Sarobah's stories
All-Day Sucker
By Sarobah
Thu Oct 01, 2009 8:48 pm
The last part of this story puts it in the "intimate TUGs" category.
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I have always been a sucker for a bet or a dare. I don't know where this comes from -- perhaps it's my upbringing, maybe it's genetic, possibly it's a random personality disorder. The upshot is that I am impulsive by nature. I find it virtually impossible to resist a challenge, which accounts for many of my bondage adventures over the past decade. Of course, in the TUGs forum it would be preaching to the converted to explain how that works. It is, after all, one of the main attractions of tie-up games, irrespective of which end of the rope you prefer to be on. For me, the greatest thrill has always been the testing of limits, pushing the outside of the envelope. The trick, of course, is to have fun doing it.
The syndrome manifested itself in my very first tie-ups, but it was Matt who brought it out in full. He was my high school sweetheart, and it turned out that he was the perfect candidate for the job -- good-looking, charming and intelligent, great for laughs and kicks, but just self-centred enough that when we broke up (his fault, of course!) I didn't look back. The thing about Matt is that he liked being in command. Now this is not such a bad thing in a guy who enjoys tying up his girlfriend, when she's the type who loves getting tied up by her boyfriend. But it turned him on to push my buttons, and -- oh, man! -- did he know which to push and how to push 'em!
The button relevant here is the one located in my prefrontal cortex that makes me do silly things for silly reasons. Matt had a very effective manipulation technique, what I call the "if not that then this" approach. He'd challenge me to do something completely over the top, and when I declined (with the horrified disclaimer of "I'm not that sort of girl!"), he would "settle" for something less daring, and I fell for the con almost every time. We did some pretty crazy stuff (some of which won't get by this group's PG-17 rating). However, the episode I remember most fondly, apart from the very first occasion when he tied me, was not the most extreme.
By our senior school year, I was already a veteran of various types of tie-up games. Even after he had bound me a couple of times (recounted in my story "The Naughty Schoolgirl"), I think Matt was still rather shocked at the breadth and depth of my experience. It is, of course, a young man's dream (am I right?) to have a girlfriend keen to be his willing captive, so he quickly adapted. I let him take control, and in return he provided much amusement and even managed some pleasant surprises.
One day during the spring vacation he came over to my place to study. No, that's not a euphemism. Yes, I was (and still am) the bookworm type who studies during her holiday breaks. And despite our best intentions, we started fooling around; but when Matt began looping his belt around my wrists I pulled away. Fancy that, me turning down a tie-up opportunity! He was flustered by the rejection, so to appease him I said that tomorrow we'd make time for fun and games. Then we went back to the books; but as he was about to go home, he proposed the bet. Actually it was more a dare than a bet, because I don't remember Matt staking anything on the outcome. In any case, he challenged me to go the entire next day with my hands tied behind my back. Just like that -- not even, in this case, the "if not that then this" misdirection. I took the bait, with a casual "Yeah, why not, sounds cool."
Naturally, a full day meant from the time my parents left for work at about seven thirty in the morning until they arrived home around five thirty in the evening, which I suppose is really half a day, but who's pedantic? Not unexpectedly, Matt turned up on the doorstep just as they were departing. I had actually forgotten the dare, until he followed me into the kitchen and, with a wicked gleam in his eyes, held up the roll of tape. My little brother Alex, who was finishing his breakfast and until now trying not to pay attention to us, suddenly took notice.
With a sigh delivered with as much sincerity as I could muster, I placed my hands behind my back. I was wearing a favourite sweater which I didn't want damaged by the adhesive, so I pushed up the sleeves. Matt carefully taped my wrists, then stood back to admire his handiwork. I tested the result with a couple of twists and flexures, and nodded my approval for a job well done. My precocious brother, on the other hand, looked unimpressed. He whispered something to Matt, took the roll of tape, seized my arms and tried to swing me around to face away from him. I wasn't taking such nonsense from the urchin, so I refused to budge, although I quelled the urge to lash out with a couple of solid kicks. Unfazed by my passive resistance, Alex got behind me and meticulously taped my fingers.
