Isobel and Aunt Jan (Ff/f; ff/F -New part , 14th December

[Janbound]

@copperfox thank you for a lovely criticism of my work.

@TightsBound when I started writing I wasn’t sure who would win the bet either. It’s just as the chapter progressed, I thought an initial lack of progress with a sudden breakthrough which still leaves much to be done was the ideal progression. It was the vision in my mind of two girls desperately pulling tape and shreds of rope off them and an aunt who can’t quite believe she lost the bet seemed the better outcome.

[Nainur]

Most excellent read! Enjoyed it very much! So detailed!

[Noobiereader666]

Hello. I sent you a message on Deviantart
I like your stories and writring style. Any chance we could see more spreadeagle bondage positions like the ticklee tied to the four posters of a bed and more upperbody tickling?
Thanks

[Scarfbound13]

Can you please add more parts to this story. Use more scarves please!

[Janbound]

Part 6

So sorry i have left this over a year. Hopefully everyone remembers Saffy, Izzy and Aunt Jan.

As it is over a year since my last addition I apologise now for any continuity errors with hair colour, eye colour, clothing, body shape, exact ages, furniture designs, floor coverings etc. but those little things were not the point of the story.

Enjoy part 6: The Victors’ Benefits or The Girls’ Revenge.





the girls were quite stiff and sweaty aftervtheir escaoe so whikst Jan took a bathroom break they had a quickmshower and changed, leaving Jan to try and suppress the butterflies in her stomach womdering what her niece and dayghter had planned for her. She thoughtbof having a coffee but she could feels the panic all yhe way diwn to her bladder and thiught better of it.

The sound of footsteps on yhe stairs herakded the girls’ return and Saffy entered first wearind black tbshirt, cut off denim shorts and thick black tights. Her cousin followed wearing pink hoodie, baggy jeans and barefoot. Both carried seveal coils of rope and a roll of tape.

“OK mum. Lets start with hands behind your back.” Said Saffron.

Jan instinctively clenched her fists as Saffron approached with a coil of soft cotton rope, the fibers whispering against her palms. Isobel nudged Jan’s shoulder blades together, making her gasp softly at the sudden pressure against her spine. The rope snaked around her wrists with practiced efficiency—tight but not cruel—each loop locking her fingers into stillness. Jan’s knuckles turned pale pink against her white shirt sleeves as she tested the bonds, finding only slick resistance. Saffron moved up to bind her mother’s elbows whilst Izzy began to tie her aunt’s ankles rogether, crossing left over right before wrapping rope around.

Isobel knelt, her bare knees pressing into the carpet theough the designer rips, as she wound rope around Jan’s ankles, crossed snugly, before securing the knot just below the cuff of Jan’s black leggings. The rope bit slightly where her socks should’ve been but weren’t. Jan shifted her bare feet against the floorboards, toes curling involuntarily as Isobel pulled the final loop taut. Above her, Saffron cinched the rope connecting Jan’s elbows, forcing her shoulders back into an elegant arch that strained her shirt. Jan’s breath hitched—a sharp inhale of trapped air as her daughter began to wrap loose ends of the elbow bonds round her torso abive and below her chest, restricting her breathing slightly.

Isobel meanwhile worked up her Aunt’s legs. Jan flexed her toes against the cool wood floor, the slight rasp of rope on lycra leggings unnervingly loud in the quiet room. Isobel didn’t pause; she swiftly moved higher. With practiced efficiency, she wound rope snugly around Jan’s shins, just below the knee, pulling until the black leggings bunched slightly and Jan felt the distinct bite of restriction against her shins. A soft "hmmph" escaped Jan as Isobel cinched the knot, locking her lower legs firmly together. She then repeated the orocess abive her knees, the same rasping sound as Jan gelt ecery last bitbof freedom to move stooen from her.

“Isnktbthatbenkugh girls?” Jan asked wothna slight whimper and air of trepidation in her shaky voice.

Without missing a beat, Isobel slid her hand up to Jan’s mid-thighs, ignoring her question. The rope hissed as she pulled it taut across the thickest muscle, compressing the soft lycra. Jan sucked in a breath, her hips shifting involuntarily as the unyielding pressure settled deep. Isobel secured this fourth band tightly, deliberately placed halfway between knee and hip, ensuring Jan’s thighs were held firmly parallel. The sensation was profoundly immobilizing – a stark contrast to the freedom of bare feet she’d relished moments before. Finally Isobel moved ro jan’s mid calves and began to add a fidth band of white corton on black lycra.

