Bound to be Dared (F/self, F/F)

[Beaumains]

Thank you all for the very kind words. It is always great to know people are still following along.

that he has a very wide range of writing styles

Many thanks. Sometimes I am afraid that many of my characters are a bit too similar, so I am glad the stories are perceived as truly different.

[Rdo4y8]

The premise of this is truly fascinating and I’m enjoying it tremendously.

[Beaumains]

The premise of this is truly fascinating and I’m enjoying it tremendously.

Thanks a lot!

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I was trembling and tapping my fingers against my steering wheel. They were not the just-before-an-important-exam or just-before-exam-results-are-dropped nerves but the certain-this-was-a-terrible-decision nerves.

I checked my red lipstick and dark blue eye makeup in the car mirror and changed from sneakers into cute black shoes with 3-inch heels. A knee-long dark blue skirt and an olive green buttoned shirt formed my look. The restaurant my potential sugar daddy had selected was fancy but not on a Michelin level. A white shirt made me look like a secretary, but I was also no bimbo. However, I still guessed, clueless about what was expected from me.

I grabbed the key out of the ignition and stepped out. My hands were soaked in sweat.

For whatever reason, the profile I had slapped together in the evening after the photoshoot got lots of traction. My dull, generic username “Bound4Ur<3” got featured. Dozens of guys sent me sweet and awful messages, and I feared thousands had seen my face on that website. Even on free dating apps, this was uncommon. My competition was sometimes better looking, but their profiles were often similar and uninspiring. Hiking, movies, and good food were not personalities. A few others had bondage in their profiles but lacked good photos. In comparison, Riley had shot perfect pictures. Then they would have group photos as if they were advertising their friend group and themselves, a horrible ill-lit selfie in front of a mirror, or it appeared too professional.

Still, I regretted not entering an Amazon wishlist. I liked free stuff.

I had not foreseen so much luck.

Or well, luck…

No reactions also ended the punishment dare.

Of the many messages I received in 12 hours, one man charmed me the most. Gregory sent me a face pic instantly because his profile had none like many potential sugar daddies. Around 60, thrice my age, he appeared well-maintained and friendly, which cleared my low bar. Being unmarried made things a lot easier. I did not want to cause a divorce and ruin some kid’s childhood. Dares should not hurt strangers.

But most importantly, Gregory did not start by promising money or sharing a fantasy of himself, describing how much he would love a beautiful young woman being restrained. Instead, he asked about me and the bondage, trying to get to know me. We ended up chatting about my bondage fantasy, public hidden bondage. I loved the idea of being bound under a sweater or jacket. He was very supportive of that idea. Although it was all very superficial, he had not creeped me out.

I waited until it was precisely 7 before entering. The front sent me to my awaiting date in the back. Gregory’s stare penetrated my clothes. I knew exactly how low I had gone.

I was almost disappointed Gregory was there and had not ghosted me. It also had been his real photo, and I did not smell alcohol, smoke, or weed.

“Hey, how are you doing!” I beamed. A hug seemed obligatory, but I made it swift. Now our weird meeting at least appeared like a father-daughter date. My retail experience really helped me through the situation. This could not be worse than dealing with a Karen wanting to return a three-week-old flower bouquet.

“Good, good, great to see you, Cyan. How are you doing? I have been waiting all week,” he replied as I sat down. “You have a cute profile but are even cuter in real life.” His short gray hair consisted of tiny spikes, and slim green eyes hid in his slender face. They pierced.

Sky, if you read this, you pulled me lightyears out of my comfort zone. Worst dare ever.

I wanted to start as a nerdy student and discuss bondage later. “I am doing great. It is the final week of classes, so I am a little stressed out but ready for the summer. I love to do something different and not worry about those exams tonight.”

A glass of wine stood beside his empty plate, but I did not want to order one. I had to drive back, and if this weirdly moved into a hotel room, I preferred being sober. I requested a limey drink.

He asked a simple question, signaling I had to expand further. “Doing well?” He wanted to get to know me. That was the goal of today: Was I interesting enough? Willing? His type?

“Good, but not on top. 3.7 GPA.” First, I had to show that I was not a party girl and took my studies seriously. In his profile, Gregory noted he preferred someone with ambition who would have a career beside him. He wanted someone to talk to, which seemed code for wanting more than just sex.

“I like mathematics, but I am far from smart or obsessed enough to compete with the best.” I had not mentioned the exact major in my profile, fearing it would scare men away.

“That’s tough. I was never good at it.”

I smiled. Even my hairdresser made such silly comments. “Studying the violin would be a lot harder for me.”

“So you like it? Good. What are your plans afterward? Academia or industry?”

It was not the dumbest question. “Not sure. I never plan so far ahead.”

I answered the questions before moving on to tell more about myself. I had made a decent impression but knew no one was interested in my actual studies. As a selling point, I had put cooking as a hobby, and growing up with my parents having a successful restaurant, I had respectable knowledge. Apparently, child labor is permitted when it is a family business. You do it together, right?

After finishing the first course, a squid salad that looked professional but had weak, unexciting flavors, Gregory finally spoke about himself. He was a corporate lawyer, a partner even, at a firm I had never heard of. Apparently, it was prestigious. He had two adult sons, so my age, from an old marriage. But that was all I had to work with.

The main course followed, and it was already much better. The meat was of high quality and prepared well. Sadly, Gregory wanted more than small talk. “So, what made you decide to do this?

Oops.

“Well, I talked with a good online friend, and she suggested trying this out. That was a week ago. I made my profile, and now I am here.”

“And you’re serious about doing this?”

Hard-hitting questions. The lawyer put me on the witness stand.

“Serious? I want to give it a real shot. However, if I am frank with you, I’m not desperate. If it turns out you are a horrible person, I will walk away.” If this was a dealbreaker, it was better to know it right now.

The older man before me studied my face. The green eyes, like a CGI snake from a movie decades ago, showed no clear emotion. Amusement at most.

I sipped from the sole glass of wine I would drink tonight. It paired nicely with the main course. Wine was almost mandatory at these places.

“Good,” he spoke, unbothered by the silence. “Perfect. Thus... you don’t refrain from being truthful?”

“I’m a terrible liar.” I had to look away. “I can sugarcoat and tell white lies but cannot lie straight to someone’s face.”

Funnily, the last remark was unnecessary. Whatever the truth, Gregory could not conclude anything.

He nodded, apparently pleased. Then he told me he wanted to know more about me, especially “the kinky part.” As I knew his name, position, and employer, he had more to lose in a blackmailing battle. Thus, I could tell him everything. Yes, everything.

I told him about my struggles to find a tie-up buddy and how it had not worked out with my previous boyfriends. I told him about our site (just shying away from giving him a URL), where we discussed our dares. It was embarrassing, knowing how stupid it sounds when you say it. Gregory listened carefully, asking a few sharp questions.

“So this date is a dare?”

“Yeah, but it was meant as advice. The girl who dared me thought it was a good idea for me, so I want to try it out,” I repeated, matching eyes. “Also, I won’t write much about this date publically, especially no personal information. I am not toying with you.”

He seemed satisfied. “If you’re not really into being ordered to do things, why is being dared okay?”

