These were the 90s, so I did not have the internet, and had no way of knowing others were into feet and bondage like me. My older female friend (and object of pre-pubescent lust) and others had tied me up before but they had since moved on to guys with cars. I’d convinced myself my interest in bondage was an aberration. Michael definitely did not share my enjoyment of bare feet. He viewed this as a “chicks thing”, something his (hot) older sister did. Whilst I had carried over being barefoot from my childhood days, he frequently tried to discourage me from doing it, saying it looked silly with my tight jeans. Half a year into our friendship, I’d acquired my first pair of Maseur sandals, and being one of a few guys to wear them to school, he got on my case even more about that. For him, they really were the province of housewives and schoolgirls (and he was generally right). A lot of guys, even some of the girls who wore their sandals to school shared that belief and I got teased initially quite a bit. He got embarrassed by the attention I got, and sometimes even joined in. I really was a determined guy though, I just argued back, and even revelled in getting attention for my “weird” footwear. Eventually, though, he let it go.
It was about a year later I got a brief glimpse into a private secret he shared with me. It had been raining, and we sat inside my friends games room playing Atari. I sat cross-legged in my tight blue jeans and AC/DC t shirt. For some reason, I had worn my Masuers that day, which was rare, I was usually barefoot outside of school. We tired of playing Atari and went to his room. We were looking at his magazines when I sensed him getting tense. I kept leafing through his magazines, oblivious to him crawling behind me on his bed. He had been rummaging through his wardrobe moments before, but I ignored him, focusing on the bikini clad girls who presented the cars in the photos. He tackled me from behind.
I was stronger than Michael, so I would usually win play-fights, but the surprise tactics caught me off guard, I tried to resist the tackle, but toppled off the bed. It was then he began trying to pull my hands behind my back. I was face down and he had his full weight on me, I was just preparing to try and roll when I saw him reach for a dressing gown sash on the floor. Instantly, I knew that was what he had been retrieving from his cupboard. I kept, preventing him from pinning my wrists together, asking him, "What's going on?"
"Things got boring, so I decided to tie you up", he remarked casually as if this was as regular as doing chores, or homework. I got very excited. In fact, I still get butterflies thinking about it today. I quickly resolved to put up token resistance. So after a brief struggle, I lay face down on the floor, with my arms very tightly bound behind my back.
I realised one of my sandals had come off in the struggle, so I asked him, "Can you please put my Maseur back on?"
"No need, mate, I’m not finished and by the time I am, you won’t be able to walk." He began pulling a telephone line out of the wall. I could sense now I was partially secure, he was growing in confidence. "Now just to tie those ankles." He grabbed my legs, and holding my ankles with one hand, wound the cord tightly around my ankles. He knotted it, before doing the same with my knees.
I remember being impressed, he did not just tie around my legs, but used a series of different patterns. "You seem a little too good at this", I remarked.
"My sisters and cousins used to do it to me, so I learnt how to get out and pay it back." He rummaged through his laundry basket and retrieved a used business sock.
Despite my excitement and belief gags only improve my enjoyment of bondage, I thrashed my head to hamper his efforts to push the balled up sock in my mouth. I figured I could hold out for something better. "Can't you use a scarf or something?" I pleaded.
"Not today, Sue and Mum are in the main room, they will get suss if I go looking for scarves." He nodded down the hall, and I could hear them laughing as "Wheel of Fortune" blared out the screen. He sat next to me briefly, an impasse had been reached. I regretted resisting now as it seemed my gag would not be forthcoming.
A change of tack. I threatened him with, "How would like me to yell so the whole house hears?"
