Evan was over at my place, and he’d commandeered my TV again. He started doing that lately when we hung out after a shift, just background noise, but his YouTube algorithm had decided that today it was going to show us escape artists doing their thing. Some guy in a vest in chains and a locked box, lots of dramatic breathing while the audience pretended they weren’t sure how this was going to end.
“This is what you watch?” I said.
“This is what the internet thinks I watch.” He took a swig of his beer. “There’s a difference.”
I watched the guy on screen work through his chains with a razor sharp, over dramatic focus that the comments seemed to be eating up. “I could do that,” I said.
Evan looked at me. “Sure,” he said, sarcastically.
“I’m serious! It’s misdirection. You’re watching the chains, not the hands.”
“So you’ve studied this.”
“I’ve seen it on TV. Same thing.”
He looked at me for a second with his eyebrow slightly raised, then set his beer down. I smirked. I had him.
“Go get your rope, I know it’s in your car.”
“My rope?”
“You climb, right? So you have rope in your car. Don’t pretend you don’t. I bet if you tied me up in that I’ll get out no problem.”
He just laughed, said “Alright,” and got up to go to his car. The door clicked shut and I started running through everything I knew about knots in my head. Well, everything I thought I knew. The futon we’d been sitting on in my living room was one of those older metal frame ones, the kind with chunky bars across each end that the previous tenant had left behind and I’d never gotten around to replacing. I unfolded it while Evan was at his car, shoved the coffee table out of the way, and sat down in the middle of it with my legs crossed. If we were doing this, we were going to do it right.
The door opened, and Evan came back in with the coil of rope over his shoulder. He looked at the futon, then at me, then back at the futon.
“What?” I asked.
“You want me to tie you up on that thing?”
“Obviously. It’s got anchor points. More realistic.”
He shrugged, “If you say so.” He untied the rope, and it landed with a solid thud on my floor. Heavier than I thought it would be, but I didn’t really think about rope at all before tonight. It was just one long continuous climbing rope, which seemed like it’d make things awkward, but he was the climber here, so I laid back and let him do his thing. I put my hands together above my head, straightening my legs and putting my heels together, just like I’d seen those escape artists do.
He started with my wrists. I could barely see him working on them except for the concentration on his face. I felt him loop the rope patiently, methodically, wrapping it around my wrists in a way that felt more structured than I’d expected. He looped the rope between my wrists, too, clinching the whole thing into something that felt more serious than I was mentally preparing for. Then he pulled and I felt my arms lock in as my wrists were bound to the top bar of the futon. I flexed my hands experimentally. There was a little give, but not much.
It was around this point that I registered what I was actually wearing. Tank top, sports bra, booty shorts. A completely reasonable outfit for a weeknight after work in my own apartment, not exactly what you’d choose for lying spread out on a futon getting tied up with climbing rope. I looked down and noticed my tank top had ridden up, with my arms bound above my head, exposing my midriff.
Okay. This was fine.
He looped the rope through the frame of the futon, expertly using the same length to do everything. He got to my ankles and he started to wrap them the same way, but then he stopped, looking at my feet together, and without a word he took one of them and moved it toward the corner of the frame.
“Hey-“
“Your legs are stronger than your arms,” he said, already looping the rope around my ankle. “If I bind them together you’ll just brute force the bottom loose.”
I opened my mouth to say he was full of shit, but he was right – that’s exactly what I was going to do. I closed it. The fact that he’d already thought about how I specifically would try to escape sat in my chest. “Alright,” I said.
He finished tying my left ankle to the corner, crossed the rope to the other side, moved my right leg out to match, and tied that one off too. I pulled my legs a little; they were just as secure as my wrists. I took a breath. My shorts were not built for this, I could feel them riding up and I had no idea just how much he could see. Then he stood up and looked over his work, and apparently found it satisfactory.
“Okay,” he said. “Go for it.”
There wasn’t much slack in my wrists, but there was some, so I started there. I rotated them, pulled them, tried to get my fingers to latch onto a knot, a strand, something that I could tug and start to undo. The rope was thick and it had texture, it was real climbing rope after all, not the soft stuff you’d see in a movie. It just wasn’t giving the way I needed it to, but I kept trying.
I shifted my attention to the frame, looking for a different angle. If I could get enough leverage maybe I could work the rope up toward the end of the bar, find a corner to use. I pulled hard, testing it. The frame creaked but held and the rope didn’t move. I pulled again. Same result, this time with my arms getting sore.
