Stayingg with the neighbour (F/m)
Posted: Sun Sep 21, 2025 6:02 am
”So”, said julie “let me get this straight. You want to spend the whole day tied up and gagged.”
“Yes please.” He replied meekly. “Do you think im strange.”
“Not at all. When he was your age, my younger brother used to ask me to tie him up all the time”
Julie smiled softly as she rummaged through the hall closet, her bare feet padding against the cool hardwood floor. She emerged with a coil of thick cotton rope, the fibers smelling faintly of cedar and old adventures. Alan watched her fingers test its strength, the way her freckled knuckles flexed against the sturdy twist. His own toes curled against the rug beneath him, anticipation prickling along his spine like static.
"Alright, adventurer," she said, her voice warm but matter-of-fact. "Arms behind your back first. And don't you dare wiggle out before I'm done." The rope hissed softly as she looped it around his wrists, pulling snug but not biting. Alan focused on the pressure, the rough texture against his skin, and the surprising comfort of her knee braced gently against his shoulder blade for leverage as she began to tie his arms just above his elbows.
Julie worked methodically, humming faintly as she wrapped the rope around his torso at multiple levels. Each pass tightened slightly, pinning his arms firmly against his sides. He caught the scent of her shampoo—something floral and clean—mingling with the rope's woody aroma. Below, her bare foot nudged his ankle into position, her toes unexpectedly warm against his skin.
“OK. Legs together sweetie.”
Julie knelt beside Alan, her Lycra leggings whispering against the hardwood as she positioned his ankles flush and bound them tightly but not uncomfortably together, cincing tight between them. The rope rasped against itself as she began wrapping figure-eights around his calves, just below his knees. Each loop pulled taut with a soft *thump* of her palm securing the knot, the pressure firm and immobilizing. Alan tested it subtly; only the smallest twitch was possible. He felt the warmth radiating from her thigh pressed briefly against his side, smelled the clean sweat from her morning workout mingling with the cedar scent of the rope. Her focus was absolute, brows slightly furrowed, tongue caught between her teeth as she cinched the final knot on his thighs with efficient precision.
"Comfortable?" Julie asked, sitting back on her heels to survey her work, her freckled hands resting loosely on her knees. Her sports top rode up slightly, revealing a strip of pale skin above the waistband of her leggings. Alan nodded, the movement restricted, feeling the ropes dig pleasantly into his muscles whenever he shifted even slightly. The snugness was everywhere now, a constant, reassuring pressure pinning his arms flat against his ribs, his legs fused together. He was utterly immobilized, cocooned in scratchy cotton. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, not from heat, but from the thrilling helplessness settling deep in his belly.
She reached for a clean, folded dish towel from a nearby chair. "Open wide, explorer," she instructed, her tone practical but not unkind. Alan obeyed, parting his lips. The soft cotton filled his mouth, tasting faintly of laundry detergent and dust. Julie tied the ends tightly behind his head, the knot pressing firmly into the base of his skull. His jaw ached almost immediately, muffling any sound he tried to make into a soft, indistinct hum. His world narrowed to the feel of the gag, the ropes, and the rhythmic sound of Julie's bare feet padding away across the floorboards.
Julie returned with a roll of silver duct tape, its metallic surface gleaming dully under the living room light. She tore a long strip with a sharp, ripping sound that made Alan flinch. Without ceremony, she pressed the cold adhesive firmly over his mouth, sealing the cloth gag beneath. The tape pulled taut against his skin as she smoothed it down over his cheeks and chin, muffling his breathing into shallow, nasal puffs. He blinked rapidly, the sudden constriction sending a fresh wave of helplessness crashing through him as she wrapped it round his head.
She knelt beside him again, her fingers surprisingly gentle as she brushed a stray strand of hair from his taped mouth. Her expression was thoughtful, assessing. "There," she murmured, almost to herself. "Secure." She rose, her bare feet silent on the rug now, and walked towards the kitchen. Alan watched her go, his bound body utterly still, his gaze tracking her movements – the sway of her hips in the tight leggings, the flex of her calves. The clink of glassware drifted back to him.
Sunlight streamed through the bay window, warming the ropes cinched around his torso. He tested his bonds subtly: wrists fused behind his back, elbows locked tight, legs immobile from thighs to ankles. Only his toes could wiggle against the rug’s pile. The gag filled his mouth, the duct tape a cold, unyielding seal. Breathing was shallow, rhythmic, each inhale a conscious effort through his nose. The cedar scent of the rope mingled with the metallic tang of the tape.
