Especially when one has caught the eye of a pervert who has you under surveilance. Who might perhaps have your phone and residence bugged and your schedule recorded, and would from that have learned that you have some SOPs for your self-bondage, such as calling a friend to request a check-in at a certain time, and changing the message on your answering machine from "I can't come to the phone now" to "I'm all tied up now, but I should be free after " so friends who call know when you're indulging your kink, and when to come help (since you always change the message back after you get free). A very wise backup to a quite secure system, wrists together in padlocked leather cuffs, legs spread with leather-cuffed ankles padlocked to rings in the floor, the key which opens all of the padlocks on the floor between your legs. Shortly before the appointed time you lock the end of the abundence of chain to your wrist cuffs, fasten the harness with built-in blindfold on your head, and wait till the timer triggers the motor which raises your arms high, but not tautly above your head. Then you struggle for an hour, imagining unseen men watching your naked flesh rippling as you twist helplessly in your bonds, dreaming of the whip across your back, the cane across your ass, the clamps on your hard nipples and wet pussy. Not that you'd want any of that, of course, being actually rather shy and a thorough wimp when it comes to pain. But it's a fun fantasy for an hour, the end of which is always a slow in coming, as by then you're getting tired and uncomfortable and the high heels hurt your feet. You always wonder if the timer will go off, though you know that with a backup timer, backup motor, and a backup power supply if the house power should fail, there's no danger of such a failure, and none has ever occurred.

And so you're happily squirming and struggling, lost in your reveleries, when the distant sound of a tape recording pierces your consciousness. "I'm sorry, I can't come to the phone now, please leave your name and number at the beep" you hear your voice saying. And then what sounds like the tape on your answering machine being changed. You ask "Is someone there ?" to no reply. Then you hear your own tape recorded voice saying "Hi, I'll be hanging around my rec room till eight o'clock, how about giving me a call a little after eight ?", the message you left on your friend's machine this afternoon. She always gets home a little late Friday. "Is someone there ?", you say again.

"Of course someone's here, silly" an unknown voice replies as the the first of several strip of duct tape are placed over your mouth. "And at 5:15 I was at your friend's house and picked up this tape, which she never heard, from her answering machine. I already knew to come here a little after eight to catch you all securely restrained. I unplugged both motors, turned off both timers, and changed the message on your machine. Uh, and this afternoon I cleaned enough out of your garage to fit your car in it, and when I came back this evening I turned off all the lights that can be seen from outside; convenient that this rec room has no windows, isn't it ? Don't want anyone seeing in, do we ? If anyone stops by it will look like you're out, maybe away for the weekend. I know your boyfriend's too busy to see you this weekend - though if he could see you like this, he'd make time for you - and unless someone else has your phone tapped, no one else knows what's happening. Nobody will be looking for you till Monday - but then, since you missed work last Monday, maybe no one will look until Tuesday, maybe even Wed. Won't that be fun, standing here like this will the police break in next Tuesday and find you like this ? Nearly four full days of bondage, won't that be wonderful ? Oh, yes, I knew you'd like that idea. You do such a good job of self-bondage, no one could ever get out of that without help".

"Please don't stop on my account, my dear. You looked so sexy struggling like that. Not that you don't look lovely now", the voice continues, as fingers glide over your bare breasts. "But I know how much you enjoy your little routine, so please continue. PLEASE CONTINUE. Ah, having stage jitters ? You certainly seem to be trembling enough. You've never actually let anyone see this, have you ? Such a waste. Please resume. Ah, well, perhaps you need to know your motivation for this performance", the voice continued, and then a cane sharply strikes your ass. "How about that ? Now enough of this jitters and on with the jiggle" the unseen observer says, and the cane strikes your ass again. "Let's see that fine female flesh flow. Make them bounce", he says, as something stings your left breast, and you start to squirm and turn and twist and try your bonds. "Much better, my dear, please do continue. That, in case you were interested, was a riding crop. Just one of many toys I've brought. Like these clamps for your nipples. Don't they feel fine ? They bounce so nicely. *DO* please keep them bouncing. And this rat trap will look so lovely on your labia; yes, it's just wonderful. And it will look even more wonderful with this weights waving from it. There. So nice".

"Yes, my dear, I've brought plenty of toys to try on you. Canes and crops and rods and rubber whips and wax and some of the most fiendish floggers. You'll know exactly how they feel before I leave, which won't be till sometime Sunday, and I'll take some pictures of you then in case any of the marks have faded by the time anyone finds you, so you'll know just how the marks looked. I'll send you copies. And your boyfriend, and your best friend, and your boss and, well, whoever else I can think of. Maybe I'll scan the images and upload them onto the net. You know, it's really not a good idea to list all your userids and passwords in your address book. Poor computer security, my dear. But allow me to compliment you on a very nice system; scanner, fax - what was the number of your fax at work, oh, yes, here it is - high speed modem. This should work very nicely."

"Now, my dear, let's start having some fun", the voice says, as the whip burns your back.