Terri Asked to be Bound (M/F), Part 8
Posted: Sat Oct 04, 2025 9:22 am
Though it had been a month since our last session, I remained concerned that I had gone too far. Despite her assurances, I was worried that I had hurt her. She was weeping inconsolably when I took her home. For this session, I was determined that the bondage would be just as inescapable, but I wouldn’t tease and stimulate her girl parts this time.
I wanted each session to be different, so that she would eventually determine what kinds of bondage she preferred – if any. From her reactions to the first four sessions, she was finding being bound and teased very enjoyable. In part 1, I tied her to a chair and manipulated her ample, but not overly large, bosom until she experienced an intense nipple orgasm. In part 2, I tied her in a frog tie and allowed her to wriggle around the room, attempting to rest her girl parts on a wand-style vibrator on the floor, but I turned it off before she could experience an orgasm. In part 3, I tied her spread-eagled on her bed and tickled her to complete exhaustion. In part 4, I bound her in a unique tie facing a pole instead of with her back to it. In part 5, Terri had asked for a slight modification to her rules that would allow me to stimulate her clitoris with a vibrator, while still prohibiting other touching of her girl parts, and kind of penetration, or removing her panties. In part 6, I tied Terry in a bottoms-up tie against a pole. In part 7, I tied her ankles to her wrists and spread her legs wide, edging her for over an hour before I finally let her have an orgasm. Afterward, she curled into a fetal position and sobbed uncontrollably.
As usual, Terri arrived in her street clothes and had a cup of tea. We talked about the last session, and once again, she assured me that I had done nothing wrong. I asked her to change into her bondage outfit, which she did. Though she wore a simple set of silky, maroon panties and a matching, filmy bra with no underwire, she held one arm across her breasts and the other hand covering her nether regions.
“Why are you covering your boobs like that?” I asked. I’ve seen them – and played with them – before. They are very nice.”
She blushed. “When I am tied, and you take my bra off, there is nothing I can do about it. I am a defenseless victim. Taking it off myself makes me feel so – loose.” She tugged at her bonds, grunting.
I had her sit on the couch while I buckled thick, padded leather cuffs on her ankles and wrists. While not overly large, her breasts were firm and high. Her nipples always made it clear that she was excited about her upcoming bondage.
I tied ropes to the D-rings on the wrist cuffs. I had her sit on the floor with her knees bent. I then folder her arms under her knees, so she was hugging her thighs. I pulled her wrists so that her knees were pressed firmly to her chest, crushing her breasts in an alluring fashion. I wrapped the ropes around her back, under her knees, and through the D-rings several times, so that she could not straighten her legs or reduce the pressure on her breasts. I didn’t even need to tie her ankles. This position made it difficult for her to scootch around and impossible for her to get to her feet or walk.
“How is that?” I asked, “Is anything too tight?”
Terri struggled a bit and then pronounced, “I feel fine.”
“Nothing numb or tight?”
“No. Stop worrying. I feel lusciously bound and helpless, but there is no discomfort. This is such a simple tie, but I am completely helpless. You didn’t even tie my legs together.”
“I wrapped the ropes around you several times so that if you roll onto your back, you won’t get poked with a knot, and there’s not one rope digging into your skin.”
“Am I going to fall on my back?”
“How else am I going to tickle your feet mercilessly,” I joked.
Terri leaned forward and planted her feet firmly on the ground. “Please don’t.”
“Now that you are helpless,” I replied, “I can do whatever I want to you.” She sighed in pleasure, and her shoulders relaxed a little. She was experincing the erotic release of responsibility and accountability that bondage gave her.
I buckled a blindfold over her eyes, then I left her to enjoy her bondage, leaning her back against the couch.
“Are you going to gag me?” she asked sheepishly.
“Do you want to be gagged?” I asked with some surprise.
“Well, when I am gagged, I feel so much more tied and defenseless. The gag is icky, but I sort of like being gagged. I feel more liberated in a strange way. I know I am going to say very terrible things while you molest me, and I am grateful that you cannot understand me.”
