Mediaeval Mayhem

Postby sarobah » Fri Mar 27, 2009 3:31 pm

The Tie-up Chronicles

2. Mediaeval Mayhem

I suppose I should be a bit embarrassed that it was my little brother who started tying me up, when I was thirteen. Since that first time, however, I have made it my mission to be captured and tied up by the men in my life. I have tied up a guy or two, and a girl here and there, and I’ve been tied up by girls. Nevertheless, I prefer to be on the receiving end, and guy-on-girl is my personal style. There, that’s my manifesto.

Now let it be known that after my pirate adventure, I didn’t go around saying to every guy I met: “Hi, I’m Sarah. Wanna tie me up?” In fact, for a while the opportunities were few and far between. In my new school I was already starting to develop a reputation as “that weird chick” (for reasons that had nothing to do with ropes and gags and blindfolds). So it was my brother who once again stepped up to the mark.

From his point of view, tying me up was revenge for insults and injuries real and imagined. I confess that I was rather bossy back then – and to be honest, I still am (which may explain why in some circles I am known as “that little bee with an itch”). At the time of our second encounter, I was still bigger than Alex, but the gap was closing fast, and we both knew that my days in the ascendancy were numbered. He made the occasion of his birthday party the turning point.

Alex had a keen interest in the Middle Ages, second only to his passion for pirates. So his party had a mediaeval theme. The guests came in costume; most of the boys dressed as knights, the girls as ladies of the court. My parents had imposed a rule that all outfits be home-made (so it didn’t turn into a “who can rent/buy/borrow the most expensive” competition), but some of them were really quite elaborate (and so adorable!). Alex, always the individualist, decided he would be a monk, and he looked disturbingly authentic (though in my view more Rasputin than Friar Tuck).

When the party was in full swing, the adults retreated indoors, leaving me and my friend Susan in charge. For the dubious privilege of entertaining a pack of unruly adolescents, and for a modest fee, we had given up our Saturday afternoon. We stuck to the mediaeval motif in the sorts of amusements and activities that we organized, although I drew the line at jousts and mêlées. Susan winced and gasped as the girls romped and tumbled in the grass and dirt in their sumptuous dresses.

I hadn’t known Susan very long. She was in my grade at school, and in most respects my opposite – a tall brunette, well-developed for her age, athletic, moody and rather standoffish. We didn’t really get on that well, but we were both relatively new to the neighbourhood, so we were drawn together. I called her the Anti-Sarah and she called me Bizarro-Susan (I probably should have felt the more insulted). On this day, she looked every part the princess in an exquisite, off-the-shoulder green Guinevere gown with a gold-trimmed lace-up bodice. My own persona was sort of a cross between Maid Marion and the Lady of the Lake.

Everything appeared to be running smoothly, until I was forced to assert my authority over some trivial incident. It came as no surprise that the instigator was the Mad Monk, and he thereupon resolved that the malapert maiden needed her comeuppance. So in his capacity as a man of the cloth, my brother organized a witch-hunt. Gathering his flock, he denounced me; and despite my avowals of innocence, he demanded that I undergo trial by ordeal. This received a rousing reception from his acolytes.

Knowing my brother all too well, I had a good idea where this was heading. Yet I submitted without protest, albeit with a defiant “this will not be forgotten” glare. Alex laughed that off and ordered me to remove my scarf and girdle (in the mediaeval vernacular, that’s a belt, not a corset). The rest of the mob closed in around me, their faces showing that endearing mix of excitement, curiosity and guilt that kids feel when they’re not quite sure if the fun they’re having will get them into trouble. I looked across to Susan, who was standing a safe distance away. With a sympathetic smile and a shrug of her décolletage, she let me know that I was on my own.

