I did know that I would be wearing restraints all day long. I did not expect – though maybe I should have – being woken from a sound sleep as he laced my arms into a binder behind my back.

We had discussed what would be happening. Sort of. On our planning day a couple weeks ago I probably asked a hundred questions or more, but the activities he had planned were a surprise, so I had to try to cover everything. We hashed out dozens and dozens of little specific details. What he was allowed to do to me. How he ‘d be allowed to do it. In some cases, how he’d be paying for it later. Rule number one, however, was that he could elaborate as far as he dared on anything I didn’t cover.

So, I knew the plan was a full day of something, unless I used a safe-word to shut it down. But then, that would end the game absolutely. There were no caution lights today, only stop and go.

With sleep still heavy in my mind, I tried to think if I'd ever made him define 'all day' any more specifically. I hadn't. I opened my mouth to gripe at him for waking me up, but he must have been ready and waiting. A ball gag dropped past my eyes and slipped into my mouth before I even finished saying "Asshole!".

Of course, covering everything on planning day was impossible. That was half the fun.

He also put a blindfold on me, then stripped my lower half before tying both ankles down to one corner of the bed. The basic notion inspiring the whole day was that whatever I didn't need for the activity at hand – hands, feet, eyes, mouth, or more – would be restrained, tied, blindfolded, gagged, or whatever he decided. Apparently he didn't want me doing anything just then, because I couldn't really move.

So for awhile I just lay there trying to either wake up or go back to sleep, but I realized that if he woke me up like this, he was probably planning something equally dubious for bedtime. So I thought about that, mostly, and whether we would even make it all the way to bedtime.

He was fidgeting between my legs. Two rather cold, lubed fingers slid into my vagina. Another played with my clit, but not for long. Once I was lubed up, he slid a vibrator into me – the annoying one that only ever made me wet – and turned it on. He spent another minute tying ropes around my thighs. I tried to keep him from getting them underneath me. Tried to push out the vibe. But I was just testing, really, and let him finish easily enough after he smacked my ass a few times.

That was rule two. I did not have to cooperate. He could punish me, bribe me, try to make me obey, or failing that, even wrestle me into something if he could. But ultimately, my cooperation wasn't guaranteed, and I could make him work for his fun if I wanted to.

As soon as he'd finished tying the vibe to my thighs, he left the room. The low pitched buzz rattled through my hips and legs, vibrating the ropes almost as much as it vibed my cunt. It was sort of in the right place, but not really. I tried to twist around, to see what range of movement I had, but my ankles were solidly stuck in place. It was rare, anymore, that he strapped me in to anything I could get myself out of, but I tried anyway. If nothing else, a little struggling helped distract from the vibe.

I did rub the blindfold off my face with a pillow. That wasn't much of an improvement, since I was suck face down in the dim room and still couldn't see any of the ties behind me. At least it was easier to really wake up without a blindfold on. I also managed to lift myself into a kneeling position, but however my thighs were tied, the vibe wouldn't fall out from simple gravity.

He came back into the room with coffee and, somewhat surprisingly, a cup of my morning tea as well. I waved hello to him with my head and one tied up hand. He just gave me a look of mock disappointment, set the cups on the bedside table, and returned the blindfold to my face.

I flopped forward on the bed, back where I started. The vibe hadn't budged, but gravity had left my inner thighs drippy with lube and more. A friendly hand played with the wet there for a minute, then slipped a couple fingers inside. This time he didn't stop for a good long while. I couldn't really rock my hips like they wanted, but I moaned through the gag, strained against the arm binder, and practically levitated back into a kneeling position.

"Bathroom?" he asked, and I nodded vigorously. That was the third rule we'd made pretty standard for games like today. Between activities, he had to ask if I needed a bathroom break, and I'd get a chance to do that with at least one free hand, free legs obviously, and no blindfold. Much better for everybody. If I had to go mid-scene there would be consequences involving a habanero chili, either today or some other day. No way that would be fun for me, as amusing as he might find it, so breaks were the way.

