Hello again!
As promised, here is (warning: this is a long story - grab a favorite beverage and settle in a comfy chair) my account of my best TUG ever. I enjoyed it with my then-gf ‘S’, who I dated for a few years in the 1990s (in the days before Internet, Social Media, and Smartphones - we did a LOT of stupid stuff with no way of sharing information on ‘safe’ BDSM play, we knew no better!). While there are aspects about this story I would never try again on a bet, It is still one of my most cherished memories of those crazy, sexy years.
By this time, ‘S’ and I had been dating for a couple of years. Professionally our respective stars were rising nicely, and we each had traded our respective apartments in for nice houses: she bought one in a gated community, and I bought a large home overlooking the water and close to the marina where I kept my sailboat. The best part was that since we no longer had neighbors literally on the other side of the wall, our ‘playtime’ (TUGs and otherwise) could be a lot less inhibited - and a little more noisy).
It was a lovely late summer day, and we had made a date to go sailing on my boat. ‘S’ came over to my house, and she was dressed on one of my favorite outfits. By now she knew what ‘looks’ turned me on, and liked to get me going by wearing them. She was wearing a shorts-and-top outfit made of matching floral fabric (I think you call them ‘rompers’?), thick white crew socks, slightly ‘scrunched’, and white leather Keds walking shoes (she first modeled this outfit as a kidnap ‘victim’ at one of our TUGs; perhaps I’ll share the story sometime). As I’ve mentioned in previous stories, I do have a thing for white sneakers and socks. The shoes ‘S’ wore were the same basic CVO style of the classic Keds ‘Champion’, but had a thicker, chunkier sole for more cushion and comfort. ‘S’ was a tall girl with curly red hair and long, shapely and tanned legs, so having those legs end in thick soft white crew socks and pristine chunky white sneakers was a great ‘look’ (one that Hooters has employed to great success). For my part, I wore a white Ralph Lauren Polo shirt, white tennis shorts, white crew socks and fairly new white Sperry CVO deck sneakers.
We went down to my boat, cast off and aimlessly sailed around for an hour or so, sipping white wine an hanging out. After a bit we put into a nearby waterfront cafe for an early seafood dinner. As this was the 1990s, the ‘Grunge’ look was big, and I did feel a little self-conscious about my outfit. It did smack a little bit of ‘fetish wear’, and TBH, it was. Fortunately about a mile away was a private, high-end tennis club that had a strict dress code, so it was not unusual in this neighborhood to see people in 100% tennis whites. My fellow diners had NO idea what ‘S’ and I were planning for later!
After dinner, we sailed around on my boat a little longer and had more wine. We finally had to go back because while I had the next day off, ‘S’ was working and would have to go home. We returned to my place and sat on the couch for a bit, sipping a little more wine while ‘necking’ a bit. Finally, ‘S’ said “I should probably head home soon; would you like me to kidnap you before I go?” I always preferred that she say ‘kidnap’ rather than ‘tie me/tie you up’. For some reason the very word ‘kidnap’ turns me on; it’s sexy and romantic. Asking me if I wanted to be tied up always sounded a little purvy, and less sexy; but that’s just me.
We had a game we (especially me) enjoyed at times like these when she couldn’t stay the night: she would tie and gag me, and leave me resting comfortably on the couch or lying on the bed in one of the bedrooms, then she would leave (yes, I know NOW that’s not a good TUG practice!). I would then lay there quietly, soaking up the endorphins, and when I got tired of it I’d wriggle free from my bonds, and if I couldn’t, I’d hop to the kitchen, fish a steak knife out of a drawer, and carefully saw through the ropes binding my wrists. As the ropes I had were expensive soft braided dock lines, I hated to ruin them this way, and with time and patience, I was able to struggle free most of the time. When we would play TUGs at her house, ‘S’ would tie me much more strictly, either tying me to chairs or placing me in strict hogties, but since I had to be able to hop to the kitchen if necessary, when she’d leave me tied up in my house, she’d usually just go with binding my wrists, ankles, and gagging me.
