Jester's Revenge. Or. Plymouth part II (MF+/F+) (FINISHED) (NEW story coming soon)

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Post by GreyLord »

Poor Trevor, he is so fortunate to have found Plymouth. Is a new day dawning for them?
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Post by Bound to Please »

Great chapter Ropebunny keep it up. I've read much of your work on this site but I realize I haven't read Plymouth Rising yet so I guess I have some catching up to do.
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Post by Caesar73 »

That was quite the chapter: First the dream sequence, then the meeting with Trevor :) I liked the composition.
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Post by RopeBunny »

Bound to Please wrote: 1 year ago I haven't read Plymouth Rising yet so I guess I have some catching up to do.
Of course I'd love you to read it, Plymouth rising is one of the best things I've written. In my opinion. However in this part two I shall be explaining anything that resurfaces (like Trevor) from part one. So don't feel as though you must read it.
Caesar73 wrote: 1 year ago That was quite the chapter: First the dream sequence, then the meeting with Trevor :) I liked the composition.
Thank you. Lots to fit in, I'm glad it came across well.
GreyLord wrote: 1 year ago Is a new day dawning for them?
Not sure Trevor will ever be more then just a job/friends for Plymouth. Certainly as I've written Trevor is commited to remaining single, waiting to meet his wife again.

Good to find comments waiting for me, always good :D
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Post by BlissfulMisery »

Hey,

Sorry for not saying much, but I have actually been keeping up as well, just bouncing between things. Enjoying the last few chapters as usual.
GreyLord wrote: 1 year ago Your introduction of Elwood is outstanding. He represents the dreams of all would be, almost be, want to be riggers.
Personally found it quite amusing how overwhelmed he seemed :lol: . Not that it didn't make sense of course. It's common in TUG stories to have scenes of 'beginner getting tied up'; it's how Plymouth started out, but it's less common to see the roles reversed (experienced person tied up by inexperienced/uncertain).
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Post by RopeBunny »

BlissfulMisery wrote: 1 year ago Hey,

Sorry for not saying much, but I have actually been keeping up as well, just bouncing between things. Enjoying the last few chapters as usual.
Don't be sorry.

I'll never go hunting for comments, but those I do get I'm grateful for. As and when you can, or want to, is fine.

The main thing is that you're reading and still enjoying this tale :D
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Post by RopeBunny »

007.

"You know." Sat on the sofa gazing up at me, smiling even whilst shaking his head. I've just finished talking having spent close on ten minutes trying to explain my idea, gesturing- as I tend to do when I talk, even on the phone -as much as certain restraints will allow. Trevor laughs. Raises the tumbler of whisky in his hand at me. "In future Plymouth, anytime I've got a board meeting, I'm bringing you in with me."

"I mean." Standing, coming closer as I stay still, almost feeling the flutter of his brushing a finger across my nipple before he actually does it. The ghost of the not at all bad sensation making me smile. "Looking this cute," kissing my cheek, "who could possibly resist you?"

The restraints. Spending the day in bondage is what Trevor requires of me. Even, like today, when he isn't here.

Probably, hopefully, the thought of me waiting for him, in this state, helps put some random smiles on his face whilst facing those endless meetings.

What I'm wearing now, not clothes of course, because Trevor likes to see all of me, and for my part I'm always happy to be seen. The restraints I'm wearing are like the default.

This is how Trevor prefers me to be.

A steel collar hangs semi loose around my neck, off of which a single chain runs down- dangling in front of, sometimes getting caught between, my F's -to my ankles. My wrists are separately cuffed by locked steel hoops, with a chain running from each to the central chain.

Trevor can, has at times, locked them behind me. But when he's gone my wrists are always in front. Which means I can fetch myself a drink- I've got just about enough freedom of arm movement for that -or read one of the books I always bring along.

Ankles are a mirror of my wrists: cuffed with hoops and connected to the central chain. And like my wrists there's a lack of mobility. Yes I can walk, but it's small steps only. Like a shuffle.

All I need is an orange jumpsuit to complete the 'prisoner' look. The restraints give me freedom, but only to a point.

"Does this mean?" Excitement rising, because having not interrupted my little presentation, Trevor's smiling. A good sign surely?

"Yes. Plymouth." Breaking contact with my breast, Trevor fetches himself a top up, plus a neat vodka for me.

"Here." Handing over my glass, clinking his against it. "Of course I'm in."
"Really?" Not sure I could grin any wider.

"Yes." Downing his drink in one, as do I as Tevor continues. "It sounds crazy, and complex, and very expensive. But." Tossing his glass onto the sofa, taking mine, which joins his, Trevor gently places my hands against his expensive trouser covered crotch, sighing slightly as I unzip him, reaching through to grasp his cock.

"It, this half of one third of a plan you have." Taking hold of a breast in each hand, massaging, thumbs flicking my nipples even as I feel him grow hard. Trevor smiles at me. Nods. "Honestly. Plymouth. It all sounds too much fun not to be involved."

"Call your meeting." A half hour later, rolling off the bed, naked. Trevor leans back in to plant a kiss on my right butt cheek.

"Call my meeting now?" Amused, rolling my chain and steel cuffed hogtied naked body onto it's side, facing Trevor. I can still taste his orgasm in my mouth. "I might need some help with that."
"Well." Taking a ballgag from the bedside table, Trevor- ever the gentleman, asking when he, because he's paying, could simply do -raises an eyebrow. I nod, opening wide.

"Prehaps in an hour or two." Strapping the gag in place. Kissing each nipple in turn before leaving me on the bed. Happy and content.

It takes four days to get them all free at the same time. Lucky really, because on that forth day Trevor's meetings are done, so he's checking out. Which means having spent that time chained, tied, naked and occasionally enjoying a fumble with him, it's time for me to head home too.

We meet for breakfast, taking over one corner booth of the hotel restaurant, my saddlebag and helmet, plus Trevors suitcase waiting behind the front desk for us to collect on our way out. After.

"Introductions." All of us seated in a rough circle, so no head. I'm dressed in black jeans and a pale pink tee, my Three Kings black leather jacket over the top. Unzipped, forcibly pushed apart by the sheer size of my F cups which anyway don't like to be hidden.

At times Trevor had joked, teased, that I'd have to conduct the meeting in his suite, which by his reckoning would've meant my being naked and chained. He seemed genuinely amused that, no shame bondage obsessed girl that I am, I wasn't in the least phased by his most likely real, but fun, threat.

I gesture to each person in turn around the table.

"This is Trevor." The oldest here by decades, cropped white hair and stubble, stocky build like a boxer, dressed in blue jeans and an open necked white shirt. "A." I smile, Trevor tips a salute at me with his cup of coffee. "Friend." Smiling back. "Trevor owns a large logistics company, he's got the financial clout to back this, and a lifetimes experience in the world of business to help us figure out the details."

"Daniel." Mid twenties, glasses and messy brown hair. Tall and no muscles skinny, wearing black combat trousers and a yellow tee. "Runs the bondage pay site Strangeropes." Which of course, because he's into it, has Elwood's attention. "Daniel has experience in the specifically weird type of things we're going for here."

"Shauna." Naming Daniel's girlfriend, sat with one hand resting on her man's leg. Dark skinned, curvy, African heritage continued in her straight black hair, whilst enhanced C's fill the cups of her clinging white dress. "A model like me. Between us we'll have contacts, between us we'll know what could work, what might look better or be easier for the girls we'll be hiring to do."

