My name is - well, let's say it’s Alice. I'm average height, average build, curvy but with big breasts, as it happens. I have brown hair, which I wear short, full lips, a small, upturned nose, a round face with high cheekbones. I'm married, and my husband and I love each other very much.

We have an unconventional love life, which I hope to illustrate here. The purpose of this writing is erotic - I want to turn you on and, in doing so, I expect to turn myself on as well. I find the written word highly stimulating, and I hope you do too.

Let me start by describing my situation, from inside to out, as it were - that sounds odd, but hopefully it will make sense as I proceed. So, to begin…

I am wearing a waist cincher, or waspie, made of thick, black, shiny rubber, which hugs me ever so tightly from hips to chest, emphasising my curves, presenting my bare breasts dramatically. I'm also wearing black rubber stockings. Apart from that, I am naked. Apart, that is, from my bondage.

Half my face is obscured by the leather panel gag, held in place by the straps which run across my cheeks, forehead, and over my scalp to the nape of my neck, where they are buckled oh so tightly. There is no possibility of me breathing through my mouth, the gag is pressed so firmly against my skin, forming an airtight seal. Breathing, and the possibility of crying out, is further restricted by the thick rubber protrusion on the inside of the gag which fills my oral cavity to the point of discomfort, it having been inflated until it presses against the roof and floor of my mouth, forcing my jaws wide and my cheeks to bulge against the straps. To ensure that my nasal passages do not become blocked and threaten me with suffocation, short pipes have been pushed into them, making my nostrils flare wide, like some startled animal.

My arms are pulled together behind my back, held in the embrace of a rubber arm binder, buckled and strapped until my forearms lie against each other, elbows touching. Straps holding it in place lie across my chest, restricting my breathing even further.

My legs are bent behind me, leather belts holding each ankle against its corresponding thigh, resulting in a strict frog-tie. Further straps around my thighs and calves, and a short spreader bar locked just above my knees, ensure that I had no movement in my legs.

A leather strap runs from the back of the waspie, between my thighs, and is buckled at the front. It holds in place a painfully large butt plug and a vibrator which fills my vagina and also presses against my clitoris, buzzing quietly, gently, but persistently. In response, my strictly restrained body rocks gently from side to side, while my breasts heave from my laboured breathing.

I am lying on my back, inside a small wooden box, looking up through a glass lid. The box is so small that I feel it against my knees and the top of my head, and it is so shallow that the glass surface presses down on my body, squashing my breasts until they are virtually flat. By now, my body is slick with sweat in the confined, stuffy, airless space, beading on my forehead and causing my deformed breasts to slide wetly against the cool glass.

Through the glass, I can see the layout of our living room and, as they stand around me, chatting, our party guests. I am imprisoned inside a table, specially constructed by my husband for this very purpose. I am inches from all my friends and work colleagues, on display, yet nobody can see me. The glass above me, which forms the surface of the table, is a one-way mirror, allowing me to see them, in their fine frocks as they eat and drink, exchanging gossip, but they cannot see me, in my bondage as I chew on my rubber dummy, desperately trying not to give myself away.

I see my next-door neighbour, Margot, talking animatedly to the vicar’s wife, discussing the next bring-and-buy sale. I hear my husband explaining my non-appearance.

"I'm afraid she’s indisposed and, despite her protests, I made her go and lie down. I know she really wanted to be here, but I'm sure she's here with us in spirit.” I smile behind the gag at these carefully chosen words.

I begin to feel my orgasm building, unstoppably, inexorably, but I have to fight it. If it seizes control of me, and I thrash and scream as I desire, even the tightness of my bondage will not prevent the rocking of the table being visible to those around me, or my pathetic whimpers being audible across the room. I must force myself to remain motionless, silent, though every instinct is driving me in the exact opposite direction.

I screw my eyes tight shut, I bite down hard on the rubber bung filling my mouth, I press my fingernails into the palms of my hands inside the arm binder. Anything to try and control the urge to cry out, to buck my hips against the confines of my prison, isolating me yet leaving me so vulnerable to exposure.

Against expectation, the moment passes, and I am left panting and sweating in a post orgasmic funk. I watch the party progress around me, above me, just waiting. The next climax seems even more painful, even more difficult to contain. And the next. And then the next…

At last the party is breaking up. In just a few minutes, I will be freed, and will be making mad, passionate love to my darling husband as his reward for giving me this incredible experience, fulfilling one of my all-time fantasies in the most incredible way. The room empties, I hear all the ‘goodbye’s and ‘thank you so much for a lovely time’s, then the front door closing, and now…

"Well, well, well, I think this game of hide and seek has gone on long enough." Margot? What is she still doing here? I see her approaching the table, looking down, looking straight at me, as if the reflective mirror glass had become transparent. I watch her bend down , reach to the side of the table, release a catch, and then lift the table’s surface! She is staring straight at me, with nothing between her and my naked, bound body! How can this be?! Where is my husband?!

"You look very hot and sweaty, Alice, darling. Let's get you out of there." I look down and see her releasing the straps which keep my legs bent double, removing the spreader bar between my knees, straightening out my latex-clad limbs and gently massaging life back into the aching muscles.

"What a naughty girl you are, playing such games with all your guests! It really is a bit unfair. I, for one, intend to teach you a little lesson." She takes something from her pocket and reaches for my breasts. She has a pair of clamps, and she squeezes them onto my nipples, making sure they are painfully tight. Taking up the chain between them, she pulls on it, forcing me to sit up, and then to stagger to my feet, as the metal teeth dig deeper into my sensitive flesh.

"As you like games so much, Alice, let's go back to my place and play a few of my games. I have to warn you though - I play rough." She leads me through the house and into the street, closing my front door behind us and dragging me towards her house.

I look back desperately. Where is my beautiful husband?! Why is he allowing this?! What is Margot intending to do with me?!

As she tugs viciously on the chain once more, I stumble after her, realising I have no choice. My fantasy has become someone else's fantasy…