This is Why: Bondage Belongs in the Bedroom

(All Individuals mentioned in this story are over the age of 18+ and consented to the activities mentioned.)

I don’t think of myself as the smartest or most cautious person when it comes to certain bondage escapades. I get into way too many sticky situations that I always panic from and try my best to get away from. Despite this repetitive behavior, I still fall for red flags like  I’m colorblind. This most recent bondage adventure was one I was familiar with, but this time, the challenges and risks were considerable. 

I am about to start my third public bondage walk while working as a bondage model/escort. The man who commissioned me was very confident in how this walk would go and that we would both benefit in some way from it. I’ve done a few on my own, but this one seemed very thorough and very unique. This walk was different; it was a lot more adventurous and perhaps a little dangerous. I dared myself to push beyond my limits, to walk in real bondage and sexier clothes than usual.

My client wanted me to walk through the center of a busy town in restrictive bondage wearing high-heeled boots and a short skirt (the highest heels and the shortest skirt I have ever worn in public). The bondage hopefully will be invisible, or at least not noticeable, to passers by. The bondage will be real and, once I start the walk, inescapable. I will have to walk to where he has hidden his spare keys to my bondage, retrieve them and walk back to his car. We chose this little town a ways away because I cannot afford my adventure to be witnessed by any of my friends or coworkers, and I don't think any of them live there

'Are you ready?' he asks me at the edge of town. 'Yes' I reply with determination. I have spent too much time and energy to reach this point to chicken out now. I have already chickened out once  and if I chicken out again I will never forgive myself.

He places black leather cuffs around my wrists and elbows, and buckles it as tightly as he can. I am now breathing hard with excitement and feel the restrictions of my corset. I lean forward,  fighting my collar which is trying to choke me. My skirt is so short that my garters and black panties are now fully exposed. I wore black thigh high socks with tall heels, a purple mini-skirt, and a black jacket to hide the bondage but still get some curves and cleavage showing. He spins me around and pushes some socks I had brought into my mouth, sealing them with black tape, before finishing the look with a black facemask. He attaches padlocks to my cuffs and I am now committed to my walk.

I begin my walk, heading towards this small town's busiest center and I feel an instant rush of arousal tinged with panic! I have really done it now! I cannot use my hands and am now committed to walking through the center of the town in full bondage to where he hid the spare keys. I even have to walk back the same way.

Standing up straight I test my bondage. My black leather collar, which is snug around my neck, is locked to a back strap that runs down under the top laces of my corset and is then padlocked to the back of my cuffs. My bondage is nicely balanced. To avoid pressure on my throat I have to stand with good upper body posture (my tightly-laced boned corset ensures good lower body posture); I cannot hunch or lean very far forward. My wrists are held firmly down ensuring I can’t wiggle or struggle too much..

This is not my only bondage. The base of each of my breasts is bound with a harness of braided nylon rope. This harness bondage, as well as the short skirt and high heels, was suggested by some by my dom, to add some arousal and spice things up. At least I get to keep my bra on for this one underneath the coat. My breasts are not tightly bound; pain is not the objective of this adventure, but I can certainly feel them. I can move them just enough to grab the keys when I find them.

My boots are also a form of bondage. He wanted to bind my legs, which for me normally means chaining my ankles together with a short chain. In public this would be only possible in a floor-length skirt, but then the bondage would be revealed by the tiny steps I would be forced to take. Instead I decided to wear very high heels that could not be removed. These, in combination with a short skirt that would be too revealing if I sat down, seemed a reasonable substitute. Since my hands would not be free to protect me if I fell, I decided to wear boots that give ankle support. Since I didn't have boots with very high heels I went online and searched.

I found some killer ankle boots on ebay. They had 5-inch stiletto heels but what really attracted me, and turned me on, was the ankle strap that was secured with two silver padlocks that prevented their removal. I bid on them and bought them. When they arrived I was surprised to find how comfortable they were.

But when dressing for the public walk last weekend I decided that the very visible padlocks were a bit too much, and might lead people to discover my other bondage. I was told by my dom that this walk required me to wear high-heeled boots, so I didn’t bring the locks for them. I thought of another way to fasten the boots on so they could not be removed. We used black zip ties that were cut to keep the boots on, but keep the binding basically invisible.

Like I said before, my attire is intended to have a Goth look: black leather collar, black coat, dark purple miniskirt, black stockings held up by my garterbelt and black ankle boots. My hair for this evening was kept pretty tame and makeup was of course a heavy dose of black eyeliner and dark purple eyeshadow.

