Juliet and Juliet (Ff+/f+) *NEW 30/09 ×3 chapters posted NEW*

[RopeBunny]

Excuse me whilst I- potentially -twist a classic piece of Shakespeare beyond all recognition.

[RopeBunny]

Prologue.
Two households, both alike in dignity.

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Incident report.
Filed by:
Cheddar, S. Acting head, St Catherine's.

....capture the flag taken too far, nothing more then a misunderstanding, and I feel certain. Confident, that our girls would've freed the 'prisoners' even without interference from a marshall.

Having a group of St Catherine's girls in attendance, a like number from the cross town Forest Grove Comprehensive, of course the odds were high that the two would form opposing teams.

That ancient grudge.

And we- the girls -did win, so it isn't as though....

-------

Incident report.
Filed by:
White, E. Headteacher, Forest Grove.

....technically outside of term time, but even so.

Three Forest Grove students, girls: Michelle Hill, Annalise Hoffman, and Tasha Grey. All 'captured' during a- subscription only -event run out of nearby North Cross woodland park.

The fact of St Catherine's students being also in attendance, a break to new mutiny almost expected.

Reports tell that the three were 'lashed by rope to separate trees' and 'gagged with strips of dirty cloth' by one of the opposing teams, the St Catherine's team. Who else? Subsequently 'kept bound for the duration' and 'taunted' whilst helpless. Annalise additionally being 'stripped to her bikini prior to being bound' after which the St Catherine's team 'marked and covered her exposed skin in pro St Catherine's graffiti and other assorted lewd words, images.'

I'm told it took two days to wash off.

With Autumn term beginning tomorrow I feel we must....

-------

[RopeBunny]

001.
Jullietta.

"Being called Juliet doesn't mean you get the part. You know."

I didn't ask to be a Prefect. There's fifteen of us, because each year brings a fresh advance of years ten into eleven, therefore new Prefects are required. The teachers vote, each submitting five names.

All but four too scared- of me -to not put my name down, and I will find you out.

You see, I rule St Catherine's, not the teachers, not Miss Cheddar. Me and mine, or at least most days it feels that way: doing what we please and fuck all repercussions.

"It's. Jullietta." I tell Bethany, the eternal good girl. Letting my native Spanish accent roll across the name. And for a handful of seconds we have a little stare off, before she favours me with a smile that conveys she knows who the better actress is.

Flouncing off.

"Want to have words, J?" Tilly, like an angry cousin at my side, looming, scowling like the good friend she is at Bethany's departing back.

"Not yet."
"Kay." Deflating, backing down on my word. A good friend and excellent second.

"Thinking of signing up?"
"Sure." Shrugging like it's nothing, like I don't harbour a secret love of drama, of performing. "Might be interesting."
"Might have to kiss some other girl?" Thoughtful, trying to remember the plot. "Don't they kiss?"
"Romeo and Juliet do."

Romeo, which at St Catherine's means another girl. No boys here, and again, voice level, casual and it's nothing. Certainly not anther secret, the maybe I've been wrestling and somewhat consumed by for awhile now.

That the older I get, the more my wandering gaze lingers on girls.

"Class?" Tilly, shaking- mentally, not actually shaking -me back to reality, and it's a legitimate question.

Who'd stop us if we skipped? But.

"Sure." Grinning, flicking the ends of Tilly's black tie, the other girls white shirts complemented by sky blue, black to mark us out, black as a stamp of authority. "Got an example to set don't we."

Laughter echoing down the halls behind us.

At St Catherine's you live on site, it's a boarding school, Mondays through Fridays and home at weekends. Two girls per room and since day one, four years ago now it's been Tilly and me. And luckily, for us both perhaps, she's too close a friend now for any serious feelings to develop, on my end.

Which doesn't mean I haven't looked, haven't noticed her.

Taller then average height me, closing in on six foot Tilly can look most boys in the eye. A slender ten to my twelve, more curve at the hips though we're both busty, D cups and my heritage lending a slight olive tan, naturally black hair where Tilly is a blonde, cut shorter to tickle the neck whilst mine cascades and tumbles.

The auditions are scheduled for a Thursday evening, second week of term. Typically, breakfast is followed by school, a longer more drawn out day then most Comprehensives, lessons bisected by two short breaks, one long, which is lunch. Dinner follows school, evenings for us, to study, or whatever.

"Yes." Opening her door, the fool. "Wha...." Voice drying up as Tilly and me push through her and into the room. Dressed down in white jeans and a blue vest top. Grey spandex leggings with pink stripes running up the outer seams, the fabric tight and stretching the length of Tilly's legs, paired with a black pullover hoodie.

"You." Pointing a finger at Bethany's roommate, sat on her bed and blinking, a rabbit caught in headlights. "Fuck off."

Which, good girl, she does.

Leaving Bethany, still only halfway dressed in dark blue ripped jeans and a purple bra, A cups the merest hump and I can't stop myself staring.

"Jullietta." Not even trying to accent my name, mangling the sounds. "What?" Arms fidgeting as she looks from Tilly to me, on her hips and aiming for authority, in her own room after all, to covering both her curving pale skinned belly and bra, and she can't begin to understand the almost overwhelming urge I'm fighting to cross the small distance and run my tongue across her belly.

I don't even particularly like Bethany, but it seems the longer I go, the more I deny, the harder it becomes.

"Auditions." Walking, brushing against her as I pass and inhaling. Tamping down the shiver as my bicep connects briefly with Bethany's bra cup. "For the play."
"Yes, I'm." Looking down at herself, waved gesture towards the cropped black tee neatly folded- because of course it is -on her bed. "Getting ready."
"You won't be attending."
"But I'm...."

Voice drying up as she looks from Tilly- smiling -to me, attempting seriousness lest I show the inner thoughts running rampant. Demanding to be heard, acted upon. Bethany's eyes tracking the coiled rope Tilly pulls from a bag, tosses across the room, that I catch, pulling a second for herself afterwards.

"No." Hands up, halfway between surrender and warding. "Jullietta. Tilly." Backing away but it's a small room, back of her legs colliding with the edge of her bed. Stopping.

"Not again."
"Again." Nodding, letting my own smile out now. Because it isn't groping you or touching you or smelling you even though it's all of those things. It's bondage.

My own brand of justice, punishment. Peacekeeping. You cross me and mine, you do something I don't like, you generally get in my way: I bind you, gag you. Teach you who to respect, who rules here.

Other girls. A couple of the teachers, when they've given me cause.

Not again, because we've been here before: crossing paths. Bethany's mention, acknowledgement of the fact coming out as half resigned- knowing the outcome, two on one after all -and half plea, a pointless thing, I'm here, and won't be backing down nor changing course.

"Can I at least...?" Another wave towards her bed, her tee. Wanting to dress, to not be left halfway exposed. "Please."
"No." Adrenaline flowing, my blood up and the urge to control, to dominate strong, singing through me. Shaking my head, gesturing towards her bed even as Tilly steps in, scooping up and tossing Bethany's tee.

"Get on the bed."
"I...." Looking from Tilly to me, mouth moving, hunting for some opening, some hopeful exit.

Finding nothing.

Shivering, and like an internal switch thrown Bethany complies, climbing onto her bed and laying, on her belly, legs together and hands clasped behind the back. Assuming the position, waiting.

No struggle, no fight as we bind her into a hogtie. Tilly, a single nod as I point, working on Bethany's legs whilst I start with the wrists: binding them crossed, doubled up rope wrapped and passed through, pulled tight and knotted, wrapped every which way and with each yank, either by myself or Tilly, Bethany moans, sometimes squirms.

Securing wrists to her waist, and afterwards using a long rope to bind her upper body, pinning the arms in place. Loop after loop, waist and chest, passing rope beneath Bethany and each time my hand burrowing, forcing a path and brushing not only the mattress but her skin too. Touching her, three times even making contact with Bethany's bra.

Breath catching that first time, hurried glance at Tilly who isn't looking back, showing no sign of having noticed thank fuck.

Wanting desperately to linger, to run my hand across her smooth back, and I don't particularly like, care about Bethany but she's a girl, her skin a forbidden thing, it feels like.

