I had prepared for this one for weeks: I carefully tracked down the shiny Lycra dancing tights I wanted to wear; I practised getting into, and cutting myself free from, the final wrist tie a dozen times, in front and in back; I charged the cameras I wanted to use to capture the event; and I waited patiently for my family to leave for a few days.
Kay had taken the kids to her friend's house, a twelve hour drive away. After they pulled out of the driveway, I wanted to start right away, but I waited until the next morning when Kay called and said they had arrived safely.
Now it was go time.
I stripped and pulled the tights on over my shaved legs. God how I loved wearing tights. I admired my legs in them for a little bit, then got to work.
First, I put the wire cutters on the floor in the living room. The mission was to get to them, hogtied, and cut myself free. I was using HD cameras in a few places to record the whole thing so I'd have some good pics to look at later.
I went back to my bedroom. Maybe 50 feet, through one door and across two rooms.
I sat on the floor, on the far side of my bed so the bed was between me and the door. Plenty of room to make it through there, but it was going to be work.
I lashed my ankles together with thick, soft, nylon braided rope. Over, under, over, under, over, under, over, cross, twist, loop through, and tie. This left two long pieces of rope that I would use to pull the ankles up later.
I lashed my legs together, just over the knees. My legs rubbed, brushing the tights together. Between that slippery feel and the binding of the rope, I started to get quite aroused.
I went to work on my upper body rope harness. I laid a long length of thick rope across my shoulders and then began wrapping it under my arms, across my back, under the other arm, and back to the top of my neck. I did this several times and then tied a nice, tight knot behind my neck.
I laid on my belly, reached behind me, grabbed the ropes hanging from my ankles and looped it through the rope harness, right behind my neck. I pulled the rope through, drawing my ankles back and over. I pulled some more until my ankles began to pull back. Then, with a bit of grunting and contorting, I got it tied off behind my neck.
Time for final touches. I made sure everything was close at hand. Then I pulled my blindfold down. It was a Bondi Band, a woman's athletic headband. It is a pretty stretchy piece of fabric so it conforms to my face well, and blocks out the light. But, it also lets me see through a teeny bit, though it is quite uncomfortable to do so.
Now I put my hands behind my back and began looping the rope around both wrists in a motion I had practised quite a bit. I managed to get it pretty firm and tie a loose knot in it. Then I took a thick, wide, zip tie, threaded it crosswise around the loops, through the bottom of the rope harness, and back around.
This is always the tricky part. I pushed, squirmed, manoeuvred, twisted, and poked until I finally got the loose end of the zip tie threaded into the locking end. I heard the first click and smiled. After a little more fighting I managed to get the ziptie cinched down tight on the loops and to the rope harness.
What was an okay set of rope loops were now an unbreakable set of rope cuffs, securely anchored to my back. My legs were lashed together and hogtied with knots I couldn't reach like this. The only escape is to cut the zip tie free with the wire cutters. Which were in the family room.
After squirming and twisting for the camera a bit, I began the journey. Wriggling, rolling, grunting, and twisting my way through the bedroom, knocking my head on furniture as I went.
Eventually I found my way to the door, turned the corner, and started across the room we call our library. I was making pretty good time and knew where I was.
I rolled onto my belly for a moment.
That's when something pushed me hard back on to my side and pinned the rope from my ankles to the rope harness down the ground. I froze.
Something smooth, warm, and firm pressed against my cock, separated only by the Lycra fabric. I tried to pull away, but that just made me rub my cock back and forth across whatever it was. I began to get quite hard. I forced my eyes open and got a vague impression of someone standing over me, one foot holding the rope down, another bare ankle pressed against me.
"Uh.. Hello?"
I caught a whiff of perfume, perfume I didn't recognize. The shape kneeled, keeping a foot on the rope and sort of sitting on my hip. Without a word I felt a soft, warm hand rest against my cock, kneading it through the thin lycra. I was hard as a rock now.
"Hey.. Wh-aaahhhh.."
I couldn't talk, as the unknown fingers began a delicious soft massage of my cock, but slowly getting more and more vigorous. I didn't recognize the fingers, the touch, or the style of the hand job. This was not my wife.
The hand rubbed and stroked, sliding around under my balls and back. I began to moan, straining against my self-imposed bonds. My ass clenched tight and sweat began to coat my body, but the hand didn't let up.
I felt myself enter the Final Countdown. I pulled a big breath in and held, trying to stop the wave, but the fingers were relentless.
I exploded into the Lycra tights and sagged against my bonds. For a few minutes I just laid there, gasping. Light fingers were trailing up my flanks and down my arms. I felt some pulling at the ropes on my wrist and sort of came back to my senses as I realized the unknown person was efficiently tightening the ropes back there.
"Uh-", I started.
"Mr. R-----, you've made quite the mess." said a voice I recognized.
Oh no.
The blindfold was taken off and I found myself looking into the hazel eyes of Shelby, the baby sitter who lives across the street. Except I don't remember seeing that sparkle in her eyes before.