Stories of Tie Up Games

Vinegar is so refreshing and curative. :

Well, it looks like myaltbob2 is no longer active in this platform, so no reason to continue.

Please continue the rest of us are enjoying the story.

Chapter 10

Coughing, you say, "You probably want to know if I liked it. Well, I...!" You don't get any further. The vinegar, mixed with stomach acid, makes its way up your esophagus. Before you can react, you've vomited—and with unerring aim, right onto my expensive leather shoes!

You'll feel the slap in your face for days! "You rat! This is disgusting! You'll pay for this!" You mumble an apology, which is interrupted mid-sentence by an even harder slap on your other cheek.

The pain, but also the tension of the last few hours, is released in a torrent of tears. As if through a veil of mist, you hear my shouted threat: "You'll pay for this, Ben - alias @Myaltbob2!"

Still coughing and crying, you then utter the sentence that hits me like a bombshell! "Which Ben? And who is Myaltbob2? I don't know any Myaltbob2! Check my ID if you don't believe me!"

Did you just make a life-threatening mistake? How will I react? You'll find out after the feedback!

Shall I continue?

I hope so, it's been fun reading and guessing his future predicaments.

this is a good story so far looking forward to more

Part 11

I keep looking back and forth between your ID and you, speechless. This can't be happening! Or are you trying to trick me? Time for a test!

I hold my gun to your temple and say, "You'll tell me the truth now if you value your life! I'll give you three seconds! Three, two, one...!"

When you open your eyes, you see a light! The light of the afterlife? But then you hear my voice laughing maliciously. "You can open your eyes again, Andrew! You're still alive! I removed a bullet from the barrel!"

Stunned, but also relieved, you continue listening. "The question is, what do I do with you now? Are your parents rich?" With a lump in your throat, you shake your head. You know that this answer could cost you your life—but you couldn't keep up a lie any longer.

I release you from your straitjacket restraints and tie you to the palm tree again, this time standing on your tiptoes, hands tied to a limb high above your head, and your overbody ant tights bound from your neck to your feet. The rough bark digs into your back like countless pinpricks. But you have no choice but to endure it until I announce my decision!

After what seems like endless minutes, I utter the words: "Alive, you're more useful to me than dead!" On the one hand, you're relieved that your heart can continue beating—at least for now. On the other hand, you secretly hoped that I would simply set you free after this mistake! That hope has been dashed!

The position on the stinging palm tree is slowly becoming uncomfortable, as well as the pulling in your shoulders. You don't care what I do to you next, as long as I untie you—at least from the palm tree!

To be continued after feedback, as always.

Poor Andrew, mistaken identity. Oh well one kidnappee tied to a swinging palm tree is worth 500 in the bush. Keep Andrew and ransom him or, as a slave, but please untie him from the tree afterall he is innocent and you can always tie him back up.

Please continue, I have a suspicion that Andrew will be a good obedient Kidnappee.

Part 12

You're relieved that your heart can keep beating—at least for the moment. "Thank you, Mr. Kidnapper!" you say, as you try to rub your battered wrists and shoulders.

But I've already tied your hands again—this time in front of your body. "I'm warning you—if you lied to me, then…!"

The slap makes you lose your senses. You fall forward, landing squarely on your bound hands. Luckily, you don't twist anything, but it's still painful.

But you don't have time to recover. I yank you back to your feet and whisper in your ear: "Then you'll just have to work off the money!"

Work? You've never worked! And the fact that I don't elaborate on the type of work terrifies you.

Feedback as always.

Oh No, not the deaded work, work is for peons.

Part 13:

You can hardly believe your luck when I actually fumble with the ropes that secure your hands behind the tree trunk. You know there's no escape from this island, but just being able to move your wrists and shoulders around for a moment is a blessing!

As expected, you can only shake your arms out briefly before I grab your wrists and cross them behind your back again. At least this time you're not tied to a tree, just your wrists behind your back. Your ankles are also untied from the tree and then tied together again, as are your thighs. You don't even try to free yourself—experience has taught you that I know my way around knots!

I let you hop over to my somewhat hidden motorboat and help you lie down underdeck. You hear the engine start and we drive off, destination unknown. You feel a pang of unease as you think about the work I mentioned—but then again, if I let you work, I have to let you live, right? Always think positive!

Feedback as always.

No feedback yet?