Gagging her, thick silver tape, loud ripping sound as it comes off the roll to wrap repeatedly around her head, plastering reddish ginger hair down, the initial passes forced into her mouth, the rest sealing them in. Shutting her up.

Finishing the hogtie, Tilly leaning on Bethany's lower legs, holding them bent and angled towards her upper body, and me fixing the rope, ankles to chest harness and reeling it in, forcing Bethany to bend. Moaning.

"Wait outside." Almost licking my lips. "Two minutes." Tilly answering with a nod, a smile and she thinks, assumes I'm going to have some parting words to share, some taunt or barb to land home.

Closing the door, leaving us and my crazy stupid, unhelpful and wrong, so very wrong thoughts alone.

My sudden desire, like a knife ripping through self control asking. Demanding just this once and we'll be quiet.

Promise.

Rolling Bethany onto her side, facing me and the hogtie makes it impossible for her to not be thrusting out belly and chest. Looking up at me, small whimpers from behind the gag, discomfort.

Thick legs pressing at skinny fit jeans and bare feet, toes wiggling, what small freedoms she still has. Hump of Bethany's belly overhanging the waistband, a slight thing made more pronounced next to my more slender frame.

A small struggle, testing and maybe she thinks this is what I want to see, why I'm still here: that I wish to see proof of helplessness. Whimper becoming a moan, arms pushed back, legs pushed back, bound at ankle and knees, upper thighs Tilly having done her job. Limbs back and body forwards. Straining, looking at me as she does.

Showing me, thinking it's what I want to see and it's too much, suddenly in motion, everything over before I can even think to stop myself. Bethany going still, breath catching as my tongue lands on her skin, licking upwards tracing a straight path from humped belly to cheek, passing across her bra cup and gagged lips.

One pass, upwards and just as suddenly I'm standing, stumbling back breathing hard. Blinking and inwardly cursing my poor self control.

Rushing half blind out into the corridor, Tilly forced to play catch up.

Nailing the audition, so pumped and full of warring emotion I march, stalk down the aisle, scattering the half dozen girls on stage and stomping up the half dozen steps. Stopping, spinning and glaring out at the auditorium, the director- drama teacher, Mr Brown. Letting everything pent up inside flood out.

Finishing to silence, stunned wide eyed faces and me breathing, limbs fidgeting sinking back down off my high and did I really lick Bethany?

Fuck.

Mr Brown furiously scribbling notes, thick pad balanced on crossed legs.

Coming down off the stage and retreating to the back row, slumping. Tilly beside me, brief hug and a sisterly kiss to my cheek.

Watching the other girls, Tilly passing whispered comment, putting each potential Juliet- regardless of what role they're auditioning for -down, finding fault. Being a good friend and all whilst I nod, try to focus my thoughts dragged, returning to Bethany's bound helpless form, the taste of skin on my tongue: hot and alive.

And not Bethany, I've no deep buried feelings for her but. But, I can't, don't want to stop now, don't want that to be it.

How can I get anything like that close to another girl again?

Tilly, and the sheer closeness of her isn't helping right now, nestled in beside me body pressed to mine, leaning in and the very obvious weight and bulk of her D cup squashing against mine. My best friend, body stiffening and a small hiss from between pressed tight lips.

"The fuck?"

Following the line of her gaze, finding the impossible sight: Bethany, on stage. Auditioning.

Baggy white 'White Fox' pullover hoodie, likely to cover up the rope marks, because I don't bind people so they can escape, not until I'm ready and I'd of gone back. Soon, to free her but not until I'd.

Fucking, stop it. Almost smacking the chair arm in frustration at my wandering thoughts. And by this point she's finished, and everyone's applauding, of course. Bethany the golden star, rightful ruler of theatre town and all that crap.

Even Mr Brown, and admittedly from this angle- behind and off to one side -it's hard to be sure, but he looks thoughtful.

Scribbling more notes.

Bethany, strolling back up the aisle, heading for the exit doors and there are several, but the main access is at the back, behind the rear most rank of seating where a path splits left and right towards two doors, one in each corner.

Not seeing me until she's right there, here, almost within striking distance and damn but I'm tempted. Full attack, up out of this seat and in close, pin arms behind and drag her- kicking and screaming optional -back to her room, back into a hogtie and this time I'll stay, and keep watch.

And no fucker will let her out until I say so.

Which fact keeps me still: that I'd stay, in the room with her. And for the third- hundredth, it feels like, telling myself -time, I don't like Bethany, but tonight I'm suddenly desperate to kiss a girl.

And she's right there.

Pausing.

Seeing me.

And opening her mouth, right in front of Tilly and.

"Fuck off." Like a growl, shutting her down, from sitting to standing like blinking, confrontational and Tilly stirring beside me. Glaring at Bethany, me, feeling the anger bubble and flow across the distance between us, that she somehow got free yes, but that she was, potentially, about to spill my secret right in front of everyone.

Bethany, staring. Not- thank fuck -talking, but for half a minute- an eternity -she stares, before leaving.

"Fucking." Tilly, acid in her voice at the slight, the wrongness of Bethany not being hogtied in her room, where we put her, where she's supposed to remain until such time we decide otherwise. "Bitch."
"Bitch." Unable to throw any real anger at the word.

"Want to go sort her out?"
"No." Yes, and that's the whole problem. Somehow the line is blurred. "We'll circle back." Finding a smile, putting an edge on it for Tilly's sake, lest she see inside of me.

Movement, Mr Brown standing, making to leave the auditions finished, and I'm fucked, now, most likely. Bethany is the better actress.

"Fuck it." Sweeping gesture, the whole suddenly foul smelling- in my head -auditorium, the whole business of it. "Let's go, Tills."
"You did good. J." Pulling me into a brief sideways hug as we walk. Contact my still heightened state doesn't need. My friend, who I'll be sleeping in the same room as, who'll- because we've been doing it for years -get changed mostly in front of me later. Again.

Who's breasts are currently right there, here, squashed against my arm.

Fucks sake, get a grip Jullietta.

I did good, she's right, but. Did I do good enough?

And what am I going to do about these urges, feelings?

[BlissfulMisery]

Glad to see a new tale from you!

Excuse me whilst I- potentially -twist a classic piece of Shakespeare beyond all recognition.

After all, what is the point of cultural heritage, if not to be horribly mangled beyond all recognition

You see, I rule St Catherine's, not the teachers, not Miss Cheddar. Me and mine, or at least most days it feels that way: doing what we please and fuck all repercussions.

Ah, so this is one of those fictional chaos schools

"Again." Nodding, letting my own smile out now. Because it isn't groping you or touching you or smelling you even though it's all of those things. It's bondage.

A distinction without a difference in this particular case, I think

My own brand of justice, punishment. Peacekeeping. You cross me and mine, you do something I don't like, you generally get in my way: I bind you, gag you. Teach you who to respect, who rules here.

In this case for the horrible crime of daring to attempt to participate in a school play - a convenient excuse

My sudden desire, like a knife ripping through self control asking. Demanding just this once and we'll be quiet.

Promise.

Ah yes, good old self delusion/deception.

Plenty of angst (that she is failing) to work through on Jullietta's part. Being honest, I was thinking while reading that what she needed was something (or someone) to challenge her/stand up to her. Force her to actually confront her various feelings, instead of allowing her to continue going with the proverbial flow. Seems like you were thinking along similar lines

And of course the small mystery of exactly how Bethany got free - if I had to guess, probably on her own, having studied up on her escape artistry after her previous encounter. If so, it would be a double humiliation for our heroine, making such a mockery of her sub-standard ropework.

But I suppose we shall have to see...

Intrigued to see where this goes!

[RopeBunny]

Glad to see a new tale from you!

Excuse me whilst I- potentially -twist a classic piece of Shakespeare beyond all recognition.

After all, what is the point of cultural heritage, if not to be horribly mangled beyond all recognition

Well....

I had one quarter of one half of a good Plymouth idea/continuation, and a good basic plot for a Rope Bunny story. But neither felt right. Neither were grabbing or holding my attention, and so here we are, the other good idea

Ah, so this is one of those fictional chaos schools

Afraid so the best kind of school setting for a TUGs story.