"Nails cut tape," was his commendably laconic explanation.
"Drat, foiled by the brat!" I said to myself.
Thoroughly pleased with himself, Alex resumed his breakfast while Matt and I went to the living room... yes, to study. I wasn't going to let a minor handicap like bound hands deter me, although the turning of pages, the writing of notes and the use of the keyboard I left to Matt. (I actually tried some typing. It didn't work.) Before long I got so used to it that I might almost have forgotten -- except for the irritating reminders, like a buzzing fly, a stray wisp of hair that kept falling across my eyes, the occasional itch, and so on. My brother harassed me a couple of times, taking advantage of Big Sis's impairment and apparently forgetting that Big Sis would not be tied up forever. Matt, unchivalrously, failed to defend his damsel in distress, but he made up for it in other ways. He brought me drinks and patiently held the glass to my lips. He made sandwiches for lunch and fed me. We also managed to fit in some kiss and cuddle time, although given the circumstances it was more kiss and fondle. I wasn't complaining.
Afterwards, Matt suggested we go for a walk, down to the local shops. I knew he was testing my resolve, so naturally, though reluctantly, I agreed. We didn't want to attract too much attention, so he got one of my jackets, one that was long enough to cover my bound hands, and draped it over my shoulders. We casually strolled the couple of blocks and took a leisurely tour of the stores. I have no doubt that some of the passers-by realized what was going on, but apart from the odd lingering stare and the occasional double-take, there were no obvious reactions. Nevertheless, I was glad none of my friends or neighbours were about. After several years of playing tie-up games, I had developed a reputation for being a little peculiar (to say the least!) and I felt no pressing need to confirm the suspicions. At the same time, the exhibitionist in me was a little disappointed. It's what makes tie-up games such a thrill, that seductive, tingling intermingling of anticipation, trepidation and exhilaration. It's like a weird dream -- you dread what may be coming but you want to see it through.
When we returned to my house, another dilemma presented itself, my need to use the bathroom. After conferring with my brother -- don't ask me why a conference was necessary -- Matt untaped my fingers, but only my fingers. I would have to work the rest out for myself. With some gymnastic manoeuvres, I managed without further embarrassment.
Matt waited until we could hear my mother's car pulling into the driveway before he released me. I expected there to be numbness or stiffness in my hands and fingers, but apart from some stickiness and redness where the tape was pulled away from the bare skin, I was none the worse for wear. I had been bound continuously for ten hours, a record that would stand for some years to come. Apart from that, it was a rather tame experience compared to some of my escapades. On the other hand, what it lacked in intensity it more than made up for in longevity. Since then, of course, with a greater wealth of experience to draw upon, I can go (and have gone) for as long a time with more than just my hands bound behind my back. Still, you've got to start somewhere.
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Matt and I split a few months later, and my tie-up games went into abeyance until I met Jack. We weren't a couple for very long, but we packed an awful lot of fun times into the year we were together. It was Jack who introduced me to "adult" tie-up games; yet the funny thing is that they more playful than what I was used to with Matt. More than that, however, Jack is an expert not just in applying the ropes. He knows how to deliver pleasure as well as extract it. I'm not saying that Matt was ungenerous or uncaring, but the difference is that Jack understands that it takes two to make a tie-up, at least a good one. He is quite the expert at getting the balance exactly right. He knows how to take a girl to the very edge of her tolerance, to that place where all your feelings and responses, physical and emotional, positive and negative, merge into a wonderful blur of raw sensation.
Honestly, I have never really worked out Jack. He's either incredibly manipulative or the most empathetic human being I've ever met... or both. I've never seen him tied up. I doubt that he ever has been, but he understands how it feels, and he knows instinctively what his partner is experiencing, maybe even before she does. He's also unselfish, the sort of guy who can get great pleasure just from knowing his girl is getting her rocks off. That's so important because there are two things about my bondage games that are especially important to me.
