A Rematch with Little Red (m/f); Part 3 added 3/18/23
Posted: Fri Feb 26, 2021 10:57 pm
This story is a sequel, sort of, to one that appeared in the True Stories for Everyone section: https://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=9&t=783
That account was based on a real-life experience, and it ended with a tease that a true-life sequel might be in the offing. Sadly, there was no follow-up experience to write about. With that in mind, I’ve taken the liberty of creating a fictional account of what might have occurred if the young lady in the original story had returned for another tie-up encounter with me.
“Well, hi! Come on in,” I heard my mother say when she answered the knock on our front door. “What brings y’all here today?”
Curious as to the identities of the visitors (or visitor — in the rural South, where I grew up, “y’all” can be singular or plural), I set my guitar aside and strolled into the living room to see.
“Hi, Mrs. Smith,” I said casually as one of Mom’s gossip-loving friends entered the door.
“Hi, Jake. I thought I’d drop in to catch up with your mom a bit. Leigh, is this a good time?”
“Sure! I’ve got coffee perking. Come on into the kitchen and sit a spell. Oh, I see you brought Michelle with you!”
I didn’t know whether to cringe or to celebrate. Michelle was Mrs. Smith’s 10-year-old daughter, and she could be a real pest. Oh, she was nice enough, but she also had a habit for sticking her cute little freckled nose into everyone else’s business.
“Hi, Jake!” she said as soon as she saw me. “Whatcha doing?”
“Oh, just playing my guitar a little,” I replied.
“Can I watch?”
“Sure, if your ears can stand it. I’m not very good yet.”
Michelle joined me in the TV room, and Mrs. Smith and Mom headed for the kitchen. I picked up the guitar and strummed through the only chord progression I knew at the time: G, E minor, C and D7.
“So the way you put your fingers on the strings makes the guitar sound different?” she asked.
“That’s right. These four finger shapes are called ‘chords,’ and by combining them in different ways, you can play songs.”
“Do you know any songs?”
“Only a couple. I’ve only just started to learn how to play,” I replied. “This one is called ‘Camptown Races.’”
I strummed my way through a couple of verses and stopped.
“Why did you stop?” Michell asked.
“My fingertips are hurting. To make the strings ring out, you have to push down on them pretty hard. It makes your fingertips sore at first, but they toughen up after a while. I just need to rest them for a minute or two.”
“Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“Remember what happened last time we visited?”
“Sure. You wouldn’t quit pestering me while I was building a model plane, so I tied you up.”
“Would you do it again? I really think I can get loose this time.”
“I’ll need to ask your mom first. Wait here...and don’t mess with the guitar.”
I strolled into the kitchen. “Uh, Mrs. Smith?”
“Yes, Jake?”
“Michelle wants me to tie her up again. Is that OK with you?”
“I had a feeling she might do that,” she said with a chuckle. “She seemed awfully keen on coming over here. Now I know why. Now that she’s seen what you’re capable of, she probably thinks she can get loose this time. It would serve her right to find out she can’t.”
“Wait…does that mean…”
“Truss her up to your heart’s content. Just don’t hurt her.”
“You heard Mrs. Smith,” Mom added menacingly. “Don’t hurt her.”
“I won’t. I promise,” I said.
Michelle’s blue eyes lit up she saw me reenter the TV room carrying a Boy Scout haversack filled with ropes. “I’ve added a few since the last time you were here,” I said as I poured the pack’s contents onto the sofa.
“That’s okay,” she said. “I don’t care how many ropes you use on me. I’ll get loose anyway.”
“We’ll see about that,” I replied. “I took it pretty easy on you last time.”
Her eyes went wide.
“Today you get the full treatment. Take off your shoes and socks.”
“You aren’t going to tickle my feet, are you?”
“No. Scout’s honor,” I pledged, making the Scout Sign with my right hand. “I won’t tickle your feet, not even a little bit.”
