I guarantee you the exposed nipples are the worst part of her predicament. No Master could resist tormenting those little teepees endlessly, as the clamps in the second picture attest. ;)
“Can we breathe yet? Please?” is what I imagine they’d be saying, if they could speak.
Seriously, the pump gag I have goes from uncomfortable to omigod-I’m-suffocating in like two pumps. Not for the faint of heart, so props to these keen subbies. ;)
All time classic here. Liz Tyler is the poor damsel under the hood and tape encasement. A few electric shocks in some intimate areas just for good measure.
Gagged, hooded, cant see a thing. You’re left in the middle of the party and you don’t know whos fucking you.
The grin on my face was evident. My slave getting fucked in the ass by my bull, and he doesn’t even know it! I love turning you into a fuck toy for me and my friends. Everyones entertained watching you pathetically groan through your gag, you didnt except this evening to go like this when i told you you’ll be the entertainment.
There was a latex hood in the sex shop when they’d visited. It was wrapped around a mannequin, meaning there was just foam where the eyes should have been, more foam for a mouth, and foam sprouting out of the neck. It had repulsed her, but there was some attraction there, too. Some attraction, even, for the hood’s sister, wrapped around its own mannequin, sitting next to it. Identical save for there were no eye holes, and a zipper for a mouth.
It was such a brute force though. To slap such a thing over her head was the rubber equivalent of a brown paper bag, and while the anonymity wrapped itself deliciously with her penchant for objectification, it also seemed far too crude, and far too disgendering. She wanted to be stripped of her identity, but not her femininity. There was an argument to be made for her indetity being her gender, to an extent, but foibles never bothered her before.
She’d talked about it, and he’d listened. Smiled, even, before glancing away, and she’d trailed off knowing that he wasn’t listening any more. She’d planted the seed, and he was busy making it grow. Her gardener. She’d chuckled, and he’d come back down to earth, that smile grown a little wider.
The next time she’d found herself tied up, the rope wasn’t all that wrapped her. Gag, blindfold, ear muffs. He cut her off from herself, while building a cage so that she’d only have herself for company. He turned her into a body, leaving her head out of it, except for those delicious sensations. And then he’d treated her like the object she wanted to be. Used her till she was spent. Then a little more beyond, a quick shake to wake the batteries back up and then over and over, again and again. All she had was frayed nerve endings and the muffled sound of her own moans echoing around her head.
