The Puppet (F/F)
Posted: Tue Nov 25, 2025 1:26 pm
Nichole and Me: The Puppet
Saturday, February 29, 2020
There is something so exciting about being tired—very tired, to the point of exhaustion—when a friend decides to capture me. Living with Nichole means that a variety of adventures happen on a regular basis, often spontaneously. It's fun, and she's carefully considerate of my mood and my body language to decide what kind of game, how to play it, and so forth. Some games are just a simple binding and gagging; others are elaborate with torture or adult activities. It depends on so many things, but today I am going to focus on a game that went into basic adult things.
On this occasion, I'd had a rowing competition in the gym after morning workouts, and I was the usual sweating mess that Nichole loved to capture and to humiliate without getting overly dirty. I stepped into the apartment without much though, unprepared for Nichole to point a water pistol at me or to smile brightly while doing so. She is very sweet, and I'm glad she's my friend.
"Just the two of us thanks to an important lab project," Nichole said to me, "Shall we continue?"
"OK," I smiled a little at her and put my hands in the air, "Take the lead, Gangsta Queen."
"I am a puppeteer; you are the puppet-to-be. You shall become cast under a spell in body but not in spirit," she pulled the trigger, squirting water onto me, "You can speak your mind against me."
"Guh!" I groaned, "You are a horrible person. Who are you and what do you want with me?!"
My apologies for what will obviously be an extended piece of dialogue so early in the story. The Gangsta Queen, as many people affectionately called Nichole because she was the original girl in the Cool Girls' Club to wear bandanas so consistently, wore a white bandana as a kerchief to hold her curls of shoulderlength brown hair out of her face along with white sweatpants and socks and her navy turtleneck t-shirt and canvas sneakers. She looked far from an evil puppeteer.
"You will remove your sneakers, Samantha Rӓӓnta," Nichole first commanded me.
"NO!" I wailed in a despondent response, but used my hand to remove the sneaker, "NO! NO!"
"Sniff the sneaker, Miss Rӓӓnta," she lifted an imaginary sneaker to her nose, "Breathe deeply."
"You are horrible," I groaned, lifting my sneaker and breathing my awful toe cheese, "Blegh!"
"Wonderful, my little toy!" she giggled at my grimaces and groans of disgust, "Sniff it again!"
I played along as if I had no choice, "Please no! It's gross! Don't make me do it again!"
"No, instead, Samantha, remove your socks from your feet, and put them into your own mouth."
"Are you joking?" I looked at her and obeyed her, "This is cruel. Why are you doing this?!"
"Do as I say!" she simply commanded me.
"NO!" I pretended to fight my own hands and filled my mouth with my sweaty navy socks.
The puppeteer controlled me with diabolical glee. "Ah, my puppet, you are delightful!"
"GMMMMMMM!" I shook my head despite my compliance with the puppeteer's will.
Now, I stood there barefoot and tried to fight the control of the puppeteer, but with exaggerated motions she had coerced me to comply with her desires. My pale blonde hair and its brownish highlights were held in my usual braid by a navy scrunchie. It was my sole dignity. With fluid motions and dramatic words she ordered me to cross my wrists behind my back and between my shoulder blades in the insanely difficult crossed prayer position. Shame on me for figuring it out so easily with only the phrase "Behind your back, Samantha!" while she moved her arms.
Then came Nichole's takeover of my body. White rope wrapped around my wrists, binding them tightly and inescapably in this position, which is like reverse prayer but a little easier. She bound my arms further by integrating my arms into the chest harness and cinching them well. My mind was focused on the socks in my mouth, which the puppeteer had prevented me from ejecting by her evil magic. How awful they tasted, but it was so humiliating and so good.
GRRRRAT! Nichole took out a roll of red duct tape and began wrapping it around my head to seal my lips. GRRRRAT! GRRRRAT! Each layer was tighter than the last one so my socks—sweaty and horrible—couldn't leave my mouth. GRRRRAT! GRRRRAT! GRRRRAT! My gag was completed with six layers of the tape crushing my face. I had no chance of getting those socks out of my mouth on my own, especially with how I was bound. It was a nasty gag, too, and my face instinctively twisted because of the horrible flavors. Breaking the tape had to wait for one of my sneakers to go over my nose and be held by four more wraps of the duct tape, forcing me to smell and taste the horrid essences of my own feet.
