Entertaining My New Wife’s Twins. (ff/F)

[Sian91]

A quick break from Amy off school.

This is fiction. Julie and I are not married. She has grown up sons, not twin girls living at home. And of course I know about her love for tie ups.

This story is an extended version of something I posted a few weeks ago in the TUG art section

Julie was in the shower as Sian padded downstairs, her bare feet slapping in the kitchen tiles as she made coffee. The morning light drifted throughnthe windows illuminatingbyhendust motes which drifted in the air. It promissed to be a hot day as Sian smoothed her shorts over her firm bottom. From below came thensound of muffled giggles and running feet.

Sian was surprised to see her two stepdaughtrers, fairhaired Emma and ginger Sophie, thirteen year old twins, running up the stairs from the basement. Bith wearing their scout uniforms, Emma carried a length of rope in ner hands.

“Sian?” They called in unison; neither the girls, nor Julie or Sian , couldn’t think of a better name like stepmother , or mum-two , or mum and mummy. “Can you help us with something please?” Asked Sophie.

“Erm what do you need help with? And why are you carrying that rope?”

"It's our knots badge," Emma announced, rocking forward on the toes of her worn black socks. Behind her, Sophie clutched a laminated instruction sheet so tightly the edges curled.

“Why do you need my help?”

Sophie cleared her throat. "Advanced knots require... special materials. Errrm technique" Her voice cracked halfway through, and Emma elbowed her sharply.

*Go on then.” Sian said taking her coffee with her towards the basement door.

The basement was cooler than upstairs, the stone flags chill under her feet. Several coils of rope lay on the floor alongside a roll of duct tape and a few patterned scarves Emma had “borrowed” from Julie’s wardrobe. Sophie knelt by the largest coil, feeding the end through her hands with surprising dexterity.

“Alright,” Sian said, sipping her coffee. “What’s first?”

Emma’s grin widened. “Hands behind your back.”

Sian hesitated mid-sip, lowering her mug. The girls weren’t moving—Sophie with her too-steady fingers wrapped round the rope, Emma rocking persistently on her socked feet. Sian exhaled through her nose, coffee steam curling between them. “That’s not in the Scout handbook is it?”

Emma’s grin turned conspiratorial. “Advanced techniques. Special project,” she lied, and Sophie nodded with such earnestness that Sian almost laughed aloud. Instead, she set her mug on the washing machine, the ceramic clink echoing off the damp stone walls.

Sian turned and clasped her hands behind her back—palms pressed together, wrists warm against the small of her denim shorts. Sophie stepped close, her socked toes brushing Sian’s bare heel, breath hitching as she looped rope around Sian’s wrists with practiced precision. It stung faintly, fibers catching arm hair, smelling faintly of mildew and pine sap.

Emma circled them, fingers trailing along Sian’s forearm. “Tighter,” she murmured, lips quirked. Sophie yanked the rope; Sian gasped as the knot bit into bone, tendons standing stark under suddenly pale skin. The twins exhaled in unison—sharp, eager—as Sian flexed against the restraint. The rope creaked. Didn’t give.

Sophie pushed a cushion towards the pole in the centre of the room—a thick wooden beam that had once held laundry lines. The floral pattern clashed horribly with the girls’ green uniforms, or Sian’s blue shirt and shorts. Emma nudged it with her knee, aligning it just so. Sian eyed the cushion, then the rope coiled around Sophie’s forearm like a sleeping snake. “Take a seat.” Sophie said holding Sian’s arm and helping (more like forching) her to sit.

“Is this really part of a scout project?” She asked.

“Errmm. Yes” stammered Emma. “It’s an escape challenge.”

Sophie’s fingers tapped a staccato rhythm against Sian’s shoulder. “You’re supposed to figure out how to get free.” The rope groaned as Sian tested the binding again—too tight, too quick, nothing like the clumsy first attempts she’d seen them make on chair legs last week. Sophie’s thumb pressed into the divot above Sian’s elbow, warm through the thin cotton sleeve.

Emma knelt behind the pole, looping rope around Sian’s elbows with slow deliberation. Each pass pulled Sian’s shoulders back until her spine was pressed firm, the post pressing between her shoulder blades. She giggled despite herself—a nervous twitter that dissolved when Sophie cinched the final knot. Emma’s breath ghosted over Sian’s neck. “Ticklish?” The rope rasped against denim as Emma dragged another length around Sian’s waist. Meanwhile, Sophie drew a finger over her stepmother’s left foot amking her involuntary pull away.

