01 - Incident with neighbor
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By Kate
Sunday, August 10th 2003 - 12:36:03 AM
Incident with neighbor
I woke up one bright Saturday morning when I was 16, looking forward to lounging around that morning in my empty house. My parents were spending the weekend at a cottage closer to the mountains, and my older brother was busy taking summer courses at West Point. Clad comfortably in a T-shirt and pajama shorts, I quickly examined my shoulder-length reddish-brown hair and slightly freckled face in the bathroom mirror, and decided I could afford to go through the work of a morning shower later on. Instead, I put on a bathrobe, grabbed a glass of orange juice from the fridge, and sat down on the couch preparing to watch some Saturday morning cartoons.
Unfortunately, my routine was suddenly ruined by some soft banging on my back door. Confused, I walked back through my kitchen and opened the door. There stood my neighbor, Mrs. Franks, a woman I thoroughly disliked. While only around the age of 30, she acted like a bitter old widow, if bitter old widows were also sluts. Only, this morning she appeared different - She was clad only in a set of white cotton bra and panties, her arms tightly bound behind her back, and her knees and ankles tied, making it visibly difficult for her to maintain her balance. Her eyes looked tired, and her short dark hair was dishevelled, made even more so by the red ball strapped into her mouth, which I now know as, oddly enough, a ball gag.
Immediately a devilish grin spread on my face.
Mrs. Franks and her husband had moved into the house next door when I was around 11, and I immediately disliked her. They were newlyweds at the time, yet she dressed as if she was still dating. She'd already had a child in a previous marriage, but she was still in good shape, and she liked to show it in bared-midriff halter tops and short skirts. Even now I'm slightly uncomfortable seeing my friends undo their bikini tops while sunbathing, so one can imagine how I felt seeing a far older woman (in my eyes) lounging in her yard in only a thong bikini. Worse than that, though, was her personality. As soon as she moved in, she assumed control of the neighborhood, acting as the Chairperson of the KGB for the "rowdy" neighboring children, making her a target of hatred for all the kids and some parents, unfortunately excluding mine, who thought she was great. Oddly enough, her husband was especially friendly. Somewhat handsome and very quiet, his personality was a complete opposite of his wife's, and he was one of the few adults that I truly respected.
My warm feelings toward Mr. Franks didn't ease any of the tension between his wife and me, however. Our resentment caused her to act in surprisingly petty ways. After one heated debate when I was 12 over the right for my dog to relieve himself so often in my own back yard (it apparently lowered Mrs. Franks's house property value), she decided on revenge. Taking advantage of some other children who accidentally hit a baseball into her flower bed, and subsequently trampled the flower bed in their effort to retrieve the ball, my neighbor immediately informed my parents that it was in fact me who destroyed the flowers. My parents, both active in our church and firm believers in discipline, promptly punished me with two day's worth of grounding. When I later questioned Mrs. Franks about the validity of her claim, she later informed my parents with the even more absurd tale of my threatening her life over her getting me in trouble. Now I was grounded for a whole week. But this was only a warm-up for further incidences.
By far the worst encounter with Mrs. Franks happened when I was 15 when I was in charge of babysitting my three younger cousins while my parents spent the day with my aunt and uncle. Near the end of an exciting game of Cowboys'n Indians , me being the sole cowgirl, I was captured during a shootout and was to be burned at the stake. The game had been well thought out with the intention of being realistic--the two younger girls and one boy wore headbands with feathers attached while carrying Nerf crossbows, while I put on a denim skirt, a faux-leather vest over my T-shirt, tied a red handkerchief around my neck, and packed a small dart gun. The stake, however, turned out to be a backless wooden bench in my back yard which I laid down on so I could be tied down with jump ropes, effectively ruining the authentic atmosphere of our frenetic gunplay. Two ropes held down my bare feet and legs, while three or four others pinned my arms to my side and held my chest down to the bench. I was also gagged with two or three strips of duct tape, which the Indians also didn't have, but I didn't object. Realizing that after all their work they had no way to simulate fire, my cousins soon grew bored with the game. One of them suggested watching some Disney movie, and in their excitement to get inside, they forgot about their poor condemned cowgirl.
