DP010.
Exiting the bathroom I almost strangle Carmen, who clearly isn't used to heels so stupidly tall.
Stopping to scan the shadowed crowd, people moving to and fro in the clubs dim lighting. I pick left because why not and set off, only to feel my arm jerked, wrenched, backwards as Carmen stumbles.
Only saved from falling by my tight hold on the hoop of her collar.
My- old -collar.
But Plymouth doesn't wear one, not unless the script calls for it. Somehow the wiring in my brain has been crossed and changed. Carmen wishing I'd own her, just for one night whilst we stood locked in the tiny stall together, me still helpless and her fingers inside my pussy.
For some reason her words threw a lever, activating the bondage porn star inside and burying Brooke the rope craving sub slut.
Plymouth, playing a role: the super Domme. Because that's what Carmen desired.
Turning I find Carmen straightening.
"Okay?" Voice hard though. Domme.
"Ffggsssddd."
"Good." Wearing only thigh high black lace up boots, those heels, Carmen looks good enough to eat. I let a grin flash across my face, leaning in to whisper in her ear.
"If you break your neck then how am I supposed to truss you up and fuck you later."
Stepping back. Carmen's eyes wide, she nods, once, slow.
I nod back, turn to face front again. Carry on. Slowly though, and keeping a firm grip on her collar hoop.
Mostly so she doesn't wind up getting stolen.
Which, because this themed club night, Hell, is a place where anything goes, is a distinct possibility unless I remain in charge.
Of her.
Two stops to make before I can walk a naked Carmen to her car outside, take her back to a place with a bed and lots of rope.
First.
Deborah.
Whose eyes go wide as I step closer, emerging from the shadows for her just as she is for me.
She's stood, still wearing the too short dress and ring gag, behind a chair. There are a half dozen tables in one corner of the bar, another grouping across the far side. The redhead who took Deborah is sat in the chair, drink in front of her, another thirty something lady- jeans and a pink tee not head to toe latex -sat opposite.
A rope through Deborah's collar hoop is tied off to the chair back, tethering her in place.
Having already swung to collect mine and her leads I've already connected one to Carmen, the end of which I'm holding in one fisted hand.
Stopping beside the redhead I cross my arms beneath canon like F cups.
Standing just inside her personal space on purpose I keep silent, not even looking at her.
Waiting.
"Yes?" Annoyed, slamming her drink down. I suppress a grin.
Shrug and use a serious tone.
"That's mine." Waving towards Deborah.
"Yeah?" I glance down, find her looking up at me, glance of her own at Carmen. Drooling again.
The redhead smiles.
"Seems you've already got one."
"So." Not smiling back. I throw Plymouth the Domme, those times I've tied a girl up and owned them for a shoot, into it. Take a breath.
"You fighting me on this?" Another glance down at her. Down, the power here is mine. I crack a smile, brief. Drop it. "Do I need to add you to the pile too?"
Risky, though right now I'm too in the zone to care. Calling her out.
And if she rises, I could.
No.
It isn't in the script.
We have a stare off. Eyes locked, gaze boring into gaze.
As the other lady quietly gets up, leaves.
Bystanders escaping before a gun fight.
And then she, the redhead, smiles. Laughs.
"You know." Nodding. "Attitude smoking off you right now I'm almost tempted to let you take me too." She stands, I just about manage not to flinch.
Manage by throwing myself even deeper into the role.
Domme.
Fuck the script.
"What makes you think I couldn't?" Bold, unzipping her latex one piece and sliding a hand inside, finding no bra, just the barely contained swell of her D cups.
Cocky smile dropping off the redheads face as I squeeze her breast. Something like indecision flitting, there then gone. Biting her lip.
And the Domme in me rises, out of my control now, rolling over her.
"Rope."
"Huh?"
"Rope." Giving her nipple a hard pinch. Focus. "Go and fetch me rope."
"Oh."
Looking from me to Carmen, who moans. Back to me.
She steps back. Flees.
I shrug.
Turn my attention to Deborah.
Who watches silently, staying still, as I remove and swap out the rope for her lead.
Domme mode, and Deborah so obviously a slave, a slut, that I roll over her too.
And her not fighting, protesting. Deborah does nothing more then moan at me, softly, as I clip the lead onto her collar hoop.
Leaning in I lick across her forced wide lips, like a kiss.
Turn around to find the redhead, back despite she knows what I'll do to her now.
Holding out a backpack.
"From my car. Um...." Fidgeting on the spot as I pull out a red leather armbinder.
"I'm Lis-"
"No." Overriding her, shake of my head. "Not tonight you aren't."
"Right." Quick shiver across her body. "What will you-"
"Whatever I want." Interrupting again. "Yes?"
"Y." Another shiver as I stalk around behind her. But she moves both arms around back, wriggling them into the sleeve.
Complying.
"Yes."
"Good." Buckling the sleeve across her upper chest, finding a wide and ridged black leather posture collar, lead already clipped on. Fitting that to her too.
A ballgag, but not before claiming her with a long forceful kiss, another hard grope of both D cups, pulling her one piece open to permanently expose them.
Taking up all three leads in one fist, the redheads backpack slung over my shoulders.
Onwards. All three girls trailing me in various states of bondage and undress.
Feeling power bubbling away inside, running wild.
Feeling un fucking stoppable.
Next. Alice.
Who I find still strapped to the cross, naked but alone. Abandoned.
Making things easier.
Alice's keys are dangling around my neck. Using one I unlock Deborah's gag, removing and tossing it away not caring where it lands.
I just need the padlock.
"B?" Licking her lips and working her jaw, Deborah, looking at me as Carmen and the redhead stand close by, eyes on the crowd, flitting to us and Alice, back.
"Plymouth." Shaking my head and reaching out to pull Deborah's dress straps down, exposing rounded D cups. "Are you going to be good?"
"I." Wriggling her cuffed wrists. Looking from her chest to the lead I'm holding, to my serious face.
Deborah shivers.
"Yes." Voice quiet, a small nod. And I see it in her eyes. My Domme of old, surrendering willingly.
To me.
"For you." Giving my cheek a small kiss. "Always."
In response I kiss her back, thrusting my tongue into her mouth. Attacking. Leaving us both breathless by the time I pull away.
Turning my attention to Alice, using the small padlock on her ballgag.
After which I free her from the cross, wait a moment as she stretches, shaking out limbs locked too long in one place.
"You keep up," getting in her face, so close my breasts are pressed into hers, "or I'll abandon you here. Got it." Licking my lips, savouring the word. "Slut."
"Mmmffdddggg." Alice nods, eyes fogged and lost. I'm not even sure she knows it's me.
Forget that, for all she owned the crap out of Deborah and me, Alice has a submissive streak a mile wide.
From Alice's clothes I snag her car key. And from her car I snag her bag.
Then we all troop to Carmen's car, which turns out to be a tiny white Ford hatchback with no back doors.
Finding a thick roll of black tape in Alice's bag I bind her, ankles together and wrists behind, more tape above and below her small chest. Throughout she stands still, letting me.
The cold night air bringing goosebumps to all four girls exposed skin, causing nipples to bud and pop out.
None of them complains.
Opening doors I fold down the back seats, remove the shelf and slide it into the footwell.
Carmen climbs into the now larger boot, laying herself down, wriggling across to one side as I manhandle Alice in beside her, the two girls sharing the slightly cramped space.
Becoming smaller still as Deborah, and then the redhead, both half climb half collapse in too. Carmen's boot is now just a mass of wriggling bound limbs, of pale and tanned flesh.
Carmen, already laid astride Deborah, legs bracketing and chest pressed to chest.
Beside them the redhead has Alice pinned, both pairs dryhumping. Moaning.
Deborah, the only one not gagged, rolling Carmen off her, pushing and fighting and struggling her way across and around, finding the redheads pussy.
Licking.
Whilst Alice presses herself against Carmen, the two of them rubbing gags.
Grinning, I close the boot.
And by the time I'm belted into the drivers seat, engine running, they've switched again.
Bags on the front passenger seat I drop the gearstick into first.
Move off.
Plymouth and Deborah (MF+/F+) *FINISHED*
-
BlissfulMisery
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 288
- Joined: 2 years ago
Fair enough - certainly you are correct that *something* had to happen lest the story dead-end.
I see what you meant - it seems Plymouth is gathering a whole collection for herself
Might be a bit hard to manage, although she seems to be doing fine so far
Was a bit surprised the redhead was not doing more with Deborah, given that she seemed to have arranged the situation with Alice (or perhaps not). Had expected a bit more of a 'rescue' from Plymouth. Not a complaint, just not what I thought would happen.
Did! Interested to see where it will go from here.
DP011.
Alice's penthouse.
Riding the lift up feeling like king of the fucking world.
Still firmly in the zone.
Carmen and the redhead, probably she was trying to say Lisa? Stood in a corner, heads bowed.
Alice beside them, tape removed but still locked into a ballgag, still naked. She could run, but.
Where would she go?
And she could, I suppose, fight me.
Except I'd eat her for breakfast, and her submissive stance. Still. Waiting all three of them waiting.
She knows.
I've got Deborah pinned back against the lift wall as we rise, as the others wait like good sluts. Kissing as she arches her back, pressing breasts against mine. Hers exposed, mine not.
She's being good too.
I've rolled over all four of them: two girls who've Dommed the shit out of me, two who are strangers. Right now they all belong to me.
The lift pings.
We enter the penthouse.
I divide and conquer.
Just inside the door, where most people would have hooks to hang coats or hats, Alice has four large metal hoops bolted to the wall, a long length of rope looped and loosely tied through each.
One hoop for Carmen, another for Deborah. Each rope passed through their collar hoop, tied off. Pinning both girls in place.
Alice gets the third hoop. No collar, but I use the long rope to bind her wrists at her back.
Lisa, watching me work, all three gagged ladies moaning softly.
"Open wide."
Holding the ballgag topped head harness up in front of Deborah. Not asking, my tone hadn't made the words a question please would you.
Deborah's eyes flick from me to the gag, down to her collar.
She's never been my submissive. And time was she'd have our roles reversed as easily as making eye contact. It'd only take her five minutes to strip and collar and bind me.
And time was I'd welcome it, from Deborah or Alice. From any of the four in honesty. They rise, I roll, and now I'm tethered to the hallway hoop.
But.
Dropping her gaze, opening her mouth.
Not tonight.
With Deborah silenced I lead Lisa away, into the spare bedroom.
Unbuckling and loosening the laces on her armbinder sleeve, pulling it off her but leaving the gag in place.
Leaving her full body latex and leather outfit on, it's unzipped anyway, so, I can see.
"No." Shaking my head as Lisa's eyes find the open cage, looking from it to me. "Up on the bed."
A single nod and she climbs up, laying down in the centre, assuming the position.
Which isn't hard to figure out. Double bed, only you. Of course you're being splayed out in the centre.
I use the already there leather cuffs and underbed chain system, something both Deborah and me are intimately familiar with.
One cuff per limb, buckled and padlocked on snugly, after which each chain ratchets slowly in, tugging each limb tighter, Lisa's breathing quickening as she feels and hears the gears clanking, her arms and legs being eased towards the corner posts regardless of whether she wants them there.
Next.
Carmen.
Who I hogtie, not too severely since I don't know her level. And despite being in full Domme mode I'm not such a bitch as to trample all over someone's limits.
In the spare room next to the bed, Lisa looking on, I remove her thigh high boots and cuffs, her collar, then use rope to bind wrists behind and ankles side by side.
Helping her lay down on the carpet I complete to tie, leaving some slack, enough she could struggle around the whole penthouse, should she want.
"Now...." Laying down beside her, hand tracing long nails down from neck to pussy, snagging a nipple on the way.
Carmen, moaning, slow blinking and drooling.
"What was it I promised?"
Trailing my nails back up to scratch gently at her nipple. She moans, pushing her chest at me.
I grin.
And ten minutes later stand up, still grinning as Carmen fights to control and slow her breathing, her body sweating and shaking in the aftermath of its second quick-fire orgasm. I'd been merciless, finger fucking her in a fast slow fast change up even whilst alternating kisses to her gag with attention to her nipples.
Whispered threats and promises I had no intention of fulfilling but that nonetheless served to get her off. Making up bondage shit, telling her just what I'd be doing to her over the coming days, because she was mine, and I wasn't going to be freeing her after all.
All lies of course. I promised, tonight only.
But she clearly enjoyed the fantasy.
Winking at Lisa, now looking quite frustrated to be still chained up, ignored. I leave.
Returning moments later with Alice, who I lock in mine and Deborah's cage.
But not before using a crotch rope to pin remote controlled internal vibrators in each girls pussy.
Plus, once she's caged, I use metal cuffs to bind Alice into a frontal hogtie.
I hand out the remotes at random, with luck not giving anybody their own.
And leave.
"Alone at last."
"Ffggmmmmm ddgggpphh."
I cock my head, smiling at the beginnings of getting louder moans I can just about hear as Deborah stands before me.
Looking really cute and super fuckable.
Thigh high black boots with stupid crazy heels and a white dress too short, the front pulled down to expose her enhanced D cups.
Perfect and round and firm.
Black thick messy mohawk even worse for the full leather head harness gag, the red ball filling her mouth.
Wrists cuffed at her back, snug collar fixed around her neck.
Deborah's eyes half lidded, like arousal as she looks at me.
"Want to go to bed?"
"Ffggmmm." A nod, flexing her shoulders, her chest pushing forwards.
I untangle the rope from her collar hoop, unclip the lead, letting both drop to the floor.
Expecting her to walk on to the bedroom.
Instead Deborah steps closer to me, rubs at my arm with her breasts. Looks at me.
"Ffgggpppmmm."
Completely fallen. There's, right now, nothing but submissive surrender in her.
I slip two fingers through the collar hoop, Deborah moans softly, takes a half step back and gently tugs her body away. Moaning again as my arm stays firm, not allowing her to budge.
I walk, Deborah following obediently behind, being led.
In the bedroom, Alice's bedroom, the master, I unlock and toss the cuffs.
Watch as Deborah removes her dress and boots, stripping too. Enjoying the wide eyed look as she glances up to discover me naked and standing with crossed arms.
But instead of lunging for me Deborah lays down along one side of the king sized four poster, arms above her legs together.
A position we've both assumed for Alice and Steph numerous times. Tied down for a few hours or all night.
Teasing, I bind her in place by way of straddling her body. Pussy in her face as I reach down to tie off the ankles. Breasts mashing Deborah's gagged lips as I lean in, binding her wrists to the headboard.
Stretching her out.
Scooting under the bed to tie off wrist and ankle ropes, yanking both hard, merciless and smiling as I hear Deborah moan, knowing she's being forced tight, her muscles pulled taut.
Standing, looming and looking down as she looks up. Nipples erect. Stomach flat, inked kraken reaching all over her perfect nakedness.
"Fffgggmmmmmmgggggpppphhhgmm."
One long moan, no doubt drooling too, as I trace small kisses in a line down from wrist to toes, across one nipple, teasingly close to her slit.
Standing again, eye contact. Deborah slow blinks as I feel the electric jolt run through me, how fucking perfect she is.
"Don't wait up." Teasing, bending to kiss her gagged lips as I pull the duvet up, covering her to the neck.
"Ffdddmmmgg." Soft, like a sigh.
When I turn at the door, look back. Deborah's eyes are on me.
In the spare room all three girls are somewhat of a mess. Drool splattered down necks and across breasts. Panting. Sweating.
I lean in the doorway for five minutes, watching as another climax races across them all.
Then I free Lisa and Carmen, because I've had my fun, and I promised at least one of them.
Plus.
"You'll give her a lift back," at the penthouse front door, Carmen fully clothed in her jeans and a spare tee I found, Lisa zipped back up, "right?"
"Sure." Carmen nods at me. Smiles.
I smile back, watch them both into the lift.
Close and lock the door behind them.
Alice, no longer gagged or cuffed, is still locked away in the cage. Sleeping. Where she can stay.
Sitting on the sofa, still naked drinking a glass of water. Feeling my Domme urges beginning to wane, to shrink, now that Carmen's gone.
Because it had, basically, all been at her behest.
Leaning back I lift up the empty glass, staring through it. Trying to sort out what it is I want now?
Alice's penthouse.
Riding the lift up feeling like king of the fucking world.
Still firmly in the zone.
Carmen and the redhead, probably she was trying to say Lisa? Stood in a corner, heads bowed.
Alice beside them, tape removed but still locked into a ballgag, still naked. She could run, but.
Where would she go?
And she could, I suppose, fight me.
Except I'd eat her for breakfast, and her submissive stance. Still. Waiting all three of them waiting.
She knows.
I've got Deborah pinned back against the lift wall as we rise, as the others wait like good sluts. Kissing as she arches her back, pressing breasts against mine. Hers exposed, mine not.
She's being good too.
I've rolled over all four of them: two girls who've Dommed the shit out of me, two who are strangers. Right now they all belong to me.
The lift pings.
We enter the penthouse.
I divide and conquer.
Just inside the door, where most people would have hooks to hang coats or hats, Alice has four large metal hoops bolted to the wall, a long length of rope looped and loosely tied through each.
One hoop for Carmen, another for Deborah. Each rope passed through their collar hoop, tied off. Pinning both girls in place.
Alice gets the third hoop. No collar, but I use the long rope to bind her wrists at her back.
Lisa, watching me work, all three gagged ladies moaning softly.
"Open wide."
Holding the ballgag topped head harness up in front of Deborah. Not asking, my tone hadn't made the words a question please would you.
Deborah's eyes flick from me to the gag, down to her collar.
She's never been my submissive. And time was she'd have our roles reversed as easily as making eye contact. It'd only take her five minutes to strip and collar and bind me.
And time was I'd welcome it, from Deborah or Alice. From any of the four in honesty. They rise, I roll, and now I'm tethered to the hallway hoop.
But.
Dropping her gaze, opening her mouth.
Not tonight.
With Deborah silenced I lead Lisa away, into the spare bedroom.
Unbuckling and loosening the laces on her armbinder sleeve, pulling it off her but leaving the gag in place.
Leaving her full body latex and leather outfit on, it's unzipped anyway, so, I can see.
"No." Shaking my head as Lisa's eyes find the open cage, looking from it to me. "Up on the bed."
A single nod and she climbs up, laying down in the centre, assuming the position.
