Blah, blah, blah, background, get to the story, right? This is a true account of one of those rare times that things went wrong for me. I'm a planner...I plan...that's what I do. I seek out what could go wrong before I commit to it and I nip it in the bud. This is proof, though, that when you're helpless, anything minor, no matter how minor, can be what does you in. As far as planning goes, "good enough" is never good enough.

I'm a guy. Sorry straight guys and lesbians, but you are welcome to pretend that I'm a woman from this point onward. Whatever floats your boat. Anyway I'm 22 years old, 5'9", slim in build, straight, dirty blond hair, and I'm a switch. I like the feeling of both top and bottom when I'm with a woman, but it's a little hard to be a top all by oneself isn't it? Anyway, I rent a house with my friend Kate. No, we aren't dating and we don't sleep together. It's one of those friendships where she dated one of my good friends for a long time and I dated a few of her good friends for a long time and at this point it'd be way too weird to do anything with each other, unless of course we were really drunk. I digress. The two of us rent a house in the burbs. She's got one of those "real jobs" while I'm still in grad school. It was when her career took her on a Friday and Saturday out of town that I finally, after months of both of us being home at the same time, had some time to myself. Kate's farewell of, "See you tomorrow night," and closing and locking of the door gave me a Friday night into Saturday that I could have a little bit of fun by myself. I gave her time to get to the airport, making some coffee and a light breakfast full of protein but nothing too heavy. After all, I was going to get a hell of a workout, as per my planning. My very thorough planning, as I stated before.

Skipping grad class for this (Like you've never skipped class. Don't judge me!), it was now noon and Kate had texted me saying that she had landed safely. I had over twenty-four hours with no disruptions. And to be sure of that, the phone went on silent, the front and back door were locked, all the windows shut with the blinds and curtains drawn tightly, and the outside world was oblivious to the goings-on in that small two story suburban house. "Small" is relative, of course, depending on one's height, weight, and ability to use their arms and legs at their convenience. The plan was to be thoroughly hogtied, gagged, and blindfolded. From there, not only would I have to venture the house to find the keys, but it would actually be a *search*. Reason being, I had six tiny boxes, the kind in which precious rings are delivered from the gallant gentleman to the blushing bride-to-be, that require no lock or device to open and shut, they simply snap shut. I had successfully used this to store a handcuff key before, and knew that once hogtied with no movement that I would still be able to open it. The reason that there were six; only one had the key to the cuffs in it. The others contained a washer, one of Kate's earrings, a small Allen wrench, a nickel, and a necklace. Basically three things of approximately the same weight. The boxes were indentical, so there was no way short of opening them up or shaking each one loudly and listening very close to tell what was in what. The idea; six boxes in six locations, and I had to make my way to each one, hoping it was the one to contain my freedom. It gave a new spin on everything.

I shuffled the boxes, keeping my eyes closed and trying not to notice slight variations in weight or sound, and when I was sure that I had confused myself fully, I took them one at a time, being sure not to jostle the box should that somehow give away its contents, and placed them in the kitchen, the den, the downstairs bathroom, the upstairs bathroom, my bedroom, and finally the basement. Not knowing my house's layout, simply take my word that I spread out the boxes so that getting to any one of them would be an adventure in and of itself. Notice I didn't place one in Kate's room; I respect her privacy. You may also notice that I am working with three floors here, and I had stated I was going to be strictly hogtied. I like to live dangerously...hence the self bondage. Duh. But in all seriousness, I had navigated the stairways whilst hogtied before, and they are well carpeted with no tables or anything on them. Still, it is dangerous and I must state not to do it unless you know how to...of course, you won't know how to unless you do it. Sort of a Catch 22. I do a lot of things that I tell other people not to do...like driving fast or drinking or tying myself up.

To make it even more challenging I first placed a couch cusion in the doorway to my bedroom and each bathroom so that I would have to work my way over a hurdle to obtain the boxes in these rooms. I then shut the door to the den, kitchen, and basement. Each door has a medium sized flap door for Kate's former canine friend, may the rotweiler rest in peace. This way if the box with the key is not upstairs or in the bathroom, I'd have to squeeze through the doggy door to get into the other rooms. I knew I'd fit because, well, parties with booze plus flap doors means people will eventually make their way through said flap doors. This added an extra ratchet in making this challenging, but as I said I am thorough. I laid on my stomach and slip through the door with no problems whatsoever.

That all out of the way, I began the piece de resistance that was. I gathered my equipment and sat down in the large open hallway upstairs. First came the high heeled boots. Now two things: no they are not Kate's, and no I am not a cross dresser. I acquired high heeled boots my size in one of three places which hold no importance whatsoever to the story. But because I am a sporting chap, I'll tell you that I either purchased them online, found them in a costume loft in a theater, or that they were given to me by a Dutch noble. I find high heels to be a type of restraint in themselves. I find it very fascinating and indeed arousing not being able to perform the simple task of placing my heel on the floor. I am convinced that every woman that wears high heels is, in fact, kinky even if she doesn't know it. There's a certain feeling with having the heel raised that is not unlike a lesser degree of having one's hands locked behind their back. Is it any wonder that ballet boots are so prominent in fetish websites? I got my feet into the high heeled boots and zipped them up to where they terminated just below my knees. First of all, the fact that they are boots gave me the illusion that I was in fact not wearing women's clothing (don't you judge me) and also makes them impossible to slip off. But to ensure that I began with the bondage.

Before anything else came the crotch rope. This is something I used to never partake in, but recently I've found the frustrations and delights are pure pleasure. I threaded a piece of rope through the chain on my handcuffs. It's only a small, two link chain, which makes sure that I have very limited movement of my wrists...not quite a hinge cuff, but then again these cuffs are quite difficult to unlock with the movement they do provide. The rope that went through the chain was then passed through every belt loop on the cargo shorts that I was wearing. I'm a pragmatist; the belt loops are there, I'm going to use them. This snugged the handcuffs to the nape of my back very, very well and I knotted the rope in front. Into my pants the rope ends go! I made sure that the left rope end went on the inside of both my shorts and boxers, and fell down the leg of my shorts, and then I repeated with the right end. So, to picture it, now I have a rope end falling out from each pant leg. Reaching behind and into my pants, I found the rope ends one at a time and directed them to hug their perspective sides of my crotch, up and ever so slightly into my ass crack, and out the back of my pants. a quick over/under of the original waist rope followed by a knot, and hurray for a simple but deceivingly fiendish crotch rope. The knot to the rope was above the handcuffs too, meaning that once my hands were cuffed it would be out of reach to undo. That last sentence unintentionally rhymed...awesome.

Crotchiness being done, I proceeded to my legs. Again, I am a pragmatist. I had my feet "restrained" in the high heeled boots already. It would be a shame if I didn't make sure to use those heels to the fullest. A triangular bandage, or cravat, was the restraint of choice here. It's basically a cloth sling, so it's not rounded like a rope and won't slip in the slightest bit once cinched, and it's incredibly strong. Picture a longer version of a bandanna. Anyway, once around the ball of the feet area of my boots and with a cinch my toes and lower feet were bound together. Obviously it would still be very easy to slip this off due to the fact that toes narrow at the ends. But, upon bringing the loose ends down and around the heels and tying and cinching them, an anchor was provided. The toe binding was anchored to the heels, the heels were anchored by the toes, and neither wraparound was slipping off any time soon. Congrats, I had bound and cinched my lower feet and the heels of the boots. Next came the ankle rope with the cinch and my feet were more or less welded together. A rope with a cinch above my knees finished my plans for my legs for the time being.

