being Plymouth (MF+/F+) *FINISHED 20/12* *Good to see you all*

[RopeBunny]

And here we go.

As always I'll write as though you're new here, and don't know Plymouth, her life.

[RopeBunny]

Prologue.
Choices.

I hadn't laughed, because it's far from a stupid idea.

"Okay." Is what I'd said, sitting up in her single bed, in her room. Talking quietly because it's her parents house. Looking thoughtful as the duvet fell to reveal my nakedness.

As Morgan rolled onto her side, butt pressed against the wall. Smile a little nervous, hopeful.

I'd asked. The why mostly, checking it wasn't all for me, because of me.

Of course I've influenced the direction, how could I not. But she, sensible girl, isn't doing it out of some misguided notion or fantasy of us becoming closer through it.

Good.

So.

The following morning I fired off an email.

And ten days later finds us catching a train to meet Karl, who owns LondonBound.

Because Morgan's decided she might, maybe but probably definitely, want to be a bondage porn star.

In the wake of the Deborah/Steph revelations, two girls walking hand in hand out of a past I barely remember, because of the accident.

I came off my custom chopper at speed, fractured skull, long scar like a tree branch down my left side and leg. Nasty.

Apparently they both used to own me.

No, really.

And wanted to again. A fate I, somehow given my traitor body seems to relish helplessness, avoided.

But in the aftermath, paranoid, I'd sat down with Daniel. Whom I trust. To make a list of 'safe' bondage workers.

Laughing as he wrote his name first, harder as, all innocence he'd then underlined it several times, followed by a half dozen circles.

Off which, that safe list, a site I've never worked for but one known for making 'casting' videos. I reached out, and Karl was happy to give Morgan a tryout.

A chance to see whether she actually does want to walk this path.

"Karl?"
"Plymouth?"

I mean yes the number on the door matches the address Karl emailed, but, there's always that moment. That brief 'am I knocking on the wrong door dressed very inappropriately' moment.

Morgan hovering behind me, looking cute.

A size ten to my eight, though I'm toned and tanned- years of outdoors work chopping wood and mowing grass -whilst Morgan's belly is like a small hump above the waistband of her black with green and yellow flower silhouettes scattered up the right leg, across the butt and crotch, leggings. A white tee with the Honda 'H' symbol in red hugs her braless B cup chest.

I'm wearing faded and ripped blue jeans with a khaki canvas belt, the long loose end hanging and swinging as we walk. A plain black vest top and lace bra are doing a passable job of containing my enhanced F cups, though given the size of my canons you can still see plenty.

We're both in our 'Kings' leather biker jackets. Three Kings to be exact, a biker gang and more importantly a second family of sorts.

Black Converse high tops on Morgan's feet, black and pink Adidas on mine.

Dyed pink hair with a long fringe, mostly straight but cut short exposing her neck. Mine is blue, tumbling and curling with white tips that brush my mid back. But only on the right. Post accident the doctors were forced to shave the left side, an alternative style I've kept brushing everything on top purposefully to maintain the imbalanced look.

For a moment we stand and smile semi awkwardly at each other, one stranger who's soon to see the other wearing less clothes.

Karl is early thirties, young but still ten plus years older then either of us, dark skinned with a black buzzcut and trimmed beard. Well muscled body covered by red Nike jogging trousers and a grey vest.

We've come to a three story mid terrace in Ealing, a couple of stops out from central London.

"Hey, ladies." Smiling and stepping back, door held wide. "Come on in. You find the place okay?"
"Yeah." Smiling back. "Just had to come into London then bounce back out to here."
"Cool," nodding, "cool. And." Closing the door. Pointing. "Morgan, right?"
"Um." Nervous giggle. "Hi. Yes."

Into a lounge which takes up almost the entire ground floor, kitchen through an archway and stairs up sprouting from a wall. Karl's flatscreen is playing one of the dance music stations, black screen and white words, low bass fast then slow then fast as background.

Contracts on a dining table towards the back of the room.

Contacts, plural. Because to sweeten the deal I'd offered Karl a shoot with me too, at a discount.

Which he'd been only too happy to accept.

I wait, sat on the sofa, sipping water and reading my book whilst Karl and Morgan head upstairs for her shoot.

She doesn't, can't if she wants to make a go of this, need me to hold her hand.

I'm not worried or nervous for her. Morgan. I know she loves bondage, and yes doing it on camera is a world away from bedroom playtime, but.

She'll either love it or not.

Twenty odd minutes later they reappear, Morgan near flying down the stairs bounding and grinning.

Karl, more sedate bringing up the rear. Catching my gaze as Morgan throws herself at me. Hugging. I raise an eyebrow, unspoken question. And Karl smiles, thumbs up with a nod.

For what it's worth, his opinion, a green light.

Good for her.

And now it's my turn, for which we all tramp upstairs to the top, third, floor.

Which is just one large room, a converted roof space. Curtains closed on the windows front and back set into the angled walls. A fancy metal frame bolted to the roof, a grid off which Karl can hang lights wherever he needs. In one corner of the room a wooden double bed is pushed against a wall, close by which sits a pale blue four seater fabric sofa tellingly covered in discarded rope.

Separate from that, a clear area of floor, a wooden dining chair has been placed, spotlights shining down and a tripod already set up facing it.

Morgan, under strict instructions to sit down and hush, takes a seat at the back of the room close by the stairs. Well out of shot.

So she can watch, not because I want to show off.

See how a real pro does it and all that bollocks.

No. But I figured watching me run through a shoot might help her figure things out.

Stripping off to my bra and a thong, which is purple yet equal to the bra in lace, I sit down.

"You still switching?"
"If the shoot needs it." Shrugging as Karl binds my wrists behind me, behind the chair it's low back allowing my arms to drape over. "Prefer the sub stuff though."
"Cool." Pitching his voice higher. "How about you."
"Me?" Morgan, sounding surprised.

"Yeah." Yanking a knot tight, quick shake of my wrists, checking. "I mean." Karl stands, walking out from behind me to fetch several more coils of brown rope. He waves them at Morgan. "You did good today, so. Any thoughts?"
"I did?" Smile growing, wider and more until you'd swear her head will split in two.

I laugh. Morgan blushes.

"Totally." Karl nods. "You got skills girl. So. Are you switch, or straight up sub?"

Switch, because you. Switch. From sub to Domme. Get it?

"Oh. Um." Looking at me, I shrug. "I." Morgan shrugs too. "I'm not sure."
"That's cool." Back behind me. "You'll get it figured out."

Karl binds my elbows and chest next. One long rope to do both. F cups getting a good squeeze and arms now completely pinned together, chest thrusting out.

Morgan's eyes, wide, drinking the sight of me in.

I give her an easy smile as Karl moves on to my ankles, sat on the floor in front of me.

As I begin to get a baseline tingle at the fact of my girlfriend watching someone else binding me.

Each ankle is bound to a rear chair leg, around halfway up the leg where a crossbar connects, ensuring the rope can't slip. The position forces my legs wide apart, my thong on display.

"Okay?"
"I'm good." Nodding, raising my voice and looking at Morgan. "See, a good producer always checks on the model."

Karl laughs and Morgan smiles at my humour.

Next up is the wand.

A vibrator, strapped to my leg with two black leather belts, positioned snug against my pussy the cable trailing down out of shot.

Lastly Karl ballgags me, red ball buckled tightly, taking several moments to rearrange my hair over the straps, making it tidy.

"Okay?" Grinning and overemphasising the word, turning from Morgan to me, making her giggle. I roll my eyes, nod.

Karl steps out of shot, turning the camera on and giving me a thumbs up.

Showtime.

I give it a slow ten count, remaining still, head slightly bowed breathing steady.

Then I begin to move, slow, testing the ropes stretching my limbs gently whilst moaning softly. Not angry or panicked. Exploring.

The shoot script, such as it is, Karl doesn't want me pissed off to be bound and vibed. He wants me enjoying it.

Speaking of vibes.

Sudden low buzzing right on my clit as the plug is switched on. I moan louder, body arching up as best the ropes will allow.

Eye contact, like skating on then off, with Morgan. Seeing her mouth half open, one hand unconsciously strayed to her breast.

Liking what she sees.

Karl circles me with a handheld. I make sure to flex my chest and crotch when he's close by each part of me. To make fists and wriggle my arms when he's around back. To moan long and low, almost a pant or whimper, making eye contact with the camera when he's beside my face.

Forcing a string of drool out, feeling it run down my chin, drip onto my cleavage.

Karl turns up the vibrator.

And some five minutes later I climax, body uselessly fighting the ropes, panting loudly eyes wide and pleading. F cups bouncing as I orgasm.

Vaguely aware of Morgan biting her lip, looking flushed and quite aroused. Looking as though she wants to come over here and ravage me herself.

Maybe later, in the hotel we've booked for tonight. Staying in London to sightsee, making a day of it.

