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Sarobah : 19 - Balls - The Replay (F/M, M+/F+)

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Sarobah : 19 - Balls - The Replay (F/M, M+/F+)

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Sarobah's stories
19 - Balls - The Replay
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By Sarobah

Tue Oct 25, 2011 4:13 pm

I posted the first two instalments of this story in the “True TUGs” section, but after due consideration I’ve decided that it belongs here in “More... Intimate TUGs”. Rather than repost the first two parts, I shall continue the story here.
My apologies for any inconvenience.

(Note from Canuck : if anyone has saved the first instalments of this story, please send them to me and i will post them here)


4. Intermission


We did not get straight back into the games because we’d consumed a couple of bottles of wine during dinner and needed time for the effects to wear off. As we all (should) know, bondage play after consuming alcohol is not a good idea. (And here I should add that the beer the boys had been drinking during the football was the light and mid-strength variety, for this very reason. We take our games very seriously... in some ways, at least.) In any case, the afternoon session had been physically and mentally demanding - the sort of challenge I enjoy but which saps your energy, so I was feeling tired and somewhat apathetic. Of course, once the fun recommenced, my body and my mind came quickly back to life.


Andrea and Luke had reverted to their customary roles, and she was eager for payback. (For Andrea, bondage and dominance are essentially about status - how it’s exercised and how it’s perceived. So whenever she’s been on the bottom, she feels she needs to reclaim and reassert her ascendancy.) So they got the ball rolling at about eight o’clock. She brought one of the dining table chairs into the living room and tied him to it, his arms at his side, wrists bound to the rear legs, ankles to the front legs. With a look of malicious, vengeful glee, she waved the penis gag she had been obliged to wear for most of the afternoon under his nose.


Up until now, Luke had been compliant; but when he beheld the imposing silicone shaft that he’d forced into her mouth, he screwed up his face and clenched his teeth. I thought “You hypocrite!” but I had to suppress a laugh, watching the poor girl become increasingly frustrated as he rebuffed her every attempt to make him submit. Even tickling - my Achilles’ heel - failed to unclamp those defiant jaws. (Luke is curiously immune, which reinforces my belief that ticklishness is psychological rather than physiological.) In desperation, she looked to Jack, Rob and Alex in turn for assistance, but they each responded with a shrug of indifference. I guess that was also hypocritical, since they always helped each other out when one of us girls displayed such obstinacy. But in the end she sucked up the double standard and compromised with a ball-gag. Luke straight away opened up.


Jack had followed the little drama with languid curiosity, but with Luke trussed to the chair, he leapt out of his own seat. Sabrina was, at the time, reclined in his lap, so she tumbled off him with a yelp and spun about to berate him. But he was too quick, planting a hand over her mouth, and she immediately went silent and limp. He turned her around to face away from him, and held her hands behind her back while gesturing to Alex. My brother retrieved a rope from the box and tossed it to him. (See, with each other the males are all for solidarity!) After Jack had tied Sabrina’s hands, he blindfolded and gagged her (once more with the dreaded bit-gag). He then hustled her to a position directly behind Luke’s seat, so that her back was up against the chair. He raised her bound arms and put them over Luke’s head and shoulders so they encircled his chest. It was a tight fit, made more so when Jack forced her into a half-crouching position, so that her arms were angled sharply upwards. In fact, he had to loosen her wrist ropes to accomplish this; but when he had tied her ankles to the chair legs, she was completely immobilized. Since she was suspended off her knees, her weight was supported almost entirely by her bound arms.


Jack had looped the cord around her wrists several times to minimize the pressure on her blood circulation and to reduce abrasion to the skin; and since Sabrina is a former gymnast the strain was nothing she couldn’t cope with. However, as slender as she is, her body shifted Luke’s centre of gravity backwards; and seeing this, Rob decided that he (or rather I) should restore the balance. He beckoned for me to stand up, bound, blindfolded and gagged me, and made me lie on my belly across Luke’s lap. My arms were pinioned behind me in a box-tie (that’s with hands to elbows), to which Rob tried to attach my ankles for an awkward hog-tie; but as he was doing this he realized that it was making my position on Luke’s thighs precariously unstable, so he desisted. It was then that I became aware that Michelle had joined our formation. She was kneeling at Luke’s feet, and was forced to lean forward when someone, presumably Alex, tied a rope from her neck to his, looped for good measure about my bound wrists. When this rope was adjusted, Michelle’s shoulders were pressed against my side and her chin was resting on my forearm.


The four of us were kept in this rather strange configuration for quite some time. Sabrina had the worst of it, because she was once again puffing and whimpering, which through a bit-gag becomes a slurpy, gurgling sound. On the other hand, Luke was enjoying himself. I didn’t know whether it was the sheer pleasure of the bondage or the delight of having Michelle’s breasts wedged between his thighs and my body sprawled across his lap, but I could feel his growing excitement.


