Secret Distractions (M/F)
Posted: Tue Dec 30, 2025 7:19 pm
My name is Raj, 22 years old, from a small town in Rajasthan. I'm about 5'11", nothing special in the looks department—just an average guy studying engineering in a college far from home. During the winter break of 2024, I came back to my hometown without telling anyone, craving the quiet desert evenings and familiar streets.
One afternoon, on a whim, I decided to drop by my childhood friend Arjun's house. We’d grown up together, but I hadn’t warned him I was in town. When I rang the bell, it wasn’t Arjun who opened the door—it was his elder sister, Kanika.
Kanika was 24, tall at 5'7", with fair skin that seemed to glow even in the weak winter sun. She had always been beautiful, but seeing her that day hit differently. She was dressed simply: tight blue jeans, thick white socks, and a soft, furry-looking white sweater that hugged her curves perfectly. Her long black hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail. A light woolen dupatta was loosely draped around her neck, occasionally slipping up to partially cover the lower half of her face as she moved—a sight that instantly stirred something deep inside me. I’d always had a thing for girls who veiled their faces like that, especially with dupattas or scarves. And if I’m being honest, I’d long harbored a secret kink for tying girls up, restraining them, gagging them… watching them struggle helplessly.
She looked surprised but smiled warmly. “Raj! Arjun isn’t home—the whole family went to visit relatives. They won’t be back till late night.”
That day nikitas mood seemed off. I casually asked her why her she seems to be sad. As she already knew me, she invited me for a cup of tea. To which I agreed. I went inside her house.
As we sat in the living room, I noticed her mood was off. Her eyes were restless, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her dupatta. Over steaming cups of chai, she opened up. She’d recently given a major competitive exam, and the results were due the next morning. The anxiety was eating her alive—she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus, couldn’t relax.
“I’ve tried everything,” she said softly, pulling her dupatta a little higher over her mouth absentmindedly. “Reading, scrolling, even meditating. Nothing works. My mind just keeps racing to tomorrow.”
I suggested doing something that would fully occupy her thoughts—something engaging enough to push the worry away, even temporarily.
She thought for a moment, then asked, “What can we do together that would distract me completely?”
I shrugged. “How about a video game? Arjun has that PS5 in his room, right?”
Her eyes lit up a little. “Yeah… let’s try that.”
We moved to her brother’s room—thankfully empty and private. We picked a story-driven action game and started playing side by side on the bed. At one point, the main character—a female spy—was captured in a dramatic cutscene: kidnapped, stripped down to her bra and leggings, tied tightly in an elaborate boxtie with ropes, and gagged with a thick scarf pulled deep between her lips.
Kanika paused the game and stared at the screen. “Do you think… being tied up like that actually helps? Your mind would be so focused on the ropes, the restriction… maybe all other thoughts just disappear?”
My heart skipped. I tried to play it cool. “Maybe. When you’re physically restrained, struggling takes over everything else.”
She turned to me, her cheeks slightly flushed. “Then… why don’t you tie me up? Just to try. To see if it calms me down.”
I hesitated, but the words were already out of her mouth. She insisted. “Come on, Raj. No one’s home till night. It’ll be our secret. I really need this distraction.”
After a few more pleas, I gave in.
She asked what we could use. I suggested dupattas, scarves, maybe some soft rope if she had any. Excited now, she opened her wardrobe and pulled out a colorful pile: red, pink, blue, green, orange dupattas and a couple of thick winter shawls.
First attempt: I told her to stretch a little. Then I brought her hands behind her back and tied them with the red dupatta. I folded a handkerchief and pressed it over her mouth as a simple gag, knotting it at the nape of her neck. “Now struggle,” I said.
She twisted and pulled, but escaped in under two minutes. “Too loose,” she laughed softly. “Tie me tighter. And use a better gag.”
Second attempt: I used the red dupatta again on her wrists, cinching it snug. Pink one to pull her elbows closer together. Blue for her ankles, green for her thighs. An orange dupatta wrapped around her waist, pinning her bound arms tightly to her body. In the process, my hands accidentally brushed across her breasts through the soft sweater. She let out a small, involuntary moan but said nothing—just watched me with darkening eyes.
For the gag, I took a thick cream-colored shawl, folded it wide, and cleave-gagged her deeply, wrapping it twice around her head and knotting it firmly. This time she struggled hard for nearly half an hour—writhing on the bed, muffled sounds escaping the gag, ponytail swaying—before finally working free.
When she was loose again, she was breathing heavily, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. “I… actually really liked that. It did take my mind off everything.” Then she bit her lip. “But I want to try something more like the game. More extreme. I want to feel the ropes directly on my skin. Tighter. Like she was—in just her bra.”
I protested immediately. “Kanika, that’s too much. What if someone comes home early?”
She promised no one would return before night. She begged. Over and over. Until my resistance crumbled.
“Fine,” I said at last. “But we need proper rope. Soft cotton, so it doesn’t hurt.”
She quickly ordered a bundle from Blinkit—it arrived in ten minutes. While waiting, she added softly, “You can… touch me while I’m tied. If you want. It’ll help keep me distracted.”