[RopeBunny]

You know those movies, Bond mostly but there are others.

Movies that jump straight into the action, for like ten minutes and you get really into it. And then.

All of a sudden up comes the title and you realise all that was just the introduction....

I kind of just did that

[BlissfulMisery]

Right into the action indeed!

And with the surprise start too, as Plymouth has apparently managed to attract Morgan into the lifestyle as well.

That brief 'am I knocking on the wrong door dressed very inappropriately' moment.

A nice line. A bit ironic too - it seems post-accident Brooke has a little more shame

Perhaps not a bad thing.

Either way, a solid start, and as always, interested to see where this goes!

[Beaumains]

An interesting written chapter with no long paragraphs or descriptions but just short statements. Nicely done.

[GreyLord]

Well played, @RopeBunny. Clear and easy to read. And fun, too. I enjoyed Plymouth showing Morgan the ropes, via Karl. I'm looking forward to more.

[RopeBunny]

a solid start, and as always, interested to see where this goes!

Nicely done.

I'm looking forward to more.

Thank you all, story continuing below. Enjoy

no long paragraphs

I used to

Didn't know a better way my stories of old are just huge walls of text, until through seeing what others did, listening to advice, now I realise keeping things in small chunks is better, easier to read.

[RopeBunny]

001.
London.

"Lunch?"

Walking back towards the station, Morgan pressing herself into me the feel of her small B cups nestled against my F's. Arms around each others waists.

"Sure."

We catch the underground back into central London. The small train, low ceilings and a bouncing jerking ride, is busy. We don't bother hunting out seats choosing to stand close by the doors.

Morgan, clearly horny and to be fair after that shoot so am I. Pressing me back against a red metal pole body pinning mine, hands holding wrists behind me, behind the pole. Both of our breathing gone shallow with arousal as we kiss.

"You can't bind me here." I whisper. Loving the never going to happen thought even as I voice it.

We're both carrying bags, green camouflage messenger for me pink and black backpack for Morgan, clothes and toiletries. Plus I know we're both packing bondage toys.

"No?" Teasing, pulling my wrists futher around the pole so they cross in a more extreme, tighter, fashion. Making my breath catch.

Morgan, smiling. Kisses me again. Neither of us caring who's watching.

Almost missing our stop we're too busy making out to her totally faked pretend binding of me.

We find a coffee shop, a boutique not one of the chains. Ordering coffee and a delicious looking quite large blueberry muffin, to share, we sit down opposite each other.

Hands clasped across the small round table.

"So."
"So."
"Karl's impressed." I nod, because his liking how Morgan's first shoot went is good news. Like a tick in an important box. Meaning that much more because it's coming from a producer who sees more amateurs then most.

"But what did you think?"
"Well." Taking a sip of coffee, pulling off a chunk of muffin. Morgan nods. "I liked it."
"So." I nod back, taking and eating my own piece of muffin. "That's good yes?"
"It was, odd." Half smile. "You know?"
"Being tied up by a stranger?" Guessing.

Morgan nods.

"Weird." Quick laugh. "Do you get used to it?"
"I did." Prodding at the holes in my head, I don't remember hardly any of my shoots pre crash, but those I've done since prove the fact I am used to it. And do enjoy it.

"Could we work together?"
"Don't see why not." I shrug, we've covered this, when she initially came at me, making sure she knew and wasn't doing it only so we could do it together. "I'm sure some shoots will allow for it."
"But mostly I'd be solo," nodding, no frown or upset, she gets it and seems okay with it, which is good, "and so would you?"
"Mostly."

She still looks thoughtful, the final decision yet to be reached.

Not that there's any rush.

We visit the Natural History Museum mostly for the dinosaurs, though Morgan has to drag me away from the absolutely massive cross section of an old tree stood on a stair landing. I stop, fascinated, as she walks obliviously on. Having to come back, then stand with me and endure, with good humour, a five minute semi lecture about trees.

Afterwards we walk to the West End, having booked seats for Phantom of the Opera, neither of us ever having seen a live show musical or otherwise. But wanting to try new things.

And. It's amazing. The music swelling and filling me up inside, the storyline hooking me in, not in the least boring as I'd feared.

Morgan too leaves smiling. I buy a tee, popping into the bathroom to change, cheekily removing my bra at the same time then finding it a tight fit, hugging my large curving breasts.

We head for the hotel.

"Tie me up. B." Bag and jacket already shrugged off as I turn to face the room having locked the door. Finding Morgan, breathless and all worked up on lust.

"Like a shoot." Flicking her tongue across the silver ring piercing her lower lip, something I've seen her do when aroused. "Please."

A request I totally understand. Most shoots you, the model, doesn't get to climax. And if you're into it, the bondage like I am. Like Morgan is. Then frustration tends to become a constant companion.

She's likely still horny from her own shoot, plus having watched Karl bind me, my own tied orgasm.

Morgan needs a release of her own, I can help with that.

I nod, flashing a quick smile shrugging off jacket and bag, reaching inside for rope.

"Turn around."
"Thirteen."
"Indeed."

Thirteen. The pseudonym she's chosen, like Plymouth. Which I've got to say, have already told her, is pretty fucking cool.

Like a shoot. So no kissing and I might as well gag her first. Which catches Morgan by surprise, small gasp as I step in front of her rope stuffed in my jeans butt pocket ballgag instead in my hands, offering it up.

Quick lick of her lips, small shiver of adrenaline rushing across her body. Morgan opens wide, staying still as I lean in and reach around, buckling the leather straps tight.

"Kneel on the bed please."
"Fffgggppmmm." A nod and up she climbs, crawling on knees across into the centre, back to the wall, facing the room and me.

I climb up behind her.

Take Morgan's arms and place them horizontal behind her back forearms loosely pressed together.

She, being a good model holds the pose whilst I let go and dig out my rope. Binding her.

Wrists first, doubled over rope wrapped and passed through the loop, reversed and wrapped again. Tied off in a double knot. Yanked for tightness causing Morgan to moan softly her body jerking left and right under my attentions. With plenty of rope left I use that same first length to run loops around her chest, above and below Morgan's tee but no bra clad B cups. Squeezing.

The loops of her body serving to further pin her wrists in place, not allowing them to sag down.

"Okay," climbing off the bed, "Thirteen?"
"Dddgggmmmfff." Nodding, still kneeling but sunk down legs now spread wide her crotch not far off the mattress.

Eyes going wide as I retrieve my phone, swiping to the camera app. Taking photos of her.

"Look at me." Voice professional, managing to keep it there despite Morgan looks damn fuckable. "Good." A nod, moving from the side to in front. "Now stick your chest out."

She does, shivering again, small moan eyes not leaving me pushing her B cups out nipples obvious, poking at the white tee.

Putting my phone down I return to the bed, helping Morgan lay down on her belly. Using more rope to bind her legs separately upper thigh to ankle and a second rope nearer the knee.

A frog-tie.

Retreating, more photos.

"Look at me." Kneeling on the floor, close-up of Morgan's gagged face.

"Roll onto your side." Fighting to maintain my composure and remain 'professional' as she bounces and struggles, bound body flopping and bucking trying to toss herself from belly to side without the use of her hands.

"Perfect." Capturing angles, feeling quite hot.

Morgan thrusting crotch, breasts, out at me. Her breathing quick, eyes half closed.

Wanting me too.

"I think that's enough footage." Tossing my phone onto the small armchair. "Don't you?"
"Gggdddfffmm mmggddm fffpphhh."

Grinning I strip naked, climbing back onto the bed to lay beside her, belly to belly yet not quite touching.

"You really are the cutest." Slowly licking across the gag whilst pulling her tee up through the chest ropes, freeing and exposing her small pert breasts. "I'm going to have to make one of those photos my phone wallpaper."
"Fffssss mmmpppfffmm." Wriggling closer, head arching back as I begin teasing her breasts with my hands.

Spreading her legs wide and inviting me in, I don't bother to, can't anyway, strip her. But I ease one hand down inside Morgan's leggings and pants, finding her already wet.

Willing. Horny.

I keep her tied and gagged, my hand on her breast, down below stroking and sliding, in then out then in. Staring into each others eyes a shared intimacy her want mirroring mine.

Feelings growing.

Unlike me Morgan isn't a screamer, her climax comes accompanied by panting and the bucking of her body against my tight ropes. Her head arched back breasts pushed in my face as I lick and nibble.

And as she climbs back down I roll her over, removing all the ropes and gag.

Pull her into me, front pressed to my side, my hand around back, stroking as Morgan's head rests on my breast, her hand on my toned belly.

"Okay?"
"Yes." Looking up at me, grinning. "You?"
"Kinda starving."

Morgan laughs, pulling me into a side on hug.

"Come on then B," rolling off me, standing, "put some clothes on and we'll go chase up a late dinner."

"Or...."
"Or?" Halfway to the bathroom, a small ensuite just a shower no bath. Morgan turns, a grin forming as she no doubt spots my own.

