self-bondage, toys, masturbation, exposure, photography, public nudity, public orgasm
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Tracey decides to beat the boredom with some self-bondage
Sheltering in place can be boring. After a few weeks it gets VERY boring. So Tracey McManon decides to beat the boredom with a little self-bondage in the closed state park near her house. But things don’t go exactly as planned.
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WARNING! This warning is possibly not needed for this particular story, but I am including it because it is needed for most of my stories. If you decide to read other of my stories make sure that you read the disclosures and warnings at the beginning of each story.
All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2020 by The Technician (Technician666@Gmail.Com ).
Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.
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Having the kind of job where I could work from home during a pandemic seemed kind of nice... at first. I mean, I still had my job and all that, and that was very good. But the reality was that with many of the client businesses closed there was only so much customer service program maintenance to do. And as much as I hated those weekly progress meetings, Zoom just wasn’t the same for exchanging ideas and moving forward with new designs and ideas. So, after three or four weeks, things started to get really boring... really, really boring.
Every day was the same. I’d get up around 8:30, wash my face and brush out my hair, get dressed, and then set up my laptop so it was on the dining room table facing the curtains. At 9:00 the boss would invite us all into a Zoom meeting to “keep everyone in the loop.” After the meeting I would work a couple hours until I broke for lunch and then for two or three hours after lunch.
After a couple of days, I began to suspect that the real purpose of those meetings was to make sure we were up and working and not sleeping all day. I also quickly realized that no one could see me from the waist down, so there was no need for me to put on a skirt or pull on a pair of sweat pants. A few more days and I didn’t even bother with panties. OK, yes, I sleep nude and I’m a closet exhibitionist.
Being a closet exhibitionist sounds like an oxymoron but it isn’t. I would love to go walking down the middle of Main Street at noon wearing nothing but what my momma gave me. But we live in a world where there are cameras EVERYWHERE and ten seconds after I started walking, I would be posted online in all my glory. And once it’s online, it never goes away.
Most people are not stupid enough to post explicit pictures on their own profiles, but HR departments are now starting to use facial recognition searches when vetting someone for a job. I want to be something more than the third member of a programming team someday. I might even want to be the head of an IT department for some big business. And having a picture of me strutting my stuff in the buff would put a big negative on my background search.
I’ve occasionally done some sort-of-daring things, like wearing a relatively short skirt and no panties to work. I didn’t have to worry about it flipping up in the wind because I had a parking place on the second floor of the building I work in. It has to be really windy to get to skirt flipping where I park. One time, I took the enclosed stairway on the outside of the building rather than the elevator, but even if someone looked up at me while I was climbing the four stories to our offices, they couldn’t see anything really clearly through the windows on the stairway. And as far as I know, no one has put out an ass recognition software... yet.
Meetings then were in the big conference room. I always sat at the table in the middle on the left, as usual, but I made sure that I pulled my skirt up slightly as I sat down. Then I sat there during that whole meeting with my legs spread wide. Where I sit faces the glass wall and door to the main area, but no one could actually see me unless James, the head of IT, and Maria, the number two programer stood up for some reason. I don’t know what I would have done if they did. I imagined myself sitting there in shock as everyone who was not in the meeting stared at my cunt. Actually, everyone who wasn’t in the meeting was buried out in the main area in their cubicle, but the thought still caused my juices to flow. I always had to go to the bathroom after I flashed a morning meeting just to make sure that there was nothing dribbling down my leg.
It was in the middle of the third week that I started thinking about the state park that was right next to the apartment complex where I live. It is a huge park with miles and miles of hiking trails and a couple of lakes. It is usually full all summer. If I go out on my balcony, I can often hear people walking through the woods and sometimes even catch a glimpse of them. Some evenings or weekends, I would slip into the park on a small path that deer have worn between the park and the small grassy area behind our building. You have to know its there to even see it and you have to be used to following deer paths to stay on it.
What I was really thinking about was an observation tower about a mile into the park. It was still labeled an observation tower on the park maps, but you couldn’t see anything from the top of it except the trees that surrounded it. When it was built many years ago, it was probably twenty or even forty feet taller than the forest, but that was many years ago and forests grow. Now the trees were at least ten feet taller than the tower. With the park closed and no one able to come in the main gates, it was the perfect place for a closet exhibitionist.