The first is that when I'm being tied up, I like to surrender control completely. There are more surprises that way, and it allows me to (as I've said) test the limits of my mental and physical endurance. But it means that you need to have total and unequivocal trust in your partner (and I know I'm preaching to the choir again). The second point is that I really enjoy the long-term tie-ups, lasting up to many hours, overnighters especially. What I find is that once the adrenalin rush subsides, I slip into a lovely state of semi-conscious self-awareness -- just me and the ropes (and the gag and the blindfold and whatever else). I have a very low boredom threshold, so being tied up, immobilized and helpless for ages, can be delightfully excruciating. Your whole world shrinks down to your ropes and gag and blindfold. It's like ice-play (which I hope I don't have to explain) -- an exquisite torment that intensifies every feeling, every stimulus to your senses. It makes you want to beg for it to end while you wish that it never does.
The very first time he tied me up, Jack left me that way all night long. That's the thing, he didn't need to be there, to see me; just knowing I was bound and helpless and knowing how much I loved it was enough for him. And it was Jack, though building on the outstanding work begun by Matt, who turned me into the all-day sucker.
A few months after he and I got together, it was the mid-semester vacation. I was, at the time, living in an off-campus apartment with Kate (whom I've mentioned in my story "Leather and Lace"). She had gone off on a week-long "booze and screws" cruise, so Jack moved in with me for the duration. It was the first time I had shared living space with a guy (apart from my brother, but that doesn't count), and we had six marvellous days and seven fabulous nights together. Naturally it was the perfect opportunity for tie-up games. I learnt a lot about Jack that week and a few things about myself.
The highlight, though, came about as the result of -- you probably guessed it -- a dare put to me during breakfast one morning. We were arguing about something over coffee and toast. I cannot for the life of me remember what the topic was, but I said "You must be Blind Freddie if you can't see it..." and we got to debating the origin of that phrase. Somehow the digression morphed into a general discussion about blindfolds. Before I knew it, I had accepted Jack's latest challenge. Could I go blindfolded for the entire day?
Now everyone loves a blindfold, me more than most -- but all day long? Well, I managed to get through it. What transpired doesn't make a very exciting story, but it was interesting to experience total darkness while trying to go about my everyday affairs. It is certainly true that it sharpens your other senses; but it's also fascinating how inattentive you are to your surroundings when you have your normal sight. Even though I have an unusually vivid recall function -- it's called eidetic memory -- for the first hour or so I was constantly bumping into objects as I moved around the apartment. After that, it became even more interesting, because as my mind began to produce a map based on my visual recollection and feeling my way about with my hands (and occasionally my shins!), I realized that the image forming in my brain was not an optical one at all, but rather tactile. It's hard to describe. Once you've adjusted, you don't see black behind your blindfold, you see quite literally nothing. As a result, your brain stops making pictures of the things around you and starts building up a three-dimensional structure consisting of shapes, sizes and textures separated by distances, volumes and voids. (I told you it's hard to describe.)
Jack used two of the black satin scarves he keeps for this purpose. To make the blindfold completely impervious to light, he folded one into a rectangular pad that he placed over my eyes before securing the second over that. He took his time, gently brushing my hair back from my face, slowly stroking the satin, caressing my cheeks. He has the knack of making you feel deeply and intimately every moment, so that even the simple act of having a piece of cloth tied around your head becomes a sensual experience.
I remained apartment-bound all morning, except for the occasional foray into the yard and out to the letterbox to check for mail. The most difficult part was negotiating the steps, particularly the first time. You know what -- no matter how many times you've used the stairs in your home, I challenge you to guess how many there are. I discovered that I overestimate. Fortunately, Jack was alongside me to keep me from incurring serious damage. That was the best part of the experience, having him there to guide and assist me, making sure I didn't hurt myself, cushioning my occasional stumble and steering me around the furniture. I do so love the feeling of helplessness and vulnerability which is such an important part of tie-up games (for me at least), and while I enjoy how it tests my mettle, I also like it when I have to depend on my partner and submit to his direction.
