The Bondage Model (F+/F+) - Revised Edition

[AlexUSA3]

When I first wrote The Bondage Model, I had no idea where I was going except filling in the gap in the life of one of the least understood members of The Cool Girls' Club. At the time, all that had really been said was that Hannah had been a drug dealer, gone to prison, survived an attempt on her life, worked at a Best Buy, and had become a bondage model as a source of income. Nothing more had been said about her life beyond these raw facts, but I realized something was wrong in my plotline.

My stories had concluded that Casey Clark and Hannah Larsson had been chastened for their behaviors in January of 2011 and weren't reunited to the CGC until June 2017. That made no sense to me. The character of Jenny Kristensen would never let anyone stay separated from the Club that long; she would become annoying even in her efforts to bring them back to the fold, especially given the circumstances that surely would have shaken the small town in which they all lived. Hence, the idea for this began to grow in my mind.

Then came the questions: what kind of friends would Hannah have? Why was she a model? What happened in prison? What was it like not just for her but for the other girls in there? Thus, the concept of "interludes" began as a way of discussing the past, sometimes because it was relevant to the present, and as a way of not writing a chapter that was completely devoid of bondage.

It all pieced together— the characters, their passions, their pasts, their futures— and all began to come together to form a cohesive story as I moved along. Inconsistencies arose, though, both with established facts of the CGC that I did not want to retcon and within the story itself. Then, I got enough complaints about the decisions surrounding Kendra that I finally decided that a complete rewrite was in order to make a complete story that was consistent in its facts and statements start to finish, and thus this revised edition is presented to you, complete with updated photo sets. The use of Google Sheets provides power that uploading images didn't provide: I can edit the sheet without needing to update an image on Flickr or some other server.

The final step was making best use of the pictures that Ken of Captured Snapshots most kindly gave me permission to use. I thank him for the many emails we have exchanged in the last few months as they gave me greater insight to what the industry and its characters are like and just what goes into a bondage shoot. This revised edition wouldn't have happened without his advice.

Thanks for supporting this story and its many off-shoots, and I hope you enjoy this revised version of what more than one person has told me is, in their opinion, one of the best stories this site has.



This tale is based on my own impressions of the fetish modeling industry and what it entails as told through the eyes of the narrator who is experiencing these events. Along the way, she will tell stories about how she got into the position she is in using what I call “Interludes.” These interludes will involve varied themes and tell a story within the story that relates to the “present” events the narrator is sharing, but some will be a bit heavier than some readers like.

Story 1 Chapter 1: How It Began
Saturday, October 11, 2014

I sat at my crappy, small junker computer/laptop. I made up for its crappy smallness with a multitude of labeled flash drives. Today, however, I was browsing the web in search of a job. I already worked one job and was full-time at the Community College of Minneapolis Southwest Campus, but I needed more money. This week, I stooped to eating plain refried bean tacos for dinner 5 out of 7 days. I was 18 and knew it was a matter of when, not if, I either starved to death or froze to death from turning off the heat some days just to save money.

Rent. Utilities. Tuition. Fees. Textbooks. Right there, my income was drained to about $100 left each month, so I had to eat, dress, and drive on that. I knew my circuit well and minimized my driving distance to under 75 miles per week. $40 in gas meant under $60 for the food and clothing. This was my life from when I turned 18 in March, graduated high school, survived a murder attempt in July, got my job by the end of that month, and was in October of my first semester of junior college.

What can I do? I thought to myself and slowly stood up and walked around.

Panicking wouldn't help me, but I felt my heart racing regardless. I had to do something quickly. I wasn't able to cut it like this. I was literally alone in the world of my suburb southwest of Minneapolis. My ex-boyfriend was in prison for life, my parents had disowned me, and I refused to sponge off my few remaining friends. I was the epitome of the sin of pride in that last regard. I had done it to myself, and I wished daily and sometimes hourly that I could do it all over again.

My little four room place was only 400-500 square feet. A little living room, dining room, and kitchen were all part of one half plus of it. The bedroom and bathroom were the other parts. The bathroom had two doors, one to the bedroom and one to the living room. The bedroom’s second door went to the kitchen. I had a thrift store sofa but nothing else in there because I had no money to spare for such frivolities. I ate at a folding table while sitting in a metal folding chair. My bureau was a plastic drawer unit, and my mattress was on the floor. Clothes were a joke as I had only what clothes I had taken when my parents threw me out… what clothes still survived and didn't have holes. Freaking coin laundromats; now I washed my clothes by hand.

Don't do drugs.

I walked around wearing one of my two winter outfits, blue sweatshirt and sweatpants and kerchief bandana. As I walked by the mirror, I saw my outfit and thought about the days when I was younger and the friends I had then and of the bondage games we had played. TUGs were the name. I remembered I enjoyed being tied up and gagged, as well as what that b-stard Greg did to me, and I remembered that there was an industry behind this.

I sat down and began typing into my computer until raw experience taught me the right wording. Finally, I was looking at fetish modeling jobs in the Minneapolis area, but I was not letting someone burn me with cigarettes, r-pe me, strangle me, or force me to urinate. I kept searching and hoping for someone who would just tie me up and pay me for it. Then I found it after hours on Model Mayhem and other such sites.

Tied After Class: Classic bondage, bondage games, and damsels-in-distress

That was the place for me, and so I went to “Steve Moreau’s” website. There it was, rope and tape bondage scenes. No exposed crotches, but there was some vibration and/or soft nipple play. Mostly pretty girls hamming it up. Ball gags. You get the type. Think something like Captured Snapshots or Imago Studios. I quickly filled out the questionnaire form and sent an email.

Dear Steve,

I am a down-and-outter who wants to reclaim her life. I have past experience with bondage as a damsel and a nabber. I hope you will give me a chance because I am just looking to eat more than a can of beans for once.

Your scenes are eclectic, and the damsels are gorgeous. I bet it would be a pleasure to work with you.

Respectfully yours,
Hannah Larsson

I sent the email and didn't think much. I’d give it 48 hours, and I was going to wait until the morning before possibly contacting less savory studios. I was in no hurry to sell my crotch or do anything but bondage work even if it was all still fetish modeling. Maybe I would be provided clothing to wear during a scene! Just a few hours of other clothing besides my ratty old rags would make me happy!

It was just a typical day off for me. I breezed through the trivial homeworks, but they were numerous. I tried to enjoy my one day a week that had no working hours. How do you enjoy yourself when you're 5’3” and wasted away to under 100 pounds? You have to distract yourself from the gnawing on your stomach and find other things to do. To my shock, a response came in under 1 hour.

Miss Larsson,

Text or call me at xxx-xxx-xxxx. You sound like you would be a good match for us, and every studio craves a girl as genuine as you. We can possibly do something today if you're available.

Steve

Of course I called. You know I called. I wouldn't be telling you this story otherwise! Ten minutes later, I found myself driving the 15 minutes to the house that doubled as the home of Tied After Class. To my surprise, instead of the 40 year old man whom I called before I left, I was greeted by a woman about 10-12 years younger than that, closer to my age than his.

“Hello, I’m Kristine.”
“Hi, I’m Hannah,” I shook a bit with fear.

Last time I had been “tied up” was an attempt to leave me in a basement to starve to death. Before that, it was sex, often as punishment, from the same party, and before that it was so a demented prison guard could do an extra cavity search on me. Ages 16 to 18 royally sucked so far. Here’s hoping I could at least make some money and not starve to death and maybe get to go to a real university.

“Would you like a warm drink?” she asked me warmly.
“Ummmm,” I hadn't heard such words in years, “I guess, yeah. I’ve been an outcast so long I forgot how to ask and answer such questions.”
“Are you local?”
“Close, Mudville. Are you and Steve business partners or life partners?” I squirmed.
“Just business. His wife does join us though. So you're that Hannah Larsson.”
“Which one?!” my voice became shaky, “Isn't it a common name?!”
“Yes, but you're the one with that girl Stacy and that creep Greg Lofton. I’m sorry.”

I was grateful for not having to talk more about it. Greg Lofton, the f-cking whacko. Yes, indeed, I was that Hannah Larsson. What’s it to you, Ma’am? Thankfully the creep pleaded guilty, sparing me having to be grilled by attorneys. I hope someone rams a steel pipe up his…

I could see the studio vibe in some rooms just by how they were painted. As soon as I reached the basement, I recognized tape spots on the floor from other studios I had seen. Hooks, a chair, a stool, an office chair, and a metal frame twin bed were just some of the fixtures of the space. It was a candy store of sorts if variety was your thing; one could get tied up 50 different ways in this room and not have one repeat and keep her shirt on throughout each shoot.

But I was here to make money and hopefully have fun at least most of the time.

Steve mostly explained the role in the scenes to me. Steve had his part; Kristine had her part; I had my part if I appeared in a film; sometimes other girls had a part in it. Then came the best part of all: they had a massive wardrobe ready, and I just had to pick something I liked. I didn’t jump physically; but I did jump in my mind.

Paperwork.

The first thing before a scene, even when cash is the method of payment, is paperwork. Lots and lots of paperwork. It’s fetish modeling and subject to certain laws about privacy, being a legal adult, consent to being tied up, and so forth. I did not have to go through any kind of testing because no sexual acts were involved.

$200 per hour! Oh, the things I could do with that! I could already taste the ground beef in my tacos!

I stepped into the wardrobe and froze because it was an entire 12 foot square room. He said to just choose anything that would make me comfortable for my first scene, and that they would do this unscripted. I was also tasked with picking out a name.

With the name thing, I thought about it while picking out my clothes. Kristine said it would take a long time the first two or three times, and she was right. Karina sounded nice to me because it seemed Nordic. I don't know if it’s even a Nordic name or not, but I liked it.

Outfits outfits outfits. Oh, the clothes everywhere! I picked out a gray knit business suit and put on a pair of hose knowing the expectation was for me to provide my own socks, panties, and hose in the future unless there was a special theme that required an article I didn't have, like those fancy knee socks in the drawer. I studied myself in the mirror and added a pair of black high heels and marched out.

“Is it erotic enough for you?” I asked.
“Oh ho ho! She's got the idea,” Steve cackled.
“You’ve studied well!” Kristine’s eyes popped in a way that told me she liked girls.
“Thank you. I decided my first should appeal to the masses instead of to me.”
“There’ll be masses for sure! You're a doll, Hannah!” she ogled me to learn every facet of me.
“Karina… for the camera.”
“Well, Karina, have you ever been tied up before?” Kristine started with an interview.
“Many times. It's fun. I like being helpless at the hand of someone I trust to not harm me.”
“What brings you here today?”
“To have fun and get paid for it! I know there's work as well, but it's a process,” I sensually crossed my legs and noticed that Kristine and Steve carefully studied my movements.
“Since you have experience, what gag do you enjoy most?” Steve continued the interview.
“Depends on the scene and outfit. For this suit, stuffing and strips of duct tape sound sweet.”

He continued to ask me questions of that nature and about my previous games, and I answered in as general of terms as I could so that people got to appreciate my own feelings without doxxing myself. The interview was only 10 minutes or so, and then it was time for the shoot. I stood up and walked over to Kristine and gave her a smile and a teasing wink that told her to give me her best.

That wonderful clothesline you see so often in such scenes made its appearance. Kristine started by tying my wrists behind my back, and for this first scene she took it easy to see my reaction to it. Then came the surprise: she tied my elbows. I had experienced loose elbow ties 1 or 2 times, but I never believed I could handle it. Today, I learned I could handle it in short bursts.

She continued to tie me up sweetly but tightly. I didn't know what to expect; Kristine stuffed my mouth with a red bandana and sealed my lips with strips of tape. I was seated on a wooden chair so she could tie my legs, and Steve took the camera to film my torso alone without getting her on camera while she bound my ankles and thighs. A test run, if you will.

Lights. Camera. Action.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 1 Chapter 2: Then It Began
Saturday, October 11, 2014

Just to be clear the photos are not me but closely resemble me… or are they me? Heh heh.

Now I am gagged with socks and black tape and tied with white rope while wearing a gray suit. Kristinie is binding my legs even further, and she is taunting me to no end about how I had been caught embezzling from the company and to play along with her or get handed over to the proper authorities.

I grunted into the gag, but I got no good results out of that. The socks in my mouth completely soaked up my saliva and my words. More and more and more rope bound me until Steve was completely satisfied with what she had done to me. Kristine took my cheeks in her hands and tightly squeezed them while letting me know that I had to share the stolen money or be left in the office bound and gagged like this until all the other colleagues returned on Monday.

That wasn’t a good prospect.

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Interlude 01: How I Got to Juvie
November 26, 2012

“I don't care about your opinion. It's illegal, so don't do it,” my friend Casey derided my habits.
“It's only one joint a day. It doesn't hurt me. F-ck off,” I turned away from my fellow junior.
“Fine. Do what you want. When you're in trouble, I’ll still help you in any way I can.”
“Hey, Hannah,” my boyfriend, Greg, 8 years my senior, greeted me, “Need a light?”
“Yeah, and I’m hotboxing this one,” I rolled up the window.
“Jesus still loves you!” the annoyingly preachy girl called again as we drove away.

I shouldn't have done it, but when you try to sell to an undercover cop…

I learned I wasn't invincible when I was getting my Miranda rights read. Handcuffs secured my arms behind me. To jail I went as the co-possessor of a felony amount of weed. I was a high school junior in a very, very screwed up situation. Talk about noncon bondage…

——————————————————————————————

As if the present rope wasn't enough, Kristine added a third rope to my arms. My chest perked out a bit, and I could see the thrill in her eyes. I ignored her though and focused my emotions on the camera, to which I turned in a wide-eyed terror. I let out a sharp, short desperate screech and twisted my torso while staring angrily at her first and Steve second.

That “deer in the headlights” look of panic was borne of true fear. I imagined myself just as I was when I was being led to the police car. My heart sank, and I felt absolute desperation. My friends had warned me and pleaded with me to do the right thing; I did all the wrong things instead. Over the next 13 months, that look of panic returned many more times before making one final appearance. Filling my mind with thoughts like those made it easy to perform, but I did put myself on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

I heard the heels clack a little and turned to see that Kristine, her mood shifted toward mischief, now held a paddle. I twisted myself on the chair to protect myself, and she threateningly shook the paddle. Rolling me over effortlessly, Kristine gave me a sharp rap with the paddle on each cheek and pulled me back up like a sack of potatoes. She grabbed a piece of rope and tied a chest harness as if I wasn’t tied tightly enough already.

I wasn't being freed any time soon; it was apparent that this scene was only just at the beginning. Unfortunately, I needed to pee, but I could hold it. It wasn't the first time I had desperate needs go unfulfilled. It had been over a year since the last time someone hugged me, but I sure wasn't getting one. Were those tears I felt in the corners of my eyes?

The show must go on.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 02: The Courtroom

My parents never bailed me out. Instead, during the few days that passed between my arrest and my first hearing, they disowned me, as I would discover later. I wondered how much they loved me to do that so quickly to their only child, and Greg never bailed me out either. Instead, I spent that time between my arrest and my hearing in juvenile detention. Alas, I was just as forsaken at that hearing, and, some weeks later, at my actual court date and sentencing, they finally showed. In exchange for my good behavior, the judge sentenced me to only 12 months with the bonus of getting my record expunged if I got no further offenses between my release and my emancipation and maintained good behavior. I had spent one Christmas in juvie, and I would spend another in there as well. I was going to share a cell block with two of my customers as well.

“I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll fix myself,” I said when the bailiff, a sympathetic man, allowed me to pause and talk to them.
Awkward silence
“I’ll change! I will; I will; I will!” I whined desperately in my orange clothes.
Continued silence
“I love you!” I whined desperately, but they turned away as I was led away.

They didn’t love me.

——————————————————————————————



Am I beautiful, in your opinion? Come on, look at those big eyes! See me and my lovely tits on the chair? I squirmed and followed each order on how to pose for each photograph. Photos were so much harder than film! But, after 40 or so shots, we returned to filming. I’ll talk about the art of the photo shoot in the next story.

I let out a groan as Kristine pulled me off the chair and pushed me onto the floor. She figured a nice hogtie was just what I needed and connected my ankles to my wrists in a cruel manner. I was now truly in a terrible position with this hogtie, and I continued to play my role to what I hoped was perfection.

Being tied up was a genuine pleasure, and the present company brought the fun back into it. Oh, sure, I was a paid actress, but I was one who knew how to enjoy it too. I hoped that there would be many more experiences here and that all would be so pleasant.

Did I say pleasant?

Yes, being hogtied is pleasant, but being spanked and tortured in other ways isn’t pleasant. To my contentment, in this debut film I was left to show off my chops. Kristine left me hogtied on the floor, and Steve filmed me squirming about on the basement carpet. I looked at him and then at the lovely Kristine. My debut was going as well as I could hope, but there were no guarantees because we’re humans and have mood swings. I wanted to… grind her… just like Michela, my cellmate in juvie. Michela would be out in another month, a long time to wait in loneliness such as the kind I was experiencing.

The clothesline was tight, and I couldn’t think of a time my friends had bound my arms so tightly behind me during the games we had played over that three month period of my life. That was… back when I was younger, more innocent, and maybe even a good person. I felt sorry for myself in an unhealthy way… they hadn’t experienced what I had. But I deserved it, too.

It was odd though having to pretend to be kidnapped. With my friend Casey, she just nabbed me one day and went to work tying me up while I threatened to get revenge on her for it before she finally gagged me. With that kind of tie up game, or TUG, emotions came naturally, whereas I had to force them in some way in order to not seem wooden. This is only my version of events.

“Mmmm mmmm mmmmm!” I yelled into the fabric stuffed in my mouth.
“I can't understand you,” Kristine taunted me, “You're going to give us some of the money?”
“Nooo! Mmm nnnnn mmmnnn mmmmm mmmmm!” I threatened her.
“You're an angry girl. Some time in the closet might change your mind.”
“Nnnnn mmmm nnnnn!” I groaned as she dragged me away.
“Now, for not surrendering, when I come back, you will not only agree to give us the money but also agree to be my plaything until Monday if you want to go free.”
“Noooooo!” I wailed one last time before she shut the door.

I remained in the darkness wailing and yelling for about 2 minutes before she opened the door to pull me out. I assumed this was a segue into the next part based on her wicked cackle. Being so powerless brought back some bad memories, but I suppressed them for the moment.

Me and my dumb thoughts.

The hogtie was undone, and Kristine sat me back in the same chair. An unfriendly rope attached my wrists to my ankles after winding around the support struts. I had gone from my arms and legs being stuck in one way to them being stuck in a different way. The chair tie, however, was much more comfortable.

Of course it could get much worse than the hogtie even with a chair tie. There was now an irritating pressure on my feet because of the high heels, and Kristine added an extra rope around the heels and my ankles and arches to ensure the heels stayed in place. It didn't take long for high heel bondage to become suffering, and I dreaded the thought of a standing strappado or predicament while wearing these or any other heel.

But I was beautiful.

I was dressed in a nice suit, and I was bound and gagged. Now I was squirming about in a bid to escape this. Steve never forbade escaping and encouraged it, but I had to do so without Kristine catching me. All was captured so that men (mostly) could buy the resulting video and photos for their entertainment. It was a comforting thought that men (and maybe girls too) were jerking off to the sight of me like this. It was better than me being duct taped so my boyfriend could force me into sex with him on the occasions I wasn't in the mood. It was also an improvement over the unnecessary cavity searches that involved body parts. Oh,, the Minnesota juvenile prison system has some really bad people in it.

It seemed unreal that I was getting paid to do this. It was the difference between the games I had played with my friends, the sex scenes with Greg, and erotica. My goal was to not only get paid but also to do well enough that Steve and the fans both wanted more of it. More work equates to more money. More money equals more bills paid. I suppressed these thoughts lest I falter.

“Mmmmm!” I struggled while Steve filmed me.

The suit did wonders because of its thick fabric. With enough struggling, the ropes began sliding down my arms, but the hose didn’t accomplish the same on my legs. Most likely, Kristine hadn't tied me as tightly as she could have; after all, the product is girls struggling to escape their bonds and not just wailing! If they can't escape at all, there's nothing to see!

The rope slid further, and I felt the knot on my arms loosening. I was free. Kristine just smiled from where she stood, and as I pulled the arms off my wrists I felt a strong feeling of satisfaction. Steve faded out the film after I pulled the tape off my lips. my bondage film debut was done.

I continued to untie myself solo. The wet socks were gross, but it came with the territory. I had to unknot the leg ropes because they couldn't slide off those tightly bound heels, but all of the arm ropes slid right off. I stood up, dusted myself off, and confidently strode over to Kristine, who stood four inches than me but was now close because of the heels.

“I know what you're thinking; I’ve known even dominant personalities. Next time I escape, I tie you up; got it?”
“Deal,” she was a good sport, “Was it fun? It’s work posing for the photos, but it’s as fun as you make it be.”
“Fun? It was more than fun; it felt good. I haven't been consensually bound in years, but I have been bound at least 75 times in that span.”
“You need to see a therapist. Carrying that kind of trauma is unhealthy,” she was sympathetic.
“Nope,” I declare emphatically, “Not in the budget.”
“Hopefully we can change that,” Steve remarked to me, and I wondered if I had a grip on reality.

The $200 cash felt so good in my pocket, and I knew not to waste it. I had to use this for those things like food and gas in order to ensure I had enough in the checking account to pay the bills. I had to pay those bills in order to keep my internet, electricity, and water!

But winter was coming.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 2 Chapter 1: Autumn’s Chill
Saturday, November 22, 2014

November came, and with it came pain. Suddenly, the $200 from Steve wasn’t enough anymore; it’s expensive to heat a house in Minnesota, even a small one like this shack. Between that and other needs for the house, including repairing leaky windows and wrapping pipes because my landlord wouldn’t do it, I found both my modeling money drained by the 10th.

I sat with the last “treat” I had before it was back to a steady diet of beans again. I could just see the headstone in my mind Hannah Larsson Mar. 18, 1996 - Nov. 22, 2014. I took a liking to torturing myself by occasionally glancing at the Cool Girls’ Club and seeing what those girls were doing with their happy lives and made myself sad seeing the club I helped start growing so well without me. To circle back, the “treat” was a bag of Lay’s potato chips. Beans, more beans and water, to the grave!

No one needs me, I thought despondently, But someday somebody will.

I always get asked if I struggled with suicidal ideation at this time, and the truth is that I didn’t give it a thought at this point. I kept before myself the hope that I would someday either get the courage to return to my old friends or would meet somebody new. This was my second “sign” that I wasn’t as agnostic as I thought I was.

I curled up with the blanket my grandmother had made me before she passed away and fingered its tightly crocheted fabric. A tear rolled down my cheek as I sat up and studied from one of my textbooks. I missed her so much; she’d never have abandoned me in this situation; she’d be the first one to hug me and offer to make me a homemade beef stew and give me lots of nice, warm blankets to sleep on her sofa. Oh ,sure, there was Grandma Larsson, but I scandalized her when her son, my father, disowned me.

BZZZT! my cell phone vibrates.
Would you like to come over again tomorrow? We got a request for you, it was Steve!
Sure! I sent back without a thought, What time?
10 AM; we’ll feed you girls afterwards, I didn’t miss that plural.
Thanks! I’ll be there!

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 03: Arrival
Monday, November 26, 2012

When I arrived at the prison, I was subjected to my first strip search. As I would learn quickly, Mr. Reardon, as he demanded we call him, enjoyed doing these; the other guards that watched did not do anything to stop him. In fact, Mr. Reardon tended to pull blondes aside and subject them to extra searches compared to the rest of the girls. Lucky me.

“I’m 16 you f-cking creep!” I said to him, but he laughed. I was the one that’s handcuffed.
“Just a reminder,” a guard coldly added, “Profanity from here out gets you demoted points.”

An orange jumpsuit that says JUVENILE across the shoulders, white panties, a white sports bra, and orange slip on shoes were my outfit for the next 12 months. I was angry at myself and at others with plenty of good cause, but I was most angry at my parents for dumping me instead of helping me. Even just “We’re hurt, but we love you” would have been better.

“Hey, blondie, what are you in for?” my cellmate finally asked me.
“Felony drug possession… and you?” I stupidly asked back.
“Assualt,” she seemed calm, “I was the good girl all my life until I made that mistake.”
“I made bad life choices; I deserve it.”
“My dad violated me,” she sounded robotic in fact, “He's in jail for hurting me, his daughter.”
“Oh, well,” I am relieved to get a normal person as my cellmate, “Let's make the best of it.”
“I’m Michela. Just beware of Clarissa and hope she moves out. I used to play hockey.”

——————————————————————————————

Bondage has a strange allure to it, and today I am getting to join one of the features of the website, called “Girls Gone Wild.” He gathers 2-4 girls and lets them loose. Any of them may work together or against each other to tie up as many of the other girls as they like, so it could be a free-for-all, 3 against 1, a series of betrayals. It can have as much or as little intrigue as the girls provide. I understand he once had 6, but today it was 3 based on the texts.

KNOCK KNOCK! I heard on my own door as I was readying to leave.
“Michela!” I opened the door after checking through the peephole, “Oh, my goodness!”
“Hannah!” I was greeted by Michela Palmeri, who immediately hugged me, “I’m out!”
“You're out!” we exchanged a charged kiss, free to do so finally, “I didn’t know!”
“We talked about this on the phone and during your visits?” my cellmate seemed rejuvenated.
“Well, come with me, I was just headed out on some business and could use the help.”

Michela is more than happy to oblige me. What more could she do with the one girl from prison with whom she broke the rules? We had fun breaking the rules on the many occasions we did so, and I can’t forget those times. Perhaps I can create another unforgettable moment today. Joyous is the right word to convey my mood. Michela is hesitant when I tell her I am a bondage model.

“Does that mean guys tie you up?” she asks with disgust, “Gag you and stuff?”
“Not necessarily. I asked that only girls tie me, and they’re cool with it. They’re really nice.”
“That’s good,” she sighs in relief, “That would have been a no go for me otherwise.”

Fetish modeling isn’t her dream job, but she’s along for the ride whether she partakes or not. She had the fortune to go home, after her imprisonment, to live with her mother and sisters, but being a broken family was better than going back to being her father’s toy. I wished I had such peace, but she has no peace either as we’re about to learn.

Here I was wearing a bandana and sweatpants with drawstrings. Michela teased me that I would not have gotten past the visitation security door with those before, and she was right. We had a good laugh about how “against the prison” rules my outfit is; she admitted to me that she heard a little bit about what happened to me while she was still inside. She didn't divulge the details, but we knew that my second trip to juvie unfortunately didn't bring us together during that one week I was there.

Michela didn't challenge that I was doing this for money; in fact, she told me that, while there are more noble ways to earn a dollar, at least I stuck to legal ways of doing it. Before, I was a pusher of illegal drugs. Once you’ve been inside, you don’t see life the same anymore; when you’re one of those individuals who honestly made a mistake whether by bad choices or by unchecked anger and who is genuinely sorry, it scars you and scares you. It’s especially scary when you know that one girl will one day be in the news as an adult for something more serious or that one podmate who will inevitably get moved to the adult prison because they’re charged as one.

“I wish I’d known you were getting out; I’d have come and seen you sooner or asked you over.”
“I got out yesterday, silly,” she chuckled and grinned, “I had your letters to get me here.”
“It was so weird visiting you, too,” I admitted, “They wouldn’t let me do so until I was 18.”
“Almost four years there, and do you know I spent only 10 days total below Level III?”
“We’d have been in MV status all the time if they knew what we were doing!”
“I know,” she smiled and melted into the seat.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 04: Structured Life

From when I first arrived while awaiting my first hearings until I was sentenced, I was in the routine. What changed after sentencing was that I had to become part of the prison population. Every day was extremely structured.



Go to the tab labeled “Old”

You start at Level II, and higher numbers are better. You advance based on scores from the staff, and if you do poorly you can drop a level or more. Snapping at a guard affected my score two or three times, but I learned to hold my tongue. There were 100-something of us. I was glad to get paired with Michela as two of the few who were here and not in some way completely insane. It was a small facility, which made it easy to ID enemies, allies, and in-betweens. You can see that you spend a lot of time in the pod, a fancy name for the prison cell area.

Of course, for me, recreation time about once per week included a search at the hands of one Mr. Reardon, which sometimes meant he and/or other guards exploring my vagina or anus with their raw parts, male or female. They were all psychos who thankfully finally got busted. There was also the bully of Pod F, Clarissa.

Michela really was a nice person who had, in my opinion, merely defended herself against her r-pist, father or not. She was a couple inches taller than me and had beautiful brown hair. In short, she was a doll, and after my release I kept in contact with her. We were aided by being born just a week apart. I had no idea just how bad her father was until after she got out of juvie.

Through Michela and Clarissa, I discovered a new side of myself.

——————————————————————————————

“Here we are, the bondage emporium of Steve and Marcy,” I announced and parked the car.

I have explained thoroughly to Michela what bondage is and how I got into it; to my happiness, she remembered Casey Clark from her visits and photos. Admittedly, I had gone off grid since leaving the slammer, and I hadn’t revealed anything to Casey and always deleted her texts with no more than an indirect response such as a one-word answer or an emoji. My life was mine to screw up, and I didn’t want such a good person to get taken out as collateral damage. She didn't seem to be shocked by the existence of bondage and perhaps even knew of it from before. What I wish I knew then; she still to this point hadn't told me what her father had actually done to her.

“Do you still like it?” she asked me before opening the car door.
“I love being tied up and tying people up and miss my old friends, but I’m a bad influence.”
“Maybe you’re not. Just because you spent a year in juvie doesn’t mean you’re bad forever.”
“Nah,” I dismissed it, “If I end up winning, you’re going back to my place in the trunk.”
“Oooh,” she became shrill, “You are a kinky girl. FYI, my mom knows and approves.”
“Maybe I am,” I grinned and opened the door, “And good to know that late returns are allowed.”

Michela stood up, tall and beautiful with her gorgeous hair. We had survived this far. Mistakes had been made and corrected. I was straight even if miserable; now I was being trusted to help her stay straight, pun intended. We were a source of comfort to each other in a difficult period of our lives and now continue to be friends.

Holding hands, we walked up to the house.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 05: Basics

Those of us who were Level III and up were usually not subjected to those “staff discretion” bullet points. The hard part was getting that perfect score because there was one guard whom I really had to hit all the rules or she’d ding me a fraction of a point. Ten perfect (3.0+) scores (per shift, not per day) earned an inmate a “Positive Performance Snack (PPS),” which was basically a treat for doing well. I’ll explain the rules and all that another time. Yeah, I’m going into a lot of details because there’s a lot to say and many chapters in which to say it; we’ll get to Greg as well.

Recreation time was up for grabs. We had books, gym equipment, TV, and more such “prison safe” or easily supervised activities. We had to behave well to be permitted to do these things, but we were permitted nevertheless. There were also classes beyond school for things like CPR, self-defense, and anger management; these contributed both to mood and to the scores.

——————————————————————————————

“Steve, I brought a friend along for the shoot, if you approve,” I explained.
“Hmmm…,” he sized her up, “She should still fill out the questionnaire. I’ll print one up.”
“I’ll get right on it, sir! I like being asked questions!” my brunette accomplice bubbled.
“Now I loathe them. Loathe,” it started with the jail interrogations for me.
“You’ve been friends for a long time?” Kristine asked, “She pushes your buttons well.”
“Yes, ma’am, we go back a little ways,” I deflected well enough that no suspicions were aroused.

I sat down and helped Michela with the questionnaire, and to my surprise she was willing to try just about anything as long as I did it to her. One thing that I realized now that made us different from the rest was that we were in better shape than the others, and Michela was trim and stronger than I was. The third girl, another blonde named Brianna, was completely out of shape but slim. I had no idea why, but Kristine seemed to recognize Michela.

“She’ll be fine,” Steve said as he took the sheet from Michela, “Brave girl.”
“Sir, I’ll be brave as long as I’m with Hannah here,” she corrected him with lust in her eyes.
“We accommodate such requests. Go down to the basement and pick out some outfits.”
“Any musts?” I asked, not wanting to cause delays, my hands behind my back.
“Must have heels,” he winked.
“Yes, sir!” I answered him and led Michela down the stairs.
“Well, that was a prisoner's convo if I ever saw one,” Michela whispered in my ear.

We said “Sir” and “Ma’am” too many times. Stood up like soldiers. I even had my hands back behind me. Yep. I chose a pair of blue jeans and a greenish-gray t-shirt for myself. He wanted heels; he got heels, tan ones. I made sure the denim was skin tight, showing every possible curve that could be seen. I took off my bra so that the shirt would show my nipples through the fabric.

Then there was Michela Palmeri standing there in that same prisoner pose that I, too, still showed in all aspects of my life, especially when I was standing on duty in Best Buy. I took a look at her Italian skin and knew just what she needed. A gray woolen skirt and a navy argyle sweater with navy, cream, and forest green. Black heels finished the sheepish girl’s outfit.

I turned and saw Kristine in a red plaid skirt and a red tank top with similar heels. Brianna wore a black and white checkered fabric with a blue ribbed sweater and, of course, black heels. We all had hose as well. It was perfect. We were gorgeous! Gorgeous! I hugged Michela tightly; once again, my life had meaning, a reason to live. Friendship felt so good, and it’s only been an hour!

It was time to introduce Michela to the rules of the industry.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 2 Chapter 2: Working It Out
Saturday, November 22, 2014

“You look so beautiful,” I said to Michela.
“Is it too much ‘rich girl privilege’ to be doing this for fun days after I’m sprung?”
“Sprung?” Brianna asked in shock, “You were in prison?”
“Hey, f-ck you!” Michela got offended, “I learned unlike other sh-ts in there!”
“Lay off if, Bree,” I was simmering as well, “We’re trying to get our lives back.”
“Have they struck you as goofy yet?” Kristine asked her snarkily, “C’mon, they’re good.”
“Sorry,” the new girl blushed, “I’ve never met a prison girl before.”
“I’m sure you have,” Kristine carried a suitcase full of sarcasm with her.
“It’s all good,” a smile formed on my face, and I relaxed knowing it was initial shock.

“Girls Gone Wild” isn't as wild as it sounds. It simply means we create our own scenes without Steve interfering. With this, it's fairly easy for three to gang up on one and then two to gang up on one. I knew Michela would get it first, and I wanted it to be that way so I could be sure she was comfortably tied up and not scared. But it’s still staged in a sense. Photos will still be a part of the proceedings.

We ascended the stairs with Michela and I in perfect march. Honestly, it was disturbing just how programmed we were, especially Michela with her 45 months in juvie. The biggest part of it was that she basically lost four years of her life: of friends, family, hockey, etc. She seemed to still be mentally incarcerated, and to this day she still is as are others.

As we entered the living room again, I realized that I was holding my hands behind my back and that I specifically stooped to make sure my jeans weren't rolled up. I was ruined, whether I liked it or not. To this day, I still won’t roll up my sleeves or pant legs except when doing dishes, and I still clasp my hands behind my back or face the wall when waiting for something because of the routines that were repeated daily.

“You girls understand what is expected?” Steve asked after explaining everything.
“Huh? Sorry,” Michela was staring at me instead, “New girl nerves.”
“Have fun, don't get hurt, be careful. One girl accidentally clawed Kristine during one of these.”
“OK, sir. Larsson and… Um… Hannah, Bree, Kris, and I will… We're on it sir!”
“Really subtle,” I smiled at her.
“Heh, heh, we’re obvious, aren't we?”

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 06: A Typical Weekday Part 1

They call it “Juvenile Detention” because “Youth Prison” sounds as bad as it is. I stayed here while awaiting trial. Then, some come back for more time like I did. Your parents are called, and it’s just like being in the Big House until they send you back long term. It's all one building with the prison and the courthouse. But on one side there are wooden doors, and the other side has a series of locking doors.

You get provided everything: clothes, soap, toothpaste, comb, toothbrush. Those of us who liked our hair accessories go nutty the first week or two. The good ones (II+) could call people during the night recreation (rec) time, but only my grandma and friends ever answered me. Phone calls are another topic as are showers.

All mail is searched, so my letters to and from Casey were devoid of the topic of TUGs. We had good conversations, and Grandma sent me a letter or a card every week in the Monday mail. It was almost as frequent to and from Casey, and I still have every letter both of them sent me. If I hadn’t had those letters, I would have been hopeless upon release. Casey would be among many friends who looked out for me when I was inside.

Money is an important commodity too. You had to have money provided by your parents. Since I was legally disowned, my grandmother technically became my guardian, and she provided all of these things as well. Certain things, but not many, could only be had with money. We’ll talk about that too.

And don’t forget shift score vs. day score! Go to “Score” and “Points”



Brutal. You have to score a three-day average of 20 each day to stay a IV. 15-19 puts you at III. 10-15 puts you at II. 5-9 puts you at I. Anything less gets you put into MV status again. As you see, it is extremely easy to tumble down the ladder, but it requires effort to be docked points.

——————————————————————————————

LIGHTS. CAMERA. ACTION.

“Come on; I want you to meet some friends,” I grabbed Michela’s hand.
“Oh, all right, I won't get hurt, I suppose,” the hottie in the sweater and woolen skirt followed.
“Who's the new girl?” Brianna questioned me.
“This is my friend; she was just hired a week ago.”
“I recognize her face from the security cameras!” Kristine sneereed, “Drawer thief!”
“Me?!”
“Yeah, that’s right! I’m missing stuff too!” Brianna added her own perspective.
“You stole from them?!” I pretended to be horrified.

Michela withdrew a little and looked a bit nervous. Sweat formed on her brow, and I think her mouth dried out based on how she was stumbling over her own speech. She realized that she was in trouble as Kristine made a false list of items taken, including a ruler, a ballpoint pen, and a notepad with Brianna adding to the list.

“I’ll return it all! I swear!” gulped Michela.
“You know what we do to bad girls in this office!” Brianna threatened her.
“Face it; you did it! Get fired, or cooperate,” I sided against her.
“I need this job too badly,” she looked down, “Tell me what to do.”
“Cross your wrists behind your back and sit down,” I tell her coldly, “NOW! Orders!”
“Yes, ma’am!” she instantly did what I wanted in prison precision.

Brianna bound the inflexible Michela’s wrists and breasts while I stuffed a crew sock in her mouth and sealed her lips with green duct tape. Kristine bound her ankles, knees, and thighs. Michela's only experience with bondage, in my knowledge, had been handcuffs in the justice system and a straitjacket/muzzle after getting into a fight with another inmate. WRONG.

Michela looked toward me for approval much of the time rather than at the camera. She was squirming quite a bit, but she wasn’t too loud. The captive was trying to talk for sure, but we weren’t too certain what she was trying to say because she hadn’t experience with gag talking. She looked so adorable with the hose and skirt and writhing about on the chair. It didn’t take long for her to throw her heels away from her face.

Now, we stepped back and let Steve take photos of Michela’s bondage modeling debut in that way he did so perfectly.

“MMM! EH -E -O!” was going to become the phrase that made Michela a star.

A love story had been reignited. Yes, I mean me and Michela. She seemed familiar with the art of struggling in bondage. I watched her move perfectly for Steve’s orders despite her discomfort with the entire situation. Men and she were a bad mix. At one moment, she seemed to lose her peace, as if she were recalling something horrid. How little I knew, while watching her skirt ride up her, just how sordid the truth could be.

All I knew was that I was aroused by the sight.



——————————————————————————————

Interlude 07: A Typical Weekday Part 2

For every bit I hated Mr. Reardon, I loved Mrs. Copley and Ms. Schumaker. After two days of school, I realized these teachers cared more for my success than the Mudville High ones did. I also realized the people here paid more attention to us than most of our parents had. There were many staffers who sincerely wanted to see our lives fixed; some just wanted a paycheck; others were losers. Fortunately, that list was in order by commonality.

Mrs. Copley was the afternoon shift of security, and she was an absolute joy. She was one of the two who said she had personally received mail about how she had changed the lives of kids who had been in this center. Her every effort was toward improving our quality of life, and I admit I was one of those kids who sent her a letter thanking her. She was the one who told me I’d be a good fit for the job I have today. Thank you, Mrs. Copley.

Ms. Schumaker was my English teacher. She was the one who, on my first day after my arrest, told me to “make the most of it” and helped me to get my G.E.D. within my first five months in the clink. Without her encouraging me to press onwards, I never would have succeeded. She realized that English and history were wastes of my time because I was so talented at both so I could crash course in the other subjects.

Cooldown periods were a thing where you asked for up to 60 minutes away from the prisoners, typically due to anger issues. More than two of them got you on the list for mandated psychiatric treatment, and I used it twice myself. I wasn't angry at anyone; I was too embarrassed to be seen crying by the others. Nervous breakdowns were the worst part.

I just wanted to be home again.

——————————————————————————————

Off with the heels! I watched Michela struggle and felt that thirst I hadn’t felt since the last time we were grinding. The black pantyhose was delicious, and the best part was Steve asking me to take away the chair and dump her on the floor. I left her on her knees and took the chair. Wails came from the captive while she posed for more photos following his every instruction. Michela even gave him the middle finger!

“This is all your fault. You were the one who recommended this monster,” Kristine dropped facts.
“You mean you're gonna?” I grew wide-eyed and take a defensive posture
“I have to. You know, you're a problem and, well, you need some quiet time.”
“Quiet time?” she used prison words that crushed my spirit, “Please, no!”
“Grab her and hold her,” ordered the dominatrix, motioning for Brianna to do it.
“Yes, ma’am,” Brianna approached me, “With pleasure.”

I didn’t like Brianna at this time, and I didn’t have a reason to like or dislike her. Michela hated her though. I was merely offended by the rude introduction, but Michela was bent out of shape about it. I would learn later that this was because all of Michela’s friends had abandoned her the moment they knew she’d been arrested. To this day, her former best friend still has Michela on every social media block list despite the truth being known about what had happened.

I got beautifully torqued though. My arms were tied in multiple places so that my elbows tightly touched, and several spots along my legs were bound. A simple purple bandana cleave gag was all that reduced my speech, but it was a tight one at that. I was dropped on a chair in another part of the room and left to myself for Steve to photograph. Ah, the beauty of photography though.

The set we were using today was a converted metal garage space where Steve’s wife hosted large gatherings related to work and family. We were in one space that was simply carpeted, and it included a garage-like shed. It was big and spacious, quite uncomfortably gray on the sides in the unfinished parts. No one would know it was a bondage studio at times.

Now it was my turn to be photographed…

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 08: A Typical Weekday Part 3

From day one until my trial was more like one month, so I really spent more than just a year in prison. Day to day life was rough at first. Look back at that schedule. See “visitation”? If you had no visitors, it was quiet time in the pod for you. “Exercise” in the morning was really gym class for school. We played sports, did a lot of running, and spent time on weight machines. It was actually good. Those things were all easy to supervise. Honestly, the sports and recreation times were the only times we got to feel like we were kids still.

Quiet time and recreation time are the other variables in the schedule. The former you spent in your cell, either sleeping, daydreaming, or reading. The first few months I spent almost all of the time reading and, thanks to Ms. Schumaker, getting even further ahead in school. Rec time was the other time we got to be kids. If you were a III+, you could use the gym under supervision or check out board games from the kiosk. This was the only time the doors were left open, albeit only over the paths in which you were permitted to walk. You still had to scan your card before you could pass through these doorways. Once you had a couple of friends, you forgot you were in prison until either a voice came over the speakers or you looked and remembered you were all wearing prison jumpsuits. Rec time was also when we had the “programs” and church services.

Every day we had to make our beds and put things back in neat piles just as the rules demanded. An official but generous lady inspected our cells. On Saturdays, we had to clean the cell, which was scrubbing the vanity, toilet, and mirror and dusting; we also had to exchange our sheets and blankets on Saturdays; we got clean jumpsuits on Sundays; clean underwear came daily..

Breakfast was in the cell, and, if you didn't like your food, too bad. You couldn't give it to your cellmate who did, and you couldn't trade your blueberry muffin for her bran muffin. Those were both “disobedience” and a docking of five points. Then quiet time came afterwards, and it's hard to sit there for 30-120 minutes at a time without ever talking. You learn to whisper and signal.

For lunch, we walked to the dining hall to eat. With 115 girls in a facility designed to hold 128, it wasn’t sparse. Those others were variable depending on which crimes girls were committing that month and sometimes were full. The designer realized that the youth detention model was broken and that we had our own needs. Dinner was the same. During morning break, we got a crappy packaged snack to eat in our pods of up-to 16 girls, and we were expected to eat it or else.

Three more like this, and then I promise an actual “day in jail” narrative! We also had the big day where we exchanged our stereotypical orange jumpsuits for new ones that weren’t orange. You see, in some places, juvenile prison and detention are separate; here in southern Minnesota, there aren’t enough of us so we all get rounded up into one facility for both.

——————————————————————————————

“An- -en ah -eh ou- uh thith, Ah’ll hie -ou uh!” I threatened Brianna and Kristine.

Photos. It’s no small task. It’s actually a lot of work to get those photos you see. That top row alone probably took 10-12 shots to get what you see. A lot gets deleted. But, it’s worth it. I’m beautiful and getting paid for it; at least, this was in Steve’s opinion. Steve was the mastermind of the operation, and I trusted his judgment. Frankly, it’s tiresome to do photos because I have to hold the position as long as Steve needs to get the shot right.

After a brief photo set, my shirt was pulled up, and I posed for more photos with my breasts all exposed. I had consented to this before, but this was the first time it had happened. Michela paused and lustfully examined my bare boobs and belly, and I winked at her back. There was no doubt in my mind what we were doing afterwards. More shots of Michela followed as well.



I was on another similar chair to Michela and struggled a bit. Mostly, I was trying to twist about in order to get a good measure for my binding. I turned my head and pulled my arms enough to see my thrice-bound arms and knew what I was battling now. Shimmying my arms was the first thing to try.

Michela and I struggled quite a bit and worked up a good sweat. We had been left alone except for Mrs. Moreau, and I wiggled towards Michela. As time went by, I soaked the bandana more and more with my spit, and the fabric softened. We were not being watched too closely, and I pushed the gag out of my mouth.

“Hey, hot stuff,” I gave Michela a quiet kiss on the gagged lips.
“Mmm,” my friend relaxed.
“Think you could give me a hand? I plan to get revenge on those other two.”
“Mmmph!” she sat up with a twinkle in her eye and nodded.
“All right, try to untie some of these knots on my arms,” I scooted into position.
“Mmmm,” Michela began trying to fulfill this request.

Oh, I had been tied up plenty of times between my release and my modeling, but I am not ready to talk about that. This was my first time having fun with TUGs since I was a Cool Girl. Those were good, happy days before I screwed up my life with my poor decisions.

Michela was such a newbie but an adorable one at that. She squeaked in an energetic way that reminded me of one of my pre-trouble TUG friends and carefully tried to untie the knots of my arm bonds. I giggled a little, and Mrs. Moreau looked at us and smiled. Here we were, the stereotypical “barely legal” girls with Michela turning 18 while she was in the penitentiary and shortly before her release and me turning 18 shortly after my own release.

Her less flexible fingers were actually an advantage in this scenario because she had a firmer grip and slipped less than I would. Without bound elbows, despite having less bend in her arms she still had enough mobility to twist around when I flopped onto my side so she could more easily reach my elbow bonds. I could tell she was smiling under the green tape, but she didn't seem too fond of the gag itself.

“You got this, girl,” I gave her an encouraging smile and sat up as the ropes released.
“Ayyyy!” she squealed excitedly.
“Now, I promise I’ll be back for you, OK?” I started untying my legs.
“Mmm hmm,” Michela nodded trustingly.
“Just know we'll probably be back for more photos of you. You're a doll!”
“Awww,” she blushed and winked at me, “ank hou!”

I grabbed her face in my hands and gave her a big smack on the gagged lips before I stood up. Kristine and Brianna were certainly elsewhere with one of them tied up for a shoot. The bigger questions were who was tied up and where was the other one? I only had two choices really since they weren't on the open shed floor. Either they were in the garage, or they were in the second shooting room. I put my ear against a door and heard Steve giving general orders without a name to someone. I turned the door knob and swung it open…

[AlexUSA3]

Story 2 Chapter 3: Michela and Me
Saturday, November 22, 2014

“Ahhhh ha ha! Look at you, bitch!” I cackled loudly at Brianna.

Brianna’s arms were ruthlessly tied behind her back with a mile of rope. Likely double-sided tape and a navy bandana gagged her with a cute, immovable OTM. Her harness was nice and tight and pushed her big tits out from her chest. Along her legs were several coils of rope that bound her without mercy. Oh, yes, she had lost the encounter with Kristine.

Brianna glared at me and stomped her feet on the ground while Steve took photos. In a moment, he would be changing to filming, and I would get the motion to attack. She glared at both me and Steve some more and continued stomping and squealing into that gag, which I was certain now included stuffing based on the sounds she made. As she turned on the chair, Brianna moved her hands like she was promising to strangle Kristine, me, and/or Steve after this. I figured she was straight, but I found her struggle to be arousing.

Now she tried the puppy eyes maneuver, and she found I wasn’t too sympathetic in that regard at all. I was bent on revenge for her earlier comment about Michela and me, and I didn’t fall for her routines. Some more stomping followed, but then Steve gave me the motion to move. I was in for part 3 of “Girls Gone Wild” featuring Brianna!

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 09: The Other Podmates
Sunday, January 13, 2013

Clarissa, what a bitch. Absolutely horrible and hopeless psychopath. The only reason for her to be in juvie was a clerical error because she was a monster from the get-go even if the offense that got her sent up here was grand theft auto. I was warned she was a dangerous one, and she was.

Clarissa was a big, tall Latina, I think. Anyway, one day she got confrontational with one of our podmates, during my first month or so since we were still wearing orange, and I didn't like it. The guard couldn't tell it was a confrontation because of how they were talking through their teeth, but I put myself between Clarissa and Ashley.

“Get out of the way, Larsson!” Clarissa seethed.
“You're gonna punch her over this. Really? Get an MV?”
“I said to get the F out!” the girl towered over me,
“You want Ash? You're gonna have to take me out first!”
“Fine!” Clarissa grabbed me by the shirt and swung, and I dragged her to the carpet.

There we were rolling around until Phoebe got into it as well and pulled Clarissa off me, but not before she had bruised one of my ribs and I had given her a bloody nose. Guards swarmed around us in an instant, and handcuffs pulled my arms behind me and clipped them to my jumpsuit. Away we went.

“Are you ready to talk?” an officer asked us.
“Nmm mmm,” I shook my head and looked straight ahead.

Clarissa and I sat for real strapped like maniacs. Muzzle gags, straitjackets, and strap chairs bound us up, and Phoebe and Ashley sat simply handcuffed. There was a code of honor not to rat anyone out, and Clarissa would certainly kill whichever of us told the truth. Phoebe was only preventing us from hurting each other, and Ashley had to come as the one previously noticed as being on the other side of me.

“I’ll explain, sir,” Phoebe spoke quietly, “Hannah was jus’ tryin’ to help us.”

Phoebe was an honorable young girl who understood that honor codes were stupid in such cases and that the truth made things easier. She made it easier all right. Soon, I was no longer gagged, but I was being demoted to Level I and forced to talk to a counselor. Clarissa got to stay gagged and was, the next day, sent to the women’s prison over in Shakopee.

——————————————————————————————

“Wanna make comments about me and my friend, huh?” I called her out, “Take this!”
SMACK!, I spanked her.

It felt just like being in prison again, only instead Kristine was playing the part of Phoebe and Brianna was playing the part of Stacy. Rage now burned within me about the way Brianna had been rude to us in disgust when just a month before I had done a shoot with her without any such rudeness on display. She had messed with a girl who won the “Pod F Arm Wrestling Contest.”

“A few more for you!” I was boiling now.
BITCH! SMACK!
BITCH! SMACK!
BITCH! SMACK!, I thought and spanked.
“MMMMMM!” she squealed loudly.
“That should teach you. Based on your personality, one for every 10 years of your age, and none for the fraction,” I gave an ingratiating smile.
“Why -ou!”

And then it was tits out, my friends. I pulled her shirt up while she yelled at me angrily for all of my comments I made about her, and that day I learned the ability words and circumstances have to ruin adults as well as children. I later would receive a sternly worded email from Steve, as she also would, telling us to be more professional in our conduct off the screen. Once her tits were exposed, I pushed her down to the ground and stepped back.

Steve took about two more minutes of film while I watched and then resumed taking photos of her. I could tell my words had caused offense, and inside I felt guilt over what had been said. I distracted myself rather than apologize, though, and I walked away to find Kristine and settle the unscheduled fourth and final part of “Girls Gone Wild.”



——————————————————————————————

Interlude 10: Michela Palmeri
Sunday, January 13, 2013

I was led back to my cell from the office. Through the doors we went with my hands cuffed to my jumpsuit in the same fashion as when I was being led to and from the courthouse. Into the chamber we went past the program rooms until we finally made a right turn and arrived at Pod F, which opened after some communications. Up the stairs I went to my cell at the end, next to the showers, which the pod chief opened after pushing some buttons. I was freed from the cuffs and walked into the cell in silence, and the door shut and locked behind me.

“You're a brave young girl,” Michela praised me even though it was around 11 PM.
“Thanks,” I sheepishly grinned at her, “You’re pretty.”
“No talking in the cell during quiet time,” a guard warned us, and I took my place on the lower bunk.
“Well thank you,” Michela whispered.

I sighed and rubbed my hideously bruised rib cage in pain knowing I couldn't sleep on that side for a while. I still hadn't fully adjusted to the sleep schedule at this point, and I think Michela felt bad for me. On nights where I couldn't fall asleep, she inevitably would show her face between the mattress and the bed frame.

“Want a secret?” she whispered, “I know how to get down unseen!”
“Show me,” I said, and she rearranged her blankets and soon slid around.
“When we're done, I use the toilet and climb up like normal.”
“You want to neck with me?” I asked in shock, “We're 16 and in prison.”
“Mmm hmm. You're sweet and brave,” the new moon kept the cell dark.
“Ummm… all right!” I said.

The thought had already been in my head from when Clarissa was on top of me before. Our lips touched in a special way. We only kissed and pillow talked for about 10 minutes, but they were 10 amazing minutes. Then Michela slipped away and used the toilet before climbing back on the top bunk.

Michela had regular visits from her mother who also made sure she had all the money she needed or wanted for the commissary. As far as her mother was concerned, Michela was a hero for defending herself against a monster. Other friends and family also came to see her. She was my source of companionship during a very dark period of my life. I returned the favor by being her homework buddy and her go-to playmate during rec time.

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As I walked toward the garage area, I found a prop gun Steve would sometimes use in scenes to “scare” girls into submission, and Mrs. Moreau in particular would appear to use it to threaten an already gagged girl into shutting up. I turned and saw Kristine walking out of the bathroom, and I pointed the gun at her. Mrs. Moreau had followed me with the filming camera, so all was being captured for us as part of “Girls Gone Wild,” and we had really gone wild!

“You, shed! NOW!” I pointed with my free hand.
“You got out of that?!” Kristine looked at me in mock surprise.
“I said to get in that f-cking shed!” I feigned rage unlike before.
“OK!” she raised her hands in surrender, “No small talk.”
“Just get moving, you boss b-tch!” I was attacking ghosts for Michela’s sake now.
“Just remember you were a b-tch first by asking us to hire that thieving witch!”

That did it. As far I was concerned, Lucille was Michela and still my best friend even if in the context of a game of sorts. I forced her to walk into the shed and sit down on the chair there. I was still sore from what Brianna had said before and mad at Kristine for not defending us. We were 18, recovering from being cut off from the world, and hot-headed from bitter emotions about what had happened.

I tied Kristine’s wrists together in front of her using a piece of rope that was so long I wrapped it around 10 times before I cinched it. I forced her against the back of the chair and tied a harness that crushed her torso against the back of the chair and would have made my old friends proud of me. Then, I tied her ankles to the legs of the chair before grabbing some bungee cords I saw lying nearby.

Kristine watched helplessly as I further secured her legs even more using the stiff and tight stretch of the bungees. Not seeing anything else available in the bag I grabbed, I stuffed a bandana into her mouth and wrapped her face in a medical bandage. Almost immediately, she started trying to shake it off, but some nearby electrical tape kept all of it in place.

Then something else caught my eye. A cinder block was perfect. I put the cinder block in front of the chair, and I ran a rope from her wrists to the cinder block, and she tried to move her hands. To my delight, the weak girl, unable to use her back and leg muscles because of how she was tied, could not move the heavy cement. Insurance came by using another bungee to clamp her waist to the chair.

