Crawling under the bed was out of the question, I could barely squeeze my head in the gap. Pulling the bed away from the wall was not an option either. I remembered well that when it had been delivered, it had to be assembled in place to make it fit into its niche. No chance in hell I would be able to move it. My breath caught. I was trapped! Fuck!

Panic set in and I started to hyperventilate. Struggling wildly against my bonds, I flopped around on the floor like a stranded fish. The room was filled by the din of the rattling of chains, creaking leather and my muted screams. I only stopped when I became lightheaded. For a few minutes, I lay wheezing while I tried to get a grip on my nerves. I needed to assess my options calmly. Preferably without having a vibrator in its last throes stuck in my pussy. Life’s not fair.

Maybe I could use a broom to fish for the bunch of keys. The problem was, I stored my cleaning materials in the apartment’s cellar compartment, five flights of stairs down. Even if I endured my bondage for a couple more hours to wait for the wee hours of the morning, I stood little chance to make the trip undetected. Rather, I’d break my neck trying to navigate the stairs. In my current predicament, I was an accident waiting to happen.

No, there was no other resort. I had to admit defeat and call for help. Leni was my closest friend. Better yet, she was not prone to gossip. A fair amount of embarrassment and humiliation was to be expected, but that prospect actually excited me for some unfathomable reason. I had felt attracted to Leni in a non-platonic way for some time now. Maybe this was the nudge I needed to finally come clean with her. And introduce her to my fetish. Maybe she even shared it … How exactly I was going to explain my predicament over the phone while unable to speak I did not know. Yet. One step at a time.

Using the bed for support, I struggled to my feet and started hunting for my mobile. I found it in the kitchen next to the sink, where I had plugged it in to recharge. I turned around and bent backward over the counter. My questing fingers only just reached the counter’s top while the chain linking my cuffs to the collar nearly choked me. Splendid!

Working by touch alone, I located the phone and tapped the screen to wake it up. Yet, when I faced the sink again it was still black. I repeated the painful exercise – silently cursing all persons involved in the development, design, manufacture, sales, and distribution of this smartphone - multiple times, without better success. It had to be that my latex gloves somehow interfered with my ability to operate the touch screen. What now?

Bending forward at the hip I tapped the phone with my nose. Yay, that worked! What didn’t work was convincing the stupid phone to unlock by glancing at it. Obviously, nobody had thought to test the face recognition algorithm with someone whose features were distorted by a huge harness ball gag. Figures! I admit to getting a little aggravated at this point. However, I had more pressing concerns than to throw another tantrum.

Seething inside, I laboriously started to enter the pin with my nose. Why oh why had I used an eight-digit code? With my head kept immovable by the posture collar and my torso held rigid by the corset, all movement had to come from the hips and thighs. They proved quite inadequate to provide the fine motor control required for the task. Especially, with me bent awkwardly over the counter and squinting along my nose to somehow make out the screen which also was partially obscured by the straps of the gag harness. By the time I finally succeeded, the muscles in my back screamed from the strain. I just had to rest for a moment.

When I straightened up, I somehow lifted up the phone as well and tossed it into the air. It described an elegant arc before it plunged straight into a water-filled pot that sat in the sink. No way! For a moment I stood dumbstruck while my mind scrambled to catch up with what just happened. Presumably, the charger cord must have become entangled with the front ring of my collar. Straightening up, I had launched the phone by its cord before both decided to part ways. Naturally, my phone had found no better landing site than the pot I had left soaking to clean burnt rice off its bottom.

As theories go, this one was pretty solid. It depended on a few, reasonable assumptions. It explained all the pertinent facts. And it did not help me at all. With my scientific curiosity satisfied, I gave myself over to another bout of rage.

After I had exhausted my considerable inventory of expletives, fury gave way to desperation. Not only was my rather expensive mobile toast, but I had squandered my chance to ask Leni for help. Maybe now was the time to become religious and pray for salvation? Despondent, I slid to the ground. My sobbing was the only sound that penetrated the silence.

Sometime later, I realized I was working my way through the classic stages of acceptance. Ain’t nobody got time for that. Spurred by the pain in my jaws and feet, I short-circuited to the acceptance stage. Embarrassing as it was, I had to ask my neighbors for help. Fortunately, both marginally acceptable choices were living on the next floor.

