“A photo of you, naked, chained to a lamppost.” Those were the message’s exact words.

Angela’s self-restraint dares had become more adventurous as my week-long work trip ran on. It was agony being away from her for so long, but sheer ecstasy following her instructions each day.

I checked that the camera tripod on the balcony edge hadn’t moved in the night. It was still pointing down at the town square, the zoom lens focused on an old cast iron lamppost.

I slipped my feet into my stilettos and pulled a thin sundress over my head. I’d planned this whole thing very carefully and had hardly slept through excitement.

I glanced at the clock at the end of the square: it was 5:40am, and the sun was slowly rising above the buildings, beginning to shine brightly on my chosen spot. The town was deserted at this time of the morning; the first bus didn’t arrive until 6am, and it was never early. I had twenty minutes.

I picked up my handcuffs and the longer ankle chains and ran to the door as fast as my thin heels would allow. My shoes rang loud on the concrete stairs and it seemed to take an age to reach the front door of the apartment block. I stepped outside and looked up at the clock again: 5:42am. I had eighteen minutes.

The stilettos echoed from every façade as I bounded across the cobbles. Speed was more important than stealth at the moment, but with my senses on overdrive every step rang like a hammer blow to an anvil.

I reached the lamppost and stood with my back to it to check my position. I looked up at my balcony; I could see my camera lens looking back at me. I took another anxious look up at the clock: 5:43am. I still had plenty of time. My body was coursing with anticipation.

I put the handcuffs on the low wall behind the lamppost and bent down to clamp a chain around my left ankle. I gasped as it closed, electrified by even this small restriction on my freedom. The ankle bracelets didn’t even need a key to release them, but the thrill was intense all the same.

I stopped as I heard a noise: it was a car engine, coming near. I stood, the chain fastened to one ankle and the other end of it draped across the cobbles. A small Renault delivery van drove across the far side of the square. The driver was watching me from the side window as he passed. I folded my arms over my chest and looked up at the town clock, as if I was impatiently waiting for the bus to arrive. But I realised that, on seeing a thin, blonde girl in a short dress and high heels, he wasn’t even curious as to why I was there, he was just glad I was.

The van stopped and he stepped out, leaving the engine running. At least he wouldn’t be here long.

He walked to the back of the van, glancing over at me as he opened the door. I cursed my luck at his appearance: nothing like this had happened in the square all week. He pulled out a bundle of magazines, gave them a large swing and threw them into the doorway of the grocer’s shop. They landed with a loud “thump” and slid to a stop against the door.

He looked back at me and nodded his head a fraction. I nodded in reply and, satisfied, he climbed back into his van and started to drive away. I looked up at the clock: 5:47am. Thirteen minutes remaining. It was more than ten. More than I needed.

The van left the square. I listened in case the sound of the receding engine was masking someone else approaching, but silence returned.

I took the handcuffs from the wall. They were cold to the touch. I gripped them tightly.

I picked up the loose end of the ankle chain and, with my back to the lamppost, I looped it around the cast iron. The post was thicker than I had expected and the chain was only just long enough, but with my feet eighteen inches apart and if I crouched in an ungainly fashion I could  clip the cuff onto my right ankle. The cold steel sent a thrill through me and I shivered all over. My breath became mist in the cool morning air.

I stood and looked up at the clock again: 5:48am. It was still enough.

I took a deep breath. Now was the big moment. I stood stock still, listening for the faintest sign of life around the square. Nothing stirred.

Quickly, I reached down and pulled the sundress over my head. The cold air hit my skin and my nipples were instantly hard. I shivered, as much in excitement as cold, and dropped my dress onto the grass behind the low stone wall. It would be out of sight in the photo; Angela would never know how I had engineered this photoshoot.

The thrill of standing, naked in the morning sun, with my ankles chained around the lamppost, almost overwhelmed me. I yelped a little as my buttocks and shoulder blades made contact with the cold iron behind me. So taut was the chain around the post that I couldn’t move my feet an inch. I shut my eyes for a second and emitted a gentle groan, but the orgasm would have to wait until I was back in my room.

I took the key out of the handcuffs and gripped it tightly in my right fingers. I clipped the cuff closed around my left wrist. My hand shook with excitement. I held the open half of the cuffs in the fingers of my left hand.

I lifted my arms above my head and reached back behind the lamppost. My heart was beating fast. I slipped the handcuff around my right wrist and carefully closed it. I only needed one click of the lock; I wanted as much room as I could to twist my hands to get the key in. I’d practised it dozens of times the night before with my hands behind my back.

The ratchet clicked. A spasm overtook me at the thrill of my constraints. The ratchet clicked again. No matter: two clicks meant less room to manoeuvre, but it was still okay. My fingers tightened their grip around the key.

I let out a deep breath and watched it condense in front of me. The cool air washed over my underarms. I looked down at myself, my chest pushed out, my breasts lifted by my raised arms, and my nipples hard and craving stimulation. My body wanted to squirm in delight, but the chains around my ankles and the handcuffs around my wrists barely let me move. The more they resisted, the more my pleasure increased.