“I wasn’t planning on using the gag. I intend to tickle you later, and I like your laugh… I do wish you wouldn’t refer to me as a molester. Remember, this is all your idea. I'm just trying to do the best job I can to fulfil your fantasies.”
To the extent her predicament permitted, she shrugged. “I guess there’s nothing I can do about it now, since you have me in your power.”
I didn’t say anything. I just sat across the room, with a book, and watched Terri squirm. Since she was not gagged, from time to time, she would call out, “Are you still there?” She tilted her head to listen for any telltale sounds.
When I didn’t answer, she struggled a little harder to get loose. “Where did you go? Did you leave me like this?” As she tugged on her ropes, she fell on her side and became helpless to right herself even as she kicked her unbound but restrained calves like a swimmer. “Ooof!” She exclaimed. “Great. Now I’m really stuck.”
I enjoyed her narration of her predicament.
After about 45 minutes, I crept to Terri’s side. Her panties and worked their way between her butt cheeks during her struggles, and one bra strap had fallen off her shoulder. I surprised her when I adjusted her panties to fully cover her fanny. She squeaked and stiffened. As I massaged her derriere, she moaned softly. After a few moments, she asked, “Could you please sit me back up?”
“You aren’t enjoying my massage?”
“Yes, I like it a lot, but it is weird being on my side.”
“Before I sit you up, you need a little of this." I lightly touched the bottoms of her feet. She shrieked and tried to avoid my fingers by flailing her calves to the extent possible, which was very little. “Noooo!” she laughed. “Please! No.” She bucked her hips, yanked on her bonds, and struggled to roll away from me.
I turned my attention to the sides of her tummy. She really screamed with laughter then, wriggling and tugging as hard as she could to escape. “Now, that’s the kind of struggling I like to see,” I joked. “Sometimes I think you’re not even trying.”
“I am trying! Please, stop tickling me!”
After a few minutes of simultaneously tickling her and fondling her fanny, I set her back up, and I walked away again.
Terri’s skin shimmered with sweat from her struggles, and she kept pulling and tugging to break free, but it was no use. Eventually, she wore herself out, resting her face on her knees. I left her like that for another half hour. “Please, come back,” she pleaded.
From the other side of the room, I replied, “Are you ready for more tickling?”
“No! On second thought, you can stay where you are! Don’t tickle me anymore, please. I’m not sure I can stand it.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can stand it. Tied like that, there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
She rested her head on her knees again. “That’s true…” Her voice had a tinge of dread. “This is going to be a long day.”
At length, I asked, “Are you ready for a new position?”
“Yes, this is beginning to make my back sore.”
Leaving the wrist and ankle cuffs in place, I removed the ropes that held her forearms beneath her knees, allowing her to straighten her legs. I helped her to her feet and encouraged her to walk around the family room to work out the kinks. She also made a quick trip to the lavatory. When she was feeling well enough, I used a padlock to lock her wrist cuffs behind her back and another to lock her ankle cuffs together. I carefully laid her on her stomach. Then, I pulled her ankles toward her wrists and used a length of rope to tie her into a loose hogtie.
“You have been so inventive in your bondage,” Terri said. “I was wondering if we were going to get around to a hogtie.”
I gave her a playful swat on the fanny, enjoying the jiggle that produced. “Submit all complaints to the complaint department in triplicate.”
She squeaked and said, “I have no complaints.”
“Well, I think a hogtie can be very stressful on your wrists, so I have been hesitant to do it. I don’t want to hurt you like last time.”
“You did not hurt me!” Terri tugged on her bonds. “I’m sure I can’t get loose, but this is not painful. It’s almost comfortable.”.
“I’ll see what I can do about that,” I chuckled.
“Me and my big mouth.”
I wrapped one of the leather straps several times around her elbows and buckled it in place. I didn’t try to make her elbows touch; I just wanted to limit her ability to bend her arms. I buckled another leather strap around her waist and wrists, holding her hands snugly against her hips and the small of her back.
