Stories of Tie Up Games

"These are some cool gloves, Mr. Smith," Lars said, his curiosity piqued by the smooth leather. He studied the gloves as the man's hands moved in a hypnotic rhythm.

Mr. Smith looked down at them, a knowing smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Thanks, Lars. They serve me well." The room felt a degree warmer as his eyes met the teenager's.

Lars' parents had been busy entertaining the other guests in the living room. The house was alive with the murmur of adult conversation and the clinking of glasses. He hadn't expected to find Mr. Smith, a guest of his parents, alone with him in the study, but here they were.

The man leaned in, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, Lars, I use these gloves for a very special purpose." A hint of something dark danced in his eyes, but Lars couldn't quite place it.

Mr. Smith's smile grew wider, his teeth flashing like a predator's. "They help me with my work."

"What kind of work?" Lars' voice was steady, but a knot began to form in his stomach.

"The kind that deals with...let's say, boys who have been a little too naughty for their own good." The man's words hung in the air, thick with implication.

Lars swallowed hard, his eyes flicking from the gloves to Mr. Smith's face. "What do you mean?"

"You know, the kind of boys who don't listen to their parents, who stay out too late, or who tell lies." The man's eyes narrowed, his gaze boring into Lars. "Sometimes, they need to be taught a lesson."

The room seemed to close in around them as the conversation took a disturbing turn. The laughter from the living room grew faint, drowned out by the sound of Lars' own racing heart.

Mr. Smith leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. "But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Lars?"

Lars' thoughts raced. He'd been caught sneaking out a few times, sure, but that wasn't so bad, was it? "I've been good, Mr. Smith," he managed to reply, trying to keep the tremor from his voice.

The man's smile never wavered. "Good," he said, his voice a low purr. "But if you ever decide to be naughty..." He raised his gloved hands, fingers flexing like a cat ready to pounce. "Just remember, I'll be watching."

The party droned on, and Lars found it impossible to ignore the weight of Mr. Smith's words. He felt them like a shadow at the edge of his vision, a constant reminder of the gloves and their purpose. The warmth of the room became stifling, and the laughter of the adults grated on his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. He needed to escape.

Making his way to the kitchen, he grabbed a handful of snacks and slipped into the backyard. The cool night air washed over him, bringing a sense of relief. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself, telling himself it was just a joke, a strange way for the man to bond with him. But deep down, he couldn't shake off the feeling that there was more to it.

As he leaned against the fence, popping a chip into his mouth, he heard the soft click of the door opening behind him. He turned to see Mr. Smith stepping out, the leather gloves stark against the moonlit patio. The smile was gone, replaced by an expression that sent a cold shiver down Lars' spine.

"I see you couldn't stay away from the mischief," Mr. Smith said, his voice as smooth as the leather he wore. "Your mother mentioned something about the cookie jar being empty again."

Lars' eyes went wide with panic. He hadn't been caught, had he? He tried to form words, to explain, to apologize, but the sight of the gloves froze his tongue. Before he could utter a sound, Mr. Smith's hand shot out, the leather clamping around his mouth with surprising force.

The pressure was firm but not painful, the leather cool and oddly comforting against his skin. He felt Mr. Smith's other hand on the back of his head, holding him in place as he struggled to break free. But there was something else, a strange thrill that bubbled up from the pit of his stomach. He hadn't felt this way before, a mix of fear and excitement that was utterly intoxicating. His eyes searched Mr. Smith's, looking for an answer, for some clue to the game being played.

Mr. Smith leaned in, his breath hot on Lars' ear. "You like that, don't you?" His voice was a whisper, a taunt. "You've been a bad boy, Lars. And bad boys need to be taught a lesson."

Lars felt a thrill of anticipation, his heart racing. He nodded, his breath muffled by the leather. He didn't know what was going to happen next, but he knew he didn't want it to stop. The knot in his stomach grew tighter, the thrill of the unknown pulsing through him.