Satisfied, Michelle kicked off her light blue sneakers and slipped off her ankle socks. “All right!” she chirped as she crossed her wrists behind her back and offered them to me. “I’m ready to get all tied up!”
There are times in a young lad’s life that make him feel fortunate to be alive. Getting to tie up a cute, freckle-faced redhead is one of those times.
I had Michelle sit on the floor and, using relatively short length of rope, quickly bound her legs with three double-column ties -- one at her ankles, one just below her knees and one at mid-thigh, well below the hem of her bright-red shorts.
“Too tight?” I asked, mindful of Mrs. Smith’s admonition not to hurt her daughter.
“It’s pretty snug, but I don’t think it’s too tight,” Michelle replied.
“Good. Now let’s start on your upper body.”
I wound another band of rope around her chest, just below her shoulders, and cinched the band with a couple of turns under each armpit. The next band went lower on her chest, and I cinched it just above her elbows.
“Now reach each hand across to the opposite elbow.”
With her forearms now more or less parallel across her lower back, I repositioned them a bit and secured them with three double-column ties -- one at each end and one in the middle.
“Try to move your arms,” I said. Much to Michelle’s surprise, all she could do was flutter her hands.
“Wow. I’m going to have a hard time reaching any knots like this,” she remarked.
“Actually, you won’t be reaching any knots at all,” I said as I slipped socks over each of her hands and secured them there with her shoestrings.
“But how am I supposed to get free with my hands all covered up?”
“You’re not,” I replied with a wink and a grin. “In fact, when I’m finished you won’t be doing much at all.”
She would have protested, but as soon as she opened her mouth I stuffed it with a wadded-up bandanna and secured the bandanna with a knotted Boy Scout neckerchief. A second neckerchief, tied tightly over her lips, further muffled any protest she might have made.
For good measure, I blindfolded her with yet another neckerchief (hey, a Scout can never have too many of those!).
“Okay, Michelle, lie down. I’m going to turn you over onto your tummy,” I said.
She must have known what was coming next, because she lifted her bound feet off the floor and held them there while I applied the hogtie rope. After securing it to the cinches around her ankles, I threaded it under her chest ropes and pulled it taut.
The great thing about 10-year-old girls is that most of them are really bendy. It didn’t take much pulling to bring her heels and her backside together.
“Almost done,” I announced. “Just one more thing.”
I reached into a side pocket of the haversack and grabbed one of the spare boot laces I kept there. I used the lace to bind her big toes together and, using the thin cord as a second hogtie rope, threaded it through her blindfold and knotted it off.
I stepped back to admire my handiwork. Michelle lay prone on the carpet. Her sock-covered hands moved a bit, but nothing else budged.
“Still think you can get loose?” I taunted.
To her credit, she tried. She squirmed as much as the ropes would allow, and she tried to feel for knots through her thick cotton socks. She shifted her weight from side to side, but never quite gained enough momentum to flip onto her side.
“Oh, my! Jake, you’ve outdone yourself!” Mrs. Smith said when she walked into the room. “Michelle, you said you’d be loose in no time. Do you think maybe you bit off more than you could chew?”
Michelle’s face, already pink from exertion, blushed a couple of shades darker. She redoubled her attempts to escape, but after only a few more minutes she allowed her hands to go limp and signaled defeat.
“I think she’s done, Jake,” Mrs. Smith observed. “Why don’t you untie her?”
Mrs. Smith sat patiently as I unwrapped her securely packaged offspring. “Your mom tells me you’re the best in your Scout troop at tying knots,” she commented. “I don’t know anything about knots, but I can believe it. I bet Michelle believes it now, too.”
“Yeah, I definitely believe it,” Michelle conceded. “I couldn’t move. It felt like my body was in a cast or something.”
“Consider yourself lucky, Michelle,” I said. “If I’d tied you to something solid, like a pole or a chair, you wouldn’t have been able to move even that much.”
“Really?” she asked, her face aglow with eager anticipation. “How soon can we try that?”