"Lastly. Elwood." Probably the youngest here, the largest of us too with his belly and thicker limbs. Smiling at me, running a hand through messy hair, dressed in blue jeans and a black heavy metal tee. "Who," smiling back, "granted, might not have the experience of Daniel or the finances of Trevor. But as my newly appointed rigger, and as a student of cinematography, I'm sure there's plenty Elwood can bring to this table. Not least as a sounding board for whatever ideas we cook up."

"What's the plan then Plymouth?" Daniel, spreading his arms wide. "All you told me was." Thinking. Nodding. "The Carnival of Chains."
"Same." Elwood, looking from Daniel to me. "I don't recognise the name?"

"You won't." Smiling, quite proud of my idea, for all it is only a name, a few basic thoughts. "I want to put on a show." Feeling the urge to stand up, because I want to pace. I can feel the energy, the excitement, beginning to build inside. I stay sat down though.

"Not a convention. A show. Something interactive in some way. Focusing on bondage but with a twist of the weird and not normal. Not just a bunch of hogtied girls up on a stage. Not just a bunch of 'hey look at me'," smiling, having to stop for a second as both Shauna and Elwood laugh at my air quotation gestures. Even Trevor quirks a smile. I shrug. Do them again. "Not just 'look at me over here tying this girl up' and stuff. I want a twist." Nodding to Daniel. "Of the strange."

"Okay." Sitting forwards. Nodding back, catching some of my energy. "Okay. Well. Great name for starters Plymouth."
"Seconded." From Elwood. "It's quite attention grabbing, especially for bondage."

"Thanks guys."
"So you want a." Daniel looks at his partner, back to me. "A venue? Indoors?"
"Indoors." I nod, look to Trevor. "Someplace big if we can. Big but empty, we don't need arena seating. I want room enough to make like. A. Um."

"A maze."
"Yes." Pointing at Elwood, both of us grinning, the energy properly catching now, moving amongst us, stirring things into being. "Something like a maze, but with only one path. People walk in, walk through, exhibits and shit on the way."
"Shit?" Daniel, eyebrow raised and a cheeky smile, even whilst Elwood and Trevor both in synch say.

"Exhibits?"
"Exhibits." Flipping Daniel the finger, he laughs. I nod. "Yes. Like, well."

"Like tied girls and sh...." Shauna, stopping herself from saying it. Elwood laughs all the same.

"Like tied girls." I nod. "Exactly." Shauna reaches across the table, I high five her.

"Through the maze, from start to end, passing all these different tied up girl scenarios and. Um. Fuck I don't know. But I want it to be like a bondage haunted house or something."

I look around, seeing thoughtful nodding faces. Nobody laughing, or, not at my crazy bare bones plan anyway. Nobody saying no, or walking out.

A good start.

"Can we get a big empty space?"
"I should think so." Trevor nods. "I believe the National Exhibition Centre right here in Birmingham usually has a hall or two free at short notice."
"The NEC?" Elwood whistles. "Fuck."

"Short notice?"
"Well." Trevor, sitting forwards. "From a purely business perspective. Right now it's summer. People off work, having fun. Right now, this July to September window, is the perfect time to, I believe, catch the largest possible audience for your Carnival." Looking at me, smiling. "Plymouth."

"I see." Fuck. Can we even? "Is it even possible?" Looking around the room. "Can we hire the models? The venue and whatever props? Can we outfit the hall and. And...."

I dry up. The weight of it all. Of how large my little idea really is, falling on me.

"We can." Daniel. Smile on his face. Bringing his hand out into the middle of our round table. Nodding. "Fucked if I've got anywhere near the funds to pull even half of this off Plymouth. But." Turning his head to look at Shauna, who nods, placing her hand atop his, the two linking fingers with a small squeeze. "Consider us both on board this particular crazy train."

"Don't worry yourself over the funding young man." Trevor, with a nod to me places his hand atop Shauna's. "Plymouth. Consider this enterprise officially backed by whatever help my company can give."

"Besides." Smiling as Elwood moves, his hand now resting atop the pile, Trevor looks around at us all. "It's about time I gave the junior members and my accountants something to gossip about."

"Well." Looking around. Fuck me, it seems nobody has any more common sense then me. Because they're all in. Which means now we actually have to do this impossible and crazy thing I came out of a bondage dream clutching. "I guess that's settled then." Putting my hand out, completing the stacked pile. "What's that quote?" Thinking. "May fortune favour the brave?"

"Foolish." Elwood, nodding, then frowning. "Um." Shrugging. "Fuck knows?"
"Either way." Daniel shrugs. "Let's go put on a show."
"A Carnival." Trevor, nodding. "A spectacular they'll be talking about for years."
"Well." I pause. Think. Fuck me. Nod. "Quite."

The Carnival of Chains, an idea that quickly becomes a whirlwind, sucking us all up. Taking over. Life becomes a blur, a non stop rush of activity and planning. Of exchanged emails and late night phonecalls.

"Fuck me." The five of us stood, stunned into silence by the sheer size of the empty hall we've just walked into. Shauna says it for all of us. "It's so. Big."
"We'll take it." Trevor, turning to the well dressed young man, his NEC lanyard and ID badge dangling, bouncing with each movement, shakes hands. Sealing the deal.

The workload gets designated out.

Daniel- with annotated lists from Shauna and me stating preferences, questions to ask, who could be paired with who -spends close to a week hiring models, organising four coaches to run a nationwide pick up and drop off service for each day the Carnival runs in lieu of block booking out hotels. Which we still have to do for around a fifth of the girls, those from the far north plus a scattering from France and Spain.

He, for all you have to tell the models what kind of bondage they're being hired to do, largely manages not to reveal too much.

Because we're trying to run silent here, keep the online presence to a minimum. Just a small website, just a front page and a ticket ordering link. Just enough to show people it's bondage.

If you build it, so the theory goes, they will come.

With the hall booked, the website coded and running. Getting plenty of traffic according to the built in counter. Shauna and me get to work locating and obtaining all the props we'll need. Finding the right people, then convincing them at short notice to build what we need, to come and install it in hall thirteen.

Probably helps that we're both young, and pretty, and busty. And not shy about the fact. As the days go by our tops seem to get lower, tighter, our trousers becoming exclusively skinny fit jeans and leggings.

We can't wear shorts since everywhere we go has to be by motorbike.

Shauna, practically living with me to save time, and me begin a running joke, actively trying to outdo each other and be the one dressed most provocatively each morning.

All of which makes us very hard to say no too.

Elwood, at first still wrapping up with college, can only dip in and out. Offer suggestions via email. His main contribution comes towards the end, his photography skills coming to the fore.

Trevor too is busy, a whole company to run. But each of us have the number for his personal mobile, and he's always available to discuss anything business related. Plus to his credit Trevor never once questions or refuses a request for funds.

Every three days, whatever else we have going on, wherever we are, we five meet each evening via video call to thrash out details. To bring up suggestions. To ask questions of one another regarding progress.

What models are we lacking?

How is the manufacture of our proposed merchandise proceeding?

Does hall thirteen still look like the aftermath of a nuclear bomb?

I get precious little time to myself, but when I do, I worry.

What if nobody comes? Despite the website, the online buzz Elwood has shown me more then once: people in certain forums and fetish friendly sites discussing our Carnival. What if despite that, despite the fact I've been told ticket sales are flying.

What if nobody comes?

The financial hit will be Trevor's alone, his company, his money. The damage will be his alone to absorb.

Can it take that kind of blow?

Granted on the flip side should we pull this off almost half the profits, after costs paid, are Trevor's.

But it's the bad not the good that keeps me awake in the small dark hours.

What if nobody comes?

