Author's Note: All names have been changed to protect my identity and those of the people I met. 'Pocketbook' is a synonym for handbag or purse.


1. Inspiration and Preparation

As I examined the photograph I felt a rush of sexual excitement. I had googled 'burka' and there she was; a brown eyed woman staring back at me through the steel bars of a cage concealed beneath the black fabric of her face covering. I knew at that instant I had to emulate her.

I had completed several bondage walks in public. I wanted to take it to the next level; to do a walk in full bondage (wrists handcuffed, ankles manacled, gagged, posture collar etc) through busy city streets during the day. The only feasible method that occurred to me was to conceal the bondage beneath a burka, a long loose garment that covers the entire body from head to toe except for the eyes.

My previous public bondage walks had been mostly uneventful, with no one, as far I know, discovering my bound state. I had never been inescapably trapped in any of my walks, I was always able to complete them and free myself. But this one was to be different: had I known what was going to happen, I would never have attempted it, or at the very least I would have allowed myself an emergency escape.

Walking in a burka would attract too much attention in any of the small towns near me, so I decided to do the walk in a large metropolitan city over a hundred miles away where the garment might be less unusual.

I decided to make the walk part of a mini vacation; a bondage vacation. This year July the Fourth, Independence Day in USA, fell on a Monday so I had a three day weekend. I booked a room in the Hildorfia Hotel, an upscale hotel in the city center, for three nights.

On Friday I left work early and drove to the hotel (I don't think the bondage equipment in my suitcase would have passed airline security) where I spent the night chained in a hogtie in my hotel bed. I didn't get much sleep, partly because of the hogtie and partly because I was excited by the prospect of the bondage walk.

On Saturday morning I had to change my plan slightly. I had wanted to do the entire walk, from the hotel through the city streets to the parking garage and back, with my hands handcuffed tightly behind my back and the handcuffs locked to the back of my Neosteel chastity belt. But the key to my hotel room presented a problem. It wasn't a metal key, it was a card. I had to push it down into a slot then pull it up very quickly to unlock the door. My planned bondage allowed my hands so little movement I doubted that I would be able to remove the cardkey quickly enough. It might be possible, but I wasn't sure, so to be safe I decided to free my right hand for the second half of the walk.

Fortunately I had brought extra chains and padlocks (one can never have enough of these) so in preparing for my walk I decided to lock both cuffs around my left wrist, and use a separate chain and padlock to secure my right wrist. Both wrists would be tightly secured to the back of my chastity belt. I had wanted to fasten my elbows together but even burkas have limits; my elbows would have pushed out the back of the burka and revealed my bondage.

At midmorning, dressed in denim shorts and a light blue top, I drove from the hotel to a parking garage a little over half a mile away and found a secluded spot on the third floor. I put one of the two hotel room cardkeys in the glove compartment, and placed the key to my wrist padlock on the driver's seat.

Locking the car I descended the stairs to street level. I had planned to use stairs rather than the elevator for my walk that afternoon since they would likely be deserted; Americans much prefer to use elevators. But I found the door at the bottom of the stairs had a fairly strong spring and I was not sure I would be able to open it when bound. I checked the elevator buttons and they seemed to be accessible.

It was warm and sunny as I slowly walked back to the hotel, surveying the route and checking that there were no obstacles or dangers. There didn't seem to be any; the sidewalk along the entire route was free of irregularities that might cause me to trip. All of the street intersections were controlled by traffic lights with pedestrian walk signals that allowed plenty of time to cross. The street was lined with shops, restaurants, banks, another hotel and a couple of office buildings. There were lots of people around. I was relieved to see that they all appeared to be shoppers and tourists; there weren't any groups of youths loitering about who might give me trouble.

Although I was excited by the prospect of the walk, I felt a twinge of disappointment; this was going to be too easy. The only foreseeable difficulties, and they were minor, would be using the elevator in the parking garage and picking up the padlock key inside the car.

Arriving back at the hotel, I ate a chicken Caesar salad for lunch and then began the sensual and erotic process of binding myself and getting dressed for my walk.


2. The First Half

As the door to my hotel room clicked shut behind me I felt the familiar rush of sexual excitement. It was 2 pm and I was now fully committed to my walk; there was no turning back, no way out, no simple escape. I had to walk the half mile or so to my car to retrieve the hotel cardkey that would allow me back into my room and give me access to my bondage keys.

I was in full bondage. A black leather head harness held a large rubber gag in my mouth, a stiff leather posture collar encircled my neck, a nylon rope harness encircled the base of my breasts and my protruding nipples were firmly gripped by a pair of vicious little clamps with dangling weights. A stiff boned corset compressed my waist and ribs, and this in turn was squeezed by the shiny steel waist band of my chastity belt. My hands and arms were encased in black opera gloves, and both wrists were locked to the back of the belt. The unyielding metal crotch piece held two large plugs inside me. From the sides of the waist band two chains descended over my hips to hold two steel bands around my thighs. The bands were connected together by a couple of links and a padlock, and an additional chain ran from this padlock up to the underside of my chastity belt to hold the bands level. My feet were encased by black leather knee-high ballet boots, laced and zipped up and each held on with a zip tie that passed through the zipper pull and encircled my leg just below the knee. A chain connected my ankles. It was padlocked around each ankle and had only 12-inches of free chain between them. To prevent me slouching forward a chain ran down my back from my posture collar to the chastity belt.

My home-made black burka covered all this bondage, its hem almost touching the ground. The only things that it exposed were my eyes and toes of my ballet boots. Since I didn't want to draw attention to my boots, I had used paste to convert their shiny polish to a dull matte black. The eye opening of the burka also exposed the front strap of my head harness, but I had fastened the lower border of the opening to this strap so an uninitiated observer might think it to be a short piece of black leather whose only purpose was to support the bottom of the eye opening.

To conceal the outline of the nipple clamps, I was wearing a loose fitting black bra over my bulging breasts, and to conceal the outline of the straps and buckles of the head harness, I was wearing a open-face spandex hood over the harness and under the burka.

Apart from my bondage, the burka also concealed another device, a metal box with wires sticking out. I had written 'Death to America' across the front, and it was chained to the front of my waist. Now don't get me wrong, I love America. I was wearing this pseudo bomb for two reasons, it would prevent me revealing my bound state to anyone, and it was part of my fantasy for this walk.

The only thing I was carrying, apart from my fake bomb, was the car key. This was so important that I had tied it with a short string to the back of my chastity belt in case it slipped from my fingers.

After the door to my hotel room had closed and locked, I stood still in precarious balance on the soft carpet and squeezed to feel the sexy bulk of the two plugs filling my lower cavities.