Which isn't hard to figure out. Double bed, only you. Of course you're being splayed out in the centre.
I use the already there leather cuffs and underbed chain system, something both Deborah and me are intimately familiar with.
One cuff per limb, buckled and padlocked on snugly, after which each chain ratchets slowly in, tugging each limb tighter, Lisa's breathing quickening as she feels and hears the gears clanking, her arms and legs being eased towards the corner posts regardless of whether she wants them there.
Next.
Carmen.
Who I hogtie, not too severely since I don't know her level. And despite being in full Domme mode I'm not such a bitch as to trample all over someone's limits.
In the spare room next to the bed, Lisa looking on, I remove her thigh high boots and cuffs, her collar, then use rope to bind wrists behind and ankles side by side.
Helping her lay down on the carpet I complete to tie, leaving some slack, enough she could struggle around the whole penthouse, should she want.
"Now...." Laying down beside her, hand tracing long nails down from neck to pussy, snagging a nipple on the way.
Carmen, moaning, slow blinking and drooling.
"What was it I promised?"
Trailing my nails back up to scratch gently at her nipple. She moans, pushing her chest at me.
I grin.
And ten minutes later stand up, still grinning as Carmen fights to control and slow her breathing, her body sweating and shaking in the aftermath of its second quick-fire orgasm. I'd been merciless, finger fucking her in a fast slow fast change up even whilst alternating kisses to her gag with attention to her nipples.
Whispered threats and promises I had no intention of fulfilling but that nonetheless served to get her off. Making up bondage shit, telling her just what I'd be doing to her over the coming days, because she was mine, and I wasn't going to be freeing her after all.
All lies of course. I promised, tonight only.
But she clearly enjoyed the fantasy.
Winking at Lisa, now looking quite frustrated to be still chained up, ignored. I leave.
Returning moments later with Alice, who I lock in mine and Deborah's cage.
But not before using a crotch rope to pin remote controlled internal vibrators in each girls pussy.
Plus, once she's caged, I use metal cuffs to bind Alice into a frontal hogtie.
I hand out the remotes at random, with luck not giving anybody their own.
And leave.
"Alone at last."
"Ffggmmmmm ddgggpphh."
I cock my head, smiling at the beginnings of getting louder moans I can just about hear as Deborah stands before me.
Looking really cute and super fuckable.
Thigh high black boots with stupid crazy heels and a white dress too short, the front pulled down to expose her enhanced D cups.
Perfect and round and firm.
Black thick messy mohawk even worse for the full leather head harness gag, the red ball filling her mouth.
Wrists cuffed at her back, snug collar fixed around her neck.
Deborah's eyes half lidded, like arousal as she looks at me.
"Want to go to bed?"
"Ffggmmm." A nod, flexing her shoulders, her chest pushing forwards.
I untangle the rope from her collar hoop, unclip the lead, letting both drop to the floor.
Expecting her to walk on to the bedroom.
Instead Deborah steps closer to me, rubs at my arm with her breasts. Looks at me.
"Ffgggpppmmm."
Completely fallen. There's, right now, nothing but submissive surrender in her.
I slip two fingers through the collar hoop, Deborah moans softly, takes a half step back and gently tugs her body away. Moaning again as my arm stays firm, not allowing her to budge.
I walk, Deborah following obediently behind, being led.
In the bedroom, Alice's bedroom, the master, I unlock and toss the cuffs.
Watch as Deborah removes her dress and boots, stripping too. Enjoying the wide eyed look as she glances up to discover me naked and standing with crossed arms.
But instead of lunging for me Deborah lays down along one side of the king sized four poster, arms above her legs together.
A position we've both assumed for Alice and Steph numerous times. Tied down for a few hours or all night.
Teasing, I bind her in place by way of straddling her body. Pussy in her face as I reach down to tie off the ankles. Breasts mashing Deborah's gagged lips as I lean in, binding her wrists to the headboard.
Stretching her out.
Scooting under the bed to tie off wrist and ankle ropes, yanking both hard, merciless and smiling as I hear Deborah moan, knowing she's being forced tight, her muscles pulled taut.
Standing, looming and looking down as she looks up. Nipples erect. Stomach flat, inked kraken reaching all over her perfect nakedness.
"Fffgggmmmmmmgggggpppphhhgmm."
One long moan, no doubt drooling too, as I trace small kisses in a line down from wrist to toes, across one nipple, teasingly close to her slit.
Standing again, eye contact. Deborah slow blinks as I feel the electric jolt run through me, how fucking perfect she is.
"Don't wait up." Teasing, bending to kiss her gagged lips as I pull the duvet up, covering her to the neck.
"Ffdddmmmgg." Soft, like a sigh.
When I turn at the door, look back. Deborah's eyes are on me.
In the spare room all three girls are somewhat of a mess. Drool splattered down necks and across breasts. Panting. Sweating.
I lean in the doorway for five minutes, watching as another climax races across them all.
Then I free Lisa and Carmen, because I've had my fun, and I promised at least one of them.
Plus.
"You'll give her a lift back," at the penthouse front door, Carmen fully clothed in her jeans and a spare tee I found, Lisa zipped back up, "right?"
"Sure." Carmen nods at me. Smiles.
I smile back, watch them both into the lift.
Close and lock the door behind them.
Alice, no longer gagged or cuffed, is still locked away in the cage. Sleeping. Where she can stay.
Sitting on the sofa, still naked drinking a glass of water. Feeling my Domme urges beginning to wane, to shrink, now that Carmen's gone.
Because it had, basically, all been at her behest.
Leaning back I lift up the empty glass, staring through it. Trying to sort out what it is I want now?
DP012.
She's sleeping when I walk in. Deborah. Naked and lashed pole straight to one side of the bed, full head harness ballgag. Collared.
Working quietly, smooth and quick, I unlock the collar first, followed by the gag.
Deborah stirring, trying to move and stretch in a manner other then the one her body's forced into.
Opening her eyes, blinking in the gloom of dim light from the hallway spilling through the cracked bedroom door.
"Plymouth?"
"Me." Sliding under the covers and climbing onto her, straddling one leg either side, chest pressed to chest.
My face hovering above hers.
Smiling.
Seeing Deborah's mouth lift at the corners.
"Are you." Licking her lip, small sigh and a blink as I- unable to help myself -rub my crotch into hers. "Here for me now?"
"Yes." Reaching up to hold her hand in one of mine, my other stroking her hair. "It's just us now."
"I don't...?"
Shaking her head.
I lean in, kissing her. Gentle. Slow. Passion and want. And.
"I love you Debs." Pulling away to look her in the eyes.
"I...." Something changes behind her eyes, her body slackens, relaxing. She smiles wide. "I love you too. B."
"Come home with me."
Sometime later, lots of kisses and my fondling Deborah's breasts, feeding her mine, later.
"Tonight. Now."
"What about...?"
Unspoken, but I know.
"Fuck her." Shaking my head. "Them. You be mine and I'll be yours." Kissing. "Nothing else matters."
Deborah nods, shakes her bound body beneath me.
"Going to need to free me first B."
"I know." Stroking her breast, long nails catching the nipple, which I kiss. "Can't blame a girl for enjoying you being helpless for once though."
"Yeah?" Raised eyebrow. "Going to submit as soon as your front door's locked are you?"
"Going to even ask first?" Teasing. "Or will you just be taking me by force like usual."
"Take these ropes off and find out you sexy little rope slut." Joking, but there's a small edge to her voice which says maybe not.
Cold tingle down my spine, straight to my pussy.
I free Deborah, and together we dress in jeans and tee's, not bothering to find underwear.
I grab down my bag, and we go through the flat picking up what few things belong to Deborah that she doesn't want to abandon: her laptop, her car keys and bank card, a couple of files. A handful of clothes.
We don't leave a note, only the keys, tied to the cage bars so Alice won't accidentally kick them away in her sleep.
We leave, locking the door and posting the key back through the letterbox.
Ride the lift down.
Find Deborah's black Cooper S, toss my bag into the boot.
Drive back to mine almost in silence.
Brief moment as I lock my front door, turning to Deborah half expecting. Wanting. Her to jump me like old times.
Despite everything we've just been through the urge runs deep, close proximity to Deborah never failing to set me going.
Instead I find her, eyes downcast and wrists held out. Still at least some way in the submissive mindset herself.
"No." Stepping closer, taking her hands in mine pulling Deborah's wrists apart. Kissing her. "Come to bed with me. Please."
In my room we strip naked, climb into bed, Deborah sliding up behind one arm around my waist holding my butt against her crotch, the other loosely cupping my breast, tracing idle patterns across both.
"You could," voice soft in my ear, "tie me up. B." Hand dropping lower to rest on my pussy slit. "Own me."
"Hmmmmmm." Stretching, reaching around to find Deborah's pussy with my own fingers. Stroking. "Thought that was my line."
Just stroking, slow, gentle, for awhile.
"You." Rolling my nipple between finger and thumb. "Are such a little rope whore B."
Making me gasp, but quietly, as she slaps my now erect nipple a half dozen times. Firm yet not hard.
"I love you."
"Love you too." Leaning my head back and twisting, just from the waist up. Deborah and me kiss.
Drifting off to sleep still spooning.
She's sleeping when I walk in. Deborah. Naked and lashed pole straight to one side of the bed, full head harness ballgag. Collared.
Working quietly, smooth and quick, I unlock the collar first, followed by the gag.
Deborah stirring, trying to move and stretch in a manner other then the one her body's forced into.
Opening her eyes, blinking in the gloom of dim light from the hallway spilling through the cracked bedroom door.
"Plymouth?"
"Me." Sliding under the covers and climbing onto her, straddling one leg either side, chest pressed to chest.
My face hovering above hers.
Smiling.
Seeing Deborah's mouth lift at the corners.
"Are you." Licking her lip, small sigh and a blink as I- unable to help myself -rub my crotch into hers. "Here for me now?"
"Yes." Reaching up to hold her hand in one of mine, my other stroking her hair. "It's just us now."
"I don't...?"
Shaking her head.
I lean in, kissing her. Gentle. Slow. Passion and want. And.
"I love you Debs." Pulling away to look her in the eyes.
"I...." Something changes behind her eyes, her body slackens, relaxing. She smiles wide. "I love you too. B."
"Come home with me."
Sometime later, lots of kisses and my fondling Deborah's breasts, feeding her mine, later.
"Tonight. Now."
"What about...?"
Unspoken, but I know.
"Fuck her." Shaking my head. "Them. You be mine and I'll be yours." Kissing. "Nothing else matters."
Deborah nods, shakes her bound body beneath me.
"Going to need to free me first B."
"I know." Stroking her breast, long nails catching the nipple, which I kiss. "Can't blame a girl for enjoying you being helpless for once though."
"Yeah?" Raised eyebrow. "Going to submit as soon as your front door's locked are you?"
"Going to even ask first?" Teasing. "Or will you just be taking me by force like usual."
"Take these ropes off and find out you sexy little rope slut." Joking, but there's a small edge to her voice which says maybe not.
Cold tingle down my spine, straight to my pussy.
I free Deborah, and together we dress in jeans and tee's, not bothering to find underwear.
I grab down my bag, and we go through the flat picking up what few things belong to Deborah that she doesn't want to abandon: her laptop, her car keys and bank card, a couple of files. A handful of clothes.
We don't leave a note, only the keys, tied to the cage bars so Alice won't accidentally kick them away in her sleep.
We leave, locking the door and posting the key back through the letterbox.
Ride the lift down.
Find Deborah's black Cooper S, toss my bag into the boot.
Drive back to mine almost in silence.
Brief moment as I lock my front door, turning to Deborah half expecting. Wanting. Her to jump me like old times.
Despite everything we've just been through the urge runs deep, close proximity to Deborah never failing to set me going.
Instead I find her, eyes downcast and wrists held out. Still at least some way in the submissive mindset herself.
"No." Stepping closer, taking her hands in mine pulling Deborah's wrists apart. Kissing her. "Come to bed with me. Please."
In my room we strip naked, climb into bed, Deborah sliding up behind one arm around my waist holding my butt against her crotch, the other loosely cupping my breast, tracing idle patterns across both.
"You could," voice soft in my ear, "tie me up. B." Hand dropping lower to rest on my pussy slit. "Own me."
"Hmmmmmm." Stretching, reaching around to find Deborah's pussy with my own fingers. Stroking. "Thought that was my line."
Just stroking, slow, gentle, for awhile.
"You." Rolling my nipple between finger and thumb. "Are such a little rope whore B."
Making me gasp, but quietly, as she slaps my now erect nipple a half dozen times. Firm yet not hard.
"I love you."
"Love you too." Leaning my head back and twisting, just from the waist up. Deborah and me kiss.
Drifting off to sleep still spooning.
Amazing writing as usual 
-
BlissfulMisery
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 288
- Joined: 2 years ago
As I had suspected, quite the handful for Plymouth to deal with all of the girls at once, although she did quite well!
It was good that she 'came up for air', even if it was at the behest of someone else. Despite wanting to see it happen, have to admit, still a little sad that she 'escaped', despite it honestly probably being the best thing for her.
Now it is just Plymouth and Deborah again (funny how that is the title of the story...)
Wonder what they will get up to - it seems both are wanting to submit to the other. Perhaps they will develop some sort of switch relationship (one day on one day off?). Might be a healthier way for Brooke to get what she wants without going completely under.
Or maybe something completely different. Was just an idle thought that came while reading, certainly many ways this could go.
Interested to see where it does!
It was good that she 'came up for air', even if it was at the behest of someone else. Despite wanting to see it happen, have to admit, still a little sad that she 'escaped', despite it honestly probably being the best thing for her.
Now it is just Plymouth and Deborah again (funny how that is the title of the story...)
Wonder what they will get up to - it seems both are wanting to submit to the other. Perhaps they will develop some sort of switch relationship (one day on one day off?). Might be a healthier way for Brooke to get what she wants without going completely under.
Or maybe something completely different. Was just an idle thought that came while reading, certainly many ways this could go.
Interested to see where it does!
-
Switchgirl
- Forum Contributer
- Posts: 58
- Joined: 1 year ago
I love the switch from Plymouth to Brooke and back - domme to sub - looks like Plymouth can play any role.
Interesting to see how the dynamics of B and Deborah play out….
Fantastic story as usual
Interesting to see how the dynamics of B and Deborah play out….
Fantastic story as usual
DP013.
I dream of Alice.
And the cage.
A cage which is mine only, Deborah not even a thought, not even there.
As though she were never a part of what recently went down.
I dream myself naked, locked away as I so many times was. Real me smiles at the contentment dream me feels, the cage not a prison instead a place I belong.
Because I'm a slut, a rope whore, a pet.
Alice, in the dream, comes.
Holding out a ballgag, a padlock. Small smile as I willingly comply, taking both through the bars. Using both.
Steel cuffs, clicked tight, locking myself up further. Making my keeper happy.
She smiles.
Real me smiles back.
Crawling forward on command, offering my F cups up to the bars, allowing Alice access.
Waking to discover Deborah, still spooning, her hand on my breast loosely gripping.
Her touch spawning at least some of my phantom sensations.
Shaking myself I climb out of bed, slowly, carefully disentangling myself from Deborah to head for the bathroom.
Where I gulp down water, stare at my naked reflection in the mirror.
Try to trample the strong urge to ride my chopper, right now, back to Alice. To surrender.
"B?"
I almost jump as Deborah, yawning and naked too, wanders into the bathroom.
"You alright?"
"I." No. I want, need, to go back. I miss my cage. I don't want control back I want to be a slut. I was happy under Alice and Steph's heel.
Turmoil.
Out of which, eyes on Deborah, who until a handful of hours ago I owned, something rises, a strong urge.
"B." Gasped out as I step in, taking hold a fistful of messy black mohawk, using it to lead Deborah back to bed.
She comes willingly, climbing onto the bed and laying down, on her belly with hands automatically moving together at the small of her back.
Small sighs, slight squirm but not anything like an escape attempt, as I lock on the three pairs of steel cuffs, making her body a hogtie you'd need keys to escape from.
Rolling onto her side as I climb in, shifting the covers over us both, scooting closer to we're laid belly to belly. Unable to see her in the dark but I reach out, finding a breast, Deborah's firm butt cheek.
"Bbbeeeeeeeee." Like a moan as I run long nails down her butt, digging in. I grin, shutting her up with a long kiss whilst my hands continue to stroke and tease.
Deborah. Helpless putty in my hands.
"I'm gagging you."
Post orgasm, laid side by hogtied side in the dark. I roll away, reaching into familiar drawers. My bedside table, where I always keep a couple handfuls of rope and toys.
And a ballgag.
"Yes." Whisper like a sigh. Deborah, who Dommed the shit out of me for so long, who owned me, ruled me. The Queen bitch who I adored.
"Anything for you. B." Repeating her words from earlier, at Hell.
By touch I find her, semi forcing the ball into her mouth. Semi because she doesn't know where it is until I make contact.
I lean in, chest pressed to her face whilst feeding the strap around, buckling it on tight.
Deborah, as I pull back, shuffles, wriggles on the mattress. Settling.
Drifting off to sleep.
Whilst I lay, still yet awake. Not in the least tired there's too much going on inside.
I miss the cage.
I miss Al-
No. I.
Do I?
Miss. Alice?
Because, Not even only at the end, earlier tonight, Alice, for all she won me, used and controlled us both. For all she knew how to Domme.
Alice couldn't stop herself from repeatedly slipping down the slope and letting someone else rule her.
Which, at the end. I did.
Steph, though.
Thinking her name, a shiver runs through me.
Steph had been like Deborah on her best day. Brutal, sure of herself, her position at the top, her ownership and our- mine and Deborah's, even Alice's at times -submission.
What, my wandering thoughts contemplate, would be the point in returning to Alice. In climbing back inside her cage. Realistically she'd be back in there with me before a week passed.
Steph though.
With a start I realise I've slipped two fingers inside my pussy, am rubbing a nipple between the thumb and finger of the other hand.
With an effort I force my arms to the sides, glancing at Deborah.
Sleeping.
Bound and gagged.
Mine.
Why can't I be hers? No need for- shiver -Steph. Deborah's right there. Here.
Except.
She could've had me earlier, when we arrived. The moment, the chance, was right there. I was hers for the taking.
But instead, two times at least now I've rolled over her. Easily.
All I want is to be owned yet the Domme sleeping next to me willingly allowed herself to be chained up.
