Flame binds Plymouth.
Shoot six.
"Hello Sonya."
"Hey Bill." Leaning on the counter, arms crossed atop the smooth wood and upper body angled forwards, breasts puddled cleavage pushed at Bill. Sonya's top having a low scooped cut at the front.
Stood beside, turned around staring out the glass fronting, the revolving doors we just walked through, still spinning though slowing down. But I glance to the side and see her smile. Bill smile back.
An older man, fifties at a guess. Relatively trim figure and greying hair. Security guards uniform of white shirt and black combat trousers, a two-way beside him, laptop open next to it.
And I realise, just as Sonya announces, patting my arm.
"This is my friend, Brooke."
That she's flirting.
So I turn, adopting the same pose breasts thrust out right beside Sonya's, smile.
"Well." Eyes wide, looking at each of us in turn. "Hello there Sonya's friend Brooke."
"Hey." Recent memory. Um. "Bill. Good day?"
"Slow." A shrug.
"Bill stands watch," Sonya explaining, "but the block sits mostly empty, most days."
"Companies rent the space out as and when." Nodding his agreement. "But we're over half empty currently."
"So...."
"So fourteen's free." Nodding at her. Us. "How long do you need girls?"
"Couple of hours?" Seesawing hand. "We'll be done by five."
"I clock off at half past that." Serious face, for a moment. "Fair warning."
"Got it." Standing up and semi dancing round the counter, hugging Bill, planting a kiss on his cheek.
"Thanks."
"Have fun girls." Waving us off, clearly pleased at the attentions."
Sonya waves, I wave too as we walk off, rounding a corner and finding the bank of lifts.
"So?" Riding up, smooth, silent. Asking. "Bill and you...."
"Old friend," a quick laugh, "of the family if you belive it. We've always talked, like an uncle or." A shrug.
"But no funny stuff." Shaking her head and I wasn't. Okay maybe a little I was thinking it.
"Anyway." Gesture as we exit the lift, sweeping arm all around, quiet, no people. "Bill oversees this place, and I've come here before. For shoots one time, or just to wander. To get away for awhile. To talk."
"So he's okay?" Looking around myself. Nodding, it'll do. "He. What, knows we're shooting porn up here?"
"He knows."
"Right."
Okay. Well. If she trusts this, trusts him, then okay. And besides how much trouble could I, me personally really get in here?
The whole floor is decked out office style, cubicles in rows separated by ailses, and in each a desk, a desktop monitor and hard drive tower assembly beside, keyboard and mouse too of course. And occasionally some left over piece of personalisation: a pot plant in various stages from healthy to withered corpse, child's drawing pinned to the wall.
In one a small fluffy rabbit.
"Here?"
"Good as any." Nodding agreement, stepping passed to deposit the- healthy -cacti down, now complementing the tall three stemmed yucca, pot next to the desk and the plant coming level with my belly. We'd taken the rabbit too, plus a whole bunch of discarded papers, anything to help make this cubicle more.
Used, not abandoned. We need to sell it as a real place of work, to which end I quickly fire up the desktop, opening a blank document, typing a half dozen lines of semi nonsense.
A report in progress.
That done I change whilst Sonya, becoming Flame even whilst I switch to Plymouth. She sets up.
A bound secretary, done by everyone already, but worth doing all the same.
Out of my bag I pull a carefully folded, uncreased dress which I hang, carefully, over the partition wall of the next cubicle over.
Our default temporary basecamp.
That done I strip, taking off everything bar my thong, leaving me barefoot, almost naked.
The dress is black, with green fern like patterns scattered across and up it's length. A wrap-around design, short sleeved one side tucking it in, held in place whilst I pull the other tightly over it. Belted closed around the waist with a black sash that's loose ends hang down the right side. It's a fitted piece, tight on my skinny frame half moulded to my braless chest, the front exposing a deep V of skin, some cleavage, and a hem above the knee.
"Chair?"
"Chair," nodding as I walk over to, patting the wheeled office chair, "because you were sat down. Of course, working and busy when I came in."
"To tie me up."
"Right."
Exchanged smiles, having fun and why shouldn't we.
The chair, sitting down let's get the shoot going, sits on six small black wheels. Six silver legs and a central pillar that no doubt goes up and down. The seat is black leather, no armrests because you should be working not resting. And a low back for the same reason: no need to rest that head get back to leaning over the desk, filing a report or something.
Wrists together, and elbows, my arms easily slipping over the chair back, feeling the jerking in my limbs as Flame binds my wrists to the pillar like leg. Securing me to the chair.
Ankles next. Legs spread wide, willingly, by me.
It's a shoot after all.
Spread and tied off, ankles to the chair back. Somehow and the spot Flame uses is high up, enough that my legs are bent frog like at the knee, forced wide by the tie. Thong exposed and obvious from the right angle, plus the harsh arm ropes have pushed my chest out. Of course.
A chest tie next, pinning my upper body to the rising leather back, squeezing my F cups.
"Okay?"
"Sure." Nodding. "All good my end."
"Great." Wiping some invisible, imagined piece of dirt off her hands. A nod. "I'll get some photos?"
"Good plan."
Photos. Stills. Because I. We, her site and mine. We can sell those too, or use them as a luring tease. Flame works the angles, pausing, zooming in then out. Nodding on the couple of occasions I offer a suggestion.
Over there.
Stand on the desk, angle down at me from above.
"Time to shoot?"
"I'm good." Camera down on the desk, picking up the harness- we only bought the one gag, limited room -assembly.
Stepping in and belting the leather straps around my face, red ball back in my mouth like an old friend.
"When I give the signal?"
"Rrsssshhhfffmmm." I nod understanding, Flame giving me a thumbs up before turning and walking out the cubicle.
Sound of her footsteps receding, but not too far and then.
"Shooting now Plymouth." Called out.
I count to five, begin to struggle.
Moaning, shaking and bouncing. Only slightly though, until Flame walks into view.
And you could say this, the shoot which we both had a hand in describing the how and the flow. There's a pretty solid argument for the fact this shoot is very much like showing Domme Sonya, Flame, a red rag.
You could say it's showing me that same rag too.
Because I'm an angry submissive for this one. Seeing Flame walk into view, knowing the recording will of picked up my low moans. She gives me a thumbs up.
And I increase my angry fighting by a factor of ten.
I rage. Moaning and shaking, fighting the ropes jerking my body crotch lifting off the seat, breasts straining forward and a string of drool dropping into my cleavage as I stare wide eyed at the camera.
At Flame.
Begging for help, the next moment erupting a string of curses from behind my gag. Hating my captivity. My helplessness.
I'm loud. I'm begging: please please let me go help me I'll do anything. Please. Moaning and shaking, bouncing my F cups at the camera.
Flame. Her breathing sped up, mouth dry constantly licking her lips. And I, we know she likes me, wants me.
Would happily lock me up and throw away the key which.
Sounds- down Brooke -fun.
Here she is getting another full dose of Plymouth the submissive, my best work.
Circuits of me done, a couple and having kneeled to show the one day paying audience the view up my dress, Flame steps forwards reaching in.
Her hand appearing on screen I'll see it later, editing.
Keeping me in shot Flame yanks open the dress, left and right to expose my breasts and.
Angry submissive.
I scream at her, fight and struggle, a losing battle to stop her.
More filming, more- pretend -anger from me.
Arousal sloshing, tingles everywhere.
Shoot six, done.
A Life in Bondage and Porn: Plymouth (MF+/F+) *TWO CHAPTERS POSTED 01/05*
Quoting myself, always amuses me
Just to clarify: I meant that, usually, something like this would lead to Plymouth's surrender, to Flame taking ownership.
A TUGs site after all, so why not go large and dive deep.
But not as you now see this time.
007.
She freed me, of course.
Ha.
Felt touch and go, actually and being honest. From my perspective of tied and gagged helpless submissive. Having spent the whole shoot shaking the fact.
Look at me, stuck and by the way aren't you a Domme, who likes bound little playthings.
Who likes me, specifically.
Having worked not just myself but very obviously Flame, Sonya, up into a state of arousal. There was definitely a moment.
Camera down, keeping her back to me and breathing. Waiting.
Fighting herself? Her urges?
Dangerous ground, perhaps, and yet I can't help walking willingly in. Would, will, do so again and forever.
And I'm waiting. Still, my own breathing slowing down. Watching and when Sonya finally does turn.
Her eyes tell the story of what she'd really wanted, even whilst her- traitor -hands had begun the business of freeing me.
"You should come with a health warning."
"Like what?" Sitting side by side on the desk, legs dangled and sharing a water bottle. Me still in the secretary dress and the floor littered with ropes, the harness gag.
As though she could free me, but isn't yet ready to put away the- possibility of binding me again -ropes.
A threat, if you read it a certain way, and one which doesn't help either of our mostly still- if I'm any judge -aroused states.
"May contain nuts?" I grin, playful.
"Maybe." Thoughtful, but smiling, teasing too. "Unexploded ordinance, consider live and dangerous at all times."
"Ha." Liking it, the words making me tingle too because I totally get Sonya's meaning: I'm dangerous in the sense I'm hard to put down, walk away from.
Dangerous because I make it too easy for her to- imagine or otherwise -kidnap.
"Maybe you should be...." Sonya waits, until I grin. Nod. "Do not feed the animal."
"Nice." Grinning back, small shiver. Getting it?
"I didn't want to." Flexing her hands, shaken head. "Brooke."
"But you did." Hugging her, Sonya letting me pull her sideways into contact.
I didn't want you too either.
Look at all that rope, laying around why don't we put it to good use.
"What time is it?"
"Not quite four." Checking her phone. "There's no rush."
"Cool." So. "So...." Hopping down off the desk, stretching up onto tip toes, arms out cruciform having reached for the ceiling. I turn to face Sonya, shrug.
"Dinner? Or...?"
Not trying, meaning to tease. But sometimes everything I come out with sounds like a come on.
"Bind me."
"Bind." What? "You?"
"Yes." Hopping down too. "I've got an idea, and. I want it to be me."
"Well." Looking down at the ropes, trying not to feel sad. And yes her binding me again couldn't of lasted long, and would of been borderline risky too.
Because it would've been surrender, purely that. No shoot, just, tie me and use me.
But.
"Okay." I nod. "What's the idea?"
She freed me, of course.
Ha.
Felt touch and go, actually and being honest. From my perspective of tied and gagged helpless submissive. Having spent the whole shoot shaking the fact.
Look at me, stuck and by the way aren't you a Domme, who likes bound little playthings.
Who likes me, specifically.
Having worked not just myself but very obviously Flame, Sonya, up into a state of arousal. There was definitely a moment.
Camera down, keeping her back to me and breathing. Waiting.
Fighting herself? Her urges?
Dangerous ground, perhaps, and yet I can't help walking willingly in. Would, will, do so again and forever.
And I'm waiting. Still, my own breathing slowing down. Watching and when Sonya finally does turn.
Her eyes tell the story of what she'd really wanted, even whilst her- traitor -hands had begun the business of freeing me.
"You should come with a health warning."
"Like what?" Sitting side by side on the desk, legs dangled and sharing a water bottle. Me still in the secretary dress and the floor littered with ropes, the harness gag.
As though she could free me, but isn't yet ready to put away the- possibility of binding me again -ropes.
A threat, if you read it a certain way, and one which doesn't help either of our mostly still- if I'm any judge -aroused states.
"May contain nuts?" I grin, playful.
"Maybe." Thoughtful, but smiling, teasing too. "Unexploded ordinance, consider live and dangerous at all times."
"Ha." Liking it, the words making me tingle too because I totally get Sonya's meaning: I'm dangerous in the sense I'm hard to put down, walk away from.
Dangerous because I make it too easy for her to- imagine or otherwise -kidnap.
"Maybe you should be...." Sonya waits, until I grin. Nod. "Do not feed the animal."
"Nice." Grinning back, small shiver. Getting it?
"I didn't want to." Flexing her hands, shaken head. "Brooke."
"But you did." Hugging her, Sonya letting me pull her sideways into contact.
I didn't want you too either.
Look at all that rope, laying around why don't we put it to good use.
"What time is it?"
"Not quite four." Checking her phone. "There's no rush."
"Cool." So. "So...." Hopping down off the desk, stretching up onto tip toes, arms out cruciform having reached for the ceiling. I turn to face Sonya, shrug.
"Dinner? Or...?"
Not trying, meaning to tease. But sometimes everything I come out with sounds like a come on.
"Bind me."
"Bind." What? "You?"
"Yes." Hopping down too. "I've got an idea, and. I want it to be me."
"Well." Looking down at the ropes, trying not to feel sad. And yes her binding me again couldn't of lasted long, and would of been borderline risky too.
Because it would've been surrender, purely that. No shoot, just, tie me and use me.
But.
"Okay." I nod. "What's the idea?"
Plymouth binds Flame.
Shoot seven.
Luckily we bought two cameras, one in each bag. And luckily despite no tripods we manage to improvise, finding things to stack, places to rest them both so we're getting the required angles.
Sitting down at the desk, wheeling the chair over whilst Flame gets ready, I delete the nonsense file from my own bound secretary shoot.
And create a new one, half filling a page quickly with words, something about best tree planting and maintenance of saplings. Stuff I've done for Owl Wood, my other life and job.
Stuff remembered.
"This work?"
"If you're happy?" Spinning the chair to face her. Flame. I nod. "And comfortable?"
"I'm." Quick shiver across her. "Good."
"If you're sure?" Checking, being a friend. "Because you said it didn't come easily and-"
"-And it doesn't." Talking over me but nicely. Half smile I return.
"Doubt it ever will but." A shrug. "Sitting there just now, with you." A sly smile. "Trying to figure out a way to legitimately bind you back up."
"For a shoot?" All innocence, and we share a look.
No. Or, maybe but she didn't care either way.
"The idea. This." Waved gesture at the desk. "Came to me and." Quick nervous laugh. "For some fucking reason I thought it'd be fun to do it. Instead of doing it to you."
"Okay, well. I." Emphasis on the word. "Promise to free. You." And on that word. "When we're done."
Which, humour earns me a tut, a shaken head but a smile too.
"Funny girl."
"Yes."
We get to work.
Sonya bought spare clothes too, because whilst today's shoots- did -involve her exclusively binding me, some of our initial thoughts included her being in shot.
Which means now she's a secretary too.
White long sleeved shirt, although they're rolled up and it's halfway open, her whole white lace bra clad chest exposed. Black fitted skirt, possibly even her old school one given it looks the part: above the knee hem, plain looking and slipping on a simple elastic waist. Barefoot, red hair tied back into a loose tail.
And me- still -in the black dress with green fern patterns.
Helping Flame up onto the desk and she kneels breasts, should she turn to face me, level with my face.
Back to me though, for now.
Wrists first, bound crossed with a length of rope. Tightly, because of realism and because I don't know any other way.
No point in loose rope.
Flame wriggles slightly, deep breath but otherwise calm.
Okay.
Onto her chest. Rope doubled and passed around, above her E cups. Checking the fit is snug and me, like her being professional. Not groping although they are right there.
Almost begging to be touched.
At the back, ends fed through the loop and around we go again, the other way and now below her chest. Pull tight, change direction and below. Finally up and over her shoulder, down between and tucked through beneath the under breast ropes, back up over the other shoulder and pull.
Tie the whole thing off. Tight. Flame's breasts now look.
"Great."
"Good."
"I mean it." Helping her lay down, on her front. "I know you aren't into it, don't enjoy the way." I do. "But." Stepping back for more rope. "You look great, bound. It works."
"Well." Head to the side regarding me, unsure but. "Thanks, Plymouth."
I nod, move onto her legs.
Ankles bound, knees bound, and a third rope to hogtie her.
"Going to cinch it all in now."
"Right." Another deep breath, ready. "Ready."
Rope already looped, from ankles to wrists I hook an arm under Flame's chest, hoisting her upper body clear of the desk even as I pull, yanking in the slack, forcing so that when I let go of her.
Her head and breasts remain up.
"Fuck." Wriggling as I tie the rope off. "Damn but that's tight."
"Different on the other side."
