Stories of Tie Up Games

"Pass the popcorn, Amy." Jess nudged my shoulder, her eyes glued to the horror movie flickering on her laptop screen. We were crammed onto her tiny dorm bed, textbooks shoved aside for Friday night.

I shifted, my socked feet brushing against her leg. "Only if you promise not to scream during the jump scares again. Last time, Mrs. Henderson banged on the wall." The cheap fabric of my hoodie felt tight across my stomach as I leaned over to grab the bowl.

Jess snatched it away with a grin. "Deal. But if you flail, you owe me pizza." Her fingers dug into the popcorn, eyes darting back to the screen where shadows crept across a deserted hallway. The blue light flickered across her face, sharpening her smirk.

My ankle itched. I wiggled my toes inside the worn cotton socks, the fabric bunching slightly. The cheap dorm mattress springs groaned as I shifted again. "Seriously, Jess, this is the least scary part. Why are you—" The sudden, jarring violin shriek of the soundtrack cut me off. Jess flinched, sending a cascade of popcorn kernels tumbling onto the duvet.

"Oops!" she yelped, scrambling to gather them. Her hand brushed my bare calf where my sweatpants had ridden up. "Cold!" I squeaked, jerking my leg away instinctively. My heel caught the edge of the popcorn bowl. It tipped, spilling the rest onto the bed and floor with a soft patter.

Jess sighed dramatically. "Okay, pizza debt confirmed." She flicked off the movie, plunging the room into near-darkness save for the streetlight outside. "But first, cleanup duty." Before I could protest, she grabbed my wrists. Her grip was surprisingly firm, playful but insistent. "You caused the mess, Ames. Hold still."

I squirmed, laughing nervously. "Jess, what are you—?" My words cut off as she swiftly crossed my wrists behind my back, using the loose drawstring from my own sweatpants to bind them snugly together. The fabric bit slightly into my skin. "Hey! Not funny!" Panic flickered beneath the surface of my laughter as she pushed me gently onto my stomach on the bed.

Before I could kick, Jess grabbed my ankles. I felt the rough slide of another drawstring—probably from her hoodie—as she looped it tight around them, pulling my legs together. My socks felt suddenly thin, vulnerable. "Jess, stop! This isn't—" My protest dissolved into muffled shrieks as she peeled off one of my worn cotton socks, wadded it into a ball, and stuffed it firmly into my mouth. The faint, stale taste of laundry detergent filled my senses.

The mattress dipped beside me. Jess’s fingers hovered just above my bare soles. I tensed, curling my toes uselessly against the bindings. "Should've passed the popcorn quietly, Ames," she teased, her voice low and playful. The first feather-light scratch skittered across my arch. A shocked giggle burst against the gag, my shoulders jerking as I tried to twist away.

Her touch intensified, spidering over the sensitive ball of my foot. My laughter turned breathless, muffled by the sock, tears pricking my eyes. I writhed, the drawstrings digging into my wrists and ankles, the bedsprings protesting wildly. Each frantic twitch only seemed to encourage her; her nails raked down my instep, deliberate and relentless.

A choked gasp escaped around the gag as her fingers found the spot just below my toes. My back arched involuntarily, a silent scream trapped in my throat. The rough carpet fibers scratched my bare knees where I’d landed half-off the bed. I could hear her soft chuckle above the frantic drumming of my own pulse in my ears.

Her nails dug in harder, tracing maddening circles on my arch. I bucked wildly, the bindings biting into my skin with every desperate twist. Tears streamed freely now, blurring the streetlight’s glow into watery streaks. The stale sock tasted like salt and panic but somehow I felt I was loving this torturous off beat experience.

Jess leaned closer, her breath warm against my ear. "Settle down, Ames," she murmured, but her fingers never stopped. They danced along my sole, light then cruel, finding every hidden spot that made me convulse. A high-pitched whine escaped the gag as she scraped the very center of my foot.

