Home again f/mm

Postby lasse672000 » Tue Apr 03, 2012 11:57 am

I’ve just returned home from a very special three days in the country.
I’ve visited my cousins’, Oscar and Tim, farm. I knew they were a very special bunch, just not that special. When my parents dropped me off, they behaved very normally but as soon as we were alone, the weirdness began.
It all started with them telling me to change into a long-sleeved, silvery grey-and-black leotard, and light grey pantyhose. While I did, they hid all my other clothes somewhere. That was about all that happened that day.
That night, in the closet in my room, I found nothing except more leotards and pantyhose, and a whole lot of one-piece pyjamas.

The next day, after breakfast, we went out so I could explore it. There were a lot of disused buildings, scattered around the place. In one of them, there were sturdy oak-beams in the ceiling. When I pointed out, they looked very solid and almost brand new, Oscar asked me to come and stand underneath one of them. He took out a rope, told me to put my hands together, and started tying them together with one end of it. When I asked what he was doing, he said: “You thought they looked solid, didn’t you? Well, here’s your chance to find out just how solid they really are.” He threw the other end of the rope over the beam, started hoisting and didn’t stop, until my feet almost left the floor, and I was standing on my tippy-toes. He tied it to conveniently placed ring in the floor, and told me to try to break the beam so I could lower my arms, which of course I couldn’t. They had me standing like that for quite a while, until Tim said it was time to continue exploring. He untied the rope from the ring in the floor, and used it instead to haul me along, as they continued their stroll around the farm.
I soon found out, it was almost impossible to walk with my hands tied together, but when I asked them to untie them they just laughed, and told me to get use to having them tied, because they would be, a lot of the time. We stopped at several other places, and I was tied to several other beams, just not as painfully as that first time.
That night, when my aunt had tied my hands in front of me and anchored them, along with my feet, to the bed, I lay awake for a long time, not only because my shoulders were still hurting, (and they were, a lot), but because I was thinking about the situation I was in. Eventually, I concluded that the best course of action was simply to tag along with their antics, hoping they would stop if I did. But somehow, I knew they wouldn’t. At dinner, my uncle told them to go easy on me “being a fragile girl, and all that. When she says stop, you stop! Do you hear me, boys?” When they heard that, my cousins just smiled wryly, looking like little angels.

My fears were verified, the very next morning, when I was released from my bed, told to take a quick shower, and come straight back. I got dressed in the clothes that were laid out for me, and stepped back out of the room. The boys were waiting for me and tied my hands together, this time behind my back. They also tied them to my body, using two ropes around my waist. The loose ends, they used to tow (drag) me along.
After breakfast, they continued our exploration of the farm. They seemed to have checked out the location of every mud-pit, deep or shallow, hidden or visible, on the entire farm, and made me walk in each and every one of them. Because I slipped more than once, I was soon covered in mud, from head to toe. When I tried to protest, Oscar gagged me, with a handkerchief in my mouth and a bandana wrapped around my head. My cousins led me to a field, in the middle of which stood a scare-crow, to which they tied me. The sun was blazing down, so the mud on my clothes soon dried and fell off.

They, eventually, took me back, as it was time for lunch. A meal I had to be spoon-fed, as I still had my hands tied behind my back.
The rest of the day, were spent in or around the house, me once again being gagged, and dragged around like some kind of toy-on-a-string. It ended as the previous one, with me being tied hand and foot to the bed.

Then came my final day on the farm, and one last tribulation: one of the boys found a disused horsebox, and pushed me inside. My feet were tied together and the door closed. By now, I had reached my breaking-point, and then some. I started sobbing, and my uncle heard me. He rushed inside, untied my feet and took the gag out of my mouth. After having heard all the things, the boys had put me through the last few days, he went ballistic. He gathered all of us in the house, gave the boys a severe telling-off, and made them apologize to me. By the time they were done, it was almost time for me to go back home. My hands were untied and I went to my room, and changed back to “normal” clothes. It, by now, felt a bit strange wearing them, after having worn nothing but leotards and pantyhose for the past few days. When I returned, I told my uncle I wanted him to tie my hands together in front of me one last time.
When my parents came and picked me up, a couple of minutes later, I still had my hands tied, and still had when I got home. My parents asked me several times that day, if I wanted to be untied, but every time I said “No, I don’t”. I’ve even insisted on them getting several one-piece pyjamas for me, and tying my hands and feet to the bed, before I go to sleep.
Whazzzz up!.