Kidnapped and made to work, the indignity of it all. I'm pretty sure there is a rule against this in the "Kidnapper's Rules And Regulations, 186th Edition" as adopted yesterday.

Chapter 14

Your hope of escaping during the docking maneuver is dashed. Before you can hide, I've grabbed you and locked you in the trunk of a car. Furiously, you pound on the trunk lid from the inside with your bound hands and feet, but no one hears you.

The drive seems to last forever. You've long since lost your bearings. And even when the car finally stops, nothing changes. Before you can see anything clearly, I pull a sack over your head. Then I push you forward, across the hot asphalt.

At some point, you hear a door being unlocked. But before you know it, you get a shove from behind and slam into the floor.

Luckily, you only suffer a few scratches. The last thing you hear is the door slamming shut.

You're supposed to be working! It's certainly better than sitting around doing nothing, but what if your work performance—which you still have absolutely no idea what it should look like—doesn't meet my expectations? Once again you'll be tugging at your chains in vain, calling for help! All for nothing!

You'll just have to wait for my return, whether you like it or not!

Feedback as always.

Chores are good for a kidnappee, it keeps them busy and their mind of trying to escape. Chores more and more chores for the one in chains .

Chapter 15

How long have you been locked up here? Minutes? Hours? You don't know. But you can't influence it anyway—the door is far too sturdy to break down. Only one person decides how long—namely, me, your captor!

You've lost all sense of time, and your throat is parched when you finally hear the door to your prison unlock. You beg for water.

But instead of the bottle you're hoping for, I hand you a toothbrush. "Clean your prison first—after all, you'll have to endure this for quite some time, so you want to make your Hilton suite as comfortable as possible, right?"

You respond with a short nod. The combination of a throat scratched by inhaled sand, wrists and ankles chafed by the restraints, agonizing thirst, and the uncertainty of whether you'll ever leave your prison alive has completely broken your resistance.

Since I won't even let you use a toothbrush to sweep up the sand, you simply sweep it together with your bare hands—not so easy when, as in your case, your hands are tightly tied behind your back. You lose your balance several times and fall, but you always manage to get back up.

You know perfectly well: only when the sand is swept up do you have a small chance of getting out of here. You don't even notice the hot wind swirling through the narrow cracks between the wall boards—nor that it reliably destroys every sand pile you've just created...

Feedback as always.

Somebody is being trained to make a great Houseboy, clean it up and keep cleaning it up ti I say its clean Toothbrush Boi. 🏜🏝🏖
Great story, turning into a training manual for teenage HouseBois and Indoor ServentBois.

Part 16

I return much sooner than you expected. You're shocked because, upon closer inspection, I realize you've failed miserably. While you certainly did your best, you couldn't even thoroughly clean a fifth of the room in the allotted time with just your bare hands and while chained.

On top of that, your palms are completely chafed, and you're still coughing from the sand in your airways. You can only hope your punishment won't be too harsh.

But you're not sure. When you hear the lock click, your heart skips a beat.

How severely will I punish you for the chaos you've caused? While you are still pondering this question, the next coughing fit disrupts your concentration.

You have to wait for the next chapter to find out.

Somebody is in trouble, Somebody is in trouble. Probably get tied up and whipped.

Part 17

Without saying a word, I tie a long rope to the one that binds your wrists tightly together. Trying not to provoke me further, you let it happen.

When I'm finished, I pull on the newly attached rope. You stagger forward, but miraculously manage to avoid falling. Again, you feel a tug on your hands, the pain radiating up to your shoulders. Finally, you understand: you're obviously supposed to follow me!

Obediently, you hop behind me with your bare feet bound, often barely managing to avoid falling.

When I finally tie your hands to a palm branch above your head, you try to rub your chafed soles together—but they're bound too tightly. Besides, that would almost certainly throw you off balance, because the rope that ties your wrists to the palm branch above your head is so short that you have to stand on your tiptoes.

"What are they going to do to me?" you ask, your voice trembling. Instead of an answer, you suddenly feel me yank your swim trunks down. Luckily, you turn your back on me.

You don't dare turn around—but out of the corner of your eye, you see me stripping the fallen branch of the palm tree to which you're tied. What's this all about?

Suddenly, you remember your grandmother's stories about how, instead of punishment at school, she used to get a painful whack on the fingers with a ruler. "Please don't spank me!" you plead. Or am I just trying to scare you? I've certainly succeeded!

You'll find out—after your feedback!