Julie leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping water from a tall glass. Her eyes scanned him critically, like an artist assessing a finished sculpture. "Comfortable?" she asked again, her voice muffled slightly by the distance. Alan managed a stiff nod, the tape pulling at his cheekbones. She set the glass down with a soft *clink*. "Good. Because we’re just getting started." Her bare feet padded back toward him, stopping inches from his bound legs.
Her toes brushed lightly against his sole, tracing the arch. Alan jerked instinctively, but the ropes held him fast. "Ticklish?" Julie chuckled, low and throaty. She knelt, her fingers replacing her toes, spider-walking up his instep with feather-light touches. Alan’s muffled laughter escaped as frantic, nasal huffs, his body straining uselessly against the ropes. He squeezed his eyes shut, toes curling reflexively against the rug.
"Such sensitive little feet," she teased, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. Her touch shifted from teasing to deliberate, digging into the soft flesh beneath his toes. Alan bucked wildly, ropes biting into his skin as choked giggles vibrated against the gag. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Julie watched his frantic squirming, a slow smile spreading. "Can't wiggle free, can you?" Her fingers danced higher, relentless along the arch.
She intensified the assault, nails scraping lightly across his soles in rapid, unpredictable patterns. Alan's laughter became silent convulsions, tears pricking his eyes as his bound body arched and trembled against the floor. Every frantic twitch only tightened the ropes' grip. Julie leaned closer, her breath warm against his taped cheek. "All that energy," she murmured, "and nowhere for it to go." Her fingers pinched the tender spot just below his ankle bone, eliciting a muffled shriek.
Julie paused, letting him gasp through his nose, his chest heaving against the constricting ropes. "You know," she said conversationally, tracing the outline of his heel with a single fingertip, "most boys would be embarrassed, tied up like this." Her touch drifted back to the arch, pressing firmly this time. Alan flinched, a desperate whimper escaping his nose. "But you?" A slow, deliberate stroke from heel to toes made his entire body jolt. "You seem to like it." She watched his flushed face, the frantic flutter of his eyelids. "Admit it. This helpless feeling... it's exciting, isn't it?"
Her fingers became relentless, spidering rapidly across his soles in quick, skittering patterns. Alan bucked wildly, ropes digging deep as silent screams tore through him. Tears streamed freely now, mingling with the sweat on his temples. Julie leaned in, her voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur near his ear. "Every twitch, every useless little jerk... it tells me everything." Her nails scraped lightly, deliberately, along the most sensitive spot right beneath his toes. "You're loving every second of this."
He went rigid, breath hitching violently through flared nostrils. The ropes held him suspended in that breathless agony of laughter and helplessness. Julie watched, a satisfied curve playing on her lips. "That's it," she coaxed, "Let it out." Her fingertip pressed hard into the arch. "That buzz under your skin? That's pure, perfect excitement." She held the pressure, letting the sensation vibrate through his bound form.
She was right. He knew it, she knew it. He loved the feeling of being tickled whilst helpless, even though his body made apevery move to get away.
Alan's muffled laughter hitched into frantic, silent gasps as Julie's fingers danced mercilessly across his soles. Tears blurred his vision, tracing hot paths down his temples. Every desperate twist of his shoulders only tightened the ropes' relentless grip, biting into his skin with a sharp, grounding pressure. The metallic scent of duct tape filled his nostrils with each shallow, panicked breath. Julie watched his helpless thrashing, her expression unreadable but intense.
Her touch shifted abruptly—fingers digging deep into the arch of his foot, holding him in a vise-like grip that forced stillness. Alan froze, trembling, his chest heaving against the ropes. "Still," she commanded, her voice low and firm. Slowly, deliberately, she traced a single fingernail along his instep, from heel to the base of his toes. The sensation was electric, unbearable. A choked whimper escaped his gagged mouth, muffled by layers of cloth and tape.
Julie rose smoothly, her shadow falling over him. "I need a shower," she announced, dusting her palms against her leggings. Her gaze lingered on his flushed, tear-streaked face. "And you," she added, plucking a dark silk scarf from the back of an armchair, "won’t be peeking." She folded the fabric with swift precision. The silk whispered against his eyelids as she tied it tight, plunging him into absolute, velvety blackness. The knot pressed firmly against the back of his skull.
