Short, but ominous. Although I think the general shape of what happened is not hard to guess, still very interested to see the details.
RopeBunny wrote: ↑1 year ago
The trouble is I like Plymouth. I want her to be safe. In many ways I feel a connection with her, as silly as it may sound when I write this story I'm kind of living her life in my head.
I feel like that is bound to happen if you write a character long enough.
RopeBunny wrote: ↑1 year ago
This. All that I'm trying to do here. Well. It's a story I liked when I thought it up. But it's proved hard to write at times.
Personally I think the general concept of the story is great. I have always enjoyed exploring these sorts of themes; ie 'taking it too far, and the consequences of such'. You are not wrong however that it can be a little hard to stomach doing that to a character.
RopeBunny wrote: ↑1 year ago
I hope you'll all carry on with me.
I'm now- odd days when she's busy, which is very rare, aside -either working or at her house.
Some time ago, tired from a long shift. Exhausted and in no fit state to ride the chopper. Clearly not thinking straight or I'd of known what was going to happen. I'd said no.
No Debs. Not tonight. I'm tired. Worn out. In need of a bath and sleep before another ten hour slog tomorrow.
I'd just gotten out of the bath when she turned up, cuffs and a ballgag, a leash, in her hand. Stern look, a takes no bullshit scowl that had me instantly wet, on her pretty face.
It had been dark outside as she led me by the collar, naked, gagged, wrists cuffed at my back, to her car. Too dark for anyone to witness my kidnapping, to see Deborah bundle me- semi willingly, because her coming to claim me was quite a turn on -into her back seat. To apply more cuffs so I was hogtied, before climbing into the front seat and driving away.
After that I never refused again.
I was. Am. Firmly under Deborah's spell. I've fallen deep, and far. What began as a game has become my life.
A life lived as she wishes it.
In Deborah's house I'm always naked, and unless she wants me to talk I'm kept gagged too.
I am, almost exclusively, kept tied or caged. Locked away upstairs beside her bed, or strapped down inside the box between sofa and flatscreen. Out of sight, out of the- her -way. For hours sometimes I'll remain abandoned. I could be tied spread out across Deborah's bed, strap on fucked, then left bound for an hour or two, or three, awaiting her return to fuck me again.
Occasionally I'm tied in plain sight, kept like a decoration, something for Deborah to brush a hand across whenever she passes.
And at night, always it's the cage.
Deborah treats me as you would an object, a toy she can take out and put away at will.
Why don't I protest?
If you do something often enough it becomes the norm. The strangest things can be adapted to, accepted and lived with.
Even looked forward too.
It's doubtful I even realised how my mindset was changing, and, if I did I'd probably not of cared. I'm a girl who loves bondage. A girl who craves, desires, being trussed up and abandoned. A girl who gets off on being made someone's little rope bitch.
All that time spent locked away, stashed out of sight in a small cage or bound up in tight ropes, body aching. Far from being upset I was buzzing, body and mind tingling with lust and pleasure at what's happening.
Being used gets me off.
And- prehaps were I being sane about all this it would worry me -Deborah knows this. She exploits this. Whatever she wants to do, she does, no asking first, no checking up on me. I'm not kissed unless she wants a kiss, am not fucked unless she's horny.
Because Deborah knows me. She knows that whatever she does to me I'll be back tomorrow. Ready. Willing. Eager to serve.
Alice's arrival was a shock.
Her return I should say, because that third room upstairs is hers. She's just- Alice works as an air stewardess -barely ever in the UK.
Late evening. Deborah stretched out on the sofa, watching a movie, gaze occasionally flicking to me, rope tied naked to the metal pole beside the flatscreen. Ballgagged
A pretty thing for her to look at. And me wondering whether, because it was getting late, Deborah intended leaving me tied here all night. Whether she'd simply stand, shut everything: screen lights, off, then leave. Abandoning me in the dark.
And though my body was aching from the tight ropes, my traitor pussy had a tingle on at the thought.
