The Bagel (M/F)

[AlexUSA3]

Janie: The Bagel (M/F)
Wednesday, October 21, 2020

I love breakfast. Some days, I want a big breakfast; some days, I want a small breakfast; every day, I want breakfast. What varies is what I want for breakfast. Today, I just happened to want a small breakfast, bagels. Cut it in half; toast it; slather it with strongly flavored cream cheese; eat it. Yum! Alas, Ken beat me to the toaster for English muffins, and I had to stand and wait. As I stood there waiting, I realized that bagels have a hole in the middle, the right size for… Ha ha!

"Hey, Ken," I held up the bagel for him to see, "This is me," and I held my index finger, "This is you," and put my finger through the hole, "Me and you. Me and you," and I repeated the action.
"I'm scarred for life," he deadpanned, "Janie, I won't forget this desecration of good food."
"Baby," I giggled and looked into his eyes, "Bind me up well and stuff my holes as you like."

I deserved what happened to me after that. It was the mundane: go to work, put our son in safety in the corner of the wood shop we set up just for him and any future children, head to the office, open the door, get grabbed, get tied up. Yep, Ken came for me, and it was time for me to become a human bagel. I'd been a burrito and a taco, among others, but never had I been a bagel.

"Gmmmm!" I groaned as he jammed the 2.5 inch orange rubber dog ball in my mouth and tied a tight knot in the purple bandana that accompanied it, the tightest bandana gag I experienced ever in my life, but I liked this sudden development, "Hmmmmmmmmm!" I have some friends who tie brutal bandanas, but this was the tightest of them all, hands down.

"Janie, I'm going to turn you into a human bagel, if you'd like," that was his request for consent to do things that required express consent because I couldn't do them without it, unlike some.

I nodded my head and accepted what came in kinky pleasure. I'm quite the sight, though, since I stand at 6'1" and am a mix of African-American, Creek, Irish, Miccosukee, Seminole, Spanish; I love my mixed ancestry and look it with a distinctive native skin tone and long jet black hair that I love to keep in a braid that reaches to my butt. My eyes are dark, too, and people think that I'm a pure-blooded Native American at times. I'm also a rope bunny.

I was wearing my favorite outfit that day: my red-and-blue flannel button-up shirt, blue bandana headband, red jeans, blue socks, and red sneakers. I can still remember the thrilling feeling that rushed through me when I felt Ken use two pieces of clothesline to tie my wrists and elbows so I would be his. When the arm bondage was finished, he spun me around and looked into my eyes.

"You're a sexy young lady," he said, lecherously fondling my breasts, and I blushed at his words.

This is the roughest level at which we'll play such games. I can't go into nonconsensual games even when carefully structured. There's too much trauma for me in my own real experience; it's a long story and not for the present moment. Today is about a wild adventure that began all over a little raunchy humor with my breakfast. It was merely a matter of where he'd stuff his bagel.

I twisted my arms and tried to back away from Ken, playing my role just the way we liked it, the role of the kinky but stubborn and resistant wife. I wagged a disapproving finger at him to put a blockade on him. It was such a silly atmosphere for bondage, but it worked perfectly when there were rarely people who showed up in person to pay a bill. We'd had maybe 3 clients ever who'd paid in person for services we'd rendered for them between my structural inspections and Ken's talented woodworking. Seriously, the room had blue industrial carpet, a rolling chair in front of a metallic desk, a chair at which clients could sit, and a closet. Yes, it all mattered then.

"My beautiful wife, shall we enjoy ourselves today?" Ken asked that in the sweetest tone.
"Mmm hmm," I nodded, knowing I could trust him to watch our son while I remained captive.
"Let's make this a fun game for both of us," his smile reminded me that I was safe and loved.

That was Ken's consent to proceed to be as harsh with me as necessary to keep me submitted to him. He grabbed me by the elbow bond and gently pushed my knees out from under me with his shoe, making my knees buckle so I'd kneel on the carpet, and then he pushed me onto my tummy on the floor and sat on me so he could tie my ankles together. Clothesline, for us, was perfect in kidnapping style games, and I loved the feel of it being used to imprison me further. Sometimes, I resist Ken's affections for a while just so that we can have moments like this.

