Sweater Bondage Stories

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Sweater Bondage Stories
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This story has turned into something of an epic. I had expected it
to be relatively short to write up, but it grew to about 10,000 words as I
worked on it. Many parts of the events I describe here are still crystal clear
in my mind, so I have been able to write with a good degree of confidence.
Similarly, some of the conversation is still fresh in my memory and probably
reported close to verbatim. Many of the feelings I describe I also remember
vividly, so while there is undoubtedly some post-facto analysis there, I am
confident that what I have written is true to what I felt at the time. However,
as ever, odd details elude me and, where necessary, I have just reconstructed
them using my imagination.
Following the incident in my previous story, 'Babysitter Blues', in
which my cousin Annie got into enormous trouble for tying us up, my sister
Karen and I intensified our lobbying of our mother to be allowed to use rope in
our tying-up games. After all, we argued, Annie had tied us up with rope and we
had come to no harm. In fact, as Annie had given us her rope supply after that
affair, we were actually lobbying to be allowed to use the rope we already
secretly owned.
Eventually Mum relented and permitted the use of rope, but only after
she had given us a stern lecture on safety and made us both solemnly promise
that we would never, ever, under any circumstances, put ropes around our necks.

The rope Annie had given us was in four long lengths, probably each
something over twenty feet long. My sister and I debated at length whether we
should keep the rope in these lengths or cut it up. Eventually, we decided that
shorter pieces were more practical for tying limbs, but we kept two of the long
lengths intact. The rope itself was a light brown braided (rather than twisted)
rope a little over a quarter of an inch thick. It was very flexible and had a
slightly rough texture, probably hemp, which meant that it could be knotted
very easily and the knots were guaranteed to hold. However, this also made it
very abrasive on bare skin, making our usual precautions with mittens to
protect wrists even more imperative.
Experimenting on each other, Karen and I discovered that rope had to be
applied a little more cautiously than the scarves and old woollen stockings we
had used hitherto. With scarves, the only way to be sure of making the bindings
secure was to pull them as tight as possible, but, with rope, we quickly
learned that the same strategy resulted in painfully tight bonds and, very
likely, bruises as well.
Tying each other up was great fun. We generally used short lengths of
rope to bind wrist, ankles and knees and then to use one of the long lengths
wound around arms and chest; they were long enough to go around nine or ten
times. The result was thoroughly inescapable and very satisfactory both to the
one tying the knots and to the victim.
If we both wanted to be tied up at the same time, we had to rely on our
mother. She was prepared to tie our wrists and ankles with rope but nothing
else (despite our entreaties), on the basis that she couldn't tell is she was
hurting us. We assured her that we would tell her if anything hurt, but to no
avail. Nevertheless, wrist and ankle bindings applied by our Mum were very
effective; unless she made a mistake, such as a poorly-tied or
injudiciously-placed knot, we were never able to escape from them.
Our brother Timothy, three years younger than me, had a strange attitude
to these games played by his peculiar older sisters. He felt that he was
missing out on something we both appeared to enjoy. We had offered to tie him
up at various times, but it turned out that he never enjoyed the actual
experience. He would generally ask to be freed as soon as we had him tied or
sometimes he would ask us to stop before we had progressed far with the tying.

