Stories of Tie Up Games

A sounds good

A it is. Done and done so I'll get to writing.

(Which didn't take long only a short(er then normal for this tale) chapter below, wanted you to have the 'how is Sammy bound' decision.)

006.

It's called suffering the consequences. All my- your -fault, could've walked away, left Lucinda as she, snapping at me, clearly wanted. But no.

Standing across from her, waiting. Lucinda looking all around as though the answer to her problem: me, apparently, not leaving her in peace makes me the, her problem.

And honestly I hadn't thought so. I can see the logic of binding me, having freed herself, binding me to prevent my binding her a second time. But I'd thought she wanted more, from and to and with me, that capturing me would be a first step.

No.

Shivering as I hear the whisper of decision, noting Lucinda's small nod, accompanied by a small smile.

Noticing even as she approaches me, standing my ground whilst Lucinda yanks, rough handling, not being polite and treating me in such a manner setting off another tingle in my- exposed feeling -chest. Yanking the scarf gag down around my neck.

And me, noticing. Frowning. Was there always this much rope laying around the immediate area?

"Sammy."
"Lucinda."
"Following me."
"Yes." Swallowing, tamping down on the urge to run and. "Sorry." It's a little too late, for apologies or for escape.

Lucinda shrugging, she knows it too, how this will play out. But I can't help the urges, wanting to act despite not being allowed. Urges translating as a brief wriggle, wrists rubbing together and trying to pull first left then right up, out of the tight bindings.

Failing, a nod from Lucinda at the fact, expecting nothing less and what would she of done, had things played out differently thus far?

"You're staying here, then."
"I." Shiver, not allowed to run. "Know."
"And I'm going to make sure you do." Glancing around, considering possibilities.

"Yes."
"Good." Pulling the gag back up and I make no move to stop her, resigned to my fate as Lucinda settles and presses the scarf back into my open mouth, knot filling the space, the fast becoming familiar taste and texture of wool. Leaning in to reach around, chest brushing against my chest as she yanks and tightens the knot, adding a second to prevent loosening.

Stepping back, waiting. Both of us waiting because yes, I'm getting left here.

But how?

Kind of a sliding scale here, how mean does Lucinda- you -want to be, to me? Left as I am but (A) tethered to the nearest tree, or (B) somewhat mobile as I'm abandoned hogtied on the woodland floor. Or (C) properly bound to a tree, going nowhere.

B

B for me