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

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

Post by RopeBunny »

Felt like beginning at 001 was a better option then adding to the original tale.

Which I imagine not everyone coming here will of read. So, yes please do go now and read Plymouth rising, if you wish. But. I'll be doing my best as we go along to describe things as though all you great people reading my work have no clue who Plymouth is, or what she does.

Or anything.

I'll treat this like a new story basically, filling in details as I go.

Seems best.

Good, as always, to have you along for the ride :D ;)
Last edited by RopeBunny 1 year ago, edited 22 times in total.
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001.

The trouble with dreams is: at the time they just seem so damn real.

"Were you," gaze skating across my- for some reason I answered the front door naked -body, seeming to dart from point to point like a humming bird, stopping to drink in her favourites, "expecting me, Brooke?"

Deborah. A ghost of bondage past, and by no means my finest hour. She'd tricked her way into my confidence, exploiting a love of helplessness and abandonment. She'd made me hers, had got me, by the end, literally begging to be trussed and used.

At which point, having made me like putty in her hands, the ultimate abuse of trust. She'd handed me over to Clive. The biggest skinny wanker on the planet.

And. I'm leaving so much out, glossing over details. The truth is so much more. But what matters is: Deborah took advantage, so, despite parting on good terms I promised myself never again.

With her.

Guess my subconscious never got the memo. Because here she is, walking into my dreams. Busty, curvy, tattooed.

Stunning.

"Say it." Inside now, the door closed, trapping Deborah in my house. Trapping me with Deborah.

Stepping closer. Black corset over a plunging white dress, brown leather knee high boots and black glasses. A black mohawk tumbles messily down both sides of her head. Smiling, a roll of thick silver tape being idly spun in her right hand.

"Ask me."
"Please." A little breathless, heart beating faster. Wrists together, turning around, offering myself up like a drug addict chasing one more hit. Powerless to say no. "Will you kidnap me, please?"

And. Like missed frames in a movie we're suddenly outside. The fuzzy nondescript grey of a background that doesn't matter all around us, Deborah beside me.

My whole body tingling, singing, as the cool night air caresses my tied up nakedness.

At least half a roll of tape, pinning my wrists together, crisscrossing my upper body from waist to shoulders. Pinching my breasts. With a half dozen more wrapped circuits around my mouth, gagging me.

"In you go." Giving my butt a firm patt, her tone still playful. Easy.

In I go. The tiny- does Deborah even drive -boot of the tiny car. Was it here a moment ago? The boot, going to be a squeeze, yawns open like the mouth of some monster, waiting to devour me, to make me disappear.

Because once I climb in I will. Dissappear. Maybe. Because once in the boot I'll belong to Deborah.

Wasn't that, the feeling like an itch behind my eyes, a bad thing?

"The thing is." I'm halfway in the boot, bent down, one knee inside. Deborah's voice makes me pause, turn back to look at her. "Brooke." Giving me a shrug. "Prehaps I miss you too?"
"Probably shouldn't of sold me then." Shaking my head, slight venom in my voice.

Wasn't I gagged though?

"And yet," voice smoothly back into playful territory, "here you are, surrendering all over again."
"I'm?" In the boot, apparently? All the way inside, laid on my side, facing out, facing her. Head pressing against one end, toes on the end of bent legs brushing the other. Because it really is cramped in here.

Above me the lid looms. Just the thought of being locked in- any moment now surely -is making my nipples wake up, come to erect attention.

"Maybe I should go in?" Naked, enhanced D cups hanging down like ripe fruit, Deborah leans in, finishing off my rope hogtie, forcing my ankles into contact with my wrists. Arching my body.

I don't mind.

"Want to swap, Brooke?"
"No." Shaking my head. "Finish what you started." Smiling back. Happy. Content. "I'm all yours."
"You're the boss," tipping me a salute, "boss."

The boot closes with a too loud boom, like something final, plunging me into darkness. My fate sealed.

"We're going to have." Laid beside me. In the boot? Deborah the Domme, clad head to toe in black skintight latex: boots with a massive heel, whole arm gloves, a zip front one piece showing not even a hint of cleavage. She reaches out, running a hand down my body from neck to crotch, being sure to catch a nipple as she passes. Making me shiver. "So much fun together."
"Mmmmfffffppmmm ffffmmmmm." Moaning, the ballgag preventing my agreement from being properly heard.

Definitely a dream, because some unknown time later, the fading riot of happy tingles nothing more then a memory, I wake.

In my new bed. In my new house.

Alone.

I have a shower, having woken before my alarm, not seeing the point in another half hours patchy sleep. Glancing in the mirror after, toweling myself dry, it's a pornstars body I find grinning back: size eight, skinny yet toned from regular exercise and a careful diet. My breasts are F's, enhanced. Large on such a small frame, pert and rounded no matter whether I'm stood up or laid down. Genuine cannons.

Forever tanned skin from years spent working outdoors- another reason for my muscles -is covered in ink. Well, the left side of me is anyway. Because fuck symmetry.

Chained mermaid on the arm. Lighthouse floating through clouds on the leg. A busty anime girl in silhouette, hair flying back, actual lance in her hand, riding a motorbike on my belly. Above which an open sharks mouth, just the ring of teeth, circles my belly button. This is just some of the inkwork I wear.

Dull silver snakebite piercings decorate my lower lip, whilst my hair, shaved on the left, cascades down over my right shoulder and back, a waterfall of green shot through with black.

Of course, I look like a pornstar because I am a pornstar. Which is a life, a career, I chose.

I just haven't worked in ten months.

I have worked. Wednesday and Friday evenings, most of Saturday, I put my plant knowledge- I used to mow grass, plant flowers and chop down trees -to good use at the nearby nursery, either outside or in one of the many, sometimes artificially lit to aid and speed up the growing, polytunnels.

The money helps keep the bills paid, helps keep life ticking along whilst I've been doing a year's programming and tech based NVQ course at college. A course which will allow me to code my own website, which is what originally placed Deborah- brief flash of last nights dream, my bound body, the ballgag and Deborah's latex second skin preventing me from licking those forever pert D cups, her smile, victorious, only making my tingles worse -and me on our collision course.

The logic being: if I learn to code, I won't wind up running into yet another Deborah.

Maybe.

Today is finals day. The last exam, completed one on one over three hours with Mr Haverhill, the teacher. By this point he'll of already marked my coursework, which amongst other things includes the website I had to design and code for a made up business.

We got to pick our own businesses, I went for exterminators called Sir Killsalot.

I get dressed. A baggy- not stupid large, but in no way tight and figure hugging -long sleeved white tee and dark blue jeans. The jeans I tuck into black lace up boots, which I prefer to wear whenever I'm using the bike. And because I'm riding in, despite there being a train station close by with a direct service into Bristol I still love my bike too much not to ride, I wear my black leather jacket too.

I've been wearing baggy clothes, long sleeves, no shorts, every day at college. Not because I don't want to show myself off, quite the opposite. Being a porn star has completely eroded my sense of modesty to the point I could walk into class naked and think nothing of it.

I wear baggy clothes because college is full of horny young boys and girls, and I don't particularly want to be hit on six times before lunch.

I still get hit on, asked out, anyway. And yes I've had a handful of flings. A nice older- late thirties to my very early twenties -guy who I shared a park bench with one wet lunchtime, the only bench under a tree. Plus a couple of young girls, random meetings like the guy, who were just too cute to say no to.

But mostly I'm trying to focus on the course. I can throw myself back into fun after today.

After the exam.

"Time. Brooke." Ringing an actual bell, a particular quirk of his. Mr Haverhill. A brass bell with a dark wooden handle, the kind you imagine a Town Cryer using, which he uses to signify the end of a test like now, or to shut down excessive noise from the class.

Inside, the noise is quite deafening.

Hitting a final key, spitting the pen out my mouth- I'd been chewing in an effort to aid concentration, and maybe to calm nerves as the clock ticked down through that final half hour -I scoot my chair back and to the side, making room as Mr Haverhill: tall and skinny, unruly brown hair, open necked blue shirt and black jeans, pulls the chair for the opposite workstation over.

"Well then." Pushing black square framed glasses back up his nose, offering me a friendly smile. "Let's see how you've done."

The marking takes place right here. Now. In front of me. Because part of the exam is the opportunity to talk Mr Haverhill through what I've done, to explain, to answer whatever questions he asks.

"Definitely a pass, Brooke," holding out his hand, nodding, "Well done."
"Thank you, sir." Shaking the offered hand, feeling my whole body relax.

"Roland." Turning back to the workstation, scribbling notes and a messy looking signature on my test sheet. "No more need for sir Brooke," collecting my papers into a pile, "not now."

"So. Roland." I tap the side of the computers flatscreen monitor. "What happens next?"
"Well." A quick frown, thinking. "This all goes off to the exam board, as proof. And. Then you get a nice shiny certificate sometime in the autumn."
"Shiny huh?"
"Silver on the borders." Another frown. "Or gold? But you'll get a letter before that with your actual score and grade. Next couple of weeks. Something official you can show to a potential employer."
"Okay." Nodding. "Great."

I'll have to make sure and remember to show myself my official letter of being allowed to code.

Outside, smiling, happy I made it to the end. Digging out my phone I boot it back up, no distractions allowed during the exam.

By the time I've made it to my bike, it's sheer bulk and general awesomeness putting all the little mopeds surrounding it in their place, my phone has vibrated exactly once.

A single message. An email.

Which.

"Shit." Restraining a brief urge to fling my phone at the nearest wall. Then stamp on it. Then bury the pieces in an unmarked grave that nobody will visit. "Damn it."

Something I ordered, for my new website. Something expensive, a one of a kind thing I've spent several months waiting for a specialist company in Germany to build for me.

They finished it last week, shipped it via special courier, which was more expense but having paid so much already I'd hate to receive damaged goods.

The delivery had been due tomorrow, when with college over I'd be off. Home all day. Available.

However it seems customs were quicker then expected, because my package has been on UK soil, moving West, since the early hours. And, failing to raise me upon arrival two hours ago- when I was mid exam and therfore had my phone off -the courier left my super expensive new thing with Mrs Green, at number twelve.

