## THE TIE-UP CHRONICLES (Continued)

Post by sarobah » Fri Jan 10, 2014 3:06 pm

After an extended hiatus, I continue with this revised version of the chronicles of my decade-long love affair with TUGs. These are my true-life stories… or, at least, they are as close to the truth as permitted by the limitations of memory and the dispensations of dramatic licence.
A small number of details have changed since the first edition. The main reason for this is that, as the passage of time has put distance between the events and the present day, I feel more at ease revealing information about the people and places described.
The earlier instalments are here…
viewtopic.php?f=32&t=18965
and here…
viewtopic.php?f=12&t=19635&p=125411#p125411 .
One more thing… I have been somewhat reluctant about posting this chapter, because some of the particulars are more intimate than my comfort level normally assimilates. However, I have committed myself to recording all of my escapades and adventures, so here it is.
10. Silk and Satin
I should really like to think there’s something wrong with me –
Because if there isn’t then there’s something wrong with the world itself…
– T. S. Eliot, The Cocktail Party
Not all those who wander are lost.
– J. R. R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
At the beginning of my second year at university, I had moved out of the apartment I shared with Kate and into one of the campus dormitories. Ever since, I have regretted losing touch with my first roomie. We had some very good times together, helped each other through some bad times. We shared our secrets and our fantasies. As a result, after we went our separate ways, I found myself feeling isolated and rudderless.
By then Jack and I had been dating for a few months, and it was becoming clear to both of us that what we had was never going to develop into a serious, long-term relationship. Ironically, this was most evident when we were doing what we both loved. So it is not just tepid word-play to say that our strongest bond was bondage. And Jack truly was an expert with the ropes. He knew how to apply them to the best effect and was the ideal partner because he knew where the focus should always be. Though strict and sometimes even cruel, he was one of the most unselfish, least self-centred men I have known when it came to our mutual pleasure. He could get his kicks from just leaving me alone, tied up and helpless, appreciating how much it turned me on. We didn’t even have to be in the same room. He was always in control and could be very strict and demanding; he insisted on complete submission and absolute obedience from his women. But he got most pleasure from giving pleasure. (He hasn’t changed, of course, and still now and then gets to tie me up.)
Often after a tie-up session he would sit me down at his feet, or put me across his lap, or have me kneel before him, and tell me to describe my experience in every detail, recounting and reliving all of my sensations and emotions and perceptions. As a result, under Jack’s guidance, the more my body was constricted by the rope and chains, the more my will was bound to his, the more I could explore the boundless frontiers of my imagination, my desires and… yes… my fears.
But we each knew that bondage was not enough for a genuine connection. When not in his thrall, I was too autonomous and assertive for his comfort level. Jack likes a woman to be strong and independent, but only insofar as she chooses self-discipline over self-reliance. So when he started seeing other girls I didn’t object. In fact, one of my most gratifying achievements was to introduce him to Sabrina.
The other person who kept me grounded was my new roommate, Annie. I cannot say that we were ever as close as I had been with Kate or Rachel; but we got on well during the six months or so that we shared. We were alike in many ways, although she was more easygoing and tolerant than I – in that respect a bit like Kate. She was non-territorial, meaning we never had to argue over who owned what; but she also respected my personal space and property, as I did hers. If she did not take her studies as seriously as I did, at least she never interfered with mine. There were times, no doubt, when she thought I was weird. She was right, of course, and was far from the first person to have that revelation.
So it was that one night I introduced her to my world of tie-up games.
It was a Friday evening. We were both dateless (by choice), lounging on the sofa in our pyjamas, sipping hot cocoa. Annie looked like a playboy’s glamour-girl in her short satin chemise and a lovable ingénue in her pink fluffy bunny slippers. She was like that, a paragon of paradox. She was cute as a button but laughed like a loon, and when she did she would fling her head back and her long, wavy tresses flounced across her shoulders in golden cascades. As well as hair to die for, she had legs and a body I would kill for. Yet the amazing thing is that she didn’t care. She had not one self-involved fibre in her trim, sleek body. That’s why she was happy to spend a Friday night at home with a friend and a mug of cocoa.
I told her about all the games I’d played over the years. Her initial reaction was predictable. “I’m not into that sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing?” I asked.
“Bondage, sweetie.”
I tried to explain the difference. Tie-up games are for fun. Bondage is for sex. Not really true, but I was simplifying for the novice.
“But sex is fun,” she protested.
“Missing the point much?” I cut her off. I knew I couldn’t explain it with words. Sometimes you can only teach by showing. So I said to her, “Do you trust me?”
“Of course I do, sweetie.” (She always called me that.)
“I want to tie you up.”
She gave me a quizzical look but shrugged her shoulders and nodded her head. Neither of us had to say anything more. She sat and watched me, intrigued but unperturbed, as I went to my bedroom. I returned with a small bundle which I dropped onto the coffee table. I studied her eyes as she examined the little pile of satin ribbons and silk scarves. I saw curiosity, uncertainty and a hint of excitement. She looked up at me with an almost childlike “What now?” expression.
I took up one of the ribbons, and Annie held out her arms. I just smiled and silently gestured with a twirl of my hand. She understood, shyly grinned and turned away from me, sitting sideways on the sofa with one foot on the floor, the other folded under her. Hesitantly, she put her hands behind her back. I gently took hold of her wrists and crossed them, then looped the ribbon around four times, crisscross. It was not very taut, until I tugged hard and Annie gasped in mild alarm. I gave her a few moments to absorb the experience, tensing and stretching and twisting her arms to test the bonds. Then I wound another long strip just above her elbows.
This time she emitted a little “Oh!” sound.
“Too much?” I asked.
“No, don’t stop,” she said. I knew what she was going through. There is the feeling of vulnerability, as your arms are rendered completely immobile. There is embarrassment, and a sense of self-conscious shame that you have allowed yourself to be made helpless. For a girl, there is also the delightful effect of your shoulders being pulled back and your chest pushed out. I could see her pleasure growing under the thin satin of her nightie. She saw that I saw, giggled and blushed, then gulped in a couple of deep breaths as I jerked on the rope to make it secure. Nevertheless, I did not make it too stringent, because she would not be used to the delicious discomfort of a full-strength, torso-tightening elbow tie. Instead, I moved onto her feet.
I knelt in front of her, and Annie adjusted her position to face forward. I took off her pink fuzzy slippers and placed them to one side. She put her ankles together and I tied them. She moved her legs about to tease the knot, but I had cinched it and she was rather surprised that she couldn’t wriggle her feet free.
I stood up and stepped back, giving her another few moments to savour her bonds.
“What do you think?” I finally asked.
“Um… interesting,” was all she replied. She was so adorably vulnerable and awkward, such an unfamiliar look for Annie, that I knew I had to complete the job.
“Do you want to go on?”
She licked her upper lip thoughtfully, chewed her lower lip nervously, before simply nodding. I told her to turn on the sofa once more, so I could sit behind her. As I drew the silk scarf over her eyes, she shuddered, just a little, but said nothing as I fastened the knot. She moved her head about, as if testing the efficacy of her blindfold. She giggled again.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing, sweetie. It’s just...” Her voice trailed off into that speechless realm where there are sensations and emotions you cannot express because you’ve never felt them before and so never had to put them into words.
I caressed her bare shoulders. Her skin was as cool and smooth and lustrous as her exquisite chemise. I fondled her luxuriant golden hair and sniffed its delicate fragrance. I felt her shiver, saw her breathing quicken and her breasts heave under the sheer, lucid fabric. She clenched her fists and flexed her arms and puckered her lips. She knew what was coming.
As I folded one of the scarves into a wad, I told her that we should have a safe signal. She didn’t need further explanation, and we agreed that crossing the fingers of both hands would suffice. Because I was being gentle, I did not expect the precaution would be needed. It was just to reassure her that, although restrained, she still had control. When I was ready to insert the gag, I brushed it lightly across her lips to get her used to its texture. I waited until she was ready, and when she opened her mouth I pushed it in as tenderly as I could, leaving enough protruding for her to clamp her teeth into. That way, only the front part of her mouth was packed with the silk. She was not accustomed to being gagged, and it was important to make sure that any choking reflex did not turn into panic.
I wrapped another scarf around her head, over her mouth so she couldn’t work the gag loose and spit it out. She was making muffled, whimpering noises and I checked her fingers. They weren’t crossed. I pushed gently but firmly on her arms. She understood and lay down, on her left side on the couch, facing outwards. She was panting quite rapidly now. Her little nightie, slightly damp from perspiration, clung seductively to her soft curves. Her knees were drawn up almost as far as her chest. Wanting to see the entirety of my work, I grasped her feet and straightened her legs until she was lying at full stretch. I saw that she was not wearing knickers. She flinched when she felt my hands on her thighs, but I was just pulling at the hem of her dress, which had ridden upwards. Although we were alone, I felt I owed her that dignity.
There were things I could have done to Annie; but I felt that this was enough, at least for her first time. I sat on the floor next to the sofa and stroked her hair again, as she slowly settled into the “zone”, that dreamy state of both arousal and serenity, in which the whole of your existence shrinks down to your own bound body. When I am tied up, gagged and blindfolded, deprived of all movement in, and most perception of, the world beyond the ropes, I feel not helpless but incredibly self-reliant, imprisoned and yet liberated. I wanted to give Annie time to feel it too.
However, I didn’t wait to see her fingers crossed. When I released her, there was a mug of fresh cocoa, a soothing hand and comforting words to bring her back from the zone. She sat in silence for a long time, just looking at me. Sweat stippled her cheeks and forehead, glistened on her arms and thighs. Her hands were fidgety, as if attuning to their recovered freedom. Her knees were pressed together, and she kept smoothing out any creases which shortened her dress by even a fraction. Her lips wrinkled into a timid smile. A long time later, she uttered a single word.
“Wow.”
*****
To master others is power. To master oneself is strength.
– Laozi, Tao Te Ching
My brother Alex has always been my bête noire, but without him I would likely have never developed my love for tie-up games. Two and a half years my junior, he’s a true aficionado of bondage who learned and perfected his craft under the inspiration and guidance of yours truly. Indeed, as I have written about previously, when for the first time I was properly tied up, it was he who did the deed; and over the next few years I could rely on him whenever I wanted to play the damsel in distress. In turn, he took great delight in making Bossy Big Sis his trophy.
He knew how much I adored being captured and bound. Even when I was still the bigger and stronger of us, I always gave in. This was not due simply to my love of the ropes. There was also the thrill of the challenge, the buzz I got from exploring and testing my limits. I understood that it takes strength to submit. And as a result, knowing that I would always be his willing prisoner, Alex made it his mission to push me to the edge of my endurance.
Occasionally, during the school vacation, as soon as our parents left for work he would accost me and tie me up. He thought it was a great joke to leave me that way all through the day… or until I begged to be released. My ransom was to do his chores and wait on him for the next few days. The prospect of thus being his slave for the rest of the week was enough of a humiliation to test my stamina; and yet I almost never resisted when he came after me with rope and tape. So I was really more his accomplice than captive.
However, sometimes I regretted my submission. Once, immediately after I had made him breakfast, the ungrateful rapscallion wrestled me to the kitchen floor and trussed me in a strenuous hog-tie which had me moaning and groaning and squirming on the cold, hard tiles as he ate the meal I had gone to the trouble of preparing for him. He quietened me with a spray of tap water, and that gave him the inspiration to torture me for several hours, into screaming hysteria and eventually mute exhaustion, with trickles and tickles and prickles. He even invited over a couple of his friends to join in on the torment. Damn, that was a good day!
That episode was when he had grown to outweigh and outmuscle me; but I rarely needed to be so roughly subdued. Of course, as I have mentioned before, there was never anything icky or yucky about our games. Indeed, once I had found a boyfriend who could not just tie me up but do things my Baby Bro couldn’t, Alex began to feel rejected. There were still a few times, which I have described in previous chapters, but I felt bad that the monster I had helped create was now left to roam alone in the wilderness. So it was gratifying to introduce him to Michelle.
In contrast to his sensible, conscientious girlfriend, Alex has always been reckless and feckless; but to my utter amazement and ungrudging admiration they have survived and thrived as a couple. Like Jack and Sabrina, Michelle is the more mature in both real and apparent age; and the fact that she has tolerated my Baby Bro’s peccadilloes for so long inspires in me much awe and some bewilderment. Also as with Jack and Sabrina, I was responsible for bringing them together, and I was only mildly surprised to discover that Michelle had her own history of bondage games. When it comes to arranging pair-ups, I must have some sort of internal TUGs heat-seeking device.
But it was probably no coincidence. I had met Michelle through my former flatmate Kate (who had originally hitched me up with Jack). I then introduced Michelle to Alex. I thought they might hit it off, even though it seemed such an odd match. She’s stylish and elegant, a year and a bit older than my brother and in my opinion way above his class (although in this respect I may be biased). She is, in her social and public life, not as strident as I can be nor as cool and shrewd as Sabrina, but she’s no less self-confident and self-reliant. Though pretty and petite, she has a sort of “earth mother” quality. She gives the impression that she’s connected to everything and everyone around her. And for her, bondage is primarily sensual. The appeal is in the physical experience of being tied up and helpless. She’s fascinated and excited by the ways her body responds to the ropes. So I guess that when she’s bound, gagged and blindfolded, she has a kind of mystical bond with her bonds… which is a weird way of putting it but the only way I can really describe it.
Except for a few oblique references, it hadn’t even come up in my conversations with Michelle and Alex. I was beginning to think that their partnership was bondage-free; and if that was the case I thought I knew why. My brother is strictly into boy-on-girl tie-ups. He hates surrendering control, and so far as I know has never been on the receiving end of the ropes. Michelle, on the other hand, is not the type of girl to settle for a one-way deal. I have always suspected that my brother needs a matriarchal authority figure to bring order into his life, and from what I’ve seen Michelle provides it. If it were not such an old-fashioned phrase, I would say that in their relationship she wears the pants.
But then, one Saturday morning, I called round to her place for some reason I no longer recall. Alex was just finishing his first year at university and still lived at home with our parents. Michelle occupied a small apartment located just off-campus. The building was full of activity, with people coming and going or just hanging about, but Michelle’s flat was mysteriously quiet. I wasn’t surprised when it was Alex who answered the door, but I became increasingly baffled as he ushered me inside, nonchalantly made me a cup of coffee and offered me some of his breakfast.
From his odd demeanour I knew he was up to something, and finally I could bear the suspense no longer.
“So where’s Michelle?” I demanded.
My brother did not answer, but strolled out of the kitchenette, beckoning for me to follow. The bedroom door was open, and there she was, prone on the bed. She was lying on her stomach, half-wearing a frilly negligée, the top pulled down to her waist, the hemline drawn up over the bare flesh of her bottom. Her hands were bound behind her back with what looked like a couple of brassieres joined together, and her ankles trussed with pantyhose. Her feet were secured to the end of the bed with another pair of tights. She was turned towards me. Her faced was flushed and she was panting heavily through a bulbous ball-gag. She looked up at me with doleful eyes, slowly blinked and grunted a terse greeting.
Alex casually sat on the edge of the bed and released the nylon tethering her feet. I assumed he was going to untie her, and so did she; but instead he placed one hand on the rear of her knees, and with the other grabbed her ankles and bent her legs until her heels touched her backside. She rasped an ineffectual protest, then just sighed as he used the pantyhose to put her into a full hog-tie. She continued to twitch and make gurgling sounds through her gag, so he gently kissed and caressed the top of her head. He ran his fingers through her hair, moist and stringy from perspiration. He tenderly brushed away the little beads of sweat which had gathered on her forehead and cheeks, and dabbed off the tiny bubbles that dribbled from the corners of her mouth, around the edges of the ball. It all seemed so un-Alex-like gallant, until I saw what he was using… crumpled up pink lace panties which matched her dishevelled nightie.
My brother stood up, admiring his handiwork as his girlfriend, looking so helpless and so incredibly sexy, squirmed in her bonds and softly moaned. He turned to me with a malevolent grin.
“How about that breakfast?” he said.
So that is how I discovered how well I had taught my sibling protégé. I felt so proud.
Michelle was still trussed and gagged when I left. And now I understood that her love of bondage runs almost as deep as mine. She enjoys being on either end of the ropes, but because my brother doesn’t, she always takes the sub’s role. And yet, acquiescing to his wishes, yielding to his control, does not make her weak. She is the strong one. This is a fact that I have learned from my years of tie-up games and which defines my relationship with Rob. There is a sublime delight and a special dignity in surrender, when it comes from your inner strength. And it is by no means a self-denying sacrifice. Once you have experienced the joy of submission, you discover that your most intimate desires and passionate longings are a wondrous and mysterious valley to be explored, not a void to be filled. Opening up to possibility by liberating yourself from inhibition never depletes the reservoir of that receptive, inquisitive spirit; it replenishes the well.
It is present within you, barely seen. When summoned, it is endless.
– Laozi, Tao Te Ching
*****
The year you were born marks only your entry into the world. Other years where you prove your worth, they are the ones worth celebrating.
– Jarod Kintz, This Book Title is Invisible
I am not a huge fan of birthdays. I don’t enjoy fuss and frills, and I have never really understood what the hoopla is all about. Of all life achievements to be fêted and rewarded, this seems to me the one least deserved… at any rate not by the one receiving the accolades. But everyone else thinks they are important, so when my number comes up each December, I grit my teeth, go along and make the most of it.
My 21st birthday was my first since Rob and I had moved into our house together. As I have described, he was new to tie-up games and skeptical about bondage. Even nowadays, although enlightened, he remains more a dilettante than a devotee. And it did no good for my campaign to convert him that shortly after we moved in together I was stricken by a severe bout of pneumonia which put me in hospital for a while. But it was my own fault. I belong to that marginally dysfunctional subset of society known as the overachiever. My illness was therefore due in large part to exhaustion caused by too much work. It was a bad patch coming so early in our relationship, because convalescence took a long, long time. Even sex became a rare treat, and our nascent tie-up games had to be put on hold. But Rob was magnificent through it all. I decided that he represented an excellent life investment.
I resolved that my birthday would be the ideal opportunity to reignite our passion… but also to discover what Rob really thought about the kinky side of my nature, and how he would respond now that I was finally able to let it out once more.
I took inspiration from my previous birthday, shortly after Rob and I became a steady couple. We were planning a celebration, modest though it had to be (since we were two impoverished students). But duty intervened when the head of the physics department chose to call a staff conference for that afternoon. Despite my best manoeuvrings and intrigues, I could not get out of it. After two years of toiling for subsistence as a waitress, I was thankful for my low-paying tutorial job at the bottom of the academic totem pole, and was doing nothing to jeopardize it.
(Editorial note: Purists and pedants will object that the bottom of a traditional totem pole is the most honoured position. But our idioms don’t always reflect actuality, so please do not condemn me, good reader.)
I arrived home (to our minuscule apartment) around six o’clock, tired and frustrated, to find my love waiting for me with dinner. It was nothing elaborate but very romantic. Unfortunately afterwards I spoilt the mood when Rob gave me a present and I got angry, because I had issued strict instructions against it. Given our limited budget, I considered gifts to be trivial and wasteful. Of course, I immediately regretted my tantrum, so we kissed and made up.
Rob then proved his moral superiority when he asked me what I really wanted for my birthday. In response, I said “Wait here, I will be back” (so he wouldn’t think I was storming off in a huff) and left him in the living room. I went to our bedroom and brought out my little treasure chest. It’s just a shoe-box in which I keep my special toys – red rubber ball-gag, soft nylon rope, blindfold, etcetera; but my guy’s eyes bulged a little when he beheld it.
I placed the box on the dining table (which adjoined the tiny space we called the living room). I was still feeling bad about my outburst, and as we all appreciate, guilt can be a powerful aphrodisiac. So I knew what I had to do. It’s a lovely feeling when reality and play begin to merge and you suddenly see, with crystal-clear clarity, where you want to go and how to get there. But of course I had the benefit of nearly ten years of practice.
Rob was standing beside the table, pondering the box and its contents, when I knelt down on the living room carpet and told him, “I’ve been a bad girl.”
He was having more trouble than I keeping a straight face, but eventually he responded. “And what should your punishment be?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?” I thought.
“Can’t you think of something?” I said.
He started rummaging amongst my toys. There is only so much rummaging you can actually do in a shoe-box, but that was not the point. He was keeping me waiting, and I started to itch and twitch. Finally, without looking up he waved a hand casually in my direction and ordered me to get off my knees.
There was another long pause. Though I was standing rigidly to attention with my head bowed, out of the corners of my downcast eyes I could see he was maintaining his nonchalant façade. Then he said, so casually, “Take your clothes off.”
Even as I started to move, he interrupted: “On my command.” His tone of voice was conscientiously bland.
With single word directives, he told me what articles of my clothing to remove. He took his time, and mine, to enable us both to experience the intensity of each and every moment. I began with my shoes. I placed them on the floor beside me. Then I took off my jeans. Rob instructed me to fold them and place them on the chair nearest to me. I did so and returned to my spot in the middle of the room. My blouse was next. After the first button, he told me to slow down, so that he, and I, could savour the full sensual flavour of my undressing. When eventually all the buttons were undone, I drew the blouse off my shoulders and let it slide down and from my arms. Then I folded it and set it on top of my jeans.
Before we continued, Rob made me perform a couple of slow pirouettes with my arms raised above my head. He said how beautiful and sexy I looked in my socks and underwear. After that, the socks came off. I fondled them for a second as I lay them atop my discarded blouse.
“Bra,” he said, and I slid the straps from my shoulders, again very slowly, then reached behind my back and unfastened the clasp. While I was doing this, Rob had begun taking the items out of the box and was arranging them neatly on the table-top, pretending not to be watching me. I knew he was, and he knew I knew. It was part of the game; and for all his naïveté when it came to tie-up play, he was uncommonly skilled in raising the tension.
“Now finish it,” he commanded. “Take off your panties,” he added… unnecessarily, since I had nothing else to remove. When I had added my knickers to the forlorn little bundle on the chair, I returned to the centre of the room and again waited.
Rob took his time, prolonging my suspense. When finally I felt ready to burst, he commanded me to put my hands behind my back. He circled me a couple of times, like a prowling beast of prey, trailing the silk scarf across my naked shoulders and breasts. He placed it over my eyes, caressing my cheeks with his hands as he drew it behind my head and secured it. Then he bound my wrists with the nylon cord.
Rob continued to draw out each moment for as long as possible. When I felt the light pressure of the rubber ball against my lips, I opened my mouth and accepted my gag. Then I was ordered to kneel, and to bend forward until my forehead rested on the carpet. When he touched the outsides of my thighs, I felt within me a tingling of anticipation; but he drew his fingers down my legs and took hold of one of my ankles. He placed it over the other and tied them.
Once more he left me, to contemplate my sins. After a lengthy interval, he said: “Are you sorry for how you behaved?”
Through my gag I mumbled an apology. I barely managed to suppress a giggle of excitement.
“Good girl.” He patted my raised behind, massaging the bare flesh to sensitize it. “Are you ready for your punish…. your reward?”
I didn’t answer; and I don’t know if he changed his words deliberately. Anyhow, in a way, they were the same thing, almost. The line between pleasure and pain becomes blurred, but it never disappears altogether.
It was not much of a spanking. The sting went away as soon as he stopped. Then he had me stretch me out on the carpet, flat on my stomach. He turned me over. I was compelled to lift my midsection by pushing on the floor with my feet, in order to shift my weight onto my shoulders and off my bound arms. With my ankles tied in a crossed position, Rob could part my knees without causing me too much discomfort, and he lowered himself between them. With one hand he gently stroked my face and played with my nipples. I felt the knuckles of the other hand rubbing lightly against my belly as he opened his trousers.
“Happy birthday,” he whispered.
*****
Birthdays are nature’s way of telling us to eat more cake.
– Unknown
One year on, I went for romantic rather than erotic, more out of necessity than choice, since I am not particularly sentimental by nature. But Rob was still treating me like an invalid, and serious or strenuous bondage was out of the question. That afternoon, while he was still at work, I got off early and came home to make the arrangements. We had a small veranda, shielded from the street by shrubbery, where I set up a table with candles and flowers, elegant silverware and fine crockery, crystal glasses, soft music – all the accoutrements for an intimate dinner. I even designed and printed a menu. It included two items for dessert, sweet and tart. Lest you overestimate my tact and subtlety… the tart was a picture of me in a tiny black negligée.
Of course, I was not going to spoil the meal by actually preparing it. My cooking skills are a monstrous travesty, and it’s only a mild exaggeration to call my kitchen a toxic waste dump. My own mother told me I cannot boil water without a recipe, can’t butter bread without burning it, etcetera. (I am, incidentally, also the world’s most inept gardener. My hands have been registered with the Department of Agriculture as a defoliant. Little Miss Domesticated I am not.) So I ordered a banquet to be delivered.
When Rob arrived, I greeted him at the door in my prettiest lace camisole and frilly French knickers. I made him change into his best (indeed only) suit while I poured the wine and selected the perfect ambience music. Our feast turned up exactly on time. And as we sat down to begin the entree, I put on my most coquettish expression, slipped the straps of my top off my shoulders and tilted my head in the direction of the potted palm standing nearby. Draped over its fronds were my crimson silk scarf and a coil of soft nylon rope. Rob got up from the table, came round behind me and gently tied my blindfold in place. I put my arms behind my back. He bound my wrists and elbows.
“Too tight?”
“No… make it…” I grunted in a most unladylike manner as he tugged hard on the rope and wrenched my shoulders backwards.
I have written about this before, but it is worth reiterating. Eating sans vue or, if you will, dans le noir (the French makes it even more romantic and sensual), is a most exotic and seductive culinary experience. Stripped of your normal visual cues, your senses of taste and smell are enhanced, and that enriches your awareness and appreciation of the flavours, aromas and textures. When you are bound and have to be fed as well, you depend completely on your partner. You cannot be sure of what is going into your mouth when the fork or spoon hovers tantalizingly under your nose and nudges alluringly against your lips. The food then slowly reveals itself on your palate. Each morsel becomes an epicurean exploration, each sip an intoxicating adventure.
We started with seafood cocktails, moved on to the main course of chicken with truffles and wild mushrooms. In my heightened state of sensitivity, the exquisite flavours of the meal and the cool breeze wafting onto the veranda proved almost unbearably arousing. My skin tickled and my insides tingled. I started to shiver, and Rob suggested we move inside; but I didn’t want to spoil the mood. Anyway, goosebumps can feel sexy too.
When it was time for dessert (the sweet one), without saying a word I rose from my place and came round to where my man was seated. He pushed his chair away from the table a little so I could lower myself onto his lap. He caressed my thighs and stroked my bare shoulders, trying to warm me up I guess… but all he did was make me quiver even more. I was panting quite heavily and coughed a couple of times. He pressed two fingers against my lips.
I thought he had decided we should retreat into the house after all; but he just made a hushing sound. Confined in the darkness behind my blindfold, I had no idea what was happening, but perhaps someone was walking past the house. Even with the porch light on, we could not be seen from beyond the fence; but if the gate hinges had squeaked the resulting encounter, with me in my bound and sightless state, might have been embarrassing.
Rob chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” I quietly demanded.
“That turned you on, did it?”
“Why do you say…?”
He just laughed and ran his hand lightly over my bosom. Drawn taut by my bonds, my breasts strained against the delicate satin of my camisole, and… well, let’s just say that effects of the sensual dining and chilly breeze were outstanding. I began to protest that it had nothing to do with the prospect of an unwelcome visitor; but he held a cup to my lips and I sipped lime-blossom tea. I dribbled and the warm liquid dripped onto and trickled down my chest.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “I’ll fix it.”
“Fix what?” I thought.
He put his hands on my shoulders and slowly slid the straps of my top down my arms to where the nylon cord was looped about them, and drew the camisole down to my waist. I felt something cool and soft playing over my nipples and then pressed to my lips. I tasted candied ginger. Then he spoon-fed me strawberry mousse. I remember a moan of ecstasy, and then things become a blur.
I can vaguely remember that when the meal was over, Rob declared that he was not clearing up on his own. He took off my blindfold and unbound my hands but immediately retied them in front, so I could help with the work. While my arms were briefly free, I removed my camisole.
“Take off your knickers as well,” Rob said.
I obeyed. I figured I would not have been wearing them for much longer anyway. He took them, crumpled them into a small wad and shoved them into my mouth. He used the scarf to complete the gag. We then set about the cleaning and washing up. I have done this many times with my hands tied so I didn’t drop anything breakable. After we had finished, Rob put me over his shoulder and carried me to the bedroom. He secured my bound wrists to the headboard. He took out my gag and we kissed.
He lowered his body towards mine, supporting his weight on his knees and elbows as warm, firm flesh touched cool, clammy, goosebumpy flesh.
“Happy birthday,” he whispered.