Sophie grabbed a fresh coil, her tongue poking between her teeth. “Hold still.” The rope slithered over Sian’s collarbones, tracing the neckline of her shirt before Sophie crossed it tightly between her breasts. Sian inhaled sharply—the hemp fibers dug into soft flesh, pinching skin beneath thin cotton. Emma’s knee bumped against her thigh as she wound rope lower, circling Sian’s stomach in snug bands that made Sian exhale forcefully. Sophie’s fingers brushed the sensitive hollow of Sian’s knee; she flinched, and Sophie seized the opportunity to lash her thighs together.

Sian wiggled experimentally—denim rasped against rope, her elbows jammed awkwardly against unyielding wood. Emma’s enthusiasm for knots had clearly escalated beyond merit badges; every twist and cinch was efficient, intimate. Sophie knelt to secure Sian’s ankles, her braid brushing Sian’s bare toes. The rope hissed through its own loops, tightening until Sian could feel her pulse throbbing against the bindings. Emma leaned close, adjusting a knot at Sian’s waist—her breath warm against Sian’s cheek. “Too tight?” Emma whispered, tugging harder. Sian shuddered having decided to acquiesce tomyhe girls’ game. Omce they’d finished she’d wriggle free for their entertainment.

Sophie’s fingers worked methodically, separating Sian’s legs just enough to loop rope around each thigh individually before lashing them snugly together above and below the knees. The rough fibers bit through thin denim, imprinting patterns Sian knew would linger. Emma murmured approval, tracing the taut lines from Sian’s waist down her immobilized thigh with a fingertip. Sophie rocked back on her heels, surveying her handiwork—Sian’s calves still free, toes curling against cold stone.

"You missed these," Emma said, nudging Sian’s bare ankles apart with her socked foot. Sophie lunged forward, gripping Sian’s left calf as Emma knotted rope around her right. Sian gasped—Sophie’s fingers dug into the sensitive muscle, squeezing playfully before binding her legs tight. Emma cinched the final knot with a flourish, rope biting into skin.

“Comfy?”

Sophie’s grin was all teeth as she gave the last knot a testing tug—Sian’s calves pressed flush against each other, rope digging into the soft flesh behind her knees. She flexed her toes instinctively, but the binds held firm, the rough fibers telegraphing every tiny movement like a live wire. Emma crouched beside her, fingers ghosting along the inside of Sian’s pinned thigh, tracing the denim’s frayed edge where rope met fabric. “You’re—ah—very thorough,” Sian managed, breath hitching as Sophie abruptly tightened the ankle bindings further. The rope creaked; the scent of hemp and basement dust clung to her skin.

Emma rocked back on her heels, surveying her stepmother with an expression Sian couldn’t quite place—part pride, part something darker. “Almost perfect,” she murmured, reaching into her uniform pocket. The patterned scarf—Julie’s favorite, deep indigo with gold threading—slithered through her fingers like a captured ribbon snake. Sophie’s eyes lit up. “Let’s gag her,” she whispered, and the words hung between them, electric. Emma didn’t hesitate. The silk whispered over Sian’s lips before she could protest, the taste of lavender detergent blooming across her tongue as Emma pushed it behind her teeth and Sophie sealed her lips with a strip of tape. Emma produced anither scarf and ried it ober Sian’s eyes, knotting it tight behind her head, fingers brushing the sensitive nape of her neck.

Sian jerked instinctively—the gag muffled her gasp—and Sophie giggled. The sound skittered across the basement’s damp walls. Then fingers—light, teasing—traced the arch of Sian’s bare left foot. She convulsed against the ropes, a strangled noise escaping as Sophie’s nails raked gently over sensitive skin. Emma joined in, spider-walking her fingertips along Sian’s right sole, pausing to circle the delicate hollow beneath her toes. Sian bucked uselessly, her thighs straining against the brutal embrace of the ropes. Sophie’s breath hitched—she dug in harder, scribbling nonsense patterns that made Sian’s toes curl against their bindings. The twins exchanged a glance, then redoubled their efforts. Emma dragged a single fingernail from heel to toe; Sian’s entire body arched off the cushion, the pole shuddering behind her.

