Her’s was not a mouth that was comfortable unfilled. Incomplete wasn’t the word

Her’s was not a mouth that was comfortable unfilled. Incomplete wasn’t the word she’d used to describe it, but unfinished, somehow, fit a little better. Incomplete suggested construction, blueprints, and scaffolding. She wasn’t a building, and had none of the characteristics of one. Unfinished, on the other hand, implied a work of art, a sentence paused before it reached fruition. The romantic inside her enjoyed that. 

He’d started off with bits of cloth; underwear, ties, even a sock once or twice, when he wanted to bring her especially low. She'd nearly choked on that, regardless of how clean it was. Feet and mouths belonged exclusively in idioms, and never in reality. She’d spat it out. He’d spanked her. Worth it. 

The gags were much more to hear taste, something she could sink her teeth into and get a physical response from. There was less give in a ball of rubber than balled up panties, however wet, and she liked that it didn’t relent. It reinforced her position, made each bite of his palm against her cut that much deeper into her mind. She lost herself in that ball, her consciousness sinking out of her teeth like reverse vampirism. 

But it was in the quiet times that she realised quite how fundamental her oral fixation was. Hair, laces, scarves; anything that could fit in her mouth would fit in her mouth, and she’d suck and chew on it until someone spotted her, or he tore it from her lips. It made her feel small. He made her feel small. 

That he indulged her oral fixation as much as he did made her feel just about as safe as something that small could be.