Mr. Smith stepped closer, his body pressing against Lars. The teenager could feel the man's heat, his power, and he realized with a jolt that he was enjoying this. The gloved hand tightened around his mouth, and Lars' eyes widened as the leather muffled his moan. The thrill grew, the world around them fading away until all that remained was the two of them, the gloves, and the promise of a lesson to come.

"Shhh boy," Mr. Smith murmured, his eyes gleaming. "Now, let's go someplace private." He led Lars by the shoulder, guiding him back into the house. The kitchen was empty, the guests still engrossed in their conversations. They moved swiftly and silently, the only sound the soft patter of Lars' heart and the swish of the leather gloves against his skin.

They reached a small, unused pantry. The door clicked shut behind them, plunging them into near darkness. Mr. Smith released his grip on Lars' mouth, but before the boy could speak, the man's hand clamped down again, pressing the leather into his mouth more firmly. The scent of leather filled his nostrils, and he found himself taking deep breaths, savoring the smell.

"What do you think, Lars?" Mr. Smith asked, his voice low and intense. "Could I have taken you away without anyone noticing?"

The words sent a shiver down Lars' spine, but instead of fear, he felt a thrill. He nodded, his eyes never leaving Mr. Smith's. The idea of being taken, of being completely under the man's control, was terrifying, yet incredibly alluring. He mumbled a response around the glove, the sound muffled but clear. "Yeah, I guess you could've."

Mr. Smith leaned in, his breath hot and heavy against Lars' cheek. "What if I told you that you could experience that? To be taken, taught a lesson, and then returned, none the wiser?"

Lars' heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing with the possibilities. The glove was still in his mouth, and he found himself nodding again, the leather pressing against his teeth and tongue. It was as if the very act of being silenced made the words more potent, the idea more tempting. "Sounds pretty cool," he managed to mumble.

Mr. Smith chuckled, the sound deep and rich. "I knew you'd see it that way." He removed the glove, and Lars took a deep, gulping breath. "But for now," the man continued, his eyes gleaming in the dim light, "you have to keep it our little secret."

The party sounds from the other room grew louder as Mr. Smith opened the pantry door. "Remember, Lars," he whispered, his breath tickling the teenager's ear, "I'll be watching. And maybe, if you're a very good boy and don't tell anyone about our little chat, I'll give you a special treat when you visit me next weekend."

With a final pat on the shoulder, Mr. Smith slipped back into the crowd, leaving Lars standing there, the leather taste still lingering in his mouth. He couldn't believe what had just happened, but he knew it was no ordinary chat. It was a promise, a dare, and Lars felt himself drawn to the idea of the weekend visit with a mix of fear and anticipation.

The rest of the night was a blur, his thoughts consumed by the leather and Mr. Smith's words. He found it hard to focus on the party, his mind replaying the conversation over and over. When the guests finally left and the house grew quiet, Lars lay in bed, the gloves still in his mind, the thrill of the forbidden whispering through his veins like a drug.

An interesting opening tale. I can see Lars having adventures with Mr Smith.

pssst84@web.de wrote: 6 months ago "These are some cool gloves, Mr. Smith," Lars said, his curiosity piqued by the smooth leather. He studied the gloves as the man's hands moved in a hypnotic rhythm.

Mr. Smith looked down at them, a knowing smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Thanks, Lars. They serve me well." The room felt a degree warmer as his eyes met the teenager's.

Lars' parents had been busy entertaining the other guests in the living room. The house was alive with the murmur of adult conversation and the clinking of glasses. He hadn't expected to find Mr. Smith, a guest of his parents, alone with him in the study, but here they were.

The man leaned in, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, Lars, I use these gloves for a very special purpose." A hint of something dark danced in his eyes, but Lars couldn't quite place it.

Mr. Smith's smile grew wider, his teeth flashing like a predator's. "They help me with my work."

"What kind of work?" Lars' voice was steady, but a knot began to form in his stomach.

"The kind that deals with...let's say, boys who have been a little too naughty for their own good." The man's words hung in the air, thick with implication.

Lars swallowed hard, his eyes flicking from the gloves to Mr. Smith's face. "What do you mean?"

