Stories of Tie Up Games

Part three

Well I couldn’t tell you how long it took for the pizza to arrive, just like I couldn’t tell you what was said between my mom and dad, for following her arrival, following her standing in the study’s doorway, I made my excuses, made my way upstairs, made my way to the shower, to the very wet room I’d seen mom bound and gagged within, minutes earlier. It seemed strangely different to before, seemed to be almost taunting me, making my mind work overtime. My mind was still full of confusion, was still full of questions, was still full of uncertainty, for part of me still wanted it to all go away, still wanted it to be some kind of weird dream. But then another part of me kind of loved the whole idea, the idea of my mom being the hugely popular, the hugely sort after damsel in distress, part of me didn’t want my parents to call it a day, didn’t want them to stop what they were doing. Part of me wondered if I wanted to be involved in one way or another, part of me wondered if they’d let me. Even the warm water, normally so soothing, normally so rejuvenating, normally so relaxing did nothing to ease my troubled mind, did nothing to ease my mixed emotions, did nothing to ease my confusion. In a way it seemed to be hours since I walked through our front door, seemed to be hours since I caught my mom being photographed and videoed as she strained and struggled against the ropes binding her tightly. In a way it seemed like an eternity since she came to my room, in a way it seemed like an eternity since I left the study, in a way it seemed like somethings had changed forever.

But the evening had only just begun, it would be hours before bedtime, it would be hours before I could sleep on everything that had happened. In a way I wanted the time to fly past, wanted the time to bypass me completely. Yet in another way I wanted to know so much more, wanted to feel right before bedtime arrived, wanted to know just what I had to sleep on. It wasn’t long before my mom called up the stairs, wasn’t long before she asked me to come down and join them both in the kitchen, wasn’t long before pizza arrived, but if I hoped there’d be more talk, more explanations I was left disappointed. For instead of picking up where they’d both left off, from when my mom left my bedroom, from when I left the study, it was just the usual small talk, the usual how’s your day been, did you see this on the news, what did you do at school today. I guessed my mom and dad wanted to keep some kind of normality, wanted to show somethings hadn’t changed, that I was still their son, that meal times, were exactly that, wanted to show what I’d seen, what they do, had no effect on our daily lives. Yet that wasn’t what I wanted, I wanted to know so much more, wanted answers to my questions, wanted to understand my own feelings, wanted to know what would happen from then on.

For I’d had to wait, wait till after the pizzas were finished, till after we’d all eaten, I’d had to wait till after the small talk was over, I’d had to wait till my chores were completed, I’d had to wait until the dishes were washed before I could join my mom and dad in the living room, the very room where it had all started. It was with appreciation I approached the open door, my nerves seemed to be on the edge, my heart seemed to be pounding in my chest, my pulse seemed to be racing, my legs seemed to be made of lead, my breathing seemed to be short and sharp. It was with appreciation I walked in, walked in to find my mom, dressed in her usual tight fitting sports leggings and loose t-shirt, walked in to find my dad dressed in his usual jeans and t-shirt sat side by side on the sofa, walked into the same scene as I would every other night. Yet this wasn’t a usual night, things had changed, as all three of us knew well enough.

With her usual warm smile my mom asked me to sit down, with his usual let’s talk son my dad began, began once more by telling me how happy they are together, how much they love each other, how much they love me. They both told me they knew this had come as a shock to me, that it would no doubt take me a while to adapt, to accept what I’d walked in and seen, what I’d heard since then, what I’d looked at on the computer. They both told me it wasn’t weird, it wasn’t illegal, they both told how relieved they were, how relieved they were that finally I knew, knew before anyone told me. They both explained how they intended to continue with what they do, how they hoped I’d accept that, how they hoped I’d understand, how they’d rather not continue to do it in secret, how they hoped I’d agree to be involved in one way or another. They both told be how they’d seen the way I looked at my mom both in the living room, and the study, they both told me they knew it wasn’t an inappropriate look, that it wasn’t a look of inappropriate sexual pleasure, they both told me they knew it was a look that said how much I like my mom, liked other women bound, gagged and helpless. They both told be it was how they felt.

