((A quick note: this story is a bit long, and not much "binding" happens for the first half or so. Just a heads up. Also it is M/F, but may go other places.))
Most boys, when they're young and naïve and full of big ideas and bigger dreams, have a “Fantasy Girlâ€. I would guess that that 'fantasy girl' is almost always a movie star, or a singer, or even a model. It makes sense; after all, those types are being constantly shown to us and almost always buried under hours of makeup and hair work before that sparkling image of perfection ever hits our youthful, curious little eyes. But a lot of the boys that grew up in the small town of Binghamton, New York didn't need those types of girls to spark our imaginations. We had Mrs. Brooks.
Mrs. Brooks, or Mrs. B, or Danny's mom, or (later in our teens years) Danny's MILF, was the kind of women that would make all of us ragtag group of knuckleheads from around the block find any excuse we could to come over Danny's house when we were kids; especially during the hot summer months when showing skin was a necessity if you wanted to beat the heat. I couldn't tell you the number of times when me and Tommy and Eric and Short Pete would go over Danny's on a hot day just to watch Mrs. B lay out in the sun, tanning away the day, and breaking the hearts of three young boys with every move.
Rebecca Brooks (her full name, though we never called her that) was hot. There's just no other way of saying it. None of us guys were sure how or where or even IF she worked out, but her body had always been something of a miracle to us. She was only 28 back then, and thinking back to those days of Mrs. B-watching from Danny's porch, I can still trace the lines of her body—with all the curves in just the right places; the toned back and abdomens, the bronze tint of her tanned skin, the way her bare legs started at her thighs and then seemed to go on forever. I think it was even because of Mrs. B that I had developed a slight foot fetish as a young man. The way the sun caught off the soles of her feet when she laid on her back was mesmerizing. Did she oil those things up or what? To this day, I have no idea, but I like to think she did. She did because she knew we were watching.
If Mrs. B had been a one trick pony, she'd be hot, but not a “fantasy girlâ€. It wasn't just her body though. She had the kind of face you wanted to paint or draw, or just keep a 4 by 4 of in your wallet! Her soft, blue eyes had the wisdom of an older woman, but still the youthful sparkle of a teenage girls. Her lips were full and pink and always seemed to be slightly moist, or maybe that was just how my 13 year old self remembered it. Either way, she had a very pretty face. And her hair was the deepest shade of black; long and shiny. I used to love the way it would spill down onto her chest when she'd flip it in that special way that only she could.
Rebecca Brooks was gorgeous. She was stunning. She was my “Fantasy Girlâ€.
Maybe you don't believe me. Maybe you think I'm speaking in hyperbole. Maybe you're right. After all, Mrs. B was my “fantasy girl†growing up, and what is a “fantasy girl†if not your own personal idea of perfection? But I'd be willing to bet if you asked most of the other guys that grew up in those long, New York summers, they'd all tell you the exact same thing.
Mrs. B stole our hearts.
My story starts 5 years later, on another one of those Binghamton summer days that never did seem quite as long or special as they did when we were kids. I, as well as all the guys, had moved on from our silly childhood fantasies and had had our share of real life girlfriends in the time between. That's not to say I still didn't find Mrs. Brooks gorgeous, because believe me: I did. But I was an 18 year old boy and she was a 33 year old woman (not to mention the mother of my best friend) and that was that. The years had treated her kind though, and you'd be hard pressed to spot the differences between her and her 28 year old self. Sometime in the course of those 5 years, Mrs. B had become Ms. B when MR.B and herself had decided their marriage didn't work anymore; leaving Danny with her on the weekdays, his father on the weekends. Divorce was a messy thing, but what can you expect? Who doesn't get divorced at least once in this day and age? Her husband had to be nuts though to split from a gem like Ms. B. Finding a women like her was like hitting the lottery. Twice.