Next came the gag. This is, by far and large, my favorite part of bondage. I saw a writer once state that the entire purpose of bondage for them was to be unable to remove a gag, and I completely agree with that. A good gag turns a person from an intelligent, coherent, loud, and versatile being into an utterly helpless caged animal. I own a ballgag and that's fun and all, but this was special and I wanted a personal touch to this. I busted out a gag that I hadn't used in a long time; my homemade harness gag, and I could get it tighter than anything else I had ever worn or put on another person. It consisted of two long pieces of cloth. At the middle of one piece of cloth went the stuffing; two rolls of gauze. I had wetted this a little bit so that it was a touch more compact (so that it wouldn't shrink in my mouth) and I cocooned the cloth around it, basically making a soft ballgag out of the strip of cloth. I twisted the cloth on either side of the wad of gauze, ensuring that it wouldn't move, and placed it very deep into my mouth. It took a couple of pushes to get the entire wad past my teeth and then I pulled the cloth very tight and knotted it behind my head. I could feel my eyes bulging a bit and it pinched the corners of my mouth slightly, and that was perfect as far as I was concerned. Next came the second piece of cloth. I centered the cloth under my chin and brought the ends up under the first piece, basically making a cloth chin strap for my gag. I brought the ends back down outside the gag and threaded them under and up through again. I pulled on the first loop of this, bringing the cloth very tight up under my chin and I clenched my jaw, then pulled again and took out the remaining slack. Holding tension, I pulled the loose ends of the cloth and the loops closed on the original gag cloth, making a locked and very tight chin strap.

Now it was time to preset the blindfold. I took a third cloth and tied it tight over my eyes and ears, making sure it covered from my forehead to partway down my nose. Vision removed, I knotted it behind my head and then lifted the front so that it wore like a very tight headband. I would be pulling this down to completely abolish my sight later.

Onward, toward finishing the gag. For ease of following (this gets wordy) I am going to refer to the original ballgag-style cloth strip as Strip A and the cloth strip that I used as a chin strap as Strip B. I took the loose ends of Strip B and brought them up the sides of my face very tightly and knotted them on top of my head. This pulled my jaw shut even more. I criss-crossed the ends of Strip A for better tension, bringing the left cloth strip of A from behind my head to the top of my head and knotted it to the right strip of B. I repeated this with the right strip from A knotted to the left strip of B. So now I've got a gag strip, a chin strip, two strips going up the sides of my face, and two strips crossing in the back, all knotted on top of my head. You can see how this can get very, very tight and arousing. It's also got that "homemade" touch, like deviled eggs. Next, I took the remaining strips from the Strip A and pulled them down over my ears, which, in tangent with the headband/blindfold, obscured my hearing very well, and pulled them underneath the original Strip A. Following so far? I then took the remaining ends from Strip B and pulled them down, criss-crossed them on my nose right between my eyes, and pulled them tightly underneath the original Strip B under my chin (making sure of course to follow the outside of my nose so that they would not possibly block my nostrils). To finish it all I knotted each remaining end of Strip B to the end of Strip A nearest it and there was a cloth harness gag fitted. Sorry if you found that all hard to follow. In truth it was difficult to try to transcribe something I usually just *do*. The basic idea is that I had two rolls of gauze in my mouth, held in by a strip of cloth, and then had my chin held shut by another strip, and then a lot of lattice work and securing to hold it all very tightly and snugly on my head so that nothing I could do would get it off. Mission accomplished, erection achieved.

That all being done, I returned to my bondage. I doubled up a length of rope and laid it on the back of my neck, draping it over my shoulders on each side. I then pulled it back under my armpits and knotted it in the back. I then crossed it back in front and knotted it again, making a very simple harness. From here, I pulled the bottom front of this simple harness down to my navel, took a small length of rope, and tied the lowest front point of this harness to the front knot on my crotch rope. Now any tension placed on my simple body harness would be felt in my loins.

Next I needed to bring my heels (my high heels) up behind me. I looped a rope under the ankle rope, but I wasn't going to be hogtying myself with that particular rope binding my ankles. As I said, I wanted to make use of these heels. I brought this rope between my feet and effectively re-cinched both my toe and heel binding with it. Now my feet were not just immobile but a tug on this rope brought them wherever they were directed. This length of rope was then pulled very tight up to the top of my body harness on the back of my neck. Now any attempted movement to straighten my legs resulted in not only failure, but tension on my body harness which put tension on my shoulders as well as my crotch rope. Of course, I wasn't done yet. One of the remaining ends of the hogtie rope then went down to the back of my crotch rope and was pulled very tight, ensuring even more stimulation at the slightest movement. The other end of the hogtie rope went up to the back of my head, under the entire lattice work of my gag harness and even under my headband/soon-to-be-blindfold, and was knotted to itself. Now I was forced into the slightest, but not tightest (yet) of U-shapes.

"Almost done," I told myself. I was already feeling that tightening of the gut that was not a direct result of the ropes encircling it, but the anticipation of helplessness. A rope placed under my feet and knotted on the top tightened the rope cinching both my toe ties and heel ties, ensuring NO movement back and forth of my feet whatsoever. Knotting this rope to my ankle tie ensured that IT would go nowhere either. A rope from the rope binding my knees was brought to the ankle hogtie rope and cinched, drawing my feet even closer to my butt and further ensuring that any movement of my feet whatsoever sent pins and shivers through my crotch and ass. Elbow tying is weird with me. I'm not good with restraining elbows behind my back. However, I have another way to do it. Two shorter pieces of rope were individually tied to each elbow and knotted. They were then tied to the front of my body harness. The idea is that this in and of itself is not restraining until my arms are brought behind my back, at which point it will severely restrict my arms' movement farther behind my back.

Okay! Almost there! A rope under each armpit, around the rope that ran from my gag harness to my body harness, and knotted in front further yanked my head back unable to bring it forward. Even more fiendishly, a rope from the criss-crossed cloth stripes between my eyes to the front of my body harness ensured I couldn't move my head backward either! One final rope was draped across my back at bicep-height as I lay on my stomach. I reached up and pulled down the blindfold (very hard to do with all the gag harness straps over it, but I got it done) and the world turned to black. Technically it turned to white since it was a white piece of cloth, but whatever. I then reached behind my back and took that rope I just mentioned that was at bicep-height and brought it down and around itself, using it to effectively cinch my two elbow ropes behind my back somewhat...obviously I couldn't get them very close, but I could cinch them enough to feel it. Once I was satisfied with how tight this was, I used my very, very, very limited arm movement to get my hands into the cuffs, take a deep breath, and close them to the last click each. I reached to my side for a well placed ballpoint pen and used it to double lock them to ensure they didn't tighten further, and threw the pen away.

It's kind of funny...the ballpoint pen couldn't possibly help me out of my bondage. It was there simply to make sure the cuffs didn't tighten dangerously. Yet, it wasn't the act of clicking the handcuffs shut that made me realize my fate for the next unknown amount of time was sealed, but rather it was the throwing away of the pen. There was something so final about it. Like saying, "Alright. I'm done with tying myself up, and this was the last bit on the list. Now I must undo what I have done!"

I'm a thorough man. And I was absolutely, completely, thoroughly bound, gagged, and blindfolded. As if to prove my point to myself, I felt the first line of drool on my chin and I instinctively tried to suck it in and stop it. It was no use of course. I put all of my concentration into picturing it as I felt the cool trail create a Euphrates river on my skin and slowly, viscously drip onto the floor beneath my gagged face. I was helpless. I knew I'd be helpless, more helpless than I'd ever been before in my life, and I sure was correct. I'd had more freedom of movement as an infant because even though my motor skills were not developed I still had the option of flailing my arms and legs and crawling around, letting out cries or squeals to show emotion. As I was I couldn't budge my arms or legs from being attached to my backside, nevermind flailing them. In the realm of crying out or squealing, the two rolls of gauze stuffed behind my teeth snuffed any bit of sound I could choke up my throat, and the incredibly intricate and tight chin strap was hideously strong in keeping my jaw and lips held shut.