My pulse was pounding now.
I locked the bedroom door.
“Get ready,” I told her.
She pulled off her white furry sweater, then her top, standing before me in just her black push-up bra and jeans. Her body was stunning—slim waist, full breasts, smooth fair skin. She noticed my reaction and smiled shyly. “Is this bra okay? Or should I change it?”
I told her to show me options. She opened a drawer full of colorful bras—lace, padded, plunge. As she started explaining which might work best, I couldn’t focus. I picked up a clean handkerchief, stepped close, and gently stuffed it into her open mouth. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t resist—just accepted it silently, cheeks turning pink.
I selected a lightly padded white bra. She turned away modestly, unclasped the black one, and changed.
Next, I asked if she had a vibrator. “It’ll help immerse you completely,” I said. She nodded behind the stuffing, opened another drawer, and revealed a small wireless bullet vibrator with a remote.
I told her to insert it and pull her jeans back up snugly so it stayed in place. She obeyed without a word.
Then the real tying began.
I started with her hands behind her back—palms pressed together, wrists crossed and bound tightly with soft cotton rope. Elbows cinched until they nearly touched. A full chest harness that framed and lifted her breasts in the white bra. A rope around her waist, then down into a firm crotch rope—threaded right over the vibrator and pulled snug between her legs, deep into her jeans. Every movement would now press it harder against her.
Thighs bound. Ankles bound.
Finally, I connected her wrists down to the crotch rope—so any attempt to straighten or bend would tug mercilessly between her legs.
For the gag: a fresh dupatta cleave-gagged over the stuffed handkerchief, then another dupatta layered over-the-mouth. A soft scarf blindfolded her completely.
I helped her sit on the floor. The position immediately tightened the crotch rope, pressing the vibrator deeper. She let out a muffled whimper.
I turned the vibrator on its lowest setting.
Then I began to touch her—slowly, deliberately—running my hands over her bound body, fondling her breasts until her nipples hardened visibly through the thin bra. I fetched two clothespins from the laundry basket outside and carefully clamped them over the fabric onto her nipples. Thin ropes connected the clamps to her bound knees—creating a cruel predicament: straighten her legs to ease her nipples, and the crotch rope would punish her; bend to relieve her crotch, and the clamps would bite harder.
I left her there, struggling beautifully on the floor, for a full hour—blindfolded, gagged, teased endlessly on low vibration, body marked faintly by rope.
When the hour ended, I removed the gags. She was trembling, voice desperate and broken.
“Raj… please… I need to cum. I’ll do anything. Tie me again—however you want—just please…”
I smiled down at her helpless, gorgeous form.
“Deal. One more position. One more hour. Then maybe I’ll let you.”
(To be continued in Part 2...)
One afternoon, on a whim, I decided to drop by my childhood friend Arjun's house. We’d grown up together, but I hadn’t warned him I was in town. When I rang the bell, it wasn’t Arjun who opened the door—it was his elder sister, Kanika.
Kanika was 24, tall at 5'7", with fair skin that seemed to glow even in the weak winter sun. She had always been beautiful, but seeing her that day hit differently. She was dressed simply: tight blue jeans, thick white socks, and a soft, furry-looking white sweater that hugged her curves perfectly. Her long black hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail. A light woolen dupatta was loosely draped around her neck, occasionally slipping up to partially cover the lower half of her face as she moved—a sight that instantly stirred something deep inside me. I’d always had a thing for girls who veiled their faces like that, especially with dupattas or scarves. And if I’m being honest, I’d long harbored a secret kink for tying girls up, restraining them, gagging them… watching them struggle helplessly.
She looked surprised but smiled warmly. “Raj! Arjun isn’t home—the whole family went to visit relatives. They won’t be back till late night.”
That day nikitas mood seemed off. I casually asked her why her she seems to be sad. As she already knew me, she invited me for a cup of tea. To which I agreed. I went inside her house.
As we sat in the living room, I noticed her mood was off. Her eyes were restless, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her dupatta. Over steaming cups of chai, she opened up. She’d recently given a major competitive exam, and the results were due the next morning. The anxiety was eating her alive—she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus, couldn’t relax.
“I’ve tried everything,” she said softly, pulling her dupatta a little higher over her mouth absentmindedly. “Reading, scrolling, even meditating. Nothing works. My mind just keeps racing to tomorrow.”
I suggested doing something that would fully occupy her thoughts—something engaging enough to push the worry away, even temporarily.
She thought for a moment, then asked, “What can we do together that would distract me completely?”
I shrugged. “How about a video game? Arjun has that PS5 in his room, right?”
Her eyes lit up a little. “Yeah… let’s try that.”
We moved to her brother’s room—thankfully empty and private. We picked a story-driven action game and started playing side by side on the bed. At one point, the main character—a female spy—was captured in a dramatic cutscene: kidnapped, stripped down to her bra and leggings, tied tightly in an elaborate boxtie with ropes, and gagged with a thick scarf pulled deep between her lips.
Kanika paused the game and stared at the screen. “Do you think… being tied up like that actually helps? Your mind would be so focused on the ropes, the restriction… maybe all other thoughts just disappear?”