It was my dad that told me he’d been the same at my age, that he’d first realised he liked getting girls tied when playing childhood games, while playing cops and robbers, or cowboys and Indians. It was my dad that admitted he’d been confused about it for many years, that he hadn’t understood why he’d always wanted to get the neighbourhood girls bound and gagged. It was my dad that told me how he didn’t want me to feel that way, that he longed to ensure I didn’t waste time wondering if I was weird or morally wrong. It was my dad that told me plenty of others felt the same, that I’d seen the proof, seen it when looking at the website, that I’d seen the proof by the numbers that paid the monthly subscriptions, that paid for the yearly memebership. It was my dad that told me how in time he’d met the perfect woman, how he’d met my mom and fell in love, how they’d soon began to enjoy bondage both for fun and whether I liked to hear it or not, sexually as well. It was my dad that passed over the conversation, the so far one sided coversation, to my mom, to my mom so she could say what she wanted, say how she felt.

It was my mom that emphasised the fact they intended to continue with their bondage fun, that they didn’t want it to stop, that they intended to continue with the website, that she viewed it as her business, her way to bring an income into the house. It was my mom that told me she’d seen the look in my eyes when I saw her bound to the chair, that she’d seen the look in my eyes only the night before, the night before when I saw the actress bound and gagged on the tele. It was my mom that told me it was the same look she saw in my dads eyes whenever he had her helpless, when they’d played their games before the website ever came along, before they got married, before I came along, that she still sees in my dads eyes now. It was my mom that told me how it started, started for her, how it started in her childhood, how it started with her sister, my auntie Elizabeth. It was my mom who told me they would play silly games, that they would challenge each other, that they always enjoyed it, that they still do. It was my mom that admitted auntie Elizabeth still comes over, that many a time when I see her she’s been bound, been gagged, been photographed by my dad, had the images posted on the website. It was my mom that shocked me once more, shocked me by saying how auntie Elizabeth was involved, that she joined in, that dad even tied her. It was my mom that told me, how one day she was sure I’d want to tie a girl for myself, that she’d seen how I look at Emma, look at her when she comes over with her mom, Jackie. It was my mom that seemed to look into my mind and reach out for the truth, the truth behind how I felt, how much a wanted to bind and gag Emma, how much I fancied her. It was my mom that had the crystal ball, the crystal ball that saw into the future, that saw the fact I would indeed end up dating Emma.

In time the conversation drew to an end, soon enough it was over to me, was upto me to speak, to say how I felt, to admit how I felt. At first I thought it would be hard, would me impossible for me to be open and honest, would be me that failed to find the words, would be me that hid my emotions. But thankfully, in one way or another that wasn’t the case, it wasn’t as hard as I thought, wasn’t as nerve wracking as I expected. Yet, my mouth was dry, my heart pounded, in fact it had never stopped, my pulse raced, in fact that hadn’t stopped either. A glass of water took care of the dry mouth, but did nothing for my heart rate, did nothing for my pulse rate, yet finally I found my voice, finally I managed to engage my brain, finally I found the connection between them both. Slowly, at first, I began to speak, began to speak openly about how it felt to stumble in on my parents bondage game, stumble in on my parents secret, on how it felt to discover it was in fact my parents little business. Slowly, my words barely audible, I admitted not only to my mom, not only to my dad, but to myself, just how much I’d liked seeing my mom looking so helpless, how much I’d liked seeing her playing the role of a helpless damsel, like those in the movies and on TV. Slowly, with my words barely audible I admitted, how I liked the idea of seeing my auntie Elizabeth all tied up with my mom, how I liked the idea of seeing their friend Jackie all tied up with my mom, and most of all how I’d like to have Emma all tied up as well.

Yet, even as I admitted my feelings, as I admitted not only to my parents, but to myself how I felt, it seemed such an odd conversation to be having. It felt so weird to be telling them how I liked looking at my mom when she was bound and gagged, it felt so wrong to be so open, and yet it felt oh so right, it felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders, it felt like some, if not all the confusion had begun to clear. I told them, after a short pause, a pause instigated when they acknowledged my admittance, when they both nodded their understanding, when they both accepted how hard it was for me to admit my feelings, when they both admitted how weird a conversation it was, when they admitted what a weird feeling it must be to say what I did, that I didn’t want them to stop. I told them how clear it was they enjoyed what they did, I told my mom how good she looked, how beautiful she was, I told her how clear it was that it made her happy, how clear it was that she enjoyed being the damsel in distress, how clear it was that she liked posing for the camera, how clear it was that she liked playing the part. I told my dad how clear it was he enjoyed seeing my mom like that, told him how clear it was that he liked binding and gagging my mom, told him how clear it was he enjoyed photographing and videoing her like that. I told them both how it would be wrong of me to stop that, I told them I’m no longer a little boy, I told them it was clear they liked sharing the images and videos, I told them that it was clear how popular my mom was, I told them it was clear how much they made doing such things.

