Third Time’s the Charm

Postby dav » Mon Aug 17, 2009 10:46 pm

Third Time’s the Charm, Part 1

I was introduced to tie-up games by my cousin Beth. Actually, she is not technically my cousin. She’s my mother’s brother’s wife’s sister’s daughter. But our extended family has maintained close ties, and we’ve always thought of each other as cousins.

Beth is a cute, diminutive blonde. She has a nice body and fabulous legs. She keeps her hair cut short, and it tends to be spiky, which gives her a somewhat raffish look, an image she likes to cultivate. She has a sweet face, with delicate features, an impertinent smile, a slightly crooked nose, and dark, expressive eyes from which emanate the most penetrating, intimidating gaze when she turns it on. And indeed, she can be formidable. Behind her engaging visage is a calm self-possession and a sharp intelligence. She has a deceptively self-deprecating style, making little jokes at her own expense, putting herself down, play-acting the bimbo. Those who know her well understand that when she’s not taking herself seriously, that’s when you should take her seriously, because she’s setting you up to put you down. You don’t fool with Beth, unless she wants you to.

Naturally I had a crush on her; but she is six years my elder, and by the middle of my teenage years I had abandoned all hope of entering the temple of Beth. I was still a mere schoolboy, she a postgrad university student. She had gone through, or more likely wore out, a string of boyfriends. She had a couple of girlfriends as well, though I think these were more fashion accessories than serious partners. Beth was not the flighty type, but when it came to relationships she seemed more interested in playmates than soul mates.

I spent a lot of time with Beth while I was growing up. She lived nearby, and when my parents were away on business, which was often, I would stay with her family. Sometimes, however, she would come over to my place instead. In later years she would tease me by calling it babysitting; but we got on well together. We would sit up late into the night talking and scoffing junk food and watching old movies; and we loved to play games, especially chess. When I was old enough, I nearly always beat her. This caused her no end of aggravation, because I was not a gracious winner and provoked her with dumb-blonde jokes. Of course, I was being malicious. At uni she studied advanced mathematics! But when she gets piqued, she becomes animated and intense, which makes her even more exciting... so I have always enjoyed annoying her.

I have no doubt that Beth was aware of my infatuation, but she was too cool to ever make fun of me about it. Even so, when she was staying over, she was charmingly disingenuous in the way she would lounge in the backyard on a sunny afternoon in her bikini, and wear her baby doll nightie around the house in the evening. She was a natural flirt and couldn’t resist an opportunity to get my juvenile heart pumping faster. Hunched over the chess board, she tried to distract me with her luscious, lace-edged cleavage; but masculine pride prevailed over adolescent lust, and I never let her win by such easy default.

On one of those stay-overs, around my eleventh birthday, Beth was in the backyard with her latest boyfriend, a guy named Mick, or Mitch, or something... I didn’t care to get too acquainted with my competition. I was a precocious pre-teen, and my crush was already well-developed. I was inside, brooding upstairs in my bedroom, watching them discreetly from my window. Beth looked as pretty as ever, in a short, flouncy, floral summer dress. It was getting on towards evening, and a chilling breeze wafted across the lawn. Beth started to shiver, and Mick-Mitch-whatever (from now on I shall call him Mick for short) put one arm around her lovely bare shoulders, and ran his other hand up her luscious bare legs, and she shivered even more. Suddenly they were rolling on the ground, laughing and grappling. Beth squealed and I gaped as Mick flipped her onto her stomach and twisted her arms behind her back. When he crossed her wrists, I could see what he was about to do.

While he was distracted, looking about for something to tie her with, Beth managed to wrestle free of his grasp and scrambled away on all fours. He lunged after her, caught hold of her legs and hauled her across the grass. She thrashed about, tore herself free of his grip and leapt to her feet; but instead of making a break for the house, she turned and confronted him. She must have known she didn’t have a hope, and she was quickly overpowered and forced to the ground. She yelled and flailed about more frantically, desperately grabbing the hem of her skirt to preserve some dignity as she was dragged by her ankles across the lawn.

