"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."
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.
Continue reading The Ghost 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.
Continue reading The Nurse Costume“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?”
Continue readingShe found herself in hell. It was beyond torture at this point. No matter how much she cried and begged and screamed, he wouldn’t give her what she needed. What should have been a heavenly sensation was constantly being turned into a hellish ordeal as the convulsion of orgasm tore through her without the warmth of fulfilment. Again and again, ruined orgasms were thrust upon her.
Even when she wasn’t tied up, she didn’t try to fight back at first. She thought she might have been able to handle it better. She also hadn’t expected him to continue doing it to her.
She hoped that soon enough, the warmth of her pussy and the way it softly enveloped his cock would entice him to stay inside and continue thrusting. She soon prayed that the eroticism of her movements and the way that she moaned and squealed as she came would make him falter. He didn’t.
Every time he thrust inside and brought her to the pinnacle, he stopped right as she came, letting his cock slide out, watching as she shivered and winced, the scald of a ruined orgasm wreaking havoc on her. It left nothing but a dull ache and a need for something so much more. He fucked her to that point repeatedly and continued to stop, ensuring she hit that brick wall again and again.
Even as she tried to grind against him, to ensure he felt how wonderful it would be to remain inside her, he still withdrew, leaving her to rub helplessly against his tip. It did nothing to quell the need. Her pussy felt as if it were constantly convulsing in desperation for more penetration, for more friction, for anything.
Her body hurt with longing, her pussy swollen, a raw, red wound of unfathomable sensations. When he gripped her wrists and fitted those familiar cuffs on the headboard to them, he reminded her.
“Don’t forget… this is what you wanted. Isn’t it? You couldn’t handle the forced orgasms last time we played. You were begging me not to make you come any more. You said to me, ‘Please don’t make me come more. I can’t stand it.’ Well, this time, I won’t make you endure forced orgasms. You kept begging me to stop fucking you. You kept crying when I continued to thrust inside your gorgeous pussy while you were coming, screaming out that it was too intense for you.”
She’d have given anything to feel his cock continue to thrust while she hit her orgasm. Even if he kept going when it was too sensitive, it would have been better than this.
Each time he withdrew, he simply watched as her hips rocked and pushed up for more, her body writhing in frustration. She pulled desperately against the cuffs and wept in her ruined orgasm agony. It didn’t stop anything.
Repeatedly he kept fucking her and stopping before admiring his work, her torment. He was so aroused watching the display. It was difficult not to continue feeling her silky soft walls clenching around his manhood and to have to pull out even as he was nearing his moment. He gladly suffered. The more torment he inflicted, the more she moaned and cried out, the more he pulsed and throbbed. It made it even worse for her each time, having to feel how swollen and stiff he was as he entered her each time.
She would have preferred to have been denied than endure this. To have her orgasms ruined every single time, repeatedly and in succession, without mercy, was unbearable. Pleasure being used as a cruel torture. It was worse to see the enjoyment on his face that her suffering brought him – such a sadistic delight in constantly ruining her orgasms.
Relentlessly, what should have been a gush of heat and relief, a tight ball erupting and unravelling, was replaced with an emptiness that left the ball still tightly wound. An electric shock of sensation with no outlet, no spiral of bliss, just sensation without form. Pleasure without relief.
No matter how often she fantasised about this scenario, it never made it easier to endure. Soon enough, her pussy would become too desensitised to handle any more. She wasn’t expecting, however, that when this did occur, he’d simply go down on her and work her clitoris with his mouth. Repeatedly he’d suck her clitoris and stop every time her hips thrust upwards in climax. Not once, even from oral, would she receive the mercy of a full orgasm. It would continue until she could not come any more.
Maybe next time, he’d let her choose: forced orgasms or ruined orgasms. Right now, he knew she’d choose anything other than another ruined orgasm… if only she had a choice.
