Janie, the Burrito (F/F)

[AlexUSA3]

Janie, the Burrito
Thursday, June 20, 2019

My sister-in-law Eva is something else, let me tell you. Cleverness, cunning, abrasion, sass, and outright irreverence are all strong parts of her personality. Of course, she always has the edge on you when she's armed with D.B. Cooper II, and she really has the edge when she ruthlessly brings an accomplice armed with D.B. Cooper III. Under all that shines a caring soul that is deeply empathetic even when she doesn't show it outwardly, and she knows when it's fine for a rough-and-tumble TUG versus a gentler or more affectionate one.

“Reach for the sky, Jane, and slowly take off your shirt,” orders the military-tough spirit.

D.B. Cooper II and D.B. Cooper III are disengaged hunting rivals that are even named in all the formality of having the name painted onto the side. They're perfectly painted and under a protective coat. I, my husband, and my husband's two younger sisters and younger brother take turns using the harmless “weapons” in mock robberies and kidnappings even if we're adults. We merely have a more rough-and-tumble style of recreation.

Eva stands strong and proud. Despite crippling deafness that saw her military aspirations come to an end before they started, she dried her tears, dusted herself off, saw an audiologist, got much needed hearing aids, and pursued a new career. She now is before me wearing a sweet outfit that reflects that spirit and her adorable desire to be a housewife. Her burgundy bandana headband is a good start and accompanied the braid that held her long blonde hair. She has always loved her bandanas, but they became part of her personality when I entered her life 20 months ago. With a burgundy bandana means burgundy somewhere else—thin knee socks. With that she has a dark chocolate brown dress she made with her own hands, the skirt swishing about her calves. Last of all, brown steel-toed work boots because she'd been helping her brother do heavy labor earlier.

“Eva, enjoy roping up this gorgeous Amazon,” says a different female voice with a smug grin.
“With pleasure,” Eva takes a brown rope and pulls my elbows together behind my back.

I took off my shirt because I had a sports bra underneath that. Today was a blue outfit day since I felt the classic crayon blue: beautiful when you get to know it yet understated with just a touch of depression. A blue bandana headband, blue sports bra, blue gym shorts, blue crew socks, and blue sneakers. Even my long, long, jet black hair has a blue scrunchie to hold the braid, which is swishing just at the top of my butt. My hair is long, like I said to you already.

Amazon? I love these nicknames that these Rondell sisters throw with irreverent cheekiness and hilarious backhanded affection. An Indian Princess, a Female Seminole Samson, a Miccosukee Marauder. I’m blessed to be 6’1”, a genuine giant compared to many. Eva is the taller sister at 5’8”, which is nothing at which to shake a stick! My six-pack abs are obvious now that my shirt is gone, and they're becoming more obvious because of the tight elbow binding.

Caleigh is the elder sister, the link between me and them. We were college softball teammates at Minnesota Tech, and through my friendship with Caleigh is how I met Eva, who became the first true friend I had who was my own age. Long story short, I was two years ahead in grade school, and I blasted through college so well that I graduated a year early. As a result, I never had many friends my own age. Now, I’m married to their older brother and happier than ever before!

“Are those ropes tight enough?” I ask while testing my wrist bond with a grunt and a squeak.
“Tight enough to ensure that you now belong to me and Caleigh,” Eva walks in front of me with a strong swagger, “Ohhhhhh,” she shakes her head, “You're an Indian Princess in Distress.”
“That is sexy,” Caleigh wiggles her eyebrows, “Sexier than Gangsta in Distress.”
“Well,” Eva is coy with everything, “She's still a Gangsta Jock, so she's both.”
“The western paisley makes her Seminole-Miccosukee vibe even stronger,” the older girl adds.

I am so proud of it too. In case you can't tell, I’m writing in the present tense about a past event. At the time, I was merely convinced I was part Miccosukee; in 2024, I proved it. Miccosukee is a fun addition to Spanish and Seminole, and I’ve even got some African-American in there even if none of those traits can be seen in me or my siblings. Yes, the Indian jokes are going to be all over the place, but I will assure you that none of them will be racist.

