Foreword
I haven’t stopped playing during weekends, but I have stopped writing about it, both because the sessions tend to be more complex and take way too much time to write at the detail level I think they deserve, and because lately, the sessions have often involved other people, whose integrity I need to respect. Even if this blog is anonymous to most, there are a growing number of people reading it who know or at least know of me and some other people who might be mentioned. So, after having been through the trouble of having people involved vetting the texts before publishing them a few times, I simply gave up on writing about those sessions.
Also, I am playing to enjoy the sessions in themselves, not to have something to write about, contrary to what I have understood from some comments that some believe. But even if I try to be pretty open, sometimes things happen that are a bit too personal or kinky for me to feel comfortable writing about, but that would be essential to make the description intelligible and meaningful. I don’t want to end up in a situation where I would try to avoid some things in a session because of the thought “Oh no, I couldn’t write about this!”
I originally had no plans of writing about this session, but I was later urged by all the other people involved to do so. I guess there were some egos that needed to be scratched, having me tell the world how great everything was, and yeah, it was a great session that deserved to be told, but when finally done, after several days of writing, although not full time since my life is a bit more than just playing and writing, it really just confirmed to me that “weekend sessions”, especially when involving others, are too much effort to write about.
Report
It was a kind of strange feeling, standing there all nude, with just the tight leather hood over my head and secured around my neck with its locked collar, its integrated large metal ring forcing my jaws wide open, and the big rubber plug stuffing my mouth and preventing me from making any noises more than humming, moaning and some very muffled throat sounds through its breathing tube, with the solid nose plugs leaving me no other vent, my hands cuffed behind my back with snug hinged metal police cuffs, my feet cuffed together tight with a matching pair of cuffs, a chain clipped to the metal ring on top of the hood and fastened to the ceiling forcing me upright and securely in place. My pussy was so wet I could feel the moisture halfway down the inside of my thighs, my fingers were wet and slick from fingering my pussy from behind, able to dip into my orifice but with the clit just out of reach due to my forced position, and my rock hard nipples were wet from my fingers playing with them, reaching up to rub, pinch, twist and pull on them, when not busy with my pussy.
It wasn’t the situation in itself, with its in my taste rather sparse rigging, that made me so hot, but the anticipation of what was to come. My heat and frustration started manifesting itself in a wish and desire that I had set myself up more elaborate and brutal while I was still able, with toys torturing my nipples, labia and clit, tight ties constricting the bases of my breasts, forcing them into swollen, bulging, throbbing, aching orbs, oversized plugs locked into my lower orifices and stretching them brutally, and the large plug in my mouth shoved in another notch, forcing its tip into my throat and teasing my gag reflex. But no, I had been a good girl and as agreed just added the minimum to make myself helpless and anonymous.
Normally, at this point when having tied myself up, part of my brain would be busy trying to estimate the time to my timer release, planning on how to best work my way out of the tie, and about what to do if something went wrong. This time, none of that was my concern. I was truly stuck and helpless, with no timer release, no chance of breaking out on my own, and only having to wait for being found and eventually “rescued”. It was what might happen between “found” and “rescued” that occupied my mind at present, with both hopes, desires, fears and fantasies, driving my arousal and me crazy. About all I knew was that someone I knew and trusted had vouched for that I would get out alive, in one piece, with no severe or long-lasting injuries, or permanent damages or marks, at least none visible. Very reassuring? Nah, rather far more thrilling and arousing.
I had left the keys to the cuffs on the table with a collection of other “inspiring” items and a note to my handler. The key to the mouth-plug was in its keyhole, for easy adjustment of the plug, to lock it into my throat or to remove it for full access. Perhaps it was a bit too suggestive, as was no doubt my note with a few suggestions and wishes, but in my present state I hoped my handler would use those as starters rather than limits.
Besides making me blind and mute, the heavily padded hood bereft me of most of my hearing as well, so I didn’t hear my handler arrive. I was standing and thrusting three fingers deep into my ass, well lubricated from my flooded pussy, while my right hand was spanking my ass cheeks best as it could in the awkward position. I jumped when I suddenly felt hands groping my breasts and start kneading hard, while a male voice spoke loud enough into my ear to make it through the hood padding. “Keep fucking yourself, little slut!” I felt my face going beet red from shame and embarrassment, and was happy the hood hid it, but kept humping myself while the hands kept abusing my breasts, adding painful squeezes and slaps while lips, tongues and teeth added pleasure by sucking, licking and biting my nipples and areolas. The simultaneous treatment of both my breasts told me there were at least two handlers, and the force of their ministrations made me pretty sure the ones active were both male.
I tensed and started trembling as I felt the heat in my lower belly grow quickly and the muscles almost knotting up from pleasure, and in that very moment everything stopped, even my own fingers being yanked out of my greedy anal and my hands being forced high up my back, obviously fastened to something that was being tightened around my neck, just below the lower edge of the hood collar, restricting my breathing if I tried to lower my hands even the slightest from their rather loose but still strenuous and uncomfortable reverse prayer position. The next “something” went around my wrists, and when it was tightened with a serrated feeling I knew it was zipties. It forced my wrists tighter together and also brought them higher up along my spine, the slack in the ziptie joining the ties around wrists and neck quickly gone as it was tightened too.