The sudden sensory deprivation was jarring. The ropes’ grip felt sharper, more defined. The metallic tang of the tape intensified. He heard the soft *shush* of her bare feet moving away across the rug, then the sharper click of her soles on the wooden stairs. Each ascending step echoed in the stillness – a slow, deliberate rhythm fading upwards. Water pipes groaned distantly within the walls, a low thrumming starting somewhere above him. The shower hissed to life, a distant, steady rush like heavy rain on a roof.
Alan lay immobilized, blindfolded, the silk cool against his eyelids. His own breathing sounded loud and ragged in his ears, amplified by the gag. The lingering phantom tickle danced across his soles, making his toes curl reflexively against the rug. Downstairs silence pressed in, thick and expectant. Upstairs, the water’s rhythm shifted – a splatter against tile, then the muffled clink of a shampoo bottle. He strained, picturing the steam curling, the water sluicing over freckled skin, red hair plastered darkly.
A sudden, sharp *thump* from above jerked him taut against his bonds. His heart hammered against his ribs. Was it the shampoo bottle falling? Or something else? The shower’s steady rush continued, undisturbed. He forced himself to relax, focusing on the rough texture of the ropes binding his wrists, the faint ache settling into his jaw from the gag. Sweat trickled down his temple, pooling where the duct tape met his skin.
The distant water stopped abruptly. Silence crashed down, thick and heavy. He held his breath, straining to hear over the frantic pulse in his ears. Footsteps padded softly overhead, crossing the landing. A door creaked open – the linen closet? Then, the distinct, rhythmic *squeak-squeak* of the towel rail turning. His imagination conjured the image vividly: steam billowing into the hallway, Julie wrapped in a thick towel, droplets clinging to her freckled shoulders.
The footsteps descended the stairs, slow and deliberate. Each creak of the wood echoed in the tense quiet. He smelled damp skin and clean soap before he heard her stop beside him. A cool droplet landed on his shoulder, making him flinch. "Comfortable?" Her voice was low, amused, right above him. He felt the shift in air as she crouched, the damp hem of the towel brushing his arm. Her fingers traced the edge of the silk blindfold. "Don't even think about peeking."
Her weight settled beside his bound legs. The towel rustled as she shifted, the scent of coconut shampoo sharpening. "You held still so well," she murmured, her hand resting lightly on his ankle. "But we're not done." Her thumb pressed into his arch—not tickling, but possessive. Alan froze, breath catching. "You'll stay exactly like this. Silent. Still." Her nail scraped a warning line along his sole. "Understand?"
Water dripped from her hair onto his knee. He felt its cool trail through the ropes’ pressure. Julie rose, the towel whispering against her skin as she walked toward the bedroom. "I'll get dressed," she called back, her voice echoing slightly. "Try not to enjoy the helplessness *too* much." The bedroom door clicked shut. Alan lay motionless, the blindfold deepening every sound—the rustle of fabric, the slide of a drawer, the soft thud of boots hitting the floor.
The ropes felt heavier in the stillness. His jaw ached against the gag, the duct tape pulling with each shallow breath. He focused on the fading scent of coconut shampoo, the distant city hum beyond the windows. A floorboard groaned near the bedroom door. Julie’s footsteps approached again—still bare against the floor.
She stopped beside him. He felt the air shift as she knelt, her knee brushing his bound thigh. Cool fingertips traced the edge of his blindfold. "Still behaving?" Her voice was low, almost conversational. Her thumb pressed into the arch of his foot again—not tickling, just pressure. A warning. He froze. She slipped the blindfold up and off his eyes.
Light flooded his vision. Julie knelt before him, damp hair dripping onto her shoulders, and staining her white t shirt. Her gaze locked onto his. "Better," she murmured, fingers trailing up his calf. "Now we talk." Her touch lingered on the rope cinched below his knee. Her nail dug into the sensitive hollow behind his knee. Alan jerked. "Tell me everything," she breathed, leaning closer. "Or I start tickling properly."
Her thumb pressed into the arch of his foot—not hard, but poised. Alan shook his head violently, gag muffling his panic. Julie's smile widened. "Wrong answer." Her fingers skittered across his sole. Alan bucked, ropes biting as choked laughter tore through him. Tears blurred her face. He writhed, arching away. Her grip tightened. "Tickling stops when you talk."
Alan froze, chest heaving. Julie leaned closer, her damp hair brushing his cheek. "Sixty seconds." Her fingertip circled his heel. "Tell me everything you know.” Her nail scraped. Alan convulsed, nodding frantically. Julie paused.