My body jerked like a fish on a line, sweat soaking the back of my hoodie. The drawstring bit deeper into my wrists with each spasm. I tried to kick, but the bindings held my ankles tight, leaving my bare feet utterly exposed and twitching helplessly against the tickle-torture. The rough carpet burned my knees.

Jess’s fingers suddenly shifted tactics, abandoning the cruel digging to trace impossibly light, feathery circles just beneath my toes – that one spot that always made me shriek. A muffled, high-pitched squeal tore from behind the gag. My shoulders slammed back against the mattress, tears streaming hot and fast down my temples. Every nerve in my foot screamed.

"Found the sweet spot," she chuckled, her voice low and amused. Her other hand joined the assault, spidering up the sensitive arch of my other foot with deliberate, maddening strokes. I bucked violently, the bindings cutting deep grooves into my wrists and ankles. The bedsprings shrieked in protest.

“Oh Amy. You look so cute all helpless and struggling!”

Jess’s voice was a low, teasing purr against my ear. Her fingers never stopped their relentless dance across my soles – now alternating between feather-light spidering and sudden, sharp digs into the arch that made my entire body jolt. The gag muffled my desperate, breathless laughter into choked whimpers. Tears blurred my vision, mixing with sweat on my cheeks. Every frantic twist against the drawstrings only tightened them, the rough fabric biting into my wrists and ankles with a sharp, stinging insistence.

Her nails scraped a slow, deliberate path along the hypersensitive ball of my left foot. I convulsed, slamming my shoulder against the mattress, a silent scream trapped behind the damp sock filling my mouth. The stale taste of laundry detergent was now overpowered by the salt of my tears and the raw panic coiling in my throat. My bare feet felt impossibly exposed, twitching helplessly against her touch, the rough carpet fibers scraping my knees raw where I’d half-slid off the bed, Yet I was becoming more aroused.

Jess leaned in closer, her breath hot on my neck. "Still squirmy," she murmured, her voice thick with amusement. Her free hand abandoned my arch to pinch the delicate skin just above my heel – a spot I hadn’t even known was ticklish. A fresh wave of tortured laughter shuddered through me, my body arching off the bed only to be yanked back by the unforgiving bindings. The drawstring around my ankles felt like a vice.

Her fingers returned to my soles with renewed purpose, digging deep into the tender flesh beneath my toes before skittering sideways in rapid, unpredictable patterns. I thrashed wildly, my muffled shrieks reduced to desperate, wet gasps against the sodden sock gag. Sweat plastered my bangs to my forehead, and the rough carpet burned a raw patch onto my kneecap.

“Have you always been this ticklish? I wish I’d known earlier.lol” Jess mused, her voice a low hum vibrating against my spine. Her nails abandoned the cruel digging and shifted to a feather-light, relentless scribbling along my inner arches—a sensation like static electricity dancing under my skin. My body jackknifed off the mattress, a strangled shriek tearing through the gag as tears blurred the streetlight into watery streaks. The drawstring around my ankles bit deep, holding my bare feet utterly exposed and twitching beneath her touch.

She traced a single fingernail slowly down the sole of my right foot, from heel to toe. The deliberate, agonizing drag ignited every nerve ending. I bucked violently, slamming my shoulder into the mattress, the bedsprings shrieking in protest. A muffled sob escaped me, the damp sock gag tasting like salt and panic. My knees burned against the rough carpet, sweat soaking the back of my hoodie as I strained uselessly against the bindings.

Jess chuckled, low and dark. "Hold still, Amy." Her fingers suddenly spidered up both arches simultaneously, light and impossibly fast. My body convulsed like a snapped rubber band, tears streaming freely. The drawstring around my ankles bit deeper with every frantic kick I couldn't complete, leaving my bare feet utterly exposed, toes curling and uncurling in helpless agony. The scent of popcorn mixed with the sharp tang of my own sweat filled the cramped space.

