Karen – Working From The Office


Karen let out a sigh as she sat down inside her little cubicle. She put down her freshly brewed, from the machine, cup of coffee.

She was back to work at the office after the lockdown. Everything was getting back to normal. Sort of.

It was not normal for her to wear a silk blouse, knee-length polyester dress and flat sole shoes. She missed being normal. HER normal.

She was depressed, and people were avoiding her, following the reveal of her fetish side when Mr. Thompson came to present her with a plaque.

He was shocked, at first, but went on to TAKE THE PICTURE, with her holding the plaque, wrapped in tight and shiny latex, waist crushed by a leather corset,  a steel chastity belt,  hands shackled, head enclosed within a gasmask.

Most of her coworkers were shocked.

Some walk by with a timid smile, but most rather look away, even though she’s dressed… according to the-average-and-what-is-normal rule.

Her phone rang. She recognized the extension displayed. It was Mr. Thompson.

“Hello, Karen speaking… Yes… Yes, sir. I’ll be right over.” she said before hanging the phone down, lowering her head.

That was it. This would be her last day.

She got up and dragged her feet to Mr. Thompson’s office, at the other end of the vast cubicle jungle, passing ignoring coworkers, others smiling at the thought that she would get fired.

Although most were disturbed, not a lot wanted her gone. Suzy, her supervisor, was one of those aiming to get rid of her, and she had been hitting hard on Karen since the revealing day, talking her down, not accepting any mistakes. Karen’s score was on a down slope. A very steep down slope.

She knocked and he let her enter.

“Hello Karen. Please, take a seat, we need to talk.” he said, gesturing toward one of the leather covered chairs.

She let herself more or less drop in one of them, resigned, looking at the floor.

“Err… I’ve been looking at your numbers, lately, and I noticed a significant drop in…”

“Yes, I know. Would you stop the torture, please, and tell me hard and dry that I’m fired so I can get my things and be on my way?”

“Say what? Who told you anything about getting fired?”

“Isn’t that why you call me here? To talk to me about how my numbers went down and the reason you’re letting me go?”

“What? Hell no! You’re one of my top… well… was one of my tops, I know you can get back up there.”

“I… thank you, Mr. Thompson, but I don’t think I can get back to my record-breaking numbers.”

“Yes I know. I mean, not in these conditions and not with… well, you need a change of supervisor, and also a change of environment.” he said.

“Thank you, but since everybody ‘knows’, I don’t think I’ll be a right fit for the company, at all.”

“Karen. Did you know why I was shocked, or rather surprised, but not repulsed when I saw you? Why I took the picture anyway instead of allowing you to change? Why I distributed the picture?”

“To… To… shame me, sir?” she answered, looking down.

“Karen. Look up… Please, look up.”

Eyes watering up, she slowly raised her head. Mr Thompson has moved his tie away and unbuttoned his dress shirt to reveal a patch of dark material. Black, shiny… latex.”

Karen opened her mouth, stunned by the sight, and he quickly re-buttoned his shirt, looking frantically at his office window giving in the corridor.

“Suzy must not know this.” he whispered.

“You… That’s…”

“Yes, Karen. I’m a fetishist like you are, so I know what you’re going through.” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper.

“You… often?”

“Unfortunately no.” he said with a grin. “I mean, the risk is too high. Yes, I can wear an undershirt but that would not prevent something like this from happening.”  he said, unbuttoning his sleeve, which revealed his arm tightly enclosed in the shiny material, quickly rebuttoning. “I did it a couple of times, knowing that I would spend my time in my office and not meeting any clients, but one never knows what could happen…” he said, looking at her, leaning his head slightly sideway “right?…”

Karen nodded. Well, she was the perfect oops example.

“But… You’re m… m… married… and…” began to stutter Karen.

“My wife, Alicia, is as kinky as I am.” he said, giggling, reaching for his crotch and making a hard bang noise on the wood of the chair. On Karen’s stunned expression, he giggled some more “Yep, chastity cage.” he said. “But now, back to business. I have another thing that is a secret but I want to share with you. I’m the VP of sales, but I’m also the owner of the company.” he said, lowering his voice again.

“But… Mr. Smith…” said Karen.

“Smith is the president. As the owner I can name whoever I want there. I don’t want to be president, so there he is, and he’s making a damn good job. So, being the owner means that I can do pretty much what I want in the company, and I’m about to propose something to you .”

One Month.

