.

I know what I need.

"Plymouth?" I smile, giving a nod that won't travel down the phoneline. "How are you?"
"Good. Um. I'm here, in the hotel."
"Yeah? Welcome to America then."
"Thanks."
"So, what's up?" A pause, Thomas takes, I hear him take, a quick drink. "Are you calling to discuss my video offer?"
"Kinda." Smiling. "I was, actually. Um. If you're free now?"
"Yeah?" Laughing. "Need a little fun do you?"

Which makes me laugh. I've seen- previewed -a couple of Thomas's videos, on his Bound World pay site, nothing little going on there.

"Are you free?"
"Sure." A pause. "Give me, what? A half hour to call my crew, have them set up. Grab a shower."
"Okay." I should shower too. "Um. Anything I should wear?"
"Jeans?" More thinking. "Something that shows off those F's. Please."
"You got it." I smile.

Thomas's room is bigger then mine. Not by much: his bath is large enough for two to sit side by side, and he has a sofa not an armchair. I'm fairly certain his flatscreen is a half dozen inches wider too.

"Thomas?"
"Almost." A flashed smile, an offered hand. "Ed, Thomas's brother."
"Oh. Is Thomas...?"
"He is." Having shook hands, Ed steps back. "Come in. Just, watch the cables Plymouth."
"Right."

The room is very busy. Lights on tripods look down on the bed and sofa, beside each a camera has been set up, these are on tripods too, but at head not ceiling height. Cables snake everywhere, running to plug sockets, running to either of the two laptops set up on the rooms desk. There are two guys here, and a girl.

"Plymouth." Thomas, looking like a more muscled version of his brother, steps across the room. Both the brothers are tall, topping six foot. Black hair which Ed has tied into a loose tail is worn spiked and messy on Thomas, though both brothers sport trimmed beards. Both have tanned skin, and though Thomas clearly works out more, Ed still looks like a rugby player. "You look great." Nodding, shaking my hand too. "You've met my brother?"
"I have."
"This." Gesturing to the lady, young, curvy but with a small bust. Her blonde hair is tied back. "This is Stacey, Eds better half."
"Hi."
"Good to see you Plymouth." Giving me a hug. "You look stunning."
"Thanks."

Ed and Stacey are both in shorts and loose tee's, because they're staying behind the camera. Thomas is only wearing a red bathrobe, because he'll be naked pretty soon, for the shoot. As requested I've put on faded blue jeans that hug my legs, and a grey vest top that does indeed show off my F's. Underneath is a matching white bra and thong set.

"Happy?"
"Happy." I nod, scribbling my details on the contracts, handing one over. Eds already shown me proof that my fee has been transferred, no need for cash, especially not when I'd need to take it home on the plane. I'm fairly sure there are rules, laws, about that too? "We're starting on the sofa?"
"Please." Thomas nods, passing his copy of the paperwork to Stacey, all three of them moving out of shot as I sit myself down on the sofa, smiling.

"And." Thomas, holding up a hand, drops it. "We are rolling."

"Today," speaking into a headphone mic, Thomas nods at me from his spot out of shot, "all the way from England, we welcome Plymouth. Good morning."
"Morning." Smile. Wave. The sofa is a two seater, orange fabric. I'm sat just off centre, right foot up on my left knee. It's actually evening, but with the curtains closed, with the powerful spots beaming down on me, who can tell.

"So, Plymouth. You like getting tied up?"
"It's the best."
"The best?"
"Well." Shrug. "I like going out, riding my Triumph, but." Smile. Nod. "Being bound and gagged is better."
"So you're a biker girl?"
"I've got the jacket back home to prove it." Actually, my Three Kings jacket- another taste of home, something I didn't want to be without -is in my room. But this back and forth doesn't need long explanations.

"Ever been to the US before Plymouth?"
"Only once." Holding up a finger. "To Vegas."
"Ah yes." Thomas winks, his voice becoming more playful. "Plymouth here won best newcomer at last years adult industry Oscars. Right?"
"Damn straight."
"Which means," teasing, "you must be pretty good at getting tied up?"

"Well." I can spot a cue, it's time to tease back, time to bring on the ropes.

Putting both feet on the floor, legs spread wide, leaning forwards to rest elbows on knees. A pose guaranteed to let the camera see right down my top, my F cups positively hanging off me, dangling. Looking at the camera, I wink.

"I like to think, when it comes to getting tightly trussed up, I can put on a good show."
"A good show huh?"
"A great show." All the teasing, all the flirting. I grin.