In this case for the horrible crime of daring to attempt to participate in a school play - a convenient excuse

Indeed, but convenience helps move the story along

Intrigued to see where this goes!

Plenty more to come, of course.

[RopeBunny]

002.
Ashley. (Juliet)

Forest Grove, and with all the appearances of a 'fuck you' to someone, nature perhaps, having organised the buildings into a broken square formation, the centre was maintained as original woodland.

A grove, a dozen assorted white birch and willow, benches. The whole quite pretty, quite out of place once you dump a Comprehensives worth of screaming, running teenagers into it.

A new build, polar opposite- in more ways then can be easily seen -to cross town St Catherine's, all ancient gothic splendor, stained glass and echoing hallways. Girls only and do I mind, sharing the space with smelly, staring- because I am a girl, and therefore I have breasts -boys?

I do not.

Might not, don't actually think I particularly care about boys, and I'll get back to you on that.

School, then. The final year before college and semi freedom, beckoning like a new friend, yet to be made but holding out one hand, offering.

But first.

"So." Dropping down beside me, close enough to trigger reflexes I have to tamp down, the urge to flinch or simply run: attack, incoming. But it's only Michelle, closest of our small friend group and eternal joker. Always smiling, always some secret amusement to find, the world laid out like a play only she- often only she -finds funny.

"Who you going to kiss?"
"Can we not." Pulling a face, and having successfully baited me Michelle laughs. Of course.

"It isn't up to me anyway."
"Pity." Casting her eyes out, doing a sweep of the area, that central woodland square and since it's breaktime, and sunny, all the animals are out.

"Conner." Flick of her head towards the brooding goth, black hoodie a permanent fixture, hood permanently up. Star of the drama department, and therefore likely a sure thing.

"Or."
"Or...." Nudging Michelle, because she's staring and to be fair so are most of the girls. Alexander: tall, viking like his blonde hair tied back.

"Peter?" Like a question, offering the choice as the boy in question jogs from stage left to just right of centre, intercepting the football, kicking it back with a laugh. Far too impressed with himself but then, aren't we all- to varying degrees -at this age?

"So much choice." Making a joke of it and Michelle laughing. Hiding the truth behind humour, that I don't particularly want to kiss any of them, any boy, really. But, I'm Juliet now, auditioned for and won, drama a real passion of mine, the stage- not film, always the stage -a future I often mull over, consider.

In honesty I'm somewhat surprised, that I'm Juliet, which means the kiss, with me, and yet all three of these boys, and more are still actively seeking the part of Romeo.

"It's your canons." Like a telepath, somehow knowing the direction of my thoughts, poking the side of my E cup, followed by a shake of her C's to emphasise the point.

"Like a fucking," proding them again, grinning as I swat her hand away, "beacon."
"Shouldn't a beacon have an off switch?" But smiling, because Michelle's a friend, and she's only teasing.

"You should wear baggy clothes." Laughing as I pull a face, and fuck that. No, I don't love the attention, from boys. But if I cover up my best assets how will I ever lure some willing girl into my evil clutches?

"Ash?"
"Sorry." Because I'd been- evil clutches, I wouldn't have a fucking clue -laughing. "Come on, let's go to the library and talk just a little bit too loudly."
"About books." Grinning, linking her arm through mine as we set off, to annoy the librarian, because you've got to make your own fun sometimes.

I'll worry about kissing Romeo once there is a Romeo.

Probably the largest bust in school, proportionately, once you mix in and combine bust size with a slim eight frame which only accentuates the E cups more, making them appear larger, fuller. Black hair that always stands out, my slow to tan skin, the pale blue of the Forest Grove shirt. I'm used to the looks, the- unwanted -attention. It's fine.

Good mood dying, dropping out through the bottom of my stomach to puddle on the floor. Gone, and all it took was walking into the kitchen, finding dad midway through organising to leave, and behind him my older sister: Holly, grinning.

Mum left, several years ago now and I was too young to be told the details, to have it explained to me: how she could leave us all, leave me and Holly. And now, older, I'm too angry to want it explained. She left, fuck her. Dad's a good dad, working all hours to provide, some high flying city- about an hours drive away -job, something in tech he needs to return to two- on average -evenings a week.

Sometimes overnight.

Grin only growing as she spots my brief scowl, quickly hidden before dad sees and I can't tell him. Too much already: working, being a single parent, dad does so much I decided awhile ago to deal with this on my own.

Somehow.

This, being Holly's great con, the trick she somehow pulled and at first it made sense. I was eleven when mum left, Holly fourteen and it made sense, dad welcomed her offer to 'babysit' me, to be in charge whenever he left.

However. Holly quickly grew bored, of being stuck with me, sometimes once sometimes twice a week, sometimes nothing for ten days then four out of the following seven.

Bored, turning to resentment. Stuck with me whilst her friends were out doing kissing and whatever older kids do? Resentment then morphing to punishment, and now- I think, won't ask but I think -she enjoys it too much to stop, even though I'm old enough now to be left alone Holly remains.

Somehow convincing dad her watching over me is for the best, the cruel twist being that I- not wanting to burden him -agreed, when he'd asked.

Kissing dad goodbye and near racing upstairs, knowing I'm literally on the clock. Bathroom, and I'm halfway through changing: uniform off and hug, folded, baggy grey drawstring trousers on but no tee yet. Without knocking, without asking in Holly comes.

"He'll be home tomorrow."
"Right." Overnight, which means the cage. I hate the fucking cage. "I was-"
"-Come here." Tone hard, accompanied by a hard smile. At eighteen we're almost identical, obviously sisters. The same E cup bust, Holly a twelve to my eight, brunette to my black though she's been dying the tips blue since March.

Straightjacket in her hand, dangling, and fuck knows where or how she got it. But it's her current favourite method of keeping me in line. Of taking me: someone annoying- in her eyes -off the board.

Fighting back has never occurred, she's my older sister and there's authority there, a direct line from dad downwards. And there was fear, in the beginning, threats to tell dad if I misbehaved, if I didn't do as Holly said, wielding that power over me, cowing and forcing my submission. But fear has turned to resignation, I'm Holly's whenever dad leaves, simple.

Slipping the jacket on, from the front each long sleeve sliding down my held out arms. No hole at the end for my hands to poke through, total enclosure from neck to waist. Holly walking around behind, tugging, ensuring my fingers are at the ends, that I'm properly wearing my prison.

Red leather, and black across the shoulders, down both arms. Black belts. The straightjacket is small, snug even before Holly seals me in. No doubt something like this comes in different sizes, this model almost tailer made for a slim girl.

Zipping me up, the jacket becoming semi snug, the high collar always catching me out it's so much closer then my worn loose school shirt. Taking a moment to breathe, to calm down and all whilst Holly, who doesn't need to pause and fight to remain calm, she's already working on the belts.

Five running up the back, from waist to neck and there's a kind of natural fold built into the jacket, that the first- centre -belt pulls the two sides together, at the back, turning semi snug into super tight and hugging my curves, E cups pressed firmly against the front. Showing me off.

With those belts secure, buckled, Holly yanking each one to the point I'm jerked and pulled around. A sixth belt runs from the front, down underneath between my legs and coming up at the back, buckled and preventing my- somehow -pulling the jacket up and off.

Lastly my arms. A leather hoop at the front, below my bust and a second at the back. Each arm goes through the front, crossed, left heading right and right heading left. At the end of each arm the leather tapers out, becoming a long belt. Holly, yanking and forcing, pulling my crossed arms tight, hugging myself, feeding the long belts through the back hoop, bringing both around front where she buckles them together. Yanking, grunting even whilst I squrim, moan at the tightness, arms now pinned in place.

"I'll gag you after dinner."
"Okay." Nodding, already broken, years ago now. No argument, Holly says how it's going to be and I say okay.

Occasionally I say thank you.

No more words, no instructions. She simply wanders off, abandoning me and I know better then to follow. If Holly wants my company I'll be invited.

Two hours, two, long and stretched out hours, time slowing down due to my state, and always when I'm bound, either semi- like now -or completely helpless it seems as though the clock and me become enemies.

