My Daring Self-Bondage Public Walk

These thoughts are going round and round in my head and I am not paying much attention to my surroundings. Suddenly I find myself at the last booth at the edge of the exhibit, but not in the direction I need to go to recover my keys.

I head back into the exhibition walking in the direction I think will take me towards the keys. My eye is caught by some beautiful ceramics, and I can't help stopping to look at them. I study them closely thinking that I could never do anything like them. My own attempts at pottery were really crude compared to the finely finished and beautifully glazed pieces on display in front of me. With my peripheral vision I notice that the artist, another man, is watching me. Ha, he needn't worry that I might pick up one of his precious pots and break it. Little does he know that this is far beyond my capabilities at this moment. I move along the display, stepping away from him, and stop to admire a particularly large and fine pot. Suddenly he rises from his chair and starts towards me. I really don't want him handing me a card so I make my move towards the exit.

"Hi," he says, "I saw you looking at my pots."

What's happening today? Men don't usually come up to me like this. It must be my crazy outfit. I stop, I don't want to appear rude. "Yes, you have some unusual glazes."

"I make my own, I'm a bit of a chemist. Been doing a lot of experimenting."

"Well, it seems to have paid off." I want to leave, but don't know how to do it gracefully. I hope that he doesn't introduce himself and hold out his hand. That would be too much.

"Thanks. I'm Bill, by the way."

I see that he wants to know my name, and is preparing to hold out his hand. "Nice to meet you Bill, but I'm afraid I have to be going. Good luck with your pots." And with that I move off.

I wonder what it is about my outfit that seems to be attracting men. Is it my short skirt, or my sexy boots, or perhaps my enlarged breasts? It's all very well to attract men, but what kind of men am I attracting?

I find one booth manned (or should I say womanded?) by a female artist. She has very dark eye makeup on, and is dressed in a kind of cloak. I don't particularly like her work, it consists of somber acrylic paintings with a sci-fi theme, but I stop at look because she is the most unusually attired of all the artists I've seen, and I feel a kind of kinship with my clothes.

I don't look directly at her, just at her work. She completely ignores me. Maybe she can sense that there is something wrong with me.

I move on, heading towards my keys when I spot Jane, a coworker. She is not in my department but works a few offices down. I freeze. I don't want to be seen by her. If she recognizes me then my sexy outfit and enlarged breasts might become the talk of the office for months. Fortunately she hasn't spotted me. I turn around and walk as quickly as I can back the way I came. When I am sure I am out of her sight I cross over the road and reverse direction.

My right boot becomes unstable and I stumble (I think I stepped on the edge of a slightly raised concrete slab, but I'm not sure, I was too preoccupied to check). Fortunately I do not fall, but it is a close thing. In momentarily losing my balance I instinctively try to save myself with my arms and the resulting jerk on my thumbcuffs hurts my thumbs and presses the chains up onto my plugs. Regaining my balance I stop and look down to discover that the front of my skirt has ridden up slightly. Oh crap! Maybe my crotch padlock is visible, I can't tell. A middle-aged, and rather overweight, woman is standing nearby and is looking at me. I can't tell if her expression is one of concern or surprise. I turn away from her and desperately try to smooth my skirt down with my fingers. I manage to partially fix it but can't get the hem down. Crap, crap, crap! I'm both angry with myself and worried about the skirt.

There's nothing more I can do so I turn around and march past the woman without looking at her. I block out of my mind the possibility that she has seen the padlock, but can't help feeling nervous that it is still visible. But people walking in the opposite direction are not staring down at my skirt, so I tell myself they can't see the padlock and relax a little.

I absolutely cannot afford to fall, so I slow down and pay more attention to where I am placing my feet. My feet and legs are beginning to hurt and I feel a desire to sit down and rest. I realize I have lingered too long at the exhibition; this daring experience of public bondage has been so exciting and, up to this point, so successful that I have lost track of time and have deviated from my simple plan. I also feel I need to visit a rest room. The need is not urgent, but I realize I had better finish my adventure and not waste any more time.