“OK. I think you’ve paid the price for upsetting the bowl. Clear this lot up I’ll make some fresh.”

Jess peeled the damp sock from my mouth, the sudden rush of cool air hitting my parched throat as I gasped. My wrists and ankles still bound, I lay there trembling, sweat cooling on my skin. She nudged the spilled popcorn toward me with her big toe, a playful smirk on her lips. "Cleanup duty's all yours, Ames. Consider it part of the debt." The drawstrings bit into my flesh as I awkwardly rolled onto my side, my bare feet brushing stray kernels.

“Hey Jess. How am I supposed to clean up tied up?”

“Eat it sweetie.”

Jess’s smirk widened as she nudged a cluster of kernels closer to my face with her bare foot. My bound hands strained uselessly behind my back, fingers flexing against the sweat-dampened drawstring. I twisted my head away, the rough carpet scraping my cheek. "Jess, no—" The words died as she plucked a single kernel between her toes and pressed it against my lips. Her eyes held a playful challenge, the streetlight catching the amusement in them. I clamped my mouth shut, shaking my head violently.

She laughed, low and rich. "Suit yourself." Her fingers returned to my bare soles, not with tickling fury, but with a slow, deliberate stroke along the arch. I flinched, a whimper escaping me. "But the mess stays until you cooperate." Her touch shifted, tracing idle patterns that made my toes curl involuntarily. The sensation was a cruel tease—less frantic than before, but just as inescapable. My breath hitched against the threat of renewed laughter.

I craned my neck, glaring at her upside-down. "Untie me, you lunatic!" The words came out muffled against the carpet fibers. Jess just grinned, scooping a handful of popcorn from the floor. She held it above my face, letting a few kernels rain down onto my nose and lips. The salty smell was overwhelming. "Eat. Or I find that sweet spot again." Her free hand hovered menacingly near my toes, fingers poised to strike.

With a muffled groan, I strained against the bindings. My wrists burned, ankles throbbed. I managed to twist sideways, pressing my cheek flat against the rough carpet. Using clumsy, jerky movements of my head and neck, I nudged a stray kernel toward my mouth. It felt ridiculous—like a clumsy pigeon pecking at crumbs. The first kernel brushed my lips. I sucked it in awkwardly, the salt sharp on my tongue. Jess chuckled, dropping another small pile near my face. "Good girl." As she went to make a fresh batch.

My jaw ached from the effort. Each kernel required a frantic shuffle—rolling my shoulders, arching my spine—just to position my face over another salty morsel. Sweat dripped into my eyes. One stubborn piece rolled beneath the bed frame. I stretched my neck painfully, scraping my chin on the carpet. My bound ankles twisted uselessly. The absurdity hit me: bound, gagged moments ago, now desperately vacuuming popcorn like a human Roomba. A choked laugh escaped me. Jess paused at the door, glancing back with a smirk. "Entertaining yourself, Ames?" My cheeks flushed, but I nudged another kernel toward my mouth. It was humiliating. Frustrating. And weirdly... thrilling. The helplessness sharpened every sensation—the scratch of carpet, the salt on my lips, Jess's amused gaze.

Finally, the last kernel vanished. I collapsed, panting, onto my side. My wrists throbbed, ankles numb. But a strange warmth bloomed in my chest. Completing that stupid task bound had felt like solving a puzzle with my body alone. Jess returned, placing a fresh bowl on her desk. Her eyes flicked to the cleared floor, then to me—still trussed, flushed, breathing hard. "Impressive," she murmured, kneeling beside me. Her fingers brushed my ankle. I flinched, expecting tickling. Instead, she untied the drawstring around my ankles.

“No.” I suddenly blurted out. “Keep me tied up. You don’t want me knocking another bowl over do you?”

Great story! It was a fun read, and you were very descriptive with the struggling and squirming to the point wheee I felt like I was there. Thanks for writing!

Great story! I love the detailed description of the foot tickling.

Really good story, you must be a good write irl.