Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Seb, short for Sebastian (not my real name, and I won't use real names below for privacy reasons). Ever since I can remember, since at least the tender age of 4 or 5, I was into TUGs. More specifically, I was into girls tying up boys, and as I grew older, into women tying up men. As a preteen, I would mostly play TUGs with my cousins, and occasional neighbourhood kids; games like cops and robbers, or girls v. boys and boys v. girls. However, such games only happened during summer vacations and rarely, if ever, during the school year. I would, nevertheless, find occasions to do some selfbondage whenever I got the chance to be alone at home. I just enjoyed the feeling of ropes tied around me, holding me immobile while I imagined what it would be like to be tickled and unable to escape those tickles. For some reason, I also liked the smell of women's feet (girls' feet around my age at the time), and the feel of tights against my skin. I have no particular recollection of a first time I discovered those predilections, but they have been with me a long, long time.
The story that follows is based on memories of mine, when I was only 11 years old, and my mother nearly caught me in self-bondage. The real life events obviously transpired differently, as had I been discovered by my mom in my self-bound state, there would have been hell to pay. I was lucky and managed to fully unbind myself before I got discovered, but it was a close call. What follows, is how I wish events would have truly transpired, had I been discovered in my self-bound state.
One particular Saturday, when I was 11 years old, I was left alone at home while my mother drove my 8 year old sister, Margaret, to her ballet lessons. My dad was working out of town and would not be back for another two weeks, and my mom would usually stay with my sister for the duration of my sister's ballet lessons, which usually lasted the entire afternoon. My parents trusted me with being left home alone as I was a good dependable little boy who always did his chores, was able to cook for himself, and never answered the door when he was home alone. I even had emergency numbers on quick-dial in case something happened. My mom and sister had left after a short lunch and were not expected back till supper time, so I jumped on the opportunity to have some selfbondage fun!
Now, between the ages of 10 to 12, I happened to be able to fit into my mom's tights. However, my sister's tights, beige or pink ballet tights mostly as she was taking ballet lessons, were too small for me; plus, Margaret's footed tights smelled bad after her ballet practices. My mom's worn tights didn't stink as much, so on this particular Saturday I headed down to the basement where our laundry room was and looked through the hamper in order to find a pair of my mom's tights to wear. Unfortunately, all I could find was a pair of my sister's beige ballet tights that reeked of her foot odour, not at all pleasant, despite my earlier admission above to liking the foot odour of girls around my age. Nevertheless, I still grabbed them as a thought came to my mind for an interesting self-torment predicament while I was self-tied. Through the basement, I headed into our enclosed garage and gathered half a dozen lengths of yellow nylon rope my dad kept for whatever reasons. These were strong with little give, but my cousins and I have used them often in our summer time TUGs.
Determined to still wear tights while self-bound, I headed back up into the kitchen and then upstairs to the bedrooms, but first grabbing a roll of grey duct-tape from the knickknack drawer in the kitchen for the self-torment I had in mind. Once upstairs, I go through my mom's dresser, and find a pair of smooth silky black tights. I bring all the stuff I picked up to my private bedroom and close the door (we had no locks on our bedroom doors). I proceed to fully undress, and I then slip on my mom's black tights. They felt so smooth and silky along my legs! With much anticipation, I quickly lie down on my bed, over the bed-sheets, and proceed to tie my legs together with some of the yellow rope, at the ankles, and both above and below the knees.
I admire for a little while my rope-work; not bad for an 11 year old. I wiggle my legs to test the binds, and they hold fast. I like the contrast of the yellow rope against the smooth blackness of the tights. Wanting to be a bit more immobilized, I use another length of rope to now tie my bound ankles to the vertical bars of my bed's foot-board. My bed was a single-sized bed with an identical head-board, but sadly, at the age of 11, I hadn't yet figured out how to also self-tie my hands (my cousins doing it for me during our TUGs). Now, before I go on, at this point it is important to highlight that with my cousins, during our TUGs, we were always in our normal clothes. I would never have dared, as a boy, in the 1970s, to wear tights during TUGs with other kids. Wearing my mom's tights was something I only did during selfbondage sessions!
So, with my legs secured to each other and to the foot of my bed, I proceed to wrap several turns of the duct-tape around my head. No stuffing; I wasn't into that or even considered it yet at that time. However, I was into being forced to smell stinky feet! I now lie back down and stretch my arms upwards towards the head-board's vertical bars. I can barely reach them, given the length of rope I allowed between my ankle bind and the foot-board. Ready for the self-torment I had in mind, I grab my sister's tights and wrap them a few times around my tap-gagged mouth to finally feed the stinky footed part through the loops and firmly pressed against my nostrils. I now quickly lie back down on my back, grabbing hold of the head-board's vertical bars, stretching myself out to do so.
