Spy Camp (m+f+/m+f+) Part 37

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Post by Beaumains »

slackywacky wrote: 10 months ago I wonder where this will lead. Will Giselle's history surface? Very nice chapter.
I have written a decent amount of background for Giselle, but I have not found a good way to share it yet. It will happen soon, tho ;)


Not too much bondage in this chapter, but the drought won't last for long.
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Giselle stepped back as Bulldog inched forward, his saber raised at her chest height. Almost two feet taller, his reach would be a foot further. That was way too much to overcome with swiftness and perfect timing. Her left heel touched the wheel of an office chair which she kicked aside. Her heart was racing.

“Fight me, thou coward,” Bulldog joked. His short ginger hair poked through the top of the mask. “Whereto would thou flee?”

A smile formed on Giselle’s face, which was hidden behind the protective mask. Trashtalk motivated her, and she loved returning some, which is unwise when one is losing for sure.

The second floor from the top of the office building had been an unusual place for a fencing brawl, being filled with a hundred office cubicles and many more random desks, small rooms, and pillars. Only the furniture remained, providing an eerie, deserted look as if something was off. But then can’t explain what it is like in a horror movie.

“There are five of us left and three of yours. A 1v1 is the best you will get. Better beat me.”

Of course, Giselle knew accepting the challenge was foolish. Fighting him would be downright suicide. He was not wrong. Both teams had started the round with seven fencers, each with a red or blue balloon taped to their back and stomach. Blue had lost two and red four, leaving Giselle’s team in a terrible position. Her team had been completely outmaneuvered, lost a critical duel, and the rest was picked off one by one. Now there were many holes in their defense.

She counted from five down to one and darted away when the counter hit one. She could only flee as turning around to poke and win had been disallowed for safety reasons. She tried reaching the opponent’s corner, spotting a fencer protecting their hostage, her last hope to secure victory in the round. Each team had a hostage, and popping one of their golden balloons would mean a direct win. Hedgehog’s arms were tied behind her back, elbows touching, and she wore a ball gag, although her fencing mask hid it from view. Bondage and walking targets had been introduced to “make the game more dynamic, more strategic.” These weirdos had turned a two-hour fencing lesson into a one-hour of actual fencing, for which Giselle had signed up. A simple 1v1 without bondage. In the second hour, they played this game where people had to be tied up. Weirdos.

Sadly, another tall guy protected Hedgehog, and she hid behind him. Now two impossible-to-beat opponents had their eyes on her, and she hid in a corner.

“You should have listened, little fox,” Bulldog pointed out. There was no sign the brief run put him out of breath. They raised their weapons again as Giselle had less than a meter behind her. From the corner of her eye, the other boy, Meerkat, approached at a 90-degree angle. Perhaps she could hold for a few strokes against two fencers, but not when seeing only one at a time. “Do you want to burst the balloon yourself, or should we help? It won’t hurt. You should …”

Giselle leaped forth and pushed Bulldog’s weapon away with hers, noting his grip had been loose in his overconfidence. Then she aimed at the blue balloon and saw it burst into fragments of blue rubber. She took half a step back and heard another burst of air. Meerkat had eliminated her from behind, which was all fair game.

“Nice one, Swift Fox. You caught me off-guard,” the beaten boy admitted as they strolled to the area for the eliminated players. At least he was honorable.

“Thanks,” Giselle said, knowing that both teams losing a player benefited the opponent’s team. Behind the line, they removed their masks and gloves and watched the two remaining red players get defeated, losing the round.

The red team moved back to their corner, behind 1-3 in rounds. They needed a miracle. “Fox, mind being the hostage? You haven’t been one yet, and we need Bull Shark and Ibex now,” Lionfish inquired.

“Fine,” Giselle fired back. “That is fine with me. Okay?” There was peer pressure, and the question had to be asked sooner or later. Everyone had taken their turn, so why should she chicken out like a pretentious princess?

“Can your elbows touch?” Lionfish asked. “Pull on your gloves, by the way.”

This question surprised Giselle a little. “Eh, yeah, I think so. Never tested that.”

“Cool, it looks so much better,” the tall girl complimented, stepping behind Giselle and squeezing her arms together with one hand. Macaw, the other female commander, tightened the brown hemp rope around Giselle’s wrist, tightening and cinching it over the tops of the gloves. Under her elbow, not far above the other knot, another short rope helped to disable two of Giselle’s limps.

“You can live with that?”

“I hope so,” Giselle uttered, not convincing herself. Her arms felt weird and useless, like a bird drenched in oil after a spill. Something was pulling her back, but the tension on her upper back was nothing to complain about. Her years in the cheer squad had helped. She recalled Lionfish had also survived a 10-minute round without effort while one of the gym-going guys only had his wrists crossed. Giselle had always been flexible, so these randoms had to prove her weakness with other means. The previous day had taught Giselle two things: Life here was not much worse than with her aggravating family, and these folks were not evil but would not accept her as an equal if she did not accept their ways. If she wanted to survive here, she had to adapt.

The commander reached into a box with gags and retrieved a bright-green ball, the type you would expect to glow in the dark. From the other hostages, she knew they had been cleaned and disinfected. It still felt stained, but they also shared utensils that had only seen some soap and warm water. “Keep your mouth open for a sec. Thank you,” the commander ordered as Giselle perceived why it was called a gag. Her throat felt eerie, protesting against the peculiar sensation, and her longs stressed too.

“You good?” Lionfish inquired. Giselle nodded, hoping it had been the initial scare. Hedgehog had done this, so she could as well. Surrounded by six of her peers, she had to give in, and how bad could it be? “This is your first time wearing a ball gag? I will stay close to you and use the distress signals when needed.”

Giselle suppressed her frustration. Had Lionfish not humiliated her sufficiently the day prior? Was it necessary to do this in front of everyone?

Ibex placed the fencing mask on Giselle’s head, and balloons were fixed to everyone’s chest and back, including a golden pair for the reluctant hostage. A whistle sounded, and the red team regrouped with a new, offensive strategy. Giselle followed Lionfish behind the group towards a dead-end where two fencers could most likely hold. If not, they would lose. Bull Shark circled from the left around a confused group of attackers with another girl. Ibex did the same with a muscular boy on the right, surprising their opponents, who had not changed their winning strategy. They sent one person through each side aisle and two through the middle, keeping in position until they could pick off a misplaced opponent. It was all positional and about control, waiting for an opportunistic moment. A fast attack over the flanks was the last thing they expected. Confused, they looked at each other. The two in the middle felt stuck in their choice, and their failure to choose made both flanks break.

