TIFU By having to call my landlord to get me out of self-bondage

This happened monday morning. I shared the story with a friend of mine and they told me I had to post it here. So here goes.

I’m into bondage. I’m kinky. I have a LOT of gear ranging from the mild (handcuffs, buttplugs, blindfolds) to extreme (armbinders, sleep sacks, hoods), and I also own quite a few latex catsuits. To accentuate my figure and bend the gender lines one of the suits I own features rather large breast forms. I tend to pair this with a latex underbust corset cinched tight, ballet boots, and all the gear I can get into on my own. 

This was how my Monday started. Shaved smooth, loads of baby powder on my skin and the inside of the latex suit and I was under way. 

The self-bondage release was a timed lock that would pop open once the timer ran out (one hour), which would allow me enough freedom to slide my hands out of the leather mitts I planned to lock them in. 

I outfitted myself further before the final steps were taken. The zipper on the crotch of the suit was left open, so that I could lock myself into a chastity device. An inflatable, vibrating buttplug eased itself into me. I slid the zipper towards my crotch, helping seal the plug in. This was one of my favorites. With the help of a few black straps (locked on of course) a Hitachi wand would buzz away mercilessly on the device, keeping me aroused, on edge, and once I achieved orgasm would keep me enduring the stimulation. This was my favorite part. I looked forward to it all week when I planned my newest adventure.

I applied a few leather straps to my ankles, calves, and thighs (also locked on!) before I moved to fully restraining myself. A metal chain was locked to the strap securing my ankles together and was left to secure me in my hogtie.

A form fitting open-mouth style leather hood sealed me into darkness (locked on of course) and a ball-gag completed the look (locked on, to be safe I made sure the gag could be pushed out with force).

A heavy, thick, black leather posture collar was added (with two locks) around my neck. The chain that I previously added to the piece dangled behind me, holding the mitts, and swayed around the small of my back.

I turned onto my stomach, located the chain from my collar with the mitts attached, and the chain from my ankles and locked them together. This forced me into a hogtie.

I threaded the timed locked through attachment points on the mitts and the chain. The *beep* confirmed the timer had started. I flipped the wand on for stimulation, and carefully slipped my hands into the mitts. I had practiced this before, and found that the angle my arms and hands were held in would allow me to get into my bondage, but the locked mitts would cinch more once I applied my weight to them. This was key: since I now had to wait for the lock to time out, pop open, and allow me the use of my hands.

Every lock I used (14 in total) had a key that sat a few feet away in a secondary lock box that was also set to open in an hour. I did this on the off chance that I wiggled free in some unforeseen way. I would still be left in all my gear, waiting to get back to the keys. 

I wasn’t positive I would hear either the timed locked or the ring on the lockbox go off. I also set an alarm on my phone as an added alert.

I loved the hogtie, loved feeling my breast forms in the suit, loved the buzzing off the wand as it kept me on edge for my entire ordeal. 

My phone went off. Shaking me out of my bondage induced haze. I could hear the hum of the fan and feel the breeze on my hooded and gagged face. I jingled my mitted hands to wiggle the lock free (like I practiced a dozen times). No such luck. I took a breather. Resting my head caused me to wallow in the drool caused from my ball-gag. I wiggled again, pulling on the mitts caused my ballet boots to bend towards my shiny, stuffed ass. Again, nothing was freeing itself. My mitts should have come loose by now, allowing slack to slide my hands free (like I practiced a dozen times!). 

Maybe that wasn’t an alarm? Was someone calling me? When you spend an hour the way I spent my last hour, you hear things, you’re not thinking exactly straight.

I wiggled some more. I knew I was in trouble when my alarm went off again, fifteen minutes later.

—–

I live in a moderately populated state capital. On a busy road, above a tattoo shop, which my landlord owns. I see her frequently. Tall, thin, blonde. Lots of tattoos, always cheerful with a wonderful smile. A single mother of two. She’s a badass.

I knew she was in her shop seeing customers. That was a little bit of the thrill for me in doing what I was doing. It was also a layer of safety. I stewed in my self-inflicted hogtie of shame for a while. I never thought I would need to do what I was about to do.

I managed to push the gag out of my mouth, and squirmed to my phone. Without use of fingers I had to ask google to call the shop. My phone wouldn’t bypass the alarm, instead my Google home lit up.

“Rivers Tattoo and Microblading, how may I help you?” It was my landlord. Thank god. Was this the easy part? During this entire fiasco the wand is buzzing away on my crotch, rattling the padlock, teasing me both literally and figuratively *nice going, moron*

“Hey Lauren? It’s Morgan upstairs….”

“Oh hey, what’s going on? Why are you calling the shop?”

I fumbled over my words, not knowing where or how to even remotely begin to describe how stupid I am and what exactly she was going to walk into.

“Wait, so you need me to come upstairs?” She asked after I explained, clumsily, that I was in a rather compromising predicament.

“With the key to the front door. And I can’t apologize enough for what you’re about to see. This is absolutely humiliating, and I am so sorry for putting you in this position, but it was either call you, or 911…”

The phone hung up. I listened intently for her footsteps traversing the staircase. Keys rattled. The door swung open and creaked. I scanned the room as if I would somehow be able to see beyond the hood.

“Holy shit, you weren’t…jesus…how the hell did you get yourself into this?!”

I didn’t even bother answering. I apologized over and over. The wand kept buzzing. Her view must have been quite the sight. 

“Stop saying you’re sorry. I’m just happy you’re not harmed. Thank god I was here today! Are you okay?”

She asked what she needed to do. I asked her to shut the wand off, and apologized again. I had been leaking a lot of precum in the device and I knew there was a lot of fluid down there. I was a mess. The low hum of the plug grabbed her attention, she commented on not even wanting to know *what this was for.* I figured she meant the black hose and bulb.

I explained that the lock failed to open. It usually pops free and open when the timer ends. Like it has twenty times before. 

*Everytime I did a dry run* 

But it was still jammed. So we moved to the container with the keys in it. They all looked the same, the keys, but only one key opened one lock. I told her once she found the ones to my mitts, I could do the rest. I figured she would rifle through them. But instead tried every lock with the key she chose. It was agonizing, lying there, hooded and exposed. I asked if she just wanted to try each key in the mitts, but she didn’t seem to care to speed this process up. I wondered what the look on her face was. 

Amusement? Disgust? Embarrassment? Indignation? I never was one to push my kinks onto people. And here I am. Giving her an eyeful. 

Finally she popped the mitts free. I was sore. My shoulders burned, my calves ached from the ballet boots.

She made a joke about the rent being due and this not being an excuse for late payment. She laughed. I was relieved that she wasn’t totally mortified, angry, anything negative.

I apologized once more, and she headed back down the stairs while I thumbed through the rest of the keys to undo my hood and suit. I desperately needed a shower and a reset. 


TL;DR Lock failed in my self bondage. Had to call my landlord to free me.