The hotel corridor was deserted, so I set out for the elevator. My ballet boots made no noise on the burgundy colored carpet and my chains were silent. All chains were under tension except those connecting my ankles and thighs. My ankle chain was naturally quiet, but I had used tape to deaden the noise that the links and padlock connecting my thigh bands sometimes made. These chains gave a sexy restriction to my walking; without them I could walk easily and quickly in my ballet boots.

My face covering prevented me from looking down to see where I was stepping, and my bondage prevented me from bending my head. In the corridor this didn't matter; the carpet was smooth and I didn't need to see. But once outside I would need to look ahead and predict when my feet reached the curb and other irregularities.

I reached the elevator alcove. Turning my back and bending my knees I found and pressed the down button through the fabric of my burka. The elevator was empty so I entered and pressed the lobby button. Had the elevator been occupied, I assumed that the lobby button would have already been pressed.

Reaching the ground floor, I made my way as quickly as I could across the lobby, my heels clicking on the marble floor. The noise seemed incredibly loud to my senses sharpened by my excited state, but there was nothing I could do to silence them, and to walk more slowly would attract even more attention.

A middle aged man with a swarthy complexion, wearing a dark a business suit, was entering the hotel. He looked right at me but didn't say anything and his neutral expression did not change. As he walked by me I felt I had passed my first test.

I thought that everyone on the lobby must observing me, attracted by the sound of my high heels, but my face covering restricted my peripheral vision and my posture collar prevented me looking around.

My bonds were, I hoped, effectively concealed beneath my burka. Only my eyes were visible. I had not been able to find or make a steel cage to emulate the woman in the photograph, but perhaps that was just as well, it would have drawn too much attention to me.

I passed through the automatic door from the coolness of the air-conditioned lobby into the warmth of the sunlit and noisy street. Turning left I began the long walk towards my car which was parked on the third floor of the parking garage.

Nearly every pedestrian looked at me, as I had expected, but I avoided eye contact and tried to ignore them, concentrating on my walking. The major danger that confronted me was falling; if I fell I would be unable to get up and my bondage would likely be discovered. This danger had sexually excited me when planning the walk, but now it was more worrisome than exciting.

To conceal my ballet boots my burka only just cleared the ground, which is why I had made it myself rather than bought one online. But this presented the danger of me stepping on the hem, particularly when stepping up onto the curb after crossing a street. I had to continually pay attention to my posture and not lean forward. This was helped by my stiffly boned underbust corset and by the chain which ran down my back pulling my posture collar back and down.

The chain running down my back forced me to push my chest out. This posture presented a clear outline of my breasts through the fabric of the burka and would have revealed my nipple clamps had I not been wearing a bra.

The large gag filling my mouth and forcing my teeth wide apart was already causing my jaw to ache. It was a solid rubber ball that I had forced behind my front teeth with some difficulty. The reason for this self imposed torture was to encourage me to complete the walk in a timely manner and not deviate from my plan. In a previous walk in a different city I had wandered around an outdoor art exhibition putting myself at great risk of discovery. The desire to remove the painful gag would, I hoped, crush any temptation to dally.

This gag in combination with the short ankle chain presented a predicament; if I walked slowly to be absolutely sure of not falling, them my jaw would hurt too much long before I had finished. On the other hand if I hurried to remove the gag as quickly as possible, I increased the chance of falling.

Although my boots made me appear taller than almost all woman and many men, my chains forced me to walk slower. I became concerned that someone overtaking me would accidentally brush against me and cause me to lose my balance. To minimize that danger I walked along the edge of the sidewalk furthest away from the road, right next to the shops. If someone approached from directly ahead I would stop and force them to walk around me. Whenever I approached someone standing next to a shop window, I would slow down hoping they would move away.

I passed a number of shops and because of the growing ache in my jaw was not tempted to browse. No, that's not true, I was tempted to enter a boutique that I had noticed earlier that morning, but wisely decided to wait until my walk was completed.

Waiting for the traffic lights and crossing the streets presented no real problem. The handicapped ramps at the street corners meant I didn't normally have to step up onto the curb and risk treading on the hem of my burka. But to avoid getting too close to people, I twice had to do so.

As I got closer to the garage I found myself walking faster. I had gained confidence and the monstrous gag was already hurting so much that I was now more anxious to get the walk completed as quickly as possible. I became very impatient having to wait for the start of the pedestrian crossing signals, and disappointed if I reached one shortly after the start which meant, because of my slow pace, having to wait almost the full cycle.

I could feel the heat of the sun thought the burka, and wondered why they were traditionally black. In the hot climate where they are found, it would seem to make more sense for them to be white. I debated whether to cross the road to walk in more shade, but decided not to, the garage was now only three blocks away and the time taken to cross and recross the street represented more delay than I was willing to endure.

I finally reached the parking garage safely without any one speaking to me. Since the stairs up to the third level were blocked by a door that had to be pulled open against a strong spring, I decided to use the elevator.

A gray haired man and a younger woman were waiting for the elevator. Since I had no reasonable way to indicate which floor I wanted, I moved away and let them enter alone when the elevator arrived. After the elevator left I checked that no one was around and clumsily managed to press the up button.

When the elevator returned I was relieved to see it was empty, and entered. After the door closed I managed to find and press the button for the third floor.

As I slowly walked across the concrete floor to my car, I was feeling pleased with myself. I had walked over a half a mile through city streets in broad daylight in full bondage! Had my journey ended there I would have been very happy. In fact I wished that I had left the keys to my bondage in the car instead of back in the hotel room.

Reaching the car, I turned slowly around to check that no one was in sight. Standing with my back to the door I slowly pulled the back of my burka up till I reached the hem. I crouched down and fumbled to insert the car key into the lock. I walked away to open the car door and then, still holding the hem of the burka, backed into the car to sit on the seat.

The padlock key was on a key ring and concealed under a sheet of paper on the seat. I leaned and fell back across the front seats and scrabbled about under the paper feeling for the key. I had been a little worried about this part of my adventure, but managed to find and grasp it fairly quickly. This was helped by the stretchy spandex of my opera gloves, a thin material that allowed me to feel things. Turning to face the front of the car and remove my weight from my hands, I fumbled for a minute to unlock the padlock that imprisoned my right hand.

The padlock clicked open and the several turns of chain around my right wrist loosened freeing my arm. The relief was enormous. Although I had loosed only a tiny fraction of my bonds, I felt I was more than half free. In a world without arms, a one armed woman is queen!

Using my right arm I levered myself upright and took stock of my situation. I had successfully completed the first half of my walk, the most difficult half. With one arm free the second half promised to be much easier.

I felt proud of my accomplishment, and pleased that I had gone through with it. I had planned to keep all my bondage on until I returned to the hotel room, but I found myself wanting to release as much as I could. I had proved to myself that I could walk through a crowded city in daylight in full bondage. I didn't need to prove anything further; I knew I could do it.

The bondage that I most wanted to remove was my gag. Without that my bondage would be strict but enjoyable. Even the nipple clamps were not hurting; I was used to the slight residual pain and the motion of the weights.

