Out for a Stroll

I'd been bringing myself to the brink of orgasm each night for a week with no release permitted and now I was just fizzing with sexual need. I'm sure my co-workers though I'd found a new man, but that was unlikely since I play for the other team. Homosexuality is an illegal and imprisonable offence in many Islamic states, and whilst Dubai promotes itself as open and Western, it is pretty conservative. As an expat, I'd probably just be deported after the trial, but it's not something I want to go through. Ironic really, since maybe because of the enforced separation of the sexes, the proportion of homosexuals here is noticeably higher than in the West. Target rich environment! Anyway, there are playmates to be found, just not near the office. No point risking a disgruntled co-worker getting you out of the way!

OK, OK, there are no cute girls at the office; happy?

As my thoughts wandered from my driving, I was almost killed in the chaos left behind by something fast and bright orange weaving through traffic some 50kph over the speed limit. Steady, girl, concentrate! You don't want to waste that week and a half of self-enforced celibacy.

The rest of my commute passed as uneventfully as usual, which is to say, dull highway cruising interspersed with brief intervals of terrifying traffic shenanigans, but I made it and park underground beneath my apartment building. Killing the engine I take a moment to calm myself. My little sports car smells of leather and hot oil with a whiff of hot girl. Grinning I grab my bag and head in past the watchman and up to my apartment on the 16th floor.

It is December and the temperature is just dipping below 20C at night - perfect for what I have got planned. The last items arrived the week before and I've been keeping myself excited but without release since then. Now it is Thursday night, the equivalent of most people's Friday night. Perfect as it gives me Saturday to recover, or more likely spend in a self-bound orgasmic fog if I'm being truthful, before work again on Sunday.

Opening my 'special' closet, I took a moment to savour the rubbery scent. I'm not sure what my cleaner thinks of all the things stored in here but she doesn't speak very good English so I've not bothered asking. I stroke a few of the slick latex things before pulling out tonight's ensemble.

First out of the cupboard, my white cat suit followed by midnight black stockings and shoulder-length gloves. One of the first proper fetish items I acquired, and still one of my favourites, is the heavy rubber posture corset I reverently pull from its hanger. I hug it briefly in an echo of the embrace it will be holding me in for the next few hours, then lay it on the bed. I rummage through my shoe collection and select a pair of shiny black platforms with ridiculous heels. I got them in a mall here in Dubai. Oddly, the malls here are stuffed with handbag and shoe shops, and a significant number of the heels could be straight out of fetish magazines. I'm not complaining, just saying! Adding a few accessories to the bed, I strip from my boringly normal work clothes, and much less boring bra, thong (a little damp!), garter belt and stockings and hop in the shower.

Even though it is a luxuriously long shower, I am good and save myself, then roam my apartment wrapped in a towel, killing time. Tonight I intend to visit the area called Downtown Dubai and want it to be dark and heaving with people gathered to watch the fountain show. I visit some of my favourite websites - the UAE's Internet censors aren't so clever! - but that gets me dangerously hot and bothered so I try some Tai Chi (too distracted) then settle on watching some TV without really seeing it. Finally it is time to get ready.

Lubing up, I wriggle into the cat suit and zip it up the back, locking it on with a small padlock through the ring at the neck. This suit has a through-crotch triple zip, which is handy since I'm going to need access to my fun bits. Using more lube, I roll the stockings on and smooth out the wrinkles.

Wriggling into the corset is a challenge and I'm sweating despite the air-conditioning by the time I manage to get it settled in place. I hook the laces over the door and lean away, working the lacing as best I can. The shoulder strap buckles are undone and I have not yet fastened the collar, but it is still a struggle. Now the laces have grown with the slack, I can hook them over the top of the door and lower my weight onto them. After bouncing a few times - thank goodness for strong doors! - I manage to tie the laces off without losing much tension. Woo, deliciously tight! Tucking the laces in, I zip up the flap and slip a padlock on it. A bit more lube and the gloves are in place and my hands are transformed to the gleaming night-black appendages of an alien.