First, there was ... what’s-his-name, the shy graduate student. I barely acknowledged him but his eyes followed me whenever we met. We had talked only once and I had been intrigued to learn that his area of research was knots. That is until I realized he was a mathematician by trade and knots had to be n-dimensional to rouse his interest. At least he was about my age and seemed nice enough.

Vicky was the other choice. A few years older than me, she epitomized much of what I wanted to be but was too sensible to go for. She sported some prominent tattoos and piercings, with probably quite a few more hidden from view. On her they looked good, reinforcing her commanding presence.

Where I dressed sensibly, she went for an edgy look. She did not even shy away from latex. Admittedly, it definitely complimented her spectacular figure. She liked loud music and liked her music loud, as I could nolens-volens attest to. I did not know exactly what she did for a living, but I supposed she worked in a field where the word ‘creative’ constitutes an acceptable part of one’s job title.

I struggled to my feet. No point in delaying the inevitable. But whom to turn to? By the time I had teetered to my apartment’s front door, I still did not know. Maybe one of them was not even at home. I shuddered at the thought that both might have gone out. If worst came to worst, should I return to the safety of my apartment or continue on down to spook one of the petty-bourgeois families with their annoying kids? At least, I could serve as an instructive, cautionary example for them ...

I turned the handle with my elbow and opened the door a crack. Peeping through and listening carefully, I was relieved to find the stairwell deserted. I grabbed my keys from the dresser and quickly ventured out. I left the door ajar to allow for a quick retreat.

The safest way down was probably to slide down the stairs on my bottom, dignity be damned. But then, which doorbell to ring? Vicky’s or what’s-his-name’s? I could not afford to become paralyzed by indecision now. Forward momentum! I resolved to further deliberate the question on my way down.

Each step I bumped onto jolted the dead vibrator in my pussy and reminded me of my folly. Today, my decisions had consistently proven suboptimal. What made me think I would do better choosing my savior? Maybe I should toss a coin (figuratively speaking, of course)? An odd number of steps from here on down, the student. Vicky otherwise. But was it wise to leave such an important decision to chance?

What’s-his-name clearly fancied me. That might work to my advantage. Or to my disadvantage. After he’d helped me, there would be no going back to the status quo ante. Who knew what he’d want in return? Maybe he’d even take advantage of me in my helpless state. After all, he was a man!

Vicky was the safer choice for sure. I was pretty certain she would be cool with my “hobby” as well. Besides, I wouldn’t mind getting to know her better. Vicky it was! Even though it turned out to be an odd number of steps.

I clambered to my feet and scurried to her door. Subdued noises indicated that she was at home. Thank goodness! I pressed the doorbell with my elbow. Now I could only wait. I stepped from one foot to the other, but not solely to keep my balance in the ballet boots this time. My blood pounded in my ears and every sound from the stairwell made me jump. What took her so long? Any day now! At last, I heard quick steps approaching from behind the door. Someone grumbled as multiple locks were opened. It seemed Vicky strongly disapproved of uninvited guests. Then the door was ripped open and she stood in front of me.

Vicky was wearing a sweatshirt and baggy training pants, her striking face marred by a frown. Clearly, she had not been expecting anyone. She did a double-take when my appearance penetrated through her annoyance. Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth formed a capital ‘O’.

I felt compelled to strike up a conversation before the silence became awkward.

“He hee!”

Damned gag! For good measure, I rattled my chains to make her understand. At least, my plea helped her overcome her surprise. She arched an eyebrow and watched my antics with an amused smile. Not exactly the reaction I had hoped for.

“My, my, you’re a dream come true! How did you find out … Never mind!”

Her expression changed again. This time, it turned downright predatory.

“I’ve fantasized about this since first I met you. As did you, apparently. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”

She hooked a finger into the front ring of my collar and I was forcefully pulled into her apartment. Artistic black and white prints of women engaged in S/M play adorned the walls. With a start, I recognized my host as the whip-wielding domina in a couple of them. The door slammed shut behind me with resounding finality. Oh no! Oh yes?