GUTTERGAUNT

[As you might have guessed from the title, this story is the sequel to “My First Time Tied Up.” You might want to go read that one first, if you haven’t already.]

Two weeks after the fateful sleepover where Mary, Lisa, and Michelle tied me up for the first time, Michelle’s mother went out of town again, and we had another Friday night sleepover. Whenever no one was around but the four of us, the three of them had, of course, taken every opportunity to continue to tease me about my humiliation at their hands. But none of them mentioned it while we were planning the upcoming sleepover, which was a relief to me (though it probably should have made me suspicious).

We had a fun evening at Michelle’s house, doing the same things we almost always did on those sleepovers: helping each other with homework, goofing around, ordering pizza, watching a movie. I was relieved that things were back to normal, and that no one was making any mention at all of what had happened last time.

Finally, we picked up our bags and went upstairs to Michelle’s bedroom. Actually seeing the bed again, with the vertical brass bars of its frame, sent a sudden wave of trepidation and arousal through me that made me gulp.

We began changing into our pajamas. I don’t know how other girls did it at their teenage slumber parties, but for us, changing into pajamas was an exact science. Like most girls our age (I don’t know what it was like for you boys), we were kind of shy about our bodies. A majority of the girls at our school, especially those who were into athletics, managed to get over it enough to get used to showering naked in the locker room after gym class. I never did, personally. I was one of the shyer ones. Fortunately, I was also lazy, and never really worked up a sweat in gym class anyway. I remember that Lisa and Michelle never seemed to have a problem with locker room nudity, though. Of course, there’s courage in numbers. Something about the intimate setting of a slumber party, when it was just the four of us, brought out everyone’s modesty (though, as I’d discovered last time, their own modesty somehow didn’t inspire them to be respectful of my modesty).

The upshot of all this is that, without any of us ever speaking a word about it aloud, the four of us had, through some sort of intuitive telepathic agreement or something, developed a highly efficient and modest system of changing, which all of us followed to a T (the first couple of times, I remember, we were sort of awkward about it, watching each other surreptitiously for cues, but after that we had it down).

The routine went like this: sit on edge of bed, pull shirt of over head, put on pajama top and button it, remove jeans (but not panties), quickly pull on pajama pants, lean forward and slide off bed into crouched-forward standing position to pull pajama pants all the way up, sit back down on bed, remove bra under pajama top and slide it out of sleeve.

I’d finished putting my pajama top on and had just slid my jeans down to my knees when suddenly Lisa yelled, “Now!” and jumped on me, followed almost instantly by Mary and Michelle. They’d been planning it all along! They must have worked it all out in detail before the sleepover, and they had the timing figured out perfectly. Our rapid changing routine was the one time, in the bedroom, that they could count on me being off-guard and not likely to be looking at any of them. They’d changed their tops along with me, and then they’d just slowed down so that I had my jeans unzipped and down to my knees before they’d started on theirs.

I screamed and cursed and thrashed and bit, but I didn’t stand a chance. Not only was I once again outnumbered three to one, and not only were they all bigger and stronger than me, this time I was taken completely by surprise, with my legs entangled by my jeans. Literally caught with my pants down!

This time, they tied me face up. They were much more quick and efficient about it this time around. They used long socks again, but this time they had them waiting, hidden under a corner of the bed. Mary and Michelle held my arms, while once again Lisa expertly tied my wrists to the outermost bars of the headboard. Then, while Mary and Michelle held my legs, Lisa simply pulled my jeans the rest of the way off, and tied my ankles to the corner posts at the foot of the bed, stretching me out very tightly in the classic spreadeagled position.

My captors stood around the foot of the bed, smiling down at me with evil satisfaction, as I tugged furiously against my bonds. I looked at my bound wrists, first one and then the other, as I tried futilely to work myself free. I knew it was hopeless. Even if I somehow managed to get one limb free, They’d just pin it down and retie it even tighter. Mostly, I was trying to keep focusing on my wrists, and on my angry struggles, to keep from having to look up at Mary, Lisa, and Michelle. At last, though, I gave up and just glowered at them. I was trying to focus on my anger, to look as angry as I could, in order to cover up how scared, embarrassed, and vulnerable I felt. I didn’t do a very good job of it, though.

I had felt thoroughly exposed, embarrassed, and vulnerable last time, when I’d been tied face-down and they’d pulled my pajama pants down to uncover my bottom. But my current predicament was far worse. My jeans were gone, and, in my struggle to keep from being tied, my pajama top had ridden up to my lower ribs. Aside from my panties, mercifully still covering my most private bits, I was completely naked below my chest. My panties weren’t especially skimpy or sheer, thank God, but still, with my legs stretched so wide apart, I knew they must be getting quite a view, seeing “everything but,” as it were, and probably even a little bit of pubic hair.

There was nothing I could do to cover myself as they ran their eyes up and down my helpless little body. I could feel myself blushing bright red, and when they looked back up at my face and I saw the amused triumph in their eyes, I could feel my angry scowl dissolve into a look of panic, as I realized that I was in very deep trouble.

