Who has possession?

I know what you're thinking. ANOTHER football story? What are you doing, Boots? You planning on releasing some kind of sports anthology? You don't even LIKE football.

Okay, maybe you weren't thinking that. I was. I chose this setting not because I like football, but because I like the idea that sex play can happen whenever people want it to. However they want it to. And I chose the superbowl because it's coming up soon. As for me not even liking football... I DID have to google who was playing. And then again to find out where the Ravens were from.

Anyway, here's hoping that when YOU watch football, the term 'turnover' will make you smile and have dirty thoughts.

Turnover of Power

Rich laid out his towel on the couch and started putting toys on it from the chest. He put out the spreader bar, the leather flogger, the nipple clamps, ring gag, one of the blindfolds, and the wartenberg wheel, then stepped back and looked at them. He smiled at the way the light shone off the metal, and hoped that Vivian would be properly nervous when she saw what he had chosen.

Then he turned his eyes over to her towel. The vibrating butt plug, the parachute weights, the collar, riding crop, and the paddle with her initials carved into it. It was quite a selection.

“Do you want a beer?” Her voice came from the other room, but she didn't wait for his response. She came in and handed him one, then looked down at the two towels.

“Nice choices,” she said. She dropped her robe and stood completely naked in front of him. “Are we settled on it, then?”

Rich looked at her, letting his eyes slowly trace their way up her body. Then he dropped his own robe. “We are,” he said.

“And the deal is whoever has possession has possession, right?” He nodded. “Then let's see if your guys will ever be in control.”

She turned to the television just in time for the coin flip. Baltimore won the flip and elected to receive. “Ooh, too bad,” she said. “Looks like I win.” She snapped her fingers. “On your fucking knees.”

Rich knelt in front of her, and she strapped the collar on his neck, just a little bit too tight. He grimaced and looked up at her. She reached onto the towel and grabbed the paddle. Then she sat down in the designated arm chair and patted her lap. “Come on, then,” she said. “Crawl over here.”

Rich grumbled to himself as he crawled over and laid himself across her lap. He tried to focus on the game as she hit his bare ass. The impact would lance through his whole body.

“Count,” she said.

“One.” He grunted out the word, glanced over at the television.

She grabbed the collar and yanked, choking him a little bit more. “Pay attention,” she said. Then she hit him again, harder.

“Two.”

It was first and ten. Again.

“Three.”

Loss of five yards.

He whimpered at the impact, and it took him several breaths to be able to speak. “Four.”

She laughed at the flag on the play, hit him twice more while the ref announced a penalty for holding against the 49ers, with a ten yard penalty and repeat of second down.

She kept hitting as the Ravens moved down the field, and he kept counting. By six, he was fighting to hold back tears. At seven, the Ravens were within field goal distance. At nine, finally, the ball changed hands.

Rich stood up and ripped off his collar. He didn't touch his burning ass, just knocked the paddle out of her hand, grabbed her hair, and threw her to the ground.

“You had to start with pain,” he said, reaching immediately for the flogger. “Lay on your back. Hands over your face.”

She was shivering when he said that, and he let her wait while he dragged the flogger slowly over her skin. He gave a little flick to her bare pussy, then hit across her breasts. Then came a solid snap against her thigh. Rich smiled. She had no idea where the next hit would come from. Vivian whimpered and then grunted when he hit her just below the floating rib, then again on the other side. He stood straddling her and started whipping side to side, moving up from her ankles all the way up to her breasts, then back down.

At least, that was the plan. He was barely above the knees when he heard a word that drained the blood from his face. The announcers were yelling it. “Interception!”

Vivian laughed and stood up. Rich looked at her with confusion. She pushed him back to sit on the chair. The pain from his burning ass made him yelp.

“Looks like your boys aren't as good as you'd hoped,” she said. She grabbed the riding crop and snapped it against his right nipple. “Which means you should be punished. Don't you think?”

It was not a good first half for San Francisco. The first time the Ravens scored, Vivian made him leave the collar on. The second time, she put the vibrating butt plug in his ass. She only had control of it when her team had possession, but that didn't mean he could take it out.

As the half continued, the Niners finally put some points on the board, and Vivian's trash talking was quieted with the ring gag. Then the Ravens let her add the parachute around his testicles. Not much weight, but enough for him to feel it.

But that was okay; the half ended with the 49ers in control, and since they would start the second half that way, it meant Rich had the whole halftime show to play.

