Robert : 04 - Tying up Cindy...at HER request (m/f)

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Robert : 04 - Tying up Cindy...at HER request (m/f)

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Robert's stories
04 - Tying up Cindy...at HER request
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By Robert

Monday, April 29th 2002 - 09:06:39 PM

Tying up Cindy...at HER request

It's been a long time since I last posted. My old "dinosaur," an aging Macintosh computer, finally gave up the gigabytes and expired on me. I hate it when things like that happen. I am writing this on a borrowed machine. Hopefully, I will have a new one of my own in a few weeks. Hve felt like a fish out of water these past weeks.

Probably many will not remember the beginnings of my story, so I will summarize. this time adding some details I omitted last time simply becuase I didn't remember them. It's cruel how the years steal away some of our memories.

This event happened when I was about 13 and Cindy, my best pal at the time, was around 11. As I said in my first story, Cindy was a cute little girl and sweet as could be unless you provoked her. I almost never did. Whoa be unto those who riled her. Thinking back now, I believe she took gymnastics or some such and she was strong and athletic. A neighborhood bully who was physically bigger than both of us, made the mistake of angering her once and before he knew it, Cindy had him on the ground, with her sitting astride him, pinning his shoulders down with her knees, his arms outstretched and firmly held in place by Cindy's strong and determined hands. He was obliged to plead for mercy, something he was very unaccustomed to and something he NEVER forgot, as my tale will reveal later.

Ever since I had conned her into letting me tie her up around the time she was 8 or 9 (as related in my very first post about her), Cindy had become, I guess the word is addicted, to being tied up. She was forever finding clever ways of getting me to do it, usually insisting that I blindfold her as well. Perhaps being blinded increased the sense of fascination or suspense she felt. I've never, before or since, encountered anyone so enamored of being bound and blindfolded as was Cindy. And as cute as she was, I didn't mind obliging her.

On this particular day, I was alone in the park (or so I believed), sitting atop some rocks in the midst of a slow running stream that meandered through our favorite hideaway.

I don't really recall why, but I was feeling down. No, disgusted, is probably a better term. At 13 who needs a good reason to be in a funk, anyway? It just comes with the territory, I think. As I sat there, grimly contemplating the gurgling water as it swirled past the rocks, I heard something behind me. I turned to find a pair of shapely, bare legs standing next to me. I didn't need to look up. I would know those legs anywhere.

"Hey," Cindy drawled. She was a Southern girl, remember.

"Hey," I said in reply, then returned my gaze to the swirling waters, feeling, all at once, happiness at seeing her and mild irritation at having my grand sulk interrupted. When you are an emerging adolescent, your sulk time is golden to you.

She crossed over in front of me and I know I must have been in a deep funk, because she was wearing what I could only describe as a really cute (and really short) tennis dress and at the age I was then, the sight of her in that outfit always stirred my hormonal blood. I barely even noticed, despite her nearly stepping right on me and my getting a close up look at those sexy, bare legs of hers. She wasn't a "little"girl anymore and I wasn't as "little" as I once was, either. My heart barely rippled, Even when she stood over me, feet slightly apart, practically framing me between her knees. I merely stared, blankly, through her parted legs and at the water running downstream away from me. After a moment, she sat down on the rock in front of me, but said nothing for what seemed like a long time. Cindy was good. Very good.

"Are you mad at me?" she asked, after that pause, sounding genuinely worried.

I shook my head and turned away. I don't remember why I was upset. I wish I did. For me to act this way with Cindy, it must have been something catastrophic.

Ah....NOW I remember. The only kind of pet I had while growing up was a series of parakeets. Mine had flown away that morning while I was cleaning out its cage. oh yes!!! Now I remember. My step brother had left the door open and the bird had escaped. I swore (and still do) that he did it deliberately. But that's another story for another chatsite, not this one. The parents had been no help at all. My drunken "Mother" blamed me for being "stupid." So I was feeling pretty horrible that morning and really just wanted to be left alone to suffer by myself. Stupid, I know, but I was only 13.

Cindy persisted, as only she could. "If you aren't mad at me how come you won"t talk to me?" She gently took hold of one of my hands. There were VERY few people in the world I would allow to do that. Cindy was one.

When she did, my eyes filled up with tears. Now, for a guy, in the American South, that was a major embarassment. Everyone KNEW that men, real men, didn't shed tears. Everyone but Cindy. A few years later, when she and her Mother moved away, I lost touch with her, but I hope she because a doctor or counselor or some such because she had the knack for it, no doubt.

"Cmon," she said serenly, in that soothing tone she used on me so often.

"Huh?" I was puzzled.

She rose to her feet, once again standing over me in that cute outfit of hers. This time I couldn't help but look up.

