Sleeping at the Sjaastad's (Ff/FF & MM/Ff)

[AlexUSA3]

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Muses 4: Sleeping at the Sjaastad's
Wednesday, January 2, 2019

“This is a pleasant way to meet you,” I turn to Erin Sjaastad, my best friend’s older sister.
“I’m inclined to agree,” Erin responds to me.
“Shhhhhhhh,” Bridget hushes us, “The concert is about to begin.”
“Oh, you hush,” Erin chides her younger sister.
“Please?” a girl almost my own size quietly asks us, “I’m ready.”
“OK,” Bridget nods and sits back between me and Erin, “We’re listening.”

“Hi,” our friend Joy stands up, “Our friend Nichole drove out to Michigan for Christmas with her in-laws, and she graciously agreed to stop here on the way home. She is a pianist, and Kristina is a cellist. They agreed to perform two pieces of music together and one solo. They’ll start with a tribute to the much beloved Elizabeth Sjaastad with the Elegy in D-flat by Alexander Glazunov.”

“Who is Elizabeth Sjaastad?” I whisper to Bridget, who seems awfully sad.
“Our mom,” she tightly clutches me and Erin.

This is the first time of many, as it will turn out, that Nichole will play with Kristina. This date is an experiment. Kristina plays the cello and is a star in the making, and Nichole is talented at the piano but only plays for pleasure. Nichole likes the role of a muse, and she played in ensembles in college to take advantage of the scholarships her talent brought her. A taste of the future.

Kristina just turned 15, and she is somehow so much alike and so different from her sisters. The three all have the same hair color, but only Kristina has a brown swath that exits the nape of her neck like that. I do not understand the feeling because my parents are alive but divorced. There is a sadness in all the siblings, even their brother who is sitting and eyeing another one of us.

Joy, the emcee, is a lovely girl with an indescribable humility but a remarkable self-confidence I cannot put into words. She always wears a bandana on her head, tonight a brown kerchief, as her reminder of her calling in life to be a child of God. Her pink long-sleeve t-shirt and brown ankle skirt are pretty and simple. The paisley patterns of the bandana are more complex but organized, just like her thoughts. Joy is slowly converting to my own brand of Christianity, and it shows.

Kristina and Nichole are in all black as all true concert players do. Alas, Nichole doesn't allow a concert to prevent her from wearing a black bandana headband with her black blouse, ankle skirt, pantyhose, and formal slip-on shoes. Kristina has a blouse like Nichole’s but with a curved neck. Her skirt is more ruffly, and she has black knee socks instead. A black scrunchie holds her hair.

“Such emotion,” Erin almost swoons while watching her baby sister play the piece.
“Shhhhh,” Bridget is crying now.

The “Elegy in D-flat” means nothing to this Russian girl. Alexander Glazunov? Who? Music is a topic of which I know nothing. I only know Tchaikovsky from racist jokes when I was a kid in elementary school. They’d always ask if I could do the dance of the sugar plum fairy or, worse, do the stereotypical Russian dances. Sorry to disappoint you, but I was 1 year old when I arrived in this country, pushed in a stroller by my parents.

Still, there is something mesmerizing in the music, the sad ascent and descent of the piano, and the mourn of the cello. They harmonize. They make beauty. They make you feel sad, that there is a genuine mourning happening in the hearts of the author and the performers. Every so often, a family needs to mourn their dead, and tonight Joy and I have been invited to witness it.

I can feel in the music just how much Kristina misses her mother, and then there's this transition to a repetitive, darker, thunderous theme that almost resonates within the soul. I look and see the tears pouring down Kristina’s cheeks as she plays the piece. I cannot imagine how horrible my life would be if something happened to my own mother.

Then that mournful first theme returns, much more emotional than before, and repeats the ascent and descent patterns before the piece comes to a close. Those of us who are able applaud both of the performers, and those of us who cannot quietly slap our hands together behind our backs. It’s the best I can do, after all, since Erin and I are partially tied up.

The eldest Sjaastad sister is a tall and thin girl who is wearing a skirt with white snowflakes upon a bright blue background. A bright blue kerchief bandana is upon her head. Underneath the skirt are bright blue leggings and white crew socks. With it, she wears a black turtleneck t-shirt.

I’m dressed informally for this concert and sleepover. I have black jeans, white crew socks, a red turtleneck t-shirt, and a red kerchief bandana. My hair is in a braid held by a black scrunchie. I have my black canvas sneakers as well. It's a simple outfit for a simple girl, I guess.

Erin and I have a rough bondage upon us. I am bound with a cotton fabric wintery ribbon that is navy blue with white snowflakes. My wrists, forearms, and elbows are tied behind my back with the material, and similarly three spots along my legs and three along my thighs are tied. Erin has been tied in the same spots, but she is tied with white rope instead.

Bridget sits between us as our co-kidnapper alongside her older brother, Mike, who sits with both his father and Nichole's husband, Chris, on the other sofa. Bridget has black leggings, boots that are lined with fleece, known as Uggs, and a regular bright blue t-shirt. A bright blue headband holds her hair back.