I asked them to promise they’d no longer hide what they did, asked them to be honest with me in the future about what they did, I asked them if they’d been serious, serious about me being involved, I asked them in what way could I be involved, I asked them if they’d teach me how to bind my mom, asked them if they teach me how to gag my mom. I continued by asking if they’d teach me how to take the photographs, I asked them if they’d teach me how to take the videos, I asked them if they’d teach me how to do the editing of the photographs, of the videos. I asked them if they’d let me become a part of what they do, I asked them if that was even possible, I asked them if that was even acceptable, asked them if there’d be any limits set, asked if there was certain outfits I couldn’t see my mom wearing, asked if there was certain ties I couldn’t be involved in. I waited for their response, waited for their reply, waited with baited breath, waited to be sent to my room for suggesting such a thing.

I was relieved when that didn’t happen, I was relieved when they replied, when the acknowledged my statement, acknowledged how hard it must have been to say, acknowledged how grown up I’d acted, acknowledged how proud they were of me. I was relieved when they answered my questions. I was relieved when my mom thanked me for saying how beautiful she looked, I smiled at how she blushed while doing so. I was relieved when my mom told me that binding her, gagging her would be allowed, that I could learn how to do it, with my dads help. I was relieved when my mom told me it would be ok to do some of the photography, would be ok to do some of the videoing. I was relieved when my dad told me I could be involved in the editing, could be involved in deciding what images, what scenes made their way onto the website. I wasn’t surprised when told there would be limits, I wasn’t surprised when I was told some outfits would be out of bounds, that for decency and privacy certain sets would be private even from me. Wasn’t surprised when they told me some bindings would be out of bounds, would be unacceptable between me and my mom, between me and my auntie Elizabeth, if she even agreed to me being involved, would be unacceptable between me and any of the other women that help out with the site, if they even agreed to me being involved. They told me if I waited till Saturday, if I was patient and continued to show my maturity, then it could begin, begin for real.

So all I could do was wait, wait for the weekend, wait to find out what would happen, how it would begin, how I would get to bind and gag my mom, and sadly you’ll have to wait, wait for the next part of my memoirs to hear what happened............

Again, a great update, my friend
I like the way the pace you give to your writing just depicts the confusion and the anxiety of Peter towards all the things is discovering

[mention]gagged86[/mention] put it very well; you really get a good insight into what Peter's thinking is!

Emma wrote: 6 years ago @gagged86 put it very well; you really get a good insight into what Peter's thinking is!

I agree with [mention]gagged86[/mention] and @Emma!

Thank you all for your comments and continued support in telling this tale. I hope to have the next part ready later in the week or certainly by the weekend

Once again, excellent job Bandit

Thanks mask it’s great to know people are enjoying what I do, and that it’s proving to be popular

great story. please continue

Sure thing and thanks for the support barefoot99, part four is underway as we I reply

Very well written. You have hanging onto that cliff desperately!

Hopefully you won’t be hanging for too much longer, part four is well underway and should be posted soon, but alas it’s looking like it’ll turn into another cliff hanger

But thank you for your support

I'm very very curious, Bandit!

Hopefully you won’t be curious for much longer, I’m just editing part 4 now, it could be posted either later today or at some point tomorrow Caesar73

No rush, Bandit! Take your time!

No need to take my time, part 4 will be posted right now

Part four

Well I won’t bore you with how my week went following the talk, won’t bore you with how mundane it truly was, won’t bore you with the day to day life of a 14 year old. But I will admit to you, will be honest, will tell you that the weekend couldn’t arrive soon enough, that the Saturday morning couldn’t arrive soon enough. For the more time I had to think about it, the more I thought about what I’d seen, what I’d walked into that Wednesday afternoon, the more I thought about all the talking. The more I thought about my mom being bound and gagged, the more I thought about her being helpless, the more I thought about my auntie Elizabeth being bound and gagged, the more I thought about one day getting Emma bound and gagged, the more excited I became.