"Shall we find out?"
"Definitely." Standing, beckoning to the camera, to Thomas, with one finger. "Come here then." Standing up on tip toes, arms out wide, my whole body briefly stretched to its limits. "Come show me what you've got."

Tossing several bundles of rope onto the sofa, Thomas keeps hold of the gag, standing behind me to buckle it in place. It's a spider gag: silver metal ring forcing my jaws apart, with those four spider leg looking metal spikes sticking off the ring at the diagonals. The strap is black leather, buckled like a belt.

"Okay?" Patting my jeans clad butt. "Plymouth?"
"Mmgggffppp."
"What?" Another pat, sounding amused. "I didn't quite catch that."
"Ffffggggg mmmmmfppmmmm." Shaking my head. Honestly.

Thomas binds my wrists, side by side. The rope is coarse, twisted strands of brown. It feels lovely and rough against my skin, making me tingle in anticipation of my slowly- it'll come give it time -arriving helplessness. The skin around my wrists, and elbows as Thomas binds them next, pinches when the knots are yanked tight, causing me to moan. Each pinch is like a small explosion of happiness deep down in my crotch.

The final length of rope, no doubt there are more elsewhere but Thomas only bought three to the sofa, is used to bind my breasts. Already thrust forwards, pushed out like the best kind of welcome gift, the chest tie squeezes my F cups top and bottom, further pinning my arms in place too.

With my upper body suitably immobilised Thomas walks slowly around me, from behind to in front, where, without a word, he proceeds to take advantage of my semi helpless state.

All part of the script of course.

My F cups are groped, manhandled. My vest top and bra straps are pulled down off my shoulders, pulled down more, my clothing tugged and worked over in order to expose my breasts, after which each of my nipples are flicked, gently slapped.

Taking a breast in each hand Thomas bends down, just his head, bringing each in turn to his mouth, licking my nipples, sucking. Making me moan, adding to the thin line of drool that's been leaking from my forced wide mouth ever since Thomas began playing with me.

My jeans are unbuttoned, yanked- along with my thong -down off my legs. Thomas holds my waist, steadying me as I step out of each leg in turn, naked now from the waist down. A fact he takes full advantage of. Pushing two fingers into my open mouth. In. Out. Using my saliva to lube them up before sliding both fingers up inside my pussy.

Which is already wet, waiting, willing, tingling with pleasure because of all the tight ropes wrapping me, squeezing me.

Thomas finger fucks me, his other hand and mouth working my breasts, up and over an orgasm. Making me pant, making my body jerk and bounce as the rush of pleasure momentarily robs me of bodily control.

"You okay Plymouth?"
"Mmggpp fffmmmm." I nod, still tied, still gagged. Very happy.

"Good." Thomas wipes the drool from my mouth and chest. "Up onto the bed then, do you need help?"
"Ggffmmmm." Shaking my head no, getting one knee onto the bed, then basically collapsing forwards, rolling, winding up in the centre, on my back. Where Thomas needs me.

It's going to be like a jump cut, like a well edited fade out fade in, Thomas told me when we discussed the shoot.

Part one: we talk, I get tied, stripped, played with until I cum. All good. Part two: more fun.

Climbing up onto the bed with me, Thomas binds each of my legs into a frogtie. Bent at the knee so my heel is up against my butt, rope is wrapped around my upper and lower leg, pinning them together. Kinda making my legs look like a frogs legs.

Frogs legs. Frogtie.

"Going live again Plymouth. Ready?"
"Mmgmm gmmmgm." Nodding, laid on my back, in the centre of the bed, bound legs resting wide open either side of me on the soft mattress. My pose is giving the camera a wonderful view not only of my ceiling pointed breasts, but of my shaved pussy too.

And....

Why is it that, in all the shoots I've done, it's taken this long to be fucked whilst bound? Yes, there was Roman, in Scotland, but that wasn't anything like this.

Amazing. Incredible. Mind blowing. Fantastic. Need I go on?

What's better then sex? Sex whilst tied up.

Ha.

I have, of course, had bound sex a bunch of times, with Lili. Either our fingers, our tongues, or on occasion an actual dildo or strap on have all been used. By me. By her. So I'm no stranger to being teased and toyed whilst helpless.

However. I hadn't realised that bound sex with a real live cock, and an impressively thick cock at that, would be that much.

Better.