I.
Want.
Fuck it.
Rolling back out of bed, Deborah not stirring, gently snoring around the ball as I pad barefoot and naked out the room.
Collecting my laptop and sitting in an armchair, in the lounge. Glass of water beside me.
There's a website, like Facebook but for kink. I made a profile awhile- two plus years -ago, couple of photos.
Nothing naked, but I wasn't exactly covering up.
A brief bio.
Logging in on the second attempt, it's been awhile.
I find Steph a half hour later.
Feeling my heartbeat pick up, my pussy throb, as I scroll down and click. Find a selfie of her kneeling behind a viciously tight hogtied me.
Hooded, some of my ink blurred out. But. My body, looking, remembers the tie.
With slightly shaking hands I click the 'add friend' tab.
Close my eyes and lean back, hands once again slipping to pussy and breast.
Eyes flying open and sitting upright with a jolt some five minutes later as, with a ping, Steph. Online now. Accepts my request.
Licking dry lips, taking a long swig of water which doesn't help.
I begin to type.
I dream of Alice.
And the cage.
A cage which is mine only, Deborah not even a thought, not even there.
As though she were never a part of what recently went down.
I dream myself naked, locked away as I so many times was. Real me smiles at the contentment dream me feels, the cage not a prison instead a place I belong.
Because I'm a slut, a rope whore, a pet.
Alice, in the dream, comes.
Holding out a ballgag, a padlock. Small smile as I willingly comply, taking both through the bars. Using both.
Steel cuffs, clicked tight, locking myself up further. Making my keeper happy.
She smiles.
Real me smiles back.
Crawling forward on command, offering my F cups up to the bars, allowing Alice access.
Waking to discover Deborah, still spooning, her hand on my breast loosely gripping.
Her touch spawning at least some of my phantom sensations.
Shaking myself I climb out of bed, slowly, carefully disentangling myself from Deborah to head for the bathroom.
Where I gulp down water, stare at my naked reflection in the mirror.
Try to trample the strong urge to ride my chopper, right now, back to Alice. To surrender.
"B?"
I almost jump as Deborah, yawning and naked too, wanders into the bathroom.
"You alright?"
"I." No. I want, need, to go back. I miss my cage. I don't want control back I want to be a slut. I was happy under Alice and Steph's heel.
Turmoil.
Out of which, eyes on Deborah, who until a handful of hours ago I owned, something rises, a strong urge.
"B." Gasped out as I step in, taking hold a fistful of messy black mohawk, using it to lead Deborah back to bed.
She comes willingly, climbing onto the bed and laying down, on her belly with hands automatically moving together at the small of her back.
Small sighs, slight squirm but not anything like an escape attempt, as I lock on the three pairs of steel cuffs, making her body a hogtie you'd need keys to escape from.
Rolling onto her side as I climb in, shifting the covers over us both, scooting closer to we're laid belly to belly. Unable to see her in the dark but I reach out, finding a breast, Deborah's firm butt cheek.
"Bbbeeeeeeeee." Like a moan as I run long nails down her butt, digging in. I grin, shutting her up with a long kiss whilst my hands continue to stroke and tease.
Deborah. Helpless putty in my hands.
"I'm gagging you."
Post orgasm, laid side by hogtied side in the dark. I roll away, reaching into familiar drawers. My bedside table, where I always keep a couple handfuls of rope and toys.
And a ballgag.
"Yes." Whisper like a sigh. Deborah, who Dommed the shit out of me for so long, who owned me, ruled me. The Queen bitch who I adored.
"Anything for you. B." Repeating her words from earlier, at Hell.
By touch I find her, semi forcing the ball into her mouth. Semi because she doesn't know where it is until I make contact.
I lean in, chest pressed to her face whilst feeding the strap around, buckling it on tight.
Deborah, as I pull back, shuffles, wriggles on the mattress. Settling.
Drifting off to sleep.
Whilst I lay, still yet awake. Not in the least tired there's too much going on inside.
I miss the cage.
I miss Al-
No. I.
Do I?
Miss. Alice?
Because, Not even only at the end, earlier tonight, Alice, for all she won me, used and controlled us both. For all she knew how to Domme.
Alice couldn't stop herself from repeatedly slipping down the slope and letting someone else rule her.
Which, at the end. I did.
Steph, though.
Thinking her name, a shiver runs through me.
Steph had been like Deborah on her best day. Brutal, sure of herself, her position at the top, her ownership and our- mine and Deborah's, even Alice's at times -submission.
What, my wandering thoughts contemplate, would be the point in returning to Alice. In climbing back inside her cage. Realistically she'd be back in there with me before a week passed.
Steph though.
With a start I realise I've slipped two fingers inside my pussy, am rubbing a nipple between the thumb and finger of the other hand.
With an effort I force my arms to the sides, glancing at Deborah.
Sleeping.
Bound and gagged.
Mine.
Why can't I be hers? No need for- shiver -Steph. Deborah's right there. Here.
Except.
She could've had me earlier, when we arrived. The moment, the chance, was right there. I was hers for the taking.
But instead, two times at least now I've rolled over her. Easily.
All I want is to be owned yet the Domme sleeping next to me willingly allowed herself to be chained up.
I.
Want.
Fuck it.
Rolling back out of bed, Deborah not stirring, gently snoring around the ball as I pad barefoot and naked out the room.
Collecting my laptop and sitting in an armchair, in the lounge. Glass of water beside me.
There's a website, like Facebook but for kink. I made a profile awhile- two plus years -ago, couple of photos.
Nothing naked, but I wasn't exactly covering up.
A brief bio.
Logging in on the second attempt, it's been awhile.
I find Steph a half hour later.
Feeling my heartbeat pick up, my pussy throb, as I scroll down and click. Find a selfie of her kneeling behind a viciously tight hogtied me.
Hooded, some of my ink blurred out. But. My body, looking, remembers the tie.
With slightly shaking hands I click the 'add friend' tab.
Close my eyes and lean back, hands once again slipping to pussy and breast.
Eyes flying open and sitting upright with a jolt some five minutes later as, with a ping, Steph. Online now. Accepts my request.
Licking dry lips, taking a long swig of water which doesn't help.
I begin to type.
Exchanges.
001.
-------
'From: bikergirl_bound
To: domme4life
Steph.
Hi.
Um. Sorry. I.
I'm not at Alice's anymore.
P.'
-------
'From: domme4life
To: bikergirl_bound
Plymouth.
I, see.
I don't, of course. But I'm due at Alice's soon.
To strap you down and fuck you like the rope whore we both know you are.
So. Why aren't you there, waiting.
?
Steph.'
-------
'From: bikergirl_bound
To: domme4life
Steph.
Short version.
Alice went full sub, and I took charge.
P.'
-------
'From: domme4life
To: bikergirl_bound
And how's it working out for you, being in charge?'
-------
'From: bikergirl_bound
To: domme4life
I. Don't know.
Deborah's here, in my bed.
Hogtied and gagged.
But....
I don't know.'
-------
'From: domme4life
To: bikergirl_bound
Show me.'
001.
-------
'From: bikergirl_bound
To: domme4life
Steph.
Hi.
Um. Sorry. I.
I'm not at Alice's anymore.
P.'
-------
'From: domme4life
To: bikergirl_bound
Plymouth.
I, see.
I don't, of course. But I'm due at Alice's soon.
To strap you down and fuck you like the rope whore we both know you are.
So. Why aren't you there, waiting.
?
Steph.'
-------
'From: bikergirl_bound
To: domme4life
Steph.
Short version.
Alice went full sub, and I took charge.
P.'
-------
'From: domme4life
To: bikergirl_bound
And how's it working out for you, being in charge?'
-------
'From: bikergirl_bound
To: domme4life
I. Don't know.
Deborah's here, in my bed.
Hogtied and gagged.
But....
I don't know.'
-------
'From: domme4life
To: bikergirl_bound
Show me.'
DP014.
Deborah stirs as I open the door, light from the corridor leaking in, casting the bed in colours whilst the rest of my bedroom remains shadowed and dark.
She stirs, shifting inside the steel hogtie, a low gag muffled murmur. But doesn't wake.
Stephs last message hit me in the belly like a kick, phrased like an order. No question mark. But, she can't boss me through a screen. And yet.
And yet.
The urge and desire to comply uncoiling within, butterfly nerves. What if Deborah wakes? Where is all this going, and, do I even care beyond the need to surrender?
A need, strong and urgent feeling, which Steph's bossy nature is providing the outlet for.
Looking at the bed, at Deborah. Snoring again. One hand on my breast, the other clutching my phone.
Teasing at my nipple as I imagine Deborah is me. Imagine myself as Steph.
Heart beating faster, blood flooding my pussy as I let the scenario play forward.
Adding a padlock to my ballgag, increasing it's size to jawbreaker proportions.
Adding cuffs at the elbow, metal clamps on my nipples.
Placing a vibrator and riding crop in Steph's hands.
Trying to feel my helplessness by sight and thought, picturing Steph advance, on me. Her smile and my arousal, climbing.
Pinching my nipple tight, hard. Feeling damp between my legs.
With shaking hard to control hands I step around the bed and line my phone up, taking several photos of Deborah laid down, collapsed onto her side, facing me with a face full of gag and large breasts like an invitation.
Letting out a shivering breath I retreat, closing the door.
Back at my laptop, best photo transferred and uploaded.
I send it across.
Wait.
Deborah stirs as I open the door, light from the corridor leaking in, casting the bed in colours whilst the rest of my bedroom remains shadowed and dark.
She stirs, shifting inside the steel hogtie, a low gag muffled murmur. But doesn't wake.
Stephs last message hit me in the belly like a kick, phrased like an order. No question mark. But, she can't boss me through a screen. And yet.
And yet.
The urge and desire to comply uncoiling within, butterfly nerves. What if Deborah wakes? Where is all this going, and, do I even care beyond the need to surrender?
A need, strong and urgent feeling, which Steph's bossy nature is providing the outlet for.
Looking at the bed, at Deborah. Snoring again. One hand on my breast, the other clutching my phone.
Teasing at my nipple as I imagine Deborah is me. Imagine myself as Steph.
Heart beating faster, blood flooding my pussy as I let the scenario play forward.
Adding a padlock to my ballgag, increasing it's size to jawbreaker proportions.
Adding cuffs at the elbow, metal clamps on my nipples.
Placing a vibrator and riding crop in Steph's hands.
Trying to feel my helplessness by sight and thought, picturing Steph advance, on me. Her smile and my arousal, climbing.
Pinching my nipple tight, hard. Feeling damp between my legs.
With shaking hard to control hands I step around the bed and line my phone up, taking several photos of Deborah laid down, collapsed onto her side, facing me with a face full of gag and large breasts like an invitation.
Letting out a shivering breath I retreat, closing the door.
Back at my laptop, best photo transferred and uploaded.
I send it across.
Wait.
Exchanges.
002.
-------
'From: domme4life
To: bikergirl_bound
Well.
Isn't that a cute package you seem to be in possession of.
However.
It isn't Deborah bound that interests me here!!!
Plymouth!!!'
-------
'From: bikergirl_bound
To: domme4life
Steph.
It isn't Deborah bound that interests me either.
That's why I'm here.
Talking to you.
Don't go to Alice's. I locked her in a cage, changed the rules.
But.
Please.
Tell me....'
-------
'From: domme4life
To: bikergirl_bound
Very well.
Bitch. Slut.
Rope whore.
Come to me. Tomorrow.
Come and surrender, for a day and a night. Show me willingness.
Or.
Don't bother me again.'
002.
-------
'From: domme4life
To: bikergirl_bound
Well.
Isn't that a cute package you seem to be in possession of.
However.
It isn't Deborah bound that interests me here!!!
Plymouth!!!'
-------
'From: bikergirl_bound
To: domme4life
Steph.
It isn't Deborah bound that interests me either.
That's why I'm here.
Talking to you.
Don't go to Alice's. I locked her in a cage, changed the rules.
But.
Please.
Tell me....'
-------
'From: domme4life
To: bikergirl_bound
Very well.
Bitch. Slut.
Rope whore.
Come to me. Tomorrow.
Come and surrender, for a day and a night. Show me willingness.
Or.
Don't bother me again.'
DP015.
"Sooo...."
At my front door, dressed in simple jeans and tee, bra and thong.
Me in a baggy tee and leggings, no underwear.
Deborah, lingering on the threshold her Cooper S waiting on the driveway, bag already in the boot.
Reaching up to finger her uncollared neck, eyes on me.
Her point- if she's allowed to leave shouldn't there be a collar -obvious.
"Weekend." Because despite my midnight exchanges seeing Deborah bound and gagged elicited a definite rise. Despite my surrender urges I'm still in part feeling like a boss. I nod, smile.
Say something bold.
"Gives me a chance to go cage shopping."
Which earns me a caught breath gasp. Deborah swallowing. Nodding.
Leaning in I kiss her, staying in the doorway to see her off, car vanishing. Gone.
Drink of water. Keys and phone, helmet and leather jacket.
Arriving at Steph's an hour later.
Bike chained up outside, climbing to the first- five in the block of flats -floor. Jacket off, keys and switched off phone in a zipped inner pocket.
Knocking on the door to thirteen.
Quick all over shiver as I hear footsteps, a lock turning.
Door swinging open.
Steph.
Purple hair, curling, falling down her back. Plump at least a size twenty, thick limbs and a large belly which, alongside truly massive G cups, everything pushing tight against a black Iron Maiden tee. Black and white horizontally striped leggings hug chunky legs, bare feet.
She grins, steps back door open wider.
Grinning wider as I step in, as she pushes the door shut, lock clicking in.
"Helmet, jacket. Shoes."
I hand them over, Steph places everything inside a small cupboard, helmet and shoes on the floor, jacket hanging on one of five hooks. Mostly hoodies on the others.
"Tight."
Holding out a ring gag, silver hoop and black leather straps. Watching as I buckle it on, the hoop, large, forcing my jaws wide. The straps, pulled tight enough to dig in at the sides, plastering dyed hair to my head.
Using the small padlock she hands over next, clicking it onto the buckle, sealing myself in.
"Clothes."
Which she tosses in with the helmet.
And suddenly there's rope in Steph's hand as she comes around behind me.
Grunt of acknowledgement as I bring my wrists together.
Spasm in my leg as Steph works, binding my wrists and elbows. Lashing and wrapping rope to force my limbs tightly together, yanking each knot with enough force to jerk my body around.
Taking ownership, treating me how she wants. Not caring.
Brief flitting thought of Deborah, brief stab of 'I shouldn't be here' which vanishes the next moment when Steph pushes hard on my shoulder.
"Down."
I comply. Deborah forgotten. Laying down on my naked belly as Steph completes the hogtie: binding ankles and knees, joining ankles to elbows. Tightly, rope pulled and yanked and shortened. Yanked some more, arching my back and setting my body on fire.
The good kind of fire, born of willing surrender now enforced beyond my control.
Bound. Gagged. Helpless.
"Look at me." All command, voice stern not friendly. "Slut."
"Ddffggggmmm." Rocking my body, wriggling bound arms and using fingers to aid the roll I manage to go from belly to side, looking up.
Steph, looming on high hands on hips. Smiling down like a. My. God.
"By the time you leave," brushing a black and red striped riding crop down across breast and nipple, down the belly to tease at my pussy, "you'll regret surrendering."
"Gggffffhhhmmm." Squirming at her touch, my bound body completely vulnerable.
Gasping as, proving the fact, Steph delivers a half dozen rapid stinging flicks to my nipples.
"Slut." Running the crops leather tip around the inside of my gagged mouth. "Lick it."
Holding steady whilst I do, eyes on Steph, seeing her amusement.
Her pleasure.
Another half dozen flicks follow, my belly this time, straying lower so that the final two contact my pussy lips.
Forcing me, the uncontrollable urge to wriggle, to attempt protecting that which I can't.
A smile, a nod.
Steph walks away without a word.
Leaving me hogtied and naked beside her front door.
Soon after I hear a flatscreen firing up, cartoons playing.
Laying there, helpless to the point I can barely move, and yet I realise she isn't coming back.
So.
Like and snake and a caterpillar. Crawling and wriggling, rocking side to side, bunching my body but only slightly due to the ropes, pushing off. Making slow forward progress across the carpet.
Panting.
The humiliation of being forced to come to her, of being left to struggle and sweat. Being treated in such a way has me aroused not angry.
My pussy tingles, nipples on fire as they scrape along the floor.
Down the hallway. Bathroom on the right and closed door next to the shoe cupboard on the left. Further on a bedroom, half glimpsed through a door cracked just slightly. Gloomy, bed in shadow, bookcase and wardrobe.
I don't linger to see more.
At the hallways end an open arch becomes the main room, an uneven split small kitchen wrapping one corner and the far end, the rest a lounge.
Table separating the two.
The lounge has a flatscreen, on, against the wall to my right, windows directly ahead, floor to ceiling doors opening inwards, nothing but a safety rail beyond no balcony. In front of me is a pale red fabric sofa, old but not too tattered.
Steph sat at the far end.
Ignoring me.
Beside the flatscreen is a tall metal pole with some very well placed metal hoop fixings.
After a moments pause I get back to work, wriggling and humping my way into the room, coming in front of the sofa, the gap between it and flatscreen.
Bringing my hogtied body directly before Steph.
Rolling and squirming to place my breasts and pussy facing her, my gag forced open mouth too.
Presenting myself.
Out of breath, muscles aching yet body buzzing, even more so as, time ticking by, Steph continues to ignore me.
Forcing me to wait, to suffer the continued tight hogtie and jaw straining gag. My body on display and hers to use at any point.
But.
She ignores me.
Three cartoons. Almost an hour.
And then, casually, still not meeting my eyes, Steph pulls off her leggings and thong, tossing them aside and sitting with her crotch exposed, plump legs spread.
Her point. Unspoken demand. Clear.
Rolled over so my back faces the sofa, it takes almost a dozen fails before I'm able to haul myself up, onto my knees.
Shuffling my tied body forwards, between Steph's legs, which she closes around me. Trapping.
Moments later she reaches out, hand grabbing a fistful of hair, yanking my head forwards and down, pressing my face into her shaved crotch.
Holding me there.
Flicking my tongue out I set to the required task, licking and teasing Stephs clit and pussy, darting in and out.
Sudden loud moaning coming from the flatscreen.