I go upstairs, to my room leaving the door open because: she's already locked me up, what point or advantage in keeping Holly out now? On the bed is a book, one of several hardbacks, thick and heavy, the point being it's a book that won't, shouldn't close itself.

Taking my time, turning pages with my feet and only- I've been doing this awhile -occasionally messing up. The fact of being bound, secured and locked up not- I've been doing this awhile -even entering my stream of thoughts. And it probably isn't good, that I'm so used to being bound up, locked up, that it doesn't bother me?

I just can't see a way out. She's older, and there's the conditioning factor, deep down I'm basically programmed by years of submitting to roll over for Holly, to surrender.

Eventually, dinner. Where Holly eats and I sit opposite her, still buckled into the straightjacket, sucking tomato soup through a straw. Once I'm bound she- almost -never frees me, not until time. School, college, some other thing or reason. Normal conversation, whilst we eat because she is still my sister, I guess. Asking after my life, telling of hers.

And it's all so normal, yet so messed up. That I'm not asking- begging -Holly to free me, that she doesn't offer. That she did this to me in the first place.

That I let her.

The occasional smirk, more then a friendly smile, evil leaking around the edges. A continued outward sign that she is, still, enjoying doing this to me. Having me.

After dinner I'm gagged. Used to be, in the beginning everything was tape or scarves. I still recall- not the date, but the fact of it -the first time Holly used ropes, some dirty oil smelling blue twine she found fuck knows where. Insisting, in that way she did- does -that I strip down to bra and pants lest my clothes be ruined. Using the whole length, coarseness of it digging in, leaving marks.

Like the straightjacket, the gag is new, and her current favourite. Red rubber ball I'm learning to hate the taste of, soft enough to bite down on, and I can't not bite down my jaws are forced that wide by the invasion. Black leather straps to buckle and hold the gag in place.

"Tired?"
"Nnngggfffpp." Shaking my head, her teasing tone washing over me, no longer affected or rising to any bait. I know she isn't actually asking, if Holly wants rid of me, upstairs I'll go. But she only nods, wandering off again from kitchen to lounge, abandoning me and no offer to follow but, reading the room, from long experience I know I'm allowed.

Patting the seat beside her as I walk in, flatscreen already on, the Sky main screen, remote in Holly's hand as I lower myself onto the right side cushion, a three seater.

Watching whatever she chooses, not- gagged -talking and in these moments I feel more like a pet then a sister: a good girl, allowed up onto the sofa when she could, has hogtied me to squrim and wriggle the evening away. Many times. A treat then, and like before, upstairs reading, I find myself largely unawares of the bondage, mind and body used to it, filtering the discomfort out.

Bedtime comes though, and I'm freed of gag and straightjacket. Upstairs to wash and change: a simple grey cotton nightie, short hem and pink piping, lace around the edges, thin shoulder straps and elasticated cups hugging my breasts. Hair bound back into a simple tail.

Walking willingly into Holly's room.

Walking willingly to the cage.

Another trick, that Holly's old enough dad wouldn't dare go in her room, and besides she's got a room, within her room: a small walk in wardrobe, a narrow room more cupboard then wardrobe, only dad installed a couple of high shelves, a pole from wall to wall for hanging. The doorway opens inwards, striking the back wall and to the right is perhaps four foot by five of space.

Perfect for the cage.

Meant for- pets, like me -dogs. Solid black floor and bars on the walls and ceiling, the usual crisscross pattern narrow gaps, fingers but I can't slip anything beyond a hand out. I've tried. Door at the front, low and small enough I'm forced to crawl through.

Two- thin -blankets inside, and a pillow. Which means I've been good, or simply that Holly's in a good mood. I've spent nights in just a bra and pants, no blankets, no pillow. Nights spent bound and sometimes gagged too.

I've spent days in here, cage door padlocked- as she's doing now -cupboard door closed. Cuffed and gagged. Silent and out of sight whilst Holly and some unknown girlfriend giggle and talk in her room.

Blowing me a- cheeky, grinning too wide as she does, all a game she's guaranteed to win -kiss, closing the cupboard door and plunging me into total darkness. Forced to sleep curled up and it's almost better when I am tied in here, at least then I can't stretch, be reminded of how fucking small my prison is.

Sleep finding me though, because the cage and me aren't strangers, and though I hate it, I'm used to the constrictive nature.

And in the morning. Freed, and back to school.

Until- is there a way out, should I be trying harder to find one -next time.

[RopeBunny]

Interlude: four years ago.
Jullietta.
Quarrel, I will back thee.

Someone's idea of a bad joke. Or someone's clever plan: let us cancel each other out, somehow.

Or perhaps whoever runs room allocation at St Catherine's genuinely didn't have a clue? Regardless, putting two bullies in the same small room could only end one way.

Badly.

For one of us.

Tall, and blonde. My first impressions of Tilly as, having opened our door and turning to collect my suitcase, slinging the large bag over one shoulder all whilst using one foot to prop the door open. Through the opening she'd glided, passing me when a moment ago I'd had the whole corridor to myself.

Effortless.

Bitch.

Kicking the door closed, and evening the score: striding, brushing- purposeful, just enough contact she knows I'm there -passed Tilly and whilst she dithered, considering left versus right, I claimed left. The window side, which tall yet narrow opening sits on the wall to the left, the opening and closing of which, the decision mine.

And we're even, and from the brief scowl she knows it.

"Jullietta."
"Tilly." Not shaking hands, and me not offering mine. Curt nods exchanged, sizing each other up and on some instinctive, animal level knowing we're two of the same.

Predators. Bullies.

All of Tilly's hormones, her growth is all in the legs, making her tall, slim. But still largely flat chested. For now. At eleven I'm already spilling out of my C cup bra's though, marching towards a sizeable bust and from Tilly's flashed scowl, noticing the stark difference, another score for my side.

"Jane."
"Tabitha." Which purposeful mangling, on both sides of our opponents name, is followed by a second curt nod. More understanding.

This won't be easy, or quick.

Unpacking, St Catherine's reaching out, taking hold and throwing us both into busy new routines. Classes together and apart, and those we share, we quickly- by mutual design -find ourselves sitting together, working together as though mutual distrust forces us to remain close.

To keep an eye on our opponent.

Super nice, politeness overflowing whenever we're in company, striving by way of going above and beyond, super helpful. Subtle slights carried out by way of a niceness overkill.

In private however, silence reigns in our small room, tension so thick that by the end of week four I can feel it, like a building heat. Like when we're together, alone, there's a kind of vibration to the air.

Tilly making the first move, bored of the games perhaps, or sensing some opportunity I can't see, feel.

Regardless, she strikes- literally -first, and in so doing completely misreads the game, the rules of which I dictate.

"Enough."
"Enough?"
Turning from my own desk, each side of the room a mirror of the other: bed, placed lengthways from the far corner down, towards the door. Desk following bed, followed by drawer unit. No wardrobes here, and no en suite, St Catherine's is old, an ancient place from before personal bathrooms were invented. Most likely.

Still sat, but turning. Finding Tilly stood, facing me hands by her sides, clenching and unclenching.

"Part, fool." Small shake of my head, giving her this chance. One chance. "Put up your sword; you know not what you do."

Smile, spreading across her lips. Biting her thumb before wiping the digit across my cheek, and moments later the sting as Tilly slaps me. Still smiling.

But backing off a step, fast, as I rise up to stand before her. Tilly taking a half step forward, attempting to correct her retreat and we face off.

Heat blooming across my cheek, the sticky feel of Tilly's saliva.

"You bite your thumb at me?"
"I bite my thumb." A shrug, nonchalant whilst her eyes tell a different story.

"But do you bite your thumb at me."
"I bite my thumb."
"Do you," looking her up and down, feeling it all shifting inside, part thrill part fear: the thrill of a new opponent, the fear that maybe this time I won't win.

"Quarrel?"
"Quarrel?" Tasting the word, tilting her head to regard me.

Hand flashing out and like the first slap, I don't flinch.

"No." Breathing hard now, committed. Frowning as the- unheard -clock ticks on, and I fail to react. Eventually nodding, believing matters settled, believing- does she really think -me too scared, intimidated to retaliate.

