I’m of the opinion that a girl should be trained not to let a cock leave her mouth until given permission. Not because it feels better that way, especially when she’s learning, but because she needs to learn to suppress her instincts when she gags. Once that’s done, she’s able to take it in her mouth and throat longer, and able to continue her service while catching her breath.

Ruined Orgasms

littlesubshay:

Ever since I wrote that story earlier today one of the only things that I’ve been able to think about are ruined orgasms. I’m at just over 5 months of denial right now, with not even a single ruin in that time.

I’ve had this fantasy for a really long time of being broken by denial, of being kept denied until I need an orgasm so badly that I’m crying and I can’t function. Then, because I’m a total masochist, the dream is that I’d be given a forced orgasm session that was so intense I’d end up begging to be put back in denial. That those were the only options for a tease toy like me, unending relentless denial, or orgasming their brain out in between their legs. The only problem with the fantasy is that I handle denial really, really well. 5 months in and I don’t have an overwhelming desire to orgasm. I want Sir to continue denying me. Last night Sir threatened to not let me cum for the rest of the year and it was a major turn-on. I can’t help but get so aroused at the idea of Sir keeping me as his denied toy for at least a year or longer. For Sir to use my ability to handle denial well against me, telling me that he isn’t going to let me cum again until he is convinced beyond any doubt of how badly I need it. That thought makes me moan and squirm just thinking about it.

I keep thinking of what Sir can do to make the denial worse. To help me be properly overwhelmed with need as a tease toy should be. I keep thinking that a day or week of forced ruined orgasms would drive me completely up the wall. When I used to be allowed to cum sometimes being given a single orgasm wasn’t a reward, it just made the denial so much worse, there would be a little bit of satisfaction, but mostly it would just make me ache and need even more desperately than I had before. The little experience I’ve had with ruins is that they are even worse. After a ruin I wake up in the middle of the night humping my mattress, clit pulsing, so desperate for even the least bit of stimulation. I can imagine that ruin after ruin would cause me to be desperate beyond words. The thought of Sir instituting a regular schedule of ruins makes his pussy drip. The thought of knowing that a ruin was looming, looking forward to it, dreading and needing the sharp increase in desperation and arousal it would bring with it.

Another use for ruins could be to punctuate periods of no touch. Sir could disallow any touch for a few days and get me all riled up and desperate, then using his hypno controls make me have one or several ruined orgasms, without touching, and continue to leave me unable to touch. Enjoying himself immensely as I beg and plead to be permitted to do anything to ease the desperate ache. Giving him plenty of time to mold me into the tease toy that he’d like me to be for him. Getting me to beg for any opportunity to make it worse. Allowing him to develop the habits that he’d like to see in his toy. The best part of all of it being that it is a game that I can never win. No matter how much I’m willing to trade away, how much of my mind I’m willing to open to Sir, I’m trading it all for the chance to make the ache even worse. Not even begging to cum anymore, begging to suffer and be tortured by Sir. Begging for Sir to make me the most desperate and needy toy that he can. Needing nothing more than to be reduced to a mindless aching toy ready to serve.

doctortease:

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.

Killatips: Every time I slide it inside of her I always kiss the side of her neck.

killakillakadafi191:

Always. So when ever I kiss the side of her neck she will call back to that moment. We could be at dinner, at the movies, in the check out line or where ever. I could kiss the side of her neck and she will think of me slowing sliding it in. She will think about it, remember it, desire it and get wet from it.