Cheeky and aroused. Playful.

"Or." Climbing back onto the bed, onto me as I lay back down, feeling the fabric of her tee and leggings slide across my nakedness. "What, B?"
"Tie me up." Looking up at her, Morgan stroking my hair. "And order delivery."

"And...." She's thinking. "When the food comes?"
"Then...." Not a damn clue, I shrug.

She grins.

"Thirty minutes or less," bouncing off me, the bed, "isn't that what they say?"
"Only in America I think?" Smiling as I watch her grabbing rope and flinging it onto the bed. "And then it's only in the movies." Frowning. "Maybe?"
"Well." Back up beside me, picking up an uncoiled length that I'd used on her, playfully flicking the end across my chest. "How about if you haven't gotten out by the time food arrives you have to eat tied up?"

The idea sending a tingle racing through me, I nod. Wordless.

Morgan binds and ballgags me. Wrists crossed in front, bound to my ankles like a hogtie in reverse. Simple yet tight.

She ignores me for the fourty odd minutes it takes our pizza to arrive, watching yes. Grinning and taking some photos of her own.

But no touching.

I struggle, bouncing around, wriggling and rolling from side to laid on my back to my other side. Moaning. But I don't escape.

So, connecting rope removed, ankles and wrists still bound. Ungagged. We sit together and eat.

And I can tell from her breathing and the many sidewards glances that she's enjoying the dynamic: me naked and bound her not.

And of course, rope slut that I am, lover of helplessness. Once a full on slave and shit like that leaves a mark upstairs. I love it too.

She leaves me bound for a couple more hours into the evening. I mean, she asks, and I shrug, tingles everywhere and her little smile making me happy.

But I'm freed before bed. And under the covers we cuddle, spooning Morgan in front.

"B?"
"Yes?" Leaning in to kiss her neck, Morgan presses herself back into me, her hand reaching down and back, running nails across my butt.

"I'm going to do it."
"Modelling?"
"Modelling." Nodding. "Today was. Um. Fun, I want to keep going. Be Thirteen."
"Sounds great." Another kiss. "You know I'll help whenever."
"I know." Tilting her head around to kiss me on the lips. "Thanks B."

We drift off still wrapped tightly together.

[Beaumains]

Thirteen is quite an interesting choice for a pseudonym. I like it.

I have not read the second Plymouth story, so I might be saying something stupid, but for me this almost feels like a story from 15 years ago. I would think that if Plymouth wants to be as big as possible as a bondage model, then she is still quite far from her fans. She needs these production houses for her films. In the modern era, social media and some other apps for only her fans would seem far more logical. A personal brand, more direct connections, and not having videos locked behind a dozen different paywalls seems far more compelling. This is not critique, but just an observation and probably how one would do this in the 2000s.

[Mister The Edge]

Lovely.

[BlissfulMisery]

A nice little interlude, Morgan and Brooke just living life. A lot of nice (and fun!) details - on the train ride, the theater visit, ect.

Thirteen is indeed an interesting pseudonym. Reminds me of House MD, although obviously used in a different manner there Not sure if an intentional reference, or accidental/coincidental on your part.

I have not read the second Plymouth story, so I might be saying something stupid, but for me this almost feels like a story from 15 years ago. I would think that if Plymouth wants to be as big as possible as a bondage model, then she is still quite far from her fans. She needs these production houses for her films. In the modern era, social media and some other apps for only her fans would seem far more logical. A personal brand, more direct connections, and not having videos locked behind a dozen different paywalls seems far more compelling.

Not wrong - more effective to build one's own brand whenever possible instead of relying on others, and this is actually possible in today's world with things like accessible video hosting/streaming, on top of the pervasiveness of social media. But there are also many advantages to working/networking with others.

And to be fair, she did make an attempt at her own site, but things got a little... derailed.

[RopeBunny]

Lovely.

Hey, thanks for dropping a comment

Thirteen is indeed an interesting pseudonym. Reminds me of House MD, although obviously used in a different manner there Not sure if an intentional reference, or accidental/coincidental on your part.

I've not seen that show. Thirteen, picked mostly as it sounded cool, to me. Something alternative like Plymouth was. Not a proper name, but not something downright silly.

I have not read the second Plymouth story, so I might be saying something stupid, but for me this almost feels like a story from 15 years ago. I would think that if Plymouth wants to be as big as possible as a bondage model, then she is still quite far from her fans. She needs these production houses for her films. In the modern era, social media and some other apps for only her fans would seem far more logical. A personal brand, more direct connections, and not having videos locked behind a dozen different paywalls seems far more compelling. This is not critique, but just an observation and probably how one would do this in the 2000s.

Hey.

You aren't wrong.

Basically it mostly comes down to a lack of industry knowledge/research on my part. Back at the beginning I wanted to write a porn star origin story, which means lots of different sites/producers and lots of varied shoots.

Which, the shoots, seemed a good way to tie everything together.

I was, am, vaguely aware there are better real world methods of being an adult model, but this one works for my purposes.

As far as time period goes I've never put any thought into a when? Though I think (?) in my head it's always been roughly now, or at least somewhen in the 2010's shall we say.

It wasn't anything I felt mattered, grounding Plymouth in a set year.

There was, as has been pointed out a never fully realised attempt to write Plymouth setting her own site up, it all fell short. The story took a turn I believe, heading other ways.

Prehaps some of that helps?

[RopeBunny]

becoming Thirteen.

Over the following month Morgan changes.

Back, several years ago I changed. I became Plymouth getting tits and ink, colourful hair. I no longer- accident, again -remember the order, or the entire reasoning.

But surely it had everything to do with my career as a bondage model?

Certainly my chest, F cups replacing. I want to say C's? There's work out there for models of all shapes and skin tones, all ethnicities. I could've stayed smaller and still been Plymouth, but.

Aren't bigger tits just more fun?

The ink too. No doubt some of it meant something, and I even remember in a handful of cases. Notably the busty anime girl knight like riding a motorcycle, lance lowered across the left side of my lower back, plus the skeletal winged clock face across my shoulder blades. Both are for Lili.

A long, ultimately sad story. And not for today. But I'm glad out of everything she's someone the accident couldn't steal from me.

Inked and inflated, I feel the part whilst modelling, which alongside a natural love of bondage all helps.

And so, changing herself, I guess for Morgan the reasoning applies too.

She'd been saving, a new faster bike or moving out the likely motivation. Instead it becomes the Thirteen fund.

Fuck knows what she tells her parents. What did I tell mine? Must ask next time I'm home. And as an adult it isn't as though she needs permission, but, living at home still she has to tell them something.

Can't exactly leave one day, returning with a new pair of impossible to conceal E cups and not expect any comment. Not without having a conversation first.

I made sure- being a good girlfriend -to talk with her too. Quite aside from the official consultation, no stern tone because she's an adult. Just. Making sure. Because B to E is quite a leap, it changes things. How people see you, what you can and can't- even baggy clothes won't hide what you're packing -wear.

I made sure she knew, that she was happy.

She was.

And.

The sudden difference in size is crazy yet amazing, throbbing kick in my pussy the first time Morgan shares a half photo without bandages and wearing a low cut top with no bra. She's got a slim frame, belly aside, like me, so her E cups balloon out into the world, round and pert.

Black hair, no longer pink. Morgan keeps the long eyebrow invading fringe and grows the rest out, bringing it down to but not over her shoulders, brushing skin whenever she turns her head. Less pixie more gothic.

And new ink too of course, adding to the Egyptian style hieroglyphs on her left inner forearm, black symbols that bleed red.

Thirteen- get it -black moths, each one slightly different in wing design or shape, most with a hint of green or red. A swarm climbing her left leg from ankle to buttcheek, with the occasional trailing black line adding a sense of movement and binding the whole design into one. The smallest: on her ankle or nestled close and just above to one side of her pussy, are shot glass sized. The largest fills most of her upper, outer thigh.

All that plus a black eight pointed chaos star encircling her right nipple, almost bullseye like it draws the eye to her new inflated chest.

The overall effect. Is. Well.

I'm looking forward, having only seen teasing hints, photos shared because we're both busy girls unable to meet right now.

But soon, we'll meet soon. She's, more teasing promised me first official viewing.

And I can't wait.

[RopeBunny]

002.
Midnight Peril.
Shoot one.

Of course Morgan, the hospital aside, still has to work whilst she's changing. As do I.

Owl Wood isn't the largest Forestry Commission site in the UK. It sits half in a shallow valley, climbing further up one side then the other and bordered by farmland mostly, plus a large privately owned estate whose tall stone wall always catches me out as it appears, looming almost, between the trees.

There aren't any car parks, but plenty of bus stop style lay-bys and a couple of larger dirt patches scattered throughout the horseshoe shaped main public access road that runs in then out through gates I could lock, but have been told not to.

A railway line, rarely used, cuts through one corner technically separating the wood into two.

