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

[AlexUSA3]

Story 9 Chapter 1: Birthday Love
Wednesday, March 18, 2015

“Happy birthday,” Michela was awake when I opened my eyes.
“Thank you,” I smiled at her.
“You're an old lady. You are 19 already?” she kissed me on the cheek.
“You know what I want for my birthday?”
“Knowing you, you want to be tied up and have me tease you,” she kissed me again.
“You prove your love more and more every day,” I blushed.
“Wait until you see your birthday present.”
“No no no no no nooooo! Saturday, my dear.”
“It makes me sad that we spent our 17th’s together but not our 18th’s.”

That night, we did just that. It's too dirty and long of a tale to tell here.

This was the first birthday where it felt like life really mattered, but I did something I had wanted to do and hadn't done. You want to talk about a broken heart? It had been over 2 years since I had last seen my mom and dad, and this was the first time I cried about it. Rather than wallow in misery, I went out to breakfast with Michela, went to class, went to lunch with Grandma, went back to class, went to work, and got bound, gagged, and tortured by Michela.

Yes, I had lunch with Grandma. It had been a year since I’d last seen her, and I felt so bad for how I mistreated her after my release. I felt an odd strength inside me; it was a moment that made me believe in the divine. Something more powerful than me told me to call Grandma.

We both cried and hugged before going into the restaurant. I missed her so much, and I do not know why I hid from the only person who knew me before and still wanted to love me unconditionally. I was so glad to be with her again, and she with me. I have never let anything separate us since.

“Grandma,” I said between tears, “To get the sad stuff out of the way, let me tell you about the great-grandson you almost had.”

That baby still bothers me to this day. Yes, I would have been a drug-slinging Mom with a worthless incarcerated father, if he hadn't murdered the poor thing as part of my execution sequence, but my life would have been very different. Most likely, I would have moved back in with my grandmother then.

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Interlude 81: Birthday in Juvie
Monday, March 18, 2013

I sat down at the phone booth with tears rolling down my cheeks before I attempted, for the fifth time, to call my parents despite knowing they’d changed both the cell and house phone numbers. I turned around while barely able to see and saw Michela standing behind me with a smile on her face; she felt bad for me in the deepest way.

“Why don’t you call Nichole?” she suggested, “You know she cares.”
“Because I’m ashamed,” I responded and turned away.
“She said she wants you to call her. Call her.”
“Oh,” I groaned, “All right.”
“Come on!” Michela watched me do nothing, “It’s your birthday, and Kendra’s waiting for you.”
“OK, OK! No pushing,” I choked on my tears and punched the buttons.

Kendra came over and took Michela’s place. She pretended to be trying to call someone, but I knew her well enough from before. She just wanted me to be comfortable and at peace with my opportunity to at least talk to a friend.

“Hey, Nichole, it’s me, Hannah,” I started.
“Hannah! Happy birthday!” Nichole responded, “We even posted it on your Facebook wall even if you won’t get to see it for a while.”
“Don’t you get it?! I was a drug dealer!” I said, knowing I’d lose points for the day for it.
“And you can change! Hannah, I know who you were before. You can be that good girl again.”
“Everyone says that… someday I will believe it,” I responded in frustration.
“Why not today? Make your birthday a rebirth of sorts?” she said with deep feeling.

That was when I really believed I could make something good of my time in juvie.

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Thursday, March 19, 2015

The most delicious day of my life was this day as I learned who St. Joseph was and what he meant to an Italian family. I couldn't believe it; Michela made the famous dessert, the zeppole, for us to enjoy. They were freaking good and heavy and creamy and delicious. I had a promise to keep though.

Nothing is like eating authentic food, getting immersed in a culture, and being jolly all around the way Michela's family was. I had work and class, but I made memories with the Palmeri's to love and cherish. It was a hard day for Michela, though. It wasn't until Mom Palmeri explained that I understood: he is Mr. Joseph Palmeri.

“Ashley, the girl in pink, I brought Michela too! What's the news?”
“I got my GED! I never would have pushed except I remembered you two pushing!”
“Sweet! Congratulations, kiddo!” I peered into her almost dead eyes.
“Ash, you’ll be out soon. Don't give up,” Michela cheered her on.
“Someday, I’ll tell you what happened,” she whispered.
“Stay with me, kid,” I tried to talk her back to reality, “I’m sorry.”
“I miss my mom and dad… You being here today means the world to me,” life returned.
“We're all hurting in some way except Kylie; we love you,” Michela smiled.
“I love you girls! Anyway, let me tell you about this new girl…”

So we sat and talked the time away until it was time to leave. I left that day feeling that, as long as I visited regularly, Ashley was going to make out better than Michela or me. She had the love and support on the outside that the rest of us lacked.

A big thing happened on this day: I changed my phone number. Hannah Larsson the drug dealer was a thing of the past.

Friday, March 20, 2015

“Hannah, I sent Michela out when I knew you’d be home,” Mom Palmeri said to me.
“Uh oh,” I worried she was about to end my relationship with Michela, “What’s up?”
“I'm still concerned about Michela. She's still got no motivation. The only thing that seems different for her now is where she's living her prison routine and what she's got on her when she does it. Has she ever confided anything to you that maybe I could,” she paused for a moment to choke on her tears, “use to help her?”
“Momma P., I struggle too. Every emotion she had up to the point she fired the gun is dead. She still maintains the same opinions of people, but she doesn't know the right way to express it anymore. Even when we're out with friends, she sometimes stops to stare at the wall and goes vacant. It happened just last week. I have too many loose screws to be asking. We're only comfortable with what's happened since the things that made us the shells you see.”
“So that's why you can love your friends, each other and us?”
“Kind of,” I tried so hard to convey my own emotions for this family, “Michela does not talk about much besides you three and hockey. She thinks she's a reject since no one from school or the hockey team ever visited or wrote to her while she was inside.”
“I see,” Mom was thoughtful, “Michela never told me that had happened.”
“Imagine a normal 14 year-old girl and all she thinks and feels. Now, tabula rasa, wipe it all out of her. Wipe the slate clean like your husband did when he did what he did. Michela did the right thing by standing up for herself because she feared for your lives. That girl,” I burst into tears, “loves you so much that she basically threw her life away and went to prison for you and her sisters so that you would be safe from that monster.”

Now it all made sense to Mom Palmeri. We sat on the sofa hugging and crying until Luisa came downstairs from doing homework because she heard us. Sofia was too young to appreciate the gravity of what was happening, but Luisa understood it all and that the big sister she loved would never be the girl she was before it all happened.

My explanation made things make sense to Mom. She understood enough to imagine a little girl, now seeing all those teenage and childish perspectives of love, beauty, and goodness being crushed until she was just a soul in a body, and then putting that body in prison for nearly four years as punishment for doing what she knew was the right thing. Naturally, the girl would develop an affinity for the person who shared a room with her and showed her kindness. What really sealed the deal for Michela that she loved me was when I faced Clarissa Sanchez. It must have been the moment Michela knew she had truly done the right thing since everyone else in the Pod, even Mrs. Copley, praised my actions. If my self-defense was good, then how infinitely better was her self-defense!

Michela loved me. She wasn't just an empty teenager who was responding to the new emotions of eros and lust; that was just the only way she knew how to express it. She, Michela, loves me just like she loves Mom, Luisa, and Sofia. She expressed it in a different way with me. Now, I appreciated just how special I was to her. From a sad conversation came a beautiful realization.

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Interlude 82: Birthday after Juvie
Tuesday, March 18, 2014

“Mmmph!” I grunted into my dirty socks.

There was consent here, no worries, but it was that monstrous rat demon, Greg, who was dishing out the f-cking on my 18th birthday. I hadn’t yet moved out of my grandmother’s house, but it felt so good to be duct taped, eating my socks, and having him use me up. He was 33; what was wrong with me to think this was a good idea?

I didn’t know he was filming me; I was blindfolded anyway. He pumped me full of his sh-t, and I was happy as a clam not knowing I was conceiving my first child, the child he murdered by his own lust to just use me as a sex toy and such. Why did I go back to him? He never visited me or called me when I was in juvie. The Greg who seemed to care a little bit about me was gone; was I just a ticket for him to sell p-rn? A pregnant Hannah was of no value ; before juvie, I was his trusted friend with whom there was sex and whom he would have allowed to keep the baby with my determination to give it up if I couldn’t raise it right.

It would be 8 years before I got one of my own that I could love and cherish alongside a husband for life, a real dad, a responsible adult, someone who loved me for my soul and loved the child as the product of our love and as a real human being. Every year, May 8th is a difficult day for me in multiple ways, as you will eventually see.

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Saturday, March 21, 2015

“Michela!” the familiar voice called as we entered the house, “That means Hannah’s here too!”
“Yes, it does!” Michela said while I entered behind her, and immediately we were hugged.
“Joyce, you are such a happy girl!” I returned the embrace.
“It's not enough to have fun and get paid; I get to spend the time with good people.”
“A couple of jailbirds? Good people? I ruined more lives than…”
“Stuff it. Listene. You're good people, and you're sorry for your mistakes,” she retorted wisely and turned to Michela, “Is she as Napoleonic as her stature and headband want me to believe?”

I burst into laughter and, since she was the same size as me, gave her a kiss on the cheek. Joyce blushed a little, and I realized my kiss was a bit too sexual for her. I blushed too and looked at Michela, who shook her head, grinned a little, and wagged a finger of disapproval before playing with her outfit a little as if she'd dressed just for the “instant wood” factor on my end.

Then I turned and saw the haughty boss b-tch Cassie and the gorgeous Emilia. Cassie didn't get f-cked hard enough by her partners, and Emilia was a good girl. Innocence and pride were an interesting mix for real, and Emilia seemed to maintain a charming naïvety about this enterprise. Joyce knew what it was about, but her words about this being both good money and good fun were honest. Fun was being a b-tch back to the Boss B-tch, fondling Joyce and Michela, and teasing Emilia.

Michela's eyes were fixated on Emilia, though. What Joyce was for me, Emilia was for Michela, I guess. I didn't know. On her worst days, Michela’s love for fettuccine was indistinguishable from her love for bondage grinding with me. I decided to wait and see what my adorable girlfriend did without me by her side.

“You look cute,” Michela said, “What brought you back here?”
“It was so much fun last time. I liked the people as much as the work.”
“Well, thank you,” Michela blushed and sat down, “Did you know bondage before college?”
“I had never even heard of it; I like doing it to destress especially after nasty homework.”
“I wouldn’t know,” my girlfriend looked away, “I can’t go to college.”
“What?!” I heard both Emilia and Joyce say, and Joyce gasped.

I had to explain to Joyce that Michela was a convict; she already knew from hanging around with Jenny and Nichole. Unlike me, Michela was a felon, and her record remained intact to haunt her to the grave. I could tell Joyce was hurt by this; she strangely cared about my ragtag crew who’d been rejected by society.

I was surrounded by dolls and such, almost all of whom were in their own personal outfits. Odd to say, but this was the only time even I was wearing my own personal clothes for a scene. Boss B-tch had a vertically striped button-up, in the style of Michela’s beloved shirt, featuring pastel blues and yellows and such, a woolen business skirt, and black heels. Emilia wore a denim mini skirt, a pastel blue tank top, and white heels. I had a denim skirt I wore higher than necessary and my new blue thickly banded sweater, and a cool, icy blue bandana headband. Joyce’s shirt was similar to the Boss B-tch’s but brighter, she had a pastel yellow denim skirt, and white heels with her held by her beloved hair pins. Michela had a ruffled brown miniskirt, a brown argyle sweater, and a white bandana headband that had green and yellow dots all over the field of white. Yes, that’s in alpha order by name! We all had hose except Joyce, who had white ankle socks, and Michela’s hose was white. A few of us had our skirts hiked up to show more leg.

I wanted to screw all of them, even the Boss B-tch. Joyce especially though was the girl of my dreams as far as looks went. Italian, Spanish, Slavic: this Swede did not discriminate on any ethno-European lines at least. Let’s just say my list of female sexual partners in my life is quite a bit longer than the list of male ones.

“Hannah,” Joyce saw through me, “It’s OK to be attracted to me, but please don’t stare.”
“I’m sorry,” I didn’t realize I was staring at her because I was shifting between her and Michela.
“Look, it’s charming, but…,” she struggled for the right words, “I’m not exploring that depth of my kink with someone I barely know.”
“I…,” I knew I’d made things awkward now, “Didn’t mean to be like that, Joyce.”
“I’m not into girls, but bondage is fun. Maybe someday I’ll let you control me,” she smirked.
“Thanks,” I looked into her friendly eyes, “The last man I had hurt me.”
“How about I get to tie you up this time?”

Joyce kindly rubbed my back until the Moreau’s reminded us there was work to be done even if visiting was nice. She still wanted to be my friend. She saw something in me no one else did: a victim of someone else’s… Greg’s… decisions.

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Interlude 83: Michela’s Birthday in Juvie
Monday, March 25, 2013

Remember Michela orgasming and all that stuff? Let’s wind back a few hours, shall we? There was a lot that happened. As a Tuesday, it was visitation night. As the feast of the Annunciation, it was a holy day for the Catholic girls, Ashley, Mary-Ann, and Michela, as well. The rest of us in the pod were either non-religious or Protestant and didn’t care, but for the 10 or so Catholic girls in the prison it was significant. The priest came out and said a mass during recreation time.

“Please, girls, come with us,” Michela whined.
“Why should I? My family is Protestant and proud,” Kendra snorted at that.
“Because it’s my birthday, and this is something that means more to me than all of you.”
“Come on, Kendra; let’s just go. Was it bad on Christmas?” Mary-Ann asked her.
“I guess not,” Kendra turned away, “Just kind of paganized and idolatrous.”
“Keep trying,” Michela said prophetically, “The more you learn the more you’ll like it.”

It was through our Catholic friends that Kendra met Ross and eventually died a faithful Catholic. Oh, some still scoffed at her for those little wrist tattoos and her past mistakes, but she was true. It was through her faith in the face of death that, after two years of doubting, going to mass with my friends, and doing deep research, that I made the leap and was received using the saint name of Gabrielle in a nod to Michela for the archangel and a nod to my friends M.A and Ashley for the French version of the name.

Kendra was on her own journey of struggles and doubt, but that mass was the first time I felt she no longer looked down her nose at the Roman Catholics in the pod. That was also the day we all opened our hearts to the plight of sweet Ashley, and what a journey of which she became a part!

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“My beauty, you are helpless. I was a girl scout. Every outing in the woods from when I was 13 usually saw some kind of rope games involving human subjects whether we were practicing our diagonal lashing or tying logs together or whatever else it may be,” Joyce smiled at me and put a hand on my shoulder.
“It’s comfortable at least!” I looked at her while sitting on a chair.
“Now, I asked around before we came out today, and I brought something just for you.”
“Oh, dear,” I saw Joyce holding a pair of worn socks, “Are those for me?”
“They’re not for your girlfriend,” she said, “And I can do this with the others any time.”
“Might as well,” I couldn’t hide from Joyce, it seemed, “Ahhhh!”

This made a great start to things, for sure, as Joyce one at a time layered strips of double-sided tape over my lips before she took my bandana and used it to tightly OTM gag me in that way I found so arousing. This film somehow was less about betrayal and naughty b-tches and more about a strange friendship. My arms and legs were Joyce’s logs; three ropes tied my arms in the tightest bondage I had experienced since Greg’s murder attempt; three also tied my legs. There was a professional and basic harness with ropes on either side of my tits and between my arms and my chest.

“Now, remember, I have kidnapped you… act as if you’re just waking up from chloroform.”

Let the film begin! I acted as if I had been merely placed on the chair and am sleepy and looked straight ahead. I blinked a few times and slowly looked down to see my trussed up legs and tits in the clothesline. I turned to the right and looked up to my left to see Joyce proudly standing next to Steve. I realized these were my hostage photos.

I twisted my arms to pull at the harness and let out a groan of frustration. I twisted about on the chair and started groaning more frequently while grabbing at that tit harness. I tried reaching to the other side of my body and picked at the rope on my thighs. That girl scout was good!

I pulled my legs up to try to reach my ankle ropes from behind, but I couldn’t twist enough in the denim skirt! I let out the loudest groan I’d probably let out in a scene and glanced toward Joyce, who proudly stood with crossed arms. I let my heels clack on the floor and leaned as far forward as I could, pushing my tits into my thighs, and I wailed quite loudly. I then rocked back to tuck my legs into my chest while sitting on that chair.

“Sweetie, aw, do you know who did this?” Joyce ran over to me.
“Nmmmm!” I shook my head as if I didn’t know her.
“I did, honey! You see, that guy you slept with the other night was my husband,” she squeezed my cheek.
“Huh?!” I squealed knowing Marcy was filming us, “Noooo!”
“Yes, you did, you little harlot, and now I’m going to let you suffer!” she smiled and giggled.
“No no! Uggghhh!” I retched on the flavor of Joyce’s feet.
“Oh, those socks in your mouth? Those are mine! Anyway, soon, I will knock you out again, but this time I’m going to put you to sleep forever!” she acted like it was a game, “And you will never ruin another marriage!”
“Hleathe nooo!” I begged her.
“Shouldn’t have been a husband-stealing wh-re, should you?” she kissed me on the forehead, “I was a girl scout for 12 years; you’ll never escape! Bye bye!”

Joyce almost skipped away like she was a demonic little kid from a horror novel.

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Interlude 84: New Schedules Part 1
Sunday, March 31, 2013

We are handing out new schedules effective tomorrow, the Sunday guard announced during quiet time, It isn’t an April Fool, girls. Let me explain what's different.



Above are the old and new weekend/holiday schedules and the scores again for your reference.

There were several differences. We now had gym at the same time every morning except for Sundays. The schedule was now rebalanced so that school days were more or less the same as non school days. Morning shower was shared by all levels. MV’s were now a separate classification, with MV’s spending a mandatory three days in the status before a return to their previous classification if nothing further occurred. We no longer put the sheets on the bed as part of sheets; instead, we stripped our bedding as part of cleaning and had to make the bed during the following quiet time.

There was now a designated slot for programming separate from recreation, and there was a slot for programs in the morning on non-school days, including mass. For the programs, you had to push a button on an iPad passed around with morning breakfast to state your desire to participate in it. I’s got treated more like the rest of the girls now; I guess management realized that school was actually good for morale. There was now motive for the MV’s to shape up: an hour out of the cell total on a school day vs. over 10 hours out of the cell for a I.

Breaks worked like before. You could walk around the Pod but you had to maintain a quiet time except for softly talking to the guards as needed or to your cellmate. You were allowed to sit at the tables and do schoolwork if you wished, and they served to give us time to exchange books between the morning sessions and before the afternoon sessions.

Free time was a new thing though. During free time, you remained locked in your cell but were now allowed to talk to your cellmate. Color codes merely designated the location where each thing occurred. It was a step in the right direction though.

Below are the old and new school schedules.

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“GMMM!” my life was in the balance.

I was quite viciously bound, as the photos show, and I looked around me and wailed the loudest I had wailed quite likely since my execution. Pulling at the harness did nothing. I still couldn’t reach my heels. Joyce skipped over and turned my legs to face forward with another batch of her sadistic giggles.

Facing forward I yelled some more and looked at my legs and then at Steve. I clacked my heels on the floor and leaned forward while grunting and wailing. I was shaking my legs with tons of aggression in the hopes of walking at least so that I had some chance to escape this maniac that was preparing me to die. My legs were everywhere, including on top of the chair at one point, and my wails became increasingly despondent with time before I let out a big arch in what you see as the last of the photographs. That had to be the last one because I orgasmed and turned away from the camera. I never orgasmed without stimulation, so this had to be really good.

“Hi, captive!” Joyce pranced back with that same gaiety, “How would you like to die?”
“No! Hleathe! Ah’m horry! -ohn’h hill he!”
“Aw, you’re afraid to die, aren’t you?” she frowned a little as if she felt bad.
“Mmm hmm!” I nodded and looked into her eyes.
“Those scout knots are awfully tight, aren’t they?” she felt bad, “I was maybe rough on you.”
“Mmmm!” I agreed, “Hleathe! Ah’ll -ever ho ih a-ain!”
“Sorry, baby, smell this?” she held a red bandana up to my nose: water.
“Hleck!” I turned away from it as it were poison.
“That’s chloroform. Enough to kill you,” she smiled again, “Shouldn’t have screwed my man!”
“NOOOOOOOO!” the bandana was knotted over my nose quite tightly.
“See you in hell, b-tch!” she tossed me to the floor, spanked me on the butt, and walked away.
“CUT! That was beautiful improvisation, Joyce!” Marcy smiled.
“Thank you!” she curtsied, “But she was the real star.”
“Heh heh!” I was even more interested in Joyce than I was before… as a real friend.

It was the beginning of one of the greatest friendships I have ever had outside my prison circle. I suffered so much alongside Joyce as she went through a nightmare where she lost everything: her innocence and her parents, all in an 8 month window. There were several times where Joyce just burst into tears and buried herself against me. How this worked out will make sense later. I just wish I’d been there when Joyce got her Ph.D., but circumstances prevented me from being there in person even if I was there with her in spirit.



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Interlude 85: New Schedules Part 2
Monday, April 1, 2013

And for the nerds the schedule as we saw it on the wall.

Perhaps I was merciful. I liked the concept of having times where you were permitted to actually talk to your cellmate instead of having to mouth things to each other. I liked the reward system a lot even though I felt I wasn’t really punished harshly enough, and I felt deep sympathy for girls in other prisons that gave less freedom. All the restrictions still made it feel like prison though. Having time designated for programs was nice, and we will get to talk about those in Chapter 3 of this present Story 9.

Having time between showers was a bonus too and made the second one worth the while. There was poor air circulation, which meant we sweat like pigs even in winter. Only the interior rooms really kept cool, but there were too many of us in the classrooms, which turned into a sweatshop as well.

“My favorite part is definitely going to be the extra gym time,” Mary-Ann said with a smile.
“Me too,” Michela agreed.
“Sports suck when you’re me; I only like the exercise machines,” Kendra was disgusted, “Look at all this cell time. It’s… It’s…”
“Deserved,” Mary-Ann nodded with confidence.
“Yeah… I’m going to get out, get an ankle monitor, and go right back to the situation that landed me in here.”
“Or you can break the cycle and prove them all wrong,” Mary-Ann said to that.

That was the first time I ever saw Kendra cry. She was perhaps the loneliest of all because, from her stories, she was a good kid before her family turned against her. Drugs had merely been her way of coping and getting back at them. She felt awful about the things she had done, but she felt worse about the things she hadn’t done.

Is it any wonder Mary-Ann and Kendra became best friends?

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“You were amazing!” Michela hugged me when the gag was off.
“Thanks. These scout knots are genuinely tight! Joyce, you are amazing!” I grinned at her.
“Thank you! Perhaps we should let another of us knotty girls prove her mettle?” Joyce asked.
“Michela, how about a kiss while I’m still helpless before I’m free?”
“Like this,” her lips met mine in an erotic manner, and I awkwardly groaned, “How was that?”
“Perfect. Now get me out because I want to see what each of these sorority girls has to offer.”

To this end we agreed. Emilia would tie Michela; I would tie both the Boss B-tch and Emilia; the Boss-Bitch would tie Joyce. To this end, I decided that Cassie would be next to be tied. To my frustration, Boss B-tch was eager to be tied by me again; she loved being tied by me on their last visit! She said I showed no mercy just like the other sorority girls, and Emilia said that she’d enjoyed it so much that she laid in the backseat on the way home and orgasmed from recalling all the fun of being tied up by me!

Humiliation was Cassie’s top kink. At school, she liked dressing up like this and getting tied up, exposed, and forced to do silly tasks for her captors’ entertainment or being used as a pleasure toy for her captors. Emilia recalled a recent adventure where Cassie had been tied up and forced to rub her face against another girl’s crotch until orgasm. The thought made me warm, and I felt like a hypocrite. I hated her guts; but I wanted her to rub my until I orgasmed.

“Let’s do the cheesecake first,” I suggested, “Show off that bust and those legs!”
“I love cheesecake!” Michela misunderstood the term, “My maternal grandma makes the best!”
“One of our sorority sisters made the best cheesecake for a birthday party!” Emilia joined her.
“That was sooo good!” Boss B-tch recalled that time.
“My mom makes a fantastic Sicilian cheesecake with ricotta cheese!” Joyce piled it on.
“That’s not what cheesecake means. It means the photos where you’re just sitting there looking like a queen before or after the bondage.”

Cassie hadn’t been nearly as much of a pain in my neck this time, and she had no problem with flashing a smile for the camera while she knelt on the camera upstairs in the living room instead of in the basement where my scene had been filmed. She had nice gams once you paid attention to something besides her personality. To the disruption of my peace, she seemed happy with the cheesecake shots.

Nothing rope can’t fix, I thought. I’d crush her wrists together behind her back, tie a harness that could never get off her tits. Three for her legs would certainly ensure she’d not have a good time with me in control and not want more from Tied After Class, I thought. For good measure there was a nice pair of socks stuffed in her mouth with strips of duct tape holding her lips shut. I saw the fear in her eyes; it had to be real, right? I was getting her goat, right?

I couldn’t be more wrong on so many levels.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 9 Chapter 2: The Monster Inside Me
Saturday, March 21, 2015

It's so twisted. I hated Cassie. I also wanted to expose her tits, spank her, and force her to eat my carpet until I orgasmed and even eat her carpet. She had such a great expression too. She was so innocent and scared while she was acting for a scene. She was as cute as the cheesecake shots showed, but I felt that cute face hid a rat. She let out the most pitiful squeals and moans of distress while struggling, too. That harness was absolutely perfect for her tits.

Her performance was admirable, but I hate her too much to really appreciate it. There were even things for me to learn in her acting. but I was missing it all. I felt only two things: lust and hate. I hated that haughty spirit, but I did lust for those legs, the botox tits, and those seemingly eyes.

As she scooted around the chair, I focused on the body, not the soul. I had deprived myself of the best part of bondage modeling: meeting new people. I took the chair away so she'd have to hop around, and I think I did it more so I could study her body in a fresh context. What a body.