(In a case of Art Following Life, you can see actress Cameron Diaz do this exact thing in the comedy “Head Above Water”, when she tries to escape from her husband (Harvey Keitel), who has tied and gagged her and plans to take her for a ‘one way’ boat ride).
But I wander a bit, so back to the story: “Of course!” I responded; I was ready to let the fun begin! I went to the master bedroom to fetch my ‘fun bag’; we now each had one of these in our homes - each contained a fair amount of soft white braided dock line, one or two rolls of tape, and a long strip of soft white fabric (from and old bedsheet) which had been knotted several times in the middle; these were for the times ‘S’ played the captive. She concluded early on she really didn’t like tape gags (hurt too much when removing), so we settled on these: the large knotted middle worked like a ball gag, then the remainder would be wrapped around her head and mouth, becoming an OTM gag that actually did a pretty good job muffling the sounds she could make.
Anyway, once I came back to the couch, ‘S’ started pulling lengths of rope from the bag and got to work. She had me sit next to her with my back to her, and my hands behind my back. She bound my wrists, then took on of the long (10’) pieces and wrapped it around my upper arms and torso, pulling it tight and knotting it well. She then tied my legs just below the knees, and then had me raise my feet, extending my legs out horizontally. Knowing how sneakers turned me on, she now took her time tying my ankles, making me watch as she pulled the rope slowly over the tops of my crew socks, slowly and loosely coiling it around my ankles like a boa constrictor entwining its prey. Once she had used up the whole length of rope this way, she slowly pulled the ends tighter and tighter, finally knotting them together. The feeling was amazing!
Now completely bound, she sat next to me on the couch. Wrapping her arms around me, we started kissing for awhile. She would occasionally take advantage of my bound state and tease me by licking or nibbling on my earlobes, or lightly biting me on the neck. Finally she sat back with a smile and said, ‘Now I think you need some quiet time’, and picked out a roll of 3” wide Johnson & Johnson First Aid tape from the Fun Bag, along with the clean white crew sock I had selected from my sock drawer.
Please allow me a moment to go on a sidebar about this tape. Of all the tapes one can use to bind and gag a captive, first aid tape is my sentimental favorite, and I blame the 1970s. Growing up in that time, some of my earliest memories of bondage scenes in movies and TV involved that product. In seemed in those days, anytime the scene required a captive being gagged with tape, it was this adhesive-backed white cloth tape that was the product of choice, not duct tape like we see now.
Two scenes in particular made a deep impression on me. One was in the famous Clint Eastwood thriller “Play Misty for Me” (1971), where Eastwood’s psycho ex-girlfriend (Jessica Walter) holds his current gf (Donna Mills) captive. Mills is seen lying on the floor with her wrists and ankles bound with seemingly miles of this white tape, and more has been wrapped around her mouth and head. This was incidentally the first time I’d ever seen a ‘wrap gag’ with tape, and even then I wondered how much it must’ve hurt when it was removed - getting it off her hair must’ve been murder! Anyway, the contrast of the bright white tape against Mills’ tanned skin and the fine ripples you’d see in the material as she flexed and struggled were early turn-ons for me. Seeing the outline of her lips under the material of the tape didn’t hurt either.
The other scene was from one of my favorite shows, “The FBI”. I loved to follow the adventures of Inspector Erskine, Agent Colby, and the rest of the men of J. Edgar Hoover’s FBI as they kept America safe from spies, gangsters, and… kidnappers! In my favorite episode, the son of a rich developer is tricked into going to the apartment of a trio of young people who’ve befriended him. They pull a gun on him, announcing their plans to hold him for ransom. As one member of the gang roughly binds our victim’s wrists behind him with clothesline, the female member of the gang unrolls a long strip of the white first aid tape and presses it over his mouth. The rich kid is then forced to the floor, where he writhes and grunts, wide-eyed with fear, as his captors wrap a lot more of the tape around his ankles. Interestingly, they’ve just come from sailing, and our ‘victim’ is wearing a t-shirt, nylon windbreaker, white chinos, and - wait for it - white crew socks and white deck sneakers! I have never forgot that scene and the impression it made on me, and have occasionally re-enacted the scene.
