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Stacy tries self-bondage sessions (Self-bd, F-solo, exh, puplic-bd)



Stacy tries self-bondage sessions



Stacy wouldn't have spent the money to add it, but when
she bought her new home it was already in place. She
wasn't that into gardening, but the previous owner had
kept a very large flower garden on the spacious grounds
and had a large, glass enclosure attached to the back of
the house alongside the deck where she raised prize-
winning violets.

It wasn't really glass. The clear, curved panels of its
roof and the not-so-clear panels of its walls were
actually some sort of heavy plastic. It faced south so
the full force of the sun shone on it throughout the
day. The description of the home on the realtor's
website said it had an attached greenhouse, but as the
realtor showed Stacy around the place, she constantly
referred to it as a hothouse.

"Even if you don't want to use it for plant seedlings,"
the realtor had chirped. "It makes a very efficient
solar collector and already has fans in place to
circulate the warmth collected throughout the house in
the cool days of fall and early spring." She flipped a
large switch and added, "And in the summertime, just
open the roof panels and all heat escapes through the
roof as cool air is pulled in through the louvers at the
bottom." She flipped the switch in the opposite
direction and said smartly, "Perfect for the gardener or
the environmentalist."

Stacy was neither a gardener nor an environmentalist,
she was a free-lance writer who worked from home and
wrote everything from advertising copy to romance
novels. She even did some ghost writing for an x-rated
publishing house. She was not one of those women who
loved to get her hands in the dirt and make things grow,
but she did love visiting nude beaches and lying in the
sun naked. As the saleslady babbled on about how many
awards the previous owner had won for her violets, Stacy
was not seeing flowers. She was envisioning the large
hot house filled with a thick carpet on which she could
lie and bask in the sun as it streamed into the glass
enclosure.

There were other visions of herself in her mind, but
those were for after she knew whether or not she could
buy the house. It was way above her price range, but
something told her that the seller would take a much
lower bid than the asking price. Hoping for the best,
she worked out what she could afford on her royalties
and anticipated new book sales and made a ridiculously
low offer to see what the counter offer would be.

To Stacy's surprise, the counter offer was an acceptance
of her bid. The realtor waited until signatures were in
place on the closing documents to explain in her non-
stop babbling style of talking, "I was starting to
despair that I would ever find anyone who would
appreciate that hothouse. Something like that sounds
like a really good addition to the value of a home - and
it is for the right person. But unless you have a really
avid gardener or an extreme environmentalist, such a
specialized add-on is a stumbling block to the sale.
With the prices depressed and the glut on the market and
the previous owner transferred to another state, all we
could pray for was finding someone who was into the
environment or gardening."

As she sorted out the copies for Stacy, she added, "She
was actually hoping for a quite a bit more, but was
afraid that if she made a counter offer, it would scare
you away...," she stopped to take a breath and give
Stacy a wide, toothy grin, "... so you got a really good
deal. Since you said you weren't all that much into the
environment, I assume you will be using it for
gardening." She paused slightly again and finished with,
"After all, what else could you use it for? "

Stacy kept her mouth tightly clamped shut so she didn't
accidentally say out loud, "Naked self-bondage."

Stacy had plans for that greenhouse that had nothing to
do with plants or the environment. She could see herself
suspended in place of the trays of earth, with the
spring-loaded chains going not from the bottom of the
trays, but from ankle restraints on her legs to the
floor mounts at the ends of where the trays were held.
In her mind, the same was true for her hands so that she
was held in mid-air, sweating heavily in the heat of the
sun like a naked, glistening X.

Moving and settling into the house took several weeks,
so it was late spring before Stacy began preparing the
hothouse. The previous owner had not skimped on the
design. It was as good, or better, than many commercial
greenhouses that Stacy had seen. It was about twenty
feet wide and forty feet long with two long rows of
seedling tables down the middle.

What was unusual about these tables is that they were
not wooden or metal structures rising from the floor.
Instead, they hung from the ceiling on stout cables.
Beneath the trays, chains and long springs connected the
trays to floor and prevented them from swaying around.