“Okay?”
“Well, it’s no longer comfortable, but there is no pain or numbness.”
“So, we’re going to play a little game. I will set a 30-minute timer. If you can remove your bra within those 30 minutes, I’ll give you a nice massage. If you can’t get it off in 30 minutes, you will stay bound. I might even treat you to some intense tickle torture. How does that sound?”
"It sounds terrible! How am I supposed to get my bra off with my hands tied to my ankles?"
“Well, that’s quite the predicament,” I said with mock sympathy, “But I know I’ll really enjoy watching you try… The timer has started.”
Terri first tried to free her hands. With her elbows close together and her wrists tied to the small of her back, along with her ankles pulled toward her wrists, she had no leverage to pull her hands free from the leather cuffs. She attempted unsuccessfully to wiggle out of the straps binding her elbows. She had been trying for an hour to loosen her wrists without progress. So, she began to wriggle on the floor, arching and un-arching her back like an inchworm to drag her bosom along the rug and tug the bra over her full breasts. This was amusing to watch. She inched toward the leg of the coffee table and tried to catch the part of the bra under her boobs onto something and pull it off like a hookless exercise bra. There was nothing nearby that would catch on the bra. After fifteen minutes, Terri hadn’t even managed to pull both straps off her shoulders, but her hair was disheveled, and she was panting breathlessly. Tied as she was, she really didn’t have a way to slide forward and try to roll the cups of her bra down, spilling out her breasts.
Terri flopped onto her side and struggled into an awkward kneeling position with her back to the couch. This was possible because I had made the hogtie very loose on purpose. From there, she leaned forward so that her breasts rested on the top of the coffee table. She again writhed and wriggled to try to use the edge of the table to catch the bottom of her bra, presumably so she could drop down and pull it off. I’m sure wrenching off her bra like that would have been unpleasant if she had had any success at all. But she had no success.
I sat in a chair on the other side of the room, enjoying the show. She was sweating, panting, grunting, and grumbling unladylike things under her breath, but when the timer went off, she was still no closer to pulling off her bra. Terri swore quietly and collapsed on the floor, panting.
“I guess it’s time for your punishment,” I laughed.
Frantically, she wiggled and inched away from me with a sudden burst of new energy, but she couldn’t move very quickly. “No, please don’t tickle me,” she begged. “You can spank me instead.”
“Well, I will admit,” I said, sitting next to her on the family room rug, “That I do enjoy watching your fanny jiggle when I apply the riding crop, but I enjoy watching your boobs and fanny jiggle when I tickle you more.”
In a panic, she tried to wiggle away, but I held her in place. “Please, don’t tickle me. Aaaaa ha ha ha ha!”
Since I couldn’t easily reach her armpits in this position, I applied my fingertips to her sides. She screamed and strained against her bonds. She thrashed uncontrollably, laughing and screeching hysterically. As I expected, her fanny and breasts jiggled wonderfully. I reached around her and tickled her neck, causing her to struggle even more frantically. She was laughing so hard she wasn’t making a sound, her body convulsed, and her face was beet red. Everything was ticklish: her sides, her arms, her neck, her knees, her feet, her breasts, and the fold between her thighs and her girl parts. After fifteen minutes, I took pity on her and stopped when I saw she was having difficulty breathing.
I looked at her hands to make sure the circulation wasn’t impaired. “Are you okay? Nothing hurts?”
She nodded and then whispered hoarsely from all the uncontrollable laughing, “Yes, I am fine. Thank you for stopping the tickling.”
“I am just giving you a rest. It’s not over.”
Her body stiffened in anticipation, and she pursed her lips.
With her hands restrained as they were, she couldn’t sit fully back on the couch, so I perched her into an awkward kneeling position near the sofa. I fed her some water through a straw. I used a damp washcloth to wipe off some of the perspiration. I didn’t try to fix her matted and mussed hair.