One Sunday afternoon, not having anything better to do, Karen and I
decided to see what it would be like to use our entire rope supply to tie one
of us to a chair. Karen's knots were better than mine and I liked being tied
up, so I volunteered to be the subject of the experiment.
I had already changed out of the smart dress I had worn to church (we
used to dress up quite literally in our 'Sunday best' in those days) and had
put on a comfortable sweater and skirt, but had kept on the white tights I had
worn that morning. (Tights were a new innovation in girls' clothing at that
time, first coming in about 1957 or 58. They were a huge improvement in comfort
over the stockings we wore before that, eliminating both the horrible stocking
suspenders and the chilly gap at the top of the legs.)
If I remember rightly, we had several lengths of rope, each about five
feet long, which we had cut from two of the twenty-foot lengths given to us by
Annie, a few shorter lengths, which were good for tying wrists, and the two
uncut twenty-foot ropes. After some discussion, we decided how we would deploy
it all and I took my seat on one of the two small Windsor chairs Karen and I
had as desk chairs in our bedroom.
I crossed my wrists behind the chair-back and Karen bound them together
horizontally and then vertically. (I was wearing a pair of mittens to protect
my wrists from the rope.) The next length of rope went around my waist and the
arched wooden back of the chair, snaking between the vertical spindles that
formed the chair-back. Karen also fastened my wrist binding off to this rope,
pinning my hands in place behind the chair.
A refinement that we had picked up from our Aunt Lizzie, our mother's
sister, was to tie the upper arms to the chair back. The wooden arch which
forms the back of a Windsor chair was ideal for this as my upper arms lay
naturally along that line. Two more pieces of our rope were used for this, one
for each arm.
Karen tied my ankles back to the front legs of my chair, making sure
that the turns of rope went both above and below the joint where the braces
connecting the chair legs were fixed. She also tied my legs back just below
knee level, the rope going behind the chair leg just under the seat. These
bindings also included several turns of rope over the tops of my knees, holding
them down to the front corners of the chair seat.
There were just the two long lengths of rope left. Karen started by
tying the end of one to the top of the chair-back, just behind my left
shoulder. She brought the rope forward over my shoulder and diagonally across
my chest and round to the back of the chair. She continued winding it around
the chair-back and me and spiralling downwards until she was able to loop it
around the top of the right back leg of the chair. She took it across to the
left back leg, looped it around that and then started spiralling upwards until
she was able to tie off the end of the rope to the top of the chair-back behind
my right shoulder in a neatly symmetrical wrap. What little freedom of movement
I had left in my upper body abruptly vanished.
Karen applied much the same strategy to the last remaining piece of
rope. She tied one end to the top of one of the front legs of the chair then
took it across the tops of my legs to the other side of the chair seat, passed
it under the chair and across my legs. she continued in this way spiralling the
rope over my legs and under the chair seat until she was able to loop the rope
around one of the back legs of the chair. She looped the rope around the
opposite back leg then repeated the spiralling, working towards my knees and
finally fastening the end of the rope off to the front chair leg opposite to
the one where she had started.
I was astounded at just how thoroughly immobilised I was. I could move
my hands, feet and head, but that was about my limit; apart from that I was
completely stuck. Karen had tied the ropes carefully, so that they were secure
but not at all painful. The result was as exciting as I had hoped it would be,
but also quite scary, as I explained to my sister.
"Shall I gag you too?" Karen asked.
I hesitated for a moment before agreeing. It would be silly to miss out
the final detail after going to all that effort. My sister folded one of the
old muslin nappy (diaper) liners we used for this purpose into a thick band and
eased it between my teeth before knotting it off behind my head.
When Karen asked me if I felt all right like that, all I could give her
was a subdued mumble in reply.
"Would you like a blindfold too?" my sister asked, holding up a short
winter scarf.
I decided that being bound and gagged like this was quite intense
enough, so I shook my head.
Our brother Timothy had wandered into my sister's and my bedroom in time
to see tea latter stages of the tie-up and Karen gagging me. He said nothing,
but watched with apparent interest.
When I had been tied up for some minutes (not really struggling: I
couldn't move enough for that), he announced, "I want to be tied up like that
too!"
"I don't think you'd like it, Tim," Karen told him. "I think it's pretty
scary for Becca, and she's used to being tied up."
I nodded my agreement with my sister's assessment.
Timothy was adamant that he wanted to be tied up just the way I was and
insisted that he would enjoy it as much as I seemed to. I made some urgent
noises through my gag to indicate that Karen should remove it.
"Karen's right, Tim," I said as soon as I could speak again. "This is
the most I've ever been tied up and I can't move at all. I really think it
would be too scary for you."
Of course, the more we insisted that Timothy wouldn't like being tied up
like that, the more determined he became and the more he insisted that he
really would like it. In the end we gave in and agreed to tie him up as soon as
Karen had freed me.
It took a while to get me completely untied and to bundle the ropes up
again for future use. While my bonds had not been remotely painful, it felt
very good to be able to move again, although I had probably only been tied up
for twenty minutes between Karen tying the last and starting to release me.

