Taped ankles (M/f)

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TheOldPirate
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Taped ankles (M/f)

Post by TheOldPirate »

Whenever I'm securing a lovely lady with duct tape, getting to her ankles is always a heady experience. The smell of tape glue, even masking tape, is quite the aphrodisiac for me. This is likely because one of the first girls I ever tied up was secured with masking tape. This before I was even a teenager, merely a lad of eleven years.

We had a very brief interaction, as playing with a member of the opposite sex back in the halcyon days of the mid-1970s was highly unusual. Still, she appreciated my collection of G.I. Joe and Mego superhero figures, preferring them to her Barbies and other fashion dolls. She seemed to take to my "adventure" storylines rather quickly, and it wasn't long before her fashion dolls took their place in our menagerie... as consistently tied-and-gagged DiDs.

Those poor gals enjoyed some serious bondage deprecations; we wrapped yards of string, yarn, tape, and thread around their oddly shaped bodies, creating elaborate and decorative shibaris and kinbakus long before such things were even conceived of. In an early display of preteen kinkiness, some of the gals were indeed hostages of our "big bad," but others had been rescued.

However, due to the nefarious nature of their captor, their bonds couldn't be released without a special, magical key. So they were forced to live out their days in the heroes' stronghold, still bound and gagged, hopping about and helping where they could. I should add that this particular addition to our character mythos was created by my gal friend (whose name is, sadly, lost to me in the mists of time). Our twisted kinks certainly fed into each others!

Things came to a climax one hot, humid, Florida summer afternoon. We were in my toy room where my elaborate construct of G.I. Joe Adventure Team HQ, training tower, and other gear were laid out. Again, it was hot and, back in the 70s, A/C was not a given, even in the middle class neighborhood we resided in. We were similarly clad in shorts and t-shirts, both of us barefooted that we could shed as much heat as possible.

Even then I had an affinity for females sans footwear. Indeed, the fact that I had quite literally never seen her wear shoes of any shape or form was a huge bonus in my mind. On this particular day we were alone; my mother was less than thirty feet away at my friend's house, visiting with her mother. We could see and even vaguely hear them across the expanse of yard through the screened windows. Still, we were essentially all by ourselves. Anything goes.

She was seated with her ankles together, bare feet planted flat on the floor. Impulsively, I picked up our roll of ever present masking tape and started wrapping it around them, two, three, five, seven times; I lost count. I just knew I wanted it to be secure.

She flexed her feet and toes, then shuffled around so that her back was to me. Then she brought her arms around behind her back, crossing her wrists over each other. I quickly obliged, wrapping the masking tape first multiple times in one direction, then the other, forming a "T" with it. When I was done she tugged at it several times, finally giving me a half smile indicating that it was satisfyingly secure.

Next I wrapped her knees, then several times around her torso, carefully avoiding her nascent breasts. And then I was done; she was tied up, for real.

She looked at me, I looked at her. We could just barely hear our mothers talking across the yard; we were still alone. I looked at her tantalizingly bound bare feet, then reached over and started tickling.

She was into it immediately, thrashing, struggling and wriggling, but keeping her screams and giggles muffled, knowing instinctively that any loud noises were certain to attract unwanted attention. This escalated for several minutes until I wound up on top of her, my body covering hers, our faces mere inches from each other.

Something unspoken passed between us. I rolled off of her as she struggled some more. Neither of us wanted to untie her, yet there seemed no reason to keep her so. Then, she suddenly rolled over onto her stomach, nuzzled a few of our bound menagerie of Barbies, and we were somehow playing again, only now she was part of the helpless "rescued" group, waiting futilely for the magic key to release her.

My mind boggles at this point. How long were we there, "playing" while she was helplessly bound? I remember there was an unspoken covenant, that she would nudge a doll with her nose, hands, or feet and I was to follow through with their actions. There was significant progress in releasing the hostages (although they'd still be tied up once they were "released"). I remember that we played past 'Mickey Mouse Club' at 4pm; she must have been tied up for well over two hours.

Finally, I heard the smack of the screen door indicating that my mother had returned. I quickly took scissors and cut the tape which had for so long kept her secured. But there was a problem; red marks where it had cut into her; would anyone notice?

As it turned out, they'd mostly faded by the time she headed home. If anyone noticed, I never heard about it.

I only taped her up one more time, a Sunday afternoon while we watched 'Return of the Fly' on the Creature Feature. I only taped up her wrists and ankles and she simply sat on the floor that way while we enjoyed the movie. At one point my father came in and, noticing that she was tied up, asked why. We both shrugged "I don't know" and that was the end of it. I cut her loose when the movie was over, she went home, and nothing else was ever said about it.

Soon after that we moved away, cast upon the wind by the vagaries of military reassignment. One of her tied up Barbies remained in my toy bag as a reminder, but I never saw nor heard from her again.

But, to this day, the smell of tape glue and the act of taping up a gals ankles brings me back to those heady moments of that summer of 1977.