Too late now. Too late for worrying. Too late to back out. Because the hall is booked, transformed into the Carnival of my creating.

My dream. My vision. Made real.

Tomorrow it begins. So tonight I can't sleep.

And. In the morning. For five

please let it be good
please let it be spectacular
please let it be amazing
please
fuck me let it all be like I dreamed
please

days only.

The Carnival of Chains. Enjoy the show.
Last edited by RopeBunny 1 year ago, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by GreyLord »

You are hitting your stride, [mention]RopeBunny[/mention]. Your writing is clear, descriptive, and easy to read. I was led onward with a rush. You have created fantastic anticipation for this Carnival. This may be your best yet.
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Post by BlissfulMisery »

RopeBunny wrote: 1 year ago The main thing is that you're reading and still enjoying this tale :D
Certainly am :)

Ambitious plans Brooke has so far.

Feels like the titular Jester is going to come into play soon as a part of the Carnival perhaps, but I guess we shall have to see.
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Post by Caesar73 »

So Plymouth has found the right people to let vision come true! Sounds fascinating and I am curious what will become out of it :)
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Post by RopeBunny »

Well. Wait no more, because here we go.

A necessarily long chapter, because I let my imagination run loose, and didn't want to leave out any of the several ideas I thought up.

Thanks for commenting, enjoy :D
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Post by RopeBunny »

The Carnival of Chains.

The National Exhibition Centre, Birmingham. At the entrance, alongside various other banners and posters advertising upcoming shows sits one all in black.

'Jester's Revenge and Strangeropes present' scrawled across the top in white, except the word Jester's, which is blood red. 'The Carnival of Chains' written across the centre. Tall letters, a gothic font, all in white. Various sponsor logos, smaller, run across the bottom, first amongst them and larger then the rest is that for the global logistics firm It's A Smalls World.

Behind the words, ghosting in shades of grey from the black, is an image that pushes the limits of what you can show in public.

The contours of a naked female body, laid down and stretching with arms above and toes pointed. Distinct curve of large breasts, skinny waist. Slender. She's wrapped crisscross fashion in chains from wrists to ankles, even between her full parted lips.

Above her flag style bunting hangs in eight places, crossing itself on the down and up curves.

This banner, identical to what you found online, identical to the ticket in your hand save that in place of sponsors you have a date and time slot printed.

Because the Carnival runs for five days: Friday until Tuesday. And each day there are two showings: three until seven, and eight until midnight. Admission is at fifteen minute intervals for the first two hours of each showing.

Through one of several entrances to the sprawling NEC complex, down corridors and through doorways, a steady stream of adults- mostly men, but not exclusively -keeping you company.

Following signs and arrows, heading for hall thirteen.

At the entrance to which your ticket is checked, as is your ID, a stated requirement for entry to this over eighteens only event.

Satisfied, you're allowed in.

To something like a holding area. A box with doors opposite the doors you just entered by, above which hangs a huge blank screen. From beyond the doors, listening whilst you wait, come various sounds: slow thumping bass, the occasional shout or catcall.

Someone moaning?

Footsteps, too loud to be real. All eyes turn to the dark screen. A black background onto which a lady walks. Black knee high lace up boots with towering heels blend seamlessly into shiny black leggings, above which she wears a red coat with long tails. A ringmaster's kinky dream, the front is lace up, cinched tightly around her skinny waist, looser at the top where a sizeable pair of rounded breasts press and strain at the fabric. Long green hair shot through with black is shaved on one side, atop which sits a black top hat.

She isn't alone. Her appearance, her chest especially, is quite captivating, to the point it takes a moment to realise she's holding a length of wrapped chain which follows a gentle curve offscreen, a question resolved as the second lady walks into view, the chain ending at a shiny metal collar fixed around her neck.

Dark skinned, black hair, more on the curvy side, all in contrast to the ringmaster's tanned slender frame. This lady is dressed neck to toes in black, from heeled boots to a shiny latex zip front one piece that hugs a smaller yet still pert chest.

The only skin on show is her face, and even that's partly obscured by a red ball topped harness gag.

Her arms are forced behind her by a black leather armbinder sleeve, the belts to which crisscross her shoulders at the front.

The ringmaster, her bound companion stood to one side, slightly behind, faces the camera. Faces you.

She smiles.

"Gentleman. Ladies. Welcome." Sweeping the top hat from her head, performing a bow with arms out wide, before straightening, hat back atop her head. "To the Carnival of Chains."

"There is," holding up a finger, "only one way through the Carnival. One path."

"You need not rush though." Pulling at the chain she holds, bringing the latex clad lady- who moans -closer. "By all means stay awhile." Leaning across, licking the red ballgagged mouth whilst reaching with her free hand to grope at a latex covered breast. "Linger. Enjoy what sights we have to show you."

"There are countdowns spaced throughout, handy reminders of how long you have left at Carnival. So. Linger, yes. But. At zero. Poof." Dropping the chain, at which point the screen fills with a brief burst of static, and when it clears the latex clad girl is gone. "At zero," shrugging, "we dissappear. And so must you."

The ringmaster holds both hands up, fingers poised to click. "Remember."

She clicks, and the screen turns instantly to static again, accompanied by a burst of noise. Images in black and white seem to flash and dance up out of the snow: a pile of chains, a ballgagged and blindfolded face in closeup. At least a dozen times inside of ten seconds you're sure you see, something: rope wrapping wrists, a nipple topped by a wooden clothes peg. Everything you're sure you see is bondage themed.

"Indeed." Back, but everything's changed. Because it's the dark skinned latex clad lady who now speaks, lowering her hands as though it were she who just double clicked, still stood to one side but no longer tied, or gagged. Her one piece is unzipped halfway, the promise of pert breasts revealed.

As for the green haired ringmaster. She's still stood at centre, but she's now sporting the red ball topped harness gag. Her coat is unlaced too, only prevented from falling open by the chains wrapping her body from neck to ankles. Her hands are pinned in front, her legs forced together.

"So." Reaching, taking the black top hat and perching it on her own head, the dark skinned lady grins out at you whilst the ringmaster moans. Struggles. "One path. Linger, please, but not for too long. And once you reach the end exit through the gift shop." A wink. "Just like any good ride."

"Enter then." Hand to mouth, blowing you a kiss. "And above all, enjoy the show."

The screen fades to complete black, aside from 'The Carnival of Chains' in white gothic across the middle, the single word 'enter' below. On cue the doors open, and in you go.

It's just a hall. A square. You try to remember this through all the twists and turns, through the half dozen times it feels as though you double back. The Carnival is a maze, a one path twisting turning maze clearly designed to mess with your sense of location.

At which it succeeds.

The ceiling isn't high, and is sometimes lower. The walls whenever you touch them are wood. Feel like wood. Mostly everything is black, or shades of grey, which only makes the occasional splash of colour seem like graffiti, as though somewhere close by rival gangs are fighting a turf war.

One splash of colour are the flags. Hanging bunting on occasion crisscrosses the path.

Lighting is sporadic from overhead spots, except in those areas where there are genuine things to see. Never dark enough to not see, but dim to the point you can't always see the upcoming turn until it's right there.

And all around is that thumping, slow, bass heavy song. Nothing recognisable, no lyrics. But it sounds at times like something alive. It sounds eerie.

The corridor, the path, varies in width, but always widens out most whenever there's something, some exhibit or curiosity, to see.

Like a roundabout. Or prehaps because this is a Carnival we should call it a carousel.

Either way a circle set behind a high steel mesh fence topped by razor wire, looking like something from the worst part of town. And upon this large circle, stood spaced at the major compass points, are eight ladies.

