Gags

Gags are one of those kinky things I find anxiety-inducing. How might I ever include such a thing in a romance — why would a hero ever do such a thing to a heroine he treasured?

Therefore, I wrote this.

oOo

Copyright 2016 by Elle Q. Sabine. All Rights Reserved. Contact elleqsabine@gmail.com for permission.

Elora was on her stomach, reading, when her lord and master set the object on the arm rest of the sofa. Automatically, she glanced up, then stared. It wasn’t the largest plug she’d ever seen — or worn — but it hardly seemed the type of toy her master would insert in her ass. He preferred glass or stainless steel. Today she wore a small glass plug with a bunny tail at the end, making it impossible for her to sit normally in any chair.

Hence, she was on her stomach reading.

She blinked and looked at him as he balanced his hip against the sofa, staring down at her.

“Look at it carefully, little one, because it is going to become an important part of your daily life.” He spoke quietly, but twisted his lips in amusement at the questioning look on her face. While he didn’t practice any sort of high protocol with her, and had expected nothing more than her quizzical look, he did require her to focus on him when he was speaking to her.

“How?” Elora asked, openly doubtful. The device was nothing more than inexpensive silicone, with the expected base, narrower shaft, and rounded bulb. It was wider than she liked, perhaps a good three inches at the widest point, and equally short. In fact, she’d describe it as stubby if asked.

“This, sweetheart, is not for your bottom.” He tapped her nose with a long finger and slid his fingertip down to her lip, resting it there. “It’s for your mouth.”

Elora tried to sit up then, but she could do no more than kneel on the leather seat with the bunny tail rubbing on the soles of her feet, her book forgotten. “What do you mean, Master?” she asked suspiciously.

He grinned at her, somewhat mischievously, and wove his fingers through the hair falling around her ears. “You might refer to it as a gag, or as a pacifier, as suits your mood,” he drawled, straightening. He tipped her head back so that he was looking down into her eyes. “Either way, it is going to serve several purposes.”

Elora slid to her feet, standing beside him. He raised the toy and traced it over her lips, until she opened them for him. Cupping the back of her head, he pushed the bulbous head past her teeth so that she could hold it on her tongue. Even squeezing, she couldn’t quite close her teeth to the base. He twisted it, studying her carefully as she worked her mouth around it, trying to make it fit.

“Perfect,” he declared, when Elora clearly couldn’t make it comfortable. She glared at him and made a frustrated noise.

Her master laughed aloud, delighted at her dilemma. Elora wanted to stomp her foot, but she knew better. It would make the bunny tail bounce, and he’d be amused by that, too. Instead, she wrinkled her nose at him and glared.

“Come along, little one,” he commanded, turning and leading the way. He didn’t completely release her, though Elora knew to follow him. Instead, he tugged on her hand and led her to his bedroom.

His bedroom. Everything in this house was his. His bedroom, his study, his books, his kitchen, his bathroom, his submissive girl. At one time, she’d tried to keep things for herself: a few books set aside, a place for her purse in the hall closet, a drawer of toiletries in his bathroom. Those bits of separation had gradually faded. The contents of her purse had been redistributed so that her ID was in his wallet and the lipstick, house key, and emergency money fit neatly into a small wallet stashed in his bedside table. The books she’d stacked under his bed were properly shelved in the library, where he would happily share them with her. The toiletries in the bathroom had been used, their replacements chosen by him and located where he put them.

If he wasn’t so neat, turning her life over to him might have driven her mad, but her master was a particular and deliberate man. If he wanted her to struggle with this ill-fitting piece of silicone, he must have a reason.

She knelt with her bottom poised neatly on the soles of her feet, the bunny tail tickling her, and waited, still working the material in her mouth. It was awkward and excess saliva was beginning to build up. She tried to swallow and had to fight the urge to spit it out.  Elora had to concentrate to suck that liquid down her throat. She glared at him, but he only glanced at her in passing as he unwrapped a stack of dry cleaning and went about putting it away, one piece at a time, in the closet.