Anyway, while I’ve played a lot with duct and microfoam tape, I’ve always had a special affection for the look, feel, and smell of First Aid Tape. It’s only downside is it’s the most spendy of the options
Ah, but where were we? ‘S’ now takes the crew sock and rolls it up tightly like a jelly roll, and places it in my mouth. I then closed my lips shut, and she took the first aid tape and wrapped it around my face and head so that the white tape covered everything from the base of my nose to just around the chin. As she wrapped, she pulled the tape roll so the wrapping was fairly tight, but not uncomfortably so, and I was planning to enjoy lying tied and gagged for some time after she left. She finished by pressing her hands onto my face and rubbing on the tape to ensure maximum adhesion. I was now well and securely gagged!
‘Let’s find a nice quiet place to stash you, sailor boy’, she said, helping me to my feet. Gently prodding me along, she guided me towards the hallway that led to the guest bedrooms, and I obediently headed that way by making little ‘bunny hops’ with my bound legs and feet. We stopped it front of a full-length mirror near the front door, and she had me pivot to face it.
“Take a good look, sailor boy”, she hissed in a suddenly menacing tone. ‘That’s the last you’re ever going to see of yourself!’. I had no idea what she was talking about, but I knew during games like this where we didn’t really discuss the scenario beforehand, ‘S’ would riff and improvise quite a bit, and the persona she chose for the game could shift between frisky playmate, kidnapper, burglar/robber, or psycho/stalker. Still, the illusion (?) that I was suddenly in danger gave me an erotic thrill, and I wondered what she had up her sleeve.
She had me pivot again and continue bunny-hopping down the hallway. I guess the wine was making me a bit sassy and frisky as well, so I decided to raise the stakes a bit. Suddenly I took off, bounding down the hall like a kangaroo in an effort to ‘escape’. ‘HHMMMMPFF! HMMMPFFF!!’, (HELP! HELP!) I yelled through my gag. I didn’t get far, as ‘S’ ran up behind me and yanked me to a halt by grabbing my upper arms with both hands, digger her fingernails - hard! - into my biceps for emphasis.
‘Oh, you think you’re going to be cute? I see I’m going to have to punish you good, sailor boy!’ With that, she physically yanked me around to face the doorway to a guest bedroom I had hopped past, and started pushing me towards it. Still gripping my arms, she controlled by my direction and speed, and I was reduced to moving by little hops and shuffling my bound feet on the wooden floor. We continued this way until she had maneuvered me to the foot of the bed, with my shins pressed up against it. I couldn’t go any further, what now?
I didn’t have long to find out. ‘S’ shoved me - HARD - the palms of her hands striking my shoulder blades, pitching me forward, doing a hard ‘face plant’ on the mattress. She then ordered me to roll over on my back, and I could see from the look on her face she was playing the role of someone who meant business. She told me to scoot up on the bed, and I did so until I was laying prone on my back with my head on the pillow, lying perfectly straight and rigid looking up at her.
‘Now you’re going to do EXACTLY as I say!’, ‘S’ barked.’Your punishment is a time out! You’re going to lay there for two hours. You won’t move a muscle or make the slightest sound - or else! Do you understand me?’.
Of course, I could have - should have - just meekly nodded; she would then leave and I could relax. But for some reason I had a wild hair up my butt, and I felt like ‘being a brat’. I shook my head and replied with ‘NNFFF’ (NO!).
‘S’ stood over me in silence for a moment. I could practically hear the gears grinding as she contemplated her next move. She looked around the room, then looked back at me with a evil grin that was more than a little scary. Then, with truly astonishing speed, she reached over and grabbed a pillow that was on the bed, and pressed - hard - over my face!
I had always wondered if you could smother someone with a pillow. It is definitely a trope one sees in TV and movies all the time. Did it really work, or was it one of those things that only worked on TV (like the ‘magic’ OTM gag or knocking out a captive for hours with a chloroform-soaked rag)? I know one can breathe through a pillow. Heck, when we were being intimate in hotels, ‘S’ would often hold a pillow over her face so her cries and moans (she tended to not hold back at these times and could be a bit noisy) of pleasure wouldn’t be heard by other guests.
