The Writer’s Pen (Audio Story)

Soundgasm

Hear the writer’s torment come to life in this erotic horror audio story.

Content created by: PleasureTorture

An audio collaboration with Minxy and Creativeintentaudio.

Original story below.

“Good girl, don’t stop – keep rubbing that throbbing clit for me. I want to just jump through the monitor and torture you with my own fingertips.” 

“Please!! It’s too much, I need to come… I neeeeeed to come. Fuck I can’t hold it!” 

“Don’t you dare come or I’ll ruin your next 5 orgasms in a row.” 

“Pleeeeeease!!!” 

“Stop. Just circle it for 10 seconds. No, begging isn’t going to help. How badly do you need to come?” 

“Oh God… fuck. OH GOD. More than… I can barely talk. More than anything. I’ve been desperate for days. I’m begging you to let me come. Please. My pussy can’t take it anymore.” 

“Get close again. Just think of my mouth torturing you right now, my tongue slipping back and forth over your mound, flicking your twitching little clit until your hips are shaking.” 

“PLEEEEASE! My hips are already shaking. I need to… I’m going to-“

“-Stop. Hands away. Good girl, I love seeing your hips rocking in need. If you travel and visit me, perhaps I’ll be able to give your pussy what it needs most. Just imagine me fingerfucking you hard right now while sucking your clit mercilessly.” 

“Can I please touch it? Just the thought alone nearly has me on edge.” 

“No… that’s enough. You’ll have to wait.” 

“Oh no please please please. That’s too cruel. It’s been two weeks. I’m desperate. I just HAVE to come.” 

“No. Not today. Suffer with need until we next can play. I have to continue writing more for today.”  

“One day you’ll know just how it feels,” she growled in warning, though was met only by a cold laugh from the one who had brought so much pleasure along with so much frustration.  

With that, the writer ended the webcam session, putting an end to any hope for her to receive the relief she desperately needed. Another follower, another victim, whom he had brought to a knife edge, left dancing in his web of cruel ecstasy.  

You reap what you sow. 

How many moans had he elicited? How much erotic anguish had he been responsible for? How many times had the words he had written, and sent out into the world, caused for the most exquisite torment? 

For years he had penned stories capturing the imaginations of so many. So many online sessions where he had tormented countless women with the possibility of climax, only to deny them and leave them wanting more. At least a decade spent detailing every facet of sexual longing and exploration. So many women, all enraptured by every stroke of his pen. So many were introduced to the world of slow sensuality, reading his scenarios which all had them teasing themselves intently, denying themselves their climax until his pen dictated it. All those squeals of longing which he had been solely responsible for. 

Edging: the act of pleasuring oneself to the brink of orgasm, then holding it back, denying oneself again and again until the need for release was unbearable. Like invisible hands extending from him, his stories and instructions seemed to caress his readers, touching them from afar and introducing many to a world of arousal, frustration, and overstimulation. There was no telling how many people he had brought to tears of need through his detailed events and instructions. What he did know for sure however was how much pleasure it gave him to know just how intensely he had made these readers come; all the edging, all the denial, culminating in countless eruptions of pleasure. 

Sometimes he would feel especially cruel, writing out scenes and instructions detailing ruined orgasms. He knew how much his readers would suffer from this; building up that well of need, ready to burst, only to then have the sensation ruined – to be instructed to stop masturbating right at the point of climax. Such cruelty, causing the joy of orgasm to be replaced with the frustration of not being able to fulfil the desires, a climax ebbing away instead of gushing forth. 

Every word from the writer’s pen was etched with lust, with desire, with a longing to induce unimaginable pleasure to every reader before being sent out into the world. What aroused the readers most though was the understanding that everything he wrote was fueled with cruelty. 

Cruelty craves company. 

When he woke in a haze, he was already stripped naked. Everything around the bed seemed to be in a fog, so he had no idea whether it was day or night.  

