She was literally waiting for me. Right there. Her arms were crossed and she leaned against the wall of the hallway with a irritated expression on her face. Without a word, she grabbed my arm and pushed me into the bedroom.
I haven’t spent a lot of time in Julie’s bedroom, mostly because she likes to use me in the more common areas of her apartment. And, I think partly it is because she’s a fucking slob. Clothes were all over the floor, the bed looked like it had last been made during the stone age, and the walls were covered with tacky band and goth posters. The capstone of decor was one giant four by six foot poster of Gonzo from the Muppets, which was literally tacked to the ceiling above the bed, so that the weirdo could stare down at you.
Julie cleared the bed by the simple process of dumping everything that wasn’t a pillow, sheet, or blanket on the floor. I was sat down on the edge of the bed and then Jimmy appeared, carrying my duffle bag. I licked my lips. The small alarm clock on the nightstand read 3:08pm and when Julie grabbed the bag and pulled out my wrist and ankle cuffs, I felt another surge of fright. What was going to happen next?
Sure, I had been TOLD what was going to happen, but that was days in advance. I didn’t have the list in front of me. And besides, my brain was soaked in a variety of naturally produced hormones and chemicals designed to prepare me to either fight or flee, or I guess cum manically. I’m not sure. All I know was that my mental processes were labored and that while I still had a full six pack, I lacked the plastic thingy holding them all together.
It didn’t take the two of them long to get me secured. I was pushed onto my back, my arms and legs spread to the far corners of the bed, and hooked bungee cords were used to pull me into a spread-eagled position. I looked ridiculous I’m sure, especially with my breasts still tightly bound and swollen. I looked like a flat chested girl with two soft balls sitting on her ribcage.
As soon as Julie was sure I wasn’t going anywhere, nor able to move more than an inch or two in any direction, she again went through my bag and pulled out the next little toy of torment. On Sunday I had stopped by Kari’s condo and borrowed her portable TENS Unit, or transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulator for you newbs. The cost of borrowing it was extremely high too, but that’s going to be another tale so no point in ruining the surprise.
Kari actually owns two TENS Units. One is the industrial version that sits on a cart in her dungeon. The other is a more socially acceptable version that she picked up at a homeopathic medicine shop she frequents. It came with four pads and provided “massage” for sore back muscles. It took Kari about ten minutes to figure out how to plug in her more interesting electrical contacts. Thus instead of pads, her little portable unit now had two forceps clamps, each sporting copper plates on opposite sides.