Anyway, it was the start of the summer, and our first summer out of high school, and it felt good. It felt like... freedom. I decided to leave my house and drive my car (a big change from the pedal bikes from the old days) over to Danny's to see what life would be like as official high school graduates. I cranked the radio way up, rolled the windows way down, and cruised the eleven blocks over to Danny's in record time. I knew the day was going to be special. Boy, was I right.
I pulled into the driveway, killed the ignition, and found myself jogging up the front stairs to the house. I gave the door a quick one-two knock as I turned the handle and walked inside (my usual entrance). “Danny-boy!†I shouted into cupped hands and ascended the living rooms steps that lead to his bedroom. Upon stepping through his doorway, I couldn't help but notice – he wasn't in there! I'm observant like that sometimes. I frowned, shrugged, and headed back downstairs and into the kitchen. “Dan the Man?†I questioned, poking my head around the doorway. No dice. As I wondered where the hell he was, I noticed the basement door was open, and a light was glowing from below. Moving to the top of the stairs I called down, “Danny?â€
“Mark?†Came my answer—and it wasn't from Danny. It was Ms. Brooks.
“Ms. B? Where's Danny at?â€
“Off at the Pig's house for the weeked,†she answered. I sighed. Usually Danny didn't go to the Pig's house til Saturday. Being that it was a Friday, I was quite surprised. And quite disappointed. I heard a loud thump from the basement and called down, “You need help with anything Ms. B?â€
“Sure. You have a forklift up there by any chance?†Her answer came. I grinned and headed down the stairs.
The basement was filled wall-to-wall with marked boxes and a scattered assortment of junk that people always seem to find a way of building up. The old pool table was laying against the side wall, and even more boxes were stacked against it. Ms. Brooks was standing beside one of those boxes, panting, and resting her hands on her knees. The woman was an anomaly; she even managed to look good when she was sweating and working. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and she was dressed in a snug gray T-shirt and jeans that were rolled up to her knees. Her calves were toned and tan beneath them, and she wore a pair of white sneakers. I smiled at her as she swiped her brow with her forearm. “A little late for Spring cleaning, don't you think Ms. B?â€
She looked up at me, those gentle blue eyes still shining even in the dim basement. “I've got to get some of this crap out of here. Half of this junk is the Pigs. What does he think this is? Free storage?â€
It's worth noting that the Pig was Mr. Brooks. I laughed and nodded my head. “What an asshole!†I agreed.
“Mark! Watch that language!â€
I laughed again. “I'm 18 now, Becky,†she hated when I called her that, “I'm a man grown! Usually you can curse when your a man grown.â€
Rebecca grinned. “Oh, yes. I can tell by that impressive amount of peach fuzz growing off your chin, kid.â€
My pride! I pantomimed a punch to my stomach and rubbed my chin. “It's coming, it's coming!â€
“Well until it does, no cursing from you, Mister,†Ms. B said with a wag of her finger and turned around to eye up some more boxes.
I couldn't help steal a glance at her butt before I said, “So, do you want some help or not? Don't let the peach fuzz fool you. I'm pretty strong.â€
I could hear her stifle a laugh. “Well, Peachy, if you want to, grab some of those boxes by the stairs and move them over here by the pool table. I still have to go through them before I can trash 'em.â€
I shrugged and did as she asked. The next 10 minutes or so consisted of me lugging big boxes across the room, dropping them so Ms. B could open them and rummage through them, and then returning to the staircase for another. As we worked, we talked about plans for college and what Danny and I were going to do this summer, the weather, her weird neighbor Eddie, and how long it takes for a boy to grow some proper facial hair. Pretty mundane stuff. Then I carried over the box that changed everything.
Like all the others it was in a 3 by 3, plain cardboard box. Like all the others I dropped it in front of the pool table where Ms. B was kneeling. And like all the others I stood over her with my hands on my hips as she opened it, curious as to what each one held.