I raised my hand under the burka to my gag. I knew there was nothing I could do to relieve the ache in my jaw; the gag was held in place by the straps of my head harness which were padlocked at the back of my head. I needed a key or a sharp knife to free myself, but had neither. I could not even feel the gag properly; the front of my mouth was covered by a leather shield to prevent drool wetting the fabric of my face covering.

I felt around my face and head unrealistically hoping to find that I had forgotten to lock the head harness on. I gave the straps a few tugs, but this did nothing to relieve the ache in my jaw.

I decided to remove the nipple clamps, about the only thing I could remove. There was the usual pain as the blood returned to my deeply indented nipples. I massaged them feeling sorry for them, as if they were an entity somehow separate from myself.

To remove my ballet boots I would need to cut the zip ties that passed through the zipper pulls, and I didn't have a knife or scissors. But I didn't really want to remove the boots; they were not hurting and walking barefoot would cause the burka to drag along the ground.

My rope breast harness was knotted tightly at the back, the knot centered between my shoulder blades where I could barely touch it. With only one hand I might possibly have been able to undo it, but even if I could it would have taken too long. I was more anxious to get the gag out quickly.

Everything else was locked on, and would have to wait until I reached my hotel room before being removed.

I felt under my fake bomb and patted the front of my steel chastity belt to reassure my buried and unfeeling clit that its time would come.

It was time to start the return journey. I reached into the glove compartment to pick up the hotel cardkey, then levered myself out of the car and stood up. I felt the chain that had imprisoned my right wrist slide down my buttocks; its other end was still padlocked to the back of my chastity belt waistband. 'Just a loose end,' I thought. 'Nothing to worry about.'


3. The Second Half

I looked around to see if anyone had witnessed my activities in the car. The parking level was deserted. Feeling reassured I closed and locked the car door. Then I pulled and shook my burka down until it once again concealed my bondage.

With my right arm free I could descend to street level using either the elevator or the stairs. I chose the elevator; it was faster and easier.

As I moved towards the elevator I felt something touch the back of my right boot, it was the end of the loose chain swinging as I walked. I gathered up the chain with my right hand and passed it to my left hand to hold; I didn't want it to hit my thigh bands or the links connecting them and make a noise.

I had made two slits in the front of my burka and I stuck my gloved right hand out of one to push the elevator buttons. The slits had overlapping fabric so that it was not possible to see my body through them. It had not been clear from my reading whether real burkas had such slits, but some appeared to have them.

I walked back to the hotel on the shady side of the street holding the hotel cardkey in my right hand. The car key was still attached by a string to the back of my chastity belt.

My jaw was now really aching so I was very anxious to complete the walk. With my right arm free I felt more confident and able to walk a little faster than I had on the outward journey. But my butt plug was bothering me and forced me to moderate my pace. Once again no one tried to speak to me or molested me.

Arriving at the hotel I crossed the lobby and pushed the up elevator button. A woman entered with me. I pressed the button for the fourth floor and she pressed the one for the fifth floor. The woman didn't say anything and I did not look at her.

I got out at my floor and walked to my door eager to finish my walk. I wanted to remove the gag and my chastity belt and give my clit the attention it was craving.

Reaching my door I inserted the cardkey and quickly pulled it up. Nothing happened; the green light indicating the door was unlocked did not come on.

This failure did not worry me, it had happened before. I tried again, this time pulling the cardkey up more quickly, but again the door did not unlock. Now I was slightly worried. This was a potential disaster; if I could not get into my room I had no idea what I could do. With my mouth-filling gag I couldn't explain my problem or even ask for help.

I tried a few more times, pulling the cardkey up at different speeds, but the door still refused to unlock. Now I was very worried. The failure was puzzling; I had checked that the cardkey worked before driving out to the parking garage and leaving it in the car.

I kept trying and after a dozen more failures felt a sense of growing panic. I walked away and leaned against the wall trying to calm myself and compose my thoughts. I couldn't think of anything else to do other than keep trying to unlock the door.

I walked back to the door and resumed my attempts to unlock it, but no matter how I inserted the cardkey, backwards, upside down, and no matter how slowly or quickly I pulled it up, the door refused to unlock.

A man dressed in an open necked white shirt got off the elevator and approached me. I was still trying to unlock the door when he said, "Having trouble unlocking it?" a rather obvious remark.

I nodded as much as my posture collar allowed.

"Here let me try." He took the cardkey and tried a couple of times. As I expected, but not as I hoped, the door did not unlock.

"Are you sure this is the right room?"

I looked up at the number, 417. It was my room. I nodded again.

"By any chance did you put this next to your cell phone?"

I thought and recalled that before driving out to the parking garage I had put the cardkey next to my cell phone in my pocketbook. I nodded.

"That probably explains it. Cell phones can demagnetize these cards. It happened to me once, and now I'm very careful to keep them apart."

There was a silence since he had finished speaking and I couldn't say anything. He handed me the cardkey. I took it and stood still, not daring to move in case any of my chains made a noise.

He looked at me expectantly, but when I didn't respond he said, "You can go to the front desk, I'm sure they'll give you another key."

I felt a wave of relief and wanted to say 'thank you'. But all I could do was nod slightly like some ungrateful bitch. He left me and entered a room two doors further down the corridor.

When he was out of sight I returned to the elevator and descended to the lobby, unsure as to how I was going to request a replacement cardkey. The girl behind the desk was younger than me. Her nametag gave her name as Susan. She was bright and cheerful and said, "Yes? Are you checking out?" as I handed her the demagnetized cardkey.

I waved my hand to indicate that I was not, then made a writing motion to indicate I wanted a pen.

Susan handed me a ball point pen and then a few seconds later a writing pad.

I wrote, "This key does not work. Can I have a new one."

Susan read the note and then said. "Certainly. What is your room number?"

"417" I wrote.

Susan typed something into her computer and asked, as she looked at the computer screen, "And what is your name?"

"Gabrielle Douglas."

"Gabrielle Douglas," Susan said out loud as she read my handwriting. As she spoke these words a man emerged from the open door behind her. He was a little older than me, late twenties or early thirties, not unattractive with dark hair and penetrating eyes He looked up and then looked directly at me. It was the same man who had checked me into the hotel the previous evening. I suddenly became very worried; what if he remembered me? I must now appear a very different person; much taller and of a different nationality and religion.

He beckoned to Susan who said "Excuse me" and went to him. He whispered something to her and when she returned she asked, "Could I see your ID please?"

I had no identification with me; it was in the hotel room. "I lost my pocketbook." I wrote. As soon as I pushed the pad to her, I realized my lie was getting me into deeper trouble. If I had lost my pocketbook why did I still have the cardkey?

