Stories of Tie Up Games

Inspired by @boundgirl09

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Amy peered out of her bedroom window, watching the raindrops hammer in a frenzied attack on the glass pane. The dreary November sky loomed above, a canvas of greys that mirrored her mood. She was fourteen and had no interest in facing the day ahead. The mere thought of double maths and PE brought a shiver down her spine, despite the warmth of her cozy pajamas.

Julie, her mother, bustled into the room with a cup of hot chocolate, the steam rising like a silent question. "Amy, honey, you know you can't miss school on a day like this," she said, placing the cup on the nightstand. Her voice was tired, yet held a hint of amusement.

Amy turned to look at her, eyes pleading. "But, Mom, I'll just be miserable all day," she protested. "Can't I just stay home?"

Julie sighed, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. She knew her daughter's aversion to school on such days was more about comfort than health. "Alright, but if you're going to play hooky, you're going to have to follow the rules," she said with a playful edge to her voice. "You're going to spend the entire day tied up and gagged. It's the only way I can be sure you won't go watching youtube and tick-tock all day.”

Amy's eyes widened, a spark of excitement flickering within the depths of her pupils. It was an odd request, but she knew her mother had a quirky sense of humor. Besides, the idea of a day spent in captivity, even if self-imposed, had a certain appeal. She nodded solemnly. "Okay, Mom. I'll stay put."

“Oh. And you must wear full school uniform!”

Amy’s excitement faded slightly. The thought of wearing her stiff skirt and crested blazer all day was less appealing than she’d hoped, but she wasn’t about to let that ruin her day off. She nodded again, more hesitant this time. “Okay, Mom. I’ll get dressed now.”

Tenty minutes later the phinecall to,school with fabrvated illness was made and Amy stood before her mother in her whutebblouse, rec tie, navyblue blazer and skirt with thigh length long black socks. Only her school shoes were missing, her mum’s one allowance for comfort.

“Have youmbeen to,the bathroom?” He mum julie asked, fressed for a day wiekinhnfrom home, smart white blouse and nevk scarf for tye Zoom calls, on top of baggy grey joggers and bare feet.

‘Yes mum.” Amy replied.

“OK. Lets get started.” Julie held up a length of coarse hemp. “Hands behind your back sweetie.”

Amy felt the roughness of the rope as it coiled around her wrists, tightening gently but firmly. Her mother had clearly done this before. She had a strange feeling of anticipation as she felt the rope dig into her skin, not painfully but enough to remind her she was bound. She winced slightly as the knot was pulled tight, but the discomfort was quickly overshadowed by a surprising thrill of excitement. Julie then proceeded to bind Amy’s elbows together, her movements swift and precise. Each loop of the hemp sent a shiver through the teenager's body, the tension building in a way that was both uncomfortable and exhilarating. The fabric of her blazer bunched up slightly, but she didn't protest; she knew it was part of the game. The rain outside had turned into a steady rhythm, a drumbeat accompanying her descent into this peculiar form of captivity.

Julie's eyes met Amy's in the mirror. She could see the mix of apprehension and excitement in her daughter's gaze. "Ready for more?" she asked, her tone playful yet serious. Amy nodded, the knot in her stomach tightening. Her mother then began wrapping the rope around her chest, cinching it snugly but not too tightly. It was a strange sensation, feeling her body being compressed, her breaths shallower and more deliberate. She watched as her reflection grew smaller, the ropes forming an intricate pattern across her school shirt. The material of the blazer stretched tautly over her chest, emphasizing the contours of her growing body. Despite the discomfort, she felt a peculiar sense of satisfaction in her predicament.

Next, her mother bent her knees and tied her legs together at the ankles, ensuring the knot was secure with a couple of tugs. Amy felt a momentary panic as her legs were rendered immobile, but it quickly gave way to a sense of vulnerability that she found strangely liberating. Julie continued her work, looping the rope around her thighs and cinching it tightly. The skirt of her uniform was now rucked up, revealing the bare skin of her upper legs and the edge of her longbsocks. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks, but the warmth of the room and the rush of adrenaline made it feel like a small price to pay for the thrill of the situation as Julie biund her above and below,her knees.

"Any last words, kiddo?" Julie asked, a smirk playing on her lips as she held up the red scarf. The sight of it made Amy's heart race. She nodded, not trusting her voice. She knew once that cloth was in her mouth, she'd be fully committed to this game of captivity.

