Brotherly Bonds

Postby sarobah » Thu Apr 16, 2009 3:59 pm

The Tie-up Chronicles

5. Family Ties, Part One: Brotherly Bonds

As I’ve mentioned before, it was my brother who first started tying me up. Since then we’ve both moved on, of course, and it’s important to clarify that there was nothing icky or yucky about our tie-up games. The world need not fear two-headed Alex-minors, nor thirteen-fingered mini-Sarahs.

Alex and I developed a close bond in the more conventional sense as well. Until my early teens, the family moved around a lot. Our semi-nomadic lifestyle meant that we weren’t in one place long enough for us kids to make lasting friendships, so we had to depend on each other. At the same time, the itinerancy made it hard for my parents to find a babysitter when one was needed. Although I’m just two years the elder, this responsibility fell on me. That’s when I had to stop being the fun playmate and become the bossy big sister. As a result, it is not really surprising that Alex and I developed a somewhat antagonistic relationship. It was always good-natured, but I had to fight a never-ending battle to shore up my superiority, and he waged a relentless campaign to undermine it.

This elder sister younger brother dynamic played a key role in my first two big tie-up adventures. From Alex’s point of view, he had won a grand victory by capturing and subduing me. And yet, in his bid to right imagined wrongs and establish his ascendancy, I don’t know if it occurred to him that I might actually enjoy my role as la demoiselle en détresse. In any case, after those episodes there was a brief hiatus until my Commando games changed the field of play. Thereafter I developed my Escape Artiste routine. Even then, however, my tie-up games were of the role-play variety, and my friends didn’t really catch on. So this is where my brother makes his comeback.

Once upon a time, I wrote a fictional story of a camping trip in which tent ropes served a neat dual purpose. It was based on an incident that happened when I was about fifteen. At the time, my friends and I were very much into hiking and camping – well, truth to tell, I despise the camping bit with a passion that knows no bounds; but it’s requisite for an extended hike, which I love; and, as an avid astronomer, I at least got to observe the night sky far from city lights. Typically there were six to eight of us on an expedition, mainly members of our war games group. Sometimes I took along my brother and one or two of his buddies (mainly on my parents’ insistence).

At first, I didn’t understand why Alex would want to come hiking with us. His attitude has always been that you’re allocated just so many heartbeats in your lifetime, and why use them up before you have to? I eventually discerned the reason – typical younger sibling rivalry. Although I have never been very athletic, I have always prided myself on my physical and mental stamina (which are, as we in TUGs know, vital preconditions for a strict tie-up). So I guess that Alex decided that anything Big Sis could do, Lil Bro could do better.

It didn’t work out that way. We were set to embark on the homeward leg of a two-day hike. On this occasion, Alex was the odd man out in a party of me and my friends; and he was in a surly mood by the time we’d hit the sack the previous evening. The sun was already above the tree line when he crawled out of his sleeping bag, moaning and groaning. He grumpily devoured the hearty breakfast I had cooked while he slept, and he looked on sullenly as the rest of us cleaned up, cleared up and packed up.

“It’s what I do, it’s what I am,” was his only response to my reproach. Adamantine Alex did not want to admit that he was exhausted from the first day’s trek. So naturally I had to goad him, and naturally I set my own trap.

I finally got him to concede that yesterday’s exertions had worn him out.

“But that was a breeze,” I just had to tease.

“I carried your gear,” he said with a sneer.

I suppose he was right about that. The boys carried heavier packs than us girls, but they were bigger and stronger. We had actually been quite fair – I thought – in distributing the burden according to body mass. However, since I was not going to appeal to his innate chivalry, I proposed that today we even up the weight. The rest of the gang were standing about, following the argument, and the other girls (Beth and Julie) were none too pleased at my striking a blow for egalitarianism.

After we’d redistributed the gear and hitched up our loads, Alex declared: “Now we’ll see who’s got the balls.”

I ignored his non sequitur. On anatomical grounds alone, I couldn’t win that one. Instead I uttered the fateful words: “I could do this with one hand tied behind my back… what the heck, both hands.”

Now you’d think I would know better. I guess my impulsive nature kicked in, as it is wont to do. So my brother issued the inevitable challenge, for which I’m ever the sucker

“Oh yeah? Well, let’s find out. You got what it takes?”

“Bring it on.”

And so it happened, just like that.