She smiled knowingly.

"Gotcha to look!" she beamed. I had to smile back, through the tears. She gently, but firmly, pulled me to my feet, and, clinging to my hand, led me to the steam bank.

"Where we goin'?" I finally asked her. I saw that knowing smile again. She towed me to a nearby tree where she had parked her bike and began digging in the wicker basket that hung between her handle bars.

"What?" I insisted, feeling a tad bit irritated at all the mystery.

Cindy pulled out some light rope and a black bandana and beamed at me. She needn't say a word. I knew what she wanted. Good grief, she had even brought the rope and the blindfold for the occasion this time. But I wasn't really feeling up to a full fledged game of tie up; Cindy sensed my lack of enthusiasm.

"Cmon," she insisted. "it will help you forget whatever's bothering you." Still, I balked, although, by that time, I had begun to notice, more and more, the cute outfit she wore and how appealing she looked in it. Hormones to the rescue? What an absurd notion!

Cindy wasn't going to take no or even maybe for an answer. She began to push at me, giggling; I didn't react much, until she started trying to tickle me. I was VERY ticklish. I shrieked and tried to flee, but Cindy, being the athlete she was, kept right up with me, finally wrestling me to the ground and sitting atop me, those bare, sexy legs of hers, holding me in a vise like grip while she ravaged my arm pits. I thought I would suffocate.
"You gonna kidnap me or not?" She said, laughing hysterically.

"All right. All right," I gasped. I felt those strong legs relax, but Cindy was still sitting on top me, with those mischevious grin beaming down at me.

"Well?" she said.

"Okay," I said, still out of breath and desperate to keep her from tickling me anymore. "Get up and put your hands behind your back."

Cindy giggled, climbing off me, even helping me get up, and then turning and crossing her hands behind her back, beaming expectantly. For a moment I thought of fleeing again. I really didn't feel up to it that day. But I knew what wouldhappen if I betrayed her trust and she caught me again...

Instead, I went directly to her wicker basket and pulled out the rope, returning quickly to begin tying her wrists together behind her back.

"Tie 'em good," she exorted me, breaking into one of her infamous giggle fits.

I remember thinking oh, I will. You aren't going to get to tickle me again!

I looped the rope about her wrists several times, tying them as tightly as I dared, being careful not to hurt her. Cindy stood quite still and made no complaint. When I thought I had her securely tied, I asked if it hurt. She shook her head and beamed at me. I rarely ever saw that girl frown. I don't know how she managed such a bright disposition. She stood, feet slightly apart and tugged at her bonds until she was quite satisfied she couldn't pull free.

I admit to feeling a bit of relief. She couldn't very well tickle me with her hands tied behind her back! I think it was then that I fully realized how sexy she looked, standing there in that really short tennis dress with her hands tied behind her, beaming at me as though I had done her a huge favor. That girl really liked being tied up...

"Well?" she said again. I looked at her puzzled, then had to avert my eyes, as I had inadvertently let my gaze dwell on her legs, something she noted right away and smiled knowingly.

"Well, what?" I replied, a bit embarassed at being "caught."

"I can still SEE you!" she said with an almost maniacal laugh. I guess the sound of my heart beginning to thump wildly in my chest had kept me from hearing her fully or from understanding her meaning.

"What?"

"If you're gonna kidnap me, I have to be blindfolded, silly!"

I must have given her the "deer caught in the headlights" look, because she laughed hysterically.

I nodded my head and went back to the wicker basket, finding the black bandana and shaping it into a blindfold as I strode back to her. she broke into giggles again and turned about so I could blindfold her. I wrapped the black bandana around her eyes and knotted is securely behind her head, careful not to tangle it in her golden brown hair. She giggled again.

"I can still see," she proclaimed, breaking into yet more giggles. She was plainly enjoying herself, thoroughly. I carefully turned her about and began to adjust her blindfold.

"You're a stinker!" I remember saying to her, gently.

She laughed. "Uh huh."

"Pull it down somemore," she said finally. I did. "Now tighten it some." I complied. Cindy beamed happily. "There. Now I can't see!"

By then, the ole ticker had begun to thump mightily. There she stood, dressed in that sexy outfit, blindfolded, her hands securely bound behind her back, smiling broadly.

"Now you can look at my legs and I won't know it," she said with that devious smile.

"You are a stinker!" I said again and she laughed.

"Yep! I'm a little stinker!"

I gently took hold of her. "Cmon little stinker," I said, and began to lead her up a rise, away from the creek. She giggled again, and tugged at the bonds that held her hands. Satisfied that she couldn't get free, she beamed happily. I led her away, wondering where I would take it. We had played out this scenario many times. Where would I take my captive this time?

To be continued tomorrow night - promise

Robert
USA

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