One warm spring day, as soon as our Zoom meeting was over, I shut down my computer and headed for my goodie bag. Did I mention that I am also a closet bondage freak? I have several sets of handcuffs and a spreader bar and chrome plated chains and three different kinds of ball gags and, of course, two high quality timer locks. The timer locks were the most expensive things I bought, but if you are doing self-bondage you really have to trust that your locks will open. And I always use the two of them in series. What I mean is that they are both set to the same time and locked to each other as well as whatever I want to keep closed. Then BOTH locks have to fail for me to be trapped. I set one of them wrong once and would have been stuck for 34 hours rather than 4 hours if I had been using only one lock.
I pulled on a pair of jogging shorts and a black t-shirt. I didn’t bother with bra or panties since everything was coming off as soon as I got to the tower anyway. I thought about just walking naked the mile to the tower, but a lot of the trail inside the park was visible from the upper floors of the apartment complex, so I waited ‘til I was at the base of the tower to strip off. I could have put everything in my goodie bag, but I didn’t want my clothing with me on the tower. So I scrunched up my t-shirt and stuffed it into one of my sneakers. That way it wouldn’t accidently get blown away or something. I did the same with the shorts in the other shoe, but less of them actually fit in the shoe. Then I set both shoes on a crossbeam that was about six feet off the ground.
As I padded naked up the stairway of the tower carrying my bag, I began wishing that I had inserted one of my vibrators before I started. At the second turnaround landing for the stairway, I sat down in the wide area and inserted Mister Right. MR is my favorite vibrator. I’ve forgotten the brand name, but there is a big MR in a circle near the base so I’ve always called it Mister Right. It is slightly curved and if I put it in just right, it really hits the spot... pun intended.
I’d never walked with Mister Right in place before and I only made it to the next landing before it started slipping out. I have a harness that is supposed to keep everything in place, but it really doesn’t work right unless there is a butt plug that it can connect to. I really didn’t want to walk up the rest of the stairs with a butt plug in my ass, but Mister Right had started to get things flowing and I really wanted him in place, so I got out Big Blue Monster– yes, I name all my toys. BBM is big... and blue... and it feels like a monster when it is stretching my asshole. I pushed him through the harness until it snapped back in place... sort of like my asshole does. Then I lubed Big Blue and squatted down to push him in.
I was having trouble getting Big Blue in place. Maybe I was scared... or maybe I had just never tried to put him in place when I was already this turned on. Usually he goes in while I am getting myself ready for a session, not during something. I was about ready to give up when I had the idea of sitting down on the second step up from the landing. I put Big Blue Monster on the step and got him centered on my rosebud and just starting to go in, then I pulled my ass cheeks apart and sat down on him.
Ouch! I’ve never pushed him in that fast before. It hurt, but in a strange sort of way it was almost like a mini-climax as he pushed in and my asshole snapped closed around the thin neck next to the base. I felt really full and really, really, horny. So I stood up, pushed Mister Right back in, got him turned just so, and then strapped the harness in place. The waistband of the harness is intentionally too small to fit around my waist, but there are laces which draw it together in the front. Those laces also fit through a metal grommet on the front of the crotch strap. If I do the laces correctly, I can cinch the waist tight and the crotch strap even tighter. I made things especially snug to keep Mister Right in place and then picked up my goodie bag and continued up the stairs.
I had to stop twice on the way up to let things settle down. The Big Blue Monster was really filling me up and Mister Right was purring right where I wanted him too and my body really wanted to explode, but it wasn’t time yet. If I gave in too soon, I would usually punish myself, sometimes by spanking myself, sometimes by filling the bathtub totally full of cold water and then forcing myself to stay in it for five or ten minutes. I preferred the spankings. I hate being cold.
I finally got to the top of the tower. I had been up there several times before– not naked, of course. I knew that the wooden railings were badly weathered, but the floor, which was about ten feet by ten feet, had recently been repainted. At one time, there had been a roof over the platform, but it was long gone. Four big square posts which had supported the roof, however, were still in place. It looked like they went through the floor of the platform and were, perhaps, an integral part of the tower. A really big post, like maybe 12" square came through the floor at an angle and up about two feet. Then there was like a little shelf and a 4" post went straight on up from there. There was a square frame that went all the way around the top of the four posts that had notches in it for rafters, but the roof, itself, was long gone.