I struggled to free myself of the jump ropes binding me to the bench, but after about fifteen minutes of futile twisting, tugging, and jerking, I realized that the ropes were holding me tight, as was the duct tape keeping my mouth shut. Luckily, the bench wasn't overly uncomfortable, and it was a nice day out, so I figured I could sit tight and relax until one of the kids realized that not only was I not sitting with them, but they had also forgotten to untie me. Unfortunately, Mrs. Franks had noticed my predicament, and had made plans of her own.
Dressed surprisingly conservative in a tank top and jeans, she walked into my back yard and stood next to me, while I stared up at her silently, wondering what she wanted.
"This is awfully interesting, isn't it?" she asked, feigning a pleasant smile.
She bent down and began parting the jump ropes covering my stomach, and I thought foolishly that maybe she would untie me. Not until she lifted my shirt, exposing my bare midriff, did I realize what she had in mind. Her long fingernails attacked my belly, tickling quickly and decisively. Muffled laughter broke through my gag as I bucked hopelessly against the ropes holding me fast to the bench. She kept at it for another ten minutes, moving up, down, and all over my stomach and sides, while all I could do was shake my head while laughing silently, and wiggle my immobile hands and feet. It was this latter movement that attracted her attention to my bare, defenseless feet. She looked back at my face, and my suddenly widening eyes made her smile as her hands dove for my soles. She tickled them mercilessly for five minutes straight, soon learning that my feet were even more ticklish than my still-very ticklish stomach. Pleading laughter soon turned to desperate squeals through my gag, and finally the force of my yells tore free the tape from my lips. My loud laughter (as well as Mrs. Franks's) finally alerted my cousins, who found the will to tear themselves from their movie and come release me. When they saw me and Mrs. Franks, my neighbor turned to them with a huge grin on her face, waved at them, and walked back to her house without saying a word. My cousins quickly untied me, and, exhausted, I went back inside with them to finish watching the movie. I managed to contain my anger, first about the tickling, and second over how it had taken my cousins half an hour to realize I was gone.
The initial act of me being bound to the bench and left there provided plenty of jokes within the family for years to come, still to this day, but my family was empathetic enough not to mention the subsequent incident with Mrs. Franks too often.
Remembering that incident, I couldn't quite find the will to conceal my grin as I saw my neighbor standing before me, embarrassingly and helplessly trussed up and gagged in her underwear. How conveniently the tables have turned, I thought to myself. Mrs. Franks furtively glanced around, obviously self-conscious about being seen in her situation, and she hopped her way through the door without permission. Reluctantly, I unstrapped her gag, which had so far reduced her usual nagging to pleasant, muffled mmphing.
"Please, just untie me, Katie," she asked immediately after stretching her sore jaw, "and I'll get out of here as soon as possible."
I hated being called Katie. It sounded so childish, which was very taboo at an age when, for some reason, feeling older was very important to me. I ignored it, however, transforming my suppressed grin into a forced pleasant smile.
"Don't be silly. You just got here. How did this happen?"
Mrs. Franks sighed, but realizing she was in no position to argue, she answered. "I" tied myself up. It was supposed to be a surprise for Marty, but the bastard never came home last night."
So that explained why she was in her underwear. At the time I was still a virgin (Remember, I grew up in a conservative household, and I was raised to wait until marriage to have sex, which I did), but I could still recognize kinky behavior when I saw it. At the time, though, I was more amazed that someone could tie one's self so thoroughly. As I went to close the door behind her, I examined her bindings, and noticed that two ropes held her arms in place, one just below her breasts, and another closer to her elbows. I figured maybe she had tied them around her with just enough slack to slip her arms through, but that still didn't explain how she had managed to bind her wrists so tightly, palms facing each other, with another piece of rope. I now know that it is relatively simple, but I have neither the guts nor the knot-tying knowledge to try it on myself.
Now I feigned a concerned look.
"Oh, well, don't sell your husband short, I'm sure he has a good reason. Come on, you poor thing, let's sit down and chat."
She tried to object, but I gently nudged her in the direction of my living room, which forced her to hop along for fear of falling over. She noticed I still casually carried her ball gag. She finally plopped down onto the couch, fidgeting with her bindings to find a comfortable sitting position with her arms in the way.