The other lads, however, soon got bored with merely sitting back and admiring their handiwork. I heard a scuffle, a shout and a screech. Luke managed a chuckle through his gag. He had not been blindfolded so knew what was going on, but I had it quickly worked out as well, even if I didn’t know exactly what the three guys did to Andrea, because she did not become part of our tableau. However, when we were finally released, though my blindfold stayed on I heard her talking and laughing, so at some point in the game she had switched again - or at least she had been permitted to do so. But in the meantime, the males had proved their point. The focus this weekend was on balls - in both senses of the word.


(In digression... Lest I be misunderstood, I am not in any way denigrating Luke’s place in our games. He prefers to be tied rather than do the tying, and I fully appreciate that. Indeed, I have never really understood the appeal of being on the controlling end of the ropes, because to me bondage is all about what you feel - and the most sensual and tactile experience comes from being the one tied up. That’s just me, of course, but the point is that I can empathize with Luke more than Andrea in this respect. On the other hand, this particular occasion was a Footy Finals Fiesta, which meant, from the boys’ perspective at least, that regardless of which end of the ropes one was on, those with the balls should be in charge. Sexist? You betcha, and it was going to get even more so before the weekend was over. But I don’t recall anyone complaining, including Andrea. There comes a time when you just - to use an apt metaphor - follow the ball wherever it goes.)


To be continued.

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Post by Canuck100 »

Thu Oct 27, 2011 7:13 am

Thank you for the compliments. Nowadays I do not have as much time for writing as I once did, but appreciation is a great motivator.


Intermission, continued.


We were released after half an hour or so, mainly because Sabrina was beginning to suffer. Following a short break for recuperation, we resumed our games, albeit nothing really worth recounting. We were all now weary, so as our hostess made cocoa, Jack brought up the subject of sleeping arrangements. The house has just the two bedrooms, but a storeroom next to the kitchen had been converted to serve as a makeshift third. That still left one couple without behind-the-door privacy. None of us really needed it for just two nights, but let’s just say that despite our fatigue, we were all pretty worked up from the day’s activities.


Andrea volunteered a tad too readily that she and Luke would take the cots Jack was setting up in a corner of the living room. I glanced across at Luke to see how he might react to that, but his face was impassive. I have never been sure of the “depth” of their relationship, so I guess I should not have been too surprised.


Rob and I ended up in the storeroom, in consequence of a coin toss. Our bed was a large single, which was okay because the confined space meant resort to close-in snuggling and cuddling. It did not take long, however, before I found myself blinking away the glare of early morning sunlight pouring in through the small window.


I pulled on my cream cami top and khaki chino shorts and left Rob to sleep some more. In the kitchen I found Jack and Sabrina already getting started on the breakfast preparation. He was wearing the ugliest flannel pyjamas I have ever seen on man or beast, and over them an unspeakably garish scarlet robe. It was typically Jack, who cannot even say the word “fashion” without irony. By contrast, Sabrina was her customary gorgeous in a pink and white, ribbon and lace wrap teddy, with silk stockings and garters. Fastened about her throat was a shiny black, hand-stitched leather collar embossed in silver with her name and Jack’s, and to which was fixed a fine chain, an outstretched arm in length, also of silver. The other end was attached to a bracelet on Jack’s left wrist. Now and then, whether he was aware of it or not, as he reached with that hand for something in an overhead cupboard or at the other end of the counter, he would tug on the chain and her neck and head would be jerked sideways - not enough to be a nuisance but sufficient to remind her that she was bound to him. She did not look bothered by it, and in fact a couple of times when it happened I saw a subtle smile.


I recognized the collar and chain - Jack’s birthday gift to Sabrina last June. I was there when he gave it to her and put it on her. She was kneeling before him, and gazing up at him with adoring, almost worshipful, eyes. Even if their little ritual had more than a touch of the whimsical, it was the first time that I really understood just how strong was their connection and how profound was her conviction. And in a way I was glad that my Rob wasn’t there with us at that moment, because I was so moved, and frankly so aroused, that I might have been inspired to make a similar commitment that I could not possibly have honoured in the long term.


Jack did the thing with his hand once too often and she whacked him on the backside with a spatula. I asked how I could help - with the breakfast, that is - and she pointed to the bare dining table, just a little too quickly. But I understood and agreed. My formidable lack of culinary skills has become the stuff of legend. I’m told that mothers scare naughty children with tales of the meals I have cooked.


Alex and Michelle materialized a few minutes later. He was already fully dressed. She was in a flimsy bra and skimpier knickers. She’s the least inhibited of us all, and I’m sure she’d be happy to wander about stark naked. Or maybe this morning it wasn’t her choice, because her hands were tied behind her back. She didn’t look entirely pleased. She was squirming, flexing and twisting her bound arms, and blowing back an errant strand of hair that had fallen across her face, with growing exasperation as it stubbornly refused to co-operate. Yet when we saw each other, she grinned and rolled her eyes. My brother looked ever so pleased with himself. I hadn’t been sure if we were going to be playing tie-up games for all of today, or if anyone had planned it to be so; but Alex and Michelle had taken the initiative and thus our course was set.