Susan looked over at the man, who stepped up the counter in front of me. Now I was in real trouble. I recalled that he had looked at me yesterday with more than a friendly expression, perhaps desire or lust. But I had hardly noticed him, being full of thoughts of my impending self bondage adventure. I now saw that his name was Ryan. I became convinced that he remembered me, or at least remembered the me that had checked in the previous day.

He read my note and said, "I'm afraid, madam, we can't let you into the room without ID. You must realize that we can't give out keys to just anyone who comes to this desk."

I realized I had lost this battle. Even if I pointed out I already had a key, he would not give me another. I seemed to have also lost the war; my ID was in my pocketbook inaccessibly locked in the hotel room. I was trapped in bondage and could see no way out.


4. Another Battle (added: 08/28/2011)

The realization that I was inescapably trapped had an unexpected result; a strange feeling overcame came me and as it grew I recognized it as the beginning of an orgasm. Part of me wanted it, always wants orgasms, but the logical rational part of my brain realized the danger of having one; I might try to scream or even fall down. I think I tried to suppress it, I don't remember, but in any case it soon became inevitable.

To support myself and conceal what was happening I leaned against the granite counter, grabbed the pad of paper and began to write. As the orgasm came, I put more of my weight on my right elbow, and my writing became illegible scribble. I was breathing heavily through my nose but the chain running down my back was pulling my posture collar back and partially restricting my breathing.

My hips began to move attempting to fuck the dildo that was penetrating me and so get some clitoral stimulation. It was both frighteningly embarrassing and wonderful at the same time.

I tried to stop the motion of my pelvis, and in so doing also stopped scribbling.

"Are you alright?" Susan asked.

I opened my eyes which had closed. I was still in the throes of my orgasm, but was slowly gaining control of myself. I nodded, and stood up, but kept my right hand pressed down on the counter to steady myself.

I tore off the top sheet of paper, I didn't want them to read it, and turned away. I kept my hand on the counter until the waves of the orgasm had subsided and felt able to walk. Then I moved away from them along the counter to the right. As soon as I felt I could keep my balance, I left the safety of the counter and headed slowly across the lobby towards a cluster of chairs on the far side.

I selected a high backed chair facing away from both the counter and main part of the lobby, and sat down. By now my orgasm had almost completely subsided.

I looked at the note I had written. It began, "How can I give you ID when I have lost my poktbook..." After that my writing became illegible.

I wondered what kind of ID they wanted. Normally people want photo ID, a driver's license or passport, but for someone like me dressed in a burka and unwilling to show her face, I wondered what use photo ID would be. I also wondered how women in burkas got through security at airports, but perhaps they don't fly.

I screwed the paper up into a ball and turned my thoughts to my current plight. I tried to think what I could and should do. But I was filled with despair and couldn't see any obvious way out of my difficulty.

The easiest option would be to reveal my bondage to Susan or Ryan, but because of my fake bomb, they would likely call the police. That would lead to all kinds of additional problems. I decided I couldn't do that.

Another option I briefly considered was to walk back to my car and drive home. But I rejected this as not feasible; I did not have the money I would need to leave the garage, I didn't have enough gas (petrol) to get home and without money or credit cards could not buy more, and it would be much too dangerous to attempt to drive any distance in my present attire. Even if I did somehow manage to reach home I did not have a key to get in.

But my most immediate problem was my gag. It was causing my jaw to hurt so much that it was difficult to think rationally. I needed to get it out fast. And the only way to do that was to get a knife to cut the straps. I had nothing suitable in my car.

And then the solution hit me. Most hotels like the one I was in offered room service. After eating the meal the guests would leave the tray containing dirty dishes and utensils, including a knife, outside their room. All I had to do was find such a tray, pick up a knife, find somewhere private and use it to cut off the gag.

Filled with renewed hope, I levered myself upright and walked unsteadily across the lobby to the elevators. It had been a long afternoon, and I seemed less sure footed. I had to be careful, but at least with one arm free I would be able to get up if I fell.

I took the elevator up to the fourth floor and walked the entire length of the corridor. As I passed my room I wished I still had the cardkey, I would have given it one more try.

Unfortunately the entire floor was a dirty dish desert; there were no trays waiting to be picked up. I went down to the third floor and repeated my search. But again there were no dirty dishes or knives.

I went up the fifth floor but again had no luck. I decided that the hotel probably only offered room service for breakfast, and that all the dishes had been picked up earlier.

My hopes for relieving my jaw were crushed. Despondently I took the elevator down to the lobby. I decided to explore the ground floor, I had no real hope of finding anything useful, but there didn't seem to be anything better to do.

I wandered past the gift shop. As I passed the man behind the counter looked at me. It would be difficult to do any shoplifting, so I walked on. I passed an almost deserted coffee shop. The tables were clean and empty except for one where a couple were talking and drinking something, presumably coffee. I could not see properly but I think the only utensils on their table were a couple of teaspoons. So it was pointless to hang around waiting for them to leave. There did not seem to be a place to pick up utensils, they were probably provided by the waitperson.

I moved on.

And then I hit pay dirt! At the end of the corridor was a large formal dining area decorated with dark wood paneling. The tables were all laid with white tablecloths, napkins and utensils, presumably for the evening meal. There was nobody around; the dining room was not yet open. Hardly believing my luck I sidled up to a table and furtively picked up a knife. I hurriedly pulled it under my burka. I hoped that the person who laid the table would not get into trouble when they discovered a knife was missing.

Dining rooms always have rest rooms nearby so I looked around and found them in a recess. I entered the ladies room and shut myself in the large handicapped stall. I felt that I was sufficiently handicapped to justify its use, and I needed the space to remove my burka.

I laid the knife on the toilet tank, and used my left hand to pull the glove off my right hand. Then began the lengthy struggle to remove my burka. It had to be pulled, or rather pushed, up over my head. As I did so I snapped the black thread that I had used to tie my face covering to the front of my head harness. Once the burka was off I pulled of my spandex hood. My head was sweaty and it felt really good to be in the open, if not fresh, air.

I carefully sat down on the toilet seat, carefully because of my steel thigh bands and my rather high heels. As I did so I heard the loose end of the chain make contact with the toilet seat; I had dropped it from my left hand while struggling to take off my burka. Fortunately I managed to grab it before it went in the water and draped it over the side of the seat. My left hand was tired of holding it.

With my right hand I felt the straps to my head harness. The obvious one to attack with the knife was the one on my right cheek. This pulled my gag back and forced it deep in my mouth. If I could cut it I should be able to pull the gag out and then slide the harness off the left side of my head. Although the strap was tight, I could pull it a little way out from my cheek.

I checked the knife and felt it edge with my thumb. Although not sharp it was serrated so I thought I had a good chance of cutting the leather strap. I inserted the blade of the knife up under the strap with its edge to the front, and begin to saw the knife up and down.

