GAGGED
(1900 words)
I let
my body to go limp; a signal that I had given up the struggle. He allowed
me some air but kept his powerful legs locked around my entangled arms.
Hands in front of my face held an eye-less rubber hood, complete with
nostril tube and mouth tube, dangling before me; I could see the inflatable
gag inside as it hung in his hands.
The voice behind and above me was calm and serious. "I could put
this back on you ... but I prefer to see your eyes while I'm talking
to you ... and I have a lot of things to say, Dan ... and I don't want
any interruptions ... so open your mouth, please." He let the rubber
hood fall and I saw a strap in his hand. It was another gag.
"You said you'd take the gag out," I protested, trying to
turn to look up at him. His legs clamped tighter and a hand slapped
the side of my head sharply.
"No talk," he barked. And then in a more reasonable tone added,
"I said I'd take the foam ball out ... but I didn't say I wouldn't
put a different gag in. So open up."
I was suddenly really pissed off again and closed my mouth firmly. Not
seeing this, he moved the ominous device towards my face ... and my
mind boggled as I realised the plug was a sizable realistic imitation
penis head.
"No fucking way," I yelled and my sudden wrench pulled him
off the bed. But I was strait-jacketed with it's sleeves now tangled
around my legs, and still hobbled. Desperately, my teeth clamped firmly
together and my jaw set - and although I put up a good struggle - some
whirlwind scrabbling around soon had my head reeling: the collar of
the jacket was suddenly hauling me upwards and choking - then I was
on my face - then on my back - then being dragged by my ankles across
the carpet - turned over and swung around suddenly. I crashed against
my exercise frame - sprawling in the confining jacket. A strap suddenly
snaked around my neck from behind and had me choking briefly. But this
was released and slid down over my shoulders and tightened, tethering
me back, low-down against one of the uprights of the metal home gym:
solid, heavy and immovable. My exercise set-up, elaborate and sturdy
... and me sitting slumped against it going nowhere. Then a second strap
immobilised my neck, not tight but inescapable.
After a breathless pause, and some clanking behind me, a weight bar
with God knows how many extra kilos on either end appeared in my line
of vision, Harry carrying it with an effort. He placed it gently across
my lap . Fixed as I was sitting tethered neck and waist to the exercise
tower, this maniac had now trapped my thighs, bridging them with this
bar. He experimented, the weights acting as wheels, the bar forced my
legs to straighten out as he rolled it towards my ankles. He then fixed
the bar over the hobble with rope; the weight of it all, pinning my
feet.
We were both breathing heavily, but I was almost retching for air because
my teeth were still determinedly clenched. Harry laughed, exhilarated
as he stood over me, his boots deliberately blocking the weight bar
from moving as I tried to bend my legs.
"This kind of home gym equipment is great for kinky bondage games,"
he said. "All sorts of possibilities with weights and pulleys."
He reached up and tested it, stretching himself spread-eagled against
the frame, legs provocatively wide, as muscular arms grabbed the upper
structure and pulled down on it. "Great for suspension ... upside-down
suspension, perhaps," he mused. "Or if you're into seriously
punishing exercise routines. Remind me to tell you about a friend of
mine who is a personal trainer with a special talent for pushing people's
limits."
As he was talking, I made a sudden determined effort to drag at the
weight bar holding my ankles. It was painful, but I managed to bang
it against the back of his boots. But it went no further. He acknowledged
this attempt on my part ... and, 'tutting' accusingly, he knelt astride
my legs and, experimentally, discovered that the heels of his boots
could push back the bar behind him, forcing my legs straight again ...
and still leaving both his hands free to deal with my face. He demonstrated
this by flaunting the ominous gag before my eyes ... before leaning
towards me, mischievously (an odd word to spring into my mind).
"Open up, Dan-boy," my oppressor insisted, and I shook my
head. "I can make you open up," he warned. And I continued
to challenge him briefly ... before claw-like fingers grabbed my chin
and tried to force it down. Concentrating on resisting this in spite
of the pain, I was off guard when the hand left my chin swiftly, and
the same vicious fingers grabbed my balls and twisted them mercilessly.