Having left me alone for a minute or two, time I spend quietly moaning, shifting my body around on the bed. Time Stacey- now mobile with the sofa camera -spends capturing some good close up angles of me. Having recieved the nod from her, that she's done, for now, a naked Thomas walks into shot- the second bed facing camera remember -and climbs up beside me, a smile on his face.

He isn't rough. No rougher then needed anyway given I'm far too helpless to help with the fucking. Mostly, all I do is lay there, letting Thomas use me however he desires.

Enjoying every moment of course. As, I hope, does he.

Teasing me, rubbing his erect cock on my gagged lips whilst reaching down, grabbing a handful of breast. I flick my tongue out, licking his shaft, arching my back and moaning, eyes closed in pleasure as my nipple is pinched between thumb and finger. Pinched then rolled.

Taking hold of my hair, Thomas guides my head onto his shaft, my mouth already wide open. Gently but firmly, slowly, he thrusts inside, down my throat. And holds, his full length buried, I can feel his cock pulsing and twitching, filling up my mouth.

And out. And in. With that firm grip on my hair Thomas is able to pull me onto his cock even whilst he pushes. And in. And out. Making me moan louder, breathe faster, my pleasure at being used in such a fashion, the tingles, build, grow. Spike with each casual slap of my nipple.

Thomas gets faster. Then faster still. I'm, vaguely, aware of Stacey circling, but my whole world at this moment is Thomas's cock, pounding in and out of my mouth.

And then he stops, pulls out and back, let's go of my hair.

And, I'm an absolute mess. Sweaty, panting, confused. I'd climbed so high, was so near to orgasm. What happened?

Thomas is merely shifting positions. Climbing across the bed, bending to kiss my nipples as he passes, winding up knelt between my legs. Where, of course, his still wet cock- slick with my saliva -slides easily and smoothly inside me, all the way inside me.

Just like that I'm moaning and panting all over again.

Fucking my pussy now, and Thomas doesn't slowly build up speed. He starts fast, and stays fast. In. Out. In. Out. One hand on each side of me, gripping my slender waist, holding me in place, he pounds away.

Slap.

Slap.

Slap.

Not just the sound of his cock diving in and out of my wet pussy. But the sound of my F cups bouncing up then down off my slim frame as Thomas's fucking makes my whole upper body jerk and buck.

And. It's incredible. Truly. Amazing. I'm completely helpless, trussed up tight, gagged. Unable to move beyond squirming, unable to talk beyond garbled nonsense. Thomas is taking full advantage of my state, using my body like some kind of fuck toy, having his way with me whilst I lay here powerless to do anything beyond moan and take it.

It's like the ultimate rush. Being helpless is, on it's own, a huge turn on for me. Being helpless and fucked takes everything I love and cranks it to eleven.

It's little wonder my whole body feels like one huge tingling mass of pleasure.

So much that, of course, having felt my orgasm quickly build, racing through my body, I climax. Loudly. Screaming through the gag, my body locking rigid, my pussy spasming.

Somehow, Thomas manages to hold off on his own orgasm, waiting for me to finish before pulling out, pumping his cock, exploding all over my belly whilst I lay, trying to catch my breath, panting and moaning. Spent.

"I mean." Thomas grins, robe back on, handing me a pack of wet wipes. "I can see why you won now."
"Happy with the shoot then?" Sat next to him on the bed, basking in the afterglow of my sexual high, feeling mellow and happy. Jeans and thong beside me, all the ropes- removed, along with the gag, by Thomas -puddled behind me on the still wet bed sheet. I wipe Thomas's juices off my belly. "Where...?"
"Bin." Nodding to the corner.

"Got to say, Plymouth. You're a natural."
"Thanks. I. Um." I smile. "I had fun."
"Yeah?"
"Sure." Glancing sideways, at Thomas, seeing him nod. "What?"
"Just." A shrug. "Explains why you're so good at it."
"What do you mean?"
"Well." Stretching his arms out wide, a small yawn. "Some of us."
"Porn stars?"
"Yeah." Nodding. "Some I've worked with, they're not really into it. The getting tied up."
"They aren't? But. Um." I scratch my nose. "Then why do it?"
"For the money." A shrug. "Fuck knows. Anyway." Thomas pulls me sideways, into a quick hug. "It's always better working with a girl who really enjoys the ropes."

[GreyLord]

I have no idea if Plymouth is representative of any real life bondage stars, [mention]RopeBunny[/mention]. But I can only hope that a lot of them enjoy performing as much as our Plymouth. That was a very fun read.

[RopeBunny]

Hi. Evening.