It didn't work. To cut the leather strap needed two hands; one to hold the strap steady and the other to move the knife. When I put pressure on the knife, the strap seemed to move up and down as I moved the knife. There might have been some cutting action, I could not tell, but the main effect was to hurt my face.

I persisted for a few minutes, reasoning that the marks on my face would be concealed by the burka. But I worried that if ever got free from my bondage, the marks would be difficult to explain.

After a few minutes I gave up. I didn't seem to be making any progress in cutting the strap and I was sure I was disfiguring myself. I decided to try cutting one of the other straps.

The head harness had three adjustable leather straps, the buckles of which were held closed by three small padlocks through the prongs. The first buckle was at the back of my head and pulled the straps tight against my cheeks and held the gag in. The second was a little above the first and secured the strap that went over the top of my head from front to back. The third padlock under my chin was designed to keep my lower jaw firmly closed on the gag, but its upwards pressure seemed miniscule compared to that of the rubber ball forcing my mouth wide open.

I keep my hair fairly short and the straps and buckles were over my hair and accessible. I reached for the first buckle. It didn't move much when I pulled it, so I thought I might be able to cut through the strap that entered the buckle just in front of the padlocked prong.

I took the knife, carefully positioned it and began to saw away at the leather. It was hard work. I had to keep my head bent forward fighting the posture collar, and my hair kept getting in the way. The devilish combination of corset, breast bondage, posture collar and back chain made it very difficult to hold the knife in the correct position and apply pressure.

After a few minutes, I stopped cutting and felt the strap to see if I was making progress. I was; the surface of the strap was no longer smooth, it was definitely rough.

Encouraged I resumed my cutting but had to rest after few minutes since my arm was tired.

One person used the rest room while I was sawing. I stopped and remained still while she was present, and didn't resume sawing until after she had left and I was sure no one else had entered.

It took a long time and several rests, but I finally succeeded in cutting through the strap. I broke the final bit of leather by pulling on the buckle. I was so anxious to get the harness of and the gag out of my moth that I almost cut my face with my fingernails as I pulled the straps off my head.

I worried that I might not be able to pull the gag out of my mouth, it had required both my hands to force it in, but it came out much easier. Perhaps my jaw had stretched wider over the last few hours. It felt wonderful to partially close my jaw, and the horrible pain almost disappeared. In one instant I had transformed my bondage from torture to pleasure, the chains that still held me captive were sexy restrictions on my freedom, designed to arouse and excite rather than give pain.

I could not close my jaw completely; my teeth were so far apart I couldn't even get my lips to touch. I knew it would take some time for the muscles to recover after having been stretched so much and for so long.

With the pain mostly gone, I once more felt optimistic about my future. I even thought of a plan to get free. I would wait until the Ryan and Susan had gone off duty, then I would go back and request a duplicate key from the new person. Before Ryan had intervened, Susan had seemed quite willing to give me a duplicate key, so it was probably hotel policy. Surely other guests had lost their keys in the past.

Since I was sitting on the toilet, I decided to make pee. I had to force it out around the dildo that was locked in me, and the pee dripped out mixed with the juices from my earlier orgasm. I waited for the dripping to stop, and cleaned myself as best I could with toilet paper. I didn't resent my chastity belt for this messy peeing; this was one of the things I willingly accepted when I locked myself into it. If an item of bondage does not restrict you and force you to change your behavior in some way, then it is not true bondage.

I could probably have cut the rope harness around my breasts and the zip ties securing my ballet boots, but decided not to. Although my breasts were dark red, the residual pain was sexually arousing rather than torturous. There was no point in cutting the zip ties; I couldn't remove my boots until I was back in my room otherwise my burka and ankle chain would drag on the floor as I walked. There was also the practical matter of removing my boots. The chain was tight around my ankles and it would be very difficult to pull my boots down under them, perhaps even impossible, I had never tried.

The one thing I really wanted to remove was the fake bomb, but that was securely chained around my waist.

I dressed myself, first putting on the burka and then my opera glove, both difficult tasks. There were three reasons why I wore opera gloves; to protect my wrists, to make it more difficult to manipulate keys, and because some people wearing burkas seem not to want to expose any skin, not even their arms.

Immediately after removing my head harness with its oversize gag I had decided to throw it away, but now changed my mind. I am a bit of a hoarder and was fond of the three padlocks that were still locked to it; they were like old friends and we had done much bondage together. I thought I might even repair the head harness, I could replace the cut leather strap. My devious mind even thought that I could fix chains to the straps so that in the future I would be unable to get free by cutting the straps. Each time I manage to escape from bondage I learn and take measures to prevent similar escapes in the future.

I gathered up the loose chain hanging from the back of chastity belt and put it in my left hand. With my free right hand I wrapped the knife and the damaged head harness in my spandex hood and pulled them under my burka. Before leaving the toilet I tested my voice. My jaw still didn't close completely and I couldn't enunciate words clearly, but I thought that my jaw would recover in another half hour or so.

As I left the ladies room I noticed people seated at some of the tables; the dining room was now open.

I walked along the corridor back towards the lobby. The lower part of my eye opening sagged a little now that it didn't have the thread tying it to the head harness. This exposed more of my nose and allowed me to look down more, but I still could not see exactly where I was stepping.

While waiting for Ryan and Susan to go off duty, I was free to wander aimlessly around the city in bondage, an activity that I had specifically planned to prevent. 'Life is so strange and so unpredictable,' I mused.

I decided to visit the boutique that I had passed earlier; I was attracted to a pair of shoes displayed in the window. Although wandering around the city increased the chance of something happening and my bondage being discovered, it seemed better than hiding in a toilet or suspiciously loitering around the hotel.

I left the lobby and followed my earlier route to the boutique. Walking was as slow and precarious as before, but with one arm free and the ability to almost speak coherently, I felt more confident. I was still carrying the knife wrapped in my hood. I wished I had thought to sew a pocket inside the burka, but I had never planned on carrying anything larger than a key.

The stores I passed were closed, as was the boutique when I reached it; it was too late in the day. Disappointed, I returned to the hotel and discreetly looked in the lobby. Susan and another woman were behind the counter, so I left the hotel and started to walk in the opposite direction.

After a few blocks, there were no more shops and the neighborhood deteriorated. I felt uneasy so returned to the hotel.

I was also getting tired of walking and my legs were beginning to feel some stress. As I mentioned before, I can normally walk quite easily in ballet boots, but walking with short chains connecting ones ankles and thighs is a different matter. One has to use muscles to control one's stride rather than letting one's legs swing naturally, and the result is fatiguing.

I cautiously entered the lobby and saw only the new woman behind the counter. She was much older than Susan, perhaps in her fifties. She was a little overweight but smartly dressed. I didn't want a repeat performance of what had happened earlier, so took a seat and watched to see if Ryan or Susan were in the room behind the counter.

