Stories of Tie Up Games

The Repossessor

In each of these brief vignettes, a victim narrates her encounter with "The Repossessor," a girl of whom some already had the privilege of being a friend and others a stranger. At the end of each of the stories, though, the victim wishes she had paid her debts. I am trying to work with various narration styles to get a feel for different characters and see which ones provide the best narration in this kind of story. Your criticisms of the voices (especially if they come across as too similar) is much appreciated as this story is experimental for me. Many thanks for reading!

STORY 1: Missy Mischief Meets the Repossessor

Zip! Glide! Speed! The motorcycle casually races along the highway. I'm not speeding, but it still looks thrilling through the GoPro strapped to my friend Genevieve's chest. Genevieve rides as my passenger as we go along, the wind blowing my wavy blonde locks behind me as I speed along the road. The royal blue Kawasaki Ninja is my baby, my new baby, and I treat her like an absolute gem. She set me back many hard-earned dollars, but she is worth every single penny. I may have done something dirty, though, and wound up getting his bike for, well, free.

I love sport bikes. With my last bike, I used to gear up and do track days on a racing course, and I never have felt so much energy like I did on those rounds. Every track day, I'm there, and I'm a sight just because I'm a girl and I ride with both confidence and a desire to be a great-grandma. My grandparents would be pretty upset if I got killed doing something stupid on a bike. My dear readers, please ride responsibly. Wouldn't it be awful if I turned myself into burger and gristle? I stop the bike in front of the house, and we get off and take off our helmets.

I don't want to become ground meat, and neither does Genevieve. That's why we have good old fashioned protection! I mean we're wearing jeans, black combat boots, and black leather jackets for thick padding. We're very similar, by my request. We both have leather skirts over our jeans, but Genevieve's is red while mine is black. I've got a white crop top tank top, but she has a gray crop top t-shirt. I'm rocking a blue bandana headband, but hers is red. Freaking stylish, yeah?

"That was a great ride. Thank you," Gen's French accent is cute, "My boyfriend sold you this?"
"Thanks. Yeah. It's a sweet ride and a sweet deal," I am practically bouncing to the front door.

Genevieve is a big strong girl. She is so sleek and feminine, though, and I wish I could carry my femininity so well. Her dark brown hair is so sexy with the effects of the helmet, but we both are a little vain about our hair and fluff it out to undo the helmet head. We run our fingers through it in an attempt to undo any wind-blown snarls. We also adjust our tops. Today, we're wearing our cute navel piercings, Gen's featuring those emeralds and mine a cheap sapphire that matches my bandana. Unlike Genevieve, I have several of these to wear whereas she has only one.

Just as I open the door, everything goes straight to hell in a handbasket. Genevieve's arm wraps around my chest, and her other hand gags me. Her grip is tight and heartless. Fear seizes me. I am in deep trouble, because frankly I just cannot do anything about this big French girl's ability to bench press twice my weight. She is going to compress my lungs.

"Missy, you bought this bike off my boyfriend, and your check bounced at the bank."

Then, she shoves me into the house, shuts the door, and deadbolts the door. Her leather satchel is a bit ominous. She reaches out and grabs me. Effortlessly, she pulls my coat off me and makes a striptease out of an already awful situation, but I'm wearing nothing under my top at the moment because I'm kinky! Seriously, sister, what else are you going to take that is mine and not yours. First, you say you're stealing my bike, and then you steal my coat. Ummm… what is that coil of white rope for, and why do you casually have white rope in your satchel anyway?

"I'm going to tie you up while I figure out how you'll pay my boyfriend. Understood?"
"Gosh, ummm, I don't know… dunno how that happened," I sputter the words.
"You know what you did," she snarls, spins me around, and ties my wrists together.
"Hey, no need for this!" I cry out, "Surely we can work something out."
"Yes, Missy, let's play a game. It's called Repossession!" her voice is awfully sinister.
"Damn you!" I rarely curse, "Untie me right now! This… why… this is illegal!"

Yeah, like I don't know that I screwed them over, right? I thought I'd pass a check on an empty account and get the bike for nothing. Am I a punk or what? Maybe I kind of deserve this as an act of vengeance for what I did? I am in really hot water now; I'm screwed. She is even tying my elbows together, and with it she is reducing my chances of escape.

She picks me up and throws me onto the table now. Genevieve's really mad, and she takes it all out on me, using some more white rope to tie my ankles together and even wrapping the rope in my heels so that I cannot get the boots off. This is an awful situation. She's not being reasonable about this at all! Maybe I could just, I dunno, write a check that won't bounce? She ties more of the white rope on either side of my knees.

"C'mon! I… I wasn't trying… to bounce the check," maybe I am being dishonest?
"You are a pathetic liar," Gen tightly gags me with a knotted green bandana, the fabric pulling tightly against my skin. She knots it behind my head with speed, efficiency, and tightness.
"No! Hleathe hon'h hu thith!" I am pathetically begging for freedom at this point, "Ah'll hay!"
Genevieve callously ignores me, taking another rope and tying a breast harness to accentuate my bust, and she cinches it tightly so that it also restrains my arms. She is one angry girl! There is no sweet talking my way out of this anymore. I am trapped. She takes out a roll of duct tape to wrap my face. The black tape takes away what little intelligibility I had left. She then takes out one last rope and puts me in a hogtie upon the table. Excuse me? She exposes my boobs, too!

"As much as I'd love to stay and play with your bust, I have a bike to reclaim."
"Mmmmmmm!" I try to say more, but I sure can't right about now. She pinches my nipples.
With that, Gen shows me the keys, "Don't contact us until you have real money. See you around, sport," and then she shuts the door, leaving me hogtied and gagged by myself.

I struggle against the ropes as best as I can, but it is useless. Outside, I watch Genevieve roll the bike up onto her boyfriend's waiting trailer. She waves farewell to me before the truck drives away with my bike and without me. I can only wail in protest, but, even just in the front yard, I am not heard. I continue to pathetically struggle for several minutes until I hear the sound of the front door unlocking and the voices of my roommates as the scene fades out…

END OF STORY 1

Repossessor? I like the Name - and the short compact Narratives! Waiting eagerly for the next!

Nice idea. Well told.

Omg, that actually sounds so hot at the end. I'd reckon that would be such a hot predicament to be in

I liked the story; the dialogue certainly sounded authentic.

