"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".
Princess Sohia had quickly found that her fantasy and reality were not at all in sync. After the long and perilous journey from Helm to the Vaunt Empire, she was greeted not by the welcoming arms of her lover, but by guards and a swift imprisonment.
“You’ll be sorry if you don’t release me. Prince Tobias will not stand for this, he’ll punish you once he finds out I’m here.” Her protests and threats meant nothing to the guards.
She had expected to be led to the Prince once she had passed through the gates to the great empire of Vaunt. While always seen as a hostile territory to her own Kingdom, there had always been a certain level of respect for the majestic stone architecture which encompassed the mammoth realm she was now a captive of. At once she was separated from her personal guard and led towards the central castle. Led to a cell and imprisoned within the dungeons, she had hoped that the next person she would see would be Prince Tobias. Dangling from her shackled wrists held above her head, at the centre of the cell, Princess Sophia was approached by a group of women. With their plain white robes, she recognised these as the castle maidens. Accompanied by guards – who simply stood around the room and watched – the maidens stripped the captive and began bathing her. Sophia’s protestations did nothing to dissuade them. Neither the guards nor the maidens made any sound at all as sponges and hands soaped up and cleaned the completely naked girl.
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.
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 underway 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, tantalising brushstrokes 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 the many opportunities to perfect their techniques in the most erotic of body painting.
“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.
A sharp intake of breath, the prickling shock of realization; Laura had regained consciousness as if torn from the comfort of sleep by the stark horror of reality. From the moment she’d regained her senses, her mind had been racing to make sense of the predicament she found herself in. Laura squinted, the light piercing her vision until she adjusted to the brightly lit room, a sight which both mystified and terrified her. The room was small and bare, surrounded with mirrors which seemed to shine upon the young girl who was bound in the middle of it. Arms hanging from the ceiling, her wrists cuffed together while her legs were spread apart, feet flat on the warm carpeted floor as her ankles had been cuffed and pulled wide apart, leaving little room for movement.
“Please, where am I?” Laura called to no response, struggling to raise her voice as her head swam, the effects of the drug still lingering. She looked at herself in disbelief, feeling so small as the room seemed to engulf her, every angle of her slender frame displayed. How many times she had fantasised about being in such a situation, almost admiring the view as she hung there, spread helplessly, pale blue bra and panties clinging to such a delicate, petite frame. ‘But not like this,’ she thought to herself, snapping back to the gravity of the situation, trying in vain to free herself.