This instalment is not much changed from the original story, “Balls Revisited.” There are some small revisions, but it’s reposted for the reasons given at the beginning of the Chronicles.
Also, note that this chapter continues from the story published in the “True TUGs Stories” section.
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The reasons for the shift in venue will become obvious.
The Tie-Up Chronicles (continued)
11. Balls, continued
There are three times during the year when all of Australia – with the exception of a few enclaves, outposts and hideaways – stops what it’s up to and drops what it’s doing. One of these occasions is a horse race, the Melbourne Cup... but don’t get me started on that. The other two are the football grand finals (which are the local equivalent of league championships). On a weekend in September or early October – sometimes the same weekend, sometimes not – the Australian Rules and Rugby League national titles are decided.
This year, the Aussie Rules grand final was scheduled for Saturday afternoon and the Rugby League the following evening. Such an auspicious event could not pass without celebration, and so Jack and Sabrina announced that they would be hosting a Footy Finals Fiesta at their house in the country. It’s the same place that features in another of our adventures (chronicled in the next chapter, “The Long, Long Weekend”). We planned to get started at lunchtime on Saturday, stay over both nights and return to the city on Monday morning. Including the matches, preliminaries, wrap-ups and rerun highlights, about twelve hours of television viewing were timetabled; but not all the fun and games were to be played out on the TV screen. Which is why, of course, this forms part of my Chronicles.
There were just the eight of us this time. We rendezvoused at noon on Saturday. Rob and I came with Alex and Michelle; Andrea and Luke arrived just a few minutes later. Sabrina greeted us on the front veranda with a tray of cold drinks. She took our bags, and as we came inside Jack was already in the living room, reposed before the television set. I saw immediately that – reprising the State of Origin night – there were just four seats arranged within the field of view, the sofa and two arm chairs. Michelle noticed that as well and frowned. She loves her football and recalled what had happened last time. And her suspicion turned into reality and her glower into a grimace when our hostess ushered the boys to their seats and us girls to the bedroom.
I have to say that amongst Sabrina’s many fine qualities is a penchant for meticulous planning, as well as a slightly off-beat sense of humour. Arrayed on the bed in four neat sets were outfits like those we’d worn last time. There were two jerseys (the classic Aussie Rules sleeveless variety) for each of the teams playing today – the Geelong Cats (blue and white), and the Collingwood Magpies (black and white). Onto the front of each of the Collingwood shirts she had printed a cartoon of a magpie carrying off a kitten in its claws (rather gruesome, really, for sweet-natured Sabrina). Geelong’s had a cat eating a meat pie (because the Magpies are colloquially known as... well, I’m sure you get it). Sabrina and Michelle took the Cats’ jerseys, Andrea and I the Pies’.
Michelle was the only one of us with any genuine passion for football and was in fact a Geelong supporter. For the rest of us, it didn’t matter which jumper we chose. They seemed to be all the same size, so we were like Goldilocks’s bears – mine was rather too big, Sabrina’s somewhat too small, Andrea’s and Michelle’s just about right. The rest of our uniform consisted of frilly knickers, sheer silk stockings and a lace-and-ribbon suspender belt – all exquisite, expensive and ultra-feminine, in quirky contrast to the football jersey. This time there were no stiletto heels, to my relief... although that omission had portents of its own. It likely meant that heels would interfere with whatever we would be doing or have done to us over the next thirty-six hours. That could be good or bad... depending on so much.
Andrea heaved an expressly audible sigh. “So it’s this again?” she said without speaking. She’d arrived dressed the same way as Luke, in denim dungarees and hiking boots. Her chestnut hair was by then cropped short and spiky. She held the sleek stockings and pretty little panties at arm’s length and scrutinized them with a wrinkled nose and a wry grin.
As we began to strip, Sabrina took off her bra as well, and the rest of us did likewise, without questioning, even Andrea. When we were naked, the four of us looked around at each other and smiled.
“The boys don’t deserve us,” Michelle said.
Once in costume, we came out and paraded before the males. They studied us with approving looks, before Sabrina tapped Andrea and me on the shoulder and beckoned towards the kitchen. We followed her and commenced our womanly duties – preparing and wrapping plates and bowls to maintain a six-hour continuous flow of snacks to our menfolk, checking beer supplies, restocking the fridge, etcetera.
Wondering what had happened to Michelle, I stole a quick peek into the living room. She was standing rigidly at attention, her fists clenched, her head bowed but with a defiant glare towards Jack, who was informing her that she should remain silent at all times. She slowly nodded, with a grateful smile and gritted teeth. From what I could determine, she had been granted special dispensation to watch the game (but nothing else) in return for keeping quiet and serving the males their beer and nibbles.
“Only if you keep your mouth shut,” Alex reiterated.
Michelle just nodded meekly.
That was out of character for both my brother and his girlfriend. The scene was, of course, being played out for dramatic effect. There was simply no way Michelle was going to be deprived of her football. But it gave Alex an opportunity to assert his dominance. He is a Collingwood partisan, and since her team was the odds-on favourite to win, this was his pre-emptive strike against the otherwise inevitable crowing, gloating triumphalism.
It was one o’clock now and the pre-game telecast was due to begin. I was bringing out four fresh beers and the boys were already engaged in a spirited debate about the relative merits and flaws of each team’s tactics and strategies, talents and skills. Michelle, I could see, wanted desperately to have her say – heck, she probably knew more about the game and the players than any of the males – but she obediently kept her silence. She was kneeling on the carpet – more precisely sitting on her heels – between Alex on the sofa and Rob in the adjacent armchair. Her hands were folded in her lap and her head was still bowed, so she had to raise her eyes to see the television screen. Nevertheless, she looked happy.
There was still more than an hour before “first bounce” (that’s the Aussie Rules equivalent of the kick-off), and the boys were already becoming bored with their analysis and argument, so Jack summoned the rest of us to join them. There was nothing left to do in the kitchen, so Sabrina shepherded Andrea and me out with a completely superfluous “We’ve been called.”
