Bound to Her Past

"Well, let's get this over with." I rose from the couch and hesitantly held my wrists together in front me. I'd be lying if I said this didn't feel super weird, and once again the thought ran through my mind: how on God's green earth could I be going along with this? To make matters worse, holding my arms like that smushed my boobs together in a super odd way, accentuating the cleavage, almost like I was trying to show them off or something. For him? Yeah right. In any case, it appeared this likely wasn't going to be comfortable, or all that modest, for that matter. This much, at least, seemed pretty certain. What did those girls who got thrown in the back of a trunk do, twisted all up like this? It didn't bear thinking about. Just one more reason, though, to let him say his piece and be done with this whole thing.

"Yeah, okay," he sneered, giving me a look like he couldn't believe what I was doing. "Put them behind your back." He sounded so silly when he said it like that, almost in plaintive way. What happened to all the commands? So much for the big man who was going to do what he wanted no matter what I decided. That hadn't lasted long.

"Excuse me?" The presumptuousness of the demand annoyed me, and I made this more than evident through my incredulous tone. After all, as it was, I was barely on board with humoring him in this way to begin with. Hands behind the back seemed a bit too far - straying from what felt like a stupid game into something much more sinister. "I don't think so," I muttered. I hoped the way I said it suggested that this impasse wasn't up for debate, but he seemed undeterred.

"If they're in front, it'll be too easy to get out." I considered this observation for a moment, and had to admit, it was probably true. Actually, it was why I had held them out in front of me in the first place, even when I knew behind my back was likely what he had in mind. With the rope in front of me, I would at least be able to see what I was working with, and if I became truly desperate, use my teeth. What was I supposed to do with my hands uselessly bound behind me? In attempting to get loose, I'd probably end up feeling like a dog trying to catch its own tail. Still, I just wanted this over with. In the end, what did it really matter whether my hands were tied front or back? I really just planned on letting him get through whatever it was he had come to say, so that he could finally walk out of my life for good. Not a second too soon, either. If it took a little more than I had initially bargained for, so be it. Altogether, the ropes were an unnecessary addition to this whole sorry affair, as far as I was concerned. All that being said, I wasn't really in the mood to be simply bossed around. Not by him, anyways.

"Too bad. Beggars can't be choosers," I shot back, impishly.

"Okay, then I'm going to have to tie them above your head." He gave me a look that plainly said 'and what do you think about that?' And as a matter of fact, I didn't think very much of it at all, thank you kindly.

With this view in mind, I instantly gave another sharp bark of laughter. "Oh yeah?" I could barely get the words out, I was sniggering so hard at the audacity of this suggestion. "And what exactly are you going to tie them to?" He seemed to be putting entirely too much thought into this, and I couldn't decide whether it was simply annoying or slightly concerning.

"The chandelier in the dining room." So, he had put plenty of thought into it. Weird. That wasn't going to work for me, though. Not even a little bit. One, I didn't want him to move my dining room table, because it was heavy, and I would have to push it back once he was gone. Two, I definitely didn't want to risk that chandelier coming down on top of me. Having absolutely no idea how chandeliers were even attached to ceilings, I wasn't really sure how much weight it could bear. This was especially true, as I also had no clue how much I would actually have to struggle with my arms stretched above my head like that in order to get free. And three - most important of all - if I was trapped in that position, I would be even less capable of defending myself than if my hands were at waist level, regardless of whether they were in front of or behind me. In the event that he decided to get handsy again, this would not be a great predicament to find myself in. No thanks. Plus, what if for some reason I somehow got stuck? Who knew how long I would be tied to the ceiling before someone would come along looking for me. I imagined one would get pretty tired, standing like that, arms raised, for any extended length of time. Hard pass.

"Yeah, that's not going to happen," I answered, matter-of-factly. "In your dreams maybe, cowboy." He ignored the barb.

"Well, once they're tied in front of you, I could string you up like that pretty easy anyways, so behind your back is really the safer bet." He grinned slyly. What a little shit. How was it that even though we were no longer dating, I was somehow still being coerced into giving him his way? What he said was true, though. Him acting like an ass didn't change that. And front or back, I figured I could manage getting loose from that either way, so long as I wasn't stretched out and waiting like a fish on a hook. Anyways, I just really, really wanted this whole thing to be over and done with. So yeah, I gave in. Like I said, in front or behind, how much trouble could a little rope really cause a girl who had the right attitude?

