Respect (FF/M)

[Bondageboi]

A young man with wandering hands is taught a lesson by two young women (all characters aged 18-21)


Katherine kept cracking her knuckles. Not the subtle pops most people manage—these were sharp, deliberate snaps that made the tendons in her hands flex visibly under her skin. She rolled her shoulders once, twice, shook the red curls out of her eyes, then exhaled through her nose like someone bracing for a fight. "You’re sure he won’t wake up?"

"Wouldn’t matter if he did," muttered Jenny. She yanked the nylon rope taut around the chair’s backrest, her fingers working with practiced efficiency. The fibers creaked under tension as she looped another knot. "Not like he could go anywhere."

A damp chill clung to the basement air, the kind that settled into bones. The boy’s bare foot twitched against the concrete—unconscious reflex, nothing more. Katherine nudged his ankle with the toe of her tan nylon covered foot, the black painted nails clearly visible. "Still out." She crouched, tilting her head to study his slack face. "You didn’t put *too* much in his drink, did you?"

Jenny snorted, adjusting the hem of her skirt where it rode up over black tights. "Please. Like I’d waste good drugs on him. Trust me: I’m a nurse" She tossed the rope’s loose end over her shoulder and stepped back to survey their handiwork. The chair legs scraped against the floor as she gave it an experimental shake. Solid.

Katherine’s fingers drummed against her thigh—tap, tap, tap—the sound muffled by the taetan fabric of her skirt. "So what now?" Her voice had a jagged edge to it, the kind that suggested she already knew the answer but wanted to hear it out loud.

Jenny smirked, fishing a roll of medical tape from her pocket. The flesh toned surface dull under the flickering basement light as she peeled off a strip with a slow, deliberate rip. "Now," she said, "we wait." She stretched the tape between her hands like a garrote, testing its give. "And the second those pretty brown eyes of his flutter open—" The tape snapped taut. "—we shut him up before he even gets a chance to scream. You got his socks?”

Katherine snorted, nudging the discarded white athletic socks with her foot. They lay in a crumpled heap near the boy’s running shoes and vest, still faintly damp with sweat. “Think he’ll notice if they’re musty?” She hooked them with her toes, flicking them toward Jenny with a practiced motion. The blonde caught them mid-air, wrinkling her nose at the faint musk clinging to the cotton.

Jenny pressed one sock flat against the edge of the chair, her lips curling into something between amusement and disgust. “Kid’s got strong feet.” She folded the fabric into a thick wad, then hesitated, glancing at the boy’s parted lips—soft, slack, vulnerable. “Or we could skip the gag entirely.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, fingers tightening around the sock. “See how loud he really is.”

Alan’s eyelids fluttered, his breathing hitching as consciousness seeped back in like a slow drip of ice water. First came the smell—mildew, synthetic fibers, and the metallic tang of Jenny’s red nail polish where she’d chipped it tying knots. Then the ache: wrists pinned behind him, shoulders stretched back, rope digging into his bare elbows, more cords dug into his stomach and the tops of his thighs where his shorts rode up, the cold press of the chair’s wooden legs against his calves. His toes curled instinctively against the concrete, searching for traction that wasn’t there.

A groan escaped him before he could bite it back. Katherine’s shadow fell across his face before he even opened his eyes fully—her knee planted on the chair’s armrest, her tan tights brushing his bare shoulder. “Oh good,” she purred, fingers twisting into his hair to yank his head back. “You’re *just* in time.”

Light seared his vision as he blinked up at her. The basement’s single bulb flickered above them, casting jagged shadows across the smirk she wore like a blade. Behind her, Jenny leaned against a rusted workbench, slowly winding the boy’s own sock around her fist. The sight of it—white fabric stretched taut between her fingers—sent a jolt of understanding through him. His throat tightened.

"Wait—" The word barely left his mouth before Katherine’s palm clamped over his lips. Her skin tasted like salt and the waxy residue of cheap hand lotion. He jerked back, chair legs screeching, but her grip only tightened, fingers digging into his jaw. Jenny moved in, sock wad hovering inches from his face. The sour-sweet tang of sweat and synthetic fibers hit his nostrils. His stomach lurched.

"Open wide," Jenny cooed, tapping the sock against his bottom lip like she was teasing a dog with a treat. He clenched his teeth, breath huffing through his nose—but Katherine’s thumb found the pressure point under his chin. Pain flared. His jaw unhinged with a gasp, and the sock plunged in, cotton bunching against his molars. Tape followed, cold adhesive sealing his lips before he could spit it out. The taste flooded his mouth: salt, the faint plastic tang of polyester, and something shamefully human underneath. His own scent.

