Stories of Tie Up Games

Heh I'm going to have to go for D.
Gonna be a long night indeed.

B

F

G

For the sake of variety let's go for G.

"cartilaginous member" - best synonym for 'nose' ever!

G PLEASE!!! Would love for dad's utter stench to get in on the action Poor kid....
Fantastic chapters!! Your writing is excellent as always and the build-up is incredible.

G

H

G

Without a doubt!!

G please!

[mention]bondagefreak[/mention]
Just to be curious...Why would anyone choose option A

my choice would be option D
Story is going crazy....

Fun story. I do particularly enjoy, that you always include some snippets, so we know that Sammy actually has fun being tortured. It's a really nice setup, and I'm glad that both have fun.

I really like that Sammys hands were made useless for jerking off at the start. It sounds so mean, withoug being actually damaging. I would probably go insane in these bags. Just my kind of torture.

I do love the final picture of the strapped-down sleeping bag, with just the little hole. Looks so cozy, secure and relaxing.

tugfan wrote: ↑3 years ago @bondagefreak
Just to be curious...Why would anyone choose option A

As someone who likes option A, it offers a bit of downtime. I like to have breaks in between action scenes, the contrast makes the action all the more interesting, and if we have a bit more knowledge of the "regular" interaction between characters, it provides context for the action, and makes it richer. The gag makes that not really possible, but the narrator could still just slow down a bit and talk about how he enjoys the game, or something. And even with the gag, you can have them communicate a bit, to show how much fun they both have.

That's at least my take on it. For that reason, I'll go with

I - OTHER (SPECIFY)

I'd like a mix of A (LEAVE HIS HOOD OPENING INTACT AND LEAVE HIM IN PEACE FOR THE NIGHT) and F (FETCH A PAIR OF MY YOUNGER BROTHER'S SOCKS AND DROP 'EM IN THERE). A kind-of fakeout, where the narrator acts like he will let Sammy rest for the night, but can't help himself not to at add at least a little bit of torture (assuming that the younger brothers socks/shoes/whatever are only a bit gross.

I'm voting for F

What a hot continuation of the story. All that forced sock, foot and sneaker sniffing (and especially the fact that the number of hours was mentioned) made it so hot! I was actually jealous of Sammy. So humiliating, but it's making me really horny.

Absolutely awesome chapter - really loved how our protagonist got "in the mood" and a kick out of dominating at some point.

Definitely voting for G (though F is somehow also a thing to consider...but I'll take G.)

I would go for *F*. A nice sniff, not to grose for the night, always keep some better work for later. You don’t want him to get used to the smell.

F

This would be my first time posting. Please bear with me. First of all, thank you Mr. [mention]bondagefreak[/mention] for all the stories that you have shared and written. I could not just get enough how descriptive your stories are. It is as if we are being brought to the world you have created. Absolutely love the images as well, it just make my/our imaginations run wild even more. Looking forward to more of your works.

As for the latest voting poll, I would go with G. Introduce him to daddy's socks and take it to the next level. Would love to know if he can take it or if he will eventually pass out because of the sheer odor from it.

I’m almost tempted to go for option A, I think he could use a break, but that wouldn’t be any fun.

So my vote is for Option G
Time for dad’s work socks to get a bit of use

G would be best

4toes wrote: ↑3 years ago This would be my first time posting.

Welcome aboard [mention]4toes[/mention]! It's great to have you on here

Somehow I misplaced my vote, for lack of a better term. Re-submitting it now, I’m going for option D

"Haha. Yeah, I told you it was fat, didn't I?" I laughed, thoroughly enjoying the sight of my friend struggling to cope with the sheer puffiness of my dad's big black expedition bag.


Having been zipped up inside it once, albeit only for a few minutes, I knew firsthand just how trapped and restrained poor Sammy must've felt in there. Not only was the bag just absurdly thick, but the overfilled hood and the diminutive face opening made for a very claustrophobic cocoon.