Just dropping a note, an update, to say I am writing more Plymouth. Boundcon shall continue....

[Caesar73]

I have no idea if Plymouth is representative of any real life bondage stars, @RopeBunny. But I can only hope that a lot of them enjoy performing as much as our Plymouth. That was a very fun read.

Right on all accounts [mention]GreyLord[/mention] !

[tickletied84]

Hi. Evening.

Just dropping a note, an update, to say I am writing more Plymouth. Boundcon shall continue....

Fantastic news! The sheer ecstasy of Plymouth’s recent experience brings joy to reading it.

How long is Boundcon? Hopefully long enough for more encounters like this!

[RopeBunny]

How long is Boundcon?

Not sure if I mentioned this 'in story' or not? Boundcon runs for three days, so, plenty of time for fun

[RopeBunny]

051.

"And next." The announcers voice booms out, easily heard by those of us girls- and boys, but mostly girls -behind the curtain. "All the way from England, across the pond. A last minute addition to the Boundcon line up." A pause, dramatic effect. I suppress a smile, shake my head.

"Plymouth."

Noise, as I emerge. And lights, both high intensity spots from above and several dozen camera phone flashes from in front. The whole experience bringing to mind walking the red carpet at the porn awards in Vegas.

Smile. Walk. Arms up over my head, wave. Make my way over to the other, already announced, stars of Boundcon, stood in a smiling bikini- or otherwise quite revealing clothes -clad rough line off to stage left.

My left, not yours.

Nods from most as I approach, a couple of friendly blown kisses. I nod back. They, the other models, the producers- in shirts and trousers not bikinis -are a good bunch. I met most earlier in the hotels basement pool and gym complex, set aside for our exclusive use from oh seven until oh eight every morning.

Now that. Doing lengths, running a 5K, surrounded by three dozen plus adult industry stars and workers, almost all of whom are an easy nine plus on the fuckability scale, all of us wearing next to nothing. Sweating. Panting. Most of the ladies bouncing. That, almost a porno all on its own.

All that was missing was the rope.

Each day Boundcon starts with a roll call. Each of us appearing from behind a curtain up on the main stage. It's, I think, a good way to kick things off. Let's the fans see us, all of us, at once.

After, after we've all stood and waved, posed together for the day's official photo, the convention proper can begin.

Bouncon is three halls: the main, the plaza, and the terrace.

The main, is, well. It's where the stage is. The largest of the halls. Some of the stands- the retailers -are in here too. As is one of the two food and drink outlets.

There are two more stages, built just for the convention. Both are in the plaza. Most of the retailers are there too. If the main is a large square, the plaza is like a rectangle bolted to the side.

Which makes the terrace a circle, suspended above the main. Because the terrace is a roof garden, housing the second food outlet, and plenty of benches. A place to relax and unwind out under the warm American sun. There's even a separate cordoned off section just for us workers to use.

Each day we can pretty much choose our own wardrobe, so long as the outfit shows us off Hank, plus whoever else is hiring, are happy. We can even change, mix it up with multiple outfits in the same day, should we desire.

Today, Friday, I'm in a bikini. For now anyway. Black tie side thong bottoms and a halter top, both of which have a fern leaf design spread across the fabric in shades of grey and white.

The reason I'm in a bikini is because it was requested of me by Shaun, who runs Roped Damsels, my first job.

Into the plaza. There's, I've had it told to me but am still alittle shocked to see it happening, an etiquette in place here. I would've expected to need a minder, I had one at the convention back home. But here there's no need. Myself, any of the models, can and are wandering freely amongst the public. And we aren't being bothered.

Nobody tries to stop me for a chat, or a photo op.

Nobody comes even close to attempting a quick grope of my bikini clad body, this despite my enhanced F cups being barely covered and held in by the- on the small side- halter top I have on.

If anything I'm actually given a respectful amount of room as I pass through. Which is nice.

One of the stages in the plaza is, will at times be, used by Shaun to host his matches. The wrestling, with added bondage of course, contests, that his site is known for. This stage isn't raised any higher then a foot or so, surrounded by waist high fencing. For Shaun's matches, my match being the first of several scheduled across the three days, the area in the stages middle has been covered in pale blue crash mats. The mats form something like a cross, like the addition maths sign, but with the four points being quite stubby.

"So." On the phone to Shaun, the day before flying out. Finalising details. "Is it rigged?"
"Rigged?"
"You know." Doddling a stick me on the note filled paper in front. I'm sat on my bed, legs crossed. "Wrestling's all scripted. So." I grin, adding huge football boobs. "Am I winning or losing?"

