Website Migration Update
I moved the website to a new host, which I think will be more tolerant of the content this website hosts. Nevertheless, I do want to take a moment to remind everyone that the stories and content posted here MUST follow website rules, as it it not only my policy, but it is the policy of the hosts that permit our website to run on their servers. We WILL continue to enforce the rules, especially critical rules that, if broken, put this sites livelihood in jeapordy.
We Summoned Bondage (mf+/fF+)
We Summoned Bondage (mf+/fF+)
See what interest this brings....
Last edited by RopeBunny 10 months ago, edited 20 times in total.
WhatsApp.
Pharaoh group chat.
Samantha:
Tonight.
Charlotte:
Really??? After weeks and suddenly it's tonight?
Natasha:
Lol.
Charlotte:
Why though?
Samantha:
Equinox. Plus a new moon. If we're still doing this...?
Samantha:
Girls?
Natasha:
Sure.
Charlotte:
Definitely x
Samantha:
Great x. Point is, tonight, all that stuff basically means we'll be holding the best cards.
Charlotte:
Lol. Okay, fine. Makes sense.
Natasha:
Can we stay over yours? It's a school night and dad's on call. I'll never sneak out AND back in.
Samantha:
Sure, mum's working nights.
Charlotte:
Hold on I'll ask.
Charlotte:
I'm good.
Natasha:
Good. Can't do this without the sacrifice.
Charlotte:
Fuck off. Lol. Besides I'm an offering.
Natasha:
Sure you are. Lol.
Samantha:
Lol.
Pharaoh group chat.
Samantha:
Tonight.
Charlotte:
Really??? After weeks and suddenly it's tonight?
Natasha:
Lol.
Charlotte:
Why though?
Samantha:
Equinox. Plus a new moon. If we're still doing this...?
Samantha:
Girls?
Natasha:
Sure.
Charlotte:
Definitely x
Samantha:
Great x. Point is, tonight, all that stuff basically means we'll be holding the best cards.
Charlotte:
Lol. Okay, fine. Makes sense.
Natasha:
Can we stay over yours? It's a school night and dad's on call. I'll never sneak out AND back in.
Samantha:
Sure, mum's working nights.
Charlotte:
Hold on I'll ask.
Charlotte:
I'm good.
Natasha:
Good. Can't do this without the sacrifice.
Charlotte:
Fuck off. Lol. Besides I'm an offering.
Natasha:
Sure you are. Lol.
Samantha:
Lol.
001.
Natasha.
"I bet she made a checklist." Whispering to Char as we follow Sammy through the woods, down alternating wide and narrow tracks, torches picking out and guiding the way over uneven rutted ground.
Low hanging branches looming ghost like left and right. Reaching.
Darkness all around us, and silence. Made somehow alive by the oppressive night.
Anything- and I'm trying hard to ignore the inner insistence -could be out there.
Trying to distract us both with humour and Char giggles. Nerves. Followed by her too loud voice, cutting the quiet like a chainsaw.
"Sammy."
"What?" She'd visibly jumped before stopping and turning. Flashlight beam pointed low towards us. Folded map, route drawn in garish pink highlight marker in her other hand.
"We." I start, grinning into the dark. "Just wondered...."
"If...." Char, and I can hear it in her voice too.
And so can Sammy.
"Fucking." Amusement replacing the brief flare of anger her surprise had caused, crossing the uneven ground back to us. "The pair of you. Honestly. What is it now?"
"Just." Touching the map, giving it a small shake, voice all innocence. "Wondering how many paces before the rocks shaped like a skull?"
"A grinning skull." Char adds helpfully.
"With one eye I suppose?" Sammy, followed by a snort of laughter that sets us off too. Releasing some of the tension and low level fear being out here is creating.
She swats us- me, because Char manages to dodge -playfully with the map. Tuts, giggles again.
And onwards.
Deeper, heading for a crossroads. At midnight. On an equinox that happens to coincide- an extreme rarity -with a new moon.
Stacked like that it really does look like a checklist.
All this because of Sammy's old book, which she found, or bought or inherited I forget which now? Leather bound in a blood shade of dark red, slim yet large. A tome she read, and believed.
Roping the two of us into trying this impossible thing, doomed to fail because even if Sammy's how to guide really is, real, we're schoolgirls. With absolutely no candles and only skinny Charlotte as a sacrifice.
Offering, I mean.
We've been friends for four years, since that first day of Comprehensive, three loners walking into a playground full of running and screaming. Joking and groups already made. Set. And somehow we'd know, fate casting us into the same classes, tentative attempts at hello being met by the repeated revelations of many shared interests.
Very quickly becoming inseparable.
Three loners against the world.
At fifteen there's much the same, appearance wise about us: blonde hair, long yet brushed and curling, growing slightly differently.
We bounce between ten and twelve, the skinny side of curvy and all three of us are a C cup. Which is enough, busty without being stupid. Unlike Michelle.
"How will we know?"
"Know what Tash?"
"Well." We've stopped, grouped together and passing round a bottle of water. Sharing the supplies spread between two messenger bags and a backpack. I gesture around us, turning a circle and illuminating our surroundings.
A crossroads.
"Why not this one?" Attention back on the group, on Sammy. "Won't any crossroads do?"
"Well...." Thinking, and whilst she does a nearby tree creaks, an owl hoots and Char giggles.
Nerves.
"Stacking the deck." With a shrug and we've had this talk. Why midnight, why a school- tonight -night, why the whole dance?
"So it's special then?"
"According to what I read." Nodding. "It's-"
"-Ley lines." Char, serious face and nodding. "And an invisible stone circle built last week a thousand years ago. By aliens. Plus there was a really really large battle that only happened on that one small spot and not the rest of-"
Informed voice, as if she actually knows becoming a shriek of briefly scared surprise- because it's dark outside the limited beams of our torch light and she hadn't seen the move -as Sammy flicks water in her face.
Both of them laughing moments later.
Onwards.
To the crossroads, arriving as the clock climbs towards the possibly irrelevant midnight deadline.
"Okay?" Sammy, voice only now, on the brink of making her grand play does it falter. Wavering as she looks at Char. Who grimaces back, because it isn't exactly warm, but nods and begins removing clothes.
Because friends help friends with their crazy ideas: dying Sammy's hair bright red last winter, the time we all decided to go braless after sports and earned instant detention, faking a school trip so we could ride the train to London.
Summoning.
"What is it again?" Char, trying not to shiver in nothing more then a too small black bikini and technically she's supposed to be naked.
But. No.
Just. No.
"What's supposed to happen?"
"Here." Sammy, pointing to the spot she and I measured out whilst Char stripped, dead centre.
"It's. Well." Kneeling, hands placed on Char's bare sides. Manoeuvring her. "Perfect." Nodding, standing. Sammy's voice carrying easily as she moves around, working.
Both of us working.
"Not a Will o the Wisp, but similar."
"A what of the what?"
"A ghost light." Smiling at Char's genuine confusion. "A sprite. It'll." Gliding one hand around. "Drift, around us. It might." Pointing at Char. "Choose to enter you."
"The offering?"
"Just so." Nodding at me.
Char sticking her tongue out, which I do back. Sammy too lost in explaining to notice.
"We'll feel." Arms spread wide to stretch, grinning and turning a slow circle. "Happy. Warm and content. Or." Shrugging. "At least if it comes."
"It'll come." Stepping to Sammy, patting her shoulder. She smiles, pats my hand.
Working, whilst we'd been speaking, and by now Char has been secured. Bound, in place by Sammy. Metal tent pegs, four of them hammered into the ground, each strike loud, the echoes bouncing all around off the surrounding trees.
Like a bell tolling.
Each of Char's limbs: ankles and wrists, are wrapped with a separate length of rope, and each rope, tied off, is wrapped around the corresponding nearest peg. The slack drawn in, tied off.
And I watch, pausing. Confused because what little slack Char seems able to find, wriggling and there's some small movement allowed to each limb. But apparently that's bad because her and Sammy share a look.
After which each rope is slackened and pulled once more, tighter, further. Yanking Char's limbs closer to the pegs, flattening her slim near naked body against the ground.
Tied off, her legs, the angles involved and they look almost painfully wide despite Char seems okay. Not stressed. But tied up, wearing so little it leaves her looking strangely exposed.
Vulnerable.
And me? Whilst Sammy has fun with, binds Char.
I have Sammy's book. Which.
Sudden gust of wind, scattering leaves and teasing at our hair and I tut. Taking a couple of stones and weighting the pages.
Wouldn't- frowning, shrugging -want to get this wrong.
All told I get through two cans of white spray paint, the colour isn't important we're using white for ease of seeing where I've been, the lines faintly glowing.
Fixing Char at the centre of a large eight pointed star, spraying across and over her, necessary and she suffers the embarrassment well, and thank fuck there's no sports tomorrow because it might not easily wash off.
Surrounding the star with symbols picked from the page of Sammy's book, most of which not even she- so blind in the face of danger -knows the exact meaning or potential of.
And more symbols on my trussed and stretched out friend. A living canvas who remains still, calm if perhaps breathing a little fast.
Lastly, seconds to go. Slipping the bracelet over Char's left wrist. A thing we've made and even Sammy's not too comfortable: with the method, with the somewhat dark leaning aspect. But it's protection, apparently, so the book claims.
She thinks?
Midnight announces itself with the shrilling of my phone alarm. Sammy and me stand either side of Char, overdressed compared to her in jeans and hoodies. Fumbling, fighting to extract her hand made scribbles: words she needs to say, from a small and tight front pocket, Sammy curses.
And it, suddenly, begins to rain. Hard.
"Shit." Cursing again, pointing. "The book."
And I. Dumb. Stare blankly, only realising as Sammy stumbles forwards that the pages are getting soaked, possibly ruined.
"Wait." Half shouted and again I look round, tearing my attention from Char, her bikini soaked, the cold and wet causing her nipples to tent, pushing at the tight fabric.
"What?"
"This isn't the right page." Sammy, shaking her head. Staring down. "It's."
Thunder, crashing directly overhead drowning her words out.
And Char screams.
For a moment I think she's been struck, her wide eyes are solid black, mouth open wide as the scream seemingly continues in silence. Her hair, as I bounce the torch beam all across her, checking and somehow her hair is black too. Burned?
As we watch, stunned, Char slowly sinks back down, her body having jerked, arched up off the muddy grass and weed filled ground.
Slowly her mouth closes, those still wide eyes narrow as she looks left, right. Regarding us and I can't stop a shiver that has nothing to do with the rain soaking us all.
There's something animal like, predatory in her gaze.
"So." Mouth working, forming silent words gaze still shifting between us. "Long?"
Voice like a hiss, like breathing out.
"Char?" Sammy, a tentative step forwards, book closed and wrapped protectively against her chest.
"Are y-"
"Silence."
And something lashes out from Char's prone body, some kind of dark shadow, a tentacle made of void like blackness. Lightning quick to press and wrap briefly around Sammy's head before vanishing.
Leaving behind a tight binding that covers Sammy's mouth, wrapping around her.
"Let." Gaze shifting from Sammy, stumbling backwards and tripping, landing on her butt hands up to claw at the gag. To me. "Me. Go."
To which. Demand? I don't, can't move.
And the rain falls, washing away our carefully made markings and plans. Our night of harmless fun.
Char suddenly jerks again, body snapping forward and up, pushing against the ropes and.
Something.
Black, again, some kind of shape, twisting and changing, indescribable because of the fact. Like a shadow it launches from Char's bound body. Lifting higher although still connected to her at one end.
And the bracelet flaring white.
The dark shape immediately pulled, snapped back down inside of her. Char letting out a hiss of fury and frustration.
"You." Again, looking from Sammy to me, back. "Will. Regret this night."
The blackness running, leaking out of her eyes as though disappearing into Char as she slumps, going limp.
Blinking moments later.
"Sammy?" Looking at us. "Tash?" Stretching, trying to but those ropes have her pinned. "Fuck me," a small, very normal sounding giggle, "why is it raining?"
"Um." I take a small step forward, like approaching a wild animal. Caged, but are you sure? "Char?"
"Tash." Frowning at me. "What?"
Why is your hair- still -black? I don't say.
Or, what the fuck just happened? I don't say to Sammy, though I do glance at her and our eyes meet. And she looks, confused too.
Her gag gone. Where? And when?
"Did it work?"
"I...."
"No." Sammy, cutting me off and I shoot her a look. Which she ignores. But Char simply nods, smiles.
"Well. Um." Shaking, trying to shake her bound arm. "Any chance of being freed? Girls, I'm getting fucking wet down here."
Natasha.
"I bet she made a checklist." Whispering to Char as we follow Sammy through the woods, down alternating wide and narrow tracks, torches picking out and guiding the way over uneven rutted ground.
Low hanging branches looming ghost like left and right. Reaching.
Darkness all around us, and silence. Made somehow alive by the oppressive night.
Anything- and I'm trying hard to ignore the inner insistence -could be out there.
Trying to distract us both with humour and Char giggles. Nerves. Followed by her too loud voice, cutting the quiet like a chainsaw.
"Sammy."
"What?" She'd visibly jumped before stopping and turning. Flashlight beam pointed low towards us. Folded map, route drawn in garish pink highlight marker in her other hand.
"We." I start, grinning into the dark. "Just wondered...."
"If...." Char, and I can hear it in her voice too.
And so can Sammy.
"Fucking." Amusement replacing the brief flare of anger her surprise had caused, crossing the uneven ground back to us. "The pair of you. Honestly. What is it now?"
"Just." Touching the map, giving it a small shake, voice all innocence. "Wondering how many paces before the rocks shaped like a skull?"
"A grinning skull." Char adds helpfully.
"With one eye I suppose?" Sammy, followed by a snort of laughter that sets us off too. Releasing some of the tension and low level fear being out here is creating.
She swats us- me, because Char manages to dodge -playfully with the map. Tuts, giggles again.
And onwards.
Deeper, heading for a crossroads. At midnight. On an equinox that happens to coincide- an extreme rarity -with a new moon.
Stacked like that it really does look like a checklist.
All this because of Sammy's old book, which she found, or bought or inherited I forget which now? Leather bound in a blood shade of dark red, slim yet large. A tome she read, and believed.
Roping the two of us into trying this impossible thing, doomed to fail because even if Sammy's how to guide really is, real, we're schoolgirls. With absolutely no candles and only skinny Charlotte as a sacrifice.
Offering, I mean.
We've been friends for four years, since that first day of Comprehensive, three loners walking into a playground full of running and screaming. Joking and groups already made. Set. And somehow we'd know, fate casting us into the same classes, tentative attempts at hello being met by the repeated revelations of many shared interests.
Very quickly becoming inseparable.
Three loners against the world.
At fifteen there's much the same, appearance wise about us: blonde hair, long yet brushed and curling, growing slightly differently.