Julie leaned in, her eyes dancing with mischief as she pushed a balled-up scarf into Amy's mouth. The fabric tasted faintly of laundry detergent, the softness muffling any sound she might make. Next, she tied a second scarf, this one black, around Amy's head, threading it through her teeth to keep the gag firmly in place. The knot at the back of her head felt snug but not painful. She tried to protest, but her muffled noises only served to entertain her mother further.

Julie then pulled a crisp white handkerchief from her pocket and folded it into a neat square. She held it up with a dramatic flourish, then pressed it against Amy's mouth. The cool fabric felt surprisingly comforting against her flushed cheeks. With a deft movement, she tied the ends behind Amy's neck, effectively silencing her daughter. The handkerchief looked almost elegant, framing her mouth like a tiny pillow. It was a stark contrast to the harsh, functional ropes that bound her body. Finally she tied a second white hankerchief overvthe girl’s eyes blindfolding her before setting iff for the kitchen to make herself a cup,of coffee befire logging on and staring at spreadsheets.

The house grew quiet, the only sounds the tick of the clock in the hall and the persistent patter of rain outside. Amy's senses heightened, she became acutely aware of the ropes against her skin and the sound of her own breathing. The fabric of the gag was damp from her breath, and she felt a droplet of saliva from her drool seep through the fabric, tracing a cool path down her neck. She tested the bonds, trying to move her limbs, but the ropes held firm. The struggle only served to tighten her bonds and heighten her excitement.

Julie returned with her coffee, the aroma wafting through the air, mingling with the faint scent of the damp fabric. She took a sip, watching Amy with a curious expression. "Remember the rules," she said, her voice muffled by the fabric. "No noise, no escape attempts. You're in for the long haul."

Amy nodded, the handkerchief gagging her effectively. She felt the pressure of the knots around her wrists and legs, the tightness of the ropes around her chest and thighs, and the weight of the blindfold over her eyes. The initial thrill of the situation had given way to a growing sense of unease, but she remained resolute. This was her choice, after all.

“One last thing.” Julie eased some foam plugs into,her daughters ears muffling the world outside as she flipped the lid of her laptop up.

Amy felt the soft foam press into her ears, and the sudden muffled silence was like a cushion of solitude around her. The world outside her own thoughts had been silenced, leaving only the intimate sounds of her own breathing and the rain's serenade.

She tested the restraint, she stretched her legs, wiggled her toes and fingers. Julie had done a good job. The ropes were tight and secure, but not uncomfortable. It was like being in a big hug. Her arms were secure behind her back but there was no discomfort in her shoulders. Her finger coild move fully but there was no knit within reach. She settled down on the sofa and realised suddenly with the ear olugs in she could not even hear the tick of the clock. She had no sense of the passage of time.

Time! Jow lomg was mum going to keep her tied jp. All daynshe’d said. Shed started to tie her up aboit the time she nirmally left for school, 8am. And she usually left school about 3pm. Hime around 3.30. Oh my god. Seven and a half hours! Surely jer mum wasn’t serious.

Nice story @Sian91 Could do with a spell check though

After half an hour Julie stretched her legs, wiggled her toes and stood up, walking over to check on Amy. She looked so peaceful and serene tied up on the sofa that she almost felt guilty for her earlier teasing. “Alright, let’s see how you’re doing,” she said, her voice a gentle murmur in the quiet room. She approached and carefully ran her fingers over her daughter’s socked feet.

Amy jolted at the touch, her heart racing beneath the layers of ropes. She had been lost in a mix of anxiety and excitement, the silence playing tricks on her. She hadn't heard her mother approach (ear plugs and bare feet on carpet). The sensation of her mother's fingertips on her feet was initially a shock, but surprisingly comforting, grounding her in reality.

Julie felt a twinge of concern, seeing her daughter's flushed face. She leaned down, her voice close to Amy's ear. "You okay?"

The muffled question barely registered through the foam plugs, but Amy nodded vigorously, trying to convey her comfort. The truth was, she felt a mix of fear and excitement that she hadn't anticipated. The bound teenager shifted slightly, the ropes cutting into her skin just enough to keep her acutely aware of her restrained state. The silence had become a cocoon, wrapping around her like the very bonds that held her in place.