The upper cables wound around long shafts which could be
turned by electric motors. Thus, the trays could be
raised to a comfortable height for work or lowered
completely to ground level so that soil could be easily
added for the next crop of seedlings. The row closest to
the house was shorter than the other.

In that row, one of the boxes had been removed. The
cables for that box were wound tightly within the spool
on the control shaft and held in place with a large pin.
A large number of those pins - evidently one for each
cable - were hanging on the exterior wall of the house
next to a control panel for the hothouse.

The control panel consisted of a large electrical box
with conduit branching off to several smaller boxes.
Above the control panel was a box about a foot square
with a lever on the side. Out of each of the smaller
boxes additional conduit led to large electric heaters
mounted along the walls of the hothouse and to
additional heaters which hung from the ceiling above the
rows of seedling boxes.

Conduit also led to outdoor style electrical plugs
mounted about a foot off the floor around the entire
greenhouse. On the house wall next to the power panel,
there was a large, open panel with a row of buttons
labeled "Up" and "Down." There was also a hand-held
remote sitting on a shelf at the base of the button
panel. It evidently also controlled the raising and
lowering of the cables. That task could apparently also
be controlled remotely by a computer or cell phone, at
least that is what it said on the installation disk
instructions that were on the shelf with the remote..

On the front of the main control panel was a stylized
flower of some sort and, in a very large font that
looked like growing vines, the words "Thompson's
Automated Fail-safe Greenhouse System." Beneath that in
smaller, normal, print, it said, "This system protects
against the extremes of temperature 24 hours a day, 365
days a year. Full power backup is included and all
systems are fully redundant with cell phone and internet
interface." Finally, in a smaller version of the vine
font, it said, "You can trust your precious flowers to
Thompson's" There was a thick operating manual also
sitting on the shelf with the installation disk and
other small parts and pieces that had the Thompson logo
on them.

Stacy spent two weekends working in the hothouse
removing the soil and the trays. That first Saturday,
she worked nude inside the steaming structure, and then
would slip on a light sundress at the door as she
wheeled the garden wheel barrow out to the back of the
property. She probably could have remained naked since
the back yard was large and completely enclosed with a
tall wooden fence, but she was afraid someone might be
able see down into the yard across the back fence from
the deck or upper floors of the house behind her.

No one was watching. If someone had been watching, the
dress would have made little difference. Stacy was
perspiring so heavily that even on the first trip with
the wheelbarrow the dress was wet with sweat and stuck
tightly to her body. As the day wore on, the mixture of
sweat and dust which clung to her body created swirled
patterns of light and dark making it look like she was
wearing camo body paint beneath the now practically
transparent garment. As the day began to fade into
darkness, Stacy made the final two trips of the day
without bothering to put on her dress. The next morning,
when she resumed her labors, she didn't bother with the
dress at all.

Finally the heavy trays were empty and stacked neatly
behind the garage. The hothouse was now just a large
glass room with cables hanging from the ceiling and
large eyebolts protruding slightly from recessed
cavities in the floor. Stacy thought of removing all but
one pair of the cables, but then realized that if she
merely wound them totally around the control shaft, she
could pin them in place.

The hothouse was cleaned out. Everything was almost
ready. But the floor was still bare concrete. She went
to a pool supply place a couple of towns over and asked
if they worked in her neighborhood. They said, "Usually
not," but indicated that they were willing to work on
her pool or whatever for a slight trip charge.

"Oh, no," she answered, "It's not that. What I want is
that special pool area carpet you sell. A friend of mine
recommended you. She said the carpet was very long and
soft like an indoor carpet, but could get wet and would
stand the sun like a good pool side carpet."

"How big is your pool?" the salesman asked.

"Actually," she replied, "it's a greenhouse that I want
to be able to use as an indoor patio." She went on to
say that she wanted to have parties out there and wanted
it to look nice. "I'm reducing the hanging stuff to a
minimum," she explained, hoping that the salesman didn't
notice that she suddenly turned a deep shade of red.