"Morning deep sleeper."
"Ggggwwwwrrrsssttmmmmm." Anger, barely woken and already pissed off enough to- muffled -bitch me out. "Mmmnnnttt gggfffssssppp rrrsssttpp mmmnnnn."

The beds here are narrow singles, wooden framed a post at each corner. Whilst she slept I bound each of Tilly's limbs to each post, splaying her out, on her back and pulling off the duvet. Her cute little pink cotton pants, penguin on the crotch and her too small black tee, nipples stabbing at the fabric, small breasts shaking as she struggles and curses, fighting.

Exposed and tied down. Helpless.

I give her ten minutes to figure this out, to realise the fact.

Sat on my own bed, uniform already on, cross legged, Tilly getting a flash of my own- white thong -pants, tight skirt riding up.

"What's the point of fighting?" Like having a casual conversation, sweeping one arm out as if to seek an answer. "You're mine now. Here." Crossing my own wrists, suppressing a shiver for the thing that's never happened. "And soon here." Tapping the side of my head."

Tilly not liking that, launching into another bout of gag muffled shouted cursing and energetic wriggling. Fighting.

I wait her out.

Free her, and of course instead of doing the decent- right -thing she attacks.

Winding up hogtied.

"And now," breathing slightly fast, unspent adrenaline still sloshing in my system, the still there despite it being over, panic of a rope aided fight: that I might've lost.

"Now you miss breakfast." Walking out, closing the door on her screams of protest.

Returning, after. And when having been freed Tilly simply flops, limbs dropping, laying docile and spent on her bed. I nod, placing down the single banana. Leaving.

Seven times in the following ten days Tilly attacks me. Always in our room, striking without warning, a slap or a punch, pushing me down onto the bed and kicking my shins. Each time I take it, not reacting not rising to her challenge.

And each time, each evening I sit, cross legged on my bed, watching as she falls asleep, watching me back and fighting the urge, but losing each time, unable to stay awake.

Losing, and each time she wakes up bound, gagged. Following which Tilly fights, squirming and cursing me out, all whilst I sit, calm amd waiting.

Day eleven. Coming back from classes, walking into our shared room and pausing, taking an extra step and letting the door swing closed behind, reaching back to engage the lock. Lest anyone else come, and see.

Kneeling in the narrow floorspace between our beds, facing me. Tilly, still dressed in the white shirt and pale blue tie of our uniform, skirt and bare legs beneath. Small pile of rope on my bed and it's no secret- by now -where I keep it.

Glancing up as I walk in, seeing me and dropping her head, hands going behind her back.

Waiting.

Surrendering, her intentions quite clear.

Looking up as I, now kneeling in front of her, reaching out to lift her chin. Eye to eye contact.

"Have my back." Serious tone, laying down rules. Law. "Be my heavy right hand. Stop when I say stop. Bind whomever I single out for punishment. No questions."
"No questions." A nod, a smile forming. "J."
"Tills." Smiling back, the first time she's called me anything remotely accurate and I can recognise J as a term of respect, shortening her own as acknowledgement of such.

Standing. Tilly- respectfully -remaining on her knees, taking my hand and allowing me to help her up. Leaning in to kiss my cheek.

My friend. My second.

[Caesar73]

Excellent! I see I have to do some serious catching up, then I will comment

[Pen Dreadful]

This is a lot of fun so far! Looking forward to seeing how Jullietta and Ashley's storylines intersect. A girl who's gotten very good at taming her targets into submission, and a girl who's been conditioned to submit regardless of whether she wants to or not.

[RopeBunny]

Excellent!

Thanks, coming along well so far, I feel

Looking forward to seeing how Jullietta and Ashley's storylines intersect.

Which, that first meeting happening soon, because why delay the fact when Ashley and Jullietta are the main focus here.

Thanks for the comment, happy you're enjoying the story.

[BlissfulMisery]

Well....

I had one quarter of one half of a good Plymouth idea/continuation

Otherwise colloquially known as 'an eighth'

Afraid so the best kind of school setting for a TUGs story.

Cannot argue with that

-

Fighting back has never occurred, she's my older sister and there's authority there, a direct line from dad downwards. And there was fear, in the beginning, threats to tell dad if I misbehaved, if I didn't do as Holly said, wielding that power over me, cowing and forcing my submission. But fear has turned to resignation, I'm Holly's whenever dad leaves, simple.

More then a little dark, if I have to be honest (not just the specific quote, the general section). But quite believable.

Zipping me up, the jacket becoming semi snug, the high collar always catching me out it's so much closer then my worn loose school shirt. Taking a moment to breathe, to calm down and all whilst Holly, who doesn't need to pause and fight to remain calm, she's already working on the belts.

Brings across her anxiety well - gave me a tinge of it myself.

"I'll gag you after dinner."
"Okay." Nodding, already broken, years ago now. No argument, Holly says how it's going to be and I say okay.

Occasionally I say thank you.

Not even fighting/resisting, just... resignation.

Not what bondage is 'supposed' to be (and yes, I realize the absurdity of such a statement - but I think my point is clear).

A chapter that really highlights how much context and back and forth interplay matters with such things. Bondage gets *really* dark, really fast when it is not consensual (and resignation/acceptance is not the same thing).

In private however, silence reigns in our small room, tension so thick that by the end of week four I can feel it, like a building heat. Like when we're together, alone, there's a kind of vibration to the air.

The calm before the proverbial storm... Like the way you describe it here.

"You bite your thumb at me?"
"I bite my thumb." A shrug, nonchalant whilst her eyes tell a different story.

"But do you bite your thumb at me."
"I bite my thumb."

Well that is nearly one to one from the original text (from what I can remember). And yes obviously much of the surrounding dialogue is taken in a similar fashion.

Kind of strange that eleven year olds would be so familiar with the play, but I assume this is meant more as a parody, in the sense that the story is an adaptation of the original and so 'in-universe' they are just speaking normally rather then making an in-universe reference. But could be wrong on the intent (and maybe your intention was more to just parody the aesthetic).

Either way, enjoyed the exchange.

"What's the point of fighting?" Like having a casual conversation, sweeping one arm out as if to seek an answer. "You're mine now. Here." Crossing my own wrists, suppressing a shiver for the thing that's never happened. "And soon here." Tapping the side of my head."

A fun bit of power play

And each time, each evening I sit, cross legged on my bed, watching as she falls asleep, watching me back and fighting the urge, but losing each time, unable to stay awake.

Losing, and each time she wakes up bound, gagged. Following which Tilly fights, squirming and cursing me out, all whilst I sit, calm amd waiting.

Tilly really seems to have an issue with being too heavy of a sleeper for her own good

Which, that first meeting happening soon, because why delay the fact when Ashley and Jullietta are the main focus here.

Should be interesting!

[RopeBunny]

Well....

I had one quarter of one half of a good Plymouth idea/continuation

Otherwise colloquially known as 'an eighth'

Which, eventually will become a half then a whole, I'll get around to it. To her.

More then a little dark, if I have to be honest (not just the specific quote, the general section). But quite believable.

True, something I didn't realise until the chapter was finished. Looking back and reading, checking and yes.

Darker then I'd of liked.

But, it fits the overall story I'm going for, the fact of Jullietta as Dominant and Ashley as submissive.

"You bite your thumb at me?"
"I bite my thumb." A shrug, nonchalant whilst her eyes tell a different story.

"But do you bite your thumb at me."
"I bite my thumb."

Well that is nearly one to one from the original text (from what I can remember). And yes obviously much of the surrounding dialogue is taken in a similar fashion.

Close enough to one to one with the original, better be anyway given for these dialogue insertions I'm actively seeking out the play online.

It's meant as a call to the Shakespeare. Not a case of the girls knowing the lines, speaking the lines, but instead I'm using them in lieu of whatever actual words they'd speak. I had the idea to do the plot of Romeo and Juliet but with a TUGs twist, to follow the plot as closely as possible, using two girls instead of girl plus boy.

(Not a spoiler, but to prove the point we're about to head to the masked ball, which. Hint hint is where our two star crossed lovers first meet.)

The fact of the actual play being enacted, both schools doing productions at the same time, both our girls landing the part of Juliet.