“Looks good,” Macaw said. The lone incoming attacker, Bulldog, did not dare to approach and fight the three girls, even though one could not defend herself.

“Definitely. Nice strategy, commander.”

“Yeah, it seems to work. Maybe I am not such a dreadful commander after all.”

“Nope, all seems to work,” Lionfish confirmed, continuing the lousy acting. “I wouldn’t vote against her, would you, Swift Fox?”

Giselle sighed, sick of the twist of the morning already. Washington had announced a big mission in two days for which all campers had to work together while the commanders led them. As was allowed, Tarantula filed a recall against all three commanders. Her passionate speech featured kidnappings, other ways the dictatorship-like rulers oppressed their opposition, and how snobbish they were towards new campers. Macaw had countered, recounting she had interfered with an earlier mission, causing setbacks, and could not earn her spot as a commander herself. They were too unreliable, and to give them the job days before the mission would not help anyone. Tara first had to show she was a team player. Arguments continued before both camps started to camp and court those whose votes were still unknown. Giselle had been among those, and the fake friendliness irritated her. They did not care about her, only about that meaningless political game.

Meanwhile, two blue balloons burst while all the red ones remained inflated. Bulldog did not dare to strike, and the remaining four blue fencers were surrounding their hostage, surrounded by the five red attackers. Having to dance around their bound hostage, Giselle’s team was toying with them, thinning out the defenders with minimal losses until the golden balloon on the boy’s back snapped.

“Surely that’s not too shabby,” Macaw beamed.

“Not at all, not at all,” Lionfish confirmed. “Oh, and now we can free you as well!”

“Thank God, finally,” Giselle thought as the unnecessary bindings were removed. The one accidental tie-up in which she had found herself had not been an outright disaster. Only five-or-so weeks left.
Last edited by Beaumains 7 months ago, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Ovi1 »

Great interaction.
Very good chapter
I believe you would be a lot more comfortable in ropes
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Post by slackywacky »

Beaumains wrote: 10 months ago Only five-or-so weeks left.
Oh do I wonder...

As with any story, sometimes you need to build a scene and not always will that scene have bondage in it (or less bondage). Without these chapters the story would be less interesting. Great work developing this story. Dank je wel.
Thanks for reading. Feel free to comment.
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Post by Caesar73 »

This was highly entertaining - and that Giselles team won against all odds was encouraging. Her realization that she has to adapt is an important step for her.
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Post by Beaumains »

Caesar73 wrote: 10 months ago This was highly entertaining - and that Giselles team won against all odds was encouraging. Her realization that she has to adapt is an important step for her.
Thanks a lot for your comment. Only Giselle's team has only a single round, they are still losing ;)
slackywacky wrote: 10 months ago As with any story, sometimes you need to build a scene and not always will that scene have bondage in it (or less bondage). Without these chapters the story would be less interesting.
I know, I know, I just like to put out a warning up front. ;)
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Post by banshee »

[/quote]

Not too much bondage in this chapter, but the drought won't last for long.

[/quote]

When writing a more plot driven story a time like this will certainly come, no shame on that. Eagerly waiting for what's next, keep it up!
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Post by Mineira1986 »

I would love to see more of Giselle's back story, please. Pretty please =)
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Post by Beaumains »

Mineira1986 wrote: 10 months ago I would love to see more of Giselle's back story, please. Pretty please =)
It will come later, but I will try to sprinkle some more hints through out the parts.

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With untidy, tangled hair and muddy pants, Giselle entered the girls’ sleeping hall to fetch a clean pair of black sweatpants. Giselle’s first game of the afternoon had been improvisation, where they had to hide a secret message in innocent-looking videos.

Giselle had gone for it and loved teaming with Spider Octopus and Honeybee. Honeybee was decent with the camera, and Eight’s career as a successful actress showed. Her impression of a crazy typical YouTuber was flawless as they baked cookies together while signing the coordinates of an art museum in Florence, Italy. She was extraordinary, transforming flawlessly into a made-up character and becoming her. Her overdone enthusiasm, quick-witted jokes, self-consciousness, and shamelessness made it all work as Giselle concentrated on the cookies and played the perfectionist for contrast. The handcuffs between their wrists were no handicap but a comedic prop. Eight sabotaging Giselle by pulling roughly on them while faking hyper-enthusiasm created an enormous mess. The first letters of Eight’s sentences would correspond to a digit of the coordinates. Easy. And her improv was so smooth, lacking unnatural sentences or pauses.

They edited the 4-minute video. Nothing fancy, merely pasting the fragments together without optimizing for a perfect flow and clean edits. The group gathered to watch everyone’s work together. Their video was superior, despite many teams going for tie-up- or spy-themed videos. If aware, the others would not have let the Youtuber and movie star team up.

Meanwhile, they tried guessing the secret in each video: Blinking in Morse, hand signals, linguistics, etc. They did not need to decrypt the message, only identify the method. Thus, the awkwardness faded when dissecting. One other duo knew their code and decoded it perfectly. A quick Google search gave them to the Uffizi Gallery. A convincing win.

Next, Giselle adored the shooting range trip. The rifle and hunting bow had been a pleasant distraction from the madness and turmoil. The afternoon had been a rollercoaster. There had been bondage, the crazy recall vote from the lunch, and now the commanders evaluated them. Sure, her aim was dreadful, but she could focus on something. Now, Giselle had to change from lying in the mud, leaning on the sandbags, and aiming at a small cardboard card.

She opened her chest with camp clothes, noting a neatly folded piece of paper.

Heyo Swift Fox,

Great to see ya settle in and begin to enjoy the life and games here, both the official and unofficial ones.

Only, you’re impossible to read. Therefore, it’s time to learn about your character and assess the most critical personality trait: Are you a doormat or daring? That’s hard to tell from the outside, so let’s put it to the test. Ever wondered what it is like to be kidnapped? Do you dare to find out? Are you as adventurous and bolt as you present yourself?

Directly after dinner, go to the path behind the massive oak trees near the playground. What happens next will be a shocking surprise that will leave you paralyzed. It won’t be for the jellyfish, scaredy-cats, and chicken hearts, but you are not a gutless wonder, are you?

Do NOT tell anyone about this letter or its content. If we find out, it’s over. Make this choice yourself.

Cheers,
your anonymous spirit animal.