When I came back into the bedroom, he had me sit right at the edge of the bed where he could strap my ankles to different corners at it’s foot, spreading my legs uncomfortably wide. He removed the binder and re-tied it with my forearms in front of me, leaving my hands mostly free. A setup designed for drinking tea, I was sure.

Of course, he then showed me a pair of awful looking clamps, and pinched my nipples with his fingers as commentary. I screeched and hissed around the gag, and tried to swat him with my two hands, but I couldn’t move them that much. My tea was sitting there steaming too, so I hissed a little more as he screwed the clamps tight to my nipples, but I didn’t really fight him over it. He also hung a pair of heavy little bells on them.

Today, rule number four was no decisions. He'd pick the activities for the day. He'd pick what restraints to use and what positions to put me in. He wasn’t allowed to ask me to decide anything for him. That was absolutely a concession on his part. Normally he'd be saying "do you want these clamps on your tits or between your legs?", or “should I hang bells on them or tie them to your elbows?”, an awful little dilemma attached to everything as a way to make me squirm. It worked really well. It would drive me crazy. But, if I had to deal with that all day long? I'd be calling it quits by noon. So no decisions.

Finally, when he was done fiddling with all the restraints and the clamps, he unbuckled the gag, laying a finger over my mouth for a moment to warn that he didn't want any talking. He handed me my cup of tea. Effectively, I had one double-hand with very limited movement, but I could lift the cup and drink without any trouble. No talking was fine. I was busy.

He sat down opposite me on the floor, looking up between my spread legs while he drank his coffee. I sipped my tea.

The pinching from the clamps was incessant, and the bells jingled every time I even tried to adjust my position. He really did have me sitting very much on the edge of the bed, and my feet were at least four feet apart. It was hard on the thighs to stay seated, hard on the knees to stand up too long. That made for a lot of clenching, I realized, and an odd sort of show that he had a perfect seat for.

I finished my tea entirely too quickly. He wasn't near done with his coffee, but he put it down for a moment so he could take my teacup and set it on the table. Then he got out a different gag, an open-mouth style with rubber-coated bars that set behind my teeth. It made for a lot of drool, but it was actually more comfortable than the ball gag. There were half a dozen buckles to adjust, so it took him a minute to strap it all securely to my head. When he was done with that, he pushed my arms up so that my elbows were above my head and clicked something that anchored my already-joined wrists to the back of my neck. He sat back down.

Courtesy of both the tea and the gag, a trickle of spit flowed down my chin almost immediately. Between my breasts. Down my stomach. While he sipped his coffee and watched me sit and stand and clench and try to swallow.

When the river reached between my legs, he scooted closer and idly massaged it into my clit and labia. Not the way I usually made my own lubrication, but it was plenty effective, and the usual kind joined in soon enough. As intently as he’d watched me earlier, for the sit-stand-and-clench tea-drinking show, he was now focused on his coffee even as his fingers wandered softly over everything he could reach. But then, I was turned on enough that ‘softly’ was just a form of torture.

The tiny sips of coffee he took suggested he knew exactly what he was doing. He spent a solid five or ten minutes on the last half of the mug. I spend that time trying to press just a little harder against his fingers. Only when he’d finally drained the cup and set it aside did he turn to face me again. He dipped his tongue right into the middle of the dripping mess he’d made and started drinking me just as slowly.

I didn't last long at all. One little knee spasm sent me off the bed and onto his face, with a great deal of groaning and jingling. He actually held me up for a moment like that – though I can’t imagine what it did to his neck – but pretty quickly he pulled one ankle strap loose so I could descend without dislocating anything. I slid to my knees on the floor, still pretty much sitting on his mouth. I wondered if I was folding him in half, it was such an odd position, but through all this the man’s tongue did not stop.

My hips could finally do what they wanted, in this case ‘grind on his face’, but the rest of me was trying not to fall forward onto my own face. I strained backward, clutching at the bed since my hands were behind my head anyway, but none of that was terribly effective. It was a near thing. I was rapidly losing my grip, but he relented before I fell over.