Michelle glanced up at us as we formed a line to one side of the TV set. Alex leaned across and tapped her between the shoulders. She knew what to do, putting her hands behind her head, fingertips just touching. At the same time, she shuffled sideways so that she was positioned directly in front of my brother, in fact between his outstretched legs. He grabbed her left hand and pulled it down behind her back – somewhat brusquely, because she winced as he did so. He had already prepared a rope (the nylon cord we normally use in our play parties, made more pliable with a soaking in fabric softener) by tying two loops, one of which he placed over her wrist. He then brought down her other hand and secured it. He tugged hard to bring the insides of her wrists together, and her face contorted again, as he cinched the rope tightly. This forced her shoulders back. She allowed herself a faint groan before settling back on her haunches, but her lips curled into a smile and I could see the tension visibly draining out of her. More than any of us, Michelle loves being tied up just for the tactile pleasure of it.
The other guys watched her being bound. Then Jack ordered Sabrina, Andrea and me to kneel and to “ball up” by bending forward until our foreheads touched the carpet and our chins were between our knees.
“Nice knickers, ladies” said Luke. I heard Andrea’s soft growl.
We placed our hands behind our backs and were bound in the same way as Michelle – except that Rob crossed my wrists, making the tie a lot less strenuous.
“Sarah’s had some chest problems,” he explained, and ignored Luke’s snide chuckle. (A stringent behind-the-back tie puts a strain on your chest – nice for emphasizing a B-cup bustline, but not so much when you’re coming off a bout of bronchitis.)
“No need for explanations,” said Jack. “She’s your property.” I knew he was trying to provoke me, so I didn’t react.
Once our arms were tied, there was a brief pause to confirm our safe words and signals. We use the same ones every time, but we make it a rule to go through the procedure every time. Then we were instructed to lean forward more, into a bottoms-up position, pushing with our feet to raise our ankles off the floor so they could be bound as well. Sabrina quietly moaned as Jack “assisted” her, putting his hand on her backside to lift her. I guess he obtained extra leverage by... Well, you can fill in the details.
Next came the inevitable gag and blindfold. For the latter, Jack had supplied crimson-coloured satin scarves. However, for our gagging each of the guys had his own preference. Rob is aware that my personal favourite is the ball-gag. Naturally I had brought a couple of my own, but as I felt the orb being pressed against my lips, I could tell from its size that it was one of Sabrina’s – just a little too big for my mouth. Now I don’t expect a gag to be comfortable – it’s sort of missing the point if it is – but I was just a little dismayed because I knew that pretty soon my jaws would be aching. But I didn’t resist, opening wide and accepting my fate. In any case, I was totally confident that Rob would not let me suffer too long.
I could tell that Michelle was gagged as well, because I heard the familiar muted gurgling sounds coming from her direction. Well, that made the injunction against talking automatically redundant. On the other hand, I was sure that even my depraved brother would not be so cruel – or myopically reckless – as to blindfold her.
We were left in our balled-up position for maybe thirty minutes. The boys ignored us as they switched their concentration back to the television screen. Nevertheless, every so often Sabrina would sigh or gasp, and Andrea would squeal or curse behind her gag. I was in the middle, and though we were close enough that our bodies were touching and I could feel each shudder and shiver, I had no idea what was being done to them. And I received none of such treatment; which was a bit of a pity, because it was becoming monotonous, hunched tied up on the floor. Because my gag didn’t quite fit, most of the ball protruded from my teeth, leaving gaps at the corners of my mouth for my dribble to drip onto the carpet. Whenever, from fatigue or boredom, I let my head droop forward, my nose touched the damp patch. It was a strangely unpleasant sensation which became the focus of my attention. I do that a lot, allowing my mind to drift away from the stress of my bonds, as a sort of escape device from when I’m outside my comfort zone; but I cannot always control where it will settle.
Naturally, I loved every second of it.
Finally, just when I was beginning to wonder how long we would be like this, Sabrina’s and Andrea’s bodies were moved away from me. There were shuffling noises and more moaning, and then it was my turn. One of the guys seized my ankles and another my shoulders, and I was pulled out of my balled-up position until I was lying on my stomach with my legs stretched out. My crimped and cramped limbs tingled for a moment as they straightened. But I knew from experience what was coming, and as soon as I felt one hand on my heels and another on my backside, I bent my knees to bring my feet up for my ankles to be bound to my wrists. It was not an easy hog-tie. To relieve the pressure on my arms and legs I had to transfer the strain by arching my body backwards, until that became difficult and I had to reverse the process – over and over again. The three of us were puffing and whimpering through our gags. It was not so much painful as exhausting, and also rather humiliating, forced to perform these prostrate gymnastics for the entertainment of our men. So it’s a good thing that, even when bound, gagged and blindfolded, lying on my belly on the carpet, I’m still a show pony.
I was expecting some extra torment to follow, such as tickle torture, but the guys’ attention had returned to the television, and that’s how it was for the next hour. During that time Michelle must have been untied, because her masters were telling her when to fetch more beer or bring out another plate of snacks. I knew she was still gagged, because every so often one of the men would playfully question her about something or – more cruelly – insult her beloved Cats, and she would reply with the familiar garbled sounds and an added gurgle of outrage.
The strain of the hog-tie was by now excruciating, but in a pleasurable way, like how you feel after strenuous exercise. The discomfort actually has a rejuvenating effect. Just as in a workout there’s no gain without pain, in a tie-up, if it ain’t tight it ain’t right. Nevertheless, I felt a sense of relief when, shortly before the start of the game (the football, that is), things changed. I don’t remember any of the on-screen pre-match entertainment (to my advantage, from what I’ve since been told), but the national anthem was sung by one of my favourite performers, Vanessa Amorosi. Lest my patriotism be doubted, I must say that I would have stood up for it, had I been able.
