I turn off the car and head straight into the house, mentally berating myself for forgetting my wallet on the way to the bank. Of all the places to not have a wallet… I didn’t realize it until I had practically arrived too. I had taken a couple of hours off work to take care of this bank stuff that of course I had been putting off for months. I weave through the house and open the door to the basement. I am pretty sure that I left my wallet on one of the shelves bordering the “playroom” down there the last time I disrobed for a session.
I smile and my groin stirs a bit on my way down the stairs as I remember the event three nights ago when my wife (and often mistress) chained me spread-eagle on top of our padded table. I was blindfolded and she played with my senses for an hour, I’m sure. Rubbing ice cubes across my skin, contrasting that with the sharp sensation of a pinwheel, dripping hot wax, and so much more. It was glorious sensory torture, but my patience was eventually rewarded as she clambered up onto the table, straddled my waist, and rode my aching cock until we both came.
I descend the final few stairs and wheel around the corner, knowing exactly where my wallet would be sitting if I am correct about leaving it down here. However, I freeze mid-stride. She is here, in the playroom, I dumbly explain to myself. But not just here, she is attached to some equipment. I tentatively pad over to her, taking in the predicament as I approach from her rear (with a delightful view of said rear, if I may say so myself).
She is almost entirely naked, kneeling on the knee pads of the cushioned sawhorse, the long leather-lined platform supporting her from her belly button to her collarbones. The built in straps hold her clean-shaven legs tightly to the contraption, securing her just above the knees and ankles. Her arms dangle down to the underside of the sawhorse, ignoring the built in arm straps. But they still seem to be secure there, so she must have used an independent set of cuffs.
I watch her breath make her back rise and fall in an irregular rhythm which looks almost feverish, and I hear corresponding moans and gasps, though these are slightly muted by what I assume must be a gag in her mouth – yes, I can see the strap through gaps in her hair. Judging by how she can barely control herself, she must be quite close to an orgasm, and I can see why. Her plain black cotton panties, the only stitch of clothing on her glorious body, bulge with the telltale outline of a dildo being held firmly in place by the tightly stretched underwear. I reach out and touch the rod through the panties and can feel it vibrating strongly. I push the vibrator gently to all sides, smirking at her reaction to the altered sensations in her pussy. She makes more muffled noises through her gag, but of course any words she tries to produce are completely unintelligible.
I am halfway out of my pants before I realize what I’m doing and stop to think about it. Is this really what I should do in this situation? Well, obviously she tied herself up for me to find, so why not? Still, something doesn’t quite seem right. What was I doing a minute ago, anyway? As my brain battles through the fog, my hand idly wanders to my groin and a small, casual touch quickly turns into my hand gripping my shaft tightly as my entire body recognizes in a great wave just how hard my cock is; just how aroused I am altogether. I give myself a squeeze which sends a shudder up my spine. I know that there’s no point trying to think with my brain anymore – the power balance has shifted too far down.
With that internal battle decisively won, I immediately shed the rest of my clothes, tossing them into a disorderly pile on the leather couch against the wall. A small part of me reminds me that is not how I should treat my clothes, but that kind of thinking is quickly shunted aside as I turn my naked body to point my cock like a compass towards the magnetic pole.
Once again I step up to the luscious display perched atop the sawhorse. I inch between secured legs and rub my rock-hard cock on soft cottony panties as I simultaneously squeeze and caress the full globes of my wife’s ass. But patience is not with me, especially not with all the frantic sounds coming from my writhing cock sleeve.
Suddenly deciding upon a course of action, I take two long steps and snatch the safety shears from the wall where they hang. Back at the delicious ass, two quick snips remove one of the obstacles in my way. I rip the tattered remains of the black panties from her body and toss them absently to the side, generally towards the couch which hosts my own similarly discarded pile of clothes.
Without the panties for support, the purple rabbit vibrator slips an inch out of her pussy, eliciting a disappointed moan as the vibrator’s prongs slip away from her clit. This is followed by a re-energized stream of unintelligible words that almost border on being yells, her head whipping from side to side as she tries to look back at me … but no bother. Focused on my prize, I rip the vibrator out to reveal the quickest glimpse of a sopping wet mess of a pussy before that view is obstructed by my throbbing cock slamming to the hilt where it belongs.