After a minute or so of letting my bondage soak in (as well as the drool for that matter), I decided that I had a true task at hand to release myself. I might have had more than a full day to myself, but I would need a decent portion of that to clean up the trail of sweat and saliva that I was going to leave all across the house. Of course there was a thirty-three percent chance that my adventure would come to a halt in the upstairs, but I'm sure that by cheating and looking at the scrollbar on the right side of the screen you can guess that that wasn't the case. Alas, I didn't have the option of looking at the scrollbar due to A.) living the story and B.) being completely blindfolded. Which, mind you, I experimentally tried to loosen or dislodge. I was hesitant to do that this early in the game since it would be very disappointing if I could in fact free my eyes from its embrace, seeing as it would be impossible to reseal them with my hands and arms bound behind my back. It took extra effort to rub my head on the floor because of the ropes running underneath my harness gag and blindfold that yanked my head back, but by leaning forward with all my strength I could barely manage it. The side to side motion was tricky, but I got some good friction between my blindfold and the floor by shuffling my shoulders backward. My fears were meaningless as the blindfold did not budge in the slightest, most likely due to the fact that it not only was knotted very tight but also that it was *under* eight cloth strips that went vertically, pressing it down onto my face. In addition, I already had a slight glistening of sweat from the efforts of crawling into my bondage and the perspiration held all the cloth to my face like a sort of epoxy. Nope, my gag and blindfold were staying on as sure as my handcuffs and all the ropes whose knots were well out of reach of my searching fingers. The search for the keys had to begin.

From being in hogties before, and strict ones at that, I knew that my movement would be impeded. Between immobilizing my legs, arms, shoulders, and head as much as I did and ensuring that any tug from any of the above would send a jolt of pain/pleasure through my groin, I had a pretty good prediction of how little movement I would have. I wasn't disappointed. The only effective movement I could muster from my stomach was a pitiful rocking from side to side and a shifting thrust, one shoulder at a time, forward. Backward movement was impossible. Every thrust of the shoulder pulled on my crotch which pulled on my elbows which pulled on my gag harness which pulled on my high heeled feet. Every movent completely (and literally) intertwined all my body parts. To add to it, upon reaching my bedroom doorway I found that I was angled too much toward the wall to proceed forward into the room. Being able to discern which direction I was facing was extremely difficult even with the faint bit of light that stole its way through my blindfold. I could only imagine how thorough the darkness would be once the sun went down; every light in the house, save for the clockface on the microwave that I had not a prayer of seeing, was turned off. I would be feeling my entire way through the house. A few pleasurful tugs by my left shoulder had me facing the correct way to proceed into my bedroom, though my left side was completely flush to the wall in doing so and the forward thrusts of my left shoulder were now even more hindered by that fact.

Two feet later and my face was met by one of the couch cushions. I might as well have had a mountain to climb. The cushion was a mere six inches in height and it probably only weighs two pounds if that. But in my current state it was not only gigantic but completely immobile. It took every bit of effort to pull my head back, tugging on my crotch rope and putting pressure on my gag harness the entire time, which let out an unintentional and barely audible "mmf!", and rest my head on the top of the cushion. Now I had to thrust my shoulders, again one at a time, as well as concentrate on keeping my chin elevated, sending pleasure and pain pins into my crotch. I hadn't noticed until now how much an erect penis can actually impede forward movement when hogtied the way I was. It created the smallest bit of drag against the floor, but even that miniscule amount of resistance was comparable to years of engine sludge in a car motor. I let out my another completely involuntary loud grunt, though loud was a matter of perception, when I succeeded in getting the majority of my body weight onto the cusion. I rested for a brief moment, celebrating the most minor of victories I had ever achieved by relaxing what muscles could relax at all and sucking in sweet, glorious air through my nostrils and a tiny bit of it through the cloth of my gag. A moment of rest was all that I was afforded as the fullest thrusting of my body continued, every muscle working as hard as it possibly could, just to inch my legs onto the cushion and through the doorway.

Finally, all of my body weight was up onto the cushion, my compacted form teetering as my restrained head and bound knees were hanging over the edges, though hanging implies that they weren't both bound tightly backward. It took considerably more effort to thrust on such a soft surface, and when fifty-one percent of my body weight was over the cushion, the rest flowed like a river and I found myself off balance, tumbling sideways, rolling onto my back with a very, very suppressed yelp of surprise, and coming to rest inside of my own bedroom bound and gagged on my back with my arms on fire underneath me. Shifting my weight and using my fingers to literally push off, I got onto my side with a deal of effort. I found myself for the first time really hoping that the key to the handcuffs was in this first box. My mind's eye brought up the memory of my room, distorted by being used to standing on my own two feet instead of laying helplessly on my side on the floor. I pictured where I was just past the doorframe and knew I had roughly twelve feet to the far wall where the first box lay.

Luckily my room isn't carpeted. I had feared that the smooth wooden floors would impede my movements due to there being less friction to thrust off from. In reality, my thrusts were so minimal anyway that the lack of friction didn't really matter, and it was just smoother than the carpeted hallway. I tried proceeding on my side but without the ability to straighten my legs at all I had no way to "hogtie-crawl" my way there. A series of grunts and rocking my weight sideways resulted in finding myself back on my stomach, the hardwood floor welcoming my sternum with an uncomfortable pressure. However, a smile of relief crept up behind my gag as I inched my way over to where the box should be with considerable ease compared to my movement on the carpet and especially the couch cushion. After some time of searching and turning, my immobile hands finally grasped onto a familiar small square thing that had to be the box containing...something. A bit of shaking revealed nothing, as I could feel something thudding inside and I could faintly hear it, but my hearing was muffled effectively by both the thick cloth blindfold and the cloth strips from Gag Strip A (and you thought you were done with knowing which one was Strip A and which was Strip B!) and there was no determining what was inside the box except for the moment of truth. Now, I had said that I *could* open these boxes while hogtied, but I never said it was easy. They do snap shut, and so it takes pressure in both directions to open them. After a moment of fumbling I got the box open and whatever was inside fell out with a thunk on the floor. Even partly deafened, I guessed that the thunking sound was too loud to be a handcuff key, but I also knew the implications of assumption. If I ended up going downstairs without being 100% sure that this wasn't the key and it turned out that it was, I was royally fucked. So, my venturing fingers reached out and after a moment they indeed found a flat, round, disappointing washer.

Well, at least I knew one room where the key *wasn't*. Now it was time for a trek to the bathroom. The journey from my bedroom to the upstairs bathroom was one of the shortest commutes in the entire house, comprised of an average of fifteen relaxed steps, that I walked roughly eighty-two times a day. Seriously, I go that many times. No I don't you gullible fool, it was an exaggeration. Show me someone who counts how many times he walks to his bathroom and I'll show you someone with severe OCD. Anyway, one thing I do know is that I've never had a trek to the bathroom that was this difficult. The good news for my was that once I got myself turned around I was able to follow the trail of saliva and sweat that was on the hardwood floor (another advantage of not having to deal with a carpet). After following the trail of drool I found my face met by my old rival; the couch cushion! This was yet again no small task to mount, and then to get over. I found it even more difficult when I realized that once the majority of my weight was on the other side of the cushion and I yet again fell/rolled off of it, I did so into the wall that was now on my right side. This meant that I didn't make it all the way to the floor and instead I was held in limbo against the wall. Some rolling of my own accord along with some pathetic thrusting and I was yet again in the hallway facing the bathroom with the wall on my right side.

"Mmmffrrggg mmmfffg nnnnnffffmmmmfffmmm." I said out loud to myself. Sound advice, and possibly the moral of the entire story.

