"When you are pulling against the restraints… when your back is arched and your hips are writhing… when your mouth is open in a silent scream of tortured rapture… you will know that my work has begun."
You have sought out the delights of penetration at so much cost. Passing by so many opportunities for true pleasure for the sake of that quick fix. How many times you overlooked those such as I who could have provided you a night of pleasure beyond your dreams for the easy catch. I have watched you leave those clubs with the same carbon copy reveller over and over again, only to complain about such lack of satisfaction. Now you will learn what it is to find your own satisfaction, something much deeper.
I have coated your sex with a powerful aphrodisiac which causes an insatiable longing: that torturous arousal will not fade for quite some time. If you can last until the time is up without succumbing to the need to slide that glass dildo inside yourself, you will be free. If, however, you let it slip into you, or if you stop sliding it against your womanhood, or if you even allow yourself to come, you lose. If you fail, you will be fully restrained to that table and suffer an entire hour of ruined orgasms.
How long do you have to last before you are free? That is something you’ll just have to patiently find out. Good luck, the time starts now.
A whimper of pleasure… a smouldering scream of longing. Every ounce of her despair, her sexual torment, resonates throughout the room, sounds which never penetrate through the mystically sound-proofed room.
Her hips remain held up by an unseen yet powerful grasp, keeping her so vulnerably on her front, completely exposed. Any time she moves her hands anywhere below her neckline, they are quickly pulled back up. She cannot see her tormentors, nor can she hear them, every plea and scream seems to fall on deaf ears as they continue to manhandle her like a doll. No matter how much she tries in vain to free herself, to move away, they hold her steady in the position they delight in, leaving her to simply rock her hips in dire need.
It feels like hours have passed, yet they show no signs of stopping. Over and over she is brought to the brink of orgasm by the merciless forces around her, showing no sympathy as she constantly begs to be made to come. At first she had tried to fight the ghostly advances, yet it took them little time to strip her, to ravish her, leaving her with solely the animalistic need brought to the surface.
Countless touches linger on her exposed flower, teasing her to the edge before the sensation of hundreds of tiny tongues encasing her peeled back, exposed clitoris makes her scream. Hundreds of flickers to her throbbing, aching jewel keeps her on the edge for longer than even the cruellest of fantasies could imagine.
No matter how much she screams out for the merciful release of orgasm, or how many tears of pleasure soaked agony line her flushed red cheeks, they do not relent. While they continue to edge her over and over, they are not gentle; sucking her clitoris so hard, exploring her sex so deeply, yet no matter how roughly they feast on her, they always keep her teetering on the brink.
Whether bringing her to the closest possible peak of climax repeatedly without rest, or holding her on the edge for longer than humanly possible, they never change their pattern or slow down, keeping her juices running down her thighs and dripping onto the bed.
Even through the sensations neither her mind nor body can comprehend or handle, the sweet relief of passing out is not granted. While she cries out, screams, begs and writhes her sweat coated body, they continue unhindered, not allowing for the inferno to ever dwindle.
This hell will be endured for as long as the entities wish, and they are in no rush. They have all the time in the world to deliver their sweet anguish… the anguish of being tortured by silent, invisible entities which cannot be touched nor pleaded with.
They had learned many new incantations from the sex education classes, but this small group knew that there must be a genre of spells harvested from the dark arts to also try out… and so they were right.
The restricted area of the library was a treasure trove of wicked delights, though one book stood out, ‘The Darkest Arts – Sex Hexes Most Tormenting’. They were cautious at first, but upon closer inspection, they realised just what kind of spells they were dealing with, and knew that they just had to master them and see them in action.
Readings of a few short erotic-horror stories to excite and arouse. All stories focus on orgasm denial, with a couple containing elements of forced orgasm torment.
If she knew what he really was, she’d have run long ago. A being from a world that sees humankind as toys to play with. A being possessing powers beyond human comprehension. A being that takes pure joy in deriving torture from pleasure.
It was the sensitivity within her body he could read that drew him to her as much as her beauty. Once he honed in on her at the club, there would be no way she could ignore that seductive gaze, an aura that seemed to hypnotize her.
Every part of her skin he touched seemed to light a fire of desire in that exact spot. She needed so much more. The more of her he touched, the more it seemed to intensify, like an electric surge of pleasure constantly sizzling throughout. It was like a magic touch; if only she knew. All she knew was that she needed him to touch her everywhere, to be inside her. At first, she felt like the one in control, just as he wanted her to feel. When he was inside her, it was as if every fantasy in her life, every wet dream and sexual desire, had all built up to this moment as if preparing her for the ultimate pleasure.
Overcome by a sudden urge to pleasure herself, Melissa stripped and began stroking her sensitive pussy like her life depended on it. Even though it usually took a while for her to get into things and start to get close, this time it seemed like the flames of orgasm were rising within the very moment her fingers swept over her delicate mound. She couldn’t believe how wet she was, yet there was no time to ponder what had caused this outburst of desire. All that mattered was that she came.
