A Rematch with Little Red (m/f); Part 3 added 3/18/23

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OldTUGger
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A Rematch with Little Red (m/f); Part 3 added 3/18/23

Post by OldTUGger »

This story is a sequel, sort of, to one that appeared in the True Stories for Everyone section: https://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=9&t=783

That account was based on a real-life experience, and it ended with a tease that a true-life sequel might be in the offing. Sadly, there was no follow-up experience to write about. With that in mind, I’ve taken the liberty of creating a fictional account of what might have occurred if the young lady in the original story had returned for another tie-up encounter with me.



“Well, hi! Come on in,” I heard my mother say when she answered the knock on our front door. “What brings y’all here today?”

Curious as to the identities of the visitors (or visitor — in the rural South, where I grew up, “y’all” can be singular or plural), I set my guitar aside and strolled into the living room to see.

“Hi, Mrs. Smith,” I said casually as one of Mom’s gossip-loving friends entered the door.

“Hi, Jake. I thought I’d drop in to catch up with your mom a bit. Leigh, is this a good time?”

“Sure! I’ve got coffee perking. Come on into the kitchen and sit a spell. Oh, I see you brought Michelle with you!”

I didn’t know whether to cringe or to celebrate. Michelle was Mrs. Smith’s 10-year-old daughter, and she could be a real pest. Oh, she was nice enough, but she also had a habit for sticking her cute little freckled nose into everyone else’s business.

“Hi, Jake!” she said as soon as she saw me. “Whatcha doing?”

“Oh, just playing my guitar a little,” I replied.

“Can I watch?”

“Sure, if your ears can stand it. I’m not very good yet.”

Michelle joined me in the TV room, and Mrs. Smith and Mom headed for the kitchen. I picked up the guitar and strummed through the only chord progression I knew at the time: G, E minor, C and D7.

“So the way you put your fingers on the strings makes the guitar sound different?” she asked.

“That’s right. These four finger shapes are called ‘chords,’ and by combining them in different ways, you can play songs.”

“Do you know any songs?”

“Only a couple. I’ve only just started to learn how to play,” I replied. “This one is called ‘Camptown Races.’”

I strummed my way through a couple of verses and stopped.

“Why did you stop?” Michell asked.

“My fingertips are hurting. To make the strings ring out, you have to push down on them pretty hard. It makes your fingertips sore at first, but they toughen up after a while. I just need to rest them for a minute or two.”

“Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember what happened last time we visited?”

“Sure. You wouldn’t quit pestering me while I was building a model plane, so I tied you up.”

“Would you do it again? I really think I can get loose this time.”

“I’ll need to ask your mom first. Wait here...and don’t mess with the guitar.”

I strolled into the kitchen. “Uh, Mrs. Smith?”

“Yes, Jake?”

“Michelle wants me to tie her up again. Is that OK with you?”

“I had a feeling she might do that,” she said with a chuckle. “She seemed awfully keen on coming over here. Now I know why. Now that she’s seen what you’re capable of, she probably thinks she can get loose this time. It would serve her right to find out she can’t.”

“Wait…does that mean…”

“Truss her up to your heart’s content. Just don’t hurt her.”

“You heard Mrs. Smith,” Mom added menacingly. “Don’t hurt her.”

“I won’t. I promise,” I said.

Michelle’s blue eyes lit up she saw me reenter the TV room carrying a Boy Scout haversack filled with ropes. “I’ve added a few since the last time you were here,” I said as I poured the pack’s contents onto the sofa.

“That’s okay,” she said. “I don’t care how many ropes you use on me. I’ll get loose anyway.”

“We’ll see about that,” I replied. “I took it pretty easy on you last time.”

Her eyes went wide.

“Today you get the full treatment. Take off your shoes and socks.”

“You aren’t going to tickle my feet, are you?”

“No. Scout’s honor,” I pledged, making the Scout Sign with my right hand. “I won’t tickle your feet, not even a little bit.”