Julie, seemingly satisfied with Amy's non-verbal response, retreated to the kitchen to tackle the mountain of laundry that had amassed over the weekend. The gentle hum of the washing machine and the occasional clink of a spoon against a mug were the only sounds that pierced the quietude of the house. Amy's mind wandered, imagining scenarios of rescue or discovery that grew increasingly far-fetched with each passing moment. Her thoughts were interrupted by her mother coming closer again.

The muffled sounds remained hidden from her, as her mother made the familiar work siunds: the shuffling of paperwork, the soft tap of her fingers on the keyboard. The plugs in her ears had become a strange buffer, allowing only the most insistent sounds to penetrate her cocoon of silence. She heard the squeak of the office chair, the faint murmur of a Zoom call, and the occasional chime of an incoming email. The isolation was both terrifying and exhilarating, a stark reminder of her vulnerability yet a thrilling escape from the mundane.

As the minutes turned to hours, the noises grew distant, a gentle lullaby to her racing thoughts. The rain outside had turned into a soft whisper, a gentle backdrop to her solitary confinement, almost like shite noise adding to her deafness. Amy's mind drifted, exploring the sensations of being bound and blindfolded. The ropes felt like a second skin, a constant reminder of her powerlessness and yet, a peculiar comfort. The fabric of the gag was sodden now, but she didn't want it removed. It was a barrier to the outside world, a silent guardian of her secret adventure.

Her thoughts grew more vivid, conjuring images of herself in various tied-up predicaments: trapped in the school library, her wrists bound to the chair as she struggled silently during detention; caught by a masked intruder in their home, her ankles and wrists secured to the bedpost with her own necktie; even a dramatic scene of being held captive in a dank dungeon, the clink of chains echoing around her. Each scenario played out in her mind, the thrill of danger and helplessness coursing through her veins. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath quickening, but she knew she was safe, nestled in the familiar embrace of her living room sofa. Half asleep half awake she began to thrash around, she was sent by her mother to a strange dictor, who tied her up in a strsight jacket, bound her legs together with straps, put a nood kver her head with no eye, mouth or ear holes.

In one particularly vivid daydream, she was a damsel in distress, her hands bound behind her back with the very same ropes that now held her in place. A knight in shining armor burst through the door, his eyes wide with shock and concern upon seeing her plight. He rushed over, his sword clattering to the ground as he began to work at her bonds, his strong, gentle hands moving with urgency. She could almost feel the warmth of his breath on her neck as he worked, his touch sending shivers down her spine. But it was only a dream, and the sound of her mother’s voice brought her back to reality with a jolt.

"I said no escape attempts," Julie reminded her, a hint of amusement in her tone. She had noticed Amy's struggle and had come to check on her. "Are you okay?" she asked, placing a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

Amy nodded, her heart racing. The reality of her situation had hit her like a surprise splash of cold water, but she didn't want to admit it. She took a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of her mother’s perfume. "Yeah, I'm fine," she mumbled around the gag, her voice barely audible even to herself.

Julie studied her for a moment, her expression unreadable. "I think it's time we up the ante," she said with a wry smile. She disappeared into the hall closet, returning with more rope. Amy felt a new thrill of fear mixed with anticipation.

Her mother knelt beside her, looping the rope under her arms and around her elbows, then threaded it over her shoulder blades. The hemp was rough, but she felt a strange comfort in its embrace. With a deft motion, Julie pulled the rope around her ankles, which were still bound together, and began to pull it taut. The tension grew, the ropes tightening, lifting her slightly off the sofa. Amy gasped around her gag, feeling the weight shift in her body as she was hogtied, her knees bent and her feet brought closer to her butt. The new position was more uncomfortable than she had expected, but she didn't protest. Instead, she felt a rush of excitement as the ropes held her in place, even more immobile than before.

Julie worked with the precision of an artist, the rope sliding over Amy's skin with the ease of a snake. Each loop and knot was calculated, each pull deliberate. The tension grew, the rope cutting into her flesh in a way that was not painful but both strict and exhilarating. Amy felt the blood rush to her face, her heart racing. The pressure on her chest made it harder to breathe, but she didn't dare to struggle. She was trapped, utterly and completely at her mother's mercy.

With a final tug, Julie secured the knot, and Amy felt her body being pulled taut. The ropes around her ankles and elbows met in a harsh embrace, the tension pulling her heels closer to her bum. She was hogtied, a human pretzel on the sofa. The fabric of the scarf was sticky with her saliva, but she didn't care. The thrill of being so utterly helpless was intoxicating, her mind racing with thoughts of what might come next.