Finally regaining my balance, I released my fingertip-hold on the mattress so I could look down. He had actually slid mostly under the bed, gripping the frame like an incredibly low pull-up bar. He looked up from between my knees at the same time I looked down, so the veritable waterfall of saliva exiting via the open mouth gag went pretty much directly onto his forehead. The look on his face was priceless, going from surprise to horror, but his expression blew right past that to awe. The man was frozen with lust, like a deer in sexy, sexy headlights.

Laughing with your mouth wedged wide open makes a very weird sound. I certainly couldn’t move, so I just laughed and drooled on him some more until he remembered he was supposed to be the dom today.

He did eventually extract himself from under both the bed and my drooling face. I peeked at him from behind my elbows, still giggle-honk-ing. He was decidedly soggy, just everywhere, but he was grinning from ear to ear.

And he kept grinning as he reached over and released the clamps I had pretty much forgotten were on my nipples, despite the jingling. Mid honk, I yelled. That was pretty much the only other noise available in that gag, so I yelled a lot. I yelled at the pinch of the clamps coming off. I yelled at the sting while he massaged the blood back into my tits. I yelled some more for good measure when he just continued to twist and toy with them now that they were sore.

Eventually he let me and my unhappy nips free for another bathroom break while he went to the other one to wash his face. I took my time, massaged my own nipples, thank-you-very-much, and cleaned the spit off my chin and chest. The open-mouth gag was still in, so there would be more dribble, but I made the attempt. When I came out, he 'dressed' me in a mini-skirt with no panties and a shirt that was essentially transparent. Then he put just one hand in a sock and cuffed it to the back of my head.

It was time to make breakfast. Cracking eggs with one hand I could do. Tending to the pan with one hand was only a little bit tricky. I wondered if we were going to have any vegetables, but he opened the tomatoes and chopped the onions and peppers without comment. All that was fine, cooking with one hand tied behind me. It was just a little odd to feel the heat of the pan quite so freely through my shirt. It was just a little troublesome to be dribbling the whole time on just about everything. I took care to keep from spitting in the things that were going back in the fridge, but the pan, the chopped veggies, myself, the table, the floor – there were drips and drops of drool everywhere. He seemed to find the spittle very amusing.

But it got done, and it was a nice omelet. A very decent breakfast. The gag would have to come off so I could eat.

But before we did that, he unhooked my wrist from my head. I was a little surprised that he would give me both hands to eat with, but that thought didn't last long at all. One quick twist and he had both arms behind my back and in the binder. Oh boy did I fight that. He bent me over a chair while he tried to lace up the restraint. I knocked the chair over and twisted away. He pushed me to the floor. If anyone peeked in on us at just this moment, he would have so much explaining to do.

I pulled his knee so he fell over and I could stand up. He never let go of the binder, though. He pushed me boobs first into the refrigerator and pinned my leg against it too, then laced the binder tighter with one hand. Which, I have to say, was as neat a trick as my cooking.

Battle over, we sat down. He was grinning again. We were both breathing hard. He reached over and hooked one finger into my mouth through the gag, touching my tongue, and pulled me toward him a bit. "I'll take this gag off so you can eat,” he panted, “One word, though, and you can try to eat with it on. I'm sure it's not impossible."

I nodded a little, more in understanding than agreement. He unfastened the straps and lifted the bars out of my mouth. My jaw was so stiff, I had to work it a bit until it felt functional. He poured two glasses of orange juice and put one of them, with a straw, next to my plate.

I got up and sat at the table. Took a sip of juice. Looked at my omelet. Leaned over, to take a bite. Scooted my chair back, to get the angle right. Eating with no hands wasn't exactly difficult, it was just kind of messy. I nearly choked, though, when I sat up a little to take another drink and saw him watching me so intently. He didn't even look pleased, this time, just fascinated.

Apparently it was a good enough show that he mostly forgot to eat. I finished long before he did, and watched for awhile as he chewed his obviously cold eggs. I thought of a few witty things to say, but nothing that was really worth having the gag go back on, so we just sat quietly.

