Just look at her…just the sight of the sybian and she starts sobbing. I took her down to get the surgery as soon as it was approved. She hasn’t had an orgasm in…two years, eight months. No loss of sensation or sensitivity at all, though. I think her record is 12 hours tied on that sybian, on edge the entire time. I had to give her 3 days to recover in a dark room after that one. I’ve tried everything…fucking machines, hitachis, every fantasy she’s ever had. She physically can’t cum.
Tonight’s her birthday, and I told her she has permission to cum as much as she likes. Yeah, that’s right. She’ll still hold herself back unless she has permission, just like before. And when she gets it, she’ll do her best to get over the edge, even though she knows it’s impossible. She’s such a good girl…every time I give her permission she starts sobbing, but does her best. She knows I enjoy watching her suffer.
What’s special about tonight? Oh, tonight she’ll find out that it’s all been a lie. When she went under, the surgeon just made an incision so she’d have a scar to wake up to. She’s as physically capable of cumming as she’s ever been. I’ve had her on those No-gasm pills every day, and she has no idea. And yesterday I stopped them. She’s about to cum, and she has no idea… it’ll be terrifying. And the best part? Once I’ve explained everything to her, I’ll let her cum as much as she likes, however she likes…till tomorrow. We have an appointment with the surgeon, and this time it’s real.
Let’s watch.
I need a bathroom break.
orgasm control
One of My favorite things to do is to help people.
I know you’re overthinking everything.
I know you worry about your job, classes, friends.
I know you lay in bed at night, mind racing,
physically exhausted but mentally unable to shut down.
This is where certain kinks can really come in handy.
Such as bringing someone right to the edge of orgasm,
over and over again until they are begging,
pleading with you in desperation,
offering anything for just one orgasm….
and then I give it to them,
and another,
and another,
and another….
and I don’t stop until they aren’t thinking about anything,
until they can’t even form a coherent thought,
until their eyes roll back in their head,
and if not for the constant stimulation,
they would simply collapse,
mind quieted,
exhausted,
at peace.
How long has it been?
It seems like an eternity.
The vibe and plug alternate,
first one sending vibrations through your body,
then the other, but never enough…
never enough to push you over the edge…
you want to cum so badly don’t you?
Will I allow it?
I didn’t yesterday did I?
Nor the day before that.
How long has it been?
A few days? A week?
And each day you find yourself here again…
Why am I doing this?
I want your need to consume you,
to devour the rational thoughts in your head,
for your soaking wet cunt to become the focus of your existence…
Are we there yet do you think?
Perhaps another week or two of this every morning and every night…
The agreement was that if you gave Her the key to your chastity,
if you did everything She told you to do at all times,
and if you gave up your freedom permanently,
that She would let you cum three times a month.
She never said that you would enjoy it though….
They made her sit there and shake while they dragged the steel tub into her cell and filled it, a simple garden hose and its stream of cold water, little drops landing on her knees when it splashed. She was rope-bound, of course; she was always bound these days, both for easier handling and because they’d discovered it aroused her. One of them lightly rubbed the knot at her pussy back and forth as the water level slowly, slowly rose. Her pulse refused to climb back down out of her throat. She was very, very afraid, and very, very humiliated that the hose wasn’t the only thing in the room that was gushing.
“I can only hope,” said her doctor, when the tub was about half full, “that our subject understands the reason behind this disciplinary action.”
She looked up at him frantically and dipped her nose down three times, the silent way she’d been taught to ask for permission to speak.
“Granted,” he said.
“P-please, I promise, I wasn’t breaking the rules of my treatment plan,” she said quickly. “I know that it’s important for my own welfare not to viol–to violate the–”
“The evidence speaks for itself,” he said, bending down to rub the wet spot on her sheets between his fingertips, then inspecting them. “You were observed to take restricted actions during lights out, and the recording suggests strongly that you achieved orgasm by means of that action.”
“I didn’t–I’m sure I didn’t–it was a dream!” she said. “I didn’t even know it was happening! I only woke up when you–when the orderly entered my cell and, and began inspection.” She couldn’t tell if she was pale with fear or flushed with embarrassment.
“Do you know what the medical standard for measuring pain tolerance is, Anya?” said the doctor. “Cold water. One simply times the seconds for which a patient can hold their hand and forearm submerged. It’s simple, consistent, and harmless.” He rinsed his fingers in the tub, which was rapidly filling to the top now, and wiped them on her chest.
