If Only [Ff] [BDSM] [Femdom]

“Do you want to cum?”

“Unh! Uggh!”

Don’t judge me—this gag may not be huge, *per se*, but what it lacks in size it makes up in devilish intent. I could talk better and drool less around a fat dick with a man behind it, fucking my face. If only.

Kat waves the wand back and forth, making its bulbous white head undulate between us like a charmed serpent. I can’t take my eyes off it, I want it so bad. I’d settle for my fingers, you know, if my wrists weren’t shackled to the front of my collar—I’d settle for humping a fucking pillow, if I weren’t sitting bare-assed on a concrete basement floor, and I’d settle for jumping her and taking it off her, shackles or no, if I weren’t chained by the neck to a ring in the floor.

If only.

Her face crinkles into a petite frown. She looks down at the wand and clicks it on-off, buzz-buzz, yes, Kat, you bitch, it works—doesn’t it? Oh, her face—oh, God, I hate the way she can hear my thoughts. Now she’s smiling. “Say it. Say you want it. Beg me for it.”

“Uh-uh.” I shake my head and the streamer of drool attached to my chin swings wide, adding a stroke to the drooly Pollock I’m making between my legs.

“I mean, you don’t *really* need this to cum, do you? If I offered you a million dollars to cum right now, you seriously couldn’t do it? There’s no way?”

“Oo on’t ave illiagh o-ahs.”

She laughs, and I laugh with her. The movement pushes my gag’s metal tongue-depressor a millimeter or two further into my throat, which is all it takes for me to, well, *gag* on it, and she watches me carefully until I’m done coughing. Concerned for my well-being, or figuring on ways to deepen my torment?

“Seriously. Show me you need it. Try to cum for me.”

Fine. Literally the only thing I can reach that isn’t flat concrete is the ring I’m chained to, so I walk over to it on my butt, cock a leg like a pissing dog, and give it my best.

“If you keep holding out on me, you’ll be sorry. Get down on it—I know you’re flexy enough.”

I also know it’ll be agony on my knees, but she isn’t kidding about hurting me. I fall forward, catching myself on my hands, and wiggle back and forth until my legs are spread in a nice froggy pose. It would be ecstasy on a bed, or even a yoga mat, but it’s agony here. I do my best, lowering myself down until the ring kisses my slick cunt lips; further, its curve parting me, a cold metal friend snuggling up beside my clit. She’s nervous, but eager. I move against the ring, and for a few moments it feels like I might be getting somewhere, but … no. My knees hurt too much, and it’s not enough. She’s already bored of it.

“Aw. Clo, you’re shaking.”

I keep going. I once saw Kat cry because she stepped on an ant; I also once spent a night on this very floor in heavy irons, hooded in tight leather and pissing in a diaper, because she was in a mean mood and I did a little bit too much begging.

(If you don’t know us, you are now morally outraged—you don’t know she also spent that night sitting on the old mattress in the corner, watching me and reading her book, drinking coffee and savagely pinching her nipples to stay awake. She was as miserable and groggy as I was the next day—she did it so that I could have a night I’d never forget. That, my friends, is true love.)

“Hokay. I get it. Good girl. You can stop.”

Relieved, I sit up and look at her. This is a new gag, and a very embarrassing one, so I can barely meet her eye. A thrill shivers up my back and tickles at my armpits and the tender flanks of my breasts, settling into my crotch as a warm, itchy slickness.

“We’re going to play a game.”

Of course we are.

“See that?” She points at the wall outlet where the wand is plugged in. There’s something new there, between the plug and the wall: a little box with some numbered knobs on it. Kat hates gadgets, so this must be something truly fiendish if she’s deemed it worthy of our *bedroom*.

“Uh-huh.”

“Every little while, it’ll randomly turn your friend here on, and then off.” She shrugs, grinning lopsidedly, still watching me. “Maybe you can cum, maybe not. You can keep trying for as long as you like, but either way it’s a week before your next chance. Make sense?”

“Muh-hunh.”