### Re: THE TIE-UP CHRONICLES (Continued)

Post by OldTUGger » Sat Jan 11, 2014 7:35 am

Brilliant, as always.

### Re: THE TIE-UP CHRONICLES (Continued)

Post by OldTUGger » Sat Jan 11, 2014 5:25 pm

Superb writing. You take your readers on journeys of imagination.

### Re: THE TIE-UP CHRONICLES (Continued)

Post by OldTUGger » Sat Jan 11, 2014 7:22 pm

Oops. Forgot that comments had to await moderation, hence the double post. Sorry...

### Re: THE TIE-UP CHRONICLES (Continued)

Post by Jason Toddman » Sat Jan 11, 2014 9:40 pm

> OldTUGger wrote:Oops. Forgot that comments had to await moderation, hence the double post. Sorry...

Well, at least you won't have to worry about that anymore.
Nice post, Sarobah. It's good to see people getting back into writing rather than abandoning it for a change.
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: THE TIE-UP CHRONICLES (Continued)

Post by sarobah » Sun Jan 12, 2014 3:35 am

Thank you for the comments.
I wish I had the time and energy to contribute more regularly. I would especially like to get back to fictional stories, including a couple I have yet to satisfactorily conclude.
Traveller’s advisory: Philosophizing directly ahead.
13. The Long Long Weekend
The seeker embarks on a journey to find what he wants and discovers, along the way, what he needs.
― Wally Lamb, The Hour I First Believed
There aren’t enough days in the weekend.
– Rod Schmidt, rec.humor, 1990
I have been playing tie-up games of one sort or another since the age of thirteen. More than a decade on, I have still not come to a clear understanding of just what it is that most appeals to me. My best guess is that there is not much else you can do for the pure, unconditional joy of doing it which is so simple and yet offers such a range and depth of experiences, emotions and physical sensations, both personal and shared. But whether it’s about the adrenaline, the endorphins or the hormones, for me the key component of bondage is having fun.
However, there is another, sometimes not so obvious dimension to bondage, which I have described in an earlier chapter. When you are on the receiving end of the ropes, you are the centre of attention. It’s really the same with most dominant-submissive interactions. The partner in charge may give the commands, impose the discipline and whatever, but the submissive’s responses and behaviour are the centrepiece and focal point of the relationship. In a way it’s like when I catch the bus each morning. The driver is in charge, but as the fare-paying passenger I am the important one, for without me the guy behind the wheel is just driving around with no purpose.
So while it may be trite to say that without a bottom there is no top, and pretentious to talk about a symbiotic bond between “master” and “slave”, there is no doubt that the two are complementary. There cannot be one without the other. Nevertheless, it is an unequal partnership. One has the power and the other cedes control. So D/s is not about equality or fairness. Service and obedience may give fulfilment to the slave, but it is the master who is being served and obeyed. The dominant dictates; the submissive’s only decision is to comply or to accept the consequences of disobedience. And so it is with bondage. Once you’re tied up, utterly helpless and totally dependent, all you have left is your own inner strength and the trust you have in your partner.
On the other hand submission, whether it’s being tied up or kneeling at your master’s feet awaiting orders, is not necessarily about passive acquiescence. The control you assert may only be over your own responses, both physical and emotional, and in your vulnerable position these can be manipulated; but in the end our reactions, as much as our actions, are the things which define who and what we are. Nor is submission, and the attention-seeking that often motivates it, necessarily about neediness and insecurity. It may, indeed, be the dominant partner who is trying to compensate for low self-esteem or fill some emotional void.
Of course, not all submissives want to be in the spotlight. But those such as myself draw energy from its shine. In fact, I am no shrinking violet. I can be assertive to the point of domineering in my public life; and I confess that I can be intolerant of those who cannot exercise self-discipline, and unsympathetic to those who refuse to stand up for themselves. And I don’t think that it is hypocritical to have these two facets of my life. Everything about me, whether it’s in the public or the private domain, is what I have chosen for myself, of my own volition, from my own strength of will, albeit within the parameters of my upbringing and my social environment. So I am a feminist who revels in the role of a slavegirl. I derive pleasure from giving pleasure, I reaffirm my free will through obedience, demand my freedom and yet happily serve my man, cherish my independence while surrendering to the ropes. And I don’t do so because I need to, I do it because I want to. It’s a role I play and it’s fun.
So the paradox of my personality, and I am sure of many others like me, is that it is my self-centred nature which impels me to submission. It is not self-sacrifice… far from it. From my perspective, the balance of the transaction accrues to my account; for instance in our love life. I am not about to get too explicit here, but in the bedroom (or wherever we happen to be!), I surrender to Rob, and I mean more than in the way a woman surrenders when she opens her body to a man and lets him enter her. I love that he is in control, free to fulfil his desires and satisfy his whims, to explore my body, to tantalize, titillate and surprise me, to play with me and to guide me to ecstasy. Sometimes he takes me places I don’t really want to go, and while he always respects my boundaries and understands the meaning of “Enough!”, like partners on the dance floor he takes the lead and I follow.
(Recently, I came across a blog in which the author was quite self-congratulatory about how, in his relationship, leadership devolves upon the partner who, in each situation, is better equipped to lead. Very magnanimously, he allows his girlfriend to take the lead in cooking the meals and doing the housework, for she is better qualified to make those sorts of decisions. In return, believing in an equitable balance of power, he takes command in all the other aspects of their life. He writes this without a hint of irony; and perhaps their arrangement really is, in its way, an even-handed one. But I love the part where she will be in the kitchen preparing the evening meal, and he will come up behind her, kiss and fondle her, undress her and, in his own words, “tease any parts of her that I desire,” and then leave her hot and sweaty to get back to cooking his dinner. Now I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with this. But a little honest self-awareness is everybody’s friend.)
All this musing is, of course, is my long-winded way of explaining beforehand what happened with a group of people in a house in the country during four days in December several summers ago. Of all my tie-up adventures, this epitomized the best of them. It had all the ingredients to make it a classic. And if I have any regret, it’s that I don’t know if we can ever recapture the exhilaration and excitement of that extraordinary and surreal Long Long Weekend.
The members of our intended play group have featured in my earlier episodes: Jack and Sabrina, Alex and Michelle, Andrea and Luke, Rob and me. There is not much to say about us that has not already been said in the preceding chapters. We were a disparate bunch in many ways. Sabrina, in her late twenties, was the oldest and Alex, only just out of his teens, the youngest. All except Sabrina, an architect, were at the time students – Jack, Rob and myself postgrads. (Strangely enough, nobody except him and Sabrina seems to know exactly what it is that Jack does. He’s based in the university’s engineering department, but that could mean anything from building suspension bridges to designing circuit boards to launching space rockets. I suspect that Jack himself is none too sure.)
Naturally what brought us together was the mutual love of recreational and erotic bondage; but otherwise we share few interests, hobbies, penchants or proclivities. Although we have been friends for several years, Sabrina and I are not particularly close. Her serenity and optimism drive me round the bend at times, and I’m sure my frenetic pugnacity does the same to her. Unlike Sabrina who is almost ethereal in the way she glides serenely and introspectively through life, I am a rolling juggernaut of intellectual clutter and emotional turbulence. And as for Michelle, my estimation of her, lovely girl though she is, has been permanently tainted by the fact that she freely chose to be in a relationship with my precociously peculiar Baby Bro. She is level-headed, clear-eyed and self-possessed, and has to be all of that to put up with my brother and (I admit) with me.
The odd couple in the group were Andrea and Luke. Of us all, she is the most enigmatic, as well as volatile, acerbic and intolerant, while he is self-absorbed, self-indulgent and generally supercilious. Apart or together, they are not particularly likeable. Even so, when taken on her own terms Andrea can be engaging and even charming, even if her self-confidence is frequently undermined by self-doubt. So she’s a contradiction, the little girl who wanted to grow up fast so she’d be free to act like a little girl. Yet she carries on like she wishes she was one of the boys. However, the female inside cannot be suppressed. She will start the day wearing scruffy overalls, grungy t-shirt and scuffed work-boots, and end it in a pretty little dress with ribbons in her hair.
In their tie-up games, as well as their day-to-day relationship, Andrea and Luke are the perfect foil for each other; but he is perhaps the luckier. He can explore both sides of his character, the dominant and the submissive, without the worry that he is somehow compromising his integrity, which appears to be Andrea’s constant, enervating fear. Because she’s so wilful, you cannot explain to her just how irrational it is to fret that you are going against your true nature when maybe you haven’t yet discovered what your true nature is. So as much as I find Luke unpalatable, I tend to sympathize with him.
Shortly before our Long Long Weekend, we learned that Luke has a twin sister. Karen is what might be called an attractive ugly duckling. She’s small but athletic, tomboyish but pretty, with shaggy, close-cropped, sandy blonde hair, the sartorial style of a street urchin, a somewhat aloof manner and an intimidating way of staring at you even when she’s being friendly. The first time we met I thought I’d take a dislike to her, but I was probably prejudiced by my feelings toward Luke. She turned out to be nothing like what I expected, and I was pleased when Karen became the unexpected eighth member of our group.
The occasion was my birthday as well as the end of classes for the year. We had been planning a three-day end-of semester celebration for some time; and through a judicious reshuffling and rationalization of schedules we were able to extend our adventure over an extra day. The for-the-record purpose was to do some repair work on Sabrina’s country home. She had recently bought a house in the hills. It is of fairly recent construction but had been neglected and so needed lots of restoration. She let us use the place from time to time, so the least we could do was to help out with the renovations.
Making it a weekend of bondage games was mainly my idea. It was a way for me to recover some of the uninhibited enjoyment and excitement which had been slowly percolating out of my life in recent months, on account of the pressures from my professional and other commitments. I launched myself into to a week or more of intensive planning, preparation, organization, appropriation, coordination and delegation. (Some people call me obsessive-compulsive, but I don’t see it.) Then, throwing the proverbial spanner into my well-crafted works, Luke had to bail out. He was studying geology and announced that he had a seven-day field trip to attend. In addition to Andrea’s disappointment, we were all immensely irritated by his late withdrawal, if only because it upset the balance of couples. Yet oddly enough, this turned out to be a good thing... and I don’t mean simply because of Luke’s absence. Indeed, I am reconciled enough to be sorry for Luke that he missed out on the fun.
As recompense, to one of our planning meetings he brought along Karen. At first she believed it was going to be just a normal party weekend, until we started discussing ropes and gags. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened; but she later admitted that she knew all about our games from her brother and was intrigued by them. She had never been involved in any sort of bondage herself, but she was ready and willing to give it a go. I’m not sure she really understood what she was getting herself into; but it all turned out well, and I should therefore give Luke credit for his sister’s successful debut into this whole new world of sensation.
Nevertheless, his absence changed the group dynamics. None of the three remaining males is into being tied up. They are not necessarily prejudiced. It just isn’t their thing. They have never had a problem with Andrea and Luke switching and swapping roles. So the obvious solution was to pair the two unattached girls. I suppose we did not really need to arrange ourselves in couples, but we expected that there would be times when it would be appropriate, so that was how it had to be. (Anyway, I had planned for it, which makes it ordained.)
But then more problems arose... Complications, always complications! First of all, Jack was a junior cricket coach, and he discovered, to his chagrin just a week in advance, that the club he worked with had programmed a tournament for both Saturday and Sunday. Naturally he was extremely annoyed with the competition organizers, but he’s not the type of guy to penalize the kids, so he reluctantly agreed to do his duty. Then came another blow. Rob would need to return to the city by Sunday morning, for family reasons. We had already cancelled a previous long weekend adventure, and it was beginning to look like this enterprise was doomed from the get-go.
With our plans unravelling, somewhat to my surprise the most disappointed of us was Karen. She saw the weekend as an opportunity to savour a lifestyle completely different from her everyday experience. As a result, we decided to forge on ahead rather than risk a postponement that might become permanent. Jack would accompany us on the Friday but would take off first thing the next morning, and be back early on Monday. Rob would leave on that same afternoon and also return on Monday.
So, once more on track, we held our last meeting on Thursday evening, when we established the guidelines and boundaries. We have always been very scrupulous about this. Some of the rules were quite strict, which is so important when you take your bondage play seriously. For example, although we had our safe words and signals, we decided that no one should not be allowed to quit any situation whenever he or (more likely) she felt so inclined. “No frivolous cop-outs” was how Alex expressed it with his usual tact. If any of us did so, that person would be excluded from all games for the ensuing twenty-four hours. As harsh as that sounds, it established an appropriate compromise. Opting out was permissible, but with consequences.
There were also the usual policies and procedures that we had long since set in place for this sort of occasion… no one to be left alone bound and gagged, no one to be more than one wall or room away from assistance while tied up, no sexual contact (including fondling or groping) except with one’s regular partner or with verbal consent, no forced nudity, nothing too painful or humiliating, no public bondage, and so on. This part of the discussion left Karen reeling mentally, feeling intimidated but also reassured by the depth and breadth of the detail we covered.
We ended our meeting with some recreational bondage. Because it was her first time, Karen got off relatively lightly, with a loose-fitting ball-gag and an easy hog-tie. Luke (who was starting to regret his impending absence) tied her with Alex’s assistance, and at first she kept her limbs stiff, which made it hard for them and even harder on her. She shook her head and groaned, but after she started to relax she discovered the pleasure of being bound. Nevertheless, she looked alarmed when, hands and feet trussed, she was pushed onto her belly on the floor for completion of the hog-tie. She grunted and puffed, and rolled her eyes as her ankles were brusquely hitched up to her wrists. She resisted her gag as well, clenching her teeth in grim determination; but Alex employed the technique that’s tried and true for a novice, a bout of tickle torture. As soon as she started screeching for mercy, he thrust the ball between her jaws. She struggled for a while, but when she saw what the rest of us (Sabrina, Michelle and me) were being subjected to – much more rigorous than anything she was put through – she accepted her fate.
I think what shocked Karen the most, as she was being set upon by her brother and mine, was that the two guys never talked to her but rather about her, in the third person… “She’s never been tied up before? “Not by me, but who knows?” “Well, she seems to like it.” “Yeah, she’s always up for something new.” They were toying with her, and she wriggled in her bonds and rasped through her gag to show her displeasure. But she came out of the experience with a saucy grin and an “Is that all you’ve got?” look of defiance. She did get a surprise, however, when Andrea started on Luke, who just a few moments ago had been on the other end of the ropes.
But Karen had passed her first test; and although things were not turning out exactly as I had planned, we were all ready for our adventure.
***
The following day we were due to rendezvous at Jack and Sabrina’s house in the city, at four in the afternoon. I was the one responsible for the late start, since I had a final faculty meeting for the year to attend, and was to deliver a short presentation. I met Rob in the carpark as soon as I could get away. I changed out of my jeans and jacket during the journey, into my cream silk crêpe de Chine peasant blouse and little floral print skater skirt.
When we arrived, everyone else was waiting to go. Karen was in the front yard. She was looking oddly androgynous wearing an oversized man’s check shirt and carefully frayed denim minishorts. She seemed nervous but was laughing and joking with Alex, who was standing close by as she paced in small circles. They’d hit it off well the first time they met – they have a similar sense of offbeat humour – and Michelle appeared just a tad jealous. She was leaning on Jack’s car, trying to act nonchalant but continually glancing across at the two happily chatting. She was almost unbearably cute in a little polka dot sundress, with knee socks and Mary-Janes, her hair done in pigtails with huge yellow bows. All she needed to complete the picture were freckles and a lollipop. Jack, Sabrina and Andrea came out of the house as we pulled into the driveway.
My brother was the youngest in the group, but in many ways he has the most forceful personality. I take some credit for that. After two decades of being bossed, bullied and berated by his Little Big Sis, he has developed a thick hide, a short fuse and an enormous ego. So naturally it was he who set the ball rolling with the first command decision of the weekend. We girls should be bound and blindfolded for the two-hour drive ahead. It was agreed, but I insisted that our hands be tied in front, for safety reasons – rapid egress from the vehicle in the event of an accident. Even my brother conceded, after the requisite grumbles, that it was a sensible precaution.
Karen had been dubious at first and shook her head vigorously, finally understanding the intensity with which we played our games. But she said nothing, and her steely-eyed “I accept the challenge” expression erased any doubt of her commitment.
Alex volunteered to tie us all, using our roll of soft nylon cord that he took from the boot of Jack’s car. I looked inside. That was an awfully big pile of ropes and other assorted paraphernalia. He ordered us to line up to be bound, but we ignored him. He shrugged off the minor rebuff and moved about, selecting us at random. He was characteristically meticulous, looping the rope around each girl’s wrists four times before cinching it, and positioning the knot on the underside, to make it virtually impossible for us to free ourselves using our teeth. As this was happening, I kept an eye on Karen, but she just smiled, with a quick scan around the group for reassurance. She was the first to be blindfolded, and gasped as Alex drew the dark cloth down over her eyes… another typical response from a first-timer. The deprivation of sight represents the ultimate loss of control, the definitive surrender to the power of your captor. But she giggled as he tied it in place.
We were put into the two cars, Rob’s and Jack’s. The males guided us into the back seat, and although we didn’t speak, I could tell that I was positioned between Andrea and Karen. Our newbie was once again panting heavily, and she fidgeted for most of the trip. That became irritating after a while, but I figured she was breathless and twitchy from the thrill of this novel adventure, savouring her captivity, wondering what lay ahead. In fact, I felt rather envious, that she was experiencing these unfamiliar feelings and sensations which had long since become routine for me.
We didn’t speak much during the journey. Rob is not much of a talker when he’s driving, while Andrea and I have never had much to say to each other. Karen was too disoriented for conversation, except for the occasional short burst of incoherent chatter. That quickly became tedious, as she tried to describe her feelings and probed Andrea and me for our state of mind. I guess I could have been more sympathetic and I’m sorry about that, because after a while, her spirits deflated, she went quiet. Or maybe she became absorbed in her bonds. So we spent the rest of the trip in silence, listening for sounds that would tell us how far we had travelled and how far we had yet to go. Cut off from visual cues and numbed by the monotony, you quickly lose track of the passing time. But when I began to feel a chill on my arms and legs as the sun was beginning to set, I knew we must be nearing our destination.
We didn’t encounter much traffic on the road, but I cringed and sank into the upholstery each time I heard the whoosh of a passing vehicle and wondered if our fellow road users could see inside our car. The sight of three young women blindfolded in the back seat would have provoked some interesting conjectures. Eventually, Rob let us know that “We’re almost there,” which was essentially redundant, since I could tell already from the enfeebled rays of the sinking sun on the parts of my face not covered by the black satin. Still, it came as a great relief, since I was beginning to feel some bladder pressure. A sharp turn to the left and a sudden change from the dull rumble of bitumen under tyres to the crackling of gravel informed us that Sabrina’s house was just up ahead. We arrived before the other car, which seemed anomalous to me because I was sure that it had taken the lead. In any case, Rob helped us out and assisted us up onto the porch.
Jack, Alex, Sabrina and Michelle turned up just in time, as I had reached the stage of having to press my thighs together and I didn’t fancy the prospect of squatting among the trees in the deepening gloom. We were let inside and allowed to take off our blindfolds. I asked permission to use the bathroom, and blessed relief came shortly thereafter. Karen wanted to go as well and was alarmed that her wrists were not untied; but before our weekend was over she would realize that using the toilet with hands bound in front was one of the simpler tasks required of her.
As it was now after dark, the first order of business was to unpack. The place has only two bedrooms, so there were four bunk beds arranged in a queue along one wall of the narrow corridor. Alex naively asked why this was so, and a broad grin of understanding erupted even as the words came out.
Jack nevertheless said it. “We can rotate couples between the bedrooms.”
Andrea and Karen smiled at each other.
“You too as well, if you like.”
They blushed.
“No... but thanks for the offer.”
Rob and I were allocated the second room for this first night. That was only fair since Alex and Michelle would have the bedchamber privileges for the next two nights while the other guys were away.
“So what about some fun before dinner?” That was my Alex, of course, after we had reconvened in the living room. We stared around at each other. A smile flickered on Michelle’s face, a frown on Karen’s, a grimace on Andrea’s.
“Well,” Rob cut in before my brother could go on. “A couple of the girls have had to be at work today. So what about it Sabrina? Sarah?”
“Dinner first.” Sabrina looked across at me for confirmation.
Everyone nodded (or in Alex’s case grunted) agreement. My brother clearly resented that the slaves had been given the choice; so when Andrea and Karen held out their bound wrists, he shook his head vigorously. Rob grinned, Jack rolled his eyes, Alex shook his head. Sabrina laughed and spun around to head for the kitchen.
“Come on ladies,” she called over her shoulder.
The men didn’t follow. Once we were out of their range, Karen protested.
“That’s not how things work, dear,” Sabrina said in a soft, almost condescending voice. She’s not normally like that, but I guess it was her way of breaking in the new girl. Still, as we set to our labours, Rob’s comment about who’d had to work that day did leave a small trace of bitterness. Sabrina spent a moment deciding the menu – as she was the one who knew where everything was – and then assigned us each places at the stove and benches. She kept Karen away from anything hot or sharp (since she was unfamiliar with working with hands tied) and kept me separated from anything to do with actual food preparation (since my culinary skills are registered as a biochemical warfare agent).
Sabrina was so adept at cooking with her wrists bound that it was obvious she’d had a good deal of practice. Karen enjoyed the novelty and started getting silly, which became rather annoying after a short while. Fortunately for the rest of us she got over it. Andrea glowered in silence the whole time. Like me, she has never been properly domesticated. I don’t really comprehend the notion that having boobs and not a penis somehow endows you with an affinity for working with food and fabric.
Halfway through, Alex came striding in, his face bearing an expression that I have learnt to read all too well. We ignored him for a moment, until he demanded our attention with a loud clearing of the throat. Thereupon, having played the game before, I reacted first, turning to face him, standing rigidly erect but with head bowed, feet placed together, bound hands positioned at waist height. Seeing my pose, the other girls adopted it as well, lining up on either side of me. Sabrina was the last to respond. She looked aggravated, leaving a pot of something bubbling on the hotplate, but said nothing.
I glanced up to see that our pre-emptive act had taken my brother by surprise; but he recovered quickly. He has been wary since childhood of having the piss taken. So I don’t know what he had intended when he came into the kitchen, but he now ordered us to remove our clothing.
We humbly obeyed and meekly stripped... Like hell we did!
“Just... kidding,” he laughed, as we snarled at him in ill-tempered unison. His ever so slight hesitation between the words made me wonder.
Jack now wandered in, raising his eyebrows at seeing us lined up, and did a comical double-take when he spied the looks on our faces.
“What’s going on, Alex?”
“Just checking on the progress,” my brother lied. “Nice work, ladies,” he said as he about-turned and marched out of the kitchen. I could swallow the patronizing tone, since it covered his tactical retreat; but I knew that our little moral victory would cost us eventually.
Jack smiled and left as well. We resumed our chores. Andrea gave Michelle and me a “You’ve got to be kidding” look. We both just shrugged it off. Slavegirls should not have to answer for their brother and boyfriend.
The males actually pitched in to help set up the table and bring out the meal. But before I pay them too fine a compliment, I suspect that they were driven by pangs of hunger, not compassion or guilt. And when everything was ready we just stood there looking at each other once more. So Jack took the initiative and ordered me to fetch the five discarded blindfolds. I found them on the living room sofa, and he placed them at intervals around the table. He then took his seat at the head and the other two guys got the message, sitting in the middle position on each side of the table. Jack instructed Sabrina to take the chair at the end opposite his.
“I want you to sit on your hands,” he told her.
She placed them palms-down between her legs and pushed her fingers under her thighs. Jack nodded to me and at the table. I took up the folded black material and pondered for a few seconds on how I was going to do this with my hands tied. I estimated the diameter of Sabrina’s head and tied a knot in what I judged to be the right place along the band. I pushed the cloth down across her forehead. I had very slightly miscalculated – it was a bit too tight and she grunted as I forced it over her eyes. Some of her hair got caught. It was frustrating for me as well, because I could work on only one part at once. But the knot stretched just enough to allow the blindfold to eventually fit into place, and I felt Sabrina breathe a sigh of relief when it was done. I thought it was a good job, considering the difficulty, and was hoping the next girl would be as gentle with me.
This was Michelle, and she did in fact perform the task smoothly, learning no doubt from my own trial and error. I don’t know who blindfolded Michelle, and which of the boys took charge of the last girl. Once the five of us had been rendered sightless, we were guided to our seats. I was placed on Rob’s left. We were told to sit on our hands like Sabrina. With our wrists bound, this was not at all comfortable, and indeed it hurt my fingers. Luckily, however, the three men did not want to spend the entire meal feeding five helpless females. So after just a couple of minutes we were permitted to use our hands, though they remained tied and we stayed blindfolded.
Since dining sans vue is one of my all-time favourite pleasures, I had a lovely time of it. Sabrina, who would radiate elegance while covered in green goo, remained ladylike throughout (from what I could tell and from what I didn’t hear), but Andrea, Michelle and Karen were giggling like schoolgirls and carrying on like piglets in mud. They ended up looking like that as well, which we discovered when the blindfolds came off. Jack and Rob thought their behaviour was delightful, but my brother held fast to his grouch persona.
“Oh Alex, lighten up,” Michelle laughed. And even as she said it, I knew that she knew she would pay for that, because the last word sorted of faded away.
Once we were finished, Karen and I were released from our bonds. As we began clearing the table, she flashed me a quizzical look. I told her nothing. She would find out soon enough. And needless to say, while we were in the kitchen washing up, we could hear squeals and laughter. There were loud thumping noises, which sounded like banging on the dining room table, and a rhythm of soft, heavy thuds, like someone jumping or hopping on the living room floorboards. I felt rather peeved that I was missing out on the fun; Karen less so. Yet by the time we had finished up and gone out to see what was happening, the guys were sprawled on the sofa and armchairs, and the three girls were on the floor.
Sabrina was lying on her belly, squirming in (of course) a hog-tie. Her blindfold had been converted to a cleave-gag, to the back of which was attached a strap that connected with her trussed wrists and ankles. The tether was drawn so taut that her body was arched backwards at an angle that looked excruciating. To ease the stress on her head and neck, she had to maintain her position by pulling with her arms to hold her shoulders back, which must have been exhausting. She was gasping and groaning and trembling from the effort. However, I knew she was in no real distress. Jack is an expert with rope rigging, and I could see that he had set the harness in such a fashion that it was taking ninety per cent of the strain, so the result was more discomfort than pain. And anyway, Sabrina is amongst other things a trained gymnast. But Karen, inexperienced in the way of the ropes, was goggle-eyed.
Crouched beside Sabrina and languidly watching her struggles, Michelle was tied in a lotus position, legs folded up against her chest, arms secured behind her in a box-tie. Her polka dot dress was laid out neatly beside her. I could see that she was braless but covered up by her posture. She was still wearing her knickers, socks and shoes. The yellow hair ribbons were gone, and it took me a moment to realize they had been used to bind her wrists.
Andrea was lying on her side, blindfolded and ball-gagged, also in a hog-tie but nothing as stringent as Sabrina’s. However, she was wearing a crotch rope that looked very, very tight. Jack, sitting over her, was using the tip of his boot to toy with various parts of her, and whenever she recoiled the movement was transmitted along that rope, causing her to moan softly. Karen knelt beside her to tenderly stroke her head, but Alex immediately called her over to him.
I meanwhile took off my skirt (because I didn’t want it to get too wrinkled) and knelt on the floor in front of Rob, turned away from him and placed my hands behind my back. Jack tossed him a couple of ropes from the bundle beside his seat. Rob tied my elbows, and I helped by pushing them as close together as I could without it hurting too much. He bound my wrists with the rest of the same length of cord. He then used a second piece which he looped around my torso, over and under my arms and above, below and around my breasts. There was a lot left over, so he ran it down my belly and between my legs and up behind me to my wrists. To secure it, he tugged hard – really, really hard.
Alex was doing exactly the same to Karen, and we were ordered to hobble towards each other and meet in the centre of the room. We shuffled on our knees across the wooden floorboards. Our crotch-ropes were nestled deep in our crevices, front and back, and as with Andrea, each little movement brought a twinge of sensation. I’m sure Karen had never had anything like this done to her before. When we met in the middle, her eyes glimmered with that familiar but peculiar mix of pleasure, embarrassment and defiance.
Jack got up and circled the room a couple of times, no doubt pondering what to do next with us. He inserted and strapped in place large rubber “penis” gags. I am ambivalent about this type of gag. It’s very effective, but as well as the slippery, slimy texture of the plug on this particular model, I don’t like its shape, and not just because of the phallic connotations. I find it uncomfortable because it doesn’t fill your mouth properly but just depresses your tongue and points into your throat, and the saliva that starts to pool around it makes wearing it extremely unpleasant. Ball-gags can also be a nuisance, especially if they’re not the exact right fit, but they look and feel so sexy (or at least I think so). Yet what I appreciate and what novices like Karen discover only from experience is that gags are not about keeping the wearer quiet... at least not always and often far from it! They’re symbols... and there’s no more potent symbol than the penis gag.
I think Jack intended to wrap us up in coils of rope just as we were, kneeling chest-to-chest, but he looked across at Sabrina and saw that she had reached the limit of her endurance. Since he had to get up early in the morning, he announced that it was “time to call it quits.” He left us, released his lady love from her harness (but kept her bound hand and foot) and carried her off to the master bedroom.
Neither Rob nor Alex chose to take over the proceedings. Instead, they got up and went off to the kitchen, leaving the remaining four of us tied up on the living room floor. A few minutes later, they returned with half a dozen mugs of steaming cocoa.
I was still in the mood for more fun and games, but everyone was tired and the guys decided that we’d all had enough for the night. It was their prerogative, so we were set free and enjoyed our supper of cocoa and cookies. We talked for about an hour. Alex and Rob allowed Michelle and myself onto the chairs only if we sat in their laps, which was fine by me. Andrea and Karen had to stay on the floor, which was also okay, since they were permitted to lounge on the fleecy rug. Karen continued to be amused and bemused by these little rituals of dominance and submission. It was not exactly what she’d anticipated when she was invited to a weekend of tie-up games. But she wasn’t complaining; indeed, she was curious to know what was to come.
Michelle had not put her dress back on when she was released from her ropes, but she was quite shy about her bare boobs and kept them covered with one arm across her chest. Andrea, meanwhile, was unnaturally quiet, almost pensive. I could tell from her expression what she was thinking. Although she plays the submissive role as well as any of us, she normally gets her buzz from the half-time switch to dominant. Without that release valve, the sensations and emotions were going to build up, and she would be needing some down-time to keep everything together. I made a mental note to bring this to the attention of Rob and Alex, in case they hadn’t picked up on it. I knew Jack would.
It was closing in on midnight when we finally retired. Rob and I were too fatigued for bedtime games, although the noises coming from the adjacent room indicated that another couple would not be getting a lot of sleep that night. Outside, Alex was sharing the hallway with the three other girls, and no doubt feeling frustrated that they were not sharing the one bed.
[To be continued...]
Last edited by sarobah on Sat Jan 18, 2014 5:09 pm, edited 1 time in total.