Porn?
Steph's body shifts, but not her grip on me, she begins on then off pushing my head from behind, mashing me against her, easing off. Back in.
My arousal building despite I'm not being touched or teased. My pleasure, growing, building off the way I'm being treated: used and owned, Steph making me the equivalent of a dildo or vibrator.
She shifts again.
Sudden stinging pain on my butt cheek, closely followed by three more. I cry out into Steph's pussy, only to be pressed in tighter to her.
Making me choke, unable to breathe for a moment, smell of her arousal filling my world, ramping my own up.
Pushed back, the force behind the action causing me to, nearly, topple over. Instead I remain on my knees, balanced on my toes, still pinned in a tight rope hogtie. Panting, eyes on Steph.
Crop in hand.
Which darts in, swishing, striking my nipples with precision as she smiles, as I gasp and moan, body singing and awash with pleasure. Want and desire.
Seeing Steph smile as she swishes the crop again. Making contact, pussy and breasts. She knows my moaning isn't that of true pain, discomfort. She knows I'm in deep, that right now I belong to her.
"Back to work slut." Tossing the crop down beside her, legs spread wide again.
Gagged moaning from the flatscreen loud enough to fill my world as I lick and work my tongue in and out, deeper. Bringing Steph to a shuddering orgasm.
Pushed away as she quietens, falling to lay on the floor, becoming a hogtied mess at her feet. Still helpless. Steph laid back legs still spread, eyes closed.
Smile on her face.
"Sooo...."
At my front door, dressed in simple jeans and tee, bra and thong.
Me in a baggy tee and leggings, no underwear.
Deborah, lingering on the threshold her Cooper S waiting on the driveway, bag already in the boot.
Reaching up to finger her uncollared neck, eyes on me.
Her point- if she's allowed to leave shouldn't there be a collar -obvious.
"Weekend." Because despite my midnight exchanges seeing Deborah bound and gagged elicited a definite rise. Despite my surrender urges I'm still in part feeling like a boss. I nod, smile.
Say something bold.
"Gives me a chance to go cage shopping."
Which earns me a caught breath gasp. Deborah swallowing. Nodding.
Leaning in I kiss her, staying in the doorway to see her off, car vanishing. Gone.
Drink of water. Keys and phone, helmet and leather jacket.
Arriving at Steph's an hour later.
Bike chained up outside, climbing to the first- five in the block of flats -floor. Jacket off, keys and switched off phone in a zipped inner pocket.
Knocking on the door to thirteen.
Quick all over shiver as I hear footsteps, a lock turning.
Door swinging open.
Steph.
Purple hair, curling, falling down her back. Plump at least a size twenty, thick limbs and a large belly which, alongside truly massive G cups, everything pushing tight against a black Iron Maiden tee. Black and white horizontally striped leggings hug chunky legs, bare feet.
She grins, steps back door open wider.
Grinning wider as I step in, as she pushes the door shut, lock clicking in.
"Helmet, jacket. Shoes."
I hand them over, Steph places everything inside a small cupboard, helmet and shoes on the floor, jacket hanging on one of five hooks. Mostly hoodies on the others.
"Tight."
Holding out a ring gag, silver hoop and black leather straps. Watching as I buckle it on, the hoop, large, forcing my jaws wide. The straps, pulled tight enough to dig in at the sides, plastering dyed hair to my head.
Using the small padlock she hands over next, clicking it onto the buckle, sealing myself in.
"Clothes."
Which she tosses in with the helmet.
And suddenly there's rope in Steph's hand as she comes around behind me.
Grunt of acknowledgement as I bring my wrists together.
Spasm in my leg as Steph works, binding my wrists and elbows. Lashing and wrapping rope to force my limbs tightly together, yanking each knot with enough force to jerk my body around.
Taking ownership, treating me how she wants. Not caring.
Brief flitting thought of Deborah, brief stab of 'I shouldn't be here' which vanishes the next moment when Steph pushes hard on my shoulder.
"Down."
I comply. Deborah forgotten. Laying down on my naked belly as Steph completes the hogtie: binding ankles and knees, joining ankles to elbows. Tightly, rope pulled and yanked and shortened. Yanked some more, arching my back and setting my body on fire.
The good kind of fire, born of willing surrender now enforced beyond my control.
Bound. Gagged. Helpless.
"Look at me." All command, voice stern not friendly. "Slut."
"Ddffggggmmm." Rocking my body, wriggling bound arms and using fingers to aid the roll I manage to go from belly to side, looking up.
Steph, looming on high hands on hips. Smiling down like a. My. God.
"By the time you leave," brushing a black and red striped riding crop down across breast and nipple, down the belly to tease at my pussy, "you'll regret surrendering."
"Gggffffhhhmmm." Squirming at her touch, my bound body completely vulnerable.
Gasping as, proving the fact, Steph delivers a half dozen rapid stinging flicks to my nipples.
"Slut." Running the crops leather tip around the inside of my gagged mouth. "Lick it."
Holding steady whilst I do, eyes on Steph, seeing her amusement.
Her pleasure.
Another half dozen flicks follow, my belly this time, straying lower so that the final two contact my pussy lips.
Forcing me, the uncontrollable urge to wriggle, to attempt protecting that which I can't.
A smile, a nod.
Steph walks away without a word.
Leaving me hogtied and naked beside her front door.
Soon after I hear a flatscreen firing up, cartoons playing.
Laying there, helpless to the point I can barely move, and yet I realise she isn't coming back.
So.
Like and snake and a caterpillar. Crawling and wriggling, rocking side to side, bunching my body but only slightly due to the ropes, pushing off. Making slow forward progress across the carpet.
Panting.
The humiliation of being forced to come to her, of being left to struggle and sweat. Being treated in such a way has me aroused not angry.
My pussy tingles, nipples on fire as they scrape along the floor.
Down the hallway. Bathroom on the right and closed door next to the shoe cupboard on the left. Further on a bedroom, half glimpsed through a door cracked just slightly. Gloomy, bed in shadow, bookcase and wardrobe.
I don't linger to see more.
At the hallways end an open arch becomes the main room, an uneven split small kitchen wrapping one corner and the far end, the rest a lounge.
Table separating the two.
The lounge has a flatscreen, on, against the wall to my right, windows directly ahead, floor to ceiling doors opening inwards, nothing but a safety rail beyond no balcony. In front of me is a pale red fabric sofa, old but not too tattered.
Steph sat at the far end.
Ignoring me.
Beside the flatscreen is a tall metal pole with some very well placed metal hoop fixings.
After a moments pause I get back to work, wriggling and humping my way into the room, coming in front of the sofa, the gap between it and flatscreen.
Bringing my hogtied body directly before Steph.
Rolling and squirming to place my breasts and pussy facing her, my gag forced open mouth too.
Presenting myself.
Out of breath, muscles aching yet body buzzing, even more so as, time ticking by, Steph continues to ignore me.
Forcing me to wait, to suffer the continued tight hogtie and jaw straining gag. My body on display and hers to use at any point.
But.
She ignores me.
Three cartoons. Almost an hour.
And then, casually, still not meeting my eyes, Steph pulls off her leggings and thong, tossing them aside and sitting with her crotch exposed, plump legs spread.
Her point. Unspoken demand. Clear.
Rolled over so my back faces the sofa, it takes almost a dozen fails before I'm able to haul myself up, onto my knees.
Shuffling my tied body forwards, between Steph's legs, which she closes around me. Trapping.
Moments later she reaches out, hand grabbing a fistful of hair, yanking my head forwards and down, pressing my face into her shaved crotch.
Holding me there.
Flicking my tongue out I set to the required task, licking and teasing Stephs clit and pussy, darting in and out.
Sudden loud moaning coming from the flatscreen.
Porn?
Steph's body shifts, but not her grip on me, she begins on then off pushing my head from behind, mashing me against her, easing off. Back in.
My arousal building despite I'm not being touched or teased. My pleasure, growing, building off the way I'm being treated: used and owned, Steph making me the equivalent of a dildo or vibrator.
She shifts again.
Sudden stinging pain on my butt cheek, closely followed by three more. I cry out into Steph's pussy, only to be pressed in tighter to her.
Making me choke, unable to breathe for a moment, smell of her arousal filling my world, ramping my own up.
Pushed back, the force behind the action causing me to, nearly, topple over. Instead I remain on my knees, balanced on my toes, still pinned in a tight rope hogtie. Panting, eyes on Steph.
Crop in hand.
Which darts in, swishing, striking my nipples with precision as she smiles, as I gasp and moan, body singing and awash with pleasure. Want and desire.
Seeing Steph smile as she swishes the crop again. Making contact, pussy and breasts. She knows my moaning isn't that of true pain, discomfort. She knows I'm in deep, that right now I belong to her.
"Back to work slut." Tossing the crop down beside her, legs spread wide again.
Gagged moaning from the flatscreen loud enough to fill my world as I lick and work my tongue in and out, deeper. Bringing Steph to a shuddering orgasm.
Pushed away as she quietens, falling to lay on the floor, becoming a hogtied mess at her feet. Still helpless. Steph laid back legs still spread, eyes closed.
Smile on her face.
-
BlissfulMisery
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 288
- Joined: 2 years ago
It seems Brooke is back on her wild submissive ride - it really is an addiction at this point. Still, a crazy and fun ride!
Ironic that Brooke is annoyed at Alice for being so willing to surrender, but then does the exact same thing herself, seemingly unable (or certainly not wanting to) to resist, despite genuinely enjoying keeping Deborah. Birds of a feather they are, at least in this manner.
The exchange of private messages makes me think of exactly how much of dominance and submission is about 'impression' - one generally needs impetus of a sort to fall into a submissive role, which a 'good' dominant provides. And it often comes in the form of things that are not *exactly* true - the words that are spoken are often quite exaggerated compared to the reality - even in fiction.
A sort of carefully built shared illusion - or perhaps delusion?
Either way, it is not exactly a particularly new or original thought (really this is all pretty basic and intuitive), but it was interesting to have it laid out so starkly and directly (hard to have much nuance with text messages with the lack of non-verbal communication - it is very accurately written in that regard!), with the words Stephanie uses to exert her will, to allow Brooke to fall into the role they both desire.
Barely coherent ramblings aside, a great set of chapters - it seems Plymouth only managed to last about a day
Ironic that Brooke is annoyed at Alice for being so willing to surrender, but then does the exact same thing herself, seemingly unable (or certainly not wanting to) to resist, despite genuinely enjoying keeping Deborah. Birds of a feather they are, at least in this manner.
The exchange of private messages makes me think of exactly how much of dominance and submission is about 'impression' - one generally needs impetus of a sort to fall into a submissive role, which a 'good' dominant provides. And it often comes in the form of things that are not *exactly* true - the words that are spoken are often quite exaggerated compared to the reality - even in fiction.
A sort of carefully built shared illusion - or perhaps delusion?
Either way, it is not exactly a particularly new or original thought (really this is all pretty basic and intuitive), but it was interesting to have it laid out so starkly and directly (hard to have much nuance with text messages with the lack of non-verbal communication - it is very accurately written in that regard!), with the words Stephanie uses to exert her will, to allow Brooke to fall into the role they both desire.
Barely coherent ramblings aside, a great set of chapters - it seems Plymouth only managed to last about a day
DP016.
She makes me wait.
Again.
The casual ownership, loss of control and Steph's easy assumption of having all the power does nothing to stem the flow of her hold over me.
As she sits on the sofa, comfortable, clothed, basking in the post orgasm glow. I lay on the floor, naked, tightly roped into a hogtie, mouth split wide by a metal ring gag.
Helpless and vulnerable, facing her completely on display.
Buzzing.
Eventually she moves. Thong and leggings back on, then coming down to free me of ropes and gag.
Clicking steel, the kind with no small chain just cuff welded to cuff, around my wrists before she stands.
"Water on the counter. Use the bathroom then come back to the sofa."
"Yes." Whispered out, throat dry and besides I'm too shattered and weak. Every muscle aching now I'm no longer bound.
She even, such a good Domme- ha -helps me stand.
On the counter, walking slowly, legs weak, I find a tall glass full of water and ice, striped straw poking out the top.
Downing half, bent forwards cuffed wrists pinned at my back I feel better, managing to walk normally to the bathroom.
Where I pee.
Stare in the small sink top mirror, shaking my hair to settle it back into something more normal.
Back in the lounge and Steph's already sat down, the flatscreen tuned to a music station, no display save text across the bottom.
She's at one end of the sofa, and glancing up as I enter points to the other side. I nod, already angled for the kitchen where I drink another half of what's left.
Steph is sat propped so she faces sideways, one leg up and bent resting on the cushion, her back against the sofa back as it curves at the end. I mirror her pose, shuffling to get comfortable, to not be leaning back on my pinned arms.
Aware that my spread legs are showing off my pussy, that my breasts are equally on show.
That there's- pet, slut, doing as I'm told -nothing I can do about it.
"Plymouth."
"Yes?"
We've been having a sort of stare off for close to ten minutes, which is to say Steph's been staring and grinning, and I've been flicking glances whilst mostly showing a keen interest in the carpet.
"Alice won you." It isn't a soft tone, but nor is Steph barking at me.
"Yes." My own voice is quiet, my submissiveness well and truly triggered, making me docile. "But she was too submissive to keep me."
"Is that right?" Grinning, because she knows I am.
More silence, more time spent being openly eyed up, making my skin tingle as though it, I, can actually feel Steph's gaze.
"I didn't think you'd come."
"No?"
"Thought you'd of had enough by now."
I look up, finding Steph smiling.
"Not yet."
"Not yet." Smile growing, tone briefly slipping into a tease. "You won't be back though."
"Why not?" Curious, Steph holding my gaze.
"Because I'm going to ruin you."
Her promise, and it isn't as though she hasn't already tried, and were I not a surrender extreme rope obsessive she might even of already broken me.
Steph's words make my pussy throb, my thighs clenching, mouth going dry.
"Okay."
"Okay?" Definite tease. "Not, please don't, or." Thinking. "Can I leave?"
"No." Slow shake of my head, which earns me a small smile.
And then she stands, so I stand too. Walking to the pole as Steph reaches it first, tapping the metal to call me over.
She unlocks me, only to lock me back up. To the pole.
Which stretches floor to ceiling, a long cylinder sat on a wide base and bolted in place above.
I stand with my back to the metal, allowing Steph to guide my limbs doll style, not resisting as she trusses me up.
What I mistook earlier for hoops are actually the remains of plastic cable ties, which Steph cuts and discards before using more on me.
First off my wrists, and elbows. The cylinder is skinny allowing my arms to reach behind me and the pole, to be plastic tied together on the far side, preventing me from simply walking away as now the pole is between my arms and body.
Next up my legs which she binds together in seven places: four below the knee and three above.
She secures my naked body to the pole in several places too: waist, above and below my jutting canon sized F cups, and my neck, using several ties joined together each time.
Going back around again, and each of the plastic ties is pinched even tighter, Steph using a new tie on each, vertical capturing the horizontal original at front and back, cinching this in order to pull them even more snug to my skin, the ridgid plastic digging in.
Making me moan on several occasions at the discomfort.
Steph, grinning up at me, only yanks each tie to even tighter notches.
My legs are plastic tied to the pole, as are my wrists and elbows, and then, standing, Steph secures a final length of plastic in my mouth, around the pole, using it to gag me.
She steps back, nodding. I try to wriggle, feeling sensation blooming all over, up and down my naked body, the plastic digging in, pinching.
Pain becoming pleasure as I look out and see Steph smile, pleased to of caught me so.
Clamps follow, harsh biting at each nipple. And then some kind of mounting system topped by a wand vibrator, a pole atop another, the vibrator out like a lance tip, perfectly placed height and angle to nestle up against my exposed pussy.
"I. Will." Face inches from mine, hands tugging the clamps, stretching my nipples and breasts, making me squirm and moan. "Ruin."
Leaning in to kiss my gagged lips. My body jolting, bucking inside the immovable plastic ties as the vibrator kicks to life.
"You."
Stepping back, final flick of one clamp.
Steph leaves, abandoning me to the helplessness of orgasms I can't escape nor prevent.
The multitude of plastic ties, each one cinched to the point it digs in, are too well positioned to allow me any wiggle room, let alone there being any slack I could use to break out.
And the clamps, a harsh biting sensation to each nipple, slight weight pulling down. Any pain soon becomes lost as the buzzing builds and builds. Taking over everything else.
Building.
My helplessness and discomfort mix into the pleasure of that insistent buzzing, that happy feeling in my crotch.
I begin to moan louder.
And then Steph's here, crop in hand.
"Cum for me slut." Swishing, leather striking breasts and thighs, my butt cheek as she stalks around behind.
"You're mine." Back in front, no strikes now she's playing the crop up and down, running the tip across belly and breast, face and lips. "My. Little. Rope. Whore."
Her words tip me over the edge, I barely feel the crop making repeated contact with my breast as I climax. Screaming. Body locking.
Eyes opening again to find Steph gone, and yet the vibrator buzzes on.
Forcing another climax from me.
And another.
Helpless to resist or refuse, unable to stop the sensations from washing over me, the buzzing twinning with the clamps and the ties. My being in this state fueling the arousal.
Another climax, body aching now, nipples and pussy sore. Tender.
Steph, back. Removing my gag and turning the vibrator down to a low buzz.
"Had enough slut?"
"Uuubbbhhhhhhh." Catching my breath, licking lips covered in saliva, drool that I can feel all down my cleavage.
Without saying any more Steph sets to work freeing me, which takes awhile there are so many ties to cut.
No protest, no resistance, as the steel cuffs from earlier are once more secured around wrists pulled behind me. I follow Steph to the bedroom, heading, when I spy it, for the small cage.
"No." Turning I find Steph shaking her head, stripping. "Later. In bed now."
I, too achy and spent to wonder, do as she commands, climbing up and falling forwards onto the bed. Steph, naked, climbing up beside me, taking hold of and rolling my body up onto hers so we're laid belly to belly, my head nestled on her huge breasts, Steph's legs either side of mine.
Heat of our crotches mingling.
She begins stroking my back, long nails trailing up and down, digging in hard every half dozen or so times.
Making me moan and shift about.
At some point, time unravelled, lost. I find myself planting kisses across her mountain sized breast, mouth working towards the nipple as Steph shifts beneath me.
