Saturday chores (F/self, F/F)

[Janbound]

Married at 22, pregnant at 23, mother at 24, mother if two at 26 amf three at 28, divorced at 30, brunette Sammie, now aged 32, had a weekend to herself. Children with their father, Saturday morning, she decided to indulge herself in her own sprcial way.

Wearing shott denim cutoffs and a tight red top, no bra, she leant forward to,locks the cuffs around her ankles. She now had about a foot of hobble space as her barefeet scraped on the kitchen tiles. Next she buckled the gag tight between her teeth. She looked at her reflection the kitched window and grinned around the big red ball. She popped the keys to the ankle cuffs and hand cuffs into the electronic box and adjusted the settings before reaching behind her to,fasten the cuffs around hervwrists.

She hobbled into the hallway and looked at herself in the full length mirror, twisting and turning, admiring how her shoulders pulled back thrust her chest out against her tight red top. She wiggled her hips, turned around to look over her shoulder to see her hands cuffed in the small of her back and raised her knees to expose rhe soles of her feet starting to show the dirt from the floors.

“Time to begin.” She thought to herself and hobbled back to the kitchen. This was her fantasy. A shackled, gagged, barefoot slave. Her ex had furst got her interested in bondage but wheras he wanted her biund for sex, she had a more “holistic” view of tie up games, loving the feel of restraint for every day. Children however curtailed this. The odd game of cops and robbers was her one indulgence with them to be tied up.

So she began to struggle with mops, dusters, bryshes as her cleaning routine began.

A sudden beep had her hobbling quickly accross the kitchen from the sink to the table to press the button in the box. Initially, she had set the timer to one hour but with a little twist; randomly between 4 and ten minutes the bix would beep. Sammie had 15 seconds to press the reset button or 10 minutes would be added to the time before she could get the keys for her wrist and ankle cuffs.

She was licking inside the ball gag as she strained to reach the washing machine. The beep sounded again. She turned too sharply and stumbled sideways into the countertop knocking the wind out of herself. A sharp gasp escaped around the gag. She lay there a moment rubbing her ribs where she had collided with the countertop, then rolled to her knees. As she struggled up she heard the low tone indicating she had missed the buzzer. The timer flashed 1 hour 40 minutes remaining.

The sharp tang of lemon cleaner filled her nostrils as she scrubbed the kitchen floor tiles next. Her bare knees were raw pink from kneeling already. Sweat plastered strands of dark hair to her temples, and her red top clung damply to her chest and back. Hobbling forced her movements into stiff little shuffles, rattling her ankle chain softly with each step. The constant pressure of the cuffs digging into her wrists behind her back had become a low, persistent ache. Time blurred into sensations: the scrape of rough tiles under her feet, the sticky wetness on her skin, the muffled sound of her own rhythmic breathing around the gag. Another beep sounded just as she was trying to scrub a stubborn coffee stain. She scrambled awkwardly towards the table, almost falling again. Her fingertip jabbed the reset button a bare second before the penalty tone.

Breathing hard through her nose, she hobbled towards the bathroom, her focus narrowing. The bathtub awaited a scouring. Perching precariously on the cold porcelain edge, she stretched her legs to grip a wet rag she'd prepared earlier. She wiggled her toes, gripping the folded cloth tightly between them, her soles inadvertently grinding grime from the floor onto the shiny bathnsurface. Twisting her torso against her bound arms, she managed to dunk the rag into the tub water, soaking it again. It was clumsy work, her toes straining to hold the sodden cloth while she dragged it back and forth across the enamel surface. The strain pulled her shoulders sharply backwards, emphasizing the thrust of her chest against the damp fabric of her top. Just as she managed to lift the cloth-covered toes awkwardly towards a stubborn soap scum ring high on the tub wall...

...A sharp, intrusive chime echoed through the quiet house. The doorbell. Sammie froze mid-scrub, toes clenched tightly around the wet rag. Panic flared instantly, hot and bright. *Who?* Her mind raced through possibilities: delivery? Neighbor? The impossibility of answering in her current state slammed into her. She was utterly exposed – barefoot, gagged, wrists locked behind her back, ankles chained, sweaty and dishevelled. The fantasy abruptly collided with jarring reality. She frantically looked towards the mirror above the washbasin, catching a glimpse of her helpless posture perched on the tub edge. A muffled groan escaped the red ball gag. If it was a neighbour it was trivia that could wait, a delivery she’d pretended to be out and collect it later.

Sammie continued her cleaning efforts, swinging her hobbled legs back to the bathroom floor, when the chime sounded again, immediately followed by the distinct metallic scraping of a key turning in the front door lock. Sammie’s blood ran cold. Only Ruth had that spare key – Ruth, her best friend since college, the one person she trusted implicitly... and the *last* person she wanted to see like this. Every plan, every carefully constructed minute of this solitary indulgence evaporated. The electronic timer box, still blinking its countdown from the tiles beside her, felt like a mocking beacon of her predicament. She strained, trying to hop down silently from the tub ledge, the chain jangling softly against the porcelain.

