by Jamie Knight
But, before I can get too angry with what I’ve just realized Will insinuated, I’m overtaken by curiosity again. I brought it by the texture of the straps and the ball I’m now fingering lightly.
“What would you do…” I pause, barely able to believe I’m about to ask this ball-gag-toting stranger this, but I can’t stop myself. I untie my sweater some from my waist, fidgeting, and continue with my question. “What would you do if I put this on?” I try to speak softly, so no one hears, but Will hears me as if I were speaking at normal volume.
“You’ll have to put it on and see, won’t you?”
I flush full of color and heat, not wanting to hear that, but expecting nothing less. I ball my hands in my lap then, not sure what to do with them. Part of me wants to see what it will feel like to have the ball gag in my mouth, to see what he would do to me if I did, but another part of me is afraid and scared.
Smart girls don’t take random objects from random older men. They also don’t come to strange clubs in the name of a twenty-first birthday party for a wall-flower friend. As my sweater loosens from around my hips, I feel the tear in my skirt again. They also don’t have my bad luck, and a twin sister who lost her virginity before me.
Thinking this, I can’t help but search for my other half. My twin sister, Becky. In part, to see if she’s watching me, and in part to see what she’s up to. I don’t see her at the table we were all originally seated at. I spot her out in the crowd, dancing and schmoozing with a gorgeous guy. One of the ones I tried to get to pay attention to me earlier, and who completely blew me off.
Angry and not about to be outdone once again by Becky, I turn away from her, snatch up the ball gag and put it on. I settle the ball in my mouth as I affix the straps to the back of my head, and make sure they are tight and snug.
The first few minutes with the ball against my lips and teeth, the girth pushing on each — preventing me from speaking — that’s a scary moment. It’s terrifying to me, almost like drowning, especially with the tighter pressure of the straps also holding on to my face. But when that initial panic fades, I feel something like comfort and calm descending. I can’t explain it, but it just feels right.
Will seems pleased with me, and that only makes the ball feel heavier and warmer in my mouth. It’s more delightful, especially when coated with his next words.
“As I thought. Even more beautiful,” he murmurs, finishing my mai tai for me. He does so, as if he’s drinking water. When all the liquid has been drained from between the ice cubes, he says, “Now that you’ve got that beauty on, I have some other things I’d like to do with you.”
Eagerness and fear slip through me, but they are stopped cold by the ball.
“Would you like to come to a private room with me?” he asks.
I can’t breathe over that question. I can’t think, either. But, after a moment of deliberation — remembering that Becky is not going to get one over on me, not tonight — I nod.
Will smiles, the light from it brightening his handsome, aged face. “Come with me, then,” he says, and extends his hand to me. I take it, feeling like his silent Princess. As he walks me away from the bar, and to a section of the building that looks more like a hotel with various rooms, he tells me, “and you’re going to keep that on the entire time.” I look at him, nodding. “That will only come off when I want, and when I feel like you’ve learned something of value.”
After that, he drags me with him into a private, dimly-lit room.
Chapter Four - Will
From the moment I took out that ball gag and put it on the bar in front of her, I’ve enjoyed the look of fear, confusion — and yes, maybe even a little anger — on Samantha’s usually-cocky and entitled face. I wasn’t sure she would actually take me up on my invitation, and put that baby on.
I thought she would soundly and angrily reject me, after realizing what I’d insinuated —that silence would suit her better, make her prettier — but, boy, was I wrong! She not only put it on, but she put it on with energy and fight. The way her fingers and hands worked it was like she was going to war with some unseen enemy. And this was after she briefly glanced behind her and saw something.
Of course, I looked to see what it was, but didn’t see anything.
What I did see, though, was all that mattered. Samantha, looking just as beautiful as I knew she would that large, thick ball in between her plump, pink lips — her praise-hungry mouth.
Well, well, well. It looks as though she’s not as much of an obstinate brat as I thought she might be. And silence, it really does suit her.
Just looking at her, the way her lips cling to the ball and the color difference between the two, that’s delicious. It’s sexy enough to have me getting hard again, as well as thinking about what I would do to her, now that she took the bait.
I have a few ideas. Like getting her alone, and to our own room, where I will then have her all to myself. I will do whatever I want with her, while she’s good and quiet.
If she behaves herself, if she’s exactly what I’m looking for in a woman tonight, she’ll get everything that I can offer. But first, she needs to agree to coming with me.
So, I put my next challenge in front of her. I ask her if she wants to accompany me to a private, secluded place, now that she satisfied her curiosity — and mine — and put on the gag. I watch her think about my offer for a moment. Her face oscillates between fear and excitement, confusion, and that same hellish determination I saw earlier then, she finally gives her answer. A nod yes.
That done, I offer my hand, and we go to an area of Club Lush, not too far away from the main exhibition area, filled with private rooms. I always rent one, every night. Even if I don’t use it, I rent one. I reserve it, just in case.
I’m wealthy enough to do so, anyway. As it is, I just do the job at my parents’ real estate business for something to do, not because I need or want more money.