And of course my house, which came with the job of being Owl Woods keeper. Sat in a good spot nestled close by but not in sight of an entrance gate, a barn like shed full of tools and the tractor next door.

Working, long pleasant days spent in the wood, even in the rain I enjoy my work.

Plus, of course, there's my other job too.

The site, Midnight Peril except all one word if you're typing, as most things are. It's a husband and wife operation.

Adrian greets me at the door. Average height, a fair beer gut thick arms and legs, dark brown hair cut short on the sides left a couple inches long up top, not styled letting the wind, for that brief moment, blow it around.

"Afternoon Plymouth."
"Adrian." Nodding as I step inside. "How's life?"
"Good." Locking the door and gesturing me through. "You?"
"No complaints."

Making small talk. A strange thing to be doing with a stranger who's about to bind and fuck me. Prehaps stranger still given his wife will be there, watching, filming.

"Hey Plymouth."
"Sonya." I smile, entering the kitchen which always seems to be the default spot for sorting out contracts. Most likely given the proximity of a drink from either fridge or kettle. "Is that ink new?"
"Yes." Smiling at me, maybe pleased I noticed as she pats her right bicep, covered in fresh looking colourful ink. Princess Peach, of Mario fame, holding one of the famous red mushrooms.

She's thick limbed like her husband, a belly and nice rounded D cups pushing forwards to match. Blonde hair straight and tied back. Both of them early fourties.

Sonya tends to film, as she will today, or Adrian films her binding and playing, she doesn't appear to get tied by anyone save him.

We head upstairs, where I make use of the spare room to strip naked, jeans and tee, jacket and boots plus lingerie.

Wandering into the master bedroom: King sized metal framed bed and wooden furniture, a walk in wardrobe off to one side. Closed curtains and the sweet not overpowering smell of perfume. Drifting.

Sonya, camera already in hand to take stills of my being bound. Adrian already holding rope.

Quick internal shiver, the pause before the drop and it is only a shoot. All agreed and rubber stamped, but I can't seem to prevent the rush of happy nervous butterflies each time regardless.

And it isn't even their- Adrian and Sonya -fault.

Those two, the Dommes Deborah and Stephanie whom I swear never to name or remember, but who sneak in occasionally anyway.

They, before as a- failed -method of attempting to capture me. They tricked me in with a planned and paid shoot, then simply kept me tied up, after. Enjoying me after the event.

Which is wrong on at least a hundred levels of course, breaking so many rules.

So, why did I do it? Allow them to do it?

Well.

You see.

I have this.

Problem.

I'm. Sort of. Kind of. Addicted to helplessness.

Which means I'm always happy nervous pre shoot.

Adrian binds my wrists and elbows, side by side behind me, wrist rope stretching around my waist and the elbow length long enough to wrap my F cups too.

Sonya moving, circling like a cat the whole time. Taking photos and laughing as I wiggle my freshly bound chest at her.

I'm helped up onto the bed, where I kneel upper and lower legs pressed together spread wide left and right. Perfect, allowing Adrian to frog-tie them.

"We should have you back."
"Yeah?" Voice only shaking a little, knelt and bound completely, Adrian holding the gag but standing off whilst his wife speaks. I smile at her, slight teasing tone.

"That good am I?"
"I just don't see why Adrian should have all the fun is all." Matching my tone as she side nudges the man in question, who laughs.

"Well." I manage a half shrug. "I'd be happy to take more of your money." This time we all laugh. "Just tell me when."

Sonya blows me a cheeky kiss, the light tone of the exchange going a long way to dispell any awkwardness I was feeling about what's about to go down.

Adrian gags me, a metal ring held in place with black leather straps, pinning hair to my head.

I topple forwards to lay face down. Nod to confirm I'm ready as Sonya switches cameras.

As Adrian, out of shot removes his jeans and pants, keeping the black 'Metallica' tee on, fabric stretched over his belly.

Thumbs up from Sonya.

Who films me laying still, walking a circuit from right side around front to left. Aware but I can't see her she's leaning over. I, stirring, slow stretch like struggles. Testing. Spread my legs wide and lift my butt up using my knees, thrusting and prodding my exposed cheeks and pussy slit towards Sonya and the camera.

She comes back around front, I roll, managing to make it onto my side, my back, wriggling F cups bouncing. Moaning, face tilted to stare at the camera.

Turning myself on because I can see Sonya behind the lens, can see down inside her tee. Can see Adrian behind her slightly out of focus, cock dangling between his legs and yes I like girls, but I'm horny.

Sonya retreats, positioning herself for a side angle as Adrian approaches, as I wriggle onto my belly, struggle forwards putting my gagged head level with the edge of the bed.

Lift up my head. Moan softly. Slowly flicking out my tongue to lick the tip of Adrian's offered cock. Long and thin like a pencil.

Stepping forward and leaning in, pushing and guiding his length down my throat, slow. In then out. Leaving the tip for me to lick some more. His cock hardening under my attentions, growing thicker and longer.

Pushing it back down through the ring forcing and pinning my jaws wide apart.

Unfamiliar yet familiar taste of cock in my mouth. I don't date, sleep with, guys. But I know I've done shoots like this before. Because work is work, and besides there's a thrill to this. Bondage sex, being fucked whilst helpless adding another layer.

Adrian increasing his speed, thrusting all the way in then out whilst his wife kneels beside us, filming.

Plunging his cock in deep. Holding, making me gag and splutter. Withdrawing only to do it again.

Making me a mess, drooling and panting. Out of breath.

And then he slides out, climbing up behind and rolling me over.

Sliding effortlessly inside, my pussy and his cock both already wet, aroused.

Adrian fucks me.

Hard and fast not waiting or building up. Two minutes, three? He thrusts and pumps. Making me gasp and moan fighting to control what I can't.

Too turned on. Too out of breath already.

Breasts bouncing like a ship in rough seas, whole body jerking and struggling as I fight the ropes and my onrushing orgasm.

And the script wants me to climax when he does, to fake it if necessary but to make like I too have enjoyed being fucked whilst bound.

I don't have to fake it.

Nearing his own finish Adrian playfully, not hard but noticeable, slaps my breasts.

The prearranged signal he's close.

Which, the slapping, the slight sting which sends a tingle of pleasure rushing down from nipple to crotch, pushes me over the edge.

My panting becomes scream like, my body spasming in the tight ropes even as I feel Adrian pull out, feel hot and sticky fluid splattering across my breasts, several streaks striking and falling on my lips, dripping down into my forced open mouth.

Without a word, following the script, Adrian climbs off. Leaves.

Sonya circling me again, leaning and zooming in whilst I slowly climb down off the orgasm peak. Laying still chest rising and falling. Staring at the ceiling, inked naked body, still tightly rope bound my chest and belly, my lips, covered in sticky cream white fluid.

Nice dull post sex ache in my pussy, equally nice accompanying ache in my limbs, aftermath of the ropes as I travel home.

[Beaumains]

Nice continuation. I love the descriptions of Plymouth's mixed feelings during the shoot and the eventual pleasure.

As far as time period goes I've never put any thought into a when? Though I think (?) in my head it's always been roughly now, or at least somewhen in the 2010's shall we say.

It wasn't anything I felt mattered, grounding Plymouth in a set year.

Yeah, it is much easier not to be too precise about the year, (and far from a problem. The bondage is the most important ). What I notice is that it is far too easy to add subtle details which in reality would conflict with the intended time period. For example, I recall one of the scenes in the original Plymouth contained minecraft or here, you talked about apps on a phone. However, geographical facts, like the description of Owl woods, make the story feel much more real.

[BlissfulMisery]

I've not seen that show. Thirteen, picked mostly as it sounded cool, to me. Something alternative like Plymouth was. Not a proper name, but not something downright silly.

Fair enough - was just curious.

Seems Morgan/Thirteen is following closely in Brooke's footsteps - so far these intro chapters feel like a mirror of the early chapters of Brooke's own bondage journey, even if somewhat abridged. Perhaps not intentional, but a nice callback.

As mentioned, the descriptions of Plymouth's feelings are quite good. A hint of quite believable awkwardness, uncertain feelings. Not so much as to distract from/dilute things, but it brings character to the scene.

The site, Midnight Peril except all one word if you're typing, as most things are.

Lots of nice details as usual, but I liked this bit. Seemingly trivial in the grand scheme of things, but it is the sort of thing that makes reading more interesting, rather then the text feeling as if it is 'going through the motions'.

[RopeBunny]

I recall one of the scenes in the original Plymouth contained minecraft

Damn that's a good memory. Or did you cheat and go back to find it?

Anyway. Yes. You're right the bondage is what matters, not so much the year/time frame, not unless you're specifically trying to ground the story in a certain place or era.

Seems Morgan/Thirteen is following closely in Brooke's footsteps - so far these intro chapters feel like a mirror of the early chapters of Brooke's own bondage journey, even if somewhat abridged. Perhaps not intentional, but a nice callback.

