Clamped Lips

He tells me to sit on the edge of the bed and snaps a single clamp onto each of my lips. The chains hang down between my thighs, knocking against my knees. He tells me to stand and I do, uncomfortably. He gives me a circle of chain in my right and left hand and tells me to lean forward.

I expose myself to him, clamped and sore and vulnerable and he tells me to stretch.

I start to pull at each chain slowly, arms stretching straight into a style of crucified pose. My neck lolls like a sagged rope. I whimper in pain and pull.

Once he is satisfied with my efforts here, he makes me stretch another space. I panic in my faith but resign myself to task, cranking the width of a metal spreader inside my awful hole.

I do these things for him because I want to. I do these things because I love to please him. I do these things for him because we're mine.