“Hannah, are you thinking of her… in a… sexual way?” Michela asked me.
“We both look at Kylie that way,” I said to her while eyeing Cassie, “Is that bad?”
“That's inviting Kylie for a threesome. You’re just being kind of wh-rish right now.”
“Me?! It's whorish to have dirty thoughts about Cassie or Joyce. but it's not wh-rish to screw Kylie?!” I walked into the kitchen and got angry.
“Yes!” Michela started crying, “A threesome is by mutual agreement! You're looking at her like you want to hurt her!”
“It's only a bondage thing, Michela! I only love you, but yes I do want to screw her.”
“That's not OK,” Joyce remarked, “Michela loves you and opened her home to you.”
“I’m sorry. I didn't know that it's not OK,” I became defensive in my stance.
“You,” Emilia joined in, “have no moral compass for a person who deep down inside can be such a sweet girl.”
“It's OK, Hannah,” Michela spoke calmly, “To want to play and have fun. But you are lusting after Cassie in a bad way. I’m fine with your feelings for Kylie and Joyce, but you genuinely hate Cassie so much you want to f-ck her body to f-ck up her mind.”
“Moving the goalposts? A little thing for Joyce or Kylie is OK but not for Cassie?!”
“You know I believe our relationship is sinful,” Michela stood up, “There's a big difference in this case. You just want Cassie’s body, not Cassie. You want to enjoy a kinky time with Joyce on mutual terms, but you're thinking in terms of r-pe with Cassie. I can morally justify mutually enjoyed kink; I cannot justify that. Hannah, Mom is fine with me being in a lesbian relationship with you, but neither she nor I will tolerate you if you’re going to be morally bankrupt like this.”



——————————————————————————————

Interlude 86: Kendra’s Release
Friday, May 31, 2013

“Kendra, it’s your time!” Mrs. Copley announced, “Congratulations!”
“Thanks,” Kendra said with fear, “But I was better off in here.”
“Maybe things will be different!” Mary-Ann suggested.
“I doubt it. My family drove me to C and never visited me. I’ll probably spend all of my time locked in a cage like an animal.”
“Don't say that!” I felt her pain, “Maybe things will be different!”
“Anyone who wants to say goodbye to Kendra… I’ll let you give her a hug,” Mrs. Copley said.

So we lined up to hug her… me, Mary-Ann, Michela, Kylie, Ashley, and Phoebe. I couldn't believe Stacy didn't, but she didn't…

——————————————————————————————

I looked at Michela and then the Boss B-tch. She was right though. When I lusted for Joyce or Kylie, I was thinking in terms of having mutual fun with them. Michela was beyond a bondage buddy; we were significant others and sexual partners. Cassie was nothing but a f-ck toy to me; she was subhuman in my eyes.

Seeing Cassie’s busty form begging for help was arousing in a bad way. Watching her kick those heeled legs endeared her to me only a little. I only wanted the body. Worse, my desire to force feed her my carpet was indeed accompanied by the thought of her much more brutally bound and gagged, naked, and crying as if it was nonconsensual. I was a monster. I had imagined qualities in her that I loathed in myself, and I was using her as the effigy by which to do the horrors that I felt I deserved to suffer. Instead, I tried looking into her eyes, and I saw someone different from the girl I hated. She had a bust that definitely grabbed Steve’s eyes because he was taking a ton of photos of her.

“I’m sorry, Michela. I'm sorry. I’m no better than Greg or your dad.”
“You're better to me; I saw it in your eyes once we said it was wrong.”
“If you believe our relationship is sinful, why do you share a bed with me?”
“Because I do love you, and I am truly sexually attracted to you. Right now, we need each other in a strange way, and I think our sexual activity is less sinful than the sins we’d commit otherwise. But I need you to at least be moral, because I can’t have you hurting my sisters. They mean more to me than you, just like deep down inside Grandma means more to you than I do.”
“You mean you have your priorities straight, but I have only some of mine straight.”
“You do,” Michela took my hand, “I see a beautiful flower waiting to blossom.”
“Like Mary-Ann tying me up to force feed me to Kylie isn't…”
“That's kink. That's an expression of personality and uniqueness in a mutually agreed environment. Female sexuality is very different from male.”
“You’ve studied and thought about this a ton,” Joyce looked at Michela, “Impressive.”
“Hannah, why do you hate Cassie?” Michela put me on the spot.

Me? I did hate Cassie, and I’d never thought of my sexual urges as expressions of it; I had been hurt through sex. That moment haunted me every day of my life so much I now was thinking in terms of using sex to hurt someone. That meant something that was so awful it sent shivers down my spine: Greg hated me. I wasn't any better than he. It all made sense in the context of borderline personality disorder though. I had a distorted view of life, and it had to come to an end. Now.

When she stood up, I saw someone different. I saw a girl with her own feelings, hopes, dreams, and desires. She was a human being, just like me, and we were the same even if different. She was a friend to Emilia and Joyce. There was no obligation for us to be friends, but there was an obligation to be civil. I watched her hop and turn for Steve, and I felt myself becoming confused by all the conflicting emotions.

“You’re a passionate girl,” Joyce observed me with disapproval, “but a hypocrite.”
“What do you mean?!” I asked with dismay at her statement.
“You show different personalities with different people. With Michela, you're soft and vulnerable and open, and now I see it. You want to be friends with me and Emilia, so you're nice to us.
“I can’t take this,” I started walking towards the bathroom.
“No way, Hannah,” Michela blocked my path, “She sees through you like I do. We love you.”
“OK, you got me. Out with it,” I crouched down, leaned forward, and fluffed my hair to hide my tears, “I want to be good like you girls, but I…”
“No hiding,” Joyce got under me, “You’re a good girl, but for a girl who was harshly judged and is constantly feeling like the world unfairly judges her you sure judged Cassie and did everything in your power to try to force her to fit your narrative. You have an ugly perspective.”
“I’m sorry. I did. I thought Cassie was a pretentious haughty b-tch, and once I decided that I set out to prove myself right,” I surrendered and collapsed to my knees, wrapping my arms around Michela’s legs.
“You were haughty and pretentious before your humbling experiences, weren’t you?” Joyce had me in the corner, “And then you were humbled a bit by prison only to wind up getting way more of a humbling then you needed when your boyfriend tried to kill you. You saw the same flaws in my friend, or thought you did, and set out to give her a merciless humbling just like you got even though you know you were unfairly overcompensated for your faults. You're seeking goodness, have found the goodness you believe in, and refuse to accept where it comes from.”

How did she pierce my soul like this? I hated myself indeed, at least my old self, and in trying to wipe out the old me from my life instead of embracing my past mistakes, I was wiping out those who reminded me of me. I’d been a monster to Cassie in their eyes while also successfully being one of the greatest bondage thrills Cassie had ever experienced. All I’d done was make myself a big jerk to the people I wanted to like me. In trying to squash the monster I’d seen in Cassie, I’d been the monstrous past me I loathed and wanted to squash. Yes, I have found it, and after 16 years of being raised to hate it I couldn't accept where the answers to my questions lay.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 87: Stacy’s Release
Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Stacy disappeared during school time and without fanfare. It was how she wanted it to be; she was a conniving rat at every step. She was just a common junkie, and only I was around to say farewell.

Now is time to talk about Stacy after juvie. She went back to being a junkie, as you know from previous interludes, and eventually survived Greg alongside me. That did it for her. Stacy is a hard one to discuss.

In June 2015, Stacy entered rehab for drug addiction. In September of that year, she was arrested for possession and spent 3 months in Shakopee. In December of 2017, a very disturbed Stacy, unable to live with what had happened to us, attempted suicide by sleeping pill overdose, but her stomach was pumped in time.

In May 2018, she got arrested again and sent to 9 months in Shakopee and 6 months in a halfway house, during which time she cleaned up for real, but… the girl who left the halfway house was severely disturbed. Haunted by the memories of the past, she again attempted her own life in October 2019. That was when I cut her off for good, and I have never gone back. All I know comes from the pod Facebook group, but she seems to at least have her life under control and still lives at home. I think the drugs fried her brain for real.

——————————————————————————————

“Hannah, I still love you,” Michela gave me a kiss on the lips, “You owe Cassie an apology.”
“I know,” I sniffed, “I’m sorry to both of you as well. I’m always hiding myself out of shame. And I’m not controlling my sexual desires.”
“Why don’t you be like Michela? If she’s uncomfortable, she just keeps quiet,” Joyce suggested.
“Because I’m more naturally a piece of sh-t that deserved to be duct taped and r-ped and left in a dirty, dusty, dark basement and left to starve to death, that’s why!” I really believed my words, “Look at me thinking awful things about Cassie!”
“Aren’t you glad you got a second chance at life? That Casey, Jenny, and Nichole gave you a second chance at being a Cool Girl? That Michela sought you out for a second chance at love? Hannah, aren’t you grateful for it? Or are you that bitter about the past that you only feel safe in groups of your choosing and can’t share that gratitude with others?”
“I wear a mask everywhere I go. When I can’t wear a mask, I have two choices: hide or lash out. With Cassie,” I kept calm, “I lashed out. I have a distorted view of life. I am a monster! If you choose to be my friend, you're bound to get hurt.”
“Hannah, stop crying, please,” Joyce started choking up.
“Why are you crying with me?” I asked in a moment of self-hatred, “You should have tied me up and dumped me in the basement alone.”
“Because, Hannah, I believe in you. So does Emilia. So does Michela, and so do all the other people who love you, whether they're from prison or not. Cassie likes you too.”
“Hannah, I love you. I love the girl that saw a lonely rejected Kendra in prison and lifted her up. You saw a traumatized, orphaned Ashley, and you loved her like a long lost sister. You saw me, empty and dead, and filled me with life,” Michela spoke from her heart, “Trust Joyce because you trust me.”
“You look at the world at the wrong angle; tomorrow try looking at life in Michela’s shoes,” Joyce cared so much about me.

I let go of Michela and took the hand Joyce offered me. I stood up with her assistance and gazed into her kind eyes. She wanted to see me happy even though she’d barely spent 3 hours around me. I wasn't such a tough prison girl anymore. I was pathetic, really, but I was still human. There had to be some quality in me for all of these girls to care about me as they did. Emilia knew how to care and be real, but Michela and Joyce had the way that called out to me. If Emilia shared that view, she hid it well.

Michela said so many true things: that living with her was better than the alternative. I was hurt that she considered our relationship to be sinful; I saw us as a couple who’d one day live happily together to the end. I had projected my self-hatred onto everyone and everything, and I’d let my past control me so much that I was thinking of hurting an innocent young lady who’d never wronged me. I was a mess, but I had hope. Here was my chance.

Emilia paused and whispered some kind words in my ears as did Michela; and then Joyce did too. I was just as messed up as Michela and Ashley, but they had something they believed in. I had nothing. I saw myself as an animal and tried to let my animal image of life control me; I had a distorted, inaccurate perspective, but I could be fixed if I tried. Maybe the animal image had its use, but my version of it was hedonistic and distorted. I didn't want to be an animal; deep down, I wanted to be created, just like I knew Joyce and Michela believed.

“Go, keeping in mind what we said, give it a try. Do something to her,” Emilia whispered.
“OK,” I took a deep breath and walked onto the set between photos.
“MMMMM!” Cassie yelled at me when I fondled her tits.
“Sorry, baby, but these need to be shown to the world,” I unbuttoned her shirt.
“No no!” she whined, but it was tits out, my friends.
“Yes yes!” I taunted her and pulled her shirt back, “Enjoy!”
“MMMMMMM!” she struggled and jiggled her tits.
“Someday, I’ll play with you for real,” I teased her some more and walked away.
“NOOOOOOOO!”

I did it! I did it! I just went out and did it without getting sexual with it. I had done it! I was embraced in warm hugs as soon as I was off the active set.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 88: Mary-Ann’s Release
Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Michela. Kylie, Ashley, and I all cried when M.A. left us. We were useless for the rest of the day, and Ashley and I both elected to stay in our cells during recreation time because we were so upset. Mary-Ann promised to visit, unlike Kendra, but…

I didn't see M.A. for months. Turned out she was homeless and had no legal ID and so couldn't visit. Once she moved in with her cousin, she had a legal home and could finally get a driver's permit to use as an ID. Then she became another frequent visitor for all of us, especially Ashley.

——————————————————————————————

Beautiful Emilia had the most natural beauty in an objective sense. She looked like a gorgeous doll without a speck of makeup. That’s not the reason I torqued her elbows together behind her back, but it’s a justifiable reason during a purely fun moment. She handled her elbows being tied as well as Mary-Ann or Jenny did! Bendy!

The rest was the usual fare, with the harness being tied to make sure her own melons pushed out from her chest. How lucky was I to get to first tie a girl with E’s and then one with D’s? Both were super perky too, but Mary-Ann’s were my favorite for personal reasons, and Michela’s had a special thing because we were a couple. I say this to show that my mind was putting together the different lines between what was acceptable to think and feel about Michela, about my friends, and about others who weren’t in either group. Love, kink, and everything else.

A white bandana cleave gag just seemed appropriate for Emilia, like she would find that simple gag to be arousing. The best way to show I had learned from Michela, Joyce, and Emilia was to put it into practice. I had done that with Cassie and now was doing it with Emilia. Man, did I bring so much drama to the Moreau’s home!

The Spaniard was such a hottie and did exactly what was asked of her, playing the same routine on the same sofa as I did a month before. Partway through, Marcy had me put a hair clip on the victim because her long, luscious black hair was blocking her face. Once again, Emilia was an absolute hottie in distress!

Sadly for you, few photos of Emilia’s time in the ropes were taken, and those were mostly just of her getting familiar with her predicament. What came after was special. Joyce impressed Marcy in particular, and the young girl was asked to do her psychopathic maniacal jilted housewife skit once again.



“Hi, cutie pie!” Joyce walked over to the Spaniard.
“Who are you?” the gag muffled the speech, but it was intelligible.
“Remember that lap dance you gave last night to the handsome swarthy dark man with the beard and the teatree oil cologne?”
“Yeth! What’th that haf to do with thith?” Emilia looked at her.
“That man,” Joyce giggled and squeezed Emilia’s cheek, “Is my husband!”
“Ohhhhhh!” Emilia nodded in understanding, “I’m thorry! Pleathe let me go!”
“I might let you live unlike your slutty blonde friend. Ha ha ha! I already chloroformed her out of this world!” then Joyce grew serious and turned away, “Oops, I made a mistake. Now I have a big problem.”
“What?! No!”
“Well, now,” Joyce screwed up her face, “I just told you, so,” she whispered into Emilia’s ear, “I have to kill you. But, maybe your friend with the jumbo tits will make it out of this.”
“NOOOOO! Let me go! Pleathe! I won’t tell a thoul! I want to live!”
“I’ll think about it. Don't try to escape; I was a scout; you can't escape. Until then, have fun!” Joyce gave the cutest girlfriend kiss on Emilia’s cheek.

Joyce walked away with the same childish flair she used with me, and we got to watch Emilia try to escape my ropework. The black-haired beauty had a sparkle in her eye, and I turned to Cassie in the living room, far away, who was still the way I’d left her. Cassie had it too. Bondage was a source of pleasure for them; there was kinky pleasure in their souls.

Then I understood it. The way the eyes went flat with only a twinkle of soul in girls like Michela and Mary-Ann was the struggle to process what had happened and to find the right emotions. In my eyes, that flatness was the struggle to find, as Emilia said, my moral compass. Right there, in the Moreau’s home, I looked Michela and Joyce in the eye, took one hand each in mine, humbled myself, and made the hardest request of my life, one that one day would be the primary reason I eventually had to permanently break off my connections with my parents.

“Joyce, Michela, teach me about God in a way I can understand.”

It was the moment I made the transition from atheist to agnostic.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 89: Phoebe’s Release
Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Phoebe went back to Rochester amidst more tears. I had lost Kendra, Stacy, and M.A. in a short span, and now Phoebe the day after M.A. The only girls left who were here when I arrived were Ashley, Bridget, Michela, and Kylie. It was the most emptying feeling, but crime was a booming enterprise so the slots were filled with new faces, faces that weren't as close to me as my friends but just as broken and lovable.

“Don’t give up hope,” Kylie said, “Someday, it will be our turn. We must be patient.”
“It will be Hannah, then Kylie, then Michela, and in just 2 more years, me,” Ashley smiled.
“Then our big happy family will be reunited,” Kylie’s face almost glowed.
“The incredible friendships of Pod F,” Michela smiled.
“There are,” the French girl mused with an accent, “So many blessings to be found still.”

——————————————————————————————

“Hell-lo, my big titted queen!” Joyce strode over to Cassie.
“Mmmmm!” the girl looked up and grunted into her gag.
“Yes, I know. You’re tied up! I’ll tell you a secret,” Joyce squeezed Cassie’s nose, “I did it! Those are girl scout knots; you won't get away!”
“Unk!” Cassie pulled away from her.
“I know. You’re so proud of those tits because they’re natural, but those tits are ruining my marriage. My husband keeps staring at them so much; I know because I was there hiding in the club last night when he gave you that $50 so he could see them and play with them.”
“Thit!” was Cassie’s first intelligible gag talk.
“I know, honey, but I can see in your eyes that you never thought of yourself as a home wrecker. I can grab your cell phone, and you can tell your boss you’re quitting. Or you can die.”
“No!” Cassie wailed.
“Wouldn’t that be so much fun?!” Joyce’s eyes sparkled, and she let out that psycho giggle once again, “You’d be the lucky one of your coworkers there at the club,” then her face grew dreadful and serious, “Quit, or I’ll tape your nose shut!”
“Mmm mmm mmmm!”
“I’ll be back!” Joyce gleefully dropped Cassie and wagged a finger, “Remember: quit or die! Or you’ll join the wh-re in the blue knit sweater.”

Joyce looked at us as she walked away from the girl in the living room and went back to the den where Emilia was kept. There was a big grin on her face, and I could see she was enjoying this and hadn’t expected to get put to use. I didn’t have to dominate anyone today; we had Joyce. I was a bit more reliable, and I could get that TAC rigging style more accurately than her though.

Emilia saw her coming and knew that part two was coming. Marcy had one camera, and Steve had the other. This delightful scene was continuing for more of each it seemed! As it turned out, they were far enough apart that the gag talk didn’t interrupt the other, and we all knew to remain silent for this.

“So, my little doll,” Joyce fondled Emilia’s tits, “I’ve made a decision. My heart softened a little while I was out of the room.”
“Pleathe, let me go,” Emilia tried, “I’m thorry. I’ll quit my job! I’ll move away!”
“I’ll let you live. I have a friend, though, who’s into girls. You’ll have to let her play with you while I take photos of you, OK?”
“OK!” Emilia readily agreed.
“Then, you’ll call your boss and quit your job before you leave,” Joyce acted like it was normal to do these things to people, “It’s wrong to kill a girl who was just desperate for money like you are. Your friends on the other hand are just common sl-ts. I’m doing the world a favor by doing to them what I’m not doing to you, right?”
“Yeah!” the captive would agree with anything.
“All right then! Have fun! I’ll call her up! It’ll all be ourrrrrr secret!”

With that, Emilia’s scene came to an end. Joyce had one more scene to wrap up though before the day could move on. Cassie continued in her struggle in the living room, and Joyce walked back into there. The psycho giggle returned as she went to the big titted girl.

“So, I’ve made a decision!” Joyce spoke with glee and kissed Cassie on the cheek.
“Mmmmm!”
“I’m going to tape your nose shut, and you’ll slowly die here on the carpet!” Joyce made it sound like they were going to play hopscotch, “I told you I killed your friend. Now I have no choice but to kill you.”
“EEEEEEEEE!”
“I guess you shouldn’t have been such a wh-re, should you? I’m doing housewives everywhere a big favor by taking you out! I have to go pick up dinner, but when I get back we’ll play,” Joyce said and almost pranced away.
“NO NO NOOOOOOO!! EEEEEEEE!” Cassie wailed repeatedly as the scene faded out.
“Oh my goodness, you are something else!” Marcy said, “You did it so well!”
“This girl is good!” Steve pointed to her while looking at me, “You youngsters are the best. Just a week ago, we shot with a girl who was so delightful we didn’t get past the pinups.”
“It's a bit dark, but we’ll spin it so it'll still sell.”

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 90: New Faces
Thursday, July 11, 2013

Madison, Hannah-2 (as we called her), Taylor, Destiny, and Mackenzie were just as lovable as the girls who left, but something no one can describe is special about those who greet you. So, that means, I got to be to the new girls what Mary-Ann was to me.

Madison and Taylor were the ones in particular with whom I struck up a friendship. Madison was 16 and up for 2 years for her role in a group that robbed a store. She was the one setup to take most of the blame, but it was her choice to get involved. I felt her pain because she was so sorry for what she’d done, and like me she was an only child abandoned by her parents. Taylor was also 16 and reminded me of myself even more: a girl who thought life was meaningless and just did things to get weed and sex out of an older guy. Neither was from Mudville, but I did end up giving both of them a leg into my line of work as a reference. We’re still friends, and Taylor has a beautiful life.

Mackenzie and Hannah-2 screwed up and knew it. Mackenzie was 14 and on a 2 year stay. Hannah-2 was an underage DUI. Destiny was already almost an adult, and she was soon on her way to Shakopee for a year. In July to November of 2015, Madison, Hannah-2, Taylor, and Destiny all returned to the world (yes, Hannah-2 managed to get released early), and guess who they asked for help? Friendship with Mackenzie died off until 2018 or so.

——————————————————————————————

With trepidation, I walked back into the living room where Cassie was still working to untie the ropes that bound her. The girl with the big melon breasts wasn't haughty; she was just confident in herself and knew her personal limits. I knelt down beside her and helped untie her legs, and she flashed a smile at me.

“I could have gotten it,” she said, which now I realized had a tone of gratitude.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been a b-tch towards you,” the words came with difficulty.
“I don't know you, but you’re struggling today. Are you OK? You do not have to be specific.”
“No,” I responded, and I turned to Joyce and Michela, “But I’ll be all right.”
“Cheer up. Have fun. Let this be an escape from reality, and it's more fun!” she said just what I needed to hear, “I’ve heard only a few things about you. Just ‘cause things were a disaster in the past doesn't mean you're a disaster now or have to make one of the present.”
“Yes!” I squealed upon hearing her words, “That's what I needed to hear! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

I jumped up, wrapped my arms around Cassie, and gave her the sweetest kiss on the cheek I had ever given anyone. The past was in the past! I couldn't change it, and no one else could change it either. I was just like Michela: broken, lovable, and worthy of love. I just had to make the best of things with what I had. Living in a hovel had been the best for me then; being a bondage model and living with Michela was best for me now. Trying to project myself into every person I met or into modeling work was making the worst instead of the best.

Now I looked at Cassie and realized that, for all I knew, she could have just as dark or sordid of a past as me or Michela, but she didn't let that set the tone for her life. In her case, it might be a bad grade on a test; then she’d hunker down and try to do better on the next assignments! She didn't say “Well, I could cheat, so everyone's a cheater” or “Well, I flunked that one, so I’ll flunk the rest.” That smile wasn't haughtiness; it was the smile of a more private individual who could live with herself.

“You should visit Minn Tech sometime; I’m curious how you’d control a situation if you had no restrictions,” she grinned.
“Well, I think now we need to make a film for our revenge on Joyce and her friend. I would like to visit, but I don't know.”
“Oh, you and Michela would be a hit!” she said, “You tied me up really well! I wasn't going to get those off anytime soon. Why are you uncomfortable around me?”
“I am. I assumed you were a pretentious b-tch and treated you like it. I am so sorry.”
“I can be a bit of one for real. I’m sorry if I gave you a bad first impression. I was too distrustful when I was told you’d been in prison.”
“So we both assumed the worst and were wrong!” the revelation astounded me.
“Yep!” she laughed at that.

I turned and saw three girls smiling back at me. I had hope!

[AlexUSA3]

Story 9 Chapter 3: The Start of a New Me
Saturday, March 21, 2015

As we walked to the shed, Michela, Joyce, and I talked about that taboo topic which I had long treated as being for scaredy cats: God. No, it wasn't an easy topic to broach or discuss or even acknowledge with anything more than disdain. I was in a sexual relationship with a girl who was first-hand proof that becoming a faithful believer of some random branch of Christianity will not magically make your sinful desires vanish. Michela was a very devout Catholic, daily reading religious texts, saying rosaries and chaplets, and attending mass even on weekdays. Yet here we were in a relationship she outright had said to me on more than one occasion was sinful, yet she felt this was better than what she'd be doing otherwise.

Michela's was an emotional argument; Joyce's was practical. She struggled at times to believe things, and she admitted that certain steps in the process required nothing but a blind trust. She reconciled those parts that came from my strictly academic opinion on origins and science. She clearly talked because she appealed to the thing that I’d most relate to: my lost child, the baby I so desperately wished I had. She took the best approach to my heart, and it clicked.

“I will give this more thought.”
“No rush, honey,” Michela rubbed my back, “None at all.”
“You like Emilia, right? She's agnostic,” Joyce said, “But she still has ethics.”
“You answered my questions. Thank you, and thank you for setting me straight on… right and wrong thoughts concerning my crotch.”
“Hannah, you have more hope than you realize,” Joyce was so confident as she spoke, “You try so hard to be good, but you don't know what good is.”
“I just never realized that it was right in front of me. Michela, Jenny, you, Nichole, Mary-Ann. Now I know.”
“Emilia, are you ready to tie me up?” Michela asked, “Gag me with my bandana?”
“Sure!” the obviously straight girl smiled, “Time for the revenge of the escapees!”

It was now I understood that Michela felt the same way about Cassie that I felt about Joyce. She had self-control, and she understood a healthy expression of desire in the form of kink. I think we both had a thing for Emilia as well. We were bisexual girls that only found solace in sexual relations with girls as it was the one emotion that had not backfired on us. As I said, though, Michela controlled her passions whereas I had let my passions control me.

Emilia, it seemed, was a natural switch. Most likely, in sorority activities, she played whatever role was needed at the moment. She was just too comfortable with everything, as if she mostly used clothesline when tying people. Then, the three of us did something I can only call naughty; we took off our pantyhose and made a giant wad for Michela’s gag. With a look at Cassie, then me, and then Emilia, she opened her mouth as wide as she could; double-sided tape sealed her mouth shut; her bandana sealed the deal.

Michela Palmeri was now a total hottie in distress. I was already on edge, so my arousal didn't surprise me at all. Sweat formed all over Michela’s body while she struggled in her position and made all of her usual utterances. She was aroused, but the taste in her mouth was reflected in her face.

It was a very basic scene, but it was cute with her turning upon occasion. Mostly, she just asked the imaginary viewer to help her or untie her. I looked less at her body and more into her eyes; she really had a beautiful… soul. She was alive despite her father’s desire to kill that sparkle.

Cassie effortlessly pulled the sweater down. Tits out, my friends. Michela wailed, but she was warned to behave. She played it up so well, and I felt pride inside me. It was the pride of being privileged to see her grow. Maybe that's not pride. The Michela before me had a long way left to go in her journey, but she was emotionally much healthier than the girl with whom I shared a cell for a year.



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Interlude 91: Freedom Is Mental
Saturday, January 25, 2014

My greatest regrets in life are not trusting my grandmother and disrespecting her, first among all of my mistakes. Second is not trusting Casey. Third is not mending all of my past offenses to girls like Jenny and Kendra. Alas, it all happened, and I reaped so many blessings from making the right choices after I had already ruined everything.

