Two weeks after our night in Dunedin I was on my knees and Dottie was sitting comfortably, in front of me, on a chair in my bedroom. I though, was not so comfortable.
My arms were tied behind my back with my wrists tied to my elbows (a box tie) and some more rope was tied around my arms pulling on them so there was no chance of my getting my hands free. My legs were frog tied and my back was against my closet door. To prevent me from falling Dottie tied a crotch rope on me with the end of the rope so long that she was able to pull it up and over the top of the door until it dug into my puss so tight that it hurt and, after putting knots in the end of the rope, she closed the door so the rope would not slip and it held me like that, on my knees. It was not, as I said, a comfortable position (I had never been tied like that) but despite the agony from the rope forcing itself deeper and deeper into my puss every time I moved, wriggled, squirmed or gyrated it got much worse, because firstly, my birthday gift was in my puss and both my panties and the rope made sure it wasn’t coming out. Secondly, a pair of nipple clamps, tightened so much my neighbors (hearing my screams) would have called the police if my mouth wasn’t stuffed with her panties and wrapped with tape (it resembled duct tape but wasn’t) and, to make me a bit more helpless, she tied string to the clamps and pulled on them “just because she could!”
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