It made me pause. Understanding yourself is hard. “Dares make me feel more like an equal. I can say no. I might lose some face, but there are no consequences. If I do it, it is a win. But for orders, you cannot win, only lose when you don’t do them,” I phrased carefully. “The difference is subtle, but I like to make my own choices and be responsible. What you read about these 24/7 relationships, where you do whatever you are commanded to do and obey like a brainless robot, does not suit me. I like to be challenged, physically and mentally. I love to come up with ideas and be creative, while I have a desire to be stuck in ropes as well. I am also not really sure if I want to call someone master and be called a slave. That doesn’t feel good.”

He nodded. Despite all our chats, I still did not know his kinks. He was a top, but then there was still so much possible. Wait? Why was I thinking about this? This date should have failed.

Gregory leaned in, intrigued, but his face revealed I had surprised him, maybe crossed a line. He paid me, so my specific preferences should not matter. I collected myself.

“So, what are your preferences? What kind of relationship do you envision?”

Again, I was too direct, but he did not make it easy on me. Either Gregory was not a talker and just enjoyed my awkward company, or he enjoyed leaving me hanging.

“I’m not that particular up front and prefer to let it evolve naturally,” my date replied. “Just be yourself. Then we enjoy the world of kinks and see what, and if it, works out.”

I nodded, seeing the desert arrive. Cheese. I struggled. Gregory had stated some facts about himself but had trouble describing his feelings. Maybe I should have approached it more like a job interview, where you are scrutinized, than a date.

“Can I ask you something rude?” Gregory wanted no more personal questions.

“Sure!”

“I have a dare for you…” Gregory declared, eyes sparkling.

I sighed audibly, a little afraid. Did he want sex in the bathroom here?

“It’s just warm-up.”

He fumbled in his briefcase and placed something on my leg under the table. “Cyan, I dare you to give me your panties, and in exchange, you tie your upper legs together under your skirt. Deal?”

This could have been much worse. Easy. I blushed.

“I accept.”

At first, I thought I would walk to the bathroom, but we were in a corner in a busy restaurant. Time to show off. I had to add risk. The table next to us was empty, and the group of businessmen two tables away were rowdy and a little drunk. They would not notice. I did not look behind me, but that was part of the fun.

I pushed myself up from the chair with one hand as the other slid under my skirt and pulled my white panties to my knees. I bent my ankles back and peeled the cotton off, hiding it in my hand. Over the table, I passed it to my date, who was taken aback. I chuckled, even more embarrassed, but I had already been prepared for much worse in a hotel room.

“You can keep them.”

I put them in my handbag. Under the table, I found the ends of the rope, doubled it, rounded it twice around my legs, and cinched it. It was not tight enough to hurt, and I grabbed another piece of cheese when my skirt covered the bondage. “Satisfied?”

“Certainly.” The man in front of me grinned. He liked what the much younger woman in front of him had done. We finished the dessert without much talking, and then Gregory paid the bill. Our waitress seemed delighted with her tip, so this man was not a cheapskate.

We walked out of the restaurant slowly as my legs could not go very fast. We said goodbye in the car park, where Gregory handed me a pink envelope. I entered my car, untied the rope around my legs, and opened the envelope. It contained 500 dollars. I earned about the same from working part-time at the garden center for two weeks, thus 40 hours. Fuck, this was easy money.

[Syko Sith]

I'd totally forgotten about the date site dare! It seems to have gone well for dear Cyan. I'm liking this story.

[GreyLord]

Absolutely delightful, @Beaumains. Wonderfully written, it is so descriptive of that situation I have daydreamed about being in but have never encountered. You painted the scene so vividly that reading your story was like being there. Thank you very much.

[Beaumains]

I'd totally forgotten about the date site dare! It seems to have gone well for dear Cyan. I'm liking this story.

I thought the date dare was the most recurrent theme of the last few parts. I am glad you liked it as it was very weird to write.

Absolutely delightful, @Beaumains. Wonderfully written, it is so descriptive of that situation I have daydreamed about being in but have never encountered. You painted the scene so vividly that reading your story was like being there. Thank you very much.

Thanks a lot. I mostly wrote about this because this was such a taboo which is seldom explored on this site. It is funny that it actually resonates with you as it was truly a pain to write.

[Beaumains]

Saturday morning.

Slight headache.

Two cups of coffee could not fix it, so I had just headed out.

Sure, classes were over, and I had had a great night going out with the squat to celebrate that only two weeks separated us from the freedoms and burdens of summer, but I needed a break. Our final hurdles were a week of classless studying followed by a week of exams. I did not feel like studying all day already, knowing that nine days of going all out would burn me out before the exams.

A short pause was enough, and I had a deadline today for a dare. It was unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Yet, I wanted to do it and do well. That was my curse. I did not give up easily.

The dare was simple: Restrict yourself with the most innovative thing or things.

We had done similar dares for years, so the bar was high. I could not use ivy as a sturdy rope or tie myself to old railroad tracks. It was out of the ordinary but not ground-breaking, and I did not want more punishment. Yet, I would also not win. I had neither the budget nor the time. The dare began three weeks ago, and 12 hours remained. Layla had been teasing her submission, and of course, being professional, she could milk her result for private promotion as well. She had money and time to spend.

Last time, I had spent 10 bucks on a few rolls of dark gray duct tape and made a spiderweb in the forest. Hidden by a scarf and woolen winter hat, I had filmed myself jumping into it in a bikini, and to my own surprise, I had actually stuck, bungling in the air. It had taken me three minutes of giggling to puzzle myself out of my trap and end the camera clip. I had posted a watermarked version on our private forum while making the pictures public. And yeah, the video had never leaked.

It had gotten 5th place out of 11. Not bad. My shameless video had saved me. The idea of a human flycatcher was anything but original, and tape was one of the most common bondage materials. I had been lucky three people had gone for the same idea: Strong magnets. Today, I could not assume that would happen again.

I was in a charity second-hand shop, hoping for magical inspiration, however stupendous. From experience, I knew that effectiveness was not a major concern for the judges, DietitianInDistress and StringsAttachedTightly. Creativity went above all.

Despite excellent ugliness in the clothing department, nothing would work. I had hoped for a corset or bondage-like clothes, but this store was too prude. I would fit in a wine barrel, but it was too expensive, I had nowhere to leave it, and I had no clue how to photograph me sitting inside it.

An old couch for 50 dollars was another possibility. Like often, much space underneath was wasted and only covered by a thin sheet of fabric. One piece of wood or mesh would create an excellent claustrophobic prison. A smile curved on my face fantasizing about lying inside when unsuspecting visitors had their asses a few inches above my gagged face. Naturally, that gag would not matter. Any sound would alarm guests. The gag would interfere with my breathing to make it even more risky.

Oh, I got caught in a daydream.

Save for a large pot for plants I could bury my feet in, hanging myself up like a curtain was my best option. The plant pot idea was worse than mediocre as it would never work for bondage with such small pots.

I had hoped the toy section had something, but stuffies, jigsaws from the eighties, and dull, ill-designed board games would bring me any closer. At least Twister and Hungry Hungry Hippos had potential. Scrabble, chess, and four different versions of Monopoly would not help.

“Can I help?” a worker asked, a woman in her sixties with long, straight gray hair, likely an escaped librarian.

“Just browsing.”