I finished my table-setting chore just as Rob joined us. Both Andrea and Luke remained oblivious until I roused them and announced breakfast time. When I came back to the table, the red satin scarves from yesterday were neatly folded beside four places. Sabrina emerged from the kitchen bearing a huge bowl of fruit salad. She was still wearing her collar, but the chain had been detached from Jack’s wrist and was wrapped loosely around her breasts, the handle end tucked into her cleavage. She gestured for Michelle, Andrea and me to sit where the blindfolds had been placed.


Michelle and I sat, but Andrea hesitated, frowned and glanced at Luke. Then she sighed and shrugged and smiled. She is very pretty when she smiles - I wish she would do it more often. She took her seat, as did Sabrina, and the men stood behind us to tie our blindfolds in place.


Once he’d secured the knot behind my head, Rob grazed his fingertips across the back of my neck and then lightly around my throat. He drew them along my shoulders, brushing the backs of his hands against my cheeks as he did so. When he encountered the spaghetti straps of my cami, he pushed them off my shoulders. I shivered. I thought he might pull my top all the way down to my waist, but his fingers passed over the straps and continued down my arms. My skin tingled. When he reached my wrists, he gently pulled them behind my back. Because I was seated, I had to lean forward so he could tie my hands with no difficulty. When he’d done so, he tenderly kissed my neck. My breath quickened. But the spell was broken by a gruff “Harrumph!” from my brother. We were holding up breakfast.


I have described more than once in my writings how delightful and seductive is the experience of dining sans vue or, if you will, dans le noir (the French makes it sound even more romantic and sensual). It’s so much more exquisite when you can use neither your hands nor your eyes. The loss of sight stimulates your other senses, enhancing flavours and textures and aromas. And when you have to be fed by your partner, you can’t be sure what each morsel or each sip will bring, and so the anticipation, the momentary puzzlement and the sudden revelation increase your receptivity. To rearticulate what I have written elsewhere: It can get messy, but your full attention is focused on the meal, which adds to your appreciation. And that is what the best bondage is all about - it doesn’t limit your experience, but rather enhances it. It’s like when you add a drop of dark blue to a tin of white paint, and the white appears whiter, more intense. So when you’re wearing your blindfold, the darkness brings clarity. When you’re bound, your helplessness gives you the freedom to explore sensations that you normally miss. Such is the delicious paradox of bondage.


It didn’t take long to work out, from the fussing, the giggling and the cursing (the latter Andrea’s, of course) that the other girls were bound as well. Much later, when our blindfolds were removed, I saw that all three were smeared from brow to bosom in various foodstuffs. Michelle, in addition, had a mess of mustard-coloured goo daubed on her crotch and inner thighs. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know. But I felt kind of left out. Sometimes Rob is too neat and careful for my own good.


A fringe benefit of being bound and blindfolded was that the boys took responsibility for the clearing up and washing up. Just so we wouldn’t feel too privileged, however, they made us stand up and bend over the table, with stomach and chest flat against the surface, and stay like that for the entire time it took them to complete the job. And predictably, Andrea began grumbling. She was quickly silenced with a gag, but she did not resist and never shifted her position. Being blindfolded, I am not sure what coercion (if any) the guys applied to keep her in her place. but that’s how she works - she had made her point, paid the price and could now relax and enjoy it.


I shall conclude this instalment with a further note about Andrea. She has taken up a significant portion of my story so far, and that’s because I find hers to be such an intriguing, indeed enigmatic, persona. Of the four of us girls, Sabrina is the most introspective and the most emotionally invested when it comes to bondage and other forms of submission. I am the most cerebral (in the sense that I tend to overthink and overanalyse every situation... like right now). Unlike Sabrina, who is almost ethereal in the way she glides through life, I am a rolling juggernaut of clutter and turbulence, very much self-centred, even in my most submissive mode, and too easily influenced by my passions, my impulses and my hormones. Whereas Michelle is level-headed, clear-eyed and self-possessed. I joke that she has to be in order to put up with my brother, but she’s the type of person that, if we were on the Titanic and the last lifeboat had just pulled away, I would be clinging to her.


And that leaves Andrea - volatile, acerbic, intolerant, in so many ways unlikeable and yet, when taken on her own terms, appealing and even charismatic. She’s a contradiction - the little girl who wanted to grow up fast so she’d be free to act like a little girl. She has outstanding leadership qualities, provided she never has to lead. Her self-confidence is frequently undermined by self-doubt. She gives the impression that she wishes she’d been born a boy but loves being female - like what she was wearing when she arrived on Saturday, the scruffy overalls, grungy t-shirt and worn-out boots; but this morning she came to the breakfast table in a sweet little baby-doll nightie. So that’s Andrea - a rock-hard shell and a soft, sexy, feminine core.


