Kevin Costner Meets His Match? M/F

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Snidely
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Kevin Costner Meets His Match? M/F

Post by Snidely »

This is another factual story that took place about a decade ago when I was in my early twenties. And no, my experiences don't all don't involve camping, just two. I was single at the time, living in Sydney Australia and was just getting used to my life out of Uni; new job, new place to live, new lifestyle. Weekends were pretty crazy, but now and then I'd still like to get away from the city and relax like I'd done in the days of books and study. I'd catch a train with Bruce, a fishing friend of mine, to the Royal National Park just south of the city. Although it was about an hour away, the Park is big and you could get lost if you weren't careful. Proper bushland. So on this particular Saturday my friend and I packed our tents, meals, gear, fishing rods and some bait and made our way to Central Station to catch our train. We were off.

After a few hours scramble through heath and bush we reached our destination - a windswept beach with no lifeguards, no houses, few people - where the forest ran right down to the sand and sea. Despite it being a weekend we couldn't spot any tents or people there, likely because it was overcast with a chance of rain in the offing. We found our usual spot under the tree canopy, pitched camp, then headed down to face the Pacific, hopefully to catch some fish to augment our dinner.

That evening Bruce and I cleaned up and retired to our tent to play cards by our electric lantern. It was still early and we weren't ready to turn in with the sunset, like most city dwellers. We played a few hands until Bruce looked up and said;

“Did you hear that?”

I shook my head until I heard a noise a seconds later, the same as the first that I had dismissed. A 'plop' on the outside canvas of the tent.

“Just leaves or sticks falling from the tree? From the wind.” I rationalised.

“Plop”. Again.

“There's no wind,” he said.

I motioned to Bruce to keep talking casually to himself, while I quietly unzipped the flap. I waited for my eyes to adjust and then saw it; two twigs flying together horizontally – not vertically as you'd expect from a tree drop – thrown from behind a rock. I motioned to Bruce and we burst out of the tent, running to the launch site. We caught a glimpse of two figures running away laughing in the fading light; one down to the beach and the other deeper into the bush. We also spotted a tent in the next gully that hadn't been there when we arrived. All predatory animals including humans are programmed to chase fleeing prey, so without discussing the situation as rational people would've done, we gave chase; my friend haring downhill and me up.

The pursuit was on and my blood was up. As I drew closer to the fugitive dodging around trees I realised it was a girl, her dark hair streamed behind her. Luckily she was wearing a white jumper which made it easier to follow. Suddenly a figure loomed right in front of me, and I made an desperate emergency stop. Standing there, suddenly I felt quite foolish: why was I chasing her again? Seeing she needed my help I looked closer. She was half tangled in a blackberry bush; the thorns had caught her jumper.

“Here, let me help,” I said, embarrassed. And I carefully untangled her from the thorns – luckily there was just enough light still – and I could see she was uninjured.

I was still feeling foolish, so as I usually do, tried to make light of the matter.

“Looks like I caught you,” I said.

She looked at me, properly for the first time, and replied, “No, the bush did.”

Now I could see her face in the dim light she looked a lot like Sloan Peterson from 'Ferris Bueller's Day Off', so you can see why I suddenly wanted to keep her talking to me. Of course the more I wanted it, the less likely it was going to happen, and my conversation instantly dried up. Instead, I took a chance and took her hand.

“Either way you're still caught. You're coming back to the tents with me,” I said. To justify my action, I added,

“Plus you need escorting around thorn bushes.” That got me a smile. Even better she didn't argue or pull away.

We traced our way carefully back to the tents, taking off our jumpers after our sprint. As we traced our way back in the fading light she explained her side of the evening's events: she and her girlfriend had arrived late but managed to set up their tent and have a meal. But as the day waned they became bored; like us they weren't used to go to bed with sunset, and unlike us they hadn't brought anything to play with. They heard a couple of guys playing cards in a nearby tent and decided to have some fun. Their plan was to sneak up and try to spook us with noises and thrown twigs, pretending they were Native Americans tormenting Kevin Costner in his fort. When we gave chase they ran off, half scared half excited, and not realising they had become separated.

“Did you really think we'd run away rather than chase you?” I asked.
“Well, we hoped you'd chase us.” she answered. “Like I said, we were bored.”

We approached her dimly lit tent, and then stopped a few metres away. Sounds from within suggested my friend and hers were getting to know each other better. With nowhere else to take her, we turned to mine. Just at the flap she suddenly broke away from me and ran towards the beach. Surprised, once again I gave chase. I caught her on the sand, and swung her to face me.

“Why are you... running...again?,” I panted, for she was fast.

“'Runs-Into-A-Bush' runs from bad Costner man,” she said in an accent drawn straight from hokey Sunday afternoon Westerns.

“Runs? You name is Runs?” I caught on the reference from 'Dances With Wolves'. “Well, I'm taking you back to my....er.... Tee-Pee.”