Elora wanted to offer to help him, wished she could ask him why he wanted the damn thing in her mouth. She fidgeted, knowing he expected her to kneel there until she was directed to do something else, whether it was to crawl on the floor, strip off her bikini bra, or scrub the shower. She wanted to take the damn piece of silicone out of her mouth and —

“The gag rule you are to remember is that it stays in your mouth until I take it out,” her master calmly interjected into her train of thought. Elora’s head jerked. She’d been looking at her knees, concentrating on swallowing around the bulbous head, and hadn’t heard him approach. She stared up at him, and made a sound of frustration that was clearly audible, if unintelligible. His brows lifted. “If it comes out, either intentionally or accidentally, by any means other than my hand, I will wash it, cover it with Ivory dish soap and put it right back between your lips, where it will stay for a very long time, even if I have to put you in the corner for the night instead of my bed. Do I make myself clear?”

Unable to say the words, Elora nodded. Yes, Master. A night in the corner was more than a horror, and with dish soap? The mere thought terrified her.

He sighed, put a finger under her chin, and tipped her face up so that he didn’t have to hunch in front of her to see her expression. “The only exception, of course, is the safeword rule. Since you can’t say your safeword, taking out the gag to say it is acceptable.” Elora hmphed. Since she was only permitted to use one if her safety was in question, and it had been so long she barely remembered her safeword, that contingent was mostly pro forma.

The sound she made caused the saliva gathering in her mouth to shift and drain from the corner of her mouth. Elora gasped and raised a hand to wipe it away, but her Master abruptly caught her wrist and stopped her. “You want to know why I’ve suddenly developed a penchant for this?” he asked, releasing her wrist and tapping the base of the gag.

She nodded, her eyes not leaving his.

“Three reasons,” he told her quietly.

Elora couldn’t urge him on, couldn’t say anything. She grunted.

“That’s the first reason,” he replied, sliding his hand down over her throat and lower to trace her clavicle. “I adore those little noises you make. All of them. The groans, the sighs, the grunts, the moans, even the humphs of indignation. And when that gag is in your mouth, I can enjoy them all properly, without the distraction of your words. I believe that you can communicate quite effectively without speaking, both by reacting naturally and when you are mindful of how you present yourself and your reactions to me. I don’t think you understand this about yourself but you will eventually.”

The touch of his fingers along her shoulder caused her to shudder. The house was kept warm for her. She wasn’t precisely naked, what with the bikini top and the bunny tail, but she wasn’t dressed either. He could see every reaction of her body to his touch. But he couldn’t see the impact of his words on her soul.

Her heart and mind quaked. He’d clearly thought about this, perhaps fantasized about this gag extensively. He hadn’t even paused to think about his ‘gag rule’ or about the reasons he had for implementing it. Had she somehow missed a fascination with gagging her? Had she not been paying enough attention? She was mollified by his affectionate manner, but how had she missed this?

“Come now,” he ordered, pointing to the corner where he often kept her. It was empty, with nothing but carpet for comfort and several O-rings attached to the wall at various heights. “Face the wall, and think about what I said.”

Elora immediately turned and rose, but stopped, then turned and looked at him, her brows furrowed. He’d said three reasons, but only given one.

He grinned. “Think about mindfulness,” he specified, “and about the other two possible reasons.”

She sighed but obeyed, turning away and scurrying into place. The corner was boring, but at least he hadn’t clamped her nipples and attached them to an O-ring, or collared her and left her there with a short leather strap attached to the wall. When he kept her on the floor with little to do, she often ended by twisting and rubbing herself to soreness on the plush carpet. When he went out and left her alone, she could always unfasten the leash and leave. The object wasn’t to keep her in strict bondage, but to force her to accept that she remained his submissive willingly. The short leash wasn’t to be cruel, it was a figurative symbol of how close he always kept her.

Perhaps the gag was a representation of —

No. Mindfulness.

Elora fidgeted. She hadn’t been standing there long, but twitching might return his attention to her and that was never bad. Even when he hurt her, she wanted his attention. She was greedy and was often called upon to admit it when he punished her for such infractions.

The discomfort of the gag reminded her that the saliva was building in her mouth again. She had to stop and focus on swallowing.

Mindfulness. He’d said to think about mindfulness. That probably meant all three reasons had to do with mindfulness.