The good news for me was that the bathroom doorway was directly opposide where I was, sharing the same wall...I didn't have to worry about getting turned around when I tried to aim myself. The bad news of the situation did hit me here, however, when I realized that besides my bedroom, the bathrooms, and the kitchen, my entire path was carpeted. I would no longer have the luxury of scooting along at blinding speeds, carefree with a cool breeze on my face, on hardwood. And I had no idea what the linoleum of the bathrooms and kitchen would bring. But it was not the time to dwell; I had a mission to accomplish.

I began thrusting my way, one shoulder at a time, toward the bathroom when I realized just how much pleasure was shooting through my loins. Between the rubbing of my dick against the carpet, padded of course through my boxers and pants, the lubrication of my sweat, and the complete helplessness of my situation, especially the mental helplessness of the drooling due to being gagged, my thrusts and bucking were massaging my very active erection. By simply trying to make my way to the bathroom, I was masturbating. I find the irony of that statement very amusing. What made it unbearable was that it was never enough to give any real, deep pleasure. It was just enough to feel good, followed by an immediate subconscious attempt to bring my hands around to finish the job, only to be thwarted by the handcuffs and the crotch rope, which in turn caused more indirect masturbating and the feeling of helplessness increased.

By the time my already tired and sweating body reached the bathroom doorway and couch cushion, I was a timebomb. Again, I achieved the straining chore of lifting my chin onto the cushion and thrusting upward and forward into the bathroom. However, the best laid plans do go awry. I knew that the cushion would slide on the linoleum and so I had placed it outside the doorway itself, on the hall carpet. My thrusting had pushed it foward into the bathroom, though, and as I got my hips to it and thrust with my shoulders and hips, the cushion slid forward completely off the carpet and into the bathroom, sliding in front of me, and causing my upper body to slowly, helplessly, fall off of it, ending with a slight rocking motion of my feet and my face being pushed by the weight of the slow fall into the cushion. I felt a soft pressure on my face, a warm welcoming akin to coming home from a long day of work and a woman cupping my head into her busom, and for a brief second I felt relief. Then I realized that my head was buried in the very soft cushion, the pull from the rope connecting my gag harness to my crotch rope was doubled by the fact that the rope was being pushed up by the cushion into my throat and the physical law of leverage made it tighter than it was. My breathing was now inhibited, and I was unable to either turn my head or get proper movement backward or forward to unblock my nasal airway. All at once, the panic of not being able to breathe, the feeling of complete helplessness, the lack of sight, the unforgiving gag, and the ensuing futile struggling caused my senses to give way as I came at once and my hips began involuntarily thrusting uncontrollably. Every muscle in my body tensed, then half of them cramped. I think I screamed as loud as I could into my gag, though I don't remember from the incredible mix of pain and pleasure of the orgasm as well as the fact that "as loud as I could" was severely subdued. I can only imagine the scream welled up in my throat, met the wet wads of gauze and the taught strip of white cloth, and it retreated back into my abdomen only to fuel my orgasm further.

After what felt like hours of thrusting, my dick was calmed down and soaked, the front of my pants a puddle, and somehow my face was no longer buried in the cushion. But for the freedom that my nostrils now enjoyed, they found themselves working exceptionally hard to suck down as much air to compensate for every screaming muscle in my body. I could feel some tears soaking my blindfold, resulting only in it being sealed to my face even further, not even making the thick white cloth translucent with their dampness. I realzed I was on my right side and that the cushion was pushed in front of my path, up by my forehead. A slightly involuntary laugh, or cough that showed some amusement, was the only celebration that the ropes, handcuffs, and strips of cloth allowed for the fact that I wasn't going to suffocate. I sobered up and realized that the same exact problem would present itself at the doorway of the downstairs bathroom. That beast would have to be handled a different way, because as amazing as this helplessness was, I couldn't guarantee that I could have another orgasm that powerful should I find my nose and mouth helplessly facing a cushion again. After all, I had no idea how many more times I would come between this point and that, as well as the toll that simply moving forward was taking on my body...by the time I'd reach the downstairs bathroom I might be so physically exhausted that I could have an orgasm that could power several small cities, it would do no good for my suffocating self if my muscles couldn't work to move my nostrils out of the cushion.

How long did I lay there in the doorway taking in my situation? I had no way of seeing a clock even if there was one right in front of my face, so it was pointless to even start guessing. It was still bright out, the midday sun pouring through the second story windows hit the white cloth blindfold and a little bit of it seeped through to my eyes, so I knew that at least I hadn't been tied up and gagged for six hours. Though you could've fooled me from the way I felt. My best guess was that it had been somewhere between forty minutes to an hour and fifteen minutes, but who the hell knows? I just knew that the key was in this bathroom...maybe. Hopefully. I cringed at the thought that I hoped it was in here...because what if it wasn't? I had navigated stairs while hogtied before, but this is the first time I started to doubt myself. A couch cushion that got pushed on a linoleum floor just made me shit a brick and panic, and I was going to try to make my way down a set of stairs. No! Two sets of stairs if I was very unlucky and the key happened to be the in box in the basement. I felt like I'd be safer playing Russian Roulette.

Time to get moving. I opted not to try to mount over the cushion if I didn't have to, and instead thrusted and proceeded between the cushion and the wall on my right side, sliding the cushion further in. Now I had to turn myself, thrusting only my right shoulder, and indeed I found that linoleum floors were not as efficient to try to thrust my hogtied body on as hardwood. It was considerably more slippery, causing me to slide backward a quarter inch for every half inch I proceeded forward. Luckily, the upstairs bathroom is pretty small. I reached the other side of the cushion and after a couple moments of feeling with my straining fingers, I found the box! I could hardly contain my excitement, my hands shaking from a mix of physical exhaustion and anticipation, as they fumbled and tried to open the box, dropping it a couple of times. At one point I got it open a slight crack only to lose my grip and drop the box again, having all my hard work mean nothing as it snapped shut and fell out of my grasp. A sound that was a mixture of a cough and a moan was all I got out of my intended "God dammit!" Finally, after what felt like hours in itself, I got the box open. This time I didn't drop its contents and indeed I was excited when I felt what was in it. It was slender and metal! Further examination, however, revealed it to be Kate's earring. Another red herring! Disappointment would have been etched on my face had the latticework of cloth strips not been there, and a deep churning took over in my stomach. I did indeed have a real journey ahead of me. The only good news that I had in front of me was the fact that every box I made my way toward had a higher percentage chance of holding my freedom within. But my optimism was thwarted when I noticed that my erection had returned, impeding forward movement slightly just as it had before.

A side note. I might quote a comedian whose joke fits this situation. "My penis is like a retarded little brother. It means well, but ultimately it's driven by curiosity and the need to be hugged." And I was in no position to sate its curiosity nor give it the attention it deserved, but rather I would have to endure its hindering of forward movement, with increased sensitivity due to my orgasm of course, until my feelings of helplessness and frustration mixed with the tugging of my thrustings forced another orgasm upon me...probably at the least convenient time.

Aside from a real vexation and deep want to be released from my bondage, my trek from the bathroom to the top of the stairs was unremarkable. Unremarkable, except of course for the fact that it consisted of proceeding with my aching shoulders thrusting one at a time, every thrust seeming to tighten every rope encircling my entire body. I was at this point getting so sore that I found my fingers reaching in vain for the knot just above their reach which would undo my crotch rope. I could touch the knot with one finger at a time, but in doing so I had to angle the opposite hand away from it. Every time the tip of a digit touched the ropes that held every single movement to the sensitive nerves in my groin I had a flicker of hope, followed only by a dreading despair as I quickly lost contact and slowly realized there was no way to undo that knot as long as my hands were cuffed and held to my waist. I decided to try to dislodge my blindfold since I was only going to be going down stairs while very strictly hogtied. Sight would be an important asset in such a task. However, after getting sufficient rugburn on my cheeks, it was sealed that sight was something I would do without. Nothing but a doubled up piece of cloth draped my whole world in obscurity, completely opaque despite the tears of frustration and pleasure that coated the inside. Woven fibers of cotton, no different than the T-shirts worn by everyday people in everyday life, were now a soft but firm prison that took away my sight completely. The only way to get the blindfold off was to undo all the various knots that comprised my intricate harness gag. The only way to undo my thorough gag was to release my hands. The only way to release my hands was to first go down the stairs...hogtied and blindfolded. I took a deep breath and submitted to my fate.