As it turns out, if you press down hard enough, you could asphyxiate someone, because that is what was happening to me! I couldn’t breathe in, and with her forearms bracketing either side of my head as she grasped the pillow, I couldn’t swivel my head to open a path for my nostrils! For a few seconds I played along with noises of protests, but as my need to breathe became more pronounced I started to thrash and yell a lot more.
‘S’ lifted the pillow off my face, and I took deep breaths of cool, fresh air. ‘Are you going to behave now, sailor boy? Are you ready to be quiet?’ For some reason I shook my head again. ‘NMMFFF!!’
‘Think you’re tough, huh?’ ‘S’ growled. ‘OK, sailor boy, let’s see how tough your really are.’ She crawled onto the bed and sat on my chest, straddling me with her legs. Holding the pillow above my face, this time she slowly lowered it down, pressing ever harder. Again I couldn’t twist my head, and the pressing got hard enough that I could no longer inhale through my nose. I had taken deep breaths as she was lowering the pillow down, but within a minute the need for air became desperate. I struggled and cried out through my gag, but the pressure on the pillow remained. Didn’t she realize I had to breathe? This wasn’t funny anymore! I started to thrash and buck uncontrollably, my chest starting to heave and convulse. AIR! AIR! I. NEED. AIR!!!
I guess at that point ‘S’ decided my struggles had become so frantic that I must be serious, so she again lifted the pillow off my face. ‘I not screwing around’ she said, ‘NOW are you going to keep quiet and be a good sailor boy?’
Maybe it was the wine; I don’t know. The whole thing had become a test of wills; a game of chicken where neither one of us was ready to blink. ‘S’ alway was very competitive; that quality had made her pretty successful in her work (which was a pretty cutthroat field). In private life she could be very competitive as well. Whenever we played, whether it was skiing, tennis - or in the bedroom - ‘S’ played to win, and she was determined to win here. For some dumbass reason, I had decided to refuse to submit.
NMMMFFF! FMMMPHFF YOOOOMMMPF! (NO! F—K YOU!) I blurted through my gag, and violently shook my head for emphasis.
Dumb move, Sparky.
FOOOOOMMMMPH! Again the pillow came down! This time it came down fast and harder than ever before! I could feel ‘S’s crotch rise off of my chest as she put ALL her weight into the pillow that was jamming the back of my head deep into the mattress. Again I thrashed and screamed and vainly tried to suck some air into my nose, but it was in vain. This time she wasn’t stopping! Was I going to black out? For the first time, panic truly took over and I completely lost control. My stifled screams had been reduced to choked ‘eep eep’ sounds, and my bound legs were flying up and slapping down on the mattress like Flipper on meth. There was a waterfall-like roaring sound around my ears…and then…
Suddenly the pillow came up! I took in the deepest breaths of my life, filling my lungs with cool, sweet air. I took in so much that I was starting to become dizzy from hyperventilating. I became aware of ‘S’ lying alongside me now on my right side. She was idly tracing her index finger around my chest and stomach, and she moved her head close and started to whisper in my ear.
‘There’s only one way this can end. I’m going to win. You will submit. It’s not a question of if, only when. I can keep this up all night long’ ‘S’ paused to let that sink in. ‘All. Night. Long. Can you?’.
As she was saying this, her right hand worked down to the front of my tennis shorts, and she lightly stroked the tips of her fingers along the fly, up and down slowly. I was done. With that, my resistance was completely broken, and I capitulated like France in 1940. My body went completely limp (well, one thing was definitely NOT limp).
Sensing she had won, ‘S’ moved in for the kill. ‘Are you going to be quiet?’ I nodded. ‘Are you going to be still?’ I nodded again, more emphatically. ‘Are you going to be a good little sailor boy?’, she asked while continuing to lightly stoke her fingers up and down the front of my tennis shorts. My head was now bobbing up and down quickly and desperate ‘Um-hm! Um-hm!’ sounds were coming through my gag.
‘That’s good’, ‘S’ purred. ‘I have one more lesson to teach you, sailor boy, and this is it…’ she paused for effect and breathed into my ear with a husky whisper I could feel, ‘Surrender doesn’t always mean defeat’.
