The 80s Costume

Surely just dressing in an 80s pop star fashion wouldn’t cause any concern. That’s what Mary had hoped, yet as soon as the Halloween party was over, as she was being driven home, everything changed.

Suddenly, it was as if everything had been paused. The driver was gone, yet everything around her was still in a blur, as if her surroundings had paused while in motion. Before Mary could try and make sense of what was happening, sounds began emanating from the prop headphones she was wearing. The whispers that flowed into her mind were accompanied by sounds of men and women in a state of ecstasy. Instantly, Mary was put into a state of warmth and contentment. Visions of sex and foreplay played in her thoughts as arousal quickly flooded throughout. The sounds, the whispers all describing each of Mary’s deep-seated fantasies, were like an erotic spell being cast on her.

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The Ghost Costume

The ghost outfit that Linda had worn for the Halloween party had long been removed, yet she’d have given anything for them to have stripped her of her lingerie by now.

It had been hours. Hours of being teased by the faintest of touches. Hours of the softest, most delicate touches along every inch of her body.

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The Nurse Costume

Grace couldn’t handle any more, yet there were no signs of them stopping.

She had worn her sexy nurse outfit for a few years now, having greatly enjoyed adding different styles of blood effects to nurse attire to give a deranged, scarier impression. This year, it had looked like an evil nurse from an insane asylum. Having gone with the same theme for years, she didn’t think there’d be any danger at all regarding the Halloween costume warnings.

When she woke up, having returned to her home from the Halloween party, she had found herself restrained to a hospital bed. Throughout the hours and hours of her ordeal, Grace was never once spoken. The doctors around her, who all seemed to glow in an almost ghostly manner, only talked amongst themselves. They spoke about her as if she were a patient and did not wish to address her directly. 

For the first hour, she had wondered if they’d administered some kind of powerful aphrodisiac, as she was instantly more aroused than she’d ever been in her life. In the following hours, she did not care at all what was happening – all she cared about was the unfulfilled desire that burned through her like wildfire. As the hours passed, Grace wouldn’t even wonder why she never grew thirsty or needed any rest or sleep. All Grace wondered about for the hours and hours that passed was why she was brought to the edge repeatedly without any sign that the mercy of orgasm would be granted.

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The Princess Costume

It was as if the mercenaries were a concoction of her deep desires. Every action they took seemed pulled directly from her fantasies.

Isabel had told her captors that she was only dressed in a Princess costume for Halloween. She even tried to play along, stating she’d give them anything in her kingdom if they let her go. Instead, they told her that the King and Queen of her rival kingdom had paid them each a princely sum to continue to torment her until they received word to stop.

At first, she was restrained against a chair, her legs wide open while only her tight-fitting white lingerie protected the last remnants of her modesty. They left her crown in place as if to mock her – a figure of royalty degraded to a whimpering wreck. With soft-tipped paintbrushes, they teased her thoroughly, making sure that no matter how often she wriggled her hips or pleaded for more, they never gave enough stimulation to topple her over into an orgasm.

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“Sir! As the footage shows, the faction had caught and imprisoned our agent three days ago. Communication with her had ceased at approximately 1600 hours. The footage we have been receiving indicates that they have been continuing their interrogations as recently as ten minutes ago today. The footage has been coming in every thirty minutes. There seem to be thirty-minute intervals every ninety minutes, indicating breaks in their administration of torture, before they begin once again.”

“At what time did they begin torturing her?”

“When they captured her three days ago, the video footage we received indicates they began at 1700 hours, sir.

Currently, we are unable to pinpoint their location and have no further information.”

“Damn it. She’s truly on her own. God, have mercy on her. Has there been any change in the footage throughout the ordeal?”

“No, Sir. The same two women have been continuously tormenting our agent. It has been the same continuous process. They have been using vibrators to bring our agent to the edge of orgasm repeatedly, stopping every time she has been close. They appear to take it in turns; as soon as one of them has brought our agent to the edge of orgasm, they switch around.

Earlier footage shows our agent screaming out for us to find her. As the footage continued, it changed from her screaming for us to screaming out for anyone to help her to then screaming out for mercy from the assailants. However, nothing had changed their pattern or methods of torture throughout the three days.”

“What pattern?”

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…And Repeat

…And again, you moan in need. That familiar, euphoric surge emanates from between your legs through your very core as the vibrator once again presses to you. The pleasure becomes addictive, constantly circulating as you fantasise about every time before, about how intense it had been.

The same scenarios in your imagination present themselves, yet they become a little more intense than last. The gentle touches become firmer caresses, and the soft strokes become harder pinches.

