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Mistress tapped her riding crop against her thigh, the slow, rhythmic tap-tap-tap making my stomach twist. "You think begging changes anything?" she asked, tilting her head. Her boots clicked against the floor as she circled me, the sound echoing in the sparse room. I kept my eyes down, but I could feel her smirk.

The tap-tap-tap of the crop stopped abruptly. Mistress crouched in front of me, the leather of her gloves creaking as she gripped my chin, forcing my gaze up. Her dark eyes glittered with a mix of amusement and pity. "You’re really suffering, aren’t you?" she murmured, her thumb brushing over my lower lip. I nodded frantically, my thighs pressing together, not that it did any good.

Mistress exhaled through her nose, a slow, deliberate sound, then released my chin. "Fine," she said, standing abruptly. The word sent a jolt through me, hope and terror tangled together. She walked to the far wall where the Sybian sat beneath its dust cover, its silhouette unmistakable even shrouded. My breath hitched as she pulled the cover away with a single sharp tug, revealing the sleek black machine, its saddle glistening under the overhead lights.

Mistress ran a gloved hand along the Sybian’s smooth surface, her fingers tracing the ridges of its controls with practised familiarity. "You’ll get your chance of release," she said, her voice low and deliberate. "But there is a cost, you will be this way I want you." The words slithered into my ears, curling around my hope and squeezing. She patted the machine’s saddle, the sound muffled but ominous. "Up. Now."

The cold bite of leather cuffs snapped around my wrists before I could react, yanking my arms behind my back with a sharp, practised efficiency. Mistress's breath ghosted across my ear as she leaned in, her fingers working the buckle tighter. "You'll thank me for this later," she murmured, the words dripping with dark amusement. The chastity belt's lock clicked, a sound I'd dreamed of for months, but the relief was short-lived. My thighs trembled as the metal finally fell away, leaving me exposed, raw, and achingly empty.

The saddle was warmer than I expected, not the cold plastic I’d braced for, but something that almost felt alive beneath me. Mistress’s hands guided my hips down with terrifying precision, the dildo’s tapered tip pressing insistently against my entrance. My body betrayed me instantly, slick and eager despite six months of denial. "Oh, fuck!" The word shattered into a gasp as she pushed me down fully, the silicone stretching me wide in one smooth, relentless motion. My back arched involuntarily, but her grip on my waist held me firm, forcing me to take every inch until my thighs met the machine’s base.

Then the ridges. Oh god, the ridges. The moment my clit made contact, a shockwave of sensation ripped through me, sharp and electric. They weren’t smooth, no, they were textured, uneven, each tiny peak and valley designed to drag against hypersensitive flesh without mercy. I whimpered, my toes curling against the floor as Mistress buckled a padded strap across my lap, pinning me in place. Another strap cinched tight around my ankles, bolted to the Sybian’s base. The finality of the click echoed in my skull.

"Low setting," Mistress announced, flicking a switch with her thumb. The machine beneath me purred to life, a deep, rhythmic vibration that travelled up through my bones. It wasn’t the punishing intensity I’d feared, just a steady, insistent hum that set every nerve alight without overwhelming them. At first, it was almost... bearable. Then the dildo inside me pushed slightly, a slow, steady pulse up and down, the penetration I had been desperate for, and the ridge beneath my clit pulsed in a slow, teasing pattern. My breath hitched. It was maddening. Close enough to make my hips jerk forward, seeking friction, but never enough to tip me over.

The first hour was a slow unravelling. The Sybian’s vibrations teased the swollen, over-sensitive flesh of my clit with agonising precision, each pulse a whisper of what could be, but never quite enough to push me over. My thighs trembled, slick with sweat, every muscle coiled tight as a spring. I tried rocking forward, desperate for more pressure, but the straps held me immobile, forcing me to take the machine’s cruel, calculated rhythm exactly as it was given.

By the second my whimpers had dissolved into a continuous, breathless moan. The Sybian's rhythm hadn't changed, hadn't wavered, but my body had. Every pulse of the machine sent sparks skittering along my nerves, the sensation pooling low in my belly like molten lead. I clenched around the dildo, my body trying desperately to milk it for more, but the silicone remained unyielding. Mistress had perched herself on the arm of a nearby chair, idly flipping through a magazine as if I weren't writhing just feet away. The occasional glance she tossed my way was clinical, amused. Like watching a lab rat press a lever over and over, knowing the treat would never come.

Hour three. The vibrations had become a dull, torturous ache, my clit swollen and throbbing under the machine’s relentless teasing. My breaths came in shallow gasps, my skin slick with sweat, every nerve alight with a need that refused to be satisfied. I barely noticed when Mistress shifted from her chair, until the soft rustle of leather filled the silence as she dropped her thong. Sitting back down, he rested her thighs on each arm of the chair. Looking me in the eyes with a Cheshire cat grin, her fingers began to rub her clit in the way I knew all too well she loved.