“Yes please.” He replied meekly. “Do you think im strange.”
“Not at all. When he was your age, my younger brother used to ask me to tie him up all the time”
Julie smiled softly as she rummaged through the hall closet, her bare feet padding against the cool hardwood floor. She emerged with a coil of thick cotton rope, the fibers smelling faintly of cedar and old adventures. Alan watched her fingers test its strength, the way her freckled knuckles flexed against the sturdy twist. His own toes curled against the rug beneath him, anticipation prickling along his spine like static.
"Alright, adventurer," she said, her voice warm but matter-of-fact. "Arms behind your back first. And don't you dare wiggle out before I'm done." The rope hissed softly as she looped it around his wrists, pulling snug but not biting. Alan focused on the pressure, the rough texture against his skin, and the surprising comfort of her knee braced gently against his shoulder blade for leverage as she began to tie his arms just above his elbows.
Julie worked methodically, humming faintly as she wrapped the rope around his torso at multiple levels. Each pass tightened slightly, pinning his arms firmly against his sides. He caught the scent of her shampoo—something floral and clean—mingling with the rope's woody aroma. Below, her bare foot nudged his ankle into position, her toes unexpectedly warm against his skin.
“OK. Legs together sweetie.”
Julie knelt beside Alan, her Lycra leggings whispering against the hardwood as she positioned his ankles flush and bound them tightly but not uncomfortably together, cincing tight between them. The rope rasped against itself as she began wrapping figure-eights around his calves, just below his knees. Each loop pulled taut with a soft *thump* of her palm securing the knot, the pressure firm and immobilizing. Alan tested it subtly; only the smallest twitch was possible. He felt the warmth radiating from her thigh pressed briefly against his side, smelled the clean sweat from her morning workout mingling with the cedar scent of the rope. Her focus was absolute, brows slightly furrowed, tongue caught between her teeth as she cinched the final knot on his thighs with efficient precision.
"Comfortable?" Julie asked, sitting back on her heels to survey her work, her freckled hands resting loosely on her knees. Her sports top rode up slightly, revealing a strip of pale skin above the waistband of her leggings. Alan nodded, the movement restricted, feeling the ropes dig pleasantly into his muscles whenever he shifted even slightly. The snugness was everywhere now, a constant, reassuring pressure pinning his arms flat against his ribs, his legs fused together. He was utterly immobilized, cocooned in scratchy cotton. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, not from heat, but from the thrilling helplessness settling deep in his belly.
She reached for a clean, folded dish towel from a nearby chair. "Open wide, explorer," she instructed, her tone practical but not unkind. Alan obeyed, parting his lips. The soft cotton filled his mouth, tasting faintly of laundry detergent and dust. Julie tied the ends tightly behind his head, the knot pressing firmly into the base of his skull. His jaw ached almost immediately, muffling any sound he tried to make into a soft, indistinct hum. His world narrowed to the feel of the gag, the ropes, and the rhythmic sound of Julie's bare feet padding away across the floorboards.
Julie returned with a roll of silver duct tape, its metallic surface gleaming dully under the living room light. She tore a long strip with a sharp, ripping sound that made Alan flinch. Without ceremony, she pressed the cold adhesive firmly over his mouth, sealing the cloth gag beneath. The tape pulled taut against his skin as she smoothed it down over his cheeks and chin, muffling his breathing into shallow, nasal puffs. He blinked rapidly, the sudden constriction sending a fresh wave of helplessness crashing through him as she wrapped it round his head.
She knelt beside him again, her fingers surprisingly gentle as she brushed a stray strand of hair from his taped mouth. Her expression was thoughtful, assessing. "There," she murmured, almost to herself. "Secure." She rose, her bare feet silent on the rug now, and walked towards the kitchen. Alan watched her go, his bound body utterly still, his gaze tracking her movements – the sway of her hips in the tight leggings, the flex of her calves. The clink of glassware drifted back to him.
Sunlight streamed through the bay window, warming the ropes cinched around his torso. He tested his bonds subtly: wrists fused behind his back, elbows locked tight, legs immobile from thighs to ankles. Only his toes could wiggle against the rug’s pile. The gag filled his mouth, the duct tape a cold, unyielding seal. Breathing was shallow, rhythmic, each inhale a conscious effort through his nose. The cedar scent of the rope mingled with the metallic tang of the tape.