"Fuck." Still half tempted to do something, a viking funeral prehaps, to my phone. Because I'm sure Mrs Green is a good person, but I've never met her beyond the occasional from a distance wave.

I'm sure she's great. Super nice. Not a thief at all, nor is she the type to open other people's super interesting looking large parcels.

Doesn't stop me worrying though.

Giving my phone a final scowl, granting a stay of execution, for now. I put on my helmet, zip up my jacket, and with a choppy rumble set off for home.

Time to, finally it seems, meet the neighbours.
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Post by Caesar73 »

Glad to read Plymouth new Adventures - and the title is intriguing :)

I think it is a good decision to start a new thread with this story, because - it makes reading easier :)
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Post by RopeBunny »

Caesar73 wrote: 1 year ago the title is intriguing
That name, Jester's Revenge, may be familiar to some already? But if not all will become clear as we go along anyway.
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Post by Mikal903 »

Love this so far
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Post by tickletied84 »

Welcome back Brooke!

I'm very glad she's been planning for the future - although let's hope Mrs Green has been inquisitive!
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Post by RopeBunny »

Mikal903 wrote: 1 year ago Love this so far
Thanks :D
tickletied84 wrote: 1 year ago Welcome back Brooke!
Indeed, I have missed writing her.
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Post by RopeBunny »

002.

Home is Wales. I'm not Welsh, and despite the all round prettiness of the country: all those rolling hills and valleys, all that green. I've never thought of moving across the border.

Not that I moved far into foreign territory. From my driveway I can see the towering supports of the Severn bridge rising above the treeline.

It isn't even a village, where I live. Too small. Along a winding main road sits a pub, close by to which you'll find, along various side roads, roughly five dozen houses and a couple of farms. My house is number thirteen, on a road of thirteen. Six detached houses, all in different styles, march up each side of the small straight lane.

One through twelve, and me at the end.

A wooden gate, manual not fancy automatic on motors, I have to get off my bike and swing it open or closed, links to a tall wooden fence which marks the boundary of my surprisingly large property. Beyond the gate a curving driveway leads up to my brick and wood old looking but actually quite modern three bedroom detached, complete with conservatory and a rear space easily large enough to plant out a maze.

Where I totally wouldn't get chased whilst tied up by dinosaurs.

Long- true -story.

Of course I'd get tied up. Gagged. It's what I love.

Beside the house sits a converted barn, wood reinforced by a steel beam frame. The previous owner used it, built it, to keep his collection of classic cars, so the whole inside has been insulated, has heaters hanging from the roof, a proper floor and plenty of power sockets.

In other words it's perfect for shooting movies, or photoshoots. Perfect for converting, by way of furniture and fake temporary freestanding walls, into whatever type of room or setting I require.

And I shall need plenty of different settings, at least some of which I can simply create in the barn, for all the bondage content I plan on making.

For the new website. My new website.

There's a normal sized garage too, between house and barn, inside of which I store the gardening tools: mower, saw, spades and shovels. I keep my bike in here too since there's plenty of room.

The mower, despite how much grass there is on the property, is a push along. It has a small two stroke motor to power the cutting blades but you still have to walk behind it. I used to drive a ride on, still do occasionally at the nursery.

Pulling into my road I consider taking the bike home first then coming back. However, maybe she's been waiting for me? And my bike is quite a noisy girl. As I approach the door to number twelve opens, so I slow down, pulling up at the bottom of Mrs Green's driveway, climbing off and removing my helmet even as she emerges from her house, padding in white Nikes across the tarmac towards me.

Older. Cruising through her forties. A curvy body, D cups and a rounded belly, wide hips and a fair sized butt. But for all she's a bigger, somewhat plump girl, Mrs Green carries it well. A larger lady who looks sexy, who suits the curves she's grown.

She's wearing a white leotard, nipples poking at the semi shiny spandex, what looks like a new tattoo- it's still very black -of a skull and crossbones on her right bicep. Underneath the one piece are pink gym leggings, which makes me smile because the whole outfit looks very 'superhero'.

"Hi." Smiling, brushing sweaty looking blonde hair- straight not curly like mine, tied back save a couple of strands at the front -back behind her ear. Mrs Green laughs, holds out a hand. "I don't actually think we've properly met?"
"Don't think so." Shaking my head whilst giving her hand a squeeze, a quick shake. "I'm Brooke." Jerking a thumb behind me. "Number thirteen."
"Ruth."

When I first moved in, over half a year ago having already begun college, Ruth hadn't lived alone. There'd been a fourty something guy here too. However, after a couple of months the shouting started, and a month later on a wet Sunday I happened to be outside, rearranging the garage, and witnessed the guy throwing a bunch of bags into his Porshe before driving off at speed, never to return.

Since then her driveway has remained empty.

"S quite a beast you're riding there Brooke."
"Thanks." Leaning back to pat my bikes handlebars.

My first proper girlfriend, Lili, built it with her Dad. Hers was a small family- Lili was an only child -of die hard bikers. The leather jacket I wear has a patch on the back. Three Kings, chess piece kings to be specific, arranged with one black and one white flanking the central white. The Kings are a biker gang Lili's Dad helped start before his daughter was even born, that I joined at Lili's insistence before both my girlfriend and her parents died over a year ago.

Left to me in her will, for months I couldn't bear to even look at it. The memories it conjured, everything was still too raw.

But time passes. Life moves on.

It's a chopper. A custom based on a Triumph tourer frame. Fat rear tyre, long front forks and handlebars I have to reach up to hold. The pillion seat behind my own has a high back like a chair. The metal parts are a dull dark silver, the gas tank sprayed matt black.

A big engine and modified exhaust make for a lumpy idle and loud roar as I tear along the roads.

She's a beast for sure, and I love riding her.

"Never been on a bike."
"No?" Can't have that. "You'll have to come out for a burn sometime, with me."
"Yeah?" Surprised, eyes widening, a grin surfacing. "You sure?"
"Of course." Nodding. "We could go to. Um." What's the name of that city West of here? "Cardiff." Clicking my fingers. I grin. "Go terrorize the locals."

"You're here for the huge box sitting in my kitchen?"
"Is it that big?" Damn, I'd been planning on helping the courier shift it inside my house, or better yet on them having a trolley. Not somehow lifting something big, and likely heavy, alone.

"Pretty big." Ruth looks from me, back to her house. Nods. "Want some help?"
"I mean." Please. "If you're not busy?"
"I can squeeze in a second workout." Nodding, affecting a serious tone. "In between binge watching whatever the new trending Netflix show is, and cooking a delicious beans on toast dinner for one."
"Beans huh?"
"On toast." Now she's smiling, the joke all played out.

She's got nothing on, basically.

"Fancy a burger instead?"
"At the Good Harvest?"
"At mine." I'm not feeling the pub, and besides which it's sunny out. A good day to fire up the grill. "I've got some beers in the fridge."
"Beer and a burger at chez Brooke huh?" Nodding. "Sure. Okay. Payment for all the sweating I'm about to do."
"Great." Jamming the helmet back on my head, climbing aboard. "Give me ten minutes."

Ruth gives me a thumbs up, I fire the chopper back up, steering up the road towards my gate.

A leather jacket and jeans, plus boots, aren't ideal clothes for a spot of hard lifting. So having put the bike away I pop indoors to change.

"Didn't realise you had so much ink." Stepping back to let me in, looking me up and down. "You're always so covered up."
"Safer on the bike." I shrug, peering down my left side, a little smile as my eyes pick out each tattoo in turn. I left my pale blue bra and black thong on, but swapped my boots for blue Adidas, my jeans for grey spandex- joining Ruth's club -gym shorts, and my white long sleeved top for a black Iron Maiden tee which I cut the arms off awhile back.

I've tied my green hair back too so it doesn't get in the way.

"What do you do?" In the kitchen, Ruth and me stood either side of the box resting on her floor, wearing matching frowns. I glance back up at Ruth, gesture at her. "To workout, do you," it doesn't look like running gear, which is what I mostly do, it looks more like, "go to a class. Like, um, yoga or something?"
"No." Shaking her head. "Mostly. Well." A smile, a shrug. "I get dressed up, do ten minutes of stretches and lunges. Crap like that. Enough to build up a sweat. And then." Dropping me a wink, voice gone to a whisper. "I sit down, and spend a half hour thinking really hard about maybe someday going on my exercise bike."

Which sets me off giggling whilst Ruth smiles back, making a show of wiping the- not so sweaty it would seem -hair out of her eyes again.

"It can't be that heavy."
"No?"
"Courier bought it in here on his own." Ruth nudges my box with the point of her shoe. "Lifted it off the trolley without cursing once."
"So not heavy." Nudging it myself. "Just big."
"To big to move alone." Nodding.

It's wooden, my box, not cardboard. Roughly four foot by two by two, slightly bigger I think, it looks honestly like something the US army would hide the Ark of the Covenent in. Actual wood, nailed shut, and covered in stamps and stickers denoting both its fragile nature and its route from Germany to Wales.

"One end each?"
"Sure." Stepping to her left, mirroring me, positioning myself so I'll have to walk backwards, which seems fair since it is my box. And Ruth, offered food or not, doesn't have to help.

Luckily it isn't too heavy. We have to stop several times anyway: Ruth's front door, my gate, my own front door. But eventually the box is safely in my kitchen, pushed up against one wall out of the way.

"Hungry?"
"Always." Patting her belly, Ruth laughs. "Hope you aren't planning on trying to serve me any of that green crap on the side?"
"Green." Frowning. "Crap?"
"Salad." Wrinkling her nose.

"I'm sure there's something else here that'll go with beer and burgers." I nod, already digging around in cupboards, piling a large wooden tray with everything: meat, sauces, cheese. "Beer in the fridge," gesturing behind me, not looking, "and there's a bucket under the sink you can fill with whatever ice the freezer still has."
"On it." Followed moments later by the sounds of Ruth sorting out some iced beers. Helping.

