After a night of kinky dreams, I was tingling and ready for a day at the mercy of “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 bottle brush (120×60 mm blue polyester bristles) for stuffing my pussy, a bardex nozzle (178×50#100 mm inflatable silicon) for filling my ass, a flag rope (4 m, 5 mm white polyester) for splitting my crotch, zipties (2 pairs, 450×4.8 mm black nylon) for binding my boobs, and clothespins (1 pair, wooden, moderate) for my nipples. “He” then styled me for work with black cotton panties, that might double as a provisional gag later, yellow as clothing color, high-heel peep-toes, T-shirt, a twintail 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 bottle brush pushed into my hot 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 painful stimulation from the bottle brush as it shifted in my vagina with every step, was making the trip a bit interesting and comfortable.
When I came home, “He” had me strip naked again, but keeping my adornments, then gagging myself with a harness panel gag with penis plug, 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 metal (police-cuffs and chains with padlocks) 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 hogtied on belly on my bed with a shoulder harness, my feet tied together with a tie up to the shoulder harness, 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. 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.