"It's time, Vicky," informed Michelle enthusiastically as she dangled two short chains in her hand. She knew I hated being called that. She must have been in a playful mood again.

I stifled a groan. I hadn't realised it was noon already, and had only just finished breakfast. Sunday was the only day I could actually lie in. Trying not to show how tired I was, I followed Michelle into our bedroom.

After rummaging around in my underwear drawer, Michelle pulled out a bright pink bikini top and threw it at me. "Here, try this on," she said, as if I had a choice. I wasn't really in the mood to dress up for her today, but I knew from experience not to ever question the clothes she picked out for me to wear. "You might as well leave your jeans on," she told me. "They'll be easier to clean than the chair after the puddle of precum you always make." I felt my cheeks change colour, almost matching the bikini top.

When she said I could leave my jeans on, what she meant was that I could take them off while she lubed up a vibrating egg. She turned it onto a very low setting, just enough to keep me aroused but nowhere near enough for me to even entertain the idea of having an orgasm.

After I slid off my briefs, the same pink as strawberry milkshake, she slipped the egg inside me. It was purring like a pussycat. She kept it in place by getting me to wear the black latex briefs she got me a few weeks ago. Already I could feel the egg's soft vibrations starting to work on me, making me start to lose my concentration. Meanwhile, Michelle had started rummaging around in our blanket box, pulling out a head harness and some padlocks. I put my jeans, ankle socks and trainers back on, pretending not to notice her choice of gag this time.

Finally, she led me into the room we'd converted into a makeshift office. A large, sturdy wooden desk took up almost half of the small room, with a tiny silver and white computer and matching display, keyboard and mouse neatly laid out on top of it. The only feature of the desk that looked out of place was the D-ring secured to the middle of its surface, just in front of the keyboard.

I sat down on the swivel chair in front of the desk, my trainers flat against the varnished wooden floor. Another D-ring had been fixed in place on the floor, in front of the chair, and it took Michelle less than a minute to fasten comfortable yet strong ankle cuffs above my socks, threading one of the small chains through the hook and padlocking both ends of it to the cuffs.

Less than another minute, and she had done the same to my wrists in front of the keyboard. It was her way of ensuring I wouldn't be tempted to start rubbing my crotch once I got going. Even if I got carried away with myself, I couldn't do any more than feebly attempt to play with my nipples. Believe me, I'd tried.