After the weekend Michael initiated me into his world and tied me up, we discussed it. Michael enjoyed displaying his knowledge and intimated is sister had tied him up. It emerged over subsequent conversations that they had experimented many times, and Michael had developed preferred methods. It was also clear he preferred tying, and resented his sister taking the mainly dominant role with him. I was initially reluctant to divulge my earlier experiences to him, I affected a naïve, curiousity, and inidicated I'd be willing to try it again, and dediciding to challenge him for further motivation, told him I could of got out of his earlier attempt. He enthusiastically shared ways he would do it better, with no interruptions and proper materials. He clearly warmed to the role of a experienced captor, explaining things to me, the curious neophyte. So I evolved into this role. It was strange, we still did regular hang out things together, sneaked smokes, checked out and chased girls, hung out, but we would conspiratorially discuss it when we got bored, and when alone sometimes it was like a switch would go off, Michael would tell me to sit down, hands behind my back, or sit in the chair, and I'd comply, ostensibly resisting, but secretly loving it, and not struggling too much to obstruct him. I learnt early on, Michael liked seeing me struggle, trying to yell under my gags. He liked watching, and switching between gently consoling me and taunting me.
That day we had both bunked off from school, skipping the last three periods of gym and science. I'd sat cross legged smoking at the shop on he way home, as Michael played the regular game of double dragon he always played if we walked home.
We continued our trek. Our “uniforms” identical, heavy metal t shirts under the yellow polo shirt. Our tight blue stretch denim faberge jeans which our social group preferred. It was hot, really too hot for jeans and two shirts, and the beige “Masuer brand” massage sandals I wore religiously school helped cool my feet. Michael wore his adidas white trainers. He had initially tried to counsel and convince me not wear them, resentful of the taunts I received from school mates and sometimes teachers, for wearing shoes worn mainly by female school mates and housewives. I'd walked barefoot all my childhood and continued to do so after school, so was largely immune to this kind f prejudice. Over time he had grudgingly come to tolerate my eccentricity.
We smoked as we got closer to his house. The sound of my rubber sandals striking my heels as I walked, beat a staccato rhythm. Flip! Flop! Flip! Flop! I noticed my companion drawing intently on a cigarette as he gazed off in the distance, intent in thought. We neared the alley way. He explained the house would be empty until 830, which was not uncommon as both his parents worked. He reiterated an earlier query, was I sure I wanted to be tied up. I enthusiastically replied in the affirmative. He warned it would be more intense. I coolly challenged him, telling me that was a relief, because last time would have been easy to escape. He grimly told me that I should do my best to get out this time. Anxious to be gagged, I asked if he would gag my mouth too. He nodded. I said, cos I think it must be hard to do it properly. He laughed, and said, well I tell u what, tell me what u think after. No more talking, flip! Flop! as we enter through the front door. Go out to the back room he instructed me. I walk through the back patio door into a self contained room, with a door, bed, old style Bakelite phone and a small kitchen. It sat behind a bar and was called “the visitors room”. It struck me as I good place to conceal someone who was tied up.
My host arrived dumping some lengths and coils of hessian rope on the bar top. “My dad took this from his work”, he indicated. I did not have time to ponder the irony of being restrained my material supplied by tax payers who funded my friends dads job at the water corporation, as I was instructed to help my host lift one of the heavy metal bar stools into the visitors room.
The stool had a heavy metal base, and a raised platform that sat raised several feet of the floor with a mmetal ring which served as a foot rest. A padded seat, with garish 70s cloth, could swivel around. I was told firmly to “Sit on the chair”, as my friend reentered the house, hunting for more ligatures.
I climbed and assumed my position on the stool. I sat expectantly, my feet symmetrically together, my sandals bending the middle as I rested them on the foot rest. I imagined my ankles bei bound harshly together with the rough rope on display on the bar. My host returned with a roll of duct tape, some scarves with ornate designs I imagined originated from his parents native Yugoslavia, and strangely, some thin white sash cord. As my guest left, I wondered how much of that had come from workplace theft and whose tights were about you've used to restrain me. I sat cross legged, flicking one sandal against my foot, swivelling I my chair as my host returned, with some socks that locked like they had been retrieved from a washing basket. (I later came to appreciate that the socks were a recurring thing for Michael, a favourite thing he used to pack my mouth).