We bounce between ten and twelve, the skinny side of curvy and all three of us are a C cup. Which is enough, busty without being stupid. Unlike Michelle.
"How will we know?"
"Know what Tash?"
"Well." We've stopped, grouped together and passing round a bottle of water. Sharing the supplies spread between two messenger bags and a backpack. I gesture around us, turning a circle and illuminating our surroundings.
A crossroads.
"Why not this one?" Attention back on the group, on Sammy. "Won't any crossroads do?"
"Well...." Thinking, and whilst she does a nearby tree creaks, an owl hoots and Char giggles.
Nerves.
"Stacking the deck." With a shrug and we've had this talk. Why midnight, why a school- tonight -night, why the whole dance?
"So it's special then?"
"According to what I read." Nodding. "It's-"
"-Ley lines." Char, serious face and nodding. "And an invisible stone circle built last week a thousand years ago. By aliens. Plus there was a really really large battle that only happened on that one small spot and not the rest of-"
Informed voice, as if she actually knows becoming a shriek of briefly scared surprise- because it's dark outside the limited beams of our torch light and she hadn't seen the move -as Sammy flicks water in her face.
Both of them laughing moments later.
Onwards.
To the crossroads, arriving as the clock climbs towards the possibly irrelevant midnight deadline.
"Okay?" Sammy, voice only now, on the brink of making her grand play does it falter. Wavering as she looks at Char. Who grimaces back, because it isn't exactly warm, but nods and begins removing clothes.
Because friends help friends with their crazy ideas: dying Sammy's hair bright red last winter, the time we all decided to go braless after sports and earned instant detention, faking a school trip so we could ride the train to London.
Summoning.
"What is it again?" Char, trying not to shiver in nothing more then a too small black bikini and technically she's supposed to be naked.
But. No.
Just. No.
"What's supposed to happen?"
"Here." Sammy, pointing to the spot she and I measured out whilst Char stripped, dead centre.
"It's. Well." Kneeling, hands placed on Char's bare sides. Manoeuvring her. "Perfect." Nodding, standing. Sammy's voice carrying easily as she moves around, working.
Both of us working.
"Not a Will o the Wisp, but similar."
"A what of the what?"
"A ghost light." Smiling at Char's genuine confusion. "A sprite. It'll." Gliding one hand around. "Drift, around us. It might." Pointing at Char. "Choose to enter you."
"The offering?"
"Just so." Nodding at me.
Char sticking her tongue out, which I do back. Sammy too lost in explaining to notice.
"We'll feel." Arms spread wide to stretch, grinning and turning a slow circle. "Happy. Warm and content. Or." Shrugging. "At least if it comes."
"It'll come." Stepping to Sammy, patting her shoulder. She smiles, pats my hand.
Working, whilst we'd been speaking, and by now Char has been secured. Bound, in place by Sammy. Metal tent pegs, four of them hammered into the ground, each strike loud, the echoes bouncing all around off the surrounding trees.
Like a bell tolling.
Each of Char's limbs: ankles and wrists, are wrapped with a separate length of rope, and each rope, tied off, is wrapped around the corresponding nearest peg. The slack drawn in, tied off.
And I watch, pausing. Confused because what little slack Char seems able to find, wriggling and there's some small movement allowed to each limb. But apparently that's bad because her and Sammy share a look.
After which each rope is slackened and pulled once more, tighter, further. Yanking Char's limbs closer to the pegs, flattening her slim near naked body against the ground.
Tied off, her legs, the angles involved and they look almost painfully wide despite Char seems okay. Not stressed. But tied up, wearing so little it leaves her looking strangely exposed.
Vulnerable.
And me? Whilst Sammy has fun with, binds Char.
I have Sammy's book. Which.
Sudden gust of wind, scattering leaves and teasing at our hair and I tut. Taking a couple of stones and weighting the pages.
Wouldn't- frowning, shrugging -want to get this wrong.
All told I get through two cans of white spray paint, the colour isn't important we're using white for ease of seeing where I've been, the lines faintly glowing.
Fixing Char at the centre of a large eight pointed star, spraying across and over her, necessary and she suffers the embarrassment well, and thank fuck there's no sports tomorrow because it might not easily wash off.
Surrounding the star with symbols picked from the page of Sammy's book, most of which not even she- so blind in the face of danger -knows the exact meaning or potential of.
And more symbols on my trussed and stretched out friend. A living canvas who remains still, calm if perhaps breathing a little fast.
Lastly, seconds to go. Slipping the bracelet over Char's left wrist. A thing we've made and even Sammy's not too comfortable: with the method, with the somewhat dark leaning aspect. But it's protection, apparently, so the book claims.
She thinks?
Midnight announces itself with the shrilling of my phone alarm. Sammy and me stand either side of Char, overdressed compared to her in jeans and hoodies. Fumbling, fighting to extract her hand made scribbles: words she needs to say, from a small and tight front pocket, Sammy curses.
And it, suddenly, begins to rain. Hard.
"Shit." Cursing again, pointing. "The book."
And I. Dumb. Stare blankly, only realising as Sammy stumbles forwards that the pages are getting soaked, possibly ruined.
"Wait." Half shouted and again I look round, tearing my attention from Char, her bikini soaked, the cold and wet causing her nipples to tent, pushing at the tight fabric.
"What?"
"This isn't the right page." Sammy, shaking her head. Staring down. "It's."
Thunder, crashing directly overhead drowning her words out.
And Char screams.
For a moment I think she's been struck, her wide eyes are solid black, mouth open wide as the scream seemingly continues in silence. Her hair, as I bounce the torch beam all across her, checking and somehow her hair is black too. Burned?
As we watch, stunned, Char slowly sinks back down, her body having jerked, arched up off the muddy grass and weed filled ground.
Slowly her mouth closes, those still wide eyes narrow as she looks left, right. Regarding us and I can't stop a shiver that has nothing to do with the rain soaking us all.
There's something animal like, predatory in her gaze.
"So." Mouth working, forming silent words gaze still shifting between us. "Long?"
Voice like a hiss, like breathing out.
"Char?" Sammy, a tentative step forwards, book closed and wrapped protectively against her chest.
"Are y-"
"Silence."
And something lashes out from Char's prone body, some kind of dark shadow, a tentacle made of void like blackness. Lightning quick to press and wrap briefly around Sammy's head before vanishing.
Leaving behind a tight binding that covers Sammy's mouth, wrapping around her.
"Let." Gaze shifting from Sammy, stumbling backwards and tripping, landing on her butt hands up to claw at the gag. To me. "Me. Go."
To which. Demand? I don't, can't move.
And the rain falls, washing away our carefully made markings and plans. Our night of harmless fun.
Char suddenly jerks again, body snapping forward and up, pushing against the ropes and.
Something.
Black, again, some kind of shape, twisting and changing, indescribable because of the fact. Like a shadow it launches from Char's bound body. Lifting higher although still connected to her at one end.
And the bracelet flaring white.
The dark shape immediately pulled, snapped back down inside of her. Char letting out a hiss of fury and frustration.
"You." Again, looking from Sammy to me, back. "Will. Regret this night."
The blackness running, leaking out of her eyes as though disappearing into Char as she slumps, going limp.
Blinking moments later.
"Sammy?" Looking at us. "Tash?" Stretching, trying to but those ropes have her pinned. "Fuck me," a small, very normal sounding giggle, "why is it raining?"
"Um." I take a small step forward, like approaching a wild animal. Caged, but are you sure? "Char?"
"Tash." Frowning at me. "What?"
Why is your hair- still -black? I don't say.
Or, what the fuck just happened? I don't say to Sammy, though I do glance at her and our eyes meet. And she looks, confused too.
Her gag gone. Where? And when?
"Did it work?"
"I...."
"No." Sammy, cutting me off and I shoot her a look. Which she ignores. But Char simply nods, smiles.
"Well. Um." Shaking, trying to shake her bound arm. "Any chance of being freed? Girls, I'm getting fucking wet down here."
Most exellent!!! What a creepy Atmospere you created here. A bit of Hitchkock!
Thank you
I'm aiming for something creepy with this one.A hint of horror.
Bondage, as a literal thing and not an activity, not being necessarily friendly or playful.
Interesting take. Definitely a creepy approach. Slightly difficult to follow but well written. I'd like to read more
Hogtied and loving it
-
JohnnyRockets
- Forum Contributer
- Posts: 68
- Joined: 7 years ago
Intriguing setup, ropebunny. I'm curious to see how the mystery will unfold...
Probably my writing style there
which can't be helped, I've a tendency to write as though following a train of thought.Which, I know I often jump around.
Glad you're enjoying/sticking with it though.
Thank you, we've barely begun so there's plenty of twisting and evolving still to come with this oneJohnnyRockets wrote: 11 months ago Intriguing setup, ropebunny. I'm curious to see how the mystery will unfold...
002.
Charlotte.
"The fuck?" Staring at my reflection, walking home or at least back to Sammy's. Squelching, all of us soaked and in less then seven hours we're supposed to wake up for school.
Which could be nearer five by the time we actually climb into bed.
We haven't talked much. Tired, wet. Downbeat after failing to summon the.
Wisp? Wasn't it?
From the woods on the edge of town, across one estate and into more familiar territory, skirting wide to avoid Tash's house and all of us keeping eyes and ears primed for the sound of her dad's towtruck.
On call and he could be anywhere.
Passing parked cars and I happened to glance.
Seeing an imposter glancing back. Me, only with.
"What happened to my hair?" I exclaim too loud, forgetting the time. Surprised and maybe a small flare of anger, reaching up to grab a fistful, bringing it before my eyes and.
Black?
"Sammy?" Looking at them in turn. "Tash?"
"Well...."
"Sammy?" Because she'd answered, and- her book -surely she'd know?
"A." Small fidget. "Side effect?"
"But it failed?" And besides why are you asking, sounding unsure. "Didn't it?"
"It...."
"It started to rain." Tash, with a shrug. "And it was dark. And you...."
"I?"
What aren't they saying?
"Your hair just. Went." Tash, reaching up to stroke her own still blonde locks.
"Black." Sammy finishes, shaking her head.
"And it'll change back in...?" Looking at Sammy, who shakes her head, shrugs. Frowns. "Seriously?"
Never?
"Might be we didn't do enough prep. Or research."
"You think?"
Sudden laughter bubbling up from inside, and just like that I'm not mad. Because we're friends.
"Come here." Holding my arms out wide. "You're both fucking idiots, but so am I. And besides I love you."
We hug.
And back at Sammy's we drink hot chocolate whilst taking turns in the shower. Warming up, changing into dry pants and baggy tee's, hair- why the fuck did it go black -brushed.
Collapsing into Sammy's bed, a double and luckily we're all skinny, and we've been sharing her bed for the past three years on various sleepovers. Me in the middle tonight, flanked.
Sleeping.
Awake suddenly, laid on my back and I can feel, sense something close by. Like an invisible weight.
Hanging over me?
But there's only darkness. Until a sudden flash of white from low down but close by illuminates the bedroom, details picked out starkly, the afterimage burned into my blinking eyes.
Black patch above me?
Rising off me?
And with a bump something lands on me though not something with any recognisable shape. It hits, hard enough to shake the mattress and whoosh the air from my lungs, then simply.
Vanishes. The weight gone, but not running or rolling off. More like.
Absorbed?
Half asleep murmurs from Tash, beside me and she rolls over, pulling the duvet closer.
Turning, rolling my head to regard her. Feeling my lips, mouth pulled upwards into a wide grin. Some kind of white noise filling my head, vision going blurry.
Going. Fast, like slipping into sleep whether I'm tired or not, being forced under.
And.
Awake. Light filtering through closed curtains, morning.
School, damn it.
"You awake yet." Staring at the ceiling, stretching. Feeling quite good. "Girls?"
"Gggffffdddssmmnn."
"Ppffffgggnnmmm."
The unfamiliar sound. Moaning? Causing my head to jerk first left then right.
Mouth dropping open.
What?
Both Sammy and Tash are mirrors, of each other, at some point I've stolen the duvet, now wrapped and hugging only my body leaving the other two exposed.
On show and allowing me to see.
Have we been robbed?
A logical first thought, provided you ignore the fact I'm not tied up.
Yes, I said tied up.
Still dressed both my friends have been stretched out along either side of the bed. Rope snags the wrists and ankles- I sit up, peering down to see -binding each pair of limbs tightly together, with more rope connecting them to the bed top and bottom.
Forcing them to lay flat.
Plus both have been gagged, black cloth- the ropes are brown, rough looking -covers the whole mouth, wrapping the head in that one spot. Plastering hair.
Their eyes are wide, searching. Looking at each other, at me.
Fear? Is that what I'm seeing?
"Did I...?" Unable to complete the sentence, which. How could I tie them up? When could I of tied them up?
I've been asleep- forced down pushed and that white noise building as a smile that isn't mine grows -the whole night.
"Fffgggg rrrssssmmnn." Tash, eyes still wide but she blinks several times. Bouncing and wriggling her body whilst looking at me. Humped breasts shifting lazily beneath the tee, her wishes clear though.
Get. Me. The. Fuck. Out.
Say please, I almost tell them. Wanting to tease, to diffuse a very weird situation. But.
"Dddgggmm tttsssgg pppf mmmnn." Sammy, more bouncing felt behind as she no doubt struggles too, whilst I'm staring at Tash. Both of them Impatient.
"Right. Sorry, girls." A nervous laugh escaping though my- ungagged, and how am I not tied up too -lips. "Hold on."
I free them. Rude and silly and mean not too. Spend a moment stood beside the bed, ropes in hand staring down at the coiled lengths bundled and dripping out of my loose grip. Consider offering them the chance to tie me back.
Back? But, yes. Because who else did this but me? Some kind of blackout, or fuck knows what but surely I tied them. So, shouldn't they get to bind me back?
But, no. School beckons, so we get changed into matching pale blue short sleeved shirts and tight short black skirts, black trainer like shoes and a black tie with diagonal white stripes.
Eat a quick breakfast and away.
"Girls...."
"Char?" Eating lunch out on the field, which when it isn't raining we're allowed to do, the three of us in a sunny spot away from others, nowhere near the rowdy football pitch where a mixed group of boys, scattering of girls, are playing some kind of twenty-three versus seventeen or so no rules game.
Sure one team- as we'd walked passed, glancing -has three goal keepers?
"About." Staring at my sandwich, half eaten and I'm not hungry. Tossing it. "Can we talk about last night?"
"Um...."
"Well...."
Neither of them meeting my eyes now. Sammy staring into her water bottle whilst Tash appears to be checking the sky for rain.
"Did," just say it, "I tie you both up?"
To which they both fidget, gazes still cast away. Sammy frowns.
"Because." Glancing at the sky myself. "Who else could've?"