Going down the stairs whilst hogtied really isn't that incredibly hard. It's just a slow, methodical process. First and foremost, one must go down the stairs feet first. That is to say, knees first in this instance, for my feet were folded all the way up to my butt. Laying on my back, I didn't even inch but rather milimetered (I'm mixing measurement systems!) my way to the edge of the first stair. My high heeled feet and lower legs screaming from the pressure of laying on them, I crept foreward until there was nothing under my knees. Then slowly, especially slowly, I shifted my weight and pushed forth, until eventually my high heeled feet felt the drop from the top step. Another deep breath and I shifted forward again, the tilt and fall taking me by surprise even though I was expecting it fully, and my feet crashed onto the top stair as my knees skidded to a halt on the next one down. A terrifying second of weightlessness signified that my bodyweight was still going forward, but leaning what muscles I could backward as well as keeping a tiny fingerhold on the carpet beneath me caused my body to steady, and slowly to reassure that I was not going to be falling down the stairs in a heap. Gagged breathing was forced and shaking, my eyes screaming for a sense of where I was, not trusting my instincts that I only had fifteen more stairs to go. Fifteen more stairs!

I rolled slightly so that I was on my right side and found my nose pressed against the unrelenting wall. Normally this is the easy part of going down the stairs; you just lay on your side and "hogtie-crawl" down, extending your legs as much as they can extend and then contracting them, using your knees, toes, hands, and head to balance your falls one stair at a time. It takes several minutes to navigate in a normal hands-to-ankles hogtie. But when your hands are connected securely to your ass, your ankles and toes are trapped in high heeled boots and roped all the way to your thighs, and your head is arched back with a rope as well as held from going farther back by another rope, mixed in with the fact that laying on any of these ankle-groin-head ropes tightens it more, you've got a real project on your hands. Having no ability to extend my legs at all, and my head being forced back and held where it was, it took the fullest of concentration in my hands and knees to drop to the next step safely. My toes were completely useless due to not only being crushed in their boots and angled fiercely by the high heeledness, but let's not forget the genius idea I had to cinch them together at the ankles, high heels, and toes and then to use that toe/high heel cinch to hogtie my legs behind me. I had zero ability to move my toes whatsoever! They were a useless, buried lump of leather-covered pain held against my thighs. All they were good for was snagging on the stairs that I was trying to go down one at a time.

Strange thoughts fill your head at times like this. Unpredictable things that would have no place here. I suppose it is not unlike someone who is experiencing any surge of adrenaline and endorphins, mixed with sexual pleasure, who may start to ramble or be caught up in an otherwise ill-fitting thought. I found myself daydreaming, in between the self-imposed very conscious thoughts about balancing and taking this one stair at a time, about what TV shows were on tonight. Then what some of my friends might be up to later on and if they'd like to go to a bar and get some drinks. This gave way to thinking of a specific TV show and having one quote rattle around in my brain as I violently dropped down one stair at a time. Every time my toes were crushed under the weight of my ass, every time my knees skidded to a halt just before dropping me to certain injury at the edge of a carpeted stair, every time my fingers clawed at the carpet to hold some leverage, every time I let out a muffled, wet, choked moan from taking another step, I could just hear one quote that kept banging the insides of my brain. Don't ask why I held on to the vision of Buffy, tied to a stake, having bent over and impaled the villain on said stake, and looking up and adorably asking, "Did I get him?" All I know is that quote, that image, kept me from panicking and losing my freaking mind during however long it must have taken to go down the entire flight of stairs. After what seemed like hours and at the same time seemed like no time at all, I found a very large, very wide stair. No matter how far I inched forward, my knees never met the edge. It was with panic and fright that I pushed forward, micron by micron, waiting to all the sudden have nothing beneath my knees and to fall to my death. But it wasn't until my upper body fell to the stair below the one it had been sitting on that I realized my knees had made it to the ground floor. All the anguish and all the fear left me. Yet again I tried to smile behind the harness gag, the wet white cloth holding very tight, stretched to its limit and not stretching farther to give me any relief, pinching my skin everywhere that it bit, and holding the enormous wad of gauze in my mouth despite any efforts to expel it. I began regretting twisting the cloth on either side of the gauze, noting that if I hadn't then perhaps I could find a minute bit of space to work with and maybe, just maybe, with a little bit of luck, I could work the gauze out of its coccoon and out of my mouth, allowing me to breathe much more easily and use my teeth. However, that was not to be so. The simplest of human inventions, the white cloth, kept me silent, kept me straining for breath, and kept me drooling all over myself. Ironic, isn't it, that normally it would be used to clean something like saliva? Interesting.

Of course I had begun to regret a great many thing about my bondage. One of the big things was my bondage in general. I was wondering why I couldn't have "normal" fetishes like pantyhose or spanking. I mean, I *do* have those, but why not JUST those? I tried to curse myself for the sexual need to tie myself up to be more helpless than a caged animal, having to torture myself to get out...but when I tried to curse myself all that came out was a stifled series of short moans followed by a wretching as the gauze did its job. Fucking gauze.

I rolled onto my stomach and tried to decide where to go from there. I'm sorry, I stated that like it was an immediate action. Let's try again...I used my fingers to push myself up and rock myself, both directions, over and over again until I was propped on my side, then fell onto my stomach, feeling my legs and head jerk into the air from the strain on the ropes that connected them to my crotch rope, and tried to decide where to go from there. Option A was the bathroom. This scared me a little bit because of my previous experience with the dreaded couch cushion upstairs and the fear of not having the energy to pull my face out of the pillow this time. I realized in hindsight that if I hadn't panicked I most likely would have been fine and would have been able to lift my gagged face away from the cushion, but part of me was still scared that my journey down the stairs might have exhausted my body beyond that capacity. Option B was the kitchen. Option C was the den. Option D was just plain stupid to do now, as it was the basement and if I did that now I'd have to hope I'm the luckiest man on the planet and that the key is in fact down there. I might be a gambling man, but that's beyond my odds when I'm as helpless as I was. Another mental run-thru of the house indicated to me that all the rooms were more or less equidistant, so it wouldn't matter which one I went to first in terms of how long of a journey it'd be from one option to another. The stairs to the basement were closest to the den, and those two rooms were behind me from the direction I believed myself to be facing. I didn't want to have to turn around if I didn't have to (the simplest of actions, like turning around, had become a production), so I decided to save that for last. If the key wasn't in the kitchen or the bathroom, I'd venture to the den and if it wasn't in there...I really didn't want to think about doing another set of stairs. So now I just had to decide between the kitchen and the bathroom. My upstairs experience made me choose the kitchen, because if the key was in there and I didn't have to brave the horrors of a couch cushion again, that was plenty fine by me.

Starting off for the kitchen made me think of a soldier who has been carrying a fifty pound backpack all day, who has just had the opportunity to sit down and rest for a little while, only to have to put on an eighty pound backpack and start hoofing it again. My shoulders were about as rested as they could be, not having carried the brunt of the labor going down the stairs. My toes, meanwhile, were screaming and biting at me, begging to be let out of the pointed toes of the boots. My feet involuntarily wiggled, and even I was slightly amused by the thought that I for a split second believed I was capable of removing the high heeled boots that I wore. Between the fact that they zipped up to just below my knees and the number of ropes that were tied tight around them, there was no relief in sight for my poor toesies.