As I finish checking the balance between the pull of my cuffs and that of my backstrap (not that I can do anything about it if my dom somehow made a mistake), I hear someone approaching. I freeze and keep my back to them; I am not prepared to meet anyone yet. As the footsteps die away I take several deep breaths, or as deep as my corset allows, and tell myself, “This is it. The sooner you start the sooner you will finish. Every journey begins with a single step.”

I walk away from my dom who slowly follows me from a great distance and almost immediately foresee my first problem. My miniskirt is so short (some would call it a micro mini) that it barely conceals my panties (I couldn't pull the skirt down even if my hands could grasp its hem).

I head towards the first building at the edge of this town and am relieved that no one is around. I listen for sounds to come from around the corner but no one seems to be coming. I haven't walked wearing these boots before and I will have to be careful not to fall. I try to hold the walls but can't get a good grip with my fingers alone.

Suddenly I hear voices, and I think someone is coming! Panic strikes me, what to do? I freeze with both feet and press my knees together hoping to conceal my panties. A young couple, both maybe in their mid twenties, round a corner. As soon as they see me they stop talking.

As they pass the women asks, "Are you alright?"

I shake my head in a yes motion, nervously moving past them and not looking back. I realize that the woman must have seen, or sensed, my fear. My stupid gag made it impossible to respond! This was such bad timing. I could tell the man was looking at my legs and then at my breasts, before they too continued their walk.

As I enter the moonlit street I instinctively try to smooth my miniskirt down, but can't do it even with my fingers at full stretch. I set out towards the old town center. I can feel the constrictions on my bondage, my corset, harness, cuffs, collar, and back strap. I am in a heightened state, aroused and excited, yet nervous about my appearance and afraid of discovery. I am breathing rapidly and shallowly, and consciously try to slow my breathing and calm myself. I wonder what passers by think of me, and avoid looking at them. I try to reassure myself that they cannot detect what's under my clothes.

I am also taking very short steps. I tell myself this is no way to walk. I should walk with confidence; step out boldly, or at least as boldly as I can in these boots. I should look up and stop looking down. I should not care about what people think of me, the thoughts of strangers will never hurt me. I look up and take longer steps, rolling my hips a little (the corset prevents my rolling them a lot) and try to walk like a model down a runway showing off my clothes. I immediately feel better, I am no longer afraid of people, and feel that I could even make eye contact if I wanted to.

I walk the two blocks into the town center and find the streets blocked off for an outdoor  exhibition. This is a pleasant surprise. Why do this at night I thought. I guess it wasn’t too late, only like 8pm. The night was mild in temperature and not too cold, perfect for a stroll around the exhibition to absorb some culture. Why not? Might see something worth coming back for. Luckily, with many artists around, even my outlandish attire will not seem too out of place. I decided to walk around the exhibition rather than going directly to the hidden keys.

There are a variety of artists; painters, potters, woodworkers, crafters, and at least one sculptor. I stroll slowly around examining the booths from a safe distance. But as time passes and no one hassles me, I gain confidence in my appearance. As I walk around looking at the various paintings and crafts, I feel perfectly safe. My confidence in my appearance increases and my main concern is that I have to be careful where I place my feet.

Stopping opposite one artist's booth, I pull gently upon my cuffs, keeping my fingers pressed down on the skirt to prevent it riding up. I begin to wonder if anyone nearby can see what I'm doing. Becoming concerned, I resume my walk and act as normal as possible.

Most of the painters have portrayed pretty scenes; flowers and idealized landscapes, but I find one that has painted surrealist nudes. They interest me and I enter the booth to examine them more closely. They are executed in bright colors and have lots of fine, but abstract detail, indicating that the artist really cared about his work.

I am standing close to one work that appears to represent two females on a bed, or perhaps a single female with a mirror behind, and am studying it trying to figure out the meaning of the composition when I hear a voice close behind my left shoulder.

"That's one of my favorites."

I turn and look at the speaker. He is young and clean-shaven, not the bearded artist I would have imagined. He has a friendly face and pleasant voice and without thinking, I gave him a smile using my eyes before departing, to avoid any conversation. I could tell he wanted to flirt a little, but I could see my dom in the background, reminding me of my bondage and warning me to walk away. I wonder what he thought of me. Perhaps, because of my short skirt and high heels he thought I was some kind of slut.

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

I move on, heading towards my keys when I spot what I thought was a coworker. She is not in my department but works a few offices down. I freeze. I don't want to be seen by her. There is no way she is who I think she is, and this has to be some kind of mistake.  If she recognizes me then my sexy outfit and enlarged breasts might become the talk of the office for months. Fortunately she hasn't spotted me. I turn around and walk as quickly as I can back the way I came. When I am sure I am out of her sight I cross over the road and reverse direction. Looking back, I doubt it was who I thought it was.