My head snaps back in ecstasy as my mind replays the sensation of my cock sliding into the soft, wet tunnel over again a hundred times in a second. She mirrors my reaction by simultaneously snapping her own head back and delivering a deep and long moan of satisfaction. I grip her hips and pull hard to try to shove my cock in the slightest bit further into her depths, and hold myself there tightly for several wonderful seconds.
Quickly overcoming the initial satisfaction and finding my cock wanting more, I slowly draw myself out of her and snap back in. It takes only a few more thrusts for me to accelerate from a strong but measured pace to a rough and frantic rhythm, slamming my cock deep into her pussy over and over again. By now she is grunting with every slam, the grunts growing higher pitched and more frantic as she quickly reaches her near-orgasmic state from a few moments past. I relax my neck and shoulders and put my entire consciousness in my dick as I absorb the wonderful sensation of sliding out and slamming back into her warm pussy.
I snap to attention as a thought comes to mind – a thought naughty enough to gain attention and even consent from the current master of my body (my cock, obviously). I wheel my head around as I continue my rhythmic pumping and scan the wall. There, just three or four steps away, are a myriad of instruments for impact play. A carefully organized assortment of paddles, floggers, canes, crops, each filling a specific niche in our repertoire. I gaze longingly at one paddle in particular, willing it to spring off the wall and into my hand so that I do not have to abandon the luxurious wetness engulfing my cock to retrieve it. I debate for many thrusts worth of time before mostly abandoning the thought and returning my attention to my pleasure instrument, who is now gasping and emitting a high-pitched “Oh!” on each of my strong thrusts.
Lacking an appropriate instrument, I settle for using my hands. I release her hip with my right hand, barely registering in my mind the red marks left by my animalistic grip as they slowly fade. I crash my hand down, ripples spreading from the impact across her perfectly round ass before the muscles reflexively tighten and stretch the skin taught. She squeals a soft squeal, probably more from surprise than from pain, and I smirk with satisfaction at the effect I can have on her.
With reckless abandon, I lift both hands and smack them down on the bulbous spheres of her butt in an alternating pattern – left, right, left, right. I have no concept of how hard I am hitting her, or how many times. To me it simply adds to the repetitive rhythm of thrusting my engorged cock into her pussy – over and over and over and over again. I hear her squealing and her hips writh from side to side and tilt forward and back as my open hands drum upon her reddening cheeks.
My cock becomes frustrated with the inconsistent point of entry, and commands my hands to cease their onslaught and stabilize the cock sleeve. They obey immediately, roughly grasping the fatty padding around her hip bones as my own hips push forward with renewed strength and vigor.
A few thrusts like this send her over the edge, her gasps and grunts raising to a whine and then to a soft scream as her pussy constricts tightly around my cock. The new strength her tunnel grasps me with is glorious, and I push through every tight inch with heightened pleasure as I continue to pump her orgasming pussy.
Once her orgasm retreats and she is reduced to gasping, heaving, desperate breaths, I slow down for a moment to prolong my own pleasure and take in the scene again. This is a unique and special day, I think to myself – there must be more that I can do to milk this opportunity for everything it’s worth.
This is a dangerous train of thought, my brain warns me, but it is too late. My eyes have already zoomed in to her pert asshole, which bobs gently as I continue to absentmindedly piston my cock back and forth. My cock flexes incredibly as it anticipates the thrill of a second hole, and it bids me to get to work to make it happen. And fast.
Before my reluctance to do so can register, I pull out of the pussy which has been my home for the last quarter of an hour, and I almost let out a small gasp as the air in the room reminds my cock what a cold, harsh world it is here outside of my cum receptacle. Not to be dismayed, I frantically scan the tables, shelves, and dressers which line the walls of the playroom, searching for lube.
Shit – I remember now that I had brought the bottle upstairs to the bedroom the other day, and I can’t think of another one that would still be down here. So instead, I open a drawer and quickly select a medium sized plug with a pointy business end which will suit my hasty change of plans. I take this new toy back to my old toy, and insert it into her pussy to soak up as many juices as it will hold. That is an ample source of lubricant, at least for the smaller anal instrument, and I bring the coated plug up to her asshole and begin to press.
She had been almost comatose following her explosive orgasm, but with this new stimulation she revives as if by magic. Her head was hanging limply over the far edge of the sawhorse, but now it shoots up until she faces directly forward, in line with the angle of her secured torso. I gently but persistently apply more and more pressure until her sphincter relents, ignoring the string of muffled noises coming through the gag in her mouth. You know, those noises sound more angry than reluctant, a small part of my brain observes.