She continued to struggle against her bonds, eventually admitting that she was helpless. She had a dreamy smile on her face as I laid her on the couch across my lap so I could massage her buttocks, thighs, and shoulders. Her tummy that I had tickled pink, was warm against my thighs. The feeling of her fanny through the silky panties was quite enjoyable. She made no attempt to get loose or escape. After a while, her breathing softened as she drifted into a contented, hogtied slumber, exhausted from two hours of struggling. She slept for half an hour, making adorable little moaning noises in her sleep.
When she awoke, I said, “No vibrator this time. I hope that’s okay. I wanted to get back to simple bondage – after last time.”
She nodded, sheepishly, “Next time, please.”
We watched two romantic comedies before I finally let her go. All the while, I absentmindedly caressed her body, paying particular attention to her thighs, butt, and breasts, but carefully avoiding her girl parts. During commercials, I would often tickle her feet or her tummy, not as intensely as earlier, but enough to remind her she was helpless. By the time she left, she looked like she had run a marathon.
Terri adds:
After our last session, I was apprehensive. I was still embarrassed at my wanton behavior and total loss of control during our previous session. We had spoken on the phone in preparation for this session. It was clear that I had scared him. I began to wonder who is playing which role in our bondage games. Clearly, he was in charge while I was bound and gagged, but he also took seriously his responsibilities to keep me unharmed, and a word from me would end the game and gain my release.
I am unsure why standing in front of him in just my panties and bra made me feel self-conscious. As I told him, when I am tied up and he takes off my bra, I feel like a helpless victim, not responsible for my nudity, but doing it myself somehow made me feel slutty. That feeling increased my excitement as I anticipated the bondage to come. I could feel my nipples poking through the cups of the bra, and I felt suddenly embarrassed.
During our last few sessions, he had allowed me – forced me? – to several intense orgasms. Just the thought of an upcoming bondage session kept my loins and my nipples stimulated, begging for the wand. I had so completely lost control last time that the prospects of being bound through countless orgasms was both exhilarating and frightful.
I liked the positions he put me in. With my arms tightly bound under my knees, the position was pretty comfortable, except after a while, the pressure of my knees pressed firmly against my chest made my boobs uncomfortable. My knees squished my boobs, which muffin-topped a bit and threatened to spill out the sides between my chest and thighs as I struggled. My breasts were sensitive, almost like they were bruiised, but they weren't brusided, the rest of the weekend. With just one piece of rope keeping my arms in a tight hug around my thighs, I was completely at his mercy. I could barely shift around, and when I fell over, I felt like a turtle on its back. It was luscious.
Though I know he is careful about my safety, there was a moment when the room was so quiet that I thought maybe he had gone to the store or something. Thinking he might have left me alone, I started to feel more excited. My mind began drifting to scenarios where an intruder might come in and find me helplessly curled into a ball. My only defense would be to kick my feet uselessly. The intruder could turn me on my side and violate my girl parts. It was both terrifying and electrifying. I should never have admitted that to him, as he used that knowledge against me in our next session.
For many years, I had dreamed of a man forcing me into a hogtie. Those fantasies often involved a gang of cowboys molesting a rancher’s daughter or a handsome Mountie rescuing me from French fur trappers. He placed me into a loose hogtie, worried about the ropes pulling and hurting my wrists. Even so, the hogtie limited my movement and made me very vulnerable to his probing fingers. Being tickled was really torture for me. I am vaguely conscious of the struggle, but my only thought is escape. In the soft hogtie, there was no way I was going to escape the torture, despite all my attempts to wiggle and roll away.
I thought he would let me go after tiring me out with cruel tickling, but he kept me in the hogtie all afternoon. I didn’t protest. I quite enjoyed his gentle touches on my behind and breasts, as well as his massage of my shoulders. My girl parts were on fire, hoping he would use the wand-style vibrator on them. I couldn’t relax. Lying across his lap, I watched movies with him, dreading the commercial breaks. It felt like Chinese Water Torture. During the movie, I couldn’t fully relax, knowing that tickling would start again during the commercials. It was truly torment—yet also a pleasure. It was wonderful.