The ladies you spot, discover, as you walk the Carnival path are from a broad mix, covering near every base. From a skinny six to a curvy twenty, from flat chested to supersize. They range in age from twenties to prehaps twice that, with many different ethnicities present and all the colours of the rainbow atop their heads.

Each of these carousel ladies faces outwards, is strapped with black leather belts to a thick wooden pole- above and below the breasts, at waist and wrists behind the pole, plus legs at knee and ankle -making them a permanent part of the ride. All eight are topless, dressed only in a variety of pants styles in a variety of colours.

All eight are gagged with a dirty looking off white scarf, forced into the mouth.

As you arrive the carousel is turning slowly, slower then walking pace. You step closer, wanting to see more. Finding more.

On the floor underneath the carousel is a section of metal. Watching, you realise what's happening.

Each lady has a wand style vibrator strapped to one leg, secured in position to be permanently pressing into their pussy. As each lady passes over the metal, some mechanism causes the vibrator to start up, at full speed, usually making the lady jump, always making her moan and squirm.

The length of metal means that as one lady comes off, her vibrator cutting out, the next is just powering on. Which makes for a never ending carousel of frustration since time spent over the metal isn't nearly enough to make for a happy ending.

Except.

Above the carousel is a clock. Not like the main countdowns you find hidden in corners throughout the maze. This one is already down under three minutes.

And. At zero. The carousel stops, and one lucky. Unlucky? Lady, gets a full seven minutes of full power vibrator action.

Before with a klaxon sounded warning the clock clicks over to twenty two minutes, and the ride begins again. The now not so frustrated lady panting, moaning, wondering prehaps at the odds of it being her turn again next?

You move on.

Finding.

An actual Carnival game. Of sorts.

Five ladies in a row. Sat on, tied to, chairs. Wrists behind them, behind the chair, chests in a harness, legs spread wide apart with ankles roped- all five have been tied with rope -to separate chair legs.

All are ballgagged. All are dressed in clinging white tee's and black thongs.

All of the ladies are wet.

Because, between them and you is another high steel mesh fence, and on your side of the fence are a row of targets fixed to poles. There's a sixth lady here too, dressed in a black figure hugging latex one piece, boots, a waist shrinking corset.

As you watch someone pays this latex clad lady, receiving five balls in return. Which they throw, managing to hit a target one time from five attempts.

At which point the strike causes roughly a bucketful of water to drop from somewhere above onto the lady directly behind the struck target.

Soaking her. Making her cry out around the gag. Making her white tee that bit more see-through.

Do you play?

Yes or no, eventually you move on.

Finding a large cage, inside of which thirteen ladies already appear to be well advanced in their game.

Camisoles. Teddies. Plunge bra's with matching thongs. Stockings. The cage is awash with posh sexy lingerie in a half dozen colours, nobody is topless, everybody looks sexy enough to bed.

The cage isn't large, you couldn't imagine another thirteen inside without it appearing cramped.

As you arrive three of the ladies have been tightly hogtied- two with rope, one with steel cuffs -whilst the remaining nine are busy using more rope to hogtie the tenth.

Everyone hogtied is wearing a bra as opposed some other type of lingerie. And all the rope, the cuffs, everything must've come from the three open topped rusted looking oil drums. Inside of one you can see the top coils of piled rope.

Above the cage is a screen, clearly the reason why some of the girls are being hogtied. This screen is displaying options, with ten minutes left to vote on three choices for what happens next.

Currently: are the hogtied girls ballgagged, is the girl in the red Teddy tied to the cage bars, or do the four hogtied girls race the length of the cage?

Outside the cage is another black latex clad lady, a leotard this time paired with thigh high zip up boots. Another opportunity to pay and interact, where a smaller fee then what five balls would've cost allows you one vote.

You linger here awhile. Watching, paying on three occasions, trying to influence the outcome to what seems most fun each time.

Enjoying the show regardless.

As you do throughout the Carnival. So much to see.

Certain corners, fenced off, and behind the fence a clear perspex box. Like a coffin. And inside the box a lady- on one occasion two -mummified, her whole body covered in brightly coloured tape, only the nose left exposed.

Some of these Mummy's lay still, others wriggle and squirm, moaning.

You find, at one point and in prehaps the largest of all the open spaces within Carnival, a maze within the maze.

It looks something like Pac Man, the layout: rectangular, built out of waist high wooden walls.

Like everything else here the maze, whatever happens here being called 'Kill the Rabbit' according to the sign overhead, utilises a countdown clock, in this instance the clock counts down the start of each show, allowing for a reset.

There are two gates into the maze east and west. At zero one lady enters through east, four through west.

The east lady is dressed in a bikini. Her wrists have been chained crossed behind her, with the long length of steel pinning them to her waist too. On her head are a pair of pink bunny ears.

The other four are in bikinis too. None are tied, but all are ballgagged with four different colours being used. Each lady is carrying several lengths of coiled rope.

The rules appear to be simple: the 'Rabbit' must depress six plungers located around the maze, each of which turns on a red light below the sign. If she activates all six, she wins. But. If she is caught, she gets tied up, and she loses.

Which appears to carry the forfeit of being tickled until she's squealing loudly enough to wake the dead, even through the ballgag one of the winning ladies straps on her.

There are, because you stay to watch, some quite amusing coordination issues amongst the four hunters, who can't communicate beyond grunting and the use of hand gestures.

Although that being said they, the four, win three out of four times.

And onwards.

Until, rounding a bend, you eventually come to the exit, finding doors instead of more corridor, finding the gift shop.

Where you buy, where it appears everyone is buying, the official hardback Carnival of Chains artbook.

All around the Carnival, pasted to various sections of wall, had been large posters. Pasted the way flyers are illegally put up on walls. Every poster featured a lady, or several, in some form of bondage. Ropes. Chains. Leather belts and tape. Hogties. Post ties. Sometimes spread across a bed or table, sometimes suspended. These images, these posters, were like a who's who of what counts as bondage.

Some of the images were even themed: a lady dressed like a schoolgirl tied to a wooden table, or bikini clad and hogtied atop a lilo floating on the water.

The book is thick, and according to the sign placed above the table where they're piled contains every poster featured along the Carnival path.

The back cover- both are black -is blank, the front carries the simple

The Carnival
Of Chains

in that familiar white gothic script. Below which, in a line across the bottom

Plymouth, Trevor, Daniel, Shauna, Elwood

is written, in white.

It's only upon retuning home, flicking through your purchase, that you discover the occasional page of writing. Hand written, in five different styles and each time signed by one of the five names listed on the cover. These pages, fifteen in all, each tell a small story regarding some aspect of putting the Carnival together.

On the final inside page, the fifteenth and last of the written pages. A simple message.

'Thank you.'

Signed by all five names.
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Post by GreyLord »

[mention]RopeBunny[/mention], you have unfolded your vision of this Carnival and displayed it for us in a very interesting and unique way. Very original and it was fascinating to the last word. Thank you.
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Post by RopeBunny »

GreyLord wrote: 1 year ago @RopeBunny, you have unfolded your vision of this Carnival and displayed it for us in a very interesting and unique way. Very original and it was fascinating to the last word. Thank you.
Thanks.

This is some good praise you give me, which I was happy to find :D
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Post by tickletied84 »

Wow! Can I go to the Carnival please?! :lol:

So descriptive, and the 'thank you' message in the gift shop (of course there's a gift shop!) kept the emotions of the tale included.
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Post by RopeBunny »

009.

Shauna made a list. I made a list. We swapped lists and compared, then gave our one combined list to Daniel.