"You know, the kind of boys who don't listen to their parents, who stay out too late, or who tell lies." The man's eyes narrowed, his gaze boring into Lars. "Sometimes, they need to be taught a lesson."

The room seemed to close in around them as the conversation took a disturbing turn. The laughter from the living room grew faint, drowned out by the sound of Lars' own racing heart.

Mr. Smith leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. "But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Lars?"

Lars' thoughts raced. He'd been caught sneaking out a few times, sure, but that wasn't so bad, was it? "I've been good, Mr. Smith," he managed to reply, trying to keep the tremor from his voice.

The man's smile never wavered. "Good," he said, his voice a low purr. "But if you ever decide to be naughty..." He raised his gloved hands, fingers flexing like a cat ready to pounce. "Just remember, I'll be watching."

The party droned on, and Lars found it impossible to ignore the weight of Mr. Smith's words. He felt them like a shadow at the edge of his vision, a constant reminder of the gloves and their purpose. The warmth of the room became stifling, and the laughter of the adults grated on his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. He needed to escape.

Making his way to the kitchen, he grabbed a handful of snacks and slipped into the backyard. The cool night air washed over him, bringing a sense of relief. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself, telling himself it was just a joke, a strange way for the man to bond with him. But deep down, he couldn't shake off the feeling that there was more to it.

As he leaned against the fence, popping a chip into his mouth, he heard the soft click of the door opening behind him. He turned to see Mr. Smith stepping out, the leather gloves stark against the moonlit patio. The smile was gone, replaced by an expression that sent a cold shiver down Lars' spine.

"I see you couldn't stay away from the mischief," Mr. Smith said, his voice as smooth as the leather he wore. "Your mother mentioned something about the cookie jar being empty again."

Lars' eyes went wide with panic. He hadn't been caught, had he? He tried to form words, to explain, to apologize, but the sight of the gloves froze his tongue. Before he could utter a sound, Mr. Smith's hand shot out, the leather clamping around his mouth with surprising force.

The pressure was firm but not painful, the leather cool and oddly comforting against his skin. He felt Mr. Smith's other hand on the back of his head, holding him in place as he struggled to break free. But there was something else, a strange thrill that bubbled up from the pit of his stomach. He hadn't felt this way before, a mix of fear and excitement that was utterly intoxicating. His eyes searched Mr. Smith's, looking for an answer, for some clue to the game being played.

Mr. Smith leaned in, his breath hot on Lars' ear. "You like that, don't you?" His voice was a whisper, a taunt. "You've been a bad boy, Lars. And bad boys need to be taught a lesson."

Lars felt a thrill of anticipation, his heart racing. He nodded, his breath muffled by the leather. He didn't know what was going to happen next, but he knew he didn't want it to stop. The knot in his stomach grew tighter, the thrill of the unknown pulsing through him.

Mr. Smith stepped closer, his body pressing against Lars. The teenager could feel the man's heat, his power, and he realized with a jolt that he was enjoying this. The gloved hand tightened around his mouth, and Lars' eyes widened as the leather muffled his moan. The thrill grew, the world around them fading away until all that remained was the two of them, the gloves, and the promise of a lesson to come.

"Shhh boy," Mr. Smith murmured, his eyes gleaming. "Now, let's go someplace private." He led Lars by the shoulder, guiding him back into the house. The kitchen was empty, the guests still engrossed in their conversations. They moved swiftly and silently, the only sound the soft patter of Lars' heart and the swish of the leather gloves against his skin.

They reached a small, unused pantry. The door clicked shut behind them, plunging them into near darkness. Mr. Smith released his grip on Lars' mouth, but before the boy could speak, the man's hand clamped down again, pressing the leather into his mouth more firmly. The scent of leather filled his nostrils, and he found himself taking deep breaths, savoring the smell.

"What do you think, Lars?" Mr. Smith asked, his voice low and intense. "Could I have taken you away without anyone noticing?"

