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Moderator: Archiver. Post by Soraka » 3 years ago. Post by PiggyBoy » 3 years ago. Post by harveygasson » 3 years ago. Post by Shiina » 3 years ago.

Name: Rivkah

Years old: I am 27
Ethnicity: I'm kazakh
Sex: Woman
Color of my hair: Fair
Piercing: None
Smoker: No

I am Hans. I awoke, a dark red glare surrounding my eyes. I fell silent. Bad move. I tried to reach my hands to rub when…BANG! It was probably why in I chanced upon a handsome young brute who became the love of my life. Unfortunately, I have to occupy your house for a while. Unfortunately, it rained. I stared down and saw that my legs were spread apart and secured to the legs of Panty chair; I was clearly bound to the chair in the room.

Snapping out of this was really hard, but I knew all I had was the hope of an end to the war and a story for my lost love. Perhaps we can talk better. Then I remembered that Tom kept coils of them in the shed as he was also a qualified sailor, again gag before the war. As I said, Maggie, it is unfortunate to have you like this.

My mind finally caught up with me and I knew I was being held prisoner. My Messerschmitt was flying so well until it ran off, how do you say, petrol.

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What you I tell him? The sound of footsteps interrupted my plan and Hans returned, carrying tray filled with two tea cups and a pot as well as something flat down.

He was a good pilot, shot two of my companions down, but I got him ha! In the process, my almost naked bottom scratched against rough wooden chair. Then I heard a voice.

Is this what the after life is like, I thought? So, I, how you say, parachuted here. The glove hand disappeared. If only I could…. I considered his broken English and noting his pistol tucked in his side, I regrettably nodded and he undid the gag, easing out what he jammed inside my mouth. I turned to face my driver and friendly assistant, Corporal Emma Jenkins.

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It was the spring storm, and that meant hell for both air forces. I did not touch you, Ja? I may free you later, but this will be how you will stay for a while. Not one where I was stripped to my bra and knickers, tied to a chair and then gagged. Had the invasion already occurred. Were we defeated? Yes, real silk lingerie, pink knickers and matching bra, something my boyfriend was forced to spent when we were in Paris.

Immediately, I struggled furiously, but not only was there no success in loosening the rope, but chaffing my skin. I probably managed one a half seconds before he reached over and placed a huge, really huge in my view, gloved hand over my mouth. I had the honour of shooting him down-whoosh!

Suddenly, a louder boom struck and the light flickered and died. So, I need a place to stay.

I stared up and gazed at the Hurricanes of 12 Group, who were probably heading to provide relief planes to 10 or 11 Group. I was not about to tell the enemy, especially one who has just knocked me out, tied me to a chair in my French-made underwear.

I finally found my gown and draping it over my half-naked body, I continued moving to find the candlestick that was nearby. However, the redness slowly dissipated and blurriness took over. She was a podgy girl much shorter than my five-foot two frame, but an extremely amicable NCO and a great driver. I continued staring at the waves of fighters when suddenly….

I shifted and guessed that my arms were bound while my wrists felt crossed together and bound. I stared, still dazed. Immediately, I tried to move by found myself stuck. This was not how I expected to spend my weekend leave, I thought. I then noticed that my arms were also tied to the back of the chair.

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I unbuttoned my blouse, exposing the standardised bra WAAFs were provided. Then my sight came back, and I was staring at my room.

She was right, I thought, as I unlocked the fence and entered the nice cottage in the outskirts of London. In the picture, he was in a cotton shirt with sleeves rolled up and trousers while I was in a translucent blouse and pink skirt. I could have shot you earlier.

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I immediately panicked and tried to spit it out but within the next minute, he used a stocking—yes, it definitely was one of my stockings to tie it around my face and secure the silky-cloth inside. Wrapping myself in the cotton soft towels we bought in France, I plodded back to the bedroom and drew out my secret story of lingerie.

You Jerry bastard! He was dressed in local clothes—a tweed coat but underneath he was clearly wearing a dirty brown overall something akin to…. Someone told me his English was too good to be a Jerry. I banged head again something. To my horror, it was another pair of silk knickers, again purchased from France. The lights were back on, the bed, the drawers were still there. It was then I realised that my gags were held behind my back.

I will leave soon, once your weather is better and I can find a way out and home. It took me a couple of seconds to realise that he knew Tom. What does he really know? How, how do you know him? It was probably my tireless work for the last few months that earned me a very short weekend off and the approval for Emma to drive me, using more that the allocated fuel. If memory served me right, there were some knitting scissors there.

Now, not a loud sound anymore or you will not live. I decided Panty fall silent. Nod, Ja? I weighed my choice for a second then nodded.

No, I thought, as I tried to shift the chair towards the desk at the other end of the room. Where on earth did he get such strong rope from?

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The roar of aircraft replaced the chugging of the story which screeched to a halt. My feminine side kicked in and I screamed as loudly as could. Your name? I wanted to continue scolding and curse him for placing such and offending object in my mouth but decided not to. Well, it was Peter who did the punting, I basically sat Panty watched. I actually detested discipline and rigid lifestyles, but was always fascinated by uniforms. I would have tried to omit more sounds even through that but the next thing I saw was pistol pushed at my forehead.

Just as I was about to clip of a proper garter gag, thundered roared and rain pelted down. It was an extremely ugly one and barely fitted over my rather large breasts. Tom was of the upper class and had a degree from Oxford before ing on to the RAF. Sigh I thought, as I entered the cottage Tom bought for us. With that, he left the room. After much effort, I got the kettle boiling for hot water bath while I starred at the pictures Tom and I took while holidaying in France and Belgium, naturally before the war.

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