He took off the arm binder so I could take my bathroom break. Really just a break, this time, but certainly I wasn't going to skip it just because I didn't need it. So I just sat for awhile, entirely untied for the first time today, and tried to gather some composure for whatever he had planned next.

I found him in the livingroom, busily attaching restraints to the couch. He put the ball gag back in my mouth first thing, then had me sit down in the middle of the couch so he could clip my ankle cuffs to the straps he'd just put in place. He cuffed my wrists behind my back. At least the fuzzy handcuffs he’d used were more comfortable and less restrictive than the arm binder.

Then he got down on the floor and tightened the straps attached to my ankles, both at once. I pulled on them as he tightened them, but there wasn't really anything I could do at that point. In just a few seconds I was sitting on the edge of the couch the same way I'd been sitting on the edge of the bed, ankles five feet apart and guaranteed to stay that way. The couch was a lot lower, so the position was a lot more comfortable that it had been on the bed, but I also didn't have the leverage to stand up or even fall over.

He put a video game controller in my hands, behind me. Just holding it was awkward.

He'd turned on the television. He'd bought me a present. He knew I'd been wanting this game, but apparently the first time I was going to get to play it I was tied up and distracted with a backward controller. He sat on the floor in front of me, one arm around my butt, the other petting the fuzz between my legs that he so adored.

It took a good twenty minutes just to master the stupid controller enough to get through the menu and start actually playing the game. I dropped it twice just trying to find a way to push the buttons, and eventually settled on turning it upside-down. I died almost immediately, and when I did, he slapped my pussy. Pretty hard, too, or maybe I just really wasn't expecting it. My legs jerked against the ankle cuffs, but there was no stopping him. I died again the exact same way almost immediately and he slapped me again.

It was a good thing, sort of, that my hands and the controller were behind me, because my front was covered in drool again from the ball gag. I made it through the first area after maybe a dozen more slaps. I wasn't really counting. He caught me by surprise for more than half of those because I was so focused on the game and the awful controller position. As the 'zone complete' music finally played, I heard buzzing and felt him touch a vibe to my cit. The good one. The best little thing in his arsenal. I didn't even try to play when the next area started.

It took a few moments, but ignoring the game was a pretty good way to die. The vibe went away at entirely the wrong moment, replaced by a sharp smack that made me drop the controller. I got another slap as I fumbled around blindly, trying to retrieve it, and a third after failing to salvage a fight I was already losing.

I beat two more zones in that manner, suffering enough pussy spankings to make the warm throb a distraction in it's own right. I started to think maybe this was his plan for the whole rest of the day. That would have suited me just fine, though I'm not sure my pussy would agree after another level or two. But the doorbell rang.

I froze. He just took the controller, paused the game, and said "Pizza. Just lay down on the couch a bit. Nobody's going to see you."

He got up, answered the door, and tipped the delivery guy while I silently freaked out over being naked and tied up while a total stranger was less than ten feet away. He was right that nobody could see me, and they probably didn’t even suspect anything out of the ordinary, but my heart still pounded the whole time the door was open.

I heard the door close, and heard him set the pizza on the table. He came and sat down next to me on the couch. "I checked all the sight lines before I even ordered. He would have to come all the way inside to even see the top of your head." I growled at him, and made a mental note to ban deliveries if we did anything like this again.

"Time to change your position, though. As fun as this has been. Bathroom break?" I shook my head no. I probably should have taken the breather, but I just wanted to sit on the couch. He just nodded without comment, made sure my game was saved, and turned it back to the title screen.

He took off the ball gag to let me have some water with a straw. Then he replaced it with the open-mouth gag. He un-cuffed my hands for a moment to take off my shirt, then attached them instead to loops that came around the top of the couch.

He sat in front of me on the floor, just looking up at me spread-eagle across the couch. Slapped me between the legs again. And again. My puss was already bright red, but he smacked it five or six more times, making me test the bonds, but I was going nowhere. Then he wrapped his arms around my thighs and dove tongue first into my vagina. It felt awkward, my hips were already thrust so far forward. He seemed to like that quite a bit, though. He kept at it until he had me arching up above the couch instead of sitting on it.