Getting antsy with not being able to go out or do regular stuff, I tried some housework (which for me is not regular stuff), and again I discovered how we take our eyesight so much for granted. Jack offered to help (a wonder in itself), but I wanted to try this on my own. It didn't work out. At midday, I insisted on making our lunch. Since it was sandwiches, to forestall the impending loss of digits, I allowed Jack to stand behind me at the kitchen counter, guiding my hands through the cutting and the slicing, breathing on my neck, pressing his... Well, who'd have thought that basic meal preparation could be so arousing? (Although come to think of it, there have been a couple of times... but that's another story.)
In the afternoon, exasperated with my blind pacing about the apartment, Jack decided that we should go for a drive. Inside the car it was almost total sensory deprivation, although the wind flowing through the open window, across my face and over my shoulders (I was wearing a spaghetti-strap sundress) was bracing and exhilarating. Once again, my blindfold was heightening my awareness of my environs; and this became most obvious when Jack stopped the car and helped me out. We were in a park; I recognized our location from the luxuriant, almost lurid, assortment of sensations -- a spray of fragrances, the musty aroma of old leaves, distant bird calls, the chirping of insects, a light breeze rustling through the tree branches, kids playing and laughing somewhere nearby. I don't know if anyone was watching us and wondering what was going on. I didn't care. It was intense.
Nonetheless, by nightfall the novelty was beginning to wear off. I asked Jack what he'd meant by "all day". Maybe I should have posed that question earlier; but after much delay and deferral, he finally relented. He took me outside and removed the blindfold. The blaze of stars that greeted my eyes after so many hours of blank nothingness was breath-taking (and I'm an astronomer!). So what else was there to do? After soaking up the crisp evening air for some time, I led my guy back inside, to the bedroom. It was Jack's turn to be dazzled.
The following morning, again over breakfast, Jack informed me that the challenge issued twenty-four hours earlier was a two-parter. Funny how that hadn't come up before now; but I didn't need much persuading. What's in store for me today, I asked. His reply was to lunge towards me, grab me and sling me over his shoulder. I figured he was going to carry me off (hopefully back to the bedroom), but instead he began tying my ankles. After that he bound my knees. When he let me back down onto the floor I just stood there, wobbling, expecting more, but he just shook his head and smiled.
"This is it?" I said.
"Till sundown."
'Twill be a breeze, I told myself. It wasn't. Unlike when you're blindfolded, there's nothing to switch on and take over. So it was ten hours of hopping about the apartment, which becomes rapidly tedious, enormously strenuous and increasingly frustrating. I was also in a skirt and sandals, so the ropes, though of soft nylon, eventually began chafing the bare skin of my knees and ankles. When I had to go to the bathroom, Jack showed mercy and untied my knees, but only for the duration. Later that day, we went for another drive, to the shops. He left me in the car while he went inside; and I must confess that I felt very self-conscious because the carpark was full, with people passing by all the time, and my bound knees were in plain view to anyone close enough. As much as I like the thrill of tie-up games, I don't care much for public displays, not like this anyway. At least on the previous day there were rational explanations for why a guy would bring his girl blindfolded into a park. Being tied up in a car in a shopping centre carpark -- not so much. Okay, I could have put a jacket or a magazine over my lap, but I decided that was not in the spirit of the dare. Anyway, if you never venture beyond your comfort zone, you miss the best part of recreational bondage.
At the end of the ordeal, I ruefully massaged my legs to restore full circulation and smooth out the red creases and furrows made by the ropes. It took a while to revert to simple walking after hours of hopping and shuffling. However, what I hadn't anticipated when I took the dare was how sore my boobs would be, after so much bouncing about. The insides of my thighs were also more chafed than I had expected. Naturally, for those ailments Jack had the perfect remedies.
