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by TobyTickler
This story is a work of fiction, all characters and plot lines are fictional. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Rope Float remains the property of the author. The story or characters may not be reproduced or republished elsewhere without the expressed written consent of the author.
"So when I wear my bondage trousers, that means I'm tied up?" Simon asked, incredulously. He was referring to the tight red punk pants he liked to wear out at night.
"No, but when you're tied up you're in bondage," Jason replied.
"I've never been tied up," said Simon.
It was July of 1985 and we were walking along a quayside in Puerto Banus - Simon, Jason and me. British kids in Spain, we all wore shorts and flip-flops. I wore a T-shirt to protect my pale, freckly, Celtic skin from sunburn. Jason and Simon went shirtless. They had more natural melanin in their skin, and were nicely tanned. Simon was sleek and wiry, a natural swimmer, his brown hair lightened by the application of lemon juice. Jason, also 14, spent term time back at a sports-oriented boarding school in the U.K. He had a rugby player's physique - broad shoulders, flat stomach, tapered waist. His masculine body set off a face that was almost pretty - curly hair that was naturally blonde, deep brown eyes under long lashes, and a ready, dimpled smile that drove the girls - and not just the girls - wild.
The subject of bondage had come up when we had walked past a revue bar that specialised in raunchy cabaret. There were always pictures from the previous night's show posted on a board outside. They were often titillating and we always checked them out. On this fateful occasion, there was a photo of a well-muscled man in a leopardskin loincloth, his hands tied behind his back, being led on a leash by a woman dressed in ostrich feathers and a flowing cloak. We had gaped at the photo for several minutes. We may have been living in Spain, and in a glitzy resort like Banus, but none of us were exactly products of permissive Latin culture.
I was the oldest of the bunch, at 15, but Jason was the most wordly. He explained that there were certain people who liked to be tied up, or to tie people up, and that this was called "bondage". I received this information quietly. I already knew that I was one of these people, although I wasn't ready to let on! Simon, on the other hand, couldn't conceive of such a thing.
"They must be perverts," he insisted. Jason and I exchanged a glance. We had played a tie-up game together once, during a sleep over at his house. I had initiated it, but he had been a willing participant.
"Oh, yeah," I said. "Total perverts!"
Jason laughed.
"What's so funny?" Simon asked.
Jason just shook his head. We walked past a restaurant where Simon worked some nights as a kitchen boy. A waiter whistled him over for a few words.
Jason and me walked on, slowly.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Jason said.
"If it involves Simon and a coil of rope, yes I think I am!"
"Let's tie him up," Jason insisted.
"Okay - when?"
"Today. Once we get out to sea."
We were going to take my dad's speedboat out for a spin on the Med. We did it most days in the summer - my dad let me keep the keys.
"Okay," I said. "When I give the signal, we jump him."
Jason shushed me - Simon was catching up with us again.
The thing about boats is - there's always plenty of rope on board. Once we got out of the Puerto Banus marina, we let Simon drive. He always wanted to drive, so he was happy. He liked to head straight out to sea, bow first into the waves, the choppier the better. It wasn't especially rough that day - it was a moderately bumpy ride. I went down into the small cabin and selected two pieces of white cotton rope that was usually used to attach fenders. Then Simon jerked the steering wheel left then right- we often did that when someone was in the cabin, to noise them up. I kept my balance but saw my chance!
I banged the underside of the deck and yelled as if I had hurt my head.
I heard Simon laugh. He jerked the wheel left and right again.
"Stop! Stop!" I shouted.
"Better stop", I heard Jason say.
Simon slowed the boat, then killed the engine. He popped his head through the cabin door.
"Now!" I shouted.
Jason pushed Simon from behind. I grabbed him and propelled him forward, until he was face-down on one of the two bunks in the cabin. I knelt, straddling Simon's backside. I pulled his hands behind him and held them together in the small of his back. Jason jumped on his legs.
"What are you doing, you pair of poofs?" Simon yelled.
"You said you'd never been tied up," I replied. "So we thought we'd give you a new experience."
"No, get off!" Simon said. He struggled a bit, but I thought it was kind of a token. My impression was that he was happy enough to play along.
I had dropped the ropes when I was wrangling Simon into position. Jason scooped them up, and started to tie Simon's bare feet together at the ankles with one of the pieces. When he was finished, Jason passed me the other piece. As I went to take it, Simon snatched his hands from behind his back and tightly clasped his shoulders.
"You're not getting out of this, Si," I said. "Come on - give me your hands."
"Never!" Simon declared.
"Okay," I sighed. "Jason - tickle his feet."
Simon was very ticklish. He bucked and writhed as Jason's fingers assaulted his bare soles. But he couldn't shake both of us, espcially with his ankles roped together. Eventually, he had no option but to breathlessly concede:
"All right! All right! I'll do it. Just stop!"
"Okay," I said. "Put your hands behind your back, and cross your wrists."
Simon did as he was told. I applied several turns of rope, horizontally and vertically, and tied it off with a sailor's knot. Jason and I got up and backed off. Simon twitched a little, testing his bonds. Then he struggled into a sitting position on the edge of the bunk, his feet on the floor. His face was flush and his hair was tousled. He was still breathing heavily from the tickle-assault. The muscles of his stomach were tight, accentuated by the position of his arms behind him.
"So what now?" he asked.
"Well," said Jason. "I was thinking we might go into Marbella for a milkshake!"
© Copyright TobyTickler 2007
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