As I walk past the booths I scan the objects and paintings on display. I don't want to stop and get into any more conversations, but I can't help looking. I am also watching the crowd ahead to make sure that I don't run into anyone I know. Finding Jane here was quite a scare.

Suddenly I feel thirsty and regret that I have no money on me to buy water. This thought is immediately followed by another, 'You fool, even if you had money you couldn't buy a drink, nor drink it if you had one. Your hands are thumbcuffed, dummy!'

Leaving the art exhibition, I slowly walk the few blocks towards the courtyard where I hid the first of my two spare car keys. For the first time I become really worried that the key might not be there. Why didn't I check it last night? Perhaps both keys are missing. It has rained and maybe the sticky tape holding the second key has come loose? I find myself walking a little faster. My leather chastity belt is making its presence felt between my legs and is rubbing on the inside of my thigh. There is nothing I can do about it, but I realize that reaching the third set of keys is now beyond my capabilities. Why did I leave it so far away? My original plan was to only walk about half a mile and I have already gone further than that.

As I step into the courtyard I am greeted with a most unpleasant surprise, the back half of the courtyard is filled with long tables at which a large crowd of people are dining and engaging in animated conversation. The tables effectively block my approach to the large tree planter where I buried a spare car key at the edge of the mulch. As I stand wondering what to do, one of the waiters approaches me and says, "This is a private party Miss. If you want to eat you'll have to go inside. Follow that path." He indicates a path on the opposite side of the courtyard to where I have hidden the key.

"Thank you," I say, "But I think I'll go somewhere else." I turn and begin walking towards my second spare key which I stuck on the back of a newspaper vending machine. What if that key is missing? 'It'll still be all right,' I reassure myself, 'I can wait till after dark when the party is over and come and get this key.' But I realize I won't be able to stand for that long in these boots. And where can I sit down? I can't sit down in public; my crotch padlock and chains would be exposed. And even if I could find a private place to sit, my miniskirt would ride up to reveal everything. I wouldn't be able to get it back down and would be in really serious trouble.

As I approach the machine which holds my key a man seems to be following me. There is no one else around, so I don't stop at the machine but keep on walking. I turn left at the next intersection but he keeps on going straight. He was not following me after all.

I breathe a sigh of relief, wait a couple of minutes then start walking back to the key. My need to pee is becoming more urgent and I can't walk as fast as earlier. My feet are hurting and the plugs are also beginning to bother me. It is past time to end this adventure

Reaching the machine I stand in front of it, waiting for a chance to retrieve my key without being seen, and pretending to read the newspaper headlines. After a few minutes the sidewalk is completely clear so I step behind the machine. To my intense relief the key is still there, firmly stuck to the back of the machine. I bend my knees and with the fingers of my right hand peel the sticky tape off the machine. It is a little difficult, and I have to use my fingernails to get the peeling started. When I finally get the key into my fingers my legs are shaking from the effort of maintaining the partial crouch position; they were already tired from the long walk in the killer boots.

Holding the key firmly in the fingers of my right hand (I don't know what I will do if I drop it), I begin the long walk back to my car.

Going back up the garage stairs to my car is easier than the descent had been, or at least it would be if I my legs weren't so tired. I simply check that no one is around to follow me up then begin the ascent.

When I reach my car I find I can't get the key in the lock, the sticky tap has wrapped itself tightly around the key. I suppose my death grip on the key was the main culprit. I try to get the tape off with the fingers of my right hand with the awkward assistance of my thumbcuffed thumb, but the tape has stuck to itself and I can't seem to make any progress.

I think it will help if I can get both my hands into the action, and to do that I must pull my skirt down so I can get my thumbs out of the pockets. I move to the front of the car, where, between the car and the wall of the garage I am largely shielded from public view. Fighting my collar, I try to push my skirt down but I can't, the belt is too tight. I try undoing the belt buckle, but the thumbcuffs won't allow that.

I hear someone approaching and stop wrestling with my skirt. I wonder what they are thinking. If they saw me struggling they might think I was masturbating, or perhaps trying to go to the toilet. I stand still facing the wall, afraid to turn and look at them. I hear the footsteps stop nearby, but after a few seconds they resume, and I hear the person walk away. I breathe a sigh of relief; I have been unconsciously holding my breath.

