Portal Gag

I'm not even home yet when the portal gag activates for the first time. The gag is my punishment, and my guarantee of further employment. All I had to do to avoid getting fired - or, worse, having my boss call the cops - was agree to the gag. A fitting punishment as well, since it was the design specs for the gag's portal technology that I had been attempting to sell to the competition when I was caught.

"If I turn you in," he said, "it will mean jail time. Five years minimum. And I guarantee no major company will employ you after." I was, in other words, royally screwed. "Or... I may choose to overlook it this time, and even let you keep your job, if you agree to wear this gag - permanently."

The gag was invisible, but very real. I could feel it between my fingertips, stretchy and slippery, and impossibly light. Worn over the mouth, it could be sensed against my skin, but there was nothing to prevent me breathing through it, or spitting through it, or sticking my fingers through it even. I could even drink coffee through it, and eat too, so it was a very strange gag indeed, if it even was one at all.

Wearing it seemed a lot better than spending years in prison. Wearing it, and getting to keep my job, seemed hardly like punishment at all.

Until, sitting in the bus, still amazed at the bizarre outcome of my failure, the portal activates, forcing my mouth open. It's getting dark outside, and my reflection in the window shows me my shocked expression and the black void that consumes my lips and the mouth between them. I try desperately to tear the gag off my face, but succeed only in pinching and scratching at my cheeks.

The bus is pretty full, some people even having to stand. A little old lady is sitting next to me, and she's not the only one suddenly staring at me in horror. They don't know, but I do. I know immediately what this means. It means that somewhere - somewhere else - my mouth is visible, and stretched wide open.

The cock thrusts in with inevitability. Of course that's what the gag is for. It is to let my boss fuck my mouth as often as he likes, whenever he likes. And there's nothing I can do about it. I can't even clamp my teeth shut to deny him. I certainly can't bite his cock off to teach him the error of his ways.

It's not a hard cock - at least, not yet. But even in its limp state, it fills my mouth. "What's wrong with your mouth, dear?" the old lady beside me says, and of course I can't answer. My mouth is stuffed with cock. I'm sitting on a public bus, a dozen confused strangers staring at me, and they can't see that my boss's cock is in my mouth. They can't see the shaft hardening, thickening, brushing my lips as he fucks my mouth with short, gentle thrusts, the head of it nudging at my throat and threatening to make me gag.

In a panic, I climb over the old lady and force my way between the watching strangers. I have to get off the bus. The wait for the next stop is a humiliating ordeal. I don't want him fucking my throat, but he doesn't care what I want. I hate that my instinct to suck and to lick the sensitive underside of his cock is something I can't entirely resist. I hate that he can probably feel this response and that he no doubt thinks I enjoy his use of my mouth. I hate that there's a part of me that does enjoy it. By the salty taste of precum in my mouth, I know he enjoys it.

The bus is stuck at a red light. His cock pushes into my throat, and he holds it there. I can't breathe. My heart is pounding in my ears. I could suffocate like this, standing in a public bus, death-by-cock, and none of the people staring at me would understand how or why.

But it's not my death he wants. His cock is longer than any cock I've ever sucked before, and he can penetrate astonishingly deep into my throat. I wonder if any of the watchers can see the bulge his cock makes.

He withdraws at last to let me gasp for air, and the lights are green at last, the bus in motion, and then he starts again, impatient, thrusting his thick, hard cock into my tight throat, and it's surreal that my eyes see none of this, and my ears hear only muffled echoes of my plaintive cries between gasps for breath.

I practically launch out of the open doors, ignoring fresh stares of horror, and stumble away from the bus shelter. It's difficult to think when there's a cock fucking your face. I find relative privacy in the deep doorway of a tenement flat, and use it to pull my skirt up, to pull my soaked panties roughly aside, and plunge two fingers into my cunt while working my clit frantically with my other hand.

Free from judgemental eyes, I use my tongue to excite his cock. I wonder how often he will use my mouth like this. I wonder if he will let other men use my mouth too. Perhaps the unwilling use of my mouth will be part of his future sales pitch: "Here, Gentlemen! Give it a try. Slip your cock between my lovely secretary's sweet lips. Awake or asleep. The other side of this wall, or in another country entirely. Her mouth, wherever it is, is yours to use."

I wonder what my husband will make of it. Will it excite him to watch as unseen men fuck my throat and fill my mouth with their cum? It was his idea to steal the design specs, but will he ever kiss me again now that my mouth belongs to another man.

The cock in my mouth forces its way in, deeper than ever, thicker than ever, and then it's pulsing within my throat, his cum jetting out into my belly, and I'm desperate for air -

- but he pulls out at last, a last few spurts of cum landing on my tongue as I gasp painfully. He wipes his cock on my lips before withdrawing entirely -

- and suddenly the portal is deactivated, and I can touch my fingertips to my lips and feel his cum slick against the sensitive skin.

My phone chimes. My boss has sent an image. Disembodied lips, parted wide to show a tongue wet with cum. Nothing to indicate there's a person connected to those lips. A perfect sex toy.

On a whim, I reply, "Do you do portal panties as well?"