Hoping and Praying…

She lies there, hoping and praying that tonight will be any different, yet it is always the same. Time after time the whispers drift throughout the room; soft as feathers, yet the effects strike like talons. Every night they tell her to open herself to the whims of that which cannot be seen, yet the touches are unmistakable.

No matter how much she questions the beings or speaks to them, no answers are given except for the same orders, to keep spread-eagled and motionless. Whatever these bodiless entities were, their power over the girl was beyond human comprehension. They would tease her body in ways no mortal could manage, though this is where the girl’s torment truly took hold. While they always ordered her to remain in the position, the delights wrought on her were always too much to endure; they kept bringing her to the edge of orgasm in ways her mind could not fathom, in ways which finally made her give in before they granted her the orgasm she craved. As soon as she moved, the beings vanished, leaving her wanting. The cruelty was that they always left her stuck in this state, making sure that she could not orgasm even under her own manipulations, sealing her orgasm off until they returned the next night… and the next… and the next.

She has lost count how many nights it has been, yet still they pay no heed to her begging and whimpering, they simply give the one single order and continue their work. No matter what she wears, the cloth is no barrier to them, it is as if her skin were moving and teasing itself. It has always been the same since the beginning, they always work so painfully slow, spreading warm sensations all over her body, yet when the attention hones onto her clitoris and nipples, she loses it.

Tonight her silken black underwear is no defence as usual – they assault her body with constant lingering touches. No matter how much she mentally prepares herself, her every nerve reacts to what feels like hundreds of fingertips darting between her thighs to seduce the wetness within. No matter how hard she clenches her fingers and how much she tenses every muscle in retaliation, her body is always overcome with horrifying ease.

She tries once again with all of her might to hold her composure, to not give in, to finally last until the sweet kiss of orgasm is granted; yet each day of being denied has taken its toll more and more, making the following day even harder still.  Frustrated cries of desperation fill the room as her body arches, clutching at the bed in need. She knows it is helpless, left to experience another 24 hours coping with the build-up of unreleased arousal.

She will have to go through it all over again. She prays that tomorrow night will yield what she wishes for most.

She lies there, hoping and praying that tonight will be any different, yet it is always the same. It didn’t matter how long the sensations punished her body, or how many days or weeks: all that mattered to her was whether tonight would be the night that mercy was shown.

The daytime was merely a brief respite, an interlude to the ever expected events of the night; her days were spent in constant desire, a pulsing need emanating from between her thighs and resonating through to the very tips of her fingers, fingers that would not quench that need no matter how much she tried. Such a cruel torture, to have the simple yet most desirable aspect of sexuality, the climax of pleasure, sealed away, yet there was never an explanation or any other interaction other than the nightly torment that never ceased to arrive. While she hid her unendurable frustrations well enough in the daytime, her mind was constantly restless with thoughts of what was to come. As much as she tried to fight it, she could not help but be consumed as every inch of her body seemed to be on a knife edge; every brush of her clothes against her skin from even the slightest movement managed to pull her mind back to the prickling need throughout.

It felt as if she were inside a living, writhing prison, her mind trapped within a shell of uncontrollable lust.

Once home, she strips naked for the night, knowing that the entities have moved beyond teasing her over the clothing. She is unsure whether it is better having them touch her naked body, or worse. Stripped and ready to plummet back into the depths of desperation, she lies in wait until once more they come – soft wisps of the night air trailing over her defenceless body.

On cue, those unseen fingertips trace along every curve as if to needlessly remind her of just how sensitive every inch of her delicate feminine frame has become. Their touches mark her every outline with a trace of renewed longing, though the trembling and whimpering need that escapes her does nothing to bring about any change of pace. Even though they are unseen, even though she cannot touch or grip hold of the entities with her own hands, the touches always have almost human warmth to them, warmth that makes the sensations feel so much more erotic.

It is always the same – no matter how long she tries to fight, it never takes long until pleas for mercy escape her full, moist, trembling lips; her breath already in ragged gasps even though they have barely begun.

All around her smooth body, down the arch of her back, along the curve of her ass, they begin to focus on those most tender places, the places that truly torture her most. Before the beings even make contact, the little pinpoints of her nipples and clitoris are already stiffened with desperate arousal, a body already conditioned to such cruel stimulation. What always scares her is just how precisely they know where to touch, as if her body is an open book to them. For so many days they had stimulated her in ways she was sure no other person had ever felt. Those long, lingering strokes to her sex, the gentle touches to her lips that felt somehow like the soft nibbles of a mouth, the trailing featherlike contact to her stomach and hips, the circling stimulation around her breasts and the delicate dancing of fingertips along her feet and up her legs; it all added to the cruellest of teases.

As ever, the feeling of a thin thread seems to wrap around her clitoris, slowly and gently tweaking it and sliding up and down. All she can do is claw at the bed, unable to stop herself gasping in such intense pleasure, knowing that there is no way to stop the sensations the invisible tendril is wreaking on her. Whether she closes her legs or tries to paw at the source of it all, they pass through her fingers like the air itself. What feels like fingertips pinching and caressing her most sensitive spots soon gives way to the feeling of countless tongues, constantly flicking her exposed clitoris non-stop while the tiny strand continues to caress it. She can almost feel her clitoris pulse on the edge of orgasm as the soft thread squeezes it tight enough to make her squeal out in pleasure, before more begin to slide along the most sensitive folds of her pussy. Still they do not let her come.

Brought to the edge of orgasm again and again, she continues to scream and beg aimlessly. As the night goes on, the sweat drips from her skin while her juices slide along her inner thighs. Even though she cannot touch them or stop them, now and again they still pin her wrists and ankles down, just to add to her erotic torment, just to tease her imagination even further. All she can do is writhe and cry out. As they explore her mercilessly, as her hips rock in the fury of frustration, she screams out at the inescapable anguish, begging for just that one orgasm. Hour after hour they edge her relentlessly, keeping her teetering on the brink, sometimes with an inhuman ability to hold her on the edge ceaselessly.

She prays that tonight they will show mercy.

They won’t.

Content created by: PleasureTorture

Submission by: a-mind-full-of-dirt


2 thoughts on “Hoping and Praying…”

  1. Love these supernatural gif stories – being kept on edge by an unseen force – so hot. The detail is exquisite, especially once they get to her clit…very arousing – thank you 🙂

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