It's kind of intentional

It's nice/fun to write origin stuff, beginnings are something I enjoy.

Plus (not really spoiling) you can't have what's coming without writing what happens first, first.

Thank you both for commenting.

[RopeBunny]

France.
Part 1.
Saturday.

"Hello stranger."
"Hello back."

Grinning, and well she might. Sat outside a coffee shop on the St Pancras concourse, attracting- and yes in fairness I am too, but I'm used to it whereas it's new for Morgan -plenty of admiring glances. She looks up as I approach, sliding into the spare seat.

Dressed to show the new her off: black spandex shorts with a grey waistband, tiny her whole leg exposed, whilst a white bra is clearly visible beneath a purple vest top, large E cups pushing forth against the unzipped Kings jacket. Converse high tops on her feet.

I'm wearing a dress, green camouflage and sleeveless with a high neck the stretchy material clinging to my body and upper legs. Kings jacket worn open, and the usual, for me, casual Adidas on my feet.

I'd actually, somewhat speechless and full of tingles, spent almost five minutes semi hidden across the concourse, standing just inside the newspaper shop. Eyeballing Morgan from cover no way she could see me back.

Perving. Basically. Amazed at the change, the difference.

"Been waiting long?"
"Quarter hour." Shrugging, leaning in to meet me halfway. A kiss that leaves tingles on my skin, pulling back smiling and looking her up and down.

"Stunning."
"You think?" Blushing and squirming a little under my appreciative gaze. Unconsciously, it looks like, tilting her upper body forwards pushing her cleavage and chest towards me.

"I wore this for you."
"Showing yourself off?" Teasing. Smile growing as Morgan nods her own eyes on my covered but still very obviously there large chest.

"Maybe." Standing and coming round behind her, dropping down leaning in draping my hands down either side of her neck, one to hug her belly into the chair and me behind it.

My other fondling her new chest.

Morgan sighs at the contact.

"We should," pausing to flick her ear with my tongue, catch her nipple with my finger, "just find a hotel?"

In response Morgan moans, clearly aroused reaching up to grab my head and pull me down, around, so we can kiss.

"You don't even have rope." Breathless, her words whispered into my lips.

"True." Another kiss, quietly back. "I'll just have to rip up the bedsheets."

A gasp, another kiss. Both of us sinking.

Woken by a loud bang from somewhere, something dropped or a door slamming. We break apart, sharing grins.

Time to find our train.

We're catching the Eurostar to Paris, because there's a big name DJ playing. Tonight, in a big fancy venue. The perfect excuse for a night away. There just won't, despite how much seeing the changed her makes me want it, be any rope play.

Because I'm not willing to attempt sneaking bondage stuff across international borders. It's, probably, illegal?

And besides we can wait.

The journey is short, comfortable. Stepping out into the city, brilliant sunshine and only a slight chill, we wheel small suitcases the short walk to our hotel.

Small, just extra clothes, toothbrush. And maybe. Wink. A half dozen plus belts, scarves, in mine. For later, because they aren't strictly bondage items, so, worth taking a chance, for the chance to surprise Morgan.

Later.

Did I say no bondage until we got back?

Ha.

There's no time to sightsee, and besides it's far too large. Paris. Far too many options to just pick one.

We'll have to come back some other time.

Light dinner in a riverside bistro close by, salads and omelette, then we spend just over an hour showering and changing.

Morgan's dress is red and black, horizontal stripes. Mine is white. Both are thin straps and plunging necklines, skintight with a hem halfway between knee and crotch. Thongs only our enhanced chests not needing the support of a bra. Nipples poking at fabric. She keeps her Converse I lace up knee high chunky black boots.

And out we go.

Flitting in and out of three bars as we make our way across the city, finding the venue open, the warm up act in full noisy swing, as we arrive.

More drinking. Losing track of time and not caring. Dancing, bodies rubbing together or apart, her eyes on me mine on her. Small smiles exchanged.

The warm up making way. Surge of chanting and a rolling building beat, distant and slow but quickening, louder. Closer. People. Us. Clapping in time as he takes the stage. Clapping too plugging headphones in, one ear on one off. Listening, hands on the decks.

Spinning.

Shifting.

The beat, now loud enough to roll right over us. Fast like a steam train thundering along midnight tracks. The music swamps us, everyone.

Chaos and jumping and cheering and hands in the air and noise and that beat I'll still be feeling two days from now.

In my bones.

And to end it all he, the world superstar DJ, undisputed King of the decks. He plays 'For A Few Dollars More' by Ennio Morricone. Except it's remixed, sped up and slowed down, accompanied by a thudding bass track that shouldn't work but does. And on the screen behind the decks, where a steady montage of crazy images and prophetic words have spilled all through the show. On the screen a lone gunslinger on horseback, walking shadow like into the sunset.

Absolutely amazing.

And throughout it all the drink, mostly water because we're just too damn busy dancing and bouncing. Kissing and groping and loving and rubbing our increasingly sweaty bodies together. Sharing the buzz and the happy glow.

Which isn't why what happens does. I don't think?

The night over, music wound down to a low bass and synth, gentle and calming. Home time everyone out.

I'm stood leaning, half sat, on a low stone wall. Waiting for Morgan. Her sudden craving for a post midnight snack she's nearing the front of a mile long- I jest but it looks as though the whole audience is there -queue for. Chips I think?

"Hi."

French accent. I turn, smiling because why not, finding a young girl approaching. Roughly twenties, my age. Slim like a ten, pair of C cups pushing at a pink tee and black jeans hugging long legs. Hair blonde with purple tips.

"You are. Plymouth?" Slightly halting English, the accent, taking care with her words. "Yes?"
"Yes." Smiling wider, not upset to be recognised. I'm hardly hiding, tiny dress and huge tits. Ink on show. Wouldn't of gotten any of it if I didn't occasionally want to be discovered.

"I am Constance."
"Constance." I nod, wave a hand. "Were you at the show too?"
"Yes." Quick glance behind her at the large now mostly darkened venue. "I am come with, friends. But." Waving a hand of her own, like a bird flying away. "They are gone."
"Oh." Stab of. Like feeling sad for her, that she's on her own now. Because as high as I'm feeling now I'm glad to have Morgan to share it with.

"Would you...."
"Would I?" Because she'd stopped, licked her lips like nerves.

She laughs, I do too without a clue why.

"I could do shoot." A nod as though we'd already agreed. "With you. Tonight."
"A shoot?" My drunk mouth gaping at her, pure surprise. What? Whilst at the same time the drunkenness, and aren't I already horny and buzzing from a nights dancing and watching Morgan bounce with me.

A shoot huh?

Except.

"I'm." She steps closer, coming to sit beside me then looking as I point. "I'm with someone you see."
"Pretty girl with ink?"
"Yes." Smiling. Morgan sees me pointing, waves. I wave back.

"Thirteen." I comment. "She's a model too."
"I see." Turning, seeing Constance nod. Thoughtful.

"Then I will shoot her too."

"Who's getting shot?" Morgan, walking back paper boat like tray full of chips drowned in ketchup, bottle of water stuffed under one armpit.

"This is Constance." I steal a chip as Morgan puts the bottle down, standing between my legs facing sideways, facing Constance.

All of us smiling.

"She recognised me." Licking my lips as Morgan darts a gaze at me, raised eyebrow. "And wanted," looking at Constance now, "to do a shoot?"
"Yes." Nodding. Looking from me to Morgan. "I will shoot you. Thirteen. And Plymouth. Together. Tonight."
"You." Morgan seeming baffled, amused. "Will?"

"I have site." Pulling a phone from her pocket, tapping, swiping. Pausing to steal a chip as Morgan and me exchange amused smiles.

And I'm quite turned on, interested. Is she?

"You see."

Holding the screen out, swiping some more without looking herself, showing us: a paysite all in French, prehaps every third or fifth word stirring school memory within. Mostly gibberish were it not for the pictures it could be anything.

Were it not for the pictures.

Bound girls, old and young. Pretty, occasionally naked but mostly in casual jeans and tops, khaki combats or leggings. Hogties seem to be popular.

"I mean." Morgan. Slow. She looks at me, I shrug. Conveying I've no clue what. She flashes me a smile, turns back to Constance. Putting her phone away. "We're booked into a hotel."
"I come to hotel." A nod. "Is easy."
"Right. Well. We don't have any rope though."

Both of them startling as I laugh.

"B?"
"I. Well." Can't bury the grin. Infectious because Morgan grins back, kisses me.

"B?"
"I might've bought some belts and scarves."
"Good." Constance, before Morgan can answer. "I will use these to tie pretty Plymouth and her girlfriend Thirteen up. For shoot."
"Well...."
"And I will pay of course."

Which isn't, for either of us I don't think, what seals it.

Probably, almost certainly to look at her, Morgan's arousal is equal to mine, turned on by an evenings sweating and bouncing, watching me as I watch her. The promise of, not bondage because she didn't know I'd been sneaky and neither of us knew Constance would appear of course.

