01-01-26
I had done this a hundred times. A pair of eBay handcuffs I’d taken apart and fitted with short lengths of chain by cutting open and re-welding a link. Two tethers of parachute cord, each with a loop at both ends. Loop around the 8" log bedpost, feed the free loop through the last link of chain, snap the timer lock through it. A drop of super glue on each knot so there was no untying them later, even if I wanted.
The locks were just like padlocks but with a digital display. Once the shackle closed and the timer started, they would not open again until the countdown hit zero. No override. No early release.
There are three buttons: hours, minutes, start. Max time is 99 hours. Twenty minutes was the usual. Enough time to get hard, be frustrated, get released, and take care of the "itch" that built as a result.
Because the locks are electronically controlled, I needed a failsafe way to escape in case a battery or release mechanism failed. You never know.
The pocketknife was that way out. It lived under the edge of the mattress, but it was out of reach until one of the locks released and gave me an arm back. Having two locks made it much less likely for catastrophe.
I put the nylon cuffs and straps on my ankles, securing them to the foot board.
Now for my wrists. I set the left lock first. Twenty minutes. Heard the five warning beeps Counting down my last chance to abort. Fine. Reached across and set the right one the same way I always did, thumb on the minutes button out of habit. twenty presses, twenty beeps, twenty minutes. One press of the start button, five warning beeps, both wrist cuffs closed. Both timers running. I settled in.
After twenty minutes of fantasizing about various lovers in my past (and some that I wish had been), the left lock opened with a triple beep and that cheap little clicking sound. The lock opened, I slid it out of the loop, and the chain went slack. I slipped the lock out and my left arm came free.
The right one stayed shut. No beep, nothing.
I reached over, flipped the lock so I could see, and stared at the display. 19:39 remaining. It's counting down. Did it just begin counting twenty seconds ago? Did I just push the button? I looked closer. Twenty hours, nineteen minutes, forty-seven seconds. I had pressed hours, not minutes.
I chuckled. Dumbass. Easy fix. I twisted, stretched with the free arm, and reached under the mattress for the knife.
Nothing.
I swept farther. Felt along the side as far as the remaining chain and tether would let me. Under the pillow. Along the frame. The knife wasn’t there. Shit. I’d used it to make a new cord the previous day to replace a chafed one and never put it back. I tried the knot next. Super glue. Hard as plastic. No give at all. I couldn't even reach it with my teeth, as I would have chewed the cord rather than call someone.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.
I pulled. Hard. The parachute cord bit into the log bed post and didn’t give. The post was 8" thick. No chance of breaking that either.
With one arm free I still couldn’t reach the dresser, couldn’t reach the key, couldn’t get enough slack to work the frozen knot. I yanked until my shoulder burned. Nothing.
My iPhone was nearby. I said, " Hey Siri." Then "never mind." Police would put it on a public record. A friend would never look at me the same way again. I lay there breathing through it, telling myself the remaining lock would glitch or the battery would die or something would give.
Four hours after I’d first locked myself down, nothing had given. I was in a panic. I calmed myself a little. I knew if I had to ride out the remaining time I would be mostly OK, but that was another fifteen hours. My arm and legs were already tingling. The thought of being stuck all that time made my cock hard again. I decided to finally take care of that. I may as well have some fun.
I was interrupted by the doorbell. Then a knock. Then Marissa, my postal carrier, calling through the door, bright, cheerful, and a little impatient: “Signature needed!”
I almost didn’t yell. Then I did.
“A Little Help!”
Footsteps on the stairs, faster than I expected. The door opened. She stood there in the Summer uniform consisting of navy shorts and polo, mail satchel still slung, hair pulled back, that same easy half-smile she always had when she handed me packages and lingered half a second too long. It vanished when she saw me.
“What the fuck.”
She asked the obvious questions. I answered the minimum. Timer locks. Accident. I set one for twenty hours instead of twenty minutes and didn’t notice until the other one opened. Key on the dresser. Please?
She looked at the dresser. Looked at me. Then that smile came back, but it wasn’t the flirty one anymore. It was slower. Thoughtful. Devious.
“Stay there,” she said, like I had a choice. She walked to the dresser, picked up the key, turned it in her fingers, and put it in her pocket.
“I’m going to finish my route,” she said. “You’re going to stay exactly like that.”
I started to protest. She stepped close, reached between my legs, and twisted. Not hard enough to ruin anything. Hard enough that the sound I made wasn’t a word. Her face inches from mine, eyes locked. I could smell her warm, minty breath and see her perfectly white teeth and blue eyes. She was very pretty. My cock stirred a little. She noticed all of my reactions. She held it and increased the pressure gradually until I lifted my free arm and put it where she gestured with her eyes. She clicked that lock shut again and set the time for 4 hours.