My skin tone screams Native. My eyes are chocolate brown; my hair is black. I knew that I was part Seminole at a young age because everyone in Dad’s family knew it. To find out that his dad had a Miccosukee father, though, didn't surprise me. He looked it and came from the West Palm Beach area. What other tribe could he be when the reservation near there is Miccosukee? Eva is in love with that side of me and makes it clear that I am indeed a princess in her eyes. Caleigh’s another story, though; hers is much more complicated. Her bandana comment? Gospel truth.

There is an irony. Caleigh is bisexual, and it was ironically when she met me that she realized it. Yes, I was Caleigh’s first lesbian crush, and she went through 2.5 years of college fantasizing me and her getting close when she found the right moment… Only for me to fall in love with Ken on sight and him with me! From when I met Ken to when he first expressed interest was just Black Friday to Christmas. We dated starting in January, and we eloped just after I graduated college in May. I was but 19 when we tied the knot, and there have been no regrets from anyone we know.

“So, Sacagawea led Lewis and Clark, and those peoples mingled with my French ancestors, and will you now lead us through the forest?” Caleigh plays off my heritage and fails miserably.
“Caleigh, stick to psychology,” Eva deadpans with howling laughter, “Her people mingled with the Spaniards in Florida and never saw Minnesota let alone French fur trappers!”
“A true student of history!” I compliment Eva and still clap my hands despite my bondage.
“Thank you, thank you,” Eva bows, knowing that she is a voracious reader of history.

Which is a perfect transition to Eva tying a breast harness. This is about function and form in the context of a game; this one only serves to accentuate my pecs and bust. She loves my muscular physique and admires it as only a best friend and fellow fitness buff can. Harnesses are one of the few things that can get Eva to slow down and take her time restraining her captive, especially when it's a harness for me. She pulls it quite snug, making sure the pressure is even.

Some Rondells do go back to the original fur trappers of the Minnetonka area, so I actually could see a real ancestry of my in-laws going back to some Pierre and his wife, the converted native, to make an irreverent joke of my own. Eva rocks the burgundy bandana so well, but an undeniable truth is that Caleigh and Eva both easily burn in the sun although Eva tans better.

“It's time to shut up the Miccosukee Marauder,” Eva takes off her boots and her socks.

I’m standing here inside the RV which is where Ken and I live right now. We're in temporary but much needed accommodations because we're working on a fixer-upper to turn into our palace for raising the family we planned to have one day. It's tight but works for most young couple needs, but it's not the ideal place to be held up with those retired rifles D.B. Cooper II and III after a day of helping Ken fix up the place and after a rough session at the gym! Neither Eva nor I have taken a shower! Moments like this are our favorite times to get each other, though, but the present story just happens to be one in which I am the happier side of the situation.

“Gmmmm!” the thin socks are pushed into my mouth until my jaw is wide and my mouth is full.
“Just a little something,” Eva starts with a gray bandana cleave gag… and then adds 10 layers of red duct tape, each layer tighter than the previous one, until my face is squished, “Much better.”
“Gmmm mmmm!” I grimace because the gag tastes terrible, and Eva forces me to sit on my bed.
“Oh, Janie, you're getting something better than Eva’s butterscotch brownies,” Caleigh quips.

Yeah, right, Caleigh. She makes it sound like Eva’s foot creations are better than her housewife prowess, but fact is that she loves Eva’s cooking more than anyone else on earth. Playful jabs are the bread and butter of their relationship, but Caleigh gets off really easily because of strict house rules that mean her mouth cannot be stuffed for TUGs. In short, she's epileptic, so there can't be a stuffed gag lest she accidentally swallow in the even of a seizure while tied up. The idea of knotting a bandana around the socks only entered her life when she met the CGC back in spring of 2017, or just over 2 years before this story. But, right now, it's me eating Eva’s socks!

Salty, rough cotton doesn't exactly make for a tasty snack especially when tinged with layer upon layer like this. The smell of the duct tape adhesive fills my nose, and I can feel the pressure from both the knot of the gray bandana and the duct tape. Truly, they're pleasant feelings or, at least, a familiar feeling associated with a seemingly brutal act that we associate with kinship, friendship, and familiarity. The tied wrists and elbows, harness, and gag are a fantastic start to this game.

