It’s too tight. It’s constrictive. I can’t get out. I can’t breathe. Am I having a panic attack? What am I going to do? I’m going to suffocate in this stupid mask. And because I was trying to get off, they’re going to find me dead in a BDSM dungeon, covered in leather with my mouth zipped shut. Shit. Shit! What am I going to do?
OK, the mistress is here. I’m going to try and signal her with my head. I bob it back and forth. She reaches back and slaps me in the face. This isn’t going to work. What’s my safe word? I forgot the safe word. How am I even supposed to say it if my mouth is gagged?
Like I need to be humiliated. My life is a nonstop parade of embarrassment. Every time I put myself out there, I get fucking pilloried. Now I have to make it literal? I’m such an asshole. Why did I do this? What was I supposed to get from this?
Sweat drips between my crack and down my legs. This leather is soaked and doesn’t smell very good. I’m sure I’m going to get a rash. They said this would be fun and it’s not. They said this would relieve my stress and it’s just getting so much worse. Get me out of here!
Then I slow down my breathing. I breathe in deep and slow through my nose, and hang against my straps. I can’t go anywhere. I can’t do anything. I chose to do this.
My hands are tied. My feet are tied. There’s a ring on my cock. If I get hard, it’s going to hurt like shit. And now she’s starting to stroke me. It hurts, but it feels so nice ….
I chose this. Because my life isn’t in my control, but if I submit to it, I can enjoy it. I am the center of the storm. I am the captain of my ship.
I remember. She’s close to me. She’s insulting me, telling me I’m filth, telling me I’m a worm, and now she’s released me, and I’m licking her boots. The pleasure I feel is exquisite. I’m free. The words flowing through my mind, as my heart opens in deep gratitude, “this is love, this is love.”