Stories of Tie Up Games

Hey,

maybe you have read my first story:

"story of two friends (m/m)" it's a kind of prologue but of course you will understand this story without reading it. There is no real tug action, but it introduces the situation that is responsible for the tug in this (and maybe following ) story.

I declared the prologue as real story and this story as fictional. In fact even this story is based on real situations, but writing it as third person narrator and talking about feelings and thoughts of the guys it felt more right to wirte down the story here.

So enjoy reading more about Malcom and David


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Part one


It had been a few weeks since David and Malcom had last spent a whole weekend together. Malcom still remembered that evening vividly — the wrestling match in his living room, David’s knees pinning his arms, and that cheeky grin David had flashed right in his face. Malcom had thought about it more often than he wanted to admit. And now, on this Friday, he stood once again in front of David’s house, his backpack slung casually over one shoulder, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark blue jeans.

He rang the bell. The door swung open and Liza stood there, grinning mischievously.
“Honestly, I feel sorry for you,” she said in an exaggeratedly sympathetic voice. “A whole weekend with my annoying brother… good luck, you’re gonna need it.”

Malcom chuckled, brushing a messy strand of blond hair out of his forehead. “Thanks for the warning,” he replied with a mock-serious tone. “But I think I’ll survive.”

“Nonsense!” a voice called from the staircase. David bounded down the steps, full of his usual energy. He wore a pair of baggy blue Fubu jeans, held loosely in place by a belt, and a black T-shirt. On his feet were only slightly worn white socks. His dark red high-top Chucks, of course, were nowhere in the hallway — he had tossed them carelessly somewhere in his room. His short black hair was neatly cut, and his stylish black glasses caught the light from the hallway lamp.

“He’s already excited to spend the weekend with me,” David grinned, giving Malcom a hearty slap on the shoulder.

“Hey!” Liza protested, but their mother’s voice rang out from the kitchen, reminding her it was time to leave. There was a rush of voices, shuffling jackets, and footsteps in the hallway — then the family was gone. From outside, Liza called one last jab over her shoulder: “Malcom, if it gets too bad, just call me!”

David grabbed a cushion from the sofa and hurled it after her. It fell way short. “Brat!” he yelled, while Liza’s laughter echoed through the closing front door.

For a moment, silence filled the house. David crossed his arms, that familiar grin still on his lips. “Finally some peace and quiet. Come on, upstairs.”

Malcom followed him up. Even from the hallway he could hear the muffled music blasting from David’s room — guitar riffs, probably Die Ärzte or System of a Down.

When David pushed the door open, the usual chaos spilled out at them. Posters plastered the walls — bands, a karate tournament, a couple of torn flyers. The bed was unmade, clothes were scattered across the floor, and in the corner sat piles of notebooks and game cases. And, of course, David’s shoes: the dark red high-top Chucks, worn and faded, one half-hidden under the desk, the other lying crooked by the bed. The canvas was discolored, the rubber soles yellowed from years of wear.

Malcom smirked, dropped his backpack, then bent down to untie his white Nike Air Force One Mids. Carefully, he slipped them off and placed them neatly side by side in an empty corner of the room, smoothing the leather with his hand as if to make sure they hadn’t gotten scuffed.

“You and your orderliness,” David commented, grinning as he flopped onto his unmade bed. “When you’re done running a shoe museum, grab a controller.”

Malcom laughed under his breath and shook his head. “Someone’s gotta keep a bit of civilization in this mess.”

“Blah blah,” David muttered, reaching for the PlayStation and switching it on. The screen flickered to life, the console humming softly. He tossed Malcom the second controller.

Within five minutes, the first matches were over — and it was obvious who was in control. David’s fingers flew across the buttons with practiced precision. Malcom tried to keep up, biting his lip in concentration, but his characters fell one after another.

“And boom! Another K.O.!” David crowed triumphantly, throwing his arms into the air. “Man, that was almost too easy.”

“Lucky hit,” Malcom muttered, though the look in his eyes betrayed his annoyance.

“Lucky?” David laughed loudly. “You’re hopeless. I swear, I could beat you with my eyes closed.”

Malcom tilted his head. “Oh yeah? Want to try it?”

David raised an eyebrow, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “You really think that’d give you a chance?”

Malcom shrugged, grinning. “At least it’d be fairer.”

David chuckled, starting up the next round, deliberately playing a little sloppier. Malcom took advantage, landing a few solid hits, feeling for a brief moment that he might turn the tide. But the second David got serious, it was all over.

“Ha! Another win!” David shouted, springing off the bed and standing in front of Malcom, feet planted wide. He adjusted his glasses with mock authority. “So, how does loss number ten feel?”