Sometime later. Kissing. Slow and long, lots of tongue on both sides, Steph's hands still on my back, occasionally trailing across my butt cheeks.
I think at some point we doze?
I definitely fall asleep, body spent and tired from the onslaught of bondage it switches off, tapping out.
A deep slumber.
From which I'm roused by the feel of a large thick cock sliding in then out my pussy, my limbs stretched and spread wide, pinned in place.
Weight atop me.
Eyes flying open to find Steph, still naked aside from a fake rubber cock strapped to her crotch, fucking me whilst ropes force and pin my limbs wide apart.
Large ballgag in my mouth.
Seeing me awake Steph grins, begins increasing her speed and force.
Fucking me harder, deeper.
Removing the gag and lowering her crotch onto my face, post climax, making sure I give back what I've just received.
Her chunky body rocking and bucking atop my pinned skinny frame, hearing Steph moan, getting louder as her hands reach down, finding my breasts. Teasing at nipples already hard. The sheer thrill of waking up already bound and helpless after such a relaxed cuddle.
Steph reasserting control.
Climaxing loudly, sliding down to lay on me face to face, her hand still cupping a breast as we kiss, Steph's other hand stroking my hair.
I begin to relax, which of course means it's time for Steph to roll off me, to fetch rope and a ballgag from various drawers.
Coming back to the bed.
Grinning.
She makes me wait.
Again.
The casual ownership, loss of control and Steph's easy assumption of having all the power does nothing to stem the flow of her hold over me.
As she sits on the sofa, comfortable, clothed, basking in the post orgasm glow. I lay on the floor, naked, tightly roped into a hogtie, mouth split wide by a metal ring gag.
Helpless and vulnerable, facing her completely on display.
Buzzing.
Eventually she moves. Thong and leggings back on, then coming down to free me of ropes and gag.
Clicking steel, the kind with no small chain just cuff welded to cuff, around my wrists before she stands.
"Water on the counter. Use the bathroom then come back to the sofa."
"Yes." Whispered out, throat dry and besides I'm too shattered and weak. Every muscle aching now I'm no longer bound.
She even, such a good Domme- ha -helps me stand.
On the counter, walking slowly, legs weak, I find a tall glass full of water and ice, striped straw poking out the top.
Downing half, bent forwards cuffed wrists pinned at my back I feel better, managing to walk normally to the bathroom.
Where I pee.
Stare in the small sink top mirror, shaking my hair to settle it back into something more normal.
Back in the lounge and Steph's already sat down, the flatscreen tuned to a music station, no display save text across the bottom.
She's at one end of the sofa, and glancing up as I enter points to the other side. I nod, already angled for the kitchen where I drink another half of what's left.
Steph is sat propped so she faces sideways, one leg up and bent resting on the cushion, her back against the sofa back as it curves at the end. I mirror her pose, shuffling to get comfortable, to not be leaning back on my pinned arms.
Aware that my spread legs are showing off my pussy, that my breasts are equally on show.
That there's- pet, slut, doing as I'm told -nothing I can do about it.
"Plymouth."
"Yes?"
We've been having a sort of stare off for close to ten minutes, which is to say Steph's been staring and grinning, and I've been flicking glances whilst mostly showing a keen interest in the carpet.
"Alice won you." It isn't a soft tone, but nor is Steph barking at me.
"Yes." My own voice is quiet, my submissiveness well and truly triggered, making me docile. "But she was too submissive to keep me."
"Is that right?" Grinning, because she knows I am.
More silence, more time spent being openly eyed up, making my skin tingle as though it, I, can actually feel Steph's gaze.
"I didn't think you'd come."
"No?"
"Thought you'd of had enough by now."
I look up, finding Steph smiling.
"Not yet."
"Not yet." Smile growing, tone briefly slipping into a tease. "You won't be back though."
"Why not?" Curious, Steph holding my gaze.
"Because I'm going to ruin you."
Her promise, and it isn't as though she hasn't already tried, and were I not a surrender extreme rope obsessive she might even of already broken me.
Steph's words make my pussy throb, my thighs clenching, mouth going dry.
"Okay."
"Okay?" Definite tease. "Not, please don't, or." Thinking. "Can I leave?"
"No." Slow shake of my head, which earns me a small smile.
And then she stands, so I stand too. Walking to the pole as Steph reaches it first, tapping the metal to call me over.
She unlocks me, only to lock me back up. To the pole.
Which stretches floor to ceiling, a long cylinder sat on a wide base and bolted in place above.
I stand with my back to the metal, allowing Steph to guide my limbs doll style, not resisting as she trusses me up.
What I mistook earlier for hoops are actually the remains of plastic cable ties, which Steph cuts and discards before using more on me.
First off my wrists, and elbows. The cylinder is skinny allowing my arms to reach behind me and the pole, to be plastic tied together on the far side, preventing me from simply walking away as now the pole is between my arms and body.
Next up my legs which she binds together in seven places: four below the knee and three above.
She secures my naked body to the pole in several places too: waist, above and below my jutting canon sized F cups, and my neck, using several ties joined together each time.
Going back around again, and each of the plastic ties is pinched even tighter, Steph using a new tie on each, vertical capturing the horizontal original at front and back, cinching this in order to pull them even more snug to my skin, the ridgid plastic digging in.
Making me moan on several occasions at the discomfort.
Steph, grinning up at me, only yanks each tie to even tighter notches.
My legs are plastic tied to the pole, as are my wrists and elbows, and then, standing, Steph secures a final length of plastic in my mouth, around the pole, using it to gag me.
She steps back, nodding. I try to wriggle, feeling sensation blooming all over, up and down my naked body, the plastic digging in, pinching.
Pain becoming pleasure as I look out and see Steph smile, pleased to of caught me so.
Clamps follow, harsh biting at each nipple. And then some kind of mounting system topped by a wand vibrator, a pole atop another, the vibrator out like a lance tip, perfectly placed height and angle to nestle up against my exposed pussy.
"I. Will." Face inches from mine, hands tugging the clamps, stretching my nipples and breasts, making me squirm and moan. "Ruin."
Leaning in to kiss my gagged lips. My body jolting, bucking inside the immovable plastic ties as the vibrator kicks to life.
"You."
Stepping back, final flick of one clamp.
Steph leaves, abandoning me to the helplessness of orgasms I can't escape nor prevent.
The multitude of plastic ties, each one cinched to the point it digs in, are too well positioned to allow me any wiggle room, let alone there being any slack I could use to break out.
And the clamps, a harsh biting sensation to each nipple, slight weight pulling down. Any pain soon becomes lost as the buzzing builds and builds. Taking over everything else.
Building.
My helplessness and discomfort mix into the pleasure of that insistent buzzing, that happy feeling in my crotch.
I begin to moan louder.
And then Steph's here, crop in hand.
"Cum for me slut." Swishing, leather striking breasts and thighs, my butt cheek as she stalks around behind.
"You're mine." Back in front, no strikes now she's playing the crop up and down, running the tip across belly and breast, face and lips. "My. Little. Rope. Whore."
Her words tip me over the edge, I barely feel the crop making repeated contact with my breast as I climax. Screaming. Body locking.
Eyes opening again to find Steph gone, and yet the vibrator buzzes on.
Forcing another climax from me.
And another.
Helpless to resist or refuse, unable to stop the sensations from washing over me, the buzzing twinning with the clamps and the ties. My being in this state fueling the arousal.
Another climax, body aching now, nipples and pussy sore. Tender.
Steph, back. Removing my gag and turning the vibrator down to a low buzz.
"Had enough slut?"
"Uuubbbhhhhhhh." Catching my breath, licking lips covered in saliva, drool that I can feel all down my cleavage.
Without saying any more Steph sets to work freeing me, which takes awhile there are so many ties to cut.
No protest, no resistance, as the steel cuffs from earlier are once more secured around wrists pulled behind me. I follow Steph to the bedroom, heading, when I spy it, for the small cage.
"No." Turning I find Steph shaking her head, stripping. "Later. In bed now."
I, too achy and spent to wonder, do as she commands, climbing up and falling forwards onto the bed. Steph, naked, climbing up beside me, taking hold of and rolling my body up onto hers so we're laid belly to belly, my head nestled on her huge breasts, Steph's legs either side of mine.
Heat of our crotches mingling.
She begins stroking my back, long nails trailing up and down, digging in hard every half dozen or so times.
Making me moan and shift about.
At some point, time unravelled, lost. I find myself planting kisses across her mountain sized breast, mouth working towards the nipple as Steph shifts beneath me.
Sometime later. Kissing. Slow and long, lots of tongue on both sides, Steph's hands still on my back, occasionally trailing across my butt cheeks.
I think at some point we doze?
I definitely fall asleep, body spent and tired from the onslaught of bondage it switches off, tapping out.
A deep slumber.
From which I'm roused by the feel of a large thick cock sliding in then out my pussy, my limbs stretched and spread wide, pinned in place.
Weight atop me.
Eyes flying open to find Steph, still naked aside from a fake rubber cock strapped to her crotch, fucking me whilst ropes force and pin my limbs wide apart.
Large ballgag in my mouth.
Seeing me awake Steph grins, begins increasing her speed and force.
Fucking me harder, deeper.
Removing the gag and lowering her crotch onto my face, post climax, making sure I give back what I've just received.
Her chunky body rocking and bucking atop my pinned skinny frame, hearing Steph moan, getting louder as her hands reach down, finding my breasts. Teasing at nipples already hard. The sheer thrill of waking up already bound and helpless after such a relaxed cuddle.
Steph reasserting control.
Climaxing loudly, sliding down to lay on me face to face, her hand still cupping a breast as we kiss, Steph's other hand stroking my hair.
I begin to relax, which of course means it's time for Steph to roll off me, to fetch rope and a ballgag from various drawers.
Coming back to the bed.
Grinning.
DP017.
And I'm in no fit state to do anything save lay here on her bed, Steph doing with me as she pleases.
Untied.
Pulled and dragged and forcibly coaxed to sit on the edge of the bed.
Ballgagged.
Steph ropes my wrists horizontally behind, arms parallel, the long rope run around my upper arms and body, above and below the breasts. Wrists pinned, arms pinned, chest squeezed.
Upper body immobilised.
Legs bound together, ankle and knee, upper thigh.
Everything tight, secure. Pinching.
"I'm watching a movie." Matter of fact, but she's smiling like there's a joke here somewhere.
A shrug, Steph walks out, door left open.
And.
Ha ha.
Now I see it.
Over ten minutes it takes me to stand, find balance, hop my careful way out of Steph's bedroom and down the corridor. To the lounge.
Hopping because I can't walk, can't even shuffle my ankles are too well tied.
One hop, sometimes four or five quick and small in a row, and each time my F cups bounce.
Steph's face as I enter the lounge, trying to ignore me, to focus on the so important movie.
Whatever it is.
But I see her eyes flicker over. Again. See the small smile as she no doubt sees my breasts in motion.
And of course watching her half watching me, snatched glances. That smile. Me, the pet, the rope slut, obeying the- unspoken but it was there -command to attend my Domme. Doing as I'm told, helpless, the long day of submission stretching back, I feel the tingles beginning again.
Sensations not helped by the fact that, when I make it to the sofa and sit down beside her.
Steph proceeds to completely ignore me.
For two hours we sit. The occasional low moan escaping my gagged lips, the occasional wriggle as I adjust my rope bound body, trying to get comfortable and forever failing of course.
For two hours Steph watches the movie seemingly oblivious to my presence. And my submission prevents any move towards her. It isn't my place to take the lead, so, for two hours I sit, a constant low buzz chasing through me at my predicament, the ropes and gag and nakedness, being forced to wait my turn as though I don't matter.
Towards the end Steph fiddles with her phone, and then, credits rolling, there's a knock at the door.
Pizza.
Which Steph places, the box open to expose cheese and tomato deliciousness, on the cushion furthest from her, the other side of me.
Leaning across to ungag, but not free, me.
"Hungry?"
"Yes." Licking my lips, damn it smells amazing and I haven't eaten properly, at all, all day. "Thirsty too." Dropping my gaze. "Please."
Diet coke, ice cold the glass gently offered up and tipped for me. Followed by a bite of pizza. Steph sitting sideways, one leg up and bent, facing me.
"Thank you."
"Just taking care of what's mine." Grinning around a large bite of crust, reaching out to flick at my nipple. "Until the morning anyway."
For awhile we eat and drink in silence. Steph only offers me one bite in ten or twelve, less then two of the eight slices in all.
No doubt, the size of her, she could put the whole thing away were I not here.
"Why didn't you leave?"
"Huh?" Caught off guard, the question, I blink, looking back at Steph who makes a gesture like waving her half a slice around.
"Alice." Taking a huge bite, offering me the small end of crust left. "There's no real power there. Or." Looking around, at me, reaching out to tug my chest harness. Steph laughs. "Or here. It's all just a game really. So." A shrug. "Why didn't you leave?"
"Want me to?"
Laughing, quiet and quick but the tease or flirt slips out.
"No." Sincere, serious. "It's been a good day."
"For me too." Quiet, flicked glance. "You. Um. Know how to treat a girl."
"Oh yeah." Another laugh, shake of her head. "Because every girl wants to be treated like shit and then locked up."
I blush, Steph shuts up.
"You really are into it?" Almost Disbelieving.
"Well...." Mouth dry, feeling my nipples harden and pussy growing damp. I squirm.
"It doesn't matter." Voice suddenly harsh, the moment gone, or lost, or never there at all. Steph slaps the ballgag back into my mouth. Buckling it viciously tight.
Standing, she leans in with one arm either side of me. Coming close, tongue licking across the ball, face in my face.
"Because I'm going to ruin you, slut. So." Straightening up. A nod. "You'll never be back anyway."
Steph bosses me, easily, because as with everything else today I don't fight or hinder her wishes, into a hogtie. Rolling and pushing me onto the sofa properly, using rope to join my ankles and wrists.
A large dildo and butt plug are lubed up and eased inside me, held in by a tight crotch rope. The discomfort of being filled up front and back, holes stretched, held open.
The toys moving as I move.
Steph adds metal clamps to my nipples, smiling as I moan at each pinching attachment, teeth digging in.
Like this I'm left. A half dozen tugs on the crotch rope, a half dozen hard spanking slaps on my butt cheek.
Me, moaned gasps and gag muffled words. Begging.
For more, not to stop.
Steph, a kiss to my cheek, walks away. Abandoning me to the sensations of the hogtie, the various toys lighting me up as though I were actually being fucked.
Returning on and off, crop sometimes in hand. Dolling out more punishment my body drinks in as attention based pleasure.
Eventually though she returns to free me.
"It's late." Talking as I lay flopped, spent and lacking the energy or will to do anything beyond breathe. "Use the bathroom then."
The pause, long enough it registers. I roll over to stare up at her.
Steph, looming, nods.
"Into the cage."
Which is far smaller then Alice's. I can raise up onto hands and knees although doing so causes my back to press against the metal barred roof. I can't stretch out at all, and must remain curled up.
The cage is beside her bed. After locking me away Steph climbs up and in, her naked body in shadow as she pulls the duvet up.
Nothing for me, no blanket or pillow.
In the darkness, laid on my side and not knowing whether she's watching back I stare up at her.
Drifting off at some point.
And in the morning Steph simply unlocks me, my clothes and helmet already on her bed. She shows me out, closing the door without comment or kiss, no hug and certainly no 'see you next time'.
I ride home. Aching, tender, but with a small smile.
And I'm in no fit state to do anything save lay here on her bed, Steph doing with me as she pleases.
Untied.
Pulled and dragged and forcibly coaxed to sit on the edge of the bed.
Ballgagged.
Steph ropes my wrists horizontally behind, arms parallel, the long rope run around my upper arms and body, above and below the breasts. Wrists pinned, arms pinned, chest squeezed.
Upper body immobilised.
Legs bound together, ankle and knee, upper thigh.
Everything tight, secure. Pinching.
"I'm watching a movie." Matter of fact, but she's smiling like there's a joke here somewhere.
A shrug, Steph walks out, door left open.
And.
Ha ha.
Now I see it.
Over ten minutes it takes me to stand, find balance, hop my careful way out of Steph's bedroom and down the corridor. To the lounge.
Hopping because I can't walk, can't even shuffle my ankles are too well tied.
One hop, sometimes four or five quick and small in a row, and each time my F cups bounce.
Steph's face as I enter the lounge, trying to ignore me, to focus on the so important movie.
Whatever it is.
But I see her eyes flicker over. Again. See the small smile as she no doubt sees my breasts in motion.
And of course watching her half watching me, snatched glances. That smile. Me, the pet, the rope slut, obeying the- unspoken but it was there -command to attend my Domme. Doing as I'm told, helpless, the long day of submission stretching back, I feel the tingles beginning again.
Sensations not helped by the fact that, when I make it to the sofa and sit down beside her.
Steph proceeds to completely ignore me.
For two hours we sit. The occasional low moan escaping my gagged lips, the occasional wriggle as I adjust my rope bound body, trying to get comfortable and forever failing of course.
For two hours Steph watches the movie seemingly oblivious to my presence. And my submission prevents any move towards her. It isn't my place to take the lead, so, for two hours I sit, a constant low buzz chasing through me at my predicament, the ropes and gag and nakedness, being forced to wait my turn as though I don't matter.
Towards the end Steph fiddles with her phone, and then, credits rolling, there's a knock at the door.
Pizza.
Which Steph places, the box open to expose cheese and tomato deliciousness, on the cushion furthest from her, the other side of me.
Leaning across to ungag, but not free, me.
"Hungry?"
"Yes." Licking my lips, damn it smells amazing and I haven't eaten properly, at all, all day. "Thirsty too." Dropping my gaze. "Please."
Diet coke, ice cold the glass gently offered up and tipped for me. Followed by a bite of pizza. Steph sitting sideways, one leg up and bent, facing me.
"Thank you."
"Just taking care of what's mine." Grinning around a large bite of crust, reaching out to flick at my nipple. "Until the morning anyway."
For awhile we eat and drink in silence. Steph only offers me one bite in ten or twelve, less then two of the eight slices in all.
No doubt, the size of her, she could put the whole thing away were I not here.
"Why didn't you leave?"
"Huh?" Caught off guard, the question, I blink, looking back at Steph who makes a gesture like waving her half a slice around.