Giselle bobbed her head, rereading the note. Who would be that foolish? She had been kidnapped once, but her older friends for a Youtube. It had been vaguely announced, but being in the boot of a car for an hour straight to be dropped off in a dark forest with minimal camping equipment and a few others had been a scary yet fun experience.

“Daring?” she mumbled to herself. At least they are not patronizing me anymore.

Giselle scuffed and tossed the letter in the chest. It had been hand-written presumably by a girl, but she had no clue who. She changed and joined Honeybee and Spider Octopus in the canteen for dinner. A bullshit-free night was preferable over being kidnapped. It was a silly prank.

“Everyone still pissed at us?”

“Not really, at most annoyed,” Honeybee smirked. “They’re kinda too much into it and don’t like being outplayed.”

“Still having regrets?” Eight added. “Don’t want to be a kingmaker?”

Giselle stared into the empty plastic cup in front of her. “I don’t want to be involved in these shallow politics. I invalidated my vote to refrain from choosing. I do not need enemies here. I don’t care.”

Eight’s eyes widened. “Stop it. Macaw was mostly relieved, but their unstable position remains precarious. 13-11 in a recall is too close for comfort. Our three invalid votes are as powerful as they can be. We are kingmakers. Enjoy it. We made ourselves kingmakers, so now we should not back out.”

“Yeah, everyone is now kissing our asses,” Giselle blurted. “For what?”

“That was our entire plan, Swift Fox, wasn’t it? After yesterday, we did not want to be treated like weak-minded newbies. Now we got leverage,” Honeybee chimed in. “Some leverage,” she emphasized as the three commanders walked in, visibly tired from the planning and preparing.

“Hi, mind if I take this seat?” Willet asked before sitting next to Eight, facing Giselle. “How are you doing? Well done with the video, by the way. Looked exceptional.”

“Thanks,” Giselle mumbled. The three commanders had been gone most of the afternoon, allowed to resume their work. They had to plan the mission and assign the tests for the next day. “Doing well meant you got more responsibility during the mission,” Lionfish had explained. “Washington vetos unfair plans.” Of course, the commanders’ power was to assign tests: They could force Giselle to do strength-based tests or bondage all day if they wanted.

“Busy day?” Honeybee distracted.

“Yeah, quite hectic. Everything is a giant puzzle, sorting this mess out.”

Wait, was this dare a test? Secretly? The commanders had all the time to plant that letter? Giselle pondered. She looked around, now nervous. Someone here had written it. Who? Had the tests already started? It would make sense. The results would be more representative than when saying it was a test.

“I can imagine. Many choices,” Honeybee continued. Contrary to Willet, she had not noticed Giselle’s facial movements.

“Indeed, but it will be alright. You got computer stuff. Not enough to fill the entire day, but adequate to see if you’re better than Bull Shark and Armadillo. Spider, I gotta stay cryptic as I’m not allowed to share too much, but you got good games, save for one slot.” Eight nodded. “Fox, we had problems with you. We’ve no clue what you want and are good at. Hint? Please?”

Giselle’s eyes darted to Eight, who winked. Her promise to keep Giselle’s background secret seemed safe. “Nothing too technical or physically demanding, please.”

“But what do you want?” Willet emphasized. “Or shall we get food first? The queue is shrinking.”

The girls rose to fetch their chicken curry without much spice and a questionable addition of pineapple. It still was fine, but making healthy something 30 teens from all over the country enjoyed was hard.

Willet put her plate next to a glass of water and eyed Giselle. “I know you’re skilled at hiding and lying. Are that your main talents? Then you are going to do that tomorrow. What should I add to that list? Your choice. I’ve no clue why stubbornness is your strategy here. There’s nothing to gain.”

“Maybe you get me to do more shit I hate.”

“What’s my end game? Our margin is already razor-thin, and I ain’t mad about your vote. Not wanting to take part in that argument is fine with me. Also, unmotivated campers can fail the mission. And then it’s not unlikely that some of those idiots actively sabotage the mission to undermine our position. Messing with you is the last thing on my mind.”

Giselle peeked away. “Add climbing. Or observing and scouting, whatever you can do with that.”

“Splendid, brilliant stuff. Thanks. That was not so difficult, was it?” Willet scolded.

Giselle sighed. “I don’t like talking about myself, fine? It ain’t that hard.”

“Okay, sorry, that was frustration, sorry,” Willet apologized. “You make it difficult and don’t need to be defensive. I expect you’re doing some rad thing in real life, and I’m both nosy and curious. You should know that by now.”

Giselle opened her mouth, wanting to mention that everyone called Eight Vespira Procter, her real name on which Spider Octopus was a pun, and that she preferred to be anonymous, for once. That would do anything but stop Willet’s inquiries. Ever since the chest bonding after the hobby horse humiliation, Eight had pressed her for stories when they were alone and had estimated multiple campers would have seen her videos. She should not feed that prying monster. “It’s fine.”

“Okay, cool, I gotta talk to a few more people, so see ya later.” Willet rose, picked up her plate and water, and sat down at Red Deer’s table, who had been staring at them for the entire time. Giselle recalled the kidnapping letter. It could be hers, and now she was witnessing the results of her mind games.

Honeybee’s smiled from ear to ear. “She’s panicking. Indeed, kissing our asses. She won’t cross us.”

Giselle glared open-eyed at her ally. Was Honeybee a psychopath? Then the letter could also be hers.

“Any plans for tonight?” Eight inquired. Honeybee bobbed her head, and Swift Fox followed her example. “Apparently, there’s a piano in the cellar. Are you guys into karaoke?”

“Not really, I ain’t no singer,” Giselle expressed. She did not fancy embarrassing herself again.

“Oh, I am not gifted either,” Eight replied. The actress either lied, or her singing standards trumped Giselle’s. “But free feel to come.” She continued trying to persuade Giselle, who also thought of the letter. It had crept farther into her head and activated her paranoia. Whoever wanted to test her could do that with everyone. Maybe Eight and Honeybee had received similar letters or sent them. Giselle had done crazier stunts than these other girls. If they did this and she not, she would appear as a softy. Here, strength and braveness were rewarded, which explained why Red and Tara had not backed down. The commanders were basically testing how far they would go. No one else was backing down. She would be the only one.

After dinner, Giselle reread the letter upstairs. Was it Eight’s? Their conversation the previous day had been private. Whoever wrote it understood how to play on her emotions. Her ‘friends’ from the Youtube channel had also pushed her to do stupid shit. They knew what buttons to press, ending up with regretful video clips on the internet. However, she had numerous fond memories of pushing her boundaries too. It was the only way to break free from the unimaginative idiots in this cursed world, both the adults and her peers. Maybe it was worth the risk. Perhaps the adventure was worth it. What else was she doing tonight? Flustering herself before Spider Octopus with her awful voice and music knowledge?