### Re: THE TIE-UP CHRONICLES (Continued)

Post by sarobah » Mon Jan 13, 2014 2:55 am

Chapter 13, continued...
My eyes opened just as the first sallow rays of dawn percolated into the room through the half-open blinds. As I lay watching a cheery beam of goldening light creep down the wall towards the foot of the bed, I studied the inert form beside me. Rob was not going to wake any time soon, so I hauled myself to my feet and dragged myself to the window.
Sabrina’s house is nestled in a broad, shallow valley amidst a series of rolling, thick-forested hills. There is a notch on the eastern skyline where two ridges intersect, and it was at this very point that the sun was rising, making it seem later in the day than it really was. I glanced at the clock. It was not long after five. Deciding not to rouse my sleeping guy, I pulled on one of his t-shirts and a pair of my knickers and tiptoed out into the corridor. Alex and the three girls were still deep in slumber, but from the end of the hallway I could hear soft sounds and smell faint aromas.
In the kitchen, Jack was already dressed, ready for a quick getaway, and drinking his coffee. Sabrina was buttering his toast. She wore a white satin camisole but was naked below the waist. Her panties were slung over the utensil rack like a hunting trophy. I didn’t ask, but when she saw me she nonchalantly took them down and put them on. Jack proffered a cup of hot brew and I accepted his offering with a caffeine-deprived gasp of gratitude.
Neither of our two hosts appeared any the worse for wear, despite their late-night shenanigans.
Even by the time that Jack had finished his breakfast, no one in the house had stirred. I gave him and Sabrina some private time for good-byes and headed to the bathroom. When I returned to the kitchen, he was gone but now Rob was there, sipping coffee and munching toast. We had a cuddle and a kiss. I tasted marmalade on his lips. I hate marmalade.
“You two want to be alone in here? I’m just hanging around to do the cooking.”
Considering the state in which I’d found her, I thought that was rather hypocritical of Sabrina, but I chose not to pursue the issue. In any case, I wasn’t yet up to her speed. She is one of those early morning risers who is unaccountably, relentlessly, unbearably chirpy when everyone else is still groggy and grumbly. I expected her to at any moment go storming up the hall shouting “Wake up, sleepyheads!” Fortunately, decency and dignity prevailed. On their own, first Andrea, then Michelle, and sometime after that Karen came staggering bleary-eyed into the kitchen.
“His Lordship still asleep?” Sabrina asked.
“Having one of his dreams, you know the kind,” Michelle explained.
I didn’t want to know how she’d found that out.
With the galley now filled with females, Rob decided to beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom. Sabrina had taken charge as usual and decided unilaterally that we would not be having a formal, sit-down breakfast. Each of us could look after his or herself. That suited me fine, since a sole cup of coffee is my standard morning fare. Actually, that lick of marmalade was the closest I’ve had to a morning meal in ages. It didn’t convert me.
It was around seven o’clock when my brother finally joined us. Jack had been gone at least an hour and would not be back until Monday morning. Rob would also be leaving us before the day was out, but had resolved to put off his departure as long as possible. So as Alex ate his breakfast, dutifully prepared by Michelle, we collected on the back veranda to work out the day’s schedule. We reminded ourselves that the official objective of the weekend was house renovation. We came up with a prioritized to-do list, taking into account that the weather forecast was inauspicious and clouds were already starting to gather. So with that settled on, we went to get ready.
Even with a good chance of rain, I expected it was going to be a hot day, so I put on my candy-stripe singlet dress and hot pink bikini pants. When we reconvened on the veranda, Sabrina was her normal impeccable self in an awesomely cute strapless playsuit. Michelle had chosen for yard work a wildly impractical baby-doll sundress. Karen was wearing a camo-pattern tank top and khaki cargo shorts, Andrea a halter-neck crop top and bleached denim mini. Rob and Alex were in grease-begrimed, paint-spattered overalls. Males have an irritating habit of dressing sensibly for manual labour. To complete our ensembles, Sabrina issued us each with visors, garden gloves and goggles.
We had our assignments for the morning. The women would be clearing detritus from in and around two dilapidated equipment sheds adjacent to the house while the men worked on demolishing them. It was not a big job, but messy because the place had been terribly neglected by its previous owners. I figured it would take us most of the day. Yet we did not start straight away. Instead, we stood about for a minute or so, indecisive.
It was, naturally, Alex who made the move. “Wait here,” he called out as he disappeared inside the house. He returned with a dozen coils of rope.
“Let’s not make it all work and no play,” he explained.
I smiled. Michelle sighed. Andrea and Karen groaned. Sabrina remained impassive.
Alex, and then Rob also, began joining four of the ropes, tying five big loops at intervals of about one metre. I thought these were for our wrists and was wondering how we were supposed to work efficiently with our hands bound. However, my brother advanced on me and before I could react he had slipped the first loop in the line over my head. He had expertly fashioned it so that when he tightened it, the slider part did not constrict around my throat like a noose but remained slack, to make a yoke. I probed the knot with my fingers and couldn’t work out how it was fixed in position. I was in no danger of choking but there was no way I could get free of it on my own.
Rob was holding up the far end loop and Sabrina, upon seeing the aghast faces of the other girls, stepped up and was put into her harness. Then Alex moved behind Michelle and, anticipating resistance or just to be cruel, seized her arms, wrenching them rather harshly behind her back while Rob secured her in place next to me. Andrea and Karen didn’t resist, the former looking shocked, the latter amused. We tested our tethers, moving apart, tilting and bobbing to see how much leeway we had. We were spaced about an arm’s length apart.
However, the guys weren’t finished with us. There was still plenty of unused rope. Alex used one to bind my knees, making a hobble. In it, I could take only small, mincing steps. He repeated this down the line while Rob went back into the house.
My loving boyfriend emerged with five ball-gags dangling from their straps in one outstretched hand.
“Oh, you can’t be serious,” Andrea whimpered.
Without responding, Rob handed us each one, and we put them in place. I was having trouble buckling it, so my dear Baby Bro gave me a helping hand.
And thus yoked, leashed, hobbled and gagged, we set to work. By now the sun was in hiding behind a thick layer of slate grey cloud, so the weather turned out cooler than I expected. But I and the other girls were soon puffing and sweating from the exertion. Tethered to each other, we had to put in a lot of effort to maintain harmony, coordinating our movements in order to work in a seamless cadence. After a while you get your rhythm, but it was tiring, and every so often someone would forget we were linked and bend forward or lean backwards or shift sideways, tugging on our connecting rope and sending a chorus of stifled grunts and groans down the line. Still, the enforced teamwork created something of a bond between us… and I don’t mean that as a pun. It also staved off the dreariness of what was a pretty tedious job, at least for a while.
Eventually, though, ennui began to set in, and it was frustrating not being able to relieve the boredom by talking to each other. The boys made the situation worse by taunting us, keeping up a loud conversation, laughing and teasing us and every so often making jokes and comments intended to offend. Sabrina and Michelle ignored them, while Andrea and I puffed and snorted powerless indignation through our gags. Karen just shook her head and rolled her eyes and waggled her jaws around the big red ball.
Of course, the funniest thing was that Sabrina was still in overall charge of operations, and we girls had to communicate with hand signals. Whenever the guys needed to consult Sabrina for guidance, they would try to provoke her by pretending to misunderstand her directions – or rather gesticulations – but she maintained her customary unflappability. And as a warning of what would happen if we got too flustered, at one point Alex did or said something to upset Andrea, and she in pure reflex launched into a stream of invective. Which of course came out as a foamy lather of saliva bubbling from the edges of her gag and dribbling down her front, leaving her crimson-faced and thereafter suffering in humbled silence.
We laboured steadily for two or three hours, longer than anticipated because of our restraints, working our way around the sheds and devising ways of synchronizing our tasks, which became more difficult as the morning progressed. Alex and Rob had laboured hard as well, but when they stopped for a break and sat on the edge of the veranda with cold drinks in hand to watch us toil, we’d had enough.
“Why have you stopped?” Alex called out.
A couple of us imitated drinking motions with our hands and pointed to our gags. I have a feeling that my brother was about to yell “Back to work!” when Rob intervened.
“Of course,” he said.
We hobbled in our single file back to the house and into the kitchen. It was a relief to remove the ball from my mouth. My jaws had begun to ache; but worse, perspiration trickling down my cheeks and soaking up grime along the way had seeped into the corners of my mouth, mixing with the saliva to produce a gritty drool that oozed back out again. It felt horrible and looked pretty awful as well. After we’d had our drink, we replaced our gags, but at least we got to wipe them clean.
On the way out, we halted and Sabrina addressed the guys with more sign language. They got the message and took off our tethers and hobbles. They weren’t being considerate. We needed to be more spread out than the ropes allowed to complete the job. And then it was back to work for another couple of hours. Finally, sometime around midday, we stopped, stretched and flung up our arms in triumph. Mission accomplished.
“Well done, girls,” Alex proclaimed with his characteristic condescension. “You deserve your reward.”
“Uh, oh!” exclaimed Karen, as she peeled the sodden orb from between her jaws. Our newbie was a fast learner.
Alex and Rob sent Sabrina and me inside to prepare lunch. I don’t know why they chose me, but from the kitchen we could hear commotion outside. Damn! This was the second time I’d missed out on the fun. I was starting to feel persecuted. By the time we emerged with a plateful of sandwiches and a jug of fruit juice, Michelle, Andrea and Karen were standing up against the corner posts of the veranda. Two were lashed to the one on the left; Andrea’s hands were bound behind her back and she was secured to the post with cords around her neck, waist and ankles. Karen was on the other side of the upright, her wrists bound over her head. Her shirt had been pulled up and her shorts pulled down (but she was wearing undies). Her chest was still heaving and her belly still in spasm from what looked to have been a malicious bout of tickle torture.
Michelle was in more desperate straits. She had been tied to the right-hand post in a strappado, with feet still on the ground to support her weight and thus not terribly stressful, but not exactly in the lap of luxury either. Her clothing was askew, her hair in disarray; she was panting and sweating and cursing through clenched teeth. Seeing her like that I was a little concerned, but when Alex lifted the back of her dress and flicked her on the bottom with a piece of rope, she swore at him and then laughed.
Diverted from their game by the arrival of lunch, the boys went inside to wash up. While they were gone, Sabrina and I didn’t dare untie the three girls, so we fed them each a sandwich and helped them with their juice. I had to tilt poor Michelle’s head rather forcefully sidewards, and even then most of her drink spilled.
As we finished, my brother returned and ordered Sabrina to join Michelle. With a sigh of resignation she did so, standing one pace out from the post with her hands behind her. Nonchalantly chewing on a sandwich, Alex strolled over clutching some rope, and placed a hand on the back of her neck until she leaned forward. He bound her wrists and ran the rope up to a hook screwed into the wood about two metres up. When he hauled on it, dragging her arms up behind her until her body was bent double, she let out an anguished “Oooh!” It looked severe, but as with Michelle, it was not so much painful as disconcerting and humiliating.
I was beginning to wonder what was in store for me, but once again I got kitchen duty. I guess that was my torture, seeing the other girls have all the fun. And by the time I got out of the house again, everyone was back to work. As either reward or punishment (it’s hard to tell when you’re in tie-up game mode), we girls were unencumbered by ropes or gags. It made the work more efficient, which left us more time afterwards for play. But the result was that there is nothing of interest to report about the next few hours... unless one has an uncommon fascination for landscaping.
Since Rob had to leave before sundown, we quit around five o’clock. Being the type of person who dislikes any sort of fuss or fanfare, he intended to slip away quietly. However, my brother is exactly the opposite, so while Rob was inside fetching his gear, Alex arranged us girls in an impromptu guard of honour. He bound our wrists in front using plastic cable ties as flexicuffs. He had us kneel alongside the driveway with our arms raised over our heads, and Rob sheepishly acknowledged our tribute as he walked to the car.
It was just a silly little ritual, but the significance lay in the repercussions it might have had for the next thirty-six hours. As we got down on our knees, Alex proposed that we bare our breasts in homage. Immediately he saw our expressions, he fell back into “Just kidding” mode, but I am in no doubt that he realized just how close he’d sailed to the edge of his world on that one. The prospect of being trapped overnight in an isolated country homestead with five provoked and implacable females was not for him a happy one.
In fact, I shall jump ahead a couple of hours here. Perhaps because of that close call, my brother decided he needed an ally in the house. Being in command of five ready and willing damsels is (I’m sure) the average young man’s fantasy, but it can also be very, very tricky. As the sole remaining male he was in an uncertain, isolated position. So at the dinner table he made an offer to Andrea to join his team. It was a smart move, because she enjoys being on either end of the ropes and is just as happy to tie up girls as boys. Nevertheless, before she could make a reply, he undercut his own position. In fact, I’m now convinced it was deliberate self-sabotage. He informed Andrea that since the theme of the weekend’s entertainment was guy-on-girl, she would need to be declared an “honorary male”. This was a price she was not willing to pay. Andrea told him where to go and what to do with his [expletive deleted], and reaffirmed her eternal loyalty and fidelity to Team Chromosome XX. We silently cheered her as if she, and all us girls by proxy, had scored a great victory. Alex just sat there with his inscrutable smile.
Although he would not have the mental self-discipline for it, my Baby Bro has potential as a great chess player. By pushing Andrea to make a choice, he manoeuvred her into a situation where she would be reluctant to follow should the rest of us decide to turn the tables on him. That undermined our solidarity at what was otherwise its strongest point, Andrea’s intransigence. Of course, I cannot be sure that this was Alex’s plan. If so, then he really is an evil, Machiavellian genius. On the other hand, he has never been one to share his treats, and the prospect of having all five girls in his power was worth the risk that it might not end well for him.
In any case, once Rob’s car had disappeared over the crest of the hill, the group dynamic underwent a rather profound shift. As we filed back into the house, Alex held back. When I didn’t hear the door shut, I turned to see what was keeping him. He was standing in the doorway, framed in silhouette against the dusty red haze of the late afternoon sky. He was either riveted on the spot deep in thought or transfixed watching us… probably both.
Sabrina was already on her way to the bathroom. She had volunteered to cook dinner alone, but she was not being generous or polite… okay, maybe polite. Last night’s rather chaotic effort had proved the old adage about too many hands (albeit in our case bound with nylon cord). Then again, perhaps she had an ulterior motive. The water heating system was not set up to cope with six soiled, sweaty bodies, so maybe her putative altruism was nothing more than a pre-emptive strike. But I’m probably being uncharitable. On the other hand, my ever helpful brother offered his solution: “Conserve water, bathe with a friend.” Naturally he put himself forward to arrange the pairs and supervise the proceedings. We all declined, some more vehemently than others.
Instead we resorted to the time-honoured expedient of the coin toss to decide order of precedence, since last in was most likely destined for a cold shower. I was thinking that should be Alex, but as it turned out, by pure chance, he drew first place in the queue after Sabrina. While he was gone, the rest of us relaxed on the front porch to admire the sunset, our offers to help out in the kitchen graciously rebuffed.
Alex came out, said “Next” and then withdrew into the house. Karen followed him. Andrea, Michelle and I maintained our vigil outside. It was a glorious evening. As the crickets took up their evening chorus and somewhere a frog croaked its plaintive mating call, a flock of chattering rainbow lorikeets soared overhead, circled the house and swooped towards the dusty gold western horizon. Sabrina brought out a jug of iced tea. Again, she wasn’t being merely a good hostess. It was a clear message to keep out of the galley and out of her way. I suppose we should have felt slightly insulted, but I was not going to argue.
Time passed, and Alex’s head poked out once more. “Next,” he said. I finished my drink and went inside. To get to the bathroom you pass by the living room. There, Karen was kneeling on the rug in the middle of the floor, arms behind her back, with my brother now squatting behind her. Her just washed hair was uncombed, spiky and still dripping wet; she was wearing coral pink boxer shorts and a peppermint tank top that had been pulled down off her shoulders; and her eyes were covered with one of the black satin blindfolds. Alex was methodically looping nylon rope around her elbows and explaining to her, in a straightforward, matter-of-fact manner, how she was to be tied up. She heard me going by and smiled, and I smiled as well, amazed at how far our little novitiate had come since Thursday night.
Strictly mindful of the hot water rationing, I revelled in my four-minute washing away of the day’s accumulated sweat and grime. And thereafter feeling well-scrubbed, refreshed and renewed, I put on my halter-cami top and capri pants. As I emerged into the living room, I prepared myself, flexing my torso and loosening my limbs. The hours of exertion had left us all somewhat stiff and sore, and I suppose if I had the choice I would have settled for a quiet evening in front of the TV set. But that wasn’t what we were here for, was it?
Karen was prostrate on the floorboards, blindfolded and gagged, and hog-tied in a complex pattern, left wrist to right ankle and vice versa, but with knees and elbows also tightly bound, which put a great deal of strain on her arms and especially shoulders. Her head was not turned to one side; she was facing straight ahead, which I know from experience is very stressful on the neck. I admired her for maintaining it, no doubt on Alex’s command. He was crouched next to her, gently stroking her head and back and whispering into her ear what I first (naively) assumed were words of comfort or reassurance. Suddenly she made a gurgling noise through her gag and rolled onto her right side to lash out at him, feebly, with her bound hands and feet.
