Another Monday, another desired bout with “Master Dice”. “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. Nowadays, “Master Dice” is actually an interactive web-page that both translates virtual dice rolls into clear-text instructions and at the same time generates the bulk of the reports, courtesy of a kind hacker friend of mine, saving me the efforts of both keeping track of a growing bunch of cheat sheets as the game evolves and of spending a lot of time writing these reports from scratch, which was becoming a growing distraction from the actual experience. This time, “He” made me strip naked, pack my bag with lube for dildos and plugs, two pairs of hinged metal police-cuffs, a spiky ball (60 mm soft orange plastic spiky dental dog ball) for stuffing my pussy, a bardex nozzle (178×50#100 mm inflatable silicon) for impaling my ass, a crotch harness (20 mm wide, sturdy black leather) for binding through my crotch, zipties (3 pairs, 450×4.8 mm black nylon) for tying my tits, and clothespins (1 pair, wooden, moderate) for my nipples. “He” then styled me for work with black cotton panties, that might double as a provisory gag later, yellow as clothing color, high-heel peep-toes, shorts, T-shirt, and a let down hairdo, although the weather permitted me to wear high-heel knee-high leather boots to and from work.
“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 denied me cumming, leaving me very hot and frustrated. 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 spiky ball pushed into my wet pussy. Then “He” had me go home like that, dressed but without my panties, hiding my adornment, by crowded bus. On my way home, the wicked stimulation from the spiky ball as it moved in my pussy with every step, was making the trip a bit interesting and uncomfortable.
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 deep-throat dildo (152×38 mm, soft silicon with base plate), adding a wide black leather collar, and a bullet vibrator taped to my clit on high intensity. For the final tie, “He” had me use zipties (black nylon) 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 barefoot, standing on a spiked hard plastic turf floor mat, with a shoulder harness, my breasts cuffed tight with leg irons, my ankles spread wide and bound to metal eyes at the short ends of the mat, my breasts stretched hard up to a chain from a ceiling hook, forcing me on the balls of my feet, 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, and when I had freed and relieved myself entirely, “He” ordered me to masturbate to 2 orgasms more. 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.