She wanted to watch him wriggle, squirm, and struggle- a nice tight ball gag, decked out in her favorite football kit,
Tight rope bondage-while Miss M relaxed, lay back on the sofa wearing her soft, shiny PJs, with him wriggling at her feet; this was something she always loved to do,
a prelude to the real game: an escape challenge. He was hogtied with rope, the knots cinched tight against the fabric of his football kit. But he didn't wriggle enough, so She’d started with his feet, a light, relentless tickling that made his whole body jolt and strain against his bonds. For a long while, she just teased him—whispering how pretty he looked all tied up, how helpless—
She settled back to watch him wriggle and squirm in earnest struggle against the ropes. Miss M eventually settled into her sofa, still in her pyjamas, one leg tucked under her as she observed him twisting on the floor at her feet. When he was slick with sweat and breathing hard through his nose, she finally took pity, knelt down on the floor, pulled his shorts down, and took him into her mouth again until he was shaking and coming.
After he came, she kept going, her mouth still working him through the aftershocks until he was whimpering into the ball gag, a muffled symphony of overstimulation. The initial ******* had been slow and deliberate,