The combination of some kinky dreams and knowing Thursday is “Master Dice” day made me hope for a hard training day, where especially my tingling pussy and big boobs needed some intense and brutal attention. “Master Dice” is the silly little self-tie dice game I made not to have lack of partner or inspiration keeping me from my sometimes much needed and desired being tied up. “He” made me strip naked, pack my bag with lube for dildos and plugs, two pairs of hinged metal police-cuffs, a hard dildo (152×40 mm golden plastic) for stuffing my vagina, a huge anal cone (178×76 mm black TPE) for stuffing my ass, a polypropylene rope (4 m, 8 mm blue, scratchy) for splitting my cleft, flag rope (2 x 7.2 m, 5 mm white polyester) for binding my tits, and mouse traps (1 pair, wooden, nice) for my nipples. “He” then styled me for work with red cotton panties, that might literally fill in as a makeshift gag later, a high ponytail hairdo, and heavy makeup.
“He” had me spend some of my lunch break in a toilet, again stripped naked, standing with ankles cuffed and hands cuffed back with the police-cuffs, trying to pet myself towards a pretty awkward orgasm. I had to stop just short of cumming, and “He” then permitted me to cum once, leaving me somewhat relieved but still pretty hot. After freeing myself, I used the toilet, but was not permitted to wipe myself, to really soil my panties, got dressed and returned to my desk, eating in front of my laptop and trying to get my focus back on work.
After work, “He” had me go down to a storage room in the basement, again strip naked and adorn myself with the used and soiled panties humiliatingly shoved into my mouth. Then “He” had me go home like that, dressed but without my panties, by crowded bus. On my way home, the soiled panties humiliatingly stuffed and hidden in my mouth but still arousing me and the taste of myself reminding me how hot these games make me, was making the trip a bit interesting and almost pure pleasure.
When I came home, “He” had me strip naked again, but keeping my adornments, then gagging myself with a tightly wound tape gag sealing my lower face, mouth stuffed with a large wool sock, adding a wide black leather collar, nooses with 500 g weights on each nipple, 5 wooden clothespins with 100 g weights on each outer labia, and a bullet vibrator taped to my clit on high intensity. For the final tie, “He” had me use leather (cuffs and straps with padlocks) after arranging a 1.5 hour ice timer for my release, with the necessary keys and cutter, plus my usual backup of a text with an estimated time I was to be free and texting again to an informed friend. “He” had me arrange myself hogtied on belly on a spiked hard plastic turf floor mat, with a shoulder harness, a tie around my waist secured to a metal eye in the middle of the mat forcing me in place, my ankles and legs tied tight and bent with ankles tied towards my waist, and my hands tied high up my back to the shoulder harness (the ice timer dropped the keys on a cord with the cord dangling within reach of my fingers).
When I was done, I was thoroughly thrilled and excited by my helplessness, and the discomforts I was forced to accept and endure because of it. My only way out was the ice timer holding my release, way out of reach up under the ceiling, or if that failed, my backup that hopefully eventually would come to check up why I had not texted her again, using her spare key to let herself in and find me. I tested my ties, happy and aroused to find them tight and secure, just the way I desired them. As almost always, my imagination kicked in, building fantasies of me being found and caught, used and abused, a helpless sex-toy played with in every way imaginable and perhaps a few ways unimaginable as well, teased and tormented much harder than I was now, taken away and kept, or abandoned and left without hope or release, making a mixture of arousal, panic and agony whirl through my mind. The vibrator on my clit kept buzzing, forcing me to more and more painful and maddening orgasms as my battered clit grew more and more sore from the intense vibrations.
Eventually, my time was done, and I went for my release. When I had freed my hands, but everything else was still in place, “He” ordered me to masturbate to 1 orgasm. It was mockery, after the sensory overdose I had already suffered and with my clit as sore as it already was. After having recovered some, I texted my informed friend that I was free, sanitized myself, cleaned up the mess I left when I freed myself and then wrote this report.