Meanwhile, Saffron worked with focused silence. Kneeling behind her mother, she guided a fresh coil of rope around Jan’s forearms, pulling them snug against her spine. The cotton rasped harshly against Jan’s white shirt sleeve as Saffron cinched the loops tighter than the wrist binding, drawing her mother’s shoulders back further. A small gasp escaped Jan as her spine arched impossibly. Saffron didn’t pause; she threaded the rope ends forward, wrapping them firmly around Jan’s torso just below her ribs. The first constricting band dug into the soft fabric of her shirt, flattening it against her stomach. She added a second band , lower, just abive thenwaisband of her leggings, tied off to her wrists, each pull stealing another sliver of breath.

“Have you got yhe shoelaces Saffy?” Calles Isobel.

“What for?”

“Her roes silly.”

“Yiu cant tie her bigtoes together with her ankles crossed Stupid!”

“I’m not going to.”

Isobel’s fingers, cool and precise, slid beneath Jan’s left foot as she lifted it slightly off the floorboards. Jan sucked in a breath through clenched teeth—not from pain, but from the startling intimacy of her niece’s touch on the bare arch of her foot, still damp with nervous sweat. Isobel ignored Saffron’s scoffing, her focus absolute as she separated Jan’s smallest toe from the others. The thin cotton shoelace—stolen from Jan’s own sneakers earlier—felt absurdly delicate against skin as Isobel looped it twice around the tiny digit. Jan’s little toe twitched involuntarily, a trapped butterfly against the lace’s sudden pressure as Isobel repeated the process on ghe kther foot. In defiance to her cousin, she had indeed tied her aunt’s toes together.

Saffron watched, a smirk playing on her lips as she finished cinching the final torso rope—a punishing band just below Jan’s ribs that forced her spine into a perpetual, elegant curve. "Enjoying yourself, Izzy?" she drawled, deliberately slow as she tugged the knot tight against Jan’s trembling back. Jan whimpered softly; the ropes above her waistband dug deep, making every shallow breath a conscious effort. Her white shirt clung to her skin, damp patches blooming under her arms and along her spine. Below, Isobel’s work was meticulous madness: each tiny toe now individually bound, the laces pulled taut enough to make Jan’s feet curl in protest against the rope securing her ankles.

The roll of silver duct tape unfurled with a sharp, metallic *rrrrip* that echoed off the walls. Isobel tore a strip free with her teeth—a practiced motion—and met Jan’s widened eyes. "Head back, Aunt Jan," she murmured. Jan instinctively resisted, her jaw clenching shut as Isobel’s fingers brushed her left sole. as she shrieked her kwn daughter shived a slightly damp white sock into her mouth. The tape descended cold and adhesive, sealing her lips into a flat, unyielding line before Isobel smoothed it firmly over her chin. Jan’s muffled gasp was swallowed by the tape’s grip; her nostrils flared as she fought for air through her nose alone. The scent of glue and her own trapped breath filled her senses as her niece added half a dozen more strips.

“And finally.” Said Saffron, holding two gauze makeup pads up ifront of her mither’s face.

“Nooommmpppppmmm.” Screamed Jan jnto her gag.

The pads landed softly against her eyelids, blotting out the world like twin moths settling on her skin. Jan flinched—a full-body shudder that strained every rope binding her—as the gauze absorbed the dampness trapped in her lashes. Darkness bloomed, thick and absolute, amplifying the rasp of her own panicked breath against the sock filling her mouth. She heard the rip of tape, sharp and close, then felt Isobel’s fingers brush her temple, cool and detached. The first strip pressed horizontally across the pads, adhesive biting into the delicate skin at her temples. Two vetical strips then sealed her fate.

Panic surged, raw and primal. Jan thrashed against her bonds, muscles straining against the ropes biting into her thighs, torso, wrists. Her bare feet scrabbled uselessly against the smooth floorboards, the thin shoelaces connecting her toes tightening painfully with every jerk. The room dissolved into sound: the creak of stressed rope, Saffron’s low chuckle somewhere to her left, the sticky *peel* as Isobel tore another strip. More tape followed—diagonal, crossing the bridge of her nose, anchoring the pads immovably. The pressure was suffocating, a physical manifestation of the terror clawing its way up her throat, choked silent by the gag.

A whimper escaped her muffled lips as she finally stilled, trembling. Sweat slicked her temples, plastering strands of hair beneath the tape, the sharp scent of adhesive mixing with the damp cotton of her gag and the faint floral detergent clinging to her shirt. She inhaled sharply through flared nostrils, the air cool and insufficient. Every rope felt alive: the torso bands constricting each shallow breath, the elbow bindings locking her shoulders in that unnatural arch, the thigh ropes digging deep into yielding muscle whenever she shifted her weight. Below, her calves burned from the pressure, her crossed ankles utterly immobile. The silence stretched, thick with anticipation and her own ragged breaths.

