Gwen's Diary

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<h3>Saturday April 8th</h3> Today, I struggled on the bathroom floor for hours. The cold ceramic tiles gave me goosebumps as I laid naked, blind, hogtied, powerless in front of the sink. As my body heat warmed the floor, freezing water started to drip on my exposed side. The key to the cuffs was hanging above me, out of reach, in a slowly melting ice cube. Every other second, an icy droplet would hit my exposed thigh, arm or breasts, unpredictable, cruel. I shuddered in place, trying to wriggle to a less vulnerable position. This was impossible, of course, both my knees and neck where secured to the feet of the sink cabinet. I <em>knew</em> this would happen, all of this I had planned meticulously over the past few hours, fantasized about over the past few days... But there is a world of difference between knowing and experiencing. I was always surprised by the tightness, the discomfort, the utter helplessness it brought. At first I struggled as hard as I could, to feel the resistance, to test my work. I tried to dislodge the gag or nudge the blindfold. This worked at the beginning, but with experience and better gear came tighter gags, more complete and inescapable darkness. I couldn't struggle for long however. My muscles grew sore and tired, the cuffs bit into my wrists, the ropes dug into my flesh until I laid immobile in the painful embrace, defeated. Sometimes, I would set myself up with a vibrator or the sticky pads of an e-stim device, not always. I often felt like it detracted from the experience. Of course it was sexual, but part of the appeal was being forced to simmer in my own frustrated arousal, it was about being denied freedom, denied the reward. As I laid there, unable to move, at the mercy of the freezing droplets, regret started to worm its way into my brain... ...the ice cube should have been smaller... ...the hogtied less strict, my back is killing me... How much time had passed? If only I could could look up... At this point, I would try to escape once again, for real, feeling around in search of a loose knot. These were common when I first started and I would be able to free part -- if not all -- of my body. But I had become preemptively cunning, no knot within hand's reach was the rule. I would plan obsessively to thwart my future attempts. In that regard, sadist Gwen had grown much craftier than victim Gwen. It has been years since I last managed to released myself ahead of time, and not from a lack of trying. Tormented by the cold drip, I thrashed, twisted and wriggled as much as the ropes would allow, a powerless prey to my past ingenuity. I cried in the soft padding of the blindfold which trapped even my tears. Stuck in the ropes, stuck in my aching body. I lost the notion of time. Maybe the key had already fallen, out of reach. Maybe I had been there for hours. What if the escape mechanism fails? I knew this fear all too well. Panic, terror, then resignation... the cruel embrace dulls the mind just as it restrains the body. <hr> In the end, the remnants of the ice cube fell on my immobile form, waking me from the enforced trance. I strained my hands to grab it. Slippery, cold, smooth except for the key's sharp outline. I had to let it thaw a bit more between my numb fingers. Unlocking the cuffs took multiple, frustrating attempts until I could finally free my sore wrists. I slowly untied my legs, trying to avoid cramps. Everything hurt, every muscle, every tendon, every joint. The rope had left a deep red impression on my pale skin, a tingling imprint which would last for a few days. I laid there, on the cool bathroom floor, still gagged and blindfolded, engulfed by a wave of relief, pleasure and happiness that made it all worth it. I wanted to touch, to finger myself and release all the pent up arousal but my limbs refused to move. It took considerable effort to crawl through the apartment, hoist myself onto the bed and fall asleep.

<h3>Sunday April 9th</h3> At some point during the night, I removed the gag. My jaw hurt. My whole body hurt. It is a complete workout which leaves every muscle feeling stiff and sore. Why did I do this? The answer is both obvious and hard to articulate. . . . Because I love the pain just as much as I love the pleasure, the helplessness, the emptiness. Not having to care about people in far away places, about commuting or choosing, but being there, freed from worries and responsibilities. Perception reduced to my own aching body, the floor, the cool air on my skin. Nothing to do, nothing to see, nothing to hear. Peace. Savoring the increasing discomfort, trying to fight it and being overcome by it, defeated by the past, sadistic self. Then basking in the renewed freedom of the loosening ropes. Am I not forgetting something? Yes. Of course there is the danger. The nagging incertitude that this one might be the last. I'd rather not delve on it. I welcome the adrenaline rush without questioning what would happen if it all went wrong... I ate, I drank and then went for a walk. Mild exercise is best to fight off the soreness.

<h3>Monday April 10th</h3> The children have no idea, nor do their parents. I smile, I teach, I give homeworks. Sometimes my mind isn't in it, I do all this on autopilot while I fantasize about next time... Where? What position? What kind of gag? Distraction or not? Long sleeves hide the rope marks. <hr> I've had this obsession for as long as I can remember, before I even knew about sexuality. Maybe cartoons are to blame. I wanted to experience what damsels in distress felt, the fear, the powerlessness. If anything, I was disappointed when they were released, they would never beg to be left like this for another hour. It seemed we had different priorities... As I grew older, I learned about sex, then experienced it for the first time. Disappointing. Not that it wasn't pleasurable, no, but it didn't scratch the itch. I got involved in the BDSM community with varying degrees of success. I did not want to be dominated, what I sought was the self-centered pleasure of existing in a perfectly bound body, away from everything and everyone. Pleasure is always selfish. I wanted to be left with mine, alone... The bell rings causing a great clatter of chairs.