I gave over my garments and Alex wasted no time. He grabbed my shoulders, spun me around and bound my wrists behind my back with the scarf. He turned me to face him again and looped the belt around my neck, to make a halter. This he used to lead me through the jeering throng to the side of the swimming pool. Standing on the edge, staring at the shimmering surface of the water, and not really sure whether I was going to get a ducking, I hastily confessed to my crimes. I admitted heresy, blasphemy, spell-casting, demon-raising, all the usual transgressions, with a couple of supplementary trumped-up charges thrown in by my accuser for good measure, like bearing false witness and scolding (my brother certainly knew his litany of sins). Thus and thereafter, to shouted chants of “Burn the witch!” I was dragged away.

Princess Precious was not making any attempt to render aid, and no dashing knight came riding to my rescue, so I resigned myself to my ignoble fate. I was paraded around the yard on my leash, hands bound, little kids frolicking around me, mocking and taunting. The procession meandered its way up to the house. We stopped on the patio and I was secured to the corner post. Alex assigned the task to a couple of the girls, who untied my wrists and pulled my arms behind the post before binding them again. They made a hard job of it as they fumbled with the knots. I could see that Alex was growing impatient and I responded with a smirk, though I knew that would cost me.

The halter was taken from my neck and used to tie my ankles. This was so I couldn’t lash out when they began torturing me; and because he didn’t trust the handiwork of his two assistants, Alex used one of the cords he wore with his robe to hold me more firmly to the post. He passed it under my arms, but it only went around my torso once, so to keep it from slipping he had to run it between my breasts. I saw a hint of discomfort in his face as he tugged to tighten it, so I had at least one moment to relish in the midst of my ordeal.

My “interrogation” began with some fiendish tickling. In vain did I protest that I had already given up my confession. My face was smeared with leftover birthday cake and I was sprayed with water and soft drinks. To add realism to his tableau, Alex sent a couple of his minions to collect faggots (that’s a bunch of sticks and twigs!) which were piled around my feet. Since there was only so far that authenticity can be taken, these were then used to flail and further tickle me. I giggled and wriggled and called down curses upon my tormentors, and we all had a thoroughly good time.

Disturbed by the noise, my mother came out of the house to see what the commotion was. She looked at me, bound and laughing and covered in mess. She frowned, slowly shook her head, said “Carry on,” and went back inside. We carried on.

When the mob grew weary of my persecution, they looked about for a fresh martyr, and all eyes fell upon Susan. It took her a second to react; but before a hand could be laid on her, she threw up hers in defiance. She frantically turned towards me, but all she got was a grin and an unsympathetic nod. Still tied to the post, I was in no position to help even if I had the inclination. However, Alex decided that the game had gone as far as it could, so when his new prey failed to submit without a fight, he backed off. He half-heartedly tried to rally support among the knights to capture the ladies, but the intended victims would have none of that and the witch-hunt fizzled.

Susan organized some other activities, and punished me by leaving me, alone and ignored, tethered on the patio. When she needed assistance, I was finally released, still sodden and sticky and caked in various congealed foodstuffs. The party petered out around sunset.

My dress was pretty much ruined, and my bedraggled ego continued to cop a battering when my loving family turned the episode into a running joke. Susan also teased me about it the next few times we got together. Nevertheless... fun times!

As I mentioned earlier, this occasion marked the end of an era. It was the last time I could act the Bossy Big Sis with my brother. Soon he outgrew me, and he now had a foolproof way of cutting me down to size if ever I got too big for my boots. However, I did not want my new favourite pastime to remain just a family affair. Surely there had to be a world full of people – good-looking young guys in particular – just waiting to tie me up.

Re: Mediaeval Mayhem

Postby sarobah » Sat Mar 28, 2009 12:03 am

My first (now ex) boyfriend was very much into it. The present (future and forever?) love of my life is not so much, so I have had to train him. He’s starting to get it.
As for the other guys, it’s an interesting question. I’m not really sure what the answer is, but I’d be very surprised if it was just goofing around.
I don’t really know because I get no thrill out of tying up guys... but I kind of like tying up girls. Hmm... what does that say about me?
~ Sarah
Words, like Nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.