But of course Daniel had a list too. A fluid thing, upon which he filled in the blanks using girls he dug up on his own through online searches.

One of the girls Daniel found, and hired.

Was Deborah.

The preparation, the noise, being needed in multiple places at once. It was all so intense I never could've picked her out of a crowd of models who, in any case, all had places to be themselves.

Not hard now, afterwards and with the knowledge of her presence, to picture her there: watching me from inside that crowd, blending in one face amongst many. Watching me. Smiling.

Planning?

Not hard to picture her, and shiver half in fear half in longing.

But at the time I didn't know she was here.

"A toast." Raising my bottle, water because the beast is chained up out back, I make a smile for each of my fellow co-conspiritors. "To Carnival."

"Carnival." Comes the general chorus as water bottles, a coke can for Elwood, coffee for Trevor, collide in the centre of our rough circle. Here in the middle of hall thirteen. Silent now, deserted save for us.

"We fucking did it." Elwood, nodding, still riding the high as are we all. Prehaps Shauna and me more so, looking across she catches my eye and we share a quick secret smile. The bondage models, still pumped half full of arousal from an evening spent trussed up but for the most part not being given that elusive happy ending.

"That we did." Trevor, nodding. "And I'm told, based on initial estimates, we managed to turn a tidy post expenses profit too."
"We did?"
"We did Plymouth." Patting me on the shoulder, smiling at my look of utter- because I'd hoped, but hadn't really expected -disbelief. "In which case, gentlemen, ladies. My accountants will wire your cuts directly before the week is out."

"Thanks Trevor." Daniel, reaching across to shake Trevor's hand, Elwood does too. Shauna gives his cheek a kiss, making Trevor smile.

Actual profit? Off my crazy impossible idea? Damn.

We drift apart. It's gone midnight, gone one and almost two. Soon the sun might even peek above the horizen. Eventually the comedown, bought on by knowing that for the first time in forever we don't have to wake tomorrow and devote ourselves to Carnival, will hit. Real tiredness will hit.

Better to already be in bed when it does.

We shake hands. Hug. Kiss. We say our goodbyes, making plans as needed- between Elwood and myself for instance -for the next meeting.

Trevor has a car waiting.

Elwood has his car, a final night in a local hotel.

Daniel, despite the distance, tells us all he's heading home. "Even if we have to stop ten times for coffee." Hugging Shauna, who'll share the driving, close. Tipping me a last salute as she blows a kiss. And off they go.

Leaving me.

For pure nostalgia, because there may never be another Carnival of Chains, I wander a final turn through the maze I helped birth. Tiredness wars with the euphoric high of five amazing days, giving me a second wind, keeping the smile on my face.

The main doors to the Exhibition Centre complex will all be locked by now, and whilst security are about, here all night every night of course, it's far easier to slip out the one way fire door in the changing room, which only opens from the inside and won't set any alarms off doing so.

And besides my bag and helmet, my leather jacket, are in there waiting.

Except they aren't the only things waiting for me.

"Hello?" There shouldn't be anyone else here. The final coach left some time ago, shipping the models home. However walking into the changing area- just a repurposed store room with access to hall thirteen through a side door -I'd heard. Someone. Moving around.

I've changed already, after the show but before our small victory toast. Swapping out my plunge bra, thong and stockings- I've worn several different outfits over the five days for several different Carnival roles -for no bra and skinny fit blue jeans, a black Carnival of Chains ladies tee which rides the curves of my body, steel toed lace up boots on my feet.

Rounding a corner I find them. Find her, sat on a bench beside my neatly stacked things.

Hair the colour of ash: white shot through with grey, is tied back off a pretty, young face. Frowning slightly, looking down, focused on slipping feet into black Adidas.

Slender legs end in black spandex gym shorts, above which a purple vest top hangs down, because she's leaning forwards, granting me a perfect view of large enhanced breasts, not held in check by a bra they hang, rounded and full, making my lips briefly throb at thoughts of kissing them.

The right breast has some kind of swirling inkwork, which isn't her only tattoo. On the left leg a Kraken reaches up up up, the sight of it making me step back in shock moments before she looks up.

A familiar gaze meeting mine. A smile whilst the bottom falls out of my world.

"Hello B."

Deborah stands. And. Wow.

She's lost weight, toned her curvy fourteen down to a skinny but still no tan pale ten. Her hair too, no more black mohawk it's now curling and tumbling, a grey cascade over her shoulders. And she's had more surgery, because those are definitely at least E's, no longer D cups, straining at her top.

"Thought I recognised the jacket." Nodding, looking me up and down, making me feel naked despite the clothes. "You're looking good B."
"Debs." Almost a whisper, I don't, can't, say more. My heart is hammering in my chest, legs feel weak enough to buckle at any moment. She's here, stood not ten feet away like some demon I conjured out of the air by sheer want and lust alone.

I should go. Run home, fuck the bike, my stuff. Just turn and run because she's looking at me the way a lion eyes the tourist foolish enough to leave the safety of their car.

Like she's wondering whether I still taste good.

"Aren't you going to ask how I've been?"

"Doing okay." Nodding, acting as though I actually asked instead of opening my mouth to try but nothing came out beyond a quiet whistle of air, of breath. "You know." A shrug. "Living. Working here and there."

"Are...." Practically forced out through airways that feel closed to pinhole proportions. I'm acting- me, no shame no fear -like a scared nervous teenager. And I can't seem to stop.

"Am I?"

Did I fall asleep? Because suddenly she's right in front of me. Smiling of course, amusement at the corners.

"Maybe I am B." Leaning forwards, her breasts brushing and pressing into mine, Deborah blows gently into my mouth, between my slightly parted lips. Making my whole body shiver. "Are you?"

Which isn't, specifically, an offer. Nor is it an order.

She's toying with me.

I should go home. Sleep. Live to fight another day.

I should.

"Please." Holding my wrists out, crossed, in the small gap between us. Teetering on the edge, peering down into the abyss, into the deep dark rabbit hole.

Deborah looks me in the eyes, our gazes locking.

"I might,"
"I don't care." Finding my voice to interrupt her. Shaking my head.

"What if,"
"I dream of you." And again. I lick lips gone dry, failing to keep a lid on the body wide tingles such a revelation is causing. "In my head I'm already yours. So. Please."

"No."

I blink, sluggish, trying to understand why Deborah's backing off?

"But?" I just offered myself to you. "I." I just surrendered. To you.

"Go home B." Grabbing up a grey and white camouflage messenger bag, still backing towards the door, Deborah nods a goodbye, turns.

Leaves.

"What the actual fuck?" I ask the now closed door, completely at a loss. Not understanding what just happened.

And it takes me half the ride home, pushing the beast on deserted roads, bed calling, to work it out. Three times dream Deborah has had me, has teased me, has claimed me.

But that doesn't mean real Deborah wants me.

"Guess that's fucked it then." I mumble, clothes tossed on the floor, crawling into bed. "She doesn't care about you B."

Right?
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Post by GreyLord »

If this is not exactly a cliffhanger, [mention]RopeBunny[/mention], it i the next thing to one. We are left dangling and wondering just what Deborah's game is. But I feel sure that you will let us know when you are ready. Great work as always.
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Post by RopeBunny »

GreyLord wrote: 1 year ago let us know when you are ready.
Which won't actually be long. I'm in another one of my zones :lol: Can't seem to stop writing.
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Post by RopeBunny »

010.

Wrong.

Two days later, home from working at the nursery, clothes and body quite wet from a near constant drizzle, I decide to go for a jog before cleaning myself up properly.