It was enough to send her back away, but the kitchen apparatus seemed impracticable. How would one use a blender for bondage? Or a microwave? Or a set of 12 red plastic camping plates?

It was not going well. The book selection was coming up next, and I was more drawn to seeing what rubbish was being sold than expecting good ideas. Nobody is interested in a 30-year-old children’s book whose themes are duller than that bread knife they tried to sell for a buck.

I grabbed an atlas, the 1986 edition, and recognized the Soviet Union and Yugoslavia still intact. Who bought this? And why were there seven of them? Had a school dumped them here?

I picked up a second copy and recalled a popular science idea: Two tanks cannot pull apart interleaved yellow pages. Could I leverage friction to tie myself up?

A pillory-like construction entered my mind but for my ankles. These books were thin and large, having 150 pages. If I made holes in them such that my feet could exit when I separated all the pages. Then, I would be stuck. It was impractical, likely the reason I had never seen it before. However, I could do this in half an afternoon. Great.

I grabbed two atlases and paid 8 dollars, which seemed too much.

“It’s for an arts and crafts project,” I told the retiree, but having a student buy such things meant they were up to no good.

On the road home, I kept puzzling how to make this work. They had 150 pages, far less than the yellow papers, and the paper was much thicker and smoother. I ran to my room and closed the door. It was time to be naughty. Despite all their appalling habits, my roommates knocked to respect my privacy, contrary to my mom. Else, these guys would have seen me wearing a ball gag.

I interleaved the heavy books and pulled. To my disbelief, nothing happened. I retried it with more force. It was not a myth! The friction trick was real. I was lucky. No punishment dare for me!

With a pencil, I drew two circles on a page for my ankles with lines leading directly to the foredge. I grabbed a pair of scissors and cut a few pages. I had slender ankles and tested the size first. Perfect. Half an hour later, I had ruined two beautiful yet useless books. I collected the paper and hid everything in my box with scrap paper. Now the books looked like giant letters E. The friction alone would keep them imprisoned.

My headache had disappeared, and I drove to the woods. I walked a sandy trail for a while before squeezing myself past young spruces to a clearing I had visited dozens of times before. It was my secret spot. I had never been disturbed here, and I am foreshadowing. The patch of grass was 30 feet in diameter and slashed in half by a foot-wide stream.

I sat down and removed my shoes and socks. I wore shorts already, so I could keep them on. I shoved the two covers around my ankles and started folding pages, a far bigger hassle than I had reckoned. I had to squat or be in a sit-up position, which was strenuous. There was logic no one had done this before, and yeah, I had checked but would not swear on it. Searching “bondage books” also gave many other results.

I was delighted and trying to get it done so fast that I forgot that paper was scraping next to my bare skin, giving me a papercut. How stupid. I put on a bandaid and continued more carefully, photographing the process. 20 minutes later, my ankles were stuck in a solid paper block. It was heavy and unmovable. I pushed my ankles apart, still surprised the paper held me. I took a few more photos, having my toes appear under the joints for the fans. It was uncomfortable, so I freed myself fast.

Back home, I wrote a cute text with a dozen photos of the atlases and their use and uploaded the photos.

Done. Mission accomplished.

I plunged onto my bed, feeling well-rested from my adventure, understanding I would be studying the entirety of the next day. Luckily, I had dares planned for the next two weeks.

Or, well, Gregory was still there. Should I message him? We had not texted since the date, but he could appreciate the pictures. Maybe. The dare was weird, and being bound with almost 40-year atlases was most probably not his kink. It would show I was thinking of him. The money had come in handy, amounting to half a month of rent. I messaged him.

He instantly responded.

He loved the idea.

That was scary.

[GreyLord]

Extremely inventive. Congratulations.

[Syko Sith]

Now she has a friend outside the group to bounce ideas off of. Excellent news ! Keep it going, this story is well written and thought out.

[Beaumains]

As always, thanks fro the nice comments, guys!

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Entering my car after work, I checked my phone. Gregory had messaged me 90 minutes ago. I had missed it because phones were banned on the work floor.

Hi Cyan,
Don’t worry about being tired after work. I understand completely. Just pass by for a drink and a calm evening.
Best wishes,
Gregory

The old-people way of texting – treating it like an email – always made me chuckle. Did I want to go? Not really. After eight hours of studying and four hours of working, I did prefer sleep. However, a short evening meant easy money. I was still dreading having sex.

You sure? I had to clean the pony enclosure, so I will also smell a little . Just finished my shift.

One of the shitty managers had forced me to load a truck full of wood for fences as he made small talk with the customer. I also had to clean up the mess of Ponyta and Rapidash, further worsening my work day. Therefore, according to all Sugarbaby guides, I was doing it wrong. I should not bring up negativity in my life, be sweet, and be always available. Only, “Oh, I can’t wait to see you again! Our date was amazing. Sadly, I have other commitments already for tonight,” did not sound like me. Nevertheless, I tried the recommended strategy a few days back, but it fell flat. He immediately recognized the fake flattening attitude.

You can shower here. Just come. Please.

The reply had been instant. That was creepy already, but the message itself scared me even more. Texting is horrible for communication, so I gave Gregory the benefit of the doubt. Making such a request made one sound like a creep.

Also, the money was good. Was I getting addicted to it so quickly?

I texted Gregory’s house address to Riley for my safety and fixed my make-up. I was tensed, not horny, as I found my way to a typical upper-class suburban neighborhood. Large identical houses, perfect lawns, and CCTV above every door. As instructed, I parked behind a shining truck and a station wagon on the driveway and rang the doorbell.

Fifteen seconds passed before the door swung open with Gregory behind it. He towered over me, wearing casual shorts and a t-shirt. I entered his open arms, ending in a hug.

“Hey, good evening,” I whispered, quivering in the summer evening heat.

“I can indeed smell horse. Good to see you, Cy,” He spoke as we stepped inside. “Shower? Shoes off. Then follow me.”

It sounded like an order, and, on my thick work socks, I ascended the smooth white stairs. Actually, the entire hall was white and clean. A handful of coats hung under the stairs, and some shoes were neatly stacked on a small cupboard, but that was the only personal touch. The paintings were safe and uninspired, like in a hotel room.

Gregory left me alone in the bathroom, which I appreciated, but I opted not to lock it. It was not too big: A shower, a toilet, cupboards, and two sinks. However, it was far more luxurious, holding thick stone and a heated toilet seat. Rich people stuff. I was too used to student bathrooms: cheap plastic, ill-maintained shower curtains, and orange mold.

I showered quickly, rinsing myself before noting a small pile of neatly folded clothes. A Post-it lay on top of it.

I would love it if you wore this.

I picked up the thin, navy blue clothes made of some synthetic fiber, polyester perhaps. It was a pajama set: shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. I put back on my panties, only then realizing that the request was all but clear: Was I expected to wear underwear? The language was unclear. If he had provided lingerie (what a terrifying idea), that would be intended. If he gave me shoes or jewelry, I would suppose I could choose the rest of my outfit. The current command was in between. Therefore, I kept my panties on but opted out of a bra and socks. The flexible fabric did not shine through, hiding my skin, but a bra would be apparent.

I reapplied lipstick, mascara, and eye shadow before folding my clothes and laying them in a corner. Downstairs, I correctly guessed the door to the living room.