“OK kiddo.” Her morher said next to her ear. “One more zoom call then lunch.”

Good story

Can’t wait for the next part!

Belatedly finished at last



The microwave pinged announcing the chicken soup and warm rollls were reafy for kunch as Julie began yo free Amy from the web kf ropes. She groaned as her legs straightened and she gelt the harsh oins and needles as blood returned to her feet. Julie continued to untie her daughter.

“That was awesome Mum.” Amy said as her gag was finally removed.

‘Not convunced a day at school was a better bet yet?”

Amy staggered on numb legs to the bathroom as Julie put the soup on yhe table.

The cracked linoleum creaked under her nylon covered soles, the harsh overhead light making her squint. Every muscle screamed protest—her shoulders burned from strain, her hips felt permanently locked. Yet beneath the agony hummed exhilaration, fizzing like soda in her veins. The relentless pressure of the ropes had carved a strange clarity into her thoughts: *This is real. More real than algebra.* She splashed cold water on her face, droplets hitting the porcelain basin sharp as pebbles. Her reflection showed flushed cheeks, tangled hair, eyes bright with adrenaline residue and red marks from her gag.

Back at the kitchen table, Julie slid the steaming bowl toward her daughter. The scent of thyme and chicken filled the air, thick and comforting. "Eat," she murmured, watching Amy cradle her wrists—red striped from rope marks—as she tried to grasp the spoon. Amy’s movements were stiff, clumsy ghosts of rebellion. Julie noted the tremble in her fingers but saw no regret in those wide, dilated pupils. She pushed aside her own laptop, its screen still glowing with unfinished spreadsheets. Silence stretched, heavy with unspoken questions: *Will she run? Fight? Beg for more?*

“OK Amy. Food done yick. Bathroom done. Tick.” Afternoon session on.”

"Wh-what?" she whispered. Her throat felt raw from the gag, the sound scraping out like gravel. Julie merely gestured toward the living room rug where coils of discarded rope lay like sleeping snakes. The hum of the fridge filled the sudden silence. Outside, a car door slammed—normal life, impossibly distant.

“You’re not going back to school thus afternoon so yiure staying tied up.”

Julie’s fingers moved with practiced efficiency, gathering the discarded ropes from the rug. Amy’s breath hitched—not in fear, but anticipation. Julie instructed Amy to sit on tye floor, hands behind her back as she bgan to bind her wrists together again, the coarse fibers whispering against each other as Julie tightened the knots. Instead of tying her elbows together, she wrapped ropes around her chest, pinning her upper arms to her body and cinching under her atmpits to tighten the binds. Then she guided her daughter onto her side, then bound her knees together before nudging them sharply towards her chest. Amy gasped as her spine curved into a tight C, muscles protesting the sudden compression. *This is new*, she thought, her heartbeat thudding against her ribs like a trapped bird. Julie looped rope under Amy’s knees, pulling it round behind her back and nuck, squeezing her thighs against her chest. Next more rope was tightened around ankles and wrists in a single fluid motion, drawing them together behind Amy’s back until she was curled like a foutus in yhe womb. The position forced her forehead against her knees, breath warm and damp against her tights.

Amy tensed as Julie produced a thick cotton blindfold—a repurposed school sock smelling of fragrant conditioner. Darkness descended abruptly, smothering the harsh afternoon light coming through the window. Amy’s world narrowed to the throb in her shoulders and the rhythmic rasp of Julie’s breath nearby. Then came the gag: a rolled-up strip of cloth, tasting of clean linen, pushed firmly past her teeth. Amy’s jaw stretched uncomfortably to accommodate it, muffled sounds escaping her lips as Julie tied the knot snug behind her head. Silence pressed in—amplifying the roar of her own pulse and the distant hum of the refrigerator. *Can’t see. Can’t speak. Can’t move.* The realization coiled hot and electric in her belly.

The first feather-light stroke danced across the sole of her nylon-clad foot. Julie’s fingertips brushed deliberately, tracing the arch with maddening slowness. Amy jerked violently against her bonds, a muffled shriek trapped behind the gag. Each touch was a tiny electric shock—intrusive, impossible to escape. Julie chuckled softly, a low rumble Amy felt more than heard as the tickling intensified. It wasn’t pain, yet the sheer violation of it—the utter inability to even flinch away—made tears prick her blindfolded eyes. The helplessness wasn't theoretical anymore; it vibrated through her with every teasing scrape of fingernails. She squirmed futilely against the ropes binding her knees to her chest, her muffled laughter choked and desperate. She wiggled her feet from yhe ankle, trying to cover one sensitive sole with the ktyer, on,y to be riminded of the vulnerability of bkth feet as Julie simoly switched her target to the opposite sole. Unable to kick her legs or move her feet away from her mothers tortuous tips she had no choice but to acquiesce to her punishment.