I wanted each session to be different, so that she would eventually determine what kinds of bondage she preferred – if any. From her reactions to the first four sessions, she was finding being bound and teased very enjoyable. In part 1, I tied her to a chair and manipulated her ample, but not overly large, bosom until she experienced an intense nipple orgasm. In part 2, I tied her in a frog tie and allowed her to wriggle around the room, attempting to rest her girl parts on a wand-style vibrator on the floor, but I turned it off before she could experience an orgasm. In part 3, I tied her spread-eagled on her bed and tickled her to complete exhaustion. In part 4, I bound her in a unique tie facing a pole instead of with her back to it. In part 5, Terri had asked for a slight modification to her rules that would allow me to stimulate her clitoris with a vibrator, while still prohibiting other touching of her girl parts, and kind of penetration, or removing her panties. In part 6, I tied Terry in a bottoms-up tie against a pole. In part 7, I tied her ankles to her wrists and spread her legs wide, edging her for over an hour before I finally let her have an orgasm. Afterward, she curled into a fetal position and sobbed uncontrollably.
As usual, Terri arrived in her street clothes and had a cup of tea. We talked about the last session, and once again, she assured me that I had done nothing wrong. I asked her to change into her bondage outfit, which she did. Though she wore a simple set of silky, maroon panties and a matching, filmy bra with no underwire, she held one arm across her breasts and the other hand covering her nether regions.
“Why are you covering your boobs like that?” I asked. I’ve seen them – and played with them – before. They are very nice.”
She blushed. “When I am tied, and you take my bra off, there is nothing I can do about it. I am a defenseless victim. Taking it off myself makes me feel so – loose.” She tugged at her bonds, grunting.
I had her sit on the couch while I buckled thick, padded leather cuffs on her ankles and wrists. While not overly large, her breasts were firm and high. Her nipples always made it clear that she was excited about her upcoming bondage.
I tied ropes to the D-rings on the wrist cuffs. I had her sit on the floor with her knees bent. I then folder her arms under her knees, so she was hugging her thighs. I pulled her wrists so that her knees were pressed firmly to her chest, crushing her breasts in an alluring fashion. I wrapped the ropes around her back, under her knees, and through the D-rings several times, so that she could not straighten her legs or reduce the pressure on her breasts. I didn’t even need to tie her ankles. This position made it difficult for her to scootch around and impossible for her to get to her feet or walk.
“How is that?” I asked, “Is anything too tight?”
Terri struggled a bit and then pronounced, “I feel fine.”
“Nothing numb or tight?”
“No. Stop worrying. I feel lusciously bound and helpless, but there is no discomfort. This is such a simple tie, but I am completely helpless. You didn’t even tie my legs together.”
“I wrapped the ropes around you several times so that if you roll onto your back, you won’t get poked with a knot, and there’s not one rope digging into your skin.”
“Am I going to fall on my back?”
“How else am I going to tickle your feet mercilessly,” I joked.
Terri leaned forward and planted her feet firmly on the ground. “Please don’t.”
“Now that you are helpless,” I replied, “I can do whatever I want to you.” She sighed in pleasure, and her shoulders relaxed a little. She was experincing the erotic release of responsibility and accountability that bondage gave her.
I buckled a blindfold over her eyes, then I left her to enjoy her bondage, leaning her back against the couch.
“Are you going to gag me?” she asked sheepishly.
“Do you want to be gagged?” I asked with some surprise.
“Well, when I am gagged, I feel so much more tied and defenseless. The gag is icky, but I sort of like being gagged. I feel more liberated in a strange way. I know I am going to say very terrible things while you molest me, and I am grateful that you cannot understand me.”
