Bound Beauties 26



free rope bondage Bondage stories 2011 archive


Honey pulled herself back into a sitting position, then vaulted to her feet,
pulling at the sock in her mouth. She got upright, off balance with only one
shoe on, and sputtered, the wet sock in her hand.
"You . . . you vicious beast!" she yelled at the ashamed woman on the floor,
pointing. "How could you ... how dare you .. . ! I didn`t do anything, I didn`t
do anything. It wasn`t my fault, but you ... you ... !"
To Beryl`s amazement, she seemed on the verge of tears. She couldn`t really say
anything except that it wasn`t her fault. Somehow, in all this, she had to find
herself blameless. Suddenly Mrs. Cummings felt a twinge of pity. Why, this
pretty, seemingly flawless girl had been blamed for her beauty throughout her
whole life. She had to set up an extensive immunity guilt system just to keep
herself in great shape.
This beauty was a two-edged sword: on the one hand shamelessly selling herself,
but on the other, paying for that sale herself. She had a love/hate
relationship
with all the attention. But then came those words Mrs. Cummings was dreading.
"I`m . . . I`m going to the authorities. I`m going to tell them! They`ll stop
you from ever . . . ever . . . !" Honey wagged on more finger at the woman
under
the table, then lurched toward the door. Squealing in frustration, she kicked
off her other shoe, and then marched purposefully, elbows bent, fingers into
fists, her arms swinging.
But just as she touched the door knob, it turned in her hand and swung open.
Honey squeaked and had to step back to avoid being swept aside. Then she stood
face to face with Muriel Cummings.
Behind the dark-haired girl were four other contestants. Some of the other
girls
were calling this clique "the Kennel." The least attractive girls had banded
together to protect themselves from the derision of the others. Now the Kennel
stood in the doorway, glaring at their worst enemy.
Muriel looked Honey up and down, seeing her mussed hair, her intense
expression,
and her rumpled dress. Honey looked down at herself, realizing that the holes
in
the outfit had shifted somewhat, almost revealing her right nipple. She quickly
straightened and pulled the dress into place.
"What are you doing here?" Muriel demanded.
"Your mother," Honey said pointing. "Your mother attacked me. Your mother
pulled
me off the balcony and tried to choke me, she tried to gag me, she tried to
keep
me here so you would win the pageant. What do you think of that!?" Honey put
her
hands on her hips and looked at Muriel with superior triumph.
Muriel looked at her mother, who couldn`t meet her eyes, then looked back,
coolly, at the blond.
"I think it`s a great idea," she said, and jumped.
The car stopped beside the mausoleum. With the city directly on the
Mississippi,
the founding fathers found they couldn`t have traditional cemeteries. Any
six-foot hole in the ground would naturally hit water, flooding the coffins. So
New Orleans became awash with mausoleums. And given the city`s colorful history
of French settlers and voodoo slaves, the graveyard sculptors were prone to



outlandish drama and melodramatic statements.
This was but one of the many cemeteries on the outskirts of the city, looking
to
any outsider like a sculpture garden: a museum of New Orleans culture. The car
was well within the graveyard`s confines, surrounded by raised roadways, which
made up just one of the many clovers in the Louisiana highway system.
The city rumbled all around them, but in this quiet, empty place, it was gray
and lonely.
A woman in a Japanese mask got out of the driver`s side. She looked into the
car
to see a man in a Chinese mask leaned up against the passenger door, his left
hand down the dress of a girl in a rubber mask. She lay against him, her right
arm bent all the way up her back. Her left hand gripped his accosting arm
uselessly. The woman could see drool running down the girl`s neck, at the base
of the rubber mask.
She reached in and grabbed the girl`s left wrist. She pulled the girl across
the
seat, they came out of the car, each Orientally maskedper-son holding the wrist
of the stumbling, struggling girl in the white dress. The man threw the girl
into the woman`s arms. The woman immediately grabbed both girl`s wrists,
twisted, and pilled back. She felt her like a divining rod in front of a
mausoleum marked "MASTERS."
The man took a key from his pocket and approached the large structure. It was
stone throughout, box-like. It looked like a giant door to the Twilight Zone.
The only other thing was that at the top of the big rock box, on either end of
the door, were two beautifully rendered sculptures ... of angels.
Young, well-developed female angels \ith long, flowing hair, and simple, tight,
flowing, sleeveless dresses with slits in the skirt so their legs could be
seen.
Angels who were kept from flight by a series of ropes. They were against
columns
and around these columns were networks of sculpted ropes which held the angels
down, which kept them from flying. Although the ropes were seemingly thrown
about the columns and angels haphazardly, the girl in the rubber mask could see
through her eye slits that the rope effectively bound up the beauties`
straining
ankles, their thighs, their waist, held their hands down, and most horribly,
went around their mouths and between their teeth as well.
It appeared to be an artistic statement that the tangible realities of the
earth
kept the ethereal soul from soaring into heaven, but Claudia Wentworth knew
better ... now.
With a loud scrape and tumble, the mausoleum door was unlocked, and the
Procurer
pushed the door in. Claudia began to shake her head and beg, but before she
could get up any energy, Masters took her by the shoulder and led the three
inside.
It was as horrid as you might imagine, even though the floor, walls, and
ceiling
were marble. On either side of the enclosure were big stone coffins. On the
back wall was etched a poem.



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