“What did you say to her?” I demanded.
Alex looked up and saw me for the first time. He grinned, gazed past me towards the front door, and yelled “Next!”
He stood up and brushed the creases out of his trousers. He pointed to a patch of bare floor between the rug and Karen. Knowing the attention had shifted from her, she allowed her tensed body to slump into as relaxed a position as she was likely to enjoy for a while.
“Well, get on with it,” I grumbled, as my brother rummaged through the corner pile or ropes and paraphernalia. I didn’t mind the game, but I was getting hungry and did not want it to intrude into dinner time. “What’s it to be?”
“Same as Karen, I think.” Karen squirmed a little when she heard her name. “Assume the position.”
As I lay belly down on the wooden boards and put my hands behind me, I saw Andrea’s legs go by, on the way to the bathroom. She didn’t say anything.
After blindfolding me, Alex trussed my elbows, using a switchback knot for subsequent adjusting. I know because for some reason he kept up a running commentary on the progress of my binding, just as he had done with Karen. Maybe it was for her benefit, to let her know that her treatment was everyone’s. He then fashioned an elaborate X-shaped harness consisting of four little nooses, which he put on my wrists and ankles, so that when he drew in the slack, my hands and feet were brought together, crossed over my backside. He could then tighten my elbow rope and apply a cinch to secure it, leaving me completely immobile and helpless. The strain on my arms, shoulders and chest was excruciating, but oddly enough invigorating and therapeutic. I guess it stretched the kinks out of my cramped and aching muscles and sinews. I was still savouring the unexpected relief when I felt the familiar glossy matte finish of the latex ball against my lips. I quickly moistened the insides of my mouth before opening my jaws to accept my gag.
Alex had just finished on me when Andrea returned. He called to Michelle that the bathroom was hers while Andrea joined Karen and me on the living room floor. I was wondering if she would be as compliant as we had been. (Remember, this was before the dinner table offer from my brother.) He said something I couldn’t make out and she laughed. I heard a shuffling noise and felt the girl’s body up against mine. We were running out of space on the floor, to accommodate our prone figures and for Alex to do his work, between the sofa on one side and the armchairs on the other. It was not a very large room.
Andrea decided that she would not passively surrender to the ropes. She didn’t resist with all her will, but she wriggled and twisted, her legs thrashed about and her arms flailed around until she was subdued. All she really achieved was to make things difficult for me, as I was bumped and jostled in the mêlée. It didn’t help that the polished floorboards were uncomfortably hard beneath me, the strictness of my hog-tie making it virtually impossible to alter my position even a little bit. I was becoming quite piqued and peeved by the time Alex had wrestled his captive into submission. But such is Andrea’s way, to go down hard like that.
This was when Michelle came out from the bathroom, griping about the frigid water. I could tell from the tempo of her movements that for some reason she balked at being bound, and that Alex sprang to his feet to intercept her before she attempted a getaway. Then came the requisite giggling and squealing as they struggled, followed by a loud thump and a surprised, masculine “Oof!”
Michelle had prevailed, and I listened for the tumult of a pursuit through the house. Instead I heard scuffing noises as the girl, having made her point, went down on her knees and then onto her stomach. Alex, his pride wounded – I can always tell when he’s flustered from how his breathing changes – immediately got his revenge. Michelle gasped a couple of times, then emitted a series of short, soft grunts. I was wondering what my brother was up to, until I recognized the sound of rope swishing in the air and flicking on skin, and realized he was tying her into an elaborate rig of some kind.
I don’t know how much time passed, but probably not a lot because my hair was still damp from my shower. Sabrina came into the room to announce that dinner was ready, and Alex recruited her to help untie us. Karen, who had been bound the longest and was also the least experienced, just lay on the floor for some time, looking stunned but pleased with herself. That feeling of self-satisfaction is something novices usually take a while to comprehend, to appreciate that it requires strength of will and toughness of body to submit the way she had, and to understand that tie-up games are fun on both ends of the rope, even if the suffering is one-sided.
As we sat massaging our wrists and ankles, stretching our limbs and flexing our torsos, we looked across in sympathy at poor Michelle, who was still encased in nylon cord. She was in just her bra and knickers; the rest of her clothes were lying discarded in a forlorn heap in the doorway. She was face-up, her arms and legs pinioned underneath her so her body was arched upwards. Rope was looped tightly around her breasts and waist and tied to her ankles to hold her firmly in her pose, while another rope, very taut, ran all the way down her front from a yoke about her neck, between her legs and up her back to the starting point. She was slowly raising and lowering her body, quietly moaning and gently puffing. When she eased the stress on her torso, by raising or lowering or shifting sideways, the crotch-rope tightened. Now that doesn’t seem like much of a dilemma, trading pain for pleasure. But when your private parts are stuck up in the air like that and they’re being stimulated, and you have an audience... well, let’s just say that my Baby Bro is diabolical.
Alex then released Michelle and we had dinner. Apart from the half-hearted attempt and getting Andrea to switch allegiance, it was a normal meal, except for the luscious cheese and spinach pastry rolls, sinfully delectable gourmet pizza, orgasmically delicious strawberry cream pie. It was just as well there was not a fourth course. With each serving taking us to higher levels of ecstasy, who knows where it might have led? So besides being gorgeous, brainy, sophisticated and successful, Sabrina is also a first-rate chef. (Don’t you just hate her?)
At the end, to everyone’s astonishment Alex volunteered to clear the table and wash up while “you ladies get comfortable” in the living room. Naturally, we all said “No, no, no, we can do it,” and my brother reclined in lordly splendour in his seat at the head of the table, trying to suppress his smug expression, to watch his ladies work. (Did I mention his Machiavellian genius? I’m sure I did.)
By the time we had finished up, Alex was no longer sitting at the table. We found him, as expected, perched haughtily upon his throne in the living room. Alongside him on the sofa were five neat stacks, of rope, gags, blindfolds. Next to the couch was a large cardboard carton labelled, with portentous innocence, TOY BOX.
I did my best to act nonchalant. Michelle sort of clucked and slowly shook her head. Karen failed to smother a nervous giggle and Andrea didn’t even bother to swallow a disdainful snarl. Sabrina tried to be perky, suggesting “Let’s play a game,” but my brother cut her off with a curt and rather callous dismissal.
“Who rules?” he demanded. Or maybe it was “Whose rules?” It could have been either because some of us replied “You” and others “Yours.” (Or maybe that was “Up yours.”)
“Don’t be so childish,” I wanted to say but bit my tongue.
Michelle said, at last, “What do you want us to do?”
Alex handed out the blindfolds and we started to put them on.
“No, each other.”
We formed a little circle. Michelle secured mine while I did Sabrina’s, etcetera. That in itself was an experience. The blindfold has always been my favourite element of bondage because it is so arousing. It stimulates and refines your remaining senses so you feel everything more intensely; it also heightens your anticipation and awareness as well as your sensitivity because you don’t know what’s coming. This was even more sensual, because in order to tie your partner’s in place while you’re being blindfolded, you have to use touch, feeling the edges of the fabric, running your fingers lightly over her nose and cheeks and brow, while the same is being done to you. I was feeling tingly as Alex began quietly issuing his commands.
“Form yourselves in a line... alternating, facing me, facing away, yeah like that... closer together, hold your hands out to your side until... that’s it... now, on your knees... Karen, push that rug out of the way, you don’t need to kneel on it... come on, the floor's not that hard... now, hands behind your head... fingers interlocked... good girls.”
We did as we were told and no one spoke. I heard Andrea’s little gust of under-the-breath protest at the “good girls.” It’s funny what people find offensive.
This was Alex’s most perilous moment. He had us in submission, but the worm could still turn. I think that’s why he balked at Sabrina’s suggestion of a game. They have a way of not developing the way you expect. Outnumbered five to one, he had to establish his dominance, quickly, decisively, completely. So that’s what this little drill was all about. Though psychology is not my strong suit, I realized instantly that he was getting us into the routine of obeying him. And in doing so, he was also taking us outside our comfort zone, making us kneel on the floorboards, for instance. The result is that you are subsumed into the bondage before you can respond in any way but compliance. You don’t want stop because it’s only just begun, and you’re already in so deep that you feel compelled to go on, to see what will happen and how it will end.
I was first. I heard the sofa squeak and felt fingers on the back of my neck, brushing aside strands of hair, then the abhorrently familiar shape of a penis-gag shaft probing my lips. Involuntarily I clenched my teeth. It really was a reflex that I couldn’t control, but I kept my hands clasped behind my head. Alex was patient, and after a few seconds I relaxed and surrendered, parting my jaws to accept into my mouth the horrid protuberance. To punish me for my fleeting resistance, my brother was gratuitously rough in buckling it in place. I squirmed.
“Don’t be such a wimp,” he said.
“That’s easy for you to say,” I replied, and as I heard the incoherent burble of words that dribbled out past my gag, I had to smile... as much as I could.
Karen was next, a few minutes later. I knew it was her from the gulping whimper of amused embarrassment. It was almost half an hour before we were all gagged. I’m sure Alex deliberately dragged out the process. The torment of tedium, suspense and aching knees was becoming almost unbearable. So it came as a relief when, finally, there was more scuffling and shuffling. Sometime later I felt hands seize my wrists. Alex pulled my arms down behind my back to bind my elbows. He made it slack at first, but after he had bound my wrists, he tightened the elbow bindings as far as they would go. This put enormous stress on my shoulders and chest but didn’t really hurt. Alex knew what he was doing (because in his youth he had the best kind of tutor, one he could learn from and practise on at the same time) and had wrapped the cord in half a dozen loops, with a lark’s head fold, around my upper arms to spread the pressure; and he tied my hands with wrists crossed rather than palm to palm, which eases the strain from unendurable to barely tolerable.
Alex laughed at something and immediately ordered us down onto our bellies. That is difficult to do when your arms are pinioned behind you. Karen in particular hit the wooden boards with a thump and an “Oh!” Because we were close together, it was impossible to roll sideways using one shoulder for support and leverage. I should add, of course, that this is harder on girls than guys. With your arms pinned back, your breasts stick out and are made firm by the tension on your torso (and of course by the inevitable arousal), so they hit the floor with a sharp thud that forces your breath out of your lungs in bubbly, rasping puffs. It’s more shock and indignation than pain, but it must be entertaining to watch, because my dear brother was chuckling.
The next stage of the game was ankle binding, and again Alex took his time. It was a simple crossed ankles position, and after that I knew what was coming… everyone’s perennial favourite, the hog-tie. We’d been at it for at least one and a half hours by now. This was turning into one of my longest duration tie-ups. I don’t mean the longest I’ve been tied up, I mean the longest it’s taken to get tied up. And it wasn’t just that Alex had five of us to work on; he was purposefully stretching it out. He was really enjoying himself; but I have to say that the pleasure wasn’t all his. I love having the time to settle into my bonds and to savour each step in the process. I guess it’s like eating a box of chocolates. You can gorge on them all in a single sitting or you can delay or at least extend the gratification. Alex was skilled enough (and again I take mentoring credit) to get the balance exactly right, making the experience intense enough that we could never relax and get too comfortable or complacent, but not so severe as to risk burn-out. (I had better end this praise. I know my brother reads my writings, and his head is as big, metaphorically speaking, as any mortal man’s should be.)
After he had put us all in our hog-ties, Alex decided that the indignity wasn’t enough. He turned me onto my right side and Andrea who was next to me onto her right side, but moved in a bit so that, because we were aligned in opposite directions, we were lying face to crotch. I could tell that he did the same or something similar with Karen and Sabrina. He thought it was very amusing. Michelle was the odd one out in this little tableau of humiliation, but she didn’t miss out on the fun. For the next hour or so we listened to her alternatively giggling, moaning and cursing through her gag, as my Baby Bro did unspeakable things to her.
When he finally tired of whatever he was inflicting on Michelle, Alex subjected us each in turn to a prolonged bout of all-over tickle torture. I was left until last, and the greatest agony was to lie there helpless, hearing each victim in her turn squealing and thrashing about and hysterically pleading (as much as she could) for mercy, awaiting my turn and knowing there was no escape. Yet I probably got off the lightest. Being his sister, I had some parts that he felt obliged to leave untouched. I know this because when he started on poor Andrea... well, given how we were lying in relation to each other, let’s just say that the tickling was comprehensive.
This ordeal left us exhausted, quivering and gasping. It was getting near to midnight and we were already worn out from the day’s yard work. Alex released Michelle from her bonds and left her to free the rest of us while he went to make cocoa. We sat and sipped our hot drinks and discussed the evening’s entertainment. Even Andrea, though reluctantly, conceded that my brother’s efforts deserved a high score.
We all looked at Karen.
“Um, interesting,” was all she could muster.
Alex took the mugs to the kitchen, and when he returned, he sent Michelle to the master bedroom. He gave the four of us a chance to use the bathroom, and as we each came back he bound our hands behind our backs. The night’s entertainment not over.
We weren’t sure what he was up to, and I was feeling ambivalent. It had been fun so far, but I had not really planned for the bondage to go on non-stop for the entire four days. However, I should have predicted that if we put ourselves in Alex’s hands, the games would continue.
Everyone, including Alex, turned to Sabrina. She has such a glamorous charisma that even my smugly depraved Baby Bro is overawed in her presence. She’s the only female who makes him sweat and stutter when he talks to her. (His brusque brush-off earlier in the evening was his way of dealing with that hang-up.) She is nearly a decade older than him, but he’s used to tying up older girls (like Michelle and yours truly), and he has tied her up on many occasions. Nevertheless, each time he does so reminds me of the nerdish boy who has plucked up the courage to ask the prettiest and most popular girl in school for a dance and can’t quite believe she said yes.
Sabrina stood facing Alex, not quite close enough that he could reach out and touch her. With her arms bound behind her, all she could bring into play in order to fend him off (if she’d wanted to) was an intimidating stare; and in fact he slowly circled her, keeping the same distance. But as he did so, he took up one of the blindfolds from the sofa. He held it up and she nodded silently as he moved behind her once again. She flinched ever so slightly as she felt his hands on her shoulders (she was wearing a little spaghetti-strap dress and maybe thought he was about to pull it down), and then on her throat. He grinned, sensing her discomfort, and brushed the black satin gently and slowly across her lips and cheeks. As he fixed the material over her eyes, he moved in close and, because she is half a head taller, she could feel his breath ruffling her hair and tickling her neck. It must have been arousing, because she was softly panting. Alex pulled her elbows back, and she gasped as her exquisite chest tensed the thin fabric of her dress.
I glanced at the other two girls, standing together on the other side of the living room. Andrea was frowning, and her arms were twitching behind her back, as if she was trying to pull her hands free from her bonds. Karen, however, was gazing at Sabrina, and her pensive expression reminded me of how new she was to all this. It must have seemed incredibly weird to her how we five (including herself) had allowed ourselves to be rendered helpless by this one precocious young guy, and even weirder to see a sophisticated woman like Sabrina puffing and quivering in blissful response to nylon rope and black satin.
When Alex was finished with Sabrina, he jostled her roughly aside and beckoned for Karen to approach. She took one timid step forward and then just shrugged and sighed and smiled. He ordered her to kneel and she bowed her head as he tied her blindfold in place. He also made Andrea kneel. I guess it was his way of reiterating his dominance, just in case they might balk at the last moment. Once you’re on your knees, you feel committed… you have surrendered yourself to your fate. Of course, it’s not such a bad fate.
When he turned towards me, I said “No thanks, I’ve had enough for the night.”
He gave me a startled, uncertain look, and my three bound companions cocked their heads.
“Just do it, Alex,” I growled.
He herded the four of us to the second bedroom.
“You share tonight,” he said.
I had not occurred to me, and probably not to the other girls, that we would be spending the night bound and blindfolded. We could have refused and my brother would have had no option but to release us. Even he is not silly enough to break the covenant. We might struggle and were permitted to attempt escape. But opting out would have been against the spirit of the game… and what’s the use of rules if you ignore them whenever it’s convenient? Nor could we, in reality, turn the tables on Alex. Consent is a two-way street. If he ruffled our feathers too much, all we could do was invoke the opt-out clause, which would have ended the bondage right there and then. So we allowed him to guide us to our positions on the bed. Once we were arranged side by side on the bed, he tied our ankles.
It proved to be an interesting night. The bed was queen-sized, cosy for a couple but with four of us sharing the mattress we had to sleep with our bodies interlocked in classic spooning position. It was certainly snug, but with our hands were tied behind our backs and wedged into each other’s... well, I shall leave it to the imagination what effect any sort of wriggling or fidgeting had. Fortunately no one had to get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. That would have been a bother.
As we lay there cuddled up together, we listened through the wall. I felt less guilty now about having done the same thing the previous night with Jack and Sabrina. Alex and Michelle were making the usual, unmistakeable sounds, except that she was clearly gagged. There was a sudden gargling-gulping noise.
“That sounds like a ring gag,” Andrea whispered.
It took me a moment to get the significance. Oddly enough, it was Karen who giggled first. Yes, the girl was definitely proving to be a fast learner.
[To be continued...]