“Thanks for the shower. I feel reborn,” I told Gregory, who closed his laptop.

“All good. Can I offer you a drink?”

“Tea, please.” I sat down on the opposite couch, also dark green.

He walked to the kitchen, allowing me to study the large living room.

White walls surrounded me save for large windows and a big bookcase. All books were bound similarly and looked formal, so maybe they were law books. I spotted a few family pictures above a large flatscreen, but I could not be caught investigating them. The coffee table between the couches was empty, but a few architectural photo books could be seen through the glass. It looked like a lobby of a bank. In short, the place did not echo personality. It was too sterile, especially for a man living alone. There were no pets or anything to make it feel like a home. I bet he had a weekly cleaner. It was a different planet compared to the student rooms I frequented. They were tiny and full of random crap like stolen traffic signs.

Perhaps he was not craving sex but company, a hopeful devil in my head whispered.

With fruity tea and a chocolate bonbon filled with marzipan, I faced the 40-year-old man. We chatted some – mostly about my upcoming exams – before I had finished my tea. Gregory took his whiskey more slowly, but I felt the time had come, the reason I was here. I was nervous. There was tension.

“So… Do you want to do something before it gets too late?” I proposed, knowing I was awful with words. I was too direct, but Gregory had seemed to await my move.

“Yeah… You are correct,” Gregory chuckled menaciously. “You came here with expectations. Correct?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Sorry, but I thought that was kind of the point.”

Gregory’s smirk disappeared, and his green eyes penetrated my soul. “If I just wanted sex, I would have many different options. To state the obvious, I want more than that, Cyan, a connection with a person. Someone honest, open to new experiences, and good company. Please don’t see this as a monetary exchange. Try to enjoy being with me. Don’t think about it as a job but as gifts.”

“Sorry, I am still so new to this. I’m trying my best.”

“I know. Don’t apologize for everything. As a positive example, I liked your messages last Saturday. That was spontaneous and fun to read. A shame you didn’t win.”

“I didn’t?” That was news to me.

“The classification dropped at seven. You got second.”

I reddened. I did not care about losing as I never won anything. However, Gregory had found the site. He had identified my account. He had read a lot, likely, including my public dare report of our date. It was short – maybe 200 words – but I had spoken my mind. This was a disaster.

“Anything wrong?”

“Well, eh…”

The white-haired man in front of me laughed. The green eyes sparked, amused. “I was not allowed to find that page? Come on, you almost handed it to me! What did you expect? That I would not try to find you online?”

Everything was falling apart. “Eh, sorry, I expected, eh…”

“Why so defensive? No need to! You were completely honest with me and were not unfair. Come here, Cyan.”

I stood up, trembling, and walked over. I sat down next to my date. The man put an arm around me, caressing my hand as I caught my breath. “What would you like to do?”

I sighed, looking at my lap. I had messed up. I did not understand this game. “What about bondage?”

Gregory squeezed my hand again. “How would you like to be tied?”

He was making it more difficult. I could not zone out and get it over with. I had to think. “Maybe something I could not do by myself?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Eh, a proper hogtie or something…”

I did not have to look aside to catch Gregory’s smile. “I can arrange that. Just a simple hogtie. Yeah, better not to fumble with ropes for long.”

“But make it strict,” I added quickly. Oops. “Please.” It would be my first proper hogtie in 2 years. I had to grab this opportunity. I held trust.

[GreyLord]

Moments of truth approach rapidly. Gregory seems to be a nice guy. Is he? Soon, he will have Cyan hogtied and helpless before him. At least things seem to be headed in that direction. Seeing how he will then behave will be most enjoyable. You have a top-notch story going, @Beaumains.

[Syko Sith]

Very brave of her to ask for such a strict tie from someone she barely knows. Let's see if he's as caring and understanding as he seems when he has her helpless before him. I genuinely love this story!!!!!

[Beaumains]

Very brave of her to ask for such a strict tie from someone she barely knows. Let's see if he's as caring and understanding as he seems when he has her helpless before him. I genuinely love this story!!!!!

Thank you very much. I edited this out in my last proofread, but Cyan's reasoning is quite simple: She is already alone in the house of a much stronger person. Then it does not matter too much whether you are tied or not, or whether he has ill intentions. If he wants to, Cyan is in trouble.

You have a top-notch story going, @Beaumains.

Thanks a lot!

[slackywacky]

> It would be my first proper hogtie in 2 years. I had to grab this opportunity. I held trust.

As you stated in an earlier post, this is only the beginning...
Enjoying this one.

[Beaumains]

As you stated in an earlier post, this is only the beginning...
Enjoying this one.

Thanks a lot!

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I lay on my stomach on the olive sofa with my arms bent behind my back. The palms of my hands rested against the opposite elbows. I stared at Gregory’s white shorts as rope circled my upper arms to complete the box tie. My heartbeat was rising, but not due to fears or nerves. Feeling my arms glued behind me and my upper arms pressed against my chest released something in me. The tie made me helpless in a way self-bondage could barely accomplish. My hands had no chance of escaping. They were as useless as a chocolate teapot. I loved it.

Like always with bondage, you never knew what a scene would bring, and now I was alone in the house of a man I had met once before. A man who had paid for me, or better said, for my body’s presence. But I had to enjoy this instead of worry. If he had wanted, he could roofie or overpower me. A looser tie would not make a difference, so I just had to go with it and trust that my boundaries were clear.

Hence, I decided to submit my body and soul and let it relish in the rare feeling of proper bondage. Gregory had already roped my legs together. He had used three ropes, one for my ankles, one above my knees, and one around my thighs, and I loved the all-black ties. The number of windings and tightness were perfect. The tension was spread nicely, and the cinches did not push against my legs. I could feel the experience and expertise. For whatever reason, I was more willing to be tied than fucked by Gregory. It was a strange gut feeling.

“How does that feel?”

“Perfect,” I murmured. “You are scarily good.”

“Don’t try to flatter me,” the older man smiled. “Can I close the hogtie?”

I waited a second or two before I opted to speak up. “No, no, that’s not what I am trying. This is what I was looking for.”

He ignored me. “Then one question remains: how tight?”

“You decide.”

Gregory laughed. “Are you playing games?”

“Not at all. Super tight would be wonderful, but I doubt I can deal with that for long. Pick the tightness. Then you also decide how long I will be tied. That seems fair. I like both options.”

“Cyan, that’s a game you are playing,” Gregory spoke, getting closer. “And you will regret it…”

“Then give me your best.” It was too cocky, but I was more confident tied up.

Gregory grabbed another brown rope and tied it to a knot from the rope harness above my wrists. He led it around my ankle rope and back twice before tensioning it. What I love about bondage is that your body feels things it cannot feel otherwise, and being pulled back by a hogtie is one of them. The force that bends your back but does not pull against a body part, in particular, is top-notch, excuse the pun. My back curled for a second before Gregory released tension before fastening it.

“Excellent,” I murmured. I could bend my back further, allowing me to roll off the couch, but that was a bad idea.

“It’s not painful?”

“Not at all. I can enjoy this for a while.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t done this in forever. Maybe half an hour.”

“Half an hour? That’s quite long. That would be quite impressive.”

“I can’t promise anything.”