In part because I'm seeing Elwood tomorrow, to work on a shoot, so I'll likely not have time to exercise then. But I enjoy it, jogging, too. Even in the rain.

Tossing my jeans, tee, bra and thong in the washing basket, I towel myself semi dry before putting on sensible white pants and tiny blue spandex shorts. A grey sports bra to keep my breasts from misbehaving and a black vest half top, short enough it barely covers the bra.

My hair is already tied back from work, and I'm just about step into a pair of white Adidas when my phone buzzes.

'Knock knock'

From. "Deborah?" I frown. Deborah who said no. Deborah who walked away, from me.

I'm still debating what to do, shoes in one hand, phone in the other, when it buzzes again.

'Front door. B. Now.'

"Fuck off." Voice shaky, no conviction there. Because I'm starting to tingle, because I think.

"How are you supposed to have visitors with a locked gate?"
"I don't." Fuck shit wow oh my god she's here she's here shit fuck Deborah is at my front door shit shit shit. I swallow, start again. "I don't have visitors Debs."
"No?"
"No."

She looks amazing.

Her dress is composed of wide black mesh, each hole large enough to wriggle my hand through. It clings to Deborah's body, a high tee style neckline, long sleeves, the hem well above the knee. From skinny waist to ballooning breasts is a black leather corset, whilst a black thong barely covers her modesty.

On Deborah's feet are big chunky black goth boots, the kind I remember she favours, laced up the front, thick soles giving her a height advantage.

Ash coloured hair like the aftermath of an eruption is worn loose. And over her shoulder the same camouflage messenger bag hangs.

Into which Deborah reaches, pulling out a coiled length of rope.

"I'm." Feeling weak, full of nerves and want and lust and fear and desire and want and fear. "I'm going,"
"Nowhere." Shaking the rope out, advancing whilst over her shoulder I spot a black ten year old Cooper S parked across my closed gates. Hers? Must be. "Take your top off B."

The sudden snap of command in her voice almost. Almost. Makes my legs give way at the jolt of want it sends through my body.

A command. Not asking. Telling. Ordering.

Bossing me.

Deborah reaches out, taking hold of the arm still holding my top and bra, which I drop. She turns me, pushing me stomach first up against the wall, kicking my front door closed.

Trapping me inside my own house. With her.

All the possible protests, everything I could say. They're already gone. Dead. The words I spoke to her in that changing room a thousand years ago now made real.

In my head I'm already yours.

"Ask me." Binding my wrists behind me, not being gentle about it. Yanking, tugging, pinning my limbs together with brute force. Deborah's voice comes over my shoulder. "Ask me why I'm here."
"Why are you here Debs?"
"I came for you B." Another yank, and each one setting my crotch on fire. "I came to claim what's mine."

I see the ballgag coming, opening my mouth even as the black ball touches my lips, letting it in, moaning as I feel Deborah yanking at the strap, forcing the tightest possible setting.

Spinning me around, flash of her smile- all teeth and full black painted lips -as Deborah plunges a hand down my shorts, slipping first one then three fingers easily up inside my already wet pussy. Not taking her time, not building up to a slow burning high. She races me up the hill towards a mind blowing orgasm at speed.

Her black smile and full corset thrusting cleavage filling my world as I scream, body bucking, out of control.

"Do you have a cage?" Using her fingers to paint my ballgag with my juices. "B?"
"Mmffpphhh." No, I shake my head, still held pressed against my tied wrists, against the wall, by the closeness of her body.

"Buy one." A smile, a shrug like it's no big deal whether I do or don't. "Maybe."
"Mfffmmm." I nod. Vowing to do just that. For her.

Deborah takes two steps back.

"Show me someplace I can leave you awhile."

I take her, leading the way, to my bedroom, where I somewhat awkwardly manage to remove my shorts and pants, wanting to be naked for her, whilst Deborah leans in the doorway. Watching.

Naked, I climb up onto the bed, kneeling in the centre.

Deborah wastes no time trussing me into a severe hogtie. No pleasantries, no talking. She's forceful with the ropes just like beside my front door, just like with my gag.

Lots of pushing and yanking, taking charge of my body, doing with me as she wishes whilst the whole experience puts me on cloud nine. Riding the high of my willing and near total surrender.

Because we haven't discussed anything. I offered, she took. There are no rules here.

This is the helplessness of my wildest fantasies made real. Being placed into what is almost certainly inescapable bondage with no clue what might happen to me next.

Letting Deborah own me, do as she pleases with me. My most secret, most dangerous wish.

My moan of discomfort synchs with Deborah's grunt as she pulls on the rope looped through my elbow tie, forcing my upper body off the bed, arching my body to bring elbows and ankles closer together. Tying the rope off, securing me.

Rolling onto my side, looking, but she's already gone, the heavy thumping of Deborah's boots as she descends the stairs, abandoning me without a goodbye.

I wait. No choice, and no desire to escape anyway even if I thought it possible.

I wait, but I'm not still. The tight hogtie isn't comfortable, it isn't meant to be of course. I have to shift positions, rolling from side to other side, to belly, stretching my legs and arms as best the ropes will allow.

The smell of cooking, of chicken and garlic, drifts up and finds me, and shortly after Deborah reappears. Still wearing that take charge outfit, those imposing boots.

She frees me without a word, removes my gag. "Come and eat." Giving me a nod, a quick smile, leaving me to stretch, to visit the bathroom before making my way downstairs.

Still naked of course, because she didn't say otherwise.

We eat sat side by side on the sofa, some kind of war documentary on the flatscreen, volume down low. Background images to occasionally glance at.

"Who even moves to Wales?"
"It's," glancing across, Deborah's tone had been normal, just two friends talking, she isn't looking at me, "well." I shrug. Smile. "It's barely across the border actually."
"That right?" Still not looking, but there's an amused smile on her pretty face.

"Are you still getting paid for being friends with trees?"
"I am." Ignoring the teasing tone. "There's a plant nursery about twenty miles due west. I do some shifts every week."
"Twenty miles by motorbike?"
"I still ride." Nodding, remembering a late night ride with Deborah behind me. "Got a custom now. A chopper."
"An upgrade?" I nod, Deborah smiles, nods back. "Cool."

I wash up, leaving Deborah on the sofa, collecting up the plates. No dishwasher, because Mum never had one, and hand washing isn't exactly hard. I wipe down the counter tops, the hob and grill, and am turning from the sink to the fridge only to find Deborah in the kitchen, blocking my path, rope in hand.

"Wrists." The commanding voice is back, sending icy pleasure running down my spine as I hold them out, crossed in front of me.

More yanking, more tight knots.

It's a long length, which means plenty of slack. Deborah wraps this around her hand before leading me back to the sofa where she pulls me down to sit right next to her, our bodies pressed together, my bound wrists in my lap.

"Why are we watching old war films?"
"Documentaries."
"About old wars." I glance at Deborah. "Why this?"
"I studied history." A shrug, a half smile. "Wars. In college, alongside other things. I just always found them fascinating." Turning to face me now. "Who won. Why and how."

"Well." Holding up my bound wrists, frowning at them as though deep in thought. "I think," glancing, seeing Deborah smile, "you won this war."
"Yes I did."

Deborah moves, turning her body around even as she comes sideways, climbing up to sit in my lap, her legs straddling mine as her tight mesh dress rides up halfway over her butt, her thong pressing into my shaved crotch.

"First I invaded." Still holding the wrapped rope she winds in the slack before pulling, forcing my wrists up over my head, behind my head, pinning them in place against the sofa top. "Then." Using her free hand to flick each of my already rock hard and erect nipples in turn. "I captured anything of strategic importance."