<h4>I</h4> This game does not contain penetrative sex. It is written for bondage adepts and curious minds. Odds are most people will find the contents thoroughly weird and/or boring, if that's the case, I apologize. <h4>II</h4> Self bondage is <em>extremely</em> dangerous, do not take inspiration from anything described here. <<dt "Rambling about safety...">> Any form of bondage can lead to irreversible nerve damage if done poorly. If you have an interest in bondage, most big cities have active communities with rope classes and workshops, look them up on Fetlife. Reach out, find a partner or, at least, someone who is aware of what you are doing and can check on you when the time is up. Do your research, know: - what the danger points are - what the specific risks are for a given situation and how to avoid them - which knots are fit for which purpose and how much tension is desirable Start small, start simple and stop at the first warning. Whether you practice alone or with a partner, you should always be able to free the person in less than 30 seconds for any reason. I don't mean to scare people away, it is a lot of fun, but bondage is like driving, you should only take the wheel if you are physically and mentally capable of doing so. <</dt>> <h4>III</h4> While the events are purely fictional, the main character is heavily inspired by people I have had the pleasure to meet over the years. I hope I did them justice in building a portrait that feels human and compelling, rather than a sorry excuse for endless sex scenes.

This story contains sexually explicit material meant exclusively for <em>mature audiences</em>. It was written in 10 days for the NSFW MiniJam #6 with some polishing and corrections added after this deadline. Writing and code by <a target="_blank" href='https://maliface.itch.io/'>Maliface</a>. <<dt 'Tools'>> This game was made using: - <a target="_blank" href='https://twinery.org/'>Twine</a> by Chris Klimas - the <a target="_blank" href='https://github.com/tmedwards/sugarcube-2/tree/master'>Sugarcube</a> story format by TheMadExile <</dt>> <<dt 'Credits'>> The fonts used are provided under Open Font Licence and are: - "Nothing You Could Do" and "Shadows Into Light" by Kimberly Geswein - "Oooh baby" by Robert Leuschke <</dt>> Many thanks to TRBRY for the UI advice and proofreading.

<<inDialog [[About]]>> <<inDialog [[Disclaimer]]>> <<inDialog [[Settings]]>> <button id='mark' onclick='setMark()' tabindex=0 role='button'>Bookmark</button>

<h3>Wednesday May 3rd</h3> I decided to go back to the bunker, just to be sure. I did not know what I expected to find. Evidence? What if she was there? What would I say? I wanted to be mad at her, channel all the rage I had felt when she toyed with my powerless body. She had taken the key, humiliated and tormented me. But it had not gone any further -- and I had done much worse to myself in the past. Why would she be there to begin with? The muddy path bore no discernible footsteps. I circled the large concrete structure. Weeds and thickets. I felt a tingle at the idea this place was mine. The occasional hiker had absolutely no idea of the woman stuck underground, screaming in agony or moaning in pleasure... I climbed the maples, as she must have done to get in. This required quite a bit of fitness. I went down to the ground floor. Nothing of interest. If there were answers to be found, they would be under. In the short hallway, I looked for steps in the dust, without success. <p>==The room== My cell was just how I had left it, I smoothed the crumpled tarp. I had come without the intension of tying myself up, without any gear, but simply being there, in the small, secluded room ignited the urge within me. Endless possibilities, positions, sensations. I wished I could spend six hours in there, every single day. A daily routine of perfect helplessness to soothe the spirit.</p> A thought crossed my mind and I pulled against the metal door. It let out a long grating whine as it slowly closed. The room felt even smaller this way. A delectable claustrophobic shiver ran down my spine. I turned the flashlight off and laid on my back, in total darkness. Stretching my arms and legs in a cross I could feel the roughness of the walls surrounding me. Suddenly, I became acutely aware of the other cells. I had never given much thought to the three other doors, but with my own cell closed, a vision formed inside my mind of three unknown silhouettes lying there, in the darkness. One beside me, on the other side of the wall, two across the corridor. The same way I had felt the woman's presence beside me, I knew exactly where the three figures were. I turned the light back on and opened my cell in a hurry, revealing the door opposite to mine. I pressed my shoulder and pushed against it. Nothing. The flaky rust seemed to have welded the metal in place. I took a step back, then slammed my shoulder against it. Pain spread through my arm with a dull sound. Finally, I pressed my ear against the cold surface. Nothing be the beat of my own heart. There was no one there, of course. Still, I liked to picture these silent, immobile beings. Copies of myself, tucked away inside their cells, unable to move a finger or make a sound, locked in a blissful slumber. I went back inside my own cell, among them, where I belonged and masturbated frantically, filling my mind with the combined helplessness of these imaginary sisters.