Yet it might shock you, when I say, when I tell you that I slept surprisingly well on the Wednesday night, that I did feel more relaxed, even if I did still have my doubts, my uncertainties, did still wonder if it was all a little too weird, a little too freaky, did still wonder if I was doing the right thing. I can tell you we all talked a little more about what happened before the weekend arrived, I can tell you I spent a little more time in my dads study, spent more time with him discussing the site, their site, their bondage website. I can tell you, that, at his discretion I was allowed to see further images of my mom bound and gagged, that, at his discretion I was allowed to see images of my auntie Elizabeth bound and gagged. I can tell you I was shocked, when at his discretion I was allowed to see images of their friend Jackie bound and gagged, allowed to see images of their other friends JJ and Crystal bound and gagged. I can tell you I stunned, when he not only informed that my history teacher Chrissy Marie was part of their group, but when he let me see her bound and gagged.

I will tell you, even if it won’t come as a shock to you, the way it did to me, that I loved seeing them all tied and gagged, I will tell you I liked all the different outfits they wore, I will tell you I felt a little flushed seeing them all in just their underwear, I will tell you it was a little too much seeing my mom like that. Can tell you, that was certainly a little too much at that time, can tell you I told my dad that it was too much seeing my mom in just her underwear, that I explained I didn’t know if that would change in time, that I explained I doubted it would, that I sexplained I really loved seeing the others in just their underwear. I should tell you, my dad apologised for that, explained I wasn’t meant to see any sets of my mom bound and gagged in her underwear, that such things could be discussed in the future. I will tell you I loved seeing my history teacher all trussed up, especially in just her panties and bra, I will tell you I’ll never be late for her class again. I will tell you that by Friday night I couldn’t wait to get up the next morning, couldn’t wait to get started, could feel my excitement building, but not because it was my mom, that I still wasn’t sure about, but because they were including me, hadn’t shut me out without explanation, but because I really wanted to tie someone, because I really wanted to know how it felt.

But it turned out that had changed just a little by the time I woke, it turned out that, that first Saturday morning wasn’t quiet as easy as expected for me, wasn’t as easy as I’d thought it would be, for while I did rise early. Oh, ok it was a little after 9 when I woke, which is early for me at least. But as it turned out, my excitement had been replaced, replaced once more by nervousness, replaced once more by uncertainty, replaced with yet more questions. For a while, as I lay in bed, as I showered and dressed, dressed in jeans and a plain black t-shirt, I wondered if my parents would change their mind, if they would decided to call a stop, a stop to my involvement, to me being part of it, before I even got the chance to find out how it felt, felt to bind and gag my mom, felt to bind and gag anyone.

For a while as I lay in bed, as I showered, as I dressed I wondered what would happen if I made a mistake, if I wasn’t very good at it, I wondered if that would course it all to stop. I wondered if I’d decide I didn’t like it, I wondered if I would get cold feet, I wondered if I’d be able to go through with it. I wondered if I’d like it too much, if I’d want to do it all the time, I wondered what it would be like to do that to my mom, I wondered if it was right to even do such things to my mom. Yet despite my doubts, despite my reservations, despite my nervousness, despite my uncertainties, despite my heart pounding once more, despite my pulse racing once more, I headed downstairs, head for the kitchen, headed to where I knew my mom would be, where I expected my dad to be.

Yet as I entered the kitchen, as I slowly, apprehensively walked in, I was, in a way pleased to discovered only my mom walking around the kitchen, walking around preparing a large cooked breakfast, walking around looking like she was ready for a morning run, looking, if I do say so myself, beautiful, looking wonderful, as mom always does of course. She was wearing a pair of three quarter length black and pink spandex leggings, leggings that certainly clung tightly to her lovely calves and thighs, leggings that clung tightly to her round curvy butt, leggings that looked so good on her. She was wearing a pair of little white ankle socks, socks that would be removed in time, would be used for another purpose as I’d discover later. She wore a pair of Nike running shoes, shoes that would, like the little white socks, be removed a little later. She was wearing a very tight sports crop top, a crop top that clung tightly to her more than ample breasts, that once more showed a little to much cleavage for my liking, a crop top that showed off her slightly tanned belly.