“For the next part of the program, Nichole and Kristina will play Beethoven’s 3rd Cello Sonata.”

I tried my best. Honestly, I did, but I failed. You see, I fell asleep from boredom. Cello Sonatas aren't that interesting to me, or, more likely, it was played so beautifully that I relaxed so much I could fall asleep. Either way, I fell asleep, and our musicians did not appreciate this even a little bit. I wake up with a painful jerk upon my braid and the forced consumption of a pair of black pantyhose and a pair of worn, dirty, smelly, delicious socks.

“Mmmmm!” I groan while Nichole ties a black bandana cleave gag in my mouth.
“Let this be a lesson to you!” she is both angry and playful, spanking me on each butt cheek.
“Mmm mmmmm!” black duct tape begins wrapping about my head; Kristina is strong!
“Don't fall asleep during concerts!” she chides me after 8 layers and breaks the tape.
“Let's do this,” Nichole hoods me with her pair of pantyhose.
“Good idea. Aw, look at her,” Kristina squeezes my cheek, “Back to the show!”
“Mmmm!” I look at Bridget and Erin, who giggle and shrug at the same time.

“Nichole will now play a solo for us. She chose Rachmaninov’s apparently famous Prelude in C Sharp Minor, Op. 3,” Joy looks at her notes, “No. 2. Oh, yeah, I’ve heard you play this one tons of times! Take it away, our friend.”

I look around and see that Bridget has neither Uggs nor socks on her feet before looking into her eyes and glaring at her. This piece of music is more interesting though and keeps me awake for the time being. I know Rachmaninov is Russian, but it changes little for me. It is too violent for anyone to fall asleep during it.

I must be an embarrassing sight bound in the ribbon, wrapped in tape, and pantyhose hooded like I am, but oh how much fun it is to be bound and gagged. I quietly twist about to study my bonds to see if escape is possible, but Bridget stops me from doing it each time. She's no fun when I’m not really interested in the music, but then I look at Kristina and see her mesmerized by it.

I’m a selfish girl so much of the time. How rude it was of me to fall asleep during the sonata as I directly disrespected Kristina and Nichole and told them that I didn't care enough about them to be able to truly appreciate something that brings them joy. I didn't have to like the selections, but I owed them my attention much like they gave me my attention when I talked about rowing. I’m really a jerk considering Nichole is my landlady at school! Now I feel terrible.

“For the finale,” Joy stands up again, “Kristina will play a piece by Johann Sebastian Bach.”

I guess I’m not into music. I never really talk about personal things like hobbies and such except at home. Even Nichole complained in November that I was a stranger to her after three months of living in the same apartment. I think Nichole's pet cat might know me better because I often pet her while on the phone.

Kristina is very talented at her instrument though. I can't deny she knows how to bring out all it has to offer, and I wish I had offered her more. I cannot change the mistakes of the past hour, but I can give her my best hereout! I listen intently to the piece even if it means nothing to me since I am an uncouth buffoon with no artistic appreciation.

Those who are able applaud the musicians, and they stand to take a special bow for their parts in an interesting evening thus far. They smile and turn away. Nichole closes up the piano, which I forgot to mention was a cheap portable electronic version Nichole used for long-term vehicular travel, like visiting friends and family between semesters! The cello went into its case.

“Let's finish tying up these two,” Bridget suggests to Nichole and Kristina, “And gag Erin.”
“That’s a great idea,” Kristina grabs more of the ribbon, and Nichole grabs more white rope.
“Mmmmm,” the hooded captive stands up and tries to hop away.
“Why thank you,” the cellist takes me with ease and begins a ribbon breast harness.
“This is an unpleasant development,” Erin smiles while Nichole does the same with the rope.
“Having fun yet?” Chris playfully asks his wife.
“I wasn't enjoying myself before?” Nichole's rhetorical question shut him right up.

Inevitably, my shoes and socks are removed, and the socks find a new home in Erin’s mouth. It's a lovely flavor, I know; I strive to maintain the best tasting dirty sock gag in all of Wisconsin. A black bandana cleave gag (see a theme here?) and 8 layers of black tape seal her well. They have tied us up to their satisfaction, but it's time for the real fun to begin.

Chris and Mike are no rookies. After 2 years of marriage, Chris knows how to handle his wife, and Mike was tying up Erin before Kristina was even born. Each one effortlessly takes down his respective girl while Bridget eagerly removes Erin’s shoes and socks and then Kristina’s. Yes, each girl gets one sock from each and strips of the black duct tape over her lips while they're bound by the men. Nichole is tied with her own black rope, and Kristina is tied with black zips.

Nichole’s legs are tied like mine, but she isn't as flexible and thus has her wrists crossed without any elbow bondage. Kristina's legs are zipped five times on each segment; her toes are zipped; and her arms are zipped six times. She gets the usual zips above and below her breasts and at her waist. Following this, strips of spare black yarn from Bridget's crochet projects tie Nichole’s and Erin’s big toes while I get black electrical tape on mine.