I have another idea. I give up trying to lower my skirt, and instead try to enlarge the holes in my pockets. If I can get my hands through the holes I might be able to get them together. I push down inside the pockets, but it is no use. The material is too strong to rip, and I can't bend forward enough to apply much force, my collar chokes me.

God, this is awful! Here I am at what should be the end of my adventure, back at my car having safely completed my walk and retrieved the key, but I CANT GET INTO THE CAR.

The feeling of desperation, coupled with my struggles which have been moving the plugs inside me, have an effect. I am getting an orgasm. I lie back on the hood of my car and enjoy it as it takes control. I hope no one is watching me, but I really don't care, I am going to enjoy this one. I pull on my crotch chain and jerk my pelvis. I surrender.

I lie back thinking that the entire adventure was worth it for this moment, this time of merging with the universe, aches and pains forgotten, swept away by the orgasmic waves sweeping through my body.

After it is over I lie in a semi blissful state thinking that I have at least found a way to get my weight off my feet. I wonder how long it will take to get the tape off the key.

The key! In a rising panic I realize I am no longer holding the key. I must have dropped it! I quickly stand up. There it is on the dirty concrete floor partially under the front of my car.

I really don't want to get down on the dirty floor to pick it up, but I don't think I have any option. I'm sure the back of my skirt has ridden up so there is no way I could walk back to the courtyard to get the other key, even if my legs and feet would take me that far.

I have an idea. Perhaps the sticky tape will stick the sole of my boot, then I can raise it to my hand and grab the key. It doesn't work, the tape seems to be sticking mostly to itself and to the key, and certainly does not want to stick to my boot.

Reluctantly I kneel down. I try bending forward to pick up the key with my mouth, but I can't. The combination of my corset and back strap prevent me leaning far enough, there is no alternative to lying down.

I painfully drop to the hard concrete floor, wriggle around, trying to ignore the fact that I am dirtying my clothes and scratching my beautiful shoes, and finally grab the key. I consider remaining lying down while I continue my battle with the sticky tape, but what if someone comes along and sees me? They will think I am dead or injured, or perhaps trying to fix my car, and would likely come to investigate. Reluctantly I struggle to my feet then sit on the hood of my car; at least this is more comfortable than standing.

I continue to scratch away at the tape with my right hand.

At last, after what seems like several hours, I think I have removed all the tape from the part of key that goes into the lock. I cautiously move away to the side of the car and try it in the lock.

It works! I quickly get into the car. I wait a few seconds to calm down, then lean sideways over to the passenger seat and pick up the thumbcuff key with my mouth (thank goodness I am not gagged!). Sitting back up I carefully drop the key into my right hand. Now begins the struggle to manipulate (or rather fingipulate?) the key into the thumbcuff lock using only my fingers. I have practiced this, so I know it can be done, and this gives me the confidence to continue trying after many failed attempts. Finally I succeed.

Raising my right hand I see that my poor thumb has suffered severely at the mercy of the blunt but savage little metal teeth of the cuff. At least there is no blood.

Reaching over I quickly free my left hand. I can't undo any more bondage; it will have to wait until I get home to the rest of the keys.

Although my legs are not in good condition for walking, I am able to drive the car OK and reach home without incident. I hurry to the bathroom to remove my chastity belt and make pee. After gulping down a mouthful of diet soda, I finally remove the rest of my bondage.

That night I relive my adventure, but with a twist. I fantasize that I became a model for the artist who offered me his card. He persuaded me to model in bondage then tricked me and chained me to his bed for the night. This last part is not a fantasy; I really am chained until morning. My hands are handcuffed behind my back in new Clejuso handcuffs (I just purchased these), my ankles chained to each other and to the bed, my mouth filled with a ball gag kept in by my head harness, and my nipples clamped to heavy weights so I can't move about too much. But as a reward for completing my dare my head harness is not buckled tightly so at some point I will be able to push the gag out of my mouth, and, best of all, the remote control for the vibrating dildo that is inside me is in my hands!