Saffron sank onto the worn leather sofa, its springs groaning beneath her weight. She kicked her thick black-tighted legs up onto the coffee table, crossing them at the ankle with deliberate nonchalance. "Comfy, Mum?" she drawled, a low chuckle rumbling in her chest. Her dark eyes tracked Jan’s minute struggles – the desperate flexing of bound toes against the polished floorboards, the subtle tremor running through her arched spine, the frantic flare of nostrils above the silver tape. "Bit warmer now? Looks like you’re working up a proper sweat." Beside her, Isobel perched on the armrest, her pink hoodie bright against the muted room. She giggled, a high, bright sound that cut through the tension, her gaze fixed on the intricate web of ropes cinching her aunt. "Shouldn't have worn white, Aunt Jan," she chimed in, her voice light but edged. "Really shows where you're sweating."

“OK mum just setting my phine for an hour.”

“But theres two of us Saffy. Should she have to do an hour for each of us?”

Saffron’s smirk widened as she tapped her phone screen. “Genius, Iz. Two hours it is.” The timer’s soft *beep-beep* punctuated the stillness. Jan’s muffled groan vibrated against the gag – a low, desperate thrum that echoed off the high ceiling. She strained against the ropes cinching her torso, shoulders pulling back in that relentless arch as she tried to shuffle her bound ankles sideways. The cotton rope rasped against her leggings, biting deeper with each futile shift. Her bare feet scraped the floorboards, toes curling against the shoelaces connecting them, the delicate knots digging into tender skin. Sweat bloomed visibly through the thin white shirt across her ribs and spine, darkening the fabric in uneven patches.

Isobel leaned forward, elbows on her knees, studying her aunt’s immobilized form. “Look at her toes, Saffy,” she murmured, pointing at Jan’s twitching feet. The individual laces binding each pinky toe stretched taut with every involuntary flex, stark white against the flushed skin. A stifled giggle escaped Saffron. Jan jerked her head sideways at the sound, the tape sealing her eyelids straining against her temples. A thin bead of sweat escaped the gauze pad, tracing a path down her cheekbone.

Saffron snorted, kicking her legs higher onto the coffee table. “Two hours, Mum. Hope you didn’t drink much coffee.” Jan responded with a frantic, muffled scream, her torso ropes creaking dangerously as she arched against them. Her bound thighs trembled visibly beneath the black lycra, the rope bands digging deep furrows. Isobel watched, fascinated, as her aunt’s bare soles scrabbled uselessly against the polished wood, the shoelaces connecting her toes pulling each digit into an unnatural splay. The faint scent of fear-sweat mixed with the metallic tang of the duct tape filled the still air.

Laughter bubbled from Saffron, sharp and unkind. “Look at her wiggle! Like a fish on a line.” Jan froze at the words, humiliation flooding her cheeks crimson beneath the tape. She tested the ropes again—slowly, deliberately this time—flexing her wrists against the unforgiving cotton. Each movement amplified the bite: elbows locked, ribs compressed, thighs welded together. A choked whimper escaped the sock-gag as she realized the futility. Her breath came faster, shallower, whistling faintly through flared nostrils. It was nitbthe first time Jan had been tied up, but she had never feltbthis helpless before, bound, gagged, blindfolded, arms and legs tied in a dozen different places, and atbthe mercy of two teehage girls.

Isobel looked outbif the window. “ Saffy. You know hiw she threatened to pitbus into a cold shower?”

“Yes.”

“Well its justvstarted raining. I thought we could……save water.”

Saffron’s grin was slow, predatory. “Oh, Mum’s *definitely* getting that cold shower now.”

They hauled Jan up, her muffled protests vibrating against the gag as they dragged her awkwardly towards the back door. Her bound legs flopped uselessly, heels scraping the hardwood floor. The rain hammered against the glass panes, a steady drumbeat promising icy misery. Isobel flung the door open, and the sudden rush of wet, chill air made Jan shudder violently. Together, they maneuvered her struggling form onto the slick grass of the darkened garden. The rain instantly plastered Jan’s white shirt to her skin, turning it translucent and chilling her to the bone. She landed heavily on her side in the muddy lawn, ropes biting deeper as the cold shock hit.

The girls slammed the door shut, muffling the storm’s roar. They leaned against the glass, steaming cups of hot chocolate warming their hands as they peered into the gloom. Through the rain-streaked window, Jan was a pale, writhing shape against the dark grass. Her muffled cries were lost in the downpour, but her desperate thrashing was clear: shoulders straining against the torso ropes as she tried to arch away from the cold mud, bound legs kicking ineffectually, her individually tied toes curling pitifully against the wet earth. Water plastered her hair flat against the duct tape blindfold, running in rivulets down her neck and soaking her shirt completely.

