White Ropes, Red Faces (mmm/f)

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OldTUGger
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White Ropes, Red Faces (mmm/f)

Post by OldTUGger »

White Ropes, Red Faces (mmm/f)
by OldTUGger


One problem with youthful tie-up games is that parents are often far less than pleased to find their offspring trussed like Thanksgiving turkeys.

This phenomenon, while understandable from a parental protectiveness standpoint, flies in the face of prevailing parental dynamics; i.e., most parents spend months and years teaching their progeny to walk and talk, and then spend the next decade or so ordering them to sit down and shut up.

It occurs to me, then, that parents should adopt far more tolerant attitudes toward tie-up games. Why should a father, who only hours before had directed his daughter to be stationary and silent, get all bent out of shape when he finds her hogtied and gagged?

Cynthia was a hot little number, a girl who by age 14 had developed all the curves she needed to stir the hormones of every adolescent male who ventured within her orbit. She was blonde, a tad on the short side and not terribly bright, but stacked like the proverbial brick outhouse.

She lived just across the county line from where I grew up, and therefore attended a different school. Occasionally, though, her parents would visit my parents or other friends in the neighborhood, and Cynthia would come along. 

On one eventful Saturday evening, she and her parents came to visit an elderly couple who lived just across the road. It didn’t take Cynthia long to grow bored with her elders’ discussion, which as I understand it dwelt almost exclusively with aches, pains and Social Security checks. She asked if she could cross the road and visit with me and my two brothers.

Poor Cynthia; she didn’t realize she was venturing into a testosterone-suffused hornet’s nest. My friend Brandon had been there since early in the day, and he, my middle brother and I had spent most of that time engaged a round-robin, no-elimination Nerf basketball tournament. My mother probably breathed a sigh of relief when Cynthia appeared at the front door. After all, the presence of a sexy young girl would almost certainly divert the three big, rowdy boys from wreaking further havoc upon the bedroom she’d cleaned just the day before.

Sure enough, Mom was right. One sight of Cynthia, standing there in a tight t-shirt and short shorts, stopped the hoops tourney in mid-bounce. When Cynthia sat down on the big sectional sofa, we boys made a beeline to her side. While Mom went to fetch us bottles of pop, Brandon and I took up positions on either side of our voluptuous visitor. Dad sat nearby in his easy chair, sipping at a beer and rolling his eyes at our not-so-subtle eagerness to get close to her.

We sat there for a while, drinking sodas and talking about school and other teenage stuff. To this day, I can’t recall how our orderly little chat devolved into chaos, but it did. Maybe Cynthia, who wasn’t shy about getting physical with boys, tickled or pinched one of us. Or maybe one of us pinched or tickled her.

Within seconds, the sofa became a tangle of laughing, giggling, shouting bodies, every one of them intent upon gaining the upper hand. The tussle didn’t last long. Brandon soon had Cynthia’s hands pinned over her head, I had her midriff in a leg scissors, and my brother had his arms clamped around her calves.

Cynthia spewed out a nonstop stream of dire threats, but the giggles that punctuated them prevented us from taking her too seriously. “Well…now what do we do?” I asked Brandon.

“Why don’t we tie her up?” he suggested.

“You’d better not!” Cynthia yelled, her eyes twinkling.

Protestations aside, her expression practically screamed, “I double-dog dare you.” Well, as everyone well knows, double-dog dares cannot be ignored. Leaving Brandon and my brother to control our captive, I scurried to the bedroom and returned with my handy-dandy bag of ropes.

“Let’s get her legs first,” I suggested, unraveling a hank of cotton clothesline. My burly younger brother had no trouble holding Cynthia’s legs while I bound and cinched her ankles.

“Flip her onto her stomach and pull her hands behind her back,” I said to Brandon. A minute later, Cynthia lay prone on the sofa, her wrists and ankles firmly bound. She writhed and wriggled so violently I thought she might topple off onto the floor, all the while laughing and giggling and promising ever more violent acts of revenge.

“There’s still a lot of rope left in there,” Brandon observed, pointing to my bag. I glanced over toward Dad and Mom, who had been watching the proceedings with boys-will-be-boys expressions plastered on their faces. They remained impassive.

“OK, let’s hogtie her,” I said. “Sit her here on the floor.” In short order I had Cynthia’s arms pinned to her sides with bands of rope above and below her decidedly impressive breasts. I flipped her onto her stomach, cinched a doubled strand of rope around her ankle bonds, threaded the ends of the rope around the two chest bands and pulled her into a tightly arched hogtie.

I wish I could say that we kept her like that for quite a while, teasing her and reveling in her tightly trussed curves. Alas, I cannot.

An abrupt knock at the door announced the arrival of Cynthia’s parents. They stepped into the living room and, wide-eyed, took in the sight of their bound, blushing daughter flanked by three equally red-faced boys.

“Don’t worry, Fred,” my father said, working quickly to defuse an erstwhile volatile situation. “They’re just playing. Leigh and I have been keeping an eye on them to make sure nothing got out of hand.”

If an Olympic un-knotting event had been held that evening, we boys would have occupied all three places on the podium. Not even someone with a knife or scissors could have freed Cynthia as quickly as we did.

To their credit, her parents didn’t make an issue of the incident, probably because my parents had been there to make sure no hanky-panky took place. The experience certainly didn’t seem to affect Cynthia, because a few months later she and I revisited the wonderful world of tie-up games. But that’s a story for another time, and on a forum intended for slightly less innocent tales…

Note: Sequel has been posted on True Stories for Adults:  https://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=18&t=5865
 
 
 
Last edited by OldTUGger 4 years ago, edited 1 time in total.
Links to all of my stories can be found here in the Story Catalog: https://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=46&t=6023
Mask6190
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Post by Mask6190 »

Nice story OldTUGger!  Must have been one fun, enlightening experience.
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slackywacky
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Post by slackywacky »

Fun read. Don't you hate it when parents break up a perfectly good game :-)
Looking forward to other tales in the 18+ section...
Thanks for reading. Feel free to comment.
Slackywacky, also @DeviantArt

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Canuck100
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Post by Canuck100 »

slackywacky wrote: 4 years ago Fun read. Don't you hate it when parents break up a perfectly good game :-)
 
So true!

Great story!  Looking forward to reading about Cynthia's other visits.
rash357
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Post by rash357 »

Great story! Thanks for sharing!
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