Six ropes—white like the others—bound my legs with three for my thighs and three for my legs, and a piece of white string bound my big toes together. Each was tight; each was cinched for an effective and stringent binding. There was no slack, and the ropes would for sure leave the deep dents I craved in TUGs and bondage. Like a puppet, I was made to sit and to stand as necessary to make the job easier for the puppeteer. There I was, brutally bound and gagged.
"Welcome to my lair… you are free to hop and panic as you desire, my dear Samantha!" Nichole said with a maniacal laugh, "Mua ha ha ha ha haaaaa! You will never escape my ropes though!"
"MMMMMMMMM!" I began hopping around the apartment since we were alone at the time.
"You are helpless, young woman," she cackled again, "I will keep you forever."
Hopping is fun visually for the captor and a fun way for the captive to tire herself out. I jumped around the room in a dramatic quest, but my arms were contorted so badly that I couldn't grab a thing in this position. helplessness is exciting in so many ways. Hopping uselessly and forcing myself to break out in a full sweat was like a medicine to me. Any frustration lingering after my defeat on the erg slipped away while I enjoyed my multi-faceted humiliation. It was so good.
"Mmmmmmm!" I groaned and finally approached the front door as if trying to open it.
"No way!" Nichole commanded me and moved her arms, "Puppet, hop back to me!"
"NMMMMM!" I shook my head in desperation. "NMMMMMM!" I wailed as if the victim of a twisted crime, resisting the extraterrestrial forces that were forcing me to hop backwards towards the magical hand of my landlady. "NMMMMMMMMMM!" I obediently fought her powers and hopped closer until she wrapped her arms around me and held me firmly in her grasp.
Then she hand spanked me. Nichole and I preferred hand spanking over other methods, and she did it perfectly. Each SMACK! delivered a rough shooting pain through my buttocks and my body. Such humiliation cannot be put into words because both of us like it so much. I may enjoy things being done more roughly to me than Nichole likes them being done to her, but we like so many of the same things done in the same way.
"Gmmmmmm!" I broke her her grip and tried to hop away again.
"No!" Nichole roughly grabbed me by the braid and used it like a leash, "Hop to the bathroom."
"MMMMMMMMM!" I complained so much but never said anything of substance, but I obeyed her command. What's the thrill in trying to talk for real? Talking back was possible even if I had my sweaty, funky cotton in my mouth, and every breath was filtered through the rancid smells of my toe cheese. There was nothing to do but hop since I had no choice because of the spell. Each hop was a forced chore while I pretended to resist her imaginary, and I obeyed her commands.
Into the bathtub I went, and Nichole knotted a rope to my braid, intricately forming the knot so it wouldn't slip. The rope went to my ankles, to my elbows, and then it went back to my ankles and to my arms. From there, the rope returned to my ankles and was knotted far from my hands. Putting me in the bathtub could only mean one thing—water peril. I love water peril. It's one of my favorite things in TUGs, although we never let my nose go under the water.
"The puppeteer decides how the puppet moves," she said and turned on the water, "And when its service ends! Your service has come to an end, Samantha Räänta. Farewell!" and she pretended to abandon me in the tub to face my end in solitude, but in reality she watched in the mirror.
"NMMMMMMMMMM!" I struggled, loving the painful jerk upon my precious hair. Since this was happening in February, full cold water was really cold, and I shrieked a little when the water first lapped about my chest in its gradual course. There is so much fun in waterplay, but I cannot put it into words why I enjoy it so much. A dramatic over-the-top roleplay like this is, to me, the ultimate thrill in TUGs. Real danger? Adventurous. Fake danger? Absolutely joyful. Mocking real danger with something that can only be dangerous only if misused? Positively thrilling.