“It wasn’t my fault!” she said, voice rising to a hysterical little-girl cry.
“That’s not important,” he said gently. “Your body took actions that are contrary to the goals of your treatment. Whether you intended those actions is irrelevant. We will now reinforce, to your body, that humping the corner of your bed as a form of masturbation leads to negative consequences. You will internalize the induction of pain and the restriction of oxygen, and next time, your eager little clitoris will hesitate before it drags the rest of you down to its level.” He nodded to the orderlies.
One of them took the rope that ran down the front of her body and back behind her, tying it to the bar of her cell so that her head wouldn’t hit the bottom of the tub. The other slipped his arms under her shoulders and lifted her, tilted her forward, and let go.
They could all see the air burst from her lungs just after she broke the chilly surface; they watched, the doctor scribbling a couple of notes, as she thrashed in panic, hair drifting wild around her head. “Someone got their watch on?” he asked. “I’d say give her another thirty seconds. Just for the first dip.”
“How many rounds today, do you think?” asked the first orderly, pressing one heavy knee to the back of her pelvis so that he could continue the inspection of her genital response to new stimulus.
“Oh, until we get paged for something else,” the doctor shrugged. “It shouldn’t be long, really. But from what I’ve seen, I think she’ll be good to the last drop.”
(You might also enjoy my water tag, or–for a crueler take on this–one of the chapters of my Literotica story, “Enhanced Interrogation.”)
UUUUUUHM.
“You usually pass out from forced orgasms, but in this position even that escape won’t be possible, toy.”
Good Girl
StandardIt was a quiet evening. I was entertaining myself at the computer. I occasionally glanced at my girl, who was in the chair next to me. Naked, of course, except for the cuffs. Her legs were pulled up, her feet on the armrests. She was masturbating for my amusement, using both hands. We spent most evenings this way. It’s a simple joy, but I am a man of simple pleasures.
She gasped a bit and pulled her hands away, clenched into fists. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. I knew she’d take a few seconds to cool down, be less close to the edge, and then continue. Her masturbation was for my amusement, not hers. She was not allowed release.
When she continued I turned in my chair and stroked her cheek. “What’s up, cupcake? You’ve been giving me meaningful looks all day. Something you want to talk about?”
She blushed. It was such a cute habit of hers. “Please, Sir, I was wondering… I was hoping you’d let me cum today? I really need it, Sir, it’s been such a long time. I can’t stop thinking about it, Sir. I’ve been a good girl, Sir.”
“Have you, now? Well, let’s see. How long has it been, about a month?”
“Fifty-four days, Sir.”
I laughed. “Wow, you actually kept count! You’re a hungry little slut, aren’t you?”
She blushed and nodded. “Please, Sir. I’ve been so good.”
“Hmm, really? Were you a good girl during no-touch week?”
“Yes, Sir. I didn’t touch myself there at all. It was very difficult, Sir.”
I cupped her cheek. “It was difficult for me too, sweetling. I missed our evening sessions.”
I thought back some more. “What about during anal dildo week?”
“I was a good girl then, too, Sir. I masturbated… like you said… every evening. You were very proud, Sir. I remember.”
“Hmm, but you made a bit of a mess of it once, didn’t you?”
She blushed and looked down. “I licked it up, Sir, I was a good girl.”
“But wait a minute, I remember giving you permission to cum a few weeks ago. Why didn’t you?”
She blushed again. “I couldn’t, Sir.”
“Ah yes, that was the day I put all those clamps on your cunny.”
“It was because of the one on my clitty, Sir. It hurt so much.”
“Oh right, I remember now. And then you traded permission to take it off for two more weeks not cumming, right?”
She nodded.
I laughed. “I see! And that was exactly fourteen days ago, was it? Now I understand what’s going on.”
“I was extra good, Sir. Oh, please, Sir, I want it so bad.”
Her hands were still busy between her legs. I hadn’t given her permission to stop, after all. Most of our conversations are conducted this way. I stroked her face, and rested my thumb on her lips. She started sucking it instinctively. She’s a well trained girl.
“Well, I think you’re right. You have been a very good girl indeed. And of course…”
She looked up at me, eyes wide and hopeful. So fucking cute.
“… of course, good girls don’t cum.”
