I was hot after waking up from some kinky dreams, and anticipating “Master Dice” to force me through another Monday of pain, humiliation and pleasure. “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 spiky ball (60 mm soft orange plastic spiky dental dog ball) for stuffing my vagina, a moderate anal plug (152×51 mm red plastic) for filling my ass, a latex hose (4 m, 10 mm) for bisecting my cleft, zipties (2 pairs, 450×4.8 mm black nylon) for tying my tits, and alligator clamps (1 pair, jagged metal, cruel) for my nipples. “He” then styled me for work with black nylon panties, that might double as a provisory gag later, black as clothing color, high-heel pumps, tied blouse, and a twintail 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 latex hose bound through my crevice, and the used and soiled panties humiliatingly pushed into my mouth. Then “He” had me go home like that, dressed but without my panties, hiding my adornment, by crowded bus. On my way home, the lustful and soon slick rubbing through my crotch by the latex hose, and 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 horse bridle, adding nooses with 500 g weights on each nipple, and a bullet vibrator taped to my clit on high intensity. For the final tie, “He” had me use duct tape (50 mm wide silver tape, with police-cuffs to secure the wrists) after arranging a 2.5 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 with a shoulder harness and sharp thumbtacks taped to my breasts (over my nipples and areolas), my buttocks (sit area), the front of my knees, the sides of my hips, the sides of my upper arms, the soles of my feet (the foot arch), each length of duct tape with 7 thumbtacks in a loose flower shape, my feet tied together with a tie up to the shoulder harness, forcing me to crouch, and my hands tied high up my back to the shoulder harness, being set up in another room than the release timer, requiring me to move to the next room for my release.
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 and relieved myself entirely, “He” ordered me to masturbate to 2 orgasms. 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.