"Whatever," I said with a sigh, while at the same time rolling my eyes in an exaggerated fashion, to be sure that he could see it. I wanted him to know I was humoring him, so he would understand exactly how dumb I considered this entire thing to be. How dumb I considered him to be. If he noticed, he didn't say anything. Probably, he just didn't care. 'Okay,' I told myself. 'Let's do this.' I slowly turned around and still haltingly crossed my wrists behind my back, spreading my stance slightly, like some kind of demented basketball player, to show I was ready for anything. Once again: all part of the act to show him this was dumb, dumb, dumb.

And yes, in case you're wondering, agreeing to have my hands tied behind me, rather than in front like I had planned, was indeed major mistake number two. But at the time, I wasn't all that worried. Why should I have been? We had fooled around with handcuffs before, and even tried bondage tape once or twice. It had always been pretty uneventful, and despite the use of the restraints, still felt fairly vanilla. Granted, those times, I had been a willing participant, not for all intents and purposes, forced into it, like I was now. It had always been his thing more than mine. Feeling tied down had never done much for me. When I had sex, I liked to be an enthusiastic partner. When your hands were handcuffed to the headboard above you, there wasn't much you could do besides lie there and take whatever was coming. And on top of all that, those restraints were pretty much glorified toys. You always knew you could get loose in a hurry, if you really had to. Apparently, though, what he had in mind here was something quite different.

Walking up behind me, he grasped me by the shoulders and pushed gently around the corner of the couch until I stood against its side. This was strange; why did I have to be at the side of the couch? I had only a second to consider this rather unnerving development, though, because suddenly, he moved his hands between my shoulder blades and shoved me roughly forward. Like shocking roughly - not so much because of the force, as all things considered, it wasn't really that hard, but because this was not what I had expected. As a matter of fact, I could not remember the last time I had been pushed, period. When I was a kid, probably. Grown adults, at least ones not looking to fight in public, did not get shoved. It was simple as that. And it was pretty disconcerting, appalling really, to actually have it happen to you. How had he convinced me that hands behind the back was the safer option, again? Had I been tricked?

Taken off guard, I stumbled heavily into the armrest and toppled headlong over its side. Somehow, I reacted fast enough to quickly swing my arms around, and then use them in order to break my fall. Even so, the whole thing was pretty ungraceful. Nimble as I had been, though, before I could even begin to think about righting myself, he had already grabbed hold of my arms and wrenched them determinedly back behind me. Gasping in surprise, dumbfounded really, I was completely aghast at how easily he was handling me like this. He had never tried to toss me around in such a way the previous times we had fooled around in this manner.

As I said, the stuff you bought online wasn't exactly hostage situation material. I doubted bondage tape could even hold a person if you threw them around like this. A couple of times, when we were using the tape, he had gotten me in just the right place, for just the right amount of time, all while bending me over the bed with my hands similarly bound behind me. It wasn't a position we used often, and without intending to, I had eventually been overcome by it all and busted myself free through the cheap tape as I came. Of course, he had yelled in disappointment, or frustration, and hastily wrapped me back up, but the illusion had been ruined. Already satisfied, I was careful not to break loose until he finished, that is, until next session rolled around. I suppose that's why he started to prefer the handcuffs; there was no easy way to break loose from those, so long as they were attached to the headboard, that is. At least not without damaging the bed -- and that would have been the end of that. Come to think of it, it was a good thing he didn't want to get into those now! Lord, what if he had the handcuffs out and was trying to get me up on the chandelier with those? I'd be trapped here for God knows how long. In any case, I had assumed that the present situation was going to be fairly analogous to those earlier times, without, obviously, the sex.