At this early phase in my tie-up games, my friends knew little about them, so they were surprised when Alex retrieved a couple of tent ropes and I placed my hands behind my back. Of course, we immediately encountered a problem. With my rucksack in position, they didn’t reach all the way, I couldn’t even link fingers. Nevertheless, my enterprising brother found a solution. He tied my left wrist to a short strap hanging from the underside of the pack, and my right wrist to a ring on the other side used for holding my water bottle. It was not the most elegant of ties, but it was effective in keeping my arms immobile. He and the other guys turned expectantly – and perhaps a little too eagerly – to the other girls. Beth and Julie vigorously shook their heads. They were still staring incredulously at me. I just smiled and shrugged.

We set off along a broad track which quickly narrowed as we entered the rainforest. It was dark and damp and chilly inside, with a thick canopy blocking the sunlight. Our path was flanked by the moss-covered trunks of lofty red cedars, Antarctic beeches and regal tree-ferns. It was lovely and yet spooky. We’d walked this trail several times, and I would fantasize that we were tramping through Mirkwood en route to the Lonely Mountain. (Sadly, this entire area has been decimated by recent drought.)

The cool environs proved my salvation, for without my hands I could not have wiped away sweat or brushed away flies and mosquitoes. Even so, I was driven half mad by my hair, which kept drifting into my eyes. I spent much of the morning blowing and puffing to keep it away; while my unsympathetic friends ignored my plight. Finally, at a rest stop, Beth located my headband, which I should have been wearing anyway, and put an end to my despair. I also couldn’t handle my canteen, but the girls were less vindictive when I needed to quench my thirst.

Meanwhile, my brother had tapped new reserves of energy. He was bounding along the track, making all sorts of strange noises, despoiling the undergrowth, scaring the wildlife and taunting me without mercy. I tugged at my bonds, trying to squeeze a hand through the loop, desperate to land just one satisfying, silencing blow.

When we stopped for lunch, none of my companions was willing devote any time to feeding me, so Alex showed magnanimity to untying my right hand. (Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t reach my left one to free it as well.) Then it was back to hands-free trekking. The afternoon stage was especially strenuous, over a series of ridges and valleys, and there were some fallen trees blocking the trail. These I had to scramble over by myself, which proved difficult and hazardous without the use of my arms. I was wearing shorts and a singlet top, so I ended up with a few scratches and bruises – nothing serious, but transient mementos of my perseverance, my endurance and my complete lack of common sense.

We reached our final destination at about three in the afternoon, with one final moment of discomfort for me. We came out of the forest into a tourist carpark where, as prearranged, my mother and the mother of one of the other boys were waiting to take us home. They each gave me a quizzical look when they saw that I was bound to my own backpack, but my dear mater simply made a raised-eyebrows, You two at it again? gesture at Alex and me.

My mother has always known that there was something not quite right about her daughter, and this was not the first time she had seen me tied up. Both my parents are very liberal-minded, although I don’t know if I inherited my TUGs genes from them… which is an oblique way of saying I don’t know if they played tie-up games. I’ve never asked.

Alex and I continued to explore our mutual interest. Over the years, he had built up an impressive collection of damsel-in-distress clips from television shows and movies. We watched them together, and since many of these scenes were unrealistic, I taught him a few useful techniques. Not that I was any sort of expert, but I had enough experience to know what worked and what didn’t, what was nice and what wasn’t. Of course, I let him practise on me… I repeat that there was nothing creepy about this (and I don’t think that the lady doth protest too much). I should also add, however, that Alex was never on the receiving end. I don’t know whether this was his general preference, or if it was simple brotherly pride that he would not let himself be tied up by his “little big sister”. The point is, and I know it’s a cliché, that he learnt the ropes from me.

Not very long after the hiking adventure, our parents were invited to present a joint paper at a conference in Sydney. We booked into an expensive hotel with splendid views of the harbour and the city lights, a well-stocked bar fridge, plush furnishings… all the accoutrements except those which would appeal to a fifteen year-old girl and a thirteen year-old boy, a television set and video games console. (What were they thinking?) Our parents were sympathetic, but their “It’s only for one night” apologia fell on stubbornly deaf ears. They even offered us front-row seating for a two-hour presentation on dynamical adaptation and self-organizing systems. We politely declined.

So guess what happened?

A half-hour after our parents are gone, my brother is prowling restlessly about the living room.

