Tag: denial

Work-Life Balance

You wanted to experience what I can do to you?

I couldn’t help but smirk a little when you first asked. On the phones at work, those brief moments when you managed to prise the details of my sexual appetite from my lips. Perhaps it was the tone, maybe the choice of words, maybe even the way I looked you deep in the eyes as I spoke, but something sparked that fire, that longing. The curiosity kept getting the better of you, asking how I did it to the other girls, where you could watch it, what kinds of toys I used and how I used them. Work was never the suitable place to answer in detail, but I gave you just enough to keep your imagination alight. Finally, once I thought your curiosity had run its course, after such silence on the topic, you asked the question that caused that smile, which you still think of now. How I pictured you teasing and pleasuring yourself to the content I had led you to, wanting to allow you to explore your desires to the fullest. Though I never expected the words to drift from your alluring lips.

“Would you do that to me? Even just once?”

Continue reading Work-Life Balance

The hardness and the softness, that delicious friction, a slippery wet sensation of pure sexual delight. How the anticipation gives way to unstoppable urges, the way the pulsating heat invites and intoxicates. Every tremble and shudder, every pulse and twitch, feeling how deep he’ll be within her, feeling how softly she’ll wrap around him. The pleasure resonates deeper and deeper, thrusting and churning within, and that is before he is even inside her.

Continue reading

The Masseuse (Part III)

If they both knew how much they’d be internally screaming out with need for an orgasm, they would never have denied themselves throughout November. It seems foolish now to have passed on the opportunity to masturbate when these skilled hands tormented them beyond reason.

The man’s entire body was already tingling with anticipation when he had first arrived; his mind was too focused on the pleasure to come to pay much attention to the second massage table in the room. He was asked to undress and lie on his back. The moment he stripped and laid down, the masseuse instantly returned and began caressing his upper body. His lower body remained covered by a towel. Even though the masseuse’s warm, oil-coated hands massaged only his shoulders and chest, his length instantly began to stir. The month of abstinence – two months total without a full orgasm – meant that all he could think of was the masseuse’s hands reaching under to stroke his cock. Just thinking of her stroking him, sucking him and riding him instantly sent a surge through to his manhood. He wanted her to whisper to him that she was going to fuck him, to impale herself on him, that knowing how desperate to come he was made her wet just thinking about, and how it aroused her to fuck men in this state.

Instead of fulfilling his fantasies right away, the masseuse simply continued to massage him wordlessly. Even the previous sexual audio, which filled the room with moans and cries of ecstasy, was absent.

Just as he began to wonder why things were so different and why the masseuse’s previous accomplice wasn’t present, another person entered the room, followed by the accomplice.

Continue reading The Masseuse (Part III)

The Masseuse (Part II)

(Part I)

If she knew how much she’d be internally screaming out with need for an orgasm, she’d have never denied herself for so long.

She had often enjoyed the sensuality of her monthly full-body massage. While she always felt that her masseuse lingered on her inner thighs more than necessary, there was nothing overtly sexual about the experience. What was apparent, however, was that after every massage, she had a great need to masturbate once she returned home. She always abstained from playing with herself for a few days before her massage, enjoying the heightened sensitivity and where her imagination led her following the massage. This time she had decided to test herself and abstain for the entire month. Having not touched herself intimately between her last massage and this one, she was already in a hyper-sexual state of mind before even lying down on the table.

Covered in only a towel, she was aware of how little her body was concealed from the two women who walked into the room. The masseuse and her female accomplice -introduced as a trainee – began massaging her back. The second woman’s wonderfully soft, warm hands ran across her shoulders while the masseuse focused on her legs. Folding the towel down inch by inch, the trainee was free to press along more of her back. It would have had her imagination on fire to have been focusing on how this newcomer’s fingertips were grazing so close to the sides of her breasts, squished against the padded table. What instead drew her attention was how the masseuse’s hands were gliding up her legs so brazenly. The masseuse’s hands slid from feet to ankles to upper thighs and buttocks in one direct motion, instantly pushing the towel up so that it barely concealed her intimacy. A mixture of shyness and arousal coursed through the silent woman. Feeling a little cool air between her legs, she closed them, knowing that the masseuse positioned at the foot of the massage table would be able to sneak a peek at her privacy if so inclined. She was unable to conceal a gasp as the masseuse suddenly gripped her ankles and pulled her legs back apart.