The bus was full, as usual, for her morning commute. She was standing up, holding an overhead strap with a leather gloved hand, while trying to get steady on her incredibly high heels. She was wearing a long trench coat, something odd for the hot summer day, and was getting weird looks from some passengers.

At a stop, a teenager with a backpack pushed her, his backpack getting a hold of her trench coat, popping a button out, revealing a gleaming black material underneath.

Karen was quick to close it with her free hand. People nearby had wide eyes, not sure of what they saw. Karen acted as if nothing special occured.

She got down at her usual stop and walked the 100m or so toward the three storeys building of her company, high heels clicking on the concrete sidewalk.

She saw other co-workers, who barely looked at her or with a shaming glance.

After all, she had been shamed. Following her stunt when the VP went to her home to deliver her 10-years plaque, they tried to get rid of her. But, she was in her home, so the dress code didn’t applied. Her work was done, correctly and on time, so they had no point to fire her. It would be an illegal lay-off, so she could sue the company.

So they decided to move her office, to the basement, where they hoped she would get fed-up of being kept apart from the rest and go away by herself.

That was the story floating around and she did nothing to confirm or deny it. She entered the building and instead of heading for the elevator, she took the stairs for the basement, her heels clicking, and her trench coat curiously creaking in the echo of the concrete staircase.

She walked past a few heavy equipment, boilers and stuff, under heavy piping, over a puddle of water constantly refilled from a dripping valve, and stopped in front of a room with a steel door, held closed by an electronic lock.

She removed her leather glove to reveal a shiny black coating over her skin, and punched the numbers.

The door unlocked and she entered, and then made sure the door was well closed and locked. Nobody would enter. Nobody except Mr. Thompson, the only other person with the code.

She took off her trench coat, revealing a slim and curvaceous body, totally enclosed in shiny latex, from neck to toes, waist crushed thin by a leather corset, and a shiny steel chastity belt circling the corset. She made a few steps, standing on knee high, high heel boots to reach for a drawer and take off a bunch of leather cuffs. She applied them to her ankles, over the knees, wrists and elbows.

From the same drawer, she picked up two more items: a latex  hood with only mouth and eye holes, as well as two nostrils holes, and a gasmask with two triangular lenses.

She put the hood on, smoothing her hair underneath it, placing the large yoke of the hood under the collar of her zipperless catsuit, before fastening a very wide leather collar around her neck and locking it.

She then carefully put the gas mask over her head, pulling the straps tight and, of course, locking them.

She looked at the clock. She had barely five minutes left to be ready to work, otherwise, punishment would be applied. That was all part of the deal.

She sat at the computer chair, linking her feet to rings on the ground, linking her knees together and under the work desk. She then fastened straps holding her to the chair, including her collar, and finally, linked a chain from under the desk to her linked wrist cuffs.

07:59. She was on time by the second!

She began to work.

From time to time, she would wiggle on her chair, trying to work the toys under the chastity belt, but it did nothing, like it did nothing all the countless times she had tried it before. She would get her reward, but only at the end of the work day. Not a minute before.

Every time she had to move, she was restrained, by her ankle link, her wrists, her collar, the chair. Every attempt to move was arousing. She loved feeling the restraints. She loved not being in control. Mr. Thompson was.

She often took small breaks, looking at her gleaming arms under the otherwise harsh light of that small basement room. She always marvelled at it, fantasming, imagining she was just a rubber slave. Well… wasn’t she?


She heard the electronic safe unlock, and the keys dropped at arm’s reach. She didn’t reach for them. She waited, opening a small app that would score her work for the previous day.

The score came out: 104.

She sighed some relief, but it was short lived. The toys inside her became alive, pulsating, stroking, twisting. She fought her bounds, but it only increased the pleasure. The reality of being almost unable to move, mixed with the forced vibrations of the dildos sent her over the edge.

She orgasmed, once. Twice. Three times before she was released by the toys, allowing her to calm down, to recuperate, and get the keys to get free. Sort of.

She took off everything she had put on within the office, putting them back in the drawer, to leave her desk spotty clean. With the keys, another padlock, opened, with a key in, dropped off. She took her small purse, and retrieved another opened padlock with a key in it, put it with all the rest of the keys, and back into the timed safe, closing the door. It will open again, tomorrow at 17:00.

She took the opened padlock she got from the safe and put it into her purse. She grabbed her trench coat, and walked away, taking the bus back home.

Once home, she fetched the padlock and key she had put in her purse. She took the key and with it, unlocked her chastity belt lock, taking the belt off, followed by the toys, making her groan, a mix of pleasure, relief and sadness.