“Cool. Catch, then.” She lobs the wand at my belly, and it bounces off with a hollow *pof*. As it rolls away, I barely manage to snag it with an outstretched toe; I sandwich it between the soles of my feet, pull it toward me, and bend over to grab it. Waving it around feels funny, like I’ve turned into one of those dinosaurs with the short little arms.

She retreats to her mattress to play some *Creature Crossroad*, leaving me to my own device. It’s funny—we’re no further apart than we might be during a normal conversation, but I’m in my own little world over here. It’s been about five minutes, and the wand hasn’t started buzzing yet. I wonder…

“Clo? Oh, Chloe?”

Her legs come snaking around my flanks, over my thighs, her feet tucking under my knees and forcing them apart. She presses up against my back, and her slender fingers tease the outer territories of my armpits and trace lazy circles around my nipples. One hand snatches the wand and drops it to the floor, then comes to rest between my legs; she parts my pussy lips and runs a finger up and down, up and down, grazing my clit with the lightest of light touches.

“Gosh, you’re horny, aren’t you? Horny enough to cheat at my game?”

All I can do is moan through my gag.

“Shall I make you cum? That’s what you want, right? That’s why you’re rubbing at your slutty little pussy with my wand that I trusted you to use properly?”

“Uhhnngghh…”

Her fingers delve deeper, pushing harder, dipping into my cunt for moisture and working back and forth against my clit. I might as well enjoy it while it lasts—I already fucked up, and I’m in for it now. Each of my breaths comes as a horny little gasp and my hips gyrate hungrily against her touch, thrusting upward, my legs spread in a desperate diamond like a blow-up fuck doll.

“Are you getting close, Clo? I think you are, aren’t you?”

I nod and grunt, spilling drool, incapable even of semi-coherent gag talk. *Just go for it,* you might be thinking, but no—she knows me too well—I’d get no orgasm anyway, and I’d pay dearly for the trying.

She lifts me up on one last wave, falling just short of what I so desperately need, and pulls away. She runs her hands up my belly, letting her nails scrape lightly along that tender, ticklish skin, and I giggle and writhe despite myself, but she’s still wrapped around me and there’s nowhere I can go. She traces up over the tight curves of my breasts and grabs my hands, pushing her thumbs cruelly into my palms against the base of my knuckles and turning them outward, as if I’m begging for coins.

Begging for cums?

“Thought I’d got these hands of yours out of the way, but it’s not enough, is it? Hang on—don’t go anywhere.”

On her way over to the toy chest, she kicks the wand out of the circle that is my whole world right now. I only get it back a minute or two later, after she’s used a roll of electrical tape to bind my hands into tight little fists.

She clicks the switch off. “Make yourself cum, you cheating little slut. *Now.*”

“Unhh?”

She plants a foot between my tits and shoves me down onto my back. “This is already bad for you, but it’s going to get a lot worse if you don’t start rubbing your pussy *right now*. Go on—this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

My hands are taped so tightly that I can’t get any leverage at all. I have to settle for working the wand up and down, up and down, rolling its shiny white plastic along my sticky-shiny black nubs, letting gravity do the work of pressing it against my clit. It’s less than ideal. God, I was so close, when it was her fingers … look at me here, gagged and covered in drool, collared and chained to the floor, helpless, legs spread like a whore, yes, *yes,* oh, please…

Just like that, the orgasm slips through my fingers. Sorry—my nubs.

“Thought so. Hold on, I’m going to get you something to help you keep your legs properly spread.”

A minute later, I’ve got a length of steel holding me open by my ankles. The cuffs are rigid and welded to the ends, so I can’t even bring my knees together. Kat stands between my feet, arms akimbo, grinning down at me. She loves putting me on display. “We’re not done,” she says—if only she’d said it when I was trying to cum, it might have done the trick.

She turns my wand back on—though the timer still hasn’t kicked in—and goes back to her game. After about thirty seconds of struggling, I manage to sit up. The spreader is such a simple thing, but I’m completely immobilized by it. Time passes, drool drips, the strain at the insides of my thighs ebbs and flows, and…

Shit! It’s on! I dangle it down there, letting it press against the outside of my pussy, moaning as the vibrations penetrate deep inside me. Blood rushes south and my flesh stiffens, questing for the surface, gaping my cunt open to welcome nothing but empty air and wishful thinking. Oh, God, this is it. I don’t care what torment Kat has planned for me afterwards—it’s been a week of edging and denial but here we go, finally, the moment she’s deprived me of for so long—

—And it’s over. Buzz-buzz no more. This machine, which Kat says is random, could not have denied me more cruelly if she’d yanked the plug out of the wall herself.