“Grandma!” I hugged her tightly.
“I missed your hugs. It was so hard to see you and not be able to touch you or feed you.”
“Grandma, why don't Mom and Dad love me anymore?” I finally asked her after not asking her while I was inside.
“Honey, they won't even talk about you. It's like they're childless, and it hurts me.”
“Can we go home?”
“Of course.”

I was physically free, but mentally I was still incarcerated.

——————————————————————————————

Foot shots, close-ups, and a wailing Michela Palmeri. I wasn't into feet, but someone here was as I was about to discover. You cannot tell a person's kinks by their outward appearance, but you can guess their kinks based on their past experiences. Cassie and Emilia had given me no kink gauges so far.

“So,” Emilia walked onto the set, “This is the psychopath's crazy b-tch friend, huh?”
“I guess so. This must be the girl with the rope fetish.”
“Eh -e -o. Unhie -e! Hleathe!” Michela begged them.
“You thought you were going to screw me when I was kidnapped and tied up and gagged like you are right now!” Emilia grabbed Michela by the hair, “Like I’ll be nice!”
“Hmmm,” Cassie loudly clacked her heels and sat down, “Does she like feet?”
“Ah anna -o home! Eh -e -o!” the captive continued begging them.
“I don't think so!” Cassie took off a heel and pressed her foot against Michela’s face, “Smell it!”

Michela squealed and tried to turn away from Cassie’s stinky foot, but she couldn't go far. Emilia’s grip tightened, and she masterfully controlled Michela’s head. Michela had no freedom of any kind, and she took a deep breath of Cassie’s foot. Now, Cassie had revealed a kink of hers, and Michela loathed it while I was standing off camera to watch and wishing I was the one being forced to smell the feet. Licking was beyond my taste though; just smelling was fine.

Humiliation was an odd thing. I was deeply into it whereas Michela was more private with her kink. Kink was intimate for her, and her limits depended upon the company as much as on the captor. I don't think she liked the foot sniffing on any level, but for a paycheck she could handle it like a champion. On the other hand, Cassie was sincerely enjoying herself.

We all took turns, even me. Watching Michela turn her nose at our feet while sucking on our hose brought me a strange pleasure unlike the kind that Cassie experienced. I merely enjoyed the torture; Cassie enjoyed the nature of it; Emilia enjoyed the simple humiliation of the captive. We all had a kinky pleasure, but we ranged from mirth to pleasure to dominant satisfaction.

“Unhie -e! Hleath, eh -e -o!”
“Do know that your little friend there planned to kill us all?” Cassie questioned her.
“Huh?! No!” Michela grew fearful and shook her head.
“She's clueless. She thought she was just getting a lick of bondage p-ssy,” I added to things.
“Yeah, you're right,” Cassie nodded, “We’ll scare her.”
“Quick! I hear someone coming!” Emilia said.
“Oh, my goodness, who did this to you?! Where are the wh-res?!” Joyce ran over.
“We did!” I hand gagged Joyce and felt her melt in my arms to my delight.
“Mmmmm!”

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 92: Programs - CPR

I’ll generalize because these classes happened in a monthly cycle on Tuesday nights after visitation. First week of the month was intro, and you progressed each week to the fourth Tuesday. If you passed, you’d have a nice little certificate awaiting you in your locker when you were released; if you failed, you could try the next month.

From what I understood, Mary-Ann had one time, back when you could do such things, played a human demonstration for the other volunteer, Michela, to point to the right spot to do the needed tasks using a real person before using the dummy. As M.A. conveyed to me in private, that was the day she knew Michela was into girls. I would gladly let girls volunteer to put their fingers on my body to demonstrate things, and I did!

——————————————————————————————

“Eh -e -o -ou h-cking wh-reth!” Joyce snarled into her gag.
“Aww, sorry, hottie,” I squeezed her cheeks, “But you need to be taught a lesson.”
“Unhie! Now! Ah’ll -eh ou- and thnuhh -ou all!” she promised our deaths.
“Yeah, right,” I lifted her up and spanked her butt.
“Owww! Ah’ll hut -ou all in uh hroun-!” she insisted.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Emilia said.
“Your English idioms aren't perfect,” Cassie grimaced.
“Aren’t you so cute?” I asked rhetorically before Cassie and I kissed her on opposite cheeks.
“Noooooo!” she stomped her heels on the concrete.

Every good model has a set of expressions at which they excel. Cassie excelled with genuine fear written on her face throughout her scene; Michela’s was desperation; I was kind of lacking any; Emilia was also good at fear; and Joyce had her own, too. I could see a touch of anger in her eyes mixed with the words “How dare you!” all over her face at the moment.

How did hair clips make her prettier just like the bandanas made Michela prettier and scrunchies made Jenny appear as sweet as she was? We’d roped Joyce in a standard manner, stuffed socks in her mouth, and hidden the socks under strips of green duct tape. Cassie had tied Joyce, which gave me an opportunity to study Miss Jumbo Tits’s abilities as a kidnapper and Joyce’s abilities as an escape artist.

Innocence and guilt, anger and fear, determination and desolation–all were written on Joyce’s face. She turned left and right and gave a fascinating effort to escape. She squirmed in a way I’d never seen before, but I didn’t understand it either. She seemed to be looking to make sure she was “alone” in the fictional sense. I had been clearly the subject of conversation when I was tied up because I felt a gentle nudge from Cassie and saw her motioning for me to follow her and to expose Joyce. Keep in mind that this in the context of posed photographs.

“Hiiiii!” Cassie strutted onto the set, “I bet you’re angry to be tied up!”
“Mmmm hmmm! Eh -e -o! -ight -ow!” the fiery Italian temper flared, “Wh-re!”
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand you,” I started unbuttoning Joyce’s shirt, “OMG! Girls, look!”
“Someone isn’t wearing a bra!” Emilia had a sly grin.
“No bra!” Cassie gasped, “How positively wh-rish of you!”
“OWW!” Joyce screeched when Cassie twisted a nipple, “Ah’ll hill -ou! Ah -ill!”
“We’ll see!” I gave her a blatantly flat kiss on the cheek.

The look on Joyce’s face was priceless. It went from “don’t you dare” in one photo to “of course you dared” in the next after she’s exposed. Joyce continued looking around and worked up the cutest sweat in her struggle. She tried crying a bit as if she were afraid and grunted little except for an expression of her frustrations with her struggles.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 93: Programs - Mass
Monday, March 25, 2013

“Kendra, you won't regret it, I promise,” M.A. said as we entered Program Room #1.
“Look, Voisin, it's the flavor of worship that's weird for me,” the small girl repeated.
“Fairy tales or not, at least you're humble about it,” I shrugged.
“It's meaningful to us to have you here,” Michela looked at us, “Ashley included.”
“No salesman pitches. It's church and nothing special,” Kendra waved her hand.

Every Sunday and any day any Catholic would consider important saw the priest here at the prison. Given how few Catholics were in Mudville itself as opposed to parents sending their kids to the Catholic high school from adjoining Prior Lake or other such communities, I wondered if it was possible that M.A. and Michela had gone to the same church and never knew it.

Mass was like a shot of energy for M.A. and Michela. Just seeing them was enough for Kendra to wipe away any bigotry held from her Protestant upbringing. I was more surprised by the words that were said in the course of the mass. The words held deep meaning, and M.A., Michela, and Ashley truly believed each and every one of them.

I didn't believe in fairy tales, but I could finally respect a person for believing in these things. That was a big step from my upbringing in which I was taught that religious people were mental midgets. If anything, it spoke volumes for the faith that a girl as intelligent as Mary-Ann could follow it.

——————————————————————————————

Why was I sexually attracted to Joyce and Cassie so much but not to Emilia or my friends Jenny, Nichole, and Casey? I wasn’t attracted to Kendra, either, but I was attracted to M.A. and Kylie. I was attracted to Kristine, and I’d been so obvious in my first scene and so scared that she had kindly returned my flirtations despite being straight and married and even suggested that one day she’d let me have my way with her as part of a scene.

I watched Joyce struggling, and I turned and looked at Michela. Both attracted me in different ways, but the attraction to Michela was stronger. To Joyce I felt the same urge I felt toward most of the others I named: a sexual attraction but more in the desire to have kinky fun. To Michela I felt a passion for the person inside. Poor Michela had more or less forgotten, and I listened to the conversation between her and Emilia while watching Joyce.

“All right, screwy b-tch, I am going to degag you, OK?” Emilia sometimes had bad grammar.
“Mmm hmm!” Michela nodded and waited patiently, “Thanks.”
“You know your psycho friend was going to snuff us when you were done having your fun?”
“WHAT?! She kidnapped you?!” Michela’s voice was full of disgust, “That’s way uncool!”
“Yeah, she stole us from a strip club! Said she saw her husband there!”
“I am so sorry! Look, please let me go! I’m sorry!” Michela acted fearful.
“I think we will, but we have to be certain you won’t squeal! I must gag you another time.”
“MMMMMM!” Michela ate the panties again and got the double-sided tape, still attached to her bandana, back over her lips and knotted in place.

Cassie ignored them and focused on Joyce, and I realized that Cassie was straight but kinky. She enjoyed domination and submission in a different way than I did. The emotions she felt weren’t sexual but still somehow hormonal. Michela and I experienced fun or sex in bondage. What an epiphany I’d had! This was what Kendra and Mary-Ann experienced that day. There was fun to be found in the actual actions of dominating and submitting!

Joyce continued issuing her promises and threats into her gag with that sparkle in her eye getting larger by the moment. She loved bondage on so many levels, and nothing destroys me like what happened to her that night in November of 2016. Look at the emotions written on her face in just this one scene! Truly she was a talented actress of the same class as Michela, but it was ruined in an instant that night.

In her cursings for the camera, Joyce let her heels fly off towards Cassie, who merely laughed at the attempt and caught them with ease. Cassie then dropped the heels, walked over to Joyce, and twisted a nipple. I came up behind her, effortlessly picked Joyce up by her tits, and dropped her on the ground while she shrieked. She was trying so hard to escape while promising to do so and ensure our deaths at a young age. I had an engagement with Michela, though, with Emilia asking me to come over.

“You understand what’s happening here?!” I pointed to Joyce as I walked over to the other side of the enormous shed.
“Mmm hmm!”
“Good, because I’m into girls, too, and I am going to ensure you say nothing to the cops.”
“Hmmm?” she moaned a little erotically while I fondled her tits.
“Just blackmail,” I kissed her on the gagged lips while Emilia took a quick video of us with her phone to conclude the scene.
“Very nice,” Emilia smiled, “You two are a cute couple for real.”
“Yeah, but what we want to know is if you’d let us include you in a bondage threesome or not.”
“That’d have to be a wildly dark CNC style play for me to enjoy it,” she answered thoughtfully, “Humiliation is Cassie’s territory.”
“Maybe Michela and I need to attend Minnesota Tech. You like CNC?”
“I have limits, but yes,” she smiled, “Let’s untie Michela and focus on Joyce.”



——————————————————————————————

Interlude 94: Programs - Cooking

I’ll keep generalizing. In the pods were three TV screens. Two showed whatever channel was selected, one each on opposite walls, typically hockey or another sport. The other was above the pod door and showed things like the daily schedule and the programs available for programming and rec hours. Truth be told, prison was a good experience for me despite Mr. Reardon. After all, prison is supposed to be corrective, and it corrected many of us.

Cooking was my favorite type or program, but I never got to really enjoy this one until after I’d shacked up with Michela. Oh, sure, I was competent in the kitchen, but with my budget of $60 a month I wasn’t enjoying anything but beans, beans, and beans. Cooking was fun, and we even got a taste of the results! Maybe that’s why you had to be a III+ to do a cooking program.

——————————————————————————————

Doesn’t Joyce have the cutest tits? Oh, right, they’re censored. Heh. She continued wriggling on the carpet with one intention: escape. Bound and determined, right? Right?! I thought it was funny. Cassie and Michela rolled their eyes, but at least Emilia thought it was a cute joke.

What a girl! She stared right at us the entire time she struggled against the ropes. The threats of grievous physical harm poured out of her while we watched her. She enjoyed the role more than I’d have ever guessed, and she was having a ton of fun being a ham for the camera. Even Cassie and Emilia discovered a new side of Joyce that day; to this day, roleplay is Joyce’s top source of pleasure in TUGs.

Joyce showed off her other talent for the camera. Not only was she a good actress and a cute damsel in distress, but she was also an escape artist! Joyce stared right at Cassie while sloughing the ropes off her arms and body. Then the cutest cheesecake shots followed, especially the one with her smiling while she was still gagged and freeing herself. This girl understood the true joy of bondage and how to show it off.

“Sh-t, she escaped!” Cassie walked onto the set where I stood looking at the ropes.
“Yep,” I picked them up, “That means…”
“She's out there somewhere,” Emilia added.
“Plotting revenge,” Cassie finished the statement.
“Well, girls, time to move. Japan, Little America, Hungary… not here!” I said.
“We're in big trouble,” Emilia said as the scene ended, “We're dead dead dead.”
“We’ll stick together, and we'll get her next time. I promise,” Cassie insisted.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 95: Programs - Motivational Speakers

Motivational speakers were the worst. There was nothing like having some chump waltz into a prison and try to stir up your emotions by telling you what an awful piece of sh-t you had to be to land yourself in here and how easy it was to whip yourself back into a socially acceptable shape; or, even worse, they patronize you as sweet, innocent, misunderstood child who simply needed guidance to right themselves.

Excuse me? No, ma’am, I am fully cognizant of what I have done, and I actually do realize what is wrong with my actions. Misunderstood? F-ck off! I had all the guides I could want, but I chose to be impervious to their words. I should have known then I was really seeking morality as opposed to the hedonism of my home life.

The few good speakers didn't do these things. They got us; some of them had been us. A good motivational speaker lifted us up and reminded us that we didn't have to let it define us; whether we were here for one month or six years, we all had equal chances to start over when we got out.

——————————————————————————————

“That was so much fun!” Joyce grinned like a girl much younger than her 19 years, “And I forgot to say this… belated happy birthday and early happy birthday.”
“Thanks,” I said, and I acted like I needed to pee or something.
“Thank you,” Michela curtsied, “It means a lot to hear that in close quarters.”
“Hannah, are you OK?” Cassie asked me, “You seemed to get thrown off by that.”
“No, I’m not OK,” I admitted in a soft voice, “My last birthday brought me suffering.”
“I’m sorry. Would you like to talk to one of us?” Boss B-tch was but a Boss in reality.
“My last birthday… is why I am the mess you see now.”

I quietly explained to a girl I barely knew why I’d said that. I didn’t notice the rest had stopped talking and were listening. I rose to a near shriek as I explained what that monster had done to me and how he threatened to kill me, forced me to kill our innocent baby, tied me up, and beat me afterwards. I didn’t need to explain my execution scene, but I did talk openly about how I was now afraid of being tied up with duct tape and men in general. That was why, I explained, I only worked with Marcy and the models and how the Moreau’s had been extremely sympathetic and respectful of this limit of mine. Cassie couldn’t understand, but she sincerely felt bad and understood how my birthday could become a source of pain to me, especially since this was now my third birthday as an effective orphan.

“Sorry I turned this into a pity party. Did any good come from it?” I asked them.
“You,” Joyce was crying, “Poor thing. I’m so sorry.”
“I’ve gotten to hear some awful stories at the center, but yours is the worst,” Emilia said.
“Center?! What center?!” I snapped my head around, “What center? At Minn Tech?!”
“Yeah,” Emilia seemed shocked by my reaction, “They try to help troubled teens, whether ones who were in the prison system or foster care system. The doctors try to root out the sources of the youth’s actions and offer care based on that.”
“I have to end up at Minnesota Tech! I have to! I have to end up in this psychology program, whether as a test subject or as a student volunteer, assistant, or anything else!”

Just then my phone started ringing, but I had a goal. This fall semester, I had to be at Minnesota Tech even if it impoverished me. I had found my calling in life; I’d started on the community college general studies track because I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I wanted to help girls just like myself and my friends, whether unwanted or just bad, who’d turned to crime. What, or rather Who, was God? Whoever He was, or rather is, He loved me just as much as Jenny. I say it because she was, and still is, the most innocent girl I knew, and know. I had my first logical points in my mind set.

Minnesota Tech or bust!

[AlexUSA3]

Story 9 Chapter 4: Back in the Fold
Saturday, March 21, 2015

“Hannah Bandana!” Jenny's familiar squeak greeted me, “How are you?”
“Good. I finally asked Joyce and Michela about important things. How are you?”
“Good good! Would it be all right if Nichole and I came over tomorrow?”
“It should be! We're having a birthday party tomorrow, if you want to come. It’ll be a mob scene though because it's Michela’s first birthday party in five years.”
“Awwww, we would love to be there for her, if she wants that.”
“I want that. It's my first birthday party since my sweet 16,” I started crying, “Jenny, I threw it all away. I'm sorry! All I want to be is 14 again and able to undo all the sh-t I did and not hurt you, Nichole, and Joy like I did and be a Cool Girl again!”
“You never ceased to be a Cool Girl. You still are one.”

Then Jenny kindly lectured me. No, lectured isn't fair, because Jenny's words pierced my soul with the purity of her love. There was something special, meaningful, in how Jenny and Joyce loved us. I was slowly learning how to better love others.

I was glad Jenny called. If she hadn't called, the events that happened that Sunday… might not have ever happened. When I hung up the phone, I walked over to Michela and gave her a tight hug and told her all about the guests coming to her birthday party. Really, I didn't want to accept it, but they were coming for me more than Michela.

Sunday, March 22, 2015

I don’t know what overcame me, but when our friends arrived I ran. I left Michela in my dust and ran to embrace Casey first, Nichole second, and Jenny third. There wasn’t a reason except that it was the order in which they had been walking up to the door of the Palmeri’s…our home. I was at home here, and I was loved as the friend who was slowly bringing Michela back to life. Nichole and Casey were the girls slowly bringing me back to life in a way, but it was mostly all of my amazing friends from Pod F.

“Kenny, come out!” I called back.
“I’m coming,” Kendra sheepishly walked to the driveway.
“Kendra! It’s so good to see you!” Jenny ran to her cousin.
“Jenny!” Kendra finally smiled, “Thank you for still caring after all I’ve done!”
“I never stopped!” Jenny said while they embraced, “You’re family, cousin; I love you!”
“Let’s go inside,” was Kendra being embarrassed to have an intimate moment in front of others.

Kylie couldn't be there because she was having her own first birthday party since she got out of juvie. Her first since she was 14! Mary-Ann didn't know what birthday parties were; Kendra agreed to come. It was a nice little reunion; all had to accept that Michela wanted her juvie friends there. But my grandma made it too! Unfortunately, M.A. had to leave early because she had work early in the morning. Joyce was sick and couldn't make it.

It was strange to see Jenny be taller than someone. Little Jenny and Kendra looked so much like each other that the only distinguishing feature from behind was Kendra’s muscle. Oh, sure, there was the obvious orange bandana on Jenny’s head which contrasted with Kendra’s bright blue. It was new to see Kendra with one; she’d spent too much time around me, M.A., and Michela and been converted it seemed. That or she saw it as solidarity. Kendra was doing things her way while the party was going.

Then she didn’t. She and Jenny were too cute together. We all worked together to bind them and gag them. Michela and I knew that Kendra wasn’t terribly interested in bondage outside studio work, but we also knew she was a sport. Yes, we kidnapped them. And Michela once they were tied. We had a party after the party!

Friendship is a funny thing. What a sight they made! Oh, where do I start? I’ll let you read the next interlude first.

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Interlude 96: Hockey and Mrs. Copley’s Love
Friday, May 10, 2013

We had three 8 hour shifts of guards. They rotated off at 8AM, 4PM, and 12AM. We were all locked up or busy during this time, and the teams of three guards worked on a rotation of three days on duty followed by one day off duty. For Mrs. Copley, we’d get three days with her being our wake-up call, then a day without her; then three days with her blowing us each a good night kiss and laughing with us during nighttime recreation, then a day without her; then three days of her being our best friend as we went through our daily routines (and maybe morning recreation), then a day without her.

“Michela, Ashley, I’m sorry. The Wild lost,” came over the announcement system during breakfast.
“Rats!” Michela groaned, “Denied again.”
“Mrs. Copley cares enough to update you. She’s so sweet,” I bit into a pancake.
“It still stinks that they lost.”
“Michela, what does hockey mean to you, for real?” I asked her as kindly as I could.
“My grandpa took me to the first ever home game, that’s how much it means!” I saw a sparkle in her eyes, “I hope he and I can go to just one more game when I’m out.”

——————————————————————————————

I mentioned the respective orange and bright blue bandanas that Jenny and Kendra wore. Kendra had a kerchief, but Jenny had a headband. Of course, Jenny almost always had her hair in a braid that was held by a scrunchie, but Kendra’s was down today. Jenny had matching orange athletic shorts and a black t-shirt; Kendra had tight black jean shorts and a bright blue tank top.

Jenny’s gag was a bright blue rubber ball such as those used by the same sorority to which Joyce, Emilia, and Cassie belong, with a handkerchief; Kendra’s gag was the same with an orange ball. We even tied them the same. Three ropes on their arms to crush them down, two on their thighs, and three on their legs bound them, and a Tied After Class harness followed. We took off their shoes and socks and put those aside before zipping the big toe of Jenny’s right foot to the big toe of Kendra’s left and vice versa.

Michela was a gorgeous bondage doll with whom I shamelessly took liberty in the process of the kidnapping. Today, she had dressed like an Italian flag! Her long red skirt came to her ankles. A white button-up long-sleeve shirt was her top. On her head was a green bandana headband. Why was I the one blessed to share a bed with such a gorgeous girl like Michela?! Green knee socks and black ankle boots finished the outfit.

We asked, and Michela refused to allow us to put a rubber ball in her mouth. I knew she would say that, but I still let Casey and Nichole ask her. Instead, she got the hose I had worn to mass that morning when I went with her family since Kendra said she’d be there as well. A knotted white handkerchief cleave gagged her. Both her wrists and her ankles were crossed and tied. A real harness pinned her arms, and her thighs were tied together. In tying her ankles, I made sure Nichole’s white rope dug into the heels of Michela’s boots. We hogtied her, and I opened her shirt to humiliate her.

The three of us–Casey, Nichole, and I–piled on the futon to watch Jenny and Kendra struggle on the floor while Michela struggled on the bed. Despite the general dislike of bondage, Kendra loved us, especially me and Jenny, enough to forgive this for the sake of an intimate moment. It was odd; Kendra was vulnerable.

“Look at Kendra. Feel that feeling?” Nichole asked me, “That's friendship.”
“I know,” I watched the two little girls on the floor, “Nichole, tell me about school.”
“What about school? You're in college; you know.”
“No, about Minnesota Tech and life there.”
“Oh, well, It's different living on campus, but it's great because of friends. I don't…”
“You trailed off. Something wrong?” I scratched my head.
“College life,” Nichole took off her own bandana, “is better than home life.”
“Want to talk?” Casey asked her.
“Nah,” Nichole shook her head, “It's fine. Just not as good as being with my friends.”

Casey, the Gangsta Friend, was a true friend indeed. I hugged her tightly like younger Hannah used to hug Achilles the Stuffed Rabbit, who sat on the pillow, as he’d always done, curiously not noticing the hogtied girl struggling on the bed. I do not know why I was so tightly clutching except that I had a desire in my heart: for me and my friends to be accepted into (in my case, reconciled with) the Cool Girls’ Club.

Nichole didn't want to talk, clearly, so she instead joined the platonic hug on the futon. We all watched the three girls in their respective captivity. To bring out the best in my dear Kendra, I set up my phone to film her. When she saw it, I saw a sparkle form in her eyes. Unlike Jenny, Kendra was working up a sweat in her bondage. The cousins looked at each other and smiled; the reunion of the two was complete.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 97: Letter from Casey
Friday, November 30, 2012
Miss Larsson,
I hope you’re doing all right. My number is 952-xxx-xxxx if you ever want to call. I will always have time to talk.
Your friend,
Casey Clark

Saturday, December 1, 2012
My response (always hand-written)
Miss Clark,
I’ve added you to my list of permitted callers, but I hope those are your mom’s digits since they might balk at a youth’s number. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve figured out everything. I’ll explain then.
Thank you for caring,
Hannah Larsson

——————————————————————————————

“Nichole, I need Minnesota Tech. I’ve been diagnosed with BPD. I need help. I’m a disaster. Michela and I need… you girls.”
“I can't help you, Hannah, except to encourage you. Email them,” Nichole heard my pleas.
“All right. I have to try. Maybe somewhere out there is a school just waiting for me. Maybe there's one for Michela, too. Even better, maybe they'll be the same or at least close to each other!”
“Keep exploring, Hannah,” Casey's words oozed hope, “God will provide.”
“I hope so. If He sees me or even cares,” I saw similar doubts in Nichole's face.
“Look at them… long lost friends reunited,” Casey motioned to the Kristensen girls.

Jenny and Kendra were twisting and squeaking in a most adorable manner. Bondage or not, Kendra was having a moment to remember with her cousin, and she smiled in a way that still pierces my heart. In life after juvie, Kendra was…happy. Oh, sure, we knew the serious dour girl would return in an hour, but at the moment she was having too much fun playing with a cousin she loved.

Kendra and I had a lot in common. We were both taken for granted, but unlike her I had neither siblings nor cousins. We escaped reality by doing drugs and got busted as parts of the same ring. We both hid from the few people who loved us because we were ashamed of what we’d done, and we tried to hide our emotions.

Jenny and Kendra were trying to reach the other's bonds, but it didn't matter because little Kendra got herself out of the clothesline before the more experienced Jenny! I knew Jenny was awful at escaping, but even this was bad by her standards. I smiled visibly because my little wish was coming true. Kendra had passed the test.

“Awwwww,” Kendra taunted Jenny, “Are you stuck girl?”
“Mmm hmm!” Jenny nodded although she was making headway.
“That's too bad,” Kendra smiled, “Be a shame if I did this!”
SMACK! Jenny was spanked on the butt, “Wheeeeeeee!”
“That's my Jenny. Remember when we were like 10 and would help Gramgram make pies for the holidays? You, me, your mom, and Great-Aunt Judy?”
“Mmm hmm!” Jenny nodded while her cousin helped her get out.
“Maybe,” Kendra's eyes sparkled, “We can do it again while Gramgram is still alive.”
“Mmmm!” that squeal of delight was infectious.

Only in the Kristensen family of Danes could you find an 82 year-old great-grandma where the great-granddaughter was pushing 20 years. It was hard to believe Kendra had parents under 45 when mine were pushing 50. I was jealous listening to them talk about family when my grandpa died in a jungle somewhere northwest of Saigon back in 1970, leaving an infant son and a 19 year-old widow. I’d seen pictures and heard the stories of Grandpa George, but to hug him and kiss him would be so much better.

