I had wrapped the metal of the Jennings gag with soft black plastic tape. (Putting the metal against my teeth would have been a distraction, like fingernails on a blackboard.) Then he used the black Velcro straps to strap my naked body down onto the Bug Board. I was grateful I could lie back so the saliva from my open mouth didn’t dribble down my chest.
He had talked about forced orgasms and ruined orgasms, and I expected some of both. I expected him to terrorise my tender breasts, I expected him to use the Fairy Wand on my clit, and I expected him to slap my pussy, but other than that I really didn’t know what he was going to do.
He did all that and much more.
He began with the Fairy Wand on a medium intensity, and I began with a massive squirt that puddled between my thighs on the Bug Board. He soaked it all up and laid down fresh towels.
The ruined orgasms were different from what I had expected because he didn’t just stop cold. When he got me close to orgasm – via his normal intense application of the Fairy Wand – he dialled down the intensity so I was still crawling closer and closer to it. Only then did he stop completely. And when he did let me come it blew my head off: several times, with those inside-out, head-exploding kinds of orgasms. Fuck yeah!
He ramped up the intensity and drew me close to orgasm again. He watched as my abs started to twitch, and he slapped them whenever they tensed up. Then he slapped my breasts and I felt the ping on my nipples, but it overcame the sensation from the vibrator and stopped me from coming.
Fucker. I tried to talk past the gag but it messed up my articulation. It didn’t mess up my scream, though, when he slapped my labia – hard, but just once.
He thrust his fingers into my mouth and pressed the Fairy Wand hard against my clit. He slid his fingers down my throat, finding the edge of my gag reflex and playing with it, as he revved me until my head blew off again. (Choking while coming is hot!) Then he slapped my pussy again, hard.
He stroked my face and body and told me what a good girl I was.
He vibed my clit and rolled my nipples. I knew he wasn’t squeezing them too hard, but they’d been quite sensitive even to start off with. When he slapped them I felt myself disengage from the sensation; it was like it was happening to someone else, on the other side of a thick clear door. He blew my head off again: not once, but with a whole series of explosive orgasms.
Each time I came my jaw flexed and the spring of the gag hit the edge of the ratchet. My jaw muscles ached. He removed the gag, and he asked me what I thought of it. I told him that it was interesting, but that there was definitely more that we could do with it.
The small dollops of evil sensation blurred with the overwhelming pleasure. He played me: sometimes like a drum, with a sharp staccato across my tenderised torso; sometimes like a harp, plucking at those sensitive spots. He brought me to orgasm as and when he pleased.
I don’t know how many times he blew my head off, but suddenly my moans turned to sobs and my squirting to tears. I was bewildered at the change. He stroked my hair and told me again what a good girl I was, while I cried and cried and cried.
He ripped off the Velcro and released me from the Bug Board, and we made our way to the bedroom for some snuggles. I lay there feeling blessed. I am lucky, but my luck is self-made: it doesn’t get this good by accident!