I’ve fallen and I can’t get up! It’s so embarrassing, so stupid. I wanted to greet my Master at the door, standing tall and proud, dressed in this get up, ready to rock and roll. Instead here I am, helpless as an old woman, unable to get up off the floor.

It was going to be so neat, watching his eyes go wide at the sight of my nearly naked body, standing there presented to him in nothing but a spider-web leotard and hoof boots.

Instead, he is going to come to the door, ring the bell and wait for someone who simply cannot answer. Then he is going to go away and maybe I’ll never see him again. Maybe I’ll die of thirst.

If I hadn’t been so clever I’d be able to remove these stupid boots. But no, I had to do the O thing and shackle my wrists up under my chin. I can no more reach the boot laces than fly.

I was standing there in my upstairs window, where I could see his car come into the parking lot, when I lost my balance and fell over, like a palm tree in a hurricane. I’m not sure but I suspect my butt is going to be bruised tomorrow. I sure landed on it hard enough.

I try again to get up but the boots simply will not let me. They are just too high and stiff. It is like my lower legs have been strapped to stilts.

The key to my handcuffs is in my purse, hanging on its hook in the closet. It might as well be on the moon.

I was going to be his birthday present, his pony girl. You know, the kind of gift that keeps on giving? Now I just feel like a jackass, lying here helpless and afraid.

I can’t even scream for help. This penis gag I picked out has a small padlock that keeps the buckle closed at the nape of my neck.

I jump at the sound of the doorbell. I try to scream, knowing that if he doesn’t rescue me there is every chance I will die. The penis shaped thing in my mouth blocks my screams and makes me choke.

I kick my feet against the floor, hoping he will hear but the thick padding under my carpeting defeats that as well. I try to crawl but when I finally reach the top of the stairs the doorbell has stopped ringing. He has gone away. I lie on the top landing and start to cry. It is so stupid.

I wonder if using the stairs and holding on to the banister will get me up on my feet but I cringe away from trying it, afraid of breaking my stupid neck if I fall again. Perhaps I will try that if things get worse.

I crawl back to my bedroom, looking for some way to get out of this fix. If only I had a knife or some scissors, then I could cut the dog collar and then with my hands free I could remove these stupid boots.

If a frog had wings it could fly. I keep my knives downstairs in the kitchen and sewing is something that happens to other people.

It is so frustrating, I could scream, except that I can’t. I can’t do anything. I’m the old woman in the advertisement, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.

I start to cry, feeling sorry for myself. It was going to be so much fun, me and my Master playing pony games all afternoon and then going out to the leather clubs, me in my get up plus a little leather mini skirt and bra set I bought at the same shop I got these boots.

Who knew these boots would be so hard to walk in? I mean sure, they don’t have heels and they are fitted with six-inch platforms beneath the pointed toes, but they are designed to walk in, aren’t they? Well aren’t they?

I twist around and look back at them. I see the way they have been made so that they leave horseshoe prints when they walk. Walk, what a joke. I just wish I could stand.

After a while I fall asleep, lying there on the rug, helpless as the old woman with the broken hip.

I awake to the sound of my cell phone ringing. It too is in my handbag, hanging up out of reach in the closet. I swear at myself for being so clever as to have my regular phone disconnected, thinking that I didn’t need to pay for both. It stops ringing after a while and I realize that I have another problem. I need to pee.

I crawl into the bathroom, thankful that I have a walk in shower. The leotard is crotch-less as well as having cut outs for my breasts so all I have to do is position my pussy over the drain and relax.

When I am done I crawl back into the bedroom and try to think what to do next. The problem is I just cannot see any choice in the matter. I’m going to have to try the stairs.

I crawl back to the landing and look down. If I fall I will break my neck. If I don’t try I will die of thirst.

I wiggle around to put my feet out over the steps. I roll over on my back and kick hard, trying to sit up. On the tenth try I make it. Now I am sitting on the landing, my booted feet on the top step. Then I make the mistake of looking down and lose my nerve. There must be a better way.

Perhaps if I were at the bottom I would be safer. I could bump my butt down the stairs and then try getting up from the bottom step. Still, I hesitate, knowing that even if I get to my feet I’m going to have to climb back up here to get the keys. Remembering how unstable I was on these boots I reject that idea as well.

Unless I go into the kitchen and get a knife. I think. Then I think about trying to cut the tough leather of the dog collar with my hands chained together like this. I visualize the knife slipping and slicing my throat instead.

I jerk in surprise as the doorbell chimes again, then screwing up my courage, I stand up on those damned stilts before I can chicken out again. Tottering like a kid in her mommie’s high heels I hurry down and open the door for my Master.

His grin at the sight of me makes it all worth while.