"NMMMMMMMMMM!" I squirmed in the tub, acting like I had truly been abandoned and left to perish. This painful crossed prayer position hurt, but it felt so good because it was the position I felt was the most truly inescapable while being sustainable for the duration of a game. Pain can be such a powerful drug. "NMMMMMMMMMM!" The water slowly began to tickle more and more of my body, chilling me despite my profuse sweat. I might not have been truly alone, but it sure felt real at that moment. "NMMMMMMMMMM!" Soon, the water was tickling my chin, but then Nichole walked into the room while casually adjusting her kerchief.
"Time's up," she said with a smile, turned off the water, and unplugged the drain, "Well?"
"Mmmmmmmm," I cooed a little bit and giggled, expressing my happiness with the roleplay.
I looked at Nichole after I'd caught my breath. She fully understood the importance of this game to me. Nichole and I had taken a break from all rough elements for about 6 months after we both concluded that I had a terrible habit of letting my imagination wander towards thoughts that were unhealthy for a person to have even outside TUGs. I wiggled my eyebrows, but that was the end of my time as Sammy the Puppet. It was a fun game, though, and remains one of my best stories to tell to my friends. No one can initiate an intense cosplay like Nichole can, and I'm so glad that each of my friends is the best girl I know for a different style of play that I enjoy. Nichole is very special to me, and I love her reaction to my gag talk best of all.
After I was untied, Nichole sweetly helped me to rub out the sore spots from being so tightly tied and gagged for as long as I was. While others are better at different physical aspects of aftercare, I can't speak more highly of how Nichole handles the mental and emotional aspects. She's like a natural nurse, quietly guiding me through each of the various phases of the long process.
That was such a fun time, and I hope you enjoyed my story of being a contorted puppet. It was a fun game, and it wasn't our last time exploring the possibilities of magic of this sort in a game. I enjoy the play-acting despite my personal opposition to Nichole's real-world acting. We made an amazing pair of roommates, and I'm grateful to Nichole and her husband for letting me live with them during my sophomore, junior, and senior years of college.
Nichole, I love you.
THE END
Saturday, February 29, 2020
There is something so exciting about being tired—very tired, to the point of exhaustion—when a friend decides to capture me. Living with Nichole means that a variety of adventures happen on a regular basis, often spontaneously. It's fun, and she's carefully considerate of my mood and my body language to decide what kind of game, how to play it, and so forth. Some games are just a simple binding and gagging; others are elaborate with torture or adult activities. It depends on so many things, but today I am going to focus on a game that went into basic adult things.
On this occasion, I'd had a rowing competition in the gym after morning workouts, and I was the usual sweating mess that Nichole loved to capture and to humiliate without getting overly dirty. I stepped into the apartment without much though, unprepared for Nichole to point a water pistol at me or to smile brightly while doing so. She is very sweet, and I'm glad she's my friend.
"Just the two of us thanks to an important lab project," Nichole said to me, "Shall we continue?"
"OK," I smiled a little at her and put my hands in the air, "Take the lead, Gangsta Queen."
"I am a puppeteer; you are the puppet-to-be. You shall become cast under a spell in body but not in spirit," she pulled the trigger, squirting water onto me, "You can speak your mind against me."
"Guh!" I groaned, "You are a horrible person. Who are you and what do you want with me?!"
My apologies for what will obviously be an extended piece of dialogue so early in the story. The Gangsta Queen, as many people affectionately called Nichole because she was the original girl in the Cool Girls' Club to wear bandanas so consistently, wore a white bandana as a kerchief to hold her curls of shoulderlength brown hair out of her face along with white sweatpants and socks and her navy turtleneck t-shirt and canvas sneakers. She looked far from an evil puppeteer.
"You will remove your sneakers, Samantha Rӓӓnta," Nichole first commanded me.
"NO!" I wailed in a despondent response, but used my hand to remove the sneaker, "NO! NO!"
"Sniff the sneaker, Miss Rӓӓnta," she lifted an imaginary sneaker to her nose, "Breathe deeply."
