What I'm trying to say is, cut me some slack, please, if you feel I've gotten something wrong.
It's a fictional story after all, so artistic licence is allowed.
As always, enjoy
Plymouth rising (MF+/F+)
Plymouth rising (MF+/F+)
This, specifically the details of what I'm delving into with this story, is mostly guesswork. I'm largely making it up, but trying to keep things realistic whilst I do.
What I'm trying to say is, cut me some slack, please, if you feel I've gotten something wrong.
It's a fictional story after all, so artistic licence is allowed.
As always, enjoy
What I'm trying to say is, cut me some slack, please, if you feel I've gotten something wrong.
It's a fictional story after all, so artistic licence is allowed.
As always, enjoy
Last edited by RopeBunny 2 years ago, edited 70 times in total.
001.
"I'll miss you today B."
"I know Mum." I nod, the words leaving like a sigh. This conversation, in various guises, has been occurring over the breakfast table, amongst other places, for the past month. But, just like all the other times, I stand firm. "But I'm only eighteen once. And."
"And you want to spend the day with friends." Coming around the table, wrapping a still seated me in a hug. "My little Brooke. I understand." A nod, a knowing smile. "Your first drink."
"Sure." Smiling myself, rising from the table for a better angle to hug her back.
It isn't a first legal drink I've spent the last four months planning though.
"Hey, bondage girl." I wince at the overly loud attention drawing shout. Several heads are already turning left and right across the busy train station concourse, trying to spot who's yelling, and at who. Inside though the nickname sets off a happy tingle inside as nerves fight eagerness, low down in the belly, the edges tickling at my pussy.
And there, amongst the masses, grinning, is my bestie. Jennifer.
As of today I catch Jennifer up, my blonde friend being two and change months older. My own hair is red, like a fire engine, and straight as it falls down my back. The colour, professionally done last week, was a birthday gift from Mum. Jennifer's blonde locks are curly, and shorter, not quite touching her shoulders. We're both a size ten, pale skin yet to tan, and average sized C cups. Swimming and a good diet keeps everything firm and pert in all the right places.
"Jenn."
"Bondage girl." I tut, but with a smile to take away the sting. Jennifer's the only one I've shared my secret plans with. Those plans being the reason for this new moniker.
There are tie up themed dating websites by the bucketful. Enough that any girl, like me, who wanted to play with ropes could easily find plenty of men, no doubt women too, willing and happy, and keen, to help. Unfortunately, for all those potential suitors, having become fascinated by all things bondage at fifteen- Mum is lousy when it comes to Internet parental blocks -I don't want a relationship. Or some casual no strings fun.
What I want, the secret plan, is for being tied up to be an actual job. Alright maybe a second job, because I already work full time, and I doubt I can give up mowing grass to be a full time bondage model quite yet, if ever. But still, you get the drift.
The bondage pay sites, each one full of videos and images, represent between them a full spread of every possible taste within the realm of being tied and helpless. At one end of the scale, simple damsel play, girls rolling around in some or no clothes, plenty of struggles and moans. At the other, head to toe rubber. Unfortunately most are foreign based, usually American. Most, but thankfully not all.
"So what's the sites name again?" On the train now, a three hour one change journey ahead. "Tightly trussed." Taking a sip of the Fosters can Jennifer insisted we share, despite it being still morning, smiling despite the drinks unfamiliar taste. I've had bottles before: WKD and Smirnoff Ice, away from Mum of course, but this is my first grown up drink. Even saying the sites name is getting me excited. "It's all one word though, when you type it."
"Always is online." Nodding, taking the can and sipping. Jennifer smirks at the disproving look a table of businessmen bent over laptops are giving her. "Could be worse though. Could be," thinking, "tiedgirlscomeandseeyesyes."
"Maybe it should be," I pause, already giggling from Jennifer's idea, "nomenjustboundandgaggedgirls." Jennifer starts giggling too, earning us both more annoyed looks, which only serves to make us laugh more.
Later, waiting on the platform for the small two car sprinter, having watched the larger Intercity depart at speed with a whoosh ten minutes ago, leaving us behind. We're sharing coffee when Jennifer, because I guess it's what a bestie does, checks one last time. "You're sure this guys legit?"
"Yes." nodding, watching the tall multi armed signal, looking somewhat like a black octopus, at the end of the platform change from two yellow lights- whatever that means -to green. Hopefully that means the train won't be too much longer. "We've talked," shrugging, unwilling to back out now anyway, "it's all good."
Tightly trussed, a website focused mostly on girl next door types, all of them, that's right: tightly trussed, is run by Zak Towers. To gain access costs a monthly fee close to thirty dollars, which seemed, when I researched the various sites, to be par for the course. Individual videos can also be purchased through the site, for an average of ten per clip.
When deciding which site to contact I'd made two lists. The first whittled a large list down to just UK sites. The second, thinning the herd further, was only for sites where the preview images showed scenarios I could imagine being in.
In the end just one site, Zak's, stood out. So. I reached out via email.
That first approach was short, and to the point, being unsure whether I'd simply be ignored, or worse told I couldn't do what I'd hoped. With any site. In that first mail I explained my growing love of bondage, and the desire to be a professional model. I ended with what, I hoped, was a killer hook: pointing out that not only was I about to turn eighteen, but, drum roll please, I had yet to be tied up. Ever.
It took Zak less then a day to respond. First with caution, testing the water, seeking proof of age, proof of my genuine intent to tread this path. He was checking, I figured, that I wasn't wasting his time. Of course I cooperated. Sending a photo of my provisional licence, backing this up with a video chat- when Mum was at work obviously -to prove me and the licence were the same young girl, also a chance to verbally confirm, to his face, that I really did want to spend my eighteenth birthday getting tied up, and being paid for it no less.
"Why's he gotta live all the way out here?" Jennifer, starting to get bored of the field after field after woodland view. "You mean," shaking my head, despairing of my friend, "why can't he live in the city, like a, what," smiling despite myself, "normal person?"
"Well." Smiling back. "Yeah."
"Behave you." Swatting Jennifer with my train ticket, the gaurd having just come through to check. "Some people...."
"Weird people."
"Shush." Tutting, but still smiling. "Some people." Holding up a warning finger. Jennifer sticks out her tongue, I laugh. "They just like the quiet I guess."
"Yeah but." Scratching her nose. "What about when they wanna go clubbing?"
Another half hour finds us, finally, stood outside prehaps the smallest station ever, possibly the smallest in the world. No taxi rank here, but, luckily, it's all been organised.
"Brooke?" Levering himself off the front of a relatively new yet very muddy black Ford Ranger twin cab pickup, I spy Zak wandering across the empty parking lot towards us. He looks as I remember from the video call: tall and well built in faded black jeans and blue Adidas, slight belly pressing against a yellow Quiksilver tee, slicked back greying hair and trimmed beard despite the rest of him appearing middle aged. I hold up a hand to wave, a nervous smile on my face. Then jump slightly as a black and white border collie darts around him, racing towards Jennifer and me, barking excitedly.
"Daisy." Shaking his head, jogging over. "Daisy. Here."
"S'okay." Laughing as Daisy jumps and bounds around us, barking, panting. "Sorry." Finally catching his dog up, Zak bends, grabbing Daisy by the collar, kneeling to half stroke half trap the over hyped dog. "She just." A shrug, a smile. "You know."
"Our French Bulldog's the same." Jennifer, nodding, smiling as she bends to stroke Daisy's head. "She's cute."
In the pickup, we share the back, leaving Daisy up front. Zak doesn't comment, doesn't seem upset. I had told him I'd be bringing a friend. For moral support, company, and of course safety being the unspoken third reason. The journey, some twenty minutes, passes in relative silence, broken only by small talk. Zak keeps the radio on, and of course Daisy has her head stuck out of the window throughout.
"Here we go." Slowing, swinging the big Ford in through open gates. "You live on a farm?" Jennifer asks, both of us looking around as the three of us, plus Daisy, climb out.
"Used to be a farm." Gesturing as he talks, pointing out where things are, where they used to be. "My parents, and Dad's before that. All these houses used to be fields of wheat. But." A shrug. "I'm no farmer. So when my folks died, coming on ten years ago now, I sold the land but kept the house. Plus the barn."
"Barn?" Turning to see. The house is new, clearly recently rebuilt in a modern style. It's far too big for a single guy, but that's inheritance for you I suppose. The barn too has been rebuilt, sitting beside, and just in front of, the house. It now resembles a stone and wood office space but with no windows, until you notice all the glass panels in the slanting roof. The two buildings, plus a large gravelled area in front and equally large rear garden, are enclosed by a high brick and wood boundary fence. Built high for privacy no doubt given what takes place here.
The, new, houses, surround Zak's property on three sides, though nothing presses in too close as a band of trees sits between that tall fence and the nearest parts of the new estate.
"I do all the shoots," Zak half smiles, "most of the shoots. In the barn."
"Most?" Noticing the smile. "Sometimes I film outside." Zak winks. "When it's warm."
"You shoot...?" Jennifer, being a blonde. But beside her I'm laughing, feeling a small buzz of excitement at the thought. Imagine being bound outdoors. "Come on." Gesturing. "Let's go in the house, get the paperwork sorted."
"I thought it would be thicker?"
"Because of movies, right?" Zak smiles, I nod. We're alone in his kitchen, with Jennifer already installed in the lounge with snacks and access to Zaks large flatscreen- she, after all, isn't a part of what's about to happen- fussing over Daisy as she channel hops. "Here." Leaning across the table, flipping one of the two contracts, each a single sheet, over, pointing. "Where it says 'pertains to law blah blah' and again over there. And there." Pointing each time. "Just writing the actual law code saves a shit ton of typing."
"So." Frowning, never having had to deal with anything to this degree. "This is all legal?"
"Yes." Pointing again. "Written here is what we've agreed to, and below, the price."
"And." Thinking it through, trying to be logical. "I'll get a copy?"
"Yes." Zak smiles. "I know I've not got anything to bank this on. But, trust me. This." Gesturing around. "This is my life. If I uploaded anything that wasn't completely above board and legal, well, I'd be in all sorts of trouble."
"What's this blank bit?" Tapping the pen, having noticed a line, a space for writing on, halfway down page two. Above the space is my name, address, date of birth. But the space is for. "My." I giggle, reading. "Stage name?"
"Sure." Nodding, smiling. "Whether you only do this one shoot, or whatever. This is your chance to decide what name the industry knows you by."
"So." I nod, getting it. "Like a pseudonym. Like an author?"
"Yes. I mean." Zak shrugs. "You can just be Brooke. Or...?"
"Plymouth."
"Yeah?"
"Yes." I've actually thought about it, having, as with most things concerning bondage, done plenty of research these last months. "Can I be Plymouth?"
"I don't see why not." Zak smiles. "Can't think of any other adult model by the name."
"Why Plymouth though?"
"Oh." I smile, yet more nerves and not embarrassment, having just signed the contract. Committed now. "I. Um. We used to go there, all the time, when I was a kid."
"It is a nice city." Zak nods. "Cool cars too."
"Yeah?"
"If you like horror." Zak grins. Taking the contracts, he signs and dates both, then hands one back. "Okay then. Plymouth." A wink, making me giggle I'm wound so tight. "Ready to get started?"
"Yes." Grinning, nodding, feeling fit to explode now that the moment is really here. No more waiting.
Time to get tied up.
"I'll miss you today B."
"I know Mum." I nod, the words leaving like a sigh. This conversation, in various guises, has been occurring over the breakfast table, amongst other places, for the past month. But, just like all the other times, I stand firm. "But I'm only eighteen once. And."
"And you want to spend the day with friends." Coming around the table, wrapping a still seated me in a hug. "My little Brooke. I understand." A nod, a knowing smile. "Your first drink."
"Sure." Smiling myself, rising from the table for a better angle to hug her back.
It isn't a first legal drink I've spent the last four months planning though.
"Hey, bondage girl." I wince at the overly loud attention drawing shout. Several heads are already turning left and right across the busy train station concourse, trying to spot who's yelling, and at who. Inside though the nickname sets off a happy tingle inside as nerves fight eagerness, low down in the belly, the edges tickling at my pussy.
And there, amongst the masses, grinning, is my bestie. Jennifer.
As of today I catch Jennifer up, my blonde friend being two and change months older. My own hair is red, like a fire engine, and straight as it falls down my back. The colour, professionally done last week, was a birthday gift from Mum. Jennifer's blonde locks are curly, and shorter, not quite touching her shoulders. We're both a size ten, pale skin yet to tan, and average sized C cups. Swimming and a good diet keeps everything firm and pert in all the right places.
"Jenn."