He started by using the ring gag for its main purpose, holding Vivian's hair and shoving his dick into her mouth, pulling out every so often to laugh at her, daring her to try to bite, saying how much he loved her being so quiet. “This is what your mouth is really for,” he told her, shoving deep into her throat, using her like a sex toy, fucking her face for all he was worth.

She glared at him, but she couldn't stop him. When he finally came in her mouth and pulled out, she gave him the finger.

He slapped her. “Swallow it,” he said.

Vivian leaned her head back and let the cum drip down her throat. Once she swallowed, Rich stepped behind her and grabbed her hair again, dragging her off balance until she fell onto her back.

“Hands above your head,” he told her. She reached up and grabbed the legs of the chair. “Leave them there,” he said.

Beyonce sang in the background. Rich started the wartenberg wheel at her knees, tracing around her knee cap and then moving slowly down her leg to her feet. She groaned and started thrashing as he went between her toes. As soon as she thrashed, he stopped. Waited for her to settle down.

Then started again.

She whimpered and screamed as best she could with her mouth held open as he traced along her feet. It was too sharp to tickle, but not sharp enough to puncture skin. He sat across her legs after a little, so she couldn't thrash any longer.

He hummed along with the musical number as he ran the wheel over the soles of her feet, over and over again. She cried, she moaned, and she screamed. But she never tapped out.

The game started again just as he was getting bored torturing her feet. So he turned around for a better view of the game, and to run the wheel over her chest. On her breasts. Around her nipples. Never on the nipples, though he kept moving closer and closer to them. She looked at him with a mixture of excitement, arousal, and hatred. She moaned when he reached out with a hand and gently rubbed one of her nipples.

The the 49ers scored, and he put her ankles into the spreader bar.

She moved her feet a little, lifting one of them and seeing what kind of movement she had with the bar between them. Then, satisfied, she looked at him, put her hands on his shoulder, and slammed her knee up into his crotch.

Rich fell to the ground coughing. He had known it was coming, but that never makes it any easier. He curled up in a ball and whimpered. Then the vibration in his ass picked up, and his brain wasn't sure whether it was feeling pain or pleasure. He was aware of the dull throb of pain, but also of the raging erection.

She nudged him onto his back. His butt didn't hurt as much anymore, though he knew it would be bruised. She'd had two rounds with the paddle already.

She slapped the tip of his erection with her riding crop, knocking it from side to side. She watched him wince and flinch with each hit, always wondering if the next one would move down just a few inches and smack one of his testicles. And just to keep him wondering, sometimes it did.

Then there was another turnover, and Vivian was bent over the arm of the chair while the flogger smacked against her ass over and over again. It wouldn't have the lasting impact of the paddle, but the straps of leather sometimes wrapped around, and if he pulled back just the right way, sometimes there would be a secondary hit in her most sensitive of places.

Then San Francisco scored, and Rich put the nipple clamps on her. Vivian bit her lip and breathed quickly through her nose for a few seconds, but got used to it after a little while. She bent down, grabbed the parachute, and pulled until Rich was on his knees.

He didn't need to be told what to do when she pushed his head between her legs. He began licking, moaning louder when she turned the plug back on, and began to secretly hope that the Ravens would have the ball a long, long time.

He didn't complain when they called a timeout. He didn't complain as they slowly ran the ball down the field, trying to tire out the defense. He didn't complain when they scored, even though he knew what that meant. And he didn't complain when they went for the two point conversion.

She hadn't orgasmed yet, and though she added weight to his parachute, he could tell that neither one of them had wanted that to happen. Not so soon.

He bent her back over the arm of the chair, and thrust himself inside her. She moaned into the gag, and he grunted as the movement made the parachute sway and pull down on his balls. He went slowly, trying to minimize his own pain. Vivian, already so close to cumming, wanted to go faster, tried to go faster.

That just made Rich go slower. He put his hand on the back of her head, pushed it into the seat of the chair and took complete control over their sex. He moved slowly, carefully and deliberately, savoring the whimpers as she started falling away from the edge of orgasm. He sped up slowly, but never got a chance to cum.

There was another turnover. He let her go. She turned around and pushed on his shoulders.

This time, before the ball was back in San Francisco hands, she orgasmed.

And before they scored and he tightened her clamps, so had he. Again.

She pounded the paddle on his ass so that both cheeks would show her initials. He put her face in his crotch and made her smell the sex they'd had. She choked him until he saw stars. He pulled her hair until she cried.

By the end, they both collapsed on the towels, holding each other and helping to remove the toys and tools, carefully and gently. They were both out of breath, both smiling. Both happy.

And neither one of them cared about the final score.