I pretend that my hands are firmly tied to the head-board and start to squirm pretending that it is my own sister who has put me into this predicament. The stench of my sister's tights is nearly intolerable; nothing like the sweeter smell of my cousin Miranda's feet on those few "smell my feet" pranks during summer-time girls v. boys TUGs. As a pretend struggle against the ropes, I imagine that my sister has done this to me to "air out" her ballet tights, while she is practising her lessons in a cleaner pair. I imagine my sister, there in my room, occasionally tickling my feet clad in tights, to "accelerate" my breathing and the "airing out" process. I imagine her taunting me, that when she is done practising, she will followup by using my nose to air out her ballet shoes and her current tights as well, with several hours of inescapable tickle torture to "look forward to!"
I get caught up in my imagined and self-imposed torment, not noticing that the front door was being unlocked. It's only when I hear my mom loudly call out my name "Sebby!" as she is already climbing the stairs that I snap out of my daydream. It's only been 10 minutes since I've started my tie-up; 40 minutes since she left with my sister Margaret; this is too early! I quickly let go of the head-board and sit up, but it's too late to do anything more, as my mom opens the door to my room.
"Sebby!" she exclaims even louder. I am beet-red and my heart is pounding, so ashamed of having been discovered like this. I must look so stupid to my mom, wearing her tights, with my sister's beige ballet tights wrapped around my head (the feet no longer pressed against my nostrils, but hanging down below my cheeks, on each side of my face, like droopy rabbit ears). I suspect I'm about to be severely scolded and grounded for life, never to be trusted to be home alone ever again.
However, my mom just stands there silently in the door frame for a few seconds, taking in my pathetic sight. I dare look up at her, tears welling in my eyes, expecting a stern disapproving look, but I see her with her signature good-nature smirk she usually gives me when I invent preposterous tales in an attempt to explain away some mishap. She slowly walks up to my bed and sits down next to me, and hugs me in her arms.
"No need to cry or feel ashamed my dear little Sebby," she whispers into my ear. "At least I now understand why some of my tights get stretched out of shape so quickly," she continues. "And those must be your sister's tights from last week's practice, boy they still smell, let me take those off you." She does so and tosses them towards the open door of my room. "I'm beginning to understand why the hamper appears riffled on occasion too," she remarks. Finally, she asks "did you stuff your mouth?" I shake my head no.
She stands up, and now with a sterner look and commanding tone (but still a slight smirk breaking through) states "I'm going to need some more explanations, however, my boy!" My eyes start tearing up again and I look down and away, but she grabs my head with both her hands and turns my head back up to face her.
"LOOK AT ME SEBASTIAN! Understand my dear Sebby that you are my son, my only son, and I adore you, and will always adore you; I'm not angry with you; but I am disappointed and now worried sick; you must not be so foolish as to tie yourself up and especially gag yourself; never when you are alone, do you understand!" I nod yes, tears rolling down my checks as I try to avert her gaze to no avail.
"I don't think you do my dear, sweet, boy. There is no phone in your room; that could have been a burglar breaking into the house for all you know. When I unlocked the door and didn't hear the slightest peep from you, I feared you had fallen and hurt yourself. I regret ever leaving you alone; I'm going to have to hire one of your older cousins now as a babysitter; and my goodness, thank the heavens you were not so stupid as to stuff that gag of yours! Even so, alone it is a choking hazard! Stuffed or not!"
I no longer try to avert my mom's gaze. Instead I now willingly look at my mom, and wipe my tears away with my free hands. "My poor Seb, in my anger--not at you, but at myself--I've forgotten to remove your gag!" She goes to remove my gag, but stops herself, and looks at me again, her hands moving to pat my head instead. "You enjoy being gagged don't you?" I nod yes.
"I still have some questions, but you obviously enjoy this little fantasy predicament you've created for yourself, so let me give you a choice. Here are your two choices: 1) nod once if you want me to remove your tap-gag so you can answer my questions freely, or 2) nod twice if you would like me to keep you tap-gagged--I'd ask you simple yes/no questions so you can easily answer my questions, now that I'm a tiny bit reassured that there is no stuffing in there and I can monitor you closely."
I couldn't believe my ears, and it must have shown in my eyes as they must have become wider than my face, but I very carefully nodded twice, to make sure she understood I wanted to remain gagged. This was beyond my dreams! Never ever in all the past summer vacations did my mom, dad, aunts and uncles ever want to participate with my cousins in our TUGs. They would monitor us, put time limits and constantly remind us to mostly play other things. Our parents were probably secretly hoping we would outgrow our TUGs, and figured that better allow us supervised TUGs than make it taboo when we might try to play TUGs anyway, but dangerously unsupervised. Whatever changed my mother's stance to now actively play along with me in a TUG, it was a dream come true!
She smiled a loving motherly smile and said, "before I ask my yes/no questions, allow me to explain why I'm home early; I realized that I spend every Saturday afternoon exclusively with your sister, and never with you." Looking at her watch she adds "After I dropped Margaret off for her lessons, I figured I could get home and spend a couple of hours with you, getting to understand you better, what hobbies you enjoy in life, what makes you happy, before having to go back to pick your sister up from her ballet lessons. After all, your older cousin Janice, she just turned 21 by the way, Janice, is there with her too."