"Definitely." Nodding, and she's doubtless bound others this strict. Me amongst them. But it's a whole new experience when you're the one arms forced back and body arched.
Stuck.
"Isn't for long." Standing beside her, harness gag in hand. "Ten minutes, fifteen max."
"Fuck." Wriggling again, small grunt as she apparently- arms pulling one way legs the other -tries to escape. "Fuck, but." A nod. "Sure. Gag and then let's go."
"Yes."
Buckling on the harness, leather straps bisecting Flame's face, and I still think she looks great, but don't say because I don't want to draw this out.
For her.
Gagged, I take a few moments to finish up: one last rope to bind Flame's hair- her already loose tail I just add my rope atop her cord -to her ankles, forcing her head to remain up, facing forward. A moment too spent making sure of her appearance, hair just so, shirt pulled open enough.
"Right." Stood in her eyeline, a thumbs up. "Good to start."
"Ddgggjjmmm." Blinking at me, and she seems okay still. Not panicked.
So I nod, and away we go.
Shooting.
Flame as an object, an office decoration, is the idea. Though I suppose you could spin it as a naughty secretary but I'll be ignoring her, so object is the direction we're hinting at.
Angles wise. She's laid hogtied, on her belly, on the desk. Facing the desktop monitor her head quite close- easy touching distance -to the keyboard, yucca on the floor behind her, cacti and rabbit on the far side of the desk.
I've smoothed her skirt down, and have teased the open shirt so that from the side angle there's a definite flash of bra, very clear shape of her rope squeezed breasts. And from the front, the second camera, Flame's Gagged face is in clear view, alongside and above her cleavage. Deep cleavage, shirt open and she's a busty girl.
For just over a minute I leave her solely in shot, alone. Flame remains still, no struggles no moans. Object.
Then I walk in, casual. Ignoring her to sit at the chair, typing. Working sporadically. Not looking at her, not touching her.
Very. Aware of her gagged lips, her almost offered up cleavage and her total helplessness. Flame, bound and gagged right there so close I could reach out and.
No.
Standing up, walking off shot. Count to twenty-five and back in. Hunker down and look through the desk drawers, Flame's body directly in front of me now but I don't look, don't acknowledge and she. Object, doesn't move. She's still, quiet.
I sit back down, type some more.
Judge six odd minutes then stand up, leave.
End of shoot.
"Okay." One hand on her back, reassurance, face close to hers and she's looking sideways at me. "I'll take some quick photos, whilst you're bound. Is that okay?"
"Ggffdlllmmnn." Blinking, as good a nod as she's able and we hadn't mentioned photos, but it is a good idea.
So I work fast. Every angle I can think of, closeups and far away. Flame still. Patient.
And photos done I free her, the wall clock moments away from five, our safe zone of time- Bill's shift -almost over.
We need to leave.
Shoot seven.
Luckily we bought two cameras, one in each bag. And luckily despite no tripods we manage to improvise, finding things to stack, places to rest them both so we're getting the required angles.
Sitting down at the desk, wheeling the chair over whilst Flame gets ready, I delete the nonsense file from my own bound secretary shoot.
And create a new one, half filling a page quickly with words, something about best tree planting and maintenance of saplings. Stuff I've done for Owl Wood, my other life and job.
Stuff remembered.
"This work?"
"If you're happy?" Spinning the chair to face her. Flame. I nod. "And comfortable?"
"I'm." Quick shiver across her. "Good."
"If you're sure?" Checking, being a friend. "Because you said it didn't come easily and-"
"-And it doesn't." Talking over me but nicely. Half smile I return.
"Doubt it ever will but." A shrug. "Sitting there just now, with you." A sly smile. "Trying to figure out a way to legitimately bind you back up."
"For a shoot?" All innocence, and we share a look.
No. Or, maybe but she didn't care either way.
"The idea. This." Waved gesture at the desk. "Came to me and." Quick nervous laugh. "For some fucking reason I thought it'd be fun to do it. Instead of doing it to you."
"Okay, well. I." Emphasis on the word. "Promise to free. You." And on that word. "When we're done."
Which, humour earns me a tut, a shaken head but a smile too.
"Funny girl."
"Yes."
We get to work.
Sonya bought spare clothes too, because whilst today's shoots- did -involve her exclusively binding me, some of our initial thoughts included her being in shot.
Which means now she's a secretary too.
White long sleeved shirt, although they're rolled up and it's halfway open, her whole white lace bra clad chest exposed. Black fitted skirt, possibly even her old school one given it looks the part: above the knee hem, plain looking and slipping on a simple elastic waist. Barefoot, red hair tied back into a loose tail.
And me- still -in the black dress with green fern patterns.
Helping Flame up onto the desk and she kneels breasts, should she turn to face me, level with my face.
Back to me though, for now.
Wrists first, bound crossed with a length of rope. Tightly, because of realism and because I don't know any other way.
No point in loose rope.
Flame wriggles slightly, deep breath but otherwise calm.
Okay.
Onto her chest. Rope doubled and passed around, above her E cups. Checking the fit is snug and me, like her being professional. Not groping although they are right there.
Almost begging to be touched.
At the back, ends fed through the loop and around we go again, the other way and now below her chest. Pull tight, change direction and below. Finally up and over her shoulder, down between and tucked through beneath the under breast ropes, back up over the other shoulder and pull.
Tie the whole thing off. Tight. Flame's breasts now look.
"Great."
"Good."
"I mean it." Helping her lay down, on her front. "I know you aren't into it, don't enjoy the way." I do. "But." Stepping back for more rope. "You look great, bound. It works."
"Well." Head to the side regarding me, unsure but. "Thanks, Plymouth."
I nod, move onto her legs.
Ankles bound, knees bound, and a third rope to hogtie her.
"Going to cinch it all in now."
"Right." Another deep breath, ready. "Ready."
Rope already looped, from ankles to wrists I hook an arm under Flame's chest, hoisting her upper body clear of the desk even as I pull, yanking in the slack, forcing so that when I let go of her.
Her head and breasts remain up.
"Fuck." Wriggling as I tie the rope off. "Damn but that's tight."
"Different on the other side."
"Definitely." Nodding, and she's doubtless bound others this strict. Me amongst them. But it's a whole new experience when you're the one arms forced back and body arched.
Stuck.
"Isn't for long." Standing beside her, harness gag in hand. "Ten minutes, fifteen max."
"Fuck." Wriggling again, small grunt as she apparently- arms pulling one way legs the other -tries to escape. "Fuck, but." A nod. "Sure. Gag and then let's go."
"Yes."
Buckling on the harness, leather straps bisecting Flame's face, and I still think she looks great, but don't say because I don't want to draw this out.
For her.
Gagged, I take a few moments to finish up: one last rope to bind Flame's hair- her already loose tail I just add my rope atop her cord -to her ankles, forcing her head to remain up, facing forward. A moment too spent making sure of her appearance, hair just so, shirt pulled open enough.
"Right." Stood in her eyeline, a thumbs up. "Good to start."
"Ddgggjjmmm." Blinking at me, and she seems okay still. Not panicked.
So I nod, and away we go.
Shooting.
Flame as an object, an office decoration, is the idea. Though I suppose you could spin it as a naughty secretary but I'll be ignoring her, so object is the direction we're hinting at.
Angles wise. She's laid hogtied, on her belly, on the desk. Facing the desktop monitor her head quite close- easy touching distance -to the keyboard, yucca on the floor behind her, cacti and rabbit on the far side of the desk.
I've smoothed her skirt down, and have teased the open shirt so that from the side angle there's a definite flash of bra, very clear shape of her rope squeezed breasts. And from the front, the second camera, Flame's Gagged face is in clear view, alongside and above her cleavage. Deep cleavage, shirt open and she's a busty girl.
For just over a minute I leave her solely in shot, alone. Flame remains still, no struggles no moans. Object.
Then I walk in, casual. Ignoring her to sit at the chair, typing. Working sporadically. Not looking at her, not touching her.
Very. Aware of her gagged lips, her almost offered up cleavage and her total helplessness. Flame, bound and gagged right there so close I could reach out and.
No.
Standing up, walking off shot. Count to twenty-five and back in. Hunker down and look through the desk drawers, Flame's body directly in front of me now but I don't look, don't acknowledge and she. Object, doesn't move. She's still, quiet.
I sit back down, type some more.
Judge six odd minutes then stand up, leave.
End of shoot.
"Okay." One hand on her back, reassurance, face close to hers and she's looking sideways at me. "I'll take some quick photos, whilst you're bound. Is that okay?"
"Ggffdlllmmnn." Blinking, as good a nod as she's able and we hadn't mentioned photos, but it is a good idea.
So I work fast. Every angle I can think of, closeups and far away. Flame still. Patient.
And photos done I free her, the wall clock moments away from five, our safe zone of time- Bill's shift -almost over.
We need to leave.
-
Switchgirl
- Forum Contributer
- Posts: 47
- Joined: 1 year ago
Once again - excellently written
Love the fact that Sonya admitted everything first - Brooke feels the same way but can’t ‘release the beast’
Would be good to see Brooke finally be happy and find her owner but I suspect this is not yet her time….
Loved the last few chapters snd I do have a thing for belts…
Love the fact that Sonya admitted everything first - Brooke feels the same way but can’t ‘release the beast’
Would be good to see Brooke finally be happy and find her owner but I suspect this is not yet her time….
Loved the last few chapters snd I do have a thing for belts…
Belts are underused, I find. Alongside cable (zip) ties. Both good alternatives to rope I feel, but often forgotten.
Sonya being upfront, Brooke not so much. Indeed. This will be mentioned, covered and explained- by Brooke -in the next chapter.
As for- her -happiness.
I'm working on it
-
Switchgirl
- Forum Contributer
- Posts: 47
- Joined: 1 year ago
Cable ties are fun for quick ‘kidnapping’ or restraining until I can be tied in something I can last longer… find I can’t tolerate them for long…
I can imagine Brooke could though..
I look forward to Brooke finding happiness but would be gutted it that was the end of her stories…
I can imagine Brooke could though..
I look forward to Brooke finding happiness but would be gutted it that was the end of her stories…
-
BlissfulMisery
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 285
- Joined: 1 year ago
To be honest, not sure the latter came across too well. Oh well.
Not exactly what I had expected, but it does work. An awkward situation, and one that is dragged on, Brooke unintentionally (or perhaps subconsciously?) playing with Sonya with her silence on the issue. Poor communication on her part, but it is understandable why it happens the way it does.
Speaking of what was mentioned above, this line sums it up wellHer eyes tell the story of what she'd really wanted, even whilst her- traitor -hands had begun the business of freeing me.
Overall I do like the slow-burning tension between them. Brief flare-ups, stamped down by either party. A simmer slowly being brought to a boil? Silly/cliched metaphors aside, curious to see what the resolution will end up looking like, since obviously this cannot go on forever.
In fairness, zip ties tend to have the fundamental problem of focusing pressure too much, making them both more uncomfortable and more dangerous if used for long periods of time. Quicker to apply, I suppose, but as mentioned that edge cuts both ways. Of course this is much less of an issue in fiction
As for belts, don't disagree. An interesting alternative to rope.
Good to hear
Quote and quote and quote and quote
I guess the latter, the Domme angle. It's fine, I realised it whilst writing, but didn't add the crisps to prove the fact.
Anyway.
Next chapter below. Thanks all.
008.
Back home, a week and change having passed, time spent working. Days in Owl Wood, cutting and tidying, wading out into the small lake. An afternoon on maintenance, washing the vehicles, checking oil levels and pressures.
Evenings spent editing footage, getting clips ready, splicing angles to create a finished product I'm happy showing. Organising photos, cutting the blurred and the otherwise unusable.
Jester's Revenge, nearly time.
One more though I think.
Time to pay Arthur a visit.
"Hey River."
"Brooke." Opening the door wider, a small frown. "Or is it Plymouth now? Do I have to use your model name?"
"Either." A shrug as I pass her, entering Arthur's house. "I," giving her back a smile, "answer to both most days."
Seeing her isn't a surprise. Arthur had told, warned me. Asked if her presence was alright. A watcher at the shoot, and I suppose, assume this is one further step along the road to her. River, eventually asking to play an active part.
No issues from my quarter.
Younger then mid twenties Arthur and me but not by much, River's- cool name, and of course someone with Arthur's less then normal parents, upbringing went and found himself an equally alternative girlfriend -got to be somewhere around the twenty plus for size. Short and plump, belly pushing at her blue jeans waistband and straining her black ACDC tee, average sized C cups above, nice humps the chunky rings piercing each nipple visible.
Long pink hair cascading like mine, the dye bright not a soft shade.
Inked right bicep and forearm, and maybe more currently hidden but what I can see, the bottom half of an octopus: greens and purples, bulbous top like a balloon and long trailing arms peeking from River's sleeve.
Smaller then a Kraken, but five of the arms- two still on River's bicep the other three trailing a path down and around her forearm -are wrapped around three different bikini clad girls, all of whom are busty with long flowing hair and about two inches tall
It's a nice, maybe, bondage hint. And perhaps more subtle then the chained mermaid quite blatantly, openly displayed on my left arm.
"Brooke." Arthur, who we find in the lounge, a large room taking up almost the whole of this small two story mid terraces ground floor. Checking angles and.
"Are those." Laughing, pointing out the three oversized plushies placed somewhat deliberately around the room, tripod mounted camera angled towards one. "Meant to be me?"
"Careful." Straight faced as River walks over, kissing his cheek. "They were talking about unionizing a moment ago." Now a small smile. "Equal pay for all. Right?"
Funny guy.
"Need to change?"
"Thought I'd just throw a hoodie on?" Looking down at my still clean jeans. "Or." Thinking, patting the messenger bag still slung over one shoulder. "Leggings?"
"The skintight look works." Nodding, somehow not getting slapped by River, his girlfriend, for saying so.
Guess she really is behind all this.
"Okay."
"Bathrooms up-"
"-Stairs." River, pointing too. After which they both share a smile. Young love.
"Such a cute couple." Smiling and gently teasing, patting River on the shoulder as I head upstairs.
Black Adidas leggings, trademark white stripes running up the outside of each leg. Definitely skintight and up top I shrug a pullover hoodie on, purple with 'Gymshark' in black across the back. A snug enough fit to show off my F cups, the curve and sheer bulk of them obvious. Boots swapped out for pink and black Adidas trainers.
Hood up and minimal makeup, dyed blue and white tipped hair arranged to cascade out either side.
Ready.
"My shoot."
"Your shoot." Hands up in surrender, except not. Instead I'm nodding agreement, hands up as though removing them from the- metaphorical -wheel. Last time Arthur tied me, the pillar, that intimate yet professional handling. Last time I'd edited the footage, set the script. Mostly.
This time the base idea came from a shared brainstorming session, but the exact flow: script and angles, final editing of footage. This time it's all Arthur's.
"Ready." Stopping, a thoughtful pause. "Plymouth?"
"So Brooke when you showed up." River, I can practically hear her thinking. "But Plymouth now you've changed?"
"It isn't that simple." Shaking my head, a thumbs up for Arthur. "I've got friends who only call me Plymouth, and others." My Forestry Commission boss amongst them. "Who don't know she even exists."
"Right." Still thinking. "Weird?"
"Sometimes." Answering, her assessment framed like a question. "But it's never dull."
Arthur, patiently waiting stirs back to life as I walk out the room.
Couple of deep breaths, a stretch. Couple of small hop like jumps, up onto the balls of my feet, toes remaining planted. Not nervous, but it's been forever since I've had to act and do actual dialogue for a shoot.
"Rolling Plymouth." Arthur's raised voice. "Enter when ready."
Final pause, give him time to shoot the doorway and.
Wandering into the room. Look left, right. Flicked glances, uncaring. Pretending unimpressed at the decor: pale blue walls one of which is dominated by a framed geographical map of the world, bookcase beside it littered with horror and various keepsakes. A large conical white shell.
Gaze passing over Arthur, stood behind and watching me through the tripod mounted camera, a wide angle taking in most of the room. And behind him River, standing, small smile and a quick wave. Forgetting herself, that we're shooting and moments later a hand clamped to her opening mouth.
