What Are Friends For? Part 9 added (F/F)
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smooth_talker45
- Forum Contributer
- Posts: 46
- Joined: 3 years ago
- Location: Ontario
Love the story, can’t wait for more. Keeps gettin better and better
Part 7
Thank God for schoolwork — and Tracey’s cell phone.
When it rang she was up in a flash to answer it, ripping her hand out of my thong so quickly that it snapped like a rubber band against my butt. She bounced off the bed, and put her earphones in. It was likely one of her project partners.
“Hey there, what’s up?” she said, sitting down at her laptop and sticking her phone in her back pocket. “Ok, hang on, lemme just see here.”
I was hanging on too, because I was embarrassed to climax in front of Tracey, especially while she was speaking with somebody else. So when her phone rang, I automatically stopped moving, tensed up, and went into hold-off mode.
I’d learned how to masturbate before college, so I knew how to arrest my pleasure and make my excitement go away entirely if my solitude was about to be disturbed. Under normal circumstances, I’d simply get up and walk around, have a glass of water, or find some other distraction.
But none of that was possible, since Tracey had me handcuffed and tied to her bed frame. And if I moved just a little, the sweet squeeze of my wrist and ankle restraints, along with the thong holding me close below, tempted me back toward the edge.
Mental discipline was the sole power remaining to me, so I focused on my breathing, — like I’d been taught in yoga class — and relied on guided imagery. It wasn’t easy with Tracey still conversing on the phone, and it didn’t exactly feel great.
But as my respiration slowed, I imagined a ball on the end of a rope, swinging back and fourth. It’s sway was the cycle of my breathing, and in my mind I became that ball, incrementally losing momentum, winding down to a semi-aroused state until I was confident enough to open my eyes.
There was Tracey, sitting at her desk, yammering away and doing schoolwork. And again, she was behaving as if I wasn’t in her room, right here with her — handcuffed, gagged, and lashed to her bed. I felt vulnerable and confused all over again, so I buried my face in Tracey’s pillow. Just moments ago I’d been in thrall to my arousal — now I was agitated by questions.
How did Tracey feel about me? Did she just want to keep me prisoner, or had she been teasing me with my thong? Did she know I’d been teasing myself, with her lying right there next to me? No, I told myself, don’t think about these things right now!
But when I lifted my head I found Tracey looking at me. Though she was still on the phone, she smiled and gave me a big wave, like she was greeting me at the airport. I flapped one of my cuffed hands back and fourth in response, and Tracey covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.
I sighed deeply and closed my eyes again. We’re ok, I thought. She doesn’t know how turned on I’d been, or if she does know, she doesn’t hate me for it. I eased back into the comfort of my bonds again, leisurely wondering what else Tracey might have in store for me.
I still felt a slight sting where the thong had slapped my butt. I’d worn them on impulse, thinking they’d tempt Tracey into spanking me. Well, I’d gotten a little spank anyway, I thought, smiling as much as my gag would allow. Of course, I’d also received something different, and way bigger, than I’d bargained for.
But I really wanted to know what Tracey liked…what else was she into, what else could I do for her? Was it enough just let her tie me up like this?
All at once the sound of her voice changed as she stood up and wandered to the foot of the bed. I felt something pulling at my ankles…what the heck was going on?
“No, just listen,” Tracey was saying over the phone. “Do you have the spreadsheet open? OK, select the range you want to sort…”
She was trying to explain that Excel trick I’d taught her. But what was that tugging? I craned my neck around, and in the corner of eye I saw her absent-mindedly strumming the taut sash that bound my ankles to the bed frame.
“The range…you know the group of cells for sorting…”
Like her ability to cuff me swiftly, this mild man-handling demonstrated Tracey’s absolute control, which threatened to stir me up again. As if to balance out that rough treatment, Tracey began to massage the backs of calves through my pajamas.
“Now select ‘data’ and ‘sort,’” she was saying. “Take your time.”
She walked to the head of the bed and began to lightly knead my shoulders with her fingertips.
“It didn’t work? Well, just come on over so I can show you.”
Oh. My. God. I froze up again as I realized that she’d invited one of her study partners to our apartment. Was she going to free me before that, or keep me captive to impress her CJ friend? I tried to turn over, but Tracey grabbed the handcuff hinge and gave it quick yank to still me.
“Five minutes? Beautiful, seeya then!”
I broke out in a cold sweat, but Tracey was already untying my ankles from the bed frame. Leaving them bound together, she used the free end of the sash to spin me around so my torso was lying perpendicular on the bed, and my toes were touching the floor.
Then she grabbed me around the waist and pulled me to my feet. Hugging me tightly to steady me, she spoke into my ear.
“Listen, we haven’t got much time,” she whispered mischievously. “Theresa’s coming over so I can fix her part of the project. Meanwhile, I’m going to tuck you away somewhere nice and cozy…k?”
Now what did she mean by that? “Mum-mum mum-mum?!” I murmured futilely, but Tracey was busy looping the loose end of the sash around my leg so it wouldn’t trip me. She stood up and squeezed my bicep, urging me to hop toward the door.
I had less balance with my hands cuffed in the stacked position, so I bent my legs to lower my center of gravity, which taxed my leg muscles more. Six and a half hops brought me to the door, and Tracey’s mirror again. I saw that my gag consisted of rolled-up white socks inside one of her black knee-highs. She’d tied the ends of the stocking behind my neck, then tied its mate over the top of it.
I leaned against the door jamb, breathing heavily though my nose. My shoulders ached from holding my cuffed hands in the stacked position, my legs were tired from hopping, and my ankles throbbed from the sash binding them tightly together. Mercifully, Tracey lifted up on the handcuff hinge to relieve the stress on my shoulders.
“We just have a little way to go, Moogie,” she said reassuringly. “You can do it.”
Do what? There were several places Tracey could “tuck” me away if she wanted to — and make no mistake, she could do what she wanted with me. There was the back mud room off the kitchen, our landlord’s garage or the hall closet.
And what about her car? What if she bundled me up in her back seat, or her trunk? Tracey’s cheerful voice crashed into my growing anxiety.
“OK Moogie, let’s go!” she said, squeezing my arm and steering me into the kitchen and the hallway leading to the living room.
So the mud room and garage were out, I thought as I hopped. That left the hall closet, which was tiny, or her car. I psyched myself up for a walk outside — or possibly a hop outside — while cuffed in my pajamas.
One. Two. Three. My slippers clapped loudly on the kitchen floor. I dared to straighten up and stretch for a second before hopping into the narrow hallway. Thinking ahead, Tracey darted in front of me so she could guide me from the front.
Two hops more and I was in the darkened hallway, between the bathroom and my room. I paused to adjust to the dimness, but Tracey turned on my room light, grabbed my shoulders, twisted me to the right, seized my arm and began urging me inside.
Of course, this made perfect sense…why had I been so suspicious of her? Flooded with new energy born of relief, I hopped into my room, looking forward to Tracey hiding me away there.
My room mirrored Tracy’s room in terms of size, furniture and arrangement. We both had single beds and desks with stout, metal straight-back chairs. My closet was too cluttered to accommodate my bound form, so I expected that she’d truss me face down on the bed, like she’d done in her room.
However, she stopped me in the center of the room and began to look around feverishly. Then a light seemed to go on in her mind. She grabbed my backpack off my desk chair, tossed it on the bed and had me hop to the desk.
The chair…was Tracey going to tie me to that? It wasn’t as nice as my soft bed, but it was way better than the other “cozy” places that I’d imagined she might imprison me.
But then she shoved me roughly against the desk, crashing my expectations of kind treatment. I felt the solidly bound column of my legs pressed warmly on either side, and I realized she was straddling me.
She slowly and firmly pressed the matching warmth of her pelvis against me from behind, pinning me to the desk. I felt the rough material of her jeans on my flannel-clad fanny, and her legs squeezing my thighs together for good measure.
If that wasn’t enough, she grabbed the hinge of the handcuffs and slowly lifted them, forcing me to bend over, pushing my gagged face onto my desktop. She unlocked my right hand, twisted it into the reliable, stringent palms-out position, and re-cuffed it to my other hand in the small of my back.