I apply consistent pressure until the plug makes its gradual way past the thick bulb and her ass swallows the rest of it up to the hilt. It stuck a little bit on the way in, but I wasn’t too worried about the lack of lubrication – that issue would be resolved soon. For good measure, I tug on the base of the plug until the bulb pops to the outside of her ass, project a spray of spit onto the plug and her asshole, and gently push and pull the bulb through her sphincter a few more times. Finally, I insert the plug all the way in, press on the base playfully a couple of times, and back away slowly, admiring the view of her rear. Her plugged ass, pussy glistening with juices, and thighs trembling in anticipation all fight for my attention as I retreat.
Backing out all the way to where the stairs begin around the corner of the room, I abruptly rush up the stairs toward the bedroom to collect the lube from up there, all the while eagerly anticipating inserting myself into my second cock sleeve of the day.
——- 1 hour earlier ——-
I suppress a grin as I walk from my front door down the sidewalk, mail key in hand. Having received a notification earlier today that my package had arrived, I am excited to retrieve it and ensure that it is satisfactory. I open my mailbox, retrieve the key to the package locker contained within, and purposefully insert the key into the lock. As usual, I am not in a hurry. Things are just as they should be, and happen precisely when I intend them to.
The package locker opens and I extract the package. It is not large – only barely large enough to justify the use of the package locker. I tuck the package under my arm and return home.
I place the package on the table, where it waits patiently as I tend to my other affairs, placing my shoes on the rack and hanging the mail key on its hook. I stroll to the office where I retrieve a box knife and proceed to slice through the tape of my package. The structure yields and I open each of the flaps completely before reaching in to lift the smaller box contained within. I place this on the table as well, and proceed to completely collapse the mundane cardboard box and slide it into the recycling bin before paying the prize any more heed. It will still be there when I am ready for it.
I sit down at the table and proceed to open the box to reveal the contents: a programmable time-locked set of handcuffs. I briefly admire the aesthetics of the instrument before unfolding the instruction pamphlet. As I read about all of the features and capabilities, my imagination goes wild with all the ways I can use this on my slave, my husband.
Even its most basic feature, typing in an amount of time after which the cuffs will automatically unlock, opens up so many possibilities. I could instruct him to prepare me coffee or dinner when he is released, or have him find me and give me pleasure. And that only scratches the surface.
There are other, more advanced features as well, though they are not specifically why I purchased the cuffs. However, I must admit that some of them are quite interesting, such as the ability to define a range of time within which the cuffs will randomly unlock. I am also impressed by the safety features, like the built-in microphone which will detect a certain pattern of noise and translate that into a distress signal, which would be sent directly to my phone.
I reach my hand down between my legs and firmly apply pressure on my vulva from outside of my jeans as arousal begins to kindle inside me. This is going to be a good night.
I recycle the packaging for the cuffs and take the product itself downstairs to the playroom, along with the instructions which I promptly store in the file cabinet for just that sort of thing. Having satisfied those administrative nuisances, I turn my full attention to the cuffs.
Of course, as with any new product, I can’t use it for the very first time on my slave. I could make a mistake during a session, and this is an unacceptable risk to take. I look around the playroom at the array of furniture, both mundane and bondage-specific, looking for structural components roughly the size and shape of human wrists. I settle on the bars of the cage that sits on the ground in the far corner of the room. Striding over with measured paces, I tap on the built-in digital panel to set the release timer for 5 minutes, then wrap the cuffs around two horizontal bars of the cage until I hear them ratchet closed. A quick tug on each confirms that they are, indeed, securely locked. I then take the key to unlock the cuffs manually, bypassing the timer, and without a hitch the cuffs unlock from the bars with a click.
I nod approvingly at the success of the tests so far, but there is more functionality I must be confident in. So I click the cuffs closed around the cage bars again, the timer having reset to its designated value of 5 minutes. I then proceed to harass the panel, to see if a determined slave would be able to change any settings or trick the panel into unlocking prematurely. By the time the display shows 4 minutes remaining, I am satisfied with how thoroughly the panel ignores any attempt to interact with it, at least while the cuffs are locked.
I retreat to a comfortable chair to bide the remainder of the time, so I can assess the functionality for automatically unlocking after the set duration. As I wait, I quickly become dissatisfied with the thoroughness of my tests. Of course they are giving me vital information on the technical functionality of the product, but they fail to inform me of the user experience. To remedy this, I resolve to wear the cuffs myself, at least for a minute or two, to observe what that experience is like.