"I bet your thirsty," I observed. "How would you like some orange juice?"
She accepted, and I held the glass up for her as she gulped down much of the juice I'd poured for myself earlier.
"Thanks, Katie, but if you could just untie me?"
"Come on, Mrs. Franks, we hardly ever get to talk."
"Are any of your parents home? Your brother?" She and my parents got along well enough that she probably trusted them to keep this incident quiet, had they answered the door instead of me. My parents are conservative, but still don't care what married couples do with each other behind closed doors.
"Nope, I'm all alone," I said with a smile. "So how long have you been tied up like this?"
She once again squirmed in her seat as she looked out the window, her shoulders apparently somewhat uncomfortable. She was still a little worried about being seen in her undies, tied like she was. Since when had she ever been so modest? She finally answered, "I tied myself around 9 o'clock, and I've been like this since then. Please, I'm really quite sore..."
This time, my raised eyebrows were sincere. A glance at the clock revealed that it was now almost 7 AM. I could imagine that being tied like that so tightly for ten hours would be incredibly uncomfortable. My compassion faded as soon as I remembered who I was speaking to.
"My goodness," I exclaimed. "You must have to piss like a racehorse!"
She paused a moment. "Yeah, I suppose, but if I was untied, I could go to the bathroom myself."
"That wouldn't be overly hospitable, would it? The rule in this household is, if you have to pee, don't hold it. Go as soon as you can get to a toilet. Now, I'm never one for breaking the rules..."
I helped her to her feet, and slowly guided her to the bathroom. Of course, this had nothing to do with hospitality. One could imagine my discomfort with helping her to the toilet, averting my eyes as she did her business, and restoring the woman's panties to their rightful place once she was finished. But, in the long run, it was better than dealing with soiled furniture that would have been inevitable had I carried out my newly formulated plans earlier.
"There, how do you feel now?" I asked as I led her back to the couch in the living room.
"Much better. Now, these ropes..."
"All in good time. Now you need to relax. You've had a long night." I gracefully pushed her face first on the couch, and then lifted her legs on the couch so she could fully lie on it. "Comfy?"
"Katie, come on, my arms are killing me," Mrs. Franks pleaded as she looked up desperately at my face.
I smiled. "Oh, you'll live," I encouraged as I pulled the sash off of my bathrobe. Slowly and meticulously, humming a song to myself, I wrapped the sash between her ankles, around the rope tying her feet together. I pulled her feet up to her behind, and then tied the other end of the sash to the rope binding her wrists, leaving her effectively hogtied.
"God dammit, Katie, stop being such a bitch!" she exclaimed as she realized that I had begun tying her, too shocked at the moment to physically resist too much. "Untie me now or mmmMMPH!" She had forgotten I still had her fancy red ball gag. That is, until I shoved it into her mouth, leaving me in relative silence as I tightly fastened the straps behind her head.
For a long time I had wanted revenge with Mrs. Franks, but I never would have imagined such an amazing opportunity. I cracked my knuckles in preparation, and Mrs. Franks, knowing what was coming, began thrashing and bucking as much as a hogtied woman could. This, of course, didn't stop my fingers from invading her bare stomach, and as I began tickling her, a sudden outburst of laughter erupted from behind her gag. While certainly more secure than the duct tape that held my mouth shut a year earlier, her ball gag wasn't as good at maintaining a person's silence, and my ears were treated with the near-full force of her squeals and giggles, albeit somewhat distorted and muffled.
For fifteen minutes I worked all over her stomach, finding her torso's most ticklish areas. Tickling the skin near her armpits caused loud giggles, forcing her to comically attempt to cover up the skin with her tightly bound arms. All the while her feet kicked within the one or two inches allowed by the slack my bathrobe sash gave them. I gazed at them. "My, look at those feet go," I observed. "Are you feet ticklish, Mrs. Franks?"
