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“Really? This is, this is what we're going to do today?” I question Mr Ogre.

“Well, I have work to do, and you don't really have any work to do.” He explains.

“Who's fault is that?” I complain.

“It's your fault for being so efficient!”

We banter back and forth a bit more before he shoves a large white cloth in my mouth. I try to tell him to push it in more, but he doesn't understand my humming. He wraps one of my black stockings around my head, securing the cloth in my mouth. I attempt to suggest winding the stocking around my head multiple times, making a circling motion with one finger, but my words are unintelligible.

“I'm really glad that you have an opinion.” Mr Ogre declares.

“Thank you! I knew you would be.” I respond through the mouth stuffing.

After knotting the cleave behind my head, Mr Ogre helps me scooch off the desk and then lowers me to floor by my elbows while I squeak in fear. I look back at him unsure what's next.

“I'm going to put you under the table first.” he says casually as he lifts my legs and slides them under the desk.

I squeal and whine about the floor being cold while Mr Ogre continues to maneuver me underneath. He attaches my wrists to my ankles making sure to keep the knots away from my “prying fingers.” Content with my situation, he sits down at his laptop to work.

I writhe around on the floor, grunting, exploring my bonds. I roll to my side, bumping against Mr Ogre's legs, distracting him. After being used briefly as a footstool, I decide to roll away. I giggle and chirp as I squirm around on the carpet. Pushing my hips into the air, I wait for him to look at and retrieve me. He finally comes around the desk and flips me back over. I peek playfully from under the desk, kicking my feet. Mr. Ogre grabs me, attaching a length of rope to my elbows. He then uses this to anchor me to the table legs.

“This is what you get for being plucky.”

I protest and endeavor to convince Mr Ogre that this is unnecessary. While mostly ignoring me, he yanks me backward, sliding me across the floor. I wriggle like a fish and pump my pelvis as my knees are fastened to the other desk legs. Pleased with the level of restricted mobility he has achieved, Mr Ogre returns to his work.

I pull on my bonds, shimming my ass left and right. I quickly resort to negotiating and begging, saying I'll be good if untied. Needless to say, Mr Ogre doesn't believe me. I finger a knot I find above my hands. I groan and gripe into my gag. Eventually, Mr Ogre leaves for lunch and me to entertain myself with my struggling.