With my wrists secured in this new way, the handcuffs were unlocked and removed, and the zipties again tightened, holding my arms in an uncomfortable iron grip with my fingertips touching the nape of my neck. More zipties were added, forcing my lower arms and elbows together, and securing my lower arms to my upper arms in a tight fold. The strain on my shoulders, upper arms and elbows was horrific and painful, but there was more to come. More zipties around my upper body and arms were pulled tight and crushed my arms against my torso, and zipties around my hands pressed first my palms tightly together, and then each pair of opposite fingers, with ties both at their bases and just below their outer phalanges, making my hands utterly useless. The final touch was a cocoon of tight adhesive tape around my joined hands, wrapped tight from the wrists to the fingertips, immobilizing my hands completely.
Despite the painful strain from the tight and brutal tying of my hands and arms, I loved the sensation and feeling of total helplessness it brought. I tried to adjust to ease the strain at least some, but it was a waste of effort. At last, I managed to relax my arms enough to permit them to adapt some to the strenuous position and reduce the pain from agony to almost tolerable. The pressure and strain restricted the blood flow some as well, after a while reducing the pain further into an uncomfortable numbness.
I felt the strain from the leash connecting my hood to the ceiling suddenly ease and a hard kick to my knees from behind made them buckle so I ended up crashing down painfully on my knees, the leash stopping me from falling down on my side. More ties were added around each doubled leg, pulled tight and crushing my calves into my thighs, locking them into a tight frogtie by 4 ties from upper thigh and ankle down to just above the knee of each leg. The cuffs around my ankles were removed and my knees were kicked apart before I was knocked over on my back, screaming into the hood gag, coming out as no more than a low moan, as my weight landed on my brutally bound arms, feeling like it almost broke my joints or upper arms. I tried to roll over to get the weight off my arms, but a heavy boot on my sternum held me down while my feet were tied together tight sole to sole, similar to my hands before, with tight zipties joining first the blades of my feet and then each toe to the opposite one.
Some kind of plank was shoved under my thighs and ass, and my legs were strapped down to it, using what felt like a few cm wide leather straps, at each groin and knee, straining my groins and inner thighs uncomfortably, and making me very aware of how exposed and vulnerable my pussy must be, seconds before it was confirmed by a boot stomping down painfully on it a few times and then kicking it so it felt like the tip of the boot brutally buried itself into my vagina. Despite the pain, my body reacted more with arousal than suffering from the intimate abuse. The boot disappeared though, and I felt myself being hoisted by the plank, hanging upside down and spread extremely wide. The suspension was actually surprisingly comfortable, with my weight distributed on the 4 wide straps securing my folded and splayed legs to the plank.
The next thing was anything but comfortable, with two whips, I suspected a riding crop and a flogger, simultaneously starting to lash fire on my taut and sensitive inner thighs, beginning at the knees and working inwards. They ended up meeting on my very exposed pussy, smacking both on and between my labia, lashing fire even on my inner folds and clit, having me mindlessly try to thrash and squirm, but with barely any other success than hurting my brutally strained arms, as I tensed and yanked on them. The whips continued outwards again, adding more fire to my already sore and burning inner thighs, reached the knees and turned inwards again.
I was neither trying to nor able to keep count on how many times the whips wandered from knee to knee across and lingering for some time at my pussy, each time more intense than the one before as my flesh became more and more inflamed, sore and sensitive. When it stopped I just hung limp and trying to pant a lot harder than the narrow breathing tube through the mouth plug permitted, feeling light-headed both from the intensity of the experience, the upside down suspension and lack of air, totally drained and exhausted from the unbearable but still somehow arousing torture, not sure if I should be relieved or disappointed it had ended.
The ordeal continued without leaving me much time for recovering though, with something hard and cold plunging into my sopping wet pussy and then being forcefully shoved into my already softened and lubricated anal, still big enough to stretch and leave me with a burning pain in my sphincter as it closed on the neck of what felt like a large metal anal plug. Then something else was shoved into my pussy, this time something rather soft and flaccid, like a spent cock, but feeling like rubber rather than skin and flesh. Once the intruder was lodged deep inside me, it started to grow in short pulses, convincing me it was an inflatable rubber dildo being pumped up inside me. The sensation was quite thrilling, pleasurable and arousing, even when it started stretching my vagina harder and harder.
The pumping stopped at about the time the stretching of my vagina was starting to grow really uncomfortable, and interesting. Instead, I felt something pressing against the area around my clit, and when suction was applied, my clit swelled and grew into the tube or suction cup, an intense mix of pleasure and pain. Something was wrapped tight around its base, and tightened even more until it was cutting into the delicate flesh of the aching and throbbing little nub. I gasped as the tube or cup was yanked straight off the swollen knob, with an intense sensation that wasn’t entirely painful. The warm, wet tongue that then started playing with the engorged and sensitized nub was anything but painful, and my body tensed hard as I felt an orgasm coming on with express speed. Again I was denied and screamed from frustration into the gag, again coming out as just a low soft moan.