Gregory walked away and sat down on the opposite couch. Green eyes twinkled as the sponge behind them was scheming.

“You look lovely. Wanna bet on it?”

That was not what I wanted. “I’m not really a better.”

“What about 200 dollars if you succeed?”

That was too much money to lose at once. Losing 200 dollars hurts more than winning the same amount would cheer me up. It was almost 20 hours of work. Gregory would dislike that, but I had to decline if he desired me to be myself. “I’m sorry. That’s too much for me.”

“What about you bet something else. Say, you would stay the night? I understand you want a good rest, and I won’t keep you from it.”

I laughed. It was a nifty trick. Even if I won, the man would coerce me into staying. Betting with a rule-bending lawyer was risky. “I accept.”

“Great,” Gregory cheered, fumbling with his phone. It was the latest iPhone. “Time starts now.”

He refilled his glass with Bruichladdich whiskey. His finger tapped the glass. “You know, something is missing.” From a closet, he fetched a plastic packet and ripped it apart. It was a ball gag, light blue with a black buckle. He had purchased it for me. “This matches your eyes beautifully. Open up.”

“This was not in the deal,” I joked. It was no fair debate.

“But it wasn’t also not in the deal. You know what we also haven’t discussed?” the man explained, scraping his nails over my pointed-up soles.

“Hey!” I blurted out. I was not super ticklish, but it still made me squeal.

“We only discussed you enduring this bondage for half an hour.”

“Then I give up. Congratulations. You win. Now untie me, please.” I was still relaxed. I was bested, but I liked the trap. It was a proper warning to be careful.

“Why? I only want you to wear a ball gag. Is there anything wrong with that? I read you wore them before.”

“I know how this goes. You make it progressively harder until I quit. I cannot win, so why bother playing?”

Gregory laughed. “That’s a shame. I only wanted you to sport a cute gag. What would bondage be without a gag?”

“Maybe I would continue if you promise you won’t do anything else, no tricks, during the bet. Then I will continue and welcome that rubber ball into my mouth.”

Gregory smirked. He seemed genuinely happy. His text, “I’m not looking for a stupid girl following each order and who refuses to think for herself,” had held truth. “You’re learning fast. Deal. Open up.”

I complied, feeling the cold rubber touch my tongue. Gregory did not tighten it beyond reason, and soon, he observed me again with a whiskey glass in his hand. He put on music, some upbeat bar songs from the fifties. It was as if he was saying: “Go on, give me a show.”

But I could not give him much entertainment. That was his fault. I was tied up tightly. I could swing my head around, moan in the gag, and dance my toes in the air. This was insufficient material for a diverse 27-minute show or how much time remained. I matched eyes with the man who had hired me and smiled dreamily.

Then I realized Gregory was playing another game. He watched. Sadistically, he knew I would break first and wanted to enjoy the slow progression of comfort turning into discomfort. My fighting would turn into doubts. My uncertainty about quitting would fade. I had passed the first stage. My thoughts that I had to entertain had already disappeared.

Or was it a test? How far could I push myself? Was I fun enough to tie up in more extreme settings?

Then there was an important question: How could I game this?

It reminded me of my old high school PE class, where I figured out our cross country running grade solely depended on improvement and motivation, not the actual result. So at the start of the year, I blew myself up at the start and struggled to the finish: high effort, low performance. Curiously, my grade for running was an A after the first semester. Could I do something similar? If I bend my feet and strain them, I could simulate pain and show I could fight through it. He would have no clue how tight the hogtie was, how it felt for me. I had to sell it, like a wrestling match.

I pinched the nail of my right thumb in the flesh of my middle finger and began counting. I made it up to 34 seconds. Would my left hand do better? The answer was no, as it took only 28 seconds. I pained a few more of my fingers as I eyed the man, who refilled his glass once more. My deep breathing caused awkward squeaks, but judging by his smile, Gregory adored them.

I had to focus on other things, like my lower back. It sent a message it was not too happy being bent backward, and I understood that message but kept it on read. Gregory watched with an unchanged expression as the reality slowly dawned on me. Half an hour was a long time.

At first, I thought the hogtie was not that tight as Gregory had tightened it much more, but it had just been a trap. I overestimated my ability for this tie due to my inexperience. I had to concentrate and hold this position for as long as possible.

And to my own dismay, I was awful at these mind games. There was a reason I often used keys available after a certain or after completing a task. Knowing that you can tap out any time was never a good motivator for me. I was not strong enough in my mind to last long. The easy way is too attractive.

“Do not get these thoughts in your head, Cyan!” I shouted to myself. I was fighting the ropes in thin blue pajamas, hoping to relieve the pressure.

But it was too little too late. I bested the pain and strain for a while, but I had no clock, and Gregory would easily let me struggle for more than half an hour. I was no Olympian used to biting through the pain. I was not even used to pain as my ties involved self-bondage safety concerns.

“28 minutes. Quite close.” Gregory undid the hogtie rope and let me stretch my back as I huffed in the gag. “Time for bed.” He lifted me up and carried me upstairs.

[Syko Sith]

Cyan is about to spend the night bound? Interesting. (I bet a part of her will love that)
I'm ready for more already!!

[GreyLord]

Excellent dialog, @Beaumains. I felt very close to Gregory as I read this. Surprisingly to me, I also felt very close to Cyan. I am looking forward to the next installment and wondering if Gregory will stay part of this story or will Cyan move on again?

[Caesar73]

Excellent dialog, @Beaumains. I felt very close to Gregory as I read this. Surprisingly to me, I also felt very close to Cyan. I am looking forward to the next installment and wondering if Gregory will stay part of this story or will Cyan move on again?

Wondering that too! Excellent @Beaumains

[slackywacky]

As I said above, I enjoy this story. Maybe Cyan will be in bondage all night, maybe nit. We'll see. Very nicely done.

[Beaumains]

Excellent dialog, @Beaumains. I felt very close to Gregory as I read this. Surprisingly to me, I also felt very close to Cyan.

Thanks a lot! I am glad that both characters seem to work out for you.

if Gregory will stay part of this story or will Cyan move on again?

Gregory will remain part of the story for now, but after the next part, I will focus more on other aspects again. I don't intend to write an entire story about a sugardating relationship.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

I had a weird feeling waking up under the thin blanket. It was not the thick, soft, supporting mattress, thin blanket, or leather cuffs between my wrists and ankles. I could have requested more, being used to sleeping with a few constraints. Nope. I shared a bed with a 50-something-year-old man. That was a startling novelty already. Frightening even, as I realized something warm rested on my midriff. A hand. It was Gregory’s, and it pushed up against my boob. Soon, acceptance replaced my initial surprise. I was in a bed with a sleeping man and should expect that he advanced towards me unconsciously. I closed my eyes again, and not much later, the hand had retreated.

Ten minutes later, an alarm rang as if the entire neighborhood was going up into flames. Gregory grumbled and slammed his fist on the poor electronic device on his nightstand. He turned around and saw me, being slightly surprised.

“Good morning,” I said as calmly as possible.

“Morning,” he replied as a smile appeared on his face as if he had been woken from a good dream, and my presence confirmed it had been more than a dream. He took a deep breath and relaxed as he surveyed my face.