I had plans for those posts. I carefully laid out my chains and my restraints and my collapsible spreader bar. First I climbed up on one of the posts and looped the chain so that one side of the loop was around the top of the post and the other was in the first notch for a rafter. Then I used a screw together link to lock it tightly in place. I did the same for the other post. Holding on to the chains, I stood on the floor of the platform to see how things were fitting. I could just barely hold the chains in my fingertips when I stood flat on the floor.
Next I put the leather cuffs on my wrists and ankles. My cuffs weren’t exactly cheap either, but if you play these kinds of games without the proper padded cuffs you can hurt yourself... really badly. I wrapped the cuffs in place and buckled them to the proper tightness. I stood on one side and grabbed the chain again to check length. If I put the lock on the seventh link up from the end, my feet should just be able to reach the floor.
I hoped that calculation was correct, because once I started, I wasn’t going to be able to make any adjustments. I sat on the floor of the platform and turned on my timer locks. I checked– and double checked– that each lock was set for three hours. I wasn’t going to be using them in series, but if something went wrong and only one lock opened, I could, maybe, override the timer and open the lock. Then I closed a lock onto each of my wrist restraints and attached a carabineer clip on each lock. Normally a carabineer is pretty easy to remove, but once I was in place, they would be stretched tight, and the only thing that was going to be able to release me was the lock opening.
I was almost ready. I got out my red ball gag. It was a safety type with several air holes through it so I wouldn’t accidently choke off my air. I held it in my hands for several minutes. I’m not sure if I was trying to work up the courage to do the next step or if I was just enjoying the warm feelings I was getting looking at it. In any case, it was a while before I finally strapped it in place. It had a loop-over-and-buckle like arrangement to it, but once the strap was pulled tight, it was actually held in place with a Velcro closure. The Velcro is a lot easier to close behind your head when you are already wearing heavy restraint cuffs.
I kept the spreader bar closed down to about 18" and clipped it to one ankle. I checked that the swivel and clip were working like they were supposed to and then stood next to one of the posts. I clipped the bar to the other ankle and holding onto the upper post, hopped up onto the little shelf. It was kind of hard to stand there on the narrow shelf with my feet held together, but after a couple of sways one direction or the other, I got the hang of it. Then I reached up and clipped my right wrist to the chain hanging from the top of the post.
The next step was the dangerous one. I had to jump from one post to the other. I had tried it a couple of times before and made the three foot jump pretty easily, but my feet weren’t locked together and one hand wasn’t chained above my head. I stood bouncing my knees for a long time working up the guts to actually jump. Then suddenly I was in the air and my left foot was landing on the little shelf and my left hand was grabbing wildly for the chain.
I made it! I was breathing really heavy through the holes in the ball gag, and my body was all covered with sweat, but I made it. I stood there catching my breath and working the chain slowly through my hand so I could count links and try to line up the seventh link with the opening in the carabineer.
I don’t remember actually putting the chain in the clip. All I remember is that suddenly I was once again in the air and then my feet– or at least my toes– hit the floor. I bounced back up into the air and spread my legs apart as wide as I could. My collapsible spreader bar will easily open up as far as you can pull it, but it won’t close back up unless you push in the little buttons on the metal tubes. By the time I came back down, my legs were almost touching the posts.
From the pain in my arms, I thought that I had misjudged how long to make the chains, but then things– meaning me– stretched out a little and my feet were once again on the floor of the platform. I wasn’t standing flat footed, but I wasn’t exactly hanging by my hands either. I was in place. Now I could let myself go and enjoy an orgasm... or two or three.
My legs had just started quivering leading up to another really good orgasm when I felt something. I didn’t hear anything, but I could feel vibrations in my arms. They were the regular thunk, thunk, vibrations of somebody climbing the steps to the tower.
Who would be coming up here? I had never seen anyone else in, or around, the tower even when the park was open. Why would someone be coming here today?
The vibrations got stronger and I started hearing the footsteps of whoever it was that was climbing. In just a few moments he was going to be up here. I pulled against the chains, but there was nothing I could do. I was stuck for at least another hour or two.
