I’d made assumptions about Chelsea, or at least the content of her journal.  She’d talk about her day, her feelings, perhaps offer a little insight into what made her tick.  Anything but what it actually contained.  To say that I was surprised by her first entry would be an understatement.  She’d entered a description of a method for what she referred to as ‘Frozen Key’.  Place key in plastic water bottle.  Freeze overnight. Keys will be inaccessible until ice melts.  Body warmth will speed up the process. Fascinated, I continued, turning the page to find a neat sketch entitled ‘Frozen String’ with the following instructions accompanying it.  Measure distance between anchor point and the location bound hands will be.  Add 6 inches.  Tie loop at one end of string.  Attach key to other.  Neatly coil in a bowl of water leaving ends free.  Freeze.

These were obviously pre-planned methods to free one from self-inflicted bondage, or at least that was the impression I got. I flipped through several more entries with titles such as Ice Padlock 1-4, O ring, Ice Anchor, Ice pantyhose, salt/sugar padlock, water lock, commercial timed locks, electromagnets... I was impressed by the sheer amount of creativity.  A section on knots followed.  Fascinated, I continued.  Square knots.  Bowlines.  Figure eights. Noose. Slip knots. Overhand.  As with the release methods, Chelsea has drawn basic diagrams accompanying each one.  There was more.  I’d barely scratched the surface of what was within, but I decided to save it for another time. I wanted to savor this discovery.  If I understood correctly, Chelsea regularly tied herself up.  I faintly recalled hearing of the term ‘self-bondage’, but that was the extent of it. I’d have to do some research on the internet to learn more.  I eyed the toys in her drawer, carefully inserting the Diary back among them, temptation welling deep within.  Every time I deviated from my planned path, I took a risk.  I should get dressed and return to my house.  There, I could test the camera.  I chuckled at that thought, chiding myself.  It was set to detect motion.  I wouldn’t be able to turn it on remotely.  It would have to be triggered.  Gazing upwards, I did my best to spot it and failed.  Good. If I was unable to spot it, having placed it, the odds against her discovering it were miniscule.  To test it, I’d simply have to move into range which meant, I’d have to be on her bed.  Simple enough.  Just move into range for 30 seconds or so and then erase all signs of my presence.  A simple task.

I continued to stare into the drawer, transfixed by her toys.  Mainly, it was dildos that had been inside her pretty pink pussy that called to me with their siren song.  I wondered if her scent was still on them or if she had robbed me of that, cleaning them carefully after each use. I needed to know.  I chose the black one, caressing it tentatively with a single finger, worried that if I were to actually pluck it from its resting place, I’d lose all control and, at the same time, tempted by the thought of doing just that.  I’d been fantasizing about sniffing her used panties for days. Breathing in the scent of her pussy.  This wouldn’t be much different, I thought, in an attempt to convince myself.  All I would do is pick it up, hold it to my nose before replacing it exactly as I’d found it. Nothing more.

I was done in by the hint of slightly musky fragrance that filled my nostrils.  It was pleasant. More than pleasant, actually.  It was intoxicating.  Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs slowly and then exhaling just as slowly, wetting my lips. It was intoxicating.  Taking another deep breath, this one to settle my nerves, I found myself taking up residence on her bed, my hair fanning out on her pillow. Swallowing, I stared up at the ceiling, knowing that this would be committed to video on my hard drive.  I raised my knees as I spread my feet apart and lay her dildo on my soft belly and lifted my arms above my head, putting my wet pussy on display for the camera.   The rails cool to the touch.  I wrapped my fingers around two of them and began to roll my hips slowly as if I was fucking an invisible lover smiling with amusement as Chelsea’s dildo rolled off my stomach and onto the bedspread and lay there, judging me while I did my best to ignore it. Releasing the rails, I sat up and removed my bra exposing nipples so stiff and sensitive that the merest brush of my fingers against them sent me shivering.