I don’t know if Beth knew I was spying on them, but she screamed “David, help me!” as she was again sprawled onto her belly. Mick had pulled her alongside a large metal tool box which sat beside the garden shed. He rattled the lock, and he was in luck, it wasn’t bolted. He groped inside it, using his other hand to keep the struggling girl down, and pulled out a coil of tattered-looking nylon rope. Beth groaned. She was flat on the ground, arms pinned behind her back, as he dangled the rope tauntingly in front of her eyes.

I wrenched myself away from the window and raced downstairs and out the door. By this time Mick was already wrapping the cord around Beth’s wrists, which were crossed over the middle of her back. Her fists were clenching and unclenching. She looked up at me with a plaintive expression, her pretty face smudged with dirt, flaxen hair bedraggled, flushed cheeks quivering as she puffed and panted and gasped. Yet as she was being bound, she just lay there passively, blinking and pouting, having already given up the struggle... so unlike my indomitable cousin.

Mick saw me standing over them and grinned. Beth frowned; and she grimaced as her captor tightened the rope. They both could see that I had not come to rescue the damsel in distress. I had thought about it, of being the hero, and I thought the better if it. My cousin, prostrate before me, looked so helpless and so sexy. She tried to sit up but was pushed back down. She was still on her stomach, and her dress had bunched up under her trussed hands. Her white panties were grass-stained green. The straps of her dress had come off her shoulders, and when Mick began playing with the zipper on the back of the dress, she writhed and began kicking up her heels. I wasn’t about to put an end to this by interfering.

Beth stopped wriggling when Mick shifted his focus to her feet. She didn’t resist when he clamped her heels together. Then he turned towards me and pointed to one of the pieces of rope he had taken from the box. Beth wasn’t aware of that, and flinched when she felt the second pair of hands. I looped the cord about her ankles several times, cinched it – a refinement which earned me a nod of approval from Mick – and ended with a flourish, a sharp tug that elicited a despairing moan from our captive.

If Mick or I had been more resourceful, or willing to take the consequences later on, we would have finished the job by putting her in a hog-tie, or something equally entertaining. Instead, we left her to squirm in her bonds, straining at the rope, whimpering and pleading as the cold night air closed in around her. When finally we relented and released her, her exultant smile made it look like she thought she had won the day. At the time I assumed that this was just her way of saving face. Only much later did it become clear to me what that look of triumph really meant.

At the time I was too young to really understand what was going on. With her strong personality, despite her small size Beth did not seem like the sort of girl who would submit so easily... unless she chose to. And that’s how I learnt about tie-games. Naturally, as time went on, I began to fantasize, and in my alternate reality I would subdue Beth and carry her off to my lair, although she never surrendered without a fight. And since we spent a lot of time together, I couldn’t keep these fantasies a secret. Sometimes I would show her pictures I had drawn of her, in various forms of captivity, and she would be exasperatingly patronizing. At least I could beat her at chess.

Postby dav » Mon Aug 17, 2009 10:48 pm

Third Time’s the Charm, Part 2

Before the Beth and Mick episode, it hadn’t really occurred to me that you could play tie-up games for real. I had always wanted to, especially with members of the opposite sex, but after this it became almost an obsession. In the years that followed, I had some excellent adventures. On the other hand, I didn’t want a reputation as “that creepy boy who likes to tie up girls” so I had to be subtle, and as a result there were a lot of missed opportunities. The secret, I discovered, is that as long as you don’t get too “gung-ho” about it, in other words if you apply some tact, you can pick up more opportunities than you lose. Thus the best gambit (for me at least) is to have your victim thinking that you and she are just fooling around, when there just happens to be some rope and tape handy. To cover up my secret agenda, I would occasionally tie up one of the guys, and sometimes allow myself to get tied up; but I never wavered in the pursuit of my real mission.