Katherine leaned in, her breath warm against his ear. "Try biting," she murmured, "and I’ll feed you the other one heel-first." Her teeth grazed his earlobe—not hard enough to break skin, just enough to make his pulse jump. Behind her, Jenny rolled the boy’s remaining sock into a tight spiral, her black-tights-clad thighs bracketing his chair as she straddled his lap. The fabric of her skirt rasped against his bare knees. "Still think we’re joking?" She pressed the sock to his forehead, letting it unspool slowly down the bridge of his nose. "You’ve got five seconds to nod if you want to keep breathing through that nose."

Alan’s nostrils flared against the tape, his chest heaving as the sock slithered over his lips. A whimper vibrated in his throat—half-panic, half-surrender—before he jerked his head in a frantic nod. Jenny’s laughter curled around him, low and pleased. "Smart boy." She hooked the sock behind his ear like a grotesque headband, the damp toe dangling near his temple. "Now here’s the rules: You don’t speak unless we tell you to. You don’t move unless we let you." Her fingernail traced the edge of the tape, catching on a wrinkle. "And if you’re *very* good..." She leaned in, her lips brushing his cheekbone. "We’ll tell you when you need to use your mouth."

“And your hands.”

Alan’s muffled protest died against the gag as Kathrrine wound tape round his head from chin to just under nose, his fingers twitching uselessly. Katherine snorted, her knee digging harder into the chair’s armrest. “Oh, he’s *creative.*” She dragged a fingernail down his chest, slow enough to raise goosebumps. “Locker room groping. ‘Accidental’ brushes in the cafeteria. Even—” Her grip tightened, wrenching his wrist back at a brutal angle. “—palming asses during team huddles. Right, *champ?*”

Jenny chuckled, pressing a palm to Alan’s bound forearm, forcing it flat against the chair. “Bet you didn’t think we’d check the security footage.” Her thumb found the soft skin of his inner wrist—circling, mocking. “Or that Becky from Chem would *finally* snap.” She leaned in, her black tights rasping against his bare thighs as she straddled his lap again. “But here’s the fun part.” Her breath ghosted over his taped mouth. “Your hands? Useless now.” She flicked the rope digging into his stomach. “And *we* get to decide what touches *you.*”

“Our hands.” Katherine grinned “by cintrast, can go wherever we want.” And she ran a finger nail down his bidy from his neck down to tye wiast band of his shorts. Meanwhile Jenny pinched his left nipple between thumb and finger.

“And there’s nothing youncan do about it.”

Alan’s breath hitched as Katherine’s fingers skated lower, tracing the waistband of his shorts before dipping just beneath—enough to make his stomach muscles jump. Jenny’s grip on his nipple tightened, twisting just shy of pain, her smirk widening at the choked sound muffled behind the gag. The basement air hummed with the creak of rope, the rustle of nylon-clad thighs shifting against his bare ones, and the wet, ragged pull of his own breathing through his nose.

Then Katherine’s hands were *there*, sliding between his thighs with a surgeon’s precision, her fingers spidering inward until—*squeeze*. The pressure came sudden and brutal, her thumbs digging into the tender parts inside his shorts, her nails biting crescent moons into him. Alan bucked, chair legs skidding an inch on the concrete, the ropes burning against his wrists as he instinctively tried to clamp his legs shut. Impossible. Her grip was iron, relentless, her knuckles pressing hard enough into his inner thighs to make his vision pulse white at the edges. He screamed as loud as he could into the gag, but it was as effective as the girls intended.

“Not so much fun now is it?”

“Not when it’s your body and somone else’s hands.”

“Not when you cant do anything to stop it.”

“Because you’re all tied up.”

Katherine’s fingers dug deeper, her knuckles grinding against the sensitive flesh of Alan’s inner thighs with the same clinical cruelty of a tourniquet. His scream dissolved into a wet, gagged choke as his body arched against the ropes, his toes scraping uselessly against the concrete. Every twitch only gave her more leverage—her thumbs found the exact spot where muscle met tendon and pressed down like she was testing fruit for ripeness. The pain radiated outward in sharp, electric pulses, his shorts riding up further with each desperate squirm.

“Shall I put my boots on and kick him where it hurts?” Asked Katherine.

“No need for that.” Sain Jenny placing one knee on the seatvbetween Alan’s thighs and leaning forward so her weight pressed harshly on his most sensitive area “Yet. But we could crush his toes.” Grabbing his hair to pull his head back.

Jenny’s grin was all teeth as she swung her black tights clad legs off Alan’s lap, her feet hitting the concrete with deliberate precision. The click of her heels echoed in the damp basement—sharp, authoritative—as she positioned herself at his feet. Katherine followed suit, her knee-high boots scuffing against the floor as she zipped them up, standing by Alan’s other foot, the leather creaking under her shifting weight. Alan’s toes curled instinctively, his bare soles pressing flat against the cold concrete, as if that could somehow protect him. It couldn’t.