Another ziptie was wrapped tight, quite uncomfortably tight, around my waist, and more zipties was wrapped around the first ziptie front and rear, through my crotch and cutting deep into my crevice as they were tightened, slipping in between my wet and puffy outer labia, straddling and squeezing my folds and tied clit in a painful pinch, forcing the large inflated dildo even deeper into my vagina, and securing the plug in my anal. Something was attached to it just above the clit, pressing into the swollen and sensitive nub in a quite interesting way, and I tried to gasp hard as the thing came alive with a low but still pretty intense burst of vibrations. The vibrations came in 4 about 1 second pulses with 2-3 seconds pauses in-between, each pulse a bit more intense than the one before, and then the series of pulses restarted at the lowest level. It took me maybe a minute to fully appreciate the ingenuity and cruelty of the arrangement, realizing the vibes were quite enough to drive me crazy from pleasure and arousal, but not quite enough to push me over the edge to that evermore desperately desired and needed orgasm.
The next addition was about as painful as the clit vibe was pleasureful. One strong, jagged clamp, probably some kind of metal alligator clamp, was attached to each outer labia, feeling like it was about to cut a bite out of it, especially when the clamps were pulled hard to each side, stretching the outer labia apart and leaving my pussy even more wide-open and vulnerable than before. I felt each clamp being attached to one of the zipties keeping my legs folded into a tight frogtie on opposite sides of my pussy. The pain was intense, but soothed by the distracting vibe on my clit, making an almost perfect pleasure-pain mix once my body had adapted to it.
My nipples were next, having their bases wrapped very tight with what I was pretty sure were small and thin zipties. The sensation was about as painful as a hard nipple clamp, but it was still mainly arousing to me because of my fancy for breast play, even rather hard such. The pinching, stretching, twisting and rubbing of the nipples, to seemingly check that the ties were tight and secure enough, didn’t make things any worse, but what came out as a low moan behind my gag was really a moan, although perhaps not intended to be quite so low, from pleasure and arousal.
Next, I felt something being wrapped tight around the base of each breast, feeling like a rather narrow strip of adhesive tape. Another wrap went around the now bulge of the tied breasts perhaps 5-6 cm outside the first wrap. Something more was added on top of the tape ties and then slowly tightened, becoming more and more intense, moving from tingling and arousing, via tight and thrilling, to really tight and a bit painful. It stopped while hands examined and played with the now swollen and bulging breasts, caressing the taut and sensitive skin, squeezing the throbbing flesh, and slapping them stingingly hard across the areola and tied and rock-hard nipples. I was moaning almost non-stop now, and feeling how the combination of the vibe on my clit and the playing with my tightly tied breasts made me close in on that orgasm I had been denied before.
As should come as no surprise, the playing stopped just short of me finally cumming, leaving me desperate for relief and if I could, I would have pleaded and offered almost anything for being permitted that desperately desired orgasm. As was now, suddenly my nipples exploded in pain instead, making me scream into the gag as what I suspected were the siblings to the cruel alligator clamps on my labia took a big, agonizing chew on both nipples. The pain didn’t stop there though, because then painful electric jolts shot through my nipples and breasts, followed by similar jolts between my hard stretched labia, and finally between the probably metal wire tie on my clit and the metal anal plug.
In one way, this electrical torture of my most sexually sensitive parts was intensely erotic and arousing, but the sharp jolts were simply too painful for me to being able to enjoy it. And it didn’t end there. The electrical jolts became intertwined with the inflatable dildo in my pussy being expanded by pump after pump, the ties securing it within me giving it no option but to stretch my pussy harder and more painful both lengthwise and girth-wise, and I also felt the ties around my breasts slowly being tightened, a few mm at a time, making my breasts swell more and more, throb more and more painfully, and the ties burn more and more as they dug deeper and deeper into skin and flesh. Eager hands seemed to keep checking the progress by groping, rubbing, squeezing and slapping the evermore bulging orbs.
My handlers expertly balanced the pain from clamps, ties and electricity with an increased intensity of the vibes on my clit, turning the sensation more and more maddening and unbearably intense, but still they kept on and on. I felt like I was seconds from one of the most intense orgasms of my life, but every time the vibes, arousal and pleasure brought me close to that edge, a new wave of pain rolled through my body and pushed me away from it.
I hardly even noticed when the first hit from the dreaded cane landed across my impossibly swollen and taut breasts, branding a welt of fire across the even bulging areolas. Not until the second or third stroke also had left burning welts across the flesh, the new pain made it into my mind. The next vicious slash got my full attention though, feeling like it hit almost in slow motion, slowly burying itself deeply into the swollen and throbbing flesh, sending an intense and slowly burning wave of pain through the breasts and my entire chest, leaving a thick purple line that slowly rose into a welt, crossing some of the ones already fully developed. I tried to scream but couldn’t get enough air in through the breather tube to manage more than a hoarse moan.
I didn’t know how many strokes my breasts got then, but later I could count to 24 welts across them. Right then I didn’t care if it had been 50 or 100 strokes even, because the intense mix of pleasure and pain sent me into a space where pain was as desirable as pleasure, and whatever the sensation I just wanted more and more from it. My total helplessness added to it, knowing I could do nothing but try and accept and endure whatever was handed out to me, and the tight, cruel and ingenious tie was a very desirable torture in itself.