"Plymouth." Shaun grins, holding out a hand, which I shake. "That's a pretty bikini."
"Thanks." Nodding, turning my gaze to the lady stood beside him, all three of us are stood in what you could call backstage, actually just a curtained off area beside the stage, at the back of Shauns Boundcon stand, where the mats, and other supplies, are kept. "And this must be....?"
"Sandy." Answering for herself, flashing me a grin. "Morning Plymouth."

Older then me, perhaps late twenties, or mid thirties at most, Sandy's hair is, of course, blonde. Long and straight, currently tied into a thick Elsa from frozen style plait. A skinny ten her body is, I think, the most toned I've ever seen on a lady. Seriously, she could probably out benchpress most guys. Sandy's bikini is white and grey camouflage, hipster bottoms and a small triangle top hugging her flat chest.

It, the match, contest, whatever name, isn't scripted. Looking at Sandy now, sizing her up, comparing her toned physique to my- yes I am toned too, but I exercise to stay slim, not to build muscle -own, I can't help but grin. It doesn't need a script. There's no way I'm winning.

Which doesn't mean I have to admit the fact.

"Nervous?"
"Nervous?" Giving me a quizzical, amused look, as I stand beside Sandy doing exaggerated stretches. "Just warming up huh?" Raising an eyebrow, not quite laughing as I shadow box the space between us a half dozen times.

"Got to limber up." I agree, bouncing on my toes, F cups going up down up down up down. "Although." I stand still, putting on a serious expression and tapping the side of my head with one finger. "Fight like this. It's won or lost up here."
"Is that right?" Definitely amused now, humouring me, playing along. "Got yourself some of that psychological warfare have we?"
"Damn straight." Nodding. "Got my positive winning attitude front and centre."
"Well then." Holding out a hand as we both hear Shaun, already on the stage, calling out Sandy's introduction. "May the best girl win."
"I intend to." Shaking her hand.

Of course I don't win. Sandy's been doing these wrestling bondage matches for close to two years, before which she wrestled at college to Olympic standards. She rarely loses, and never in a one on one.

It's fun though.

"The winner." Shaun, back on stage as Sandy stands next to me, one foot resting atop my bound body, a winners grin on her face, arms up, muscles tensed. All around the stage comes the flash flash flash of camera phones, capturing my defeat. "Sandy." Shaun leads the scattered applause, coming over to lift one of her arms up high, proclaiming- as if my state weren't proof enough -her the winner.

It really didn't take Sandy very long at all, a pitifully short space of time considering how much I wriggled and bucked, how much I fought, to hogtie and ballgag me. She got my legs first, thighs then ankles. Each wrap of the rope pinching my limbs, Sandy's muscles tensing, her strength holding the loops tight against my struggles whilst she tied several knots.

Snaring my left arm- binding it alone behind me to my waist -whilst I was busy trying to use my right to untangle my leg ropes.

A clever trick on her part.

My right arm soon joined my left, effectively ending the fight. After which, with me now mostly laying passive in the ring. Stage. Accepting my loss. Sandy finished me off with a tight chest harness and the ballgag, plus the joining of my ankles and wrists.

The crowd begins to drift apart, heading off to explore, to eat. Leaving me and Sandy alone.

"Thanks Plymouth." Bending down to kiss my cheek. "Good match."
"Mmmfppff ffgppp mmmmm." Having a small struggle, testing, checking. Not expecting to find weak knots. But you never know.

Although. How the fuck Sandy managed to bind me so securely, given the speed she worked, given how much I was wriggling. How did she do that?

"Afraid not." I can hear her smiling as Sandy gives my butt a friendly pat, a squeeze. Her finger- intentionally or not -slipping into my butt crack, up against my pussy. "No freedom for you yet."
"Ffpmmmmfff ffffggmmff." I know. Rolling over, onto my side, I watch Sandy stand, blow me a kiss, a little wave, before she leaves.

I don't get freedom, yet, because there are rules. Or a plan. On Shaun's site, Roped Damsels, each video ends with the loser, or losers, struggling around for awhile. Some nice footage of tied girls wriggling and moaning. But, since this is Boundcon and not a video. Instead of struggling around in the ring I'll be in the losers circle.

Which is a clear plastic box, a six by six by six foot cube, with plenty of air holes obviously.

Still hogtied I'm picked up by three guys, and carried off the stage to Shaun's stand next door. The guys gently lower me into the cube, the floor of which sits at waist height, then one of them closes the lid, slipping a bolt across. Sealing me in.