As I lead her into my paid-for room, the Black Rose room as I like to call it, since it has a lot of black and purple in the decor, I enjoy some looks of fear and trepidation in her eyes. But again, Samantha’s torn between excitement and terror. Curiosity and dread fill her face, and it looks luscious and creamy on her mouth, still held open by the ball.
As I step her inside the dimly lit room, decorated by wall ties, various pieces of furniture with straps, gizmos attached, and a proudly displayed collection of whips, toys, paddles, and anything else a dom like me might want to play with, I watch her body move. The way it moves forward with the perfect mixture of grace, strength and timidity.
As she walks over the threshold fully, and stands in the middle of the room, I go to close and lock the door to our safe Haven, our little getaway, at least for an hour or two.
That’s the most time I spend with any girl, any time. I’m not really into the whole long-term, committed situation. Virgin nights, virgin pussy and one-magical-night-stands, that’s my game, and even with Samantha, I plan to stick to that.
As I come back toward her, look at her shyly studying her surroundings, I say, “Please, have a seat.” I gesture to one of the many chairs. Some with straps and restraints, others without. I don’t tell her which one specifically, as I want her to panic a little bit. To be in her own head about it, make up her mind, so I can see just how obedient she’s going to be for me.
Samantha doesn’t move. At least her body doesn’t. Her sweater, the white, fluffy cashmere thing she has tied around her waist, does. It falls straight off her hips, crumbling to the floor. She moans surprise from over the gag and moves to pick up her sweater. But I stop her.
“I didn’t tell you to pick up your sweater. I told you to have a seat, which you haven’t done.”
Samantha immediately stops. She stands up straight again.
“I’m going to get to what’s bothering you, what all the fuss is about with that sweater in a moment, but right now I have more pressing questions,” I tell her.
&n
bsp; I move closer to her, hearing her tongue suck lightly on the rubbery texture of the ball. Her lips squeeze nervously as I walk right up next to her.
“You see, Samantha, I have very specific tastes in women. Very specific things I crave, so I need to know if you fit that or not.”
She nods, shuffling on her heels. She doesn’t move away from me. She simply fidgets, and listens.
“Are you a virgin?”
The moment I ask her this, she visibly stiffens. She moans/groans from over the gag I have on her, but doesn’t make any move to answer either way.
“If you’re thinking about whether to lie or not, don’t.”
Her eyes meet mine. A slight blush rolls across her face, visible to me even in the dim light. In this room, as in all of the others, there is a faint smell of incense, and drugs long since banned.
“I will know if you’re lying to me. I will also make sure you are kicked out of this club before you even have time to swallow any more spit. That is, if you’re lying.” I cradle one of her cheeks in my hand, blown away by the softness of her skin and the bounciness of her hair. “If you tell the truth, I will reward you.” I brush my thumb on her cheek briefly, before taking my hand, and my little touches of affection away. If she wants more, she’s going to have to earn it. “Think carefully now.”
She does. Once again, I watch as Samantha’s features deepen, morph and change with each of her thoughts. Most notably, I see shame and guilt — the needy lack of confidence burns across her features — and, while I don’t interrupt, I have no idea what’s going on in that head of hers.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity in lingering, breathy silence, she brings her eyes to me.
I ask her again, “Are you a virgin?”
This time, she answers. She nods, looking defeated and scared — unworthy somehow —and hangs her head, messing with something by her leg.
“What are you messing with?” I ask this as I come to try to take her hand in mine, and reward her for her honesty. But she hunches to cover whatever she’s messing with on her leg. She tries to keep my hands away.
“You’re not going to hide anything from me. Not while we’re in here,” I tell her, and take her hand away. I hold them, momentarily wishing I had some damn handcuffs.
I hear her whine pitifully, but I don’t get it. I made sure not to take her hand away roughly, so I know I didn’t hurt her. All I see is a tear in one side of her skirt. I quite like the tear. It shows me a nice chunk of her thigh and hip. I touch the open area of skin with my free hand, watching her tremble.
Feeling her twitch under my touch, I ask, “Is this what you were hiding? This tear in your skirt?”
Samantha nods, looking away from me.
I grin at her childish fear of ruining her clothes, being seen a certain way, and continue to caress her through the tear in her skirt.
“Do you like it when I touch you?”
I don’t even need to ask. I already know she does. I can feel it in the way heat swirls around my fingers and the faint shiver under my fingertips.
Samantha nods softly, shuddering and gasping, but I can’t tell whether from how vulnerable or how good I’m making her feel.
Either one is fine with me, and now I’m determined to break her of her unreasonable fixation with this ripped clothing. So, I take each side of the tear in my hands, and rip it clean through. I pull so fast and hard, she doesn’t even have time to object, before the whole entire skirt comes falling off her hips, revealing her snug and lacy panties. They even have little bows on them.
“You shouldn’t worry about little stupid things like that, Samantha,” I murmur, running my hands down the full length of her legs and thighs, now exposed to me. “You’re beautiful. Your body is to die for. Clothes of any kind would look shabby on you, no matter their make.” As I say this, I’m running both hands down each leg, moving inward to caress close to her mound. “And isn’t it better this way?”
I look up at her to find her watching me. Blushing and tearing from behind her gag, as if she’s never been told anything like that in her life.