"Bondage girl." I tut, but with a smile to take away the sting. Jennifer's the only one I've shared my secret plans with. Those plans being the reason for this new moniker.
There are tie up themed dating websites by the bucketful. Enough that any girl, like me, who wanted to play with ropes could easily find plenty of men, no doubt women too, willing and happy, and keen, to help. Unfortunately, for all those potential suitors, having become fascinated by all things bondage at fifteen- Mum is lousy when it comes to Internet parental blocks -I don't want a relationship. Or some casual no strings fun.
What I want, the secret plan, is for being tied up to be an actual job. Alright maybe a second job, because I already work full time, and I doubt I can give up mowing grass to be a full time bondage model quite yet, if ever. But still, you get the drift.
The bondage pay sites, each one full of videos and images, represent between them a full spread of every possible taste within the realm of being tied and helpless. At one end of the scale, simple damsel play, girls rolling around in some or no clothes, plenty of struggles and moans. At the other, head to toe rubber. Unfortunately most are foreign based, usually American. Most, but thankfully not all.
"So what's the sites name again?" On the train now, a three hour one change journey ahead. "Tightly trussed." Taking a sip of the Fosters can Jennifer insisted we share, despite it being still morning, smiling despite the drinks unfamiliar taste. I've had bottles before: WKD and Smirnoff Ice, away from Mum of course, but this is my first grown up drink. Even saying the sites name is getting me excited. "It's all one word though, when you type it."
"Always is online." Nodding, taking the can and sipping. Jennifer smirks at the disproving look a table of businessmen bent over laptops are giving her. "Could be worse though. Could be," thinking, "tiedgirlscomeandseeyesyes."
"Maybe it should be," I pause, already giggling from Jennifer's idea, "nomenjustboundandgaggedgirls." Jennifer starts giggling too, earning us both more annoyed looks, which only serves to make us laugh more.
Later, waiting on the platform for the small two car sprinter, having watched the larger Intercity depart at speed with a whoosh ten minutes ago, leaving us behind. We're sharing coffee when Jennifer, because I guess it's what a bestie does, checks one last time. "You're sure this guys legit?"
"Yes." nodding, watching the tall multi armed signal, looking somewhat like a black octopus, at the end of the platform change from two yellow lights- whatever that means -to green. Hopefully that means the train won't be too much longer. "We've talked," shrugging, unwilling to back out now anyway, "it's all good."
Tightly trussed, a website focused mostly on girl next door types, all of them, that's right: tightly trussed, is run by Zak Towers. To gain access costs a monthly fee close to thirty dollars, which seemed, when I researched the various sites, to be par for the course. Individual videos can also be purchased through the site, for an average of ten per clip.
When deciding which site to contact I'd made two lists. The first whittled a large list down to just UK sites. The second, thinning the herd further, was only for sites where the preview images showed scenarios I could imagine being in.
In the end just one site, Zak's, stood out. So. I reached out via email.
That first approach was short, and to the point, being unsure whether I'd simply be ignored, or worse told I couldn't do what I'd hoped. With any site. In that first mail I explained my growing love of bondage, and the desire to be a professional model. I ended with what, I hoped, was a killer hook: pointing out that not only was I about to turn eighteen, but, drum roll please, I had yet to be tied up. Ever.
It took Zak less then a day to respond. First with caution, testing the water, seeking proof of age, proof of my genuine intent to tread this path. He was checking, I figured, that I wasn't wasting his time. Of course I cooperated. Sending a photo of my provisional licence, backing this up with a video chat- when Mum was at work obviously -to prove me and the licence were the same young girl, also a chance to verbally confirm, to his face, that I really did want to spend my eighteenth birthday getting tied up, and being paid for it no less.
"Why's he gotta live all the way out here?" Jennifer, starting to get bored of the field after field after woodland view. "You mean," shaking my head, despairing of my friend, "why can't he live in the city, like a, what," smiling despite myself, "normal person?"
"Well." Smiling back. "Yeah."
"Behave you." Swatting Jennifer with my train ticket, the gaurd having just come through to check. "Some people...."
"Weird people."
"Shush." Tutting, but still smiling. "Some people." Holding up a warning finger. Jennifer sticks out her tongue, I laugh. "They just like the quiet I guess."
"Yeah but." Scratching her nose. "What about when they wanna go clubbing?"
Another half hour finds us, finally, stood outside prehaps the smallest station ever, possibly the smallest in the world. No taxi rank here, but, luckily, it's all been organised.
"Brooke?" Levering himself off the front of a relatively new yet very muddy black Ford Ranger twin cab pickup, I spy Zak wandering across the empty parking lot towards us. He looks as I remember from the video call: tall and well built in faded black jeans and blue Adidas, slight belly pressing against a yellow Quiksilver tee, slicked back greying hair and trimmed beard despite the rest of him appearing middle aged. I hold up a hand to wave, a nervous smile on my face. Then jump slightly as a black and white border collie darts around him, racing towards Jennifer and me, barking excitedly.
"Daisy." Shaking his head, jogging over. "Daisy. Here."
"S'okay." Laughing as Daisy jumps and bounds around us, barking, panting. "Sorry." Finally catching his dog up, Zak bends, grabbing Daisy by the collar, kneeling to half stroke half trap the over hyped dog. "She just." A shrug, a smile. "You know."
"Our French Bulldog's the same." Jennifer, nodding, smiling as she bends to stroke Daisy's head. "She's cute."
In the pickup, we share the back, leaving Daisy up front. Zak doesn't comment, doesn't seem upset. I had told him I'd be bringing a friend. For moral support, company, and of course safety being the unspoken third reason. The journey, some twenty minutes, passes in relative silence, broken only by small talk. Zak keeps the radio on, and of course Daisy has her head stuck out of the window throughout.
"Here we go." Slowing, swinging the big Ford in through open gates. "You live on a farm?" Jennifer asks, both of us looking around as the three of us, plus Daisy, climb out.
"Used to be a farm." Gesturing as he talks, pointing out where things are, where they used to be. "My parents, and Dad's before that. All these houses used to be fields of wheat. But." A shrug. "I'm no farmer. So when my folks died, coming on ten years ago now, I sold the land but kept the house. Plus the barn."
"Barn?" Turning to see. The house is new, clearly recently rebuilt in a modern style. It's far too big for a single guy, but that's inheritance for you I suppose. The barn too has been rebuilt, sitting beside, and just in front of, the house. It now resembles a stone and wood office space but with no windows, until you notice all the glass panels in the slanting roof. The two buildings, plus a large gravelled area in front and equally large rear garden, are enclosed by a high brick and wood boundary fence. Built high for privacy no doubt given what takes place here.
The, new, houses, surround Zak's property on three sides, though nothing presses in too close as a band of trees sits between that tall fence and the nearest parts of the new estate.
"I do all the shoots," Zak half smiles, "most of the shoots. In the barn."
"Most?" Noticing the smile. "Sometimes I film outside." Zak winks. "When it's warm."
"You shoot...?" Jennifer, being a blonde. But beside her I'm laughing, feeling a small buzz of excitement at the thought. Imagine being bound outdoors. "Come on." Gesturing. "Let's go in the house, get the paperwork sorted."
"I thought it would be thicker?"
"Because of movies, right?" Zak smiles, I nod. We're alone in his kitchen, with Jennifer already installed in the lounge with snacks and access to Zaks large flatscreen- she, after all, isn't a part of what's about to happen- fussing over Daisy as she channel hops. "Here." Leaning across the table, flipping one of the two contracts, each a single sheet, over, pointing. "Where it says 'pertains to law blah blah' and again over there. And there." Pointing each time. "Just writing the actual law code saves a shit ton of typing."
"So." Frowning, never having had to deal with anything to this degree. "This is all legal?"
"Yes." Pointing again. "Written here is what we've agreed to, and below, the price."
"And." Thinking it through, trying to be logical. "I'll get a copy?"
"Yes." Zak smiles. "I know I've not got anything to bank this on. But, trust me. This." Gesturing around. "This is my life. If I uploaded anything that wasn't completely above board and legal, well, I'd be in all sorts of trouble."
"What's this blank bit?" Tapping the pen, having noticed a line, a space for writing on, halfway down page two. Above the space is my name, address, date of birth. But the space is for. "My." I giggle, reading. "Stage name?"
"Sure." Nodding, smiling. "Whether you only do this one shoot, or whatever. This is your chance to decide what name the industry knows you by."
"So." I nod, getting it. "Like a pseudonym. Like an author?"
"Yes. I mean." Zak shrugs. "You can just be Brooke. Or...?"
"Plymouth."
"Yeah?"
"Yes." I've actually thought about it, having, as with most things concerning bondage, done plenty of research these last months. "Can I be Plymouth?"
"I don't see why not." Zak smiles. "Can't think of any other adult model by the name."
"Why Plymouth though?"
"Oh." I smile, yet more nerves and not embarrassment, having just signed the contract. Committed now. "I. Um. We used to go there, all the time, when I was a kid."
"It is a nice city." Zak nods. "Cool cars too."
"Yeah?"
"If you like horror." Zak grins. Taking the contracts, he signs and dates both, then hands one back. "Okay then. Plymouth." A wink, making me giggle I'm wound so tight. "Ready to get started?"
"Yes." Grinning, nodding, feeling fit to explode now that the moment is really here. No more waiting.
Time to get tied up.
This looks like fun. I'll follow with interest.
Interesting I’m looking forward to where you take this. And I don’t think you’ve strayed to far from real facts in places either
-
tickletied84
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 490
- Joined: 6 years ago
- Location: Scotland
Well this has got me interested, looking forward to seeing where this goes!
You've got me hooked!
Intriguing 
I´m very curious where you will take this [mention]RopeBunny[/mention]
I´m very curious where you will take this [mention]RopeBunny[/mention] 
002.
The barn. Inside, apart from two doors, which, Zak tells me, lead to storerooms, it's all just one large open space. But the space isn't empty.
Against one wall, though taking up less then half the length available, is something like a film set. A temporary room has been created inside the much larger barn.
It's a lounge. The barns floor is wood, but atop that a second floor has been laid of thick planks pushed and fixed together, and rising from these, with supports at an angle behind to hold them up, are walls, two of them forming a sealed corner. The false floor is covered in thick light brown, almost cream, carpet, whilst the walls are painted pale blue. The only furniture in the room is a sofa, a large fabric four seater with low arms, the whole design dark grey, and composed of sweeping curves.
In front of the room two tripods have been positioned at angles, covering the sofa from both front and not quite front not quite side view. Around the fake room several powerful looking lamps sit on raised poles, all of them currently off, all pointed downwards, ready to bathe the area in shadow erasing light.
The barn floor, around this temporary setup, is a mass of snaking cables.
"Wow." Nodding, impressed. "That's quite something."
"Thanks." Zak grins. "I've got a guy who builds me sets."
"Like what?"
"I did a whole pirate themed thing last year." Pointing, making a sweeping gesture across half the room. "Boat. Well, deck and mast." A wink. I giggle. A mast for lashing girls to of course. Zak continues, pointing at the other end of the barn. "Made a whole fake beach over there. Buried treasure. The works."
"Sounds amazing."
"Certainly made back what I spent on it, plus extra."
"Are we keeping this outfit?"
"Is that okay?" Looking down at myself, at the clothes selected this morning with being tied up in mind. Tight faded blue jeans hug my legs, whilst pink and black Adidas with white laces are on my feet. The jeans sit low on my hips, allowing a hint of red thong to show on the sides. My tee is black, and shows no cleavage as it stretches tightly across my push up bra covered C cups, a slash of stomach visible between tee and jeans. My tee has the Jurassic Park logo stamped on the front, adding a splash of colour. "It's fine." Zak nods. "Not too dressy. Casual."
"Good."
"Come on over to the sofa," leading the way, "and I'll run through the plan one more time before we start."
"So," sat beside me, looking relaxed, Zak nods at the cameras, "both of these will be filming the whole time, plus I'll have a handheld. Everything gets edited after."
"Right."
"We're going for the 'first time' angle. So. Start off with you sat here, and I'll. Off screen. Ask you some questions."
"Like what?"
"Just. Normal stuff. Just so you can tell the camera it really is your first time getting tied up. Okay so far?"
"Um. Yes." Nodding. "But, what if I giggle or something."
"Anything you do, or say, is fine. Natural responses tend to be good, makes it all real. And I'll be editing the footage anyway, should it not quite work, remember."
"Right. And after the interview, that's when I get tied up?"
"Yes. We'll just do a simple hogtie." Zak grins. "You know what that is, right?"