Instead though, unexpected, unannounced, I hear the muffled clunk of Deborah's front door being closed, followed seconds later by the appearance of a stranger- Alice -entering the lounge at some speed.
Shocked and confused I watched on, helpless, as Alice near bounded up to Deborah, wearing a huge grin and stripping out of a red and white Virgin Airlines cabin crew uniform as she came. Winding up stood naked before Deborah, who by now was standing too.
She, Alice, was skinny. Really skinny, visible ribs beneath an A cup flat chest and no muscle that I could see on her size six frame. Long blonde hair fell straight to below the shoulders.
And around her neck, a collar. Just.
Like.
Mine.
"Alice."
"I've missed you." Flinging her arms around Deborah's neck, the two of them kissing, passionately and for some time. The whole display making me quite horny. I was not at all upset to discover this apparent second toy of Deborah's, nor was I embarrassed to be so on display in front of her.
What I was, was horny. Because I was helpless, and I didn't know what was coming next. And whatever it was, I was powerless to do anything except allow it.
What happened was: Alice, untied, ungagged, asked if she could have me. And Deborah said. "Sure." Kissing Alice on the forehead, smacking her pert butt whilst flicking her gaze to me, off me. Dismissive. "She's all yours."
Deborah went to bed.
And Alice, having freed me from the pole, led me on a leash upstairs to the second bedroom, that third door, where she hogtied me in a basic yet pretty fucking tight fashion on her bed, then proceeded to enjoy every inch of my body.
After which I was forced to crawl, still hogtied and gagged, across the floor from Alice's room to the cage beside Deborah's bed. Inside the cage, which Alice locked quietly behind me.
Meaning I spent the night caged and tied, and gagged, whilst both Alice and Deborah slept in comfort.
I was bottom of the food chain.
Deborah continued to use me as she saw fit. Leaving me caged or tied whenever she had no use for me. Only now sometimes, when she was here, Alice would be tied or caged with me. Beside me. Both of us sharing a space meant for one at times, naked bodies mashed together, making us both horny enough we regularly fucked or kissed the time away.
Or. Sometimes. Alice would be allowed to play with me. Sometimes I'd be helplessly abandoned, and in she'd come. Always grinning. And I'd be her toy to use and abuse. Hers to bind and gag in whatever manner she wished. Hers to tease and torture.
It became the new normal. Deborah. Alice. Me. That was the order of things.
And soon enough I found myself craving Alice too, just as my traitor brain and pussy craved Deborah. It didn't matter whose rope slut I was. It didn't matter who owned me. I just wanted to be used. And between the two of them, whether purposefully tag teaming me or not, I was like putty.
I was thiers.
And then, as if all that weren't enough, there was Ruth.
This, she, was my fault too.
Deborah, and Alice, were my fault because back at the beginning I surrendered. Willingly, and without any talk of limits or what might ultimately happen to me. I gave Deborah permission to do whatever the fuck she felt like, and she did.
And I just ate it up, then asked for more.
Ruth. She was my fault because I led her on. Granted, that first time she'd asked to be tied up. But, after that it was all me. Little horny and unfulfilled- because Deborah rarely wanted a fuck -me. I tied her up on her own bed that day, climbed up and teased her, then I allowed her to tie me, to tease me.
For a shoot yes, but apparently Ruth wanted more.
She'd knocked at my door. Had she been watching out the window? Waiting for me? For awhile now I'd only ever been home for a half hour at most, roaring up the road on my chopper, dashing in to shower and change, before heading right back out to Deborah. To my cage.
"Ruth?"
"Hey." Grinning, looking at least halfway drunk. "Brooke."
"What's." Smiling back, noticing the bundle of rope in her hand. "What's up?"
"Oh. Um?" Quite a long pause. Definitely drunk. Ruth nods. "Can I come in?"
"Well...." Curiosity. "What's with all the rope?" I laugh. "Planning to kidnap me?"