It ended, had to end, because despite my body and mind screamed for more, and screamed when it slowly stopped, the sensations were eventually more than I could handle. My body could probably have handled and even desired a lot more, but my mind started to break. I don’t doubt my handlers noticed and therefore stopped when they did. Or perhaps stopped wasn’t the right word. They left me still hanging upside down, stringently, strenuously, painfully and totally helplessly tied, with my impossibly tightly tied breasts in an arousing agony, and my over-stretched vagina in a similar state. The last thing they did was bending my neck back very strenuously by the ring on top of the hood, unlocked the gag plug and pulled it out of my mouth, and I could take my first deep breaths in hours.
I felt myself being lowered, suddenly feeling a new plug entering through the large ring forcing my mouth wide open, quickly identifying it as a very erect cock. I was both grateful and disappointed when I felt it covered in a rubber, but that didn’t stop me from giving it all that I could with first my tongue and then my throat muscles when I was lowered so deep it pushed down, or rather up in my upside down position, my throat. I was throat-fucked like that for many minutes, enjoying every second of it and doing everything I could to make it as pleasurable as possible for my handler, both because I really enjoy sucking cock, especially when tied up, and out of gratitude for the wild ride he and his partner or partners had given me. Eventually I felt him tense hard and his cock jerking in my mouth, working him fast and light with my tongue and trying to milk him as much as possible.
I was hoisted again, just to be lowered a few seconds later onto a new cock, giving it the same treatment as the first one, but this one was faster, and it took only a few minutes before I felt him tense and his cock start jerking while he lowered me so my lips were pressed hard against his groin and his cock as deep down my throat as it could go, my throat muscles massaging him as good as I could.
After being hoisted off my second handler, the gag plug was re-inserted and locked in place, this time all the way into my throat. I was lowered to the floor, laid to rest on my belly, or rather on my knees, pubes and agonizingly on my very swollen and hurting breasts and nipples. The vibrator on my clit was turned on continuously, as was the electricity to my nipples, labia, clit and anal, but now at a rather low intensity that was uncomfortable but also stimulating and arousing. I didn’t hear my handlers leave, but after several minutes I realized they must have left me alone. I had several intense orgasms while I lay there, the pleasure mitigating the pain and discomfort from my ties, clamps, dildo, gag and crushed breasts, and it felt like it didn’t matter if I’d be left like that for another hour, until the next day or until I died, whichever came first.
Eventually it ended though. I felt hands on my body, the vibes on my clit and the electricity turned off, something cutting the zipties holding my hands and arms in the cruel reverse prayer behind my back, hands helping me to slowly and painfully straighten my aching and stiff limbs, while the zipties holding my legs in the strenuous frogtie were cut as well and my legs slowly straightened. The plug in my mouth was unlocked and pulled out, again letting me take much needed deep breaths, the hood collar unlocked and unbuckled, and the hood pulled off.
Once my eyes had adapted to the at first blinding light, I saw the savers were two, one male and one female. I lay there waiting for my savers to free the rest of me, but instead, the male “saver” pulled my hands behind my back and locked them with the hinged metal police-cuffs that had originally kept me captive, using another ziptie to pull them up towards the ziptie still around my neck. Trying to lower my hands made the ziptie bite into my throat and start strangling me, so despite the relative freedom compared to the reverse prayer, my hands were pretty much useless again. Meanwhile, the female “saver” was strapping my feet into a pair of very high-heel sandals, complete with locking buckles, which she secured with small padlocks once the straps were tight.
When done with my hands, the male “saver” pinched my nose shut, and when I opened my mouth to take a breath and protest, he shoved a large ball gag in, quickly buckling it tight behind my neck, while the female “saver” grabbed my hair in a make-shift ponytail, lifting my head off the floor, so the male “saver” could secure and seal the gag into my mouth by wrapping it with turn after turn of duct tape, soon covering my entire lower face from just below the nostrils to the tip of my chin. The final touch was a facemask covering the gag and making it mostly invisible.
The male “saver” hefted me off the floor and onto my feet, while the female one approached me and quickly hooked weights to the cruel alligator clamps still on my nipples and labia. Heavy weights! It felt like at least 1 kg each trying to rip off my abused nipples and labia (although I later found them to be “just” 500 g). The pain from the clamps hade kind of dulled while I was tied up before, but the weights renewed it, and then some. The pain was so intense it brought tears to my eyes, even if it didn’t make me really cry.
Seemingly pleased with their work, the couple wrapped me in the short coat I had arrived in, buttoning it up with some difficulty and force, both because my tied arms taking up some space but mainly because of my extremely tightly tied breasts having swelled to huge proportions, bulging obscenely under the tight fabric. The tightening of the belt around the waist of the coat didn’t help, but it made the upper part of the coat form a kind of arm baggy, holding my cuffed hands in position so I didn’t need to focus on not strangling myself by lowering them and pull on the ziptie around my neck. The empty sleeves of the coat were arranged so I suppose it might have looked like I had hands in pockets. The pressure from the now severely undersized coat added more pain both to my aching and throbbing breasts, and to my agonized nipples. Also, even if it covered my distorted breasts, it hid neither them nor the nipple clamps poking like oversized teats under the fabric, and even if it covered my ziptie chastity belt, I could feel the pump bulb from the huge inflated dildo in my pussy dangling between my knees, no doubt in plain sight, and I was pretty sure the weights dangling from my brutally stretched labia were at least partly visible as well.
