With a satisfied grin, she put the padded envelope inside the outgoing mailbox. She should get it back Monday, or perhaps Tuesday, but so far, the postal service has been quite reliable.
She strutted away from the convenience store, her high pencil thin heels clicking on the concrete sidewalk, her hips rocking in her extremely tight jeans, her tight black leather jacket, creaking with her balancing arms, heading for her apartment.
She had some stuff to do, and she was eager to do it.
Along her kilometer long walk, she closed her eyes from time to time, enjoying her body feelings, the struggle of her high heels, the pinching of her buns by the too tight jeans, the burning in her hips, the sound of the creaking leather.
A gust of wind threw her long brown curled hairs in her face. With a smile, she struggled to get her arms to her head, impaired by the too tight leather sleeves, and also by the added layer of the shoulder-length leather gloves. Her arm could barely bend enough.
She combed her hair with her leather coated fingers, smelling the strong musk scent of it along the way.
She smiled. What a feeling!
She was making head turns. Some in amazement, some in envy, some in disgust, but she didn’t care. She was in her happy place.
She entered her apartment complex. She had her own little place right downstairs, close to the mailboxes for her building, which suited her perfectly. In a few days, she would get back the padded envelope. She would wait for the middle of the night to get out of her apartment and take the envelope out. Inside it, the keys to free her from her predicament.
Oh yes, she was a self-bondage enthusiast. A self-enclosing fetishist.
“So much for a secret.” she said to herself, closing the door, facing the long mirror, enjoying the view of the tightly encased woman in front of her, enjoying the feeling as she gently rubbed her crotch from her gloved fingers.
She bit her lips.
“Yep. It’s time.” she said.
She kicked her heeled pumps and walked on her tiptoes to the bedroom: she simply couldn’t lay her feet flat on the ground, results of years of wearing nothing but high heels.
Along the way, she pulled on her tight leather jacket, pulling one sleeve off, twisting, shaking her shoulder to help take it off. It was a struggle, but those kinds of struggles that simply aroused her. She put the leather jacket in her large walk-in closet, and she took off the gloves, carefully suspending them amidst a whole collection of leather gloves, of different lengths, textures and colors.
Underneath that leather layer, a white tight compression shirt, bought two sizes smaller than what she should have bought. What can she say? She liked it tight.
It revealed her firm breasts, hanging without any support, and her natural thin waist.
She undid the belt, button and the zipper of her jeans and t hey almost blew open! Twisting, almost dancing, she took off her jeans to reveal no underwear, but a well plugged vagina.
She played with the plug a few times, getting it slightly out then in, while moaning, while walking to the attached bathroom for a shower, where she removed the dildo and also the butt plug she had been wearing, in broad daylight.
She was horny as hell! She knew it, and she liked it!
Once all cleaned, she took a few plastic bags from one of the bathroom cabinets and tore the bag open, getting out some surgical tubing: a catheter.
Expertly, she began to feed the tubing up her urethra, feeling the tube go inside, then stopping at the right place before inflating the small balloon to keep it in place.
She knew what she was doing, having done it many times, on herself and on others: she was, after all, a registered nurse.
Once the tube was in place, she took a specially manufactured dildo and inserted the tube in it before putting it in place, and injecting a food grade gel to inflate it, plugging the hole shut.
Next, she carefully inserted the huge inflatable buttplug with a tubing allowing for enemas to be performed. Again, she used the caulking gun like pump to fill it with gel to inflate it, way more reliable than air and if there’s a micropuncture, it won’t deflate. A simple screw-on plug had to be removed to allow the gel to spew out, plugs that would be well protected once her whole setup completed.
She tore open more bags and inserted a tube down her throat, down to her stomach, while she inserted two more tubed up her nose for breathing.
For most people, those procedures were annoying, not agreeable, but for her, it was pure joy, knowing that she was sealing herself. Damn, she was hot!