I hate writing about marital relations. It feels like I'm breaking a sacred bond. But, to keep with the hilarious theme of me being a bagel, Ken pulled my pants and underwear down, pulled down his own pants and underwear, and stuffed me and even filled me with creamy goodness. I hope I ruined bagels for you forever, because at least 6 friends told me I ruined bagels for them forever with at least 3 of them integrating the bagel jokes into their own sex life.

This is going to sound bad, but it's hard to not feel a little racial humor going on in this one. Ken has French ancestry and has blonde hair and blue eyes from the mingling of his French ancestors with other inhabitants of the area over the centuries. Rondell may be his name, but he's as pasty as any other person with Scandinavian and Germanic ancestry. Still, I feel like a meme or some sort of movie stereotype, the captive squaw now having a fur trader make advances to her. What a life our child will have! Probably will grow up to have blonde hair that is super curly from my African-American blood, Indian-toned skin, and almond-shaped eyes that are bright blue. But, I know little Joey is going to be loved all his days. Oh, our sweet little boy, we do love you.

"Mmph!" I let out a guttural groan when Ken tied a tight waist/crotch rope against my bare body.
"Comfortable?" Ken asked, knowing that the neon green strip of clothesline he'd chosen rode in the crack of my happy slot, and he made sure it was tight so that all hand movement pulled it.

My only consolation was that Ken had placed a folded gray bandana in between the crotch rope and my crotch to mop up any messes I'd make. Ken pulled my panties and pants back up with a show of strength and tied a regular clothesline waist and crotch rope just to lord it over me like I was just his captive instead of his wife. It was so romantic. He could have left me like this, but I am glad he didn't leave me so soon. It was a matter of time before Joey awoke from his nap.

Ken unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it open and as far down my arms as the elbow rope allowed before he pulled my blue sports bra up to expose me. Only then did he tie a breast harness that I knew I'd cherish forever. Never before did I feel like he appreciated me so much as his wife, the rope being an act of marital intimacy. It was certainly objectifying, but it said to me "You are my wife, and I love everything about you, body and soul." More clothesline tied my legs above and below my knees before Ken left me to struggle and drool off the 2.5 inch orange rubber ball.

I looked around the room and squirmed on the floor to get a feel for my bondage. Here I was, a girl who was known as Gangsta Jock, Creek Crusader (only much after this, actually), Seminole Samson, Miccosukee Marauder, Indian Princess, Super Slugger (for softball accomplishments), and probably a few things I've forgotten, and I was completely powerless. What a feeling!

I sat up and took a few deep breaths and watched a blob of drool land right on my left boob, and I couldn't help but imagine my sister or friends seeing that and fondling me while saying, in a very silly tone, "Boooooooobbbbbbbieeesssssssss!" I twisted around and tried to get a feeling for my surroundings before I used my six-pack abs to push myself up onto my knees with ease.

I began feeling for the knot around my ankles. The crotch ropes nudged me to the edge, though, and I felt that ache from my crotch rope. While picking at the rope, I was forced to collapse on the chair and to arch from a painful, but awesome, orgasm. The gray bandana was serving a very important purpose. I looked around the room and took a few more deep breaths before resuming my struggle. I wanted to escape, and I immediately felt a give in the ropes that told me that Ken wanted me to escape to some extent as well. With loud grunts, I struggled against my bonds.

Once the ankle rope was off, wiggling my legs to force the rope below my knees to slip off was a cinch, pun intended. I still had the rope above my knees, but I could get around well enough that I could be annoying. I used the chair to push myself to standing and began walking as best as the ropes allowed me to do so. With a giggle, I opened the door and approached Ken as he finished a cut on a piece of wood. He took off his safety glasses with a smirk on his face.

"I see I have to teach you a lesson about rebellion, hmm?" he asked me, and I simply nodded.

With that, he took me by the arm and led me back into the office. He sat me down on the chair and tied my legs again, this time much more securely and while smiling. I had indeed fulfilled a subtle wish by trying to escape, again my knees and ankles were bound. This time, he bound my legs just below the waist, too, giving me a tight bondage that I was less likely to escape, but what I really wanted was to be a bagel again. I was supposed to be stuffed full of creamy goodness!