This one was open and closed so quickly, I barely caught a glimpse, but IN that glimpse I saw all I needed to see. There was rope in there. And handcuffs! And duct tape and some sort of leather strap thing and something red and-
Then it was closed. Ms. B slammed the folds of the box shut and glanced up at me, testing my reaction to see if I saw what she saw.
I had. “Ms. B! You kink!â€
“Alright,†she sighed and shook her head as she slid the box around to her side. “Those are the Pig's things.â€
“Let me see what was in there!†I said eagerly as I stepped around her to look into the box.
Her arm shot out and blocked my path. “Mark! It's none of your damn business! Go get another box!â€
“But the box I want is right there.†I pointed to the apparent 'bondage' box.
“Mark!†Ms. Brooks shouted and raised her eyebrows in disbelief of my persistence.
“Fine, fine,†I sighed, defeated... temporarily. I went to the stairs, got another box, and dropped it before Ms. B. As she opened it and began sifting around the contents (old clothes and picture frames), I sneaked around her side, knelt ever-so-cautiously, and flipped back open the 'bondage box'. I was careful as I went through it with my hands to not make any noise. Long lengths of rope were everywhere, pushing my hands through it almost felt like moving through water. The pair of handcuffs were cold to the touch, and shone from the light. The red thing was a big fat ball with two straps running around it. More rope. A silver roll of duct tape and a white roll of some other kind of tape. Even more rope!
As I rummaged about these things, the picture of Ms. Brooks in them began to float around in my head. I had never really been that into this sort of thing, but for some reason (probably because it was Ms. B) the idea of her all tied up was... exciting, to say the least. I wondered what her always-moist lips would look like around that red ball, or what her bare legs and feet would be like if they were all bound together.
As those thoughts coursed through my brain, my hands kept digging, and eventually found the bottom of the box. To my surprise, there was no more rope or anything. Just some clothes, a pair of shoes, some hair products, jewelery-
That's when it donned on my that all the junk on the bottom was all Ms. B's stuff. That had to mean the stuff on top was as well... didn't it? The thought of binding Ms. Brooks came back at me, stronger than ever.
“Mark!†Rebecca shouted when she finally caught on that I had disappeared, and looked back over her shoulder. I looked up at her and couldn't help the goofy grin on my face as I pictured her wrapped in ropes. “Oh, you little SNEAK!†She snapped and slapped my hands away from the top of the box so she could slam it closed again.
“I have to say, Ms. B, for a box of Bill's (aka The Pig's) stuff, sure seems like most of it is yours down there at the bottom,†I said, feeling my grin widen.
Ms. Brooks squinted at me cautiously, pulled the box to her, and opened it to look down into the bottom. When she had seen what I'd seen, she sighed and folded it closed once more. “Alright, Mark, no more about this box, OK?â€
“Well, OK, but just so you know, I'm a curious kind of guy, and now I can't help but to think about it. Let's see... what do those ropes look like when they're all wrapped around you, hmmm...â€
“Mark! Stop that!†Ms. Brooks shouted and frowned at me.
“I told you I'm a curious guy! It's hard to stop! Maybe if I knew a little more about them...†I egged her on, knowing I had a full-proof plan up my sleeve.
Rebecca went tight-lipped and shook her head, but I just looked up at the ceiling and kept pretending to be picturing things. “Knock it off, Mark,†she demanded. I did not. “Alright you little jerk, if you have to know: Yes, it's my stuff. You happy? Now stop that and get back to helping me already.â€
“Really? I never knew...â€
Ms. B was clearly uncomfortable about this, but I had to keep pressing. She moved the box to the side and sighed. “It's not always... well... not everyone does that sort of thing for... for... passionate reasons,†she awkwardly stated, avoiding eye contact with me.
“Passionate? What, you mean sexual?†I stated the obvious.
