Teen

Author's Note: This is the 10th story in the series “The Stories of Bound Friends.” I will continue to post the series here but I will also be posting extras and updates the moment they are ready on my blog: http://jessbbaby.blogspot.com The next few days after Carl’s death were slow and painful for Sophia. She met with a lawyer who said the contract could be passed down just like it could be sold, and so all the same restrictions apply. Which was especially terrible because there was then no one to give her permission to do the things she needed permission to do. And with the contract transferring ownership, she would likely be under extra scrutiny. She couldn’t ever be sure she had a moment where she could be free to break the rules without being noticed. ...

She stood on the small deck protruding out over the bow of her ship, watching as flames engulfed the second vessel. Screams could be heard despite the distance between the two large sailing ships. A smile of contentment appeared on her face as she saw the flames engulf the mass of the other ship, and the charred remains of their Jolly Roger float away on a gust of wind. The remainder of her crew, those unlucky enough to stay behind for this excursion, busied themselves with the task of bringing their ship closer to the soon to be lost vessel. As they approached, several of them broke away from their tasks to retrieve the abandoned lifeboat floating nearby. It was an easy, familiar task for them to hook the empty boat, attach the anchoring ropes, and haul it up alongside the larger ship. The task was accomplished without needing to slow the ship as it descended upon the chaotic scene ahead. ...

Part 1 I had attended the teachers’ conference which had been somewhat dull. I was now having a drink at the bar afterwards when I saw the star presenter- a stunningly attractive woman of about 30 called Jenny Albright. She was dressed extremely smartly with a tight white blouse and a grey pencil skirt with high heals. i couldn’t dream of approaching her at the bar but she walked purposefully up to me and offered to buy me a drink. I was amazed and introduced myself, “Hi, I’m Graham James and I teach history.I really enjoyed your talk this morning.” ...

James stopped at the food court to grab a burger on his way to the arcade on his break. He was still munching it as he stepped into the strange, dark world of Buck-A-Fuck, starting down the center aisle looking for a vacant right-side-up mouth. They had recently remodeled the arcade. Everything – the stations, the walls, ceiling, and vinyl floor – were all matte black with only dim lights in the aisles. Every second station on each side of the aisle presented an ass, thrust through and trapped in place by the large openings built into the wall. In the unoccupied stations, small but brilliant spotlights focused on the available holes from above and below to show what was on offer, twin spheres of flesh framing the welcoming slits and puckers, their skin seeming to glow in the darkened room. The holes glistened with lube. ...

Author's Note: A teen goes looking for her missing older sister in a bondage club and allows herself to be enslaved by the Mistress of the club Chapter 1 Kendall hesitantly walked in through the front door to the club passing into a foyer. The walls on each side of the hallway were decorated with murals of nude woman bound in different positions with all types of materials. Some in leather, some in ropes, some in metal or wood with others bound in combinations of several different materials. All looked restrictive and some even painful. ...

Author's Note: This story is inspired by events that took place during a camping trip I went on when I was young, and which was partly responsible for developing my interests in rainwear and bondage. Parts of the story are true, other parts are fantasy. Part 1 Jessica enjoyed camping, she liked being outside with nature and the fresh air. She was tall, about five and a half feet, with long blonde-brown hair. At the age of 17 she had the freedom to go out camping by herself, but she enjoyed the company of being with others, despite not having many friends. She had never made friends easily, never quite sure why, but she found it hard to hit it off with other girls. ...

Author's Note: It’s been a few years since I’ve written (completed) a story. I’ve had this one bouncing in my head for months and decided to finally do it. I’d love to hear your feedback! Jill sat at her makeshift terminal debugging a seemingly endless stream of code. Most of the code wasn’t hers so that didn’t help much despite the documentation. Her caffeine driven sleep deprived marathons were making even small tasks take excessively long but she refused to rest. ...

Author's Note: This is the first multi-part story I’ve worked on in some time. Please read, enjoy and leave a comment. Part 1 It was something of a truism that, if you dug deep enough every neighborhood, no matter how small, had its mysteries and a rare few of those were even actually mysteries. Famous crimes, strange disappearances, spooky occurrences and unexplained phenomenon, the kind of things that might even draw in tourists or a television crew if the neighborhood was insistent enough in promoting itself. Of course, most neighborhood mysteries were completely mundane. Little more than housewife gossip, the type passed around church pews and barbecues, or wildly exaggerated stories that became little more than urban legends, if they were interesting enough. Hickory Lane could not even claim that much. Oh, there was certainly plenty of gossip, that seemed to be something of a universal constant, but most of it was of an utterly mundane sort. The Emerson divorce had been the biggest news in a while, but that ended up being too painfully amicable to make for a good story. No, the real enduring mystery of the neighborhood was a house. Not a haunted house, nothing so interesting, just an old house. It was a nice house, most would agree, a small two-story affair at the far end of the block right next to a thicket of hickory trees that had given the development its name once upon a time enclosed by a wooden fence in the back. Now, who had built the house and when was something of a mystery. No one in the neighborhood was entirely certain just how long it had been there, though most agreed that it had to have been among the first homes built here and certainly the oldest still standing, but that was hardly the sort of mystery that got tongues wagging. Nor was the house some rundown and abandoned ruin of an earlier age. The building itself was clean and well kept, the shutters painted, the yard and the gardens in the back were neatly tended and the pool was cleaned regularly. That was no mystery either since the house was occupied and had been for years. No, as was also traditional the true mystery of 137 N. Hickory Lane was its residents. ...

Not bad for being forty four. Other moms at my age are fat, puffy-eyed, semi bald and depressed. I was fit, B cups, dark brown eyes one meter sixty-five. I keep a good tan as I use an UVA sunbed on a beauty parlor. My dark brown hair was very short, boyish, with a very short fringe. Like a young Kate Beckinsale in Uncovered. Dian is the name. The key is keep doing exercises. I was thinking about thess things while I looked at my reflection on the mirror. ...

Author's Note: Based on an original drawing by Augustine. Part 1 “Hey, sis.” “Cody!” The dark-haired girl shouted upon opening the front door. She grabbed the young man standing outside and pulled him to her. The embrace lasted a full minute before the two separated, the woman’s hands remaining on the boy’s shoulders. “God, let me look at you. It’s been so long.” She looked him up and down, taking in every inch of the brother she hadn’t seen in almost a year. ...