No, I should not have kicked Dusty. That was definitely a mistake. The pivotal one in a chain of mistakes that has led to my current predicament. Come to think of it, disaster usually rests on supposedly inconsequential events whose combined consequences one fails to anticipate. Sure enough, it had all started pretty normal – normal for me, that is, although other people might beg to differ – with a weekend self-bondage session.
As numerous times before, I had stripped naked and taken a shower before laying out my collection of naughty toys on my prized, king-sized bed. Admittedly, it was too large for the limited space afforded by my penthouse apartment, but I loved to stretch out and roll around at night. Or during the day, on occasion. Like the present.
My posture collar, harness ball gag, handcuffs and legcuffs, two chains of different lengths, a bunch of padlocks, and of course my vibrator made the cut. The rest went back into my treasure chest, then from the wardrobe, my latex opera gloves, ballet boots, and corset joined the party. Even though no lover was around to appreciate my transformation from an ordinary working girl to fetish princess, I liked to look the part.
It took me the better part of half an hour to put on my corset and the knee-length ballet boots and lace both of them tight. The boots left no doubt about their proud fetish heritage. They sported straps at their tops which I dutifully secured with a pair of padlocks. Short of breath and hard-pressed to keep my restive libido on a short leash, I slid the vibrator into my pussy. I took a moment to enjoy the fullness down there (yay, that felt nice!) before I slung the longer chain around my compressed waist and fastened it with another lock. The excess length I fashioned into a nice tight crotch strap. Running the chain through the loop on the vibrator’s exposed end ensured it would stay at its designated post. No joy to have it go AWOL in the heat of battle.
Spurred on by my mounting arousal, I jammed the 2.5-inch ball gag past my teeth. I ignored the spike of pain from my jaws and fastened the attached harness around my head, vigorously tightening and retightening each strap. By the time I was finally satisfied that I would not be able to work the gag out of my mouth no matter what, its straps dug painfully into the corners of my mouth. The posture collar made for an additional layer of security since it very effectively prevented me from tilting or turning my head. Sometimes I just can’t help myself.
Taking the shorter chain, I used a lock to fasten one end to the links connecting my handcuffs. Its other end I locked to the back ring of my collar, so the cuffs dangled at the small of my back. I swung my legs onto the bed and closed the shackles around my slender ankles. Even through the boots’ leather I felt the authoritative grip of the cool metal encircling them and shuddered with delicious anticipation. I rolled onto my stomach and reaching back, snatched the connecting chain with the shackle of the last padlock. It was a strain, but on the third attempt, I managed to close the lock around a link in my crotch chain. My legs were now secured in a strict hogtie. Each attempt to straighten them yanked at the vibrator. Nice!
The bunch of keys for my restraints went into my time locked key safe. Thirty minutes? Nah, make that forty. That would give me ample time to contemplate my folly after my horniness had been assuaged. Yet, experience suggested the uncomfortable wait for my release would not deter me from a reenactment in the future... likely even the near future. I pushed the locked safe to the bed’s far side, out of the way, but easily accessible.
One after the other, I slipped my hands into the latex gloves and rolled their sleeves up my arms past the elbows. Besides looking great, they would protect my wrists from the cuffs’ harsh bite, at least a little. I rolled onto my side and, inserting a hand between my legs, I switched on the vibrator. Now I would have to hurry.
With the preparatory tasks completed, it was time to consummate my bondage. Back on my stomach again, I slipped my left hand into the cuff and ratcheted it closed. Tightly. Giving myself no time to reconsider the wisdom of my actions, I put my right wrist in the other cuff and with the back of my left hand, I pressed down to tighten that circlet. Click, click, click... I only relented when the metal clasped my right wrist in the same unyielding grip that trapped my left.
I struggled briefly against my bonds, ascertaining that there was no way to escape without the keys. The confirmation that my bondage was both final and absolute sent a jolt down my spine. Right into my pussy that now took center stage of my attention. With practiced ease, I slipped into my favorite fantasy. In my helpless state, I had no choice but to succumb to the sexual torture meted out by my unseen mistress.
Rolling around on the bed, yanking on the chains, I worked myself up into a sexual frenzy. My restraints easily withstood my increasingly frantic struggles holding me secure in their tight embrace. The vibrator sent unending tremors into my molten core, priming me for an eruption. I moaned into my gag. I was close, so very close. For a moment I teetered on the brink, then the orgasm’s onslaught swept me over the cliff and buried me under an avalanche of pleasure.
When I registered my surroundings again, I was lying on my side. Utterly spent, sweaty, hair plastered to my brow, but contented. I glanced at the alarm clock. Twenty minutes still to go. For a little while, I kept basking in the orgasm’s afterglow but soon the discomfort of my situation began to preoccupy me.
