Stories of being tied up

Added: Garrick Mechling - Date: 14.04.2022 21:50 - Views: 17222 - Clicks: 9813

This story is an of my earliest experience of being tied up. The story is a true one, but if I restricted myself to only the elements that I could swear were absolutely accurate on the proverbial stack of Bibles, it would be a very slender tale indeed, and it probably wouldn't be worth the effort of reading it.

I don't remember every tiny detail and I certainly don't remember every word of conversations that took place half a century ago, so I have quite unashamedly made them up so as to give a sense of time, place and character that seems to me to be 'true' in the broad sense. Gilbert put it in 'The Mikado'. I think my interest in tie-up games stemmed from a fascination with the concept that you could immobilise someone by tying them up. Way back in the mid s, when I was aged about six or seven, this seemed to be a regular occurrence in the books and comics I read and sometimes on television.

The images on television came and went, leaving just a memory but the drawings in comics could be studied at leisure.

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British girls' comics provided a wide range of subject matter in these stories. There were plucky girl detectives or intrepid reporters trying to unravel sinister mysteries, there were historical dramas involving an heiress abducted in a coach and four by her wicked uncle, courageous kids aiding the Resistance in wartime France and many others.

Whatever the context, a surprising of these heroines would end up trussed up in one way or another in the course of their adventures and I was desperate to know what it felt like. For a long time I assumed that rope was the only possible material to use for tying people up Stories of being tied up one day I read a story where the heroine had her hands tied behind her back with her own striped woollen winter scarf. We didn't have rope in the house, but I need look no further than the chest of drawers in the bedroom I shared with my sister to find a scarf. I decided to experiment. I think I had three scarves to work with.

I selected one at random and sat down on the floor to begin my experiment. It must have been winter time as I remember that I was wearing the long woollen stockings with their uncomfortable and awkward suspender belt that we wore before wool tights became commonplace for girls a couple of years later.

They were probably black; I think all my stockings were at that time. I'm not sure what else I was wearing, but it would probably have been something like a pleated knee-length skirt with an elasticated waist and a heavy hand-knit sweater worn over a soft short-sleeved blouse rather like a modern polo shirt.

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I wrapped one of the scarves around my ankles several times and fastened it by tying a simple overhand knot, the only knot that I could make at that time. I knew that real knots were more complicated but had no idea how to go about tying one. As bindings go, it was, of course, dismally ineffective: a couple of kicks and it came undone instantly. Nevertheless, I persevered and re-tied my ankles. I used the second scarf to tie my knees in the same way. It made the ankle binding fractionally more secure, but only to the extent that it took perhaps three kicks instead of two to get free.

I re-tied my ankles once more and then my knees again. I put my hands behind my back and tried to work out how to tie my wrists together with the third scarf. I couldn't find any way of wrapping it around my wrists while still holding it, let alone knotting it.

I decided to try tying my wrists in front instead, as my second-best choice. I could see what I was doing that way, but it was equally unsuccessful.

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Finally, I settled for wrapping Stories of being tied up scarf around my arms and body, just above my elbows, and tying the ends together in the middle of my chest. It would only stay in place if I kept my arms tightly pressed to my sides and didn't move. Somewhat exasperated, I untied myself and put the scarves away again. However, I wasn't about to give up on the experiment and decided to enlist some help from Karen, my sister.

She was only fifteen months older than me, but still my big sister and someone I could turn to for help. As chance would have it, when I found her, Karen was reading the very comic that had triggered my experiment in the first place. I told her what I was trying to do and she immediately agreed to help.

By pooling our own winter wear and exploring the depths of our shared dressing-up box, we amassed about six scarves. I remember that one was a tiny pink one that one of us must have worn as a toddler and one was a monster about eight feet long that our mother must have worn before the war. I think the rest were more reasonable sizes. I sat down on the bedroom floor once again and Karen did her best to immobilise me. She tied my ankles and then my knees in the same way that I had tied my own. Her knots were exactly the same as mine and just as ineffective. However, as I wasn't struggling, they both stayed in place.