Michela was where my eyes went while my ears ingested the delight of the cousins. I would have put so much more effort into cherishing the moments if I’d known Kendra would nearly die from brain cancer 41 months from now and barely escape with her life. In reality, I did though, because she was the first person for whom I had a true and meaningful platonic affection, and I understood that while sitting there.

Michela was hot as could be, and I knew there’d be some light clothes-on fornication if Michela was game. The rope was good, but Michela was better. Like myself and Nichole, she had the prowess to competently escape, and the hogtie came to an end. She sat up and smiled while sucking on my hose before gradually escaping. It took another 15 minutes, but she did it.

“I knew they could get out if they tried,” Nichole leaned back and smiled.
“Well, then, there's just one thing left to do,” Jenny’s eyes beamed with joy.
“What's that?” Michela's eyes were hopeful as if there were a reward to come.
“I’m curious, too!” I think I had my own hopes.
“To officially make you two members of the Cool Girls’ Club, and to recognize you as a lost sheep that has come back into the fold.”
“Jenny…,” I felt the love coming off my friends, “Do you mean that?”
“I do. Michela Palmeri, do you want to be a member of our Club?”

I turned to my girlfriend and saw a new sparkle in her eyes. Her torture as a child had not been in vain; good things had come out of it. My mistakes had truly seen me reap my own great rewards, too, and for the first time I understood that my suffering could be used for good when I tried. Michela seemed overwhelmed.

“I have since the day I first heard of it!” Michela jumped at this.
“Do you agree to abide by the principles of love outlined in our Constitution?”
“I do!” Michela readily accepted the terms.
“Kendra, I know you're not into TUGs, but do you?” I looked at her.
“How can I say no?” Kendra smiled, “Love and friendship is right here. I do.”
“Then, with the agreement of Casey and Nichole, we have the required three members to pronounce you both Cool Girls. Welcome to the family!”
“Thank you so much!” Michela hugged Jenny, “You don't know what it means to girls like me who believe that they’ll forever be rejected by everyone they meet.”
“It's an honor, Jenny,” Kendra joined the hug in a rare display of affection.
“Welcome home, Hannah. We saved your seat for you,” Casey held out her hand.
“You never gave up hope, and here I am. I’m back. For real,” I was so happy!
“Hannah Bandana, I’m glad to call you my friend.”
“Once a Cool Girl, always a Cool Girl,” Nichole reminded me, “And no Cool Girl has a journey as touching as yours.”
“Yet. Wait until I get my other friends to join,” I reached out and hugged Nichole.

The six of us then all grouped together in a giant hug. I started bawling my eyes out, which got Jenny and Michela bawling too. I’d redeemed myself in their eyes; now, I had a second chance. My story had been about proving myself to those I thought did not want to be seen with a former inmate when in reality I first had to prove myself to myself. Thank you, Joyce, for what you taught me the other day. Thank you, girls, for having infinite depths to your hearts. Thank you, Kendra, for letting me see things you only let Jenny and Mary-Ann see.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 98: Letter from Nichole
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
(Hand-written)

Hannah,

Sorry to hear you got busted. I can’t believe your parents ditched you, too. I know you must have a lot of thoughts, but here’s my number 952-xxx-xxxx if you want to talk. I’m sorry for not being a better friend to you, but if just want to cry or laugh or feel normal, I’ll listen. No judging will ever come from me; you know that.

I hate how it feels. My dad and brothers don’t want me either. I’d have to explain it in person. I feel for you, and I will do everything I can in my power to ensure you get the most possible love as long as you’re in there. Just because your folks won’t have [you] doesn’t mean we won’t. I am a Cool Girl, a Gangsta Queen; I took an oath of love and friendship. It’s all my fault. It was my idea to stop inviting you and Case to things. When Case took the stroke, it was Jenny who made amends.

How are you doing now? Please, don’t knock yourself down or hate yourself for this. You know the person you can be. Make friends of the other girls; they might be just like you. Do what you can to make this be the turning point of your life. I know you can.

Much love,
Nichole

Friday, December 7, 2012
My response

Nichole,

You’re a doll. I’m OK. I screwed up. I am trying to make the best of it… since I am looking at a long time in here. My cellmate has been here for almost 2 years and is looking at another 2 or so. It’ll be a heck of a stretch. I’ll call before you get this, most likely.

Regards,
Hannah

——————————————————————————————

I ordinarily only talk about the bedroom when there’s bondage, but tonight’s game didn't start with bondage. We did have our clothes on like I hoped. Michela sat on the futon, and I sat next to her. Something had happened today: Michela's eyes burned in the passion of lust, but there was life.

Slowly, I unbuttoned her shirt just like I had done before during the game and took off my own shirt, Michela just posed like she would for a pinup photo while staring into my eyes. Our lips met, and Michela found herself on her back with me on top of her with my left hand squeezing her tits while my right pushed her head towards mine.

Then I let go of her. We embraced each other tightly while we rubbed our tits and our p-ssies together. We kissed without breaking eye contact. While we looked into each other's eyes, I noticed that Michela seemed to be emotionally alive. What a moment! It was a beautiful orgasm we experienced together.

“Hannah, thank you for everything you've done for me,” she said when we paused.
“I'm just one person,” I admitted, “We have lots of great friends.”
“I meant it earlier. From when you told me about the Cool Girls’ Club when you first arrived in juvie, I spent hours wondering what a club that promised love, loyalty, and friendship and to help one another unconditionally was like. I craved it.”
“Well, it's…,” she took off her boots.
“It's the love you showed us when we were inside, Hannah,” she said emphatically.
“Oh, no, I,” I couldn't resist attacking myself, “I was just…”
“You reached out to us and loved your podmates in a different way. We had genuine friendships, but you reached out to us and loved us without friendship first.”
“Michela?” I watched her remove a sock and her bandana.
“Quit interrupting me.”

Michela was soon on top of me with one of her socks in my mouth, her bandana as the cleave gag, and the other sock as an OTN gag. I was buck naked, bound, and gagged at Michela's mercy. While she tied me up, she told me more about friendship and the meaning of the Cool Girls’ Club to her in a spiritual sense. Joining the CGC meant a unification of spirit to her; she'd found friends who respected her, loved her in spite of her past, embraced her despite her faults, and welcomed her on her own merits. They wanted to see her be happy. In other words, they lived by the principles by which she tried to live through her religious convictions.

Now, Michela opened up about the feelings she’d experienced when “Daddy” tied her up the first time and how bizarre it was. Then she went through the humiliation of being forced to wear the various clothes he picked for her and how she'd grown to hate any and all of those things. Then, after a pause, something changed in her eyes, and innocent Michela, the hockey star, returned and described how her mind started deteriorating the night he first assaulted her. Then she told me about the threats to hurt Mom, Luisa, and Sofia if she told anyone about it and him taking her cell phone from her. She didn’t talk about the actual actions or bondage; she talked about what it all did to her.

“Hannah, today I learned my life still has value,” she said quietly, “That I don't have to hide from the world.”
“Awwww,” I was crying.
“I used to think that people would just look at me and instantly recognize me as the girl who shot her abusive father. Or that they’d hide from me because I was a convicted felon. Those girls know it all and love us as if we never did it all. We can talk about the past, but they only look at who we are right now.”
“Mmmmm,” I bashfully squirmed a little; she was right.
“Hannah, you made a lot of bad choices when you got out of prison but… They turned out to be the spur for the biggest blessings each of us has. Hannah, I know what I want to do with my life after just sitting at home and feeling sorry for myself for five months. I want to help girls like us who were incarcerated. Maybe be a lawyer fighting to make sure girls like me who should never have gone to prison don’t.”
“Mmmmmm!” I felt her passion; my sins had resulted in good for my friends!
“Now, let’s play the skirt and sheet game, hmm?”

You know the game I mean from before. I’m blindfolded with my own yellow bandana and have a washcloth against my crotch to soak up any orgasms I get from the vibrator, and I struggle to find Michela’s crotch and make her orgasm too. It’s the best game, and it is even better when I am gagged with one of her socks while smelling the other.

What an emotional day it had been for the gorgeous Italian and her girlfriend!

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 99: Letter from Jenny
Sunday, July 21, 2013

Dear Hannah Bandana,
Forgive me for not being a better friend, for not doing more to help, and for taking away your Cool Girls’ Club Vice-Presidency. I never realized just how negatively it affected you until it was too late. I let my emotions break what had been a good friendship between you, me, and a group of girls who took an oath of love and friendship.
When you’re out, let me, Casey, or Nichole know. The Cool Girls’ Club awaits you with wide open arms. I can’t force you to let me make reparations for all the harm I directly caused you by my actions, but I would at least like to have your forgiveness for it. You deserved better than what I gave you. I remember that girl! She smiled and was confident and always thought of ways to make the games more interesting!
I don’t know if you remember Joy much since you only played with her one time, but she was in a terrible accident last weekend. A person who was texting while driving ran her over on her way to work. Somehow we got to talking about you, and she said she forgave you for your part in a weekend all (then) four of us made bad.
We love you, Hannah, and heard about your parents abandoning you. If you need help, I am here for you. The CGC is here for you. Love and friendship as expressed in TUGs, right? It is your choice, and we all hope to again play TUGs with you.

Love,
“Gangsta Princess” Jenny Danielle Kristensen

Saturday, July 27, 2013
My response

Gangsta Princess,
I do forgive you, and I ask you to forgive me as well. I was a jerk and more, and perhaps I deserved this. I failed to show loyalty or friendship to Joy, and I’m sorry if I’ve caused her any emotional harm. I hope she gets well soon.
It’s been slow-going, but I survive. I have a cellmate I love dearly and a whole host of friends. I hope someday I can lead this exodus of crazy but, inside, good, convicts and felons into the Cool Girls’ Club. Honestly, the CGC is the kind of thing we all needed and never had.
Don’t be afraid to write me. Photos can be sent as long as they’re printed on the paper included in the envelope. I’d love to see a photo of the CGC again so I can remember what I’m missing and have a goal for when I get out. You girls don’t know it, but we do love, laugh, and cry just like you all do. We just can’t hug each other.
Yours,
Hannah

——————————————————————————————

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Michela always was a work of art even when she wasn’t modeling. The skirt, shirt, shoe combo was the real Michela, including the perfectly coordinating bandana, if she wore any headgear. I understood it had something to do with her dad, and she occasionally wore jeans. There wasn’t a pair of shorts to be found among her laundry. Tonight was one from her scenes: the orange skirt and bandana headband with the vertically striped shirt.

“Michela, now, we’re going out,” I said to my girlfriend after we had eaten her birthday dinner with her family.
“Are you taking me somewhere?” Michela asked, “And then maybe we’ll play after?”
“Yes, now… please trust me, because we love each other, OK? Will you do something?”
“All right. I’ll listen. What is it?” her eyes widened a little.
“Blindfold yourself with your bandana. Please?” I stared into her eyes with all my love.
“I can’t do that, can I?” a tear formed in the corner of her right eye.
“Michela, you can do it. I… we have a surprise for you. Something you will love.”

Michela started crying and hugged me tightly. She was scared and shaking and held me in a soft, childlike embrace. We slowly moved apart, and we kissed. With a deep breath and trepidation, she slid the bandana over her own eyes and held her arm out for me to lead her while letting out a fearful whimper.

This was difficult. The last time she was blindfolded was the last time her father r-ped her, and she strongly associated blindfolds with his molestations. This is why I asked her to do it, because I love her. She had to do it herself to associate the blindfold with me instead of him.

A short ride later, and we were at the skating rink in Minnetonka with me, Mary-Ann, Kendra, Casey, and Kylie all with her. We kept quiet so she’d think she and I were alone besides the other patrons of wherever we were. Kendra was filming this with her cell phone. Casey had to be here; it was her suggestion.

“Michela, put your headband back in place but keep your eyes shut,” I said to her.
“All right, Hannah. I know this will be worth it,” she did exactly as I said.
“Beautiful. Open your eyes.”
“Where are… we?” Michela's eyes grew wide before she dropped to her knees.
“Happy birthday, Michela!” we all said.
“I…,” childish wonder filled her eyes instead of tears, “You girls love me!”
“C’mon! Show us those hockey player moves!” Casey encouraged her.
“Thank you for being my friends!” genuine joy could be heard in her voice.

Michela needed all of two minutes to remember how to skate despite six years having nearly passed since the last time she played hockey. Mary-Ann was a disaster; Kendra was like a natural; Casey, Kylie and I were average. One by one, Michela took us by the hand and led us along, telling us how she hadn't been this happy since before her father started hurting her. It had been so long since she experienced that kind of joy.

“You know what you need to really win?” Kendra asked, “To really blast that d-ck out so your life is yours again?”
“What, Kenny? I’m all ears,” Michela said, barely caring about the past.
“You need hockey back in your life.”
“Come here!” Michela, her eyes full of life, hugged little Kendra.

Then, Michela took us aside, and for the first time truly opened up about her past and how much hockey meant to her and how much pain she felt when she was punished by being taken off the hockey team. There was more to Michela than even I knew.

Thank you Kendra and Casey. You saved my life, and you saved Michela’s too.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 100: Letter from Mary-Ann
Thursday, October 3, 2013

Dear Hannah,
Forgive me for taking so long to write to you. I’d been struggling with a little thing that we call homelessness, and I moved in with my sweet cousin Bernadette. I finally got a state-issued ID, my driver’s license, and I am able to visit you soon. I’d like to visit you. Here I am! I load FedEx trucks and wash dishes for a living!

Don’t give up. Never. I’m a survivor, and you’re stronger than me. Fight, fight, fight, Hannah; I know you’re a survivor. Kendra’s a survivor, and she and I are working on some things together. It’s not easy for us because we’re both convicts, but Kendra’s considered a felon and still has to wear that ankle monitor until sometime in ‘15. She sends her love to you.

I can’t wait until you’re out. After so much time living together, I’m looking forward to finally getting to hug you and feel you and smell you. You’re a good friend, Hannah; we all made a few mistakes; keep up the fight. I see something beautiful inside you, and Michela needs you to stay strong. Ashley needs you more. Kylie won’t admit it, but she needs you, too. See you soon.

Love,
Mary-Ann Voisin (actual signature)

P.S. I used this font just to annoy you

Saturday, October 5, 2013
My response

Dear Mary-Ann,
You’re a first-class jackwagon, you know that? Oh, yeah, I love Courier New. I love it just like I loved gametime with Mr. Reardon. You’re the only person on earth who would send me a letter in that font; you’re also the only person on earth who can get away with it.
Ah, M.A., I miss your laugh, but at least you’ll visit. You’re such a sweet girl, and no one on earth can compare to you. Someday, you’ll be a mother, and you’ll be the best mother anyone knows. I am considering this as set in stone, got it?
It’s October, so I spent my points on a row of orange Peeps. I couldn’t resist. My only regret is that we can’t share because Michela got a row of purple with her points. Yes, M.A., that sound you hear is Michela ogling me.
Just three more months, my dear, and then I’ll be out! I’ll be living with my grandma at 78 East Cobb Street; yes, it’s Mudville. I’m marking that hug in my calendar so that I can imagine it and anticipate it and be disappointed when you hug me as warmly as a turtle.
Keep on loading and washing. When you break a dish, think of us back in the kitchen along with Kenny laughing and spritzing each of us. Send a kiss to Kenny for me.
Love,
Hannah

——————————————————————————————

“Michela Palmeri, I love you so much,” I said to her in the bedroom that night.
“Hannah, I really meant it. I haven't been so happy in so long,” her eyes sparkled.
“Whose socks will you eat tonight? Mine or yours?”
“Yours are more special. Hannah?” I knew it was coming.
“Yes?” I prepared the gag, “I cannot answer that.”
“Why did he do it? Why would a man lust after the daughter that he helped create? Why would he lure her into a trap so he can bind her, gag her, and f-ck her? Why’d he do it not just once but repeatedly for 10 months?”
“Michela…,” I sighed and knotted the blue bandana around the sock, “I can't…”
“When I shot him, I intentionally let him live so that he has a chance to repent before he dies. Even Fr. Kelly has struggled with answering me on the spiritual side of it. I had to protect Momma, Luisa, and Sofia, but I still shot him. I felt freed when I did it, as if my future had changed from being a perpetual chew toy to possibly being able to make something of myself.”
“I don't understand,” I finished the gag, “Michela, stop talking about–”
“Maybe I’ll never know. I just know that I feel safe when you tie me up and gag me and fornicate with me. Someday, Hannah, I’ll let you read my diary. Gag me now.”

This is the most Michela has ever said about it. She is vulnerable. How can she let me tie and gag her when that's just how she ended up the way she is? Not only does she let me do it, but also she likes it more than ordinary sex although many nights we just grind.

Read her diary? Me? I couldn't, could I? That's her personal space, not mine. She didn't hide from me while writing in it, but it was private. That was her safe space. I could only be hurt by that, right?

I thought back to Ashley. Some days her mind is an absolute blank as if she went to bed as a little girl in France and woke up as a tween in a Minnesota youth prison, and other days she will quietly whisper some horror she experienced. My sweet Michela has a vivid recollection as if it all happened just this morning, and she has to bear that cross all the way to grave.

One sock was stuffed in the other, and a blue bandana was tied around the neck of the other. Casey taught us this one. Michela accepted the gag with the sparkle in her eyes slowly fading to be replaced by the empty void with nothing in the twinkle but lust. It was just what I saw at the Moreau’s a few days before this; the sparkle that is her soul. Several layers of duct tape kept her quiet. Strips were bad for her, but wrapping was OK.

Rope already bound her in a tight spreadeagle on the expanded futon, and the vibrator was already secured to her p-ssy. I opened her shirt and found there to be no bra. She knew something special was coming tonight and prepared for it. I gently fondled her bare tits and switched the vibrator to a medium-low setting. Then my lips met hers… then I was on top of her, grinding her…

Happy birthday, baby. I hope your first birthday since juvie was as special as you told everyone it was.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 10 Chapter 1: The True Meaning of Friendship

Over the course of the weeks, I had been in contact with Minnesota Tech in every way I could possibly find. I became obsessed with attending there, and Michela had a similar quest on which she had embarked. We now knew our dreams, and our hearts were aligned in this dream. We’d survived the juvenile detention system, and we wanted to make sure juvenile crime rates went down, the number sentenced decreased, and that those who were sentenced had better outcomes.

Saturday, April 11, 2015

Can we meet for a coffee before the shoot? Just us. the text from Kendra read.
How about now? I’ll bring you to the shoot, but I have Best Buy afterwards.
Thanks. I’ll see U at the D ‘n’ D.
What’s up? Let me know so I can think about it. I asked again but got no response.

Kendra did it all her way. Maybe that’s why I loved her. Even though it was Kendra’s way or the highway, she was willing to listen and change her ways. Sometimes she plunged headlong into danger, like with an experience about which she was going to tell me in 30 minutes, but it was with a healthy spirit of adventure too. She wasn’t so stupid as to recklessly speed or mix dangerous household cleaners, but she’d shamelessly try to knead a loaf of bread in a way that ensured it came out tough (or outright change the recipe) or get that item off the menu that you promised her she would absolutely detest.

Good or bad, Kendra only gave news in person and only engaged in serious conversations face to face. Wanting coffee with me could just as easily mean she was annoyed with Mary-Ann as she was wanting to shoot the breeze. You didn’t know until she opened her lips; Kendra cut straight to business when it was serious so that the idle chatter came after. When I entered the D ‘n’ D, I saw Kendra already sitting at a table with two coffees and a bag of donuts. I couldn’t miss her as she’d worn a bandana to be obvious; today’s kerchief was a bright yellow, and she had blue jeans shorts with a black t-shirt. Of course, her hair was in a messy bun too.

“Did you know Mary-Ann sometimes cries herself to sleep?” she asked me as I sat down.
“No!” I took the warm coffee in my hands, “That’s so sad.”
“Last night we fell asleep on the sofa with her whimpering in my chest.”
“Why?” I asked in shock, “I can’t picture her being the one crying on you.”
“Mary laughs off her childhood, but it’s all a big coping mechanism. She thinks if she makes a joke of it then it’s not really so bad. You, me, and Kylie made choices as if we were invincible and paid the price. Michela, Mary, and Ashley never did a thing to deserve what happened to them, but Mary was forcibly taken from her family.”
“At least she has cousins; I’m the only child of two only children. Just as rejected though. The irony, the three Roman Catholics were the good girls who each ended up as abuse victims and got long stretches for acting out against the abuse.”
“Hey! I was raised religious until I was 12! Anyway,” Kendra grumbled, “Today is Mary’s birthday. I thought after the scene we could take her out to eat.”
“Sounds good. How’s it been working for Nabber Cellar too?”
“That’s the funny side of life, in a gross way.”

Kendra explained how Nabber Cellar had three general demands of any model: accepting of tight bondage, willing to be fully naked, and tolerating awkward bondage positions. In three scenes, she'd been hogtied naked, tied over a barstool and vibrated, and tied in a predicament where the choices were pushing herself up and down a dildo or yanking on nasty tit clamps. M.A. had handled even worse, but the folks who ran it were honest, appreciated limits, and paid fairly. They had fun together and got paid for it!

When Kendra talked about her adventures and life with M.A., even the sad stuff like M.A. crying herself to sleep, I saw a passion in her eyes. She loved M.A. as a best friend, and she hadn’t ever experienced friendship like that. This was just what she needed to take control of her life. Gone was the traumatized girl of juvie. Kendra Penelope Kristensen was a rejuvenated girl, and never again would the junkie of the past return. You could say Kendra was the first of us to adjust to life after juvie and put the past in the past. This doesn’t mean we didn’t reminisce; it just meant she could talk about it without reliving the trauma.

“Hannah, I really think you ought to go to Minnesota Tech. You’re doing better, but if you went there I think you could do your best,” she was candid, “We want the best for you.”
“Why did our parents stop loving us?” I asked her with that wording on purpose.
“I don’t know. Like, I know my little sister is big and athletic and smart, but that shouldn’t mean I can’t be loved. I went the way I did to escape, and then I discovered that the other junkies were just as neglected as me. At the time, I was too proud to be better friends with you because I was a senior and you were a junior. I don’t really give a sh-t, Larsson. I went home and told each of my family members that I was sorry I’d brought them shame, and they responded by beating the hell out of me so badly I was in bed for a week from the bruises. I remember you coming into the classroom the next day and muttering something about apologizing and getting no response. We did what we could; f-ck ‘em! I have you girls, and I have Ross!”
“That’s a healthy approach, in a way. Don’t hate them, but don’t think about them either.”
“Now, another thing, I had fun when you tied me and Jenny like that, but I reiterate I do not like TUGs like you girls do. For a special moment, fine, but I demand consent if I’m getting tied. I let it happen though for Jenny. That twirp has always adored me most of all the cousins, probably because of the resemblance. Being a Cool Girl must be an honor if Jenny is one.”
“Kenny, thanks for buying and for opening up a little. I know it’s hard for you. Let’s go.”

Kendra shrugged as if it were just business as usual, but underneath was a sly smile. She loved it in her own way. There was a very special girl underneath that gruff personality, and Mary-Ann, Ross, and I were truly blessed to see it all in a way no one else ever did. Before we got into the car, Kendra looked around us to make sure we were alone before she hugged me. I had amazing friends for real!

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 101: Water with Kendra
Monday, April 29, 2013

“This is a suck a-s birthday,” Kendra grumbled while we drank at the water fountain.
“I’m sorry, Kenny, but at least you’re alive and not in Shakopee,” I responded coldly.
“Oh, yeah, that makes me feel better, Larsson. I’m in juvenile detention, not adult prison.”
“There has to be a bright side besides us lying in the ditch behind Stacy’s house with you and her in snort euphoria and me in toke heaven.”
“I at least I was too out of it to care about how much my life sucked. Now, life sucks, and I’m in a cage to keep me remembering it. Oh yippee, and when I get out, I’ll get a tracker stuck to me!”
“Sober and trapped in reality is a better feeling than the high or the jonesing.”
“I can’t disagree,” Kendra turned away, “Larsson, for a slinger you pull out enough pithy reasons to never deal or use.”
“Because I have regrets.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, but I saw the face of a girl who didn’t want to be using drugs in the way she did. I only knew that her life was hell on earth, but most of us used products either to escape a living hell or to find heaven. Oddly, none of us ever succeeded in escaping hell, but a lot of us sure found it; some jumped out of heaven along the way.

At the water fountain was the prison equivalent of moments in the coffee shop with Kendra.

——————————————————————————————

“Hotties entering the room!” Kylie announced when Kendra and I entered the basement.
“Oh, volunteering for us to tie you up first?” Kendra shot back.
“The thought alone almost makes me c-m myself,” the blonde responded.
“Svensson, do you c-m when playing at home?”
“Of course not! I’m not sexually attracted to them,” came back with a smile.
“She got you on that one,” I smiled.
“Hi,” Michela came alongside me and took my hand, “How's my favorite girl?”

We were alone at the moment besides our friends. I closed my eyes and puckered my lips to kiss Michela on the cheek. It was a perfect moment… with my girlfriend… here on the set of Tied After Class… and my lips planted right on… Kylie's cheek! Kylie Svensson, how dare you!

“Awwww!” Michela laughed; I’d been set up!
“Thanks, Hannah!” Kylie grabbed me, tilted me 45 degrees, and kissed me on the lips.
“That's the kiss of a girl who's only bi thanks to Mr. Reardon,” Kendra taunted Kylie.
“Damn, that's cold,” Michela brushed her hair back, “Then why aren't you?”
“Oooh, burned there. Maybe we just side with girls because of him,” I finally spoke some true feelings about what that man did to me.
“Stop it, Kendra,” Mary-Ann playfully pushed her, “They’ve experienced a lot more than that.”
“Maybe someone’s going to have her way with me,” Kylie kissed me again.
“That's enough,” Michela gently came between us, “Do that to me now.”
“No!” Kylie crossed her arms and flipped off Michela.
“Fine!” Michela easily overwhelmed Kylie and began kissing her.
“Ladies! I see you’re having fun!” Kristine cackled as she and Steve arrived.

Today was a straight shoot: no plot lines. Girls were getting tied, photographed, and filmed. A straight shooting day sounded fun though. That would still be fun, and we could handle two scenes being shot at the same time if we wanted. There were risks with that, though, if the filming on one end of the set was audible at the other end.

We rolled a playing die to decide who would go first, with higher numbers losing. I was quite pleased that Kylie and Kendra both rolled a five. As long as I didn’t go first, I’d at least get to share in the domination without possibly being left tied up in the corner while the other scenes were being shot.