"Alice." Taking a huge bite, offering me the small end of crust left. "There's no real power there. Or." Looking around, at me, reaching out to tug my chest harness. Steph laughs. "Or here. It's all just a game really. So." A shrug. "Why didn't you leave?"
"Want me to?"
Laughing, quiet and quick but the tease or flirt slips out.
"No." Sincere, serious. "It's been a good day."
"For me too." Quiet, flicked glance. "You. Um. Know how to treat a girl."
"Oh yeah." Another laugh, shake of her head. "Because every girl wants to be treated like shit and then locked up."
I blush, Steph shuts up.
"You really are into it?" Almost Disbelieving.
"Well...." Mouth dry, feeling my nipples harden and pussy growing damp. I squirm.
"It doesn't matter." Voice suddenly harsh, the moment gone, or lost, or never there at all. Steph slaps the ballgag back into my mouth. Buckling it viciously tight.
Standing, she leans in with one arm either side of me. Coming close, tongue licking across the ball, face in my face.
"Because I'm going to ruin you, slut. So." Straightening up. A nod. "You'll never be back anyway."
Steph bosses me, easily, because as with everything else today I don't fight or hinder her wishes, into a hogtie. Rolling and pushing me onto the sofa properly, using rope to join my ankles and wrists.
A large dildo and butt plug are lubed up and eased inside me, held in by a tight crotch rope. The discomfort of being filled up front and back, holes stretched, held open.
The toys moving as I move.
Steph adds metal clamps to my nipples, smiling as I moan at each pinching attachment, teeth digging in.
Like this I'm left. A half dozen tugs on the crotch rope, a half dozen hard spanking slaps on my butt cheek.
Me, moaned gasps and gag muffled words. Begging.
For more, not to stop.
Steph, a kiss to my cheek, walks away. Abandoning me to the sensations of the hogtie, the various toys lighting me up as though I were actually being fucked.
Returning on and off, crop sometimes in hand. Dolling out more punishment my body drinks in as attention based pleasure.
Eventually though she returns to free me.
"It's late." Talking as I lay flopped, spent and lacking the energy or will to do anything beyond breathe. "Use the bathroom then."
The pause, long enough it registers. I roll over to stare up at her.
Steph, looming, nods.
"Into the cage."
Which is far smaller then Alice's. I can raise up onto hands and knees although doing so causes my back to press against the metal barred roof. I can't stretch out at all, and must remain curled up.
The cage is beside her bed. After locking me away Steph climbs up and in, her naked body in shadow as she pulls the duvet up.
Nothing for me, no blanket or pillow.
In the darkness, laid on my side and not knowing whether she's watching back I stare up at her.
Drifting off at some point.
And in the morning Steph simply unlocks me, my clothes and helmet already on her bed. She shows me out, closing the door without comment or kiss, no hug and certainly no 'see you next time'.
I ride home. Aching, tender, but with a small smile.
-
BlissfulMisery
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 288
- Joined: 2 years ago
A bit of a contrast to the more fast-forwarded sections with Alice. More 'realistic' in the sense of having the oscillations between playing and well... actually having to do things and even have a conversation of some sort. Like it or not, it cannot be all submission and bondage all the time
More of a somber tone too, in a way, as if both are trying to 'find' something in all of this - Steph's moment where the mask slips seems to hint at such at least. And Brooke is certainly searching for something - total submission, to feed her own desires. An impossible thing in reality - irresponsible even - but deeply desirable nonetheless...
I liked the overall tone, and I really liked that brief moment of candidness. Very human, a small island in a sea of fantasy (not that the fantasy is bad!)
More of a somber tone too, in a way, as if both are trying to 'find' something in all of this - Steph's moment where the mask slips seems to hint at such at least. And Brooke is certainly searching for something - total submission, to feed her own desires. An impossible thing in reality - irresponsible even - but deeply desirable nonetheless...
I liked the overall tone, and I really liked that brief moment of candidness. Very human, a small island in a sea of fantasy (not that the fantasy is bad!)
Indeed. Nice to just write as deep and dark as I wish, to make it all about the TUG and not worry about human concerns like needing to eat or take a break before your body simply gives up through overkill.BlissfulMisery wrote: ↑8 months ago More 'realistic' in the sense of having the oscillations between playing and well... actually having to do things and even have a conversation of some sort. Like it or not, it cannot be all submission and bondage all the time
But.
It's nice to throw some normal in there, to break the chapter up. And besides it's potential ground work too, depth being added.
I assume the 'brief moment' to be Steph's belief that Brooke/Plymouth won't be back?BlissfulMisery wrote: ↑8 months ago I liked the overall tone, and I really liked that brief moment of candidness. Very human, a small island in a sea of fantasy (not that the fantasy is bad!)
I'm glad you liked the chapter.
Might have something interesting cooking, a change.
Maybe....
You'll all find out soon enough
-
BlissfulMisery
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 288
- Joined: 2 years ago
Very much so.
I meant this exchange:
It is interesting too - thinking about it more, what sticks out is that Steph seems... *afraid* of the answer. Or perhaps afraid of her own desires, dismissing them out of hand, trying to act as if they do not matter, push them away...RopeBunny wrote: ↑8 months ago "Why didn't you leave?"
"Huh?" Caught off guard, the question, I blink, looking back at Steph who makes a gesture like waving her half a slice around.
"Alice." Taking a huge bite, offering me the small end of crust left. "There's no real power there. Or." Looking around, at me, reaching out to tug my chest harness. Steph laughs. "Or here. It's all just a game really. So." A shrug. "Why didn't you leave?"
"Want me to?"
Laughing, quiet and quick but the tease or flirt slips out.
"No." Sincere, serious. "It's been a good day."
"For me too." Quiet, flicked glance. "You. Um. Know how to treat a girl."
"Oh yeah." Another laugh, shake of her head. "Because every girl wants to be treated like shit and then locked up."
I blush, Steph shuts up.
"You really are into it?" Almost Disbelieving.
"Well...." Mouth dry, feeling my nipples harden and pussy growing damp. I squirm.
"It doesn't matter." Voice suddenly harsh, the moment gone, or lost, or never there at all. Steph slaps the ballgag back into my mouth. Buckling it viciously tight.
A logical reaction, for dominance and submission do involve a degree of cognitive dissonance when contrasted with 'the real world' and normal life. And that is a feeling (the cognitive dissonance) that 'we' (as in the general 'we' as in people in general) do not like to confront, for it is quite difficult to.
Perhaps not wording this the best way, but I think the gist of what I mean is there.
I imagine whatever it is, will be just as interesting as what has come before.
Well, here it is.BlissfulMisery wrote: ↑8 months agoI imagine whatever it is, will be just as interesting as what has come before.
What you might call a curveball
DP018.
beep.
beep.
Not loud, a steady sound. Calming not annoying, it feels like a continued confirmation of something good. Though what...?
beep.
Darkness. But not relaxing, not the good kind of sleep. I ache, everywhere. But worse on my left side, arm and leg. A low steady throbbing inside my skull.
beep.
Aching, and yet peaceful too. Unworried, floating. All is well my mind insists.
beep.
Voices. Remembering I can, having somehow forgotten. I mean, who forgets they have sight?
Wait, why are there so many holes back here?
Cracking gunked lids, blinking.
Finding.
Hospital curtains pulled closed, sealing me in privacy. Tubes and wires, spiralling between me and various machines or the wall. Thin sheet covering my nakedness.
Are those canons mine? Seriously?
An older lady and slightly younger, then her, man. Slumped and asleep in uncomfortable looking chairs. Holding hands.
Mum. And....
My. Boyfriend?
The voices, low murmurs, drift away.
Eyes closing, I do too.
beep.
beep.
More voices, raised in anger. Very close.
"Nobody kidnapped her." Female. "Brooke works in the adult industry, modelling for various BDSM producers."
"But," a second female, "Miss."
"Mrs."
"What my wife." Male, deep and warm. Friendly like a hug. "What we're both trying to." A pause, and then the unseen male speaks again, calmer. "Those marks aren't from captivity or abuse, but clearly from whatever job she was riding home having completed. There's really no case, no reason for you to be here."
I drift back down. Confused, but, I can't make any of it matter.
beep.
Drifting.
Random swirling thoughts trying, failing, to find answers to most of the questions within the sea of holes that seems to be my mind.
Am I Brooke?
Yes.
But, why doesn't that feel right?
Does Brooke.
Do, I?
Am I a porn star?
A.
Bondage, porn star?
beep.
beep.
beep.
Awake. And, it feels different. More, real. Like I'm surfacing, up out of the deep dark and now merely in water I can tread. Almost able to touch the bottom.
Body still covered in aches though. Head, less so but still throbbing.
Tired of the dark I open my eyes. Blinking against the sudden harsh light.
Taking it all, a million things I don't understand and have no reference for the how and why of, in. Trying to remain calm as questions grow and multiply, adding weight and voice to the many I already had.
My hospital bed is nearest the long window and furthest from the entrance door, a ward of eight four per side. Outside is overcast, gloomy but not dawn or dusk. Rain, either brewing or just now blown over.
I'm naked, laid on my back under thin sheets, head propped on thick pillows making my pose that of half sat up.
Eyes drawn again to my chest, such large very obviously fake, surgically enhanced and rounded, pert, breasts on such a slim frame. Alongside the visible ink.
A lot of ink.
And the shock of blue with white tipped hair tumbling down- only the right side -of my face.
I certainly look like a porn star?
My left arm is in a cast, and there's the itchy feel of bandaging wrapping my left leg and belly. Plus my head on the left side.
Drip in my right arm and electric cabling attached at several points across my chest.
Source of that steady almost hypnotic beeping.
"Good afternoon." A nurse, thirty something, Asian, curvy going on plump. Smiles having appeared beside the bed.
Like magic.
"Are you awake?"
Which has got to be the stupidest question, surely?
Opening my mouth to speak, managing nothing but a weak gust of air, sound like a mouse sighing.
Dry throat and lips, which I lick.
"Thirsty?"
I nod, grimacing as my head twinges. Muscles feeling weak. Aching on top of my aches.
She smiles, helps me drink two small gulping sips from a plastic cup.
"Your parents are here." Stepping back, picking a clipboard off the footboard, scribbling. "I'll go and fetch them, the doctor too. Okay."
I attempt a smile, she grins encouragingly back. Leaves.
I drift off.
beep.
"Brooke? Princess?"
Blinking eyes open at the sound. Finding Mum, and.
Dad? Not my boyfriend then.
Standing beside the bed, matching smiles breaking out, Mum sniffing back tears. Dad pulling her into a one armed side hug, dark skinned though Mum and me are white, a cool afro and trimmed black goatee.
"Welcome back Brooke."
His voice, from the unseen argument. Hers too.
I smile back, weak.
And then the doctor arrives.
"Luckily you weren't travelling faster." Glancing from notes to me, to my parents. Black framed glasses perched on the end of his nose. An older man, tall and thin, grey haired.
Apparently I own. Owned, because given the state of me no doubt its so much trash now. A motorbike. I didn't crash in the traditional sense of someone hitting me, me hitting them.
No. Apparently, according to eyewitnesses, I attempted to take a sharp right hand bend by use of the supremely stupid manoeuvre known as driving straight forward. At speed.
Into the appropriately named crash barrier.
"Bruised ribs and a broken arm." Like reeling off a list where each item is something I can feel. "Fractured skull and internal bleeding."
Prehaps he sees my eyes widen, Mum's gasped sob.
"Which we took care of in surgery." One hand up to reassure. "Several deep cuts to the left leg and side. Stitches. Quite a knock to the head young lady. You were suffering from dehydration and malnourishment, exhaustion. Prehaps a factor." A shrug, not important to him. "But." Nodding, putting the clipboard back. "You're awake now, well on the way to a full recovery."
"Unfortunately, given the injuries." Tap of pen against the side of his head. "Sustained, there's a high chance of at least some memory loss."
"Short term?" Mum, leaning into Dad who frowns, concerned.
"At this stage." A small shrug, shake of his head. "There's no way of knowing. Brooke." Turning his attention to me as though remembering that I'm here, awake now. "Give it time, and try not to force the process."
"I'll come back tomorrow to assess you properly." A warm smile, a final nod. "See if we can't get some of those tubes out, get you back to eating. Up and walking yes?"
A small nod, a thumbs up though I can barely lift my arm off the bed.
He leaves.
"Oh. Princess." Mum leans in, gently kissing my forehead. "We're both so glad to see you awake."
"Keep fighting Brooke." Dad, stepping up too and giving my shoulder a gentle pat.
No kiss?
"We'll let your friends know you're awake?" Making eye contact. "They'll be keen to come and visit you."
Something.
Somewhere inside one of the too many holes is a small, red, flag being waved.
But I don't know why, and can't summon the energy.
So I nod, and Mum beams. Giving me a last kiss.
Leaving with Dad, my eyes already drifting closed.
beep.
beep.
beep.
beep.
Not loud, a steady sound. Calming not annoying, it feels like a continued confirmation of something good. Though what...?
beep.
Darkness. But not relaxing, not the good kind of sleep. I ache, everywhere. But worse on my left side, arm and leg. A low steady throbbing inside my skull.
beep.
Aching, and yet peaceful too. Unworried, floating. All is well my mind insists.
beep.
Voices. Remembering I can, having somehow forgotten. I mean, who forgets they have sight?
Wait, why are there so many holes back here?
Cracking gunked lids, blinking.
Finding.
Hospital curtains pulled closed, sealing me in privacy. Tubes and wires, spiralling between me and various machines or the wall. Thin sheet covering my nakedness.
Are those canons mine? Seriously?
An older lady and slightly younger, then her, man. Slumped and asleep in uncomfortable looking chairs. Holding hands.
Mum. And....
My. Boyfriend?
The voices, low murmurs, drift away.
Eyes closing, I do too.
beep.
beep.
More voices, raised in anger. Very close.
"Nobody kidnapped her." Female. "Brooke works in the adult industry, modelling for various BDSM producers."
"But," a second female, "Miss."
"Mrs."
"What my wife." Male, deep and warm. Friendly like a hug. "What we're both trying to." A pause, and then the unseen male speaks again, calmer. "Those marks aren't from captivity or abuse, but clearly from whatever job she was riding home having completed. There's really no case, no reason for you to be here."
I drift back down. Confused, but, I can't make any of it matter.
beep.
Drifting.
Random swirling thoughts trying, failing, to find answers to most of the questions within the sea of holes that seems to be my mind.
Am I Brooke?
Yes.
But, why doesn't that feel right?
Does Brooke.
Do, I?
Am I a porn star?
A.
Bondage, porn star?
beep.
beep.
beep.
Awake. And, it feels different. More, real. Like I'm surfacing, up out of the deep dark and now merely in water I can tread. Almost able to touch the bottom.
Body still covered in aches though. Head, less so but still throbbing.
Tired of the dark I open my eyes. Blinking against the sudden harsh light.
Taking it all, a million things I don't understand and have no reference for the how and why of, in. Trying to remain calm as questions grow and multiply, adding weight and voice to the many I already had.
My hospital bed is nearest the long window and furthest from the entrance door, a ward of eight four per side. Outside is overcast, gloomy but not dawn or dusk. Rain, either brewing or just now blown over.
I'm naked, laid on my back under thin sheets, head propped on thick pillows making my pose that of half sat up.
Eyes drawn again to my chest, such large very obviously fake, surgically enhanced and rounded, pert, breasts on such a slim frame. Alongside the visible ink.
A lot of ink.
And the shock of blue with white tipped hair tumbling down- only the right side -of my face.
I certainly look like a porn star?
My left arm is in a cast, and there's the itchy feel of bandaging wrapping my left leg and belly. Plus my head on the left side.
Drip in my right arm and electric cabling attached at several points across my chest.
Source of that steady almost hypnotic beeping.
"Good afternoon." A nurse, thirty something, Asian, curvy going on plump. Smiles having appeared beside the bed.
Like magic.
"Are you awake?"
Which has got to be the stupidest question, surely?
Opening my mouth to speak, managing nothing but a weak gust of air, sound like a mouse sighing.
Dry throat and lips, which I lick.
"Thirsty?"
I nod, grimacing as my head twinges. Muscles feeling weak. Aching on top of my aches.
She smiles, helps me drink two small gulping sips from a plastic cup.
"Your parents are here." Stepping back, picking a clipboard off the footboard, scribbling. "I'll go and fetch them, the doctor too. Okay."
I attempt a smile, she grins encouragingly back. Leaves.
I drift off.
beep.
"Brooke? Princess?"
Blinking eyes open at the sound. Finding Mum, and.
Dad? Not my boyfriend then.
Standing beside the bed, matching smiles breaking out, Mum sniffing back tears. Dad pulling her into a one armed side hug, dark skinned though Mum and me are white, a cool afro and trimmed black goatee.
"Welcome back Brooke."
His voice, from the unseen argument. Hers too.
I smile back, weak.
And then the doctor arrives.
"Luckily you weren't travelling faster." Glancing from notes to me, to my parents. Black framed glasses perched on the end of his nose. An older man, tall and thin, grey haired.
Apparently I own. Owned, because given the state of me no doubt its so much trash now. A motorbike. I didn't crash in the traditional sense of someone hitting me, me hitting them.
No. Apparently, according to eyewitnesses, I attempted to take a sharp right hand bend by use of the supremely stupid manoeuvre known as driving straight forward. At speed.
Into the appropriately named crash barrier.
"Bruised ribs and a broken arm." Like reeling off a list where each item is something I can feel. "Fractured skull and internal bleeding."
Prehaps he sees my eyes widen, Mum's gasped sob.
"Which we took care of in surgery." One hand up to reassure. "Several deep cuts to the left leg and side. Stitches. Quite a knock to the head young lady. You were suffering from dehydration and malnourishment, exhaustion. Prehaps a factor." A shrug, not important to him. "But." Nodding, putting the clipboard back. "You're awake now, well on the way to a full recovery."
"Unfortunately, given the injuries." Tap of pen against the side of his head. "Sustained, there's a high chance of at least some memory loss."
"Short term?" Mum, leaning into Dad who frowns, concerned.
"At this stage." A small shrug, shake of his head. "There's no way of knowing. Brooke." Turning his attention to me as though remembering that I'm here, awake now. "Give it time, and try not to force the process."
"I'll come back tomorrow to assess you properly." A warm smile, a final nod. "See if we can't get some of those tubes out, get you back to eating. Up and walking yes?"