"Plymouth." Shaun, stood beside me, tapping on the plastic. I struggle around to get him in view. "Okay?" Giving me a thumbs up. "All good?"
"Mmffmmmm." I nod. I don't suffer from claustrophobia, and there are lots of finger sized air holes ringing the top and bottom, so it isn't too hot or stuffy inside.

"Great." Shaun smiles, pats the cube. "One hour. Okay."
"Mmmmfp ffmmggmm."
"You did good, by the way." Giving me a last thumbs up, then stepping back, leaving me to be the.

Well.

What am I?

An exhibit. Basically. Like some sort of exotic animal in a cage.

For the next hour, as I lay tightly hogtied and ballgagged in the cube, struggling, moaning, my bikini clad tattooed body pressed against the clear plastic, a steady constant stream of people come to peer in at me. They look, they smile and point, talking openly about what they'd like to do to me, with me, given half the chance. Photos are taken. One enterprising young man even lays down underneath the cube, smiling up at me as I lay looking down at him, snapping photos of my squashed and rope squeezed breasts.

Needless to say the whole thing, being put on show in such a tightly bound and barely clothed state, is a massive turn on for me, a girl who revels in, and never fails to get super horny, where bondage is concerned.

"Okay guys. Girls." Shaun, shooing a small group of four away. "I think Plymouth's had enough for today." Patting the cube, looking down at me and grinning. "Right?"

Well. Maybe just another hour.

Or two.

[GreyLord]

What wonderful stamina and endurance. Hogtied for an hour with a stream of viewers and Plymouth is not ready to call it quits. [mention]RopeBunny[/mention], you have painted a very fun picture.

[RopeBunny]

052.

I am a little bit of a sweaty mess. So before lunch, which I have on the terrace, soaking up some sun, I head up to my room, to change.

Black mesh pull ups, large gapped mesh so my tattoos are still mostly visible. Black hipster boyshorts, made almost entirely of fine lace mesh, with only my modesty- front not back -covered by proper material. The pants are paired with a matching bra, black of course, each cup made of the same semi see-through lace as the boyshorts, making my nipples quite visible in a shadow kind of way. The bra is of the plunge type, pressing my F cups together, showing off plenty of cleavage.

After lunch- just a smoothie -I'm due on the main stage.

Every year Boundcon runs a contest. Four heats a day, three contestants per heat. Anyone who wants to enter, and there are- according to Hank -a lot of hopefuls, submits a form during the online ticket buying process to register interest. All the completed forms go into a draw, from which the thirty-six lucky people are randomly selected.

And what do they get to do, these chosen few?

They get to tie us, the models, up.

The four heats are spaced throughout the day, slotted in amongst the other events being shown on the main stage: one shortly after Boundcon opens, one before lunch and one- which is mine today -after, and a final one to close out the day. So that on Sunday the final contest can be immediately followed by the announcement of the winner, who gets a cash check plus some kind of custom photo session, within reason, with the model of his or her choice.

Some of the girls are booked for more then one contest, but Hank only needed this one slot filling, so this will be my only turn.

"Hey Plymouth." Zoe, her skinny flat chested body covered by a shiny black latex one piece, the fabric tight enough to show off her ring pierced nipples, waves as I wander through a door and into the backstage area. "Ready to have fun?"
"Always ready to get tied up." I reply, smiling.

"Heard that." Jackie, the third model, her dark skinned curvy frame- something like a fourteen with natural D cups -looking amazing in a green and black teddy with matching thong, nods agreement, getting up from a chair, wandering over to join Zoe and me.

"Any clue who we've got?" Waiting just behind the curtain, fidgeting, we all are, our systems all full up on adrenaline, itching to get to work. To get bound. "Did you find out already?"
"Some guy." Jackie shrugs. "Hank said."
"Oh." I nod, plenty of guys out there, the audience is very male heavy, so it makes sense. Probably we've all got guys. Which, feeling the occasional stab of a jeans clad hard on whilst I'm being trussed up, should at least be interesting.

But, a rarity, I wind up with a girl.

"Now." Hank, who actually does look like a retired builder, as wide as he is tall and packing a gut that's only half beer belly, the rest looks like solid muscle. "Gentleman." He smiles, tips a salute in my direction. "Lady. The rules."