“I wasn’t planning on using the gag. I intend to tickle you later, and I like your laugh… I do wish you wouldn’t refer to me as a molester. Remember, this is all your idea. I'm just trying to do the best job I can to fulfil your fantasies.”
To the extent her predicament permitted, she shrugged. “I guess there’s nothing I can do about it now, since you have me in your power.”
I didn’t say anything. I just sat across the room, with a book, and watched Terri squirm. Since she was not gagged, from time to time, she would call out, “Are you still there?” She tilted her head to listen for any telltale sounds.
When I didn’t answer, she struggled a little harder to get loose. “Where did you go? Did you leave me like this?” As she tugged on her ropes, she fell on her side and became helpless to right herself even as she kicked her unbound but restrained calves like a swimmer. “Ooof!” She exclaimed. “Great. Now I’m really stuck.”
I enjoyed her narration of her predicament.
After about 45 minutes, I crept to Terri’s side. Her panties and worked their way between her butt cheeks during her struggles, and one bra strap had fallen off her shoulder. I surprised her when I adjusted her panties to fully cover her fanny. She squeaked and stiffened. As I massaged her derriere, she moaned softly. After a few moments, she asked, “Could you please sit me back up?”
“You aren’t enjoying my massage?”
“Yes, I like it a lot, but it is weird being on my side.”
“Before I sit you up, you need a little of this." I lightly touched the bottoms of her feet. She shrieked and tried to avoid my fingers by flailing her calves to the extent possible, which was very little. “Noooo!” she laughed. “Please! No.” She bucked her hips, yanked on her bonds, and struggled to roll away from me.
I turned my attention to the sides of her tummy. She really screamed with laughter then, wriggling and tugging as hard as she could to escape. “Now, that’s the kind of struggling I like to see,” I joked. “Sometimes I think you’re not even trying.”
“I am trying! Please, stop tickling me!”
After a few minutes of simultaneously tickling her and fondling her fanny, I set her back up, and I walked away again.
Terri’s skin shimmered with sweat from her struggles, and she kept pulling and tugging to break free, but it was no use. Eventually, she wore herself out, resting her face on her knees. I left her like that for another half hour. “Please, come back,” she pleaded.
From the other side of the room, I replied, “Are you ready for more tickling?”
“No! On second thought, you can stay where you are! Don’t tickle me anymore, please. I’m not sure I can stand it.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can stand it. Tied like that, there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
She rested her head on her knees again. “That’s true…” Her voice had a tinge of dread. “This is going to be a long day.”
At length, I asked, “Are you ready for a new position?”
“Yes, this is beginning to make my back sore.”
Leaving the wrist and ankle cuffs in place, I removed the ropes that held her forearms beneath her knees, allowing her to straighten her legs. I helped her to her feet and encouraged her to walk around the family room to work out the kinks. She also made a quick trip to the lavatory. When she was feeling well enough, I used a padlock to lock her wrist cuffs behind her back and another to lock her ankle cuffs together. I carefully laid her on her stomach. Then, I pulled her ankles toward her wrists and used a length of rope to tie her into a loose hogtie.
“You have been so inventive in your bondage,” Terri said. “I was wondering if we were going to get around to a hogtie.”
I gave her a playful swat on the fanny, enjoying the jiggle that produced. “Submit all complaints to the complaint department in triplicate.”
She squeaked and said, “I have no complaints.”
“Well, I think a hogtie can be very stressful on your wrists, so I have been hesitant to do it. I don’t want to hurt you like last time.”
“You did not hurt me!” Terri tugged on her bonds. “I’m sure I can’t get loose, but this is not painful. It’s almost comfortable.”.
“I’ll see what I can do about that,” I chuckled.
“Me and my big mouth.”
I wrapped one of the leather straps several times around her elbows and buckled it in place. I didn’t try to make her elbows touch; I just wanted to limit her ability to bend her arms. I buckled another leather strap around her waist and wrists, holding her hands snugly against her hips and the small of her back.
“Okay?”
“Well, it’s no longer comfortable, but there is no pain or numbness.”