Now, Mrs. Moreau began taking photos of the sweaty and shocked Kristine. She tried to offer resistance, but all she did was make lots of noise. Finally, Mrs. Moreau told me to take the camera on its stand and take photos as she walked up to Kristine and threatened her with the prop gun; a shriek came from the secretary type who had been the unexpected fourth and final captive of the day.



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Interlude 11A: My Podmates

Phoebe Enslow was a black girl with naturally puffy hair that she tried so hard to take care of. When I arrived, she was in her third month of a one year term for carjacking even though her friend, now in Shakopee, did all the act. She struck me as too smart to commit a crime without being tricked or framed, and I concluded that she had been sentenced due to racial bias.

If someone needed help in class, they just had to ask her or me. Many slipped us one or two commissary snacks over the time we were there. She helped me toward my GED, and I likewise helped her with hers. As far as I know, we were the only ones to do that, but we helped others toward graduation the hard way.

But Phoebe, poor thing, had bipolar disorder, and when she swung she swung big time across extremes. The result was that she, especially during her down swings, would get herself knocked down levels due to her attitude. No one seemed to notice until I said something, and soon she was on carefully monitored medication that eliminated the mood swings.

“Hey, frien’, whatcha doin’?” she sat down next to me on my second day.
“Wondering how I got here,” I said sadly and looked out the window.
“None o’ ‘dat. Think of it as a long trip to a fancy pants resort, but wi’dout ‘da fancy pants part. Instead, ‘da floors are bare, ‘da service is lousy, and ‘da staff ain’t happy to serve ya.”
“My parents hung up on my first phone call and haven't visited me.”
“You from Mudville, right? My home is in Rochester, girl; my mama is dead and my daddy can't afford no gas to drive on over. Wanna cry together?”
“Yes,” I say despondently.

Phoebe, I love you, girl.

——————————————————————————————

Michela had become the subject for more photos from Steve. The gorgeous damsel was kicking her legs and twisting her arms about as if that would actually accomplish anything more than my entertainment. She yelled into the gag before I playfully pushed her onto her back.

She continued to roll around while Steve continued to photograph her, and I could tell she was hoping she had done her best. Escaping wasn't in the schedule for her today, but she kept striving. Kicking out her legs gave us a stimulating upskirt view, and she did all she could to loosen the ropes. Her sparkle was vanishing, though, as she began to realize she was stuck and helpless as long as we wished for her to remain helpless.

Her moans weren't the best, but they were adorable to me. Her gag talk was absolute garbage, but it didn't matter. I found her to be so cute when tied up like this. She was already a dish in a jumpsuit, and she was an absolute hottie in that wooly skirt and the argyle sweater that she wore so well. I felt myself getting excited at the thought of getting to play with her some more, and Steve said he was done and that we were free to tease and torture and to give the signal when I was ready.

I looked in the duffle at the various things available. There was a wooden spoon if I wanted to spank her; a massager if I wanted to vibrate her; a clipping clothes hanger and clothespins if I wanted to clamp her nipples; I could just fondle her; my heels would be quite stinky by now. I had so many choices, but then I thought about Michela… and myself.

I hefted the massager. It was perfect to prime Michela to come back to my place for a session of smooching and bondage. Was I overstepping what was allowed? I didn’t know. Steve said I was free to use anything, and I knew that the vibrator would do just the job. Taking it in my hand, I gave Steve the signal.

“So, thought you’d tarnish my reputation, huh? Well, I’m gonna get you back for this!”
“Huh?” Michela had never seen a photograph of a vibrator let alone experienced one given how young she was when she entered Mudville Juvie.
“Just a little delight, heh heh,” I laughed a little while inwardly lusting after her.
“Eeee!” she tried to withdraw as the buzzer began rubbing against her.
“Don’t get your panties in a knot; we’ll still be friends after this. But you have to learn!”
“Mmmmm!” Michela almost collapsed.

I recalled the first time Michela orgasmed while we ground in the cell. I had to tightly hand gag her because she was so loud. After that time, we always restrained ourselves from reaching that point. I suspected that, under the right circumstances, or with a vibrator, I could get her to go as long as she had the energy, hormones, and moisture to do it.

This girl was such a delight to me on so many levels… friend, lover, cellmate, and now playmate as well. The way her eyes popped when the vibrator dug against her crotch was hilarious, and it encouraged me to keep going. I dug into her with it and increased the setting; I lusted after that sound of her orgasming into that gag. And, when it came, oh, the beauty of a bound and gagged girl squealing because she couldn’t stop me from forcing her to orgasm.

And that was the end of Michela’s first bondage modeling scene and my second.

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Interlude 11B: My Podmates

There are 16 to a pod, 8 pods, making a total possible 128 prisoners. 128 girls, all under 18 or 18 but finishing high school or nearing the end of their sentence. My pod, Pod F, with me prisoner 9 and Michela 10. My full state prisoner registry number of “JF11120288” and “F9” were on my badge. The number said I was a juvenile female, I was arrested in November 2012, and I was the 288th juvenile female to go through that facility that year. Michela was JF07110196. Of those 288, probably 50 got sentenced, most to under a month.

01: Bridget Anderson
02: Phoebe Enslow
03: Felice Pryce
04: Kendra Kristensen
05: Clarissa Sanchez, replaced later by Victoria Mueller
06: Brooke Meeks
07: Kylie Svensson
08: Jacqueline Martin
09: Hannah Larsson
10: Michela Palmeri
11: Stacy Langsford
12: Janine Blackwell
13: Annie Anderson
14: Ashley Calland
15: Mary-Ann Voisin
16: LaRyssa Jamison

That was us. Pod F. We even have our own Facebook group called “We survived Pod F 2013”. Those of us who on the outside and on this side of life. Sadly, F16, LaRyssa, died in 2017; both the original F05 and her replacement are in for life; F13 is incorrigible; F08 didn't learn until it was too late and is sadly now a paraplegic. We all had a story before, and we have, or had, one after. We were the facility for mostly Minnesota south and southeast of the Minneapolis metro, hence the large numbers of French, German, and Scandinavian sounding names.

F02, F04, F07, F09, F10, F11, F14, and F15 are the ones I want to talk about some more over the course of the next several stories. These are dearest friends to this day.



I’ll explain the layout another time. But for now you can see where my pod lived in relation to the rest of the pods and the prison.

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“Did we really do all of that?” Michela asked me as we sat down in my car.
“It’s early,” I smiled and didn’t answer her, “Want to come back to my place?”
“May we? We were so sexy in there,” I saw her eyes brighten as she rubbed her crotch.
“What didn’t you like about it?” I started driving away and squeezed her thigh a little.
“I wasn’t a fan of the duct tape,” she shuddered, “It was stiff and not form fitting. It’s crap.”
“Oh? Tell me more about this?” I was genuinely curious.
“It's just… It's a bad gag,” she said, and her eyes glazed over, “Bad.”

We talked about this on the way home, and she explained why she didn’t like the tape in words I couldn't use to make inferences about her past. Michela told me of how it felt to be tied, gagged, and photographed, tortured by me, and to do all of this on the outside. We had both been bound and photographed for our mugshots, but it was all so different to do it for money! She told me she had enjoyed being tied up by me and that, although she had no genuine need for the cash, she wanted to do more of it. I wish I knew then what I knew later.

Then we arrived at my hovel. Oh, let me tell you, this place was a genuine hellhole, and Michela frowned at the sight. We looked at each other and smiled though; I felt a warmth in my crotch as I started imagining what was about to happen. For the first time in nearly 4 years, my TUG toys were about to be used; Miss Michela Palmeri, despite being bigger, was to be my lovely captive.

“How about I tie you up?” I ask her as we hold hands into the house.
“Again? This is more about me, though, isn’t it?” she asked me with a grin.
“Yes, how about I get to be on top of you, grinding you, and not worry about guards coming to grab us, cuff us, and put us on MV status for touching another prisoner without permission?”
“While I’m tied up?” Michela stepped back and posed in a seductive manner, “Mayyybbeeee.”
“How about I don’t give you any choice then?” I grabbed my bag from the corner and took a piece of clothesline from it.
“Hannah Larsson, are-are you kidnapping me?!” she asked in mock horror as I bound her wrists.

I didn’t answer Michela and instead tied her hands together behind her back. Turning her around saw me bring my lips to hers, and we kissed in a passionate manner. I pushed her onto the mattress on the floor, because I had no bed, and began to tie her up much more thoroughly, taking her legwear but not her panties off so that it would feel good just like when we secretly ground panty-to-panty in Pod F as high schoolers who were desperate and cut off from the only life they’d ever known. Best of all, we could talk as much as we wanted and be as loud as we pleased. It was the loudest sex I ever had, and I had no regrets!

I’ll never forget that day.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 3 Chapter 1: Christmas Sadness
Tuesday, December 18, 2014

I apologize for the long descriptions in this story and its chapters. Here you are going to learn about daily life in prison, me and my friends, our suffering… our lost lives.

“Seasons don't fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain,” my alarm went off at 6 AM on the dot to the sound of the song.

I was honestly at that point where I was considering that. I truly hated my life, and I went to my bathroom, used the toilet, and splashed water on my face to wake myself up while waiting for it to heat up. I then washed my face in the lukewarm, at best, water to get any grease off it. I went to my room and did some stretches to limber up before I stood up straight and tall and decided I was going to enjoy a rare day off; school was done for a few weeks, and it was my day off from work.

Breakfast wasn’t so great, really. A plain bowl of cereal; milk was a luxury. I only got cereals that were on BOGO that day; a fried egg sometimes accompanied that. I crammed myself at the chair between the table and the sofa and checked my phone. Was I really missing out on things if I… rubbish thoughts. I had a little Charlie Brown Christmas tree on the floor by the bathroom door because I wanted the holiday cheer more than a new outfit; was it worth it? Christmas back in juvie was better than this; I should know since I spent two Christmases there.

After a brief period to digest, I began my morning exercise while still in my pajamas, which were just my summer wear of blue spandex running shorts with white trimming and a white sports bra. Out the door I went for a 15 minute run before I came back into my home and began my shadow boxing routine. Every morning went like this unless I had early class or work. I had no equipment for strength training, so I used cinder blocks and furniture in any way I could to at least keep my strength from faltering. I was the only girl in Best Buy who didn’t need assistance to lift anything, and I was keeping it that way.

Then I took a nasty shower (the water was lukewarm) and put on my clothes for the day: orange sweatpants, a blue sweatshirt, and an orange bandana headband. I only had three of each piece of clothing to go through: blue, orange, and white. I had bought myself the orange as a treat after my last modeling gig; I needed that money for next semester’s tuition and books. I clung to my headgear though after spending my first 6 months in juvie banned from having even scrunchies. Today I added my solitary white scrunchie as well.



There are 48 pixels to the foot. Do the math. This place was like 300-something square feet total. After our little afternoon of passion, Michela looked at my mattress and how I jammed it into the one gap and remarked “Home sweet cell, huh?” I was so disturbed by that comment I started crying. I was living in a pod once again, and I was even having quiet time in my cell…

BRRRRRRRRIINGGGGGG! my phone rang.
I stood up at attention and began waiting for a guard to arrive.
BRRRRRRRRIINGGGGGG! it rang again.
I continued my attention before remembering that I was no longer inside.
BRRRRRRRRIINGGGGGG! the phone rang a third time.
I looked at it. It was a couple digits from Michela’s, so I answered it with confidence.

“Hello.”
“Is this Miss Hannah Larsson?” an older sounding Michela answered.
“Yes, ma’am!” I responded eagerly not knowing the bombshells that were coming.
“Hi, this is Michela’s mom…”

Mrs. Palmeri told me of how Michela now slept with the door shut, sometimes took her food to eat at her desk in the bedroom instead of at the kitchen table, sometimes with the door shut, had times of day where she kept a strict silence, and sometimes would be found standing around with her legs spread and her hand clasping her wrist while facing a wall and waiting for an order to do something.

“Tell Michela I am going to come pick her up after I have done my laundry,” I responded.
“Thank you, Hannah. Michela talks so much about you. See you soon.”

I put my laundry in the washer and started crying. What was wrong with Michela?

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Interlude 12A: A Day in Prison Part 1
Thursday, February 21, 2013

Ding! Ding! Ding! the bell rang repeatedly for one minute every morning at 6 AM on the dot, and the fluorescent lights automatically turned on.

“Good morning!” Michela sprang off the bunk as she woke up just before the bell.
“I want to sleep,” I groaned.
“Well, excuse me,” she dropped her pants to pee on our toilet that was against the same wall as the door.
“How can you be so happy?” I asked as I stretched to unstiffen myself.
“I’m alive at least. I could be getting assaulted by my dad instead,” she flushed the pot.
“Let me have a turn,” I growled and sat down to do my own.

Michela turned on the sink and splashed some cold water on her face, and I then washed my hands and did the same while waiting for it to heat up. Despite 128 girls doing this at once, we did have nice hot water with which to wash up. Then Michela every single day led me in doing my stretches until the familiar voice came over the audio system that listened to us… and spoke to us too.

Prisoners F-0-9 and F-1-0 please step away from the door, they even talked in f-cking “Courier New.”
“Couldn’t they at least call us ‘Larsson’ and ‘Palmeri’?” I asked rhetorically.
“Shut up,” Michela smiled at me knowing it was 6:15 AM.
“Oh, come on. Don’t you like breakfast?” I teased her knowing she hated the food.
“If I didn’t love you.”

The sound of a key rattling followed, and through the slot came first one tray and then the other. We took our breakfast trays which were, frankly, the best breakfasts I had outside my grandma’s house. Two small pancakes, a sausage link, some eggs, and breakfast potatoes… even a pod of syrup! Plastic utensils ensured we didn’t stab each other to death. We pulled and locked our folding chairs and table from the wall so that we could sit and eat. We get 45 minutes to eat, but of course Michela and I are done long before that.

At 7:00 AM… quiet time: we stayed locked in our cell on school days despite the schedule using the word “pod” in that column, and we’re not allowed to talk to each other. That got counted as a form of “talking in line” since that got us docked 2 points. Instead, I studied my school books during this time while the I’s had their lone hour out of the cell for the morning. You hear the announcements for the others. When the voices ring out about thirty minutes later, it’s 7:30!

Prisoners F-0-9 and F-1-0 please step away from the door.”

Michela and I again faced the wall and waited for the door to be opened from the electronic desk. The door swung open, and I led Michela out the door, turned to the right, took four steps, turned to the right again, stepped forward, and faced the wall. Our hands, as usual, were clasped behind our backs, and we stood straight and tall with our legs spread so that our feet were inline with our shoulders. We remained quiet until Michela and I received the order to walk with the succeeding cells following behind us. We were allowed to use one hand to grip the rail as we descended the stairs.

Pods F & G were one-sided two story pods with stairs because the laundry and control rooms would block the sunlight if these were full-sized pods like in A-E and H. Out we went: Bridget, Phoebe, Kendra, Brooke, Kylie, me, Michela, Stacy, Janine, Ashley, Mary-Ann, and LaRyssa. The rest stay behind because they were I’s.

“Good morning,” the guard said cheerfully as marched by.
“Good morning, Mrs. Copley,” I replied in earnest.

Out we turned right, straight and tall with our arms clasped behind our backs, filing in behind the II’s and up from E while G & H filed in behind us. Today we went to the indoor gym, where the instructors ordered us from Pods E & F to file onto the treadmills, which meant I got one labeled as #209. We changed up, but we all got a 15 minute window on the treadmill during the day. It’s 15 minutes of treadmill, strength training, rhythm training, and something fun. Strength training was always a weight machine; rhythm was shadow boxing for today; and fun was basketball this time. We rotated players so that everyone would get an equal time, and the gym was big enough to have multiple courts and all the rest that happened. When the games were done, we were then expected to congratulate each other on a job well done even when one team f-cked the other.

“One two one two,” the guards tried to keep the slow ones from lagging.

We filed back into line now that we were sweaty and returned in order, still straight and tall and still with one hand clasping the other wrist behind our back. On the way back, H peeled off first, then G, and then us. The pod door unlocked, and we entered an empty pod as the I’s are locked up until their afternoon rec hour. I led the train of inmates 9-16 up the stairs. Eight shower stalls were along the north wall with a small bottle of shampoo, soap, cream, and razors. The opposite wall had hooks and shelves for clothes and towels. I took off my shoes, jumpsuit, panties, and bra, and I was facing 6 other buck naked teenage girls. How had my life come to this?

After we had our showers, the jumpsuits went back on along with our shoes, and the same group of us marched out to school.

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My washer and dryer were behind the refrigerator and in my bedroom. So screwy. Just as I was putting the sheets in the dryer, I noticed a glowing light on my cell phone where it sat in the dark corner on the table. I never got texts; all my friends use apps. Rushing over to it in excitement, I saw that the text was from Steve Moreau.

“Are you and/or Michela available for a shoot on short notice? A scheduled girl canceled.”
“I sure am; will check with her.”

Just then, my phone started ringing with a phone call from another number I did not recognize. I took the phone and my things and answered the call with a fearful “Hello” because the last phone call I received from an unknown number ended in me getting busted for felony drug possession. I wasn’t going inside again!

“Hannah Larsson?” a calm voice asked me on the other end.
“Who is this?” I seemed to recognize the voice, but it had been too long.
“It’s… me… Kendra, Kendra Kristensen. I’ve… missed you. Where’ve you been hiding?”
“Hey, Kenny! Wassup?” I responded cheerfully, “I’ve been… hiding from people.”
“I’m in sin right now, and I asked around and was told you were the Pod F queen of finding quick, legal dough. Ever since I got out, I’ve been living poor and at home.”

Kendra had been one of my customers, if you will, and it was through her phone getting tagged by her parents that I had been caught. She was the only other person I really knew in there from out here, and I could hear that jonesing shake in her voice. Someone had told her the truth; I was good at getting legal dough and getting troubled friends out of trouble. I had gotten our podmate Stacy to go into rehab after our little disaster with Greg, and she was doing much better.

I had just gotten an affirmation from Michela, and I warned her and Steve that a third was going to join us on this expedition while I was stopped at a light. Kendra came from a more strained family as one of 4 children and the middle girl. She strove to get noticed by trying to do well in school and excelling at sports and, when it all failed, she waved the white flag and turned to me for supplies instead of her other relations for support. Apparently, Kendra squealed as she had been caught when she was going to provide supplies to her own ring, and the money had been stolen from her parents. She went inside one week before I did and exited 6 months earlier in exchange for squealing. An exemption was made for her to stay in juvie later even though she graduated high school that spring and was 18. How could I say no when it was my fault that she was in this spot anyway? I had no clue just how bad it was for her.

“Hey, Larsson,” Kendra satin the passenger seat.
“I'm headed up north first. Is that cool?” I asked her, “We have to grab Michela.”
“Did Palmeri and you resume rubbing?”
“Yeah. Why?” I got defensive.
“Just checking. I'm not into girls. Glad someone's happy. I missed your friendship.”
“I'm sorry I got you into so much trouble,” I responded, but she became silent and sullen.

I was far from the ring leader, but I was the one who was Greg’s girlfriend. I often stowed things on me and made the transactions on his behalf with those in Mudville High. I even had a burner phone I used just for the business side and dealt with all of the customers in code. I knew all the terms and not to touch any h, horse, or brown, but I transported enough weed, blow, and meth. I was just lucky that I only had weed when I got flipped. I felt bad for doing it, but I wanted my own weed which I got for free as Greg’s girl, and I liked how his d-ck felt inside me.

I don't know which was harder: Walking up to a 3000 square foot, fully paid home and realizing it was Michela’s family's home, or walking into the house and seeing her staring at the wall in a chilling position. Only now did I realize that I was wearing orange, and she was dressed in quite a similar manner. She had an orange knee skirt, a black t-shirt, and an orange bandana headband like me. Orange, orange, orange! I still strangely comfort myself, to this day, by wearing orange or, like the later jumpsuits, lavender and black!

“Michela? Michela, it's me, Hannah,” I know not to touch her and stand at similar attention.
“You back from doing the whites?” she asks me blankly.

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Interlude 12B: A Day in Prison Part 2
Thursday, February 21, 2013

Number 13 is unlucky. Time to look at the layout of the prison. See the orange doors like going from the pod to the hall and going to the cells and going down the pink to the arrow marked “the world”? Those doors had electronic locks. In the pod, they were controlled by the orange box that marks the guard station. When we were told to stand back from the door, they were using a computer to control the door lock. The ones in and out of the pod were big, heavy sliding doors; we called them “Incredible Sliding Securidoors.” All locks were also run from the control room. Most white doors stayed open during times we would be needing to pass through them.

Out we marched, in typical fashion, but now with our school books, to the left and toward the white door for our morning classes. We had the usual courses: science, history, math, English, and an elective. The elective I chose was a computer course. Science and math were definitely my favorites because those required smaller groups and used Classrooms 1 and 2, whereas we basically did silent busywork for the other two and thus used the auditorium. Teachers were there more to help us if the guided lesson didn't make sense and to assign and grade quizzes and tests as needed.

We scattered by grade for different parts of the day, as possible. Most of us were in high school with accommodations made as needed in the rare case of someone not in high school. Thus, the system worked well for us! Ms. Schumaker made sure we all knew that we were just as special as high schoolers on the outside, and never once did I feel patronized or ashamed in her class.

Classrooms 1 and 2 were special. In the cell, we had the described cramped folding table and chairs. In the pod, we had rigid setups with the chairs attached to the table via a metal framework with all bolted to the floor (the yellow you see in the pod is the four chairs around a round table). In the auditorium, we had rigid chairs with a folding desk arm. In Classrooms 1 and 2, we had rolling chairs! We had so much fun with those in the few moments between taking our seats and class beginning, and the teachers, especially Ms. Schumaker, allowed us this because it was a rare chance for us to feel like kids again. 8:45 AM is my history in Classroom 2, and at 9:20 AM is my chemistry class in Classroom 1.

After two classes, at 10 AM, we were marched back to our pods for a brief rest, a snack, and to exchange books for our other classes. The snack was a crappy packaged snack cake like an old sh-tzo Hostess ones. Then, at 10:15 AM, we marched to Classroom 1 with my group’s English, which took the entire period. Classes were nice in that we were free to sit anywhere, unlike gym class where I had to use machine 2x9. I could forget that I was in juvie until I looked up and saw all the identical outfits everywhere.

At 11:30, we had a “break” in the pod. It was a break because we were allowed to talk unlike in a quiet time, but us II+girls were expected to work on homework. I did it with Phoebe, Michela, and Stacy most of the time, and Kendra and Mary-Ann, who had graduated and were nearing the end of their sentences anyway, would help. The four of us were all in this hybrid 11th-12th grade phase because even summer weekdays are school days in juvie. You just kept progressing until you took the GED exam.

Lunch was the first meal for which we left the pod, if you were a II+. We filed out regardless, though, and headed down to the dining hall in the same kind of march. At the door, we scanned our badges; if it was green, you sat in there and ate your lunch but otherwise you had to wait in the hallway and then filed in afterwards and returned to the pod with your tray. As with school, we could sit anywhere we wanted. We were expected to keep conversations quiet, but laughter and such inevitably happened. On a cold day, a bowl of chicken soup hit the spot as did cheap garlic toast. I couldn't complain as my parents never put half the effort into meals at home. In fact, I was wishing for seconds after the meal that day, but I had to wait.

At 12:30 PM, it was back to the pod because why not? It was a prison, so you should have little free time, little to no time to talk, and little to no time outside your cell, am I right? We were free to take a shower during the break, and today I had put in a razor request to shave my armpits and legs. I turned the water to as hot as I could tolerate because my skin cut up so badly otherwise. I finished my homework for the earlier classes already as well and was ready for the school march.

1:30 PM was some bullsh-t class on sociology and psychology designed to remind us we were all evil inmates who somehow failed or were failed; this was in the auditorium as it was a workbook class and could have two or more grades mixed together. I hated the class , but I still tried for all A’s and succeeded. At 2:10 PM, I headed to the computer lab for a computer programming class. It was amazing how they had the materials for research papers and computer programming on a system disconnected from the internet. Whoever did this was dedicated to his job. At 2:45 PM, it was back to the auditorium for my math class, which was also a workbook. Again, I just tried my best but was not crazy about it.

Then the 3:30 bell rang. At that time, I took a detour. While the rest of the pod went back to the pod, I didn't. I accompanied a guard to my volunteer duty of folding towels, washcloths, panties, and sports bras that were washed that day. It wasn’t special, but it got me brownie points. Every so often, when Kendra was a IV, she accompanied me.

——————————————————————————————

“I didn't do whites; I have so little clothing I do it all at once.”
“Your jumpsuit is the wrong color. They'll take 2 off your score for that.”
“Snap out of it!” I snapped myself.
“Gotcha,” Michela grinned, “I snapped out of it as soon as you said they weren't whites.”
“How dare you!” I saw a vacant smile; inside she's crying for some reason, “Let's go.”
“All right. See ya, Mom! Be back before dinner.”

That was so disturbing to my peace I shuddered. What a cruel prank to play on me, but she had never played a prank in juvie. Was she showing the first sign of her life being normal again? We held hands as we walked to my car; I gave her a kiss on the cheek before holding the door for her and then got into the car.

“I gotta stay in-county, FYI. Probation,” Kendra said regretfully.
“You're still on probation even with a six month stay?” I was confused.
“You weren't bagged while holding enough snow for four to have a real party.”
“I tried that sh-t. I don't get why anyone does it. So… what’d you get for me?”
“I was gonna get 5 years in Shakopee min. I got 6 months in juvie and 18 house arrest for you and Wendy Martin. I only turned rat when they promised to send you to juvie.”
“That’s why you were at my hearing! Kenny, thank you!”
“I didn't f-cking do it for you! I did it to save my ass. Now I got this f-cking ankle monitor, this f-cking probation officer, this f-cking tapped phone, Ma who b-tches me out all day cuz no one will hire me and CC won't take me and even my little sis is being an absolute c-nt that won't let me live it down. Oh, I get tons of f-cking attention now I don't want none of it! I’m sorry. You have proven to be a nice girl and all, but I’m bitter that I f-cked it all up. We helped each other out, but now I need help. I know you, Larsson; I can see you’re different now.”
“You two were acquainted before juvie?” Michela didn't realize she wasn't helping.
“Get bent, Palmeri,” Kendra snarled.

I carefully explained to Kendra how I made my money, and she decided that she didn't care any more as long as it was green, because she was now treated like a total reject. By law she had to live at home; her parents would have to accept her income since it was legal for her as a 19 year old to engage in fetish modeling. It was legal, and that was good enough for her. Like me, she wanted her life before drugs, warts and all, back and struggled to accept it wasn't coming back.

“Remember folding whites?” Kendra smiled at me.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 14: A Day in Prison Part 3
Thursday, February 21, 2013

By 4:00 PM, I and the other laundry girls were back in our respective pods. It's quiet time, so we're locked in our cell. I wasn’t allowed to talk to Michela, and she seemed to be taking a nap. I passed the time by reading more of my chemistry book as I worked to finish this class in my first February here.

The 4:30 PM bell rang, which meant it was dinner time. Same routine as lunch, but we got 45 minutes to eat, could get more as long as it was available, and got choices instead of a common meal. The remaining 45 minutes were so those inmates who volunteered for kitchen duty could do that; for the rest of us, it was back to the pod for, you guessed it, quiet time where, locked in the cell! This time it was I waiting on Michela with the dishes like she waited on me with the laundry. The usual Courier New voice tells me to stay away from the door when she returns.

6:00 PM was, tonight, visitation hour. A guard came in and announced the names of those with scheduled visitors, and they were brought out to visit while the rest of us were locked in our cells for the hour. Many of us, including me, cried because we never had any visitors. Michela was denied visitors because several people wanted to see her every visitation time; her family missed her.

7:00 PM began rec time for us II’s and up. This was the real highlight of the day. Our cells were unlocked and even the pod door was unlocked, and we were allowed to go to the kiosk and ask for board games, supplies to use for personal purposes (like combs; toothpastes if we so desired, etc.), or a snack if we had the behavior points. What we were allowed to get was more defined on a personal basis.

Grandma gave me a little money after I asked her in my last letter, and Michela and I walked to the commissary for three things: a deck of Uno cards, a better comb because Michela broke yet another on her hair, and a snack each because we had the behavior points. In some juvies, only money can buy snacks, but here it only gets you extra hygiene products, hair accessories if you're on the permitted list, and haircuts.

We were allowed to talk and laugh and enjoy being kids for a little while. Reality only sank in if you looked past the faces or when the announcement came that II’s had to go back to their cells and get locked in. That was at 8:30 PM. At 9:00 PM, the III’s went away, which meant Phoebe and Kylie were taken from our game; Mary-Ann took one place and Ashley the other. Then at 9:30 PM, we all went back to being locked in our cells. The doors ominously shut, and Michela and I had 30 minutes to, in silence, handle our hygiene, study, and do any remaining homework if we didn't do it during rec time. At 10:00 PM, a voice comes over the PA telling us to be quiet, and the lights turned out.

I am sorry this was so long.

——————————————————————————————

“So, Larsson, Palmeri, still addicted to orange, huh?” Kendra’s voice seemed hurt.
“I only spent a little while in it,” I laughed it off, “I liked it before.”
“You were always a bit of a d-ck, Kendra,” Michela was less amused.
“We all are; that's why we were in juvie,” her words rang true, “I f-cking hate orange.”
“Kenny, I really think the person you need is your cousin Jenny,” I was brutally honest.
“She's too busy having fun at Minn Tech to give a sh-t about me,” the tough girl refused to cry.
“I am sure she, of all people, still loves you.”
“Let's do this. If either of you touches my p-ssy, I’ll cut your hair off.”
“Big words from a midget who likes two kinds of blow,” Michela was seething.
“Look,” I stepped in, “Be nice, both of you. Don't sweat it, Kenny.”
“She’s pissing me off!” I heard the pain in her voice.
“Honoring boundaries is essential here,” my eyes met hers and earned her trust.

I saw relief show on both girls' faces as we got out of the car. I held Michela’s hand in my right hand and had my left arm wrapped around Kendra’s body as we walked up to the door of Steve’s home. We were all defeated, but there were multiple rounds in this fight, so we were fighting to win the war still. I confidently knocked on the door and waited. I guess I should tell you that Kendra had shoulder length brown blonde hair and a stocky build without much muscle.

“You brought another friend, I see,” Mrs. Moreau was sympathetic to our situation.
“I did. Sorry to keep doing this without asking, ma’am,” I shivered with my friends beside me.
“We understand; Kristine has a similar story.”
“See,” I looked at Kendra, “I told you, Kenny. It’s like a family here.”
“Yeah,” I saw hope in her eyes, “You said it.”

Kendra let go of me in one of her “tough girl” routines while I cuddled up against Michela, who gave me a kiss on the cheek. I barely noticed Kendra talking to Steve and quickly flying through the paperwork to do the gig. I realized that to have all this the Moreau’s had quite a bit of money that could not have come from running a modeling agency. Michela and I were invited to sit and cuddle on the couch, and we were all given cups of hot chocolate to enjoy. I was so cold that we were given a blanket to warm ourselves. I did the talking while Michela held me in her arms.

“You’re the world to that girl,” Mrs. Moreau observed.
“We were cell mates, so it’s a little bit natural,” I defended my vacant girlfriend.
“That explains it. You’re so much happier together.”
“Oh, for sure. Come on, Michela, let’s go get dressed.”
“Oh, all right. Coming, Kendra?” my spaced out lover let go of me.
“Just a moment. Here I come,” Kendra followed us to the basement.

I picked through the clothing pile and selected something really hot, just for Michela, who was going to be tying me up for the first time. The three of us shamelessly stripped, although Kendra kept her bra and panties on. Michela and I even stripped off our (shameful) sports bras. All of us wore sports bras exclusively, it seemed, and I do to this day. I put on a floral bikini top, some hose, a red garter, and a pair of matching blue heels. I drank my hot chocolate in one huge gulp and put the mug down on the nearby counter.

“Are you already done with that?” Mrs. Moreau asked me.
“I guess so. Been so long since I drank anything but water,” I laughed, but it was disturbing.
“Um… when was the last time you had anything but water?” she probed unknowingly.
“Probably before,” I froze a little and grew pale, “My boyfriend… Greg… Ummm….”
“Hannah, what does that mean?” my lover noticed my disturbed spirit.
“Larsson, what did he do to you?” Kendra noticed I was hyperventilating.
“NOOOOO! I WON’T TALK ABOUT IT!!”

Then I blacked out.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 3 Chapter 2: Our Own Little Shells
Tuesday, December 18, 2014

Nightmare: My hands are being duct taped behind my back. Into my mouth go the socks I have worn all day long. More tape is wrapped around my face and my body until I am helpless. It all happens so quickly. Then sex, the illegal kind where you’re screaming for help, follows. I am brought to the basement and left there. Some 48 hours pass before I escape while hungry and starved and soaked in my own urine. I help the other girl who is also tied with me, and a piece of 2x4 helps us escape to a neighbor. Police come; I’m temporarily sent back to juvie because of my past offenses. Then I am free again. More courtroom stuff follows, and the nightmare ends.

“Please, Kendra, won’t you put on a pair of heels?” I heard Mrs. Moreau asking kindly.
“Either you get a girl without heels, or you get no girl at all. Just like this girl isn’t showing her tits for no camera so soon.”
“I think it’s fair,” Steve said, “Other girls have a ‘No tits’ or ‘No ball gag’ policy.”
“Oh come on! You're a star in the waiting with that kind of spunk,” Marcy was reasonable.
“Fine. For $200 per hour, I can wear the f-cking heels,” Kendra was steadfast, “But not today.”
“She's waking up!” Michela announced clearly.

I opened my eyes to Michela kneeling by the sofa while Kendra sat under my legs with anxiety all over her face. Kendra cared about me off all people? She's quietly wanted my friendship for all these months since my release and been rebuffed despite my unfulfilled promises. As soon as my eyes opened, Michela gave me a tender hug. The Moreau’s are distraught by something, and I remember what I had told Mrs. Moreau before I blacked out. Now I saw Michela was crying with the distance somehow stronger than ever while her life seemed more real than at any other point, and I saw this as the first sign of her dignity returning to her body. We had something that made life worthwhile: each other.

“Sorry to disrupt the proceedings,” I hated getting any sort of attention except by choice.
“Are you all right?” Kendra asked me with concern for my well-being first, “Larsson?”
“Just don’t tie me up first. We’ll do you first so that I can have more fun with Michela.”
“Hannah, don’t push yourself,” Michela watched me sit up.
“Are you kidding? We’ve got three scenes to shoot. Let’s go do this,” I insisted.
“Hannah, you really don’t have to do it unless you want to do it,” Steve implored me not to hurt myself.
“I’m good,” standing helped clear my head so much.
“While you were down, you got a phone call,” Michela handed me my phone: Casey Clark.

Kendra was now wearing a lovely striped turtleneck sweater and a tight tan denim skirt. She had her own footwear still on her feet, and a red bandana she wore as a kerchief head her hair back. I felt a little light-headed, and I decided it was best for Steve or, as I now knew, Marcy tied her up for her debut and sat down on the sofa to call Casey. Michela, now wearing a striped sweater, a bright fuschia denim skirt, black hose, and black heels, stayed with me while the others went to the basement.

“You’re really horny, aren’t you?” I asked, and Michela just smiled at me and blushed.
“I dunno,” a tear rolled down her cheek, “I lost all of the friends I had before prison.”
“Hold on, she’s answering. Hi, Casey!”
“Hey, Hannah Bandana. How’s the Cool Girl?” her friendly voice cut me deep.
“Not so Cool; she’s at work and sneaking away to do this,” I covered my sins just like before.
“Let me know when you’re out so I can come see you.”
“Ummmmm…”
“Pleeeeeaassseeeee?” the sweet voice pleaded with me.
“All right,” I couldn't say ‘No’ to such a considerate and well-meaning person.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 15: Grandma Larsson
Tuesday, December 18, 2012

“Attention, there will be visitation hour tonight. A guard will come by your door and give a visitor pass to those who have visitors and have visitation privileges.”

Every Tuesday and Thursday was visitation night where we were allowed to spend up to 15 minutes each with up to 3 different visitors. I was so used to having no visitors that I initially ignored my pass dropping through the same slot where we got our food trays and our mail until Michela said something.

“Hey, Hannah, you’ve got a visitor coming!” she didn’t smile at all.
“What?” I jumped off my bed.
“Yeah, you have two visitors, actually,” she said, “Ruth Larsson and James Clark.”
“Grandma!” I bounced like a little girl, “Oh, I knew Grandma would still love me!”
“The letters weren’t enough?”
“Seeing her face will be so different!”

I was so excited to have a visitor that, in a rarity, the guards had to reprimand me for not standing still. Michela had visitors as much as juvie allowed, as did Kylie. There were only four Pod F girls tonight, but for once one was me. We followed the guard in our trademark march, to the right, then to the left down the hall between the outdoor gym and the program rooms and through the process of each and every “Incredible Sliding Securidoor,” as we called the ones I mentioned before, to the security room where we each had our hands cuffed in front and our ankles shackled as a security precaution. Then, we were let out, past the third and final Incredible Sliding Securidoor and into the visitation room.

“Grandma!” I excitedly sat down, “I miss you so much.”
“My sweet Hannah banana!” a wall and a plastic shield separated us, “How are you?”

I was honest with her about how horrible I felt for my actions and similarly honest that I had made good friends with some of the other people and that we were working together to become better people. She was clearly hurt by what I had done, but she was more hurt by being unable to hug me and give me a mug of warm apple cider. Then I asked the question.

“Are Mom and Dad ever going to answer my calls or come see me?”
“Honey, I’m sorry. Your parents changed their phone numbers and legally turned over custody of you and all your belongings to me.”
“WHAT?!”
“I’m sorry, dear. Really,” she cried with me.
“Noooo! Noooo! Grandma, I thought they loved me,” I looked into her eyes.
“I did too, and I’m more disappointed by my son than I am by you. I forgive you, Hannah.”

Part of my story will include more about what happened with my parents. For tonight, a good time had been ruined.

——————————————————————————————

“Well, well, well, look at you!” Michela approached Miss Kendra Penelope Kristensen.
“Mmmmph!” Kendra cutely grunted into her stuffed cleave gag.
“You are in trouble, aren’t you dear?” Michele grabbed her by the face and stepped aside.
“My goodness, she is a hottie,” I added in a teasing way.
“Nooooo!” she shook her head at that.

Kendra, now Penny for her middle name, was in quite the pickle with her wrists and elbows tied behind her. Her thighs were also tied with the familiar clothesline, and her lower legs were tied in three places. It was astounding how much energy she put on for the show though! It was like watching her cousin again. I wish I cherished the moments more, but I never appreciated that a moment passes and is gone for good until that realization struck me at that moment.

Kendra looked this way and that and then at each of us before letting out an angry growl that the handkerchief and pale blue bandana stifled. She wanted to be understood so badly and stomped her feet on the floor even though it sounded like she was telling us to go f-ck ourselves. She twisted about on the carpet with an admirable determination like her determination to reclaim her life.

Once again, she looked around in hopes of getting some kind of mercy, but this time the resulting wail was more despondent. She twisted, kicked, and rolled about until she found herself propped against the wall. One last glance toward me in hope of getting help availed her nothing, but eyes are traitors. Whilst her body language and sounds were of anger, her eyes seemed quite pleased with the situation.

Marcy walked into the room with a telephone. It was an old black rotary dial phone, and she put that on the carpet near Kendra. Look at her legs! The cute damsel-in-distress sat up and scooted herself toward the telephone. Despite her bondage, the Gangsta Shrimp in the red bandana didn’t give up easily, and she twisted to grab the phone.

Kendra tried so hard to dial the phone. It was absolutely adorable. How little we knew then that this was the birth of the friendship that would bring me the second most happiness after Michela. If only we knew then what we know now. She dialed 911 as best as she could and threw herself on the floor on her side to try talking into the phone. She looked at the camera at Steve’s behest and assailed him with a string of profanity.

“Hel- -e! Then the hopth! I’he heen hihnahhed!”

We got a full view of the scrumptious kerchief on her head, and just as she had in this scene she would forever shun the Western paisley in favor of this kind of bandana. How pitiful our friend looked when she faced the camera. Truly, hers was a face that commanded sympathy on many levels. Not only was it the start of friendship but also the rebirth of one of the most considerate people you ever met in your life.

I taunted Kendra by hanging up the telephone while Steve told her to roll onto her belly. Sweet Gangsta Kendra started muttering more profanity into her gag. Even swearing is cute from her. I know I sound ridiculous, but it’s the absolute truth. She got the phone off the receiver again and resumed talking to her imaginary listener, begging to be freed from her kidnapping.

“Lithen ho -e -ou -ummf-ckth!” she wailed loudly.
“Aw, poor little girl can’t get help,” I was a natural at this domination, it seemed to me.
“-ou’re a -itch!” she scolds me.

A bit more wailing into the camera was just what we needed, right? I don’t know about you, but I was almost wet after that. I wanted to be in her position, really and have Michela just take over with using me to our delight. Finally, Kendra sat up, pushed the gag out of her mouth, and stared at us pitifully. The wet bandana hung loosely around her neck, and her eyes begged for mercy.

“Please untie me,” she truly did evoke sympathy just by her voice.
“Gag her,” Marcy whispered in my ear, “We’ll film you tickling her.”
“How about no?” I put the entire gag back in her mouth and tied the bandana tighter than before.
“MMMMMM!” groaned the victim.
“Ever been tickled?” I asked Kendra.
“Mmm hmm,” she nodded nervously and began struggling some more; she had a brother.
“Ever been spanked?” I taunted her.
“Mmm hmm,” she again nodded; she was her parents’ whipping toy.
“Today you’ll get just tickled,” I smiled.

I felt bad for Kendra to say the least. She really was her parents’ whipping toy. Horrid bruises covered her back; I saw them when she was changing. Even at 19, I would later learn, it was an unusually quiet day if she get a spanking, back beating, and/or hair pulling from only one of the three abusers: her mother, her father, and her little sister. It was a dark, dark life for her.

Kendra was sexy, and I wanted to dominate her while she was tied up and wearing the present outfit. Again, if I were a boy, instant wood would have occurred. Instead, my fingers began to explore her trunk to discover the most sensitive spot. If I got a sudden jerk in my less sensual and more mechanical search, then I’d know I had the right spot. Sure enough, there was a spot along her rib cage just under her bra that evoked an instant shriek.

Torture time.

Which felt better? Just tickling Kendra or her being helpless against it? I really did like tickling, I thought then and now, and there was a dominant streak in me that clicked with her submissive side. With just 5 minutes to tickle Kendra, I tried to do the most forceful tickling possible all while she growled and “Mmmphed” into that stuffed gag. She started sweating, and her face lit up with a strange reaction that suggested she was experiencing a foreign sensation of wanting to do something to stop me. She liked tickling even if she didn’t like bondage.

After so many years of being the unwanted child, Kendra had simply stopped caring. She didn't care about others or herself and just chased brief moments of mirth and the occasional fleeting smile. Very little brought her satisfaction except the monthly Pod F arm wrestling competition. Prison had actually brought life to her despite her negative worldview and had, in a sense, given her a sense of meaning and belonging that she didn't get at home. It was like the arm wrestling competitions for her. I actually felt some of that happiness emanate from her body; I wanted to be a ray of sunshine in her depressing life.

Her loud cackles even brought a smile to the face of Michela, who watched us tumble and roll with that usual vacant, lustful smile. How messed up she was in particular, such that observing her too closely would make one realize she wasn't perverted but simply dead on the inside and helplessly waiting for an antidote. Kendra’s laughter brought much joy to three lonely souls.

I untied Kendra’s arms, and some cheesecake followed with her leaning on her arms and smiling with that gag still in her mouth. She even pretended to talk to one of our released podmates, one Mary-Ann Voisin, who was one of our local Wal-Mart cashiers and thus was the only one still in my life by my choice just because I saw her at the store and would try to be there when she was.

Was I the antidote? Maybe we were the antidote for each other?



——————————————————————————————

Interlude 16: Casey Clark
Tuesday, December 18, 2012

I dried my tears, and between visitors Michela comforted me in a way that I cannot forget even if I don’t recall what she said. I was still wondering who this mysterious James Clark was when I turned and saw a very familiar and different face: Casey Clark. The damage from the stroke was obvious on her face.

“How did you know I was here?” I asked in a sad voice.
“Pop was one of the officers on the team that arrested you; Jenny’s dad transported you.”
“So everyone knows,” I fell against the chair in horror.
“We’d have known regardless considering everyone knew or at least suspected. Pop warned me that they were coming for you and begged me to try to reform you, but I failed.”
“I own my mistakes and regret them.”
“Once a Cool Girl, always a Cool Girl, and we’re here to help any way we can. All of us.”

I smiled but didn’t really feel deserving of such a notion and internally rejected the offer. I was a monster in my own eyes, and I told Casey of my parent’s treachery. As it turned out, Officer Pop Clark had pulled some strings to allow his 17 year-old daughter to visit her friend. Despite my actions, father and daughter alike both had confidence in me that I could come out of this and become a good person. Casey had spent her Black Friday reuniting with our old Club; I spent it pushing snow, and I don’t mean the wintery stuff that falls from the sky.

I kept that confidence and asked them to visit as much as possible and got Casey’s number on my list of permitted numbers so that I could call them since I couldn’t call my parents any longer. I still had people who cared, and one of the greatest regrets I have is that I hid for a full year after I was sprung. Only good people would go through that kind of effort to see me.

“I wish this place would change its bandana policy,” Casey joked, “My head is cold, and I don’t feel like me.”
“Write them and ask them,” I smiled at her, “Thanks for coming by.”

Despite it being against the rules, as soon as we were back in the pod, Michela hugged me, and the guards didn’t stop us either because they could only imagine my devastation. We were just friends to the guards, but that was the day Michela fell in love with me. We just had to wait for the previously mentioned incident with Clarissa for her to admit it.

——————————————————————————————

With Kendra being more or less left to her own amusement, I turned my attention to Michela, the object of my lust. When she knelt on the floor to pose for cheesecake shots, she made sure every bit of her clothing was how she liked it, and she had the sweater tucked into her skirt. If I were a guy, it would have been instant wood. She put the heels back on and took a seat.

Clothesline was standard. I tied her legs up in standard studio fashion: three along the lower legs and one on the thighs. Once those were all tied, I sensually pulled her arms together behind her back and bound her wrists and then her breasts, stealing a squeeze of her breasts along the way. I did it all so erotically that Michela was putty in my paws. Our lips met, but then Steve reminded me that we had a job to do.

Then he handed me a matte red ball gag. That shut her up to my pleasure. I love her gag talk so much; it excites me to this day. She immediately let out a shriek of distress; if I knew then what I knew after. She seemingly died at that moment, but I didn’t know better. Michela Palmeri was a true damsel-in-distress in the worst sense of it. Immediately, I could tell she disliked ball gags as well, but she gave a good strong struggle, flailing her arms along her left side as Steve told her to do so, but she was unhappy with the situation.

A loud groan told me her displeasure with the gag, and she resisted the desire to just writhe about on the chair to find any slack in my rope work. She yelled at me quite a bit until the matte finish was no longer matte but nice and shiny from her drool. It amused me just how terrible she could be at handling bondage because she seemed too focused on grabbing my eyes. It still is this way even today, and it’s still cute so many years later. The difference is that today she does it because she loves me; on that day in 2014 she was trying to tell me that she was distraught, triggered, and terrified by what I had done.

Exposing Michela was a pleasure. It was tits out, my friends. I pulled that scrumptious sweater down and put her bosom on display for all of her fans to enjoy not nearly as much as I did. Look at her trying to push the ball out of her mouth. Isn’t she beautiful? Those open heels though! I hoped she was having as much pleasure out of things as I was.

“MMMMMMM!” she didn’t sound too happy.

Orders are orders, and Michela turned to face the other side. Of course her arms were on display again; that is the highlight of the business, bondage. Steve got close to her face while she yelled at him, but why did she grab her own tit? It was cute watching her fondle herself, though. Then I got the order to pick her up and take the chair away.

Despite what looked like a girl struggling in bondage, in reality Michela was triggered, mentally trapped. She was reliving something horrible and unspeakable. Hottie in distress was genuinely in distress. Her eyes cried out for help.

Throwing her arms out and crouching were perfectly beautiful things when she did them. Yes, I was very horny at this point. She spoke a thousand words in such a simple manner, but none of them were understood by me, the person whom she trusted to understand first of all people. Yet, I was just as useless as Steve or anyone else. The poor thing instead was told to sit on the floor for more photos, including with her legs tucked into my chest.

Then I hogtied her. Yes, Michela got, what I thought, was her first ever hogtie. How little did I know it was more like her 100th. She wailed and continued struggling, and this was so cute. I just loved that outfit on her! I loved it so much that she soon bought one much like it. Today, in 2024, Michela still does that to grab eyes when her dirty playmates say a modeling outfit looks so good on her. Once Steve had a few good shots, I undid the hogtie because it was movie time.

Michela now was allowed to struggle. How much I loved those grunts of hers: “Hel- -e!” and “-et -e ho!” and “Unhie -e!” with the occasional “Hleathe!” added in front of the phrase. Love was in the air, and I loved Michela Palmeri. It felt like 20 minutes of just adoring her struggles when in reality it was only 4 minutes, and then Steve gave me the nudge to go out to torture her a little bit more. He motioned for spanking.

“So, you’re trying to seduce me with those lustful eyes, huh?” I asked and spanked her.
“Yow! MMMMMM!” she yelled and shook her head.
“Bad girl!” I spanked her on the other cheek.
“MMMM!” she groaned through each of the six spanks I gave.
“You ready?” I asked her, “To come out?”
“Mmm hmm!” she nodded.
“Good,” I whispered in her ear, “Because you’re going to tie me, gag me with your hose, and get to punish me.”



——————————————————————————————

Interlude 17: Christmas #1 Part 1
Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Denial.

I hammered the phone button and dialed the number once again. This was my fifth attempt at dialing my parents despite what Grandma had said. I hadn’t at this point even gone to trial yet; it couldn’t be real. On that fifth attempt, I finally gave up; how many times was a machine going to tell me that the number had been disconnected?

It was Christmas. It wasn’t bad enough that I had to spend around 15 hours in the cell today? I finally gave up and, at random, made three phone calls, one minute each, in rapid succession: Grandma, Casey, and Nichole. The last one was so stunned that we hardly talked, but she said she missed me. I put the phone on the receiver and moved out so another person could have a turn.

I didn’t feel like me.

“Are you OK?” Michela asked me as I walked away from the wall.
“Not even slightly. At least I am supposed to get visitors, and I got sent so many sweet letters.”
“Hannah, don’t snap on us. Sit down and play a game with us as friends. Look forward to when the visitors come later.”
“Come on, Larsson, sit down,” Kendra encouraged me.
“Yeah, you, me, Kristensen, and Palmeri will make a nice foursome!” Mary-Ann also tried.
“Sorry, girls,” I curled on one of the seats instead.
“She’s snapping,” I heard pain in Mary-Ann’s voice.
“Larsson, come out of it. Even if the fools outside don’t care, we want you to play with us. Not just because we’re stuck here together; we want you because we like you,” Kendra tried again.
“All right.”

This was Mary-Ann’s sixth Christmas here, four in this pod. How could I be so selfish when it was my first?

——————————————————————————————

“Hannah,” Michela finally told me the truth, “My daddy used to tie me and use those gags.”
“Ball gags? Your daddy tied you up when he… hurt you?” I felt the color drain from my face.
“Bad gags, aren’t they?” she sneered, “I hate them. Tape strip gags are bad too, but I’ll do it to you if you want me to.”
“That’s what Steve wants,” I sheepishly said and stepped back.
“I can do it, but I can’t use a bad gag like you just used on me, OK?” she trembled in fright.
“I love you,” I kissed her right on the lips, and we embraced for about 25 seconds.
“Want to hear a hockey storywhile I tie you up?

Michela had never tied me up. In the past week or so since our last appearance here, we had been taking off to become two of the top models at the studio with requests almost immediately coming in for “that hot brunette Lucille” and “that gorgeous blonde Karina.” Steve only told us this after I had untied Michela, and it felt good to have done well enough that people enjoyed our performance. At this stage, the thought of being one of Tied After Class Productions’ top-5 girls to whom perverted guys liked to masturbate hadn’t come to me.

Michela was so excited she didn’t know what to do. Steve and I carefully instructed her in the art of tying my arms together behind my back. One by one, she bound my wrists, below my elbows, and above my elbows. Most newbies are too loose with rope; Michela might have been too tight. To say I liked that was an understatement: I loved it because I was at her mercy. With an equal touch, Michela bound my legs at my ankles and on either side of my knees.

How could she do it? I sincerely didn't know how she survived tying me up when, as it turned out, her own suffering was bondage related and of this same nature. Heck, it's very possible that her father got the inspiration for what he did to her from this very studio. Disgusting people are disgusting, and Michela’s father is disgusting. While she bound me, she told me a hockey story, a story about the time she got in a fight, a big no-no in youth hockey, but the referees let it go on since the girls were laughing as they fought and weren’t really hitting each other too much.

“You asked for it; you get it,” Michela slowly pulled her hose off.
“I know I did. Bring it on,” I opened my mouth without a second thought.
“They’re not that smelly; it’s only been an hour.”
“Mmmmmm,” I nevertheless was aroused by being gagged with her hose.
“Enjoy, baby,” she began putting strips of silver duct tape over my lips.
“Mmmmm,” I repeated as the foreign flavors hit my tongue.

It was my time to shine.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 3 Chapter 3: Shame
Tuesday, December 18, 2014

Michela smiled at me when Steve paused to give us a moment to be off camera together. While the cameras were off, she gave me a kiss that was so erotic I felt a strange emotion overcome me just for a moment, especially after she fondled my breasts. I leaned back and enjoyed my first orgasm… ever. I was in love with her, and I wanted her to be mine and I hers. Steve understood that we were traumatized and living life in fear despite having a schedule to keep.

Now it was my turn to do my thing, and I lined up at the tape spot on the carpet and began to do what the fans wanted: to see me squirm and twist and to hear my moan. Twisting about was easy as was groaning, especially when I had an audience member I really did want to arouse. I could hide my feelings so easily and would look like I was genuinely scared and in distress. I looked into the camera quizzically as if there was someone on the other side who could see me and help me out of this. A quick look at my thighs gave me an idea of how tight things were, and I let out a long squeal of distress. But then Kendra entered the room with a determined, mischievous look on her face.

“It’s time, our lovely,” Kendra announced as she knelt on the floor, “To sniff.”
“Ooh,” Michela smiled as Kendra took a heel off her foot, “We’re gassing her out.”
“Yes, indeed, and who better to gas her out with than you?” Kendra’s voice became menacing.
“Mmmmm!” I grunted helplessly.
“Sniff!” she pushed the heel against my face.
“MMMMM!” at least it was Michela’s personal shoe?

The shoe was inescapable, and every breath I took filled my nostrils with the scent of my friend’s feet. Michela had likely not had the heels for too long, but they smelled bad enough I suspected that many girls had worn them over time. When I tried to turn away from it, Michela jumped me and pinned me to the floor. She laid on my back like she was going for anal sex and grabbed me by the hair and pulled my head up. Against my nose went the heel all while I felt her sexy warm breath down my neck, her heart pumping slowly and strongly because she was in fantastic shape, and her breasts hardening from the excitement of torturing me

“Does that smell good?” Kendra taunted me while petting my head, “Delicious toe cheese!”
“GRRRMMM!” I bucked her enough to roll onto my side.
“Oh, none of that!” Michela pushed me back down.
“Behave yourself, you dirty girl!” Kendra reached over and spanked me on the butt.
“Ugggggghhhh!” I groaned at the scent of my lover’s feet.
“I think she likes it,” Michela was chronically horny.

I looked up and saw it: Kendra was happy. Maybe it wasn't her favorite thing in life, but I could see she was enjoying her company. She finally felt like she belonged. The glimmer of hope in her eyes was like a shot in the arm; I had more than just Michela to justify my existence. I had my own little family of whom I was now the common bond. I hated the smell so much, but both of my friends Kendra were getting a thrill out of being on top for once. Being so small, Kendra always finished last in the arm-wrestling competition, twice being eliminated by me in the first round, so there was a little comeuppance at work here. Kendra found her niche in things.