Just before the bounce, Luke decided it would be fun to turn the three of us into a tableau. That sounded ominous. The men slackened our hog-ties but kept our wrists and ankles still bound together, though loosely enough that when they propped us up, we could kneel with our backs straight. With the men guiding us, we shuffled about on our knees until the three of us were brought together in a triangle formation, facing inwards and sufficiently close that our bodies were pressed against each other. A long piece of rope was used to encircle us, entwined between and around our arms to hold us securely in place. Another rope was then looped around our necks, drawn just so tight as to bring our faces close so our cheeks touched, we could each feel the others’ breath and I could sniff Sabrina’s delicate perfume. Andrea was sucking and rasping past the edges of her gag rather than breathing through her nose. She does that when she gets angry or excited or turned on. She was probably all three. And she was squirming, making it uncomfortable for Sabrina and me who had to share in her wriggling about.
I heard a great cheer from the television as the game got underway. Each “quarter” lasts around 25 minutes (taking stoppages into account), but it seemed to drag on for a lot longer, as time does when you’re bound and immobilized. As the quarter-time break arrived, all I knew was that Geelong led by a slim margin. I had tried to follow the game by listening. The way the three of us were placed, I was facing the TV set, but of course I was blindfolded. After about ten minutes I gave up and began to zone out. I don’t recall much more except the harsh clutches of the ropes and the soft pressure of the other girls’ bodies against mine. It was not easy trying to stay upright since, being tied together, we had no flexibility to shift or adjust; and our knees were getting sore. But what I remember most vividly (and most fondly) was that both Andrea and Sabrina were becoming quite aroused. It was not just their rapid breathing that I could feel through the fabric of our shirts.
Of course, it was not only them.
There was a five-minute interval before the start of the second quarter – sufficient for the men to make bathroom runs or whatever, but not enough to play with their captives, so I thought we’d be left tied up the way we were until the long break at half-time.
However, Jack decided that “the girls look like they need some fun” – never a good thing to hear when you’re totally powerless. The football had actually resumed when he got behind me and shortened the rope connecting my wrists and ankles, yanking upwards until my feet were raised off the floor. What prevented me from toppling backwards was being tied to Andrea and Sabrina, but when he had done the same to them, the three of us were balanced precariously on our knees, and it was only a matter of time before we fell, in one direction or another. None of us wanted to be on the bottom of the resulting pile-up, so for maybe ten minutes we stayed unsteadily upright, swaying and teetering, grunting and panting with the effort.
So intimately joined to my partners, I found it interesting to sense the different way each reacted. Sabrina obviously wanted us to work together and was using her body to keep us steady and upright, leaning forward, sideways or backwards to counteract whichever way we were beginning to move. Andrea, on the other hand, was more focused on making sure we didn’t end up on top of her and so was basically working against Sabrina’s efforts. As the smallest and lightest, I didn’t have much influence; and anyway, I figured that if I tried to assist Sabrina or resist Andrea, all I would achieve would be to upset our wobbly equilibrium. Eventually, however, something had to give. It was very hard on our knees, and someone shifted her weight just a tad too much – it may have been me. We all leaned too far and once the symmetry was broken it could not be recovered. So when I sensed that our balance was lost, I pushed in Andrea’s direction. As we toppled, our threesome rolled on the carpet so that Sabrina was left lying on her left side, Andrea on her right and myself on top.
It turned out that I’d misjudged the end result of my last-second thrust. The ropes binding us together were too loose for us to stay in our original positions. I slipped down between the other girls’ bodies and found my face nestled in a soft, warm hollow between their breasts. This tightened the cord around our necks, so Jack quickly released us from it. There was never any danger of us choking, but it must have spooked him, because we were left alone for the next fifteen minutes, until half-time. Of course, that meant lying helpless in our little huddle of bodies, firmly hog-tied and less able to wriggle about than before. I could not extricate myself from my position. Sabrina had drawn her legs slightly backwards so my left hip and thigh slumped down to rest on the carpet; but Andrea could or would not do the same, so my body was tilted in her direction, and her knee was jammed into my crotch. Every time she moved – and she squirmed about a lot – I felt it in my most sensitive part. Meanwhile, my back, arms and shoulders were aching, and my wrists, now bound for some two hours, were starting to really hurt from the chafing.
I was still a long way from using my safe signal, but it was a blessing when the half-time horn sounded. I’m sure the boys wanted to have some more fun with us, but we were puffing and sweating and once again beginning to whimper. So we were untied and permitted to remove our gags. Only our blindfolds remained on. We sat on the floor at our men’s feet and Michelle brought us drinks. Rob gently stroked my hair, damp from perspiration, and massaged my stiff and sore shoulders.
By now I was beyond being interested in the football. But Alex and Michelle were talking – at some stage she must have been permitted to remove her gag as well – and although the game was mentioned only in oblique terms, from the tone and tenor of their voices – one glum but optimistic, the other self-satisfied but apprehensive – I surmised that Collingwood had taken a narrow lead.
When it came time for us to be tied again, fatigued as I might be, I was keen to learn what the boys had in store for us. They can usually be relied upon to be creative and did not disappoint. They took off our blindfolds. Sabrina was flushed and Andrea appeared dishevelled, while Michelle had already withdrawn to the kitchen. I hitched up my stockings because the suspenders had come undone. Sabrina unwrinkled and straightened her shirt. We knelt again and were instructed to gag each other. Sabrina was apologetic as she inserted her oversized ball between my jaws. Andrea’s gag was a “penis” type, and the shaft was ominously long, penetrating deep into her mouth. I had to admire her strong constitution, as she resisted the “gag” (as in retch) reflex when I slid it in. Sabrina’s was a bit-gag, which I hate the most but I know Jack likes (because he’s used one on me a few times). Andrea looked at Sabrina contritely as she strapped it back in place. It has to be tight for it to be effective, but when it is, the bar presses harshly against the corners of the wearer’s mouth. It also causes uncontrollable drooling, and the front of Sabrina’s shirt was already soaked.
