Home alone (self/m F/m)

[Bondageboi]

On the first morning of the school holidays, eleven year old Tim woke up to the sweet sound of silence. School had finished for a whole week and his mum had already left for work. Now ar secondary. School his mum didn’t pay for child minders or holiday clubs and for the first time in his life, Tim was home alone. The house was eerily quiet, and the excitement of having the whole place to himself was intoxicating. He leaped out of bed, his bare feet hitting the cool, wooden floor, and dashed into the kitchen to start his day of unsupervised freedom.

After fixing breakfast and watching cartoons while munching on sugary cereal, he began a three hour video game marathon. By late morning, Tim felt the itch of curiosity tingle through his body. He’d never had the house to himself for more than a few minutes at a time, and there was one place he’d always wanted to explore but hadn’t dared to with anyone else around – his mum’s room. She’d always had a strict policy about privacy, but today, she wasn’t home. Tim took a deep breath and tiptoed down the hallway, his heart thumping in his chest like a drum. He pushed the door open and peeked inside. The room was a mess of clothes and makeup, but amidst the chaos, he spotted something peculiar – a small, dusty box hidden in the corner of her wardrobe. He couldn’t resist the urge to investigate further.

Inside the box, Tim found several sets of shiny handcuffs, some leather straps, a blindfold and a rubber ball gag. His eyes grew wide with excitement. He’d heard of kids playing with their parents' old toys, but he’d never seen anything like this before. His imagination soared with the possibilities of becoming a secret agent or a superhero captive, breaking free from the villain’s clutches. Without a second thought, he snapped the cold metal around his ankles, linking his feet together, and placed the ball gag in his mouth, securing it with the strap behind his head. He giggled at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He decided to cuff his hands behind his back too, for an added challenge.

For the next thirty to forty minutes, Tim hopped around the house, his bound feet clanking against the floorboards, acting out daring escapes and dramatic rescues. He peered into every mirror to see his cuffed hands, gagged mouth or the soles of his chained feet, his heart racing as he played out scenes from his favorite spy movies. He even tried to scale the stairs like a cat burglar, only to slide down on his bottom with a thump. But amidst the thrill of his role-play, something crucial slipped his mind – the keys to the cuffs. He’d tossed them aside in his excitement, and now they were lost in the labyrinth of his mum’s bedroom.

Panic began to set in as he searched every nook and cranny, his muffled voice echoing through the house. He overturned pillows, checked under the bed, and even rummaged through the mess of clothes on the floor, all the while hoping she wouldn’t come home early from work. Tim’s cheeks grew red with embarrassment at the thought of her finding him like this. He’d never hear the end of it. The clock on the wall ticked louder with each passing second, a relentless reminder of his predicament.

With his hands cuffed behind his back and feet bound together, moving around was a challenge. He stumbled into the bathroom, the sound of metal clanking against porcelain making him cringe. He somehow did what was necessary but the cold tiles sent a shiver up his spine, and the taste of the rubber ball in his drying mouth felt worse than the bitterest medicine. He knew he had to find those keys. Tim tried to recall where he’d thrown them, his eyes dartting from corner to corner of his mum’s room, but it was a blur of his earlier antics.

The more he searched, the more frustrated he grew. The handcuffs had started to dig into his skin, leaving a red imprint around his wrists and ankles. He felt the first pangs of regret creeping in, the thrill of the game turning into a very real struggle. His tongue felt like it was twice its size, and his jaw was aching from trying to move it around the gag. The house that once felt like a playground had transformed into a prison, with his mum’s toys now his inescapable shackles.

Eventually, he sat in the middle of the lounge floor defeated, surrounded by the evidence of his adventure – knocked-over lamps, rumpled cushions, and the discarded remnants of his makeshift escape attempts. His breathing grew labored, and drops of sweat trickled down his forehead. He had to accept it – he was stuck. The silence that once whispered sweet promises of freedom now echoed with the cruel laughter of irony. Tim’s mind raced, trying to think of a way out. He knew he had to calm down and think logically, but the panic was like a wild animal inside him, refusing to be tamed.

He flopped onto his side, the cold floor against his cheek, and took deep breaths, trying to slow his racing heart. As he lay there, his gaze fell upon the TV remote, just out of reach. He squirmed closer, inch by inch, until he could nudge it with his nose. He pushed it further with his face until it was close enough to his bound hands. The button pressing against his nose was the power and He switched the TV on, partly to take his mind off his predicament, but he kind of hoped against hope that some kind of miracle would unfold on the screen to show him how to escape.

Instead, a cartoon played out, featuring a damsel in distress tied to the railroad tracks, her wrists and ankles bound by thick ropes. The villain cackled as the train approached. The hero, a dashing cowboy, arrived just in time to save her. Tim watched in fascination, the irony of his situation striking him like a bolt of lightning. In the cartoons, the hero always seemed so unflappable, so capable. Yet here he was, a real-life hero, or so he’d thought, trapped by his own hand, unable to save himself. He couldn’t help but feel a bit of pity for the damsels in those old-time cartoons. They were always so helpless and dependent on someone else to free them. Now, he knew their plight all too well.