“Isn’t it better to get compliments you don’t have to beg for?” I continue stroking her shapely legs, enjoying each little shake and tremble I get. “Isn’t it much better to be quiet, and let others tell you what they like about you?”
I watch her nod, and this time I’ve decided she’s earned a reward really and truly. I take her hands in mine, and walk her back to a chair without restraints. It’s a big and cushy one, designed exactly for a moment like this — me giving her pleasure, while she just relaxes.
Taking her to stand in front of that chair, I order her to take off the rest of her clothes.
She does, quickly and silently, allowing me to just drink all of her in. Her large, but perky breasts. Her shapely, strong hips, toned thighs and legs. When she has taken the last bit of clothes off, and kicked them aside, only then do I lower her into the soft chair.
“Good girl,” I say, spreading her legs, as her perfect back and shoulders come to rest in the recessed backrest. “You have more than earned your reward.”
With that, I kneel down, placed my head in between her luscious thighs, and began to lick and suck at her sweet, virgin pussy.
The moment my tongue touches down on her soft and silky lips, she starts moaning. She gasps and pants from over the large and dominating ball in her mouth. I imagine I can hear her tongue curling and lashing out against it, as my tongue curls and lashes out along her folds, finding my way to her clit.
Every inch I move toward her, I make sure she feels everything. I make sure my lips do work as well, stimulating and rubbing each bit of skin, teasing each bit of wetness on her whole lower lips.
When I do find her clit, it’s a shy but hot little pea. It’s a cloaked little bud, ready for my unveiling. I loop and curl my tongue around her nub, along its sides, enjoying every little noise I’m rewarded with. Every little moan Samantha makes, every tiny yip, I savor it all. But as I lick and suck along her slit and clit, what I enjoy more is the sound of her hissed breaths. Of the panting coming from her.
As I take her now aroused clit in between my lips, barely nibbling at it with my teeth, I know I’m going to keep at this until she comes. Until she screams over that ball and then bites into it with everything she has.
So that’s what I do. I clamp down on her clit with my lips, and bring my tongue out to begin mercilessly and lovingly licking and lashing her. My movements are quick and firm, pushing and raking against her bead. I’m rolling and dipping along her, feeling and hearing her moans quickening and growing in volume.
I push her further, actually drawing her clit out of its hood with the force of my lips. The sucking motion I’m doing with my mouth, all the while pressing and dragging my tongue along all of her sweet bits. And they are beginning to gush out at me now, with sweet, perfumed juice.
This is just as I hear let out a guttural, wild moan. One that quickly morphs into a sobbing, gasping cry. Something that sounds so sweetly tortured, that it takes every bit of my control to not unzip myself and just take her here and now.
I want that to be for when I get her home to my mansion, to my personal sex room. Not a moment before.
I hear Samantha gulping and sucking on the weight of her ball gag at the strength of her orgasm. I feel her shuddering and quaking around me, and I know her teeth are buried deep within the gag. As she breathes raggedly, slowly growing slack in the seat, I hear her panting. I hear it rasping cutely along her lips, where the ball meets her mouth.
She moans, almost sounding like she’s crying. But not from pain. From sweet, delirious joy.
Chapter Five - Samantha
Oh… My… God…
I can’t breathe. Even after feeling myself explode — my body and mind give themselves over to Will and his ridiculously-experienced tongue — I’m spinning. I feel like a small planet rotating around him, even though I know I�
��m sitting securely in the chair. My world twirls and tumbles for a moment, before settling.
But as my heart rate comes down from its heightened, fluttering tempo, even then I’m quickly worked up into another bout of sensitivity and feeling. The aftershocks of the magic Will’s worked on me.
Plus, I still feel like his lips and tongue are making a meal out of me. Like they are licking and sucking on every bit and piece of me, devouring every sacred morsel, even though he’s sitting back and looking at me now. He’s smiling with a soft knowing look, a mischievous amusement at my state.
“You deserved that reward,” he tells me, as I sigh over the ball gag. “You’ll deserve many more, Samantha. That is, if you earn them like you’ve earned this one.”
As I’m sitting there listening to him, letting my tongue and lips play gently with the curved, hefty rubber, I realize how much I enjoy this. Being gagged. Having something like this bright and imposing ball spread my teeth and force open my lips.
I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s addictive, that feeling. Like the act of being held back, prevented from doing what I thought I had to do so much of — talk, explain and justify my words and my value, my beauty. Silence is exciting.
I’m more ready and willing to do what Will wants. And not just because he wants it or he’ll reward me for it, but because I simply enjoy being in his presence like this. I enjoy not having the ability to talk, and instead, being forced to feel myself being visually and sexually enjoyed, in silence.
Will’s just staring at me. He’s enjoying my body with his eyes, and his hands, and I’m just there to absorb it. I suck it up the attention like a sponge, while I wait patiently for whatever else he desires me to experience.
Even his smallest touches, a graze of my nipples with the edge of his fingers, the barest whisper of his thumb on my tummy, all of that sends me into overdrive. It is much more telling of how beautiful he thinks I am than any words of praise could ever be.