STORY 2: Roxanne Rutledge Meets the Repossessor

I love the howl of the wind, the sound of my foot pushing the clutch, the feel of the transmission when I shift gears, the roar of the engine. My Mazda MX-5 is my baby, and no one can drive her but me. It took a lot to get this baby, and the sleek black car is a vinyl top. I take care of her like a child since I have no children of my own. Yet. OK, I'm single and virgin, so what? The black fabric is comfy. The texture of the shifter is divine. My long wavy dark brown hair is carried by the breeze but restricted by my camouflage headscarf bandana. The curved neck of my tank top allows the wind to envelop my arms and chest like a blanket. The breeze fills my nostrils with freshness. My camo leggings. khaki socks, and khaki combat boots are shielded from the breeze, but the boots give me such control of the pedals.

Don't f-ck with me.

In the passenger seat is my friend, Genevieve. She is stylish and in control of herself. The red turtleneck t-shirt is classic for her. The black leather knee skirt adds a little shine amd edge to an already tough girl. The red pantyhose and black combat boots let you know she is no ordinary girl; she runs her own life as she sees fit. The black bandana headband balances the colors, gives her a gangster vibe, and is outright cute. Her dark brown hair is only shoulder length and freely blows in the breeze. Her chocolate brown eyes are cold, and she is eerily content yet silent. Her black fabric satchel brings an authoritative air with her, and unsettling authority.

"That was amazing!" I pull off the road, into the backyard, and under a tree, "What. A. Ride!"
"Yes, thank you," Gen's gratitude is oddly formal.
"She needs a bath and a shine. Would you like to help?" I ask my friend with kindness.
"She is a beauty, but it's a shame she's not yours," Gen drops, "Should have paid your bills."
"I pay my bills," I turn at this point, "What ever makes you think otherwise?" I look up at her.
"The three consecutive months for which you have not paid me or my boyfriend, my dear."

The trees above are a canopy allowing light to filter through. The green leaves above, the gravel of the driveway below, and the open grass and dirt around. We're behind the house. It all seems so peaceful, and now this woman, this repossession agent, is here barking orders at me! Yet, she sinisterly grabs a piece of white rope and plays with it in her hands.

"You're f-cking crazy!" I step back, but my dark brown eyes are all black now, "I pay my debts on time! It's just been a slow period. I was making this month's payment, I swear!" She does not care for my story, though, and she spins me around with ease before using the rope to bind my elbows together behind my back. I'm flexible, but it isn't pleasant. "C'mon, you f-cking c-nt, untie me right now! My boyfriend wrecks b-tches like you!" She ties my wrists, too.

"You don't seem to know when to shut up, my dear," Gen coldly says while readying more rope to punish me, "You're no longer in control of anything. I rule this backyard right now," and then she shoves me forward over the side of the car so that I fall, head on the passenger seat of the car, "I think you should realize this soon," and she positions my hips to pivot over the car door.

"Morherf-cker!" the ropes dig into my arms in unpleasant fashion, "I'll kill you!" I kick out, but she is binding my ankles together, "Guh! Let me go, you psychopath!" and is tight and cinching it well, and she moves my socks so the ropes are right against my skin, "I can't believe you!"

"You are pathetic, really," she soullessly begins tying rope above my knees, "You seem to think I have not taken command of this situation, you can boss me around, and you can scare me. Quite contrary, I am in charge, and I will scare you into learning a very important financial lesson."

"Yeah!" I gritted my teeth and felt the fibers digging into me, "I took out a loan from a predatory psychob-tch and her f-ckstick boyfriend!" but she moved to roping below my knees with similar intensity, "Please, for the love of God, untie me right now! You motherf-cking c-nt!" She ripped me out of the car and forced me to my knees on the ground beside the car while she stripped my feet, "You're a sicko! You wouldn't dare!" I snarl at her, but she jams my socks into my mouth.

"I dared," the heartless tone sends a chill down my spine; she really is a psychopath.

Salty, sweaty, cottony socks fill my mouth and antagonize my taste buds while she applies strips of sticky double-sided tape to my face. I try to spit out the socks, but my lips are sealed for good by this maneuver. She folds a black bandana into a wide strip and ties an OTM gag, knotting the bandana tightly as if her goal is to see how much pressure my face can handle. I'm helpless. It's all too readily apparent that she is a total professional and has done this many times.

The rope winds around under my boobs, and the fibers dig into me with the first pull on the rope. "MMMM MMMM MMMMMMM!" I try to yell at her. The lack of emotion in her motions is detectable; she is cold and selfish. "Mmmmmm!" She wraps rope above my boobs and cinches it through my armpits. With each motion, I feel more constricted, like an anaconda wrapping me to crush my bones. "Gmm mmmm mmmmm!" The waist and crotch rope is similar, but it feels more invasive because of that rope that seeks to irritate my womanhood. She is diabolical. She makes it a double crotch rope, with an invasive pass under my panties and a pass over my pants.

One final rope insults me: it winds between my ankles, and then despite my gagged protests she throws it over a tree branch. I am dropped to the ground, and then the rope drags me towards the tree. I am hoisted into the air upside down, and the rope winds between my legs and the branch many times before it is cinched well and knotted above the branch. I am so close to the ground I can feel my hair barely scraping the earth. Before she leaves, she pulls my shirt to expose me.

"Next time, you pathetic mess, pay your debts!" Gen hisses at me.

I helplessly watch, upside down, as she hops over the side of the car and into the driver's seat, and she puts the key in the ignition. She never even looks at me as she drives away in my car. "Mmmmmmmm!" I yell after her and absolutely freak out. I am thrashing like I'm having a seizure, "GMMMMMMM!" Instead, my bandana falls off my head and onto the ground. "Hell -e!" I call into my gag, "Humun hell -e!" but the scene fades away with my last indignity…

Someone please help me…

END OF STORY 2

STORY 3: The Twins Meet the Repossessor

When you're a twin, you're unstoppable. Awesome is cruising around in the car you just bought with the windows down. Your hair blows around, the wind cools you off, and the shades add a touch of sportiness. We're listening to some beats and bopping along, and we. are. cool. I think the best parts are being blonde-haired and green eyed! Yeah! Green! Sweet!

I'm awesome: red bandana headband, black polo, red jeans, white socks, black canvas sneakers. My twin isn't: black bandana headband, red polo, black jeans, white socks, red canvas sneakers. Twin power, only we're cruising along in a… I don't know squat about cars. My twin does. Ah, inline turbo 4 White Honda Civic. Best is singing different parts of your chosen songs because you have teamwork. Yeah, we fight, but we team at least 90% of the time.

