Nope, not wagon.
My little red ball gag.
Make no mistake about it – i have been clear on more than one occasion, that i have no interest in gags. Not ball gags.
The panties He stuffed in my mouth from time to time were ok, because i didn’t drool with them. Ball gags make you drool. i am anti-drooling. In fact, i may have said it was a limit for me. Some kind of limit. Maybe not a hard, hard limit, but a soft hard limit.
When Sir tells me he has bought me a gift, i never know what to expect. A glass pitcher from Goodwill, a new butter dish, or this pump-it-up suction device that i’ll have to tell you about some (other) time.
So i’m glad i was all warmed up and in the right headspace the other night, when He says, “O, I have a gift for you!!” and He pulls out the little red ball gag.
i make some protest, some whiny “Sirrrrr….” but it’s weak. And He easily sweeps it aside ~ “No, don’t worry, you’re gonna like this,” adding, as He places the ball in my mouth, “Or at least I’ll like it. And that’s what matters, right?”
i’m all limp from spankings and orgasms and such, so even though some little part of my brain is screaming BALL GAG ~ RED ALERT i can only nod weakly. Of course, Sir, whatever you say, Sir.
And then there’s a ball gag in my mouth, so i can’t really say much of anything anymore.