<h3>Wednesday April 12th</h3> Kids don't have class on Wednesday afternoons. I got home, laid a towel on the couch, put the handcuffs on the table beside me, wrapped a pressure cuff around my neck and squeezed the small rubber bulb. The firm, even embrace tightened against my throat making me cough. A bit tighter still, to really feel it. I pulled my pants down to my knees, using the belt to tie them together, slid my fingers against my crotch. Eyes closed in the spinning dizziness of asphyxia. I rubbed up and down, intently, thinking about the first time. It was during my first year as a student, away from home, in the fall. I wanted to experience the newfound freedom of living alone. I had bought the cheapest hemp rope at the hardware store -- the cashier likely thought I was going to hang myself. I washed it, cut it into convenient lengths and tied the ends off. It was a simple setup, a sliding box-tie which would gradually lock the arms together as I worked the slack out by pulling against a slipknot. I lowered the blinds, got in position on my bed, naked, legs in a frog-tie and started to pull the rope taut. It took a fair bit of time, until I felt there was no slack left and I couldn't move my arms at all. Up and down, faster and faster against my wet lips. The memory of being 18 in the small student room, tied up for the first time. Unknown feelings came flooding in which I would seek again and again over the years. The sweet struggle, the fear, the delight, the roughness of the cheap ropes, the softness of the sheets, the sweat beading up on my exposed skin. I squirmed and wriggled with all of my frail body's frenzied strengths, until I was left breathless and exhausted. I tried to work my arms loose but the hemp had swelled from my sweat. The fear, the adrenaline rush. In an instant, I realized how stupid I had been to not plan my escape more carefully. Dumb teenager, fallen victim to her perverted fantasies. Up and down, pressing hard against my swollen crotch. My folded legs and the tether I had used to tighten the ropes prevented me from leaving the bed. I could only stare at my backpack, across the room, there was a utility knife in there, hidden, out of reach. Rage and despair. Only option was to call for help. Scream in the hope a neighbor would come, explain the pitiful situation, the concierge had a spare key... They would see me tied and naked in the half darkness. What would they think? How would they react? That was the only way out. It was 4 PM, I allowed myself two hours to find another solution. I was defeated, beaten, trapped. It felt incredible. I had succeeded. The red numbers of the alarm clock steadily increased, I watched them in a state of trance, 6 PM came and went. Nothing to do, nothing to think, every time I tried to stir the bounds reminded me there was no need for it. Unfathomable peace and calm. I slowed the rubbing to a subtle caress, keeping me on edge. Of course I felt the cruel heat, the need to touch, to pleasure myself. I squeezed my legs, tried to hump the corner of the mattress, couldn't move into the proper position. I wailed in frustration, cried for the slightest touch, a feather or a gust of air would have pushed my over... The sun had set for a while, hunger, thirst and numbness in my limbs made it clear this couldn't last forever. I resolved to give one last attempt, slowly, patiently trying to work my arms loose, millimeter by millimeter. This took a whole hour of painful labor until I could finally slide my left hand out of the first loop, then slacken the rest. I rubbed faster and stronger in a steady crescendo toward orgasm while my left hand was reaching for the cuffs. Almost there, just a little more, a single caress would do it. Quickly, I locked my hands behind my back, at such an angle that there was no way to reach my crotch. My whole body shook in delightful frustration. Guess I'm still a pathetic teenager after all.

<h3>Saturday April 15th</h3> My current flat is spacious and offers an open view on the city below, an endless sea of roofs sloping toward the river. The building itself is surrounded by a crescent-shaped forest. Soon after moving in, I got in the habit of jogging there. Running, stretching, swimming. Sports and being helplessly trussed up are my main hobbies. The woods offered more than 15 km of nicely maintained paths and plenty of lesser known corners, especially where the slope was the steepest. Three bramble-covered bunkers overlooked what is now a highway on the southern edge. Their exits had been walled long ago and one can only peer through the empty gun ports to get a glimpse of the bare inside. I had been there multiple times. As a child, I was fascinated with abandoned places and would always hang out with boys whose activities and interests felt more relatable. It might sound strange but I wasn't one to play the princess in peril, no, I was headstrong in those days. We went, we saw, we explored, gathered treasures and bruises. But childhood only lasts so long, after the age of playing came the age of dating which splits genders forever. I decided to go there today, hoping the last stretch of sunny days would have dried the muddy path. The three fortifications were built a hundred meters apart in a somewhat straight line. The ones on either ends were simple casemates, nothing more than square concrete boxes. The center one was larger however, with a stout tower which must have held a small artillery piece. A horizontal slit opened toward the road while a square opening served as a primitive window facing the other way. Plentiful maples had grown on either sides, their branches overhanging the concrete structure. Despite the walled off entrance, one could likely enter through the opening by climbing those trees... I followed the trail along the bunkers, then back up toward the main path flanked on either sides by chestnuts, ran all the way to the western edge and around the small lake.

