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.
As time didn’t seem to pass here at all, and the entities dressed as Doctors also showed no sign of slowing down even after hours, Grace thought for a moment if somehow she had become trapped in hell. She wondered if any answer at all would provide some sort of respite. Would it have been better to know that there was no chance of her receiving an orgasm?
Over and over, she was touched and teased and masturbated to the brink. Every single time, they stopped right on the edge. Even when she tried so hard to show no sign that she was there, they knew exactly when to stop.
Every touch seemed to be designed to make her constantly whimper in pleasure and beg for more. Whenever they stroked her pussy to the edge of orgasm and stopped, no matter how long passed, having them simply massaging her delicately without touching her sex, she still felt as if she were right there. The lingering effects of being brought to the edge never left. At no point in the hours of torment did Grace receive any moment of mercy. She was constantly being driven mad with need.
It was a constant vicious cycle. Each time she was played with a little more intently, she hoped they’d return to being more gentle, just to let her catch her breath. Each time they teased her softly, she wished they’d go back to edging her as relentlessly. She knew each time that they wouldn’t let her come, yet it didn’t stop her from screaming and begging for it.
They seemed to know precisely when she was on the brink. Each time they fingerfucked her, they would slow down just as she’d hit the pinnacle, speeding up and slowing continuously in order to hold her on the edge for as long as possible. It drove her mad, yet they never replied, no matter how much she pleaded with them to show mercy or begged them to tell her how much longer they would do this.
The ghosting effect that was occurring within – the constant sensation of being on the edge and never disappearing – kept Grace ravenous with need.
However much she wept, squealed, cried or shrieked hysterically that she couldn’t take any more, she was met with silence as they made her take hour after hour of continuous teasing and edging. Her pussy dripped continuously as her hole clenched and unclenched constantly as if trying to fill the hole that perpetually felt empty. Even the fingers thrusting into her did nothing to satiate the roaring hunger within. As much as they fed her desire with a cycle of massaging and penetration, her body remained starved of orgasmic release.
So many hands stroked her body, so many fingers pinched and stroked her nipples and clitoris and penetrated her sex, yet none of them showed any sign of mercy. Perhaps they were demons in disguise, as no human could possibly tease someone with pleasure this much without wanting to see the climax that would follow. It seemed like it would be almost as cruel to witness as it were to be involved in.
No matter how much she had sweat, how many tears were shed or how much pussy juice dripped down her inner thighs and rear, in this place, she didn’t need any replenishment. Grace was simply trapped in this cruel void of being edged endlessly.
As the hours passed, the more they brought her as close to orgasm as possible without resting. She couldn’t fight back or prevent them from making her scream for either the orgasm they denied her or to stop for just a moment.
Grace’s clitoris twitched non-stop. It felt like a single touch to that hypersensitive button would set her off, yet each time they pinched, tweaked, or rubbed it hard, they could stop precisely when she was a single stroke away from coming. The tears that flowed from her weren’t just for the fingertips to continue, but also for her own body to become numb to the horrifying level of arousal that tore through her. Much like the torture itself, the prickling heat that enveloped every inch of her skin never seemed to end. Every little pulse, every tremor, was its own little hell.
Still, they would not speak to her. Referring to her only as the patient, they would comment on how stiff her nipples were, how much her pussy dripped or how frequently her clitoris twitched. It made her back arch every time they described to one another how much her pussy clenched around their fingers, commentating on each contraction. Throughout the night they continued to describe how deeper pink and red her pussy became,
Everything within her felt so tightly wound, spun on the fingertips of those that tormented her over and again. Her arousal felt like wet threads pulled as tightly as possible in every direction while she prayed for it to unravel. She needed something, anything, to burst. To yield. For something within to succumb. It wouldn’t. Her ordeal would not end.
In this asylum, she was now the patient. She would experience being edged and denied without rest. Without any concern for what she could have possibly endured. On her own, she could maybe masturbate herself to the brink two or three times before she absolutely needed to come, before it became unbearable. That mark had been passed tens of hours ago.
As she sobbed and squealed for them to please let her come, Grace wondered, in the brief moments she could even think, whether there would be any end to the torture. There would be, but only after she had been driven literally insane from edging. That would be her punishment here. To be edged until her mind could handle no more. Until no level of human endurance could withstand the constant cruelty of being mad with sexual longing. Her body would be safe, but her mind would be shattered from being brought to the brink and stopped.
She would indeed return to the regular world, entirely physically and mentally unharmed and safe as if it never happened at all. However, she’d know that the warnings were very real. That the costume would dictate the cruel fate in store. Until then, in this prison of lust, she would be edged and edged until she became absolutely crazy. Whether it took a few more hours or even days, it would not stop.
Content created by: PleasureTorture
Loving denial