She caught her breath, stifled a sob. Then she closed her eyes and nodded.
Such a good girl.
Knight said I had to edge five times.
He went to shower and I asked if I could cum after edging while he
was gone. He said I could if on the fifth I came but ruined the
orgasm for him. After that I’d be allowed to orgasm normally.I’ve never ruined an orgasm before. I
didn’t even know how. “Go just over the edge and then turn the wand
off”It sounded simple enough, and then I’d
get to cum. How bad could it be?Well for starters, the edges didn’t
want to move along. It was really hard to focus on the pleasure, my
brain’s been spinning of late. I tried to focus on something hot that
happened with Knight, something too scary to write, right on that
line of good and bad and maybe sometimes crossing over. But I was too
desperate build, so it stayed soundly good until I got through four
edges.I was getting all sensitive and hit the
fifth edge, I went just over, just enough to feel the orgasm start to
bubble past being able to hold back. I clicked the hitachi button off
and my whole body curled in protest. I nearly fell out of my chair.
It took all my willpower not to say some not-nice things very loudly.I sprawled in my chair, head dangling
back, and just processed for a few minutes.“Shit,” I whispered harshly to
myself. “Fuckin.. FUCK that was AWFUL” A little part of me (the
part that’s been enjoying the new aches in my knees from not being
allowed to walk without permission) definitely found an appeal to it.
Not something I’d want but
something I could definitely process as a punishment.I got
back to masturbating. And found that because I’d ruined it, it took a
significant amount of time to build up to an orgasm again. I tried
not to grumble, working to be just marginally more obedient. “Try
to be grateful you get to cum,” I thought over and over. “Just
focus on dirty things and the hitachi. It’ll be fine.”When I
finally did orgasm it was hard and shaking, the kind of orgasm where
everything blurs out and goes white for a moment. I didn’t want
another orgasm, which for me is absolutely unheard of. I felt totally
content.Right
after I finished putting my hitachi away, clit still throbbing from
the attentions, Knight came back from his shower. I told him I’d
written down my immediate thoughts post- ruining.“Do
a full write up,” he saidAnd
here we are.
To say she was suffering would be quite the understatement. Having agreed to participate in the drug trial which promised to net her a tidy little sum of money for what seemed to be quite an erotic experience, she had no idea that it would become this torturous.
While she fully understood that a drug would be administered to entirely debilitate her, rendering her unable to move, she did not expect this level of stimulation. When they had told her that they wanted to test her levels of sexual response while under the drug, she thought they’d meant some light touching and fondling for a few minutes; now that she’d been here for over an hour, she realised just how wrong she was. Trapped within the near motionless prison that was her own body, she was only able to moan; no matter how much she tried, she could not scream out and beg for them to stop torturing her pussy with stimulation. Repeatedly the woman in charge of administering the stimulation finger-fucked her dripping wet opening and massaged her pulsating clitoris without relenting for even a moment. It hadn’t taken long for the tormented girl to realise that the drug not only inhibited any motion, it also prevented her from being able to climax. The rushing tide of orgasm seemed to ceaselessly push against the barriers of her sexual need for release to no avail, just constantly building without respite, making her body and mind feel ready to explode, unable to cope nor control it.
The test would be over once the drug wore off, which would be when her orgasm could finally tear free from the shackles of her drug-induced denial. It would be an orgasm that, once it arrived, would be enough to make her pass out, though sadly for her, it would be nearly another hour of tortured longing before such wonderful, much needed release.
Content created by: PleasureTorture
Image source from: Hegre-art
Distracted
StandardAs I go through my day I can’t help but get distracted.
Distracted by the way my body aches when you say “suffer for me”. Feeling it come alive and need, anxious to endure for you. To ache for you. To need.
Distracted at thoughts of your control. Recognizing the desire to submit to your will. The thrill that rushes through me as I remind my body that it no longer dictates when its needs will be met. That even the hand that threatens to stray between my legs is forbidden without your permission. Feeling the web of control tighten around me like a safety net, keeping me anchored and secure.
Distracted with fantasies of being used. Recognizing the joy of place and purpose. The rush that comes from embracing this role. Being your toy. Your entertaining slut. A toy whose pleasure is incidental. A toy whose usefulness stems from your whim.
The distraction a pleasure of its own
Mmmmmmmfff. Thank you, toy!