Satisfied, Michelle kicked off her light blue sneakers and slipped off her ankle socks. “All right!” she chirped as she crossed her wrists behind her back and offered them to me. “I’m ready to get all tied up!”

There are times in a young lad’s life that make him feel fortunate to be alive. Getting to tie up a cute, freckle-faced redhead is one of those times.

I had Michelle sit on the floor and, using relatively short length of rope, quickly bound her legs with three double-column ties -- one at her ankles, one just below her knees and one at mid-thigh, well below the hem of her bright-red shorts.

“Too tight?” I asked, mindful of Mrs. Smith’s admonition not to hurt her daughter.

“It’s pretty snug, but I don’t think it’s too tight,” Michelle replied.

“Good. Now let’s start on your upper body.”

I wound another band of rope around her chest, just below her shoulders, and cinched the band with a couple of turns under each armpit. The next band went lower on her chest, and I cinched it just above her elbows.

“Now reach each hand across to the opposite elbow.”

With her forearms now more or less parallel across her lower back, I repositioned them a bit and secured them with three double-column ties -- one at each end and one in the middle.

“Try to move your arms,” I said. Much to Michelle’s surprise, all she could do was flutter her hands.

“Wow. I’m going to have a hard time reaching any knots like this,” she remarked.

“Actually, you won’t be reaching any knots at all,” I said as I slipped socks over each of her hands and secured them there with her shoestrings.

“But how am I supposed to get free with my hands all covered up?”

“You’re not,” I replied with a wink and a grin. “In fact, when I’m finished you won’t be doing much at all.”

She would have protested, but as soon as she opened her mouth I stuffed it with a wadded-up bandanna and secured the bandanna with a knotted Boy Scout neckerchief. A second neckerchief, tied tightly over her lips, further muffled any protest she might have made.

For good measure, I blindfolded her with yet another neckerchief (hey, a Scout can never have too many of those!).

“Okay, Michelle, lie down. I’m going to turn you over onto your tummy,” I said.

She must have known what was coming next, because she lifted her bound feet off the floor and held them there while I applied the hogtie rope. After securing it to the cinches around her ankles, I threaded it under her chest ropes and pulled it taut.

The great thing about 10-year-old girls is that most of them are really bendy. It didn’t take much pulling to bring her heels and her backside together.

“Almost done,” I announced. “Just one more thing.”

I reached into a side pocket of the haversack and grabbed one of the spare boot laces I kept there. I used the lace to bind her big toes together and, using the thin cord as a second hogtie rope, threaded it through her blindfold and knotted it off.

I stepped back to admire my handiwork. Michelle lay prone on the carpet. Her sock-covered hands moved a bit, but nothing else budged.

“Still think you can get loose?” I taunted.

To her credit, she tried. She squirmed as much as the ropes would allow, and she tried to feel for knots through her thick cotton socks. She shifted her weight from side to side, but never quite gained enough momentum to flip onto her side.

“Oh, my! Jake, you’ve outdone yourself!” Mrs. Smith said when she walked into the room. “Michelle, you said you’d be loose in no time. Do you think maybe you bit off more than you could chew?”

Michelle’s face, already pink from exertion, blushed a couple of shades darker. She redoubled her attempts to escape, but after only a few more minutes she allowed her hands to go limp and signaled defeat.

“I think she’s done, Jake,” Mrs. Smith observed. “Why don’t you untie her?”

Mrs. Smith sat patiently as I unwrapped her securely packaged offspring. “Your mom tells me you’re the best in your Scout troop at tying knots,” she commented. “I don’t know anything about knots, but I can believe it. I bet Michelle believes it now, too.”

“Yeah, I definitely believe it,” Michelle conceded. “I couldn’t move. It felt like my body was in a cast or something.”

“Consider yourself lucky, Michelle,” I said. “If I’d tied you to something solid, like a pole or a chair, you wouldn’t have been able to move even that much.”

“Really?” she asked, her face aglow with eager anticipation. “How soon can we try that?”