I tried my ankles next, which was harder to do since I couldn’t see them properly. I flexed my feet, pointed them, rotated my ankles the way I assumed you were supposed to. There was even less give down there than at my wrists. Evan really knew what he was doing. Both feet would need to work together, and mine couldn’t.
I let out a slow breath and stared at the ceiling. This was more difficult than I thought it’d be. Not impossible, I wasn’t ready to admit that, just more difficult. My heart was going faster than the effort justified, and I was warm in a way that had nothing to do with trying. I told myself there had to be something I was missing, some weak point in the system that I hadn’t found yet. I just needed to think about it differently.
“How’s that going?” Evan asked from somewhere in the room I couldn’t see.
“Fine,” I said too quickly.
“You sure? You’ve got kind of a-“
“I said fine!”
He didn’t push it, but I could hear that smirk of his in his voice. I went back to my wrists, starting over. Rotating, wriggling, pulling… Then my fingers found something. A loop, loose where the rope doubled back on itself near the bar, just long enough to get two fingers through and pull. I pulled. Something in the knot shifted, something small. Not enough to matter yet, but something.
Then I felt his hand, closing around my ankle.
“What are you doing,” I said, flatly.
“Seeing if you’re going to stop me.”
“Clearly I can’t,” I said, though those words did something to my stomach. I went back to working on that loop of rope. I was not about to fall for one of his distraction tactics, not when I was finally getting somewhere. His hand moved slowly but deliberately, tracing up my calf, past my knee, to the inside of my thigh just below the hem of my shorts, and it stopped there. I felt my breath catch and I evened it out before it could mean anything.
I kept pulling, wriggling that strand of rope. He was trying to change the game on me now that he noticed I was winning.
His thumb moved in a slow circle against my inner thigh and my stomach tightened. I kept my fingers on the rope. He shifted, and I felt his weight settle on the edge of the futon near my hip. His other hand found my stomach just above my waistband, fingers spread, not moving, just there. I was actively not thinking about it.
“Still working on the wrists?” he asked.
“Obviously.”
“Any progress?”
My fingers were still threaded through the loop. I was still pulling it, slowly, carefully, trying not to let anything show in my face, trying to steady my breathing. “I’m getting there,” I said, hoping it didn’t come out too shaky.
His hand on my stomach shifted, fingers brushing up under the hem of my tank top against bare skin, and I felt it everywhere. I kept focusing on the loop, like my life depended on it. His hand on my inner thigh moved again, higher this time, and the loop slipped out of my fingers.
I felt my jaw tighten. I took a breath, too shaky for my liking, reached my hands up and found the bar above my head, gripping it. It wasn’t the loop I was working on, but it was something to hold onto. “I know what you’re doing,” I said.
“What am I doing?”
“Don’t play dumb. You’re trying to break my focus.”
“Is it working?”
“No.” I went back to searching for the loop, fingers moving along the rope, trying to find where it had gone. His hand shifted on my thigh again and my mind blanked on that task, my eyelids fluttering just for a second before I got back on track. “I’m still in this.”
“I know,” he said, like it was the most entertaining thing I’d said all night. He was so patient, unbothered, so sure of himself. Something in me snapped. I turned my head to look at him for the first time since he’d sat down. He looked insufferably calm.
“You can do whatever you want to me,” I said. “I’m still getting out of this.”
Now it was his turn to look surprised. “Whatever I want, huh?”
My cheeks flushed. I looked back up to my wrists on the metal bar. “Yup.” It came out quieter than I wanted.
I felt him move his hand from my thigh, then his weight shifted as he swung his leg over my waist to straddle me. I swallowed, still trying to find that loop again. Both his hands slid under my top, pushing higher, shoving that and my sports bra up as his hands cupped my tits. Shit, he was really doing this. My heart pounded as I felt my nipples hard under his palms. He squeezed them firmly, his thumbs rubbing inward to flick my nipples.
“Oh fuck,” I breathed, before I could stop the words.
“You asked for it,” he said, low with a small laugh.
I didn’t answer. His fingers played with my nipples, rolling and pinching them, making my hips squirm. I was acutely aware of my body being held firmly in place by his rope no matter how I reacted. Then he leaned down, his mouth closing over my left tit, flicking my nipple with his tongue before suckling on it. I gasped, heat flooded through my body. My fingers grasped at nothing, the loose rope strand a distant memory at this point. All I could think about was his mouth on my tit, my hands and ankles locked in place, stopping me from pushing him away or bringing him closer or doing anything except lying there and taking it.
