eenslaved:

 They took a couple’s weekend now and again. When he felt they needed one. Always the same hotel because it didn’t really matter where they stayed, really, as long as the room was clean and well-appointed. 

They would arrive there on Friday evenings, after the rush hour traffic had dwindled. She would walk in the gold doors, knowing she wouldn’t walk back out for another 48 hours.

She bathed herself, scrupulously made sure she was shaved smooth. When she stepped outside, nude and dried off, he would have stripped the bed and covered it with the absorbent under pad and waterproof overlay. 

He didn’t assist her with the suit until she needed it. He helped make sure her hands were curled and tucked away into the latex pockets that trapped them into folded circles. The suit molded over her flesh like it was poured on. The hood encased her head completely, and she was sealed in. He checked.

He guided her to the bed, helped ease her back, and then he began buckling the straps around her neck, over and under her breasts, across her stomach, hips, pubis, thighs upper and lower, knees, calves, ankles. The vibrator was nestled into the crease between her legs and strapped in. He moved at it and adjusted the straps and continued doing so until it couldn’t be budged.

Then he turned it on and it was all she knew. Her body was no longer hers. It bucked and strained independent of her will. She was helpless to control its seizures and undulations. The sounds it made were not owned by her; they took her over. They didn’t escape the hood, or just barely, so they stayed with her. 

He sat back and watched her, the smooth, shiny, black-encased figure, swelling and surging, tensing and uncoiling. Time passed, interrupted only by moments when he unstoppered her mouth and gave the hole a straw to sip water from.

He turned off the vibrator when it was time for him to sleep. He slept beside her, moving his hand over the smooth form, tightening his hand over the taut flesh, squeezing the bulging breasts, thumbing the vibrator on, off, on, off, until he drowsily drifted to sleep.

He unstoppered her mouth in the morning, fed her warm oatmeal, gave her more water. The vibrator was on again. She begged him between swallows to turn it off; when she was fed, he closed the hole in the hood again. The vibrator stayed on.

When he next removed it, it was to clean her. He carried her to the tub, turned the jets on to pummel muscles that had been straining at length. The first suit was removed for cleaning. The second suit, fresh, gleaming, was waiting for her when she was done.

It was always harder to get her into the second suit. He had to put it on her all the way. She was crying the whole time. He reminded her how she begged him to let her come just twenty-four hours ago, begged to wear the suit if it meant the chastity belt would be removed. “Remember, you asked for the suit.”

He stood by the bed and stroked himself. He timed his climax with hers. When her body tensed, fought the suit and the bondage, his seed boiled out, leaving milky discharge on the black suit. Again and again.

quitemystery:

thedirtiestkitten:

imishmish:

I know you protested, kitten.  Begged me not to use the clamps tonight.  Moaned and screamed when they went on.  Spreading your pussy apart.  Exposing you completely.  But that’s why you’re mine, kitten.  Because I know what you need.  And now look at you.  Look how wet you are.  Look how your clit is swelling.  Just my thumb touching you kitten.  Look how heavy you’re breathing.  You can’t even feel the pain in your nipples and pussy anymore, can you.  You’re just focused on one thing.  My gentle thumb stroking you.  Thank me, kitten.  Let me hear you tell me how much you love it.  How grateful you are that your pussy is mine.  Tell me kitten….

Oh fuck…

Well done.

teasetheweakersex:

Hmm…

While I appreciate that you’re soaking wet for me I do have to wonder why you’re wearing panties at all.  You know the rules.  I don’t care if you were embarrassed–that’s part of the point.  

Now, slip these panties off and stuff them inside your aching pussy.  If you wanted your precious panties so much, you may have them.  You will keep a pair of panties there for the next week during which time you also won’t be allowed to touch.

imishmish:

It’s so perfect, kitten.  So soft.  So eager.  So ready.  I love the way it feels as I stroke my fingers back and forth.  I could rub you all night like this.  Listen to you breathe.  Getting heavier and heavier.  Watch that clit start to swell more and more.  You get so sensitive don’t you, kitten?  So delicate.  God, you sound so hot when you’re like this, kitten.  Just relax, kitten and concentrate on my fingers.  Enjoy my touch, I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.

casualbrainwashing:

That’s right. Every morning, every evening, just lie down on your bed and play with yourself.

Rub your clit, tease it in circles. As you get more and more aroused all you’ll think about is how good it feels to be controlled. How badly you need to be owned.

And right when you get to the edge of a wonderful orgasm, you will stop. You will let yourself cool down for a few seconds, and then you will start again.