Leaning in, pressing her clothed body against my nakedness, Deborah kisses me, leaving me gasping as she pulls away. "After which, having enslaved the locals, I simply took what I wanted."

She kisses me again, free hand groping my breasts, crotch slowly dry humping mine.

"And." Pulling back just enough to talk, her lips brushing mine with each formed word. "What did you do?"
"I surrendered."
"Say it again."
"I surrendered." The words, the truth in them, giving me shivers. "To you. Willingly. And without a fight."

"Prove it." Flicking her tongue out, licking my lips, Deborah climbs off and lets go of my rope leash. "Go upstairs. Fetch my ballgag and use it. Come back."

I look at her, looking back, and feel the electric charge that jumps between us. Her desire to own me, matching mine to be owned.

I do as I'm told, finding Deborah sat sideways on the sofa when I return, body resting against one side, legs up on the cushions.

She pats her lap, I lay down between her spread legs, ballgagged mouth facing away from the flatscreen, resting on her thong clad crotch, breathing in the scent of Deborah's arousal, my fingers stroking her lower leg even whilst she idly fingers my breasts.

Sometime later Deborah leads me upstairs, binding me to one side of my bed. Wrists pinned above my head, ankles freshly tied together, pinned to the bed frame below. My body an I shape.

I watch her strip naked, a slender curvy shadow, the jut of those E cups still clearly defined in the low light from her phone, the only source of light in my darkened room.

She climbs into bed with me, pulling the duvet over us both.

"Mine." Kissing my ballgagged lips. "Say it."
"Mffppmm." Like a sigh as her hand drifts once down the length of me, long nails teasing and tracing my contours. The ghost of Deborah's smile in the full dark, the hint of a nod before she rolls over, leaving me alone.

Eventually sleep claims me too.
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Post by GreyLord »

Hot, [mention]RopeBunny[/mention]. This was a surprise. I did not think she would give in to Deborah, at least no so easily.
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Post by BlissfulMisery »

Interesting change of perspective for the carnival itself. The atmosphere/general ambiance hit just the right tone, very vivid.

Interesting how Deborah seemed to change her mind. It stretches credulity that she was in the room by coincidence. Maybe she was merely toying with Brooke, but it seems a little too obvious of an answer.

Also seems like Brooke is indeed still struggling with separating fantasy from reality, or more specifically not giving into impulses that have gotten her into trouble before. Hard to tell how serious Deborah is, and I have a suspicion that once the proverbial honeymoon is over, they might have different ideas on what they want from each other.

Either way, idle musings aside, great chapters, a pleasure to catch up on.
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Post by RopeBunny »

GreyLord wrote: 1 year ago I did not think she would give in to Deborah, at least no so easily.
We all get carried away in the moment :lol: no doubt there will be some, doubts, coming at some point.
BlissfulMisery wrote: 1 year ago Interesting change of perspective for the carnival itself. The atmosphere/general ambiance hit just the right tone, very vivid.
Wanted to write the Carnival chapter almost as an aside. The story is from Brooke/Plymouth's perspective, I wanted Carnival to be told as though through the eyes of a guest.

This is why it doesn't even have a chapter number.

I'm happy it came across well.

Thank you, both, for commenting. And thanks everyone else for reading. The Deborah storyline will evolve as we go, questions being answered and so forth.

Might take a small amount of extra time to post the next chapter. I, as often happens when in the zone, got a little but carried away and wound up writing Plymouth into a dark place. Where I, upon re-reading, realised I don't want her to be.

So. Going back in the change the tone but keep the overall direction.

Coming soon :D
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Post by RopeBunny »

011.

"It's." Reaching up, fingering the snug collar locked around my neck. "Just a thing." I shrug. Lie. "It's no big deal."
"Well." Elwood, a smile replacing his frown, swallows some more coke. Nods "Okay."

I woke up two hours ago to find the beginnings of a sunny day leaking through the gap in my curtains. To find Deborah already gone, myself no longer tied or gagged.

But, a parting gift you could say, in her place, there's a collar around my neck.

There's stuff about all of us out there, online. Because the Internet remembers. Being a pornstar, a bondage fantasy made real for some, there's simply more about me out there to find.

And I've looked, curious and bored. Finding bios, lists of facts about me: date of birth, bra size and quite detailed body measurements, country of birth. Even my favourite colour or animal.

Sometimes the stuff I found- including bizarrely my neck measurements -was even true.

Tight but it doesn't pinch, the collar is a dull silver colour, a dark rigid band about an inch wide with a single horizontal u shaped hoop fixed to the front. By feel alone I've found a join, the thinnest of lines running vertically at the back, level with my spine. But there's no bulge for a locking mechanism, no hole or slot for a key.

No handy key left behind anyway. Because surely giving me the means to freedom from the collar would negate the point Deborah's trying to make by locking me in.

That I'm hers.

I've already spent a full half hour in the bathroom, naked, standing and staring at myself in the full length mirror. Frowning. Turning and angling my body. Smiling. At war, trying to decide how I feel about this new accessory.

It's my own fault. Whilst I didn't specifically mention a collar, I did verbally surrender. Several times.

And. Good damn it, now I'm smiling again.

What it comes down to, basically, is that you could make a good solid argument for Deborah having crossed the line by collaring me.

Whilst on the flip side a similarly solid argument would state, show, my repeated offers of surrender. The fact that total- without any say in matters relating to me -helplessness is by far my ultimate forbidden fantasy. That Deborah knows this, because in the past she has placed me into complete and inescapable bondage. Without asking. And.

Fucks sake Brooke will you stop smiling.

Unfortunately. I crave surrender, and Deborah knows this. Which, in a round about semi screwed up but true sense.

Gives her all the permission she needs to collar me, and far worse besides.

"Consequences." I tell mirror Brooke, toweling myself off post shower. She tuts, shakes her head at me and shrugs. "What are you going to do?"

What can I do?

I could ring. But I won't, I don't. This is a game after all. Kind of. And despite Deborah having just moved a piece: her collar onto my neck, I resolve to wait, to let her decide the next move too.

Do I trust her? Honestly, I don't know.

Am I a fool? Possibly.

Am I willing, though, to accept whatever fate Deborah brings to my door? I think. Yes.

"Let's just see where she takes this." I nod. Mirror Brooke nods back. Decision made.

At least, coming downstairs to grab a quick breakfast- a homemade fruit smoothie -I've managed to answer one question. Propped up against a glass still half full of tap water was the drivers licence I didn't realise was missing.

Presumably Deborah swiped it from my piled stuff whilst waiting for me after Carnival, which is how she knew where I lived.

All of that, when a normal person would've just asked.

"Outdoors?"
"Yes." Peering out the kitchen window at a clear blue summer sky. "We should take advantage of this weather."
"Any thoughts how?"
"Tree tie?" I half shrug, making it a question not a fact, giving my rigger the opportunity to argue against or suggest an alternative.

"You mean that willow out back?"
"I do." Nodding. "Thought, all that low hanging foliage we could make it like I'm tied up as a secret?"

Which gets me a thoughtful look, Elwood no doubt trying to picture how he could shoot my idea.

"Okay." A nod. "Can I? Um."
"Can you?" Smiling as Elwood waves an arm at me, gesturing at my body.

"I had a thought is all." Smiling but blushing. "About an outfit."
"Yeah?" I grin. "Let's hear it then."

My fence is quite high, and on three sides- not the front of course because that's where the road is -my property backs onto farmers fields, so I don't have to worry about being seen. That being said.