She sneaked through a backdoor and went to the path, where a different note ushered her deeper into the forest. There was a red linen bag with a rope, a sleeping mask, a red ball gag, and a pair of handcuffs combined with a note.

“Time to do something dumb,” Giselle told herself. That gave her a pleasant feeling. She had missed it. The awful-tasting ball entered her mouth, the rope flung around her ankles, and the blindfold pushed over her eyes. Sitting on a fallen tree, she clicked the handcuffs shut behind her back, knowing the wait could be lengthy. That was the second obvious test.
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Post by GreyLord »

Another great continuation, [mention]Beaumains[/mention]. You move the story of Giselle onward. I did not expect her to take that path at the end. Kudos!
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Post by Beaumains »

GreyLord wrote: 10 months ago Another great continuation, [mention]Beaumains[/mention]. You move the story of Giselle onward. I did not expect her to take that path at the end. Kudos!
Tha ks a lot for your continuing support. Of course I needed Giselle to open up a little more to bondage, but I explain her choice to myself as a sort of hubris. Her reasonaing is still that this camp is stupid and so everyone (or maybe most) there should be childish and weak. Then she gets dared and has to accept it to prove herself, both to them and herself. She has some pride to defend.
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Post by Mineira1986 »

Good for Giselle. Are these signs of something changing? I don't recall many chapters saying that Giselle "loved" or "adored" something, as it often looked like she didn't care or even dislike what was happening around. Good for her!
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Post by Beaumains »

Mineira1986 wrote: 9 months ago Good for Giselle. Are these signs of something changing? I don't recall many chapters saying that Giselle "loved" or "adored" something, as it often looked like she didn't care or even dislike what was happening around. Good for her!
Yeah, things are changing, and it will be even more obvious in the next chapter. Only, in that particular scene, it was not necessarily the activity that made it work for her. She also liked her teammates.

-------------------------------------------------------------------
I was messing around with an AI art generator, and this seems like a good representation of Giselle/Swift Fox:
Image
Now it is time for the new chapter! This time with more tie-ups.
-------------------------------------------------------------------

“These idiots are so predictable,” Giselle grumbled into the red rubber ball gag between her jaws. Nothing happened. Birds chirped, a lone woodpecker pecked, and the wind let the highest and oldest trees creak like old doors. Giselle sensed nothing else as the blindfold had stolen her sight. Her legs were bound, and her hands cuffed behind her back by her own doing. All because a hand-written note had directed her. Maybe she was the idiot.

Before blindfolding herself, Giselle had glanced around, detecting no sign of anybody. Her neck hairs had whispered she had been watched. Soon someone would monitor her from afar as she would turn crazy in the losing war against her own will. But Giselle would not lose. She was mightier in mind. They would not enjoy the satisfaction of her panicking.

Giselle had scrapped fear from her dictionary. She could still escape. Sure, the handcuff locks had clicked shut, but she could reach safety. Rub the blindfold off and hop back. It would be embarrassing to admit she had fallen for this prank. She would refer to the oddly specific camp rules: never leave someone tied up unattended. The counselors would not be too pleased. Naivety would shield her.

Therefore, Giselle closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing. She told herself a story to fill the time. Once upon a time, a walled castle with hundreds of servants housed a princess in a faraway land. The gorgeous, intelligent princess owned many sparkling dresses and enjoyed the best meals the Middle Ages offered. Only, the king had a massive problem: an ancient dragon who demanded seven young maidens every summer.

“Worst story ever: shallow, ridiculous, and the type you read to a whiny five-year-old,” Giselle told herself. “Absolute dogshit. What happens? His own daughter is selected? That story is as old as time.”

Soon, the peasants protested, each knowing at least one never-returning girl. So the king, fearing an uprising, broke the deal with the dragon. Therefore, it attacked. It slaughtered many before reaching the capital, where its jeweled armor protected it from the guards’ sharpest arrows. In the highest room in the tallest tower, he found the terrified princess and snatched her in his 4-foot-long claws. As it flew away, houses shrunk to the size of sunflower seeds, and the clouds soaked her stunning lavender gown. In a hidden valley with an azure blue lake between white peaks, it landed near the ruins of a forsaken fortress.

“Yeah, ain’t improving,” Giselle judged herself. She had visualized the towns and landscapes, rearranged the princess’s room in her head, and added more and more spikes and teeth to the dragon, which only grew in her head. Only then she dared to continue the plot.

The dragon ushered her inside through the broken gate, where a lonely slow death should await her, perhaps with a giant kettle on a pile of pinewood. But no, many people cluttered the courtyard, all sacrificed girls. One approached, bowed, and welcomed the princess jovially.

“A twist, albeit predictable,” Giselle continued commentating. Her perspective changed from a top-down view. The storyteller became the princess. She was the princess.

The princess noted the girl’s hands were tied behind her back, her elbows touching. She looked around. A young red-haired girl on the bench was not daydreaming, but ropes fixed her, and some white cloth was pressed in her mouth. Three older girls were not picnicking in the green grass; one was spreadeagled to pegs as she was tickled and teased. “Don’t look like we stabbed your grandma! Be joyful! Here, you can finally live life as we love, unjudged,” the maiden glowed.

“What the fuck am I doing? Bondage? Why did it sneak into my thoughts? What’s going on?” Giselle exclaimed in the gag, swaying her head. Time had passed, but the silence had remained.

Being in that chest, almost a coffin, with Spider Octopus had transformed her. They had been in there for four hours, chatting for an hour before Willet gagged them again, now using padlocks. Before dinner, Hedgehog and Lionfish had wheeled the chest to a table and sat on it. Embarrassing, but at least they were not paraded around when the punished campers returned. From five in the morning, they had been chained together in groups of four and forced to complete tasks, often physically demanding, dull, or precise. Thus, Giselle had no right to complain.

Whatever had transpired inside was impossible to convey. While gagged and bound in the dark, Giselle’s mind started to block out the panic about being released, the plans of those sadistic girls, and even the time and her whereabouts. Her initial hysteria about Eight finding out about her influencer history had faded. She had been so supportive and impressed. Giselle had not forgotten or fallen asleep, but her body had ceased caring and relaxed its limbs and muscles. She had quit thinking, waited, and let time pass, like when sleeping out to notice it was 1 PM. Or when hanging out and drinking under that highway bridge at night, bobbing her head to the music with an amplified base. She was awake but oblivious, snuggling at times with the actress she shared the chest with. They were bound, so it consisted of positioning their bodies against each other and rubbing their noses together. She had surrendered.