After a few minutes a man emerged, but it was not Ryan, it was an older man. I waited another quarter of an hour until I was sure than the Ryan and Susan had gone off duty, and then waited until the woman was alone behind the counter.

I shuffled up to her and said, cautiously since I didn't fully trust my voice, "I'm afraid I've lost my pocketbook. I wonder if I could have a duplicate key to my room." My voice seemed to have almost fully recovered. I noted that her nametag proclaimed her to be Talia.

"Yes, of course," Talia replied. "What's your room number?"

"417."

"And what's your name and address?"

I told her.

"Oh, that's strange. I see here that someone's left a note. Apparently ID is required before I can issue another key to this room. Could I see your ID please?"

"It was in my pocketbook. I don't have any on me."

"Oh, that's difficult. This note is quite explicit, I'm afraid I can't give you another key without seeing your ID."

"But I don't have any. What can I do?"

"Well you might try to find your pocketbook. Where did you lose it?"

"I left it in a shop, but it's now closed."

"Well you might try phoning them. You might be able to reach someone who could help you."

"Look, isn't there any way you could give me a key, I can describe the contents of the room so you know it's me."

"I'm afraid not; this note is from the manager. If I give you another key I would lose my job. I'm very sorry. As I said, the only thing I can think of is to try to reach someone at the shop. Which one was it? Perhaps I can get the telephone number for you."

I realized I had also lost this battle. "I don't remember the name. I'll walk back there and get it. Thanks for your help." I moved slowly away from the counter, my hopes for release once again crushed.


5. A Shocking Discovery (added: 08/28/2011)

I left the hotel and began to walk slowly towards my car. The walk was no longer an exciting adventure, but rather a tiring and rather pointless activity that I was doing because I had nothing better to do. I was heading to my car because it seemed my only safe refuge. Wild irrational thoughts were running through my head. I thought that I would sleep that night in the car and perhaps would think of something the following morning.

As I walked I reconsidered what I should have said to Talia. I should have asked to speak to the manager who wrote the note about requiring ID. But what if the manager was Ryan? Then I was truly doomed. If it were some other person then he would probably know, or would find out, the reason for the note. In either case I didn't think I would get a new key.

And then to add to my problems I became aware of a new difficulty. My right foot wasn't as stable as before, if I put weight on the heel my foot twisted. It seemed that the heel was coming loose, or perhaps something else had broken so that the heel and sole combination was not as stiff as earlier. I thought that my boots were either defective or perhaps were never intended for miles of walking along concrete sidewalks.

I found that in order to keep my balance, I had to keep the weight on my right foot entirely on my toes. This shortened my already limited step and forced me to walk as if I had a slight limp. The change in gait put more stress on my leg muscles.

I was only half way to my car so I stopped and considered returning to the hotel. I asked myself what was the point of continuing on to the car; my keys were in the hotel and those were what I needed. There was nothing in the car that could help me. And then the answer struck me; my insurance and registration cards were in the car. They had my name on them. Surely they would serve as valid ID to get Talia to give me a new key.

My spirits soared and life seemed worth living again. With rekindled optimism I began to limp towards my car. Once more the chains that bound me became a joy, a sexy restriction on my freedom, something to relish rather than resent.

There were fewer people about than earlier. Initially this pleased me since there were fewer to observe or obstruct my slow progress. But I became extremely nervous when a group of four youths approached me. They all looked at me, and one said, "Does that hide beauty or a beast?" but they passed without doing anything.

As I neared the parking garage another worry entered my mind; what if my car had been stolen? This seemed unlikely but I could not push the thought out of my head. The contents of my car had been, and were now, my only means of escape. 'Why,' I chided myself, 'didn't you make a backup plan for escape? In previous walks you always made sure to have at least one backup method. Why not this time?' But I already knew the answer; since I only had two room keys, I could only place one to be picked up at the halfway point of my walk. This had seemed so reliable that I had though the only possible failure would be for me to fall down, and there was nothing I could reasonably do to provide a backup for that occurrence.

The possibility of failing to escape should add excitement to a bondage session, but in this case it only added worry. My concern was, I now think, out of all proportion to the miniscule chance of my a theft.

I reached the garage without any further encounter with people and took the elevator up to the third level. I was very relieved when I saw my car still parked in the same spot. When I finally sat in the car and took the weight off my feet I resolved that I was finished walking for the day. I dropped my hood and the knife on the floor in front of the passenger seat where they joined my nipple clamps and the padlock that had trapped my right wrist.

I opened the ashtray where I had stored my insurance and registration cards and took them out. My insurance card had my name and my registration card showed both my name and address. All I had to do now was get back to the hotel and show them to Talia.

I checked the heel of my right boot; it was definitely loose. I thought that now my best plan was to drive back to the hotel, I did not fancy the idea of limping all the way back in the growing darkness with a defective boot and I wanted to get there quickly before Talia left. I decided that I had to keep the boots on; if I somehow removed them to drive, I would never get them back on and Talia would see that I had mysteriously become much shorter. I didn't want to arouse any more suspicions in the minds of the hotel staff.

I practiced pushing the brake and accelerator pedals with my boots, and became satisfied that I could manage to operate them if I were careful. My car, a Honda Civic, was automatic so I didn't need to press a clutch pedal, nor did I need to manually change gears, I could drive with one arm provided I didn't have to make rapid sharp turns.

I started the car and slowly backed out of my parking spot. I drove down the exit ramp and explained to the attendant that I couldn't pay since I had lost my pocketbook. He wrote down my name and address, and copied the license plate.

I slowly drove out to the garage onto the street. Fortunately there was not much traffic around. I drove to the hotel under the speed limit, a rare thing for me to do.

There was a sharp turn into the underground parking garage of the hotel, and this was the most difficult maneuver of the entire trip. My hand got twisted on the steering wheel and I had to release it almost causing a collision with the wall. I found an empty space on the lowest level and parked safely.

I breathed a sigh of relief and limped to the elevators.

Fortunately Talia was still behind the counter. "Hi," I said, "I've found some ID for you; it was in my car." I passed over the registration and insurance cards.

She looked the cards and asked, "What was the room number again?"

"417," I said, praying that nothing would go wrong this time.

She typed something into the computer. She picked up two cardkeys from another machine and handed them to me. "There you are, I'm glad we managed to solve your problem. I hope you have a pleasant stay."

"Thank you," I said and limped to the elevator.

At my room I inserted the card key and nervously pulled it up. The green light came on and the door unlocked. My troubles were over!

Or so I thought.

I limped into my room feeling an enormous relief. I couldn't wait to take care of my poor tired body; get it undressed, unbondaged, masturbated, cleaned up and rested.

The room looked very neat, the maid had obviously entered during my absence, made the bed and tidied up.

I opened the closet and saw that my suitcase appeared to be untouched. I dragged it out and lifted it onto the stand. It was lighter than when I arrived since most of the metal it had contained was now locked on me.