His mouth opened and released my tit with a wet popping sound. “Still focused?” he asked, his voice amused.
“Y-yeah,” I managed. Like I was fooling anyone.
He moved lower, settling between my legs, his hands leaving my tits. He hooked his fingers in the crotch of my shorts, pulling them aside, dragging his fingertips along my lips and making me gasp. I didn’t realize how sensitive I’d gotten. “Jesus, you’re wet,” he muttered, almost to himself. He rubbed slow circles over my clit, then slid one finger inside me, curling it.
“Mmh,” I moaned, shutting my eyes.
He just kept his finger inside me, making me clench around him while he stroked my pussy. A second finger joined it, and he started pumping me steadily while his thumb kept working my clit. Fuck, he was good at this too. My back arched from the futon, my ankles straining against the rope. I couldn’t squirm the way I wanted to, I couldn’t close my legs, couldn’t do anything but feel him finger fucking me and building the pressure in my pussy. All I could do was moan “Ah… God… fuck…” as my own helplessness made something primal twist in my mind. Being bound, spread open and used like this was short-circuiting every competitive thought I had left.
I felt my pussy clench hard on his fingers, my clit buzzing as he rubbed it, and then I was cumming. “Holy f- mmmph…!” I bit my lip as I convulsed, keeping as much of it contained as I could, but my whole body jerked against the restraints which just added to the intensity of my orgasm. I squeezed my eyes shut, turning my head to the side, but there was no hiding what he’d done to me. My hands balled up above my head, my toes curled, and I moaned helplessly into my arm.
“Still thinking you’ll get out of this?” Evan asked, his voice rough.
“Yes…” It came out as a broken moan, my body still wrestling with aftershocks.
He slid his fingers out of my pussy, and I heard the clink of his belt, then the slide of his zipper. He shifted between my legs. My head was still turned into my arm, but I opened my eyes and looked down at my body, towards him, from the side. I saw my ragged body; my tank top and bra shoved up above my tits, my shorts pulled aside, my legs tied wide open, and I saw him stroking his cock, thick and hard. My heart slammed against my chest. I knew exactly what was coming, and the ropes made it impossible to do anything but wait for it. I was faintly aware of myself not telling him to stop. Not saying anything, really.
“You told me to do whatever I want,” he said. My pussy twisted, he didn’t have to say anything else. He lined himself up, and I couldn’t help but turn my head back to watch him. I saw his cock pressed to my aching pussy, and I felt my hips move as much as they could against him. He grabbed my hip, pressed closer, and made me feel every inch of him as he slid inside.
“Fuck, Evan…” I moaned as he bottomed out, way too easily. I felt so stretched, so wet. Then he started thrusting, pulling out and pushing back inside, coating his cock in my wetness, the sound of my pussy taking his cock way too loud. The futon creaked, the rope bit into my skin with each pull of my body against it. I was helpless, bound tight, reduced to nothing but taking his cock. It lit me up from the inside, being used like this, overwhelming my brain. “Ah… mmph… fuck… yes…” I moaned without even thinking anymore, arching into him and rocking my hips against his.
His cock hit me deep, and I looked into his eyes as he fucked me. I still couldn’t move my arm to hold him, couldn’t wrap my legs around him, all I could do was clench my pussy on his cock and cum again, hard. “Ahh… God… fuck…!” I saw white this time, and I didn’t hold back my scream this time as I came on him. He just kept fucking me through it, breaking me a little more with each thrust into my pussy. He grunted, fucking me harder, faster, and I tried with every fiber of my being to pull past the ropes and claw his back, squeeze his waist, anything but keep being bound where I was. It only made me cum harder.
He leaned down, his hand resting next to my arms, looking at me as he kept pumping into me deep. My mouth was open, still letting out “ah”s in sync with his hips, my whole body one raw nerve. His hand grasped and squeezed my tit, and I clenched on him. “Please…” I said, softly. He leaned in and kissed me, hard, and I moaned into his mouth while I bucked my hips into him. He pressed his cock deep, urgently, once, then twice, then a third time as he pulsed and started pumping his cum deep into me, making me cum all over again, with him this time.
Evan stayed buried deep as the last pulses faded, both of us breathing hard. The rope still held me stretched and exposed, warm cum slowly leaking out around him.
He finally pulled out slowly. I felt the slick mess between my thighs and the lingering ache in every restrained limb. He looked down at me, a lazy smirk tugging at his mouth.
“Are you gonna untie me now, or…?”
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