I flash the camera, her a smile.
It's okay.
Dropping down onto the plush fabric sofa, chest bouncing beneath the hoodie and I wait. Pull out my phone. Tap, tap, swipe. Scowl at the screen and toss it away, onto the long low table before me which.
Catches my attention. Piled hardcover books, I lean forwards to grab up the top one. 'What If.... Examining Alternative Outcomes To Major Historical Events.' A literal mouthful splashed across the cover.
Leaning back and legs crossed. Still looking marginally bored, but. Reading.
"Okay Plymouth." Arthur, keeping the pose- slowly turning pages, feigning reading -I flick eyes his way to show I'm listening. "I'm moving to camera spot two."
"Right." Small nod, watching Arthur walk from across the room to beside the flatscreen, directly in front of me now, the low table between us.
River staying put.
"Okay." Thumbs up. "When you're ready."
Arthur at the second tripod, the first still filming, but attention on this new angle now.
And I continue pretending to read, a half minute more.
Look up, fingers half lifting a page. Scowl at the camera all attitude. Brat like.
"Why aren't you in bed?"
Scowl becoming a frown whilst I stare at the camera, and behind it Arthur holds up a big sheet of card, pointing to the words, the script in time to how they'd be said by the unknown I'm addressing.
"Still too early is it?" Leaning forward, lifting my phone and stabbing the screen one handed, a huff. Dropping it back onto the table. "Well. What do you want then?"
Listening. Not smiling despite it's quite funny watching Arthur mime along to his script.
"A game?" Glance at the open book, back up. A second huff. "Fine." Waved gesture, go away. "Go find a game then. One." Holding up a finger. "Game."
Watching the unknown leave, before giving my attention back to the book.
"Okay." Maybe a half minute, I glance up at Arthur, speaking. "Next part Plymouth, please."
Nod, thumbs up.
Back to reading.
And looking up. Trying to look surprised, slight disbelief.
"This?" Holding out one hand. Fumbling and dropping the tossed rope, causing River to snort a laugh, which sets me off.
"Honestly." Arthur tutting yet smiling, walking around the table and bending for the rope. "Call yourself a professional."
"Don't blame me." Smiling back, arm flung out finger pointing. "River laughed first."
"I did...." Open mouthed, words drying up because, yes. She did.
"Sorry."
"S' fine." I shrug as Arthur gives her a hug. Me still sat, not wanting to break the pose too much lest I loose it. Neither Arthur nor me wants a weird looking jump cut in the video.
Plymouth suddenly shifting a half foot left on the sofa between 02:41 and 02:42.
"I'll catch the next one."
"You sure?" Teasing, pretending to cricket- overarm like a spin -bowl the rope at me. I half flinch, hand up to attempt a catch anyway. Laugh.
"Okay." Back behind the camera. "Rolling."
Reading. Pausing and looking up, nailing- I think -the mixed surprise and disbelief.
"This?" Hand out, catching- fuck you rope -the tossed coiled length. Behind the camera Arthur grins, River beside him giving a thumbs up.
"This doesn't look like a board game?"
Pretending to listen, frown but a small nod holding the rope up, looking at it.
"Knot practice for scouts?" Thoughtful. "Which isn't a game." Shaking my head. "But...." Running the rope end through my thumb and finger, book forgotten in my lap. "You want to make it like a game?"
Listening again.
I- in the script this time, honest -laugh.
"You'll tie me up, and if I can't escape then it proves you're better at knots then Eddie?" Pause, frown and then smile. "And you can stay up to watch South Park."
"Sure." Tossing the rope back, shrugging. "If you think you can, then go ahead."
"Okay." Arthur nods, coming around the camera, approaching me rope in hand whilst behind him River fidgets. Possibly adrenaline, nerves now she's about to see me tied.
Fairly certain she and Arthur play, that she's been tied. Probably more then once. But still, she's clearly buzzing at least a little.
"Just my wrists?"
"To start." Nodding, hunkered down and binding me, wrists crossed in front. "These things tend to be in stages."
"Fucking odd babysitter videos." Shaking my head, but laughing after as Arthur joins in.
Because we've had this discussion: him wanting to do a babysitter bondage video, and me finding the whole style, though popular it just seems odd, specifically the fact of someone young enough to need a sitter then stripping said model once she's helpless.
So, a compromise: Arthur gets his video, but no nudity.
With the binding done Arthur retreats, having taken the book from me, returning it.
And.
"Okay." Having sat still for a moment, to establish a base shot I hold my wrists up and peer at them, wriggling my arms, proving the lack of an easy exit from my bondage. "I mean." Nodding, brief smile. "Wow. That's pretty tight."
I spend a couple of minutes struggling, more arm wriggles, some grunting. Trying to bite at the knots.
Nothing.
"What?" Squirming on the sofa, eyes wide, biting my lip. Nerves. "How can you need to add more rope?"
Listening, quick struggle, looking down at my bound wrists, now resting in my lap.
"Different knots?" Frowning. "Right? Well." Letting out a shaky breath. Nerves, acting and of course I'm not really nervous. "Okay." I nod.
And.
"Does it have to be tight?" River, hovering close by and she keeps moving, staying out of Arthur's way but always looking. Watching from all the angles. Watching her boyfriend tie me up, looking throughly fascinated.
"It." Breath catching briefly as the rope pinches. Into it, trying not to let it show too much. "No." Shaking my head, looking up and across at River. "I've seen videos, shoots where the rope is slack, knots loose. Sometimes the rigger or models want it that way I suppose. Sometimes." Sharing a quick glance with Arthur, who snorts. I nod agreement. "Sometimes that's their style."
"But not you?"
"No." Having a quick wriggle as Arthur steps back. Testing, showing him. "For me, what's the point in half measures, I feel. Do it right, make the rope as tight as can be, make it look real because it is real. I think that's what people want to see anyway."
Plus it's what I want. Crave.
River nods, thoughtful.
And Arthur gags me. I'm laid on the table now, long and narrow. Laid on my back, arms up and over my head, bound wrists tied off to something underneath, legs spread and each ankle bound to a separate table leg.
The tie, my position means the hoodie has ridden up exposing a slash of toned belly, the skeletal sharks mouth opening wide, ink framing my belly button. My hood is still up and Arthur's used a black wool scarf to cleave gag me.
"Ready Plymouth?"
"Rrsstttggglllmmm." I nod.
Wait a handful of moments, then begin to struggle. Halfway to being pissed off, which means some of the struggles- wriggling my body, bouncing and straining my shoulders up off the table breasts thrusting at the ceiling -are accompanied by angry moaning. Grunts and me slinging a bunch of curses out.
Muffled by the gag of course.
But then I'll go still, and my next bout of attacking the ropes will be gentle, less noisy my moans quiet. Pleading almost.
And throughout Arthur films, checking cameras, using one to walk in and around me for closeups.
And all the while River watching.
Enjoying- me -the show?
"How was Scotland anyway?" Helping Arthur pack up, River elsewhere.
"Helpful." Thinking back, musing. "Useful and. Well, fun. Of course."
"Going to work with her again," asking, curious, "do you think?"
"Well...."
Maybe? I'd like to, want to. Part of me really- really really really, ha -wants to. Because Sonya, Flame is like my polar opposite. She's a Domme who's into being a Domme, as I'm a submissive into being a submissive.
Which is both awesome and a problem.
Surrendering to her would be easy, too easy. Hell, I basically already did, only Sonya- damn it -came to her senses, freeing me instead of taking full advantage of bound and helpless Brooke.
Which I'd been totally up for. Of course.
Dangerous, she and I together. Were I ever to spill, to tell Sonya that I'm into it too. If she knew, then how easily she could use that, rolling over me with ease.
And despite my wilful disregard, mostly for my own safety, sometimes I do actually do sensible things.
But I'd see her again, if I could find a reason. Walk that minefield.
"I guess we'll see." Shrugging.
We'll see.
Back home, a week and change having passed, time spent working. Days in Owl Wood, cutting and tidying, wading out into the small lake. An afternoon on maintenance, washing the vehicles, checking oil levels and pressures.
Evenings spent editing footage, getting clips ready, splicing angles to create a finished product I'm happy showing. Organising photos, cutting the blurred and the otherwise unusable.
Jester's Revenge, nearly time.
One more though I think.
Time to pay Arthur a visit.
"Hey River."
"Brooke." Opening the door wider, a small frown. "Or is it Plymouth now? Do I have to use your model name?"
"Either." A shrug as I pass her, entering Arthur's house. "I," giving her back a smile, "answer to both most days."
Seeing her isn't a surprise. Arthur had told, warned me. Asked if her presence was alright. A watcher at the shoot, and I suppose, assume this is one further step along the road to her. River, eventually asking to play an active part.
No issues from my quarter.
Younger then mid twenties Arthur and me but not by much, River's- cool name, and of course someone with Arthur's less then normal parents, upbringing went and found himself an equally alternative girlfriend -got to be somewhere around the twenty plus for size. Short and plump, belly pushing at her blue jeans waistband and straining her black ACDC tee, average sized C cups above, nice humps the chunky rings piercing each nipple visible.
Long pink hair cascading like mine, the dye bright not a soft shade.
Inked right bicep and forearm, and maybe more currently hidden but what I can see, the bottom half of an octopus: greens and purples, bulbous top like a balloon and long trailing arms peeking from River's sleeve.
Smaller then a Kraken, but five of the arms- two still on River's bicep the other three trailing a path down and around her forearm -are wrapped around three different bikini clad girls, all of whom are busty with long flowing hair and about two inches tall
It's a nice, maybe, bondage hint. And perhaps more subtle then the chained mermaid quite blatantly, openly displayed on my left arm.
"Brooke." Arthur, who we find in the lounge, a large room taking up almost the whole of this small two story mid terraces ground floor. Checking angles and.
"Are those." Laughing, pointing out the three oversized plushies placed somewhat deliberately around the room, tripod mounted camera angled towards one. "Meant to be me?"
"Careful." Straight faced as River walks over, kissing his cheek. "They were talking about unionizing a moment ago." Now a small smile. "Equal pay for all. Right?"
Funny guy.
"Need to change?"
"Thought I'd just throw a hoodie on?" Looking down at my still clean jeans. "Or." Thinking, patting the messenger bag still slung over one shoulder. "Leggings?"
"The skintight look works." Nodding, somehow not getting slapped by River, his girlfriend, for saying so.
Guess she really is behind all this.
"Okay."
"Bathrooms up-"
"-Stairs." River, pointing too. After which they both share a smile. Young love.
"Such a cute couple." Smiling and gently teasing, patting River on the shoulder as I head upstairs.
Black Adidas leggings, trademark white stripes running up the outside of each leg. Definitely skintight and up top I shrug a pullover hoodie on, purple with 'Gymshark' in black across the back. A snug enough fit to show off my F cups, the curve and sheer bulk of them obvious. Boots swapped out for pink and black Adidas trainers.
Hood up and minimal makeup, dyed blue and white tipped hair arranged to cascade out either side.
Ready.
"My shoot."
"Your shoot." Hands up in surrender, except not. Instead I'm nodding agreement, hands up as though removing them from the- metaphorical -wheel. Last time Arthur tied me, the pillar, that intimate yet professional handling. Last time I'd edited the footage, set the script. Mostly.
This time the base idea came from a shared brainstorming session, but the exact flow: script and angles, final editing of footage. This time it's all Arthur's.
"Ready." Stopping, a thoughtful pause. "Plymouth?"
"So Brooke when you showed up." River, I can practically hear her thinking. "But Plymouth now you've changed?"
"It isn't that simple." Shaking my head, a thumbs up for Arthur. "I've got friends who only call me Plymouth, and others." My Forestry Commission boss amongst them. "Who don't know she even exists."
"Right." Still thinking. "Weird?"
"Sometimes." Answering, her assessment framed like a question. "But it's never dull."
Arthur, patiently waiting stirs back to life as I walk out the room.
Couple of deep breaths, a stretch. Couple of small hop like jumps, up onto the balls of my feet, toes remaining planted. Not nervous, but it's been forever since I've had to act and do actual dialogue for a shoot.
"Rolling Plymouth." Arthur's raised voice. "Enter when ready."
Final pause, give him time to shoot the doorway and.
Wandering into the room. Look left, right. Flicked glances, uncaring. Pretending unimpressed at the decor: pale blue walls one of which is dominated by a framed geographical map of the world, bookcase beside it littered with horror and various keepsakes. A large conical white shell.
Gaze passing over Arthur, stood behind and watching me through the tripod mounted camera, a wide angle taking in most of the room. And behind him River, standing, small smile and a quick wave. Forgetting herself, that we're shooting and moments later a hand clamped to her opening mouth.
I flash the camera, her a smile.
It's okay.
Dropping down onto the plush fabric sofa, chest bouncing beneath the hoodie and I wait. Pull out my phone. Tap, tap, swipe. Scowl at the screen and toss it away, onto the long low table before me which.
Catches my attention. Piled hardcover books, I lean forwards to grab up the top one. 'What If.... Examining Alternative Outcomes To Major Historical Events.' A literal mouthful splashed across the cover.
Leaning back and legs crossed. Still looking marginally bored, but. Reading.
"Okay Plymouth." Arthur, keeping the pose- slowly turning pages, feigning reading -I flick eyes his way to show I'm listening. "I'm moving to camera spot two."
"Right." Small nod, watching Arthur walk from across the room to beside the flatscreen, directly in front of me now, the low table between us.
River staying put.
"Okay." Thumbs up. "When you're ready."
Arthur at the second tripod, the first still filming, but attention on this new angle now.
And I continue pretending to read, a half minute more.
Look up, fingers half lifting a page. Scowl at the camera all attitude. Brat like.
"Why aren't you in bed?"
Scowl becoming a frown whilst I stare at the camera, and behind it Arthur holds up a big sheet of card, pointing to the words, the script in time to how they'd be said by the unknown I'm addressing.
"Still too early is it?" Leaning forward, lifting my phone and stabbing the screen one handed, a huff. Dropping it back onto the table. "Well. What do you want then?"
Listening. Not smiling despite it's quite funny watching Arthur mime along to his script.
"A game?" Glance at the open book, back up. A second huff. "Fine." Waved gesture, go away. "Go find a game then. One." Holding up a finger. "Game."
Watching the unknown leave, before giving my attention back to the book.
"Okay." Maybe a half minute, I glance up at Arthur, speaking. "Next part Plymouth, please."
Nod, thumbs up.
Back to reading.
And looking up. Trying to look surprised, slight disbelief.
"This?" Holding out one hand. Fumbling and dropping the tossed rope, causing River to snort a laugh, which sets me off.
"Honestly." Arthur tutting yet smiling, walking around the table and bending for the rope. "Call yourself a professional."
"Don't blame me." Smiling back, arm flung out finger pointing. "River laughed first."
"I did...." Open mouthed, words drying up because, yes. She did.
"Sorry."
"S' fine." I shrug as Arthur gives her a hug. Me still sat, not wanting to break the pose too much lest I loose it. Neither Arthur nor me wants a weird looking jump cut in the video.
Plymouth suddenly shifting a half foot left on the sofa between 02:41 and 02:42.
"I'll catch the next one."
"You sure?" Teasing, pretending to cricket- overarm like a spin -bowl the rope at me. I half flinch, hand up to attempt a catch anyway. Laugh.
"Okay." Back behind the camera. "Rolling."
Reading. Pausing and looking up, nailing- I think -the mixed surprise and disbelief.
"This?" Hand out, catching- fuck you rope -the tossed coiled length. Behind the camera Arthur grins, River beside him giving a thumbs up.
"This doesn't look like a board game?"
Pretending to listen, frown but a small nod holding the rope up, looking at it.
"Knot practice for scouts?" Thoughtful. "Which isn't a game." Shaking my head. "But...." Running the rope end through my thumb and finger, book forgotten in my lap. "You want to make it like a game?"
Listening again.
I- in the script this time, honest -laugh.