Kendra’s entrance encouraged Steve to pause my punishment and take more photos because I was visibly perturbed as I knew revenge was coming my way. Upon request, I grabbed the heels as if I was hogtied and began squirming on the floor and flailing my arms. I rolled over onto my back and began kicking my legs high in the hair in the hope of loosening the leg ropes. Really, any rope loosening would have been good. I let my knees fall toward my face and turned to face the camera for my masturbating fans.

Now it was time for the photo shoot. I loved the photo shoots. They reversed the humiliation of my mugshots and badge shots with the triumph of being photographed for my beauty. I did just what Steve told me to do. Lifting my legs, kicking my legs up, twisting my arms with my legs out straight, tucking my legs in and wailing loudly, and rolling onto my stomach to grab the heels as if I were stuck in a hogtie. Rolling on my back and crying out loudly. Twisting and turning. I loved the work and cried out as loudly as I could and rolled my legs back against the floor above my head.

I loved it so much. I flopped on my side and struggled against the carpet. I stretched and wailed and kept looking for any slack in the ropes. For my finale, I rolled onto my back so Steve could photograph me struggling in profile. I was beautiful finally, and able to be me because I had my friends Michela and Kendra here. No longer was I some creep’s r-ping toy.

“Let’s give more to her,” Steve motioned to Kendra, “Make like you have a crush on her.”
“Oh, my beautiful!” Kendra sat down next to me and sat me up, “I’m in love with you.”
“NOOO!” I shook my head and looked at Michela.
“Oh, no no, my dealer,” she took my tits out and fondled them, “You want meeeeee!”
“CUT!” Steve jumped up, “What?! ‘Oh, no no, my dealer’?! Ah ha ha! Outtake reel!”
“Oh, f-ck it!” Kendra dumped me, “It’s fun, but I’m no lesbian.”
“Just the way I like it!” Michela came over for another erotic kiss on my taped lips.



——————————————————————————————

Interlude 18: Christmas #1 Part 2
Tuesday, December 25, 2012

“Well, girls, I see others getting up, so it must be time for mass,” Mary-Ann stands up, “Be back soon. Keep an eye on Larsson for me.”
“Oh, we will,” Phoebe smiled and took her place.
“Be back soon, bucko,” Michela followed Mary-Ann and waved to us.
“Have I missed anything?” Kylie takes Michela’s place.
“Larsson is experiencing the pain of Christmas. For me, it’s no big deal. My folks won’t visit or call most likely,” Kendra shrugged, “Maybe my grandparents will come later.”
“I’ll tell you, Larsson, it’s not easy. It’s not supposed to be. If it’s too much, tell Mrs. Copley.”

I sat there mindlessly playing the game with nary a care in the world. So many mistakes were made without me noticing, and I quickly found myself eliminated from the round. Kylie did not like the look on my face at all, and she seemed to be the most human of us all at times. Most of us were here because we had rejected either the world around us or ourselves, but she was, truth be told, almost too virtuous so that it seemed like she must have been framed. After a moment, I saw her stand up out of the corner of my eye, and she must have whispered something to one of the guards because I soon found Mrs. Copley standing by me.

“Need to get away?” her voice made me feel safe.
“Mmm hmm,” I grunted sadly and stood up.

——————————————————————————————

“You were wonderful!” Michela kissed me on the gagged lips and began untying me.
“That was so cool! You are so flexy!” Kendra clapped while looking at me.
“You are so sexy, Kendra!” Michela laughed, “We need to get you an outfit like it for yourself.”
“All right, all right, Palm—Michela,” our friend smiled and helped as I was untied.
“You're having fun, aren't you?” Michela asked me as she unpeeled the tape.
“That was so sexy being gagged with that,” I kissed her, “I love you! Outtake reel!”
“I’m never living this down, am I?” Kendra loudly cackled.

We were soon back in our own clothes a little richer. In a power play, Michela and I carried the short girl back to my car, which was somewhere in a triangle between a car, a jalopy, and what the Australians call a paddock basher. Most importantly, we all were a little bit better friends than when the day began. Finally, Kendra had friends!

“I didn't like that; that was another bad gag,” Michela shook her head slightly and slowly.
“I’m sorry. Michela, I never knew. We never talked about it,” I comforted her.
“I know. I know. Because thinking about it scares me.”
“We’ve got your back, Hannah.”

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 19: Christmas #1 Part 3
Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Mrs. Copley led me out of the pod, away from rec time, away from my friends, away from my terror, the terror of being without the people every child needs most in life. There was nothing I could do: no phone calls, no letters, no signal flares. Nothing could connect me to my childhood home any longer. I was facing between 1 and 15 years in prison with no one standing by my side throughout the process.

Poor Mary-Ann.

Out of the south wing we walked, toward the world, but we turned into one of the security rooms where my hands were handcuffed in front of me and my ankles were shackled. I looked at Mrs. Copley, who felt whatever the inmates felt. Another guard took her place for the moment so she could keep watch over me.

I get my hands and knees, wailing and crying in hysteria. It’s been nearly 12 years, and I still do not understand why my parents’ response was to hate me. I was literally crying like a baby that had fallen and bonked its head. It was loud, and tears poured down my cheeks in a river. I can’t tell you how terrible it felt; at the moment, I only had, out there, a grandmother and a couple of friends.

I wasn’t the only one who was in this situation nor the only one to respond in this way.

“Hannah, I’m sorry,” Mrs. Copley’s kind voice comforted me, “I know you’re sorry for what you did. Some are only sorry they got caught.”
“I want to go home and sleep in my own bed and go to my old friends and say I’m sorry.”
“You’re 16; that’s where you should be. I’m sorry someone convinced you to make the choices you made.”
“May we go back to the pod?”
“You want to walk and talk?”
“Mmm hmm,” someone who wanted to help me! Finally!

As we walked, Mrs. Copley told me of her own family and how she loved them and tried to love those of us who were receptive to it because she knew how distressing this all could be, and that is one reason why I still love her to this day.

——————————————————————————————

“Palmeri, can we crash at your place?” Kendra asked Michela as we drove away.
“Not yet. I’m still convincing Mom you’re not a snowglobe. Give it a week.”
“Say, Larsson, remember the time you tried to snort?” that loud cackle appeared again.
“God, don’t bring that up! I still can’t believe anyone likes that feeling!” I reprimanded her and added, “Kendra, would you please call us by our first names?”
“Oh, sh-t, sorry. I’ll try. Hard to truly care for anyone when only you two care about me.”
“I hated the ball gag,” Michela is back to catatonic, “Maybe one of those clear tape bandana gags next time?”

Michela is truly a trainwreck and doesn’t realize it anymore. I had no idea that we were soon to be part of the greatest triumph of her young life, but Kendra and I did it. Her soul is empty and devoid of trust because she spent years being violated by her own father, the person a girl usually trusts the most. Dad’s are supposed to be strong leaders and guardians, and hers was a monster. All day long it’s just that same catatonic, empty face except when she’s doing something with her friends or family or when she’s horny. Worse, it was bondage violations of her body.

Kendra is a different kind of mess. She’s a hot mess. I can tell by her body language that she is mentally craving the things that put her inside, and right now I am the only thing convincing her that keeping clean is the way to be. Desperation was one thing to feel, but I could hear it in her voice, the voice of one convinced that she was cursed from birth to have a doomed lifetime. We all had something in common: we weren’t loved by those who were morally obligated to love us. Even some of the other girls I still considered my friends were failed in some way. We made the choice, though, to seek solace in hanging around bad folks instead of hanging around good ones.

“Who’s the bleach blonde on your doorstep?” Kendra asked as I pulled into my driveway.
“That, if you recall, is Casey Clark,” I said with a groan, “F-cking morality cop!”
“Hannah!” the stroke-crippled girl leaned on a crutch and waved, “Oh, hi Michela!”
“She’s a sweetie and hottie even if she doesn’t like p-ssy and t-tty. Let’s be welcoming,” Michela jumped out of the car.
“F-ck my life! F-ck it! F-ck it! F-ck it!” I knew I shouldn’t be living a life where I’m ashamed to be seen by those who know me.
“Calm down!” Kendra said and opened the door, “I, for one, liked when she visited because she sometimes came to see me too, don’t forget, and brought Jenny with her.”

Now both are against me. I have no choice but to welcome the twit into my home. I’m glad they were with me because I would have otherwise admitted to everything wrong I’d done and then told Casey to go screw with a razor blade. Instead, I took the first baby step toward reclaiming my life. A hug awaited us all although Kendra’s was awkward.

“It’s been so long since I got to do this,” Casey didn’t want to let go, “How’s the Cool Girl?”
“Come in and take a seat on the sofa,” I motioned to the hovel.
“Wait, isn’t this the shed?” Kendra asked, “Isn’t the house the bigger thing behind you?”
“No, this is… my home. Come on,” I led my company into my hellhole, “Sorry, I’ve nothing to offer except tap water. I have just enough to keep myself from losing weight.”
“Nice cell,” Michela teased me on my bed against the wall.
“That f-cking prison ruined me!” I collapsed on the floor and burst into tears.

I then cried for the next three minutes. Who said prison girls are so tough they don’t cry? Casey was a sad sight with her short hair and the bandana that hit the scars from her brain surgeries. It would be a long time before she had a full head of long hair again.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 20: Christmas #1 Part 4
Tuesday, December 25, 2012

“Attention, there will be 2 hours of visitation today. A guard will come by your door and give a visitor pass to those who have visitors and have visitation privileges.”

Sure enough, there was Grandma on my pass… and Casey again. What brought Casey back here again? Did she like to see me in orange, or did she really still care about me? Why did she keep trying with me when I was woefully inadequate after she had her stroke and insulted her when she went through her spiritual rejuvenation? I was a junkie and a pusher who got what was well deserved for her crimes. I wasn’t surprised by my grandmother because I was her grandchild.

“Casey Clark, our friend the guitarist.”
“Hannah Larsson, our friend the singer. Merry Christmas.”
“Well,” I clinked the shackles, “I have my court date on the 3rd,” then I paused, “Why are you here?”
“Because I remember the girl I met 5 years ago… and I believe that’s still who you are.”
“They fed us a Christmas dinner. Want to hear about it?”
“As long as it’ll make you happier.”

And I proceeded to excitedly tell her about sweet potatoes, ham, and cheap apple pie. For the next 15 minutes, I forgot that this was a prison and not just a boarding school for miscreants. I wish I embraced her love more while in there and that I hadn’t refused it for so long after.

——————————————————————————————

After my brief outburst, it became apparent that first the bed was a thing I did because it made me feel safe and second that it was not a thing to joke about. I had worked hard to make this place look as nice as possible and keep it bug free, but it was readily apparent that the heat was turned off. None of us dared to address that. I sat on the sofa with Michela on my lap and Casey next to me while Kendra sat backward on the chair.

“Hannah,” Michela suggested, “Mom’s cool with us. Move in with me!”
I turned to Casey, who was clearly bothered by something, “Which one? Modeling or Michela?”
“Modeling,” she was candid, “Hannah, even my folks would let you two smooch in their living room before letting you live in this dump.”
“I have to side with the goody two-shoes,” Kendra admitted, “You’re going to starve, freeze or commit suicide living like this. Hannah, we care about you.”
“What about your grandma?” Casey suggested, “So you have a thing for girls. I don’t care about that! I want to see you be as happy as you were before things went bad. You’ll never forget the past, but you can still be happy in spite of it!”
“Come on, Hannah, you’ve got options, I’m sure,” Michela wrapped her arms around me, “It’s kind of cute to be alone sometimes, but I do worry about you.”
“Please, Hannah,” Kendra forced herself not to cry.

I froze at that point and felt my mouth go dry. All three of them were against me. How could I so brazenly refuse their kindness? I did with a condition: I had until the end of January, 6 weeks, to make a decision before they’d either have the place condemned or just take me from here by force. They made a pact, despite barely knowing each other. I was officially my worst enemy now. Casey and Kendra hit it off so well as friends that the former offered to take the latter back to her home.

“Michela…”
“Don’t push yourself. Think about what will be best for you,” she said.
“No, I want you to tie me up,” I admitted, “only I’ll be in prison style panties and a sports bra.”
“Ooooohhhh, sexy time. You and me taking a nice afternoon nap on your bed.”
“I never orgasmed in my life before today. All those times we’ve ground only you went.”
“I will make sure you get set off this time.”

Michela never even took her clothes off. Orange and orange, rubbing and loving, my lips taped and sealed shut, her lips against mine… we had a memorable time there in my… cell. So many times getting it, willingly and unwillingly with Greg, with that one boy when I was a freshman, with Michela here and in juvie, yet I never got my own pleasure. When Michela was past her own second, though, I felt it while our lips met through the gag. And it was so good.

That day was the start of a change in my life. My mind wasn’t made up on where to go, but I knew I needed to get out of this dump. Kendra was right that I was trending toward suicide; I was already idealizing it and growing desensitized to it. There were people to live for at least, and Michela was giving me a good time. I loved how it felt when the person on the bottom was tape gagged, whichever side I was on.

I had Kendra and Casey both supporting me. In fact, none of these three ever left my side unless there was distance between us, like when Casey and her folks vacationed in Arizona one summer and were a bit hard to reach at times or when Michela and her family did the same. I’ve been so blessed to have them in my life, and what a journey it was!

Kendra and I had a lot of fun doing gigs; she never got into TUGs outside modeling. She liked the money and work enough that she appeared in other studios productions and became quite the regular model. When she was 21, a light bulb went off in her head, though; it was, I think, the influence of her cousin. I was there for Kendra’s wedding, and I was there shortly after her first and third babies were born. I even got to be the godmother to one of her children. Bizarre as it sounds, she has a type of foot fetish. Maybe someday I’ll talk more about it.

Those of you familiar with the Cool Girls’ Club know my friend Jenny already. Well, Kendra was a second cousin of Jenny’s. Some of you may know that nearly everyone in Jenny’s family has a child before they're 25 and lives into their 80s and 90s… or they get a brain tumor and die. Kendra nearly did both. Modern medicine saved Kendra, but what a battle it was. She beat the Kristensen curse, but what a stressful time it was. It’s a story that deserves a thread of its own.

Kendra Penelope Kristensen: the ultimate survivor.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 4 Chapter 1: Feeling Loved
Saturday, January 10, 2015

“Hey, hey, Michela, that’s enough, ha ha!” I said as my girlfriend gag kissed me again.
“Awwwwww,” Michela whined as I stood up.
“So long threesome,” Kylie laughs a little.
“Wow, ummm… interesting,” Mary-Ann Voisin blushes a little.
“Welcome to my abode,” I look with embarrassment toward my sideways mattress.
“So that’s bondage. Not much different from kidnapping.”
“Why, have you been kidnapped?”

Kylie Svensson is in my life by absolute chance or divine intervention. She had been released in August and gone home to Prior Lake, a nearby town. As things worked out, just three days ago, I ran into her on my community college campus as we were both there to work out things about financial aid, and we immediately hit it off. That night, we had some pretty awesome sex with a bound and gagged Michela between us just like we do now.

I wasn’t afraid of her knowing. She and I had discussed TUGs when we were alone, those very rare occasions. She and her siblings had worked out a code by which she would then effectively roleplay TUGs with her siblings and even give them instructions on how to tie up each other. I’d not do so then, but now I have to admit that she is the most intelligent one of us all. With such a great intellect comes increased psychological fragility, though; that’s Kendra’s theory and highly substantiated by mine and Kylie’s education and experiences.

Mary-Ann looks away from me as if she had never contemplated being kidnapped before. I can tell she has a story, and while Michela helps the bicurious Kylie, we sit and talk before it is time to leave to visit the Moreau’s. As she subtly conveys, M.A. has been kidnapped and perhaps has even kidnapped people but refuses to say more. She blushes and is embarrassed.

Mary-Ann has told the story so many times that she can tell it without any emotions whatsoever. Her parents are both drunks who regularly neglected her and even went on a vacation without her when she was 12. A neighbor found out and called Child Protection Services to help her, but she hated foster care as well. She ran away from home many times, even stealing cars when she was as young as 14. She was in and out of juvie because she liked juvie more than foster care; after enough arrests, she begged the judge to send her to juvie until she was an adult.

M.A. (“Ma”) spent two months wandering as a homeless person working odd jobs before one of her cousins found her; she then swallowed her pride and moved in with that cousin. She rebuilt her life from the ground up by working two full-time jobs, FedEx and Walmart, and at this time had an apartment for herself. Life was different, but she never saw cause to call her parents. We platonically hugged in commiseration, having no one to call “Mom and Dad” despite our parents being alive. Hugging was hard for a girl who never received even a good night kiss after she was maybe 3 years old.

In the bedroom, I saw a vacant Michela getting ground by Kylie. I say vacant because there was none of the passion she felt with me, but she was still enjoying herself in a way. I was hers, and she was mine. We were more like friends with benefits, but we were the friends we sure needed at this phase of our lives. There was room for others at moments. Kylie was a girl who had been wrecked much like me… Mr. Reardon.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 21: Mary-Ann Voisin
Tuesday, November 27, 2012

“Welcome,” a strong girl, taller than me and with dark hair and a back headband, sat next to me.
“Hi,” I said while not enjoying myself, “Who are you, and what did you do?”
“I’m Mary-Ann, Mary-Ann Voisin. Some call me M.A. I’m a regular. FYI, we don’t talk about what we did out loud. It’s against the rules; we code speak it.”
“No whispering!” a guard warned us.
“So, I’m on GTA, like the game,” she rolled her eyes, “Ran away from foster care too much and finally asked to stay until I was an adult. I’m happier here.”
“I was a slinger and a user,” I growl a bit.
“Ah, yeah, Kendra mentioned you. Sorry you two didn't fix yourselves in time.”
“Sorry? Why?”
“Because you're sorry you did it; most are sorry they got caught.”

I didn’t understand why this girl was talking to me, but it seemed here in Pod F was where all the long-term but not too horrible girls went. GTA, small-time selling, and self-defense were normal in this block. She seemed numbed to reality and not to look forward to her release in the coming summer. There was no life to have out there for her, and her reading glasses were her best friend and perfectly accompanied her curly brunette locks. Her hair was wild yet just the way she liked it, and a black bandana held her hair out of her face.

Prisoner JF12070293, F15; Yes, you read that number right. I was here in 2012, and her number was dated based on her first appearance back in 2007!

It was strange for M.A. as she never had visitors. We were like a big family of sisters to her, and she was always a leader. In basketball and volleyball, she appointed positions. At rec time, she often was the one who picked out the game and assigned someone to go to the commissary. In school, she was the one trying to help everyone else to succeed. When one of us was distressed, she knew what to say or pointed to the person who knew what to say.

She had it all here: regular meals, attention when needed, friends who cared and about whom she cared, Mrs. Copley, structure, clean clothes and sheets, reliable TV. Prison was not supposed to be a hotel, but she had incredible mental fortitude so that she was not afraid of this coming to an end in a few months. When she stood up straight and tall, there was a sense of pride that could be seen even when she was in the staid prison face. I saw it every day during my march down the grating while each cell filed in behind me and Michela since Mary-Ann was F15 until the day she was released. She had her life under control and was ready to fight and struggle even as she left behind what was for her the only source of happiness she'sd ever known. We were actually on the set when M.A. got the call that her old cellmate, F16, LaRyssa Jamison, had died; that was the first I saw her cry like that. Some of us are routine blubberers.

Sometimes I teasingly called her Maddy because she had the only DD cups in the pod, and they had to be natural given that we’re all high schoolers! I love her dearly, and ironically it was she who first pointed me toward a better way of living. Mary-Ann might have not had her first cell phone until she was almost 20 years old, but she had as full or a fuller life than most of us did.

——————————————————————————————

Kylie wasn’t sure if she liked girls or not, so Michela and I invited her to my place for a second threesome as we weren’t expecting M.A. to arrive until lunch time. They had heard of our side jobs, and Steve agreed to give them both a taste of what it was like. I asked M.A. to wait for us for 10 minutes while I went in to recreate the threesome. Kylie was on the bisexual train now.

A denim mini-skirt, a black bandana headband, and a multi-colored vertically striped button-up shirt with long sleeves adorned Michela. I’m in my standard colors today with white sweatpants, a blue sweatshirt, and a white bandana headband. I’ve got Michela regularly wearing bandanas and dreaming of someday being a Cool Girl too. It’s a wonderful dream to keep in front of us; it is finally a dream even I will finally consider.

Ropes bound Michela in the same manner as one of our scenes. A pair of dirty socks that needed to be washed was in her mouth, and a bandana cleave gag held them in her mouth. She was very happy since those were my socks. I knelt down beside her and ran my hands through her brown hair with lust pulsing through my veins; I felt my heart beating faster. Life filled Michela’s eyes.

Kylie was a typical girl in a typical position except that she was wearing gym shorts on what was to me a chilly day. Then again, Michela was in a short skirt and hose already since she knew she was doing a scene. Kylie’s blonde hair was wavy and sexy even if I didn't get the “instant wood” feeling with her like some girls. Nearly four years in prison had sucked the joy out of her life. It was a very different kind of lust; it was personal between us. Sapiosexuality is what it was. Call me a weirdo for feeling that way.

I kissed Michela on her stuffed cleave gagged lips and then kissed Kylie on her free lips. I knew M.A. is straight, but she allowed this as we had no source of comfort except the fellow girls of Pod F. M.A. and I really had no one at all but those friends. We were enjoying ourselves even if Kylie was just here for sex. I was quite absorbed in love for Michela and began grinding her.

“Girls! Don't forget about lunch,” Mary-Ann kindly reminded us.
“Whoops! Let's go!” I snapped out of it and gave Michela one last kiss on the lips.
“Mmmmmmm!” that was the kiss that set Michela over the edge, though.
“Nice timing. I had fun,” Kylie got up.
“Ummm… wow… she really does have a thing for you,” Mary-Ann blushed.
“Yeah… we love each other in many ways,” I kindly start untying my girlfriend.

M.A. worked two jobs, as I said. One was being a cashier at my local Wal-Mart, and one was at the FedEx center as a truck loader. I always timed my trips to the store so that I got her checkout line, so no one knew my suffering better than she did. Finding time for her friends wasn’t easy, and I often took her home from work because she didn't have a car at the time. She and Michela were the only girls I ever saw pray, and I understood Michela brought her to church with her. We all had our struggles and our own outlets. M.A. was the only one from whom I didn't hide after I was released.

Kylie was in school with me, also just following the general liberal arts track. We had classes in common this semester. She had it easy like I did because she, too, had her record expunged upon reaching adulthood. I struggled to think I had it easy in any regard, but I didn't have a permanent criminal record like M.A., Kendra, and Michela.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 22: Kylie Svensson
Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Kylie Svensson, my birthday twin, was a nuisance to her classmates. She got straight A’s, was gorgeous with her wavy blonde locks, and had ample humility. It all dissolved in 2011 when she was arrested and eventually sentenced to 36 months in here. Just like that, a nerd who seemed destined for the life of an intelligent doctor, teacher, or other educated field was a convict and a felon. Something in her blue eyes died the day she was busted: her innocence. Mr. Reardon then finished ruining her.

Prisoner JF05110132, F07

“What brought you to Mudville from Prior Lake?” I asked her my third night.
“A felony, what do you think? At least my parents believe me when I tell the truth.”
“Someone's sore, but I’m not pushing,” I wished the badge said the charges.
“Are you visiting or staying?” she seemed too friendly and took off her nerd spectacles.
“I’ll be staying after my court date, for sure,” I sighed, “I blew it. Big time.”
“Svensson, you are a goody two shoes,” Kendra groaned as she listened to us.
“We're two cogs of the same wheel,” I motioned to Kendra for Kylie, “I was late to the party.”
“Supply,” Kylie swung an arm toward me, and then the other toward Kendra, “and demand, as shown by Kendra’s deviated septum.”

Kendra grew red faced with embarrassment in the true adorable Kristensen way. The cheerful and ever innocent (yes, I am contradicting myself) Kylie smiled and leaned back with her hands folded across her chest. Orange jumpsuits obscure a girl’s figure, but, man, she was a real hottie when she was smiling. I finally got my chance to test the waters a few days later when only she and I took a shower between classes and used adjoining stalls.

Friday, November 30, 2012

“Nice Cs there,” I said to her quietly before we turned on the water.
“Thanks,” she blushed and looked down at herself, “No one here's ever said that before.”
“You suffer from depression, don't you?”
“How can you tell?” a little panic set in.
“I noticed that every morning the guards bring you pills,” I explained.
“You're observant. I spend a lot of time with counselors, often by request. No more talking.”
“But we’re allowed to…”
“NO.”

Spent a lot of time? I think I said something that day because she took a big gulp and seemed to be disturbed that entire shower. That night, she quietly whispered to the guard and was led away from Pod F before going back to being a MV for a week. Maybe she was actually thinking about hurting herself right then and there? I don't know, but the next and final time Kylie was up to II she quietly thanked me but didn't say why she was thanking me.

——————————————————————————————

“You girls into all that gangster look or something?” Kylie teased us for our bandanas.
“I like them,” I admitted, “My old friends, the good ones, the Cool Girls’ Club, two of the girls wore them for years before we started the Club, and we started the Club with each member being assigned a color to wear during official meetings.”
“Sounds cute and fun,” Mary-Ann laughed a little, “Well, you know, you two girls were among the only ones besides me who were there long enough and maintained a III+ long enough to be allowed to wear them.”
“Sounds smoking hot if the girls are as pretty as you two,” Kylie squirmed a little.
“I’d screw any of you hotties,” Michela was candid, “But Hannah’s my only love.”
“I,” I blushed as that was the first time Michela said such a thing, “I love you, too.”

Kylie and I couldn't pay for our own lunch; we were too poor. Mary-Ann paid for her own, and Michela kindly covered herself and us paupers. In the car, I volunteered to be the first one to get tied up so that Mary-Ann and Kylie, who had already done the questionnaires, could familiarize themselves with the place and what was happening therein.

Michela held onto my arm as we descended the staircase. It felt good to know I was a source of strength to her in a confusing period of her life. She'd hit the reset button on life and struggled to find herself. She knew she had something special in me, though. When we reached the bottom of the stairs, I made her a promise.

“When I tie you up, my bandana is going in your mouth, and yours is the OTM gag.”
“I,” she pushed me against the wall in a gentle way, and lust filled her eyes, “Would love that.”
“Mmmmmm,” our lips met in a sensual way.
“When we’re in my house with my family is the only time I feel fully human anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “You’ve been robbed of so much.”
“I’ll never get it back, but at least there’s you,” she played with my hair.
“Break it up!” Mary-Ann teased us as she entered the stairwell.
“Oops,” I ignored her momentarily while focusing on Michela.
“The boss asked for heels and a skirt from each of us, OK?” Kylie smiled lustfully and got close.
“Oh, all right,” I said, and Michela and I both kissed her on the cheeks before we broke it up.

Kylie ironically naturally gravitated toward the same striped sweater Kendra wore during our last shoot, but she instead picked out a red mini-skirt made of a solid fabric and red high heels. She was smoking hot, but she’d clearly never worn heels before! Oh, her tottering was arousing in a very fun way.

“Just don’t smile too much. I have found that the more a girl smiles the meaner Hannah tends to be when she ties them up,” Michela warned her.
“Oh, that’s silly!” Kylie laughed.
“I never noticed. I think she’s right!” I blushed a little.

Mary-Ann seemed a bit unsure of what to wear. Her experience with bondage had been limited to two dozen arrests, a kidnapping of unknown details, and what she had witnessed through me. I held up a vertically striped purple vest shirt and a short skirt near her and handed the outfit to her; M.A. took it with a smile of confidence. Some open white heels and pantyhose completed the outfit. In a matter of moments, she was dressed with her wild hair held up by a scrunchie and tottering just like Kylie. I had gotten used to heels from modeling, and Michela oftentimes wore them to mass.

For myself, I chose a blue short sleeve blouse that snapped up from the tits to the neck area. A pink plaid skirt gave me a naughty school girl vibe, and blue socks and white heels rounded it out quite nicely. I stood up and clasped my hands together behind me in typical prison fashion. Only now did I realize that we all were doing it, all four of us, and that M.A. did it every chance she had. We all stood straight and tall.

“We aren't former inmates; we're survivors!” I said positively.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 23: Kendra Kristensen
Monday, November 26, 2012

“Why the f-ck do you girls like this sh-t?!” I asked as I reacted to the powerful drug.
“Haha! It's not for everyone,” Kendra laughed and handed me the money.
“Here you go. Damn, your pockets are deep,” I handed Kendra a baggie.
“I have a steady source,” she said coldly, “My friends and I will have a good time.”
“Blowing out your brains, I think. Now I have to get through my day like this.”
“Hey, just cut your next class, Larsson, and you’ll be fine.”

I was just glad to have that off me. Cocaine is an awful thing, and I couldn't believe she planned to carry that on her the rest of her school day. She wasn't really, though, as someone else noticed the baggie in her backpack, and afternoon World History turned into a crime scene with Kendra Kristensen being taken off to the Mudville Juvenile Detention Center. Shortly after, it’s my turn. She was going to be busted as soon as she left the building anyway, but this guaranteed it.

Prisoner JF11120286, F04

“Hey, Larsson,” Kendra joined some of us one beautiful spring night.
“Look! A shooting start! Make a wish!” I said pointing up to the night sky.

You see, there was a walled-in rectangle of grass that we, with permission, could enjoy as long as the weather was within certain parameters (no ice, for one, because ice is a weapon). The guard would unlock the door and let us out into it, so perhaps it was more like a psychiatric ward than a prison in that regard.

“Just think, over that wall,” I pointed, “Just a half of a mile away, is the Mudville High School sports complex.”
“So that’s why I can hear cheering and see a glow at times,” Michela smiled.
“The orange looked better on you, Larsson,” Kendra hid from the topic.
“But the lavender looks better on you and Michela.”
“Thank you!” the oblivious Michela responded.
“I wish to one day finally experience true love like wives, mothers, and children feel.”
“If you say it out loud,” I reminded her, “It doesn't come true.”
“I'm saying it out loud so we'll remember this night if it does come true,” her eyes sparkled.

Her wish came true.

——————————————————————————————

“Oh, aren't we so cute?!” Kylie asked us all.
“Maddy, Kylie, you need stage names,” I added.
“Fine. I’m Maddy then,” Mary-Ann responded quite snarkily.
“Then I’ll be Mary-Ann!” Kylie joked.
“Please, don't. It’ll confuse me,” Michela turned to them, “Not that we say names on camera.”
“OK… Star Blue! Since I have blue-gray eyes.”

Beautiful blue-gray eyes they were. Her eyes were mesmerizing, and I peered into them and thought some fairly adventurous things, maybe dirty things. Oh, yes, Michela and I had another f-ck buddy in this mutual friend even if there was no romance involved. Kylie was really just a sexual girl and willing to do nearly anything just for that feeling of sexual arousal and orgasm.

Kylie and Mary-Ann watched with curiosity while Michela tied me up. Chemistry of the kind I had with everyone resulted in scenes where I either did the tying or was tied by one of them. It was a great privilege I relished then and still do. For example, Brianna was never allowed to tie up people outside Girls Gone Wild while I have only been here a few times total and had all the privileges and trust that Kristine had.

In typical fashion, my wrists and elbows were tied behind my back, and Michela was careful not to be as tight as she was the last time. My legs got roped in the usual way with three on the lower legs and one above the knees. Michela enjoyed binding me as evidenced by the way she bounced up when she finished tying my legs. When tying the harness, of course Michela stole a squeeze of my tits, and Steve handed her a blue ball gag.

It was time to struggle as the lights were set up and ready to go. Michela stepped aside and blew me a kiss as Steve began taking photos of me. It was a basic struggle with me on a wooden chair in typical TAC fashion. I groaned like I usually did, and I noticed that the ball started getting wet like Michela’s had during the last scene. Oh, how exciting it was for me, but it was arousing for my girlfriend.

And we were just beginning the shoots for the day.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 4 Chapter 2: With a Little Help from my Friends
Saturday, January 10, 2015

“MMMMM!” I groaned into the blue ball gag in my mouth.
“She is sexy like that. Will I be?” Mary-Ann had her doubts.
“I know I will be,” Kylie was strangely confident about this.

With Steve in control of the photoshoot now, I knew things would go well. I continued trying to fight against the clothesline and moved myself about the chair like a woman fearing for her life. The gag was quite wet, and I figured this one would lead to requests for me to experience more ball gags. I liked the feeling of the gag in my mouth even if it had no give to it.

Which was weirder? The thought of strange men (and maybe a couple of women) touching their junk while watching videos of me struggling into a gag, or the sight of my own girlfriend trying to keep her legs closed because she found me irresistible? Once Steve gave the greenlight, Kylie was by my side… and unbuttoning my shirt!

“No!” I shook my head, but soon I had a trio of girls around me.
“I’ll get her off,” Kylie said, “Squeeze it out of her.”
“Good; us stronger ones will hold her down then,” M.A. spoke, “Give it to her.”
“I think Kylie is the weakest one of us all, but that’s my opinion,” Michela spoke.
“Hey, I don’t think so. I’m just not an enforcer like you three!”
“Yeah, right. You never were game to go to the gym!”
“Hannah made mincemeat of you back at her place, or do you melt for her?” Kylie fired back.

Michela blushed while holding me down in admission that she let me tie her up at least some of the time. How could I care really when Kylie was opening my shirt to try to force me to orgasm in this fashion. She gently bit my nipple! It was tits out, my friends, and I was on the bottom of this situation. Because of this, I was determined that if I got out in time then I was going to stick my pantyhose, sticky stuff and all, in her mouth. We were simply being left to do our own things for the moment, and Kylie and M.A. make me proud with their immediate comfort with things. I realized then that they didn’t know the camera was rolling.

Kylie seemed too familiar with how these things worked; like Michela, she had gone home to an eagerly awaiting family only to find that she had lost 3 years of growing up with her siblings. It was going to be a day full of surprises; she had done her research! The strong hands fondled me while I groaned helplessly. Slowly, I felt a growing burn inside me. Yes, it worked quickly since I was already aroused from kissing Michela before getting tied up. After a few minutes of this, Steve shooed everyone. He had a photoshoot to continue doing. After a couple more photos, I threw off my heels just by instinct; I knew what I was doing!

Steve loved that. I twisted and put a hand on my right tit for more photos, and he even had me pose for a couple of overhead type shots. It was great, posing for pictures. For the first time, I didn’t care about the audience; I was doing it for me and Steve. The best pictures are those of my lovely stocking feet; by best, I mean the best job of the photography itself. Then, just as I do to her, Michela picks me up by my tits while Kylie takes the chair away. The threesome might have physically ended, but it psychologically continues.

A few shots of the helpless former Prisoner F09 JF11120288 standing on her feet are followed by her being grabbed, again by the tits, by her former Prisoner F07 JF03110072 Kylie Svensson and being forced to the carpet. This was one hot scene, wasn’t it? Steve is just eating this up with a continuous sequence of photos being taken. I turned to my side so everyone could see my profile and my arms in their bondage.

“Kylie, how long have you been into bondage?” Mary-Ann asked our friend.
“Oh, let’s see… 11 years old… almost 8 years come May,” she responded confidently.
“Dang. You’re a professional kinkster!” laughed my girlfriend, “Too bad it’s a bad gag.”
“This is actually cool. We used to sneak around on the internet and come to this studio’s site.”
“Ooooohhhhh,” Michela wrapped her arms around Kylie, “You are a naughty girl.”
“MMMMMMM!” I commanded their attention.
“What’s a bad gag?” I could tell Maddy was confused, but she was ignored.

I was so sexy squirming on my side with my tits out and a blue ball gag in my mouth. Yes, that naughty schoolgirl you see in the pictures was aroused enough to orgasm but she needed a little more push to get to that point. Mr. Moreau didn’t just want shots of me on my side, though, so I got up on my knees. What followed was more generic struggling before Michela got to remove the gag. At Steve’s suggestion, she kissed me on the lips, and what a kiss it was.

That made it easy to smile for the final shots. Cheesecake shots are the best part of the scene, at least they’re guaranteed to be the best when done when the girl is happy, whether that means the shots are taken before or after a scene. I was truly happy; I loved this job, mostly because of the wonderful company.



“Such a sweet girl,” M.A. gave me a platonic kiss on the forehead.
“Thanks, Maddy. You’ve been a good friend.”

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 24: Ashley Calland
Tuesday, November 27, 2012

“Are you crying?” I asked and sat next to a younger girl whose badge has a date from 2009.
“I am,” nodded the girl, “My parents were killed by my abuser. I miss them.”
“That’s awful! Do you want to talk?” I try to be a friendly ear, but I’m crying already.
“No, I don’t. But if you would sit with me, it would mean a lot to me.”
“I’m Hannah. What's your name?”
“Ashley. Ashley Calland,” her French accent is the cutest thing.

Ashley was another case of innocence stolen like Michela’s. She won’t talk about it, though. I do not want to know anyway. Michela’s story is harrowing enough; I don’t need a second. All I know is that Ashley was orphaned and ended up in an abusive situation.

Thursday, February 14, 2013

“Will you be my Valentine?” I jokingly asked Michela as we walked into the shower.
“Sure. If you’re good, sometimes Mrs. Copley will sneak some safe chocolates in here.”
“I’m the problem child,” Ashley jumped into the stall next to me, “Nut allergies.”
“You’re like a big sister to her. You and M.A. are everything to this girl,” Michela smiles at us.
“No!” I denied that to her, “I’m not really like that? Am I, Ash?”
“Yes, you are,” Michela said behind me.

And Ashley looked up at me and smiled brightly in appreciation of Michela’s words. None of us knew that by the time of my release this girl would shoot up to be 3 inches taller than me! It was the beginning of the most meaningful friendship I have even if Michela is my best friend.

——————————————————————————————

“Hey, she’s my girlfriend!” Michela burst out in a bit of jealousy, “I didn’t invite you!”
“Sorry. Girls sometimes kiss their female friends. It’s a friendship kiss, not a romantic one.”
“Ohhh,” Michela didn’t flinch; her anger was fake, “I still have to punish you for this!”
“Very well. Everyone knows you two are a couple,” Mary-Ann smiled, “Try to take me!”
“Good stuff!” Kylie sat on my legs, gagged me, and resumed fondling me.
“NMMPH!” I groaned at her powerful grip, and she even ran her hands on my crotch.

Michela made Mary-Ann pay indeed. It was very similar to what I had done to Kristine not too long ago with Mary-Ann getting her hands tied in front of her and secured to her tied thighs. At her ankles and knees were more clothesline, and to make it sexier her ankles were even crossed over each other. A chest harness made her big tits bulge out, and a waist rope crushed her body against the chair. Into Mary-Ann’s mouth went the socks she had been wearing when we arrived, and strips of duct tape held that in her mouth.

The face Mary-Ann made when those socks entered her mouth is forever burned into my mind; she didn’t just hate it but, for a few seconds, also hated Michela. M.A. kicked her legs in and out with a desperation unlike anything else I have seen. She was genuinely pitiful, and her thrashing necessitated she pause and push her glasses back onto her face. It would have taken no effort to pull the gag off her mouth, but she didn’t try.

Mary-Ann continued pulling at the rope that connected her hands and legs to no avail, and loud, embittered wailing filled the air. Her heels flew off at the laughing Michela, who was oblivious to her captive’s resistance, for this was no ordinary resistance. The terror in Mary-Ann’s eyes didn't dissuade Michela, who went and opened her shirt. It was tits out, my friends. It seemed to me that, based on her eyes, M.A. had been unwillingly tied up before. She wasn’t triggered, but her facial expressions were ones of personal experience.

“NNNNNN!” I groaned because I had been getting incessantly fondled for 20-30 minutes.
“Oh, sorry, honey, are you in need of another jerk off?” Kylie asked me with a bit of concern.
“Mmmm hmmm,” I nodded having built up quite the soreness in my crotch.
“Michela, she needs you,” Kylie unbuckled the gag, moved aside and continued squeezing me.
“Hey, sweetie,” Michela sat me up and kissed me right on my wet lips.
“I’ll contribute,” Kylie got me on the neck and then, after my orgasm, began freeing me.
“Time’s up, baby. Back to work.”
“Oh, thank God!” I laugh a bit, “That was fun, hotties.”
“I like when you two call each other and me a hottie,” Michela’s eyes sparkled with happiness.

Those 34DD melons were so incredible to feast my eyes upon. I could have finally touched the beautiful breasts as I had long wanted to do, but I was bound and gagged and getting kissed and ground and such for so long! What a beautiful young woman. More amazing than her tits was the heart she had though. She was the opposite of Michela. She’d never known real love or how to love others, but she felt the emotions and wanted to learn how to do it.

Oh, Steve gets to twist Mary-Ann’s tits, but I don’t! Confounded ropes! I should have been free already, but Kylie wanted to screw around with me. Oh, well. I’d get my chance, and I knew it. I just enjoyed watching her squirm and squeal in her bondage debut. This girl was going to be at the top of the charts in no time at all; I just knew it in my heart.



——————————————————————————————

Interlude 25: Phoebe Enslow
Thursday, November 29, 2012

“So I said to ‘dat boy, ‘You go an’ touch my frien’ again, I’m gonna take you down.’ He did it again, an’ I came at him wid’ brass knuckles,” Phoebe Enslow talks to Kendra.
“Hey! Watch the crime talk!” Mrs. Copley reminds us in her motherly tone.
“Anyhow, ‘dat is why I am here ‘cuz. Hope ‘e likes ‘is fake teeth. Who’s ‘dis?”
“I’m Hannah, Hannah Larsson,” I take a seat at the table with Kendra, Phoebe, and Kylie.
“F11, huh? Unlucky girl. You end up in Pod F, you doin’ time on sumtin’ big, and I mean six months or years,” the black girl’s personality is charming, “Ah got ah year for ridin’ in a stolen car when I didn’ e’en steal it! Ah wuz jus’ the passenger!”
“We all have a story, but I’m not up for it now,” I sat down in a sad state.
“I’m kiddin’ ya. I stole it.”

We had talked the day before, but we hadn’t exchanged names because of curfew curtailing my time to talk. Phoebe talked like a stereotypical black girl and had some of the stereotypical black girl attitude, but she had the stereotypical honor too. Never was there a more honorable girl than Phoebe Enslow who got herself a year in here rather than squeal on her friend of lesser character. She was a trustworthy girl, so she knew every secret in the pod without telling a soul. She had made a mistake and took full responsibility for it, and she is still the most responsible person you could ever meet.

Prisoner JF08110143, F02

Friday, November 30, 2012

“Get use’ to me havin’ early curfews. I’m ‘da unstable one,” Phoebe said before class.
“You’ll figure it out, won’t you?”
“Girl, I been here three times. I get ou’, an’ I fin’ another dummy who gets me in trouble.”
“We all need new friends, don’t we?” I ask pensively.
“‘Cep’ Mary-Ann. I’m sick o’ makin’ my daddy cry. He’s a good, proud man.”
“You have a goal, then. Focus your energy on that.”

Phoebe looked at me, and I saw the light bulb go off. In just a few days, I had already done at least one good thing for someone else in here, and that was the beginning of a new life for her. I don’t like taking credit for things, but Phoebe and I did a lot of favors for each other; that cannot be easily returned in any way except the lasting friendship we maintain to this day. Even though we’re miles apart, we’re just a phone call away.

——————————————————————————————

“Don't forget about me,” Kylie interrupted our momentary romance.
“What about you?” Michela never took her vacant, lustful eyes off me.
“I’m taking what I want!” the grey eyes were similarly vacant as she grabbed Michela.
“Let me go!” whined my Italian lover as her arms were pulled behind her and tied, “Oh, my God, you b-tch, what the f-ck is wrong with you?!” Michela exploded because she’d been interrupted mid-kiss, “Untie me you f-cking b-tch!”
“Nope. I’m showing my hand finally!” Kylie declared without concern for Michela’s outburst.
“You’re going to r-pe me! Please don’t use a bad gag!” she wailed.
“Kylie, let her go right now!” Steve ordered her, “We’ve clearly got a problem here!”

Kylie explained now that she had played TUGs with her own siblings before she went inside. Although there had been a break, despite all the bad things, it was almost like she had studied abroad or gone on a mission trip, so despite the lost time there was no love lost in the Svensson family. No wonder she was unsurprised by Michela and me and seamlessly joined our morning delight the other day and this morning or why she seemed more comfortable than Mary-Ann! It was after this explanation that Kylie explained her misunderstanding of the situation and gave a heartfelt apology to Michela

Michela had run to me and wrapped her arms around me. She was crying like I’d never seen her cry before. It was absolute blubbering, and I figured these must have been the kind of tears she had shed on those nights when she’d go to bed early or after her father had molested her. I don’t want to ever see her like that again, so I go over to her.

“Hannah, guhhh huh huh huhhhhhh!” she collapsed in her lover’s arms.
“Let’s go upstairs. Basements aren’t too good for you, are they?” I asked her.
“Her eyes are empty,” even the vacant Kylie now saw it.

I started crying too. It was obvious that Michela had been triggered in a bad way. All three of us gathered around Michela, who was in no shape to be photographed or filmed. I held the tearful Italian brunette in my arms and kissed her on the forehead. A good day was getting ruined in a hurry while she sobbed. She was a hockey star again, crying in her room after getting wrecked by her father. This was the torture of 4 years ago. She no longer sobbed but shook in fear.

I led her up the stairs into the living room so we could sit on the sofa. I dried her tears with that blue shirt after taking it off. She opened her eyes, looked at me, and smiled. The episode, what a nightmare, was over. This was the first time Michela had been triggered in my presence, but her mother had warned me about this. What a sorrowful life for a girl who, deep down, could be so happy and loving. I kissed her on the forehead, and she blushed. She was safe again.

“I’m sorry,” she said and took the shirt to wipe her eyes, “Kylie… I’m sorry for what I said.”
“I’m sorry for violating your boundaries. I had no idea your dad did all that to you.”
“Bad gags. He used bad gags. Then he’d make babies with me and force me to take bad pills.”
“Michela, it’s over,” I assured her, “I’m here for you.”
“I know, baby, and I’m glad you’re here. Kylie, I forgive you. Steve, is it cheesecake time?”
“I’m ready if you’re ready. Kylie, try again. And respect her limits,” Steve started the show.
“All right!” Michela took off her bandana and gave it to me.

I’m going to sound awful right now, but I fingered myself into orgasm just sitting and watching her get photographed for the cheesecake shots. Kylie then professionally tied Michela into TAC style bondage with clothesline on her ankles, knees, thighs, wrists, and chest. The tall girl was a hottie in distress! I jumped up and jammed the package in her mouth.

“Gimme some double-sided tape,” I motioned while holding the stuffing in Michela’s mouth.
“Here you go,” Kylie grabbed the roll, “This is much better than before.”
“That was then. This is now. Right, baby?”
“Mmmm! Eh ee oh!” Michela wailed as I OTM gagged her with her own bandana.
“I promised, my love,” I kissed her on the lips.
“Nmmm!” she pulled away from me and yelled, “Mmmmmm!”
“I’m in love!” I waved and walked away.

Michela Palmeri was a hottie in distress! Oh, how beautiful she looked in that outfit with all the rope binding up her gorgeous body. What a sight to be proud of, especially with her standing in a position that showed off her legs. There was so much to love about this bondage. I wanted to reinitiate the threesome, throw out Kylie, and enjoy her all by ourselves. I could be a selfish girl, and that was one of the many lessons I learned over this period of my life. Selfishness was such a struggle, and I’m glad I learned that lesson before it was too late.

She is trying so hard to get out of the ropes but just can’t. It’s adorable to watch her crouch and stand at Steve’s request. Then she hops to face another direction and throws her arms around to let him photograph them before crouching again and finally sitting down on the carpet. I wished I knew why Steve likes telling girls to grab their own tits, but it’s even cuter when Michela is the one doing it. Yes, I was passionately in love, and I envisioned myself one day marrying her. Yes indeed, I was young and foolish, but I was foolish for a good person at least, a person who would never take advantage of me like Greg did.



——————————————————————————————

Interlude 26: Stacy Langsford
Friday, November 30, 2012

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed as I saw our new podmate enter the cell.
“You know her?” Michela asked me.
“Do I ever! She’s one of my old business partners,” I buried my face in my hands.
“What’s wrong with that? So she joins you and Kendra in here,” Mary-Ann shrugged.
“If she squeals, they’ll find new crimes to charge me with and throw away the key! She’s part of Kendra’s snowstorm circle, and her brother does smack.”
“Oh, dang. Does she at least like you?”

Prisoner JF11120290, F11

What a dumb question, I thought to myself. She was always trying to get into Greg’s pants, not mine. Stacy’s a redhead with a Napoleonic disposition, but not the stature, and acts like she’s so big and strong when she’s 5’6” and weighs 100 pounds because coke spikes your metabolism. If anything, I detested her; she was the kind that deserved to be in here. Maybe I’ll get lucky and she’ll get sent to Shakopee without squealing. She squealed: on the other girls in the big snowstorm circle and on her brother. She thankfully left Kendra and I out of it. Nevertheless, a big headache had joined the pod as Miss Withdrawal herself was on the loose for about 3 weeks.

Monday, December 31, 2012

As we watched New Years’ fireworks from the small yard in the waning minutes before lockup time, I saw the dreadful redhead come up next to me. She was likely going to get a 12 month as well while our cases were backed up by the holidays, and she didn’t seem too happy with herself anymore. At first, she was the predicted Miss Withdrawal and constantly berated others while acting self-righteous. Being my own age helped Stacy a little, but had mellowed and become yet another pitiful addict like Kendra.

“I’m sorry, Hannah. They were going to send me to Shakopee, so I only mentioned Greg.”
“Greg gets away with everything,” I remark, “I got a plea deal in the works as well.”
“Will we change?” she asked while some fireworks exploded.
“I hope so. I don’t know anything except books, gadgets, and slinging.”
“You should get a job at Best Buy when you get out,” Stacy suggested helpfully.
“I like that thought!” I said.

That night started the friendship that brought me the second most pain after Kendra. Horrors awaited both of us at the hands of Greg Lofton.

——————————————————————————————

That Michela’s father used to tie her up and r-pe her had reared its ugly head. Such was her love for me that she could enjoy bondage with me so long as I was present. Certainly, he would just order into bondage while threatening to hurt her, her younger siblings, or her mother. Then she’d get hammered by him. What a nightmare she lived. How could she enjoy bondage with me? If she understood, then she wasn’t telling me her secrets, likely with good reason.

I understood that feeling. Greg did similar to me; worse, he videotaped it. Both Stacy and me. When we… before he… I had to turn off my brain before I was triggered, and I joined Michela and Kylie in the “Vacant Stares Club.” Kylie was traumatized by her prison experience, but she had not experienced the horrors the rest of us did when on the outside and retained her lucidity while questioning her humanity. She put a hand on my shoulder and smiled at me. Mr. Reardon had taken Kylie the most times of any girl.

“You’re a survivor, Hannah; remember that.”
“Yeah,” I absentmindedly give her a kiss while being unable to discern anything but lust.
“Stay with me!” Kylie was distressed by what she saw, “Please.”
“I… don’t…,” I muttered in a distraught state before Kylie whisked me into the corner.
“Hannah, you’re surrounded by people who love you,” she gave me an erotic kiss on the lips.
“Kylie,” I whispered as reality returned, “What happened?”
“You’re OK, Hannah. It’s over. Now get back to work.”

Look at Michela showing off for the cameras. She’s regained her confidence; the hockey player in her is here to do the best job possible. Her arms move in and out as do her legs just in the way Steve likes best. She shows off her bondage for all to see and even gives the viewers a perfect sightline of her legs. Pantyhose was invented for a girl like her. Then I walked over to expose her between shots; tits out, my friends. Of course she isn’t wearing a bra; she’s Michela. A few more shots of her in that position follow before Steve changes angles. What a beautiful girl.

My girlfriend is a hottie in distress!

[AlexUSA3]

Story 4 Chapter 3: Breaking Bad
Saturday, January 10, 2015

There was no doubt about it. Michela loved bondage. She was happy, and I think she felt safer in it with us around. It seemed so opposite to me that a girl who had been tied up and screwed without her consent would enjoy getting tied up, and sometimes screwed, by us. I do not dare to pretend to understand her exact situation, but we’d both been down that road. Her ending was, at this point in time, much happier than mine.

Michela continued to stare at either me or the camera while yelling into her gag of my bandana combined with some tape and her own bandana. She continued to yell and to swing her arms in a desperate bid to escape on her own. Those heels were so sexy on her feet, and her arms looked so helpless when she moved them.

Michela continued to yell and to kick out her legs, and she was quite upset by what I had done to her. As she thrashed about, first one heel and then the other flew off her feet, and I immediately had an idea for a better film than the initially planned kidnapping video. Yes, enjoy her feet just like Kendra does; so many viewers just love feet in bondage, and I don’t know why. Michela is so hot right now that I am flushing from my arousal.

“Let's try this,” Kylie put her hand down the back of Michela’s shirt.
“Mmmmmmm!” groaned the Italian before she relaxed.
“No, you dumb girl! Suffer!” Kylie repeated it twice and showed me the ice cubes.
“You're evil, but watch this!” I said, grabbed a bandage, and took one of Michela’s heels.
“Nooo!” Michela groaned when I pushed the shoe against her nose.
“Smell that, our sweet captive!”

I wrapped the bandage tightly about her head. Want to talk about a plan that backfired? Michela was enjoying the refreshing cool of the ice and became aroused by the smell! She mocked us by enjoying these ordinary tortures! I had never heard of a girl being sexually stimulated by being forced to smell her lover's feet. Had the prison system screwed up her mental health that badly, or was she into some weird things?

Heh, speaking of prison, today was the two year anniversary of my sentencing.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 27: Booked
Monday, November 26, 2012

“It’s simple for once; I’ll be back.”

I get out of the car while carrying a felony amount of weed in my backpack. I am toting more than just my schoolbooks. I walk up to a strange new customer and act like a confident young woman when I’m really just a 16 year-old high school junior. They flash a little money, and I hit the bill with a check pen while they hold it before stepping back to take the baggy out of my bag. Greg watches us at a long distance.

“Hannah Larsson, I’m an undercover officer. You’re under arrest for distribution of a controlled substance. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…,” handcuffs tightly clasped my wrist behind my back.

I was loaded into a police car for the trip to the Mudville Juvenile Detention Center. I had failed my friend Casey, my parents, and myself. I was a Cool Girl still, too, and I had dishonored that name. As I was driven away to the police station for booking within the standard police system, I cried. I had earned this for my crimes, and how I wished I had listened.

Finger prints, mug shots, driver’s license checks, and calls to my parents filled my afternoon and evening. I never got my parents to show up; they just told the police to take me away. My life had fallen apart around me, and only my grandmother listened to me. She was there, in the room with me, and believed me when I apologized. My grandma was widowed by the Vietnam War; no one knew her suffering; she knew how to suffer with me. My poor grandma, a widow at 21, and today as she approaches 74 she still forgives me when I occasionally apologize for what was one of the darkest days of her life.

Into a transport van I go toward “juvie” to begin a long, agonizing period of my life.

——————————————————————————————

Cheesecake. Yummy cheesecake. Yummy cheesecake photos. Yummy cheesecake photos of Kylie. Yummy cheesecake photos of Kylie showing off her sexy gams.

“Are you ready?” I turned to Kylie with a mischievous smile on my face.
“Am I ever!” she returned my smile with a confident one.
“Smiling,” I stepped back so Steve could take some preliminary photos, “Brings out my worst.”
“I’m just going to take my chances,” she struck a pose like she was looking for cheap romance.
“Maddy, I think we need to teach this one a lesson,” I said ominously, “Hold her down.”
“This,” Kylie seductively wiggled her eyebrows, “should be fun and sexy.”

You know what’s fun and sexy, Kylie? A crossed ankles tie with your legs tied on either side of your kneecaps, my cummy panties jammed into your mouth and held in with strips of red duct tape, rope around your wrists, and a tight rope that goes around your chest above and below your scrumptious tits while also doubling as a sort of elbow bond. That is fun and sexy, and you had to wait until Steve gave me the green light to vamp you. Even sexier was working the ropes around your heels so that you couldn't just kick them off like so many of us do.