He wasted no time in approaching me, stockings in his hand. Stopping me from swivelling he pulled my hands behind my back and tied them tightly with the material. He returned, using satire to tie my wrists further, before using another length to bind my elbows and wrists to the metal strut behind the chair. He began taping my fingers together, explaining how it would stop me using my fingers to untie knots as he sealed them together. “Sneaky” I remarked. “Enough chit chat” he remarked doing his best impersonation of a noir villain. The smell of footbodour invaded my nostrils as a thick wooden sock was jammed unceremoniously into my mouth. “Mmmmm” I protested, resisting mildly as my captor tied scarf between my teeth, stopping me from spitting out my gag. “Mmmmm” I continued to protest as my ankles were tied to the chair frame and foot rest. “Mmmm” I thrashed my head angrily as my knees were tied together tightly, and additional rope secured my thighs to the seat. “Mmmmm” I continued, as a scarf blindfolded me. “Shh. Now, I gagged you for a reason” he chided, as he began wining duct tape repeatedly around my mouth and head, the cruel sound of tape being ripped off the spool rang out, intermittently stopping as Michael smoothed tape with his fingers into every nook and cranny between my distorted lips and cheeks. The sound of ripping would resume as he grimly resumed the ritual of taping my mouth and lower face. My cheeks buckled inward as the smell of glue from the adhesive tape mingled with the smell of my sock.
I sat momentarily cowed by the severity of my gag, the sensory deprivation of the blindfold attenuating the numbness of my hands and ankles from the tight rope, the rubber spikes of the sandals pressing into the soles of my feet, the saliva in my mouth, saturating the sock and the scarf, a mass of wet stifling cloth, held in situ by the mask of tape encircling my lower face.
“Mmmmm” I began thrashing my head, yelling under my gag. A futile attempt to dislodge my gag. “Mmmmm”. My screams rendered inaudible and incomprehensible. All I got was laughter and taunts as my captor tied rope around my waist and chest, trussing me to the chair.
I'd like to tell you I got out that day, but I did not. I thrashed and writhed for what seemed liked an eternity, much to the amusement of my captor. But at the end I was not closer to dislodging any of my restraints. It was quite obvious no one outside the room I was kept in could hear me screaming under the gag. So finally, resigned to my fate, I sat immobile, sweat dripping down my body and running down the ropes.
Michael was not finished. To demonstrate his confidence in the efficacy of the gag he put in my mouth he rang a girl we were friends with and both had a crush on. He spoke nonchalantly to her as I resumed trying to raise the alarm, the girl oblivious to my moans. Enjoying the spectacle of his mastery over me he even introduced a lame bondage pun, one recycled in many movies and tv shows. “Do I know where John is? He said he was kind of busy, so he's probably tied up somewhere”. I could imagine him winking at me, as I sat restrained, mute and blindfolded.
Eventually, he began untying me, explaining we best be careful and leave plenty of time before his parents were due to avoid discovery.He untied my blindfold, then legs, before buying my arms and hands, leaving me to remove my gag. A walked around getting circulation into my limbs as I gingerly pried tape loses from my hair. He helped me untie the knots holding the scarf in my mouth and I dramatically spat my sock out, “ptooo”. Of all the things to use, u use a stinky sock, I complained. “It's great material for absorbing your screams”, he lied. He later admitted he liked using socks after he had it done to him once by his sister. I secretly liked the humiliation and reasoned that it did come as part of an awesome “system of gag”.
Over the next couple of years we were best friends, I was tied up by Michael in many different ways and places. His sister, catching us once, even tied us up a few times I slept over. I was generally the submissive one being tied, but I did also turn the tables on both brother and sister a couple of times.