She shot me a look as if I had just said the worst word in the world. I saw her struggle to find a different word, but she finally accepted defeat and simply said, “Yes. Now no more about it.â€
I was WAY to interested by that point to just forget it. “So why would anyone want to be tied up then? That seems kind of silly.â€
“I don't want to have this conversation with you, Mark. You're starting to get on my nerves.†I was going to far, I needed to back off or I'd blow the whole thing and probably get thrown out of the house to boot. I shrugged, stood, and went back to carrying boxes. We went on that way in silence for a minute or two, and the atmosphere felt quite awkward. Finally, Ms. Brooks broke it. “I had a kid when I was 16 years old, Mark. I've been working since I was 18. Sometimes it's just nice to let go of all that pressure and just... let go of control. Alright? Are you happy? God, I wish you hadn't seen that stupid box.â€
I didn't say anything immediately, opting to think about it instead. I sort of felt bad for pressing the issue now, thinking about what Ms. B had said. She really did have a lot of responsibility in her life, I had never considered that. She deserved a break from it all, and if that was one of the ways she got it, who was I to question her about it. “Sorry,†I finally said. “I didn't mean to pest you about it.â€
Ms. Brooks nodded her head, and then we went back to work. It didn't take me long to find the answer to both of our 'problems', and when it hit me, it all clicked and my excitement rose through the roof. “So wait,†I said, dropping a box beside her. “If it's nothing... passionate,†I said, careful to avoid the S word she seemed to hate me using, “You know... I could always tie you up if you wanted.â€
Ms. Brooks looked up at me and stared, and for awhile said nothing. I swallowed, thinking I had crossed some forbidden line, and she was going to scream at me and throw me out. Instead though, she laughed and shook her head. “Are you crazy?â€
“I mean, why not? It's not like you can't trust me, we've been friends for almost 10 years!â€
“Why not, Mark? Really? How about your almost half my age? How about your my sons best friend? Don't be an idiot. We have to start bringing these boxes of junk upstairs.â€
“What does any of that matter? It's not like I'm asking you out on a date, Ms. B. It would just be a friend helping a friend!â€
“Oh yeah, friend? Help me get the boxes upstairs then.â€
I thought about it. “How about I bring all the boxes up myself?â€
She squinted at me, seeming to know where I was going.
“You can just sit back and relax. With some rope,†I tried, eager now just to get my hands on it.
Rebecca laughed again. “Your ropes would never even hold, kid. You know how hard it is to tie someone up? I do, and it's not easy.â€
“Well if you're so sure, why not let me try!†It was working! “Even if you get out, I'll do the work all by myself.â€
Ms. B raised an eyebrow. “You're going to move all these box upstairs by yourself?â€
“That's right.â€
She looked over at the 'bondage box' then back at me. “Alright, Mark. You better keep your word, though, you little jerk.â€
My heart skipped a beat, and I wasted no time opening the box and pulling out a short length of rope. I swallowed a lump in my throat as Ms. Brooks sighed and stuck her arms out in front of her. She pushed her wrists together and then gave me an impatient look.
“Hands in front?†I whined.
“Don't push it,†she warned.
Screw it, what did I care. I was tying up Ms. B! I started to wrap the ropes all around her wrists, so many times, the skin beneath completely disappeared. When only a little slack remained, I tied the two ends together the best I could and stepped back. There in front of me was the beautiful Ms. B with her hands tied up in front of her. She looked stunning, and I had officially found a new interest in this sort of thing.
Unfortunately, it was less than a minute before—using a combination of her hands and teeth—was completely free of my binding. She grinned and dropped the useless length of rope to the floor between us. “Thanks, Mark. I'll be upstairs. Don't forget the boxes in the very back. They ALL need to come up.†She patted me on the shoulder as she passed me and left me alone with my new-found job.
How... disappointing.
I kept my word, I did my work, but the whole time I was concocting my next plan. And by the time I was done, the sun was down and I was ready to go home, but not before setting it in motion. I set a date to come over the next day and help with the pool table and whatever else she needed to get rid of. I also carefully avoided mention anything involving the tying up. The next day, I'd be better prepared.