Most of my adventures were really quite tame, certainly nothing as spectacular as that first time with Beth, when I was essentially a not-so-innocent bystander. One, however, was memorable enough to describe in detail. It happened when I was about fifteen. A bunch of friends and 1 were hanging about being bored one summer vacation afternoon, at my girlfriend’s house. She wasn’t really my girlfriend, she was a friend who was a girl, but the gang was evenly divided guy-chick and we tended to pair up. Her name was Lauren. We were mucking about in the kitchen, supposedly making afternoon snacks, and on impulse I grabbed Lauren and began tying her hands behind her back. It really was an impulse, because I hadn’t tied her before this and had no idea how she was going to react. I had been looking for a can opener in one of the cupboards and found a ball of string. That was my inspiration.

I won’t normally use string for binding a damsel because it is thin and may cut into the skin. So to make it tight I had to wind it around her wrists many times. This meant that she had several chances to break free. However, while she made a noisy show of trying to resist, and called on her friends in vain to save her, she allowed me to complete the job. When her arms were pinioned behind her, she pranced around as if she was showing off a new dress, and she made a joke of trying to finish making the sandwiches.

Everyone laughed, and what happened next was not unexpected. Pretty soon all four girls were tied up, in different ways. I only had to say something like “Let’s finish the job” and look around at the other three girls. Tomboy Meg just giggled and held out her hands to be bound in front. I told Robbo, her boyfriend, to secure them to one of the belt loops on her jeans, so her arms could be fully immobilized. Tiny Fran, who was a sort of Emo-Goth hybrid, shook her head vigorously and let out some ripe expletives, but she held her arms glumly at her sides as we enveloped her in twine. Statuesque Julie, the athlete, remained passive while her friends were being tied, but began to remonstrate when her turn came. She managed to fight us off for a minute or two but ended up submitting just as meekly as her friends. For something different, we made her clasp her hands behind her head. We bound them, and to prevent her from lowering her arms we secured her wrist-bindings to a yoke tied around her neck and shoulders. That produced a nice bonus because Julie was well-endowed in the chest area and was wearing a snugly fitting shirt.

In creating out bondage tableau, we used up the entire ball of string, as well as some of the ever useful duct tape, a roll of which I’d found under the sink. When they realized they were about to be gagged, the girls protested and pleaded, to no avail and not for long. Fran resisted the most, so as punishment we blindfolded her as well, taping a dish cloth over her eyes. After that, we had some fun with our captives, taunting and harassing them. It was a bit cruel, the things we did to them, pulling their hair, pinching their backsides, flicking them with tea towels, tickling them, pushing and shoving them about the kitchen when they couldn’t fight back; but the girls were laughing through it all, when they weren’t mumbling dire threats of vengeance behind their tape gags.

Who knows how the game would have progressed if Lauren’s mother hadn’t come home unexpectedly? Actually, probably not much further. But Mrs R walked into the kitchen, wondering what was causing all the commotion, to find her daughter and three other girls bound and gagged and being horribly tormented. Her only reaction was mild amusement, and I was impressed when she entered into the spirit of the game by demanding that Lauren explain was going on. Of course, the girl was still gagged, and she garbled incomprehensibly through the tape. Mrs R just nodded unsympathetically and shrugged her shoulders.

Now besides being so cool, Mrs R was also incredibly hot, a very attractive brunette whose entire wardrobe seemed to consist of miniskirts, halter-neck sundresses, ultra-brief shorts and form-fitting jeans. At least that’s how I remember her. This day she was wearing a rather revealing shirtdress, and for a second I thought seriously about adding her to our clutch of captives. Of course, prudence prevailed; and when she turned to exit the kitchen, the girls screamed remonstrations and pleadings through their gags. Mrs R gave us boys a meaningful look, and then she said something which confirmed her status as the coolest mother in the neighbourhood.

“Why don’t you kids take your game outside, while I finish the sandwiches?”