The damsel’s eyes grew wide with terror as the cartoon villain tightened the knots, and Tim felt a twinge of his own fear as the hero struggled to untie her. He’d watched these scenes play out a hundred times before, but now he found himself cheering for the cartoon characters with a newfound intensity, willing them to escape. He wished he had a hero of his own to swoop in and save the day. The irony of his situation was not lost on him; he’d wanted so badly to be part of their world, and now that he was, he just wanted to get out.

The cartoon’s dramatic music grew louder as the train’s whistle echoed through the living room. Tim’s heart was racing faster than the train on the screen. He hadn’t noticed the time, but the sun had moved across the sky, casting a warm glow on the floorboards. The house grew quieter as the outside world carried on without him, and he began to feel a creeping sense of dread. What if his mum didn’t come home on time? What if she had a meeting, or had decided to work late? He’d be stuck like this all night.

And then, just as the cartoon hero was about to be unmasked as the damsel’s long-lost twin brother, Tim heard the sound of the key turning in the lock. The door swung open and his mum stepped inside, a tired smile on her face after a long day at work. She was wearing a crisp white blouse and a red skirt, her dark tights a stark contrast to the pale fabric. She kicked off her heels by the door, a habit that usually went unnoticed amidst the cacophony of their evening routine. But today, the soft thump of leather against the wooden floor seemed to echo through the silent house.

Her eyes widened when she saw Tim lying on the floor, his wrists and ankles cuffed, a rubber ball filling his mouth. For a brief moment, she was frozen in shock, her hand hovering over the pile of mail she’d brought in with her. And then, without warning, she burst out laughing. It started as a giggle, but grew into a full-blown, belly-shaking laugh that filled the room with a sound Tim hadn’t heard in what felt like an eternity. He blushed furiously, his eyes pleading with her to take the situation seriously, but her laughter only grew louder as she took in the sight of her little boy, bound and gagged like a cartoon character.

Tim’s mum wiped a tear from her eye and crouched down beside him, still chuckling. She gently un Lucile and pried the ball gag from his mouth, his tongue darting out to taste freedom once again. “What on earth have you done, Timmy?” she managed to ask between breaths. The relief in his eyes was palpable as he tried to explain, his voice muffled and strained from hours of silence. She listened, her amusement slowly turning into concern as she realised he’d been stuck like this for hours.

With a sigh, she handed him a glass of water, which he greedily gulped down. His mouth felt as dry as a desert, and the cool liquid soothed his parched throat. She then sat down beside him on the sofa, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Tim took another deep breath, expecting his mother to be furious or, at the very least, stern. Instead, she was smiling, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

"You know," she began, her voice gentle, "when I was your age. I used to love playing detective and getting myself into all sorts of trouble."

Her words were like a balm to Tim’s bruised pride. He took another sip of water, feeling the coolness wash away the last of his fear. His mum’s reaction was unexpected, to say the least.
After he’d told her his story, she didn’t immediately rushed to unlock him. Instead, she’d sat down on the sofa, her legs crossed, and given him a knowing look. "Now, let's see how much of a secret agent you really are," she said with a playful glint in her eye. Before Tim could react, she’d reached out and locked his legs between her thighs and began to tickle his bare feet.

Tim squirmed and giggled, his face reddening with both pleasure and embarrassment. The handcuffs clanked against each other as he kicked his legs, trying to escape his mother’s skilled fingers. The sensation was overwhelming, and he couldn’t help but laugh. He hadn’t realised how ticklish he was, or how much his feet could make him squirm. She tickled him gently but firmly, her own laughter joining his as she watched him struggle.

“Mum, stop, please!” he managed to squeal between giggles, his eyes watering. But she just tickled harder, her laughter echoing through the house. It was a strange role reversal, with Tim, the usually mischievous one, now the one being teased. He squirmed and wriggled, his bare feet kicking the air as she held him in place with her strong thighs. He tried to remember the last time they’d played like this.

“Maybe I should keep you tied up when I’m out at work.” His mum teased. “That would keep you out of trouble.” She chuckled as she watched his reaction.

Tim’s eyes grew wide with horror. “Mum, no!” He tried to protest, but his words came out as distorted giggles.

Finally, she decided he’d had enough. She leaned back on the sofa, almost as breathless from laughter as Timmy. Padding upstairs she returned with a small bunch of keys. “I keep these in the bedside table.” She grinned “but I may have to find a new hiding place now.”

[WhereAmI]

Great innocent story, we need more like this, scared Timmy was so funny when Mom started laughing. What confuses me is Did the train ever run over Timmy, it never says, so I guess this could be a cliffhanger for a series "Timmy Ties Timmy Up" what will happen next week. Tune in at the 'Same Timmy Time, Same Timmy Station' for more adventures of TIED UP TIMMY.

[milagros317]

Very nice story!
I never found anything like that in my parents' bedroom, just condoms.