I opened it up and my heart seemed to stop; my pocketbook was missing! It contained not only my money and credit cards, but also all the keys to my bondage. I had concealed it in the suitcase so that it would not be stolen.

My eager anticipation of being free from bondage was instantly crushed and replaced with despair; I was completely trapped in my chains and had no way to remove them. At the end of a long and tiring day with all it problems, I felt like giving up. It didn't seem fair; I had struggled all afternoon against adversity, and now, just when I thought all my troubles were at an end, I discovered that they weren't.

I hobbled over to the bed and sat down.

I felt like crying.

I realized it would be pointless to report the theft; the maid would deny it and Talia would back her up. She would say that I had told her that I had left my pocketbook in a shop.

Once more I felt the stirrings of panic at being helplessly trapped in bondage. But this time I was not consoled by an orgasm.


6. In my Hotel Room (added: 09/08/2011)

As I sat on the bed, my panic gradually subsided and I began to think about what I should do.

Among the many thoughts swirling around inside my head, one concerned the suitcase. It had appeared completely undisturbed, exactly as I had left it. Why had the maid looked in it? Maids don't normally search through guests' belongings; they would not last long if they did. And how had she managed to put it back exactly the way I left it?

Then the thought struck me, I couldn't remember putting my pocketbook in the suitcase. I had intended to, but in the excitement of preparing for my walk, in the erotic high of self bondage, I must have forgotten and left it out. That would make more sense; thefts are usually opportunistic rather than planned.

I decided that my number one priority, the only way I was ever going to get free, was to recover my pocketbook. The maid would presumably take my money, possibly the credit cards, but would throw the rest away, including the all important keys. Where would she throw it? Perhaps in the hotel garbage. 'Oh god!' I thought, 'I'm not dressed to go digging in the hotel trash containers. With only one arm, it may not be even be possible. But I have to, I don't see any alternative.'

I began to panic for real. It seemed I was finally and truly trapped.

I tried to think what else I could do. I thought I might buy a hacksaw or bolt cutter to remove my chains. But the maid had stolen my money so I couldn't do that. Even if I had such tools, I knew they were almost impossible for me to use; a bolt cutter required strength and two arms, and my one previous attempt to cut a chain with hacksaw was a dismal failure.

But then a more reasonable plan occurred to me; I would try to speak to the maid. I would tell her that if she returned my pocketbook I would ask no questions, give her 50 dollars reward, and not inform the hotel management. I got up and hobbled to the phone to call housekeeping to get her name and hopefully her telephone number.

I noticed a red light flashing on the phone console. I picked up the phone and dialed the front desk.

"Can I help you?" I recognized Talia's voice.

"There's a flashing red light on my phone," I said. "What does it mean?"

"It means you have a message. I can connect you if you like."

"Thanks."

There were some clicks than I heard the message. "An unauthorized person may have attempted to enter your room this afternoon," a male voice said. "We sent security up to check. He found everything appeared to be in order, but your handbag was open on the desk. There appeared to be money inside so as a precaution he removed it and it is now in the hotel safe. You may come down to the front desk to claim it. We are very sorry for this inconvenience, but the safety of our guests is our first priority. Thank you, and if there is anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable, please let us know."

A wave of relief swept over me; my pocketbook had not been stolen.

My immediate inclination was to go down to the front desk to claim my pocketbook, but I decided I couldn't face Talia. To tell a lie is one thing, but to admit you deliberately lied is a much harder thing to do. I decided I couldn't face the embarrassment; instead I would wait until Talia went off duty before going down to claim my pocketbook. Ryan and Susan had been there in the afternoon, so it would likely be someone who hadn't seen me who would be on duty at night. I decided to rest and claim my pocketbook sometime after midnight.

I was both hungry and thirsty, but without money all I could do was drink two glasses of tap water. I took my burka off and pulled the bed covers down. I laid a towel on the bottom sheet so my boots would not soil it and then lay down to rest. I didn't try to remove any more bondage; I was very tired and I like sleeping in bondage.

I fell asleep.

I didn't get much sleep the previous night, and the day's trials must have totally exhausted me because when I awoke and looked at the clock, it said 8:51. I pushed myself upright and, worried that someone who knew me might come on duty at 9 o'clock, quickly got out of bed and struggled to get my burka on. My left hand was numb, my left arm was tingling and I needed to go to the toilet but I ignored these distractions in my haste to get down to the front desk and claim my pocketbook.

When I finally got dressed and tried to walk, the heel of my boot seemed looser than ever. I couldn't put any pressure in it, and had to limp. When I reached the lobby it was probably after nine. I looked across at the front desk and my worst fears were realized, Ryan was behind the counter. There would be no way to claim my pocketbook from him.

Cursing myself for having overslept, I slowly made my way back up to my room, my useless left hand tingling as it slowly came back to life.

Then I had a brilliant idea; I would get security to return my pocketbook. I telephoned the front desk. "This is Gabrielle Douglas in room 417," I said. "Yesterday someone from security took my pocketbook from my room and put it in the hotel safe. Could I have it back?"

"Certainly madam. If you come down to the front desk I would be happy to give it to you."

"It's rather inconvenient at the moment. Since security took it without my permission, I would like them to bring it back up to me."

"Certainly madam. I'll send someone up with it. But we are rather busy at the moment, it might be a little while."

"That's, OK, I can wait."

"Thank you madam."

I didn't feel like waiting and after I put the phone down thought I should have been more demanding. But I didn't want to create a fuss and draw any additional attention to myself.

I needed to go to the toilet and, from what Ryan had said, it seemed I would have time. I undressed as much as I could, laying my burka, bra and one glove on the bed, then entered the bathroom, automatically closed the door and sat on the toilet draping the loose chain over the side of the seat. While making pee and trying to resist the urges to do the other thing, I looked at the shower. I smiled and thought how wonderful it would be to have a hot shower. I could almost do it in my bondage, the only things I really needed to take off were my boots.

I thought about what to do when my pocketbook was returned. Since I didn't know who would return it I was not sure whether I should be dressed in a burka or in normal clothes, not that I could dress normally with my ankles chained and one hand locked behind my back. I thought the best thing would be to answer the door without opening it and then hide in the bathroom while they put my pocketbook in the bedroom. That meant I should fold my burka up and hide it in a drawer, along with my bra and opera glove which were also lying on the bed.

I finished peeing, dried what I could reach with toilet paper and then stood up. Or at least I tried to but when I had risen about half way my upwards progress suddenly jerked to a stop. Surprised, I sat back down rather quickly, my thigh bands clunking on the toilet seat.

I realized that my loose chain must have caught on something. The chain was a dog collar chain, about two feet long, with welded steel rings at each end. One ring was padlocked to the back of my chastity belt, and the other end had been hanging free. It was the heaviest dog collar chain I could find with welded steel links so I had no hope of breaking it. I had chosen this chain because the links were larger allowing the hasp of some of my padlocks to pass through them.