The boys bound our hands behind our backs, all three of us with wrists crossed, then tied our ankles. Andrea and Sabrina were propped in a kneeling position up against each other, so that each girl’s chin was over the other’s right shoulder. They were kept in their embrace with ropes around the neck, chest and waist. Then Jack took all three scarves and strung them together to make a large blindfold which he wrapped around both girls’ heads. As this was happening, I was lying on my side, watching and wondering where I would fit in (literally).
The two girls groaned behind their gags as Jack and Luke seized their feet and hauled so that their bodies below their waists were drawn backwards and apart. They were left in an awkward position, like an inverted Y, because of the rope tied around their midsections. I now knew what my role was to be, and with some prodding from Jack I wriggled across the carpet on my belly until I was lying between their knees. It was a tight fit because their legs could not be set back too far. Rob lifted my bound arms and tied them to Andrea’s and Sabrina’s waist rope on one side, while Alex brought my feet up to be secured on the other side. So it was like a hog-tie, except that the rope about the two girls’ trussed bodies above me formed the connector between my wrists and ankles. The result was particularly strenuous, since my knees were raised off the floor and my arms were pulled upwards behind me, putting considerable strain on my shoulders. I wasn’t blindfolded, but the way I was posed, and facing towards the wall, there was not much I could see.
We were kept that way for the entire second half of the game, somewhat over fifty minutes. My limbs quickly adjusted to the difficult position, and anyway Andrea and Sabrina had it worse than me, because I could hear them quietly moaning. Nevertheless, they sounded like pleasurable rather than distressful moans, and interspersed with giggling. (That may sound odd, but the fact is that Sabrina loves torment and Andrea enjoys a challenge.) However, during the three-quarter break, our kind and caring boyfriends decided to entertain themselves with some rubber band foot torture. I suppose it wasn’t really torture because unless it’s done with malice the sting is not very severe, plus we had our stockings on. But it’s an ordeal because you can’t do anything to stop it, just shake your feet and wiggle your toes and squeal through your gag. (Then again, so far as I’m concerned it’s better than being tickled.)
I was startled when Rob and Jack began to untie us. I had drifted off into my private malaise. The match was over, the premiership decided, the trophy presentation well under way. I glanced about. My brother and his girlfriend were missing.
Luke was dumping the last of the beer bottles into a plastic bag. “Michelle’s getting her prize,” he said with a grin.
“So Geelong won?” I replied.
Jack looked up from detaching Sabrina from Andrea. “Wouldn’t matter, would it?”
Andrea sat up, took the plug from her mouth, wrinkled her nose in disgust as she studied it, then yawned a few times to flex her jaws. Sabrina unbuckled the strap on her gag, literally spat out the bar, which landed on the floor in front of her, and licked the saliva from her lips and chin. The three of us rubbed and massaged our wrists and ankles to restore full circulation and smooth out the rope marks. Then we just sat on the carpet in silence for maybe half an hour, recovering, while the boys watched the rest of the post-game proceedings.
Alex and Michelle emerged from the bedroom, both looking pleased with themselves until they saw us smiling at them. She blushed. He tried to look triumphant but just ended up goofy. Michelle had swapped her jersey and stockings for a pretty mauve playsuit, so Sabrina, Andrea and I decided it was time to divest ourselves of our uniforms as well. Rob in particular seemed disappointed – we did look sexy if somewhat bedraggled – so instead of putting my jeans and sweater back on, I borrowed one of Sabrina’s camisoles. Since she’s so much taller than me, it worked as a shimmy dress, short and sassy, although the neckline sagged precariously low on my chest. Sabrina liked the idea and put on one of her silk petticoats. Andrea, however, remained her usual recalcitrant self and got back into her dungarees.
Jack and Sabrina prepared dinner. We had gourmet pizza. I was hoping to be tied up or at least blindfolded during the meal – I love that – but I didn’t suggest it and no one offered. Nevertheless, once we had cleared and washed up, Jack disappeared for a couple of minutes, returning to the living room with a large wooden box shaped and decorated like a pirate’s treasure chest.
“Playtime,” he announced.
We did not get straight back into the games because we’d consumed a couple of bottles of wine during dinner and needed time for the effects to wear off. As we all (should) know, bondage play after consuming alcohol is not a good idea. (And here I should add that the beer the boys had been drinking during the football was the light and mid-strength variety, for this very reason. We take our games very seriously... in some ways, at least.) In any case, the afternoon session had been physically and mentally demanding – the sort of challenge I enjoy but which saps your energy, so I was feeling tired and somewhat apathetic. Of course, once the fun recommenced, my body and my mind came quickly back to life.
Andrea and Luke had reverted to their customary roles, and she was eager for payback. (For Andrea, bondage and dominance are essentially about status – how it’s exercised and how it’s perceived. So whenever she’s been on the bottom, she feels she needs to reclaim and reassert her ascendancy.) So they got the ball rolling at about eight o’clock. She brought one of the dining table chairs into the living room and tied him to it, his arms at his side, wrists bound to the rear legs, ankles to the front legs. With a look of malicious, vengeful glee, she waved the penis gag she had been obliged to wear for most of the afternoon under his nose.
Up until now, Luke had been compliant; but when he beheld the imposing silicone shaft that he’d forced into her mouth, he screwed up his face and clenched his teeth. I thought “You hypocrite!” but I had to suppress a laugh, watching the poor girl become increasingly frustrated as he rebuffed her every attempt to make him submit. Even tickling – my Achilles’ heel – failed to unclamp those defiant jaws. (Luke is curiously immune, which reinforces my belief that ticklishness is psychological rather than physiological.) In desperation, she looked to Jack, Rob and Alex in turn for assistance, but they each responded with a shrug of indifference. I guess that was also hypocritical, since they always showed solidarity when one of us girls displayed such obstinacy. But in the end she sucked up the double standard and compromised with a ball-gag. Luke straight away opened up.