A small nod, a thumbs up though I can barely lift my arm off the bed.
He leaves.
"Oh. Princess." Mum leans in, gently kissing my forehead. "We're both so glad to see you awake."
"Keep fighting Brooke." Dad, stepping up too and giving my shoulder a gentle pat.
No kiss?
"We'll let your friends know you're awake?" Making eye contact. "They'll be keen to come and visit you."
Something.
Somewhere inside one of the too many holes is a small, red, flag being waved.
But I don't know why, and can't summon the energy.
So I nod, and Mum beams. Giving me a last kiss.
Leaving with Dad, my eyes already drifting closed.
beep.
beep.
DP019.
Three days later, a Sunday, now I'm coherent and awake enough to know such things.
Might, still, not be entirely sure of my name, but at least I know what day it is.
Various tubes and cables all gone, but I'm still bedbound for one last day. Tomorrow morning, so the nurse who delivered my late breakfast informed, I'm booked into surgery to have my bandages removed, stitches on leg and head checked, hopefully removed too.
And all being well, arm still in a cast, they'll let me up to start walking.
Another small step- ha -on the road to discharge.
I'm propped up in bed, not quite sitting or laying, staring out the window at slow drifting clumps of white cloud.
Seven of the eight beds are currently occupied, one of which has the curtains drawn: a fourty something guy, still in a coma and leg freshly amputated by some kind of farming machinery accident. Which sounds both nasty and terrifying. Around four of the others various small groups are clustered. Family, friends.
Visiting hours but, nobody for me yet.
Smaller windows atop the larger, too high and too small for escape should you feel the need, are cracked open allowing a steady cool breeze. Fresh air.
Through the gap I hear a steadily building roar, a whining howl. Closer. Louder. What sounds like an entire gang of Hells Angels, plus the grid of a Superbikes race.
Closer. The sound like a caged beast, barely contained and screaming for release.
The noise brings unexpected feelings out, memories of riding the rushing wind surface from a hole, a wash of pleasure bringing tears to my eyes.
I. And I hadn't been scared nor afraid of the thought, hadn't even had the thought, but. Abruptly, like a decision made.
I need a new bike.
In fits and starts the animal is silenced, choppy idles and the occasional screeched rev. The lack of it feeling somehow wrong.
"There she is." Voice loud, like a bomb dropped into the quiet orderly murmurs of the ward. "Brooke."
Turning my head to discover roughly thirty bikers, a mix of youngsters and oldies. Full racing leathers stood beside jeans and beards, Superbikes and Angels. Mostly guys, a scattering of girls. Every one of them with helmet in hand. Every one of them, on leather jacket or tee, has the same patch.
Three chess piece kings, two white and one black, stood together and appearing to loom. Above which a separate patch declares 'Three Kings' whilst some have patches beneath baring, mostly, 'Bristol.'
In they come, like the unstoppable tide until I'm near surrounded, feeling small but not scared, because.
I. Know them?
"How are you girl?" Older, jeans and an open black leather jacket that looks ancient, cracked yet so cool. White beard but bald. A genuine smile for me. "We came as soon as your Mum gave the word."
"Thank you." My voice sounds small next to his, I'm still weak. I look around at them all, smiling back, multiple thumbs up.
One of the girls, young and skinny with a small chest. Cute should that matter.
Does it? Matter, to me?
Pats a blue carrier bag, winks.
"I." Decide to be honest. "My, memory is...."
"Hell of a tumble." Nodding. "But don't worry Brooke. You're a King, and we look after our own."
I am?
The girl steps up, leans in to hand across the bag. Which I fumble.
"Sorry." Weak.
"Here." Taking it, gently, from me, the old guy pulls forth a new black leather jacket, short, clearly a girls size and style, zip front and belts at waist and collar. Kings patch dominating the back. "We know your old one got ripped to fuck when you wiped out, so." Laying the jacket patch up on my upper legs. "We all clubbed together."
"Wow. I'm...."
Crying again, one shaking hand reaching out and down, touching the leather. The familiar smell only making me more determined to get back in the saddle.
"Thank you." Looking from face to face, one of the older ladies, bandanna tied to cover incredibly short cropped hair, handing me a tissue, young guy in Honda leathers ready with my plastic cup and an older black guy who.
Sudden spark of a memory: these two, the white beard and the older grey haired clean shaven black guy, are two of the Kings on the patch.
The founders.
I offer them, all of them, a smile. "All of you."
They manage, somehow, to stay for almost an hour before a nurse kicks them out. Talking to and around me, exchanging stories, making me the centre of this small gathering. The sense of community, of belonging, has me in tears all over again.
Loud. Boisterous. On at least two occasions playful fights break out over disputed facts: race results or who actually did or said what to who. By the time they leave I've been shown various 'war wounds' running like tram lines down arms or across backs. Scars.
"It goes higher." The young girl who'd had the bag, who'd winked. Rolling her jeans back down, resealing her boots. Gaze finding mine, holding mine. Smile like flirting on her pink hair framed face.
All I can do, naked under the thin sheets, feeling suddenly hot, is nod.
They leave me with my jacket, moved to a hook beside the bed, patch standing proud. And a half dozen biker magazines, a split between custom chopper types and the more normal yet no less cool dealer stuff.
"Wait." Reaching out to brush the old guys arm as he turns from hanging my jacket, the others already filing out.
"Brooke?" Turning, taking my hand in his, patting it with his other. "What's up girl, we'll." A smirk towards the nurses, two of them, standing at the ward entrance like shepards. "Some of us, will come back most days."
"Good." And it is. "But." Using my other hand to weakly sift the magazines around. "Which did I have?"
Brief flicker of a frown crossing his face, brushed aside by a smile.
"Here." Placing a custom magazine on top. "She was a chopper, a real thing of beauty. But." A shrug. "Isn't like you can't change it up next." Moving a different magazine up top, tapping the cover. "Plenty of time to think it over."
Still holding my hand he brings it up, brief kiss, then follows the rest out. Words exchanged, a shared laugh with the nurses as he passes.
The sound of them all leaving is at least as impressive as their massed arrival.
The following afternoon, only my arm cast remaining, dressed in a baggy black 'Triumph' tee and grey shorts so small you can't actually see them beneath the hanging fabric of my top. Happy to be in clothes, my clothes, no longer trapped in bed by pipes or bandages or hospital orders.
Stitches removed, bandages off. I'm, deliberately, refusing to do a proper full body investigation of the damage until I get out of here.
I'm sat, on my bed not in it, sideways legs dangling staring at the corridor beyond the ward, the occasional to and fro.
Thinking about my phone, trashed like my apparently beautiful custom chopper, all my numbers and contacts lost to the wind.
Luckily Mum knows who my friends are.
Scattering of visiting families and.
Someone approaching me.
Young, tall and lean, glasses and messed up on purpose brown hair but clean shaven. Wearing blue jeans with black Nikes, a black Batman tee.
"Hey Pl." Flash of a smile. "Brooke."
"Hi...?" From somewhere I know him, that smile. Familiar.
"Daniel."
"Okay." I nod, make a decision. "Want to help me go for a walk?"
"Are you...." Glancing back at the doorway. "Allowed?"
"Sure." Trying on a smile. "And besides I've been stuck in bed for at least ten years. Feels like, so. Please?"
Daniel nods, shrugging off his messenger bag, which he leaves on my bed.
Holding out an arm, steadying me despite his lack of muscle as I carefully slide down off the bed.
Low hiss as my bare feet touch the floor, aches exploding up both legs.
"You sure Brooke?"
"Just." Working on my breathing, calm, slow. "Down the corridor. Might." Looking across at Daniel, half smile. "Need to lean on you."
"Okay." Showing me a smile back.
"Not helping her escape." To the nurses as we shuffle slowly passed. "Promise."
"Roman asked me to come by."
"My." Frowning, fitting the name. "Dad?"
"Well." Frowning back, then he shrugs. "Sure. He thought I might be able to help."
We shuffle in silence, me mulling things over, trying to connect the black gaps, to fit Daniel's familiarity into somewhere.
"You've." Fuck it, I'll ask. "Seen me naked?"
"Multiple times." Nodding, serious expression. "I know you're full of holes but it isn't something I'll forget."
Then he laughs, harder as I, failing not to smile, administer what has to be the weakest punch ever to his arm.
"Because I." Thinking. "Model for you?"
"Not exclusively." Shaken head. "But yes, we've collaborated on several projects."
"And." Licking my lips, nervous even though I'm not sure whether it, Daniel's answer, should even matter. "Am I any good?"
"Honestly." Stopping, which means I stop too. Daniel looks me in the eyes, showing me a sincere smile. "You're the best I've ever worked with Brooke."
"You've been off the grid, the scene, for months though." Still making eye contact. "I figured you'd quit?"
To which I've got no answer, because I. Don't. Know.
"Can you," back at my bed, aching and sweaty but happy, "show me?"
"I can."
Delving into his bag, coming out with a thick black hardback. 'The Carnival of Chains' written in white gothic legend across the front.
"Here." Placing it down beside me. "Browse, give it back whenever but." A shrug. "It might help you remember."
"Right." Looking from Daniel to the book, which has his name on the front, third in a row of five headed up by 'Plymouth.'
Which, that word, name, for some reason has me looking down at my left leg, a lighthouse tattoo now marked by scars.
With a hug Daniel leaves.
And I, somehow- a nurse turning up with dinner, moving my magazines and the book, burying the latter under the former, not to mention my head full of holes -manage to forget about the book.
But that night I dream.
I'm on an indoor golf course, crazy golf, each hole home to a weird contraption or too many hills, or a dozen holes only one being a straight path to the actual hole.
There's a windmill, taller then you'd think easily ten foot from base to pointed top. The four pronged 'mill' or sail turns slowly, lazily, via some hidden motor.
I'm attached to it.
Naked aside from white lace bra and boyshorts, each of my limbs is splayed out along one of the sails, rope bound to the wooden frame at wrists and ankles.
A black scarf forced and tied in my mouth.
Around I slowly go, turning and turning. Body lashed in place so tightly I don't move, can't struggle and there's no shift or drop whenever I'm upside down.
Turning and turning.
The whole thing feels....
Dream me is happy.
I become aware of people. Two shadows, playing the course, coming slowly closer.
Shadows, I can't see any details except: one of them, a plump build, purple hair. And the other slimmer, a mohawk and breasts that stick out like mine.
And there's some kind of growing anticipation, within me, for when they arrive. As though somethings going to happen, an exciting thing that's waking up my nipples, making my pussy throb.
And then, fucks sake.
Hospital porters deliver someone to the eighth, final unoccupied bed, which wakes me up.
Shattering the dream.
Damn.
Three days later, a Sunday, now I'm coherent and awake enough to know such things.
Might, still, not be entirely sure of my name, but at least I know what day it is.
Various tubes and cables all gone, but I'm still bedbound for one last day. Tomorrow morning, so the nurse who delivered my late breakfast informed, I'm booked into surgery to have my bandages removed, stitches on leg and head checked, hopefully removed too.
And all being well, arm still in a cast, they'll let me up to start walking.
Another small step- ha -on the road to discharge.
I'm propped up in bed, not quite sitting or laying, staring out the window at slow drifting clumps of white cloud.
Seven of the eight beds are currently occupied, one of which has the curtains drawn: a fourty something guy, still in a coma and leg freshly amputated by some kind of farming machinery accident. Which sounds both nasty and terrifying. Around four of the others various small groups are clustered. Family, friends.
Visiting hours but, nobody for me yet.
Smaller windows atop the larger, too high and too small for escape should you feel the need, are cracked open allowing a steady cool breeze. Fresh air.
Through the gap I hear a steadily building roar, a whining howl. Closer. Louder. What sounds like an entire gang of Hells Angels, plus the grid of a Superbikes race.
Closer. The sound like a caged beast, barely contained and screaming for release.
The noise brings unexpected feelings out, memories of riding the rushing wind surface from a hole, a wash of pleasure bringing tears to my eyes.
I. And I hadn't been scared nor afraid of the thought, hadn't even had the thought, but. Abruptly, like a decision made.
I need a new bike.
In fits and starts the animal is silenced, choppy idles and the occasional screeched rev. The lack of it feeling somehow wrong.
"There she is." Voice loud, like a bomb dropped into the quiet orderly murmurs of the ward. "Brooke."
Turning my head to discover roughly thirty bikers, a mix of youngsters and oldies. Full racing leathers stood beside jeans and beards, Superbikes and Angels. Mostly guys, a scattering of girls. Every one of them with helmet in hand. Every one of them, on leather jacket or tee, has the same patch.
Three chess piece kings, two white and one black, stood together and appearing to loom. Above which a separate patch declares 'Three Kings' whilst some have patches beneath baring, mostly, 'Bristol.'
In they come, like the unstoppable tide until I'm near surrounded, feeling small but not scared, because.
I. Know them?
"How are you girl?" Older, jeans and an open black leather jacket that looks ancient, cracked yet so cool. White beard but bald. A genuine smile for me. "We came as soon as your Mum gave the word."
"Thank you." My voice sounds small next to his, I'm still weak. I look around at them all, smiling back, multiple thumbs up.
One of the girls, young and skinny with a small chest. Cute should that matter.
Does it? Matter, to me?
Pats a blue carrier bag, winks.
"I." Decide to be honest. "My, memory is...."
"Hell of a tumble." Nodding. "But don't worry Brooke. You're a King, and we look after our own."
I am?
The girl steps up, leans in to hand across the bag. Which I fumble.
"Sorry." Weak.
"Here." Taking it, gently, from me, the old guy pulls forth a new black leather jacket, short, clearly a girls size and style, zip front and belts at waist and collar. Kings patch dominating the back. "We know your old one got ripped to fuck when you wiped out, so." Laying the jacket patch up on my upper legs. "We all clubbed together."
"Wow. I'm...."
Crying again, one shaking hand reaching out and down, touching the leather. The familiar smell only making me more determined to get back in the saddle.
"Thank you." Looking from face to face, one of the older ladies, bandanna tied to cover incredibly short cropped hair, handing me a tissue, young guy in Honda leathers ready with my plastic cup and an older black guy who.
Sudden spark of a memory: these two, the white beard and the older grey haired clean shaven black guy, are two of the Kings on the patch.
The founders.
I offer them, all of them, a smile. "All of you."
They manage, somehow, to stay for almost an hour before a nurse kicks them out. Talking to and around me, exchanging stories, making me the centre of this small gathering. The sense of community, of belonging, has me in tears all over again.
Loud. Boisterous. On at least two occasions playful fights break out over disputed facts: race results or who actually did or said what to who. By the time they leave I've been shown various 'war wounds' running like tram lines down arms or across backs. Scars.
"It goes higher." The young girl who'd had the bag, who'd winked. Rolling her jeans back down, resealing her boots. Gaze finding mine, holding mine. Smile like flirting on her pink hair framed face.
All I can do, naked under the thin sheets, feeling suddenly hot, is nod.
They leave me with my jacket, moved to a hook beside the bed, patch standing proud. And a half dozen biker magazines, a split between custom chopper types and the more normal yet no less cool dealer stuff.
"Wait." Reaching out to brush the old guys arm as he turns from hanging my jacket, the others already filing out.
"Brooke?" Turning, taking my hand in his, patting it with his other. "What's up girl, we'll." A smirk towards the nurses, two of them, standing at the ward entrance like shepards. "Some of us, will come back most days."
"Good." And it is. "But." Using my other hand to weakly sift the magazines around. "Which did I have?"
Brief flicker of a frown crossing his face, brushed aside by a smile.
"Here." Placing a custom magazine on top. "She was a chopper, a real thing of beauty. But." A shrug. "Isn't like you can't change it up next." Moving a different magazine up top, tapping the cover. "Plenty of time to think it over."
Still holding my hand he brings it up, brief kiss, then follows the rest out. Words exchanged, a shared laugh with the nurses as he passes.
The sound of them all leaving is at least as impressive as their massed arrival.
The following afternoon, only my arm cast remaining, dressed in a baggy black 'Triumph' tee and grey shorts so small you can't actually see them beneath the hanging fabric of my top. Happy to be in clothes, my clothes, no longer trapped in bed by pipes or bandages or hospital orders.
Stitches removed, bandages off. I'm, deliberately, refusing to do a proper full body investigation of the damage until I get out of here.
I'm sat, on my bed not in it, sideways legs dangling staring at the corridor beyond the ward, the occasional to and fro.
Thinking about my phone, trashed like my apparently beautiful custom chopper, all my numbers and contacts lost to the wind.
Luckily Mum knows who my friends are.
Scattering of visiting families and.
Someone approaching me.
Young, tall and lean, glasses and messed up on purpose brown hair but clean shaven. Wearing blue jeans with black Nikes, a black Batman tee.
"Hey Pl." Flash of a smile. "Brooke."
"Hi...?" From somewhere I know him, that smile. Familiar.
"Daniel."
"Okay." I nod, make a decision. "Want to help me go for a walk?"
"Are you...." Glancing back at the doorway. "Allowed?"
"Sure." Trying on a smile. "And besides I've been stuck in bed for at least ten years. Feels like, so. Please?"
Daniel nods, shrugging off his messenger bag, which he leaves on my bed.
Holding out an arm, steadying me despite his lack of muscle as I carefully slide down off the bed.
Low hiss as my bare feet touch the floor, aches exploding up both legs.
"You sure Brooke?"
"Just." Working on my breathing, calm, slow. "Down the corridor. Might." Looking across at Daniel, half smile. "Need to lean on you."
"Okay." Showing me a smile back.
"Not helping her escape." To the nurses as we shuffle slowly passed. "Promise."
"Roman asked me to come by."
"My." Frowning, fitting the name. "Dad?"
"Well." Frowning back, then he shrugs. "Sure. He thought I might be able to help."
We shuffle in silence, me mulling things over, trying to connect the black gaps, to fit Daniel's familiarity into somewhere.
"You've." Fuck it, I'll ask. "Seen me naked?"
"Multiple times." Nodding, serious expression. "I know you're full of holes but it isn't something I'll forget."
Then he laughs, harder as I, failing not to smile, administer what has to be the weakest punch ever to his arm.
"Because I." Thinking. "Model for you?"
"Not exclusively." Shaken head. "But yes, we've collaborated on several projects."
"And." Licking my lips, nervous even though I'm not sure whether it, Daniel's answer, should even matter. "Am I any good?"
