Rebecca’s Teenage Dream (F/f) part 2 done.
Posted: Mon Sep 15, 2025 10:31 am
Chloe should have seen the signs. When her daughter Rebecca first played blindman’s buff she took to walking round the house with a scarf over her eyes. Then hopping round the house, a belt or ribbon tied round her ankles. Or putting tape over her mouth to be “quiet for mummy”. Her favourite episodes of Scooby Doo were the ones Daphne was tied up in and she would watch them repeatedly. And her Nancy Drew adventure books , with the corners of the pages with tie up scenes all turned down.
The realisation struck Chloe like a dropped pan—sudden and clanging—as she knelt beside Rebecca’s bed sorting laundry. There, tucked beneath the pillow: three lengths of silky cord, neatly coiled. The colours—scarlet, cobalt, gold—glowed against white cotton like warning flares. Chloe’s fingers trembled brushing them. When had Rebecca even *gotten* these?
Downstairs, Rebecca’s voice floated from the living room, bright and unconcerned. "Velma, don’t be such a scaredy-cat!" Another Daphne-in-peril episode, then. Chloe stood frozen in the hallway, cords clenched in her fist. She pictured her daughter’s small hands practising knots with fierce concentration, the same focus she gave maths homework. The scarf-blindfolds, the hopping games—they weren’t quirks. They were rehearsals.
Chloe found her leaning against the sofa, eyes fixed on the screen where Daphne squirmed in a net. Rebecca’s own ankles were crossed, a hair ribbon loosely looped around them, her toes curling and wiggling. "Sweetheart," Chloe began, voice too tight. Rebecca glanced up, smile fading at her mother’s expression.
“Yes Mum?”
“You still serious about the handcuffs? You dont want concert tickets, or clothes?”
“Yeah, the handcuffs.” Rebecca twisted the hair ribbon tighter around her ankles. The ribbon dug into her skin, leaving faint pink ridges. She didn't seem to notice. Her gaze drifted back to the screen where Daphne was being lowered into a pit. Chloe knew the oneks she meant. Not giys, not pink and fuzzy, not plastic. Solid stainless steel with kets. Double locking mechanism.
Later that week when Chloe was off shift, and Rebecca was at school, she clinbed the ladder to the loft and retrieved a dusty box. In the privacy of her own bedroom she sat crosslegged on the bed looking at the contents: leather cuffs, metal cuffs, ball gag, blindfolds. When had she last used these? When she discovered she was pregnant. Was this the reason her little Becca was so obsessed? A thiught struck her: was she chained to the bed, blindfolded and gagged at the moment Rebecca “began”? Had she caused this in her daughter?
Chloe’s fingers traced the cold steel of the handcuffs. They felt heavier than she remembered. She pictured Rebecca’s small hands holding them, clicking them shut around her own wrists with that same intense focus she’d seen during homework. The image made her stomach clench and her heart fluttervat the same time. Was it curiosity? A phase? Or something deeper, something she’d unknowingly passed on like a twisted heirloom?
She took the larger handcuffs and played with them a little. Rolling the leg of her black joggers up she clicked the steel around and the feelings came flooding back. Ahe knew instantly why Bex was doing this to herself. She quickly lovked the cuff on her oposite ankle and double locked them. Grabbing the ball gag she opened her mouth and bit diwn kn the red ball, fastening yhe buckle behind her head. She checked the clock. Fumbling she set an alarm on her phone. Grabbing a second set of cuffs she reached behind her back. The ratchet sound bringing in memories. Struggling with nerves and excitement she double lockd the cuffs. Kicked yhe box onto the floor. Clutching yhe keys in yhe palm of her hand she struggled to sit up, looking at herself in the mirror: shoulders pulled back, chest girward, jaw stretched, a big red ball wherevher mouth shiukd be, white teeth biting yhe edges. She kicked her feet, bound together.
Fourty delightful minutes kicking and struggling, drooling, moaning, struggling before she had to be respectable mim againHer release literally in the palm of her hand as she enjoys the feelingbof restraint for the first time in thirteen years.
