Willow After Dark

Bee pushed back from the table. “So. What do objects-turned-people do for birthdays?”

“I dunno,” Cam replied. “I’ve never actually celebrated one.”

A slight cock of her head.

He looked away from her. “Well, no one made that big of a deal about my manufacture date when I was an object, and I obviously didn’t celebrate the occasion of my realization last year.”

“Mm. Guess so.”

“What do you usually do? I seem to remember moldy berries a couple years ago.”

“Oh. Yeah. I have no idea how the berries went bad so fast. Kinda made the whole cake gross in retrospect, knowing they were already so close to molding.”

“I liked ‘em. They’re sweeter when they ferment a little.”

Bee crinkled her nose. “But… I hang out with people. Usually I stream a game to friends or we play together in co-op. This year, my sister and I did something I’d joked about for a long time, ‘the video game museum pub crawl’.”

“The what—you know what, explain later.”

Bee giggled, walking over to the trash can with the detritus of their meal. “So. What do you want to do?”

Cam watched her press her toes to the pedal of the can, and place the trash inside. As she washed her hands at the sink, he watched the can not quite able to close, its jaws pried open by the slight oversize of the contents.

It reminded him of something he’d picked up on a passing whim, fueled by memories and fantasies of his object days. He swallowed, feeling his cheeks warm.

“Cam? You okay?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.”

“You just look red.”

“I… know what I want to do. Kind of a weird request, though. Maybe.”

“Have I ever told you no?” Bee asked sweetly.

Cam chuckled. “Not when I’m not in trouble. Lemme go get my bag.”

When he came back, it was with a ball gag in one hand, his overnight bag hanging from the other.

“Oh. Oh!” Bee’s eyes went wide. After a second, she asked, “…on me, or you?”

“Me. Why?”

“I just got my jaw back in alignment,” she muttered.

“Right. Yeah, no, on me.”

“Well, let’s not waste time,” she purred, taking the gag, then his hand, and dragging him up the stairs to her room.

“Do you want to take your shirt off before we put this on you?” she asked.

“Does it make a difference? I don’t mind a little tease now and again. Despite what I said when you were trying to realize me.”

“I don’t know,” Bee answered, slowly, “but what I do know is I had braces, and those could get stuck on stuff, so I can only imagine the gag hardware would, too.”

“Oh. Okay.” He shrugged out of his jacket and tugged off his shirt, sitting on her bed in just shorts now.

Bee didn’t say anything, her eyes’ path over his body evident. “God, you’re hot,” she said finally, frustration in her voice.

“You say that every time I take my shirt off.”

“Yyyyyyup.” She crawled onto the bed and between his legs, the only other thing she said a murmur of “open up.”

Cam dropped his jaw, and Bee carefully—almost too gently, considering what she was doing—settled the gag in his mouth. He bit down on the layer of rubber, and watched her focus as she fastened it in place, admiring her.

She slipped her fingers under each side to make sure it wasn’t too tight. “Good?”

He nodded, with a muffled “uh-huh.”

With his mouth held open like that, spit was beginning to gather at the edges of his mouth. Bee swiped some away, but mostly just looked at him.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here. I’m not this kind of kinky.”

Cam laughed through his nose, but slipped his hands under her dress, pulling it up as it draped over his arms.

“You want it off?”

He nodded.

She grabbed its hem and whipped it off, and his pupils dilated at the sight of her, bra perfectly cupping her, and—oh, those were new.

He guessed they had to be. He kept stealing all her other pairs.

He lifted his hands again and wiggled, asking permission to touch.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Bee said, scooting closer to him.

First, he squeezed her over her bra, then dipped his hand inside.

She sighed, scooting closer again.

While he was occupied with that, salivating more now that his hands were on her, she brought her hands to his shorts’ waistband. She popped open the button, then took hold of the zipper, dragging it down slowly.

Cam met her eyes, cheeks starting to darken when he knew what she was doing.

“Want me to stop?” she asked.

He shook his head.

She chuckled. “All right.”

Now it was her turn to dip her hand beneath the fabric he wore, and she freed him from the confines of cotton.

“Hmm, you really are into this gag thing,” she mumbled, taking him in hand and gathering his precum on her thumb. She licked it off and he let out a muffled moan, dripping both in her hand and around the gag.

“Aw, baby,” she cooed. She wiped his mouth with the hand that had just been around him, and used it as lube to stroke him.

He pressed his hips closer, trying to get himself more friction against her hand.

“Hey, easy,” was all she said in response, giving him what he wanted with measured—not fast, but not slow—movements and a little bit more pressure.

The gag was keeping Cam from forming words, but not from making noise, and unsure of her technique as Bee was, she must have been doing just fine, because she was getting a symphony of sounds for her efforts.

So she kept at it, following the lead of his pleasured sounds and how he moved so she could satisfy him.

When his breath quickened, she kept at exactly what she was doing, and it didn’t take long before there came a low, muffled groan and he spilled across her fingers, but with enough force to hit her stomach, too.

“Wow,” was all she said, before she wiped her hand off, then reached up and undid the gag and carefully took it out of his mouth. She rubbed at his mandible, just in case—she knew that kind of jaw pain—and asked him, “Thoughts?”

“You want me to think after that?”

She laughed. “It’s just that you can say stuff now.”