How the Tables Turn

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.

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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.