I held onto her arm this time, and she struggled like a wildcat, even trying (well pretending) to bite my hand. I opened the tent flap and threw (well not very hard) her onto the sleeping bags. She lay there, glaring at me. Her cheeks were flushed. Daring to go with the role-play I wrestled with her, pinned her with one arm and took off her tennis shoes from her bare feet. I had an idea.

“Leave....moccasins.....alone.” Now she was the one panting.

I turned on the lantern with one hand, I would need light for this. I unlaced her shoelaces one by one, tied them together, spun her over and tried to tie her hands together. It wasn't easy as she struggled with renewed vim, although interestingly she didn't call to stop. Didn't say a word in fact, apart from breathing heavily.

“Ha! Is that best Costner can do?” she mocked as she yanked her hands apart once again, tossing the shoelace aside. I had to think. How do you do this? It looked so much easier in the movies. In real life it was hard! In those days I had no idea how to tie up a woman.

I thought quickly, still holding her down and fending off her teeth. How would I lash together two sticks or branches? I would use basic bush-craft. So while holding her, I tied a slip knot, crossed her wrists, slipped over the noose and pulled until secure but not too tight. Then it was just a matter of winding around and around in different directions to give the lashing strength, just like you'd construct a kettle or pot stand over a fire. As I was finishing I could already see her hands reaching for the knot I had yet to tie, so I carefully placed it well way from those questing fingers. Satisfied, I pulled at the knot ends, but not too tight as I knew shoelace knots wouldn't undo if done really tight. I let go and she immediately crabbed away over to one side of the tent.

I could see her experimentally test her restraints, wriggling her shoulders, surprised she couldn't get loose. She looked beautiful there, breathing deeply, sweat spots starting to appear on her T shirt.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked. Music to my years, then just as it has been many times since that first night. The realisation of a girl that her destiny was now in my hands. She was speaking from the heart too, no more Western movie talk.

In answer I untied my own hiking boots, unlaced one and discarded the other. I grabbed her feet and the struggle was on again. Again this was all new to me, and I suffered a few toes in the mouth before I realised the trick was to grab her legs in a pincer hold with my own. Then I could bind her ankles securely. As my boots had longer laces, one was enough.

Before I could relax I decided I'd better check her hands again, as I had noticed she was subtlety shifting her body to hide them from view. As I guessed she'd somehow partly loosened the knot and about half of the lashings.

“Apache girl trying to trick me!” I said in 'her' language. Alright, in retrospect I got the tribe wrong.

“Apache girl, never captive, Never!” she answered loudly, but not too loudly I noted as to actually carry to the next tent.

I re-lashed her wrists together tightly this time and pulled the knot as secure as I could. Then just to be sure did the same with her ankle bindings. Only a knife or pair of scissors could free her now, even I couldn't untie those knots. She had zero chance.

I sat back, exhausted, all wrestled out. Her attention was entirely on her restraints. She twisted her arms to one side to inspect her tied wrists, and lifted her legs to get a closer look at her ankles. The respite gave me a proper look at her. She was in a standard T shirt (green). Blue jeans, no belt. Nothing remarkable but she looked amazing, especially as she started to struggle, making small squeaking noises where her sweaty bare skin made contact with the plastic ground sheet. She gave up after about a minute, flicked her damp hair out of her face and glared at me with venom.

“'Apache-girl' will scream in ten seconds if Pale Face doesn't let her go. One....”

I knew what she wanted. I desperately fumbled in my pack. Sock? Too short.

“Two...”

I remembered my friend liked to channel famous Bruces, like Bruce Springsteen, with a bandana in his pocket (not that he would ever admit it). Having an uncool name meant he needed all the role-model assistance he could get. He had a few spares in his pack somewhere. The front pocket?

“Four...”

I found three; two short and one long. All red of course. Racing the clock I rolled the long one into a tight sausage. I grabbed the girl.

“Eight...” she was daring me.

I placed the middle of the bandana over her mouth and as she tried to bite me with those sharp white teeth of hers I slipped it inside, wrapped the cloth around her head and tied the ends behind her neck. She bit into the gag savagely, frustrated, cheeks burning.

“You're not going anywhere now, so I'm going to check on your friend,” I said. In reality I needed a reality check out in the cool of the evening. Outside of my tent where I had a beautiful captive. I had to wait a while to get used to the dark – it was a quarter moon but there was cloud-cover – and once I had my bearings I found my way to the next gully. Their tent was dark and quiet. Quiet breathing only. Asleep, I thought.

I returned to my tent. What was I going to do? So far everything had happened so quickly; unexpectedly too, but almost like it was predestined. Like we had a script.

She was lying quietly now. Still tied up. Still gagged. But the state of the interior I could tell she had just failed in a real escape bid. That and she was still panting heavily through the gag. She had armpit sweat rings and her hair was stuck to her face. Her hands and feet were pale from her struggles against the shoelaces, but as she lay still, and to my relief, the colour started to improve as her circulation returned. I was surprised her gag was still in place, as unlike her bindings I was pretty sure if she really wanted to she could've removed it: pushed it out with her tongue and rubbed the bandana off her face. She hadn't.