In for a penny, as the saying goes.  Dildo gripped tight, I feed it into a well lubricated pussy with a hungry moan of primal desire and began to fuck myself slowly, the strokes long and deep, hips raising to meet each one.  I imagined I was Chelsea, and that I was watching her and began to fuck myself faster, pushing her toy deeper and harder into my now dripping wet cunt with each stroke.  Grabbing one nipple, tugging and twisting until I cried out with pain, eye focused on the ceiling, making a show of it.  What if it was her, watching me?  Her, sitting in her office, the door closed, watching me on her laptop, her panties discarded on the carpet, a black latex cock, the twin to the one I was using, in her sopping wet cunt, matching the intensity of my strokes, each one harder, faster, deeper, her hand covering her mouth so that her co-workers couldn’t hear her moans, her whimpers, her cries…

I came.  Loud and hard. So hard I wondered if I might have blacked out. I lay there panting, too exhausted to move, her black latex cock shoved deep into my quivering gash, fluids leaking out of me, staining the covers.  Fuck. I couldn’t let that happen, but I was paralyzed and unable to do anything about it.  Breathing hard, eyes closed, I imagined her standing over me, licking her lips as she climbed onto her bed with me and settled between my legs, her moist lips brushing against my wetness, her tongue pushing between my swollen lips, licking me, savoring every drop while I begged her to push her tongue into me and make me come again. I began playing with my clit, pulling the dildo free, kissing it, sucking my own juices from it. This is what she would taste as she made love to my pussy. The sweet tang of my cum.  Opening wide, I sucked on the head, licking along the bottom of the shaft, blowing it like I would a real cock, thumb grinding against my throbbing clit, slipping my finger between my cunt lips until it was dripping wet and then pressing it against my puckered anus. Drawing a deep breath, I relaxed and pushed, feeling my fingertip push past my ring.  This is what her tongue would feel like.  I bucked, losing control and pushing my digit deep into my ass.  It hurt gloriously and then, it didn’t and I found myself coming once again, her name on my lips as I lost myself in ecstasy.

All other plans were put aside after that.  Before I did anything else I’d have to clean up my mess.  I stripped the cover from her bed and piled it on the floor, blushing hard at the painfully obvious wet spot centered on the blue material.  It would have been embarrassing, if there’d been anyone else to see it.  I paused a moment and took a deep breath. No more straying.  From now on I wouldn’t deviate from the agenda regardless of whatever temptation was placed before me.  Follow the schedule. To the letter.  

Over the course of the next hour, that became my manta.  No deviations. I repeated it over and over in my head, sometimes even mumbling it out loud as a gathered her bedspread and washed it, using her washing machine.  I doubted very much that she’d noticed the small amount of soap missing and I wasn’t prepared to drag it back to my place.  I spent the time constructively, continuing to read her journal, or work book as I started calling it.

Knots. Release methods. Notes about which worked best, scribbled in the margins as if added later.  It reminded me of lab notes with results added later, after an experiment had been performed. And then, something even more interesting. Crude diagram, or rather simply drawn ones, with notes following.  As I thumbed through, I realized that she’d been designing, for the lack of a better description, bondage devices based on existing items such as stockades, cages, the iron maiden – items traditionally used for punishment.  I was spellbound. They were, for the most part, clever contraptions. Chewing on my lip, lost in thought, I wondered if I could replicate her ideas. Most of them, I decided, I could, although it would be a time consuming project. Perhaps I’d pick out one or two favorites and concentrate on them.  Patience was key, I decided, startled into hastily replacing the journal as the dryer chime sounded. Heart beating rapidly, it was decided that I’d pushed her luck far enough for today. Time to erase all trace. No deviations, I murmured, finding comfort in the repeated phrase as I put everything back the way it had been before my intrusion and returned home, eager to see the fruits of my labor. Taking my laptop into my bedroom, I stripped out of my clothes, even my underwear this time, and propped myself up against my pillows before opening my spy cam program

