Four writers for the price of one blog
This was inspired by our friend Remittance Girl, who, recently on Twitter, encountered a particular kind of twitterfail in which she could receive but not send Direct Messages. She commented publicly that it felt like being gagged. And apparently some number of people decided to take advantage of that situation, sending her torrid private messages to which she could not reply. I imagine it instigated interesting filth which we’ll likely never see. But I also imagine this… –M
I know I’ll enjoy seeing the change in your eyes, as well. Anger, wide-eyed shock, half -lidded pleasure. Desperation? Fear? Knowing you, those won’t be easy. A challenge I’m eager to work on.
That’s the thing about gags – they can never really silence all sound. They just stop the coherence of language. There’s always the temptation to induce a reaction where the gag just can’t contain it all. And that muffled, strangled sound comes out, telling me I’ve hit the right nerve center; that I’ve overwhelmed something, broken a dam of control so that the voice tries to escape anyway. It’s a temptation I am too weak to resist.
I think it’s got to be a combination… fingers sliding into your cunt, a merciless tease of your clit, and yes, it’s going to have to be, lining my cock up with your ass. All shiny and slippery wet, to make the difficult entry as easy as possible, I bend over you as I press in, on hand frigging, thumb moving circles right there, other hand trapping a breast and pinching a nipple between fingers, cock slowly, inexorably pushing past you your resistance. I think that point; right where I stretch you open far enough to start sinking, a hard pinch on your clit and nipple. Yes, I’d be able to hear you quite well despite the gag. Maybe a little spike of sound, something that would be a piercing scream if your voice weren’t so blocked. But that would only make me want to hear more.
Cruel to myself, actually. I could so easily take the gag off and hear you to my heart’s content, but I want it the hard way. So I push in, ungently pinching and rubbing you to make your muscles flutter and ease my way. Until I’m rooted in your ass, and I pause, and tell you how hard I’m going to fuck you. Maybe my words, the promise of my actions will result in a nearly silent moan escaping from your muzzling. I would listen carefully, my weight keeping me buried in you, an alien heartbeat in your system. I’d warn you also, before slowly moving my hand from your cunt and slapping it back, just to feel you jerk under me, learn what sound that would let escape. But such games only last for so long. I would make good on my promise, and start fucking, hard, serious, each stroke a purposeful conjuring of sound from behind your gag. I won’t stop. I can’t, until I hear those cries, those screams I need to hear trying to make their way out. Only then, only when the sound that does escape makes the gag almost useless; then I’ll fall upon you, hilted, coming, and tear the gag away.