"I. Um." Reaching out with her free hand, almost, but not quite, making it to my breasts. Her hand had been open, ready to grope me. "Yes."
"Oh."
I should've said no. Should've stopped this, what became Ruth's growing obsession with me, dead right there at the beginning.
But. I was horny. And Ruth had rope, which I can't resist. Plus, yes I'd be late to Deborah's, which might earn me a punishment.
Which by now, due to my diving head first down the Deborah rabbit hole, the thought of Deborah not being pleased with me only made me grin wider.
What would she do to me?
So. "You'd best come in then." I'd said, swinging my door wide, stepping back.
And so it began.
Ruth showed up randomly, never to any fixed timetable, and always drunk, with each appearance by her at my door following the same basic flow: we'd go up to my room, Ruth would hogtie or spread eagle tie me, always naked, always gagged. After which I'd have to prove my helplessness by struggling for her, wriggling and jerking my rope tied body whilst she stripped off, whilst she watched.
Then she'd fuck me.
Which mostly consisted of Ruth repeatedly thrusting her pussy at my face whilst simultaneously licking mine. And it never took me- sex starved rope bitch remember -long to climax, but interestingly it never took Ruth long either.
Afterwards, every time, she'd untie me then leave. No cuddles or talking, no real acknowledgement of what had just happened.
Until the next time.
"So." Shaking free of the memories I've just allowed to rise up and swamp me, grimacing and telling myself off because even now a sizeable part of me wants nothing more then Deborah's cage. I tut, look down at the grass covered slight hump of Lili's grave. "What am I supposed to do Lil?"
A female voice from. Thin air? Somewhere? And of course it isn't, can't be, Lili. But in the moment it's her I imagine. Replying.
So, mouth open in shock, I topple backwards, landing on my jeans clad butt.
Which is when I notice, see, the freshly dug hole behind Lili's grave, the piled mould of dark earth beside the hole. And out of the hole climbs a girl.
Mud covered white vest top and blue jeans cover a curvy size fourteen frame with plenty of muscle visible on her arms, and not like my jog and gym toning either, proper muscle.
And I'll bet- sorry, can't help myself -she'd be able to bind me up proper tight.
Brown hair cut short and tied back into a small tail. Halfway out, level with sat down me, she turns, and smiles.
Maybe late twenties?
"Oh." Laughter briefly bubbling up out of her. "Sorry. Guess I scared you. Here." Stepping around Lili's stone, reaching out to pull me up. I take her hand. And.
Definitely very strong.
Some kind of twisting thorny flower scattered multistem tattoo wrapping her right arm from wrist to shoulder.
"Thanks."
"S' fine." Letting go. "You okay?"
"Well...." What do I say? No? Yes? How much time have you got? "Well...."
"Come and have some tea." Back at her hole, picking up a spade, a shovel. Giving me a come on waved gesture with both held in one hand. Walking away.
"Um." Glancing down at Lili's grave, back at her, walking slowly backwards, away. "Okay." I nod. "Thanks."
Up the far end of the cemetery, tucked away down a small lane, she leads me to a brick shed. Open garage style door, through which we go. Squeezing between a small yellow digger sat on tracks and an equally tiny ride on mower. Spades and other tools hang the length of the back wall.
We go through a side door, into a small room, off which I spy a small toilet. In one corner a kettle sits atop a table, under which there's a rusty white fridge. A tatty old armchair sits next to the table, with a couple of wooden chairs opposite.
"Have a seat." Pointing to the wooden chairs as she drops down into the armchair, making what look like C cup breasts bounce slightly. "Kettle won't take long."
"Just you here?"
"Today it is." Nodding. "Ron. Or." A shrug. "Whoever, comes in for a couple of days whenever the mowing needs doing. But day to day it just needs me."
"You don't mind?"
"Working alone?" Glancing at me, I nod. "Nah." Shaking her head. "I don't mind."