"You are horrible," I groaned, lifting my sneaker and breathing my awful toe cheese, "Blegh!"
"Wonderful, my little toy!" she giggled at my grimaces and groans of disgust, "Sniff it again!"
I played along as if I had no choice, "Please no! It's gross! Don't make me do it again!"
"No, instead, Samantha, remove your socks from your feet, and put them into your own mouth."
"Are you joking?" I looked at her and obeyed her, "This is cruel. Why are you doing this?!"
"Do as I say!" she simply commanded me.
"NO!" I pretended to fight my own hands and filled my mouth with my sweaty navy socks.
The puppeteer controlled me with diabolical glee. "Ah, my puppet, you are delightful!"
"GMMMMMMM!" I shook my head despite my compliance with the puppeteer's will.
Now, I stood there barefoot and tried to fight the control of the puppeteer, but with exaggerated motions she had coerced me to comply with her desires. My pale blonde hair and its brownish highlights were held in my usual braid by a navy scrunchie. It was my sole dignity. With fluid motions and dramatic words she ordered me to cross my wrists behind my back and between my shoulder blades in the insanely difficult crossed prayer position. Shame on me for figuring it out so easily with only the phrase "Behind your back, Samantha!" while she moved her arms.
Then came Nichole's takeover of my body. White rope wrapped around my wrists, binding them tightly and inescapably in this position, which is like reverse prayer but a little easier. She bound my arms further by integrating my arms into the chest harness and cinching them well. My mind was focused on the socks in my mouth, which the puppeteer had prevented me from ejecting by her evil magic. How awful they tasted, but it was so humiliating and so good.
GRRRRAT! Nichole took out a roll of red duct tape and began wrapping it around my head to seal my lips. GRRRRAT! GRRRRAT! Each layer was tighter than the last one so my socks—sweaty and horrible—couldn't leave my mouth. GRRRRAT! GRRRRAT! GRRRRAT! My gag was completed with six layers of the tape crushing my face. I had no chance of getting those socks out of my mouth on my own, especially with how I was bound. It was a nasty gag, too, and my face instinctively twisted because of the horrible flavors. Breaking the tape had to wait for one of my sneakers to go over my nose and be held by four more wraps of the duct tape, forcing me to smell and taste the horrid essences of my own feet.
Six ropes—white like the others—bound my legs with three for my thighs and three for my legs, and a piece of white string bound my big toes together. Each was tight; each was cinched for an effective and stringent binding. There was no slack, and the ropes would for sure leave the deep dents I craved in TUGs and bondage. Like a puppet, I was made to sit and to stand as necessary to make the job easier for the puppeteer. There I was, brutally bound and gagged.
"Welcome to my lair… you are free to hop and panic as you desire, my dear Samantha!" Nichole said with a maniacal laugh, "Mua ha ha ha ha haaaaa! You will never escape my ropes though!"
"MMMMMMMMM!" I began hopping around the apartment since we were alone at the time.
"You are helpless, young woman," she cackled again, "I will keep you forever."
Hopping is fun visually for the captor and a fun way for the captive to tire herself out. I jumped around the room in a dramatic quest, but my arms were contorted so badly that I couldn't grab a thing in this position. helplessness is exciting in so many ways. Hopping uselessly and forcing myself to break out in a full sweat was like a medicine to me. Any frustration lingering after my defeat on the erg slipped away while I enjoyed my multi-faceted humiliation. It was so good.
"Mmmmmmm!" I groaned and finally approached the front door as if trying to open it.
"No way!" Nichole commanded me and moved her arms, "Puppet, hop back to me!"
"NMMMMM!" I shook my head in desperation. "NMMMMMM!" I wailed as if the victim of a twisted crime, resisting the extraterrestrial forces that were forcing me to hop backwards towards the magical hand of my landlady. "NMMMMMMMMMM!" I obediently fought her powers and hopped closer until she wrapped her arms around me and held me firmly in her grasp.