“Some Miccosukee Marauder,” Caleigh gives me a playful spank on each butt cheek.
“Gmmmm,” I turn around and back into a corner to resist in an equally spunky spirit.
“That blue mood is turning her into the playfully defensive Janie,” Eva sees through me.
“Well, she only breaks out the monochromatic blue when she's feeling down,” Caleigh agrees.
“Mmmm mmm mmmm,” I respond before grimacing at the flavors in my mouth.
“She's soaked in sweat and going to sweat some more,” Eva tenderly grabs me.
“Gmmmm,” I inquisitively watch her, but she playfully shoves me to sitting on the bed.

Long story short, I have a borderline personality. Caleigh and Eva do a great job of ensuring that I do not get overwhelmed and of not triggering any episodes associated with the life experiences that led me to be the woman I am. Eva kneels on the floor beside me and uses more of the tough brown rope to tie my ankles together, and Caleigh keeps D.B. Cooper III pointed at me. It's apparent that I am not escaping any time soon, especially not with a deaf, military tough girl with a burgundy bandana headband tying me up so effectively. Indian Princess in Distress!

I cannot help myself against this any longer. I chose to play the name, and I choose to enjoy it as well. Even as my legs get tied below my knees second and above my knees third, I know that an opportunity to end the game always exists because of the many safe signals we have. Eva spares nothing, tying my legs at the shin, too. It's tight, but I feel safe and loved right now, as I should.

“Gmmmmm,” I groan a little, getting a jolt of saltiness from Eva’s burgundy knee socks.
“She's becoming pretty useless,” Caleigh remarks with a smile, throwing her blonde locks back.
“I disagree,” Eva ties my legs at the middle thighs now, “Tall, dark, handsome, strong, helpless.”
“Mmmph,” I take a deep breath while taking stock of everything happening to me.
“Let's bring her outside now,” Caleigh suggests while Eva helps to stand up, “Then wrap her up.”
“Get a move on, our little friend,” Eva tenderly speaks before jerking on my braid and spanking me twice on each butt cheek and turning on the military attitude, “Move it, now, captive!”

It was only 98ºF outside today. Perfect conditions for a march like this after a day of work and a trip to the gym. I slowly hop out of the RV and down the path to the smooth, concrete patio at the back of the Rondell house in which my in-laws all live. Ken is sitting on the patio with a big glass of iced tea and enjoying the sun when I arrive. Eva then shows me the rolls of cling wrap. I have no idea, but she's about to turn me into a four-layer human burrito, if you will.

“Mmmmmmm,” I groan and again wince at the flavors mingling in my mouth, a strange delight.

The cling wrap first encases my arms from wrists to armpits. It doesn't restrain me; it sequesters all my sweat there. She wraps my torso for the same reason, going from my waist to my armpits. I really admire the creativity that accompanies her irreverence, the kind that makes your beloved lemon bars while keeping up in a strappado in the closet. Here, however, it's cling wrap, and she encases my legs from my shorts down to my knees and my knees down to my ankles.

I sit on the patio, struggling as much as my rope and plastic prison allows. Mostly, I am trying to move my arms to see if I can twist my way out of this. The strong rope bindings aren't giving an inch of play room. The struggle exerts energy, leading to sweating in this intense heat, and now I have the plastic wrap to increase my sweating due to my skin’s inability to breathe. Eva really is a genius when it comes to all things, and she's sadly been unintentionally brainwashed to believe Caleigh is smarter because Caleigh went to an eminent school while Eva is a paramedic.

“Mmmmmmmm!” I look at them both, strangely enjoying Eva’s sweaty, rough socks.
“I’ve still got a long way to go,” Eva declares proudly while Caleigh holds D.B. Cooper III.

A second harness, one designed to pin my arms to my body, is added over the cling wrap, for an interesting twist. It's an interesting choice, but Eva wastes no time in savoring moments. She's a girl on a mission, and soldiers must finish their assignment by all means possible. She ascertains her vicitm’s position and limits, and adds a waist-and-crotch rope, further restraining my arms by pinning them against my body too. She wraps my torso in cling wrap from my waist to my neck for a second six-layers-thick wrapping of the glorious plastic. No one can escalate like Eva.