She and Luke are the perfect foil for each other, but he is perhaps the luckier. He can explore both sides of his personality - the dominant and the submissive - without the worry that he is somehow compromising his integrity, which appears to be Andrea’s constant, enervating fear. Because she’s so wilful, you cannot explain to her just how irrational it is to fret that you are going against your true nature when you haven’t yet discovered what your true nature is.


To be continued... and enough of the pop psychology.
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Post by Canuck100 »

Fri Oct 28, 2011 5:34 pm
Fair enough... But remember the old saying, “Be careful what you wish for.”
By the way, this instalment is one of the reasons why I transferred the story to the “intimate TUGs” section.


Intermission, continued.


It was still on the early side of mid-morning, with six or seven hours until the next grand final telecast. There were various options for filling in the time, and not all of them involved the application of rope. We are not obsessed by bondage games, so I don’t want to give the impression that this is all we do and think about when we get together. The four-day adventure I described in “The Long Long Weekend” had been a one-off episode, and at the time none of us really believed that it would or could or should be repeated.


On the other hand, there were a number of factors which pushed us in that direction. Firstly, of the males at the Footy Finals Fiesta, only my brother had been present for the entire LLW, and Jack in particular was bothered to have missed out on so much of the fun. Secondly, this was a special occasion, not just any weekend. Balls and bondage just seem to go together, if for no other reason than the alliteration. Thirdly, we were stuck in the middle of nowhere with nothing much else to entertain us but ourselves.


Now that last point is really not accurate nor fair. Granted, I’m a city girl born and bred; but we were a mere two hours from “civilization” and, in any case, just a short drive away there is a small town, nestled in a corner of the valley, with cozy country pubs, coffee shops, art galleries, a museum, flea and farmers’ markets and so on. We were not exactly in the middle of the desert, cultural or otherwise. So someone - I think it was Rob - suggested that we go “downtown” for morning tea in one of the sidewalk cafeterias. Everyone agreed, albeit with varying degrees of enthusiasm. My brother in particular was disinclined - not surprising, since he’s always the one keenest for the tie-up games. So with a sparkle in her eye and a discreetly patronising smile aimed at Alex, Sabrina wheeled about and disappeared into her bedroom.


She returned to the living room with a small, hand-crafted wooden box that she set down on the coffee table. Inside were a half-dozen lengths of cord, treated with fabric softener like the ones we’d been using, but braided for about six centimetres in the middle. I recognized their purpose immediately, while Michelle and Andrea looked puzzled. But they took just a few seconds to figure it out. That was naive of them, really, because we’d worn the crotch-ropes before. I guess they weren’t expecting them.


Andrea, as usual, snarled her disapproval and glared at Luke. He silently raised his eyebrows, but that was all. In fact, this was her slip-up. He hadn’t said or done anything, but once he had earned her disapprobation, I guess he figured he had nothing to lose - it was the “might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb” principle at work. He stepped forward, reached into the box and withdrew one of the ropes. He offered to Andrea, with an “I dare you” expression. She screwed up her nose but took it.


After breakfast, Sabrina had changed into a cute, carnation-pink sundress and I had on a denim skirt. Michelle looked down at her figure-hugging jeans, constructed a mental image, shook her head and went to change into a skirt as well. Meanwhile, without any inhibition that the rest of us were looking on, Sabrina lifted the hem of her dress as high as her chest and allowed Jack to tie one end of the cord around her waist. She winced as he pulled it tight, but it must be so to have the desired effect. It was a somewhat complex tie, the doubled rope twice encircling the body to make loops at the front and back. Through the loop directly over her navel, Jack passed one strand down between her thighs. Even Sabrina blushed as we watched him carefully manoeuvre the braided section at the spot where it would have the most effect. She winced again as he threaded the rest of the cord through the rear crevice and wrenched it up behind her to fix it to the second loop positioned in the small of her back. She took a few steps, smiled and nodded.


As all eyes now turned in my direction, I had to take my skirt off, but I tied my own rope in place, although Rob helped at the end to make it extra firm. He apologized as I grunted at the piercing jerk between my legs, but that lasted for only a second as the rope settled into its place. Like Sabrina, I walked about the room to test my harness. The braid was fine enough to fit snugly into my crease but not so narrow as to cause abrasion. In any case, it went over my knickers, so there was a layer of fabric (albeit flimsy) between it and my tender flesh. As I replaced my skirt, Alex put Michelle’s rope on her and she giggled the whole time. But not from embarrassment. As I’ve said, she’s not shy - but she is sensitive. (As it was, the rope proved to be such a trim fit against the body that she didn’t really have to change out of her jeans. I’m sure no one would have noticed if they were not looking for a telltale bulge.)


We turned to Andrea. I thought she still might refuse, but I guess she now saw the crotch-rope as a personal challenge. At least, that was her self-justification. If she needs an excuse to have fun, then so be it. But she nevertheless surprised us by quickly unbuttoning her dungarees and sliding them down to her knees. Like me, she preferred to put the rope on herself but needed Luke to attach it at the rear. And like the rest of us, she gasped as it was drawn taut. Plus, of course, Luke had his sport by giving the cord a few extra tugs “just to be sure.”