“Good boy.”
She left. I heard the front door, the truck, then nothing.
An hour and a half later she was back. She had some sort of contraption with a black belt in her hands—wide nylon around the waist, two straps that ran under and between, dozens of electrodes along the inside in places that made my stomach drop. She held it up like a trophy.
"The fuck is that? You going to unlock me now?"
She ignored the question.
“One of my customers ordered this. It got lost. She filed a claim and ordered another one and this showed up a month later (today). We're friends/coworkers and she said I could keep it or sell it in exchange for covering one of her routes. She's quite a freak. You obviously know the type. Maybe I'll fill her in on this new situation if she covers my route someday. She'd love to know I put it to good use and she also likes to dominate men." She looked at me. “Anyway. It’s mine now. And, if you haven't yet deduced, so are you.”
She buckled it on without asking. The straps pulled snug. They ratcheted like a zip tie. Access for releasing them was inside the belt. No loosening unless the paired phone unlocked the buckle first. There was no key, only the app could release it. She paired her phone, enabled the lock, ran a test pulse that made my hips jerk, then another that wasn’t pain at all—just a low, filthy vibration aimed exactly where it would do the most... damage? More like stimulation. It felt amazing, actually.
She showed me the app. Tampering (fingers anywhere inside the waistband). Battery under fifty percent of its seventy-two hour capacity. Touching myself too long. Detection of the last was accomplished by conduction through the hand and the accelerometers. All of it ended the same way. Pain and cramping on my penis, scrotum, and ass that would drop me to my knees like the worst Charlie Horse ever. She pressed a button to demonstrate. I convulsed, arched my back, and yelped. I begged her never to do that one again.
Then she climbed onto the bed, knees on either side of my head, and said, "you know what to do. Do it right, and I won't have to shock you again." I licked and sucked like my life depended on it. She used my mouth until her thighs shook. She didn’t let me come. She didn’t even let the belt do more than tease.
“I still have stops,” she said, wiping her wetness off my mouth and "bopping" my nose. “Be good,” she said with her usual cheer and smile, and skipped down the stairs, humming to herself.
She left the stimulation on low and intermittent, randomly triggering for five to ten seconds every minute, occasionally hitting me with a light shock if I ever got close. Just enough to keep me rock hard, leaking, and furious. Another hour of that? Two hours? How much was left on that timer? I checked. Two hours, eighteen minutes.
When she came back the second time she didn’t talk much. She stripped every stitch of her clothing, straddled my hips, forced my mouth onto one of her nipples by grabbing a handful of hair, and rode me with her slim, toned body until I couldn’t hold it. The belt mildly punished the orgasm... not like the tampering shock. It was a series of sharp, precise pain-adjacent jolts. I made a long moaning noise I didn’t recognize, caused by the ecstasy of the pain and pleasure mix.
She stayed on me until I stopped twitching, and lingered for several minutes, squeezing her inside muscles to tease my sensitive cock until I was squirming beneath her lean, sweaty form. She pressed a button on the app that made my hips lunge forward involuntarily a few times. She giggled and said, “looks like I have a remote controlled fuck robot."
I just said, "please... too much."
"She's as playful as I imagined in my fantasies," I thought to myself.
Then she leaned down, close to my ear while still tightly holding a handful of my hair. “You'll follow these rules. Thirty minutes before my usual delivery window, you lock yourself up with the timers set to 4 hours. Both arms. Both legs. Just like I found you today without the loose arm. I come in and check. Maybe I sit on your face again. Maybe not. Not your choice. It depends on how much time I have. You stay locked until I come back from the rest of my route. The belt stays on 24/7. I'll set it to edge you while I run my route so I don't have to waste time getting you hard myself. Do not try to leave and avoid me. There is a SIM card and I can control the belt from anywhere. If I find you unlocked, you're gone, or if the app says you tried to cheat, you get punished, we start over and we add time to your bonds for you to reflect after I leave for the day. Do you understand, slave?”
"Yes, mistress," I replied.
"Good boy." She unlocked one wrist with the handcuff key. She took a shower, dressed slowly while I watched, and tossed the key onto the far side of the king-sized mattress, just out of easy reach, and walked toward the door.
“See you tomorrow, and keep that belt charged for me, boytoy." She tossed the charging cord toward me. "Don't drop that key, or you'll be stuck there for twelve more hours,” she said.
"Yes, mistress."
I lay there with one arm still locked to the post, the belt locked inescapably around my waist like a quiet little threat, and the key glittering where I’d have to stretch and twist and maybe not quite make it on the first try. It was way too close to the edge of the mattress for my liking and I was almost afraid to move.
What a day.