Alicia's Long Weekend

The Point of No Return

    She pressed the levers and spring loaded plungers pierced twin co2 cartridges.

    The long, loose cuffs inflated around her arms, forcing moulded plastic grips into matching slots in her wrist cuffs. They could be deflated with a simple needle used to inflate basketballs – and the only one was in the sealed envelope on the bed above.

    A yellow pixel blinked in her display and she made sure her ass was clear as, after three blinks, the door fell with a racketing clatter.

    There was no way out now. No way out except up – and the only way to go up required binding herself even more.

    A light flashed green and then the self-restraint program started. The countdown reset. She had one minute to comply and punishment was set to moderate.

    First, it demanded a keyboard test. She typed "the swift fox jumped over the lazy brown dog". She then moved the "mouse" using the 3D controller built into the right paddle. Like the helmet, these were seriously well-tested; the only thing really new about them were the inflatable cuffs.

    She stepped forward – her vision amplified a little by the virtual reality goggles. A text prompt told her to step up onto the table.

    It was simple, squarish and precisely the size to fit in the space under her bed upstairs. The support pedestal didn't even creak. Four cables rose from each corner, slightly slack. They were supported by four small but powerful twelve volt winches run off converters with battery backups. They, in turn, were controlled by the system computer which was also in the bedroom, upstairs, inside her wardrobe.

    Which was locked. With an antique key. Which was in the envelope on her bed. Ordinarily she'd make this even more of a challenge by scattering her release items all over the house and yard, but she wasn't sure how well she'd be able to manage that after three days. It had not been a lot of fun after two days.

    Her kink really didn't require her confinements to be fun. But the challenges had to be possible because she really did not want to be rescued.

    "Molested." What DID Sarah mean by "molested?"

    She wiggled her feet into the guides – essentially rubber lined cutouts in the bed that she could easily feel. They guided her ankles into shackles. They snapped shut with the aid of modified rat-traps firmly seated in the molded silicone channel around her ankles. Now she squatted a little. There was a shaft coming up between her legs and all she had to do was work the steel ball joint into the matching socket in the base of the dildo molded into her belt...

    There was a soft snap. It wasn't a terribly powerful fucking machine – but it was supposed to be a reward, not a punishment. Of course, she'd never tried it with the belt and the electrostim and the vibrator.

    She wondered what she would have to do to make all that happen at once. It certainly wasn't probable – but it wasn't unlikely, either. Not if her time stretched into days.

    She'd seen videos of forced orgasms that lasted for entire minutes. It terrified her, but in a way that made her embrace the risk. It was possible as a reward and as a punishment.

    The padded table had holes where her feet, breasts, face and crotch would lie, and divots in the padding so that her hips were supported. She could move her legs fairly freely – the shackle chains allowed her to spread her legs wide or squeeze them together. Right now she was standing in the pockets intended for her feet – and that allowed everything else to line up.

    There were two large, thick clear silicone cups waiting for her breasts, with throats designed to mate with the metal and plastic sockets that looked like huge, exaggerated nipples. A suction pump started and gently drew her breasts into what amounted to an automatic milker, where the ridges on her bra's "nipples" snapped into the throat of the cups.