I had noticed a slight brightness through the blindfold as I made my way slowly across the living room, resembling the Joads from The Grapes of Wrath and their journey across the desert. I asserted it must have been late afternoon, somewhere around five o'clock or so. I had started binding myself what seemed like an eternity ago at around 12:30. It probably took me a good forty-five minutes to complete the bondage. I had realized that the crawl from the hallway to my bedroom, the mess with the cushion, the fumbling with the box, the crawl back to the bathroom complete with Round 2 of the cushion at my bedroom, the orgasm of near-suffocation in the bathroom, the much-fucked-up messing with the box in the bathroom, the journey to the stairs, and the trek down the stairs all took a long time. But it blew my mind that I had to have been hogtied for at least three straight hours, most likely four. It really wasn't until that point that I realized just how dry my mouth was, how slicked in sweat I was. I had had some water before I started, but I had a renewed zeal to get to the kitchen and find that key, as well as to try to stop drooling. Of course, sadly, getting the key was the only one of those two things that I could control. The hopelessness of my situation hit me again, the fact that right now it was easier for me to thrust and buck my way to the kitchen, then bathroom, the den, and if need be the basement to find the key than it was for me to simply stop drooling. Even infants can stop drooling at times. An involuntary sob escaped my throat as a couple more tears were conjured up behind my blindfold, frustrating me even more because it was a waste of water, and coupled with the constant pulling and thrusting and the ebbing adrenaline of the staircase descent, my second orgasm hit me like a ton of bricks.

If I thought I had screamed into my gag earlier, I was dead wrong. This time I swear I moaned and yelled so loud into the gauze and cloth that you might even be able to hear it outside. Too bad it was afternoon and everybody was eating dinner and watching TV and expecting me to do the same. Even if someone did hear it magically, they'd probably just assume it was the hum of a vaccuum or at the most someone exclaiming something a long way away. I pictured in my mind a girl walking her dog, walking by the house, perhaps a kinky girl. She's wearing a light shirt and cargo shorts with flip flops, but I know she's got a side that loves to put on a pair of "fuck me" boots and a corset. Her sexy little black bandanna wound tight around her head to keep her hair out of her face, her necklace a little too tight, betraying the fact that she wishes it was a collar. Maybe she would hear the scream or see a hogtied man through the blinds and come investigate. I pictured her walking in and seeing the handcuffs and high heeled boots and saying, "Well, well, well. A little self bondage, is it?" I pictured her with her hands on her hips and a smile on her face, a smile I couldn't see, and she would do all sorts of nasty things to me. Oh, happiness...

It was quite a bit later that I realized none of that was real. There was no girl that heard my severely gagged yelling. Nobody heard me, despite how loud the orgasm had me yelling. I doubted I'd be able to muster up volume like that again, my throat was dry and hoarse from the gauze and the drooling. My dick was sore and every muscle in my body was on fire, not to mention I now had to clean up a sperm stain on the carpet in the living room. Or was I in the dining room now? I honestly had absolutely no clue. I just knew that I had been sitting around, enjoying/moping in my orgasm for too long and it was time to muscle on as best I could.

In a few moments my nose made contact with a wall, which I follwed to a door frame. A couple inches down it was revealed to me that there was in fact a doggy flap on this door. I knew I was at the kitchen door, and now I knew I would have to work my way through the doggy door. I said I had gone through these doors in drunken stupors before, but that was when I had the ability to squeeze through and pull myself through. I had even gone through the doors while tied up thoroughly before, but I had never been this thoroughly tied. I had a brief glimpse of fear that the door wasn't wide enough to accomodate shoulder thrusts, which were my only mode of transportation. It was too late to worry now, though. My freedom lay beyond that door...hopefully. I couldn't bear the thought of traversing all the way back to the den. Nevermind first dealing with the couch cushion slipping on the linoleum floor and smothering me in the bathroom. And good God nevermind the staircase to Hell itself. I swore then and there that I would never, ever force myself to do stairs whilst hogtied again. No matter if it was one step down and all that was tied were my hands and ankles, it would conjur up too many memories of the nightmare that was earlier. I shuddered to think that the key was not on this floor, and I thrust and poked my head through the doggy door.

There is no dignity in bondage, let me start off with that. Half the point of being tied up and gagged is that you don't have the presence, the respect, or the pride of a human being. You are made something lower, an object of amusement. The more strict the bondage, the less dignity there is. Giving up one's hands to bindings gives up one's ability to make, hold, or interact with objects. It hinders one's ability to fight others if need be. Giving up one's arms gives up one's balance and ability to fend for oneself. Giving up one's feet and legs gives up the ability to walk, run away, or...or go down stairs without almost killing yourself. Giving up sight and hindering hearing take away two of the five senses that comprise a human being. And being gagged is probably the single most humiliating thing that can happen to a human being; for every other humiliation at least allows you some protest, some complaint, some ability to state that you do not approve. But for all this, I argue from experience that there are few things lower, few things more demeaning for anybody to do, then to be strictly tied up, hands and elbows and arms and knees and feet and groin, blindfolded completely, gagged severely, and forced to use a door meant for man's best friend.

Almost. There is a greater humiliation, as I next found out. I was correct in my assumptions; shoulder thrusts are a difficult way to get through a dog door. There was no side to side movement as there was not space permitted, but my muscles were still able to slowly force their way in. It was a squeeze, but both my shoulders fit at once. From there it was an easy taper down to my elbows. The linoleum felt cool against my chest as I thrust inward, knowing the key wasn't far away. I had placed the box just inside the doorway to the kitchen, expecting to be tired if I had had to come downstairs, as was the case. Another thrust and my hands were through the doggy door. Another thrust and I hit the proverbial wall. High heels.

See, high heels are a restraint in and of themselves, as I said earlier. Being unable to place one's heel on the ground is restraining. It's a minor form of bondage. It's a type of helplessness. Of course, this doesn't compare to what else high heels are capable of. For instance, I was possibly inches away from a box that had a 25% chance of containing my freedom, and the restraint of high heels prevented me from obtaining it. They were just barely too tall to fit through the doggy door! This is the one tiny, mundane detail that I hadn't considered! I had even considered the width to be a problem, but never the height. I had always been able to fit through the doggy door, even when hogtied! But I was never hogtied with high heels on before.

"No!" I said/gagged to myself. I was not going to let something that small beat me. I had to fit my heels through the frame no matter what. I absolutely had to! The adult male body is roughly 60% water and is made up of a lot of spongy flesh that can contrain just a little bit more every time, and so for the first time in hours I tried to actually pull my feet toward my butt instead of away from it. Gasping for breath, I knew what I had to do. Ignoring the pain, I pushed my hands down as far as they could go, toward my feet as far as the metal of the handcuffs would let them. The steel dug into my skin on my forearms, but I needed every bit of force I could muster. Finally, when I thought I was going to rip the skin right off of my arms, my fingers felt the rope that connected my high heels to my crotch rope. Concentrating all my strength, I pulled the rope and used what leg muscles I had available to lower my high heels as much as I could, probably not an eighth of an inch. I thrusted forward and pure joy overcame me as I realized it was enough! The heels were pressing up against the frame and another thrust forward sent me through, sent my heels onto the kitchen side of the door, and I was met with overwhelming joy as the edge of the box containing what might be a key touched my chin! It would be only a few moments until I reached it and maybe, just maybe, I'd be out of this predicament without having to go through the door again.

