For the month of April, every day (except Sunday), I’ll be posting a story that has to do with the letter of the day. As my blog is a kinky blog, I will be posting kinky stories. Since the theme of the A-to-Z Challenge blog is gratitude, I thought I would mirror that and have each story relate to gratitude in some way.

O is for Orgasm Torture

There are three ways orgasm torture can go. I like all three. There’s orgasm denial. Get me close, but then deny it. There’s ruined orgasms. Get me right on the edge, but stop just as I crash over (this one is almost impossible without doing it myself or telling a partner exactly when to stop). And there’s forced orgasm, too many orgasms. There might be others, but those are the ones that come to my mind, anyway. Enjoy this story about too many orgasms. (Please note: it picks up from N is for Nipple Clamps, so be sure to read that one first!)

His fingers aren’t on my clit long before an orgasm crashes over me. I feel it building, and the mixture of my own juices and his cum make my pussy slick and wet. He brings me to orgasm, and I breathe a sigh of relief, and try to cue him that I’m done. I nudge his hand with my thighs, but he doesn’t stop. And my sigh turns into more moans. “No, no,” I whine, “Master, I’m done, Master!”

But he doesn’t stop. He stops for a moment to slap the inside of my thigh when I close my thighs around his hand. “Stop it, pet,” he says. And then he’s touching my clit again, and I’m not sure I can stop it.

“Master,” I cry, tears literally springing to my eyes.

He doesn’t say anything, but his fingers keep rubbing against my sensitive bud. After what feels like an eternity of orgasm crashing over me again and again, he stops. He slips his arm from underneath me and gets up. I don’t know where he’s going, and I don’t care.

At least, I don’t care until I hear the buzzing of the Hitachi magic wand. That thing is fucking magic. When my brain is functioning (i.e. when I haven’t just been giving a minutes-long orgasm), I’ll say that the Hitachi brings on an orgasm whether you like it or not. With my post-orgasm brain, all I can think is that I hope he’s not putting that where I think he is.

But of course, he is.

He parts my legs with his hands again, and tells me to keep my legs parted for him.

I nod, but I know that when he presses that against my clit, it’s going to be very hard for me not to close my legs. It’s not voluntary. It’s just too much of a good thing.

He helps by keeping one hand on my leg, not letting it up. And as soon as the vibrating tip hits my clit, my whole body lifts off the bed. Okay, not literally, but in order to keep my other leg down as ordered, my whole upper body lifts up. I’m screaming, my throat already raw.

“Stop it, pet, or I’m putting the nipple clamps back on.”

“No,” I whimper. I don’t know if my sore nipples can handle it, though I am sure I would for him. I’d do anything for him, gladly. But I can’t convince my legs to stay parted with him pressing that damn Hitachi to my clit. It’s taking everything in me to keep them open.

Another orgasm hits me, and I scream, my whole pussy clenching and pulsing. He keeps the vibrator pressed against my clit, and I feel myself losing control of my body. My legs snap closed and I am rolling around on the bed trying to get the vibrator off, screaming, crying. And then finally he clicks the vibrator off, and he holds me.

After a few minutes, his fingers rub across my sore nipple, and I wince. “Do you remember what I told you I’d do if you closed your legs, pet?”

I whimper. I remember, but I don’t want to say it.

“Go find the nipple clamps, pet.”

I don’t want to, but I can’t ignore a direct order. My nipples harden, there’s a knot of fear in my stomach at how much it’s going to hurt, but my sore pussy is already clenching with anticipation of the torture that hasn’t ended. Yet.

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Come back tomorrow for P is for Pet Play.