"Do they all mean something?"
"The ink?" Lifting my left arm, fingers splayed. Ruth nods. I shrug. "Not every piece. Maybe." Trying to think it through without taking too long. "Half of them? Maybe, have a point beyond simply looking pretty."
"This," patting her bicep, "is meant to be my fuck you."
"Yeah?" We're in the garden, where a patio area sits close to the conservatory, the doors to which I've left open. There's a large wooden table with six chairs but no parasol, because I tend to want the sun not the shade, beside which sits a well made brick enclosed half oil drum barbecue, a real professional looking bit of kit.

"To who?"
"To the wanker who dumped me to go chase his eighteen year old secretary around Europe."
"Oh." Which, filling in the blanks, what I saw and heard, I did mostly know some of that. But still. "Damn."

Suddenly quite aware that I'm not far beyond that age bracket. Aware that, and there's no possible way to say or even think it without sounding mean, probably the secretary is thin, because isn't that always the way.

Thin. And young. Like me.

"I'm sorry."
"It's okay." Shrugging, even managing a smile. "I got, am getting once everything goes through, the house. So."
"So." I shrug too, offer her a beer, raise my own. "Fuck him then."
"Exactly." Patting her arm. "Pirates, kinda. I think. Just do what they want, and fuck the rules. So." Downing half her can. "Here's to a fresh start."

I get to cooking, while Ruth goes exploring, wandering around my not small mostly grass except for an old weeping willow and a vegetable garden I've not gotten around to either saving or destroying yet.

Probably should've remembered what I'd been up to before she went and found it.

Oops.

"Hey." Shouted from over by the willow, whose branches brush at the ground, such a pretty old thing. "Brooke."
"Yeah?" Shouted back, not looking up as I turn Ruth's three- fuck me -burgers and my one, to be eaten with some nacho chips I found in the cupboard, and a variety of dips I seem to of accumulated but never used. "Five more minutes."
"Kay." A pause, which I don't realise is a pause because I'm not paying attention. So I don't realise she's actually got something to say until she continues.

"Hey. Um. Why are there stakes in the ground in an X shape over here? With rope on them?"
"Huh?" Looking up, eyes widening, mouth opening as I remember. And grin.

Because being a porn star there isn't much that'll embarrass me.

"That's just where I tried to tie myself up the other day."
"What?" Shouted disbelief. My grin widens.

"Come and eat." Looking over, waving to Ruth in the not too far distance, gesturing come here. "Have dinner, a beer or five." Ruth's laugh floats back across the garden as she gives me a thumbs up.

"Okay." Still shouting despite wandering closer, coming back. "I'm coming."
"Great." Focus back on the grill, half shouting over my shoulder. "Food first, then we can chat about that rope."
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Post by Switchgirl »

Love your style of writing…the story and the characters are so developed and you keep us waiting for the bondage….
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Post by TightsBound »

Great to see Plymouth make her triumphant return to the site! Like any good sequel, you did a nice job reintroducing her and establishing where she is in her life and new characters. And I’m figuratively on the edge of my seat about that box. To quote Se7en, “What’s in the box?!” 😂
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Post by Caesar73 »

TightsBound wrote: 1 year ago Great to see Plymouth make her triumphant return to the site! Like any good sequel, you did a nice job reintroducing her and establishing where she is in her life and new characters. And I’m figuratively on the edge of my seat about that box. To quote Se7en, “What’s in the box?!” 😂
I agree - very good chapter!
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Post by RopeBunny »

Switchgirl wrote: 1 year ago Love your style of writing…the story and the characters are so developed and you keep us waiting for the bondage….
Thanks. I quite enjoy writing backstory and filler. and as for the bondage much as I'd like to it can't feature in every chapter, got to build up to it. Set the scene.
TightsBound wrote: 1 year ago And I’m figuratively on the edge of my seat about that box. To quote Se7en, “What’s in the box?!” 😂
Well, not a severed head (am I remembering the movie right?) promise. All will be revealed in good time.
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Post by RopeBunny »

003.

Of course we actually wind up talking whilst we eat. Because Ruth has questions.

Lots of questions.

"Why would you tie yourself up?"
"Why not." Shrugging, grinning at Ruth's semi shocked expression, no doubt prompted by my complete lack of embarrassment. "I didn't though."
"You didn't tie yourself up?" Confused. "But you just said?"
"I said I tried." Taking a bite of burger. Ruth's already scoffed one, has started on her second.

Of three.

"Tried or did." Pointing the remains of burger two at me. "Either way, I'm still curious to know why?"

And to that question there are two answers. Long: where I could spend the next half hour retelling the past few years of my life, from my eighteenth birthday and first bondage shoot. Yes, I really was tied up for the first time, for a paid shoot, on my actual eighteenth. I could tell Ruth all about my adventures in bondage. All the ups and downs.

Or. The short: that being tied up is fun. Literally the most fun thing. Ever. And on that basis why wouldn't I try to tie myself up.

I mull all this over whilst taking a bite of burger, dipping some nachos in blue cheese. Ruth waits, eating too, polishing off a beer and grabbing us both another.

"Cheers." Clinking cans, I nod, deciding to go somewhere down the middle. "I wonder," unable to stop myself flashing a cheeky grin, "would you believe me if I said I was a pornstar?"
"Well..." Giving me a thoughtful look. I stand up, giving Ruth a slow twirl. Being helpful. Bouncing on the spot a half dozen times.

Making her laugh.

"Sure." Looking down at her own more modest chest, but smiling. "I can believe that. What were you anyway." Giving her right breast- because there's food in her left hand -a bounce. "Before?"
"C."
"Which isn't bad."
"No." Shake of my head. "Nothing wrong with C cups." Ruth, likely tipsy, gives her D another bounce. I laugh. Shrug. "I just fancied going bigger."
"Plus it gets you more work, right?"
"Yes." Or at least I assume that, alongside my tattoos and overall can do attitude to bondage: I've yet to decline a shoot. Surely my F cup cannons, even now pointing at Ruth as though locked on to a target, have helped.

"Is it fun?" Ignoring burger three, instead swapping between beer and nachos, either a chive dip or some kind of spicy cheese. "Getting tied up for cash?"
"Fun even without the paycheck." Winking. Not trying to flirt, although Ruth is cute especially in that spandex outfit. Something incredibly sexy about the way those tight clothes are hugging and accentuating her every large curve. But I am feeling playful. "I'd do it everyday if I could."

"But you." Thinking face, handful of nachos held close to her mouth. Ruth frowns. "Can't?"
"Well." I seesaw a hand. "There are ways to tie yourself up. But."
"But?"
"Kinda risky." I grin. "If I do it too well, I won't be able to escape."

For which I get a confused look, for prehaps a five count, then Ruth bursts out laughing.

"I'll have to give you my number." Her turn to wink. "Just in case."
"You'll come rescue me huh?" Definitely feeling tipsy myself. I nod. "Be my hero."
"Sure." And apparently the brief frown I feel skate across my face isn't quick enough to escape tipsy Ruth's notice. Because she frowns too.

"Am I not supposed to rescue you?"
"Well." Shut up Brooke. Do not. Do. Not. Tell this lady you don't really know all about how you actually like. Crave. True and proper helplessness. Do not tell Ruth that, if she finds you trussed and gagged, what she should do is leave you there.

Take advantage.

Maybe use some of those toys you keep in the bottom drawer.

"Of course." Taking a big swig of beer to drown my bad thoughts. Which makes me cough. I shake my head. "Yes. If you find a person tied up you are totally supposed to help."
"Right." Nodding. "Good."

"So you like being tied up. And." Finally getting stuck into that final burger, talking between bites. "You tried to do it yourself the other day."
"Couple of days ago."
"Right." Nodding. Ruth flashes me a grin. "So what happened?"

What happened was: the sun was out, I had no work, no college, and no place in particular to go. What happened was I got horny, but don't currently have anyone I can call to come help me out with that. No girl, or boy. I'm single right now.

There's nobody I can call to tie me up.

So I tried to do it myself.

"I didn't do any research." Shaking my head. "That's what happened. "Maybe there's a way to tighten things up. After."
"After you're tied up?"
"Yes. Could be. But I." Laughing. "I was too into the idea to stop and go look stuff I've clearly forgotten up."

"But." Burger gone, a fresh beer in hand. She's passed me one too. Ruth looks at me over the rim of her can. "You know how though, surely?"
"How to tie?" She nods, I smile. "Course."
"Do you think." Taking a quick swallow, gaze skating on then off mine. "You could show me, Brooke?"
"Show you?" Sudden tingles breaking out up both arms and deep in my belly. The question I'd, kind of, seen coming. There's been something like a baseline flirt running all through this exchange.

"What is it you want." Being sure to meet her gaze, showing all the confidence. Not ashamed. Not afraid.

And besides which, she does look pretty damn sexy in that spandex.

"Could you. Maybe." Face going slightly red, and I'd swear her nipples are more pronounced pressed against her one piece. "Tie me up to those stakes?"

"Tie you up?" Not what I'd been expecting, and as a rule I much prefer being tied up to being the girl weilding the ropes. But. "Sure. When?"

Right now apparently.

I cut the grass about a week ago so it's still quite short, soft, not yet grown back to anything like a spiky length. The stakes are close to the willow, positioned to catch the shade for a handful of hours in the early afternoon. My plan had been to tie myself up in the shade, then to still be there, helpless but not really- because I've tied myself up so therefore would've ensured a hopeful escape method -when the shade moved around. Trapping, but again not really, me staked out in the sun. In a tiny bikini.

It's currently evening, with the sun prehaps an hour off the horizon. The day is warm but cooling, not yet cold enough that either Ruth or me will need to add any layers.

Walking into the middle of the stakes, all four are like heavy duty wooden tent pegs, Ruth carefully lays down. On her belly. I wait, wondering, preferring her the other way but unwilling to say so.

Although this is giving me a quite wonderful view of the thong type crotch to her one piece vanishing between Ruth's large rounded- currently covered by pink spandex -butt cheeks.