Julie leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping water from a tall glass. Her eyes scanned him critically, like an artist assessing a finished sculpture. "Comfortable?" she asked again, her voice muffled slightly by the distance. Alan managed a stiff nod, the tape pulling at his cheekbones. She set the glass down with a soft *clink*. "Good. Because we’re just getting started." Her bare feet padded back toward him, stopping inches from his bound legs.
Her toes brushed lightly against his sole, tracing the arch. Alan jerked instinctively, but the ropes held him fast. "Ticklish?" Julie chuckled, low and throaty. She knelt, her fingers replacing her toes, spider-walking up his instep with feather-light touches. Alan’s muffled laughter escaped as frantic, nasal huffs, his body straining uselessly against the ropes. He squeezed his eyes shut, toes curling reflexively against the rug.
"Such sensitive little feet," she teased, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. Her touch shifted from teasing to deliberate, digging into the soft flesh beneath his toes. Alan bucked wildly, ropes biting into his skin as choked giggles vibrated against the gag. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Julie watched his frantic squirming, a slow smile spreading. "Can't wiggle free, can you?" Her fingers danced higher, relentless along the arch.
She intensified the assault, nails scraping lightly across his soles in rapid, unpredictable patterns. Alan's laughter became silent convulsions, tears pricking his eyes as his bound body arched and trembled against the floor. Every frantic twitch only tightened the ropes' grip. Julie leaned closer, her breath warm against his taped cheek. "All that energy," she murmured, "and nowhere for it to go." Her fingers pinched the tender spot just below his ankle bone, eliciting a muffled shriek.
Julie paused, letting him gasp through his nose, his chest heaving against the constricting ropes. "You know," she said conversationally, tracing the outline of his heel with a single fingertip, "most boys would be embarrassed, tied up like this." Her touch drifted back to the arch, pressing firmly this time. Alan flinched, a desperate whimper escaping his nose. "But you?" A slow, deliberate stroke from heel to toes made his entire body jolt. "You seem to like it." She watched his flushed face, the frantic flutter of his eyelids. "Admit it. This helpless feeling... it's exciting, isn't it?"
Her fingers became relentless, spidering rapidly across his soles in quick, skittering patterns. Alan bucked wildly, ropes digging deep as silent screams tore through him. Tears streamed freely now, mingling with the sweat on his temples. Julie leaned in, her voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur near his ear. "Every twitch, every useless little jerk... it tells me everything." Her nails scraped lightly, deliberately, along the most sensitive spot right beneath his toes. "You're loving every second of this."
He went rigid, breath hitching violently through flared nostrils. The ropes held him suspended in that breathless agony of laughter and helplessness. Julie watched, a satisfied curve playing on her lips. "That's it," she coaxed, "Let it out." Her fingertip pressed hard into the arch. "That buzz under your skin? That's pure, perfect excitement." She held the pressure, letting the sensation vibrate through his bound form.
She was right. He knew it, she knew it. He loved the feeling of being tickled whilst helpless, even though his body made apevery move to get away.
Alan's muffled laughter hitched into frantic, silent gasps as Julie's fingers danced mercilessly across his soles. Tears blurred his vision, tracing hot paths down his temples. Every desperate twist of his shoulders only tightened the ropes' relentless grip, biting into his skin with a sharp, grounding pressure. The metallic scent of duct tape filled his nostrils with each shallow, panicked breath. Julie watched his helpless thrashing, her expression unreadable but intense.
Her touch shifted abruptly—fingers digging deep into the arch of his foot, holding him in a vise-like grip that forced stillness. Alan froze, trembling, his chest heaving against the ropes. "Still," she commanded, her voice low and firm. Slowly, deliberately, she traced a single fingernail along his instep, from heel to the base of his toes. The sensation was electric, unbearable. A choked whimper escaped his gagged mouth, muffled by layers of cloth and tape.
Julie rose smoothly, her shadow falling over him. "I need a shower," she announced, dusting her palms against her leggings. Her gaze lingered on his flushed, tear-streaked face. "And you," she added, plucking a dark silk scarf from the back of an armchair, "won’t be peeking." She folded the fabric with swift precision. The silk whispered against his eyelids as she tied it tight, plunging him into absolute, velvety blackness. The knot pressed firmly against the back of his skull.