Briefly I wonder what the Bangladeshi boating hardware store clerk thought of this young woman buying tins of silicone lube, handfuls of padlocks and metres of chain. It is a familiar thought, and the answer is probably nothing, but I secretly believe he's another person who knows at least one of my secrets. One person who definitely does is the guy who made my leather cuffs. I didn't want to risk bringing some in by post or through airport x-rays, so was using simple belts when I found a new best friend at a pub. He is a leather worker to some rich Emirati; hired to look after the entire guy's stable's leather riding gear. It was good money, but not that much work. After some alcohol, it turned out he used to work part time for a fetish company in the UK. After a lot more alcohol, I'd blurted out some embarrassing truths, but not long after, I had a full set of wide and plush cuffs as a birthday present - lucky me!

I fasten the cuffs tight around my wrists, knees and ankles with more padlocks then quickly tighten the corset's shoulder straps, removing the ability to twist my shoulders, padlocking the buckles.

Sitting down in front of my bedroom mirror I apply some vampy makeup, going heavy on the sexy kohl and eye shadow the way Arab women tend to do.

Just a few more touches and I'm done. I take some short lengths of chain that I had previously interlaced lengths of cloth into to keep the noise down and lock them between my ankles and knees - as short as I dare but not as short as I'd like in my fantasy, however I'll need to be able to make progress that doesn't stand out too much so caution wins out.

Fitting the ring gag I tighten the harness and lock it on. I love to be gagged during sex. Being unable to demand, complain or beg; losing the essence of being human, communication, leaving you at the mercy of your lover is such a thrill. Ball gags are also great, but in company, I tend to favour the ring as it leaves your mouth useful. Tonight I'm just being prudent – I will probably end up gasping for breath at some stage.

I should probably mention that all the padlocks are keyed differently so even with the bunch of keys, getting free takes a while. I almost never manage to get very free of my self-imposed bondage before masturbating to a massive series of orgasms, but ones while bound are the best, right? Luckily I cum pretty easily with clitoral and vaginal stimulation and am multi-orgasmic so that part of the night doesn't slow me down, unless I fall asleep afterwards of course! I pity guys with their pitiful one orgasm at a time!

Wrapping my hair up in one of the massive scrunchies the Arab girls use, I stand and take a long look in the mirror. Pretty damn sexy! I restarted running recently and it has done wonders for my legs and bum, and the way latex grips and shapes flesh accentuates my arse's cute pertness. Waist nipped in harshly, shoulders pulled right back, boobs pushed out into two shining white mounds! Mouth wedged open exposing a wet pierced tongue! Mmm, if my reflection was a real girl in my apartment, I'd be all over her. It takes a real effort of will to stop the vision in the mirror from rubbing at her crotch.

The last item was worn, fully deflated, into the country since there are strict laws about sex toys. Kissing is cut from films for goodness' sake, and the animated film, 'Puss in Boots' was renamed 'Cat in Boots' because 'puss' was deemed to have sexual connotations. Caressing my pussy through the latex, maybe they're right. Unzipping the crotch zip I bare myself. My it is humid down there! Using more lube I work the twin inflatable dildos attached to the corset's crotch piece into my hungry holes. Anal sex has never really appealed especially since there is an even more fun place a few centimetres around, but I'm not adverse to the occasional bit of play. Normally I just use the bare crotch piece, but we're going all in (fnar!) tonight.

Locks are slipped through the buckles at the back, a small butterfly vibrator switched on and slipped in place at the front, and then I pull up hard on the front and lock the buckles. The crotch piece has two inflation bulbs hanging down between a plush rubber caricature of pussy lips. I rub the outrageous lips enthusiastically but of course feel nothing which paradoxically turns me on even more.

I brought the vibrator into Dubai in my hand luggage, transferring it to my pocket just before arrival into Dubai. I was beet red as my bag went through x-ray at departures, convinced that the woman at the console knew exactly what it was. Now it is mashed against my most sensitive place and set to buzz and pulse randomly for up to 30 seconds every 5 minutes. It shouldn't be enough to get me off, but it will definitely keep my mind focussed on sex.

Time is running on and I don't want to waste the batteries, so I head back to the wardrobe.