Sammy spitting out a mouthful of water.
"Well...."
"Thing is...." Tash, picking up from Sammy, exchanged looks and?
"We-"
"-Tied each other up." Sammy finishes, nodding. At Tash.
"Really?"
"Um." Tash fidgets. Nods too. "Yes."
"How?" Trying to do the logistics in my head: binding each others ankles, maybe. Binding said ankles to the bed I guess could be accomplished solo. But. Binding the wrists, lashing them to the bed? Tightly?
I just can't see it.
"But." Stumped. "Why?"
"Well...."
"Surprise." Tash exclaims, laughing. Sounding a little forced but it manages to bring a laugh out of me in response.
They tied themselves up? It doesn't sound right, or doable but what other explanation when all I remember is- white noise being pulled down and under -sleeping?
The bell rings, first of two and you really want. Need to be inside and at least looking as though you want to go to class by second bell. So we stand up, brush grass off our butt and head back towards the loose ring of buildings.
Something doesn't feel right, but.
My friends wouldn't lie to me, surely?
Charlotte.
"The fuck?" Staring at my reflection, walking home or at least back to Sammy's. Squelching, all of us soaked and in less then seven hours we're supposed to wake up for school.
Which could be nearer five by the time we actually climb into bed.
We haven't talked much. Tired, wet. Downbeat after failing to summon the.
Wisp? Wasn't it?
From the woods on the edge of town, across one estate and into more familiar territory, skirting wide to avoid Tash's house and all of us keeping eyes and ears primed for the sound of her dad's towtruck.
On call and he could be anywhere.
Passing parked cars and I happened to glance.
Seeing an imposter glancing back. Me, only with.
"What happened to my hair?" I exclaim too loud, forgetting the time. Surprised and maybe a small flare of anger, reaching up to grab a fistful, bringing it before my eyes and.
Black?
"Sammy?" Looking at them in turn. "Tash?"
"Well...."
"Sammy?" Because she'd answered, and- her book -surely she'd know?
"A." Small fidget. "Side effect?"
"But it failed?" And besides why are you asking, sounding unsure. "Didn't it?"
"It...."
"It started to rain." Tash, with a shrug. "And it was dark. And you...."
"I?"
What aren't they saying?
"Your hair just. Went." Tash, reaching up to stroke her own still blonde locks.
"Black." Sammy finishes, shaking her head.
"And it'll change back in...?" Looking at Sammy, who shakes her head, shrugs. Frowns. "Seriously?"
Never?
"Might be we didn't do enough prep. Or research."
"You think?"
Sudden laughter bubbling up from inside, and just like that I'm not mad. Because we're friends.
"Come here." Holding my arms out wide. "You're both fucking idiots, but so am I. And besides I love you."
We hug.
And back at Sammy's we drink hot chocolate whilst taking turns in the shower. Warming up, changing into dry pants and baggy tee's, hair- why the fuck did it go black -brushed.
Collapsing into Sammy's bed, a double and luckily we're all skinny, and we've been sharing her bed for the past three years on various sleepovers. Me in the middle tonight, flanked.
Sleeping.
Awake suddenly, laid on my back and I can feel, sense something close by. Like an invisible weight.
Hanging over me?
But there's only darkness. Until a sudden flash of white from low down but close by illuminates the bedroom, details picked out starkly, the afterimage burned into my blinking eyes.
Black patch above me?
Rising off me?
And with a bump something lands on me though not something with any recognisable shape. It hits, hard enough to shake the mattress and whoosh the air from my lungs, then simply.
Vanishes. The weight gone, but not running or rolling off. More like.
Absorbed?
Half asleep murmurs from Tash, beside me and she rolls over, pulling the duvet closer.
Turning, rolling my head to regard her. Feeling my lips, mouth pulled upwards into a wide grin. Some kind of white noise filling my head, vision going blurry.
Going. Fast, like slipping into sleep whether I'm tired or not, being forced under.
And.
Awake. Light filtering through closed curtains, morning.
School, damn it.
"You awake yet." Staring at the ceiling, stretching. Feeling quite good. "Girls?"
"Gggffffdddssmmnn."
"Ppffffgggnnmmm."
The unfamiliar sound. Moaning? Causing my head to jerk first left then right.
Mouth dropping open.
What?
Both Sammy and Tash are mirrors, of each other, at some point I've stolen the duvet, now wrapped and hugging only my body leaving the other two exposed.
On show and allowing me to see.
Have we been robbed?
A logical first thought, provided you ignore the fact I'm not tied up.
Yes, I said tied up.
Still dressed both my friends have been stretched out along either side of the bed. Rope snags the wrists and ankles- I sit up, peering down to see -binding each pair of limbs tightly together, with more rope connecting them to the bed top and bottom.
Forcing them to lay flat.
Plus both have been gagged, black cloth- the ropes are brown, rough looking -covers the whole mouth, wrapping the head in that one spot. Plastering hair.
Their eyes are wide, searching. Looking at each other, at me.
Fear? Is that what I'm seeing?
"Did I...?" Unable to complete the sentence, which. How could I tie them up? When could I of tied them up?
I've been asleep- forced down pushed and that white noise building as a smile that isn't mine grows -the whole night.
"Fffgggg rrrssssmmnn." Tash, eyes still wide but she blinks several times. Bouncing and wriggling her body whilst looking at me. Humped breasts shifting lazily beneath the tee, her wishes clear though.
Get. Me. The. Fuck. Out.
Say please, I almost tell them. Wanting to tease, to diffuse a very weird situation. But.
"Dddgggmm tttsssgg pppf mmmnn." Sammy, more bouncing felt behind as she no doubt struggles too, whilst I'm staring at Tash. Both of them Impatient.
"Right. Sorry, girls." A nervous laugh escaping though my- ungagged, and how am I not tied up too -lips. "Hold on."
I free them. Rude and silly and mean not too. Spend a moment stood beside the bed, ropes in hand staring down at the coiled lengths bundled and dripping out of my loose grip. Consider offering them the chance to tie me back.
Back? But, yes. Because who else did this but me? Some kind of blackout, or fuck knows what but surely I tied them. So, shouldn't they get to bind me back?
But, no. School beckons, so we get changed into matching pale blue short sleeved shirts and tight short black skirts, black trainer like shoes and a black tie with diagonal white stripes.
Eat a quick breakfast and away.
"Girls...."
"Char?" Eating lunch out on the field, which when it isn't raining we're allowed to do, the three of us in a sunny spot away from others, nowhere near the rowdy football pitch where a mixed group of boys, scattering of girls, are playing some kind of twenty-three versus seventeen or so no rules game.
Sure one team- as we'd walked passed, glancing -has three goal keepers?
"About." Staring at my sandwich, half eaten and I'm not hungry. Tossing it. "Can we talk about last night?"
"Um...."
"Well...."
Neither of them meeting my eyes now. Sammy staring into her water bottle whilst Tash appears to be checking the sky for rain.
"Did," just say it, "I tie you both up?"
To which they both fidget, gazes still cast away. Sammy frowns.
"Because." Glancing at the sky myself. "Who else could've?"
Sammy spitting out a mouthful of water.
"Well...."
"Thing is...." Tash, picking up from Sammy, exchanged looks and?
"We-"
"-Tied each other up." Sammy finishes, nodding. At Tash.
"Really?"
"Um." Tash fidgets. Nods too. "Yes."
"How?" Trying to do the logistics in my head: binding each others ankles, maybe. Binding said ankles to the bed I guess could be accomplished solo. But. Binding the wrists, lashing them to the bed? Tightly?
I just can't see it.
"But." Stumped. "Why?"
"Well...."
"Surprise." Tash exclaims, laughing. Sounding a little forced but it manages to bring a laugh out of me in response.
They tied themselves up? It doesn't sound right, or doable but what other explanation when all I remember is- white noise being pulled down and under -sleeping?
The bell rings, first of two and you really want. Need to be inside and at least looking as though you want to go to class by second bell. So we stand up, brush grass off our butt and head back towards the loose ring of buildings.
Something doesn't feel right, but.
My friends wouldn't lie to me, surely?
003.
Charlotte.
Time passes, days marching and blurring.
Returning home and my hair acts like a bomb, the detonation releasing questions I can't answer. Having to fake it, to conjure the lie of having dyed it. For fun.
Hoping they'll lose interest.
Mulling over the forced change, standing before various mirrors those first days. Learning to like what could still be permanent and I suppose there's an argument for being lucky: that black hair is the only side effect of our failed attempt at summoning.
The bracelet, hanging loosely around my left wrist and yet it never falls off, nor do I make any effort to remove it beyond the occasional thought that I must.
Forgotten by the time I'm anywhere near scissors or a knife.
Strands of leather cord, blacks and browns mixed in with strands of thick string. Once white but now stained a dirty dark off red colour by the act of creating the bracelet. All the lengths- cord and string -wrapped and plaited together, a loop at one end through which the other is fed, tied off to itself, creating a closed thing that I'm constantly forgetting is even there.
Wednesday finds me walking home alone, not such a rarity we three don't live in an easy spread of locations for walking together. But sometimes we do it anyway, for the company.
My own quickest route winds through a short copse, a raised path between one grouping of houses and the next, trees growing tall left and right out of long wide ditches extending far back towards a fenced off main road on one side, a fenced and gated electric substation quietly humming on the other.
Plenty of kids play here.
"Charlotte." Shouted, and moments later Dylan and two other eleven year olds leap out of a gap in the bushes, coming at a run. Grinning and I sigh.
Already, no words spoken but this is an old game, a path too long trod to change the script now. Already resigned to my fate.
I'll just have to hope- fat fucking chance -Michelle doesn't show up.
"You're." Pointing at me whilst the other two move round behind, familiar faces, I've lived here awhile.
An old game, like I said.
"In your woods." Shaking my head. "Come on then, boys." Waved gesture back the way they'd exploded. "That way right?"
"Yes." Dylan nods whilst I surrender my messenger bag to one of the others. "We're taking you captive."
And the script changes, has and will, evolving, some lines dropped or added. The theme differing based on various factors. But the basic premise remains: I'm an intruder, who surrenders, and now they take me prisoner.
The first time had been a shock, the first three times really and looking back now there's probably an argument you could make for overstepping. Binding me even whilst I fought, still not- at the beginning -completely happy to be a part of things.
But I came to enjoy the game, time passing discovering I wasn't the only local girl subject to repeated capture. Maybe a half dozen times a year on average? I began to like the attention, being trussed and pinned in front of several boys, the occasional girl. The ever changing gang that Dylan appears to lead. Those occasional girls never, it seems, in danger of joining me.
There's a tingle on my skin, a flutter in my belly whilst I stand or sit, or lay. Tied up and helpless. Forced to remain so until they're bored or until dinner.
Or until Michelle- sometimes, and she hadn't at first, her appearances are a recent but not unwelcome twist -shows up.
Two more boys in camp, grins appearing as I'm spotted, led into the small clearing school tie already removed, by me, pushed into my open mouth and knotted harshly tight around back.
Gagging me.
Pale blue shirt and that short black skirt, my uniform. The skirt is tight, the shirt fitted, hugging my upper body, highlighting the curves and these boys are all of a certain age. I know what they're looking at, what part of me fixes their attention and the knowledge only adds to the fluttering inside.
And yet not once, from skinny and flat chested to skinny with C cups me, now. Not once has the line been crossed. It isn't that sort of game.
Obedient, playing along I back up as they push, feeling the tree bark rough through my thin shirt. Staying still whilst the five make quick work of binding me.
Arms around the tree and wrists crossed on the far side, and already I'm done. Stuck. Rope, there's plenty of it, wrapping my whole body from ankles to forehead, criss-crossing and climbing and falling, pulled tight and knotted all around. So many lengths it's impossible to tell the beginnings and ends of each.
Rope forcing my legs together and against the tree. Rope pushing at my gag, making it more effective. Rope above and below my breasts, squeezing, three separate times running diagonal between from top left to bottom right but not the other way.
I'm completely immobilised, then ignored beyond Dylan's offered thumbs up. To which I roll my eyes. To which he laughs.
The boys settling down to talking, sat on stumps or fallen and rolled logs. The subjects quick fire changing, someone's phone rings and they have to go.
And I'm not worried, not even a little, about being abandoned here. We're still kids after all, and kids have parents.
They'd be grounded for months.
Occasionally I wriggle.
I always squirm, test the ropes no matter the tie. And yet all these times, multiple games and I've only successfully escaped once. Laughing as I slipped free, running like the wind.
Arriving home and finding, as the adrenaline faded, coming back down I'd discovered a sense of sadness. I hadn't- a shock at the time, now something confirmed -wanted to escape.
I like being caught, being a prisoner.
That's why I keep playing.
So I stand, wriggling from time to time, shaking and bouncing. Unable not to moan because of the sheer tightness, the pinching discomfort I don't really mind but I can't stop the moans it seems.
I watch the boys whilst they- beyond a rare smiled glance -ignore me.
I wonder at the time? I won't be missed, neither mum nor dad are home before six and I'm always.
Rustle of bushes.
Home before them. Unless.
"Well." Emerging into the clearing, eyes already fixed on me.
Michelle.
From the same year, the same school. In about half my classes though we never sit together. Michelle runs with her own crowd.
You might say the popular kids.
You might say she's one bully amongst others.
I'd say you were right on both counts.
Slim. Most teens, active and not stuffing themselves with junk tend to be. She's curvy, ten or twelve much like me, but pushing a D or possibly even E cups out in front. An impressive sight. A natural redhead, long and curling.
Approaching us, grinning.
"Hello Char." Favouring me with a nod, turning to face the boys and pulling out a folded banknote. Waving it towards me. "How much do you want for her this time?"
Charlotte.
Time passes, days marching and blurring.
Returning home and my hair acts like a bomb, the detonation releasing questions I can't answer. Having to fake it, to conjure the lie of having dyed it. For fun.
Hoping they'll lose interest.
Mulling over the forced change, standing before various mirrors those first days. Learning to like what could still be permanent and I suppose there's an argument for being lucky: that black hair is the only side effect of our failed attempt at summoning.
The bracelet, hanging loosely around my left wrist and yet it never falls off, nor do I make any effort to remove it beyond the occasional thought that I must.
Forgotten by the time I'm anywhere near scissors or a knife.
Strands of leather cord, blacks and browns mixed in with strands of thick string. Once white but now stained a dirty dark off red colour by the act of creating the bracelet. All the lengths- cord and string -wrapped and plaited together, a loop at one end through which the other is fed, tied off to itself, creating a closed thing that I'm constantly forgetting is even there.
Wednesday finds me walking home alone, not such a rarity we three don't live in an easy spread of locations for walking together. But sometimes we do it anyway, for the company.