"You'll tie me up, and if I can't escape then it proves you're better at knots then Eddie?" Pause, frown and then smile. "And you can stay up to watch South Park."
"Sure." Tossing the rope back, shrugging. "If you think you can, then go ahead."
"Okay." Arthur nods, coming around the camera, approaching me rope in hand whilst behind him River fidgets. Possibly adrenaline, nerves now she's about to see me tied.
Fairly certain she and Arthur play, that she's been tied. Probably more then once. But still, she's clearly buzzing at least a little.
"Just my wrists?"
"To start." Nodding, hunkered down and binding me, wrists crossed in front. "These things tend to be in stages."
"Fucking odd babysitter videos." Shaking my head, but laughing after as Arthur joins in.
Because we've had this discussion: him wanting to do a babysitter bondage video, and me finding the whole style, though popular it just seems odd, specifically the fact of someone young enough to need a sitter then stripping said model once she's helpless.
So, a compromise: Arthur gets his video, but no nudity.
With the binding done Arthur retreats, having taken the book from me, returning it.
And.
"Okay." Having sat still for a moment, to establish a base shot I hold my wrists up and peer at them, wriggling my arms, proving the lack of an easy exit from my bondage. "I mean." Nodding, brief smile. "Wow. That's pretty tight."
I spend a couple of minutes struggling, more arm wriggles, some grunting. Trying to bite at the knots.
Nothing.
"What?" Squirming on the sofa, eyes wide, biting my lip. Nerves. "How can you need to add more rope?"
Listening, quick struggle, looking down at my bound wrists, now resting in my lap.
"Different knots?" Frowning. "Right? Well." Letting out a shaky breath. Nerves, acting and of course I'm not really nervous. "Okay." I nod.
And.
"Does it have to be tight?" River, hovering close by and she keeps moving, staying out of Arthur's way but always looking. Watching from all the angles. Watching her boyfriend tie me up, looking throughly fascinated.
"It." Breath catching briefly as the rope pinches. Into it, trying not to let it show too much. "No." Shaking my head, looking up and across at River. "I've seen videos, shoots where the rope is slack, knots loose. Sometimes the rigger or models want it that way I suppose. Sometimes." Sharing a quick glance with Arthur, who snorts. I nod agreement. "Sometimes that's their style."
"But not you?"
"No." Having a quick wriggle as Arthur steps back. Testing, showing him. "For me, what's the point in half measures, I feel. Do it right, make the rope as tight as can be, make it look real because it is real. I think that's what people want to see anyway."
Plus it's what I want. Crave.
River nods, thoughtful.
And Arthur gags me. I'm laid on the table now, long and narrow. Laid on my back, arms up and over my head, bound wrists tied off to something underneath, legs spread and each ankle bound to a separate table leg.
The tie, my position means the hoodie has ridden up exposing a slash of toned belly, the skeletal sharks mouth opening wide, ink framing my belly button. My hood is still up and Arthur's used a black wool scarf to cleave gag me.
"Ready Plymouth?"
"Rrsstttggglllmmm." I nod.
Wait a handful of moments, then begin to struggle. Halfway to being pissed off, which means some of the struggles- wriggling my body, bouncing and straining my shoulders up off the table breasts thrusting at the ceiling -are accompanied by angry moaning. Grunts and me slinging a bunch of curses out.
Muffled by the gag of course.
But then I'll go still, and my next bout of attacking the ropes will be gentle, less noisy my moans quiet. Pleading almost.
And throughout Arthur films, checking cameras, using one to walk in and around me for closeups.
And all the while River watching.
Enjoying- me -the show?
"How was Scotland anyway?" Helping Arthur pack up, River elsewhere.
"Helpful." Thinking back, musing. "Useful and. Well, fun. Of course."
"Going to work with her again," asking, curious, "do you think?"
"Well...."
Maybe? I'd like to, want to. Part of me really- really really really, ha -wants to. Because Sonya, Flame is like my polar opposite. She's a Domme who's into being a Domme, as I'm a submissive into being a submissive.
Which is both awesome and a problem.
Surrendering to her would be easy, too easy. Hell, I basically already did, only Sonya- damn it -came to her senses, freeing me instead of taking full advantage of bound and helpless Brooke.
Which I'd been totally up for. Of course.
Dangerous, she and I together. Were I ever to spill, to tell Sonya that I'm into it too. If she knew, then how easily she could use that, rolling over me with ease.
And despite my wilful disregard, mostly for my own safety, sometimes I do actually do sensible things.
But I'd see her again, if I could find a reason. Walk that minefield.
"I guess we'll see." Shrugging.
We'll see.
Big Things.
One.
Jester's Revenge has been the dream for awhile. My own site, doing the shoots I want, creating.
It's not, bondage modelling, this other career I fit in and work alongside being outdoors chopping trees and driving tractors. The modelling isn't something I need to keep the lights on, pay the bills. Insane outlays like the Hayabusa aside I'm not a high rolling girl. Plus my current abode: the house sitting inside Owl Wood, is a perk with only utilities to pay.
So. Modelling is, for me fun. A second job but not something I need. I don't chase shoots, can be and have been choosy about what I choose.
Jester's Revenge therefore isn't going to be the type of pay site with a subscription, because I can't promise regular uploads. Instead.
"That's all confirmed Brooke, we're showing you live on our server as of ten minutes ago. Proven by independent checking."
"Excellent." Grinning, standing deep inside the wood, protective clothing too hot but necessary and the chainsaw idling like a small angry monster at my feet. "Thanks Pete."
Pete, sat behind a desk many miles away, America. I could use, run my own server, but logistically it's easier to sign on with one of the big farms. It's still my site, not affiliated to any porn house the way some might be: a larger umbrella beneath which sit dozens of models.
It's whatever works for the individual, and I wanted to retain control wherever possible.
"Sending you an email now."
"Right." Proof, plus a breakdown of cost, what I have to pay them for hosting. "Perfect."
"Have yourself a good day." Brief pause, and I don't hang up. Wait.
"Sounds noisy?"
"Just my chainsaw."
"Your...." Surprised tone. "No shit?"
"No shit."
"Now there's a shoot I'd pay to see."
I laugh, Pete joining in.
Maybe, thoughts ticking away as I look around me and down at the outfit, angles and I'm always looking for, seeking that next shoot. Something different.
Not a subscription site, so instead having found me, clicked through the warning and verification.
Yes I'm an adult. Yes I realise there's people here with no clothes on.
My site will offer up content: photosets and videos, each of which can be purchased and downloaded. To keep.
Like an online store, of which Jester's Revenge is- even in the niche within porn category of solely bondage -one among many. Literally hundreds.
I can code. No, don't worry the knowledge came as a surprise to me too. The accident, wiping out on the old custom chopper took away large chunks of memory, some of which may never return.
I was packing up, moving into Owl Wood and amongst other documents, a box full and sitting near the bottom a diploma for a coding course.
And, bizarrely just like that, flicking a switch memory and knowledge rushing in.
I don't remember when, though the certificate is dated, but clearly the why was Jester's Revenge, a wish to fly solo as much as possible.
Making me wonder: did I attempt the site before and if so who fucked it up for me?
Where does my distrust of hiring a female rigger stem from?
Knowing how meant I could code the site myself, alongside editing the footage and shoots. I've given Jester's Revenge a somewhat darker vibe, a little hint of horror about the place. Peril. I'm quite Gothic leaning already, ink and dyed hair, so why not play off that.
Do some shoots- dark, peril and a hint of horror even, prehaps -to reflect this.
Success though. The site, launched.
Finally.
And hopefully people will care.
One.
Jester's Revenge has been the dream for awhile. My own site, doing the shoots I want, creating.
It's not, bondage modelling, this other career I fit in and work alongside being outdoors chopping trees and driving tractors. The modelling isn't something I need to keep the lights on, pay the bills. Insane outlays like the Hayabusa aside I'm not a high rolling girl. Plus my current abode: the house sitting inside Owl Wood, is a perk with only utilities to pay.
So. Modelling is, for me fun. A second job but not something I need. I don't chase shoots, can be and have been choosy about what I choose.
Jester's Revenge therefore isn't going to be the type of pay site with a subscription, because I can't promise regular uploads. Instead.
"That's all confirmed Brooke, we're showing you live on our server as of ten minutes ago. Proven by independent checking."
"Excellent." Grinning, standing deep inside the wood, protective clothing too hot but necessary and the chainsaw idling like a small angry monster at my feet. "Thanks Pete."
Pete, sat behind a desk many miles away, America. I could use, run my own server, but logistically it's easier to sign on with one of the big farms. It's still my site, not affiliated to any porn house the way some might be: a larger umbrella beneath which sit dozens of models.
It's whatever works for the individual, and I wanted to retain control wherever possible.
"Sending you an email now."
"Right." Proof, plus a breakdown of cost, what I have to pay them for hosting. "Perfect."
"Have yourself a good day." Brief pause, and I don't hang up. Wait.
"Sounds noisy?"
"Just my chainsaw."
"Your...." Surprised tone. "No shit?"
"No shit."
"Now there's a shoot I'd pay to see."
I laugh, Pete joining in.
Maybe, thoughts ticking away as I look around me and down at the outfit, angles and I'm always looking for, seeking that next shoot. Something different.
Not a subscription site, so instead having found me, clicked through the warning and verification.
Yes I'm an adult. Yes I realise there's people here with no clothes on.
My site will offer up content: photosets and videos, each of which can be purchased and downloaded. To keep.
Like an online store, of which Jester's Revenge is- even in the niche within porn category of solely bondage -one among many. Literally hundreds.
I can code. No, don't worry the knowledge came as a surprise to me too. The accident, wiping out on the old custom chopper took away large chunks of memory, some of which may never return.
I was packing up, moving into Owl Wood and amongst other documents, a box full and sitting near the bottom a diploma for a coding course.
And, bizarrely just like that, flicking a switch memory and knowledge rushing in.
I don't remember when, though the certificate is dated, but clearly the why was Jester's Revenge, a wish to fly solo as much as possible.
Making me wonder: did I attempt the site before and if so who fucked it up for me?
Where does my distrust of hiring a female rigger stem from?
Knowing how meant I could code the site myself, alongside editing the footage and shoots. I've given Jester's Revenge a somewhat darker vibe, a little hint of horror about the place. Peril. I'm quite Gothic leaning already, ink and dyed hair, so why not play off that.
Do some shoots- dark, peril and a hint of horror even, prehaps -to reflect this.
Success though. The site, launched.
Finally.
And hopefully people will care.
Big Things.
Two.
"Did you do this?"
"Do." Pause, and I can hear the smile, know she's faking innocence and yet Fayth continues. "What?"
So I show her, since we're video calling. A monthly ritual, reaching out across the pond and I feel lucky to call Fayth a close friend. Fayth Hill, legend of the bondage porn community: busty, curvy, blonde. Late fourties though she doesn't look it, has been modelling for years making that unknown- to me -transition from mail order done through catalogues to websites and downloaded content.
"A letter huh?"
"Yes." Shaking my head at her, still, pretended innocence. "Anything you had a hand in?"
"Honestly?" Smiling now and I knew it, except.
"No."
"No?" But? "Really?"
"Really. Brooke." Showing me sincerity, being honest. "Yes, I'm one of the thousand, but. Well." A shrug. "Even if I did know something, I couldn't say."
And there, small smile.
"Ha." Pointing, and her smile grows. "Come on." Shaking the letter. "Spill."
"I can't." Shaking her head. "Rules and shit. Just." Stopping for a swallow of red wine, the glass posh all wide brim and tall thin stem. "Show up. Please. It'll be worth it."
"Yeah?"
"Promise." A nod.
We move on to other things: work, life. The onrunning wrangling over doing another shoot together, the how and the why. The where.
Later, Fayth gone and my workday done, eating dinner I take the letter back out.
Look it over.
The Acadamie Internationale d'art pour Adultes. Porns version of the Oscars, a yearly awards ceremony, held in a different city each time. A party, because let's face it you can't stick several hundred adult workers in the same hotel and not have craziness occur.
The Acadamie was founded in the late seventies. There's a voting block of a thousand, chosen at random- invite only -from all across the industry. Dead man's boots, one in, one out. And Fayth happens to be amongst them.
Oh, and Acadamie might sound, spell like French, but the company is American founded.
The name is pure pretentious pretend crap.
They gave me an award, once. I can't remember much and for some reason looking at my statue makes me think of Japan, despite being told- by Mum, who accompanied me -that the ceremony was in Vegas.
Best newcomer, and I have the distinction to be the only. On. Ly. Bondage model to ever win that category.
The letter is an official invite to this years event, in just under a month.
In London.
And though it doesn't say what award I'm up for, which is strange since I have my original letter and it did say.
Guess I'd better go dress shopping, because of course I'm going.
Two.
"Did you do this?"
"Do." Pause, and I can hear the smile, know she's faking innocence and yet Fayth continues. "What?"
So I show her, since we're video calling. A monthly ritual, reaching out across the pond and I feel lucky to call Fayth a close friend. Fayth Hill, legend of the bondage porn community: busty, curvy, blonde. Late fourties though she doesn't look it, has been modelling for years making that unknown- to me -transition from mail order done through catalogues to websites and downloaded content.
"A letter huh?"
"Yes." Shaking my head at her, still, pretended innocence. "Anything you had a hand in?"
"Honestly?" Smiling now and I knew it, except.
"No."
"No?" But? "Really?"
"Really. Brooke." Showing me sincerity, being honest. "Yes, I'm one of the thousand, but. Well." A shrug. "Even if I did know something, I couldn't say."
And there, small smile.
"Ha." Pointing, and her smile grows. "Come on." Shaking the letter. "Spill."
"I can't." Shaking her head. "Rules and shit. Just." Stopping for a swallow of red wine, the glass posh all wide brim and tall thin stem. "Show up. Please. It'll be worth it."
"Yeah?"
"Promise." A nod.
We move on to other things: work, life. The onrunning wrangling over doing another shoot together, the how and the why. The where.
Later, Fayth gone and my workday done, eating dinner I take the letter back out.
Look it over.
The Acadamie Internationale d'art pour Adultes. Porns version of the Oscars, a yearly awards ceremony, held in a different city each time. A party, because let's face it you can't stick several hundred adult workers in the same hotel and not have craziness occur.
The Acadamie was founded in the late seventies. There's a voting block of a thousand, chosen at random- invite only -from all across the industry. Dead man's boots, one in, one out. And Fayth happens to be amongst them.
Oh, and Acadamie might sound, spell like French, but the company is American founded.
The name is pure pretentious pretend crap.
They gave me an award, once. I can't remember much and for some reason looking at my statue makes me think of Japan, despite being told- by Mum, who accompanied me -that the ceremony was in Vegas.
Best newcomer, and I have the distinction to be the only. On. Ly. Bondage model to ever win that category.
The letter is an official invite to this years event, in just under a month.
In London.
And though it doesn't say what award I'm up for, which is strange since I have my original letter and it did say.
Guess I'd better go dress shopping, because of course I'm going.
One night stand.
(is anything ever just a...?)
Beginning.
The problem is I can't hide who I am. Which isn't actually a problem, almost all the time I don't care if people look at me and know. I'm proud of my life, not ashamed of the modelling.
I'm happy being me.
But, sometimes I want to blend in.
I get, am lonely. Life isn't quite right with nobody to cuddle and whilst I don't want, don't feel like I want something full on and long term.
I at least would like, kinda feel like I need. A fuck.
But I want to fuck, get kinky and have fun as Brooke. Not Plymouth.
Surely that's not too big an ask?
There are social websites, not for dating but for company. Like minded people, same interests wanting to meet, talk to others without it being all about dating.
Which isn't to say these sites don't organise meet ups.
I joined, verified myself but left the profile somewhat blank, uploaded a photo in black and white, of trees and me a dot amongst them.
No way anyone looks all this over and says: Plymouth.
Of course- dumb girl -the subterfuge only worked until people actually saw me.
"Hey."
"Evening Miss." A nod for me, late twenties with a fantastically sculpted black beard but no actual hair, the bartender smiles. "What can I get you?"