The words sent a shiver down Lars' spine, but instead of fear, he felt a thrill. He nodded, his eyes never leaving Mr. Smith's. The idea of being taken, of being completely under the man's control, was terrifying, yet incredibly alluring. He mumbled a response around the glove, the sound muffled but clear. "Yeah, I guess you could've."

Mr. Smith leaned in, his breath hot and heavy against Lars' cheek. "What if I told you that you could experience that? To be taken, taught a lesson, and then returned, none the wiser?"

Lars' heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing with the possibilities. The glove was still in his mouth, and he found himself nodding again, the leather pressing against his teeth and tongue. It was as if the very act of being silenced made the words more potent, the idea more tempting. "Sounds pretty cool," he managed to mumble.

Mr. Smith chuckled, the sound deep and rich. "I knew you'd see it that way." He removed the glove, and Lars took a deep, gulping breath. "But for now," the man continued, his eyes gleaming in the dim light, "you have to keep it our little secret."

The party sounds from the other room grew louder as Mr. Smith opened the pantry door. "Remember, Lars," he whispered, his breath tickling the teenager's ear, "I'll be watching. And maybe, if you're a very good boy and don't tell anyone about our little chat, I'll give you a special treat when you visit me next weekend."

With a final pat on the shoulder, Mr. Smith slipped back into the crowd, leaving Lars standing there, the leather taste still lingering in his mouth. He couldn't believe what had just happened, but he knew it was no ordinary chat. It was a promise, a dare, and Lars felt himself drawn to the idea of the weekend visit with a mix of fear and anticipation.

The rest of the night was a blur, his thoughts consumed by the leather and Mr. Smith's words. He found it hard to focus on the party, his mind replaying the conversation over and over. When the guests finally left and the house grew quiet, Lars lay in bed, the gloves still in his mind, the thrill of the forbidden whispering through his veins like a drug.

Great start, I can't wait to read what happens next.

Love it so far. I‘m curious where this will go…

great opening!

I hope, that Lars and Mr. Smith will meet again.

A fun opening!

Very well done! Eagerly awaiting part 2. Thank you for this!

Thank you for all the nice responces!

PART 2

In the quiet, suburban street, the house at the end stood out like a forgotten toy. Its once vibrant colors had faded to a mottled grey, and the garden grew wild, as if it had been reclaimed by the earth. The shingles on the roof looked like they hadn't seen the sun in years, and the windows were clouded with dust and cobwebs. This was Mr. Smith's house, or so Lars had been told. He approached the gate with a sense of unease, gripping the handle of his bike tightly.

The gate squealed in protest as he pushed it open. The sound echoed through the deserted street, making Lars feel like a trespasser in a ghost town. He wheeled his bike through the overgrown path, the tall grass brushing against his legs, and parked it beside the house. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, and approached the front door. The doorbell was broken, so he knocked instead, the sound echoing through the emptiness. There was no answer, not even the patter of footsteps from within. He checked his watch; it was well past the time Mr. Smith had said he would be home.

Curiosity piqued, Lars decided to look around back. Maybe Mr. Smith was tinkering in the garden shed, or had dozed off on a lawn chair in the sun. As he rounded the corner, the sight of the overgrown yard took him aback. It was a jungle out here, a stark contrast to the meticulously trimmed lawns of his neighbors. He stepped carefully, not wanting to disturb the hidden life that had claimed this space as its own. The smell of damp earth and rotting leaves filled the air, hinting at secrets just beneath the surface.

Just as he was about to call out again, a hand clamped over his mouth from behind. His heart leapt into his throat, and he tried to scream, but the sound was muffled by the tight grip. A man in black, wearing a ski mask and tight-fitting leather gloves, had crept up on him silently. Panic flooded through Lars' body as he struggled to break free, his eyes darting around for an escape. The gloved hand was firm.

"You've got the wrong house, kid," the masked man whispered in his ear, his voice low and gruff. The smell of stale cigarette smoke and something metallic filled Lars' nostrils, making him gag. His eyes watered, and he nodded frantically, trying to convey understanding. The man's grip loosened slightly, but not enough for Lars to get away.