“So, we’re going to play a little game. I will set a 30-minute timer. If you can remove your bra within those 30 minutes, I’ll give you a nice massage. If you can’t get it off in 30 minutes, you will stay bound. I might even treat you to some intense tickle torture. How does that sound?”
"It sounds terrible! How am I supposed to get my bra off with my hands tied to my ankles?"
“Well, that’s quite the predicament,” I said with mock sympathy, “But I know I’ll really enjoy watching you try… The timer has started.”
Terri first tried to free her hands. With her elbows close together and her wrists tied to the small of her back, along with her ankles pulled toward her wrists, she had no leverage to pull her hands free from the leather cuffs. She attempted unsuccessfully to wiggle out of the straps binding her elbows. She had been trying for an hour to loosen her wrists without progress. So, she began to wriggle on the floor, arching and un-arching her back like an inchworm to drag her bosom along the rug and tug the bra over her full breasts. This was amusing to watch. She inched toward the leg of the coffee table and tried to catch the part of the bra under her boobs onto something and pull it off like a hookless exercise bra. There was nothing nearby that would catch on the bra. After fifteen minutes, Terri hadn’t even managed to pull both straps off her shoulders, but her hair was disheveled, and she was panting breathlessly. Tied as she was, she really didn’t have a way to slide forward and try to roll the cups of her bra down, spilling out her breasts.
Terri flopped onto her side and struggled into an awkward kneeling position with her back to the couch. This was possible because I had made the hogtie very loose on purpose. From there, she leaned forward so that her breasts rested on the top of the coffee table. She again writhed and wriggled to try to use the edge of the table to catch the bottom of her bra, presumably so she could drop down and pull it off. I’m sure wrenching off her bra like that would have been unpleasant if she had had any success at all. But she had no success.
I sat in a chair on the other side of the room, enjoying the show. She was sweating, panting, grunting, and grumbling unladylike things under her breath, but when the timer went off, she was still no closer to pulling off her bra. Terri swore quietly and collapsed on the floor, panting.
“I guess it’s time for your punishment,” I laughed.
Frantically, she wiggled and inched away from me with a sudden burst of new energy, but she couldn’t move very quickly. “No, please don’t tickle me,” she begged. “You can spank me instead.”
“Well, I will admit,” I said, sitting next to her on the family room rug, “That I do enjoy watching your fanny jiggle when I apply the riding crop, but I enjoy watching your boobs and fanny jiggle when I tickle you more.”
In a panic, she tried to wiggle away, but I held her in place. “Please, don’t tickle me. Aaaaa ha ha ha ha!”
Since I couldn’t easily reach her armpits in this position, I applied my fingertips to her sides. She screamed and strained against her bonds. She thrashed uncontrollably, laughing and screeching hysterically. As I expected, her fanny and breasts jiggled wonderfully. I reached around her and tickled her neck, causing her to struggle even more frantically. She was laughing so hard she wasn’t making a sound, her body convulsed, and her face was beet red. Everything was ticklish: her sides, her arms, her neck, her knees, her feet, her breasts, and the fold between her thighs and her girl parts. After fifteen minutes, I took pity on her and stopped when I saw she was having difficulty breathing.
I looked at her hands to make sure the circulation wasn’t impaired. “Are you okay? Nothing hurts?”
She nodded and then whispered hoarsely from all the uncontrollable laughing, “Yes, I am fine. Thank you for stopping the tickling.”
“I am just giving you a rest. It’s not over.”
Her body stiffened in anticipation, and she pursed her lips.
With her hands restrained as they were, she couldn’t sit fully back on the couch, so I perched her into an awkward kneeling position near the sofa. I fed her some water through a straw. I used a damp washcloth to wipe off some of the perspiration. I didn’t try to fix her matted and mussed hair.