<h3>Sunday April 16th</h3> I had trouble sleeping last night. Restless mind, as if I had forgotten something important, something that needed to be addressed. Bills were paid, work was done. In the end, I realized it was about the bunker. I needed to see inside, even if I already knew there would be nothing but damp concrete. It had been years since I felt this kind of obsessive curiosity. I left for the forest without a thought, taking only a flashlight. There was no one else around the bunkers and I could start my climb without fear of being seen. It was surprisingly easy to leap from the thick branches onto the lichen-covered roof. From here, I could simply step through the square opening. The inside of the tower was small, bare and filled with bird nests in the corners. To the left, the steep and narrow staircase led down into the darkness. I turned the flashlight on and carefully went down the dusty steps. As is often the case with bunkers, the space inside was much smaller than one would assume due to the thickness of the outer walls. As such, the first floor was a cramped and angular space, divided in two main rooms. These were empty, except for a lonely car tire. The earthy smell of old concrete filled the dusty air. Another set of stairs seemed to lead underground. Intense excitement came flooding in, just like when we were kids. It was never about finding <em>something</em> but about the discovery itself. I dived deeper into the darkness. Below ground was a short corridor, flanked by two pairs of heavy steel doors. I reached out toward the closest one, tried to push it. Nothing. 70 years of rust is stronger than any lock as they say... The last door to the left was slightly ajar, I pushed with all my strength. It slowly rotated on its hinges with a loud crunching sound, revealing yet another barren concrete room. This one was narrow enough for me to touch both walls by stretching my arms and barely deeper, five square meters at most. The wall had shallow, evenly spaced horizontal slots like I have seen in many such structures. The ceiling was low with two metal attachment points cast into it. In a way, it felt comfy, secure. Safely buried underground, surrounded by the thick walls, filled with peaceful darkness. I must have been some kind of storage space during the war, maybe for ammunition, but right now, it looked more like a cell...

<h3>Tuesday April 18th</h3> A package came in, plain cardboard, with only the recipient's address, tastefully discrete. Inside was a pair of padded bondage mittens. Smooth, brand new leather, with locking buckles around the wrists. Since I became a teacher with disposable income, I have bought one item per month. High quality ropes, gags, cuffs, belts, hoods, toys... the collection has grown steadily to the point of taking up a full half of my dresser. These days it was hard to find gear worth getting excited over, but the mittens were one of those. The inside was seductively tight and soft, forcing the hand into a closed fist. Useless fingers in the snug padded embrace. I locked the buckle with my free hand, two rings on either sides made for convenient tie-down points. With the mitten tight around the wrist, there was no way to pull out. I put the other one on, using my mouth to pull the strap taut. Both hands gently squeezed, perfectly secure. Not only was the leather smooth but the padding would shift around as I tried to grab with them. Wearing these filled my body with heat and sent my mind racing. Endless possibilities unveiled. I could thread the metal shackles of my favorite cuffs through the buckles, these would be easy to lock but impossible to unlock without my mouth. Again and again, this vision sprung to mind. Gagged, blindfolded, arms behind my back. The key on the floor, right in front of me, useless, ironic. I knew this was a dangerous scenario. It would be <em>game over</em>. Ever since my first experience, I struggled to keep these intrusive thoughts at bay. Game over. The idea was terrifyingly arousing. It stirred a fear deep within me. Not of what would happen in such a scenario but that I could let it manifest, in a lapse of judgement. What if the stupid, self-destructive teenager had her way? What if the void called and she answered?