That night, I stayed up until 2 in the morning reading up online about how to tie knots. To practice, I used my own bedsheets, and by the time I finally passed out (knotted bedsheets in hand) I was convinced Ms. B wouldn't have such an easy escape the next time. If, hopefully, there WAS a next time.
Saturday morning wasn't nearly as nice as Friday morning, the sky was overcast and the weather was humid and thick. I didn't let it break my spirits though as I drove back to Danny's house later that day to keep our 4 O'clock appointment. When I arrived, once again, Ms. Brooks was already in the basement, hard at work on picking out the last of the 'junk' boxes. I reach the bottom of the basement stairs and waved to her.
“How's your back feeling today, kid?†Ms. B teased with a smirk. Today she was wearing a white tank-top and dark pants—unfortunately, not rolled up to show any of her amazing legs. Her hair was once again in a ponytail, and once again, I found her gorgeous. “Ready for more work?â€
“Of course! I was just getting started yesterday!†I told her as I grabbed a box. She smiled, surprised at my enthusiasm.
I didn't bring anything up for a good 5 minutes, careful not to be too over-eager, but then Ms. B said she was going up for a drink of water, and when she asked me if I wanted anything, I opted to follow her up.
The kitchen was a small, cozy one with a big island table in the middle. I sat at one of the stools as Ms. B filled two glasses with water. My time was then, I felt it. “So, hey, how about we make the same bet as yesterday?â€
Ms. Brooks turned her head halfway to me as she poured. “Are you still going on about that? I thought we agreed not to talk about it anymore.â€
I frowned, not remembering that particular agreement. I ignored it, “Come on. I'm a sore loser. Give me a rematch.â€
“Mark...†She began hesitantly.
“I'll do the pool table if I lose. By myself! I'll take it apart, and bring it up here piece by piece.â€
She turned and put the water down in front of me and frowned. “Why are you so eager to do this, anyway? You enjoy seeing me tied up?â€
Whoa. She called me out! I wasn't expecting that. Caught off guard, I stuttered, “N-No!â€
Ms. B laughed. “I'm kidding, Mark. But if you really want to do all that work on your own again...â€
“I will. If I lose. If not, I'll just finish the boxes. Deal?â€
She stared across the island at me and shook her head in disbelief. I grinned and head back to the basement to get some rope. I grabbed the same one I'd used yesterday and bounded back up the steps in excitement. Ms. B was sitting on a stool and gave me another head shake when I appeared, sticking her hands out in front of her once again.
“It's no fair to me if you can use your teeth. Let me tie them up behind you,†I tried.
“Deals off,†she said and began to stand.
“It was too easy for you yesterday! Give yourself a challenge Ms. B!†I pleaded.
She laughed. “You're a piece of work, Mark.â€
I waited silently to see what she would do. She gave me a long look before sighing, sitting, and—YES!--putting her arms behind her back! I scooted around her side and began to put all my hard studying the previous night to use. I moved her hands together, palm-to-palm, and began wrapping her wrists horizontally, after only a few, I moved on to vertically, and when I was satisfied that way, I pulled it tight (not not too tight) and knotted it high away from her fingers. Just like the internet taught me!
When I stepped back around to her front, I could see by her face, she already knew things weren't going to be like they were yesterday. Also, she looked even BETTER with her hands tied behind her. Her shoulders were pulled back and it had a nice effect on her chest. Her ponytail hung lazily down one shoulder, and her bare and tanned arms disappeared at the elbows behind her. She was biting her lip and moving from side to side as if she'd be out in no time, but when her lovely blue eyes glanced up, I saw the defeat in them. “You... little... SNEAK!†She shouted at me and twisted her body once again to test my rope work. “Did you have this all planned out since yesterday? Did you tie the rope loose so I'd think I could get out?â€
That wasn't really the truth, but it sounded so diabolically genius, I didn't want to say no. “Maybe,†I said instead and folded my arms.