With tubes dangling down her crotch and mouth, she walked out of the bathroom and into her bedroom, back to the walk-in closet. She chose a complete, neck-entry latex catsuit. It was a thick one, which is a struggle to put on and usually needs two people to take off, but she had lots of experience and knew she could do it alone, with the help of some tricks she figured out herself when she was stuck in, the first time she put it on…
The suit had attached toe socks and gloves. She proceeded by feeding her feet into the attached socks, before gradually pulling it up her legs, her breath shaking with anticipation as she felt the cold rubber gradually engulf her skin, sealing her .
When she reached the crotch portion, the long still hanging tubes proved useful as they were easy to feed down the small reinforced holes at the crotch of the suit, then continued to pull the suit up, reaching her ample breasts, where she had to use contortionists moves to feed her arms inside, down the sleeves, to the attached gloves.
Helped with the lubricant, they slid easily and the suit rose up to her neck, pushing the trapped air out, with a funny sound.
She closed her eyes and welcomed the feeling, the tight embrace of the cool, yet smooth and very constricting latex. Every cell of her body reacted to its touch, sending some pleasure signals. Yes, she felt her skin cells welcomed it!
She cut the hoses flush at the crotch. Already, she couldn’t access the gel filling plugs, and the setup wasn’t even over!
From a shelf, well stored over mannequin heads, were an array of rubber hoods, of all shapes, with different features.
She chose one who had clear lenses over the eyeports, and holes for the breathing tubes at the nose, and another hole at the mouth for the feeding tube. Apart from those holes, the hood was smooth.
She flipped the hood inside out to have access to the face features. She carefully fed the feeding tube inside a hole which looked more like a deflated bag, and then fed the long nose hoses through the holes and proceeded to flip it and slide it down her head. It was thick but didn’t have any zipper, and thus, difficult to put on, squishing her nose as she stretched the large yoke of the hood.
With a sigh of relief, the hood slid down in place over her head. She smoothed it carefully, feeding the hoses through the holes before inserting the collar under the suit’s collar, and then cutting the hoses, but still leaving quite a few cm of dangling hoses.
Taking the tube of gel, she unscrewed a small cap on the side of the feeding tube and began to fill it, feeling the attached inflatable gag grow inside her mouth, adding more and more pressure from the caulking gun, working it with her tongue, until the inflated balloon filled her mouth completely, down to the back of her throat.
She took the gun out and screwed in the cap. She closed her eyes as she chewed on the inflated gag. The gel didn’t allow as much compression as air, and it kept her jaw pretty much immobile. Damn! She just loved it!
She bent down at her shoe and boot racks and chose a pair of knee high ballet toe boots. Going back to the bed, she sat to put them on. They were made to measure and closed with a size zipper, then she added a steel cuff. She had a moment of hesitation, reviewing if everything was in order, because once she closed that cuff, she was locked in until she would get the keys.
With a devilish smile hidden under her latex hood and over inflated gag, she closed the cuff.
She did the same thing with the other feet, without thinking twice.
She expertly walked back to the closet. Wearing extreme ballet boots like that , was second nature for her. She just wishes she could wear those more often, especially in public, or even better, at work. Damn! If she could go to work like that, it would be a blast!!
Looking at a cloth rack, she browsed and picked a long and heavy rubber corset, covering her from the hips to under the armpits. She put it on.
She had a natural small waist, but this thing would compress it another 8 to 10cm! As she tightened the lacing, as the corset began to compress her body, her breath began to shake again, with anticipation. The anticipation of being tightly constricted. The anticipation of the bondage feeling, the challenge of moving, hell, the challenge of breathing!
She fully closed the extreme garment before knotting the laces. There was a small steel hasp at the back. Expertly, she used a small padlock and locked it. There. No easy way to take it off now!
Taking more steel cuffs, she put two on her wrists. She shivered at the sound of each locking mechanism, getting into action, sealing her decision.
She reached for a steel belt and proceeded to wrap it around her waist, before pulling the steel strap hanging from it through her crotch, and up the front, where she locked the chastity belt in place.
There. No way to play with the dildos, and of course, absolutely no way to take them or deflate them. Only an access to the special push buttons to release the catheter to urinate or to perform the enemas. Nothing more.
And the more locks she closed, the hotter she became!