Malcom lowered his controller and rolled his eyes. “Now I really get what Liza meant… I honestly feel sorry for myself having to put up with you all weekend.”

David tilted his head, arms crossed, his grin widening. “Oh, you’re gonna regret saying that. This was just the warm-up.”


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tbc

Just the warm up, it sounds like a TIE-UP might be on the way for Malcom.

Great story so far. I love the details like the shoes. Thats really great work there.

You‘ve got a lot of talent, seriously

So, time to go on with David and Melcom:

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Part Two

The next match ended like the nine before it. David leaned back with a wide grin as his character struck its victory pose on the screen.
“And another K.O.! Man, I think that’s already the eleventh one. You’re like the human definition of defeat!”

Malcom dropped his controller, shook his head, and pulled a face. “Unbelievable.” He grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at David’s chest. “Then at least take this!”

David laughed, staggered back in mock surprise, caught the pillow, and immediately hurled it back with full force. “Not so fast, buddy!”

The pillow half hit Malcom in the face, making him burst into even louder laughter. “Unfair!”

“Unfair is your whole game!” David shouted, grabbing another pillow off the floor and flinging it like a missile. It smacked Malcom in the side as he ducked, still laughing.

Within seconds, the game was forgotten. Pillows flew back and forth across the room. One landed on the desk chair, another skidded to a stop beside David’s faded, dark red Chucks, still lying carelessly on the floor.

“If we break something, it’s on you!” Malcom gasped, trying to duck behind the bed for cover.

“Pfft, in my room, my rules!” David seized the moment when Malcom bent down, suddenly lunged at him, and pulled him laughing off the bed. Both of them crashed half onto the carpet, half against the bedframe.

“Uff!” Malcom grunted as he struggled to push him off. David had his arm locked and pressed him down with playful determination.

“Come on, fight back!” David demanded, grinning, his breath quick and uneven.

Malcom’s heart was racing — but not just from exertion. Finally, he had a chance to prove that he wasn’t always the weaker one. That he could do more than just lose. The sting of all those defeats in the game was still fresh, and he wanted to make up for it.

He felt David’s grip — strong, but not unbeatable. His muscles tightened; he pressed his shoulders into the carpet and pushed hard with his legs. Inch by inch, he gained ground.

“This time…” he gasped between breaths, “…I’m taking you down.”

With a sharp tug, the balance tipped. David gave a surprised grunt as he landed on his back, and Malcom pushed him firmly against the bedframe. For a moment, Malcom loomed above him, sweat beading on his forehead, chest heaving, and a sparkle of triumph in his eyes.

“Ha! See? I can do it!” he shouted, his voice rough with effort, laughter mixing with genuine joy. He felt strong. Finally on top. Finally in control.

But David’s gaze stayed calm, almost amused. That grin — almost challenging — made Malcom’s victory feel fragile. “Better enjoy it while it lasts,” David murmured, his tone teasing.

Malcom pressed down harder, unwilling to give an inch. This time, he told himself, this time I’ll hold him. A strange excitement buzzed inside him — the thrill of pinning David down, of having beaten him just once.

But then, almost in slow motion, David moved. A quick twist, a leg hooking in, his body snapping upward with practiced ease — and before Malcom even understood what had happened, he was back on the floor. David’s weight bore down on his chest, his knees pinning Malcom’s arms to the carpet.

“Nice try,” David panted, breathless but grinning wider than ever. “But you don’t stand a chance against me.”

Malcom gasped for air, sweat trickling down his temple, his strength slipping away. Frustration gnawed at him — he had been so close. And yet, at the same time, there was something else. Something he could hardly name: a strange tingling in his stomach, a pull that made defeat feel far less bitter than he’d expected.

He looked up into David’s face. Saw the grin, the self-assurance, the dominance. And though he twisted and pushed against him, deep down he knew: he’d lost again.

And still, he couldn’t help it — a part of him liked it.


tbc

Great second part. I wonder if they get to to some Bondage soon

So here is the next part of the story
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Part three

Malcom lay on his back, gasping for breath, his arms pinned flat against the floor. David’s knees held him down, his weight pressing firmly onto him. Just moments ago they had been laughing, but now only their heavy breathing filled the room.

David propped himself up with one hand beside Malcom, the other resting lightly on his shoulder. His grin was still there, but it looked different now—less playful, more… challenging. Almost as if he were testing Malcom.

“Well?” he asked with feigned calm, his breath still quick. “What are you gonna do now? Ready to give up?”

Malcom swallowed hard, his heart pounding. He tried to lift his head a little, but David’s hand pushed him back down. “Keep dreaming,” he panted, even though he knew he didn’t stand a chance in this position.