I grunted and mewed uselessly through my gag with Tracey’s every move. Her coarse treatment of me sent ripples of pain and bliss throughout my body, warming my loins anew. My entire being seemed devoted to torment and pleasure at her hands.
With her legs and hips holding me firmly in this oddly intimate position, Tracey lingered for a few moments. She ran her fingers across my shoulder blades while she gripped the handcuff hinge with her other hand.
I’d looked at a few rough lesbian sex scenes online, but now I seemed to be in one. Was Tracey…one of those women?! Was I? Had she cultivated my dreams of captivity just to lure me into this moment, where I was fixed and helpless in the grip of her bonds and body? Did she really want me in that way, and did I feel the same?
As I spun into an emotional ecstacy of mystery and helplessness, Tracey grabbed my collar, pulled me into a standing position, lifted me by my waist and sat me down in the chair.
Though I missed Tracey’s touch, sitting allowed me to recover somewhat. The seat was padded and the chair back was composed of vertical slats. My arms fit neatly into the slats, while my manacled hands fit just as neatly into the small space beneath them.
Being cuffed and bound in a chair underneath a desk was probably enough to keep me completely helpless. But true to form, Tracey wasn’t done, so she didn’t push my chair in. As I adjusted myself into my familiar seat, I heard her opening my closet, then rifling through my gym bag. What was she looking for?
I soon found out. Breathing heavily, Tracey approached with a familiar shade of crimson in her hands — my bathrobe sash. Employing her trusty figure-eight truss, she looped the sash around and between my thighs, just above my knees.
After cinching the turns tight and knotting them beneath my thighs, Tracey ran the loose ends under the chair and lashed them securely to the rungs underneath. Still working under my chair, she grabbed the loose end of my ankle bonds, yanked my feet under the chair and tied them fast to the same rung.
If I was flummoxed by the idea of my own clothing being used to bind me, I was blown away by what Tracey did next. Peering over my shoulder, I saw that Tracey had found the seven-foot length of blue rubber tubing I kept in my gym bag for stretching and exercising.
She doubled it onto itself to find its center point, placed it behind my neck, then ran each half over my shoulders, under my arms and between the slats, where she cinched and knotted them together.
There was still a lot of tubing left. Taking the ends, she swiftly looped them over my arms, ran them around the front of my body, under my breasts and back through the slats, where she cinched and knotted them together again.
“Mmmfff…mmmfff!” I grunted as she cinched and tied each loop. She relentlessly tightened the tube around my body, pressing my arms firmly into my sides and my back into the slats, and bolstering my breasts up in front. At one point I looked down and saw that my top button had come undone, exposing my cleavage.
She repeated this process several times, making a loop over my arms, then a loop under my arms until I felt like I was woven to the chair back. But she still wasn’t done. I swiveled my head around as she opened one of my dresser drawers, and heard a soft clinking sound as she knelt behind the chair.
My mind and body were roiling with contradictory feelings: dumb shock at the totality of my bonds, lambent arousal from Tracey’s manhandling and tenderness, and gratitude from her relentless and stern attention.
I felt a rough texture — likely my wide, black canvas web belt — touch the back of my hand. Whatever it was, Tracey was looping it over the handcuff hinge and slowly pulling my cuffed hands toward the back of the chair.
It wasn’t a very long belt, but it would probably reach the rear rung beneath the chair, I thought vaguely. Tracey cinched it tight and buckled it, further immobilizing my hands — and proving me right.
She pushed the chair — and me, its tautly-bound cargo — under the desk. She brought my cell phone over to the desk and plugged it into a nearby outlet. She used one of my engineering textbooks to prop the phone upright between the desk surface and the wall, so I could easily see the screen.
Then she turned out the light and shut the door, leaving me trussed to my chair in the dark. The doorbell rang less than a minute later, and I heard Tracey let someone in. I didn’t know who it was, but based on the voices and gales of laughter coming from Tracey’s room, I guessed it was a female — another woman.
Thank God for schoolwork — and Tracey’s cell phone.
When it rang she was up in a flash to answer it, ripping her hand out of my thong so quickly that it snapped like a rubber band against my butt. She bounced off the bed, and put her earphones in. It was likely one of her project partners.
“Hey there, what’s up?” she said, sitting down at her laptop and sticking her phone in her back pocket. “Ok, hang on, lemme just see here.”
I was hanging on too, because I was embarrassed to climax in front of Tracey, especially while she was speaking with somebody else. So when her phone rang, I automatically stopped moving, tensed up, and went into hold-off mode.
I’d learned how to masturbate before college, so I knew how to arrest my pleasure and make my excitement go away entirely if my solitude was about to be disturbed. Under normal circumstances, I’d simply get up and walk around, have a glass of water, or find some other distraction.
But none of that was possible, since Tracey had me handcuffed and tied to her bed frame. And if I moved just a little, the sweet squeeze of my wrist and ankle restraints, along with the thong holding me close below, tempted me back toward the edge.
Mental discipline was the sole power remaining to me, so I focused on my breathing, — like I’d been taught in yoga class — and relied on guided imagery. It wasn’t easy with Tracey still conversing on the phone, and it didn’t exactly feel great.
But as my respiration slowed, I imagined a ball on the end of a rope, swinging back and fourth. It’s sway was the cycle of my breathing, and in my mind I became that ball, incrementally losing momentum, winding down to a semi-aroused state until I was confident enough to open my eyes.
There was Tracey, sitting at her desk, yammering away and doing schoolwork. And again, she was behaving as if I wasn’t in her room, right here with her — handcuffed, gagged, and lashed to her bed. I felt vulnerable and confused all over again, so I buried my face in Tracey’s pillow. Just moments ago I’d been in thrall to my arousal — now I was agitated by questions.
How did Tracey feel about me? Did she just want to keep me prisoner, or had she been teasing me with my thong? Did she know I’d been teasing myself, with her lying right there next to me? No, I told myself, don’t think about these things right now!
But when I lifted my head I found Tracey looking at me. Though she was still on the phone, she smiled and gave me a big wave, like she was greeting me at the airport. I flapped one of my cuffed hands back and fourth in response, and Tracey covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.
I sighed deeply and closed my eyes again. We’re ok, I thought. She doesn’t know how turned on I’d been, or if she does know, she doesn’t hate me for it. I eased back into the comfort of my bonds again, leisurely wondering what else Tracey might have in store for me.
I still felt a slight sting where the thong had slapped my butt. I’d worn them on impulse, thinking they’d tempt Tracey into spanking me. Well, I’d gotten a little spank anyway, I thought, smiling as much as my gag would allow. Of course, I’d also received something different, and way bigger, than I’d bargained for.
But I really wanted to know what Tracey liked…what else was she into, what else could I do for her? Was it enough just let her tie me up like this?
All at once the sound of her voice changed as she stood up and wandered to the foot of the bed. I felt something pulling at my ankles…what the heck was going on?
“No, just listen,” Tracey was saying over the phone. “Do you have the spreadsheet open? OK, select the range you want to sort…”
She was trying to explain that Excel trick I’d taught her. But what was that tugging? I craned my neck around, and in the corner of eye I saw her absent-mindedly strumming the taut sash that bound my ankles to the bed frame.
“The range…you know the group of cells for sorting…”
Like her ability to cuff me swiftly, this mild man-handling demonstrated Tracey’s absolute control, which threatened to stir me up again. As if to balance out that rough treatment, Tracey began to massage the backs of calves through my pajamas.
“Now select ‘data’ and ‘sort,’” she was saying. “Take your time.”
She walked to the head of the bed and began to lightly knead my shoulders with her fingertips.
“It didn’t work? Well, just come on over so I can show you.”
Oh. My. God. I froze up again as I realized that she’d invited one of her study partners to our apartment. Was she going to free me before that, or keep me captive to impress her CJ friend? I tried to turn over, but Tracey grabbed the handcuff hinge and gave it quick yank to still me.
“Five minutes? Beautiful, seeya then!”
I broke out in a cold sweat, but Tracey was already untying my ankles from the bed frame. Leaving them bound together, she used the free end of the sash to spin me around so my torso was lying perpendicular on the bed, and my toes were touching the floor.
Then she grabbed me around the waist and pulled me to my feet. Hugging me tightly to steady me, she spoke into my ear.
“Listen, we haven’t got much time,” she whispered mischievously. “Theresa’s coming over so I can fix her part of the project. Meanwhile, I’m going to tuck you away somewhere nice and cozy…k?”
Now what did she mean by that? “Mum-mum mum-mum?!” I murmured futilely, but Tracey was busy looping the loose end of the sash around my leg so it wouldn’t trip me. She stood up and squeezed my bicep, urging me to hop toward the door.
I had less balance with my hands cuffed in the stacked position, so I bent my legs to lower my center of gravity, which taxed my leg muscles more. Six and a half hops brought me to the door, and Tracey’s mirror again. I saw that my gag consisted of rolled-up white socks inside one of her black knee-highs. She’d tied the ends of the stocking behind my neck, then tied its mate over the top of it.
I leaned against the door jamb, breathing heavily though my nose. My shoulders ached from holding my cuffed hands in the stacked position, my legs were tired from hopping, and my ankles throbbed from the sash binding them tightly together. Mercifully, Tracey lifted up on the handcuff hinge to relieve the stress on my shoulders.
“We just have a little way to go, Moogie,” she said reassuringly. “You can do it.”
Do what? There were several places Tracey could “tuck” me away if she wanted to — and make no mistake, she could do what she wanted with me. There was the back mud room off the kitchen, our landlord’s garage or the hall closet.
And what about her car? What if she bundled me up in her back seat, or her trunk? Tracey’s cheerful voice crashed into my growing anxiety.
“OK Moogie, let’s go!” she said, squeezing my arm and steering me into the kitchen and the hallway leading to the living room.
So the mud room and garage were out, I thought as I hopped. That left the hall closet, which was tiny, or her car. I psyched myself up for a walk outside — or possibly a hop outside — while cuffed in my pajamas.
One. Two. Three. My slippers clapped loudly on the kitchen floor. I dared to straighten up and stretch for a second before hopping into the narrow hallway. Thinking ahead, Tracey darted in front of me so she could guide me from the front.
Two hops more and I was in the darkened hallway, between the bathroom and my room. I paused to adjust to the dimness, but Tracey turned on my room light, grabbed my shoulders, twisted me to the right, seized my arm and began urging me inside.
Of course, this made perfect sense…why had I been so suspicious of her? Flooded with new energy born of relief, I hopped into my room, looking forward to Tracey hiding me away there.
My room mirrored Tracy’s room in terms of size, furniture and arrangement. We both had single beds and desks with stout, metal straight-back chairs. My closet was too cluttered to accommodate my bound form, so I expected that she’d truss me face down on the bed, like she’d done in her room.
However, she stopped me in the center of the room and began to look around feverishly. Then a light seemed to go on in her mind. She grabbed my backpack off my desk chair, tossed it on the bed and had me hop to the desk.
The chair…was Tracey going to tie me to that? It wasn’t as nice as my soft bed, but it was way better than the other “cozy” places that I’d imagined she might imprison me.
But then she shoved me roughly against the desk, crashing my expectations of kind treatment. I felt the solidly bound column of my legs pressed warmly on either side, and I realized she was straddling me.
She slowly and firmly pressed the matching warmth of her pelvis against me from behind, pinning me to the desk. I felt the rough material of her jeans on my flannel-clad fanny, and her legs squeezing my thighs together for good measure.
If that wasn’t enough, she grabbed the hinge of the handcuffs and slowly lifted them, forcing me to bend over, pushing my gagged face onto my desktop. She unlocked my right hand, twisted it into the reliable, stringent palms-out position, and re-cuffed it to my other hand in the small of my back.
I grunted and mewed uselessly through my gag with Tracey’s every move. Her coarse treatment of me sent ripples of pain and bliss throughout my body, warming my loins anew. My entire being seemed devoted to torment and pleasure at her hands.
With her legs and hips holding me firmly in this oddly intimate position, Tracey lingered for a few moments. She ran her fingers across my shoulder blades while she gripped the handcuff hinge with her other hand.
I’d looked at a few rough lesbian sex scenes online, but now I seemed to be in one. Was Tracey…one of those women?! Was I? Had she cultivated my dreams of captivity just to lure me into this moment, where I was fixed and helpless in the grip of her bonds and body? Did she really want me in that way, and did I feel the same?
As I spun into an emotional ecstacy of mystery and helplessness, Tracey grabbed my collar, pulled me into a standing position, lifted me by my waist and sat me down in the chair.
Though I missed Tracey’s touch, sitting allowed me to recover somewhat. The seat was padded and the chair back was composed of vertical slats. My arms fit neatly into the slats, while my manacled hands fit just as neatly into the small space beneath them.
Being cuffed and bound in a chair underneath a desk was probably enough to keep me completely helpless. But true to form, Tracey wasn’t done, so she didn’t push my chair in. As I adjusted myself into my familiar seat, I heard her opening my closet, then rifling through my gym bag. What was she looking for?
I soon found out. Breathing heavily, Tracey approached with a familiar shade of crimson in her hands — my bathrobe sash. Employing her trusty figure-eight truss, she looped the sash around and between my thighs, just above my knees.
After cinching the turns tight and knotting them beneath my thighs, Tracey ran the loose ends under the chair and lashed them securely to the rungs underneath. Still working under my chair, she grabbed the loose end of my ankle bonds, yanked my feet under the chair and tied them fast to the same rung.
If I was flummoxed by the idea of my own clothing being used to bind me, I was blown away by what Tracey did next. Peering over my shoulder, I saw that Tracey had found the seven-foot length of blue rubber tubing I kept in my gym bag for stretching and exercising.
She doubled it onto itself to find its center point, placed it behind my neck, then ran each half over my shoulders, under my arms and between the slats, where she cinched and knotted them together.
There was still a lot of tubing left. Taking the ends, she swiftly looped them over my arms, ran them around the front of my body, under my breasts and back through the slats, where she cinched and knotted them together again.
“Mmmfff…mmmfff!” I grunted as she cinched and tied each loop. She relentlessly tightened the tube around my body, pressing my arms firmly into my sides and my back into the slats, and bolstering my breasts up in front. At one point I looked down and saw that my top button had come undone, exposing my cleavage.
She repeated this process several times, making a loop over my arms, then a loop under my arms until I felt like I was woven to the chair back. But she still wasn’t done. I swiveled my head around as she opened one of my dresser drawers, and heard a soft clinking sound as she knelt behind the chair.
My mind and body were roiling with contradictory feelings: dumb shock at the totality of my bonds, lambent arousal from Tracey’s manhandling and tenderness, and gratitude from her relentless and stern attention.
I felt a rough texture — likely my wide, black canvas web belt — touch the back of my hand. Whatever it was, Tracey was looping it over the handcuff hinge and slowly pulling my cuffed hands toward the back of the chair.
It wasn’t a very long belt, but it would probably reach the rear rung beneath the chair, I thought vaguely. Tracey cinched it tight and buckled it, further immobilizing my hands — and proving me right.
She pushed the chair — and me, its tautly-bound cargo — under the desk. She brought my cell phone over to the desk and plugged it into a nearby outlet. She used one of my engineering textbooks to prop the phone upright between the desk surface and the wall, so I could easily see the screen.
Then she turned out the light and shut the door, leaving me trussed to my chair in the dark. The doorbell rang less than a minute later, and I heard Tracey let someone in. I didn’t know who it was, but based on the voices and gales of laughter coming from Tracey’s room, I guessed it was a female — another woman.
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milagros317
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 211
- Joined: 5 years ago
- Location: New York City
Thank you!
Please continue this lovely tale
This is such a cute story.
Please you need to continue. This is an awsome story!! It be nice to have little torture to spice things up. Like some socks and feet smelling
Will we get to read more of Trace and Moogie? I'd love to hear what happens after Trace's friend leaves? Time to tuck Moogie in for the night? Or end the session?
This just keeps getting better and better. What happens next? Will your sub ever get to top?
A List of my stories:An Unlikely Savior Completed
Spy Task Force Completed
Tale of an Archer Completed
The Bandit Scout on Newhome updated 05/30/23
Part 8
The only light in my room came from the streetlights’ glow. Before it went black, my cell phone screen read 11:42 p.m.
But the hour seemed meaningless. With all the activity and my varying states of captivity throughout the evening, time itself seemed spastic. Each predicament Tracey created gave me more new sensations and feelings to process and adapt to.
This last predicament seemed to be the most diabolical one. I was bound to my desk chair at four points: my feet, thighs, torso and hands. Moreover, Tracey had pulled all the slack from the sash binding my ankles to the chair’s bottom rungs; my feet were lifted up under the chair, and only the toes of my slippers touched the floor.
The bindings both restrained my body and embraced it. I felt Tracey’s craft in all the bonds, and they made me miss her already, even though she was just in the next room.
And she’d touched me a lot during the session, in ways that were rough, perfunctory and tender. Her unyielding bonds made me crave more of her touch, but those very same ligatures, paradoxically, imprisoned me within my own physical and emotional longings.
Worse yet, all the movement — her manhandling of me, along with my hopping — had twisted my thong into a stout rope. Cinched firmly against my clitoris and between the lips of my vagina, this binding in my most intimate parts added to the chorus of cords that were teasing and tormenting me.
But I could barely move my hips, which made it impossible to get myself off by thrusting against the thong. That was lucky for me; I was so aroused by the session that I’d end up having a howling loud orgasm. That sound would bring Tracey and her study partner running into my room, and embarrass me to no end.
It was bad enough that I heard myself moaning softly whenever I happened to shift in the chair. So I distracted myself by pondering the practical and emotional aspects of the session, my relationship with Tracey, and our play. Thankfully, this focus banked the fires of my lust into a comforting background glow.
And it was a lot to think about. First off, I felt like I was getting a crash course in my own sexuality; I would’ve never predicated, for example, that I’d want a spanking — much less from a woman, while tied up.
A woman…then there was that. An entire world had been opened up for me. I loved being Tracey’s captive, but when she bent me over the desk and pressed up against me, I realized that I’d definitely love it if she…well, took me in that way — all the way.
Maybe not exactly in that way, I thought, even though it had felt good to have her pressing her hips into my helpless form. Besides, did she even own “toys” other than handcuffs? Had she ever been with a woman before? Did Tracey know what to do, or had her imagination and spontaneity unwittingly led us to that mock doggie-style position?
That was another intriguing, and downright charming, possibility. Despite her expert control and captivity of me, perhaps Tracey might be as ignorant as I was. She knew how to tie me, but did she know how to pleasure me, and us? Maybe we were both struggling with the same questions about our sexuality.
Of course, we weren’t exactly virgins. As friends, Tracey and I had shared boyfriend and dating stories. I’d officially lost my virginity to George, one of my fellow geeks in the high school science club. George and I were young and inexperienced, so our brief session of lovemaking — if you could call it that — was unremarkable.
Since then, I’d experienced nothing more than a few alcohol-fueled make-out sessions with some college boys, and I’m sure the same was true for Tracey. But up until now, neither of us had shown any desire to be with a woman.
For me, it wasn’t a general desire; my want — emotionally and physically — was focused wholly on Tracey, and only Tracey.
Which led me back to the same old question, the one I’d asked myself at every stage of my captivity during the session, the one that always cranked my being into intoxicating suspense and desire: what would Tracey do to me next? She’d been upping the game throughout our play…would it end with me becoming her lover, along with her prisoner?
I hoped so, and it certainly beat the other possibilities (or fantasies?) that were rocking my imagination…such as Tracey’s study partner, a virtual stranger to me. Sitting there, bound helpless in the shadows of my room, I couldn’t help hearing their muted voices next door, and that made me anxious.
Was Tracey’s study partner gay or bisexual, and part of Tracey’s plans for me? Or was Tracey going to show me off to her, just for fun? Would the two of them double-team me, spank me, humiliate me, tickle me, torture me, or worse?
I moved slightly as I wrestled with these thoughts, and by sheer coincidence, my right slipper came free from my heel, exposing the bottom of my very vulnerable and ticklish foot.
Then again, the two of them could easily lift the chair, carry me into the living room, and keep me there, a prisoner, while they watched TV or partied. Or they could sit me in front of the living room window, on display for the cars and passersby to stare and gawk at.
After a time I noticed they’d gone quiet, and that made me even more nervous…they could be over there, scheming against me, I thought. I impulsively struggled against my bindings for an instant, then stopped for fear of arousing myself further.
I wanted Tracey, I decided, but I’d feel betrayed if she exposed me as her prisoner — even if that scenario made me hot. On the strength of my resolve, I willed myself to breathe deep and relax.
A few moments later my cell phone screen lit up, temporarily blinding me. I squinted against the harsh light until my eyes adjusted, then read the following text message — from Tracey, right next door!
“how u doin?
”
I felt a sudden pang in my heart, which then grew into waves of longing that rolled to every corner of tautly-bound body, including my thong-constricted loins. I loved it when she acted casual, as if I wasn’t her prisoner, just one room over. “Mmmm…” I moaned quietly, then shut my eyelids tightly until my cell phone screen went black again.
A few minutes passed, then her next text lit up the room like a silent supernova.
“hold on tight, we almost done!
"
Then after the screen had been dark for a few minutes:
“’tight’, ha-ha!
"
I suddenly realized that Tracey knew or had guessed my cell phone settings, and she was timing her texts to arrive when my eyes had adjusted to the darkness again. God, I was having a hard enough keeping my cool without her teasing me that way! Thanks to our wifi connection and cell phone towers, she was still asserting her control.
I shut my eyes and averted my face — as much my bonds allowed — from my cell phone. Impossibly taut bindings, I marveled, and perfectly-timed texts! And to think I was the one, not Tracey, who was studying engineering!
Her next text message made me break out into a cold sweat:
“don’t freak out, i’m coming over ”
My heart sank as I heard her bedroom door open, followed by footsteps. I flushed with embarrassment, and braced for the feelings of hurt I knew would follow.
Then the bathroom door slammed. “What now?” I thought.
Suddenly a sliver of light pierced the gloom. My eyes, adjusted to the light from the last text, caught sight of Tracey’s tall profile stealthily moving through my doorway. Then all was black again, and I heard her creeping up behind me.
Of course…she’d texted “I’m coming over,” meaning only her. Relief flooded my being as I felt her head on my shoulder, her warm arms gently enfolding me, and her mouth at my ear.
“Don’t worry, this is still our little secret,” she whispered. “But I just couldn’t resist coming to see you.”
Then she hugged me fiercely, joining her strong embrace to the press of her bonds. She kissed my cheek lightly and whispered again.
“Theresa’s almost done. I’m going to check her work and get her on her way.”
With that, she slipped out of the room. Soon I heard the toilet flush and her footsteps returning to her room. Her feint was complete, and as if to confirm her ruse had worked, she texted again:
“Still Our Little Secret = S.O.L.S.!!!!
"
Then a few minutes later, more reassurance:
“SOLS! SOLS! SOLS! ”
Now came a series of heart pangs, followed by a single, grateful tear rolling down my cheek. The droplet traveled over the still-moist spot where Tracey had kissed me, then down my face, to be absorbed by the fabric of the gag.
Sometimes the universe seemed complete, and perfect.
The only light in my room came from the streetlights’ glow. Before it went black, my cell phone screen read 11:42 p.m.
But the hour seemed meaningless. With all the activity and my varying states of captivity throughout the evening, time itself seemed spastic. Each predicament Tracey created gave me more new sensations and feelings to process and adapt to.
This last predicament seemed to be the most diabolical one. I was bound to my desk chair at four points: my feet, thighs, torso and hands. Moreover, Tracey had pulled all the slack from the sash binding my ankles to the chair’s bottom rungs; my feet were lifted up under the chair, and only the toes of my slippers touched the floor.
The bindings both restrained my body and embraced it. I felt Tracey’s craft in all the bonds, and they made me miss her already, even though she was just in the next room.
And she’d touched me a lot during the session, in ways that were rough, perfunctory and tender. Her unyielding bonds made me crave more of her touch, but those very same ligatures, paradoxically, imprisoned me within my own physical and emotional longings.
Worse yet, all the movement — her manhandling of me, along with my hopping — had twisted my thong into a stout rope. Cinched firmly against my clitoris and between the lips of my vagina, this binding in my most intimate parts added to the chorus of cords that were teasing and tormenting me.
But I could barely move my hips, which made it impossible to get myself off by thrusting against the thong. That was lucky for me; I was so aroused by the session that I’d end up having a howling loud orgasm. That sound would bring Tracey and her study partner running into my room, and embarrass me to no end.
It was bad enough that I heard myself moaning softly whenever I happened to shift in the chair. So I distracted myself by pondering the practical and emotional aspects of the session, my relationship with Tracey, and our play. Thankfully, this focus banked the fires of my lust into a comforting background glow.
And it was a lot to think about. First off, I felt like I was getting a crash course in my own sexuality; I would’ve never predicated, for example, that I’d want a spanking — much less from a woman, while tied up.
A woman…then there was that. An entire world had been opened up for me. I loved being Tracey’s captive, but when she bent me over the desk and pressed up against me, I realized that I’d definitely love it if she…well, took me in that way — all the way.
Maybe not exactly in that way, I thought, even though it had felt good to have her pressing her hips into my helpless form. Besides, did she even own “toys” other than handcuffs? Had she ever been with a woman before? Did Tracey know what to do, or had her imagination and spontaneity unwittingly led us to that mock doggie-style position?
That was another intriguing, and downright charming, possibility. Despite her expert control and captivity of me, perhaps Tracey might be as ignorant as I was. She knew how to tie me, but did she know how to pleasure me, and us? Maybe we were both struggling with the same questions about our sexuality.
Of course, we weren’t exactly virgins. As friends, Tracey and I had shared boyfriend and dating stories. I’d officially lost my virginity to George, one of my fellow geeks in the high school science club. George and I were young and inexperienced, so our brief session of lovemaking — if you could call it that — was unremarkable.
Since then, I’d experienced nothing more than a few alcohol-fueled make-out sessions with some college boys, and I’m sure the same was true for Tracey. But up until now, neither of us had shown any desire to be with a woman.
For me, it wasn’t a general desire; my want — emotionally and physically — was focused wholly on Tracey, and only Tracey.
Which led me back to the same old question, the one I’d asked myself at every stage of my captivity during the session, the one that always cranked my being into intoxicating suspense and desire: what would Tracey do to me next? She’d been upping the game throughout our play…would it end with me becoming her lover, along with her prisoner?
I hoped so, and it certainly beat the other possibilities (or fantasies?) that were rocking my imagination…such as Tracey’s study partner, a virtual stranger to me. Sitting there, bound helpless in the shadows of my room, I couldn’t help hearing their muted voices next door, and that made me anxious.
Was Tracey’s study partner gay or bisexual, and part of Tracey’s plans for me? Or was Tracey going to show me off to her, just for fun? Would the two of them double-team me, spank me, humiliate me, tickle me, torture me, or worse?
I moved slightly as I wrestled with these thoughts, and by sheer coincidence, my right slipper came free from my heel, exposing the bottom of my very vulnerable and ticklish foot.
Then again, the two of them could easily lift the chair, carry me into the living room, and keep me there, a prisoner, while they watched TV or partied. Or they could sit me in front of the living room window, on display for the cars and passersby to stare and gawk at.
After a time I noticed they’d gone quiet, and that made me even more nervous…they could be over there, scheming against me, I thought. I impulsively struggled against my bindings for an instant, then stopped for fear of arousing myself further.
I wanted Tracey, I decided, but I’d feel betrayed if she exposed me as her prisoner — even if that scenario made me hot. On the strength of my resolve, I willed myself to breathe deep and relax.
A few moments later my cell phone screen lit up, temporarily blinding me. I squinted against the harsh light until my eyes adjusted, then read the following text message — from Tracey, right next door!
“how u doin?
”I felt a sudden pang in my heart, which then grew into waves of longing that rolled to every corner of tautly-bound body, including my thong-constricted loins. I loved it when she acted casual, as if I wasn’t her prisoner, just one room over. “Mmmm…” I moaned quietly, then shut my eyelids tightly until my cell phone screen went black again.
A few minutes passed, then her next text lit up the room like a silent supernova.
“hold on tight, we almost done!
"Then after the screen had been dark for a few minutes:
“’tight’, ha-ha!
"I suddenly realized that Tracey knew or had guessed my cell phone settings, and she was timing her texts to arrive when my eyes had adjusted to the darkness again. God, I was having a hard enough keeping my cool without her teasing me that way! Thanks to our wifi connection and cell phone towers, she was still asserting her control.
I shut my eyes and averted my face — as much my bonds allowed — from my cell phone. Impossibly taut bindings, I marveled, and perfectly-timed texts! And to think I was the one, not Tracey, who was studying engineering!
Her next text message made me break out into a cold sweat:
“don’t freak out, i’m coming over
”My heart sank as I heard her bedroom door open, followed by footsteps. I flushed with embarrassment, and braced for the feelings of hurt I knew would follow.
Then the bathroom door slammed. “What now?” I thought.
Suddenly a sliver of light pierced the gloom. My eyes, adjusted to the light from the last text, caught sight of Tracey’s tall profile stealthily moving through my doorway. Then all was black again, and I heard her creeping up behind me.
Of course…she’d texted “I’m coming over,” meaning only her. Relief flooded my being as I felt her head on my shoulder, her warm arms gently enfolding me, and her mouth at my ear.
“Don’t worry, this is still our little secret,” she whispered. “But I just couldn’t resist coming to see you.”
Then she hugged me fiercely, joining her strong embrace to the press of her bonds. She kissed my cheek lightly and whispered again.
“Theresa’s almost done. I’m going to check her work and get her on her way.”
With that, she slipped out of the room. Soon I heard the toilet flush and her footsteps returning to her room. Her feint was complete, and as if to confirm her ruse had worked, she texted again:
“Still Our Little Secret = S.O.L.S.!!!!
"Then a few minutes later, more reassurance:
“SOLS!
SOLS! SOLS! ”Now came a series of heart pangs, followed by a single, grateful tear rolling down my cheek. The droplet traveled over the still-moist spot where Tracey had kissed me, then down my face, to be absorbed by the fabric of the gag.
Sometimes the universe seemed complete, and perfect.
Last edited by Proteus75 3 years ago, edited 1 time in total.
That... was worth waiting for and then some! How the bleep do you do that - in a chapter where essentially nothing happens, you still manage to move the story along, ratchet up the tension and emotion (surely we've reached the top of the scale by now?) AND leave us with yet another cliffhanger?
In other words, once again, great addition to a great story. Looking forward to the next part.
In other words, once again, great addition to a great story. Looking forward to the next part.
Glad you liked it, thanks again!NotSeen wrote: ↑3 years ago That... was worth waiting for and then some! How the bleep do you do that - in a chapter where essentially nothing happens, you still manage to move the story along, ratchet up the tension and emotion (surely we've reached the top of the scale by now?) AND leave us with yet another cliffhanger?
In other words, once again, great addition to a great story. Looking forward to the next part.
-
slackywacky
- Millennial Club
- Posts: 2651
- Joined: 5 years ago
- Location: Canada
> Sometimes the universe seemed complete, and perfect.
Yep, and then it throws a curve ball and things go topsy turvy.
Great story, thank you! Will there be more?
Yep, and then it throws a curve ball and things go topsy turvy.
Great story, thank you! Will there be more?
Thanks for reading. Feel free to comment.
Slackywacky, also @DeviantArt
My active stories:
Slackywacky, also @DeviantArt
My active stories:
- All in the family - Updated 22/05
- Bondage model by choice - Updated 21/05
- Hitchhiker - Updated 11/05
Yes! Thank you. Part 9 will be up soon.slackywacky wrote: ↑3 years ago > Sometimes the universe seemed complete, and perfect.
Yep, and then it throws a curve ball and things go topsy turvy.
Great story, thank you! Will there be more?
Part 9
As I’d hoped, the session turned into my first night with Tracey — as something more than just her willing prisoner. Moreover, it was clear that she’d upped the game — but on herself, most of all.
I didn’t see it at first. Bound to my desk chair, I was getting impatient for Tracey to return. I’d heard her sneak down the hall with her study partner, but they seemed to hang out forever by the front door, chatting about school or whatever.
Of course, that added guilt to my already overloaded emotions. Tracey had done so much for me already…who was I to get irked at her, at this late hour? So I settled in to wait, squirming a bit in my lashings to refresh my sublime feelings of captivity.
I was so into myself that I jumped when Tracey re-entered my room and hit the lights. Blinded for a few seconds, I simply listened as she walked over, pulled the chair and me out from under the desk, and turned me so I was facing my bed.
But something was amiss. She just sat down on my bed, reclined on her elbows and stared at me. Restless, she leaned forward, put her forearms on her knees and clasped her hands together. She looked down at the floor and up again — staring at me with an earnest expression, her eyes wide, her jaw set awkwardly.
What was wrong with her? At best, she seemed confused or conflicted; at worst, she seemed lost — like she was before she’d declared her major. I worried that she’d free me and end the session, then felt more guilt for being so selfish.
Our playing aside, Tracey was my roommate, my best college friend, and someone I deeply cared for. I started feeling sorry for her again, but what could I do? She had me trussed up, cuffed and gagged; I could hardly move, much less speak to her. I began to hope she’d end the session, so we could talk — for her own good.
Suddenly she let out an exasperated huff, stood up and strode over to me with a pointed, determined look on her face. Fearing her frustration, I flinched a little. But she bent down, threw her arms around my neck and shoulders and gave me another fierce embrace.
She held me in this almost suffocating bear hug for long moments before she let go, knelt down before my knees, squeezed my calves and — amazingly — put her head in my lap.
I barely had time to comprehend this strange change before she looked up, seized me with her wide, world-encompassing grin, and began to gently squeeze the tops of my thighs.
I felt a sudden rush; this was not a therapeutic rubdown like before. Whatever was bothering her had passed, and I was literally in the hands of the old Tracey again.
“Mmmmm…mmmmmm…” I moaned as her strong fingers massaged their way up my thighs, toward my belly and nether regions. Carried away by my sharply mounting desire, I thoughtlessly tried to spread my legs — but was swiftly arrested by the taut tethers Tracey had bound me with.
Tracey noticed this and smiled more broadly, obviously thriving on her absolute mastery over me. I was thriving on it on too, so much so that I moaned louder and closed my eyes.
As her hands reached my upper thighs, her thumbs conveniently drifted between them and lightly grazed my mons. Then she lifted my shirt, gripped my hips and planted a big wet kiss on my tummy.
Suddenly she was up again. I opened my eyes and saw her standing over me, holding the bandage that she’d gagged me with earlier.
“Remember this?” she said with a smile. Before I could nod she stretched it out between her hands near my forehead. I instinctively closed my eyelids just before Tracey pressed the bandage over them and started winding it around my head as a blindfold.
With each layer I felt more deeply submerged in darkness and helplessness. Meanwhile, the power of my other senses seemed to increase exponentially — filling the void with the aroma of Tracey’s shampoo and cologne, the sound of her breath, and the occasional flick of her fingers on my temples and hair.
She knotted the blindfold over my French braid, and I felt her pulling at the flexible rubber tubing that secured me to the back of the chair. Was she untying me, or was she just checking her knots?
Abruptly she tugged harder at different spots on the tubing, yanking it away from my torso and allowing it to snap cruelly back into my body. She started using both hands, inflicting pricks upon my skin in a fast, relentless rhythm.
“Urph! Urph! Urph!” came my muffled cries as I jerked and danced around, futilely trying to avoid the stinging pain of the snaps all over my belly, sides and breasts. Tracey was like a musician, and I was her instrument, whose only purpose was to sound out in torment as her bonds held me fast to the chair.
But just as suddenly, like a wave breaking in the midst of my throes, came Tracey’s tenderness. She began to massage my sides and stomach, easing my hurt while lovingly stroking the small folds of flesh her stringent bonds had raised.
Despite my desire to stay tied, I now wanted to fondle Tracey back in some way. I found myself leaning forward against my lashings, pressing my thighs together, flexing my cuffed hands and shifting my bound feet. My slippers fell off under the chair, and I began to rub my feet together and curl my toes in pleasure.
While I struggled, Tracey’s moves were slow, sure and arousing. Her hands naturally roved up my ribcage until they were almost cupping my breasts. As her hands left my body, her fingertips lightly brushed my nipples, which became rock-hard in response.
Murmuring helplessly, I began to knead my gag with my mouth. While I still yearned for Tracy’s touch, my lips and tongue ached to reciprocate as well; I wanted to French kiss Tracey, lick her nipples, lick her all over.
“Even…down there?” I wondered. My thoughts were flying so fast that I had no answer right then…but I did know that being Tracey’s prisoner, her project, had changed me for the better, and — paradoxically — empowered me to do things I’d never considered before.
But as usual, she was way ahead of me, at another one of my many vulnerable spots — my exposed feet. While I was dreaming away in full lust mode, longing to lave Tracey’s lithe frame with my eager tongue, she’d dropped to her knees behind my chair and pulled off my socks.
Cool air, the first sensation from that remote region of my body, rocketed straight to my brain and presaged the tickling to come. I’d felt Tracey’s fingernails in her earlier caresses, so I curled my toes and feet — defensively this time — in anticipation of her delicate, deliberate and torturous treatment.
“ARPHHHH!” my whole body reacted almost violently as she tickled my toes and soles, and I bucked and slammed against my bonds as if I’d been electrified. I flashed on an image of nerve endings, red and branch-like under the skin, and Tracey’s nimble fingers gaily dancing around on them.
Mercifully, Tracey relented and tickled my sides instead. I wiggled and giggled now, joyfully accepting this punishment, catching my breath and recovering somewhat from the previous agony.
She stopped, and I heard a rustling that I took to be her standing up. She stroked my cheek with the backs of her fingers, then did the same with the nape of my neck, just above the knot of the gag. Sweet, agonizing trills shot up and down my bound body as she withdrew her touch.
The moments of silence that followed were palpable. “What now,” I wondered.
Suddenly her soft warm mouth was on my neck, kissing me, moving up to lightly nibble my earlobe, kiss it, and nibble it again. I felt light and feathery, inside and out. Then her breath was in my ear, her voice hot and hissing, like vapor escaping.
“You…make…me…crazy…” she whispered fervently.
She withdrew again while I thrashed helplessly, hungering for her touch. I tensed as she knelt in front of my chair and pulled at the tubing that bound my torso. As I knew well now, Tracey routinely flipped from tenderness to torture, and vice-versa…was she going to start snapping me again?
But the tubing slackened, and I relaxed as I felt Tracey untying me. While she loosened the tubing, she reached behind me and unbuckled the belt that bound my cuffed hands to the chair.
I heard these ligatures fall to the floor, and then I fell forward, straight into Tracey’s warm, waiting arms. I buried my head in her shoulder as she cradled me and rubbed my back. After a moment she pushed me against the chair back and freed my bound thighs and ankles from the bottom chair rungs.
“Now let’s get your socks and slippers back on,” she said. “We don’t want you getting cold, right?” She gave each of my feet a squeeze before she slipped my socks and slippers back on them.
Then she said the words that I’d begun to cherish, that made my heart sing.
“So, how are you doing, Moogie?”
I almost collapsed into her arms again, I was so enraptured by her. I wanted to be un-blindfolded so I could fix her with my wide, pliant pleading eyes — so she’d take me, abuse me, whatever…just as long as she never let me go.
“Moogie…Moogie…are you good? Are you doing ok?”
Finally, a question I could answer while gagged. I nodded vigorously, and she patted my knee.
“OK, hold tight.” I felt her weaving the tubing between and around my arms again — as she had when she’d bound me to the chair — but affixing them firmly to my torso this time. As always, her strict bindings were a relief to me, and I relished the pinch and security of them on my body.
“Now, can you stand up?”
I faltered a little bit as I stood, but as usual, Tracey held me tight so I wouldn’t fall.
But in that clench, she slipped her hand under my shirt and placed it firmly in the small of my back. As I steadied, her hand roved downward and squeezed my butt cheeks — first one, then the other.
I was still moaning from that when she removed the blindfold. I blinked several times and she faced me toward my dresser mirror.
“You seem to like my handiwork, so I thought I’d let you have a look at it before we continued,” Tracey said.
I did like it. The twists and turns of the blue tubing around my breasts and torso made me look cute…like a plaid Christmas package, I thought. Tracey wrapped her arms around me and smiled at our reflection.
“Moogie…are you smiling too?” Tracey asked. “I can’t tell with you gagged like that.”
I giggled shyly, twisting in her arms so I could see myself in profile. This brought my face close to hers, so I leaned toward it and rubbed noses with her. An innocent, flirty gesture, I thought.
Not to Tracey. She closed her eyes tightly, and I felt her entire body grow suddenly warm, and shudder.
“You…you…” she fairly breathed the words into my ear. I half expected her to start torturing me again; instead she reached down, tightly clutched the fingers of one of my cuffed hands, then interlaced them with her own — like lovers everywhere do.
She sighed, seemed to recover somewhat, and spoke in her usual, bright tone.
“Whew!” she said. “Oh, what you do to me, Moogie! Well, let’s get you back over to my room.”
She squatted, wrapped her arms around my thighs, lifted me over her shoulder, and carried me out my room.
“Uuphh!” she grunted cheerfully. “We’re sure getting our workouts tonight, eh?”
I trusted Tracey so completely now that being muscled around by her seemed absolutely natural — while still being the most exciting thing I’d ever experienced. She gave my ass a hard slap as the apartment floors — my carpet, the hardwood hallway, the yellow faux-tile linoleum, Tracey’s carpet — passed before my bobbing, incredulous eyes.
And thanks to Tracey’s great poise and strength, I felt a gentle descent to earth again. I stood quietly, straight as a pillar, as she pulled back her comforter and sheets.
I caught sight of her clock…1:04 a.m. Did she mean to keep me tied up all night…something I’d almost asked for in our first session? Could I manage it? Well whatever, now I wanted to manage it, come what may, for Tracey’s sake.
In any case, there was no time to worry about it…Tracey was patting a spot in the midway on the edge of her bed, indicating that I should sit there. When I complied, she pulled off my slippers, climbed onto the bed behind me, grasped me around the waist, and pulled me up onto the bed, so that I was lying on my side.
She tucked a pillow under my head, and bounced off the bed to stand before me. She smiled coyly, crossed her arms and pulled off her hoodie to reveal her black tank top underneath. Then she spun around and unbuttoned her jeans.
When they were to down to her knees, I saw the briefest of maroon lace boyshorts clinging to her muscular buns and hips. With a ballerina’s grace she stepped out of her pants, one leg at a time, and tossed them in the corner. Then she bounded to the door, shut it, turned off the lights, trotted back, and slipped into bed behind me.
Tracey began to run her hands up and down my body, then paused. Maybe she understood my bunching problem, because she plucked at the elastic of my pajama pants, and lowered them as far as my thigh bonds would allow.
Then to my great relief, she pulled down my thong as well, freeing my still throbbing mons and clitoris. I breathed deeply, flexed my hips and wiggled my butt toward her, inviting her to do what she wanted to me.
“Not so fast,” she whispered, shifting away. She grabbed me by the hips, rolled me over, arranged the covers and settled my head on the pillow again.
She sank down on the pillow too, so we that were truly face-to-face, our eyes locked intensely together. She stroked my forehead and jaw, and then — with what seemed like savage resolve — she pulled my gag out.
Like the first gag, this one had left my mouth dry. But what slaked my thirst this time was our first kiss — strong yet tender, long and forever, like a lush river lapping at, and nourishing, the wild flowers that grow along its banks.
As I’d hoped, the session turned into my first night with Tracey — as something more than just her willing prisoner. Moreover, it was clear that she’d upped the game — but on herself, most of all.
I didn’t see it at first. Bound to my desk chair, I was getting impatient for Tracey to return. I’d heard her sneak down the hall with her study partner, but they seemed to hang out forever by the front door, chatting about school or whatever.
Of course, that added guilt to my already overloaded emotions. Tracey had done so much for me already…who was I to get irked at her, at this late hour? So I settled in to wait, squirming a bit in my lashings to refresh my sublime feelings of captivity.
I was so into myself that I jumped when Tracey re-entered my room and hit the lights. Blinded for a few seconds, I simply listened as she walked over, pulled the chair and me out from under the desk, and turned me so I was facing my bed.
But something was amiss. She just sat down on my bed, reclined on her elbows and stared at me. Restless, she leaned forward, put her forearms on her knees and clasped her hands together. She looked down at the floor and up again — staring at me with an earnest expression, her eyes wide, her jaw set awkwardly.
What was wrong with her? At best, she seemed confused or conflicted; at worst, she seemed lost — like she was before she’d declared her major. I worried that she’d free me and end the session, then felt more guilt for being so selfish.
Our playing aside, Tracey was my roommate, my best college friend, and someone I deeply cared for. I started feeling sorry for her again, but what could I do? She had me trussed up, cuffed and gagged; I could hardly move, much less speak to her. I began to hope she’d end the session, so we could talk — for her own good.
Suddenly she let out an exasperated huff, stood up and strode over to me with a pointed, determined look on her face. Fearing her frustration, I flinched a little. But she bent down, threw her arms around my neck and shoulders and gave me another fierce embrace.
She held me in this almost suffocating bear hug for long moments before she let go, knelt down before my knees, squeezed my calves and — amazingly — put her head in my lap.
I barely had time to comprehend this strange change before she looked up, seized me with her wide, world-encompassing grin, and began to gently squeeze the tops of my thighs.
I felt a sudden rush; this was not a therapeutic rubdown like before. Whatever was bothering her had passed, and I was literally in the hands of the old Tracey again.
“Mmmmm…mmmmmm…” I moaned as her strong fingers massaged their way up my thighs, toward my belly and nether regions. Carried away by my sharply mounting desire, I thoughtlessly tried to spread my legs — but was swiftly arrested by the taut tethers Tracey had bound me with.
Tracey noticed this and smiled more broadly, obviously thriving on her absolute mastery over me. I was thriving on it on too, so much so that I moaned louder and closed my eyes.
As her hands reached my upper thighs, her thumbs conveniently drifted between them and lightly grazed my mons. Then she lifted my shirt, gripped my hips and planted a big wet kiss on my tummy.
Suddenly she was up again. I opened my eyes and saw her standing over me, holding the bandage that she’d gagged me with earlier.
“Remember this?” she said with a smile. Before I could nod she stretched it out between her hands near my forehead. I instinctively closed my eyelids just before Tracey pressed the bandage over them and started winding it around my head as a blindfold.
With each layer I felt more deeply submerged in darkness and helplessness. Meanwhile, the power of my other senses seemed to increase exponentially — filling the void with the aroma of Tracey’s shampoo and cologne, the sound of her breath, and the occasional flick of her fingers on my temples and hair.
She knotted the blindfold over my French braid, and I felt her pulling at the flexible rubber tubing that secured me to the back of the chair. Was she untying me, or was she just checking her knots?
Abruptly she tugged harder at different spots on the tubing, yanking it away from my torso and allowing it to snap cruelly back into my body. She started using both hands, inflicting pricks upon my skin in a fast, relentless rhythm.
“Urph! Urph! Urph!” came my muffled cries as I jerked and danced around, futilely trying to avoid the stinging pain of the snaps all over my belly, sides and breasts. Tracey was like a musician, and I was her instrument, whose only purpose was to sound out in torment as her bonds held me fast to the chair.
But just as suddenly, like a wave breaking in the midst of my throes, came Tracey’s tenderness. She began to massage my sides and stomach, easing my hurt while lovingly stroking the small folds of flesh her stringent bonds had raised.
Despite my desire to stay tied, I now wanted to fondle Tracey back in some way. I found myself leaning forward against my lashings, pressing my thighs together, flexing my cuffed hands and shifting my bound feet. My slippers fell off under the chair, and I began to rub my feet together and curl my toes in pleasure.
While I struggled, Tracey’s moves were slow, sure and arousing. Her hands naturally roved up my ribcage until they were almost cupping my breasts. As her hands left my body, her fingertips lightly brushed my nipples, which became rock-hard in response.
Murmuring helplessly, I began to knead my gag with my mouth. While I still yearned for Tracy’s touch, my lips and tongue ached to reciprocate as well; I wanted to French kiss Tracey, lick her nipples, lick her all over.
“Even…down there?” I wondered. My thoughts were flying so fast that I had no answer right then…but I did know that being Tracey’s prisoner, her project, had changed me for the better, and — paradoxically — empowered me to do things I’d never considered before.