Sophie snatched the Sharpie from Emma’s pocket. The cap popped off between her teeth—plastic and spit—before she pressed the tip to Sian’s instep. The ink was cold, wet. Sophie’s tongue poked out in concentration as she scrawled looping, childish cursive: *if you can see this you are free* on one foot, and *Don't untie me*. On her ither foot. Emma grabbed the oen backmand wrote *Property of Sophie + Emma*. On the rops,of her feet, for Sian to see if she got the blindfold off. Emma snatched the marker, adding a lopsided heart under her sister’s name. Their knees dug into Sian’s calves as they worked, trading the Sharpie like a baton, etching claims between frantic tickles that left Sian wheezing behind the gag. The ink smeared where sweat pooled in the creases of her soles.

Then—footsteps upstairs. Water stopped running. Julie’s voice, distant: “Girls? Sian?” The twins froze. Emma’s fingers dug into Sian’s thigh; Sophie’s breath hitched. A silent exchange—wide eyes, bitten lips—before they scrambled up, socked feet slipping on stone. Sophie grabbed the instruction sheet, crumpling it into her pocket. Emma paused just long enough to drag a fingernail down Sian’s arch one last time, grinning at the muffled shriek it earned. Then they were gone, their giggles receding up the stairs like a tide pulling back.

Sian strained against the ropes. The pole creaked; her wrists burned. She tried to call out—just a muffled groan behind silk and tape. The basement door clicked shut. Silence, save for her own ragged breathing and the distant murmur of Julie’s voice drifting through the floorboards. A drop of sweat trickled down her temple, soaking into the blindfold. The ink on her feet itched where it was still wet.

Upstairs, Emma’s socked feet skidded on the kitchen tiles. Sophie nearly collided with her, clutching the crumpled instruction sheet like contraband. Julie’s shadow stretched across the hallway—a silhouette toweling her damp hair wearing T-shirt , jeans and barefoot “Morning girls”

“Morning mum!” Emma chirped, voice pitched too high. Sophie stuffed her hands in her pockets, the Sharpie’s plastic cap digging into her thigh.

Julie frowned at their flushed faces. “Where’s Sian?” The words dripped with suspicion, her gaze flicking between them—Emma’s rope-burnt fingertips, Sophie’s ink-smudged socks.

Sophie’s throat clicked. “Basement,” she blurted. Emma’s elbow jammed into her ribs too late.

Julie’s towel paused mid-swipe. “Why?” The word hung between them like a tripwire.

Emma’s fingers twitched toward the laundry basket by the basement door—half-full of Julie’s crumpled blouses and the twins’ grass-stained socks. Julie followed her gaze, then bent to scoop it up, the wicker creaking under her grip. “Right,” she said, hefting it onto her hip. “Guess I’ll see what’s going on.” The basket tilted as she stepped forward; Sophie lunged to catch a slipping sock, but Julie’s grip tightened. Her bare feetslapped against the basement steps, each thud making the twins flinch.

She burst outblaughing once she saw her wife tied uo, gagged blindfolded.

Julie took one look at Sian—bound, flushed, and twitching against the post—and burst into laughter so hard the laundry basket slipped from her hip. Socks tumbled across the flagstones as she doubled over, bracing herself against the washing machine. “Oh Christ,” she wheezed, wiping her eyes. “They got you good.” She walked dorward to tead whatbwas written in her feet. “Well according to,written instructions,,im not allowed to untie you.

Sian’s muffled groan vibrated through the gag. She jerked her chin toward the stairs—a silent plea. Julie smirked, stepping closer to trail a finger along the ropes crisscrossing Sian’s chest. “Hmm. Reef knot here… clove hitch there.” She tapped the taut line between Sian’s breasts, making her flinch. “Sophie’s work, I’d bet. Emma always overcomplicates the—”

The basement door creaked open. Twin gasps echoed as Sophie and Emma peered through the gap, their scout uniforms rumpled from haste. Julie didn’t turn around. “Girls,” she said, voice sing-song, “did you forget something?” She plucked the Sharpie from Sian’s waistband where Sophie had tucked it during her frantic escape.

[TuggyBoundMale]

Awesome story. I wonder if the twins are now getting shown some more ropework by their mom

Maybe hogtied and stuffed tape gags… or cleave gags… who knows…

But great story nonetheless

[slackywacky]

Very nice. Is there more to come?