“Let’s do this!” Kendra took off her bandana and threw it at me, “That’s for Kylie to enjoy!”
“I can’t do that! Then you have to wash her spit out,” I smiled at her.
“Big deal,” she said flatly, “The point is to make her happy.”
“I like the shirt you chose.”
“Thanks! I saw it in the wardrobe and just couldn’t resist a quick switch!”
“Kendra, you may be short in stature, but inside you’re the tallest of us all,” Mary-Ann said with a loving gaze.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 102: Arm Wrestling Queen Part 1
Friday, November 1, 2013

Arm wrestling wasn’t the same without Mary-Ann and Kendra around. We had all new faces in the pod, and we were all hoping to be on that list as “arm-wrestling champion.” It all came to a special moment though. Me vs. Michela

Michela was often in the finals, most commonly against Mary-Ann. From when Michela entered the pod, she and Mary-Ann had won something like 25 of the arm wrestling competitions. Still, every so often, someone would beat one of them, so there was a reason to compete. Since M.A. had been released, Michela had ruled the roost, but this was my first time ending up against her head-to-head.

We all just had those person(s) we could always beat or could never beat. Like, for me, I could never beat M.A., but Michela usually won against M.A. Similarly, I could always beat both of the Anderson girls. To finally face my girlfriend was special..

What grappling contest it was. In love, you give your best in war! And we gave it our best. We each had our strengths. Michela had that Italian grandma style muscle, but I had more true meat. This was why when playing nonconsensual TUGs later the one who did the grabbing would just always win.

“Crap!” Michela exclaimed as her knuckles touched the metal.

There was a cheer thrown out as the queen had been dethroned for the month; I was rewarded by a bag of animal crackers. It wasn’t much, but the treat was more than Mrs. Copley, by the rules, was allowed to do. And that night I got the extra reward of fornicating with Michela.

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Kendra was a bondage goddess sometimes. I don’t know what natural flair she had for it, but she had a thing for the damsel-in-distress trope that none of us could top. She could look so pitiful in the peak of a scene with those faces she’d make. Like her cousin, Kendra could look innocent at will.

Ropes bound her ankles, knees, lower thighs, and upper thighs. Her wrists and elbows were tied behind her back. A white ball gag silenced her and encouraged her to drool. Nothing was on her feet except her white socks. She really was a pretty girl, and it felt like I was the holder of a dirty secret to know just how sweet she could be in private.

“Mmmmmmmmm!” Kendra groaned into the big white ball.

All that earned Kendra was having her shirt unbuttoned to reveal her bra. Kristine knew how to put a girl in her place. It was different sitting back and watching others do things, and I loved to see how Kristine handled a situation. I could tell that Mary-Ann was observing it all as a master class of some sort with how she studied everything that happened from binding Kendra to where the lights were positioned to the angle of the camera.

“MMMMMM!” Kendra repeated her plea, and she started drooling onto her tits.

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Interlude 103: Arm Wrestling Queen Part 2
Friday, November 1, 2013

“Hannah, how is my strong girl?” Michela said as she sneaked into the bed with me.
“Beautiful. How are you?” I ran my hands through her hair.
“Wonderful, but I’m more interested in you,” she kissed me on the cheek.
“Michela, do I have to gag you with that headband?”
“Maybe you should,” she winked at me, “I might be a problem otherwise.”
“Then I will,” I pulled the headband down and reknotted it between her teeth.

We fornicated plenty in juvie; it was the most fun we had in there. Tonight was different. We’d engaged in this action plenty of times, but tonight it felt like we really were in love. In juvie, I never got a firm grip on all of Michela’s emotions; being imprisoned for self-defense was taxing on her psyche. It wasn’t empty lust though.

There was a beautiful person underneath that chronically sad and scared exterior.

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Watching Kendra was different for me and Mary-Ann. We knew what Kendra thought about the world around her unlike Michela and Kylie, and we knew not to betray that either. Kendra told us because she trusted us, and none of us had had her trust broken like she had. The thought of the teenage Kendra taking the baggies from me because she was suffering and had no other way by which she knew how to escape pierced my heart.

Struggling on the floor was a nice source of income for the 19 year-old who would hit the big 2-0 by the end of the month. M.A. was 20, too, then, and she thought she was hiding that from all of us except Kendra. I can’t imagine how it felt to her to have never had a real birthday party since she was raised without them. She was just an extra mouth to feed at home, and the only time she ever got any real attention was when it was essential or when she was around others.

There was no underscoring how precious Kendra was to M.A.. When Kendra wasn’t focused on the camera, her gaze was diverted to M.A. instead. But Kendra couldn’t focus on M.A. because she was getting her bra removed: tits out, my friends. I could not believe it; Kendra had allowed her boobs to be exposed! Those tits were an 8/10 in my book; I could look at them and play with them all day long.

The hottie in distress didn’t grab my eyes the way Michela did, and that was good. It was a sign of progress on my part. I could now look at a girl, especially a friend, and not immediately think about how I’d like to fornicate with her. In fact, the only feelings I had were friendship. I wasn’t sure how to feel about this development in my life.

Kendra continued squirming on the floor as she was doing so well. She was a bondage model in the best sense, making just the right amount of noise to continue a steady supply of drool coming from her lips. She twisted around on the floor just enough that she was convincingly portraying herself as a girl truly tied up against her will. This wasn’t to say we all weren’t capable, but it is different to see it from the perspective of a girl who wasn’t aroused by bondage.

I don't know which was better, the scene or the cheesecake afterwards. Something about Kendra and Joyce made them so much better at the striptease routine than me. I could striptease, but the only eyes that were going to pop were Michela’s. Kendra, on the other hand, was giving us all a master class on unbuttoning a shirt and unhooking a bra.

I had tremendous respect for Kendra, and I couldn't let that we had such wonderfully clustered birthdays go to waste either. Seriously. Me and Kylie shared a day and year; Michela was only one week after me; M.A. was this day; and Kendra was at the end of the month. This was like a little family of our own.

She had it all: flair, attitude, beauty, confidence. Calling Kendra a goddess was a disservice to a girl like her, a girl who was much more than a common person. Like it or not, she was a sister, a friend, a daughter, a granddaughter, a great-granddaughter, and a cousin. She excelled at all she tried in her own way. No, she wasn’t the best at anything, but she did her best. Kendra was truly an admirable person.



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Interlude 104: Snowball Fight
Thursday, December 27, 2012

As I have discussed in other places, Kendra loved the snow unlike anything else. Snow was her source of joy. Winter was her favorite season. Oh, you thought I meant snow as in coke, did you now? Not that snow, you twisted devil! I mean the previously mentioned snowball fights.

Snowball fights were the only time Kendra loosened up. In the outdoor gym, the snow would pile up so deep, especially since they’d send workers up to blow the snow off the roof tops and into the green space as there were drains there. We’d quickly build two snow forts, and then we’d go to work. It was clean fun without winners or losers, although we were split by odd and even numbers.

“Take this, Voisin!” Kendra threw a snowball at her best friend.
“Oh, I’m so scared!” M.A. responded and threw a perfect one right in Kendra’ face.
“Gah! Larsson, I’m gonna get her back! I’ll get Palmeri for you too!”
“No way! She’s mine to get! We share a cell after all!” I protected my turf.
“Fine! Ha! Take that Meeks! Oops! Boom! Two in a row! Sorry, Blackwell!”
“Kenny, I love seeing you having fun!”

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“Do you like that flavor?” Kendra asked Kylie while putting the strips of clear tape over her lips.
“No,” she responded with total confidence in her words.
“Too bad,” the captor tied a pretty floral bandana OTM gag, “You have to live with it.”

You’re as familiar with the Tied After Class bondage style as I am now. Wrists, harness, ankles, knees, and thighs. The only change was the rope ‘V’ between Kylie’s tits. We had our second hottie in distress in the house and ready to go to work!

Kylie played it quite differently. She was a bondage expert, so her movements were more about hamming it up for the camera. She exaggerated her motions as a result. She started by trying to pick at the knots a little before she started to shift about. She kicked her legs out; she twisted her body while remaining on the wooden chair. She of course did an excellent job of showing off her feet for the foot fetishists out there.

From the start of the cheesecake to when she was plopped on that chair, she showed confidence in her abilities to do this, but she also showed that adorable personality that made her so lovable in the eyes of so many people. She followed Steve’s instructions exactly without a single doubt in her mind. She leaned forward to give that perfect view of her body, and she contorted just as he wanted.

Of course I wanted to play dirty with her. I was imagining myself force feeding Michela’s carpet to her. For once, though, I was comfortable with my feelings about girls. I loved Michela, but I had a spot for Kylie. I was undoubtedly into girls, but I only truly cared about Michela. If there came a day where Michela said we had to commit to each other, I would accept it. Comfortable was a foreign feeling to me, and it felt nice and cozy. I didn’t have to hide my true feelings when I was among my friends.

Kylie threw her heels off after some more struggling, and her bonds became readily visible when she turned as part of her exaggerated struggle. A lot of pictures got some nice clean shots of her feet, feet that none of us in this room would willingly lick except the captive herself. How did a girl like Kylie end up so kinky?

Her legs were a sight to behold as well. Michela and I whispered in each other’s ears. Tonight, there would be a threesome for sure. We had become starlets, but Kylie was already one in the eyes of her friends. Just because she wasn’t flexible didn’t mean she couldn’t be a perfect victim for a bondage film, to be a damsel-in-distress.

“Aren’t you a naughty b-tch?” Kendra asked with a cackle.
“Mmmmmmm!” Kylie groaned into our friend’s bandana.
“Does my headscarf taste nice and greasy and sweaty, hmmm?” taunted our friend.
“Yuck!”
“Aww, there, there, little girl,” Kendra put the heels back, “You want to be untied?”
“Mmmm hmmm!” Kylie nodded while Kendra helped her to her feet.
“Well, you have to wait a little while longer, my dear,” Kendra walked away.

Kylie hopped in place and made some exaggerated sound effects for the camera. I sat down with Mary-Ann and didn’t even notice that we were by ourselves in a corner of the studio. Mary-Ann, I wanted to say it, but I didn’t know if I should. She was such a happy, but broken, girl. I could not ignore her on her special day, a day that had never been special for her.

“Mary-Ann,” I started quietly, “Everything all right?”
“Yeah,” she sounded confident, “I love living with Kenny.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I hear you have a secret you’re hiding from us.”
“Me? A secret? Um… maybe,” she blushed a bit and turned away from me
“Want to share it, or will I have to force it out of you?” I asked her with authority.
“Try to force it out of me. I dare you.”

Poor Kylie had already fallen back onto her butt and tossed her heels.



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Interlude 105: Starry, Starry Night
Tuesday, April 30, 2013

“Ever listen to Don McLean’s song Vincent?” Kendra asked me one night under the stars.
“Yeah,” I responded, “It’s depressing and so wrong.”
“It’s wrong and right on so many levels. We’re rejects, Hannah, but we’re not.”
“What do you mean?” I asked her quietly.
“Well, if Someone made the stars, then He still loves us despite what we did.”
“Too bad we’re not made,” I replied emphatically as I would in that era.
“Larsson, I just mean that maybe… someday we’ll be able to sit together, in a coffee shop, and be happy with each other’s company. That years from now we’ll be free and be friends.”

I had no idea then that she was being prophetic. I saw myself as being a dead person within the next 2 years, figuring either Greg or a client would clip me. She didn’t want that for me, though, and for once I felt like my life truly mattered beyond being Michela’s sexual partner.

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Kylie wasn’t done yet though. She wanted to fight, and Kendra gave it to her. Sure, there were a lot of good foot shots, but now we needed the crowning jewel of this scene. There hadn’t been a proper film yet, and Kendra crushed Kylie’s face in layers of purple tape. Now, the blonde hottie in distress was a quiet captive, and we got the thrill of watching her perform for the camera.

“We have a damsel-in-distress in the warehouse,” Mary-Ann quietly pretended to announce it.
“We’re on a bondage film set, not in the Mall of America.”
“Ah, Mall of America, Grandpa would take me there about this time each spring, and we’d get lunch together and go shopping. My dad only has brothers. The cousin I lived with after I got out was a Voisin,” her voice sounded fatigued by that statement while watching Kylie on the set.
“Is there something wrong with that?” I just asked her without much of a thought.
“No, no,” her voice broke, “I loved the moments. Grandpa Voisin died when I was inside.”
“Ma, no!” I had a heartbroken Mary-Ann burying herself against me.

I wasn’t too interested in the cheesecake shots of Kylie the hottie that soon followed. Mary-Ann was in too much pain to describe. The only grandparent she’d truly gotten to really know and to love was gone, and she didn’t get to say a proper goodbye. M.A., the strong girl who seemed to take all life threw at her, the tallest one of us all, was sobbing like a little girl.

I had to make this scene special for Mary-Ann, to show her how much I cared about her. I don’t think she’d ever opened up to anyone about this devastation she’d suffered. No wonder she did not want to be outside; the only one she loved was gone. While she cried, she revealed that the reason she was so easily found by the police every time she ran away from foster care (before the last time when she begged to be locked up) was because she’d always go to the graveyard where her Grandpa was buried next to her Grandma.

There was so much we still had to learn about each other. You think after sharing stories for 6 to 12 months that you would know all there is to know about each other, especially when you’re in a locked building with each other 24/7. We barely knew each other… except the parts that made us beautiful and worthy of each other’s friendship. Now, we were getting to learn the things that made us who we were, and we were becoming even more beautiful to each other.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 10 Chapter 2: The Damsels-in-Distress of Pod F
Saturday, April 11, 2015

Well, that was two damsels down. Mary-Ann was a pathetic (in the true sense of the word) sight crying on me like this, and I never knew that she, too, had pains and sorrows like we all did. It’s moments like this where our friendships bloom. Mary-Ann was blooming in my eyes, and from then on someone always made sure that she had a special birthday.

Who was the hotter hottie though? I had our business dressed M.A., with a miniskirt, pantyhose, black heels, and a satiny pink button-up shirt. Her wild hair was in a bun. Michela was trying a new style with blue jeans, white socks, red heels, and a sweatshirt that was much too small for her. She took off her own shirt and bandana, for a change, and donned some of the studio fare.

Kendra was staring at Mary-Ann; she’d noticed her crying friend. We had to do her first then, so that she’d have a happy shoot on her birthday. I whispered into M.A.’s ear that was going next and not to move, and she froze solid and allowed Kendra to start binding her elbows behind her back. The rope wrapped around those limbs, and M.A.’s energy changed.

M.A. was an unique young lady on several levels given her weird view of the world. She was an abnormal person in society’s eyes, but in reality she was the closest thing to what you would get if you could take a person from 1960 and drop them in 2015. In between ropes, Kendra took off her socks and handed them to me, and I stuffed those in Mary-Ann’s willing mouth and sealed it all under strips of a roll of duct tape that Kristine handed to me.

Kristine was the loving big sister none of us ever had. There was a care in the way that she took each of us aside during a session or interacted with us. I knew she’d been inside and reformed; I also had been afraid to talk to her about it. I think it was enough to have solidarity.

“Mmmm!” Mary-Ann grunted as we stood her up on her heels.
“Come on! Get on the chair!” Kendra ordered, “Hannah’s going to test you!”
“Hmmmmm!” our friend groaned like she was in real trouble.
“Quit your crying,” Kristine boomed, “Or we’ll make it worse for you!”
“Eh -e ou-!” the feigned cries for mercy began.
“Stop it!” I pushed her down to a seated position on the chair.

There was Mary-Ann Voisin, the professional Damsel-in-Distress, proud graduate of Pod F at the Mudville Juvenile Detention Center. No one could project fear onto their face like she could. I guess none of us knew fear as she did. I imagined the poor girl, just 13 years old, getting hurt by the families who’d sworn to take care of her, all while actually abusing her or beating her. It was at that moment I realized that she truly had the worst childhood of those of us present. I’d never thought of her and suffering, but she had genuinely suffered.

It was strange how each of us projected in our scenes those qualities that reflected our own pasts. Kylie was distrustful; Mary-Ann was fearful; Michela was distressed; Kendra was angry; I was desperate. I remembered Mary-Ann telling her story of being tied to the bed so she couldn’t run away from the foster family. The way she laughed as she told stories that… were tragic.

“Ahhhh! Noooo!” Mary-Ann almost wailed, “Hleathe -et -e -o ho-e!!”
“Now, Maddy, I know you have a secret that you’re hiding from us. Will you tell?” I asked her.
“No!” she shook her head, “Unhie -e an- -o away!”
“I’m not leaving at all. I just want my friend to tell me the truth!”
“-eave -e a-one!” insisted the captive.
“All right. Just do your thing for the camera,” I pointed to Steve.

At some moments, when Mary-Ann was really showing the fear in the photos, you could see an almost vacant look. It was so strange to see her eyes, of all, go lifeless. Wasn’t she supposed to be the one who laughed it all off? Yet, she had the same emptiness filling her eyeballs that filled both mine and Michela’s at times. At the same time, it was a full expression. She wasn’t scared of the past like I was because she had always believed in something even when she was far from what she believed to be a good path. Even when she had nothing but fear, the fear was underlaid by her belief that she could pull through it. Truly, she was the most complex one of us all. There was a pain in the recollection, but she could bury the past, as she so strongly did when Steve put his hands upon her to intimidate her and unbutton her shirt for the photographs.

On the other end of the set, cheesecake was being served in big hunks. I love cheesecake thanks to Michela teaching what good ones were like. Michela looked great with that shirt riding up her torso from being too small for her, and she had a huge grin on her face. She was an arousing girl in my eyes, but that’s obvious by now. More impressive was when Kylie was aroused by seeing instead of just general arousal. Our blonde friend clearly found this outfit to be scrumptious on dear Michela.

Michela received her own royal treatment from Kylie. Kylie, of course, put her yucky pantyhose in Michela’s mouth before applying clear tape over her lips and a pink bandana OTM gag. Tried and true methods work, and that’s why Michela got a standard TAC style binding: three on her lower legs, one on her thighs, one on her wrists, and a harness with a ‘V’ between the tits.

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Interlude 106: Dish Fun with Mary-Ann
Saturday, June 22, 2013

“Man, we did so well we wash the dishes while the rest are in class,” I said.
“Yep. Even if we don't talk, it's fun being here with you,” Mary-Ann smiled.
“Even with irons all over us for security?” I added and felt a spritz of water.
“Something wrong, Hannah?”
“Think you're funny?”
“No, no,” Mary-Ann looked at me and smiled, “I am funny.”
“That you are.”

I waited a few moments and spritzed her back. Some moments passed before I was spritzed a second time. Then I suggested we stop lest we get in trouble. Mary-Ann and I made memories in that dish room though. There was spritzing almost every time, and we still spritz when doing dishes together because M.A. and I love doing the dishes best. Oh, yes, we had more crazy, not TUG adventures outside juvie than we had inside juvie.

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Michela was quite the lovely damsel-in-distress with those bright red heels just looking wrong with the jeans. What can I say? Steve and Marcy had a heel fetish, and you had to be willing to humor them to keep a steady employment with them. Oh, hell, Michela was hot either way; was it getting warm in the studio? I just knew that Michela seemed comfortable with the situation. I knew she was in good care with Kristine and Kylie. It was important for her to do this without me beside her or actively watching her from a close distance.

Michela struggled in the ropes before she whipped 180 degrees to face the other direction. She’d twist her arms about and talk into the gag, whatever she was saying. All I knew was that she was making what I was certain would be a top seller for whatever month the scene was released. To tell you the truth, I knew I had been taking Michela for granted right then; I realized we wouldn’t be young and spry forever and might not remain a couple forever. I had to make the most of our time together.

Mary-Ann played her part to perfection, yelling and wailing for the camera in a straight fashion that was admirable. Her big French melon titties weren’t flopping enough, and she yelled quite a bit at the camera. If any of us made a pitiful sight in bondage, it was M.A. I loved M.A. then; I love M.A. now. There was so much to learn from her.

The time had come, though. I knew those titties could flop; I had to expose them. Walking over to Mary-Ann, I undid another button and pulled her bra back until the tits came out. There they were! Big, beautiful, squishy French melons were now out for all the world to see! With her tits out, M.A. was now a much more credible damsel-in-distress. Her offense at the exposure could be seen in the photos, too.

“Maddy, you lost your tits! Now what?!” I asked to raucous laughter, “Are you going to share your secret, Maddy?”
“Yeah, Maddy. You gonna talk?” Kendra played with me.
“Hutht hree -e! -ow! Guh huh huh!” she tried wailing to get out of this one.
“Sorry, but that’s not working on me!” I taunted her.
“Gmmmmm!” she jiggled her tits a good deal by shaking about in her rope prison.
“Poor girl, tied up, gagged, exposed, and not understood by us,” Kendra added her own taunt.
“Guh huh huh huhhhhhh!”



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Interlude 107: Mary-Ann, the Word Girl

I think you have seen from the story and interludes that Mary-Ann was good for a smart word in a moment. It should come as no surprise that Upwords was one of her favorite games to play in juvie, so much so that it’s one of the only games any of us bought for game nights together. She loves words even though, as I’ve said, she didn’t read much by way of books; she always read to learn though. She still prefers text over a video demonstration and will go to the library if there is something she wants to learn and thinks is best in book form.

M.A. did something really crazy (is there crazy for her?) and took the dictionary out of the juvie library for a loan on three different occasions. She absolutely pulverized us at the word games. I was a bookworm, so I could keep up with her by learning new words through reading those texts I’ve described. Unsurprisingly, Kendra, our resident expert in bad grammar and fake words, was awful at the games. Normally Kendra would never have tolerated such things, but even then her love for M.A trumped her dislike for the games themselves. Getting curb stomped by Mary-Ann was better than not being with Mary-Ann at all.

The beauty of M.A. is that she is eccentric, but she is also controlled enough that no one knows she is eccentric until she is ready to reveal it to them. It’s also when she is being eccentric that she more genuinely reveals what a person means to her. The crying herself to sleep, the crazy as a fox behavior, and the bizarre love of bondage were all a tragic mixture of the nightmare which she had lived throughout her childhood. Yet, out of it came someone so beautiful that language cannot verbalize it quite right.

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Mary-Ann got off the chair and hopped about in position all while repeating that pitiful squealing that she had down to a science. She hopped and cried like you wouldn’t believe, and I think she might have been having a truly emotional moment. She loudly hopped in place to no avail; there was no mercy coming her way.

Taking a seat and throwing her heels at me did not endear Mary-Ann to me. In fact, she stomped her stocking feet on the floor and yelled at me and Kendra. It was time to have fun. TAC was best at the stuff that happened outside the photo slideshow, and this was going to be a classic example of it.

You’re having a good day if you get to witness Kendra and Mary-Ann together at their best. The love they had for each other was incomparable to anything else I knew. It was different because they had no one in life except their Pod F friends, and they had a natural bond with each other. I stepped back and watched them go at it knowing that Mary-Ann would sooner cave to Kendra on camera than to me.

Kendra went straight for the jugular by crushing Mary-Ann’s cheeks in around those dirty socks with 6 layers of duct tape. Kendra might not have a thing for bondage, but she did enjoy anything involving Mary-Ann, bondage included. It was a special bond, pun intended, that they shared. She smiled as much as I did when cranking that roll of tape around Mary-Ann’s head.

“Now, listen, Maddy, I know you have a secret,” I squeezed her tits, “Will you talk?”
“Out with it!” Kendra added while pushing M.A to her stomach, “I’m in warmups!”
“Nmmmm!” she shook her head while I took my heels off her feet.
“I’m going to really wrangle you!” Kendra wrapped a rope around M.A.’s heels and ankles.
“NGGGH!” Mary-Ann groaned as the hogtie formed and brought her limbs together.
“Enjoy the latest perfume to hit the floor at T.J. Maxx… Eau de Hannah!” I used a bandage to wrap my heel to her face.

Mary-Ann is an inveterate kinkster; the signs were obvious then. She was completely aroused by what we were doing to her despite the sweat forming on her brow and seeming anxiety in her big eyes. She rapidly looked around the room and shrieked at the top of her lungs. It was the start of a very special relationship between her and kink; for the sake of a movie, though, M.A. willingly gave up after just five minutes of struggling on the floor in her hogtie.

“Are you going to talk?” I asked her firmly while holding her head up by the hair.
“Mmm hmm!” she nodded, and I took safety scissors and cut the tape on her face.
“I’m not untying you until you talk,” I pulled the tape off.
“Mmm hmm!” she agreed to this while the scene faded out for us, but this was real.
“OK,” I finally took the socks out, “Talk, or I will spank you!”
“You win. Today’s my birthday. I said it. Happy?”
“I am happy! Happy birthday!” I planted a kiss on her forehead.
“Why did you do that?” she was sincerely confused, “I don’t get the big deal.”
“Grandpa Voisin took you out for your birthday, that’s why it was this time wasn’t it? He was the one who really took care of you, loved you, and nurtured you, am I right? Then you were taken away and started acting out and finally went to juvie and got a visit, call, or letter from your family with the bad news, right?”
“Yes!” M.A. said calmly; she’d cried enough and was strong, “I miss Grandpa. And Uncle.”
“Pick what you want, and we’ll do it after my work shift, OK? I’m sorry for your losses.”
“All right,” she chose to let our love warm her heart instead of being sorrowful.

There was so much we could learn from Mary-Ann Voisin. So, so much was learned just in this one day. Mary-Ann, we love you so much. The cheesecake shots with you acting like you were making a grocery list were the best, too.

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Interlude 108: Saturday Cleaning
Saturday, November 23, 2013

Nothing was like the pathetic cleaning. We all had stainless steel toilets and sinks, but in some of the other pods the metal wasn’t made properly and rusted. It was a huge bill facing the state to replace those! I got to meet those later when I made my second trip to juvie.

Nasty bleach cleaner was all we got to use on the toilet and sink. We had to scrub the bowl, clean the outside, clean the sink, wipe the mirror, and dust the major surfaces, all while on a timer. If we weren't done before the timer, we got docked points for the day, which meant you could drop a level! You lost points if the cleaning wasn’t satisfactory, either, but they weren’t too picky about that. The authorities understood that practice makes perfect.

Michela and I grew to enjoy the little chores of cleaning the cell. We took turns. One week I’d do the dusting, sweeping, and stripping of the sheets while Michela would do the cleaning of the pot and pan. The next week, we’d switch. It was a routine… Strangely, I miss the guarantees of routine despite the misery of actually being inside.

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No, Michela hasn’t been forgotten either. That particular hottie in distress just wasn’t my focus at the moment. With M.A. having been taken care of and now being freed, I turned my attention to the girl with whom I shared a bed. She made her usual pleas of “-ell -e!” and “-et -e -o!” She got freed all right; Kylie freed her tits from the undersized sweater. Those beautiful tits were on display for the camera now.

