Ball Gag with Hot Sauce

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(Please keep in mind that my dynamic with Lois ended over a year ago. I wrote this fairly quickly after it took place and apparently decided to write it in the present tense. I’d be curious to know what you think about the present tense compared to my usual past tense. Does it change the reading experience?)

When Lois comes online I don’t feel much. Though when she does, I respond like a dog does to a whistle. Over the past few days, I wrote her a lot of messages which showed her that I very desperately want to serve her and suffer but now that we’re talking, I no longer feel that need. My system changed overnight and I just feel a little numb and pathetic about my desperation. She asks me why and I say that I feel like I should be better than that. She asks me what makes me useful to her. I recall that she’s said I’m useful when I am desperate but that I shouldn’t be like that so she reiterates: “I want you to be desperate so you do whatever I want you to do.”

We move to video chat.

She’s looking at me and I feel super shy. I know my shoulders aren’t straight. I know I’m hunched. I know I should sit up straight but I can’t right now. Somehow, I’m strangely nervous.

She asks me a few more normal questions; perhaps it’s to calm my nerves. I am lured into a fake sense of security. Then she tells me to use the hot sauce either on my clit or the ballgag. Which one do I want?

I stare at what she’s said. I’ve stopped moving but feel my body sink in my chair. No. She didn’t just say that. The hot sauce? Clit or ballgag? I know what the clit is like. I can’t imagine putting that on my clit right now. But I can’t imagine having this in my mouth either. Maybe the ballgag is a terrible idea? But having the hot sauce on my clit will… I look at the sentence again, still a little bit in shock.

“… the ballgag, Mistress.”

“Go get it.”

Reluctantly, I get up. I first get the ballgag from my chest toy, then the sauce from the cupboard that I rarely open. I curse at myself, thinking I should have thrown this out last time so she couldn’t have made me use it again.

I tell her I have it, though she knows as I’ve obviously returned to the laptop. I suppose I say it to buy myself some time.

“Put as much on the ballgag as you think you deserve and can handle.”

I know this is a trick question, or is it an order? How much do I deserve? The absolute worst, I guess? Or perhaps the worst so she can enjoy it the most? But how much can I really handle? With other things, I would just opt for the worst but it’s different with this sauce. I need to be very careful. I can barely cope with just one drop on my clit and while that’s the most sensitive part of my body, I doubt it’s going to be very different from the ballgag.

I very gently put some on the ballgag, covering all four directions but don’t wipe it on every bit of surface area. I know it won’t seem like enough but maybe she won’t ask me…

She wants a picture then asks me if that’s enough. I say that I can’t cope well with the sauce and she replies that as long as it’s enough it’s okay.

“Now put it in.”

I close my eyes. I really don’t want to do this.

I put it in and hold my breath with the intention that I’ll keep holding it until I have the ballgag secured in place, anticipating that once I can taste and feel the sauce, I won’t be able to cope and ensure that I do what I have to do. I manage and then it hits.

“How does that feel?”

It feels like my eyes should have teared up. It’s like when you want to spew out something disgusting as soon as it has touched your mouth except you can’t. It immediately burns and feels so painful. I need a moment. I know how horrible the sauce is but every time I use it again I am surprised by how bad it really is. At the same time, I know that this isn’t the worst yet. There is always a slight delay.

She asks me a few more questions. Then starts questioning if it’s working and I tell her it is.

“Use the Q-tip to put some of the sauce on your upper lip.”

I don’t move, just stare at the words. I don’t know how to process this information. No. Anything but my lips. Then turn my chair really really slowly and lift the Q-tip even more slowly. I dip the tip into the sauce ever so slightly and then swipe it over my lip without letting it fully land.

“Do it properly.”

Fuck me. I briefly close my eyes. It’s my internal way to say fuck. I do it quickly, wipe the tip back and forth over my lip while I feel like I’m going to cry just from the thought of knowing what this will do. In my mind, I’m still pleading but it’s too late.

“Good girl.”

What is good about this?! Kill me.

The hot sauce on the gag has started working properly and it feels like it’s burning a hole in my tongue. It’s not just tasting spicy, it is so spicy that I can’t even call it spicy anymore. It doesn’t even burn in that sense, it just scorches me to the point that it should go numb except it’s a constant agonising pain that I cannot get used to. I try to keep my tongue in the back of my throat and although it feels impossible to keep that up, the sauce makes me determined enough to try. But it doesn’t help!