Saturday morning came round and Chloe was awoken by a newly mayured teenager jumping on her bed in her tartan pyjamas singing “Happy Birthday To Me”. Agter a quick hug and best wishes there was an uncomfortable silence before Chloe reached under the bed and produced a wrapped package. As she tore the paper off revealing an unmarked plain brown package her Rebecca’s enthusiasm grew tearing at the cardboard before staring ath the shiny metal objects. “Three?”
“We need to talk first.”
“Thank you mum. You’re the best mum ever.” And Chloe’s attemlts to talk sense were smothered in hugs and kisses.
“Look we have to talk.” She held the keys up with one pair of cuffs for her daughter to see as she demonstrated the double lock safety mechanism. “Give me yiur wrist.”
Rebecca held out her right hand and gelt the thrill a she felt the cold steel, heard the click, feltbthe weight. She watched as her mother again demonstrated the double lock, pressing yhe cuffs demonstrating it would nit tughten further. Immediately Rebecca span round holding her hands behind her back as he mother tightened and double locked her left wrist cuff.
She tested the cuffs. “That feels great mum. But what are the kther cuffs for?”
“Guve me yiur feet Bex!” Chloe once again tightened and double locked the slightly larger pair of cuffs on her daughter’s ankles pausing to tickle her soles to ‘test the security.”
“That feels great mum but what’s the third pair for?”
“Oh various uses. Cuff yiur ankle to the vhair leg so you can’t hop,off. Tie your ankles to yiur wrists. But in this case.” Chloe pulled Bex’s arms together and added cuffs just abive her elbows. “It dtops you slipping your hands under your num and feet.
“Oooh. That’s mean.” Bex replied.
“Well a couple more things.” Chloe reached the fraw beside her bed and pulled out a clean white sock and roll lf tape.
“MUM! Mmpphh.” Once Bex was securely gagged, Chloe produced a velvetty black sleep mask and slipped in iver her daughter’s eyes.
“It’s 2pm you’re meeting your friends for the cinema then meal out, so plenty of time for sleep.” With that Chloe turned off her bedside light and turning iver pulled the divet around herself, trying go ignore the frantic struggling and moaning behind her.
Rebecca strained against the cuffs binding her elbows behind her back, the metal biting pleasantly into her skin. She arched her spine, testing the limits, feeling the delicious stretch of muscles as the ankle cuffs kept her legs pinned together. A muffled laugh escaped around the sock gag—pure, giddy exhilaration. This was better than Scooby-Doo, better than Nancy Drew. This was *real*. She rolled onto her side, the bedsprings creaking softly, and tried rocking back and forth. The elbow cuffs held firm, anchoring her arms uselessly against her back. Every tug sent a shiver up her spine.
Beside her, Chloe lay rigid under the duvet, eyes squeezed shut. Each frantic shuffle, each muffled grunt from Rebecca vibrated through the mattress. The sounds were familiar—too familiar. They echoed her own muffled moans from earlier in the week, the desperate, joyful struggle against steel. She pulled the pillow over her head, but it couldn’t drown out the rustling sheets or the sharp *click-click* as Rebecca tested the strength of the cuffs again.
Rebecca twisted violently, throwing her weight sideways. The bed frame groaned in protest. Sweat dampened the blindfold against her eyelids. She strained her wrists downward, seeking slack, but the elbow cuffs held her arms high and immobile. A frustrated, exhilarated sound hummed in her throat around the sock. She kicked her bound ankles—*thump-thump-thump* against the mattress.
The vibrations jolted Chloe. She clutched the duvet tighter. Rebecca’s muffled sounds weren't just struggle; they were *happy*. They echoed Chloe's own choked gasps against the ball gag days earlier—the sheer, desperate thrill of helplessness. She squeezed her eyes shut. Every frantic movement beside her felt like a revisitatation of her own teenaged self bindage adventures. Eventually she could not take it any konger.
“OK Miss Drew. Someone needs breakfast and I need coffee.”
Chloe threw back the covers, her movements brisk. She grabbed Rebecca’s bound elbows and hauled her sideways across the mattress like a rolled-up carpet. Rebecca squealed into her gag, kicking futilely as her mother scooped her up, and threw her over her shoulder. Chloe carried her down the hallway and down yhe stairs, Rebecca’s muffled giggles vibrating against her shoulder.