### Re: THE TIE-UP CHRONICLES (Continued)

Post by sarobah » Mon Jan 13, 2014 3:08 pm

Man to command and woman to obey;
All else confusion.
– Alfred, Lord Tennyson, The Princess
If any of us females thought that the intensity of our games would ease up in the absence of Jack and Rob, she was quickly disabused of that naive assumption. Alex, of course, was under no such illusion.
I woke with sunlight streaming in, to find my legs intertwined with Andrea’s on one side and Sabrina’s on the other. Somehow the rope binding my feet had come undone, and I had spread out in both directions. I sat up and flexed my arms to see if I could free them as well. No such luck. I carefully extricated myself from the tangle of limbs. The mattress heaved a little but the other girls did not wake. My blindfold had been pushed up my forehead while I slept and I could see that my companions were still bound hand and foot. Karen’s wrists were red from where she had been twisting and contorting them, probably in her sleep; but the skin hadn’t been broken. Except for my ankles, Alex had done a good job of tying us.
I disembarked from the bed and crept out into the hallway. There was a glow at the other end, but I turned into the bathroom. It was a simple enough task to use the toilet with my hands bound, even though I had to feel my way about because I couldn’t reach the light switch. It was rather more difficult to wash my hands and face in the sink; but it’s something I’ve had practice at and I managed. That accomplished, I went to the kitchen and found Alex and Michelle already preparing breakfast. I stopped in my tracks and stared open-mouthed. Not only was my brother’s being up and about so soon after dawn extraordinary in itself, but he was wearing plush silk pyjamas and a monogrammed robe, as if he’d just teleported in from the Playboy mansion. Next to him, cutting up stuff on the counter, was Michelle. She was stark naked, and wearing a ball-gag.
She saw me staring, nodded a cordial “Good morning” and went back to her chore.
“Don’t like a lot of idle chatter from the womenfolk first thing in the morning,” Alex said.
Michelle turned, made a disapproving sound and a threatening movement with the knife, tapping the crimson ball between her jaws with two fingers and then gesturing towards his genital area. He gave an apologetic shrug. Yet her casual nudity didn’t rate a mention. I thought of bottomless Sabrina the previous morning. There must be something about this kitchen... Nevertheless, I doubt that Michelle would have been so barefaced – or I should say bare skinned – if the other men had still been in the house.
“Don’t just stand there,” Alex snarled. “Pitch in and help.”
I turned about to present my bound hands. And as he started to untie me, Sabrina wandered in, rubbing her eyes and stifling a yawn. Despite her crumpled dress, bleary eyes and unkempt hair, she managed to look more gorgeous than ever. But how she had contrived to free herself from her ropes I have no idea. She performed an exaggerated double take at my brother’s garb and his girlfriend’s lack thereof.
“Just in time,” Alex said, and blandly instructed Sabrina to “be a good girl and go fetch two ball-gags.”
I wondered what her response might be, but she just sighed and obeyed, returning half a minute later with them. She put one on herself and handed me the other. I buckled it in place. Mercifully (for him) Alex did not repeat his line about chattering females. From that moment, however, he did no more breakfast preparation, content to stand back, watch and supervise.
I started to help Michelle in peeling a bowlful of potatoes. Sabrina began slicing up tomatoes and a slab of bacon. Our concentration was soon interrupted, however, by a rhythmic thumping approaching down the hallway. We all went to look. Andrea and Karen, still bound, were slowly bunny-hopping from the bathroom towards us. They were concentrating on maintaining their balance and didn’t notice us at first. Then Andrea looked up and winced.
Karen managed a chirpy “Good morning.” Her pink boxers were hanging perilously low on her hips and were slightly askew. I giggled as I realized that they had been assisting each other to use the toilet, and Andrea glared at me. And at Sabrina… I presume because she hadn’t untied them in the bedroom. Only then did they see Michelle’s naked form. They shook their heads in unison. She just smiled... though maybe it was a grimace. It was hard to tell. A ball-gag has that effect.
Alex stepped forward and diverted the two into the living room, while Sabrina, Michelle and I returned to the kitchen. He rejoined us about five minutes later, saying nothing.
When it was time to set the table and bring out the meal, another half an hour had passed. Alex sent me to check on the two other girls. As I expected, they were gagged and blindfolded, and of course hog-tied. I reported back, with sign language, naturally, that they looked fatigued, so he gave me permission to release them, though from just the ropes. As I took an arm of each and guided them into the dining room, it didn’t surprise me that Karen seemed okay with keeping her blindfold and gag. She was obviously still enjoying what to her was a compellingly novel experience. It did, however, astonish me that Andrea made no attempt to challenge my brother’s authority. I guess that because she can be strident and stubborn, it’s easy to misjudge her. But the fact was that she had committed herself to the theme of the weekend, no more or less than the rest of us, and since this level of abject submission went against her very nature, that took a lot of strength, of will and of character.
Alex took his place at the head of the table and we mere females waited patiently for permission to sit. Alex made a gesture and I tapped Karen on the shoulder. My brother was already digging in when he graciously allowed us to remove our gags, and the two girls their blindfolds. I had my usual fare, a glass of juice and a cup of coffee, and decided to make a glutton of myself with half a slice of toast. Sabrina amazed everyone with the amount of food she can put away. How she retains her showgirl figure is an enduring mystery (although I guess living with Jack does wonders for the metabolism).
As we finished, Alex instructed us to clear up and wash up, except Michelle. She was still nude. Even though we are not exactly the most inhibited bunch of people you will find, it was a bit embarrassing having her like that at the breakfast table. And either that or the hearty meal, or both, inspired my brother, because he called her over, tied her hands behind her back and led her off to the bedroom. She smiled back at us over her shoulder. (It was definitely a smile this time, not another grimace.)
“What some people will do to get out of dish washing duty,” Andrea grumbled.
When the contented couple returned, Michelle now had something on her body, albeit a barely there bikini. I immediately had the feeling that this was going to be the motif, and indeed Alex’s first words were: “Ladies, bikinis.”
Well, I was planning to wear one anyway, because it was that sort of weather – warm enough but heavily overcast so there was no chance of sunburn. Sabrina went for an ultra-feminine ruffle bikini, Michelle a perky little crochet number, Andrea a bandeau top and booty shorts, Karen a robust but sexy racer back style, and as for me, my Agustina lime green triangle halter-top string bikini.
But the importance of this was that the five of us continued to let Alex pull the strings, call the shots, hold the reins, crack the whip (so to speak). For to be honest, there was no particular reason why, of the six of us, the one with the penis should be in charge. But I always been a big fan of the battle-of-the-sexes scenario. Given my damsel-in-distress and slavegirl fantasies, my personal preference is that the girls are the ones who are subjugated, but I can see why some favour the reverse. However, there were no less than three factors in play that morning. One was the traditional guy-on-girl theme of our tie-up games. Only Andrea was interested in being on the tying rather than the receiving end of the ropes, while Karen was not experienced enough to easily switch roles. Secondly, since Andrea had declined to join Alex’s “team”, the five-against-one odds made it more practical and sensible for the one to be master and the five to be slaves, rather than vice versa.
The third issue was the inverted power dynamic, which I have previously described. It is where the naturally or normally dominant partner or participant in a relationship or interaction is the one who submits or is subdued. I have mentioned some if its forms. There’s the bound babysitter, the boss in bondage, the tied-up teacher, Baby Bro tying up Big Sis… and the most potent of all, in my book, when the dominant is heavily outnumbered by his (or her) submissives. Because the point most people miss is what I have explained already, that submission requires strength. So giving up your position of power and relinquishing your advantage (whether it be age or size or authority or numbers) can be a very satisfying, fulfilling and stimulating experience.
Anyhow, it was to be another working day, and none of us had any doubt that Alex would make it interesting. Today’s assignment was gardening. The yard was a mess, overrun with weeds and scrubby bushes, and with trees in desperate need of a trimming, dropping leaves in the guttering and rooting up the pathways. It was going to be that sort of heavy, sweaty toil. While Sabrina was handing out the visors, goggles and gloves, Alex took his seat in one of the deck chairs on the veranda. When she proffered his kit, he glared disdainfully at the objects, then up at her.
“Okay, so that’s the way it’s going to be,” I said to myself, as I’m sure did the others.
And so we set to work, while my brother lazed on the porch, admiring his five bikini-clad slavegirls as we laboured, and keeping us on task barking out superfluous commands and admonitions to “Work harder, girls.” To remind us who was boss, whenever he desired another cold beer or a snack, he called one of us up to fetch it; when his table and chair needed shifting from the encroaching sun, rather than do it himself he interrupted our work.
Eventually, inevitably, Andrea made a disparaging comment. He ordered us to line up and sent Michelle for our ball-gags. I suppose that this was the moment when we might have rebelled, and I suspect that it was Alex’s test of our resolve and of his authority over us. And as soon as Sabrina inserted hers, he knew he had won. We all followed suit, then went back to our grind.
We didn’t mind the work, of course. We’d be doing that anyway. In fact, our “slavery” took the edge off the tedium. It was harder to put up with my brother’s supercilious attitude, but it was all part of the game. He knew exactly which of our buttons to push and how hard to push them. Indeed, we slogged harder than we would have otherwise; and during a brief mid-morning break for a drink, our master commended us on the good job we were doing. What had been planned as a full day’s effort would be completed by lunchtime. As our reward, he informed us, we would have the afternoon off to play games. Uh-oh, we all thought.
“Right, enough slacking off!” my brother snapped, as he reclined in his chair. “Back to work.”
No one said a thing in response, not the sullen, pouting Andrea nor the giggling Karen. (Our newbie still hadn’t really come to grips with what she was allowing herself to go through.) But naturally Alex wasn’t finished. “Forgotten something?” Our gags lay on the table. He saw our looks of anguish and, for once, decided that retreat was the better part of valour. “Just kidding.” But the backdown was only tactical. “Don’t stop. Get on with it.”
The routine was repeated during the second half of the morning. It was just after midday that Sabrina stopped, looked around, lay aside her shovel, pulled off her gloves and goggles and planted her hands on her hips.
“Why have you stopped, slave?” Alex growled.
“We’re finished... sir.”
My brother grinned, as the rest of us divested ourselves of our tools and gear. But he didn’t miss a beat.
“Then you’d better head inside and prepare lunch. I’m getting hungry.”
“May we clean up, SIR?” Michelle almost spat the last word at him.
“Hmmm...” He scratched his chin, savouring the moment. “Line up and let me take a look.”
He scrutinized our sweat-glistening, grime-encrusted, bikini-clad bodies. He grinned at what he saw.
“No, straight to the kitchen.”
So off we went, made lunch, brought it out onto the veranda. Our master graciously consented for us to join him.
However, our enthusiasm for the game was starting to wane. More to the point, Alex was smart enough to recognize that his slavegirls’ resilience and forbearance were starting to wear thin. But that didn’t mean the fun was over. It was only just beginning, as my brother quickly made clear. As we cleaned up, he sent me to bring out an armful of ropes and blindfolds. I set them down on the table beside our gags.
“And now for something completely different,” he announced.
Alex directed us to take off our shoes, toss them in a pile next to the pathway and stand on the lawn, arranged in a large circle facing inwards, towards each other. He circumnavigated us from behind, handing us each a blindfold and dropping ropes at our feet. He told us to blindfold ourselves. I fussed about with mine in order to observe the others. Sabrina and Michelle didn’t hesitate; Andrea, with her usual pout, fidgeted with the material, plying and flexing before applying it; Karen studied hers with the by now familiar but adorable wide-eyed wonderment, stroking the black satin with two fingers and even sniffing it. She didn’t know how to fold it properly to shut out all light, so Alex gruffly snatched it from her grasp, muttering something about amateurs. He pleated it properly and secured it with a sharp tug that caused her to stagger backwards with a surprised “Ooh!”
He looked across at me watching them, frowned and pointed. I tied my blindfold in place.
“Hobbles,” he commanded. He didn’t specify how much slack to leave, but he didn’t have to. I crouched on the grass, groped about for the rope, located it and bound it to my ankles. Doing so correctly left only about fifteen centimetres separating my feet at full stretch, not much more than the width of a spread hand.
“Good girls,” my brother said, but I heard him murmur something else, and guessed that he was assisting one of the others with her hobble, presumably Karen.
We stood up and at attention, for quite a long time. I had no idea what Alex was up to; but eventually he ordered us to put our hands behind our backs, wrists crossed. He circled us again, binding our elbows on the first pass and our wrists on the second. He made it very strict, wrenching my shoulders backward and thrusting out my chest until I felt my bikini top was about to pop off. My Baby Bro didn’t need to see that. On the third circuit, he connected our hands and feet with a rope that was short enough that we were forced to bend slightly at the knees. Because he was assiduously thorough (or just as likely because he was enjoying himself), Alex worked at a leisurely pace. The process had so far taken more than half an hour, and it was a good thing that we were standing in the shade of a tree, because a sudden increase in the temperature told me that the sun had broken through the clouds. I was the first to have my wrists and ankles coupled, and it was not easy to stand still for so long with knees bent and not be able to shuffle my feet because of the hobble. My thighs and calves got sore very quickly.
Yet my brother had only just begun... to my total lack of surprise. On the next circuit, he gagged us. I groaned when I felt the knob pressing against my lips. It was the penis gag, which I despise... and which is probably why my caring brother chose it. That was where he must have been earlier, when we were blindfolded and waiting, inside the house fetching them. I thought about resisting, as futile a gesture as that might have been, but he pre-empted a struggle by clamping one hand on the back of my neck and jamming the hideous protuberance past my lips and against my teeth. I quickly surrendered and accepted it into my mouth. He laughed (the savage beast) when he heard my muffled whimper.
After that, Alex put us each in an elaborate chest harness, and attached to it a crotch rope which ran up behind to the elbows. Now your average young guy may have some qualms about looping and tightening the ropes around and between his sister’s breasts, and even more so in positioning the cable between her legs to make the effect just right… but not my Baby Bro. He has been tying me up for so long now that neither of us gets particularly squeamish about such things. It’s just part of the routine.
Of the five of us, Alex was most meticulous with Michelle, and by the time he’d finished she was softly moaning... or maybe purring... it was hard to tell through her gag.
For his finishing flourish, Alex commanded us to turn to the left, and he strung three tethers around the circle. One connected us by a yoke fastened loosely around our necks; a second joined my breast harness to Andrea’s elbow-tie in front of me (which I knew because of the tugging on my arms when he did the same to Sabrina behind me); and a third was weaved or threaded around our crotch ropes, emerging at the front and rear to complete the link to the other girls. As soon as we started moving, the knot for this final tether slipped and settled into a position which made for a very stimulating experience.
Finally we were ready. Alex had taken ages and my body was beginning to cramp up, exacerbating the boredom and the tension of waiting to be put through our paces. It can also be unnerving when you have absolutely no idea what lies ahead. However, unlike my fellow damsels, I had some inkling of what was coming, because I had been through stuff like this before. We were directed to shift sideways and outwards to extend the radius of our circle. When our tethers became taut, Alex yelled “Stop!” and then “Start marching!”
We went around in our circle maybe two dozen times, shuffling and shambling in our ankle restraints, with Alex constantly berating us to “Speed up!” and “Keep those leashes tight!” This was hard enough in our hobbles without stumbling, and almost impossible to synchronize without the benefit of sight to keep the optimum distance apart, leading to much pulling and jerking on our tethers. After a couple of times round we were able to use the tightening and slackening of the ropes to keep to our curved path.
Although the exercise was not overly strenuous, the strain of having to concentrate on our movements had us very quickly gasping and puffing heavily through our gags. Though we were out of the direct sunlight, it was a sultry day, and perspiration was trickling down my face and body, soaking my bikini and the edges of my blindfold. And the crotch-ropes were working their particular brand of magic as well, making my skin tingle.
Not for the first time this weekend I was imagining how silly we all must look… well, five of us anyway. While it would have been interesting to see the spectacle for myself, it is on this sort of occasion that I am very glad of our blanket rule against cameras, both photo and video. This was not the sort of image I want making its way into the public domain – five sweating and panting bikini-clad captives, trussed, gagged and blindfolded, leashed together, shuffling round and round, trying desperately to maintain a steady pace in our hobbles, trying even more desperately to cope with the sensations produced by our crotch-ropes. Not that it wasn’t fun, of course. From behind and in front I could hear giggling as well as moaning, in addition to some gargled cursing… that would be Andrea. But my brother did not endear himself to us with intermittent commands to “Hop like bunnies” and “Wiggle those butt cheeks” and “Shake those racks” – which we ignored, naturally. Fortunately for his future well-being, he didn’t insist.
When at last Alex ordered us to halt, an audible sigh of relief passed around the circle, but the respite was short-lived. He unhitched me from Andrea and without warning strode off, yanking me brusquely forward and dragging the rest of the girls along behind. It was an untidy, jarring process, each jump start producing a jolting (though not choking) tug on the yoke about our necks, and causing the other ropes to tighten around our breasts and grind and snag in the crevices of our lower parts.
He led us in two complete circuits of the yard and house, meandering past and around the trees, shrubs and garden beds. Notwithstanding the difficulty of negotiating the course in my hobble and blindfold, and the torment to my bare feet of gravelly pathways and prickly grass and pebbly patches of dirt, I had it easier than the other girls. Being first in line, I could be steered around the obstacles, whereas behind me the column soon began to snake about, as I could tell from the stress it put on our tethers. Every so often, ripe language emanated from behind one of the gags, as someone brushed against a spiky plant or stubbed her toe on an emergent tree root.
Eventually, our master guided us out of the yard. I knew we were heading up the access road leading from the house to the highway, because our line had straightened out and I could feel the corrugated surface of the roadway underfoot. I was thinking what a sight we’d make for anyone who came visiting at that moment, but we were in a very secluded spot and anyway you could hear vehicles coming from a long distance as their wheels rumbled over the ruts. After shuffling several hundred metres, we turned off into a paddock. I heard the gate squeak on its rusting hinges, and long blades of unmown grass tickled my legs. The sun had retreated behind the clouds once more, and a cool, gentle breeze wafted across the field, caressing my bare skin.
“This is it,” Alex informed us. We halted and waited. He freed us from the tethers and hobbles, chest harnesses and crotch ropes. I heard him pulling one of us aside and telling her “You’ll be sitting this one out.”
A couple of minutes later, he took off my blindfold, and Sabrina’s. I looked about. We were standing on the crest of a gently sloping ridge. We were right on the borderline of Sabrina’s property, a few hundred metres from the house, which sat on the crown of the next ridge. In between, the ground fell away gradually into a shallow trough, along which flowed a small stream concealed within a ribbon of greenery. The slopes were a lush meadow, dotted with a few trees and littered with scrubby bushes. A dozen cattle grazed on the hillside, tails lazily flicking at the flies. Crows were playing in the grass, and somewhere a solitary cricket was chirpily announcing its presence. The sun was coming and going behind its cloudy curtain, but the breeze had begun to subside, so it was warm and uncomfortably muggy, even in my bikini.
I glanced about. Michelle and Karen were off to one side, still blindfolded. Andrea was behind us, lying on her belly, hog-tied.
Alex seized Sabrina and me by an arm each and dragged us to stand next to Karen and Michelle. He reapplied our hobbles, but with twice as much margin as before. Then he stopped, frowned, looked at me and shook his head. He released Sabrina’s hands, and on his instructions she tied my right elbow and ankle to Karen’s left. She then took another rope and wound it a couple of times around my right breast, tightening it more than was pleasant (but not so much as to cause a problem) and attached it to Karen’s left boob. My partner flinched and winced, more from embarrassment than discomfort. So naturally she gasped and shuddered and cringed at what Sabrina did next. Alex had at some stage prepared four new crotch ropes. Each consisted of three strands, the middle one braided, and connected, when put in place, to a rope collar at the front and back. As she ran it between my legs, Sabrina positioned the outside strands on either side of the fleshy folds and the braided one right down the centre crease.
As we were being prepared in this way, I had to swallow a laugh. For all his wicked ways, my Baby Bro has his limits. Noosing his sister’s breast and applying this particularly efficacious crotch-rope was just a little too close to the edge of propriety, which is why he had one of his other slaves do the dirty work. I was not exempted, of course, although I could have been. I could have taken Andrea’s place, hog-tied in the grass, and I don’t know why she was chosen to “sit out” this game. In any case, Alex had no misgivings about putting Sabrina and Michelle in their harnesses. I watched them as he worked, admiring their stoicism.
I shuffled my feet to test the crotch-rope. With even the slightest movement the braided cord had its effect. And although Karen had already experienced one, this rig was so elaborate and Sabrina had been so conscientious about its placement that she squirmed and shook her head vigorously, blushing and exhaling loudly through her gag.
Having a good idea what lay ahead, I was not sure whether I should be dreading or looking forward to it. But before we began, for a final flourish Alex swapped our gags. As he withdrew the knob from my mouth, I smiled with relief, but that didn’t last. He extracted Karen’s and held it before me.
“Open wide.” He grinned maliciously.
I don’t really understand why I should be unsettled by this sort of thing, but the taste of Karen’s saliva on the shaft as it went in made me feel just a little bit queasy. I tried to contain my aversion, because I didn’t know if it would offend her. She didn’t appear to react to my taste on her gag. In fact, given that she was blindfolded I don’t know if she even realized what had happened. So I tried to put it out of my mind. But when he tried to do the same with the other two girls, Sabrina vigorously shook her head. She didn’t speak, so poor blindfolded Michelle had no idea what the fuss was all about. Alex did not force the issue and simply replaced their gags, and I regretted having not protested. (Sabrina later told me she had no problem wearing Michelle’s gag. She just wanted to shake my brother up a little… a second reason for me to regret my compliance.)
In any case, I would not have had time to brood on it. Joined in pairs, the four of us were swivelled round to stand side by side, facing towards the house in the distance. Alex pointed it out, as if Sabrina and I couldn’t see it, and as if Karen and Michelle were somehow able to see where he was gesturing.
“It’s a race,” he explained. “First to the house wins the prize.” Knowing my brother, that could be either a good or a bad thing. “Go!”
The sudden start took all of us by surprise, but I got a slight jump on Sabrina. Nevertheless, it was going to be a demanding contest. My partner was blindfolded, and all I had to guide her with were the grunts and gurgles I could make through my gag and the movements I could make with the ankle and breast tethers, plus an occasional nudge with the shoulder. Naturally the hobbles made it more difficult to negotiate the uneven ground, and our crotch-ropes certainly made the challenge a lot more interesting. Each step caused the braided cord to work its way in and out of the cleft and methodically fulfil its purpose, abetted by the outside ropes which squeezed the lips inwards for all-over stimulation. Before we even reached the base of the first slope, Karen was moaning – whether in agony or in ecstasy it was hard to tell. The best way to minimize its effects was to push my knees apart, but they could only spread so far with our ankle restraints, and anyway that just make walking all the more difficult. The other thing to do was to bite down hard on the silicone rubber shaft filling my mouth. For once I was grateful for the penis gag, even a second-hand one.
After the first tentative steps, Karen and I developed a rather discordant rhythm. We could only take very small steps. The hobbles and crotch-ropes saw to that. And every few paces we had to stop to adjust and realign. Alex trailed along close behind to assist or save us, but neither Sabrina nor I was motivated to set a speed record. Sticks and stubble and sharp stones under our bare feet slowed us down as well, and spiky blades of grass scratched and tickled our legs. On occasion the ankle rope snagged on a protruding root or branch. There were no fences or other obstacles to surmount or avoid, which was a blessing, but at the bottom of the saddle between the two ridges was that intersecting creek, which looked more ominously overgrown and the rocky bed more jagged as we approached.
I was also working up a raging thirst. We hadn’t had anything to drink since lunchtime, and the gag was making me salivate heavily. This temporarily moistens the mouth and throat but is in the long run dehydrating.
One reassuring moment was when our breast tether came off. It had been tied very loosely, because both Sabrina and Alex were smart enough to realize that if either of us tripped or stumbled there could be damage. That’s why we hadn’t strenuously objected. It was more for humiliation than the girl-to-girl connection. Indeed, what I was mostly worried about was encountering a snake or picking up ticks in the long grass. Every so often I would pause to scan the ground ahead of us, and Karen, who had no idea why I was halting, made exasperated puffing noises through her gag.