The carpeting was installed the following Monday. Stacy
wanted to be sure that nothing could go wrong, so
Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday evenings were spent
testing. She was tempted to do the testing during the
day, but she had not made a successful living as a
writer by breaking her routine. She worked from home,
but she worked very regular hours. Unless she gave
herself a day off, she would be in her office room, at
her desk writing or editing, from eight in the morning
until five in the afternoon. Of course, sometimes she
would need to compose her thoughts or clear her mind and
would take a few hours off.

At her old house, when that happened - if the weather
was good - she would put on her bikini and lie out on
the back deck in the sun. Now she didn't have to put on
her bikini. For a half hour Tuesday afternoon and for
almost two hours Thursday morning, she lay naked in the
sunny hothouse sweating while she sorted out the ideas
of her lasted project.

At her old house, after she lay out on the deck and
cleared her mind, she would often leave the bikini on
and return to her writing while things were still fresh
in her mind. Thursday morning, she returned to her
writing naked, taking her towel with her into her office
to drape over her chair. That afternoon, she found that
her mind seemed freer and more liberated as she wrote,
and decided to make her office, as well as her whole
home, clothing optional.

The weekend was spent getting to know the system, and
doing additional testing. The Thompson control system
manuals said it was fail-safe, but Stacy wanted to be
totally sure. There was a "Test" button inside the
circuit breaker panel. The manual said to test the panel
at least four times a year. When Stacy pushed and held
the test button all of the circuit breakers in the panel
flipped off as though they had tripped. Red lights next
to each breaker blinked in sequence while a small
display screen at the top of the panel said, "Testing
load." Then one by one, the breakers flipped back to the
on position. A voice from a small speaker said, "Power
restored."

A separate test button on a small switch panel said,
"Alternate Power Test." When Stacy pushed that, a large
box mounted on the wall began humming and a beeping
noise filled the hot house. The little voice said, "On
battery backup." The manual said to wait ten minutes
before pushing the button again to complete the test.
After five minutes, Stacy could hear a noise from the
back yard. About half-way back in the yard was a very
small shed that looked almost like a dog house, except
that it had no door, only louvers on the sides.

There was a fairly large propane tank next to the little
structure. Stacy identified the noise as coming from the
shed. It was the sound of a small motor. The humming
stopped and a little voice from the control panel said,
"Backup generator on line."

Stacy also lowered the upper cables all of the way and
connected them to the spring-loaded lower cables. When
she raised them again, the cables stopped once there was
sufficient tension on the spring. At least it wouldn't
rip her arms off if it didn't stop where it was supposed
to. She pressed the test buttons again with tension on
the cables. After the circuit breakers restored, the
little voice said, "Moving to safe position" and the
cables unwound to floor level.

When she repeated the test with the power backup, the
cables remained in place until she pressed the
"Generator Off" button. Then the buzzing returned to the
box on the wall and the cables lowered. Evidently as
long as the generator worked, everything ran normally,
but if it went to battery backup, the system moved
everything to the "safe position."

"This really is fail-safe," she said aloud, but she
still did another week of testing. Finally on Thursday
night, after having repeated every test at least three
times, she said, "Tomorrow night I try a live test and
Saturday go for real."

Friday night, Stacy attached her suspension restraints
to the upper and lower cables. The foot restraints were
almost boots except that they opened totally in the
front and were wrapped firmly in place with a Velcro
band that went over the top of her foot and another
which went all the way around the ankle and lower calf.
On the bottom of the boot was a round metal bar, almost
like a horses bit, through which a cable or other
connection could be run.

Stacy attached one boot restraint to each of the spring
stabilizers that had been at opposite ends of the eight
foot trays. She then attached the special suspension
hand restraints to the matching upper cables. The hand
restraints were almost glove-like, or more accurately,
mitten-like. They covered most of the forearm and had an
area for the hand that curved around a padded iron bar
so that a person could carry most of their weight on the
closed hand rather than on the arm itself.

Like the boots, they were totally open on the front and
closed securely with large Velcro flaps. For the "live
test," Stacy did not close the flaps, but left them open
so that she could, if necessary, withdraw her hand from
the restraint glove.