"Sam? You home?" Ruth's voice echoed cheerfully from the hallway, accompanied by the thump of her oversized tote bag hitting the floorboards. "Forgot my charger this morning after our coffee run, figured you wouldn't mind..." She wandered into the hallway, dressed in a white off the shouldervtshirt, knee length black skirt and strappy heels. “You upstairs?” She said hesring the thud of Sammie falling to the floor. A grunt followed from the landing. “Hey Sammie. Are you OK up th…….” Her words trailed off abruptly as she rounded the corner and looked up to see a ball gagged Sammie rolling across the landing.

Time seemed to crystallize. Ruth stood frozen, her easy grin vanishing, replaced by open-mouthed astonishment. Her gaze swept over Sammie: the wild, sweaty hair plastered to her forehead, the strained posture forcing her bound wrists deep into the small of her back, the tight red top emphasizing her chest thrust forward, her erect nipples pressed against the thin, wet fabric, the distinct red ball gag silencing her. Sammie could only stare back, frozen in mute panic and humiliation, her face flushing crimson beneath her sweat and grime.

Then a strangled sound escaped Ruth – a choked cough that abruptly bloomed into genuine, uncontrollable laughter. She doubled over slightly, a hand flying to her mouth before dropping away, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, Sammie!" she gasped between bursts of laughter, climbing the final steps towards her friend sprawled awkwardly on the landing. "Is... is this what you do on your kid-free weekends? Jesus Christ, hon!" The sheer absurdity of finding her best friend handcuffed, shavkled and gagged in the middle of Saturday chores cut through her initial shock, leaving only bewildered hilarity. She leaned against the banister, catching her breath, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "Are... are you *okay*? Did you trip, or...?" Her eyes flickered to the electronic box beside Sammie's hip, its display blinking steadily. "...how long have you been doing this?"

Ruth crouched down cautiously, her strappy heels clicking softly on the wooden floor. Her laughter subsided into amazed curiosity as she surveyed the scene up close – the flushed face, the straining shoulders, the shiny cuffs digging into tender ankles above the dirty feet. She reached out tentatively, her fingers hovering near the red ball gag. "Oh, honey," she murmured, her tone softening from amusement to gentle teasing concern. "If only youd told me." As she unbuckled the gag and slipped it out of Sammy's mouth, Sammy exhaled sharply, releasing a wet gasp that had been trapped deep within her chest.

Sammy twisted her bound wrists, trying to shift into a less vulnerable position as Ruth finished freeing her mouth. "It was... ahhh... just a game," Sammy stammered, her throat scratchy and raw from the gag. "Wasnt expecting... anyone... to..." She felt unbearably exposed, her wet top clinging to her chest as Ruth's gaze lingered on her bound form. Her cheeks burned hotter than her aching wrists as Ruth ran a light fingertip along the chain connecting her ankles, the cool metal against her bare skin making her flinch.

“So. Whilst you tell me what the hell is gijng on.” At this Ruth couldnt help suppress a giggle.” Do i unlock yiu ir keve yiu turd up. Atvthat point a beep eminated from the bathroom brhind Sammie.

“Quick, press the button!” Sammie shouted urgently, jerking her head towards the electronic box sitting innocuously on the bathroom tiles. Her eyes widened in panic, the momentary relief of the gag’s removal instantly replaced by renewed dread. Ruth, eyebrows arched high, scurried past Sammie’s sprawled legs on the landing, her strappy heels tapping rapidly. Just as the low, warning tone began to sound – signifying a missed deadline – Ruth’s fingertip jabbed the reset button. The display blinked calmly as it added 10 minutes to its countdown: 1 hour 25 minutes remaining. Sammie sagged against the floorboards, releasing the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Ruth swiveled, leaning her hip casually against the bathroom doorframe, arms crossed. Her gaze travelled slowly, deliberately, from Sammie’s flushed face down her damp, straining torso to her bound wrists tucked painfully behind her and the vulnerable soles of her dirty feet. A slow, intrigued smile played on Ruth’s lips, entirely different from her earlier laughter. “Alright, Sammie,” she murmured, her voice low and unexpectedly steady. “Forget leaving you trussed. Explain this *game*. Properly.” She bent closer, the scent of her expensive jasmine perfume cutting through the lingering lemon cleaner aroma. “This isn’t just about cleaning, is it? Tell me *everything*.”