I watched, transfixed, as her fingers moved with practised ease, her breath hitching ever so slightly. The sight alone sent a fresh wave of desperation through me, her pleasure so close, so available, yet utterly out of reach. My hips jerked involuntarily, the Sybian’s vibrations dragging another broken moan from my throat. Mistress’s smirk deepened, her fingers dipping lower, teasing her entrance before sliding back up. "What's the matter?," she murmured, her voice dripping with amusement. "You're out of chastity if you really want to cum just do it."

Her taunt hung in the air, a cruel joke. I couldn’t. The machine’s rhythm was just enough to keep me teetering on the edge, never granting release. My thighs trembled, my back arching as another pulse of near-pleasure ripped through me. Mistress sighed, her fingers moving faster now, her own breath coming quicker. The wet sound of her fingers working her clit filled the room, mingling with the Sybian’s steady hum and my own ragged gasps.

Then, with a sharp inhale, Mistress’s body tensed. Her fingers stilled for a heartbeat, before she came with a low, shuddering moan, and a gush that almost crossed the room, her thighs squeezing around nothing. For a moment, she stayed like that, her head tipped back, riding the aftershocks. Then, slowly, she lowered her feet to the floor and stood, her movements languid, satisfied. She stepped closer, her gaze locked on mine as she dragged a single, slick finger down her thigh.

The first drop had hit my collarbone, warm and sticky. The second landed on my lower lip. My tongue darted out instinctively, tasting salt and musk and her, the flavour sending a fresh bolt of desperation through me. My Mistress chuckled, watching my reaction with dark amusement. "Pathetic," she murmured, wiping her fingers on my shoulder. "You’d take anything now, wouldn’t you?” I sucked eagerly having long since become addicted to her taste in my long denial.

The door clicked shut behind Mistress, leaving me alone with the Sybian’s relentless hum and the echo of her laughter still clinging to the air. My thighs trembled against the machine’s base, slick with sweat and frustration, every nerve still alight with the ghost of her fingers on my skin. The thong in my mouth was soaked through, my tongue working absently around my open mouth, chasing the fading taste of her. I hadn’t realised I’d closed my eyes until the sharp creak of the door hinges startled them open again.

Mistress strode back in, her boots clicking against the tile with deliberate slowness. But it wasn’t the sound that seized my attention, it was the towering, ornate mirror she dragged behind her, its gilded frame catching the overhead lights. My breath hitched as she positioned it directly in front of the Sybian, angling it just so until my reflection stared back at me: flushed, trembling, desperate. The straps pinning me in place forced my back into a slight arch, my hips canted forward obscenely, the dildo buried inside me glistening with evidence of my futile arousal. My clit, swollen and red, pulsed against the Sybian’s textured ridge in a rhythm that was almost cruel in its consistency.

"There," Mistress murmured, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "Now you can watch." Her gloved fingers traced the edge of the mirror’s frame, her smirk deepening as my eyes darted between her and my own reflection. "Watch how desperate your eyes look. How needy." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "How close?" The word dripped with mockery, because we both knew, I knew, close didn’t matter. Not at this moment. Not like this. All my desperation hadn't turned into an orgasm.

Time lost all meaning. The Sybian’s vibrations had long since blurred into a constant, throbbing hum that pulsed through my body with the frantic rhythm of my heartbeat. The overhead lights swam in my vision, the irrrrrrr harsh glow melting into a hazy halo. Was it hour four? Five? The numbers slithered through my fingers like smoke every time I tried to grasp them. The straps holding me down felt like they’d fused to my skin, the padded leather biting into my mistress's with every involuntary twitch. My reflection in the mirror was a stranger, lips parted, pupils blown wide, sweat-slicked hair clinging to my forehead in damp curls. The only indicator of time was my mistress coming in every hour to give me water..

The overhead lights dimmed, or maybe my vision blurred, as the Sybian’s vibrations shuddered to a halt. The sudden silence was louder than the machine’s hum had ever been, my body still thrumming with phantom pulses, every nerve screaming for more. Mistress’s boots clicked against the tile as she approached, her shadow swallowing me whole. Her gloved fingers found the buckle at my ankles first, the leather strap falling away with a whisper. The relief was immediate; my calves burned as they finally relaxed. My Mistress carefully lifted me from the sybian. My legs by this time were shaking too badly to use.

I felt the slow withdrawal of the dildo that had been both pleasure and torment and the desperate need deep inside to have it back in to finally cum my exhausted sweaty body crying out in frustration as it had never done before. I had thought myself desperate before but now... I lay there recovering my head lying on my mistress's bare lap. The scent of her orgasm still lingered as she stroked my hair. " You have been such a good girl today. I'm very proud of you, I've put you through a lot but you can rest now."