Not sure what to do I next pushed the mess to the sides of the tent, spread out my sleeping bag and unzipped it, half getting in. It was getting colder now we had stopped fighting, goose-bumps were forming on her arms. She watched me from the side of the tent.

“Apache-girl get cold. Costner make warm. Look after 'Runs Into A Bush,” I said.

“No,” she replied, partly muffled. But a minute later she wriggled sideways and I helped her into the bag, both of us still fully clothed.

“If Apache-girl promise to behave herself, Costner will untie her. Yes?

“No,” she answered as pertly as you can in a cleave gag.

“How about if no yell then take off gag?” I reality I was desperate to kiss those lips.

She nodded slowly in reply and I untied the gag, which was surprisingly wet in the middle. She shivered slightly so I zipped the bag up higher, although I could feel her pressed away from me. She was looking straight in my eyes as we lay there facing each other, on our sides. We both seemed to know the role-playing was over and things were getting serious. She squirmed right up close to me and put her head on my arm, wishing me to take her in my arms, which I did. We kissed. While we kissed I reached down to check her bound wrists, to see if they were ok. She felt what I was doing and gave my hand a squeeze to let me know she was. Satisfied, I focused my attention back to her lips.

****

Next morning we were awakened by what sounded and felt like a tree being dropped on our tent.

“Wakey, wakey,” came the sound of two voices, laughing. We quickly got dressed. I had untied her during the night, but as predicted, needed my knife to carefully cut her free. I noticed as she put on her underwear a piece of white shoelace dangled from one wrist, still partly tied there. I cut it off and we both smiled.

We left the tent and saw that our friends and repeated last night's 'attack' but instead of twigs used whole branches. They were now cooking breakfast over at the other tent. Eggs, it smelt like. They waved us over.

We all spent the rest of the fine morning, which had cleared overnight, swimming and messing around on the sand. After lunch it was time to pack-up and regretfully return home. Bruce and I had a long hike back to the train station while the girls only had to climb up the steps to a nearby clifftop car-park. Their drive was south unfortunately, so no lift for us. As we packed I had a few minute alone with Sarah, for that was her real name. Just like the real Sloan Peterson. Well kind of. Backwards.

“If you don't give me your email address I'm going to have to capture you again,” I whispered in her ear. She smiled, scribbled some lines on a notepad she took from her pack, then handed me the note. On it was written her full name, email address, postal address and email.

We said our goodbyes at the track fork; the girls were heading up the steps cut into the rock. Only at this point did I see Janice (Sarah's girlfriend) point down to her friend's feet and say,

“What happened to your shoes??”

Sarah was walking in lace-less tennis shoes; we couldn't get the knotted/repaired laces back into the eye-holes, so she decided to do without. She didn't have far to walk. Bruce was oblivious to the whole thing. Sarah shushed Janice's question and led her away. They waved as they went. Just before we lost sight of the girls behind the trees, Sarah took the last opportunity to turn around and deliberately crossed her wrists before her. Then she was gone.

We hefted our packs, picked up our fishing rods and headed down our own trail home.

“Was that a signal for something?” Bruce asked.

“Yes,” I answered. Not elaborating.

“I'm good at spotting that kind of small detail,” Bruce replied. “Just like Bruce Lee!”

I bent down, tightening the tape wrapped around my own lace-less boot on my foot, and followed him.
If the Bindee can reach the knots with her fingertips the Binder has done a poor job.
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Post by Sportsfan »

I just read all of your stories, ending with this one, and each one just made me more and more convinced that Australians are simply a different breed when it comes to this sort of stuff.

I have more evidence, like how a very popular Australian Twitch streamer was willingly and quite securely bound and gagged for a video (to look like a present apparently) in which the subject of bondage and how to properly gag someone with stuffing was brought up multiple times by multiple people like it was nothing, but I'd love to here your take on my theory lol. Amazing stories by the way! You've got a great gift for storytelling.
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Snidely
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Post by Snidely »

Thanks! It must be due to excess Vitamin D.
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Post by rtbw »

I'm continually amazed by these tie up game stories featuring newly met strangers, and this is no exception. Kudos to you and Sarah for connecting and slipping right into the roleplay so naturally after meeting for the first time.
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Snidely
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Post by Snidely »

From my own experience, I'm forever amazed how common bondage fantasies are amongst women.
If the Bindee can reach the knots with her fingertips the Binder has done a poor job.
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Post by Megann »

I’ve always wanted to try something like this
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Snidely
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Post by Snidely »

Go camping! You never know what will happen. I sure didn't.
If the Bindee can reach the knots with her fingertips the Binder has done a poor job.
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Post by Canuck100 »

This is really hot stuff! I somehow missed it when it was posted, glad that the comments gave me an occasion to catch up with it!
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