“So,” Michelle said at last, “what are we going to do to her?”

Apparently, when they’d hatched their plot to tie me up again, they hadn’t discussed the specifics of my fate. Apart from general panic, I hadn’t thought about that, either. I’d been fighting, at first, to avoid another spanking, but they couldn’t very well spank me this time, because I was face up. So what were they going to do? I gulped as they looked me over and thought about it.

“Let’s find out if she’s ticklish!” Mary exclaimed.

I panicked. I was ticklish, horribly ticklish all over. “Nooo!” I screamed, pulling desperately against my bonds. But of course, that was just the reaction my cruel captors were hoping for. They laughed delightedly, and went to work on me.

I don’t even know how long their first fiendish assault lasted. All three tickled me at once, on all of the areas where my skin was exposed: my tummy, my legs, and, of course, my incredibly ticklish feet. It seemed to go on forever. They slowed down off and on, just enough to let me catch a few gasps of air, while they giggled and taunted me with little comments like, “Enjoying yourself, Lila?” and “Don’t wet yourself, now” (it’s a good thing I’d peed shortly before we went up to bed, or I would have wet myself). It was sheer torture, and, tightly stretched out as I was, I was completely powerless to protect myself.

By the time one of them finally suggested taking a break, I had laughed until I cried. I must have been a sight! My face was wet with tears, my nose was running, and my breath came in ragged sobs. The muscles in my legs and tummy were trembling.

Mary, Lisa, and Michelle came and sat on the sides of the bed, giggling at my sorry condition and making more teasing comments and noises of mock sympathy. They held my head in place as they brushed my hair out of my face and cleaned me up a little, wiping away the tears and snot with Kleenex. I was too shaky and too humiliated to say anything.

Finally, Lisa said, “Okay, ready for round two?”

“No,” I whimpered, “No more, please, please Lisa, please don’t tickle me anymore...”

Of course, as usual, my pleas for mercy just added to their cruel amusement. Lisa kissed me on the forehead and lightly slapped my cheeks a couple of times, while the other two made more sounds of mock sympathy.

They turned their attention away from my face and back toward my helpless body, and I whimpered and braced for the torture. Surely, my predicament couldn’t get any worse. Except that with Lisa, it always could get worse. Before Mary or Michelle could get started tickling me again, Lisa said, “I think I want to go for the armpits this time.” And as she said it, she began unbuttoning my pajama top!

I begged and pleaded with her to stop , but it did no good. As Mary and Michelle giggled, Lisa slowly, teasingly unbuttoned my top, starting with the bottom button and working her way up. when all the buttons were undone, she spread the top wide open, working the sleeves off of my shoulders and as far up my upper arms as my stretched-out position would allow.

Lisa sat back, and the three of them feasted their eyes upon my exposed and helpless body, now naked except for my bra and panties. I closed my eyes, too embarrassed to look back at them. I was trembling in anticipation of the torture I knew was coming... and also, I suddenly realized, from arousal.

“This is going to be so fun,” I heard Michelle giggle. Then I shrieked as Lisa’s fingers danced up both sides of my ribs, and the torture began again.

It went on much longer this time. It seemed like forever. They tickled me all over my nearly nude body, their fingers exploring every inch of exposed skin. They paid special attention to my ribs and armpits this time, and of course once again to my feet. By the time they stopped again, I was drenched with sweat and sobbing my eyes out.

They spend a while cleaning my face up again. I couldn’t stop sobbing and gasping, and my whole body was shaking and trembling uncontrollably. They could plainly see that they’d pushed me to the limit, and their noises of sympathy were genuine this time.

Mary asked me if I was okay, and when I could only make little sobbing and whimpering noises, they decided they’d better untie me. Once they did, I sort of curled up on my side in a whimpering little ball. Mary, Lisa, and Michelle sat around me, laughing gently at me, talking to me like they were comforting a baby.

They stroked my hair, laid comforting hands on my shoulder, and wiped my nose and eyes with Kleenex. It was actually very comforting after my ordeal, and even after what they’d done to me, all I felt was a pitiful sense of gratitude for their gentle solicitude. That, and a desperate horniness. I fell asleep like that, curled up in fetal position in the middle of the bed, with no pants on and my top unbuttoned. They covered me up and let me sleep there, and I slept soundly through the night.

In the morning, the memory of the previous night flooded me with a confusing mixture of emotions. I still felt that odd gratitude, and that maddening and disturbing horniness, and most of all, I felt terribly embarrassed. Somehow, with all those other emotions battling within me, I couldn’t find it in me to be angry or indignant. So I was timid, meek, and quietly agreeable all morning, which was very out of character for me. My friends, in turn, retained some of the tenderness they’d shown me at the end of last night’s ordeal, so much so that they didn’t mention anything about it, and completely refrained from teasing me.