"Yes." Feeling my cheeks colour slightly. I nod. It's the tie I asked to be placed in, having liked the images I found, and Zak had agreed. I can tell from the grin he's teasing anyway, trying to ease my visible nerves. "And, after you tie me up?"
"Then you struggle awhile."
"Awhile?"
"Ten minutes." A shrug. "Maybe fifteen. Enough so I can get footage from every angle."
"Sounds fair." It does.
"One final thing."
"Yes?"
"If you need to call a halt, for any reason, just." Zak blinks, rapidly. "Like that. Or. If you aren't gagged then just say stop."
"And." I lick my lips. He said gagged. I'll be gagged soon. Fuck, calm down. "If I'm gagged?"
"Blinking. Or." A shrug. "Hum a tune. Loudly. Any tune."
"Oh. Um." I nod. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Good." Zak claps his hands together. "Just let me get the rope and some tape for a gag." He stands, walking towards one of the storerooms. "Then we'll start."
Zak flicks the cameras on, and I see red lights. One. Two. Then he flicks the overheads on, making me blink several times at what feels like an overkill of illumination. From my spot in the middle of the sofa, one foot up and resting on the opposite knee, I see him give a thumbs up. He smiles, I smile back.
"So." He's standing close to one of his camera's, allowing the large mic bolted atop to pick up his voice. "Today, not just to the site here, but to the world of bondage, we welcome..."
"Plymouth." I smile, on impulse giving the camera a cheeky wave.
"Plymouth." Zak confirms, smiling back from his position still off camera. Off screen. "And, Plymouth. Would you like to tell everyone why you're here today?"
"I'm here to get tied up."
"She wants to be tied up." I giggle, unable to help myself. The whole back and forth is very much like foreplay. Like teasing. "And have you ever been tied up before?"
"No." Shaking my head, getting into the spirit. "This will be my first time."
"A newbie." Happiness, and a good dose of mischief- enough to make me smile -drips from Zak's voice. All for the cameras. I think? "Are you ready to be hogtied today Plymouth?"
"Yes."
"Excellant."
Zak wanders over, coming into shot from the side, three lengths of rope, and the roll of tape, in his hand.
He sits down beside me, on my left, placing the rope and tape next to him on the sofa cushion. As he's sitting some instinct, prehaps something I thought up late one night as I was daydreaming this moment- a thing I must've done four nights a week for the past four months, at least -has me turning my body to face away from him, whilst at the same time offering my arms up, placing them loosely behind my back. I don't realise I'm doing any of this, I'm not sure I'm aware of anything right now except my thudding heart. That is until I feel the rope touch my skin.
That first yank, with the rope already wrapped several times around my wrists, forcing them together side by side. That yank causes something like an explosion, like a powerful jolt of electricity. My breath catches, just for an instant, and I bite my lip but fail to hold in the small yet still audible moan of pleasure that escapes. At the same time that jolt is racing full speed towards my crotch, making what feels like every nerve tingle as it passes, hitting my pussy with enough force to make me squeeze my legs together, for a moment. I'm not even helpless yet, but I'm already wet with excitement.
My ankles are tied next, Zak kneeling in front of me, having come around from his spot on the sofa. Halfway through he looks up, smiles. Can he see how turned on I am? I smile back, nodding at his unasked question. I'm okay, really super horny, but okay.
Whilst he fumbles, briefly, with the tape, stood up and behind me again, trying to pick and tease at the end of the roll, I give my limbs a quick wriggle. Everything feels tight, the two ropes well tied using- as I glance down at my ankles to see -some kind of wrap around and then wrap between my limbs method. And. It feels amazing. Especially my arms. The helplessness I'm feeling from having my wrists pinned behind me is incredible, the way the tie pulls my arms back, the counter to which is a slight thrusting out of my chest, making my tee covered breasts more pronounced, it all heightens the sensations. This, right now, is truly the greatest moment of my life.
Until Zak squashes one end of the tape over my mouth, and things get even better.
The tape is thick, silver laced through with black. Like something builders must use. Pressing hard as he goes, Zak wraps the tape several times around my head, capturing my hair too, plastering it against my head. The first couple of passes the tape goes into my mouth, Zak pushing at my lips that first time, my jaws opening willingly, like I just can't wait to be silenced. Which of course is true. Because it's being pulled and wrapped tight the tape forces my jaws wide apart, pressing against my tongue, reducing me to moaning. Which I do as he continues gagging me, uttering quiet half moans half pants as the tape covers my mouth completely, each pass either higher or lower then the last, until from just below my nose to my chin is a sea of silver.
And I'm still moaning.
Moaning as, with little effort, Zak takes hold of my body at shoulders and knees, flipping me over onto my stomach, picking up the last rope to complete the hogtie.
My moans increase in volume, becoming, for a short time, higher in pitch as that third rope is tugged, the act forcing my ankles and wrists closer, putting a small arch in my back.
"Okay?" I turn, rolling onto my side, my breasts feeling somehow exposed to the camera I'm now facing due to my helpless state. Looking up I see Zak grinning down at me. "Mmmmmffmm." Is the best I can manage, accompanied by a small nod.
Zak nods back, then retreats out of shot. It must be struggle time.
I should've asked. I had questions, plenty of them, regarding this whole adventure. Chief amongst them though: how do I struggle?
Is that a silly question? Well, think about it. This is all, it could be argued, an act. Like Hollywood. So should I put on an act, and if so what kind? Am I angry and forever in motion, cursing through this tight gag, or am I defeated and silent, laying still, accepting my fate? Is there even a right answer?
I want to do this again. Fuck me- please, he he -I want to do this all again. I. Really really really really, and so on, want to do more shoots. But I imagine only girls whose videos sell get to come back. So which struggle is the right struggle?
All of those thoughts pass through me in an instant. And, because what else can I do but be me, I act how I want to act, and hope it translates well enough on camera to earn me a repeat performance.
I struggle. Not like a crazy person. There's no speed to my movements, no urgency, but nor am I still for longer then a half minute. What I do is, test my ropes. I stretch, trying to find slack even as my fingers search around for any knots within reach. I roll, going from laying on my side, to laying on my belly and breasts. I manage too, and am impressed with myself, for managing to roll over onto my back, winding up laid on my bound arms and ankles, my legs spread wide apart as I buck and wriggle, thrusting both jeans clad crotch and tee clad breasts at the ceiling.
And, as I struggle and moan, Zak's moving around me, handheld camera zooming in and out, getting all his angles.
A closeup of my breasts and crotch.
My face, making my whole body tingle, changing the pitch of my moans and whimpers, as I lock eyes with the lens. Gazing helplessly whilst I wriggle on the sofa, feeling my now very damp thong rubbing against my clit, getting me off.
And then it's all over. The powerful lights shut off, clunk following clunk as each dims, returning the barn to natural sunlight with actual shadows. The cameras shut off next, red eyes blinking out. One. Two.
"Hold on." Zak calls out, putting his handheld down on a small table I hadn't noticed until now over by the storerooms. "Have you out in a moment Brooke."
Picking up a knife, for the tape I guess, Zak wanders over, coming to free me.
And now I see the downside of it all being for a video, instead of for, whatever. I don't actually want to be untied just yet. Am having way too much fun. But, the filming over, there will be, in Zak's eyes, no reason not to free me.
Damn.
The barn. Inside, apart from two doors, which, Zak tells me, lead to storerooms, it's all just one large open space. But the space isn't empty.
Against one wall, though taking up less then half the length available, is something like a film set. A temporary room has been created inside the much larger barn.
It's a lounge. The barns floor is wood, but atop that a second floor has been laid of thick planks pushed and fixed together, and rising from these, with supports at an angle behind to hold them up, are walls, two of them forming a sealed corner. The false floor is covered in thick light brown, almost cream, carpet, whilst the walls are painted pale blue. The only furniture in the room is a sofa, a large fabric four seater with low arms, the whole design dark grey, and composed of sweeping curves.
In front of the room two tripods have been positioned at angles, covering the sofa from both front and not quite front not quite side view. Around the fake room several powerful looking lamps sit on raised poles, all of them currently off, all pointed downwards, ready to bathe the area in shadow erasing light.
The barn floor, around this temporary setup, is a mass of snaking cables.
"Wow." Nodding, impressed. "That's quite something."
"Thanks." Zak grins. "I've got a guy who builds me sets."
"Like what?"
"I did a whole pirate themed thing last year." Pointing, making a sweeping gesture across half the room. "Boat. Well, deck and mast." A wink. I giggle. A mast for lashing girls to of course. Zak continues, pointing at the other end of the barn. "Made a whole fake beach over there. Buried treasure. The works."
"Sounds amazing."
"Certainly made back what I spent on it, plus extra."
"Are we keeping this outfit?"
"Is that okay?" Looking down at myself, at the clothes selected this morning with being tied up in mind. Tight faded blue jeans hug my legs, whilst pink and black Adidas with white laces are on my feet. The jeans sit low on my hips, allowing a hint of red thong to show on the sides. My tee is black, and shows no cleavage as it stretches tightly across my push up bra covered C cups, a slash of stomach visible between tee and jeans. My tee has the Jurassic Park logo stamped on the front, adding a splash of colour. "It's fine." Zak nods. "Not too dressy. Casual."
"Good."
"Come on over to the sofa," leading the way, "and I'll run through the plan one more time before we start."
"So," sat beside me, looking relaxed, Zak nods at the cameras, "both of these will be filming the whole time, plus I'll have a handheld. Everything gets edited after."
"Right."
"We're going for the 'first time' angle. So. Start off with you sat here, and I'll. Off screen. Ask you some questions."
"Like what?"
"Just. Normal stuff. Just so you can tell the camera it really is your first time getting tied up. Okay so far?"
"Um. Yes." Nodding. "But, what if I giggle or something."
"Anything you do, or say, is fine. Natural responses tend to be good, makes it all real. And I'll be editing the footage anyway, should it not quite work, remember."
"Right. And after the interview, that's when I get tied up?"
"Yes. We'll just do a simple hogtie." Zak grins. "You know what that is, right?"
"Yes." Feeling my cheeks colour slightly. I nod. It's the tie I asked to be placed in, having liked the images I found, and Zak had agreed. I can tell from the grin he's teasing anyway, trying to ease my visible nerves. "And, after you tie me up?"
"Then you struggle awhile."
"Awhile?"
"Ten minutes." A shrug. "Maybe fifteen. Enough so I can get footage from every angle."
"Sounds fair." It does.
"One final thing."
"Yes?"
"If you need to call a halt, for any reason, just." Zak blinks, rapidly. "Like that. Or. If you aren't gagged then just say stop."
"And." I lick my lips. He said gagged. I'll be gagged soon. Fuck, calm down. "If I'm gagged?"
"Blinking. Or." A shrug. "Hum a tune. Loudly. Any tune."
"Oh. Um." I nod. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Good." Zak claps his hands together. "Just let me get the rope and some tape for a gag." He stands, walking towards one of the storerooms. "Then we'll start."
Zak flicks the cameras on, and I see red lights. One. Two. Then he flicks the overheads on, making me blink several times at what feels like an overkill of illumination. From my spot in the middle of the sofa, one foot up and resting on the opposite knee, I see him give a thumbs up. He smiles, I smile back.
"So." He's standing close to one of his camera's, allowing the large mic bolted atop to pick up his voice. "Today, not just to the site here, but to the world of bondage, we welcome..."
"Plymouth." I smile, on impulse giving the camera a cheeky wave.
"Plymouth." Zak confirms, smiling back from his position still off camera. Off screen. "And, Plymouth. Would you like to tell everyone why you're here today?"
"I'm here to get tied up."
"She wants to be tied up." I giggle, unable to help myself. The whole back and forth is very much like foreplay. Like teasing. "And have you ever been tied up before?"
"No." Shaking my head, getting into the spirit. "This will be my first time."
"A newbie." Happiness, and a good dose of mischief- enough to make me smile -drips from Zak's voice. All for the cameras. I think? "Are you ready to be hogtied today Plymouth?"
"Yes."
"Excellant."
Zak wanders over, coming into shot from the side, three lengths of rope, and the roll of tape, in his hand.
He sits down beside me, on my left, placing the rope and tape next to him on the sofa cushion. As he's sitting some instinct, prehaps something I thought up late one night as I was daydreaming this moment- a thing I must've done four nights a week for the past four months, at least -has me turning my body to face away from him, whilst at the same time offering my arms up, placing them loosely behind my back. I don't realise I'm doing any of this, I'm not sure I'm aware of anything right now except my thudding heart. That is until I feel the rope touch my skin.