I felt nervous again. Should this sugar baby initiate morning sex now? Or merely a handjob? I opted out of this idea and waited for Gregory to make a move.

“Thanks for staying. I slept great, better than in weeks.”

“No problem. Yesterday was great.”

“It makes my day to wake up and see your face.”

I kept silent. I had deduced from the living room pictures that he had been married and had adult children.

“Would you mind a quick snuggle?”

I nodded and dove on the blankets towards Gregory, getting a long hug and kiss on my neck. I waited in bed as he took a shower, in that odd state where your rest makes you more tired than awake.

Downstairs, he made me breakfast, premium cereal, grapes, and melon, while he was dressed in typical home office style: a suit on top and sweatpants below. I was still dressed in the same pajamas from yesterday. As my coffee mug was refilled, I felt a stare as I finished my clementine. “What are your plans for today?”

“Study. I don’t have to work today but will still go to bed early.”

“I know you have your exams coming up. What I meant was, are you going home or to the library with friends?”

“Probably straight home.” For the next day, we would do old exams together, but today, I had planned to slam definitions and proofs in my head.

“Do you study well at home?”

I understood Gregory’s line of questioning. “Quite well. Of course, you have distractions, but I still handle it well. Or at least better than some.”

“I’m working from home today. You can also stay here and work from the dinner table. Do you have your books with you?”

“In my car. But I need to study. Sorry. I hope you you understand that.”

“Of course! I won’t expect anything from you. I offer you a silent, peaceful place with as much coffee as you need.”

I smiled, considering the offer.

Gregory closed the buttons of his shirt and knotted a red tie around his neck. “No tricks.”

“Okay, sure,” I replied. I brushed my teeth with the toothbrush I had been given and fetched my backpack from my car. The previous day, I had gone straight to work from the library, so I had everything with me.

When I made my way to the empty dinner table, I spotted a small yellow post-it note with a white linen bag.

In need you fancy to be tied up. No pressure

So there was a trick. I was not one of those rope-lovers whose mental states improved by being tied up, but it was also not a big distraction. Still, it was better than my tiny room with a small desk and a roommate deciding he should start practicing the piano this week. I sat down and began binding my ankles to the chair as Gregory returned, drinking his second cup of coffee. “Need help?”

I nodded, knowing my place. Not as neat as yesterday -- some meeting was starting soon -- I was fastened to the wooden chair. It was just ankles to the legs of the chair and my hips to keep me upright.

“May I be cheeky?”

“Eh…?”

The man grabbed a white rope and rounded it below my breasts. A breast harness. I did not mind as it was not too tight. There were not many windings, and the cinches between my boobs were not tight. Still, the thin blue fabric stretched, showing the color of my skin underneath, and my nipples themselves were clear. This was awkward. This was my life now.

“Thanks, but please, no gag. That’s too distracting,” I voiced, hoping Gregory would take it well.

He rested his hand on my neck. It was cold. “No problem. I have to evaluate corporate strategies now, so I presume you can keep quiet. See you later.”



10 hours, four cups of strong coffee, one toilet break, many chocolates, a delivered sushi lunch, and many theorems and equations later, my concentration had faded. I read paragraphs repeatedly while not registering anything save for the page being non-empty. Even microbreaks could not save me anymore. It was not the fault of the ropes. They barely bothered me but also did not help me. Others online recommended it worked for them, but it did not boost me. At most, the chest harness made me uncomfortable.

On the contrary, I was comfortable in Gregory’s home. He was in another room and only passed by to spoil me with more chocolates. If he wanted me to spend time with him and be tied, that would indeed be easy money.

But, of course, life had other intentions. It started innocently. “Hey, would you want to stay for dinner? Then we will call it a day.”

I agreed. I did not want to warm up some frozen bolognese sauce.

“Would you like to cook? It’s a meal box. It’s not too complicated.”

I nodded. Free food. I was still a student.

“Are you open to making spice it up? I have a dare for you.”

My stomach turned in fear, and my face reddened.

Gregory smiled. I had little choice. He walked to the kitchen and grabbed a white apron. “I dare you to wear this and no other clothes.”

That could be worse. My butt was in full view, but the pajama pants did not hide much. I accepted the apron and went to the bathroom, where I untied the rope harness. Undressed, I knotted the white band behind my back, but I redid it to make it tighter and make the bow neater.

When I stepped out, I felt slutty. I blushed as I passed the corner, meeting eyes with the older man. He smirked, holding something in his hands. Chains? Shit.

He bowed down and clicked a steel ring around my ankle.

“That was not the deal!” I laughed.

“I said no other clothes. Bondage is the point of your dares, isn’t it?”

Gregory had me cornered. I received a foot-long chain between my ankles and a shorter one between my thighs. I expected handcuffs, which I had worn before while preparing dinner, but it was a little worse. First, he handcuffed me, but the two feet of chain already made me suspicious there was more. That extra touch was a collar, a harsh, cold steel thing weighing multiple pounds, to which he padlocked the handcuff chain. The chain moved through the padlock. So, if I touched my hip with one hand, the other was forced against my chin.

“That’s annoying,” I chirped, feeling I had to react. “Expect dinner at least 15 minutes later.”

“I don’t mind. I have all evening. Open up.”

I obeyed, and the light-blue ball gag was locked between my teeth.

“Everything you need is on the counter. Have fun.” The man took a chair at the dinner table with a stack of paper documents. Yeah. Sure, he would be reading and not be watching at all.

In the kitchen, I found that the recipe was indeed simple. Just salmon, couscous, and some veggies. Only chopping up a zucchini was a lot harder than usual. I had to get close to the low countertop, and that meant either bending my back and show off my ass to the audience, or bend my knees awkwardly. I chose the latter, but squatting was not my strong suit, and being shaky with a knife that would cut my fingers as smoothly as the carrot.

But baking the salmon steaks worse than the cutting. The hot oil was spitting in all directions, and my face and neckhad to be close. At least I had an apron. Once in a while, I glanced into the dining room, and Gregory did not hide his joy.

It took me maybe half an hour for such a simple dish. I prepared two plates and brought them to the table.

“Smells good, Cyan.”

“Thanks. I hope it also tastes good.”

“I have no doubts about that. Please, sit down.”

I did as I was told.

“You know, you normally do not really wear aprons while eating, do you?”

I kept quiet, turning red. I knew where this was going. The older man just nodded. With one hand, I could reach behind my back to undo the strap. After pulling the fabric away, I noticed the collar prevented me from removing the apron.

“Sorry,” I added to my explanation, relieved.

Gregory bobbed his head. “You know what I mean.”

I did, and before I could come to my senses, I threw the cloth away, showing off my boobs.

“Bon appetit.”

[GreyLord]

This does seem to be a not unpleasant solution to some of Cyan's problems. You have indicated that you won't dwell on this. I am looking forward to reading where you will go with this. Really good work!

[Beaumains]

It was 11 days later. 11 grueling days. It started with long days of studying and ended with long exams and breaking my head in the evening. That was all I had been doing. Or, well, my stupid side job still demanded my shifts, and I went to a bar with some friends last night until it closed. Hence, I was not sure what was the cause of my headache.

I heard a knock on my car window. The woman outside had a big smile, dark green eyes, and strawberry-blonde hair. I opened the door.