Definitely purposeful.

[RopeBunny]

As was hinted above

we're about to head to the masked ball

What follows is indeed the ball.

Three shorter chapters, posted at the same time. Necessary due to shift in viewpoints from Jullietta to Ashley and back.

And consider yourselves lucky there's only three as my initial thoughts for the initial meeting had involved far more perspective jumps, up to and possibly including single sentence/paragraph chapters.

[RopeBunny]

003a.
Jullietta. (Juliet)

Shakespeare doesn't have to be as the great man intended, like any play, any story, there's room for interpretation.

Partly, I guess it's down to how far you're- Mr Brown in this instance, the director -willing to stray from the original work? And considering he's working with an all girl cast, by reason of it being an all girls school, he's already stepping from Shakespeare's path.

So why not go further?

"But. Sir." Kirsty, cast as Lord Montague and lucky to even get that, in my opinion.

And no, I don't know shit about drama, acting, but it's still my opinion.

"None of these lines make any fucking sense." Smacking the open book with her other, free hand. Scattered giggles from some- not me -of the others. Quickly stifled when they realise I'm not laughing, my presence bringing order once it becomes clear to the others that yes, I am taking this seriously.

And- Bethany aside -I haven't bound and or gagged anyone here. Yet. But I'm known, my methods are known.

An all girl cast, then. Mr Brown opting for something with a modern twist: letting us all be girls, dress as girls and none of that period crap. So long as he approves we've all got costume choice, from our own wardrobes.

Or not, because we don't have wardrobes, just a drawer unit each, but the point stands.

Keeping the original script though, the names and in this brave new world why can't a girl be called Benvolio? The only script changes are switches from he and him to she and her. Because we're all allowed to be girls. However Lord Montague remains Lord, as opposed two Lady's.

Which makes Bethany, occasionally glancing at me throughout our three- so far -practices, Romeo, to my Juliet. And no, I don't have a clue what I did, or what she didn't do, either. Somehow I got my wish, which turned out to be part curse since Bethany, the girl whose belly- not to mention her bra and gagged lips -I'd licked, whilst she lay bound and prone.

Helpless. And now she keeps looking at me and I know. Fucking, know, she isn't going to let the overstep slide.

Overstep to her, to clarify. Because once I've bound someone I can do whatever I like, want, with and to them. Up to and including taking thier clothes, and I haven't yet, but only because- the small matter of my secret infatuation with girls -I'm afraid of what I'll do once the clothes are off.

Think, left alone in a room with a naked girl. A naked, bound and gagged girl, to be specific. Under those circumstances there's a very real chance I'd simply go mad, or explode.

Or both.

The frustration is still real, still very much there, shouting and waving for attention. And it was a mistake, I see that now, letting go and taking advantage of Bethany. Because far from shutting the voices and urges up, now they- I -only want more.

Please.

So far I've managed to avoid that confrontation, whatever talk or issues Bethany feels an obvious pressing need to raise.

Issues, ha. Issue, singular. Though what she expects the outcome from telling me off to be? Girl's a fool.

A combination of ignoring her attempts at any conversation not directly related to our Romeo slash Juliet parts, combined with several well placed glares if she's approaching, or giving me that look, the one which is half a plea. Can we talk? So far, no talking, and for my sanity, and her well being let's keep it that way.

By which I mean: if Bethany attempts any form of telling me off, she's going to wind up bound and gagged, and I'm probably not going to be able to stop myself taking advantage.

And around we'll go.

"What's this?"
"S' a mask. J." Smile to remove the sting, and she needn't. We're well beyond that, Tilly and me. No digs from her, no attempts at baiting or points scoring. I won the war.

"It's beautiful."
"Thanks." Looking pleased, Tilly never fishes for compliments but, by her actions it's obvious she actively seeks my approval, my praise. "I made them, whilst you've been acting."
"Why, though?"
"Thought we could crash the party." Showing me a hopeful smile. "Thought you could use some fun."

Just over two weeks since Bethany, since I gave in, and the closeness of her at- three -rehearsals, the effort of keeping a lid on things, of not simply picking some random girl, making some random shit up as an excuse to bind and gag her.

So I can touch her.

It's making me cranky. And I haven't lashed out, at Tilly. Her friendship, what we have means too much. But I'm very obviously, often a ball of pent up barely contained rage, scowling through classes, glaring at anyone in my way.

I need- I know what I need, and I can't have it and that's the problem -help.

"Fun?" Tasting the word, letting myself smile. "What party, Tills?"
"Masked ball at Forest Grove." Small laugh. "Thought we could gatecrash?"
"And nobody will know." Holding up the- my -mask, nodding and it is a good plan. And maybe an evening away from St Catherine's, from all this normal, would be good for me?

"Okay." Reaching out to squeeze Tilly's arm, because I won't let myself hug her. "Thanks, Tills. Let's go gatecrash."

Changing. Tilly opting for black wet look leggings, overhead room light casting interesting patterns across the surface, paired with a pink vest top, knee high lace up black boots, army style no heel. In contrast I'm wearing a dress, black with a faded pattern of purple swirls. Short hem, hugging my figure with elasticated cups that negate the need for a bra. Black Adidas, just to be different.

My mask is a skull, white bone cracked in places, running, showing age. Upper jaw of pointed animal teeth below which the mask ends, my own painted red lips exposed. Tilly's is also bone, bird like with different shaped eye sockets, longer and narrower, a hooked upper beak extending off her nose, her own painted lips visible beneath.

Both masks are really well made, something like papier mache, strengthened.

"Might have to run."
"Run?"
"I'm not enjoying the idea either." Grimacing into the mirror, Tilly standing- towering, looming -behind, small turns left and right, admiring ourselves.

Me trying not to admire Tilly too much.

"But after summer." Pausing to smile, into our reflections, who smile back. "Something tells me we aren't welcomed in the house of the Forest."
"Shouldn't of been such pussys."
"Ha." Smile widening. Remembering the day, the three girls we'd captured, ignoring the flag.

The actual point of the game, and me after a different kind of victory. Getting carried away on that one girl, flash of her bikini under clothing as she'd struggled, the urge suddenly there. Strong, letting the moment take me, wash me away. Letting the others paint her, defile her with words and worse, all whilst I stood behind, my secret thrill: watching her struggle, hidden from Tilly and those few others I'd taken charge of. My rule unquestioned, my orders followed.

"Should we be recognised." Patting her arm, the obvious height of my best friend. "Can't win against a whole school Tills."
"True." Nodding, a shrug and she'd follow my lead, charge or retreat, regardless.

A good friend but an excellent second.

"Best find someone cute to dance with early then." Laughing, and I laugh back, forcing it out. Faking it, because for me that's an impossible sounding task. Not some, one, I need some girl.

We catch a bus across town. Tilly wondering at boys and like the laugh, I force out some appropriate comments. Walking the last half mile, calm whilst my heart kicks, occasionally racing not just at the thought of walking into the enemy lair, but at all the girls likely within, wearing something nice. Revealing.

Losing Tilly almost immediately, just, turning around and she's gone. Flash of blonde over to the right and I can't help smiling. Didn't take her long to find a small grouping of boys. Younger and my smile widens, because she'll eat them alive.

Wandering, but it all gets to me: the heat of so many crushed into one hall, the noise and the various competing smells, tonight, pulse already quickened and so many unknown, random girls casually brushing passed, brief contact that means nothing to them, too much to me and I've got to get out.

Finding the door, a fire escape propped open, half silhouette of trees beyond like a small hidden glade. Almost, the half light, the stillness of it when so much chaos exists just on the other side of the door. It's almost like a fantasy.

Stepping outside, taking a half dozen paces and pausing. Letting it all wash over me, body slowing down.

Looking up.

Realising I'm not alone. Breath catching as she turns, seeing me too.

Smiling, small and shy and nervous, feeling hers tug similar onto my lips as she- tentatively -walks forward, feeling myself mirroring, as though caught in each other's orbits. Gravity.