How did these bondage-created feelings affect her sanity? “It heightens everything. Fear, anger, itching, touch, loneliness, but also relaxation and imagination,” Giselle reasoned, recalling her night with Willet. “My own predicament forced it into the story. I attempted to retrieve that emotion.” Being bound in front of the group, like during the fencing game, was undesirable, and Giselle did not dare to wish to be toyed with. In a sense, it reminded her of her Youtube days. Unstable ledges at heights, being in claustrophobic tunnels for hours, and sleeping between junk did not trouble her. She refused to dance or sing on camera. The cute costumes she had been asked to wear annoyed her. Alone, filming herself, always produced the best shots.

Then her head swung right. Leaves had cracked twice, and birds searched for insects differently. The person halted, and Giselle shifted away. They tried to frighten her and doubt herself. She played along. Half a minute passed, and the awful sneaking resumed.

Giselle still jumped when the fingers grazed her cheek. A second pair of hands grasped her elbows, verifying the handcuffs were locked, and braided her hair. The red ball gag and ankle rope were tightened before she was lifted over a shoulder and carried away.

“Ah, there’s my kidnapping. Finally,” Giselle whined, comprehending only one of the four or five jacked-up boys could handle her weight as effortlessly. Their anonymity had to frighten her. Justifying everything and commenting on the events kept Giselle calm and focused. She was no coward.

They brought their victim elsewhere in the forest and laid her down on something metal, a bed’s mesh base Giselle reckoned. Earplugs were inserted in her ears before a hat was rolled over her head. They pulled the blindfold over her nose when the hood covered her eyes. The hood latched around her head, enveloping it with a thick layer of dense fabric. Her ears were muted farther, and her eyes experienced darkness like a deserted coal mine. Her nose and mouth remained exposed, and her chin was pressed up.

The girl removed the handcuffs as Giselle judged by her hands’ touch, and her jacket followed, leaving her in a black tank top. She drew her arms into a letter Y, binding them to the frame. Someone else untied the ankle rope and spread her legs to create the letter X. Giselle distrusted their looseness and swiftness.

Her suspicions were confirmed soon. A rope circled around her left leg below her hip. Once more, and again. It was no rope, more of a ribbon that pinned her down. She realized they did not form a knot but sewed her in place. Like a doctor closing a wound or a welder merging heavy beams, the bed frame and she would become one. They would unite.

Around each limp, a ribbon wove away from her body, leaving little gaps in between. Their presence pushed down but did not grind her skin. The ropes were removed, like her shoes and socks. The ruthless ribbons resumed their assault on Giselle’s freedom, binding her left hand with the palm facing up to the metal, like each finger separately. Her feet, including her big toes, were bound, making them face inward and her soles outward. Finally, straps connected to the hood forced her head to gaze into the dark above her, and heavy straps kept her hips, belly, chest, and shoulders down.

Despite the past few days, Giselle had never been as helpless when tied. Exerting all the force of her upper body let her only bounce on the spiral frame for a second. Pouring her in concrete would change little.

In her free right hand, a tennis ball was placed, which Giselle grabbed. One of the safe signals was dropping something, and unable to shake her head, they handed her the option to tap out like a chicken. If they predicted cowardice, Giselle promised to disappoint them.

The show began.

It started slow, poking with sticks, playing with drops of water, and rubbing grasses to provoke a reaction. Giselle gave none. Each sudden touch and stroke startled her, but she calmed herself down, fighting the defecting demons in her head.

When the first nail touched her sole, Giselle braced herself. In the second stage of never-ending terror, the binds would not hide the consequences of a single finger caressing her bare sole. She gripped the tennis ball with all her might. It hurt. Her soul cried in agony, but her body could survive. Torture was exhausting, but it was no execution. She would survive, and they had to step up their game.

A hand grasped her other foot, and the dual attack forced Giselle to the edge of her will. She endured. She survived. She showed them Swift Fox was not weak. Her determination was vicious when she wanted.

Before long, they returned, moving to her sensitive armpits, neck, sides, and open hand. Her muscles burned and screamed when the feathers brushed her feet, but Giselle remained as strong as she commanded herself. She despised every second.

When a dirty sock was pressed against her nose, her own, she presumed, she reckoned tickling was not their only weapon. With every escalation, Giselle dug in deeper. A hand reached under her shirt, placing an ice cube on her belly button. She was no quitter when it mattered.

The sock reeked, and the intense sensations came from every direction, save for the ones she ordinarily used. But each second that passed was a victory. Giving up now squandered all her previous struggles, so she persisted. She had to. She had to show her worth, so one day would have her revenge on her own terms. It would be sweet. She pumped her mind up and extracted every joule of energy from her body.

It stopped. The many arms halted their movements.

The sock was now taped over Giselle’s nose as cubes melted in several places on her body. Her misery was omnipresent. Despite not moving, her muscles were sorer than after climbing a mountain, her lungs were on fire, and her skin ached. Despite the direct enemy leaving, her patience and self-control were still tested. It was a waiting game.

A long waiting game.

A game of horrendous odors and drips of frigid water flowed over her body and mixed with her sweat as the ice melted.

But Giselle passed this trial too. She resisted.

Her captors hoisted the bed base away, and ropes hauled it up in a controlled motion, thus using pulleys. It lowered. Her feet faced down as they pierced the surface of the cold water. It was fastened, and Giselle swung in the wind as the tree moved as inch-high waves swirled around her ankles. The cold cut into her skin like knives in hot butter, and her bones transferred it.

Giselle was determined and had to defend her pride. Here and now, she would demonstrate to these superficial rope-loving campers she was Swift Fox, a fighter, a risk-taker, a daredevil, and above all, not afraid. Not anymore. Of them, at least.
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Post by Caesar73 »

Wonderful chapter- so Giselle embraces the ropes. I love the change. The courageous brave Giselle who has decided to stop being the victim.

The last Paragraph sums it up pretty nicely. Her new companions are in for a suprise!