With that, she slowly unbuttoned the top of my tennis shorts and pulled down the zipper. As she started to push my shorts and underwear down from my waist, I arched my back and raised my buttocks off the mattress to make the job easier.
I’ll leave what happened next to your imagination, but I’ll just say we were both satisfied.
As she was fastening the top button of my tennis shorts and smoothing my polo shirt back down over my stomach, she said, ‘I really need to go home now; would you like me to release you?’
I thought about it, but decided I was still enjoying being bound, so I gently shook my head. ‘Okay’, ‘S’ smiled, ‘but remember what I said: not a sound’. Don’t make me come back and punish you, sailor boy!’
With that, she left me with a mischievous wink and blew me a kiss as she left the room. The soft thick soles of her Keds made barely a sound as she headed for the door. I heard the door of my house softly open and shut, and the locking of the deadbolt. Soon after I could just make out the sounds of her car door closing, the engine start, and the sound of her tires as they went down the driveway and down the street. Then silence. I was alone in my big old house, lying tied and gagged on a bed, feeling very dreamy and relaxed.
For about a half-hour I lay quietly on my back, just as ‘S’ left me. I can never recall a time when I felt so relaxed, at peace, and just content with the world. I simply took breaths; some shallow, some deep, reveling in the taste and feel of the cool night air. As I lay there I became more aware of all the sounds in my supposedly ‘silent’ house at night: the ticking of a wall clock, the refrigerator I’m the kitchen cycling on and off, and even the occasional odd creak somewhere that had no explanation (it was an old house).
I considered trying to sleep the entire night bound. I rolled onto my side and drew my knees up a bit; this took the weight off my wrists. I tried to sleep but woke up after dozing slightly. I started to worry about sleeping while gagged, especially with a rolled-up sock in my mouth being a potential choking hazard.
I decided I should just free myself from my bonds and go to bed. Just for fun, I sat up and swung my feet onto the floor. Standing up, I proceeded to hop to the living room and stood in front of a window, looking out at the moon and the water. As the house was dark (‘S’ had turned off the lights before leaving), I really wasn’t worried about being seen. At the most all a neighbor might perceive is a shadowy figure at the window; there would be no way they could tell that I was bound hand and foot and gagged.
After taking in the view for awhile, I hopped towards the couch so I could sit down. As I passed the wall mirror, I stopped to regard my reflection. I must admit a certain narcissistic admiration for the trim, somewhat muscular, tanned young man who stood before me. His white clothes, socks, sneakers, and white tape covering his mouth and lower face were bright in the moonlight.
Hopping to the couch, I sat down and started to try to wriggle out of the rope’s binding my wrists. I was able to loosen them a little, but not enough to slip down below my knuckles and fingers. Leaving the couch, I hopped towards the front door and squatted down next to a metal doorstop that stuck out of the floor molding. With a little work I was able to hook a strand of the rope around the rod of the doorstop, and by pulling create enough slack to slip the loop past my fingertips.
With this slack created, it was now easy to work the remaining loops down and soon my wrists were free! Leaning against the wall, I pushed back up to a standing position and hopped back to the mirror. From here I was able to alternately shrug my right and left shoulders and get my torso bindings off, which I tossed to the floor to join the rope that had secured my wrists.
I then hopped back to the couch and sat down, freeing my knees and ankles. Finally, I walked to the nearest bathroom and grabbed a pair of nail scissors, and carefully cut my gag along my cheek. Peeling the tape away from my lips, I spit the rolled up sock out with an audible ‘ptoo’.
I wasn’t looking forward to pulling the tape off from the hair on the back of my head, so I stripped off my clothes and stood in a nice warm shower. The hot water helped loosen the adhesive, and I was able to pull the tape off with less discomfort.
I didn’t bother to pick up; I had no plans for the next day, and expected no visitors. The housekeeper wasn’t coming for another week. I left my clothes and various bindings where I tossed them, toweled off and went to bed, where I slept the sleep of the dead.