Earlier that day I had wrapped a few turns snugly around my right wrist and passed the hasp of a padlock through the links to securely trap it.

I tried to feel where the chain was caught but the corset prevented me bending over far enough to feel the end, and my posture collar prevented me looking down. I tried pulling on the chain, and then jerking it. But after several tries with all my strength, I couldn't get it free.

'I don't believe this,' I said to myself. 'I've never heard of anyone being trapped on a toilet seat before, let alone in bondage. The full realization of how badly the chain was caught had not dawned on me, so I didn't panic. Instead I was optimistic that I would be able to somehow get it loose.

The toilet was situated between a wall on the left and the cabinet holding the sink on the right, so I couldn't get off the toilet and sit beside it. But I did manage to lift myself off the toilet and sit on the tile floor near the front of the toilet next to the cabinet. Chained and in ballet, boots it was difficult to get down onto the floor and I bumped the back of my head painfully on the corner of the cabinet.

Once on the floor I wriggled around and managed to see how the chain was trapped and I even managed to get my right hand on the thing that had trapped it. Normally I would be disgusted at the thought of rolling around on the floor of a strange bathroom next to a toilet, but my thoughts were focused on getting free, not on any considerations of hygiene.

There was a short pipe just behind the toilet. It had a small handle on it and a flexible pipe above the handle led up to the water tank. The ring on the end of my chain had become jammed over the handle. I could see that my pulling and jerking would never have freed it.

I tried to pull it off with my fingers but it was stuck fast. I pulled on the chain, but it did not move. I didn't want to jerk the chain too hard, I could imagine a scenario where I would still be trapped, but would have made the pipe leak, and the bathroom would be flooded with water. I guessed that the pipe carried cold water into the toilet tank, and probably had a lot of pressure. Even a small leak would squirt water out.

However, desperation trumps caution and I pulled harder and harder, being prepared to stop at the first sign of a leak. But neither happened, the pipe did not leak and the ring did not come loose.

Now it was time to panic. I was securely trapped in bondage and chained to a toilet in a closed bathroom. My keys, the only means of escape, were in the hotel safe. At some point someone would bring them to the room door and knock. On receiving no answer they would either go away, or possibly enter and leave the keys in the bedroom. In either case they would be inaccessible to me.


7. What Was Left (added: 09/09/2011)

Sitting uncomfortably on the floor next to the toilet and being unable to move was, I think, the lowest point of my life up to that moment. I was trapped and could see no easy way out. But an even lower point awaited me if I could not escape.

I consoled myself with the thought that I wasn't doing to die. The maid would enter the room and discover my shameful state sometime later that morning. I would have to ask her to fetch a locksmith, or maybe a plumber, to free me from the pipe. It would probably be a man, oh the shame! How could I explain my bondaged state to him? I hadn't even removed the ropes around my breasts. And I still had the fake bomb with its hateful message chained to my front. I had intended that to stop me revealing my bondage, but now its effect was likely to be more sinister.

I heard a knock on the door. "Come in," I shouted as loudly as I could presuming that the knock was from a security person. There was silence and the knock was not repeated.

Thinking that it would be best to expose myself to one person rather than the maid and a crowd of others I shouted, "Use your key, come in." I hoped he would have a master key to my room.

Discovery of my bound state now seemed inevitable and imminent. I thought that I would look better sitting on the toilet seat rather than on the floor, so I struggled to a crouching position and sat on the toilet.

I heard the room door open. "In here," I shouted not quite as loudly as before. "I'm in the bathroom."

When there was no response, I continued. "Please bring it into the bathroom."

The bathroom door began to open. For an instant I had a vision that a masked intruder was about to enter and attack me. But it was Ryan who appeared. My instinct was to try to cover my breasts since my metal thong covered my more private parts, but instead, and more wisely, I used my free hand to cover the inflammatory writing on my bomb.

Ryan froze as soon as he caught a glimpse of me.

This was one of my worst nightmares; being discovered while helpless in bondage and almost nude. But although I was acutely embarrassed, my brain did not freeze. "It's OK," I said encouragingly, "You can come in. Please hand me my pocketbook."

"Are you OK?" Ryan asked as he hesitatingly took a step into the bathroom.

"Yes I'm OK. I just have a little problem. I need something that's in that pocketbook."

Ryan held it out towards me. I could see that he had overcome his initial shock and was examining me, I could see his eyes roving over my protruding and discolored breasts, down past to my partially concealed chastity belt, puzzling over my thigh bands and lingering on my fetish boots. I wondered why he had come in person instead of sending someone from security. Perhaps he was hoping to satisfy the desire he had exhibited when he checked me into the hotel.

I didn't want to raise my hand to take my pocketbook; that would have exposed the writing on the bomb. So I said, "Put it next to the sink."

He placed on the side of sink within reach of my right hand.

"Thank you," I said. I did not want to use his name; he might take it as an encouragement. "You can go now."

"Are you sure you're OK?"

"Yes I'm sure. I'll be fine. You can go now."

Ryan began to leave. He paused and turned at the door, perhaps to get another eyeful of my bound nudity, and said, "If there's anything you need, anything at all, please give me a call."

"Thank you. Yes I'll call you if I need anything."

Ryan closed the door and I heard the room door close. Worried that my keys would be missing, it was certainly possible given the way the day had gone, I opened my pocketbook and checked to see if they were inside. They were. I touched them with my fingers. For the first time in many hours, it felt like days, I had the keys to my freedom.

I didn't release myself immediately; I wanted to savor the moment. I was also a little afraid that Ryan might be lurking in the bedroom and wanted to wait to make sure he had left.

I sat and thought about the major traumatic event I had just experienced: discovery while in bondage. It was something that I had always been afraid of, a possibility that had added danger and excitement to my public walks. But now that it had finally happened, I was somehow relieved. It hadn't been as bad as it could have been; I had not been touched or molested.

My self-bondage had been gradually escalating in severity and danger over the last couple of years so that discovery had perhaps been inevitable. In a sense I was glad that it had happened. Perhaps in future I would be more prudent and not feel the need to push myself to extremes. I had now achieved one of self-bondage's major unplanned milestones along with being completely trapped and having an orgasm without masturbation.

I unlocked the loose chain from my chastity belt and stood up. I hobbled into the bedroom to reassure myself that Ryan had left. Taking my scissors from the suitcase I cut the rope binding my breasts, and then unlocked the rest of my bondage.

I checked out of the hotel later that morning and drove home; I had decided it would be best to spend the remainder of my bondage vacation at home.

I did leave one thing behind, and as far as I know it is still there. So if you ever stay in room 417 of a downtown hotel and find a chain neatly wound around a water pipe behind the toilet, you will know who was there. But please, don't tell anyone, let it be our secret.