As was often the case, the photos began with Kylie on a chair. This girl was comfortable with it all from the get-go. How pitiful her eyes looked though! She whimpered a lot and squirmed a good bit and looked outright insanely hot. Oh, those legs, and the best part of all was grabbing her by the tits and placing her on the floor.

“You like that flavor, babe? Hmmmm?” I taunted her.
“Nooo!” Kylie shook her head while I stood next to Steve.
“Isn’t it fun?” I asked her and suddenly felt a dark cloud-like feeling overcome me.
‘Nuh uh!” she repeated the motion and tried to kick against the ropes.
“Oh, come one, I thought we were nice to you!” M.A. joined in.
“MMMMMM!”

I couldn’t resist including it. Never had a girl looked so attractive in a black and white photo until Miss Star Blue, real name Kylie Svensson, graced my phone screen as I took a few of my own. Oh, my goodness, what a babe. I couldn’t help but rub my own crotch a little, but something felt wrong inside me.

“Don’t I taste good, my dear?” I continued my verbal onslaught.
“No!”
“What do you mean ‘No!’? Aren’t you happy that we tied you up?”
“No!” she yelled into her gag with increasing frustration.
“Aren’t you just waiting for me to come over there and give you a few hard spanks on the tush?”
“NOOO!” she yelled again in a fantastic display of her experience with gag talk.
“Go hogtie her,” Steve directed Maddy.
“With pleasure!” Maddy took a clothesline and ran to the damsel-in-distress.
“NOO NOO NOOOOO!”

Hottie in distress is even hotter now. Find me a girl who is hotter hogtied than Michela or Kylie; OK, it’s just my opinion. She’s selling this one so well, though. What’s hotter than dirty blondes getting what they deserve? That’s right! Brunettes getting what they deserve! Give yourself a pat on the back. You’re getting good at this. Now, get your mind off me and get your eyes back on the dirty blonde.



——————————————————————————————

Interlude 28: Imprisoned
Monday, November 26, 2012

I was cuffed again for this trip. It was a short, miserable trip. It was the entrance to the maw of hell as far as I was concerned. My anger was directed at myself, not at those around me, but I was still a bit disrespectful and more than once apologized for being so testy. I had no idea that Jenny’s father was the one transporting me, but he heard me mention his daughter’s name when, in talking to a guard, I mentioned her as a friend I had let down.

The badge with my police station mugshot was already printed when I got there. I was ordered to strip naked for a full search. Details about my body, like the scar from when I broke my wrist six years ago, were recorded. Then I was handed the current orange jumpsuit and ordered to put it on. On went the white panties and the white sports bra; on went the orange pants and shirt; on went the symbols of my humiliation; gone were the blue sweats and matching bandana into a bag of things that would either be returned to me upon my release or given to my grandmother. I had no more cell phone or cute butterfly earrings or aquamarine birthstone ring or anything else that was me.

I clipped the badge to my collar as I was told and got my hands cuffed in front. My mugshot was on the badge so that all would match the name with the face. As the clock turned to 9:27 PM, I was officially registered in the system and assigned to Pod F, as seen on my badge. I had failed so many people. JUVENILE is across my shoulders; yes, I am rehashing old details from an earlier interlude.



It was the third door that opened to a four-way intersection, but we walked straight in the strange darkness of prison. A door went by on either side before another four way, but we turned right to go to the proper Pod. For the fourth time, a badge was swiped followed by a voice from another place asking for verification of purpose before the door opened. The bright glowing white letters above the door that said “Pod F” were unmistakable. I saw four tables surrounded by chairs, but I was led up the stairs. Lights shone out of each and every door, and we went up the stairs and to the last door on the left, with “F09/F10” in red letters written beside the door.

My example of a juvie pod is a bit inaccurate for where I was because that juvie has one to a cell and thus a more jammed appearance. The photo is from a real Minnesota juvie, though.



——————————————————————————————

Mary-Ann and I stood on opposite sides of Kylie with Steve in the middle and enjoyed the hottie in distress. I had the hots for Michela and loved Michela, but Kylie turned on the lust meter with much more certainty. She turned right towards me and yelled into her gag that was nicely soaked in my cum. Oh, what a monstrous being I could be! How could I do that to Michela?!

She shook her head and yelled into the gag like an explorer who was kidnapped right at the cusp of finding a long-lost treasure. She turned to her left and looked toward Maddy, who still hadn’t put her clothes back from her own ordeal. More unintelligible statements came off the tongue of the girl who could not be understood.

“Aww, what are you trying to tell us?” M.A. taunted her with a question.
“Mmmm! Eh me -ooooo!” wailed the hottie in distress (yes, I am going to keep saying that).
“I don’t think so, our little Star-let. You’re just too cute to release.”
“MMMMM! Unhie -e ith h-cking hecon!” demanded our sexy captive.
“I don’t think so,” M.A. blew her a kiss, “You’re going to stay like for at least an hour.”
“We’re going to have fun!” I try to sound like a sadistic psychopath, but I fail badly unlike M.A.

Kylie tried her best to look upset and scared for the camera. A little seductive squirming saw her scrunch her legs a little and stop trying that. She looked at each one of us while slowly moving her legs in an attempt to escape. The wailing was the second sexiest thing I’d ever heard at this point of my life: Michela’s was number one. I was enjoying this scene with the hottie in distress gagged with my orgasmed soaked pantyhose and red duct tape, but then M.A. asserted herself as the one in control. Taking some more of the red duct tape, she planted two strips over Kylie’s eyes to blindfold her! Kylie wailed loudly and began thrashing about like a girl possessed.

That set off a new spark in this girl, who began an even more desperate quest to escape. Today was the birth of a star-in-the-making. Kylie Svensson, you proved yourself that day to be hands down the most incredible bondage damsel-in-distress of us all. You really know how to act for a camera, and you sold this scene even better than many of the established girls could.

Hogtied, stuffed, taped, and tape blindfolded: Kylie was in trouble in the worst way. Even all the various layers did not stop her. In fact, it went so well that Steve took a video of her struggling in this position. Yes, this scene was so hot we were taking two videos from it. I had to do it; I’m such a snoop.

“You’re the only girl who came through Pod F and never told me what her crime was. We get 15 minutes to extract that information from you in any way that’s OK by Steve. Deal?”
“Mmm hmm!”

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 29: Sentenced
Thursday, January 10, 2013

The day of my trial was a nightmare. Stacy and I were pulled out of the line to go to class, and we were led out of Pod F and out of the inmate wing of the complex. Cuffs that ran around our jumpsuits shackled our wrists in front, and leg irons went on our ankles. I felt dastardly, evil, and ostracized. Even when I went first and was given my relatively light sentence, I was left with a cold feeling. Back through the doors I went, back to Pod F, and there I was hastily told to grab my things and get back to class. Now, I was walking in that distinct, cold, dreadful march.

“Oh, no!” and “Rats” I heard some exclaim.
“No surprise” and “Told ya so” came from others.
“Guilty,” I said ruefully as I took my usual seat.
“Hi, Hannah. Sorry,” Michela comforted me as I put my forehead on the desk and cried.
“At least she was smart and didn’t plead ‘Not guilty’ like you and Kylie,” M.A. razzed Michela.
“I thought I’d get off on ‘self defense’ though!”
“I had to try! It was my only chance.”
“Please, shut up,” a throbbing headache joined the party.

From then until rec time, I didn’t talk to anyone, and my friends, this circle in particular, stood by me in silent solidarity. Kendra and Phoebe joined the circle at dinner time as I pondered each of my mistakes in life. The first was walking away from the Cool Girls’ Club; the second was not listening to Casey; the third was becoming an impenitent destroyer of lives. Finally, as we came out for the last time for rec hour, I opened my mouth.

“Is it wrong to say I’m sorry for my mistakes but to say I am getting good out of it?”

——————————————————————————————

Kylie didn’t even have a crotch rope, yet she still managed to pause a moment to orgasm from her own arousal at what I sincerely hoped was the desire for us to take advantage of her in the way we had to Michela in the morning. We had found the easily excited one of our group; every group needs that one girl who just goes at ease. Kylie Svensson, you are a pleasure in bondage.

“MMMM!” Kylie writhed on the floor with a desperate spirit.
“Stop it!” I spanked her once on each cheek.
“OWWW! MMMMM!” she sprang and threw her gorgeous blonde hair about.
“I like that. Let me try,” our de facto orphan Mary-Ann volunteered and did it as well.
“NOOOO! MMMM!”
“So cute!” I crouched and squeezed each tits with my hands

Kylie scrunched and stretched and rolled left and right. She kicked her ankles back to yank on the hogtie rope, and she pulled her arms to try to torque it out of place. Never had I seen such a beautiful performance, and I couldn’t hide my arousal from my face. Simple, pure lust pulsated through my veins now; there was no desire for anything except the actual actions with no thought of romance or personality really being involved.

I stepped back and tried to focus my mind on Michela, and I saw her descending the stairs just at that moment. Without a thought, I pushed her gently against the wall while she laughed a little and gave her an erotic kiss on the lips and began grinding her. Michela giggled a little and took me in her arms and interrupted my thoughts.

“Simmer down. Mrs. Moreau is getting us lemonade. Thanks for helping me earlier.”
“Ohhhh,” I whined in my horniness, “I’m glad you’re better now.”
“Hush, now, baby. Burn it off on your little captive for now,” she pointed to Kylie.
“All right,” I took a deep breath and returned to the fray.
“You’re the Star of the show!” Mary-Ann said with a sadistic laugh.
“We’ve found our dominatrix, I see,” Steve made a rare contribution.

Mary-Ann truly enjoyed herself. I never saw her happy like this when she was tied up although she 100% enjoyed it; Steve was right. Mary-Ann was a switch like me and, like me, had a little more fun when on top of things. Her sadistic streak, though, seemed a little less… sick than my own. You see, as we will explore later, I have borderline personality disorder, amplified by all of my trauma. There simply are days where I can be a sick (and clingy) b-stard, and there are days like in the previous story where I was seriously considering hurting myself. It’s uncomfortable most of the time, and I am blessed with friends who helped me through my trials then and now.

In an effort to comfort myself, I vibrated poor Kylie, and sure enough she orgasmed within one to two minutes of that torment. We rolled her onto her side, and Maddy took over the vibration while I fondled Kylie’s breasts and kissed her gagged lips. Kylie was so easy to get off, and she seemed to be loving every moment of it including when we fondled her breasts and crotch and when we spanked her. If Maddy and I are sadists, she is a masochist.

“That’s a fail,” Maddy said as the timer went off, “We couldn’t extract the secret.”
“Well, then, we made a promise to untie her,” I agreed ruefully.
“We tried though. Might have to take her back to your place or mine and try again.”
“Noooo!” the gagged girl wailed.
“Oh, hush. You liked it!” I said and untied her wrist ropes, “Untie yourself.”
“Yeah!” Mary-Ann left the girl in a playful, faked huff.

I went back to Michela and started cuddling her. She was so sweet and embraced me tightly and gave me a peck on the forehead while we watched Kylie work her way out of the hogtie. Slowly, the ropes slid off her wrists; then she extricated herself from the hogtie before sitting. Sliding the ropes of her arms a little bit was followed by her slowly unpeeling the tape on her eyes to reveal an excited girl and then by her freeing her mouth and spitting out my cummy pantyhose. Never have I met another person who accepts a gag of another girl’s cum, but then again Kylie is the only other girl I know who genuinely likes carpet. A smile was on her face, and even if M.A. and I lost it was a victory for friendship.

I turned my attention now to Michela and ignored whatever else happened behind us. I didn't know then that the dark loneliness I had felt then and felt every so often when in prison was a symptom of something wrong. I was scared of what would happen to me if I lost any of my lovely ladies. In juvie, I always worried that one day one of my friends would get sprung earlier than expected.

I haven't talked about this problem because I was afraid of being judged harshly for it. It was bad in juvie, but I spiraled out of control after what happened to me after juvie. I am what is termed “a hot mess” and struggle to accept that this is my cross to bear. I didn't care about the company present; I cuddled and adored Michela as if it were our last day on earth.

“Promise you won't leave me?” I asked manipulatively.
“Not now. No way, no how. I'm in love,” she said, and I kissed her on the cheek.
“Your shampoo smells so good.”
“Now, look, Hannah Bandana, we have to go so you can get to work.”
“Oh, right,” I snapped out of the trance, and Kylie seemed concerned about me.
“That's not like Hannah,” I ignored her words and focused on getting dressed.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 30: Acknowledged
Thursday, January 10, 2013

“What good is that?” Mary-Ann took her bandana and used it to clean her glasses.
“I have found a circle of girls like me who failed society and are truly sorry for what they did.”
“I am not slightly sorry,” M.A. deadpanned, “I did everything I could to end up here again.”
“That psycho deserved it,” Michela agreed.
“That monster murdered my parents and was going to kill more people too!” Ashley added.
“OK, they’re not, but we are, Larsson,” Kendra took over, “Enslow and Svensson are, too.”
“Hannah, we love you. You brought unity, a sense of belonging, and self worth to this pod,” Kylie added, “You’re our friend.”

I looked around and couldn’t help myself from smiling at my new family. We were a family of misfits in this life, but we were still a family. I had a different reason to love them all. Kendra and Michela, however, are the joys of my life to this present day.

“Who wants to play a card game?” I ask with a newfound grin, “We’ll get Stacy and have our own little tourney!”
“Count me in!” M.A. scrambled up, “We’ll have to get two different games, though.”
“No problem,” I watched her put her kerchief back, “We’ll work it out.”
“We get two hours to be normal kids; let’s make the time worth our while,” Kylie grinned.
“We’re all in agreement. Sweet!” a little life came to Michela’s eyes.
“Let’s go, Langsford,” Kendra motioned to Stacy, who took a nervous gulp and followed.

That night we had fun; more than that, Michela and I had a great time. Just a few nights later was going to be the famous night where I took on that psycho-brute Clarissa, and she couldn’t ever forget me. Oh, I hope she remembers me, wherever that maniac is serving her latest time on a crime. I was a broken girl, but I was a proud one too. Don’t mess with me or my misfit family.

There were horrors, too. Big changes were coming to the Mudville Juvenile Detention Center.

——————————————————————————————

Being a Best Buy tech isn't a terrible or great job. I am good at it, though, but it can be scary wondering if someone is there to buy or steal. You just watch for suspicious behavior or body language and keep an eye out. I was struggling to focus today, and I felt a strange certainty that one or more of my precious and few friends was thinking of abandoning me.

“Hannah, I was told I would find you!” a kindly voice interrupted me while I watched the floor.
“Huh?!” I jumped in fright and turned around to see little Jenny Kristensen standing before me.
“Hi!” the little blonde waved at the Best Buy employee, “Need a hug?”
“I… Hi,” I blushed and looked away, “Why are you talking to me?”
“Once a Cool Girl, always a Cool Girl. The Club is here waiting for you to return anytime you’d like to join us. Bring some of your new friends, too.”
“Has it really been 4 years?”
“We all forgave you years ago! Give me a Facebook call one of these days, please? Just text me first to make sure I’m not busy,” I felt the same love I felt when I talked to Casey.

Jenny was getting supplies on her way back up to Minnesota Tech for the spring term, and I sheepishly promised I would call her. I was a girl of honor; Michela instilled it in me in prison. I said I would call her, and I would. I had three weeks to decide if I was moving out of my home voluntarily or by force, and wherever I was on February 1st would be where I made the promised video call to Jenny.

Wherever I was…

[AlexUSA3]

Story 5 Chapter 1: Something’s Wrong with Me
Saturday, January 31, 2015

Decision day. Make up my mind today. How? My friends were against me, plotting to destroy me, weren't they? I woke up in absolute distress after the most realistic of the nightmares I had experienced to that point. F-cking Reardon! Words fail to describe my feelings. I still suffer the nightmares of him and Greg doing the things they did to me.

I turned to my left and saw Kylie in my cell bed next to me. Filled with desperation, I began recklessly kissing and grinding the bound and gagged hottie in distress, who had been still sleeping. She was startled to wake up in this way despite being frog tied and box tied with a careful stuffed cleave gag with tape on top. It was the only reaction I understood.

“Mmmmm!” she wailed in surprise at my actions.
“Don't go anywhere,” I said and kissed her face with shallow passion.
“Annah! Ake uh!” my friend tried to talk some sense into me.
“What is going on here?” I hear Mary-Ann behind me.
“Please don't abandon me,” I say without addressing either, “I need you in my life.”
“Mmmmmm!” I am already making Kylie orgasm.
“Hannah!” Mary-Ann asserted her size against me, “Snap out of it! No one is abandoning you.”

I started blubbering uncontrollably and began talking about things that had happened to me back in juvie, things I never told anyone but that one soul. I was graphically detailed about it, and as I told my tale I clutched Kylie like a teddy bear. I would have preferred Michela, but her family did not want her spending the night outside the house because of her own episodes. Poor Kylie had suffered worse than me; how could I marginalize her like this? Even Mary-Ann had lost her virginity to Mr. Reardon.

That’s why M.A. and Kylie are here; they volunteered to spend the night with me because I had, just a few hours before, while at M.A.’s for a game night, had a nervous breakdown in which I had started ranting and screaming about how no one really cared about me and that they all were just hanging out with me because they pitied my situation. I don’t remember many details, and M.A. and Kylie even had to help me write this chapter. I don’t remember tying up Kylie, but she told me after that I rubbed her face against my carpet.

“Hannah, you’re moving out of here now,” Mary-Ann tells me, “Pick your place: my place, your grandma’s, Michela’s, or Casey’s.”
“I… no one wants me after the lives I’ve wrecked,” I let guilt of the past consume me.
“Hannah!” Mary-Ann started crying in my sight before, “Please, snap out of it! Untie her, now!”
“FINE!” I snapped angrily before bending down to untie Kylie, but I started stealing a kiss.
“Nooooooo,” Mary-Ann talked to me like I’m a naughty child, “Please, Hannah, I love you.”
“Sorry, M.A,” I said to the older, wiser girl, “I need help, and this is helping me.”

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Interlude 31: Mr. Reardon
Thursday, January 31, 2013

“You two! Out of line!” a dark voice ordered me one day on my way back to the pod.
“Me?” I asked fearfully knowing the voice.
“Not again!” Kylie wailed, “Haven’t you violated me enough?”
“You. I don't trust you. You need a search,” Mr. Reardon said.
“Please, Mr. Reardon, no,” I started crying while the others walked further and further away.
“Let's go. March,” he coldly demanded.
“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Reardon had several he just loved doing “random” strip searches upon. I’m one of the lucky ones. He didn't just search me; his gloved hand always violated me more than was necessary for this. I had to strip naked for this, my twelfth search in two months inside. He cackled when I cried out, and he enjoyed putting his hand on my thigh. Juvie was my first encounter with pedos. Every time I heard his voice, I got a little crazier and grew to hate my life more.

Today, though, it's much worse. He has equally twisted cronies, but today both of them want a piece of me each chance they get. Worse than all of this was the sex; is it any wonder Kylie and I are so messed up when she got more of this than I did?

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As soon as Kylie was untied, though, Mary-Ann grabbed me in a tight grip and ordered Kylie to tie me up! They tied me up quite well with the ropes; Kylie knew her rope stuff so well and, like I had told you, she resumed playing with her own family when she had returned home because for her family it was more like she had been sent on a military deployment rather than prison. To prevent protesting, Kylie taped her cummy panties into my mouth and hogtied me after putting me in a tight elbow bondage.

I watched helplessly while Mary-Ann and Kylie did my Saturday morning routines of laundry and such while loading up my little suitcase and my backpack with my few belongings. They turned my mattress 90 degrees and stripped it of its tattered bedding. My toiletries were loaded into bags first; my food was packed into bags with ice if necessary; my home was soon stripped of all that was mine, including my little table and chair. I, too, was loaded into the back of my car since it was my car that had brought Mary-Ann and Kylie here, and Mary-Ann stayed in the house waiting for the clothes to be dry enough to take out of the small dryer. During that time, Kylie grabbed me by the hair and forcefully rubbed my face against her carpet and strongly aroused me.

Kylie was giving back to me what I had given to her, and I knew that and didn’t care. I was glad in a way that they had removed me by force, and getting forced to eat Kylie felt good. She even squirted on my face. This was her distorted way of comforting me, but it worked. Soon, Maddy returned, and she interrupted the carpet session and grabbed me by the hair just as Kylie had and pulled me up while she crouched down.

“You have a Best Buy shift starting at 9 and a modeling engagement at 5. We’ll go to my place for now, but your stuff stays in this car. By the time you finish your BB shift, you better have a decision. OK?”
“Mmm hmm,” I nodded.
“Hannah, something’s wrong with you, and we’re all worried sick about you. Me literally. I have to get home before I shit myself.”
“Hannah, you’re the glue in this family,” Kylie said, “We need you. Your joy is our joy, but your sadness is our sadness too.”

We drove away from the little hovel that had been mine for the past six months. A chapter of my life had come to an end. It was time to turn the page on my book once again and discover what exciting new chapter awaited me. I just couldn’t turn this next one into yet another disaster like the last few. Progressively smaller and smaller disasters had been my pattern lately. As we were moving, I realized that I needed help; I was unwell and had people that wanted to see me healthy. I forced myself to believe them.

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Interlude 32: Getting Wrecked
Thursday, January 31, 2013

I won't describe it. It wasn't the first time it had happened in my time here, and it was the last time though. Just to say, it's amazing I still have any respect for men or that I would even have anything to do with girls either. I won't do bondage sex with men, and handcuffs in any bondage context can lead to emotional outbursts.

“If you tell a soul, we’ll make sure you end up in Shakopee,” they said each time.

I was 16, remember. I was still a kid. I had, at this point, only experimented with sex and that with an equally curious boy who I found to be cute. That was two quickies, one vaginal and one oral. I hadn’t yet slept with Greg. Kylie and I swapped positions; she got the fondling second and this first.

“Hannah, what's wrong?!” Michela said when I entered the room.
“I can't talk about it, or they'll send me to Shakopee,” today, my innocence died.
“You were taken by Reardon, weren't you?” Mary-Ann grimaced and groaned in distress.
“Mmm hmm,” I nodded while vacantly staring at the desk, “Shakopee.”
“I need the girl’s room. Be back,” Phoebe stood up.
“Hannah, talk to me, please” Michela begged me now, “Tell us what happened to you!”
“Can't talk… Shakopee,” I insisted, and I wouldn’t look at any of them.
“I don’t want to go to Shakopee,” Kylie looked at her workbook and sighed.

I was never so scared before or since… and I went through some pretty awful things after this. I continued to sit with a vacant stare and ignored my workbook.

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Best Buy… in a show of trust I asked Mary-Ann to drop me off rather than drive myself in order to eliminate the chance I snapped and went back to the hovel. The nickname of “Ma” is fitting of the big strong French girl. She had her own story and hadn’t yet shared it with anyone except Kendra, from my understanding. I might have been the uniting force, but she was the guide that kept us on the right paths. Before I was dropped off, I called Michela and told her of my choice, and she was quite excited and knew her Mom would be OK with it despite the short notice.

I saw a figure in mustard pants coming towards me, and a burgundy kerchief told me that it was none other than Casey Clark. She was a Golden Gopher at the University of Minnesota, and a sweatshirt proudly stated as much even if it wasn’t obvious from her colors. The short hair, once so long and beautiful, now was chopped from a traumatic injury that had required brain surgery some 3 years ago, when she was a high school sophomore, hurts me as much as it did two stories ago. She was righting her life just as I was getting set up by a bunch of fuzzies.

“Hannah Bandana!” the energy was contagious.
“Hi, Casey!” I opened my arms for a hug, “What brings you in today?”
“I need an ergonomic keyboard. Research papers are giving me carpal tunnel.”
“All right, just this way. I have good news for you,” I led her in the direction, “I’m moving in with Michela this afternoon.”
“Oh, good! You finally chose to take care of yourself.”
“Actually, no. I had a nervous breakdown last night and this morning and was taken out of my house in ropes while my friends loaded up my car.”

I knew Casey strongly disagreed with my sexual ongoings, especially with girls, but she never once said anything judgmental or critical. I was actually happy to see my old friend; her love was of a special kind and more genuine than most people’s regardless of religion. How could I not accept her kindness when she loved me as if we were still best friends? In her opinion, that mantra of “Hate the sin but love the sinner” was harmful. She never commented on what to her was sin and just accepted it in the hope that I would come around while still enjoying me as one of her friends. While I chose differently later, Casey and Jenny are still my two “go to” people when I want general spiritual advice. At her behest, before we went to the keyboards, she took me into the restroom with her.

“I’m sorry I haven’t done more to help you,” she took off the kerchief, “Mom cut it yesterday.”
“Oh, God!” I gasped when I saw the gnarly scar under the thinned hair from the shavings.
“You visited me so many times when I was sick, and I just want to thank you.”
“Everyone suffers in some way. You alleviated much of my suffering in prison.”
“I tried to be there as much as possible. It’s sad. My hair’s never going to fully come back.”
“Casey, if you’re asking me to let you back into my life, the answer is ‘Yes.’”
“I knew you’d come around!” her hazel eyes lit up so beautifully.

We shared a special hug in that restroom that day. It was another step in my recovery. As we walked out of there, I explained my struggle against what I didn’t yet know was BPD, but she was the first one to throw that acronym around. We’ll get to me finally getting help in a later chapter.

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Interlude 33: Phoebe Saves Me
Thursday, January 31, 2013

“Hannah Larsson?” I heard the voice of the visiting doctor some time later.
“Me?” I asked fearfully, “I’m fine. I don’t need a doctor.”
“Yes, you. You’ve been reported as sick, and I have to bring you in for an exam. Regulations”
“Oh, OK,” I robotically obeyed and followed in silence until I was cuffed in the room.
“How long has Herm Reardon been doing this to you?” she asked once the door shut.
“Doing what?” I acted ignorant while she examined me.
“Don't be scared. If you tell me everything, they'll all get fired before the day is up. I can assure you that other girls have suffered from them if you have. Your friend Kylie’s coming in as well.”

That day I told the doctor everything in detail. It wasn't until two days later that word came to me though that Reardon and his cronies had been fired for misconduct. There was no surprise that they had been merely fired; I want them to be publicly executed by firing squad even today. But, no one cares about a few prison teens.

But Phoebe. Phoebe. She saved me from them. She didn't use the bathroom. That sweetheart told someone she knew would get help. May I never have the opportunity to do something of similar magnitude for her.

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That afternoon, it finally happened. I officially shacked up with my girlfriend. She even had a full bed already, and despite the presence of the younger sisters both she and her mother had no concerns about us sharing a bed. Michela’s bedroom was in the finished attic anyway, so we’d have plenty of privacy. We moved my few belongings into the home of the Palmeri family, and I had gone from living in a sub-400 square foot hovel into a 3000+ square foot McMansion.

“Let’s take my car, hmmm?” Michela suggested as we headed out the door of her home.
“Why, so I can’t change my mind and go home?” I asked with less fear than I would before.
“Hannah Bandana, you genuinely need this right now,” she gave me a tight hug.
“What about a kiss, too?” I whined in a manipulative way.
“You’re trying to control me. You give me the kiss first.”
“All right,” I surrendered to her desire and gave the first kiss.

We climbed into the car that was informally hers since it was her mother’s but now her mother drove their father’s car since he had no use for it for another 77 years. Hopefully he dies without getting parole because I know the thought of him being out would ruin Michela, but I digress. This trip was special to me as I had willfully surrendered myself to her as opposed to seeing her as the only viable option.

What a hottie sat next to me though. Wearing a tight orange skirt, orange socks, white heels, one of her three-quarter sleeve button-up shirts in a matching color, and an orange bandana headband was the beautiful, sexy, and suave Michela Palmeri. How bizarre was it that I got paid just to put this girl in her rightful place when need be?

“So, is it true, Lars… errrr, Hannah?” Kendra Kristensen joined our escapade.
“You’re bruised. Is it true, Kendra?” I asked with concern when I saw the marks on her arms.
“You first,” she gulped, “I asked you the first question.”
“That I moved in with Michela? Yeah. Are you and M.A. besties? Do your siblings beat you?”
“A lot changes in a month, don’t it? Yeah, it’s true. All of it. But, I’m two weeks clean.”
“How much longer ‘til you can ditch that ankle monitor? Five months?”
“I’m gonna move into M.A.’s place since it has room for another bed. I told my fed what’s been happening, and he OK’d my move. I’ll be up for a reduction in probation soon, and he says I got a good chance. I’m glad you moved out of that sh-thole. My turn is coming soon.”
“Your outfit is nice,” Michela mindlessly added.

Kendra wouldn't say anything more. She was OK to remove the monitor temporarily for her “work” and for showers and such, but she had to stay near it. To say I felt bad for her would be dishonest; I was wracked with guilt for my role in it and felt as if it were all my fault. It was good to see her striking up a friendship with Mary-Ann and finally finding a healthy escape from her problems. There, in the car, she admitted to sometimes taking Benadryl or Nyquil just so she could fall asleep rather than listen to her family constantly berating her. The next two stories after this will talk more about Kendra’s and Mary-Ann’s friendship and what they bring to each other's lives.

At the Moreau’s, Kendra’s eyes filled with hope, a new emotion from her, but Michela shivered a little. We were shooting a “Girls Gone Wild” with Kristine and Brianna, and the memory of the last one seemed to fill her mind. Michela put an arm around each of us as we walked up the steps to the front door. I pushed the doorbell button and then cuddled with Michela like a baby with its blanket.

“Hey! Come on in!” Kristine greeted us.
“Hey, Kristine. Good to see you. You know my passion, and this is Kendra.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’ve heard good things about you three,” Kristine had a genuine smile.
“Out with it. Is that b-tch Brianna here?” Michela snapped out of place.
“What?! Um… of course,” Kristine was caught off guard by this, “So, Kendra?”
“I'm glad you hear good things,” Kendra showed off the ankle monitor, “I’m a bad girl.”
“Let me guess, C. Deviated septum,” our present hostess surprised me, “Mudville or Shakopee?
“You were inside?!” Kendra’s voice grew sympathetic, “Mudville.”
“Yeah. I was a mess. Got 2 years. Started in Mudville, transferred to Shakopee.”
“Kris Thompson?” Michela's voice wavered, “Is that you?”
“Michela Arcangela Palmeri,” the gorgeous model responded, “It's me. You figured it out.”

Michela grabbed the hot model in a tight hug. As it turned out, Kristine had been Michela’s first cellmate in Mudville juvie. They shared the cell for one month before Kris was transferred to the women’s prison in Shakopee. Kris had said nothing out of fear of triggering Michela’s past.

Kendra was bright red with shame yet touched that someone else in her life was sympathetic and understood her own suffering. Again, not to ruin things, but it was the beginning of the first true friendship Kendra ever found outside us Pod F girls who were always by her side. Ironically, it took another person who had been inside the same facility. The 23 year-old was like a Godsend to Kendra, and I could see the marvel in her eyes even as we descended the stairs to pick out our outfits. This was already the start of a special day.

“Hannah! Someone gets me!” Kendra bounced like her cousin.
“Yes, indeed,” I grabbed the same red skirt Kylie had worn in her recent scene, “How about it?”
“Pick something besides that same sweater, for God’s sake,” Michela responded.
“My goal is to make you cross-legged with heat,” I pointed a finger at my girlfriend, “Kendra.”
“Wear this with it,” she held up a shirt in particular, “And Michela will screw you on camera.”
“I’ll take it,” I snatched it out of her hand.

A tight red skirt with red heels and that pink shirt with its plunging neckline that barely covered my tits because it was too small for me and its red roses screamed of love. Hose and a garter was like a language around here. Michela brought her own to the table again for this shoot, and our short friend chose an equally tight green skirt and hose of her. As she’d said, “Goddess with no heels or no goddess at all,” but the goddess had heels. Once we had approved outfits, we headed up the stairs and walked through the cold to the garage for a second appearance on “Girls Gone Wild.” We passed through to one of the studio rooms to find Brianna.

“Hi, girls!” she greeted us in an apparent change of opinion concerning us.
“THAT B-TCH!” Michela growled only within immediate earshot and instantly saw red.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 5 Chapter 2: Brianna and Michela
Saturday, January 31, 2015

“Let me do it, Mrs. Moreau,” Michela volunteered to take over.

Michela grabbed the first gag she saw, a blue ball gag, and jammed it into Brianna’s mouth and then secured the straps. She grabbed a rope from Marcy and Steve’s bin and torqued Brianna’s arms with an elbow bond and then followed it with a wrist bond. A well cinched rope connected the harness and elbow bond. Whether we liked it or not, “Girls Gone Wild” was underway!

Brianna didn't know whether to be terrified, angered, or amused by this. Each emotion was open to interpretation depending on which snapshot you saw of her struggle. Brianna moved her arms about hoping to loosen the ropes, but ropes tied by Michela are tighter than most girls. Brianna’s legs were already tied before we had arrived, and she already had a harness before Michela went batsh-t crazy on her. A knit pastel green sweater, a wooly skirt, knee socks, and heels. Yummy!

Brianna glared at Michela before turning to us. The first signs of drool formed on the ball gag, and the glistening in the light was perfect. She whined and twisted 180 on the wooden chair. She begged and pleaded for mercy. After a few minutes of trying to pitifully wail and squirm pathetically (as in the true meaning, pathétique), Brianna turned to us three and began uttering angry profanity into the gag. This was just part of the act though. There was no true ill will.

Steve took too many photos though. Look at them all, and I shorted you quite a few of them! It takes a long time to take so many pictures, as you can imagine, but Brianna really is quite good at what she does. Like Kristine, she has no love for bondage off the set, but she is adventurous enough to do this for the money despite the stigma.

It’s a moment for me to pause and reflect while Michela clenches her fists and stands far away from the rest of us. She licked her lips every so often, waiting for Steve to tell her to go do the next step of the process, whether that is a hogtie, a tape gag, a blindfold, or something else that I’m not considering.

Brianna just keeps doing her job. She realizes that something is up with Michela, but no one is able to determine if this is truly malicious or merely her taking out her anger by being the rigger for this particular scene. I keep a cautious eye on my girlfriend while watching the university student do her job. One thing Brianna is really good at is conveying a sense of genuine terror and distress. A look at her face would make one think that she was in the clutches of a manic who was threatening to take her to the cleaners.

Then came the signal, and with a look of utter disgust Michela went over to Brianna and stood in a tour de force before confidently exposing the helpless girl. Underneath the knit sweater was a lacey purple bra that didn’t hide too much really. Michela stepped back to let Steve snap some more shots before pulling the bra down to expose Brianna. It was tits out, my friends, and these were some nice firm ones too! By this time, the heels were already gone, and Brianna was quite the sexy damsel in her knee socks.

“Tits out,” I said with a laugh to Kristine.
“I don’t always wear heels or let them rip my tits out either,” she said to me and Kendra.
“Good to know I’m not alone,” Kendra smiled, “Some days I just don’t want that.”
“Oh, no. Plenty of girls feel that way. Some are unconditional about it.”
“Good to know,” Kendra's confidence seemed to grow.
“You got this, girl,” I encouraged her.

I had never seen Michela so focused yet controlled. The insult had been personal to her. In her mind, she went to prison by necessity, to save her own life, and I felt genuine hatred come from her towards a person who was genuinely remorseful for her earlier maltreatment of us. Brianna was showing off her titties as she sat and continued the same thrashing patterns on the wooden chair. Photo after photo was snapped while I watched Michela with increasing concern about how calm and collected she was. I imagined this was her state when she shot her father.

Michela knew all about power plays (hockey joke, sorry). After Brianna spent some more time squirming, Michela put the heels back on the girl’s feet and forced her to stand up. A hard spank on the bottom came without words, and I saw a tear run down Michela’s cheek. She backed off and watched with crossed arms and a look of disgust growing on her face. What was wrong with my girlfriend?

Branna was the object of Michela’s anger, but was that anger directed at the personal offense or at someone else? I started wracking my brain in thought, trying to imagine a younger Michela in juvie. Who could it be? I motioned to Kendra, who was similarly concerned and kept standing on one foot and then the other. I kept an eye on Brianna so I could act in case Michela started to do something bad. Maybe Brianna wasn’t my favorite person, but she had the talent for the job.



“Why are you doing that?” I asked her, “Fidgeting? You seem distraught.”
“It’s a nervous tic, if that’s what makes you happy,” came an agitated response.
“Now what’s up with that?” I asked my short friend.
“When my parents asked where I got the money, I told them. I’ll tell you,” she motioned.
“All right,” I backed off and kept a distrusting eye on my girlfriend.
“Those comments. I think Michela is treating Brianna like she wanted to treat Judge LeBlanc.”

Kendra then told me what happened when she divulged her source of income. She always feared her parents would lock her in a cage for a day, but that never occurred. They did, however, chain her to her bed and force her to stand facing the wall for hours at a time. When they didn’t have an eye on her, she’d stand on one foot; if she got caught, she’d get beaten. Kendra really took an awful approach to her situation at home by turning to drugs; it just added an addiction on top of her problems. The heels were long gone, and soon Brianna was squirming on the floor.

“B-tch!” Michela finally snapped and charged at her, “I f-cking hate you!”
“All right, girls, time to move in. Steve, cut!” Kristine took command of things.
“Michela!” I used her real name since we were off camera, “I’m ashamed of you right now!”
“Why is she here?” Michela wailed when I grabbed her, “She hates me just like the judge!”
“Because she forgave and forgot! Unlike you!” I grew angry now, “Take her and tie her up!”
“Mr. Moreau, I’m sorry,” my girlfriend didn’t know what to do, “I suppose I’m fired.”
“Steve, really,” I looked at him, “I’m sorry about Michela. She has worse issues than I do.”

Michela was shaking with clenched fists and seemed to be fighting some personal and invasive demon. The girl I loved was fading away, and the girl from juvie returned in a disturbing way. I could trust Kenny and Kristine to take care of Michela. I took the blue ball gag out of Brianna’s mouth after she gave the signal, and she smiled again now that it was just us and Steve. At least she could fake it for a few more photos.

“I’m sorry, Brianna. I thought today was the day we’d iron out our differences,” I groaned
“Is she still upset at me for last month’s goober?” Brianna asked me, “I apologized then.”
“I don't know. She's never acted like this. May I borrow this?” I pulled on one of her socks.
“Sure. Stuff her mouth well,” Brianna asked, “If she’s like this, I won’t shoot with her again.”
“I have to gag you again though for this to work,” I pushed the ball into her mouth again.
“Got a plan, Hannah?” Steve asked me with a raised eyebrow, “Make a good scene out of it.”
“To force Michela to see that Brianna is nice and just was shocked that we were inmates.”

Now Brianna raised her eyebrows.

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Interlude 34: Juvie Reforms
Monday, February 4, 2013

“Hannah, Hannah, come here,” Mrs. Copley called me over after my laundry duty.
“Have I done something wrong?” I gulped and looked down while standing in the familiar way.
“Sweetie, no, but I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that the warden wants you to be watched more closely for the next few days, so no laundry duty, no programs, and no leaving the pod during rec time. The good news is that Mr. Reardon was terminated.”
“Oh,” I sniffed back my tears, “Thank you for letting me know.”
“I’m sorry, Hannah. If you need to talk, just tell me.”
“I’m good,” I knew she didn’t believe that, “Thanks for the offer. I’ll remember that in case.”

With that I marched up the stairs and into my cell where Michela was waiting for me. The door shut and locked behind me and would stay that way until dinner time. Michela smiled at me, and I knew we were going to celebrate in our own little way that night. I declined her offer, but that same night I talked to her for an hour during rec time.

Mrs. Copley was unorthodox but good.

Saturday, February 9, 2013

Attention all students: there will be a change in uniforms. The old orange uniforms will no longer be considered permitted clothing.

Black pants and a lavender purple became our new colors. For a bunch of kids who associated the color orange now as the symbol of their failures, it was like Christmas, especially for dear Mary-Ann. Kylie saw it as a sign that the end of her imprisonment was nearing.

“Hey, my choice of black doesn’t seem dumb now,” M.A. adjusted her bandana again.
“Ugh! Blue,” Michela, the only other Pod F girl at this stage permitted to wear them, “is ugly!”
“Oh, suck it!” I rolled my eyes playfully, “We at least look like teenage offenders.”
“You like shower time too much,” my lover taunted me.
“OK, yes, I’m a 16 year old delinquent with an eye for boobies.”
“Hey, I’m glad someone stares at me,” Mary-Ann fondled herself as we walked into the stalls.

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“Come on, girl,” Kristine started things while Marcy filmed us.
“Get off me, f-cktoy!” Michela wailed helplessly
“Oh, hell you say. We're gonna make you our f-cktoy!” Kendra added.
“You attacked that other girl, now we get you!”
“I!” Michela seemed to be fighting something inside herself as I tied her wrists, “No!”
“Keep holding her in place!” I reminded the others as I joined them.

Something had snapped in Michela, and she was now suffering internal psychological warfare, which was extremely dangerous for her mental wellbeing. I jammed the sock in her mouth to prevent her from talking further and applied double-sided tape before I OTM gagged her with her own bandana, which she had taken off and put aside for the scrumptious cheesecake shots. Kendra worked on tying Michela’s legs, and Kristine was working on the harness. Ankles and either side of her knees being tied seemed sufficient for her legs, and a rope on either side of her tits was good once it was cinched through her armpits.

“Baby, calm down. You can make things right. You can. I believe in you,” I whispered.
“Mmmmmm,” she wailed discontentedly.
“None of that. You have a heart of gold; now prove it and show Bree you’re a good person.”
“Come on, Michela, I know you can do it. Now, get sexy so Marcy can shoot the scene.”
“Mmmm!” she nodded and relaxed.
“Michela, sweetheart,” Kendra opened up a little, “I love you, girl; don’t ruin yourself like this.”

We stood Michela up, and she bent down enough that I couldn't resist kissing her. I don't get the expected reaction though. She looked around while yelling, but it was yelling without substance. The vacancy in her eyes deepended. She was in distress. She yelled angrily into Brianna’s sock and finally focused enough to listen to Marcy’s instructions.

Those legs. Those beautiful legs. Look at Michela’s gorgeous legs. How can you behold those legs and not want the girl that has them especially when she is as freaking beautiful as the lovely Michela Palmeri? Look how she squats and shows off her strength in doing so. She does such a fantastic job with this. I am truly blessed to have her friendship. Upon request, she twists about so that great shots can be taken of her bonds.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 35: My Release
Saturday, January 25, 2014

“I’m gonna miss you,” Michela kissed me at my last breakfast as a juvenile inmate.
“I’m gonna miss you, too. As soon as I turn 18, though, I am going to visit you.”
“Don’t forget about me. Please?” her voice trembled in what was the first outward display of emotion besides lust I had seen from her.
“I won’t. Michela, this seems to be the right time to say this, to give you hope.”
“What is it?” tears formed in her eyes.
“I’m in love with you.”

Just as I said that, the door opened, and my time in this cell with Michela Palmeri came to an end right at an emotional peak. With my few things, I walked out of the cell and waved behind me but did not look back. I could hear Michela crying as I left her behind. My promise was to be fulfilled though. I never failed to visit her once a week, but I held back from her the details of what was happening to me. We didn’t touch again until the events of Story 2…

I no longer fit in my civilian clothes having grown from 5’1” to my present 5’4” while inside. Grandma had to pick me up and brought new clothes with her.

——————————————————————————————

Michela angrily scowled for the camera, but it was a real scowl. She was terribly upset by some of the events, and I think she was consumed by guilt. She rolled back just the way Marcy asked her, and then it was my turn. I couldn't resist when asked. It was time. Tits out, my friends. My girlfriend was a hottie in distress! A heel came off her foot, unsurprisingly.

An angry Michela whipped her hair back and forth while she howled into her gag. It was a cute sound she made even when upset, but what was upsetting her? She looked back and yelled at me as if she were expecting me to do something for her. I smiled at her and blew her a kiss, and suddenly the spark came back. She twisted about some more and yelled at the camera a lot.

Michela sat with her exposed, beautiful, sexually pleasing, medium, Italian tits. How much self-control I must have had because I wanted to kiss them so badly and did not do it. She lifted her legs and gave us a nice upskirt view that made Kristina and Kendra blush and made me flush. She kicked out her legs straight and kept angrily yelling; I now realized that she and Mary-Ann both talk with their hands.

With more leg action, the other heel came off her foot, but she played with it for some time and looked back and forth towards me and the camera. She proceeded to give a dissertation of some sort via gag talk while I paid more attention to her panties and a body part that was hidden by them. What a hottie she was… and still is.

“Well aren't you a b-tch!” Marcy said between photos, “Put these back on her.”
“Got it,” Kristine took the high heels and put them back on Michela.
“Mmm!” Michela propped herself up on her legs and looked at me, “Hel- -e!”
“Hey!” I caught another flying heel.
“Mmmm!” she kicked her legs in and out for the camera and seemed back to herself.
“What a brat!” Kendra laughed at her.



——————————————————————————————

Interlude 36: My Decision
Saturday, April 5, 2014

“Grandma, I can’t keep living like this. I love you more than life, but I don’t want to keep you in danger,” I said with great selfishness.
“Hannah, don’t worry about those people,” my words surely stung.
“I have to. I ruined a lot of lives before prison, and I can’t risk your safety.”
“You’re an adult, Hannah, and you always have a home here,” she didn’t flinch but was hurt.
“I know,” I put my sexual interest in Greg first, like an idiot, “Greg’s coming to get me.”
“I won’t stop you. Just don’t leave without one last special grandma-grandchild moment.”

So, Grandma and I talked, as we had so many times over the years, while enjoying homemade pancakes. I forced myself not to cry, but deep inside I knew even then that I was leaving so that Grandma wouldn't see when Greg inevitably hurt me. I knew it was coming, but I had no idea in what way.

——————————————————————————————

“All right, girl! Punishment time!” I dragged Michela to the sofa and spanked her.
“Owww!” she yelled because it was a hard spank.
“Are you sorry for what you did before?” I spanked her again.
“OWWW! NOOO!”
“You asked for it!” I continue.
“Owwww… mmm…. mmmmmmm!” Michela was temporarily lost from that one.
“Cumsl-t,” Kristine muttered with a wry smile.

I had no idea just how proud Kristine and the Moreau’s were of me and my misfits that had taken this studio by storm. They hid the demand from us because they knew we all had various fears, but we were rising the lists as top sellers and were quickly becoming some of the most requested models. It was a joy for them to watch happen because they knew just how hard our lives were.

Spanking Michela into repeated orgasms was a joy, but I couldn't keep it up. We had a bunch more work to do. I spanked her once for each of her 18 years and then, once the cameras were off, kissed her into a fourth orgasm that seemed to exhaust her. The combination of exposed tits and spanking at my hands had been too much for her. I dragged her into the other room with Kristine’s help. If they could work together to escape this, we would let them tie us up.

Michela wasted no time at all. She wanted freedom, but her motions were weakened by the repeated orgasms. Brianna, however, wanted to let bygones be bygones and try to create at least mutual agreeability between herself and my band of misfits. I did not know someone could move their own hands so effectively while tied up, but it turned out that Brianna did crafting stuff as a hobby and thus was really deft with her hands. I expected an escape, but not under 7 minutes.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 37: The Self-Destruction
Monday, April 7, 2014

“What have I done?” I asked Stacy as she put out a joint.
“Made your choice. It was Grammy or Greg; you chose Greg.”
“I’m f-cking up, aren't I?”
“You're doing you, and I don't give a sh-t,” she was heartless then, “Hope it’s the smart move.”
“Get the f-ck out of here,” I shoved her down the step, went inside, and shut the door.
“Need something?” the dreadful masculine voice asked me.
“Yeah, some c-ck in my p-ssy would calm me down.”

Had I really forsaken my friends and family for awesome c-ck? Was getting his junk up my pipe worth it? I hated so many things, but I hated myself. Inside, I seemingly wished for the worth.

That day, I began the second leg of my descent to the mess I still am today in 2024…

——————————————————————————————

I put Michela’s bandana back on her head, carefully unpeeled the tape, pulled the sock out of her mouth, and kissed her on the lips. She had something more important to address first. Turning to Brianna, Michela blushed and humbled herself. Marcy and Steve began focusing on taking a few cheesecake shots of me and Kristine, but the conversation could be overheard.

“Brianna, I’m sorry for being a d-ck,” Michela said her words with feeling.
“I was a d-ck first. I’m sorry, too,” Brianna replied, “I never knew you went through so much.”
“I think all is forgiven on both our parts. Once I’m out, shall we take these three down?”
“Please? You’re good at this, and we should be able to work together at least.”
“That’s better,” Michela’s eyes brightened up, “I don’t want to hate anyone, not even the judge.”
“Go ahead! Bring it on!” Kendralaughed, “Girls are going wild already.”

Michela walked around me; recall my red skirt and flowery blouse. Lust was in her eyes as she studied me, but Brianna was more imaginative in her analysis of Kristine. A glance to each other was followed by a nod of agreement. Ropes began torquing mine and Kristine’s elbows behind us. Kristine got only below her elbows tied by Brianna, but I got both sides tied by Michela. Like it or not, we were now trapped.

Wrists and either side of the elbows and ankles and either side of the knees. It was tight and fantastic and didn't hurt like last time. I smiled seductively and wriggled my body in a way that made Michela instinctively grab her crotch. An all black ball gag filled my mouth.

In the other room where Michela had been tied, Kristine was on the ground with her legs crossed with mountains of rope. A rope connected her ankles and waist to make it hard to move, and a harness held her arms down. I had promised Kristine that one day I would vamp her while tied up, but today wasn't it despite me getting aroused at the sight of her with a big red ball gag in her mouth. Despite the double bondage, photos had to happen one at a time for practical reasons.

Girls had gone wild.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 5 Chapter 3: Accepting My Condition
Saturday, January 31, 2015

I sat on the coffee table and yelled into my gag and stretched out my arms. Michela was an effective dominatrix even if she was nearly a rope bunny. A loud yell into my gag only got a laugh from Steve and Kendra. A good rule of thumb was to lean forward before Steve told you to lean forward; that gave him nice shots of your tits. I’m torqued and going nowhere anyway.

I looked at the camera and used my arms for balance while tucking my knees into my chest. It felt nice to squish my tits, and I wondered what would be like to experience a really tight ball tie. I kicked my legs out but lost my balance and rolled to the left side with a loud squeal

I again braced my arms, tucked my knees in, and yelled into the ball gag. Gag talk is so satisfying! While doing all this, my legs are slowly extending. I am aiming for an upskirt shot that will certainly make the viewers c-m themselves on sight. Fun fact, I loved the garter so much that some days I wear one with a skirt and blouse.

I began to realize something: I had enjoyed jamming that gag back in Brianna’s mouth in a different way beyond just the usual playful satisfaction of gagging someone. Her angry reaction excited me and brought me pleasure. I enjoyed exposing Michela, and I liked the frustrated gag talk she made when I did it. The anger that came when a girl was spanked or otherwise tortured brought me a thrill, and I got a similar but different thrill when those things were done to me.

They’re going to leave me tied, go home without me, and force the Moreau’s to untie me, suddenly disrupted my peace, and, in response to that, my big kick came to an end. I rapidly sat up and began yelling at the giggling Michela. My gag talk was unintentional, and staring at her made her horny as shown when she grabbed her crotch. I figured I would be back on the streets with her keeping a photo of me for her own masturbating pleasure after she was done with me. I grunted and looked around the room for a knife or scissors, but of course Steve had those!

I stood up and flung my arms up and down and bent down as if in a strappado. They didn't want to be my friends anymore. I desperately and angrily cried and shimmied my arms in an effort to escape and beg them not to leave me. In my heart, I knew it was all untrue, and an internal battle began with me yelling at the camera and trying not to lose my sanity.

I cleared my mind enough, but Michela still stepped out of the room for a moment. There was a film going on in the other room for sure, and there was some teasing happening to Kristine. I let out a genuine wail of distress before I sat down on the table again. After a few more shots, I was again attended by Michela, whom Steve had called back, and she actually read my thoughts and put me in a ball tie! How perfect! She kissed me and went back to Kristine.

I saw nothing of what happened to Kristine, but from the sound effects I suspected that Michela, Brianna, and Kendra were taking turns spanking and fondling her. It was a pleasure to hear the older girl suffering at my girlfriend's hands, and I came to terms right then; I had a debilitating mental illness that exacerbated my emotions and my fears and perhaps made me enjoy my kinky side a little bit more than was healthy for me.



How do I tell Michela? Would the Palmeri’s help me?

I had the ball tie of my heart’s desires and continued yelling into the ball gag. I twisted my arms in an effort to untie at least one rope. Alas, the knot was much too tight. I looked right at Steve and yelled at him, and I felt like he understood me in a way. I had a lot of strange fears, frightful fears, fears of abandonment, being left to die alone… in a basement…

Then we were finished. Amidst the din of wailing and such… a photo of me sitting and smiling ended the set, and some closeups of my rope marks followed. Instead of girls going wild on me, I had been forgotten and left to a classic scene that I enjoyed a lot once my mind cleared up. I no longer heard Kendra in there…

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 38: The Abortion
Monday, May 5, 2014

“Greg, I have a surprise for you,” I said to the 34 year-old drug kingpin.
“What this time?” he was sarcastic as always, “You learned to make sugar cookies?”
“No, you sardonic f-ck. I'm pregnant!” I tried to smile.
“No! I'm not having a little sh-t, especially with you!” he snarled and lunged at me.
“Greg! No!” I shrieked before he beat me.

Thursday, May 8, 2014

The next several days were a blur for me, and all I remember is the agonizing pain when the staff eagerly took Greg’s blood money and murdered my baby in some awful way that I won't… no I cannot… describe… my mind has blotted the memory of my tragic loss. I had already figured if he had rejected the baby that I would go back to Grandma; I knew she would welcome me home with open arms. What came after is what’s etched in my memory.

He duct taped me, as he always did when he wanted to control me. He taped me and gagged me with the socks and panties I was wearing and many layers of tape and then he f-cked my ass and punched me in the gut multiple times. He proceeded to beat me like you wouldn’t believe.

“I want to make sure that slime is dead!” he snarled before abandoning me to writhe in pain.

Why was I crying? The fear? Wanting to no longer live with him? Mourning my lost child? The pain? Two major changes happened to me that day: first, I concluded that life is precious and, second, I was determined to bring Greg down.

——————————————————————————————

Kristine was such a hottie! She looked so scrumptious in a lotus tie while in her stocking feet. It looked great even if she only had jeans and a sweater. She had the anti-heel streak like Kendra, but she’d comply with Steve’s wishes most times. Similarly, she wouldn't always let her tits out for the camera. She wasn’t into bondage like me, so she simply moved as needed for the camera

I guess that was part of Kristine’s charm. This time, I finally noticed the pretty wedding band on her hand, and I realized she meant it when she talked about a husband. While she was delightful, I just could tell she wasn't into girls quite like I was. If I asked to vamp her, she'd allow me to do it for a scene but not otherwise. Oh, well… I was a reject anyway, right?

Enjoy the sight of Kristine bound and gagged. She’s another “100% natural” girl, and man does she have a figure to die for. My favorite part is her eyes; she’s a defiant girl! No surprise that she was a prison girl, but it was a shock that she’d been Michela’s cellmate before Kylie! Look at how tightly her elbows are tied; that’s for your protection, not mine.

For Michela, exposing Kristine was much more meaningful now. This was the discovery of her first friend from juvie, and there was a special chemistry that had been ignited via reunification of the two girls. And then, you know it, it was tits out, my friends. Then we just had to sit back and enjoy the show.

Kristine was a special talent, and that’s why she had already worked for the Moreau’s for three years at this point, because she had the figure and the know-how. Instructions weren’t needed at all, and this allowed time for extra photos that would expand the photoset. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she even turned around without being told. When this was complete, Michela untied Kristine’s arms, and we got to see her show off her flexibility, which rivaled my own. Best of all, look at how happy she is.



There was another issue afoot. Steve, Brianna, and Kendra had disappeared in the meanwhile. I immediately took off in the only direction left to me: the shed. I quietly walked out to the big, to me, space, and quickly found Kendra posing for cheesecake shots. Hottie isn’t the right word because she was actually, simply put, beautiful. She wasn’t arousing; she was awe inspiring.

She also looked great with green tape on her lips. I skipped time on you because why not? It’s a standard bondage: the usual three leg ropes, wrists tied, and a breast harness. She was sitting on a wooden chair, looking pitiful as usual. As I said earlier, girls leaning forward while sitting on a chair increases the room temperature for Steve. Not only was that great but also Kendra knew to adjust her facial expressions from anger to sadness. It’s awful that of all the girls I could choose it turns out that the girl in the photos is one of the tallest that ever modeled for that studio. It’s all dumb coincidence, but what goobers I made! Oh well!