Jack had followed the little drama with languid curiosity, but with Luke trussed to the chair, he leapt out of his own seat. Sabrina was, at the time, reclined in his lap, so she tumbled off him with a yelp and spun about to berate him. But he was too quick, planting a hand over her mouth, and she immediately went silent and limp. He turned her around to face away from him, and held her hands behind her back while gesturing to Alex. My brother retrieved a rope from the box and tossed it to him. After Jack had tied Sabrina’s hands, he blindfolded and gagged her (once more with the dreaded bit-gag). He then hustled her to a position directly behind Luke’s seat, so that her back was up against the chair. He raised her bound arms and put them over Luke’s head and shoulders so they encircled his chest. It was a tight fit, made more so when Jack forced her into a half-crouching position, so that her arms were angled sharply upwards. In fact, he had to loosen her wrist ropes to accomplish this; but when he had tied her ankles to the chair legs, she was completely immobilized. Since she was suspended off her knees, her weight was supported almost entirely by her bound arms.
Jack had looped the cord around her wrists several times to minimize the pressure on her blood circulation and to reduce abrasion to the skin; and since Sabrina is quite gymnastic, the strain was nothing she couldn’t cope with. However, as slender as she is, her body shifted Luke’s centre of gravity backwards; and seeing this, Rob decided that he (or rather I) should restore the balance. He beckoned for me to stand up, bound, blindfolded and gagged me, and made me lie on my belly across Luke’s lap. My arms were pinioned behind me in a box-tie (that’s with hands to elbows), to which Rob tried to attach my ankles for an awkward hog-tie; but as he was doing this he realized that it was making my position on Luke’s thighs perilously unstable, so he desisted. It was then that I became aware that Michelle had joined our formation. She was kneeling at Luke’s feet, and was forced to lean forward when someone, presumably Alex, tied a rope from her neck to Luke’s, looped for good measure about my bound wrists. When this rope was adjusted, Michelle’s shoulders were pressed against my side and her chin was resting on my forearm.
The four of us were kept in this rather strange configuration for quite some time. Sabrina had the worst of it. She was once more puffing and whimpering. On the other hand, Luke was enjoying himself. I didn’t know whether it was the sheer pleasure of the bondage or the delight of having Michelle’s breasts wedged between his thighs and my body sprawled across his lap, but I could feel his growing excitement.
The other lads, however, soon got bored with merely sitting back and admiring their handiwork. I heard a scuffle, a shout and a screech. Luke managed a chuckle through his gag. He had not been blindfolded so knew what was going on, but I had it quickly worked out as well, even if I didn’t know exactly what the three guys did to Andrea, because she did not become part of our tableau.
Just as her gag went in, she shouted “You sexist dirtbags!” I could see her point, but I knew that the guys were making their own point. Luke’s penchants mattered, hers didn’t. The focus this weekend was on balls – in both senses of the word. (In any case, it’s always entertaining when haughty Andrea gets her comeuppance.)
We were released after half an hour or so, mainly because Sabrina was beginning to suffer. Following a short break for recuperation, we resumed our games, albeit nothing really worth recounting. We were all now weary, so after our hosts had made cocoa, Jack brought up the subject of sleeping arrangements. The house has just the two bedrooms, but a storeroom next to the kitchen had been converted to serve as a makeshift third. That still left one couple without behind-the-door privacy. None of us really needed it for just two nights, but let’s just say that despite our fatigue, we were all pretty worked up from the day’s activities.
Andrea volunteered a tad too readily that she and Luke would take the cots Jack was setting up in a corner of the living room. I glanced across at Luke to see how he might react to that, but his face was impassive. I have never been sure of the depth of their relationship, so I guess I should not have been too surprised. On the other hand, Rob and I ended up in the storeroom, in consequence of a coin toss. Our bed was a large single, which was okay because the confined space meant close-in snuggling and cuddling. It did not take long, however, before I found myself blinking away the glare of the early morning sunlight pouring in through the small window.
I pulled on my cream cami top and khaki chino shorts and left Rob to sleep some more. In the kitchen I found Jack and Sabrina already getting started on the breakfast preparation. He was wearing the ugliest flannel pyjamas I have ever seen on man or beast, and over them an unspeakably garish scarlet robe. It was typically Jack, who cannot even say the word “fashionable” without irony. By contrast, Sabrina was her customary gorgeous in a pink and white, ribbon and lace wrap teddy, with silk stockings and garters. Fastened about her throat was a shiny black, hand-stitched leather collar embossed in silver with her name and Jack’s, and to which was fixed a fine chain, an outstretched arm’s length, also of silver. The other end was attached to a bracelet on Jack’s left wrist. Now and then, whether he was aware of it or not, as he reached with that hand for something in an overhead cupboard or at the other end of the counter, he would tug on the chain and her neck and head would be jerked sideways – not enough to be a nuisance but sufficient to remind her that she was bound to him. She did not look bothered by it, and in fact a couple of times when it happened I saw a subtle smile.
I recognized the collar and chain – Jack’s birthday gift to Sabrina the previous June. I was there when he gave it to her and put it on her. She was kneeling before him, and gazing up at him with adoring, almost worshipful, eyes. Even if their little ritual had more than a touch of the whimsical, it was the first time that I really understood just how strong was their connection and how profound was her conviction. And in a way I was glad that my Rob wasn’t there with us at that moment, because I was so moved, and frankly so aroused, that I might have been inspired to make a similar commitment that I could not possibly have honoured in the long term.