This is where Eva is in her element now. If it's not obvious, I might be her sister-in-law, but I am also her best friend. She calmly sits on a chair with me across her knee and my face right against Ken’s crotch (she can be subtly dirty) and proceeds to give me a couple dozen spanks. It's not an intense spanking, intended mostly to humiliate me with an awkward position and helplessness. I like it, and you, Ken, Caleigh, and, most of all, Eva all know it and see it.

I get big jolts of the taste of Eva’s socks and feel the unique pressures of the 10 layers of red duct tape, the gray bandana cleave gag under the tape, and the cling wrap all over my body. I am now sweating like a big; I have become a sweaty Indian Princess in Distress, Kidnapped Miccosukee Marauder, Blue Gangsta Jock in Distress, and Helpless Seminole Samson. The cling wrap is like a personal greenhouse in this heat, and my sweat has nowhere to go because of the wrap.

“Mmmmmmm,” I twist to look at Eva, but Caleigh uses my braid to reel me in to her own grasp.
“I’m taking over while Eva prepares the next layer of your prison,” she says with playful sadism.
“Gmm mm mmm,” I groan and struggle while trying to resist and to make things hard for them.
“You're very cute,” Caleigh adjusts my bandana to get the floral symbol back where it belongs.
“Mmmmm,” I watch her center the center of the flower above the bridge of my nose.
“Yes, very pretty for a Gangsta in Distress,” she gives me a playful kiss on the forehead.
“Gmmmm!” I grunt because she playfully squeezes my nose shut for 30 seconds, “Hmph!”
“Awwwww, the big, strong, softball star is all helpless,” Caleigh enjoys the taunting.
“Gmmm mmm mmmmmmmmmm!” I wail, sweat pouring off my face while I stand.

I hop around the patio. What must my brother-in-law and mother-in-law be thinking when they look out the back door and see me? A girl in an all blue getup hopping around aimlessly? This isn't my first cling wrap rodeo by far, and I should be glad Caleigh and Eva agreed to let me keep my shorts. One time, they had me remove those too while keeping my socks and sneakers like I have right now! A girl in a sports bra, briefs, socks, and sneakers made a funny sight!

While Eva looks and acts more feminine than Caleigh, Caleigh is quite feminine in her touch and looks. She has shorts and a t-shirt with girly designs, and her grip on me is gentle and strong, as a good softball pitcher should have. Epilepsy hasn't ruined her aspirations even if it limits what’s permitted when she's tied up. Her epilepsy is under control through medication, I have only seen her have an actual seizure once, thankfully. That was terrifying. She has an advantage that leads to me and Eva being captives more than her: her elbows can't be tied to touching like ours can.

“Gmmmm!” I hop around the patio, my sneakers loudly clomping while I look to her for mercy.
“Poor Miccosukee Marauder can't escape, can she?” Caleigh walks up to me and looks up at me.
“Gmmmm!” I repeat my nonsensical plea while sweat drips off all around me.
“I know. Eva is taking an awfully long time to get the stuff for your next layers,” she squeezes my nose shut a second time, which is one more than she normally does, “Be patient, my dear.”
“Gmmph!” I shake off her grip and take a strong backwards hop while gazing into her blue eyes.
“How do Eva’s socks taste? That mouth filling, rough, sweaty, wet, pungent cotton?”
“Hlll mmm!” I watch her sit down and grab her drawing pad so she can quickly sketch me.

Nothing is satisfying or humbling like having Caleigh Rondell want to make a TUG sketch so an adventure is never forgotten. She’ll make a somewhat hasty but decent sketch, and sometimes a picture will be taken. Then, later, she goes through and finishes it and colors it. On the back, she will make a diary style entry about the day. She does a drawing nearly every day, though not all are TUG drawings. Eva and I, however, are her favorite subjects, and she does paid commission work and has won minor contests on account of her talents. She only does what will make her a happier person though, even in commissioned drawings.

While we wait for Eva to return, Caleigh asks me to pose for her, and I constantly gag talk to her as if she can understand me, all while moving as she needs to either reduce the glare that both the sweat and cling wrap are causing. My incessant “Mmmph!” and “Gmm” and similar attempts to be heard and understood evoke giggles from both her and Ken. Ohhhh, Ken, I love you so much, my handsome husband, and you love the friendship between me and your younger sisters.

“Hold still, please. I know you can only hop and scrunch. Don’t do those things,” she taunts me.