Saffron blew gently on her hot chocolate, the steam swirling around her smirk. "Looks cozy out there," she murmured, taking a slow sip. Beside her, Isobel giggled, her breath fogging the cold glass. Inside, the warmth was thick and sweet with cocoa scent; outside, Jan shuddered violently, her body jerking as rainwater pooled beneath her hips, turning the soil into slick sludge. Her gagged mouth pressed helplessly into the mud whenever her struggles tipped her forward, forcing desperate snorts through her flared nostrils. The ropes binding her elbows forced her shoulders back into that perpetual arch, exposing her soaked chest to the icy rain, every shiver visibly tightening the bands across her thighs and torso.

Jan writhed sideways, her bound legs kicking futilely in the mud. The shoelaces connecting her toes stretched taut with each spasm, digging into the tender webbing. Her blindfolded head whipped left and right, tape pulling painfully at her temples as she fought the suffocating darkness. The sheer helplessness, amplified by the relentless drumming rain and the muffled voices drifting from the warm kitchen, sent fresh tremors through her. Her soaked leggings clung heavy and cold, plastered with wet grass clippings, while her thin white shirt became a translucent second skin, revealing the harsh indentations of the ropes cinching her ribs and waist.

Aunt Jan's muffled groans escalated to desperate whimpers as icy rainwater pooled beneath her cheek. Her chest arched against the torso ropes with every shallow, whistling breath through her nostrils. Below, her thighs strained uselessly against their tight binding, muscles trembling visibly beneath the soaked black lycra. The mud began seeping through her leggings, chilling her to the bone. Inside, Isobel pressed her nose against the cool glass, fogging it with her breath. "Look at her wriggle," she murmured, fascinated by the, frantic movements of her aunt almost involuntary as she rolled on the slick lawn. Saffron just snorted, swirling her hot chocolate.

“Are we really going to leave her ythere two hours Saffy?”

Saffron shrugged, swirling her hot chocolate lazily. "Rules are rules." Outside, Jan bucked violently, her bound legs kicking up clods of wet grass as she rolled onto her back. Rainwater streamed across the duct tape sealing her eyes, pooling in the hollows of her collarbones exposed by the shirt plastered transparently to her skin. Her gagged mouth worked frantically beneath the silver strips, muffled cries lost in the downpour’s roar. Isobel watched her aunt’s toes flex against the mud—each individually tied digit straining against its lace like pale, trapped worms.

“She’d have probably justbketbus suffervfor ten minutes in the shower. But. This is funntomwatch isn’t it?”

Isobel,made a gelighted moan as she supped her hot drink and watched her aunt rolling, thrashing, helplessly bound, gagged and b,indfolded in the rain.

[Boundgirl09]

Just started reading this, a fun series of events, especially the aunt trussed up in the rain with her little toes tied together

[Janbound]

Part 7 (I think)

Jan sat on the rug in front of the fire wearing a white towelling robe with pink and blue flower design down to her knees, her hair wrapped in a white towel. She wiggled her red and green painted toes as the soles of her feet pointed towards the heat and she clutched a mug of hot chocolate with both hands, still trying to reward herself despite a hot shower.

“I kind of asked for that didn’t I? But it was still pretty mean.”

Saffron’s laughter cut through the warmth of the sitting room as she dropped onto the sofa opposite Jan. “Mean? You threatened to tie us up in a cold shower if we lost. We just saw like for like, and chose the garden. And you did lose the bet.” She exchanged a smirk with Isobel, who was perched on the armrest, picking at her toe nail polish. Jan’s fingers tightened around her mug. The heat stung her palms, distracting her from the phantom chill still clinging to her bones “hours” rolling on grass and mud in pouring rain. Trussed up like an oven ready Turkey and gagged whilst Saffy and Izzy laughed at her through the window.

Isobel shrugged, inspecting a chipped toenail. “Aunt Jan, you had set the stakes high with that escape challenge Remember? When we were both struggling against the ropes for an hour.” Her voice was casual, but her eyes flickered toward Jan’s ankles—which were still ringed red from the tight ropes, as were her own wrists—before darting away. Jan shifted uncomfortably. The robe’s towel rubbed against raw skin where the knots had dug deep. She remembered how the gag tasted of damp wool and earth, and the way rainwater had pooled in her collarbone, dripping cold trails down her chest. Every shaky breath she took now tasted sweetly of chocolate, but her throat still ached.

“Well the least yiu two can do is make dinner.”

Jan’s voice , though jokey, carried an edge, the sting of wet rope still fresh on her mind. She watched Saffron flop onto the sofa cushions, stretching like a contented cat. Isobel merely hummed, preoccupied with peeling off flecks of violet polish. The fire crackled, casting shifting shadows that danced across their faces. Outside, rain lashed the windowpane—a relentless drumming that echoed the chill still coiled low in Jan’s belly. She tightened her grip on the mug, knuckles whitening. The sweet cocoa couldn’t quite wash away the earthy taste of that gag.

