WFH – shhh while I just take this call [MF] [Bondage]

I am struck for a moment by the absurdity.

Knees starting to ache a little despite the thickly carpeted floor. Proud posture, erect one might say, finding comfort in the steel-boned corset that fits so snugly. Feels like armour, firm against hips, breasts threatening to spill over the top.

Collar comforting too, discreet. Always slightly hard, slightly cold. A reminder. A thrill made flesh, I think, although it’s actually just silver of course.

And then the current focus of my discomfort. The metal ring gag on a thick leather strap, two buckles at the back.

When I came in wearing it, wearing this entire ensemble – impossibly pointy impossibly high black heels included – the gag was not that tight. Tight enough to tease. Tight enough for the visual effect. Tight enough to push it down with my tongue and free myself without hands if need be.

But you knew that too. And the wicked glint in your eye as you tightened the strap, fingers firmly in the ring testing its release, determined to fix it just right. Now it’s so far back, so tight in my mouth, behind the back of my teeth even. No way to remove, pointless to wriggle.

The streams amuse you as always. When I bought this on a whim, I imagined your cock pushing through it. Ridiculous, it would never fit. Not your lovely thick cock. I wasn’t aware that ring gags are known for generating the most saliva. Found that out after about five minutes though – remember that birthday photo? Open O-shaped lipsticked lips. Cold metal. Dripping. Flowing.

And now here. In the corner of your home office. To the right of your desk, under the window. An incongruous sight in the workplace. Wrists comfortably cuffed, clipped together behind back. Kneeling proudly, head up, like a chick competing against siblings for a worm. But this dripping. This not swallowing thing is now requiring all my concentration.

I can’t make a noise – that would be impossible to live down. Even if could somehow get up without making a sound or crawl with my hands behind my back, your monitor faces the door. Again, impossible.

It had seemed like a good idea. I had just finished a hugely annoying project that took days. I deserved a break. And what better than to distract you for a while. Reshape your workday. You love it when I dress up. I love sucking you under your desk. And you were pleased when I came in with a glass of water. Shoes, makeup, corset, stockings. *Pleasing*, your eyes said. The approval I crave.

*Let me just fix this*, you murmured, tightening my gag. Then you secured my wrists behind my back. Rubbed a strong finger against my clit, then down. Freshly shaved and so wet. More approval. *My babe*. Fingers in my mouth through gag to clean off. Can’t really taste myself as I can’t swallow, but still. *WFH is not work from home*, you said. *It’s* *wife fucken horny*, you said.

And I am.

I think you checked your watch just before you secured my gag as tight as can be. Or maybe that’s a cruel detail my brain now invented. All I know is that, at 2 pm sharp, just as I was failing to taste myself from your fingers, your Zoom call started ringing. I had assumed, no hoped, it was something unplanned, one person, quick question. It isn’t.

I can’t see a clock from here, can’t see my watch nestled against the cuff behind my back, can’t see my phone a world away on your desk. But it must be at least 15, 20 minutes already. Acting like I am not here at all as you check some detail in some file. Giving me the occasional glance as you elicit giggles from your female colleagues, indulge them, flirt.

I kind of like seeing you work. I kind of like the discipline this position requires. I love new experiences. But I really fucking need to swallow. You finally seem to sense my discomfort. Carry on, you say to your team. You are the boss, no need to make up some excuse like opening the window.

You tower above me and I tremble. I ache for you. More than my jaw aches. More than my knees ache. Discomfort instantly erased by this longing for you. You quickly uncuff my hands but then recuff them at the front. My eyes plead but this is the only change you make before opening the window and sitting back at your desk.

Am I angry? Thrilled? Not sure. But so absolutely wet. Throbbing. Flashes of our firsts, of our most intense moments flood my thoughts.

The sting of your hand on the 20th slap, burning. The glorious pain as you breach my ass, push past my ring for what always feels like first time. The desperation and sweetness of when lips first touched lips. That time you came spurting hard in my throat, balls against my chin and fingers firmly closing my nose. How much I cried as my first orgasm shuddered through me.

Lost in my thoughts, I may have unintentionally let out some kind of sound. You look away from your call, more amused than irritated. You beckon me with a curled finger. Then instinctively pat your thigh as if calling for your pet on your lap.

As you continue talking constraints, models, deviance, I slowly break posture. So stiff and wobbly. Need to be absolutely silent and stay very low. Off screen. I start to move towards you. It is not elegant. I am not the sexy, slinky vixen I long to be. Broken almost. Streams of saliva. Mascara running slightly. Stiffly trying to crawl with hands secured. Unsteady.

As I reach your side, I am struck by how different this journey was than the one I planned an hour ago. Finally in the right place though. Without taking your eyes off the screen, you find my head and undo the buckles of the gag. I am careful not to gasp in relief. You don’t look at me, so you can’t even see the gratitude in my eyes.

Thankfully, a longwinded colleague is being himself. Still noiseless as can be, I swallow lots. Make funny faces to get the blood flowing everywhere again, adjust.

Any normal person would want a glass of water and a rest. I don’t. For some unfathomable reason. I want your cock in my throat more than ever. Fill me, choke me, face fuck me. Grab my hair in both hands and use me for your pleasure.

Unsure if it’s allowed, but almost unable to resist, my mouth goes to your jeans. I use my teeth to stroke you very gently through the material, hold you like that. I wouldn’t if my hands weren’t tied, but sometimes a girl has to improvise. I move deliberately up and down the length of your hard bulge. Teeth replacing hands, the delicate skin of your perfect silken cock protected by the thick denim. Then blow hot air, moisten.

I am rewarded by you unbuttoning your jeans, freeing your fat, luscious cock. You smell delicious. You are perfect. My Platonic ideal. Does your precum have a salty scent? Or is that just an illusion as I know its delectable taste. You too are wetter than usual – maybe you weren’t ignoring me after all.

The voices fade out as I take you in my mouth, suckle you needily. Silently. I am no longer trying to tease. I don’t care about distracting you. This is just for me. The purest pleasure. Licking, spitting, rubbing you all over with closed lips. No noise at all though. Now sucking, pressure. Taking you deeper and deeper. Slowly. As if practising a new technique, a new skill. Methodical.

Is there an irony in the fact that being gagged for so long seems to have dulled my gag reflex? Balls deep feels like the most natural position. A puzzle piece slipped into place.

At some stage you must have ended your call. I can’t believe I didn’t notice. But at some point it was you who was making a noise. Purring. Grunting. And then oh fuck. *Fuuuck. Yes*.

You didn’t need to fuck my face this time, I managed that all by myself. Now you look at me with such love, such desire. Two fingers below my chin to guide my lips up to you, eyes gleaming. A deep passionate kiss.

I could tell you about what happens next, how time stops when you absolutely fill my pussy, legs wrapped around you, utter contentment, two as one. But that feels like a different story.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/qp979u/wfh_shhh_while_i_just_take_this_call_mf_bondage