“Hey, ready to rumble?” Riley asked.

I stared at my manager, far less enthusiastic than when we planned our shared dare earlier this week.

Riley grabbed my hand and pulled me into a hug. “Hey, it’s not my fault. Admin made an error in offering you a full-time contract for the summer. They had not realized you had worked so many hours in the past few years and had to offer you health insurance for a few months according to company rules. I would love to have you full-time, but it’s just economically possible this year.”

“It still hurts. I put effort into the job and am always told you’re delighted with my work. Then I am treated like this. It feels really disrespectful.”

“I understand. But I value you a lot, Cyan. It was an honest mistake, and I’ll try to get you a little bonus.”

I scuffed. I had little faith in my employer.

“I’m serious. I’ll try. I can’t promise anything, but we don’t want to lose you. Luckily, it won’t bring you financial problems with your other job.”

Riley was not doing herself much favors by referring to Gregory. “That does repair my trust.”

“I understand, truly. Shall we move on to the dare? Something fun?”

“Sure, let’s get it over with,” I told her, taking my backpack from the chair beside me and getting out. After publishing B0undB0ndGir7 and BoldFromTheBlue knew each other, our website was flooded with requests for us to do something together. Someone put a 50-dollar bounty on these specifics, so we went for it.

Oddly, it was the same parking lot and trail where I had confirmed Riley’s online identity weeks prior. Among the young trees, we moved to Riley’s chosen spot, where a narrow opening led uphill. It was not an established trail.

We laid out the rolls of plastic foil, ball gags, and handcuffs and stripped nude, snickering. No longer was my manager Riley accompanying me as the naughty B0undB0ndGir7 stood next to me. We both blushed, seeing how easily we removed our clothes and watched each other. Riley had shaven her private area, while mine could be described as trimmed but was quite messy.

“Shall we do a selfie together?” Riley asked. “As proof? Everyone will love it.”

I agreed. The idea of two nude women playing tie-up games in a forest, whom you could encounter if you were at the right place at the right time, was popular among our fans. We posed, getting our boobs and pussies right within the frame but not our faces. Then we dropped the two handcuff keys off on the hill – there was no human activity – and returned to our stuff.

“Ready to go? I won’t hold back if I win,” I told Riley.

“Oh, me neither. I brought some fun toys.”

“Then let’s prepare for the race,” I replied. We would tie ourselves up identically and race up the hill, and the winner could play with the loser. The idea was that we would let our guard down in the heat of the moment. That made me slightly nervous, but there was a 1% chance someone would come close by. We were deep in the woods and far from the city.

First, we each saran-wrapped our legs together tightly from our ankles up. Our boobs and private areas would be in full view for all lucky passersby. Riley snapped a few more photos before we fastened red ball gags and locked the handcuffs behind our backs.

I wanted to exchange glances for the countdown, but Riley had turned around, hopping towards the keys. What a coward. Too afraid to lose? I instantly entered pursuit up the hill. It was far, and the ground was uneven, so I was smart enough to not get carried away, concentrate, and be consistent. Falling would be detrimental. I had gone for many runs this spring. In a fair race, I would always beat Riley.

I trailed Riley by a few feet, trying to conserve energy and awaiting a flatter section to make my move. While she stayed in the middle on the steep, narrow section, I was stuck behind her. To my dismay, Riley sped up exactly where I had planned to strike. It had been my sole chance. Riley would tie me up strictly and have her way with me just because she started earlier. I like being tied up, but not that much.

I was angry and grumbling, cursing in my gag. Riley slowed down, believing she had won, and blocked me between two trees. She had blown out her lungs already. Something in me snapped, and I made a few big leaps to pass my manager. The plastic around my legs screeched, and I squealed against the red rubber. I don’t recall whether I bumped into Riley or she into me, but she lost her balance and tumbled. It allowed me to win with ease.

In that final rush, I had forgotten about two things: That I was nude and bound in public and whether or not Riley had crushed her skull in that fall. Later, I would tell myself that it would not matter whether Riley was hurt as I had to untie myself anyway, but it had been no consideration. I uncuffed myself, removed the gag, and then saw Riley in a bush. I tore the wrap of my leg and saw she was okay. Some scratches. Nothing more.

“I won,” I told Riley, dangling the key before her gagged, sweaty face. “Now let me see what toys you brought.”

Riley glared, but I strolled down the hill, put on my clothes, and walked up with her filled backpack. What treasures were inside? Riley was furious as I opened it and spotted a bunch of ropes and tape before encountering the good stuff: A white cotton hood that surrounded one’s entire head and a plastic bag containing a bunch of panties. Stupidly, I took a sniff. They were used.

“So you were planning to gag with your dirty panties? That’s insane.” Gagging yourself with your own underwear or socks was a common punishment dare. “Well, I guess that will backfire. But thanks for the inspiration. Or should I add as well?”

Riley glared at me. I had just put on my sandals, underwear, and summer dress, but I slid out of my panties and balled them with the three other ones from Riley. I photographed them with Riley’s body in the background.

“If I remove that ball gag, you will be a good girl and accept this little package in your mouth, won’t you?”

Riley bobbed her head. I smirked. Usually, I was the sub. In all my fantasies and dreams, I was bound and not the one treating someone awfully. I desired such treatment but was too soft to do it to others.

“You won’t? I have to convince you, my darling?” I continued my mean streak. I retrieved a wooden paddle from Riley’s bag and tapped it against my other hand. I had no plans of using it. No is no.

Riley bobbed her head again, regretting her previous decision. She still lay nude in the bush and had to look up at me with her wrapped legs and exposed body.

“That means you do what I say?”

My manager nodded, and I bent down to undo the buckle behind her head.

“You cheated!” were her first words. “You kicked me down. This’s unfair, Cy.”

“And you ran away when I was not looking and did not allow me to pass. I was clearly faster and broke no rules.”

“Don’t do this. Please.” Riley was begging, but it was too late. She had intended for me. She had done similar things before, but being dominated by me was too much of an embarrassment.

“I’ll keep it short and sweet. Or sour. Or salty. Depending on how you tasted this week. Ready?”

Finally, Riley relented and opened her mouth, allowing me to push the stinking ball between her jaws. I taped it shut, and Riley looked sad but hurt. She was trying to cough but could still breathe fine. Thus, I strapped the white cotton mask around her face. It fitted neatly. I was jealous. I tightened the laces on the back that ran far down, sealing the fabric around her neck.

I let Riley enjoy for a few minutes and made a few more photos for proof, but then I freed her legs and arms to create the fear I would tie Riley up. I did not. I freed her head and let her remove the gag.

“I will send you the pictures when I am home. You should write the report because I was merciful. See you tomorrow at work,” I smirked as I walked away. Riley was scratched, in her birthday suit, and sitting on a log. She had no response as I walked off to my car and drove home.

[GreyLord]

Excellent, @Beaumains. This is a most interesting account of a sub topping her top. I am curious to see if there will be repercussions.

[Beaumains]

Gregory took my hand to pull me closer and rounded his arm around my shoulder. He squeezed as we crossed the rainy car park. It was almost 8, and after working all Sunday at the garden center, I let it happen while balancing on the black high heels.

“Evening, Rowan,” Gregory told the bouncer.