Lars' heart raced as he took in the situation. He hadn't been expecting to be silenced like this, in surprise. But as the panic subsided, he felt something else—a thrill. He'd always had a thing for the dramatic, and this was certainly more excitement than he'd ever felt in his otherwise mundane life. The feeling of danger was intoxicating, a sudden rush of adrenaline that made him feel alive.

Mr. Smith's grip was firm but not painful, and Lars allowed himself to be guided into the house. The living room was a mess of newspapers and takeout containers, a stark contrast to the pristine exterior he had always seen.

Inside the house, Mr. Smith led Lars to a dimly lit hallway, the air thick with dust and the faint smell of something burnt. "Quiet," he hissed, his hand still over Lars' mouth. His eyes darted around, searching for something, or someone. Lars nodded again, his curiosity growing with each step. They reached a door at the end of the hall, and Mr. Smith fumbled with a set of keys before unlocking it.

With a gentle shove, Mr. Smith pushed Lars into a small, cluttered room that looked like a cross between a study and a junkyard. The walls were lined with bookshelves, but the books were haphazardly stacked, as if they had been hastily shoved into place to hide something. The floor was littered with wires and gadgets that looked like they had been ripped from their original purposes. In the center of the room, a single light bulb hung from the ceiling, casting eerie shadows across the floor.


"I said quiet," Mr. Smith hissed, his grip on Lars tightening. He pulled out a set of zipties from his pocket and began to bind Lars' hands behind his back, then his feet and legs together. Lars' excitement grew with each tug of the plastic, his mind racing with thoughts of the adventure he had stumbled upon. This was not what he had expected from a simple weekend visit, but the thrill of the unknown was a welcome change.

The masked man stepped back to survey his work, his eyes narrowing as he took in the struggling teenager. "You're going to be a problem," he murmured to himself. He reached out and placed his gloved hand over Lars' mouth again, cutting off any potential protest. The touch was cold and unyielding, sending a shiver down Lars' spine.

Lars nodded vigorously, his eyes wide with excitement. He didn't know what was happening, but he knew it was something big. The room was silent, save for the sound of their ragged breaths. Mr. Smith leaned in close, his voice barely a whisper. "Do exactly as I say, and you'll be fine. Nod if you understand."

The hand over his mouth was lifted, and Lars took a deep breath. "I understand," he whispered back, his voice shaking with the thrill of the situation. The masked man's eyes searched his, looking for any sign of fear or resistance. Finding none, he nodded and moved to a desk in the corner of the room.

Mr. Smith pulled out a yellow sponge ball, the kind Lars had seen in magic shops downtown. His curiosity spiked as the man approached him, holding the sponge delicately in his gloved hand. "This won't hurt," Mr. Smith murmured, his voice calm and steady. "But you can't make a sound, okay?"


With surprising gentleness, Mr. Smith pushed the sponge into Lars' mouth. It was dry and tasted faintly of rubber. Lars gagged a little as the man's cold, gloved fingers probed his mouth, pushing the sponge further in. Each attempt was met with a little resistance from Lars, his tongue fighting the intrusion, but he remained silent, his eyes locked on the masked figure.

Finally, the sponge filled his mouth completely, and Mr. Smith stepped back, nodding in satisfaction. He took a roll of duct tape and tore off a strip, sealing Lars' lips shut. The sound of the tape ripping through the air made Lars' heart skip a beat. He was truly silenced now, unable to speak or call for help, his eyes wide with excitement and a hint of fear.

Mr. Smith's eyes narrowed as he leaned in close. "Remember what I said, Lars. No noise," he whispered, his breath hot against the teenager's cheek. He stepped back and surveyed his handiwork, the tape smooth over Lars' mouth, outlining the shape of the sponge beneath. The room was tense, the air thick with the anticipation of what was to come.

Lars tried to speak, the muffled sound barely escaping the tape. He was surprised by the urge to test Mr. Smith's patience, a rebellious streak he had never felt before. But the words were lost in the sticky embrace of the duct tape, and all that remained was the frantic movement of his mouth and the sound of his breath muffled by the sponge.