Just two more items and she would be all set. Almost.
The gasmask, which included a plug up the front for her feeding tube. The gasmask was attached to another full head latex hood, making two thick and tight layers of rubber compressing her head. She just loved that compression feeling, as if her head was being crushed.
She positioned the mask carefully, aligning the breathing tubes and the feeding tubes, before pulling the hood down over her head. Her vision was now limited by small red tinted eye lenses.
Now, the hood had special heavy rubber hasps on the collar, which would go through special reinforced slots around the collar of the suit.
She carefully fed the eight rubber hasps through the slots, and proceeded with the last iterm, the collar, which she fed through the hasps, before locking it.
There! Done! She couldn’t take the gasmask off without ruining the suit. She was unable to take off the corset, because of its own lock and also because the chastity belt was wrapping itself around it. Finally, her extreme boots were locked on by the steel cuffs.
She still had to bound herself up, however she needed some freedom from time to time. For that, she used a kitchen safe, a small plastic container with an electronic timer. She confirmed that the keys were in it and then set up the timer for 12 hours, before engaging it.
Oh, in case of emergency, she could simply break it open, which would need tools… Tools that were in her private locker, down in the basement of the building. She just loved heavy predicaments!
She took padlocks and small length of chains and locked her ankles together with just enough slack to be able to hobble around, and she linked her wrists in front of her, then to the chastity belt.
She had a last thought: she would be stuck like that for 12 hours.
Under the heavy gasmask, someone looking at her eyes would see the sparks as she pushed the locked shut.
Oh yeah, she was having a mental orgasm!
And it was just Friday morning!
She did quite a few of the chores she had set up to do, impaired by her bound wrists, bond ankles, stiff corset, impaired eyesights. Damn. She loved every minute of it, every struggle, every time she had to do something unnatural, to bend, reach, grab. She just loved the restriction, the limitations.
For the night, her bed was equipped with strong electromagnets which would grab her steel cuffs into its magnetic field, trapping her in the spread eagled position, until a timer released her in the morning. By then, the kitchen safe would be unlocked and she would be able to unlink the chains, only to set herself up in a different way, for the next 12 hours: hands in her back, linked to her chastity belt, or in a hogtie! Yes, hogtied for 12 hours!
She was waiting for the postman, who came at its usual time. Now, she would have to wait in the middle of the night to get out of her apartment and go to her mailbox to retrieve the padded envelope with her keys.
She waited. Although she loved her setup, she was ready to get out. She had to go back to work by Wednesday.
In the darkness of the night, she carefully walked out, heart pounding, to reach her mailbox and open it and find… nothing?
Well, it happened. From time to time. Perhaps with that virus that is starting to spread, there were some delays. She hadn’t watched the news, or the TV for that matter, for the whole weekend. Maybe she should…
Back in her apartment, she got on the 24hours news channel, and there it was: the virus has spread, many government services were shut down. Postal workers were making one delivery a week, on Wednesdays only, and they were asking people to stay home… except for the health workers, who were high in demand.
She went back to bed, but didn’t use the electromagnets. She was puzzled, anxious. What if… She could always get her tools and cut herself out of that suit. She had padlocks cutters after all, which operated with both hands. For the ankle cuffs and the collar, that was manageable, but for the wrist cuffs?
Early in the hours of Tuesday morning, the phone rang. Of course, she couldn’t answer, gagged as she was. The caller-ID system identified the number from the General hospital. She let it go to the voicemail system, then called back to listen to the message.
“Karen, this is Chief Nurse Valerie. You need to get back in here pronto, as of right now, as soon as you get this message. We need everybody here, now!. I’ll send somebody over to get you in one hour!”.
The message was simple and clear. That was Valerie’s way of doing business.
But… she wouldn’t get the key until the next day.
She looked at herself in the mirror: fully coated in rubber, two layers of goggles over her eyes, gasmask with filtering cartridges.
Who would argue that she wasn’t up to work in a contagious environment.
She sat and waited for her ride, smiling.
She was hot. Yes, she was having another mental orgasm.
© Pete / monsterp63, March 29, 2020
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