And moments later as though hearing me she rolls over, fidgeting and shuffling around so that her back, and butt, are roughly in the centre of my X marked stakes.

"Here?"
"Perfect." Giving her a thumbs up. "Sure you w...."
"No." Staring up at the sky, not looking at me. Ruth nods. "No. Don't ask, or I'll lose my nerve and say no. But yes. Brooke. Flashing her eyes, and a smile, at me. "Yes I want to try this."

"Now." Huffing out a breath, moving limbs so her hands and feet seem to be reaching for a stake each. She's shaking slightly, the rush of adrenaline, the same one I still feel everytime bondage is on the cards. "Hurry up and get those ropes on me before I try to run away."
"You got it." Tipping her a salute, which I don't think she sees, back to cloud watching, I get to work.

"That's. Fuck." Pulling at her limbs, which don't move, of course. Because. "That's fucking tight Brooke."
"No point otherwise." Sitting down on the grass next to Ruth, legs bent, arms resting on my raised knees, facing her bound body. "What would be the point of tying you up if after you just went." I click my fingers. "And got free?"
"Suppose." Nodding, looking thoughtful. "Just wasn't expecting it to feel so damn tight though."

I pulled all four of the ropes properly tight, wrapping each in turn around the limb: wrist or ankle, then yanking in the slack, dragging Ruth's body out into a forced X, denying her a choice as to how she wants to lay.

Luckily the stakes are well hammered in, providing a solid anchor at each point. Ruth won't be able to pull them out.

And she looks great. Limbs stretched tight. Spandex clad belly a rounded hump, nipples definitely alert and at attention as both Ruth's breasts and belly go up down up down, her breathing quickened since I lashed her in place.

And she's, deliberately I feel, not looking at me. Has in fact bitten her lip three times in the past two minutes.

I'd bet money she's if not loving it then at the very least Ruth's not upset to be tied up.

I'd bet money that my neighbour has just discovered something she likes.

You're welcome.

"So." Taking a breath, sounding less shaky as she continues. "What happens now?"
"I mean." A shrug. "It isn't a shoot. So, there's no script."
"So?"
"So, I smile. "What happens next is whatever you want to happen I guess."
"What normally happens to you?" Giving me another of those quick glances, which I catch in the corner of my eye. Ruth stretches her body, lower back arching, thrusting breasts and crotch at the sky as she tugs on all four ropes. Which don't budge.

My eyes tracking the move, roaming over her gym wear clad body, hunger on my mind.

"What happens when it isn't a shoot?"
"Depends." Choosing my words, trying to not be too much of a flirt despite I can feel my blood rising at Ruth's bound and helpless close proximity. "Sometimes I just have a struggle."

I stretch, arms out wide, F cups pushing forward, at Ruth. Being a bad girl because yes I am horny.

"Sometimes." Pausing, and yes, she does glance at me. I smile. "I get fucked. Whilst tied up."
"Oh." Definite blush on her cheeks. Ruth swallows, gaze tracking down my body from F cups to- because I've straightened out my legs, spread them, because I'm a horny tease -tight shorts clad pussy. "Well. Um." Swallowing. Licking her lips.

She was married, to a guy, has she ever been with a girl?

Does she ever want to?

And. Yes. I am roughly half her age, thanks for noticing. But, so?

"Can we." Brief wriggle. "Just talk?"
"Sure." I wave at her ropes. "Want me to?"
"No. Um." Blushing more. "I'd like to stay tied up, for a bit. If that's okay?"
"I don't mind." Fuck it, I'll say it. "Got to say, Ruth, I'm quite enjoying the view."
"Ha." Looking away, but I can see the smile that grows, spreading across her face even as she shakes her head. "Probably you look at least ten times better. I'd bet."
"Well." I shrug, drop my offer like a fishing lure. "Maybe one day you should find out."

Which goes unanswered beyond the tiniest nod, still looking away. Just one nod, small, but enough to ramp my tingles back up.

Because that nod is a maybe promise, of possible future bondage, waiting out there for future Brooke.

"What's in the box anyway?" Managing to look at me for longer. At my face though, not my chest or still in view crotch. "Must be important to be encased in wood."
"It's the Jester."
"The who?" Frowning. "What's a Jester?"
"Not a." Shaking my head. The Jester."
"You mean like, that's it's name?"
"Yes."
"Oh." Nodding, looking back at the sky. "Sounds creepy."
"Good." I nod.

"Can I see?"
"Now?"
"No. Um." Arching her back again, shaking her body as she does, spandex and no bra clad D cups shifting left to right to left. "When do I get untied?"
"Whenever you want."
"I just, what." A little smile, looking down at herself. "Ask nicely?"
"Doesn't even have to be nicely."

I wage a brief war, debate, over whether I should. Then decide fuck it. She's dropped a couple of hints, hasn't laughed off my quite tame advances.

Which is to say I could've simply pounced, devoured her trussed up body.

No harm in saying stuff, right?

"This is your first time tied up?"
"It is." Nodding. "Feels strange."
"Strange good or strange bad?"
"Strange good."
"Great." I smile, as does Ruth, cloud watching. Still mostly not meeting my gaze. Nerves I guess.

"Thing is. Ruth." And. Go. "Ropes always make me horny. Like, really super cranked up to eleven horny. So." Catching her brief glance, I grin, nod. "Yeah. Having you like this, looking all sexy, I would happily take you to the motherfucking moon and back."

Blushing now, poor girl. But smiling.

"But I can respect that it's your first time. And, I'm guessing, you've never been with a girl either?"

To which I get a small shake of her head as Ruth swallows, very clearly not meeting my gaze.

"So." On impulse I lean forward, planting a quick kiss on Ruth's lips, delighting in the warm soft feel of them, my own mouth coming away smiling as she gasps at the sudden unexpected contact. "It's fine." I nod. "I'll untie you, we can have another beer, or three. Or maybe you've got stuff to do. Either way. Just." I shrug. "Remember I'm here."

"Remember that there's a sometimes lonely girl across the road at number thirteen who'd be happy to let you tie her up and experiment. That you could," I smile as Ruth looks at me, her breathing quickened again, possibly at my words. Because I'm damn sure making myself tingle at these thoughts.

I nod. Wink. "Anytime you decide you want some girl on girl bondage action." And like the kiss, acting on pure impulse again, being basically the ultimate tease. With Ruth looking on, eyes going wide, I pull up my Iron Maiden tee and bra, flashing my breasts for a moment, before pulling my clothes back into place. "Come find me."
"Um." Smile threatening to split her face in half. "Wow. Right. Um." Ruth nods. "Okay. Brooke. I'll remember."
"Excellent." Wishing I'd gone all in, kicking myself now for not feeling up her D cups when I kissed her. Too late now.

I untie Ruth.

Until- maybe, hopefully -next time.
tickletied84
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Post by tickletied84 »

Oh, I think we all hope there'll be a next time!

Quite a lot for Ruth to take in on her first time, but I suspect Brooke's parting gesture might have sealed the deal!
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Post by RopeBunny »

tickletied84 wrote: 1 year ago Brooke's parting gesture
A genuine last minute addition. I had the chapter written, was doing my final spellcheck read through, and the idea for Brooke to flash Ruth just came to me.

So I added it :D

Thanks for commenting.
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Post by RopeBunny »

004.

Kissing. The feel of another girls skin, so soft even in dreamland as I roll and climb ontop. The slow building heat of my crotch pressed against similar. Nipples, growing erect, stabbing into my F cups even whilst my own nipples attack the girl beneath me.

"Good morning." Between kisses. Deborah, smiling up at me as she stretches arms wide out before bringing her right around and up. Grasping a handful of my hair, gripping tight, forcing my lips back to hers.

Controlling me. The casual dominance, doing whatever she wants, with me. Feeding the deep buried need I possess to be. Possessed.

Nobody. Not Lili. Not Emiko. Nobody ever made me their rope bitch quite like Deborah.

The dream jumps, blurs, everything shifting around to suit the new almost real scenario my subconscious has just cooked up. A mashup of real actually did happen memories and whatever twisted fantasy I happen to be obsessing over.

And.

I'm in a hotel room. Naked. Laid spread out on the king size bed, a limb reaching for but not managing to touch each corner. Which is fine, my not having long enough limbs, because there's some rope helpfully bridging the gaps between me and the edge.

There are no corner posts on this bed, instead each rope disappears over the side, most likely wrapped and tied around the bed's feet or a spot on the underframe. Either way the end result is the same.

Me. Trussed up. Stretched tight. Going nowhere.

From the ensuite I hear the shower shutting off, steady rain becoming a drip drip drip. Slowing.

"Hi B." Deborah. Naked, wandering into the bedroom, no towel in sight, dripping water. The inked Kraken on her left left stretching up to her pussy and beyond, black mohawk hanging wet and limp. Her enhanced D's bounce as she walks, same way my F cups do: small up down movements, almost hypnotising.

"Time to check out." Stepping into knee high black boots, big heels, stooping to zip each one in turn. Deborah looks up at me. Smiles. "Okay?"
"Right." I nod, a half smile on my face as I tug against the ropes pinning me in place. "Well."
"No." Quick shake of her head, stood now, facing me with hands on hips. "Just me. I'm abandoning you here."

"Oh."
"Unless you tell me not to." Flashing me a grin.

So. Of course. I open my mouth to do just that, to tell Deborah to free me so we can leave together.

"Mmmmffppp mmmmffppfmm mmmmmmm." Huh? When did I get ballgagged?

"Thing is B." Still naked save those boots, Deborah climbs up onto the bed, straddling me. The heat of her pussy resting on my toned belly as she looks down, smiles, reaches out to stroke long nails over each nipple in turn. "You. Truthfully. You want me to leave you here."
"Mmmmmfffmmmm." Softly, eyes closing, opening, enjoying the feel of Deborah toying with me.

"If I took this off." Bending down, kissing my ballgag but staying close. Her face and eyes inches from mine, voice dropped to a whisper. "You'd tell me to leave you tied up." Licking my gag now, making me moan and arch my back. "Wouldn't you?"
"Mmmffppffmmmmm." I nod. Yes. I want. Need. To be abandoned. Part of it's the sheer thrill of helplessness. But, in part I want Deborah to leave me here because she wants to leave me here.