Sam struggled to maintain a semblance of sanity as the incredibly invasive lofting material pressed around his head from all sides and threatened to his swallow his face whole. It took him a while to get his nose aligned with the restrictive breathing hole, but once he did, the sockgagged twerp immediately recognised that twisting his head around or moving his face in any direction would be very ill-advised. Any attempt he made at doing so would result in his flaring little sniff-holes being gobbled up and drowned beneath a mountain of thick, puffy loft.

In other words, he had to keep his nose aligned with the breathing chute or else risk being smothered up by my dad's crazy fat expedition bag.

Keep in mind, these things were built for survival in the most frigid and inhospitable places on Earth, NOT for your average summertime camping trips.







I allowed my friend to struggle around in there for a good minute or two before finally walking up to his face opening and asking him how he was doing.

"You nice and comfy in there?" I asked, drawing a very happy-sounding "mmh phhm." from the hopelessly restrained prisoner.


Happy my heavily cocooned friend's reassuring tone, I reached inside the facial opening in the hopes of teasing him a bit, but dad's bag was so incredibly fat that I had to lower my entire hand and wrist inside the hood opening before finally reaching what I was looking for.


Sammy squealed in surprise when I grabbed his nose and pinched his nostrils shut.
I fooled around with his breathing and clogged his airways on and off few minutes.
His nostrils were totally defenseless and at my complete mercy.


"Hmmm...would be a real shame in something smelly were to fall inside there, don't you think?" I chuckled, speaking close enough for him to hear.

The sound of those words immediately caused the bound lad to curse, laugh and protest beneath his gag.

"Mmpph phhhk nnmpph!" poor Sam yelled.



"Yeah. Would be a realllll shame." I continued, slowly walking away and laughing devilishly as my friend cursed anew and broke out into a frenzied struggle.


Loud swooshing noises permeated the air as the bound twerp squirmed and struggled to get out of those super fat, nylon sleeping bags he was zipped up and strapped down in.

It's a good thing I had him fastened to the camping cot with thick those ratchet straps, I thought to myself. Otherwise he would've surely fallen off and landed on the floor amid all the struggling.



I thought about the stuff I could've tossed inside that breathing chute of his, and rapidly settled on the idea of exposing him to something new. After all, he'd smelt my socks and Nathan's, so that pretty much left me with only my dad and my younger brother as the two remaining choices.

Knowing full well how stinky my teenage brother's sweaty soccer socks could get, I actually considered going to his room and fetching a pair of his socks out for Sammy to enjoy. But when it came to serious stench and overpowering foot odour, nothing in this house - and I mean NOTHING - came even close to what my dad had to offer.


Much to my mother and everyone else's continued dismay, the man of the house was cursed with the most potent and most foul of foot odours. My older brother's socks and shoes were like a walk in the part compared to my dad's.

Add to that the fact that he wore heavy boots, worked in construction and didn't change his socks very often, and you had for yourself a very serious recipe for disaster.

Sammy was NOT gonna like this, I knew.
And this time it wouldn't be an act.




It didn't take very long for me to locate a pair of my father's worn socks. But when I opened the door to his room and saw what awaited me there, I almost immediately crinkled my nose up and took a step back.







The fact that his fuming stink bombs were on the floor and that my mum hadn't picked them up yet meant that the 46-year-old construction worker had probably peeled them off and donned a new pair on just minutes prior to their departure for the ski cottage, earlier this morning.


Dad's bedroom stank even WORST than my older brother's bedroom, and it wasn't the result of months worth of stinky gear lining the floor. No. The stench that filled the air and the absolutely PUGENT odour that now caused my eyes to water over was coming entirely from those two socks he'd tossed to the floor!


"Uggh, GOD!" I cried out, grimacing in disgust and wondering how on Earth my mum did to share a room with this guy.


I walked closer to the source of the stench and disdainfully extended a hand towards the floor before grabbing one of dad's socks with the tips of my fingers.