Continue reading The Masseuse (Part II)

Just keep teasing yourself, don’t lower yourself down any further. Just let that inch penetrate you, making you want so much more. I know you want nothing more than to take it all deep inside you, but you’ve got to wait and anticipate it until every inch of you screams out for it. After all, you must know how much I also want to feel that tight, soft wetness wrap around my entire length. Good girl, keep letting just the tip slip up and down. If only you could feel how much the rest of my cock is pulsing in anticipation of being inside you. I want you at that point where you know that you will come the moment you take every inch of me within you.

Get ready to thrust down on me…

Now… take it all.

Content created by: PleasureTorture

Image source: Hegre-Art

The Masseuse

If he knew how much he’d be internally screaming out with need for an orgasm, he’d have never denied himself for so long.

Having abstained from masturbation, he had decided to book a massage to unwind with his long-time masseuse, though never had he expected it to become so sensual. She would massage his body with the most tender touches, her hands so attentive as they caressed his back, arms and shoulders before moving to his legs. When she had done this before, there was only the slightest hint of sexuality, the lightest touch a little closer under the towel than he’d expected. This time, however, it was as if she knew that he had abstained for weeks and wanted him to suffer.

He wasn’t surprised when he turned up and found the masseuse with a female accomplice; often, the pair massaged him together. What did surprise him, however, was that the trainee focused only on his upper body while his masseuse concentrated only on his lower body. It was clear right from the beginning that she intended to make life as difficult as possible, to set his imagination alight. Instantly she brushed her hands up under the towel, sweeping along his buttocks, then his inner thighs, just enough to have his mind’s eye focused on his manhood which she was so close to. Her hands crept further and further upwards with every movement as she stroked along his upper legs.

Continue reading The Masseuse

“That’s it, keep eating her out. Don’t pay any attention to how much she screams out and begs you to stop, keep going. If you make her orgasm another five more times, I’ll finally allow you to have that orgasm you need so badly. If you stop, it’ll be another week before you get the chance to come again. Perfect, show no mercy.”

Content created by: PleasureTorture

“Stop,” the word that never fails to send a devastating rush through her overstimulated mind. Finally brought back to the reality of her situation, the reality of what control her own fingertips have against the backdrop of her desires. If only the reality would mirror her fantasies, that of being able to dictate when she could climax.

Centre stage, she continues once again, the limits of passion engulfing every inch of her body, the gazes that sweep over her seem to touch like fingertips, as if every pair of eyes brushes tantalisingly along her skin. She wants to beg them one by one for the orgasm that has been denied for so long, though it is clear that these men and women watching her are here for the pleasure being witnessed, with no intention of letting it subside so soon. Her eyes begin anew their search for someone who might show some mercy, scanning the figures, some sitting and some standing but all dressed smartly for this sexual display, for some look of consent for release. Against the gentle backdrop of whispered chat and the sharp tap of wine glasses occasionally being placed on tables, her outpouring moans and sighs of pleasure takes centre stage.  

Fingers slickly coated with her own juices, she stops again as she feels herself teetering on the brink, a dull, aching pulse resonating from her clitoris, being her body’s only means of retaliation for such denial. She focuses on a couple who stands at the foot of the large bed as she begins stroking again. Mouthing the word ‘please’ to the man, she wants him to imagine what it must feel like inside her right now, how her tenderness must be quivering in need, how if he’d give the permission for her to come, how he could imagine feeling himself wrapped within those tight, convulsing folds of silken delight. The man merely smiles and continues to enjoy the delight, all while caressing his partner, who is savouring the sight just as much. For a moment, she thinks of how the light, folding around her body like a sheet, must be illuminating every detail of her dripping wet, glistening sex. The thought makes her reach the edge of orgasm so fiercely that she has to clasp her legs shut in order not to risk going over.

“Open them,” comes the hushed yet no less commanding order from a woman watching to the side, one of the closest people around her. Every feeling of desperation, of animalistic need, of agonising arousal, seems to instantly melt away to reveal the purest pleasure she has ever felt. The control of her own body, of her own pleasure, being held in the palms of not only those around her, but specifically this woman watching with such intent, makes her sexuality feel like the most important thing in the world, the very centre of existence.

Looking deeply into this woman’s eyes, she holds her gaze while her fingers slip within, seeming to explore herself deeper than she’d ever felt before. With her gaze held the whole time, through the ebbing tide of impending orgasm, her eyes convey one simple truth. This right now was the most wonderful, erotic experience of her life.

Photography by: Deckmara

Written by: PleasureTorture