My “savers” left me standing like that while they cleaned up clothes, toys and cut zipties from all around the room, packing them into a big bag. When they were done, they returned to me. The female “saver” smiled sweetly at me and said “Now, we didn’t want to shock you too much compared to your usual self-bondage games, so we figured a good compromise would be leaving you here like this, and leaving the bag with your keys, cutter for your ziptie panties and screwdriver for that metal hose clamp bra in a secure spot close to your home. You know the sand box at the garage on the rear of the house, where I doubt many will go at this hour. We know you’ll love that challenge and the 1 km walk home the way you are rigged now, but no need to thank us for it. Anything for a friend in need you know. Please close the door here when you leave. In case of real emergency, your phone is in the right pocket of the coat, and if we don’t hear from you within a few hours, we’ll come and have a peek.” She grinned wide as she silenced for a moment, reached up under my coat and made the vibrator pressing into my clit come alive again. “Have fun!”
I just looked at them as they left, because even if I had been able to speak, I really didn’t know what to say. Despite, or rather thanks to, the situation, my helplessness, torment and humiliation, the vibrator on my clit forced a first, violent orgasm from me within minutes after my “savers” had left. It was so intense I ended up in a pile on the floor, shaking and squirming wildly, welcoming the pain as the weighted clamps tore at my nipples and labia, the fabric of the coat rubbed hard across the very taut, sore and sensitive surface of my brutally constricted udders, and even the lack of air when I managed to pull down on the ziptie around my neck to make it bite hard into my throat and restrict my breathing.
Eventually the orgasm faded and after a few minutes of just breathing and trying to gather my strength, I managed to get on my feet again. The vibes kept buzzing my clit, and I knew there would be more orgasms. Once outside, I would have to really try not to totally lose it when they hit though. The pain from the zipties chafing and pinching my clit and folds, and from the cruel clamps torturing my nipples and labia with every move, forced me to move with tiny, mincing steps. The vibes mitigated the pain though, even made it desirable part of the time, but still to a limit, and walking fast was way beyond that limit. So, I moved to the door, shoved it open, passed through it, and after a few seconds of hesitation let it slam shut.
I continued my path slowly and interrupted repeatedly by more orgasms forced by the insistent vibes on my clit, made more intense from my predicament, but I managed to stay on my feet, although pretty wobbly and frequently leaning on walls, lamp posts and traffic signs. Snow and slush seeped into my sandals wherever the snow hadn’t been removed from pavements, streets and paths, the cold and wet both tormenting and exciting me. There were surprisingly many people out, so I guessed my feeling it was quite late was wrong. The light didn’t say much, since at this time of year the darkness could mean anything from 4 in the afternoon to 8 in the morning. Every time I met someone, I tried to act and walk as normally as possible, but I still got the feeling that they all stared at my breasts bulging under the coat, the pump bulb and weights dangling under it, and the duct tape sealing my gag and visible between the face mask and my hair.
About halfway home, I had already suffered several hard orgasms, miraculously managing to stay on my feet though, but instead of cooling my arousal, they seemed to just add to it, making me so hot and horny that I was almost wishing my “savers” had left me without the coat and face mask, instead hanging a sign around my neck with the text “Please, play with me!” Strangers seeing me so humiliatingly exposed, bold ones coming close to inspect me, the most daring ones touching, poking, groping and playing, maybe, hopefully some even wickedly adding more pain to my breasts by squeezing hard, slapping or punching, or my “savers” having left the screwdriver for the clamps attached with a sign “Please, tighten more!” and a sign on the dangling pump bulb to my over-inflated dildo “Please, pump up more!”
Finally, almost home, after several orgasms more, and being so hot and horny I would almost happily have bent over with my pussy up in the air if someone had showed up with a stallion, I reached and managed to open the sandbox at our garages by getting down on one knee and lift its lid with my shoulder. The bag was there, as promised, but zipped close. How was I supposed to be able to get at its content with my hands cuffed and in a makeshift arm baggy??? After quite a bit of struggle and almost strangling myself, I realized I could not get my hands out from the “baggy”. There must be another way!
Somehow I managed to remain somewhat calm and decided I had to get at the belt holding the coat together and bagging my arms inside it. Slowly and painfully, I managed to rotate the coat around my body until the buttons were rear. The fabric rubbing hard across the taut and very sensitive skin of my bulging breasts was intense, but it was nothing compared to the cruel alligator clamps almost tearing my nipples off as the moving fabric dragged them along. With tears from pain running down the short stretch of my cheeks between the eyes and the facemask, I managed to get a hand out between the buttons and undo the belt buckle. Still, it didn’t help much, with my hands held high up my back by the ziptie noose around my neck, but after managing to undo a few buttons, the coat still being an obstacle, I decided to get it off entirely and eventually managed to get it up over my head and worm out of. It took the facemask with it, but having my tormented breasts and pussy fully exposed anyway, it didn’t feel like showing off the gag too mattered much.