"So." Sipping her tea, my mug has a bunch of prancing My Little Pony on it, hers is black, and chipped, the Starfleet symbol in faded white. "That was quite a story you were telling."
"You." Shit. Was I? "Oh." Shaking my head. "Was I. Talking out loud?"
"Well...." Watching me. Watching me squirm? She let's the silence stretch out.
Smiles. "You said some stuff. And." A shrug. "I was busy digging. So."
"Right." I frown. How much is some?
We drink in silence for awhile. I do my best not to stare, because, honestly, she's pretty, well. Pretty. I don't think I've ever seen such a butch girl, a rugby players build. There's definitely something attractive in that powerful frame.
When she does catch me staring, because she's staring too. At me. She smiles.
"I'm not surprised." Putting her cup down, nodding. "You know."
"About what?"
"That they're all obsessed with you." Grinning at me, at the shocked expression erupting onto my face.
"I...?"
"You talked plenty." Still grinning. "Yes."
"Fuck."
"Indeed." Grin turning, becoming something playful and teasing. "Like I said. I'm not surprised."
"No?" From shock to smiling back as I pick up on the signals: her gaze on my chest, her spread legs inviting me in, welcoming.
"No." Mirroring me, shaking her head. "I mean. I've only just met you and I'm already half obsessed."
And with bad timing her phone chooses that moment to ring, summoning her back to work. Whatever might've been building there in that room between us is swifty extinguished before it could properly burn.
"Hey." I turn, helmet in hand, spotting her a couple of dozen metres away.
"What's up?"
"What's your name?"
"Brooke."
"Kayley." Pointing at herself. "Take care Brooke."
"I will." Raising a hand in farewell, Kayley doing likewise before turning back around, carrying on away from me. Back into the cemetery.
"I will." I nod, reaching up to finger the steel collar locked tight around my neck. "I." Have a plan. Maybe. I think. "Will."
"Brooke?"
"Yeah." Peering over the rim of my mirrored aviators at Elwood, smiling at the confused expression I'm being given as he climbs from his car.
"Brooke?"
"Again." Smiling wider, I can't help myself. "Yeah." Raising the bootle in my hand, saluting. "Want a beer?"
"No. I." Shaking his head and wandering over, door still open, the car itself dumped half on half off my property, straddling the open gateway, which I left open a half hour ago when I got back. Elwood stops in front of me, looking down as I look up. Still confused.
"What?"
"Beer?"
"Brooke."
"Elwood." Enjoying myself. Happy. Elwood looks all around like a man surveying the sky, expecting rain on a clear sunny day.
"Brooke."
"Yeah?"
"What the fuck is going on?"
A good question.
Because, having been out of contact, with Elwood at least, for the better part of two months- because I wasn't allowed access to my phone whilst under Deborah's spell, and because when I was either working or at home I wasn't in the right mental space to consider that I should call -all of a sudden here I am.
Sat on a green folding camp chair, on my driveway, out in the sun but not dressed for the sun.
My latex one piece, black of course, is unzipped at the front all the way down to my belly button. Half a sharks mouth tattoo exposed. You can't see my nipples, but most of each F cup, pressed together by the tight skin hugging fabric, are right there. Visible.
Visible enough to show neither one is pierced. Not anymore.
The zip runs all the way down, under, back up to the top of my butt crack. It's two way, so, you could leave me all covered save my pussy.
Fun times indeed.
There are thigh high boots on my feet, heels so high it was hell piloting the chopper wearing them. The boots lace up at the front, hugging my slim legs.
My hair is loose, a waterfall down my back, leaving- alongside the open front of my clothes -my neck exposed. Showing off.
"Oh." Elwood, reaching up to finger his own neck, which lacks a collar.
As does mine now.
"I. Um." Shaking his head. "Well."
"Have a beer." Gesturing to the open cooler next to the chair, full of ice, a half dozen bottles sticking out like missiles awaiting the kill codes. I smile. "Go on."
A beer. Because I'm- I love it when a plan comes together -celebrating.