But we both knew there'd be sex at the end of all this.

We share a look, a smile chasing itself around all three of us.

And off we go.

[RopeBunny]

France.
Part 2.
Saturday night into Sunday morning.

Hotel headed notepaper from reception, and a logo stamped silver pen. Constance sits at the desk to jot down a quick contract, basics.

I will do this.

I won't do that.

I will pay and we're all happy.

We all sign both copies, one for us one for her. The whole thing, unexpected and happening suddenly, is surreal.

But good.

Exchanging looks with Morgan whilst Constance sets her phone atop a selfie stick, which conveniently and somehow becomes a small tripod. Which she places atop the desk, leaning over to adjust the angle, making sure I imagine to capture the whole bed in the frame.

Morgan and me sat on the bed, shoes and boots off, no socks but otherwise still dressed. A space between us, Constance coming to fill it, walking across and sitting down having presumably pressed record.

Filming.

"Bonjour, bonjour. Hello." One hand up and across like a rainbow. A wave. Her thick accent sounding natural now the French is coming out.

"Bienvenue a les corde magnifique."

Magnificent Rope, her sites name. I'm understanding maybe one word in a half dozen, Morgan- because we've talked, and she paid more attention in school -is getting more.

"Avec moi ce soir c' est Plymouth." Putting one hand on my leg, very high up on my leg pushing my dress up as she does. Constance's hand close enough to reach out one long finger and brush my pussy, should she wish. The notion making me flush hot and happy. "Et Thirteen." Her other hand landing, matching, on Morgan's upper thigh.

"Treize."

Which I remember is thirteen, in French.

"Plymouth." Squeezing my leg, which causes them to involuntarily spread apart, and my head to dart to the side. Constance gives me a smile. "Voudrais-tu lier Treize en haut. S'il te plait."

"Please." Giving me a smile. "You will bind her, your friend. Serree. Um. Tightly." Standing up and turning, gesturing at the pile of scarves and belts I'd piled on the bed. "S'il te plait."
"Right. Yes." Digging for long forgotten words. "Oui."

The look Morgan gives me as I rummage through the binding stuff we've got, tossing what I need over beside her. She's so nervous it's a struggle to sit still, her first shoot since becoming Thirteen, first that isn't half an audition. Eyes wide, smiling tongue flicking too often across her lip ring. Nipples near tunnelling through the dress.

She'd smoked three on the way, the short walk back here. And I'll bet with all those obvious nerves she's dying for another.

Tripod back to stick mode Constance circles and wanders the room, the bed, closer further, capturing angles never in the way but always there, recording.

Morgan stands. I use two scarves, silk because the thin material makes knotting tightly easier. One scarf per side wrapping her wrist, wrapping her upper thigh. Dress hiked up revealing a skimpy black lace thong and a firm butt. Knotting and removing any slack I find, binding her wrists to the tops of her legs.

Kneeling, and because I haven't been told I can't, because the urge to do so is overpowering. I, three scarves puddled beside me, lean in and begin licking Morgan's pussy, through her thong.

The unexpected contact making her gasp legs briefly buckling, small wobble until she finds balance. Looking down mouth open eyes dancing full of lust.

I spend a minute licking her out, pulling Morgan's thong to one side, tongue diving in and out.

Glancing up to find Constance. Not in the script because we don't have one just a quick list and this isn't in the no section.

Constance standing close, phone stick in one hand her other has the thin dress straps pulled down left and right, Morgan's balloning E cups freed. Constance is kissing her, Morgan my girlfriend, licking her nipples and filming it all her and Morgan kissing, tilting the phone down and stepping back to shoot me, licking and working face buried in Morgan's crotch.

Stepping in again, more kisses, more touching and groping.

Morgan, new to modelling and possibly she's never been with two people together. She doesn't last long. Panting and body shaking the orgasm rips through her as Constance steps back, leaving her breasts exposed.

Filming it all.

The two of us swapping a look Morgan on cloud nine, blown away and me grinning back.

I continue to bind her: three scarves at ankle and bracketing the knees, pinning her legs together.

Standing. Using a belt each side of her chest, above and below. Squeezing those E cups, pinning her arms in place.

Final scarf to gag her, knotting the middle, wrapping all the way around her head across the front and back around. Yanked tight behind.

I step back out of shot, allowing Constance to focus on Morgan who, slight nod as she sees the waved gesture, puts herself onto the bed.

Which of course means she has to hop, and jump. Movements that make her oversized breasts bounce and wiggle. I spot Constance, into it too especially given what we did to Morgan not many minutes ago, licking her lip as she films. My own are dry too, watching. Enjoying the show my bound and gagged girlfriend bouncing and hopping, moaning.

Collapsing back onto the bed then wriggling and bouncing some more, getting herself in the centre head up on the pillow.

Constance gestures me forward, I nod.

Stripping off as I walk back in shot, dress up and tossed away, stepping out of my white thong. Climbing up to straddle Morgan.

Leaning in, kissing her gagged lips my hands exploring.

She moans, slow blinks. Looking up at me and I can see the lust. The desire a burning match for my own.

I kiss her some more, hands on breasts then lips on nipples. Morgan moaning and panting, body still, pinned by belts and scarves looking absolutely amazing, letting me.

And me not seeing the phone replaced on the desk, selfie stick back to tripod.

Constance climbing up beside us, on the far side not interrupting the view.

Too into it and besides it's a shoot, and not in the no section.

Not resisting as she binds me, using two scarves to pin wrists and elbows behind as I lay on Morgan, still kissing and slowly grinding my crotch on hers.

Using belts to frog bind each of my legs, ankle to upper thigh.

And lastly a gag, forced between my lips and Morgan's gagged face as I pull back a moment. I moan like a protest, an act when in fact I welcome the final nail in the coffin of my own helplessness.

Constance rolls me off Morgan, climbing over to place herself between us. Kneeling.

It doesn't take her long to coax us both to orgasm. One hand each, slipping in and out of our slits, rubbing the clit, sliding. Morgan and me wriggling, panting and moaning my own building in volume as the peak draws near.

And afterwards phone back in hand Constance shoots some more footage. Morgan and me, spent, laid side by side bound and gagged.

Like the perfect end to an amazing night.

Except.

Not yet.

Constance frees us. Then as we watch, a little spellbound but aroused, Morgan too I can see it in her eyes.

Constance strips naked, her eyes flitting between still naked me and fully exposed making no move to cover back up Morgan.

She, bending C cups dangling invitingly, picks up a scarf. Knots the middle, twice. Gags herself.

Climbs up onto the bed as we both watch, laying down on her belly, reaching behind to clasp left hand in right.

Staying still, waiting.

This isn't a shoot. Her phone camera is most definitely off.

But she wants to play. Clearly. Is asking in a very forward and teasing way.

I look at Morgan, she back at me. We swap still honry grins.

Move in for the kill.

Constance winds up hogtied in scarves, wrists and ankles and a connection tight enough to make her grunt.

And then, Morgan taking charge me rolling over letting her. Feeling submissive and buzzing at the twisting dynamic.

I wind up hogtied too.

Morgan removes Constance's gag, but only so she can use two scarves to create a double, lacing one through the other pinning us two bound girls together at the mouth, my lips pressed to hers our noses and chests touching.

"I'm going for a shower." Standing up, grinning. Leaning in to give my bare buttcheek and hard slap like spank. I yelp, moan.

Wish, pain loving submissive slut, that she'd repeat the move twenty plus times.

"Have fun."

A cheeky wave and off she wanders. Casual. Abandoning us.

To moan and struggle, to wriggle my nipples teasingly brushing Constance's as hers do mine. Our crotches, twin plumes of heat rubbing together as we attempt to share the arousal she seems to be feeling too.

And there's no orgasm to be had, not with such fleeting rubbing contact. What we get mostly is frustrated but- for me at least -in a good way. Because I get off on the inability to climax in bondage. The denial, that I want to but can't because I'm trussed up and nobody is touching me the right way.

For me that frustration is a turn on, a loop that feeds back into itself. My submissiveness eating up the fact I'm powerless to seek and take a happy ending without help.

Which, usually, isn't given.

The Domme taking her own pleasure in refusing, in making me wait.

Which is what happens here.

Morgan, returning clean and fresh wrapped in a puffy pale blue towel, makes a point of only teasing and touching Constance. She keeps us gag joined, keeps us bound, but leaning over our bodies her hands never stray or wander across my own willing and needing the contact nakedness.

She, smiling at me knowing exactly what she's about, brings Constance to orgasm.

Enjoying the pleading look on my face, my small quiet panting. Trying to angle my F cups towards her.

Receiving a slap to the nipple for my efforts. A rebuke. Told off if you want to say it that way.

"Not for you." Grinning as she wags a finger, drunk on the power.

To the degree that, and okay I don't fight which I could but I'm similarly drunk on the removal of mine.