Alex wanted to put Michelle in a chest harness (or “rope bra”) as well. She was the only one of us wearing a blouse substantial enough to cover it up - Sabrina’s dress was strapless, I was wearing a halter-neck top and Andrea just a bra under the bib and braces of her overalls. So Michelle declined, with a hint of relief on her face.


We took two cars, Jacks’ and Andrea’s. It wasn’t a comfortable ride. The road surface was very uneven, due to rutting and potholing caused by the floods earlier this year. Most of the valley had been inundated and it was going to take a few more months before the repair crews finished mending the damage and clearing the debris. Each bump and swerve was transmitted from the undercarriage to the seat to the rope between my legs and thus directly into my delicate parts. By the time we reached our destination, after just a few minutes’ driving, I was already tingling down there. We then had to stroll some distance to the cafeteria, and it was hard to walk properly and not waddle to ease the pressure. As we took our seats at one of the big tables, we four girls were flushed and sweaty. The waitress gave us an odd look, but I think that was because the men appeared so normal. I don’t think we looked like we were orgasming - more like we’d been running.


We stayed about an hour. I made the mistake of having two cups of coffee, and by the time we’d finished up I was in desperate need of a trip to the bathroom. Sabrina came along, but not to go herself. She entered the cubicle with me, assisted me out of my crotch-rope, and when I was done she helped put it back on me. She was no less thorough than Rob had been in making sure it was tight and snug. While we were thus occupied, a couple of women came in and left, never catching on to what we were doing.


As we returned to the car, Andrea was looking quite worked up, as all four of us girls were. We had been wearing our ropes for something like an hour and a half, and although the stimulation had not been constant, it never went away entirely. So I and the others weren’t sure if she was in a condition to drive. Luke offered to take the wheel, but she was adamant, until Rob my hero intervened. He complimented her, and indeed all of us, on how well we’d handled being in our crotch-ropes for so long.


“Couldn’t do it myself,” Jack added.


“Yeah, you chicks are tough,” Alex chimed in.


“So why don’t you take it easy now?” Rob concluded.


Even Andrea couldn’t disagree with that logic.


(Now I don’t subscribe to that currently popular saying that “if it were easy men would do it too.” However, I also don’t think it’s chauvinist to believe that in some ways women are indeed the tougher sex - as in a higher resistance to pain and discomfort. There are also lots of things in bondage that we are better designed for - like wearing chest harnesses and crotch-ropes. But I guess that’s beside the point. Andrea is as susceptible as anyone to flattery... especially when it’s true.)


So Luke drove and we arrived back at around eleven o’clock. It was a warm and muggy October day. The sun was hidden behind a blanket of sullen grey clouds, and the air lay thick and heavy over the crest of the ridge that marked the border of Sabrina’s property. Jack’s car had pulled over to the side of the road just inside the gate and he was waiting for us to pass through so he could close it. But he waved a hand to signal for Luke to stop. We were a few hundred metres from the house, which sits atop another ridge on the far side of a broad, shallow gully.


As Jack came up, I looked past him. Sabrina and Michelle were already standing on the edge of the road, wearing blindfolds and leaning against the car on outstretched arms, their legs spread apart - in the “assume the position” pose you’ve seen on a hundred cops shows.


To be continued.
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Post by Canuck100 »

Sun Oct 30, 2011 6:21 am

I am not really happy with this instalment, because there are two or three places where I’m not sure I have explained things well. But here it is anyway.


Intermission, continued.


Andrea and I joined Sabrina and Michelle, but on the other side of the car facing them. They grimaced behind their blindfolds as Jack and Rob gave them a thorough pat-down before tying their hands behind their backs. Sabrina bit her lower lip and her body jerked as Jack was doing something to her I couldn’t see. Michelle did likewise, and I was wondering what was happening until Andrea and I received the same treatment. After he’d bound my hands behind my back, Rob tied my wrists to my waist rope. There was no particular reason for the boys doing that, except that it put additional pressure on our crotch-ropes, and it lifted the rear of our skirts, exposing our knickers. I thought that was very juvenile of them.


However, and somewhat ironically, it was Andrea who got the worst of it, because her crotch rope was under her dungarees. Luke could have foregone that final part of the binding, but with his customary “I may be paying for this later” look he unhitched the braces and dragged the dungarees down to her hips. (Detaching the braces from the bib instead of undoing the buttons and pulling it off her shoulders would have consequences later on.) Because she was blindfolded, his action took her by surprise. She flinched but, reconciled now to her role, she did not say a word.


