Pantagruel

Author’s note: Thanks to the source material. You know who you are. Five small rolls of bondage tape, nestled in a neat pile, next to the burgundy pillow. Naked and kneeling in the middle of the bed, your arms loose and casual and your side. Your eyes closed, but not clenched. Your breathing warm and even. I watch for a minute, and share your peace. One roll, unravelled over your mouth. I hold the start in place against your cheek with a firm finger, complete one loop, and the non-stick material starts to stick to itself. One more snug loop for purchase, then the tightening begins. Three, four, five, six, edging to the tip of your chin, and just touching your nose. Your mouth is squeezed flat and tight against it, with no give. You could still flex your jaw, but you don`t. ...

“Where’s my gag, then, hotshot?” she asks, standing before me. Eyebrow cocked and that certain, calculating grin spreading her face, the grin that says she knows me, and that she knows I know it. I’ve never seen a woman’s face twinkle before; it’s irresistible. But I’d never tell her, not here, not now. I have other ways of letting her know, of letting her know that I know. “None, Cinderella. No ball for you.” She tilts her head to the side. It’s as good as a chuckle, given the position she’s in. “First, I have a question.” ...