Curled impossibly tight in the ball tie, Amy registered the profound difference from the morning’s hogtie. The strain on her shoulders and hips had eased considerably—no wrenching pull threatening to dislocate joints. Instead, her entire body felt encased, compressed into an unyielding sphere. Her breath came shallowly, ribs restricted by the chest ropes, face pressed firmly into her knees. It was profoundly restrictive—more so than the hogtie, she realized with a jolt—yet paradoxically *softer*. The constant, grinding pressure was gone, replaced by a total, encompassing stillness. She couldn’t shift an inch, couldn’t lift her head, couldn’t hope to roll away. Yet nestled deep within this immobility, a profound sense of containment bloomed, heavy and strangely peaceful beneath the lingering tremors from Julie’s tickling assault.

The sound receded: Julie’s soft chuckle fading, the rustle of her clothes moving away across the worn rug. Amy strained her ears, every muffled footstep echoing in the enveloping darkness. She heard the distinct creak of the old kitchen chair—the one Julie always used when working at the table—followed by the sharper scrape as it was pulled across linoleum. Then, silence. Thick, expectant silence. Amy held her breath, the damp gag pressing against her palate, her own pulse thundering in her ears. Had Mum changed her mind? Was she just getting water? The uncertainty was its own peculiar torture, stretching seconds into agonizing minutes. The complete sensory deprivation—blindfolded, gagged, immobilized—turned the quiet into a physical presence, pressing against her skin.

Then it began: the sharp, rhythmic clatter of keys. A staccato burst, followed by the softer tap-tap-tap of Julie’s fingers dancing across her laptop’s keyboard. *She’s really doing it*, Amy thought, a dizzying mix of disbelief and fascination washing over her. The sound was distant yet piercingly clear in her enforced stillness—each keystroke a tiny hammer blow against the silence of the afternoon. Amy tried to map the room in her mind: Julie at the kitchen table, probably leaning over spreadsheets, while she lay bound and helpless just yards away on the living room rug, utterly forgotten except as a problem postponed. The absurdity hit her—the mundane soundtrack of Mum's job slicing through the intensity of her own constrained reality. She imagined Julie frowning slightly, biting her lip in concentration, completely absorbed in work while her daughter lay trussed like luggage mere feet away. The disconnect was staggering.

Time stretched and warped without visual anchors. The tapping keys became Amy’s only clock—steady, relentless, indifferent. Her world narrowed to the taste of damp cloth in her mouth, the faint pressure of the blindfold digging into her temples, and the deep, rhythmic ache in her compacted muscles. Every shift, no matter how microscopic, sent whispers of pins and needles through her calves. She tried focusing on the sounds beyond Julie’s typing: the low hum of the fridge, the distant buzz of a lawnmower outside, the faint rustle of wind in the eaves. But the typing always pulled her back—a metronome measuring her immobility. Was it five minutes? Twenty? She had no idea. The sheer boredom crept in, gnawing at the edges of her earlier exhilaration. *This is it? Just... waiting?* Yet beneath the tedium, a low thrum persisted—the visceral awareness of her vulnerability, heightened by the sheer ordinariness of Julie’s actions. Being ignored while bound felt paradoxically more intense than being watched.

The typing paused. Amy froze, straining against the gag, her heartbeat instantly hammering against her ribs. Footsteps approached—soft, unhurried—stopping just beside her. She braced herself instinctively, muscles clenching despite the ropes. Was it more tickling? A repositioning? A cup of water? The scent of coffee drifted faintly down, mixing with the lingering aroma of chicken soup. Julie’s sigh was audible, a tired exhalation. Then, the soft *clunk* of a mug being set on the table near her head. The footsteps retreated, the chair scraped again, and the typing resumed. The brief intrusion was jarring. Amy hadn't been acknowledged, not with a word or a touch. She was an object beside a coffee cup. The indifference stung sharply, far more than any deliberate torment could have. Warmth bloomed where hrrvmum’s foot might have briefly brushed her shoulder—an accidental contact? Amy couldn't tell. The muffled sob that escaped her was swallowed instantly by the gag and lost beneath the renewed clatter of keys.