My own quickest route winds through a short copse, a raised path between one grouping of houses and the next, trees growing tall left and right out of long wide ditches extending far back towards a fenced off main road on one side, a fenced and gated electric substation quietly humming on the other.
Plenty of kids play here.
"Charlotte." Shouted, and moments later Dylan and two other eleven year olds leap out of a gap in the bushes, coming at a run. Grinning and I sigh.
Already, no words spoken but this is an old game, a path too long trod to change the script now. Already resigned to my fate.
I'll just have to hope- fat fucking chance -Michelle doesn't show up.
"You're." Pointing at me whilst the other two move round behind, familiar faces, I've lived here awhile.
An old game, like I said.
"In your woods." Shaking my head. "Come on then, boys." Waved gesture back the way they'd exploded. "That way right?"
"Yes." Dylan nods whilst I surrender my messenger bag to one of the others. "We're taking you captive."
And the script changes, has and will, evolving, some lines dropped or added. The theme differing based on various factors. But the basic premise remains: I'm an intruder, who surrenders, and now they take me prisoner.
The first time had been a shock, the first three times really and looking back now there's probably an argument you could make for overstepping. Binding me even whilst I fought, still not- at the beginning -completely happy to be a part of things.
But I came to enjoy the game, time passing discovering I wasn't the only local girl subject to repeated capture. Maybe a half dozen times a year on average? I began to like the attention, being trussed and pinned in front of several boys, the occasional girl. The ever changing gang that Dylan appears to lead. Those occasional girls never, it seems, in danger of joining me.
There's a tingle on my skin, a flutter in my belly whilst I stand or sit, or lay. Tied up and helpless. Forced to remain so until they're bored or until dinner.
Or until Michelle- sometimes, and she hadn't at first, her appearances are a recent but not unwelcome twist -shows up.
Two more boys in camp, grins appearing as I'm spotted, led into the small clearing school tie already removed, by me, pushed into my open mouth and knotted harshly tight around back.
Gagging me.
Pale blue shirt and that short black skirt, my uniform. The skirt is tight, the shirt fitted, hugging my upper body, highlighting the curves and these boys are all of a certain age. I know what they're looking at, what part of me fixes their attention and the knowledge only adds to the fluttering inside.
And yet not once, from skinny and flat chested to skinny with C cups me, now. Not once has the line been crossed. It isn't that sort of game.
Obedient, playing along I back up as they push, feeling the tree bark rough through my thin shirt. Staying still whilst the five make quick work of binding me.
Arms around the tree and wrists crossed on the far side, and already I'm done. Stuck. Rope, there's plenty of it, wrapping my whole body from ankles to forehead, criss-crossing and climbing and falling, pulled tight and knotted all around. So many lengths it's impossible to tell the beginnings and ends of each.
Rope forcing my legs together and against the tree. Rope pushing at my gag, making it more effective. Rope above and below my breasts, squeezing, three separate times running diagonal between from top left to bottom right but not the other way.
I'm completely immobilised, then ignored beyond Dylan's offered thumbs up. To which I roll my eyes. To which he laughs.
The boys settling down to talking, sat on stumps or fallen and rolled logs. The subjects quick fire changing, someone's phone rings and they have to go.
And I'm not worried, not even a little, about being abandoned here. We're still kids after all, and kids have parents.
They'd be grounded for months.
Occasionally I wriggle.
I always squirm, test the ropes no matter the tie. And yet all these times, multiple games and I've only successfully escaped once. Laughing as I slipped free, running like the wind.
Arriving home and finding, as the adrenaline faded, coming back down I'd discovered a sense of sadness. I hadn't- a shock at the time, now something confirmed -wanted to escape.
I like being caught, being a prisoner.
That's why I keep playing.
So I stand, wriggling from time to time, shaking and bouncing. Unable not to moan because of the sheer tightness, the pinching discomfort I don't really mind but I can't stop the moans it seems.
I watch the boys whilst they- beyond a rare smiled glance -ignore me.
I wonder at the time? I won't be missed, neither mum nor dad are home before six and I'm always.
Rustle of bushes.
Home before them. Unless.
"Well." Emerging into the clearing, eyes already fixed on me.
Michelle.
From the same year, the same school. In about half my classes though we never sit together. Michelle runs with her own crowd.
You might say the popular kids.
You might say she's one bully amongst others.
I'd say you were right on both counts.
Slim. Most teens, active and not stuffing themselves with junk tend to be. She's curvy, ten or twelve much like me, but pushing a D or possibly even E cups out in front. An impressive sight. A natural redhead, long and curling.
Approaching us, grinning.
"Hello Char." Favouring me with a nod, turning to face the boys and pulling out a folded banknote. Waving it towards me. "How much do you want for her this time?"
Last edited by RopeBunny 11 months ago, edited 1 time in total.
I just realized your writing from a single character's point of view. 
These two chapters are quite easy to follow. Well written as usual. I like learning more about the way they feel about certain things. And how about the fact that her friends can't tell her she's been possessed. Great story telling!
These two chapters are quite easy to follow. Well written as usual. I like learning more about the way they feel about certain things. And how about the fact that her friends can't tell her she's been possessed. Great story telling!
Hogtied and loving it
It's my preferred method, helps me delve inside the mind, makes telling the story easier I find, the ability to explain how they feel about things. Offer up opinions.Syko Sith wrote: 11 months ago I just realized your writing from a single character's point of view.
Thanks for commenting.
Interlude.
Can Two Share A Secret?
"We have to tell her."
"Tell her what?"
"Seriously?" Mouth open.
What the fuck do you think we're talking about?
"But what do we know?" Eyes searching, imploring. "Facts."
"We know something came, something answered the call."
"And whose fault was that?"
"I told you." A sigh, shaken head. "The wind-"
"-Moved the page."
Climbing back down too, voices softer.
"Yes. Of course, something." Pausing as though making that last word the whole point. "Happened. Something." Again a pause. "Showed up, but until we know what all we'll do is scare her."
"But she needs to know."
"Not guesses. And besides she still thinks it failed."
"Does she, though? Pretty fucking thin pretending we tied each other up."
Laughter, bubbling and leaking across the space. Shared.
"She knows." Frowning, waving the word away to be replaced with. "Suspects."
"Too much evidence mounting not to."
"So then let's tell her. Share."
"Not until we know."
Thoughtful silence.
"If we look at the book, do you think you could spot the page? Recognise the symbols?"
"Hopefully."
"I thought the bracelet was supposed to keep things out?"
"So did I." Shaken head, her turn to sigh. "So did I."
Can Two Share A Secret?
"We have to tell her."
"Tell her what?"
"Seriously?" Mouth open.
What the fuck do you think we're talking about?
"But what do we know?" Eyes searching, imploring. "Facts."
"We know something came, something answered the call."
"And whose fault was that?"
"I told you." A sigh, shaken head. "The wind-"
"-Moved the page."
Climbing back down too, voices softer.
"Yes. Of course, something." Pausing as though making that last word the whole point. "Happened. Something." Again a pause. "Showed up, but until we know what all we'll do is scare her."
"But she needs to know."
"Not guesses. And besides she still thinks it failed."
"Does she, though? Pretty fucking thin pretending we tied each other up."
Laughter, bubbling and leaking across the space. Shared.
"She knows." Frowning, waving the word away to be replaced with. "Suspects."
"Too much evidence mounting not to."
"So then let's tell her. Share."
"Not until we know."
Thoughtful silence.
"If we look at the book, do you think you could spot the page? Recognise the symbols?"
"Hopefully."
"I thought the bracelet was supposed to keep things out?"
"So did I." Shaken head, her turn to sigh. "So did I."
004.
Michelle.
"Right." Jerking my thumb. "Fuck off then."
"Sure." Dylan nods, easy, both of us watching the others leave. "Pleasure doing business with you Chelle."
Watching him leave too, cash tucked away and no questions. Never asking why, or what I want trussed and helpless Char for. And I could- probably -take her by force. Off him. Off them.
I'm older. Immune to their bullshit game of capture the pretty local girls, out of bounds.
But I know Dylan's older brother, we hang and move in the same circles. So, doing it this way keeps everybody happy.
Plus there's no denying I get a certain kick out of 'buying' Char.
I own her now. Technically.
"Hello." Approaching her, my bag dumped with hers and I'm not worried about being found, seen or disturbed. We're far off the rough winding track, deep into the trees and close to the fence.
Steady hum and rumble of traffic at speed.
"Pleased to see me?" Teasing, stood close enough I can smell her, sweat mixed faintly with citrus. Arms crossed beneath my E cups, tie loosened the top of my shirt open.
Wondering about that hair?
Silence, not speaking. Moaning because her tight rope enforced gag would make any attempt at speech into nonsense. Char looks back at me, chest rising and falling quickly beneath her criss-crossing bonds.
Slowly, my own breathing coming faster, belly fluttering. Slowly I reach out, Char unblinking, watching my hand glide across the small distance. Reaching and touching her shirt clad and rope squeezed breast.
Touching. Cupping.
Both our breath stopped. Held despite this isn't the first time.
It isn't even the sixth.
My right hand joins the left, Char wriggling slightly. Not to throw me off, to protest. Her wide eyes are locked on mine and when I- voice quiet and speaking proving a huge effort -ask.
"Shall I take off your gag?"
"Dddgggsssmm." She moans back, smallest hint of a nod, the tightly lashed ropes preventing more.
What's happening here?
Well. I, think. Possibly. Maybe. That I like girls.
Being a teenager is confusing, hormones running wild, body changing and growing: it sometimes feels that I went from an A to E's overnight. And somewhere in all the loud tumble of my life.
I realised I'd been noticing girls.
Looking, really looking at them, admiring the curve of legs in tight trousers, the pertness of a friends- who thank fuck didn't catch me staring -butt in her bikini bottoms down the pool.
Trying not to stare down the waitresses open shirt front, out for a family dinner and mesmerised by the shadowed humps of her bra thrust upwards breasts.
And into that mix I'd stumbled, one day, across Char. Bound by the boys in blue jeans and a black vest top, sat in a chair. Roped and gagged. Helpless yet apparently happy.
The cutest, prettiest thing I'd ever seen.
"Hold on." Stepping around her, tracing the path of various ropes with a finger. Searching, Char waiting. Calm, as I find and remove only the rope pinning her gag in place, removing that afterwards.
Keeping her bound.
"Thanks." Licking her lips, jaw working out whatever built tension the rope and gag made. "Chelle."
"S' okay." Back in front of her, arms fidgeting at my sides. Nerves despite there's- by now -almost a script to this. "Can't kiss if you're gagged."
"No." Blinking at me, lips licked again, breathing suddenly fast again.
Not no, don't kiss me. No, we can't kiss.
But now we can.
And that first time I'd, some lucky epiphany, wandered into the clearing- because this is where they hang out, bring whatever prisoner they've bullied or coerced into playing along -and made a game of it. Bargaining for and 'buying' Char, wanting the boys gone.
Wanting her to myself.
Kissing without asking or checking that first time. Groping breasts and taking what I wanted, too full of a sudden sloshing strong desire to touch her. Kiss her.
Freeing her and bolting. Ashamed and angry at myself for taking advantage.
Being a bully doesn't mean a green light to molest someone, at least not to me.
Expecting trouble. Her parents talking to mine, or something. Walking as though to the gallows, a whole weekend feeling low and then Monday comes around and who should I spot in the school corridor: Char, who.
The fuck?
Offers me a nervous smile as we pass.
And the next time I'd found her, same clearing and Char in uniform this time. No gag, simply bound to a tree by way of her crossed wrists, raised and pulled upwards, rope slung over a high branch, tethered and lashed off down low.
Keeping her in place.
"May I?" Alone, watching her chest rise and fall quickly, mirroring mine. Nerves.
"Yes." Voice small, accompanied by a small nod.
We don't mix in school, barely acknowledge each other anywhere should our paths cross. I don't have her phone number and we aren't friends online. It's like having a secret, one we haven't discussed keeping but do so anyway.
And the previous two times she's come back home with me, finding her luckily coinciding with an empty house. The first time of those I'd bottled it, quick kiss on her lips and running inside.
But last time, holding hands all the way and tingles threatening to leave me numb. Screwing up my train of thought. Last time we'd made it inside, up to my actual bedroom where I'd bound Char into a- admittedly terribly loose -hogtie. And we'd shared a half dozen kisses before dad's car announced its noisy arrival.
Saving us both from my strong but no doubt stupid urge to lift up her top and kiss Char's breasts.
But today my house isn't empty, which is probably lucky because for the past week I've been having the craziest, hyper real feeling fantasies: Char binding me, finding me bound by the gang.
I've even caught myself pondering how to mention it to Dylan, how to offer myself up as an additional, new prisoner. Wanting, partly my daydreams stemming from the question: if Char found me tied up, helpless, would she want to kiss and touch me the way I do her?
But for now, today she's bound. So I kiss her.
Feeling Char respond, lips moving, widening, her tongue sliding forth to meet mine, touching. Exploring. Without conscious thought my hands are back on her breasts, our eyes locked.
Char's suddenly swimming with darkness, black flooding in from all sides to cover the whites and iris.
Surprised. Shocked I go to pull back only to feel sharp- too sharp -teeth digging into my tongue. Pinning me and I squeal in alarm, eyes darting everywhere.
Spotting. The fuck? Tentacle like growths, maybe a dozen extending out from behind and around Char like flower petals composed of purest midnight, each arching around her. Growing fast and heading directly towards me.
I tense, afraid and panicked, breath held and eyes closed yet still I see the flash. Brilliant white.
Realise, belatedly that she's released my tongue, stumble backwards blinking only to see Char, eyes normal and no longer surrounded by those dark tentacles.
Staring at me, looking confused.
"Chelle?"
"Y." Breathe, calm the fuck down. "Yes, Char." Letting go the built up shiver, whole body shaking it loose. "What the fuck was that?"
"We." Blinking. "Kissed?"
Doesn't she know?
The black eyes, black tentacles. Teeth feeling too sharp for human. Could it be- taking the leap, testing it -that for a moment, until the flash, Char hadn't been in control of Char.
And if not her then what? Who?
"Chelle?" Char's voice, quiet. Unsure and I realise I've been silently thinking, not focused on her at all.
"Something." Feeling my way. "Happened, just now when we kissed."
"Yes." Nervous, eyes flicking between me and the floor. "I. Um. Felt it too."
"Not that. Silly." Stepping close without stopping to think of safety. What if the tentacles try to. Enter? Me again. "I feel. That." Running a thumb across her lips. Char shivers. "Everytime we're together like this."
"I do too."
Kissing my thumb, and I can't stop the urge, compelled forwards to kiss her again, hands going to her breasts and gently squeezing.
Char sighing into my mouth.
"I like you kissing me." Whispered into my mouth, words making me shiver with delight. "Touching me."