Along with the disadvantages there are some advantages for a female bondage enthusiast living in the Middle East - the abaya and niqab being two. There are a number of different styles of abaya. Older women tend to go for a shapeless tent thing anchored from the head, whilst the young trendy girls wear more dress-like fitted ones, plus a headscarf or three, often all with embroidery and beading. Mine is fitted around the bust and waist but loose around the legs with some shiny black beading around the neck and shoulders, down the front and cuffs. The arms are long enough that I can open my hands fully and the sleeves can still cover them. I slip into it, and adjust it around my hips. It is long enough that it will brush the ground with the platform heels on, so I will have to be careful not to trip over it.

To hide the gag I will be wearing a pretty hard-core niqab leaving just a strip with my eyes showing and even that is veiled with thin and very fine fabric. The harness could be visible climbing up between my eyes, but as everything is black, I hope that it will look like part of the niqab. The massive scrunchy helps anchor the headscarf and I finish it with a sort of cowl further hiding my face, all pinned in place with some ten hair pins. I giggle at the reflection since the scrunchy makes my head look a bit like an Alien, but as long as Ripley isn't around I'll be fine. It is a very authentic look anyway!

Slipping on a pair of low heels I grab a last short piece of chain and two blue locks that are tangled with a chain threading their keys, and the platforms and head out.

On my way out I nod to the watchman. What does he think? He must know it is me since he knows who drives each car. It is unusual to see non-locals wearing traditional cloths, especially ones with full face coverings. Very far from my normal weekend party cloths!

I ease myself down into my little low car, sitting and swivelling my legs in like a real lady! The car roars to life and I zip off towards Downtown Dubai. I have very little peripheral vision, and a very limited ability to turn so I'm kind of taking my life in my hands, but the traffic has calmed down since rush hour and Arab women drive almost like this every day! Well, kind of like this. In my mind I'm instantly surrounded by fetishista ninjas - who knows what's under the abaya? Isn't that the point? I've seen what some of them wear under it in the mall washrooms, but I'm not telling!

I cursed the firm ride a few times and the mall's speed bumps jostled the plugs uncomfortably. The occasional pulses from the vibrator were very distracting but thankfully short. In all, the trip to the Dubai Mall was uneventful and I easily found a spot near one of the south-eastern car park exits. Slipping my driving shoes off, I buckle the platforms on and I fish the blue locks' keys out of my pocket and hang the thin chain the keys are threaded on around the rear-view mirror - I don't want to lose these. It is but a moment to tighten the neck corset and make myself ridged from head to the fork of my legs.

In my stiffened state getting out of the car is a production involving lots of gripping onto the car and levering myself upright. Taking a quick look around to check that the area is quiet, I crouch down near the open door and squeeze the inflation bulbs feeling the plugs grow inside me. I intended just to swell them a bit since this is the first time I've really used them, but the vibrator went off again and I got a bit excited. I disengage the bulbs and put them into my glove box, locking it. I just have the car's valet key with me which only unlocks the driver door and ignition, although oddly I have found it is quite capable of locking all the locks. The plugs are staying fat and I'm staying fully stuffed until I get home.

I grab the blue locks and last 15cm piece of chain out of my pocket I lock the car replacing them with the car key. Locking the chain to my right cuff gives me pause. This is it, V1, last chance.

This is pretty stupid. If I'm caught it could mean my job. I could even be deported. I can see the headlines now - deviant infidel arrested for public indecency. Sod it; I'm going to do it. A quick check that my abaya, niqab and head scarves are fastened correctly and everything is hidden, then I quickly thread the chain through the front of the abaya, through a D ring on the corset at my waist and back out where it is captured by the final lock. I wriggle the sleeves down hold my hands together hiding the chain and cuffs. I'm ready. Vr.

I have already plotted the route I must take - out of the mall parking lot, turn right along Emaar Boulevard, past The Address Hotel, down the steps and across the lagoon, back around the promenade and the along the mall back to The Address hotel then left back to the car park. It's only about two and a half kilometres, but with towering heels, 30cm of chain linking my ankles and two larger than intended plugs stuffing me, I'm sure it will feel like twice that at least. It is still pretty quiet out. Passing The Address hotel I pause my slow walk and glance up at the Burj Khalifa. Even seeing it spearing up most days doesn't make it less impressive. When you see it from a distance it looks as thin as a needle but this close up, it has proper thickness. It's remarkably tasteful for a region that still thinks coloured neon is a pretty neat idea, especially when it flashes!