She removed her corset and took her suit off, putting it into a cleansing solution, and headed for the shower. Once out of the shower, she rinsed the suit and patted it dry, but stayed out of it for about half an hour, before putting the suit back on, then the corset, the toys and the new padlock.

Even though she had been out of it for merely an hour, she had missed it. She had missed the feeling of the latex all over her body, its tightness, its shine. She had missed the tight hugging feeling of the corset, and the hard cold steel of her chastity belt.

The scheme was simple: 3 padlocks, 3 keys, but each key “indexed” and paired with another padlock. She would have the key to remove the padlock one, but once the padlock 2 was in place, its key would be with the padlock 3.

The next morning, the routine continued.

It was all part of the deal she had agreed with Mr. Thompson. She would be a latex working slave, forced to work in bondage. Day in, day out, and always in the control of Mr. Thompson, or rather his wife Alicia, who came up with the whole idea.

But that deal was only for six months. Then there was more.

Six Months

“Okay, open wide.” he said with a grin as he pushed the large and long penis shaped gag, now part of the gasmask, into Karen’s open mouth.

That gag was large and long, touching the back of her throat. She fought her gag reflex, concentrating at looking at the ceiling.

He then fastened the gasmask but did not put any padlocks in case she needed to take it off rapidly. This was all new, after all.

“Are you okay?” asked a woman, with short blond hairs, sporting a latex dress impossibly tight, enhancing her already sculptural figure.

Karen nodded yes to Alicia.

She made a few steps back, getting steady on her new ballet boots, her waist, crushed even tighter, by a new corset, this one made of rather hard plastic, rendering it totally rigid.

“So, until you feel ready, Karen, you will work with only quick links linking your wrists, in case you have to quickly take the gasmask off for the gag. When you’ll feel confident, you will use the locks, but not until then. Remember, yes, there is a panic button, but help won’t be here quick enough if you’re choking. Understood?”

Karen nodded yes. Sort of. Her mouth wide open was locking her head in with the high collar. That would be fun. Hell, she was already aroused.

They looked at her, finishing the rest of the stup, the cuffs, and then tying herself to the chair.

“One of these days, I’m telling  you, I will join you.” saie Alicia, winking at her husband, knowing that what he was doing with Karen, was a rehearsal of what could be done with Alicia.

With her impaired neck and waist, it took a little longer for Karen to set herself up as she was supposed to do.

“Better think about getting here a little earlier.” said Mr. Thompson. “Also, I understand that you will need some adjustment time, so for the next week, performances below 100, down to 80 won’t get you punishments, but won’t get you rewards either.” he said with a devilish grin. “After that, it will be back to normal.”

“Can’t wait for you to tell me how it feels!” said Alicia, walking away with Mr. Thompson, leaving Karen to her devices.

In  addition to the gag within the gasmask, the corset and ballet boots, her suit was also new, thicker and tighter. But being a neck-entry catsuit, all this made it more difficult to take off, so much that she spent quite a few days without taking it off. However, it was also a new kind of latex that they were testing and her skin responded well to it.

Again, she liked the feeling of her tightly encased body, but now, her fingers were clumsier over the keyboard, the increased thickness rendering ripping away any touching feeling. The gag was something to get accustomed to, but once the rewards began to flow, it only increased the pleasure.

Of course, she had to revert to more conventional heels for the commute, but after four months of that, she didn’t care anymore. She had moved all the keys to take off the cuffs and gasmask home, leaving only the ones needed to fix herself to the work desk, at the workplace, meaning that she would commute in full gear. Nothing hidden. She didn’t care what others thought of her. She was happy, and there was no law against it, as one prude commuter learned the hard way, being arrested for harassment instead.

“God will punish you for that, and you will end up spending the rest of your life like that!!” she had screamed while getting dragged to a squad car.

“If only that could be true.” mumbled Karen under her gagged mouth.

One Year

They were standing in a white, clean, medical room: Karen, Alicia, Mr. Thompson and Dr Weber. In the middle of the room, a gynecology chair.

Karen was standing there, in her yet new suit, way thicker and tighter than her previous one, so much that she needed the help of both, Mr. Thompson and his wife, to put it on. Her head has been shaved clean and the new hood, thicker and tighter, put on, its large yoke placed inside the suit’s collar and glued in place. She would not take it off unless she ripped the suit off her body. But that new latex, as shiny as fresh paint, was also very resistant and not easy to tear.