I am sweating horribly now even as the sun descends in the sky. Sunset is a long way away since it is only 5 or 6 in the afternoon in summer in Minnetonka. The ropework is bad enough, but the cling wrap gives the sweat no way to evaporate, trapping it against my skin. Three bonds along each leg segment are fairly standard for me, since I am so freaking short, right? Ha! The worst, and best, part, though, is having those socks Eva wore in my mouth. We worked on the house all day from 7 AM sharp to 3 PM and then hit the gym from 3:30 PM to 4:30 PM. Her socks are so delicious it cannot be stated strongly enough. Of course, I’m being just a little sarcastic.

Try, if you dare, to imagine saltiness with all the unique flavors that go into someone’s body odor mixed into them. Imagine a hot day when your sweat dribbles into your mouth, and there comes that sudden strong, nasty, almost ocean-like salinity. Now, imagine the roughness you feel when you wiggle your toes inside your socks while wearing shoes. Now imagine your tongue against that with your mouth stuffed full of that texture. Make it wet. That’s a dirty sock gag.

“Gmmmmm!” I hop and growl angrily when Eva finally emerges with the crayon blue sheets.
“I told you not to hide those so well,” Caleigh never looks at her, “Where were they after all?”
“Where you told me to put them so that we could find them more easily,” Eva says with a groan.
“Who would have thought that I’d be more organized than you for once,” the older girl laughs.
“HMMHMMH!?” I groan and enjoy another shot of her foot salt, “Gmm mmm mmmmm!”
“Don’t go hopping into the forest, girlie!” Eva fires a warning shot, “Remember last time?!”

Yeah, of course. Last time I tried that, Eva caught up to me in 2 minutes and slung me across her shoulder and roughly spanked me all the way back to the house before stuffing me in the largest suitcase she could find and padlocking it shut for 30 minutes. I’ve certainly tasted worse socks in my time, particularly from my own sister, from Caleigh, and from one of my college friends.

I look at Ken, as if I expect him to do something to help. He shrugs and points to Eva as if she’s a force with which even he will not mess. Come on, Ken! She’s wearing a burgundy bandana as a headband and a homemade chocolate brown dress! Look at the external girliness that you well and truly know will just melt and only playfully, and quite loudly, resist if you try to capture her. I know you can do it, but you love watching this interplay among us three too much to help me!

“GMM MMM MMMMMM!” I frantically hop around the patio and even try to get in the house.
“Stop it, Janie!” Caleigh points old D.B. Cooper III right at me, “Or else.”
“All right, Miccosukee Marauder,” Eva points to the laid out sheet, “Time to become the Gangsta Jock in Distress, Indian Princess in Distress, Damsel in Distress, or Whatever in Distress.”
“Nm mmm,” I shake my head in my continued playful defiance against their actions.
“Move it, captive!” Caleigh uses the barrel of the disabled rifle to shove me along.
“Gm mmmmmmm!” I try to sound pitiful in my role, hopping around in terrified dismay.

Oh! Another fun story of resistance. One time, Caleigh had me and Eva tied up much like this, and she told us to take 5 minutes to hop into the forest behind the house (the Rondells have tons of acreage that’s all fenced-in, so it’s safe for such adventures) before she tracked us down for a punishment we’ll never forget. That was the best Caleigh Rondell spanking I’ve ever received. I have D.B. Cooper III threatening me, though, and I let Eva take over.

I’m laid out on the big, flat sheet, right at the edge, parallel to the narrow side. It’s a king-sized sheet that she found at a thrift store. I’m placed in the middle, too. The excess above my head is folded over my head and torso, and the excess below my feet is folded over my feet and legs for the start. Only then does Eva begin tightly rolling the sheet up, with me inside, becoming Janie the Burrito in the process. When they reach the end, more cling wrap wraps me from my ankles to my neck, sealing me inside a most oppressive trap. It’s in four layers all the way up, too. I’m going to be a steaming, sweaty, helpless Damsel in Distress in a matter of minutes. I love it, too.