"But only whilst you're bound?" Asking, tone half teasing. Playful whilst inside my whole future seems to pivot on her answer.
"Well." Wriggling beneath my grip on her C cups. "I like how this feels, that I can't stop you. But." Small smile. "I'd kiss you without the ropes. If you asked."
Which, heart soaring, earns her a long wet kiss that leaves us both breathless.
After which, time marching on I free her, which takes quite awhile given how much rope the boys used, how twisted and mixed up all the individual lengths are. Throughout Char stands, patient and silently watching me work, tossing the rope into one corner of the clearing.
Collecting both her messenger bag and my backpack. And.
"Chelle?" Making to leave but Char's voice, calling out and I stop. Turn.
She comes towards me, hesitant.
"What was it?"
"What was what?"
"That you felt?" Flashed smile. "That you were trying to tell me before we." Blushing, fidgeting.
"Before we kissed." Confident, although I feel my own neck and cheeks flush too.
Char nods.
"Well." How the fuck to explain, describe this? "It's like something came out of you. Something, black? Which." Can't help the quick nervous laugh that escapes mid sentence. "Attacked me?"
"Oh." Reaching up to finger her new black hair. "And I felt...."
Looking lost, deep in thought and I wait.
"Like. Last time...?"
"Char?" Because she's frowning. Troubled.
"There's. Someth...."
The word drifting away and she seems suddenly frozen, locked in place.
"Char?" Taking a step towards her. "Are you...."
My own words drifting, but off a cliff as Char looks up. Eyes of purest black staring at me, through me. Unblinking whilst Char's mouth is pulled into a wide slashed grin too full of teeth.
"No." The voice is female, but more a hiss then speaking, like breathing out. "But I will be," hiss becoming less so, changing and sliding from somewhere deep upwards until it perfectly resembles Char's tones and accent, "soon."
And I only manage to back off one step before she launches, leaping and seeming to fly at me like some kind of anime attack. She moves quickly, almost a blur. Blackness like a cloud erupting out from her as she comes, swallowing me up.
Cutting off my scream.
Thrown and tossed around, blind, caught in a tornado losing all sense of anything. Limbs tugged and pinched. Trying to fight but no clue against what? Flailing, pushing back but hopelessly, losing.
And the return of normality, the cloud receding and losing form. Evaporating? Blinking I manage to catch a- final -glimpse of Char.
If it even is Char? Those eyes, that darkness?
Char, walking away through the trees, messenger bag hanging off one shoulder.
"Dddsssrrrgggg." I shout, try to shout but it comes out muffled. Wrong. And Char doesn't pause, or look back. She walks away.
Leaving me.
Gagged, mouth full of a ball, strong taste of rubber and straps running a circuit of my head, pinning the ball inside my stretched wide mouth.
And, looking left. Right. I've been lashed and pinned to the fence just behind the clearing. Twice as tall as me and comprising wide horizontal slats with small gaps between each. My back is pressed to the smooth cool wood, arms t posed out horizontally, legs spread though not too wide.
My whole body criss-crossed by the same dozens of ropes I'd removed from Char. Pinching and securing me, squeezing and spreading my E cups.
Brushing my crotch where one loops around high up my right upper thigh.
I'm pinned.
Tied up for the first time ever.
Gagged for the first time ever.
By Char. Sort of. And, repeated wriggling and struggles, bouncing my body, pushing forward and grunting with effort, there's no hope or chance of escape.
I'm helpless.
Which shouldn't be good, especially given the strange- black eyes dark smoke erupting all around swallowing me and doing as she pleased -circumstances of my bondage. Except.
Except.
I can feel myself buzzing, a tingle that won't quit, it just keeps coming and going in waves because.
I'm into it?
I. Like it?
Char- and I'm now ignoring whatever difference there may be between Char and the darkness -taking and doing as she pleased with and to me is. So. Fucking. Hot.
And the buzz just keeps going, despite the passage of time and I really should be home. But I don't care, I want her to come back and kiss me.
Or continue abandoning me.
Like some sort of power thing? Like she owns me now?
Eventually Dylan returns. Surprise becoming concern, for me. Which I wave off, refusing to answer questions.
Thanking him, leaving.
Still idly thinking of Char.
Michelle.
"Right." Jerking my thumb. "Fuck off then."
"Sure." Dylan nods, easy, both of us watching the others leave. "Pleasure doing business with you Chelle."
Watching him leave too, cash tucked away and no questions. Never asking why, or what I want trussed and helpless Char for. And I could- probably -take her by force. Off him. Off them.
I'm older. Immune to their bullshit game of capture the pretty local girls, out of bounds.
But I know Dylan's older brother, we hang and move in the same circles. So, doing it this way keeps everybody happy.
Plus there's no denying I get a certain kick out of 'buying' Char.
I own her now. Technically.
"Hello." Approaching her, my bag dumped with hers and I'm not worried about being found, seen or disturbed. We're far off the rough winding track, deep into the trees and close to the fence.
Steady hum and rumble of traffic at speed.
"Pleased to see me?" Teasing, stood close enough I can smell her, sweat mixed faintly with citrus. Arms crossed beneath my E cups, tie loosened the top of my shirt open.
Wondering about that hair?
Silence, not speaking. Moaning because her tight rope enforced gag would make any attempt at speech into nonsense. Char looks back at me, chest rising and falling quickly beneath her criss-crossing bonds.
Slowly, my own breathing coming faster, belly fluttering. Slowly I reach out, Char unblinking, watching my hand glide across the small distance. Reaching and touching her shirt clad and rope squeezed breast.
Touching. Cupping.
Both our breath stopped. Held despite this isn't the first time.
It isn't even the sixth.
My right hand joins the left, Char wriggling slightly. Not to throw me off, to protest. Her wide eyes are locked on mine and when I- voice quiet and speaking proving a huge effort -ask.
"Shall I take off your gag?"
"Dddgggsssmm." She moans back, smallest hint of a nod, the tightly lashed ropes preventing more.
What's happening here?
Well. I, think. Possibly. Maybe. That I like girls.
Being a teenager is confusing, hormones running wild, body changing and growing: it sometimes feels that I went from an A to E's overnight. And somewhere in all the loud tumble of my life.
I realised I'd been noticing girls.
Looking, really looking at them, admiring the curve of legs in tight trousers, the pertness of a friends- who thank fuck didn't catch me staring -butt in her bikini bottoms down the pool.
Trying not to stare down the waitresses open shirt front, out for a family dinner and mesmerised by the shadowed humps of her bra thrust upwards breasts.
And into that mix I'd stumbled, one day, across Char. Bound by the boys in blue jeans and a black vest top, sat in a chair. Roped and gagged. Helpless yet apparently happy.
The cutest, prettiest thing I'd ever seen.
"Hold on." Stepping around her, tracing the path of various ropes with a finger. Searching, Char waiting. Calm, as I find and remove only the rope pinning her gag in place, removing that afterwards.
Keeping her bound.
"Thanks." Licking her lips, jaw working out whatever built tension the rope and gag made. "Chelle."
"S' okay." Back in front of her, arms fidgeting at my sides. Nerves despite there's- by now -almost a script to this. "Can't kiss if you're gagged."
"No." Blinking at me, lips licked again, breathing suddenly fast again.
Not no, don't kiss me. No, we can't kiss.
But now we can.
And that first time I'd, some lucky epiphany, wandered into the clearing- because this is where they hang out, bring whatever prisoner they've bullied or coerced into playing along -and made a game of it. Bargaining for and 'buying' Char, wanting the boys gone.
Wanting her to myself.
Kissing without asking or checking that first time. Groping breasts and taking what I wanted, too full of a sudden sloshing strong desire to touch her. Kiss her.
Freeing her and bolting. Ashamed and angry at myself for taking advantage.
Being a bully doesn't mean a green light to molest someone, at least not to me.
Expecting trouble. Her parents talking to mine, or something. Walking as though to the gallows, a whole weekend feeling low and then Monday comes around and who should I spot in the school corridor: Char, who.
The fuck?
Offers me a nervous smile as we pass.
And the next time I'd found her, same clearing and Char in uniform this time. No gag, simply bound to a tree by way of her crossed wrists, raised and pulled upwards, rope slung over a high branch, tethered and lashed off down low.
Keeping her in place.
"May I?" Alone, watching her chest rise and fall quickly, mirroring mine. Nerves.
"Yes." Voice small, accompanied by a small nod.
We don't mix in school, barely acknowledge each other anywhere should our paths cross. I don't have her phone number and we aren't friends online. It's like having a secret, one we haven't discussed keeping but do so anyway.
And the previous two times she's come back home with me, finding her luckily coinciding with an empty house. The first time of those I'd bottled it, quick kiss on her lips and running inside.
But last time, holding hands all the way and tingles threatening to leave me numb. Screwing up my train of thought. Last time we'd made it inside, up to my actual bedroom where I'd bound Char into a- admittedly terribly loose -hogtie. And we'd shared a half dozen kisses before dad's car announced its noisy arrival.
Saving us both from my strong but no doubt stupid urge to lift up her top and kiss Char's breasts.
But today my house isn't empty, which is probably lucky because for the past week I've been having the craziest, hyper real feeling fantasies: Char binding me, finding me bound by the gang.
I've even caught myself pondering how to mention it to Dylan, how to offer myself up as an additional, new prisoner. Wanting, partly my daydreams stemming from the question: if Char found me tied up, helpless, would she want to kiss and touch me the way I do her?
But for now, today she's bound. So I kiss her.
Feeling Char respond, lips moving, widening, her tongue sliding forth to meet mine, touching. Exploring. Without conscious thought my hands are back on her breasts, our eyes locked.
Char's suddenly swimming with darkness, black flooding in from all sides to cover the whites and iris.
Surprised. Shocked I go to pull back only to feel sharp- too sharp -teeth digging into my tongue. Pinning me and I squeal in alarm, eyes darting everywhere.
Spotting. The fuck? Tentacle like growths, maybe a dozen extending out from behind and around Char like flower petals composed of purest midnight, each arching around her. Growing fast and heading directly towards me.
I tense, afraid and panicked, breath held and eyes closed yet still I see the flash. Brilliant white.
Realise, belatedly that she's released my tongue, stumble backwards blinking only to see Char, eyes normal and no longer surrounded by those dark tentacles.
Staring at me, looking confused.
"Chelle?"
"Y." Breathe, calm the fuck down. "Yes, Char." Letting go the built up shiver, whole body shaking it loose. "What the fuck was that?"
"We." Blinking. "Kissed?"
Doesn't she know?
The black eyes, black tentacles. Teeth feeling too sharp for human. Could it be- taking the leap, testing it -that for a moment, until the flash, Char hadn't been in control of Char.
And if not her then what? Who?
"Chelle?" Char's voice, quiet. Unsure and I realise I've been silently thinking, not focused on her at all.
"Something." Feeling my way. "Happened, just now when we kissed."
"Yes." Nervous, eyes flicking between me and the floor. "I. Um. Felt it too."
"Not that. Silly." Stepping close without stopping to think of safety. What if the tentacles try to. Enter? Me again. "I feel. That." Running a thumb across her lips. Char shivers. "Everytime we're together like this."
"I do too."
Kissing my thumb, and I can't stop the urge, compelled forwards to kiss her again, hands going to her breasts and gently squeezing.
Char sighing into my mouth.
"I like you kissing me." Whispered into my mouth, words making me shiver with delight. "Touching me."
"But only whilst you're bound?" Asking, tone half teasing. Playful whilst inside my whole future seems to pivot on her answer.
"Well." Wriggling beneath my grip on her C cups. "I like how this feels, that I can't stop you. But." Small smile. "I'd kiss you without the ropes. If you asked."
Which, heart soaring, earns her a long wet kiss that leaves us both breathless.
After which, time marching on I free her, which takes quite awhile given how much rope the boys used, how twisted and mixed up all the individual lengths are. Throughout Char stands, patient and silently watching me work, tossing the rope into one corner of the clearing.
Collecting both her messenger bag and my backpack. And.
"Chelle?" Making to leave but Char's voice, calling out and I stop. Turn.
She comes towards me, hesitant.
"What was it?"
"What was what?"
"That you felt?" Flashed smile. "That you were trying to tell me before we." Blushing, fidgeting.
"Before we kissed." Confident, although I feel my own neck and cheeks flush too.
Char nods.
"Well." How the fuck to explain, describe this? "It's like something came out of you. Something, black? Which." Can't help the quick nervous laugh that escapes mid sentence. "Attacked me?"
"Oh." Reaching up to finger her new black hair. "And I felt...."
Looking lost, deep in thought and I wait.
"Like. Last time...?"
"Char?" Because she's frowning. Troubled.
"There's. Someth...."
The word drifting away and she seems suddenly frozen, locked in place.
"Char?" Taking a step towards her. "Are you...."
My own words drifting, but off a cliff as Char looks up. Eyes of purest black staring at me, through me. Unblinking whilst Char's mouth is pulled into a wide slashed grin too full of teeth.
"No." The voice is female, but more a hiss then speaking, like breathing out. "But I will be," hiss becoming less so, changing and sliding from somewhere deep upwards until it perfectly resembles Char's tones and accent, "soon."
And I only manage to back off one step before she launches, leaping and seeming to fly at me like some kind of anime attack. She moves quickly, almost a blur. Blackness like a cloud erupting out from her as she comes, swallowing me up.
Cutting off my scream.
Thrown and tossed around, blind, caught in a tornado losing all sense of anything. Limbs tugged and pinched. Trying to fight but no clue against what? Flailing, pushing back but hopelessly, losing.
And the return of normality, the cloud receding and losing form. Evaporating? Blinking I manage to catch a- final -glimpse of Char.
If it even is Char? Those eyes, that darkness?
Char, walking away through the trees, messenger bag hanging off one shoulder.
"Dddsssrrrgggg." I shout, try to shout but it comes out muffled. Wrong. And Char doesn't pause, or look back. She walks away.
Leaving me.
Gagged, mouth full of a ball, strong taste of rubber and straps running a circuit of my head, pinning the ball inside my stretched wide mouth.
And, looking left. Right. I've been lashed and pinned to the fence just behind the clearing. Twice as tall as me and comprising wide horizontal slats with small gaps between each. My back is pressed to the smooth cool wood, arms t posed out horizontally, legs spread though not too wide.
My whole body criss-crossed by the same dozens of ropes I'd removed from Char. Pinching and securing me, squeezing and spreading my E cups.
Brushing my crotch where one loops around high up my right upper thigh.
I'm pinned.
Tied up for the first time ever.
Gagged for the first time ever.
By Char. Sort of. And, repeated wriggling and struggles, bouncing my body, pushing forward and grunting with effort, there's no hope or chance of escape.
I'm helpless.
