Mom and Daughter (f/F self)

[Boundgirl09]

"Can you pass the jam?" Dorothy asked, setting down her coffee mug with a clink. Rebecca slid the jar across the worn kitchen table without looking up from her book. The pages were thick and glossy, filled with diagrams.

Dorothy shifted in her chair, the wood creaking under her weight. She rubbed her neck, trying to ease the stiffness that had settled in overnight. Her gaze drifted to the book's cover, but Rebecca angled it away, fingers tracing a complicated knot illustration.

The girl flipped another page, her expression unreadable. A bead of sweat trickled down Dorothy's temple as she watched her daughter's focused stillness. The air felt thick, like syrup.

Dorothy pushed her chair back abruptly, the legs scraping against linoleum. "I think I'll lie down for a bit," she announced, her voice tight. She stood, swaying slightly before steadying herself against the table's edge. Her head throbbed.

Rebecca finally glanced up, her eyes dark and unblinking. "Okay, Mom." She watched as Dorothy shuffled toward the hallway, one hand braced against the wall for support, kicking her heels off to aid balance. The book lay open to a page titled "Positioning for Minimal Resistance."

Dorothy collapsed onto her bed with a groan, sinking into the floral duvet. Her vision swam—the ceiling fan blurred into a slow, nauseating whirl. She tried to call out, but her tongue felt thick and useless against the roof of her mouth. The jam. It had tasted faintly bitter beneath the sweetness.

Footsteps padded softly down the hallway. Rebecca appeared in the doorway, the book tucked under one arm. Her expression was calm, almost clinical, as she surveyed her mother’s limp form. Dorothy’s fingers twitched, clawing weakly at the bedsheet.

Rebecca set the book open on the nightstand, spine cracked at the hogtie diagram. She moved with eerie efficiency, uncoiling a length of rough hemp rope from her backpack. The fibers rasped against her palms as she threaded it around her mum’s wrist. Dorothy’s muffled groan vibrated through the mattress.

The girl braced a knee against her mother’s spine, using her weight to flip the heavier woman onto her stomach. Dorothy’s cheek pressed into the duvet, her breath coming in ragged bursts through flared nostrils. Rebecca worked silently, looping rope around ankles, then yanking them sharply upward toward bound wrists. The bedsprings creaked in protest.

Dorothy’s muffled scream vibrated against the pillow as her shoulders strained. Rebecca paused, consulting the book’s margin notes titled "Added Security." She grabbed another length of rope, this time winding it tightly around her mother’s elbows, forcing them together behind her back until the shoulder blades were stretched and her arms threatened to touch. A low whimper escaped the gag.

The girl moved downward, looping the rough hemp just above Dorothy’s knees. She cinched it with a sharp, efficient tug, the friction burning against skin. Dorothy’s legs jerked involuntarily, a spasm of pain and panic. Rebecca watched the reaction dispassionately, adjusting the knot until it bit deep into the flesh.

Her attention shifted to the nightstand, where the book lay open. The section on gags was detailed. It recommended two parts: first, a soft, flexible mouth stuffing to absorb sound and occupy the tongue, then a second retainer part to hold it firmly in place. Rebecca pulled a clean, rolled-up athletic sock from her backpack. It was thick cotton, springy. She leaned over her mother’s head.

Dorothy’s eyes widened in terror as the sock pressed against her lips. She tried to twist away, but Rebecca used her free hand to clamp down on her jaw, forcing it open. The sock filled her mouth, tasting of detergent and cotton fibers, muffling her choked cries. It packed tightly against her teeth, pushing her tongue down.

Rebecca reached back into her pack, pulling out a long strip of white cloth. She folded it into a thick band, positioning it horizontally over the stuffed sock already bulging in her mother’s mouth. Dorothy gagged, her throat convulsing as the pressure intensified.

The girl leaned her weight onto Dorothy’s shoulder blades, pinning her flat. She looped the cloth band tightly around her mother’s head, knotting it firmly at the base of her skull. The gag dug into the corners of Dorothy’s mouth, pressing her lips into a strained, bloodless line. A thin trail of drool escaped, soaking into the duvet.