The girls protested again, with feeble whimpering, as they were herded into the garden for more torment. Robbo wanted to hose them down, but sanity prevailed and I vetoed that. Anyway, there was lots of fun to be had without getting the girls wet.

When the Mrs R brought out the food and drinks, I pondered briefly once again how she might respond if I grabbed her, but again I chickened out – or rather, I decided that discretion was indeed the better part of valour. Still, to this day I’ve wondered if this was one of my lost opportunities. Instead, I took my frustration out on poor Lauren. I forced her to the ground, onto her stomach, and sat on her backside while she squirmed and kicked. Her mother responded with an enigmatic smile, and I decided the game was over. The other guys looked disappointed, and even the girls didn’t seem especially relieved when they were untied and ungagged. Except Fran, who eventually got even with us... but it was worth it.

I did get to tie up Lauren and a couple of her friends again; never the delectable Mrs R, of course. My bondage games continued. However, my ultimate dream was to tie up Beth.

Postby dav » Mon Aug 17, 2009 10:49 pm

Third Time’s the Charm, Part 3

Although I’ve always thought of Beth as my cousin, she’s not really, so I was never troubled by my feelings towards her. At the same time, I was certain that I had no better prospects with her than with Mrs R. She was out of my class as well as my age division.

When I was sixteen, I came as close as I thought I would ever get. Beth invited me to come along to her university’s “festival week”, and I was flattered that she chose to spend the entire day with me. I was thinking about enrolling in a baccalaureate course, which means you take uni subjects while still in high school; so she wanted to give me an introduction to campus life.

The festival theme that year was “back in time”, and I knew I’d entered my Fantasyland when we were greeted at the entrance to the grounds by a shapely young woman dressed as a Greco-Roman slavegirl, complete with chains on her collar, bracelets and anklets. Beth saw my expression, smiled indulgently and introduced me to her ex-roommate, Linda. There were other visual delights, such as a medieval maiden bound to a stake for burning as a heretic. Of course, there was a lot more going on than these isolated incidents of bondage bliss, but those were the things that got my attention.

However, the best was yet to come, the pie-eating contest. A row of mushy cream pies was set out on a long wooden bench. The contestants were blindfolded and, with their hands behind their backs, raced to eat their allotted pie. It was good, clean – or rather, messy – fun.

Beth explained that we’d arrived in time for the intercollegiate competition. At the time she was still living in one of the residential colleges. The men went first, and my cousin applauded when her house won. Then it was the women’s event, and Beth turned to me and said “My turn.” She stepped up to the table, taking her place alongside the other contestants with her hands behind her. As the emcee called out the names, a couple of his assistants fixed the blindfolds in place. Then it got better. The announcer declared that “we should make this more interesting.” The assistants proceeded to tie the girls’ hands behind their backs. The audience, including me, cheered and whistled.

Beth came third, enough to get her into the final; and while she and her fellow finalists waited, they remained bound and blindfolded. There was no sound reason why they should, but it added some extra spice to the mix. I retain in my mind the indelible image of my gorgeous cousin standing there in her short denim skirt and halter-top, hands bound behind her back, cream-spattered hair hanging over her blindfold, her face, hair and smooth bare shoulders lathered with white goo. When it was over, she returned to my side with a sheepish grin, wiping off the gunk. And although this was not the most dramatic of my tie-up episodes, since I was again a mere spectator, it was a very pleasant experience. More importantly, it was a prelude to my finest moment.

A few months later, I got accepted into the baccalaureate program. It included a two-week orientation session at the university during the summer vacation, and Beth invited me to stay with her in her new apartment, to save on travel time. She was now studying at postgraduate level, and I wasn’t surprised to discover that my glamorous cousin was also a part-time model. It’s what paid the rent on her apartment.

The fortnight was largely uneventful. I worked hard all day, and Beth was involved in some sort of promotional work for the university. On the first Saturday night, we attended a semi-formal banquet. Beth looked stunning in her slinky little black dress, and I felt so proud escorting her under the admiring gaze of my teachers and fellow students. After that, our evenings together were spent mostly with takeaway and television. It was nice to not have to share her with the family or her latest boyfriend. For our last night, however, Beth promised to treat me to dinner at a fancy restaurant, celebrating the completion of my course and, as well, her birthday which was coming up in a few days.