<h3>Saturday April 22nd</h3> For some reason, I woke up early today, barely 7AM. I knew the reason, I had spent the week fantasizing about it while I taught on auto-pilot. It's fine, the kids can't tell. I ate, showered and applied the sticky electrodes to the inside of my thighs, using two layers of saran wrap to make sure they would stay in place, no matter what happened. These were invisible beneath the track pants. With the mittens added, the gear didn't fit in my usual backpack and I was forced to transfer everything to the larger one I used to go swimming. By 8AM, I was out following the broad forest path. I knew joggers didn't go near the bunkers due to the uneven path leading there, it was asking for a sprained ankle. Indeed, there was no one in sight. The maple trees were slippery from dew and left green streaks on my clothes. In a second, I was on the roof, stepping through the square window. I reached for the flashlight. No flashlight. In my hurry to pack the bag, I had forgotten the flashlight. Dumbass. Going back was an option of course, it had barely taken 15 minutes to get there, this would only be a minor delay. But I didn't feel like waiting. I took the stairs down, brushing my fingers along the walls. I remembered the simple layout and used my foot to feel for the second flight of stairs. These led me underground. I spread my arms to feel the damp walls on either side, then the cold outlines of the rusted doors, the wall again. Finally, I found the last room to the left, empty, perfectly dark. No need for a blindfold in such a place, in fact, nor for a gag... I kneeled on the hard floor and opened the backpack. I could recognize all of the items by touch: the ropes, the e-stim unit, the gag shaped to fill my mouth, the mittens... Despite my initial hesitation, I stripped completely, leaving the track suit and underwear on a small pile. The room was definitely cold but the arousal made up for it. The plan was to secure the mittens behind my back, run a rope through the buckles and tighten them around my wrists by pulling on a slipknot. This took time to set up in the total darkness, going only by feel, but I had extensive experience. Finally, I was ready. I laid on my side in foetal position, stretching my legs would lock my wrists. I pushed the large silicon gag inside my mouth, forcing my tongue down and filling my cheeks. Grooves on either sides meshed with my teeth making it very hard to dislodge, especially after I had secured the straps. I plugged the electrodes into the rounded e-stim box and turned it on. The small screen lit up with a sickly green glow. I was never able to stand more than 60% power. I pushed the + button until it displayed "75", put it in random mode then tucked the unit under the ropes against my belly. I knew I would soon regret my choice so I quickly shoved my hands inside the mittens. This alone was quite difficult. With both fists snugly secured, I started to stretch my legs against the loop of rope, trying to wriggle my arms and remove the slack. I was interrupted by a series of torturous pinches running across my crotch. I tried to scream and tears came to my eyes. This was a mistake. Another series followed, five agonizing pulses. I squirmed frenetically on the dusty concrete. Another one. I tried to pull my arms out and reach the box, turn it down, turn it off, disconnect the leads, anything. Again the shocks made my whole body spasm. I had stretched my legs further than expected, painfully locking the mittens around my wrists. Again, like my lips being pinched with searing pliers. I rolled face down on the ground, arching my back to resist the next wave. This did not help, it came, just as unbearable as the previous ones. I prayed for the random mode to change quickly, how many pulses were in each cycle? I should know that. Again. I screamed as loud as I could, fuck dignity, I would have given anything for it to stop. But only a muffled wail came out. Again, five in a row, overwhelming pain which froze me in place, like having my clitoris stuck in a vise. I dreaded the next shock. 5 seconds apart, then 5 shocks at a 1 second interval. Again, and again, and again. I rolled around on the floor, drool, sweat and tears mixed with the gritty dust and stuck to my skin. I needed to work on loosening my hands but the work of the past 5 seconds was immediately cancelled by my spasming legs pulling back on the rope. I braced myself for the next series but was instead surprised by a forcefully pleasurable buzz. Low frequency current coursing through my crotch. Electricity is not pleasant like a vibrator is, there is a tingling edge to it and its numbing action makes it neigh impossible to reach climax. Especially at this power level, the sensation still felt like hundreds of clothespins clipped to my genitals. Still an improvement. I laid there, breathless, riding it out, doing my best to enjoy the cruel massage that would not result in an orgasm. This felt intensely blissful after the previous minute of torture, I relaxed into the bounds, tested the snugness of the knots. The mittens were incredibly comfortable, like a warm hug for my hands. Having experimented with long term bondage over the years, I knew the vast majority of restraints were not suitable for extended periods of time. These were the exception, I wanted to sleep with those on, wrapped in the soft and even pressure. I zoned out, kept on the thin edge between pleasure and discomfort, free of visual or auditive distractions, my mind wandered. Work, bills, money, the outside world, these all felt meaningless, like vague threats waiting for me out there, outside of the dark concrete bubble. I was there, safe, underground. Ever since my fist experience in the small student room, this state of peace was the only thing I looked forward to. Earning money, buying gear, practicing knots, planning sessions. All I did in life was try to experience this total tranquility, as often as possible, slight variations on the same moment of blissful oblivion. I tied myself up to escape. Talk about a stupid statement... Pain shot through my crotch. The surprise made it all the more unbearable. Another one already? I should have focused on freeing myself instead of daydreaming. Five waves of pure agony washed over me. Electricity numbs the affected area to pleasure but the pain was just as sharp as before. I bit down on the gag as hard as I could, I tried every position to make it more bearable. These were useless, each burst was just as torturous as the previous one. The pain blanked out all thoughts. Agony, then dread. Rinse and repeat. Finally, the mode changed to a repeating ramp up, from a tingling buzz to a hard pinching sensation. I usually enjoyed this mode, by at the current power level it mostly ranged from annoying to very painful. Still, I had to free myself before the next rotation. I folded my legs against my chest and started to wriggle my arms, up and down, reclaiming some slack from the loose rope. The goal was to create a lot of friction in the bindings, making it a slow and tiresome process, where minute of efforts only yielded millimeters of freedom. Even in the total darkness, I had done a terrific job tying it. The mode changed again, to a continuous wave of varying intensity. That was ok. I continued the tedious work, clenching my body when the wave reached its most painful peaks. In the end, I felt the tension around my wrists had loosened enough that I could pull my hand out. Immediately, I reached for the e-stim unit and turned it off. Deep breath. I would be lying if I said the stupid teenager in me didn't whisper : "Turn it up a notch and lock yourself back up"...

<h1 class='nycd'>Gwen's Diary</h1> [[Start|1]]

<h3>Sunday April 23rd</h3> I slept for 15 hours straight, thirst and hunger woke me in the middle of the night. Hazy memories, sore body. A strange feeling of lingering happiness filled me. I laid on the couch and read a book. Which one? What was it about? Good questions... When I started as a teacher, there was this slightly older colleague who immediately liked me. The feeling was shared, she was a lovely person, immensely kind and caring. But we were different. She invited me to countless parties, I met a lot of people this way and I assume her intentions were to hook me up with someone. It would have been very hard to explain that I wasn't looking for anyone, I don't think she would have understood. As I said, we were different and I felt increasingly uneasy about not being able to return the favor. I cursed my own selfishness, this inability to care about any pleasure but my own... In the end, she had to relocate for family reasons. I hope she is ok.