That first yank, with the rope already wrapped several times around my wrists, forcing them together side by side. That yank causes something like an explosion, like a powerful jolt of electricity. My breath catches, just for an instant, and I bite my lip but fail to hold in the small yet still audible moan of pleasure that escapes. At the same time that jolt is racing full speed towards my crotch, making what feels like every nerve tingle as it passes, hitting my pussy with enough force to make me squeeze my legs together, for a moment. I'm not even helpless yet, but I'm already wet with excitement.
My ankles are tied next, Zak kneeling in front of me, having come around from his spot on the sofa. Halfway through he looks up, smiles. Can he see how turned on I am? I smile back, nodding at his unasked question. I'm okay, really super horny, but okay.
Whilst he fumbles, briefly, with the tape, stood up and behind me again, trying to pick and tease at the end of the roll, I give my limbs a quick wriggle. Everything feels tight, the two ropes well tied using- as I glance down at my ankles to see -some kind of wrap around and then wrap between my limbs method. And. It feels amazing. Especially my arms. The helplessness I'm feeling from having my wrists pinned behind me is incredible, the way the tie pulls my arms back, the counter to which is a slight thrusting out of my chest, making my tee covered breasts more pronounced, it all heightens the sensations. This, right now, is truly the greatest moment of my life.
Until Zak squashes one end of the tape over my mouth, and things get even better.
The tape is thick, silver laced through with black. Like something builders must use. Pressing hard as he goes, Zak wraps the tape several times around my head, capturing my hair too, plastering it against my head. The first couple of passes the tape goes into my mouth, Zak pushing at my lips that first time, my jaws opening willingly, like I just can't wait to be silenced. Which of course is true. Because it's being pulled and wrapped tight the tape forces my jaws wide apart, pressing against my tongue, reducing me to moaning. Which I do as he continues gagging me, uttering quiet half moans half pants as the tape covers my mouth completely, each pass either higher or lower then the last, until from just below my nose to my chin is a sea of silver.
And I'm still moaning.
Moaning as, with little effort, Zak takes hold of my body at shoulders and knees, flipping me over onto my stomach, picking up the last rope to complete the hogtie.
My moans increase in volume, becoming, for a short time, higher in pitch as that third rope is tugged, the act forcing my ankles and wrists closer, putting a small arch in my back.
"Okay?" I turn, rolling onto my side, my breasts feeling somehow exposed to the camera I'm now facing due to my helpless state. Looking up I see Zak grinning down at me. "Mmmmmffmm." Is the best I can manage, accompanied by a small nod.
Zak nods back, then retreats out of shot. It must be struggle time.
I should've asked. I had questions, plenty of them, regarding this whole adventure. Chief amongst them though: how do I struggle?
Is that a silly question? Well, think about it. This is all, it could be argued, an act. Like Hollywood. So should I put on an act, and if so what kind? Am I angry and forever in motion, cursing through this tight gag, or am I defeated and silent, laying still, accepting my fate? Is there even a right answer?
I want to do this again. Fuck me- please, he he -I want to do this all again. I. Really really really really, and so on, want to do more shoots. But I imagine only girls whose videos sell get to come back. So which struggle is the right struggle?
All of those thoughts pass through me in an instant. And, because what else can I do but be me, I act how I want to act, and hope it translates well enough on camera to earn me a repeat performance.
I struggle. Not like a crazy person. There's no speed to my movements, no urgency, but nor am I still for longer then a half minute. What I do is, test my ropes. I stretch, trying to find slack even as my fingers search around for any knots within reach. I roll, going from laying on my side, to laying on my belly and breasts. I manage too, and am impressed with myself, for managing to roll over onto my back, winding up laid on my bound arms and ankles, my legs spread wide apart as I buck and wriggle, thrusting both jeans clad crotch and tee clad breasts at the ceiling.
And, as I struggle and moan, Zak's moving around me, handheld camera zooming in and out, getting all his angles.
A closeup of my breasts and crotch.
My face, making my whole body tingle, changing the pitch of my moans and whimpers, as I lock eyes with the lens. Gazing helplessly whilst I wriggle on the sofa, feeling my now very damp thong rubbing against my clit, getting me off.
And then it's all over. The powerful lights shut off, clunk following clunk as each dims, returning the barn to natural sunlight with actual shadows. The cameras shut off next, red eyes blinking out. One. Two.
"Hold on." Zak calls out, putting his handheld down on a small table I hadn't noticed until now over by the storerooms. "Have you out in a moment Brooke."
Picking up a knife, for the tape I guess, Zak wanders over, coming to free me.
And now I see the downside of it all being for a video, instead of for, whatever. I don't actually want to be untied just yet. Am having way too much fun. But, the filming over, there will be, in Zak's eyes, no reason not to free me.
Damn.
-
Solarbeast
- Moderator
- Posts: 1136
- Joined: 6 years ago
- Location: Florida
Another great start to yet another great story from you. I can't wait for more.
Great chapter. Let’s hope Plymouth becomes a very popular model as I want to hear more.
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tickletied84
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 490
- Joined: 6 years ago
- Location: Scotland
Wonderful - so descriptive and makes me want for more for Plymouth! (which from the tagging I'm hoping there's more of!)
003.
"Are you okay?"
"Sure." I smile, fascinated by the marks the tight rope has left on my wrists. I'm sat next to Zak on the sofa, taking a moment before we return to his house, to Jennifer, and the beginnings of my journey home. "Was it. Um." I bite my lip, nervous because so much of what I want in life is riding on this first foray into bondage modelling.
I don't want to know.
I have to know.
"Was I okay?"
"Yes." A silent chuckle, probably at my hopeful expression. "I still need to edit," a dismissive wave of his hand, "all that, before I post. But. Sure. It looked good from my end."
"It did?" This time he does laugh, at my eager tone. I laugh too, take a breath and try to calm down. My insides are still a churning sea of hormones. I am. Still. Quite horny. Zak smiles, pats my leg as he stands. "Definitely. I'd even go so far as to say you seemed like a natural."
"Didn't kidnap her then?" Jennifer tries to carry the joke, to look serious, but she can't help the smile leaking onto her face as she gives me a hug. "Hey bestie."
"Hey Jenn." I smile back, returning the hug. My hoodie is back on, snagged quickly from the kitchen counter as we reentered Zak's house. I'm not sure Jennifer, despite approving of my plan, would be happy at the marks tight bondage can leave on a girls skin.
"Here." Zak, holding out a small envelope. "As agreed. Okay?"
"Thanks." I fold and stuff the whole thing, unopened, into a jeans back pocket. "Not going to count that?" Jennifer, eyebrow raised questioningly. "No." Shaking my head, giving Zak a smile. "I trust the man."
"Why thank you." Tipping me a bow. "Plymouth."
"Plymouth?" Jennifer, looking from Zak to me. I giggle. "It's my stage name."
"Your." Thinking. "Oh. Um. Right."
"Come on ladies." Opening his front door, whistling for Daisy, who comes running, overtaking us all to charge outside towards the pickup. "There'll be a train in a half hour. Let's get you started heading home."
"Please." I nod, stepping out.
Later, already on the second train and closing in on home, the dam of Jennifer's curiousity finally breaks.
"So." Dropping her voice, the carriage is quite busy. "How was it?"
"Good." I nod, happy. "It was. Um. Everything I hoped it would be."
"Yeah?"
"Oh yes." My smile grows, remembering just how right it had felt being helpless in ropes and a gag. Not to mention how horny the whole experience had made me. "Hopefully I'll get to do it again."
"Hopefully?" Jennifer frowns. "I mean, if you liked it?" I nod, prehaps slightly too fast. She giggles. "Well then why can't you do it again?"
"Because it isn't up to me."
"Huh?" Confused. "But. I mean." I can see her working through it. I let her. "It's being tied up. Right?"
"Right."
"So. There must be a ton of people who'd tie you up. Surely?"
"No doubt." I smirk, nod. "But."
"But what?"
"But I want this as a job, not just a Friday night playdate."
"Ah." Jennifer nods back. I can see she gets it. "I get it. And unless Zak likes what he saw today. No callback."
"Exactly." I hate the fact, but it's true. "Unless Zak, and his subscribers, like my shoot, it'll be one and done."
Except. What if it isn't?
Mulling the whole thing over at work several days later, riding my green triple deck diesel powered mower down the side of a busy dual carriageway, the long gentle curve of the grassy central reservation giving my brain ample chance to wander to topics other then the task at hand, I think things through.
I remember, when it was time for Zak to free me, not wanting to be freed. It hadn't felt like enough time had passed, I'd wanted more time spent in the tight confines of the hogtie. More time to struggle and moan. More time, let's be honest, to grind my by that point soaked thong covered pussy up against the coarse material of my jeans crotch, getting myself off. But. With his filming done Zak had no reason to keep me tied up.
So. How do I get tied up, and get to remain tied up longer then twenty odd minutes, but get paid too?
I think things through, but, come up with no easy answers. Yet.
A weekend comes and goes, Jennifer and me get drunk, dance, share a pizza at one in the morning sat on a park bench. And then. One week after my video posts onto the site, Zak calls.
He'd emailed to say it was up, but, I hadn't looked. It was tempting, to view the finished product, but the idea of looking at myself, in that state, just felt strange. Weird.
"Hello?" Having felt my phone vibrate against my leg, wedged as it was into a side pocket of my black combat trousers, I'd pulled it out and answered without looking, too busy shutting off my mower, checking to make sure I'm in no danger from passing cars, or blocking any footpaths, as I lift the cutting blades off the grass, and hop off. I'd assumed it was the boss anyway. "Brooke?" Comes a semi familiar male voice. I frown, stepping further away from mower and road, under cover of a large beech tree. I glance at my phone, the caller I.D showing. "Zak?"
"Hey girl." His voice is cheery, enough to bring a smile to my face. "How's life?"
"Not bad." Looking around, it isn't summer yet, but the cloud dotted sky isn't dropping any rain. I feel good. "I'm good. Working."
"Yeah?"
"Out mowing grass." I answer the unspoken question. Then grin. "No uniform I'm afraid."
"No?"
"Just a hi-vis jacket." I finger the bright yellow material, keeping me warm and, along with the flashing orange light atop my mower, visible. "A jacket huh?" A pause, thinking. He laughs. "I can work with that."
"Behave." I wave his comment away. "I've got plenty more cute tops anyway. Oh." I blush, though he can't see me, not being able, in the moment, to help the half offer half flirt that had slipped out. "I mean. Well."
"Relax Brooke." His tone drops to a conspiratory whisper. "Or, maybe given the nature of my call, it should be Plymouth."
"Really?" I half shout. My brain connecting the dots. "You mean...? They...?"
"Yes. Your video, best first week interest I've ever seen on the site."
"Wow." Feeling quite pleased with myself, like queen of the castle. "So." I swallow, because it feels like he's already said so, but, I need to hear the words. "You want me to come back, do another shoot?"
"Plymouth." His voice, suddenly very formal, I grin. "I would love to have you back. Yes."
After. Once I'm done screaming with joy down the phone, a scream which turns to a laugh as I notice all the strange looks I'm getting from passing motorists and the occasional pedestrian. I mean, a girl doing a victory dance next to a green mower in the middle of a busy housing estate, surely it's an everyday occurrence. Right? After I've apologised for possibly destroying Zak's ear drums. We agree to discuss details later, once I'm home.
"So." Sat on my bed, showered and dressed in loose dark blue drawstring trousers paired with a grey vest top. No bra, since I'm not going back out and Mum doesn't mind, and sensible white pants. I've called Zak back. "When did you want me to come?"
"When can you?" I hear, muffled, the sounds of him moving around. Walking. Opening and closing cupboards. "I mean, you work, is it a nine to five job?"
"Close. Kinda eight to five, sometimes earlier, sometimes later."
"Weekends off though?"
"Mostly." I think. "Unless I do overtime."
"Could you come this weekend?"
So soon? My heart skips a beat, the breath catching in my throat. "Um." I'm free, but, is it crazy to want to savour this, enjoy the thought of going back before I actually go back?
"Next weekend?" Taking my silence for reluctance, when in truth it's anything but. "I can slot you in any Saturday you're free."
"Really?" He really wants me back. I feel a sudden urge to repeat my earlier dance of ultimate victory. But stay sat down. "Um." Think Brooke. "How about two weeks time?"
"On the Saturday? The...." Tapping of a pen against paper. "Tenth?"
"The tenth." I nod.
"Will it be another hogtie," I did get up, walking to my wall calender, flipping the month over and putting a half dozen red marker rings around the tenth, and am now sat back down, "like last time?"
"Well." A pause. "That's down to you."
"Are you okay?"
