Frogface

She looks better this way. The latex frogface hood turns her features into something crude and ugly. Stalks block her eyes, a tiny breathing hole lets air fight past teeth that stick out wet and open. Spit starts to leak. She stops being a woman and turns into a drooling, hooded thing straining against rope. The hood tightens. Heat presses down, seals her lips, pinches her nose shut. She sucks air through that small opening in short, messy gasps, each one wetter than the last. The more she fights, the more spit runs down her chin. She can’t wipe it away. She can’t even see how far gone she looks. I almost wish she could. Watching her realize it would be worth every second. Instead she just breathes harder, bound tight, while the pressure builds and the drool keeps coming.