"K, I have a mandatory virtual meeting now." she parks the car in the driveway.
"That sucks. Too bad your boss is a dictator," I am obligated to taunt her a little.
"He is not! He's a… um… well… an authoritarian! Yeah!" she watches me unlock the door.
"That suggests so many other bad things. Stop sucking and get a better job."
"I'm going to my meeting," we put our shades on the entry table, "See you in an hour."
"If Ivan the Terrible will let you get away so soon! Last meeting took 6 hours!"

She goes up the stairs two at a time, and I go to chill in the kitchen. I'm obviously me once your desperate search for a difference between us notes the slash in my cheek from the bizarre time a soccer ball tore a chunk of my face. I was a trooper! Seriously! 8 years old, didn't cry. I head towards the kitchen for something to chase that lunch. After dinner mints or the like will do. I pass through the door and instead am grabbed by some absolute stranger. A hand goes over my mouth, and an arm wraps around my chest. She's really strong. I'm not escaping.

"I'm your friendly neighborhood repossession agent," a feminine voice hisses in my ear. She's a strange one. She's got a black turtleneck T and a pink leather miniskirt. She's got fishnet hose, a pair of pink pumps, and a pink bandana headband that supports it all. Creepy yet absolutely badass, yes? I've never met a repossession agent before. How do they look and behave?

She pushes a two inch electric green ball bag up to my lips now, but I resist her. I've got to fight her. I played soccer for 17 years and now coach it; I am so fighting back! You gotta fight to maintain your dignity! Unhand me, you repossessive monster. Man, she is so strong! I give her a good fight, but she's going to win because of how she jumped me. Big ball gag! It fills my mouth, and she tightens the strap. I guess it's a classic 2 inch because it doesn't hurt.

"Bailey Edwards, you will pay for your resistance," her Frenchiness is apparent now that she's in a normal tone. She folds my arms for a boxtie, and she works more of her coils of rope to hold it in place with a detailed harness. Do you mind, Miss Repossession Agent? You fondled my boobs quite deliberately. The harness has it all: under and over the boobs, the V between, passes through the armpits for cinching. Ropes go to my upper arms and my lower arms. I'm toast.

She ties two crotch ropes for my bondage. Two! One invasively goes under both my pants and undies, and a second one goes over my pants. "This should make sure you have a good time," she wiggles her eyebrows as she says her sickening words. She is such a freak! Perverted and repossessive! Goodness! Hun, take what you wish and get the heck out of my life. Forever preferred. She used five ropes to do all this to my torso. I hate to think of what's next.

She forces me to sit on the table and uses more of her white rope to tie my ankles. This Frenchie is a big strong girl with straight dark brown hair that swings around her shoulders. Her eyes are as if she has no soul, but they're still dark brown and faintly human. Faintly. "Mmmm," I drool from the ball gag, which gives her some sick satisfaction. Dang, that rope is tight. I feel a significant burn in my crotch with every motion; it is a crotch rope after all.

Overkill, much? She ties my legs in four places as if I'm not already screwed. Please! The ropes, besides the ankle one, are on either side of my knees and a few inches below my waist. It will take me a month of Sunday's to get out of this without help, but she's coming back for more to torture me. Excuse me! NO FONDLING! Pardon my French for a moment, but what a f-cking b-tch! I yell at her as loudly as the gag allows, but my sister's upstairs, unable to hear what's happening because she has headphones on her ears. Even if she didn't, she would be unable to hear my gag talk through this… ugggh! Now, I'm drooling everywhere!

Here I am, totally screwed. Some power-tripping freak is feeling me up like she wants to explore my body in ways I will not allow. Now, she's wrapping rope around my neck and thighs to bring them together. Oh, this cannot be real. She's cinching it tightly. I'm balltied with no chance of getting myself out of this without my sister's help. I'm so aggravated! Augggh! I am drooling all over the table! I just polished it this morning! Why must it be this way?

"Hey, sis! My meeting got canceled!" I hear my twin bounding down the stairs.
"MMMM! MMMMMMMMMM!" I try to warn her, but I can't be heard.
"Be quiet, or this will become a choke rope!" the repossession agent threatens me in a whisper.
"This is not like you at all. Are you OK?" she's coming into the kitchen.
"I'll teach this one a lesson, too," the agent hides around the corner, waiting for her.
"OH. MY. GOD. Who did this to you?!" and it's curtains for her, too, "MMMMMMMM!"

The sinister French girl with the unbelievable strength slams my sister against the wall and ties her wrists behind her back, crossing her wrists in the classic and securing them with a plus sign shape of rope that winds in more ways than just that. This woman isn't the biggest one I've met, but I've never encountered strength like hers. Where did this beast come from, anyway?!

"Who are you?!" my sister demands, but a yellow ball gag, the same as the one in my mouth, is pushed into her mouth and secured without any immediate response from the kidnapper. Those fishnet stockings must be it. Yep. I'd like to wear a pair of those, actually. Don't you think I'd be stunning in those? Oh, right, sorry, sis, we're just a little busy at the moment.

She introduces herself, "I am Genevieve Badeaux," the French girl coldly speaks while crushing my twin's arms using a harness much like the one she tied on me, and she's even fondling her as she does the wicked deed. Hey, you! NO FONDLING!, but our protests are garbled nonsense. "Hailey Edwards, I am a repossession agent, and you've failed to pay your debts that are owed on your little Honda out front. I am here to take back what is rightfully mine."

Hello? I am not behind on a payment unless she screwed up. Either way, that car is not rightfully yours; it's ours. Poor Hailey is getting the same kind of double crotch rope like I got, and man do I have the most agonizing burn going down there. It's horrible when this happens; I need lots of stimulation to climax though it takes only a little to make me feel the burn. And it burns. I need to climax so badly. The worst is that it takes little to make me burn, but I can easily take 20-45 minutes between climaxes. Ouch.

She seats Hailey on the table the same place she sat me and repeats the exact same events, tying Hay's legs in the same four places. My twin even starts drooling right then, but she will never be able to catch up to me in the great drooling contest. Seriously, there is a huge puddle underneath me, or to the right of me, since I am on my right side on my own table. The b-tch repossession agent is so generous, and she is hogtying Hailey on the floor. I think I hate her.