Mrs. Smith rolled her eyes and turned toward Mom. “What do you think, Leigh? Maybe in a couple of weeks or so?
To be continued…
That account was based on a real-life experience, and it ended with a tease that a true-life sequel might be in the offing. Sadly, there was no follow-up experience to write about. With that in mind, I’ve taken the liberty of creating a fictional account of what might have occurred if the young lady in the original story had returned for another tie-up encounter with me.
“Well, hi! Come on in,” I heard my mother say when she answered the knock on our front door. “What brings y’all here today?”
Curious as to the identities of the visitors (or visitor — in the rural South, where I grew up, “y’all” can be singular or plural), I set my guitar aside and strolled into the living room to see.
“Hi, Mrs. Smith,” I said casually as one of Mom’s gossip-loving friends entered the door.
“Hi, Jake. I thought I’d drop in to catch up with your mom a bit. Leigh, is this a good time?”
“Sure! I’ve got coffee perking. Come on into the kitchen and sit a spell. Oh, I see you brought Michelle with you!”
I didn’t know whether to cringe or to celebrate. Michelle was Mrs. Smith’s 10-year-old daughter, and she could be a real pest. Oh, she was nice enough, but she also had a habit for sticking her cute little freckled nose into everyone else’s business.
“Hi, Jake!” she said as soon as she saw me. “Whatcha doing?”
“Oh, just playing my guitar a little,” I replied.
“Can I watch?”
“Sure, if your ears can stand it. I’m not very good yet.”
Michelle joined me in the TV room, and Mrs. Smith and Mom headed for the kitchen. I picked up the guitar and strummed through the only chord progression I knew at the time: G, E minor, C and D7.
“So the way you put your fingers on the strings makes the guitar sound different?” she asked.
“That’s right. These four finger shapes are called ‘chords,’ and by combining them in different ways, you can play songs.”
“Do you know any songs?”
“Only a couple. I’ve only just started to learn how to play,” I replied. “This one is called ‘Camptown Races.’”
I strummed my way through a couple of verses and stopped.
“Why did you stop?” Michell asked.
“My fingertips are hurting. To make the strings ring out, you have to push down on them pretty hard. It makes your fingertips sore at first, but they toughen up after a while. I just need to rest them for a minute or two.”
“Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“Remember what happened last time we visited?”
“Sure. You wouldn’t quit pestering me while I was building a model plane, so I tied you up.”
“Would you do it again? I really think I can get loose this time.”
“I’ll need to ask your mom first. Wait here...and don’t mess with the guitar.”
I strolled into the kitchen. “Uh, Mrs. Smith?”
“Yes, Jake?”
“Michelle wants me to tie her up again. Is that OK with you?”
“I had a feeling she might do that,” she said with a chuckle. “She seemed awfully keen on coming over here. Now I know why. Now that she’s seen what you’re capable of, she probably thinks she can get loose this time. It would serve her right to find out she can’t.”
“Wait…does that mean…”
“Truss her up to your heart’s content. Just don’t hurt her.”
“You heard Mrs. Smith,” Mom added menacingly. “Don’t hurt her.”
“I won’t. I promise,” I said.
Michelle’s blue eyes lit up she saw me reenter the TV room carrying a Boy Scout haversack filled with ropes. “I’ve added a few since the last time you were here,” I said as I poured the pack’s contents onto the sofa.
“That’s okay,” she said. “I don’t care how many ropes you use on me. I’ll get loose anyway.”
“We’ll see about that,” I replied. “I took it pretty easy on you last time.”
Her eyes went wide.
“Today you get the full treatment. Take off your shoes and socks.”
“You aren’t going to tickle my feet, are you?”
“No. Scout’s honor,” I pledged, making the Scout Sign with my right hand. “I won’t tickle your feet, not even a little bit.”
Satisfied, Michelle kicked off her light blue sneakers and slipped off her ankle socks. “All right!” she chirped as she crossed her wrists behind her back and offered them to me. “I’m ready to get all tied up!”