David chuckled softly, that low, short laugh that annoyed Malcom just as much as it fascinated him. “You’re squirming like crazy, but you’re not getting out.” To prove his point, he shifted his weight slightly, pressing his knees more firmly against Malcom’s upper arms.

Malcom clenched his teeth. Frustration flared up inside him—he didn’t want to lose again. Not again, not so easily. And yet, there was that tingling feeling, unsettling but undeniable, like a secret fire flickering in his chest despite his defeat.

His gaze slid upward, straight into David’s face. Black hair stuck to his forehead, his glasses had slipped slightly, and his eyes shone with that self-assured look Malcom knew so well. But this time, there was something else—a glimmer he couldn’t quite read.

David, on the other hand, savored the moment. He loved having control, loved knowing that Malcom had no chance beneath him. He could see the laughter that had been in Malcom’s eyes earlier was now replaced by a restless gleam. And that excited him—the game between fun and seriousness, between struggling and surrender.

“Just admit it,” David said with a wide grin. “You’re lying down there, and you know you’ve already lost.”

Malcom twisted, pulled at his arms, pressed with all his strength against David’s knees—without success.

“Well?” David asked again, grinning as he leaned a little closer. “Ready to give up yet?”

“Forget it,” Malcom gasped, straining against the pressure. “You’re not breaking me.”

David laughed again and shook his head. “You’re already broken, you just don’t realize it yet.” He pressed his knees down harder onto Malcom’s arms, feeling how he struggled underneath, refusing to stop.

And David relished it. He liked the resistance, the squirming that had no chance. The more Malcom fought, the stronger David felt. He knew Malcom couldn’t escape. And yet—or maybe because of that—he wanted more.

Malcom glared up at him, defiant. “One day I’ll get you. You can’t keep me down forever.”

David grinned broadly, his voice calm, almost casual: “But right now? That’s all I need.”

A thought crossed his mind. Malcom was fighting fiercely, but he would never surrender on his own. Not as long as there was even the faintest hope of escape. So I need another way, David thought. Something that will force him to accept it.

While he continued pinning Malcom with his knees, David’s eyes flicked briefly across the chaos of his room. There it was—his sports bag, half-hidden under a chair. No one but him would even notice it in the mess. With a quick motion, he leaned forward, stretched out his arm, and pulled something long and fabric-like from it.

A purple belt. His karate belt. Worn from training, but still sturdy and reliable.

David let the fabric slide through his hands, then turned back to Malcom with an even wider grin. “You know what? I think I’ve got an idea.”

Malcom’s eyes widened. He tried to buck up, but David’s knees held him immovably against the floor. “What are you doing?” he asked, breathless.

David let the belt dangle loosely from his hands, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Well, if you won’t admit you’ve lost… then I’ll just help you with that.”

His grin was cheeky, but in his eyes was that unmistakable glimmer—showing that he meant it.

David still had Malcom pinned to the floor with his knees, the purple karate belt dangling loosely in his hand. He let it slide slowly through his fingers, as if giving Malcom time to realize what he was about to do.

“You’re really stubborn,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe I need to help you face reality.”

Malcom shook his head, struggling beneath him. “You’re joking. You’re not actually doing this.” His voice wavered between protest and nervousness, though he couldn’t quite keep himself from laughing.

“A joke?” David grinned broadly. “You know me—when I get an idea, I follow through.”

Before Malcom could react, David grabbed his right wrist. Malcom jerked instinctively, tried to pull free, but David’s grip was strong and steady. The belt tightened cold against his skin, and before he fully realized what was happening, David had pulled his other wrist in as well.

“Hey!” Malcom gasped as the fabric cinched. But it was already too late. David wrapped the belt once, twice across his chest, pulled it tight, and tied a firm knot. Malcom’s arms were now crossed in front of him and bound securely.

He gasped in surprise, immediately trying to wrench his arms apart, but the belt held firm. “You can’t be serious…” he muttered, his voice suddenly much less certain.

David leaned back a little, gave a satisfied nod, and adjusted his glasses with one finger. “So? Still think you can win?”

Malcom glared up at him, tugging sharply at the bound arms. But David’s weight pressing down on his chest made every attempt pointless. He was stuck. Helpless. A part of him wanted to shout, to fight, to escape—but another part felt that strange, electric tingling he couldn’t shake.

“You’re crazy,” he panted. “This isn’t a game anymore.”

“Of course it is.” David’s grin widened as he pressed Malcom’s shoulders more firmly with his knees. “Just a new level.”

Malcom laughed briefly, though it sounded nervous. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” David replied calmly. “But insane enough to finally shut you down.”

With a quick motion, he reached into his sports bag, half hidden under a chair, and pulled out a second belt—the blue-violet karate belt he’d worn before earning his higher grade and receiving the solid purple one.