Dear Jesus,
Is it too much to wish that I'd stop drooling? Please? Thanks!
Love, Bailey

Oh, great, here come blue bandanas. Please be using them to mop up the drool. Maybe an OTM gag so the drool goes nowhere? It'd be really nice if you just untied us. Pretty please? Natch; a pair of blindfolds! Why didn't I think of that? Silly me, I thought you found a sense of humanity after psychologically torturing me for the last 20 minutes. But nooooooooooo! You know what? F-CK. YOU. Hailey would wash my mouth out with soap if I said the F-bomb out loud. She'll blush just reading some of the words I've said in this. Yeah, I'm Crusty Edwards, and she's Sweet Edwards. Not always, but I am decidedly spunkier than she is.

"Thank you, ladies, for playing," she enjoys one last fondle before she leaves, "But I must go. I hate having to drive a Honda, cheap piece of junk, but work is work. So long, cheapskates."

And she abandons us just like that! No untying us. No giving us hope. Not even untying just a wrist rope. Nothing. She's abandoning us with no way to get to each other. Just us here in an inescapable pickle. We're getting aroused just enough that my crotch burns, and we're left in this position with no hope of climax. I can't forget the best and most important part of all though: that we're drooling. Drooling. Drooling. DROOLING!

"Mmmmmmmmmmm!"

END OF STORY 3

Nice, short and straight to the Point. Well done!

STORY 4: Lucille Rossi Meets the Repossessor

Wind in my hair. Wind flowing under my dress. Air surrounding me. It was beautiful, and I felt more alive than ever. An amazing day. Blue sky. Green trees. Birds and insects doing their job as they're meant to do. My curls danced in the breeze. Nothing beats driving with the windows down on a day like today. I felt so alive, so happy, so upbeat, so full of meaning and life. I love spearmint gum. It's my favorite. Goes with the mood of this scene. It was wonderful.

I looked alive too. My red sleeveless summer dress had a curved cleavage and hugged my figure perfectly. White pantyhose made my legs obvious even if my dress came past my knees. Pink open-toed pumps and a pink bandana headband showed me to be elegant. Tough. Sweet. I'm a flirtatious girl. To other girls. It's a fun life when you're me. Hello, who was this?

There was a hottie on my porch. Bad girl, but one I'd flirt with in a second. Nice skirt! Blue's a classic, especially blue denim. Red knee socks made her playful. The white slip on shoes were a nice match with the white tank top and its curved neck. The red bandana headband made her an absolutely gorgeous sight. The black satchel and black leather jacket gave me a bad vibe. Bad, bad vibe. I tightly held my purse. The shoulder length brown locks and empty brown eyes made me shudder. Bad news on my front step. Hottie but a bad news hottie. I jumped out of my black Chevy Suburban. She'd been mine for months now. No car thieves, please.

"May I help you?" I formally asked her in a cold but polite tone; she didn't blink.
"Are you ze oh-ner of thees SUV?" the French woman demanded, "Ze one you no longer own?"
"I own this SUV fair and square, and I'm not taking flack from you," I walked away from her.
"You didn't pay yoor debts, and that means thees Chevrolet belongs to me," she was bad news.
"I think you'd better leave before I call the police to let them decide," I needed to get inside fast.
"You are not walking away from me," she barged into the house behind me!

The woman closed the door behind her. Bolts it. I'm trapped. Trapped in my own home. That's a bad sign. It was fight or flight. Flight wasn't an option. In better circumstances, I'd ask her if she would like a tryst. She was a hottie. A bad hottie though. A dangerous hottie. A hottie that seemed hell bent on hurting me. Why are the sexiest ones always the worst? Seriously.

She pulled a coil of white rope out of her bad news purse. It was fight time. I knew I could take her. Winning wasn't guaranteed. I was a hockey player. I'm a brawler at heart. Nothing is like dropping gloves to make you feel really alive. I had no choice. Time to lunge. At my attacker. To drive her out of my home. To show her that I'm the stronger girl. Tie her up with her rope.

"Miss, if you believe I'm remiss, we can talk in your office. You're kind of cute. Sexy. Edgy."
"You're ze one in truhble, noht me," she uttered without any emotion. Mechanical. Evil.

She was strong, but I was stronger when I gave it my best. She was a dirty player. We stood up, and she slew-footed me. Sin bin, possible ejection, definitely a five minute major. Blatant move with intent to injure. Dirty move. She put her knee on my back. When cheaters cannot win fair and square, they go for the rough moves. The unfair attack.

Rope. Roughly tying my wrists. Tightly bound. The fibers roughly abraded me ever so slightly. I'm trapped. She enjoyed this. She enjoyed me. She lusted for me. In another life, we'd be in bed right now. Maybe I'd still be tied up. But it'd be fun. Sexy. Kinky. Not this. This was an overdose of aggravation. This was kidnapping. This was illegal. I was kidnapped.

"You fight this rough in ze bedroom?" she had a devilish smirk. Deliberate. Cold. Evil.
"Always," I try to charm her again, "If you'd like, we can go upstairs and—"
"It's almost a shame I have to do theese to zumone so booteefull," she cut me off. Almost.
"Oh, come on, I'll give you a good time and a check for whatever money you want for the SUV."
"Mmmm," she brought our lips together so spicy I almost c-mmed right there, "Beezness."

Ropes. Lots of ropes. She ties my ankles with it. Tight tie. Secure. Cinched well. I was stuck. I was in her bondage world. Her play thing. My hose prevented the rope from abrading me, and her rope wrapped into the heels of my pumps. But it wasn't necessary. None of it was necessary. She's an evil being. I wished I could bring her to justice, but instead she was binding my thighs. Bondage domination by a captor who loved nothing more than an unsubmissive captive.

Bondage. I was her captive. Helpless. I struggled, but the rope was strong. It firmly held me so I couldn't escape. When she tied the harness, she felt me up, enjoying the moment. Interspersed were kisses. Passionate kisses. She wanted me like I wanted her. Mutual desire. Bondage love of the best kind. Passionate. She felt me up, and I squealed with ecstasy. Yes. I peaked there. I wanted her; she wanted me. She wanted my car more.

"This iz nice, but I must do my zhob. My boyfriend demands I take zee Suboorbahn."
"Oh, boy, here we go," she slipped off her shoes and took off her socks.
"Open up," she pushed a sock against my mouth and pinched my nose.
"N-no! Mmmmmmmm!"