<h3>Tuesday April 25th</h3> I went swimming after work. The rope marks had almost all disappeared except from some redness on my calves and biceps. No one would recognize these marks, and even if they did, I couldn't care less. I knew men looked at me, I was fit and still young enough, I did not look at them, I didn't care. I was focussed on my movements, my breathing. Crawl, butterfly, backstroke, in a straight line, lost in thoughts. I came home very hungry.

<h3>Saturday April 29th</h3> I left for the bunker early. It only felt natural to start my week-end there. What people would call a self-care routine maybe. This time, I had taken the flashlight and an egg vibrator instead of the e-stim unit. Steep concrete steps, heavy metal door, finally, the small underground room. It didn't look like much, empty, barren. Still, it was "my" room. A place for me alone. If anything, the pain I had endured last time made it more homely. I opened the backpack and laid a plastic tarp on the ground -- should have done it from the start. I had settled for a more typical scenario, with cuffs and an ice-lock that held the key. Not that the mittens didn't feel amazing but I never loved ties that could be defeated through work alone. They didn't feel unescapable. The knowledge I could eventually get out whenever I wanted spoiled it. I stripped, hung the ice lock to the exposed metal bar in the ceiling, then proceeded to tie myself up. I folded my legs against my chest, securing my knees to my shoulders. This needed to be very tight to feel good, turning me into a ball. While I still had my arms free, I turned the flashlight off, pressed a blindfold against my eyes and pushed the gag inside my mouth. The vibrator was already in place, held against my clitoris with saran wrap, I turned it up to a third of the power range. Talk about bad life choices, setting the vibrator too low and the e-stim unit too high... The last step was to thread my arms through the loops on my back, find the cuffs which were connected to my feet and lock them around my wrists. This was a struggle as the rope tying them to my feet was very short, on purpose, of course. It took many attempts before I managed to close them. The sharp clicks of the ratcheting teeth echoed in the small room. There I was, tied up in a ball, laying on my side. The steady vibrations filled my lower body with a subdued pleasure, the ropes dug into my skin and strained my joints. Pleasure and pain, flowing together into an ocean of arousal. To float or sink? Didn't matter. I would be there for at least two hours, maybe more, as the ice would melt more slowly in the cool underground air. <hr> How much time had passed? I had zoned out, lost in fleeting thoughts, lost in my motionless body tucked in its small, secure cell. It was like falling asleep. Did the key fall? Did the water stop dripping? Did it even start dripping? I felt around on the floor, as far as my restrained hands could reach. Nothing. Grabbing the tarp, I slowly pulled it toward me in order to retrieve the key. It must have been there, somewhere, attached to the ice-lock's inner metal core. Suddenly, the vibrations against my crotch became stronger. Did the box' circuit fail? I tried to suppress the distraction and keep on searching, pulling and exploring the tarp with my fingers. The stimulations were hard to ignore however, and the key nowhere to be found. Fear and pleasure clouded my mind. At this speed, the frenzied egg tickled just as much as it pleasured my sensitive clitoris. I only ever used vibrators for teasing, my preferred tools for pleasure where always my fingers. Weakness spread from my crotch to my belly and legs like a numbing wave. Under the unnerving stimulation was a deep pleasure buildup, accumulated from the previous hours of teasing. I needed to think about the key, figure where it was, locate it. But all thoughts were drawn to my crotch, the horrible tickle and the rising pleasure that would come crashing down on me. The knowledge I would eventually orgasm and the certitude it would only get worse after I did. The gag muffled my cries as I started to sob nervously. I was on the edge, when the vibrations suddenly stopped. Surprise, relief, then the immediate wave of frustration which made me shudder and thrash. Had the vibrator died on me? The battery couldn't drain so fast. Indeed, it slowly came back to life, its buzzing steadily increasingly. The pent-up tension began to boil anew inside of me. Having been denied once had erased the fear of what was to come, now I single-mindedly yearned for the release. The pleasure ramped up, my legs were shaking, this time was the one. It stopped. Once again. My pelvis spasmed needlessly, between my tied feet and cuffed hands. A sudden realization came to my hazy mind. Someone was, there next to me, silent, invisible, with their finger on the slider. Within arms reach, maybe closer. I was powerless, stuck, at their mercy. They had taken the key and were with me. I was their toy. I froze up. All I could do was listen, filter out my quick breath, the blood pounding to my ears, the buzzing picking up once again. They were watching me, looking for signs of the coming orgasm and reaping it from my grasp. Why? Who were they? Did they follow me? What to do? Try to reach out? How could I communicate? What would I even say? I tried to ignore the device revving up against my clit. They could do anything. Pinch my nose and effortlessly suffocate me. Edge me until they got bored, then leave me to die. Move on to an even worse treatment. No one would come to help. I hated this above all else. Being at someone's mercy. This had driven me away from the BDSM world at large, the inability to trust others. Of course trust was absolutely out of the question here. The vibrator became more forceful, more intense. Pressure. They had reached toward my exposed crotch, pushing the plastic egg down against my clit. Right next to me. As I laid there, drenched in sweat, I felt the coolness of their breath on my naked skin. I tried to resist but there was nothing I could do, my over-sensitive clitoris felt like an open faucet, pouring unrelenting pleasure into my defenseless frame. I would cum. Everything stopped. Rage filled me. I screamed and struggled harder than I ever did. Seconds passed, I grew tired. They had won once again. A hand, thin and firm grabbed my bare shoulder and I felt the weight shift as they leaned above me. "It's ok, it's over now." The voice was that of a woman. Gentle and motherly. She leaned back and I heard the click of the cuffs unlocking. My wrists tingled from the released pressure. "Be careful, next time I might take the key and leave you." She spoke from standing height, with a hint of sarcasm. The brushing of clothing, then faint footsteps fading away. <hr> In the end, I did not have the strength to cum when I came home late in the evening.