"Just an orange juice." Quick pout and I hold up the black helmet: I rode here, can't drink. "Thanks."
Downside of Owl Wood, my job and home is too far away to walk anywhere, even the shops. And buses just don't exist, down my road or even the half dozen roads adjacent to mine.
"Book club?" Taking a sip of drink. "I've got the right place?"
"Course." Smile to let me know he at least suspects the cover is just that. "Upstairs, turn left they meet until ten." Glance at his watch and I know, having checked my phone that it's closing in on eight. "You've still time."
"Great." Toasting him with the glass as I step back. "Thanks."
Not sure why a regular bondage- just to talk and drink no funny business on site -meet up social can't be honest about the common interest, but the website invitation, the details said they pretend to be a book club.
So okay.
Upstairs boots clomping, so I open the door to find everyone: close to two dozen a mix of male female, stopped mid conversation. Staring.
"Hey." Not at all shy. Nervous or embarrassed. Modelling purged that from me long ago. I smile at the room full of strangers, offer a small wave. "I'm here for Book Club."
And. Damn it.
"Plymouth?" Male, from somewhere near the back of the room and I see. Slowly, around half the people here blink, suddenly looking at me closer.
Mouths slowly widening in a kind of shocked recognition.
Because it's a nice day, so of course I've taken off the Kings leather jacket, slung over my right arm, helmet in that hand which leaves my left arm- that chained mermaid ink -completely visible. And I'm wearing a white vest top, again because it's hot but this exposes not only my sharks mouth inked belly but shows my enhanced F cups off too.
I am. Obviously, to those in the know. Plymouth.
Damn it.
"Hi." Small giggle, a quick wave and they, most of them look caught in my headlights. "I come in peace?"
Which gets a couple of rapid fire laughs, nerves prehaps.
I go find an empty table, a seat. So much for Brooke having fun because, as I sip, looking around it becomes clear that nobody wants, is willing to come over and talk to me.
An actual bondage model, right here, and suddenly everyone's got a strong case of shyness and nerves.
Damn it.
"Doubt you came by moped."
"What's that?" Looking around, I'd been passing time staring at the art print on the wall: ships at sea. Am semi startled to find someone sat beside me, waved half empty pint glass at my helmet.
"Given who you are." Offering an easy smile which I return. "Can't imagine that's for riding a moped."
"Who I." Interested, and thank fuck someone's. Finally. Talking to me, because I had thought about doing the approaching myself but anytime I've managed eye contact they've hurriedly looked away. "Am?"
"You've got this. Thing." Waving the glass, which could mean anything. "An on screen presence. And it isn't a girl who rides no kids bike."
"Yeah?" Fascinated, wondering what else on screen me gives off.
"Draw the short straw did you?"
"Something like that." A nod, half smile. "Think over half of us would count as fans."
"Including you?" Half teasing, playing with my glass unable, unwilling to not flirt.
"Including me." Blush rising up cheeks, eyes flicking down to her pint moments after having met mine.
Late thirties, at a guess. Body all curves and thick limbs without being what you'd consider overweight, pale skin lacking my year round tan and super curly blonde hair cut so it doesn't quite tickle the shoulders. Breasts sizable and pushing at a tightly fitted red tee with a colourful butterfly large across the back.
Loose white drawstring trousers, that stop halfway down the lower leg, flip flops on her feet.
"I'm Piper."
"Brooke." Shaking the offered hand across the table. "Or." A shrug. "Plymouth, if you want?"
"If I want...?" Blushing again.
She- if I were to guess -wants.
"So." Staring at me now, as though she's overcome some invisible threshold and can look at me without running away. "Got to ask, why are you here?"
"What." Still teasing. "I can't be lonely like everyone else?"
"Not off having fantastically kinky rough sex with all your model pals?"
"Not this week."
Piper managing to tease back.
"No Mr Plymouth?"
"Mrs." Leaning forward now, putting my breasts within easy grabbing range, showing Piper all the cleavage. "No Mr. And no, there isnt."
"I see." Staring very pointedly down my top.
"And Mr Piper?"
"No." Leaning forward too, breasts puddling on the table, her face close enough she could, almost, lick the shadowed line between my F cups.
"I'm not looking for anything serious." Dropping my voice and closing for the kill. "Just saying."
"I'm halfway through a messy divorce with the ex Mr Piper, and tonight he's got the kids." A shrug, eyes drinking me in. "Just saying."
"Want to." Stopping to swallow. "Please." That word almost whisper like. "Follow me home?"
"Yes." Grinning like a shark, lifting off the seat to lean further in. Kissing her and at the last moment Piper leaning too, closing the distance. "I'd like that."
Someone? I don't turn to spot who, actually claps as we leave.
(is anything ever just a...?)
Beginning.
The problem is I can't hide who I am. Which isn't actually a problem, almost all the time I don't care if people look at me and know. I'm proud of my life, not ashamed of the modelling.
I'm happy being me.
But, sometimes I want to blend in.
I get, am lonely. Life isn't quite right with nobody to cuddle and whilst I don't want, don't feel like I want something full on and long term.
I at least would like, kinda feel like I need. A fuck.
But I want to fuck, get kinky and have fun as Brooke. Not Plymouth.
Surely that's not too big an ask?
There are social websites, not for dating but for company. Like minded people, same interests wanting to meet, talk to others without it being all about dating.
Which isn't to say these sites don't organise meet ups.
I joined, verified myself but left the profile somewhat blank, uploaded a photo in black and white, of trees and me a dot amongst them.
No way anyone looks all this over and says: Plymouth.
Of course- dumb girl -the subterfuge only worked until people actually saw me.
"Hey."
"Evening Miss." A nod for me, late twenties with a fantastically sculpted black beard but no actual hair, the bartender smiles. "What can I get you?"
"Just an orange juice." Quick pout and I hold up the black helmet: I rode here, can't drink. "Thanks."
Downside of Owl Wood, my job and home is too far away to walk anywhere, even the shops. And buses just don't exist, down my road or even the half dozen roads adjacent to mine.
"Book club?" Taking a sip of drink. "I've got the right place?"
"Course." Smile to let me know he at least suspects the cover is just that. "Upstairs, turn left they meet until ten." Glance at his watch and I know, having checked my phone that it's closing in on eight. "You've still time."
"Great." Toasting him with the glass as I step back. "Thanks."
Not sure why a regular bondage- just to talk and drink no funny business on site -meet up social can't be honest about the common interest, but the website invitation, the details said they pretend to be a book club.
So okay.
Upstairs boots clomping, so I open the door to find everyone: close to two dozen a mix of male female, stopped mid conversation. Staring.
"Hey." Not at all shy. Nervous or embarrassed. Modelling purged that from me long ago. I smile at the room full of strangers, offer a small wave. "I'm here for Book Club."
And. Damn it.
"Plymouth?" Male, from somewhere near the back of the room and I see. Slowly, around half the people here blink, suddenly looking at me closer.
Mouths slowly widening in a kind of shocked recognition.
Because it's a nice day, so of course I've taken off the Kings leather jacket, slung over my right arm, helmet in that hand which leaves my left arm- that chained mermaid ink -completely visible. And I'm wearing a white vest top, again because it's hot but this exposes not only my sharks mouth inked belly but shows my enhanced F cups off too.
I am. Obviously, to those in the know. Plymouth.
Damn it.
"Hi." Small giggle, a quick wave and they, most of them look caught in my headlights. "I come in peace?"
Which gets a couple of rapid fire laughs, nerves prehaps.
I go find an empty table, a seat. So much for Brooke having fun because, as I sip, looking around it becomes clear that nobody wants, is willing to come over and talk to me.
An actual bondage model, right here, and suddenly everyone's got a strong case of shyness and nerves.
Damn it.
"Doubt you came by moped."
"What's that?" Looking around, I'd been passing time staring at the art print on the wall: ships at sea. Am semi startled to find someone sat beside me, waved half empty pint glass at my helmet.
"Given who you are." Offering an easy smile which I return. "Can't imagine that's for riding a moped."
"Who I." Interested, and thank fuck someone's. Finally. Talking to me, because I had thought about doing the approaching myself but anytime I've managed eye contact they've hurriedly looked away. "Am?"
"You've got this. Thing." Waving the glass, which could mean anything. "An on screen presence. And it isn't a girl who rides no kids bike."
"Yeah?" Fascinated, wondering what else on screen me gives off.
"Draw the short straw did you?"
"Something like that." A nod, half smile. "Think over half of us would count as fans."
"Including you?" Half teasing, playing with my glass unable, unwilling to not flirt.
"Including me." Blush rising up cheeks, eyes flicking down to her pint moments after having met mine.
Late thirties, at a guess. Body all curves and thick limbs without being what you'd consider overweight, pale skin lacking my year round tan and super curly blonde hair cut so it doesn't quite tickle the shoulders. Breasts sizable and pushing at a tightly fitted red tee with a colourful butterfly large across the back.
Loose white drawstring trousers, that stop halfway down the lower leg, flip flops on her feet.
"I'm Piper."
"Brooke." Shaking the offered hand across the table. "Or." A shrug. "Plymouth, if you want?"
"If I want...?" Blushing again.
She- if I were to guess -wants.
"So." Staring at me now, as though she's overcome some invisible threshold and can look at me without running away. "Got to ask, why are you here?"
"What." Still teasing. "I can't be lonely like everyone else?"
"Not off having fantastically kinky rough sex with all your model pals?"
"Not this week."
Piper managing to tease back.
"No Mr Plymouth?"
"Mrs." Leaning forward now, putting my breasts within easy grabbing range, showing Piper all the cleavage. "No Mr. And no, there isnt."
"I see." Staring very pointedly down my top.
"And Mr Piper?"
"No." Leaning forward too, breasts puddling on the table, her face close enough she could, almost, lick the shadowed line between my F cups.
"I'm not looking for anything serious." Dropping my voice and closing for the kill. "Just saying."
"I'm halfway through a messy divorce with the ex Mr Piper, and tonight he's got the kids." A shrug, eyes drinking me in. "Just saying."
"Want to." Stopping to swallow. "Please." That word almost whisper like. "Follow me home?"
"Yes." Grinning like a shark, lifting off the seat to lean further in. Kissing her and at the last moment Piper leaning too, closing the distance. "I'd like that."
Someone? I don't turn to spot who, actually claps as we leave.
Plenty of scene setting here, for later payoffs
As for the 1 night stand, I had intended writing everything into one chapter but the introduction took up more room then I thought
So you'll all have to wait for the TUGs action
As for the 1 night stand, I had intended writing everything into one chapter but the introduction took up more room then I thought
So you'll all have to wait for the TUGs action
-
Switchgirl
- Forum Contributer
- Posts: 47
- Joined: 1 year ago
I love it - the scene has changed from Flame so rather than go straight into a TUG with A.N.Other, we get a realistic build up and ‘setting the scene’ for Brooke’s next ‘adventure’.
The best comes to those who wait.
The best comes to those who wait.
-
BlissfulMisery
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 285
- Joined: 1 year ago
Obligated to continue the chain
-
A minor detail, but I liked it. Reminds me of certain pretentious book titles
Odd indeed. A fitting bit of mental commentary.
Overall quite a bit of jumping around the last few chapters. Not that there is anything wrong with that, as it certainly kept my attention. Lots of potential story threads set up. I suppose we will see what unravels when they are pulled on
Indeed!
And obviously I won't be quoting you and....
Oh.
Oops
I actually have this- the What If -book
or at least I kinda do, the title isn't so longwinded.It's quite a good/interesting subject/read.
One night stand.
(is anything ever just a...?)
End(?)
Piper drives a nearly new Ford, and I'm crap with car models so: it's got four doors, it's silver.
And she drives really fucking slow.
Slow to the point I almost run the Hayabusa into the back of her a half dozen times in the nearly twenty minute drive back to hers.
"Sorry." Climbing out as I climb off, the bikes throaty idle- so, much, power -dying, leaving the evening silent, still. Full of potential.
"All good." Helmet off, shaking out my hair. "Sometimes I'm too much of a speed freak. Honestly." Smiling to show I'm fine. "Does me good to reign it in."
"Okay." Smiling back, quick fidget and glancing around.
"Do you want to...?" We're both parked on Piper's driveway, a new posh looking detached on a street of similar. Quite a large house, four bedroom at least and brick built with a garage sprouting from one side.
Which she's gesturing at.
"Maybe it'd be safer?"
"Staying the night then am I?" Only halfway teasing, but Piper looks at me. Blushing whilst simultaneously appearing like she wants to eat me up.
So I feel bad. Nod.
"Sure. Thanks."
Bike safe, we head indoors where the theme of posh. Money spent, continues. Clearly either Piper, or the soon to be ex Mr, or both of them are well paid at whatever job. Plush carpet and framed art, paintings not prints, and every room larger then you'd think it needed to be.
Shrugging off and hanging my jacket on the- expensive looking -dark wooden actual hat stand. Boots, and socks inside them I hate not going barefoot indoors wherever possible, on the floor beside it, helmet beside the boots.
Turning around to find Piper, shed of shoes too and stood quite close. Biting her lip, length of rope- from somewhere -in her hand.
"I. Well." Deep breath. "I'd like you to tie me. But. First." Another breath. "I. Well."
"Tell you what." Reaching out to place a finger on her lips. "How about you just do what you'd like to do. Or." A nod. "Tell me if it's something for me to do. And if I think you're overstepping. I'll say."
"Ufffmmsss."
I, smiling take my finger away. Dangerous. Yes, of course. Playing with someone new always is, especially when I've such a lack of regard for my own personal safety.
Literally begging, not saying it but telegraphing it all the same, to be kidnapped and slash or abused in some fashion.
"Okay." A nod, trying on a smile too. "Right. Okay."
Quick shiver chasing across her body, eyes travelling up then down me.
Hungry.
"Can you be naked?"
"Sure."
"And then I-"
"-You don't." Shaking my head, already unzipping, wriggling off my jeans. "Have to explain each move to me. Just, do it. Or." Because maybe she actually was. "Tell me, if it's something you need me to do."
"But what if you mind? Um."
"Honestly." An easy shrug. "Unless you've got a cage upstairs?"
Semi hoping. Bad and silly girl. Doomed girl one day. But, no, Piper shakes her head and I grin.
"In which case I think we'll be just fine." Finished stripping, bra tossed into a corner joining the rest of my clothes. "Now." Moving my wrists as I speak. "In front, or behind?"
"Behind, and. Um. I'm not very good."
"Just pull everything tight. Really tight as best you can. That will work." I make eye contact, so she knows I mean it. "Don't get worried about pain, or if I'm okay. Just, yank that fucking rope okay?"
"Yes." Smile widening and that's the spirit. Let's have fun.
Familiar throb like a kick in my pussy as Piper yanks the rope, that first time having looped it around my- crossed -wrists.
"Perfect." Helpful, though she doesn't answer beyond the continued binding, more yanking, stepping in close the phantom almost feel of her, smell of clean a hint of citrus and Piper's breath on my neck as she wraps the excess around my waist.
Pulling tight, cinching my skinny six down to less and sealing wrists to body.
"Now. Well." Small blush. "I know you said don't explain, but I. Well."
"It's fine." Grinning, at her nerves and I'm not being mean. It's cute. "What's up?"
"Well, since the divorce and crap, I've kinda been watching you since then. And."
Biting her lip, looking bound and naked me up and down.
"I've had this crazy fantasy about you just. Um." Waving her hand across, left to right. "Following me around."
"Carry on then." Smiled nod at her blinked surprise.
Like a slave. Unsaid and maybe she isn't aware, but that's where my head goes. Piper wants naked me as her shadow for awhile.
No collar and lead, no gag. But nonetheless I comply. She sets off and I fall in behind.
Upstairs, and through to the master bedroom, huge plush bed, ensuite and an actual walk in wardrobe into which I follow her. Watching, getting turned on by events as Piper strips off too, wrapping her naked curves inside a fluffy pale pink robe.
And back downstairs, from hallway to a lounge dominated by the largest flatscreen I've ever seen, and onwards to a kitchen.
Piper fixing herself a glass of wine, pulling out a chair at the large rectangular but with rounded edges table. Seating for eight.
