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Medium term office self-bondage scenarios
#1
See description and requirement in this post: Medium term office self-bondage scenarios. Part I. The general idea
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#2
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#3
I did that once. Ankle shakles with a chain to the wrist cuffs and collar.
I also wore a chastity belt too. I was so scaired that my landlord would show up or wourse yet, My MOM ???

Is that her car outside???

no. never did that again.
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#4
I hope you won't mind, I liked the idea of the secretary self bondage scenario. Fiddling with it, I decided it'd make a good fiction piece. I might try it for real some time, but for now it's fiction.
Also, it doesn't strictly follow the rules. I you want to move it out of this thread, feel free - your call for scenarios was just the match that started it.

========


There's a scene in the movie 'Secretary' where Maggie Gyllenhaal's gotten a job as a secretary for the dominant male lead. She's reveling in the s/M overtones of her new work relationship. She's relaxing in the tub and singing 'I'm - a - secretary' over and over.

That scene is playing in my head as I prepare a Sunday afternoon's evil.

Its a nice sunny day. I don't expect anybody, though if the doorbell rings I'll just not answer. The outside door's locked,
and I live alone.

I've decided to do my office secretary fantasy. Its' something I've been planning for a while.

Since this was going to be my 'office secretary' fantasy session, I decided to dress the part. Not my usual look. I program for a high tech startup, XyNetics. Everybody from the CEO to the receptionist wears jeans and T shirt. Despite the egalitarian dress code, as the only female programmer I'm treated like crap. The tech lead makes me do lots of piddly stuff like fixing CSS.

I start laying things out on the bed.

I dug out a very naughty teddy with garters and some dark stockings to match with my black patent Aperlai ankle strap high heels.

I also have a body shaper - a heavy, tank like thing with lots of hooks in front. It's very long line, with a crotch and legs nearly to the knees.

Two days ago I bought a cheap, low cut white satin blouse. It's slutty but will work for this. I'm pairing it with a black pencil skirt in some semi-shiny material with little ribs.
I have a big black hair bow. I'd be embarrassed wearing it in real life.
Whee, I'm - a - secretary. Last minute, I realize I have a crepe blouse a lot like she wore in the opening - peter pan collar, jabot, back closure. It's not as slutty. It's feminine and demure and somehow submissive. So I swap for it. Im - a - secretary.

I lay out the rest of my gear. I check everything over.

People talk about snapping the last lock. For me, it's when I start the process that the dread starts.

I take my last tinkle and strip out of the jeans and T shirt I was wearing.

Before I put on the body shaper I slip a metal egg with a wire into my vagina, and tape a square of aluminum foil to each butt cheek. They're plugged into a remote control box that I tape to my back.

Then the body shaper. It's black, with minimal decorations, and fastens up the front with lots of tiny hooks. In it I'm about as flexible as a mafia loanshark. I can't get anywhere near my plumbing by reaching up a leg, let alone get the egg out.

Then I step into the teddy. Champagne satin panels in black lace, with a little ruffle over the breasts and around the bottom. It's styled like it's open bottom, but has a built in boy shorts crotch. There's a ribbon lacing, intended for decoration I'm sure, but I tighten it some. The lace is stretchy, but the satin isn't, so it's a bit corset like. It has satin garters from the bottom like a garter belt, so there's a sort of panel in front. The details aren't important, I guess, except that it's impossible to get the egg out without taking them both off. I've worn this combo before, and lets just say I've got first hand knowledge that it's true.

I run a leather strap belt from a bdsm store around my waist and lock it on with a small padlock. I leave the key on the bed. Without the key I can't get either one off.

Hosiery is just weird. I have to wonder who thought up the idea of clothes so thin they're like paint. Today it's black hose with a seam up the back, rolled on. Clipping the garters feels like snapping locks.

I'm wearing fuck me heels with the little strap around the ankle. The hard to fasten tiny buckle around the ankle feels like a lock.

I put on my blouse and skirt. Pulling the skirt up's a balance exercise.
Oops, the black lace in the teddy's showing through the last minute change of blouse.

A trip to the lingerie drawer and I dig out a nylon creme camisole. Gotta look good, though with the tin can body shaper, the spandex teddy, and the camisole I'm suffering a bit for fashion. OK, that's another fun little theme for this.