***

It was 7:45 when she finished her other tests, so she
set the controls to raise the cables at exactly 8:00 pm
and release them at 8:10. It took less time that she had
expected to secure her feet in the restraint boots and
to put her hands in the restraint gloves, so she ended
up standing there waiting for almost ten minutes.
Finally, she heard the winch motors turning and the
cable began to slowly wind up around the long support
bar. Soon her arms were being stretched widely apart and
then her feet began to leave the ground.

She had to estimate how high to take the cables because
she didn't know for sure how tightly it would stretch
her at any given height. She had expected to either be
hanging slightly limp in the cables or have to let go of
the gloves and drop to the ground when the cables got
over tight, but her estimate was perfect. She was raised
into the air in a taut, naked X with her feet about four
feet off the ground. When she realized it was exactly
what she wanted, a wave of pleasure washed through her
and she felt her cunt overflowing onto her thighs.
"Tomorrow, I go for one hour in the sun," she said aloud
as the motors reversed and gently lowered her to the
ground.

She spent the rest of the evening investigating more of
the menus and controls on the remote control program
which she has installed on her tablet computer. The
purpose of one control totally baffled her. It said,
"Opcty" and then had two input blocks. One said "Upper"
and it was set to 00%. The other said "Lower" and it was
set to 50%. She changed the lower number to 00% and
pressed enter.

Suddenly she was standing outside - or at least, the
frosted portion of the green house had suddenly become
clear. She changed both to 80% and it was as if the
clear plastic had become solid walls. "I think I will
leave that one alone for now," she said aloud, and
clicked the "Restore Defaults" button. Once again the
plastic panes of the greenhouse became frosted in
appearance on the lower portion and totally clear on the
ceiling.

Saturday morning, Stacy rubbed herself down with
sunblock and strapped herself into the restraint boots
and gloves. This time it was for real. She folded the
Velcro flaps over her arms and pushed them securely in
place. Once the cables went taut, there was no way she
could release herself until they lowered her back to the
ground. She had set the controls to rise at 10:00 am and
lower at 11:00.

Again, she stood waiting for the winch motors to kick
in. As she waited, she thought, "This would probably be
better with a blindfold." There wasn't time, however, to
do anything about that this time. Exactly on time, the
motors began turning. As the cables pulled her into the
air, she could just barely see out of the top of the
hothouse windows. "My neighbor across the way can
probably see my head if they look out their back
windows," she thought to herself as she hung there.

For Stacy, the feeling of naked helplessness was
amazing. Her nipples were stiff and erect. Her clit
stuck out prominently from her cleft. Juices dribbled
slowly down her legs. She found herself slowly rotating
her hips and bucking slightly forward as if she were
fucking an imaginary lover in mid-air. "I really have to
figure out a way for some appropriate stimulation," she
thought to herself. "I wonder if my vibrator would stay
in me up here?" she asked aloud. "I would hate to have
to wear something like a thong just to hold it in
place."

11:00 o'clock came all too soon. The cables lowered her
to the ground and went totally slack. She opened the
flaps on the restraint gloves and freed her hands, but
didn't bother to free her feet. Instead, she lay back on
the thick carpet with her feet still in the boots and
began rubbing herself between the legs. Her cunt was
sopping wet and her clit was extremely sensitive. It
only took a few moments to bring herself to a very
satisfying, screaming climax. "I wonder what the
neighbors thought of that?" she wondered as she finally
freed her feet from the restraint boots.

That afternoon around three, Stacy was ready once again
to suspend herself naked in the hothouse. She had spent
the time modifying one of the tray attachments to hold
her favorite vibrator. One of the trays had a special
watering device of some sort that was intended to drip a
growth solution onto the soil. It was basically a tripod
with a long counterweighted arm. The nozzle end set
against the side of the tray and as the tray went up and
down, it rose and fell with the tray.

Stacy added more weight to the counterweight so that the
long arm pushed itself upward rather forcefully. Then
she taped the base of her vibrator to the nozzle head,
only pointing upward. Standing on the ground, it pressed
tightly into her cunt. Without her weight holding it
down, it would rise almost eight feet into the air, more
than enough to keep the dildo vibrating firmly in her
cunt as she was suspended.