The look of the device itself adds to the tremors within you. It is so sleek yet powerful, designed solely to press against your intimacy and bring you to the heights of human pleasure. Made to elicit the most extreme joy and ensure you absolutely scream out in ecstasy. You press it harder to yourself, the pulsating vibrations drilling deeper. You remember how intense it was last time. As your hips buck and your legs shake, you wonder if this will be the same or even more extreme.

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Your need is a reflection of my own.

The need to reach the pinnacle again and again. The absolute longing for a pleasure that is too much to bear. A desire to be helpless against that all-consuming ecstasy that burns so deeply.

Throughout every convulsion and twitch, through every shiver and shudder, you long for the type of orgasmic release that I could only dream of. Pleasure beyond my comprehension.

It burns too hot to clutch for too long. Yet to be shackled against it, to force oneself to press to it indefinitely. That is a pleasure I could not withstand. Yet, I will make sure that you withstand it… throughout every screaming, tortuous second.

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Uncertainty

It’s the uncertainty that gets you the most. Wondering whether this time, maybe this time, you’ll get to feel that orgasm. Just like how your own fingertips – your own control of the toy – still leave you unsure of just when; will you give yourself that mercy and let the orgasm overtake you, or will you keep going until your body gives out first, unable to hold it back?

The first time, just the slow and steady rise while your legs spread apart, exposing you. Perhaps your legs are pushed apart fiercely, letting you know just who is in charge, yet you keep them held like that, inviting the exploration. Maybe it’ll happen though, that little thought crossing your mind that an orgasm now would be the biggest shock. The surprise and urgency making it all the more intense. But no, not yet, of course. It pulls away. The first time is playful, teasing in the lightest sense of the word. After all, you aren’t begging yet. So much more time to feast on your pleasure.

The second time, that flutter of desire turns to a sting of need. Good girl, keep it going; we are just beginning. The way your hips just rock into the movement, how your nipples feel so stiff and tender against any glancing touch, your pussy so invitingly wet, your body just giving every signal that it needs it… but not yet.

The third time, that sting of need starts to swell to an ache. The little murmurs turned to moans. You know how those sounds turn me on, and you start to hope they make me show mercy. Deep down, though, you know they won’t; the more you moan, the more I want. The harder it gets, the closer you feel to coming, the more you know that you won’t climax this time. This time, when it stops, you start to ask for it; that’s when you know we’ve truly begun.

The fourth time, that ache of need turns to a burn, that sensation that fills you throughout. It won’t be quenched until you get it, and that’s when you start to plead for it.

Those fingers, those toys, are always able to tantalize you to the very pinnacle, working you like the finest instrument and playing the perfect melody. Right on the edge, if only something could press just inside, or just against your swollen clitoris merely for a moment more. But no, it stops once again, leaving you to beg. Such an erotic thing, begging someone to let you orgasm. Begging to be granted the wonderful release of pent-up pleasure that you need oh so much.

The fifth time, that burning torment turns into an inferno, a raging fire that consumes you. The feeling takes over everything. No longer fantasizing about the situation or scenarios that would turn you on even more – all your focus is between your legs and the joy which that part of you would feel if given the chance. Finally, you feel that little bit of penetration that you crave. This time you come.

Good girl.

Harder than you imagined, the surprise making you gasp as the orgasm hits so intensely. Then, just as you want more, it slows down, not letting you ride it out for as long as you hoped.

It’s the penetration that captivates you, the mixture of sensations that melt together. Your clitoris is on fire, but not one that you want to put out yet, keeping it going, stoking it further. The next time it stops, forced to edge again, it’s worse. Now that you’ve felt that heaven between your thighs, you have to have so much more. But still, you are made to reside on the brink again and again until you can no longer take it. Once it’s absolutely too much, then you’ll feel what you need most, and it won’t stop… but not a moment before.

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Uncertainty (5/5)

The fifth time, that burning torment turns into an inferno, a raging fire that consumes you. The feeling takes over everything. No longer fantasizing about the situation or scenarios that would turn you on even more – all your focus is between your legs and the joy which that part of you would feel if given the chance. Finally, you feel that little bit of penetration that you crave. This time you come.

Good girl.

Harder than you imagined, the surprise making you gasp as the orgasm hits so intensely. Then, just as you want more, it slows down, not letting you ride it out for as long as you hoped.

It’s the penetration that captivates you, the mixture of sensations that melt together. Your clitoris is on fire, but not one that you want to put out yet, keeping it going, stoking it further. The next time it stops, forced to edge again, it’s worse. Now that you’ve felt that heaven between your thighs, you have to have so much more. But still, you are made to reside on the brink again and again until you can no longer take it. Once it’s absolutely too much, then you’ll feel what you need most, and it won’t stop… but not a moment before.

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