Well done [mention]Beaumains[/mention]
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Post by GreyLord »

I do agree with [mention]Caesar73[/mention]. Well done, [mention]Beaumains[/mention].
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Post by Beaumains »

Caesar73 wrote: 9 months ago Her new companions are in for a suprise!
Thank you for your comment. I honestly don't think there is much of a surprise. She was moving in the direction of not being the complete oddball of the group. Yet, she still does respects them, still deeming the bondage weird but expecting to be stronger in mind than they are. Her determinism in anger, fear, and survival led her at first, but whenever she decided to do something, she put all her energy into it.
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Post by Mineira1986 »

Great stuff! Great descriptions. And nice picture as well.
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Post by Beaumains »

Mineira1986 wrote: 9 months ago Great stuff! Great descriptions. And nice picture as well.
Thanks a lot!

-------------------------------------------------------

“Sore throat. Why did I deserve that too?” Giselle pondered. It had woken her up. Then the headache landed. “Fuck.” She tried to grab her head with her hands, but the movement only pulled on her thighs. She had forgotten about the straitjacket, a sleeping variant. The material was thin, and the straps were not tightened as much. It still immobilized her hands.

“Why did you fucking do this to yourself, Giselle. Why? Why do you always need to be so damn stubborn? You won, so? For what? What did you win? You still don’t know which sadists should respect you now.”

After the torture, her captors roped her arms and legs together into a ball and forced her into a huge bag, turning her into a present for Santa to hand out. Back at the office building, they had helped her use the toilet, drink a few sips of water, and clothed her into her pajamas and straitjacket. They remained silent and anonymous, leaving her earplugs in. They applied tape over her lips and hooded her with a sack of breathable material, connecting to the collar of the straitjacket. Due to additional precautions to prevent her from walking away, Giselle had resigned to the early bedtime.

Giselle now tried to roll around and groaned as chains pulled on her shoulders and ankles. When did her life fall apart? Why was she in a 19th-century asylum? She opened her mouth to yawn, and the tape succumbed to the pressure. Giselle’s saliva had dissolved the glue, letting it slip into her mouth when she closed it, causing her to cough. “Absolutely disgusting. Bastards,” Giselle whispered. Nothing smelled fresh anymore, and the used earplugs rolled against her neck. They had fallen out long ago.

Giselle closed her mouth as someone moved and socked feet stepped on the vinyl. Had her complaints been audible? At least they had not abandoned her while going to breakfast or the day’s tests, leaving her until a counselor found her.

“Swift Fox, are you okay?” a girl whispered. “I heard you did well.”

“Sorry for waking you up. I have a massive headache, and my throat is dryer than the Sahara desert. What time is it?”

“A few minutes past six,” Gerbil replied, a tall girl from Maine with neck-long hair dyed in a wine-red color. A wrestler, even though her physique hid her muscles quite well. “An hour left before we have to get out. That’s not too long. You should manage. Besides, the note beside your bed stated you should remain bound. Okay?”

Giselle groaned. She had avoided Gerbil for this exact reason. Being one of Willet’s bootlicking goons, she tried to climb the ranks by accepting shitty tasks and punishments. The quintessential blueprint for a people pleaser, teacher’s pet, and model employee of every greedy company deeming easy-to-exploit people business opportunities. Giselle despised these people. They reminded her of her mom. Always trying to conform to the bland expectation and delight everyone else while forgetting about her own opinions, dreams, and personality. “Thanks.”

“Then I will see you later,” Gerbil stated before leaving. Giselle’s kidnappers had still not revealed themselves, but Gerbil was not one. Or, at least, not an organizer. Giselle rested her pained head on the pillow, hoping to regain her strength for the selection tests.



After lunch, Giselle read the long list of animal names. One of the black minibusses transferred her to test 3B in the old factory, her third of the day. It felt like being back in school to follow monotonous routines some uninspired grown-ups had designed. She could not choose what to do, and the breaks were short.

The objective of the first test had been to fool a lie detector. Everyone was fastened to a wooden armchair resembling an electric chair. The leather strips around their limps and face were redundant, but this camp added restraints whenever possible. Of course, Eight had beaten the machine. Giselle had had more trouble, confusing the poor operator by stressing her out and making the needle do jumping jacks. Eight casually told her she was named Dave, two years old, loved buying copies of War and Peace, and her favorite food was uncooked rice. Her heart rate, sweat generation, and other stress symptoms remained constant. Somehow, she convinced herself her bullshit was the truth, so her body did not register the lies.

The second test should have been right up Giselle’s alley: rock climbing against the factory’s walls. She had been in a bouldering club in 7th and 8th grade and adored the 70 feet of straight-up concrete with tiny plastic grips. Willet had honored her request. On the contrary, the commanders punished Tarantula’s and Red Deer’s allies. A small, freckled boy, a long-distance runner, disliked heights. Bulldog had to pull almost twice as much weight up as everyone else. The main competition was Ibex, a climber from Utah. Two other boys were skinny and long and had potential.

Only, Spy Camp being Spy Camp, the goal had not been to be the fastest or climb the most difficult routes. Nope. They had one exploration climb before estimating the length of the shortest chains between their wrists and ankles they could scale the wall with. “It is all about your limits and self-knowledge,” Ithaca had explained. “The shorter the cuffs you use, the better. But if you fail or fall, your score will be 0. One chance. That’s all. Choose wisely.”

Giselle had played safe, selecting a tiny 2-inch chain between her ankles and 30 between her wrists. The grips were good enough to pull herself up with one hand, and she could rest them often. 20 inches would have been sufficient, but at least she topped, earning second place. Ibex had won with the same strategy but only needed 26 inches between his wrists. “If only I dared,” Giselle had complained to herself, despising herself for not even being able to win her own test. The one she had chosen. Her test.

Now, Tarantula and Red Deer awaited her in a cool underground room. Hanover stood in front of covered boxes and a male counselor named Gainesville. Giselle sat down in the back and waited on Bulldog, Hedgehog, and a girl named Caracal, all opponents of the commanders. This had to be another attempt to attack the resistance. Why had Giselle been added? Was this their revenge for not voting for them during the recall? Willet gave Giselle mixed signals.

“Fox, they hate you too now?” Hedgehog joked. “Welcome to the squad.” She was also uneasy. The odd composition of players made everyone wonder.

“Well, at least one of us will win something,” Red added, turning her head to Giselle in the back. “At least I can win, so please don’t ruin it. My odds can’t be worse than a strength competition.”

“And someone will lose again,” Tara decried. “What about not playing this seriously? Make a deal? We ain’t playing for anything anymore anyway.”

“Except her,” Hedgehog commented, tilting her head to Giselle. “She got second and third place already.”