Sock. Red knee sock. Fills my mouth. Every crevice. Salty, sweaty, nasty fabric. Gagged. It's a powerful statement still. She owned me at this moment. I was powerless. Her play thing. She pushed it deeper until it filled everything. It wasn't thick fabric. Thin enough she used the other sock to cleave gag me. I was really gagged. This was humiliation. Ownership. I wanted her to own me. Upstairs. In the bedroom. For thrill. Not this. Bondage. Kidnapped. Helpless.

She helped me to my feet and ordered me to hop. I'm a pro, so I hopped. My heels clacked with the hops, but I hopped. I had to submit; I was the captive. I hopped at her behest. She handled me as she saw fit. I was helpless. Hers. I was hers, and she didn't want me. The clacks were an unwelcome sound. I teetered a little bit; it should have been kinky fun. Nope. Bondage. I was her captive. With each hop, the ropes dug in a little, but otherwise they were comfortable except the ropes on my wrists and my harness.

Remember, my dress was sleeveless. The harness was right against my skin. Even the cinching in my armpits was on bare skin. My bosom felt so beautiful with the ropes trussing me to make them stand out, but they only drove her lust for my body. My charm had failed. I had lost. Why must she humiliate me though? Did she have a kink for clacking heels? I hopped, teetered, and regained my balance. The rope was tight, and my pantyhose protected me. Not tight, but it was strong. It didn't hurt in the slightest anywhere, but it was bondage. Bondage. Not a game unless it was one played by twisted rules. Is sadism a game? She made it one. Cold and evil.

Kissing. Passionate kissing. Soulless kissing. I was a toy and no more. She had her boyfriend, a very unlucky guy. Girls were her side hobby. I wanted a girl like her. To be mine. Forever. But I wasn't forever. I was just a toy. Her bound and gagged toy. Her bondage toy. I was helpless in ropes. Bound and gagged. Dirty socks. Rough fibers rubbed my skin. Can't move. Bondage.

"Mmmmmm!" I protested, but that wasn't much help.
"That iz it," she opened my coat closet, "In you go!" and she pushed me into it.
"Mmmmm! Mmmmm! Hell -e!" my pleas were
"Thank you for ze car, madame," she said and left with the keys to my car. My car.

The door shut. Darkness. I groaned. I protested. I yelled at her. She didn't care for anything at the moment except my Chevy. My beloved black car, stolen. I pawed at the door, trying to open it to get out of here, but she was long gone before I could escape. Locked up. Trapped. Caged. I open the door and hop out. That clack. I clacked. Heels. Had to get my phone. I stumbled a little and hit the floor on my knees. Ouch. But it won't bruise anything but my pride.

I struggled. I yelled into my gag. Sweaty cotton. Pair of knee socks gagged me well. I couldn't spit them out. I tried. They tasted bad. The taste of humiliation. Of defeat. Of evil. Of failure. Of bondage. I fought the ropes, but they fought back more strongly than I could fight them. The ropes held firm. I twisted my body to try to untie any of the ropes on my legs.

I will be here a long time, but I will get out.

END OF STORY 4

And so it continues - superbly!

STORY 5: Maddy Vee Meets the Repossessor

It is such a lovely day! There are days where you hop on a motorcycle to enjoy the wind, and the days like today are when you clean the bike. Wash and polish the baby. Take a beautiful cherry red Kawasaki Ninja and treat her like royalty. Yes, that's what I am doing under the trees in the backyard. There's nothing I'd rather be doing now. I hope you enjoy the sight as much as I.

I'm dressed perfectly for my role too. My blue leather pants cling to my legs and show off all of my muscles. Shiny but lovely, isn't it. My black combat boots are practical and add strength. A black sports bra supports my big bust and allows all of my midsection and my amazing back and ab muscles to be seen. My pecs are obvious, and my strong arms are on display. A blue kerchief bandana practically keeps my hair out of my face and adds to the tough girl vibe. Dog tags hang around my chest in numbers, a jingling reminder of how much I overcame to be here right now.

"That's a nice bike you got there!" I hear from afar, and a suspicious woman walks up to me.
"Thanks, but, um, how did you see me when I'm hidden out of sight," I question her motives.

The red leather miniskirt was a bad sign. Women who wear those and walk up to total strangers are usually thieves. The black jeans under her skirt tell me this woman likes to dress edgy, but so do I. The bed combat boots and their black soles are too standout; she's up to no good. The crop top tank accentuates her bust and shows off her strong abs and a belly button piercing. The white of the top isn't so innocent, and the black leather jacket shows she's a control freak. The final bit, the red bandana headband, confirms my suspicions. This woman isn't here to compliment me.

We're similar and different. We're about the same height, but I have more bust. We're strong and both have chocolate brown eyes and brown hair. Hers brushes her shoulders and is straight, but I have flowing free curls and long hair. Her accent tells me she is French like I am. She is paler in skin tone while I have a slight, naturally tan, a Mediterranean complexion. Her black satchel…

"I was just walking by and saw the bike. It's a beauty," this woman lies like a serpent.
"Yeah, it is," I replied, crossing my arms for confidence, "She's mine. Thanks for stopping by."
"What kind of engine does she have?"
"Would you please move along?" I wipe my hands on a rag, becoming impatient.
"Perhaps you took out a small loan on this beauty… and failed to pay your bills on her?"
"What?!" my heart rate goes to a million. "I'm an honest person. I earned the right to ride this beauty," I stumble over my words and watch her pull a coil of rope from her satchel, "Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" she's a repo woman, "You think you can just walk up and take my stuff?"
"Oh, I am dead serious," she said it in a way that told me she did this to hundreds of women, "It is clear you are not confident. You are in debt to me and my boyfriend. The bike is mine."

Of course I fight back. I'm a wildcat, and I'm used to being the predator with girls like her being my prey. If she wants to play rope games, then I'll tie her up instead! I take a lunge to tackle her to the ground and successfully make my first. The wildcat has attacked, but this foreigner has an enormous amount of power to overcome my own strength. The fight is on! For Narnia!

We wrestle, and at one point I even seem to be tying her elbows behind her back. She threw me off her, though, and she applies pressure to some spot that momentarily incapacitates me. In an instant, her rope is binding my wrists together behind my back. The wildcat has lost! I still am fighting in cass I can throw her off me. Just as quickly, the woman is tying my ankles together, and the same rope wraps into the heels of my boots to ensure I cannot slip them off.