Which shouldn't be good, especially given the strange- black eyes dark smoke erupting all around swallowing me and doing as she pleased -circumstances of my bondage. Except.
Except.
I can feel myself buzzing, a tingle that won't quit, it just keeps coming and going in waves because.
I'm into it?
I. Like it?
Char- and I'm now ignoring whatever difference there may be between Char and the darkness -taking and doing as she pleased with and to me is. So. Fucking. Hot.
And the buzz just keeps going, despite the passage of time and I really should be home. But I don't care, I want her to come back and kiss me.
Or continue abandoning me.
Like some sort of power thing? Like she owns me now?
Eventually Dylan returns. Surprise becoming concern, for me. Which I wave off, refusing to answer questions.
Thanking him, leaving.
Still idly thinking of Char.
Last edited by RopeBunny 11 months ago, edited 2 times in total.
Wow! Couldn't help but giggle as the girls argued about telling Char. Genuine surprise at her interaction with Michelle. So Freaking Hot. Obviously I liked these chapters too.
Hogtied and loving it
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BlissfulMisery
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 365
- Joined: 3 years ago
Seems I completely missed the start of this tale!
Just means more to read I suppose
All of the girls seem in way over their heads. Ironic that the one arguably in the most 'trouble' is the least aware of the danger. Generally they all seem surprisingly calm about the whole thing, but to be fair that is a far more useful response then panic. Especially when dealing with otherworldly horrors beyond human imagining
And it is Interesting to see another horror-themed tale from you. I guess the itch you seem to occasionally have for writing them has come back?
Just means more to read I suppose
All of the girls seem in way over their heads. Ironic that the one arguably in the most 'trouble' is the least aware of the danger. Generally they all seem surprisingly calm about the whole thing, but to be fair that is a far more useful response then panic. Especially when dealing with otherworldly horrors beyond human imagining
And it is Interesting to see another horror-themed tale from you. I guess the itch you seem to occasionally have for writing them has come back?
It's a fine line to walk with a 'For Everyone' story, when it comes to sexual stuff. Adds to the fun of writing though I find, makes me think harder because it can't culminate in the usual way.
did wonder if/when you'd show up I do love my horror TUGsBlissfulMisery wrote: 11 months ago
And it is Interesting to see another horror-themed tale from you. I guess the itch you seem to occasionally have for writing them has come back?
Still have a couple of half finished 'Lupin House' chapters
which I still want to finish, one day I'll drag it back out.005.
Charlotte.
I. Must've? Walked home, because I'm home. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up one hand on the rail.
"Love?"
"Huh?" Turning my head and blinking at mum.
"Are you okay love?" Busy in the kitchen, final prep for dinner- smells like battered fish and baked potatoes, sliced open and filled with baked beans -in full swing. Stopping to glance at me as she places ketchup and some pre-sliced bread, butter, down onto the table. Frowning.
"Long day?"
"No. I."
"You've been standing there staring for a couple of minutes."
"Oh?" Confused, mum chuckles softly. Heads back into the kitchen.
"Get changed, and fetch your sister we're almost ready."
"Right." Nodding, firing my sluggish feeling body into action.
Passing Lauren on the stairs, sharing a glare with my older- eighteen -sister. Who did want to live on campus at her fancy college. Who hates taking the- feigned shock and sympathy -ninety minutes each way bus four days a week. Who hates us all for varying complex and completely bollocks and fabricated reasons.
"Where were you?"
"Kissing your girlfriend." Sticking my tongue out as Lauren flips me off. Truthfully I've no clue- and don't care -whether she's into boys or girls? The come back is automatic.
And besides I. Remember? Kissing Chelle.
Who, did? Show up in the clearing. And, did? Kiss me.
Touch me.
And it must've been Chelle who freed me, which I remember too only, with things becoming hazy, vague. How sure can I be that Chelle was there, that I'm not simply slotting in old memories of past times?
Uniform off, stripping down to bra and thong and. Bracelet? Lifting my left arm, shaking my wrist and staring. Frowning.
Loose enough to simply fall off unnoticed and yet it hasn't. Doesn't.
Must get the scissors.
After dinner.
Loose grey drawstring joggers and a pale blue My Little Pony tee, because some things are forever.
Dinner a family affair, like always though Lauren, growing up now and sometimes she's out- doing grown up things that probably aren't at all as I imagine them -and even when she is home, mostly she just glares now. Sullen.
Did I mention she wanted to stay on campus?
There's comfort to be had in the familiarity of it all. The same questions asked. Dad describing some incident or other, work or traffic related. Sharing a look with mum, holding hands across one corner of the table and, gross of course but I'm glad they love each other.
Lauren slinks, no other word for it: hood pulled up and already ignoring us all, upstairs afterwards whilst I stay to help tidy up.
"Will I ever be that much of a bitch?"
"Charlotte." Aiming for scolding but trying not to laugh, covering her mouth and coughing. "Language."
"Sorry. But." Waving towards the stairs and we can already hear Lauren's music. Angry rock, of course, to go with her dyed purple hair.
And her anger when I'd suddenly gone black, like I'd stolen the bad ass hair crown or something without even meaning to.
"Am I just going to wake up one day and hate everybody?"
"We hope not." Dad, wandering in folding the table cloth, stopping to plant a kiss on my cheek. Winking. "All our hopes and dreams rest on you now little one."
"And I shall not disappoint, that is my vow." Solomn voice back, knight or Jedi like.
After which the three of us giggle.
"Being a teenager isn't easy." Mum declares, shrugging. "So many rules and all you want is freedom."
"It's our job to steer you right." Dad, still loitering, leaning against the doorframe whilst I dry the final few plates. "Try to help. And." A flashed smile. "Mostly it's your job to ignore us."
"Who said that?" I deadpan back, falling to giggles moments later as dad playfully jabs a finger into my side. That tender ticklish spot at the waist.
Heading upstairs, homework beckoning and it has to be now because I already don't want to.
Pondering, wondering at the exchange. Already fifteen, already a teenager and relatively happy with my lot: exploring the unknown of things with Chelle, living my best life with Tash and Sammy.
Good enough.
Shutting the door to my room, spending over an hour powering through science and geography, swapping a half dozen messages with the girls: checking facts with Tash and Sammy weighing in, stuck on a math problem and we do our best to help.
Thinking about Chelle: why didn't we go back to her place again? What it might be like to touch her back?
Tie her up, back?
Do I even want to?
Thoughts of Chelle turning to exactly what we did earlier. That she'd found me, enjoyed me. Let me go and then....
Hazy, and half blurred.
We'd talked, hadn't we?
Hadn't Chelle had something- numbness rising blackness growing to surround and drag me under -to tell me?
A blank?
Shaking off the feeling, like being lost inside myself. A stranger in my own skin but isn't that just teenager typical? Forever changing, A cups to C's and is that it? Will I get any taller and is the black here to stay and....
Enough.
The hair, sometimes these past few weeks I glance in a mirror and for a moment I'd swear it wasn't me looking back.
Swear I catch a smile I didn't put there, too wide on my face. Or traces of black leaking in at the corners of my eye, like makeup only a hundred times more scary.
Shaking myself, heading downstairs to grab a drink. To spend time with mum and dad watching whatever grown up reality type show or documentary they're caught in the grips of this week.
Various paired off teams racing across the world apparently, far off lands and foreign cultures, so different and fascinating.
Lauren, predictably doesn't show. But around nine- she knows not to push her luck -the music snaps off. Headphones probably and I think she sleeps wearing them?
What if- shuddering at the thought -there was a fire?
I head up at ten, kissing both parents on the cheek.
Brushing my teeth whilst avoiding the mirror, not tonight. Slipping off the joggers but leaving the tee on, though I do go through the gymnastics of removing my bra. Thong left too, good enough.
Climbing into my single bed and laying, staring at the darkened ceiling. Thinking random thoughts, winding slowly down letting my eyes close and letting myself drift.
Asleep.
Dreaming myself into an old adventure movie, exploring forgotten kingdoms and discovering ancient long buried temples and secrets. Dressed the part as Lara Croft, tiny shorts and a too tight top.
Looking damn good. Athletic.
Crossing an old rope bridge, the kind that only swings once you're dead in the middle, only creaks if you look down. Suspended over a ravine, lazy river running far below.
But, screwy dream physics: no matter how much bridge I cross I remain in the rough centre, the distance in front remaining a constant.
And then she turns up. Mirror me, black haired and grinning too wide, standing on the far side blocking the impossible- because I just can't seem to reach it -exit. Hands on hips, watching me and suddenly I know.
Know, that something bad is about to happen.
Running, but everything becomes slow motion, trying to push through air turned soup like.
Mirror me waving, slow and mocking, reaching out and touching a finger down onto the ropes.
Flash of black, a shift change ending one scene beginning the next.
And now I'm the bridge. Dressed in the My Little Pony tee and thong, held by ropes that pin ankles and legs together, tethered off and bowing under the slack my body and the ropes a valley shaped arch. Breasts hanging, pressing against the tee my hair hanging too.
Suspended over a deep chasm but there's no river. Instead below me black clouds tumble and swirl, and I fight, struggling and tugging at the ropes, forgetting that to uproot either stake could mean my plunging.
Only thinking of freedom. Escape.
Looking down and suddenly the cloud begins to bubble, boiling up towards me, coming fast and I know this, the cloud touching me, taking me.
This is the bad thing.
Waking up with a jerk, fighting to keep the scream of terror inside. Duvet and pillows a mess, sheet crumpled and tee halfway wrapped around my neck, C cups sweaty and exposed.
Almost screaming again seconds later as my bedside alarm shrills out: time for school.
Downstairs ten minutes later, shirt and skirt tie fed through the collar but hanging loose, unknotted. Socks but no shoes and hair tied back, still can't face a mirror right now.
"Early start love." Mum, halfway out the door and through it the sound of dad's car idling. Waiting. "Your dad has a meeting first thing."
Mum, the secretary though not dad's, and him one of the upper managers. They met at work many years ago. It's a cute story.
"Tell him to fire them all."
"Definitely." Smiling back and blowing me a kiss, which I return.
"Oh." Door swinging closed but stopped by one foot, Mum talking through the gap. "Check on your sister please, love. One day she'll miss that bus."
"Will do."
Saluting the closed door and fetching a glass of milk. For me I'm not that sisterly. Heading upstairs and Lauren's door is still closed, I stand a moment, fidgeting, take a deep breath and knock.
"Laur?" No answer. Maybe? A muffled grunt and maybe? Her bed creaking.
"Sis?" Listening, and again, maybe I hear something.
Which isn't enough to satisfy either mum or curious me. So, door swinging inwards and through I go, crossing the divide.
Almost dropping my milk.
She's still wearing her headphones, is about the only normal thing going on.
Lauren's bedroom would be dark even without the closed curtains, posters cut off almost all the light pastel green coloured paint and black fabric hangs parachute like from the ceiling, cutting off her overhead light. It's all very goth and rock. Very angry teen.
My parents concession to Lauren having to remain home whilst attending college was to buy her a double bed, she's laid in it now.
She's, tied to it.
No duvet or pillows, Lauren: a skinny with curves ten sometimes twelve like me, C cups hidden beneath baggy tartan print drawstring trousers and a black top with spaghetti straps. She's been splayed out, laid on her back and each limb stretched, tied off to a separate corner post. Two thick wool scarves wrap her head, one to blind her the other making a very effective gag.
Her head jerks, staring blindly at me. Shaking her bound body and grunting. Probably swearing but for a handful of moments I can't, don't move. Transfixed by the sight of her, my sister yes, but she's tied up, and anything rope based has a way of grabbing my attention.
Another grunt, more shaking, breasts flopping and bouncing. I move, mentally kicking myself.
Climbing up onto her bed, blindfold and gag first, those plus her bulky over ear headphones all three items ripped off together.
"About fucking time." Glaring at me. "All fucking night I've been trussed up."
"Oh." Managing not to laugh, failing not to smile.
"It isn't fucking funny Char." Straining at the ropes her muscles standing taut. "Happy are you?"
"What?" Sitting back up, I'd been about to start on her nearest wrist. "You think I...."
"Who the fuck else could it of been?"
Who indeed?
And. At that moment my head turns although afterwards, freaking out and it takes the whole walk into school to calm down to the point I'm no longer shaking.
Head turning of it's own will and my gaze alights on Lauren's bedroom mirror, seeing in it my reflection.
Smiling too wide, showing too many too sharp teeth.
For the barest instant, but long enough I won't be able to pretend it didn't happen. For a brief eternity she smiles at me, and something deep inside moves.
Uncoiling.
Who- shit and what the fuck -else indeed?
Charlotte.
I. Must've? Walked home, because I'm home. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up one hand on the rail.
"Love?"
"Huh?" Turning my head and blinking at mum.
"Are you okay love?" Busy in the kitchen, final prep for dinner- smells like battered fish and baked potatoes, sliced open and filled with baked beans -in full swing. Stopping to glance at me as she places ketchup and some pre-sliced bread, butter, down onto the table. Frowning.
"Long day?"
"No. I."
"You've been standing there staring for a couple of minutes."
"Oh?" Confused, mum chuckles softly. Heads back into the kitchen.
"Get changed, and fetch your sister we're almost ready."
"Right." Nodding, firing my sluggish feeling body into action.
Passing Lauren on the stairs, sharing a glare with my older- eighteen -sister. Who did want to live on campus at her fancy college. Who hates taking the- feigned shock and sympathy -ninety minutes each way bus four days a week. Who hates us all for varying complex and completely bollocks and fabricated reasons.
"Where were you?"
"Kissing your girlfriend." Sticking my tongue out as Lauren flips me off. Truthfully I've no clue- and don't care -whether she's into boys or girls? The come back is automatic.
And besides I. Remember? Kissing Chelle.
Who, did? Show up in the clearing. And, did? Kiss me.
Touch me.
And it must've been Chelle who freed me, which I remember too only, with things becoming hazy, vague. How sure can I be that Chelle was there, that I'm not simply slotting in old memories of past times?
Uniform off, stripping down to bra and thong and. Bracelet? Lifting my left arm, shaking my wrist and staring. Frowning.
Loose enough to simply fall off unnoticed and yet it hasn't. Doesn't.
Must get the scissors.
After dinner.
Loose grey drawstring joggers and a pale blue My Little Pony tee, because some things are forever.
Dinner a family affair, like always though Lauren, growing up now and sometimes she's out- doing grown up things that probably aren't at all as I imagine them -and even when she is home, mostly she just glares now. Sullen.
Did I mention she wanted to stay on campus?
There's comfort to be had in the familiarity of it all. The same questions asked. Dad describing some incident or other, work or traffic related. Sharing a look with mum, holding hands across one corner of the table and, gross of course but I'm glad they love each other.
Lauren slinks, no other word for it: hood pulled up and already ignoring us all, upstairs afterwards whilst I stay to help tidy up.