Hours dissolved into a thick haze of discomfort and sensory deprivation. The ache in Amy’s compressed shoulders evolved from a sharp protest into a deep, constant throb. The nylon of her tights felt clammy against her skin where breath condensed against her knees. Her jaw screamed from the gag’s relentless pressure. She drifted in and out of a strange semi-consciousness, punctuated by bursts of startling clarity: the phantom itch on her nose she couldn’t scratch, the maddening drip-drip-drip of a distant tap she couldn’t hear before, the way hunger gnawed hollowly beneath the gnawing stiffness. Each minute stretched elastic, filled only by the hypnotic rhythm of typing, the gurgle of the boiler kicking in, the creak of the house settling. Once, her bladder sent a sharp, urgent signal. Panic flared—hot and desperate—before her mum began to untie the knots.

“Just gone 4pm sweetie.”

Julie’s voice cut through the cottony silence, startling Amy from her trance-like state. The typing had stopped; the footsteps approached with purpose this time. Fingers worked deftly at the knots binding Amy’s ankles to her wrists, loosening the fetal compression enough for Julie to roll her onto her back. The sudden shift made Amy gasp—blood rushed to numb limbs in electric waves, shoulders screaming after hours locked in position. Julie peeled away the blindfold. Late afternoon light stabbed Amy’s eyes, making her blink rapidly at the blurred shape of her mother kneeling above her. The gag remained, its linen taste now sour with trapped saliva.

"Just gone 4pm, sweetie," Julie repeated, her tone brisk but not unkind. She tugged the knot free behind Amy’s head, withdrawing the soaked cloth. Amy coughed, throat raw as she gulped air. "Bathroom break. Then we'll see." Julie’s hands slid under her shoulders, hauling her upright with surprising strength. Amy’s spine protested like rusted hinges, muscles trembling violently. She expected to crumple—to be half-dragged like she was this morning. But as Julie steadied her, Amy tentatively shifted weight onto her feet. The pins and needles were less fierce, yes, a thousand fiery ants marching up her calves, but unlike after the brutal hogtie, she could *stand*. Her knees buckled only slightly before she could stand. The deep chest-and-arm bindings had spared her shoulders dislocation; her hips, though stiff, hadn’t endured the wrenching backward pull. She took a shaky step, then another, leaning heavily on Julie’s arm but moving under her own power. Relief washed over her—not just for the respite, but for this unexpected autonomy regained so quickly. *I can walk,* she marvelled silently, each step a victory over the lingering ache.

When she emerged julie took one look at her. “You need a shower girl. And change into night clothes. You’re sick remember. Cant go to the shops to meet friends today.”

The hot water sluiced away hours of sweat and tension, stinging where rope marks striped her wrists and ribs. Steam fogged the mirror as she toweled off—Amy studied the angry red patterns mapping her skin like territorial claims. Her muscles still hummed with residual stiffness, but the profound ache had receded into something manageable, almost grounding. She pulled on soft flannel pajamas—the fabric whispering against hypersensitive skin—and padded barefoot back to the living room. The scent of fresh coffee now mingled with damp wool as Julie sorted the ropes and placed used socks back in the laundry.

Julie glanced up from her laptop without pausing her typing. "Feel better?" she asked, her tone neutral but attentive. Amy nodded, sinking onto the sofa opposite her mother. She grabbed her phone—still untouched since morning—and thumbed it awake. The screen flooded with notifications: frantic group chats about teachers, locker assignments, and the unbearable calculus syllabus. A tiny thrill shot through Amy as she began tapping replies, her fingers clumsy but eager. "Mrs. Kendrick’s assigning *War and Peace* first term," she murmured aloud, half to Julie, half to herself. "Tasha says she cried during orientation. But honestly?" Amy paused, catching her mother’s raised eyebrow. "It sounds… kinda fun. Like, maybe?"