Giving a small start, a brief jump as I kneel beside her on the floor, back straight and legs slightly spread, breasts close enough for her to touch, should she wish it.
And she hasn't touched me.
But now, sipping wine and looking at me, and I- wish I was gagged tied up about a million times tighter -give a small nod. And Piper reaches out, slow like forming ice. Slow and cautious enough the tingles of anticipation are enough to bud my nipples before she lays a hand on me, sliding it down to cup my breast.
Giving it a small squeeze.
And I, maybe not completely trussed into rope, maybe not gagged but I'm into it, and am technically bound. Her touch triggers my desire eyes closing and pushing my chest out. Small moan escaping.
"Sit. Um, please." Patting her lap. "On my lap."
Standing, and Piper closes her legs as I move to straddle her, sat close our upper bodies almost touching, my breasts in her face.
"Glad you talked to me?"
"I mean." Quick laugh, louder as I shake my chest. "Stupid question surely."
"True."
"Did you really turn up tonight hoping to meet someone?"
"Why not?"
"Because you're. Well." Looking at me. "You. Plymouth, an actual for real sexy and gorgeous model. Surely you know people?"
"I know people. But." A shrug. Long story. "I just wanted something new. Some."
Shifting, sliding closer bringing my face down to Piper's.
"Fun." Feeling my lips brush hers with each word. "Is that okay?"
Piper, and what else was she going to do? She kisses me, one hand finding my breast again. Squeezing, thumb going to my nipple, brushing across it back and forth. Making me moan and wriggle.
And for awhile we make out. Kissing, her groping me, Heat rising off Piper's crotch and no doubt she can feel mine.
"Plymouth."
"Brooke." Kissing, words like gusts between locked lips and breathing hard.
"Brooke." Pulling back, one hand on each breast now and I swear I might soon climax, just from this. "Could you, tie me up now. Upstairs on the bed. Please?"
"Yes." A smiled nod.
And I climb off, stand still whilst Piper frees me. Follow her upstairs.
From a drawer Piper produces more rope, dropping the combined bundle on the bed. Looking at me, breathing fast her robe still belted, but loose.
Showing a lot of skin.
She climbs atop the bed, laying down on her belly hands clasped loosely behind her back.
Okay.
"I'll." She's likely got no or little experience, so it wouldn't be fair. "Keep it loose."
"No." Turning her head to look at me. "Can you not. And. Just, do a proper job but not extreme. If that makes any kind of sense?"
She laughs. Nerves. But I nod.
Wrists, ankles. Both crossed since it's a tiny bit more forgiving. I make everything tight but do so gently, no yanking and I take care with the rope, making sure I don't drag it across her bare skin too harshly. The hogtie, tight yet not to the point her body arches.
She's not getting out, but hopefully it isn't too uncomfortable.
"There." Flopping down beside her on my back, head turned to look. "Now you're all bound up."
"Like." Stopping to swallow, eyes half closed. Into it. "Just like a video."
"Indeed." Hands under my head, relaxed. "Or just like a fun playtime."
"You do this for fun then?" Half smiling. "For real, not just as a job?"
"Definitely." I grin at her. "This. Bondage, I pretty much live it as much as possible."
She has a struggle, and I let her. Laying beside her, watching and letting her see me watching.
Enjoying the sight, becoming aroused and Piper's eyes widening as my hands stray downwards one finding and teasing at a nipple, the other beginning to stroke my wet pussy slit.
Watching me, knowing I'm getting off over her tied body. Her struggles.
Wriggling onto her side, robe falling open clearly all that rolling around has worked the belt free. Shaking her chest at me, spreading her legs to show me her pussy.
"Please."
Trying to struggle closer and I roll, meeting her halfway forgetting my own body instead finding hers, pussy and breast my lips joining my hand, tongue flicking at a nipple.
Piper moaning head back chest pushed out.
And it doesn't take her long to climax. Bucking and rocking, kissing me hard enough to suck all the air from my lungs. Thrusting her crotch at me in perfect time with my fingers plunging into and out of her.
Smiling lazily at me as she climbs slowly back down, as I free her, as she shakes her head. No. When I ask if she needs me to leave.
So I climb back into bed, pull the duvet up over us and slide in close to cuddle.
"Next time." Voice drifting away, sleep claiming her. "I'll have to play with you more after binding you up tight."
"Sure." Nodding, my own eyes already closed.
Gone.
And in the morning she doesn't ask for my number.
And neither of us mentions next time.
(is anything ever just a...?)
End(?)
Piper drives a nearly new Ford, and I'm crap with car models so: it's got four doors, it's silver.
And she drives really fucking slow.
Slow to the point I almost run the Hayabusa into the back of her a half dozen times in the nearly twenty minute drive back to hers.
"Sorry." Climbing out as I climb off, the bikes throaty idle- so, much, power -dying, leaving the evening silent, still. Full of potential.
"All good." Helmet off, shaking out my hair. "Sometimes I'm too much of a speed freak. Honestly." Smiling to show I'm fine. "Does me good to reign it in."
"Okay." Smiling back, quick fidget and glancing around.
"Do you want to...?" We're both parked on Piper's driveway, a new posh looking detached on a street of similar. Quite a large house, four bedroom at least and brick built with a garage sprouting from one side.
Which she's gesturing at.
"Maybe it'd be safer?"
"Staying the night then am I?" Only halfway teasing, but Piper looks at me. Blushing whilst simultaneously appearing like she wants to eat me up.
So I feel bad. Nod.
"Sure. Thanks."
Bike safe, we head indoors where the theme of posh. Money spent, continues. Clearly either Piper, or the soon to be ex Mr, or both of them are well paid at whatever job. Plush carpet and framed art, paintings not prints, and every room larger then you'd think it needed to be.
Shrugging off and hanging my jacket on the- expensive looking -dark wooden actual hat stand. Boots, and socks inside them I hate not going barefoot indoors wherever possible, on the floor beside it, helmet beside the boots.
Turning around to find Piper, shed of shoes too and stood quite close. Biting her lip, length of rope- from somewhere -in her hand.
"I. Well." Deep breath. "I'd like you to tie me. But. First." Another breath. "I. Well."
"Tell you what." Reaching out to place a finger on her lips. "How about you just do what you'd like to do. Or." A nod. "Tell me if it's something for me to do. And if I think you're overstepping. I'll say."
"Ufffmmsss."
I, smiling take my finger away. Dangerous. Yes, of course. Playing with someone new always is, especially when I've such a lack of regard for my own personal safety.
Literally begging, not saying it but telegraphing it all the same, to be kidnapped and slash or abused in some fashion.
"Okay." A nod, trying on a smile too. "Right. Okay."
Quick shiver chasing across her body, eyes travelling up then down me.
Hungry.
"Can you be naked?"
"Sure."
"And then I-"
"-You don't." Shaking my head, already unzipping, wriggling off my jeans. "Have to explain each move to me. Just, do it. Or." Because maybe she actually was. "Tell me, if it's something you need me to do."
"But what if you mind? Um."
"Honestly." An easy shrug. "Unless you've got a cage upstairs?"
Semi hoping. Bad and silly girl. Doomed girl one day. But, no, Piper shakes her head and I grin.
"In which case I think we'll be just fine." Finished stripping, bra tossed into a corner joining the rest of my clothes. "Now." Moving my wrists as I speak. "In front, or behind?"
"Behind, and. Um. I'm not very good."
"Just pull everything tight. Really tight as best you can. That will work." I make eye contact, so she knows I mean it. "Don't get worried about pain, or if I'm okay. Just, yank that fucking rope okay?"
"Yes." Smile widening and that's the spirit. Let's have fun.
Familiar throb like a kick in my pussy as Piper yanks the rope, that first time having looped it around my- crossed -wrists.
"Perfect." Helpful, though she doesn't answer beyond the continued binding, more yanking, stepping in close the phantom almost feel of her, smell of clean a hint of citrus and Piper's breath on my neck as she wraps the excess around my waist.
Pulling tight, cinching my skinny six down to less and sealing wrists to body.
"Now. Well." Small blush. "I know you said don't explain, but I. Well."
"It's fine." Grinning, at her nerves and I'm not being mean. It's cute. "What's up?"
"Well, since the divorce and crap, I've kinda been watching you since then. And."
Biting her lip, looking bound and naked me up and down.
"I've had this crazy fantasy about you just. Um." Waving her hand across, left to right. "Following me around."
"Carry on then." Smiled nod at her blinked surprise.
Like a slave. Unsaid and maybe she isn't aware, but that's where my head goes. Piper wants naked me as her shadow for awhile.
No collar and lead, no gag. But nonetheless I comply. She sets off and I fall in behind.
Upstairs, and through to the master bedroom, huge plush bed, ensuite and an actual walk in wardrobe into which I follow her. Watching, getting turned on by events as Piper strips off too, wrapping her naked curves inside a fluffy pale pink robe.
And back downstairs, from hallway to a lounge dominated by the largest flatscreen I've ever seen, and onwards to a kitchen.
Piper fixing herself a glass of wine, pulling out a chair at the large rectangular but with rounded edges table. Seating for eight.
Giving a small start, a brief jump as I kneel beside her on the floor, back straight and legs slightly spread, breasts close enough for her to touch, should she wish it.
And she hasn't touched me.
But now, sipping wine and looking at me, and I- wish I was gagged tied up about a million times tighter -give a small nod. And Piper reaches out, slow like forming ice. Slow and cautious enough the tingles of anticipation are enough to bud my nipples before she lays a hand on me, sliding it down to cup my breast.
Giving it a small squeeze.
And I, maybe not completely trussed into rope, maybe not gagged but I'm into it, and am technically bound. Her touch triggers my desire eyes closing and pushing my chest out. Small moan escaping.
"Sit. Um, please." Patting her lap. "On my lap."
Standing, and Piper closes her legs as I move to straddle her, sat close our upper bodies almost touching, my breasts in her face.
"Glad you talked to me?"
"I mean." Quick laugh, louder as I shake my chest. "Stupid question surely."
"True."
"Did you really turn up tonight hoping to meet someone?"
"Why not?"
"Because you're. Well." Looking at me. "You. Plymouth, an actual for real sexy and gorgeous model. Surely you know people?"
"I know people. But." A shrug. Long story. "I just wanted something new. Some."
Shifting, sliding closer bringing my face down to Piper's.
"Fun." Feeling my lips brush hers with each word. "Is that okay?"
Piper, and what else was she going to do? She kisses me, one hand finding my breast again. Squeezing, thumb going to my nipple, brushing across it back and forth. Making me moan and wriggle.
And for awhile we make out. Kissing, her groping me, Heat rising off Piper's crotch and no doubt she can feel mine.
"Plymouth."
"Brooke." Kissing, words like gusts between locked lips and breathing hard.
"Brooke." Pulling back, one hand on each breast now and I swear I might soon climax, just from this. "Could you, tie me up now. Upstairs on the bed. Please?"
"Yes." A smiled nod.
And I climb off, stand still whilst Piper frees me. Follow her upstairs.
From a drawer Piper produces more rope, dropping the combined bundle on the bed. Looking at me, breathing fast her robe still belted, but loose.
Showing a lot of skin.
She climbs atop the bed, laying down on her belly hands clasped loosely behind her back.
Okay.
"I'll." She's likely got no or little experience, so it wouldn't be fair. "Keep it loose."
"No." Turning her head to look at me. "Can you not. And. Just, do a proper job but not extreme. If that makes any kind of sense?"
She laughs. Nerves. But I nod.
Wrists, ankles. Both crossed since it's a tiny bit more forgiving. I make everything tight but do so gently, no yanking and I take care with the rope, making sure I don't drag it across her bare skin too harshly. The hogtie, tight yet not to the point her body arches.
She's not getting out, but hopefully it isn't too uncomfortable.
"There." Flopping down beside her on my back, head turned to look. "Now you're all bound up."
"Like." Stopping to swallow, eyes half closed. Into it. "Just like a video."
"Indeed." Hands under my head, relaxed. "Or just like a fun playtime."
"You do this for fun then?" Half smiling. "For real, not just as a job?"
"Definitely." I grin at her. "This. Bondage, I pretty much live it as much as possible."
She has a struggle, and I let her. Laying beside her, watching and letting her see me watching.
Enjoying the sight, becoming aroused and Piper's eyes widening as my hands stray downwards one finding and teasing at a nipple, the other beginning to stroke my wet pussy slit.
Watching me, knowing I'm getting off over her tied body. Her struggles.
Wriggling onto her side, robe falling open clearly all that rolling around has worked the belt free. Shaking her chest at me, spreading her legs to show me her pussy.
"Please."
Trying to struggle closer and I roll, meeting her halfway forgetting my own body instead finding hers, pussy and breast my lips joining my hand, tongue flicking at a nipple.
Piper moaning head back chest pushed out.
And it doesn't take her long to climax. Bucking and rocking, kissing me hard enough to suck all the air from my lungs. Thrusting her crotch at me in perfect time with my fingers plunging into and out of her.
Smiling lazily at me as she climbs slowly back down, as I free her, as she shakes her head. No. When I ask if she needs me to leave.
So I climb back into bed, pull the duvet up over us and slide in close to cuddle.
"Next time." Voice drifting away, sleep claiming her. "I'll have to play with you more after binding you up tight."
"Sure." Nodding, my own eyes already closed.
Gone.
And in the morning she doesn't ask for my number.
And neither of us mentions next time.
IndeedSwitchgirl wrote: ↑4 days ago we get a realistic build up and ‘setting the scene’ for Brooke’s next ‘adventure’.
The best comes to those who wait.
and, waiting over- at least for the 'One Night Stand' thread, which concludes (?) Above.
-
Switchgirl
- Forum Contributer
- Posts: 47
- Joined: 1 year ago
Loved it.
Brooke still searching whilst having fun…though the hint that she wants, but doesn’t, to be enslaved….(the cage)
Another great chapter
Brooke still searching whilst having fun…though the hint that she wants, but doesn’t, to be enslaved….(the cage)
Another great chapter
I do love your writing, your style. You have a very distinctive Style - which matches Plymouth´s Character perfectly. In this Chapter I like very much how you created the steamy atmosphere. It is a slow build up - but perfectly timed.
Got to keep dropping those hintsSwitchgirl wrote: ↑22 hours ago Loved it.
Brooke still searching whilst having fun…though the hint that she wants, but doesn’t, to be enslaved….(the cage)
and who knows....Some day someone might answer.
Thank you, a lovely compliment. I like my style, something- much like every author I assume -that's grown the more I right.
Yours is different, from mine but very well done. Having got into your latest I'm consistently impressed by the level of detail.
Phone call.
"Hey there Brooke."
"Afternoon Stan." Running a hand through my hair. Forgetting and pulling back too late, damage done.
Quiet chuckle from over beside the house, the bench I like to sit on at lunch, that I dragged out from deep inside Owl Wood specifically for that purpose. I scowl, stare at a hand more dirt and oil black then tanned skin.
Much like the rest of me right now.
"Are you free?" Blast of an airhorn as the farmer, hero of the day departs. I raise a hand in farewell salute, receiving a second as acknowledgement.
I'll have to buy him a bottle of expensive whisky or something.
"There's a." Scowling at the offending thing. "Thing."
"Sure." Background noise cutting off and I picture him. Stan, my immediate superior, responsible for overseeing my overseeing of Owl Wood alongside a half dozen other Forestry Commission owned sites.
In his office, sat behind the desk. There's a reasonable view out his window, I remember.
"What's up?"
"Well." Deep breath, huff.
It isn't my fault.
"There's a problem with the tractor."
"Okay." Tapping of keys. "It isn't scheduled a service for three months, can the problem wait?"
"Not really." Unable to stop the laugh, though it really isn't- but sort of is -funny. "The front axle sheared apart."
"Right." After a too loud silence, full of the things I know he's thinking. "So it's."
"Fucked. Boss." Grimacing, delivering the news feels akin to swallowing bad medicine. "Sorry."
"Fucked." Thoughtful, calm which.
Is that good, or bad?
"Is that a technical term?"