There was a dull burning in my jaw muscles. From experience, I knew it would likely turn into a fierce ache before too long. That’s what you get for having a gag fetish. Apart from the disgusting drooling, of course. I really longed to stretch out my legs. I had recently pulled a muscle and was afraid my predicament might prompt it to act up again.
I stole another glance at the clock. Another fifteen minutes before I’d get my keys. I had known the wait would become aggravating. But I had no choice now – which was the whole point. The thought even had me juicing again. Besides, the vibrator was still lustily buzzing in my pussy... I was working towards a second orgasm when the strongbox suddenly beeped and its lid sprang open. Bother! Of course, the orgasm was lost now.
Forced by my posture collar to work by touch alone, I maneuvered around on the bed until my questing fingers encountered the box and retrieved its precious contents. Fumbling around the bunch of keys, I identified the one for the padlock that kept me hogtied. Yay!
On the seventh attempt, I finally managed to insert the key into the lock and turn it. The shackle sprang open, but the stupid thing snagged on the chain when I tried to straighten my legs. Getting aggravated, I repeated the attempt with more force. Big mistake! The lock suddenly came clear and launched across the room, taking the still attached bunch of keys with it. I heard it hit the far wall, then crash to the floor. Great! Now I’d have to totter across the room to retrieve the damned things. For the moment, however, I luxuriated in the pleasure of stretching out my legs again. Pure bliss!
I wormed my way to the side of the bed, then sat up with some difficulty, putting my feet on the ground – or, to be more precise, my toes, given the constraints imposed by my footwear. I bent my torso forward and looked around for the vagrant keys. There! The lock with the keys had landed squarely in a recess on top of my robot vacuum that rested peacefully in its docking station.
With a sigh, I struggled to my feet and started teetering towards Dusty and the means for my release. It had taken a lot of practice, but by now I was able to walk in my ballet boots. Admittedly, you needed to be in a generous mood to attach the term “walking” to my lurching gait. But hey, you should try it yourself before offhandedly dismissing my valiant efforts. Besides, my posture collar, tight corset, and the chain between my ankles all conspired to make matters even more challenging.
My inability to turn my head or look down meant that each time I needed to get my bearings, I had to stop and bend forward at the hip. Try that while balancing on toe boots! Preferably, while a vibrator pounds your pussy! Hence, it took me a whole minute before I finally was within striking distance to my goal. Of course, this was the exact moment when Dusty decided it had been idle long enough. It backed out of its station, elegantly turned around in front of me, and got busy vacuuming the apartment. Starting with the adjoining living room. You gotta be kidding me! Screaming expletives into my gag, I hobbled in hot pursuit.
My boots drummed a rapid beat on the parquet floor. By the time I reached the doorway, I was wheezing. The resistance of my corset made it hard to draw in the necessary oxygen. Stabilizing myself against the doorjamb, I assessed the tactical situation. The sofa, coffee table, and sideboard afforded my prey ample shelter. To my advantage, Dusty was constitutionally unable to simply lie low. Right now, it navigated the tricky terrain between the coffee table and TV stand.
If I managed to box it in there, I should be able to catch it. I pointed my feet towards the target area and launched myself from the doorjamb. Accompanied by the clinking of my hobble chain, I scurried across the room. With my gaze forcibly directed towards the ceiling, I had to rely on sound to home in on my prey. I strained to hear the soft noises of its gorging on dust bunnies over the racket made by the chain. There, now slightly to the left! I reckoned I was getting close and set out for the final spurt.
Ouch! If I had not been gagged, my scream would surely have brought my neighbors banging on my door. Spittle flew from my mouth when I bit into the orb filling my mouth. The flaring pain at my shin indicated that I had connected with the edge of the coffee table. Hard. When I finally got rid of my boots, I was sure to be greeted by some nice bruises. Tears leaked from my eyes. I had to blink them away before leaning forward to reorient myself. Dusty was not half a meter in front of me! Just vanishing under the sofa!
I screamed into my gag again, this time to vent my frustration. It wasn’t fair! For the next 20 minutes, I chased the little shit around the apartment. It ricocheted in a random pattern around the rooms, making it hard to anticipate its next move. A few times I thought I had it cornered, but the agile machine outmaneuvered me again and again. And again.
Meanwhile, the chase had circled back to the bedroom. Awkwardly bent forward to watch, I stood in front of the bed, ready to ambush Dusty when it emerged. In hindsight, I should simply have waited for it to return to its base. That would have been much smarter than shuffling around in my ballet boots like a drunken penguin, trying to anticipate its erratic turns. But no, I had been impatient, with my jaw muscles and feet aching more acutely by the minute. The pain was becoming fierce now.