Enjoy lots and lots of Kendra; this one has 3 parts that rival’s Brianna’s 5 part series! Kendra, in my opinion, is prettier though. Once I waited long enough, zoom! Off went a heel followed by a few of Kendra’s favorite foot shots. Then off went the other followed by some more foot shots.

“Hey, hottie,” Michela came up from behind me and grabbed me by my breasts.
“Oh!” I jumped a little because I was thinking too much about Kendra, “Hi, roomie.”
“Would you and Kendra come back with me? Mom’s finally ready to let Kendra come over.”
“I’ll come by with her tonight; she said she’d help me move in with you anyway.”
“That,” Michela took off her bandana, “would mean a lot to me.”
“Are you OK? You only play with your headband when you’re stressed.”
“Fine, just exhausted. It’s been a lot of emotions today. Right, Bree?” she sighed.
“We worked it out though. Now that the pissy hormones wore off, right?”
“Heh,” Michela smirked a little, “Yeah… I guess so.”

Kendra twisted on the chair to allow more photos to be taken of her shoeless and struggling. The moment Kendra turned and looked at the camera was when I realized I had no sexual attraction to her; that’s the first time I understood that I actually saw her as a friend. It wasn’t a profound self-discovery, but it was personally meaningful. Did she see me as her friend though?

You know the drill by now. Lots of foot shots from Kendra. After some foot shots, how about a few more foot shots? There’s a market for her feet, and frankly I was still contemplating these silly ideas that ran through my mind of her one day forcing me to sniff her feet while I was tied up and gagged. Feet weren’t arousing, but being dominated was. Look at Kendra looking at her heels. I had to make something of that. The video began shortly after I whispered in Steve’s ear first and Brianna’s second.

“MMMMMM!” Kendra groaned.
“Hey, Miss Busty” Brianna walked on the set with one of the heels.
“MMMMMM!”
“Don’t you have anything else to essay?”
“Nmm mm!” my friend shook her head.
“Yeah, that’s right, I mean you, babe,” the free girl pushed the shoe right against Kendra’s nose.
“GMMPH!” Kendra did like it; oh, what a weapon we could use against her!

Brianna took the chair away, and Steve ended the film to take some more photos of Kendra. The heels got put back on her feet for the last few shots. It had been another successful day working for Steve and Marcy Moreau. Don’t forget Kendra’ feet!



——————————————————————————————

Interlude 39: The Execution
Monday, June 2, 2014

I was studying Greg’s every move. I knew from his words that he was now f-cking my friend Stacy, and I knew every drug stash in this place from before I went to juvie. Despite crawling back to this freak, I had smoked but two joints all these months, and I knew it unnerved him. He no longer seemed as trusting even though I continued to hand out things on his behalf, especially when I was alone. He was still a cheat, though, and I took him on one day. If I wasn't getting his c-ck, no one else should!

“Enjoying Stacy’s p-ssy?” I asked him coldly, “I see through you, Greg Lofton.”
“Me? You call me a cheat?” he grabbed the roll of duct tape, “You’re a squeal, too?”
“A squeal? No! I'm just hungry for some d-ck,” I tried to manipulate him as a test.
“Hannah, you know too much, and like Stacy you're gonna go to the cops any day now!”
“Greg! No!” I yelled as he grabbed me, “I'm not a squeal!”
“See you in hell, b-tch.”

Greg again taped my socks in my mouth and wrapped my face up tightly, this time even wrapping my hair into it. Wrists, elbows, chest, waist, legs, and thighs were all tightly wrapped in it. He explained to me that this was it: I was being executed so as to ensure I didn't turn on him. Then he wrecked my p-ssy for one final time. Into the basement I went, and I was taped to the water main.

After an hour, I could see I wasn't alone in the form of a redhead. Stacy was tied to a support column, taped just like I was, and blindfolded with a black bandana. This was how it ended for us. We were going to starve or dehydrate…

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

It's strange how I never cried throughout this. At the time, I felt like I deserved it for my failures to society. I was hungry, thirsty, and soiled. I had been working on this escape for over 40 hours now as lunch time approached. As I squirmed on the cold concrete floor, my hands happened upon a nail that I had been unable to find before. Stacy was wailing because, unlike me, she was scared of death.

I slashed the tape on my wrists and got enough motion that I could cut myself off the water lines. Now, I could hop over to the tools and grab a knife. That made quick and easy work of the tape binding myself and Stacy. In the darkness, I spied a 2x4 board and took it. We tiptoed up the stairs and opened the door.

“Oh, so you escaped. I’m gonna have to snuff you both instead.”

I paused in thought before using my little remaining energy to nutshot him with the board and then slammed him on the head. He was knocked out from that. Turning to Stacy, we saw terror in each other's eyes.

“Run!” I said.

Together, we went to the house of a friendly elderly couple nearby. They let us in, and soon the police were on their way.

——————————————————————————————

We walked out of the house slightly richer. Since starvation was no longer on the horizon, we celebrated with me getting each of us a Big Mac, fries, and a soda. It felt strange to have honest money and to be able to spend some of it on myself. In my girlfriend's eyes, I saw new emotions that told me something was eating at her; in my friend’s eyes I saw confidence, a strengthening belief that she was now in control of her destiny.

“Kendra, come to my house first. Please?” Michela broke the ice on her struggles.
“I was coming over anyway, to help Hannah get settled in.”
“I want to talk to you two about something. In private,” why was she ready to cry?
“What’s eating at you, Mick?” Kendra put her food down.
“The third to last game in the regular season. We had clinched the division. I went out and put two in the net to set the league record for goals in a season,” the dark eyes glazed over.
“Uh oh,” Kendra looked at me and knew, “Don’t think about that stuff right now.”
“Yeah, Michela,” I chimed in, “Let’s talk about how much fun we had today.”

Michela was glad to talk about something else. Whatever was bothering her was torturing more than anything else since I’d met her. By the time we were in the driveway, she was shaking with fright, and only a hug from, of all people, Kendra, calmed her down again. I didn’t like what we were witnessing; it was either her snapping or being triggered like never before.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 40: The Abomination
Sunday, June 8, 2014

The hospital was charitable since we had no way to pay, and Stacy and I are survivors again. But, it's a bit different for me. As the resident who shared a bed with Greg, I found myself not only arrested again, but I was sent back to juvie as an 18 year old who was recently sprung. Back went a badge, now emblazoned with A15 instead of F09. For the first three days, I was put on suicide watch and kept more-or-less in solitary except for Level I rec hours in the morning and afternoon. My meals were brought to me, and I felt loneliness like never before. But, then came day four…

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

“Hannah, what the hell?!” Kylie exclaimed when she saw me at lunch.
“Hell, yeah,” was all I said.
“Are you OK?”
“Eventually,” I grumbled, “I don't want to talk.”
“I still care about you,” she said with a bit of pain in her voice.
“I care about you, too.”

A guard then whisked me away because of police questioning, and I merely burst into tears and was put back into suicide watch until my release. I had no desire to die, but they weren't risking anything with a prize like me. How I regretted wasting my precious few moments with a friend. I didn’t even get to see Michela during my short time there because she had broken her foot in a gym accident while playing basketball that morning and was at the hospital.

Thursday, June 12, 2014

It didn't matter since the next day I was cleared of any potential charges and released again. They had a multitude of crimes against Greg; that was when the true horror began. As soon as I got back to the place, I packed my car with anything that I knew was mine. They were watching me.

Sure enough, cops soon swarmed the place because they wanted the info I had and Greg wouldn't give. They wanted to know where to find drugs; I’d been followed here; my release had been a trap. In exchange for my cooperation and no charges against me, I told them all that they wanted about the drug stores and such. But the worst was still to come.

Saturday, June 14, 2014

Depositions and attorneys. I had to tell my story repeatedly. Six times I had to tell how Greg attacked me, r-ped me, and left me to die. Stacy too. We had to recall so much; Stacy, too, had been on suicide watch, although unlike me she had tried. She was so broken by it all, and I felt the spirit leave my eyes by the end of the morning in the knowledge that I had to face psychiatric evaluations and so much more before a trial by jury could proceed.

Today was when I learned it all. From the day I entered the house upon release, Greg had filmed each and every time Stacy or I had been f-cked by him. Whether tied or not, he filmed it, and he had filmed our execution as well. Worse, he had sold them or outright posted them on sites like P-rnH-b. To this day, I can find those videos and see myself getting r-ped and murdered. Yes, it triggers me; even the thought will still send me into hysteria. I had to watch these and confirm they were me, and Stacy had to do the same with herself. Once in a while, I torture myself by looking for them and finding them somewhere on some site.

I wasn't 18 yet! How did I fall for this monster and abomination?!

Friday, September 19, 2014

“Mr. Lofton,, I sentence you to life in prison without possibility of parole.”

The nightmare was over… right?

——————————————————————————————

For Michela alone to remove said the sign on the door.

The sign was dated over 3 years ago, and I wondered what it was. Kendra noticed it too, but we kept our silence. We sat in the attic, all on the futon across from the bed, in total silence. I was on one side of Michela, and Kendra was on the other. Never had Michela been so silent, and we remained in this way for 30 minutes. Without a word, Michela gently and fearfully wrapped her hands around ours and led us down to that door that we now noticed had a special deadbolt.

“After the police had finished in here,” she spoke, “I asked Mom to do this..”
“What is this?” Kendra asked as Michela pulled the key out of her pocket and opened the door.
“The basement. Come on,” Michela flicked on the light and led us down, “I miss hockey.”
“We're with you. Maybe you can take up club hockey when you get to college.”
“Don't be afraid,” I tried to comfort her, “We’re with you.”
“Fear is the only emotion I understand right now.”

Against the one wall of the completely finished basement were two computer stations, of which one was complete; the other had a dismantled computer. There were filing cabinets, a wooden chair, and on the floor was a bag in which were various bondage toys such as a vibrator, ropes, and gags. There was a big red stain on the carpet, in the corner, and a few skimpy outfits, all bikinis or shorts, were found in an open filing cabinet drawer. A couple of pieces of rope were still on the floor.

For a half hour, we sat there in silence while Michela stared at the ropes, fingered the various gags, held the clothes up against her own body, and occasionally sat on the wooden chair. What was she thinking and feeling? Was it a recollection? Or was it blotted from her memory? I was uncertain how to help until she finally spoke.

“I waited until a night where he vaginally assaulted me, and then I shot him. He never expected me to take his own gun and use it on him or to pull it out of the drawer. That night, at 9:37PM, he went down; at 9:51PM, I was taken out in handcuffs; at 10:09PM the proof that my daddy was doing it to me was in their hands. Every day, when I was done with my homework, we’d come down here to work, but about once a week he’d tie me, gag me and Kendra, take the bag.”
“Wow! Mary would…,” Kendra started thinking it was a gift.
“We're gonna burn it. Hannah, get the clothes.”
“Are you sure you…”
“F-CK YOU, KENDRA!” Michela shrieked at the girl, “Kendra… why’d he do it to me?”
“I can’t answer that,” Kendra said with deepest regret and started crying, “I’m sorry.”
“See this?” she held up a ring gag, “It’s a bad gag, the worst gag.”
“Michela?” Kendra put the bag down, “Your daddy made you eat his d-ck with that?!”
“Mmm hmm,” she nodded, then she fell on her knees and yelled, “WHHHYYYYY?!”
“Baby, it’s over!” I came to her side while she hysterically sobbed; she needed this now.

We didn’t force the issue. Michela had opened the most vulnerable side of herself to us in a way that no one else had ever seen. I tried not to imagine the 13 or 14 year old Michela bound and gagged and being terrified for her life, and more than that she was trying not to remember any of it. We had suffered in ways that our friends couldn’t comprehend; neither could we comprehend each other’s suffering. Michela cried for almost 35 minutes; she loved the man she knew before her father became a monster. But how long before that had he been a monster?

With a kiss for me and a hug for Kendra, a hug unlike any other I’d seen, Michela took a cutter and chopped out the bloody trail of carpet, from where her father fell to where he stopped. Then, she took a saw and chopped up the chair. Together, as the girls who most closely understood her angst, we helped Michela bring the items out to the fire pit. Once doused in gasoline, the carpet and the other items made a nice little blaze. The ring gag, no surprise, was the one item that she personally held back to toss into the flame after it had been lit. The torture ended on Michela’s terms, and those symbols ended on her terms too.

“Kendra, thank you for being here. I needed you,” Michela still cried a bit.
“I’m sorry it took all this for us to be friends,” Kendra choked back her own tears.
“It means so much to me that you came for me. God bless you for your big heart.”
“That means a lot to me when you say those words ‘God bless you,’” Kendra forced a smile.

Kendra was picked up by Mary, which left us alone with her mother and sisters who cheered Michela on and praised her for her strength. Imagine those beautiful years… I have seen many photos of Michela… 10, 11, 12, 13… many of them see her in her hockey gear whether a candid photo or a staged one. Then, at 14, the number of photos trails… and it skips to 18. There is no 15, 16, or 17 for her; those are in prison. Justice had not been served by any means. Even 18 was lost… it all timed out that Michela lost four of her birthdays, including two of the most precious ones to a girl. No “Sweet 16” or “Graduation party” or “welcome to adulthood” happened for her. I got both of those, and I wasted my 18th with a psychopath instead of in my grandmother’s home when, in reality, she was the only one on my side at the time. Michela… I’m sorry. I needed help, too, but I didn’t know how to tell you what was wrong or what had happened to me.

Afterwards, Michela sat on the futon in silence. I had a phone call to make to fulfill a promise. So much about my girlfriend now made sense.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 5 Chapter 4: Our Bedroom
Saturday, January 31, 2015

“Michela, don't undress yet,” I said to my tall lover after I shut the door.
“You want something?” she asked me with tears in her eyes.
“Come on down, baby. I know this evening was hard for you.”
“You don't know it,” she said, “I don't think about it. It's a blur.”
“You don't have to talk about it,” I ran my fingers through her hair.
“I was a star hockey player. I averaged over a goal per game my last year. We won the title in a total rout 12-2.”

Hockey was the thing Michela would talk about when that topic arose. Tonight, with Kendra and I by her side, was the first time she had said more than that that she’d shot her father because he was abusing her. I didn't know how to tell her what Greg had done to me, and I had never gotten the words off my chest. Both of us merely understood that we were psychologically suffering. I listened to her tell her story, listening intently, out of love, and asking questions.

I wrapped an arm around my girl in orange, and she returned the embrace. With me in her arms, we rolled back onto the futon so she could cuddle me. I understood this was a big moment for her. For the first time since her and her father's trials, she had talked about this, and I felt like a part of her has died and come back to life. She was crying; inexplicable warmth has overcome her voice; her eyes display an emotion beyond the usual empty lust. The emotions she felt were actually noticeable by others.

“Hannah, would you tie me up again?” she asked me in a different tone.
“Why?” I asked to make sure it was a genuine desire.
“So I can be safe in your arms and… love you?” she questioned while in the web of trauma.
“All right, sweetie, let's play, all right?” I asked as our lips met.
“Mm hmm,” she rolled on top of me and started crying.
“Mmmm,” I wrapped my arms around her.

Michela had never cried like this. Then it hit me that she was crying. Out of 16 girls in our pod, the only ones who never cried were Mary-Ann and Michela. Mary-Ann had no reason to cry, but Michela was incapable of crying. This was such a major development in her life, and as I held her in my arms I realized that I was the way by which she was finding her healing from what had happened over 4 years before. Being able to cry was progress in her recovery.

Taking my shirt sleeves, I dried Michela’s tears with affection until she was done crying. When she was done, she looked at me with a warm smile that was tinged by the usual fear in her eyes, and soon that faded away and was replaced by the lustful Michela. Progress had been made, and I was rewarded with the most passionate kiss Michela had ever planted on my lips before, which was like an electric shock through my body.

Uncertain of what to do, I decided that I should teach Michela a new bondage position. A true reverse prayer couldn't be done to her; I’d break her arms. Instead, I pulled her hands up to the opposite shoulder and tied these crossed wrists. She offered me no resistance while I tied her arms or any ropes for that matter, and I felt… loved. I tied a much more detailed breast harness than the kinds she was used to receiving with the Moreau’s, and I ran a crotch rope under Michela's panties complete with knots along it. I tied her legs in the familiar way but added a second bond on her thighs. I took her socks off, tied her big toes together with a zip tie, stuffed her socks as well as my own in her mouth, applied strips of the double sided tape, and OTM gagged her with my bandana.

Michela was immediately aroused by all this despite her fading distress, and I began opening her blouse. She loved these blouses and skirts so much and had an army of them. She turned to this kind of clothing, I assumed, because of the burned clothes she had been forced to wear while he abused her. Michela peered deeper into my eyes than she'd ever peered before and orgasmed just from having her tits exposed at my hands.

“I promised my friend I would call her. If you're good, I will introduce you to my old friends, the Cool Girls’ Club,” I said and erotically kissed Michela.
“Ah ove ou, Hannah,” she replied with deep emotion while I hid her tits under a blanket.
“Hold on, Jenny said it's OK. We’ll chat, and then we'll play. OK?”
“Mmm mmm.”
“All right,” I laid down on the futon with her and attached the phone to her selfie stick.
“Hannah! I just knew you’d be calling and made sure I was at Joy's dorm for this!”

I felt wanted, and my gagged lover groaned alongside me. Michela’s eyes seemed to scintillate as I spoke with my former friends, most of whom saw me as a friend they patiently awaited to return from a long journey. Jenny and Nichole, the latter of whom I have discussed, seemed to be absolutely charmed to talk to me, but the others stayed away beyond a cordial greeting with one of them, a blondish girl named Joyce, being the friendliest of the lot. Joyce wasn’t afraid of me despite my sins.

Jenny… I of course begged her to reach out to Kendra.

The Cool Girls’ Club was out there and waiting for me to come home, and they said as much. It was then I promised myself I would be a Cool Girl again someday, still not understanding that I took a vow that said I was a Cool Girl forever and would forever be loved by my friends despite my manifold mistakes. Jenny expressed her unbroken love for her friends, me included. There was something out there for me; if I were to be reconciled to the CGC, then I was going to also bring Michela with me and, eventually, Kendra, too. I knew Mary-Ann would love Jenny, and Kylie would like Nichole.

Then the call was done, and Michela reveled in Jenny’s kindness. I did too, actually, and moved the blanket to reveal the thoroughly bound and gagged hottie in distress, Michela Palmeri. A girl who had no experience with these was of course extremely curious about the crotch rope and its duties. She pulled on it and squirmed in deep arousal, and she groaned even more loudly when I jerked on it. I made it worse for her by hogtying her from her ankles to her arms and connecting it to the crotch rope. At least, I hoped she had no experience with crotch ropes, but some things Michela had said intimated that perhaps she had been forced to orgasm by her father.

“Did you like that?” I asked her in a sensual manner and kissed her gagged lips.
“Mmm,” she nodded slowly and looked at me with lust.
“I love you too.”

I wrapped my arms tightly around Michela’s chest and began planting slow, heavy kisses on her cheeks and lips. She fought me a little, but that crotch rope was more than she could bear. How I loved to hear her groan in orgasm, and she groaned while peering into my eyes with emotions I had never felt from her. She was genuinely aroused more so because of my involvement in these actions than the actions themselves.

I wondered what she thought of the taste of her cute orange socks mixed with my own socks, and I loved the sight of her bound and gagged even more when she was wearing a matching bandana like she was at the moment. I couldn’t help but grind my crotch against her thigh while holding her like I was; she was such a hottie in distress!

I was unable to resist kissing and fondling her tits, her gorgeous perfect tits. They were perfect from so much time spent in the gym each day even after her release and from all the exercise in prison. They were full and gorgeous and all mine to do as I wished. I squeezed, kissed, pinched, massaged, and caressed them to arouse her and make her happy while also satisfying my desires with them.

Michela reveled in being tied up so tightly, and her mixed reactions to it told me that she hadn’t been tied so tightly since that fateful night. Perhaps this wasn’t as strict, tight, or rough as those were, but it was more than the scenes at the Moreau’s home. Most important to me was that Michela had the same feeling as she did when she felt safe even if she wasn’t as perky as she usually was. She was tired but triumphant. There were things she disliked, but I could tell by her body language that she was happy with this situation.

The big gag was a strange source of joy to her; she enjoyed the embarrassment of having another person’s socks in her mouth as much as I enjoyed doing it to others. As bondage partners, so far in our experiences she enjoyed receiving nearly every single torture I enjoyed giving. Unable to resist, I began tickling her belly, but something disappointing happened. Nothing. I felt Michela go limp in my arms, and I realized something sad immediately: due to her trauma, she could no longer enjoy being tickled and had completely shut down that function. Her father tickled her.

“Mmmm,” she turned herself around and looked at me with embarrassment.
“No worries, honey,” I kissed her gagged lips, “Not everyone is ticklish.”
“Ah uv ou,” she said again and sighed with a brief spark of true love in her eyes, but it faded.
“I love you too… in a different way from all of our other friends,” I kissed her cheek and jerked her crotch rope.
“Mmmmmm,” she softly orgasmed and melted in my arms and simply tried to stretch.
“You,” I played with her hair, “are beautiful. I love you, Michela, not your body.”

I now crushed her as deep as the futon allowed while showering her with kisses and grinding my body against hers. My body was burning with so much passion that it hurt; I wanted to cum so badly that I couldn’t put it into words. I ground her slowly and deliberately and pushed against her body as roughly as possible; as I have said, I struggle to orgasm without the stimulation of a machine or c-ck. When I orgasmed, I groaned loudly enough that anyone in the upper leg of the staircase to the attic could have heard it.

“Lights out,” I performed an old CGC trick by blindfolding Michela with her own bandana.
“No no no!” she immediately reacted.
“What’s wrong?”
“NO! NO! NOO! Hleathe, nooooooo!”

I immediately recognized a panic attack; Michela was soon to learn that I got night terrors in my own right. Her heart rate spiked so much that I thought she’d explode; her body went as cold as a refrigerator; she started shaking uncontrollably. I pushed the blindfold up and off her eyes and gently unpeeled the tape. Black saucers greeted me, and those quickly faded. Tonight’s lust was over for me; I felt awful about what I did. She was ready for more in surprisingly short order. I pulled the socks out of her mouth.

“You didn’t know better. Ask before doing anything new. I haven’t had a crotch rope that tight in…,” she trailed but spoke with confidence as she asked once again, “Hannah, why’d he do it?”
“But you’re comfortable blindfolding me?” I knew to change topics, “You’re sweet.”
“Well, yeah! I know you like it; you’ve said so,” her honesty and love was apparent in her tone.
“I’m sorry I scared you. Want to be untied?” I gently fluffed her hair, “Get a massage?”
“I think so. Want to hear about when I broke a kid’s nose during a hockey game?”
“Sure. We’ll get our pajamas on and relax while you get a massage and tell me about hockey.”

Hockey was a passion of Michela’s as you may have figured out. In juvie, she always asked for score updates from the guards and would ask for the games to be put on during the little time we had to watch before bed. When she got sprung, a coming home party saw her receive a t-shirt from her beloved team. Now, while wearing a brand new pair of pajamas, she told me the story of breaking a kid’s nose during a fight and getting suspended for a long time for it. In fact, while she told her story, in the background a TV showed the Minnesota Wild game right behind us.

When we were done with the massage, we got under the covers with me cuddling her and snoozing underneath the covers while she watched the game to its conclusion. It was just the start of what would be an amazing period of me living full-time with the Palmeri family.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 6 Chapter 1: My New Home
Sunday, February 1, 2015

It was amazing to open my eyes and see a clock at 6:02 AM. I asked Michela not to turn on the alarm, and for the first time since Monday, November 26, 2012, I woke up after 6:00 AM. But then my day turned around for a moment when I saw Michela doing morning stretches, and like a robot I got out and started doing the same.

“Wait a minute,” I started.
“Quiet time, Hannah.”
“No, wait a minute,” I grabbed her by the arms, “Let’s go back to bed.”
“But what about…,” it was my turn to shut her down.
“Take a minute. Relax. Let’s go back to bed.”
“All right, all right,” I could tell she’s in full prison mode.



Michela’s bed, our bed, was cornered like the one in the photo albeit in the attic. Our bed had an oak finish, though. Those shelves behind the pillows stayed empty except for the clock, but they were perfect for holding toys during bondage sex. The left drawer on the floor held my tattered few clothes.

On one shelf, Michela had a stack of Roman Catholic books, and above it were some religious things like a small statue of a person I didn't recognize, a lifelike cross figure, and multiple kinds of prayer beads. It was strange to see such fervent devotion toward a religion that said she was a sinner for sleeping with me. Yet, that tattered old Bible and that prayer book had even been her companions in prison. I wanted to slap her and tell her to quit being such a superstitious rube.

On my pillow lived Achilles the stuffed white rabbit. Achilles, I don't know where I got such a name, had lived on each and every pillow of mine except when I lived with Greg; Achilles even was my one thing from home I brought to juvie. Today he lives on my own daughter's pillow. I freely admit I sometimes still cuddle him.

We crawled into bed together, and I looked at Michela and smiled. We were cellmates again, but now we didn't have to hide our behavior from the guards. We were free to kiss, hug, or screw as we liked. A strange shudder went down my spine with that fear of abandonment again. I tried to fight the feeling, but the darkness overcame me.

“Michela,” I said quietly, “You're not going to throw me out, are you?”
“What?! No! I love you,” she rolled over to look at me, “Our home is yours now.”
“I need help. Mental help. Health help,” I whimpered a little.
“What's troubling you?” I could tell that my distress brought her pain.
“I have thoughts that you will abandon me; I enjoy torturing people when they're tied up; right now, I want to throw myself off the staircase so I break a leg so I can see how you all will react.”
“We’ll ask Ma if you can see Dr. Sheridan. He’s my shrink and goes to our church.”
“You really love me underneath that suffering, don't you?” I asked, and she nodded.

I lost control of myself, brought my lips to hers, and crawled on top of her while she laughed and enjoyed my passion. It had been a lovely but stressful start to our life together. Michela enjoyed me for a minute before pushing me off, reminding me not to be manipulative like that. Passion is good, but sexually exciting her to try to be the center of her attention was bad.

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Interlude 41: Girlfriends
Thursday, February 14, 2013

After two weeks of my newfound sexual relationship with my cellmate Michela, I got to witness what I had been told about Mrs. Copley and the carefully arranged Valentine’s candy. There was one piece for everyone, and she knew everyone’s allergies and made sure that there was no threat of an allergic reaction. I chose a piece and slowly nibbled it as I walked back to my cell. In the cell, I carefully washed the residue off my fingers while letting the last bits melt on my tongue. It was so good. Thank you, Mrs. Copley.

“Hey,” Michela said as I sat at the desk, “Gorgeous.”
“You’re more gorgeous, Miss Bandana,” I commented on her headband.
“Oh, are you saying,” her voice got quiet, and she showed me a textbook, “That you want me to wear this tonight when we play?”
“Maybe,” I looked at the book as if she were explaining something to me, “Be my Valentine?”
“Oh, really?” she blushed and went blank, “Ummm… yeah! Yeah! Sure!”
“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

I knew she was in love with me for a week or more now, but she was too traumatized and shy to ever admit it on her own. There was one ray of light in this prison for her, and it was I much to my fear of making things worse. It was a cold, cruel place to be especially in winter when we were limited on time spent outside. But, one night, after a soft snow, our gym instructor let us IV’s spend our gym time having a snowball fight in the outdoor gym. Another story for another time.

“Hi, baby,” my friend in the blue bandana slipped down.
“Our first Valentine’s as a couple, right?” I teased her a little and kissed her on the cheek.
“Hannah, when did you realize I had fallen in love with you?”
“I realized it a week ago and backtracked to conclude you fell in love with me at Christmas.”
“You’re right,” she smiled, “I do love you.”
“I love you too.”

It wasn’t our first night of passion, but it was the first time doing it as a mutually agreed couple. I remember that night like it was yesterday.

——————————————————————————————

I don't know why I went to church with the Palmeri’s when I was raised “enlightened” and wasn't even agnostic. I was raised godless by my parents, to my grandma’s consternation. In spite of this, there was something enlightening about it all. Yes, the enlightened one was enlightened by these superstitious folks. Michela truly believed it despite her bizarrely hypocritical relationship with me; she was in a lesbian relationship! How could her mother allow us to live like this and yet also practice those antiquated beliefs? Did they mock me by seeing this as but a phase of our recoveries from our respective experiences? Were they simply in resistance to the obsolescence of their own creeds and merely tolerated them? Maybe they accepted it and left it to Michela to decide for herself and chose to love her despite disagreeing? Perhaps they were bolder and were hoping they would convince me to turn off enough of my brain to think their ways were logical.

I liked it though. Something about it called out to me, but I wasn't answering the call yet. It was a surprisingly intelligent religion. I’d fulfilled a strange curiosity, and I decided I would go once a month out of respect for them and for my friend Mary-Ann who held the same beliefs. I hoped I would learn to at least see the world from another angle. Joke was on me. I retained my much vaunted intellect and yet found the humility to one day accept their beliefs as my own.

Even in prison, in her spare time, I’d be reading philosophy texts while Michela absorbed those same old story books and prayer books that she had here. Oh, I had read many books by various philosophers and ideologues to expand my worldview. Never did I read anything that had such a profound influence on me as those did on her. My view of life was evolving, though, and maybe you can already see bits of it. How I reached some of the life-altering conclusions is perhaps the most interesting part of my story. I shared one of their beliefs already and didn’t know it.

“Michela…,” I started crying as we climbed into the SUV to go to Mary-Ann’s, “I need to talk.”
“What’s getting you going now?”
“I should have been a mom,” I blurted out, “I wanted that baby, and they killed it!”
“Mom? Baby? Who are they?! Hannah, what's wrong?!” sadness fell over Michela.
“Greg forced me to kill my baby. Michela, I want it back so badly!” I was hysterical.
“Calm down, calm down, I’m sorry,” she was now holding me while I cried, “I didn't know.”

I only told Michela about the abortion and how it broke my heart. Her beliefs said it was wrong already, so she really felt bad for me right now. My pain was hers, and her pain was mine. I sat in silence, drying my eyes, as she drove us to pick up Kylie. What a companion I had! Without the love of Michela Palmeri, I never would have overcome my past.

Michela was so cute in her pink knee skirt, black long-sleeve shirt with a V neck, blue socks, and blue bandana headband. I was frumpy as always with white sweatpants, an old blue t-shirt, and a decrepit white kerchief bandana. Why did she love me so much as to share in pains like she did? Why did anyone tolerate me? Even now my friends, husband, and other loved ones still have to tolerate my random swings and traumatic recollections, but at least the rants about the lost baby are more infrequent now.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 42: Ace Student
Friday, February 15, 2013

The next day was also special. It was during morning class that Miss Schumacker took me aside and out of the class for five minutes to tell me how gifted she thought I was and that she wanted to help me finish high school by the end of the academic year. In a way, she was right since all of my work in the workbooks was at least two books ahead of the class if not further. A few of us just raced along with nothing better to do in our “quiet time in our cells.”

“What do I have to do?” I asked her with confidence.
“Spend every chance you get outside rec time working. Quit reading books; quit chatting with your cellmate. Fly through it all, girl. You can do it.”
“What do I get out of it?” fears arose along with doubts, “I’m just a hard worker, not smart.”
“Grades aren’t everything, and you beat the system. You’ll get to do other things with your time, but you’ll be ready to take on the world when you’re out of here.”
“I’ll try my best,” I said despite my lack of belief in myself.

The next 3 months and 18 days were an incredible whirlwind of activity as I blasted through both 11th and 12th grade materials for everything. The only things I couldn’t blast through so easily were language and my computer elective. I just worked diligently at those for a couple of weeks after the others were done; Miss Schumaker pulled many strings for my sake. I love her so much for what she did. She is, in a way, still part of my story, as you will understand much later.

——————————————————————————————

“Hottie, hottie, hottie!” Kylie said when she jumped in behind us.
“Hi,” I had become the vacant one.
“We’re struggle bussing,” Michela explained, “Be nice.”
“I don't judge. How is it sharing a bed?” our third girl for threesomes eagerly asked us.
“She's such a sweet cuddle buddy. Honestly, she’ll make the cuter and cozier tied up cuddle toy,” Michela rubbed my back while we were stopped at a light.
“Hannah, you're getting help, right?” Kylie asked to my comfort, “We want you to be happy.”

Mary-Ann rented a small, but nice, home. Of course, she had a better job and wasn't trying to go to college. OK, loading FedEx trucks wasn't great, but it was honest work. When we arrived at the house, Kendra was already there with fresh bruises. Her parents did not like her source of income, it seemed. It just never went her way with things when she wasn't with us. Entering the world of M.A.’s home helped snap me out of my funk for the moment.

“Hannah, ever hear of Nabber Cellar?” Mary-Ann asked me.
“Oof, that guy from St. Paul? The one who does the super heavy scenes?” I asked.
“Yeah, him, Kendra and I are doing a shoot with him this week.”
“You're crazy. He does lezdom heavy R and shit!” I said ironically; one day, I’d work there too.
“He does a lot more than that. Well, we’ll find out. I made a deal with Kendra that if it all goes well I will finally get a phone.”
“Finally adjusting to post-juvie life..
“The hell you say. Look at us,” Kendra laughs.

We all stood in juvie pose. It was a sad sight, really. In a type of joke, M.A. even was wearing black sweatpants and a lavender pocket t-shirt, which to me was positively charming, and she even had that same black bandana holding her hair back in a kerchief. The outfit reminded her of a life with a dependable, fixed routine, and it reminded me of when prison went from torture to a life-building experience.

We had a bizarre relationship with it all. Kylie was similarly dressed with orange and orange. I had five outfits total and created the outfits by changing the pairs of colors, but I had one outfit that recalled a prison suit. You know what Sweetie and I were wearing, and Kendra had the most normalcy with green jeans and a purple long-sleeve t-shirt.

“I'm here to explore… my interest in domination,” M.A. said thoughtfully.
“And you want volunteers?” I asked, “If so, I’m number one.”
“Glad to help!” Michela immediately agreed to this since I had.
“Oh, what the hell, sure!” Kylie took the bait.
“I’ll be your apprentice,” Kendra giggled a little.
“Excellent,” Mary-Ann had a glow in her eyes.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 43: Graduation
Wednesday, July 3, 2013

“Hannah Larsson, please go to the teachers’ offices,” came over the speaker while I washed the breakfast dishes alongside some prison employees.

I hated that job because they shackled me for it using shiny stainless steel cuffs so that I could not theoretically stab anyone or break a dish over their heads. Me? I guess I wasn’t supposed to stab myself either although most inmates felt that way after 6 months. A guard came and led me away to the offices in the little time left before gym. In the office was Miss Schumaker.

“Hannah, on Friday afternoon, I got your test results,” she picked up a big envelope.
“How did I do?” I sat down in a chair with fear in my eyes.
“You aced them,” she smiled broadly, “Congratulations on graduating high school.”
“I passed?! Oh my God! Miss Schumaker! Thank you so much!” I started crying instead.
“Congratulations! I even made a diploma for you to bring home after it’s all said and done.”
“You’re so sweet,” I’m feeling the abandonment so badly right now, “I wanna go home!”
“Hannah, it was a joy to have you. You’re the best student I ever had.”

And that was the end of school for me while in juvenile detention. There were other things to do though. Her words stayed with me forever, though.

——————————————————————————————

What the f-ck, Mary-Ann? Are you insane? Are you incredibly kinky? Hell, are we this kinky as well? Oh, Lord, what a spot to be in! It's absolutely insane! This girl had no internet yet had discovered the most bizarre bondage thing I had ever experienced. How did she do it?

Kylie’s foot, with her sweaty sock, was in my mouth, toes and all! My foot was in her mouth in a similar way. I had never eaten cheese like this before! Ropes wrapped about my neck and her ankle with it cinched until it was almost choking. Between our bodies was 6 feet of 2 inch metal pipe that M.A. found in a dumpster. She roped my head, my neck, and Kylie’s foot to the pipe so we could not pull the gag apart. My friend was tied similarly. We had our wrists tied behind our backs, a tighter harness than the Tied After Class style, a waist and crotch rope unlike any I’d used on all of them in private games, and ropes that secured our legs twice on each segment. Each rope was worked around the pipe as well, if possible.

Oh, by the way, we were buck naked except for the socks. It's kinkier like this, and both Michela and Mary-Ann are having fun with us. Michela jumped between kissing each of us and playing with our tits, and Mary-Ann spanked us, stuck her fingers into each of our p-ssies, and twisted our tits. It’s kind of sick on paper, but it was fun.

Sucking on Kylie’s toes was quite humiliating. Oddly, cummy laundry and dirty laundry weren't as revolting as having the sock with the foot still inside it. Kylie, on the other hand, enjoyed the foot in her mouth, having to suck both toes and socks, and a new kink was in her life. Eating our carpets, eating other people's cummy panties (and other people's panties in general), eating dirty socks, eating literal feet, eating worn bandanas… we were a kinky bunch of prison teens!

Kendra proudly MC’d for the moment without getting involved. She didn't know her place in bondage except that she found it an exciting way to make a quick and honest dollar. She was leery, I think, because of the beatings from her folks, and the monitor on her ankle depressed her so badly. As I said before, she’d do things like take Nyquil just to get sleepiness from it so she could fall asleep early. She was still a druggie, but one with whom I could empathize a bit better than I could when she snorted C. She had the perfect match in M.A., a strong girl who would keep her under control without the heavy hand of the law or her parents. I didn’t know she had kicked the drug habit.

Michela knows me so well. She knows I find her fashion to be unbearably attractive and dresses to make me warm inside, but she went further this time. Knowing all my kinks like she does, she ground her pantied crotch against my face as best as the pipe allowed her. Seeing Michela’s dirty example, Mary-Ann tried it too, but she quickly found that she is 100% straight and stopped. It was the beginning of Mary-Ann Voisin’s experiments in bisexuality, and it was the end too!

We were a happy lot, though. We had each other, and we were safe together. Here, Michela and I could forget the past, embrace the present, and dream of the future. Kylie, Maddy, and Kendra weren’t free of suffering; they had their own struggles, different from ours, but just as tragic. I admit that at this point in my life I wouldn’t even have dated a boy no matter how nice he was.

The spanking, tit torture, kissing, groping and brutal grinding were quite arousing, and I squirted onto Mary-Ann’s fingers. She grimaced for a while before bursting into laughter and getting up to wash her hand. She was really kinky and loving this method of discovering new kinks.

We were just getting started.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 6 Chapter 2: Called on the Carpet
Sunday, February 1, 2015

I love carpet. Everyone knows I love it and love eating any girl’s carpet as long as she will let me do so, and I love it more when I am forced to do it. I love making girls eat my own carpet, but only Kylie among our friends likes that. And, apparently, Mary-Ann was kinky enough that having someone eat her carpet or making them eat another girl’s was delightful as well!

So Kylie and I ate carpet. Each other’s carpet. Already cummy carpet. Remember, Kylie is our orgasm master who just gets off and off and off with ease, so you can imagine where this will go for me. Oh, yeah, it was going to be a crazy afternoon for sure. It was nice to no longer have her entire foot in my mouth; instead I had both of her socks in my mouth under 6 wrappings of duct tape with her having my socks in the same manner.

Detached from the pipe, I looked around at the apartment for a moment and saw just how pristine and clean it all was. Mary-Ann was an incredible housekeeper who did her best for company of all kinds. Friends got an extra special effort out of her, it seemed. It was a simple one bedroom place with a bathroom and a kitchen, but it was bigger than my hovel and in excellent condition, possibly built in the last 10-20 years. All the walls are an off white color that leans blue. Soon, if she could get Kendra out of here, they were going to move into a two bedroom.

Carpet. Furry carpet. And p-ssy. Mmmmmmm. Yum! We had our bound arms and breasts and ankles and knees and thighs and crotches and such. Our bodies were put together so that our faces were on the other's bare crotch, and tape wrapped around our necks and heads to mash our faces tightly against the carpet. Oh, bare p-ssy, how I enjoy you so much! Then a black bandana blindfolded me.

Well, shit.

Immediately, I found out that this wasn’t what I was expecting when Mary-Ann twisted Kylie’s bare tits. Kylie screeched and immediately orgasmed, squirting right on my face. I got cummed right on my taped lips and cheek. I was a mess and couldn’t lick it off and had to turn into a big sticky mess.

That sucked.

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Interlude 44: Mary-Ann’s Story (part 1)

It was June 2007 when her folks decided to take a week-long vacation without taking their only child with them. Monday was strange. Tuesday was lonely. Wednesday, she realized they didn't love her. Thursday, the neighbor saw her playing soccer by herself and asked where her parents were.

“I think they're in Cuba,” she answered since she had no clue where Cancun was.

She was taken away from home that day, and her parents lost custody of her. She was a ward of the state and sent to foster care. The first house was “Meh,” and the second was a dumpster fire. In December, she ran away from foster care; she figured she’d be a train hobo like in the movies. But the police brought her back! She decided she’d rather be back home and ran off a second time just two days later. This time, she was sent to prison for kids, or juvenile detention, for two weeks, right through Christmas!

Running away from foster care became her modus operandi, or M.O. In juvie, she had both a roof and kids around her who were just like her, somehow neglected. She ran away from home so much that one family tried tying her down at night, but she figured a way out of that and spent much time in juvie over the next year and half.

One family beat her and the other foster kids. One day, when the husband was beating another of the girls, she and the other foster kids took off in the car. She had boosted her first Bimmer. She got a month for that. She stole a television, but she was sent home when she told the store owner that she wanted to go to jail! The nerve of him! She was then sent to yet another family, but she took their car too and got another month! She shoplifted from a Belk since it had big price tags, and she got her second Christmas in juvie out of it with a nice three month stretch.

She wasn't done yet; she wanted to be in juvie! She miscalculated her next theft, receiving only probation for petty theft, but the next one she planned more carefully and added to the incredible rap sheet. She dressed in all black, snuck out of the house, and broke into an Aaron’s rental and stole a $3000 television; she got 6 months and her third Christmas in juvie. By then, she knew that she liked being handcuffed without knowing what bondage was.

At her 17th foster home, she truly boosted another Bimmer. With the aid of the owner’s manual, she stole another BMW and took off in a car she hotwired with her own hands! What a success! She shook the police on a chase across Minneapolis, but the car ran out of gas! She finally was mature and sensible enough to tell the judge what she wanted: to be in juvie until she turned 18 and graduated high school and that she had no desire to commit any crimes. For that, the judge sentenced her until July 25, 2013, without possibility of parole.

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“OWWW!” I yelled at Kendra’s hands, and she laughed a little.
“OK, this I enjoy!” I heard happiness in her voice.
“OWWW!” Kylie joined me again at M.A.’s hands
“You’re enjoying a little domination?”
“Maybe. Let’s try it on you!” Kendra apparently twisted M.A.’s tits.
“YOWCH! NO! Do it to them!” Mary-Ann corrected her with a laugh.
“It’s more fun with you,” I heard a strange affection in Kendra’s voice.

I knew then that we were her friends and that Mary was Kendra’s true lifeline amongst the grand mess that was her life. We later joked that she was “Mary-Ann-sexual” because it was only with Mary-Ann that Kendra ever experienced true joy in bondage beyond the camaraderie of making damsel in distress scenes like those at Tied After Class. It is the greatest friendship that I have ever seen; they were all each other had since neither had parents or siblings to whom they could turn for support. With me, Kendra had a tight knit group, and that was the start of Maddy and I being the people around which Kendra’s life revolved for the next 2 years.

Spanking, tit twisting, hair pulling, and fingering were all part of this and made it amazing. Brief shots of pain came from the spanks; electric shocks came from the twisting; memorable groans came from me when my hair was pulled; fingering was both pleasure and humiliating. This entire moment was humiliating, and the humiliation had as much to do with my orgasms as did the torture. I am sorry I am not being more detailed here; erotic moments tend to leave me once the hormones have passed.

I never orgasmed so much in my life to that point, and neither had Kylie. I counted 4 squirts of my own, and Kylie orgasmed at least 11 in that span. My face, gag, and hair were just soaked in Kylie juice. It was so awesome, and we even rubbed our faces against the other’s carpet to try to push more sexual thrill. It was the best game ever, and Kylie and I have been tied like this many times since. We’ve both been solo tied to Michela and Mary-Ann’s crotches, and I even got tied to Kendra like this for a couple of scenes before she decided that carpet wasn’t worth it even for money. Let’s say this: Kendra and Mary-Ann’s adventures, both with and without me, deserve a multi-chapter tale of their own.

Yum! Squirty carpet! Too bad I can’t enjoy the flavor even if the excitement makes me cum…

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Interlude 45: Mary-Ann’s Story (part 2)
Wednesday, October 8, 2008

Maddy was 13 when she was kidnapped. She was walking home from school not knowing that her foster father had problems with owing money to gangsters. She was a kid trying to get back into juvenile detention and without a care in the world. A gun sure stopped her from singing on that walk home.

They grabbed her from behind, pulled a sack over her head, and gagged her with a big ball gag. They almost mummified her in duct tape and took hostage photos to send to her foster father, and after three hours she was finally aloud to speak. When the kidnappers learned that she was just a foster child, they brought her back to where they took her and left her with the sack on her head. She never saw their faces once.

Summer 2013

When she finally ended her term in juvie, she was released as a legal adult. This meant she was a homeless person. She wandered aimlessly back to Mudville proper and spent her first night in a dumpster. Not certain what to do, she became the homeless person with a sign standing at the entrance to the local Wal-Mart, and she at least did well-enough to keep myself alive for a short time. She never got any offers for work; her clothes didn't fit; and she smelled terrible. Finally, after two months, her cousin found her at the Wal-Mart and took her in. Within a week, she had two jobs: a package sorter for FedEx and a cashier at Wal-Mart. Living with her cousin helped her to save money quickly since the cousin didn’t force her to pay rent. That cousin was Mary’s lifeline back into the religion she had barely encountered as a child, embraced in juvie, and hid from because she was ashamed to be homeless. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was pretty good.

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What about Michela? Michela was having fun of her own, that naughty girl in the skirt, blouse, and bandana. She was having her own cum party in a very different bondage… I will let her tell you what’ happening since I cannot…

Michela: Welcome. I’ll take you to the end of the chapter. I have to. I experienced what happened to me and saw what happened to Hannah. It was fun to rub my p-ssy on both Hannah and Kylie’s faces. I love Kylie; I LOVE Hannah. Today it’s all different. It was us then. Us. Since Hannah can’t see what’s happening, I’ll tell you what’s happening.

Rubbing them made me wet. I don’t know when I began liking girls. I had the hots for a third of Pod F, Kylie, Hannah, Bridget, later Taylor and Hannah-2, Kendra, and Ashley. Ashley was the first girl I met and had the hots for. That’s not this story, though.

I sweat during sexual thrill. The bandana on my head helped keep my hair out of my eyes. I had to unbutton my blouse though. I wear button-ups for that reason. I love my shirt swishing about me. When I get off, I melt a little. It’s like drinking Mountain Dew. I get excited and want more of it. I was aroused and kissed Hannah and Kylie. They like eating p-ssy; I like making girls eat my p-ssy; I don’t like eating p-ssy. We’re perfect friends! I was on top of both of the captives, but Mary-Ann pulled me off.

“Kendra, let’s tie up this one!” Ma laughed heartily.
Me?! But Hannah! I want her! I thought to myself, Maybe we’ll be tied together!
“Hold her, Mary-Ann! I’ve figured out how to tie up a girl really good!” Kendra replied.
“No problem!” Ma tackled me with a grin, and I felt that maternal love in her grasp.
Make sure it’s tight so I don’t escape! I thought I was thinking it, but I actually said it.
“We will, Michela. We will!” the mother figure promised me, and I surrendered to them.

Being tied up in a blouse was great. They could unbutton it slowly. Then open the shirt slowly. Then fully open it. Then expose me. Or, I could have been in a really naughty mood and not worn a bra; today I did though. Sports bras. I got used to sports bras, bandanas, and exercising while inside. Now they’re part of me.

Boxtie. My favorite I’ve experienced to this point from any of them. Kylie and Hannah have a full grasp on bondage from playing bondage games before prison. Not us. Kendra and Ma have learned well by watching. I’m OK with that. I like it because I can’t endure elbow ties like Ma, Kendra, and Hannah can. Oh, I probably could, but not for an hour like Hannah or Kendra or all day like Ma. My bondage experience before prison was bad. Very bad.

Boxties are nice because they require a chest harness and a crotch rope to work best. Cinch the ropes really well, especially through my armpits. Makes the bosom thrust out. I love the feel of that. They put the crotch rope under my skirt and pulled it tight enough that I slid between my lips. Either they really loved me or unconsciously did all the things I loved. My legs got trussed better than a Christmas braciole. Sexy.

Off came my socks and my shoes. Into my mouth go the socks. That didn’t taste right. Giggles filled the air. Ma laughed her butt off because she just got me to eagerly eat her socks, and four strips of duct tape have to do because she has no double sided tape. I hated duct tape. He used to duct tape my lips, but those were clean handkerchiefs in my mouth. F-ck! I get hogtied, too; it's a tight one. If my legs are on the ground, my breasts are off it. If my face is on the ground, my crotch is off.

“Maaaaaaa!” I growled quite unhappily.
“There, there, our little angel,” Ma teased me about it.
“Awwww,” Kendra turned on the baby talk, “Is wittle Michewa in twouble?”
“Mmm!” sweat poured off me in an arousing way.
“Let's play with you. too,” Ma torqued my tits.
“Yeoww!” I melted though.

Hormones surged through me. My internal muscles spasmed like my arms and legs. I love that feeling so much. It was the beginning of the fun. When I opened my eyes, I was picked up by Ma and put in the bathtub. Into the tub went a bag of ice! I had to keep the arch up because the ice layer was thin enough that I could stay off it that way.

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Interlude 46: Michela’s Story

This is the ugly stuff. Michela Palmeri was the star of the school hockey team. With two goals per a game, even at the kiddy level, she was amazing and already had college scouts showing up to her games. It was during freshman year of high school, at the Catholic high school (that's why no one in juvie knew her even though I was from Mudville) that the nightmare ended, but it had started long before, taking hockey with it..

Hockey ended when Michela got caught after having sex with a boy; she and the boy, for her 14th birthday, decided to cash in their virginity. Michela’s father pulled her from hockey in the name of “punishment” and set about “correcting” her. In the tragedy that followed, she gradually withdrew from all reality to escape his evil intentions. She hates him to this day; hearing people say his name earns a variety of disturbing responses.

The ruse was training to one day take over the family business. Instead of hockey, Michela went home to the workstation in the basement to learn how to be a CPA. What a change from a ride to the hockey rink to the bus ride to her own basement. Now, she wishes he were dead.

He started shortly after. You know the rest, but it was Michela’s intro to bondage. She shot him and taunted him as he bled. Her little sister Luisa was the first to the scene. Only then Michela told her mother what he was doing before the police arrested her. She was charged with “Assault with intent to commit murder”! All she wanted was to stop him from hurting people.

The juvenile trial dragged and delayed my father's trial. She refused to admit any guilt and stood her ground. It was self-defense. The judge apparently wanted her to smile and let him r-pe her because she got 3 years. It was only dropped to aggravated assault when she insisted enough that she didn't want to kill him. That’s why she kneecapped him! That trial ended the judge’s career.

The worst part was the three weeks of being daily shackled and brought to adult court to testify against her father after that. She had to confirm so many things, but she’d kept a diary since she was 10 and in which she had poured out her soul. Without that, he’d have gotten away with it. He got only 77 years with the possibility of parole after 15 for tying up his daughter 124 times, vaginally f-cking her 83 times, and orally f-cking her 67 times over a period of 10 months.

I support the death penalty in cut-and-dry cases like this, but Michela prefers life without parole.

“Mom, can we go clothes shopping?” she lifelessly asked upon her release. None of her clothes fit her any more, and she filled her wardrobe with skirts, blouses, and jeans, the things her father never made her wear. She mostly chose short skirts, for me, to grab my eyes to stare at her.

Clothes shopping came before they even went home or had any kind of celebration or a reunion with her sisters. Michela took her time, but Mom insisted on going to a fancier store and getting one more expensive thing. Her father liked earrings, so she was glad her ear lobes had closed in the meanwhile.

Once the garage door opened, Michela grabbed a saw, went to her room, and sawed every wood object, her bureau, bed, and nightstand. She couldn’t sleep with the nightmares in the same room as her. She took the pieces and her old clothes and piled them up in the backyard and burned all of it to ashes. She didn’t even take time to greet Luisa and Sofia. Mom said nothing but cried, but Michela had to do it. The comfort of her family got her through that first day home, and she still lives at home and enjoys the love and comfort of Mom and Sofia alike.

Her bedroom became the guest room; the guest room, the attic, became hers. She had to sleep on the old guest bed while she waited for the new one to arrive. With little pleading, she convinced Mom to buy a full bed because she so strongly hoped that I would move in with her. Mom liked me enough to hide her religious feelings about our relationship in the hope Michela and I would help each other.

Michela resumed her daily diary entries, continuing where she had stopped and writing that she had been incarcerated for three years after shooting her father. That new entry was entered as if nothing happened. With the new entry came a new day, and a coming home party was held for her. That diary still is part of her, and finishing that book meant so much she still keeps it in her fire box.

She had her life back, but things were different, especially friends and herself. Mom, Sofia, and Luisa didn’t change though. They still loved her, were happy to see her, and missed her. They counted down the days until she was released. Their embrace injected life into a fearful soul.

She had lost 4 years of loving her mother, of loving her sisters, of growing up, of watching Sofia and Luisa grow up, of growing closer to her friends and teammates, of being a granddaughter, cousin, and niece, and of being herself. She was an adult who’d never been a teenager.

“Coming home” was a tragedy for some. Michela was quiet, formal, and practically soulless the entire time. Her ability to express myself had died at the hands of her father. The young, happy, and energetic hockey player was gone. When she sat to open the gifts that some had bought for her, she burst into tears and thanked them. Her life was gone, and all was different.

Fun fact: Michela was born on March 25th, 1996 (a week after me), and her parents wanted her to be named “Gabriela Arcangela.” The hospital was clueless about angels and accidentally gave her the name “Michela Arcangela” instead, but they spelled Michela correctly. No surprise, she has a devotion to the archangels.

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That ice was cold! Ma pushed my head in it and roughly spanked me. I don't trigger like some abuse victims do. I just hated things. I hated duct tape strip gags. I detested ball gags. I loathe, violently loathe, r-ng gags. I have to stop. Just typing that upsets me. Give me a moment. OK. Instead of conniptions of traumatic recollection like Hannah suffers from, I will fly into a fit of rage or go limp. Rage won today.

I swore into the gag, but Ma spanked me more. I orgasmed. Again. Damn, I love it so much, Business before pleasure. I swore and swore. I groaned and fought until I found relief. I got it. Ma was torquing my tits when I worked up enough spit to make the gag come off and spit out the socks.

“Don't ever f-cking tape me like that again. Wrap it, or don't use it!” I turned away.
“Mary-Ann, let me,” Kendra took over, “I’ve got this.”
“F-ck you two,” I told them off and wanted to grow sullen, but I resisted the urge to be cruel.
“Hey, Michela, we didn't know. I’m sorry,” Kendra tried so hard, and I couldn’t be mad.
“You’re forgiven, but… Kenny, why'd he do it?” I turned to see a green bandana in her hand.
“I don't know. Stop me if this gag makes you uncomfortable.”

Kendra put the socks back in my mouth and used the bandana. I liked the knot behind my head; it was secure. Bandanas are common items. Unlike bondage gags. In my experience, it's just better. I felt safer with gags he didn't use. She's considerate. I calmed down.

Kendra wasn't enjoying things like she did on the set. She did and didn't like it all. I guess for her it was just an income. Looking pretty. Having boys touch themselves as they watched the videos and perused the albums. Being an actress. What joy she felt was associated with her love for us. She did, however, seem curious. Maybe she would enjoy being Ma’s gorgeous assistant? She’s enjoying domination but in a different way from Ma. She liked gagging me though.