I still had my sight because the last of the scarves had a knot in it that took some unravelling. It was comically endearing watching Rob, Luke and Alex standing in a huddle, all so serious and grimly determined as they struggled to figure out how to get it undone. My darling brother looked across at me and grinned. “Don’t worry, sis, you’re not going to miss out.” But it still took the combined efforts of three robust males what seemed like several minutes to defeat the Gordian knot. In the meantime, Jack had taken four ball-gags from the glove compartment of his car. He had certainly come prepared - I don’t know if he’d put them in for just this occasion or if they were stowed there permanently. They were of slightly different sizes, and mine fit better than the one I’d worn yesterday.


Once all the blindfolds and gags were in place, we waited and I could hear the guys quietly conferring. Then I felt Rob’s left hand grasp my right elbow and I was aware that he was holding onto Andrea with the other. He pulled us away from the car. I heard a door open and shut. The car started up and drove off, towards the house. Luke’s followed, so I realized that the six of us - four bound and blindfolded girls and the two boys left to guide us - would be walking the rest of the way home. I hoped we weren’t going cross-country, which would involve negotiating dips and mounds, a shallow but slippery-bedded creek and two fences, through spiky knee-high grass. In fact, Rob and Alex were not that cruel, and we followed the road, although this was difficult enough. If the highway was bad, this track was badder - winding, undulating and deeply corrugated.


We had only taken about a dozen steps when Andrea started cursing through the ball between her jaws, and the three of us lurched to a standstill. It took me a couple of minutes, after we had resumed our slow, unsteady progress, to work out what had happened. Her unsupported dungarees had slipped off her hips and eventually slumped down around her ankles, and it was Rob’s quick reflexes which prevented her from tripping. With her hands bound behind her, she had no way of protecting herself, and the fall could have been nasty. So it really was quite irresponsible of Rob and Alex - and the other guys as well - to not foresee this. Rob pulled her outfit back up to her waist, and advised her to hold onto the back of it as best she could. Even so, from what I could make out, they drooped and sagged, and the poor girl had a hard time of it in the twenty minutes or so it took to reach the house. But to her credit, she never opted out with her safe signal, and at the end of her ordeal she could laugh about it.


Otherwise, the walk was uneventful, but exhausting, since even without Andrea’s hobble I had to concentrate to keep my footing. I put my faith in Rob, although he had just the one hand holding onto my elbow to save me if I fell; but I made it with just a couple of stumbles. Indeed, it’s one of the nicest things about being helpless, having to depend on him totally and trust him to protect me. At the very bottom of the gully, he changed his approach to the problem, drawing the two of us close to his sides and clutching us around the midsection, putting his arms between our bodies and our pinioned arms. It made the going somewhat easier. Meanwhile, flies and other insects were buzzing about, harassing my bare legs, arms and shoulders, with me unable to swat them away. That was the most excruciating torment.


And of course, we were still wearing our crotch-ropes. It did not take long before Andrea and I were panting and puffing and groaning, as I imagine Sabrina and Michelle were as well. It’s a weird feeling - you’re not sure if it’s good or bad. You want it to stop because you can’t bear it anymore; but what’s unbearable is not pain but pleasure; and you are desperately trying to hold in the eruption that’s building within you, because you think it will be so embarrassing to let go; but it’s exactly what you’re body and brain are programmed to do. I guess evolution didn’t make provision for braided crotch-ropes.


None of us reached the house intact, so to speak, so when we arrived we sat for a moment on the front steps, red-faced, perspiring and breathless, as we were untied. We were quite a sight, and although we felt just a little humiliated at our condition, we had to smile when we saw the boys’ faces. I don’t pretend to be an expert on the male brain, but it’s funny what they get turned on by.


Sabrina gathered up the ropes, gags and blindfolds, and we went inside to get cleaned up and change into new clothes. Rob came with me to our storeroom-cum-bedroom, and he chuckled when he saw laid out on the bed my uniform for the afternoon. I don’t know if Sabrina had put it there earlier or if Jack had done so while we were still shuffling up the hill. The stockings and suspender belt were there, with this time a Rugby League shirt. It was not a complete football jersey like yesterday’s but rather cropped to bare the midriff and slit at the shoulders for décolletage. In line with Sabrina’s quirky sense of humour, the team logos (of the Manly Sea-Eagles and Auckland Warriors) were not on the shirts but on the seats of our panties. And plastered on the crotch were - of course - two footballs. The symbolism was not subtle.


“It just keeps on coming, doesn’t it?” Rob mused, as I peeled off my sweat-soaked clothes and undies.


“What do you mean?” I said, but knew before he answered. He was feeling sorry for me - it had not been an easy morning, and now we were moving straight into the next phase. The love of my life does not, as I have said, really understand the appeal of bondage, especially from the point of view of the one being bound. From his viewpoint, everything that had happened to us girls since we arrived yesterday was stuff the boys had done to us. Certainly, Andrea had tied Luke at one stage, but mostly the ropes had been on her, and Luke didn’t have to wear one of these tiny little outfits. From Rob’s unenlightened but innocent perspective, our costumes were solely for the males’ viewing pleasure, and it’s the same with bondage - he does not really appreciate that bondage is not just something that’s done to you, and submission is not just something you do - they are your experience.