I have a black slip with several rows of lace ruffles to give it body, so I add that. It was meant for an A line skirt. With the pencil skirt over it the lace is bunched up. The sense of a wad around my thighs should heighten the sense of my clothes as part of the bondage.

I pick out some office-y looking jewelry and do my makeup -nice, restrained, professional. I put my hair up and add the bow. Perfect. I check my mirror. I'm - a - secretary.

Now to become a good, obedient little secretary.

I sit on the bed and put a padded cuff on each ankle. Bending over to reach my ankles is hard in the shaper.

The ankle cuffs lock on with a small padlock through the buckle pin, and then I lock a 6 inch chain between them. I can walk, a little.

The pile of keys on the bed is growing.

I'm definitely sliding into an altered space.

No gag today. I'm - a - secretary. I might have to answer the phone (or do a few other things).

Another belt, high up around my midriff. This one has the buckle in back, and yes, it has it's own padlock. In front it's got a big eye.

I run 15 inches of chain through the eye and lock a padded cuff to each end. I put one wrist in a cuff, fastening it with the other. The second cuff goes on. I put a small padlock in the buckle holes. My hands' world shrinks to a small area in front of my belly. I can't get behind me, can't touch my face, even with one hand pulled all the way in, but I can hold my hands out far enough to reach a keyboard sitting down.

My bedroom's at one end of my upstairs hall. The office is at the other.

I'm ready for my slow, teetery walk down the hall to the office in my heels and hobble chain. Every cheesy movie of death row and the last walk flashes through my brain.

It's an older house, and the office has a proper door knob. I've replaced it with an outside door set. Key side facing in, of course.

I look around and check the gear. The door key is inside a metal box mounted on the wall, held up by a magnet. The magnet's powered by house current- if the power fails, the key drops. There's a mechanical timer on the key power as well. And the door's reasonably flimsy and I've put a pry bar in the office - I could break through the door quickly if I was desperate.

I've done a thorough check of the house - no space heaters on, nothing that might conceivably cause an emergency.

Everything looks OK. I take a deep gulp. It'd be so easy to turn around right now and go back to the bedroom. Instead I lock the door knob, and close the door. It's awkward in my chains, and it slams. It's the final click. I'm locked in the room.

The only way out is to get the key. The key's controlled by a computer downstairs. It's also a web server, with a very, very special web site just for me. Yes, I wired all this stuff up - gasp, girls can do computers too!

Now, I can stay there, in perfect safety, as long as I want. But I'll never get out that way. For that, I'm going to have to do some work. I sit down and start my I'm - a - secretary day.

I log onto my special web site. Up on the screen, on a web page called 'Typing Pool', text starts scrolling across the screen. I have to copy it by typing before it scrolls off the top or definitely bad things happen, so I start typing. I'm - a - secretary!

Of course I'm not allowed to make corrections, like I'm typing on a typewriter. There's a big gauge on the screen, with 'naughty secretary', 'part of the typing pool', and 'great little gal'. If I make a mistake or get behind the meter drops towards 'naughty secretary'. If the meter drops all the way down, I get zapped. Every time I make a typo there's a big 'Bbrrrt' sound - by the end that sound will become one of the worst parts of the torture.

After a couple minutes I'm thinking I might have set it too easy. I'm at 'typing pool' level, though I'm wondering if I can keep this up for 4 hours.

The printer starts running.

Groan - I've thought up a number of these little 'extra tasks' to make the day more interesting. The typing pool stops, but only for 12 seconds - which means getting up in high heels, crossing the room, getting the paper from the printer and returning to type in the code printed on the paper. I immediately discover I'm in trouble. I'd timed myself with the heels on and the hobble chain... but without my wrists bound. Getting out of the darn chair means bending my body, difficult in the shaper and without using my hands on the arm rests. There's a lot of grunting. I'm up and hobbling. I reach the printer, get the paper, turn to go back, and ZAAAPP - the shock goes off.

I nearly fall over, but have the presence of mind to squat down instead. I'm just back and sitting down when I get shocked again. I start typing like crazy, but I'm rattled, make a few typos, and get shocked once more before I get ahead of it.

The printer goes off again. This time I think I'm clever. I just roll the office chair across the room, and... no, that doesn't work - too slow - I get zapped when I'm at the printer again, and now I have to maneuver the chair back in position, and get zapped another time. God, we're only 30 minutes into the day.

I can tell, because there's a timer on my screen. Another 3 and a half hours.