Mrs. Smith rolled her eyes and turned toward Mom. “What do you think, Leigh? Maybe in a couple of weeks or so?

To be continued…
Last edited by OldTUGger 1 year ago, edited 2 times in total.
Links to all of my stories can be found here in the Story Catalog: https://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=46&t=6023
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Post by Mask6190 »

Nice story OldTUGger. So how long until Mrs. Smith gets tied up :twisted:
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Post by hafnermg »

Great continuation to an old favourite of mine! I hope that to be continued means more is coming :D
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Post by ninterz »

Very nice story.
And I have to agree with mask. Maybe next time all three ladies can try to escape
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Post by slackywacky »

Wonderful story. I'll wait patiently for the next installment (since you said 'to be continued'...)
Thanks for reading. Feel free to comment.
Slackywacky, also @DeviantArt

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Post by Nainur »

Love it! Simple as that: love it!
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Post by OldTUGger »

Part 2


The mere hint of an opportunity to tie up a girl is more than enough to stir the hormones of any bondage-crazed adolescent male.

Being promised such a chance sent my 14-year-old hormones -- and my imagination -- into overdrive.

From the moment Mrs. Smith green-lighted a future tie-up session with Michelle to the moment she and her freckle-faced, red-haired daughter appeared on our doorstep fourteen days later, time had crept by with glacial slowness.

For those two weeks, I spent more time than I care to admit figuring out which object I could tie Michelle to that would render her as immobile as humanly possible.

After examining every tree, fencepost and foundation piling on our property, the clear winner appeared to be the steel pole that served as a stanchion for the goal on our backyard basketball court. Not only was it the correct diameter, it could be seen through the kitchen window by our parents but could not be seen from the road or from nearby houses.

Spare time wasn’t the only thing I had invested in this adventure. Money from my paper route had put 200 more feet of cotton clothesline into the haversack where I kept my ropes, bandanas and Boy Scout neckerchiefs.

“Proper preparation prevents poor performance,” my basketball coach liked to say.

“Be prepared,” read the Scout motto.

By the time Michelle stepped through the door, I was prepared six ways from Sunday -- which was precisely the way I intended to truss her 10-year-old body.

“Well, Michelle, do you think you’re going to be able to escape this time?” my mom asked as they stepped through the front door.

“I’m sure going to try!” Michelle said cheerily.

“Just don’t hurt her, Jake,” Mom cautioned.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful. Why don’t you and Mrs. Smith watch from the kitchen? If you see me doing something you don’t like, just holler.”

“Fair enough,” Mrs. Smith said with an approving smile.

I grabbed my haversack and slung it over my shoulder. “Let’s head for the basketball court. After you, Michelle.”

I didn’t need to ask her twice. She practically sprinted to the court and waited, fidgeting, while I strolled down the back steps and across the lawn.

“Are you gonna tie me to this?” she asked, pointing at the steel stanchion.

“Yep. But first I’ll need to make sure your fingers don’t get into any mischief. Fold your thumbs into the palms of your hands and close your fingers over your thumbs.”

From my pocket, by way of Dad’s toolbox, I produced a roll of black PVC electrical tape, which I wrapped around her hands until her fists were transformed into shiny little balls.

The muscles in Michelle’s forearms alternately tensed and relaxed as she strained to loosen the sticky wraps. After a few seconds, she shrugged her shoulders and moved her right hand toward her mouth.

“Oh no you don’t!” I said, grabbing her hands and pulling them into a hammerlock position behind her back. Spanning her small wrists with one hand and grabbing my rope bag with the other, I led her toward the 3-inch steel pole behind the basketball goal.

“Stand here with your back to the pole,” I ordered. “Arms out to your sides.”

Selecting one of my longest ropes, I doubled it, wrapped the bight around the pole near the center of Michelle’s back, and began a series of firm crisscross wraps over her shoulders and under her armpits. When that rope was exhausted, I grabbed another long one and wrapped it rather tightly around her waist, taking care to place a cinch between her back and the pole.

“Hands behind your back, palms together,” I said.