It seemed my “savers” had picked a good place to drop the bag. Despite I had been there struggling for quite some time, I hadn’t seen or heard anyone else around. I was shielded from the windows on the house next to the garage row by a low storage building next to me, and it also formed a niche in the row of garage doors shielding me from anyone coming to and going from the garages, unless they passed outside the niche. From a security point of view, it was a really stupid arrangement, because it hid any burglars or car thieves from the windows in the house as well, which was why a few years before they had installed… CCTV!
I looked up and found myself staring straight at one of the domes of the CCTV system, only about 3 m away. At that moment, it felt like the entire world was staring back at me, and I expected to hear police sirens any second to come and check up the “suspicious activity”. I panicked and my first instinct was to run away from the camera. But where would I go? My tied and tormented breasts and pussy were no longer at least somewhat hidden under a coat but in plain sight, as was the gag without the facemask. I doubted all the people had gotten off the streets during the time I had spent struggling in what I had believed was a protected niche, so I would be seen, and I still had no place to go, cuffed and without keys to neither home, “dungeon” or anywhere else.
My total lack of options, even bad options, forced me to calm down and think what I had to do. I had to get inside, so I needed the keys to my apartment. I had to cover myself to go there, so I needed to get my coat back on. I needed my hands to do anything, so I had to get out of the cuffs. Keys to both cuffs and apartment should be in the bag, so I had to dig through it. That became my plan: get keys, unlock cuffs, cover myself, get inside, and fast, before any police or other alerted by some operator monitoring the CCTV came to take care of me. It sounded so easy in my head, but reality turned out to be quite a bit more complicated.
What probably cost me the most time, was actually how my body and mind reacted once panic had eased and I had what seemed like a viable plan to actually get away with it. Knowing someone was probably monitoring me up close on the CCTV, and in my head that someone grew to a whole pack of operators hanging over the shoulder of the one at “my” monitor, gawking and commenting upon my appearance, predicament and performance, became a huge turn-on, and together with the vibes still hammering my tied and swollen clit, and me still cuffed, helpless, tormented and so exposed, it sent me off in one of the strongest sexual blasts I remember ever having. I remember falling and an explosion of pain equaling the surge of pleasure when my breasts slammed down hard on the icy ground, but then I fainted for I don’t know how long. When I became aware again, my body was still shaking, and my over-stretched vagina was still convulsing around its huge intruder so hard that it felt it would lock in cramp any second. I managed to roll off my mangled breasts and lie there just gasping hard while the orgasm slowly faded.
Eventually, I managed to get back to work again, on shaking legs and with fumbling fingers. Even after I managed to find the small handcuff key in the litter filling the large bag, it felt like it took forever before I finally managed to get it into the keyhole and unlock the handcuffs. I threw the handcuffs and key into the bag, got the keys to my apartment, which were easy to find with their size, my hands free and ability to actually see what I was doing, and then zipped the bag up again, not to expose its contents to anyone I ran into. It was a torturous struggle to get the coat back on, as well as the face mask I found inside it and again hid my gag with, as the coat rubbed and pressed hard into my bulging breasts, which seemed to have swelled even more during their time of relative freedom, and shifted the cruel alligator clamps on my tortured nipples. Afterwards, I realized I could have removed the clamps on nipples and labia, as well as turn the vibes on my clit off and deflate the huge dildo almost ripping my pussy apart, at the cost of just a few seconds extra, but right there and then, that was far beyond me.
Somewhat dressed again, and feeling almost euphoric that I was on the home run, I couldn’t help but waving to the CCTV and blow its real or imagined operator a kiss before I headed off. There were no more complications, but within a few minutes, I could close the door to my apartment behind me. Getting my coat off, I noticed there were blood stains and smears on its lining at chest height, which didn’t shock me much considering the prolonged and brutal torture of my nipples.
The first thing I did once nude again was removing the heavy weights on the nipple and labia clamps, and the agony from that alone convinced me the removal of the actual clamps required some extras. I lay down on my back and gently took hold of one nipple clamp while I used my other hand to nudge my engorged clit against its vibrator. As another orgasm hit me, I opened the jaws of the clamp, and the pain was just about as bad as I had anticipated, cutting the orgasm short but still being mitigated by it. Despite having braced, I couldn’t help but screaming into the gag, a garbled and muffled sound, and felt tears of pain rolling from my eyes while I lay there panting and waiting for the pain to subside some. Three more ruined orgasms and my other nipple and labia were free from their tormenting demons as well, and my fingers were slick from blood. I still had work to do though, so I wiped it off best as I could on my belly.
Next was the oversized dildo stretching my pussy. As I opened the valve on the pump bulb, it deflated within seconds with a loud hiss, but the relief was replaced by a painful cramp as the long stretched tissue was allowed to contract much too fast. I curled up in a ball as the pain seemed to grow and grow, waiting for it to subside, but it didn’t and eventually my answer to how to fix the cramping muscle tube was to do just as with any muscle, to stretch it again. It felt strange pumping up the dildo again, but it actually did help, long before it became as huge as it had been and leaving me with a rather pleasant full feeling instead of the painful over-stretching before.