"Honestly." Walking across the back garden towards the tall willow tree, I laugh at Elwood walking beside me, unable to stop glancing from fence to fence, his gaze darting. "You look worried enough for both of us." I shake my head, hold my arms out and do a half dozen small jumps. "Nobody can see."
"Right." Clearly not convinced, worried enough on my behalf in fact that he isn't even looking at my chest.

Bless.

Elwood knows I work outdoors, we had plenty of chats whilst setting up Carnival, so his idea is for me to, sort of, be dressed for work.

Jeans, faded blue skinny fit with several rips on each leg, are tucked into my black steel toed lace up boots. The jeans are low rise, allowing the tops of my black thong to peek out.

And that's it. No top. No bra. Hair left hanging down one side of my head, red lipstick and black around the eyes. Not too much makeup, because I'm supposed to be working.

The plan, our plan, is for Elwood to come over several times in the coming weeks, to do at least one shoot each time he does.

Because in order to launch Jester's Revenge I need a good stack of initial content on offer, both photos and videos.

"Wow." Stopping just inside the canopy, turning a slow circle Elwood nods and smiles. "This is nice."
"Haven't you ever seen inside one before?"
"No." Still turning on the spot, looking up. "It's amazing."
"That it is."

There really isn't anything like an old willow. Sometimes called a weeping willow, because the branches hang. They weep. And when the tree gets old, as mine is now, the branches create a kind of curtain, a screen around the trunk, inside of which you might feel like someone in wonderland.

Like you've discovered a hidden place.

"Arms around the trunk?" Demonstrating, back against the tree, hand reaching for hand. "Or above me?" Shifting, reaching up. "Or." Moving again, turning around to press my naked breasts against the rough bark. "Like this?"
"I think." Elwood does a circuit of the trunk whilst I shift from pose to pose to pose. "That one." Nodding. "Arms behind you."
"What I thought too."

About halfway through the tie I realise. I miss the yanking roughness of Deborah. Of course Elwood is being gentle, this is a shoot after all, work not- strictly -play. So he's doing tight knots and loops of my limbs and body yes, but he isn't yanking on the ropes.

I miss Deborah. Maybe I should call her? Just for a chat, I won't even mention the collar. It could be, hurriedly tamping down on a smile lest Elwood sees, and asks, like part of the game. Ring Deborah, act normal, will she break first and bring it up.

Maybe.

The trunk is too thick for an elbow tie, but my wrists just about meet- crossed -on the other side. Elwood ties a chest harness to secure my upper body. Which.

"Remember." Smiling, making sure not to laugh as my sudden interruption causes Elwood to jump. "You can touch them, me. You'll have to right?"
"Right." Blowing out a breath, shaking his head and giving me a half smile. "Sorry. It's just." Gesturing at my chest, laughing. "That I'm tying up an actual porn star. It's just all so surreal."
"Fun though huh?"
"Oh it is that." Nodding. "I'll," quite deliberately lifting my F cups in turn as he passes rope underneath, "do my best to remember."
"Good man." I grin. "Carry on."

After the chest harness Elwood binds my legs at knee and ankle, fixing both to the trunk.

"Okay?"
"All good my end." Nodding, having a small wriggle. Everything feels tight, correct. "I'm good."
"Good." Tearing his eyes away from my still bouncing breasts. "I'll. Um. Gag you, and then film first. Okay?"
"Film then photos?" Because we're doing both, for the site.

"Yes." Elwood nods. I nod back.

The camera pushes, as Elwood walks through the weeping ground brushing canopy, the branches aside, giving an interesting view as though you, the viewer, are entering, discovering me.

He walks several slow laps around my bound topless body, stopping, zooming in, panning up and down. All whilst I occasionally- on and off -struggle, moan. Pushing and thrusting my crotch or breasts at the camera.

Giving Elwood quite a visible hard on.

For the photos I don't struggle, or moan. For these Elwood once again begins outside the canopy, taking several shots from several positions, poking the lens halfway in. Again he takes a lap, shooting me from all angles. Covering all the bases.

After which I'm untied, freed, and we go inside so I can make us both lunch.

A lunch where Elwood proceeds to eat a considerably large amount, certainly compared to forever watching her figure me. Prehaps- twice his age and all that but who the fuck cares -I should introduce him to Ruth?

"So this is...?"
"This is the Jester."
"As in...?"
"Yes." I nod. "This is something I need your help with."

Human, which is to say two arms and two legs, the Jester stands about three feet high wearing black boots and a baggy black one piece with a red zigzag frill around the neck like an old time court jester. The hat too is of that style, black with two curving halves, each ending in a red pom pom.

The black face is featureless aside from a zip mouth, the black hands are clawed, held loosely open.

Until.

"Fuck." Whistling, Elwood shakes his head. "Me."
"It does plenty more too." I tap away at my laptop. "See."

On command the Jester's eyes appear, two glowing red orbs.

And all this is why my new toy cost so damn much, why it took so long to make. Not only can the Jester stand up. It can- slowly -walk. It can move, to a certain extent, it's hands and arms. It can do a creepy laugh and play a tune. The head moves.

It can do all sorts of things. Inside the Jester, pistons and joints and a battery for power of course, there's a bunch of electronics. An ariel allows me to link with it via the Bluetooth on my laptop, whist a specially created program means I can control what the Jester does.

"I want to use it for some kind of bondage horror series."
"Right." Looking thoughtful, sipping his third can of coke. Nodding. "Like you getting tied up by it?"
"Like that." Nodding back. "Telling a story across multiple videos. Like." I click my fingers. "Like a cursed doll or something?"
"Not bad." Looking from the Jester to my laptop. "And you want input regarding the specifics of this series? From me?"
"Yes." Standing up, clearing the table since Elwood will be leaving in a moment. "Now I've shown you the Jester have a think, jot stuff down. Let's have a brainstorm in a couple of weeks."

I walk Elwood back to his car, open the gate to let him drive out. Except he stops halfway through, open drivers window level with me.

"Listen. Um. Plymouth."
"Yes." He looks nervous, about what? "Elwood?"
"Well." Fidgeting. "Look. It's not my business. But." Looking at me. "We're friends, right?"
"Of course." I nod, smiling.

"Okay. Well." Stopping to take a breath, not looking at me now, quite pointedly looking out the front window. "Thing is Plymouth. I know what a collar is." Half turning to give me a half look. "So. Just." A shrug. "Be careful?"
"I will." Reaching up, fingering the band of steel locked on me. I smile, wave Elwood off.

"Not." Closing the gate, finishing the sentence now Elwood's safely around the corner.

"Let her come." Leaning on my gate now, eying up the sky, the road, as though waiting. For her. Because my flip flopping brain has once again ruled out making the next, or any, move.

"You offered." Reaching up to run a finger across the smooth metal encircling my neck. "And she took. Let's see what she intends on doing next."
GreyLord
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Post by GreyLord »

Okay, up front. Is she a fool? The answer is yes, absolutely. But she is my kind of fool, [mention]RopeBunny[/mention].

Then there is the ever fortunate Elwood. How lucky can one kid be?
ImageA List of my stories:
An Unlikely Savior Completed
Spy Task Force Completed
Tale of an Archer Completed
The Bandit Scout on Newhome updated 05/30/23
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BlissfulMisery
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Post by BlissfulMisery »

One step deeper into the waters.

Fancy language aside, not much to say that would be new and interesting, the chapter is a logical extension of previous events.

Elwood's comment makes me think he and Deborah will end up meeting at some point, and I wonder what will happen then.

As always, appreciate the effort that goes into writing these.
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