When I arrived home that afternoon, I found the apartment empty. “Damn it,” I thought, “she’s working late and had to cancel.” But in my room, I found my suit neatly laid out on the bed, a crisply pressed shirt and my tie. Beside my clothes was a note: “Sorry. Job not finished. Will meet you 6 pm at Lorraine’s.” (That’s the name of a fashionable restaurant downtown.) Along with the letter was a small stack of ten-dollar notes, with another letter attached. “Fare and bill. E.” (Her proper name is Elisabeth, “with an S, not a Z,” she insists; but we’ve always called her Beth.)

So, at six o’clock, my taxi pulled up outside the restaurant. The driver and I had been chatting, and as we arrived he pointed out the window.

“So that’s your date, huh? You’re doing pretty well for yourself.”

Beth was already waiting near the entrance. She was dressed in a blue tailored jacket, black pleated miniskirt and cream silk blouse. The evening breeze played with her hemline and ruffled her silky, golden tresses. She looked incredible, and passers-by gave her lingering glances of approval.

I joined her, and gestured with a flourish towards the doorway.

“Why thank you, kind sir,” she said, with a sparkle in her eye.

The maître-d’ ushered us to our table and we wined and dined in grand style; or at least, we dined and Beth wined. She let me be The Man, and I played my role to the hilt. At the end of the meal I paid the bill, with her money, of course. As we left the restaurant, I hailed a taxi and, after she slipped me the money for the fare. Beth was amazing like that. She knew how to stoke a young guy’s ego without being ironic or pretentious.

We walked up the pathway to the apartment block, arm in arm. I felt very light-headed, intoxicated by the moment, and while Beth wasn’t drunk, her head must have been foggy. Giggling, she fumbled for the lock until I gently took the key from her hand and let us in.

“I’m off to change into something more comfortable,” Beth said, but when she reached the living room she dropped onto the sofa. She smoothed out her skirt and patted the cushion next to her; so I joined her, taking off my coat and tie. She slipped off her jacket and kicked off her shoes. Fanning herself with one hand, she undid the top two buttons of her blouse with the other.

It was still quite early. Neither of us was at all tired. Beth reached for the remote control, switched on the television and surfed idly through the channels. She settled on a football game, although we didn’t watch it. She took my hand in hers, drew it across onto her lap, and intertwined our fingers. We started to thumb wrestle and Beth began laughing. I asked her what was so funny.

“Just remembering something, long ago,” she said.

The alcohol buzz was wearing off; I could tell because the fuzziness in her voice was becoming less obvious. We started reminiscing about the good times of the past, and I eventually brought up that incident in the back yard with Mick-Mitch-whatever. I was not expecting anything to come out of our conversation. I just wanted to experience a vicarious thrill by having her recall it, and maybe get a little embarrassed talking about it, because we still liked to tease each other.

Beth quickly turned the tables, interrogating me. She soon had me admitting how the memory of her in that sexy little floral dress being tied up turned me on. I must have blushed or stammered, because she laughed again, playfully slapped my face and ruffled my hair.

“Poor Davey,” she consoled (knowing how much I hate being called Davey). Then she added, almost as an afterthought, “Maybe it’s time to put things right.” Or something like that. My recollection is understandably vague.

Kneading my fingers in hers, she drew my hand down past the edge of her skirt, along the smooth satin of her stockinged thighs, to her knees, which were pressed demurely together. Our hands rested there for a moment, and I felt a shock as her knees slowly parted. But all of a sudden she leapt to her feet, still clasping my hand, and spun around to face me. She stood over me as I blenched into the sofa, unsure of what was about to happen or how I should react.