Instead Ken started fondling me again: squeezing my breasts, fingering my crotch over my jeans, and jerking on the crotch ropes until I orgasmed. He then laid me on the desk on my stomach so he could hogtie me from my ankles to my wrists in a simple, classic manner. Once again, there was a dare to escape to some extent, with the hogtie not being very effective or professional. As soon as he left the room, I kicked my legs out three times and was on my feet again, hopping out to the floor where Ken was getting ready to assemble a piece of furniture for a customer.

This time, I shuffled my feet sheepishly and looked down at my shoes, blushing with fake shame at my actions. My slobber spilled off the hard orange ball in my mouth, causing more my drool to accumulate on my bust. This amplified my embarrassment, and I looked into his eyes just in time for another blob of slobber to drop to the floor with a loud SPLUT! My blushing was now such that I felt the heat in my cheeks, but Ken merely slung me across his shoulder to bring me back into the office. He was in such a sweetheart mood that he didn't even spank me!

Those rubber dog balls are hard. They don't hurt… because my mouth is big enough that people can use a 3 inch gag on me… but they're hard and unforgiving, unlike a commercial ball gag that is more purposefully made for human use. Ken showed mercy by removing the gag although it's not yet too uncomfortable. I kind of like the rubber dog balls more than the ball gags, but overall I prefer classic gags to anything that is a commercial product or imitates a commercial product.

"Now, Janie," it was time to stuff the bagel again, "Let's have fun."
"Gmmmmmm!" I rolled my eyes because my new gag was well worth the wait for it.

Yes, Janie the Bagel was filled up with creamy goodness, although cream cheese definitely tastes better. For real, there's no comparing this stuff to anything else. Anyway, when that was done, I didn't receive a new gag right away while Ken decided what to do with me. Then again, maybe it was all intentional and just as he planned it to be. I don't know. He fondled me again, much to my happiness, until I orgasmed again. Remember the gray bandana against my crotch?

"Gmmmmm!" I groaned as the bandana filled my mouth with my own juices, and Ken wrapped 8 layers of red duct tape around my head to seal my lips with certainty. It was horrible but was a perfect way to keep things interesting. This time, the hogtie was much tighter, running from my ankles to my elbows, and I was again on the desk as Ken left me alone for the third time.

I'm sorry if you're not having fun, but how can you not have fun? I'd had three awesome gags: a rubber dog ball, Ken, and now this one. In 30 seconds, I'd gone from slurping the last bits of my beloved Ken juice to having a gag soaked in Janie juice. I was tightly, but not ruthlessly, hogtied on the desk. I was exposed and had a double crotch rope. I have a realistic chance to escape. If you're not pumped just reading this… I'm sorry. You're hopeless. Maybe you're racist and hate my mixed heritage? Too bad for you because I was in Janie hogtie heaven.

So what did I do next! Well, of course, I escaped! Well, not everything. I escaped the hogtie as you probably guessed. Of course I did. It took 5 minutes, but I did it again. I'm a champ… OK, I was in rare form, but I was standing up again. I hopped over to the door, and opened it the third and final time. Again, Ken saw me, sucking on the gray bandana soaked in Janie juice, and came over to me. This time, he calmly grabbed me by the braid and spoke in a soft voice.

"Janie, I love you, you miscreant. Box, closet, or release?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Okth," I said with a defiant eye roll, and I might have given Ken the middle finger.

The box is just a crate which Ken and I acquired and use for… antics. Antics include things like putting Janie inside the crate clamping it shut. It was used when someone shipped something for Ken to rebuild. When we felt adventurous one day, we closed the wooden crate shut with both of Ken's little sisters inside. What a way to be imprisoned! The lid clasps shut, though, so that you can reuse it, but it looks like a classic wooden crate from an old movie.

What do you do when locked in a crate? Scream into the gag, kick as much as you can, scream a little more, struggle in the ropes, scream some more, and kick. That to me is time well spent for a change of pace. It's not every day or even every week that bondage appears at work for us, but we can be streaky. I can see tomorrow's adventure happening at 3 PM. I get a gag of my sweaty socks; I'm locked in the closet or the box; Ken calls his sister and tells her to come get me 45 to 90 minutes after he's left for the day. I don't get home until 6, but dinner's on the table for me. I love Ken, and Ken loves me. I love being a Miccosukee Marauder, a rope bunny, and a bagel.

That's a fine place to end this. Next time, I'll talk about crate-centered adventures.

THE END