After, Constance slowly sinking and drifting back down to solid ground. Morgan frees her. Frees me too, but only to bind me to the bedframe on one side, arms above and legs pointed down, ankles and wrists scarf tied, a second scarf for each, fixing me in place.

Looking down at me, looming. Eyebrow raised asking the question. Maybe. I simply nod, no longer gagged but not trusting my voice because I'm floating too.

Climbing over me, and Constance. Morgan pulls up the duvet covering us all. Pulling Constance into a hug pressing herself into the French girls back both laid on their sides facing me.

Constance not commenting on my state, nor does she make any move towards leaving. Small smile on her face, content and likely still floating that happy wave of her bound climax, she wriggles back into Morgan's cuddled embrace.

Reaching out to run a hand across my pinned in place body, down one arm and over the hump of my breast, down my belly and leg.

Making me moan softly, wriggle.

Making Morgan chuckle, quietly in the lights out dark.

Sleep claiming us.

What a trip.

[RopeBunny]

Cut me some slack with the French.

Please.

Wanted to give it a go, but I realise that Google translate plus rarely used school knowledge probably doesn't make me and expert.

[Beaumains]

That was quite an adventure. I like the set up and execution of this scene. Plymouth and Morgan are shown to have a relationship outside of the work and just enjoy their time and then an opportuinity for more adventure and work is presented. In the first few chapters, they were far more cautious about their employers, which they disregarded now surprisingly. Good stuff. I reckon the final product of this shoot is again very hot.

[BlissfulMisery]

Plus (not really spoiling) you can't have what's coming without writing what happens first, first.

Ahh yes indeed, the world (even the fictional apparently) does operate under the auspices of chronological cause and effect

Poor attempts at humor aside, I understand what you mean. And indeed, beginnings are often quite interesting, for they often hold much promise, a sort of web of possibilities opening before oneself.

Cut me some slack with the French.

I will not hold your efforts at proper immersion against you

-

I like the descriptions of the trip itself. Just one example, but:

Spinning.

Shifting.

The beat, now loud enough to roll right over us. Fast like a steam train thundering along midnight tracks. The music swamps us, everyone.

Chaos and jumping and cheering and hands in the air and noise and that beat I'll still be feeling two days from now.

In my bones.

Brooke once again doing things on a whim - a trait that both leads her on fun adventures, and occasionally into trouble. In this case seemingly (thankfully?) the former.

As for the shoot, overall a very fluid scene, with the roles constantly switching seemingly on a whim, but in a way that seems perfectly natural - quite well done. Brooke once again drifting into the territory of mixing work and play, something she has struggled with in the past.

And of course showcasing her usual love of helplessness, which Morgan seems to be naturally picking up on as time goes on... Perhaps even taking advantage of just a little, even if in a different manner then some of Plymouths previous partners. A more passive form of it, but still firm dominance nonetheless, exactly the way Brooke wants (or perhaps needs?). Overall a great scene, especially the entire dynamic between Brooke and Morgan that plays out during it's course.

I look at Morgan, she back at me. We swap still honry grins.

Bit of a typo in that sentence

What a trip.

Indeed.

[RopeBunny]

Sort of on a whim I suppose, unplanned and happy coincidence that Constance was there.

But.

She did prove her credentials before the shoot. And I suppose what came after is/was risky. But that's just how Brooke's life seems to roll

Suppose it says a lot regarding my own love of the 'helplessness' angle that I had in mind to write a France part three, Brooke waking up to discover herself abandoned, or some other form of peril

Maybe next time.

[RopeBunny]

Cut and Paste.

Morgan wants to make a profile. She wants.

Both of us.

To make a profile.

I had one. I didn't remember the fact, one thing amongst a sea of other things, facts and memories, all lost and washed away when I plowed my custom chopper into a crash barrier at speed. But, yes, I had one.

Discovering my bondage model past I spent some time looking into such things. I found it, my modelling profile, like a advertisement: here I am, Plymouth, F cups and ink. Here's a list of what I'm willing- in a shoot -to do. Here's a list- including the spanking, whipping, because apparently back then I hadn't known how my body would love and crave such -of what I won't do. For a shoot.

Plus some photos, of course.

I stared at it. At me. At her, Plymouth before the wreck.

And. No. I wanted a fresh start, so I fired off an email and had the whole thing removed.

The Dommes, the trap and my tumble- willingly, stupid overeager girl -into it, came after. And after that the list.

Which I'm happy with, not seeing the need to advertise. I'm popular, in demand within the niche of bondage models this side of the pond, a steady scattering of offers. No need, really, to put myself out there.

Except Morgan doesn't want to do it alone. She, still starting out finding her way, wants the comfort and knowledge that I'm there too, on the site.

Okay.

"It wants my address B?"
"It's fine." Putting my own laptop down, shifting it off my leg onto the low table so I can scoot across to the middle sofa cushion. "Look."

Pointing, showing her.

"It's for verification."
"Right." Still looking unsure. I smile like reassurance.

Explain whilst we're doing it.

"There are other sites."
"Model sites?" Holding up her drivers licence, I use Morgan's phone to take a close up self shot, head and shoulders. The card licence in focus. She does the same for me.

"Yes." Uploading the photo to our profiles. "Plenty. But last time out I did checking, asking around. And." A waved gesture.

"And this one is the best?"
"It's the one my new model friends used."

I assume that was the reason anyway?

"Your address, combined with the photo proves you're you."
"And not...?"
"Exactly." Nodding, both of us standing and stretching. A waiting game now, can't complete the profiles until we get a confirmation of verification email.

"This site prides on having only genuine models, no fakers. So in my experience the real producers-"
"-Not the fake ones?"
"Exactly." Giving her nose a gentle tap. Morgan grins.

"Real producers know this is the site they'll find real models, so this is where we're best placed to wait for them."
"Right."

We eat, talking whilst I cook. Finding the confirmations on our laptops after washing up.

We upload photos, Morgan having taken her own, as have I. Nothing too X rated, no nudity, but amongst our half dozen we've each got at least one lingerie shot, at least one other with no bra.

Clicking things off lists: likes, dislikes. Things we will and won't willingly do, levels of shoot and will we work with men, or woman, or both.

Done. Finished.

And two weeks later.

[RopeBunny]

003.
Restricting Ropes.

I dislike Simon 'call me Si' on sight. I can't say why?

Nothing to do with the safe list, which his site isn't on. I know, logically and using commonsense, that not everyone is out to kidnap and enslave me. And yes I also know I kinda want them to. But. I don't dislike him out of any sense of mistrust.

Nor does he look creepy, or 'wrong' in any way. Average height and build, slight belly from too many burgers but otherwise well muscled arms. Grey hair despite being early thirties, slicked back up top and shaved sides, a trimmed goatee to match.

I can't say why I dislike him. It's just that sometimes we get these irrational instinct like feelings.

And I get one meeting him.

"Ladies." Giving Morgan and me a smile. "And, wow." Peering over us, he's taller. I glance behind me, seeing my Hayabusa, all dull black swooping lines the luminous green Japanese character standing out. "That's quite the machine."
"Thanks." Trying on a smile as Morgan grins too. Wider.

Seemingly untroubled by the irrational not happy spike I'm feeling.

To the point I'd, almost, turn around, hop back onto the bike and leave. But I can't, because it's a joint shoot, and Morgan clearly wants to stay.

So.

Bury the frown and on we go.

Contracts in the kitchen, of course. Then Si shows us both upstairs, a spare room where we can change, bathroom opposite to get ready.

Pointing out where he'll be waiting, setting up the final details for this quite long shoot we've agreed to do.

And it isn't the long shoot, anything about the shoot, that's firing my misgivings. As I said, irrational, but there.

I've been the submissive, slave, before, and will be again many times no doubt.

For a shoot, just to clarify.

"Happy, ladies?"
"Happy." I nod, walking to Si as Morgan loiters in the doorway.

A collar, snug metal band like an oversized ring as opposed a flat strip like normal, single hoop at the front Si fastens it on me using a special bolt. No bulging dangling padlock.

I fight and work on my breathing.

It's just for the shoot.

Just a shoot.

"Plymouth?"
"I'm okay." Nodding, can he hear my racing heart? Morgan blows me a kiss, I smile. Open wide for the gag. A black ball off which numerous black leather straps sprout. A full head harness: around the sides, over the top and under the chin. Si rearranges my hair around the leather, tidy like I'm meant to, want to, be gagged.

Willing, not a fight.

If only he knew how much I'm already buzzing. My racing heart not nerves but excitement and yes yes yes.

"You both look stunning." Nodding as I stand beside Morgan, who blushes at the compliment.

I'm naked, the typical slave outfit of no clothes save a collar and gag, the former now with a lead attached.

Morgan, the Domme, for now at least. Is dressed neck to toe in latex and leather. A black one piece, zipped all the way closed up the front, complemented by skintight black gloves and thigh high boots that took us forever to force up her legs, killer heels adding several inches.

