Drinking Games

Never had she expected that a little game they had played during a night out would come back to haunt her, yet here she was, tied spread-eagle to the bed at her housemate’s mercy.
30 minutes for every guy who buys you a drink.’’
It hadn’t seemed too dangerous… 

All those teasing little touches to that soft, delicate slope begin to take their toll. Soft whispers of longing turn to gentle pleas for her wet panties to be removed.

30 minutes down.

Following a week of not touching herself sexually, her body was not prepared for such a slow, methodical exploration. Those tormenting strokes, focused on her sensitive flower, seemed to ignite a flame which never felt close enough to touch yet always close enough to burn.

The aching throughout her body would not cease for a moment; the smallest, most sensitive buttons of her body began to throb more and more. Her nipples yearned for the pinch that would set her off… she had always been able to come from her breasts and nipples being stimulated. Sadly her tormentor knew this, using that knowledge to make her suffering even more drawn out.
One hour had passed, though not knowing how much longer was left made it feel so much worse.

Nothing could possibly feel as wicked, more devilishly cruel. Being brought so close, then having it pulled away, stuck in the pre-orgasmic limbo of denial. The surges of an orgasm lost never fade, they simply fester, ready to pounce as soon as those fingertips continue their work.

 The soft, slippery traces clinging to her fingertips with every slow stroke, the shine it leaves on her skin.
1 hour 30 minutes down.

Her tormentor took such pleasure in the little details she had earned. From the slow, steady rotation of those hips, waiting in vain for a deeper sensation that will not come, to the constant, drifting moans and erratic shiver once that desperate clitoris is worked slowly.

The softness of her flower, those fingers could have sunk right in, but instead they were made to linger along her inviting petals, gliding along the wetness faster and faster. Screams of need and frustration would be etched into the very walls were it not for the makeshift gag.

Brought to the very edge, hoping this would be the moment. Surely this time she would be allowed to come. Once those slender, slick wet fingers stopped once again, she could have cried.
It had been 2 hours.

Having become very drunk, she wasn’t sure quite how many guys had brought her drinks… though, of course, she had no idea that the girl in charge of administering her forfeit had made sure there would be plenty more hours of edging her into oblivion. It had been expensive, paying so many men the cost of a drink to purchase for her friend, but it had been worth every penny.
A good job that they have the whole night alone.

Content created by: PleasureTorture

Image source from: Denyherorgasm

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