I finally pass the new 'Old Town' and arrive at the steps leading down to the plaza. My feet are a bit sore now but they're nothing compared to the discomfort coming from my arse. Choosing the ramp over the steps since I can't look down, I gingerly ooze my way down to the plaza. The vibrator bursts into life halfway down and I have to pause to 'take in the view' as my legs weaken.

...

A third of the way around. I am reasonably fit, but the exertion in the very tight corset has me gasping for breath through my gag, and trying to swallow enough spit at the same time to prevent drool soaking the niqab. I'm sure my bosom is heaving dramatically, but I can't look down to check. I can see that I have got some admirers though so I guess it looks good! Slowly I struggle across the plaza and up over the bridge to the grassy island. I'm gasping and sweating inside the tight latex and my feet hurt so it is an easy decision to stop and sit on one of the black cubes. They're generously spaced apart and just big enough for one person to sit on. Mercifully there is one free and I elegantly attempt to sit, only to misjudge things and drop the last few centimetres.

Ooo! I forgot what that would do to the plugs!

This is a popular area for walkers and picnickers and since it is almost time for the fountain shows to start, the crowds are building. I spend some time resting my feet, but the additional pressure in my butt soon drives me back to my feet and onwards once again.

...

It feels like I've been walking for miles now, but I am only half way round. The chains limiting my stride are tiring me prematurely. I must have worked some slack into the corset too since the crotch piece now has enough room that the plugs wiggle about slightly while I walk. There has been a group of guys following me for the past 10 minutes. At my slow pace I'm pretty sure their eyes are on my rolling bum as I desperately try not to waddle. Every time the vibrator buzzes I pause and lean against the railings, desperate to slip my shoes and ease the pain in the unaccustomed heels. They are buckled on of course but it doesn't stop a girl from trying. The lube must be working its way out from under things as I'm creaking with each breath and movement.

...

The fountain has started doing its periodic displays and I'm stopping each time 'to watch'. As I'm passing the amphitheatre viewing area, and giving the crowd a good opportunity to oggle, the fountain fires so I mince my way to a lucky space at the railing for a rest. The damned vibrator just fired up! I hope that the music from the show distracts the people around me from its buzzing. I'm pretty close to cuming despite the discomfort when the stupid thing stops. In an effort to wiggle the plug in my vagina to get myself off I start shifting my weight between my feet while rubbing my thighs together but there isn't really enough movement of the dildo and the discomfort from what feels like the rolling pin shoved up my arse brings that to a stop. To add to the misery, my pried open jaw is really starting to ache too. In a gust of wind I think I can feel some wet scarf against my face. Hopefully the drool is running down my front into the thick, dark part of the abaya and isn't visible. Hopefully! No-one would mention it anyway - far too impolite to do that to a ninja!

The show ends and I start off again along the lagoon face of the mall. It is really busy here and I'm occasionally being jostled despite wearing the 'full ninja'. Normally people are quite respectful, but here there just isn't room. What if I get knocked down? I see myself sprawled helpless on my back, my abaya flung open around me baring all my rubber perversions to a thousand people crowding round, pointing and laughing. I feel heat building in my face as it burns in pre-emptive shame. The creaking of my thigh cuffs seems to have lessened which probably means my juices are leaking out and running down my thighs. Let's hope people have colds.

...

My honour guard fell out when I passed the last bridge. Now I'm painfully ascending the ramp at the base of The Address hotel, dodging baby buggies. Steps in these heels and chains, without being able to look down are too perilous to even consider. The rolling pin has fallen out to be replaced by a telegraph pole - my poor arse! By the time I have laboured to the top of the ramp I'm seeing black spots and starting to sway but I manage to make it to a bench with a few spaces and sink down onto it. The bloody vibe choses this moment to fire off again. In this state I don't really care if the other people on the bench can hear it or smell my need. Intellectually I'm too sore and don't want an orgasm now. I don't think I could even if I wanted to.