Isobel and Saffron argued and fought with ladles and spatulas as they made salad and garlic bread to with a pasta bake as Jan gradually re warmed. Once cocoa was finished she went up stair returning to the lounge, wearing baggy white sweatshirt, no bra, black leggings, and slipper socks over the hems rising to mid calves. She picked up Isobel’s diary and began to read.

“The wood block floor was unforgiving as Isobel twisted and squirmed, the ropes holding firm biting into her wrists and ankles. How long was it since she had discovered the headmistresses side line selling exam answers to the “Rich Kids” just as Mrs Saunders had come in and caught her. Now hogtied, blindfolded and gagged on the stage of the school hall she was oblivious to the passage of time. The school bell had rung hours ago and the sounds of a busy school were long gone. Her fingers were numb as she rolled around uselessly , sobbing slightly into the sock tied over her eyes. Then she heard it. The rhythmic clicking of Mrs Saunder’s heels approaching slowly.”

“Hmm.” Thought Jan to herself. “Evening entertainment?”

Jan sat down with a glass of wine as Isobel and Saffron loaded the dishwasher and came in with mire hot chocolate as the sounds of “Strictly “ started.

“So Izzy. What did you do about Mrs Saunder’s exam racket?”

“What do you……..? Oh.” She grinned nervously.

“Got the rope Saffy?”

“Of course mum.”

Saffron grinned, already pulling thick sisal rope from the cupboard beneath the stairs as Isobel sighed theatrically but obediently flopped face-down onto the rug. She crossed her ankles and her wrists behind her back without protest, resting her cheek against the worn wool rug. Jan watched Isobel’s shoulders tighten under her thin t-shirt as Saffy knelt beside her, looping rope briskly around slender wrists, pulling each knot snug with a sharp tug. The sisal rasped against skin—Isobel hissed softly when the rough fibres caught her forearm.

Jan uncrossed her niece’s ankles and started to bind them together side by side, pulling the rope taut below the hem Isobel’s jeans. The sisal scratched against her skin as Jan wound it snugly around the ankles, finishing with two tight half-hitches that dug deep grooves into Isobel’s skin above her heels. Isobel shifted slightly, the rope biting harder as she murmured, “Not too loose this time, Aunt Jan. Remember Mrs. Saunders was evil.”

“True but we don’t want to hurt you sweetie. Do we?” She smiled at Saffron as she said this and began to tie ropes just below Isobel’s knees.

The sisal rasped sharply against Isobel’s jeans as Jan cinched the first knot snug, just above her kneecaps. Isobel’s breath hitched—a small, sharp sound swallowed by the rain drumming against the bay window. Saffron straddled her cousin’s thighs, pinning her firmly to the rug while looping another coil around Isobel’s elbows. She worked quickly, fingers deftly pulling each twist tight until Isobel’s arms were folded high behind her back, elbows nearly touching. The position arched her spine uncomfortably forward; Isobel buried her face deeper into the wool, muffling a grunt as the rope dug into her tendons.

“Socks,” Jan murmured, nodding toward the laundry basket overflowing by the kitchen door. Saffron snatched two mismatched socks—one thick grey hiking sock, the other a faded purple ankle sock—and pressed the grey one down hard over Isobel’s eyes. Isobel jerked her head aside instinctively, but Saffron caught her jaw, fingers digging into soft flesh as she yanked the blindfold tight and knotted it at the crown of her skull. Strands of blonde hair tangled in the knot. Next came the gag—Saffron bunched the purple sock into a tight wad, wedging it past Isobel’s clenched teeth. Isobel gagged, choking on wool fibers; Saffron leaned her full weight onto Isobel’s shoulders, forcing her mouth open wider to cram it deeper. A muffled whimper escaped as Saffron secured the knot of a plaid scarf behind Isobel’s head, pulling so fiercely the fibres tore at the corners of her lips as the sock was forced deeper into her cousin’s mouth.

Jan knelt beside Isobel’s bound feet, the final length of sisal rope coiled heavy in her hands. She hooked it around Isobel’s elbows, already straining against the ropes pulling them toward her spine, then looped it down sharply to cinch her ankles—already lashed snugly together—pulling them upward. Isobel’s body bowed violently inward; her shoulders screamed backwards while her hips jerked off the rug. Jan hauled the rope taut, knotting it with two brutal half-hitches. The sisal bit into Isobel’s wrists where they strained against the elbows, and deep grooves formed above her heels. Every breath Isobel took came as shallow rasps against the sock-gag—her ribs couldn’t expand. She lay utterly trussed, a taut curve of rope and trembling muscle on the rug.

“Tight enough?”