“I got a name, you know?” Giselle sneered from a distance, killing the conversation. Hedgehog had kept working on her nerves. She kept down-talking Giselle in groups subtly, perceiving she was the least popular and thus an easy target.

The rest watched her, not knowing what to say, so Hanover decided she should start explaining the horrors awaiting the group. “The commanders decided your commitment should be tested. Your ability to sacrifice yourself and work for the greater good. You should be able to make difficult decisions in every situation and dare to face the consequences of your brave actions. As such, you will face your fears in the upcoming two hours. Show you are not scared. You will be judged on how challenging you make it for yourself and how much control and panic you show.”

Giselle balled her fists. Had she not proven herself the day prior? Did she have to go through this shit again?

The six categories were, to her surprise, not “hanging tied upside down” and “mummification.” Nope, they were “height,” “public speaking,” “water,” “scorpions,” “spiders,” and “snakes.” Only Giselle preferred them over bondage bullshit. Public speaking did not scare her, having taken part in many videos. Heights were an old friend. Interacting with the animals seemed fun and fascinating. They only strike when stressed, so one has to avoid sudden movements and give them a way out. Water made Giselle question herself, but it would not be worse than caving or swimming inside an old water tower.

She randomly filled in her form to assign the categories to her competitors, only assuring Hedgehog got water. She waited as Hanover did the math, and to her surprise, Giselle had to do public speaking. Had they forgotten she won the video game the day prior? Or had her awkward performance been believable?

Tara roped Red to a bench, and Gainesville placed a fat scorpion on her bare leg. Then Hanover lifted her shirt, exposing her belly, and moved the little fella to it. For points, the blonde-haired tried to relax, but she could not convey success. “Close your eyes,” Hanover urged the bound girl, who had to watch the deadly stinger sit on her skin. She had dared herself to do so. Her icy-blue eyes closed as Gainesville let the black beasts sit on her arm and face.

Giselle had to applaud her for taking the game seriously and for her internal strength. She did not want to look weak or knew that failing now would instantly disqualify her. Then the commanders had a solid argument she could not be trusted or in charge. They had picked these players to exclude a few enemies. There would be no winners.

When it was Giselle’s turn, she gave the yellow ball python one last neck scratch (she loved petting the gentle little boy) as Hanover started a projector and told Giselle to “go along with the slides, be energetic and positive, and convince them she was having a good time.”

“Sure, whatever,” Giselle had replied before faking a smile and turning around to see the presentation’s title: “Why I love hogties: Practical ideas to make them more intense.” She remembered what a hogtie was and cursed to herself.
Last edited by Beaumains 7 months ago, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Caesar73 »

Brillant part again - let us hope that Giselle´s trials are finished soon. She deserves some rest and better treatment.

I like the theme for the spontaneous speech in the end. I wonder if Giselle will be convincing enough not to be punished again .....
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Post by GreyLord »

This is outstanding, [mention]Beaumains[/mention], Giselle seems so real. I, too, hope that she gets better treatment.
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Post by Beaumains »

Caesar73 wrote: 9 months ago Brillant part again - let us hope that Giselle´s trials are finished soon. She deserves some rest and better treatment.

I like the theme for the spontaneous speech in the end. I wonder if Giselle will be convincing enough not to be punished again .....
Thanks a lot for the kind words. The tests do not have punishments (although you might be tied up during them). It is only to rank the campers and see who should do the risky, important tasks during the main mission.

I was not going to expand much on the public speaking dare, but as you might expect, Giselle would end up hogtied at the end for a demonstration ;). If I am writing out every little bondage scene, the story would progress even slower than it is now. The next chapter will contain (finally) some more exposition on Giselle.
GreyLord wrote: 9 months ago This is outstanding, [mention]Beaumains[/mention], Giselle seems so real. I, too, hope that she gets better treatment.
Thanks a lot! That is some high praise.
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Post by Caesar73 »

Beaumains wrote: 9 months ago
Caesar73 wrote: 9 months ago Brillant part again - let us hope that Giselle´s trials are finished soon. She deserves some rest and better treatment.

I like the theme for the spontaneous speech in the end. I wonder if Giselle will be convincing enough not to be punished again .....
Thanks a lot for the kind words. The tests do not have punishments (although you might be tied up during them). It is only to rank the campers and see who should do the risky, important tasks during the main mission.
I really wonder what Giselles place in the final ranking will be : Last, dead last - or on top? :)
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Post by Mineira1986 »

Now that's some topic to give a public speech.
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Avoiding Washington’s eyes in the elevator, Giselle went to the top floor with him and Ithaca, who still had to be in college. After finishing her desert, Ithaca approached her, saying they “needed to talk.” Giselle blocked her mind out. She despised these meetings and opposed Ithaca for betraying her during her bondage introduction. She was already exhausted from four stressful tests, of which she had won none, making her a loser. The commanders had already selected three sub-commanders and were preparing the missions. They had not even selected her for a strategy or leadership-based test.

In the CEO’s office, Washington had a typical brown oaken desk, expensive chair, and full bookcases behind him, all unread. He sat down, and Ithaca and Giselle took simple steel stacking chairs with ugly red cushions opposite him.

“Giselle, how are you doing?” was his opening. Uncreative, so Giselle had anticipated the question. The first word, being called Giselle instead of Swift Fox, surprised her. This would be a serious conversation.

“Fine,” Giselle replied. The question was no courtesy, so good was not expected. The truth was neither. “Okay,” was a middle ground to show her continued resistance.

“Good, good. It’s great to see you interact with everyone, especially befriending Spider Octopus. You’ve made quite the impression. Your performances in the games, missions, and tests are all well above average. That’s exceptional for your first week. Congratulations. I expect you will make an impact during the mission tomorrow.”

Giselle nodded, too proud to say “thank you.” She was familiar with psychologists and therapists. They complimented you and made you feel safe before slapping her face and telling her what to do. Speaking as if their truth was absolute, and they understood her complex emotions. Thus, after Ithaca’s proposition, she mentally dug herself in.

“You are adjusting well too. We threw much onto you, considering you have never experienced bondage before. You’re handling it heroically so far.”

Washington’s slow voice was almost pedagogic like an older teacher, and Giselle nodded again. Her mind drifted off as the words left his mouth. She was barely listening.

“Thus, your performance is no reason to summon you,” the man in his late forties continued. With his short black hair and white shirt, he resembled a young, hopeful politician, Wallstreet gambler, or FBI agent. “An old friend wrote you a letter and single-handedly pushed me to invite you to this camp.”