My agonised roar-howl-yell forced it's way out of my mouth, and the
gag was in before I could recover ... but my teeth clamped into it,
preventing it from going all the way in.
Now, in some absurd way, he snuggled down close alongside me, as I desperately
maintained my resistance. Together lying-sitting-sprawled against the
exercise frame, he snaked a hairy arm around the back of my neck (all
the time keeping up pressure on the plug and my teeth). The crook of
his arm clamped my head, leaving that hand free ... with strong fingers
able to grab my nose and pinch it firmly, closing the nostrils. I struggled
mightily, teeth still trying to prevent the tough bulk of the plug from
getting further into my mouth. But, with his powerful arm behind my
neck, I knew could not hold out against him, strapped as I was. Even
his boot was able to keep the weight-bar immobilising my legs. The fingers
twisted my nose, ruthlessly. I gasped ... before relaxing the grip of
my teeth on the plug.
He did not ram it home, but strong fingers on my nose persuaded me to
stop struggling. And, as I gave up all resistance, he forced my face
to turn and look into his, inches from my face. He shook his head, ruefully,
and began to talk soothingly.
"Now, now, now! Relax, Dan-boy, relax. Let the plug do what it's
supposed to do; slide nice and easy between your lips," he whispered,
seductively. "There's a breathing hole through it. Much better
than that nasty foam ball. Better than the inflatable plug. Just suck
on it for a minute. Get the feel of it. Let it slide in ... and out
a little and back in ... and back out just a little".
My head cradled in the crook of his arm was still firmly clamped, and
with arms trussed and legs immobilised, I sat (or rather slumped) held
against his chest ... Harry controlling my every movement. I resigned
myself to helplessness, and allowed the solid plug to move freely around
inside my mouth. Allowed? Any attempted to stop it would only have invited
more abuse.
Harry gently worked the penis-shaped plug in and out, never allowing
my teeth opportunity to close again. I felt the slick plastic massage
my tongue and probe to the back of my throat and retreat. Like nursing
a baby, Harry forced the shaft in and out while soothingly, the fingers
at the end of the clamping arm stroked my cheek and around my scalp.
"There now, it's not so bad, is it? Keep your jaw relaxed and allow
the air in through the plug - and let your throat relax - feel it open
up a little more."
In this improbable situation I found myself adjusting to it, my tongue
no longer resisting this intrusion. Suddenly, my throat gagged slightly
as the plug probed deeper - but Harry ignored my difficulties as I choked
and gasped - spluttered. He was forcing me to deal with it - adjust
to it. His deliberately harsh handling of the moment shocked me. The
panic in my eyes and choking must have told him I was in serious difficulties,
my tortured throat convulsing and retching. But, when I met his eyes,
even in my panic, I was forced to accept. He was determined I should
deal with it. Forced to accept that I had no other option, I gradually
found I could swallow around the pumping intrusion - and get some air
from within it - and deal with my panic. Live with it.
As I calmed to the situation slightly, I realised that he was, in effect,
face-fucking me - a phrase I remembered from those confiscated heavy
gay SM porno magazines. He was demonstrating what it felt like, what
he could do to me. No. Not really face-fucked ... but mind-fucked. The
subtlety and deviousness of this man ...
The movement had stopped, and the plug now remained pressed deep into
my mouth by determined fingers and, with difficulty, my throat was dealing
with it. Harry's strong hand that was not controlling the gag, was still
stroking my scalp soothingly. My scalp tingled - sensitised.
Having reached this resigned state, I became very still, almost mesmerised
as two hands moved away to connect the gag-strap behind my neck. No
arm now controlled my head or the plug but the fight had left me. My
eyes looked into his, face-to-face as his hands cinched the buckle -
cinched it tight, and I did not mind. My throat convulsed only slightly
now, as I swallowed nervously around the plug. Close to my face as he
fiddled with the buckle his lips pursed, and blew a gentle breath directly
into my nostrils. I could do nothing but receive his breath - and it
smelled - acceptable. For some reason I thought of horse trainers who
breathed into the nostrils of a part-broken horse. His eyes did not
leave mine and I didn't break the eye contact.
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