Another Monday, another needed 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 big dildo (178×51 mm skin-colored latex) for impaling my vagina, a huge anal cone (178×76 mm black TPE) for filling my anal, a sisal rope (4 m, 8 mm brown sisal hemp) for tying through my cleft, zipties (4 pairs, 450×4.8 mm black nylon) for tying my breasts, and pet rubber bands (3 pairs, small black for coat styling) for my nipples. “He” then styled me for work with black cotton panties, that might double as a provisional gag later, black as clothing color, tied blouse, 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 big dildo shoved into my wet pussy, the huge anal cone pushed into my tight ass, the sisal rope bisecting my cleft, the pet rubber bands torturing my nipples, and the zipties tying my tits tight around their bases, making them swell, bulge and shift color towards purple. Then “He” had me go home like that, dressed but without my panties, hiding my adornments, on foot through a green area, forced to stop 5 times to rub my clit to orgasm. On my way home, the hard stimulation from the big dildo as it shifted in my vagina with every step, the overfilled feeling from the huge anal cone in my rectum, the uncomfortable pinch on the membrane between my two nether fillings, the rough but arousing rubbing through my cleft by the sisal rope, the uncomfortably hard and tight but still exciting zipties 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, and the pet rubber bands keeping my nipples rock hard and sensitive while nudged by the clothes, was making the trip rather intense and mostly pleasure.
When I came home, “He” had me strip naked again, but keeping my adornments, then gagging myself with a harness ball gag, adding a wide black leather collar, 5 wooden clothespins with 100 g weights on each outer labia, and an inflatable urethra catheter with 200 ml bladder fill. 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 1.5 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 sitting on a chair with a piece of spiked hard plastic turf floor mat on its seat, with a shoulder harness, a transparent plastic bag with small breathing holes over my head and secured around my neck, my legs spread wide, my torso and thighs tied to the chair, my ankles and feet hoisted off the floor and tied to the rear of the chair frame, 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.