Once again my hand drifts between my legs as my imagination continues to explore possibilities for these new cuffs. My flame of arousal growing bit by bit, it occurs to me that there is no reason I can’t have a bit more fun during my user testing of this new product. In fact, if my goal is to gauge user experience, it would be much more realistic to test the experience while in a more sexually exciting situation…
I hear the click of the cuffs disengaging their locks, and by then the majority of my clothes are folded neatly atop a stool across the room. All that remains on my body are my black cotton panties. Not as sexy as I would usually employ in a situation like this, I appraise critically, but then again this is a formal test of the usability of my new product. A certain level of professionalism is appropriate for such a situation.
I grab the cuffs and stride across the room towards the padded sawhorse, casually grabbing my favorite purple rabbit vibrator which I had placed on the shelf a moment ago. I pause when I get to the sawhorse, momentarily standing between the leg supports, taking stock of the situation and visualizing myself on the bondage furniture according to my plan. I hesitate briefly, considering whether it would be appropriate to add a ball gag to my predicament, before scolding myself for such uncertainty. If I want to wear a gag, then I can wear a gag – it is not unseemly of a domineering woman to know what she wants and make it happen. In fact, I need no justification for my decision. Resolved, I confidently walk to the appropriate dresser and retrieve a large ball gag.
Having organized all of my desired implements, I kneel on the sawhorse and begin the ritual of strapping myself in. Leaning back, I first pull tight the ankle straps and secure them firmly. Next the thigh straps wrap around my legs just above my knees, securing my legs in an open kneeling position, spread slightly wider than shoulder width.
I open my mouth wide to accommodate the ball, which I push into my mouth and strap firmly around my head. I then pick up the rabbit and the cuffs to make room for my body to lay across the top of the long surface of the sawhorse. The cool leather clings to my skin as I roll my torso down upon it, contacting the sawhorse first on the lowest part of my belly and gradually resting my chest as well, with a quick push on each breast ensuring that they hang over the sides of the platform.
I reach back and pull my panties to the side with one hand as the other maneuvers the rabbit to the entrance of my vagina. I push the end of the vibrator around in a few circles there, collecting the fluids that I have begun producing, then gently insert the vibrator past my labia and into my vagina. I allow myself to let out a satisfied moan as I am gradually filled, and I hum in anticipation as the ears of the rabbit nestle over my clitoris. I pull my panties back into place to hold the vibrator there and tug the waistband high on my hips for support. With the press of a button the vibrator springs to life, humming away with moderate strength. I know from experience this will be enough to make me very aroused, but probably not quite enough to induce my orgasm. I’ll decide after my cuffs unlock if I want to finish my orgasm then or save my anticipation for when I am dominating my slave later tonight.
It is all in place. To seal the deal, I take the cuffs and adjust the duration. 30 minutes should do nicely. I confirm the setting and ratchet one loop of the cuffs comfortably around my wrist. I reach far down below the sawhorse to loop the short chain around a structural bar which parallels the platform I am laying on. It is a bit of a stretch to snatch the other end of the cuffs, but I do and manage to position my free hand in the open cuff. I squeeze it until I hear it ratchet a few times, then smile around the ball in my mouth as I relax my body and allow myself to sink into the pleasure vibrating deep within my vagina and on my clitoris.
————–
I rush back down the stairs holding the bottle of lube like the Olympic torch, jumping down the last four steps in an almost juvenile glee. It had taken me far longer than expected to retrieve the lube, as I had searched the bedside table for what felt like 20 minutes before remembering that we had actually used that bottle all up, and I needed to fetch a fresh one from the master bathroom. But finally I have what I was looking for and my cock quickly inflates back to its excited state as it remembers why the rest of my body went through all that effort. Let’s go fuck some ass!
For the second time today, I round the corner at the bottom of the stairs and am stunned by what I see. Or in this case by what I don’t see. The sawhorse is empty. Unoccupied. There is no gorgeous woman laying upon it. My mind feels like it is wading through molasses as it tries to process this development.
“Kneel!” A sexy but demanding voice calls from behind me, in a much sharper tone than I’m used to. My mind is still reeling, trying and failing to process the situation, but my body knows the command. Instinctively I drop to my knees with my thighs pressed tightly together and swing my arms behind me, aligning the backs of my hands with the small of my back. My cock deflates in record time, practically melting into a puddle contained by my pressed thighs.