Dr. Weber was browsing the paperwork from his clip pad, then handed it over to Karen for one last signature.

“Very good, then.” he said, after Karen signed it. “If you please…” he said, gesturing toward the chair, knowing that her ears were plugged and thus, her hearing was quite impaired.

“It will be uncomfortable, but you should get used to it within a few days.” he said, staring straight at her, mouthing the words carefully.

Karen nodded in approval. She could hardly talk, her voice shaking with excitement and at the same time, apprehension. Being intubated was something she had fantasized about before, but now that it was happening for real, it was different.

And it wasn’t a pleasurable experience, especially the tube going up her urethra, as well as the ones up her nose. The feeding one, surprisingly, she didn’t find that hard and since she was used to deep throat gags, while the one up her rectom was not exactly new.

Once the tubes were inserted, Dr Weber checked all the vitals and gave his approval for the next steps, performed by Mr. Thompson and his wife, before retiring. His medical job was done.

They stuffed the dildos, which had a center bore, over the tubes at  her crotch and gently pushed them in place, their large flanges glued to the suit.

They did the same thing with a loose bag going over her feeding tube.

Then Mr. Thompson took something that looked like a mechanics grease gun and plugged it at her rectum dildo and began to pump, forcing in a rubbery paste that, although would remain flexible, similar to neoprene, would dry out in a few hours. Quickly, Karen felt the dildo expand, grow inside her, until she groaned.

He did the same with her vaginal plug, filling it to the maximum she could endure.

The same procedure was repeated with her mouth gag, filling it until her cheeks were bulging, as well on some small bladders inside her nostrils around the breathing hoses.

Giggling, Alicia squeezed Karen’s cheeks, feeling how full they were.

“I almost envy you, Karen. That whole… stuffed feeling must be awesome.” she said.

Karen moved her head from side to side, in a “not sure yet” way. Of course, all of this was creating a sensory overload, and it wasn’t over.

Mr. Thompson approached with the gasmask, getting it as close as he could of Karen’s face, while Alicia linked the feeding and breathing tubes to inserts embedded into the snout of the mask.  Its flange had already been coated with adhesive so when he pressed it firmly against her face, it quickly took hold

“We’ll let it set for a few minutes before the finishing touch.” mouthed Mr. Thompson, knowing that Karen could barely hear him, ears plugged as she was, and that her concentration probably wasn’t there at the moment.

They gathered two large cardboard boxes, and from one of the, long tubes made or carbon fibers.

He had Karen sit on the examination table and then proceeded to feed her right foot inside the tubes, which was in two halves. The inside was a thin latex tube, complete, which made the halves stretched as her leg slid in.

The tubes were long, reaching over her knees, which would be locked straight when the boot would be secured.

A soft foam layer was padding each half, and once her foot was in it, he, with the help of Alicia, squeezed the tubes, taking a strap, until a series of one-way hooks snapped in place. Contact cement, already applied, would make sure it would not come apart.

The same procedure was repeated, and then she was helped to get up, legs stiffened, standing on pointed toe boots, without any kind of heel.

She quickly began to balance, from one foot to the other. This was very new. Two steel D-rings, fixed at the ankle of the boots, were slightly clinking as she moved.

Alicia went to the other cardboard box and retrieved a large piece of carbon fiber. Karen knew what it was: her new corset, made with carbon fibers with steel boning, as if it was needed. Tighter, longer and a heck of a lot more rigid than what she ever wore before.

It was fixed around her waist and ratchet straps were used to bring the two halves together, slowly, leaving time for her body to move the organs, because this one was really tight.

Although extreme, she welcomed back the tight squeeze of it. She had only been out of her corset for about a day, but she was missing it. She loved the tight hugging feeling it gave her.

It was almost close. About only 2cm to go on each side. They put their attention back to the gasmask. 

Mr. Thompson took the rubber paste gun and plugged it to a small tube on the side of the snout and began to pump.

It was filling the whole mouth and nose cavity, under the regular cone of the gasmask, ensuring a total seal. It would make sure that none of the tubes moves or gets disconnected from the inside of the snout.

Once the gasmask finally done, he went back to the corset. A few more cranks of the ratchet straps, and she felt the numerous one-way hooks take a hold of it, securing it in place, although the seams were also glued.

Mr. Thompson and Alicia made a few steps back, admiring thier work, while Karen made her few first tentative steps in her new universe.