I was smiling behind my tap-gag, literally beaming. My mom was willing to spend more time with me; I honestly thought she preferred my sister over me, but apparently that was not the case. Her openness to learn about my interests was refreshing. She had offered in the past to drag me along with my sister to those ballet lessons, but I wasn't really interested in any form of dance, let alone ballet. While I enjoyed looking at the form of female ballet dancers during televised productions, it would have been entirely another matter and utterly terrifying for me to be at an actual dance studio, watching the other girls prance about in their leotards and tights during practice, while pretending not to look at them, for fear of being called out a pervert for leering, or worse, for fear of being pressured to join and learn ballet myself!
My mom went on, "Now, imagine my surprise--even though I had some suspicions--to find you like this; I certainly learned a lot about you in the last few minutes, especially about one particular hobby of yours, but I still need more answers and some reassurances. So, here are the rules for our little yes/no game: slowly shake you head from side to side for a 'no' and slowly nod up and down for a 'yes', do you understand?" I nod yes.
"Good, that was a test and you passed it. Now, reflect seriously about this next question before you answer, and you must answer truthfully. Do you hereby solemnly promise to me to never tie yourself up again unsupervised?" I think seriously about her question, for a few minutes in fact, and I can see a concerned frown form on my mom's forehead. She adds "to be clear, I'm not asking you to promise that you will never be tied-up or that you will never tie yourself up; all I'm saying is that there must always be someone monitoring you that both you and I can trust with your well-being." I take one more minute and slowly nod my head yes.
"Good! That was another test, and I can see and sense that you are being sincere. Had you answered 'no,' I would have untied you and ungagged you, and you would have been grounded; plus we would have had to have a family meeting with your dad and all your aunts and uncles as well to figure out how to safely put a stop to your tie-up games." A mounting dread crept through my mind, as to just how embarrassing such a meeting would have been. "Don't worry my dear Sebby, that is no longer necessary me thinks; I think we can slowly and carefully figure out something between the two of us that will allow you to continue to enjoy this hobby of yours, at least until you are old enough to have finally outgrown it, or found a special someone to play with, hey?" I blush and she adds while petting my head "don't worry dear son, I want you to enjoy life, have fun, while staying safe. I'm not going to judge you for your life choices."
She then sighed a little to herself, and looked at her watch, and said "we still have just about 90 minutes before we will go pick-up your sister; yes I'm bringing you with me, and no arguments or you will be grounded and it's back to the family meeting I mentioned!" For the first time I try to say something through the gag and it comes out sounding "mmoohhrrkkaayy" as I nod yes.
My mother let out a little giggle at that and said "my apologies Seb, that wasn't quite a yes/no question, but I understand from your response that you agree, which is good; not that I was giving you a choice in the matter; you are coming along, but doing so unwillingly would have landed you in serious trouble with your father and myself. So let's continue our little yes/no game. Do you want to answer the remaining of my questions tied up more securely?"
Had I not remained gagged, my jaw would have probably dropped right off my face! The last 30 minutes went from being mortified to being hopeful that I wouldn't have to hide my love of TUGs from my mom for fear of admonishment. I emphatically nod my head yes!
"Lie down on your back," she said. With the two remaining lengths of rope I had brought up, my mom proceeded to tie my hands apart one to each of one vertical bar in the head-board as far apart from each other as I possibly could stretch. She then proceeded to check my binds around the knees and at the ankles. "Your ankle and above the knee binds are just fine; that's good, but your below the knee bind is a bit too tight, I'll loosen it so it's just right." She proceeds to do so, and I start wondering how my mom knows so much about knots and tying people and how to make it safe yet tight enough and secure.
"There, that ought to be inescapable, at least for an 11 year old boy wearing his mom's tights!" I blush again as she faces me, and sits back down on the bed next to me, ready to ask her next question. "So, Sebby, let me be clear for this next question, that I do not presume whether you prefer the company of boys or girls, whether you understand what I mean or will eventually figure it as you get older and puberty kicks in for you; you do not have to worry about me thinking that you want to become a girl for wearing tights--men used to wear tights in the past you know--or whatever else you might think would make me judge you; I do not consider you a pervert for any of this; you are still my sweet little darling boy, no matter what, and I will support you, whatever you grow up to become; so with all that stated and clear, would you like me to get you your own pairs of tights so you can stop sneaking mine in and out of my dresser or the hamper?" I think just a few seconds and nod yes.
"Okay, we can go shopping together for some tights for you next week while Margaret is at her ballet lessons." I blushed again, and my mom adds "don't be so embarrassed; we will pretend it's not for you but for your sister, and pretend she is about the same size as you but can't be with us as she is at her ballet lessons. And don't worry about dad or any of your aunts or uncles finding out, it will be our little secret, just between us." With a little smirk on her face, mom emphasized both the last "our" and the last "us", which made me think she was making the point that this would become a mother-son secret. I was, in just over an hour, about to discover just how wrong I was about who "us" were.
(To be continued ... )