His giant fuckers were HUGE, which made sense considering how wide and meaty his size 14 soles were. Not only that, but the sheer weight of them alerted me to the fact that his thick work socks were still somewhat moist even though they'd been peeled off his feet over twelve hours ago.

Gross!



I took my bounty with me and ran out of the master bedroom before finally making my way back to poor Sam, who'd made zero progress in escaping his fat sleeping bag prison.


Even as I stood next to his cocooned form, the kid had virtually no idea that I was looming atop him.
The overstuffed sleeping bag hood covered his eyes up and stopped him from peering out of the diminutive face opening. Sam could technically lower his head down if he wanted to observe his surroundings, but given that his nose would inevitably find itself being smothered down beneath unbearably puffy sleeping bag loft if he did, that expanded vision would come at the expense of his breathing. In other words, peering out of my dad's bag was a luxury poor Sam just couldn't afford.



The element of surprise was definitely on my side.


Without a word, I lifted the hefty construction worker's morbidly putrid sock up into the air, aligned it above Sammy's breathing chute, and then let go.


The big, rotten, dingy fucker fell straight down into the breathing funnel and immediately disappeared into the overstuffed hood.

There was only silence at first.
And then, about two seconds later, all hell broke loose.



A scream of terror erupted from the sleeping bagged twerp's securely tapegagged mouth.

Sam struggled, fought and convulsed in his fat prison almost as though he was having a seizure.

The very loud swooshing of nylon echoed across the room as he twisted his head left and right; struggling to keep his nose free of the merciless, smothering down insulation, but desperately needing to get away from my father's terribly pungent work sock, which had landed toes-first on top of his flaring sniff-holes.


Sammy never heard my ensuing laughter or my invitation to "have fun".
He was too busy fighting off my father's mind-blowingly rancid sock and struggling not to puke his guts out at the fact that he was trapped and being forced to sniff it.

There would be no escape for poor Sam.
No escape from my dad's sock.



Not caring about the fact that my bound friend was squirming around and screaming as though I'd dropped a venomous snake or a huge spider on top of his face, I just laughed and grabbed the sleeping bag draw cords with both hands, before finally closing the hood opening to the size of a peep hole and knotting the strings together.



I must've jerked off a total of three times that night.

The continued struggling and near-incessant gagging noises coming from my trapped buddy's amply stuffed mouth cost the both of us a good night's sleep. But the sound of his cries just made the whole thing worth it.


Sammy spent the next twelve hours sucking on my crap-ridden ankle sock, tasting and being silenced with my older brother's pungent gym sock, and flaring his helpless sniff-holes under my dad's nauseatingly PUTRID, two-week-old work sock.

The kid wanted smelly, and that's precisely what he got!




For those of you who may be worried, you'll be happy to know Sammy survived the ordeals I put him through that night.

He did punch me in the arm after being released on Sunday morning, but his momentary anger was almost immediately replaced with the promise of a cruel comeback and a warning that I due for some serious payback next time we met.


On Sunday afternoon, Sammy left my place.
We shared a quick bro hug during which he shared his immense gratitude at having found me online a few months ago.
He also made me promise not to sell or get rid of the ridiculously raunchy Osiris bad boys I was wearing on my feet.

I promised him I wouldn't and he once again implied that I'd be the one crying for mercy the next time we met.
Then he left and we resumed our daily chats on the tugstories.com forum.



Being the Dom during my very first real life tie-up game adventure was a lot more fun than I initially thought it would be. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to what Sammy was planning for our second encounter.


All in all, a very successful bondage sleepover if ever there was one.


THE END...at least for now.







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Ooof... poor Sammy! Our dear protagonist should be worried for whatever payback he's planning!

Poor Sammy, hope he gets Nate to help him get revenge that would be a real treat. Awesome story [mention]bondagefreak[/mention] love these interactive stories they are such fun and show what readers are interest in reading