## BALLS â€“ THE REMATCH

Post by sarobah » Fri Oct 21, 2011 6:28 pm

My latest TUGS adventure happened three weeks ago. It was essentially an extended replay of my â€œBallsâ€ story and a sequel to my â€œLong Long Weekendâ€ adventure. The scene-setting takes some time before we get to the good bits (i.e. the bondage).
BALLS â€“ THE REMATCH
Once upon a time, in the land of Oz, there ruled a benevolent prince. His righteous deeds were countless. And of all the blessings bestowed upon his grateful subjects, the most splendid was Football. To this day, though memories have dimmed and monuments have decayed, the advent of Football is celebrated throughout the realm in story, song and sacrament. And each year the tribes gather in their holy places to carry on the noble quest and rekindle the intrepid spirits of their ancestors.
Yet such are the ways of men that, over time, disputation and heresy divided the followers of Football. They turned in anger against each other, until the country was cleaved into hostile factions, each claiming theirs as the one true Code. In time, as passions ebbed, peace was restored and the factions went their separate ways, each preserving its own rituals and calendars. But in the most auspicious years, when the planets align, the people of Oz are as one, downing tools and sheathing weapons to pay homage to the heroes and saints of Football. Of such a legacy, the good prince would have indeed been proud.
1. Game Plan
Two years ago, I wrote about an evening of balls and bondage. For the benefit of readers not familiar with my oeuvre, I shall reiterate my introductory remarks from that story. Australian residents may wish to skip the next few paragraphs because you wonâ€™t learn anything new here.
â€œSome people believe football is a matter of life and death. I am very disappointed with that attitude. I can assure you it is much, much more important than that.â€ So said Bill Shankly, the great Scottish manager of Liverpool FC. In Australia, that counts as a tepid understatement. Here in the land of plenty we have four distinct football codes, all followed with equal zeal. However, itâ€™s an unwritten law (I am given to understand) that you are permitted to support up to three, but at least one must be denounced and denigrated with undying fervour.
The dominant species are Australian Rules and Rugby League. For the unacquainted, the former might be likened to basketball played on two soccer fields placed end to end, and the latter to two Neanderthal clans bruting it out in a paddock (though I may be slightly biased). Normally their schedules do not intersect, but this year both grand finals were held on the same weekend.
The grand final is the local equivalent of a league championship, when the Aussie Rules and Rugby League national titles are decided. This is the time, in the early spring, when the nation â€“ or a goodly part of it â€“ holds its collective breath, as titans clash and the gods themselves contend in vain for the attention of mortals, when the streets are festooned with bunting and awash with beer, when stout hearts flutter and stiff lips tremble, when strong men weep with parochial pride, when a single, heartfelt cry issues from the mouths of millions: â€œYou ber-luddy beauty!â€
To further borrow from my original story: Women are not immune to footy fever, and even I confess some partiality towards the sight of strapping lads in tight shorts, legs pumping, thighs bulging, sweat glistening on muscular forearms; making passes, thrusting, plunging and penetrating, going all the way, looking for an opening and banging it in to score. Some people see all sorts of sexual imagery in this, but I donâ€™t get that. To me itâ€™s all about how the players handle their balls.
However, the footy finals are, in the end, a celebration of testosterone and a reaffirmation of manhood. Thus there is one simple rule that every woman must learn if she is to ensure social harmony and domestic tranquillity. Never get between a man and his football... except to bring him more beer.