Jack did the thing with his hand once too often and she whacked him on the backside with a spatula. I asked how I could help – with the breakfast, that is – and she pointed to the bare dining table, just a little too quickly. But I understood and agreed. My formidable lack of culinary skills has become the stuff of legend. I’m told that mothers scare naughty children with tales of the meals I have cooked.
Alex and Michelle materialized a few minutes later. He was already fully dressed. She was in a flimsy bra and skimpier knickers. She’s the least inhibited of us all, and I’m sure she’d be happy to wander about stark naked. Or maybe this morning it wasn’t her choice, because her hands were tied behind her back. She didn’t look entirely pleased. She was flexing and twisting her bound arms, and blowing back an errant strand of hair that had fallen across her face, with growing exasperation as it stubbornly refused to co-operate. Yet when we saw each other, she grinned and rolled her eyes. My brother looked ever so pleased with himself.
I finished my table-setting chore just as Rob joined us. Both Andrea and Luke remained oblivious until I roused them and announced breakfast time. When I came back to the table, the red satin scarves from yesterday were neatly folded beside four places. Sabrina emerged from the kitchen bearing a huge bowl of fruit salad. She was still wearing her collar, but the chain had been detached from Jack’s wrist and was wrapped around her breasts, the handle end tucked into her cleavage. She gestured for Michelle, Andrea and me to sit where the blindfolds had been placed.
Michelle and I did so, but Andrea hesitated, frowned and glanced at Luke. Then she sighed and shrugged and smiled. She’s very pretty when she smiles – I wish she would do it more often. She took her seat, as did Sabrina, and the men stood behind us to tie our blindfolds in place.
Once he’d secured the knot behind my head, Rob grazed his fingertips across the back of my neck and then lightly around my throat. He drew them along my shoulders, brushing the backs of his hands against my cheeks as he did so. When he encountered the spaghetti straps of my cami, he pushed them off my shoulders. I shivered. I thought he might pull my top all the way down to my waist, but his fingers passed over the straps and continued down my arms. My skin tingled. When he reached my wrists, he gently pulled them behind my back. Because I was seated, I had to lean forward so he could tie my hands without difficulty. When he’d done so, he tenderly kissed my neck. My breath quickened. But the spell was broken by a gruff “Harrumph!” from my brother. We were holding up breakfast.
I have already described how delightful and seductive is the experience of dining blindfolded. It’s so much more exquisite when you have the use of neither your eyes nor your hands. The loss of sight stimulates your other senses, enhancing flavours and textures and aromas. And when you have to be fed by your partner, you can’t be sure what each morsel or each sip will bring, and so the anticipation, the momentary puzzlement and the sudden revelation increase your receptivity. To rearticulate what I have written elsewhere: It can get messy, but your full attention is focused on the meal, which adds to your appreciation. And that is what the best bondage is all about – it doesn’t limit your experience, but rather intensifies it. It’s like when you add a drop of dark blue to a tin of white paint, and the white appears whiter, more intense. So when you’re wearing your blindfold, the darkness brings clarity. When you’re bound, your helplessness gives you the freedom to explore sensations that you normally miss. Such is the delicious paradox of bondage.
It didn’t take long to work out, from the fussing, the giggling and the cursing (the latter Andrea’s, of course) that the other girls were bound as well. Much later, when our blindfolds were removed, I saw that all three were smeared from brow to bosom in various foodstuffs. Michelle, in addition, had a mess of mustard-coloured goo daubed on her crotch and inner thighs. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know. But I felt kind of left out. Sometimes Rob is too neat and careful for my own good.
A fringe benefit of our being bound and blindfolded was that the boys took responsibility for the clearing up and washing up. Just so we wouldn’t feel too privileged, however, they made us stand up and bend over the table, to stay that way until the job was done. And predictably, Andrea began grumbling. She was quickly silenced with a gag, but she did not resist and never shifted her position. Being blindfolded, I am not sure what coercion (if any) the guys applied to keep her in her place. But that’s how she works – she’d made her point, paid the price and could now relax and enjoy it.
It was still on the early side of mid-morning, with six or seven hours until the next grand final telecast. There were various options for filling in the time, and not all of them involved the application of rope. We are not entirely obsessed by bondage games, so I don’t want to give the impression that this is all we do and think about when we get together. Thus it was decided that we would drive down to the nearby for a couple of beers in the pub, a visit to the farmer’s market and morning tea in one of the coffee shops.
The only dissent came from my brother who, besides being the habitual dissident, had his mind firmly set on more tie-up fun. We were already standing in the front yard organizing our car allocations when Sabrina stole a glance at Jack who grinned and nodded. She said “Wait a minute” before disappearing back inside the house. She emerged with a small, hand-crafted wooden box that she set down on the table on the front porch.
We came back up the stairs as Sabrina was taking out four coils of rope. They were the same type of nylon cords treated with fabric softener like the ones we often used, but braided for about six centimetres in the middle. Michelle and I recognized their purpose immediately, while Andrea looked puzzled. But she took just a few seconds to figure it out. She screwed up her nose, snarled her disapproval and glared at Luke. He silently raised his eyebrows, but that was all. He still hadn’t worked it out as each of the men was given one of the ropes.
After breakfast, Sabrina had changed into a cute, carnation-pink sundress and I had on a denim skirt. Michelle looked down at her figure-hugging jeans, shook her head and went to change into a skirt as well. Meanwhile, without any inhibition that the rest of us were looking on, Sabrina lifted the hem of her dress as high as her chest and allowed Jack to tie one end of the cord around her waist. She winced as he pulled it tight, as it must be to have the desired effect. It was a somewhat complex tie, the doubled rope twice encircling the body to make loops at the front and back. Through the loop directly over her navel, Jack passed one strand down between her thighs. Even Sabrina blushed as we watched him carefully manoeuvre the braided section at the spot where it would have the most effect. She winced again as he threaded the rest of the cord through the rear crevice and wrenched it up behind her to fix it to the second loop positioned in the small of her back. She took a few steps, smiled and nodded.