Next were my breasts. I needed to dig into the bag again to find the screwdriver for the hose clamps constricting them, but it was a rather fast and easy hunt. Before starting to undo the hose clamps, I examined them though. It was an odd combination of numbness and sensitivity as I gently cupped them with my hands, and when my fingers nudged the still tightly ziptied, rock hard and bloody nipples, it sent an intense wave of both pleasure and pain through my entire body. The bulging orbs forced by the almost impossibly tight, double hose clamps around the base of each breast was incredibly firm, the skin very taut and sensitive, and slowly rubbing the areolas, slick from blood, and nudging the nipples, quickly brought another intense orgasm, not even very dependent on the vibes still on my clit.
After having recovered some from the orgasm, I got off the floor and stood in front of the mirror, inspecting myself and especially my breasts. The latter was an incredible appearance, looking like two balloons on impossibly narrow stalks shaped by the tight hose clamps. I was sure they had never been as tightly tied before. The balloon-like orbs were purple in color and gleaming like oiled from the very taut skin containing the. The areolas were extended and a slightly darker purple color, as were the welts from the caning before, some accentuated by thin, almost black lacerations. I could feel the welts, both with my fingertips, as ridges across the otherwise smooth surface, and in my breasts, as extra sore and sensitive lines across the bulging surface.
There was more to see in the mirror, with my hair still a total mess from the hood before, as well as some fading imprints from the hood on the visible parts of my face, the tape gag still sealing the lower half of my face, the tight ziptie chastity belt cutting deep into the flesh of my waist, hips, pubes and between my labia, the pump bulb to my dildo still dangling humiliatingly between my knees, blood from my tortured labia smearing my bruised and welted inner thighs almost down to my knees, and marks from the tight zipties before still branded into the skin on my torso, arms and legs. I guess to most I would be a horrifying image of abuse, but even if I wasn’t all happy with the blood stains, smears and trickles, and the total appearance of my breasts, I wasn’t very squeamish about such, and the intense experience was well worth it.
Again, the physical inspection of my body, together with some of the visual appearance, especially the incredibly tight constriction of my breasts, again got me started, and my fingers went from inspecting to playing, teasing my breasts and nipples, and together with the persistent vibes on my clit soon pushing me over the edge to yet another intense orgasm, making me stand wobbling in my heels and squeezing my breasts hard while moaning loud and lustfully into my gag.
The moments before the orgasm hit, my hazed mind was playing with the thought of locking myself up again as was, cuffed in a tight hogtie and forced to lie on my breasts, with no timer or chance of getting the keys again, having to wait for maybe hours for my “savers” to come and find me again, and rescue me or even better punish me for deliberately giving them extra work. With the agonizing clamps on my nipples and labia gone, and the dildo in my pussy now just a large but rather comfortable stuffing, it seemed a tempting and desirable option, but once the orgasmic insanity had faded together with the orgasm, I realized my body would be unhappy enough with what it had already suffered. So, it was back to freeing the rest of me again.
Unscrewing the hose clamps on my breasts seemed to take forever, but eventually they were loose enough for me to gently pull them off. The pain in my breasts increased quite a bit when full circulation returned to the mangled flesh, but it soon slowly started to fade. Under the metal bands of the hose clamps was a lining of black electrical vinyl tape, and when pulling it off, it revealed very sharp, dark blue imprints in my flesh. However, without the tape and with the sharp edges of the metal bands, I suspected it would very literally have been a bloody mess otherwise. The rest of my breasts were really just two large and very dark bruises, crisscrossed with lines from the hose clamps and caning.
Getting the thin and tight zipties off my very sore and sensitive nipples was quite an ordeal. I had to very carefully cut through them, tiny bit by tiny bit, with a wire cutter, trying not to cut the skin any more than the alligator clamps had already done. Finally I managed, being rewarded with another two waves of pain as full circulation returned to the long constricted nubs.
Next was the gag, unwrapping the duct tape and painfully pulling it from my hair which it was really entangled in, then unbuckling its strap and pulling the large ball out of my mouth, my jaws aching real bad from being locked in their wide-open position for so long. While helping them to move again with my hands, I became aware of the taut ziptie around my neck still in place and snipped it off as well.
Finding the tiny keys for the padlocks on my shoe strap buckles wasn’t easy, despite having my hands free and seeing the rubble I was digging through in the bag, but eventually I had the keys and the shoes came off.
I had saved the ziptie chastity belt for last, knowing from experience the plugs and vibes could distract me some from the pains when other things came off, but now I cut the waist tie and the crotch part, whimpering as it felt like the skin was glued to it and yanked off with it as it snapped off. I slowly eased the rest of the waist tie off, trying to nudge it free from the skin as I went, and then went for the crotch part. The latter was actually a lot easier than I had expected, much of it well lubricated from my pussy juices and hurting bad just at the stretch between my ass cheeks.
I discovered my clit had been tied tight with copper wire, twisted hard to tighten it, and making it a pretty delicate operation to untwist and be able to remove it without flaying my little nub. The large and heavy metal anal plug seemed stuck and trying to pull it out hurt more than I was willing to take at that moment, so I resorted to my usual cheat, turning the bullet vibrator still attached to the former crotch piece of the chastity belt on and nudging it against my now very sensitive clit while I tried to ease the plug out of my tight ass. I don’t know if my orgasm expelled it or if it coming out triggered my orgasm, but come out it did, cum again I did, and the dildo in my pussy definitely did come out from my orgasm, shooting across the floor.