"Sure." I smile, fascinated by the marks the tight rope has left on my wrists. I'm sat next to Zak on the sofa, taking a moment before we return to his house, to Jennifer, and the beginnings of my journey home. "Was it. Um." I bite my lip, nervous because so much of what I want in life is riding on this first foray into bondage modelling.
I don't want to know.
I have to know.
"Was I okay?"
"Yes." A silent chuckle, probably at my hopeful expression. "I still need to edit," a dismissive wave of his hand, "all that, before I post. But. Sure. It looked good from my end."
"It did?" This time he does laugh, at my eager tone. I laugh too, take a breath and try to calm down. My insides are still a churning sea of hormones. I am. Still. Quite horny. Zak smiles, pats my leg as he stands. "Definitely. I'd even go so far as to say you seemed like a natural."
"Didn't kidnap her then?" Jennifer tries to carry the joke, to look serious, but she can't help the smile leaking onto her face as she gives me a hug. "Hey bestie."
"Hey Jenn." I smile back, returning the hug. My hoodie is back on, snagged quickly from the kitchen counter as we reentered Zak's house. I'm not sure Jennifer, despite approving of my plan, would be happy at the marks tight bondage can leave on a girls skin.
"Here." Zak, holding out a small envelope. "As agreed. Okay?"
"Thanks." I fold and stuff the whole thing, unopened, into a jeans back pocket. "Not going to count that?" Jennifer, eyebrow raised questioningly. "No." Shaking my head, giving Zak a smile. "I trust the man."
"Why thank you." Tipping me a bow. "Plymouth."
"Plymouth?" Jennifer, looking from Zak to me. I giggle. "It's my stage name."
"Your." Thinking. "Oh. Um. Right."
"Come on ladies." Opening his front door, whistling for Daisy, who comes running, overtaking us all to charge outside towards the pickup. "There'll be a train in a half hour. Let's get you started heading home."
"Please." I nod, stepping out.
Later, already on the second train and closing in on home, the dam of Jennifer's curiousity finally breaks.
"So." Dropping her voice, the carriage is quite busy. "How was it?"
"Good." I nod, happy. "It was. Um. Everything I hoped it would be."
"Yeah?"
"Oh yes." My smile grows, remembering just how right it had felt being helpless in ropes and a gag. Not to mention how horny the whole experience had made me. "Hopefully I'll get to do it again."
"Hopefully?" Jennifer frowns. "I mean, if you liked it?" I nod, prehaps slightly too fast. She giggles. "Well then why can't you do it again?"
"Because it isn't up to me."
"Huh?" Confused. "But. I mean." I can see her working through it. I let her. "It's being tied up. Right?"
"Right."
"So. There must be a ton of people who'd tie you up. Surely?"
"No doubt." I smirk, nod. "But."
"But what?"
"But I want this as a job, not just a Friday night playdate."
"Ah." Jennifer nods back. I can see she gets it. "I get it. And unless Zak likes what he saw today. No callback."
"Exactly." I hate the fact, but it's true. "Unless Zak, and his subscribers, like my shoot, it'll be one and done."
Except. What if it isn't?
Mulling the whole thing over at work several days later, riding my green triple deck diesel powered mower down the side of a busy dual carriageway, the long gentle curve of the grassy central reservation giving my brain ample chance to wander to topics other then the task at hand, I think things through.
I remember, when it was time for Zak to free me, not wanting to be freed. It hadn't felt like enough time had passed, I'd wanted more time spent in the tight confines of the hogtie. More time to struggle and moan. More time, let's be honest, to grind my by that point soaked thong covered pussy up against the coarse material of my jeans crotch, getting myself off. But. With his filming done Zak had no reason to keep me tied up.
So. How do I get tied up, and get to remain tied up longer then twenty odd minutes, but get paid too?
I think things through, but, come up with no easy answers. Yet.
A weekend comes and goes, Jennifer and me get drunk, dance, share a pizza at one in the morning sat on a park bench. And then. One week after my video posts onto the site, Zak calls.
He'd emailed to say it was up, but, I hadn't looked. It was tempting, to view the finished product, but the idea of looking at myself, in that state, just felt strange. Weird.
"Hello?" Having felt my phone vibrate against my leg, wedged as it was into a side pocket of my black combat trousers, I'd pulled it out and answered without looking, too busy shutting off my mower, checking to make sure I'm in no danger from passing cars, or blocking any footpaths, as I lift the cutting blades off the grass, and hop off. I'd assumed it was the boss anyway. "Brooke?" Comes a semi familiar male voice. I frown, stepping further away from mower and road, under cover of a large beech tree. I glance at my phone, the caller I.D showing. "Zak?"
"Hey girl." His voice is cheery, enough to bring a smile to my face. "How's life?"
"Not bad." Looking around, it isn't summer yet, but the cloud dotted sky isn't dropping any rain. I feel good. "I'm good. Working."
"Yeah?"
"Out mowing grass." I answer the unspoken question. Then grin. "No uniform I'm afraid."
"No?"
"Just a hi-vis jacket." I finger the bright yellow material, keeping me warm and, along with the flashing orange light atop my mower, visible. "A jacket huh?" A pause, thinking. He laughs. "I can work with that."
"Behave." I wave his comment away. "I've got plenty more cute tops anyway. Oh." I blush, though he can't see me, not being able, in the moment, to help the half offer half flirt that had slipped out. "I mean. Well."
"Relax Brooke." His tone drops to a conspiratory whisper. "Or, maybe given the nature of my call, it should be Plymouth."
"Really?" I half shout. My brain connecting the dots. "You mean...? They...?"
"Yes. Your video, best first week interest I've ever seen on the site."
"Wow." Feeling quite pleased with myself, like queen of the castle. "So." I swallow, because it feels like he's already said so, but, I need to hear the words. "You want me to come back, do another shoot?"
"Plymouth." His voice, suddenly very formal, I grin. "I would love to have you back. Yes."
After. Once I'm done screaming with joy down the phone, a scream which turns to a laugh as I notice all the strange looks I'm getting from passing motorists and the occasional pedestrian. I mean, a girl doing a victory dance next to a green mower in the middle of a busy housing estate, surely it's an everyday occurrence. Right? After I've apologised for possibly destroying Zak's ear drums. We agree to discuss details later, once I'm home.
"So." Sat on my bed, showered and dressed in loose dark blue drawstring trousers paired with a grey vest top. No bra, since I'm not going back out and Mum doesn't mind, and sensible white pants. I've called Zak back. "When did you want me to come?"
"When can you?" I hear, muffled, the sounds of him moving around. Walking. Opening and closing cupboards. "I mean, you work, is it a nine to five job?"
"Close. Kinda eight to five, sometimes earlier, sometimes later."
"Weekends off though?"
"Mostly." I think. "Unless I do overtime."
"Could you come this weekend?"
So soon? My heart skips a beat, the breath catching in my throat. "Um." I'm free, but, is it crazy to want to savour this, enjoy the thought of going back before I actually go back?
"Next weekend?" Taking my silence for reluctance, when in truth it's anything but. "I can slot you in any Saturday you're free."
"Really?" He really wants me back. I feel a sudden urge to repeat my earlier dance of ultimate victory. But stay sat down. "Um." Think Brooke. "How about two weeks time?"
"On the Saturday? The...." Tapping of a pen against paper. "Tenth?"
"The tenth." I nod.
"Will it be another hogtie," I did get up, walking to my wall calender, flipping the month over and putting a half dozen red marker rings around the tenth, and am now sat back down, "like last time?"
"Well." A pause. "That's down to you."
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JohnnyRockets
- Forum Contributer
- Posts: 52
- Joined: 5 years ago
Yuur stories are consistently among the best posted to this forum, I always look forward to reading them.
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tickletied84
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 490
- Joined: 6 years ago
- Location: Scotland
Glad to see that Plymouth is rising up the charts Your descriptions are so vivid, I almost wanted to dance with joy at the same time as Brooke/Plymouth 
Your descriptions are so vivid, I almost wanted to dance with joy at the same time as Brooke/Plymouth 004.
I've lied to Mum before, what child hasn't, but I try not to.
Dad, my Dad, has never featured in my life. According to Mum he didn't want to know, not me ever, and not her once she became pregnant. I don't push the subject. She's made it work. Me and her against the world and, somehow, we won. I never went hungry, never didn't have clothes to wear or toys to play with. Sure, maybe my friends had more, but having last years Nintendo never bothered me. I can't fault my childhood.
But still. Now that I'm all grown up, an adult, it's tempting to seek him out. Ask why.
I don't like to lie because it's only me and her, because of the strong bond between us that dynamic has created.
But sometimes I have to.
"You'll be out all day?"
"Until dinner." I swallow the last of my milk. "Fancy takeout pizza and a movie?"
"You don't want to see friends?"
"Not tonight." I slide in my lie. "Seeing them all day, so, let's have a girls night in." I grin. "My treat."
"Are you sure?" Bless her, she's grinning back, but, like the super Mum she is, she's still offering me a way out, and will, I know, offer to pay for dinner later too. "I'm sure Mum." Giving her a kiss, shrugging into my favourite hoodie: the black zip up one where the left side, front and back, has a half ribcage print. We hug, I grab my green camo style messenger bag, scoop up keys and phone, then leave.
Trains run to slightly different times at the weekends. Not all of them, but some, like the little sprinter I needed for part two of my journey, which, I'm told with a smile, left five minutes before my Intercity arrived.
At least I bought along a book to read.
"There she is." Zak gives me a wave as I wander over, whilst behind him Daisy's going bananas in his pickup. "Hey." I wave back. "Sorry again about the delay. I should've checked ahead."
"Easy mistake to make." A shrug. I'd messaged him, just so he, unlike me, wasn't forced to spend an hour waiting at or inside a windy station. "You'll just have to learn to drive."
"I have."
Since showing my provisional to Zak several months ago, taking and emailing a photo, I've passed my test. But, lacking the funds for some wheels, about the only change to my life has been the removal of the L plates on my works mower, plus my boss, now that I'd fulfilled the terms of my probation, switching me to a full contract.
"Yeah?" Zak nods. "Well done you."
"Thanks," patting the front wing of his Ford, "just need a car now."
"Well." A shrug. "All good things...."
"True."
"Come on then." Walking around the front of his truck, Zak nods at the empty space around me. "No friend today?"
"Not today."
"Want to sit up front?"
"Please."
The temporary room inside the barn has changed. The carpet has been removed, the wood left behind polished and shiny. The walls are now pale yellow, with a framed geographical map of the world, A1 sized, hung near the corner. Against the wall, the one without the map, a bed has been pushed. It's a king, dark wooden framed and semi posh looking. The four legs are well defined, whilst both head and foot ends feature a row of vertical slats. A bondage lovers bed clearly. A pale blue fitted sheet is already atop the mattress.
"You keep the bed," I think, "and sofa. You swap them out?"
"I do." Zak nods, smoothing down the sheet, checking. "I've got a bunch of stuff, home stuff, in storage."
"Like what?"
"A dining room set. Table and chairs. Freestanding wooden post. Props like a bookcase."
"To make it all look more real?" Wandering over to the map, for a closer look. It's a nice print. "Exactly." Zak answers, from behind me. "I could easily just shoot girls struggling in the barn, no props, just the girl and the floor. But, I think this is better."
"I do too." Nodding. "Anyway," patting my bag, "time to change?"
"Yes." Zak points to the left hand storeroom. "Use that one, it's got a mirror, and the toilet's in there too."
The plan for today is simple enough. A bed tie, in a bikini. I'll be tied up before Zak begins filming, so the whole video this time will just be me bound and struggling. And nearly naked. I could've done another fully clothed shoot, but, by my logic this: lots of skin and a quite sexual tie, can only help my career.
And if not, or maybe I'll do it regardless, there is my other idea.
"I'm ready." Full of butterflies, nervous energy making me jittery whilst at the same time plastering a wide grin on my face, I approach the bed. "Good choice." Zak, nodding approval as he steps away from one of the cameras, towards the small table. "Here." Tapping something, the contracts I see, coming closer. "Better sign these first."
"Yes." Scanning the single sheet, mostly the same as last time, save for the tie up description. I tap a finger on the last line, the possible extra we've discussed.
"Just in case." Zak peers over my shoulder, tapping just below my own finger. "I." A sheepish smile. "Not that I want to influence you. But. I noted the additional price. Should you...."
"Indeed." I sign both papers, trying to contain myself. The voice in my head. Chanting tied up tied up tied up tied up like a rising wind.
My bikini bottoms are tie side, and more pants then thong. The overall colour is black, but there's a fern and flower pattern done in white, with several of the flowers picked out in red. My top is light grey, with the Animal A design on the right triangle in white. It's a halter style, so no string, instead the material that cups my breasts, in a way that allows a good showing of cleavage, thins as it heads North to meet and tie behind my neck. It does similar behind my back.