“Get over yourself, it’s not about you,” I almost replied. Instead I kissed him.


To be continued
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Canuck100
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Post by Canuck100 »

Wed Nov 02, 2011 7:48 pm

Thank you for those responses.
I often wish I could appreciate what it’s like on the other side of the ropes, but I don’t know if I never will. I guess it’s no different from the fact that for the life of me I don’t understand the appeal of gambling, excessive drinking, football (playing and watching), reality TV or Jim Carrey.
Which is just my way of warning readers of more pseudo-psychoanalysis to come...


5. Soaring Sea-Eagles.


I begin this instalment with a point that may or may not be obvious. In most aspects of my life I am a feminist - by many accounts a radical one. My principles would not be at all compromised by my love of bondage, except that in my private relationships the line between everyday life and submissive role-play has become increasingly blurred. While I do not see these two polar-opposite facets of my nature as necessarily a contradiction, I know it can sometimes be confusing to those around me, and most of all to my endlessly patient boyfriend. Yet I have been this way a long time. As far back as my early teens, I bossed and bullied my baby brother more than I should have (though as much as he deserved), and yet when I had no one else to indulge my damsel in distress fantasies, I handed myself over to his less than tender mercies. Not that there was anything “icky” about our games, but ever since then my Jekyll-and-Hyde personality has sown confusion and bewilderment amongst enemies and friends alike.


Sabrina and I are not dissimilar. In many respects she is the model of a submissive female, but also very successful in a high-stress, competitive profession - she is smart, hard-working and ambitious. Like me, as a career woman she can be formidable and intimidating, albeit in different ways. Whereas I tend to be adversarial and aggressive (which is why I am known, ostensibly behind my back, as “that little bee with an itch”), she is shrewdly subtle and is not beneath exploiting her feminine charms. Once she was telling me how she won over a delegation of businessmen by wearing an extra-short skirt during her presentation. To my shocked response she casually replied that in a field rife with sexism, sexuality is a legitimate weapon. I don’t necessarily agree, but that’s the thing with Sabrina - the paradox. In her relationship with Jack, even more than in mine with Rob, while she has the potential to be the dominant partner, she has subsumed herself almost completely within his persona. If they ever do marry, she will have no hesitation in promising to “love, honour and obey.”


Michelle is, in her social and public life, not as strident as I am nor as calculating as Sabrina can be, but no less self-confident and self-reliant. In private, she is about as normal a girl as you will ever meet - except for her love of tie-up games. Of course, I’m not saying that a love of TUGs is abnormal, but rather that her commitment is well above average. Forget symbolism - for Michelle bondage is primarily sensual. The appeal is in the physical experience of being tied up and helpless. She’s fascinated and excited by the ways her body responds to the ropes. Though pretty and petite, she has an “earth mother” quality. She gives the impression that she’s connected to everything and everyone around her. So I guess that when she’s bound, gagged and blindfolded, she has some sort of mystical bond with her bonds - which is a weird way of putting it but the only way I can really describe it.


Andrea has, of course, already received more than her fair share of analysis in this story, so I will just say here that, of the four of us, the boys saw her as the weak link. They were resolved on making the focus of the weekend’s entertainment not just bondage but testosterone; and nothing reinforces the solidarity of the brotherhood more than football. Even if you’re a devotee like Michelle, if you don’t pass the testicular test, you can worship but may not enter the temple. And if you’re an agnostic like Sabrina or an apostate like me, you’re likely to find yourself strapped to the sacrificial altar.


So to use a more appropriate football analogy, the sidelines had been marked out. With the three of us who knew our positions and understood the playbook, there was no dilemma for our menfolk. Whereas Andrea - proud and imperious, used to being on top, condescending and contemptuous of those who doubt or defy the strength her will - represented a challenge. She had to be broken, and each thing that had happened since noon on Saturday had drawn her inexorably deeper into the submission she resists. Take for instance the skimpy costumes Sabrina had designed for us. Andrea is a typical girl with a wardrobe’s worth of miniskirts, microshorts and barely-there bikinis, but the moment she agreed to put on this burlesque caricature of a footballer’s uniform she became complicit in her own subjugation. But that’s the point I’m trying to make (after 779 words). Manipulated she may have been; she nevertheless submitted of her own free will. And that is the subversive and seductive nature of bondage. It is also, to me, the true essence of feminism - it’s not about what you are or what you do, it’s about having the freedom to choose to be what you want to be and do what you want to do.