As all eyes now turned in my direction, I had to take my skirt off, but I tied my own rope in place, although Rob helped at the end to make it extra firm. He apologized as I grunted at the piercing jerk between my legs, but that lasted for only a second as the rope settled into its place. Like Sabrina, I walked about a bit to test my harness. The braid was fine enough to fit snugly into the crease but not so narrow as to cause abrasion. In any case, it went over my knickers, so there was a layer of fabric (albeit flimsy) between it and my tender flesh. As I replaced my skirt, Alex put Michelle’s rope on her and she giggled. But not from embarrassment. As I’ve said, she’s not shy – but she is sensitive. (As it was, the rope proved to be such a trim fit against her body that she didn’t really have to change out of her jeans. I’m sure no casual observer would have noticed the telltale bulge.)
We turned to Andrea. I thought she still might refuse, but I guess she now saw the crotch-rope as a personal challenge. At least, that was her self-justification. If she needs an excuse to experience pleasure, then so be it. But she nevertheless surprised us by quickly unbuttoning her dungarees and sliding them down to her knees. Like me, she preferred to put the rope on herself but needed Luke to attach it at the rear. And like the rest of us, she gasped as it was drawn taut. Plus, of course, Luke had his sport by giving the cord a few extra tugs.
“Just to be sure,” he explained.
We took two cars, Jacks’ and Andrea’s. She wanted to drive, but Sabrina advised her not to. Andrea frowned and shook her head, but agreed. And as she climbed into the back and sank into the seat, the braided cord began doing its magic and she understood why wearing it might constitute a driving hazard. Indeed, it was not a comfortable ride. The road surface was very uneven, due to rutting and potholing caused by the floods earlier this year. Most of the valley had been inundated and it was going to take a few more months before the repair crews finished mending the damage and clearing the debris. Each bump and swerve was transmitted from the undercarriage to the seat to the rope between my legs and thus directly into my delicate parts. By the time we reached our destination, after just a few minutes’ driving, I was already tingling. We then had to stroll some distance to the nearest pub, and it was hard to walk properly and not waddle to ease the pressure. As we took our seats at one of the big tables, we four girls were flushed and sweaty. The waitress gave us an odd look, but I think that was because the men appeared so normal. I think we looked to her like we had been running.
We stayed about an hour. I made the mistake of having two cups of coffee, and by the time we’d finished up I was in desperate need of a trip to the bathroom. Sabrina came along, to assist me out of my crotch-rope, and when I was done she helped put it back on me. She was no less thorough than Rob had been in making sure it was tight and snug. While we were thus occupied, a couple of women came in and left, never catching on to what we were doing.
We decided against a walk through the market. As we returned to the car, Andrea was looking quite worked up, as all four of us were. We had been wearing our ropes for something like an hour and a half, and although the stimulation had not been constant, it never went away entirely.
We arrived back at around eleven o’clock. It had turned into a hot and muggy day. The sun was hidden behind a blanket of sullen grey clouds, and the air lay thick and heavy over the crest of the ridge that marked the border of Sabrina’s property. Jack’s car had pulled over to the side of the road just inside the gate and he was waiting for us to pass through so he could close it. But he waved a hand to signal for Luke to stop. We were a few hundred metres from the house, which sits atop another ridge on the far side of a broad, shallow gully.
As Jack came up, I looked past him. Sabrina and Michelle were already standing on the edge of the road, wearing blindfolds and leaning against the car on outstretched arms, their legs spread apart – in the “assume the position” pose you’ve seen on a hundred cop shows.
Andrea and I joined Sabrina and Michelle, but on the other side of the car facing them. They grimaced behind their blindfolds as Jack and Rob gave them a thorough pat-down before tying their hands behind their backs. Sabrina bit her lower lip and her body jerked as Jack was doing something to her I couldn’t see. Michelle did likewise, and I was wondering what was happening until Andrea and I received the same treatment. After he’d bound my hands behind my back, Rob tied my wrists to my waist rope. There was no particular reason for the boys doing that, except that it put additional pressure on our crotch-ropes, and it lifted the rear of our skirts, exposing our knickers. I thought that was very juvenile of them.
However, and somewhat ironically, it was Andrea who got the worst of it, because her crotch rope was under her dungarees. Luke could have foregone that final part of the binding, but with his customary (and generally prescient) “I will be paying for this later” look he unhitched the braces and dragged the dungarees down to her hips. (Detaching the braces from the bib instead of undoing the buttons and pulling it off her shoulders would have consequences later on.) Because she was blindfolded, his action took her by surprise. She flinched but, reconciled now to her role, she did not say a word.
I still had my sight because the last of the scarves had a knot in it that took some unravelling. It was comically endearing watching Rob, Luke and Alex standing in a huddle, all so serious and grimly determined as they struggled to figure out how to get it undone. My darling brother looked across at me and grinned. “Don’t worry, you’re not going to miss out.” But it still took the combined efforts of three robust males what seemed like several minutes to defeat the Gordian knot. In the meantime, Jack had taken four ball-gags from the glove compartment of his car. He had certainly come prepared – I don’t know if he’d put them in for just this occasion or if they were stowed there permanently. They were of slightly different sizes, and mine fit better than the one I’d worn yesterday.
Once all the blindfolds and gags were in place, we waited and I could hear the guys quietly conferring. Then I felt Rob’s left hand grasp my right elbow and I was aware that he was holding onto Andrea with the other. He pulled us away from the car. I heard a door open and shut. The car started up and drove off, towards the house. Andrea’s followed, so I realized that the six of us – four bound and blindfolded girls and the two boys left to guide us – would be walking the rest of the way home. I hoped we weren’t going cross-country, which would involve negotiating dips and mounds, a shallow but slippery-bedded creek and two fences, through spiky knee-high grass. In fact, Rob and Alex were not that cruel, and we followed the road, although this was difficult enough. If the highway was bad, this track was badder – winding, undulating and deeply corrugated.