“MMMMMM!” I am a girl wearing blue now wrapped in a blue sheet.
“I think your wife is in trouble,” I hear Eva teasing Ken in that savage, loving, teasing voice.
“She’s a sexy wife, though. Some Seminole Samson she is now!” Caleigh piles it on too.
“Gangsta in Distress,” Eva’s tone is sassy, cherishing me as the first friend who understood her.

This is the most brilliant bondage I’ve ever experienced. It’s not enough to be bound with ropes. I then have the wrap, more rope bondage, more wrap, the sheet burrito wrap, and more wrap. It’s a match made in heaven, and I can hardly do anything in the scorching heat except sweat, scream into a hopelessly tight and inescapable gag, sweat, squirm, sweat, and bewail my helplessness. It is everything a good TUG should have: surprises, twists, intensity, and personalization. This is a moment I know I will never forget and will forever cherish as the first of its kind even if we do it better. Nothing can change that this was the debut or that Eva’s booted foot is on my belly.

I was sweating so badly before. Now the heat is worse. It’s a good heat, though, and I feel such a strong sense of oppression in this binding. It’s like when my sister and I would tie each other up and make the captive sit in her smoking hot Jeep for 10 minutes on a hot Florida summer day and even sit there and laugh at the captive. Think about it: rope, wrap, rope, wrap, sheet, wrap. I have become a six-layer human burrito! All while sucking on Eva’s burgundy knee socks.

“Gmmmpph!” is all I can say while groaning into my sister-in-law’s nasty sweaty cotton.
“Chimichangas!” Caleigh insists, “She's frying in all those layers and folded up right.”
“Tamale! Layers for steaming in her own sweat!” Eva responds in kind, “I invented it.”
“Mmmhmmmhmm!” I attempt to say “Burrito” but fail miserably.
“Shut up, Indian Princess Gangsta Jock in Distress,” Eva pushes down with her boot.
“Mmmmmmm,” the pressure feels good even as it worsens the sensations.

With time, sock gags and fabric gags and even tape gags can weaken. In this case, what happens is that the socks become almost like you’re tasting brine to be sure it’s good before putting your meat in it. It compresses a little, giving you some intelligibility back. If you’re fortunate, a bit of moisture will see out of the gag and start to weaken the tape. In my case, the bandana helps to increase the time needed for this to happen, especially because my face is absolutely crushed by the 10 layers of tape and because the gray bandana cleave gag between the socks and the tape is also tied in that same Eva-approved-and-applied military-grade-vicious brutality.

Do I quit? Rarely. I only submit when there’s punishment to encourage me to submit. I submit if I wish to submit in a game like this, which makes it not really submission and merely how I’m choosing to react to my surroundings. Being a human burrito is fun, but I cannot tolerate much more of this as long as I am outside like this. In my mind, I can picture many ways to do this all differently and therefore change everything. At the end of the day, what matters is that it’s good, clean fun in love, sisterhood, and friendship. I love my sisters-in-law… not as much as Ken.

My blue mood is gone. Maybe I’m still wearing the all blue (sneakers, socks, gym shorts, sports bra, and bandana headband, in case you forgot), but I’m happy. Sometimes, sisterhood is better at alleviating my BPD than anything a pill can do. That doesn’t mean I stop taking the pill, but it means that my in-laws do what medicine cannot. It’s a delicate balance, and I cannot speak how much I love them. They’ve been so good to me since I met them, and I cannot repay them for it nor will I ever try because that will always result in feeling unworthy or frustrated.

“It’s time for the captive to come out of her tamale sheath, see if she’s steamed enough,” Eva has such an infectious laugh and a way with irreverent, cruel snark, “Gangsta Jock in Distress.”

She’s overplaying the Native jokes today, but it’s in love. Some days, like today, I really do feel like an Indian Princess. There’s a story to how I got to be this way, so in love with my ancestry I feel like Eva’s right when she says my preferred Western paisley bandanas make me look prettier and more in line with that heritage. She tries to be tasteful, but she did twice say a word I had to chide her for using because it was a racist tribe linked to one tribe’s name being used by a certain Florida public college that is known for athletics and little else. That’s another story. Right now, what truly matters is that I look and feel it so strongly and love the jokes today.