You will edge yourself like this for half an hour in the morning, and from midnight until you fall asleep. Being forced to edge like this will make you a horny, frustrated little slut. But we both know that’s what you want.

quitemystery:

teasetheweakersex:

In 10 seconds I’m going to remove my hand and the Hitachi is going to continue on high. You’re welcome to cum as many times as you can.

But, the second you make a sound I stop and your month of no touch begins.

I like this idea, but I’d like it to be more incentive based.

“How long do you think  you could keep from making a noise in this situation?” “Do you think you could do it for 2 minutes? 10 minutes? Longer?”

“I think I could do 3 minutes” you respond, not quite confidently and not quite certain of your final answer. It wasn’t hard to talk you into 5 minutes after that even though I know you won’t last anywhere near that long.

I’m going to time you. If you make it 5 full minutes, you won’t end up on a no-cum time-slot at all. However, if you only make it 2.5 minutes you’ll end up with 15 days of no cum. If you make a single little peep before the first minute is out then it will be 30 full days.

But don’t worry…even after you make your first peep, I’m going to finish out the full 5 minutes with that vibrator pressed HARD against your pussy to squeeze every little sound out of you that I can.

In the Machine

femsubdenial:

a-male-gaze:

kiridenied, inspired by this post.

Kiri had signed up for the art project without knowing the details. The title was “Sexual Bondage and Release”, and the prospectus had her at the first line, “A volunteer will be exhibited…”

Now she was an art installation at the local mall. Her lower body from the ribs down was encased in a steel box. Her upper body was beautifully naked. Bystanders and passersby could see her panting and gasping, could see her hard nipples and her heaving breasts, could see her hands clenching and unclenching, desperately searching for something to hold on to that was not smooth metal or her own skin.

The steel box, so smooth and passive on the outside, had a lot going on within. A large array of devices were busy massaging, probing, rubbing, sucking, and vibrating Kiri’s most sensitive places. Mostly around her crotch, but also at her sides, behind her knees and at the soles of her feet. Her legs were shackled to the walls of the box so that she couldn’t close them to protect herself; she was forced to be open to everything the machine did to her. A set of tubes plugged into her kept things tidy.

The only thing missing was penetration. The artist had taken one look at her and removed the dildo attachment, explaining “You don’t deserve to be filled.” Kiri had blushed and nodded, determined to accept whatever was in store for her.

None of this was visible to the onlookers; all they could see was the effect on Kiri, who writhed and moaned nonstop. Sometimes she pounded on the box with her fists in frustration, but the top of the box was tightly sealed around her and nothing she could do could reach or affect the constant torment within. It was like her lower body was in a different world and all she could do was endure.

Endure, and wait. There was a countdown timer on the box. It was on the back where she couldn’t see. Below the timer were two buttons. One increased the remaining time, the other reduced it. Visitors were welcome to use these buttons. Many just pressed one on their way past; some stayed to interact with her a bit first. Kiri had no way to know which button they chose.

When the box was first closed around her, the artist had explained that it could only unlock from the inside. Short of a blowtorch, she wasn’t getting out of there until the timer had counted down. Well, there was one shortcut: the machine would open if she managed to have an orgasm while trapped in it. “Good luck with that,” the artist had added sarcastically.

The machine had been carefully programmed to stimulate her relentlessly without giving her any release. It monitored her heart rate, skin moisture and muscle tension to make sure it never pushed her over the edge. Whenever Kiri got close, the devices would slow down or back off, or switch to tickling to distract her. In extreme cases it resorted to electric shocks. Once Kiri had calmed down a bit, the stimulation would ramp up again.

The machine had a learning circuit. As time passed, it got more and more accurate at predicting Kiri’s reactions, becoming able to keep her hovering just at the edge for longer and longer without ever letting her come.

Most of the audience quite enjoyed the spectacle, and several were glad to take advantage of Kiri’s desperate requests for stimulation in her hope of obtaining release. An elderly man who worked in the ice cream shop around the corner spent all his breaks deep kissing with Kiri and fondling her breasts and nipples. He always pressed the “more time” button when he was done, because he wasn’t about to give up such a nice toy any sooner than he had to.

Some people just came to talk to her. They would perch on the box at her side, or sit in the chair in front of her that someone had thoughtfully placed there. Many of them petted and stroked her while talking, while others just watched and enjoyed her desperation up close. A few lonely men just hugged her trembling body while nuzzling her hair and kissing her neck, thinking of faraway loved ones.

