My jaw hurts from so much cock. Sir wants me to practice for his birthday party. He has me sucking dildos. Sometimes I have to wear the gag. The one that’s shaped like a cock and sits deep in my mouth, making me retch if I don’t pay attention. I hate and love this gag. It makes me wetter than a water slide, the way it fills my mouth and forces me to drool. Its buckle is lockable, and sometimes Sir secures the gag with a tiny lock at the back of my head.

Yesterday he locked the gag in place and hid the key before he left for work. He said he would text me the hiding place of the key later, but until then I would have to wear it. I couldn’t even cuss him out, silenced with the cock in my mouth. I didn’t care that cussing would land me in deeper trouble. I did my chores drooling all over myself. Helpless to stop it. I searched for the key, but there was no chance to find it between all the nuts and bolts on Sir’s workbench, where he’d most likely hidden it. Then, the doorbell rang. I peeked through the peep hole. Outside was Michael, Sir’s friend, a parcel under his arm. Great.

I texted Sir in a panic.

“Michael’s outside. Where is the key?”

“Let him in. Offer him something to drink.”

“How? There’s a cock in my mouth!”

“You’re a clever girl. You’ll think of something.”

The doorbell rang again, this time a little longer and, so it seemed, a little louder too. If I didn’t open, Michael would drop the package at the neighbors, but he would also let Sir know about it — and Sir would know I didn’t obey. But if I opened the door like this, Michael would see me. He’d know what a slut for cock I am. In a haste, I grabbed a scarf and wrapped it around my throat and face, covering my stretched-wide mouth and the gag that made me drool. Then I opened the door.

The smile fell from Michael’s face when he saw me, which was a shame, because he has that kind of smile that makes me weak in the knees. I pointed at my throat like a mermaid who lost her voice and coughed miserably.

“Aw, man, you’re sick? Poor thing.” He was looking at me with his puppy eyes like he wanted to wrap me in a blanket and make me soup. I let him in, pointing at the parcel, then at the kitchen. I made a gesture like I was holding a glass and drinking.

“A beer would be nice!”

Any guy with manners would have said thanks, but no, given that I was acting sick, but of course Michael was too daft for that. He sauntered into my kitchen.

“Have you been mopping? You should be in bed!” He pointed at a drop of my drool on the floor. My face was burning, and I made sure that the scarf was still covering me. The gag felt like it was growing bigger. He sat down at the kitchen table, sprawling wide, one hand on the brown parcel. I fetched him a beer. My chin was wet, and I was wheezing, hardly able to breathe through the scarf.

“You really belong into bed,” he said, wriggling his eyebrows. His fingertips traced the bottleneck of his beer. He’s an instrument maker, and there was something so sensual about the way he touched the glass. Like he was studying the curve of it with his fingertips. I sat down opposite him and pressed my thighs together. I shouldn’t have been looking at his hands. It made me even slicker between the legs. When I pulled my eyes away, he was watching me with a grin. I took a deep breath, and the tip of the dildo slipped into my throat and made me gag. I tried to pass it off as a cough.

Michael didn’t look like he was gonna leave anytime soon. Could he drink his beer any slower? I pointed at the parcel.

“That? It’s something J ordered for his birthday party.” He curled his fingers around the edge of the package, looking at it with sly satisfaction. I know there’s something up with this thing. My phone buzzed, and I nearly hopped from my chair, gagging again. The scarf soaked up my spit. My heart was beating hard, and the rush of blood in my ears nearly drowned out the ragged sound of my breathing. Michael grinned. “You should check that.”

I glared at him. But I took up my phone; it was a text from Sir: “He’s got the key. Ask him for it.”

I looked from the screen to Michael, that ass, who sat there all innocent. Did he know? Had he known know the whole time? I was burning up with shame and humiliation, but as I leaned towards Michael, I could feel my panties getting wetter. I needed a cock in my pussy as well as in my mouth. I made a gesture like I was turning a key in a lock. My nipples hardened and pressed almost painfully against my bra.

Michael put the beer down, so fucking slowly, and twisted around to pull something out of his jeans. The bulge at the front of them made my clit throb. He offered me a tiny key, but when I reached for it, he pulled it away.

“First, I want something in exchange.”

I glared at him, pressing my palms to the table and clenching my thighs. He watched me, his eyebrows raised, until I finally nodded. I needed this key.

“Give me your panties.”

He couldn’t be serious. My panties were fucking soaked. Wet like I-just-won-a-wet-t-shirt-contest-with-them wet. I shook my head, and he shrugged.

“Then I’ll take this key back to J. I’m sure you can wait till he’s home to unlock whatever lock this little thing belongs to.”

Oh, he bloody knew. And he enjoyed this, grilling me, making me squirm and bend and dance to his music. I groaned, and reached under the table. I was lucky I was wearing a knit skirt and tights, because taking off jeans to surrender my panties would have been worse. Bad enough wriggling out of them like that, under the table, sitting, cold drool running down my throat underneath the scarf. I bunched my panties up, hoping Michael wouldn’t notice how sopping wet they were.

He dropped the key on the table and took my panties, his teeth flashing wolfishly. I couldn’t look away from his fingers, the way he kneaded the fabric like he was analyzing it through touch. And then he brought them to his face and smelled them. I groaned again. My skin was hot like a soldering iron. I was choking on my humiliation, and wetting the chair through my skirt.

“Thanks for those,” Michael said, getting to his feet. I couldn’t look away from his crotch, and his erection straining his pants.

I didn’t move when he reached for my scarf and plucked at it, pulling it down and uncovering my gagged face. “I can’t wait to see you choking on real cock at J’s party,” he said, and left, humming a song to himself. I took his beer and pressed the still cool bottle to my forehead.

Sir wants to watch me getting fucked by his friends on his birthday at New Year’s Eve. It’s gonna be the party of the century. I’ll get all the cock I could ever want, and then some.