“Mmmmmm,” I’m grateful to feel that outer wrap come off the snickers of my sisters-in-law.
“Hi, tamale!” Eva has such an unusually innocent, affectionate grin now, “How’s our Janie?”
“Guh!” I resume my playful resistance of the intense bondage and work the tape off my lips.
“She’s doing pretty well for herself, all things considered,” Caleigh remarks with a smile.
“Blugh!” I shake my head, forcing the red tape town, revealing my red cheek, a puddle of drool around my mouth, and the gray bandana cleave gag that eliminates my chance of spitting Eva’s socks out of my mouth, “Hen! Hell ee! Ah’m a Haw in Hithheth!” I try to use Eva’s nickname.
“Who’s Hen? Is that some other man?!” Ken asks in mock horror, “Fine! I won’t help you!”
“AUGH!” I trash around and kick my feet, throwing my braid around in the process, “HERK!”
“Way to be a f-ckst-ck, bro,” Caleigh, unusual for her, drops the first profanity of the game, and she snips the tape off for me, “Poor Janie. She’s a Blue Gangsta Jock in Distress!”
“I dunno,” he shakes his head, “Janie looks when I’m play that role with her.”
“Oh, that does it. Cay,” Eva motions to Caleigh, “I’ll bring Janie inside. Could you clean up?”
“Sure thing,” the older sister smiles and squeezes my cheek before turning to the blue sheet.

Over Eva’s shoulder I go with a series of rough spanks for me as we enter the house. I groan an awful lot while she totes me along, mostly because of the taste of her socks. She forces me to sit down on a chair while she unpeels all of the plastic wrap and then checks and tightens the breast harness and the waist-and-crotch rope. With my wrists and elbows tied together behind my back in the brown rope, I’m stuck anyway, and the six ropes along my legs don't help.

My sister-in-law is a talented knitter, and she pulls out a knit creation. It's a blue knit hood. She made it herself. She knits these tightly so that minimal light comes through, but it's the standard type of yarn so it breathes enough. This one has a Velcro strap, and she pulls the hood over my head and tightens the strap around my neck to plunge me into darkness, pulling my braid through the provided. In fact, she jerks on my braid a couple times before she coerces me to lie down on my stomach, and she hogties me from my ankles to my elbows. Tight and amazing.

“Some Miccosukee Marauder you are,” she playfully sneers, “Just a Gangsta in Distress.”

The hood and hogtie are a fun way to bring a long adventure to a close. I’m tired and struggling a little, but it's not much. I groan a lot and enjoy Eva’s taunting, and soon Caleigh is back beside us. The rope bondage is so liberating after being in the layers of cling wrap and the sheet, and an overwhelming sense of relief and accomplishment fill me up as new hormones rush throughout my body in response to the change in pressure. It's a relaxing sensation.

“Han humuhn heathe unhie ee?” I continue to play my role as the damsel-in-distress.
“Just a helpless damsel,” Eva taunts and spanks me some more, continuing her role in joy.
“Hey! Hou’re a hah hirl!” my responses now have substance while I try to spit her socks out.
“Don’t try it,” she removes the hood, unknots the gray bandana, and knots it tighter than before.
“Seminole Samson,” Caleigh jerks on my braid, “Nonsense. Just a Blue Bandana Gangsta Jock.”
“Owww!” I yell despite my enjoyment of the sharp shooting pain, and the hood goes back on.
“A common captive. Just an ordinary girl, but one who happens to be native,” Eva says sadly.

I struggle on the carpet despite the hogtie and the hood. Having endured 24 hour bondage games before, I know that I can handle a lot more than this and still maintain some endurance. There is a specific sensation about being tied and gagged so well and being watched by your captor… or in my case captors. I am twisting my head and trying to push the socks out with my tongue, but it is useless. I am twisting my arms and trying to free myself, but that's just as useless.

When I know I can't escape, it excites me. I struggle more. I fight more. I resist more. I yell, as much as the gag allows, more. I am trying my best, but I keep failing to escape my Eva-vicious captivity. Nothing is as freeing as being completely helpless. It's easy to lean into the role and to let go of everything. I can take it all like this. I’m a captive, but I’m a beloved captive.

“Girls, time for dinner!” Mrs. Rondell calls out, meaning it's time for me to get untied.

Bringing this game to a close. Thanks for reading.

THE END

[Ovi1]

That was a great story, very descriptive. And an interesting burrito bondage predicament