By surfbot

I lost a bet to my boyfriend of four months, and my forfeit was to spend a weekend wearing only handcuffs, leg cuffs, and my chastity device. This was not all that crazy, as we had played around with such things before.

When Brian entered my apartment late afternoon on Friday, he had one word for me: “strip”. As I removed my clothes he did also. Reduced to the bare necessities we were wearing identical chastity devices, each secured with a pin through a PA piercing — a month after we met he got himself pierced and bought a steel device to match mine. He then had a surprise for me: he told me to go get my chastity key. When I returned he said we would swap locks, so we would both know that nobody cheated, no matter how many keys we had hidden away. He had me hide “my” key in the bedroom, and when I came back he had removed handcuffs and leg cuffs from his duffel. He had me apply the leg cuffs to myself, then turn around with hands behind my back, where he applied the handcuffs. He double locked them all.

He then gave me a high-calorie kiss groping his hands all over my body, while mine were trapped behind me. We were amused as our chastities clinked together.

As he had been traveling for work and had not been together for almost two weeks, we sat on towels on my couch and caught up with each other. When the pizza arrived he put on some clothes while I stayed out of sight. As my hands were still in back he had to feed us both. That turned into a more intimate meal than I would have guessed.

Just before we went to bed I pulled my hands over my butt and stepped each foot through my hands, leaving them in front (vastly more comfortable).

After breakfast he told me that he had to go in to work for a few hours. As he figured I could find a handcuff key in my apartment, he had a solution to keep me restrained. Out of his duffel he pulled a black box handcuff cover and a chain with a martin link on one end. The black box goes over my handcuffs and is held closed and in place with a steel clip. The martin link is a rectangular steel link that fits through the links of the chain and the slot in the black box, keeping it closed around the handcuffs. He wrapped the chain around my waist and put the martin link through so it was snug; it then went through the slot in the black box. The chain had several extra feet and he threaded these through the hole in the martin link, outside the black box, thus fixing the black box and my wrists to my waist chain. He then wrapped the remainder halfway around my waist to the back, where he locked it to my waist chain with a handcuff-key padlock. So my hands were held close to my waist in front, and even if I had a key I could not reach any keyhole — I was securely restrained.

About an hour after he left the nightmare began — the fire alarm went off.

After a few minutes I began to smell smoke, so I knew I had to leave. Brian was right about my having a handcuff key, which I got out of my toy box from under the bed. Restrained as I was, pants and shirt would be useless, so I got a blanket, ventured out in the hall, and started down the stairs. So far nobody had seen me, but the leg cuffs interfered with the stairs and I almost fell. I paused at the first landing, and then heard someone else coming down from above. It was a guy I had never seen before. When he reached the landing I said “Please help me.” He looked at me, laughed, and said “You sure are in trouble, but without a key I can’t help you.” I showed him the key in my hand and explained that I could not reach any keyhole to free myself. He unlocked the padlock at my back, and helped me pull the chain through the martin link. Once the black box was off it was clear I could now free myself; I told him to save himself and I would be along shortly. He pointed to my chastity device, laughed again, and said “I cannot do anything about that.” I explained that my boyfriend had that key.

He rapidly went down the stairs while I finished removing the restraints, and piled them in the corner of the landing. I wrapped my blanket around myself and went downstairs and out. Across the street everyone had gathered while the fire department sprayed water into the apartment directly above mine. I sat on the curb being miserable, with my only worldly possessions a blanket and a chastity device for which I did not have the key.

A while later I saw Brian across the crowd looking frantically for me. I stood up and he saw me. It was like in the movies where in slow motion two lovers across a crowd run to each other and embrace, oblivious to everything else. Except I dropped my blanket and gave some nearby people an eyeful.

Brian wrapped my blanket around me and took me to his car. As we drove to his house I told the tale. When we got inside he took my blanket off and set it aside. Then he unlocked and removed my chastity device, and gave me the best blow job I have ever had, spiced up by our awareness that we might not be able to get his key from my apartment. I borrowed some ill-fitting clothes of his, and we went shopping;  he was generous in outfitting me with new clothes of my own.

The next day we went back to my apartment, but the police were keeping everyone out except for residents. With my wallet still in my apartment I could not establish that I was indeed a resident. But then the building manager came around, recognized me, and ushered me past the policeman and up to my apartment.

We entered to a scene of complete destruction. The fire had been in the apartment immediately above mine, and the water used to put out the blaze had cascaded down with obvious results. The ceiling had fallen down under the weight, and everything in my sitting room was soaked and covered in broken-up drywall from above. My bedroom was even worse. But amazingly my cabinet had doors and kept its contents dry, so I got my wallet, keys, and such, including the key to Brian’s chastity.

I went to the stairwell, and there on the landing were all the restraints. I picked them up and came back to Brian’s car. He had parked a block away, and there was nobody around. I had one word for him: “Strip!” — he said “Here?” and I said “Strip!”. He reluctantly got out of the car and removed his clothes, attempting to stay hidden behind the open car door, knowing what came next. Once I had him fully restrained, I let him sit back in the passenger seat and put the key into a cup holder.

I then went back to my apartment and brought back the first load of stuff that was dry — the ceiling of my closet had held, and between that and my cabinet essentially all of my clothes were undamaged. I put what I carried into the back seat and drove back to Brian’s house. On the way he told me that a dozen or so people had walked by, but nobody had given him a second glance.

He found that getting out of the car was awkward, but he made it. We went into the bedroom, removed the restraints and both chastises, and had a fine time together, celebrating that this had been only a major inconvenience, not the disaster it could have been.

It’s been over a year. Brian and I have been married for a few weeks, and we have two house rules: 1) nobody is ever left alone in restraints, and 2) nobody ever leaves the house without wearing their chastity device.

As for my Samaritan of the Stairwell, I never saw him again. I mean, I. never. saw. him. again.