Rebecca shifted her position, sliding off the bed. Her gaze drifted downward, settling on her mother’s nylon-covered feet. The stockings were sheer, pale beige, stretched taut over the arches. Without hesitation, Rebecca extended her index finger, letting her short, unvarnished nail scrape lightly down the sole. Dorothy jerked violently, a strangled sound tearing through the gag.

She repeated the motion, slower this time, applying deliberate pressure. The rasp of fingernail against synthetic fiber filled the quiet room, sharp and intimate. Dorothy’s body arched against the ropes, tendons standing out in her neck as she strained. Her muffled cries pitched higher, desperate. Rebecca watched the toes curl inward, the nylon wrinkling at the knuckles.

Shifting her focus, Rebecca traced the rigid arch of her mother’s foot through the stocking. She pressed her thumb hard into the center, grinding it in a small, relentless circle. Dorothy bucked wildly, the bedframe shuddering. A choked sob escaped the gag. Rebecca maintained the pressure, her expression detached, analytical, as if noting the reaction for some unseen ledger.

She turned away abruptly, leaving Dorothy trembling and gasping against the ropes. The book lay open on the nightstand. Rebecca flipped past the hogtie diagrams, past the gag variations, her small fingers stopping at a new section titled simply: "Section Two: How to Tie Yourself." Her gaze flickered over the dense text and accompanying illustrations – complex knots meant for binding one's own wrists behind the back, diagrams showing leverage points using bedposts or doorknobs. She hopped on the bed next tomher mother and rollingbher jeannhems up, began tomwrap ropes round her bare ankles.

Dorothy watched through tear-blurred eyes, her muffled moans shifting from terror to confusion. Rebecca worked with the same detached precision, looping coarse rope around her own ankles, cinching it tight enough to leave red marks on her pale skin. She tested the give, nodding slightly at the minimal slack. Her movements were economical, rehearsed. She reached for another length of rope, this time threading it round her knees. Removing her socks, she rolled thm ip,before forcingbthem into her own mouth, secuing with a second white scarf, matching her mother’s. Rebecca then took tye leather belt from her jeans and tightened in round her chest, pinningbher arms to her sides.

Finally she took a length if rope behind her back, her arms contorting awkwardly as she attempted to replicate the diagram showing a self-applied wrist binding. Her brow furrowed in concentration, tongue poking slightly between her lips. Dorothy strained against her own bonds, a low, questioning groan escaping the gag as she witnessed her daughter deliberately incapacitate herself on the floral duvet beside her.

Rebecca managed the final knot with a sharp tug, her wrists now locked firmly together behind her back. She tested the ropes, twisting her shoulders until the hemp bit into her skin, then nodded with grim satisfaction. Her eyes met her mother's terrified gaze, wide and unblinking above the identical gag. The room fell silent except for their ragged, muffled breathing and the distant hum of the refrigerator downstairs.

Dorothy strained against her own bindings, arching her spine in a futile attempt to close the gap between them. A questioning groan vibrated in her throat, raw and urgent. Rebecca merely blinked slowly in response, her expression unreadable as she shifted her weight on the mattress. The deliberate self-restraint seemed to hang in the air like a held breath.

Downstairs, the front doorbell chimed—a bright, cheerful sound that sliced through the tension. Both bodies froze. Dorothy’s eyes darted wildly toward the hallway, her muffled breathing turning shallow and panicked. Rebecca tilted her head, listening intently as heavy footsteps approached the staircase. A familiar voice called out, "Dorothy? Rebecca? You home?" It was Aunt Carol, always unannounced.

[Caesar73]

Excellent. Dorothy stood no Chance. Nice tickling Sequence!! Excellent Cliffhanger at the End! What will Auntie do now?

[BoundGaggedGal]

Sweet one.

[slackywacky]

Good read

[Dpsiic]

Great story, love the description of the tying. It’s the sort of thing I did with my wife a couple of times, tied her then myself.

Now what is Aunt Carol going to do?

[RopeBunny]

Enjoyable read

Interested, regards the fact of Rebecca's neutral expression, mentioned several times. Do wonder whether there's something there, whether it'll be explained.

Great descriptions of the binding, liking the use of a 'how to' book.

Ripe for a continuation.

[TightsBound]

Nice story so far! Great detail with the tying, and I’m loving how suspenseful this is compared to classic tie up games. And bringing a new character in at the end promises to make a great continuation. Thanks for writing!

[Inkstain]

Keep going!