This year, the Aussie Rules grand final was held on Saturday afternoon and the Rugby League on Sunday evening. Such an auspicious event could not pass uncommemorated, so my good friends Jack and Sabrina announced that they would be hosting a Footy Finals Fiesta at their house in the country. Itâ€™s the same place that featured in our last great adventure (chronicled in my story â€œThe Long, Long Weekendâ€). We would get started at lunchtime on Saturday, stay both nights and return to the city on Monday morning. Including the matches, preliminaries, wrap-ups and rerun highlights, about twelve hours of TV viewing were scheduled; but not all the fun and games were to be played out on the television screen. Which is why, of course, Iâ€™m writing this.
2. Players Roster
Our hosts were Jack and Sabrina. Heâ€™s my former boyfriend. We broke up on good terms and are still close. It was Jack who revived my love of bondage games at a time when I thought I had left such pleasures behind, and I repaid him by introducing him to Sabrina. Heâ€™s charming and charismatic, with a devil-may-care approach to life. Sheâ€™s serene and self-reliant, a very successful architect who is the breadwinner and owns both houses that they share. She is also a tall, gorgeous, incredibly sexy and submissive woman who surrenders willingly and joyfully to her man. Before him, sheâ€™d had no real experience of bondage games â€“ except for what she intriguingly calls â€œsome experimental stuffâ€ â€“ but these are now a central part of her relationship with Jack and their friendship with Rob and me.
Andrea and Luke are in many ways the polar opposites of Jack and Sabrina, and of each other. They are the type of couple whom you expect will break up any day now, but something keeps drawing them back together. She is volatile and strong-willed, while he is indolent and complacent, but they have a chemistry that in some mysterious way actually works. Like all of us in the â€œplay groupâ€, they love their tie-up games; in fact they met at one of Jack Ê¼nâ€™ Sabrinaâ€™s parties. Although they sometimes switch roles, their preference is for Luke to be on the receiving end of the ropes.
Alex is my brother, two and a bit years younger than me, in my youth my bÃªte noire and â€“ when I had no other option â€“ my TUGs collaborator. Until he met and fell for Michelle, he was reckless and feckless, but to my utter amazement they have survived and thrived as a couple. Like Jack and Sabrina, sheâ€™s the more mature in both age and attitude; and the fact that Michelle has tolerated my Lil Broâ€™s peccadilloes for so long inspires in me both awe and bewilderment. Also like Jack and Sabrina, I was responsible for bringing them together, and I was only mildly surprised to discover that Michelle has her own history of bondage games. When it comes to arranging pair-ups, I must have some sort of internal TUGs heat-seeking device.
And of course there were me and the love of my life, Rob. Itâ€™s interesting that all of the couples in our group are opposites-attract partnerships. I am strident, he is insouciant, Iâ€™m hyperactive while heâ€™s easygoing. Although Rob has never really understood my fondness for bondage games, he plays along and has become quite proficient. He has even learnt how to assert his dominance, even if he still needs the occasional prodding (metaphorically speaking).
3. Cat Power
We rendezvoused at noon on Saturday. Rob and I came with Alex and Michelle, with Andrea and Luke arriving just a few minutes later. Sabrina greeted us on the front veranda with a tray of cold drinks. She took our bags, and as we came inside Jack was already in the living room, reposed before the television set. I saw immediately that there were just four seats arranged within the field of view â€“ the sofa and two arm chairs. Michelle noticed that as well and frowned. She loves her football â€“ she had just about sent me to crazy land with her carrying on about it during the two-hour drive. So her suspicion turned into reality and her glower into a grimace when our hostess ushered the boys to their seats and us girls to the bedroom.
I have to say that amongst Sabrinaâ€™s many fine qualities is a penchant for meticulous planning, as well as a slightly off-beat sense of humour. Arrayed on the bed in four neat sets were outfits like those weâ€™d worn on our â€œBallsâ€ night two years before. There were two jerseys (the sleeveless variety) for each of the teams playing today â€“ the Geelong Cats (blue and white), and the Collingwood Magpies (black and white). Onto the front of each of the Collingwood shirts she had printed a cartoon of a magpie carrying off a kitten in its claws (rather gruesome, really, for sweet-natured Sabrina). Geelongâ€™s had a cat eating a meat pie (because the Magpies are colloquially known as... well, Iâ€™m sure you get it). Sabrina and Michelle took the Catsâ€™ jerseys, Andrea and I the Piesâ€™.