My heart skipped. I tried to play it cool. “Maybe. When you’re physically restrained, struggling takes over everything else.”
She turned to me, her cheeks slightly flushed. “Then… why don’t you tie me up? Just to try. To see if it calms me down.”
I hesitated, but the words were already out of her mouth. She insisted. “Come on, Raj. No one’s home till night. It’ll be our secret. I really need this distraction.”
After a few more pleas, I gave in.
She asked what we could use. I suggested dupattas, scarves, maybe some soft rope if she had any. Excited now, she opened her wardrobe and pulled out a colorful pile: red, pink, blue, green, orange dupattas and a couple of thick winter shawls.
First attempt: I told her to stretch a little. Then I brought her hands behind her back and tied them with the red dupatta. I folded a handkerchief and pressed it over her mouth as a simple gag, knotting it at the nape of her neck. “Now struggle,” I said.
She twisted and pulled, but escaped in under two minutes. “Too loose,” she laughed softly. “Tie me tighter. And use a better gag.”
Second attempt: I used the red dupatta again on her wrists, cinching it snug. Pink one to pull her elbows closer together. Blue for her ankles, green for her thighs. An orange dupatta wrapped around her waist, pinning her bound arms tightly to her body. In the process, my hands accidentally brushed across her breasts through the soft sweater. She let out a small, involuntary moan but said nothing—just watched me with darkening eyes.
For the gag, I took a thick cream-colored shawl, folded it wide, and cleave-gagged her deeply, wrapping it twice around her head and knotting it firmly. This time she struggled hard for nearly half an hour—writhing on the bed, muffled sounds escaping the gag, ponytail swaying—before finally working free.
When she was loose again, she was breathing heavily, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. “I… actually really liked that. It did take my mind off everything.” Then she bit her lip. “But I want to try something more like the game. More extreme. I want to feel the ropes directly on my skin. Tighter. Like she was—in just her bra.”
I protested immediately. “Kanika, that’s too much. What if someone comes home early?”
She promised no one would return before night. She begged. Over and over. Until my resistance crumbled.
“Fine,” I said at last. “But we need proper rope. Soft cotton, so it doesn’t hurt.”
She quickly ordered a bundle from Blinkit—it arrived in ten minutes. While waiting, she added softly, “You can… touch me while I’m tied. If you want. It’ll help keep me distracted.”
My pulse was pounding now.
I locked the bedroom door.
“Get ready,” I told her.
She pulled off her white furry sweater, then her top, standing before me in just her black push-up bra and jeans. Her body was stunning—slim waist, full breasts, smooth fair skin. She noticed my reaction and smiled shyly. “Is this bra okay? Or should I change it?”
I told her to show me options. She opened a drawer full of colorful bras—lace, padded, plunge. As she started explaining which might work best, I couldn’t focus. I picked up a clean handkerchief, stepped close, and gently stuffed it into her open mouth. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t resist—just accepted it silently, cheeks turning pink.
I selected a lightly padded white bra. She turned away modestly, unclasped the black one, and changed.
Next, I asked if she had a vibrator. “It’ll help immerse you completely,” I said. She nodded behind the stuffing, opened another drawer, and revealed a small wireless bullet vibrator with a remote.
I told her to insert it and pull her jeans back up snugly so it stayed in place. She obeyed without a word.
Then the real tying began.
I started with her hands behind her back—palms pressed together, wrists crossed and bound tightly with soft cotton rope. Elbows cinched until they nearly touched. A full chest harness that framed and lifted her breasts in the white bra. A rope around her waist, then down into a firm crotch rope—threaded right over the vibrator and pulled snug between her legs, deep into her jeans. Every movement would now press it harder against her.
Thighs bound. Ankles bound.
Finally, I connected her wrists down to the crotch rope—so any attempt to straighten or bend would tug mercilessly between her legs.
For the gag: a fresh dupatta cleave-gagged over the stuffed handkerchief, then another dupatta layered over-the-mouth. A soft scarf blindfolded her completely.
I helped her sit on the floor. The position immediately tightened the crotch rope, pressing the vibrator deeper. She let out a muffled whimper.
I turned the vibrator on its lowest setting.
Then I began to touch her—slowly, deliberately—running my hands over her bound body, fondling her breasts until her nipples hardened visibly through the thin bra. I fetched two clothespins from the laundry basket outside and carefully clamped them over the fabric onto her nipples. Thin ropes connected the clamps to her bound knees—creating a cruel predicament: straighten her legs to ease her nipples, and the crotch rope would punish her; bend to relieve her crotch, and the clamps would bite harder.
I left her there, struggling beautifully on the floor, for a full hour—blindfolded, gagged, teased endlessly on low vibration, body marked faintly by rope.
When the hour ended, I removed the gags. She was trembling, voice desperate and broken.
“Raj… please… I need to cum. I’ll do anything. Tie me again—however you want—just please…”
I smiled down at her helpless, gorgeous form.
“Deal. One more position. One more hour. Then maybe I’ll let you.”
(To be continued in Part 2...)