Careful not to move my head, my eyes dart downward to see a thick broken circle of shiny silver metal work its way around me. I shiver as the metal collapses around my neck, the clasp making a solid click as it secures the two semicircles of metal together. I know what it is, and it’s not a collar, persay. My “handle”, as I often think of it, is a solid metal collar welded to a thin shaft of the same metal, about three feet long, with a handle on the end. My mistress uses it to guide me, like a pet on a leash, except that she can direct me quite precisely from behind using this instrument.
“Stand!” my mistress barks, pulling up on my handle for emphasis. I scramble up to my feet, standing straight and tall with my hands plastered to my sides. I stand there only for a moment before my foot slides forward on the ground which now suddenly seems cold and unforgiving – I am being pushed from behind by the stiff handle. Mistress directs me forward and maneuvers me through a few small turns until I am facing the couch.
“What. Is this?” Her voice is hard as stone and cold as ice.
I wince as I immediately understand what she is literally driving me at. My clothes sit in an unkempt pile across two of the leather cushions. As I try to answer, the words get caught in my throat, which is tight but not due to the stiff metal band around it. “I … my … my clothes.”
“Keep going.”
“I … tossed them to the couch.” She does not respond. “I didn’t.. fold them and stack them nicely.. like you prefer.”
“Like I *prefer*? You say that like you haven’t had a strict and clear rule about doing so for Years!” Hints of rage edge into her voice.
“Sorry, Mistress.” I reply in the smallest voice I can muster.
She exhales a small huff and shortly I am being steered in a new direction. I shuffle my feet to move safely with the pressure behind my neck, and I see my next mistake. “Kneel.”
I do so once again, and she pushes on my handle until I am leaning forward, staring down at the rabbit vibrator laying randomly on the floor. I only just now realize that it is still buzzing.
“What. Is. That?”
My brain races to identify a corresponding rule that mistress has given me that addresses this situation. I tentatively conclude that there is none, but that is hardly forgivable. “I.. should have taken care.. much better care of your property, Mistress.”
“Yes. You should have. Turn it off and put it on the counter.” I comply, pressing the button for the three seconds it takes for the vibrations to stop completely while I scoot forward on my knees towards the counter. I gingerly place the rabbit on the surface and hesitantly pull my hand away, not sure if I did it right.
I feel pressure on my neck, and eventually understand that I am to shuffle around on my knees some more. Mistress turns me around and guides me back in the general direction of the couch. Oh. Oh no.
“And What. The. FUCK. Is. THAT??” With each word she presses more on my handle, forcing me to lean further forward and forward from my kneeling position until my face is pressed into the floor, protected from the rough concrete only by a small shred of fabric. My ass is raised lewdly in the air, humbling me before my mistress.
I cringe, pressing my eyes tightly closed as I try to puzzle out how I can respond in a way which will gain me any semblance of favor. “They are.. were.. your panties. Mistress.” Before she can respond, more words flood out of me like a dam bursting. “I’m sorry Mistress, I really am, I don’t know how I could be so stupid and thoughtless I was just so caught up in my surprise and my.. horniness and I guess I wasn’t thinking at all, at least not with my brain, my cock was doing all the thinking and I couldn’t think straight otherwise.. I’m so sorry Mistress please forgive me I will never do something like that again …” I want to continue but I can’t think of what else to say. The silence grows heavy in the room for too many seconds before I feel Mistress moving, repositioning.
My ears don’t have time to register the sound of air whooshing before I feel the sting in my raised ass. Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! I cry out involuntarily and my whole body squirms in an attempt to escape whatever is assaulting my increasingly sensitive ass, but with my head pinned in place by the handle I am powerless to move away.
“You had NO right to destroy MY panties, you stupid, thoughtless, inconsiderate, horrible, little brat!” Her words batter me just as hard as the frenzied smacks of what I figure must be a paddle at this point – though it does me little good to have figured this out. The impacts rain down with more anger than planning – I’m clearly not due for a specific amount of smacks and may just have to endure until Mistress’s fury begins to cool.
They keep coming for what feels like ages. At some point my knees slipped out from under me to leave me laying flat on the ground, but still the paddle beats into my rear cushions. I try to wheel my arm around to protect myself, only to have my fingers get trapped beneath her foot. My other hand does what it can, but Mistress easily evades the little protection it offers, occasionally shifting down to include my upper thighs in the assault to avoid my hand.