I remember him just grinning, and then winking. "Here's a little trick I picked up." Holding my nose, I involuntarily gulped for air. The smell of fetid foot odour invaded my mouth as he roughly jammed the sock in my mouth. "It's going in either way, so put your tongue against your top teeth, then you can’t choke." My tongue went up and immediately contacted with a bit of gross foot sweat. – Blurgh. I tried instantly to spit out the sock but his large hand was already in place, clasped over my mouth, holding the invasive sock in against my will. He reached onto his desk and bought out some standard sticky tape. I must of looked surprised because he tried to console me. "Nearly there, mate. Just a little something to keep that sock in your mouth." He began pulling it around my head and lips, quickly binding my lips and lower face. I was worried about the tape hurting my long hair and initially tried to resist. "It's only a gag", he said calmly, trying to reassure me, "Relax."
I resigned myself to my fate. Sucking back foot odour, and I listened as the rip of Sellotape coming off the spool partially obscured the TV noise. Rip! - "For 100 points." - Rip! The sock just went a little further in my mouth. "Buy a consonant." - Rip! Tighter. Rip! "There is no G for Greg, sorry Mary."
"How about a G for 'Get this fucking gag out my mouth?'" I thought. But I played it cool, laying calmly on the floor. Could you pick anything more banal to get tied up to? The damsels in the TV shows struggled to ominous music or jazzy guitar riffs. I got John Burgess and adverts for "Jim's Lawnmowing".
"I’m gonna need to hide you in there", Michael announced. Flipping me over he began pushing me into the closet. Shoving me, I assisted by shuffling on my legs and feet to the closet. "I don’t want anyone else finding you", he confided. I nodded in agreement. Being found bound by my mate's family was not high on my bucket list either right then. As I entered the closet, he flipped me back over onto my stomach and, retrieving a tie from the rack, used it to tie my ankles and hands together. I lay very securely tied, and surveying his handiwork, he decided to enforce symmetry by removing the remaining sandal off my foot. He placed them neatly together, before announcing, "All that work has made me thirsty. Be back soon buddy."
I let out a groan, “mmmm”, as he closed the door in my face. The bedroom door slammed, further isolating me. I could still hear the TV blaring, but like all the tied up captives in TV shows and movies, I knew what was expected of me. I had to try and escape. I began testing the bonds on my hands. The material, usually soft had been pulled tight, and was not coming off anytime soon. It began to dawn on me that he really did know his stuff. I began flexing and trying to move my legs, similarly, the telephone cord was just as tight and not budging. He had also tied my feet a little past my natural range, making it slightly uncomfortable, and more importantly, preventing me from generating any power from my legs. Michael later informed me of the name for this, it was a “hog tie”.
I focused on the gag. I was dubious of tape in general. I had tried gagging myself with single strips, or had them placed over other gags, but generally I felt you could lick them off or move your face and work the tape free. I began using my tongue to try and push the sock against the tape to try and loosen it. I quickly realised the tape was wrapped too tightly and too many times. It was not coming off without someone else's help, that’s for sure. I consoled myself by reminding myself getting a gag off in this situation was pointless, as I did not want the family to find me.
Around about this time, Michael returned, finishing a sandwich. He opened the door and began laughing. "Now you don’t see that every day."
"Mmmmffggn", I groaned at the poor joke, but his expression changed, we both became aware of his mother and sister coming down the hall.
"Hang tight", he said, closing the door and attempting to look nonchalant resting on his bed.
"Does John want any food?" his mum asked.
"Where is John?" his sister asked. I could see her bare feet through the slats of the door. Blood was pounding in my ears.
"He had to go, family dinner or something", Michael lied.
"Oh, ok." Michaels mum, satisfied, left. But I could still see his sister's feet on the carpet and she shifted to an adversarial stance, her feet splayed.
"You're up to something", she stated.
"N-naw", Michael stammered.
Sisterly instinct had picked up a whiff of deceit, and Sue was determined to find out. Enjoying her brothers unease, she dropped another bombshell. "If he's gone, why are his shoes here?" she asked. Something inside me died, the closet walls seemed to shrink inward. I dared not breathe.