I want her to be happy. To be a good rope bitch and do as I'm told.

"Good girl." Giving me a final kiss, climbing off.

And.

Another

jump.

"Free. To." Wearing a dress now. Black and white vertical stripes like a referee, thin straps over each shoulder and a plunging neckline. The whole thing hugging her curvy size fourteen figure. Leaning over me, black sharpie in hand, Deborah reads aloud as she scrawls large letters across my belly. "A. Good. Home." Replacing the cap, tossing the pen away, somewhere, Deborah stands up straight. Grins. "There. All done."

With a last look back, a cheeky wave, she leaves.

Abandoning me.

Just like I wanted?

"Fuuuuuuuuuck. Me." Waking, stretching. Alone in my bed at home. "Damn I need to get laid." Climbing out of bed, heading for the shower.

It's been four days since I tied Ruth up, since I flirted but didn't take advantage. And if last nights dream, already beginning to fade, is anything to go by I am becoming one seriously frustrated girl.

Still. "Can't be helped." Shrugging at my reflection as I get changed for the day. "I'm sure someone out there wants to tie you up and fuck you. Right?"

Mirror Brooke grins. Nods. Offers me a thumbs up, approving my choice of not really public appropriate outfit.

"Sure they do." Blowing myself a kiss, getting one back. "Someone out there always wanting to tie up the rope obsessed crazy girl."

I just need -sometimes easier said then done -to be patient.

Orange juice for breakfast, then it's back to college.

Because today I'm going hunting.

"Hi." Smiling, sitting down in the on campus student mess hall, I grin at the boy now opposite me, the only person sat around this eight chair table. "Is this seat taken?"
"H...." Voice drying up, mouth still working but no sound. And then it simply hangs open for awhile. I grin some more. Steal one of his chips. Dip it in the mountain of ketchup on his plate, wave it at him.

"It's Elwood. Right?"
"Um." Swallowing. Taking a drink of Dr Pepper, half of which he coughs back up when I lean forwards, helping myself to more fries, helping him to a good view down the top I'm not wearing.

Because today I'm dressed for the hunt, wearing appropriate attire to catch my prey, who just happens to be a- almost certainly horny -young man.

So. Today, for prehaps the first time ever on campus, I'm dressed like the real me.

Like a pornstar.

Blue demin shorts with an oversized black canvas belt, the end hanging down, are worn over black large holed fishnet tights that dissappear into my black steel toed biker boots. Up top is a red triangle bikini top, the Animal logo in white like a claw grabbing my left breast. The triangles not really large enough to hide my F cups, resulting in a whole ton of exposed breast. Some of which is hidden by my half unzipped black hoodie, the words 'Biker Girl' scrawled graffiti style in white across the back.

I have, still am, attracting plenty of looks. Just from the walk across campus, from car park to mess hall, I counted almost a dozen come ons directed my way. Both words and whistles. But, despite yes I am horny, in need of a good binding and fucking, I've only got eyes right now for Elwood.

Younger then me, over eighteen but I'd guess not twenty. Not yet. Elwood is. Not athletic, to put it politely. A belly, thick upper arms and legs. He isn't huge, having seen him moving around campus I know the extra weight isn't hindering him any. Aside from prehaps if he had to run?

Messy brown hair, that style where you make it look as though you just woke up. On purpose. Long sideburns track down towards a trimmed goatee. He's wearing glasses with black frames, blue jeans and a white tee underneath an unzipped green hoodie.

Why Elwood?

Because he's studying photography, film making. Because yes I can design my website, even do a good portion of the shoots myself. But, if it's me that needs tying, I need someone to do that. Someone who can run the tech side- video or photo -too.

And who better then someone studying the craft?

Why Elwood?

Because he has a cock. Basically. Which I do still enjoy. I have fucked guys. I do still, on occasion, fuck guys. But I only get obsessed, only ever have fallen in love, with girls.

So a guy being in charge of tied up me should. Should. Be safe ground.

From my perspective.

But these are college boys. Young. Horny. Boys I wouldn't trust not to take advantage once I'm helpless. Just a slip, an accident, and. Bang. That's my breast groped. And it could all snowball from there.

Maybe.

Out of them all, these boys I've spent the last several months on and off watching. Hunting. Elwood is the best pick. From a distance at least he appears to be something of a loner, a comic book nerd- the white tee has the Nintendo logo on it -my gut says he'll respect whatever boundaries and rules I put down.

Or at least that's my theory.

Which I'm now going to put to the test.

"Do you know who I am?" Sleeves rolled up, almost all my ink, save what's on my back and crotch, exposed. I give Elwood a questioning look.

It is a pretentious question, enough to put a smile on my lips as I regard him, arms on the table, waiting.

Elwood stares at me, eyes roaming, which means he mostly jumps from my cleavage to my arms, back to my breasts, then face, then back to breasts. "Oh." Sitting back. "Fuck. You're Plymouth?"
"Clever boy." Nodding. Happy, because if Elwood knows me, knows pornstar me- Plymouth is the name I go by doing bondage shoots -then that'll save a fair chunk of the explaining I was expecting to be doing.

"Would you like to work for me?"
"You mean." Looking back at my chest, voice down to a whisper. "Doing porn?"
"I need a rigger." Smiling as Elwood visibly, loudly, breathes out, his body relaxing.

I guess not everyone wants to be filmed doing sex and bondage.

"And a cameraman. For a project I'm about to start."
"I. Um." Looking sad. "I've never tied anyone up before."
"No?" I shrug. "Have you watched videos. Seen a girl tied on screen. Like. Um. Real time?"
"Oh. Yes." Nodding. "Seen loads of them." I laugh. Elwood, too late, shuts his mouth with a snap. Blushes.

"Watch some more." I steal another chip, not caring, finding it amusing even, how unable he is to keep his gaze off my F cups. "Make notes, or something."
"Okay." Nodding. Then frowning. "Um. Why though?"
"So you can tie me up silly."
"Oh." And then his eyes go wide. "Oh."
"That's if you want to?" One more chip, which I wave at him. "Work for me?"
"Please." Keen, big smile spreading across his face.

Appears I've just made Elwoods year. What a regular good samaritan I am.

"Here." Digging out my phone. "What's your number?"

"Okay. Great." Standing up, stuffing my phone back in a butt pocket. "I'll call you in a couple of days to come over and tie me up. Like a. Um."
"Test?"
"Exactly." Pointing a thumbs up at him. "A test. So." I wink. "Go do some research huh."

Elwood, looking slightly dazed, as well I might in his shoes.given how the last five minutes have played out, nods. I tip him a salute, leave.

Ride my chopper back home.

"Thing is." Waving my wooden spoon at the Jester, out of its.

Its? His?

Its box. Checked over, I ran the boot up sequence, ran a test. Sent an email back to DHK Heavy Industries to confirm I had green lights across the board.

Across my laptop screen anyway.

The Jester is sat where I put it, at the kitchen table, looking and acting like a silent creepy guest. One you invited admittedly.

"I'll either discover I can trust the kid." Kid. Ha. Elwood is, basically, my age. "Or." I shrug, resist the urge to laugh with something like gallows humour. "I'm letting some horny kid tie me up and grab a feel whilst he does."

"Any thoughts?" Half smiling, yes it is crazy talking with a very expensive doll, but it's got to be better then talking to myself. By myself. So, I wait. Nod. Pretend that the words in my head, my conversation with myself, are actually being repeated by my new very expensive prop. "True. Got to trust someone."

I don't go as far as laying a place at table for the Jester. Serving two helpings of pasta instead of one. Now that would be crazy.

After dinner, bored. Which sometimes, like now, tends to lead to idle thoughts of bondage. Which only goes and makes me horny. So, sat in front of an old horror movie I pull out my phone.

But. Who do I call?

Emiko? She isn't even in the same country.

No.

Ruth? Very tempting. I am, almost certain, that I could convince her to come over. Surely it wouldn't take much casual flirting to have her binding and gagging me. Having her way with me.

I could even ballgag myself, cuff my hands and wander over to her house in that state.

Would she play with me then?

I make it halfway upstairs before stopping. "No." Shaking my head. Huffing, turning and walking slowly back down to the rest of the movie I'm not really watching.

I don't want to come on too strong with Ruth. To push her. If she decides to see me again, to come over and play, it has to be on her terms. Not because I came on strong.

I don't want to bully Ruth into it.

So. Ruth, no?

"Deborah." Not even a question. Because. No. Just. No.

Right?

Even just saying her name makes me shiver with a dangerous mixture of want and fear. I do, if I'm being honest with myself, miss her.

And, to be fair to Deborah, at least some of what she did to me, the controlling, making me her rope bitch. At least some of it she did whilst under orders from her own boss.

The wanker Clive.

Some. But. Not all. Because to control someone like she did me, at least part of you has to want to do it. You have to be into it. Deborah couldn't, wouldn't, of done such a good job of making me lust after her control if she weren't so damn good at being in charge.

And. Shoot me now. Take me out back and give me a stern talking to. I still have her number.

But. "No." Shaking my head even as I shiver again, imagining her being here right now, the two of us watching this movie.

What state would I be in? Would she have me tied up? Chained up? Would I be naked? Would there be a collar around my neck, a leash held tight in her fist?

Would I....

"Stop." Taking a shaky breath, because I'd been doing a good job of working myself up. "Maybe I will call." Putting my phone down.

Pushing it away, out of reach. "But. Not tonight."

I go to bed. And the next day I message Elwood, making arrangements to have him come visit, so he can audition.

I guess that's right?

So he can tie me up, show me what he's got by way of skills.

"It isn't a fuck." Sat at my table, phone before me on the wood, talking to the Jester again. "But. It is being tied up. Which is a start."

Better then nothing.

And, someplace deep inside me, in my head, a black latex clad Deborah stands, coiled length of rope dangling from one hand, shakes her head, blows me a kiss.