The sudden sensory deprivation was jarring. The ropes’ grip felt sharper, more defined. The metallic tang of the tape intensified. He heard the soft *shush* of her bare feet moving away across the rug, then the sharper click of her soles on the wooden stairs. Each ascending step echoed in the stillness – a slow, deliberate rhythm fading upwards. Water pipes groaned distantly within the walls, a low thrumming starting somewhere above him. The shower hissed to life, a distant, steady rush like heavy rain on a roof.
Alan lay immobilized, blindfolded, the silk cool against his eyelids. His own breathing sounded loud and ragged in his ears, amplified by the gag. The lingering phantom tickle danced across his soles, making his toes curl reflexively against the rug. Downstairs silence pressed in, thick and expectant. Upstairs, the water’s rhythm shifted – a splatter against tile, then the muffled clink of a shampoo bottle. He strained, picturing the steam curling, the water sluicing over freckled skin, red hair plastered darkly.
A sudden, sharp *thump* from above jerked him taut against his bonds. His heart hammered against his ribs. Was it the shampoo bottle falling? Or something else? The shower’s steady rush continued, undisturbed. He forced himself to relax, focusing on the rough texture of the ropes binding his wrists, the faint ache settling into his jaw from the gag. Sweat trickled down his temple, pooling where the duct tape met his skin.
The distant water stopped abruptly. Silence crashed down, thick and heavy. He held his breath, straining to hear over the frantic pulse in his ears. Footsteps padded softly overhead, crossing the landing. A door creaked open – the linen closet? Then, the distinct, rhythmic *squeak-squeak* of the towel rail turning. His imagination conjured the image vividly: steam billowing into the hallway, Julie wrapped in a thick towel, droplets clinging to her freckled shoulders.
The footsteps descended the stairs, slow and deliberate. Each creak of the wood echoed in the tense quiet. He smelled damp skin and clean soap before he heard her stop beside him. A cool droplet landed on his shoulder, making him flinch. "Comfortable?" Her voice was low, amused, right above him. He felt the shift in air as she crouched, the damp hem of the towel brushing his arm. Her fingers traced the edge of the silk blindfold. "Don't even think about peeking."
Her weight settled beside his bound legs. The towel rustled as she shifted, the scent of coconut shampoo sharpening. "You held still so well," she murmured, her hand resting lightly on his ankle. "But we're not done." Her thumb pressed into his arch—not tickling, but possessive. Alan froze, breath catching. "You'll stay exactly like this. Silent. Still." Her nail scraped a warning line along his sole. "Understand?"
Water dripped from her hair onto his knee. He felt its cool trail through the ropes’ pressure. Julie rose, the towel whispering against her skin as she walked toward the bedroom. "I'll get dressed," she called back, her voice echoing slightly. "Try not to enjoy the helplessness *too* much." The bedroom door clicked shut. Alan lay motionless, the blindfold deepening every sound—the rustle of fabric, the slide of a drawer, the soft thud of boots hitting the floor.
The ropes felt heavier in the stillness. His jaw ached against the gag, the duct tape pulling with each shallow breath. He focused on the fading scent of coconut shampoo, the distant city hum beyond the windows. A floorboard groaned near the bedroom door. Julie’s footsteps approached again—still bare against the floor.
She stopped beside him. He felt the air shift as she knelt, her knee brushing his bound thigh. Cool fingertips traced the edge of his blindfold. "Still behaving?" Her voice was low, almost conversational. Her thumb pressed into the arch of his foot again—not tickling, just pressure. A warning. He froze. She slipped the blindfold up and off his eyes.
Light flooded his vision. Julie knelt before him, damp hair dripping onto her shoulders, and staining her white t shirt. Her gaze locked onto his. "Better," she murmured, fingers trailing up his calf. "Now we talk." Her touch lingered on the rope cinched below his knee. Her nail dug into the sensitive hollow behind his knee. Alan jerked. "Tell me everything," she breathed, leaning closer. "Or I start tickling properly."
Her thumb pressed into the arch of his foot—not hard, but poised. Alan shook his head violently, gag muffling his panic. Julie's smile widened. "Wrong answer." Her fingers skittered across his sole. Alan bucked, ropes biting as choked laughter tore through him. Tears blurred her face. He writhed, arching away. Her grip tightened. "Tickling stops when you talk."
Alan froze, chest heaving. Julie leaned closer, her damp hair brushing his cheek. "Sixty seconds." Her fingertip circled his heel. "Tell me everything you know.” Her nail scraped. Alan convulsed, nodding frantically. Julie paused.