"Twenty five minutes on the clock." Pointing behind him, the back of the stage, above the curtain, is one huge screen. Like at a concert. On cue the digits 25:00:00 appear in white, writ large across the black background. "In these bins," pointing to stage right, "you'll find ropes. Belts. Various metal cuffs and plenty of gag choices." Hank pauses, nods. "Anything you could need to tie up the model beside you."

Various encouraging shouts from the audience, a couple of whistles as the three of us, the models, give a little wave on cue.

"The choice of tie, of gag, is yours to make gentlemen. Lady." Hank points to stage left, to the row of four men and three women: models and site owners, some millionaire's son- I think this is Daddy's hotel -seated behind tables with paper and pens laid before them. "It will be up to our judging panel to award you points based on. Style. Tightness. Effective use of the materials to hand. And other factors."

"Good luck." Shaking each contestants hand, stepping back, getting out of the way. "Your time begins." Pause, raised hand. Hank smiles. "Now."

Emiko, that's her name, the young- early twenties, maybe actual twenty -girl I've been assigned to.

"Plymouth-San." Whispered. The two guys had whooped, near dancing up onto the stage. Emiko looked scared half to death. Nerves most likely: it's one thing to tie someone up in privacy, quite another to do it with an audience. But up she'd come, stopping before me, bowing in the traditional Japanese style as she whispered my name. "I am Emiko."
"Emiko-San." Returning her bow, right hand a fist, clasped in my left, both held out in front. I'd smiled. "Your accent. You are...?"
"Hai." A nod, a smile of her own. "I was born in Osaka."
"A beautiful city." I comment, feeling the flood of memories.

Japan. Rope Sluts. Lili. Everything about that trip had been beautiful.

Watching her now, fetching rope from the bins, her ancestry is plain to see. From the Asian skin tone to her black mostly straight hair, falling down around slim shoulders, only beginning to curl on the final couple of inches. She's wearing skinny fit faded black jeans paired with white and blue Adidas. A white cut off tee, the Nintendo logo sat atop of and hugging a pair of small yet pert B cups, shows a slash of flat tan stomach, the hint of a large tattoo on Emiko's left side.

"Plymouth-San." Letting her ropes tumble to the floor, a quick glance at the clock. I look too, twenty-one minutes and change left. "May I tie you in the Shibari style?"
"You don't need to ask permission." I smile, Emiko smiles back. "But. Hai." I nod, wink. "If you can. Then of course."

I wouldn't of thought she'd have time. It's been awhile, since Master Yoshi, but I recall Shibari, because it's an art form as much as it is a method of binding, not being a thing you can rush.

Emiko proves my memories wrong.

Takate Gote, hands behind the back, a chest tie. The name- Akio, who is Master Yoshi, had said there are other names for the tie -swims up out of old memories as Emiko works.

Usually, when I bind the wrists, or have my own bound, they're resting against the butt, but for this Shibari my wrists are tied crossed, then, by way of ropes wrapped above and below the breasts, pulled up high to rest against the small of my back.

No doubt there's plenty of knotting and tightening going on behind me.

It, the chest rope Emiko's using, is super long. Having wrapped my breasts she now passes the doubled rope between arm and body on the right, from back to front under the ropes running horizontal across my upper body, then up and back under my armpit, snaring both above and below breast ropes. The same is done on the left, the effect, of pulling these armpit diving ropes tight, is to squeeze my breasts properly top and bottom.

Still not finished with my chest- can't blame her for showing extra attention to my nice large F's -Emiko runs the rope once more on the right side, under the armpit work she just did. This time though the rope is passed up behind my head, then back down at the front, on the left, and back under, back behind me, for more knots no doubt.

"You're doing great." I whisper, as Emiko stands before me, tugging at the Gote rope, frowning. "Only ten minutes left though."
"Ten...?" Blinking, looking over my shoulder, at the clock, which I'd peeked at moments ago as Emiko was turning me in a slow circle. "Oh." She gives a small laugh. "Shit."
"Plenty of time." I grin, stick out my left leg, wiggle it. "Only these to go, right?"
"Right."
"Hai." I nod. "Shall I sit? Um. Kneel?"
"Kneel. Please." She'd smiled at my use of Japanese. "Arigatogozaimasu."
"Yokoso." I smile back, it feels good to dig up what few words I learnt. "Welcome."

Working quickly, each of my bent- because I'm kneeling -legs are separately bound, upper thigh to ankle, with a second rope on each leg by the knee.

Prehaps she had more planned? There's certainly rope left, a small pile of maybe a half dozen coiled lengths: enough for a crotch rope, or some form of legs to arms connection.