"I told you," Mr. Smith said, his voice a mix of annoyance and amusement, "naughty boys don't get to talk."


He pulled a smartphone from his pocket and began to record. The camera lens stared at Lars like a cyclops eye, capturing his every move. "Listen up," Mr. Smith began, speaking to an invisible audience. "This is Lars, the little snoop who thought he could just wander into my house without an invitation."

Lars felt the hand cover his mouth again as Mr. Smith's voice grew more intense. "I've got him now," the man continued, "and I'll be keeping him safe... for a price, of course." He paused dramatically, allowing the words to hang in the air like a noose waiting to tighten.

The hand lifted, and Lars took a deep breath, his eyes sparkling with excitement. He knew he had to play his part, had to sell the fear. He screamed as loud as he could, the sound muffled by the sponge. It came out as a strange, gargling cry that filled the room.

Mr. Smith rolled his eyes and pulled a black stocking from the mess on the desk. He moved behind Lars, and for a brief moment, Lars felt the coolness of the fabric against his cheek before it was yanked over his head. The world went dark, the fabric clinging to his nose and mouth, making it difficult to breathe. The smell of dirty laundry filled his nostrils, adding to the authenticity of his fear.

The man's voice grew closer, whispering in his ear. "Now, now, don't be dramatic. You're just here for a little while. Think of it as an adventure." His words were soothing, almost kind, but the tension in the room was palpable.

Lars felt the sticky embrace of the duct tape again, this time around his eyes. The masked man was thorough, wrapping it tightly to ensure not a sliver of light could penetrate. The room was now a cocoon of darkness, the only sounds his own ragged breaths and the occasional rustle of Mr. Smith moving about.


When the tape was in place, Mr. Smith stepped back and resumed his recording. "As you can see, I'm not a man to be trifled with. You've got twenty-four hours to get the money together. If you want him back in one piece, you'll do exactly as I say. No cops. No funny business."

The recording stopped, and Lars heard the phone being placed back on the desk. The silence was deafening. His heart hammered against his ribs as he waited for what came next.

The floor beneath him creaked as Mr. Smith approached. He could feel the man's breath on his cheek, and then, without warning, the hand clamped over his mouth once more. The thrill of the situation was still there, but now it was tinged with a hint of doubt. Was this all a game? Or was there something darker happening here?

Mr. Smith's voice was a low growl now, the playfulness gone. "You're going to be quiet, aren't you, Lars?" He waited for a nod, and when it came, the hand was removed. The room was still for a moment before the sound of tape being torn again filled the void.

The tape was cold and sticky as it was wound around Lars' head, sealing his eyes shut and pressing down on the stocking. The pressure was intense, and for a moment, he thought he might suffocate. The excitement was giving way to a new emotion: fear.

When Mr. Smith was done, he stepped back. "Perfect," he murmured, his voice a mix of satisfaction and something else Lars couldn't quite place. "Now, let's get comfortable, shall we?"

Lars felt himself being lifted from the chair, the plastic ties cutting into his wrists as his body was maneuvered. He was placed on something soft and cold—a couch, perhaps—and then the world went black as the man disappeared from the room, leaving him in silence.

The darkness was absolute, the only sensation the sticky tape against his skin and the pressure of the sponge in his mouth. He had no idea what was happening outside this little bubble, but he knew one thing for sure: this was going to be a weekend he would never forget.

Lars has been kidnapped for ransom. A promising adventure.

Still amazing

I‘m excited to see where this is going

Shaping up nicely. I wonder what Mr. Smith has in store for Lars...

Poor Lars... It's just a beginning... Does mister Smith plan to use the ropes in the future?

Lars has been naughty and needs to learn to obey his betters before it's to late.

Lars is such a sweetheart but now it seems he is learning his lessons too late. Great story, can't wait for it to continue.

I love how this is written. I just can’t quite decide if this is a game or not. I hope it continues.

Agreed. @pssst84@web.de is a very gifted writer.