Demon in the Ceiling

Sleep was the last bastion of relief. This was no longer the case.

You’d always feel my demonic presence in your bedroom. I would see you looking up and around so often, sensing me but never seeing me. I’d wrap those coils of lust around you daily, teasing you every time you entered and not letting go. The fetching attire you’d strip down to, fueling my desire to torment you further. Those racing fingertips, unable to bring yourself beyond the pinnacle. My prisoner of passion. So many times you writhed and begged, hoping and praying that I’d relent and show you some mercy and lift the curse. Little did you know that those whimpers and screams for mercy sealed your fate further, ensuring I’d make this place my home for many years.

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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.

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The Masseuse (Her November)

(His November)

Another person’s fingertips trailing over her body is all she craved. She’d happily give up a month of masturbation in order to feel the sensations she had enjoyed at the massage parlour. The prospect of submitting to the stimulation in that way, with every touch and every caress focused solely on her, was too enticing to pass up.

The ruined orgasm played on her mind throughout November. For the first couple of weeks, she focused on the frustration, how her pussy convulsed in longing for so much more and how the sense of emptiness that the ruined orgasm brought remained with her. She wanted those cruel fingertips back where they were, teasing her clitoris and penetrating her intensely, squeezing around them as if it were her body pleading for them not to stop fucking her.

For the last couple of weeks in November, she instead focused on the joy that even the ruined orgasm brought. The sensation of pleasure lifted to the surface, and the jolts of ecstasy that slipped through the cracks of frustration.

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The Masseuse (His November)

The Masseuse and The Masseuse Part II

One month, that’s all it would be. He thought it would be difficult, he never expected it would be hellish.

It would have been so much easier, he thought, if his last orgasm was at least fulfilling, at least truly enjoyable. Instead, the masseuse had ended with a ruined orgasm, dashing hopes of a pleasurable climax before sending him away with the instruction to go a month of denial before returning. All he needed to do was get through November, and finally he assumed he’d get the orgasmic release he needed.

He longed for the massage table, to feel the masseuse and her apprentice’s warm, feminine hands caress his naked body. It was extremely difficult to abstain from touching himself at night when that was all he could picture. The way their hands coated him all over, how soft their palms felt against his throbbing member, how teasing their fingertips were each time it twitched.

Even work was difficult; as the days turned into weeks, it became harder to think about anything other than sex. Every titillating image or suggestive comment turned his mind to mush. It was as if, within the first week, he realised just how much free time he had, even at work, free time which led to more fantasies churning in his mind. While the urge to masturbate at night wasn’t as strong as expected, the urge to watch porn was greater than ever. He avoided it to ensure he wouldn’t be tempted. He wanted to last the entire month.

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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.

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PleasureTorture Collected Works

Anticipating the upcoming novel length story (currently editing the PDF layout while also uploading it chapter by chapter for Patreon supporters), here is a selection of stories (found here such as ‘Torment of Denial’ and ‘Two Participants’) presented in an easily accessible format. The link includes the ability to download in PDF format.

I will be using SmashWords as a means to present the story ‘Drawn to Desire’ upon it’s formatted completion.

I will be posting a section of the story before the release of it as well on here.

Recently a number of audio posts have been created, with one intended to be posted on here by the end of the week. A few others have been created in collaboration with a website I am working with. More information to come very soon.

PleasureTorture: The Collected Works Vol. 1

Star Of The Show

You could have been cautious, though perhaps you wouldn’t have done a single thing differently.

For the first few days in college, you kept to yourself as you always had. Buried in your books as if raising your head would necessitate the need to interact with the world outside of them; a safe haven from the complications and discomfort that interactions can bring. It wasn’t that you didn’t occasionally look fondly at the relationships of others around you, it’s just that the fear of the unknown wouldn’t allow you to traverse outside the safe haven of your solitude. 

‘The shy girl,’ that’s how Julia first referenced you. Few terms could make you withdraw further than being directly labelled as shy, yet the more Julia spoke to you throughout your first week in college, the more that you realised this person, who you deemed  ‘the cool girl’, wanted to befriend you. It took a little while to coax you out of your shell a little more, yet the prospect of not just making a friend, but befriending one of the most popular people in college, allowed you to feel more accepted. 

Often in the past you’d looked on, wanting to not just win people over but also be admired, yet too afraid of any imagined repercussions and confrontations to commit yourself and push past your fears of rejection. Yet here you were, the first couple of weeks of college and already friends with THE Julia. 

You had known before when people’s eyes were lingering on you, since Julia befriended you, her remarks on how attractive you are helped you not only appreciate the gazes but also meet them head on. While you weren’t quite ready to actively hang around with Julia’s clique, you couldn’t deny that the thought of being amongst the popular group was enticing. Being around Julia had helped you realise that your interests and hobbies weren’t a cause to be the outsider – she shared many of the same likings. In fact, she admired your love of reading, writing and photography. For once your pastimes weren’t making you feel like the outsider. 

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Under Mistletoe

Christmas eve, the flicker of a flame bathing her smooth skin, a mere ember compared to the inferno of need that raged within her. She swayed her hips a little, hoping to entice the man standing beside her at the foot of the bed, yet it was to no avail. Still his hands continued to massager her. Tantalizing her, his hands continued gliding along her back, caressing her raised ass cheeks, coursing along her sides, outlining the contours of her delicate frame. If only he’d touch her more instead of only teasing the sides of her breasts, instead of merely toying with the lips of her sex, so exposed and easy to penetrate.

Her pussy could get no wetter, so plump with arousal, doing all it could to invite those calculated fingers into that silky soft delicacy. Yet he was deliberate, there was still so much more time.

“Turn,” he whispered, gently, yet commanding.

She smiled as she turned, surely this would be the time?

As she turned over on the pillows, while he coated his fingers with more of the lubricant, she looked around for a clock. To her disappointment he had removed any indication of time, only his phone alarm would indicate when Christmas day officially arrived.

Now on her back, the mistletoe hung in full view above them – the cause for her predicament. He wanted her to see it once he filled her with disappointment again, denying her the fulfilment of giving her the orgasm she so desperately craved. With her hips raised by the pillows beneath, her womanhood was so fully presented to
him, yet still he merely traced his fingertip around her mound.

Her body trembled as his fingers slowly and deliberately circled the stiff peaks of her nipples, threatening to give her the relief of pinching them, before stopping and
tormenting her pussy once again. She finally broke down and began begging him once he toyed with her clitoris. The way he peeled back her clitoral hood to expose that tender morsel, before circling it cruelly, forced her to plead for the orgasm she had been torturously denied for so long.  Just a pinch, the thrust of a finger – anything.

“Not until we kiss under the mistletoe.”

Her mind raced back to their Christmas work do, just a couple of days ago. How they’d been with their colleagues, standing together under the mistletoe when he leaned forward to kiss her. Her words becoming her own torment, ‘no mistletoe kisses until Christmas,’ she had said with a cheeky laugh. She had stopped him then, but right now she’d do anything for that kiss.

Clawing at the bed in the agony of desire, she had no idea how long until he’d make her come. 10 minutes? An hour? He’d tease her relentlessly for as long as it took.

All she was certain of was that when the time came, she knew exactly where she wanted him to kiss her.

Content created by: PleasureTorture