Fumping her in a kitchen chair she qhickly unfastened then recuffed one elbow, chaining her to the back of the chair before switching the coffe maker on and startingbto fry breakfast birthday pancakes.
The realisation struck Chloe like a dropped pan—sudden and clanging—as she knelt beside Rebecca’s bed sorting laundry. There, tucked beneath the pillow: three lengths of silky cord, neatly coiled. The colours—scarlet, cobalt, gold—glowed against white cotton like warning flares. Chloe’s fingers trembled brushing them. When had Rebecca even *gotten* these?
Downstairs, Rebecca’s voice floated from the living room, bright and unconcerned. "Velma, don’t be such a scaredy-cat!" Another Daphne-in-peril episode, then. Chloe stood frozen in the hallway, cords clenched in her fist. She pictured her daughter’s small hands practising knots with fierce concentration, the same focus she gave maths homework. The scarf-blindfolds, the hopping games—they weren’t quirks. They were rehearsals.
Chloe found her leaning against the sofa, eyes fixed on the screen where Daphne squirmed in a net. Rebecca’s own ankles were crossed, a hair ribbon loosely looped around them, her toes curling and wiggling. "Sweetheart," Chloe began, voice too tight. Rebecca glanced up, smile fading at her mother’s expression.
“Yes Mum?”
“You still serious about the handcuffs? You dont want concert tickets, or clothes?”
“Yeah, the handcuffs.” Rebecca twisted the hair ribbon tighter around her ankles. The ribbon dug into her skin, leaving faint pink ridges. She didn't seem to notice. Her gaze drifted back to the screen where Daphne was being lowered into a pit. Chloe knew the oneks she meant. Not giys, not pink and fuzzy, not plastic. Solid stainless steel with kets. Double locking mechanism.
Later that week when Chloe was off shift, and Rebecca was at school, she clinbed the ladder to the loft and retrieved a dusty box. In the privacy of her own bedroom she sat crosslegged on the bed looking at the contents: leather cuffs, metal cuffs, ball gag, blindfolds. When had she last used these? When she discovered she was pregnant. Was this the reason her little Becca was so obsessed? A thiught struck her: was she chained to the bed, blindfolded and gagged at the moment Rebecca “began”? Had she caused this in her daughter?
Chloe’s fingers traced the cold steel of the handcuffs. They felt heavier than she remembered. She pictured Rebecca’s small hands holding them, clicking them shut around her own wrists with that same intense focus she’d seen during homework. The image made her stomach clench and her heart fluttervat the same time. Was it curiosity? A phase? Or something deeper, something she’d unknowingly passed on like a twisted heirloom?
She took the larger handcuffs and played with them a little. Rolling the leg of her black joggers up she clicked the steel around and the feelings came flooding back. Ahe knew instantly why Bex was doing this to herself. She quickly lovked the cuff on her oposite ankle and double locked them. Grabbing the ball gag she opened her mouth and bit diwn kn the red ball, fastening yhe buckle behind her head. She checked the clock. Fumbling she set an alarm on her phone. Grabbing a second set of cuffs she reached behind her back. The ratchet sound bringing in memories. Struggling with nerves and excitement she double lockd the cuffs. Kicked yhe box onto the floor. Clutching yhe keys in yhe palm of her hand she struggled to sit up, looking at herself in the mirror: shoulders pulled back, chest girward, jaw stretched, a big red ball wherevher mouth shiukd be, white teeth biting yhe edges. She kicked her feet, bound together.
Fourty delightful minutes kicking and struggling, drooling, moaning, struggling before she had to be respectable mim againHer release literally in the palm of her hand as she enjoys the feelingbof restraint for the first time in thirteen years.
Saturday morning came round and Chloe was awoken by a newly mayured teenager jumping on her bed in her tartan pyjamas singing “Happy Birthday To Me”. Agter a quick hug and best wishes there was an uncomfortable silence before Chloe reached under the bed and produced a wrapped package. As she tore the paper off revealing an unmarked plain brown package her Rebecca’s enthusiasm grew tearing at the cardboard before staring ath the shiny metal objects. “Three?”