“See, this one could come in handy too.”

Malcom stared at him. “Don’t you dare!” he shouted, kicking his legs wildly in protest, trying to hit David. His socked feet thudded against the carpet, but David dodged easily, even laughing.

“You really are a little whirlwind.” With practiced ease, David grabbed Malcom’s right ankle, pressed it down, and looped the belt around it. Before Malcom could react, he pulled the other foot in too, wrapped the fabric twice around both ankles, and tugged it tight. The knot held fast.

Malcom gasped, yanked hard at his legs, pressed his heels into the carpet. But the belt kept them bound close together. “Unbelievable!” he panted, stunned by how effortlessly David had disabled him.

The fabric pressed soft against his skin, yet it was unyielding. The contradiction only deepened his frustration—and at the same time, that tingling inside him grew even stronger.

David saw it, grinned wider. “So? Still think you can get out of this?”

“Just because my hands and feet are tied,” Malcom shot back defiantly, “doesn’t mean I’m giving up!”

David laughed, pleased, almost triumphant. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

With one swift motion, he reached for his waistband and pulled out another belt—this time a black skater belt. The tough fabric rasped softly as he stretched it between his hands.

“Now we’ll do it properly.”

Before Malcom could react, David jumped up, grabbed him by the shoulders, and hauled him into a sitting position. Malcom gasped in surprise, tried to resist, but with his arms and legs already tied, he was clumsy and helpless.

“Hey! What… what are you doing?” he cried, but David didn’t stop.

With steady, practiced movements, David wrapped the black skater belt around Malcom’s crossed arms and bound legs. Once, twice, three times around—then he threaded the end through the metal buckle and pulled it tight. With a faint click, the buckle’s teeth locked the belt into place. No knots. No slack. No way out.

When he was done, David stepped back and admired his work. Malcom now sat on the floor, knees bent, arms strapped firmly against his legs—immobile, his upper body forced slightly forward.

David grinned broadly, hands on his hips. “There. Now you’re really finished.”

Malcom pulled at the belts, tugged, squirmed, but they didn’t budge. The karate belt was both soft and firm at once, while the skater belt’s harsh strap stopped every bit of movement. He panted, his eyes full of defiance—but also disbelief at how easily David had put him in this position.

Deep inside him, though—beneath the frustration and wild protest—that unexplainable tingling kept growing stronger.

____________

tbc

Malcolm will get his revenge against David but in the meantime he will enjoy being tied up and finally figure out what that tingling sensation is.

Thats sooooo good! I love it!

Well, fuhr doesn’t want to give up… he doesn’t have to talk either, right?

WhereAmI wrote: 4 weeks ago Malcolm will get his revenge against David but in the meantime he will enjoy being tied up and finally figure out what that tingling sensation is.

I'm sure Malcom will have enough time to figure out his confusing feelings

TuggyBoundMale wrote: 4 weeks ago Thats sooooo good! I love it!

Well, fuhr doesn’t want to give up… he doesn’t have to talk either, right?

Great to her that, thanks you
So let's see whether David thinks Malcom dos not have to talk anymore too

Part four

The chaos in the room felt like a stage set for their absurd game: the TV still flickered with the paused console match, forgotten; David’s dark red Chucks lay carelessly on the carpet, next to his backpack and the sports bag with his karate gear half hidden under the chair. On the cluttered desk, among scattered schoolbooks and papers, a roll of silver duct tape gleamed beside a pair of scissors.

Malcom lay bound on the floor, his arms and legs fixed tightly with cloth belts, his upper body forced slightly forward. He panted, his face flushed and sweaty, blue eyes full of defiance even though they gleamed with exhaustion. “You… you just won’t stop,” he gasped between laughter and anger.

David crouched over him, his grin wide and unshaken. “Of course not. You’re stubborn as a mule—and that’s exactly why it’s fun.”

He leaned forward and tickled Malcom’s feet again, making him scream, laugh, and thrash until he collapsed onto his side, spent. David slid onto his legs, pinning them with his weight, grinning down at him.

“Give up,” he demanded, breathless himself, “and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Never!” Malcom wheezed, his voice breaking but still full of defiance.

David paused, and something different flickered in his eyes. He’ll never say it willingly, he thought. Then I’ll have to make him.

His gaze wandered through the chaos—and landed on the desk. The roll of duct tape gleamed in the lamplight. David reached for it, holding it up, spinning it provocatively in his hand.

“You know,” he said with feigned calm, “you’re making a hell of a lot of noise. And honestly—I don’t feel like dealing with the neighbors if they hear.”

