Leaning over the bathroom mirror, I had just finished drawing my eyeliner. We were already dressed and ready to go to the Asian restaurant I loved so much. But then, you appeared in the reflection. That smile boded no good. You brushed my hair aside and buried your lips into my neck. Wrapping one hand around me from behind, you slid it down the neckline of my dress to ruthlessly squeeze one of my breasts. Left without a bra just as you had ordered, it was absolute bliss. Then you showed me a pair of my panties, letting them dangle right in front of me. I was surprised; you had told me that you wanted me wearing no underwear for tonight’s date.
"Put them in your mouth."
I opened my mouth, but only to protest. I had made the reservation at the restaurant myself a few days ago, and this smelled like a radical change of plans. But I obeyed. Then, using the roll of tape, you sealed my mouth with them inside. You brought my hands behind my back, bound them, and spun me around violently. Without a word, your hand vanished beneath the skirt of my dress, and you only needed to touch me with a single finger to check the effectiveness of the gag. And you caressed me, and you fondled me, and I, trembling, buried my face and hair into your chest while writhing and whimpering, trapped between your body and the wall. In my state, I was barely aware that you had pulled out your phone and brought it to your ear.
"I'm calling to cancel my girlfriend's reservation for tonight. Unfortunately, she won't be able to make it," you said, at the exact moment you made your finger disappear inside me.
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I remember the first time I saw it was in Pulp Fiction when I was very little, a movie I watched with my older brothers (they didn't care at all whether the movies they watched were suitable for someone my age; they would simply tell me to close my eyes and cover my ears if I didn't like what was happening on the screen, which I did quite often). The scene where it appears, which I think is known to everyone, isn't exactly the best way to be introduced to this type of gag—or at least it wasn't for me. If I kept my eyes open, it was because I wanted to understand what that thing in their mouth was.
Later on, older but not by much, while discovering and developing my fascination with damsels in distress and ropes, was when I realized the wide presence of ball gags in the scene, and these, once and for all, began to catch my attention the way they do now. How would it feel inside my mouth? Would it really silence me? Would it be comfortable? These were some of the questions I asked myself as I watched models wearing them over and over again.
Many years would pass before I dared to buy the one that, to this day, is still with me. It was the second time I went into that kind of shop (the first time was to buy that type of toy with such a masculine shape; not for my own pleasure, but to improve my skills with my mouth and throat). Given my lack of information and my shyness, I chose the medium size and the model I had seen so many times: red ball, black strap. And as it turned out, it fit me like a glove.
The ball gag spent a few days hidden deep in my closet, waiting for my parents and brothers to leave the house and leave me alone. During all that time, I remember I couldn't stop looking at it and stroking it, getting familiar with the buckle. I was nervous and excited about my new acquisition.
When there was finally no one home, I remember locking the front door from the inside and leaving the keys in, taking the gag out of the closet, standing in front of the mirror, opening my mouth, and bringing it to my lips. And I especially remember two sensations: the surprise that it didn’t bother me at all and, above all, how pretty it made me feel... I ended that afternoon by tying my ankles together, my panties pulled down to them, and touching myself until I gave myself an orgasm while fantasizing that my boyfriend at the time was making love to me in that condition.
Later on, once the excitement of the new toy had worn off, was when I started messing around with my ball gag in other ways. Tightening the buckle to the max at the back of my neck and trying to get it off (spoiler: you can always get it off), trying to hold saliva in my mouth for as long as possible, speaking with it on to see if I could be understood (you can enunciate quite well, I can make myself understood with it on), and things like that.
Accidentally on purpose, it ended up becoming my favorite gag. At first, I think it was because it keeps my mouth open and filled at the same time. Having my mouth open makes me feel more vulnerable, like when I can't close my legs due to restraints, and at the same time, feeling that, even though it's open, my mouth is plugged is simply something delicious and very difficult to describe... Over the coming years, I would develop my fascination with drooling. It was something I learned while performing oralities to men. At first, I always strained to keep the saliva inside my mouth while satisfying them with it, until I realized that leaving them smeared and wet turned them on even more. In that way, and hand in hand with my current owner, I began to enjoy those strings or streams running down between the ball and my lower lip; I began to enjoy seeing how my owner's face changed the moment a string ran down my neck or abruptly hit one of my breasts. And of course, turning someone on turns me on...
Today, we have two other ball gags. The second one we bought is bigger and black with a black strap as well. This one we rarely use, only occasionally (very few times) as a punishment and never for long. We simply got carried away, both him and me, and instead of buying one the same size but a different color, we bought it bigger. To get it between my teeth requires a lot of pushing, and once I have it in, my jaw is stretched so wide that the pressure I feel in my jawbone is too much for me to tolerate. It's almost wedged in, and spitting it out on my own without using my hands takes a massive effort.
The other one we have comes with a head harness and, having learned our lesson about sizing from the previous one, we bought it suited to my mouth. I don't care much for the harness itself; feeling the black leather straps passing slightly over my eyes and under my jaw doesn't thrill me too much. But there are two things I do love about it: the D-ring at the top, which allows for additional immobilization that partly reminds me of a hair tie but with the pressure distributed across the whole head instead of just the scalp; and that, this time, it is practically impossible for me to remove without the help of my hands. If the straps are tight enough, the most I can do is push it just past my teeth a bit, but nothing more—and my regular readers already know how much I adore feeling truly helpless.