“You know what I love about guys like you?” Jenny murmured, rolling her heel experimentally over his left foot, the pointed tip hovering just above his smallest toe. “You never think about how *fragile* you are.” The heel came down—slow at first, then with sudden, crushing force. A muffled shriek tore from Alan’s throat as the bone ground under her weight, his body jerking against the ropes. Katherine’s boot followed suit, the thick sole flattening his right foot entirely, her weight shifting forward to maximize the pressure. The sickening pop of a toe joint giving way was barely audible over the wet, choked sounds behind the gag. Jenny and Katherine were not the heaviest of womev but they knew just how to use their weight, especially using narrow goes and heels, to get results.

Jenny crouched, her black tights stretching taut as she gripped Alan’s ankle, inspecting the damage with clinical interest. “Two toes. Maybe three.” She tapped the swollen, purpling flesh with a fingernail, grinning at his flinch. “Still think grabbing asses is funny?” Her hand slid up his calf, nails raking faint red lines into his skin before suddenly *digging* into the back of his knee. Alan’s leg spasmed violently, his scream muffled by the sock and tape as she hit the nerve cluster with pinpoint accuracy.

“Wnat to look up my skirt now?” Called Katherine as she climbed onto his thighs , holding his hairvtomsteady herself, one boot digging into each thigh.

Alan’s vision swam—half from pain, half from the dizzying proximity of Katherine’s tan tights, the fabric stretched taut as she straddled his lap. The scent of her shampoo—something cheap and fruity—clung to her skirt as it brushed his nose. Jenny’s fingers were already working at the waistband of his shorts, her nails catching on the elastic. “Think he’s learned his lesson yet?” she mused, her breath warm against his ear before Katherine sqatted, squeezing his head between her thighs.

Katherine laughed, grinding down deliberately, the hard edge of her boot’s zipper biting into his face. “Doubt it.” She flicked his nose with a fingernail. “Boys like him don’t learn until they’re *broken*.” Her hands slid up his chest, fingers spidering up his ribs—not tickling, not teasing, just *claiming*. Every inch of skin she touched felt branded, his muscles twitching under her cold, deliberate touch.

Jenny leaned in, her breath hot against his collarbone as her thumbs found his nipples again—pinching, rolling them between her fingers until the skin blanched white under the pressure. Then her nails dug in, sharp as cat claws, twisting *slowly*, like she was unscrewing bottle caps. Alan’s back bowed off the chair, his scream muffled to a wet, nasal whine as fire lanced through his chest. The pain was *bright*, electric, radiating down to his stomach in nauseating waves. Jenny’s lips curled, her grip tightening further—*twist*—until the skin threatened to split. “Bet no one’s ever touched you like this,” she murmured, her voice syrup-sweet. “Bet you never even *thought* about how much it *hurts*.”

Katherine jumped down, the impression of her boots clear on her thighs. “Shall we use the TENS machine?”

Jenny pulled a black box from her pocket and unraveled wires with little pads on the end. “Oh yes. Let’s hook it up to his thighs and toes.”

Alan thrashed against the ropes, his nostrils flaring as Jenny knelt and pressed the cold electrodes to the bruised flesh of his inner thighs—right where Katherine’s fingers had dug in earlier. The adhesive stuck with a faint *click*, the wires trailing like spider legs toward the device in Jenny’s hand. Katherine crouched beside his feet, peeling back the cover of the sticky electrodes and wrapping them around his swollen toes before attaching more pads. "Insulation," she said cheerfully, flicking the dial with her thumb. "Wouldn't want the current to *wander*."

The first jolt hit without warning—a white-hot lance straight through his nervous system. Alan’s spine arched, his gagged scream shredding into static as his muscles locked rigid. The current pulsed again, lower this time, a cruel mimicry of circulation that left his toes twitching like dying insects. Jenny adjusted the settings, her black-tights-clad knee pressing into his thigh to keep him still. "Funny, isn’t it?" she mused, watching the veins in his neck bulge. "All those times you cornered girls in empty hallways, you never imagined *this*." The dial turned higher.

Katherine traced a finger along the wire snaking up his leg, her nail catching on the adhesive. "Twenty volts for groping," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear. "Thirty for the locker room ‘accidents.’" The machine buzzed—a sound like a dentist’s drill—and Alan’s body seized again, his heels drumming against the concrete. The scent of singed cotton and sweat filled the air as his shorts darkened with moisture.

“Were being kind to you.” Teased Jenny “Imagine jf these wires were inside your shorts.”

[LunaDog]

I think it's called, 'learning the HARD way!'