Picture this. It’s past midnight at underground club. You’re in that tiny mini skirt and I’ve been watching you all night. Not just because you look damn good (though fuck, those tits…), but because I saw it the second you walked in, the way you bite your lower lip when the bass drops, how your fingers drift to your mouth unconsciously. I knew you have an oral fixation. Perfect.
We’re playing the shots or dares. You’re laughing, cheeks flushed from vodka and attention, and I lean in close enough for you to feel my breath against your ear. “Tell me the truth, have you ever wanted to be silenced?” You freeze and before you answer, I slide my thumb slow across your bottom lip to silence you. Then, I whisper against your ear “Open.” You do. Just a crack and enough for me to press my thumb past your lips and silencing the protest. Your eyes widen as I feel your tongue twitch. “Good girl,” I murmur. “Let me take care of you.”
The dare comes next “Wear this for two minutes. No safe word. Just breathe.” It’s a black gag resting in my palm. I tilt your chin up, my other hand sliding under your skirt to press firmly against your princess part through the thin fabric. Just enough to make you whimper around my thumb and slide it in slow. The gag is warm from my touch and stretching your lips and suddenly, you can’t speak. Can’t beg. Can only stare up at me, eyes wide and wet, as I buckle the strap tight behind your head with a click.
Then I step back. Let the crowd swallow us. Let you feel it. The weight of it on your tongue, the way your jaw aches sweetly, how every swallow reminds you it’s there. A thick, silent promise filling the space where your protests used to be. I watch your throat work, see the way your hips rock against my still pressing hand. Someone bumps into you, and you gasp a muffled, broken sound and it makes me smile. Because I know you’re not fighting it anymore. I can see that you’re savoring the helplessness.
After two minutes? I don’t take it off right away. I let you sweat through it. Let you drool a little, let you whimper. When I finally unbuckle it, I trace my wet thumb over your swollen lips, then I kiss you. Slow and deep, tasting you, and whisper “Wasn’t that delicious? Now, tell me how bad you want me to put it back.”
This is how I want to handle your oral fixation. Shall we see how long you last before you’re begging me to refill that pretty mouth of yours? Let me decide what you get to taste next. Your move, slut. I’m all ears.