By bondagegimp
Trauma therapy
Wall. In front of me, all I can see is the wall. I’m standing on my tiptoes. The muzzle I’m wearing has this ring right in front of my mouth, and Bob has attached it to a hook on the wall so high that I have to stand on tiptoes and look diagonally upwards. Bob has left me here while he prepares something. I can’t see what, I can’t see him. I only see the wall. My head is tied to the wall with a thick lock. But I can hear him working.
Steel bars are banging together, a screwdriver is screwing, things are being pushed back and forth on the floor. I have no idea what he’s up to. I’m nervous, sweating. The sweat is collecting in the booties of the rubber suit. It’s the same one as yesterday on our walk. The one with the rubber sheath over the hole. Bob fucked it into me again with great pleasure. I’m also wearing my sneakers again. And the gag from yesterday, the mouth over it is taped up again with the foil plaster, on top of which is the rubber mask from the suit.
Bob wants to re-create yesterday. We were just lying in the evening sun. My shoulders ached from the tight restraints, the collar cutting into my neck. But I enjoyed the moment with Bob, who, lost in thought, played with my nipples while I snuggled into his muscles.