Love. What an odd thing for us. Look at how Dad loved me. How Hannah's parents loved her; how Greg loved her. Look at how Ma’s parents loved her. Only Kylie did not know that feeling. We had each other. True friendship. I didn't know how to love them back; my friends love me.

Little Kendra is good at this torture despite being 5’0”. She wants to enjoy it, but she’s finding her niche. She still smiles; she has a sadistic streak. Friendship. But Ma comes back for me. More torquing. More spanking. More fondling. More pushing my face against the ice. More orgasming. So good. So erotic.

Then a sudden rush of activity. Next thing I knew, I was no longer in a hogtie. I was buck naked except for my bandana. My skirt and shirt were off. My panties had been purloined. I was now in the bedroom with Kylie and my girlfriend. They’d also been brought here. Kylie and Hannah no longer were in the forced p-ssy position. We all had a pile of ice on our backs with a warning not to toss it off.

What's next?

[AlexUSA3]

Story 6 Chapter 3: TUG Party’s Climax
Sunday, February 1, 2015

Hannah: My face was covered in Kylie’s cum. Her socks were sapped of their flavors and now tasted like rough, wet cotton. I still couldn't see anything, but Michela’s protests were enough that I got off and cummed myself while just lying on the floor. Sweet crotch ropes, you are fun! Just wait until I teach Mary-Ann how to do it all better; I was the only one bold enough to peruse bondage for education. Oh, hell, if I wanted to get off back in the hovel, I’d pull up the photos I had of Michela!

Mary-Ann wasn't done with us yet. The blindfolds came off at Kendra’s hands, and I saw M.A. untying Michela’s legs. Those gams were gorgeous, and what a pair of tits! Kylie, Kendra, and I had standard grapefruit tits; Michela had cute oranges; but M.A. had the squishy French melons. Gah! I made myself warm, and that was a personal best 9 minutes between orgasms!

By the time M.A. was done, Michela was tied up, frogtied now, but buck naked. She was quite impressed and seemed strangely pleased in this new way of being tied. It was odd because she had admitted that her father would tie her that way; my worst was yet to come. I saw no danger because I was too busy studying Michela’s carpet and tits and lusting after both so much I started squirming towards her. I naturally tossed the ice off onto the tile.

“Hey, Hannah,” M.A. interrupted me to snip my tape gag, “Want a fresh start?”
“Mm hm,” I foolishly nodded.
“Great! Kendra, help me get her on the bed, and put that washcloth under her p-ssy.”
“Aye, aye, captain.”
“You’re going to get my best for dropping that ice.

Spreadeagle, face down, tight as a drum, hands clenched into fists and taped. It wasn't all bad; I had Michela’s panties stuffed into my mouth with her bandana as my cleave gag! Mmmmm… Michela's fresh cum… she hadn't taken a dump with these panties on, so it was fine by me. Of course, Mary-Ann had this insane network of ropes that wrapped around the headboard so that my every motion pulled on the crotch rope. Tight as a drum… right to my happy slot.

What was that sound I heard? It made Kendra and M.A. giggle like teenagers. Well, technically, we were all 18 or 19, so we were teenagers! M.A. had worked her butt off to start a nice nest egg for herself, and with no college bills she accumulated cash from her prior homelessness .

Oh, boy…

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Interlude 47: Kylie’s Story

It was simple and stupid! Her classmate, who was a big-time drug dealer, couldn't get product to a guy with whom Kylie had a class. She offered Kylie $50 to be the liaison. But, another person overheard them.

That person wouldn't have cared except that Kylie was the junior high valedictorian and hyped as the brightest girl in the school. She was glad to be rid of Kylie. A bright future came crashing to an end on a foolish mistake. All three of them were arrested with Kylie sentenced to 3 years in Mudville despite the other two testifying that she was just a liaison and had never touched any of it before. The boy got a year in Red Wing at the boy’s juvie, and the friend got caught with even more drugs and got 6 years in Shakopee.

F-cking “justice” system wasn’t exactly giving justice to Kylie.

She was from nearby Prior Lake, 10 minutes from my old hovel. She played TUGs from when she was 9, and her parents had no problem. Her brothers and she had a lot of fun together, and they were glad when their baby sister aged into it too. Her letters to and from home included a codespeak on how to play games so that she was dishing out her sibling's punishments, and they even did a roleplay by mail. Mom, Dad, and her siblings visited every week.

Her mental health collapsed, though; trust issues developed. Her doubts ballooned as impostor syndrome. Su¡c¡dal ¡deat¡on terrorized her. She had to go on watch on several occasions. She developed trust issues with people outside her family, even Mrs. Copley. Then I arrived, and she began to question her sexuality.

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Bzzz! went right on my p-ssy, and I knew immediately what it was.
“Oh, boy! Here we go!” Mary-Ann spanked me on the ass.
“Ow!” I groaned with my p-ssy getting rocked, and I got a delicious burst of Michela.
“She's more bug-eyed than Master Roshi (my note: perverted cartoon character)!” I heard from Kendra.
“I don't watch TV and don't want to know. Look at her go,” M.A.’s genuinely enjoying herself.
“Ohhhh, I think she's jerking off!”

Yes, yes I was. I was purposefully cumming my brains out. Only thing hotter would have been to have Michela’s lips or carpet under me. I was so excited, and I looked over and saw Michela was in her own state of extreme arousal and also cumming. Mary-Ann knew that Michela and I had a teleconnection of some sort that made us cum from seeing the other get tied and forced to cum. We were so madly in love on another level.

My limbs being stretched and tied to my crotch rope was an amazing piece of workmanship from M.A. She did not realize just how clever she was to discover these things like taping my fists by her own experimentation. She never learned except by trying, and M.A. was able to figure it all out in her head without even asking for help. She learned suspensions, breathplay, gags, and any other thing she did from doing them or being there when others did them. Her formal bondage instruction totaled about 2 minutes in her lifetime, including those moments where Michela or I rebuked her for violating a boundary.

My bandana had been taken from me and used to gag Michela with Kylie’s socks. There again, M.A. goes, learning by doing, as she wrapped Kylie’s head in 7 rounds of duct tape after all that. Kylie cums as soon as Michela’s socks are secured by the knotting of the blue headband. I envy her a bit, having Michela’s socks, but I remember that I’m the one sucking on her cum.

M.A. jams the vibrator against me and spanks me so hard I am jerking my body about in a stupid effort to escape that only causes me to jerk on my crotch. Kendra helps by twisting my tits while laughing a bit at me. She’s found her happy place in dominance: right at Mary-Ann’s side. It’s a role she filled until the day she said her marriage vows, and thereafter she fulfilled it sparingly.

I was cumming again… that poor washcloth. I was in pain. All I remembered at this point was a thrilling pain. Anything I saw was lost in the pain. The vibrator did so well. While Kendra was attending to Michela and Kylie and ensuring they had a cum party of their own, Mary continued tormenting my p-ssy, and me for that matter. Spanking, twisting, vibrating, fingering, pulling (on both my hair and the crotch rope), and pinching my nose shut for brief moments. Oh, I cummed so much… I dropped my personal record to 7 seconds… I was lost… and I am reconstructing my story, in parts, based on what my friends said. I promise I won’t turn you over to Michela again; I had to do that so she could tell you what happened in that part.

Is this… is this happiness?

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Interlude 48: A Circle of Friendship

I didn't believe in the divine then, and Kendra barely did. Kylie didn't then or now. But Michela and Mary-Ann did and still do with great faith. Their stance is that God used me as the catalyst to transform all of our lives. I don't know how much I believe that as I do that the spirit nudged me to befriend them, and I reaped the blessings of it.

Even within the pod we were known as a clique, with all of the others welcome to join in on our games and such when they wanted. Ashley in particular looked up to us. I won’t tell her story exactly, but it was similar to Michela’s with an ugly period coming to an ugly end on her terms. Ashley tragically has vivid memories of the period from when she was 9 to when she was 12. At 12, she saved herself and was sentenced to juvie for the duration until she was almost done with high school. When the time comes, I will tell you all the things we did to help her because she wanted to go to college and, like me, would have her record cleared upon turning 18.

Board games, arm wrestling, nights counting the stars… laughs, smiles, frowns, and tears, but we shared in them all. Without each other, we were nothing. Prison sapped what little life remained in Michela out of her body; it saved me from myself; it embittered Kendra; it drained the life out of Kylie; it terrorized Ashley. Think of how much worse it may have been if we didn't have each other.

Stories, details… they're coming in Story 7!

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Subspace is something that I experienced for the first time right then. I didn't know the name in 2015, but I know it now. I definitely experienced it, and when I am in subspace I am not lucid. I can literally have conversations with people and not remember a thing, but, according to Kendra, I am still myself. I am, however, relaxed and not high strung like I usually am, and she says that the subspace Hannah is the fullness of my sexuality and, more importantly, the good person that I so strongly believed didn’t exist. I am narrating this for you, but it’s my version of what others

Michela was frog tied quite well, including a crotch rope and a perfect breast harness. She was a bit disturbed my sexual fever because my eyes glazed over, I was becoming crazier with more of the torture, orgasming more frequently as I got crazier, and then getting crazier from the frequent cumming. Positive feedback was at work. Well, I wasn’t crazier, but my reactions were stronger than they were otherwise.

Kylie still had the ice on her back, and Michela had it on her stomach. They tried to resist losing their ice cubes after seeing what happened to me, but they were pushed to the limit. Kylie had to surrender, or rather just dropped it when she orgasmed, and Michela dumped hers on purpose no matter what she says to the contrary. Trouble was on the horizon for the hotties in distress.

“Bad Michela!” Mary-Ann announced.
“Guh,” she quietly groaned while melting into the floor, and I busily cummed some more.

The punishment must fit the crime, and Michela’s punishment fits for sure. Kenny unknotted the bandana and took out the socks; Mary-Ann pushed the washcloth that I had orgasmically soaked into her mouth; Kendra reapplied the same cleave gag with relish. It was so much worse than an average dirty laundry gag; but it was erotic and arousing for her. She didn’t like it then, but now it’s her ultimate and favorite gag, especially when it’s my cum in her mouth. Even today, I’m the joy of her life, but our friendship has transformed into something more meaningful.

“Kylie, you naughty, I’ll let you go if you tell me a secret,” M.A. began negotiations.
“Hmmm?” the blue eyed hottie in distress, listened.
“Will you tell me why you were incarcerated?” the captor pretended to be sweet.
“Huh?! No!” she groaned into my socks.
“Heh heh!” Michela laughed, forgetting her own fate here.
“Then I’m gonna force it out of you, my dear,” Maddy hauled her off the floor.

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Interlude 49: Bookworm

The library was pitifully small. It was still a prison, so books were under strict supervision. I’d never been a bookworm, but I had time to become one. I demolished the library. I read a book a day once I took the GED exam, using my school time and newly found spare time during breaks to read all upon which I could get my hands. I read and remembered, and because I was in such an unusual spot the warden decided this little blonde girl (and her girlfriend) were free to use the more comfortable pod chairs during school hours. I basically broke the system. I was especially into philosophy and classics; I had already read nearly all of those before finishing my GED.

“Mr. Roberts, I’m bored. These books don't interest me!” I groaned as I studied the library.
“What interests you?” he asked me that night.
“I really liked the classics, and I just loved that philosophy book,” I explained.
“I know someone who just died and had a huge library. I’ll see if I can bring you some books.”
“Really?! You’d do that for me?!” the hope was apparently obvious in my eyes.
“I know a bright future when I see one.”

Over the next 5 months, I read and absorbed so many great minds: Kierkegaard, Cicero, Plato, Aristotle, Aquinas, Confucius, Kant, Locke, Chesterton, Nietzsche… today I can still recall the gists of those works and even certain quotes I wrote down in letters to friends and Grandma. It was the third of the great blessings I got from juvie, the other two being my friends and the new relationships with Casey and Nichole. I had sown bad seed and good seed, and this was my first experience with reaping good fruits from my actions. It was a difficult lesson to learn, but it was a very important lesson indeed.

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Kendra loosened me and released me from my overkill bondage. Michela was so excited by the events that had unfolded, and she seemed to be dying to tell me something. That much I can still recall in the fogginess of my memories. She later told me that she was thinking about being tied up and forced to cum until she couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t even wait for Kendra to remove the gag before I crawled, and I crawled because I could barely walk, and began grinding Michela until I rapidly orgasmed. Kendra, however, forcibly removed me and ungagged me.

“No!” I whined, deep in the fits of my mental illness, “I want Michela!”
“You need a break, Hannah,” Kendra spoke confidently, “Trust me.”
“No!” my lifeless eyes grew sadder, “You’re taking me away from her, aren’t you?!”
“What?! No!” there was a misunderstanding, “You’ve just had too much excitement is all.”
“I need her! Don’t send me back to the hovel!” I truly believed it was the end of my friendships.
“You’re going to relax a bit and then go back home with Michela, I promise.”

Michela went home and did her homework. Borderline Personality Disorder. I fit it to a T. How was she supposed to help me though? She didn’t know because she knew she needed help in her own right. She knew arousal, emptiness, and no other emotions. Empty. She only understood arousal because it was the only emotion she’d never experienced at Dad’s hands. Was she able to help me? She loved me dearly, and her arousal came to an end only to be replaced by a brief moment of grief. Grief faded though in order for her to experience something better.

“Please,” I wasn’t fighting, but I sure was crying, “I want to be with Michela!”
“You know what? Fine!” Kendra threw up her hands, “You’re a horny brat.”
“Yay!” the zombified me jumped on Michela with my lips kissing hers.
“Mmmm,” she didn’t understand that she should push me away.
“I need you so badly right now,” I resumed grinding her while she sucked on my cum.
“You’re toxic,” Kendra said coldly, “It’s not obvious because you’re only toxic to yourself.”

Life returned to my body as the thrill of the moment left my body. Hormones faded, and my life returned as my emotions leveled out. In my case, emotions leveled out from one bad to another bad. I could tell Michela felt bad for me. She loved it, but I was manipulative. She realized that something bad had happened to me between my release and her own, and strange fears that never existed before now controlled me.

Michela protested when Kendra tried to release her. She was enjoying things and comfortable in her position. How little I truly understood the depths of her love for me.

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Interlude 50: Time to Spare

One result of being done with school was that I needn't go to prison school any longer. For me, that meant I had to either work or spend my spare time locked in my cell. It was weird being in my cell and reading a book during the day without Michela there with me, but then the reprieve I mentioned before arrived.

I did the dishes after breakfast and lunch each day. By this time, Kendra had been released after finishing her GED, and Mary-Ann was approaching her release. Both helped me prepare for my own exams. Mary-Ann and I were among 5 or so kids who got a pittance for their labors; mine went home to Grandma while Mary-Ann’s got set aside for her. The rest all had classes still. We really bonded during this time, and it was during this last month in particular that I grew close to M.A. I took my exams in June and enjoyed the next with M.A.

I was alone, but then I did my part. In October, Michela and Kylie took their own GED exams. I had dishwashing buddies, and I convinced both of them to visit the library. Michela, though, as I soon figured out, had a damaged imagination. It was strange, but we’ll get to it.

Next time get to hear about the fun we had in prison.

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Breathplay. It was new. Hannah hugged me and watched. Over time, breathplay of every type became the exclusive niche of Kylie Svensson. This was the debut of it in our circle. Strangely arousing to watch such a cutie suffer so. We all like different scenarios; she likes them all.

“What a hottie in distress!” I exclaimed.
“I’ve been spanking her, twisting her tits. She's screaming enough but not giving up!”
“Maybe we need to be original?” Kendra scratched her head.
“Like what?” M.A. iced the girl some more.
“I don't know. Force feed her Michela’s p-ssy?” the idea wasn't original yet.
“While she's suffocating!” nowthe idea was made original by Mary-Ann.

Mary-Ann is one of the smartest girls we know, including my friends from nerd college. It was a beautiful mind. M.A.hogtied Kylie and pulled her from the tub while I held Michela down and kissed her. Neither of us could be stopped, and M.A. taped Kylie’s nose shut. Now this was the true depths of eros! Kylie’s groans were arousing, but a smothering Kylie being force fed carpet while I kissed the owner of said carpet was something else.

Then Kylie began orgasming, big time. She was orgasming like it was going out of style, setting a new personal record of 4 orgasms in just one minute. I decided to help a little by performing a little oral sex on her and even spanked her a bit before Mary-Ann paused the torture. She took off her own shirt to reveal a cheap thin bra that held those beautiful 34DD squishy French melon tits from the world.

How happy Mary-Ann was that day! Her hair was everywhere; sweat poured off her brow. She had a massive smile on her face, and she was controlling spanking, smothering, twisting, eating, and orgasming like a true dominatrix.Kylie remained strong like a warrior soldier who could not be defeated. This girl was a true winner at heart, just like Michela, even though she was aroused and truly excited. Not even being force fed Michela’s carpet broke her, and she maintained all of her lucidity. This is still true of Kylie today.

“Talk, you idiot!” Ma grabbed Kylie by the air and really twisted her tits.
“No!” she said as Ma pulled her off my face.
“I’ll get you to talk!” the vibrator went deep into her crotch.
“No!” Kylie cummed again.
“Spill the beans, girl!” harsh spanks made the smothering worse.
“Ow! Nnnng! Ah’ll halk!”

Mary-Ann Voisin 2-1 Kylie Svensson

You read the story already.

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On Kendra

Kendra always did things her way. She wanted to sleep to escape domestic abuse, so she abused Benadryl. When Mary-Ann would come home with Chinese food without first asking, Kendra would quietly get a burger. If Mary-Ann booked a time for a bondage modeling engagement, she had to clear it with Kendra first. When Ross (Kendra’s husband) wanted to get married, they eloped with me and Mary-Ann as the witnesses.

Even when she was facing death, Kendra had it her way. Mary-Ann was her guardian in those days, choosing who could and couldn't come see her when they arrived in person. Kendra didn't want to see her family or have them at the funeral unless they apologized to her first; Mary-Ann blockaded them for weeks until finally her younger sister humbled herself and apologized. Then things got better until, finally, unlike me or M.A., Kendra worked things out with her family.

“Kenny, enjoying motherhood?” I asked her one of the times I saw her in the hospital.
“Loving it; I hope you get your chance to finally keep one,” she winced.
“You've always been so brave. How do you do it? Like delivering without drugs?”
“Sheer grit, my friend. Once you've done drugs, nothing seems scary. Prison did the rest of the hardening. You and Mary-Ann will make sure the baby is taken care of?
“I’m glad our paths crossed and worked out for good. Kendra, babe, I love you.”
“Hannah, I love you, too, but my head hurts too much to talk. I had brain surgery for crying out loud. Text.”

So we texted just like we always had texted over the years. We still text to this day, even as we sit at home. Kendra became something special to me that Michela couldn’t be, a friend who was also a mother. Let me tell you, we took Roman Catholicism’s teachings a little too far. Kendra is a proud mother… when she was sick, we were so worried about what would happen to her child, but that storm passed.

Then maternity really hit home for her. First one. Then two. Then three. Now four! Even now, I have one (mid 2024) and am expecting a second. Suddenly, coffee dates became putting a pod in the K-cup machine and sitting with Facebook video calls while pretending to be in a coffee shop. I miss hanging out together and just getting a coffee to chill. I miss the surprise visits she made, like everything else, on her terms. But, we still have a special friendship. If we plan it in advance, though, we can have family visits so the kids can play together.

We still have texts in which she expressed her deepest emotions because she doesn’t know how to properly convey them in her speech. I miss the random 3 AM phone calls and texting sprees because we could not sleep and happened to be on Facebook at the same time. Now we’re both too tired to do that, but when a baby wakes one of us up inevitably the other is awake, too. Yet, I still find the time to work and model somehow, and occasionally she does too.

Mary-Ann took a long time to adjust after Kendra’s wedding and moving in with her husband. M.A. had started a new life from scratch centered around her friends from Pod F, Kendra in particular. They’d appeared in at least 250 bondage scenes across 8 amateur and professional studios around the Minneapolis metro over a 30 month period before Kendra quit, and they went to 99% of those engagements with the other alongside them. When Mary-Ann had her daughter, of course she named the girl “Kendra Penelope” after her friend. They were a constant presence. Now, instead, Kendra writes bondage film scripts for Mary-Ann and the rest of us with modeling being a rare treat. If she’s on camera now, it’s usually with Tied After Class even today.

What incredible lives sprang up thanks to the friendship of Pod F.

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What a day! So much cum, but it was so good. Michela struggled to tell me what I had done in my subspace. I remembered only a few of the details. Cumming like crazy and being extremely aroused is all I recall. My memory really kicks back in after I had started eating Kylie's carpet. Carpet’s the best.

M.A. was so aroused that she needed the vibrator to get herself off. She collapsed in a heap from her first ever orgasm. I crouched down by the damsels while Kendra tried to help Mary-Ann. Both wanted to be out. I untied Kylie’s arms and left her to do the rest, but I removed Michela’s gag and removed the cloth that was soaked in my cum. I kissed Michelaon the lips with deep passion unlike any other kiss. Somehow, I just felt a special love from her; she was worried about me after my outburst back at the house. That was what I thought anyway.

Unsurprisingly, tonight was somehow different. We retired to the room on our prison schedule, but we got to put on pajamas even if mine are pathetic. How long was I going to hide my paltry wardrobe? I only had clothes in 3 or 4 colors and no duplicates. Blue, orange, white, and Best Buy.

Silent passion was our forte. Kissing in a pitch black room with no light but that from the night sky was like magic. It was like prison, the last time I felt human, during the precious few days before Mr. Reardon changed me from the scared teenager who had been rejected by her parents for poor choices into a half-empty entity and then turned into a completely empty phantasm at the hands of a bad boyfriend. In our mutual and shared emptiness, we were still under it, but we were suppressed. We drew the other’s humanity back to the surface.

Our lips locked in the dim light, but tonight was amazing with Michela taking over the passion and controlling it all. Even when I was on the bottom in prison I was always emotionally on top, but tonight Michela claims me as hers. We're now more than just mere f-ck buddies or girlfriends; we were true best friends like Kendra and Mary-Ann. I was the “sister from another mother.” It was the first step in a journey that continues to this day. She had gone from lust being the one emotion she never experienced with her life before me to harnessing her lust, controlling it, and using it not only to have sex with me but also to please me in doing it. We weren't just mutually getting off; we were loving and being loved.

A sorrowful day had progressed to becoming the turning point in our lives.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 7 Chapter 1: New Girls
Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Michela and I held hands as we walked out of Dr. Sheridan’s office together. What I couldn't decide was whether it was harder for me to hear Michela admitting all of her struggles to him or for her to hear some of mine. I actually asked her to leave when I told him my story, the first complete narration of my life I had given, including details I wouldn't even divulge in court.

“You are one of the easiest cases of borderline personality disorder I have ever seen. I also can say you are also one of the more treatable ones. Hannah, you’re a remarkable young woman to have remained so strong through it all. It's no wonder you girls have an affinity for each other.”

Medication was in my future. You’ll find out in time what problems it fixed, which it didn't, and which it caused.

After 10 days, I still wasn't comfortable to say the least. Michela and I still lived like it was prison most days: rise at 6, wash and stretch, breakfast at 7 sharp (albeit not in the pod heh heh), a break (if my schedule allowed), and the gym. I had Best Buy and classes, and she stayed at home and worked on herself, mostly though living like we did after graduation with most of the time spent on the sofa reading religious texts. I admit that despite my own feelings that I was already devouring the various books in the Palmeri household. Mrs. Palmeri recommended some when I told her what kinds of books I read in juvie and let me select anything I wanted. I was adjusting; it sure was better than the hell I had left behind!

I had hidden my clothing situation from them, but I hadn't hidden it from Casey. She called me out on it, and I knew I was cornered when I got texts from both Nichole and Jenny asking me if they could schedule a day to go clothes shopping. I had set it all up for them because I was so happy with the Palmeri’s that I posted photos of us all doing stuff together on my social media accounts. It was a timeline, and it was now obvious. Three days from now, my Valentine and I were going out to eat together and then meeting Jenny and Nichole afterwards for shopping and, maybe, TUGs.

Real food though. No more beans for supper every night. I had forgotten how good it was to eat something other than beans. I could have milk in my cereal or more than one egg at breakfast. I didn't have to skip lunch anymore. Yummy homemade meals! TV? The only TVs I saw were at work, not that I wanted to watch anything anyway, but Michela loyally watched hockey.

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Interlude 51: Basketball
Monday, January 28, 2013

Basketball was just one sport we played in the gym. We’d split into two teams of 7-8, depending on how many girls were available. For 15 minutes, we’d play the game following standard rules of the game but rotating off one player every 30 seconds. A bell would ring and then the guard instructor would simply say “F09 off; F14 on” meaning it was my turn to move off the court. We 2:30 on the court, then 1:30 to 5:30 off, depending on whether it was full pod or split pod. Score is kept to make it feel more real for us.

“Move it, Donaldson!” I say as I knock the girl over for a layup that goes in.

Today is special because all 8 pods are playing using the full four courts that are available for this and volleyball. We’re playing it as a tournament game back-to-back-to-back-to-back. We get a little time for breaks by shortening the games to 12 minutes. We went A-H, B-G, C-F, and D-E in the first round. We won the first game, and I just knocked down a girl from Pod E, a girl with good sportsmanship who will give as well as take, much like me.

“Hey! Cut the crap!” another girl gets rolled by Michela, who is one of the bigger girls here.
“Language!” a guard warns us before someone swears.
“Pulling some of those hockey moves?” Mary-Ann asks us from the sidelines.
“Just a little,” Michela flashes a grin that shows a child is still beneath her emptiness.
“F09 off; F14 on!”
“Right sir!” Ashley, just 15 years old, and I call out to exceed expectations.

Ashley is an old guard girl with her number being JF09110146 and being sentenced to six years. After I asked one day, I learned that it was the same judge who sentenced Michela and Kylie to 3 years, and Ashley to 6. Kendra and I shared a judge, too, and we got relative leniency. It made me sick inside. I protected Ashley from the bigger, older girls who liked to pick on her. In time she didn’t need me to protect her because she sprouted like a weed that year!

Pod F was rolling into the championship game against Pod B.

“F04 off; F09 on!” I got my chance as the clock cycled so I’d be finishing the game.
“F05 off; F10 on!” things are perfect with the joy of my life entering the game one last time.
“22-22 tie, let’s do this,” a sweaty Michela said while looking at me with more lust than ever.
“We’ve got this, big girl!” I tap her on the shoulder as a free throw finishes.

I run to grab the ball and dribble it down the court. I’m small and can duck around bigger girls’ attempts to stop me. I pass the ball to Michela; she sends it back to me; I fake a charge at the net and drop it to Kylie who lobs it in. 24-22, Pod F.

“F06 off; F11 on!”

Pod B gets the ball back and begins moving it down the court. The other pods are doing their normal exercise routines as they get eliminated, but we’re soldiering on. Michela asserts that big size and yanks the ball from the B girl. She shoots it to me, and I’m hovering around the outside of the 3-point line.

“F07 off; F12 on!”

I see Stacy at the edge and dribble pass to her. She plays the decoy and moves around the edge before shooting the ball to Janine Blackwell, a 5’10” girl who lobs the three. 27-22, Pod F.

“F08 off; F13 on!”

But with 30 seconds left on the clock, we stall Pod B just long enough to let them get an easy basket. 27-24, Pod F. Final. But it’s just like any other game with high fives and that coerced refrain of “Good game” afterwards, but we have a talking point when we go about the rest of our days. I felt like a kid for the first time since I arrived.

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Saturday, February 14, 2015

I had business though. I was asked to head over to the Moreau's. It appeared that he had some newbies coming in early for a morning shoot. He said they were girls from Minnesota Tech and that, after my scenes with Brianna, I’d know how to put college girls in their place, particularly sorority girls.

I greeted my Valentine with a morning smooch. She was my love, so she was coming to the shoot even though she wasn't doing any scenes. Steve privately told me that he wasn't sure she'd be able to do a scene without me, and that's why he wasn't shooting with her even though she had all the time in the world to do it. But, in the meantime, she was working on her own future too.

Michela's turtleneck t-shirt was appropriately black with a big bright red heart on the chest area. A black bandana headband was holding her hair back purely to arouse me; a red skirt, a long one, swished about her sweet gams. Black knee socks and matching flats completed the set.

I had my “prison suit,” as we jokingly called it, all orange: sweatpants, sweatshirt, and kerchief bandana. White socks and my lone pair of cheap blue sneakers accompanied that, but my morning would be in something else. Now that people knew, it was quite embarrassing.

We held hands up to the Moreau's door; I felt genuine happiness in Michela’s grasp. I expected Kristine and Steve and Marcy and sorority girls, but I wasn't expecting to run into one of Jenny and Nichole’s college TUG buddies. There she was, though, the hottest girl upon which my eyes ever sat, Joyce Verdi. Put this girl on my “instant wood” list.

Shoulder length blonde hair that was brown depending on your angle was one part of it. The eagerness on her face was another part. She had just enough fat to have linear sides, but it was well distributed so that she wasn't chubby. Her tits were proportional to her body, lovely big oranges. I had no idea then that I was going to be friends with this one after this. In her eyes was a liveliness that I couldn't describe as she was both calm yet excited. A broad smile was on her face; she laughed a lot but remained sensible in her laughter. Glasses gave her an adorable nerdiness in a classy, cute way.

With her were two friends from her sorority. One was immediately bad news to me, and I could tell this one was probably the one who’d had the idea of doing this today instead of practicing bondage in the sorority house. Shorter blonde-brown hair, huge artificial cantaloupe sized tits, an hourglass figure, and a posture of arrogance had me instantly disliking Cassie Novak. I felt her staring down at me despite me being both the more experienced one in this industry. F-cking college sorority b-tches. Reality would prove that I was the only b-tch here.

Then there was the other. Standing an inch shorter than Michela and sporting an infectious yet innocent grin was Emilia Albuquerque, a young sophomore who I guessed was from Iberia. Her hair was a simple solid black, long, and also gorgeous. She quite humbly sat on the sofa, playing with coils of rope and ball gags. She had average tits, or, as I say, grapefruits or oranges, closer to a grapefruit. Her figure’s slender and as cute as she is. It was the start of the first friendships I had with people I first met after prison. Emilia was different in that she was quiet, unassuming, and considerate whereas Joyce would judge you a little in her thoughts but give you a fair chance to prove her wrong.

“If you ladies follow me, I will show you the wardrobe. I’m Hannah; my stage name is Karina. Most situations are fixed so we don't have to worry about names though. I am a regular here as is my girlfriend here, Michela.”
“Nice to meet you both,” Joyce smiled and sweat a little from a bit of anxiety.
“Pleasure,” Emilia spoke so quietly I almost couldn't hear her.
“All right. Let's get on with it,” Cassie was indeed the b-tch I suspected.
“No hurries,” I fired shots, “Rush jobs don't sell.”
“She's my Valentine,” Michela missed the mark as she squeezed against me.

Joyce was a bit apprehensive at Michela's behavior, but she was comfortable with me. The boss b-tch was seemingly peering down her nose at me, and I knew I’d enjoy the torture phase of her scene if I got the chance. As bad as it sounds, I really didn't want her to come back for more. I was a jerk. Emilia was unphased and charmed by us. Two straight girls and a b-tch. Oh boy.

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Interlude 52: Soccer
Tuesday, January 29, 2013

“Sorrrrrryyyy,” Michela plows down a girl from Pod E, “My ball!”

Soccer is aggressive, about going for an object, and shooting it behind a goalie. Playing soccer is the only time where Michela seems like the girl she was before prison. The blue bandana makes her easy to find among other teammates. She’s the ultimate soccer aggressor, and she maintains incredible dexterity that I envy. It’s not fair; she makes it look easy. I’m proud of Michela, and I blow her a kiss that makes her smile.

In the showers afterwards, Michela mindlessly shaves her underarms without even realizing just how much admiration she has for her athletic prowess. She can scorn a person without knowing she has done so, but she just as easily misses the kind words she and others say. While we clean up, she tells me and Janine, who is in the next stall, a story from her hockey days.

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“Wardrobe!” I triumphantly opened the door to the huge basement room.
“Got anything stylish?” Boss B-tch scornfully walks into the room.
“Can’t top me,” Michela fires another shot at yet another sorority girl.
“Shhhh,” Kristine wisely pulls her aside.
“Suck it,” I shut Cassie right up, “Heels and a skirt. And something that’ll show off your bust.”
“Remember,” Joyce spoke up, “We want steamy in the style the crowd wants.”

Joyce is right on the money. Steamy is the goal, not just hot. We want something that will make a girl look even more sexually appealing once she’s bound and gagged. I explain this to the boss b-tch as if I’m talking down to a teenager. I’m playing the psychology game now.

For myself, I choose a ruffled blue skirt that is much too short. A pink knit sweater, some hose, white open topped heels, and a pink tie-dye patternless bandana. Of course the bandana got put on my head as a headband, and I fancy I was quite adorable too. Alas, the goal is to be gagged with it because, you know me, if it doesn’t have scat on it, then I will gladly eat it, especially if it’s soaked in another girl’s sweat or cum. Remember that “cum” and “yum” rhyme.

For Joyce, there is no difficulty in choosing an outfit. She’s a smiling kid in a candy store. I feel so bad for her in retrospect because none of us knew the pains that bondage would bring to her. I would never have let her shoot if I knew, but her story is separate. Let it suffice that predators do unfortunately exist, and our safety is ever so slightly compromised by this line of work.

That dark skirt with its paisley floral patterns is delicious on her. The brown heels are a gorgeous and perfect match. The white long-sleeve blouse with its subtle v-neck invites intrusion without being sl-tty. She’s so pretty. Yes, I am enamored with her; she tries to smile back when she sees me smiling. Then I remember that there is a girl just as pretty and with a personality meant just for me outside the room. Joyce would never have me, and I need to remain faithful to Michela for her sake and mine. Shame overcomes me at so strongly lusting after another girl, and I flee to my Valentine’s arms while Boss B-tch and Emilia get dressed.

I clung to my friend with the black bandana. I admitted to her in our brief moment of privacy the things I had thought about Joyce. She forgave me with a stern warning about not letting lust get the best of me, and I remembered what Dr. Sheridan had said. It was time for me to get tied up!

“Bring it on, Kristine!”

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Interlude 53: Indoor Volleyball
Wednesday, January 30, 2013

We cycled through the sports throughout the week. Frankly, I was far from spoiled as it was still a prison in so many regards, but I was blessed that at least some people were trying to ensure that we all still had some semblance of childhood in this dump. Basketball was my favorite sport to play, but indoor volleyball was Mary-Ann’s favorite. Maybe it’s because she was both stronger and taller than most of us.

“Ma!” Michela calls out as she bumps the ball for our podmate.
“Got it!” she spikes it with incredible southpaw energy.
“How does she do that?!” I hear one ask.
“She jumps higher than some basketball players!” another exclaims.

Some of us are inept, like Michela, and others are a bit useless at it, like Kendra. We do our best; us short girls mostly work to get the ball to the tall ones. Mary-Ann’s the pod hero at this game. A tournament like basketball isn’t possible because it’s not a timed sport. We make the most of the 15 minutes, rotating on and off between plays, so we’re usually split by pod, odds vs. evens or 1-8 vs. 9-16. I always end up on a team with M.A. regardless.

M.A. is always the sweatiest girl when volleyball is done, but she also has the biggest smile no matter whether she was a hero or a zero that day. I cherish the memories of those games even if we were wearing prison jumpsuits while playing.

——————————————————————————————

Elbow bondage is so good, and I tried my best to make it clear that Kristine really was torquing my arms behind me. She left me no wiggle room at all really. The harness really kept my arms in place behind me, and look at how nice my tits looked even with the sweater! My legs got the usual four ropes that Kristina and Steve seemed to enjoy. Michela reached into her purse.

“I wore these yesterday,” Michela held a pair of dirty socks near my mouth.
“Oh, did you?” I playfully rolled my eyes.
“Yeah, and I worked out while you were at class. I recommend you open your mouth.”
“If I don’t?” I looked towards the new girls.
“Then I force them in,” she wave the socks near my face.
“Fine?” I opened my mouth and accepted the package.

The other three reacted differently. Joyce was horrified when the socks went in; Cassie grimaced but didn’t seem too disturbed; Emilia clearly didn’t want to experience anything like it. A few strips of double-sided tape covered my lips, and my bandana was removed and used to OTM gag me. I was nicely shut up.

Lights. Camera. Action!

I decided that today I should look scared or nervous and began twisting in position on the chair for Steve to take picture after picture. I admit that I preferred Kristine and other models handling me than Steve or Marcy. I trusted them to take the photos or give me a drink, but actually tying me was harder to allow. One of Mr. Reardon’s accomplices was a woman after all.

I kept my eyes toward the camera for the beginning part except when I needed to look away to be sure I wasn’t about to hurt myself. It was a strangely comfortable bondage, and I glanced to see Kristine and maybe even smiled with my eyes. Then I focused on my predicament.

I was bound and gagged and helpless. I twisted myself sideways and stamped the ground with my feet. Twisting my arms towards the camera was always good to show off just how helpless I was! Another turn made me face Michela; I gazed with pleading eyes. I squirmed until I made myself slouch in the chair. Kristine eagerly came over and helped me all right; she exposed my bra by pulling the sweater up above the lower part of my harness! I began pulling on the bra as I am that flexible, and Marcy came over and pulled my tits right out for all to see. Tits out right off the bat, my friends!

Cassie rolled her eyes and laughed, but Emilia and Joyce suddenly lit up. They were interested in it a lot now that they saw things more akin to what they experienced in their sorority games. I looked around and groaned as if these were hostage photos. I twisted about and started acting like there was only so much time. Worse than hostage photos; these photos are for people to buy me! I am about to be sold into slavery! It was time to focus on business, though. Still…

What fun!

[AlexUSA3]

Story 7 Chapter 2: Sorority Girls
Saturday, February 14, 2015

Sold into slavery is perhaps too dark of a thought. No one would want me anyway, or so my mind started to convince me. One of the most empowering experiences I have had in my life was learning that I have a genuine mental illness that I cannot help. All the thoughts, from su¡c¡de to fears of abandonment to extreme lust could be explained all under the blanket term: “Borderline Personality Disorder.” In my developmental years, I had been subject to so much trauma that basically my brain had corrupted. As a result, my brain rewired everything to behave and respond in quite proper ways for what I was experiencing then. I had been abandoned, survived a murder attempt, been assaulted, dealt drugs, gone to prison… My problem was that I still saw these natural processes as being 100% my fault for my decisions as if the decisions made by others around me didn't matter.

I still struggle with it. I do sometimes get a fixation for hours or days where my mind decides that my husband is planning to take our daughter and leave me. That any day now I will go on Facebook and find someone I love has blocked me; once in a while I give in to the thought and check to make sure my Facebook still has 79 friends on it. I randomly worry that a stranger is planning to kidnap me and hurt me. Now is an odd time, you might think, to talk about this, but it's spot on.

During this scene, I temporarily experience genuine fear. I was scared of men and had been for a while at this point. Despite Marcy, Kristine, Emilia, Joyce, Boss B-tch, and Michela (most of all) being there with me, I still distrusted Steve. Would he suddenly decide to turn this into a ThatFetishGirl or Steve Villa type of scene or take advantage of the fact that I was tied up in general? I’d experienced good c-ck before and loved it and craved it as much as Kylie’s or Michela’s p-ssy, but I was afraid of men. In 2015, you could not pay me to be alone with a man or go on a date with one.

My struggle with my tits exposed showed my fear. The fear had become genuine. I’d been consumed by my condition in a sense, and my only comfort was to see and taste my Valentine. Her dirty old socks were so good. Actually, they were awfully rancid, but they were hers. As long as the only bodily fluids are cum and sweat, I am going to conclude that it's delicious. Now I realize it's a miracle I don't have an STD.

But the result was that I was now being seen as the bondage model who was the future of Tied After Class. I flaunted off my tits, my squeals, and my wails to the whole world and began a decided shift in my and my friends’ lives. We were on our way to the top of the business!

The chair was gone now, and I was left to writhe on the floor as I did my duty. I did it all as was expected: writhe, squeal, grunt, groan, struggle, twist, wail, yell, kick, and more. My heels were long gone. I spent time on my stomach trying to reach the ropes on my ankles and sat up to kick my legs out in an effort to loosen anything if I could. Soon, Marcy knelt down to untie me, and then it was time for my favorite part of it all.

Pre-shoot and post-shoot scenes were the best. We got to smile for the camera and act naturally, once in a while even showing off our bare tits. Rope marks were of course a cornerstone of this as well, and upon this occasion the marks in my body were deep. I feel like I’m in another world and am almost morally obligated to be happy. Mostly, it is because I am happy while modeling for a bondage shoot. I walked to Marcy and reclaimed the bandana turned gag, which was in the pile of things that had been used on me.



——————————————————————————————

Interlude 54: Outdoor Volleyball
Thursday, January 31, 2013

I loved freezing my ass off in the snow playing outdoor volleyball. Not! Our gym instructor had a screwy thing for seeing teenagers in prison jumpsuits working up a star-spangled banner frostbite. During soccer we went on the undersized field split pod so we were always moving, but volleyball still required rotations that left you on the sideline wishing for a fireplace or death.

It's still fun as long as you're not having an amputation. If you're Mary-Ann, as long as asthma is not trying to kill you, you are still a demi-God with special powers who destroys the opposition with ease. A genuine talent in so many ways, Mary-Ann Voisin was energetic and did a worse job of containing her energy than her black bandana did of containing that crazy hair. She never stopped smiling while playing sports, even soccer where she was awful.

Enigmatic is the right word for this situation. Were we having fun playing a game, or were we pseudo-masochists pantomiming an elaborate assassination by subjection to extreme cold until hypothermia euthanized us? It's more fun when there's snow on the ground, though. Frozen ground is harder and no fun.

“Did I do well?” Mary-Ann asked me as she put her glasses back on.
“Always,” I said as we marched in towards the pod again.

Back to silence.

——————————————————————————————

Boss B-tch, I am coming for you. Look at you strutting about with those fake big Botox tits and those white high heels. If this were a rougher studio, I’d stuff those white knee socks in your mouth. I’ll put you in your place, though. Just you wait.

The shredded denim mini skirt and the shirt made her look like a sl-tty female version of Waldo, and I knew just where she was going. F-ck you, Boss B-tch, and your arrogant manners. I had just the remedy for her, clearly a typical rich kid. Clothesline, a purple bandana, and a pair of pantyhose were all I needed to work on this one. The living room was perfect for this, and she seemed to really enjoy the pinup shots.

Cassie was a sorority girl, and I, severely, both overestimated her attitude and underestimated her kinkiness. I did, however, wipe the imagined cockiness right off her face. I wrenched her arms together behind her back and was disappointed by her stiffness. She simply screwed up her face while testing how tightly I was tying her. I tied her legs in the usual three spots, and I started a typical (for the studio) breast harness before deciding to add a nice V-rope between those big artificial tits. I cinched it much tighter than normal so that her breasts thrust out. I really judged this girl, and I was going to eventually get a big slice of humble pie.

“Have a snack,” I stuffed the bandana into her mouth.
“GUH?!” she did not appreciate the wrapping of the pantyhose around her head for a cleave gag.
“This is how we humiliate new girls,” I was being worse than her sorority was to its debutantes.
“H-ck -ou!” she is quite good with the gag talk.
“Now, now, cutie,” I grabbed her by the cheek and menacingly glared, “Let’s have fun!”

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 55: Dodgeball
Friday, February 1, 2013

Dodgeball was my specialty for sure. It was psychological warfare of the violent kind like bondage. The goal was to whack, not bruise. We’d split into teams by pod and go at it. Kylie liked this game a lot, and so did Phoebe.

“Take that!” Phoebe said as she eliminated the girl from Pod A.
“You got your groove on, Phoebes!” Kylie complimented her.
“Naturally, because I got moves, Miss Svensson!”
“I dunno,” I effortlessly dodged a lob, “Most of these Pod A kids get out in a week.”
“Easy pickings,” Kylie shrugged.
“Then we make them wish they were Level I’s,” Phoebe cackled as I blotted another.

Phoebe was right; just have fun! In typical fashion, Pod A lost while Pod F still had 9 of its starting 13. We had the advantage of being long term and sane. OK, some of us had problems, but except for Annie Anderson and Clarissa Sanchez no one who came through Pod F during my 14 months was about to commit first-degree homicide.

We had so much fun indeed! Imagine that… prison girls making their own fun.

——————————————————————————————

“GMMM!” Cassie grunted when I pushed her onto the sofa in the living room.
“Listen, b-tch, I caught you red-handed stealing from the petty cash box!” I snarled at her.
“Nooo!” she groaned into the bandana that filled her mouth.
“You can either suffer as my plaything, or I can tell the boss and cause real trouble for you!”
“Mmmmmmm,” she turned away fearfully.
“I’ll be back,” I threatened her as I stepped back so Steve could do his thing.

Now Cassie was free to ham it up. I was hoping she’d screw it up instead so I could be rid of her prissy attitude. That hair with its bleached highlights did her no favors; I unfortunately think she liked it except for the gag. I kept forgetting that these were no ordinary sorority girls; these were bondage sorority girls. Of course she'd enjoy what I had done to her. Duh!

The pretentious girl was quite disgusted with the gag, and she clearly had misgivings about me because she kept looking toward me with distrust while Steve photographed her in her bondage. I wasn't too impressed; she made lots of gag talk while moving a bit too little for my liking. There were girls who more or less stayed put and tried to pick at the knots, and then there was Cassie.

She followed orders to a T, but she was a bit wooden in her posing. The lack of flexibility was at work there, but my corrupt mind wanted to pin it on some character flaw of hers. In reality, she did just fine, and Steve was quite happy with her performance. Her tits made an excellent point of focus for the camera, and her looks of disgust were top notch. This is me talking in hindsight, though, because I was too dismissive of her then. I was so full of self-hatred that I hated people who would later become trusted friends. Today, hanging out with Cassie is one of the few things that will make me bounce with excitement; she moved away and now flies in for modeling work.

Even when I hauled Cassie off the couch and onto the carpet, she mostly focused her energy on being annoying and talkative and squirming in place. I walked over to give her a spank, and she loudly cursed into the gag. I smiled and reminded her that she’d take the spanking over me calling the cops, and she had to agree when I spanked her a second time.

She was so cute when she was on the couch. Couch, girl in bondage, me not in bondage… yeah, I’m naughty; I know. Look at her getting the “pitiful damsel-in-distress” gaze down perfect in a few moments. She had the chops for this, but I couldn’t see it. All I saw was Boss B-tch, and it is a real shame that I couldn’t see more.

Cassie stared at the camera with shock. I no longer could tell how much of her behavior was an act as opposed to real reactions. I thought she had to have had experience with nearly anything given that she was one of the older sorority girls. Boss B-tch eagerly ditched a heel too. Part of me wanted to be a real animal and just feel her up and rub her p-ssy until she was in a frenzy.



I could picture one positive thing: Kendra playing with her feet. We already were too crowded, though, but I could tell that Kendra liked doing the foot shots. That’d be a fun screaming match: me and Cassie tied together like Kylie and I had been tied in the last story, with our feet in each other’s mouths, but with our clothes still on. The day did come, but it’s not for this tale.

“Hannah, you OK?” Michela pulled me aside.
“Just putting a b-tch in her place,” I smiled wryly and squeezed Michela’s cheek.
“You seem tense,” my girlfriend reminded me, “Remember it's just a bondage film.”
“Well, she is a fake-titted, brain-bleached, patronizing jack-ss.”
“That’s not true at all!” Michela looked horrified by what I’d just said.
“Look here, Hannah,” Joyce walked over, “It's not personal. It’s called confidence, something you’re sorely lacking for a girl who’s so talented and seems like a sweetheart on the inside.”
“So are you defending her?” I got a bit attitudinal in my own right.
“No, but I’m saying to calm down. Nichole and Casey told me about you; that's why we picked here. Hannah,” the new girl put a hand on my shoulder, “I see a lot of good in you. Let it shine, and we'll all have fun.”
“I see a good friendship ahead for us,” Michela's words comforted me.
“I do, too, if you girls are willing to have a girl scout in your circle of friends.”
“I’m bad news,” I growled, “I don’t know.”
I had good friends that were positive, but Joyce was the first friend I had who could be so quietly optimistic. I missed that Joyce for a long time; that Joyce got destroyed and replaced by a shell later, with me finally finding a good use for my own experiences in life, before finally making a triumphant return. Life is tough; Joyce was tougher, then weaker, then tougher again. Stories for later.

I liked Joyce and Emilia. Joyce spoke for both, but they had humility. I could be a philosophical humbug at times and often pasted others for challenging my rationalistic reason. It is part of why Michela loves me though, because I have an infinite imagination that I try to use for good even if I fail. I turned to her and saw a vacant stare; I then realized that her stare is vacant because she’d emptied her mind. For a girl who is extremely intelligent, who can maintain several thoughts at will, to be empty so much of the time because it's the only way to ensure the terror cannot follow her. I realized I could be the same way and that Michela and I were in prison pose together. Just then she reached out, touched my hand, and pointed to Cassie.

Cassie was tragically enjoying herself. I couldn't bring myself to respect her. She was too much like Annie Anderson for my liking; Cassie however would never commit a crime. I strutted over to Cassie and held one of her long thrown high heels right up against her nose. She was less than amused, and Steve stopped filming again after a few minutes.

“Relax. Have fun,” I cautioned her, “Think of it as a game now; I’ll be back.”

Just then Kristine returned; I had completely forgotten about her. It was time for fun with Kristine and Emilia. I owed Cassie an apology.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 56: Arm Wrestling
Friday, February 1, 2013

It technically was against the rules because it was contact, but the guards arranged for us to do it anyway. Mrs. Copley was always trying to find ways to improve life for us girls. First of the month was the monthly arm-wrestling competition for those of us in Pod F who were II’s and up.

We did it in a double round robin to be fair. If you're not familiar, it means everyone takes on each of the others twice, and then we repeat if there's more than a basic tie at the end with just the tied girls going. If two are tied, we have a one-on-one finale. It's a ton of fun, but we're not allowed to cheer beyond expressing vocal support. as it's too much commotion. Everything is quite sterile to keep with the standards of the environment.

“Come on, M.A.,” I cheered our unofficial pod brute.
“Oh, that wasn't even fun,” she whacked Annie Anderson’s arm down without effort.
“But you're the winner!” I said afterwards over a game of Upwords.
“I’ve got 15 or 20 wins in that tournament. Whatever,” she shrugged.

Annie and Bridget Anderson were sisters with Annie being younger. Annie was a nut if I ever saw one. She’d get people to do her bidding like stealing things, slinging on the street, and, the thing that got her arrested and finally busted, ordering someone to beat up another girl. Bridget was innocent and likable and had fallen prey to her little sister's bullying tactics.

Now, in 2024, Annie is on year 8 of a 255 year sentence because police finally linked all of her various crimes. She's spending her life in Shakopee, and Bridget ghosted at that point and last I knew lived at home with her parents and had a quiet, stable, happy life. Two girls, same rearing, different outcomes. Bridget’s a good girl and devoted to her parents like no one else I know and eventually joined my lovely group of Pod F bondage models.

——————————————————————————————

“Emilia, you didn't get dolled up?” I asked the shy young girl.
“Oh? I had to? I thought I’d just stay in my own clothes,” she blushed and cowered.
“It's fine by me as long as Steve is OK with it,” Marcy encouraged her.
“It's fine. We're not scripted anyway. It's her debut,” Steve supported the new girl.
“All right,” Emilia’s eyes brightened as she walked over.
“Tell me about your bondage experiences with the sorority.”

Emilia admitted that she was a founding member of the bondage sorority alongside one of my old Cool Girls’ Club friends who was a couple of years older. A freshman at the time of the founding, Emilia discovered bondage by pure chance: walking into that friend's dorm during a bondage game while seeking the advice of that friend who was in the same major as her. That was two weeks into freshman year, the Spaniard explained. A week later, the sorority was born.

There is a delightful Mediterranean accent on the girl who is much more enthusiastic than her friends even if they probably all looked forward to this day. Emilia tells me about the things the sorority girls do to her, receive from her, and do to others. I can tell that some parts excite Michela while others frighten her; frankly, I feel similarly about them.

“Can you take a tight tie, because I love elbow ties!” I felt a strange pleasure at this.
“I love elbow ties!” her eyes brightened, “Just remember, ladies, I’m only into boys.”
“Sorry, baby, no threesomes with this one,” I winked at Michela.
“No, but your girlfriend is pretty and sweet and ready for Valentine's night.”
“Most of it's for me,” Michela blushed and grabbed the St. Michael medal she wore,
“I am ready, and I went commando for when you inevitably take a peek at my boobs.”
“Yes, Hannah loves exposing titties,” my girlfriend started lusting.

It was then that I first realized just how conflicted Michela was on account of me. She had a genuine sexual attraction to me but also had a genuine religious conviction that our relationship was wrong. I had no qualms, but Joyce shared Michela's opinions of the matter. Cassie clearly didn't care like the Moreau's and Kristine, and Emilia here could as easily have an inclination to quit school to be a nun as to become the world's number 1 p0rn star because she revealed nothing about herself in anything she said or did.

I gave Emilia elbow bondage. Welcome, girl, to the world of getting paid to have fun, look sexy, and enjoy yourself with the occasional orgasm. The smile that appeared on Emilia’s face when I bound her elbows and wrists told me that she was one of those girls who genuinely had fun with bondage and wasn’t too interested in highly sexualized or intense torture. She just wanted to be tied up as I liked, left to do her own thing, and be the subject of her captor’s commentary, maybe while trying to escape.

I bound her scrawny but untoned thighs with two ropes and her lower legs with two and admired her fashionable but simple choices of a pink sleeveless t-shirt and white short shorts, socks and canvas sneakers. I made sure the ropes went deep into her skin without hurting her, and Joyce suggested we go back to the basement. I wanted to pull on her pigtails.

“Let’s go, hot stuff,” Kristine and I picked up the new girl.
“Hey! Ha ha!” Emilia laughed as I led from the legs with Kristine holding her torso.
“I’ll make sure Cassie is taken care of,” Joyce pointed to the girl smiling for post-shoot photos.
“See you soon,” Emilia smiled.
“Nice bra,” Kristine pulled and snapped the shoulder strap when we put Emilia down.
“Pick out a modeling name… a fake name that we can use on camera.”
“How about Teresa?” Michela suggested for obvious reasons, “Perfect Spanish girl’s name.”

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 57: On God and Letters
Friday, November 1, 2013

“Hannah, do you believe in God?” Michela stared out the window towards the sky.
“Not really. If He existed, wouldn't He have protected you?” I responded confidently.
“If He doesn't exist, why did He give me the strength to pull the trigger?”
“If He existed, you wouldn't have needed to pull the trigger.”
“If that were the case, then people have no free will. But we do.”
“Are you crazy enough to say that your faith was stronger when you were being led out of that house in shackles than before it started?”

Michela smiled a little. I was her only understanding of emotions in life. She took her bandana off her head and played with it in her hands. We had many of these kinds of interactions since Michela finished her GED in September. I am reading Kant after having just finished a book by Chesterton. These aren't small books, either. Michela proudly told me that she truly believed her namesake, the Archangel Michael, kept her from worse harm and gave her the strength to defend herself. She still tells people this whenever her story comes up; I’m so glad she's my friend.

At the moment, I was writing a letter to Nichole. She loved my letters, and she could visit me since she was an adult! Michela was writing to her younger sisters; she wrote to them as often as possible from the beginning of her incarceration and asked them to keep each and every letter so that they have a running memory of their sister during a difficult phase of their lives. Her mother sneaked photos during visits and sometimes printed them to include in the letters. What an odd but beautiful treasure!

“I’m sorry I’m being snobbish about my books,” I apologized as I wrote my latest hot quote.
“I'm sorry for being pushy. I’m just… Hannah, I care about you.”
“I love you, too,” I said to her, “We just have to agree to disagree.”
“No, I need to learn to shut up and just pray for you,” she winked at me.
“You're welcome to do that,” I smiled and quickly finished my letter.
“Man, we're letter writing machines!”

We don't have class, so we spend lots of time in the pod and cell now. It wasn't much of a life, but it was better than nothing. Post-graduation was harder because of all the newfound time on our hands that was mostly spent in the Pod, quiet time in the cell akin to a I when we're IV’s and supposed to be rewarded for good behavior. Michela puts her headband back, folds up her latest letter, and kisses it as she always does.