Abruptly the onslaught stops. I pant heaving breaths which are barely short of sobs as tension slowly unravels from my body and my muscles unclench one by one. After a minute I am totally relaxed, the burning heat in my ass spreading through my body and being drawn into the cold concrete floor. I can hear tension similarly being released from my mistress behind me.
I feel shifting, and after a moment the clasp around my neck releases. Shocked out of my limp rest, I bring a hand up to my neck to rub the soreness out and twist around to see what else Mistress has in mind. My eyes are drawn to the web of black straps encasing her body now. Radiating out from a metal ring in the center of her torso, the straps reach around her waist, behind her shoulders, through her legs, and are joined by additional straps which create intricate bulges to accommodate her lovely breasts.
“I didn’t dress for your benefit,” she states matter-of-factly as she drops a soft object over my face, blocking my view. I pick it up – it is a thick leather hood. Without a word, and sadly without another look at Mistress, I obediently pull the hood over my head, shift it around so that my mouth and chin emerge through the face opening, and begin pulling the strings tight through the eyelets. “That was for destroying my panties, and for your breaches of caring for your own clothing and my property.” She is referring to the paddling, still fresh on my mind and on my ass. “But we still have the matter of you using my body uninvited, like I was a toy available for your pleasure.” My stomach drops. The retaliation is not done.
It takes me a couple minutes to secure the hood in a way that I believe to be satisfactory to Mistress. I move my head all around, checking the extremes of my vision, to see if any light can be detected. During this time I am vaguely aware that Mistress is moving about the room, tending to other things as she waits for me to be ready. When the hood is applied properly, and my eyes are reduced to sunken pits on an expanse of black leather, I turn to face about where I think she is at the time and assume the standard Kneel position with my hands on the small of my back. Having nothing else to do for the moment, I notice that my cock has begun to stir again, with the image of Mistress’s leather-clad body bouncing around in my head as the last sight my eyes took in.
“Stand.” The hot fury has left her voice, but cold disappointment and lingering anger remain. Once I am upright, warm fingers wrap around my balls and tug them sharply. I recognize this as the current way for her to guide me to where she wants me, and I shuffle forward awkwardly, not being able to see any potential obstacles in my way and trusting that she will guide me safely, despite doing so in a slightly painful way. If she were in a better mood, she would be leading me with her fingers wrapped around my cock instead – the very thought of this makes it twitch sharply into the air.
Some tugs and turns later, I feel soft but unyielding pressure on my upper shins. With more ball-tugging directly forward, I understand that I am to climb up so that I am kneeling on the pads. I clamber up and scoot forward, and it is soon obvious that I am now kneeling on the same furniture upon which Mistress was previously perched.
I scoot forward until the tugging on my balls stops and with some more non-verbal prompting I lean forward until my chest and stomach are resting on the long leather-lined pad of the sawhorse. I rest there a moment as I feel the sturdy straps securing my ankles and thighs into place. I sense Mistress moving around the sawhorse to my front, and I shift my arms into the appropriate position on the arm rests but instead of strapping me there I am surprised to feel her grab my wrist and encircle it with metal. As she pulls both of my arms down below the bench she explains, “I was in the process of testing my new item when you rudely interrupted me. So it seems only appropriate for you to be the subject to test the next feature I am interested in.” By now both of my wrists are handcuffed, and a quick exploration of my range of motion reveals that the chain connecting them is trapped under a bar beneath the bench. I can slide my arms forward and back a foot or two, but can’t raise them at all.
I squirm a bit, exploring the limits of my movement and wondering what Mistress has planned next. Almost as soon as I conclude that my hips have a decent range of motion, a strap of some sort flaps across my lower back. A moment later it cinches down to the bench I am lying along, and I can now only barely move my hips side to side. I resolve to be still until she’s done – she might have been planning to add that strap all along but the timing felt like a reaction to my movement.
I feel her fiddling with the strings securing my hood in place. I can’t tell what she is doing, though. Certainly not untying it. I hear her walk around behind me and as she does I feel a pull at the back of my head. Curious, I comply with the pull, tipping my chin up until it is parallel with the ground, my neck cranked nearly as far back as it will go. She grabs my balls, and my semi-hard cock inflates rapidly at the attention. She seems to be wrapping an intricate pattern around and between my three genital features. This is the first time I’ve experienced anything quite like this, and I still haven’t figured out exactly what it all means.