As soon as I was off the chair, Timothy eagerly took my place.
Karen picked up the first coil of rope that she proposed to use, then
paused thoughtfully. "I don't think you should wear your Sunday best for this,"
she told Timothy. He was wearing the clothes he had put on first thing to go to
church: a white shirt with a red tie, a blue sleeveless sweater, the grey
shorts he usually wore for school and a pair of knee-length grey socks.
"You might pop the buttons on your shirt," I pointed out (having
experienced just such a thing myself), "and you'll need something to protect
the skin on your wrists and knees too."
"But I don't have long trousers," Timothy protested. It was true: he
generally wore shorts year-round, with long socks in winter and short in
summer. For really severe weather, such as playing in the snow, Timothy would
wear a snow-suit, but that was hardly practical for this game.
"I know," said Karen brightly, "you can borrow a pair of my tights."

"That would work," I confirmed, "and you'll need a thick sweater too."

"I'll lend him that too," Karen offered. This made sense, for although
Karen was over a year older than me, she was small for her age, much shorter
than me, and therefore closer to Timothy's size.
While Timothy dutifully took his outer layers of clothing off, Karen
rummaged through her chest of drawers for the smallest clothes she could find.
A few minutes later our little brother was dressed somewhat bizarrely in a pair
of black woolly tights and a thick pink sweater that came right down over his
bottom so it looked like a somewhat abbreviated dress (the mini-skirt hadn't
been invented then, so it looked very odd to our eyes). He had been equipped
with two pairs of thick white socks: one pair on his feet, coming up to knee
level, the other pair covering his hands and tucked up inside the sleeves of
the sweater.
Timothy resumed his seat and waited expectantly.
Karen and I set to work to reproduce the tie-up that Karen had used on
me. Timothy was much smaller than me, so the rope formed more coils around him
than it had on me. He was silent as we tied him up, just watching the process
with apparent interest. As she was working, Karen noticed that Timothy was
trembling and asked if he was all right. Our brother assured her that he was
enjoying being tied up, but I thought his voice sounded a little strained.
Once Timothy was completely tied up and we were sure that nothing was
too tight or painful, Karen asked if he would like a gag as well. He said
nothing, but nodded solemnly. The muslin squares that Karen and I used were
rather bulky to fit in Timothy's small mouth, so my sister used a thick white
knee-length sock between his teeth and tied behind his head.
Karen and I sat down side-by-side on the edge of my bed, the lower of
our bunk beds, as if it was a grandstand. We were intrigued to see how Timothy
would respond to his predicament, but the reaction was not one we had expected.
His eyes opened wide in terror and he started struggling hard against the ropes
that secured him to the chair and yelling through his gag. Of course, tied as
he was, he wasn't able to move to any significant extent, but the effort he was
putting into straining against his bonds was obvious.
Just as this happened, and before my sister and I could react, our
mother came into the room carrying a bundle of clean laundry. She dropped the
clothes and rushed over to Timothy, reaching him a fraction of a second before
Karen and me. She held his head still so that she could loosen the gag.
"I don't want to be tied up! I don't want to be tied up! I don't want
to be tied up!" Timothy yelled as soon as his mouth was free.
What none of us properly realised at that time was that Timothy suffered
from quite severe claustrophobia. His panic was triggered by situations that
were both enclosed and from which the exit was not immediately visible. Tunnels
and pedestrian underpasses were all right as long as he could see the other
end. Lifts were all right if they had the old-fashioned sliding iron gates, but
not if they had solid doors. Being tied up wasn't quite the same as an enclosed
space and Timothy could sometimes psych himself up to tolerate and seemingly
enjoy it, as he had when he had been light-heartedly tied up as a punishment by
our Aunt Lizzie or when he had asked Annie to tie him up. In both those cases,
however, the tying had been done by someone he related to as an authority
figure, so there was probably a greater element of trust than was the case with
his sisters and that may have been why it had never resulted in the full-scale
panic attack that he was now experiencing. (As an adult Timothy learned various
coping strategies and is generally not greatly inconvenienced by his
claustrophobia, but he is still prepared to walk up a surprising number of
flights of stairs to avoid to using a lift.)
Our Mum continued to cradle Timothy's head while Karen and I, both now
panic-stricken by the situation, struggled to untie all those knots and to
unwind the yards of rope we had tied around our brother. It seemed to take
hours, but, in reality, it was probably only three or four minutes.
As soon as Timothy was completely free, his panic subsided into quiet
sobs. Our mother scooped him up in her arms and carried him out of the room.

