What thoughts coat your mind as your essence coats your fingertip?

Will you slow down to savour the moment? Or will you speed up to embrace the satisfaction?

Do you think of someone else with you, or are you imagining watching someone else?

Will you still be in your lingerie, or will you be stripped entirely?

Soon, you’ll allow yourself to find out.

They informed you that with their wish fulfilment package, they would stop nothing short of fulfilling whatever desire you requested.

Now that your body is on fire and your pussy is a swollen inferno of over-stimulation, now that your screams and pleas are doing nothing to slow them down, you begin to wish that you hadn’t solely instructed them simply to make you come until you passed out.

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Helpless Model

She thought the photo shoot would just be a simple bondage shoot, some simulated fun, but nothing too intense. She partly wanted them to use the Hitachi wand properly when they had asked her if it would be okay to involve it in the shoot. Though, in truth, she had expected it wouldn’t even be plugged in.

When she did feel that hum of the vibrator press to her mound, an electric shock seemed to jolt through her entire helpless frame. The sounds of other girls moaning and screaming out in pleasure ebbed through the headphones, creating an even more intoxicating state of arousal. Completely lost in a pitch-black abyss of aural and sensual pleasure, she gave in to her desires and took hold of the experience. The only images that ran through her mind were of how erotic this would look on the website. The only time she strained against it was when the first orgasm hit, yet there were no signs of them backing off with the toy. It remained exactly in that same excruciatingly tender spot even as the waves of pleasure thrashed against her, yet there was nothing she could do to tell them she needed it to back off.

The feeling of complete helplessness caused the welling of pleasure to enhance within, especially when she realized that even her guttural moans of overstimulated turmoil were having no sway. What turned her on the most, however, was that even under the vacuum-sealed cover, she had never felt so naked. With her attention solely on the vibrating menace pressed against her hypersensitive mound, the sleek, smooth sheeting clung like a second skin around every contour. With it revealing every outline of her body and with the aggressively intense pleasure enveloping her womanhood, she felt as if her body was on display more than ever before. Never had she felt so entirely revealed in her modelling career as this, her deepest arousal brought so publicly to the forefront.

All she could soon do was whimper through the next orgasm, unable to see a thing or say a word, just the sounds of ecstasy further fueling her fantasies. Right now, her world was solely revolving around the inferno of those orgasmic peaks and the searing heat between each one that seemed to burn hotter and hotter each time, a heat she couldn’t escape from.

She couldn’t wait to see how hot she would look, squirming in such wonderful agony.

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Such softness and precision, working with so much intent against that sensitivity. This is the very element of sex, to devour such beauty, to tirelessly feast yet never once be full, always hungering for more. There is no moan, no scream, no word, that could ever signify that it is ‘enough’.

Every delicate, intimate fold of that sex, every calculated flutter of that tongue, so many details all hidden by such erotic contact. Only the most sensual pressure, skin against skin, lips against lips. 

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The Need

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Anticipation once again permeated throughout the room as the audience took to their seats. The previous nights had been so intense, watching her being teased constantly without the hope of climax. Perhaps this would be the night that she’d be given respite from the agonizing need. It was such a tantalizing affair to watch such beautiful suffering, such desire, knowing that the performer had been selected due to her sensitivity. She was paid very handsomely. However, this was a way to see something beyond an act, to see raw passion so fully exposed, pure, unfiltered desire laid open beyond any mere performance. They were here to see sexuality at its finest.  

The slow, calculated bathing ritual was, of course, meant to arouse as much as cleanse. However, these last couple of nights had been pure hell even without their grazing fingertips; a glance towards her bare skin was enough to burn like a lick of flame. The silence was what made it all so much worse, particularly when she was on the stage. The intimacy of the small audience kept her aware of how every pair of eyes was constantly lingering on her body, letting her bask in the heat of the thoughts that must be racing through their minds. If the teasing touches from being bathed and prepared were like the ebb of the tide against her arousal, the man’s hands against her were like a tsunami crashing over her.

