Hang onto something.

For starters, Jen grabbed the top sides of wardrobe doors, but this was not a final solution. Imagine having to subtract efforts away from the best experience of her life! She did not want to hold — she wanted to be held.

Her hands traveled inside the furniture, reaching as high up as she could. Her eyes started closing, her mouth started opening. Jen could not wait for much longer. On top of that, she had no moral right of spoiling this incredible buildup on an average orgasm.

Every tiny ballet step was sending the impact into the hard wood, and the unescapable grasp that the catsuit had on her body... Her fingers finally hovered over something significant. Many chains would end there, like a spiderweb, to take an extra-class hold of the two smooth metal cuffs. It did not take long to find a way in. A gentle push against the inner side was sufficient to make them gently close around her wrists.

*CHING**CHING*

Jen was held. As she let go, the chains sprung back up a little, even pulling her boots off the floor for a second. Setting off the explosion. At first, she was just screaming and crying with joy. Then it turned into gasps and gulps when her lungs were not strong enough to keep up with expressing her feelings.

And when the biggest ever started to fade off, Jen wanted more. As much as possible of it. She tried to get her hands down there to help, but her new bracelets were not letting go. Clearly outlined keyholes suggested that they were locked, and there was no escape. But this was not the girl's prime concern.

If the hands were not coming, she was going to the hands. Jumping off the floor with her ballet-heeled grace, she decisively pulled her legs up, over her head and over her trapped wrists. With a screech of protest, the chains holding them allowed to be twisted upside down. Jen was now up against the ceiling, above the cuffs and all in one piece. Some sensor beeped near her head while she was fumbling to make herself comfortable, and another steel band shot outwards, wrapping itself around her neck and chaining her directly to the top of the wardrobe with another clanky noise.

There was no getting out, so Jen focused on more realistic objectives, like cumming some more. It was surprisingly efficient at captivating the entirety of her attention. Every time her fingers came into contact with her latex-clad pussy, it was sending entire lightnings up to her pleasure centers.

Even if someone saw or heard Jen and checked her out, she would not notice. Even if someone offered help, it would slip right past her ears that were occupied with succulent squeaks and ringing of the chains.

Was she even still in that wardrobe? No, actually. Where was she, then? It did not really matter. Her eternal attire mattered. As long as it was making her happy enough, anyway.

ENDING #64