The rest of our uniform consisted of frilly knickers, sheer silk stockings, a lace-and-ribbon suspender belt â€“ all exquisite, expensive and ultra-feminine in quirky contrast to the football jersey to be worn on top. Fortunately this time there were no stiletto heels.
Andrea heaved an expressly audible sigh. â€œSo itâ€™s this again?â€ she said without speaking. Sheâ€™s the no-nonsense type who doesnâ€™t care for the girlie-girl image. Sheâ€™d arrived dressed the same way as Luke, in denim dungarees and hiking boots. Her hair these days is cropped short and spiky. She held the sleek stockings and pretty little panties at armâ€™s length and scrutinized them with a wrinkled nose and a wry grin.
As we began to strip, Sabrina took off her bra as well, and the rest of us did likewise, without questioning, including Andrea. When we were naked, the four of us looked around at each other and smiled.
â€œThe boys donâ€™t deserve us,â€ Michelle said.
Once in costume, we came out and paraded before the males. They studied us with approving looks, before Sabrina tapped Andrea and me on the shoulder and beckoned towards the kitchen. We followed her and commenced our womanly duties â€“ preparing and wrapping plates and bowls to maintain a six-hour continuous flow of snacks to our menfolk, checking beer supplies, restocking the fridge, etcetera.
Wondering what had happened to Michelle, I stole a quick peek into the living room. She was standing rigidly at attention, her fists clenched, her head bowed but with a defiant glare towards Alex, who was informing her that she should remain silent. She slowly nodded, with gritted teeth. From what I gathered, she had been granted special dispensation to watch the game (but nothing else) in return for keeping quiet and serving the males their beer and nibbles. But her dressing down (so to speak) had nothing to do with Alex asserting his dominance and enforcing her submission. He is a Collingwood supporter and she a Geelong partisan. And since her team was the odds-on favourite to win, this was his pre-emptive strike against any gloating on her part. Only my brother could exploit a tie-up session to such a nefarious end.
It was one oâ€™clock now and the pre-game telecast was due to begin. I was bringing out four fresh beers and the boys were already engaged in a spirited debate about the relative merits and flaws of each teamâ€™s tactics and strategies, talents and skills. Michelle, I could see, wanted desperately to have her say â€“ heck, she probably knew more about the game and the players than any of the males â€“ but she obediently kept her silence. She was sitting on the carpet â€“ more precisely on her heels â€“ between Alex on the sofa and Rob in the adjacent armchair. Her hands were folded in her lap and her head was still bowed, so she had to raise her eyes to see the television screen. Nevertheless, she looked contented.
There was still more than an hour before â€œfirst bounceâ€ (thatâ€™s the Aussie Rules equivalent of the kick-off), and the boys were already becoming bored with their analysis and argument, so Jack summoned the rest of us to join them. There was nothing left to do in the kitchen, so Sabrina shepherded Andrea and me out with a completely superfluous â€œWeâ€™ve been called.â€
Michelle glanced up at us as we formed a line to one side of the TV set. Alex leaned across and tapped her between the shoulders. She knew what to do, putting her hands behind her head, fingertips just touching. At the same time, she raised herself to a kneeling position and shuffled sideways so that she was positioned directly in front of my brother, in fact between his outstretched legs. He grabbed her left hand and pulled it down behind her back â€“ somewhat brusquely, because she winced as he did so. He had already prepared a rope (the nylon cord we normally use in our â€œplay partiesâ€, made more pliable with a soaking in fabric softener) with two loops, one of which he placed over her wrist. He then brought down her other hand and secured it. He tugged hard to bring the insides of her wrists together, and her face contorted again, as he cinched the rope tightly. This pulled her arms inwards until her elbows almost touched, drawing her shoulders back stiffly. She allowed herself a faint groan before settling back on her haunches, but her lips curled into a smile and I could see the tension visibly draining out of her. More than any of us, Michelle loves being tied up just for the tactile pleasure of it.