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Jack and I played many more games that week; but these were my most memorable experiences. He has another part in this story, a couple of years later, but in the meantime we went our separate ways. I met and fell for Rob and we are still together (of course!). Rob is the archetypal nice guy, and one of the ways he shows it is by going along with my penchant for tie-up games, although it's obviously not a major turn-on for him. I'm not saying he doesn't get -- shall we say? -- inspired seeing his little Sarah bound and gagged and helpless, but he doesn't take to it like I do.
Rob is also painstakingly tolerant, a prerequisite for living with the likes of myself. Nevertheless, even saints have their limits. The problem is that I suffer from recurrent bouts of verbal diarrhoea. There are times when my incessant chatter drives him to distraction, and it is probably why he has adapted so readily and quickly to our bondage games -- he gets to gag me. So one morning when we were still in bed fooling about, I must have been yapping madly because after a while he clamped his hand over my mouth and -- yes, you've surely guessed again -- he issued the challenge. Try to go the whole day without talking. Easy, I replied, and my Silent Sarah act lasted until halfway through breakfast. For me that's a lifetime record (at least ungagged).
It was up to Rob to devise a suitable punishment. He informed me that I would have to wear my ball-gag all day. He sent me to fetch it from my toy box. Though old now, pocked with toothmarks and faded in parts (from saliva... yuck!), it's my pride and joy, my little pet ball-gag, which I call Perry (after a short-term boyfriend, for reasons I won't be explaining).
Actually, the truth be told, I was ambivalent about this challenge, because I'm not the ball-gag's most devoted fan. It can get quite uncomfortable after a very short while, and there is always the dribbling and the drooling, not so nice unless you're into that sort of thing. However, it's very effective, and it looks and feels incredibly sexy. So as I licked my lips to moisten them one last time, clamped my teeth around Perry's crimson orb and buckled the strap, I was feeling quite aroused and very confident. Yet as time passed, the excitement wore off and the ennui set in. Of course, my Rob was not entirely heartless. Once each hour I was permitted to take it out for a minute or two, for brief relief and a sip of water; but there was to be no eating and definitely no speaking. The latter was the hardest part. In fact it proved agonizing. I suppose it was a salutary lesson in just how talkative I can be. And it was disconcerting to witness Rob's idyllic expression as he revelled in the sacred silence.
Naturally, I was forced to stay indoors. I didn't relish having to use sign language to explain my unusual appendage to my neighbours. It also took an enormous amount of self-discipline to keep the gag in place when Rob went out for a couple of hours. I was determined to stay true to the spirit of the challenge. Anyway, I am the world's most inept liar -- it would have taken him all of thirty seconds to get the truth out of me if I had faltered in his absence.
By evening my jaws were aching and my mouth was parched. I reckon I'd lost a litre of my body fluids through saliva seepage (apologies for another yuck). So it was a blessed release when the sun went down and the ball-gag came out. I watched the sunset from our tiny balcony, gripped by the symbolism of the blood-red globe sinking out of sight... perhaps it's just that I'm easily impressed.
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Since then, Rob has made use of the ball-gag whenever I'm bad, which I try to be as often as I can.
Unfortunately, the pressure of study and some health problems forced me to cut back on the badness during the second half of last year. We restarted our tie-up games on my 21st birthday (which I've described in "Birthday Girl"); but it was Jack who was mainly responsible for reawakening my passion.
It was near the beginning of this year. Jack was staying with us in our apartment. There was nothing threesome-ish about that. My friendship with him is purely platonic and Rob is not the jealous type. In any case, Jack was broke and homeless. He had just completed his engineering degree and was facing the bleak and bitter prospect of having to work for a living. This was not long after he'd hitched up with lady-love Sabrina, before the relationship developed to the point that he could move in with her. However, there were two other good reasons for taking in my ex-boyfriend. Jack is an excellent chef, whereas I am the worst cook in all worlds, known and imagined. A traumatized dinner guest once applied to have my meals declared toxic waste by the Department of the Environment (so the story goes).