The look she gave me was surely close to the wide-eyed look of dismay I gave her the year before, suggesting that they were, indeed, ticklish. To my pleasant surprise, as I began brushing my fingers against her feet's helplessly exposed soles, I noted that her feet were perhaps more ticklish than even mine are. For the next fifteen minutes I attacked her feet, sometimes using one hand to tickle her soles while another her belly. By the end she was too exhausted to kick and buck wholeheartedly anymore, and all that came from her mouth were faint, pleading laughs and some spittle from the side of her mouth. I wondered what an uncomfortable device the ball gag must be, what with having a giant object in your mouth forcing your jaws open. I still wonder why they're so popular with couples in the mood for more kinky activity.
Finally, I relented. I untied the sash hogtying her, letting her feet collapse to the couch cushions as she breathed heavily. She promptly rolled over onto her back, closing her eyes and resting her head against the arm rest. That's when I realized I'd need some sort of insurance to keep this from coming back and haunting me later on. I quickly retrieved a camera from my bedroom, and as soon as Mrs. Franks saw what I held in my hand, her eyes widened again. I took a number of snapshots of her, still bound and gagged scandalously in her white cotton bra and panties. Given her previous self-consciousness, she surely wouldn't want these pictures mysteriously resurfacing. I wasn't too fond of the idea of blackmail, especially after what I had just put her through, but the taste of revenge was sweet enough to make it worth it. But now, there was a place for some compassion among fellow humans.
I helped her sit up, and then removed my bathrobe. I wrapped it around her shoulders, covering her semi-nakedness, and secured it around her waist with the sash. With minor difficulty, I managed to lift her over my shoulder, and held her steadily in place with both my arms. I quickly carried her out of my house, made my way swiftly across our yards, and walked into her house. Walking through her back door also led me into her kitchen, where one of the chairs by the table had been knocked over, probably in her attempt to make it to my house. I noticed her answering machine was blinking, and I set her down long enough to play the tape. It was from her husband, whose car's battery had died while he was getting gas after a late-night business meeting. He and his (male) coworker were forced to push the car to a nearby motel and have the car towed in the morning, as no nearby towing service would pick him up that late. I looked to his wife, but she seemed unfazed by his explanation for not coming home.
From previous visits to her house, I knew her bedroom was up the stairs outside the kitchen. With a suppressed grin, I pictured Mrs. Franks trying to get down the stairs bound as she was. Not to say, however, that climbing stairs with the woman over my shoulders was in any way easy. Finally I made it, though, and I dropped her onto her bed, an "oof!" escaping her gag.
After removing the bathrobe, I untied the two ropes around her chest, and about a minute later, her wrists were also untied. Mrs. Franks was excited about her newfound freedom, until she realized that the ropes that had been around her chest were now attached to each wrist. Still exhausted from hours of being bound, including a half hour of constant tickling, she didn't have the strength to stop me as I secured each rope to a bed post at the head of her bed. After untying her knees and ankles, she soon found both feet also tied to a different bedpost at the foot of her bed. Though she was still tied, albeit in a spread-eagled position, at least she now had the chance to stretch her sore muscles. Quiet "mmphs" came from the woman's mouth, but she didn't seem incredibly displeased with this turn of events. Besides, I figured that after the long night both she and Mr. Franks had, they both deserved a little recreation to get the day off to a better foot. Forty-five minutes later I saw a tow truck carrying him and his car pull up to his house, and I saw neither he nor his wife for at least another hour. Given his increased friendliness toward me for the next few days, I figured they did indeed have a decent time.
For the next year that Mrs. Franks lived next door, she did little more to me than flash angry glances. Either she'd turned a new leaf with me, or my "insurance" photos really had paid off. Eventually they divorced, she married some other man, and I got to keep Mr. Franks as the friendly Mr. Rogers-esque next door neighbor for at least another year before I went off to college.
Now I too am married, and my husband and I both enjoy mild bondage fun, though not to the extent that Mrs. Franks took it, who admittedly aroused my interest in that type of sexual gameplay. I'm generally content with my wrists tied behind me, sometimes my ankles, and sometimes even being spread-eagled strikes my fancy. This account satisfied my husband, who was wondering about my occasional reluctance to try anything more stringent, sometimes even simple cleave gags. After what Mrs. Franks had been through, I frankly don't want to risk it.
Kate
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Kate's stories
- 01 - Incident with neighbor (mm/f, F/f, F/self, f/F)
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