As we passed the cows ruminating in the shade of a nearby tree, they turned their heads languidly to follow our progress. One of them gave me a quizzical look, shook its great head and uttered its baritone appraisal of our weird adventure.
“Don’t mind us, girls,” I mumbled.
When we reached the creek, I discovered that its passage would be less daunting than I had feared. The water level was about waist height, from what I could tell, along most of its course, but about a hundred metres upstream was a rocky ford no more than knee deep. I managed to signal to my partner that we needed to turn about to take this detour. The bank was muddy and slippery, and a couple of times we almost tumbled, but we could bypass the scattered boulders and heavy undergrowth. The water, when we finally crossed, was surprisingly warm, and the pebbles on the bed were ticklishly rounded and smooth. More formidable was the climb up the bank on the other side. It was very hard to keep a solid footing the way we were hitched together, but somehow we managed to stay upright. I was by now feeling a good deal of pride in our achievement. Sabrina and Michelle were not far behind, and I glanced about to find Alex. My brother was standing not far away, and he seemed quite impressed. At some stage he had returned to our start line and retrieved Andrea. She was still bound, gagged and blindfolded, and he had her on a short leash.
After that, the going was relatively easy. There was a narrow track leading up from the shallow crossing in both directions, and I scolded myself for not having seen it before… and Sabrina for either not knowing about it (this was, after all, her property) or choosing not to use it. When we finally made it, I realized that the sun was beginning its descent towards the western horizon. It must have been an hour and a half since our race started. Karen and I ended up the winners by just a few metres. We collapsed to our knees on the lawn, puffing and panting, lathered in perspiration, moaning more than ever from the effects of the crotch ropes. Sabrina and I looked at each other, and up at my brother, in both pride and embarrassment.
Now that Karen and I had won, we anticipated our reward with dread apprehension.
My brother, however, dropped a bombshell. Of course he would.
“After reviewing the result,” he announced, “your judge rules that the minikins have been disqualified.”
Since Karen and I are substantially shorter than Sabrina and Michelle, I surmised that he meant us.
“If the minikins wish to appeal the decision,” he continued, “now is the time to speak up.”
Even if I’d decided that winning the appeal was a good thing, all I would be capable of was a few incoherent grunts and gurgles, so I kept my silence.
“Then Sabrina and Michelle will be fighting it out for the championship.”
While they awaited their final showdown, Alex arranged the rest of us. We were ordered to kneel with our backs to the fence, close enough that we almost touched. Our hands were untied (a blessed relief since my arms, shoulders and chest were starting to ache badly) and we were made to stretch them out horizontally to the side. Andrea was in the middle, so her left arm went behind my head and my right arm behind hers; same with Karen on the other side. Alex bound our wrists to the top rail of the fence. Karen and Andrea were still blindfolded and saw none of the action, so I was the only audience.
To decide the “grand final” Alex had Sabrina and Michelle squat on the lawn, with backs straight, balanced on the balls of their feet, heels together but with knees spread apart. In that pose, the efficacy of their crotch ropes was plain to see. The contest was simple, to determine who could maintain her posture the longest. It’s relatively easy to do for a few minutes but becomes increasingly difficult and painful, especially when your arms are pinioned behind you, and pretty soon excruciating. The strain quickly began to tell on their faces. Michelle was naive enough to think that the contest was somehow worth winning, and struggled to stay uptight, but I’m not sure what kept Sabrina going. Eventually, however, she tottered, tried desperately to regain her bearing, and toppled sideways.
Alex hauled Michelle to her feet and proclaimed her the winner.
“For the losers...” he looked towards us bound to the fence, and at Sabrina, prone on the grass, “your fate is to be enslaved.”
Nothing new, then.
“For the winner...” he put an arm round his girl and pulled her into his side, “the privilege of having the master inside her tonight.” Yes, my Baby Bro really does talk like that.
Sabrina stared up at him.
“Don’t worry, my dear,” he said to his girlfriend in a stage whisper, “you never need to worry about losing while I’m referee.”
Alex untied us and we went inside the house. There he allowed us to remove our gags and promised that if we were good girls we would not be gagged again that night.
“Unless I decide otherwise,” he added with a sneer. There was more all-round eye-rolling, and a rather undignified snort from Andrea. Nevertheless, we chose not to provoke him, and he preferred to avoid testing the limits of his authority. He turned to Michelle and informed her that he was ready to give her the first part of her reward.
“Oh, lucky me,” she said with a grimace (which didn’t fool anyone) and went off to the bedroom.
Sabrina asked Alex if we were permitted to change out of our begrimed, sweat-stained bikinis. I was surprised that she kept in slavegirl mode; and even more surprised when my brother did not take advantage to issue some outlandish demand. Instead, he glanced impatiently towards the bedroom, where Michelle awaited his attention.
“Sure,” he said with a dismissive wave of the hand, “but don’t take too long. You’ve got dinner to cook.”
Sabrina went to get cleaned up first so she could get things underway in the kitchen as soon as possible. Andrea, Karen and I awaited our turn relaxing on the front porch, discussing the events of the day.
As expected, Karen was quite animated.
“Do you do this sort of thing very often?” she asked, somewhat belatedly.
“Not as often as I think you think,” I replied.
“I hate the gag,” she said.
“Don’t we all!” Of course, that was not strictly true. I love most types of gag, just not the one we had to wear that afternoon.
“Well, you know, I don’t really hate it...” Karen began to backpedal. That’s typical of the novice, who is struggling to understand the difference (but also the connection) between the tie-up games of your childhood or that time not long ago when your friends tied you up while you were fooling around, and the bondage games you’re playing now. “It’s kind of hot, you know, sexy, in a way...” That’s also typical, searching for the right words to describe what you’re feeling. You are dealing with sensations that are not just outside your normal experience but something for which you have no apt words because you’ve never had reason to find them. There’s embarrassment, even some shame, mixed in with the exhilaration, because it’s difficult to come to grips with the fact that it is the humiliation and the sense of helplessness, the submission and the loss of control, that excites you, what turns you on.
As Sabrina came out brushing her hair, Karen leapt up to go next. Instead of following Sabrina inside to help with dinner, Andrea and I continued to lounge on the porch, as the sun sank rapidly toward the western hills. We didn’t say much. We’ve never had a lot to say to each other. It’s not that we’re unfriendly, just not friends.
When it was Andrea’s turn to shower, it would have been nice to sit there alone, in quiet contemplation, but I thought I should I join Karen and Sabrina in the kitchen. They were preparing a salad, and I was assigned the job of peeling and slicing a half dozen boiled eggs.
I pushed the bowl away with a crinkled nose. “Sorry, can’t do that,” I explained, and before I got a dirty look, “I’m allergic. Believe me, it won’t be a pretty sight.”
“Then you’re no use at all,” Sabrina growled.
I stared at her and she grinned. She has a deadpan sense of humour, which is something you acquire from living with Jack, so it’s hard at times to know when she’s joking.
“What about carrots? Are you allergic to them?”
“Well, let’s find out.”
But at that moment Andrea came in. “Okay, midget, you’re next.”
I excused myself, waving the largest carrot of the bunch in Andrea’s face. “Do you know what you can do with this?”
She gave me a queer look.
“Chop it up,” Sabrina said quietly.
I lifted my head, shut my eyes, held out my arms and just let the soothing flow run over me for several minutes. It felt deliciously sensual and curiously erotic, as it fondled and caressed my body. I shivered despite the water’s heat, and my skin was not the only part of me that tingled. I was still on a high from the day’s games. And as I stepped from the cubicle and started to reach for the towel, I paused to allow the warm rivulets to stream along the contours of my figure and trickle down my arms and legs.
I wiped the mist from the mirror to study my reflection. My wrists and ankles, my breasts and especially my groin were pink from the marking and chafing of the ropes. My muscles were aching, my feet were sore, my mouth felt raw. There are times, I must confess, when I wish that my enjoyment came from being on the other end of the ropes. I guess it’s not really fair that while both partners share in the pleasure of bondage, only one has to pay the cost. But I’m happy with it. I’m glad I am what I am, and wouldn’t want it any other way… Okay, so that’s the sort of stuff which occupies my thoughts when I’m in the bathroom. It must be that dihydrogen monoxide poisoning I’ve read about.
(Do I have to explain that dihydrogen monoxide is plain, old-fashioned water? Don’t worry. It’s a science-nerd joke.)
By the time I rejoined the others, most of the food preparation had been completed and I did not have to contribute, which was just as well for the health and safety of all concerned. Karen and I set the table while Sabrina and Andrea put the finishing touches to the meal. While we brought it out, Andrea went to summon Alex and Michelle. I heard her knocking on the bedroom door, and a minute later she returned, looking slightly flushed and dolefully shaking her head.
“You don’t want to know,” she said.
Being good slavegirls, we stood back from the dining table at attention, awaiting the arrival of our lord and his concubine. I was hoping Michelle would not be naked like this morning, and she wasn’t… although her bra and g-string panties did not really cover that much more. But I suppose I should add that the rest of us were not exactly overdressed either… me in a camisole and French knickers, Sabrina gorgeous in an exquisite lilac satin chemise, Andrea cool and sexy in a black strapless teddy with a matching translucent chiffon wrap, and Karen cute and pretty in a powder blue, flower-embroidered babydoll nightie (very likely the most girlie-girl thing she owned). The lingerie was a spontaneous indulgence. It was the sort of mood we were in. My brother, of course, repeated his Hugh Hefner-style silk PJs and robe ensemble. If he started puffing on a pipe, I would have hit him with something.
As we took our seats, our master instructed us, with a superior smile, that we were to keep our heads bowed and our eyes downcast and our mouths shut unless spoken to. And naturally that injunction remained in force just long enough for his self-satisfied expression to fade and for the wine glasses to be filled. Finding himself outnumbered, outflanked and outmanoeuvred, Alex was shrewd enough to know when to abandon his position and exercise a tactical retreat.
So we had a regular meal, and I was sort of hoping there would be no more games that evening. I wouldn’t say no, of course, but I felt that a bit of a rest was in order so we could start again, refreshed, in the morning. To be honest, I wanted to save some of my energy and enthusiasm for the return of Jack and Rob. However, I knew it wasn’t to be when, as we rose from the table, my brother moved quickly to Michelle’s side, seized her shoulders and spun her about, wrenched her arms behind her back to truss them with tape.
“Oh well,” I thought, “If we’re to resume the fun, using tape is a good thing. My poor skin has had enough of rope for one day.”
By the time the rest of us reported for duty in the living room, Michelle was lying hog-tied on her belly across Alex’s lap, her bra still in place but her panties crumpled at her knees. He had one hand resting on her derrière, slowly kneading the bare flesh, the other massaging her neck and shoulders. Her bound hands were clenched, her toes curled. Her head was turned towards us and her eyelids were fluttering as though she was in a trance. She was squirming a little, and I could hear her gasping and quietly murmuring through her ball-gag. (So much for my brother’s no-gags promise. I had no doubt his perfidy would extend to the rest of us as well.) A dribble of saliva leaked from the corner of her mouth. I suspected that before we came in, the hand on her backside had been in a slightly different position.
I glanced at Karen once more to see her reaction. I wasn’t sure exactly what she was thinking. She was obviously feeling some embarrassment as a fellow female for Michelle’s not so dignified position… but also, I sensed, a spot of envy for her dreamy state of ecstasy.
“Are we all ready to start again?” my brother asked, as he pointed to the floor in the middle of the room, just beyond his outstretched legs.
We nodded as we went down on our knees. Alex gestured, and we each clasped our hands behind our heads.
“Sarah.”
“Yes?”
“Yes what?”
“Yes… SIR!”
“That’s better,” he chirped. If my Baby Bro had appended “good girl” I would surely have leapt straight for his throat.
He issued my directive and I went off to the two bedrooms. I returned and dumped the bundle by his feet – a pile of brassieres, knickers, pantyhose and socks, belonging to the five of us. (This is an Alex favourite which he learned from Jack, tying up women with their underwear.) Then we four began joining, bunching and binding the garments according to his instructions. We followed our usual pattern – Sabrina silent and diligent, Andrea mumbling under her breath, Karen getting elated and agitated because this looked to be something new, and I… well, I just carried on as always.
When we’d completed the task, the articles were sorted into four small heaps. Andrea and Sabrina were ordered to lie on their stomachs, feet together, arms at their sides. Karen and I were told to kneel astride their legs, she on Sabrina and me on Andrea.
We started with the gags Alex had promised were not to be. We had made up rudimentary ball-types by rolling up socks around bras. Andrea scrunched up her face and licked her lips to moisten her mouth as I inserted hers. These are not the most pleasant of gags. The cotton taste and texture quickly become astringent as your mouth first goes dry from the absorptive properties of the socks, and then the wad becomes disagreeably musty as it saturates with your saliva. Yet it’s ideal for the damsel in distress just on account of it’s being uncomfortable. It’s a good thing, since you want the experience to be memorable without being unbearable or hazardous.
Adding to Andrea’s and Sabrina’s discomfort, the gag was difficult to fix in place because of the elastic qualities of the bra strap. Karen and I had to tug hard to take up the slack, hauling our victims’ heads back rather severely to make it secure. Andrea’s muffled whimper was so pathetic I actually felt sorry for her. I drew her hair back with tender strokes to keep it clear of the knot. It was soft and smooth as fine silk, and the subtle fragrance of strawberry-scented shampoo was suffused on my hands as I adjusted the wadding in her mouth. She sniffed and sighed contentedly. I drew her chiffon robe down off her shoulders and grazed my fingernails lightly across the bare skin. Lying there under me, she looked so fragile and feminine, and for once so serene. However, her hands were beginning to fidget. I guess it was an involuntary response. So to make sure she didn’t interfere with my work, I pressed my knees against her body, pinning her arms by her side. Karen copied my action, even though Sabrina was lying absolutely still.
Alex was watching us, while continuing to play with Michelle’s naked bottom. He made a gesture and I brushed a few errant strands of hair away from Andrea’s eyes. She must have seen the signal, because she lifted her head off the floor to make my task easier on her. We had improvised blindfolds using bra cups padded with panties. Rather ungainly but quite effective. I placed Andrea’s across her forehead and drew it unhurriedly down over her eyes, so she could experience her vision fading slowly to darkness. But then I yanked on the straps especially hard; and as her head was jerked back once more, she grunted rather pitiably. I don’t know why I did that. I am not normally sadistic, at least not when my captive is so helpless. Perhaps I was getting back at Andrea for previous slights; or maybe seeing her so adorably vulnerable was having a bewitching effect on me. (But was the cruelty my giving into the spell or resisting it? It’s a part of my nature that I have yet to fully explore.)
As she lowered her head back onto the floor, her face was reflected in the polished wooded floorboards. Her brow and cheeks speckled with tiny beads of sweat, her eyes enshrouded by the blindfold, her lips distorted by the gag, a silvery streak of spittle seeping from the corner of her mouth, she was nonetheless a vision of breathtaking loveliness. I felt something stirring in me that I rarely feel with girls. That’s what bondage does to you. It can short-circuit all your usual tendencies, propensities and proclivities… but in a nice way.
When I eased my knee pressure, Andrea understood and placed her hands behind her back. To bind her elbows I used her own pantyhose, in fact the only pair she’d brought that weekend. It was likely to be ruined by the stretching and pulling, but so would a couple of brassieres tied together, so it was a sensible sacrifice. On the other hand, I scolded myself because I should have known better and had only brought along one pair as well – one of my most expensive. You would presume that a tie-up games veteran like myself would have been better prepared. (I’m not normally a pantyhose person. To me, stockings are like granny panties. But any gal as deeply into the TUGs as I am is going to have several pairs. As binding materials they are both effective and symbolic.)
I awaited Alex’s instructions on how to tie the wrists. Decussate (crossed) is easier on the shoulders and chest when your hands are bound behind your back, which is (of course!) why my brother prefers the palms together. The strain the latter puts on the front of the torso is pleasing to the eye, especially on the female form. But he was busy with Michelle, so I opted for the former. I used a single bra and was able to loop and cinch it with no effort. It was a beautiful, delicate lace design with tiny blue ribbons and pink bows and yellow blossoms, so I took extra care to not damage it. Andrea’s fingers wiggled as I did so. Her skin was goosebumpy. She was trembling, and her breathing quickened through her gag. Maybe she’s like this every time she’s tied up, so I shouldn’t take too much credit for her state of bliss.
When Karen was finished doing the same with Sabrina, we turned to Alex for new directions. I moved from straddling Andrea to crouching next to her. I tied her ankles, in the crossed position, with yet another bra (actually one of her bikini tops, since I was running out of underwear). Then I tickled the back of her knees until she got the message and bent up her legs. I completed the manoeuvre by pushing down on her feet until her heels touched her buttocks. I used her last pair of knickers to affix her ankles to her wrists, completing the hog-tie. I ran my fingers the entire length of her sleek, lustrous calves and thighs. She twitched, and softly moaned.
I looked across at Karen. Her nervousness had dissipated and she appeared very pleased with herself. She was gently patting Sabrina’s head and smiling proudly, if still a little self-consciously, at me, and then up at my brother. Sabrina remained absolutely tranquil and motionless, but the hemline of her chemise had ridden up as far as the small of her back, exposing a pair of frilly purple silk panties. Either she had been tensing up or struggling, causing her dress to bunch up, or possibly Karen had done it... Perhaps I had misjudged our newbie.
Karen and I knelt beside our hog-tied captives, our hands clamped once more behind our heads, while Alex decided who was to be next.
I had a good sense of how Alex would play the penultimate round of the game. He told Karen and me to move Andrea and Sabrina over to the side, to give us plenty of space to do our own thing. We started with Sabrina, Karen taking hold of her shoulders and I grasping her knees. Although tall, Sabrina is lean and light. We could have raised her well off the floor, but she was face-down and we were afraid of dropping her. So we lifted her just a little and shifted her about two metres towards the kitchen end of the room. Even so, when we set her down she dropped a short distance onto the wooden boards and emitted a short, muffled yelp.
Andrea is somewhat heavier, and we ended up half dragging her across the floor. We lay her beside Sabrina, their bodies aligned in opposite directions. Andrea’s strapless teddy had slipped off her chest, and as I pulled it back in place I noted that her nipples were hard. It occurred to me that mine were too, and they showed though my sheer camisole. We were all pretty juiced up, not just from the evening’s girl-on-girl bondage, but from the cumulative effects of the last two days of fun and games. Nevertheless, I confess to feeling a tad icky, being and looking so aroused in front of my Baby Bro. Of course, I don’t know if he noticed, or even cared. He had by now stripped Michelle of her undies and was doing things that made her shudder and squirm in a near delirium of ecstasy. He was not really paying that much attention to the rest of us.
However, once Karen and I had resumed our kneeling, hands clasped behind the heads positions, he interrupted his dalliance to issue his instructions.
“Karen, you will be tying up Sarah.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Karen’s face light up. I don’t know if she was relieved to be escaping the ropes again, or pleased that she was getting to work on me. On the other hand, she must have been hoping to tie solo, because she looked glum when my brother continued. “Sarah, you’ll be guiding.”
“Anything in particular?” I inquired. He glowered. “SIR!” I added.
“How about…” he paused, then smiled. “Yes… bottoms up.”
Karen glanced at me with a quizzical expression, and I glared at Alex; but his attention was once more focused on Michelle. Without looking up, he added, “Let’s make it interesting. Blindfold yourselves.”
We fashioned the same bra and knickers blindfolds we had made for the other girls. Karen was then ordered to gag herself. I noticed that she hesitated, and I could hear her making slurpy noises as she moistened her mouth in preparation for the wad of rolled up socks. It isn’t the most pleasant of gags, especially for a novice.
I gave her a couple of moments to get used to it, and then I assumed the bottoms-up pose. This was taught to my eager-to-learn brother by Jack. It’s one of his favourites, and indeed one of those positions which is more appealing to the binder than the bindee. Still kneeling, I leaned forward, parted my legs and crossed my wrists in front of me. Then drawing my hands along the floor, backwards between my thighs, I lowered my top half until my chest, shoulders and the left side of my face were flat against the boards and my backside was sticking in the air (hence “bottoms up”).
I told Karen to bind my wrists. She had no idea how I was posed, so she had to feel her way around my body. It took her a while to figure out my orientation. Finally getting the lay of the land, she reached between my knees and secured my wrists using what I think was the last of my brassieres.
“Now,” I said, “tie my ankles, and then my wrists to my ankles.” For that she used my pantyhose, as I could tell from the ultrafine texture. I have to say, our newbie had learned her lessons well and did a laudable job. There had not been enough bra to properly cinch my wrist binding (I’m not exactly well-built up top), but she solved this by wrapping the pantyhose a couple of times around my ankles, pulling the material tight (and I winced as I felt the expensive silky nylon stretch) and looping it over my crossed wrists at right angles to the bra.
This still gave me quite some freedom of movement, and I knew Alex would not be satisfied. So my elbows would need to be bound to my knees. Karen had brought no pantyhose of her own, but Sabrina had several pairs left over. This was not an easy task, and Karen once again did commendably, especially since she did not have the use of her eyesight. And with that completed, I was completely trussed, immobile and helpless. It’s not exactly uncomfortable but it’s humiliating (and even more so when you’re nude, which fortunately I wasn’t... this time).
“Gag?” I asked.
“Of course,” Alex replied.
Blindfolded, Karen took a while to realize that in my position it was impossible for me to raise my head off the floor, and that she would need two hands to lift me. So she took it in steps, first stuffing the wad into my mouth, and then passing the improvised strap under the left side of my head before knotting the two ends. As a result it wasn’t tight, but it still did its job.
There was not much more that could be done to me, so Alex ordered Karen to kneel behind me, actually straddling my bound wrists and ankles.
“Lean forward… further” he commanded.
So she bent over me, her belly against my bottom and her chin resting on my back. Her weight pressed down on me, and I guessed she had put her arms behind her back. I heard the sofa springs squeak as Alex divested himself of Michelle in order to tie Karen’s hands. He then ran what must surely have been the last two pairs of pantyhose around both our torsos, twice, to bind our bodies together.
We must have been quite a sight to behold. It is certainly not the most dignified way to spend the next half-hour. The pressure of Karen’s weight on me got too much after a while. She’s not that heavy, but the awkwardness of our positions and the hardness of the wooden floorboards became too great to bear, and I toppled sideways. We were still tied together, doubled up in spooning mode. Karen was giggling through her gag, but I was starting to tire of the game.
We lay in our embrace until Alex became jaded with our degradation and decided it was time to take Michelle back to the bedroom. With the rest of us bound and blindfolded, I suppose he could have had her there and then, but even my Baby Bro has his boundaries of shameless. Of course, he also knew better than to leave us the way we were, so he ordered me to untie the other girls, except for their wrists and ankles. We were also left blindfolded. It took some time and a great deal of effort for me to undo the knots with only restricted use of my hands, and Alex had grown impatient.
“Who needs to use the bathroom before bed?” he demanded.
I guess we all nodded. We were sent off together, forced to hop blindfolded all the way. Alex didn’t help or guide us, so we had to be careful to avoid bumping into walls, furniture or door frames. I had no trouble at all with my ablutions, but I was the only one of us with my hands not bound behind the back. I helped Sabrina, who was completely cooperative, even cleaning her teeth for her; but I decided that Andrea and Karen would not respond well to that degree of intimacy, especially on the toilet. So I freed their hands. We all played fair by keeping on our blindfolds, and Alex wasn’t annoyed when he saw that I had untied the two girls.
From the bathroom we went straight to the bedroom. I was hoping that we would not be tied again, because I’d had enough of games for the day. But when I saw that my brother was not going to ease up, I didn’t complain. It was hands behind the back again, but unlike last night Alex arranged us lying in opposing directions – head, feet, head, feet. This was not to further humiliate us. The bed really wasn’t wide enough to have us all lying shoulder to shoulder, which is why we spooned each other the previous night.
None of us had any trouble sleeping. It had been an exhausting day.
My brother had enough sense to leave open both bedroom doors. Having four, or maybe five, women in the house bound and completely helpless would not be good if an emergency arose. As a result, of course, we could hear everything that went on in the master bedroom. Although I was only conscious for a few minutes, I heard enough to expect Michelle to look particularly haggard in the morning.
[To be continued...]