Julie finally paused her typing, swiveling her chair fully toward Amy. The silence stretched—just the hum of her laptop fan slicing the thick air. Amy flushed, suddenly aware of the rope marks peeking from her pajama sleeves. She braced for mockery or dismissal. Instead, Julie leaned forward slowly, elbows resting on her knees. "Fun?" she echoed softly. Her gaze drifted pointedly to the coiled ropes beside the laundry basket. "After *this*?" A ghost of a knowing smile touched her lips. "No algebra panic? No dreading the stupid cafeteria seating chart tomorrow?" Her voice was low, probing—not disbelief, but genuine curiosity. Amy swallowed hard, the memory of total helplessness suddenly flaring bright against the mundane texts on her screen.

Amy’s thumbs hovered over her phone. The group chat bubbled with frenzied emojis—Tasha texting a skull face about accelerated physics. "It’s different," Amy murmured, her own voice sounding unfamiliar. "Knowing..." She trailed off, glancing at the ropes. Knowing she could survive this—that she’d endured worse than Mrs. Kendrick’s syllabus. That algebra couldn’t touch the raw, humming clarity she’d found curled impossibly tight on the rug. For the first time all summer, she didn’t feel like prey walking into the wolf’s den. She felt—improbably—armed. Protected by the very helplessness she’d craved. She typed quickly: *Physics cxl? Brutal. But bring it.*

“Mum. It’ll be greatvto go back tomorrow.l

“Oh.” Juliecsaid with a hint if trepidation in her voice. “Yes. Tomorrow.l

“What mum?”

“Well yiu see, when I said you were sick, i may have ……errmm…..ober done it.”

“What do yiu mean?”

“I said yiu were being sick. And Diarrhoea. And they said…”. She gulped. “Well they said. They didn’t want yiu to inf4ct other children so you have to stay off two full days after recovery.”

“What mum?”

“Well. You were sick today. Wednesday. No school on the weekends. Back on Monday”

“But that means.”

“Hiw would you like to be tied up,pmfor the next two days? Any particular requests?”

Very nice. And room for some more adventures

Wow! Mothers tying daughters is a fave of mine, and this is excellent! The Mother has such a non-chalant way of being quite domineering, and the ties are so intricate and great. Love how the daughter gets in over her head! Maybe she admits the daydreams she had to her mother and her mother helps her create some of those like the home invasion one? All I would suggest is more tickling

1. Thanks for the encouragement.

2. @1990Kidnapping this story was originally written in response to @Boundgirl09 now deleted AI image. If there’s a continuation it’s at her request.

3. Sorry for foot lovers I forgot she was wearing socks and put her in tights for the last part.

Amazing story. Really, this was a fun read

Especially liked the twist at the end haha

Great story! It's amusing that she had to spend all day wearing her school uniform despite not being in school.

Delighted to have a part 2

The first feather-light stroke danced across the sole of her nylon-clad foot. Julie’s fingertips brushed deliberately, tracing the arch with maddening slowness. Amy jerked violently against her bonds, a muffled shriek trapped behind the gag. Each touch was a tiny electric shock—intrusive, impossible to escape. Julie chuckled softly, a low rumble Amy felt more than heard as the tickling intensified. It wasn’t pain, yet the sheer violation of it—the utter inability to even flinch away—made tears prick her blindfolded eyes. The helplessness wasn't theoretical anymore; it vibrated through her with every teasing scrape of fingernails. She squirmed futilely against the ropes binding her knees to her chest, her muffled laughter choked and desperate. She wiggled her feet from yhe ankle, trying to cover one sensitive sole with the ktyer, on,y to be riminded of the vulnerability of bkth feet as Julie simoly switched her target to the opposite sole. Unable to kick her legs or move her feet away from her mothers tortuous tips she had no choice but to acquiesce to her punishment.

Wonderful story! The quote above was my favorite part--a great description of affectionate tickling (as opposed to real tickle torture). Lucky Amy!

“I said yiu were being sick. And Diarrhoea. And they said…”. She gulped. “Well they said. They didn’t want yiu to inf4ct other children so you have to stay off two full days after recovery.”

If I read this correctly, the school doesn't want her back Thursday or Friday.
That means her mother can keep her tied up for four more days, Thursday to Sunday inclusive.
Lucky, lucky Amy!

milagros317 wrote: 1 week ago

“I said yiu were being sick. And Diarrhoea. And they said…”. She gulped. “Well they said. They didn’t want yiu to inf4ct other children so you have to stay off two full days after recovery.”

If I read this correctly, the school doesn't want her back Thursday or Friday.
That means her mother can keep her tied up for four more day, Thursday to Sunday inclusive.
Lucky, lucky Amy!

Oh would love to see that lol