It all began on a Friday evening. Classes were done, term papers were turned in and a three-day weekend awaited. Rachel and I were hanging out in my dorm room, chatting over a box of wine that would have got me in trouble if the RA knew, when the conversation slowed and grew silent.

Rachel looked down into her wineglass, and when she spoke, I Had to lean in to hear her.

“What would you say if we took it up a notch?” Rachel asked., Her hands were shaking.

“What do you have in mind?” I asked.

“Tell me if this is weird,” she said, and she lifted her face to look at me, her lip trembling. “Can I tie you up?”

“What, you mean like on the floor, like you’re a burglar?”

“Yes -- no!” she stammered, and she jumped to her feet and walked nervously across the floor of my room to the bed, where she’d dumped her backpack when we came in after dinner. “Look, it’s pretty simple. I want to tie you to a chair and tickle you. Can I?

“OK,” I said.

She stopped pacing and looked at me hopefully.

“Really, Zila?” she asked. “You mean it?”

“I mean it,” I said, though perhaps it was the wine talking. “Tie me up. What do I have to do?”

“Omigod, Zila. Thank you so much!” she said. “Just sit there, OK?”

I felt an odd mix of nerves and exhilaration as my stomach fluttered, but Rachel was beside herself with glee. As I watched, she pulled a stream supplies from her backpack — coils of blue rope, a thick roll of medical tape, and a blue scarf that she quickly folded up. She’d evidently been planning this the entire evening, if not longer. She picked up one of the coils of rope and turned toward me.

“Stand up facing away from me, and cross your wrists behind your back.” she said. I did as I was told, and a second later, I could feel the rope winding around my wrists, gently but firmly. There was a final tug and I felt Rachel tie the knot. I stretched my hands, but nothing else happened.

“You can still talk if you want to,” she said. “Too tight?”

“Nope. You did a good job,” I said. “What do you mean I can still talk if I want to?”

“Sit down in the chair now, Zila. I want to tie your feet next.,” she said, and once again, I complied. “Good girl,” she said and she scratched me lightly on the head

“Rachel,” I said/ “What did you mean I can still talk if I want to?”

She said nothing,; just pulled off my shoes and socks and then tied my ankles to the legs of the chair so my toes were flat on the floor but my feet were lifted.

“I like the blue toenails, Zila.” She finished tying my ankles and looked up at me. “They go nicely with the rope.”

“Um, thank you?” I watched as she crossed the room again and picked up the longest coil of rope. She held it toward me as if it were a gift she was offering me and walked forward with an eagerness in her step I had never seen before. She was grinning too, and I wasn’t sure which of the two was more disconcerting.

“You’re such a good friend, Zila,” she said happily as she stretched the rope out to its full length, then found its midpoint. “I’ve been wanting to do this since the day we met. I can’t believe you’re finally letting me tie you up after three years of waiting!”

“What are you talking about?” I tried to keep my voice down to avoid drawing the attention of the RA on duty, but I couldn't hide my agitation completely. I tried to stand, but of course that was a wasted effort. My feet were tied to the legs of the chair, and all I did was rock in place a little.

“Shh,” Rachel said. She placed one finger on my lips, and I quieted immediately. “It’s just a game, Zila. Trust me. It’s okay.”

The thing is, I did trust her. I’d knew this girl since our first day of freshman year and roomed with her our entire sophomore year. We went to Hillel Society together, and once when my boyfriend had dumped me and Rachel and I were both drunk, we’d made out together and nearly got naked until a commotion down the hall had ruined the mood and we’d fallen asleep together still half-dressed. She’d been helping me with my Hebrew, and even though we weren't roommates anymore, we were still together constantly.

“Rachel –” I started to say, but this time she put her hand over my mouth.

“No,” she said, and she removed her hand. “You can still talk, Zila, but only to answer questions. And I’m Mistress Rachel now.”

She started tying the last coil of rope so that it went around my shoulders and above my breasts and then below them, once and then twice. I felt the chair press against my back as she finished tying, and I knew I was going nowhere. There was power in this room, and it all belonged to Rachel. To Mistress Rachel.

“One or two more things and we’ll be ready to start, Zila,” she said, and I saw in her hands the folded-up scarf and a wide strip of tape. I knew where they were going.

I sighed.

“I don’t suppose I have any choice about this, Mistress Rachel, do I?”

“You gave that up once you let me tie your hands.” She smirked as she said it.

I nodded, and automatically closed my eyes as my mouth opened to allow her to stuff the scarf in. The scarf was dry and had a bland taste, but at least it was clean. My ex-boyfriend’s dick had never been. A moment later Rachel was smoothing the tape over my mouth. I was well and thoroughly gagged.

“Oh, we are going to have so much fun this weekend, I just know it,” Rachel said, and she settled onto my lap so her face was inches from mine, her breath mingling with mine. For a moment, I could see my helpless reflection in her dark brown eyes, but then she closed them and leaned forward so that our foreheads touched.

She lingered there a minute, then took my head in her hands and very slowly kissed one eyelid and then the other. Then her mouth pressed against mine, and I knew if I hadn’t been gagged our tongues would have danced together.

Then she leaned back, placed her hands on my shoulders and grinned like a child on her birthday.

And that’s when the tickling started.