“I’m bored,” he whines.

“So am I... with your complaining,” I reply. “Why don’t you read your magazine?”

“Finished it. This place sucks.”

“So get over it already.”

That works like a charm... if only. As soon as I get back to my novel, the air is rent by a cacophony.

I throw down my book. “Do you really have to make that awful noise?”

“I’m singing. It’s called talent. You wouldn’t understand.”

No, apparently I don’t; but my peace-and-quiet has been overthrown, and it’s not coming back.

“So let’s do something,” I say. “What about a game of cards?”

“Strip poker?”

“Don’t be a perv.”

“Just a suggestion. Have we got any cards?”

“Okay, good point; so how about...”

“Nah, too boring.”

“Good grief, Alex, I didn’t even get to say it.”

“Whatever you say, it’s going to suck. Girls are boring.”

“Don’t mess with me, brat boy. I can still take you down.”

“You can’t talk to me like that. I’m the man.”

“Okay man, if you’re so bored you’re going to make my life a misery, you can tie me up.”

Did I really say that? Okay, I did. Let’s go with it, I decide.

“What’s in it for me?” he sulks.

“When you’ve got me tied up, I can’t beat you up.”

“Yeah, that works.” He looks about the room. “What are we gonna use?”

I ponder the problem for a few seconds. My pantyhose comes to mind.

“I’ve got exactly the thing. Wait a tick.” I fetch two pairs from my suitcase. “Here, we’ll use these. And please, try not to ruin them.”

He flexes and stretches the nylon. “Yeah, these’ll do the job,” he declares with the voice of authority.

I ask him to assist in moving the coffee table. Under our feet, the thick, springy shag carpet is perfect for our needs. Then we stand facing each other, for a few seconds. I’m waiting for Alex to make the first move.

Finally, he splutters: “Right, this is... what we... here we go. Put your hands out.”

“No,” I say, turning away from him, “behind me.” I cross my wrists over the small of my back.

He’s adept at this part of the operation. He’s done it before. He loops one pair of my pantyhose around my wrists in a criss-cross pattern, vertically cinching the end result. However, he’s not used to working with such elastic material, so it takes a couple of goes to get it right, with me constantly admonishing: “Make it tighter. It doesn’t hurt.”

“Just be quiet and let me do it,” he grumbles.

Finally, he gives my arms a solid tug. “Done. Pretty good job, huh?”

“Not bad,” I concede, “for an amateur.” I take a minute to draw in some deep breaths. I try to wrest my arms apart, applying tension and torsion, to no avail. I feel my pulse quickening.

“Now do my feet the same way. Hold on, it will be easier if I sit down.” I move towards the sofa.

“No, not there, on the floor,” he orders.

“Fair enough.” It’s not worth an argument. “Now, only use one leg of the stocking. Just do it, and then I’ll explain.”

“Stop interfering,” he growls. “I’m in charge here.”

I’m sitting with my knees bent, one ankle over the other, but Alex grabs and separates them, placing my legs side-by-side rather than crossed. It isn’t as comfortable for me, but it’s easier for him to loop and cinch. It still takes him a lot of time and effort, but he’s done nice work. With a final yank, he makes it a snug fit, though I wince at the thought of my innocent pantyhose being tortured so.

While I’m getting the feel of my bonds, Alex starts fiddling with the other leg of my tights, trying to decide how to put it to best use.

“Give me a moment to get the circulation going,” I say. There is a dull throbbing in a vein in my left ankle, which subsides after I’ve wiggled and waggled my feet to stimulate the blood flow.

“Your toes have turned blue!” my brother exclaims.

“That’s my nail polish, smart-arse.”

He mutters something inaudible, then out loud: “How’s it feel?”

“Feels good,” I say, “not too harsh, not too easy, just right.”

“Then stop struggling, Goldilocks.”

“I’m not struggling, I’m... Hey!”

Without a warning or a “please excuse”, Alex who’s moved behind me grabs my shoulders and jerks me backwards, at the same time flipping me so that I flop onto my stomach.

“Let me up!” I yell.

“No way... down you go, where you belong.”

“Fine... you win,” I state the obvious. “So what now?”

“What ya got in mind?”

“I’m your prisoner, dork... Okay, since I’m down here and not going anywhere, I’ll tell you what to do.”