Saffron’s whisper cut through the crackle of the fire. Isobel responded with a strained whine muffled by the purple sock gagging her—a wet, desperate sound. Her chest heaved shallowly, ribs straining against the ropes cinching elbows to ankles. Every gasp sucked wool fibers deeper onto her tongue. The blindfold’s knot dug into her scalp where Saffron had wrenched it tight, pulling strands of blonde hair taut. Rain lashed the windows, echoing the ragged rhythm of Isobel’s breathing.

Jan traced a fingertip along the rope digging into Isobel’s ankles, The cords had already raised angry red welts where it bit into her skin. "Mrs. Saunders’ diary mentioned you screaming," she murmured, leaning closer. Isobel flinched as Jan’s breath warmed her ear. "Bet you didn’t sound this pathetic." Isobel jerked violently against her bonds—a futile spasm that only tightened the ropes. Her muffled sob vibrated against the gag as Jan ran a finger nail over her bare soles.

Saffron chuckled lowly, stretching her legs out with a sigh. She nudged Isobel’s bound elbows with her black nylon encased foot. "Move over, Izzy." Isobel whimpered as Saffron pressed her sweaty feet firmly into the small of her cousin’s back, using her rigidly arched spine as a footrest. Jan mirrored the gesture, resting her own socked heels against Isobel’s trembling shins. The heat from their feet seeped through Isobel’s jeans, a stark contrast to the cold sisal ropes. Isobel trembled, her shallow breaths whistling wetly against the sock crammed in her mouth.

"Comfortable?" Jan murmured, not looking away from the glittering swirl of dancers on the TV screen. She pressed down harder with her heels, grinding Isobel’s pinned legs deeper into the rug. A muffled groan escaped Isobel; Saffron dug her toes harder into the knotted ropes binding Isobel’s elbows, eliciting another choked sound. The rough weave of Jan’s slipper socks scratched against Isobel’s denim-clad calves while Saffron’s nylons slid stickily over Isobel’s thin t-shirt covering her spine.

Jan wriggled her toes inside the thick slipper socks, feeling the heat build against Isobel’s skin. With deliberate slowness, she hooked her thumbs under the socks’ fuzzy cuffs and peeled them off, one after the other, dropping them beside the wine glass. The firelight flickered across bare feet, warmed now from earlier rain. Jan flexed her painted toes—red and green against the muted rug—before sliding them back along Isobel’s shins, this time skin-to-denim. The rasp of fabric under her soles sent vibrations through Isobel’s rigidly arched legs.

Her bare toes crept lower, tracing the curve of Isobel’s rope-bound ankles. Jan’s big toe found the swell of Isobel’s heel, digging lightly into the groove left by the sisal. Then, deliberately, she slid her foot fully under Isobel’s bound soles. The rough denim of Isobel’s jeans pressed against Jan’s arch, but she curled her toes upward, seeking softer skin. Her nails scraped lightly against the hem above Isobel’s sock-free ankles—a feathery touch that made Isobel flinch violently. Her gagged cry was thick and muffled, drowned by the TV’s upbeat music.

Saffron watched, lips curving. She lifted her stockinged foot from Isobel’s back, leaving a damp imprint on the thin t-shirt. Slowly, deliberately, she shifted her weight forward. Her remaining heel pressed into Isobel’s shoulder blades as she leaned down, nylon stretching taut. Her eyes locked on Isobel’s face—tense, blindfolded, mouth forced open by the sock-gag. With a soft exhale, Saffron lowered herself. The sole of her black stocking settled firmly over Isobel’s nose. Warm, moist nylon met flushed skin. Isobel jerked her head sideways, a frantic twist muffled by the rug. Saffron followed the movement, pressing down harder. Her heel ground into the rug as her toes pinched the bridge of Isobel’s nose. The pressure was insistent, unyielding. Isobel’s breathing hitched—a desperate whistle as her nostrils fought for air past the suffocating nylon.

“How long was Izzy kept tied up by Mrs Saunder’s in her diary.”

“Oh hours and hours. She didn’t really know. It was lunch time when she was caught and hogtied back stage. It was long after the school day ended when she was thrown in the swimming pool.”

“Oh shall we?”

“If only we had a swimming pool sweetie.”

“I could fill the bath mum.”

[Heinrich.Frederick]

Amazing continuation. Hope to see the next part soon.

[drgoremd]

I love how they incorporated Isobel's girl detective fantasy into the play.

[TightsBound]

Caught up on the last two chapters. I really love how descriptive you are with the bindings and struggling, as though we are right there with them. Thank you as always for writing!

[Takitaki]

Amazing to have you back writing this, one of my favorite stories

[Boundgirl09]

I’m beginning to identify with Izzy here. I wish I had an aunt like Jan to bring my captured snoop fantasies to life..