One young woman visited several times to ask Kiri about her darkest, sickest fantasies. Which button she pressed depended on whether she thought Kiri had been creative enough. She later revealed that she worked for the local paper and was doing an article on the art piece.

A particularly cruel spectator came by a couple of times to tell her that he would reduce the time if she could hold absolutely still for two minutes. He often got the audience to chant along with the count to 120. She never made it, though, and he would shake his head in mock sadness while pressing the other button.

Some groups of young men organized competitions to see who could get her to do the lewdest things using just her breasts, fingers and mouth. Of course most of them took pictures and video to remember the event. Soon Kiri was a big hit on various image sharing sites on the net.

The informational posters around the installation referred to her simply as “the volunteer”, but it did not take long for word to spread among Kiri’s friends and acquaintances. Several of them came to visit, to snap some selfies, or to indulge their long-repressed desire for her. Some just came to see if it was really true. There was also an open guestbook nearby. Kiri couldn’t see it, but she often heard people giggle while turning the pages. Apparently it was very popular, with people adding poems and drawings or just writing what they thought.

A shy girl came to ask Kiri a lot of questions about what it was like: how did it feel? (overwhelming) how did she bear it? (no choice) was she looking forward to it ending? (she didn’t really believe it would) would she like to have her nipples rubbed? (YES PLEASE)

The girl’s last question was whether any more volunteers would be needed; then she blushed and ran away.

Kiri didn’t know how long the machine had been set for initially, and she had no idea how much time was being added or subtracted by her audience. People being what they are though, the “add” button saw the most use and the timer only really went down at night when the mall was quiet. Hours turned into days; the artist occasionally came by to feed Kiri and fondle her a bit and take some professional photographs.

One enterprising lady organized a trivia game every evening. The audience would shout out questions and Kiri would have to answer them; if she got too many wrong the timer would go up. More and more often the result would be “no answer due to incoherent moaning”, but no one seemed to mind. More time was added anyway.

The artist was getting a bit worried about the installation. The permit was only for one week and it looked like this was going to go over time. Well, perhaps it was still possible to apply for an extension.

Mmmmm. A very hot idea!

Do you think she’d suffer more with hot, humiliating things whispered into her ear, or do you think it would be worse to whisper unappealing, unsexy things into her ear knowing that it just the sensors will detect it and the stimulations within the box will suddenly become more intense to keep her on edge, anyway?

pleasuretorture:

Her first tour of the premises was one she would never
forget; the first taste of the torments that awaited within the University of Erotic
Artistry.

The classrooms within had been what she expected, with plenty
of seminars under way exploring erotic poetry, live nude model painting classes
and lectures examining the role of sexuality within the media. What she was met
with at a room labelled  ‘discipline room’
however truly made her realise the extent to which sexuality embodied everything
within the premises, both the curriculum itself as well as the punishments for
those who disobey the rules or fall behind on coursework and assignments.

A lady was sat at a table, lightly adding the last details
to a beautiful, intricate painting of female genitalia. Wondering how doing
this painting was a punishment, the woman then turned to her and spoke.

“She has been denied for over a week.”

It was then that she realised that this woman holding the
paintbrush was not the one being punished. Upon closer inspection, with a gasp
of astonishment, it became clear that this was no painting at all; a girl was
beneath the table, her genitals being painted with a flower design while she
remained as still as possible, most certainly in complete sexual agony. Having
been denied for a week, it was clear from the contractions of her pussy and the
twitches of her clitoris that those slow, teasing brush strokes were teasingly
and tormentingly pleasurable. The woman with the paintbrush seemed to take much
delight in making the girl’s swollen clitoris ache with need for more, using
her tongue and fingers to add to the cruel torture that the fine tipped
paintbrush was mercilessly invoking.

Once it was over, the girl’s pussy was left alone to
convulse with the need for more. It would be another few hours of teasing
before the student would be allowed to climax. While she was shocked at the
type of punishment she was witnessing, she couldn’t help but gaze at the beauty
of the sight, unaware that it wouldn’t be long until the staff found reason to
put her through the very same scenario; the staff greatly enjoyed all the
opportunities to perfect their techniques in the most erotic of body painting.

Content created by: PleasureTorture

Image source: Zazel

lightofdesire:

Yes baby, I know you have been edgeing for a long time, but you have never looked sexier than now. Keep going! And no cumming until I have fucked you properly.

STOP right there! Stay on the edge. Let your brain turn to mush as pleasure consumes you.