So when we reassembled on the back veranda, Andrea meekly complied when Jack sent her and Sabrina off to the kitchen to make lunch. Thereafter, Michelle and I waited while the men organized a touch football game, as more than five hours remained until the grand final. She and I were then marched out into the yard, hands clasped behind our heads. Jack selected a tree at each end of the paddock and I was ordered to the far one, about fifty metres from the house. I stood with my back to it, my arms around the trunk and my wrists bound, my fingertips just able to touch. My legs were spread so my ankles and knees could be tied on either side of the trunk. Another rope was wound about my torso and the tree, around and between my breasts, ending in a neck halter which immobilized me completely. Luke blindfolded me while Rob inserted my gag - the kind I hate most, a bit-gag. The bar was made of some sort of rubber or plastic compound, so I could bite down on it and not hurt my teeth or cause my jaws to ache too much; but it had a somewhat acrid taste - not toxic, but unpleasant. The worst aspects with this type of gag are - as I’ve mentioned - that to be effective it must be strapped on tight, which means it digs into the corners of the mouth (although this one was slightly curved, easing the pressure) and it causes uncontrollable dribbling and, eventually, undignified drooling.


Jack and Alex were at the other end of the playing field attaching Michelle to her goal post. Before my blindfold went on, I saw that her tree was too large for her hands to be tied behind her so the guys instead bound them overhead. Otherwise, she got the same treatment as me, except that her bit-gag was of the rope variety - made by wrapping one end of a doubled cord around the loop at the end, and then threading it through the last remnant of the loop to create, when tightened, a soft bar. It’s probably easier to have in your mouth for a long time, but I don’t like the texture of rope on my lips and tongue, so I decided that if I had to wear a bit-gag, I preferred mine.


The guys played for maybe half an hour before the other two girls brought out lunch. For a while I was a little afraid of being hit by the ball, but I quickly got the message that there was no kicking, which made the game safer for Michelle and me. A couple of times the rough-housing came perilously close, but there were no actual collisions.


When play stopped for the lunch break, Sabrina took off my gag and fed me a sandwich - I tasted honey - and orange juice. When play stopped for the lunch break, Sabrina took off my gag and fed me a sandwich - I tasted honey - and orange juice. I said “Thank you,” and she said “You’re welcome, sweetie,” and then the gag went back into place. The game resumed and for maybe another half-hour I remained bound to my tree, isolated from the world beyond the ropes by my blindfold and gag but unable to “zone out” like I often do because of the activity and noise around me. The way I was bound also made it impossible to focus on anything else - that was partly the effect of the bit-gag, because I can never get used to having one in my mouth like I can with for instance a ball-gag. But in addition, with my feet tied where they were, my weight was shifted a little forward of upright, which put me slightly off-balance. The effect was that the load on my legs was transferred laterally - not much, but enough to put stress on my calf muscles, which are designed for absorbing mostly vertical stress. I soon began to feel twinges and spasms - too dull to be called pain but enough to be unpleasant. But as I have repeated many times (ad nauseum?), bondage should never be entirely comfortable - that would defeat the purpose.


The interesting thing about this session was that the boys were totally engrossed in their touch football game, ignoring me and, from what I could hear, Michelle. Which is itself worthy of comment. Was this some sort of declaration of their ascendancy, to leave us females tied up, sightless, rendered immobile, incapable of doing anything, and ignored, while they went freely about their men’s business? If so, it must have been especially galling to Michelle, who so enjoys her football. On the other hand, the guys know how much we love our bondage, and - like the discomfort I was feeling - the deprivation and the indignation add piquancy to the plight. That’s one of the things I love about TUGs - the many different levels of experience on both ends of the rope.


About an hour into my tree-tie, our menfolk made their statement more explicit. During a break in the game, I heard the unmistakable sound of Andrea rasping through her gag as she was brought up to me and we were placed together, up against each other face to face. Her wrists, knees and ankles were bound to mine, and I think a rope was passed around her midsection and drawn tight, so we were tied in a very snug embrace. Although she’s substantially taller than me, because Andrea was on the outside of our hugging position, her torso and head were lowered and so our mouths were on the same level. She was also wearing a bit-gag, so one of the boys hitched hers to mine with pieces of string, where the bar is attached to the strap.


We were kept pressed together like that for a long time, and I presumed the same had been done to Sabrina and Michelle. At first it was rather nice, feeling Andrea’s soft, warm body against mine, listening to the gentle tempo of her breathing and even feeling her heartbeat. Both intrigued me the way they keep speeding up and slowing down, in a rhythm that itself lengthened and shortened. And though it might sound gross, there was something oddly sensual about the way her saliva and mine blended on our lips and chins and trickled down our throats and dribbled onto our chests, soaking into the fabric of our shirts.


After a while, Andrea’s body began to move about. I don’t know if she was just wriggling and squirming, as she usually does, or if, in order to relieve the tedium, she was deliberately trying to arouse me. In any case, that is exactly what she did, nuzzling and undulating her breasts and belly against mine. Because it was Andrea, it was impossible to tell whether the sounds she was making through her gag were for my benefit or genuine. Either way, I was once more feeling hot, sweaty and tingly. Well, if nothing else it filled in the time.


To be continued.

Note from Canuck : this is the last chapter I could find on the Internet Wayback machine. If you have the missing parts, please send them to me or post them here! Thanks
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