Deborah's eyes. So wide when she saw me, her mouth a perfect O. Shock as she opened the front door. I was, dressed to take charge, not what she was expecting.
It was all I could do to hold my mouth into a firm, thin, line. Not to laugh as I watched Deborah's own submissive side, long buried, resurfacing in moments. Before she took charge of me, before she became just as obsessed with being my keeper as I became with being her caged rope slut. Before all of that Deborah was the caged rope slut.
Apparently deep down she still is.
No resistance. No fight. No comment made on my lack of collar, cut off carefully, now lying in broken pieces on my kitchen table. Deborah crumpled before my advance, seeming to shrink even as I grew to fill the space.
I left her for Alice to find.
After I'd had my fun that is. Payback, you might say.
And yes, it was all my fault. Everything that happened to me only did so because I surrendered.
But I had my fun anyway. I needed it. Needed to take back control, not to be Deborah's boss instead to prove she was no longer mine.
And after Deborah. Ruth.
"You like her," clinking bottles with Elwood, sat down on a second camp chair he's fetched from my shed, "don't you."
"Who?"
"Ruth."
The first time they both met, we'd had a barbecue. I'd left early, super keen to get back to Deborah. I'd left the two of them alone and had always wondered if maybe something would happen.
Elwoods blush at the mention of Ruth's name proves my theory.
"Why don't you go over and say hi."
"But." Looking from Ruth's house to me. Huffing, shaking his head. "I came here to...."
"To...?"
"I was supposed to be rescuing you." Elwood laughs, shakes his head again and gestures at my neck with his bottle. "I had this whole speech." Tapping his head. "In my head."
"A speech huh?" Grinning.
"A good speech." Nodding, smiling back. "I've been worried about you."
"Yeah?" Making me feel all warm inside. It's nice, knowing someone cares.
"Yeah." Nodding. Tutting. "Seems like I'm too late though." Elwood gives me a look, serious, up, down. In the eyes. "I am. Right. Brooke? I'm too late?"
"You are." I nod. "I already saved myself. But." Reaching across to pat his hand. "Thank you."
We drink in silence for awhile. But I can't keep the cheeky grin from spilling out, and Elwood can't not see it.
"Okay." Putting down his empty bottle. "Out with it then. What have you gone and done?"
"What?"
"Stop playing all innocent." Smiling at my completely failed wide eyed look. "What's going on?"
"Well." Pointing at Ruth's. "If you want to be a hero, there's still someone around here needs saving."
"Brooke."
"Elwood?"
"What did you do?"
Well.
Mostly. I did the same thing to Ruth that I did to Deborah. I took charge, took back control.
I knocked on the door, then rolled right over her.
She's been bound to her bed for maybe an hour now. Possibly two. But I did promise that. Someone. Would come free her.
Soon.
Elwood. Good man. Volunteers. Of course he does. I see him off with a toast of my second beer, content to sit awhile longer out in the sun, in my inappropriate latex.
Content to think. Because. It would appear I've solved all my problems. So, the question now becomes.
Great to see a follow-up (possibly conclusion?). Well worth the wait, as has already been said.
RopeBunny wrote: ↑1 year ago
If you do something often enough it becomes the norm. The strangest things can be adapted to, accepted and lived with.
Very much true, for better or for worse, depending on the circumstances. The mind has an uncanny ability to adapt to any new norm, and that tends to go both ways; part of what makes us generally strive to improve our situation, but also allows people to mentally bear the bleakest of circumstances. But that is going more then a little beyond the scope of this story.
RopeBunny wrote: ↑1 year ago
Deborah crumpled before my advance, seeming to shrink even as I grew to fill the space.
I really liked this line. Very evocative, and a great metaphor for the dynamic in play.
RopeBunny wrote: ↑1 year ago
And I could've written a ton more detail here I realise
There is *always* more detail that can be added to a story or to scenes, but often short and to the point (without sacrificing meaning or clarity) is better; a lesson I certainly struggle to put into practice, so I tend to appreciate it when I see it. And if you were not enjoying writing it, as you said, then there was no reason to belabor it.