Then suddenly the firm grip pulling back on my head releases, and my face falls forward. At least that’s what I expect, but I barely fall an inch before my head stops abruptly in unison with a sharp and slightly painful tug which whips my cock to point back as far as it will go. I feel it bloat to maximum engorgement, the wrappings limiting the blood flow out of my enraged organ. Despite myself, I squirm and revel in the feeling, moving my hips the little amount they are allowed to and experimenting with bobbing my head slightly back and forth. Now I feel the cord or rope or whatever it is rubbing gently in my ass crack as I move it around.
As I experiment with my situation, I vaguely detect Mistress attending to something behind me. I give a little jump when she breaks the silence. “Those cuffs are programmable.” I jolt as a cold fluid splashes across my asshole. Her fingers unceremoniously rub the fluid around. I give a small involuntary moan when they poke into my ass, encountering little resistance. “They will release when a certain condition has been met.” Her fingers abruptly exit, and after a moment I feel an unyielding pressure inch up to the edge of my sphincter. “You are testing the variable timer for me.” The pressure increases slowly and steadily. Whatever is knocking at my back door is certainly larger than a couple of fingers. I take in a shallow breath and hold it as I push my sphincter into the intruder. After a slow and tedious press I gasp – the head of.. something pops into my ass with a sharp but brief pain as my surrounding muscles are stretched a bit too far a bit too fast. The pain quickly dampens to a small discomfort as my sphincter half-relaxes around the toy’s shaft. My cock twitches rapidly, causing my asshole to squeeze its friend rhythmically over and over again.
I hear a click from behind. “I have set the minimum time at one hour,” she says as the toy cock firmly pushes forward, pushing to the point where I almost call out before suddenly reversing course and pulling most of the way out again. Though sound is muffled by the hood pulled tight over my ears, I register a quiet whirring sound. “The maximum.. is three hours.” My mind spins in ecstasy at this mental blow, not sure whether to be pleased or devastated at the idea of such an extreme duration. My whole body flexes and arches involuntarily as my mind reels. I realize at this point that the cock in my ass has been remarkably consistent in its regular back-and-forth routine – gradually pushing through what little resistance my ass provides at this point until it reaches exactly the same depth, then immediately pulling back out until I feel the thick head of the toy just begin to pull at my sphincter. At this point it is obvious – the fucking machine.
“Since you were So excited about the prospect of fucking ass…” her sharp fingernail traces a thin line up my ass cheek, swirls across the small of my back and up to my shoulder blade, scratches my neck gently, and finally arrives at my lips which are slightly parted due to my craned neck. The nail twists until I feel the soft tip of the finger on my lip, and it traces around my mouth a few times. I hear her voice right next to my ear, almost a whisper. “I feel it necessary to remind you whose ass gets fucked in this relationship.” My ass reacts strongly to this statement, constricting the dildo tightly enough to nearly stop its movement entirely, although only very briefly.
She leaves abruptly and I focus on the sensation in my ass. The machine relentlessly pistons back and forth at a modest speed which I force myself to recognize is not going to change for an hour… if I’m lucky. I twitch at the feeling of a fresh drop of the cold fluid on the top of my asshole – it spreads down around the cock pumping into me and quickly warms. I know I will feel this many times over the next hour (I can’t bring myself to consider that it could be much longer than that) – Mistress recently invested in a device which will regularly drip lube. Clearly this is positioned directly above the action, and I know that she is serious about the stated time frame.
There’s another thing too. The continuous strokes of the fucking machine is not just felt in my ass, but they also tug back and forth on the rope that was pushed barely aside to accommodate the intruder. These tugs are just enough to send small vibrations through the rope and into my constricted cock and balls. It feels like a gentle, rhythmic squeezing right at the base of my cock, and it keeps me from ignoring my desire – no, my need – to get enough stimulation to cum.
My thoughts are shattered as I feel something else on my lips, but it is no finger this time. Recognizing the signs, I open my mouth obediently and receive a second dildo. It presses my tongue down as it slowly fills my mouth, going in just far enough that I can sense the warm body on the other end of the dildo. Then it presses in further, testing my training. I relax and resist the urge to let my reflexes take control, and after a moment the dildo pushes into my throat and I feel my nose nestle into soft folds of skin.