Continue reading RuinedThe 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…
Continue reading Uncertainty (2/5)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…
Continue reading Uncertainty (1/5)
Anticipation once again permeated throughout the room as the audience took to their seats. The previous nights had been so intense, watching her being teased constantly without the hope of climax. Perhaps this would be the night that she’d be given respite from the agonizing need. It was such a tantalizing affair to watch such beautiful suffering, such desire, knowing that the performer had been selected due to her sensitivity. She was paid very handsomely. However, this was a way to see something beyond an act, to see raw passion so fully exposed, pure, unfiltered desire laid open beyond any mere performance. They were here to see sexuality at its finest.
The slow, calculated bathing ritual was, of course, meant to arouse as much as cleanse. However, these last couple of nights had been pure hell even without their grazing fingertips; a glance towards her bare skin was enough to burn like a lick of flame. The silence was what made it all so much worse, particularly when she was on the stage. The intimacy of the small audience kept her aware of how every pair of eyes was constantly lingering on her body, letting her bask in the heat of the thoughts that must be racing through their minds. If the teasing touches from being bathed and prepared were like the ebb of the tide against her arousal, the man’s hands against her were like a tsunami crashing over her.
He had so much experience with teasing and tormenting his targets, honed to perfection and unleashed on this girl’s body all at once. The way his fingers trailed and played, caressed and penetrated. He always left the audience just on the brink as much as her, wondering whether she’d topple over, but he always knew when to stop. They had worked together for too long for him to make any mistakes, to not be able to read her little signs. They both wanted the same thing: for the audience to be able to taste the desire, to feel every pulse of longing. She wanted the men to feel that throb and imagine how it would feel within; he wanted the women to feel that convulsion and for them to moan in unison every time he entered her. However, as time went on, her attention veered from the audience and more onto herself as her mind joined her body in a desperate plea to climax. It was the same every day they performed, but as the week went on, it happened sooner and sooner. Though each time she whispered for him to please let her come, she was met with an audible ‘no’, loud enough for the audience to know what she’d asked and to let them revel in her sweet despair.
When his rock-hard cock was inside her, the tension was palpable. Every thrust seemed as if it would be the one to throw them over the edge; every wet slap of penetration was expected to be joined by her screams of release, yet still, they both held on. He had also spent just as long as her without orgasm, though he loved it, the way it made him feel so stiff and full and how much more it added to the show. It was, after all, all about the show; their pleasure was the centre stage. That was why, when she gasped that she was about to come and the audience held their breath in anticipation, he withdrew and simply motioned ‘no’. Leaving her on edge as much as the audience, perhaps tomorrow he’ll be at the point where his will would be broken, where the desire to show off the art of lust wouldn’t outweigh his desperate need to come. She, however, was already beyond that point. Perhaps tomorrow the artistic, sensual splendour of orgasm will be on display, but not tonight.
Continue reading The NeedJust a glitch.
Just a glitch, she thought to herself, hoping. The buzzing once again slowly built up after that abrupt halt. The internet feed continued, so there didn’t seem to be any power outage; she thought that it must have been a malfunction of the Sybian vibrator’s program. It turned her on more than anything to know so many people were watching her in this state of pleasure, ready to see her orgasm over and over again. She had always been so sensitive, so easy to bring to orgasm. Little did she know that the purpose of the set was quite the opposite.
Continue reading Just A GlitchAnother person’s fingertips trailing over her body is all she craved. She’d happily give up a month of masturbation in order to feel the sensations she had enjoyed at the massage parlour. The prospect of submitting to the stimulation in that way, with every touch and every caress focused solely on her, was too enticing to pass up.
The ruined orgasm played on her mind throughout November. For the first couple of weeks, she focused on the frustration, how her pussy convulsed in longing for so much more and how the sense of emptiness that the ruined orgasm brought remained with her. She wanted those cruel fingertips back where they were, teasing her clitoris and penetrating her intensely, squeezing around them as if it were her body pleading for them not to stop fucking her.
For the last couple of weeks in November, she instead focused on the joy that even the ruined orgasm brought. The sensation of pleasure lifted to the surface, and the jolts of ecstasy that slipped through the cracks of frustration.
Continue reading The Masseuse (Her November)
Will her desperate pleas grant her the orgasm she craves?
A short audio collaboration.
Audio by: PleasureTorture and Izzy.
Follow Izzy here: https://www.instagram.com/izzylovely_/