“Tie me now,” she said, staring straight into my eyes. My gaze broke contact and wandered downwards. Her voice was somewhat breathless, and her chest was heaving slightly. A white lace bra peeked out where the top buttons of her blouse were undone.

I looked into her face again, wondering if the effects of the alcohol had not yet entirely worn off. She read my expression.

“Don’t worry, my head’s as clear as...”

“A bell?”

“Yes. Ring-a-ding.” She giggled at how silly that sounded.

Still I hesitated, until she insisted. “I dare you to tie me up.”

How could I refuse that? “What will I use?” I asked. “Do we have anything to use?”

She considered that. “We could use a couple of scarves and ties... No, we might stretch them... I’ve got it!”

She pulled me off the sofa; or rather, she jerked my arm and I jumped up. She led me to her bedroom, to the dresser. She opened the top drawer, revealing a neat pile of folded pantyhose. She counted out half a dozen or so pairs.

“These should do the trick,” she said, and we went back to the living room.

None of this seemed quite real. It was a spur of the moment thing for Beth, and I was just reacting.

“How should we do this?” she asked, and before I could reply she had answered her own question. She knelt on the carpet, in fact at first on her hands and knees, although she thought the better of that particular pose and raised herself upright, placing her hands behind her back. She looked up at me quizzically. I paused again, but not due to any uncertainty this time. My course was set. I just wanted to enjoy the sight of my gorgeous cousin in her miniskirt and half-unbuttoned blouse, kneeling before me waiting to be bound.

I crouched down behind her with one pair of her pantyhose. I crossed her wrists left over right and wrapped the hose around them. Because of the elasticity, I had to pull the nylon really tight. The force pulled her backwards and, with a barely audible “Ohhh...” she almost collapsed into my lap. I caught her by her upper arms and began winding a second pair of the pantyhose around them. Tying up a woman with her own lingerie is one of the ultimate turn-ons, because it is such an intimate part of her apparel that you are using on her.

She twisted her head around to stare at me over her shoulder, with an unspoken “What’s the delay now?”

I completed binding her wrists and did the same with her ankles, crossing them as well. It would have been just as secure if I’d kept her heels together and cinched the tie, but this way was more complicated and so took longer. I wanted to stretch this out as long as possible. Beth remained silent and compliant as I worked on her feet. That was actually a little disappointing. It would have been more fun if she started to struggle; but I could hardly complain.

“You’re doing a thorough job,” she said at last.

“You won’t escape from this,” I answered, hoping she’d try. It’s generally more satisfying when your victim fights back – in vain, naturally.

I looked over my work so far and was much pleased. Beth waited patiently, offering neither suggestions nor encouragement nor resistance. I decided her elbows needed tying and looped a fourth pair of pantyhose around her arms and pulled hard until she gasped. I probably went too far. Her elbows nearly touched behind her back, and I thought it might be painful. It cannot have been comfortable; but apart from that little intake of breath, which was probably more from surprise than anything else, she didn’t even wince. Maybe it was the residual effect of the dinner wine. Maybe this wasn’t something new to her.

I sat back on my heels to study my progress. Beth remained quiet and still, kneeling with her back rigid but her shoulders now drawn backwards by the elbow-tie. I took another pair of pantyhose and tied a large knot in the middle. When I held it in front of her, she clamped her jaws for just a moment, then obediently parted them and I tied her gag in place. She puffed a couple of times, adjusting her mouth to the ball of nylon, then relaxed. After that, I wrapped the last of the pantyhose around her head as a blindfold. Both pairs were needed to shut out the light. I believe in doing a job properly.

Having gone as far as I could with the materials available, I turned Beth around to inspect my work. I could have moved around to her front but decided instead that she should have to do the turning. So I directed her to rotate on the carpet by pushing on her shoulders, and she manoeuvred around to face me, which was far from easy with her ankles bound. It took some time, and I had to apply steadying hands to keep her from toppling sideways. It was worth the wait. She looked so small and helpless and sexy, bound, gagged and blindfolded. She was moving her head slowly, back forward, up and down, as if to catch a glimpse of me past the edges of her blindfold. Her lips were puckering as she chewed at the nylon wad that filled her mouth. Tiny beads of perspiration dappled her forehead, and her short blonde hair was damp and dishevelled.

