"When you are pulling against the restraints… when your back is arched and your hips are writhing… when your mouth is open in a silent scream of tortured rapture… you will know that my work has begun".
The pure, undeniable eroticism of what we both intend. To know exactly how your dress so finely details those enticing curves of your femininity, how you know that the moment I see you, I’ll instantly be thinking of stripping you of it to reveal those delicate delights. The sheer sensuality of it, to always think that every time we are so close, only such thin segments of fabric separate us from what we truly desire.
You can’t deny your deepest fantasies. To be rendered helpless and teased beyond words, to be caressed so tenderly and intently, to be seduced by eager hands exploring every inch of your sensitive body. Simply, to be the centre of everyone else’s desires.
Was it hours that had passed, or was it merely minutes? She had no idea, time itself seemed lost in limbo. Her only measurement of being that seemed to exist now was whether she was coming, or just recovering from having climaxed. A hell of orgasms that would not stop.
No matter how many times she had told them all she knew, they would not relent in their interrogation, desperate to acquire the correct codes for her employer’s office. Her first mistake had been to side with them once in the past, when her ex-boyfriend had convinced her that her employer wouldn’t miss just a couple of the highly valuable paintings he kept there in his vast collection. The second mistake was to back out of the plan, having already told them that, being a close assistant to the boss, she was privy to the access code.
The way your body responds is so erotic isn’t it? I don’t just mean the way you can come from my fingers playing with you like this. I mean because of how when you are trying so hard to concentrate on not coming for a certain period of time, that very thought is what drives you closer to that orgasm even faster. Every aspect of your body and mind, wired for the pinnacle of pleasure.
“If I was to tell you that I’m still going to make you orgasm another 10 times, no matter how often those tears of over-stimulation roll down your cheeks, would it make it easier to take, or harder?”
She had wanted to explore so much with him, the promise of being restrained more securely than she’d ever experienced was too enticing to pass. Having a friend who understood her needs seemed like a blessing; it turned out that having him know her needs so well would be more like a curse.
They had planned to explore her desires for pain and pleasure, though when the first attempts at pain, inflicting little elastic band induced slaps against her feet, turned out to not be to her liking, his only other avenue was pleasure. While he instantly stopped when she signalled that she wasn’t into painful play, he certainly had no intention to stop when her orgasms became too much. The arousal caused from being rendered so helpless and exposed made her body so instantly susceptible to being completely overcome with pleasure. It only took a few seconds for his fingers and the vibrator to bring her to orgasm, though the whole idea was to fully explore the limits of her pleasure, and he knew that she truly wanted to have those limits entirely tested, no matter how much she begged him to stop. The more her tears of orgasmic torture streamed from her eyes, the more she screamed in overwhelming pleasure, the more he wanted to make her endure the orgasms.
“I wonder how much more intense the situation feels now that you realise that I intend to make you come until you pass out?”
She had often mentioned to her boyfriend how she fantasised about playing with other women; never did she dream that her fantasy would be lived out unexpectedly on a spa break. She certainly noticed him having a lengthy chat with these two ladies over the weekend, though she wouldn’t have believed that they were discussing when would be the right opportunity to take her, strip her and all have their way with her.
“If nobody hears us, we’ll have plenty of time alone with you here, so I’ve told these girls they can go extra slowly with you. I know it feels good sweetheart, but we can’t afford to let you come in case anyone hears us in here, I know how loud you are.”
Every time it pulls away, the desperation feels one hundred times worse.
She thought she was prepared for the auction, ready to indulge in whatever the master who had the winning bid had prepared for her, ready for a few months of luxury and erotic servitude; she couldn’t wait.
What she had not expected however was the specifications that the auction required, for the maids who were to be auctioned off to be in a state of desperate sexual longing. To make sure they looked most appetising to the bidders, the auctioneers were thorough in making sure the only thoughts on the girls minds were the need to orgasm and the orders they’d obey to soon be allowed that release.
All that is on her mind now is the buzz of the vibrator and the unbearable pulses of longing between her thighs. Every day for the week before the auction she has been brought to the edge countless times, until she has offered anything for an orgasm or even just another jolt of pleasure that comes from being brought to the edge. Another two days until the auction, another two days of being vibrated to the brink and having it stop, repeated until she can barely think or speak. Another two days of begging for the chance to come, knowing it won’t happen, no matter how many times the words ‘please’ escape her lips. Her only problem is that the auction caters most specifically for masters who greatly enjoy denial; she will be begging for a long time to come.