Chapter 15: Mail Sack - Another Marla Story
One afternoon during my late teen years, I was at a friend’s house and we had been playing some bondage games (we called them “tie up games”) when my friend brought out a mail sack he had found in the garage. It was made of very solid gray canvass with a drawstring around the opening and a metal clip on that rope drawstring that could be locked. There were two boys and one other girl besides myself. Since my hands were already tied behind my back and had been for a couple hours, it wasn’t surprising that the other three hit on the idea of stuffing me into the sack.
But first they tied my legs together and then doubled my legs up and tied them like that. Then they stuffed me into the sack. At first they were going to close the top over my head and lock it, but I protested that I might not be able breathe inside so they closed the drawstring around my neck instead. Tom ran to get the padlock off the shed and locked it through the metal buckle. I protested that it was very tight around my neck but they ignored me. It was usually that way. I had a reputation in the neighborhood as a girl who loved to be tied up and the tighter, more restrictive, the better.
Anyway, they watched me struggle for a while. I was able to roll around a bit but the canvass sack was a pretty tight fit around my body. My wrists were crossed and tied behind my back and had been for quite a while. I had already tried to work my hands loose and knew that I couldn’t. With my legs doubled up, I couldn’t move much and only managed to roll around a little. And it didn’t help that I was bent with my breasts against my thighs.
Well, they got tired of watching me and went off to play some other game. It was a well known fact that I liked to be left alone while tied up, so they didn’t bother to even ask if I would like to be let out of the sack. I knew that they would come back for me eventually but it might be a while. I was lying on the cement floor of a patio. I knew that his parents were at work and wouldn’t be home for at least five hours. I was wearing a two-piece swimsuit, more conservative than those I would wear when I was a few years older but still it left a lot of skin bare.
I tried again to work my hands loose but it was impossible. And even if I had, I doubt I could have gotten out of the sack. So I knew that I was helpless.