The other guys watched her being bound. Then Jack ordered Sabrina, Andrea and me to kneel and to â€œball upâ€ by bending forward until our foreheads touched the carpet and our chins were between our knees.
â€œNice knickers, ladiesâ€ said Luke. I heard Andreaâ€™s soft growl.
We placed our hands behind our backs and were bound in the same way as Michelle â€“ except that Rob crossed my wrists, making the tie a lot less strenuous.
â€œSarahâ€™s had some chest problems,â€ he explained, and ignored Lukeâ€™s snide chuckle. (A stringent behind-the-back tie puts a strain on your chest â€“ nice for emphasizing a B-cup bustline, but not so nice when youâ€™re coming off a bout of bronchitis.)
â€œNo need for explanations,â€ said Jack. â€œSheâ€™s your property.â€ I knew he was trying to provoke me, so I didnâ€™t react.
Once our arms were tied, we were instructed to lean forward even more, into a bottoms-up position, pushing with our feet to raise our ankles off the floor so they could be bound as well. Sabrina quietly moaned as Jack â€œassistedâ€ her, putting his hand on her backside to lift her. I guess he obtained extra leverage by... Well, you can fill in the details.
Next came the inevitable gag and blindfold. For the latter, Jack had supplied crimson-coloured satin scarves. However, for our gagging each of the guys had his own preference. Rob is aware that my personal favourite is the ball-gag. Naturally I had brought a couple of my own, but as I felt the orb being pressed against my lips, I could tell from its size that it was one of Sabrinaâ€™s â€“ just a little too big for my mouth. Now I donâ€™t expect a gag to be comfortable â€“ itâ€™s sort of missing the point if it is â€“ but I was just a little dismayed because I knew that pretty soon my jaws would be aching. But I didnâ€™t resist, opening wide and accepting my fate. In any case, I was totally confident that Rob would not let me suffer too long.
(In digression, I should add that, as usual, we had a safe word and several safe signals, applicable in different situations. We use the same ones every time so there can be no confusion or misunderstanding).
I could tell that Michelle was gagged as well, because I heard the familiar muted gurgling sounds coming from her direction. Well, that made the injunction against talking automatically redundant. On the other hand, I was sure that even my depraved brother would not be so cruel as to blindfold her.
We were left in our balled-up position for maybe thirty minutes. The boys ignored us as they switched their attention back to the television screen. Nevertheless, every so often Sabrina would moan or Andrea squeal behind their gags. I was in the middle, and though we were close enough that our bodies were touching and I could feel each shudder and shiver, I had no idea what was being done to them. And I received none of such treatment; which was a bit of a pity, because it was becoming monotonous, hunched tied up on the floor. Because my gag didnâ€™t quite fit, most of the ball protruded from my teeth, leaving gaps at the corners of my mouth for saliva to dribble out and drip onto the carpet. Whenever, from fatigue or boredom, I let my head droop forward, my nose touched the damp patch. It was a strangely unpleasant sensation which became the focus of my concentration. I do that a lot, allowing my mind to drift, as a sort of escape from my bonds when Iâ€™m outside my comfort zone; but I cannot always control where it will settle.
Naturally, I loved every second of it.