——————————————————————————————

“Do I get tied too?” Joyce eagerly bounded down the stairs despite the brown heels on her feet.
“Yes, yes you do. Let’s get on it so that you two can get your turns being photographed.”
“Thanks, Hannah!”
“Go get her, tiger,” Kristine gave me a kinky rap on the butt.
“All right, all right, I was asked to do this, and I’ll do it.”
“I just want you to know, Hannah,” Joyce liked saying people’s names, “I’m not wearing a bra.”
“She’s seen right through you and is giving you the green light to play,” Cassie suddenly came up behind me and whispered in my ear.
“What do you mean?”
“Joyce is funny and kind. Straight as an arrow, but she lets the girls like you… have fun.”
“Just keep it within what Steve and Marcy want,” Kristine encouraged me.

I smiled at Joyce, and she smiled back. She just wanted to have fun with me, her new friend, and all I had to do was deliver. I admit that I tried tying Joyce’s elbows and that it didn’t last long as I overestimated her flexibility. Wrists, the standard harness, and the standard leg ropes– three on the lower legs and one above the knees– followed. Joyce’s tits weren’t too large, and I figured a detailed harness while kinkier would make it harder for me to expose her.

I stuffed a clean green bandana in Joyce’s mouth, cleave gagged her with pantyhose just like I’d gagged Cassie, and covered her mouth with more strips of tape than what you’ll see in the photo sets. I just finally noticed that Joyce was so excited she was sweating. I’d never seen such spirit in a girl I’d tied up. Kristine set up the tripod with the second camera; she was a business partner to Steve and Marcy; and I was quickly becoming queen of the ropework.

In the darker far corner by the washer and dryer, Steve was taking photos of the newly christened Teresa, who had that big old white ball gag in her mouth. Her big brown eyes betray a genuinely distressed expression; this girl is a star in the making if she so chooses. She now stands alone in the frame of the camera wailing in fear.

Emilia hops in place until she’s sideways, looks down, crouches a little, stretches her arms, wails loudly and shakes her body uselessly before letting out a loud and resounding clomp on the floor despite the carpet beneath her feet. She straightens up and turns to look at Steve and his camera presently perched on a step ladder. Another bend and a shriek is followed by Emilia turning the other direction before looking over her shoulder to see Marcy coming.

Marcy rolls up Emilia’s shirt while she cries for the camera and looks for help. Marcy has such a dominatrix death grip though and wraps her arms around Emilia. Marcy puts the captive’s pretty pigtails together and yanks them harshly while sternly warning her with threats of violence if she is uncooperative. While yanking the pigtails, Marcy exposes Emilia’s tits.

Tits out my friends.

Then there is Joyce, my charge, my girl to dominate. She looks at the camera as if I’d drugged her for a moment, but the face changes to one of desperation. She thinks she has been nabbed by a potentially violent maniac, and she starts working on an escape from her bondage. Approaches to scenes vary, and Joyce’s is to only grunt when it’s natural, making her sounds be an expression of her emotions of the moment as opposed to sexy utterances that serve no purpose.

Joyce appeared to be looking in no particular direction because she wasn’t. She was working on the ropes that bound her arms together behind her back. I stood by the camera and waved to get her attention, and Joyce scowled at me and tried talking into the gag to express her displeasure at her imprisonment. Anger became apparent now in her struggles.

“Ha!” Joyce whipped a rope around, the rope from her soft elbow bond.
“Very good,” I patted her on the head and grabbed the rope, “But there are two more.”
“Hmmmm,” she was very proud of herself, and her eyes brightened a little.
“I have to punish you for your attitude,” I started pulling her shirt up.
“No!” she almost tipped the chair.
“Tits out, my dear girl,” I exposed her torso and realized just how high she wore the skirt.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 7 Chapter 3: New Friends
Saturday, February 14, 2015

Our newly discovered starlet Emilia, code name Teresa, was getting quite the breast massage at Marcy’s hands. Emilia asked lots of questions while this happened, but no one knew what she was asking because she was asking it in Spanish. Another yank of the pigtails reminded our new friend to behave herself.

Steve had moved to a lower position, but Emilia still crouched down and yelled into her gag with a determined voice. She looked at the camera and talked as if she were demanding to be untied by a stranger at that perspective.

“Wanna talk to someone? Here,” Marcy walked over with a telephone.
“Gmm mmm mmmm!” is what Emilia sounded like.

She paused as if there were another person on the other end of the line and talked some more into the white ball gag. She started wailing as if the imaginary soul on the other end was a fool who didn’t understand that she was in life-threatening danger. The wailing became more desperate as the drool started to pour off her lips.

Then Marcy walked away. Emilia resumed her impassioned hopping, and my ropework proved its efficacy. What a nice, tight ass she had, too. Emilia wanted to be out of the ropes, not on my terms, but on hers. She again bent down and turned to look at the camera while for release. In a desperate final bid, she hopped around to turn herself and put her face in front of the camera just to wail and drool while showing off her titties. Just look at the desperation in those gorgeous and wide brown eyes. She sought assistance, but none came.



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Interlude 58: A Night in the Pod (Part 1)
Tuesday, February 26, 2013

“What’ll it be tonight? We get about 7 games to choose from,” Kendra groaned.
“Boggle’s my favorite,” Kylie teased us because we couldn’t play that.
“We’ve got 2 and a quarter; let’s make it worthwhile,” I said with confidence, “Monopoly?”
“So Mary-Ann can engage in warfare? Sure, why not?” Mary-Ann spoke next.
“Where’s Michela?” I asked.
“Watching hockey; she was so mad about the lockout,” Kylie laughed.

As usual, I was the one who went to get the game. I walked out of the pod and down to the little kiosk room where all such things were kept. Basically, Pods C-F got these things to themselves because the girls in Pods A and B usually were around too short of a time to know all the things that were available to them while the girls in Pods G and H were usually the truly bad ones who were here before going to Shakopee (not likely) or just weren’t at the III+ ranking you needed to be allowed to swipe out of the pod, as we did have to swipe lest the security sensors go off and put the entire joint on lockdown.

I returned bearing the incredible game of power and pelf and set it on one of the tables for me, M.A., Kylie, and Kendra to sit down and play. Ashley watched and learned from us older girls. It was about building lasting memories that would overcome the bad memories of this joint.

It's hard to believe I’m saying this, but Kylie and Michela spent the better part of four years here when you add their courtroom dramas. They spent more time together in here, especially since Michela and Kylie were cellmates for two years or so before Kylie was moved during one of her suicide watches, which was about two months before I arrived, then they had spent with their own families.

Seriously, do the math. You figure Kylie often lost recreation time, but they otherwise were together the rest of the day through quiet time, meals, gym, school, and showers, that is 23 hours a day. Now, a normal kid goes to school for 8, comes home at 3, does 2 hours of homework, and goes to bed by 10 and wakes up at 6. Basically, Kylie and Michela spent the same amount of time together in 2 years in jail as they’d spent with their own families in 4 years! No wonder it wrecks you so much.

“I’ll be the banker,” M.A. volunteered.
“She couldn't cheat if she tried,” Kylie smiled at our playmate.
“I have a reputation to keep,” Mary-Ann adjusts her glasses with embarrassment.
“It's the bandana,” Kylie teases, “She had to be a good girl for a long time to get that privilege.”
“I don't get it. Why?” I asked in surprise, missing my own headgear.
“You have to maintain III+ status for 6 months straight before you get trusted with it as it could theoretically be used to hurt someone,” Mary-Ann explained, “That's why it's just Michela and I with them. Scrunchies, these, barrettes, all have that restriction.”

Kylie let out a sigh and looked down.

——————————————————————————————

Joyce Verdi was a hottie in distress. She grunted into the bandana stuffed in her mouth and took a good look to the side before glaring back at me. She leaned back in the chair and breathed a bit more heavily than before. Determination was on her face still, and she looked toward Cassie and then back at me.

I didn't know a girl could be so determined to escape a bondage game. Joyce talked a little bit, but mostly she saved it for expressions of anger. The tape sealed her mouth shut quite well, and the bandana stuffed therein muffled her speech. She was quite the sport, though, and I liked how shiny her tits were. She moved on the chair just in the right way, and Kristine was an excellent choice for a guide for a debutante. Slumping back was accompanied by a grunt of despair. She sat up again and threw out her legs while keeping her eyes on the camera… which was me now with Kristine’s guidance as we were both encouraged to be able to do these things in case Steve and/or Marcy got sick as the show must go on!

Finally, though, I walked away and started circling Joyce; with a loud shriek from her, I grabbed by the harness, spanked her on each butt cheek, and pushed her to the carpet, all without much effort. Joyce pushed herself up and supported herself with her arms while glaring towards me. Focusing on the camera, Joyce paid little attention to me and kicked her legs out. Surely, she must have thought, something will come loose! She laid back and looked at the camera and yelled like the damsel in distress she was.

Even as she laid back so her feet could be featured some more, she kept her spirit of defiance in a strong manner. She sat up and did all that was asked of her, including squeezing her own tit in a cute manner. She got up on her knees and yelled quite a bit despite no filming occurring. It was a distinctive air. There was more to her though, a spark in her eye.

Joyce was having fun.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 59: A Night in the Pod (Part 2)
Tuesday, February 26, 2013

“What's up, Kylie?” I asked as we started the game.
“I struggle with so much. Being here sucked the life out of me, I guess.”
“This is a better life than what I left behind,” M.A. was candid.
“Better than snorting a rail,” Kendra nodded in agreement.
“Shush!” M.A. lived up to her nickname, “Don't say such things!”
“I… Hannah, life for some of us has improved since you arrived,” Kylie smiled.

I couldn't help but smile. I don't know what I had exactly done, but I was glad to have made a positive impact. Soon we were all smiling and laughing and engaging in what could only be described as financial violence. M.A. was a good banker indeed.

At another table, Michela, Phoebe, and Stacy focused intently on the hockey game. I was friends with all three, but I loved one of them. Since the new uniforms arrived, Michela looks silly with the blue headband in her hair because it doesn’t look as good with the lavender and black as it did with the previous bright orange. She’s still the hottest girl in the prison, in my eyes.

“Girls, I’m hungry. Want a PPS (Positive Performance Snack)?” I asked them.
“Sure. Come on, girls. For honesty’s sake,” Mary-Ann stood up.
“I’ll stay,” Kendra insisted, “Make sure no one swipes the game. I don’t have the points.”
“All right, let’s go,” I motioned for Kylie, Ashley, and M.A. to follow.
“Remember to swipe,” Kylie reminded us.
“Not enough that Maddy acts like a mother?” I teased her.

Kylie blushed, smiled, and motioned for us to lead the way. Soon, we were on our way back to the pod with Pop-Tarts! I hadn’t eaten one of those in years, and Kylie was super excited as those were her absolute favorite. Making Ash and I even happier was that they had our beloved blueberry flavor, and Kylie and Mary-Ann had chocolate. We were like 8 year-olds eating those while sitting together.

——————————————————————————————

Joyce scowled at us and pulled her knees toward her chest. The ropes on her arms continued to hold strong against her struggles, and she muttered stuff to me while moving about in position as if we could understand her through that bandana in her mouth. She was focused on her desire to escape. She got all the way down on her knees with her head on the ground while flailing her arms around before rolling onto her stomach and side. She paused to pose for some sexy shots and even struggled like she was hogtied, but she did it! After dozens of photos, we all watched an arm pop out of the clothesline! Sweet young Joyce Verdi had escaped.



Our new friend was sweaty and ecstatic. Never did Steve find a girl who looked so happy after a shoot as this one. She giddily posed with her tits bare for all to see. The joy she felt courtesy her triumph could not be put into words, but she had done the impossible thing by winning a spot in mine and Michela’s hearts. I don’t know what it was that made her special, but she easily got out of the rest of the ropes. I had a surprise for her though.

“You’re so much fun,” I came up behind her and fondled her.
“Ha ha! I had a ton of fun too. It was great!”
“Now what? Would you do it again?”
“For sure!” she grinned and wiped some sweat off her brow, “Let’s attend to Emilia here.”
“Why? What more needs to be done?” Michela didn’t understand her just like I didn’t.
“She didn’t escape and is still tied up; I’m going to punish her,” the happy girl responded.

That was how Joyce made her domination debut. Emilia sat on the chair and made her puddle of drool even larger than it already was. Without effort, Joyce wrangled the bigger girl to the floor; a tied captive is a helpless captive. Joyce took a piece of clothesline and skillfully attached poor Emilia’s ankles to her wrists, and then we all knew that Joyce was not kidding about having been a girl scout. She was too skillful to have just started playing games with Jenny and friends; she had to have played with the other scouts.

“Thanks for playing, but you lost this time!” Joyce teased as she folded a bright pink bandana.
“Mmmmm!” Emilia groaned and looked around in desperation.
“Oh, right,” Joyce pulled the bandana over Emilia’s eyes, “It’s not a game! I captured you!”
“Nooooo!”
“Sorry, baby, but if you want to get out, you’ll have to play by my rules. Those are girl scout knots of the best kind. Next time you steal my husband, I’ll do worse than just keep you tied up for a few hours.”
“Mmmmm!”
“Crazy Annie’s got you!” Joyce did a taboo by saying a name, but a trope was born.

Emilia squirmed on the floor, and Joyce was as chipper and confident in domination as she was in submission. There was something evident in these two: mutual respect. I had respect for the most important person I needed to respect: myself. How can I truly love when I don’t respect myself properly? Today was a big step in that regard by permitting my friends to buy clothes for me.

Joyce stood watching Emilia and occasionally squeezed the helpless girl’s bare tits. Emilia had a really strong squeal of frustration she gave when Joyce did that. Emilia had a really good grasp on the concept of gag talk, but the ball gag did a fine job of ruining her efforts to talk. Through the whole period in which she was hogtied, Emilia was taunted and teased by Joyce.

What was different about these two though? They seemed like good people. Emilia could have fun with this, and Joyce did as well. Just look at how Joyce was sweating, and look at the life in Emilia’s eyes! A huge grin and a giggle was at the ready with the smaller Italian girl, and I could see Michela had felt an instant connection with both of them. Why could Michela connect to the new girls so much more easily than I could?

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 60: A Night in the Pod (Part 3)
Tuesday, February 26, 2013

All Level III juveniles please report. It’s beddie-bye time, the guard tried to make the pain of enforced bedtimes based on ranking easier for us.
“Gotta go,” Kylie said when she and Kendra stood up.
“See ya in the morning,” Kendra groaned sadly.
“Oh, smile. We’ll still be here for you tomorrow,” Mary-Ann fluffed her hair a little.
“Thanks,” Kendra forced a smile but chose to wallow in self-pity.
“Good night,” I blew them each a kiss, and that got a smirk from them at least.

Mary-Ann quietly cleaned up the board game and brought it back to the kiosk. M.A. was still so quietly savoring her pop tarts as if they were the greatest reward she’d ever received. In reality, I see it now as a denial of reality on her part; truly, her approach to prison was the healthiest of all of us. I look back on this as her not only coping but also helping everyone else cope as well. It soon was our turn.

All Level IV juveniles return to your cells.
“Come on, Michela,” I motioned to my beautiful friend.
“I’m coming,” my friend stood up, straight and tall, and clasped her right hand on her left wrist, behind her back.
“Here we go,” I marched up the stairs and headed down the walk to my cell with Michela close at my heels.
“I hate this,” Michela groaned as the door shut behind us and locked in that eerie fashion.
“So do I,” I looked at the floor.

How strangely lonely it was to be in a sequence of rooms, shared by you and 15 others, just feet apart, yet only one of them was within your sight and your ability to converse was censured. We made a good night of it, though, with a really steamy time on my bottom bunk.

“Am I pretty?” Michela asked me.
“Yes, so you go underneath me,” I rolled on top of her while our lips locked.

——————————————————————————————

“Kristine, it's your turn,” I smiled at the older girl, “You haven't dolled up.”
“Well, I am,” she took off the kerchief she'd been wearing, “But I think less is more.”
“Are you?” I watched her take off her shirt too, “Is this a burlesque striptease?”
“Nice bust!” Michela grinned.
“Oh, you girls are silly.”
“Are we now?” I laughed at Kristine’s words.

I realized something new about myself. I had honor. Kristine was married and hot, but I couldn't bring myself to lust after her now that I knew that and processed it in my depraved mind. Now, in just a partial garter and a bra, she was smoking, instant wood, hot. If this didn't top the sales list for the month, then we were in trouble.

For a hot-tie, a hog-tie. Yep. I bound her wrists, elbows, ankles, and knees, and I ran the rope from her elbows to her heels for the hog-tie. For a gag, I used a red bandana and strips of classic gray duct tape. We had a hottie in distress in the room.

I had hogtied Kristine on a sofa, and there was little she could do. It was tight, and I quickly took the route of humiliation. Tits out, my friends. She groaned a bit while Steve took lots of photographs of her rocking from one side to other before he gave Cassie a chance on film.

“Hi!” the Boss B-tch walked over to the bare-breasted young lady, “Not so tough now, are you?”
“Mmmmm!” wailed Kristine while sucking on the bandana.
“Aw, don't you worry! I’ve got something that will help you!”
“Nooooo!” Kristine was rolled over and got a clothes hanger on her nipples.
“There there,” Cassie brushed her hair aside, “You’re going nowhere, my dear.”
“H-ck -ou! Ah’ll h-cking hill -ou!” and so forth…



“I’m glad we met. May I get your phone number?” Joyce asked me in her sweetest voice.
“Hannah, don’t waste your opportunity for friendship,” Michela put a hand on my shoulder.
“All right, let’s do that,” I smiled broadly.

Joyce, Emilia, Michela, and I exchanged phone numbers, hugs, and kisses before we went our separate ways. It had been a great time getting paid good, honest cash. As soon as we were in the car, Michela gave me a big kiss on the cheek and told me how proud she was of me.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 61: A Saturday in the Pod (Part 1)
Saturday, February 23, 2013

“Nothing like the smell of clean sheets,” I eagerly stripped my bed not knowing that in a year I’d be sleeping with rags.
“I guess so. My mom likes making beds, so I don’t have as much experience as you.”
“That’s because you’re so cute,” I teased her, “She loves you.”
“I guess. You know what I miss most besides my family and hockey?”
“What?” Michela’s unusually talkative about herself today, “I’m listening.”
“Two things: food and laundry.”

Michela proceeded to describe the three sets of sheets that rotated on her bed and what she liked about each of them. There were different outfits she’d worn then; she wouldn’t even fit in any of them now. She then described all the sweets that her mom and grandma would make and which ones were favorite and the reasons she enjoyed each. She’d lost four years of all those things. It was a tearful description, a confession of a life lost.

I cried with Michela. I couldn’t admit I had anything to be attached to in that regard except for the things my grandmother would make for me. As the only grandchild, and because my father was an only child, I was doted upon; my grandpa died in Vietnam, back in 1970, and never got to leave a lasting memory in his son’s life. My grandmother never raised her son to be the kind of person who would abandon his only daughter, and the loneliness I felt intensified. I missed that familiar kitchen and the smells of homemade chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven while a pot of beef stew simmered on the stovetop. At grandma’s, my dad’s old bedroom became mine for when I spent the night there.

When our cell opened, we passed our bedding out and received clean bedding in return. We then had a guard watch us while we cleaned the cell. We had to dust each surface, clean the toilet and sink, and wash the table. Worse was that we had to do it all within 8 minutes or lose points from our score; you learned to be fast in about 3 weeks.

“I’m sorry, babe.”
“I want a homemade cream puff so badly,” my friend pouted.
“How much more time is it until you’re free?” I asked.
“November 2014!” she started crying again, but this time she couldn’t talk any more.
“Oh, Michela!” I joined her tears.
It’s quiet time! snarled the guard, who could be heartless.

——————————————————————————————

But then Michela and I were sitting in a restaurant joint talking as if we were friends while really feeling the love. I didn’t need a fancy dinner to know Michela loved me, but she was Italian and missed Sergio’s Italian. So we sat in Sergio’s Italian, and for the first time I felt like Michela did truly love me in a way that went beyond ordinary friendship and was more than being sex pals. I didn’t understand friendship at this time because of my own rejection of quality friendships, but I can now look back and realize that we genuinely were, still are, best friends. Fettuccine is never as good as when I’m eating it with Michela. Part of me jumps with excitement wanting to spoil all the fun stuff that is supposed to come at the end of the story!

We held hands as we walked in the park afterwards and laughed over how many breadsticks we had eaten in there; we brought home half of our meals and even got dessert to eat after dinner at home. We were 18. We didn’t care too much about the sorrows in life when it was all about Valentine’s for us. We sat down and cuddled under a tree near the spot where we were supposed to meet Jenny and Nichole. Part of me was excited to finally see Nichole after over a year; part of me was ashamed to see her because she had visited me so many times in prison, and I never made an effort to thank her or see her when I got out.

“I’m in love with you,” I kissed my beautiful Italian friend.
“The feeling’s mutual,” she responded before our lips locked.
“Whoa whoa!” Nichole laughed and interrupted us, “Save it for tonight.”
“Caught red-handed,” Michela said and finished the smooch, “Hannah, introduce us!”
“All right,” I shook a bit, “Michela, these are Jenny and Nichole, my friends from high school. Girls, this is Michela. We were…,” I choked up and held Michela tightly, “Cellmates.”
“Hannnnaahhhh,” Jenny’s voice was always so squeaky, “You don’t have to be ashamed to tell us the truth. We care about you, and with time we’ll care about your girlfriend too.”

Michela and I bashfully let go and struck a prison pose without even thinking about it. What an absolutely horrible and tragic self-defense mechanism, but we had a plan for our day that we had to follow. Such rigid approaches to rules still permeate my life to this day. We had walked to the park from Michela’s house, so the only option was Nichole’s car.

Nichole was wearing a navy blue bandana headband, an icy blue sweatshirt, and navy sweatpants as she had before I went down the bad path. She seemed at ease with my situation, as if I hadn’t done all the bad things I had done or, moreso, that it didn’t matter to her. She seemed charmed to see me and Michela together, and I felt comfortable holding hands with Michela in the back seat of the car.

Little Jenny, barely taller than her cousin Kendra, looked much like Kendra too. Jenny had much more joy about her though, but then again her parents loved her. A yellow bandana headband, a brown long-sleeve t-shirt, and pink sweatpants were the choice clothing of the small, energetic girl. Her love for people overpowered her religious feelings about Michela and me.

Clothes shopping felt strange and foreign. The last time I had seriously gone looking for clothes had been some 3-4 years before this. I had been impoverished for so long, in danger before that, and in prison before even that. There were so many colors and patterns and designs. A skirt? Or pants? How about just sweats of a different color? Maybe those would look nice together? I was genuinely overwhelmed, and I started to cry as we walked out of the store together. I hugged all three of my friends, but it was all Jenny's idea so she got the tightest hug of all.

Maybe I was too happy because as soon as we got home I dashed to the bedroom to put on my new purple leggings and fuschia pink long-sleeve t-shirt and, of course, a matching fuschia bandana headband. I was almost a Cool Girl again. My joy was to be short-lived. I let Jenny and Nichole into the bedroom and turned on the TV just to provide some noise over the inevitable noise of TUGs. I sat down to volunteer myself as the first one to be tied.

“A little tape should work,” Jenny started taping my wrists behind me, and panic seized me.
“Don't do that,” the smell of the tape hit more strongly this time, but I kept a calm exterior.
“You're our prisoner of love now,” Nichole smiled at me without understanding.
“I told you not to do that!” the tape felt so real; it was happening again, “After all this, you want to kill me?!”
“Kill you? No! It's just a game!” Jenny was so sweet and innocent.
“I said no tape, you f-cking idiots!” I pulled away from them and snapped the tape.
“Hannah, what's wrong?” Nichole tried to be considerate.
“You don't understand. Please, try!” I begged them when it was a simple matter.
“No problem. Hannah, sit down and let it all out!” Jenny implored me and became distressed.
“My ex. He… he… I can't! I can't talk about it!” I was shaking violently now.
“Baby, don't panic. Greg can't hurt you no more,” Michela’s words were wasted.
“We're here now. I'm sorry I wasn't there before for you,” Nichole tried her best.
“He… he tried to f-cking kill me!” I then went into a full nervous breakdown.

And everything that followed was blackness… 25 minutes of my life… gone.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 7 Chapter 4: Old Friends
Saturday, February 14, 2015

The smell of the tape. The sound of it coming off the roll. The feel of it against my skin. That distinctive odor… that sound… unwillingly taped, my socks in my mouth, the tape around my face and that strong smell of it, and then getting senselessly r-ped for an hour. Taken down to the basement, and attached to that heavy duty pipe. My body, crushed in tape: my torso, rigid against the pipe. My breasts pushed out by the adhesive. The way it sticks to my skin. The way it shines in even the slightest light.

When I opened my eyes, I was on the futon. Jenny and Nichole sat on the bed with distraught faces. They had done their homework. Both faces were soaked with tears, and I turned and realized Michela was holding my hand and also crying. I had ruined everything for everyone.

“Jenny, I’m sorry for ripping you like that,” I said as emphatically as I could.
“Why didn't you ask us to help you sooner?” Nichole shook a bit.
“Because I knew it was either take him down or die trying, and I almost died trying.”
“I’m sorry it's been a lousy Valentine's,” Michela was hurt by my pain.
“Hannah, I’m sorry I didn't help you more when what you needed most was friendship,” Jenny couldn't stop crying.
“Screw that,” I sat up, “I had no one then. I was homeless for a spell. You're here now. That's what matters more. Sit down. You here, Nichole, and Jenny you squeeze in between me and Michela.”

They sat down as I requested, and both friends kissed me on the cheeks, and Jenny had one for Michela too. Jenny loved everyone no matter what. Nichole cried harder because she had visited me so many times, and I knew she felt a bit betrayed. Could I tell them myself? I had to come clean to someone, and this was my chance.

“The news reports are one quarter of the story…”

I proceeded to describe things like I had for Dr. Sheridan. Even more than that: I was recounting the story in vivid detail like when I was testifying against Greg both when I was giving my statements to the police and when I was on the stand. Nary a word of interruption followed. I went back and confessed my shame at my actions and how I chose to go down the road of using and slinging drugs rather than reforming myself and asking forgiveness of my friends.

“Jenny, Nichole… I’m sorry I was so selfish and that I distrusted you two.”
“Hannah Bandana,” Nichole wrapped an arm around me, “I forgive you.”
“I forgave you a long time ago,” Jenny took my hand, “And been praying that God would one day safely bring you back into our lives. Can you forgive us for maybe not trying hard enough to be there for you?”
“I certainly can, especially since I tried to hide from you. You wouldn't be here now if Casey hadn't been so persistent.”
“Casey talks so much about you that it's amazing; she's your guardian angel,” Michela blurted out.
“Casey talks to you?!” I turned to Michela in shock and only received a smile back.
“Does she ever care about you,” Nichole tightened her hug, “Our friend, the bondage model.”

Friend! Nichole said I was their friend! Why?! I didn't understand anything except that I started crying again. They really had forgiven me long before and had made up both of their minds to welcome me into their lives with open arms. A platonic kiss was planted on each of their cheeks. So I could kiss a girl without it being sexual after all; that was a first since prison.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 62: A Saturday in the Pod (Part 2)
Saturday, February 23, 2013

“I love rec hours on Saturday mornings!” Kendra stepped out the door of the pod into the cold.
“Feels like you’re free again?” I asked while stretching my arms out to take it all in.
“No! It’s fresh air and sunlight. Air, polluted by the city of Minneapolis, but it’s here!”
“And it’s not quiet time!” Kylie bounded out with us.
“I just,” Kendra took a deep breath, “Love it.”

On weekends, during the morning and afternoon rec hours, it was not unusual for the entire pod to empty out into the yard when it was sunny outside like today. Neither cold nor frozen ground mattered to us; we were outside. We could see the blue sky, clouds, lightning, and whatever else nature provided for us to enjoy.

Winter was Kendra’s favorite season, so being locked up for 6 months starting from late autumn was extremely frustrating for her. She loved the snow and wearing winter coats, scarves, boots, and mittens. She was a Scandinavian at heart, complete with the deep ability to love once you really go to know her.

Mary-Ann stepped out and within 3 minutes started coughing. She had a nasty asthma that really only reared its ugly head when she was inadequately dressed for the cold. I can’t imagine her, of all people, wandering around as a homeless beggar for two months like she did, mostly because of her asthma and glasses. She quickly retreated to the warmth of the pod.

“I love it, too,” I said to Kendra and joined her in flopping on the hard, cold ground.
“I miss it all so much. Hannah, if we get our lives back together, promise me we’ll go sledding together.”
“I promise, Kendra. Do I ever promise.”
“Sledding? No way! Kendra? You?” Michela laughed, “May I come sledding with you girls?”
“Of course, but Hannah will be wrapping her arms around me because I’m short and will be steering.”
“It’s a deal!”

When we got out, sure enough, on some of those days I skipped in the timeline of my story, we went sledding. Maybe we were adults, but we didn’t care. We had fun, and every winter Kendra and I went sledding together, sometimes with or without some or all of the others. It was a little thing that was special for us because we did it together; everyone else was just along for the ride. We still go sledding, but now we have children to bring along with us.

——————————————————————————————

“Maybe I should be tied up first!” Jenny squeaked and bounced up, “Michela?”
“You want me to tie you up?” Michela moved back, “Ummm… my experience is only tying up girls to f-ck them or for a professional shoot.”
“Well, now, a good step in the right direction is to start by not so casually saying things in such dirty terms. You tie them up for dirty play,” the little girl could be so sweet.
“Hannah and I share that bed behind you,” my girlfriend was casual and honest, “I’m sorry, but I don’t trust myself not to do something sexual to you.”
“Just try… I don’t know your story. I only see that there is a good person locked inside you and buried under some sort of trauma. Whatever healing you need, a good place to start is being able to tie me up without just jumping into grinding me.”
“You just met me,” Michela clutched her St. Michael medal, “And yet you love me!”
“Go for it,” I rubbed Michela’s back, “You can do it. Nichole and I will make sure it’s OK.”
“I spent four years inside, and no one ever so blindly cared for me like this except for my mother, my sisters, and Hannah,” my girlfriend stood up, “I’ll tie you up with anything you want.”

Jenny simply handed a knapsack over to Michela. Opening the bag and peering inside, Michela was a bit overwhelmed by the choice in ropes, tapes, bandanas, and other gag materials. Inside was a new toy that neither of us had ever seen, and Michela and I studied the oddity. It was a big blue rubber ball, a dog toy; through the holes of the hollow sphere was a black bandana. Jenny had a kind of ball gag? How bizarre! Quickly, Jenny explained how the same bondage sorority, the one from which Joyce, Cassie, and Emilia had come, gave these to her and her friends after a forced hazing ritual at the start of the fall semester. She had a half dozen of the balls in her bag. Michela hefted one with a screwed up look on her face; could she use it on someone else?

“Hannah, can I do it?” she asked me nervously, “It’s a ball gag, albeit a cheesy homemade one.”
“Use it on Jenny? Yeah!” I encouraged her, “Don’t let the past affect Jenny’s happiness today.”
“If you use it, make sure to wrap Jenny’s face up good with something else afterwards,” Nichole laughed, “She doesn’t like drooling.”
“Maybe I’ll use it then,” Michela tossed it to Nichole and grabbed a coil of pink rope, “I can do this.”
“Go for it, girl! You can do it!” I could see Michela shaking a bit with fear of our respective out of control sexualities.
“I might run away if you’re too slow! Maybe you should all gang up and pin me down!” Jenny was a glutton for punishment.
“Come on! Let’s get that Gangsta Princess!”

So we all tackled Jenny, and Michela got a taste of a girl who was not only flexible but could be left in elbow bondage as long as you wanted her to remain tied up. Jenny was no ordinary girl in any regard: a huge heart, super flexible, an insatiable taste for bondage that included enjoying the game most when it was nonconsensual, a small stature, an obsession with bandanas, and a sharp mind. Was it any wonder most people loved her back?

We roped her up so well. Elbows, wrists, ankles, knees, thighs, and mid thighs were all roped together. A tighter and much more detailed breast harness than the kind that the Moreau's liked and a waist rope crush her arms. Bondage isn't complete without a gag, and Jenny got to eat that rubber ball at Michela’s hand. Michela shook while she tied the knot on the gag, before leaving the tape portion to Nichole. Michela sat down on the futon and stared in wonder at her captive on the bed. I gave my girlfriend what could be called a congratulatory kiss .

“You did it! I’m so proud of you!” I looked into eyes filled with wonder and fear.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 63: A Saturday in the Pod (Part 3)
Saturday, February 23, 2013

“Can’t beat five hours out of the cell when it’s all rec time!” Mary-Ann cackled as we entered the shower stalls.
“Yeah, yeah, Mad-D, keep talking,” I stared at her tits as we entered the stalls.
“You’re exclusively into girls?” she took no offense to my behavior after what Mr. Reardon did.
“No,” I said, “I lost my virginity willingly, and it was sooooooo good. Stuff tastes good.”
“TMI, TMI,” Michela blocked her ears as we always clustered as friends with an empty one after my little clique of second floor girls.
“I’m sorry,” I turned to Michela, “Just being truthful.”

We all knew Michela’s problems with it all. She was like me; she’d had good sex with a boy and learned that some men were monsters. It’d be a long time before either of us would consider sex with a man after our respective issues. In here, we were right for each other, and after what Greg did to me there’d be a long time before I’d even think about c-ck again.

During the Saturday morning recreation hour (and, for II’s, their lone 90 minutes rec time), all of us were allowed to use the gym. Only problem was that lunch came before the shower break, so we’d all smell just wonderful while eating our lunch in the dining hall. There was supervision of our use of the gym, strict supervision to make sure we were safe and that girls got a turn if she so desired. We sometimes played basketball, if the staff would let us. Today we’d been outright denied it, and I think Michela was a bit cross about it.

“So which one of us grabs your eyes more?” Mary-Ann teased me.
“We’re not supposed to talk about such things,” I said while shampooing my hair.
“Which one,” Michela got snappy though, “Out with it, girl.”
“Michela’s prettier; but Maddy has sexier melons. There, happy?” I responded with pride.
“Yes!” Michela pumped her fist.
“Oh, brother!” Mary-Ann burst into laughter, “I’ll take it since I’m not into girls anyway!”

——————————————————————————————

“All right, your turn, Gangsta Queen,” I easily held Nichole down single-handedly.
“Now, this isn't necessary,” Nichole looked at me and smiled.
“Actually, it is!” Michela took over, “Gosh, you're as nice as Hannah said you are.”
“Dang, you two girls are strong!”
“Daily exercise in juvie does that; exercise or go in solitary. You’ll take the muscle,” I laughed, “Sometimes we’d exercise on weekends too.”
“Halfway between full prison and a strict boarding school, eh?”
“No, Nichole… it really was prison,” a mist covered my eyes, “Unis, armed guards, cells, strict schedules, tight rules…”
“Oh,” she ceased her observations, “There is a bright side; without things working out the way they did you wouldn't have your awesome job and these amazing friends!”
“Come on,” Michela’s digressed as always, “Tie her up!”

Michela held Nichole down, though, so that I could have a chance to kidnap a friend who had unconditionally loved me. I saw from Michela’s eyes that she wasn't hurt by Nichole's questions like I was, and it was apparent that her digression was to distract me. I felt lifeless and drained so much of the time, and this time was no different. On this occasion, though, I had a little something to enjoy.

Nichole was right, though. Without prison, I never would have met the beautiful girls I am proud to call my friends except Kendra. Maybe there was a good divine power that would sometimes make a niggling suggestion to make a harmless decision with huge repercussions, and when we decided to obey or disobey that thought we set off a chain reaction as opposed to our meaningless choice over whether to eat Reese’s Puffs or Honey Smacks for breakfast?

How I tied Nichole varied a little. My friend wasn't nearly as flexible as me let alone Jenny, so I put her arms in a boxtie with the harness and a waist rope since I wasn't sure how she felt about crotch ropes. Both girls deserved my best for giving me their best first; that's why I blindfolded them each with an orange bandana!

“Well, you have to gag me, or I might scream for help,” Nichole smiled despite being unable to see.
“I know!” I almost squealed as I said that and pulled Nichole’s sneakers off her feet, “Do it to Jenny, sweetie.”
“All right!” Michela grinned when I pulled Nichole’s socks off her feet.
“I’m in deep trouble,” Nichole’s smile grew wider.
“Eat up!” I jammed the socks in Nichole’s mouth.
“Mmmmmm!” she groaned and shuddered as I taped her mouth shut.

That’s what I did. I gagged Nichole with her own socks. Dirty socks, mind you. Socks that had driven here from St. Croix Falls, an hour-long ride, and gone clothes shopping. On top of that, each of our friends got one of their own sneakers pulled over their nose and laced behind their head so that they had to smell it.

“You're a naughty girl, Hannah. You're so cute when you're having fun,” Michela spoke softly.
“Thanks. I try to shine the light when I’m happy,” I meant my words more than ever.
“I love you, my Valentine,” she teased me with an erotic kiss.
“Not now,” I blushed, “Today is about not just us, but us with them. A different kind of love.”
“I’m genuinely touched. I go everywhere imagining that everyone knows me as the girl from the news… and they act like I never hurt a fly in my life.”
“That’s Jenny and Nichole for you.”

The gross gag was just right for my friend. Was I really thinking of taking photos for the Cool Girls’ Club Facebook group? I had considered it, but I let my shame prevail and didn't do it. Nichole had the fulfillment of many dreams, the desire to once again have my friendship. I sure gave her a token of the highest friendship, didn't I?

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 64: A Visit from Nichole
Tuesday, September 10, 2013

“Who’s Blakely?” Michela asked me one Tuesday night.
“Nichole Blakely, the friend I write to all the time?”
“Did you ask for her to get put on your visitor’s list?” Michela handed me a visitor pass.
“Yeah, I did, since she asked me to do that. She’s visiting!” I bounced.
Quiet time, laddddiieeesss, Mrs. Copley laughed into the microphone; being told to shut up was frequent in the pod.
“Homework, shhhh,” Michela blew me a kiss before mouthing, “I love you.”

I couldn’t believe it. I’d been visited enough times by Grandma and Casey, but Nichole! Did I ever want to see a fresh face, especially one I knew would be sympathetic. Nichole was going to be a new face.

“You don’t look like a Queen because you had to put your bandana in your pocket.”
“I can stop being a Queen for you,” Nichole smiled despite my lavender, black, and shackles.
“I blew it big time, Nichole, and your letters… yep, I’m a failure,” I leaned back and sighed.
“The Cool Girls’ Club will always be there, waiting to welcome you with open arms.”
“I’ll keep it in mind. Happy birthday, girl. How’s it to be an adult?”
“No different than a kid. I’m sorry you and your new friends are losing your happiest years.”

This was the first time that it seemed possible that we weren’t 100% at fault for being locked up in juvenile prison. Maybe there was something else that had gone wrong. Abuse, neglect, hate, assault, lack of love, or something else that would encourage a kid, who wasn’t old enough to know things about life, to make bad choices. We all lacked something, even if it was judgment to not do something stupid (looking at you, Kylie).

“So, what’s good about being here?”
“The only people that visit do so because they really care about me,” I responded tearfully.
“I know what it’s like. My father gives it to me regularly,” Nichole said under her breath.
“I spent almost 17 years thinking my parents loved me when they didn’t.”
“But Jenny, Casey, and I care for sure. We missed you Hannah, and we cried for you. If you are ever discouraged, remember this pledge that we all took: ‘Once a Cool Girl, always a Cool Girl.’ If you’re ever in need after you get out of here, find us, call us, somehow get one of us. We will help you not out of pity but because you’re our friend and we love you.”
“Thank you. This has been too emotional; I need to go.”

I don’t know why I waited so long that they finally all tracked me down, but I’m glad they did.

——————————————————————————————

“Would you kidnap this? Hmmm?” Michela asks me in a quiet tone while handling a roll of red duct tape.
“Are you asking me to tape you up?” I asked not knowing why she’d want that.
“First time for everything?” she said, “Just no gags of tape strips allowed.”
“For my Valentine, I will do it,” I responded, “We need to occasionally have fun without sex.”
“Please? I might be a mischievous Gangsta like Jenny and Nichole here.”
“Let’s do this!” I responded knowing that Michela was trying to help me overcome the past.

Michela wanted to be taped with red because of the red heart on her shirt, I suspect. I taped her crossed wrists behind her back and also wrapped the strip around her waist and over her shirt in a professional swoop. After tying Jenny and Nichole, I was only interested in the tying part of this. I took a white handkerchief out of the bag, made a big knot in the middle, and gagged Michela with that.

I taped Michela on either side of her breasts in another strong motion, and I encased her legs in it with only her knees and heels left exposed. I had even taped her feet. A blindfold or a tape gag would have worked if I wanted to terrorize my girlfriend, but taping a shoe to her face made her happy. For the first time ever, I took a picture of Michela, a Cool Girls’ style picture, while she was bound and gagged, and I did the same with Jenny and Nichole. I decided that I would not post them anywhere though.

I was still coming to grips with this strange old reality. Jenny and Nichole forgave me for what I did to them and their friend four years ago. They had moved on from that and were instead extending an olive branch to me. No, not an olive branch; they were actually going beyond offering me a second chance at friendship and telling me I was still their friend. This was my opportunity to right one of the only mistakes of my past that could even be righted. My only other opportunities had been taken: to befriend Casey and to help Kendra.

“Jenny, please, when you get back to school, call Kendra. She's too proud to do it on her own even though she knows it's what she needs,” I asked my gagged friend.
“Mmm!” Jenny nodded in understanding and studied her bonds.
“Thanks,” I gave her a hug and started crying, “for coming out here today.”
“Awww,” the lovable girl nestled herself into me, “It’th ohay.”
“I never thought anyone outside of juvie could ever love me again, and you proved me wrong. You two,” I wrapped an arm around Nichole too, “are wonderful.”
“Tho are -ou,” Nichole's words touched me deeply.

I had such an amazing opportunity here. I watched in the car and store as Michela did better than me at becoming comfortable with Jenny and Nichole. We could go beyond just me resuming a true relationship with the beautiful souls of the Cool Girls’ Club. I could be the link a third time. I was the main link in the friendships that existed in my circle of juvie rejects, making a big circle of Michela, Mary-Ann, Kylie, Kendra, and me. I had been the link between them and bondage modeling and us discovering our own fetishes, kinks, and sexualities. Now through Joyce, Casey, and these two girls in my bedroom, I could link the misfits to the Cool Girls’ Club, a circle of friends who all have taken a vow to unconditionally love and help each other, as best expressed in the game of TUGs. Unconditionally… yep, they chose to love me despite all my evil deeds.

“You're gorgeous,” I gave Michela a kiss while knowing I couldn't go too far.
“Mmmmm!” Jenny and Nichole groaned from their seats on the futon.
“I… I love you girls,” I said while sitting between them with Michela across our laps.
“Awwww,” Jenny blushed despite her bondage.
“Grrmmm!” Michela groaned because I was mindlessly grabbing her tits.
“Thanks for coming out here today.”

I couldn't bring myself to do anything more with them besides enjoying their presence in this room. We simply basked in the friendship while the afternoon sun shone brightly into the converted attic space that served as the bedroom I shared with my precious Michela. I had a lot of precious people in my life; Nichole was right that I had been blessed with amazing friends who had suffered alongside me.

I am sorry there isn't more to say, but the rest of the time was one-sided conversation with my gagged friends. I untied them, and we promised to keep in touch and that we would see each other during the weekend ahead of my spring break week so Michela and I could see Minnesota Tech, the school Jenny and Nichole attended.

Hearts of gold those two have.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 65: Another Visit from Nichole
Tuesday, September 24, 2013

“Back so soon?” I smiled gleefully to see Nichole Blakely.
“Yeah, and I made sure I had fresh pictures so you can keep up with the latest.”
“Been a long time since I played a TUG,” I saw a bound and gagged Jenny and another friend.
“Jenny asked me to take that one just for you so that you’d have something to look forward to after you’re out of this big stone room,” Nichole smiled just as happily.
“Thank you so much for writing. Would you ask Jenny to write as well?”
“I’d be glad to do that. Why didn’t you ask sooner?”

I hadn’t asked because I figured it was only Nichole and Casey who wanted me. I didn’t know that Jenny still cared too. It was sad that Jenny and Kendra didn’t have a stronger relationship; I realized Kendra was very private as opposed to Jenny’s constant bounce. They looked so much alike that I wanted to see them side-by-side at least once though! I knew from what little Kendra would reveal, though, that Jenny was the cousin who was dearest to her.

This time Nichole and I enjoyed the visit and made the most of it. She promised to come more frequently until Casey was well enough to come, and then they’d alternate Tuesdays since my Grandma came on Thursdays. Doing it this way ensured a visitor at every opportunity! Nichole, I love you and cannot thank you enough for your visits and letters. Same is true for you, Casey.

“Same time next week?” I asked her.
“Heck, yeah! Cool Girls forever?” she responded.
“I can't make that commitment,” I hung my head low, “Not yet.”
“Friends, at least?” Nichole was hopeful at least.
“Friends. See you next week.”
“Good night,” Nichole waved as she turned to walk out.

——————————————————————————————

“I’m sorry about what happened,” my gorgeous Valentine and I sat on the futon that night.
“I’m sorry I kept the truth from you,” I shuddered, “I should have told you.”
“You didn’t have to tell me,” Michela admitted, “I knew from Mrs. Copley.”
“Mrs. Copley?! She told you?!”
“Well, after your brief run-in with Kylie, we knew something bad was afoot. Mrs. Copley told me what was happening because she knew we cared. Kendra visited and told us as well.”
“I’ve made so many bad decisions, but loving you is a good one.”
“How about I put your bandana in my crotch, we’ll grind until it’s soaked in my cum, and then I will gag you with it? Hmmm?” Michela peered into my eyes, “And I will steal you just like you stole my heart when you fought that prison bully.”

Remember those thoughts I struggle with and mentioned in Chapter 2? They were at the surface at this moment. I was terrorized by them, and no surprise tonight I had my first night terror since I had moved in with the Palmeri’s. I accepted Michela’s proposal and let her steal me. Strength and love bound me in something harsher than the usual clothesline: real rope. Thinner and even stronger rope was tying me tightly with a mock reverse prayer where my hands were on my shoulder blades; Michela learned well.

Then the gag came. That scrumptious gag was so good, so erotic, so arousing I cummed before I was tape gagged. Michela’s cum tasted best of all because hers was infused with love whereas my own was just that, my own. I was gagged with a strip of foam core tape which held the package together in my mouth. Foam core tape was another surprise that I guess she learned from the Moreau’s.

I was down to my orange underwear, female briefs and a sports bra, for this and comfortable with a tight harness and lots of spots where rope tied my legs. The final surprise came in the form of a string tying my big toes. I wasn’t going anywhere even if I had somewhere to go! I lay on the bed while Michela strutted back and forth studying me and running her hands over my body. She is perfect in the long red skirt, black turtleneck t-shirt with the big bright red heart on it, black socks, black flats, and black bandana headband.

“Hannah, can… may… I’m…,” my girlfriend stands with hands folded, uncertain of what to do.
“Hmmm?” I look into her eyes from my position on the bed.
“May I… blindfold you? I bought something else… for us,” she is hiding something.
“Mmmm,” I nodded as I hadn’t the fears that she did.
“I wanted this to be a surprise,” she sat down next to me, “A special game just for you.”
“Awwww, ah uv ou.”

It was special indeed. A purple bandana blindfolded me. Michela sat propped up in the corner of the bed watching hockey. In the plug near her was a wand that was roped to my thigh and buzzing on my crotch. I had to find her crotch without help and rub her carpet until she orgasmed, complete with getting my head under her long flowing skirt.

What a game! It was so hard to get my head under the soft fabric, and it was made all the more erotic by Michela pulling the bed covers over us once I found her crotch, and she made sure to fix her skirt. I was buried and rubbing my mouth against her crotch, but before she orgasmed I orgasmed from the vibrator. At that time, Michela reached under to remove my gag. Farewell to my bandana, soaked in Michela’s cum. Instead, I got scrumptious fuzzy carpet. When Michela orgasmed, I made sure I licked it all off. Let me tell you that eating crotch is the best. Even men are fun to suck, if the circumstances are right; those circumstances aren’t right for me yet.

“Michela, how about you gag me again and dominate me?”
“I still have it right here,” she smiled.

For the next hour, Michela forgot even hockey for the sake of Valentine’s Day. Kisses from her were heavenly, and Michela was such a blend of kinky and sexy. Forcing me to eat her carpet, grinding me, sensuously kissing my face, neck, and tits, and groping my tits were all part of it. We orgasmed several times in that hour, and when Michela finally untied me we fell asleep in the bed without ever putting on pajamas.

“We should take turns. I know you like force feeding, but I like to be tied.”

Then the night terror came.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 8 Chapter 1: Old Girls
Saturday, February 28, 2015

“No… Greg, no! Don't do this, please, baby. I… mmpphhh!” I was suddenly gagged.
“Shhhhh,” I felt a hand on my face and lips gently kissing me, “I’m here.”
“Mmmmm,” I burst into tears, “Guh huh huh huhhhhh!”
“Hannah, he can't hurt you anymore, and I’m here and love you,” our lips meet.

Since the events of the last tale, I had had 9 night terrors in 14 nights. I woke up at various times throughout the night, but most often was 1AM. I guess it was because 1AM was about the time I realized he was trying to end my life and not scare me. I don’t know and didn’t know. Was I the problem in my own life, though? I stared into Michela’s eyes and relaxed.

“Hannah, remember on Valentine’s Day I wanted to ask you something?” Michela whispered.
“Vaguely,” that day was emotionally tough for me.
“Do you love me, or do you love my p-ssy?” she peered beyond my eyes into my soul
“I love you, Michela; if you said you didn’t want to be lovers, I’d still love you as my bestie.”
“I want to be lovers, but I wanted to be sure it wasn’t just a body thing like my dad.”
“Nothing of the kind,” I whispered and put a finger near her heart, “I’m here for you.”

In the darkness, I saw tears pouring down Michela’s cheeks. All this time she’d never once cried for herself like this. She cried because she was scared or felt bad for others or was happy or felt lost in life, but never had she cried over what her father had done to her. We cried together, over the pain we’d suffered alone and because of the pain brought to us because we knew the other had indeed suffered alone. I was never lonelier than when Greg was preparing me to die, and I only lived, in part, because of Stacy; Michela had only survived because of her mother and sisters.

“Hannah, I’m really asking you. Why’d he do it? Why?! I’ve been trying to figure it out for almost 5 years now, and I still don't know,” she buried her face into my chest.

I gently kissed her on the forehead, and we hugged each other, not as lovers but as two girls who were traumatized and scared of the world and who had found understanding and comfort in the other. At that moment, we needed friendship. The loving embrace helped us both to calm down and get back to sleep.

One of the hardest things was accepting that there needn't be a routine for everything and that there was good homemade food. I was so used to eating nothing truly decent since November 2012 that I didn't know what to say when Mom Palmeri made us all a bowl of Italian corn porridge, bacon, and eggs for breakfast. I sat there dumbfounded almost every single morning before gasping “Thank you.” Often, it was followed by Michela and I going to eat breakfast in the cell bedroom.

“What are you doing?” I’d ask Michela when finding her in a prisoner's stance.
“Shh, no talking in line,” she’d whisper
.
“Michela,” I’d start saying something about my book to her.
“It's quiet time,” would come back through her teeth.

“Hi, babe,” I’d randomly kiss or hug her.
“What if a guard saw that?!”

Yet there was something beautiful in my new living arrangement. We always had an ear ready to listen; we grew more confident in revealing our joys and miseries, both past and present. Mrs. Palmeri had me call her “Mom” so I felt more at home although I felt no maternal bond between us. There was never a shortage of books to read. I could share my happiness with others when I did well on one of my college assignments. I had little sisters for the first time ever. But nothing could top Michela and I cuddling while she watched hockey or, even more poignant, seeing her cuddle Sofia.

Such things are for more Michela's story though.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 66: Yet Another Visit from Casey
Tuesday, November 12, 2013

“Casey…what happened?” my friend looked so different; her hair was chopped.
“Life happened. Funerals, setbacks in my recovery, school.”
“I missed you so much. See!” I angrily stood up, “You're so good! If your God was real, this never would have happened!”
“Sit down,” she said to me, and I saw Michela staring at me like I had struck her, “I wish you would so eagerly jump to say that when something good happens to you.”
“Well,” my mouth dried out at that, “I don't understand the relevance.”
“Hannah,” she rubbed her eyes, “I thought you'd be happy to see me. I never stopped writing, and I told you that I was struggling to find time to visit.”

I had never made someone cry before, and it felt terrible. Was I any better than my parents if I did that to one of my only outside friends? Of course I quickly apologized for my cruel words. What kind of monster was I? Then we were both crying. Casey couldn't resist forgiving me because she's so naturally good.

It was a memorable visit for many bad reasons. I struggle to forgive myself for this moment in my memories of this phase of life.

——————————————————————————————

It was a conflict, in a way. Mrs. Palmeri was devout in her religion, yet she chose to turn a blind eye to the relationship between me and Michela so long as we were not overly amorous outside the bedroom. I don't think Mom realized that Michela was a bondage model because Michela wasn't the type to go flouting wads of cash. It was Michela more than anyone else who let me know that my, ahem, lifestyle was quite a bad one in the eyes of her religion, yet she continued in it anyway because she found the benefits outweighed the negatives.

“When Michela came home, she was broken, empty, and dead; thank you for all you have done to revive the girl we loved,” and paraphrases frequently came from Mom.

Food. Good, homemade food! Mom and both grandmas were as good in the kitchen as Michela had told me when we were inside. I had never had so many yummy treats in my life until now, and it was frankly hard to keep myself from gaining weight. I had spent so much time starving and being underfed that I, even while living here, did not eat enough at meals despite there being enough; my body was used to the struggle of a 300-600 calorie diet.

Little sisters were a delight too! Michela was 14 when she shot their father, with both sisters now having to adjust to a triple reality of no longer having a father, having their sister locked up for so long, and their father being a monster. Luisa was 11 and Sofia was 9 when it all happened, and even now at 15 and 13 it was hard to accept reality.

Luisa, Sofia, and I had a good relationship with each other; we all loved Michela still despite her faults; and all three sisters in their own ways cared about me. Michela and I are obvious; Luisa saw me as an older friend; Sofia saw me as an extra sister. When there was neither hockey nor football to watch, we’d talk and play games together. I didn't have video games in my own home growing up, so I got pounded for the first few weeks before I got used to playing them.

Being here helped me realize something awful: that my childhood was dysfunctional. I remembered my CGC friends’ respective families, and then I saw the Palmeri’s. It made me realize that my own parents… never had loved me in the first place. I was never a child to raise and cherish; I was just there so my parents could puff out their chests and say “We have a daughter.”

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Interlude 67: Mary-Ann’s Glasses
Tuesday, February 12, 2013

“OK, M.A., you’ve got a problem,” I said to her one day between classes.
“I do? Besides being the crazy one?” she laughed and spun the chair.
“You sucked at volleyball today, and you misread the chalkboard twice this morning.”
“I do wear glasses, after all.”
“Nonsense,” Michela sided with me, “I wear glasses and could read it!”
“Mary-Ann,” Ms. Schumaker interjected, “I told the staff that you need an eye exam. You're squinting more than you should be.”
“See?!” I felt justified.

Thursday, February 21, 2013

It was actually scary to see Mary-Ann get shackled like she was to get taken for an eye exam. You’d think she was a violent criminal. How did I know this? Because I was also bound up like she was. It was bizarre, to say the least, getting sneaked out in a standard prison transport van, going to an eye doctor’s office out of hours, and then getting an examination. This was at the county clinic.

Alas, my vision problems were minor enough that it was decided to save the taxpayers a little money by letting me suffer; Mary-Ann, on the other hand, had progressed to an even worse level of vision. She needed new glasses, and with that came a problem.

Mary-Ann got no choice; the cheapest glasses possible were chosen for her. They are still the ugliest glasses I have ever seen. Oh, M.A. hated them with a passion; frankly I hated them too.

But it's a funny memory at least.

——————————————————————————————

“We're picking up Kylie, right?” Michela asked me blankly as I started my car.
“Yes, indeed, we are. Why?” I asked as I drove us away from the house.
“Maybe we can stop at that old warehouse and have a threesome.”
“We can do that at M.A.’s too if you really want to do that,” I responded.
“We're all so sexy in ropes,” her mind wandered again.
“Yes, Michela, yes we are,” I laughed at her statement.