As such, I was so taken aback by this sudden push, that before I could attempt to scramble out of his grasp, he had already swiftly moved to shove my wrists together and fixed them neatly into the small of my back. However, instead of gently crossing them over each other, as I had done, he smashed the insides of them against one another and tightly held them in place with one hand. As he did so, in one fluid motion, I felt my shoulders pull back, while my breasts heaved cumbrously forward into the padding of the cushion. Whoa. Were they going to start falling out again? God damn it! In addition, the way he was awkwardly gripping my wrists pitched me even further off-balance, and my face was thrust ungraciously into the cushion as well. I felt absurd, like I had just been pinned in a wrestling match. There was a touch of fright there as well. It wasn't just a feeling - I had been pinned. I could barely move!

"Rut ruh ruck!?" I screamed in a fury. With my face smashed into the cushion as it was, the words came out equally mushed. Aside from the words, the volume of my outraged bellow was muffled by the padding of the couch too, so in the hope of being heard, I struggled as best I could to get my face turned sidewise. He needed to hear exactly how angry I was. But it was to no avail. This was no joke; I was really getting pissed. You couldn't just treat someone like this. Where was this coming from? Who the fuck even knew he had this in him? Not me, that's for sure.

My legs kicked frantically against the polished wood of the floor, as I vainly attempted to find my footing. If I did, I might be able to try and run free, but predictably, they found no purchase. It was no use. The floor was far too slippery to offer any traction. To make matters worse, the more I struggled with my ass up in the air like this, the more I could feel my jeans start to slide off my hips. No doubt, some of my matching pink panties would already be visible, and if I was really unlucky, the top part of my butt crack as well. Wonderful. That sounded super attractive. Regardless of my thoughts on the matter, I'll bet it made quite the picture for him.

Anyways, when he saw what I was doing, he powerfully slammed his hips into the back of my ass, further trapping my body against the side of the couch. Then, he scooted his legs between mine, and used his own feet to push mine apart. I quickly tried to close them, but I may as well have been trying compact a boulder with my legs. He was just too heavy. Even though I was wearing jeans, I felt incredibly compromised in this position. Half folded over myself, with my legs trapped apart, he could do pretty much anything he had a mind to, if he were so inclined. For a brief, panicked moment, I thought he was going to take me from behind, right then and there. I frantically tried rolling back and forth, again and again, but he was holding my arms too tightly and I couldn't get any momentum.

"Ron't!" I yelled, and even though it had issued as a yell, it clearly came out as more a whimper into the cushion. "Rheese ron't! Rhop!" I tried wriggling my way forward, like some kind of snake, but that proved impossible as well. There was nothing I could do, not while he had me slumped over like this, anyways. I was completely at his mercy. No wonder he had walked me to the side of the couch to get started. In addition, he had hit my butt with such force, that I was half-dazed by the sheer presumption of it. Another pound like that, and I would really know where things stood. And the thought of that is what finally 'calmed' me down. Briefly. Well, not calmed, so much, as reduced me to indecision, or maybe submission. I was only petrified for a moment, however. I wouldn't let him to this me. I wouldn't let him treat me like this. Not without a fight, anyways. So inspired, I then started to thrash up and down wildly, either bucking like a horse or flopping like a fish -- pick whichever seems the most ludicrous -- hoping I could somehow throw his weight free from the back of me.

In response, however, he firmly pressed his free hand against the rear of my neck, cramming my face even further into the couch. "Bleeegh," I groaned pathetically into the cushion. I had wanted the sound to fully convey my rage, or at the very least, my bitterness, but even I knew it only came off as pitiful. I didn't even know what that sound meant, or where it had come from. It was just an animalistic response, and one that made me feel ridiculous. In any case, that put an end to my sorry attempts at tossing him off of me. Additionally, being pushed that much further into the couch lifted my feet clean off the floor, and they were now kicking crazily against open air. Growing increasingly alarmed, I then tried to twist around once again, so that I would be facing him, thinking this might prevent him from finishing what I thought he might be working toward.

"Ret roff rof ree!" I yelled again, this time even angrier than before. Most of the shout, however, was still lost to the cushion, my face buried as deeply as it was. And regardless, scream as I might, I quickly and dejectedly comprehended that I wasn't going anywhere, not until he allowed me to, anyways. Thoroughly disgusted by this grim realization, I quit my miserable struggling. I knew I was only making a complete fool of myself, writhing about as I was and failing to get anywhere. In addition, it was just making it ever more clear, both to him and to me, how powerless I was in the position he held me.