Legs rigid, waist rigid, body tightly encased in latex, deaf, mute, mouth and nose filled, not counting her crotch.

“OH! Damn, I almost forgot!” said Alicia, jumping and rushing to another cardboard box where she retrieved a steel chastity belt, along with a collar and a few leather cuffs.

A few minutes later, Karen was all set up, locked and ready to be tied up anywhere, a wide leather collar holding her head straight, cuffs tightly circling her wrists and upper arms.

Alicia grabbed a couple of quick links and fastened Karen’s arms in her back, elbows touching.

She was nervously breathing, in short gasps, highly impaired by the corset. Her senses were blocked and overwhelmed at the same time. She couldn’t hear, she could barely see, she couldn’t feel the outside air, she could barely move, yet she was feeling all warm and squished, the very tightness of the suit was felt everywhere, even in her rigid boots. Every time she tried to move her head, she was reminded of the restrictions. Every time she tried to move her arms, she was reminded that she was not in command. The presence of the tubes and the toys were very much felt, still annoying to have so much pressure coming from the inside.

She saw Alicia smile in front of her, admiring her work. Yes, her work. It was her who decided on the outfit, the material, the setup. She pretty much wrote the contract Karen signed, hand shaking, wondering what she was getting into: a lifelong dream, or a nightmare for life?

She had signed it, after reading the contract multiple times. It was the fifth version, after all, each party modifying it here and there at every reading.

Now, the enclosing part of the contract was done. She was tightly sealed in rubber. For at least five years!

Room had been left for modifications, and the rigid knee boots was one surprise Karen didn’t expect. That would impair her much, which delighted her, because she had not prepared for it!

And there was another one, as Alicia snapped a leash on Karen’s collar then showed her what looked like a remote for a car starter and…. Karen’s eyeports went black. Totally black!

Then, another surprise, a little cracking in her ears, then she heard Alicia.

“Oh, surprises and surprises, right?” she heard. She nodded.

“And there’s more in store, now just follow the tug.” Alicia said before cutting the sounds off again.

Karen felt a gentle, yet firm tug on her collar and followed, hobbling on rigid legs. That was a whole new way to walk, especially in pointed boots.

The trip was perhaps short, but it was nonetheless long, because of the countless small steps.

There was a change of floor level, a change of floor surface. She wasn’t on the hard tiles of the medical center anymore. It felt like a rug. No, like wood.

She was gently pushed backward, until she reached a wall of some sort.

Someone fondling at her ankles and when she tried to move them, she couldn’t, have been fixed to the wall.

She was bent slightly forward and her arms released, but not for long. Each wrist was drawn upward, putting her in some sort of Y shape position, arms up and spread, and her wrist cuffs were linked to some fixed point, as well as her elbows.

Then nothing, although she felt a small rocking side to side. And she felt the whole “room” move..

She was in a van of some sort, tied to a board, facing backward as much as her senses could tell.

They were leaving the facility. She had been there a few times, but, being all impaired and moving backward, she quickly lost track of where she was. Were they still into the parking lot, or they were two street lights away? Where were those stops?

The road was long, or short, depending on how one views the situation.

Karen loved being transported while tied up, led somewhere, unable to protest, see, hear, give her ideas or anything else. She was totally at the mercy of Mr. Thompson and Alicia.

And so far, she loved every moment of it, and every bump as it apparently, made her dildos move. Not a bad feeling. Not a bad feeling at all.

The van was docked to another building, and she was led down some elevator, and more walking. Was she at the regular building? She didn’t know, and would probably never know.

She was made to take a few turns, left, right, left, left, and stopped. Her leash was removed and she felt something else linked to her collar, at the back ring. Something a lot more heavy than the leash, which pulled against her collar, where she continually had to fight it to keep her balance.

Her arms were unlinked from her back and brought to the front, her wrists tied together with a short chain, while her upper arms, through a chain that was going in her back, were restrained in a way that they could barely get more forward than her body.

She was standing there, awaiting a command, a direction, a touch, an order. Anything.

After what seemed like an eternity, her eyesight was re-established and she saw a familiar view: her basement office. Four walls of concrete blocks, but the setup, the furniture had changed.

Three was a desk, quite high. High enough so that she would be totally at ease from working standing up. There was a single steel bed with a red latex covered mattress. And there was a strange looking console with two probes sticking out of it.

And that was it. Nothing more. Nothing less. The room was closed by a heavy steel door, a change from the standard wooden door that was there before. Assuming that this was the same room. She couldn’t really tell. A concrete block room looks a lot like another concrete block room.