### Re: THE TIE-UP CHRONICLES (Continued)

Post by vantran » Tue Jan 14, 2014 7:05 am

Excellent. I'm not the kind for dirty panties--you must be very brave

### Re: THE TIE-UP CHRONICLES (Continued)

Post by sarobah » Tue Jan 14, 2014 3:32 pm

> vantran wrote:Excellent. I'm not the kind for dirty panties--you must be very brave

Dirty? Good grief no. We are brave, yes, kinky, most definitely, but we do have our limits :o)
Chapter 13 continued...
I awoke to a mystery. Although I had gone to sleep with my feet at the headboard, somehow during the early morning I had rotated 180 degrees on the bed and was now aligned in the same direction as Andrea on one side of me and Sabrina on the other. Because my blindfold was still in place this time (and my feet were still bound), it took me a few moments to become aware of my reorientation. I have no idea how I managed the feat with no recollection of doing so and without disturbing my slumbering companions.
I was on my belly, my hands behind my back, but there was a residual tingly numbness in my arms to indicate that I had recently been lying face-up. My wrists and ankles were a little itchy from the chafing of the bra strap and pantyhose wrapped around them. However, there was no discomfort in my fingers or toes. Before putting us to bed, Alex had made sure there was enough slack in our bindings to guarantee adequate blood circulation throughout the six or seven hours we were tied up and immobile. Which meant that with just a little effort we could have wriggled out of our bonds. But none of us did, not even Andrea.
These last two nights had been interesting experience. There will always be a special place in my heart for the long-term tie-up; but it puts you in an alienating, introverting state of mind, as you withdraw into your own private world and become detached and isolated from that beyond the ropes. On the other hand, if you’re sharing the bed and the bondage with three other girls, that’s enough to keep you from retreating too far into yourself. Each small movement of the mattress, every touch of your bodies, the soothing murmur of each breath, the subtle intermingling of perfumes… all these sensations draw you into a communion with your bound bedmates which, in the heightened state of awareness induced by the darkness and by the entwining embrace of the ropes, is deliciously sensual. On my left side, when our limbs brushed against each other’s, Sabrina’s skin was soft and smooth like silk and cool as an autumn breeze. On my right, Andrea’s was warm and clammy and quivery.
I should add, however, that I think we went too far with Karen, and for that I feel guilty. Sleeping bound is not really something to which the novice should be subjected. For Sabrina and me this was nothing new, and I am pretty sure that Andrea was experienced enough to cope. As for our newbie, while she could at any time have asked to be untied, and could likely have released herself, she should have been disqualified from the all-night bondage. Alex had enough sense to place her in one of the outside positions, giving her some freedom of movement, and she came through unscathed. But if we do this kind of thing again, I hope we will exercise better judgement.
In fact, sometime in the middle of the night we found ourselves all awake. I was still at that stage lying with my head between the feet of Andrea and Sabrina. When we realized that the four of us were conscious, we had a conversation that went on for maybe half an hour. We spoke in low voices, for no good reason. There were no sounds coming from the neighbouring bedroom, so Alex and Michelle were asleep; and anyway, our master had issued no injunctions about talking in bed.
It felt weird, chatting and gossiping in the darkness while trussed hand and foot, lying on our stomachs to avoid putting our weight on our arms bound behind our backs, and addressing each other’s toes. And of course it was Karen who felt the weirdness most.
“Are you regretting the invitation?” Sabrina asked.
Karen giggled and made some joking remarks. But I noticed that she did not actually answer the question…
I knew that it was just on daybreak from the feeble heat of the pallid dawn sunlight seeping in though the blinds; but it was only when Sabrina whispered something that I realized she was awake. I didn’t hear what she said, but I understood when she slid her body away from me. The springs squeaked softly as she eased herself off the bed and onto her feet. Following her, I shifted sideways by rolling over, doing my best to avoid rousing the still unconscious Andrea. I felt her slip into the depression in the mattress caused by my displacement, but otherwise she did not stir. I planted my feet on the floor, and to minimize any more disturbance to the sleeping bound beauties, I stood up by leaning forward until my centre of balance was away from the bed.
From the barely inaudible thumps, I could tell that Sabrina was quietly bunny-hopping out of the room. Not being so graceful of movement, I took advantage of my loosely bound ankles to execute a slow shamble to the door. Nevertheless, behind my blindfold, I misjudged the distance and direction and shuffled into the edge of the doorframe, jarring my right shoulder. I uttered a silent curse, and even as I did so, a noisy commotion erupted somewhere in front of me.
There was a scuffle of some sort going on. I heard a loud knock, like the wall being kicked, the unmistakeable sound of a scream muffled in mid-discharge by a hand gag, and the rippling, scraping noise of feet being dragged along the carpet. Sabrina’s shoulder slammed into my chest as she was hauled past me back into the room. She squealed, the bedsprings creaked and groaned. Andrea and Karen shrieked and swore as they were rudely jerked out of their sleep when the struggling Sabrina was dumped onto the mattress.
My brother just laughed. I felt his arms encircle my waist. I was lifted off the floor and carried to the bed. He flung me belly down, on top of Andrea’s legs, my own legs coming to rest across Karen’s back. Alex then adjusted our positions so that my head was in Sabrina’s lap. (She was lying face-up.)
Andrea began to yell something but was cut off in mid-execration by the familiar gurgling moan as a gag was thrust into place. Karen was next. The mmm-mmm-ing noises she was making was a sure sign that she was putting up resistance, clamping her jaws. Suddenly she emitted a loud, sputtering gasp and a stifled groan of dismay. I guess my brother had pinched her nostrils together to force open her mouth. I don’t believe that’s playing fair… but at the same time I didn’t see what the girl was trying to achieve by her defiance. I also knew that the rest of us would pay for her recalcitrance; and indeed, Alex shoved the ball hard up against my lips before I even had a chance to part them. He pulled firmly on the strap to buckle it in place, and when he’d finished he put his hand on the back of my head, grabbing a clump of my hair, and pushed my face into Sabrina’s crotch.
Once she had also been silenced, I heard Alex depart, leaving us in our bound, gagged and blindfolded heap. I was on top of the pile, while Andrea appeared to have the worst of it, underneath both Sabrina’s feet and my torso. We must have stayed like that for an hour, and it felt like a lot, lot longer. Having just come out of a full night’s sleep, we were too alert to drift off again, and the awkwardness of our positions on the bed was enough that it was impossible to focus on anything else.
That’s an exquisite torture, to be trapped in your bonds and feeling intensely every second of it and not being able to escape, even in your mind. Instead of fusing together into a haze of blurred sensation, each instant stretches out in clear crystalline clarity. For want of a better description, it’s like eating a big bowl of some scrumptious dessert you’ve never had before. Under normal circumstances, while the first few spoonfuls are heavenly, by the time you’re halfway through, although it’s still sublime, you can no longer experience the transcendental pleasure of that first, virgin taste. But what if your senses could be continuously reset, so that every single mouthful is as pristine as the first? The intensity of the flavour doesn’t fade, and the stream of sensation that causes each single minute to seem like twenty does not subside.
So I wasn’t asleep or dreamy when I was startled back to reality. Nevertheless I was so immersed in my bondage that I didn’t hear my brother return to the room. He hauled us each in turn off the bed and made us stand in a line near the door. Sabrina was in the lead, and we were pressed so close together that my chin nuzzled the back of her neck, my breasts were snuggled below her shoulder blades, my face enshrouded in her strawberry-scented hair. Andrea was directly behind me, her heavy breathing through her gag tickling my ears.
Once we were arranged, Alex ordered us to “hop to it.” And that’s what we did, making our way slowly out into the corridor, down the hallway and into the dining room. We were told to keep in physical contact, and when our bodies separated Alex barked a command to “bunch up!” It didn’t take long to get into sequence with the correct timing, height and length of our hops, but I felt silly, and it took a lot of effort. Pretty soon each little jump was accompanied by a chorus of soft grunts. As an added torment (or bonus, depending on one’s inclination), with the bound hands of the girl in front nestled in her crotch, Karen, Andrea and I were soon feeling the stimulating effects of our bouncing and jostling. To make things worse (or better), Sabrina was becoming fidgety, and her fingers were... well, I don’t think it was deliberate. I cannot claim the same innocence for myself, however...
Andrea’s sudden gasp must have surprised Alex, because he said “What was that?” Of course, neither she nor I was in a position to give him an answer.
My brother led us to the table. I could smell the rich, bitter-sweet aroma of freshly brewed coffee, the faint charcoal pungency of toasted bread, the sweet tang of fried tomatoes. Alex and Michelle helped us into our seats, removed our blindfolds and untied our hands. He took his place, but Michelle remained on her feet to serve as our waitress, topping up coffee, refilling glasses with newly squeezed orange juice, bringing out more toast, that sort of thing. She was wearing a frilly apron with (I was no longer shocked nor surprised) nothing underneath.
The four of us sat in silence looking at my brother, and I thought he was going to have fun with us; but he winked and tapped his jaw with one finger. We removed our gags and placed them on the table next to our plates.
With a brother like mine, you learn to be paranoid, and so I spent the whole of breakfast watching his changing expressions, listening to his conversation and trying to work out his angle… what he was planning, why he was behaving so... not like Alex? But it turned out that I was being (understandably) unfair. He simply wanted to give his long-suffering prisoners a morning treat. It was not exactly a royal banquet, but in the terms defined by my Baby Bro it was a rare indulgent gesture. (I suspect that Michelle may have done most of the actual preparation.)
When we’d finished breakfast, Alex put us straight to work, this time scraping down the exterior house walls for a fresh coat of paint. Though we were instructed to wear bikinis again, for our master’s visual pleasure, we were not encumbered with any bondage appendages or appliances. For that I was grateful, because it was hard, dirty work. We had to wear a mask as well as our goggles and gloves. I was soon aching all over.
We were, of course, still slaves and were not allowed to talk to each other, and we had to beg consent to stop for a drink. On the couple of occasions that someone asked permission to take a short rest, she was curtly rebuffed. Still, it was rather baffling to be not otherwise encumbered. It was very unlikely that my brother was tiring of the weekend games, and even less likely that he was giving us a respite from them. It only later occurred to me what might be his motive… to accomplish a good morning’s work so as to impress the returning Jack and Rob… to show how adept he was at handling his five female chattels.
Indeed, Rob came in around ten o’clock, Jack a half hour later. Each in turn nodded in approval as he inspected us hard at work, then joined Alex in the backyard, relaxing in lawn chairs and quaffing beer as we continued our toil.
At midday we were relieved of our workload and accorded the privilege of preparing lunch for our menfolk. Afterwards, the guys decided that we had done a good enough job on the house that we could knock off for the rest of the day. Of course, I am not that naive. The reality was that they didn’t relish having to share in the gritty, grimy drudgery we had been at all morning and didn’t have big enough balls to suggest that we worked on while they relaxed. (Actually, in the mood we were in, tired, sore and filthy, there are not three pairs of balls anywhere in the world big enough for them to get away with that.)
Instead, Jack disappeared into the house and re-emerged triumphantly, brandishing a DVD set containing sixty hours of football. The plastic case practically dripped sweat, beer and testosterone. The three men disappeared inside to confer, while we lingered on the porch. Eventually, Alex returned, ordered me to the living room and instructed the rest of the girls to follow him to the master bedroom. As soon as I arrived, Jack told me to kneel on the floor – “Not on the rug, woman, on the boards!” – with my hands clasped behind my head, as he and Rob went to join the others.
I waited patiently, for maybe half an hour. I guessed that Sabrina, Michelle, Andrea and Karen were being secured in the bedroom, and I had a pretty clear idea what my fate was to be. When the guys returned, they at first ignored me while they decided which matches to watch. My knees were getting sore, so it came as a mighty relief when Rob finally told me I could get up. My job, as anticipated, was to keep the three men supplied with beer and snacks throughout the afternoon. They set out detailed instructions (what, when, how) and at the end I nodded, keeping my eyes suitably and humbly downcast.
“What do you say?” Jack demanded.
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
“Almost there,” Alex said.
“Yes, sir. Thank you for permitting me to serve you, sirs.”
“Good slavegirl.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Oh, how we love the role-play.
As I went to the kitchen to fetch the first round of beers, I heard them discussing whether I should take off my bikini. I suppose I should have been affronted, but after nearly three days of intensive and almost continuous bondage I was pretty much beyond indignation. Anyway, they had all seen me in the nude often enough… my boyfriend and ex-boyfriend, that is. But nothing came of it, so I am guessing they decided that it would be just a tad too creepy to have me strip naked in front of my brother. Or maybe the overheard discussion was merely a charade to get me hot and bothered. Men like to do stuff like that. I don’t know why.
So for the next few hours I waited dutifully upon my masters. When not serving, I had to resume the position on my knees, hands behind my head. Callously, they made me kneel in a corner of the room where I couldn’t see the action on the television screen and so alleviate the tedium. This was ostensibly to force me to focus my full attention on my chore, but I think they just enjoyed being mean.
Evening was approaching when finally the footy came to an end. Alex and Rob went to fetch the other girls. They came out looking groggy, dabbing their eyes and rubbing their limbs, massaging their jaws, bending, stretching and flexing. Karen looked haggard, Michelle dazed, Andrea agitated and Sabrina (bless her) invigorated. Once again our hostess volunteered to make the dinner, and Jack went to help her. The rest of us stood in the living room, looking at each other and saying nothing except for a few irrelevant trifles, for several minutes, before Rob took the initiative.
“I think we’ve had enough fun for now.”
Andrea’s eyes bulged. “FU...!”
I don’t know if she was intending to say “FUN???” or something else, but she caught herself in mid-word. Having just scored a reprieve, she decided that silent discretion was the better part of feminine valour.
So now it was shower time. Since there were once more eight of us to share the hot water, someone made the eminently reasonable suggestion that we do it in pairs. Alex and Michelle went first. Then it was the turn of Karen and Andrea, and I saw the looks on both the guys’ faces as the girls went off together. What is it with males that they get so worked up about two women bathing together, their soft naked bodies pressed against each other, glistening creamy gold under a shimmering, steamy stream that drips and trickles down their... Oh, I get it.
When it was time for Rob and me, we had a quickie... shower I mean. The water was already starting to run tepid, and it occurred to me that Andrea and Karen had been in the bathroom a long time. A very long time.
Dinner was at first rather dull. I should clarify. The food was excellent and the wine was divine. But there was no bondage, no blindfolds, no slavegirl routine. I wasn’t quite sure why until the end of the main course, when Sabrina and Jack both took their leave. She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a wickedly sumptuous, candle-bedecked, cream-lathered, chocolate-sprinkled cake. How they had kept this thing of exquisite beauty from me I have absolutely no idea. (Perhaps Rob had picked it up on the way back from his family gathering.) Meanwhile, Jack had returned bearing an armful of gift-wrapped packages. The morrow was, of course, my birthday, and since we would be back in the city by that evening, my friends had resolved that we should celebrate a day early.
After the candle-blowing, Jack placed five blindfolds on the table. What then transpired is probably best left to the imagination. Let’s just say that only a fraction of the cake found its way to where it was supposed to go. Much more ended up smeared on faces and in other places. From the giggles and squeals on all sides, I knew I wouldn’t be the only one finding remnants of my birthday cake in various nooks and crannies for days thereafter. (I’m only half-joking… it wasn’t days.)
Once the cake had been thoroughly demolished, the blindfolds had come off and we had cleaned off at least some of the goo, I opened my presents. They were the usual assortment of serious and gag gifts (that’s gag as in joke, not as in mouth). The last to be opened was labelled “From everyone”, and I knew as I peeled away the rainbow paper that this was to be blushing time. I was not disappointed. I held in my hands a beautifully crafted and utterly sinister looking chastity belt, featuring lambskin-soft, gold-embossed leather, a tiny ornately fashioned, polished brass lock, and two shiny silver-coloured “inserts”, one long and bulbous, the other stubby and tapered.
There was a message in flowery characters inscribed on the long one. “Thinking of him when he’s away.” At least it wasn’t some god-awful pun.
“Err, umm, thank you very much.”
I was desperately hoping that nobody would urge me to go try it on... in... whatever. No one did. Instead, while the others cleared up I stowed away my booty. And then Jack announced that he and Sabrina were going to bed. Alex made the predictable observation that they’d only been apart for two days; but I could see he was pleased when Rob decided he would take me off as well, to the other bedroom. That left my brother with three girls to play with all by himself. Even as we left, he had his damsels crouching in silence on the living room floor looking fearfully up at him as he sorted through his box of toys. Andrea gave herself away when I saw her discreetly licking her lips.
On the threshold of the bedroom, Rob stopped me and raised his hand in front of my face. He was holding the blindfold and my heart fluttered. He is not into the appeal of bedtime bondage like I am, so it’s always a thrill when he takes the lead. I was shivering slightly as he wrapped the sash around my head and fastened it.
“Cold, sweetie?” he asked.
“No, my love, just excited.”
He laughed and slapped me on the backside. I don’t know if he had meant it to be so sharp, but it hurt.
“Ow! What was that for?”
He replied by brushing aside the strands of my hair and pushing the straps of my camisole down my arms to plant kisses on my neck and bare shoulders. As he did so, he took hold my wrists and drew my hands together behind my back.
“Because you’re beautiful, you’re sexy and you belong to me.”
I’m not sure why being beautiful, sexy and his warranted a hard whack on the backside, and I was about to respond when I heard myself instead sighing as he slowly drew my cami down to my waist. I kept my arms behind me as he moved his fingers tenderly over my naked breasts, softly squeezing and kneading them, caressing my nipples into full arousal. We were still standing in the doorway as his hands now slid down my sides to my hips, drawing both my camisole and my knickers downwards. I lowered my own hands to free the shoulder straps so he could push both garments to my knees, then I crossed my wrists once more behind me. His fingers then crept up the insides of my thighs, coming to rest where they merge.
Pressing me forward by gentle bumps with his chest, he nudged me into the room. Blindfolded, with my clothing bundled around my knees, and with his fingers playing between my legs, I could only shuffle languidly towards the bed. The tingling inside me was beginning to make me quiver. I could feel my skin getting goosebumpy and my face becoming flushed.
Rob moved away from me. I adjusted my feet and my knickers and camisole fell around my ankles. I stepped out of them. I heard the springs of the bed squeak as he sprawled on it before tapping me on the thigh to beckon me to join him. As I did so, I was aware that he had not undressed. That did not surprise me. In fact, it is one of our little rituals that when we’re having bondage sex, I am usually nude while he remains fully clothed. It may not be as intimate as two naked bodies intertwined, but in a symbolic sense, the difference highlights his dominance and my submission. My exposure signifies that my body is available to him whenever he desires, whereas his clothing represents his inaccessibility to me except on his terms, under his control. That’s why I associate one-sided nudity with bondage. But I also love the tactile sensuality of his clothing against my bare skin as we interlock – the smooth fabric of his shirt softly grazing my breasts and belly, the coarser texture of his trousers prickly and tickly on my thighs and pelvis as we move to the quickening cadence of our passion.
My sweetheart lay on his back and emplaced his hands under my armpits to lift me up and over him, and then lower me onto him. When I’m bound with my hands behind my back, and we conjoin, I am normally on top, because it can hurt the other way round, with both his and my weight pressing on my pinioned arms. When not restrained, I am (so I’ve been told) quite the little tigress in bed. However, without the use of your arms for support and balance, lovemaking can be tricky when you’re the partner on top. But because I’m so light and he is strong, Rob can do most of the lifting work, raising and lower my body.
But as we were getting into our rhythm, suddenly he stopped and set me down.
“Shh... listen,” he whispered.
Straining to discern anything over my own racing heartbeat and rasping breath, I picked up an odd sound emanating beyond the wall, from Jack and Sabrina’s room. There was a whish followed by a faint slapping noise and a light moan. This was repeated about every sixty seconds, and Rob and I remained silent and motionless to listen. For maybe fifteen minutes we stayed like that, I straddling him, and him still inside me, mesmerized, before the swish-slap-moan finally ended. Even though, behind my blindfold, I could not see him, I knew what Rob was thinking, because I was as well.
[To be continued...]