[RopeBunny]

003b.
Ashley. (Juliet)

"Hi."
"Hi." Sounding every bit as nervous as me, despite it's only hello, not even a declaration of love. Not even can we kiss, although I'm overcome with the strongest urge to do just that. Not to ask, first, not to dance or wonder at whether she's into what I'm into?

Girls.

Looking, staring at her and seeing my half lost half falling smile replicated. All I want to do is kiss her.

Unfamiliar, a stranger. Skin an exotic tan and her accent matching. Spanish? Hair black as night, curling and tumbling. Curves poured into a low cut black dress, large bust- not quite mine but impressive -pushing, attempting escape.

To think I almost didn't come, had to be bullied into changing: Michelle, shutting me in her bathroom, not letting me out until I'd sent her a WhatsApp photo of me, skinny fit green jeans and a white vest top, push up bra making my E cups ridiculously large. Converse high tops. Homemade butterfly mask, reds and oranges and blacks, wings unfolding to cover my face, eyeholes taking the form of red spots, lips exposed beneath.

Watching as she licks hers, some unconscious gesture as her eyes stray, roaming across my chest, the attention and her reaction causing a shiver.

And somehow we've closed the distance, some unspoken agreement bringing us under the weeping shade of a willow, half hidden from the world.

Kissing. Leaning in even whilst she- still, or is it me to her -mirrors me. Hand going to her waist and hers, cautious, brushing across my cheek beneath where the mask runs, running back through my own tumbling black cascade. Neither of us pulling back, away, first kiss stretching out, feeling heat build in my chest, nipples stirring to unexpected life, gone almost painfully hard as our tongues meet. Her breath hot in my throat. Small moan, louder as my hand slides from waist to her butt, pulling her into me.

Bold, forward. Her own hand brushing down my face, neck, fingers grazing across the sideswell of my breast, my turn to moan and we're still kissing. This strangers hand on my butt now, mirroring. And in the darkness I can't see her eyes, details, nothing but the shape of her, sound of her breathing. Smell of some exotic flower on her skin.

"My only love sprung from my only hate." Sad, voice barely above a whisper her lips still close enough I can feel the wind of her words. Still holding me, my hand remaining too, loose grip of the curving cheek beneath her tight black dress. "I am a fool."
"No." Running my other hand up her back, nails tracing fire across skin, both of us shivering as she gasps. "You're beautiful."

Kissing again, melting.

Door, which I'd snuck out of, running away from a hall filled with staring boys and girls I can't approach. The same door she'd likely used, banging loudly open.

"J?" Behind her, tall and impossibly long legs, skinny, short hair caught and tugged in the slight breeze. Voice leaking panic, sudden volume shattering our oasis.

"J." Again, the shadow of her turning, looking but for now she can't see. Us, can't see- J, is she, and what might that be shorthand for -the girl in my arms, who has me in hers. This dark skinned beauty come to fulfill my most secret fantasy.

"Time to go, J. They're coming. Fuck."

This last spat out, hand running back through her hair. And with a low growl, something like sadness, like ripping the embrace is broken, stepping back, creating that impossible distance I may never be able to cross again.

Who are you?

Where do I find you?

Can we....

"Don't go." Half begging, and she already is, a further two steps back, profile turning side face as her attention switches from me to the fidgeting, tall girl beyond the willow. What light does filter through casting her shape into stark relief, teasing me, showing the curving contours: slender legs and the rounded shape of her bust, tight dress showing it all.

Showing what I briefly had, may never recapture. Teasing, taunting.

"I...."

Was that her, or me?

Blur of movement as she advances, sudden burst of speed to close the distance, colliding, forced back against the willow trunk and me gasping as she takes without asking. Roughness of the bark at my back and her, being rough leaving me breathless, panting.

Wanting more.

Hands on my breasts, squeezing even whilst pressing her whole self against me, lips locked, inhaling as she exhales, fast, sharing the same air. Symbiotic, overwhelming, the kiss, her thumb pressed against a nipple, stabbing at the lace of my bra, the thin fabric of my vest top. Unintentional but there. The meant or accidental dominance of what she's doing brings my natural, trained submissiveness to the fore.

Arms reaching backwards, fingers finding fingers, hands interlocking, gripping. Pinning myself back against the trunk, the self bondage pose causing my upper back to arch, pushing my chest out, giving her my breasts, myself. Almost.

"J." Another shout, panic only increasing. Shattering the moment a second time and as I blink, she's gone. No small retreat this time, gone. Pausing a moment, half in half out of the weeping canopy, a last, final.

Something about the finality, some perfect storybook feeling to the diorama of her: standing, pausing in half light half dark, staring back at still self tree- imagined -bound me, both of us panting, chest on fire, belly a ship on rough seas. Churning. Staring as I stare back and what words could either of us possibly say, in this perfect moment.

When goodbye would bring the fantasy crashing down.

Instead a single exhale, long shuddering breath and a shiver, outward display that she, too, feels churned up and wrung out, inside.

Swallowed by the world outside, half seen flick of her hand, pointing and the tall girl falling into unspoken step, both of them jogging away. At speed.

Gone.

Taking me long minutes to calm down, to climb down. Taking me an age to remember I'm not actually bound to the tree.

[RopeBunny]

003c.
Jullietta. (Juliet)

Running, too fucking dark and besides we dare not slow down, risk a backwards glance.

They're there.

We can fucking hear them.

Sounds- fear, the rush of adrenaline, the pounding speed of it all and the dark only adding to the blurred quality of everything -like half the school, at times. Shouts and catcalls, laughter.

Girls and boys.

Tilly and me laughing too, unable to stop. Riding that high, balancing the fine line between terror and elation.

What if they catch us?

Retribution. The almost certain outcome for what happened over summer break: Tilly and me ripping off the healed scar of a long rivalry.

Break to new mutiny.

Stories, we'd heard. The older girls, Prefects, word of God- Goddess, perhaps, since we're all girls here -coming down from above and there's a trophy cabinet in reception, a fixture of most schools and St Catherine's no different. Gold cups, bright ribbons and plaques faded by age.

An old institution, proud. Netball and hockey being highlights here, only since eight years ago- now, a wound still fresh, when as year sevens we were gathered round and told. Now St Catherine's, Forest Grove, netball only with regards girls team sports. Because eight years ago a local rivalry went all the way to the finals, where something.

And depending on who you talk to, believe, history differs.

But something happened, during the game, after the game. One team struck, the other retaliated. And now neither is allowed to compete.

And in the wake of this: a crackdown, an end to cross school fighting. Until Tilly and me, and summer happened, and we got carried away.

Capture the flag becoming capture the Forest Grove girls.

And here we are, severely outnumbered, and potentially, before the sun rises we'll both be paying the piper.

Running, the wrong part of town and dark too, not ideal, lefts and rights at random praying for a bus stop, a bus because no way can we slow down. Stop. Praying too that we don't encounter a dead end, boxed in and caught.

No prisoners.

Somehow becoming separated, nobody beside me? Running through an industrial district, warehouses looming either side, fencing and well maintained grass verges, wide roads to accommodate heavy traffic. No Tilly and no sounds of pursuit?

Slowing, risking a glance taking a corner too wide and using the chance to look behind and.

Nothing?

Finding a copse of trees, shelter and invisibility. Stopping, letting my racing breath and pounding heart calm, leaning back. Waiting, watching.

Nothing.

Nobody.

Did they catch her? Feeling emotions flood in, worry and anger warring and if they fucking touch my friend I'll....

Mentally retracing my, our steps. Thinking.

Come on Jullietta, think damn it.

Nodding, testing the theory, now that I've got time to look around, to see. Maps, direction and I like maps, study them regardless of whether I need to.

Don't take me to a zoo, Alton Towers or some country park because I'll spend at least fifteen minutes standing hands on hips- or arms crossed beneath my breasts -staring at the large annotated map, most attractions having such at the entrance and I'm always fascinated, the difference in design and how true to life the drawn layout really is.

Stored knowledge proving invaluable tonight, the copse actually part of a wider tree belt, long and narrow, stretching backwards and linking back up with the housing estate we'd previously run through. Finding familiar streets, searching out and finding the most likely spot of diversion, Tilly breaking right to my left.

Following this new road, a slow cautious jog. Careful, casting what senses I have forward, listening, watching.