Malcom had closed his eyes for a brief second, enjoying the pause. But at David’s words he snapped them open. Something in David’s tone was different—not just teasing, but darker, sharper. Menacing.

His heart thudded wildly. He’s serious. Holy shit, he’s actually serious.

“W-what… what are you doing?” he stammered, his voice suddenly smaller.

David grinned, peeling a strip of tape slowly from the roll. The sound of the adhesive ripping cut through the room. Malcom’s breath hitched, he pressed his lips together instantly, shaking his head violently.

“Come on,” David said softly, the glint in his eyes unmistakable. “You know I always get what I want in the end.”

Then he lifted the strip to his mouth, bit down on it, and tore it off with a sharp pull of his teeth. The Rrrip echoed in the room, and Malcom’s eyes went wide with panic.

In that moment, he realized beyond doubt that David truly meant it.

The rip of the torn tape still echoed in the air as David held the silver strip between his fingers. His gaze burned with cheeky determination as he slowly leaned forward. Malcom lay bound on his back, arms and legs held together tightly by belts, his upper body slightly arched.

David shifted higher, settling onto Malcom’s chest with full confidence. His weight pressed him into the carpet, his knees pinning down on either side of Malcom’s head. Any movement was impossible – even turning his head away.

Malcom’s heart was racing. His chest rose and fell quickly as he tried to lift his head, only to feel David’s knees pin him right back down. Damn, he’s really serious about this… A shiver ran through him, but not fear. Deep down, he knew David would never truly hurt him. They knew each other too well. David loved to push, to go too far – but it was still a game. And that was exactly what made it so electrifying.

He pressed his lips tightly together, sweat running down his forehead. If he actually puts that stuff over my mouth… then I’ll be completely done for.

David grinned. “Well, my stubborn friend. You’ve got two choices: either you finally give up… or you’ll be quiet from now on.” His voice was calm, playful – but the glint in his eyes betrayed just how much he was enjoying this.

Malcom’s thoughts were racing. I should just give up right now. But no… I want to see how far he’ll go. His whole body trembled, yet he stubbornly pressed his lips together even harder, shaking his head as much as the pinning would allow.

“Fine then,” David murmured, his grin widening. “You asked for it.”

He leaned forward, pressed the strip over Malcom’s closed lips, and smoothed it down firmly. The tape clung cold and unyielding against his skin. Immediately, Malcom’s words were stifled, his protests reduced to muffled, muted sounds. His eyes widened – not in fear, but from the electrifying rush of complete helplessness.

It’s really happened. He did it. I can’t say a word. I’m completely at his mercy – and yet, I know he won’t ever go too far.

David leaned back, his knees still bracing Malcom’s head, watching with gleaming eyes as he squirmed. “Well, finally some peace and quiet,” he said mockingly. “See? I like you better this way.”

He set his hands on Malcom’s sides, let his fingers hover for a moment – and then dug in mercilessly, tickling him.

Malcom’s body jerked instantly. His laughter burst out, muffled and broken by the tape. He thrashed, kicked into the air, his body tensing – but David’s weight and the belts made every attempt useless.

David grinned, skimming his fingers along Malcom’s ribs, across his stomach, darting back to his sides. Malcom arched up, gasping sharply through his nose, tears spilling down his face. I can’t take this anymore… and yet – I don’t want to give in. Not yet.

“Well, my little fighter,” David teased, “still so sure you’re not going to give up?”

Malcom screamed into his tape gag, eyes shining with effort and defiance. No. Not yet. He needs to see that I’ll keep fighting.

But David didn’t let up. With a self-assured grin, he slid back, planting himself on Malcom’s thighs and pinning his bound legs with his weight. Casually, he reached for Malcom’s feet.

Malcom’s eyes widened. Not the feet…

“This is where you’re weakest,” David mocked. Then he attacked. His fingers raked over Malcom’s socked soles, down the sides, hooking between his toes.

Malcom bucked violently, laughter exploding out of him in muffled bursts, his whole body convulsing. He kicked helplessly, writhed, but there was no escape.

David laughed with him, breathless. “Well? Are you ready to give up now?”

Malcom’s chest pumped, his face burning red, sweat and tears mixing. I can take it… I won’t give in… But seconds stretched like minutes, his strength ebbing.

David zeroed in on his toes, fingers darting mercilessly. Malcom screamed into the tape, his body shaking, until at last he broke.

With a violent jerk, he nodded, again and again, desperate, forceful, leaving no room for doubt.

David finally paused, hands still resting on Malcom’s feet, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. “There we go,” he said softly, almost satisfied. “Told you – I always win in the end.”

Slowly, he leaned forward, gripped Malcom’s chin firmly, lifting his head just enough so their eyes locked. David’s eyes gleamed as he studied his friend’s tear-streaked, exhausted face.