Suddenly 'BRING BOSS COFFEE' flashes on the screen... groan.
Really making coffee would involve hot liquid - not a good mix with bondage - so during setup I set some coffee cups on a little side table. Each one was full right to the  brim with cold coffee. To avoid the shocks, I had to pick the "coffee" up and carry it across the room and dump it into a funnel on the other side. The funnel was wired to check the amount poured in - if I lost even a little I'd be shocked.

I hobble over, pick up the cup and carefully manuver it across the room. I'm careful to dump every last drop in. I hobble back to my chair, and the screen is flashing 'SPILLED COFFEE - PUNISHMENT - TYPING RATE INCREASED 10%'
Oh Crap! I start typing like a mad woman, but now I'm barely keeping above 'naughty secretary' and I'm getting zapped every five minutes.

Just for added torment, the computer generated speech starts up. If my meter gets low, every so often it says cruel things. "You're not a good secretary", "You're too stupid to do anything but be in the typing pool", "we only keep her around so we can fuck her",...

It's actually a relief when the screen flashes 'BOSS NEEDS PERSONAL SERVICE'.  
There's a closet off the office. I've set up a special treat in there - a big rubber dildo, mounted like a hunter's trophy about three feet off the ground. It's got a hole through it. I can keep the downstairs computer happy by sucking on it. I manage to kneel down in front of it and get to work. There's a square metal plate above it - I have to tap that plate with my nose, while sucking, every few seconds, so I'm getting deep throat lessons.

After a few minutes of sucking, suddenly I start getting zapped every 10 seconds. WTF? I gotta chance it - I stop sucking, and walk a couple steps on my knees so I can see the screen - Heck, it's gone back to typing - oops, my fault, I didn't have the program tell me when the boss was 'satisfied'. I hobble back, getting shocked twice on the way. I'm barely started typing when the boss wants coffee again.

There's a mirror fronted cabinet over my little coffee area, and I catch a look at myself. I've been crying, and my mascara's run. I'm soaked with sweat and looking wilted. The bow's all sideways and slipping out.

I manage to get all the coffee delivered this time, and return to typing. Another session of personal service for the boss gets me to the end of the hour.

The program's random, so I'm surprised it hasn't happened til now, but it decides it's time for a little filing.
I've got a file cabinet filled with folders with numbers. Each one has a sheet with a code number in it. There's like 200 of them and the numbers are long, there's no way I can have memorized them all.
To file I have to get the file number off the screen, go to the file cabinet, and dig through the unsorted files, then hobble back and type in the code number.

Somewhere late in the second hour the printer jams and I get a half dozen heavy zaps before I manage to unjam it and click the button on the screen that reprints the page. By the time I've gotten the reprint typed in I'm way behind, and there are four more shocks before I catch up.

Just for variety, at one point I have to 'shine the bosses shoes'. I've got a pair of men's wingtips from the Goodwill, wrote a bunch of random numbers on them, then covered them with brown icing. I have to lick the icing off to read the numbers. I fastened them down to the closet floor behind a bar to make it harder to cheat. I need to hang on to the bar to reach them. I'd removed any napkins or tissues from the ofice anyway. I could have used the jabot on my blouse, but they were good clothes, I didn't want to ruin them. So I kneel in front of the shoes and start licking. Another task where I'd not figured how much harder it'd be with my wrists manacled and in a body shaper.

Next task is coffee again, and now the mirror shows I'm a mess - frosting on my face and blouse (it did come out, fortunately), my hair's every which way, and I'm hurting. And to top it off the damn thing says I spilled the coffee, when I didn't, and I get a couple zaps.

I've been typing about five minutes, and it's getting repetitious and not-fun. I'm sitting and thinking about how stupid I was to have gotten myself into this situation when it goes back to typing. Annoyingly, the story I'm typing is actually interesting - I fed it a bunch of stories off a porn site - and being horny, reading it's one more misery. I've gotten ahead of the curve, and I'm doing well, with my little meter going up towards 'great little girl'.

I've been doing these sorts of games for a while. I know how to mess with my own head. I don't know it, but I'm about to do so.

Without warning the screen changes to 'BORING'.
And that's just that - for the next hour nothing will happen.
I'll be locked in this room with nothing to do. I can get up, walk around, do whatever the loose bondage lets me do.

I've been sitting for a while, or hobbling furiously, so I get up and slowly walk around the room.