I allow myself a little tantrum-struggle, maintaining my arousal for another handful of seconds. My helplessness is absolute—I could not free myself if I had a hundred years to work at it and the key was sitting on the floor right in front of me. I love that about bondage, the way such simple instruments can turn me into pure drooling fuck meat, a sex toy whose loves and fears and hopes and dreams are irrelevant incidentals. The way I can hand somebody the keys to my body and let my mind drift away, tethered to the real world only by a thin, glutinous strand of sparkling sex.

“Good try, Clo. Maybe next time it’ll give you a few more seconds?”

I can’t see her, but I can hear her giggling.

The next time the buzzing comes, I’m lying on my back. Gravity helps, but I barely get thirty seconds before it cuts out again. I can’t decide if it was more infuriating than the first time, or less.

“Too bad, love,” says Kat. “Maybe next time.”

Next time doesn’t come for what feels like hours. Kat gets bored of her game, and picks up her book instead. I flip and flop across the floor, marinating in dirty drool, never comfortable. I’m almost bored, almost suspecting Kat of playing a cruel joke, when it starts up again.

I’ve got ground to make up, but this feels good. After that stretch of boredom, thinking about my situation—gagged, splayed out, helpless, miserable—is violently arousing. Soon enough I’m standing before the gates of orgasm once again, and what am I waiting for? In this one thing, right now, I have agency.

I step forward, toward the gates. My right hand twitches involuntarily; the wand slips against a little patch of drool on the outside of my knuckle; I try to recover it, but it rolls off me and onto the floor. Still rolling. I lunge for it, ignoring the twisting agony in my ankles.

The chain attached to my collar pulls me up short.

I contort myself, stretching, flipping over and around, laying out on my back, but it’s no use. The fucking thing’s rolled out of the little circle that is my world, and I’m not getting it back.

Kat comes over and stands astride me, looking down with a smile that is pure, unadulterated evil. She was wearing a lacy black bodysuit earlier but now she’s totally naked and I’m looking up at her pussy as she rubs it with three fingers.

“Hah. See how easy this is for me? Hah … do you wish you were up here, you filthy, depraved little bondage slut, or are you still glad you’re down there? Ahhhn … fuck, you actually, fuck, are, aren’t you?”

Shrieking laughter bubbles out of her and she squats down on her haunches, putting her crotch right above my face. She stiffens as the orgasm pulses through her, gaping her cunt and pushing out her lips, then pulling it all back into a tight line of wet flesh. Sweet water bursts out of her, soaking my face and running down her thighs, and I gag and choke on what landed in my mouth, desperate to swallow it. I sit up as far as I can and press my lips against her, my tongue still imprisoned in metal but still desperate to taste more of her. She stays for a few moments, letting me indulge myself.

“I love you,” she says, as she reaches down to fasten a padded leather blindfold onto me. “But you have to learn that not everything is about you, okay, love? Now, are you comfortable?”

“Muh-hunh.”

“Good. Just a little time-out, now. If you don’t beg, I might even take out your gag a few hours before bedtime. How does that sound?”

“Ehnh.”

She ruffles my hair as she walks away. “Good girl. I’ll see you later.”

The fantasy is that she’s gone away, upstairs, leaving me helpless and alone in this cold dungeon. The reality is that she’s right over there, sitting on her mattress reading her book. I can see her in my mind’s eye: scanning down the page with an expression of pleasant boredom, looking up at me every now and then to make sure I’m still right where I’m supposed to be.

Actually, on second thought, I take back what I said about the fantasy. It’s *all* the fantasy, layered like an onion, intermeshed with reality, intricate and paradoxical and perfect. I am the luckiest girl in the world.

If only I could tell her. :)

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/gdb2ch/if_only_ff_bdsm_femdom