I stay away from gags usually. Firstly I like to talk and so to be silenced is not something which appeals. Secondly, I have a bit of a saliva-phobia and so the thought of not being able to swallow properly and allowing myself to dribble and drool a little, is a humiliation that I would endure but not volunteer for. We have tried ball gags and the fact that I stated I didn’t like them means that they have been reserved as a punishment, the threat of which has provided such a successful deterrent that I have not found myself in need of such discipline.

However, I found myself in a situation the other night where a bit gag was applied. I had been asking HL if we could take part in ML Slave Puppet’s Tie Me Up Tuesday meme for a while, but despite the fact that he loves rope and enjoys tying, for one reason or another it had not yet happened. He changed that this time and, as fate would have it, a rope bit gag was the challenge set out for this week. You can read HL’s post here if you would like to know more about his perspective. For mine, read on.

I feel self conscious as I kneel, naked, and watch him come towards me with the gag he has made. I shuffle around a little and try to claw back a little of the sense of self that I can feel slipping away from me. He has made it downstairs in front of me, although I tried not to notice as he wound the rope carefully around the piece of metal tubing he brought in from the garage. The fact that he has made this himself adds to the effect. He is in control; I am not.

He lifts my hair to one side and places the bit between my teeth and I can feel myself twist a little inside at the change that is taking place within me. The humiliation of such a thing is more erotic than I had imagined and I feel my mind shifting to that submissive space as my body responds in the same way. It feels a bit vulgar being treated in this way, harsh and uncaring when I know that the opposite is true. The seed of cognitive dissonance has started to blossom and grow.

He pulls my hands behind my back and the brings the rope round and begins to lash my arms together. It is tight, restricting, and the rope feels rough as it pulls and binds and digs into my skin. I wonder why he has tied me so firmly and how it looks as my skin absorbs the rope and allows it to become part of who I am now. He comes around with the camera and sits on the edge of the bed where I am still kneeling, now bound and gagged before him. I am torn between trying to speak and knowing it is going to make my situation worse.

I try, and I see the reaction on his face. This is far from sexual and yet there is something powerful there. The fact that he is doing it to me, the fact that I am allowing it to happen, and the fact that I am willing to undergo this humiliation is sparking something in both of us. It is tangible, a reminder of what is always there under the surface and the places that we could travel with it. A moment passes where the emotional masochist and the emotional sadist meet, and something is promised for the future.

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