Sue Quarantine One (M/F)

[StringTheorist]

I sensed soft rope sliding down either side of my crossed wrists but was unable to identify the type - cotton, soft nylon? Maybe product of a lot of spiders or silkworms? The rope moved slowly down, one end between the back of my wrists and my back, the other on the palm side of my arms. Now the rope hung across my wrists as Jack reached down for the back end of the rope, slowly drew it up and over my limbs and tucked it down behind me again.

Then it was the turn of the part of the rope hanging down between my wrists and Jack: he reached for the end and passed it up between my body and my limbs. He slowly twisted the two ends together in an overhand knot, pulled it snug, wiggled my arms a little and drew it tighter.

My heart had moved into a higher gear, not out of fear, but anticipation. He paused.

I wondered what my daughter would think of her mother being sensuously bound by someone I had seen only a couple of times. But she would be thinking of her own problems, having just exited an abusive relationship. When her husband had come home a night ago, inebriated, announcing that he had spent the evening in a bar well known as a Covid spreader site, she had called a hasty but preplanned exit.

So I awaited Jack's next move.

Which was to bring the ropes around my wrists horizontally, at right angles to the first coils. He brought the ends back to the left side of my wrists where he tied another overhand knot and snugged it up a bit. "There, is that comfy?" he asked.

"Mummph, mummph, mummph" I said behind my duct tape gag. Two sounds meant NO, three meant YES. Four sounds indicated I wanted something: we had a set of four letter words such as talk, stop, pain and so on, with a few ones like pee, water. He would ask and I would sound when he reached the appropriate word.

"Any pressure points?"

"Mummph, mummph." No.

This time he wound the ropes between my wrists in a form of cinch, tugged them tight and secured them with a reef knot at my left, at the back of my right wrist. I felt him fumbling with the ends of the rope, pushing first one end under the rope coming into the reef knot and creating a hitch, yanking it tight. Repeating with the other.

He stepped back on the landing, I guess to look at his handiwork, then he rolled up the ends and put them neatly in my fists. "There," he exclaimed, "no loose ends. The lady is in quarantine."

Indeed, I was helpless. Even though I was holding the tail ends of the rope securing my hands, I had no chance of undoing the knots even if I wanted to, Nor could I move away, for I was sitting on a soft pad against the railing of his upstairs hall, arms through the gaps between the black metal uprights, legs extended across the hall into a doorway. He had been on the landing below the railing.

Jack came up behind me and leaned against my arms, sticking his hands through the uprights, and bringing his hands across my naked belly. And just left them there. I was aching for him to caress my front and all the pleasure points it held.

Because there were strips of duct tape across my eyes, running diagonal beside my nose, and I had earplugs in, my senses were largely disabled, save for touch. Which I did feel, of course, on his chest pressed against my hands. He didn't mind at all, though I dropped the ends of the ropes.

This had started when my daughter had called two nights ago, very distraught. "I have to get out of here," she almost screamed. "Can I and my kids come over to your house? I have to get out." Well, a mother has to do what a mother has to do.

But then I remembered Jack. We had both lost spouses within the last year. I had gone to his place to interview him a couple of weeks ago, and three hours later lay on a bed in his house, hands tied to the head board, waiting my fourth coming. Ahhh.

His hands stopped cupping those things nature endowed women with to be cupped and fondled. Jack removed his hands saying, "Happy quarantine. I have to change the bed, wash the sheets, find clean bed linen, maybe vacuum under the bed. Don?t go way."

He crossed over my legs as he walked to the bedroom, back to get sheets, again to take the dirty linen to the washer. But I raised a bare leg to block his passage. "Getting frisky?"

Slowly, methodically he secured my ankles, above and below my knees. I wasn't strong enough to raise both legs together to impede his passage as he continued his chores.

I remember calling Jack after my daughter called, to see if I could bunk with him for two weeks while my daughter and kids waited out the virus. So he came over to my daughter's place. I drove there and left her with my car, transferred a suitcase to Jack's car and watched my daughter drive off into a better life, hopefully. So far, no symptoms.

Jack came back to the landing and did a little work with his hands through the bars. He had brought some things with him.

"I think you need a change."

I needed him more than a change. But he fastened a rope around my torso, above my breasts and below. It fastened me securely to the uprights, tied at the back where I could not reach.

He freed my wrists, and massaged them slightly, adding a little lotion. One at a time he fastened a rope around each wrist three times, and secured it so that any strain on the free ends was transferred to every one of the coils. He pushed my arm back through the uprights, came up to the upstairs hall and stretched my arms taut along the railing.

Somehow he stood on a chair or step stool on the landing so he could reach over the railing from behind to caress my front. "Down, down," I wanted his hands to wander.

Sometime later, teased but not pleased, I was sitting on the upper hall floor facing over the stairway with my legs between two uprights, hands secured along the railing, crotch spread wide open. Ropes held me to the bars with my breasts sticking through for his tongue to attack.

Jack played with what he could reach, played, but just played.

My last scene had me standing on tip toes on the landing facing out, with my wrists tied to uprights and pulled up till I was quite stretched, a nice feeling for me. Ropes fastened to my ankles kept my legs spread and crotch open. Jack came up to me, peeled the duct tape off my lips, and gave me a kiss, then another. He pressed his bare body to mine, head tilted into my neck, nibbling. My assets pressed against his bare flesh and I wiggled as much as I could.

Suddenly the kitchen timer sounded. "Two hours," Jack said, "quarantine over." When he first brought me into his home, we were sitting talking. I mentioned that it would be like I was in quarantine for two weeks. Somehow he mentioned "like being held captive." I said I would enjoy being his captive. We decided that a quarantine captivity would only need be a couple of hours per day.

But I had a stipulation: every day the tie up should be different. Jack was dubious about being able to find fourteen different ways but I challenged him.

But now the timer had sounded he freed my ankles, knelt down in front of me, lifted my left leg over his right shoulder, my right over his left, and leaned his face into my crotch, tongue at the ready.

Ahhhh!

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Slightly edited to clarify a "she".
I had planned to write 14 different tie ups, but no more have poured out my fingertips yet, I'll get around to posting the start of this story one of these days. I posted this one first as it had more TUGs than the others.

ST

[Windrunner]

I think they've reduced the quarantine period to ...7 days? I can't keep up. But 14 days of bondage surprises? I'd definitely err on the side of caution. For safety, of course.

[GreyLord]

Great story, [mention]StringTheorist[/mention]. And you have a great handle as well. It is fantastic that Sue need quarantining. I am looking forward to more of this tale.

[Ovi1]

This was a great story StringTheorist, very sensual. With enough information to provide context, but not so much that it decreases the tension.