"Honestly." Stopping, which means I stop too. Daniel looks me in the eyes, showing me a sincere smile. "You're the best I've ever worked with Brooke."
"You've been off the grid, the scene, for months though." Still making eye contact. "I figured you'd quit?"
To which I've got no answer, because I. Don't. Know.
"Can you," back at my bed, aching and sweaty but happy, "show me?"
"I can."
Delving into his bag, coming out with a thick black hardback. 'The Carnival of Chains' written in white gothic legend across the front.
"Here." Placing it down beside me. "Browse, give it back whenever but." A shrug. "It might help you remember."
"Right." Looking from Daniel to the book, which has his name on the front, third in a row of five headed up by 'Plymouth.'
Which, that word, name, for some reason has me looking down at my left leg, a lighthouse tattoo now marked by scars.
With a hug Daniel leaves.
And I, somehow- a nurse turning up with dinner, moving my magazines and the book, burying the latter under the former, not to mention my head full of holes -manage to forget about the book.
But that night I dream.
I'm on an indoor golf course, crazy golf, each hole home to a weird contraption or too many hills, or a dozen holes only one being a straight path to the actual hole.
There's a windmill, taller then you'd think easily ten foot from base to pointed top. The four pronged 'mill' or sail turns slowly, lazily, via some hidden motor.
I'm attached to it.
Naked aside from white lace bra and boyshorts, each of my limbs is splayed out along one of the sails, rope bound to the wooden frame at wrists and ankles.
A black scarf forced and tied in my mouth.
Around I slowly go, turning and turning. Body lashed in place so tightly I don't move, can't struggle and there's no shift or drop whenever I'm upside down.
Turning and turning.
The whole thing feels....
Dream me is happy.
I become aware of people. Two shadows, playing the course, coming slowly closer.
Shadows, I can't see any details except: one of them, a plump build, purple hair. And the other slimmer, a mohawk and breasts that stick out like mine.
And there's some kind of growing anticipation, within me, for when they arrive. As though somethings going to happen, an exciting thing that's waking up my nipples, making my pussy throb.
And then, fucks sake.
Hospital porters deliver someone to the eighth, final unoccupied bed, which wakes me up.
Shattering the dream.
Damn.
-
BlissfulMisery
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 288
- Joined: 2 years ago
A curveball indeed!
Still, at least she has friends to help her along. A lot of old faces from her past making a reappearance, which is nice to see (and new faces of course!)
One problem however - Deborah probably has no idea what happened to her, since I doubt Brooke's mother knows about her. And worse, Brooke does not currently remember this.
Still, at least she has friends to help her along. A lot of old faces from her past making a reappearance, which is nice to see (and new faces of course!)
One problem however - Deborah probably has no idea what happened to her, since I doubt Brooke's mother knows about her. And worse, Brooke does not currently remember this.
Exactly, and this is where the potential for interesting tines arises.BlissfulMisery wrote: ↑8 months ago
One problem however - Deborah probably has no idea what happened to her, since I doubt Brooke's mother knows about her. And worse, Brooke does not currently remember this.
Might have to wait awhile for Deborah, and/or Steph, even little switch Alice, to surface, but no doubt they- at least one of them -will.
DP020.
Dad comes alone the day they discharge me. Cast removed, still feeling weak yet I can walk unaided, and I'm getting better. Stronger.
"Dad." Sat in his car, engine idling, purring quietly, I turn to face him. "I. Well."
"Ask, Brooke." Facing me, a small nod. "Go ahead."
Like he knows?
"Well." Breathe, and plunge. "I'm full of holes." Tapping my head, quick laugh. "But. Well...."
"I'm not your Dad."
"Oh." And then it hits. "Really?"
"Really." Smiling, then becoming serious. "I'm betting what's got you upset, worried, is you've got some shard of memory of us." Nodding. "Right?"
His cock to be specific. The jagged memory, unconnected to any kind of handy explanation or background, had been steadily freaking me out.
Should I tell Mum? And, what does it even mean?
I, wordless, braced for anything, any level of response from laughter to outrage, nod. Yes, there's a shard, a pretty fucking hard to ignore one.
"I used to work the industry." Tipping me a half salute. "Like you though not bondage, not often anyway. I was a producer, and we met because you did a shoot. For me. With." Giving me an awkward look, considering who he's now married to. "Me."
"Where I...?"
"Yes."
Silence whilst I take it in.
"I've, probably, still got the footage backed up someplace." A shrug, he doesn't care. And a grimace, because quite clearly he doesn't want to go hunting it out. "But, let's see." A moments thought. A nod. "Making the story short, we met again, months later and in a completely different setting, and you're Mother was with you. And...."
Another shrug, a spreading smile.
"And now you're married?"
"Happily." Showing me his plain gunmetal ring. "So, not your actual Father, but I do care about you, Brooke." Reaching across the space he pats my leg. "We both do."
And into the silence, I laugh.
"Well." Shaking my head. "Thank fuck for that."
"Quite." Shaking his head and smiling. "We, um, thought prehaps you'd be best coming home for awhile?"
"Oh." As if on cue my aches start noisily banging around inside. "Please."
"Great." Tapping away at his phone. "Come on then, home for dinner."
Home. Not my home, which is in, I think, Wales? But home all the same. A fairly nice estate, a semi detached three bed with garage and driveway, conservatory. Mum and Roman don't push, or crowd, but one of them is always close by those next handful of days, as my strength returns, as I try to figure out who I am.
I have a bath, a long soak with soft music drifting up through the floorboards from below. The warm water and bubbles serving to sluice off the feel of hospital, like cleansing. Settling and calming the nerves that continue to sprout because.
There's so much of me I don't know.
Afterwards, dry, I stand naked before the mirror, turning left and right. Checking and re-familiarising myself, with myself.
Average height, skinny and tanned, not muscular but definite toning to arms and legs, firm butt and flat stomach.
Those breasts, which now the initial shock is gone I'm discovering a love for the canons that clearly motivated me to go supersize in the first place. They're big, like twin globes thrusting ahead, out into the world. Pert and jutting no matter whether I'm standing or laying, and I can't help but smile at the bouncing that accompanies my every move.
Ink, everywhere, on my left side anyway. Which raises more smiles, something purposefully done it feels like, vague notion that I hate symmetry. Some of it, the ink, I can almost say why.
Curling hair dyed blue, shading to white tips. Long, but thanks to the accident now shaved to a buzzcut on the left side where a short jagged horizontal scar is visible. The lopsided style looks very alternative, making me grin. Quite liking it.
More scarring up my left leg from below the knee to above the waist, not far short of my breast. An almost continuous vertical line, casually zig zagging lazily, at times becoming two becoming three as it branches, only for the offshoots to vanish leaving the central core as a solo line. The scar cuts through an inked skull on the lower leg, and the large cloud floating lighthouse on the upper.
It, the scarring at head and leg, has the look of permanence about it. Not going to fade away and vanish.
Ever.
Which I'm okay with.
That lighthouse tattoo, some kind of connection to Plymouth, which.
Is me?
I think, am increasingly certain to the point it becomes beyond any doubt that. Yes, Plymouth is me. Like a second me, the me who does bondage.
Especially, what helps banish the maybe, is my repeated flicking through Daniel's big black book.
'The Carnival of Chains.' Such a cool name. Mine, or a shared invention? This copy, Daniel's, has been signed on the inside first largely blank page. Four short messages including.
'Stay strange' with 'Brooke' scribbled alongside, in flowing script I recognise as my own.
Inside, the book is.
Eye-opening, photo following photo, pretty girls bound and tied and gagged, clothed and naked, ropes and chains and tape. A scattering of me, strange and unfamiliar, my body, clothed and topless and naked, pulled and pinned by ropes or chains, a large red ball sprouting black straps which hold it inside my forced wide mouth.
Throughout the book are occasional pages of text. Like short explanations, stories from the five named on the cover, telling how the Carnival came to be.
Apparently it appears to be largely my fault. But in a good way.
It's like the bikes: hearing them, smelling my new Kings jacket, I'd known the right of it, the input forcing light down into holes, memory returning. And now the book: seeing myself, reading my words, my efforts and -ha -struggles to birth this new thing. I.
Remember.
Some of it.
The pinch of rope around elbows, the thrill of being naked and restrained whilst someone shot film. Like snatches, I couldn't tell you any actual thing I've done, or for whom, just that I have.
And that it was awesome.
A fact confirmed by the rush of heat browsing the book brings, a warm happy buzz spreading from crotch to nipples.
Daniel's number, email, a slip of paper inside the book which he'd told me was there, the exact offer unspoken but obvious.
If I want to step back in, he's available to help.
But.
And, I want to. Really want to.
But.
I'm, nervous, which is silly, surely?
The photos prove beyond any holes that I have, the tingles tell me I want to again.
But.
I'm finding a shyness, a worry, a small fear.
What if I've forgotten how to do it well?
"Brooke?"
"Yes?" Shouting back, late morning and I'm upstairs, up early and out for a first jog since the crash, Roman coming too. More walk then jog, small bursts of speed, but an achievement still.
Sweaty, I've had a shower, have just gotten changed into skinny blue jeans and a fitted white tee, cropped to show off my belly, the blue My Little Pony, Rainbow Dash, on my chest. White and pink lace bra with grey thong, the waistband riding up out of my jeans left and right.
"Visitor for you." Mum shouts back, which, making my way downstairs has me frowning.
Who?
I'd had another dream last night.
In a furniture store, some unknown fuzzing at the edges universal looking place. Another splayed out limbs to the four corners tie which, upon waking, had me thinking prehaps I favoured those?
I'm lashed to a bed, same bra and boyshorts as the golf dream, same gag too. The tie is equally tight, the whole scenario raising equal happy smiles and tingles as last time.
Store workers, moving as though on fast-forward all stutter stop jerking, vanishing and reappearing, come and go. Those that stop by pausing just long enough to either pull a duvet up over me, covering my near nakedness, or to whisk the duvet off.
Exposing me all over again.
The shadows appear after awhile, moving smoothly, almost gliding compared to the workers. The same pair as before: plump and purple haired plus her slimmer black mohawk friend.
Dream me holds her breath, watching as they lazily zig and zag aisle to aisle. Closing in.
Prehaps this time I'll....
No, woken by my- stupid idea, who the fuck goes jogging before the sun's properly up -alarm.
Are they real, the shadows? My subconscious trying to show me?
Halfway down the stairs I pause, hand going to my mouth. Gasping.
You don't think?
Are they, one or both of them, here? Now?
Brief smile from Mum as we pass in the corridor, front door still cracked. I step into the gap, sudden attack of nerves twisting knots in my stomach, to find.
Dad comes alone the day they discharge me. Cast removed, still feeling weak yet I can walk unaided, and I'm getting better. Stronger.
"Dad." Sat in his car, engine idling, purring quietly, I turn to face him. "I. Well."
"Ask, Brooke." Facing me, a small nod. "Go ahead."
Like he knows?
"Well." Breathe, and plunge. "I'm full of holes." Tapping my head, quick laugh. "But. Well...."
"I'm not your Dad."
"Oh." And then it hits. "Really?"
"Really." Smiling, then becoming serious. "I'm betting what's got you upset, worried, is you've got some shard of memory of us." Nodding. "Right?"
His cock to be specific. The jagged memory, unconnected to any kind of handy explanation or background, had been steadily freaking me out.
Should I tell Mum? And, what does it even mean?
I, wordless, braced for anything, any level of response from laughter to outrage, nod. Yes, there's a shard, a pretty fucking hard to ignore one.
"I used to work the industry." Tipping me a half salute. "Like you though not bondage, not often anyway. I was a producer, and we met because you did a shoot. For me. With." Giving me an awkward look, considering who he's now married to. "Me."
"Where I...?"
"Yes."
Silence whilst I take it in.
"I've, probably, still got the footage backed up someplace." A shrug, he doesn't care. And a grimace, because quite clearly he doesn't want to go hunting it out. "But, let's see." A moments thought. A nod. "Making the story short, we met again, months later and in a completely different setting, and you're Mother was with you. And...."
Another shrug, a spreading smile.
"And now you're married?"
"Happily." Showing me his plain gunmetal ring. "So, not your actual Father, but I do care about you, Brooke." Reaching across the space he pats my leg. "We both do."
And into the silence, I laugh.
"Well." Shaking my head. "Thank fuck for that."
"Quite." Shaking his head and smiling. "We, um, thought prehaps you'd be best coming home for awhile?"
"Oh." As if on cue my aches start noisily banging around inside. "Please."
"Great." Tapping away at his phone. "Come on then, home for dinner."
Home. Not my home, which is in, I think, Wales? But home all the same. A fairly nice estate, a semi detached three bed with garage and driveway, conservatory. Mum and Roman don't push, or crowd, but one of them is always close by those next handful of days, as my strength returns, as I try to figure out who I am.
I have a bath, a long soak with soft music drifting up through the floorboards from below. The warm water and bubbles serving to sluice off the feel of hospital, like cleansing. Settling and calming the nerves that continue to sprout because.
There's so much of me I don't know.
Afterwards, dry, I stand naked before the mirror, turning left and right. Checking and re-familiarising myself, with myself.
Average height, skinny and tanned, not muscular but definite toning to arms and legs, firm butt and flat stomach.
Those breasts, which now the initial shock is gone I'm discovering a love for the canons that clearly motivated me to go supersize in the first place. They're big, like twin globes thrusting ahead, out into the world. Pert and jutting no matter whether I'm standing or laying, and I can't help but smile at the bouncing that accompanies my every move.
Ink, everywhere, on my left side anyway. Which raises more smiles, something purposefully done it feels like, vague notion that I hate symmetry. Some of it, the ink, I can almost say why.
Curling hair dyed blue, shading to white tips. Long, but thanks to the accident now shaved to a buzzcut on the left side where a short jagged horizontal scar is visible. The lopsided style looks very alternative, making me grin. Quite liking it.
More scarring up my left leg from below the knee to above the waist, not far short of my breast. An almost continuous vertical line, casually zig zagging lazily, at times becoming two becoming three as it branches, only for the offshoots to vanish leaving the central core as a solo line. The scar cuts through an inked skull on the lower leg, and the large cloud floating lighthouse on the upper.
It, the scarring at head and leg, has the look of permanence about it. Not going to fade away and vanish.
Ever.
Which I'm okay with.
That lighthouse tattoo, some kind of connection to Plymouth, which.
Is me?
I think, am increasingly certain to the point it becomes beyond any doubt that. Yes, Plymouth is me. Like a second me, the me who does bondage.
Especially, what helps banish the maybe, is my repeated flicking through Daniel's big black book.
'The Carnival of Chains.' Such a cool name. Mine, or a shared invention? This copy, Daniel's, has been signed on the inside first largely blank page. Four short messages including.
'Stay strange' with 'Brooke' scribbled alongside, in flowing script I recognise as my own.
Inside, the book is.
Eye-opening, photo following photo, pretty girls bound and tied and gagged, clothed and naked, ropes and chains and tape. A scattering of me, strange and unfamiliar, my body, clothed and topless and naked, pulled and pinned by ropes or chains, a large red ball sprouting black straps which hold it inside my forced wide mouth.
Throughout the book are occasional pages of text. Like short explanations, stories from the five named on the cover, telling how the Carnival came to be.
Apparently it appears to be largely my fault. But in a good way.
It's like the bikes: hearing them, smelling my new Kings jacket, I'd known the right of it, the input forcing light down into holes, memory returning. And now the book: seeing myself, reading my words, my efforts and -ha -struggles to birth this new thing. I.
Remember.
Some of it.
The pinch of rope around elbows, the thrill of being naked and restrained whilst someone shot film. Like snatches, I couldn't tell you any actual thing I've done, or for whom, just that I have.
And that it was awesome.
A fact confirmed by the rush of heat browsing the book brings, a warm happy buzz spreading from crotch to nipples.
Daniel's number, email, a slip of paper inside the book which he'd told me was there, the exact offer unspoken but obvious.
If I want to step back in, he's available to help.
But.
And, I want to. Really want to.
But.
I'm, nervous, which is silly, surely?
The photos prove beyond any holes that I have, the tingles tell me I want to again.
But.
I'm finding a shyness, a worry, a small fear.
What if I've forgotten how to do it well?
"Brooke?"
"Yes?" Shouting back, late morning and I'm upstairs, up early and out for a first jog since the crash, Roman coming too. More walk then jog, small bursts of speed, but an achievement still.
Sweaty, I've had a shower, have just gotten changed into skinny blue jeans and a fitted white tee, cropped to show off my belly, the blue My Little Pony, Rainbow Dash, on my chest. White and pink lace bra with grey thong, the waistband riding up out of my jeans left and right.
"Visitor for you." Mum shouts back, which, making my way downstairs has me frowning.
Who?
I'd had another dream last night.
In a furniture store, some unknown fuzzing at the edges universal looking place. Another splayed out limbs to the four corners tie which, upon waking, had me thinking prehaps I favoured those?
I'm lashed to a bed, same bra and boyshorts as the golf dream, same gag too. The tie is equally tight, the whole scenario raising equal happy smiles and tingles as last time.
Store workers, moving as though on fast-forward all stutter stop jerking, vanishing and reappearing, come and go. Those that stop by pausing just long enough to either pull a duvet up over me, covering my near nakedness, or to whisk the duvet off.
Exposing me all over again.
The shadows appear after awhile, moving smoothly, almost gliding compared to the workers. The same pair as before: plump and purple haired plus her slimmer black mohawk friend.
Dream me holds her breath, watching as they lazily zig and zag aisle to aisle. Closing in.
Prehaps this time I'll....
No, woken by my- stupid idea, who the fuck goes jogging before the sun's properly up -alarm.
Are they real, the shadows? My subconscious trying to show me?
Halfway down the stairs I pause, hand going to my mouth. Gasping.
You don't think?
Are they, one or both of them, here? Now?
Brief smile from Mum as we pass in the corridor, front door still cracked. I step into the gap, sudden attack of nerves twisting knots in my stomach, to find.
-
BlissfulMisery
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 288
- Joined: 2 years ago
Indeed...
Nice to see Brooke rediscovering Plymouth (and more callbacks!), even if still faintly, from a distance.
Although I suppose the unexpected guest is likely to have something to do with/perhaps be able to help with that?
A mean cliffhanger!