Suddenly I want out of the room soooo bad. But there's no way out. I can see my lawn below through my window. Birds are chirping outside. Madly, I think about the crowbar. But using it would endlessly complicate my life in ways I imagine most people wouldn't understand. No, the crowbar stays where it is. But, I WANT OUT!!

Somewhere less urgent, I want to reach through this skirt and all these furbelows, and touch myself. That's pointless too. Even my breasts are out of reach - I could get one hand up to my nipple, but the shaper covers my breasts completely. I try rubbing myself, but I don't even feel it.

No, I can't get out. I kneel on the hard floor. I think of praying, though I left my parent's religion behind with many other vanilla things. I curl up on the floor and spend most of the hour there.

I want to fix my makeup, brush my hair, get ready for the final hour. But I can't. My brush and makeup are beyond the locked door. I can't reach my face anyway. My mind goes to some corner. I think I crawled into a physical corner following it.
I think somebody rang the doorbell some time during that hour, but I was too lost to be paniced or pay attention.

I've recovered a bit and am back in my chair when BORING runs out, and with a sick feeling I realize it's starting again.

The typing goes on for twenty minutes. I've lost some rythm, and get shocked twice. And then I service the boss, and bring coffee one last time, without spilling any this time, and while I'm pouring it I hear a tinkling sound. The keys have dropped.

Not wanting to chance a final zap, I finish the coffee pouring, and hobble over, and suddenly the keys are in my hand and the computer screen says "COME IN EARLY TOMORROW", and the door's open and I'm hobbling down the long hallway. I flop onto my bed, find the proper keys and free the chain between my hands.
I find the cuff padlock keys for my feet and take them off, having to kneel down and reach behind to do it.

Your mind does odd things at a time like this. I go into the bathroom, fix my hair, wash my face, and redo my makeup. I realize I've stained my blouse with the frosting, and go to take it off.

Only then do I realize I'm still wearing the belt around my waist. It feels funny walking with sort-of-normal strides back to the bedroom. I don't wear high heels often, and today I've walked more in them than I have in years.

The belt and the cuffs come off in the bedroom, and after them my blouse, skirt, and various other items to reach the inner belt. It's the last thing locked on.

I'm technically free but don't feel like it.

I undo the garters. Funny, I count them as the last lock. With them undone, I strip out of the rest of it. I'm so sore I struggle to get the shaper offMy privates are swollen, so getting the egg out requires painful probing. I'm just wearing hose, like a french postcard.

And, though I'm wet and engorged and feeling like I've taken whatever it is the sleazy drummer I dated in college gave me, something's changed, at least for the moment, and I dig in my closet and pull out nice pants and a top instead of my usual T shirt. And I check my appearance one last time, which is weird since I usually hate makeup, and hang things up and put them away, which is also weird, and go downstairs and cook myself a good dinner instead of my usual dinner-from-a-can routine, which is weird too.

I'm sitting in bed watching late night TV when it all comes bubbling up. I just start crying, and turn off the TV.

I'm still in a ball in the middle of the bed when I wake up at 3am. I scrub off the remains of the makeup in the bathroom (I discovered I've got no cold cream) and crawl under the covers.

The next day at work the asshole tech lead asks me to do a bunch of data entry. This time I tell him I'm not the secretary.

Three weeks later I wear a skirt and blouse again, but without so much underwear. This time it's to a job interview at a large corporation, and though I'm wearing what I now consider my lucky blouse, this time it's with a skirted suit and I look like a serious professional. Twelve days later I leave XyNetics.

18 months later I'm promoted to manager and start wearing a suit every day. I think I've permanently sexualized corporate drag for myself.
A month after my promotion I marry Tom, a man I met through work.

We occasionally play naughty secretary. In a perverse irony, he's the CEO's administrative aide.
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#5
Great story.
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#6
For some reason, I was expecting and awaiting your reaction @Tinker D Wink
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#7
My reaction?
I thought it was a good story.
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#8
I mean I was pretty sure that you would respond and you would like it Wink
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#9
I see
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#10
Found this just now.

https://www.likera.com/forum/mybb/Thread...st-type-SB

It uses the same keys-beyond-door method, but opening the door sets off a REALLY LOUD ALARM that's hard to silence. For a real implementation of the above scenario, I'd say it's safer.

I'll ask Tom what he thinks after he comes out of the office. I'm not sure what he's doing in there, but he's sure typing furiously. ;-)
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