She was smiling, was humming along to a turn on the radio, was dancing around a little, was clearly comfortable with what was due to happen. She was, thankfully, happy to see me, was happy to know I was awake, she was, maybe a little surprisingly, or at least surprisingly to me, keen to know if I was ok, if I was ready for the mornings activities. She asked me if I wanted to join my dad in the garage, if I wanted to learn a little bit more about what would be happening, what we’d be doing, and how, asked if I wanted to join my dad in the studio as she called it. She was being so kind, so caring, so thoughtful, I felt her warmth, he support, I found myself not wanting to tell her, her how I felt, didn’t want to tell her how nervous I felt. I really didn’t want to say something I shouldn’t, didn’t want to give her a reason to stop it all before it even started, or did I, I just didn’t know. So instead I smiled, smiled back at her, so instead I replied, replied telling her I’d go find my dad, so instead I made my way to the garage, so instead I went to find my dad, so with a feeling of relief, with a better feeling in my mind, in the pit of my stomach I went to find my dad,

As expected, as my mom had indicated, I found my dad in the garage, found he had indeed turned it into a temporary photo studio, or at least what I imagined what a photo studio should look like. As I kind of expected, I discovered my dad setting up the video cameras, setting them up on the same tripods I’d seen on the Wednesday afternoon. As I kind of expected, I discovered my dad had already prepared the cameras, cameras, that until the fateful Wednesday afternoon I believed were used for his hobby’s, for his love of the countryside. Somehow I wasn’t surprised to discover my dad had ensured five empty memory cards were prepared by his cameras, wasn’t surprised to discover him finishing up, to discover he’d placed everything where he wanted it. Or should I say had placed everything but my poor mom, placed everything but his willing damsel in distress where he wanted them. I could see the space on the floor, could see where I assumed, my mom would soon be seen bound, gagged and struggling, where I’d soon be responsible for her being bound, gagged and struggling.

Thankfully as I hovered in the doorway, as I silently watched, as finally he looked over in my direction, I could breathe, breathe a sigh of relief, for it quickly became apparent my dad was pleased to see me, was pleased to welcome me inside. Just as my mom had done minutes before, had done when I saw her in the kitchen, my dads warm smile, my dads welcoming actions seemed to put me at ease, if only a little. Quietly he spoke, quietly, as if afraid someone would over hear, as if afraid my mom would over hear his little plan, his little secret, dad began to explain just what was about to happen. Began by explaining, how while I was still asleep, how while the street was quite, how before any of our neighbours were up and around, he’d taken the first few the shots, shots showing my mom jogging down the street had been taken. Began by explaining how, if I want to have a look, they were already on the laptop over in the corner. Continued by explaining, the images also showed how mom had appeared to be stopped, stopped by an unseen stranger, that the images went on to show mom, looking shocked and terrified. That they also showed mom walking with her hands on head, went on to explain he was sorry if the shots of her bum in the tight spandex was a little much for me, went on to explain how shots like that are expected in such photo shoots.

Faintly, as he paused, as he prepared to go further, as he prepared to say more, as I looked through the images he described, I told him it was ok, that I understood, that I knew my mom had a good bum, had a nice bum, that I’d heard more than one of my friends say so. Slightly blushing I looked at the shots he’d described, slightly blushing I could see what my friends had meant when they said that, slightly blushing I vowed to make them stop saying that about my mom. With a cough dad drew my attention back to the corner, the corner where my mom would be bound and gagged, where I guessed I’d be binding and gagging her. Quietly, once more, dad went on to explained how the first scene to be photographed in the garage would show her cowering in the corner, would show her looking scared. Quietly he went on to explain how, when the time came for mom to be bound, when for my first time I’d get to bind her, we would be using tape, would be using bright red electrical tape, insulation tape as it’s also known.

Dad, as had shown to be the norm already that morning, quietly went on to explain how they’d agreed between themselves that I’d be allowed to do the tying, that they’d agreed between themselves it should be just as tight as usual, should be just tight as their clients, as their regulars, as their subscribers, as their members expected. Dad went on to quietly explain how, until she was gagged mom would coach me, would tell me where to bind her, would tell me if I was making the bindings too slack, or too tight. Dad went on to explain how it would be kept fairly simple, how mom would still be completely helpless, how mom would look as helpless as intended. Dad was about to continue, was about to explain more but mom called out, called out for her boys as she called us, called out to tell us breakfast was ready. Within a couple of minute, within the briefest of moments, we were all sat around the kitchen table, were tucking into one of my moms fabulous, wonderful cooked breakfasts, and let me tell you now, no one in the world cooks bacon or scrambled eggs like my mom.