The whirring sound suddenly redoubled. Dusty had reappeared, trying to cross the room to my right. I moved to intercept but it sensed my approach and began evasive maneuvers. Yet this time I would not let it get away! When it turned left, I made a quick sideways step, snapping the chain between my ankles tight. Before I could recover my balance, it spun to the right again and tried to sneak past me. I hopped backward and brought my legs back together. Already Dusty had almost passed me! In a panic, I lashed out with my foot and, with a satisfying thud, my boot connected with the casing. Dusty was thrown to the side. The jolt nearly dislodged the keys, but from the recess’ rim they slid back into its center when Dusty started to spin around its center axis.
Unfortunately, I did not emerge unscathed from the skirmish either. The kick had cost me my footing and my bondage left me no chance to regain my balance. Twisting in midair to land on my shoulder instead of my delicate nose, I crashed to the floor. Just in time to see Dusty recover from its spin and scoot right back under the bed where it hit the far wall full steam. Then, it just sat there, some red LED blinking accusatory on its casing. Maybe my kick had yanked some sensor out of alignment or the spiteful little shit just wanted to pay me back for its abuse, but at its current location, it was completely out of reach. Shit!
Crawling under the bed was out of the question, I could barely squeeze my head in the gap. Pulling the bed away from the wall was not an option either. I remembered well that when it had been delivered, it had to be assembled in place to make it fit into its niche. No chance in hell I would be able to move it. My breath caught. I was trapped! Fuck!
Panic set in and I started to hyperventilate. Struggling wildly against my bonds, I flopped around on the floor like a stranded fish. The room was filled by the din of the rattling of chains, creaking leather and my muted screams. I only stopped when I became lightheaded. For a few minutes, I lay wheezing while attempting to get a grip on my nerves. I needed to assess my options calmly. Preferably without having a vibrator in its last throes stuck in my pussy. Life’s just not fair.
Maybe I could use a broom to fish for the bunch of keys. The problem was, I stored my cleaning materials in the apartment’s cellar compartment, five flights of stairs down. Even if I endured my bondage for a couple more hours to wait for the wee hours of the morning, I stood little chance of making the trip undetected. Rather, I’d break my neck trying to navigate the stairs. In my current predicament, I was an accident waiting to happen.
No, there was no other resort. I had to admit defeat and call for help. Leni was my closest friend. Better yet, she was not prone to gossip. A fair amount of embarrassment and humiliation was to be expected, but that prospect actually excited me for some unfathomable reason. I had felt attracted to Leni in a non-platonic way for some time now. Maybe this was the nudge I needed to finally come clean with her and introduce her to my fetish. Maybe she even shared it... How exactly I was going to explain my predicament over the phone while unable to speak I did not know. Yet. One step at a time.
Using the bed for support, I struggled to my feet and started hunting for my mobile. I found it in the kitchen next to the sink, where I had plugged it in to recharge. I turned around and bent backward over the counter. My questing fingers only just reached the counter’s top while the chain linking my cuffs to the collar nearly choked me. Splendid!
Working by touch alone, I located the phone and tapped the screen to wake it up. Yet, when I faced the sink again it was still black. I repeated the painful exercise – silently cursing all persons involved in the development, design, manufacture, sales, and distribution of this smartphone - multiple times, without any better success. It had to be that my latex gloves somehow interfered with my ability to operate the touch screen. What now?
Bending forward at the hip I tapped the phone with my nose. Yay, that worked! What didn’t work was convincing the stupid phone to unlock by glancing at it. Obviously, nobody had thought to test the face recognition algorithm with someone whose features were distorted by a huge harness ball gag. Figures! I admit to getting a little aggravated at this point. However, I had more pressing concerns than to throw another tantrum.
Seething inside, I laboriously started to enter the pin with my nose. Why oh why had I used an eight-digit code? With my head kept immovable by the posture collar and my torso held rigid by the corset, all movement had to come from the hips and thighs, but they proved quite inadequate to provide the fine motor control required for the task. Especially, with me bent awkwardly over the counter and squinting along my nose to somehow make out the screen which also was partially obscured by the straps of the gag harness. By the time I finally succeeded, the muscles in my back were screaming from the strain. I just had to rest for a moment.
When I straightened up, I somehow lifted up the phone as well and tossed it into the air. It described an elegant arc before it plunged straight into a water-filled pot that sat in the sink. No way! For a moment I stood dumbstruck while my mind scrambled to catch up with what had just happened. Presumably, the charger cord must have become entangled with the front ring of my collar. Straightening up, I had launched the phone by its cord before both decided to part ways. Naturally, my phone had found no better landing site than the pot I had left soaking to clean burnt rice off its bottom.