I saw her struggle with the ropes once more before her shoulder slumped and she looked up at me. “OK, very funny. You got me, Mark. Not untie me.â€
“What? That wasn't the deal at all! YOU have to untie you. I have to get to box-moving.â€
“Mark...†she said annoyed.
“Good luck Ms. B,†I said cheerily and patted her on the shoulder before heading back into the basement.
As I descended the staircase I realized how damn awesome it was that I had Ms. Rebecca Brooks tied up upstairs. I also thought of Danny, though, and what he would think. I mean, I wasn't doing anything WRONG, was I? If anything, I was helping his mother out, not only with the boxes, but also with... well, the other thing. I didn't think he'd be mad... but there was really no point in telling him either.
I came back upstairs, box in hands, and Ms. B was right where I'd left her. She glanced at me, but said nothing as I passed through the kitchen and out the the back porch to deliver the box. On the way back though, I stole a peek at her bound hands again. Her fingers weren't even attempting the knot anymore, and just laid there in defeat. Somehow, that made it even better for me.
Two boxes later, I stopped and took a drink from the glass of water. I looked at hers, then up at her. “You want any of that, Ms. B? I know you're a bit tied up at the moment.†I couldn't resist.
“Funny, Mark,†she said sarcastically and gave me a dry look. I motioned to the glass again, and, after a moment of hesitation, she nodded her head. I moved to her side, picked up the glass, and brought it carefully to her lips. The way it gently sat on her bottom lip is an image that will always stay with me as I tilted the glass and let the water trickled into her mouth. She made a noise and I stopped, accidentally dripping some onto her chin and top of her chest. I looked down where the beads of water rested and swallowed.
“S-Sorry,†I said and grabbed a paper towel off the roll by the sink. Gently, cautiously, I dabbed up the water from her chest, and then wiped off her chin and lips too. Ms. B said nothing during this, but gave me a glance as I finished.
“Are you almost done, Mark?â€
“Almost,†I admitted, although I didn't want to be. I had been working extra-slow to draw this out, but I knew it couldn't last forever.
Ms. Brooks let out a breath and nodded her head. I noticed a strand of raven-black hair had fallen in front of her face, and I found that made her even more pretty. I thought about how that strand of hair would be there until I untied her, and the power I had over that one little strand of hair gave me a warm rush up my body. I quickly went back to the basement, suddenly a bit uncomfortable.
On my second-to-last box run, when I reached the kitchen, Ms. Brooks was gone. For some reason I panicked. Had someone came in when I was downstairs and kidnapped her? That thought kept running through my head as I dropped the box and shouted, “Ms. B!?â€
I rushed into the living room and saw—much to my relief, AND excitement—Ms. Brooks was sitting on her couch, hands still bound behind her, watching TV. She had kicked off her shoes, and had her bare feet propped up on the living room table, crossed at the ankles. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I was staring at her soles, thinking about how she kind of had wide feet, and wondering if she knew how incredible she looked at the moment.
“Done?†She broke the silence for me. “I'd kind of like to get out of these ropes, if you are, Mark.†She added with a smile.
My speech hadn't returned, and I couldn't just stand there looking like an idiot, so I did the only thing I could. I went to the couch, sat beside her, and started untying all my hard work. When she was free, she pulled her hands around to her front, rubbed her wrists, and then went right back to watching TV. “You're a pretty sneaky kid, you know that?†She asked, not turning to me. “But you do keep your word, I'll give you that much.â€
I thought for a moment before, “There's still some work to be done. The pool table... So... I'll see you tomorrow?â€
Moment of truth for yours truly.
She glanced at me, grinned, and looked back at the TV. “Sure, Mark,†she said and slowly shook her head.
She must have known I was getting into this whole thing, right? I mean... oh what did it even matter, I got to tie up Ms. B, and if things went my way, I'd get to again. And soon.
I went home and found it hard not to smile.