My second time being tied up, and any worries I had that the experience might dull with repetition, might be less of a thrill, are quickly dispelled.
Working at a good pace, his mind focused on the task at hand, a fact evidenced by his slightly furrowed brow, Zak trusses me in place. On the bed.
I'm laid on my back, directly in the centre, my thin frame making the king feel huge as, to be helpful, I spread my limbs out in a loose starfish pose.
I can't even reach any of the mattresses corners.
Logically, I would think, from my experience- namely one real world hogtie and a bunch of research, by which I mean looking at images of tied girls and feeling alternately horny and jealous -at bondage ropework, to do this tie you'd pick a wrist, then work either clock, or anticlock, wise, around the body.
No.
Zak ties both my wrists first. Binding and knotting each separately into a kind of rope cuff, too tight to slip out of- I think -and with two long trailing ends of rope per limb. After, leaving my wrists unattached to the bed, for now, he repeats the rope cuff on each ankle. I sit up to watch, seeing no reason not to since the cameras aren't rolling.
"Fancy having a go?"
"What? You mean." Is it even a thing? "Tie myself up?"
"Well." Zak chuckles, yanking on a knot. "That too, but...."
"Wait." I hold up a hand, then giggle as Zak dutifully stops tying me up. "Sorry." I wave. "Carry on tying me." He does, shaking his head, but smiling. "People tie themselves up?"
"Yes."
"For real?"
"Sure."
"But." I can see a great big glaring hole in this plan. "How do they get out afterwards?"
"Well." My forth limb tied, trailing ropes leading off my ankles and wrists, Zak sits down next to my left ankle. "It's complicated."
"Can you give me the short version?"
"Sure." A shrug. "There are timer locks. Or some people tie themselves up to be found."
"Oh." The idea does give me a certain thrill, making myself helpless. My pussy wakes up, nods approval at the thought of someone finding me tied and gagged. "Have you done videos of this?"
"Couple of times."
"And." I. Almost. Wish I'd heard about this before I was halfway tied. Maybe next time. "You'd show me how. For a shoot?"
"Maybe. I'd definitely like you to come back and do more shoots here."
"Really?" Yes yes yes yes. "But. I thought...?"
"Thought you'd have to wait and see each time?" Zak smiles. "Like probation?"
"Well. Yes."
"I think," standing, nodding down at me, "there was enough positive feedback from your first foray into bondage modelling to bankroll a whole handful of shoots."
And now, as Zak finishes tying me up, I have a big idiot grin plastered on my face.
A whole handful of shoots. That's, at least five, plus who knows what elsewhere. Which reminds me.
"Am I, like, exclusive to you?"
"Exclusive?" My left arm is being pulled tight by the trailing rope off that wrist, fed down off the mattress to the top left corner post, then presumably wrapped around it for leverage. The pull is straightening the limb out, and giving me butterflies. "Yes." I nod, even though Zak can't see me. "Like. If I wanted to work, do a shoot, elsewhere?"
"Leaving me already?" Standing, walking around the bed to my right arm.
"No." Shaking my head. "It's just. Well."
"Relax." Waving his hand. "I'm just teasing. No, Brooke, this isn't an exclusive arrangement. You want to work for other sites, or anything else, you can."
"Oh." I nod. "Okay. Thanks."
"I meant what I said though." Bending down, beginning to work on my right wrist. "I do, would love, to have you back here."
"Sure." Good. My plans, such as they were, and are, can go ahead then. Including, now of course, returning here as often as Zak will have me.
With my right arm pulled and stretched out like my left, Zak moves onto my legs. Taking hold of both he tugs down, dragging my body towards the beds footboard, removing what little slack there was in both my arms, and wrist ropes, before he binds my ankles to the bed.
The method is the same as for my wrists: ropes down and around the bed post, pull and yank, stretch out the limb, then tie off to hold it in place.
"Okay?"
"Yes." I feel. Very vulnerable. But in a good way. "Fuck me." Realising I can't actually move. "Damn that's tight."
"You're okay though," stood beside the bed, looking down at me, "Brooke?"
"I'm fine." Never better. The tightness is good. I welcome it, prefer it, like with the hogtie before. For the second time I can feel that creeping sense of helplessness, the knowledge making my heart speed up, making my nipples harden, poking against their bikini prison.
"Is it." I have to swallow, lick my lips. Does every model get so turned on by this? How do they cope? "Is it time to film now?"
"I just need to gag you first."
Ah yes, the ballgag. Zak straps it on tightly, going for realism just like with the ropes. Which is great. Some of the stuff I found, during my research, looked fake as fuck, loose ropes and gags that the model often simply spat out. The obviously tight bondage on tightlytrussed is the main reason I chose to contact Zak. The black rubber ball, large enough to feel uncomfortable- though I have seen photos of bigger, wow -forces my jaws apart, whilst the leather strap, also black, digs in at the sides of my mouth.
Retreating across the room, back into the barn proper, Zak begins flicking switches, waking the pole mounted lights, activating cameras. "Ready?"
"Mmfffp ffmm." I nod too. "Okay then," nodding back, "whenever you're ready."
Struggling this time is completely different. Because I can't move.
I really can't.
But I can moan. And, no surprise given my reaction the first time, I'm easily turned on enough that my whimpering and panting is most definitely real.
Alongside my moans, which aren't constant- because to me that would sound annoying -I do flex my tightly stretched body. Tensing the muscles in arm and leg. Straining. Proving my utter helplessness to the roving handheld camera Zak's doing a slow circuit of my bikini clad body with.
When he reaches my face I don't stare at the lens. Instead I moan, like a plea, shaking my head, and then I look, locking eyes with whoever might eventually watch me, and moan again, pulling against my ropes as I do, before looking away.
How long does this go on? I'm way too distracted by my own predicament to tell, way too horny, way too wet down below.
All I do know is that Zak does two horseshoe circuits of the bed. Pausing at times, kneeling, or leaning in for a more overhead angle.
"Well," having placed the camera down, Zak returns to the bed, "it's decision time." He gives me a half smile, and a small shrug. "As we discussed, and as your contract states. I believe," he chuckles, having prehaps just come up with the wording of the choice he offers up, "it's up to you now. Are you Brooke? Or are you Plymouth?"
I've lied to Mum before, what child hasn't, but I try not to.
Dad, my Dad, has never featured in my life. According to Mum he didn't want to know, not me ever, and not her once she became pregnant. I don't push the subject. She's made it work. Me and her against the world and, somehow, we won. I never went hungry, never didn't have clothes to wear or toys to play with. Sure, maybe my friends had more, but having last years Nintendo never bothered me. I can't fault my childhood.
But still. Now that I'm all grown up, an adult, it's tempting to seek him out. Ask why.
I don't like to lie because it's only me and her, because of the strong bond between us that dynamic has created.
But sometimes I have to.
"You'll be out all day?"
"Until dinner." I swallow the last of my milk. "Fancy takeout pizza and a movie?"
"You don't want to see friends?"
"Not tonight." I slide in my lie. "Seeing them all day, so, let's have a girls night in." I grin. "My treat."
"Are you sure?" Bless her, she's grinning back, but, like the super Mum she is, she's still offering me a way out, and will, I know, offer to pay for dinner later too. "I'm sure Mum." Giving her a kiss, shrugging into my favourite hoodie: the black zip up one where the left side, front and back, has a half ribcage print. We hug, I grab my green camo style messenger bag, scoop up keys and phone, then leave.
Trains run to slightly different times at the weekends. Not all of them, but some, like the little sprinter I needed for part two of my journey, which, I'm told with a smile, left five minutes before my Intercity arrived.
At least I bought along a book to read.
"There she is." Zak gives me a wave as I wander over, whilst behind him Daisy's going bananas in his pickup. "Hey." I wave back. "Sorry again about the delay. I should've checked ahead."
"Easy mistake to make." A shrug. I'd messaged him, just so he, unlike me, wasn't forced to spend an hour waiting at or inside a windy station. "You'll just have to learn to drive."
"I have."
Since showing my provisional to Zak several months ago, taking and emailing a photo, I've passed my test. But, lacking the funds for some wheels, about the only change to my life has been the removal of the L plates on my works mower, plus my boss, now that I'd fulfilled the terms of my probation, switching me to a full contract.
"Yeah?" Zak nods. "Well done you."
"Thanks," patting the front wing of his Ford, "just need a car now."
"Well." A shrug. "All good things...."
"True."
"Come on then." Walking around the front of his truck, Zak nods at the empty space around me. "No friend today?"
"Not today."
"Want to sit up front?"
"Please."
The temporary room inside the barn has changed. The carpet has been removed, the wood left behind polished and shiny. The walls are now pale yellow, with a framed geographical map of the world, A1 sized, hung near the corner. Against the wall, the one without the map, a bed has been pushed. It's a king, dark wooden framed and semi posh looking. The four legs are well defined, whilst both head and foot ends feature a row of vertical slats. A bondage lovers bed clearly. A pale blue fitted sheet is already atop the mattress.
"You keep the bed," I think, "and sofa. You swap them out?"
"I do." Zak nods, smoothing down the sheet, checking. "I've got a bunch of stuff, home stuff, in storage."
"Like what?"
"A dining room set. Table and chairs. Freestanding wooden post. Props like a bookcase."
"To make it all look more real?" Wandering over to the map, for a closer look. It's a nice print. "Exactly." Zak answers, from behind me. "I could easily just shoot girls struggling in the barn, no props, just the girl and the floor. But, I think this is better."
"I do too." Nodding. "Anyway," patting my bag, "time to change?"
"Yes." Zak points to the left hand storeroom. "Use that one, it's got a mirror, and the toilet's in there too."
The plan for today is simple enough. A bed tie, in a bikini. I'll be tied up before Zak begins filming, so the whole video this time will just be me bound and struggling. And nearly naked. I could've done another fully clothed shoot, but, by my logic this: lots of skin and a quite sexual tie, can only help my career.
And if not, or maybe I'll do it regardless, there is my other idea.
"I'm ready." Full of butterflies, nervous energy making me jittery whilst at the same time plastering a wide grin on my face, I approach the bed. "Good choice." Zak, nodding approval as he steps away from one of the cameras, towards the small table. "Here." Tapping something, the contracts I see, coming closer. "Better sign these first."
"Yes." Scanning the single sheet, mostly the same as last time, save for the tie up description. I tap a finger on the last line, the possible extra we've discussed.
"Just in case." Zak peers over my shoulder, tapping just below my own finger. "I." A sheepish smile. "Not that I want to influence you. But. I noted the additional price. Should you...."
"Indeed." I sign both papers, trying to contain myself. The voice in my head. Chanting tied up tied up tied up tied up like a rising wind.
My bikini bottoms are tie side, and more pants then thong. The overall colour is black, but there's a fern and flower pattern done in white, with several of the flowers picked out in red. My top is light grey, with the Animal A design on the right triangle in white. It's a halter style, so no string, instead the material that cups my breasts, in a way that allows a good showing of cleavage, thins as it heads North to meet and tie behind my neck. It does similar behind my back.
My second time being tied up, and any worries I had that the experience might dull with repetition, might be less of a thrill, are quickly dispelled.
Working at a good pace, his mind focused on the task at hand, a fact evidenced by his slightly furrowed brow, Zak trusses me in place. On the bed.
I'm laid on my back, directly in the centre, my thin frame making the king feel huge as, to be helpful, I spread my limbs out in a loose starfish pose.
I can't even reach any of the mattresses corners.
Logically, I would think, from my experience- namely one real world hogtie and a bunch of research, by which I mean looking at images of tied girls and feeling alternately horny and jealous -at bondage ropework, to do this tie you'd pick a wrist, then work either clock, or anticlock, wise, around the body.
No.
Zak ties both my wrists first. Binding and knotting each separately into a kind of rope cuff, too tight to slip out of- I think -and with two long trailing ends of rope per limb. After, leaving my wrists unattached to the bed, for now, he repeats the rope cuff on each ankle. I sit up to watch, seeing no reason not to since the cameras aren't rolling.
"Fancy having a go?"
"What? You mean." Is it even a thing? "Tie myself up?"
"Well." Zak chuckles, yanking on a knot. "That too, but...."
"Wait." I hold up a hand, then giggle as Zak dutifully stops tying me up. "Sorry." I wave. "Carry on tying me." He does, shaking his head, but smiling. "People tie themselves up?"
"Yes."
"For real?"
"Sure."
"But." I can see a great big glaring hole in this plan. "How do they get out afterwards?"