Finding Tilly.

Who isn't alone.

Down to one girl though, luckily, I arrive in time to witness the parting, two others walking away, from the remaining- Tilly and a Forest Grove girl -pair, and from me. Laughter as they exchange shouts the wind carries away, words unintelligible but still I bristle to see my friend bought low.

Still clothed: wet look leggings picking up the streetlight and vest top highlighting her curves. Neither of us is masked, lost to the run, but Tilly's face now sports a gag, cloth wrapping and forced into her mouth, tied off behind. And in addition her wrists are bound, in front and crossed, long trailing ends of rope held in her captors hands.

Coming this way now, slowly, Tilly walking behind, looking left, looking right.

Seeing me as they pass, as I step half out from around the corner they're passing, still mostly in shadow. Her eyes lighting up, a single nod as I press a finger to my lips.

Following, keeping my distance and waiting. Hoping.

Rewarded. I didn't really expect them to be returning to this- bitch -girls house, because how do you explain that to mum and dad in the morning? Twenty minutes, local roads houses lining each side, everything dark and by now it's gone midnight. Twenty minutes of walking a slow path, closer with each step to St Catherine's, finally looming into sight in the distance, tall pointed rooftops and that old architecture, buildings covered in statues and assorted decoration.

Almost a nightmare silhouette, spiked all over, reaching for the heavens.

Tethering Tilly to the front gates and pulling out her phone, this- bitch -girl, small black backpack at her feet, white trainers softly glowing, and skinny fit jeans the same ethereal shade. Ghost like in the dark. Baggy pink hoodie concealing a modest chest, which is to say her breasts aren't exactly straining the material, and brunette hair tied back, bobbing as she moves.

Stepping back, my friend roped to the gates and likely Tilly could get free, because her hands are in front, and therefore she'll be able to both see and reach her ropes.

Stupid, dumb Forest Grove girls.

Stepping back, phone raised and she's smiling.

Until I pounce.

Phone knocked from her hand as I take us both down, sound of something- her screen -cracking and tough fucking luck. Wrestling, fighting and rolling and Tilly looking on, semi helpless.

The girl finding her way ontop, grinning down at me for scant seconds before I push, toppling us both a second time. Reaching for her backpack and finding what I'd hoped for: supplies, after which she doesn't stand a chance.

"Go home." Slipping the phone into her hoodie front pocket. "Forest Grove girl."
"Fffgggddddmmmm."
"Honestly." Laughing, the comedown and all I feel now is drained. So much running, so much adrenaline, dumped and building and sloshing inside.

"I don't fucking care."
"Fffhhhppppmmmssss." Shaking her head, denial of something? Her tone resigned, no sign of anger and with luck she understands how pointless that'd be.

I've left her legs free, no ropes below the waist. But her arms are tightly bound and pinned behind, crossed horizontally at the small of her back, wrapped, two ropes linked together one following the other, wrapping and squeezing not only arms but chest too. Some kind of dirty white cloth as a gag.

Watching her leave, hand to my mouth as a yawn escapes. Swaying, suddenly tired, an effort to keep my eyes open.

"Come on. Tills." Freeing and collecting the trailing ends, those attached to the gate and not thinking. Not simply freeing her. Too fucking tired.

Or at least that'll be my excuse, later.

Tilly silent, falling into step behind me as I lead us both through the gate and onto campus, through the silent looming height of it all, between buildings, heading for the dorms.

Letting us both in, suppressing another yawn, at least my fifth so far. Closing and locking our rooms door.

Kicking off shoes, pulling my dress up and off, left wearing only a thong and I tut, shake my head and giggle at the sight, the downwards slope of my exposed breasts. Finding and shrugging on a baggy white tee. Bending to help Tilly out of her boots, unlacing and yanking each off, tossing them one banging against the door.

Giggling again.

Pulling down her leggings, removing them, Tilly stiffening but I don't notice, standing and crossing the room to my bed, still holding her ropes, tugging on them as I climb in. Sliding across, putting myself against the wall to make room and patting the empty half of the mattress.

A small narrow expanse.

Tugging on the rope and moments later Tilly complying, lowering herself down beside me, laying down and going doll like, limp, allowing me to roll her away from me, to wrap the rope around my hand.

Pushing herself back into me though as I pull, bringing our bodies tight together, my arm around her, Tilly's arms pinned in front both by the now shortened rope and by my hug. Tangling one leg through and around one of hers.

Kissing her neck, Tilly sighing, leaning her head back and tilting, rubbing gagged lips against my cheek.

Drifting off to sleep, mentally unawares of what I've done, too tired to process or understand that I've taken Tilly to bed.

And as my loyal second, what else would she do save let me?

[BlissfulMisery]

Close enough to one to one with the original, better be anyway given for these dialogue insertions I'm actively seeking out the play online.

It's meant as a call to the Shakespeare. Not a case of the girls knowing the lines, speaking the lines, but instead I'm using them in lieu of whatever actual words they'd speak. I had the idea to do the plot of Romeo and Juliet but with a TUGs twist, to follow the plot as closely as possible, using two girls instead of girl plus boy.

So an adaptation then, as I (in hindsight very clumsily) alluded to. A 'bondagization' of sorts

And consider yourselves lucky there's only three as my initial thoughts for the initial meeting had involved far more perspective jumps, up to and possibly including single sentence/paragraph chapters.

In honesty would have probably messed with the flow/pacing too much to really work. Which is (I suspect) probably why you did not end up doing it that way.

-

Overstep to her, to clarify. Because once I've bound someone I can do whatever I like, want, with and to them. Up to and including taking thier clothes, and I haven't yet, but only because- the small matter of my secret infatuation with girls -I'm afraid of what I'll do once the clothes are off.

Well at least she is aware that other peoples boundaries exist - a starting point I suppose

Smiling, small and shy and nervous, feeling hers tug similar onto my lips as she- tentatively -walks forward, feeling myself mirroring, as though caught in each other's orbits. Gravity.

I see we are following the 'love at first sight' more or less one to one as well

Something about the finality, some perfect storybook feeling to the diorama of her: standing, pausing in half light half dark, staring back at still self tree- imagined -bound me, both of us panting, chest on fire, belly a ship on rough seas. Churning. Staring as I stare back and what words could either of us possibly say, in this perfect moment.

When goodbye would bring the fantasy crashing down.

Instead a single exhale, long shuddering breath and a shiver, outward display that she, too, feels churned up and wrung out, inside.

Swallowed by the world outside, half seen flick of her hand, pointing and the tall girl falling into unspoken step, both of them jogging away. At speed.

Gone.

Like the almost poetic style you used in this chapter!

Reaching for her backpack and finding what I'd hoped for: supplies, after which she doesn't stand a chance.

Seems that after 'the incident' the students of Forest Grove travel prepared.

Drifting off to sleep, mentally unawares of what I've done, too tired to process or understand that I've taken Tilly to bed.

And as my loyal second, what else would she do save let me?

I was going to wonder as to what Tilly might think in regards to what she 'caught' Jullietta doing beside the school, but I suppose now there will be a far more awkward conversation in their future.

Boundaries, Jullietta

[RopeBunny]

And consider yourselves lucky there's only three as my initial thoughts for the initial meeting had involved far more perspective jumps, up to and possibly including single sentence/paragraph chapters.

In honesty would have probably messed with the flow/pacing too much to really work. Which is (I suspect) probably why you did not end up doing it that way.

Pretty much the reason, one chapter split ten plus ways wouldn't of read very well.

Would've enjoyed writing it, but would've looked messy, so no.

I see we are following the 'love at first sight' more or less one to one as well

Definitely

I was going to wonder as to what Tilly might think in regards to what she 'caught' Jullietta doing beside the school, but I suppose now there will be a far more awkward conversation in their future.

Probably wasn't obvious enough, and it will be- eventually -explained.

As with all- of mine, certainly -stories, eventually everything gets explained.

Tilly didn't see Jullietta, too much cover provided by the willow, too much shadow. Tilly's panic, her repeated calling of Jullietta (J) was all meant to allude to the fact she couldn't see, and therefore doesn't know what her friend/boss was up to.