I really enjoyed these chapters. Hope to see more at some point, even if it is a new or different story.
We all have moments (some short some longer) where you wonder what comes next. Am I going this way with my story or that way. Will it get darker, will it follow an arc that I did not plan? These things happen.
And as a reader, I (we) will quietly wait for the arrival of the next chapter, as, unless there is a 'the end', any story could continue.
Whatever the reasons, I am glad you gave us these 3 chapters, and, as you stated, since you have no clue if there will be more, we will wait patiently. And if this is the end, I thank you for writing this marvelous tale!
Thanks for reading. Feel free to comment.
Slackywacky, also @DeviantArt
RopeBunny wrote: ↑1 year ago
Deborah crumpled before my advance, seeming to shrink even as I grew to fill the space.
I really liked this line. Very evocative, and a great metaphor for the dynamic in play.
As did I. Tend to find such lines come without planning. Some of my best stuff is on the fly. And in truth most of what I write comes from rough ideas. A to B to C and so forth, just pinpoints of things I want to happen.
I fill in the details as I go, which does sometimes lead to a change of plan mid story
Which can make things interesting.
Switchgirl wrote: ↑1 year ago
Beautifully written in your own unique style…would love to see more Brooke…
slackywacky wrote: ↑1 year ago
if there will be more, we will wait patiently.
There is, will be, more I have plan, after some thought. This tale evolved into something I grew to not enjoy. At times I loved writing Deborah the Domme, however more then anyone else I've written here Plymouth has a lot of me in her. I've become quite invested in her over the chapters of 'Plymouth Rising' and now 'Jester's Revenge' and so it was hard at times to write her fall down into Deborah's rabbit hole.
So. I shall begin a third tale. Something new. And hopefully not so dark.
RopeBunny wrote: ↑1 year ago
And in truth most of what I write comes from rough ideas. A to B to C and so forth, just pinpoints of things I want to happen.
I fill in the details as I go, which does sometimes lead to a change of plan mid story.
I think that is the right way to go; it is better to have the characters guide the story to some extent, rather then shoehorning the characters into following 'the plan'. Keeps everything more believable, and means that sticking to character becomes practically automatic.
RopeBunny wrote: ↑1 year ago
There is, will be, more I have plan, after some thought. This tale evolved into something I grew to not enjoy. At times I loved writing Deborah the Domme, however more then anyone else I've written here Plymouth has a lot of me in her. I've become quite invested in her over the chapters of 'Plymouth Rising' and now 'Jester's Revenge' and so it was hard at times to write her fall down into Deborah's rabbit hole.
I will admit, I have an unnatural fascination with 'dark' stories, (well, specifically emotionally dark), but I can also relate to how it can wear on you to write such a thing, as it requires putting yourself in the correct mindset, and it is by definition not a pleasant one. Only gets worse if as you said, you have an affinity for the character(s) involved. So I can certainly understand not enjoying it, especially if that was not the plan. Still, intended or not, I think you wrote the situation in a compelling way, and that is deserving of praise.
On a lighter note, curious if the titular Jester of this tale will come up in the new story, as that seems to have become somewhat of a loose end. I assume not, as it seems to have been a victim of an impromptu change of direction, but...
There is, will be, more I have plan, after some thought. This tale evolved into something I grew to not enjoy. At times I loved writing Deborah the Domme, however more then anyone else I've written here Plymouth has a lot of me in her. I've become quite invested in her over the chapters of 'Plymouth Rising' and now 'Jester's Revenge' and so it was hard at times to write her fall down into Deborah's rabbit hole.
So. I shall begin a third tale. Something new. And hopefully not so dark.
Something more fun prehaps
You're a very talented writer and I'm confident that I'll enjoy reading anything that you put forth. It only seems fair that you should enjoy writing it also.
A List of my stories:
