First Experiences – Tied on the Farm [fF/ff]
Posted: Tue Nov 27, 2018 3:05 am
A true account of what got me interested in Tie Up Games
My parents were divorced when I was seven. They were both alcoholics, mom probably worse than dad but I went to live with my mom. Neither were abusive or violent or anything like that, probably just irresponsible and maybe too young when they had me, their only child. I was the proverbial unwanted accident. Even by the time I was six I would hide from them both when they were arguing and would busy myself with books. After dad left, mom seemed to have an endless stream of visitors, often women who she obviously had flings with. She made money to keep the house afloat and survive, and I suppose I was just there and provided I was out of the way and not stopping her doing what she did, she didn’t care.
For my part, I enjoyed my own company and didn’t mind spending time in my room away from her “visitors”. Of course, because of my natural tendencies to hide in my room I suppose I became socially inept. I had few friends at school partly because I didn’t look for them, was considered too smart and therefore to be avoided … “the teacher’s pet”, and all that. It is also true that I was super tiny and looked even younger than I was. The only friends I had were as socially inept as me so I moved in the crowd labelled “to be avoided”. Truthfully, I didn’t mind and amused myself by thinking up practical jokes to play on people and got rather good at it making sure I was never found out. I suppose I was lucky that university forced me to interact with people more and grew out I being of the social moron I was as a teenager.
I would have been about fourteen when my mom wanted to unload me for the summer holidays so she sent me to my father in Herefordshire to stay on a farm. Dad was a mechanic at the farm and somehow, he arranged for me to stay at the farm house while he worked. It was the best holiday I ever spent. The farmer’s wife was a wonderful woman who was always smiling and cooking and made me feel more welcome than I had ever felt in my life. Part of it I suppose was that they actually liked my father and thus they welcomed me with open arms.
But even better was they had a daughter Helen, who was a year younger than me and probably as socially inept as I was. Helen immediately latched on to me as an older sister and truthfully for that summer at least, she was the best friend I ever had. We shared her large bedroom which held two beds and from the very first I found we had the same sense of humour.
On the second day Helen took me on a tour of a nearby wood but the tour was interrupted by heavy rain. We didn’t have coats so Helen led us quickly through the trees and we came out at an old barn just as the rain began pelting down. We weren’t actually too far from the house but neither of us fancied risking the downpour so we started exploring the barn. There was a ladder to the second level where besides a few hay bales there was some thin rope. Helen went over the rope and suggested a game of “tie up”. I asked her what she meant and she said that first of all I should tie her up with the rope and see how long it took to get free and then she would tie me up to see if I could get free.
It seemed like fun and there wasn’t much else to do so laughing and giggling we started to play. I had seen television programs where people occasionally got tied up so I had her place her hands behind her back and wrapped the rope around. Then I did the same with her ankles and left it at that. It turned out she was very good at getting free, first managing to slide her bottom through her wrists bringing her hands back in front of her, then she used her teeth to undo the knot at her wrists. I suppose it only took her a few minutes to get free and I was quite impressed.
But when it was my turn, I felt something rather strange and … well nice … as she tied my wrists behind my back and my ankles together. She actually didn’t tie me up very tight and I had watched how she had gotten free so after a bit of a struggle, which was fun in the hay and using the same technique, I too managed to get free.
It was then her turn again and just as I began to tie her legs, we suddenly heard a voice,
“Helen are you up there?” to which Helen replied “Yes Mummy I am here with Foxies.”
To tell the truth I was slightly worried that Mrs. Ashton might be upset that I was tying up her daughter but Helen certainly wasn’t worried and in fact insisted that I kept on tying her up. Suddenly her mother’s head popped up through the hole in the floor where the ladder was and she laughed and said to me,
“Foxies, if you want to stop her getting free you will have to do better than that!”
She came over to us and explained that Helen was a pro at escaping from knots and that after lunch she would show me how to give Helen more of a challenge but in the meantime, she had brought a couple of plastics Macs out to the barn guessing that we might have taken shelter there from the rain.
So, suitably plastic Mac’d, we trudged back to the farmhouse and over lunch Helen’s mom explained that Helen had been playing “tie up” since she was seven years old when her mom had tied her to a chair for fun for a tickling session. Apparently, she enjoyed it and started begging her mom to tie her up whenever she was bored. Being tied up and trying (and succeeding) to escape was thus one of her hobbies – possibly the strangest hobby I had heard of. I have often wondered about this rather strange story in later years though it didn’t strike me as odd at the time. Perhaps Mrs. Ashton played “tie up” with her husband but I suppose I will never know. In a way I was jealous that Helen’s mom spent time playing with her because my mom certainly never played with me.
Anyway, after lunch Mrs Ashton went with us to Helen’s bedroom where Helen brought out lots of string, rope and material belts and such and I proceeded to get instruction from her Mother in the strange art of tying people up. She showed me how important it is to tie such that circulation isn’t restricted on the limbs, how loose wraps could be made secure with cinches between the wraps and how knots had to be positioned away from fingers and the like. Mrs Ashton also took pains to explain that it was very important not to put the victim in an uncomfortable position since it could become a real torture after a while. It was better for arms and legs to be either straight or at least at natural angles if you wanted to keep the victim secured for a long while without them being in pain. It was all quite technical and I was very intrigued.
Helen displayed her talents at escaping from some quite complex bondage using her small size, extreme flexibility (she took ballet classes too which never interested me) and nimble but strong fingers to undo knots. She could also use her mouth and teeth to undo knots and her Mother later demonstrated how to stop this using simple and safe but effective gags. Mrs Ashton offered to tie me up too and intrigued I gladly accepted. She was very careful and considerate in making sure I was safe and comfortable and I instantly found out that escape was impossible. She stayed supervising our play and I began to love the sensation of being helpless while people I trusted looked after me and kept me safe. I don’t think I had ever had so much attention paid to me in all my life.
Over the next couple of days, Helen’s mom supervised our play together till she was confident that Helen and I wouldn’t harm each other, having initially asked us not to play the game on our own in case there was a problem. But after about a week she relented and from then on, whenever it was raining outside, we would go to Helen’s bedroom and have fun tying each other up. There is no doubt in my mind that both of us much preferred to be in bondage rather than the one tying the other up however even that part was fun.
I think I shall stop here. There is more to this story but I would like to see if anyone is even interested in any of this and what followed.
My parents were divorced when I was seven. They were both alcoholics, mom probably worse than dad but I went to live with my mom. Neither were abusive or violent or anything like that, probably just irresponsible and maybe too young when they had me, their only child. I was the proverbial unwanted accident. Even by the time I was six I would hide from them both when they were arguing and would busy myself with books. After dad left, mom seemed to have an endless stream of visitors, often women who she obviously had flings with. She made money to keep the house afloat and survive, and I suppose I was just there and provided I was out of the way and not stopping her doing what she did, she didn’t care.
For my part, I enjoyed my own company and didn’t mind spending time in my room away from her “visitors”. Of course, because of my natural tendencies to hide in my room I suppose I became socially inept. I had few friends at school partly because I didn’t look for them, was considered too smart and therefore to be avoided … “the teacher’s pet”, and all that. It is also true that I was super tiny and looked even younger than I was. The only friends I had were as socially inept as me so I moved in the crowd labelled “to be avoided”. Truthfully, I didn’t mind and amused myself by thinking up practical jokes to play on people and got rather good at it making sure I was never found out. I suppose I was lucky that university forced me to interact with people more and grew out I being of the social moron I was as a teenager.
I would have been about fourteen when my mom wanted to unload me for the summer holidays so she sent me to my father in Herefordshire to stay on a farm. Dad was a mechanic at the farm and somehow, he arranged for me to stay at the farm house while he worked. It was the best holiday I ever spent. The farmer’s wife was a wonderful woman who was always smiling and cooking and made me feel more welcome than I had ever felt in my life. Part of it I suppose was that they actually liked my father and thus they welcomed me with open arms.
But even better was they had a daughter Helen, who was a year younger than me and probably as socially inept as I was. Helen immediately latched on to me as an older sister and truthfully for that summer at least, she was the best friend I ever had. We shared her large bedroom which held two beds and from the very first I found we had the same sense of humour.
On the second day Helen took me on a tour of a nearby wood but the tour was interrupted by heavy rain. We didn’t have coats so Helen led us quickly through the trees and we came out at an old barn just as the rain began pelting down. We weren’t actually too far from the house but neither of us fancied risking the downpour so we started exploring the barn. There was a ladder to the second level where besides a few hay bales there was some thin rope. Helen went over the rope and suggested a game of “tie up”. I asked her what she meant and she said that first of all I should tie her up with the rope and see how long it took to get free and then she would tie me up to see if I could get free.
It seemed like fun and there wasn’t much else to do so laughing and giggling we started to play. I had seen television programs where people occasionally got tied up so I had her place her hands behind her back and wrapped the rope around. Then I did the same with her ankles and left it at that. It turned out she was very good at getting free, first managing to slide her bottom through her wrists bringing her hands back in front of her, then she used her teeth to undo the knot at her wrists. I suppose it only took her a few minutes to get free and I was quite impressed.
But when it was my turn, I felt something rather strange and … well nice … as she tied my wrists behind my back and my ankles together. She actually didn’t tie me up very tight and I had watched how she had gotten free so after a bit of a struggle, which was fun in the hay and using the same technique, I too managed to get free.
It was then her turn again and just as I began to tie her legs, we suddenly heard a voice,
“Helen are you up there?” to which Helen replied “Yes Mummy I am here with Foxies.”
To tell the truth I was slightly worried that Mrs. Ashton might be upset that I was tying up her daughter but Helen certainly wasn’t worried and in fact insisted that I kept on tying her up. Suddenly her mother’s head popped up through the hole in the floor where the ladder was and she laughed and said to me,
“Foxies, if you want to stop her getting free you will have to do better than that!”
She came over to us and explained that Helen was a pro at escaping from knots and that after lunch she would show me how to give Helen more of a challenge but in the meantime, she had brought a couple of plastics Macs out to the barn guessing that we might have taken shelter there from the rain.
So, suitably plastic Mac’d, we trudged back to the farmhouse and over lunch Helen’s mom explained that Helen had been playing “tie up” since she was seven years old when her mom had tied her to a chair for fun for a tickling session. Apparently, she enjoyed it and started begging her mom to tie her up whenever she was bored. Being tied up and trying (and succeeding) to escape was thus one of her hobbies – possibly the strangest hobby I had heard of. I have often wondered about this rather strange story in later years though it didn’t strike me as odd at the time. Perhaps Mrs. Ashton played “tie up” with her husband but I suppose I will never know. In a way I was jealous that Helen’s mom spent time playing with her because my mom certainly never played with me.
Anyway, after lunch Mrs Ashton went with us to Helen’s bedroom where Helen brought out lots of string, rope and material belts and such and I proceeded to get instruction from her Mother in the strange art of tying people up. She showed me how important it is to tie such that circulation isn’t restricted on the limbs, how loose wraps could be made secure with cinches between the wraps and how knots had to be positioned away from fingers and the like. Mrs Ashton also took pains to explain that it was very important not to put the victim in an uncomfortable position since it could become a real torture after a while. It was better for arms and legs to be either straight or at least at natural angles if you wanted to keep the victim secured for a long while without them being in pain. It was all quite technical and I was very intrigued.
Helen displayed her talents at escaping from some quite complex bondage using her small size, extreme flexibility (she took ballet classes too which never interested me) and nimble but strong fingers to undo knots. She could also use her mouth and teeth to undo knots and her Mother later demonstrated how to stop this using simple and safe but effective gags. Mrs Ashton offered to tie me up too and intrigued I gladly accepted. She was very careful and considerate in making sure I was safe and comfortable and I instantly found out that escape was impossible. She stayed supervising our play and I began to love the sensation of being helpless while people I trusted looked after me and kept me safe. I don’t think I had ever had so much attention paid to me in all my life.
Over the next couple of days, Helen’s mom supervised our play together till she was confident that Helen and I wouldn’t harm each other, having initially asked us not to play the game on our own in case there was a problem. But after about a week she relented and from then on, whenever it was raining outside, we would go to Helen’s bedroom and have fun tying each other up. There is no doubt in my mind that both of us much preferred to be in bondage rather than the one tying the other up however even that part was fun.
I think I shall stop here. There is more to this story but I would like to see if anyone is even interested in any of this and what followed.