“-hy hih -ou ho thah?!” the captive demanded of Kylie.
“Because it seemed right,” Kylie replie sarcastically, “I’m the one making the decisions here.”
“Unhie -e! -et -e -o!” the damsel stomped her heels on the floor.
“I can’t do that. You need to ask Kristine to do that.”
“Hine! Hrithhine! Unhie -e!” Michela looked around for anyone who would help.
“Let me think about that for a while,” Kristine said, then immediately added, “No.”
“GMMMM!” Michela moved her hands to indicate strangulation.
“Awwww, Kristine, she wants to hug you!”
“NOOOOO!” Michela sat up and started struggling some more.

I mention solidarity a lot. We were scared teenagers, like it or not. We’d been thrown off in the deep end of the pool and not only had to learn how to swim but also how to be lifeguards. I just cannot reiterate enough times how much better it was for us to do this with Kristine. We had in her an example of someone who had turned to modeling in her own post-prison desperation and had taken off in life from there. I watched her standing at the camera in what seemed to be her favorite outfit: blue jeans and a turtleneck or sweater. Sometimes she had a matching bandana.

“I went inside because I was a mess. I was a bully in the worst way, a big part of Mudville’s one true gang,” Kristine started talking without prompting, “I sold drugs, I committed robberies, and I even more than once helped beat up somebody. We went all over the metro.”
“Wow, Kristine, you were bad like Hannah,” Kylie listened, but Kristine was talking to me more.
“Did you know a girl named Claire Blakely?” I asked her while standing behind her.
“Did I? We went to juvie and shared a cell together… that was before we got released. You know her?! Is she alive?! Did she make out all right?!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! I don’t know, but I’m… I’m good friends with her little sister. I’ll ask.”
“Thank you, Hannah! I don’t know why… I’ve never even talked about that with anyone except my husband. It just came out when I saw you nervously standing with your hands behind your back.”

She said it, and I realized it. We all did it still. Kendra and Mary-Ann, now laughing over their scene, were doing it. Kylie and I were too. Hell, Kristine was doing it too! Straight and tall, hands behind our backs, dominant hand grasping the non-dominant wrist. Most of us… still do it to this day. Even though it’s, for me, but a 13 month window of my life, it’s a scarring one for sure. We don’t even notice it most of the time, but now it’s mostly an inside joke. Mostly.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 109: Thanksgiving Dinner
Thursday, November 28, 2013

Ashley had only been in this country 3 years when her life went down the tubes. She’d barely adjusted to the American holidays, but every country has its national holidays. Thanksgiving was a foreign concept to her, though.

“We take a day off to thank God? It’s silly! Every mass is a thanksgiving. But I like the food.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Michela said, “At my house, we have a traditional dinner and desserts.”
“Oh, yeah!” I agreed, “My grandma makes the best apple pie! I can taste it!”
“Is grandma going to visit you later? Mine are.”
“Yes, she called me last night to tell me that. I look forward to tasting her food again.”
“We only had three Thanksgivings here,” Ashley spoke ruefully, “Then it ended. Never again.”

We had a juvie style spread before us. We had the usual soupy mashed potatoes, turkey chunks in a simple, tasty, and not watery gravy (a rare thing that was truly above average here), the cranberry sauce, green beans, stuffing/dressing, and, of course, pumpkin and apple pies, even if an inferior version. We got the average lunch fare, but dinner had indeed been special, complete with Michela making all of us pause in prayer before she’d let us eat with her.

It was hard. We were genuinely all Ashley had in this country. Like me, her only relations were grandparents, but unlike me hers were alive. The problem was that they were all in France, her homeland. She spoke with no accent anymore after being in juvie for so long, but she talked to Michela and Mary-Ann in French since both learned it through the self-taught “elective” books we used in class.

“Thanksgiving is a special day,” Ashley nodded, “When we are all finally out, we must celebrate it together.”
“Ash, Hannah, promise?” Michela looked at us, “Even if we have a little Friendsgiving instead.”
“Babe, if it’s allowed, we’ll all celebrate with your family. Your mom loves us.”
“Deal,” Michela’s eyes sparkled with happiness at the thought.
“I’m going to enjoy our friendship for a loonnnnggggg time,” Ash smiled at us both.

——————————————————————————————

Our conversation had been at enough of a distance that Michela hadn’t really picked up most of it since Steve had taken over the photography work on her once he understood that Kristine and I needed this conversation. Normally Kristine would never drop work like this, but she connected to me right then when I asked about my friend’s sister. Small world; they belonged to the same gang.

Michela was struggling on the chair in her bondage, and Kylie just walked over and grabbed her by the boobs for a moment before taking the harness in her hands, placing Michela on the floor, and taking the chair away. Now, Michela struggled on her knees on the floor. I felt a burn in my crotch that I casually scratched away as if my stage garter were uncomfortable.

The kneeling position made Michela lose her heels in addition to her lost tits. I was glad, too, as I didn’t like the heels she had chosen with that outfit. She flopped on her side and scowled at the camera and her imaginary audience all while reiterating that beloved “-ell -e!” she said so often while in bondage. I wondered why she said those three or four canned phrases so much…

To whom was she talking, if anyone, by that phrase? I know she’d said she felt it was just acting despite my innermost feelings saying that this was some suppressed part of her childhood. Was I judging my friend in a sense? Was she all right and truly just acting?

There was no fear in her eyes as she squirmed on the floor in such an arousing manner that for a moment I wanted to take over the scene from Kylie. I held my emotions in check. This was just what they needed: to work without anyone else. What if one day one of them was asked to work without the rest of us present? They had to be able to function as their own models. Michela is always adorable when she’s tied up, and there are no exceptions to this rule.

I think she liked having her tits exposed like that. It was empowering for her. We all knew what it was like to experience inappropriate contact and exposure. Michela was controlling herself to the fullest; she was steering her behavior. There were things she couldn’t fix, but she was quite determined to fix what she could. There was a competitive fire in her eyes now.

What. A. Hottie. In. Distress.

“It’s time to get you ready,” Mary-Ann took me by the arm, “Come on. You’ll still see her.”
“All right!” I happily followed along now that I knew Michela was all right.

Things were looking up for all of us!



——————————————————————————————

Interlude 110: Christmas Dinner
Tuesday, December 25, 2012

“Back in France, we ate goose on Christmas,” Ashley chuckled a little as she said it.
“What did you eat here?” Mary-Ann asked, “My family did prime rib.”
“We ate turkey like on Thanksgiving. They both are big and have feathers after all.”
“Well, a blob of ham with the Thanksgiving sides works, right?” I asked.
“Ham. Ugh!” Kendra grimaced, “I hate ham.”
“Ohhhhhh,” Mary-Ann added like a mother scolding her child, “You eat it all or no dessert.”
“Screw you, Voisin. It’s juvie. I just quietly drop it on Michela’s plate and move on.”
“Yum! Thanks!” Michela grinned.

There was little difference between Thanksgiving and Christmas except that Christmas desserts were some bastardizations of chocolate cream pie and banana cream pie. A cheap cookie would have lifted my spirits more, but that’s what rec time was for. That night, during recreation time, we each got a big (like, 3 inch diameter), cheap Christmas cookie. It wasn’t really special except that it was more than we would get the rest of the year.

You see, there were people out there who did care. We didn’t realize it then, but people who had kids on the inside, had been inside and reformed, or just had big hearts… They cared about us. It was those people who would either make these things or buy them and then donate them to us. I would have written thank you letters if I had known, but we got things like the cookies because of those kind people. Those folks, for some of us, they saved our lives. Kylie, for sure, wouldn’t have made it without such generosity.

Whoever you are, thank you.

——————————————————————————————

Those last few moments of Michela’s scene were like a whirlwind. It was but a handful of shots of the hottest of the hotties from Pod F. Then again, I was biased. All of the Damsel-in-Distress of Pod F were gorgeous dolls, inside and out. Just look at Michela rolling around and yelling at her imaginary captor; she was having fun and getting paid for it.

“How are you, Mary-Ann?” I asked her as I took my seat, “Where will your birthday dinner be?”
“I’m doing good. I haven’t thought about it. Wait!”
“You have an idea?” Kendra’s eyes brightened.
“That last time I went with my grandpa on my birthday, we went to this little place. I go by it on my way to work. Can we go there? Teddy’s. I promise I’ll cry.”
“Anything for you, M.A. Anything,” I responded.
“Hannah Bandana!” she picked me right up off the floor, “You and Kendra planned this all out! And you won!”
“Mary-Ann, you know just how much we care about you!”

[AlexUSA3]

Story 10 Chapter 3: Threesome
Saturday, April 11, 2015

I don’t want to sound like a spoil sport, but I’m going to be because I was quite gorgeous in my blue striped top (studio’s) and blue skirt (mine). It was quite the tie, actually. Oh, heck, let’s get into it. I’ll give you the details.

My legs were tied in a typical TAC manner, but my wrists were tied in front really well when I was seated on the chair. M.A. tightly tied me to that chair at my thighs and on either side of my tits. I was going nowhere. Then they used the blue ball gag on my mouth. If you’re wondering, yes I did like that ball gag, and the blue ball gags (both sizes) are still my favorite gags from any studio for which I have modeled.

There was no cheesecake needed before or after this one; I was scrumptious enough already! I’d say I am partial to Mary-Ann’s rope work; I don’t escape her bondage! The photos do not do her work justice. I was stuck. I was going nowhere. I was trapped. I could reach up and paw at the gag, but I couldn’t reach the straps.

“MMMMMMM!” I yelled out and crashed my heels on the concrete, “Ehhhhh!”
“Hey, hottie, can you get out of that? Hmmmm?” Mary-Ann taunted me.
“Mmmmm!” I didn’t try to speak words and just went for the groaning.
“Would you like me to remove that big, beautiful blue ball, Busty Beauty?” she squeezed my cheek.
“Mmm hmm!” I wailed like I was in real danger.
“Well, I’m not!”

Sitting there like that was a delight in its own way. I was bound and gagged and at the mercy of a person I trusted and loved, but more importantly we were enjoying the moment for a handsome paycheck in the form of cold hard cash. This was a win-win for girls like me, Kenny, and M.A., who had nothing to lose in terms of reputation.

“Let’s see these beauties,” Mary-Ann forced my shirt down to reveal my breasts.

Tits out, my friends.

“MMMM!” I tried to protest her actions, but she put clothespins on my poor nipples!
“That’ll serve you right.”
“YOWCH! MMMMMM!”

One by one, each of the girls, in age order, walked up to me and fondled my tits. At the end of the line was Kylie, who not only fondled me but sat on me and sensually played with my tits and kissed me until I orgasmed. Why didn't Michela play too? I guess it was only fair that Kylie had a solo interaction with me.

I loved being humiliated in that kind of fashion.

It was a good day. We all grew a little closer to each other, including Kristine, and we all left a little richer and with good intentions for the money unlike when Kendra and I were junkies. We could commiserate a bit in that regard. We worked so well as a group, and Steve rewarded us a little. His kindness seemed unnoticed by anyone but me and Kylie.

Onto Best Buy.



——————————————————————————————

Interlude 111: Kylie’s Tears
Sunday, April 21, 2013

“I like Sorry! for a reason,” Michela laughed as she brought the game to the table.
“What's that for?” I asked her with a raised eyebrow.
“Mary-Ann can't run us down like she does at word games.”
“Very funny. Not to be a distraction,” Mary-Ann responded, “But Kylie's crying.”
“Where?” I asked and started looking around.
“She went to her cell.”
“I’ll be back. Play the first one without me,” I said and walked away.

I went over to the cell for Prisoners F07 and F08, the former being Kylie, whom I saw was indeed sitting on the floor of the cell and crying. She saw me and stood up. She came out and dried her eyes on her sleeve.

“I don't know why I suddenly got a craving for my mom’s homemade strawberries and cream cake, but I did. I miss home so much.”
“I’m sorry, Ky,” I couldn't empathize with her too much.
“I’m sorry, too. You didn't deserve to be abandoned,” she flipped the script a bit.
“This is about you, girl. I don't know what you did, but you don't belong here.”
“I do, but it's my story to tell when I’m ready.”
“Your game, your rules. Wanna play Sorry! with us?” I tried to encourage my friend.
“Sure!” she sniffed and stood up, “Better with you than alone.”
“That’s the spirit.”

——————————————————————————————

Teddy’s - All Breakfast, All the Time

After a long work shift, I was glad to go into the restaurant and see that my friends were already at a table, looking like they just got seated moments before. Kylie and Kenny saw me and waved me over to sit between them, and I hurried over to them because I was hungry in more than one way after that bondage shoot. Taking the seat, I let out a sigh of satisfaction.

“I ordered a coffee for you,” Kendra said kindly, “I know how you are.”
“Thank you!” I smiled and sat up straight, “I appreciate that!”
“How was work?” Michela asked me with a smile, “Kylie’s coming home with us.”
“Sweet, but, more importantly, Mary-Ann,” I turned to the birthday girl, “How are you?”
“For a girl who hasn’t seen this place since she was 12, devastated,” she choked up a bit.
“Don’t dwell on it, Mary,” Kendra reminded her, “You only hurt yourself.”
“I grew up thinking parents were only there to feed their kids and give them a home. Any love I got came from Grandma and Grandpa Voisin,” Mary-Ann let her mind wander, “Losing Grandpa was like the nail in the coffin for me. I didn’t get to say goodbye; the warden wouldn’t let me go to the funeral. It wasn’t until I met you, Hannah, and Kendra that I realized parents were meant to love their children.”
“So how do you feel?” Kylie asked, “Empty? Enamored with the joys of friendship?”
“Empty. My heart always lacked something all the other kids had. We were kids and couldn’t explain such esoteric things. Only when I was an adult did I realize that love’s a language, not a thing you describe, and that it means so many things. How God loves me is different from how I loved Grandpa or how I love Kendra. It’s like I’m 13 again; it’s raining outside; I’m curled up in a ball on the ground, shivering because it’s only 45 degrees; and I’m huddled against the simple headstone marking where my grandparents and uncle are buried. That’s how every moment of my life feels except when I’m with you. Here, right now, I feel full of meaning and purpose, just like I did when I was with Grandpa. I spent so much time with the Voisin’s that I felt it enough, but I never felt it in juvie except during those rec hours. Only loneliness kept me company those two months I wandered around homeless. Then I moved in with my cousin, and I got some of it back. She loves me dearly, but you girls love me in that way… I can’t explain.”

Mary-Ann was tired. She leaned back and sank in the chair with a grimace; tears rolled down her cheeks. She was lost and confused and overwhelmed by life. She turned to each of us with a mixture of panic and fear until her eyes settled on Kendra. Then a smile filled her face, and even the tears couldn’t contain the happiness as she sat back up.

“If you girls want to be immature like me, you’ll get either Belgian Waffles or a Super Stack.”
“Mary, you’re OK, right?” Kendra reached out her hand and stopped upon seeing Michela.
“Do it, Kenny,” I encouraged her.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Mary-Ann watched Kendra take her hand, “Best friends forever, I hope.”
“BFFs, baby. Here come our drinks; get ready to order!”
“All right!” the joy returned to Mary-Ann.

A few Super Stacks of pancakes and a couple of Belgian Waffles didn’t really matter; we freely stole from each other’s plates. We knew there was a reason to keep coming back here. This was Mary-Ann’s happy place, and we made sure that it was a very happy birthday for one sweet girl whom we all loved very much.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 112: Sweet Ashley
Wednesday, December 25, 2013

“Merry Christmas, girls,” Michela said as we sat down with a pack of cards.
“It's only merry because of you, Kylie, and Hannah,” Ashley said as she took a seat.
“Compliment received and accepted,” quipped the congenial Kylie.
“How was it to have Mary-Ann come see you?” Michela questioned Ashley.
“You wouldn’t understand what it all means to me. What you all mean to me.”

Ashley was one of those girls who was here for protecting herself against an attacker, much like Michela. She never talked much about it except that her parents could not visit her anymore. The rare visitors she got were people from her old church back in Elko New Market, including the priest and some other adults. She'd occasionally say she felt her parents beside her, and Michela and Mary-Ann seemed to understand in a way that Kylie, Kendra, and I couldn't.

“You're my life,” Ashley explained, “It's nice to see people from church, but…”
“But what? We're here for you. What do you mean?” I asked her like a fool.
“When I get out, I have nowhere to go. No home. No looking forward to Christmas in 2015.”
“I was lost. Like, really lost,” Kylie said, “But I follow you now.”
“It's nice to be loved. You girls are like a host of big sisters and friends. Your sweet words, the letters and visits from Mary-Ann, they fill up the emptiness I feel each day of my life.”
“Prison empties you like that,” I continued misunderstanding, “We’re here for you.”
“Don't you get it?!” Michela got a bit snippy, “Ashley's parents are dead!”

Ashley didn't talk about things with many people besides Michela and Mary-Ann, and that was told with a promise of strict privacy. Now I understood her so much better. We were all she had left in life. I always thought her parents couldn't visit as if they were poor and couldn't afford to travel; what a fool I’d been.

——————————————————————————————

“Your mom knows you're here, right?” I asked Kylie just to be certain.
“Oh, yeah. I'm going to be tied up by two bandana queens, yes?”
“I don't know who’ll be the second one tied, if either, but you’ll be tied,” I smiled.
“I like holding girls,” Michela hand gagged Kylie, “While you tie them.”
“I think she needs to be naked. What do you say?”
“Naked is nice, but we're sexiest with clothes on,” my girlfriend was so goofy at times.
“Naked means we can make her eat her own or the other captive's orgasm though.”

That won over Michela. We all enjoyed the orgasm gags, but for Kylie and I orgasm gags were the best gag of all. Dirty socks, worn hose, and c-m aroused us all, but the two of us almost instantly orgasmed upon the reception of such a gag. M.A.’s parties were perfect because then we could all get it, get fresh gags as other things happened, and so forth, but we could enjoy ourselves like this.

Naked wasn't really necessary. We all had short skirts on. Michela had a fuschia knee skirt that was ruffly and a matching bandana headband with a purple long-sleeve shirt. Kylie’s skirt was a denim mini skirt, and she had a black long-sleeve t-shirt. My skirt was a blue knee skirt with a yellow t-shirt and a matching bandana headband.

As part of a little part of our birthday celebration, Janie and Nichole had given us both a nice supply of the blue and orange rubber balls and handkerchiefs like they used for their games and which, in turn, originated in the sorority. I wanted to put them to use on Kylie, but I had a problem. I had just prepared a blue rubber ball with a big white handkerchief to gag Kylie.

“Ball gag? You can't do that to her!” Michela said.
“Kendra and I each had one earlier today. Was that a problem?” I asked her.
“Yes, it was! My daddy's a psycho!” she threw her hands up and turned away, “NO!”
“Michela, stop. Your dad isn't here. No one is getting hurt.”
“I’m fine with it,” Kylie momentarily ignored Michela’s anger for the sake of peace.
“Shut up!” I took advantage.
“Ball gags, R gags, tape strip gag. The R gag was worst of all of them. The memories of it… Daddy putting it in my mouth before he’d…”
“Let's not go there.”
“Hannah, Kylie, why did he do it?” she asked once again, “Why do I like bondage? Am I a monster like he is? Is it kink? Is it coping? Is it an escape? Is it acting out against myself? When Daddy first…”
“STOP!” I ordered her, “Michela, I love you, but I’m not ready for that yet. Hearing it makes me cry.”
“Am I normal? Or am I a monster?” her voice grew quiet.
“It's your way of coping. It's healthy for you. It's an outlet where you share a special bond with your closest friends.”

Kylie was perturbed by our discussion, and Michela seemed more pensive than vacant this time. Michela sat down on the bed and let go of Kylie. We all paused and let my girlfriend have her silence. She quietly put her hands behind her back and closed her eyes. Tears started pouring out of her eyes, and she opened and looked up at me with anxiety and fear. She took a piece of white rope from my bag on the bed and fingered it slowly. Looking down at the rope, Michela opened her mouth, grimaced, and shut it. There was no doubt; Michela was reliving her torture.

She was thinking deeply though. Her eyes were alive. She let go of the rope and took the rubber ball I had prepared for Kylie. She studied it momentarily and briefly held it up to her own mouth. She looked at me for approval and stopped. What was going through her head now?

“Sometimes, when I’d stare at another boy during church, Daddy would order me to gag myself because he knew I hated it. Then he'd tie me and hurt me.”
“Ummmm…”
“I want to claim my life back. I’m a child of God, first. If I… gagged myself with the rubber ball, Hannah, would you tie me up? I don't want to be in mental slavery forever. I want to be your kinky girlfriend, and I want to be able to work my way to a real ball gag. This dog toy is so unlike the real deal… I could handle it as long as you make me really happy. Hannah, please. I’m begging you!”
“I can't… I…”
“Hannah, you used to stand there and obfuscate because you were selfish. Now you stand there and obfuscate because you don't know what's best for me,” there was passion in her words, “I’m asking you to help me! Hannah, 124 times I was tied up by his hands; 83 times he forcefully made a baby with me; 67 times he emptied it into my mouth! Just over 10 months! How much more would I have suffered?”
“I’m not sure I can help!” I admitted how useless I felt I was.
“What kind of psycho r-pes his own daughter, gives her a blowjob?! And he gave me 67 blowjobs, Hannah! Why?! Why?!”
“Michela, I love you so much that I will not answer that question.”
“I’m not ready to reclaim my p-ssy and won't be for a long time, but I’m now ready to reclaim my mouth!” she held one of the orange balls, “Gag me! Hannah, I want to try forced carpet.”

She handed me the ball, and I gagged her with it. She whimpered a bit, but she didn't back down.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 113: A Visit from Mary-Ann
Wednesday, December 25, 2013

“Someone's getting a visitor!” Michela announced as she took the visitor cards.
“Oh, am I really? Is it Grandma?!”
“You had four visit requests, and they had to deny two of them due to the number of visitors today. Ooh, you're getting visited by a French girl with soft D cup melons!”
“Mary-Ann?! Really?” my jaw hit the floor, “How sweet of her!”
“I’m telling you… she cares. Go to her when you get out.”
“Whatever,” I blew off Michela.

I don't even remember what we said; I just remember that she came. I thought back to this particular moment though when I was dying in that basement, and I recalled what Michela had said. I wish I had listened to Michela. Mary-Ann really loved me then as much as she does now. It was the company that mattered to us at the time, and it's the presence I recall despite not recalling the words.

——————————————————————————————

“Mmmm!” Kylie groaned into a blue rubber ball.
“Gmmm!” Michela groaned into the orange match.
“Aww, Michela, you are so cute! What would make you happy? Carpet love?”
“Mmm,” she struggled to nod; she was scared.
“I want you to be happy, baby. I love you,” I erotically kissed her cheek.
“Mmmm?” Kylie writhed to get my attention.
“You get a kiss, too,” I repeated it just as sensually.

They were tied the same. Lotus position legs, crossed wrists, rough waist ropes, tight breast harnesses, exposure by having their shirts and bras rolled up, and clothespins. The rubber balls with the handkerchiefs gagged them, their panties had been removed, and both had crotch ropes. Carpet was unique to us three; and tonight Michela would try out a new kink to see if she liked it.

Underneath my crotch was Kylie's face. Michela was also on her back with me right against her carpet, licking and kissing her. I had to be careful right now because I’d possibly ruin Michela forever if I did the wrong thing. I rubbed my crotch on Kylie's face, and that was enough to make my bottom girl orgasm.

“Ohhhhh,” I was already a bit aroused, and I squirted on Kylie’s face, “Not sorry.”
“Mmmmmm,” Kylie squirmed underneath me.
“Mmmmm! Hannah!” Michela said my name erotically right before she squirted.
“Oh!” that surprised me, “Mmmm! Salty and good,” I licked it up.
“Mmmmmm!”
“You girls are so sweet,” I paid them their dues, “This is so much fun.”

It was fun indeed, and I loved eating up Michela's carpet. But, now I felt obliged to a change of pace. I turned them that so she was eating my carpet and Kylie was getting hers licked by me. Can you tell I’m really into carpet even as a woman married to a man? It's still my weak spot.

I realized how momentous an occasion this was and took great care for Michela. Was this perhaps the moment you could say I truly understood how a loving relationship is supposed to work? I had us in a tight triangle on the floor so that Kylie was eating up Michela's carpet albeit while gagged. Michela needed pleasure and comfort beyond my voice. Kylie had a squirty carpet, so I got two orgasms to lick for the same effort that got me one from Michela. Michela went shortly after Kylie's first orgasm; mine came shortly after Kylie’s second. A loud groan came out of Michela, a sexy groan of the best kind, but it was mixed with discomfort.

“Did you like eating my p-ssy?” I asked while I seated up my lotus tied beauties.
“No,” Michela shook her head and started crying, “I -ove -ou tho huch!”
“I want you to be happy. Michela, are you happy at least?”
“Mmm hmm,” she nodded, “Ahhhh… ah’m hahin’ hun.”
“Perfect,” I kissed her cheek, “Tears of joy are good tears.”
“Awwwwwww!” Michela's happiness made Kylie happy too.

I had to make this special for my girlfriend, and I put washcloths under both crotch ropes. The vibrator was on the way, and I explained, in a whisper, to Kylie that I needed to give Michela a little bit of special attention. After that, I redid their bonds so their legs were bound like normal at ankles, knees, thighs, and big toes.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 114: Visiting Michela
Thursday, May 15, 2014

“Baby, I miss you so much! My new cellmate is as attractive as a wasp.”
“Michela!” I laughed, “That's not nice.”
“So, you finally dumped Greg? Went back to Grandma?” she asked me hopefully.
“Ummmmm,” I froze up, “No…”
“Is he hurting you, Hannah? You need to leave him.”
“Oh, no… No!” I lied, “I just am still sticking it out, hoping for the best.”

I don't know why I wouldn't listen except that, deep down, I was convinced that he’d murder me if I tried. I was living in terror, worse than the terror of Mr. Reardon. I’d been living a nightmare so vivid that I still live it to this day.

“Hannah, please get away from him.”
“You know what?” I snapped, “I’m sick of you telling me what to do!”

And I never saw Michela again until after her release. Sure, we talked on the phone, but I didn't visit her. What an idiot I was.

——————————————————————————————

“Was that gag so bad?” I asked Michela while I kissed her on the lips.
“No,” she said and kissed me back, “This has been fun, unlike Daddy.”
“Michela,” I paused, “most tools aren't evil. The user can be though.”
“I love you,” her eyes sparkled and went vacant, “Why do you love me?”
“Why do you love me?” I turned her question on her, “It doesn't matter now.”
“Mmmm,” she said when I put my lips against hers, “You're so cute.”
“You're cuter than me when you're happy.”
“Agree to disagree.”

