Babysitters Rival

London's bored stiff, rattling around the house while the kids she’s watching kill time on their phones. They dare her to tie herself up, anything to shake off the dull night. She rolls her eyes, mutters “fine,” then winds rope tight around her own ankles and knees. Later the door swings open and Blake steps in, spots London face-down on the floor, ankles yanked to her wrists in a full hogtie, rope biting into the soft skin. Blake laughs once, then moves to free her—until she sees the face. Recognition flashes. This is the girl who cost her the squad. Blake’s smile turns sharp. She loops the rope back tighter, cinches it cruel, pulls London’s bare feet into the open, and starts dragging her nails over those helpless soles. London’s laugh comes out ragged, muffled by the fat ball gag wedged between her teeth, blonde hair stuck to her damp cheeks. Every squirm only tightens the knots Blake keeps checking. Outside, the hallway stays empty. Inside, the only sound is the slap of bare feet kicking at nothing and the wet, useless gurgle that comes through the gag when the tickling gets mean.