A woman massaging his torso was quick to tell him that this was no dream before addressing him further.  

“That’s it, simply relax and enjoy what is in store for you.” 

With how she began to move her hands down his front, towards his already erect length, he would not have tried to get away even if he weren’t already seemingly under a spell which rendered him dazed and immobile. 

‘What kind of black magic is this?’ he wondered to himself as he struggled to move at all. 

Wordlessly, she began stroking him, lovingly embracing his length with her palms. While she did not have any oil on hand, it certainly felt as if she had coated his member in the silkiest of concoctions. It was as if the most perfect sensation of masturbation had been plucked from his mind. Every inch of his cock burned with pleasure, so swollen and erect that it felt three times its size. Occasionally she would return to massaging his torso, layering kisses from his chest down to the base of his cock, before returning to stroking him. 

He had no idea how long this went on, time itself did not seem to exist. Every time he tried to tell himself that this was a dream, ignoring the fact that the sensations were too real, too intense to be a scenario within his mind, the woman assured him further, “This isn’t something you’ll simply wake up from.” 

As she continued to stroke his length from base to the tip, the writer began to wish that she would wrap her wonderful lips around him. The wish soon turned to a prayer, which soon turned to a declaration of need, “Please!!!” 

She ignored him and continued to work her hands very slowly and sensually up and down, before paying much attention to the head of his cock. She circled and teased the bulbous tip, backing off each time his cock danced to her touch on the brink of orgasm. Once she began flicking her tongue against his frenulum, tormenting that tender underside of his cock, he could feel precum flooding out, trailing down his shaft. 

If he were able to think clearly, with thoughts unburdened by the all-consuming need for sexual release, he’d perhaps have recognized her from a picture long ago. One of the first pictures he’d received, a provocative image sent in appreciation from his earliest follower, the reader of his very first story. She had edged many times to his work ever since that initial time.

However this manifestation of hers came to be, from whatever black magic he could guess at, she was to tease him to the brink for as many times as he’d caused her to endure since day one to now.

“Please, you’ve had me on the edge for so long… so long! Please let me-” 

His sentence caught in his throat as she then engulfed him. Every inch of his cock seemed to be straining against itself within her mouth as she worked her lips up and down. Somehow, he had not come, yet the intensity was overwhelming. So many times being brought to the brink all concentrated into one central, stiffened relic of agony.

With a loud ‘pop’ she released him and spoke, “I’m not going to let you come that easily, silly.” She smiled longingly at him, then began stroking him rapidly. “Tell me when you’re right on the edge.” 

With how sensitive to the touch his manhood was, he was shocked that he hadn’t erupted after the first couple of strokes, yet still he was able to last another minute of mind-numbing ecstasy before signalling, “I’m going to come!” 

She let go of his length, which twitched and pulsated with need, desperate to be held, to be touched. 

“You should be careful with whom you choose to be your victims. How many people do you think you’ve caused to edge? How many times has each person endured that sensation of denial?” 

Suddenly she was gone before he could think of an answer, and in her place without warning was another woman. 

“Hush now. No need to be confused, just focus on how swollen those beautiful balls of yours are, how tight they must feel. Fuck I want to ride your cock right now. It looks so painfully hard. I’ve wanted to do this to you for so long.” 

“Who are you? How is this happeni-” 

Placing a forefinger against his lips, she silenced him and replied. 

“You’ll have hours and hours to ponder the answers. Though some of us you might recognize, many you’ve never seen before. But every single one of us will unleash the same upon you which you had given us.” 

With that, she crawled up atop him, straddling him so that his erection was between her legs. He simply watched as she slid her pussy back and forth along the underside of his cock. 

“Please, I… I’m aching for more.” 

With that plea, the woman lifted her hips and guided him within her. 

In the writer’s state of hypersensitivity, he could feel every quiver of her pussy, every sensitive fold convulsing around his twitching length which became entombed in slick pleasure. He watched as her breasts swayed up and down while she rode him, the stiffness of her nipples hypnotizing him in a display or pure arousal. 

