Demon in the Ceiling

Sleep was the last bastion of relief. This was no longer the case.

You’d always feel my demonic presence in your bedroom. I would see you looking up and around so often, sensing me but never seeing me. I’d wrap those coils of lust around you daily, teasing you every time you entered and not letting go. The fetching attire you’d strip down to, fueling my desire to torment you further. Those racing fingertips, unable to bring yourself beyond the pinnacle. My prisoner of passion. So many times you writhed and begged, hoping and praying that I’d relent and show you some mercy and lift the curse. Little did you know that those whimpers and screams for mercy sealed your fate further, ensuring I’d make this place my home for many years.

You thought you were clever by masturbating in other rooms, letting yourself come before returning here, a little relief before enduring my onslaught. I feed off your suffering, so I always want to ensure that my meal is at its most delicious and that your time spent within is always at your most desperate.

If you hadn’t forced my hand, I might have allowed you to continue sleeping without my involvement. Instead, to keep you as in need as possible within these four walls of your bedroom, I had to enter your dreams and torture you every night.

So many hours you sleep throughout the year, so many hours all of last year spent writhing during your slumber, trapped in that state while being denied by constant erotic dreams. I can see every one of your deepest fantasies in those sleeping hours. I’m always able to use them to my benefit.

I’ve watched you touch yourself so many times, knowing exactly how you like it most. So many nights, those lucid dreams have been plagued with being tied and manhandled. Sometimes restrained with rope and cuffs, other times simply held down by countless people. All of your captors take turns touching you in the ways you play with yourself, fondling and teasing you in all the ways that have you shaking in arousal. As the weeks and months passed, you knew there was no escape from it, helplessly trapped in your dreams. The only thing you weren’t sure of was whether they’d merely use their fingertips to torment your dripping wet pussy, whether they may take turns devouring you or using their cocks, toys or strap-ons on you.

Being within the dream, you have always been unable to pass out or slip away in any form, forced to endure at least eight hours every night of this torture to then wake up sweating. Your pussy juices constantly drip down your thighs and ass every morning, having spent the entire night brought to the edge repeatedly with no release.

Those lucid dreams, so vivid you can barely tell whether you are asleep or awake. You can truly feel their fingers slipping within and parting your pussy lips; you can feel how their mouths push back against your mound to suckle on your tender clitoris. You swear you can feel the wetness of their tongues and even the minute pulsations of those erect cocks as they thrust within you. Yet every time you think you’d burst with need, you wake up.

Sometimes you remain on display in dreams that focus on your exhibitionist desires. So many people crowded around you and watching as you touch yourself. It feels like freedom at first, each time being able to control the pleasure and wondering if you could bring yourself to a climax. Yet just like in the waking moments in this room, you are forced to remain there.

Even when you try to stop, I take control of your movements, forcing you to continue to masturbate in just the right ways to keep you on the very cusp of orgasm, holding it on that knife edge until it seems impossible. When you typically masturbate, you’d spend at most an hour before it’s too much. Tens of minutes spent cruelly teetering on the brink, expertly holding yourself there for all to see. I know how you love that attention, how those countless people watching you in tears of frustration arouses you even more. I know you love the fact that they are watching you at your most intimate and vulnerable. It gives me such pleasure to know how hellish it is to spend all night – eight hours at least – trapped in that state and being made to hold the edge more than you’d ever do.

Dressing up, wearing your most revealing attire, taking pictures to post online at your most provocative… you became desperate to do anything to try and gain my approval to let you finally climax here. All it did was make me want to cause you to suffer even more, to see you continue to writhe and grind and buck your hips in such an intoxicating way.

I might let you have mercy now that it’s a new year.

You edge yourself during the day and seem excited to go to sleep, knowing you’ll spend so many hours bathing in pleasure. I wonder how much of a shock it will be to finally have that crowd of people – subconsciously your entire online following – watching you. All would witness you screaming from the shocking ecstasy thrust upon you. It will be quite a change of pace for you. Not only to have an orgasm at last in this bedroom, after a whole year but also to then realise that you still won’t wake up. Instead, you’ll suffer the entire night of forced orgasms, having every person in your dreams take turns forcing you to come repeatedly until you are praying to wake up.

This will be the year of forced orgasm for you, my dear human victim.