“Stop,” the word that never fails to send a devastating rush through her overstimulated mind. Finally brought back to the reality of her situation, the reality of what control her own fingertips have against the backdrop of her desires. If only the reality would mirror her fantasies, that of being able to dictate when she could climax.
Centre stage, she continues once again, the limits of passion engulfing every inch of her body, the gazes that sweep over her seem to touch like fingertips, as if every pair of eyes brushes tantalisingly along her skin. She wants to beg them one by one for the orgasm that has been denied for so long, though it is clear that these men and women watching her are here for the pleasure being witnessed, with no intention of letting it subside so soon. Her eyes begin anew their search for someone who might show some mercy, scanning the figures, some sitting and some standing but all dressed smartly for this sexual display, for some look of consent for release. Against the gentle backdrop of whispered chat and the sharp tap of wine glasses occasionally being placed on tables, her outpouring moans and sighs of pleasure takes centre stage.
Fingers slickly coated with her own juices, she stops again as she feels herself teeter on the brink, a dull, aching pulse resonating from her clitoris being her body’s only means of retaliation for such denial. She focuses on a couple who stands at the foot of the large bed as she begins stroking again. Mouthing the word ‘please’ to the man, she wants him to imagine what it must feel like inside her right now, how her tenderness must be quivering in need, how if he’d give the permission for her to come, how he could imagine feeling himself wrapped within those tight, convulsing folds of silken delight. The man merely smiles and continues to enjoy the delight, all while caressing his partner who is savouring the sight just as much. For a moment, she thinks of how the light, folding around her body like a sheet, must be illuminating every detail of her dripping wet, glistening sex. The thought makes her reach the edge of orgasm so fiercely that she has to clasp her legs shut in order not to risk going over.
“Open them,” comes the hushed yet no less commanding order from a woman watching to the side, one of the closest people around her. Every feeling of desperation, of animalistic need, of agonising arousal, seems to instantly melt away to reveal the purest pleasure she has ever felt. The control of her own body, of her own pleasure, being held in the palms of not only those around her, but specifically this woman watching with such intent, makes her sexuality feel like the most important thing in the world, the very centre of existence.
Looking deeply into this woman’s eyes, she holds her gaze while her fingers slip within, seeming to explore herself deeper than she’d ever felt before. With her gaze held the whole time, through the ebbing tide of impending orgasm, her eyes convey one simple truth, this right now was the most wonderful, erotic experience of her life.
Photography by: Deckmara
Written by: PleasureTorture