“Mmmmmmmm,” I weakly moan into my disgusting but delicious gag.

Then come the shoes. My hood is removed, but then each of us gets one of the musician's soft shoes taped to her face. The bondage is tight; the gag is stifling; the shoe is smelly. It's what I consider an almost perfect experience. We are not done because more is happening.

Our situations each become more unique. Erin is laid out on the floor and tightly hogtied from her ankles to her elbows. Nichole is ball tied with rope around her neck and lower thighs and her ankles to her wrists. Kristina is stood up, brought over to the stair rail, and tightly zipped to the posts that separate the staircase from the room. I am put on a regular kitchen chair and brutally zipped to the back, seat, and legs. White bandanas blindfold all of us.

“Mmmmmm,” the gag is humiliating, disgusting, and wonderful.
“Gmmmmphhh!” Kristina moans into her gag.
“Grrrrr!” Erin feigns anger and rage.
“Mmmmmmmmm,” Nichole quietly struggles.
“Well deserved,” Bridget taunts us because she’s not tied up!
“Aww, what happened?” the husband takes a turn on his wife, “Are you in trouble?”
“Sis!” even Mike is a total cretin about it, “You’ve been tied up! Who did this to you!”
“MMMMMMM!” is the best we can do.

Four damsels-in-distress are left to struggle in their own private captivities. We have to smell and taste each other in a humiliating fashion with Bridget and two young men as our captors. It’s a fun scene though with all of my favorite elements on display here: tight binding, rancid gags, a smelly captivity, and blindness. I cannot move at all.

It’s all about practical things here in the Sjaastad house: everything is ordinary. Tape, rope, gags, and even torture implements are either regular things found at the store or found in nearly every house. Even tickling is simple and done either with bare fingers or a hair brush. Since I cannot move much at all, I know that foot tickling is inevitable, especially for me and Erin. Rib tickling is more likely for Nichole and Kristina.

But tickling is so good. There are stages of tickling, I’m sure you know. You start laughing. It is a real laugh at first, but then it becomes forced. Then you’re chuckling, a forced chuckle that is neither pleasant nor detestable. Then you’re groaning because you’re too tired and can’t even chuckle any longer. Beyond that point is the pain and suffering of overexerted muscles.

I truly deserve a little something for what I did by falling asleep before. I’m a Gangsta Row in a few ways, as seen by my outfit and love for being tied up, but I didn’t ask for this. Yes, Kristina and Nichole deserve to be tied up. Erin? Not so much. But she won’t complain. Neither will I.

I love the Sjaastad family though, so I apologize for any offense my little nap caused. It’s like an extended family here, my American cousins in a way. Bridget first entered my life when I was a young freshman rower in high school, and I followed her to the same college and major even! It was through Bridget that I met Nichole, and Nichole has blessed me with friendship and love and even protection. I love you girls so much!

“MMMMMMM!” I groan when Bridget appears with the hair brush, but the chair holds me fast.
“Well, Sleepyhead, the night is just beginning for you!” she smiles with a gleam in her eye.

I cannot see these things. I just know them from knowing my friends as well as I do. Pardon us, but it’s going to be too long of a night to put into words. Thank you for reading, and I’ll see you in a future edition of The Muses, Annie & Me, or Momma & Me most likely.

Nichole, Bridgie, Erin, and Kristie, I love you.

THE END

[Bandit666]

Interesting little tale and strangely emotional for those involved especially though I will admit I’d have preferred a little less build up and a bit more bondage. But all in all a fine piece of writing and as I say an interesting little stand alone tale

[hafnermg]

Great little story!!

[milagros317]

Wonderful story! This is a great series.

[AlexUSA3]

Interesting little tale and strangely emotional for those involved especially though I will admit I’d have preferred a little less build up and a bit more bondage. But all in all a fine piece of writing and as I say an interesting little stand alone tale

I tend to focus on the people and neglect the bondage, which some might call unfortunate.

Worse than anything else, though, is the grand faux pas on my part: I forgot to mention that it wasn't just Kristina having "just turned 15" but that she turned 15 that day.

[Hywok]

Another great story!

Got to admit, I have been really enjoying these stories, loving the mix of friendship, tie ups and humiliation via sock gags!

Hopefully we will have many more to enjoy. Thanks!

[AlexUSA3]

Another great story!

Got to admit, I have been really enjoying these stories, loving the mix of friendship, tie ups and humiliation via sock gags!

Hopefully we will have many more to enjoy. Thanks!

The Sjaastad and Sammy Raanta stories are the best if you love stories like this one.

[Hywok]

Another great story!

Got to admit, I have been really enjoying these stories, loving the mix of friendship, tie ups and humiliation via sock gags!

Hopefully we will have many more to enjoy. Thanks!

The Sjaastad and Sammy Raanta stories are the best if you love stories like this one.

Thanks for the above, I couldn’t agree more. If binge-reading is a thing, I am definately guilty of it!