I looked up at the clock: 5:52am. My camera was taking shots on time lapse mode and I needed to stand still for at least one minute to guarantee a photo. I stood still, the cold air filling my lungs as I inhaled, then mist forming in front of me with each exhalation. My chest rose and fell. I was dizzy from the experience. The weak morning sun began to warm me.

I imagined what Angele would think when I sent her the photo. I was wearing my tallest, thinnest stilettos, and it would be clear from my body shape just how tightly bound I was with my lithe, naked body arched against the cast iron lamppost. With my arms stretched above and behind me I’d never felt so exposed, or so wholly sexual. My stomach must have looked so flat in my stretched position; my breasts never so pert. I vowed I would never reveal to her how I had gotten myself here, and how I would escape.

My heart beat hard and my breathing quickened. I knew what was happening now. Small whimpers escaped from my mouth as the sensation grew between my legs. How I wished Angela was here now, just to bestow on me a single touch. She would put her hand on my thigh and stroke gently up my side, along the edge of my breast, teasing my underarm with her soft touch, then circling a nipple with her fingertip before…

At that thought, my body was instantly overcome by the most intense release. My pelvis tried to push back and forth as my orgasm took hold of me, but I was too tightly held. The more I strained, the more intense the sensation became. I concentrated on keeping my yelps as small and quiet as I could.

Finally, the last wave passed. I wanted to sink to the ground and moan with pleasure, but if I tried to bend my knees I’d fall forwards. I don’t know how long my orgasm took, but I knew that more than a minute had passed since I had closed the cuffs around my wrist. I wondered at what point in my display the camera had frozen the frame.

I looked up at the clock. It was 5:55am, a little later than I had planned. At least with the orgasm out of the way I could concentrate on my escape.

I twisted my right hand, stretching to reach the handcuff lock with the key between my fingers. I could feel and hear the key scraping across the metal plating, but I couldn’t find the keyhole. I had my hands in the same position as I’d practiced last night, so it should be there.

I felt around with my fingertips; I couldn’t find it. My mind spun. I looked up at the clock: 5:56am. Then a thought occurred to me and I twisted my hands again and felt with my left fingers. I found it instantly: in the excitement, I had put the handcuffs on the opposite way around to how I had practiced and the key holes were on the reverse sides. I looked up at the clock: 5:56am. Four minutes left, maybe a couple more. I hoped I wouldn’t need those extra minutes.

Carefully, I passed the key from my right fingers to my left. I concentrated on rotating my mental image of my hands as I bent my left palm towards my right wrist. The key clumsily brushed against the stainless steel. It twisted as it passed over the keyhole and I barely held onto it.

I took a deep breath: the one thing I could not afford to do was lose the key. I straightened it in my fingers and tried again. I could find the hole, but not the right angle to insert the key. I twisted it around, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t make it fit.

Despite the cold air, I suddenly felt very hot. I looked up at the clock: 5:58am. I still had two minutes to do this, but my fingers were becoming tired. They tip of the key scraped across the steel yet again and I felt it catch the hole. I gave it a push. My fingers crumpled, and suddenly the key was gone from between my fingers. I heard metal against stone as it bounced off the wall and into the grass.

I groaned in despair: now I was stuck. I thought that maybe if I could crouch down, at least to undo my ankle restraints, then maybe I could turn around, find the key with my feet somehow, and then what?

But I could only sink a couple of inches. A surge of energy ran through my body as my chains restrained my movement. Agony and ecstasy rose simultaneously within me as I realised how helpless I was. I heard the sound of an engine in the distance. It had the sound of a large, diesel engine; the 6am bus reaching the edge of town. I was moments away from being discovered, naked and chained to the lamppost.

More suddenly than the first, an orgasm exploded from between my legs. My thighs quivered as the exquisite helplessness of my situation manifested itself in a sudden sexual release. I wanted to sink to my knees, to beg my body to stop doing this to me for a moment, but the denial of freedom only intensified the sensations I was feeling. I closed my eyes, helpless as series of small yelps and then a long, moaning sigh formed the crescendo of my solo performance.

I reopened my eyes in time to see the bus arriving in the square. The driver stopped just twenty feet away, staring at me as he slowed. I stood still, staring back, terror rising within me.

The doors opened and passengers began to filter out. Some stared as they walked saw me, some stopped and talked amongst themselves. They took photos and sent messages to friends. They pointed at my breasts and joked amongst themselves, doubtless wondering why I had agreed to expose myself like this. Oh, Angela, why did I play this game for you?

Someone spoke to me, but I couldn’t understand the question and all I could reply was that I only spoke English. He shrugged, turned and walked away. Some passengers stayed, waiting for the next connecting bus. Others arrived from around the town. They glanced at me now and again, discussing how and why I had come to be here.

I tried to pull my legs together but I had gotten every last inch of movement from my ankle chains. And as I struggled, I couldn’t believe I was beginning to feel aroused again. I whimpered a little, pitying myself, and I think someone called the police. I would be here until they arrived. I wondered if it would be before the next bus full of onlookers, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to fend off yet another orgasm for much longer.