"Will I ever be that much of a bitch?"
"Charlotte." Aiming for scolding but trying not to laugh, covering her mouth and coughing. "Language."
"Sorry. But." Waving towards the stairs and we can already hear Lauren's music. Angry rock, of course, to go with her dyed purple hair.
And her anger when I'd suddenly gone black, like I'd stolen the bad ass hair crown or something without even meaning to.
"Am I just going to wake up one day and hate everybody?"
"We hope not." Dad, wandering in folding the table cloth, stopping to plant a kiss on my cheek. Winking. "All our hopes and dreams rest on you now little one."
"And I shall not disappoint, that is my vow." Solomn voice back, knight or Jedi like.
After which the three of us giggle.
"Being a teenager isn't easy." Mum declares, shrugging. "So many rules and all you want is freedom."
"It's our job to steer you right." Dad, still loitering, leaning against the doorframe whilst I dry the final few plates. "Try to help. And." A flashed smile. "Mostly it's your job to ignore us."
"Who said that?" I deadpan back, falling to giggles moments later as dad playfully jabs a finger into my side. That tender ticklish spot at the waist.
Heading upstairs, homework beckoning and it has to be now because I already don't want to.
Pondering, wondering at the exchange. Already fifteen, already a teenager and relatively happy with my lot: exploring the unknown of things with Chelle, living my best life with Tash and Sammy.
Good enough.
Shutting the door to my room, spending over an hour powering through science and geography, swapping a half dozen messages with the girls: checking facts with Tash and Sammy weighing in, stuck on a math problem and we do our best to help.
Thinking about Chelle: why didn't we go back to her place again? What it might be like to touch her back?
Tie her up, back?
Do I even want to?
Thoughts of Chelle turning to exactly what we did earlier. That she'd found me, enjoyed me. Let me go and then....
Hazy, and half blurred.
We'd talked, hadn't we?
Hadn't Chelle had something- numbness rising blackness growing to surround and drag me under -to tell me?
A blank?
Shaking off the feeling, like being lost inside myself. A stranger in my own skin but isn't that just teenager typical? Forever changing, A cups to C's and is that it? Will I get any taller and is the black here to stay and....
Enough.
The hair, sometimes these past few weeks I glance in a mirror and for a moment I'd swear it wasn't me looking back.
Swear I catch a smile I didn't put there, too wide on my face. Or traces of black leaking in at the corners of my eye, like makeup only a hundred times more scary.
Shaking myself, heading downstairs to grab a drink. To spend time with mum and dad watching whatever grown up reality type show or documentary they're caught in the grips of this week.
Various paired off teams racing across the world apparently, far off lands and foreign cultures, so different and fascinating.
Lauren, predictably doesn't show. But around nine- she knows not to push her luck -the music snaps off. Headphones probably and I think she sleeps wearing them?
What if- shuddering at the thought -there was a fire?
I head up at ten, kissing both parents on the cheek.
Brushing my teeth whilst avoiding the mirror, not tonight. Slipping off the joggers but leaving the tee on, though I do go through the gymnastics of removing my bra. Thong left too, good enough.
Climbing into my single bed and laying, staring at the darkened ceiling. Thinking random thoughts, winding slowly down letting my eyes close and letting myself drift.
Asleep.
Dreaming myself into an old adventure movie, exploring forgotten kingdoms and discovering ancient long buried temples and secrets. Dressed the part as Lara Croft, tiny shorts and a too tight top.
Looking damn good. Athletic.
Crossing an old rope bridge, the kind that only swings once you're dead in the middle, only creaks if you look down. Suspended over a ravine, lazy river running far below.
But, screwy dream physics: no matter how much bridge I cross I remain in the rough centre, the distance in front remaining a constant.
And then she turns up. Mirror me, black haired and grinning too wide, standing on the far side blocking the impossible- because I just can't seem to reach it -exit. Hands on hips, watching me and suddenly I know.
Know, that something bad is about to happen.
Running, but everything becomes slow motion, trying to push through air turned soup like.
Mirror me waving, slow and mocking, reaching out and touching a finger down onto the ropes.
Flash of black, a shift change ending one scene beginning the next.
And now I'm the bridge. Dressed in the My Little Pony tee and thong, held by ropes that pin ankles and legs together, tethered off and bowing under the slack my body and the ropes a valley shaped arch. Breasts hanging, pressing against the tee my hair hanging too.
Suspended over a deep chasm but there's no river. Instead below me black clouds tumble and swirl, and I fight, struggling and tugging at the ropes, forgetting that to uproot either stake could mean my plunging.
Only thinking of freedom. Escape.
Looking down and suddenly the cloud begins to bubble, boiling up towards me, coming fast and I know this, the cloud touching me, taking me.
This is the bad thing.
Waking up with a jerk, fighting to keep the scream of terror inside. Duvet and pillows a mess, sheet crumpled and tee halfway wrapped around my neck, C cups sweaty and exposed.
Almost screaming again seconds later as my bedside alarm shrills out: time for school.
Downstairs ten minutes later, shirt and skirt tie fed through the collar but hanging loose, unknotted. Socks but no shoes and hair tied back, still can't face a mirror right now.
"Early start love." Mum, halfway out the door and through it the sound of dad's car idling. Waiting. "Your dad has a meeting first thing."
Mum, the secretary though not dad's, and him one of the upper managers. They met at work many years ago. It's a cute story.
"Tell him to fire them all."
"Definitely." Smiling back and blowing me a kiss, which I return.
"Oh." Door swinging closed but stopped by one foot, Mum talking through the gap. "Check on your sister please, love. One day she'll miss that bus."
"Will do."
Saluting the closed door and fetching a glass of milk. For me I'm not that sisterly. Heading upstairs and Lauren's door is still closed, I stand a moment, fidgeting, take a deep breath and knock.
"Laur?" No answer. Maybe? A muffled grunt and maybe? Her bed creaking.
"Sis?" Listening, and again, maybe I hear something.
Which isn't enough to satisfy either mum or curious me. So, door swinging inwards and through I go, crossing the divide.
Almost dropping my milk.
She's still wearing her headphones, is about the only normal thing going on.
Lauren's bedroom would be dark even without the closed curtains, posters cut off almost all the light pastel green coloured paint and black fabric hangs parachute like from the ceiling, cutting off her overhead light. It's all very goth and rock. Very angry teen.
My parents concession to Lauren having to remain home whilst attending college was to buy her a double bed, she's laid in it now.
She's, tied to it.
No duvet or pillows, Lauren: a skinny with curves ten sometimes twelve like me, C cups hidden beneath baggy tartan print drawstring trousers and a black top with spaghetti straps. She's been splayed out, laid on her back and each limb stretched, tied off to a separate corner post. Two thick wool scarves wrap her head, one to blind her the other making a very effective gag.
Her head jerks, staring blindly at me. Shaking her bound body and grunting. Probably swearing but for a handful of moments I can't, don't move. Transfixed by the sight of her, my sister yes, but she's tied up, and anything rope based has a way of grabbing my attention.
Another grunt, more shaking, breasts flopping and bouncing. I move, mentally kicking myself.
Climbing up onto her bed, blindfold and gag first, those plus her bulky over ear headphones all three items ripped off together.
"About fucking time." Glaring at me. "All fucking night I've been trussed up."
"Oh." Managing not to laugh, failing not to smile.
"It isn't fucking funny Char." Straining at the ropes her muscles standing taut. "Happy are you?"
"What?" Sitting back up, I'd been about to start on her nearest wrist. "You think I...."
"Who the fuck else could it of been?"
Who indeed?
And. At that moment my head turns although afterwards, freaking out and it takes the whole walk into school to calm down to the point I'm no longer shaking.
Head turning of it's own will and my gaze alights on Lauren's bedroom mirror, seeing in it my reflection.
Smiling too wide, showing too many too sharp teeth.
For the barest instant, but long enough I won't be able to pretend it didn't happen. For a brief eternity she smiles at me, and something deep inside moves.
Uncoiling.
Who- shit and what the fuck -else indeed?
Yet another well written chapter. The horror twist in the ending sequence was nice. She still hasn't figured out she's been possessed. Kinda curious what happens if she cuts the bracelet off. I'm loving this story!
Hogtied and loving it
-
BlissfulMisery
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 365
- Joined: 3 years ago
Better late then never, as they say!
It is an odd mix of 'genres' for sure, and not one that is often seen.RopeBunny wrote: 11 months ago
I do love my horror TUGs
Still have a couple of half finished 'Lupin House' chapters
And would be nice to see more of a conclusion to the battle between the ghost and the ghost hunters, even if it seemed quite lopsided
-
Yes, that fact might have been mentioned at least once previously
Amusing to see the stereotypical horror obliviousness displayed by in-genre characters (not the only example of course). Not wanting to face a terrifying truth.RopeBunny wrote: 11 months ago Swear I catch a smile I didn't put there, too wide on my face. Or traces of black leaking in at the corners of my eye, like makeup only a hundred times more scary.
Quite a big mistake on her friend's parts to not say anything about keeping the bracelet on either, although perhaps they are not aware that it does seem to be helping.
And who else indeed... Based on the pacing, I suspect she will figure out what is going on soon enough (likely in some situation where she cannot try to mentally sweep the obvious signs under the rug).
And it will happen. I've started three different 'Lupin' stories on this siteBlissfulMisery wrote: 11 months ago
It is an odd mix of 'genres' for sure, and not one that is often seen.RopeBunny wrote: 11 months ago
I do love my horror TUGs
Still have a couple of half finished 'Lupin House' chapters
And would be nice to see more of a conclusion to the battle between the ghost and the ghost hunters, even if it seemed quite lopsided
which goes some way to show how much I like the general idea and theming.One day.
BlissfulMisery wrote: 11 months ago Based on the pacing, I suspect she will figure out what is going on soon enough (likely in some situation where she cannot try to mentally sweep the obvious signs under the rug).
More on this to come, of course. Char suffering from repeated half proofs that something is definitely going on, with her somehow involved.Syko Sith wrote: 11 months ago She still hasn't figured out she's been possessed. Kinda curious what happens if she cuts the bracelet off.
Got to build it up
no fun if Char just 'discovered' the truth immediately.Thank you both.
006.
Samantha.
With Char away: a weekend trip back towards her dad's old stomping ground, visiting family, there's a perfect opportunity to meet up and talk about her.
Secretly.
Which is wrong on so many levels.
"But we're trying to help."
"If we can." Giving Tash back her half smile, neither of us happy to be sneaking around. But certain it's for the best.
Not wanting to scare our friend with half discovered theory.
Instead we'll scare her with researched fact, which is so much better.
Ha.
Saturday morning and Tash follows me up the stairs, black double layered skirt swishing around her upper thighs, paired with a red cropped tee. Me in a longer skirt, green camouflage print and fitted, stretchy, with a black vest top covering my chest.
Upstairs to my bedroom, stopping for cans of pop and bags of crisps, half full box of Cadbury fingers. Supplies.
Tash has her cars, an obsession actively encouraged by her mechanic dad and she regularly helps him strip down and service the old restored Ford Lotus Cortina in their garage.
Char has her anime and manga: from Pokemon to One Piece, Sword Art Online. Older stuff like Dominion Tank Police, worth watching for the episode one introduction alone, the back and forth. We can't watch any of it without giggling: who draws all these impossibly slim and busty girls?
And me. My bedroom is a shrine to mythology and the occult, books filling a tall freestanding shelf unit, posters of wizards summoning dragons and undead armies on the march. An actual Ouija board I begged a solid year to be allowed.
Framed, and I'm forbidden from playing until my eighteenth.
Spoil sports.
Music on, background low, which feels like sacrilege given how bass heavy it is. I hand Tash the old red leather bound book, leaving her to it whilst I run a finger along the shelves. Pondering what else we could use.
"I think...."
Nearly twenty minutes later, we've been working in silence and I'm halfway turned back to face her when.
"Shit."
"Tash?"
"It's." Holding the book out to me. "This page." Grimacing as I take it from her. "Tell me it's all just make believe. Please."
Waiting, staying quiet and patient whilst I read. And.
"Shit." I exclaim, grimacing too.
It's an old book, undated but there's a certain feel to the pages, and the leather binding. I'd found it at a market whilst on family holiday two years ago. Up north. One book amongst many on a stall full of old romances and horror, children's colouring books half completed and out of everything this book.
The dark, almost blood red of it had stuck out.
It's written in I've no clue what language, or languages? But came stuffed full of ragged and tattered paper, every third or fifth page had been at least partly translated. And the whole thing seeming fantastic, unreal.
Depending on whether you believe.
It's, the book. It proports to be a 'guide to summoning' with the opening chapters dealing with correct preparation and matters of safety.
The bracelet, and I'll have to junk the- quite clearly wrong -notes that claimed it would protect Char.
The back two thirds deal with descriptions, varied in length, of things you can. Summon.
And luckily the page Tash copied is one with attached notation.
"One of the five nightmares." I read aloud, heart sinking. "Named Echo: the darkness which stares back."
Stopping to swallow, throat dry and I glance at Tash, seeing her staring at or through me, head shaking slowly as though in denial as I read on.
"Lost. Bound. Abandoned. Helplessness given form."
Basically.
We're all- but Char especially -fucked.
Wordlessly I sit down next to Tash, who offers me the Cadbury box. And for ten minutes or two hours we sit. Stunned.
Running recent memory through my head, things making some sense: waking up bound that first morning, Char's black hair.
Tash had said the wind moved the page, but. Did it?
"So." Softly nudging me. "What do we do?"
"What can we do?" Feeling defeated, way out of my depth: attempting to swim the English Channel wearing armbands. At night.
But Tash puts her arm around me, squeezing and when I glance at her, she nods to my bookshelf.
"What do we do, Sammy?"
"We...."
Come on. Mentally kicking myself, standing. Stretching, staring at the assorted knowledge I've slowly accumulated these past few years.
There's got to be at least half an answer somewhere here.
"Okay." Clapping my hands, approaching the shelves and pulling out three of the most promising. "Start here." Handing them to Tash. "And I'll start here." Pulling out three more.
"We'll fire up the laptop too, cross reference the shit out of it all."
"Good." Smiling at me, small nod.
Faith?
A long day becomes a long evening becomes a long night. Becomes a second sneaked study session.
A third.
Reading and checking, discarding ideas and hampered by the fact we can't ask Char certain things she might? Know. And if she doesn't then the fact of us asking won't help, will only blow the lid off something we're still hopeful can be contained.
Finally though, almost two weeks and we've got a plan. We've got something, enough of an idea to be worth testing.
And if it doesn't work....
Samantha.
With Char away: a weekend trip back towards her dad's old stomping ground, visiting family, there's a perfect opportunity to meet up and talk about her.
Secretly.