"Well." My forth limb tied, trailing ropes leading off my ankles and wrists, Zak sits down next to my left ankle. "It's complicated."
"Can you give me the short version?"
"Sure." A shrug. "There are timer locks. Or some people tie themselves up to be found."
"Oh." The idea does give me a certain thrill, making myself helpless. My pussy wakes up, nods approval at the thought of someone finding me tied and gagged. "Have you done videos of this?"
"Couple of times."
"And." I. Almost. Wish I'd heard about this before I was halfway tied. Maybe next time. "You'd show me how. For a shoot?"
"Maybe. I'd definitely like you to come back and do more shoots here."
"Really?" Yes yes yes yes. "But. I thought...?"
"Thought you'd have to wait and see each time?" Zak smiles. "Like probation?"
"Well. Yes."
"I think," standing, nodding down at me, "there was enough positive feedback from your first foray into bondage modelling to bankroll a whole handful of shoots."
And now, as Zak finishes tying me up, I have a big idiot grin plastered on my face.
A whole handful of shoots. That's, at least five, plus who knows what elsewhere. Which reminds me.
"Am I, like, exclusive to you?"
"Exclusive?" My left arm is being pulled tight by the trailing rope off that wrist, fed down off the mattress to the top left corner post, then presumably wrapped around it for leverage. The pull is straightening the limb out, and giving me butterflies. "Yes." I nod, even though Zak can't see me. "Like. If I wanted to work, do a shoot, elsewhere?"
"Leaving me already?" Standing, walking around the bed to my right arm.
"No." Shaking my head. "It's just. Well."
"Relax." Waving his hand. "I'm just teasing. No, Brooke, this isn't an exclusive arrangement. You want to work for other sites, or anything else, you can."
"Oh." I nod. "Okay. Thanks."
"I meant what I said though." Bending down, beginning to work on my right wrist. "I do, would love, to have you back here."
"Sure." Good. My plans, such as they were, and are, can go ahead then. Including, now of course, returning here as often as Zak will have me.
With my right arm pulled and stretched out like my left, Zak moves onto my legs. Taking hold of both he tugs down, dragging my body towards the beds footboard, removing what little slack there was in both my arms, and wrist ropes, before he binds my ankles to the bed.
The method is the same as for my wrists: ropes down and around the bed post, pull and yank, stretch out the limb, then tie off to hold it in place.
"Okay?"
"Yes." I feel. Very vulnerable. But in a good way. "Fuck me." Realising I can't actually move. "Damn that's tight."
"You're okay though," stood beside the bed, looking down at me, "Brooke?"
"I'm fine." Never better. The tightness is good. I welcome it, prefer it, like with the hogtie before. For the second time I can feel that creeping sense of helplessness, the knowledge making my heart speed up, making my nipples harden, poking against their bikini prison.
"Is it." I have to swallow, lick my lips. Does every model get so turned on by this? How do they cope? "Is it time to film now?"
"I just need to gag you first."
Ah yes, the ballgag. Zak straps it on tightly, going for realism just like with the ropes. Which is great. Some of the stuff I found, during my research, looked fake as fuck, loose ropes and gags that the model often simply spat out. The obviously tight bondage on tightlytrussed is the main reason I chose to contact Zak. The black rubber ball, large enough to feel uncomfortable- though I have seen photos of bigger, wow -forces my jaws apart, whilst the leather strap, also black, digs in at the sides of my mouth.
Retreating across the room, back into the barn proper, Zak begins flicking switches, waking the pole mounted lights, activating cameras. "Ready?"
"Mmfffp ffmm." I nod too. "Okay then," nodding back, "whenever you're ready."
Struggling this time is completely different. Because I can't move.
I really can't.
But I can moan. And, no surprise given my reaction the first time, I'm easily turned on enough that my whimpering and panting is most definitely real.
Alongside my moans, which aren't constant- because to me that would sound annoying -I do flex my tightly stretched body. Tensing the muscles in arm and leg. Straining. Proving my utter helplessness to the roving handheld camera Zak's doing a slow circuit of my bikini clad body with.
When he reaches my face I don't stare at the lens. Instead I moan, like a plea, shaking my head, and then I look, locking eyes with whoever might eventually watch me, and moan again, pulling against my ropes as I do, before looking away.
How long does this go on? I'm way too distracted by my own predicament to tell, way too horny, way too wet down below.
All I do know is that Zak does two horseshoe circuits of the bed. Pausing at times, kneeling, or leaning in for a more overhead angle.
"Well," having placed the camera down, Zak returns to the bed, "it's decision time." He gives me a half smile, and a small shrug. "As we discussed, and as your contract states. I believe," he chuckles, having prehaps just come up with the wording of the choice he offers up, "it's up to you now. Are you Brooke? Or are you Plymouth?"
I can't believe it's taken me this long to get around to reading this story, it's incredible! 
Brooke, or should I say Plymouth haha, is a very relatable and realistic protagonist, I'm gonna assume from your little disclaimer at the start that you've never been in bondage yourself irl. If that's the case I've gotta say you shouldn't feel embarrassed at all, and you've still nailed the overall sensations and feelings of the experience.
You should definitely keep this story up as I and several others will be watching Plymouth's rise to stardom in the bondage world with very keen interest
Brooke, or should I say Plymouth haha, is a very relatable and realistic protagonist, I'm gonna assume from your little disclaimer at the start that you've never been in bondage yourself irl. If that's the case I've gotta say you shouldn't feel embarrassed at all, and you've still nailed the overall sensations and feelings of the experience.
You should definitely keep this story up as I and several others will be watching Plymouth's rise to stardom in the bondage world with very keen interest
Another great update and such a delight to see how the characters are developing with each encounter and each binding. Keep it up it’s truly enjoyable. Although I’d be delighted to turn you into Plymouth for real 
Thanks for dropping a comment
The disclaimer actually refers to my lack of knowledge regarding the world of professional bondage: paid work, modelling, and so forth.
The further through this story we go, the further into that world I'll be treading. So I wanted to say at the beginning that what I write might not be true, but I'll be trying to make it realistic all the same.
Ah yes I see, well I think most of us would be in the same boat with you there so I'm sure it'll be ok if a couple things here or there aren't 100% true to lifeRopeBunny wrote: ↑2 years agoThanks for dropping a comment
The disclaimer actually refers to my lack of knowledge regarding the world of professional bondage: paid work, modelling, and so forth.
The further through this story we go, the further into that world I'll be treading. So I wanted to say at the beginning that what I write might not be true, but I'll be trying to make it realistic all the same.
I really admire that commitment to detail and realism you've got going on
hope you'll continue with this awesome story!005.
It's a silly question.
To me.
But he has to ask. Because this is work, with actual contracts, and not simply playtime.
"Mmpppffffm."
"Oh." Zak laughs. "Right. Ha."
"Mmf mpppfffm." I close my eyes, briefly, and shake my head.
"Prehaps I should ungag you?"
"Mmm mmmfm mmm." I shake my head harder. Fuck off, but in a polite way obviously. And think. How can I answer when I can't answer?
Ah.
"Is that," giving me an amused look, "are you trying to tell me something?"
"Mfffp pppffm." I nod, and give my bikini covered breasts another shake. As well as I'm able given the tight ropes. "Right." Zak sits down, perching on the beds edge. "Just so we're clear then, because, I think I understand, but I'd hate to be wrong and lose you as a model over some silly misunderstanding." He grins. "I do believe you're trying to say yes? Is that right," fixing me with a look, "Plymouth?"
I nod, once, making sure the gesture is a definite up and down, no hint or trace of anything remotely side to side.
"Okay. Great." Zak nods back. "Well done you."
And then he strips me.
"Will it be another hogtie, like last time?"
"Well." Zak's voice, coming down the phone line almost three weeks ago, had paused. "That's down to you."
"It is?"
"Sure. To a degree." I hear him take a quick swallow of drink before continuing. "Let me explain."
"I can't speak for every site, but, this one, tightlytrussed. My site. Has a theme."
"Which is tight bondage," I can't help grinning, "right?"
"Right. So. I know the type of bondage I want on here, but, within that, I can be flexible."
"So what you're saying is: if I have an idea, one that fits the sites design, you'll do it?"
"Yes and no."
"It has to be a good idea. Otherwise it won't sell."
"I. Um." Nervous, at pitching to Zak, and at the idea itself. "I think it's good."
"Tell me? Let's see what you've dreamed up."
"Well. Here's the thing." Launching into an, almost certainly unasked for, explanation. "I really want to be a professional model. A bondage model. Which I told you before. And. Well. So I guess I want to do a naked shoot. Um. Maybe."
"Naked?"
"I just." I had thought all this through, the reasoning. "I just thought that a naked tie up would help."
"Help your career?"
"Yes. Um. Would it?"
"Sure it would. On the whole the clothed bondage stuff does sell, people like the tease of a tight top, and some just have a thing for jeans or gym clothes. But...."
"But?"
"But naked stuff always nets a higher profit."
"Well." Nerves. I decide to be honest. "I want to, maybe a bed tie, all," I giggle, a release of tension, "stretched out. But I'm nervous."
"Of course you are. Like I said." I hear him scratch at his hairy chin. "Think I said. You don't have to be naked."
"Maybe." I have a sudden brainwave. "If I wear a bikini, and, then. Maybe. If I want. And, if it's okay. We could. Um. Take it off halfway through the video."
"Sure." Another drink. "I think that sounds like a fine plan."
"You do?"
"Definitely. The bikini is quite a tease, near naked, thing anyway. And if you do go the whole way, the removal will add a good surprise to the video."
"So I can do this, as the second shoot?"
"Yes. I'll get it all written up for the tenth. Do you have a bikini?"
"Several."
"Excellant. See you at the station then."
Which is, the stripping, why I picked out a tie side ensemble.
Naked, my bikini dropped out of sight behind the cameras, I feel, and am, completely exposed. All of me is now on show: from firm C cups topped by nipples that feel, to me, rock hard, to my freshly clean shaven pussy.
And it feels incredible.
That I'm in such pose. The starfish X positioning of my limbs to the beds corners. Deliberately spreading my legs wide open, almost as though inviting people to come and see my most intimate place. The whole thing, with the gag too, is such a turn on.
My pussy feels like it's pulsing in time to some unheard beat. I can feel the wetness between my legs, the buzz of excitement racing from erect nipples to a clit that feels as though one small touch will cause me to explode.
Which brings the sudden thoughts, like a one two punch: what if this were a bondage sex video? And, if so, would I want to be fucked, forced to suck some guys cock, whilst trussed up?
I realise, just as I notice Zak has his handheld camera and is closing in to shoot more footage, that in response to my train of thought my mouth has, is, trying to open wider, my tongue flicking across the rubber ball wedged between my lips in echo of a blow job. As I moan, tensing my body, imagining the tickle and press of a hard cock against my pussy lips.
The whole thing, which is only imagined, is still enough to, almost, send me toppling into an orgasm.
No doubt my state of extreme arousal makes for some wonderful footage. All my, not in any way faked, moans. The line of drool that, finally, manages to escape my mouth, passed the ballgag, to run down my chin and neck. Added to which are all my squrims. My frustration at being really fucking horny but unable to get myself off.
It is, for the second time, over too soon. I'm untied, and Zak, proving to be quite the good man, holds out a towel for me to cover myself up for the walk back to the storage room, and my clothes. Once dressed I'm paid, the extra- for being naked -padding my envelope out nicely, then driven to the train station.
Back home to continue my life.
Which I do, except now I begin to change things.
I get my first tattoo, courtesy of Arthur, a fifty something bearded man with a round belly who looks like he just came from a Hells Angel rally. Arthur owns and runs, mostly alone, the 'Devil Made Me Do It' tattoo parlour, located on the outskirts, but the opposite side, of the city I live in. Despite the scary don't fuck with me appearance Arthur turns out to be quite polite, and chatty, with a near fanatical love of insects, to the point that one wall of his shop is taken up by a massive ant farm.
Having both phoned and visited, to discuss what I'm after, I take a days leave from work a week later. And for a reasonable fee Arthur inks the custom design I had him draw up onto the outside of my upper left leg.
It's a lighthouse, done in shades of black and bare skin. The structure sits on a small island of floating rock, as though drifting, and is fairly standard for its type. A door at ground level, with alternate grey and skin white sections marching as horizontal blocks, each smaller then the one below, up towards the roof mounted light. The light is on, the beam directed at my pussy, but being absorbed by a cloud, one of several placed around and in some cases partially behind the building as background to the image.
The whole thing is, for me, like a confirmation of my intentions to travel this road as far as it will take me. Plymouth, the real place on England's South Coast, happens to have a famous lighthouse. So the tattoo is like a tease, an in joke. My name but not in words.