It was mere seconds for her to feel ready to come. Minutes soon passed. Still, there was no end, as if she were trapped in that same cycle of arousal with no outlet. No matter how fast she stroked or how intently her fingers pressed, whether she slid inside or just honed in on her clitoris, Melissa could not overcome the pinnacle. The more she tried, the more she needed it, like a well of pleasure with no limit to what it could hold. She had no idea how long she had been masturbating, but tears of frustration began to form. It soon seemed as if every sexual scenario and erotic fantasy had been cycled through her mind. Nothing seemed enough to tip her over the edge.
The time had come. There was nowhere she could hide. The moment she set forth to try and run, they appeared, as if they had been waiting all along. Just like every year.
She remembered the first time, seven years ago, how the women had appeared. Somehow her dreams had prepared her, as if these spirits were communicating with her, yet it was still a shock when she felt their touch. How the light touches became more intense fondling, letting her realise that this was no dream. The way they teased her, aroused her until she didn’t care about the madness of the situation. Fear had long since passed and given way to desire, tantalising her body until all she could think about was the orgasm she craved. Finally, they had made her come, then again and again. Luckily, that first time, they stopped before it became too much to take. Yet it was the whispers she had heard after that always came back to haunt her every year.
“Every year on October 31st, we shall return, and every year, we shall tease you twice as much as the last. Every year we will make you orgasm twice as much as the last. Every year, we will enjoy you twice as much.”
On the 4th year, she tried to run by staying in a hotel, yet still, they came to her. It made no difference, they were latched onto their prey, and they would not relent.
She had thought about this night for almost every day of the year, a mixture of arousal and terror. Last year had been unbearable. How they had teased her so cruelly, for so long, keeping her on the brink constantly, all while she had begged and screamed for them to please let her come. Yet their calculated touches and eager mouths seemed to indulge in the responses. It made it so much worse that they never said a word to her. No matter how much she cried out or told them that she’d do anything, there was no response at all. The only thing they would ever say, just the same as every year, was at the end when they’d repeat that next year, she’ll get twice as much as the last. Even as tears of pure frustration lined her cheeks, they still never said a word. Her body was their only focus. Over the years, she had tried to train herself to handle what would come. Edging herself during her private moments of play, and asking lovers to keep her from coming for as long as possible, none of it helped. No matter how much she tried, there was no way to handle the level of extremes they took it to. Last year they kept her on the edge for so long that she thought she were trapped in a nightmare. All she could do was weep for mercy.
Once they had finally let her come, it should have been a relief, yet she knew what was in store. Their intense manhandling of her did not stop. The way they devoured her pussy, sucking her clitoris as if they always wanted her to know that to them, pleasure should be its own form of agony. If only they would have stopped for just a second, just to let her bask in the warmth of her desperately needed orgasm. Instead, it was just one screaming orgasm onto another. They were always able to find new ways to bring her to a shuddering climax. Their fingers seemed to be able to map the most sensitive parts of her pussy, exploring her in ways no one else – including herself – could ever accomplish. Their silence and their smiles, always so cruel. Originally she had wondered if they could not understand her, if the words they repeated each year were the only thing they could say. Yet every time she had told them that she was going to come, they understood enough to suddenly go faster.
In the first year, the pleasure was heavenly, a gift. For the recent few years however, it was hellish. Last year it was nothing short of torture; she remembered passing out more than once, yet each time when she came to, they started again, forcing her to orgasm repeatedly.
Usually, she would dream of what they would do, the way their hands cupped her chest, the way their tongues flickered along her nipples, how their mouths and fingers felt when delving into her dripping wet pussy. Yet during the weeks leading up to this Halloween night, she had simply been dreaming of the way she had screamed last year, the ways she had begged with them for mercy and how it all went unheeded.
She couldn’t take it last year, yet this year would be twice as much torture. She was terrified of what that would feel like. There was no way she could handle it, yet there was nowhere to run or hide. They were here.
When you walk through the Erotic Halloween Haunted House, you’ll see him, though you’ll have heard all of his begging and moaning even from the entrance. It certainly looks erotic, seeing him being teased to the edge constantly while pleading with all of his heart for someone to let him come. It feels as if he’s calling out to every single person walking through. You’ll think to yourself about how good the acting is. You’ll perhaps wonder if they keep him in that state for the duration of the night or let him rest now and again. You might even wonder if or when they let him come at the end of the night, but once you move along, the thought will pass, and the rest of the venue will gain your attention.
If only you knew, though, that this was not an act, that there was no relief in sight for this tormented man. Nobody recalls quite how long this display has been one of the focal attractions of the venue, whether it was years or decades. Yet every year, it is the same, seeing his anguish at being stroked and teased relentlessly to the brink yet never allowed to come. Those hands caressing every inch of his shaft, massaging those balls so tight with the anticipation of orgasmic release. For you, it is merely a sight to behold for a few hours of a single night. For him, it is a torture endured endlessly. Those deep groans and cries for mercy have all been pent up for these brief moments in the year, hoping that somebody may have the power to release him from this hell of denial. Trapped on the cusp indefinitely. Never ageing, never needing anything other than the heavenly climax that has been withheld for years without a minute of respite. Maybe if you knew, you’d help. Or maybe you’d still walk on by, in fear that if you tried to end his suffering, you’d take his place and suffer the same fate.