I keep on pulling at the hood. I’m trying to readjust it because I don’t want the sauce to touch the hood.

“Stand back, hands behind your head.”

I step backwards, my shoulders hunched. It feels as if I’m carrying a heavy blanket with me. I don’t want to do this. I’m anxious for my lip to start burning but I comply. It feels weird. Exposed. Degrading. I don’t know how to cope with the pain. I look at the screen. Is she watching me? I try to put my tongue on the right side of my mouth. Can she see what I’m doing? My tongue scrapes past the ball gag again. Stupid! I glance at the chat. Nothing. I look to the side and briefly close my eyes. I’m hyper-aware of my lip, waiting for the sauce to fully kick in. So far it’s okay. Maybe it won’t be bad on my lip after all. Maybe it’ll be okay.

“Does it hurt?”

I look at the screen. Do I stay here? I want to move my arms but the command echoes in my head. The question on the screen is staring at me; the cursor in my chatbox flickers. I have to go and answer.

“Yes.”

“Your lip?”

It’s not that bad. But it will be. It will be.

“Yes.”

“Describe it to me.”

It’s sort of tingly. It burns. It’s not as bad as my tongue. I would spew it out and keep on spitting if I didn’t have this gag in my mouth. My tongue keeps trying to cling to the back of my throat but after every ten seconds or so, it ends up touching the gag again.

“Hands behind your head.”

I know I’m frowning and look incredibly unhappy. I try not to think about it. All I have to do is what she’s telling me. She leaves me standing there and says nothing. I try not to think about time. I already can’t imagine holding out. I can’t find a way to give my tongue a break and then at once my lip flares up and I want to jump through the roof because it feels like it’s on fire. I squeeze my eyes shut. My hands are pushing my head forwards as if they’re desperately trying to hold onto my head to make the pain bearable. I hear my head pound. I count the pounding as seconds. I can’t do this. Please make it stop. I know she’s not going to let it stop. I know we haven’t even started.

She asks me a question and I gladly leave my position to answer as a distraction.

“Go back, hands behind your head. From now on you’ll only nod to say yes and shake your head to say no.”

…

“Understood?”

Yes, I nod.

“Good.”

“Are you happy that I am giving you the opportunity to serve me?”

Yes… I am… I think…

“Do you feel happy?”

I don’t know how to answer that question.

Yes.

“Does it matter how you feel?”

No.

“It’s right that a slave does as she’s told?”

Yes.

“Even if it’s painful for the slave?”

Yes. Even though… help? me? please?

“Do you mean that?”

Yes.

I touch my hood in another attempt to readjust it but I’ve done it before I realise.

“If you do that again you’ll add more sauce to your lip.”

No, no, no, no, please no.

Yes. 

My heart is pounding. I don’t know if she’s truly going to let this slide. And I don’t know if I can control myself but I cannot feel any more of this.

She continues to ask me questions. There are a lot I don’t have to think about but also a lot that I feel conflicted about due to my current situation.

“Do you think you’re aroused?”

I can’t feel it. I have no idea if I’m aroused. Logically though, I have to be I guess.

Yes.

“Are you in pain?”

Yes.

“Is it good that you’re in pain?”

Pause. I don’t want to say yes. How can I say yes? My tongue moves because I have to swallow and I involuntarily end up touching the ballgag and at once, it feels like my tongue has been obliterated.

Yes. 

“Nod more clearly slave.”

I push my head up and down with my hands. The natural movement of a nod feels too unnatural, too embarrassing but I can’t do it wrong. What if she tells me to put more sauce on…

“Good. Is it good that you’re in pain?”

Yes!!

The pain of my lip has been slightly pushed to the background. It stays quiet. I desperately, once again, try to hold my tongue back. I watch the clock on my screen but can’t relate it to how long it’s been. My arms are getting tired. My tongue feels like it is under constant electric current. I want to cry. There’s no way I can keep on standing here. Still nothing from Lois so I close my eyes. Please make it stop. Please make it stop. I briefly glance at the screen – Please say something – before closing my eyes again, unable to cope enough to keep my eyes open without reason. I tried to wish this away and pretend this wasn’t happening.

