Stories of Tie Up Games

Memories, Summer 9X, Somewhere in France

The air in the countryside was warm and lazy that day. It was one of those timeless afternoons when the world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something to happen. My parents were out visiting a local vineyard, leaving me behind in the sprawling old house. I was twelve—maybe a little older—and feeling that peculiar mixture of boredom and curiosity that comes with long, unstructured days.

Marc, my older cousin, was there again. At seventeen, he seemed so grown-up, with an easy confidence and a mischievous glint in his brown eyes that made him both fascinating and intimidating. He was stretched out in the sunroom, flipping through a magazine, looking utterly at ease.

I wandered in, twirling a strand of my hair between my fingers, and announced, “Marc, I’m bored. Let’s do something fun!”

He didn’t even glance up, just hummed absently. “Fun, huh? And what exactly is your idea of fun?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, plopping down on the armrest of the sofa. “Something exciting! You’re supposed to be the cool one. Think of something.”

That got his attention. He raised an eyebrow and closed the magazine with a slow, deliberate motion. “Exciting, you say?” His gaze slid toward the desk in the corner, cluttered with odds and ends: a roll of twine, some old playing cards, and an antique stopwatch. His smile turned sly.

“All right, Mélanie. Here’s the game: you’re an undercover agent, and I’m the villain who’s caught you snooping around my lair. Your mission is to escape before I can stop you.”

I grinned, already caught up in the fantasy. “Okay, deal! But I bet you can’t keep me from escaping.”

“Oh, is that so?” he teased, standing and stretching to his full height. “We’ll see about that. Agents like you don’t last long against me.”

Before I could react, he was already gathering the twine. “Sit down,” he commanded, his tone playfully firm. “Hands behind your back, Agent Mélanie. I can’t have you getting into trouble.”

Laughing, I sat on the floor and crossed my wrists behind me. His fingers worked quickly, looping the twine around my hands and tying a snug knot. “There,” he said, inspecting his handiwork. “Nice and secure. But I’m not done yet.”

Next, he had me stretch my legs out in front of me while he tied my ankles together with similar care. He even double-checked the knots, muttering things like, “Can’t have you escaping too easily, now, can we?”

“Is that all?” I taunted, wriggling slightly to test the bonds.

Marc smirked. “Oh no, Agent. You’re not getting off that easy.” He pulled out another length of twine and wrapped it around my arms and torso, pinning my arms to my sides. The rope went around me in a series of tight loops before he tied it off behind me. Then, as a final flourish, he added a few loops around my knees.

“There,” he said, stepping back to admire his work. “Try getting out of that, Houdini.”

Challenge accepted. I twisted and squirmed, trying to work the knots loose. Marc’s knots were infuriatingly well done, but I wasn’t ready to admit defeat. After what felt like an eternity, I managed to wiggle one wrist free. Triumphantly, I began working on the knot at my ankles.

“Uh-oh,” Marc said, straightening up. “Looks like my prisoner is more resourceful than I thought.”

Before I could make more progress, he swooped in, his hands darting out to tighten the slack in my remaining bonds. Laughing, he said, “You’re not going anywhere, Agent Mélanie. Time for Plan B.”

He pulled me to my feet and guided me toward one of the armchairs. “Sit,” he ordered, his tone still teasing but with a touch of authority that made me obey. He produced another length of twine and quickly tied my ankles to the chair legs, then looped the last piece around my waist to pin me to the seat.

“There,” he said, stepping back to admire his work. “Now even Houdini couldn’t get out of that.”

But Marc wasn’t finished. “I think I need to make sure you’re really stuck.” He grabbed one more piece of twine and tied it to the rope around my wrists before threading it down to my ankles, pulling everything snug. The final knot left me with very little room to move.

“You look like a perfect prisoner now,” he said, grinning at my frustrated wriggling.

I glared at him, trying to sound tough despite the laughter bubbling up. “You’re terrible!”

He crouched down in front of me, elbows resting on his knees, and flashed me a broad smile. “Maybe,” he admitted. “But you have to admit, I’m good at this.”

“You won’t get away with this,” I said, playing along.

“Oh, I already have,” he replied with a wink. “Now, Agent Mélanie, I’m off to plan my next evil scheme. Good luck trying to escape.”

And with that, he got up and walked away, leaving me tied to the chair. For a moment, I just sat there, squirming and laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. I had to admit, he really was good at this. It took me a while to work my way free—not because I wasn’t trying, but because I wasn’t really in a hurry to escape. The game had been too much fun to end so quickly.

Mmmm, wonderful bondage story.

A lovely story Melany. I used to love tying my female cousin up many years ago.