Finally, just when I was beginning to wonder how long we would be like this, Sabrinaâ€™s and Andreaâ€™s bodies were moved away from me. There were shuffling noises and more moaning, and then it was my turn. One of the guys seized my ankles and another my shoulders, and I was pulled out of my balled-up position until I was lying on my stomach with my legs stretched out. My crimped and cramped limbs tingled for a moment as they straightened. But I knew from experience what was coming, and as soon as I felt one hand on my heels and another on my backside, I bent my knees to bring my feet up for my ankles to be bound to my wrists. It was not an easy hog-tie. To relieve the pressure on my arms and legs I had to transfer the strain by arching my body backwards, until that became difficult and I had to reverse the process â€“ over and over again. The three of us were puffing and whimpering through our gags. It was not so much painful as exhausting, and also rather humiliating, forced to perform these prostrate gymnastics for the entertainment of our menfolk. So itâ€™s a good thing that, even when bound, gagged and blindfolded, lying on my belly on the carpet, Iâ€™m still a show pony.
I was expecting some extra torment to follow, such as tickle torture, but the guysâ€™ attention had returned to the television, and thatâ€™s how it was for the next hour. During that time Michelle must have been untied, because her masters were telling her when to fetch more beer or bring out another plate of snacks. I knew she was still gagged, because every so often one of the men would playfully question her about something or â€“ more cruelly â€“ insult her beloved Cats, and she would reply with the familiar garbled sounds and an added gurgle of outrage.
The strain of the hog-tie was by now excruciating, but in a pleasurable way, like how you feel after strenuous exercise. The discomfort actually has a rejuvenating effect. Just as in a workout thereâ€™s no gain without pain, in a tie-up, if it ainâ€™t tight it ainâ€™t right. Nevertheless, I felt a sense of relief when, shortly before the start of the game (the football, that is), things changed. I donâ€™t remember any of the pre-match â€œentertainmentâ€ (to my advantage, from what Iâ€™ve since been told), but the national anthem was sung by one of my favourite performers, Vanessa Amorosi. Lest my patriotism be doubted, I must say that I would have stood for it, had I been able.
Just before the bounce, Luke decided it would be fun to turn the three of us into a â€œsculpture.â€ That sounded ominous until we realized that he just meant a statue or tableau. The men loosened our hog-ties but kept our wrists and ankles still bound together, but loosely enough that when they propped us up, we could kneel with our backs straight. With the men guiding us, we shuffled about on our knees until the three of us were brought together in a triangle formation, facing inwards and close enough that our bodies were pressed against each other. A long piece of rope was used to encircle us, entwined between and around our arms to hold us securely in place. Another rope was then looped around our necks, with some slack but drawn tight enough to bring our faces close so our cheeks touched, we could each feel the othersâ€™ breath and I could sniff Sabrinaâ€™s delicate perfume. Andrea was sucking and rasping past the edges of her gag rather than breathing through her nose. She does that when she gets angry or excited or turned on. She was probably all three. And she was squirming, making it uncomfortable for Sabrina and me who had to share in her wriggling about.
I heard a great cheer from the television as the game got underway. Each â€œquarterâ€ lasts around 25 minutes (taking stoppages into account), but it seemed to drag on for a lot longer, as it always does when youâ€™re bound and immobilized. As the quarter-time break arrived, all I knew was that Geelong went into it with a slim lead. I had tried to follow the game by listening. The way the three of us were placed, I was facing the TV set, but of course I was blindfolded. After about ten minutes I gave up and began to zone out. I donâ€™t recall much more except the harsh clutches of the ropes and the soft pressure of the other girlsâ€™ bodies against mine. It was not easy trying to stay upright since, being tied together, we had no flexibility to shift or adjust; and our knees were getting sore. But what I remember most vividly (and most fondly) was that both Andrea and Sabrina were becoming quite aroused. It was not just their rapid breathing that I could feel through the fabric of our shirts.
Of course, it was not only them.
To be continued