But as usual, she was way ahead of me, at another one of my many vulnerable spots — my exposed feet. While I was dreaming away in full lust mode, longing to lave Tracey’s lithe frame with my eager tongue, she’d dropped to her knees behind my chair and pulled off my socks.
Cool air, the first sensation from that remote region of my body, rocketed straight to my brain and presaged the tickling to come. I’d felt Tracey’s fingernails in her earlier caresses, so I curled my toes and feet — defensively this time — in anticipation of her delicate, deliberate and torturous treatment.
“ARPHHHH!” my whole body reacted almost violently as she tickled my toes and soles, and I bucked and slammed against my bonds as if I’d been electrified. I flashed on an image of nerve endings, red and branch-like under the skin, and Tracey’s nimble fingers gaily dancing around on them.
Mercifully, Tracey relented and tickled my sides instead. I wiggled and giggled now, joyfully accepting this punishment, catching my breath and recovering somewhat from the previous agony.
She stopped, and I heard a rustling that I took to be her standing up. She stroked my cheek with the backs of her fingers, then did the same with the nape of my neck, just above the knot of the gag. Sweet, agonizing trills shot up and down my bound body as she withdrew her touch.
The moments of silence that followed were palpable. “What now,” I wondered.
Suddenly her soft warm mouth was on my neck, kissing me, moving up to lightly nibble my earlobe, kiss it, and nibble it again. I felt light and feathery, inside and out. Then her breath was in my ear, her voice hot and hissing, like vapor escaping.
“You…make…me…crazy…” she whispered fervently.
She withdrew again while I thrashed helplessly, hungering for her touch. I tensed as she knelt in front of my chair and pulled at the tubing that bound my torso. As I knew well now, Tracey routinely flipped from tenderness to torture, and vice-versa…was she going to start snapping me again?
But the tubing slackened, and I relaxed as I felt Tracey untying me. While she loosened the tubing, she reached behind me and unbuckled the belt that bound my cuffed hands to the chair.
I heard these ligatures fall to the floor, and then I fell forward, straight into Tracey’s warm, waiting arms. I buried my head in her shoulder as she cradled me and rubbed my back. After a moment she pushed me against the chair back and freed my bound thighs and ankles from the bottom chair rungs.
“Now let’s get your socks and slippers back on,” she said. “We don’t want you getting cold, right?” She gave each of my feet a squeeze before she slipped my socks and slippers back on them.
Then she said the words that I’d begun to cherish, that made my heart sing.
“So, how are you doing, Moogie?”
I almost collapsed into her arms again, I was so enraptured by her. I wanted to be un-blindfolded so I could fix her with my wide, pliant pleading eyes — so she’d take me, abuse me, whatever…just as long as she never let me go.
“Moogie…Moogie…are you good? Are you doing ok?”
Finally, a question I could answer while gagged. I nodded vigorously, and she patted my knee.
“OK, hold tight.” I felt her weaving the tubing between and around my arms again — as she had when she’d bound me to the chair — but affixing them firmly to my torso this time. As always, her strict bindings were a relief to me, and I relished the pinch and security of them on my body.
“Now, can you stand up?”
I faltered a little bit as I stood, but as usual, Tracey held me tight so I wouldn’t fall.
But in that clench, she slipped her hand under my shirt and placed it firmly in the small of my back. As I steadied, her hand roved downward and squeezed my butt cheeks — first one, then the other.
I was still moaning from that when she removed the blindfold. I blinked several times and she faced me toward my dresser mirror.
“You seem to like my handiwork, so I thought I’d let you have a look at it before we continued,” Tracey said.
I did like it. The twists and turns of the blue tubing around my breasts and torso made me look cute…like a plaid Christmas package, I thought. Tracey wrapped her arms around me and smiled at our reflection.
“Moogie…are you smiling too?” Tracey asked. “I can’t tell with you gagged like that.”
I giggled shyly, twisting in her arms so I could see myself in profile. This brought my face close to hers, so I leaned toward it and rubbed noses with her. An innocent, flirty gesture, I thought.
Not to Tracey. She closed her eyes tightly, and I felt her entire body grow suddenly warm, and shudder.
“You…you…” she fairly breathed the words into my ear. I half expected her to start torturing me again; instead she reached down, tightly clutched the fingers of one of my cuffed hands, then interlaced them with her own — like lovers everywhere do.
She sighed, seemed to recover somewhat, and spoke in her usual, bright tone.
“Whew!” she said. “Oh, what you do to me, Moogie! Well, let’s get you back over to my room.”
She squatted, wrapped her arms around my thighs, lifted me over her shoulder, and carried me out my room.
“Uuphh!” she grunted cheerfully. “We’re sure getting our workouts tonight, eh?”
I trusted Tracey so completely now that being muscled around by her seemed absolutely natural — while still being the most exciting thing I’d ever experienced. She gave my ass a hard slap as the apartment floors — my carpet, the hardwood hallway, the yellow faux-tile linoleum, Tracey’s carpet — passed before my bobbing, incredulous eyes.
And thanks to Tracey’s great poise and strength, I felt a gentle descent to earth again. I stood quietly, straight as a pillar, as she pulled back her comforter and sheets.
I caught sight of her clock…1:04 a.m. Did she mean to keep me tied up all night…something I’d almost asked for in our first session? Could I manage it? Well whatever, now I wanted to manage it, come what may, for Tracey’s sake.
In any case, there was no time to worry about it…Tracey was patting a spot in the midway on the edge of her bed, indicating that I should sit there. When I complied, she pulled off my slippers, climbed onto the bed behind me, grasped me around the waist, and pulled me up onto the bed, so that I was lying on my side.
She tucked a pillow under my head, and bounced off the bed to stand before me. She smiled coyly, crossed her arms and pulled off her hoodie to reveal her black tank top underneath. Then she spun around and unbuttoned her jeans.
When they were to down to her knees, I saw the briefest of maroon lace boyshorts clinging to her muscular buns and hips. With a ballerina’s grace she stepped out of her pants, one leg at a time, and tossed them in the corner. Then she bounded to the door, shut it, turned off the lights, trotted back, and slipped into bed behind me.
Tracey began to run her hands up and down my body, then paused. Maybe she understood my bunching problem, because she plucked at the elastic of my pajama pants, and lowered them as far as my thigh bonds would allow.
Then to my great relief, she pulled down my thong as well, freeing my still throbbing mons and clitoris. I breathed deeply, flexed my hips and wiggled my butt toward her, inviting her to do what she wanted to me.
“Not so fast,” she whispered, shifting away. She grabbed me by the hips, rolled me over, arranged the covers and settled my head on the pillow again.
She sank down on the pillow too, so we that were truly face-to-face, our eyes locked intensely together. She stroked my forehead and jaw, and then — with what seemed like savage resolve — she pulled my gag out.
Like the first gag, this one had left my mouth dry. But what slaked my thirst this time was our first kiss — strong yet tender, long and forever, like a lush river lapping at, and nourishing, the wild flowers that grow along its banks.
The story sure took its sweet time to get there, but get there it did... and I have really, really liked the journey.
Once again, thank you for this lovely story. I've long since run out of superlatives to describe this, so I'll just say that I'd love to read more.
Once again, thank you for this lovely story. I've long since run out of superlatives to describe this, so I'll just say that I'd love to read more.
I guess that means it's ok to take one's time -- as long as the time is sweet.
Thanks again for the superlatives and support.
I don’t know if this is finished or you’re working on part 10, but it’s an incredible story and I look forward to whatever you do next.
This is a great story, the dialogue is so natural, the chemistry between Moogie and Tracey feels genuine and believable. Tracey kills it as an unpredictable domme and the slow buildup of Mughda’s feelings for her is pitch-perfect.
Excellent job [mention]Proteus75[/mention], really hope to see more soon!
Excellent job [mention]Proteus75[/mention], really hope to see more soon!
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roguehorseman
- Forum Contributer
- Posts: 39
- Joined: 3 years ago
Tremendous.
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mesecondalt
- Forum Contributer
- Posts: 1
- Joined: 3 years ago
This is so good, I'm put of words
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SinfulSloth
- Forum Contributer
- Posts: 62
- Joined: 3 years ago
- Location: Northeast USA
Wow, how did I miss this little gem, fantastic story! Can't wait for another part