#forced orgasm.

Made to cum against their will, your sub begs and whines and denies that it feels good.

Once I’m settled down, she circles her fingers over my clit, slowly at first, then faster as I get wetter, as my whimpers of pain turn into moans of pleasure. She murmurs encouragement in my ear, “that’s right, angel, come on my cock, let me feel you clench around me, soak me with how much you love this.”

When I do she groans in time with the crests of my orgasm, hips hitching. She drags it out of me for as long as she can and I try, I try to clench and keep going, but when the overstimulation starts it’s all I can do to not flinch away.

She lets out a frustrated sigh and says, “that’s alright, I’ve prepared for this,” and pulls out the hitachi and a cock gag.

The gag scares me more than the vibrator because it means we’re not stopping. It means she’s going to keep me here, sobbing and screaming, and that she doesn’t want to hear me beg. It means she’s going to break me down so far that despite all my training she’s going to make me beg.

I can feel my body shaking as she slides the gag into my mouth, my hands trembling as she buckles it around the back of my head. She offers no soothing words this time, no platitudes. She’s upset with me for not milking her cock well, and I feel tears already gathering behind my eyes.

When she’s done, she pinches my nipple hard, nails digging in until I squirm and scream, muffled by the gag, and she moans in my ear.

The hitachi is too much for my over sensitive clit but she growls, “bear it,” directly into my ear and so I do. I come twice more, too fast, cunt throbbing, but not enough. How the vibrator itself doesn’t send her over the edge, I don’t know, but she’s always been stronger than me.

The fourth time, she wraps her hand around my throat and squeezes, the world going fuzzy and strange until she lets go and I come again. Next, she holds my nose closed and I thrash as tears roll down my cheeks and I gag on the silicone cock in my throat and I come as my vision greys and black spots block out the room.

When I come to, she’s slipped a finger inside me alongside her cock and it hurts. Everything hurts.

She has her phone in hand, texting with a friend, pictures of me and descriptions of what she’s done. The friend sends a picture back of a girl bound and splayed with clothespins holding her pussy lips wide.

when i first woke up, naked and chained to the floor, it was to their tongue on my clit and their fingers in my soaked pussy. it was the first time i saw their face and it was drenched with me. my orgasm was hard, racking through my body before my mind caught up to my situation, to the cold shackle around my ankle, the stained rug that was the only soft thing in the room, the darkness that clung to the ceiling anywhere the single hanging bulb didn’t quite reach. as i lay there panting, my kidnapper explained that this was my new life. that nobody was even looking for me, and if someone tried, they wouldn’t even get close. my tears gathered in the soft pile of the rug even as my cunt throbbed, their fingers still flexing and curling inside me. 

the next day, i woke to their tongue again. this time i fought and my kidnapper backed off quickly. they brought me food later and i didn’t think, i just ate, starving from the day before, and when i woke up some hours later, my hands were bound and there was a vibrator buzzing hard right at my g spot. i’d never had a g spot orgasm before and the strength of it left me trembling and vulnerable. my kidnapper licked my lips and told me that there was no freedom to be found in this room. 

i tried to stop eating and drinking and sleeping but my exhaustion and delirium left me weak enough to handle anyway. i maybe managed to win a few days in that first week, but after… 

it isn’t that i get to come every time they touch me. no, when they take me out for their use, my orgasms don’t matter to them at all. they’re neither forbidden nor encouraged. they’re immaterial. 

but at least once a day, my kidnapper makes time to force me to come at their touch. they’ve used toys and tongue and fingers and cock and anything that might tip me over the edge, as long as it takes to make every day one with pleasure.

even as i’m denied clothes. even as i lay on the cold floor on a stained rug. even as i must ask for basic needs like bathroom privileges and food and water. even as i’m beaten and fucked and filmed and ignored and rented out and used in all manner of humiliating ways.