“It all started with Ben. He used to tie me up in bed, I like to be tied up running riund the hiuse, trying to get away. But then kids came and we were stuck with bedroom games, and iften interrupted too!” Sammie’s voice was hoarse, strained against the lingering ache in her jaw. Her naked toes curled against the gritty landing floorboards as Ruth’s perfume mingled with sweat and lemon cleaner. She shifted, trying to relieve the pinch of the cuffs digging into her wrists.

“So …..l I just wanted to feel it again. The helplessness. The effort. Doing normal things…but bound.” Her breath hitched as Ruth’s cool fingertip traced the chain between her ankles again—a slow, deliberate drag that sent a tremor up her spine. ‘So when kids are away……”

“Mummy can play.” Finished Ruth. “But what about that beeping box?”

Sammie froze. Ruth’s fingertip stayed lightly resting on the chain between her ankles, its coolness contrasting sharply with the heat radiating from Sammie’s skin. The perfume scent felt suddenly cloying. Explaining the box felt like revealing the core mechanism, laying bare the precise degree of her self-imposed helplessness.

"I…" she stammered, her gaze darting from Ruth’s intensely curious eyes to the blinking timer display niw showing 1:23. "The keys are lovked inside fir an hour. It... it randomizes. A beep between four and ten minutes. Fifteen seconds to press..." She trailed off, acutely conscious of Ruth’s unwavering stare, her friend absorbing every detail of her predicament—the sweat-damp skin, the strained shoulders, the raw pink knees, the quiet desperation in her explanation. "Miss it… ten minutes added."

Ruth knelt silently, her expression shifting from playful intrigue to something unsettlingly thoughtful. Her fingers moved deliberately as her fingers traced Sammie’s ankle cuffs, her thumb pressing gently into the faint indentation they’d left on her grimy skin—a practical act that somehow felt like peeling back another layer. "So," Ruth murmured, her voice soft yet charged. "You are trapped. Genuinely trapped. Until..." She tilted her head towards the box, her gaze lingering on Sammie’s cuffed wrists still fiercely pinned behind her. She didn’t reach for them.

With startling abruptness Ruth stood, her heels clicking back towards the bathroom. Sammie craned her neck painfully to watch her friend lift the timer box from the tiles. Ruth studied it coolly—her gaze traveled across the settings Sammie had painstakingly adjusted earlier that morning. “So let me get this straight. As long as i hold this box, i get to choose whether the button is pudhed ir not? And if I hold this box, even whrn the time has run out, I still hold the keys.”

Sammie’s heart began thudding violently against her ribs—each beat echoed the chain’s faint jingle as she tried twisting onto her side. Ruth’s sudden shift into calm calculation terrified her more than the laughter had. The potent scent of jasmine clung thickly to the air as Ruth strolled back, holding the box loosely in one hand—her nails tapping against its plastic casing like fingertips drumming on a judge’s bench. A thin, knowing smile unfolded slowly on Ruth’s face—she watched Sammie’s frantic attempts to rise only to stumble back onto her knees.

“Yes.” Ahe whimpered.

Ruth walked back to Sammie, heels clincing. She pushed the gag back in her friends mouth and buckled it in place. “On yiur feet Sammie. You have cleaning to do.”

Sammie scrabbled against the landing floorboards, desperate for purchase with her bare feet. Her bound shoulders heaved as she attempted to lever herself up, knees scraping againstcarpet and wood. Hobbling upright took agonizing seconds—each shift forced her wrists deeper into the small of her back. Ruth merely watched, box held casually at her hip. "The hallway," she instructed flatly, pointing towards a neglected cobweb dangling near the ceiling. Sammie’s muffled groan vibrated against the gag as she shuffled forward—the chain now clinking louder, echoing Ruth’s rhythmic taps on the timer box and heels on the stairs.

[brasileira2]

Very good writing. Will there be more? Perhaps intimately describing how Ruth might treat her friend after discovering her bondage feelings. Maybe a strict hogtie? Thank you

[Ropesworn]

Wow that was very entertaining and has great flow to the story. Would love a second chapter!

[uemndlr]

Very nice idea, and I enjoy your writing style! Looking forward to how it continues!

“So. Whilst you tell me what the hell is gijng on.” At this Ruth couldnt help suppress a giggle.” Do i unlock yiu ir keve yiu turd up. Atvthat point a beep eminated from the bathroom brhind Sammie.

Perhaps you could have a look at the typos? Or is "Do i unlock yiu ir keve yiu turd up" some dialect?

[LunaDog]

Wow that was very entertaining and has great flow to the story. Would love a second chapter!

I completely agree with this. Definitely makes 'cleaning' less boring!

[BachelorInDistress]

I really like the writing style. Very descriptive.

[IrvinKlaw]

Great start, I hope to hear more of their adventures!!

[dezz]

I haven't commented on the forum in a year, but this story deserves to be praised. I really like it. I'm looking forward to the sequel. Will it be?

[milagros317]

This is a wonderful story! Please write a continuation.