How the Tables Turn

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.