There are times in a young lad’s life that make him feel fortunate to be alive. Getting to tie up a cute, freckle-faced redhead is one of those times.
I had Michelle sit on the floor and, using relatively short length of rope, quickly bound her legs with three double-column ties -- one at her ankles, one just below her knees and one at mid-thigh, well below the hem of her bright-red shorts.
“Too tight?” I asked, mindful of Mrs. Smith’s admonition not to hurt her daughter.
“It’s pretty snug, but I don’t think it’s too tight,” Michelle replied.
“Good. Now let’s start on your upper body.”
I wound another band of rope around her chest, just below her shoulders, and cinched the band with a couple of turns under each armpit. The next band went lower on her chest, and I cinched it just above her elbows.
“Now reach each hand across to the opposite elbow.”
With her forearms now more or less parallel across her lower back, I repositioned them a bit and secured them with three double-column ties -- one at each end and one in the middle.
“Try to move your arms,” I said. Much to Michelle’s surprise, all she could do was flutter her hands.
“Wow. I’m going to have a hard time reaching any knots like this,” she remarked.
“Actually, you won’t be reaching any knots at all,” I said as I slipped socks over each of her hands and secured them there with her shoestrings.
“But how am I supposed to get free with my hands all covered up?”
“You’re not,” I replied with a wink and a grin. “In fact, when I’m finished you won’t be doing much at all.”
She would have protested, but as soon as she opened her mouth I stuffed it with a wadded-up bandanna and secured the bandanna with a knotted Boy Scout neckerchief. A second neckerchief, tied tightly over her lips, further muffled any protest she might have made.
For good measure, I blindfolded her with yet another neckerchief (hey, a Scout can never have too many of those!).
“Okay, Michelle, lie down. I’m going to turn you over onto your tummy,” I said.
She must have known what was coming next, because she lifted her bound feet off the floor and held them there while I applied the hogtie rope. After securing it to the cinches around her ankles, I threaded it under her chest ropes and pulled it taut.
The great thing about 10-year-old girls is that most of them are really bendy. It didn’t take much pulling to bring her heels and her backside together.
“Almost done,” I announced. “Just one more thing.”
I reached into a side pocket of the haversack and grabbed one of the spare boot laces I kept there. I used the lace to bind her big toes together and, using the thin cord as a second hogtie rope, threaded it through her blindfold and knotted it off.
I stepped back to admire my handiwork. Michelle lay prone on the carpet. Her sock-covered hands moved a bit, but nothing else budged.
“Still think you can get loose?” I taunted.
To her credit, she tried. She squirmed as much as the ropes would allow, and she tried to feel for knots through her thick cotton socks. She shifted her weight from side to side, but never quite gained enough momentum to flip onto her side.
“Oh, my! Jake, you’ve outdone yourself!” Mrs. Smith said when she walked into the room. “Michelle, you said you’d be loose in no time. Do you think maybe you bit off more than you could chew?”
Michelle’s face, already pink from exertion, blushed a couple of shades darker. She redoubled her attempts to escape, but after only a few more minutes she allowed her hands to go limp and signaled defeat.
“I think she’s done, Jake,” Mrs. Smith observed. “Why don’t you untie her?”
Mrs. Smith sat patiently as I unwrapped her securely packaged offspring. “Your mom tells me you’re the best in your Scout troop at tying knots,” she commented. “I don’t know anything about knots, but I can believe it. I bet Michelle believes it now, too.”
“Yeah, I definitely believe it,” Michelle conceded. “I couldn’t move. It felt like my body was in a cast or something.”
“Consider yourself lucky, Michelle,” I said. “If I’d tied you to something solid, like a pole or a chair, you wouldn’t have been able to move even that much.”
“Really?” she asked, her face aglow with eager anticipation. “How soon can we try that?”
Mrs. Smith rolled her eyes and turned toward Mom. “What do you think, Leigh? Maybe in a couple of weeks or so?
To be continued…