'I can wait' she mouths.
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Post by BlissfulMisery »

Hey, been away for a bit so missed the first few chapters, but caught up now. I know it's kind of implied, but I do appreciate your efforts put into writing for our enjoyment.

Looks like Brooke is well on her way to 'corrupting' :P some people into the lifestyle.

Also old demons seem to be popping up again. Ominous. It seems she will need to figure out how to navigate (control perhaps? Would be an ironic choice of word if nothing else) her submissive nature to avoid getting hurt again, as she has always had a tendency to want to take things to their limit.

How much is too much/too far? A valid question when talking about pretty much anything, but especially when literally giving up control of the situation. The proverbial waters of bondage/submission are warm and inviting, perhaps even intoxicating, but they are also deep, and it is easy to get sucked (or maybe even pulled?) under for the unwary. Trust is a precious thing, not to be given lightly, and not to be taken for granted by the one receiving it.
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Post by RopeBunny »

005.

There's a very fine, very complex, line between my craving for true helplessness and the common sense of taking precautions. Which on the one hand, logically, you should always do. But on the other side of the debate in my head.

Where's the fun in playing it safe?

Going to see Ruth feels wrong. Silly. But Elwood is an unknown.

Guess common sense has to win at least some of the time.

"So." Leaning beside me on her garden wall, looking cute in black flip flops and a figure hugging blue dress with a low cut front and white flower pattern. Ruth is braless, breasts filling out and pressing against the cups of the dress like teardrops. "Just to clarify," she grins, "some boy is coming round to tie you up?"
"Not for fun though." Trying not to smile back, spotting what has to be Elwood turning into my road, some kind of faded red hatchback, old and cheap looking. A students car.

I raise a hand to wave. Elwood flashes the cars main beams in response.

"Two hours then?"
"Two." Giving Ruth a thumbs up as I walk towards her gate. "Then. You know." I shrug. Still feeling silly, he doesn't even look the kidnapping type.

Shame.

"If I haven't been in touch. Call the cavalry."
"Will do." Raising the expensive box of chocolates I bought over by way of payment, Ruth nods.

"Through the gate." Talking to Elwood through his cranked down window, pointing. "Park it anywhere by the barn. Okay?"
"Got it?" Nodding, clunking the car into gear. The gate's already open, so he goes on ahead, with me walking behind, closing and locking up behind him.

"Not the house?"
"Sometimes." Working the key in the lock, which doesn't get used often. "But today we'll work in here."
"Because?"
"Because in here, in the barn, is where I'll." Looking back over my shoulder, catching Elwood checking out my butt. I laugh. He blushes. "Go ahead and look." Giving him a cheeky wiggle. "You'll be seeing it all soon anyway."
"Right. Um."

I must behave. Poor kid.

"Come on." Patting Elwood on the shoulder, steering him through the doorway. "Most of the shoots will be in here you see, so most of my stuff is in here."

"Oh." Stopping just inside, looking around, Elwood nods in appreciation. "Wow."
"Glad you approve." Closing the door behind us. "Feel free to move stuff, have a look around and check what I've done. You know."
"Right. Um. Sure." Nodding, Elwood grins, seeming more relaxed now he's confronted by all my tech, now he's on familiar ground. "I'll go take a closer look."

In the middle of the barn, the floor all around strewn and covered in cables, is what I set up for today. An old wooden double bed, because this is dealer's choice and a bed offers Elwood plenty of options, sits surrounded by four light towers, powerful spots angled to shine down, between them strong enough to banish all shadows. Outside of the light circle sits a table, atop which is my laptop. I don't need it for this, but I'm used to having it close to hand on shoots, ready to upload the footage onto.

On the table beside my laptop, guaranteed to raise a smile from me everytime, sits a sizeable pile of rope, and beside the rope sits a red ballgag.

There's a camera there too. Just one today. An expensive and chunky black piece of kit with a zoom lens.

"Okay." Doing a second lap, pausing to eye up the bed from down by the foot end. Crouching, looking from his position to each of the light towers in turn. Imagining angles prehaps? A frown on his face, which all makes Elwood look very professional if I do say so. "Good." Nodding. Coming back to the desk, looking up at me. "Okay. Um?"
"Plymouth." Smiling. Damn but I've missed hearing that name. "It's Brooke, my real name. But can we stick to Plymouth?"
"Sure. Plymouth." Elwood fidgets briefly. "So. What now?"

"Simple." Picking up a coil of rope, twirling it around. "I'm starting a new website, for bondage porn. And whilst I know how to work a camera, if it's me tied up I'll need help."
"Help working the tech?"
"And with other things." Tossing the rope to Elwood, who isn't ready, fumbling the catch.

"The plan here is." I gesture to the bed. "Tie me up. Gag me. Then." Pointing at the camera on the table. "Take some shots."
"Of you?"
"Of the lovely views from my back garden." I tut, laugh. "Yes. Elwood. Photos of me. Bound. Gagged." I pause, a small internal shiver running through me as the words make their way up and out. "Stripped."
"You mean?" Swallowing. Smiling, then trying to stop himself. Looking away except he really can't not stare at my F cups.

"I do." Nodding. "To be clear. Elwood. This isn't permission to cop a feel. But. Once I'm tied up, I want you to take at least some photos of me after you pull my top up and shit."
"Right." Smiling, fidgeting and blushing. Like a bundle of nerves.

Like he can't wait to have at it, but is partly terrified of the task ahead too.

"Can I hogtie you?"
"Sure." I nod. "That'll work nicely."

"Oh." Clicking my fingers. "One more thing."
"Yes?"
"Tie me up. Take some photos of my tits and pussy." Making him blush again, I'm a bad girl I know. I grin. "And then, once you think you're done." A tiny pause. It's a shoot, so, yes he should let me go. But I'll always not want it. "Untie me. Okay?"
"Okay."

"Well then." Doing some on the spot bounces, waving my lower arms, limbering up. "Whenever you're ready."

I'm wearing jeans and a tee. Figure hugging skinny fit jeans mind, dark blue with a zip fly and one of the canvas belts I favour. This one's black, and too long.

I buy oversize belts on purpose because I like having the extra length hanging down. Makes me feel like someone from medieval times.

My tee is plain black, fitted so it sticks to and hugs my curves, showing the shape of my F cups and toned belly. As is the style with most girls tops it's cut short, exposing a slash of skin.

No socks or shoes. There's no need.

"Right." The rustle of pages. I turn around, having been stood with my back to Elwood, hands clasped together behind me, waiting. And.

"I didn't mean you actually had to." Smiling, because he's holding a small notebook, which I can see is filled with simple drawings- stick figure girls complete with twin football round breasts -around which are plenty of scribbled words.

"Well." Looking up at me. Shrugging, smiling back because I can't help smiling at him. It's cute, really, that he went to that much trouble. "Like I said," grabbing up a length of rope, "I've never done this outside of my own imagination."
"Well if having notes will help?"
"Should do."
"Then great." I turn back around, reclasp my hands, wave them at him.

Elwood laughs, I chuckle, wave them again. "There's no rush here, so, take your time." I turn to look over my shoulder at Elwood. Nod. "Show me something impressive."
"Impressive?" Nodding, looking thoughtfully down at the book in one hand, the rope in the other. "Well." Tossing his book onto the bed, which I'm stood next to. "Not sure it'll make your top five given this is my first shot at bondage, but I'll certainly try."

"Something wrong?"
"No. Well." A huff of frustration, Elwood stops picking at the freshly tied knots on the rope he's been binding my wrists together with, comes around into view shaking his head. "I picked a rope that's too long is all."
"How much too long?"
"About." Bending to grab the trailing ends off the floor, giving them a shake. I laugh, seeing a good couple of metres bouncing and twirling in the air like a childs jump rope.

"Give you some advice?"
"Sure." Smiling, not pissed off to be wrong. Not letting a mistake spoil the fun of what is, ought to be, a fun event. "Go ahead Plymouth."
"Use the excess to bind my wrists to my waist."
"Yeah?"
"Definitely." Nodding. "Won't look silly, and it'll make me more secure."

Elwood frowns down at the rope ends he's holding, glances back up at me, at my face. Nods. Gets back to work.

I can- trying not to smile at the thought, because it is actually quite cute -almost see him later, back at home, updating his notebook with these things he's learning today.

After wrists, now bound firmly- it's good to discover Elwood cinching and pulling all his knots tight, without having to be told that realism is important -in place to my waist. Comes elbows.

For which Elwood uses a super long length on purpose, combining an elbow tie with a chest harness.

"Touching them is okay." I grin, bouncing on the spot which, because Elwood's hand had been close when I moved, causes it to brush my F cup. He pulls the hand away as though I'd burnt him. I laugh, playful not evil. "Seriously. Elwood." Leaning forwards to nudge him with my shoulder. "You can't grope me because we're not dating. But it'd be fucking impossible to do this without having to touch my tits sometimes."

"So...?"
"Yes." I think he needs permission, which is sweet, and another check mark in his favour. I nod. "Touch them, move and lift them. Brush the nipple by accident. I'm not going to yell. I mean." I drop to a whisper. "Eventually you'll have to tie a crotch rope. And then...."

Of course he blushes, after a moment. I giggle again. "It's fine. Elwood. Do what you need. If I hadn't thought I could trust you we wouldn't be here."

After which it goes much smoother. Elwood seeming happier, more relaxed as he finishes off my chest and elbow tie. He's super slow, careful, at first. Pressing a hand to my breast rather then simply cupping, lifting it to pass rope under. But soon enough his movements are are becoming less forced, more natural. Losing his nervousness.

Which, watching as he binds my legs, sat on the bed now, feet on the floor, he's definitely enjoying it.

Good. Because I am too. There might not be a fuck waiting for me at the end. But it's still a tie up, and I've missed that too.

I've missed the tingles that accompany my slow decent into helplessness. The steadily increasing heat in my pussy. My slowly awakening nipples, budding to erect life at each touch of my breasts.