[Janbound]

”Eeeemmmppphhh. Ging ewwwww ddrrggg neeee.” Saffron screamed into her gag as Saffron sorayed her back with the cold power shower. She curled her toes and shook her head side romside trying to escape the cold jet.

“Aw Izzy, that’s just the start,” Jan cooed, twisting the bath tap with slow deliberation. The pipes groaned before spitting out a weak stream of tepid water that pooled around Isobel’s chest. Saffron traced a finger along the edge of Isobel’s bare left foot watching her twitch “We wouldn’t want you catching a chill before the main event, would we?” Jan continued.

Isobel felt the damp cotton of her t-shirt clinging tighter as the water rose past her ribs. The denim jeans absorbed the liquid like a sponge, the rough fabric swelling against her thighs. She kicked weakly, her wrists and ankles protesting against the nylon rope with every jerk of her body—but the hogtie held firm, keeping her arched awkwardly in the porcelain tub.

“How dis Izzy escape in the diary mum?” Saffron asked, glancing at her mum weilding the showerhead, directs the cold jet againstvher neice. Water dripped from Isobel’s hair running down her face. Jan’s painted fingernails tapped against the porcelain as she leaned down, her breath warm against Isobel’s ear. “Oh darling, she had used her nail file to scrape through the hemp rope round her wrists for the past few hours, so after she had been thrown into the pool and Mrs Suanders left her, she broke the rooes round her wrists, kicked her way to the side then climbed out and untied herself.

“Has Issy git a nailfile?”

“No. I emptied her pockets before I put her in the bath.”

Jan’s voice carried a sing-song lilt as she nudged the tap another quarter-turn with her elbow. The water’s steady trickle became a pulsing rush, climbing toward the hollow of Isobel’s throat. Her gagged whimpers hitched higher as the liquid lapped at her chin—then her head tilted back instinctively, nostrils flaring above the surface. Saffron giggled, crouching to flick water into her cousin’s face. “Bet she’s thinking real hard about breathing right now,” she whispered, tapping Isobel’s swollen jeans with the showerhead.

The cold spray hit Isobel’s collarbones like a hundred needle pricks. She bucked, her shoulders slamming against the tub’s rim with a wet thud. The movement only drove her face deeper into the rising water; her nostrils dipped under. Jan’s shadow loomed over the edge, fingers twining in Isobel’s sopping hair to yank her head up just long enough to hear her gasp before letting go again. “That’s the spirit,” she murmured. “Proper drowning girls thrash so much prettier.” Isobel just managed to keep her nose above water as Saffron sprayed the soles of her feet with the cold shower.

The tap creaked as Jan shut it off. But ver6 little relief for Isobel, her gag-muffled breathing and occasional moans and shrieks as her cousin tortured her, not knowing where the cold water would strike n3xt. Her wet jeans clung around her legs, weighing her down. Every twitch made the ropes saw deeper into her ankles and wrists. She could feel the nylon fibers grinding against her wrist bones, wet and unyielding.

Saffron giggled, swinging the showerhead in lazy arcs—letting the icy spray dance across Isobel’s bottom, then her back, then the taut rope between her bound wrists and ankles. Each sudden burst of cold made Isobel jerk, her muscles seizing, only to slump back into the water with a defeated splash. Jan perched on the edge of the tub, idly swirling a finger in the water near Isobel’s ear. “You know what I love?” she mused, watching a droplet trail down Isobel’s temple. “How heavy wet denim gets.” To demonstrate, she grabbed a fistful of Isobel’s soaked jeans and tugged—dragging her deeper into the water until it sloshed over her lower lip.

"Nooommppphhhh."

Isobel’s head snapped forward as the water hit her chin, her nostrils flaring just above the surface. She could already feel the weight of her clothes pulling her down—the denim stiffening like wet cardboard against her thighs, the t-shirt plastered to her ribs with every frantic breath. Jan’s fingers lingered on the tap, her smirk widening as she turned it back on full bkast for around ten seconds.

“Saffy. I think she’s had enough. We dont really want to drown her.”

“Ohhhh.” Saffron groaned.

Isobel’s gagged scream hitched into something desperate as the fresh surge of water climbed past her chin, her nostrils dipping beneath the surface. The cold hit her sinuses first—sharp and sudden—before her body convulsed violently, ropes digging into her flesh as she arched backward. Jan’s grip on her hair was the only thing keeping her face above water now, fingers twisted so tight Isobel felt her hair was about to come out at the roots.

Then—pop. The plug lifted with a wet suck, and the water began its slow retreat. It didn’t drain fast enough. Isobel’s chest heaved against the sodden fabric of her t-shirt, her lungs burning as she gulped air through her nose and fought through the gag. The waterline crept down her neck, then her collarbones, leaving her skin puckered and clammy. Saffron pouted, nudging the showerhead against Isobel’s ribs. “Already?” she whined, but Jan just clicked her tongue, watching the swirling vortex above the drain with clinical interest.