"Ought to be." Wandering across to what's now a lump of useless scrap. Kicking the offending part: front wheel pointed skywards the angle all wrong. "Just this morning," glancing skywards, late afternoon sunlight filtering down through scattered cloud, "deep in the woods. But I was on a main trail."
"Right." The on off tapping of keys, scratch of a pen. Making notes, writing a report.
Of my doom?
"Happened on a cleared trail, so. No outside interference, like a stump?"
"Nothing, boss. Open clear track, and good visibility."
And it's his job to ask, so I keep my tone level. Not letting the resentment creep in, which I don't really feel anyway, but, it's been a long, hard, day.
Was I being reckless? Misusing the- Commission owned -equipment? He has to ask, because Stan's boss will ask. But it's his job to trust me too, out here all alone, towing the company line.
Qualified.
"Well. Right, okay." And I breathe, the change, softening in his tone noticeable.
Okay.
"No injuries sustained? You weren't going too fast?"
"Well." Glancing at my elbow, a shallow graze up the right forearm. "No, I'm fine."
"Good." Like he means it, which helps lift my mood too. "Where's the tractor now?"
"Farmer next door helped me drag it out. Took fucking hours but." Putting my boot against the wheel again, pushing. "Figured we'd need it clear."
"Excellent work Brooke, thanks."
"I'll arrange recovery, sort out a crane and flatbed." Tap tap scribble. "Let the manufacturer know, they'll probably want a look."
"What I thought." Nodding. Poor them, potential panic stations is it a fluke or an actual defect requiring some form of mass recall.
Ouch.
"So." Asking. "What happens now?"
"Now...."
I wait, he's the boss it's my job to wait. Turning a slow circle, facing the bench and I almost. Almost. Ruin my hair some more.
She waves at me, cheeky mirroring the gesture clean hand running through curls dyed the colour of a fire engine. Grinning as I flip her- bitch, but of course not really -off.
"Here's the thing. Brooke. We're out of contract, officially, with our supplier. But we quite clearly need a new tractor ASAP."
"Right. And, sorry boss. Again."
"Hardly your fault."
"No." But.
"There's a trade show, in London next week."
"Right...."
Next week when I'll be in London, a guest of the Acadamie Internationale d'art pour Adultes.
"How would you feel about attending, on the Commissions behalf?"
"Well. I." Fuck. I can almost feel the world turning, aligning one small thing somehow managing to link up to another.
"Isn't that," Yes please I'd love to but, "more of a managerial task?"
"Usually. But I'm swamped here right now. Serious vandalism and out of hours trespassing issues on another site. If you could go, scope out the options, talk to some dealers."
"Sure." Grinning, towards though not at- this time -her. And she sees, smiles back.
"I'll use all my good looks and shit to land us a discount."
Looking down at myself, covered in mud and oil, jeans ripped halfway up one leg. My whole outfit beyond hope. But, beneath all that F cups lurking. I'd meant it as a joke but.
No harm in dressing up, smiling.
"You do that." Starting to laugh. "Although." Semi serious but still amused. "Obviously, officially I'm not condoning that sort of behaviour at all."
"Obviously." Smiling wider.
"Thanks boss."
"Stan. Brooke."
"Stan, thanks for understanding."
"Accident, so at least I don't have to fire you right?"
"Right." Managing a laugh of my own, Stan joining in.
"I'm emailing central resources now." Tap tap click. "Letting them know the change of attendee. Expect a confirmation email by weeks end, hotel details and crap. Plus I'll forward you some finance information regarding budget."
"Understood."
Hanging up, and.
"Hey there Brooke."
"Afternoon Stan." Running a hand through my hair. Forgetting and pulling back too late, damage done.
Quiet chuckle from over beside the house, the bench I like to sit on at lunch, that I dragged out from deep inside Owl Wood specifically for that purpose. I scowl, stare at a hand more dirt and oil black then tanned skin.
Much like the rest of me right now.
"Are you free?" Blast of an airhorn as the farmer, hero of the day departs. I raise a hand in farewell salute, receiving a second as acknowledgement.
I'll have to buy him a bottle of expensive whisky or something.
"There's a." Scowling at the offending thing. "Thing."
"Sure." Background noise cutting off and I picture him. Stan, my immediate superior, responsible for overseeing my overseeing of Owl Wood alongside a half dozen other Forestry Commission owned sites.
In his office, sat behind the desk. There's a reasonable view out his window, I remember.
"What's up?"
"Well." Deep breath, huff.
It isn't my fault.
"There's a problem with the tractor."
"Okay." Tapping of keys. "It isn't scheduled a service for three months, can the problem wait?"
"Not really." Unable to stop the laugh, though it really isn't- but sort of is -funny. "The front axle sheared apart."
"Right." After a too loud silence, full of the things I know he's thinking. "So it's."
"Fucked. Boss." Grimacing, delivering the news feels akin to swallowing bad medicine. "Sorry."
"Fucked." Thoughtful, calm which.
Is that good, or bad?
"Is that a technical term?"
"Ought to be." Wandering across to what's now a lump of useless scrap. Kicking the offending part: front wheel pointed skywards the angle all wrong. "Just this morning," glancing skywards, late afternoon sunlight filtering down through scattered cloud, "deep in the woods. But I was on a main trail."
"Right." The on off tapping of keys, scratch of a pen. Making notes, writing a report.
Of my doom?
"Happened on a cleared trail, so. No outside interference, like a stump?"
"Nothing, boss. Open clear track, and good visibility."
And it's his job to ask, so I keep my tone level. Not letting the resentment creep in, which I don't really feel anyway, but, it's been a long, hard, day.
Was I being reckless? Misusing the- Commission owned -equipment? He has to ask, because Stan's boss will ask. But it's his job to trust me too, out here all alone, towing the company line.
Qualified.
"Well. Right, okay." And I breathe, the change, softening in his tone noticeable.
Okay.
"No injuries sustained? You weren't going too fast?"
"Well." Glancing at my elbow, a shallow graze up the right forearm. "No, I'm fine."
"Good." Like he means it, which helps lift my mood too. "Where's the tractor now?"
"Farmer next door helped me drag it out. Took fucking hours but." Putting my boot against the wheel again, pushing. "Figured we'd need it clear."
"Excellent work Brooke, thanks."
"I'll arrange recovery, sort out a crane and flatbed." Tap tap scribble. "Let the manufacturer know, they'll probably want a look."
"What I thought." Nodding. Poor them, potential panic stations is it a fluke or an actual defect requiring some form of mass recall.
Ouch.
"So." Asking. "What happens now?"
"Now...."
I wait, he's the boss it's my job to wait. Turning a slow circle, facing the bench and I almost. Almost. Ruin my hair some more.
She waves at me, cheeky mirroring the gesture clean hand running through curls dyed the colour of a fire engine. Grinning as I flip her- bitch, but of course not really -off.
"Here's the thing. Brooke. We're out of contract, officially, with our supplier. But we quite clearly need a new tractor ASAP."
"Right. And, sorry boss. Again."
"Hardly your fault."
"No." But.
"There's a trade show, in London next week."
"Right...."
Next week when I'll be in London, a guest of the Acadamie Internationale d'art pour Adultes.
"How would you feel about attending, on the Commissions behalf?"
"Well. I." Fuck. I can almost feel the world turning, aligning one small thing somehow managing to link up to another.
"Isn't that," Yes please I'd love to but, "more of a managerial task?"
"Usually. But I'm swamped here right now. Serious vandalism and out of hours trespassing issues on another site. If you could go, scope out the options, talk to some dealers."
"Sure." Grinning, towards though not at- this time -her. And she sees, smiles back.
"I'll use all my good looks and shit to land us a discount."
Looking down at myself, covered in mud and oil, jeans ripped halfway up one leg. My whole outfit beyond hope. But, beneath all that F cups lurking. I'd meant it as a joke but.
No harm in dressing up, smiling.
"You do that." Starting to laugh. "Although." Semi serious but still amused. "Obviously, officially I'm not condoning that sort of behaviour at all."
"Obviously." Smiling wider.
"Thanks boss."
"Stan. Brooke."
"Stan, thanks for understanding."
"Accident, so at least I don't have to fire you right?"
"Right." Managing a laugh of my own, Stan joining in.
"I'm emailing central resources now." Tap tap click. "Letting them know the change of attendee. Expect a confirmation email by weeks end, hotel details and crap. Plus I'll forward you some finance information regarding budget."
"Understood."
Hanging up, and.
009.
"You do know how a phone works." Playfully waving mine at Sonya. "Right?"
"I can't be spontaneous?" Smiling back, and I suppress the strongest urge to march over there and run my fingers down her- somehow despite we're in the middle of an actual woodland -clean white jeans.
My oil and dirt covered fingers.
And I don't, because that would be mean, and not funny.
But she looks so fresh, and perfect. And I'm so.
Dirty.
Messy.
Confused and there's a small thudding in my chest, her unexpected appearance. And I'm suddenly fighting off a second strong urge to walk over there and.
And?
"Sure you can. Just." Looking back at the scrapped tractor, shaking my head. "You sure picked a day to arrive."
"Interesting to see you working though."
"Ha." Rubbing my hands together. "Hardly normal work that, fucking pile of scrap."
"You're okay?"
"What?" Looking down at myself. "Yeah. Course, wasn't my fault."
"I meant your arm." Pointing, and on cue the gash, shallow but long begins to sting.
"I'm fine." Peering at it. Nodding. "Isn't my first time getting scratched up at work."
Eyes locking with Sonya moments later, the deeper and wider implications and meanings to my words sinking in.
On us both judging by the look in her eyes.
Because we'd left things so. Unfinished. Back in Scotland, that whole time in the hotel there'd been a really obvious, rising and falling.
But mostly rising.
Feeling. Tension, an almost overwhelming crackling energy, felt like a speeding and unstoppable train, like something out of control everytime she'd tied me up.
And now she's here. Uninvited and unexpected. And yet.
"Come in, yes?" Stepping towards my front door. "I'll make some dinner and we can talk."
"Great." Taking hold of her wheeled suitcase, slinging a backpack over one shoulder.
And I stop, key in the slot. Turn to face her.
"Are you booked into a hotel or...?"
"Or." Easy shrug, uncaring. Or calculated to appear so.
"Right." With a will I hold the line, keep my mouth shut. "Well, come in anyway."
Inside, leaving Sonya in the lounge, poking through my various books and albums, I head upstairs.
Not quite expecting her to follow, not quite expecting her to be so forward.
Why is she here?
A bath, because I ache all over from hours spent manhandling chains and winches, yanking and tugging doing my share of the heavy lifting. Unwilling to leave everything to the ever helpful farmer.
But no, if I have a bath I'll turn the water black in seconds so instead I stand up, pull across the curtain and turn the water on.
"Brooke?"
"Here." Shouting back, almost a whole bottle of shower gel and half as much shampoo. Two, count them out there on the bathroom floor, ruined sponges. Fuck knows how many minutes. "What's up?"
"Are." Voice dropping and suddenly much closer, I peer around the curtain water running down my face to see Sonya, standing in the doorway. Concerned. "Are you okay?"
"What?" Confused. "Yes, why?"
"You've been forever."
Leaning against the doorframe, and she can't see anything.
Not that she hasn't seen it all, all of me before though.
"Sorry." Smiling. "I'll be out now."
"Right." Thumbs up and she steps backwards, leaving me to it.
Dry, hair tied into a loose still damp tail I slip on a clean white thong, pulling a pair of purple spandex gym shorts, tiny and tight little butt hugging things over the top. Dig out a black 'Santa Pod' tee, a dragstrip I. Must've? Visited once, slipping it on not bothering with a bra.
Downstairs and she's relaxing at the kitchen table, an Underworld LP, a live recording playing quietly as background. Those white jeans hugging her legs but flaring out below the knee, paired with a blue vest top. Hint of pink bra beneath.
Curvy twelve to my skinny six, an E to my F. Pretty. Cute.
"There you are."
"Yes." Smiling back. "Hungry?"
"Sure."
I make tacos, filling each with mince and lettuce, fresh tomatoes and lashings of sour cream. Onions. But because I'd thought it was only going to be for one I root around in the freezer, coming up with chips and a garlic bread which go in the middle of the table.
Bulking out the meal for- I recall -doesn't care so much about eating healthy Sonya.
"Dinner."
"Wow." Nodding, looking impressed at the spread. From her backpack she'd pulled a six pack, five of which are stowed in the fridge. And since Sonya's drinking, and since it has been a hard day I'm already on my second double vodka and coke.
For awhile we eat, drink. The silence easy.
"So you broke your little tractor?"
"Little." Tutting and Sonya grins, playful.
Because it's genuinely quite large, beast like.
"Not me." A shrug. "Some kind of defect."
"Right. So not in trouble with the boss then?"
"No we're good." I nod. "That was him I phoned."
"Figured." Nodding too. "They'll just. Um, send you a new one?"
"Something like that." Not feeling up to explaining: London, and the Acadamie because if I started I'd feel compelled to tell the whole rollercoaster.
"Do I get a tour?"
"You want to see Owl Wood?"
"That's its name?" Impressed nod as I nod. "Cool. Yeah, definitely."
"Okay." Downing my. Fifth? Vodka. "Tomorrow though."
"Tomorrow." Matching me, downing a can, standing to fetch another and collecting my glass as she passes, returning with a refill for me too.
With no food bar scraps left we decamp, by unspoken agreement ignoring all the dirty dishes, wandering through into the lounge.
"More music, or?" Waving at the flatscreen.
"Music." Giving me a playful nudge having come up alongside. "Can't be fucked to focus on telly."
I nudge her back. Playful. Receiving a hard slap to the butt as I walk away, heading for the record deck.
The sting, the sudden burst of pain bringing a tingle to my crotch.
And by the time I've sorted out music, found an LP of classic movie themes that's somewhat close to the show tunes Sonya enjoys. Turning back around I find her- having been somewhat clued in by the various noises -sat on the middle cushion of the sofa, finishing setting up my old Monopoly board.
"Really?"
"Why not." Shrug and a smile as I sit down beside her. "You want to be the car?"
"Fuck the car." Leaning in, reaching across her and into the box. "I'll be this Admiral boat."
"Right." Placing the car next to it on the start line. "Machine versus machine then."
Why not? How about because we're both, already, semi wasted. No clue about Sonya but I've not eaten much all day, and I'm drinking doubles. It's less a serious game and more a prolonged playful argument.
Moving pieces when the other isn't looking. Swiping- in my case the stations in hers Mayfair, twice -various properties if we think the other isn't paying attention. Adding hotels, and a heated argument dissolving to laughter when I try to justify putting not one but three down. On Kings Cross of all places.
Sonya placing nearly twenty houses on Oxford Street, calling it her slum kingdom and I'm laughing too much to protest.
Still drinking, an endless parade of refills Sonya joining me in vodka land as her cans run out.
I manage to steal over half the five hundreds, the highest value note before Sonya catches on.
"Honestly Brooke." Trying not to laugh. "Put them back."
"But." Snorting a laugh. "I'll share. Here."
Counting, trying to count out half my stash and Sonya laughing at my look of total- drunk -focus. And then I lean in, to her, the wad of notes folded in half.
Slipping and pushing them down inside her vest top and bra. My finger brushing Sonya's nipple.
Which instantly wakes up.
"Oh?" Eyes wide and arm frozen, running my finger back across Sonya's nipple.
Liking it.
And she's frozen too, equally wide eyes locked to mine. The game forgotten.
Time stretching, something rushing towards me.
Sonya, without warning suddenly throwing herself forwards, one flailing leg kicking the table, game board and assorted pieces spilling everywhere as she lunges. Closing the distance.
Kisses. Furious things both of us breathing hard, lips locking and parting as we wrestle, limbs flailing and everything a mess. Me, horny, arousal suddenly there, dial cranked all the way to the left, seeking Sonya's lips, hands desperate for her breasts or crotch.
Wrestling, fighting though I don't realise so at first. But Sonya, kissing me back and clearly her blood is up because whilst I'm entirely focused on feeling her up.
She manages to strip me. Naked.