<h3>Sunday April 30th</h3> I slept badly, every position felt painful and the desire to go get painkillers lead to feverish dreams in which I would repeat this same action, obsessively. I crawled out of bed, ate and drank from the fridge, laid on the floor until the sun reached its peak. Finally, I was free. I masturbated frenetically to reach the long delayed release. Even my clitoris felt sore and numb. I couldn't do it. Every time I got close, my hand would tense up and stop the rubbing. Memories came flooding in of the vibrator suddenly shutting down. The red marks all other my body ached at once, reminding of the position I had been stuck so long in. I arched my back and let out a muffled moan. There so many things I needed to know, all of which I couldn't get answers to. I needed to know how to feel. Relieved? I was still alive after all. Violated? The cops would never believe me anyway. Curious? Did she follow me as I got in? Why the tone? Why mention a "next time"? All of it made me deeply uneasy. A diffuse feeling I should not look any deeper and be happy with my lot.

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<h3>Saturday May 6th</h3> Once again, I found myself kneeling naked in the small cell. Ropes, blindfold, gag, mittens, carabiners and a pair of earplugs were laid out in front of me. Same place, same time. What was I looking for? I started the slow and meticulous preparation process. Knots I had tied thousands of times. The familiar pressure of the ropes around my limbs. Like the bodies of athletes, mine had adapted to the repeated stimulus. It went slowly however. My hands were shaking. I was distracted. The plan was to fold my arms back over my shoulders, tie my legs so they could only stretch to an exhausting squat position and rely on the ceiling attachment point to keep my arms tied. I would be forced to stay on my knees or hold the painful squat for as long as it took to work the knots loose. It took a while to be finally set up. The last step, as usual, was to gag and blindfold myself. This time, I had decided to add the earplugs to take all of my senses away. I did it for <em>her</em>. I rose to my feet, as far as my legs would go, clipped the carabiner to the rope hanging from the ceiling, then passed my arms inside the loops and shoved my hands into the mittens' welcoming padding. I got on my knees for relieve my burning thighs. The rope above offered some resistance, gently lowering me down as the slack was taken out. I wriggled to distribute the tension between the wrists and the loops that forced my forearms behind my head. My part was done. I was free of worries, blind, deaf, mute, immobile. Part of me wondered what would happen, if she would show up at all. But I had no patience for the idle suppositions. It was all out of my control, out of my purview. I savored the tightness around my breast and arms. The delightful vulnerability of my stretched out chest and exposed armpits. I knew the position would get painful very fast, to my knees on the hard concrete, to my core muscles as I needed to remain upright or the weight would compress my wrists. I waited. <hr> A movement woke me from my trance. She was there, manipulating the ropes behind my back. I then felt a tug to the restraints around my legs. Suddenly, my legs were pulled from under my body. It felt like I would fall forward but something in my back prevented it, supporting my chest. I understood she was planning to suspend me between the two ceiling supports. I was slowly hoisted up, alternating between my legs and my upper body. This relieved both my knees and wrists which had started to ache horribly. I wanted to thank her but I couldn't talk nor even hear her response. I tried to wriggle my arms to loosen the mittens but there was no slack to be had, she had tied it off when shifting the attachment point to my back. That was it, a truly inescapable situation. <em>Game over.</em> Every sense had been taken from me, even the contact with the ground. Fear did not reach me however, I remembered her saying she would leave me. It did not bother me. It was her choice to make, a choice I had no agency over and no need to worry about. Hanging in midair was enough to quiet all thoughts. The future did not concern me, as long as every successive moment was of the same kind as the one that came before it. I felt the subdued presences in the other rooms, lost in the same oblivion, hanging in their own worlds. I saw our four bodies floating together in the cool darkness. Did their experiences differ from mine? Was the one on my right endlessly brought to the edge of an orgasm that would never come? Did electricity wash over the crotch of the one behind me in waves of stinging agony? Were they screaming through their gags never to be heard? Or did they, like me, never want to have to talk again? Were they only four? The vision grew in my mind to show a never-ending hallway, leading to endless cells like my own, holding infinite versions of myself. Each experiencing one of the infinite flavors of pain and pleasure... or maybe they were all in the exact same situation. Naked and left alone, stewing in their own arousal, sharing the same dream, dripping down onto the tarp. Never in my life did I want to touch so badly. Maybe I had spent the last week here, being edged relentlessly to reach this point. Maybe every orgasm and every pleasure I had ever felt was only a small step in this greater buildup. Every second of every day, I had spent unknowingly yearning for this place and time, for the sensation of floating at the surface of an ocean of pleasure, kept from sinking by the ropes around my body. Buried like a seed, entombed in concrete at the center of the earth I stared at the limitless night sky over the gently swaying bliss. Alone, forgotten, surrounded by an infinite number of sisters who understood and felt the exact same way as I did. Mute, blind, deaf, without hands or body, I could at last hear the waves and see, from above, my countless pale bodies rocking up and down, I could feel the liquid velvet inside and outside, everywhere at once. All I ever wanted was to dissolve into this sea, become the fluid pleasure itself, sway at once with the impersonal mass. Like an ice cube in boiling water, the small silhouettes melted away with a sigh and a smile, returning to their primordial form to be part of the flow. Freedom.