“Just like on the PlayStation,” he said with a cheeky grin, not breaking eye contact.

Malcom’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his heart hammering in his temples. In that moment, the reality of his situation struck with piercing clarity:
His hands were bound tight – by the soft yet unyielding fabric of David’s violet karate belt wrapped snugly around his wrists. His feet, bound just as firmly, strained against a second karate belt, as immovable as steel. And the black skater belt – rough nylon, the cold buckle biting against him – lashed his wrists and ankles together, destroying any illusion of freedom.

David’s weight bore down on his chest, warm, heavy, unrelenting. Every breath reminded him of his helplessness. The silver strip of tape sealed his mouth, smothering every sound, every laugh, every protest. The faint chemical tang of glue filled his nose, the pressure on his lips inescapable.

David has me completely under control.
The thought was bitter, frustration gnawing at his pride. I fought, I struggled… and he still beat me.

And yet, deep in his chest, there was something else. Something he could hardly admit, not even to himself. Because despite his helplessness, he felt safe. Safe because it was David. Safe because they had known each other for years, and he knew David would never truly cross the line.

And more: a part of him had enjoyed it. The thrill, the tension, the moment of realizing he had no chance left.

He felt David’s hand on his chin, firm, commanding, holding his gaze. He saw the cheeky, satisfied grin, and his own breath trembled shallowly through his nose.

What happens now? Malcom thought. Has David had enough? Or does he want more?

The question remained unanswered.


_____________


tbc

More, more, more of this great story. Malcolm needs some more lessons in submissiveness and humiliation.

Absolutely great!!! This is soooo good

I'm glad to hear that you like my story of the two guys so mich .

So let's go on and see what's going to happen next...

________________________

part five

David still held Malcom’s chin, their gazes locked tightly together. The grin on his face seemed frozen – cheeky, arrogant, but full of energy. For a moment the whole room was silent. Only the low hum of the console and the flicker of the television filled the air, the paused video game still glowing on the screen.

Then David slowly released his hand, letting Malcom’s head sink back onto the carpet. He pulled back slightly, but didn’t release him. His weight remained firmly on Malcom’s chest, heavy but not crushing – just enough to make any movement pointless.

“Well, that was pretty clear,” David murmured quietly, almost satisfied, pushing his glasses back into place with a casual gesture. “I beat you – again.”

Malcom panted through his nose, his chest rising and falling in quick bursts. The tape sat firmly across his lips, his muffled sounds more like a strained growl than actual words. Defiance still flashed in his eyes, but underneath there was something else – a flickering tingle he couldn’t name.

Damn… I’m on the ground, tied up like a package. I lost. But… why does a part of me not want this to be over?

David watched him closely, the sparkle in his dark eyes unmistakable. “You don’t sound very convinced,” he teased when Malcom let out another muffled noise. “Or are you trying to tell me you secretly won after all?”

Malcom let out a frustrated, muffled sound and rolled his eyes. He tried to move his shoulders, pushed once more against David’s weight, but all he achieved was a faint creak from the carpet beneath them.

David chuckled quietly – that short, deep laugh that both annoyed and fascinated Malcom. “It’s kind of cute how you’re still fighting back.” He let his fingertips wander playfully across Malcom’s shoulder, giving a quick poke to his side that made him jolt and protest muffledly again.

He’s playing with me. Openly. And I can’t do a thing. Malcom felt his heart beat faster, sweat running down his temples. The bitterness of defeat still stuck in his throat, yet at the same time an uneasy curiosity burned inside him. Do I want him to stop? Or do I want to see how far he’ll go?

“You know,” David said finally, his grin widening again, “you’re not a bad opponent. But you’re way too stubborn. You just don’t know when it’s over.” He leaned in closer, until their faces were only a few centimeters apart. “And that’s exactly why it’s fun.”

Malcom stared back, his eyes sparkling even though they were glassy from exhaustion. Behind the tape his lips formed words no one could hear – Let me go! or maybe Keep going! – even he wasn’t sure which.

David paused for a moment, then slowly leaned back, tilting his head. His gaze wandered through the chaotic room: the overturned sports bag half hidden under the chair, the scattered notebooks and pens on the desk, the laundry basket still untouched against the wall. His eyes lingered briefly on the sports bag, then returned to Malcom.

The grin returned – sharper now, with a hint of anticipation. “You know what?” he said slowly. “I think… I’ve got another idea.”

Malcom’s heart jumped. He felt David’s weight, the belts at his joints, the tape across his mouth – and at the same time the gleam in his friend’s eyes. A shiver ran through him. Not from fear. From suspense.

What the hell is he planning now?