He had so much experience with teasing and tormenting his targets, honed to perfection and unleashed on this girl’s body all at once. The way his fingers trailed and played, caressed and penetrated. He always left the audience just on the brink as much as her, wondering whether she’d topple over, but he always knew when to stop. They had worked together for too long for him to make any mistakes, to not be able to read her little signs. They both wanted the same thing: for the audience to be able to taste the desire, to feel every pulse of longing. She wanted the men to feel that throb and imagine how it would feel within; he wanted the women to feel that convulsion and for them to moan in unison every time he entered her. However, as time went on, her attention veered from the audience and more onto herself as her mind joined her body in a desperate plea to climax. It was the same every day they performed, but as the week went on, it happened sooner and sooner. Though each time she whispered for him to please let her come, she was met with an audible ‘no’, loud enough for the audience to know what she’d asked and to let them revel in her sweet despair.

When his rock-hard cock was inside her, the tension was palpable. Every thrust seemed as if it would be the one to throw them over the edge; every wet slap of penetration was expected to be joined by her screams of release, yet still, they both held on. He had also spent just as long as her without orgasm, though he loved it, the way it made him feel so stiff and full and how much more it added to the show. It was, after all, all about the show; their pleasure was the centre stage. That was why, when she gasped that she was about to come and the audience held their breath in anticipation, he withdrew and simply motioned ‘no’. Leaving her on edge as much as the audience, perhaps tomorrow he’ll be at the point where his will would be broken, where the desire to show off the art of lust wouldn’t outweigh his desperate need to come. She, however, was already beyond that point. Perhaps tomorrow the artistic, sensual splendour of orgasm will be on display, but not tonight.

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The joy always lies in the thought of what is next.

Knowing that the vibrations will not yield, wondering how intense they’ll feel after the next few minutes.

Thinking of how you’ll possibly suffer through the next orgasm after how unbearably intense this one is.

Wondering just how sensitive your clitoris will get once the next wave of ecstasy threatens to drown you.

Aroused and terrified in near equal measure of how the device would feel if it pressed directly against your skin, without the barrier of the fabric slightly shielding it.

Curious when you might need to signal the safeword and whether the next orgasmic embrace will grip just that little too tightly. Questioning why feeling the restraints rendering you helpless makes the ordeal even more erotic, no matter how much you fight against them.

Continue to thrash and writhe and wonder; I’ll keep this right here and ensure that you find out very soon.

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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

Consider it revenge. How your body, your lingerie, ignites the imagination, so too does this brush. I know you want that firm touch, that deep penetration. Yet, as much as you may hope for fingertips to press against or a mouth to embrace tightly or a cock to thrust intently, instead, you will endure the slow torment of these soft bristles. What the sight of you makes me fantasise about, I want to make you fantasise about tenfold.

If you’re a good girl and hold your hips still, you’ll feel the brush focusing directly on that deliciously swollen clitoris. Until I think you’re ready for that mercy, however, you’ll feel those soft bristles, like feather tips, gliding gently up and down your mound and along your juicy, wet pussy lips. The brush has become slightly wet from sinking along your folds and tantalising your desperate entrance. I can see how the trail glistens against the smooth skin of your wonderful, plump little mound, so elevated with arousal.

Behind the blindfold and within the restraints, you may be imagining all manner of tongues flicking against your clit. Maybe you’re thinking of fingers or stiff lengths slipping up and down at the ready to slide inside and fuck you intensely. Yet, for now, you’ll need to relax as much as you can, as you’ll be enduring the fluttering motions of this brush for a long, long time.

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Model: Nova Gold

I wanted him to restrain me and force me to come more than I’d ever experienced, more than I could ever make myself come.

I wanted to feel that vibrator grind even harder against my clit when I told him to stop, to feel that vibration punishing my pussy when I said it was too much.

I wanted to beg for mercy the way I imagine it when I’m masturbating. I just didn’t realise how intense it would be after the first time I came, how my body would be turning on itself for allowing it to endure this, the battle between what my body can handle and what my mind craves.

It was only seconds after asking him to please let me come that the words ‘please stop’ escaped my lips. With every orgasm, I’d ask it again, hoping that the words would take new meaning to convey what my tensed muscles and trembling limbs could not. I want him to feel for a second what he’s doing to me, to understand what I’m going through, whether that would make him a little merciful. To feel such pleasure that surpasses that moment of devastation and veers into agony.  

But the part that resides deep within, the part that imagined this while I masturbated and edged myself to the fantasy, that part wants it never to end.

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