We quite strongly fornicated, and in little snippets she confessed emotions toward me, feelings about the rubber toy ball gag, and carpet. We were kissing, grinding, and, by the aid of the vibrator, orgasming. Michela was alive underneath it all. I accepted the sad reality that she, like me, was ruined for life in some regards, but I now believed I was making a positive impact in her recovery.

Now, it was time to invite Kylie back into the threesome. I laid them next to each other and removed the gag from the Queen of Orgasm’s mouth. It was a perfect time to put a thigh against either girl’s padded crotch and start grinding them. I kissed the blonde on the lips while Michela kissed us on our cheeks.

Kylie didn't want to admit the truth that she was extremely TUG sexual and only had any sexual feelings for her Pod F friends. She was truly asexual, possibly a result of being the Pod F girl who got wrecked the most by Mr. Reardon. I saw it, but I knew if she didn't say it herself then she didn't want it said at all. Kylie was such a private girl I only knew her sibling’s names from her Facebook.

Another thing was Kylie's intelligence. She did homework assignments for our shared classes in 15-60 minutes while I’d sometimes take 2-3 hours. Everything from essays for a literature class to Calculus 2 just came intuitively to her. I think she suffered as a result of prison, perhaps more than any of us. I only knew she genuinely loved all of her friends.

The thing that was most amazing about fornicating with Kylie was the softness of her skin. Was it a blessing or a curse because it made me want to hold her? Her reaction said blessing. Despite her blessings of intellect and health, you weren’t about to hear a boastful word from her lips. We had a lot of reasons to love Kylie Svensson.

“Hannah, this is fun,” Kylie muttered when I let her have a moment.
“Shhhh,” I put a finger to my lips and grinded her to orgasm, “Hannah Bandana is in control.”
“This is fun for real,” Michela’s eyes were full of life for once.
“Michela, you’ve never been so beautiful,” I said before both Kylie and I kissed her.
“Neither have you two,” she responded, “For once I am truly enjoying myself.”
“That’s good,” Kylie grinned before her lips met Michela’s.
“Sounds like this was a good idea,” I contributed before really pushing against their crotches.

——————————————————————————————

Interlude 115: Cleaning the Prison
Friday, May 03, 2013

“Remember your duties,” the prison employee reminded us.

Every steady IV in the prison was invited to partake in a prison cleaning program that would be credited to us as volunteer hours registered with the state. So, they shackled our ankles with leg irons. We would be going outside the concrete walls of the prison facility and into the parking lot and property between that and the 15 foot chain link fence topped with barbed wire. The bad part was that we couldn't talk.

Michela, Mary-Ann, Ashley, and I gladly stepped out of our Pod and out the door with some 10-12 others. Hard to be a steady IV when most of the kids in Pods A-D weren't here long enough to count as a “steady” IV. We got to breathe the freshest air possible and see real trees and even cars! For us girls, it was a genuine reward for our behavior in spite of our seemingly ruined lives.

——————————————————————————————

“Yummy cummy washcloths,” I smiled after snapping the duct tape.
“Mmmmm!” Kylie agreed wholeheartedly.
“Mmmmm,” Michela writhed on the bed in an erotic manner.
“And you’re both all mine,” I kissed them each on their gagged lips, “Does it taste good?”
“No!’ Michela quickly responded.
“Yeth!” Kylie was just as fast.

Poor Kylie had orgasmed something north of 20 times during this evening, and then to force feed it to Michela forced my girlfriend to orgasm. Kylie likewise orgasmed when I fed her Michela’s crotch cloth. Forced carpet, fingering, spanking, tit torture, a little mild breathplay (for Kylie), hair pulling, and tickling had been among the big and well-deserved menu for the evening.

On the day of mine and Kylie's birthday, we'd enjoyed a threesome with Michela on top, hence why I skipped that one because it was a busy evening, but Kylie went home after that. Tonight, my bound and gagged beauties were remaining bound and gagged. The tape crushed their faces so beautifully.

It was time for some heavier kink. The pains and tortures of before had been solely to stimulate an erotic reaction. Now, it was time to explore pain and pleasure. Spanking and tit twisting were going to the top of the menu. It was going to be a long night.

I learned something for real that night: Michela and Kylie could be kinky, with Kylie being super kinky. Everything I did somehow excited or aroused her. For Michela, I wasn't certain what to expect; it was all new to her. She liked nearly everything I did except the breathplay and the already discussed carpet though.

Afterwards, I untied them, and we enjoyed a true nude threesome, and man was that fun! So many things I could say, but… what really mattered was seeing Michela keep up her vitality throughout the night. Never once did she fade up out long term. I was doing something right, or someone in this house was. Michela was regaining her grip on her own spirit, taking it back from the man who tried to destroy her, enough that she could feel safe and comfortable again in her own home.

We were winning.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 11 Chapter 1: The Custom
Friday, May 1, 2015

I am panting as my worn socks are shoved into my mouth. Duct tape wraps about my head 9 times to secure them into my mouth. My crossed wrists have already been put in layers of savage, violent duct tape. My arms are crushed against my torso on either side of my tits and at my waist. I’m wearing athletic shorts, so the tape on my thighs, ankles, and knees is right against my skin. My shirt and bra cut to expose my tits for my killer to grope before he snuffs me.

He has plans first though. He pulls down my shorts and panties and pushes his c-ck into my body, my unwilling body. He gets a huge thrill out of it, one of the heartiest pumps I ever got from him, right into my p-ssy. I’m slung over his shoulder and led to the basement, where I am taped to the water pipe. He leaves me to slowly starve to death down there.

“Hannah! Wake up!” I heard Michela's voice, and I saw we were in bed in the dark.
“Michela!” I burst into tears, “Will the nightmares ever end?!”
“I don't know,” she candidly admitted, “But I’m always here for you.”
“It was so real. Like it happened yesterday.”
“Quiet,” she brought our lips together, “You be the small spoon, OK?”
“OK,” I felt like a child in her mother's arms, “I love you.”

I felt desolate and dead just like then, and the feeling slowly faded.

Thursday, May 7, 2015

The college semester had ended. My friends from Minnesota Tech were back home, which for some means no longer in Minnesota. I was sitting at home playing video games since I’d worked a morning shift. Michela, Luisa, Sofia, and I are enjoying ourselves when I get a phone call. It's Steve.

“Hi, Steve! It's been a few weeks! How are you?”
“Good, Hannah. Listen, we have work for you. A custom. You're a star. Can you drop by Saturday morning?”
“I sure can! I don't have work tomorrow! Is 9 good?” I asked him.
“Sure! We’ll be ready! See you then!” he said.
“All right! See you!”

The last few weeks saw my friends all enjoy scenes, but I’d turned my one request down because I was focused on exams. I was financially stable now that I didn't have to worry any more, and I knew there'd be a next time. Bondage was always afoot for me anyway. A bondage party at Mary-Ann’s had happened; a real Cool Girls’ Club meeting had taken place to discuss our hopes for the summer. It was big and real!

Late spring had seen my pants and skirts get shorter or replaced by shorts, but Michela remained a constant. Skirt or jeans for her and normally a bandana headband unless she attended mass for which she only wore kerchiefs. I similarly always wore a bandana; today, we were teams. Luisa and I had blue kerchiefs; Michela and Sofia had red headbands. We enjoyed our private games.

It was beautiful to see. No love had been lost between the sisters despite the four year period in which they’d been deprived of each other. Michela had shot their father; did that make her a hero in their eyes once they understood what had happened? Really, it didn't matter; I was their sister's best friend and loved like one of the family.

In recent weeks, big things happened here. The basement had been gutted for new floors, lights, and fresh, bright paint. The room had gone from the location of Michela's torture to a new space. It was where we sat now, in fact. Gone was all the old furniture; nothing remained of the crime scene.

This place now featured two large matching sofas, a TV console, and so forth. It was now the room where the girls could hide when they had friends visiting or, since such was a problem here in Minnesota, hide during severe thunderstorms and tornadoes. I had hidden from many storms in my lifetime, but some followed me everywhere with a vengeance. The girls normally kept the video game console in the family room, but we brought it down with us since Mom Palmeri insisted we be down here during any and all active watches.

“Dang it,” my phone rang again with a number I thought looked familiar, “Hello.”
“Hello? Miss Hannah Larsson?” a kindly feminine voice asked.
“Yes, this is Hannah. Who is this?”
“This is Veronica Stickel from the Minnesota Tech financial aid office…”

I couldn't believe my ears. Through a series of events, Minnesota Tech had an offer I knew I shouldn't refuse thanks, in part, to the College of Psychology. My dream was coming true; I was going to get help and perhaps help others. After sharing my news with my present loved ones, I sent a text to two Facebook groups: Pod F 2013 and the Cool Girls’ Club.

Friday, May 8, 2015

“Good morning!” a singing voice greeted me from Luisa when I arrived.
“Hey, good morning, sweetie! What are you making?” I asked her.
“Where's Michela?” Luisa asked me, and I saw Mom must have left already.
“In the shower, but she’ll be down soon,” I smiled and sat at the table.
“Why do you and Michela share a bed?” Luisa asked me, “Michela says it's wrong.”
“Luisa, Michela was younger than you when your dad started hurting her.”
“I’m serious. Did she tell you why?” Luisa played hardball.
“Because she believes the sin of doing what she does with me is less than the sins she would commit without me.”
“You think it's because of Daddy?” she handled it well for a girl turning 16 this summer.
“I know it is. Luisa, I’m sorry. The Michela you knew before will never come back, but if we all work together she will be just as good and lovable.”
“I never loved her less for anything. I think you're a good friend and truly care about her.”

It was a really messed up situation for real. This family had gone from a hockey star merely being punished for having sex with a boy to the father abusing that same girl to that same girl being in prison for four years for ending the abuse to that same girl now being in an open same sex relationship with her former cellmate. Despite their religious qualms, I was accepted both as Michela’s best friend and as her lover.

“When Michela shot Dad,” Luisa paused, “It was terrifying. At first, I thought she'd gone crazy and was killing us all. Then Mom explained it all, more and more as I got older, and when I was 13 it all began to click. I learned really well.”
“How did you learn really well?” I asked the teenager.
“I learned so well that I did the same thing. Burned my virginity for my 14th.”
“Was this your way of spiting your father?” I understood her motives.
“No one knows but you and that boy. I hope Dad felt it when I did it.”
“You're more bitter than I realized,” I simply observed while she cooked the pancakes.
“Of course I’m bitter! My dad’s a psycho, and my sister is a shell of herself!”
“Your family is broken and hurt but together. Most of my friends have no family; our parents all threw us out, abandoned us, or died.”

Luisa looked at me and sighed; I confused her in so many ways. I was her big sister’s live-in girlfriend despite everyone in this family firmly believing it was wrong, even Michela. But I was good to Michela and to them. I encouraged them in their beliefs despite having none of my own, yet. I was a true criminal who had reformed. Where in the sand was this line that Michela seemed to toe so dangerously?

Yet the girl respected me and seemed to see me as Michela did; a naturally good soul who just hadn't learned how to be good. My goodness outweighed the bad, it seemed. During our little game moments like yesterday, Luisa would often ask to team with me as if she admired me despite what she perceived as my flaws.

“Hannah, I’m glad you moved in,” she started, but then we heard Michela.
“Goooooood morning! How are my scholars?” the cheerful girl entered the room.
“Good morning, sis!” Luisa grinned.
“Someone's happy!” I said and got a kiss from her, and I saw Luisa smile at us.
“I’m happy for you!” my girlfriend explained, “It'll hurt seeing you go, but happiness for you will replace it.”
“I know… I know where I’ll be when I’m not at school though!”

I finally had a place where I was wanted and accepted and could call home. I wasn't a Palmeri or even Italian, but I was loved because Michela loved me. Perhaps that tells you just how good of a girl Michela is and was even before everything that happened.

If I were to say we were doing something that could be considered genuinely bad, the modeling was it. We were fapping dolls for men across the world, and I can't say that I saw it that way. Bondage is erotica, I get that, but I saw it more as being a damsel in distress than a fapping toy. The kidnapped girls in movies weren't there to make guys touch themselves.

My dear Michela was wearing blue jeans, a red t-shirt, and a black bandana headband this time. She smiled now and was aware of why she was smiling. She could look at me and smile because we were friends without the empty lust and passion. She was a new person, but she was still so much the same girl who fell in love with me in prison and who was taken from this house 4 years before.

“Did I interrupt anything?” the smiling hockey player asked us.
“Actually, yes,” Luisa smiled, “I was telling Hannah how happy all of us are that you have her in your life despite what we believe. We love having her.”
“Aw, Lulu, did you really say that?” Michela's eyes brightened.
“Yes, she did. I’m at home with your family.”
“Hannah, Mom will never say this, but thank you for all you've done for Michela. To have my hero back here and to see her smiling again means the world to me,” Luisa was more direct about her feelings than Michela or their mother.
“It's an honor,” I responded, “Michela isn't just a friend or a love interest. She's… a sister.”

We held hands on the way to my dear old jalopy. It was a piece of crap compared to the sparkling machines in the driveway; it suited me just fine. I, too, had proven to be trustworthy under the rust, loose paint, and damaged metalwork. I held the door for my girlfriend and let her take a seat. How I loved loving and being loved, even by the people with whom I wasn't in a sexual relationship! The only problem was she stole the driving seat!

I wore what I call my “naughty schoolgirl skirt” because it's only knee length, plaid in a series of black and red, and a bit floppy. Of course I had a red bandana headband on my head, and I wore a white t-shirt with it. Red wasn't my best color, but I could get away with any color I wanted even if they didn't all look amazing on me.

“It was beautiful the day I opened the door to that old hovel and saw you standing on my front step,” I recalled that November day.
“And me begging you to come to my place for Thanksgiving.”
“And begging me to move out.”
“And you coming to my place for Thanksgiving… after we screwed.”
“‘It was fun, but we like boys more’ you said. Wrong!” I laughed at the memory.
“Hannah,” she seemed hurt by my laughter, “You still don't get it?!”
“What don't I get?” I felt small now.
“It's not a matter of if but when you sleep with a boy. Me, I don't know. Nick was amazing but Daddy… Hannah… It's over for me. I probably can't have kids.”
“Truth be told, me neither. Greg wrecked me, but…”
“I know you want a family. I’m not breaking up with you! You get too much comfort out of the lesbian side of you. So do I! You probably wouldn't marry a guy if he won't let you occasionally play with me, and I feel the same way. You have a dream, and I'm not stopping you. I love you too much.”
“You love me more than I knew…,” she parked the car at Steve’s and put the sunblocker up.
“Do I ever,” she climbed on top of me, “It's wrong, but so good.”

That was the first time either of us performed a sexual act in a car. Michela controlled the entire moment, grinding me and kissing me all the way until we orgasmed. Like we cared about that. I was on my blob anyway and had a pad just in case. I realized I had to make the most of my time; she was right. I wanted kids; that meant a husband. I hoped to one day again have a c-ck inside me, and she considered it too. I admit we each have a dark and moving story about the days we respectively dared let a d-ck enter our bodies, but it's not for now.

Why did Michela let me live with her when she strongly believed that homosexuality was a sin? She clearly believed it wasn't a choice but ingrained in us whether by genetics or as a response to our traumas. It wasn't just me, either; she had crushes on Kylie and Cassie like I had on Joyce.

“Michela,” I took a big gulp, “I want to start going to church regularly.”
“A really bad time to say that,” she groaned, “We’ll talk after.”
“Mmmmm,” I got a big kiss on my lips, “All right.”
“Let’s sit back; see why I got you to leave early? Lose the buzz,” she admitted she tricked me.
“You know something, don’t you? Steve already told you about this custom.”
“Me? Well, of course we talked about it first, because he didn’t want to do a custom you’d hate.”
“You picked today because you know I’m reeling over my baby, didn’t you?”

I accepted that with confidence without knowing what the custom would be. Unlike some of my friends, I could handle a secret being kept from me when there was just cause. We held hands as we walked up to the door and were greeted by Marcy, who was as maternal and kind as ever. We were welcomed inside and asked to take a seat to talk business before the scene.

I took a seat and accepted the glass of orange juice that Marcy offered me. Michela sat next to me, and Steve took his usual place on his recliner. He took a sip from his own juice, and I never noticed just how healthily he personally ate when I was here until now. He had blue jeans, steel toe work boots, and a red t-shirt, and he put on his reading glasses after grabbing a manila folder. He took a piece of paper and began to describe the request to me.

The request was disgusting. It was a request for a damsel-in-distress scene in which I was quite rudely duct taped by Steve. During the scene, he’d come on camera to cut my shirt open, play with my breasts, and abandon me in a typical fashion. There was no way I would do that! I was not letting anyone, especially a man, duct tape me or cut my shirt open. It was over, and I put down my drink.

“No f-cking way,” I said bluntly and tersely, “Am I done, then?”
“Now, Hannah, wait a moment!” Michela kindly took my arm.
“NO! I am not doing it! You b-tch! You knew this and still let him ask me?!”
“Perhaps this is just what you need, like I needed that rubber dog ball gag!”
“I didn’t realize my execution was a fat f-cking joke to you!” I stood up despite her grip.
“It’s not! I love you, Hannah, and I want to see you take back your life from that d-ck!”
“Taped, r-ped, and left to die!” I shook with hysteria, “I barely lived! NO! NO! NOOOOO!”

Then I blacked out.

——————————————————————————————

I am panting as my worn socks are shoved into my mouth. Duct tape wraps about my head 9 times to secure them into my mouth. My crossed wrists have already been put in layers of savage, violent duct tape. My arms are crushed against my torso on either side of my tits and at my waist. I’m wearing athletic shorts, so the tape on my thighs, ankles, and knees is right against my skin. My shirt and bra cut to expose my tits for my killer to grope before he snuffs me.

He has plans first though. He pulls down my shorts and panties and pushes his c-ck into my body, my unwilling body. He gets a huge thrill out of it, one of the heartiest pumps I ever got from him, right into my p-ssy. I’m slung over his shoulder and led to the basement, where I am taped to the water pipe. He leaves me to slowly starve to death down there.

“Hannah! Wake up!” I heard Michela's voice, and I saw I’m on the Moreau's couch.
“Did I?” I rubbed my head.
“You had another panic attack, baby,” she said, “It's OK. I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” I pushed my hair out of my eyes.
“Because, Hannah, I made the custom request. I wanted to see you be happy like the girl I knew in juvie, and I pushed you too far.”
“Michela, you love me so much,” I sat up and kissed her cheek.

I feel this time the memory was different. I am in control. Just as Michela reclaimed her mouth, I could reclaim my former love of duct tape. I trusted Steve, unlike Greg, and I had both Marcy and Michela here to support me. I remembered how I escaped; how I freed Stacy; how I clubbed Greg with that trusty 2x4; how I led Stacy to safety since I knew which neighbors I trusted; how I was voluntarily homeless and living out of my car and chose to humble myself. Every step that got me from being a normal teenager to being here was a series of good and bad choices whether it was my choice or not. It was my choice. My baby didn’t get one. I had a choice not to do the custom, or I could choose to take over my mind and not forever associate duct tape with a cold blooded attempt on my life.

I stood up and began pacing while holding Michela’s hand. Steve and Marcy were sweet, kind, and patient not to throw me out for these repeated episodes. I was a mess, and I couldn’t help it if I was traumatized. I could, however, try to find an outlet or a pathway whereby I could enjoy something I formerly enjoyed. There was no guarantee doing this would work, but I couldn’t die unlike the last time.

“Steve,” I took off my bandana and looked him in the eye, “I’ll do it. Slowly.”
“Hannah, we will do anything to keep you comfortable,” he said.
“You care about me more than my biological parents,” my voice shook a little.
“You’re not the first girl who said that,” Marcy’s voice was even kinder.
“I’m going to go get something to wear,” I forced a smile, “Michela, would you please?”
“Of course, baby,” she took my hand and led me to the basement.
“I might need some encouragement,” I warned them that it might be a minute or two.

A brightly patterned skirt, a nice blue sweater, hose, blue heels, and two kisses from Michela bring it all together. I started shaking at the thought of being duct taped, and I clutched Michela like I clutched Achilles while in juvie. She gave me a gentle kiss on the forehead and whispered something in my ear. I stepped back and asked her to take a picture of me before I went upstairs to face my fears.

Greg was in prison; he had no possibility of parole. The man who beat me, killed my baby, taped me up, and tried to kill me could never hurt me again. If I could face a little roll of duct tape, I’d be able to face anything with time. With my head held high, I let go of Michela and began going up the stairs. As Michela and I had learned in the bedroom, the tool isn’t evil; the user is. Duct tape isn’t evil; Greg is.

With a confident stride, I went back to my orange juice and finished the beverage I had forgotten during my panic attack. I turned to the Moreau’s; they waited for me to give the command. This had to happen on my terms, not theirs. After a hopeful smile from each of them, I decided it had to be done.

“Steve, the sooner you do it, the sooner I can look at Michela again and be comfortable.”
“Let’s go,” he took out the duct tape and began wrapping it around my arms.
“Michela!” I looked at her and started whimpering.
“It’s OK, see?” she said, and she even started taking her own photos of me.
“I’m OK,” I took a deep breath, “I’m OK!” and then I heard the tape snap.
“I have something special for your gag,” Michela took yesterday’s pink socks from her purse.

I instinctively open my mouth to the erotic thoughts of Michela’s socks. It had to be dirty socks, of course, just like Greg had done. But these were Michela’s socks, and I voluntarily took them into my mouth. They tasted so rancid, but they excited me. I loved being gagged with her socks so much that the tape didn’t seem so frightful anymore. Steve put strip after strip of tape on my lips.

More tape wrapped my torso and pushed my tits out. Oh, my tits were perking, and I focused on the girl who’d made this request for my sake. I had to look at her because otherwise I was going to have yet another panic attack. Why was I so scared? I shook violently, but I kept clearing my mind by focusing on her. She loved me; she wanted me to be well; she knew I needed this more than anything else.

Then the tape bound my ankles. Snap! I winced. Then it bound below my knees. Snap! Again, I wince and whimper. Then it wrapped around above my knees. Snap! The job is done, and I’m trying my best not to scream. It’s time to begin the film, which this time comes before the photo shoot. I take a deep breath and look at Michela, and Marcy starts filming.

“Mmmmm!” I started on the camera.
“No, worries, honey, let’s take you to the other room!” Steve picked me up.
“Noooo!” I cried into Michela’s socks while he slung me over his shoulder.
“Just a little transfer,” he said, “We’re already almost there.”
“EEEEEE!” I shrieked, and I’m dropped on the sofa.
“Enjoy your visit,” Steve cackled and left me alone.

I tried my best, and I kept myself from bursting into a fit of hysteria. Steve set up the camera for the photos, and Marcy kept filming my suffering. I wailed a lot into those socks, let me tell you. I found my cries strangely comforting, and the presence of Michela helped matters.

I struggled, swinging my arms left and right, trying to pick at the tape on my legs or loosen that on my arms. I throw my legs up on the sofa, and some of the crying I do is quite real. There has to be a way out of this. The goal of the film is to try to get out or fail trying. I’m failing, but that day one year ago I succeeded!

Greg… I thought you loved me. We had so much fun making that baby. I was taped just in the way I asked you to do. Then we passionately kissed (well, you did) while you explored my body with your c-ck. It was so arousing, so beautiful. You never loved me for a moment! You forced me to kill our baby! That baby did nothing to you! You just enjoyed my looks, the sex, and the free p-rn you made from our sessions. F-ck you! I hate you!

I twisted about and even grabbed my own tit. That baby was hard. I was somehow a bit aroused while stressed; hormones at work. I dropped to my knees on the carpet and started choking up a bit. What a fool I had been. I should have done what all of my friends said and stayed with my grandma; Greg hadn’t bothered me after I’d been sprung from juvie. In fact, he seemed fine with the situation since he knew I wouldn’t squawk to the police and risk my own self as his principal accomplice. Tears rolled down my cheeks while I recalled my foolishness, and I turned away from the camera.

I wiped my tears on the sofa. Those tears were tears of sorrow, for the months of friendship that I deprived myself and, especially, Mary-Ann and Kendra. M.A. and Kenny needed me so much at that time, and I wasn’t there for them. Instead, I hid from them until they all tracked me down because they believed I could be someone good. All this time I had been suffering because every person believed in me except for me.

“MMMMMMMM!” I yelled and resumed my struggle.

I was a human. I was no longer just a piece of flotsam that had been f-cked and left to die by a psychopath. I was loved. I had so many friends–Ashley, Casey, Cassie, Emilia, Jenny, Joyce, Kendra, Kylie, Mary-Ann, Michela, Nichole–people who loved me. I had Grandma Larsson. I had Luisa and Sofia. My life mattered! They all believed I was special; I loved all of them back.

“GAH!” I rolled around so I was sitting on the floor in front of the sofa now.

Most of all, I had Michela. We were nothing without each other, and now we were something again only because of each other. We saved each other’s lives from a hopeless spiraling descent into madness. I loved her so much; she was beautiful inside and out. We were more than simply best friends; we were sisters from different parents. I had that ally that would forgive me every sin I committed and would love me to my dying breath just like Jenny and Nichole had in each other.

“Mmmmm!” I moved my body about in my bondage.

On top of all this, I was a beautiful damsel-in-distress, a bondagette. I was not just F09, prisoner JF11120288, from the Mudville Juvenile Detention Center, the 288th girl incarcerated there at least temporarily in 2012, booked in November. I was a model, and I was a damned good one at that. I starred in the photoset that was the top seller for April 2015. I was a college student, too, and soon to be a Minnesota Tech Eagle. I had a life to live!

“MMMMMM!” I rolled back up onto the sofa, and I fell to the floor.
“MMM!” I grip my heels and let out one last great wail for the camera, but I’m not done yet.
“Come here, gorgeous!” Steve came over and cut the shirt open.
“NOOOO!” I yelled at him and looked at Michela for moral support.
“Nice tits, hot stuff,” he fondled me a little and left.
“Mmmmmmm!” I continued and took my heels off.



I escaped my first experience with death by finding a sharp piece of metal on the floor and chopping the duct tape that had left me to die. Now, I look at Michela, and I feel excitement in me. I escaped my first experience with life by taking my heel and punching it through the tape that bound my arms behind my back. Greg is gone; Hannah is here. I may have been left to die, but I have escaped you again, Greg Lofton. I might never make the nightmares go away, but I can end the grip you have on my mind and soul. Be gone, you piece of sh-t!

“GRM!” I tore the tape off me, looked at the camera, flipped the bird, and unpeeled the gag.
“Hannah!” Michela runs over as I pull out her socks, and we erotically kiss, “You did it!”
“I did!” I embraced her and fell on top of her in the most satisfying kiss we ever shared.
“I’m so proud of you! Baby! I love you so much!”
“He’s gone! He’s gone! I have my life back! Thank you!” and I started crying and holding her.
“Those are tears of joy,” Michela let me clutch her just like we had in the basement.
“Mmmm hmmm!” I nodded and buried my face in her chest.
“I’m calling up all the girls! The CGC, Pod F! We have to celebrate! Hannah, you won! This is so much bigger than Minn Tech! You exorcized the demons! You’re free!”