She hobbled her way to the table where a computer was waiting, its keyboard fixed to the table. She was able to reach it with her bound arms and she assumed it would be the way she would be working from now on, always struggling, barely able to look at the screen, having to balance from one leg to the other to stay upright.

She turned around and hobbled her way to the strange console and looked at it. She had been lightly briefed that there would be some kind of automated station that would nurrish her as well as clean her. She looked at the display which was rather straightforward: she had to take place. Sensors would detect her presence. The arm between her legs would go up and meet with the plugs at her crotch, while another pipe would extend to mouth level, where she simply has to lean slightly forward to dock with it. When all will be completed, each arm will retract automatically.

She continued her hobbling to the bed and tried to sit, but was quite impaired with her rigid legs.

She grabbed a hold of the steel frame and tried to lay down. Not very gracious, but that was the limit of her mobility.

She pretty much fell on the soft rubber coated mattress, which was oiled, making her slip easily on it and created a nice sensation. She tried to reach her crotch, but was blocked by the chastity belt and the limits from her bound arms.

Now, she had time to reflect on her decision, on her situation. She closed her eyes and let all the sensory feelings sink in, engulf her: the smell of the rubber, the tightness of the suit, the rigidity of the corset and the boots, the large intruders almost throbbing inside her, although it was her who was throbbing against those same inserts and plugs.

She could only hear her pounding heart in her head, and the hot feeling all over her body.

She gently rocked her hips up and down. Yes. That was teasing her. That was good. In her mind, she was moaning, enjoying it. Feeling her mouth full and the tube going down her throat each time she tried to swallow sent her even more signals that she didn’t have any control over her life, and it made her even hotter.

Eyes closed, she imagined how she would look like for an outsider, how strange she would appear, completely different from the feelings she had from inside the suit, inside her confinement.

As if on cue, the dildos became alive, vibrating, pulsing, moving. She was so hot and aroused, it didn’t take long for her to explode, her brain submerged by a flow of feeling good hormones, amplified by the fact that she had no control. Whoever controlled her allowed her to orgasm.

That triggered a second orgasm, after which she tried to calm down. She tried to be careful, not to abuse the good vibes her owners had over her.

No. She was no longer an employee. She was a possession.

Getting up wasn’t pretty nor easy.

“You will have to work on that.” she said to herself as she tried to steady herself, unable to open her arms to increase her area of control, and fighting about the unbalance the heavy chain was giving her.

Ears plugged and eyesight impaired didn’t help for balance control either.

She ended up leaning against the concrete wall with her shoulder.

Carefully, she took control of her balance back and hobbled to the computer.

She entered her login and password and she was given her daily workload.

She immediately began to work, going from one spreadsheet to the other, doing her work, the way she liked to do it: totally impaired!

She had no way to tell the time. Her computer had been modified and only displayed the date, for due-date sensitive items. And only the date. Not the day of the week. She knew, it wouldn’t be long she wouldn’t know what day of the week it is.

Assuming that date was true.

When she would get tired, she would simply go and lay on the bed. Hungry or needing a dump: go to the station console. The light would not turn off.

And if the job she had done was appreciated, she would receive a good dose of toy play, sending her higher and higher every time. She couldn’t believe the power of those orgasms, all because she was a rubber slave.

Was her life only limited to that? No, on some days, she would be blinded and tied to the transport van to travel to some unknown location, most generally some sort of fishing lodge or something.

She took it as a thank you gesture from her owners. Sometimes, she would be put to work, bringing fire logs, distributing beverages, other times she would simply be tied up somewhere, from a tree to being buried, and left there, enjoying her toys.

She remembered that time where she was tied on a vertical X-Frame, and sent on a raft, allowed to drift on the wind for the day.

The regular balancing of the waves, mixed with her dildos who seemed to be synchronized, had been astonishing and she had totally lost it.

She remembered waking up, hogtied, near a campfire where she would see, but not recognized because of her tinted lenses, at least six people, who were acting like all was normal.

But…Hogtied? How could she be hogtied with her rigid legs? Turned out that the knees of the boots could be unlocked and allowed to bend. Another surprise. But, unless they were really needed, like for a hogtie, they were kept locked rigid.

That night, all tied up spread eagled on a latex covered bed, limbs stretched as a bow, dildos vibrating, between two orgasms, she had a thought about how all of that began.

A little incident, back when she was working from home.

© Pete / monsterp63, May 23, 2020

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