### Re: THE TIE-UP CHRONICLES (Continued)

Post by vantran » Fri Jan 17, 2014 9:50 am

I thought he took off your panties and stuffed them in--so it was already dirty

### Re: THE TIE-UP CHRONICLES (Continued)

Post by sarobah » Sat Jan 18, 2014 5:04 pm

A scorpion asks a frog to carry him across the river. Naturally the frog is afraid of being stung; but the scorpion assures him: “Nonsense. If I sting you, we will both drown.”
The frog agrees, and yet halfway across the river he feels his passenger’s deadly sting.
“Fool!” croaks the frog as they sink into the water. “Now we will both die! Why did you do that?”
The scorpion sighs. “I couldn’t help myself. It’s my nature.”
– Fable of unknown origin
It must have been around ten o’clock when Rob went to sleep. I was still wide awake and felt just a little bit disdainful. He might have driven a couple of hours that morning, but I’d had to work both morning and afternoon. We gals may be the weaker sex, but I’m positive we’re the tougher. I wanted to go to the kitchen for a drink, but first I had to put on some clothing. I could have untied my hands but didn’t want to. So I eased myself off the bed to not disturb my slumbering hero, and made my way carefully across the room, still wearing my blindfold. I felt for and opened the top drawer of the dresser and located my baby-blue teddy. With just a little effort I could pull it up my legs and all the way to my waist, and then with a bit of bending, twisting and contorting, draw it up over my chest. With my wrists bound I could not make use of the shoulder straps, but it was snug enough to stay in place.
I made my way to the kitchen. I was sufficiently familiar with the layout of the house by now that moving about sightless didn’t slow me down. However, it was not so easy extracting the juice carton from the refrigerator or a glass from the cupboard. Pouring was simple enough, but while I was still figuring out how to drink it without making a mess, I heard footsteps behind me.
“Come to join the play group?”
“Just thirsty. Help me with this, Alex.”
He obliged. He even replaced the juice and washed the glass. Then he got behind me, seized me by the shoulders and steered me into the living room. When we halted, he jabbed the back of my right leg with a finger, and I went down onto my knees. I could hear the other girls near me, rasping through their gags. Alex had been entertaining his captives for two hours, and by the sounds of it the game was far from over. I wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or displeased that I was joining in.
However, even my imaginative and resourceful brother has a limit to his inspiration when he adds his sister to the mix. So I quickly found myself in a corner of the room trussed in a hog-tie, while Alex amused himself with something that made Michelle and then Karen and then Andrea squeal.
Prostrate in my bonds on the hard floorboards, I was beginning to regret wearing only my skimpy teddy as the chill of the night began to leach through my skin. But I had time (maybe an hour) to think back over the last three days, to relive in my mind the highlights and to try to purge some of the more forget-worthy images. The cold air and the rigidity of the ropes were causing mild cramping in my tired muscles; and since I wasn’t gagged I could have called out to Alex to release me. Instead, I resolved to hang in there, tough it out, stay the course, see it through… My mind was wandering, in ever diminishing in circles. The fatigue was numbing my brain.
The next thing I knew, I was in bed alongside Rob, naked but unbound and unblindfolded. I honestly have no recollection of how I got there. For once he was awake before me, rousing me from a weird dream (something about dancing turtles) with his fingers slithering over my breasts, down my belly and between my legs. I rolled over to face him. His hand slid between my thighs to part them and to pull my body closer to his. As he entered me, he whispered in my ear...
“Good morning, birthday girl.”
When he was done ravishing me, my he-man took me in his arms to carry me to the bathroom. On the way out, however, he attentively paused at the closet and I picked out my birthday suit. No, not what you’re thinking… I was already wearing that. It was what I got last birthday, my acid-washed, zip-front denim playsuit. It’s short and sassy, but substantial enough to withstand whatever fate awaited us in these last hours of the Long Long Weekend.
By the time we had showered and dressed, everybody else in the house was up and about. The girls were in the kitchen preparing breakfast; but when Sabrina saw me coming in, she pointed to the door.
“Happy birthday, sweetie, and back out you go. We can handle it this morning.”
I think my dispensation had less to do with the fact that it was my special day and more to do with the quality of my cookery. But since that was in everyone’s best interests, I was not going to argue. However, just as I was about to leave, Sabrina turned back to the stove. She was wearing a cute chartreuse cotton romper, and the bottom had ridden up to expose part of her derrière. But what really caught my eye was that the peach-coloured flesh was criss-crossed with a dozen or so faint pink welts. I had almost forgotten the swish-slap-moans of the previous night.
I left the kitchen and headed in the direction of the men’s voices. I could hear them on the veranda, relaxing in the sunshine, discussing sports or engine repair or bodily functions… whatever it is males talk about while they are relaxing in the sunshine while their womenfolk make them breakfast. Of course, as soon as they espied me, the conversation turned to yours truly.
No “happy birthday” or “many happy returns.” Instead Jack turned to Rob, who was already reclining in a deck chair caressing his coffee mug.
“So my man, what did you give the little one for her big day?”
Rob said something without thinking, and even though I didn’t hear his face reddened. Jack laughed and Alex snorted. The impulsive response was a clear demonstration of how easy it is to be seduced to the dark side.
Alex wagged his finger at me. “Banned from the kitchen again?”
Before I could answer, he reached into the large carton next to his chair and pulled out a blindfold. It was the sleep-mask type, black with a border of white ribbon. He tossed it onto the table. Jack, seated on the other side of the box, took out a ball-gag, bright crimson with a black buckle-strap, and placed it beside the blindfold. Despite his carefully crafted façade of cold-hearted indifference to the suffering of his slavegirls, he was careful to position the ball directly on top of the curled-up leather band, so it would not collect any dust or grit before going into my mouth.
I put on the blindfold first, then reached for the gag. I instinctively recoiled when I felt a hand on mine, but it was just my brother’s, guiding me to the right location. I inserted the ball and buckled it in place. It was the perfect size, big enough to fill my mouth and immobilize my jaws, but not so large as to be at all uncomfortable. There wasn’t enough room at the edges for air to pass in or saliva to ooze out. However, breathing wasn’t an issue. So long as you don’t have a blocked nose from a cold or hay fever, a completely stuffed mouth does not present a problem. On the other hand, counter to what novices generally believe, some drooling is not a bad thing. When your mouth is packed and you can’t suck in air, it takes a hard effort to swallow your saliva, so it collects in your throat and you feel like you’re about to choke. You don’t, but it is a horrible sensation, and scary to the newbie. I don’t like it, but it’s something I have gotten used to; and unlike some aficionados of the ropes, I don’t find dribble and drool at all sexy.
The blindfold was a disappointment. The material was too sheer to prevent a diffuse patch of light from getting through, which allowed me to discern silhouettes of the things and people around me. But it wasn’t a major setback to my deprivation because, wearing a mask over your eyes, you mostly have to keep them shut anyway.
The boys had their fun with me for maybe half an hour. Some of the positions they tied me in were not very pleasant, especially on the wooden boards, and in fact about halfway though I was gasping so loudly that they took out my gag. By the time Sabrina arrived to announce that breakfast was served, I was in a state of woozy euphoria, and quite a bit annoyed by the interruption.
At the table, Rob kept me blindfolded, with my hands bound behind my back, so he could feed me. Normally I don’t eat much breakfast, but I didn’t want to spoil his enjoyment; plus I adore the intimacy with and dependence on your partner when he’s feeding you like that. So by the time we were through, I was feeling bloated. The others left me sitting there to recover while they cleared and cleaned up.
When the chores were done and it was time for the games to resume, Rob fetched me to join the others in the front yard. First he brought me my sandals and strapped them on, but after that he was abnormally rough, hauling me out of the chair and half dragging me through the house, across the porch, down the stairs and onto the grass. In my sightless condition I almost stumbled a couple of times, but he had a tight grip on my arm which stopped me from completely losing my balance.
I felt a cool, rubbery hard, knob-like protuberance against my lips and I parted my jaws. The shaft penetrated uncomfortably close to the rear of my throat, just short of making me literally gag. Nearby, I could hear the other girls gasping, groaning and whimpering. So the theme this morning was to be damsels in distress… with emphasis on the distress.
Rob put me in a chest harness and yoke. He wrapped a long piece of soft nylon cord around my torso under my arms, around and between my breasts, with a loop going behind my neck. From the centrepiece of my rope “bra” the rest of the cord passed down my stomach and between my legs. He took care to position it within the crease, pushing it in with his finger for a snug fit (and making me squirm… in a nice way). There was enough rope left to run it up to my bound hands behind my back, and as he connected it to my wrists, he pulled it so tight that I winced and moaned. But I knew he wasn’t being gratuitously cruel. Obviously we were going for a walk, and a very taut crotch rope is actually less abrasive on the tender flesh than one that slips and slides as you move. The fact that each step becomes like a mini-orgasm is a pleasurable bonus.
As I expected, the men linked the five of us, with Sabrina in front, then me, followed I think by Andrea. The tether ran from Sabrina’s hands to my chest, and so on down the line; then for good measure they added a second leash, around our necks. With that accomplished, we were set to marching, in the same general direction that Alex had taken us on Sunday. Sabrina was instructed to call out “Left, right, left, right...” which she did with remarkable clarity through her gag. If any of us fell out of step, we were reprimanded with a sting of a grass whip across our legs. It didn’t hurt very much but kept us alert and cooperative. However, it was more unfair when we were ordered to quicken our pace. That was hard enough to do on the uneven ground, but when your blindfold, gag, tether and crotch-rope are all working against you in different ways, it becomes a major ordeal.
I silently grumbled at our masters. “It’s easy for you to say speed up.” But impelled by pride and urged on by the soft lashes, we did so, and without any serious consequences.
We must have tramped for half an hour before Jack yelled “Halt!”
It felt good to finally stop, but we were given no time to relish the break. We were released from just the tether and moved until we were under the branches of a large tree. I could tell that from the crunch of leaves underfoot and the sudden cooling as we entered the shade. I could sense that we were placed close to each other in a row. My ankles were tied together. A hand on the back of my neck forced me to bend forward until my torso was almost at right angles to my legs, while my bound arms were lifted until they were nearly vertical. The pose was stressful, if not especially painful, but I knew what was coming.
Sabrina beside me must have understood as well, because she was suddenly breathing very heavily.
“Uh-oh,” I thought. “Strappado.”
I was, of course, right, but it was only after a while that I realized what the boys had done to us. It was so fiendish that it could only have emanated from the diabolical mind of Jack. Ropes tied to our wrists were passed over a horizontal tree branch directly above us and then attached to some large object, either a fallen bough or an old tree trunk, or maybe a fence post, which dangled freely. Supported by the five of us, the weight was at first tolerable; but it was not too long before the aching in our shoulders and the strain on our arms was becoming unbearable. We were not in any danger or risk of serious harm. The suspended load was just not that heavy, certainly not enough to lift even one of us onto our toes if she were the only one attached. In fact, we could have all stood up straight without difficulty, raising the weight farther off the ground but relieving the stress. However, Jack had taken care of that. We were still wearing our neck tethers, and he used these to keep us doubled over, by tying the leash to our ankle bindings. And finally, because our leaning forward loosened the crotch-ropes, these were re-tightened.
Then the game began. Each of us was given a small stick to hold in her fist. When the strain became too much to cope with, all one had to do was drop the stick and she would be released. Of course, doing so meant putting an extra burden on the girls still in strappado. We could, of course, have all given in, but that was not the right spirit. We had to show the guys how tough we are, as well as test our own strength and endurance. It’s why I like these challenges. To paraphrase a famous rallying speech: You don’t go into bondage because it’s easy but because it is hard.
With every trial, you learn something more about yourself, and about the people with whom you share it. I expected that the first of us to give in would be Karen, but it was Michelle. She mumbled an apology through her gag as she was cut loose, and I immediately felt the pull of the additional weight on my arms. I had completely lost track of time, but it had been at least half an hour.
The real agony was indeed not physical; it was mental. Unlike in many tie-up situations, I could not zone out or shift the focus of my mind away from my predicament. And since with every minute the load felt like it was getting heavier, as our reserves of strength and energy were sapped, the intensity only grew and the ability to dissociate or block out the torment diminished.
Karen capitulated sometime later. And unhappily, I was next. As he gently lowered me to the ground, Rob said “Congratulations; just over an hour,” but I felt guilty as I heard Sabrina and Andrea puffing and gasping. However, soon afterwards, Jack called a halt to the game.
“Well done, girls,” he proclaimed, “you’re all winners.”
“Thank you, Jack,” I thought, “you condescending…”
Sadly, that was the end of our adventure. Since most of us had to be back in the city by early afternoon, we were marched back to the house and untied. We packed and left at around eleven o’clock. Michelle and Alex drove back with Rob and me, as we were heading to my parents’ place for my family birthday celebration. When we arrived home shortly before midnight, Ron and I were both too tired for anything but sleep.
And so, that is the story of my Long Long Weekend.
One month later, Jack and Sabrina’s property was inundated in the worst flooding the region has experienced in a quarter-century. Although, thankfully, the cattle were saved and the residence was spared, the paddocks and fences were left in a mess, with debris and detritus deposited as close to the house as the front yard. We have spent a couple more weekends helping to fix the place up, but we didn’t have the time or energy left over after the clean-up for bondage games.
Since then, Rob and I have not had a lot of opportunities for tie-up fun, due to pressure on me from professional commitments plus some recurring health problems. However, we still get together with Jack and Sabrina every now and then, and occasionally with Alex and Michelle, when the ropes and gags and blindfolds come out, and for a while I can forget the stresses and strains of my “normal” life.
I don’t see much of Andrea and Luke these days. I’m not even sure that they’re still a couple. I suspect that she is more than a little embarrassed about what transpired over those four days in the country. It’s not the bondage per se that she finds discomfiting but rather her abject submission. Which just goes to show how different we each can be in what motivates and stimulates us. What one finds exhilarating, another finds degrading. But the funny thing is that, so far as I can tell, the real source of Andrea’s unease is the fact that she enjoyed herself so much. For some girls, obviously, pleasure is a prize that must be wrested from the jaws of adversity and defiance, not to be indulged in for its own sake. But to each his or her own.
I haven’t seen Karen either, except on one very brief occasion. We didn’t have a chance then to talk about the weekend, and I don’t know if she has had any more bondage experiences, or even if she wants to. She does not appear to share the submissive tendencies of Sabrina, my sense of adventure, the contrarian nature of Andrea or Michelle’s raw sensualism. What she went though, or rather was put through, over those four days was a new, exciting, not always pleasurable, and maybe once-is-enough experience. Yet she was willing to see it through to the end and was determined to make it as much enjoyable as possible.
So Karen was the big surprise of the weekend. Although she’d had a good time on the Thursday evening, I had no idea how she was going to cope with four whole days of being tied up, humiliated and taken to her physical and emotional limits. But as it turned out, in those four days at least a part of her was transformed. And what she reminded me of is that sometimes, no matter who you are or what you think you might be, when an opportunity presents itself for you to suppress your inhibitions, set aside your reservations and sublimate your ego, just having fun can come in all sorts of wondrous and unexpected guises. For oddly enough, after ten years of tie-up games I find that this is a lesson I still need to keep relearning. I also learned (or rather, had confirmed what I have always believed) that the traits we all exhibited that weekend, those of dominance and submission, lie just below the surface of the façade we present to the world. I think they are inherent in our human nature, and sometimes it is not until we are tested that we know how we will turn out. That is when we find out who we really are, what we really want, where we want life to take us.
However, there was one aspect of the weekend which I, at the time, completely overlooked. That was the interaction between Alex and Sabrina.
My Baby Bro has an uneasy, awkward, tongue-tied fascination for the tall, beautiful, cool, sophisticated woman who is so assertive and charismatic in one compartment of her life but so profoundly sexual and deeply submissive in the other. Amongst all of us, she represents the most interesting and most paradoxical character. Unlike many successful people whose masochism serves as a release valve for the pressures of their professional life, for Sabrina assertion and submission are opposite but complementary facets of her everyday persona. And in this respect, bondage is for her (I believe) a symbol rather than a pleasure in itself. It is more a state of mind than a physical restraint. It defines and delineates her role in her relationships. And as much as she adores Jack and revels in her own subservience, I wonder who is actually the slave.
So it was that weekend, especially when for a day and a half Alex was alone with his five damsels. He got to live out the ultimate hetero male fantasy, as master of the harem. It merely added extra piquancy that he was the youngest person in the house and that we were all strong, proud, confident, high-achieving females. It’s the inverted power dynamic that I have mentioned, and which Alex and I had already developed in our sibling tie-up games. He assumed that he was in charge, whereas it was in reality Sabrina who was running the show, pulling the strings, calling the shots. But this would not have mattered that much to him. The puppet can still enjoy the play.
As for yours truly, although it is not a perfect analogy, I am like the scorpion in the fable. Uninhibited and unbound, the side of my nature that I don’t like very much will prevail, subduing, sublimating and suppressing even my own most heartfelt desires. So the ropes are my liberation, freeing me to be what I want to be. The stricter the bondage, the more demanding my master, the greater and more satisfying the experience. And even if my “do your worst” audacity can land me in some pretty sticky situations and strenuous ordeals, the price is always worth paying.

### Re: THE TIE-UP CHRONICLES (Continued)

Post by OldTUGger » Sat Jan 18, 2014 7:44 pm

Brava! Simply superb.

### Re: THE TIE-UP CHRONICLES (Continued)

Post by Mr Underheel » Sun Jan 19, 2014 5:59 am

It just keeps getting better and better! Incredible stuff!

### Re: THE TIE-UP CHRONICLES (Continued)

Post by vantran » Sun Jan 19, 2014 2:37 pm

very nice

### Re: THE TIE-UP CHRONICLES (Continued)

Post by Switcher13 » Fri Jan 24, 2014 7:24 pm

I've just quickly browsed through your work. Just one word: "SUPERB!"
I will go back and read line-by-line, rest assured.

### Re: THE TIE-UP CHRONICLES (Continued)

Post by Mr Underheel » Fri Jan 24, 2014 7:42 pm

I just can't get enough! I hope there will be more soon!

### Re: THE TIE-UP CHRONICLES (Continued)

Post by Switcher13 » Sat Feb 01, 2014 7:14 pm

You write superbly! And we get to know a little about yourself in the process. It's an honor to witness such fine work! More please!

### Re: THE TIE-UP CHRONICLES (Continued)

Post by sarobah » Sat Feb 08, 2014 4:13 am

I have just one more chapter to write... Unless I find myself new material by getting back into the TUGs.
But I am posting another story in the fictional section.
~ Sarah
Words, like Nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.