Tag: female denial

Ruined

She 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.

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Uncertainty (2/5)

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…

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Uncertainty (1/5)

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…

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The Need

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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.

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Just A Glitch

Just 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. 

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The Masseuse (Her November)

(His November)

Another 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.

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Silk Garment

Wherever they had come from, those fetching panties that she had discovered in her drawer were going to inflict a night of passion upon her that she would never forget.

The silky softness of that tight little piece of fabric made her hunger for the touches against her sensuous mound; never in her most erotic dreams could she imagine that those panties would embody something which hungered for her just as much.

From the moment she put them on, she longed to caress her sex. The cool silk seemed to enhance every sensation. After mere seconds it seemed as if every nerve ending in her body had focused its attention on just that one space between her legs. The deep longing grew and grew until simply the slippery stroke of a fingertip was not nearly enough. She had felt the joy of being teased plenty of times before, yet this longing was unlike anything else – as if every passing second added an hour’s worth of tantalisation.

She removed the lingerie hastily, unaware that its spell had long been cast upon her body the moment they were worn, the moment they encased her sensitive womanhood.

Completely naked and exposed, she still felt the familiar sensation of the cool, soft silkiness clinging to her sex, though all her attention was on the uncontrollable longing which burned between her legs. Her fingers magnetised towards it, yet instead of the fulfilling comfort of masturbation, they were stopped. As if they were being held back, she could not push her hands any further down. No matter how much she tried to slide her fingers down to quench the fire raging within her sex, she was left held so cruelly close. While the unendurable longing did not seem to die down, her pussy seemed to be throbbing with more need with each second.

The tingling seemed to increase to a burning need, until moments later it was like she was trapped in the vice of an impending orgasm that wouldn’t come. Still, her pussy was inexplicably out of reach. Suddenly her arms were pulled back and came to rest above her head, pinned in place as if they were being held tightly. Just as fast, her pussy was embraced by sensations she could not explain or comprehend. Even while her pussy was bare, she could feel the familiar sensation of the silky material embracing her. This sensation seemed to combine with the stimulation of being touched by the softest of fingertips, of being licked by the most precise tongue, of being nibbled by the most eager mouth.

She thought her engorged mound would explode with need as repeatedly she was brought so close to orgasm and held there before it backed off just enough to leave her hips thrusting for more. She wanted to touch herself, to touch anywhere, just to feel the soft curves of her heat-stricken body. Still, she remained held in place, tormented to a state of craving that she had never thought possible. The constant writhing of her hips did nothing to increase the formless yet ever-present and unyielding manipulations of her soft, delicate mound.

Finally, when she thought her consciousness could not stand any more of that tantalising torture, it happened. Her pussy felt like it had suddenly been devoured with pure stimulation, as if her entire sex were being sucked. Every tiny detail and sensitivity of that swollen mound seemed to be being latched onto by the air itself. After so much time spent in the hell of denial, the sudden avalanche of suction was a heaven of orgasmic bliss. Her orgasm seemed to never end – she didn’t want it to. All she cared about was the unparalleled pleasure that confined her to the bed. Wave after wave of orgasm was sucked from her. The mixture of such long denial and the longing brought about by the lingerie kept fuelling the orgasmic fire. As if reading her mind, the sucking stopped, ceasing just as the almost painfully intense orgasms started to cross the line of being unbearable.

Once she was able to move her arms, she knew it was over. All was still and quiet in the room. Finally able to catch her breath, as if her lungs were also finally her own now, she simply lay there motionless, recovering from the fiercest orgasms she had ever experienced.

As she lay there, she thought to herself that she may wait at least another week before putting those back on.

Content created by: PleasureTorture

Image source from: 18onlygirls

It’s all about the anticipation – knowing why you are there, knowing what is to come. What adds to the intensity is realising that it is all merely the beginning. The agonising need, the craving as every inch of you burns for more… it is simply to whet the appetite. Every time it stops, each moment that is taken away, soon you’ll be screaming out for those brief seconds of respite.

Content created by: PleasureTorture

Image source from: Orgasm and tickle fiesta

At the mercy of their patient hands, she must not say a single word. She had passed all of the previous tests and trials, though this final one was always going to test her resolve the most in a completely different way.

There is always the possibility of being apprehended. Therefore, as a female warrior, they had to make sure she was completely prepared for whatever she might encounter in future. While she could defend herself in countless ways, there was always the fact that, as a woman, her enemies may choose to focus their attention on her femininity to take advantage of the devastating responsiveness of her sexuality. To make sure that she was prepared for this, the final test called for her to prove her ability not to give in to the demands of her body, and to control her responses.

She hadn’t been told how long the ordeal would last; it seemed as if their cruelly precise fingertips and palms became slower as time progressed, yet all she can do is try her hardest to stifle her agonising desire to give in, to cry out for more. 

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