Once more, my personal self-tie trainer “Master Dice” had a go at me. “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 bottle brush (120×60 mm blue polyester bristles) for filling my pussy, a moderate anal plug (152×51 mm red plastic) for stuffing my ass, a flag rope (4 m, 5 mm white polyester) for tying through my cleft, ankle irons (2 pairs, nickel-plated metal with 40 cm twist chain) for binding my boobs, and mouse traps (1 pair, wooden, nice) for my nipples. “He” then styled me for work with black nylon panties, that might be used as a provisory gag later, high-heel peep-toes, a twintail hairdo, and heavy makeup, 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 ankle irons binding my boobs tight around their bases, making them swell, bulge and shift color towards purple. Then “He” had me go home like that, dressed in just coat and boots, hiding my adornment, on foot through the crowded city center. On my way home, the brutally and unyieldingly hard and tight ankle irons constricting the base of my breasts and keeping them swollen with a throbbing ache and with the purplish and glistening skin taut and sensitive to the rubbing from the clothes when I moved, was making the trip a bit interesting and almost pure pleasure. The feeling of being so vulnerable and exposed, with just my coat barely hiding my nudity and humiliating adornment, was a real thrill, adding to my arousal.
When I came home, “He” had me strip naked again, but keeping my adornments, then gagging myself with a panel gag with inflatable plug, adding nooses with 500 g weights on each nipple, and 5 wooden clothespins with 100 g weights on each outer labia. 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 1.0 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.
Eventually, my time was done, and I went for my release. 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.