BA bondage anonymous

London walks into Bondage Anonymous like a girl stepping into trouble she craves. Bella sizes her up, dark hair swinging, tape already dangling from her fingers. She wraps London’s wrists first, then her ankles, then slaps a strip across her mouth before London can say a word. The tape clings, shiny and tight. London shakes her head, skin prickling—she’d rather have rope. Blake and Rosie arrive, rope in Blake’s grip, cuffs swinging from Rosie’s belt. Blake coils rope around London, cinches her elbows, folds her legs, knots everything into a strict hogtie. London strains, the hemp biting, just how she likes it. Rosie clicks cuffs on her own wrists, then her ankles, metal snapping shut. Blake locks cuffs around her own hands last, pops a fat gag between her teeth, all of them now helplessly bound. Blake spits the gag out, smirks, says bondage isn’t her thing. She pockets every phone in the room, grabs their purses by the door, and walks out whistling. The others thrash, tape tearing, rope sliding, cuffs rattling, frantic to get loose and chase her down before their cash disappears.