### Re: BALLS â€“ THE REMATCH

Post by thegal » Fri Oct 21, 2011 7:51 pm

Please do
Maybe if you can add ropes into the job description I'll sign up...

### Re: BALLS â€“ THE REMATCH

Post by Magicman » Fri Oct 21, 2011 11:27 pm

I was wondering if SoO would become a tradition, grandfinal day is just as good:)

### Re: BALLS â€“ THE REMATCH

Post by xtc » Sat Oct 22, 2011 1:44 am

Thanks, Sarobah, your writing is always a pleasure to read.
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!
More by the same author: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=22729

### Re: BALLS â€“ THE REMATCH

Post by sarobah » Sat Oct 22, 2011 3:15 am

Thanks for the encouragement. I canâ€™t guarantee that all instalments will be prompt. But I shall do my best.
Cat Power, continued.
There was a five-minute interval before the start of the second quarter â€“ sufficient for the men to make bathroom runs or whatever, but not enough to play with their captives, so I thought weâ€™d be left tied up the way we were until the long break at half-time.
However, Jack decided that â€œthe girls look like they need some funâ€ â€“ never a good thing to hear when youâ€™re totally powerless. The football had actually resumed when he got behind me and shortened the rope connecting my wrists and ankles, yanking upwards until my feet were raised off the floor. What prevented me from toppling backwards was being tied to Andrea and Sabrina, but when he had done the same to them, the three of us were balanced precariously on our knees, and it was only a matter of time before we fell â€“ in one direction or another. None of us wanted to be on the bottom of the resulting pile-up, so for maybe ten minutes we stayed unsteadily upright, swaying and teetering, grunting and panting with the effort.
So intimately joined to my partners, I found it interesting to sense the different way each reacted. Sabrina obviously wanted us to work together and was using her body to keep us steady and upright, leaning forward, sideways or backwards to counteract whichever way we were beginning to move. Andrea, on the other hand, was more focused on making sure we didnâ€™t end up on top of her and so was basically working against Sabrinaâ€™s efforts. As the smallest and lightest, I didnâ€™t have much influence; and anyway, I figured that if I tried to assist Sabrina or resist Andrea, all I would achieve would be to upset our wobbly equilibrium. Eventually, however, something had to give. It was very hard on our knees, and someone shifted her weight just a tad too much â€“ it may have been me. We all leaned too far and once the symmetry was broken it could not be recovered. So when I sensed that our balance was lost, I pushed in Andreaâ€™s direction. As we toppled, our threesome rolled on the carpet so that Sabrina was left lying on her left side, Andrea on her right and myself on top.
It turned out that Iâ€™d misjudged the end result of my last-second thrust. The ropes binding us together were too loose for us to stay in our original positions. I slipped down the other girlsâ€™ bodies and found my face nestled in a soft, warm hollow between their breasts. This tightened the cord around our necks, so Jack quickly released us from it. Because it only went around the back, there was never any danger of us choking, but it must have spooked him, because we were left alone for the next fifteen minutes, until half-time. Of course, that meant lying helpless in our little huddle of bodies, firmly hog-tied and less able to wriggle about than before. I could not extricate myself from my position. Sabrina had drawn her legs slightly backwards so my left hip and thigh slumped down to rest on the carpet; but Andrea could or would not do the same, so my body was tilted in her direction, and her knee was jammed into my crotch. Every time she moved â€“ and she squirmed about a lot â€“ I felt it in my most sensitive part. Meanwhile, my back, arms and shoulders were aching, and my wrists, now bound for some two hours, were starting to really hurt from the chafing.
I was still a long way from using my safe signal, but it was a blessing when the half-time horn sounded. Iâ€™m sure the boys wanted to have some more fun with us, but we were puffing and sweating and once again beginning to whimper. So we were untied and permitted to remove our gags. Only our blindfolds remained on. We sat on the floor at our menâ€™s feet and Michelle brought us drinks. Rob gently stroked my hair, damp from perspiration, and massaged my stiff and sore shoulders.
By now I was beyond being interested in the football. But Alex and Michelle were talking â€“ at some stage she must have been permitted to remove her gag as well â€“ and although the game was mentioned only in oblique terms, from the tone and tenor of their voices â€“ one glum but optimistic, the other self-satisfied but apprehensive â€“ I surmised that Collingwood had taken a narrow lead.
