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Summary
INLAND EMPIRE - Suddenly, you’re looking at your own face. It’s a surprisingly faithful depiction: the large eyebrows, the puffy skin on the cheeks, the booze-soaked redness of the nose, the distant look in the green eyes. The one place it differs from the reality of you is that this you has his mouth stretched open wide over something rubbery and black–
LOGIC [Easy: Success] - A ballgag.
INLAND EMPIRE - There’s moisture beading at the corners of your lips: drool, gathering behind the gag, not yet spilling down the stubbled skin of your chin. It ought to look pathetic; it does, in a way. Seeing your jaw straining against the restraint, your throat working futilely to try to swallow your own saliva before it can spill past your stretched lips. It is pathetic. And yet, as a driving-glove clad hand moves to your jaw and uses its grip to tilt your face upwards—as a soft, familiarly lilting voice says, “That’s better,” and one finger taps against the gag silencing you—the look on your face doesn’t strike you as pathetic at all.
EMPATHY [Medium: Success] - It’s grateful.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Oh fuck.
(Or: A DE D/s AU, in game canon and beyond.)