Which is wrong on so many levels.
"But we're trying to help."
"If we can." Giving Tash back her half smile, neither of us happy to be sneaking around. But certain it's for the best.
Not wanting to scare our friend with half discovered theory.
Instead we'll scare her with researched fact, which is so much better.
Ha.
Saturday morning and Tash follows me up the stairs, black double layered skirt swishing around her upper thighs, paired with a red cropped tee. Me in a longer skirt, green camouflage print and fitted, stretchy, with a black vest top covering my chest.
Upstairs to my bedroom, stopping for cans of pop and bags of crisps, half full box of Cadbury fingers. Supplies.
Tash has her cars, an obsession actively encouraged by her mechanic dad and she regularly helps him strip down and service the old restored Ford Lotus Cortina in their garage.
Char has her anime and manga: from Pokemon to One Piece, Sword Art Online. Older stuff like Dominion Tank Police, worth watching for the episode one introduction alone, the back and forth. We can't watch any of it without giggling: who draws all these impossibly slim and busty girls?
And me. My bedroom is a shrine to mythology and the occult, books filling a tall freestanding shelf unit, posters of wizards summoning dragons and undead armies on the march. An actual Ouija board I begged a solid year to be allowed.
Framed, and I'm forbidden from playing until my eighteenth.
Spoil sports.
Music on, background low, which feels like sacrilege given how bass heavy it is. I hand Tash the old red leather bound book, leaving her to it whilst I run a finger along the shelves. Pondering what else we could use.
"I think...."
Nearly twenty minutes later, we've been working in silence and I'm halfway turned back to face her when.
"Shit."
"Tash?"
"It's." Holding the book out to me. "This page." Grimacing as I take it from her. "Tell me it's all just make believe. Please."
Waiting, staying quiet and patient whilst I read. And.
"Shit." I exclaim, grimacing too.
It's an old book, undated but there's a certain feel to the pages, and the leather binding. I'd found it at a market whilst on family holiday two years ago. Up north. One book amongst many on a stall full of old romances and horror, children's colouring books half completed and out of everything this book.
The dark, almost blood red of it had stuck out.
It's written in I've no clue what language, or languages? But came stuffed full of ragged and tattered paper, every third or fifth page had been at least partly translated. And the whole thing seeming fantastic, unreal.
Depending on whether you believe.
It's, the book. It proports to be a 'guide to summoning' with the opening chapters dealing with correct preparation and matters of safety.
The bracelet, and I'll have to junk the- quite clearly wrong -notes that claimed it would protect Char.
The back two thirds deal with descriptions, varied in length, of things you can. Summon.
And luckily the page Tash copied is one with attached notation.
"One of the five nightmares." I read aloud, heart sinking. "Named Echo: the darkness which stares back."
Stopping to swallow, throat dry and I glance at Tash, seeing her staring at or through me, head shaking slowly as though in denial as I read on.
"Lost. Bound. Abandoned. Helplessness given form."
Basically.
We're all- but Char especially -fucked.
Wordlessly I sit down next to Tash, who offers me the Cadbury box. And for ten minutes or two hours we sit. Stunned.
Running recent memory through my head, things making some sense: waking up bound that first morning, Char's black hair.
Tash had said the wind moved the page, but. Did it?
"So." Softly nudging me. "What do we do?"
"What can we do?" Feeling defeated, way out of my depth: attempting to swim the English Channel wearing armbands. At night.
But Tash puts her arm around me, squeezing and when I glance at her, she nods to my bookshelf.
"What do we do, Sammy?"
"We...."
Come on. Mentally kicking myself, standing. Stretching, staring at the assorted knowledge I've slowly accumulated these past few years.
There's got to be at least half an answer somewhere here.
"Okay." Clapping my hands, approaching the shelves and pulling out three of the most promising. "Start here." Handing them to Tash. "And I'll start here." Pulling out three more.
"We'll fire up the laptop too, cross reference the shit out of it all."
"Good." Smiling at me, small nod.
Faith?
A long day becomes a long evening becomes a long night. Becomes a second sneaked study session.
A third.
Reading and checking, discarding ideas and hampered by the fact we can't ask Char certain things she might? Know. And if she doesn't then the fact of us asking won't help, will only blow the lid off something we're still hopeful can be contained.
Finally though, almost two weeks and we've got a plan. We've got something, enough of an idea to be worth testing.
And if it doesn't work....
Blog posted to creepypasta by user iseeibelieve
Makes me wonder: how many other posts here are actually real?
And do any of you even care?
I always thought it was a myth: that one school could hate another so passionately, but no. Starting at White Hill Comprehensive, over four years ago now and it quickly became apparent that: any chance you had to screw over or beat down Merton, you took it.
Because, as was explained to those of us who cared- read, those of us who mixed with a certain crowd -by seniors, Merton kids wouldn't hesitate to do us in back.
Enough background.
Netball practice, and the girls team at White Hill has won the county under sixteens league five years in the last seven.
We're that good.
Coach has stepped out, back to his office to take a phone call. Or something. But we're all committed, determined, so practice continues. Seven versus seven, A team against B, racing up and down the court, passing and blocking.
Becoming slowly aware of her, each of us stopping. Fits and starts, turning to look and stare.
The sheer audacity. She must, has to be suicidal.
Black hair and slim, arms crossed beneath a reasonable swell of bust and wearing the Merton uniform like some kind of challenge. Daring us to come over there across the short distance and take it.
Just standing at the edge of the court. Staring.
Smallest flinch, spasm of her left leg as nine of us- the other five not being part of the crowd -approach, but she doesn't retreat.
"Are you lost?"
"Fuck you want girl?"
"Piss off Merton kid, before we beat you."
Insults and various hand gestures flung out at her, getting no response. A stand off, mere metres between us, heavily outnumbered and yet. Nothing.
And then she dooms herself by smiling.
Jesse- our captain, her right -leads the charge. Pushing and shoving at first, wanting, perhaps on some level needing a response.
Justification for what's to come.
But nothing comes. We push, she stands her ground. We trip or otherwise force her down, she gets back up.
Still staring, silent.
Causing anger to boil up in most of us. Thinks she's better then us?
Things get ramped up.
Punches, arms and gut. Hair pulling, dragging her around both upright and across the grass.
She begins shouting, only.
"Come on."
"Isn't this what you want?"
"Show me. What fucking good are you?"
"Fucking, show me."
She isn't shouting at us, seems in fact, best guess: to be at war with herself.
And it's hard to maintain that buzz, that enjoyment of a good fight in the face of so much madness.
Bitch is crazy.
So, pinning her down we take our trophies: her pale blue shirt and school tie. Upend her messenger bag, spilling books and a flask all over, stepping on and grinding the former into the mud, punting the latter far away having first dented it beyond usefulness.
Satisfied, to a point, we leave. Laughing, Jesse waving the tie around like a streamer, a victory pennant.
Back to the changing rooms in high spirits, showering, back into uniform for our various walks home.
Jesse taking point as we make to leave. It's a sports thing, a team thing: the captain leads, you follow. No. Matter. What.
Opening the door and stepping outside into sunshine, holding the door and turning to face us, smiling, mouth opening to impart some wisdom or share some joke.
Sudden howling screech. Inhuman and too loud, rush of air like a passing train and a blurred patch of shadow. Nighttime outside the door, snatching Jesse away.
She doesn't even have time to scream.
Sunlight returning moments later and we all blink, exchange what the fuck glances.
Those of us in front are just stepping up to the doorway when, delayed, a girl screams.
Jesse.
We don't think, we run. Towards the netball court, inside which the night bubbles and rolls. Localised.
Can darkness be angry?
Scared and hesitating, all of us at some point losing nerves. That howling, and crazy unhinged laughter too. Chills all down my spine and yet each time one of us falters another takes point.
For the team.
Exploding onto the court but unwilling to plunge into the patch of midnight now directly ahead.
Receding.
Shrinking and fragmenting, revealing our captain.
Stripped to her white bra and pink boy pants, white knee high socks and black trainers. Laid in the centre circle and bound up with light brown coarse looking rope. Ankles and wrists tied crossed, arms at her back and a third rope quite harshly forcing Jesse's legs up and back, joining her limbs.
The Merton girls school tie made a gag, forced inside Jesse's open mouth, tied off behind.
Seeing us Jesse increases her struggles, calling out muffled pleas or curses, impossible to tell which. Rolling and wriggling, fighting. Losing.
She's stuck.
Bested.
And I'm sure- nobody else brings the fact up in those few scattered talks we have afterwards -I'm the only one looking, at the right spot and the right moment.
The only one who sees Merton girl, standing off to one side, just beyond the courts perimeter wearing not only her own shirt but Jesse's too like a second layer, both hanging open and the liberated White Hill- trophy -school tie loosely knotted around her neck.
Something wrong with her eyes? Too dark.
She smiles at me, too wide showing too many teeth.
And the darkness takes her away, sweeping in wind like, a miniature localised tornado.
Gone.
Makes me wonder: how many other posts here are actually real?
And do any of you even care?
I always thought it was a myth: that one school could hate another so passionately, but no. Starting at White Hill Comprehensive, over four years ago now and it quickly became apparent that: any chance you had to screw over or beat down Merton, you took it.
Because, as was explained to those of us who cared- read, those of us who mixed with a certain crowd -by seniors, Merton kids wouldn't hesitate to do us in back.
Enough background.
Netball practice, and the girls team at White Hill has won the county under sixteens league five years in the last seven.
We're that good.
Coach has stepped out, back to his office to take a phone call. Or something. But we're all committed, determined, so practice continues. Seven versus seven, A team against B, racing up and down the court, passing and blocking.
Becoming slowly aware of her, each of us stopping. Fits and starts, turning to look and stare.
The sheer audacity. She must, has to be suicidal.
Black hair and slim, arms crossed beneath a reasonable swell of bust and wearing the Merton uniform like some kind of challenge. Daring us to come over there across the short distance and take it.
Just standing at the edge of the court. Staring.
Smallest flinch, spasm of her left leg as nine of us- the other five not being part of the crowd -approach, but she doesn't retreat.
"Are you lost?"
"Fuck you want girl?"
"Piss off Merton kid, before we beat you."
Insults and various hand gestures flung out at her, getting no response. A stand off, mere metres between us, heavily outnumbered and yet. Nothing.
And then she dooms herself by smiling.
Jesse- our captain, her right -leads the charge. Pushing and shoving at first, wanting, perhaps on some level needing a response.
Justification for what's to come.
But nothing comes. We push, she stands her ground. We trip or otherwise force her down, she gets back up.
Still staring, silent.
Causing anger to boil up in most of us. Thinks she's better then us?
Things get ramped up.
Punches, arms and gut. Hair pulling, dragging her around both upright and across the grass.
She begins shouting, only.
"Come on."
"Isn't this what you want?"
"Show me. What fucking good are you?"
"Fucking, show me."
She isn't shouting at us, seems in fact, best guess: to be at war with herself.
And it's hard to maintain that buzz, that enjoyment of a good fight in the face of so much madness.
Bitch is crazy.
So, pinning her down we take our trophies: her pale blue shirt and school tie. Upend her messenger bag, spilling books and a flask all over, stepping on and grinding the former into the mud, punting the latter far away having first dented it beyond usefulness.
Satisfied, to a point, we leave. Laughing, Jesse waving the tie around like a streamer, a victory pennant.
Back to the changing rooms in high spirits, showering, back into uniform for our various walks home.
Jesse taking point as we make to leave. It's a sports thing, a team thing: the captain leads, you follow. No. Matter. What.
Opening the door and stepping outside into sunshine, holding the door and turning to face us, smiling, mouth opening to impart some wisdom or share some joke.
Sudden howling screech. Inhuman and too loud, rush of air like a passing train and a blurred patch of shadow. Nighttime outside the door, snatching Jesse away.
She doesn't even have time to scream.
Sunlight returning moments later and we all blink, exchange what the fuck glances.
Those of us in front are just stepping up to the doorway when, delayed, a girl screams.
Jesse.
We don't think, we run. Towards the netball court, inside which the night bubbles and rolls. Localised.
Can darkness be angry?
Scared and hesitating, all of us at some point losing nerves. That howling, and crazy unhinged laughter too. Chills all down my spine and yet each time one of us falters another takes point.
For the team.
Exploding onto the court but unwilling to plunge into the patch of midnight now directly ahead.
Receding.
Shrinking and fragmenting, revealing our captain.
Stripped to her white bra and pink boy pants, white knee high socks and black trainers. Laid in the centre circle and bound up with light brown coarse looking rope. Ankles and wrists tied crossed, arms at her back and a third rope quite harshly forcing Jesse's legs up and back, joining her limbs.
The Merton girls school tie made a gag, forced inside Jesse's open mouth, tied off behind.
Seeing us Jesse increases her struggles, calling out muffled pleas or curses, impossible to tell which. Rolling and wriggling, fighting. Losing.
She's stuck.
Bested.
And I'm sure- nobody else brings the fact up in those few scattered talks we have afterwards -I'm the only one looking, at the right spot and the right moment.
The only one who sees Merton girl, standing off to one side, just beyond the courts perimeter wearing not only her own shirt but Jesse's too like a second layer, both hanging open and the liberated White Hill- trophy -school tie loosely knotted around her neck.
Something wrong with her eyes? Too dark.
She smiles at me, too wide showing too many teeth.
And the darkness takes her away, sweeping in wind like, a miniature localised tornado.
Gone.
Holy crap!!!!!
The friends come up with a possible solution and Char goes nuts!
Harder to follow this time but still well written. (The 2nd part I mean)
About to beg for more.
The friends come up with a possible solution and Char goes nuts!
Harder to follow this time but still well written. (The 2nd part I mean)
About to beg for more.
Hogtied and loving it
-
BlissfulMisery
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 365
- Joined: 3 years ago
And they have all been a different take on said general idea. Seems like it is one of those ideas you cannot get out of ones head, and simply have to 'work through' to its conclusion for you.RopeBunny wrote: 11 months ago And it will happen. I've started three different 'Lupin' stories on this site
Nothing wrong with that of course
Well, it is a common trope for a reason. Horror *is* all about the buildup/anticipation.RopeBunny wrote: 11 months ago Got to build it up
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HaRopeBunny wrote: 11 months ago Instead we'll scare her with researched fact, which is so much better.
Ha.
Ironic to see those terms that you use so often framed in a totally different context.
Quite the bout of optimism, given what they said earlier:RopeBunny wrote: 11 months ago Reading and checking, discarding ideas and hampered by the fact we can't ask Char certain things she might? Know. And if she doesn't then the fact of us asking won't help, will only blow the lid off something we're still hopeful can be contained.
Finally though, almost two weeks and we've got a plan. We've got something, enough of an idea to be worth testing.
But I suppose hope springs eternal.