I felt him lean over, and press his mouth next to my ear. He was almost nuzzling it. What the fuck? "You know, I don't see what you're so worried about. You're not worth it, sweetheart. That snatch of yours isn't half so hot as you think it is. No need to put up such a fuss." For some bizarre reason, I was actually insulted. He said it condescendingly and breathfully, so I felt the heat of the words rush against my ear as he said them. On purpose, no doubt. And then, he gave my ear just the smallest lick of his tongue. I groaned and tried to roll away again, but it was still no use. He chuckled softly. What a sick fuck.

Most importantly, though, I didn't want to continue putting up too much of a fight, as it was assuredly giving him some kind of vile thrill, watching me squirm around like this, all while bent over and lying helpless at his hands. For him, I suspected, it made quite the engaging scene. Having me like this. Being able to do whatever he wanted with me, regardless of whether he actually wanted to do it. And really, it didn't matter either way, resist or not. Flop around as I might, writhe as best I could, it was simply no use; the sheer bulk of him had me totally immobilized against the side of the couch. My 120 pounds were nowhere near a match for all his combined strength and weight.

But as soon as I surrendered, I felt his grip against my neck loosen just slightly. Slightly, but just enough -- enough to finally turn my face to the side. Gasping deeply for air after all the exertion, I didn't even try to say anything. What was there even to say? Either he wouldn't care, or he would somehow get a kick out of it. I realized, though, given what he just said, and that he had lightened up on my neck, that he hadn't been trying to force himself on me at all. He may have been getting more rough than was necessary, not that we had ever agreed to him putting hands on me like this at all, but he wasn't that kind of guy. Right? Of that much, I was sure of, at least I thought I was, or I never would have agreed to this in the first place.

No, he wasn't trying to fuck me; he was just being an asshole. With this understanding, however, I was starting to get furious all over again. This getting tied up -- it really caused a wave of emotions. I had never envisioned he planned to toss me around like this, to play with me, like I was his victim and not his ex-girlfriend who had already half agreed to this. In retrospect, given the way he had pounced on me unannounced, and then proposed this whole thing with vague threats in the first place, I suppose I should have been a bit more wary. Or at least perceived this might be a possibility. But I had said that he could tie my hands and ankles, and then that I would hear all he had to say. Nothing more, and he would be on his way.

What appeal that even held for him, I couldn't begin to tell you. Hands and ankles tied -- it was like a kid's game of cops and robbers. It wasn't going to stop me from going anywhere. And if he thought it would humiliate me, he had another thing coming. Maybe he thought it would make it easier to feel me up some more. Who knew? Plainly put, the whole thing was weird. The worst part was, I probably would have heard him out all the way anyways, if he had just asked me nicely. In any event, once I had agreed to let him speak, the concept of being bound was wholly superfluous. It's not like at that point I would have tried to get away from him. Okay, that wasn't entirely true. If once he began talking he started to really piss me off, which, maybe, was likely, I probably would have walked out. But still, it sure seemed like an awfully big overreaction to insist on tying a girl up, as if that were the only way to ensure she remained a captive audience.

As to why I had ever gone along with this if I had actually thought the ropes might become necessary, that they would eventually be needed to hold me in place, well, that I couldn't tell you. I suppose I really did think he would do the thing either way, so I was better off having some measure of control over the situation. I wasn't a huge fan of being made to do anything, and the idea of being forced into restraints definitely didn't sound up my alley. Or anyone's alley, for that matter. That was kind of the point of the ropes, wasn't it? At least as far as using them to tie a woman up was concerned. You were being bound like that precisely because you didn't want to be, right? Because you wanted to be somewhere else, or allowed to go somewhere else. That's what it meant to be kidnapped, or held hostage, or simply tied up to be kept out of the way. Wrong place, wrong time and all that -- too bad for you. At that point, you were just an object to be used, moved, or otherwise manipulated. A means to an end. Maybe some girls were into that kind of thing, being helpless and totally underneath a man's control like that, but as I said, not me. No thanks.