When it came time for us to be tied again, fatigued as I was, I was keen to learn what the boys had in store for us. They can usually be relied upon to be creative and did not disappoint. They took off our blindfolds. Sabrina was flushed and Andrea appeared dishevelled, while Michelle had already withdrawn to the kitchen. I hitched up my stockings because the suspenders had popped; Sabrina unwrinkled and straightened her shirt. We knelt again and were instructed to gag each other. Sabrina was apologetic as she inserted her oversized ball between my jaws. Andreaâ€™s gag was a â€œpenisâ€ type, and the shaft was ominously long, penetrating far into her mouth. I had to admire her strong constitution, as she resisted the â€œgagâ€ (as in retch) reflex when I slid it in. Sabrinaâ€™s was a bit-gag, which is what I hate the most but I know Jack likes (because heâ€™s used one on me a few times). Andrea looked contrite as she strapped it in place, because it has to be tight for it to be effective, but when it is, the bar presses harshly against the corners of the wearerâ€™s mouth. It also causes uncontrollable drooling, and the front of Sabrinaâ€™s shirt was already soaked.
The boys bound our hands behind our backs, all three of us with wrists crossed, then tied our ankles. Andrea and Sabrina were propped in a kneeling position up against each other, so that each girlâ€™s chin was over the otherâ€™s right shoulder. They were kept in their embrace with ropes around the neck, chest and waist. Then Jack took all three scarves and strung them together to make one large blindfold which he wrapped around both girlsâ€™ heads. As this was happening, I was lying on my side, watching and wondering where I would fit in (literally).
The two girls groaned behind their gags as Jack and Luke seized their feet and hauled so that their bodies below their waists were drawn backwards and apart. They were left in an awkward position, like an inverted Y, because of the rope tied around their midsections. I now knew what my role was to be, and with some prodding from Jack I wriggled across the carpet on my belly until I was lying between their knees. It was a tight fit because their legs could not be set back too far. Rob lifted my bound arms and tied them to Andreaâ€™s and Sabrinaâ€™s waist rope on one side, while Alex brought my feet up to be secured on the other side. So it was like a hog-tie, except that the rope about the two girlsâ€™ trussed bodies formed the connector between my wrists and ankles. The result was particularly strenuous, since my knees were raised off the floor and my arms were pulled up vertically behind me, putting considerable strain on my shoulders. I wasnâ€™t blindfolded, but the way I was posed, and facing towards the wall, there was not much I could see.
We were kept that way for the entire second half of the game, somewhat over fifty minutes. My limbs quickly adjusted to the difficult position, and anyway Andrea and Sabrina had it worse than me, because I could hear them above me quietly moaning. Nevertheless, they sounded like pleasurable rather than distressful moans, and interspersed with giggling. However, during the three-quarter break, our kind and caring boyfriends decided to entertain themselves with some rubber band foot torture. I suppose it wasnâ€™t really torture because unless itâ€™s done with malice the sting is not very severe, plus we had our stockings on. But itâ€™s torment because you canâ€™t do anything to stop it, just shake your feet and wiggle your toes and squeal through your gag. (But itâ€™s better than being tickled.)
I was startled when Rob and Jack began to untie us. I had drifted off into my private malaise. The match was over, the premiership decided, and the trophy presentation was well under way. I glanced about. My brother and his girlfriend were missing.
Luke was loading the last of the beer bottles into a plastic bag. â€œMichelleâ€™s getting her prize,â€ he said with a grin.
â€œSo Geelong won?â€ I replied.
Jack looked up from detaching Sabrina from Andrea. â€œWouldnâ€™t matter, would it?â€
Andrea sat up, took the plug from her mouth, wrinkled her nose in disgust as she studied it, then yawned a few times to flex her jaws. Sabrina unbuckled the strap on her gag, literally spat out the bar, which landed on the floor in front of her, and licked the saliva from her lips and chin. The three of us rubbed and massaged our wrists and ankles to restore full circulation and smooth out the rope marks. Then we just sat on the carpet in silence for maybe half an hour, recovering, while the boys watched the rest of the post-game proceedings.
Alex and Michelle emerged from the bedroom, both looking pleased with themselves until they saw us smiling at them. She blushed while Alex tried to look triumphant but just ended up goofy. Michelle had swapped her jersey and stockings for a pretty mauve playsuit, so Sabrina, Andrea and I decided it was time to divest ourselves of our uniforms as well. Rob in particular appeared disappointed â€“ we did look sexy if somewhat bedraggled â€“ so instead of putting my jeans and sweater back on, I borrowed one of Sabrinaâ€™s camisoles. Sheâ€™s so much taller than me that it worked as a shimmy dress, short and sassy. Sabrina liked the idea and put on one of her silk petticoats. Andrea, however, remained her usual recalcitrant self and got back into her dungarees.
Jack and Sabrina prepared dinner. We had gourmet pizza. I was hoping to be tied up or at least blindfolded during the meal â€“ I love that â€“ but I didnâ€™t suggest it and no one offered. Nevertheless, once we had cleared and washed up, Jack disappeared for a couple of minutes, returning to the living room with a large wooden box shaped and decorated like a pirateâ€™s treasure chest.
â€œPlaytime,â€ he announced.
To be continued.

