That’s not a gag. That is a very simple piece of duct tape, lightly pressed to her face, and by now even the slightest sheen of sweat has probably robbed it of any adhesive power it might have had. It’s not something she’s trying to get off. If anything, she’s probably struggling to keep it on.
Why? Because she’s fantasized about this, about herself and her little blonde roommate stripped and bound and helpless. Over and over again, quietly fucking herself, one hand working at her clit and one stuffed in her mouth to keep quiet: she built up a very detailed scenario in which they’d be attacked, used, forced to do all manner of sick things to their captors and each other. And she got off to it every night.
So the guys she hired off of Craigslist are better at rope than they are at tape. Whatever. It’s still got her heart beating triple-time and her mind racing, not to mention the waterfall between her legs. They’ll be back in a moment, carrying a black duffel bag, and all she has to do is keep the duct tape on long enough for one of them to stuff something else in her face.
The most interesting part, of course, is that they did the same halfhearted gag work on her roommate, who didn’t know about the setup, who must believe this is a real home invasion, who has no idea what’s coming next.
And she’s keeping hers on too.