Elora scowled. She disliked when her master trained her for the sole purpose of improving her. She wished he’d do it to amuse himself. If she needed to be improved, that meant something was wrong with her. She wasn’t good enough. No longer worried if he’d hear, she uttered a deep growl of frustration. Her fidgeting turned to outright irritation. She turned around and knelt, her back to the corner.

He wasn’t even in the damn room to see her tantrum.

Peeved at the discovery, Elora seriously considered popping out the gag so she could swallow decently. He wasn’t there to observe. But she knew it was dishonest. She didn’t leave the corner when he left her there all evening without even a book for entertainment.

The gag was physically uncomfortable, though.

Her eyes narrowed. She wished she could see more than the innocuous base of it that covered her lips. She thrust it out, not completely, but enough to stare down her nose to see the shaft. She could feel the saliva from earlier finally drip from the corner of her mouth and down her chin. Impatiently, she swiped at it with her arm.

Elora’s master returned at that moment. His eyes widened at the sight of her wiping her mouth with the back of her arm. She sucked the bulb back in, concealing the other small rebellion from him.

“I believe you’ve not yet grasped the second reason,” he said. The words were disapproving, but he didn’t rush or redden from anger. Completely calm, he crossed the room to her and bent to untie the strings of her bikini top. Efficiently, he raised her to her feet, turned her, and captured her wrists behind her back. He wrapped the fabric and ties around and through her wrists, trapping them. Now she was gagged, unable to sit, and had lost the use of her hands.

Elora turned her head to the side and glared at him.

He sighed softly, but not impatiently. “The second reason for the gag is so that you can let go of your pride and concentrate on what would make me proud. I’ve told you, again and again, that you are beautiful with your hair mussed and my cum on your chin, but you are always skeptical. The gag will force you to let go of that. You’ll wear it enough that spit will escape and run down your face. You aren’t allowed to wash it away. If I want it removed, I’ll wipe it off. While wearing the gag, you won’t be able to put on lipstick, or even get a drink of water by yourself, let alone eat. Instead, you’ll have to accept help from me, even though you won’t be able to ask. You’ll have to depend on me to pay enough attention and care enough to understand your needs, to help you.”

Blushing, Elora looked away. Guilty, she thought. I am guilty of that. She’d let go of so many things, but she was assiduous in looking after her own body, prompt about cleaning herself, and always aware that someday he might find her unattractive.

But a gag? A gag? Really?

A gag wasn’t humiliating, but it was awkward.

She tried jerking her head back and forth, to indicate she wanted the third reason, but her master just laughed at her. Again. He took her shoulders in his hands and turned her to face the corner again, this time pushing her forward until her nose touched the wall. “As you requested, time for the third reason,” he whispered in her ear. “Don’t turn around, don’t go to the floor. Stay just like this where I put you.”

He turned and left her there.

Elora fumed. Elora fidgeted. Elora let the spit run down her chin until it dripped and hit the top of her breast and leaked down into her cleavage, and still her master did not return. She wanted to kick the wall, or scream. She could almost scream. She tried screaming. It came out as a muffled shriek of exasperation.

From behind her, he chuckled.

She gasped and whirled. He was standing not three feet away, completely at ease. How long had he been there? When had he returned?

“Have you worked it out?” he asked.

Elora shook her head, tears welling. She hated feeling inadequate.

“You haven’t worked it out, little one, because you’re caught up in it. ]Yes, the second reason was so that you would learn to put away your pride, but the third reason is to teach you to trust me.”

Elora stared at him, confused beyond bearing. “With the gag in,” he explained carefully, “you can’t ask me to release you from the nipple clamps attached to the O-ring in that corner. You have to trust me not to forget you and leave you in that predicament too long. You can scream all you want into the mattress, but you can’t ask me to stop spanking me when you’re on my lap. You’ll have to take as much spanking as I want to give and trust that I’ll stop before I damage you. You can’t ask me to let you help put away my laundry or iron my shirts, but trust that I have you doing exactly what I want you to be doing, even if that’s sitting on your feet beside the bed looking anxious and expectant.”

She blinked. She wanted to apologize, to beg his forgiveness for the presumptive things she did without thinking, but that gag –

Suddenly she understood. Tears in her eyes, she nodded.

And she waited.

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