And I know that it will, the tied up but not fucked nature of today, drive me halfway to crazy in the end. As it always does. But still. Being tied is better then nothing, so I'll take the win, and enjoy it.

I roll myself onto the bed. Elwood gets about two words into asking if I want, need some help, and laughing I fall backwards, kicking my legs up and across, bringing my whole body onto the mattress. After which it's a simple case of struggling and wriggling myself into the centre, making sure I'm on my front.

"Here good?" Smiling back at Elwood, who shakes his head, smiles. "Yes. Thank you Plymouth."
"Just trying to be helpful."

Ankles tied to wrists. I could tell him that my elbows would be better, more severe. But there is such a thing as too much friendly advice.

Besides which it works. I am hogtied. Pretty damn tightly.

Not back arching tightly. But maybe next time.

"Everything okay Plymouth?" Kneeling down, getting in my line of sight, ballgag in his hand and the question on his face.

"I'm good." Nodding. "Thanks for checking though."
"Welcome." A quick smile, a shrug. "So. Ballgag. Then photos?"
"Yes." Nodding. "Remember to strip me at some point too."
"Right." A brief laugh. "Because of course I'd forgotten the part where I get to strip the tied up incredibly sexy porn star."
"Ha." Making jokes now? Must be feeling more comfortable. "Carry on."

Everything goes well. I check the photos that evening of course, transferring them across to my laptop, looking each in turn over. Reliving the shoot. But at the time, tied up, gagged, laid on the bed as Elwood circles me camera in hand, I can tell from the angles he chooses, from his sometimes spoken, sometimes gestured, and occasionally even physically moving my body into the position he requires.

I can tell from watching him that he's got the skills to do this right. To shoot me to the standard I want and need.

He can't fully strip me, and I didn't explain what he'd need to do instead, but he's either seen it on a video, or he figures it out.

My tee gets pulled, carefully but not gently because there's too much rope so he has to yank. Elwood pulls and guides my tee up over my large F sized cannons, pressing and squeezing them as he does.

I do my best not to moan too loudly, because someone handling my goods, whilst I'm tied and gagged, is right up there at the top of my turn ons.

With my tee finally scrunched up around my neck, wrapped around the top most rope of the chest harness, Elwood pops each of my breasts free from the confines of my sky blue plunge bra.

And again, I try real hard to stay still, to keep quiet. To not squirm.

Lastly my jeans are unbuckled, unbuttoned and unzipped. And along with my matching sky blue thong everything gets pulled down around my knees, where a well wrapped rope prevents any further movement south.

I'm now exposed. Super sized breasts. Shaved pussy. Elwood can see all of me.

And fuck me but all I really want now is to be touched, played with. Felt up.

Good thing I'm ballgagged.

Elwood carries on taking photos. Carries on directing me into the poses he wants. No need to properly struggle, no need to roll around or moan beyond the occasional unforced noise as I feel the tight ropes pinch my skin.

It's a photoshoot not a movie, so I stay still.

Try not to show outwardly just how damn turned on I am by the whole thing. Especially when Elwood gets close, sticking the camera right in my face, zooming in for a full screen shot of my bound F cups.

I can see what is, has to be, a hard on pressed against his jeans. That bulge is way too cock shaped to be anything else.

Nice to know I still have that effect.

He really does do well. At least eight, maybe nine, stars out of ten.

Eventually though, finished. He frees me.

I send Ruth a quick message, our agreed codeword- her idea, clever really -so she knows I'm okay.

Elwood helps me tidy up, then I walk ahead of his car, opening then closing the gate.

Back inside I have a long soak in the bath, resting my rope aching limbs. Daydreaming at what might of been had this actually been real and not a shoot.

"Definitely need a good fucking." Mirror Brooke tells me.

To which I can only nod.
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Post by GreyLord »

I just found that you had started this up, [mention]RopeBunny[/mention]. And you have started it with a bang. Your introduction of Elwood is outstanding. He represents the dreams of all would be, almost be, want to be riggers.

And you certainly have not lost your touch with Plymouth. Well done!
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Tale of an Archer Completed
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Post by RopeBunny »

GreyLord wrote: 1 year ago And you certainly have not lost your touch with Plymouth. Well done!
Thank you.
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Post by Caesar73 »

GreyLord wrote: 1 year ago I just found that you had started this up, @RopeBunny. And you have started it with a bang. Your introduction of Elwood is outstanding. He represents the dreams of all would be, almost be, want to be riggers.

And you certainly have not lost your touch with Plymouth. Well done!
Couldn´t say it any better :)
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Post by RopeBunny »

Caesar73 wrote: 1 year ago
GreyLord wrote: 1 year ago I just found that you had started this up, @RopeBunny. And you have started it with a bang. Your introduction of Elwood is outstanding. He represents the dreams of all would be, almost be, want to be riggers.

And you certainly have not lost your touch with Plymouth. Well done!
Couldn´t say it any better :)
Didn't honestly think too hard about what I was doing until I'd written it. Then I realised what a lucky (fictional) man I'd allowed Elwood to become :lol:
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Post by Caesar73 »

[mention]RopeBunny[/mention]
Didn't honestly think too hard about what I was doing until I'd written it. Then I realised what a lucky (fictional) man I'd allowed Elwood to become
Sometimes this is the best approach - not overthinking things :)
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Post by RopeBunny »

Agreed. I always have a rough plan, but often it's the last minute additions, the added twist or not previously planned flirty exchange, which I find makes the story.

Best not to overthink.

New chapter below :D

A long one. I tend to write to a specific point, planned out so I reach some kind of cliffhanger or hint at a decision about to made, regardless of length, and usually wind up with about the same per chapter.

But not this time :lol:
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Post by RopeBunny »

006.

Jester's Revenge. I name I came up with, a domain I bought, what feels like forever ago. This was, is, the name of my website.

Something unique. A hook to draw interest.

But. It isn't just supposed to be a catchy name. I had, have, plans. The Jester. Back in its box to avoid accidental damage. A scary thing to aid in making some borderline scary bondage videos. Something different.

How? What could such a video be like? No clue.

Maybe Elwood can help?

I tried before, shot some content. But my life took several complicated turns, and so nothing concrete got done.

But I'm fired back up now. Ready to make it work. My own online pay store, selling a bunch of Plymouth centred content.

Which means I need content.

So over the course of the following week and change I keep scrap paper and a pen on the kitchen counter, writing down any bondage related ideas I have.

Which of course- spending every spare moment thinking about bondage -makes me horny. Really horny.

All the fucking time.

And Ruth still doesn't call. She might never call. And I can't go to her, I promised myself I wouldn't be a bully.

I try to keep busy, distracting myself, trying to ignore my seemingly never ending arousal. I work at the nursery. Go jogging almost every evening. Spend time idly coding the site, trying out ideas.

At night I sleep.

And dream.

Emiko. A skinny flat chested Asian I met in the US. I'd flown over for a long weekend to work Boundcon, a bondage themed convention.

Single, up for fun, Emiko and me spent most of our spare time together, and most of that with one of us tied up.

Ping.

The lift, having taken us up to my floor, twenty something, opens its doors. "Come on B." Grinning, looking cute in a dress that hugs her flat chested skinny figure, Emiko steps out first, bag of rope in one hand, one end of my leash in the other.

My clothes are in the bag too. Riding the lift Emiko had stripped me, bound my elbows and wrists, ballgagged me into silence and surrender.

She hadn't, when this happened for real, collared me. But I wished she had. And in dreams things can, do, change.

She leads me down endless hotel corridors, not hurrying despite the very public place we're in. My nudity in this public place. The chance of discovery at any moment.

Emiko turns to look at me often, smile on that pretty Asian face as she no doubt drinks in the state of me.

Do I want her to hurry? Am I, no shame bondage obsessed pornstar, worried?

Fuck no.

My whole body feels on fire with arousal. I never want this walk to end.

I remember, when this actually happened, musing as we walked that: for all she enjoyed taking charge of me, and for all that I let her. Emiko was no natural Domme. I remember thinking, trying to imagine.

What if we bumped into someone. Someone who could, would, best Emiko?

What would happen to helpless me?

The door, one amongst many, a steady stream passing left and right, opens as we approach. And out she steps.

Long red skirt hanging low on curvy hips, split from crotch to ankle down the right side, her whole leg emerging with each purposeful stride. Chunky black lace up knee high boots add several inches to her height. And above the skirt, above a slash of pale stomach. A black corset, the lace up front cinched tight near her waist, looser at the top allowing a perfect view of those rounded D cups through the gap.

"Well well." Deborah grins, stopping in the corridor, blocking our path, forcing Emiko to a halt. "Hello B."

And of course, in reality prehaps Emiko would've fought back? But this is a dream.

My dream.

And it seems my subconscious knows what it wants.

"Thank you." Taking my leash, plucking the length of rope from Emiko's gone loose grip, Deborah wraps and ties the end off to a wall mounted radiator handily placed next to where I'm stood.

"Don't go anywhere B." Running her tongue across lips painted black, eyes roaming across my nakedness. Deborah leans in to kiss my left nipple, before turning around, pushing Emiko towards and into the room she emerged from moments ago.

Leaving me alone in the corridor. Tied and gagged, held in place like a thing, a pet, forced to wait outside for her owners return.

My brain jumps ahead. To

the

door

opening back up. Deborah walking out, still grinning.

"There's my good girl. Miss me?"
"Yes." Nobody removed my gag, it's just. Gone. I nod, feeling my pussy ache and throb at the sight of her, this sometimes dangerous girl from my past who won't seem to leave my dreams alone. Stalking me through the long frustrated nights like a tease. "I missed you Debs."

"Maybe you should do something about it then?" Unlacing the top of her corset, Deborah's breasts, squeezed too tightly inside, balloon up and out, exploding into freedom. Taking hold of my steel collar Deborah pulls my face down onto her breast, letting me suck and lick the pink nipple atop it.

"Maybe." I can hear the smile in her voice. "You should ring so I can come find you?"
"Maybe," standing back up, my gaze meeting hers, my smile matching hers, "if you want to come and own me so much. You should stop waiting for an invite?"
"Just turn up huh?" Amused, stood close, not touching me and of course I can't touch her.

