unknown source – PleasureTorture

The Cowboy Costume

Daniel had laughed off the warnings, thinking a simple cowboy costume wouldn’t cause the slightest bit of concern.

Now, he found himself helplessly restrained and near hysterical with need.

When he had been walking home from the Halloween party, he was a little disappointed to have not hooked up with anyone but was still riding the buzz from a good night and several drinks. Without any warning or transition, a cloud of darkness overcame him until suddenly he was lying on his back, entirely naked and achingly erect.

He looked around what appeared to be a barn, though a gorgeous woman wearing the same hat he’d worn with his cowboy outfit caught his attention and held it. The hat was the only thing she wore, making his cock pulse a little more. He didn’t understand why he was so unbelievably aroused, given his confusion, yet all he could focus on was her sensuous curves and the fact that she was looking at him hungrily. Her sultry smile made Daniel burn with desire, as too did her warm, southern tone.

“Well, howdy there, cowboy. I was wonderin’ when you’d finally wake up. Looks like you’re rarin’ to go, and I gotta say, it’s lookin’ mighty fine. But I reckon I shouldn’t hog all the fun for myself, now should I?”

The Heroine Costume

‘During the Halloween season, we advise extreme caution. There have been multiple reports of supernatural entities targeting victim based on their costume choices.’

Alicia wished she’d heeded the warnings. Instead, she ignored them, heading to the Halloween costume party dressed as a superheroine. On her way back from the party, she had lost consciousness and awoke to find herself trapped in the clutches of the VibroVolt gang as they had introduced themselves. They ignored her no matter how much she told them she had no idea who they were and that she had only been attending a costume party.

All they told her was that they would wreak havoc upon the city and intended to send a message to any other heroes that dared try to cross them. Before Alicia could question her captors or even contemplate whether she was merely trapped in some crazed fever dream, their hands made her gasp.

“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?”

It’s all about wanting to pleasure you until there is no more pleasure left for you to take.

I don’t want to devour your pussy just to make you come right now, I do it so that it’s what you think of every time your mind wanders, every time you daydream and fantasize. Day after day, night after night, never leaving your thoughts.

Those minutes at the fastest and most intense. It isn’t about making myself come, it isn’t about making you come. The real drive is, just for a moment, to know and feel exactly what you are feeling right now. Every moan, every scream, feed off it then hunger for more. Just don’t stop while your pleasure becomes mine.

Just the thought alone is enough to make us squirm – when the most flexible muscle in my body hones in on the most sensitive part of yours.

Futile.

Knowing the barrier of the fabric won’t let those fingers press right there.

Knowing those slender digits won’t apply enough pressure on your achingly in-need clit, or sink between your moist, swollen pussy lips.

Certain that you will not receive the friction you need or the intimate penetration that every inch of your body screams out for.

Certain that the pattern will continue, that those cruel, teasing fingertips will torment the gorgeously smooth mound of your femininity continuously.

Yet still, you thrust your hips up, rock your waist back and forth, as if it will make any difference. As if bucking and writhing will provide any relief or draw any mercy.

Utterly futile.

Content created by: PleasureTorture

“Remember what you told us, ‘Please don’t stop making me come.’ We have had to remind you for the last fifteen minutes of this request. You can struggle as much as you like, but we’re going to keep our promise to you. When you stop coming, then we’ll know it’s time to stop. But for now, it doesn’t seem like you are anywhere close to that point.”

You couldn’t wait to be their model, every gorgeous line and curve forever gracing their canvas.

To be portrayed so helplessly while nature would not simply pose as the backdrop of your frame, but caress it, amplify it.

When they began applying the oil to you in order to add that glistening sheen to the display, you admired their delicate touch. Once they began paying you so much more lingering attention, you couldn’t help but purr in pleasure. You tried to close your thighs a little tighter as if to quell the desire rising within you, though they told you not to, to embrace that sensation so they could paint you at your most erotic and sensual.

Those fingertips swept so tenderly across you, how you could feel the current building within, gliding along that stiffness, trailing across that wetness. You wanted them to do so much more to you, though they applied every last drop of the oil to your skin without letting a single fingertip sink within or press too intently. They simply left you internally begging for it.

You knew that once they began sweeping their brushes against the canvas, you’d feel like it was your own body those paintbrushes were gracing with their touch.

Content created by: PleasureTorture

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