Then she hand spanked me. Nichole and I preferred hand spanking over other methods, and she did it perfectly. Each SMACK! delivered a rough shooting pain through my buttocks and my body. Such humiliation cannot be put into words because both of us like it so much. I may enjoy things being done more roughly to me than Nichole likes them being done to her, but we like so many of the same things done in the same way.
"Gmmmmmm!" I broke her her grip and tried to hop away again.
"No!" Nichole roughly grabbed me by the braid and used it like a leash, "Hop to the bathroom."
"MMMMMMMMM!" I complained so much but never said anything of substance, but I obeyed her command. What's the thrill in trying to talk for real? Talking back was possible even if I had my sweaty, funky cotton in my mouth, and every breath was filtered through the rancid smells of my toe cheese. There was nothing to do but hop since I had no choice because of the spell. Each hop was a forced chore while I pretended to resist her imaginary, and I obeyed her commands.
Into the bathtub I went, and Nichole knotted a rope to my braid, intricately forming the knot so it wouldn't slip. The rope went to my ankles, to my elbows, and then it went back to my ankles and to my arms. From there, the rope returned to my ankles and was knotted far from my hands. Putting me in the bathtub could only mean one thing—water peril. I love water peril. It's one of my favorite things in TUGs, although we never let my nose go under the water.
"The puppeteer decides how the puppet moves," she said and turned on the water, "And when its service ends! Your service has come to an end, Samantha Räänta. Farewell!" and she pretended to abandon me in the tub to face my end in solitude, but in reality she watched in the mirror.
"NMMMMMMMMMM!" I struggled, loving the painful jerk upon my precious hair. Since this was happening in February, full cold water was really cold, and I shrieked a little when the water first lapped about my chest in its gradual course. There is so much fun in waterplay, but I cannot put it into words why I enjoy it so much. A dramatic over-the-top roleplay like this is, to me, the ultimate thrill in TUGs. Real danger? Adventurous. Fake danger? Absolutely joyful. Mocking real danger with something that can only be dangerous only if misused? Positively thrilling.
"NMMMMMMMMMM!" I squirmed in the tub, acting like I had truly been abandoned and left to perish. This painful crossed prayer position hurt, but it felt so good because it was the position I felt was the most truly inescapable while being sustainable for the duration of a game. Pain can be such a powerful drug. "NMMMMMMMMMM!" The water slowly began to tickle more and more of my body, chilling me despite my profuse sweat. I might not have been truly alone, but it sure felt real at that moment. "NMMMMMMMMMM!" Soon, the water was tickling my chin, but then Nichole walked into the room while casually adjusting her kerchief.
"Time's up," she said with a smile, turned off the water, and unplugged the drain, "Well?"
"Mmmmmmmm," I cooed a little bit and giggled, expressing my happiness with the roleplay.
I looked at Nichole after I'd caught my breath. She fully understood the importance of this game to me. Nichole and I had taken a break from all rough elements for about 6 months after we both concluded that I had a terrible habit of letting my imagination wander towards thoughts that were unhealthy for a person to have even outside TUGs. I wiggled my eyebrows, but that was the end of my time as Sammy the Puppet. It was a fun game, though, and remains one of my best stories to tell to my friends. No one can initiate an intense cosplay like Nichole can, and I'm so glad that each of my friends is the best girl I know for a different style of play that I enjoy. Nichole is very special to me, and I love her reaction to my gag talk best of all.
After I was untied, Nichole sweetly helped me to rub out the sore spots from being so tightly tied and gagged for as long as I was. While others are better at different physical aspects of aftercare, I can't speak more highly of how Nichole handles the mental and emotional aspects. She's like a natural nurse, quietly guiding me through each of the various phases of the long process.
That was such a fun time, and I hope you enjoyed my story of being a contorted puppet. It was a fun game, and it wasn't our last time exploring the possibilities of magic of this sort in a game. I enjoy the play-acting despite my personal opposition to Nichole's real-world acting. We made an amazing pair of roommates, and I'm grateful to Nichole and her husband for letting me live with them during my sophomore, junior, and senior years of college.
Nichole, I love you.
THE END