At first, much to my frustration, I have to admit, just like that Wednesday over pizza, we made small talk, at first we talked about everything but what was about to happen. Until finally, finally as my frustration was reaching breaking point, my mom, maybe sensing how I felt, how I was feeling, decided we needed to get onto the events to come. Decided we needed to talk about a few things, things away from how she’d be tied, how she’d be gagged, away from what my dad might have been about to tell. Decided it was time to stated there’d be a few simple rules, that there’d be a few simple guidelines that should be followed, followed at all times. Decide to make it clear they would reach a point where I’d have to leave, would reach a point where I could no longer be involved, where it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to be involved, which of course I understood, which of course needed no more explanation.

It was my mom that continued to speak, speak while my dad sat in silence, while my dad simply nodded in agreement, that there’d be images which would be unsuitable for me to see, that there would be a scene or two where, it would be inappropriate for me too edit. It was my dad turn to speak up, my dads turn to agreed, to once again put his foot in it, his foot in it by telling me how I couldn’t see my mom with her breasts exposed, with her bare bum exposed. It was me that blushed, that stuttered and stumbled with my words, that basically curled up my nose and and said “uuuhhh to much information”. that said the shots taken then couldn’t be edited by me, couldn’t be seen by me, would be hidden from me. It was me that fell silent again, it was me that saw the dirty look mom shared with dad, it was me that decided to waited, wait to hear the rules, to hear the rules, the guidelines.

It was my mom, once more, that as if to emphasise her point, as if to ensure she had my full attention, my dads full attention, spoke softly, yet clearly, spoke with authority and meaning, that began to explain just how it would. She couldn’t have made it any clearer, couldn’t have made her points any better, she couldn’t have explained better, that I was to tell them if it was too much for me, that I was to tell them if I needed a break, that I was to say if I needed extra help, extra guidance. She couldn’t have made it any clearer, how, there’d be a safe word, a word that would course what was happening to stop, a word designed to be used for emergency only, a word that had nothing to do what was happening. She couldn’t have made it clearer how, it wouldn’t be a word like stop, or like please don’t, or even that’s enough, she couldn’t have made it clearer how, words like that could be part of the scene, could be mistaken too easily. She couldn’t have made it any clearer that the word for that day, for that morning would be something silly, something to elevate and worry it might course me. She explained it was highly unlikely it would be a word she use, she explained she had total trust in me, in my maturity, she explained she had complete trust in my ability to do as she instructed, in my ability to do as dad instructed, she explained she had total trust in my dads abilities when teaching me, she explained that the safe word would be bananas, she explained there’s also be a safety signal, that my dad would know what it was.

By the time mom finished, finished telling me what was expected, how things would be, breakfast was over, the time had arrived, arrived for us to start, for me and my dad to find ourselves standing together in the garage, standing minus our damsel together in the garage. For mom had decided she needed to make a quick toilet break, decided we need a few minutes, needed to wait a little longer, just like sadly you’ll need to wait a little longer, wait till the next time to hear how mom was bound, how mom was gagged, how things went. Just like you’ll have to wait to see if it was a success, just like you’ll have to wait to see how things went from there, how things developed, or if they developed........

Great update, my friend
This story is a very good depiction of how to handle properly this kind of passion, talking about that with maturity with no shame, and yet sensitivity

Thank you my friend I’m glad you think so, and that my efforts are staying on track

gagged86 wrote: 6 years ago Great update, my friend
This story is a very good depiction of how to handle properly this kind of passion, talking about that with maturity with no shame, and yet sensitivity

Nicely put And I couldn´t agree more! Fine to hear about the Friends of Peter´s Mum - there is that History teacher, which I desire to see in Bondage

This is a very well done setup Keep up the good work!

Thank you both for you continued support, it’s the encouragement I need to keep this tale and idea going

You do a great job, [mention]Bandit666[/mention]! So keep it going. And if our support helps? The better!

I love seeing how this family is dealing with this. I also can't wait for more!

Thank you, more will be coming soon, but again no spoilers as to what happens next

Bandit666 wrote: 6 years ago .... but again no spoilers as to what happens next

That would - so to speak - spoil the fun