Then it hit me. My feet angled up. The heels weren't the highest point of my body, my toes were. I thrust forward again and indeed I was met with a grim realization. Yes, the high heels had made it past the doggy doorframe, but my bound feet still had what I would guess to be three inches of height before they would clear. I pulled forward again and again, every time met with the feigntest of pressure on the bottoms of my feet but no forward progress. I calmed myself down and tried to rationalize. I used the same tactic I had used earlier, tried to reach to the hogtie rope and pull my feet down far enough. But I couldn't come anywhere near close and my toes still needed plenty more clearance than I could obtain. Forward wasn't an option.

"Okay," I remember thinking, "Panicking is useless. Channel it...use it...and think." I let out an exhausted, dry grunt into my gag as if my body were trying to agree with my mind. As much as I hated it, I may have to have to give up on the kitchen. On the bright side, there was a 75% chance that the key wasn't in the box that was literally right in front of my chin. Hope was there, although I was sure that would change if I indeed made my way to the bathroom and the den and still was key-less. I absolutely shook with the idea of getting to the basement, braving all those stairs, finding the box, and it not containing the key. I really was playing Russian Roulette, except that the only barrel I *did* want was the damn loaded one! And my luck was that that was the one that I was currently able to caress with my face, and possibly the only one I was unable to get. Well, I didn't know if I'd be able to get into the den or not...the doggy doors weren't exact science, and for all I knew that one might have been slightly taller and I could have fit through it. But there was only one way to find out, and first I was gonna hit up the bathroom with the dreaded couch cushion of doom. It might have been a bad choice, but right now it was the best one that I had. I started thrusting backward, knowing it was going to be a slow progression due to the human body's natural tendency to thrust forward better then backward. My high heels found the doorframe and yet again I was faced with having to reach as far back as my handcuffs would allow, swearing to God that I had to be stretching my skin to the point of transparency, and pulled my hogtie rope so that I pulled my feet closer to my butt. I used my leg muscles as much as I could in tangent with this and thrust backward and I was met with...

...no progress. My high heels stayed in the kitchen while my toes and knees were in the dining room. Grunting as audibly as I could and squinting my blindfolded eyes, I reached back yet again and pulled even harder on the hogtie rope. I felt my feet touch my ass and I thrust backward and I was met with the same heart-thumping sound. The dull "clack" of my high heels hitting the frame of the doggy door. Now was when panic really started to set in as my mind started to formulate what was going on. Why wasn't I able to back out of the doggy door? I was thrusting plenty hard enough, as the report from the heels hitting the doorframe hard enough to cause a "clack" would indicate. And I was pulling my feet even farther down than I had to get them through the door initially. Then I remembered. There was a tight pinching pressure, a lot of pain in my foot and ass, in the precise period when the high heels were pushing up against the doorframe. That had been the heels of my feet being forced farther into my rear end than I could pull them with the leverage I could get on this rope. After all, I was only pulling with my hands, not the full movement of my arms, and they were handcuffed behind my back and the cuffs were belted right into my pants with rope. No, the force of my thrusting through the doorframe was far greater than the force I could exert on the rope to pull my feet down. And so there was no way for me to get my feet low enough to fit back out of the door frame, since the high heels were angled up toward my feet. Simple physics...my feet were angled up and so I couldn't move forward. The heels had been able to squeeze through because they angled up, but now they couldn't fit back out because I couldn't get any part of them to fit under the doggy doorframe. It was no different than a door closing; the knob doesn't need to turn when it closes because the latch will catch. You only need to turn the knob to open it up again because the latch won't allow backward progress.

My high heels, the high heeled boots that I wanted to wear because I liked how they were restraints in and of themselves, were the door latch that now wouldn't open.

I couldn't go forward into the kitchen because my feet were too high up.
I couldn't go backward into the dining room because the heels were too high up.
I was stuck 3/4 of the way through a doggy door and couldn't get out, even though there was a 25% chance that freedom was mere inches from my nose.
I was absolutely fucked.
That's when I came a third time.

There was honestly little pleasure in this orgasm. I lie, there was a shitload. The thing was, for every bit of pleasure there was a disproportionate amount of pain, hopelessness, and very muffled screaming. When my raw penis stopped its pumping, I could concentrate enough to feel the sweat and tears rolling down my cloth-covered face. This was the absolute first time I had ever been inescapably stuck. Well, I'd been tied up by a girl before and I had needed her help to get free, but this was just a tiny bit different. Just a bit.

"Okay," I thought to myself, "maybe I can get ahold of the box that's right in front of me. Somehow."

Amazing what desperation does to a person, isn't it? Get this; I even pulled as hard as I could on my handcuffs to reach up to the box in front of my face! I *KNOW!!!* Can you believe it? I yanked on the cuffs, I wiggled my arms, I tried to thrust forward a touch more, and here's the big shock: nothing happened! After a second I tried to take stock and see if maybe I could somehow get ahold of the box using the only appendage that was near it, my head, and somehow get it back to my fingers. I found it with my chin and, being careful not to push it farther out into the floor, I slowly pulled back and tiny bit by tiny bit brought it closer to me. Once the box was under my head I rested for a moment, because pulling on the ropes holding my head both back and forward took its toll on my neck muscles. I could feel them burning all the way down to my shoulders, who relayed the message to the rest of my core muscles.

I tried my damnest to manipulate the box somehow with my mouth. If it was just a key I'd be able to get it between my lower lip and the gag and do something with it. But the gag held firm in my mouth, and the fact that my mouth was stuffed to the brim prevented being able to get ahold of the box at all. I tried opening my jaw further, but of course found that Strip B really did its job well. In fact, since both cloth strips were so completely interconnected, trying to open my jaw tightened *everything* on my face. I spent a few moments trying to squeeze my tongue around the gauze and the gag in my mouth, but of course the laws of physics won that round too. I even resorted at one point to just shaking my head as best I could, side to side, and letting out whimpers that should have been screams. Nothing.

Then it hit me. "Of course!" or perhaps "Eureka!" If I turned onto my side, I might be able to fit through! A lot of squirming and a bit of cramping later and I found that I couldn't get all the way on my side. I probably might have been able to navigate through the doggy door on my side had I done so initially. Hell, I might have been able to fit through had I tried going through on my side before I had gotten the heels through. But the problem was that my the highest point on my body was currently inside of said doggy doorframe and stuck there. The space between my penis and my high heeled feet did not allot me enough room to turn onto my side without one of my boots getting stuck at the top of the doggy doorframe.

It was with a heavy, defeated, shaky sigh that I finally came to rest on my stomach. I felt that my penis had grown hard again, and I was honestly afraid of yet another orgasm. By now it was definitely dark out, there wasn't a touch of light penetrating my blindfold, and I was not going anywhere until Kate got home. Dread filled my stomach not only at the thought of spending an entire night and another day like this, but also at the thought that my roomate, my friend, was going to find me like this. I thought of several ridiculous scenarios where I could get free which included, but are not limited to: miraculously taking the door off the hinges that could not reach, an earthquake moving the box toward my hands (a doorframe would be in the best place to be in the event of an earthquake, albeit I was not in the best position), and my favorite fetish model, Vivian Irene Pierce, showing up at my house by accident thinking this was where she was to do a photo shoot and having her way with me. As I said, my ideas of how to achieve freedom ranged from the impossible to the amazingly awesomely impossible.

Every now and then I tested my bonds, but I didn't want to struggle because, basically, I didn't want to cum again. I needed to preserve as much water as possible, knowing how precious to the human body it is. I had had quite a bit before I started, but I had cum twice and I had sweated a whole bunch. Not to mention tears of frustration and all the drool. I closed my eyes (figure of speech) and actually passed out for a bit, though not enough to dream, and when I awoke my mouth was so parched that the gauze and the gag were dry too. My throat burned and cried for water and for the first time in a long time I actually wished that Kate's rotweiler was still alive because maybe there'd be a water bowl within reach of my head. There were only two good things as far as water loss was concerned. First, I wasn't moving much at all and thus I was retaining as much as I could. Second, I wasn't in a part of the house where I would have the sun pressing down on me during the daytime. However, a horrible and humiliating, as well as scary, sensation came over me sometime when the night was darkest. Try as I might I eventually couldn't hold it in and I felt the puddle of urine soak through my cargo pants as my bladder involuntarily emptied. Kate was going to kill me, even more than the dehydration.

