I've always hated gags, even when I didn't need my mouth free to give a release word.I've always hated gags, even when I didn't need my mouth free to give a release word. For one thing, they interfere with play too much. I can't give the proper verbal responses appropriate to whatever game we're playing -- "My father's knights will avenge me!", or what- ever. Nor can I use my mouth sexually, for both of our pleas- ures. Finally -- and perhaps most important -- gags are danger- ous. It's just too easy to choke with a gag in, especially a really effective one that puts you on the edge of vomiting. If I want to use one for its symbolic value, I just tie a scarf around John's head and mouth. It's thin enough that he can kiss through it, and it can be pulled down quickly enough in emergencies, often just by chin movement. Some people, of course, use real gags because they need the silence. It's impractical to really whip someone in a city apartment without one, I suppose. But I had a better solution to that problem. I'd recently bought an old farmhouse, very far back from the road, to use as a playhouse. I'd just finished having it fixed up, and I'd been getting ready to spend a few weekends there building some accessories -- ring bolts, chains, even a stock out behind the house where no one would ever see the occupant. I hadn't told John about this; my original plan had been to kidnap him there when it was ready. But his behaviour the last few weeks had been sufficiently odd that I was no longer certain I wanted him to know about it. I twisted my head around to look at John. He was still drinking vodka, and he still hadn't said anything, which was odd; usually -- always! -- the kidnaper should have said something to set the scene, even if only to heighten the suspense. |