I’d never watched myself before. Making amateur porn tapes or even taking nude selfies had never been something I was into. I hit play, my lap top sitting on the quilt between my outstretched thighs, and watched as I climbed up onto her bed, my hair spread out on the pillow she lay her head on while she slept. While she did things in her bed that had nothing to do with sleep.  I watched as I undressed, revealing swollen nipples. Breathless, I watched as I pushed her dildo into my pussy for the first time, inspired to retrieve one of my own, so that I could relive the experience, pushing it into my cunt, still slightly sore from the fucking I had given myself, fucking myself in sync with the image of me on my computer screen, my moans harmonious with those emitting from my speaker, creating a sensual symphony of ecstasy until both I, and the digital me, were on the verge of coming.  Only then did force myself to stop, watching with a strange sense of fascination as bucked and moaned and cried out, my earlier orgasm rocking through like a flesh tsunami until I was spent.  Not so my present self. I was trembling and shaking with lust.  The willpower it required to not reach between my legs and plunge my fingers into my hot creamy pussy was extraordinary, but I managed. I had other plans, after all.  I wanted to save my orgasm for her. I wanted to come with Chelsea, our moans intertwined, meshing together as I spied upon her.  The thought that she might simply turn the lights out, crawl into bed, and go to sleep presented themselves, nagging at me.  I had no control over that aspect. If so, I’d have to wait until tomorrow night. Or the next.  Or how long it took, keeping myself on edge for her. It would be exquisite torture and, if that happened, I would repay her in kind at some point.  The inkling of another plan began to take form, one I would have to examine at a later date. 

And so I waited, keeping myself busy with housework.  After a short while I grew too agitated to stay home, so I deviated once again, despite myself and entered her place. This time it was for a single purpose.  I borrowed her keys, the ones that presumably fit all the padlocks in her drawer and drove down to the local locksmith so I could have copies made. It didn’t take long, giving me a large window to return them, one I took advantage of by looking at some at her journal once more, intrigued by the designs she’d imagined, most of which would be simple to turn into actual devices.  My favorite was one in which she described metal hoops attached to a base, trapping wrists, biceps, waist, thighs, and ankles, giving just enough room for the subject to avoid contact with and wired to a battery so that touching them would produce a mild shock. Below her description, she’d pondered how difficult it would be to remain still enough to avoid them while being stimulated or in the throes or an orgasm.  That one, in particular, interested me.  Perhaps I could build something similar and she could test it for me. 

This time, I didn’t take any risks, other than inhaling the fragrance of her used panties once more.  I simply replace her keys and the journal and returned to my residence with approximately ninety minutes before she was due home.  There, I kept myself occupied by making and consuming dinner, aware of my elevated pulse as the minutes ticked slowly down. 

Eventually, she pulled up into her drive way.  I’d been sitting in my front room, waiting, tentatively making a new list for next Wednesday, my computer open to the camera feed should she trigger it when it suddenly occurred to me that I should do this correctly. I would dress up for our date.  I suppose it was a strange desire, since only I would be able to appreciate it, but it seemed important at that moment.  Know I had, more than likely, a couple of hours of waiting while she settled in, had her dinner and relaxed, afterwards, with a glass of wine in her backyard, I decided I needed to make an effort for her.  I’d shower and shave and then put on something pretty. No, not pretty. Something sexy and alluring.  Something slutty.

After which, I simply waited, the suspense killing me.  Metaphorically, of course. I’d chosen a fishnet body suit which I’d never been daring enough to wear since it didn’t leave much, if anything, to the imagination.  This, however, was a special occasion. I’d grown antsy as the sky darkened, a condition made worse by several false alarms, such as her sitting on the edge of the bed and taking off a pair of socks. Other than that, though, the feed remained dark, until finally, I was rewarded by my patience. The screen lit up with an image of Chlesea.  She, too, had dressed up, or rather down, and I got my first real glimpse of her body.  She was as stunning as I’d imagined in her flimsy red lace panties and matching half bra. I watched, transfixed, admiring her pert breasts, her nipples so stiff that her bra couldn’t contain them.  She was wearing red lacquer on her nails and he lips were painted scarlet. I watched as she peeled a piece of tape from the wall above her head and carefully screwed a hook into it. Clever girl. I’d have to investigate the wall more closely on my next visit.  I recalled the journal entries as she attached a small block of ice to it.  One of the release mechanisms. A length of string, frozen in ice, a key attached to the other end. It would hang there until melted, and then the key would fall, dangling, presumably within reach, so that she could free herself from her bonds.