Jack earned his keep in another delectable way. Despite more than a year living with my quirks, foibles and idiosyncrasies, Rob was still coming to terms with my infatuation for bondage games. It's hard to be really creative when your heart isn't totally in it, so I have been trying to lead him to a better understanding of what it's all about. (I know I'm demanding. But hey, I'm worth it!) Jack's role was to provide technical advice and support. Two or three nights a week, he and I would guide Rob through various tie-up routines. Jack demonstrated on me. Rob practised on me. It was bondage bliss. A couple of times Sabrina joined us.
It was on the morning after one of these sessions, over breakfast (funny how these things tend to happen at breakfast time), that my most audacious challenge to date was issued. The previous evening I had received some very good news. I had been awarded a postgraduate scholarship which I had applied for with little hope of success. I hadn't made a big deal of it then, but -- maybe it was the fresh morning air -- my head now swelled up to gargantuan proportions. I don't mean literally, because that would be just... gross. What happened was that I felt the urgent and irresistible need to blow my trumpet, and poor Rob and Jack copped its full blast. Now I've always believed that coy false modesty is nobody's friend, but I knew immediately that I had gone too far. I would have to be put in my place -- it's the law.
I should say that neither of the guys has an ego problem. I have already explained that Rob doesn't get jealous. Jack's attitude to any form of work is a complementary blend of indifference and indolence, so he has no reason to be envious of others. Yet my bratty behaviour was over the top, and two lesser men would have taken it in turns to put me over their knees for a well-deserved spanking. Not Rob, not Jack. They both knew where to find my weak spot, and it wasn't my derrière.
It was Jack who latched onto a taunting remark I made when my crowing hadn't evoked the desired response. It had to do with a certain part of the anatomy that half the population lacks but which doesn't stop them from being better than the fifty per cent who do have it. (Do I need to be explicit?) With that, Jack reminded me of the discussion we'd had the night before about crotch-ropes. He had put one on me, and while he was demonstrating its efficacy we got onto how this particular accoutrement is more suited to a certain type of physiology. Let's just say that there are advantages in having your reproductive organs in the inside.
So naturally he issued his challenge. As usual, I have no idea how the conversation became a dare and no clear memory of why I was dumb enough to accept it. The ever gallant Rob tried to talk me out of my folly, while the ever provocative Jack kept on goading me. And, of course, I ignored Rob's common sense arguments and agreed to wear a crotch-rope all day.
Now, from here on this gets a little "naughty", so sensitive readers may wish to turn away. As already mentioned, crotch-ropes are better suited to the female anatomy. I'm not saying that guys can't wear them, but for pure stimulation without having to resort to some elaborate (and potentially painful!) contrivance, we gals have the superior design. (Just sayin'... there are drawbacks too, you know.) As a result, a properly applied crotch-rope is a nice addition to a girl's tie-up ensemble. Any sort of struggle, or even just a small amount of movement, induces some very pleasant sensations.
While Rob listened with bafflement and a touch of apprehension, Jack and I discussed the best way to pull this off. I had a busy day scheduled, so we had to come up with a practical mode that would allow me to keep the rope in place for the entire time without discomforting revelations to friends, colleagues and the general public. For instance, we decided that I shouldn't wear my usual jeans or shorts -- their snug fit made it hard to conceal the contours of the rope. A short dress could billow in the wind, and while I don't mind flashing my undies every now and then, I didn't fancy exposing innocent passers-by to the kinkier side of my nature. So I concluded that an ankle-length skirt was the safest way to go, even though it is not something I normally wear, and that alone was bound to attract some attention among those who know me.
