They had learned many new incantations from the sex education classes, but this small group knew that there must be a genre of spells harvested from the dark arts to also try out… and so they were right.
The restricted area of the library was a treasure trove of wicked delights, though one book stood out, ‘The Darkest Arts – Sex Hexes Most Tormenting’. They were cautious at first, but upon closer inspection, they realised just what kind of spells they were dealing with, and knew that they just had to master them and see them in action.
They selected their target with little debate: a particular studious, bookish, sweet girl was the perfect slice of innocence for them to defile. Catching her away from the rest of her house, she was easy to overpower and bring back to their common room. Finally, this shining example of a student was all theirs to torment; little-miss-perfect would suffer.
A few simple enchantments soundproofed the room, before making short work of her clothes. They could have magically bound her to the wooden chair, but the physicality of restraints, of cuffs, made things so much more tangible. They wanted her to truly feel and understand the helplessness of her predicament once she awoke.
Naked, wrists cuffed to the armrests, ankles cuffed to the chair legs, and cut off from the rest of the school, she was at their mercy. With wands raised, wasting no time to hear her confused questions and pleas, they started instantly. A blast of pure pleasure set her body in motion, arching from the seat in sensations of pleasure that seemed to have been conjured from the very pits of hell; a creeping, writhing, unrelenting shock of constant, inhumane pleasure. Formless and with no clear origin, it was a fiery sensation that swelled throughout; a confusing, intense and agonising stream of instant electric arousal. All she could do was try and catch her breath whenever they stopped, as any time she attempted to speak, or scream, or cry out, or even weep, they blasted her with pure pleasure once again.
It wasn’t a pleasure which rose, fell, and stirred, like the touch of a lover, but a sustained and indescribable shock that nonetheless was getting her so close to orgasm. She was too lost to hear them discussing what spells to test on her, but knew something was wrong following the next spell they cast. Numbness spread throughout her sex before settling back to normal. It wasn’t long until she realised what they had done.
She screamed at the top of her longs once she saw them all raise their wands together, casting the same pleasure spell at once. Indescribable agonising ecstasy tore through her, yet the spell previously cast now became clear. She would have come in a second from this otherwise, yet her body was locked just shy of that pinnacle. No matter how much she tried or willed herself to orgasm, mercy was not granted. She would have begged if she could, but the intensity snatched the very ability of speech away, constricting her voice as if ready to crush the air from her lungs like a coiling snake. Had they not enchanted the girl to make sure she could not pass out or suffer mental or physical consequences from fatigue, she would have lost consciousness long ago. It felt like years that they kept her pressed against the walls of orgasm, a wall which would not crumble, though it was mere minutes.
The group took such pleasure watching her writhe, watching her not know how to cope. They relished her closing her thighs, pulling against the restraints, throwing her head back, trying with all her might to scream out and beg. The tortured girl was unaware of the stream of tears running down her face, tears which seemed determined to signal to the captors that they had pushed this innocent body too far. All she could think, if thought was an apt enough concept, was of the desperate need to come. Now it was all she existed for, that pure wish of release. It might have been easier to handle if it were repetitious, to have stopped her orgasm and then started building back up again. To be kept for what seemed to be hours on the very utmost edge of orgasm and held there, forced to ride it, without the slightest shift in intensity, was a different kind of hell.
Way past the prospect of hope, way past the belief that mercy would come… without warning, it stopped. So lost in agony, the victim almost didn’t realise it. There was little time to comprehend the pause as another spell hit her, a spell which this had all built towards. A shapeless, merciless, cruelly granted surge of white-hot orgasm penetrated to her very core. The very opposite of the Cruciatus curse, this was a torture all the same. Not the liquid, rising pleasure of masturbation or the blunt, hot pleasure of sex. This was different. It seemed to hold her in its grasp and sap every ounce of control. It was far from relief or mercy. It was pleasure that bordered on pain: an intense, constant stab which could not be escaped, no matter how much she screamed or tried to pull herself away.
The group took turns one after the other with no break in between, casting the same orgasm spell on their pleasure puppet and holding it for as long as they desired. They knew it would only be a matter of time before they were caught, but it would all be worth it for the suffering they were witnessing.
It would still be hours before anyone would get through the common rooms enchantments they had placed, hours during which they would force orgasm after orgasm from the poor defenceless girl. She could not stop it or fight it; the sweet relief of unconsciousness would not save her. Time after time, she came. At first it may have been something akin to pleasure, but soon the sensations were nothing less than torture. She thought she would die from it, but no, that would merely spoil their fun. Besides, she hadn’t yet felt what it would be like when they all cast the spell on her at once…
Content created by: PleasureTorture
Image source from: Robolust