“Is it still burning?”

I worry about how long she’s been waiting for an answer. I shouldn’t have closed my eyes.

Yes!

“Has it gotten less?”

No.

“Are your feet hurting?”

Pause. Yes, but nothing compared to…

No.

“Are you still wearing the heels?”

Yes!

It stays quiet again. I don’t understand how time works. I don’t understand how I can be standing here. I look at the clock again but I can’t remember how late it was the last time I checked. I go over past sessions in my head. She’ll probably keep me standing here for at least an hour. How am I going to make an hour?

She starts asking me questions again and with each nod I feel more embarrassed. At the same time, I’m starting to lose a sense of what is worse or if anything even matters. I start feeling like I’ll do anything for this to stop. I know we’re not even halfway. I know she’s just going to keep me here. I start regretting saying no when she asked me about my feet. They are hurting.

The more time passes, the more my jaw is starting to hurt. The pain starts switching from my tongue to my lip to my jaw and neither of them are giving me a break. There was an instance earlier where she asked me if it was hurting, again. I paused for a second then, wondering if I say yes will she tell me to add more? Had it gotten less? Maybe? But was easier to cope? No.

“Does it hurt” she now asks once more.

Yes!! There is no hesitation.

She must see that I’m struggling. I look pleadingly at the screen where I can’t see her. Please. 

“Is it good that it hurts?”

I have to swallow to give her the right answer.

Yes.

“Do you mean that?”

Yes. I do. This is an easy question. It’s always good to be in pain for her. I think…

It goes quiet again. I retreat back into my head but nothing is making time pass. When my lip starts burning it feels like it is the worst feeling in the world and I wish it would just switch back to my tongue. But when my tongue is burning I want nothing more than for that to stop. My head has started hurting by now. It’s like all this pain is coming together in the top of my head where I’m developing quite a severe headache. Or maybe it’s the pain of my jaw. I don’t know but I am no longer standing straight at all. My elbows are next to my ears and my head is titled downwards.

“Are you close to your limit?”

Yes. Thank you, I knew you’d know. Maybe now… Maybe now…

“Is it a good thing that you are?”

I don’t want to say yes.

Yes. 

“Do you want to stop?”

I should not say yes.

No. 

“Good girl.”

I am crying on the inside.

“Do you think I should allow you to stop?”

No. But please have mercy. Please!!!!

I know that she would have usually asked me why, but I obviously can’t answer that question right now.

“Is it still burning?”

Yes! Why the hell wouldn’t it still be burning?

“Has it become less?”

No!! 

It goes quiet again and I’m starting to feel like I’m going to break down soon. I tilt forwards and claw at my head. Pleaaaase. 

“Is it your tongue?”

No. 

“Your lip?”

No. 

I know my movement isn’t clear enough anymore but I can’t do anything more than this. I don’t even care what she’s saying anymore. I don’t care about her questions. I can’t cope.

“Should I allow you to sit down?”

Yes.

I know the answer should have been no.

“Should it matter how you feel?”

I shake my head in defeat.

No. No, alright? No.

“It’s about my pleasure?”

Yes.

“Do you want it to stop?”

I do. I really really want it to stop.

…Yes.

“Does it matter what you want?”

Why all these questions?!

No. 

“Do you mean that?”

Yes. Yes, I do, but please… please…?

“If I let you type will you not touch your hood?”

Yes. 

“You’re allowed to type now.”

I kind of mechanically lower my arms, move my head around and walk over like a hurt puppy.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

She asks me all the why questions to earlier questions where I could only answer yes or no. She also asks me what is hurting the most and I say my head. Is it still burning? Yes. Still. Burning. Yes. So why the head? I don’t know. I ask her if I can please take the ballgag out and she allows me to.

She wants to know if it’s better now, which I guess it is but the burning is still there. She asks me if I have milk or any dairy product, which I don’t. We have been here before. I never have any of those but it also doesn’t matter; the one time I did have milk it didn’t do anything.

She starts telling me that I’ve done very well and that she’s proud of me. I’m glad but I’m also really exhausted so she says I’m allowed to go to bed and deserve it.

Half an hour later I receive a text asking if I’m okay. I wasn’t. We talk just a little bit longer and then I go to sleep.

Xx MLSlavePuppet

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