Just as all was lost, Michael saved the day. "He left those at the oval. He took them off to play footy, then left in a hurry. I grabbed them and I’m gonna take them later."
Sue let out a deflated, "Oh", and padded out.
Closing the bedroom door, Michael, wasted no time untying my hands and feet. He left me to pull the tape out of my hair and disentangle the hair that had been stuck. "Putooow!" I ceremoniously spat out the sock. – Just in time. I was just getting used to the smell of sweaty gym sock. I complained.
He shrugged meekly. "What could I do? You and I both know you were gonna scream. I had to gag you with something. And I’m not outside near the shed, I had to improvise. It worked didn't it? I did not hear a peep out of you."
"I was terrified of getting caught, but you're right, it was pretty good. I could not say anything." Rubbing my wrists I said, "Do me a favour, next time you feel the urge to gag me use a scarf, or a tea towel, anything, even clean socks. Or if you have to use a sweaty gym sock, make that the first thing you remove when it's time to untie me."
"Yeah, no sweat", he said, "You better sneak out."
I began leaving, but I was relieved. He had not contradicted my condition relating to next time! There may be a next time! As I snuck out the back, I noted the heavy metal swivel chair and thought how great it would be to be perched up there. My eyes fixed on the orange poly rope his father had “borrowed” from the water authority. Michael, keen not to get caught, herded me out the gate. I had to stop on the footpath to replace my sandals.
I began replaying the incident in my head. It was no longer than half an hour, but I rehashed every detail over in my head. 'Flick, flap', my sandals beat a staccato rhythm on the footpath as I trudged home in the drizzle, occupied by my thoughts. The “firsts” I’d experienced: the hog tie, the use of tape as the primary gag. Kirsty had always used cloth, presumably because she had lots of scarves at hand. I came to realise later that Michael believed wrapping the mouth with tape was the only way to really shut a prisoner up. But then I marvelled at the discovery that we shared a secret. And he seemed to know lots of things - lots of things I was eager to experience. I rehearsed the lines he said to me as he so callously restrained me. His response when queried about tying me up made me feel like I was the unusual one, like tying up someone was something you simply did if bored or whatever. I resolved to vex him and see if this also lead to more bondage. Him telling me it “was only a gag”, as if I had the problem for not wanting his sweaty sock in my mouth. It was brutally electrifying.
It was only when I got to the park, it dawned on me that I had been tied up by a guy. I was pretty sure I was not gay, but this realisation made me slightly introspective. Remember, I was just hitting the age when sex is confusing. I ran through the list. – I only ever got aroused by women and girls. Admittedly, I liked the sight of their feet as much as their breasts, but I never got off on guys feet. That was a win for not gay. A weird and even more marginal sexual preference, but it was a win I thought. My foot crashed into a deep puddle. On the other hand, I got excited by being tied up. I rationalised it was not actual sex, but it excited me like sex, I fantasised about it, so it was sex. That was a win for might be gay.
I kept playing these over in my head. As I rounded the corner, a remarkable thing happened. Kristy, full into womanhood, still beautiful but now unobtainable strolled down her driveway. The sight of her gave me a jolt. She said hello and gave me the sweet but slightly patronising smiles hot older girls give guys they catch looking at them too long. I decided, I was probably not gay, but hey, given Kristy was unlikely to be tying me up anytime soon, best to go with probably not gay, but happy to get tied by anybody. For the record, there is nothing wrong with being gay. It's sad I feel I need to say that.
At school we began debriefing at recess. I’d already resolved to play on his vanity by not disclosing my previous experience. I marvelled as he told me things, explained techniques and I questioned him with an air of reverence. How did he know to link my legs together? Where did the idea to use the sock come from? And he did know a lot.
Nothing happened for a while, but I began subtly challenging him. I began to say I that, now I had learned how he did it, I thought I would now be able to escape. I came to realise that he really did not need much coaxing, he thrived on controlling me, but my goading gave him permission to attempt again.