I put my hands behind my back and Karen did her best to tie my wrists together. The first attempt was not at all successful: four feet or so of woolly scarf wrapped around two slender wrists resulted in an unwieldy bundle that didn't feel remotely secure. The second try, using the small pink scarf was a bit better but no more expertly knotted. Karen finished off by winding the really long scarf from the dressing-up box around my arms and chest about four times and then knotting the ends.

The overall result felt snug but not terribly secure. Our younger brother Timothy appeared at the bedroom door at this point. He is three years younger than me, so he must have been three or four at this time. He usually took an interest in the things that Karen and I did together, but would occasionally decide that we were doing scary big-girl stuff and decide not to investigate further.

Seeing his sisters tying each other up seemed to come into that category, so he went away again without saying anything. Escape took a matter of seconds as all the knots yielded to the slightest tension. Undeterred, Karen tied me up again, pulling all the bonds just a little tighter the second time. If I sat perfectly still, I had some faint inkling Stories of being tied up what it might feel like to be tied up, but I knew that escape was trivially easy, so there wasn't the remotest sense of helplessness, let alone peril.

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All-in-all, this wasn't very satisfactory. My mother came back to the doorway. Timothy was with her, solemnly surveying my predicament. Karen and I explained that I had just the opposite problem and I needed help to stay tied up.

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I pointed out that our knots didn't work and asked our Mum if she could show us how to do better ones. I quickly shed my bonds and headed for the bathroom. When I returned to the bedroom, my mother and sister were kneeling on the floor untangling the scarves that I had kicked my way out of a few minutes earlier. I felt a little tingle of excitement in anticipation of finally finding out what it was like to be tied up.

As I entered the room, my mother briefly rummaged through the drawer where she kept my winter things and handed me a pair of mittens. Damage to skin wasn't something that had occurred to me. I put the mittens on, pulling the cuffs well up over the sleeves of my sweater, and sat down next to where my mother and sister were kneeling. Timothy was still standing just inside the door, watching the proceedings with interest. My mother began as I and my sister had done, by tying my ankles.

She pulled the scarf much tighter than I had done. I was surprised to see my mother form a knot exactly as I had, but then she showed us how to add another similar knot, but going the other way, to make a reef or square knot. The result felt satisfyingly secure.

The same procedure was repeated just below my knees and my mother showed us how to make sure we tied a real reef knot and not a granny knot. I shuffled myself around, so that my back was towards my mother and put my hands together side-by-side.

She gently rearranged them so that my wrists were crossed then wrapped the short pink scarf around them twice, pulling it much tighter than Karen had. She tied the first half of the knot and then jerked the binding tight before completing the reef knot. My mother finished off by tying the long scarf from the dressing-up box around my arms and chest. Once again, she pulled it very tight and may even have got one more turn around my body than Karen managed.

She knotted it off in the middle of my chest then leaned forwards and kissed Stories of being tied up on the top of my head. As soon as my mother had finished, I knew that I was completely helpless and would stay tied up until someone freed me. Nothing was so tight that it was painful, but it all felt incredibly constricting.

Simply being tied up was much scarier than I had imagined, but in an exciting way, like a good Stories of being tied up ride, and I was thoroughly enjoying the experience. I wriggled and squirmed on the floor for several minutes, but it was quickly apparent that my mother had done a good job and that I had no chance whatever of escaping unaided. While our mother was gone, Karen took a trip to the bathroom as I had done. I lay on the floor quite contentedly and waited. Timothy watched me in silence. My mother returned first, carrying a long tartan scarf and a pair of long socks she wore with walking boots.

As soon as my sister was back in the room, she found a pair of mittens, put them on and sat down next to me.

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My mother helped me sit and propped me against the side of my bed, mainly so that I didn't occupy so much floor space. It took far less time to tie Karen up than it had taken for me, mainly because my mother didn't have to pause to explain what she was doing. She used the socks to tie Karen's wrists and ankles but bound her knees and arms with scarves. Karen engaged in a heroic struggle against her bonds before declaring herself satisfied that she was completely helpless. He shook his head and left the room hurriedly; we heard him going downstairs.

I glanced at the clock.

Stories of being tied up

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My First Time Tied Up