I love it, and make sure to tip Arthur well, promising to return when I decide what I might want done next.
Luckily Mum knew ahead of time about the inkwork. Not the reason, I still don't know if, or when, I'll tell her just what I'm up to. But she approves. Which is handy, because I am not wearing trousers around the house for the rest of my life.
The other thing I do is to, begin to, sort out my online presence.
This was my revelation. The answer, I both think and hope, to the issue of wanting to be tied up more, and for longer, but not wanting to simply date a bondage loving guy or girl.
I do research, more damn research, skipping and hopping in and out of the various amateur modelling websites I find. Pretty much all of them make semi obvious references to 'extras' whilst at the same time going to great lengths to point out that sex isn't what's on offer here.
It's just one huge grey area. But. I think. This is my answer. There are guys, and maybe even girls, who have no interest in doing what Zak does, but who still want to tie a willing girl up for some fun times. People who, for a whole host of reasons, will be willing to pay for the chance.
The idea, to join a site and let strangers truss me up for cash, feels proper risky, but thrilling too. And, frustrated at the thought of only ever being tied up for the duration of a shoot each time regardless of which website hires me, I decide the risk is worth the potential reward.
I'll just have to be careful.
Jennifer helps me set up a profile one evening when Mum's out, the whole thing accomplished over shots of vodka, some homemade Mexican food, and plenty of giggling.
We fill out my bio, such as it needs to be for a non dating site. Input my measurements: height, weight, breast size, and, are they real.
Now there's a thought.
Am I shaved? All the important details. Next is a whole page of tick boxes, a chance to specify exactly what I'm willing to do. I make sure to only check the bondage related stuff. Though when Jennifer later pops out to phone her boyfriend- she's feeling horny, drink does that to her -I backtrack, and, feeling brave, tick boxes for masturbation and blow jobs. But not sex. Luckily my returning bestie is too drunk, we both are really, to notice my blush.
Having shopped and planned ahead, I go and fetch my supplies. There are already recent photos of me on my laptop, taken over the last week. A variety of poses and locations, and outfits, whittled down now, by me earlier today, to my six favourites, from outside wearing jeans and my favourite hoodie to laid on my bed in a plunge bra and tiny thong. But I want to add a couple of bondage photos to the mix, and for that I need Jennifer's help.
Wearing jeans and a tight tee, no bra, Jennifer and me giggle our way through her photographing me wearing a ballgag and with my wrists tied, by her as best she can, in front of me. She takes over two dozen of me from various angles and in several poses. And from these we select, after much drunken debate, the best two: a close up of my gagged face, eyes fixed on the camera, and a waist up shot to show off both the gag, my tee poking nipples, and my bound wrists.
Finished, I upload my drivers licence as proof of age and identity, and shortly afterwards wave Jennifer off as she half falls half climbs into the passenger side of her boyfriends modified Saxo VTS, it's low stance and black bodywork making it appear to be lurking, waiting to pounce.
Two days later my profile is approved, and three days after that, on a Wednesday, just as I'm beginning to wonder how long it might take for my first message to come through from this new avenue I've opened, Zak emails me.
It's a silly question.
To me.
But he has to ask. Because this is work, with actual contracts, and not simply playtime.
"Mmpppffffm."
"Oh." Zak laughs. "Right. Ha."
"Mmf mpppfffm." I close my eyes, briefly, and shake my head.
"Prehaps I should ungag you?"
"Mmm mmmfm mmm." I shake my head harder. Fuck off, but in a polite way obviously. And think. How can I answer when I can't answer?
Ah.
"Is that," giving me an amused look, "are you trying to tell me something?"
"Mfffp pppffm." I nod, and give my bikini covered breasts another shake. As well as I'm able given the tight ropes. "Right." Zak sits down, perching on the beds edge. "Just so we're clear then, because, I think I understand, but I'd hate to be wrong and lose you as a model over some silly misunderstanding." He grins. "I do believe you're trying to say yes? Is that right," fixing me with a look, "Plymouth?"
I nod, once, making sure the gesture is a definite up and down, no hint or trace of anything remotely side to side.
"Okay. Great." Zak nods back. "Well done you."
And then he strips me.
"Will it be another hogtie, like last time?"
"Well." Zak's voice, coming down the phone line almost three weeks ago, had paused. "That's down to you."
"It is?"
"Sure. To a degree." I hear him take a quick swallow of drink before continuing. "Let me explain."
"I can't speak for every site, but, this one, tightlytrussed. My site. Has a theme."
"Which is tight bondage," I can't help grinning, "right?"
"Right. So. I know the type of bondage I want on here, but, within that, I can be flexible."
"So what you're saying is: if I have an idea, one that fits the sites design, you'll do it?"
"Yes and no."
"It has to be a good idea. Otherwise it won't sell."
"I. Um." Nervous, at pitching to Zak, and at the idea itself. "I think it's good."
"Tell me? Let's see what you've dreamed up."
"Well. Here's the thing." Launching into an, almost certainly unasked for, explanation. "I really want to be a professional model. A bondage model. Which I told you before. And. Well. So I guess I want to do a naked shoot. Um. Maybe."
"Naked?"
"I just." I had thought all this through, the reasoning. "I just thought that a naked tie up would help."
"Help your career?"
"Yes. Um. Would it?"
"Sure it would. On the whole the clothed bondage stuff does sell, people like the tease of a tight top, and some just have a thing for jeans or gym clothes. But...."
"But?"
"But naked stuff always nets a higher profit."
"Well." Nerves. I decide to be honest. "I want to, maybe a bed tie, all," I giggle, a release of tension, "stretched out. But I'm nervous."
"Of course you are. Like I said." I hear him scratch at his hairy chin. "Think I said. You don't have to be naked."
"Maybe." I have a sudden brainwave. "If I wear a bikini, and, then. Maybe. If I want. And, if it's okay. We could. Um. Take it off halfway through the video."
"Sure." Another drink. "I think that sounds like a fine plan."
"You do?"
"Definitely. The bikini is quite a tease, near naked, thing anyway. And if you do go the whole way, the removal will add a good surprise to the video."
"So I can do this, as the second shoot?"
"Yes. I'll get it all written up for the tenth. Do you have a bikini?"
"Several."
"Excellant. See you at the station then."
Which is, the stripping, why I picked out a tie side ensemble.
Naked, my bikini dropped out of sight behind the cameras, I feel, and am, completely exposed. All of me is now on show: from firm C cups topped by nipples that feel, to me, rock hard, to my freshly clean shaven pussy.
And it feels incredible.
That I'm in such pose. The starfish X positioning of my limbs to the beds corners. Deliberately spreading my legs wide open, almost as though inviting people to come and see my most intimate place. The whole thing, with the gag too, is such a turn on.
My pussy feels like it's pulsing in time to some unheard beat. I can feel the wetness between my legs, the buzz of excitement racing from erect nipples to a clit that feels as though one small touch will cause me to explode.
Which brings the sudden thoughts, like a one two punch: what if this were a bondage sex video? And, if so, would I want to be fucked, forced to suck some guys cock, whilst trussed up?
I realise, just as I notice Zak has his handheld camera and is closing in to shoot more footage, that in response to my train of thought my mouth has, is, trying to open wider, my tongue flicking across the rubber ball wedged between my lips in echo of a blow job. As I moan, tensing my body, imagining the tickle and press of a hard cock against my pussy lips.
The whole thing, which is only imagined, is still enough to, almost, send me toppling into an orgasm.
No doubt my state of extreme arousal makes for some wonderful footage. All my, not in any way faked, moans. The line of drool that, finally, manages to escape my mouth, passed the ballgag, to run down my chin and neck. Added to which are all my squrims. My frustration at being really fucking horny but unable to get myself off.
It is, for the second time, over too soon. I'm untied, and Zak, proving to be quite the good man, holds out a towel for me to cover myself up for the walk back to the storage room, and my clothes. Once dressed I'm paid, the extra- for being naked -padding my envelope out nicely, then driven to the train station.
Back home to continue my life.
Which I do, except now I begin to change things.
I get my first tattoo, courtesy of Arthur, a fifty something bearded man with a round belly who looks like he just came from a Hells Angel rally. Arthur owns and runs, mostly alone, the 'Devil Made Me Do It' tattoo parlour, located on the outskirts, but the opposite side, of the city I live in. Despite the scary don't fuck with me appearance Arthur turns out to be quite polite, and chatty, with a near fanatical love of insects, to the point that one wall of his shop is taken up by a massive ant farm.
Having both phoned and visited, to discuss what I'm after, I take a days leave from work a week later. And for a reasonable fee Arthur inks the custom design I had him draw up onto the outside of my upper left leg.
It's a lighthouse, done in shades of black and bare skin. The structure sits on a small island of floating rock, as though drifting, and is fairly standard for its type. A door at ground level, with alternate grey and skin white sections marching as horizontal blocks, each smaller then the one below, up towards the roof mounted light. The light is on, the beam directed at my pussy, but being absorbed by a cloud, one of several placed around and in some cases partially behind the building as background to the image.
The whole thing is, for me, like a confirmation of my intentions to travel this road as far as it will take me. Plymouth, the real place on England's South Coast, happens to have a famous lighthouse. So the tattoo is like a tease, an in joke. My name but not in words.
I love it, and make sure to tip Arthur well, promising to return when I decide what I might want done next.
Luckily Mum knew ahead of time about the inkwork. Not the reason, I still don't know if, or when, I'll tell her just what I'm up to. But she approves. Which is handy, because I am not wearing trousers around the house for the rest of my life.
The other thing I do is to, begin to, sort out my online presence.
This was my revelation. The answer, I both think and hope, to the issue of wanting to be tied up more, and for longer, but not wanting to simply date a bondage loving guy or girl.
I do research, more damn research, skipping and hopping in and out of the various amateur modelling websites I find. Pretty much all of them make semi obvious references to 'extras' whilst at the same time going to great lengths to point out that sex isn't what's on offer here.
It's just one huge grey area. But. I think. This is my answer. There are guys, and maybe even girls, who have no interest in doing what Zak does, but who still want to tie a willing girl up for some fun times. People who, for a whole host of reasons, will be willing to pay for the chance.
The idea, to join a site and let strangers truss me up for cash, feels proper risky, but thrilling too. And, frustrated at the thought of only ever being tied up for the duration of a shoot each time regardless of which website hires me, I decide the risk is worth the potential reward.
I'll just have to be careful.
Jennifer helps me set up a profile one evening when Mum's out, the whole thing accomplished over shots of vodka, some homemade Mexican food, and plenty of giggling.
We fill out my bio, such as it needs to be for a non dating site. Input my measurements: height, weight, breast size, and, are they real.
Now there's a thought.
Am I shaved? All the important details. Next is a whole page of tick boxes, a chance to specify exactly what I'm willing to do. I make sure to only check the bondage related stuff. Though when Jennifer later pops out to phone her boyfriend- she's feeling horny, drink does that to her -I backtrack, and, feeling brave, tick boxes for masturbation and blow jobs. But not sex. Luckily my returning bestie is too drunk, we both are really, to notice my blush.
Having shopped and planned ahead, I go and fetch my supplies. There are already recent photos of me on my laptop, taken over the last week. A variety of poses and locations, and outfits, whittled down now, by me earlier today, to my six favourites, from outside wearing jeans and my favourite hoodie to laid on my bed in a plunge bra and tiny thong. But I want to add a couple of bondage photos to the mix, and for that I need Jennifer's help.
Wearing jeans and a tight tee, no bra, Jennifer and me giggle our way through her photographing me wearing a ballgag and with my wrists tied, by her as best she can, in front of me. She takes over two dozen of me from various angles and in several poses. And from these we select, after much drunken debate, the best two: a close up of my gagged face, eyes fixed on the camera, and a waist up shot to show off both the gag, my tee poking nipples, and my bound wrists.
Finished, I upload my drivers licence as proof of age and identity, and shortly afterwards wave Jennifer off as she half falls half climbs into the passenger side of her boyfriends modified Saxo VTS, it's low stance and black bodywork making it appear to be lurking, waiting to pounce.
Two days later my profile is approved, and three days after that, on a Wednesday, just as I'm beginning to wonder how long it might take for my first message to come through from this new avenue I've opened, Zak emails me.
-
TightsBound
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 589
- Joined: 6 years ago
- Location: CT, USA
This is quickly becoming a favorite. It’s been fun, enjoyable and interesting watching Plymouth grow as a character and a bondage model. I wonder if she’ll ever achieve sexual satisfaction while helplessly bound, or if it will only ever be a tease. There is no wrong answer. Thanks for writing!
Thank you