But. "And." Hanks voice, loud over the main halls sound system. Emiko, grabbing a black ballgag up off the floor, stuffs it into my open- because I'm a helpful model -mouth, yanks the strap tight behind my head, over my dyed blue piled on one side hair. "Time."

"Thank you, Plymouth-San." Giving my shoulder a quick squeeze, smiling down as I look up. Nod. At which point, bad timing, a patch of drool breaks free from behind my gag, runs quickly down onto my chin, and drips onto my rope enhanced cleavage.

Is that. Should I be embarrassed?

Nah. To me, the drool, my inability to control that side of things, is a clear sign of just how helpless I am. And I happen to think I look very cute when I'm helpless.

Hank ushers Emiko and the two guys off stage, their work done. The judges take around five minutes to tally up scores, whatever process it is they're using, whatever system. Whilst they do we three models are left tied, of course. Yet another photo opportunity for the crowd.

Untied, I stand, stretch. Work feeling back into my numb and tingling limbs. I don't have any further official duties today, but Hank gestures me over as I push through the curtain, moving from stage to backstage.

"What's up?"
"Plymouth." Patting me on the shoulder. "Good job out there today."
"Thanks." I grin, it's nice to be complimented. "I'm definitely glad I came."
"Yeah?" A questioning look. I nod. "Great. Hey." Clicking two giant fingers. "I spoke with Shaun."
"And?"
"And, he's happy." Hank nods. "Said your match was very well received. Wanted me to pass on his thanks."

"Listen." Hank frowns. "I know you're all done. But." Tutting. "Think you could help out some more?"
"What do you need?"
"That's my girl." Another pat on my shoulder, Hank smiles. "Stand 36A, over in the plaza. Chris will fill you in."
"Okay." Tipping Hank a salute. "On it boss."

Chris, it turns out, sells bondage themed magazines, of which there are more titles then I would've expected. Who knew porn mags were still a thing? For a couple of hours I help out, still dressed in my bra and pants, working the till, slowly getting used to the differences between the US dollar and my own British pound.

"Thanks Plymouth. You've been a huge help."
"Welcome." Giving Chris, packing up, cashing up, a smile and a wave, turning to make my way out of the convention centre, back to my room.

Where I change, or at least put faded blue denim shorts with a frayed hem and a grey vest top, on over my lingerie. I put my Three Kings jacket on too, leaving it unzipped, and lace black knee high boots ontop of the mesh pull ups.

Now I'm respectable enough to go and get some dinner.

"Well well." Stopped, in the semi crowded hotel lobby I've come to a halt having suddenly found, of all people, Emiko- still dressed in the same jeans and tee outfit as a couple of hours ago, but with an unzipped blue hoodie worn hood up ontop -in my path. Her head had been down, checking something on her phone. At the last moment some internal collision warning had her looking up. Stopping too.

And here we stand, face to face at close to touching distance. I smile.

"Hello there."
"Hi." Her thick Japanese accent sounds strange at normal volume. But good. "Plymouth."
"Emiko." My use of her name makes her smile, blush slightly. Prehaps she thought I'd forgotten?

"Did you have fun today?"
"Did you?" Followed by a small gasp at what she's just said, at what she's- kinda -asking. I laugh. "Yes. Thank you." I can't help myself, can't help adding the flirt. "I always enjoy playing ropes with cute girls."

Emiko blushes some more. I decide to be bold. Fuck it.

"Come have some food with me." I declare, linking my arm through hers, turning Emiko on the spot so we're both pointed at the hotels front doors. "Let's go find a bar."
"Oh." Letting herself be led. But. "But. Um."
"But?" I stop, the thought just occurring. "You need to get back to your boyfriend huh."
"No. Um."
"Girlfriend?"
"No."
"Husband?" She's smiling now, shaking her head. I smile back. "Pet fish then?"
"No. I. Um."
"What?" Letting go. "You don't want to come out. With me?"
"Oh." A third blush. "I do. It's just. Um."
"Come on then." Taking her arm again, setting off. "We'll worry about all the ums and buts later."

[GreyLord]

Very delicious, [mention]RopeBunny[/mention]. You never fail to please with Plymouth. While ready this episode, I was thinking how nice it would be to win a lottery like that. But I realized that I probably couldn't handle the pressure of tying up a beautiful model in front of a critical crowd like that.

[tickletied84]

Oh dear, Plymouth seems to have stunned Emiko into silence - and that's without the use of a gag

So lovely the memories that came back to her from the Japan trip as well