In Time
The metronome had been running for long enough that I had stopped hearing it as sound.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
It was simply there.
Mistress had positioned the toy in front of me before she hooded me. A heavy rubber torso, nothing more than hips and thighs, made to imitate a body without ever pretending to be one.
That was the point.
I wasn't here to please anyone.
I was here to learn.
My wrists were secured behind my back, a bar keeping my elbows drawn apart so that I couldn't reach forward or brace myself. Once I was in position, she pulled the hood down over my face and checked it carefully.
Then came the rules.
“Green means move.”
I nodded.
“Red means stop.”
Another nod.
“When you move, you move in time with the metronome. Not faster because you want to. Not slower because you're tired. In time.”
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
“And you stop when I say stop. Not after one more thrust. Not after you've finished whatever movement you've already started. Stop means stop.”
I understood.
At least I thought I did.
The first green was easy.
“Green.”
I moved.
Tick.
Thrust.
Tick.
Thrust.
Tick.
Thrust.
The tempo was comfortable. Almost embarrassingly so.
I found the rhythm quickly and settled into it.
“Red.”
I stopped.
Almost.
My hips carried forward another fraction before I caught myself.
Mistress said nothing.
A hand landed sharply against my thigh.
Not hard.
Just enough.
“Again.”
“Green.”
Tick.
Thrust.
Tick.
Thrust.
“Red.”
Still.
This time I froze properly.
The metronome continued.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
That was stranger than I expected.
My body wanted to continue because the rhythm continued. The sound itself seemed to pull at me.
But I stayed still.
“Green.”
I moved again.
Not where I had left off.
On the beat.
That mattered.
At first the task felt almost trivial.
Then Mistress changed the tempo.
Faster.
The metronome clicked into a sharper rhythm.
“Green.”
I followed.
Tick.
Thrust.
Tick.
Thrust.
Tick.
Thrust.
My breathing changed.
The toy gave me sensation, but not much. Enough pressure to keep my cock hard. Enough friction to remind me that I was doing something sexual.
Not enough to let pleasure become the point.
Mistress had seen to that.
There were too many layers between sensation and satisfaction for either to be useful.
Pleasure was noise.
The metronome was the signal.
“Red.”
Still.
My cock twitched uselessly inside the toy.
The metronome kept going.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
“Green.”
Move.
It became harder as the tempo changed.
Fast.
Slow.
Fast again.
Sometimes she left me moving for what felt like minutes.
Sometimes I barely managed two thrusts before—
“Red.”
Freeze.
My body began to resent her timing.
That was when I understood the real lesson.
I had been treating the commands as interruptions.
They weren't.
They were the structure.
My desire was the interruption.
The urge to keep going after red.
The temptation to speed up because the stimulation was beginning to build.
The instinct to slow down because my thighs were burning.
All of it was irrelevant.
Tick.
Thrust.
Tick.
Thrust.
Tick.
Thrust.
“Red.”
Still.
I was getting better.
I knew because Mistress stopped correcting me.
That should have been reassuring.
Instead, it made me wonder whether she was still there.
The hood gave me nothing.
No expression.
No approving look.
No sign that I was succeeding.
Only the metronome.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
“Green.”
My body moved.
No hesitation.
No checking.
No anticipation.
Just the command and the action.
Later, she sped the metronome up again.
The pace became difficult.
I could feel the strain in my thighs, the tension in my hips.
I wanted to fall out of rhythm.
I didn't.
Then the pleasure began to build despite everything.
Slowly.
Annoyingly.
Arousal had found a way through.
My body wanted more.
Faster.
Harder.
Something.
Anything beyond the imposed beat.
Mistress noticed.
Of course she noticed.
“Red.”
I froze.
It was almost cruel.
Not because she had stopped me close to orgasm.
Because she had made me stop exactly when my body had begun to believe it mattered.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
My cock throbbed.
My hips wanted to move.
I stayed still.
The metronome didn't care how close I was.
That thought settled somewhere deep.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Neither did the training.
“Green.”
I moved.
Exactly on the beat.
Not faster.
Not harder.
Not chasing anything.
Just moving because I had been told to move.
“Red.”
I stopped.
Perfectly.
No extra thrust.
No settling movement.
Nothing.
The metronome continued.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Mistress was silent for a long moment.
Then:
“Good.”
One word.
That was all.
The metronome kept going.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
I waited for the next command.