"You two wait there," she ordered, turning to fix us with an angry
glance as she reached the door. We heard her go downstairs with Timothy.
Both badly shaken by what had happened, Karen and I started gathering up
and untangling the rope which was now strewn around her room. As we worked, we
discussed the situation and worked out how our mother had seen the situation.
She had come into the room to see her son dressed up in an odd mixture of
girls' clothes, tied to a chair with a huge quantity of rope, gagged and in
obvious distress, while his two sisters sat on a bed watching him. Unless we
could explain to our Mum exactly what had happened, we were probably in a lot
of trouble and, in all likelihood, in for a severe thrashing.
With the room tidied, there was nothing to do but to sit down on my bed
again and wait, clutching each other's hands in mutual support and with our
stomachs churning in fear.
"Timothy has calmed down now," our mother announced as she returned to
our bedroom, "and, you won't believe this, but he's dozed off on the lounge
sofa." Her voice was surprisingly conversational and there had even been a
slight smile when she mentioned that Timothy had fallen asleep. I dared to hope
that she now realised that we were only guilty of an error of judgement.
Alas, I was wrong. Mum's view of the situation was exactly as we feared
it might be: we had dressed our brother up in girls' clothes, tied him to a
chair against his will, gagged him and sat watching as he had hysterics about
what we had done.
"But, nothing, Karen-Anne," our mother retorted. "You will kindly remain
silent until I ask you to speak. You too, Rebecca." The use of our full names
confirmed that we were in disgrace, as if we hadn't already realised it.
There was a long uncomfortable silence before Mum spoke again. "Becca,
take that skirt off and use the toilet."
Baffled, I unfastened the waistband of my skirt and stepped out of it. I
went to the bathroom and sat on the toilet. I was so tense that it was several
minutes before I could do anything.
When I unbolted the bathroom door and let myself out, Karen was waiting
her turn to come in. I was surprised to see that she was now dressed as I was,
just in a heavy grey sweater and the white woolly tights she had been wearing
earlier. I was alarmed to see that she was gagged with a handkerchief tied
between her teeth. She avoided my eye as she dodged past me and shut the
bathroom door behind her. Whatever was Mum planning to do to us? I wondered in
growing terror.
When I returned to my bedroom, I saw that Karen's and my desk chairs
were standing side-by-side in the middle of the floor. Our rope supply was
lying on my bed, neatly laid out according to length and ready for use.
Mum was waiting for me. She held up a balled-up handkerchief in her
hand. Its purpose was obvious, so I opened my mouth and allowed her to push it
in behind my teeth. A second handkerchief, folded into a band, was used to
secure it. My mother positioned it carefully, so that it went between my teeth
but didn't catch my lips, then knotted it at the nape of my neck.
"For all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword," my
mother said as she gagged me. As a clergyman's daughter, she was fond of
quoting the Bible, Jesus' words in Gethsemane in this case. "An eye for an eye
and a tooth for a tooth," she added, Moses' words making her intention
abundantly clear: we had dressed our brother up in a sweater and tights and
tied him to a chair against his will (or, at least, that was what she
believed), so we were about to be subjected to the same treatment.
"Hold your hands out," Mum instructed.
I did as I was told and my mother pulled a pair of long grey soc
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