It all seemed like some crazy, diabolical dream. Yet it happened. I know it happened. I felt it, every touch, every vivid sensation. I can almost still feel those palms, those fingers. I tried to wake up, tried to close my eyes and will myself back here in my bedroom. It never worked. I was stuck in that classroom until every university student had their turn with me.
I knew it would be a classroom, though. The schoolgirl outfit I’d worn for the Halloween party sealed my fate, I’m sure. I was walking home, and as soon as everything went dark, I knew I’d wake up in a classroom.
Seeing the other sexy and skimpy outfits at the party definitely amped up my imagination. But that doesn’t account for quite how unbelievably turned on I was. I had for sure never been that aroused in my life. A heat between my legs radiated throughout my entire body, a heavy, wonderful feeling that yearned for contact, for attention. I felt so fidgety and in need, my muscles wanting to contract while my body wanted to match how my heart raced. The throbbing sensation of my clitoris, the feeling as if between my legs had its own heartbeat, made me absolutely need to provide some friction. Yet, I could do nothing.
My hands were restrained behind my back, my ankles restrained spread open as I sat upright on the table. I was facing the classroom while their teacher stood beside me. It all felt too lucid to be a dream. However, even the extreme, unbearable arousal and the knowledge that this wasn’t my own world didn’t prevent me from feeling so exposed and on display. Any confusion I had was clouded by my own sexual longing.
The professor took so much time describing my body, explaining every detail of my arousal and every manner of sexual manipulation of those delicate places. As he described areas of my body to stimulate, his fingers and palms grazed over them tantalisingly so, drifting along my chest, brushing over my nipples and down my neck and stomach.
As he described how the increased blood flow ensured swelling of my clitoris and outer labia, he thankfully began to focus the attention there. I had wondered for a little while whether the ballgag I was wearing was simply to stop me from speaking out or crying out for help. I tried my best to avoid making any noise. I don’t know why, but I didn’t want those people all watching me to know exactly how turned on I was. Yet, each time his fingers applied firm pressure and circled slowly over my clit, I couldn’t help but moan and close my eyes. At least with my eyes closed, I could lose myself in my own arousal for a minute. In the darkness, it was just the physical sensations and my own pleasure. Any time I opened my eyes, I locked eyes with one of the students staring back at me. They knew exactly what this was doing to me.
Suddenly, he began masturbating me exactly the same way I would do on my own. It usually took a while to build the heat into a simmering tension within that was ready to burst. Yet here, in the state I was in, it didn’t take long at all until the electric surges of sensation that had piled up finally swept throughout my body like waves.
I knew something was different as the sensations hit their peak. While normally the intensity would have been a little too much, rendering me sensitive all over to the point where any further stimulation almost felt painful, this time it seemed to wash over me without becoming too much. I kept waiting for that moment when his fingers would cause that familiar jolt of overstimulation – when I’d reel back and need it to be over. It never happened. Instead, in that place, I was able to feel ecstasy for longer than I’d ever been able to endure.
He continued to masturbate me in front of the classroom, then used toys on me to force orgasm after orgasm from me. Having never been able to come more than once, the sensation was overwhelming, to the point where it was a struggle to even breathe. I couldn’t comprehend how to control my breathing as the pleasure took over everything. It was like all of my energy was constantly being sapped and replaced repeatedly.
Whether I was being rubbed, fingerfucked or having toys pressed against me, I didn’t know how to handle what I was feeling. All I could do was pull desperately on the restraints, not knowing whether I wanted to feel another orgasm or simply rest. I was forced to constantly come again and again.
Every time he described how my clitoris felt against his fingers, or explained to the class that he was stimulating my G-spot, it turned me into a shivering wreck.
Soon, I realised that the ballgag was in place to dampen my piercing screams. The intensity became far too much. At least the overstimulation I usually felt was a clear sign that things were over. This constant circulating ecstasy was almost like a form of torture, something that couldn’t be controlled yet wouldn’t back off.
When the professor stopped, I had hoped that it might be over. However, once he said that everyone in the class would have a turn to make me come, I knew that I’d be trapped there until every student had taken a turn forcing me to another screaming orgasm.
I don’t know how long I was there, but I know it wasn’t a dream or a nightmare. One thing I know for sure, though, is that every time I play with myself or have an erotic dream, that scenario will flash into my vision every single time. I’ll never forget what happened on that Halloween night.
Content created by: PleasureTorture