Jack tied the rope over my knickers. I insisted on that -- many hours of abrasion on naked flesh down there would not do wonders for my sex life at the end of the day. He used two pieces of soft braided cord. He wrapped the first around my waist as a harness, then looped a double strand of the second rope around it, down my front, between my legs and up over my rear end, securing it to the back of waist band. When he drew it taut, I gasped and rose onto my tiptoes. (I don't know why you do that -- it's a reflex action, I suppose.) It was tighter than I expected, a very intimate fit between my buttocks and inside my labia. I'm not being gratuitous here; it's just that the two strands could have passed on either side of my cleft, but Jack wanted to apply the pressure where it could have the most "invigorating" effect. In fact, he wanted a knot positioned at the most strategic place, but I vetoed that. On the other hand, the braided texture of the rope was there for a purpose. When you make even the slightest movement, it's the gift that keeps on giving.
Since I would be out of their sight for much of the day, I promised the guys that I would not remove the rope under any circumstances, except to answer the call of nature. After that, I put on my long skirt and the three of us walked across the park to the university campus. It only took ten minutes, but by the time we had reached the physics building I was already feeling the effects of the rope on my private parts. This was going to be an interesting day.
No, I am not going to relate every detail, though not out of modesty. (Let's face it, that ship has already sailed.) The simple fact is that it is not a particularly interesting story to tell. A few times, after I'd had to walk a fair distance, I received some odd looks from people wondering why I looked so flushed and puffing and sweaty. I'm sure they were thinking: "She's coming down with a fever... but what's with the enigmatic smile?" Yet the biggest problem was not walking but sitting. I had to attend an hour-long meeting of tutorial staff. Talk about your agony and your ecstasy! It was uncomfortable sitting on the rope, and whenever I shifted my butt to relieve the pressure at the back, the tension was transferred to the front -- with predictably pleasurable but potentially embarrassing consequences. The fact that I got away unscathed is a tribute to my skills as an actress, and to a talent for self-control developed through my long history of tie-up games.
At lunch-time I joined Rob and Matt at one of the coffee shops. After I had eased myself carefully onto the seat (this was shortly after the meeting and I felt ready to burst), I gave the boys a quick run-down of my experiences so far. By now I was in a pretty much permanent state of arousal, which the boys thought was very amusing. Jack in particular appeared thoroughly pleased with himself. Fortunately, although the shop was full of customers, there were no "I'll have what she's having" moments. Afterwards, I needed to use the toilet. When I was through, I had to reapply my crotch rope, and it felt especially weird, standing in the cubicle, tying my instrument of pleasure and torture back into place. Then it was off to the computer lab, where I was running a complicated simulation program. This kept my mind so occupied that for a while I almost forgot what I was wearing... but never fear, every few minutes I received an agreeable if sometimes awkward reminder.
Mid-afternoon, I met up with my guys once more. Jack proposed a leisurely stroll around the campus. I realized he was winding me up, but I accepted the challenge and made the most of it. Through all of this, Rob maintained his characteristic expression of combined amusement and bemusement.
When we arrived back home, I was pleased to discover that I had suffered very little abrasion in my tender parts, although my knickers were the worst for wear. After many hours of continual stimulation, I was drained of my customary lusty vigour. I even turned down the offer of a tie-up session. On the other hand, Jack rewarded me with champagne and chocolate, while Rob had another delicious treat for me... but let's leave it at that.
The crotch-rope challenge has not cured me of the all-day sucker syndrome, although I tend now to be more circumspect about what sort of dares I'm prepared to undertake. At least I like I think so. Nevertheless, even as I type this, I have planned an all-day adventure which should be an epic. In fact, it's scheduled for this coming weekend. If all goes well, that should form the next instalment in my tie-up chronicles.
Great thanks to @Zek_ for the archive at https://tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?p=166312!
Sarobah: All-Day Sucker
Moderator: Archiver
Sarobah always wrote excellent stuff!