She continued to struggle against her bonds, eventually admitting that she was helpless. She had a dreamy smile on her face as I laid her on the couch across my lap so I could massage her buttocks, thighs, and shoulders. Her tummy that I had tickled pink, was warm against my thighs. The feeling of her fanny through the silky panties was quite enjoyable. She made no attempt to get loose or escape. After a while, her breathing softened as she drifted into a contented, hogtied slumber, exhausted from two hours of struggling. She slept for half an hour, making adorable little moaning noises in her sleep.
When she awoke, I said, “No vibrator this time. I hope that’s okay. I wanted to get back to simple bondage – after last time.”
She nodded, sheepishly, “Next time, please.”
We watched two romantic comedies before I finally let her go. All the while, I absentmindedly caressed her body, paying particular attention to her thighs, butt, and breasts, but carefully avoiding her girl parts. During commercials, I would often tickle her feet or her tummy, not as intensely as earlier, but enough to remind her she was helpless. By the time she left, she looked like she had run a marathon.
Terri adds:
After our last session, I was apprehensive. I was still embarrassed at my wanton behavior and total loss of control during our previous session. We had spoken on the phone in preparation for this session. It was clear that I had scared him. I began to wonder who is playing which role in our bondage games. Clearly, he was in charge while I was bound and gagged, but he also took seriously his responsibilities to keep me unharmed, and a word from me would end the game and gain my release.
I am unsure why standing in front of him in just my panties and bra made me feel self-conscious. As I told him, when I am tied up and he takes off my bra, I feel like a helpless victim, not responsible for my nudity, but doing it myself somehow made me feel slutty. That feeling increased my excitement as I anticipated the bondage to come. I could feel my nipples poking through the cups of the bra, and I felt suddenly embarrassed.
During our last few sessions, he had allowed me – forced me? – to several intense orgasms. Just the thought of an upcoming bondage session kept my loins and my nipples stimulated, begging for the wand. I had so completely lost control last time that the prospects of being bound through countless orgasms was both exhilarating and frightful.
I liked the positions he put me in. With my arms tightly bound under my knees, the position was pretty comfortable, except after a while, the pressure of my knees pressed firmly against my chest made my boobs uncomfortable. My knees squished my boobs, which muffin-topped a bit and threatened to spill out the sides between my chest and thighs as I struggled. My breasts were sensitive, almost like they were bruiised, but they weren't brusided, the rest of the weekend. With just one piece of rope keeping my arms in a tight hug around my thighs, I was completely at his mercy. I could barely shift around, and when I fell over, I felt like a turtle on its back. It was luscious.
Though I know he is careful about my safety, there was a moment when the room was so quiet that I thought maybe he had gone to the store or something. Thinking he might have left me alone, I started to feel more excited. My mind began drifting to scenarios where an intruder might come in and find me helplessly curled into a ball. My only defense would be to kick my feet uselessly. The intruder could turn me on my side and violate my girl parts. It was both terrifying and electrifying. I should never have admitted that to him, as he used that knowledge against me in our next session.
For many years, I had dreamed of a man forcing me into a hogtie. Those fantasies often involved a gang of cowboys molesting a rancher’s daughter or a handsome Mountie rescuing me from French fur trappers. He placed me into a loose hogtie, worried about the ropes pulling and hurting my wrists. Even so, the hogtie limited my movement and made me very vulnerable to his probing fingers. Being tickled was really torture for me. I am vaguely conscious of the struggle, but my only thought is escape. In the soft hogtie, there was no way I was going to escape the torture, despite all my attempts to wiggle and roll away.
I thought he would let me go after tiring me out with cruel tickling, but he kept me in the hogtie all afternoon. I didn’t protest. I quite enjoyed his gentle touches on my behind and breasts, as well as his massage of my shoulders. My girl parts were on fire, hoping he would use the wand-style vibrator on them. I couldn’t relax. Lying across his lap, I watched movies with him, dreading the commercial breaks. It felt like Chinese Water Torture. During the movie, I couldn’t fully relax, knowing that tickling would start again during the commercials. It was truly torment—yet also a pleasure. It was wonderful.