<h3> ??? </h3> I had a body. A sore and tired body. Resting on my back, on the hard ground, heavy like lead. What happened? She had come back and untied me, didn't she? I could feel cloth against my skin. My throat was dry, I was hungry. Most of all, I suffered from having a body again. The dream was over. I was both thankful and angry, that she interrupted the trance. Once again, I had to shoulder the burden of being myself. The flashlight was next to my right hand. The beam seemed blindingly bright and I chose to feel around instead. I expected a mess of ropes but there was nothing, only the plump form of the full backpack. My fingers met plastic, some kind of package. I recognized the shape, texture and sound. Triangle sandwiches. <hr> Every step sent waves of pain through my joints and muscles, it seemed like I could collapse to bit at any point. A broken doll. If I did, I only wanted to be put back, limbless in my tiny box. I did not see any light when I climbed the second flight of stairs, the sun had set a long time ago. <hr> At some point, I got home.

<h3>Sunday May 7th</h3> I woke up at noon. A warm pleasure filled me, soothing the pain. I couldn't get out of bed. I tried to masturbate but my fingers lacked the strength.

<h3>Monday May 8th</h3> I used to swim on Saturdays, haven't been the most consistent lately. Still, I longed for the smooth caress of the water, the weightlessness. The swimming gear was on a shelf in the bathroom, as I has been using the larger backpack for my weekend fun. Swimsuit, swim cap, towels, goggles. Something I used to do a lot when I was younger was to put the swim cap over my face and touch as fast as I could, in order to orgasm before I ran out of air. Self-preservation would often win out over the arousal, but I got better with training until I was able to cum every time. The lacks of oxygen and the abundance of pleasure would send my head spinning... I opened the backpack to free it from the bondage gear. Mittens, ropes, blindfold... the ropes were slightly damp with sweat, I would need to wash them. At the bottom was a piece of paper. A note. From her. <div class='note'> Life often seems bland and meaningless, we go to great lengths for fleeting seconds of excitement in an eternity of tedium. We live as addicts for the momentary distractions, away from the stress and the worries. Yet they come back, and longing for the escape makes the captivity all the more cruel. You have gone so far and done so much, each time coming closer to the real thing. I will help you escape. </div> I went to the pool and swam as much as my aching body allowed.

<h3>Saturday morning</h3> I spent the week getting ready. A life's worth of unfinished businesses, sorted in a few days. Everything I need is in the backpack. In the end, only the diary is left. It is the only thing I will regret. Money, the apartment, clothes, dishes, job... Everything I ever had in life, I was able to shed without second thoughts. These were always foreign and meaningless. This diary is different, it's like having a part of me torn out. Experiences, memories. They still exist in my mind, of course, but minds are perishable things. By remembering, we build new stories from the old ones, constructed narratives that fit our current worldview and betray who we once were. Authenticity is lost forever as we fill our lives with retrospective lies. I had never questioned why I wrote a diary. It felt like the right thing to do, even if I never read past entries. It should be apparent by now that I do not care about leaving a trace or being remembered. I don't know who will read this, police maybe. There is nothing of importance for you in there, only for me. This is a part of myself I leave for safekeeping, I don't know where the rest is going. This is goodbye. <hr> I have been honest and truthful in every word I wrote. And I realize the reason I started writing was to be honest with myself too. Life is full of lies we use to keep up a facade. I wanted a place where I could express all the truths I could never share with others. Not out of shame, but because they wouldn't understand. The truth is that I made up my mind, long ago. I was just waiting for the opportunity to manifest. I am going on long vacations by the sea, all paid for. I do not wonder where, or what it will be like. I will see for myself soon enough. Don't worry about me, I am safe and secure, where I was always meant to be. You should live your own life, seek your own meaning. ==This is goodbye== This is farewell.

Thank you for reading! When I published this story, I had doubts as to whether anyone would get through the first page, let alone finish it... The ending is, admittedly, quite abrupt, I hope this does not negatively impact the final impression too much. I too wish I could have spent more time with Gwen but the deadline was getting close. Finally, I apologize for ending on what feels like a suicide node, I wish there was something more uplifting in store, there wasn't. Much love, Maliface.