“I don’t have any palms. But I know what you mean,” she replied, placing her taped fists together behind her back.

With one short length of rope, I tied her wrists together using standard Boy Scout shear lashing, similar to what today’s bondage practitioners would call a double-column tie. From there I worked upward, placing double-column ties every couple of inches until Michelle’s arms were encased in rope from her wrists to her biceps.

“Now for your legs,” I said.

Starting at her feet, I placed one snug double-column tie around her ankles, three around her shins and three around her thighs, placing them as far up her legs as modesty would allow. For good measure, those double-columns got cinched to the pole as well.

“Are you finished?” she asked.

“Nope. You still need a few finishing touches.”

I used another short rope to cinch her sneakers together, then secured her taped fists together with yet more electrical tape.

“Wow. I can move my head, but that’s about all,” she observed somewhat wonderingly.

“When I get done, you won’t even be able to do that,” I said with a grin. “Open wide.”

I stuffed a balled-up bandanna into Michelle’s mouth and secured it in place with a knotted Scout neckerchief. After blindfolding her with another neckerchief, I fixed her head in place by wrapping yards of electrical tape over the blindfold and gag and passing each wrap behind the pole.

“OK, Michelle, I’m finished. Try to escape,” I said.

To her credit, she gave it her best shot. She managed to shuffle her bound feet about half an inch from one side to the other, and she flexed her taped hands outward from the pole a bit. She shimmied her shoulders a little, and stretched the tape around her head enough to roll her head about an inch to either side.

I stood there, thoroughly entertained by my little victim’s utter helplessness, until I heard Mrs. Smith’s voice: “I’ll say this for you, Jake. You’re thorough.”

I turned to see her and Mom standing at the edge of the basketball court. I’d been so preoccupied with Michele that I didn’t even hear them come down the back-porch steps.

“Are you OK, Michele?” Mrs. Smith asked.

“Mmm-hmm,” Michele replied.

“Well, Jake, don’t keep her there too long. Another 10 to 15 minutes should be fine. Then untie her and send her home.”

“Will do, Mrs. Smith,” I said.

“And Michelle, do you think being tied this tight will satisfy your weird fascination with being tied up?”

“Nnn-nnnh!”

Mrs. Smith shook her head and turned toward Mom. “Leigh, I think we’ve helped create a monster,” she said.

“Two of them,” Mom said, nodding her head toward me. “Heaven only knows what those two will come up with next.”
Links to all of my stories can be found here in the Story Catalog: https://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=46&t=6023
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Post by Mask6190 »

Very good story OldTUGger :D Can't wait to see what monsters you created.
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Post by Almajin »

I like! I hope to have the opportunity to read the rest of the adventures of these two!
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Post by OldTUGger »

Part 3


“Hi, Leigh! Ready for another adventure with our crazy kids?”

“I guess, although for the life of me, I can’t understand why Michelle can’t seem to get enough of being tied up, and why Jake can’t seem to get enough of tying her.”

The sound of the two women greeting each other filled me with dread. Ever since Mrs. Smith called Mom to arrange another tie-up session for Michelle, I’d been wracking my brain to come up with an even more secure way to truss up the cute little redhead.

Trouble was, I kept drawing blanks. So when Michelle came through the house looking for me, clearly eager be tied six ways to Sunday, I had…nothing.

“Hi, Michelle,” I said, a little morosely.

“What’s wrong, Jake?” she asked. “Something bothering you?”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t know if I can top the tie-up we did a couple of weeks ago. I can’t imagine you being any more helpless than you were then.”

“Who said I have to be more helpless?” she countered. “I just wanna get tied up, the tighter the better. Trust me, I’ll have a ball no matter how I’m tied.”

Something clicked in my mind. “Say that again?”

“What? That I’ll have a ball no matter how I’m tied?”

“Yeah. You just gave me an idea. Thanks! Go to my bedroom and stand in the middle of the floor. Wait there until I let our moms know what we’ll be doing.”