He wiped his face on a small towel while I descended, then slipped that towel underneath me. Not many things as embarrassing as stains on the couch even If most of our friends wouldn't guess what made them. Then he loosened the straps that held my legs open. Not enough to let me close them, but enough so that I could sit all the way back on the couch.

I turned my head as I adjusted my seat, looking at the door to see it was properly locked, and at the table to see the pizzas.

Pizzas. Two Pizzas. Plural. Pizzas. Nothing we had talked about could cover the implications of two pizzas.

I did not need words to express myself. Yelling incoherently through the gag would suffice perfectly. He followed my gaze to see what I was bellowing about, froze for a moment, then breathed out very deliberately and chuckled.

He had the audacity to sit down next to me and fiddle with my nipples as he talked, "You've seen that there's rather a lot of pizza. I understand you'd be worried, but you don't need to be. It's just a little tiny party. Joy and Natalie were both free, and they thought a little pizza, some video games, and a fun toy to play with sounded fantastic."

He tapped me on the nose as he said ‘toy’. I discovered that if I really wanted to, I could also growl very convincingly, even with my mouth stuck wide open.

"Well, we met them at the convention, so it's not like I told them anything about us they didn't already know." He sounded so much like he was having a normal conversation. "And they're very fond of you, you know that. Had their hands all over you at the pool party." I had been blindfolded at the pool party, but the revelation that Joy and Nat were involved there didn’t really surprise me. It did put our friendship in a bit of a different light, though.

I could communicate with silence as well. Death and dismemberment was the message of the current glare, and I thought I delivered it pretty well.

Unphased, he traced a line from my nipple down my belly and between my legs.

My heart was racing. Rule one. Details. Had I asked about other people being involved? No, I hadn’t. It wasn’t a convention or a party. We hadn’t discussed rules about other people at all. Wasn’t that a sort of a distraction? Of course it was. I could sing out a safe-word, call it done any time, and be as pissed as I wanted to that he’d planned this.

But what I thought was: We hadn’t made a rule. Point to him.

The doorbell rang.

"Well, they're here. I should go answer that." He didn’t stand up, though.

Rule two was no help. Maybe if I’d taken that last break I’d still be in the other room, and all this would be happening differently. But I hadn’t. I was still breathing hard from all the howling I’d been doing. The noise from the video game menu screen intruded on my thoughts.

He hesitated, "Last chance."

Rule Three. I could fight all I wanted. I pulled against the straps and cuffs hard enough that I thought I might strain something. I tried frantically to twist my hands around so I could unhook the cuffs myself. The angle was all wrong.

He stood up and made his way to the door incredibly slowly. I stole wild glances behind me at him and the door and those two crazy boxes of pizza.

Rule Four. I didn't have to make any decisions. I yanked on the restraints like a confused tiger. I howled in frustration. But I didn't sing. I didn't knock.

He opened the door.

"You remember I told you it might take me awhile to answer?" He sounded a little subdued. A little wobbly.

Joy's voice was half laughter, "Because she'd be singing 'Mary Had A Little Lamb' and diving for a pair of pants. Yeah, no problem. She’s not too mad about having to bail out of fun sexy times in favor of a pizza party with us, is she?”

Involuntarily, I’d sunk as low into the couch as I could, as quietly as I could.

Natalie’s cackling voice chimed in as footsteps came into the house, “Yeah, we’ve been coming up with all kinds of ridiculous shit we’d do with her at her ‘bondage pizza party’, and I wanna tell her every single one.”

Right behind me, Joy laughed with exclamation, “Oh, god, this is hilarious. You still have straps attached to the couch."

His voice was absolutely sheepish as he closed the door behind them, "Oh, so much more than straps attached to that couch right now.” He laughed nervously, “I’m thinking you may get to go a bit past telling her what you’ve been talking about… "