“Do you think your cock could take feeling my pussy glide up and down one hundred times before it exploded, before you came for me?” she asked, smiling at him, her eyes piercing him with mischievous desire. 

‘Not a chance’ he wanted to shout out, feeling like just once more would easily make him come, but he wanted it so badly that he had to conform. “Yes… yes, just please let me.” 

She then began bouncing up and down quickly, making him gasp with every downward thrust, burying him to the base within her. He knew he should have climaxed by now, yet he held back his cries of need. All he had to do was last. 

Seventy-six… seventy-five. Utter torment. 

Forty-two… forty-one. Her pussy juice was dripping down his balls. 

Twenty-nine… twenty-eight. He tried desperately to thrust up as well, to no avail. 

Ten… nine. His cock felt like it was ready to explode. 

Two… one. Mercifully, he’d escape the prison of her wet, writhing walls trapping his tortured cock. 

Zero… she stopped. He remained buried within, right on the edge. 

“FUCK… Please!!! I’m begging you! Let me come.” 

As he begged and pleaded, she convulsed on top of him, clearly in the midst of an intense orgasm while his length twitched within. Once it was over, she seemed to fade and disappear, just as the person before had. 

“Fuck me from behind,” came the order of a different woman, who was now standing at his side. Without any effort on his part, the writer stood and carried out the action, as if he were merely a puppet with invisible strings. Whatever black magic this was, he was unable to control a single movement, like he was merely a character in someone else’s story.  

The woman knelt on the bed as he thrust within her, his hips seemed to be guided, plunging deeply inside to the hilt. He fucked her hard, though he felt like a passenger, watching as his length slid deeply within and back out without being in control of a single motion, his hands gripping her waist. 

“Please… I need to come,” he could still speak of his own accord. The moment he was on the brink, one thrust away from erupting, she called out. 

“Stop.” 

His hips pulled away, the tip of his cock just resting against her swollen red pussy lips, precum dripping onto the bed. 

She turned onto her back, looking up at him. “Let’s try that again, I want you to be on the edge while you’re inside me this time.” 

“PLEASE. I’M BEGGING YOU. LET ME COME!” 

“I’m sorry, I can’t. Don’t you see… every single person you have edged and teased from your stories, every girl who has experienced their first moment of teasing. Every female who has masturbated to your scenarios. They all will edge you as many times as you have caused them to edge. You will experience every moment of denial that you have caused. Again, and again and again. It will not stop until every single moment of edging has been reciprocated. 

“But… that could be thousands of times before I get to come!!!” 

“Before you get to come? You’re forgetting… you also ruined many orgasms… so you’re enchanted cock is going to experience every ruined orgasm you have caused. Your throbbing length is going to feel so many ruined orgasms before you get to fully climax… and then you’ll have to experience every orgasm you’ve ever given as well.”

With that, his hips began thrusting back and forth, once again beginning his hellish denial. 

She was quick to tell him that this no nightmare either. He would not simply wake up from this torment. 

The writer’s pen was no longer in his own control. The entity of every woman who he had edged and teased through his stories and through online webcam sessions would visit him. Whether he had caused them to edge once, or one hundred times, he would suffer the same fate, unable to control his own body while they used him like a toy. His cock would throb and twitch, fit to bursting, yet he would not receive the mercy he would soon beg and plead for.  

In a state of near delirium, after every moment of near climax and after being held on the brink for what must have amounted to hours overall, the final person would show: the very last person who he had done a session with.  

“I’m going to edge you as many times as you edged me, just like the rest. But remember, don’t be foolish enough to think that you’ll finally get to come after all of that. You may have suffered through hundreds if not thousands of times being brought to the brink… but don’t forget how many ruined orgasms you’ve been responsible for as well.” 

The writer would be in a hell of his own creation.