The next morning, I slept in, but finally rose to make some coffee and enjoy the paper on the deck. The house certainly looked like a crime scene; I could picture how a detective would try to reconstruct what happened from the scattered ‘evidence’ (‘Elementary, my dear Watson; we can deduce two people were drinking wine, there was a struggle on this bed, and someone was tied up, but was eventually able to free themselves!’).
Later, ‘S’ and I talked about the experience. While we agreed it was a real rush, we also felt that we took way too many chances. Needless to say, while we continued to enjoy TUGs after that breath play and play while tipsy would no longer be done.
In later years with the ability to discreetly learn about these things on the Internet, I realized how lucky I had been, and how many ‘bullets’ I had unknowingly dodged. I’m sure after that night, my Guardian Angel must’ve staggered into a bar somewhere and said ‘Barkeep, pour me a triple! You won’t BELIEVE the sh!t I had to save my boy from tonight!’
Anyway, that’s my story. Sorry for the long read, but it was a real thrill being able to tell this story to anyone for the first time!
The Best (F/M)
I truly love your stories - all three that I have read - thank you for sharing your memories. I do like a little uncertainty in bondage games and some rough surprises. The thing S did to you is right up my alley, even if you don´t always know how you will react in certain situations and you have to separate fantasy from real life, I do love to be a little (sometimes a lot) scared during a session. I hope you will be telling more stories!
Thanks so much for the kind comment; I’m glad you enjoyed my account. Being able to finally share my experience for the first time in 30 years is very therapeutic.
I do have some other fun experiences to share, but none of them come close in terms of how wild they were. As I mentioned before, my relationship with ‘S’ did eventually end (I’m a patient person but I have a ‘zero tolerance’ policy with infidelity).
But all worked out nicely in the end. I met and eventually married ‘T’; a very attractive and petite woman of Asian heritage. Like ‘S’, she had a great career (which she was able to hang on to), and while the sex wasn’t quite as wild, she’s kind, gentle, and I learned that there is MUCH more to a successful relationship than sex. We’ve been living happily ever after (nicer homes and boats!). We have had some TUGs when we were younger, but unlike ‘S’, my TUGs with ‘T’ are more ‘Nancy Drew’ and less ‘Pulp Fiction’. In time, the TUGs stopped; TBH, I think we both kind of outgrew that sort of thing. As is written in the book of Ecclesiastices, there is a time and season for everything, and we’ve moved on. Still, I don’t regret anything in my past, and I enjoy the memories very much. 'T' let me take pix of her during our TUGs, so sometimes I bring them out to enjoy the memories. Putting these stories into writing, I look back and marvel with gratitude that these things really happened to me. If I wasn’t there, I might’ve taken these tales with a grain of salt. The good news is my future stories won’t be such long reads.
Thanks, and stay tuned…
I do have some other fun experiences to share, but none of them come close in terms of how wild they were. As I mentioned before, my relationship with ‘S’ did eventually end (I’m a patient person but I have a ‘zero tolerance’ policy with infidelity).
But all worked out nicely in the end. I met and eventually married ‘T’; a very attractive and petite woman of Asian heritage. Like ‘S’, she had a great career (which she was able to hang on to), and while the sex wasn’t quite as wild, she’s kind, gentle, and I learned that there is MUCH more to a successful relationship than sex. We’ve been living happily ever after (nicer homes and boats!). We have had some TUGs when we were younger, but unlike ‘S’, my TUGs with ‘T’ are more ‘Nancy Drew’ and less ‘Pulp Fiction’. In time, the TUGs stopped; TBH, I think we both kind of outgrew that sort of thing. As is written in the book of Ecclesiastices, there is a time and season for everything, and we’ve moved on. Still, I don’t regret anything in my past, and I enjoy the memories very much. 'T' let me take pix of her during our TUGs, so sometimes I bring them out to enjoy the memories. Putting these stories into writing, I look back and marvel with gratitude that these things really happened to me. If I wasn’t there, I might’ve taken these tales with a grain of salt. The good news is my future stories won’t be such long reads.
Thanks, and stay tuned…
Last edited by bbb 8 months ago, edited 2 times in total.
Probably sums up most of my TUGs as well, and I can´t complain.