3:00 came and the motors took Stacy up. This time she
was wearing a blindfold, and her vibrator was on low and
buzzing inside her. The cycle was set for two hours.
Stacy came four times in those 120 minutes. Each
screaming orgasm was a little more intense that the one
that preceded it. By the time the controls returned her
to the ground, she was a sweating, sopping mess.

The amount that she had perspired surprised her. It also
turned her on. There was something about hanging naked
AND SWEATY that seemed so primitive... so primal... so
fuckable. Had she hung there another hour, the feel of
the sweat trickling down her back and dripping off her
buttocks and down her front and going between her legs
to drip off her cunt lips probably would have taken her
to orgasm even without the vibrator.

"That was good," she said aloud as she cleaned her
restraints. "But I can do better."

The first step in doing better was a higher priced,
computer controlled dildo. It wasn't cheap and she had
to wait until she had sold another couple of stories,
but her new toy connected into the system as an
auxiliary device and could be controlled by the
programming just like the winches or windows or anything
else. She could control the intensity and frequency of
both the vibration and the movement of the long, pink,
penis-shaped device.

The first weekend that she used it, she experienced
seven screaming, vibrating, quaking orgasms in the three
and half hours she was suspended. She had determined
through trial and error, that three and a half was about
the maximum she could stand comfortably. She knew she
could go much longer than that without injury, but it
got uncomfortable as she approached four hours, and she
was doing this for pleasure, not pain.

After several more weekends with her new vibrator, Stacy
made two decisions. One was that once she was up and
sweaty and turned on, she could easily go four or maybe
five or even six hours. She upped the time to four
hours. The second decision was to take things to the
next step by increasing the sweat. "I'm becoming a
regular little sweat hog..., or sweat slut," she giggled
to herself. "And I guess," she told herself firmly, "to
turn up the heat in the sweat slut, we have to turn up
the heat in the hothouse."

After a satisfying Sunday session that still left
something lacking, she began examining her options.
There were four electric radiant heaters mounted just
beneath the ceiling and three more mounted at floor
level on the outside wall of the hothouse. They could be
turned on manually with a switch that said, "Freeze Test
/ Heater Manual On." The heaters themselves had tags
that said they used 1200 watts each.

A quick check on the internet told her that each of them
used 10 amps, so they were using 60 amps total. The box
with a lever on it that the realtor had called the "sub-
main breaker and emergency power transfer for the hot
house" was labeled 150 amps. So Stacy had 90 amps to
work with. Her old house had been rather cold and drafty
so she already had three electric space heaters. A check
of their labels showed that two of them were 2400 watts
and one was 1200 watts. That was only fifty amps total.
She bought three more of the smaller heaters so that she
was using up 80 of the 90 amps available.

Each of the plugs in the hothouse was on a separate
breaker, which meant that she could plug all six of her
heaters in, trigger the built-in heaters, and make the
green house into a true hot house for her sweat-soaked
suspension session.

"If I am going to be sweating that much," she thought,
"I had better have a source of liquid." She had a
backpack water system that held a half-gallon of liquid
in a bladder with a tube that came over your shoulder so
you could drink from it while you pedaled a bicycle on a
long trip in hot weather. She decided to fill that bag
with a sports drink and hang it above her so that she
could reach it as she was suspended. She even did a
quick test holding the gloves as she had done on that
first day just to make sure that she could, indeed,
reach the tube.

Next Saturday morning seemed forever away, and Stacy was
tempted to break routine and do a session mid-week, but
she knew that she had to stick to her writing routine.
So instead, she had to content herself with going out
into the hot house in the evening, lying on the floor,
and masturbating while looking up at the rig that would
hold her sweating in the sun come the weekend.