I guide him through a hog-tie, using the free leg of the pantyhose. It’s probably one of my weirder moments, lying prone on the floor, being tied up by my little brother as I spell out the instructions. When it’s complete, I frantically wriggle about.

“See if you can get out of that,” he says proudly.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?”

“Maybe the carpet has fleas.”

“Maybe you have brain damage. Ouch! You lowlife...”

My darling brother slaps me between the shoulder blades, hard. “Watch yourself, sissy. Your arse is mine now.”

“Enjoy it while you can.”

“You’re not getting out of it. I told you. Give up?”

“Yes, I give up. Congratulations Alex, you’ve done your first hog-tie.”

He allows himself a self-satisfied snigger as bossy big sister squirms on the carpet in her bonds. The elation passes quickly. Such is the attention span of the adolescent male.

“So is that it?” he says.

“Bored already?” So typical of him... I’m just getting to enjoy myself. “Okay, go get three handkerchiefs... big ones... clean ones!”

I look up and watch him as he scurries out of the room. I try to sit up, but it’s harder than I anticipated, so I give up.

I’m thinking “Wouldn’t it be funny if Mum and Dad come in right now?” when Alex returns with several handkerchiefs, which he dangles in front of my face.

“How about these?”

“They’ll do.”

“What for?” he asks.

He cannot be that dim, surely.

“Fold the first one a couple of times... No, chucklehead, diagonally.”

“You’re asking for it.”

“Sorry; but now you’re doing it right. So tie it around my head... for gawdsake, over my eyes. It’s a blindfold, dumb-arse.” I know I’m going to pay for my insolence before this night is through, but how else will the boy learn?

“Pull harder. That’s better. I can’t see a thing. So what are you doing now?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? That’s why you’ve got a blindfold.”

I can’t dispute the logic. Nevertheless, I ask again and I get an answer. So much for keeping me in the dark.

“I’m folding another handkerchief, making a... umm...”

“Wad.”

“Yeah, wad. Okay, so open up.”

For a moment I consider resisting, but I think the better of it.

“Not too far. If I choke to death, I’m telling.”

“I know what I’m doing.” He sounds indignant.

I part my jaws and the cloth goes in.

“See, I know how to do this.” He cleaves it with the third handkerchief. “How does that feel?”

“Mmmff!”

“Pardon?”

“Mmmff!”

“I’ll take that to mean: You’ve done an excellent job, Alex. You’re the boss of me.”

“Mmmff?”

“I’m glad we agree. Well, that’s it. I’m off to bed.”

“Mmmff-fff! Mmmff-fff!”

“Bye-bye. Nightie-night.”

“Mmmm!!”

“Ha, just kidding! Where’s your sense of humour?”

“Gurrrg.”

“Oh, there it is.”

(I could continue with our enthralling conversation, but instead, I shall skip to the end.)

It’s been maybe two hours. For all his earlier whingeing, my brother has found something to keep himself amused. He’s reading the magazine he claimed he’d finished. Meanwhile, I’m still lying on my belly on the carpet, hog-tied, gagged, blindfolded and starting to cramp up. Alex must be keeping an eye on me, because as soon as I begin to really writhe and twist, he unties me. I’m a bit unsteady as he helps me to my feet.

“There you go. All over. How ya feeling?”

“Oh, geez. I was just starting to have fun... not! Let me just stretch my legs.” The cricks and kinks soon vanish and the twinging and tingling quickly fade. “Wow! That was intense. Nice work bro; though I think my pantyhose needs life support. You’re going to make some girl very happy one day.”

“If she’s a weirdo twisted freak like you.”

“That’s the only kind you... oh, forget it. Help me with the coffee table.”

It’s not long after this point that our parents arrive back at the hotel.

I make them cocoa as they get changed.

“How did the presentation go?” I ask my mother as she comes into the kitchen.

“Great. We expect to be in Stockholm for the awards next year. Has Alex gone to bed?”

“Just now. Poor little guy was totally worn out.”

“I’m not surprised. Did he behave himself?”

“We stayed busy.”

“Good. Your brother needs to be kept on a very short rope.”

“That’s just what I’ve been thinking,” I say, handing her the mug of steaming chocolate.

Re: Brotherly Bonds

Postby Qarl » Tue Apr 06, 2010 12:39 am

I love the innocence of it, and the humor of the brother sister dialog. Did I read this before, or did you include parts of this in one of your fiction stories? Great story!