“Are you OK?” a man’s voice cried out. He came running around to where I was hanging. “Are you...” he started to ask again and then said simply, “Oh. I’ve interrupted you, haven’t I.” I couldn’t do anything but “ummph” back at him.
There were two cameras hanging around his neck. One was tucked more or less under his arm while the other was hanging front and center. He stepped up close to me and said, “I was trying to get a good image of that woodpecker that I’ve been hearing for the last couple of days.” He gave me a slight smile and continued, “I thought I could get some interesting shots from up here. ... But I didn’t expect anything this interesting.”
He stepped back and raised his camera. I screamed as loud as I could through the gag and nearly pulled my arms off trying to break free.
“I’ll take that as a refusal to allow photography,” he said with a slight laugh. Then he started digging in a backpack which he had slipped off and set on the floor of the tower. “You know that the governor says you are supposed to be wearing a mask, don’t you?” he said in mock seriousness. “I happen to have a couple of spares,” he said as he reached over my head and pulled something down onto my neck.
“These are light weight cold weather masks,” he explained. “They are primarily to help prevent my breath from messing up wintertime shots in really cold weather, but they meet the requirement for cloth masks.”
He pulled the hood portion of the mask back up over my head and brought it down over my forehead. Then he lifted the face portion of the mask up over my gagged mouth and adjusted it on my nose.
“There you go,” he said. “Now you are properly masked.”
He raised the camera back up to his face and arched his eyebrows. I stood there shuddering slightly as Mister Right took me closer and closer to another orgasm. “I’ll take that as permission to engage in photographic journalism,” he said with a smile.
The third time I heard the shutter of that expensive camera clickity-clack, I erupted. Mister Right had never taken me that high ever before. As I shook and bounced in my chains, I could hear the repeated clickity-clack, clickity-clack, clickity-clack, of him taking image after image of my wanton shame.
When I finally could focus on what was happening again, he was standing there with my phone. “Welcome back,” he said. “I was starting to worry about you. Do you often have such extreme orgasms?”
I “umphed” once, but even I wasn’t sure what I meant by it.
“You really should keep this locked,” he said, holding up my phone so I could see the screen. “And you probably want to move the pictures I took with this off of your phone and onto your computer somewhere.”
He turned the phone for a moment and then held it so that I could easily see the screen. “Your email program is locked,” he said, “but it shows your email address when it asks for a password. I sent you a link to where I am going to post these pictures.”
I wanted to scream at him and tell him not to do that, but instead I went over the top again, higher even that before.
“If you really don’t want me to,” he said softly, “I won’t post them. But I will keep them for my own personal enjoyment.” He held up his hands and said, “Your face is totally hidden. You don’t have any tattoos, scars or birthmarks to make you easily identifiable. No one will even know it is you.”
He set down my phone and said, “When your locks open and you go home, think about it. My email address is on the email I sent you with the link. Just tell me not to and I won’t post anything.”
He walked in close and ran his finger down my front from between my breasts to the top the lacings for my harness. “But if you like exposing your body to the world, I’m going to be back up here Thursday looking for more woodpeckers. You can do some freestyle posing or you can let me use my bag of tricks and see what kind of poses I can come up with.”
As he walked back over to the stairs, he said, “Either way, you can keep the mask. I have several more just like it in assorted colors.”
I just hung there in my chains until the locks finally opened. I was too wrung out to even notice if Mister Right was still buzzing. Once the locks opened, I was able to free my hands. Then I sat on the floor of the platform and released the spreader bar. Everything seemed to be in slow motion as I packed up everything. I took off the keeper harness and slid MR out of my cunt. I had to lay on my back and put my legs up over my head to pull BBM out of my ass. I knew I was going to be sore back there for a while. Actually, I felt like I was going to be sore everywhere for a while.
I raced back down the steps of the tower and found my shoes, shorts and t-shirt. Then I dashed back to my apartment so I could look at the pictures on my phone. As soon as I saw those pictures, I knew that I had to send an email to him immediately. I wasn’t sure what to put in the subject line, so I just put, “About your question.” Then I typed my message in all caps.
What I said was, “BRING A RED MASK! 10:00 THURSDAY!”
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END OF STORY
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Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2019 by The Technician (Technician666@Gmail.Com ). Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.