As theories go, this one was pretty solid. It depended on a few, reasonable assumptions. It explained all the pertinent facts. And it did not help me at all. With my scientific curiosity satisfied, I gave myself over to another bout of rage.
After I had exhausted my considerable inventory of expletives, fury gave way to desperation. Not only was my rather expensive mobile toast, but I had squandered my chance to ask Leni for help. Maybe now was the time to become religious and pray for salvation? Despondent, I slid to the ground. My sobbing was the only sound that penetrated the silence.
Sometime later, I realized I was working my way through the classic stages of acceptance. Ain’t nobody got time for that. Spurred by the pain in my jaws and feet, I short-circuited to the acceptance stage. Embarrassing as it was, I had to ask my neighbors for help. Fortunately, both marginally acceptable choices were living on the next floor.
First, there was... what’s-his-name, the shy graduate student. I barely acknowledged him but his eyes followed me whenever we met. We had talked only once and I had been intrigued to learn that his area of research was knots. That is until I realized he was a mathematician by trade and knots had to be n-dimensional to rouse his interest. At least he was about my age and seemed nice enough.
Vicky was the other choice. A few years older than me, she epitomized much of what I wanted to be but was too sensible to go for. She sported some prominent tattoos and piercings, with probably quite a few more hidden from view. On her they looked good, reinforcing her commanding presence.
Where I dressed sensibly, she went for an edgy look. She did not even shy away from latex. Admittedly, it definitely complimented her spectacular figure. She liked loud music and liked her music loud, as I could nolens-volens attest to. I did not know exactly what she did for a living, but I supposed she worked in a field where the word ‘creative’ constitutes an acceptable part of one’s job title.
I struggled to my feet. No point in delaying the inevitable. But whom to turn to? By the time I had teetered to my apartment’s front door, I still did not know. Maybe one of them was not even at home. I shuddered at the thought that both might have gone out. If worse came to worst, should I return to the safety of my apartment or continue on down to spook one of the petty-bourgeois families with their annoying kids? At least, I could serve as an instructive, cautionary example for them ...
I turned the handle with my elbow and opened the door a crack. Peeping through and listening carefully, I was relieved to find the stairwell deserted. I grabbed my keys from the dresser and quickly ventured out. I left the door ajar to allow for a quick retreat.
The safest way down was probably to slide down the stairs on my bottom, dignity be damned. But then, which doorbell to ring? Vicky’s or what’s-his-name’s? I could not afford to become paralyzed by indecision now. Forward momentum! I resolved to further deliberate the question on my way down.
Each step I bumped onto jolted the dead vibrator in my pussy and reminded me of my folly. Today, my decisions had consistently proven suboptimal. What made me think I would do better choosing my savior? Maybe I should toss a coin (figuratively speaking, of course)? An odd number of steps from here on down, the student. Vicky otherwise. But was it wise to leave such an important decision to chance?
What’s-his-name clearly fancied me. That might work to my advantage. Or to my disadvantage. After he’d helped me, there would be no going back to the status quo ante. Who knew what he’d want in return? Maybe he’d even take advantage of me in my helpless state. After all, he was a man!
Vicky was the safer choice for sure. I was pretty certain she would be cool with my “hobby” as well. Besides, I wouldn’t mind getting to know her better. Vicky it was! Even though it turned out to be an odd number of steps.
I clambered to my feet and scurried to her door. Subdued noises indicated that she was at home. Thank goodness! I pressed the doorbell with my elbow. Now I could only wait. I stepped from one foot to the other, but not solely to keep my balance in the ballet boots this time. My blood pounded in my ears and every sound from the stairwell made me jump. What took her so long? Any day now! At last, I heard quick steps approaching from behind the door. Someone grumbled as multiple locks were opened. It seemed Vicky strongly disapproved of uninvited guests. Then the door was ripped open and she stood in front of me.
Vicky was wearing a sweatshirt and baggy training pants, her striking face marred by a frown. Clearly, she had not been expecting anyone. She did a double-take when my appearance penetrated through her annoyance. Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth formed a capital ‘O’.
I felt compelled to strike up a conversation before the silence became awkward.
“He hee!”
Damned gag! For good measure, I rattled my chains to make her understand. At least, my plea helped her overcome her surprise. She arched an eyebrow and watched my antics with an amused smile. Not exactly the reaction I had hoped for.
“My, my! You’re a dream come true! How did you find out... Never mind!”
Her expression changed again. This time, it turned downright predatory.
“I’ve fantasized about this since first I met you. As did you, apparently. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”
She hooked a finger into the front ring of my collar and I was forcefully pulled into her apartment. Artistic black and white prints of women engaged in S/M play adorned the walls. With a start, I recognized my host as the whip-wielding domina in a couple of them. The door slammed shut behind me with resounding finality. Oh no! Oh yes?