She was swaying a little, and now breathing heavily through her gag, because the elbow-tie constricted her chest and forced her to suck in the air. That made a pretty sight, as the sides of her blouse pulled apart and the remaining buttons strained to stay in place. I gallantly tried to pull the lapels together, but she recoiled at my touch. Undaunted, I changed tack and pulled the blouse off her shoulders and below the level of her brassiere. I didn’t go any further, but it was a potently symbolic act, letting her know that she was in my power.

Or not. She began to wriggle, she twisted and struggled, even tried to head-butt me. I quickly subdued her and pushed her belly-down onto the carpet. By pressing on the backs of her knees, I forced her legs to bend until her heels contacted her backside. I held them there with one hand while I undid and removed my belt. I used it to secure her in a very strict hog-tie. Except for a few muffled whimpers and groans, she lay still. Her fingers probed her bonds and played absently with the hem of her skirt, which had ridden up her thighs. Once again I thought about taking it further, but I knew I had gone as far as I could, or would.

I sat on the sofa to admire my workmanship and gaze upon my captive. She looked utterly helpless and incredibly sexy. After a while, I slowly untied her, savouring each moment. When finally freed, she sat up and, without a word or a glance up at me, leisurely rubbed her wrists, elbows and ankles, massaging away the red markings and mild swelling. Eventually, she gathered up her pantyhose and, rising unsteadily to her feet, silently headed for her bedroom.

When she returned, I was again on the sofa. She sat cross-legged on the floor halfway across the room. She pushed down her skirt and I saw that she had done up all the buttons on her blouse. She gave me a meaningful look. Actually, meaningful is not the right term; maybe inscrutable. I didn’t say anything. And after a while she got up again and made us hot cocoa.

We didn’t really talk about what happened. The next morning, Beth made a couple of lame jokes. Later in the day, she drove me home and our meandering conversation wandered a few times into tie-up game territory, but nothing specific. After that, I noticed a subtle change in our relationship. Until that night, Beth had been my sophisticated older cousin, my mentor, confidant and role-model. While I saw her as a beautiful, desirable young woman, I had always been awed and maybe overawed by her. Yet that night she surrendered to me; she allowed me to indulge in my fantasy. As my willing captive, Beth freed me from my infatuation. I know it sounds corny, but I can live with that.

She recently announced her engagement. At a family gathering to celebrate, she made a speech and it was typical Beth, full of saucy innuendo and racy double entendres. At one point she talked about tying the knot and she looked straight at me, a sparkle in her eye and a furtive wrinkle at the corner of her mouth. It may have meant nothing, but I like to think otherwise.

Re: Third Time’s the Charm

Postby Tony » Tue Aug 18, 2009 4:38 am

Let me be the first to applaud you for this beautifully written story. Excellent.

Re: Third Time’s the Charm

Postby canuck100 » Tue Aug 18, 2009 5:23 pm

^^ I concur

Re: Third Time’s the Charm

Postby dav » Tue Aug 18, 2009 5:32 pm

Cheers.
I just got an email from Beth, who’s read the story. She disputes a couple of the minor details, but I can put that down to dramatic licence.

Re: Third Time’s the Charm

Postby bondagefan » Wed Aug 19, 2009 1:11 am

Your story was great did you tie Beth or Lauren anymore?

Re: Third Time’s the Charm

Postby dav » Wed Aug 19, 2009 11:48 pm

bondagefan wrote:did you tie Beth or Lauren anymore?

Beth -- sadly, no.
Lauren -- yes, a couple of times. They are not really dramatic enough to warrant a story here.

Re: Third Time’s the Charm

Postby bondagefan » Thu Aug 20, 2009 12:34 am

Do you have anything you want to post your first one was great.