I watched, my breath quickening, as she prepared several items on the bed, in plain view of my spy cam.  Leather cuffs; two.  Handcuffs, one.  Lengths of rope; two.  Egg shaped vibrator with remote; one. Red ball gag; one.  She began by buckling the gag behind her head, lifting her lovely blonde tresses so that they’d not get caught.  I continued watched as she affixed the rope to the outermost rails of her footboard.  I could tell by the way her breasts rose and fell that she was excited. I could only imagine how wet her pretty pink pussy must be. Overflowing with cream, perhaps, turning the red lace material dark.  Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pulled one knee up to her chest and buckled a cuff around her slender ankle, repeating the process with her other leg. Taking great care to arrange her pillows, one centered on the bed, the other where her head would rest, she reclined.  The first pillows placement soon became obvious, as it forced her hip upwards and out, away from the mattress as she deftly tied the ends of each rope length to a metal ring on her ankle cuffs, securing her legs to the foot board so that they were spread, leaving her pussy vulnerable.  I gasped softly, getting a good look between her thighs. I’d guessed right. She was obviously wet, her panties already soaked with her fluids.  Dirty little Chelsea with her secrets, I thought, smiling to myself.  They were my secrets now, I thought, barely aware of the hand between my opening thighs as I rubbed my own pussy, also warm and wet with lust.

Next, as I’d anticipated now that I was beginning to understand her kinks, she slipped her egg into her welcoming cunt, her natural lubrication easing its way, her panties obviously in place to keep it from slipping out.  Next, she fastened the metal cuffs around her right wrist, took the remoted in her left hand and slipped her hands between the rails directly above her head. It was difficult to see, but I assumed, by her actions, that she was wrestling to get the other cuff around her unfettered left and that, once she’d done that, she’d activated the remote and let it fall behind the bed, securing herself until the key fell.

It was ingenious, really.  A part of me was intrigued at how she’d worked out how to put herself into bondage without anyone’s help and how she’d, presumably, worked out how to, eventually, escape.  I watched, then, simply waiting for something to happen. And then, I say her jerk, her eyes flying suddenly open before relaxing again, her hips rolling sensually, moving up and down, her buttocks rising from the pillow, her moans barely audible through her gag.  And then, a moan of a different caliber, one of frustration.  After several cycles, I deduced that the egg was on a random setting of some sort.  As it tormented her, using her body language as an indicator, as well as keeping an eye on the laptops clock, I worked out that it seemed to turning on and off at random times and that the intensity of the vibrations were also probably random.  My thoughts leaped immediately to what it would feel like to take control of her like this.  All I would have to do is let myself in, remove her escape mechanism, and then watch as she twisted and moaned, begging through her gag for me to let her go. Or perhaps she’s beg me to let her come.  I could keep her going for hours like that. Only… what then?  Once I released her, it would be over.  She’d probably call the cops.  I know I would if the situation had been reversed.   I resigned myself to simply watching her struggle as she pulled at the metal cuffs, desperate to free her hand as the vibrator continued to tease and deny her mercilessly.  I watched as she kicked and twisted, attempting to pull her ankles from the grip of her leather cuffs. It was a darkly sensual display of near art, and I enjoyed every moment of it, keeping myself on the edge, almost delirious with the need to come, but holding back, experiencing the same torment my Chelsea felt for a full hour until, finally, the key fell.

It was almost comical watching her fumble, trying to grasp the key and work it into the keyhole. Watching her try to free herself. It took, easily, six or seven minutes during which she was shaking with frustration.  Eventually, though, she managed. Without ceremony, once her wrist was free she pulled both hands clear of the rail and began to rub and grind her hungry little cunt with an intensity that I matched, her cries muted, mine loud within the privacy of my bedroom until she began spasming on her bed, coming long and hard.  I followed, a mere heartbeat behind her, crying out her name as I tipped over the edge. 

Afterwards, we were both too exhausted and simply lay, or in my case, sat, limply, breathing hard, my entire being trembling and shaking, almost overcome by the power of our shared experience.  She, too, seemed to be in the same condition.  I continued to watch as, eventually, she reversed the process, freeing her other wrist and both her ankles, daintily removing the torturous egg from her cunt and unbuckling her gag.  Apparently it was too much effort to do more, as she simple pushed everything aside, curled up, and reached over to turn off the light, bathing the room in darkness.  A moment later, I too, took refuge in the darkness of my bedroom, satisfied and yet aching for more. I had, I feared, opened Pandora's mythical box.