Washington handed her an unsealed envelope containing a long handwritten letter. The handwriting told her old friend was at least not her father, mother, or one of her two older brothers. Curious but not excited, Giselle expected a psychological trap. She began to read as two pairs of eyes probed her face.

Hey! Giselle!

I hope you’re doing well, although I know you’re kicking ass at Spy Camp. Four years ago, I did not help out at a summer camp in Vermont but went there. I was average, lacking the talent you have for many, and I mean many, classical Spy Camp activities and missions. Having seen you grow up, this is the truth.

Years ago, we were neighbors. When you recovered from that nasty disease and regained stamina, a bright, ever-inquisitive young girl played in your back garden. Soon, I was 12, and you were 8. I babysat you, which was actually fun. At first, I thought a movie or letting you do your thing at the playground across the street was sufficient. I was wrong. It bored you. Instead, every tree had to be climbed, and each corner of our city explored. I loved it because your energy was contagious. The world was your playground. Everything that could be entered should be entered, and you had to know what was behind every wall and on every roof.

You were marvelous. Soon, I did not mind having you around when hanging out with my friends, who you all influenced. Without you, we wouldn’t have gotten into urban exploring. From the burned-out farm at Louisa Lane, we drove to an old train station, hotel, or warehouse for hours. This turned into WeWentThere. Being masked, exploring, filming, and staying in these weird and wonderful places changed my life and made Washington invite me to Spy Camp.

WeWentThere grew, and we monetized the channel: ads, sponsorships, and merch. We all got addicted to the numbers, but not you. You never cared about fame or money, being only pushed by a draw to adventure, pushing yourself, and creating the best content possible. You were pure, and we, and the viewers saw and appreciated that. You made us remain in shitty hotel rooms (our complaints made better videos) and made fun of Tyler wearing that golden watch.

Rewatching the old stuff, I see you worked so hard and were devoted to going further than necessary, all for the channel. You spent many evenings on Google Earth, broken sites with historical records, and obscure blogs to find every interesting abandoned place in a 200-mile radius. You came up with plenty of our best ideas and formats: sleepovers, surprise locations, laser tag, and hide-and-seek. In the latter, you always won, forcing us to put you in the brightest clothes to stand a chance.

You were younger, small for your age, very energetic, and adventurous. We often bought costumes to make you even more adorable, and despite your disapproval, you always went along. Your determination and ability to go through hell for a minute of footage were unmatched. You were the butt of the jokes and in the sketchiest positions in the sketchiest places imaginable. You were part of the channel’s identity, which our audience knew. Rereading the comments made me realize you were perhaps our most beloved member.

Then, when I finished high school, all of us, save for you, had all the freedom in the world. For work, we could go anywhere. We were so excited about being adults and done with school. As our channel exploded, we could afford to go anywhere. We saw most states, Europe, Asia, and much more. Jason and Muriel went to college, but with five of us, we still felt like a team.

However, in all our excitement, we forgot you. You started high school and were too young to travel. You were angry, defeated, and things were said that shouldn’t. We continued, lying to ourselves you were young and naive and had done nothing for the channel. You edited only some shorter videos and did not deal with sponsors or anything financial. Our own desires blinded us: You were essential.

Moreover, we should at least have considered you. Your best friends ditched you. You had no true friends your age, and the relationship with your family was strained, to put it mildly. You took the hit yourself and made no online public mess. You blocked us and took all the pain yourself. We should never let this happen.

Instead, we lost touch. We missed how your anger and loneliness made your mental health deteriorate. If we heard anything about you, we did not blame ourselves. You should have been shining in high school and having the time of your life, but then I hear your grades worsen, you quit clubs and sports teams, get in trouble, and hang out with groups you shouldn’t, not that I blame you. A 15-year-old should not attend those raucous parties nor hang out and drink multiple evenings a week with shady people.

I miss you, Giselle, honestly. I know you have changed and are no longer that young girl, but she still has to be somewhere inside you, and I hope that Spy Camp makes you rediscover her. Having witnessed your anger last Easter, the determination is still there, and I hope you turn it into positivity instead of resentment.

I hope to speak soon,
Antoinette


Giselle put the letter down and glared at Washington. He was unsure what to make out of: Was Giselle angry? Relieved? She kept her face straight.

Washington chose to run a smile over his face. “Take your time. Reread it if you please. It will stay here. Ask Ithaca or me if you want to revisit it later, okay?”

Giselle did not move her face.

“Ithaca knows about your situation and is open to talking to you if you desire so. We have no licensed therapists here, but you don’t talk to them. So that’s no problem. As I said, you are doing great so far, and I see all the qualities your friends mentioned of you. No pressure, but I expect you to make your mark on tomorrow’s mission somehow. The best of luck.”

“Thank you,” Giselle spoke politely. She stood up and left the room, needing time alone to think. Not that Antoinette’s kind words changed anything – it had taken her years to see the damage she caused – but how to deal with the situation. A voice inside wanted her to prove Antoinette wrong and show her worst side. She was not her babysitter but patronizing. An egocentric parasite who now wanted to reconnect while making millions every year. It was good she at least remembered who created those viral moments.

Unfortunately, Giselle had to act fast, and the thundercloud on her face turned into a precious smile when she opened the door: Eight was sitting outside. “Hey,” she said, hiding an expensive iPhone behind her hands.

“Hey,” Giselle responded as the actress handed the phone to Ithaca. She had not been allowed one. Her gaze followed the gate to the outside.

“It’s not what it seems,” Eight peddled back. “It’s work only. Sorry, my agent did not want me to post anything on my socials for 6 weeks. I also wished to have nothing to do with the outside world for once, like you.”
Last edited by Beaumains 9 months ago, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Caesar73 »

Very intriguing I must say: That look back into Giselle´s past. We learn whom Giselle has to thank for the invitation to Spy Camp. That Letter sheds light how Giselle became the Giselle she is now. That letter alone makes this a fantastic read. Honestly I don´t percieve Antoinette´s Intentions. She wants Giselle to rediscover the younger Giselle again - but to what purpose? She wants to contact Giselle again soon.

That Antoinette wants to make some form of atonements I do get. Seems all a bit mysterious to me. To exaggerate: Antoinette made Millions thanks to Giselle and all Giselle got is an invitation to Spy Camp .... Quite the atonement imho :)
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Post by Lucky Lottie »

Just caught up with this story. Enjoying it heaps, keep up the good work.

It's good to see our protagonist getting some back story, I genuinely feel for her.
In her natural habitat is:
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-Obedient when cuddled
-Cheeky when gagged
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