Finally all free, I lay on the floor just breathing, recovering from the final orgasm and feeling how my body was sore and hurting almost everywhere. With arousal and adrenalin draining, I felt it a lot more than while the torture devices had been in place, but it was the kind of pain that I knew from experience would mostly fade within hours. The soreness, especially from my cut nipples and labia, would remain for probably a few days. The marks would last a lot longer, from perhaps a day for most of the ziptie traces to weeks for the worst bruises on my breasts and thighs. Ah well, it wasn’t bikini season, and the gym would survive for a while without me, sparing me some of the rush from all the desperate people trying to fulfill their new years resolutions about becoming better and more fit humans.
I knew I still had things to do, but most urgent was to relieve my almost cramped-up bladder. Even if I had taken precautions and not had very much to drink before the session, the pressure from the oversized dildo had made the bladder feeling like ready to burst for a long time. As so often after tight crotch ties, peeing was hell, with the caustic urine burning my sore and chafed urethra meatus and folds painfully. As I had suspected, it wasn’t all that much content though, but enough for a burst of pain. My bowels weren’t all happy after the long intrusion of the anal plug neither, but that was just an embarrassing relief.
After handling the most urgent, I still had a mess to clean up, but first on my list was a thing that had been bothering me for a while, so instead of just texting my backup I was free and OK, “OK” being a bit relative in my present condition, I phoned her, having a wicked little notion that I might just disturb her in the middle of something, which would serve her right after what she helped put me through. She answered right away, meaning I probably didn’t manage to disturb her much, but sounded slightly tense, meaning she probably wondered some why I phoned instead of texted.
I told her about my status, but also about my worries about me being caught on CCTV might mean some repercussions for me, and possibly also for her and her partner having planted the bag in the sandbox right under the CCTV cam. She actually laughed and asked if I really didn’t know the CCTV cam was right there, then said she’d refer me to the surveillance expert in the house and passed the phone to her partner. He explained to me that the “incident” was very intentional, to give me an additional thrill of really being exposed but in a safe way, and also part of why I had been so thoroughly gagged and masked. Above all, I didn’t need to worry about any repercussions, since I had committed no crime and the surveillance company managing and monitoring the CCTV had no grounds for any actions they could charge the customer for, like sending a car to check or alerting the police.
He told me he was still sometimes working extra as an operator at such a surveillance company and knew the drill. Owing to legislation, the footage would be saved for a month, but protected from unauthorized copying and distribution, so it would not be all over the Internet tomorrow. At worst, I had probably entertained a few bored operators for a while, and when I told him about my exit, waving and blowing a kiss, he laughed and said I had been a good girl, calming any fears the operators might have had that I was in real trouble and need of assistance, so they could just enjoy my performance fully, possibly looping it once or a few times extra.
He actually asked me about how I had enjoyed the scene, but that was an implied taboo between my friend and me, that I didn’t ask about details of her sex life, and she didn’t ask about details of my (lack of) sex life, so I told him teasingly that was for me to know and for him to maybe never find out. He laughed at the comment, but I heard a slight tone of disappointment in his laugh. Since I know he’ll be reading this though, and to make sure there are no misunderstandings, to say I had been enjoying the “ordeal” would be one of the great understatements of the year. Just thinking about it still makes me tingle good, and reliving it by writing this makes me damn hot. Back to the story now…
After the phone call, I cleaned up what I could from the mess, throwing away used and cut zipties, rinsing and tucking away toys, hanging up the bloody coat waiting for dry-clean, in my mind preparing to tell about breast-feeding vampire babies in case of questions, and indulging in a bit of self-torture by wiping and dabbing blood from nipples, labia and lacerations with antiseptic solution, before spoiling myself with more self-torture, having what was supposed to be a relaxing and soothing bath, but with the pain from the water in my chafes and wounds almost outbalancing the soothing effect. The pain soon faded though, and I was able to really relax and come down, almost falling asleep in the tub.
P.S.
Writing this some time after the actual event, it seems my body handled the abuse admirably. Nipples, labia and lacerations are fully healed, sensitivity is back to normal, tampons don’t get lost in my vagina despite the attempts to turn it into a ballroom, and even if my breasts and inner thighs are still mainly big bruises, the color has shifted from black and blue to fading yellow and green. Also, my breasts are amazingly neither permanently bigger nor sagging below my crotch, despite being subjected to the by far tightest tying ever, one that I would not have believed even possible, at least not without a following full mastectomy.
Even if the breast torture was hot as hell, I still don’t think it is something that I would indulge in on a regular basis, not being quite convinced it’s all good for my breasts. Part of what made me survive and enjoy it was probably that it happened just before my period, when my body is usually more pain tolerant than usual, and actually even often craves real hard play. But no, I won’t book every fourth Saturday as “Breast Garroting Day” in my calendar for the future. Oh, and I haven’t heard anything from the police, surveillance company, landlord or neighbors about any suspicious activities around our garages lately, so I guess our surveillance expert was either right or just had a lucky guess.