"Exactly." Making my voice as promise laced, as aroused, as possible. "Just turn up. Tie me up." Being bold, stepping forwards, rubbing my F's against Deborah's D's. "Force me to be yours."

"That what you want?"
"Yes." Whispered. Almost afraid to speak my true desire out loud.

"Tell you what." Removing my leash from the radiator, wrapping it tightly around her hand. "I'll work on it. Now." Tugging as she walks off along the corridor, forcing me to follow. "Come on."

Passing the still open door I catch a brief glimpse of Emiko. Naked, her tan skinned body trussed into one of the tightest hogties I can imagine, ballgag strapped to her face. She's, in the instant I can see her, rolling around on the bed. Going nowhere.

Back to the endless corridors, only now it's Deborah leading. The dream conjures the ballgag back into my willing mouth.

And. Sometime later, we reach the lifts.

Which go.

Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.

"Wha...? The fucking damn?" Waking up groggy, a large part of me not wanting to wake at all.

Because I wanted that dream. Want it, now I'm awake, rolling over to shut up the stupid random email alert my phone deigned to disturb my sleep with.

I want it. But. That doesn't mean going and getting it is the right answer.

And besides. Swimming up from dreamland, I had something of an epiphany. An idea so good I need to act on it.

Right now.

"I don't suppose you've got access to such technological marvels as a timepiece Plymouth?" Not sounding angry, despite the late- or early depending on how you view half two in the morning -hour. "Or," Sounding mostly amused, "did you just feel like keeping an old insomniac company?"
"Sorry Trevor." Note to self, no matter how good the idea you must wait until the sun is in the sky before sharing it with others. "I thought I'd just be leaving a voicemail."

"And what, if I might enquire, would this important message say?"
"Well." Trying to order my thoughts. "I've got an idea. Um. And I think you can help me. Maybe?"
"Do you now."
"Yes?" Not meaning to make it a question. Trevor laughs, a happy sound.

"Tell me, Plymouth, and forgive an old man his bluntness. But. Are you still for hire?"
"For you? Always."
"I don't suppose you could fire up that bike of yours," hopeful, "and come keep a friend company in Birmingham?"
"You mean." Slight shock, my brain furiously trying to remember work schedules and did I have any plans? "Now?"
"It's probably too much an ask." A pause like a sigh. "But I've found myself called to a week of meetings. Yesterday, and at short notice. Company would be very much appreciated."

"Well." It feels good, I'm smiling, feeling good to be helpful. To be wanted. And Trevor is a good man. "Since you clearly need rescuing. And." Looking down at my breasts. "Since no doubt you'll sleep better with a chained up girl beside you."
"You know I've always said that's the very key to a perfect night's sleep."

Sounding happy, because he knows I'm in.

"Give me the address." Already halfway to the kitchen and that scrap of paper. "If it's Birmingham I can be there inside an hour."
"Bless you Plymouth. Full speed and all that. We can discuss payment in the morning."
"Of course." Nodding. "Where are you?"

So. Explanation time.

Bondage modelling alone has never been enough, due to it's sporadic nature and all round not guaranteed work, for me to not have a proper job too. Back at the beginning, my career taking off, I decided to try my hand at escorting, as a third avenue of income.

But only 'tie me up' style services, sex as a maybe but not the whole point, and then only to a select few.

I deliberately set my prices high in hopes of weeding out the creeps. Which, full disclosure, Clive- the skinny wanker who, and it's a super long story I will not relive -still managed to book and almost trap me. So, my plan had holes.

But for every down an up. Escorting introduced me to Trevor.

Sixty something, a widower. Trevor lived the army first- you can tell by his gruff bark of a voice and the way he carries himself -before going on to found It's A Smalls World. Which in fourty years has grown into a truly global trucking empire.

Which Trevor still, at an age when most would be slowing down, runs.

All this means he has money to burn. Which helps to fuel his other passion. Bondage.

His logic is actually quite sweet. Trevor's wife, his play partner, died some time ago. Most people would likely eventually re-marry, but Trevor's old school. He believes she's out there, waiting, and to move on would be to disrespect the love of his life.

So instead, in order to scratch that itch, Trevor employees girls like me. Companions. To keep him company when he feels the loneliness beginning to reach critical levels, someone cute and willing he can tie up, talk to.

It's, because I really am into bondage, an easy paycheck. And Trevor really is a good man, easy to be around, fun and with the accumulated knowledge of a man who really has driven trucks all across the world.

And the pay, because it'll be several whole days of work, will be sizeable. But I'd do it for far less because it's fun. But, because he's a good man, Trevor will insist on the correct fee.

Packing is easy. A small bag of toiletries. A handful of outfits should Tevor need me to step out with him. Some rope and toys. Trevor prefers metal restraints, but you never know. I stuff everything into a saddle bag, throw on jeans and a hoodie, my leather jacket. Boots. A thong but no bra.

Ten minutes after hanging up I'm locking the gate behind me. And once out onto the main roads I walk the bike up from gentle purr to angry roar, ramping up the speed.

"Help you Miss?"
"Not particularly." Barely slowing as I breeze in through the hotels double doors, saddle bag in one hand helmet in the other, crossing the lobby in front of the posh looking front desk. My bike is chained up in the underground car park behind Trevors incredibly expensive looking sporty Mercedes, which he's pulled forwards, allowing extra room to store my bike safely.

"I'm going to see Mr Smalls." Pressing the lift call button. "Plymouth. I believe I'm expected?"
"Ah." Nodding. "Yes of course."
"Thanks."

"And here you are." Opening the door wide, quite deliberately holding his left wrist up towards his face, checking the expensive watch worn there. "And," now tapping it, the watch, going fully overboard with the original joke, "early too I do believe."
"Yes alright." Laughing, Trevor grins, gesturing me inside. "I have a phone you know." Patting the left side of my leather jacket. "Would you believe it tells the time too."

"Same rules?" Dumping my bag and helmet on one of two sofas flanking a large wall mounted flatscreen. Trevor has a top floor suite, three rooms as opposed the usual bed/living space with small tacked on bathroom. I turn to face him, dressed casually in blue jeans and a football top. "It's been awhile."
"That it has." Nodding. A pause, I can almost see the gentleman inside fighting with his desire and right- because he is paying -to have me as he wants me. "Please. Plymouth."

Trevor's rules are simple: aside from rare occasions I'm always in some form of bondage, and aside from if we happen to leave, prehaps down to the bar for drinks, I'm always naked.

"Would you care for a shower before bed?" Eyes roaming over my naked curves, ink and contours he's familiar with. Trevor smiles as my thong- the last item -joins everything else on the sofa.

"Sure." Holding my wrists out in front, because there's a pair of steel cuffs magically in Trevor's hand. "Why not like this so I can wash you too?"
"Well." Clicking each cuff in place, tightening the metal hoops. I don't know where the key is, but trust Trevor enough to not care. "What an excellent idea. Prehaps a good scrub down will aid in sleep."
"And laying next to a tied up naked girl." Winking. Trevor nods, smiles, leads the way through to the bathroom.

It isn't all about sex with Trevor, he genuinely wants company first. A specific kind to be fair: young, busty, naked and tied up. But the sex, as I learned when we first met, isn't always needed.

As I've said he's old school. To the point that despite having paid for me he doesn't feel right forcing himself on me, demanding that additional service.

Though, as I learned on our second meeting, if I offer, take the lead, he's happy to play his part.

For awhile I stand still, close to one wall of this easily four person capable shower stall. Arms raised up, elbows bent, cuffed wrists behind my head. Legs spread slightly. Smiling. For awhile I stand still, letting Trevor wash me all over, his soapy hands exploring where they will.

Mostly across the hills and valleys of my F cups, down my sides, up and down my inner leg from crotch to knee.

Trevor's cock isn't huge. It's thick, but stubby. Short and fat, not long, basically.

"May I?" Raised eyebrows, asking, because maybe he simply wants to enjoy my body right now. But.

"Please." Letting go my breasts, which he'd been cupping whilst running a finger over each nipple simultaneously, Trevor let's his arms hang loosely. Giving me access to him.

I wash him as best my cuffed wrists will allow, moving a circuit from front all the way around to front, dropping down on bent legs to wash his legs, making sure to use plenty of soap. Making sure to take my time.

Showing Trevor plenty of attention as I run hands and sometimes just my nails gently all over him.

Until.

Finally.

Soaped up and slick with water, pointed at me like a loaded gun, I begin to tease and rub my hands up and down Trevor's cock.

Building a slow rhythm, stood in front of him now, close. Giving Trevor ready access to my breasts, which he begins to touch and squeeze. Gently. His eyes sometimes closed, sometimes open and on mine.

We kiss. Tentative. Not the full on passion of lust and desire, like his touch on my breasts it's more gentle. A need for that extra point of contact. To share the moment as my speed begins to increase.

Faster.

And faster.

And faster until.

Trevor.

Explodes. Grunts. Legs bucking as he orgasms over my hands, almost instantly washed away by the warm downpour from above.

"Time for bed?"
"Yes." Reaching behind him to shut off the water. "I think. Thank you. Plymouth."
"Happy to help." Cheeky smile, for which I get a smile back, a nod.

Trevor. Happy that I'm happy. That nothing was forced.

Dry. I lay down on one side of the huge bed, on my back, staying still so Trevor can lock me in place. Cuffed wrists chained in place above me. Ankles cuffed together, chained so they're held pointed at the bed's foot board.

No gag. Sometimes there is. Maybe tomorrow there will be.

"Goodnight Plymouth." Giving my cheek a kiss. "Thank you for coming."
"Sleep well Trevor." I nod. "And, you're welcome."

Trevor drifts off fast, guess he really does need a tied girl. After awhile I feel myself beginning to drift, thoughts slowing, being put away.

Ready for tomorrow. My idea, the plan I swam out of dreams of Deborah holding. Tomorrow I'll share it with Trevor, and see whether he can, wants to, help.
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