The question remained unanswered, as David’s grin widened and he leaned slightly to the side – toward his sports bag.

For a moment, neither of them moved. David still sat on Malcom’s chest, his knees tight against his arms, head tilted slightly, glasses a little askew. His grin hadn’t changed – cheeky, confident, full of anticipation.

Malcom panted faintly behind the tape, his chest rising and falling quickly. Sweat trickled down his temples as he tried to look away from David’s eyes and yet couldn’t.

What is he planning now? he thought, watching David’s arm slowly reach toward the sports bag. Is he going for another belt? Immediately, his mind raced. Would he tie my legs even tighter? Maybe strap my arms straight against my body so I couldn’t move at all?

An image flashed in his head: David wrapping him with another belt, loop after loop, until every little movement was impossible. Already, he could feel how the karate belts at his wrists and ankles were both soft and unyielding at the same time – what would it be like if David bound him even more tightly?

Malcom swallowed hard. Would that really be so bad? He knew he was supposed to feel ashamed of the thought. Everything in him wanted to shout in defiance, to insist he was just waiting for his chance to break free. But there was also that other feeling, that tingling in his chest that wouldn’t leave him. Or would I actually… like it?

The idea unsettled him – and yet, he couldn’t deny the strange pull it carried. His resistance was still there, burning bright, but cracks were beginning to show.

And just when he was sure David would reach for another belt, David did something else: instead of grabbing into the bag, he reached over it, snatching up something Malcom couldn’t see at first. Only when David leaned back did Malcom catch sight of it – a black bandana, which David twirled casually between his fingers as if it were nothing more than a toy.

The grin on David’s face grew wider. “Funny what you can find lying around in here,” he said, his voice sounding innocent and mischievous at the same time.

Malcom’s heart jumped. A bandana? he asked himself immediately. What’s he going to do with that?

He tugged hard at his restraints, feeling the soft but unyielding pull of the karate belts, the cold press of the skater belt buckle against his joints. A muffled, annoyed sound escaped him, stubborn and frustrated. Yet behind all of it, the question wouldn’t leave him: And if he really uses that bandana… then what?

David let the bandana slide loosely over his fingers, turning it slowly as if he were just examining it absentmindedly. But his eyes sparkled as he kept them fixed on Malcom.

“You’re probably wondering what I’m going to do with this, aren’t you?” His voice was playful, yet carried an undertone that made Malcom’s heart beat faster.

Malcom let out a guttural, muffled sound and tugged at the restraints, as if to answer the question with pure defiance: I don’t care what you do! But deep down, he knew that wasn’t true. Every fiber of his body was waiting for David’s next move.

Is he going to gag me with it? Malcom thought feverishly. Or cover my eyes? Maybe just to tease me… or to make it even harder.
The thought made him shiver and tingle all at once. If I couldn’t see… if I had no idea what he was about to do next…

David chuckled softly, that short, deep laugh that had driven Malcom crazy so many times before. He leaned forward, dangling the bandana threateningly close to Malcom’s face. “Well, what do you think? Should I give you a little extra?”

Malcom’s eyes glittered with defiance. He shook his head as much as his position allowed and growled lowly through the tape. Everything about him screamed resistance – and yet there was that other voice, quiet, insistent: Do it. I want to know what it’s like.

David was clearly enjoying the game. He let the bandana brush lightly across Malcom’s cheek, then drew it back again, as if only to taunt him. “So stubborn,” he murmured with a grin. “But you know full well you don’t get to decide in the end.”

Malcom’s chest rose and fell faster. Sweat trickled down his forehead, his muscles burned from the strain – and still he stayed defiant, even though he knew his protest was growing weaker.

“I think we’ll give this a try,” David said finally – and this time, it didn’t sound like a joke.

He took the bandana in both hands, bent forward slowly, and slid it beneath Malcom’s head. Malcom gasped through his nose, writhing and shaking his head violently – but David’s knees pinned him in place, giving him no chance to move.

No… no, he can’t… Malcom thought, desperately trying to turn his head. If I can’t see, then—
He froze. Then I won’t know what he’s going to do. Then I’ll be completely at his mercy.

A cold shiver ran down his spine – and at the same time, a tingling rush that made his chest tighten. Do I want this? he asked himself. Or do I want him to stop?

David took his time. With slow, almost deliberate movements, he pulled the bandana up across Malcom’s forehead and tied it neatly behind his head. The fabric pressed softly but firmly over Malcom’s eyes, covering his lids. The world dissolved into darkness.

Malcom gasped loudly, his entire body tensing. Panic? No. But an electrifying feeling of absolute uncertainty, mixed with the awareness that he was completely in David’s hands.

David grinned, satisfied. “Now this is much better,” he said quietly. “This way, I can do whatever I want – and you won’t even know what’s coming.”

