“Keeping Quiet” | BDSM erotica | Fictional characters over 18Reposting this story that h

“Keeping Quiet” | BDSM erotica | Fictional characters over 18

Reposting this story that had to be deleted because the original was shared as a reblog. First posted in 2018, I believe.

She hates it, and loves it, when she has to ask him to help her keep quiet. Because he makes her beg for it. She has to beg him to gag her. To stuff the ball gag between her lips and strap it onto her face tight. To push her dirty, soaked panties deep into her mouth and pack it in. One time, he gave her her old teddy bear to use. It had humiliated her to gag herself with her childhood toy, and that she had come harder than ever while shrieking into the fuzzy arm of the ragged stuffed animal.

He noticed, of course. He noticed everything. Because a week later, after seven days of teasing and edging her and using her as his masturbation aid while not letting her come, he said he would give her permission to orgasm.

She had raised her head, eager like a dog waiting in anticipation of its master’s next word and gesture.

He was giving her permission, he told her, to crawl into the bedroom and to retrieve her stuffed toy. Bring Mr. Cuddy Bear back, on her knees. And then, he said, she could use Mr. Cuddy Bear to get herself off.

“It’s up to you if you want to come,” he said. “You don’t haveto come, you know. But if you get Mr. Cuddy Bear, then you’re going to fuck him hard. You’re going to use him to make yourself come, and you’re not going to be shy about it. I’m letting you do this because I want to watch you with Mr. Cuddy Bear. If you don’t fuck him good and get yourself off, then you get to spend a whole week as my bitch. My little fuck pet.”

Her body flashed hot and cold. She felt numb and at the same time, parts of her body throbbed. He savored the expression on her face.

“You don’t have to come,” he repeated, watching her face. “If you don’t want to come, then get your ass over here. You can bounce on my dick.” He reached for the lube, ever-present on the coffee table, and that let her know he intended to put his cock in her bottom. Which still hurt, and still got her hot, but left her pussy feeling so neglected.

She went, of course. Crawling the whole way down the hall to the bedroom on her hands and knees. Climbing onto the bed and looking at her teddy bear, bearing closing her mouth on its soft, furry arm. Holding the stuffed toy in her mouth, she crawled back out to him.

“Look who it is,” he had declared with jovial humor. “Mr. Cuddy Bear! How nice to see you.”

“Please,” she had uttered, even though she knew it was useless. Useless except that it made his eyes darken and his lips twist in a smirk because he was enjoying this so much. She hated that she had let the word slip past her lips.

“Please what,” he said pleasantly. “Please let you sexually abuse your toy? Why, yes. You have my permission to proceed.”

She drew in a shaking breath. Like a sob, but not quite.

She straddled the furry stuffed animal between her legs, bunching the toy up between her thighs, until it formed a wedge, sort of. She rocked her hips, sawing the toy back and forth between her legs, hands squeezing the familiar, bedraggled fur.

She closed her eyes and moved. Rocking, rolling.

“Better hurry,” his voice had said. “Or I’m going to have myself a nice little doggy bitch to play with.”

When she flicked her eyes in his direction, she let out a moan of protest because he had his phone out and he was filming her. Shame, filthy and conscious, curdled hot in her belly and fired up her entire body until her skin felt electrified. She knew then that he would never let her forget this. He would play the recording over and over again, and he would make her watch it. He would make her watch herself as she defiled her toy because she was so desperate to come and didn’t care. He would make her watch it while she was engaged in another, even more demeaning task. She knew this.

She knew this like she knew she didn’t want to be his puppy girl for a week.

It was one of his longstanding fantasies. She probably should have just went along with it because by this point, his pet play fantasies of turning her into a fuck bitch would push the limits of her humiliation. She knew she would hate how he would make her like it.

So she rode the stuffed teddy bear between her legs. She ground down on the toy and humped it wildly, panting, gasping.

In the end, she came. But outside of his time limit. So she got to be his fuck bitch for a long, interminable week. And at the end of the seven days, when he stood outside the cage and looked down at her and asked if she wanted to be his doggy bitch for another week if he would let her come, she barked twice.

Arf, arf. Which meant yes, master. Please, master. Use me as your doggy bitch, master.

Now it’s now. She’s lost count of how long she’s been crawling for him and being locked in the cage and eating from the bowl. And squatting outside. More than two weeks. More than two weeks since he’s trained her to communicate in barks and whines and growls. No words.

Now her younger brother is in the guest room next door. Staying with them for a night while he’s out here for a job interview. And it feels strange to stand and talk to her brother during the day, and then go into their room at night and go to her hands and knees so he can fuck her, doggy-style.

She has to beg him to gag her. Which she does, by making these whimpering sounds. Inarticulate. Just needy whines. Pathetic little noises through her nose. Softly.

Today, he gives her his hand. The hard, unforgiving hand that has rained down upon her bottom without mercy, spanking her until her ass is blistered, while her younger brother was out on a run.

His hand grips her mouth. It’s something. It’s everything.

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