"Come here you...." Words trailing off, grabbing my arms from behind, slurred tone semi commanding enough to make my pussy throb as Sonya pins my arms together, dragging me backwards off the sofa and across the room.
"What are you doing?" Breathless, not panicked or worried. Turned on, asking.
"I'm go-"
Suddenly falling, Sonya tripped up by? Her own feet possibly and taking me down with her, landing as a messy sprawl of half locked together limbs my face cushioned by her still clothed breasts.
And into the sudden surprised silence we're both of us laughing.
Her suitcase, right there now beside us laid and pushed against the wall, backpack beside it both unzipped. And, grinning, drunk, from out of it's shadowed mysterious depths Sonya- having wriggled free of me -pulls a coiled length of rope.
Turning, still on the floor half kneeling, to face me. Grinning.
And there's no Domme, no words like surrender or slave in my head. Or hers judging by the state of us both. Just drunk arousal, I'm- we're -horny as fuck and Sonya has rope.
Is offering.
"Fuck." Rolling over hands already clasped behind, shivering, I nod. "Yes, please."
"Definitely." Pulling several more lengths, which makes us giggle like schoolgirls watching a magic trick.
Binding my wrists, yanking too tight and using far too many loops. Having to unwind and almost begin again.
Me sniggering, Sonya, tutting, slaps my butt. Which feels really fucking good. So I wiggle it at her.
She slaps it again.
Wrists done, rolled onto my side and she's attempting to bind my chest and upper arms whilst actually laying behind me. Not paying enough attention she's passed the rope above both F cups but only underneath one, the other feeling somewhat loose.
Odd.
And me, bored. Playful. Leaning back and searching, fingers fumbling at Sonya's jeans buckle and zip. Working and she's too engrossed in binding me to notice.
Until, success and I plunge a hand awkwardly down inside her thong.
Finding her wet. Aroused.
I set to the task with abandon, fingers seeking out her clit, rubbing and sliding up and down, in and out. Rolling a thumb across and on cue Sonya's chest presses into me her back arching, binding me forgotten as she let's out a long moan of pleasure.
Putty in my- bound -hands.
Grasping my breasts, squeezing, running hands all over them, pinching the nipples and tugging. Making me gasp too as Sonya presses in close and I tilt, head turned to find hers.
Kissing. Whilst she abuses my breasts, causing pain that lights me up. Whilst I flick and pound her pussy.
"Bind me." Breathless, losing myself to the moment and I want. "Please."
"Yes." Twisting my nipple. Hard. "You're all tied up, Brooke. Helpless."
"No." Biting my lip as Sonya slaps a nipple. Getting close to climaxing. "Bind me, finish binding me whilst I get you off. Please."
And somehow we manage. Sonya finishes off my chest, locking upper arms in place, squeezing my F cups in that irregular fashion before using the excess rope to bind my ankles. One end of rope to each wrapping and lashing them separately, pulling in the slack so my legs are forced wide apart, each ankle pinned close to my elbows and back.
And all this she manages whilst my fingers are deep inside her pussy.
Panting as she works, stopping twice to press into me teeth grazing my neck.
Finished, I can feel my bondage, the unnatural angle of my legs, feet pinned and I feel off balance, am in danger of tipping over from side to belly.
But Sonya reaches once more around me, pulling herself close fitting into the gap of my spread legs one hand back on my breast, pinching and twisting. Harsh and it feels so fucking overwhelmingly good. Her other hand snakes down, tracing a path across my toned flat stomach, finding my already wet pussy.
Going to work on me, shoving and bullying me towards the climax even whilst my own fingers are tipping her over the edge.
Lips locked, Sonya's body bucking and mine locked save the left leg, dancing and moving as though attempting to run.
My orgasm louder, hers no less intense.
And in the climbdown my limbs flop, freed from the ropes and I'm on my back, Sonya laid atop, stroking my hair.
"Brooke."
"Still here." Lazy smile.
"Take me to bed." Planting a soft kiss on my lips. "Please, I'm fucking spent."
"Honestly. No." Forced to stop by a cavernous yawn. "Stamina."
Sonya climbs off and helps me up, taking the offered hand and following me upstairs. Letting me help strip her, letting me half pull her into bed, duvet grabbed and tugged up to cover our nakedness.
Asleep moments later.
"You do know how a phone works." Playfully waving mine at Sonya. "Right?"
"I can't be spontaneous?" Smiling back, and I suppress the strongest urge to march over there and run my fingers down her- somehow despite we're in the middle of an actual woodland -clean white jeans.
My oil and dirt covered fingers.
And I don't, because that would be mean, and not funny.
But she looks so fresh, and perfect. And I'm so.
Dirty.
Messy.
Confused and there's a small thudding in my chest, her unexpected appearance. And I'm suddenly fighting off a second strong urge to walk over there and.
And?
"Sure you can. Just." Looking back at the scrapped tractor, shaking my head. "You sure picked a day to arrive."
"Interesting to see you working though."
"Ha." Rubbing my hands together. "Hardly normal work that, fucking pile of scrap."
"You're okay?"
"What?" Looking down at myself. "Yeah. Course, wasn't my fault."
"I meant your arm." Pointing, and on cue the gash, shallow but long begins to sting.
"I'm fine." Peering at it. Nodding. "Isn't my first time getting scratched up at work."
Eyes locking with Sonya moments later, the deeper and wider implications and meanings to my words sinking in.
On us both judging by the look in her eyes.
Because we'd left things so. Unfinished. Back in Scotland, that whole time in the hotel there'd been a really obvious, rising and falling.
But mostly rising.
Feeling. Tension, an almost overwhelming crackling energy, felt like a speeding and unstoppable train, like something out of control everytime she'd tied me up.
And now she's here. Uninvited and unexpected. And yet.
"Come in, yes?" Stepping towards my front door. "I'll make some dinner and we can talk."
"Great." Taking hold of her wheeled suitcase, slinging a backpack over one shoulder.
And I stop, key in the slot. Turn to face her.
"Are you booked into a hotel or...?"
"Or." Easy shrug, uncaring. Or calculated to appear so.
"Right." With a will I hold the line, keep my mouth shut. "Well, come in anyway."
Inside, leaving Sonya in the lounge, poking through my various books and albums, I head upstairs.
Not quite expecting her to follow, not quite expecting her to be so forward.
Why is she here?
A bath, because I ache all over from hours spent manhandling chains and winches, yanking and tugging doing my share of the heavy lifting. Unwilling to leave everything to the ever helpful farmer.
But no, if I have a bath I'll turn the water black in seconds so instead I stand up, pull across the curtain and turn the water on.
"Brooke?"
"Here." Shouting back, almost a whole bottle of shower gel and half as much shampoo. Two, count them out there on the bathroom floor, ruined sponges. Fuck knows how many minutes. "What's up?"
"Are." Voice dropping and suddenly much closer, I peer around the curtain water running down my face to see Sonya, standing in the doorway. Concerned. "Are you okay?"
"What?" Confused. "Yes, why?"
"You've been forever."
Leaning against the doorframe, and she can't see anything.
Not that she hasn't seen it all, all of me before though.
"Sorry." Smiling. "I'll be out now."
"Right." Thumbs up and she steps backwards, leaving me to it.
Dry, hair tied into a loose still damp tail I slip on a clean white thong, pulling a pair of purple spandex gym shorts, tiny and tight little butt hugging things over the top. Dig out a black 'Santa Pod' tee, a dragstrip I. Must've? Visited once, slipping it on not bothering with a bra.
Downstairs and she's relaxing at the kitchen table, an Underworld LP, a live recording playing quietly as background. Those white jeans hugging her legs but flaring out below the knee, paired with a blue vest top. Hint of pink bra beneath.
Curvy twelve to my skinny six, an E to my F. Pretty. Cute.
"There you are."
"Yes." Smiling back. "Hungry?"
"Sure."
I make tacos, filling each with mince and lettuce, fresh tomatoes and lashings of sour cream. Onions. But because I'd thought it was only going to be for one I root around in the freezer, coming up with chips and a garlic bread which go in the middle of the table.
Bulking out the meal for- I recall -doesn't care so much about eating healthy Sonya.
"Dinner."
"Wow." Nodding, looking impressed at the spread. From her backpack she'd pulled a six pack, five of which are stowed in the fridge. And since Sonya's drinking, and since it has been a hard day I'm already on my second double vodka and coke.
For awhile we eat, drink. The silence easy.
"So you broke your little tractor?"
"Little." Tutting and Sonya grins, playful.
Because it's genuinely quite large, beast like.
"Not me." A shrug. "Some kind of defect."
"Right. So not in trouble with the boss then?"
"No we're good." I nod. "That was him I phoned."
"Figured." Nodding too. "They'll just. Um, send you a new one?"
"Something like that." Not feeling up to explaining: London, and the Acadamie because if I started I'd feel compelled to tell the whole rollercoaster.
"Do I get a tour?"
"You want to see Owl Wood?"
"That's its name?" Impressed nod as I nod. "Cool. Yeah, definitely."
"Okay." Downing my. Fifth? Vodka. "Tomorrow though."
"Tomorrow." Matching me, downing a can, standing to fetch another and collecting my glass as she passes, returning with a refill for me too.
With no food bar scraps left we decamp, by unspoken agreement ignoring all the dirty dishes, wandering through into the lounge.
"More music, or?" Waving at the flatscreen.
"Music." Giving me a playful nudge having come up alongside. "Can't be fucked to focus on telly."
I nudge her back. Playful. Receiving a hard slap to the butt as I walk away, heading for the record deck.
The sting, the sudden burst of pain bringing a tingle to my crotch.
And by the time I've sorted out music, found an LP of classic movie themes that's somewhat close to the show tunes Sonya enjoys. Turning back around I find her- having been somewhat clued in by the various noises -sat on the middle cushion of the sofa, finishing setting up my old Monopoly board.
"Really?"
"Why not." Shrug and a smile as I sit down beside her. "You want to be the car?"
"Fuck the car." Leaning in, reaching across her and into the box. "I'll be this Admiral boat."
"Right." Placing the car next to it on the start line. "Machine versus machine then."
Why not? How about because we're both, already, semi wasted. No clue about Sonya but I've not eaten much all day, and I'm drinking doubles. It's less a serious game and more a prolonged playful argument.
Moving pieces when the other isn't looking. Swiping- in my case the stations in hers Mayfair, twice -various properties if we think the other isn't paying attention. Adding hotels, and a heated argument dissolving to laughter when I try to justify putting not one but three down. On Kings Cross of all places.
Sonya placing nearly twenty houses on Oxford Street, calling it her slum kingdom and I'm laughing too much to protest.
Still drinking, an endless parade of refills Sonya joining me in vodka land as her cans run out.
I manage to steal over half the five hundreds, the highest value note before Sonya catches on.
"Honestly Brooke." Trying not to laugh. "Put them back."
"But." Snorting a laugh. "I'll share. Here."
Counting, trying to count out half my stash and Sonya laughing at my look of total- drunk -focus. And then I lean in, to her, the wad of notes folded in half.
Slipping and pushing them down inside her vest top and bra. My finger brushing Sonya's nipple.
Which instantly wakes up.
"Oh?" Eyes wide and arm frozen, running my finger back across Sonya's nipple.
Liking it.
And she's frozen too, equally wide eyes locked to mine. The game forgotten.
Time stretching, something rushing towards me.
Sonya, without warning suddenly throwing herself forwards, one flailing leg kicking the table, game board and assorted pieces spilling everywhere as she lunges. Closing the distance.
Kisses. Furious things both of us breathing hard, lips locking and parting as we wrestle, limbs flailing and everything a mess. Me, horny, arousal suddenly there, dial cranked all the way to the left, seeking Sonya's lips, hands desperate for her breasts or crotch.
Wrestling, fighting though I don't realise so at first. But Sonya, kissing me back and clearly her blood is up because whilst I'm entirely focused on feeling her up.
She manages to strip me. Naked.
"Come here you...." Words trailing off, grabbing my arms from behind, slurred tone semi commanding enough to make my pussy throb as Sonya pins my arms together, dragging me backwards off the sofa and across the room.
"What are you doing?" Breathless, not panicked or worried. Turned on, asking.
"I'm go-"
Suddenly falling, Sonya tripped up by? Her own feet possibly and taking me down with her, landing as a messy sprawl of half locked together limbs my face cushioned by her still clothed breasts.
And into the sudden surprised silence we're both of us laughing.
Her suitcase, right there now beside us laid and pushed against the wall, backpack beside it both unzipped. And, grinning, drunk, from out of it's shadowed mysterious depths Sonya- having wriggled free of me -pulls a coiled length of rope.
Turning, still on the floor half kneeling, to face me. Grinning.
And there's no Domme, no words like surrender or slave in my head. Or hers judging by the state of us both. Just drunk arousal, I'm- we're -horny as fuck and Sonya has rope.
Is offering.
"Fuck." Rolling over hands already clasped behind, shivering, I nod. "Yes, please."
"Definitely." Pulling several more lengths, which makes us giggle like schoolgirls watching a magic trick.
Binding my wrists, yanking too tight and using far too many loops. Having to unwind and almost begin again.
Me sniggering, Sonya, tutting, slaps my butt. Which feels really fucking good. So I wiggle it at her.
She slaps it again.
Wrists done, rolled onto my side and she's attempting to bind my chest and upper arms whilst actually laying behind me. Not paying enough attention she's passed the rope above both F cups but only underneath one, the other feeling somewhat loose.
Odd.
And me, bored. Playful. Leaning back and searching, fingers fumbling at Sonya's jeans buckle and zip. Working and she's too engrossed in binding me to notice.
Until, success and I plunge a hand awkwardly down inside her thong.
Finding her wet. Aroused.
I set to the task with abandon, fingers seeking out her clit, rubbing and sliding up and down, in and out. Rolling a thumb across and on cue Sonya's chest presses into me her back arching, binding me forgotten as she let's out a long moan of pleasure.
Putty in my- bound -hands.
Grasping my breasts, squeezing, running hands all over them, pinching the nipples and tugging. Making me gasp too as Sonya presses in close and I tilt, head turned to find hers.
Kissing. Whilst she abuses my breasts, causing pain that lights me up. Whilst I flick and pound her pussy.
"Bind me." Breathless, losing myself to the moment and I want. "Please."
"Yes." Twisting my nipple. Hard. "You're all tied up, Brooke. Helpless."
"No." Biting my lip as Sonya slaps a nipple. Getting close to climaxing. "Bind me, finish binding me whilst I get you off. Please."
And somehow we manage. Sonya finishes off my chest, locking upper arms in place, squeezing my F cups in that irregular fashion before using the excess rope to bind my ankles. One end of rope to each wrapping and lashing them separately, pulling in the slack so my legs are forced wide apart, each ankle pinned close to my elbows and back.
And all this she manages whilst my fingers are deep inside her pussy.
Panting as she works, stopping twice to press into me teeth grazing my neck.
Finished, I can feel my bondage, the unnatural angle of my legs, feet pinned and I feel off balance, am in danger of tipping over from side to belly.
But Sonya reaches once more around me, pulling herself close fitting into the gap of my spread legs one hand back on my breast, pinching and twisting. Harsh and it feels so fucking overwhelmingly good. Her other hand snakes down, tracing a path across my toned flat stomach, finding my already wet pussy.
Going to work on me, shoving and bullying me towards the climax even whilst my own fingers are tipping her over the edge.
Lips locked, Sonya's body bucking and mine locked save the left leg, dancing and moving as though attempting to run.
My orgasm louder, hers no less intense.
And in the climbdown my limbs flop, freed from the ropes and I'm on my back, Sonya laid atop, stroking my hair.
"Brooke."
"Still here." Lazy smile.
"Take me to bed." Planting a soft kiss on my lips. "Please, I'm fucking spent."
"Honestly. No." Forced to stop by a cavernous yawn. "Stamina."
Sonya climbs off and helps me up, taking the offered hand and following me upstairs. Letting me help strip her, letting me half pull her into bed, duvet grabbed and tugged up to cover our nakedness.
Asleep moments later.