I planned to write about something completely different today, however a friend sparked a distant memory and…I was too distracted to think of anything else but:
To me ball gags represent one of the highest forms of non-physical punishment.
They do not hurt, and restrain only minimally.
No the real domination if the ball gag is…mental.
I know I have told this story before, but it’s a good one:
I was shooting for a BDSM website and one of the shots called for a ball gag with attached nipple clamps. I had already done a couple shots with the clamps and was having quite a lot of fun so of course I responded in the affirmative,
“Yeah sure, bring it on!”
I mean how horrible could it be…right?
The gag was this gorgeous blue color, with handmade silver chains attached to delicate little nipple clamps…harmless and beautiful.
And THAT, my friends, was my error: looks can be terribly deceiving.
And so, enchanted by the royal blue color and shiny silver links I donned the gag and clamps for the shot. As I was waiting for the photographer to set up the lights, something started to happen…
(shit, my lipstick)
I desperately started to try to suck up all of this very non-cosmetic and increasingly offensive DROOL
Despite my efforts it was becoming increasingly apparent that not only could I not suck up the slobber…but also, the flow was increasing…and I was beginning to…
(Oooohhhhhhhh…so, that is why they call it a…)
In a desperate attempt for help I started to whine between my SLURPS
The photographer looked up, with the most satisfied sadistic expression across his face, and said,
“Oh honey, yeah…don’t try to stop it just let it flow!”
I whimpered, in response. (Fine.)
I let it go…and it went. Long disgusting trails of slobber trailed down my entire naked body. And everyone on the shoot was pleased, except me.
It wasn’t that I was suffering, oh who am I kidding…I was suffering! But more than that, I was…ashamed.
The complete and total lack of control of my body was driving me mad…and the alternative choice was not very appealing: choke to death on my own spit…what could I do? I let it go, let all the slime just spew from my mouth.
I will admit there was a certain pleasure in it, but not the kind of self-possessed pleasure I am accustomed to, no this was more like surrender…I surrendered and my reward was…permission to let my body take over.
If you think about it it’s not unlike the experience of an orgasm, for a woman, you have to let go and let your body take over in order to climax… it is also a surrender to the physical that in many ways that must begin with the mental.
So…the next time you have the choice to either preserve your dignity or surrender it…go for the latter…I promise it will be far more instructive and ultimately more satisfying.
Cheers to wetness!