Saturday morning finally arrived. Stacy carefully laid
out all of her equipment. She decided that for this
first full-sweat session, she would remain un-
blindfolded. The blindfold increased her concentration
on her other senses and added to her enjoyment, but she
wasn't sure what would happen if the sweat became
trapped behind the blindfold and was forced into her
eyes. She decided to do a four hour session beginning at
10:00 am to take advantage of the noon-day sun.

At 9:45 she was already strapped into the restraint
boots and gloves. The heaters were on manual override
and the six extra heaters were set to full on. The
computer controlled vibrator was firmly pressed into her
cunt, but had not yet been triggered on by the control
program. By ten o'clock when the winch motors came to
life, liquid was already trickling down the inside of
her thighs and it wasn't sweat.

The full-sweat session was everything Stacy dreamed it
would be. She had already experienced three marvelous
orgasms before noon and was looking forward to even more
as the afternoon sun rose high over the clear portion of
the hot house..., and then it happened.

The Thompson Greenhouse System was truly fail-safe, but
keep in mind that the Titanic was unsinkable, the
Hindenburg was fireproof, and the space shuttles had
triple redundancy systems. Nothing is absolutely fail
safe. There is always something that the design
engineers forgot to consider.

What the designers at the Thompson Greenhouse Company
did not take into account was someone intentionally
plugging six additional heaters into the wall outlets in
the summertime to bring the temperature in the
greenhouse up to sauna levels. None of the heaters was
overloading the circuit it was on and combined they were
not overloading the main. But they were taking the
temperature to extreme levels in the hothouse... levels
that would damage sensitive plants. And Stacy had
forgotten to shut off the air conditioner which was
programmed to kick in if the temperature in the hot
house stayed above ninety-six degrees for more than a
half-hour.

Almost as soon as Stacy heard the noise of the air
conditioner starting up, she heard a very loud "Thunk!"
and everything went very quiet. As her ears adjusted to
the quiet, she could hear the buzzing of the battery
backup and the sound of the generator starting in the
back yard. "It's going to be OK," she thought.
"Everything will be OK. Worse come to worse it will let
me back down to the ground." She continued to think that
until 1:00 o'clock came and went and nothing moved. The
heaters were off. The lights on the front of the control
panel were off. Everything was off except the display
panel of the control computer itself.

"No!" Stacy yelled aloud when she realized what had
happened. She had assumed that the sub-main breaker
would automatically reset like the breakers in the
control panel, but she had never opened the cover to
look. It must be a standard breaker. And the transfer
switch must be before the sub-main breaker. The computer
thought the backup generator was online so it didn't
lower her using battery backup, but none of the
emergency generator power was reaching the control
panel. There was no power to activate the winches. Stacy
was totally and absolutely stuck!!!

She started crying softly and looked out at the
generator running uselessly in the back yard. "Wait a
minute!" she yelped. She shouldn't be able to see the
generator shed. The walls were transparent! It must take
power to make the walls translucent. With all power
gone, they were now clear as glass. Stacy was hanging
hot, sweaty, and fully exposed to anyone who could see
her greenhouse from their back windows. And there was
nothing she could do to free herself.

Her mind began to race. Why had she put her trust in
that supposedly fail-safe system and not arranged for an
emergency backup to check on her after a certain period
of time? Who would miss her? ... and when? She didn't
have any hard deadlines for almost two weeks. People
were used to her ignoring her phones and texts for days
at a time when she was trying to get a story done. It
could be weeks before they found her rotting corpse
hanging in the sun.

Stacy began to cry deep heart-wrenching sobs of absolute
despair. And then in the midst of her sobs, she heard a
noise that she couldn't quite identify. It was a low
rumbling noise like a small train was running through
the garage. The garage! She was hearing the garage door
opening. Someone was coming into the house.

Her joy of rescue was rapidly replaced by the
mortification of being found hanging naked in the air
with an electronic dildo stuffed in her twat. "Oh God,"
she thought and then said aloud, "What if it's my mother
paying a surprise visit?"

Then she heard a voice.

"Elizabeth?" it called out. Elizabeth was the name of
the previous owner.

"Is something wrong?"

The voice was coming closer. Stacy wasn't sure whether
to keep quiet or cry out when suddenly the door from the
house opened and a rather startled voice said, "You're
not Elizabeth!"