I cannot effectively say how happy it made me to hear the front door open. I really can't because I can't count how many times I imagined hearing it, how many times I dreamed hearing it, and I was overjoyed every single time...at first. After hearing the door open and hearing Kate's voice for about the fortieth time, I started to slip into a world where I wondered if Kate even existed. I was horrified when I thought maybe she wasn't coming back, that maybe she liked where she was and she would stay there, and that she would leave all her stuff here and never look back. Of course that was ridiculous, but when you're as thoroughly trussed up and stuck in a doggy door as I was anything will scare the shit out of you. Throughout the day I would wake up and test my bonds again. Somewhere in my mind my muscle mass had shrunk to the point where I could slip my hands out of the cuffs, but of course this wasn't the case. That would take days, even weeks, and by then I'd be long dead of dehydration. By about the sixtieth time I imagined Kate's voice I had stopped caring, believing my whole world to be imaginary. So you could perhaps have a glimpse of my shock when I felt hands on my head and I snapped out of my stupor!

"Oh my God! What in the Hell happened! Who did this to you?"

I don't know why or how she expected me to answer. I didn't have the moisture in my mouth to answer even if I wasn't gagged like I was. I felt her shaking fingers probing my head, trying to find out which knot to undo to magically make it all come undone like in the movies. Then I felt her hands leave my head, and I heard her shoes on the floor.

"Are they still in the house?" she whispered. I wanted to tell her that if anybody had tied me up like this, they would've heard her initial exclamations, but I thought it better to simply shake my head 'no.'

A couple of steps and I heard a drawer open. A couple more and I felt pressure on my face again and I heard a snipping sound. Piece by piece Kate cut the cloth off my face until the gag harness fell like a leaf off a tree. She cut off my blindfold and the flourescent kitchen light seared my eyes and I saw her horrified face in front of me, her eyes almost to tears. A glass of water in her hand, she held it to my lips and I swallowed it all, the palm of Kate's hand on the back of my head. It was as though she were nursing me back to health. I guess in a way she was. A smile found its way to my face for the first time in almost an entire day, but it was quickly snuffed out by her question.

"You did this to yourself, didn't you?"

Those are some of the most horrifying words I've ever heard. Those are the words I've been dreading since I started self bondage many moons ago. Drinking the water, I felt more free than I had ever been before in my life. I was comfortable, I was safe, and I was happy. Just from a simple sip of water and knowing that I was going to be okay. Now I slammed back to reality, and my situation was clear to me again. Every single muscle in my body was crying. Everything was stiff and sore and cramping and no matter how much I worked my jaw my mouth was on fire. Plus Kate knew. No sense bullshitting her, I managed a very weak nodding of my head, my neck muscles absolutely killing me even though the ropes no longer held my head up.

"Do you have any idea how stupid you are?"

I tried my best to shrug my shoulders.

"How long have you been like this?"

I used all my effort into the word, "...noon..." and I think some dust came out of my throat when I said it.

"Noon? You jackass, you've been tied up for nine hours!"

I shook my head very weakly. "...noon...yester...day..."

Kate's hand went up to her mouth and over the next few seconds her shocked look turned to seething anger.

"Let me get this straight. You tied yourself up, pretty professionally I might add, and blindfolded yourself and gave yourself that hideous gag while I was away and knew nothing about it. And you got stuck in a dog door somehow and could've died. Does that about cover it? What if my plans changed and work wanted me to work out of the satellite office next week? I wouldn't have come home until next weekend, and you'd be more fucked than you are now! Or what if my plane crashed? We'd both be dead. What if I came home with some people from work or a guy I wanted to date or one of my girlfriends or my mom or your mom and we open the door and we see you hogtied and gagged and stuck in the dog door?"

The first couple times I had tried to get words in, but between my throat aching and the rapidity of her questions I had given up. Kate leaned in close to me, still with angry eyes but with angry eyes that cared.

"Where's the key to the cuffs?"

I instinctively looked down at the box that was right beneath my face. Kate immediately picked it up and opened it.

"You jackass, this is an allen wrench!" I could see that she contemplated throwing it at me, but figured I had suffered enough. That is, until she realized- "And you pissed all over the fucking floor!!!"

I had grown strangely used to the urine over the twenty or so hours it had been there. Obviously five minutes was not enough time for Kate's olfactory glads to push it into the back of her mind.
Kate got me another glass of water and alternated cutting the ropes that held me and letting me take sips, not saying a word to me to the entire time. I could tell this one wasn't going to be let go of easily, nor should it have been. I was able to take a moment and be very glad that I hadn't worn anything of hers, or she would've been even more pissed off. Once all of my upper body was cut loose and the glass of water finished she grabbed my face, none too gently, and looked me in the eye with sternness.

"Where's the key?"

I had regained some of my voice enough to say, "It's in a box either in the den, the downstairs bathroom...or the basement."

I felt her nails dig into my cheeks ever so slightly as she got even more annoyed. With a loud sigh she let go of my face and walked out of the house. At first I thought she was going to leave me there, but then I heard the back door open and I heard her behind me, first going to the den, then the bathroom, and then down the stairs...and then back up the stairs. I heard the back door open and shut again and after a moment she came back in the front door.

I thought it best to show my appreciation, "Thank you for not...just pushing me backwards...through the dog door."

Her gaze didn't even meet mine, "I thought of it."

She opened all three boxes and produced the handcuff key. She undid the cuffs and stood up with her hands on her hips above me. With my feet still bound tightly on the other side of the door, I was forced to crane my neck up and look up at her. I remember the ferocity in her voice. I paraphrase what she said, because I don't have an eidetic memory, but the point is still quite clear.

"You can take a hot bath to uncramp those muscles first. But after that, you are going to clean every inch of piss-stained floor twice, you are going to scrub and clean every inch of cum-stained floor five or six times, and you are going to clean all the fucking drool and sweat trails you decided to leave behind last night."

I nodded.

"You are never, ever going to do this again. You know what? If you've got a god damn fetish, that's fine with me! I'm your friend and I care about you, oh and I'm also your roommate. And if you die, I'm out your share of the rent, not to mention the fact that you DIED. You don't get more selfish than self-bondage, but that's fine...we're all entitled to being selfish. I don't give a shit if you do that. But you tell me when you're doing it so that if you fuck up, like you did, I make sure that I come home on time and let your sorry ass out. And you will keep it to your room or to the basement from now on, because I will have no more cum or piss stains on the floors that I walk on. And if I ever have to let you out again, you're paying the entire month's rent and doing all the housework. We'll call that an "I-Let-You-Live" tax. And I do not even want to *know* where you found those boots you're wearing."

Kate turned and stormed out while adding, "I'm going to the bar and getting a very big drink. Untie your fucking legs, clean yourself up, and get to work. And since you find it such a turn on to use the dog door, that's how you're going to go in and out of the kitchen and den for the next month."

It took a couple of weeks, but eventually the two of us were back to what is considered normal. Kate isn't a fan of bondage, but she's also not one to judge. The not judging part is a big reason why we're friends in the first place. Every now and then when she's gone for a long period of time, she'll pause what she's doing and ask in code, "Do you need anything?" That means, "Am I going to come home and have to expect to let you out of another predicament?" I haven't taken her up on that yet, as I figure I'll still give her a bit more time to cool down. Regardless, I know that the next time, I'll be sure to add 'measuring doorframes of all sizes and types' to my list of planning ahead.