The soothing hum of an air conditioner drifts through the office, filling the void of the girl’s hesitation at the question.“No, not for over two years,” she finally responds.
The interviewer makes a note. “Any encounters within this period?”
“…Yeah,” follows the pause.
“If you care to say so, roughly, how recently was this?”
A rustling of paperwork fills the moment’s silence as the young woman averts her gaze.
“It was – um, about …uh, 4 months ago.”
“Lastly, have you been looking for any further partners recently?” the interviewer asks softly, making sure not to offend or embarrass the gentle looking girl before him.
Lifting her deep blue eyes to his, she firmly states, “No, just enjoying my independence,” before giving a warm smile.
The interviewer smiles back and turns off the sound recorder on his desk which separates them both in the spacious, finely decorated office room. Laying down his notes methodically, he addresses the girl.
Continue reading Two Participants
Her first tour of the premises was one she would never forget. The first taste of the torments that awaited within the University of Erotic Artistry.
The classrooms within had been what she expected, with plenty of seminars under way exploring erotic poetry, live nude model painting classes and lectures examining the role of sexuality within the media. What she was met with at a room labelled ‘discipline room’ however truly made her realise the extent to which sexuality embodied everything within the premises; both the curriculum itself as well as the punishments for those who disobey the rules or fall behind on coursework and assignments.
A lady was sat at a table, lightly adding the last details to a beautiful, intricate painting of female genitalia. Wondering how doing this painting was a punishment, the woman then turned to her and spoke.
“She has been denied for over a week.”
It was then that she realised that this woman holding the paintbrush was not the one being punished. Upon closer inspection, with a gasp of astonishment, it became clear that this was no painting at all. A girl was beneath the table, her genitals being painted with a flower design while she remained as still as possible, most certainly in complete sexual agony. Having been denied for a week, it was clear from the contractions of her pussy and the twitches of her clitoris that those slow, teasing brush strokes were teasingly and tormentingly pleasurable. The woman with the paintbrush seemed to take much delight in making the girl’s swollen clitoris ache with need for more, using her tongue and fingers to add to the cruel torture that the fine tipped paintbrush was mercilessly invoking.
Once it was over, the girl’s pussy was left alone to convulse with the need for more. It would be another few hours of teasing before the student would be allowed to climax. While she was shocked at the type of punishment she was witnessing, she couldn’t help but gaze at the beauty of the sight, unaware that it wouldn’t be long until the staff found a reason to put her through the very same scenario. The staff greatly enjoyed all the opportunities to perfect their techniques in the most erotic of body painting.
Content created by: PleasureTorture
Image source: Zazel
Video captured from a session involving an oily massage and teasing with feathers, paintbrushes, glass dildos and a vibrator. With a blindfold on, headphones are also put in place so that she can hear the sounds of female pleasure and orgasmic release throughout her gentle teasing until an orgasm is finally granted.
Content created by: PleasureTorture
“Welcome Andrea my dear, please come in. I am Dr Wand; we have been expecting you!”
The voice was warm, welcoming, enough to put Andrea at ease. The apprehension of turning up to such an isolated clinic was nearly enough to have prevented the usually carefree girl from taking advantage of such an opportunity. A two week vacation to anywhere in the world just to try on a new prototype bra sounded almost too good to be true, but seeing the small group of researchers spread around the room, some obscured by computer screens, others looking up at her in the doorway, all dressed in white lab coats and looking busy, it all felt so much more legitimate.
‘Just remember…two weeks in the French Polynesia islands,’ she kept reminding herself, to make her go through with it.
Continue reading The Torment of Denial