I could see now that it was going to be years before Michela truly overcame the inner emptiness that tormented her every second of her life; she had suppressed everything that made her who she was in an attempt to survive the horrors of what her father had done to her. Little things slowly surfaced, and when the brain would suddenly seize in a return to that self-defense mechanism only the things that came after she fired the gun would remain: horniness was the only new emotion she discovered after that day. It wasn't just the year of suffering; it was four years of prison on top of that.

“Hi, girls,” Kylie slides into the back seat, “How's life?”
“Awesome,” I responded, “I never knew what it's like to be loved by family.”
“You and Kendra have a lot in common, Hannah, like it or not,” she observed.
“You're always psychoanalyzing us!” I laughed at this.
“Maybe because I’m good at it, and so are you,” she was on fire with facts.
“You're both so hot,” Michela fanned herself, “Am I horny?”
“You're horny,” Kylie kept the retorts coming, “But so am I.”
“Hannah, can we pleeaaassseeee threesome?” Michela whined in an unusual manner.

Michela seemed to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and every time she got on edge like this it usually meant something dark was going to come out. Our pillow talk from the previous night came back to me, and I knew she really was struggling. Kylie saw it right away, but I more easily denied such truths because I was Michela’s special friend.

Now, Mary-Ann, Kendra, and Kylie all had, since the last shoot with us all together at the Moreau’s, had one if not two scenes without me or Michela there. There was just too much demand for these hot 18 and 19 year old new girls on the scene! Frankly, I was tickled by it as were M.A. and Kylie; Kendra was simply happy to be good at her new job; Michela was both happy like me and distraught when Steve told us.

“They buy the videos, right Hannah?” she asked me in private.
“Well, yeah! People buy them individually or through a subscription service.”
“And then they watch those videos, right?” she shuddered.
“Exactly. They have various reasons for it,” I saw her direction and shuddered too.
“Which means that some of them are jerking off while imagining they're r-ping me!”
“Well, a random pedestrian that stumbles onto your Instagram can do that too.”

My reasoning made sense to Michela, and she began to see modeling as therapy for us more than as work. She was a paid, willing entertainer of different flavor; it was a far cry from what her father did to her. What some sicko in Georgia or Oregon did with a video of me bound and gagged had no bearing on me whatsoever. Michela embraced her perspective and let it shape her view of the industry; bondage is still both therapy and pleasure for her to this day.

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Interlude 68: Kendra’s Attitude
Sunday, March 3, 2013

“Oh, is that so?” Kendra snapped at Annie Anderson.
“You're just another coke fried brain,” the manipulative b-tch tried to anger my friend.
“You girls need to stop this,” I walked over and tried to play peacemaker.
“Don't take a moral stand when you're the pusher,” she tried to get my goat too.
“I don't manipulate others into committing violent assaults for me,” I retorted.
“You're too stupid to teach a dog to fetch, but you got this hound begging for sugar,” she took the step over the line.
“You f-cking b-tch!” Kendra slapped Annie on the left cheek!
“You dwarf wh-re!” Annie reached for Kendra’s throat.

This time I was the one in cuffs while Annie and Kendra had the straitjackets and the asylum style muzzle gags. They were screaming at each other and raging like animals needing to be caged. After 30 minutes, the staff finally separated them by moving the b-tch into another room. I hated being a rat, but I had to be a rat.

Annie and Kendra both got 3 days in solitary. Kendra entered a deep funk afterwards as she was put on a mandatory one-week period as a I, meaning no rec time besides an hour in the morning, no time outdoors, no gym, and no school. The Kendra I saw at the end of those 10 days was more confident than the one from before, but the cloud that formed over her head was always waiting to pour some rain upon her.

“I showed that girl, didn't I?” Kendra puffed her chest out.
“You're a star,” I winked.
“I think you're awesome,” M.A. agreed, “You're a heroic little Napoleonic girl.”
“Ok, I’ll take that. Napoleonic.”

——————————————————————————————

“How is life together?” I asked my dear friends Kendra and Mary-Ann.
“I finally ditched the ankle monitor,” Kendra smiled, “And I no longer get beat.”
“Did you finally call Jenny?” I knew I was being bossy, but it was out of love.
“Yes, I did; I talked to her last week. Before you asked, she freaked with glee.”
“Maddy the Mad Girl? What do you have to say?”
“I’ve got a boyfriend!” the wild cat bounced, “So does Kennnnddraaaaa!”
“You mean you're dating,” I smile at them, “Kendra didn't say boyfriend when I saw her the other day.”
“Why don't Michela and I get invited on coffee dates?” Mary-Ann pouted.
“Because you don't drink coffee?”

Kylie, Kendra, and I ironically all had blonde hair. M.A. still doesn't drink coffee to this day, and Michela preferred espresso. Dunkin Donuts didn't provide that. Still, we three enjoyed it as it was our own unique group, but many times Kylie wasn't there. I grew close to Kendra through this, and I grew close to Kylie mostly through texting.

M.A. liked visits more, and she loved flopping on the futon in the attic and saying few or no words while I sat doing homework. The scene could also be seen with me at my desk and her on the floor or me on a bench and her on the grass. Mary-Ann knew that memories could be made in silence better than anyone else.

Perhaps that made today special. Kendra was going to be tied up by Kylie and I, and when M.A. arrived to rescue her we were going to take her down as well. Such a simple premise offered us the opportunity to have fun, work on our skills, and see the two best friends react to a situation where they were tied together.

For myself, I chose a tight skimpy plaid skirt and a revealing red tank top. White knee socks and red heels finished the outfit in perfect fashion. I clacked the heels on the floor just for Michela’s eyes and ears. I make the most of my rare opportunities to be the one seducing Michela. I did not wear a bandana this time and instead put my hair in a ponytail.

The two dolls, Mary-Ann and Kendra, were already dressed and ready for captivity. We had not been here for the obligatory argument between Kendra and the other’s concerning heels and tits; I could deduce from Mary-Ann’s description of it that Kendra was slowly warming up to both of these elements, though. Both had a skirt, blouse, and hose though. Kendra’s blouse specifically was an icy blue sweater with a V neck; M.A.’s was similar but beige and with lace in the neck. Similarly, Kendra had a blue and brown plaid mini skirt, but M.A. had a shiny spotted beige. On the counter, I spotted both girl’s socks.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 69: Bridget Anderson

Bridget was a good girl, my age, from the St. Paul area. She was Annie’s Irish twin, as they say, since Bridget was born in January and her sister was born that November. If there was anyone of us who deserved sympathy, it was Bridget.

Annie from early on was a manipulator and highly intelligent, not to say Bridget was stupid because she was smart too. Still, Annie’s intellect was vaunted enough that in time Bridget became brainwashed into believing that Annie was smarter and knew it all in life.

But Annie was an evil genius. She got into crime and concocted the schemes to have her big sister do the dirty work so that Bridget would get the harsher sentence if they were caught. It went from petty theft, to larger thefts, to drugs, and, finally, to assault and other violence.

Bridget grew to fear Annie and worried that if she disobeyed she'd get set up by Annie in some way to end up arrested or, worse, get physically harmed. She was regularly a victim of horrific verbal abuse, and it occasionally happened here in juvie. Finally, on one occasion, Bridget took the fall; she turned rat and landed both of them in here. It was a 6 month trip for Bridget and unfortunately only 3 for Annie.

“Why don't you ask to get separated since you got put in the same pod?” I asked her.
“She can't survive without me. But I am the manipulator now,” she'd say soullessly.
“How is that?”
“She can't hack it in here. She has to follow my lead now; if I get dropped a level, she will do something on purpose to get dropped to the same level.”
“You're… traumatized and terrified of her.”
“One day… she's going to tell me to kill someone and threaten to kill me if I don't.”

But Kylie saved the day for Bridget, ever earning Bridget's worship. She had an idea after Annie was released. It was simple: now that Annie was out, Bridget could rat on her. In exchange for 6 months more in juvie on the pretense of never being revealed as a squeal, Bridget gave the cops access to her and Annie’s phones by giving them the PINs. It wasn't much, but it sent Annie to Shakopee.

Sadly, Bridget was partially correct. Annie did commit murder, and now she is in Shakopee for life. Bridget and Kylie remain close friends to this day, but, like I said before, I’m not too close and only occasionally chat. Work, on the other hand…

——————————————————————————————

Tying up Kendra was a pleasure, but I was most interested in the dreadful experiment of a dirty laundry gag. Kendra offered no resistance for the opening bondage in which we bound Kendra’s lower legs in three places and her thighs. We chose a simple wrist bondage with a minimal chest harness consisting of ropes above and below her tits.

Lights. Camera. Action.

“You motherf-ckers let me go!” Kendra snarled as the film began.
“Hey, girl, how about this for a gag?” I tossed Kylie Kendra’s socks and a white handkerchief.
“Those are my socks! You b-tches wouldn’t?!” I saw dread in Kendra’s eyes.
“We sure would!” Kylie responded and jammed the socks in Kendra’s mouth.
“What are you two maniacs doing?!” Mary-Ann cried from off screen, “Untie her now!”
“You are not getting past me!” I blocked the path to Kendra.

Mary-Ann might have been bigger, but I mentioned winning arm-wrestling contests in juvie. I had beaten M.A. in a round more than once; I was no slouch just because I was half of a foot to the shorter side of my friend. I had no trouble wrestling with Mary-Ann while Kylie gagged our other captive. I could hear Kendra retching on the gag with disgust, and I knew what might not occur in future Kendra scenes. Wrong.

“Get off me!” Mary-Ann implored me with a whine.
“No way! Tying her first was the bait to get you here!” I boasted, “Hey, gag this one too!”
“Yummy… scrumptious… dirty… socks! Eat this, you b-stard!” Kylie wedged the cotton in.
“UGH!” Mary-Ann ate what I thought was her first dirty cotton gag.
“There, there! You shouldn’t have cheated to get that ‘A’ on that assignment,” I taunted her.
“Mmmmm!” she squealed loudly.

Tying up M.A. brought joy to Kylie’s eyes; she had so much respect for each of us. M.A. got tied the same way as Kendra except for once minor difference: M.A. had big squishy beautiful French titties! Her big melons were so much softer than Kendra’s oranges.

Both girls squealed and tried to squirm away from the tortures being dished out by two bisexual girls; with Michela included, we had three girls who were into girls against two who were only into guys. The stuffed cleave gags caused both to grimace quite a bit, and Kendra definitely was going to be putting a heavier ban on dirty laundry gags than she currently had on heels or nudity. We had never discussed fondling with either, but we knew Mary-Ann enjoyed dishing out every type of groping. I had Kendra, and Kylie had M.A.

“Want to get the cheater, you kidnap her bestie,” I cackled loudly.
“If the professor won’t bust the cheater, you bust her yourself!” Kylie spanked Mary-Ann.
“MMMM!” M.A. groaned with delight.
“I guess we should leave them to suffer. We’ll take photos and shame them!” I suggested.
“Yeah, great idea!” Kylie added another spank.
“Let’s do it!” I fondled Kendra one last time.

Now we put them on the floor next to each other with both staring fearfully at the camera. Both let out a pitiful cry, with Mary-Ann’s being more of a distressed squeal. They mostly just moved their legs in and out for the initial portion. They were against each other like glue, and I realized now that even in acting they were already best friends of the greatest kind.

Kendra occasionally looked to Mary-Ann with great concern as if they were in real danger. Both girls wailed as pitifully as they could, and they twisted themselves to be back-to-back in hopes of untying each other. Mary-Ann looked at her friend with similar concern, mostly because of that dirty cotton in Kendra’s mouth, I think. Kendra then turned her head to look at M.A.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 70: Stacy’s Attitude
Thursday, March 7, 2013

“No talking in line!” Mrs. Copley reminded us.
“Sorry. Am I supposed to smile when we're like soldiers all in a f-cking row?” Stacy loses it.
“Ugh,” I groan quietly while standing in prison stance.
“Watch your language. I hate negging any of you,” Mrs. Copley tries to stay calm.
“Well, excuuuusseeee me. I miss being a normal teenage girl with friends and family and a cell phone and Christmas presents and hugs and kisses.”
“That's enough.”
“I could forget it if my mom and dad…
“Please, Stacy.”
“Could give me a f-cking hug during their 15 f-cking minutes of weekly visitation.”
“You're out of line!” Mrs. Copley, “We have 9-8-0 here in Pod F!”
“Hell, just a hug from you or Kendra would make me cry with joy!”

Then Stacy was taken in irons, raving and screaming. I didn't yet know just what schizophrenia is, but Stacy had a brain that couldn't handle the rails she had done with Kendra. She probably has had the worst post-prison life of all of us. This wasn't the last time she had an outburst that landed her a major violation while the rest of us simply watched in horror.

——————————————————————————————

Kendra and Mary-Ann got up on their knees with the latter keeping an eye out for danger before they fell back against each other. Kendra briefly considered untying her friend’s ankles but had a moment of doubt before resuming. I had never seen this in so many years of knowing Kendra as I had; Kendra loved Mary-Ann! That wasn’t just friendship; that was love in Kendra’s blue eyes! No, I was wrong; Kendra was taking off Mary-Ann’s heels.

What ensued was now just wild struggle with the girls getting up on their knees, sitting against each other, and even having Kendra’s legs across M.A.’s. They conveyed fear so well that both Michela and Kylie were envious despite their own talents with it. Kendra then began yelling at Kylie and I through her gag; she was angry on Mary-Ann’s behalf too! Interestingly, this was the first time either of them had attempted to really talk.

Jenny and Nichole. Mary-Ann and Kendra. Hannah and Michela. This was a friendship of that caliber. This was an indescribable kind of friendship; words don’t do it justice. You just see it at work and marvel. I walked over to Michela, who was undecided on what to wear still, and took her hand in mine and kissed her on the cheek. Michela had been silently smirking and otherwise nervously fidgeting the entire time.

“What’s wrong, honey?” I said to my girlfriend.
“I’ve been thinking about lots of things: you girls, my father, Mr. Reardon,” she was on the verge of tears.
“Mr. Reardon brought us a lot of sorrow.”
“No, you don’t understand,” Michela spoke softly, “I can tell they’re thinking about him.”
“Is that how they’re creating that look of terror?” I felt a shudder go down my back.
“I think so. They escaped him more easily than you did.”
“Michela, they can’t hurt any of us any more,” I wrapped my arms around her.

Was this Kendra and Mary-Ann’s secret to things? Is this how Mary-Ann conveyed such a wide array of emotions during her scenes? It was an awful thought that none of us were virgins even if M.A. and Kendra weren’t the type to fool around. How could they channel the past and not let it define them so as to be better actresses?

I had a learning opportunity here, and I wasn’t going to let it go to waste.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 8 Chapter 2: Friendship
Saturday, February 28, 2015

The thought of tiny Kendra getting hurt by Mr. Reardon hurt me. When Michela explained how Kendra and Mary-Ann escaped his attention by pretending to like it and even flirting with him, I wasn’t too shocked that either would have such a quick wit and use it to turn a pervert to disgust in a way. Bullies and creeps only feed off fear and other such negative emotions. Michela didn’t have to do anything to escape him: he wasn’t interested in her. I understood Kylie better, too. It seemed he had a thing for blondes in particular.

The two damsels squirmed on the floor and squealed in their own ways. Kendra got up on her knees in an effort to try untying Mary-Ann’s wrists, but Kylie stopped that with a shove. Instead, she made the two sit together again. Kendra was so cute with her head on Mary-Ann’s shoulder; I saw M.A. looking out of the corner of her eyes to see if the coast was clear before turning back to her friend to squirm some more.

With a shriek of sorts, Kendra pulled her arms out of the ropes and unknotted the handkerchief; she spat out the sock and worked on untying herself. A mischievous smile was on Kendra’s face, and I wondered what she was going to say. I saw a bright sparkle in her eyes, though; friendship was about to do something naughty with Kendra playing with a run in Mary-Ann’s hose.

“Hel- -e!” Mary-Ann squealed.
“Help you? No way! I kept trying to untie you, you ungrateful b-tch, and you never tried to help me!”
“Mmmmm!”
“That’s right!” Kendra sat on Mary-Ann’s arms and grabbed a rope, “Take this cheater!”
“No no NOOOO!” Mary-Ann felt the hogtie forming.
“Hey, sweetheart, since we got this cheater trapped, get me some duct tape,” Kendra grinned.
“Anything I can do?” I ask while leaving Michela’s side.
“Yeah, get me a bandana to blindfold the jack-ss,” the joy was apparent, “Oh, girls, if you have any thoughts of ever making me eat a sock besides my own, I’ll do worse when I inevitably get my revenge.”

Mary-Ann got herself put in the mentioned hogtie without mercy, and Kendra tied her elbows as well. Some wrappings of duct tape ended any chance of intelligible speech, and the red bandana blindfolded her. Then something adorable happened when Kendra squeezed those soft melons.

M.A. orgasmed with the cutest squeal you ever heard. Kendra posed for some closing photos by herself, taken by Marcy, while Mary-Ann suffered in the continuing film on her side of the room. Steve would be able to upload this as a multi-part epic movie featuring the four of us. I want you to know one major difference between my demo photos and reality: my dear sweet Kendra was 8 inches shorter than Mary-Ann, not taller!

“While I have the five of you all here, listen up.”



——————————————————————————————

Interlude 71: Shaving
Wednesday, March 8, 2013

Shaving was a pain in the a-s, to put it bluntly. You had to request a blade and a can of cream. We couldn’t keep the blade in our cell because it was a potential weapon, and we couldn’t keep the shaving cream in our cell because it was poisonous. You had to fill out a request form and give it to the shift guard, and during gym the next morning it would all be provided for you to use at either of the shower breaks between gym and lunch.

Shaving wasn’t a problem for most of us, but poor Kendra and Ashley Calland. Neither could go a week without getting a cut; they just had different markets cornered. Kendra was always cut in her armpits, and Ashley was always getting it on her legs. The shower was like the only time the guards gave us privacy as long as we weren’t loud. They weren’t into seeing naked minors, and that I guess was a novelty depending on where you looked.

Time brought an end to one piece of stupidity though: the second shower break was moved to after school instead of having two showers in the morning. I sweat so badly in my cell after I had finished my GED because I was in there instead of the classrooms with their superior air circulation. It was a day with a bunch of schedule changes that just made things make more sense. Part of this was part of the post-Reardon reforms; I’ll post an updated schedule later.

“OW!” Ashley yelled on this occasion.
“Are you OK?” I looked at the youngster.
“It just hurts!” she grimaced.
“F-ck!” quietly came from Kendra’s stall.
“I’m not looking; blood makes me faint!” Mary-Ann turned her back to us.
“Chicken!” Ashley had a lot of spunk to say that to M.A.!

I really didn’t get it. I scratched at my armpits and legs blindly and never got cut. Ashley was in pain at the moment she cast her insults because she’d just chopped her leg again. Part of why it was so hard to get a clean shave is that we could only shave once each week. For some of us, it wasn’t frequent enough, I think.

——————————————————————————————

“I’m so proud of you!” Michela grabbed me and erotically kissed me.

All five of us had appeared in both videos and photos that had ranked in the top 10 for February sales, with me having the top selling video and Kylie having the top selling photo album. We’d rocketed up the charts to stardom! I was now curious what would happen when Joyce and Emilia’s scenes hit the website.

“You’re all going to be keepers here,” Steve smiled.
“As if they weren’t already sources of joy to us in other ways,” Marcy said more than she should.
“Awwww,” I looked down and blushed, “We were all just desperate for work, and you were the first people kind enough to give us a chance.”
“Thank you, both of you,” Kendra smiled, “It means more than you know.”
“It’s a pleasure to work with you,” Kylie added her two cents.
“I’m just,” Michela was even more bashful, “I don’t know how to respond.”
“How about you tie up your girlfriend then?” Steve laughed and pointed at me.
“No, let’s get Kylie first!” I suggested, and that got Michela’s attention, “Come on, sweetie!”
“What about Mary-Ann?” Kendra asked, but we ignored her in our eagerness.
“Eh -e out!” Mary-Ann begged Kendra though, using the studio safeword, “Huhhinghird!”

I didn’t know that we had genuinely hurt Mary-Ann’s feelings. Well, Kylie hurt M.A.’s feelings with the word “b-stard” as it turned out; I didn’t know M.A. could be sensitive about the past. I never would have used such words around her if I’d known. It was about to be an interesting day for Kylie and me!

We paused and waited a few moments so that Kendra could get Mary-Ann most of the way out of her bonds. Michela also stayed back to help; she was staying out of everything today, or so it seemed. She was actually putting herself in the thick of things because she had seen something the rest of us had missed. Michela felt bad for her friend, and the rest of us were oblivious.

Kylie hadn’t put on that outfit after all. Instead, she put on that same black sweater with the neon stripes like Michela had worn several shoots before this. A pair of pantyhose, blue jeans, and red heels finished the hottie’s outfit. She had an infectious smile on her face, and I just knew I was going to have fun with her. Mmmmmm… cheesecake.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 72: Lovely Phoebe
Friday, March 8, 2013

SWIPE, I pushed my badge through the machine.
BEEP! a green light flashed.

I put my hands together behind my back and smiled as I entered the dining hall. I knew it was coming, and a few seconds later I heard the familiar ANH! accompanied by a red light that meant Annie Anderson was not allowed into the dining hall. I grabbed a tray and lined up to get my supper.

There were up to 128 girls, all prisoners, lining up to get their food, sit down, and eat it. Some of us didn’t have the permission, and there were rarely, if ever, 128 girls in here. Most of us moved on rather quickly, but us girls in Pod F, except for Annie Anderson, had at least a 6 month term in this place.

I walked the line with my tray. Chicken? Leg please. Mashed potatoes? Yum! Green beans? Yuck, but I’ll take them anyway. A bun? Hard tack is a hard “no thanks” from me. Cherry pie? Oh, most certainly, yes! Love it! I sat down at the table, and soon we had a nice group of 8 of us from Pod F.

“Cherry pie’s your favorite, right, Hannah?” Phoebe asked me in a whisper.
“It sure is!” I said with a grin, “Blueberry is close too!”
“Shush! Take mine; I got it just for you,” she dumped it on my plate.
“Thank you!” I mouthed back to her.

You are the sweetest, Phoebe!

——————————————————————————————

Lights. Camera. Action.

The film opened with me tying Kylie’s wrists while she whined about my betrayal. I admitted to her that I needed to make sure she wasn’t stealing my assignments since I was ahead of her in the class rankings. It was partially true; I did have a better class ranking in one class she and I were taking together. One out of five!

“B-tch, don’t you ever question my ancestry again! Even for a video! I got called that enough in the orphanage!” Mary-Ann shrieked with tears pouring down her cheeks as she burst into the room where I was about to dominate Kylie, “I did not cheat on that assignment, and I’m gonna get all of you back for this!”
“Hey! NO!” I yelled while she tackled me full football player style.
“NO! NO WAY! I cannot let you two get away with this!” she was tying my wrists tightly!
“You know I’m friends with her!” Kendra took Kylie who was weaker despite her size, “I can’t stay mad at her forever! And you used me as bait! To make it worse, you hurt her feelings!”
“We didn’t mean it!” Kylie insisted when her wrists were bound.
“Too late! Eat! Our! HOSE!

They were giving the orders, it seemed! With bound wrists, nothing could stop us from getting gagged by them. Mary-Ann put strips of black duct tape on my lips. Kendra likewise put strips of red duct tape over Kylie’s lips. Poor Kylie had posed so beautifully for those opening photos, too.

I never knew that Mary-Ann felt so strongly about that. I never tried to imagine being her and being unwanted by her parents. Kendra and I had been dropped like hot potatoes when we got in trouble, but Mary-Ann never knew what love was before she met us. Her parents didn’t want her and voluntarily gave her up just because they didn’t want to be responsible for her.

Kylie screwed up her face in orgasm because that’s just what Kylie does. They sat her on a chair and enjoyed the show of Kylie looking one way then the other before she leaned forward and let out a groan of despair before screwing up her face from a different sensation: eau de Kendra. I had Mary-Ann’s in my mouth, and I could only tell because I felt the run in them. Kylie sat up again and looked at the camera.

“I’m horry Haddy,” I said tearfully to Mary-Ann while we remained off camera.
“I forgive you. Please though don’t ever say anything like that to me ever again,” Mary-Ann had been really injured by that.
“Ah ihn’h hnow,” I admitted, and then I leaned my head on her shoulder.
“Look, for show, I have to still be mad at both of you, OK?” she whispered before hugging me.
“Mary-Ann, I can’t imagine what it must have been like,” Michela put a hand on her shoulder.
“Nor can I imagine your life; it was bad enough that I preferred prison. I… I’ve never hugged anyone before you girls,” Mary-Ann’s eyes grew wide, “It’s nice.”
“Then here’s another,” Michela embraced Mary-Ann.

I couldn’t imagine not knowing what it was like to get parental hugs and kisses. Kendra and I at least got that much before we were rejected. I never realized what a strong girl Mary-Ann had to be to survive juvie, her parent’s treatment of her, and genuine homelessness all before she was 20 years old.

Kylie squirmed herself off the chair. Kendra was gently taunting her while she writhed on the floor and made some angry gag talk into the gag. Just knowing both girls as well as I did, I knew I had won by getting Mary-Ann’s panties, and I had also won by getting to have this special time with my friend. A lovely upskirt view ended the scene.



——————————————————————————————

Interlude 73: Sorry!
Friday, March 8, 2013

“This is all that was left,” Kendra put the game on the table, “I remember playing this as a kid.”
“Sorry! is new to me,” I shrugged, “Let’s try it.”
“It’s awesome if you’re naturally vengeful or outright spiteful!” Mary-Ann laughed.
“Enjoy me while you’ve got me,” Kendra’s words were true, “I’m over halfway through my sentence!”
“It's ironic to say, but we should make memories so that someday we can recall how we made the best of a bad situation,” Phoebe agreed with this spirit.
“All right, dolls, let's play,” I said to them.

I learned something more than just how to play a new game. I learned that friends are what lift you up as well as pull you down. We lifted each other up during our times in prison, and we continue to lift each other up to this day. We thought we were outcasts of society, but we were just as human as the rest of them.

Kendra played to win, but she had fun in doing so and expected everyone to laugh as loudly when they were spited as when she spited them. With games, Kendra was my go to person to make sure everyone had a good time; game night was incomplete if she wasn't there.

Michela was too competitive for two reasons: hockey and her father. She’d been the star of her team, and she was sore and reminiscent whenever games came up because it was such a difficult thing to accept. She never has accepted it, and she still cries on occasion concerning being pulled from the hockey team so her father could do what he did. She can have fun one night, but the next night she can be monstrous, foreign, and disconnected.

——————————————————————————————

“Here you go!” Mary-Ann spanked me with a little extra viciousness.
“MMMMMMM!” it hurt so much! I tried to squirm away.
“I’m going to teach you a thing or two!” she dragged me back to her with ease.
“MMMMM!”
“Sit down!” Mary-Ann sat me on a sofa all by myself..
“Mmmmmm!” I looked at her and groaned.
“You will learn never to question my ancestry again,” I could still hear pain.
“You're really rude!” my girlfriend added to this, “Accusing this dear of cheating.”
“Mmmmm!”
“Mmm mmm mmm! She doesn't say anything worth hearing!” M.A. taunted me.

Lights. Camera. Action.

“Mmmmm!” I clacked my heels on the floor with a dampened echo following. Oh, it was such a beautiful sound. I shook my tightly bound legs and found no wiggle room at all. If Mary-Ann really was kidnapping me, this was a good start! I loved having my elbows tied so tightly.

For the first time, I didn’t need to be told how to move. I just slowly moved while Steve clicked the button on his camera, and I held my arms out and leaned forward so my tits could rest against my thighs. He took some nice zoom shots of me, too, and please admire the ropes on my elbows as you peruse this set. To this day, I turn to M.A. when I want tight elbow bondage. The socks on my legs barely protected me against the ropes.

I grunted loudly despite not being on film. It was tight, and I had no chance of escaping this one without a blade or human intervention. I rolled back onto the sofa and studied my leg bonds as closely as I could, seeing how tight they were. This one was hopeless for sure.

I slowly rolled my legs up onto the sofa and into the air, pausing at moments to allow photos to be taken of my imprisonment. I turned to the camera and yelled quite loudly before dumping my feet to the floor so I could stand up. Aren’t my bound elbows just gorgeous?! While standing, I expressed my displeasure with my rancid gag quite loudly, and then I dropped to my knees.

The heels, those cute heels, fell right off when I did that, and I didn’t mind much at all. Indeed, I keep right at it, leaning forward so that Steve was looking right down my shirt at my tits. I think I made Michela’s eyes pop right out of her head. An overhead view again showed just how hard my bondage was. Leaning back, I could feel the sweat pouring off me, and Mary-Ann came over and grabbed me by the hair.

“Owwww!”
“Awww, are you having fun?” she squeezed my cheek.
“Noo!” I stomped my feet.
“Don't lie, little girl; you are loving every minute of this,” she kissed me on the cheek.
“Nooo! -eh -e ho!” I wailed while she pushed me against the sofa.
“Look here, sweetie. If you suffer here long enough, your little insults will be allllll forgotten,” she played the role to perfection.

I took a deep breath and tried to recall Mr. Reardon. Much of what he did was a total blur to me, now, but I remembered the feelings too well. I never saw myself as being a victim, but then again I was repeatedly assaulted by him, his cronies, and Greg. If I could channel that despondency…

I looked at the camera as if someone were there, but I focused on Michela. She was so beautiful. I felt a desperation growing inside me, and I started to struggle with a different energy. I slid off the sofa and started trying to untie the knots of the ropes that bound me. I leaned on the sofa and almost started crying before I slipped off and jerked myself back to reality. I was roped and not cuffed now. Pantyhose and tape gagged me, not his hand.

I just kept wailing and struggling for the camera; escape wasn't essential now. I could not take it anymore, though; that journey in my mind had been too much. Poor M.A. Right then was when it happened: I tapped out. I couldn't imagine Mary-Ann suffering at those monster’s hands like I had. M.A. asked Steve to end the scene and walked over to me.

“You OK?” she looked into my eyes in a way I still remember.
“Nooo! Huhhinghird!” I pleaded for her to free me.
“OK, honey, just a second,” she unknotted the bandana and unpeeled the tape.
“Blegh!” I spat out the hose and smiled, “Thank you!”
“What was wrong?” she sat with me and massaged my arms.
“I was trying to make it realistic by recalling Mr. Reardon,” I spoke with desperation.
“I’ll untie you; smile for the camera. We’ll talk before Michela’s scene.”

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 74: When Love Reaches the Stars
Friday, March 8, 2013

“See the stars,” I pointed into the sky after the game, “They remind me to be happy I’m alive.”
“They remind me God loves me so much He gave me you as a cellmate,” Michela responded.”

That night, by starlight, Michela sneaked down to my bunk, and without even a whisper she put her lips on mine and kissed me. I felt a bolt go through me, and I took over by rolling on top of her and letting my hair fan out to hide us a bit more. We had something greater than friendship. We still do.

It’s a passing moment of passion. We’re teenagers discovering ourselves amidst the trauma and horror of our reality. Our friendship was growing. I stared into her empty, lusting eyes and felt a soul that no longer knew how to cry. Something beautiful was locked away inside her, and she’d decided that I was the one who could help her reinhabit the body she believed God gave her.

Our love went beyond this cell, beyond this prison, beyond Minnesota… it reached to the stars and beyond.

——————————————————————————————

“Yes, Reardon took my virginity,” M.A. blushed, “I faked pleasure when he took my vagina, but I couldn’t fake it,” she fought tears, “When he or that other guard made me eat their junk or took my rear. He threatened to get me sent to I or MV or to Shakopee, but I was too strong willed and told him I wasn't scared of him or Shakopee,” Mary-Ann blushed, “He did it, but he lost interest in me after a few times.”

“I guess he wasn't fond of brunettes,” I looked at my hottie girlfriend.
“Hannah, I want to help you any way I can,” tears rolled down M.A.’s cheeks now , “Kendra and I care too much.”
“You can't wipe memories,” Michela said, “Memories live as long as the mind wants.”
“Of course, and we can also choose not to dwell in the past,” M.A. said with confidence.
“Love, you girls have suffered,” Kendra took my hand, “We’re here for you. I can’t believe you thought I was thinking about him though.”
“Well, I sure was; he was a creep!” Mary-Ann admitted, “I just have to remember his face!”
“After the third time, I turned around and acted like I was aroused,” Kendra laughed it off.

I knew that Kendra had to be telling the truth. I had never seen her manifest her love in such a way before now. Kendra would smile more around people she cared about or encourage them, but to do this was unprecedented. I started crying, and the simple holding of my hand turned into the best hug I’d ever received.

We stood there in a tight embrace without a thought about those around us. I had crossed the line from a friend to a best friend, someone about whom Kendra regularly thought, for whom she was willing to take the time to listen and to care in whatever way that person needed. As much as she denied it, she was, deep down inside, every bit as lovable and adorable as her cousin Jenny; she manifested it differently. I was now free, and the hug meant so much to me that I’ll get the warm fuzzies just remembering it.

“All right, enough of the lesbianism,” Kendra let go of me, “We’ve got Kylie’s shoot too.”

Kylie Svensson was also a hottie in distress, only she was seated on a chair. See the way she is leaning forward? That is classic TAC right there. Get a nice view of the tits without seeing the tits but also getting to see their size and the girl’s gorgeous face. Let’s face it, though; Kendra’s favorite part is when the shoes come off. Those legs are nicely bound with the four ropes, and my gorgeous friend is so adorable in her predicament.

Kendra was really generous and even tied a waist rope to restrict Kylie’s motions. She is such a considerate girl, taking extra measures to ensure Kylie remained imprisoned. I think I was a bit aroused based on how I was clutching my girlfriend. My hands gently squeezed her tits because I was picturing myself squeezing Kylie’s, but the moment of lust for another faded so that I was getting the maximum possible pleasure out of my girlfriend and she likewise from me.

For me, the best part was when Kendra pulled Kylie’s jeans down, exposing her butt and the top part of the pantyhose where it was extra thick, known as “control top” for those wondering. I’m a fan of technical terminology. Kylie, regardless, had the look of worry down to a science, and I was impressed by how pitiful she looked at some moments and how she scorned the camera at others.

Then Kendra struck again. She put the heels back on Kylie’s feet, forced Kylie onto the floor, and took the chair away. It only took a short while before Kylie fell back onto her butt for a few more scrumptious shots. Then the scene was finished.



“It’s your turn,” I turned back to Michela.
“How about I just take off my shirt and bra?” Michela asked.
“That’d be… what’s the word you used… klinky?” Mary-Ann asked us.
“It’s kinky,” Michela grinned, and then she looked at me and Kylie, “It’d be very kinky.”
“Kinky, sexy, whatever. Get on it,” Kendra encouraged her, “I’ve got just the thing for you!”
“All right,” Michela’s eyes filled with a strange happiness.

Michela took off the see-through shirt that was over the white long-sleeve t-shirt, then the t-shirt, and then the white sports bra that was underneath that. She then put the see-through blue shirt back on, and it was accompanied by a dark blue denim miniskirt, a navy kerchief bandana, plain pantyhose, and black heels. It was all from her own wardrobe of sexiness.

Yummy cheesecake in a cellar. So, so perfect.

“Bring it on,” Michela winked at us to give us permission to tie her up.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 75: Mary-Ann’s Tits
Saturday, March 9, 2013

“Do you think Botox would help her, girls?” Kendra pointed to Mary-Ann.
“She doesn't need a facelift,” I didn't notice to what she pointed.
“Not her cheeks, her boobs!” Kendra giggled, “Those big floppy things.”
“They're big enough! What's Botox anyway?” M.A. asked.
“You’ve heard of facelifts, fanny tucks, and the like, right?” I asked her.
“Of course not! I didn't have a TV in my house; the money was needed for booze.”
“Did you have friends with whom you watched TV?” I tried again while showering.
“Watch TV? Why?! We were outside playing games!”
“Did any of your foster homes have TV?”
“Oh, yeah,” M.A. nodded, “I didn't watch it, though; I found the shows to be stupid.”
“Well,” I shampooed my hair, “What did you do?!”
“Read books, play with Legos and K’nex, depending on the home, sports games…”
“We’ve found the weird one!” Kendra laughed, “She has big brains and big boobs!”

I stared at Mary-Ann’s tits for a long time, and that was when I knew I was bisexual and not just having a desperate fling with Michela for hormonal reasons. I wanted to squeeze them and kiss M.A.’s lips and embrace her. The boldness of Kendra could only be one thing: friendship. M.A. was shaking her head and laughing over what had just been discussed while we showered.

——————————————————————————————

“Mmmm,” Michela winked at us to give us permission to photograph and film her.

It was a typical bondage of Tied After Class scenes. Ropes were binding Michela’s knees, ankles, thighs, wrists, and either side of her tits. It wasn’t strange to see her gagged with Kylie’s hose, double-sided tape, and her own bandana, which was of a different pattern from the standard paisley, but it was different to see her so obviously aroused.

Mary-Ann was almost as interesting. She was sitting off camera with a bag of chips that Marcy had offered her and slowly enjoying them at a distance where no one could hear her eating them. It was odd to see Mary-Ann in her comfort zone as though she were sitting at home, studying the walls and props of the set with a childish wonder in her eyes.

Michela was grunting a lot and gag talking phrases like “Let me go!” and “Help me!” and “Untie me!” while Kendra simply screwed up her face and shook her head in a devilish manner. I didn’t know what Kendra was thinking, but I could tell she was proud of herself. Kendra might not like bondage like the rest of us did, but she still took pride in a job well done. This was an example.

Well, Michela knew where to lay the blame since she sent her heels flying right to Kendra, and I saw Kendra dodge them with ease and a cackle. The arousal gave way to a fearful expression I felt was more appropriate for the scene. The arousal probably arose from Kylie’s panties being in her mouth, and she merely needed to suppress those thoughts.

Then I saw a barefoot Mary-Ann walking over to me with a strange smile on her face.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 8 Chapter 3: Starlets
Saturday, February 28, 2015

Michela Palmeri was a hottie in distress, and her lovely, pitiful gag talk was an “instant wood” moment for me. She was moving her arms about and twisting on the chair in such an adorable manner that turned me on so much. She regularly was begging someone to help her, and I did nothing to do as much. Being on the set while a girl was being filmed and photographed brought such a strange variety of sensations like this, and seeing Michela’s breasts through the shirt did as much for Kylie as it did for me.

“How’d you like your little heels back, hmmm?” Kendra taunted Michela.
“Unhie -e! Hell -e!” Michela begged her instead.
“Shut it!” Kendra put the heels back on her feet, “Take them off, and I’ll tie one to your face!”
“Et -e ooooooo!”
“Screw you! You just stood and watched while I suffered! I’ll be back!” Kendra sneered.
“Noooo! Unhie -e!”

Kendra forced Michela to stand up and then took away the wooden chair, leaving Michela to hop in place while repeating her cries for help and release. She looked at the camera in frustration at not being granted her wishes. None of us sweats during a scene like Michela can; the beads were pouring off her body.

She crouched down and wailed loudly before pushing herself back up to standing with her super powerful leg muscles. The wailing continued with Michela twisting her arms about in an effort to discover any slack in the rope. She dropped to her knees and squeezed her own breast as if for some sort of relief from the hormones or stress. I think she was used to Steve requesting it.



“What's on your mind?” I asked my smiling friend Mary-Ann.
“I was thinking we should have another bondage party. Maybe a game night.”
“That's great, but where are we getting the games? Michela?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Hey, just because we're poverts doesn't mean we can't play cards like in juvie.”
“I’m going to see Ashley after. Want to come with me?”
“Sure!” Mary-Ann’s eyes brightened then dulled, “Life was so much easier inside.”

In a way, M.A. was right. You had a routine, guaranteed meals, and no bills. It’s hard to step out of there and immediately jump from a kid to a prisoner and to an adult. It was a difficult step to take; I can't imagine M.A. sleeping in dumpsters like she did. That was her reality, though, and I knew that reality. After I was released from juvie without charges, I cleaned up the house in the manner which I described before and lived in my car for a week while slowly waiting for my cell phone bill to arrive and result in me getting disconnected. Then I moved in with Stacy for just a couple months, got a job, and struck it out on my own as you saw in the beginning of my story.

M.A. was something else. I could see her mind was racing with possibilities for the next time we were trapped in her home. She earnestly watched what was happening to Michela while she also was planning for her party. I realized this was what separated some of us from the other models and the other inmates. All of us were a bit smarter than average, but M.A. and Kylie were lost in a league of their own. It was no surprise that they needed the most happening around them to get the most out of bondage or could handle more things happening without getting overwhelmed by it. M.A. should be a college professor teaching mathematics, not a package sorter. Someday, I’d appreciate this reality instead of hating it.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 76: The Night Michela Orgasmed
Monday, March 25, 2013

“Happy birthday, baby,” I whispered in the darkness of our cell.
“Mmmm! I love you so much, Hannah,” she said back to me.
“I love you, too,” I ground against her harder than ever and kissed her with more force.
“MMMMMMMM!” Michela squealed and then sank into the bed beneath me.
“That was too loud,” I warned her.
“It felt so good though. Punish me.”

I pushed myself against Michela and told her in a soft whisper what I was going to do: gag her with her own bandana. Thereafter, we worked to make sure we never orgasmed, but just in case I sometimes gagged her with her bandana to be safe. Speaking of bandanas…

——————————————————————————————

Michela pushed herself back up, twisted her arms toward the camera, and let out a wail that told me she was in some sort of genuine distress. She dropped to her knees for good and let her heels come off her while twisting her arms and body. Her tits showed through the blue mesh fabric as if just to arouse Kylie and me.

“I warned you! You silly girl!” Kendra arrived with rope, “This should teach you a lesson!”
“Mmmmm! Hell -e! Humhuddy hell he!”
“Oh, you’ll be fine,” Kendra pulled Michela’s hands and wrists together, “But you’ve got a lot to learn!”
“Owww!” Michela got a hard spank on each butt cheek.
“You shouldn’t have just watched while I suffered,” Kendra chided her, “Now, you suffer too.”
“Nooo! -et -e ho!”

I saw genuine fear in Michela’s eyes, and I assumed the worst. I assumed she was reliving being abused by her father in the worst way possible. I couldn’t handle that while watching Michela in the hogtie, and I moved away from the room and started to cry because I didn’t want to ruin the scene. That hogtie was so hot, but the sight was so disturbing.

I couldn’t watch my girlfriend suffer like that. I just couldn’t do it. What Michela had thought about the other two’s acting had really put me into a downward spiral, and I couldn’t think about poor Michela suffering as she had. Finally, I calmed down enough to suggest they skip the shoe sniffing and just release Michela because of how much she was sweating.

“How’s it feel to be free?” Kendra asked Michela.
“Nice! That was fun! Maybe we should go to your place and redo it with more intensity!”
“Nah. That’s for Mary-Ann to do,” Kendra dismissed it.
“Well, have it your way, but you are fun with bondage,” Michela smiled broadly.
“Michela, I thought for sure you were sweating because you were thinking about your dad.”
“Daddy?! You kill such vicious thoughts!” Michela was disgusted, “No, I was just hamming it up for the camera and actually thinking about being tied up and tortured by M.A. or your friends from the Club.”
“Oh, what a relief!” I sighed, “Sorry I ruined your shoe sniffing.”
“It’s all right; maybe next time instead.”

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 77: Privileges
Monday, July 29, 2013

“Black, please,” I said to the kiosk klerk with my friend Ashley standing beside me.
“Wear it with pride,” she carried a package of Ding-Dongs and a board game to the pod.
“Hey, you’re eligible too, kiddo,” I smiled at her.
“Put it on before we get there!” she encouraged me like the 15 year-old she was.
“I’m not getting blue like Michela did,” I laughed as I beamed with pride.
“I want pink! Or lavender like our unis. Or green! I want to be good.”
“Silly, they only let you choose pink, blue, and black.”

I knew that look. Ashley had been here for years already. She was a good kid, but like Michela she was empty from the horror. A bit of color would bring so much happiness to her life. We were truly all she had.

“Let’s go back and do it now, hmmm?” I asked her.
“I’ve never had any sisters at any home,” she said, “Hannah, do you love me like a little sister?”
“I do, and when I get out and turn 18, I’ll come to see you and let you call, OK?”
“Please, Hannah?” I don't have anyone besides you girls.
“Come on, sweetie; let's get you beautified.”
“All right,” she said, and we went and filled out the paperwork.

It would be a long time before I knew the truth about what happened to her so that she was here, but I am just glad that I was able to make a difference in her life. Ashley is the real reason I am where I am in life. Simply put, Ashley was in a situation somewhere between mine, Michela’s, and Mary-Ann’s, and it all ended in violence.

Kendra and M.A. had been released by this time, robbing this girl of two of her heroes in life. I have some stories to tell about Ashley, but one’s about to become relevant.

——————————————————————————————

“I’m here to visit Ashley Calland. My name is Hannah Larsson,” I said at the juvie center.
“License?” the clerk asked in a cordial voice.

It was a bit different here now. I still had to take off my bandana, but pulling it down to my neck was good enough. My poor friend was 17 but almost free, but I knew she was becoming a little stir crazy. All of the girls who befriended her and had protected her were gone now; she was the only girl in Pod F left from when I was there except for Janine Blackwell, whom no one liked anyway. New friends weren’t the same.

“Hi, Ash,” I said to the shackled girl on the other side of the glass.
“Hannah,” the girl who spoke to me wasn’t broken like I expected, “How’s it out there?”
“Well, you’ve received my letters, haven’t you?” I asked her with a smile, “They’re true.”
“Hannah, when I get out… you girls will help me, won’t you?”
“I’ve kept my other promises, haven’t I?”
“Yes, but how many promises can a person keep?” she seemed scared now.
“Ashley, I promise you will be taken care of in some way,” I assured her.

Ashley had a June birthday; she would be one of those girls who turned 18 after finishing high school. She was on track to get out in just a few more months; I had to help her. I wanted to help her; we were her life!

“I like the pink bandana on you,” I smiled at her.
“You think I’m cute like you think Michela’s cute, don’t you?” she had a sly grin.
“I’m not interested in you like that,” I laughed with her, “You’re a dear friend though.”
“Hannah, when I get out of here, I don’t want to go to an orphanage,” she said despairingly.
“I will help you; I promise! Ash, you’re the little sister I never had, my sidekick. We’ll fight for you in any way we must. You know I care, and you know Mary-Ann cares. We all care, but you know you can count on the two of us. Mary-Ann is trying to see what she can do.”
“Thank you Hannah. I know you normally don’t, but please visit sooner next time. I suspect I’ll have big news for you by then.”

I set a reminder in my phone to visit Ashley on March 19th, a week earlier than I would normally visit. That made her smile and put a twinkle in her eye. She was lonely and empty without us, and as I walked away I saw a tear start rolling down her cheek.

“Your turn, M.A. Shine light in her life,” I said to my friend as I walked out.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 78: Sick and Tired
Friday, Sep 27, 2013

I woke up feeling like death itself had come to visit me. I rolled to the right, and I saw Michela looking disheveled and sickly as well but sitting at the table. I was so ill that I missed the lights turning on along with the guard’s announcement to get moving. I would have been upset except we didn't have class anyway since we had our GEDs.

“Hannah,” Michela groaned, “I have such a headache.”
“Me too. It must be the flu.”
“Are you girls all right?” Mr. Lee, one of the guards, entered the cell.
“No,” I rolled off the bunk and rushed for the toilet to vomit, “Sorry you had to smell that.”
“I am calling the nursing station. The doctor will come see you,” Mr. Lee was apologetic.
“Ugggggggg,” Michela quietly groaned in pain, “Thank you, sir.”

For 6 days, Michela and I never left the cell for anything except for one shower that we begged Mrs. Copley to permit us while the others were in class. Thankfully, I’ve never been so sick before or since, but I will never forget Michela and I sleeping all of our time away like that. The warden was an understanding man, and he didn’t allow our rankings to diminish as a result of an unexpected illness that not only got us but also got 3 other girls in the pod and 20+ other girls in the prison.

——————————————————————————————

“Hannah? Basement. It’s time to finish what I started,” Michela said to me that night.
“What is down there still?” I asked her in surprise.
“Not much. Just the filing cabinets and the computers. We’re taking them out,” she smiled.
“You’re smiling at the thought of going down there?” I wasn’t sure what was up with her.
“I’m smiling at the thought of removing the last vestiges of what happened to me.”
“Let’s do it,” I loyally followed my friend, “I will help you.”

It was as simple as it sounded. We took apart the filing cabinet, the computers, and the desk. We then had fun dropping them all into the trash barrel and using mallets to smash the parts we knew would be fun to smash: monitors, disk drives, etc. All that remained was the carpet, so we took that out too! Mom Palmeri let Michela have free reign over the scene of her abuse. At least this time Michela resisted the urge to burn things; carpet and treated wood were dangerous to burn.

That day began a new plan, one that would be executed immediately. The basement would get a total makeover: new carpets, redone paneling, new ceiling tiles, furniture, and so forth. The site of Michela’s torment would be turned into a room where any of the Palmeri sisters could safely hang out with her friends and loved ones. This had been decided, and today was Michela doing her part in it. The past, the physical remnants of the past, were gone except for one thing that it would take Michela more time to admit, that she couldn’t have children like she hoped. She had a dream of using hockey to go to college, get an MRS degree, and use to get a job that would be a pleasure for her. The dream was dead.

“I don’t want to talk about Dad,” Michela read my thoughts, “But Nick Masterson.”
“Who’s Nick Masterson?”
“He’s the boy… He was my first love interest. One day, during our free hour at school, we hid in the locker room, and he and I decided to find out what sex was like. He boned me, and then after that I sucked him off,” Michela smiled as she reminisced.
“Mine was Kenny Pence. We did the same, but it was in the girl’s room. And we did ours in two different sessions. Quickies,” I told my story.
“Hannah…,” Michela started crying, “Why did he do it?”
“I don’t know; it doesn’t matter. Michela, it’s over; he can’t hurt you anymore.”
“Hannah, I loved him. He’s my daddy! I want to know why! Why would anybody tie up and screw any little girl, especially their own daughter?!”

The past tense really hit home with me. She loved him. Formerly. She used to love her father. Now, she was trying to desperately escape the past. I knew it was coming after our pillow talk this morning. I bit my lip while hugging my distraught girlfriend and awaiting the inevitable request.

“Hannah, will you tie me up?” I heard the desperation.
“Stop me at any time,” I said while fearing the possibility of doing more harm than good.
“I love you,” her grip tightened, “I hate him, sometimes Hannah. I really do!”
“I feel the same way about Greg, but I deserved it for the things I did to others.”
“We didn’t! We didn’t!” she pushed off from me for a tense moment before her face lit up in a smile, “But it’s OK, Hannah. It's over. Why did it happen?”
“I’m craving some carpet after getting none today,” I said before we retired to the bedroom.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 79: Food Poisoning
Friday, April 5, 2013

“I don't feel so good,” Mary-Ann groaned during rec time.
“You sound it, too,” Kendra deadpanned, “Aw, is the little girl sick?”
“That is so rich coming from you, petunia!” Phoebe cackled loudly.
“Oh, sure, pick on my size,” Kendra rolled her eyes and smiled.
“Shut up, all of you!” I clutched my own stomach.
“They ate the chicken legs,” Kylie felt bad for us.

Chicken is cheap; lower quality chicken is cheaper. No one cares about prison kids; I got used to the food quickly though. For me and Mary-Ann, it was an improvement in the cuisine from home life; for the others, it was a massive, massive downturn. I liked the food; I didn't believe it was garbage until I moved in with Michela. Yep, we were leg and thigh girls, and we paid for it this time.

Shortly after the exchange, M.A. and I took a quiet leave to go barf. We couldn’t run as that was against the rules in all circumstances; if an axe murderer were in the pod, I would get reduced to II status as punishment if running from the nut saved my life. Instead, we maintained our perfect little inmate pose as we walked to our respective cells, and then we literally tossed our cookies and lost our sh-t. The saying is “let the good times roll,” and we sure rolled… right into the open mouth of the steel God! Our toilets were stainless steel, not porcelain…

——————————————————————————————

My beautiful girlfriend now wore purple and black flannel pajama pants, a black shirt with long sleeves, black socks, and, just for my crotch, a purple bandana headband. I had put on my own pajamas, but I had orange and black flannel pants with an orange long sleeve shirt and a black bandana headband to keep my hair aside. We started our session with some tears and cuddles. I am an orange addict, and I don’t care.

When I boxtied Michela’s arms with the black rope she had unveiled on Valentine’s Day just two weeks before this, I felt that thrill enter me. When I tied her tits up in a harness, I reminded her that I loved her and wanted her to enjoy it more than I. We had a thing called love; my love was being tested tonight.

I tied Michela in TAC style with three ropes for her legs and one for her thighs. I took my socks, the socks I had worn all day even before putting on the pajamas, and stuffed them in her mouth before tying a bright blue bandana cleave gag to hold the wad in her mouth. She groaned with pleasure at the taste of me while gazing into my eyes with mixed terror and love. The eyes grew wider when I pulled down her pants and panties to expose her.

“This carpet is mine,” I said and rubbed her with my hand, “All mine!”
“Mmmm!” she groaned a bit from the contact.
“Pardon me.”

Yummy carpet. Nothing is like using my mouth, my lips and tongue specifically, to bring Michela to a climax, and then licking it off afterwards. She groaned excitedly while I did this, but she really can't do much except enjoy the taste of my feet. I had her helplessly bound, and she knew it. Then I ground her, crotch against crotch, as best as the ropes allowed. It was all so good, but then I reached the point where I knew it was time… right after I climaxed and was all good and wet.

“Michela Palmeri,” I gazed into her eyes and started crying, “I love you so much.”
“Hannah,” she whined with her own tears.
“Kendra is right. I would have eventually despaired and killed myself without you.”
“Ah -ove -ou,” she said into the gag.
“Thank you for truly caring about me. I’m sorry for all the times I took advantage of you.”

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 80: Thanksgiving in Juvie
Thursday, November 28, 2013

It was Thanksgiving, and it was special even if we ate it in the usual portions like any other meal. Ashley savored it; I enjoyed it; the rest simply ate it because it was edible; I could tell that Kylie and Michela were only reminded of all the things they were missing by not being with their own families.

Imagine all they lost: Christmas and the presents, Thanksgiving, birthday parties, and the perks of all those things. They lost four Christmases each; my heart bled for her. I couldn't blame her for curling up in the corner and crying during rec time. She loved her family.

We had the added blessing of visitors to the prison, and Grandma couldn't forget me, her lonely, only grandchild.

“Hannah, now it's time to tell you. You may have your father's old bedroom as yours to keep!”
“Grandma?” I thought of the sleepovers of the past, “Really?!”
“Yes, and I am getting ready for when you get out in two months.”
“I love you too, Grandma!”
“I am looking forward to spending next Thanksgiving with you in my home.”
“Grandma!” I started crying, “I’m sorry I let you down!”

——————————————————————————————

“Mmmph!” Michela groaned into the gag while I gently vibrated her.
“There, there, just enjoy yourself,” I said to her.
“Mmmmm,” she did just what I said and gazed lovingly into my eyes.
“The day you visited me after you got sprung was the day that I realized you genuinely loved me and that I truly loved you beyond just being prison buddies. Without you, I wouldn’t have these beautiful friendships.”
“Mmmmm,” she wasn’t too responsive thanks to the stimulant.
“I hid from Kendra and Kylie out of shame for what happened after I got out, but you forgave me for my mistakes. I’m so happy to have you.”

Something changed in me that day. I started to truly love people in an unselfish way. I was just a common bisexual girl while Michela really loved me; this was me learning how to separate all of the emotions of the different stages of love and friendship. Right now, Michela was my friend like M.A. or Kendra or Kylie, but Michela was my best friend for whom I had a genuine sexual attraction that wasn’t selfish. I was vibrating her because I wanted her to be happy.

Greg had seemingly ruined me with the repeated duct tape r-pe games; the horrors that had lain behind those games had sucked everything out of me, all that was good, bad, innocent, and evil alike. Sometimes, broken people can be fixed, and I’m still broken but better than I was.