“Doing alright down there?”
Oh no. Deliberately, gingerly, slowly — oh so slowly — I nodded my head yes, hoping that would be good enough.
Even through the dark canvas blindfold, I knew she could see me nodding. I knew she was looking down right at me. I had felt her calves splay out from next to my ears, and I could feel her taking me in, up and down, through the space between them.
But she knew what she was after.
“What was that, boy?”
I froze. There was a ever-so-slight tinge of malice in the smoothness of her voice. But even then, I swallowed my spit, hard, and started another nod. *Please*, I thought, being very, very careful to not try and mouth the word.
She wasn’t having it. Her hand snaked down under the desk and grabbed my hair, pulling my head back and baring my neck to her. I tried to keep my back perfectly straight, as ordered.
“That’s enough. You know the rules about answering. It’s been almost half an hour since I last took you out to use that wonderful little tongue of yours, my toy. You know I’m a stickler for safety, and I’m not going to be satisfied that you’re alright until I hear it directly from that very. same. tongue.”
Her hand pulled my head back down, keeping my chin just below level with the ground. And I suddenly knew there was no avoiding what she wanted.
“Now I’m going to ask one more time. I want to hear an answer. Or maybe we can reconsider whether you should be getting your touching privileges back so frequently.” I heard the clinking of a pair of tiny keys from her other hand. Somewhere down below, deep within, unseen, I reflexively twitched.
I knew I was done for. I swallowed as much of my saliva as possible in preparation.
“Are. You. Doing. Alright. *Slut*.”
“Yes, miss,” I replied. Or at least I tried to reply.
What actually came out was “Yus mhss”. Along with a sudden, steady, but still-slow trickle of drool from the perforations in the black silicone ball-gag locked into my mouth.
I heard a slight, satisfied gasp from somewhere up above. “Good boy.” She was still looking directly at me. I recognized that gears were still turning in her head. I tried to suck the spit back into my mouth. I might be able to get this back under control if —
But she wasn’t having any of that. “Yes… what?”, she said. The tinge of malice in her voice was growing, rich and expansive, building into glee.
I froze. Behind my blindfold I sought out her eyes. *Please*, I thought, harder than ever.
Clink, clink, came the pointed reply from above.
Oh god. “Yuhs, muhhs, uh um duhhing uhrught”. Each strained psuedosyllable brought with it a new stream of drool running out of the gag, down my lips, glistening on my face.
Her pulse had quickened now. “Oh, sooo good to hear, *boy*”, she breathed, luxuriating over each vowel. She let the diminutive dangle in the air for a moment. Then, she pushed back her chair. I heard her squat in front of me and bring her face under the desk, so close to my trembling wetted lips, working overtime to dam up the building overflow.
She looked over her handiwork. “Hmmmm. Does that mean…”, she started, taking in each facet of my predicament, “…that my boy’s knees are alright?”
I shifted in the thick padded bands clasped to my thighs and ankles, holding me close to the soft pad below me. The weighty padlocks linking them brushed against my legs, and the cold rush of the metal told me that I hadn’t lost any sensation down there.
“Yuhhss, mhss.” More bubbles, more spit. I could just barely keep it off my chin.
Clink, clink, clink. “I know it’s tough for my poor boy to keep it together right now. But that’s the last time I’ll give you a do-over.”, she whispered, low and dangerous, her hand running along the thigh bands’ edge.
“Yuh-hh-hhs, mhsss, muh knuhs uh uhrught”, I said, a staccato crawling up from her touch to my voice. My spit was forming a pool on the shelf of my lower lip, but I didn’t dare angle my neck back from where she had pulled it.
She was so close to me I heard her smile. “Good boy.”
She was looking all over me for her next target. Her hand ran, with a false casualness, over the thigh bands, far, far away, oh so far away from my throbbing crotch, and up my side. I shivered uncontrollably as her grasp brushed my ribcage.
“Does that mean… my new armbinder isn’t pinching or cutting anything off?” Her fingers found their way onto my taut shoulders, pulled back firmly. “Or, god forbid, getting loose?”
I reflexively pulled my arms, each in one chamber of the brown leather tube, up, down, left, right as far as they’d go. The tight rope lines, leading from the two D rings at the top and bottom to the feet and back frame of the heavy desk I was trapped under, gave me next to no slack. I wiggled my hands, and I could feel the padded chamber at the end of the binder just as intensely as when she coaxed them into the device this morning.
“Yuh — nuh, mhsss, muh uhrmss uh uhrught.” I felt a solitary drop of spit fall from my chin onto the plastic tarp on my pad below. It would soon be totally hopeless.
She looked over my shoulder, down at her ropework. “Gooood boy”, she whispered into my ear.