In contrast Si's wearing blue jeans and a faded white 'Quilsliver' tee.

"Ready, Thirteen?"
"Good to go."
"Plymouth?"
"Ffgggmmpp." I nod, thumbs up.

No more misgivings, I'm in the zone. Time to work, to play.

"Rolling."

The upstairs room is large, and bare: pale blue carpet to muffle the thump of Morgan's boots, white walls. Only two items of furniture. Or, one, and the other thing.

A wooden X frame bolted and secured to the wall.

Morgan leads me in, confident easy strides. In charge, serious look on her pretty face. Is she nervous?

Hiding it well.

My lead gripped, wrapped, tightly in one fist. Me following her, head bowed slightly. Submissive, arms by my sides.

At the wall, the cross, Morgan stops, turning to face me as I stop in front of her. She smiles, reaching out to grip my chin.

"Master will be home soon."
"Mmmffdpph." Nodding as well her grip will allow. I can see Morgan's chest rising falling, a mirror to mine.

Letting go she unclips my leash.

"Assume your position slave." Pointing with the hand holding the leather strip, which dangles and bounces at her movement.

I nod, small, meek. Step around her.

Small low moan as Morgan reaches out to brush my breast in passing.

Turning around, backing myself up against the cross, cold smooth wood making contact.

With Si hovering, zooming and walking in then out. Capturing angles. Morgan secures me in place.

A metal ratchet style cuff sits bolted to each corner, wrists and ankles, the metal biting as it pinches, as Morgan clicks each one tight. Tighter. Cutting off my movement, legs and arms spread to follow the X shape.

Metal cuffs, not leather I could, maybe, worm out of given time. Metal, pinning me in place.

Additionally leather belts sit open at knees and elbows, armpits and upper thigh, waist. Morgan buckles them all to prevent me wiggling my limbs, or body. All whilst I- good slave -stay still, letting her immobilise me.

My pinned naked body now facing out into the room, breasts and pussy exposed. My chest up and down as arousal quickens my breathing still.

"Comfortable." Grabbing hold my breast, hard squeezing grope. "Slave?"
"Dddgggmmppfff." Eyes closed, chest pushed out as best I can towards her. I nod.

Opening my eyes to Morgan's grin. Loving her role, sinking into it, and.

Probably going to have to bind her next time we play, just to make sure this: the recent it seems run of her binding me, doesn't become a thing. Because I'm not looking to be anyone's slave, no matter how much my traitor body wishes otherwise.

She plays. But roughly, like a Domme, a new thing for Morgan.

Slow, careful. Building up to it. Like feeling her way in new waters. Groping my breasts, squeezing F cup then nipple. Squeezing, harder, pinching the becoming tender buds. Eyes on my eyes, watching. Trying to gauge how much is too much by my reaction.

And let's hope she doesn't have to do this another time, with another model, because my threshold for this. Pain, punishment, is quite high.

Slapping my now tender nipples, making me moan. Gentle but firm slaps up my inner legs and on my slit.

Playing, with me. Enjoying the bound and gagged slave. But no fucking, no finger slipping inside, no rubbing my clit nor pressing herself against me.

It isn't in the script despite I really. Fucking, really. Want her too.

Si slams a door, having set the camera on a tripod, leaving the room so the door bang sounds distant. Like the front door.

"Mmmmffffffddd dpppfffff." Moaning as Morgan steps back, darted glance behind her hands instantly dropping off me.

As per the script.

"No." Wagging a finger, smiling. "You'll wait now like a good slave."
"Fffggggmmmpp." Head lowering, acceptance. Body on fire from her attentions, pussy singing nipples like rocks that might explode if only they get one more touch.

Morgan turns and leaves the camera shot, as Si returns.

"Okay?"
"Yeah. Um." Flashing him a grin. "Need a pee."
"Down the hall." Gesturing.

"Plymouth."
"Ffgggmm." Staring, blink to focus myself.

"Going to step out." Pointing after Morgan. "For quiet, make sure Thirteen keeps it down. Want some footage of you waiting. Okay?"
"Ggfdff dddmmmssff." I nod.

"Great." Thumbs up. "Five." Thoughtful. "Ten minutes tops."

And out he goes. Abandoning me but not really. Because this is a shoot.

Not reality.

Low murmurs of conversation in the corridor, small low giggle. Morgan. Softer, quieter. Gone as a door gently clicks closed.

I stare at the camera, arch my body, slowly. Up then down. Drop my gaze. Moan soft and quiet.

Slave, waiting. Content.

Try to remember this is a shoot. I am. Not.

Not. Not. Not.

A real captive.

They, Si and Morgan, are returning.

As my pussy throbs and my nipples tickle with each gust of air. As time passes, surely over ten minutes now? And yet I don't care, am not afraid nor worried.

No bad vibes of that sort from Si at least.

I stand, pinned, naked. Waiting and horny despite knowing the shoot doesn't call for me to climax.

At all.

Back in they come, smiling. Little cheeky wave from Morgan, a blown kiss.

Definitely need to bind her, soon.

Si fiddles with cameras, setting some up, positioning. Covering angles.

I remain locked up. No point, really, in freeing me only to lock me back up again. Right?

"Okay." Nodding, clapping hands together. "Part two."
"Right." Nervous fidget chasing down her body Morgan nods.

Out they step.

Only to re-enter hand in hand, Si showing- gesturing, gentle push off towards -Morgan the bed, which she lays down on. In the centre on her back.

And there are cameras, one in particular perfectly placed to show the bed, and beyond it me. Watching.

Si binds Morgan, rope on each limb wrists and booted ankles. The latter rope tied around her foot and heel too, making it more secure. Each rope is pulled and bound to a corner post, securing Morgan to the bed, stretching her out in a laid down fully clothed copy of me.

"Are you comfortable?"
"Yes." Husky, aroused. Small nod up at Si, kneeling beside her.

The dynamic that of two Dom(me)s, and me. With one Dom being clearly above the other Domme.

Biting her lip as Si, smiling, slowly unzips her one piece. E cups bursting out, suddenly free. Bite becoming a gasp as the zip sinks ever lower, down and under, pussy lips exposed too.

Kissing Si as he leans in to kiss her, one hand groping a breast, rubbing the nipple between thumb and finger.

The whole scene turning me on too.

I moan, on cue, pushing my body forward as Si looks over.

"And what," climbing off the bed, Morgan watching him go, tongue flicking her lip ring, "can I do for you slave?"
"Fffdddppfff." Low, eyes slow blinking as Si reaches me, running a hand across my breasts and down. Stopping teasingly short of my aching pussy.

In front of me he strips off, jeans and hipster briefs revealing a thick stubby cock which quickly grows to impressive proportions.

Stepping back in, my crotch lighting on fire as he rubs, slowly, the shaft up and down my inner thigh. Pressing it against my slit. Against but not into.

A lick across my gag, a kiss on each nipple like they might explode and me with them.

Horny. Frustrated.

Si walks away back to the bed. Climbing up.

Offering his cock up to Morgan's mouth. She flicks out a tongue, slow, careful. Catching the tip.

Again.

Si leaning closer, taking her by the hair and pushing, pulling. Forcing Morgan to swallow his length.

Making her suddenly gag. Fight for sucked breath as he pulls out. Plunging back in before she's ready.

More gagging, gasping.

Face fucking my girlfriend whilst I watch, turned on and helpless. Reaching down to tease her nipples as Morgan begins to buck against her ropes. Volume rising.

Si pulls out, climbs across and over her, lowering himself between Morgan's tied and forced apart legs, pushing forwards sliding his wet cock inside her no doubt wet pussy.

Fucking her. But not harsh or fast, or hard. Not a Dom to a slave, more equals. Kissing, fondling. Morgan moaning and flexing beneath him.

And me, wishing it were me: being fucked because damn I'm horny as all hell. Fucking, because Morgan looks so damn amazing trussed up and approaching climax.

My frustration building in time with her orgasm, only I don't get the sweet release at the end as Morgan locks up, panting and gasping.

As Si pulls out, his own sticky climax exploding as he pumps that thick shift by hand. A scatter gun landing all over Morgan's E cups and belly.

Shoot. Over.

"Thirteen." At the door, leaving all dressed and paid. And I guess I don't have to come back, likely won't no matter if Morgan wants to. I still don't know why I'm getting that irrational instinct.

The shoot went well. It was fun. No drama and nobody- me -got captured. But.

I'm still feeling that baseline background dislike.

So. No.

"Si?" Turning to face him as I continue to the Hayabusa, helmet in hand.

"Can I have a word?"
"B?"
"Go on." Waving her off, glancing up at the sun filled sky. Chilly but nice. "I'll wait, enjoy the fresh air."

Morgan nods, goes back inside.

Five minutes, and out again, and home. Dropping Morgan off on the way, her shifts not the best for staying over.

And I can wait.