Malcom growled behind the tape, twisted and pulled at his bonds. But every attempt was useless. He was forced to rely on his other senses: the weight of David’s body, the press of the belts, the faint rustle of the carpet beneath him, the slight chemical tang of the tape adhesive in his nose.

And David’s voice – close, warm, almost triumphant. “You’re so stubborn, Malcom. But sooner or later, you’ll realize that resistance won’t get you anywhere.”

I have to fight back, Malcom thought feverishly. I can’t just give in. But the darkness before his eyes made every attempt feel doubly hopeless. And deep inside him, a dangerous new question stirred: What happens if I let go?

The world was black. The bandana pressed softly but firmly over Malcom’s eyes, and yet it felt like a wall. All that remained were the sounds and sensations: the faint creak of the carpet beneath his back, the pull of the belts at his wrists and ankles, the weight of David on his chest. His breath came in short bursts, the smell of dust, sweat, and the faint glue-scent of the tape filled his nose.

Damn… I can’t see. I don’t know what he’s going to do next. Malcom’s heart was racing. And that’s exactly what he wants.

“Well, how does that feel?” David’s voice came close to his ear, playful yet laced with pure control. “Weird, isn’t it—when you don’t even know where I am?”

Malcom growled through the tape, tugging stubbornly at his restraints.

David laughed, that deep, short laugh that always irritated and fascinated Malcom at once. “Oh, I love that stubborn head of yours.” As he spoke, he suddenly ruffled Malcom’s damp hair with his hand, mussing it roughly.

Malcom let out a muffled, indignant sound, shook his head—only for David’s fingers to dig into his sides.

Surprise. Tickling. Malcom jerked, laughing through the gag, thrashing wildly, kicking his legs—useless. The belts held him fast.

“So, where are you more ticklish, huh?” David’s voice danced, now near his ear, now further down his body. Fingers pressed into his ribs, skittered across his stomach, then down to his knees. Malcom twisted, muffled screams of laughter tearing through the tape, biting down in frustration as tears welled in his eyes.

David paused now and then, leaning close. “Well? Giving up yet?”

Malcom shook his head furiously. Defiant. Stubborn to the core.

David grinned. “Good. Then we’re not done.”

His hands attacked again—knees, ribs, stomach—until suddenly they slid further down. Silence for a beat—then Malcom felt David tugging at his socks. A rush of air brushed his bare toes, sending a shiver through him.

“Aha,” David murmured almost with delight. “So this is the spot.”

Malcom knew what was coming—yet he couldn’t prepare. David’s fingers scratched and teased at his soles, slid between his toes. Malcom screamed into the tape, shaking uncontrollably, desperate to pull away. But David’s grip was merciless.

“Come on,” David called with a laugh, “say you give up and I’ll stop right now!”

Malcom’s whole body convulsed with laughter, his chest heaving, every nerve aflame. Still he clung to his defiance. Only when David’s unrelenting assault continued did Malcom finally nod violently, signaling: Enough. I give up.

David stopped at once, leaving Malcom’s feet alone. With satisfaction, he climbed back onto Malcom’s chest, pinning his bound arms tight against his torso. Malcom’s breathing was ragged, the tape trembling with each gasp for air.

Slowly, David pulled away the bandana, peeling it off his eyes. The light stung, and the first thing Malcom saw was David’s wide grin. “There you go,” he teased. “That wasn’t so hard.”

Then David reached for the tape across Malcom’s mouth. Carefully, almost leisurely, he peeled it off, the strip already loosened by sweat and laughter. Malcom inhaled deeply, ready to speak—but before a word escaped, David’s hand clamped firmly over his mouth.

Malcom’s eyes widened in surprise.

David grinned, low and energized. “You only gave up because you couldn’t take the tickling anymore. Deep down, you’d still fight—because you think you’ve got a chance.”

Silence. David held his chin, their gazes locked, burning with challenge.

Malcom’s thoughts raced. Pride. Defeat. Defiance. Curiosity. Everything tangled inside him. Yet deep down, one feeling won out: I want more.

Suddenly he shoved back, trying to throw David off. For a heartbeat, it almost felt like he could. But David recovered instantly, pressed him back into the carpet, pinning him flat again.

A triumphant grin spread across David’s face. “Knew it. You’ll see—I’ll make you admit defeat for real.” He leaned closer, his voice low, brimming with amusement: “And guess what? The weekend’s only just begun...”


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Would be a nice ending... What so you think?

Should I tell you how it's going on?

I wanna see how the weekend continues, pleeeeease

This is sooooo good

I sure hope that this weekend continues because if it doesn't I'll be bored !!! 🫩