“Does that mean….”, she started, settling back into her squat.. “…does that meeeeeeean…”, as her hands sought all over my body, fingers tapping pensively, driving my body into convulsions in time with the impacts, “…that my boy’s poor nipples are feeling better?” Her fingers brushed the redness around them gently.
I had felt the blood slowly crawl back into my abused nubs very, very strongly when she had taken the clamps off suddenly what seemed like forever ago. They still tingled slightly, a good sign. Maybe.
“Yuhs, muhss,” I started. “Muh nuhpulls uHHHHHHHEEH!”.
She had grabbed them suddenly with two fingers of each hand, pinching them *tight* just below the tip. Unrelenting, she held them for a second.
And in these eternal moments, the floodgates opened. What felt like all the liquid in my body coursed from my gag, flowing down over my forced-apart lips, wetting my entire lower face, glistening in a pool on my chin and down my neck as an unstoppable flow started down, down my chest.
She let go, and a sob caught in my throat. I was on the verge of tears. Partly from the pain, but mostly from the humiliation of having control over my own mouth taken away so totally, so gleefully, so helplessly.
And she was taking it all in. She was panting openly now, looking all over what she had wrought, her hot heavy breath enveloping every part of my face, becoming all I could breathe in.
“Awwww, my poooor baby,” she giggled. “Is that why you didn’t want to talk?”
“Yuhhs muhss, uh –”, I started haltingly, not wanting to take any chances.
She pushed slightly in on my gag, pressing it back onto my tongue. Somehow, though it hadn’t seemed possible, the flow from my mouth intensified, widened, quickened as I drooled even more. Tears were running down my cheeks, wetting the blindfold.
“Because you didn’t want to make a mess?”
“Yuhh mu — “
“But I just don’t know why,” she cut me off. I sensed that she didn’t want a response.
She ran her hand from my mouth, down my face, down my chest, leaving a trail as she went.
“You’re so hot when you’re this helpless.”
Her hand made its way down, slowly, slowly, pausing at my nipples to spread even more of my mess, before it found its way to my belly. I was shaking to my core.
“You’re so hot when all you can do is leak and cry and moan and *suffer* for me.”
Her finger traced the line between my leg and crotch so slowly. I thought I would ignite from the force of my shivering.
“And you are so very definitely leaking.”, she purred.
She ran her finger along the shaft of the solid resin cage locked on my cock. She tapped twice, as if she was thinking, and a thick stream of precum dripped from the slit at the end.
“*God*, you leave me such hard decisions, boy.” She picked up the bronze padlock that ran through the plastic loop keeping me trapped, absentmindedly turned it over in her deft fingers, then let it drop back against the cage, sending a vibration through the rigid shell that I thought would drive me to permanent insanity.
“I can barely control myself, watching you drool all over yourself. But how can I get at that tongue of yours without letting you out of your predicament? Tsk tsk.”
She stood back up and clapped her hands, as if she’d just discovered a wonderful new field of thought. “Tell you what. It’s almost lunch time. I’ll let you enjoy yourself down there for, oh, another twenty minutes while I wrap up this last report and put together something for lunch. I think I’ve got some pasta left in the kitchen… then we’ll see. Maybe you can earn your freedom with that tongue. Maybe I let you watch as I do it myself. Maybe I find something for that tight little ass of yours to do. Who knows? We’ve got all day.”
I heard all this from what seemed a very long distance as I floated in a pool of pure sensation, carried away to subspace by the mess I was making. She pulled her chair back in again. Her legs found their way under the desk, feet ‘accidentally’ brushing against me, driving me back into shivers as her long calves found their footrests on my shoulders again. “A space heater and ottoman combined,” I heard her murmur contentedly.
A steady clack-clack-clack came from above for what seemed like an eternity as she knocked out some chunk of copy or the other. Then, it seemed, it stopped all of a sudden.
“Oh, by the way,”, she said, in a faux-casual tone like sharpened silk. “I might have shown my hand a little bit when I was teasing you about your… privileges.” A clink, clink, clink found me down deep in my space and brought me to sudden awareness.
“We’ll talk later. But I have been doing some thinking already about changing up your schedule.”
I tried to groan and thrash. But all I got was a low whine and a frustratingly-slight twist in my aching bound body.
“I know, I know.” There was not a hint of regret in her voice. “I *know* you did everything I asked just now. I *know* how hard it is when I — oh, is *betray* even the right word? I *know* you just *hate* it when I’m such a *bitch* to you.” I knew she was floating on her own cloud at this point by the vicious sweetness in the emphasis of her voice.
“But after all. You only get Fridays off every *other* week. And today has already been so, so, so good.”
I moan-gasped into my gag, and sank back down into a deep, deep space. I began to think I had made a mistake mentioning my Regular Day Off to her.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/iydvxz/a_regular_day_off_fm_fdom_bdsm_huml_bd_light_sm