The black wetlook catsuit gleamed like liquid oil, the tight black corset cinched me in, and the knee-high black patent ballet boots without heels XXXX me onto extreme pointe – walking? Impossible. Every attempt ended in trembling balance.
My mouth was first stuffed with a thick ballgag, then wrapped extremely tight with 10 cm wide glossy black iso-tape around my head – lips flattened, jaw aching, only muffled, wet “hnnnnffff”.
My hands were individually taped straight – fingers extended, palms flat, layer after layer until they looked like smooth, stiff paddles.
The main bondage was rough hemp rope:
Hands tied together and fixed to a wide belt – exactly where the remote-controlled vibrator was strapped
Upper arms bound sideways to my body at breast height – chest thrust forward, arms completely immobile
Legs pressed knalleng together – ropes at the ankles, under and above the knees – the ballet boots squeezed against each other, not a centimetre of play
The vibrator kept me permanently in edge mode – sometimes soft, sometimes brutal – every twitch pulled on the ropes, every rope movement made the vibrator more intense.
I tugged, whimpered, fought – all in vain.
13 minutes and 42 seconds of pure, glossy, silent edge desperation.