"I see you like overkill," I say through gritted teeth when she starts tying my elbows together.
"Since you asked for overkill, I will give you overkill," her sneer is frightening and chilling.

I look around me to see if there is any hope of escape, but there is no one nearby to shout out for help, and my arms are becoming increasingly useless. She is tying my thighs together above my knees now, and at this point I am completely helpless. This girl is deranged in a bad way, unlike me, and she is getting a kick out of my mental suffering. In fact, no matter how I react, she will find pleasure in it. It's too late to try happiness to throw her off her high horse.

She is detailed and effective and eerily silent. This is merely a job to her, one she exploits for a thrill in the torture of her victims. Most likely, she targets girls she is certain she can overpower without much risk of defeat. The ropes dig into my skin, especially the elbow rope, but if I'm in this position long term I at least know I can handle it. Her white rope is certainly cottony, but it's a material I'd much rather be using to suspend from the tree. By her neck. Are you with me?

"You are a strong girl. You are a fighter," she smiles at me, but it's the smile of sadistic pleasure.
"I really don't see why you can't demand a check instead of this nonsensical approach."
"Because doing it this way gives me more satisfaction," no empathy in her body whatsoever.

Now comes the overkill she claims I requested. Her fifth rope ties my legs below the waist; the sixth tied me at mid thigh; the seventh goes below my knees; and the eight goes at my shins. A ninth rope ties my arms below my elbows. With each one, there's a new spot for rope to dig into my skin, and each one puts escape a little further out of reach.

Then comes the indignity that proves how heartless she is. It also proves something I hadn't seen in her at first. She pulls me up and forces me to sit on the stool I was using before she arrived. I watch her hands approach me, and next thing I know my breasts are out. My 34DD cups fall out and flop a little, and her hands quite lecherously feel them up.

"Oh, no! Don't do that to me!" she has a big white ball gag in her hands, but she pinches a titty.
"Don't fight me," she pushes 2.5 inches of white silicone into my mouth and tightens the strap.

Now she crafts her harness. I hope you are feeling secondhand embarrassment for my sake. The harness digs into my body as well with the ropes above and below my cups, a V between them to make them more obvious, and cinching through the armpits to help pin my arms. Yeah, I know, I am in deep trouble. The wildcat is now pitifully meowing like an injured or scared kitten. Such moments are when I wish I had a Bull Mastiff instead of two tabby cats.

The waist and crotch rope are super personal. She not only pins my arms but also runs the rope under my pants and panties, right against my crotch, and she pulls it tight for maximum irritation and discomfort. I will have lots of red marks when my husband releases me, but I will also be in a frenzied state. Won't he be lucky to come home and find me primed for that kind of action? A second pass of the crotch rope goes over my pants, the way normal people do it! She lecherously pulls on the crotch ropes, and I groan just enough to start the irreversible drooling process.

"You are so pretty," her lips kiss my cheek, but then she points, "Hop to that porch!"
"Gmmmm?" I turn and realize I have to do it, steps and all.

I think you're getting a pretty good picture of how these things go. I have to do it. It's a good 30 feet to the porch. I can hop about 6-8 inches at a time. That's a lot of hopping . To make things worse, if I don't hop as quickly as she wants, she spanks me with a wooden paddle! This is bad enough with ropes sinking, but not cutting, into my skin and being exposed. She's crazy! And I am drooling all over my boobies because of this big ball gag in my mouth! Yes, I'm upset! She has not only humiliated me but also she has sexually violated me. She's groping my boobs!

"Get a move on, you stupid big titted broad!" she is impatient, too! "You are so slow!"
"Gmmmmmm!" I roll my eyes before taking a deep breath and hopping up the porch stair.

She now drags me over to the corner where the railing parallel to the house meets the railing that is perpendicular to the house. The left are the porch steps and the door to the house, in front me is the house, to the right is railing, and behind me is railing and the yard. She forces me to take a seat on the deck, and she begins tying a second harness to secure my torso to the railing so that I am completely immobilized. She likewise ties a second waist and crotch rope so that all motion will make me pull on those infernal crotch ropes that are already there.

"Mmmmm!" I squeal, "Mmmmmmmpppphhhhh!"
"Oh, quit your whining. It's all your fault you're in this position!" she is grabbing more rope!
"Nmmmmmm!" I shake my head at her victim blaming while she's committing a crime.

She pulls my legs up so she can secure my right knee to the railing of the porch. Then the final rope likewise secures my ankles to the railing after she bends my knee a little. I am trapped, and I am certainly not getting away. She gives me a parting present by putting binder clips onto my exposed nipples, and I squeal with pain. She crouches while looking at me and shakes her head as if she's fully in her rights to do this kind of thing to me. She dusts off her hands and walks to the motorcycle, puts it in neutral, and wheels it out of the yard without ever looking back at me.

I struggle, but all I do is cause a burning sensation in my body. The ropes are tight, unforgiving, and secure. I can't escape alone, and the ball gag is causing me to drool. The binder clips cause me pain. I am trapped, and all I can do is helplessly cry as the scene fades away…

END OF STORY 5

It IS still good, my friend, make NO mistake about that. And well worth reading.

LunaDog is correct!! Great continuation!!

LunaDog wrote: 6 months ago It IS still good, my friend, make NO mistake about that. And well worth reading.

I could not say it any better! Well done!

STORY 6: Paulina Oliveira Meets the Repossessor

Duh-duh-duh-duh Duh-duh-duh-duh Duh-duh-duh-duh Duh-duh-duh-duh DUH-DUH! I let the finale of Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 14, Op. 27, No. 2, "Quasi una fantasia," glide off my finger while playing my brand new piano. I feel the emotions in each of the notes of my new mechanical wonder. While there are better pieces to play to show off, it's one which I can play at a perfect tempo on an unfamiliar piano after a few seconds of practice to familiarize myself with the action and sonority of the piano.

I do not look like a pianist for sure! I'm wearing icy blue trainers (gym shorts) with white trim, a navy blue t-shirt, an icy blue kerchief bandana as a hair covering since I am positively awesome, a pair of navy blue canvas sneakers, since I love the color so much, and white crew socks. Yes, it is unbecoming of a girl who could have been a small time concert pianist if she'd so desired.