The dildo remains there for several seconds, several cycles where my gentle grunts reacting to my opposite end can only barely escape through my nose, and an attempt to refill my lungs only results in a thin trickle of air wheezing through one of my nostrils and past the obstruction in my throat. I swallow gently to suppress a gag, and juicy deep-throating saliva pools under my tongue. I open the corners of my mouth around the dildo to try to pull in a deeper breath. More air enters my lungs this way, and in return a thick stream of drool escapes my lips and quietly splashes on the concrete below.
Mistress pulls most of the way out, allowing a deeper breath and spilling more drool to the ground. My head tries to flop forward to ease my recovery, but I am rudely reminded that this cannot happen by a sharp tug which pulls my cock back to a painful angle. My head bobbles slightly before finding a reasonable equilibrium.
The dildo pushes back into my mouth, and gently but persistently enters my throat once again. With the warm up from before, the process is easier, though of course I continue to have to work to avoid gagging. Out and in, gradually picking up speed, until I realize what she is doing. Almost.. wait.. now! The sensation hits me in an almost orgasm-like way, though thinking of it that way only reminds me of my desperate need to cum and I hastily redirect my attention back to the dildos. Mistress is now pistoning into and out of my throat at exactly the same rate as the machine is fucking my ass. Both slide in, both slide out, repeat. She has taken up as close to a machine-like quality as she probably can. This makes me feel like part of the machine as well. Like an accordion or bellows, expanding when the dildos pull out and contracting when then push in. I accept my role as part of the machine and enter a trance.
The trance breaks, however, as Mistress speeds up. And speeds up more. No, now she is not a machine, but.. something else. I can’t decide if she is a vengeful spirit letting out her anger on the inside of my mouth, or a horny sex goddess intent on using me for her pleasure regardless of my feelings on the matter. Either way, the dildo accelerates to the point where it is punishing my mouth, fucking my throat with reckless abandon. My reflexes overwhelm my control and I gag and heave around the strap-on dildo. I cough several times, spittle and drool spraying through the small gaps between my lips and the dildo and coating my chin as it streaks towards the ground.
PUBLIC BETA
Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the “A” icon tab in the Story Info Box.
You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.
Click here
The flexing of my throat provides little deterrent against the onslaught. The dildo presses through, forcing my throat open time and time again. After a time, I get used to it some, but the gags rise without warning every few thrusts. Still, it’s a manageable level, and I lose myself in the rough treatment, finding some enjoyment from both ends while I am abused.
Before long, though, the dildo slams deep into my throat, flattening my face into Mistress’s pelvis. This draws out a final heaving gag which spills another wave of drool to the concrete, following the full withdrawal of the dildo from my mouth. My head hangs in relief, relaxing until the attached rope supports it as I face almost straight down. My head would have liked to fall limp entirely, but my cock is already pulled so taught I feel like it is almost rubbing up against the dildo which continues its steady piston into my ass. I relax my head for a minute or so, until the strain in my genitals is too much and I force my reluctant neck muscles to lift my head to find a better balance between exhaustion up front and pain behind.
My lips feel more activity, but I am relieved to find that it is simply a straw. I greedily suck at it, filling my stomach with swallow after swallow of cold water which soothes my ravaged throat on the way down. I gasp a breath following the long draw of water and allow the straw to be removed.
“I am going to make myself some dinner and relax this evening.” Her tone is casual, as if she were explaining her plans as we sat across from each other in the living room. “You can do whatever you want to, and Can, do. Except cum. You do not deserve to cum tonight, and we’ll see about what you can do to earn that privilege back in the upcoming days.”
My heart sinks. My cock is already desperate. The ass-fucking alone is enough to put me on edge, but on top of that the tugging from the rope attached to the back of my head is driving me even more mad with the need for release.
“And I Don’t want to be disturbed,” Mistress concludes, emphasizing this point by shoving yet another dildo into my mouth. This one is smaller, but still enters my throat and makes me concentrate on controlling its effects on my reflexes. I feel the attached straps wrap around the back of my head, and the dildo is pushed just a smidge further into my throat as the straps pull tight.
I track the sound Mistress’s footfalls away behind me and to the stairs, exiting the scene without another word. I moan deeply into the dildo gag lodged in my throat as I settle in for the long haul. The machine pushes in and out as steadily as it has been all this time. And how much time has it even been? Dare I hope that I have already served half of an hour of my sentence? Dare I hope that I am due for a mere hour of relentless ass-fucking, when I’m reality it could turn out to be three?
My cock flexes incredibly for several seconds as I revel in the parts of my predicament that are pleasurable. I hope that Mistress will let me cum soon, because when I do cum it will be a flood.