I won! This was a cause for celebration! Michela excitedly posted one of the pictures she took of me to both the CGC and Pod F groups and told them all to meet us for dinner if they were able to do so. We were going to party in our own little way, and then she revealed just how much she believed in my ability to succeed.

“I already counted up our friends and reserved that many seats for us at a restaurant and a couple more just in case I forgot anyone.”
“You’re the best!” I said, and my phone rang; Michela handed me my phone with a Minneapolis number, “Hello?”
“Is this Hannah?” I heard the voice, of all people, of Cassie.
“Cassie, is that you?” I asked in surprise while Michela finished freeing me from the tape.
“It is! Hannah! OMG! You did it! We’re so proud of you! We knew it would work!”
“What do you mean?” I stood up and stretched, “How did you know about this?!”
“Because me, Millie, and Joyce helped Michela form the idea, silly!” she explained, “She loves you so much that after our last scene she exchanged contact with us to get our opinions on how to help you. Oh, Hannah, it’s an honor to see you change so much over the past month!”
“It would mean a lot to me if you came to the party tonight,” I sheepishly said the words.
“I already made plans. Unfortunately, Millie and Joyce went home already.”
“The last six months I have made or renewed so many friendships. It’s like magic.”

So many friends. So much love. I went from friendless, desolate, and scared to surrounded by so many amazing people. It all happened because of two people, Michela Palmeri and Casey Clark, who believed in me and relentlessly sought me out because they knew I could reach a moment such as this.

Thank you for believing in me.

[AlexUSA3]

Story 11 Chapter 2: The Incredible Triumph of Pod F
Friday, May 8, 2015

“Mmph!” Michela groaned while wiggling on the bed in her spreadeagle bondage.
“Special bondage session for a special girl who made this a very special day,” I said.

We were home alone since Sofia and Luisa were at school; I’d put a washcloth against her crotch so she could orgasm as she wished while wearing the blue jeans. The rope tied her on the futon I loved best for bondage sessions with her. The red t-shirt and black bandana headband were, how shall I say this, beyond sexy on her. I’m sorry, but of all the Cool Girls, Kendra, Michela, and Casey were the best at wearing the Club symbol, not to say that any of us looked bad in them.

In Michela’s mouth were the hose I’d worn during the session; they’d gotten ruined by the tape anyway. A red bandana cleave gag seemed the best for the moment. How I loved this girl, and how she loved me. Our love stretched beyond just this lust; lust was the way we could express it most comfortably. This was the way that felt natural and easy.

“Ah -ove -ou!” Michela orgasmed just as the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get that,” I rolled my eyes and pulled the stuffing from her mouth, “Don’t go away!”
“Very funny!” she yelled at me through the now plain cleave gag.
“Oh, who is it?” I asked myself before looking through the peephole, “Casey! Jenny! Kendra!”
“There’s the hero!” Kendra charged into the house, “Where’s the doll?”
“Upstairs, celebrating in our little way,” I blushed, “Kinky relationship, you know.”
Casey embraced me so tightly, “I knew our efforts to find you were worth it! Nichole and I tried so hard to track you down after you got out, but we found you!”
“I’m glad you never gave up. Come on, let’s go upstairs and not leave Michela alone.”

Jenny sprang like a bunny, and Kendra was full of excitement too. It was good that Kendra and Jenny were now hanging out together; they benefited from each other. They almost looked like identical twins, but there were the obvious differences that I knew from knowing both so well. Those two got to Michela first. Kendra rolled her eyes and laughed at the sight; Jenny giggled a bit and got on the futon on her hands and knees hovering over Michela.

“Hey, girl!” Jenny gave Michela a friendly peck on the forehead, “Was Hannah vamping you?”
“Yeah! You don’t wanna vamp me though,” Michela laughed into the bandana, “I know you!”
“No, I don’t at all,” Jenny wiggled her eyebrows, “but I know some girls who might!”
“Would you untie me?”
“Of course not!” Jenny squeezed Michela’s cheek, “I’m not your girlfriend!”
“I’ll untie you,” Kendra cackled as she started unknotting the ropes.
“No! Don’t do that,” Jenny tried and failed to pull Kendra away, “Let Hannah do it!”
“Trust me, you don’t want to leave them any leeway,” the smaller girl said, and Michela nodded.
“She’s right!” Michela laughed heartily.

Kendra untied the ropes, and Michela got up and quietly excused herself. Our fun little orgy had come to an end, and we didn’t mind in the least. I had my friends here; well, I had the friends who had the time to come over here. It was my day off; it had all been planned so well just for me. Something came to me; I deserved to have this moment! I deserved to be happy! The joy I felt when I realized that.

I expressed as much and began kissing and hugging each of my friends. I was happy! My life… I had meaning! This was so much more than just facing my fears. How far I had come to get to this point! Just 11 months ago, I was living in my car after surviving a murder attempt, and that came just 5 months after I was released from 14 months in prison. How far Michela had come in her 5 and a half months since her release. Sweet Kendra was nearing 2 years of freedom, but her psychological freedom was only a couple months in the making since she finally had ditched the ankle monitor.

I felt the same love that Casey had felt, that love that pursued someone to the ends of the earth because you knew them and knew what would rescue them from the depths. That was the love that Michela had for me, and it was the love I now had for Kendra and Mary-Ann, knowing their sorrows as well as I did now. I had learned to love as my friends had loved me.

“Once a Cool Girl, always a Cool Girl!” Casey said.
“Come on with me!” Kendra started, “Hannn-nah! Hannn-nah!”
“Hannn-nah! Hannn-nah! Hannn-nah! Hannn-nah!” the cheering intensified.
“Stop it!” I was embarrassed, but they picked me up and carried me out of the room.
“Hannn-nah! Hannn-nah! Hannn-nah! Hannn-nah!” down the stairs we went.
“Hannn-nah! Hannn-nah! Hannn-nah! Hannn-nah!” and to the family room.

Those extra seats Michela reserved at the restaurant became very important that night at dinner. I was expecting all of my friends to be there, but there were two surprises in the mix. You might have a guess already where this is going. Michela hadn’t told me where we were eating tonight, and she made me blindfold myself with my headband because of the surprises. Before we left, I was ordered to change into the clothes provided to me, all while blindfolded. All I could tell was that there were sweatpants and a t-shirt.

It was different being the blindfolded one, the one being completely surprised by Michela. Just to ensure my compliance, Kendra and Jenny stayed the day and then rode with us. They acted as my guards on either side of me just like I sat between two guards during my transfer to juvie. It had all come full circle now. My journey began with me being transported without my consent due to my choices, and it ended with me being transported with my consent due to my choices. Michela parked the SUV at the destination after taking a serpentine route to get there, but I had a much more special thing awaiting me.

“Hannah,” Mary-Ann said to me, “You may remove the blindfold. Keep your eyes closed.”
“OK,” I put my headband back in place not knowing what’s coming.
“Open!” I heard the voice of that lovable brunette!
“Ashley!” I started crying and grabbed her in a hug, “You’re out!”
“Mary-Ann got me out early!” she cried too, “It’s so good to finally hug you!”
“I’m so glad to see you again and hug you after all this time!”

I look around, and I see the scheme has been afoot for much longer than I realized. Every single person is wearing black sweatpants, a lavender t-shirt, and a black bandana headband, except Kendra. I had friends– Ashley, Casey, Cassie, Jenny, Kendra, Kylie, Mary-Ann, Michela, Nichole– people who loved me. Even Kristine was in the crowd! In juvenile detention, we wore the same outfit to separate us from the world, but here, tonight, we wore the same outfit to express the infinite depths of our love for each other.

Ashley Calland, though, is the face that truly makes this an occasion worthy of a party. Finally, the last member of my circle of friends is free, and I know Mary-Ann will take good care of the young girl with Kendra’s help. In just another month, Ashley will be an adult. She may be going to live with M.A. and Kendra, but Ashley always considered me to be the big sister she never had, the girl who gave her life meaning when she wanted nothing more than to die and be with her late parents.

That embrace is beautiful. She has been waiting for this moment, and only after she has hugged me does she go through the line, hugging Mary-Ann, then Michela, then Kendra, then Kylie, and then each and every one of our friends. It has been 6 years since she could do this. She was just 12 years old when she got sentenced to 6 years in prison, but now she can hug and love. She has grown to be a bigger girl, about 5’6”, and it’s just the beginning of forever for her.

“Hannah,” she asked me, “Would you help me find out if my grandparents are still alive?”
“It sounds like a fantastic way to begin your own story,” I told her.
“My story never ended; it was derailed by a tragedy.”
“What’s she talking about?” the kindly Jenny interjected.
“My parents were murdered; I killed their murderer; that’s why I went to prison.”
“When you were 12?!”
“Ashley, now’s not the time for this. Tomorrow, you, me, Michela, and Kendra will meet at the local coffee shop, and then we’ll go clothes shopping for real, all right?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Kendra said, “Look at you doing for others what Michela did for you.”
“Yeah!” I hadn’t realized it, “Stick by us, especially Casey and Michela, kid. You’ll go places!”

On that note, all 11 of us entered Teddy’s All-Day Breakfast while wearing our black sweatpants, lavender t-shirts, and black bandana headbands. Of course Kendra was the renegade who wore a lavender bandana instead. To this day, every year, those of us who can will gather once a year at Teddy’s to celebrate The Incredible Triumph of Pod F, and we wear those outfits or at least ones like them. Illness, maternity, and life make it hard for some of us, but no one has missed two in a row yet. Yes, even the non-prison girls do it, and after this we’re joined by the lovely Emilia and Joyce, who would have been here on this day if they could, as well as any other survivors of Pod F or friends who wish to join us in celebrating our rebirths.

My baby would have been 10 years old, and as we sat at that table waiting for our food I told the story, really our story, for all to hear it. It’s quite the story, but it’s quite the triumph as well. We had suffered so much, but the reward had been even greater. This day is no longer the day I lost my baby; it’s the day I truly started my new life; it’s the day that Ashley started hers, too, and we recall this gathering each year as our spiritual birthdays.

I’m a Cool Girl, and I always was. The Cool Girls’ Club Constitution says so. Being a Cool Girl means you take an oath to forever love and cherish your fellow Club members and to never expel a member for any cause. The only one who had expelled me from the Club was myself, and I found myself surrounded by people who would take that oath. Michela and Kendra were already members of the Club; Mary-Ann would earn her membership a week after this; Ashley and Kylie earned their membership by the end of the month. Cassie would bite the bullet in November. I have my two major Facebook groups: “The Bondagettes of Pod F” and “The Cool Girls’ Club”. All the girls in the former are also in the latter; the former is just for business and prison girl talk. As you’ve seen, Michela also took a vow to continue to love me back in juvie, and how glad I am that she did. The misfits of Pod F finally found where they fit. We weren’t misfits; we were Cool Girls.

That’s why I sat at the head of the table with Casey on my left and Michela on my right. Without them, I would have killed myself. They brought me back… from the brink of death… from the end of the line. I was penniless and living in a hovel, and here I am now. I couldn’t have done any of it without them. That’s why, when we raised our juices and coffees for a toast, the toast was dedicated to Michela and Casey, the girls who most truly know what it means to be a Cool Girl.

My story ends here, but there is one more piece of business we need to address.

[AlexUSA3]

Epilogue: Life Goes On

Symbolism

Over the next 2 years, symbolism was a big part of our lives. Lots of them. Tattoos, piercings, dogtags, rings, and bracelets. We all had the dogtags. One had our Pod F bed number on it, so mine said “F09” and the other had our prisoner numbers on the front and our date of arrest on the back. Of course, it was in Courier New font. The bracelet, also in Courier New, had the same information. Mary-Ann’s dogtags had to get a small font for all of her arrests!

On the inside of her left wrist, Kendra had tattooed “Survivor F04,” and accompanying it on the right was “JF11120286.” Courier New, naturally. Kylie had the same, but it was in big letters across her shoulders and spine. She and Kendra got those tattoos together. Mary-Ann still can’t stand Kendra’s tattoos and constantly harasses her in a loving way. Seriously, when we bring the coffee to Kendra’s house because she can’t meet us any more, Mary-Ann asks Kendra when she is “going to get those tats lasered out.” Maddy loves Kendra so, so much.

Then came the belly-button piercings that Ashley and I got.

I have a topaz for my arrest, a garnet for my sentencing and release, a pearl for escaping Greg, and a larger emerald for the triumph of Pod F.

Ashley has a pearl for her sentencing and three emeralds, one for her arrest, a larger one, for her release, and the largest one for the Memorial Day massacre that took her parents away from her forever.

Then the rings.

On my left middle finger is a gold birthstone ring with an aquamarine for me, an emerald for my dead baby, and a sapphire for the baby I finally got to keep. Soon, a tanzanite will join it, and I am busy filming scenes before the baby bump becomes too large. Another baby for me and the man I truly love. I have a silver ring, a simple band like the birthstone ring, that features a stone for each of the girls who made a difference in this tale: Ashley, Casey, Cassie, Emilia, me, Jenny, Joyce, Kendra, Kristine, Kylie, Luisa, Marcy, Mary-Ann, Michela, Mom Palmeri, Nichole, Sofia, and Steve. It was costly; I have no regrets though. I am tight with my money so that I may make such purchases when so moved, and my husband supports me. My stone is the small one in the center, to show how small and ruined I was and how my friends surrounded me and changed my life forever and for the better and turned it to something precious as silver.

Michela has a silver ring equivalent to my belly button piercing, with a diamond for when her dad began hurting her, an amethyst for when she shot him, a pearl for her sentencing, and a topaz for her release. She also has a second silver ring with her birthstone and those of her mom and sisters. Aquamarine for herself, one for me, a ruby for Luisa, an opal for Sofia, and a diamond for her mother. Those are real stones on Michela’s rings. Michela’s mother put the family’s ample finances to work to support her daughter and make it meaningful because, despite never being tested, Michela believes she can’t have children thanks to her father.

Ashley has a silver birthstone ring just like Michela’s. Peridot for herself, a ruby for her mother, and an amethyst for her dad. Hardly a day goes by where Ashley doesn’t thank me for buying her the ring and piercing. Yes, we cry together a lot, and I truly am her big sister in spirit. She may have been released in Mary-Ann and Kendra’s care, but I’m the one she adores.

Photos.

We had a series of photos taken of me, Michela, Kendra, Mary-Ann, Kylie, and Ashley standing together and made into a special optical image. If you come at it from the left, we’re in orange and standing in a line in our prison stance in Pod F; if you come at it from the right, we’re in the black and lavender and sitting or standing around the table in Pod F. When you stand in front of it, we’re all smiling, laughing, and hugging with me at the bottom of a pigpile, and suddenly you will find Joyce, Kris, Cassie, a girl we met after this story, and Emilia in the picture too. Kendra, of course it was Kendra, demanded I be at the bottom as the girl she insists united us all. Many of my friends, including Jenny, have a copy of it, and we all proudly display the big image on our walls so we can proudly say “That’s us” or “They’re my friends, the good happy people.” Thus, in that photo, we see, as we call ourselves, “The Bondagettes of Pod F,” and the girls who joined our circle via bondage modeling.

Of course, there are the individual photos on my wall. Me and Michela. Me and Kendra. The photos of us at Teddy’s over the years. Me and various CGC girls. I know it’s so much, but I need these things because, to be honest with you, I’d collapse without them. I’m still a broken and dead shell in many ways, and so are som friends. The major difference is that Kendra and I deserved to go to prison while the rest of our Pod F friends didn’t. Oh, yeah, we’ve blown tons of money on these symbols. They remind us of who we were and how we’re walking miracles. You can’t usually judge a book by its cover, and few people know at a glance or even a first meeting that any of us were juvenile inmates.

Kendra Kristensen: Always Doing Things Her Way

Kendra was a bondage queen in Minneapolis. Every major studio employed her talents at some point… OK, that’s not saying much, but the few that were in the area saw her show up at least on one occasion, and Mary-Ann was always by her side most of the time. Truly, it was a privilege to spend so much time with them, and I went with Kendra on many adventures and even joined the fun. Modeling with Kendra was like eating out with friends; the company made it more fun.

Then Kendra got married. Something changed when she got married, and she felt that it was no longer appropriate for her as a married woman to be the one getting tied up for the camera, to be the girl of whom dirty and glowing emails were written. During her battle with brain cancer, she submitted a script to be filmed and found her happy place, writing the scripts and occasionally doing the rigging for scenes. She’s officially unretired but only works for pleasure. It’s hard to get tied up for the camera when you’re spending half the time pregnant or nursing! About that…

Kendra jumped headlong into Roman Catholicism and eventually dragged me along with her to the extent that she became my sponsor when I entered the church. I became her daughter’s first communion sponsor and the godmother to two more kids. Oh, goodness, you don’t know this girl at all. Kendra is addicted to three things: coffee, bandanas, and making babies. Recently, she had her fourth child. Yes, her fourth. In 2018, she and Ross had Mary-Ann Elizabeth. Then in spring of 2020 Michael followed. Summer of 2022 bore Danielle Jenny, and in May of 2024 she had Bryson. Kendra continues to do it her way even with child rearing; she knew her parents and loved them. Few things upset her, but the biggest one is the relationship with her parents. In her heart, she still loves the people she remembers from when she was a tween and younger teen. She is raising her children in her way, and she and Ross agree on this issue. Ross is the best; he’s the big brother Mary-Ann and I never had.

When Kendra was sick and possibly dying, only her sister came out of the woodwork at first, begging for a second chance at being a big sister. Little sister followed. Of course Kendra had to give them a second chance. After all, we were living proof that some people deserve second chances. She had no regrets about that or, eventually, giving her parents a second chance too. I am so proud of her for repairing her relationship with her family after all those tense years.

Kylie Svensson: Making a Difference

Kylie is doing great and has her own little apartment now. She works as a counselor at the Mudville juvie, taking time each day to talk to kids as well as helping identify any underlying conditions affecting them. She has a big heart for real and perhaps pours her heart into juvie more than any of us; she loves those kids. They’re the children she will never have. You see, Mr. Reardon ruined Kylie worst of all; she can’t have children. Ever.

Kylie still models for Tied After Class and a couple of other studios. Bondage is part of her life, and she is still the orgasm and breathplay queen. Marriage isn't on her horizon; she's firmly not into either gender enough for that. You could say Mr. Reardon ruined her forever. She still struggles with depression, but she uses her struggles to help everyone around her.

Hannah Larsson: Things Will Never Be the Same

I’m ruined. I still have night terrors, but now I wake up next to the man I love enough to have a daughter of our own. I met him in college, and after a long relationship we finally fornicated and had a shotgun wedding. The girl’s name is Michela Kendra, of course. Baby #2 will be born in September 2024!

I did go to Minn Tech, and I did finish my degree. After a tearful Christmas reunion, I thought things were fixed with my parents. Nope. I moved to North Carolina, got to appear in multiple scenes with Elizabeth Andrews and Lew Rubens, and soon was back in Minnesota. I was now rejected for being a Catholic. Fine. I'm done with them, and I no longer am saddened by it. My BPD is treated by Dr. Sheridan, whom I still see on a regular basis, and there will forever be the streaks of manipulation or despondency but nothing beyond an episode that lasts a day or two.

I go to work and sit next to one Mrs. Jennifer Copley at my job. Yes, I’m a guard in Pod F at the Mudville juvie, and it is as rewarding as I hoped it would be. I do modeling work, and it brings me much needed emotional relief and helps balance my episodes of BPD.

Michela Palmeri: Defender and Kinkster

The dream expressed in Story 9 came true. Michela is a youth advocate at the Mudville Juvenile Detention Center. Yes, she defends the charged kids against the prosecution, though she morally struggles with some cases. The job, despite all the challenges, brings her true joy.

Michela lives at home and sleeps in the same bed, although occasionally Kylie or Ashley will sneak into the bed. She is firm in her stance, but she made a big leap when she let a man flirt with her in 2022. Nothing came of it, and she wanted it that way. She does not know what life has in store for her, but she isn't worried anymore. She still has triggers, and the trauma is never leaving. It was a big day for her, the day she finally tried having regular, consensual, bondage free sex with a man. That is a story all in its own that I won’t explore here.

“Why did he do it?” is still her most frequent expression, but it no longer is said so fearfully.

Michela is a frequent model at Tied After Class and a couple other studios. There is a thirst in her that only is satiated by bondage, and she has had quite the journey in exploring her sexuality. Her journey really cannot be summarized in a paragraph. Is she asexual, lesbian, or bisexual? Even Michela doesn't know the answer.

Luisa thankfully never got into bondage modeling, but she did get into bondage as it turned out. She is now married and has a beautiful baby boy. She loves the innocent kind of games that her big sister taught her as a teenager, and there is nothing more than tit exposure allowed when she is in the room.

Ashley Calland: The Starlet

Ashley Calland volunteers at the Mudville juvie too, in a similar capacity to Kylie, talking to the girls and offering them encouragement via programs, assisting the priest at mass, and so many other things! No one has come as far as she has, and none of us struggle like she does. You see, Ashley is still a diamond in the rough, but now she lives with me. Her life had no stability after her release from juvie until she moved in with me. She continues to work at Best Buy since it gives her the flexibility to pursue both her passions in volunteering and in bondage. Ashley did try to go to college, but she dropped out after her first semester due to the stress. Ashley is more than a competent adult, but she refuses to live alone. She likes living with me because we have no sexual attraction to each other.

As a model, Ashley is a queen. For her 18th birthday, she asked me to set her up for her debut. Now, she could probably make a living doing it if she wished. We all have the same religious qualms about it, but we all do it because it is the only effective escape we have found from our pasts.

I fulfilled my promise. I found Ashley’s grandparents, all four of them! All were alive and still in France, wondering what had happened to her! As it turned out, some of her relations were in this country, and at Christmastime Ashley flew to France to reunite with her family for the first time in nearly a decade. As it turned out, her grandparents were not too old, and she still goes to see them twice a year.

Mary-Ann Voisin: The Wildcat

Mom. Wife. Aunt. Dominatrix. Submissive. Delivery driver. Owner. Manager. Mary-Ann is all of those things. She is married to Nate and has a girl named Penny, Penelope Kendra, after our dear friend. In addition, Mary-Ann now, along with Kristine, owns and operates Tied After Class and a separate studio entitled Maddy Tied Her. Steve and Marcy retired, but Kristine and Mary-Ann bought the bondage supplies and the naming rights to keep it going.

I get to see Mary-Ann at work sometimes; I get a Ring doorbell alert for a package being delivered to my door by my favorite FedEx driver. Without M.A., some of us would not be doing modeling, but for her we’ll do some stuff and even, at least for the single girls, stick a phallus inside their body and buzz them until they're going stir crazy. M.A. is a wild kinkster.

Maybe she's not crazy. Her childhood really messed her up, Mr. Reardon took a notch out of what was left, and Kendra’s illness ruined her. She was convinced Kendra would die, and she let it tear her down. She’s a good, faithful Catholic, a good mom, and a good wife, but Mary-Ann struggles to cope with life at times. Outbursts are common and mostly manifest as quietly going to bed and crying herself to sleep. Thankfully, she never blames other people or hates herself.

Perhaps, most importantly, in 2023, Mary-Ann got a phone call from total strangers: her parents! It had to be said that they hadn’t really changed; they were mostly curious about the rumors they had heard about their daughter and if the rumors were true. Nothing came out of it for M.A. but closure. She has extremely meaningful relationships with the rest of her Voisin family, though.

The Others

We need to discuss Emilia Albuquerque, Cassandra Novak, Joyce Verdi, and Kristine Thompson as well. I’ll be brief.

Things are the same for Kristine. She does the bulk of running Tied After Class nowadays as a full-time job. She has no children like most of us do, so she’s free to just work work work! I think she enjoys the work despite all the stresses associated with it; it’s not easy dealing with all the drama of running a studio, vengeful models, bad models, and piracy. Somehow, she handles all of it without losing her temper for even a moment.

Emilia was so moved by our story that she permanently set up base here in Minneapolis and also works as a rotating counselor at the various juvies scattered across the metro, in conjunction with the Minnesota Tech program. She still works as a model and loves bondage in her own way; she is now married to a man she loves very much. I dragged her back to Catholicism along the way as well.

Joyce’s life went to hell in a handbasket over the years. First, her dad died. Then her boyfriend violently r-ped her. Then her mom died. This all happened in 8 months from June 2016 to early February 2017. She got married eventually, but she has had several miscarriages, leading to her one day coming home to find her husband with another woman. The stress of annulment was so much that she now weighs less than 100 pounds and refuses to eat enough just to reach a healthy (for her height) weight. She got her Ph.D. in December 2023, and in August of 2024 she’ll start a professorship at the University of Minnesota. Modeling is like therapy for her, but she doesn’t do it too often. She has me, Michela, and other friends here in Minneapolis, and she is finally in a place where she feels like her life makes sense.

Cassie is a mom now. She’s happy, but she lives in Florida now and works at NASA. As such, none of us see her too often. We lost core members of the Cool Girls’ Club, both the girls from Mudville and from Minnesota Tech, to far flung places, and as adults the largest population is in the Twin Cities still but with 2 girls in Indianapolis, a few in Madison, Wisconsin, and even one in New Jersey! Cassie happily travels to those of us about whom she cares, though, because she loves traveling so much. The only limitation is her location, but she is always a phone call away in case anybody is in distress. She might not like bandanas, but she is a true Cool Girl.

In Conclusion

We're all messed up in our own little ways, but we can live. We're able to function as ordinary members of society with an odd definition of fun and a different background from the majority of people we meet. None of us are su!c!de risks or crazy, so, even if we suffer, they're problems that aren't a threat to ourselves or others.

TUGs are a normal part of life, even kinky and sexy games. By the end of 2015, all of my Pod F modeling crew were members of the Cool Girls’ Club. We had a place in the world where we're wanted, loved, and appreciated. Once a Cool Girl, always one. I learned that the hard way, and I’m sure glad I learned the hard way rather than not at all.



I’m a Cool Girl who went astray. I was arrested for my crimes, sentenced to juvenile detention, spent a year incarcerated, made new friends, and was released. I rejected all who truly loved me and whom I truly loved and found myself so desperate for money to survive that I turned back to what the Cool Girls’ Club taught me: the love of rope and gags. Prisoner F09 became a bondage model. My friends sought me out; through them I discovered the real me, got a second chance at friendship, and redeemed myself in all of our eyes, including my own.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading my story of redemption, second chances, and self-discovery.

THE END