We had only taken about a dozen steps when Andrea started cursing through the ball between her jaws, and the three of us lurched to a standstill. It took me a couple of minutes, after we had resumed our slow, unsteady progress, to work out what had happened. Her unsupported dungarees had slipped off her hips and eventually slumped down around her ankles, and it was Rob’s quick reflexes which prevented her from tripping. With her hands bound behind her, she had no way of protecting herself, and the fall could have been nasty. So it really was quite irresponsible of Rob – and the other guys as well – to not foresee this. Rob pulled her outfit back up to her waist, and advised her to hold onto the back of it as best she could. Even so, from what I could make out, they drooped and sagged, and the poor girl had a hard time of it in the twenty minutes or so it took to reach the house. But to her credit, she never opted out with her safe signal, and at the end of her ordeal she could laugh about it.
Otherwise, the walk was uneventful, but exhausting, since even without Andrea’s hobble I had to concentrate to keep my footing. I put my faith in Rob, although he had just the one hand holding onto my elbow to save me if I fell; but I made it with just a couple of stumbles. Indeed, it’s one of the nicest things about being helpless, having to depend on him totally and trust him to protect me. At the very bottom of the gully, he changed his approach to the problem, drawing the two of us close to his sides and clutching us around the midsection, putting his arms between our bodies and our pinioned arms. It made the going somewhat easier. Meanwhile, flies and other insects were buzzing about, harassing my bare legs, arms and shoulders, with me unable to swat them away. That was the most excruciating torment.
And of course, we were still wearing our crotch-ropes. It did not take long before Andrea and I were panting and puffing and groaning, as I imagine Sabrina and Michelle were as well. It’s a weird feeling – you’re not sure if it’s good or bad. You want it to stop because you can’t bear it anymore; but what’s unbearable is not pain but pleasure; and you are desperately trying to hold in the eruption that’s building within you, because you think it will be so embarrassing to let go; but it’s exactly what you’re body and brain are programmed to do. I guess evolution didn’t make provision for braided crotch-ropes.
None of us reached the house intact, so to speak, so when we arrived we sat for a moment on the front steps, red-faced, perspiring and breathless, as we were untied. We were quite a sight, and although we felt just a little humiliated at our condition, we had to smile when we saw the boys’ faces. I don’t pretend to be an expert on the male brain, but it’s funny what they get turned on by.
Sabrina gathered up the ropes, gags and blindfolds, and we went inside to get cleaned up and change into new clothes. Rob came with me to our storeroom-cum-bedroom, and he chuckled when he saw laid out on the bed my uniform for the afternoon. I don’t know if Sabrina had put it there earlier or if Jack had done so while we were still shuffling up the hill. The stockings and suspender belt were there, with this time a Rugby League shirt. It was not a complete football jersey like yesterday’s but rather cropped to bare the midriff and slit at the shoulders for décolletage. In line with Sabrina’s quirky sense of humour, the team logos (of the Manly Sea-Eagles and Auckland Warriors) were not on the shirts but on the seats of our knickers. And plastered on the crotch were – of course – two footballs. The symbolism was not subtle.
“It just keeps on coming, doesn’t it?” Rob mused, as I peeled off my sweat-soaked clothes and undies.
He was feeling sorry for me – it had not been an easy morning, and now we were moving straight into the next phase. The love of my life does not, as I have said, really understand the appeal of bondage, especially from the point of view of the one being bound. From his viewpoint, everything that had happened to us girls since we arrived yesterday was stuff the boys had done to us. Certainly, Andrea had tied Luke at one stage, but mostly the ropes had been on her, and Luke wasn’t expected to wear one of these tiny little outfits (and certainly not a crotch-rope). From Rob’s unenlightened but innocent perspective, our costumes were solely for the males’ viewing pleasure, and it’s the same with bondage – he does not really appreciate that bondage is not just something that’s done to you, and submission is not just something you do – they are your experience.
“Get over yourself, it’s not about you,” I almost replied. Instead I kissed him.
Sarobah
Australia
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Sarobah's stories
- 01 - The Adventure Begins (mm/f)
- 02 - Mayday (F+/F+) in Archives for Adults
- 03 - The Obligatory Babysitter Story (mf/f)
- 04 - Bond-Expo (M+F+/M+F+) in Archives for Adults
- 05 - Captured Commando (f/f)
- 06 - Slavegirl (M+F+/F+, M/F)
- 07 - Uniformity (m/f)
- 08 - Tent Ropes - The True Story (FFF/M, M+/F+)
- 09 - Tent Ropes - Fiction (FFF/M, M+/F+) in Archives for Adults
- 10 - Family Ties (m/ff, m/fff)
- 11 - Setting the record straight... Family Ties, # 2 (m/ff) Story from Sarobah's brother Alex
- 12 - The other end of the rope (m/ff, m/f) Story from Sarobah's brother Alex
- 13 - Adventures in Tieland (f/m, mmm/f, m/ff) Story from Sarobah's brother Alex
- 14 - Setting the record straight... The awesome foursome (f/f, m/fff) Story from Sarobah's brother Alex
- 15 - Back in the game! (M/F)
- 16 - The Resort (M/F, m/f, M+m+/F+f+)
In Archives for Adults - Balls: The rematch (MMMM/FFFF)
- Birthday Girl (M/F)
- The Girl Next Door (M/F)
- Tie-up Tuesday (M/F)
- The prisoners' dilemma (m/f)
- Château Chaînerie (mmf/f)
- THE TIE-UP CHRONICLES (Continued) (m/f)
- Two first times (m/f)
- Adversity (F/F)
Index of all stories in the "Archive for Everyone" section
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Index of all stories in the "Archive for Adults" section