“We need to talk first.”
“Thank you mum. You’re the best mum ever.” And Chloe’s attemlts to talk sense were smothered in hugs and kisses.
“Look we have to talk.” She held the keys up with one pair of cuffs for her daughter to see as she demonstrated the double lock safety mechanism. “Give me yiur wrist.”
Rebecca held out her right hand and gelt the thrill a she felt the cold steel, heard the click, feltbthe weight. She watched as her mother again demonstrated the double lock, pressing yhe cuffs demonstrating it would nit tughten further. Immediately Rebecca span round holding her hands behind her back as he mother tightened and double locked her left wrist cuff.
She tested the cuffs. “That feels great mum. But what are the kther cuffs for?”
“Guve me yiur feet Bex!” Chloe once again tightened and double locked the slightly larger pair of cuffs on her daughter’s ankles pausing to tickle her soles to ‘test the security.”
“That feels great mum but what’s the third pair for?”
“Oh various uses. Cuff yiur ankle to the vhair leg so you can’t hop,off. Tie your ankles to yiur wrists. But in this case.” Chloe pulled Bex’s arms together and added cuffs just abive her elbows. “It dtops you slipping your hands under your num and feet.
“Oooh. That’s mean.” Bex replied.
“Well a couple more things.” Chloe reached the fraw beside her bed and pulled out a clean white sock and roll lf tape.
“MUM! Mmpphh.” Once Bex was securely gagged, Chloe produced a velvetty black sleep mask and slipped in iver her daughter’s eyes.
“It’s 2pm you’re meeting your friends for the cinema then meal out, so plenty of time for sleep.” With that Chloe turned off her bedside light and turning iver pulled the divet around herself, trying go ignore the frantic struggling and moaning behind her.
Rebecca strained against the cuffs binding her elbows behind her back, the metal biting pleasantly into her skin. She arched her spine, testing the limits, feeling the delicious stretch of muscles as the ankle cuffs kept her legs pinned together. A muffled laugh escaped around the sock gag—pure, giddy exhilaration. This was better than Scooby-Doo, better than Nancy Drew. This was *real*. She rolled onto her side, the bedsprings creaking softly, and tried rocking back and forth. The elbow cuffs held firm, anchoring her arms uselessly against her back. Every tug sent a shiver up her spine.
Beside her, Chloe lay rigid under the duvet, eyes squeezed shut. Each frantic shuffle, each muffled grunt from Rebecca vibrated through the mattress. The sounds were familiar—too familiar. They echoed her own muffled moans from earlier in the week, the desperate, joyful struggle against steel. She pulled the pillow over her head, but it couldn’t drown out the rustling sheets or the sharp *click-click* as Rebecca tested the strength of the cuffs again.
Rebecca twisted violently, throwing her weight sideways. The bed frame groaned in protest. Sweat dampened the blindfold against her eyelids. She strained her wrists downward, seeking slack, but the elbow cuffs held her arms high and immobile. A frustrated, exhilarated sound hummed in her throat around the sock. She kicked her bound ankles—*thump-thump-thump* against the mattress.
The vibrations jolted Chloe. She clutched the duvet tighter. Rebecca’s muffled sounds weren't just struggle; they were *happy*. They echoed Chloe's own choked gasps against the ball gag days earlier—the sheer, desperate thrill of helplessness. She squeezed her eyes shut. Every frantic movement beside her felt like a revisitatation of her own teenaged self bindage adventures. Eventually she could not take it any konger.
“OK Miss Drew. Someone needs breakfast and I need coffee.”
Chloe threw back the covers, her movements brisk. She grabbed Rebecca’s bound elbows and hauled her sideways across the mattress like a rolled-up carpet. Rebecca squealed into her gag, kicking futilely as her mother scooped her up, and threw her over her shoulder. Chloe carried her down the hallway and down yhe stairs, Rebecca’s muffled giggles vibrating against her shoulder.
Fumping her in a kitchen chair she qhickly unfastened then recuffed one elbow, chaining her to the back of the chair before switching the coffe maker on and startingbto fry breakfast birthday pancakes.