"Uh... no... I'm the new owner, Stacy," she stammered.

The woman's face broke into a huge smile as she said, "I
love what you've done with the place. I always thought
this room had such interesting potential, but you've
gone way beyond even my wicked and warped imagination."

She walked over to stand directly in front of Stacy.
Stacy was all to aware that this put the woman's eyes
right at the level of her naked cunt. "I suppose I
should introduce myself," she said calmly. "My name is
Terri Long. I live in the house directly behind you.
I've been Bethie's `vacation safety' for years and
years."

She walked over and stood in front of the control panel.
"Whenever one of these alarms goes off, it sends me a
text message and an email. I ignored the Freeze alarm
that said the heaters had come on because it is summer.
But then I heard the generator go on and I didn't get a
power failure warning. When it didn't shut back off
after a while, I figured something really bad might have
happened, so I came right over.

Everything was locked up and my key didn't work. I was
hoping the garage door code hadn't been changed and
there was power to open the door. I punched in the code
and it opened. And here I am."

She looked at the extra heaters plugged in around the
room and then came back and stood in front of Stacy. "I
assume you were trying for sweat box bondage?"

Stacy nodded and said, "Something like that."

"All the heaters on separate circuits. Water - or
probably a sports drink - to keep you hydrated. Properly
designed suspension restraints." She shook her head as
she laughed lightly. "You thought of everything." The
her voice suddenly became stern, "But you forgot about
the air conditioners, didn't you?"

Stacy nodded again. "Yeah. When they came on the big
lever popped and it doesn't reset itself like the rest
of the system."

Terri walked back over to the control panel, reached up,
and pushed the lever back in place. She then entered a
couple of quick commands at the control panel. "I've
shut down the AC," she said. "I also set the default on
the windows to zero and extended your stay until 5:00
o'clock."

Stacy said, "But... but... but..."

Terri didn't seem to hear her or at least didn't respond
to her. Instead she continued, "I am going to go back
home and slip into something comfortable. Then I am
going to sit on my back deck drinking mojitos and
watching you sweat and squirm and get yourself off. At
five, I am coming back over here so you can show me just
how grateful you are that I have rescued you. You will
keep showing your gratitude until we are a tangle of
sweaty arms and legs intertwined on your beautiful new
carpet.

Stacy just swallowed hard and opened her eyes wide to
stare at the woman standing before her.

"And then," Terri continued, "we are going to talk about
what kind of wonderful neighborly relationship we are
going to have together in the future." She walked right
up to Stacy and softly petted her clit with two fingers.
"I think you would much more prefer to be in the
submissive role in that relationship, wouldn't you?"

Stacy moaned in response.

"And I have always wanted a willing pet I could play
with regularly." She then started slowly running her
fingers in tight circles around Stacy's clit.

Stacy started saying - or more accurately moaning, "No.
No, that's not what I want."

"That's your mind talking," answered Terri. "I really
think we need to give your body a vote on this." She
continued circling Stacy's clit, applying a little more
pressure and swirling Stacy's erect knob back and forth
with each circuit.

"If you would like to be my submissive plaything hanging
all hot and sweaty in the sun for me to play with and
for everyone to look at," said Terri softly. "Then
cum.... NOW!"

Stacy thrashed and flailed in her bonds as a tremendous
orgasm exploded within her. She was throwing her cunt
forward so hard that she nearly expelled the dildo with
the thrusts of her muscles. Her cries of "Ahhhh, ahhhh,
ahhhh," became farther apart and quieter until finally
she hung slack in her restraints. Rivers of sweat poured
off her body, mixing with the cunt juices draining down
the inside of her legs.

"See you at five," said Terri merrily as she walked back
into the house. "I'll bring a pitcher or two of mojitos.
It could be a looooooooong evening."

Shortly after she left, Stacy once again started to cry
out and thrash wildly as she envisioned herself as she
now was, hanging naked and sweaty... and at the mercy of
her new Mistress.

Keys: Self-bd F-solo exh puplic-bd

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