The denim clung heavier now, waterlogged and stiff, pinning Isobel’s legs to the tub like makeshift cement. Every twitch sent cold rivulets trickling into the gaps between her skin and fabric. Jan traced a fingernail along Isobel’s shivering thigh, peeling back a section of soaked jeans to reveal the raw, rope-burned skin beneath. “Look at that,” she murmured. “All that thrashing really does leave marks.” The water slipped lower, exposing Isobel’s stomach, the t-shirt plastered to her like a second skin, translucent where it hadn’t been before.

“We need to untie her, let her have a shower and change.” Said Jan, picking at the knots.

“Ohhh.” Saffron groaned again.

Half an hour later

Isobel curled her toes against the plush rug, the fire’s heat continuing to chase the chill from her bones, following thenwork kf yhe lucurious warm shower. The towels smelled faintly of lavender—Jan’s doing, probably—but the scent couldn’t mask the raw, throbbing ache where the ropes had bitten into her skin. Red welts circled her wrists like grotesque bracelets, the skin around them mottled and angry. She kept her ankles tucked beneath her, but every shift made the marks there burn anew.

“Sorry sweetie.” Jan cooed “were we a bitbtoo rough in you?” Her Cousin Saffron gave her a bug hug as her mother apologised.

Isobel twisted the towel tighter around herself, the terrycloth rasping against her damp skin. The fire popped, casting flickering shadows over Jan’s carefully arranged sympathy—the same fingers that had twisted her hair underwater now offering a mug of cocoa like some perverse peace treaty. Steam curled from the surface, as Isobel took it. “It was……more terrifying than id imagined.” She gave a little smile.

Saffron flopped onto the rug beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Too close. Isobel flinched, but her cousin didn’t seem to notice—just leaned in to inspect the rope burns with a fascination that bordered on reverence. “They’re kinda pretty,” Saffron declared, tracing a fingertip along the raised welts circling Isobel’s wrist. The touch stung, but the girl’s voice held none of the earlier malice—just a quiet, unsettling awe. “Like bracelets made of fire.”

Jan settled into the armchair opposite, crossing her legs with deliberate slowness. The firelight caught the soles of her feet, painting them in gold and shadow. She watched them over the rim of her teacup—a curator observing her latest exhibit. “Drink your cocoa, Izzy,” she murmured, nodding toward the mug still clutched between Isobel’s trembling hands. “Before it gets cold.”

“I suppose being yhrown knto a swimming pool tied jp gagged and bkindfolded would have been more terrifying.” She mused before taking a sip.

Isobel’s fingers tightened around the mug, the ceramic almost too hot against her tender skin. The cocoa was sweet—too sweet—with a hint of something bitter beneath the sugar. Maybe cinnamon, maybe something else. She took another cautious sip, her throat working as she swallowed past the lingering taste of bathwater and. The towel around her hair sagged, sending a lukewarm trickle down her spine that made her shiver despite the fire’s glow.

Saffrom began to rub a soothing cream into the red marks around her cousin’s ankles.

Isobel stared at the flames—dancers trapped behind glass—while Saffron’s fingers worked the cream into her rope burns with unsettling tenderness. The ointment smelled medicinal, sharp beneath its floral veneer, and it stung where her skin had been rubbed raw. But Saffron’s touch was almost gentle, her thumbs circling the swollen flesh with a precision that suggested practice. “There,” she murmured, pressing a fingertip to the worst of the marks just hard enough to make Isobel hiss. “All better.”

Jan set her teacup down with a soft *clink*, the sound slicing through the fire’s crackle. Her eyes never left Isobel’s face, tracking every flinch, every too-quick breath. “You did so well, darling,” she said, her voice syrup-thick. “Better than I expected, honestly.” She leaned forward, the firelight catching the silver streaks in her hair. “Most girls panic when the water hits their nose. But you—” Her smile widened. “You held your breath like a proper little scuba diver.”

“Well.” Said Isobel, “now ive escaped from the water peril, I think its time i was captured again.”

Both Saffron and Jan looked at her.

"Oh?" Said Jan, raising an eyebrow.

Isobel leaned forward, the towel slipping slightly off her shoulder as she met her aunt's gaze. "I think you need to make sure imdont run away in the night.”

[Takitaki]

Great new part

[hunt407]

What an absolutely awesome story! The descriptions of scene, people, and bondage make it very real in my mind, and the interactions between the characters are great. I particularly love the power reversal when the girls bind their aunt/mother and make her totally helpless. Would love another such episode if that flows in the story. But what I like most is simply you continuing this one. Really great.

[Boundgirl09]

That is such torture cold shower tied up. I like the way you contrast the tie up with the mundane cocoa in front of the fire.