“Good evening, Greg,” the tall man smiled, exchanging further pleasantries before moving his attention to me. “Have you introduced our guest to our rules yet?”

“I have not. I wanted to keep the surprise.”

“All good. At the entrance, place your phone and other electronics in a locker. We greatly value the ability to be oneself, and the absence of recordings makes that possible. Secondly, consent is always required for everything. Not everyone has the same preferences. Also, don’t stare or be rude. Keep it a safe environment. Thirdly, keep your genitals covered in public areas. Okay?”

I nodded. The rules were oddly specific but reasonable. Gregory had kept secret where we would be going, but, considering my outfit, a slightly kinky restaurant was unsurprising. “All clear.”

“Can I see your ID to confirm you are 21?”

I complied, and Rowan took a proper look, unlike most others. He rounded two yellow paper strips around my wrists around my right wrist and two around Gregory’s. “Then welcome at The Tangled Maiden. For every alcoholic consumption, we take a band. If you have no bands left, you should not engage in bondage anymore, both as a sub and a dom.”

We entered before I realized the implications of Rowan’s last sentence. I was at The Tangled Maiden, the state’s largest kinkclub. I had visited the website, hoping to find reasonable people to tie me up, but it was far too posh and elitist for a poor college student. There was a monthly member fee, and I had to be introduced by an existing member.

“You like it?” Gregory queried as he put his jacket and iPhone in the locker. I followed his example, adding my brown coat, handbag, and phone.

“It’s exciting,” I replied, taking in my outfit again. Gregory had bought it for the occasion, and I adored it. A dark blue sleeveless latex top that rounded around my neck and did not cover my belly, and a black latex skater skirt that was a little longer and wider than I would have picked. But it looked cute. Black heels completed the outfit.

Meanwhile, Gregory wore a neat black t-shirt and matching jeans, but as we entered the restaurant, I noted we were both clothed fine. Women were far more expected to wear fetish clothing. While here, many men, especially slightly older, wore casual, perhaps slightly darker, less colorful clothes.

“Good evening,” a waitress greeted. She was dressed in a modest Japanese maid uniform. The uniform was in theme but not slutty. “You have a reservation. Can I guide you to your table?” We followed her, and to my amazement, the table had one chair. I was confused until our waitress pulled the table apart, emphasizing the three holes in the middle.

“Please kneel, Cyan,” Gregory said as he took the chair. I obeyed, kneeling on the soft red leather, and the waitress forced the table together, trapping my neck and wrists above it.

The waitress smiled as a good service industry worker but clearly enjoyed my discomfort and hesitation. She heightened the table until my back was straight and locked it.

“Alison, a double menu, please. For drinks, one homemade lemonade and a merlot, please.”

Our waitress took a wristband from Gregory before leaving us alone.

“No need to blush,” Gregory spoke. He towered over me, and I had to bend my head to the heavens to see his face. “It’s fine. Relax. You’re far from the only person bound here.”

I nodded and looked around as far as that was possible. I had not wanted to stare. Bamboo fences divided the restaurant, and the tables were quite far apart. Still, I spotted at least a dozen bound adults. Some, like me, were fixed in a table. Two guys in tight shiny pants knelt on the floor such that their bare backs could be used as stools by two women eating spareribs. One girl wearing nothing but a bright green g-string was tied spread-eagled on a round table. My tie was tame.

“This is your first time bound in front of people?”

I shook my head. “When I was 14, I was tied up playing truth or dare at a party in front of quite a few boys from my class. I loved it and hated it. This is different. No one seems to care. I dreamed of being tied up before others, but the awkwardness is lacking. There aren’t tens of people eyeing me in disapproval. I still enjoy it immensely.” Over the weeks, I learned that I could be honest with Gregory. He still told little about himself but loved my honesty and learning about my preferences.

“Is that what you want? Be careful what you wish for.”

“Fantasizing, not wishing.”

“Almost the same,” Gregory responded, teasing me.

Despite the unequal relationship, we continued our exchange as our waitress brought us our drinks. The lemonade was good, despite having to ask to take a sip as Gregory had to put the long straw in my mouth. Of course, he enjoyed his dominant position. Still, it was all fun and games.

The food was quite tasty, a rarity for gimmick restaurants. The premium membership format had to work wonders. The “double menu” consisted of a single, larger plate and two sets of utensils for each dish, and Gregory had to feed me. It should be humiliating, but I took it in grace tonight. Being surrounded by others at a restaurant was much different than being alone at his house. I felt a lot safer and trusted him a lot more.

Our waitress did not bother us much, to my delight, but Gregory knew many people there. We were approached numerous times. From my awkward position, I had to introduce myself while it was obvious how our relationship operated. Let me give an example of such an interaction.

“Evening, Greg,” a man in his mid-fifties declared. He sported short black hair and a black leather jacket. “So this is the girl you were talking about? I’m Peter. Nice to meet you... Cyan,” he said while brushing loose hairs behind my ear. It felt incredibly dehumanizing. I disliked him. “Do you guys already have plans for after dinner?”

Gregory would deny it and grinned when Peter disappeared, clearly aware of my feelings towards him. “Your call. He was never as interested when I was here alone. He’s not the brightest.”

“Too creepy for me. Bad vibes.”

“So you would not want him to tie you up?”

“I would not trust him with my life, although that is my first impression.”

Of course, Peter was an exception in being so obvious in seeing me as nothing more than a living bondage doll. Still, I was surprised Gregory publicly showed off he engaged in the taboo activity of hiring a much younger woman.

I did not understand Gregory’s intentions but went along. He paid well, and the odds I knew anyone here were near zero. Besides, Gregory appeared to respect me as a person and did not treat me like a throw-away escort.

After our waitress collected our plates – and Gregory had given her a good tip – the moment was there.

“Would you fancy doing a scene with friends of mine? They’re good people, but the bondage might be quite intense. It’s all safe, but I’m warning you.”

“You’re making me nervous,” I giggled.

“I am serious. I was thinking of Mark and Simone. She used to be a professional bondage model and prefers rougher scenes. Frank and Ruth have a far from vanilla relationship, so to speak.”

Despite meeting many tonight, my memory associated the correct faces with these names. “That’s cool. I might tap out, but I want to give it a serious shot.”

Gregory left to make the arrangements and returned five minutes later with good news. Or, well, good news, the three men would tie us up. He unlocked me from the table and guided me into the back of the building and downstairs while clenching my hand. The dungeon Gregory had booked resembled a barn. The floor was covered by long, rough planks. Smoother planks surrounded all sides, and wooden beams and almost a hundred hooks created a million possible bondage positions. The dim yellow lights provided little light.

We were the first there, and I had regrets already. This was a lot less innocent than a hogtie on the couch.

“We got the goodies,” Frank announced as he wheeled in a big wooden chest, more than 3 feet in each dimension. It looked heavy. “You know, Cyan, your first time here has to be memorable. Accordingly, we want to introduce you to pipe bondage. Thick metal pipes. That is new for you, isn’t it?”

I bobbed my head. Maybe I had bitten off more than I could chew.

[GreyLord]

Excellent writing, @Beaumains. What has Cyan gotten herself into? While I can picture all kinds of things that could be done with pipes and rope, nothing suggests itself as a genre. I will be excited to read your next installment.