Duh-duh-duh-duh Duh-duh-duh-duh Duh-duh-duh-duh Duh-duh-duh-duh Duh-duh-duh-duh Duh-duh-duh-duh Duh-duh-duh-duh Duh-duh-duh-duh Duh-duh-duh-duh Duh-duh-duh-duh Duh-duh-duh-duh Duh-duh-duh-duh DUM!… DUH!…DUM! I conclude the mini-concert.

"That was so beautiful!" my acquaintance, Genevieve Badeaux, applauds me as I curtsy.
"Thank you, my dear! It was my pleasure!"
"Can you play the finale from Schumann's Second Piano Sonata?" she kindly asks me.
"But of course!" I kindly sit to fulfill the deplorable Repossessor's request.

I know who she is; I know why she's here. The orange leather knee skirt and black pantyhose do not fool me for a second. The white slip on shoes are for grip; the skirt and hose for arrogance of her position. The black turtleneck t-shirt that she taped up to make it into a crop top that shows a navel piercing and strong abs is a source of pride and confidence. The orange bandana headband is a flash show of strength. She wants to stand out and be loud in her sinister task, and the black satchel is the holder of her devious tricks: ropes, gags, instruments of torment.

Of course I know who she is. She's an infamous woman, The Repossessor. A woman that I have been chasing for a while because she gives out predatory loans to women only to bind and gag them and sometimes even feel them up before making off with the repossessed item. It's all an illegal racket, and she cleverly has connections to fabricate paperwork. Today, I'm the bait to capture her in the act. I'm an off-duty police detective, and I know what I'm doing.

"It's such a lovely piano. How much do you still owe on this beautiful piece?" she asks me.
"Oh, about 3 grand, but I should be good to pay it back," I respond without missing a note.
"Ah, but, dear," her Frenchiness is overpowering, "I believe you have defaulted on your loan."
"I have no idea what you're saying. I might be behind," I stop playing, "but I'm not in default."

I resume playing with the dexterity and speed demanded of Schumann's legendary classic. I am pretending to be distracted, but I can play this piece in my sleep. It's a matter of waiting for her to make the first move so that I can flip the tables on her. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch a piece of bright white rope exit her bag, and I don't react to her approach despite expecting it.

Then she strikes. Her hand gags me tightly, and her other wraps around my chest. The infamous repossession agent is in motion, but I have been planning for this moment. I may be weaker than she is; I may have hideous scars on my legs, pain, and a nasty limp from surviving an attempt on my life; I may not be a fitness buff; but I am an overcomer. I like to cover the spread when every ESPN expert says I'm an underdog; even better than that, I like to win as an underdog.

How do I win? Well, sometimes you have to know your opponent's weakness by studying film of them before gameday. That's how I know to thrust my weight downward when she's trying to lift me off the ground to tighten her grip on me. That's how I know to take my right leg and push my foot against the back of her knee. She collapses and has to brace herself, but she's a leftie so her ability to stop her collapse is hindered. I toss her off, pushing her legs out from under her so she drops to the carpet, and I take the rope out of her hands and tie her wrists together behind her back. It happens so quickly, but it's only possible because of my pianistic finger dexterity.

"Untie me, you maniac!" she demands, but I push her back down and tie her ankles together.
"I'm no maniac," I swiftly and effectively wrap and cinch the rope, "I'm an undercover officer."
"Then you know that I am here by right and that you are breaking the law," she gasps.
"Honey," I tie her legs together at her thighs, "It's you that broke the law. All those girls that you bound and gagged; gave illegal loans to them; targeted them knowing they'd default because you gave them illegal interest rates through your false front boyfriend; you enjoyed every second of your predation, as you accosted them, sometimes broke into their homes, so you could do it."
"You are insane!" she coldly seethes, "You untie me this instant, or I will escape and break you!"
"Break me like you broke those girl's wills? You want to expose my breasts and grab them, give me sexually charged kisses on the cheek, tie me into ridiculously tight and complicated positions, and maybe force me to ‘enjoy' your methods?" I lay the accusations at her feet, "If payback's as much of a b-tch as it is when I give it, you're going to ‘enjoy' a nice, tight crotch rope."

I take the rope and begin binding her to ensure she's helpless. I'm undercover and alone and will not receive assistance for hours, so I tie her arms together at her elbows first. Then, I tie her legs together at her knees. I can't take chances with a girl who's a monetary and sexual predator like she is. I wrap it tightly but cinch it even more tightly to ensure it's snug, unable to hurt her, and secure. She is going nowhere, but she needs to learn a lesson in her own methods.

That's why I tie a chest harness, making sure that it thrusts her bust out from her frame while it also helps pin her arms to her torso. She's such a pretty girl, which goes to show that beauty can be dangerous, but she coldly eyes me as if she's convinced that she's found legal loopholes that will bail her out. She doesn't seem to like being tied up the way she tied up those other girls.

I want to be the bigger person, but I cannot resist. I tie a waist/crotch rope to secure the wicked Badeaux's arms to her waist, and I make sure the crotch rope that is under her skirt is sufficient to irritate her just as much as her ropes irritated those poor girls she tormented. Oh, you read an interesting collection of 5 selected stories, but she's had dozens of victims over the past 18 to 24 months. She antagonizes them, claims self-defense, and the case can't go forward because it is a case of "Badeaux said; victim said." Victim #38 was her last one; it was caught on film.

"How does it feel?" I ask her coldly, feeling the justice in my actions but no sadistic thrill.
"You are a psychopath!" she spits at me, but I sit on my bench and playfully untie my shoelaces.
"You're the one who'll get 5 years and a spot in the state's sex offender registry," I laugh at her.
"What do you mean? I will not! Then I will come after you for revenge," she hisses some more.
"Oh, Genevieve," I shake my head and take off my socks, "You're just a sick predator!"
"GMMM!" first one sock goes into her mouth, and then the other, "MMMMMMM!"
"Does that taste good? That's how Roxanne Rutledge and Lucille Rossi felt, too."

I wrap her face in several layers of white duct tape, since that's what she had in the bag to use on me. Each layer, I wrap the tape more tightly than the previous one, and I even wrap the tape over her hair. I squish her face down a little more and make sure her lips are completely sealed. Such is how The Repossessor met her defeat, but I am not done with her. As she has done to the previous victims, so I'll do to her. She glares at me as if she's in charge, so I will hide her eyes!