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

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

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

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

Leaving the art exhibition, I slowly walked the few blocks towards the courtyard where my dom hid the keys. For the first time I became really worried that the key might not be there. What do I do if they are missing? I find myself walking a little faster. Why did he leave it so far away? My original plan was to only walk about half a mile and I have already gone further than that. 

I run into a huge problem, one my dom didn’t expect. The area he described, where my key had been hidden, was now closed off to construction. There was no way I could enter and find the keys without drawing attention.

It'll still be all right,' I reassure myself, I can sit down and wait for my dom to approach and free me. Except I can't sit down in public; my panties would be exposed. And even if I could find a private place to sit, my miniskirt would ride up to reveal everything. I wouldn't be able to get it back down and would be in really serious trouble. As I approach a place to wait for my dom, a man seems to be following me. There is no one else around, so I don't stop and keep on walking. I turn left at the next intersection but he keeps on going straight. He was not following me after all. I think this experience is making me paranoid.

I breathe a sigh of relief, wait a couple of minutes then start walking back to an agreed meeting spot we set up in case of emergency. My need to pee is becoming more urgent and I can't walk as fast as earlier. My feet are hurting and the cuffs are also beginning to bother me. It is past time to end this adventure. When I reach the meeting spot, My dom approaches, letting me know he placed another key behind a nearby newspaper vending machine. I grunt in frustration at him but decide to make my way there next. Luckily, it wasn’t far at all.

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

Holding the key firmly in the fingers of my right hand (I don't know what I will do if I drop it), I begin the long walk back to the car. Going back to the car is easier than the beginning trip had been, or at least it would be if my legs weren't so tired. I simply check that no one is around to follow me then begin my walk.

When I reach the car I find I can't get the key in the locks to my cuffs, the sticky tape has wrapped itself tightly around the key. I suppose my death grip on the key was the main culprit. I try to get the tape off with the fingers, but the tape has stuck to itself and I can't seem to make any progress.

I think it will help if I can get both my hands into the action, and to do that I must pull my skirt down and move to the front of the car, where, between the car and the brick wall parked in front of it, I am largely shielded from public view. Fighting my collar, I try to push my skirt down but I can't, I just cannot reach.

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

God, this is awful! Here I am at what should be the end of my adventure, back at the car having safely completed my walk and retrieved the key, but I CAN'T GET INTO THE CAR. Where on Earth is my dom to help me? However, despite this turmoil, the feeling of desperation, coupled with my struggles, have a surprising effect. I start to get horny, like really turned on. The pain and pleasure is enough to get me to actually climax, causing me to lay on the hood of my dom's car.

I lie there thinking that the entire adventure was worth it for this moment, this time of merging with the universe, aches and pains forgotten, swept away by the orgasmic waves sweeping through my body. After it is over I lie in a semi blissful state thinking that I have at least found a way to get my weight off my feet. I wonder how long it will take to get the tape off the key.

The key! In a rising panic I realize I am no longer holding the key. I must have dropped it! I quickly stood up. There it is on the dirty concrete floor partially under the front of the car. I really don't want to get down on the dirty floor to pick it up, but I don't think I have any option. I'm sure the back of my skirt has ridden up so there is no way I could walk back to the courtyard to get the other key, even if my legs and feet would take me that far.

I have an idea. Perhaps the sticky tape will stick to the sole of my boot, then I can raise it to my hand and grab the key. It doesn't work, the tape seems to be sticking mostly to itself and to the key, and certainly does not want to stick to my boot. Reluctantly I kneel down. I try bending forward to pick up the key with my mouth, but I can't. I’m gagged, remember? The combination of my corset and back strap prevents me leaning far enough, there is no alternative to lying down.

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

I continue to scratch away at the tape with my right hand. At last, after what seems like several painful minutes, I think I have removed all the tape from the part of the key that goes into the lock. I cautiously move my wrists and fingers to position the key with the padlock.

It works! I am able to remove the padlocks and using my fingers, undo the straps on the cuffs, finally freeing myself. Just as I do, my dom bears his snarky face around the corner, chuckling and congratulating me on a job well done. I glance at him angrily, still gagged. He helps me undo the rest and puts me in the front seat of his car. We drove away, heading to where he picked me up. Funnily enough, I forgot to remove my gag the entire drive home. I guess that was one freedom and I didn’t need to fight for at the moment.