She scampered down the hallway and into the bedroom while I briefed Mom and Mrs. Smith as to what I had in mind. A couple of minutes later, I entered the bedroom and found Michele sitting on the floor with her arms held behind her back and her sneakers scooted all the way up to her denim-shorts-clad bottom.

“Are you a mind-reader or something?” I asked quizzically.

“Whaddya mean?”

“The way you’re sitting. That’s pretty much the way I’m planning to tie you up today.”

“Cool!”

“Take off your shoes and socks.” It took her just seconds to flick the Keds off her little feet and doff her ankle socks.

I knelt in front of her. “Let me have your feet.” I selected a short shoelace from my backpack and tied her big toes tightly together.

“This is different,” she said.

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” I replied. “Give me your left hand.” Two at a time, I tied the fingers of her hands -- thumb and forefinger, forefinger and middle finger, middle finger and ring finger, and ring finger to pinky. By the time I finished, she couldn’t move her fingers much at all.

“Well, at least this is isn’t sticky,” she observed. “That electrical tape you used last time left sticky stuff all over my hands.”

“Are you complaining?” I asked.

“Not much.”

“How about not at all?” I asked as I balled up a handkerchief and stuffed it into her mouth. She had a big mouth, and the cotton didn’t quite fill her mouth. Undaunted, I grabbed a Boy Scout neckerchief, knotted it in the middle, tucked the knot behind her teeth, and pulled the gag as deeply into her mouth as seemed prudent.

I’ve got to hand it to her. She accepted the somewhat rough gagging procedure without as much as a grunt or whimper.

I pulled her string-wrapped hands behind her back and placed her wrists in a snug double-column tie. Two more double-columns snugged her forearms close together and pulled her elbows together so they touched.

I spun her around and, starting at her ankles, wrapped six more double-columns up her legs -- three from her ankles to knees and three from her knees to her upper thighs.

“Now, Michelle, here’s where you gave me the inspiration.” I pulled her knees up until they touched her chest and secured them there with bands of rope that encircled the backs of her thighs and her upper torso. A couple of cinches snugged them up nicely.

I rolled the little redhead onto her side.

“Last rope going on now,” I announced as I ran a rope back and forth from her wrist bonds to her ankle bonds, pulled it taut and knotted it off.

“Think you can get out of that?” I asked.

She shot a baleful stare my way. I answered it by blindfolding her with another neckerchief.

I walked slowly to the kitchen and asked Mom and Mrs. Smith if they’d like to see how I’d managed to restrain Michele this time. As nearly as I could determine, my pint-sized captive hadn’t budged an inch since I left.

“Are you OK, Michele?” Mrs. Smith asked.

“Mmm-hmm” came the barely audible reply.

“Are you sure?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“OK, Jake, keep a close eye on her. Don’t keep her in it too long.”

“Sure thing, Mrs. Smith,” I said cheerily. “Oh. Before you leave, I have a question: Does Michele happen to be ticklish?”

A wicked grin spread over Mrs. Smith’s face. “Terribly. Particularly on the bottoms of her feet, which seem to be rather exposed at the moment.”

A fearful squeak escaped from behind Michele’s heavily layered gag, quickly followed by peals of muffled giggling as my fingertips mercilessly attacked her bare soles.

“Have fun, honey,” Mrs. Smith said as she stooped down and patted her daughter’s head. “Jake, tickle her all you want. But I warn you -- she’s been known to pee her pants when she gets tickled too hard.”

The squeak that escaped Michele’s gag this time had a deliciously frightened tone to it.

And no, I didn’t make her pee her pants, but I bet her ribs ached for days.


To be continued…
Links to all of my stories can be found here in the Story Catalog: https://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=46&t=6023
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Post by Heinrich.Frederick »

Very nice continuation. I liked the added element of toe bondage and feet tickling a lot and hope to see it again! Having the mother explaining little Reds weakness was also fun to read.
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Post by Mask6190 »

And the games continue :D Nice job OldTUGger!
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Post by laz »

cute tale
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