I take out a purple bandana and fold it into a perfect strip. Headband, gag, or blindfold? Why, I am going to blindfold her with it,, but she can only let out a gagged howl since she's gagged so effectively. Honestly, it is deeply satisfying to mete out justice to her like this. She has earned a lot more than what I am doing to her, and I will spare her the fondling that she did to others such as Maddy Vee and the Edwards Sisters.

"Oh, wow!" I find a muzzle in the bag, "You really brought the works to use against me!"
"MMMMMMM!" the disoriented girl tries to resist it, but can't.
"That's right, and I've caught this all on camera so the others can see you attack me."
"Mmmmmmm," she angrily groans again, and I secure the many straps.
"You really just don't get it, do you? There are 38 victims, and lots of them are going to testify you tied them up, gagged them, felt them up, and maybe even kissed them," I explain her long odds in plain terms, "Once we have the evidence together, you're going away for sure."
"Gmmm," I guess I tied the crotch rope tight enough to activate her because she just… Yeah.

As Genevieve forced her victims to climax so she could claim that it was a consensual, enjoyable game, so I've now caused her to do it to herself. Well, it's not every day that a cop watches her captured criminal do that one! In a way, I hope she feels embarrassed on account of the girls that she tortured, because I'm now feeling secondhand embarrassment for both her and the 38 others. It is different, however, because Genevieve would cruelly pull on the rope and manhandle those victims so that they'd do it unwillingly whereas this is because of her impassioned struggle.

I sit back down to play another piece at the piano since she is so tightly bound and gagged that I merely have to wait for my backup to call to let me know that they're coming to pick her up and bring her to the jail. I decide to play the opening to Brahms' First Piano Sonata, my favorite one of all. The drive and rhythmic nature of this piece endears it to a girl who had a tumultuous life. As I play the piece, I notice that she is moving an awful lot, and she seems to be feeling around in her blindness. Still, I focus on the notes and the tempo to play the piece just right.

As I finish the piece, I notice her blindly rifling through the bag. She's trying to find something, and I spring into action. She lets out an agonized groan as I take not only the pocket knife away from her but also take the entire bag altogether. I quietly put the bag on the table and grab a rope out of it. She's given me no choice, and I have to protect myself until my backup arrives.

I roll Badeaux onto her stomach and wrap the rope between her ankles, and I pull her ankles and wrists together. I wrap the rope around her elbow bond, though, for extra security, so that I can knot it out of reach of her fingers. This gives me extra confidence that she cannot escape, and I cannot help but chuckle as that crotch rope drives her to a second climax. She's such a monster to other women that she is now reacting the way she wanted her victims to react to her torments.

I'm a fan of irony. Irony is encountering and overpowering girls bigger and/or stronger than you are only to wind up encountering defeat at my hands. Irony is tying crotch ropes to force victims to experience a humiliating, sexually charged act, and then, when you're the one with the crotch rope, you react more strongly than you were fantasizing of how your victims would react to it. I love irony, and irony is showing its cruel hand right. Good Lord, she is quite charged right now!

"Mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm!" her pleas are becoming more frantic, "Mmmmmm!"
"I didn't know you were such a fan of my socks. Thank you for the compliments," I dryly joke.
"Mmmmmmm!" she tries despite the socks, tape, and muzzle, "Nnhie e!" she gets out a little.
"Be careful," her shirt, taped to make a crop top, moves up to reveal more, "Nice boobs."

I resume Brahms, but I have to get my music because I don't have the other movements down to perfection like the opening movement. Genevieve is background percussion while I play a lead role on the piano. She really should have worn a bra, but that's her arrogance at work. How dare she flash me! I joke, of course. Still, I relax to the loveliest of Brahms' piano oeuvre.

"Mmmmmmm! Gmm hmm hmmmmmmmm!" good grief, she's crying like a child, and she has a desperation like I've never seen. She is thrashing about and crying, and I just know she will… Yep, she climaxed again, and now all she does is sob. "Helllllllll! "Helllllllll eeeeeee!" does she really think someone will hear her and save her? No one heard and saved those 38 girls.

She thrashes her head a bit, but it's useless. Defeat is inevitable, and I needn't say anymore since my backup has arrived, ending the cruel cycle of… The Repossessor.

END OF STORY 6

THE END

Duration of Film 1: Approximately 19 minutes
Duration of Film 2: Approximately 16 minutes
Duration of Film 3: Approximately 36 minutes
Duration of Film 4: Approximately 21 minutes
Duration of Film 5: Approximately 24 minutes
Duration of Film 6: Approximately 33 minutes

The Repossessor
Production Date: Saturday, July 10, 2021

Featuring	Model Name	As
Ashley Calland	Genevieve Badeaux	The Repossessor
Jackie Martin	Missy Mischief	Customer #1
Felice Pryce	Roxanne Rutledge	Customer #2
Liz Ralston	Hailey Edwards	Customers #3
Leah Ralston	Bailey Edwards	Customers #3
Michela Palmeri	Lucille Rossi	Customer #4
Mary-Ann Jamison	Maddy Vee	Customer #5
Nichole Petersen	Paulina Oliveira	Customer #6

That was a brilliant Twist - one I did not expect The Repossessor got repossessed it seems. I like that turn of Events very much. Nice choice of Music too!

AlexUSA3 wrote: 5 months ago Many thanks to all for the kind words!

Please do NOT doubt for a second, they have been well and truly earned!

Caesar73 wrote: 5 months ago That was a brilliant Twist - one I did not expect The Repossessor got repossessed it seems. I like that turn of Events very much. Nice choice of Music too!

Yes, she was certainly repossessed. I imagine it took a lot of takes to get that scene just right. The music was chosen deliberately to reflect a little something about both characters. An inside joke for those of us familiar with those pieces of music. The Repossessor picks pieces that are intense for ordinary pianists, but she doesn't realize that Paulina toes the line between professional and virtuoso.

LunaDog wrote: 5 months ago Please do NOT doubt for a second, they have been well and truly earned!

I tried my best on this, and I'm glad to have delivered.

Wow, these were amazing! Also loved the plot twist of story 6. Thanks for sharing!

tiedinbluetights wrote: 5 months ago Wow, these were amazing! Also loved the plot twist of story 6. Thanks for sharing!

Thanks. I thought it made for a powerful twist having the least likely suspect be the one to flip the tables on The Repossessor.

Turn about is fair play!! Love it!!