### Re: BALLS â€“ THE REMATCH

Post by xtc » Sat Oct 22, 2011 4:05 am

Quick work. Thank you.
One question: did you meam "malaise" in " ... drifted off into my private malaise?"
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!
More by the same author: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=22729

### Re: BALLS â€“ THE REMATCH

Post by sarobah » Sat Oct 22, 2011 4:23 pm

> xtc wrote:One question: did you mean "malaise" in " ... drifted off into my private malaise?"

Good question.
What I meant was zoned out or oblivious. For me, the onset of that state is a feeling of disconnection, lethargy and loss of focus (on anything beyond the ropes). So maybe I should have written that :o)
~ Sarah
(Unfortunately, I cannot promise that the next instalment will be so quick in coming.)
Words, like Nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.

### Re: BALLS â€“ THE REMATCH

Post by xtc » Sat Oct 22, 2011 4:28 pm

?miasma?
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!
More by the same author: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=22729

### Re: BALLS â€“ THE REMATCH

Post by sarobah » Sat Oct 22, 2011 5:57 pm

> xtc wrote:miasma?

No... I have had my bad air days, but this was not one of them. I did mean â€œmalaiseâ€.
~ Sarah
PS - My deepest apologies for the worst pun of the millennium (so far).
Words, like Nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.

### Re: BALLS â€“ THE REMATCH

Post by xtc » Sun Oct 23, 2011 1:05 am

Boom! Boom!
Groan.
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!
More by the same author: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=22729

### Re: BALLS â€“ THE REMATCH

Post by sarobah » Tue Oct 25, 2011 4:01 pm

After due consideration, Iâ€™ve decided that this story really belongs in the â€œMore... Intimate TUGsâ€ section. Rather than repost these first two parts, I shall continue the story there.
My apologies for any inconvenience.
~ Sarah
Words, like Nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.

### Re: BALLS â€“ THE REMATCH

Post by Qarl » Tue Oct 25, 2011 4:34 pm

Sarah... you're such a good writer. I love all the details you include - the tying positions, the body sensations, what you're wearing, your inner reactions, people's personalities as well as physical and verbal responses. It's a descriptive feast, really captivating and transporting me there. Thanks for sharing your sexy, funny, and poignant experiences.

### Re: BALLS â€“ THE REMATCH

Post by sarobah » Tue Oct 25, 2011 5:15 pm

Thank you.
Of course, Iâ€™m writing for myself as well. I can relive the fun and games :o)
Words, like Nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.

### Re: BALLS â€“ THE REMATCH

Post by Qarl » Wed Oct 26, 2011 9:41 am

> sarobah wrote:Of course, Iâ€™m writing for myself as well. I can relive the fun and games )

True. And I think that factor adds the shine to your stories - your special sauce. Sarah, it's a unique combination that you bring. You're extremely intelligent and observant, a writer of very high craft and care, enjoy being tied up way more than most, actually get to be tied up in ways that you enjoy, and you're willing to share your experiences with other tuggers. All of those would be a tremendous package. But the pleasure you get out of being on display, both in the TUG moment, and when you write the stories, comes through to us appreciative readers. It's that deliciously sexy contradiction inherent in consenting to being (almost) unable to consent. That's why I love TUGs, and your stories allow us to relive the fun and games with you, in some ways better than if we were actually there.
Thanks! --\--\--@

### Re: BALLS â€“ THE REMATCH

Post by vantran » Wed Oct 26, 2011 1:00 pm

great story