ViolentlyCurly's Creation Space

“The concept is simple. Take a blank sheet with nothing but the basic outline of a pinup girl and illustrate a unique scene around her.”

I've been listening to The Odyssey the past couple of days and I realized that orgasm denial is a lot like the journey Odysseus and his men take past the sirens. He's told he can listen to the sirens only if he's bound to the mast of the ship and his men tighten hid bonds anytime he begs to be released.

Wise people always said that hunger was the best seasoning. If that were true–and Laura had no reason to believe otherwise–then surely some corollary to that aphorism explained why sucking on her Master’s fingers as they pushed in and out, in and out of her mouth while she hung limp and helpless in her restraints felt better to her than the most amazing session of marathon fucking she’d ever experienced. It was the smallest, simplest gesture toward sensation, but her sensitized body responded to it as though her mouth was a cunt and his intruding digits a long, stiff cock thrusting into it. She could feel the musk of her arousal drooling down her leg, dripping onto the floor. She’d never been so wet. She’d never been so horny.

It didn’t seem possible that she could be reduced so easily to a level of desperation so total. Oh, she’d dreamed about it, craved it, even written about the fantasy on her blog. But even when she was negotiating out the reality of a whole weekend spent in the stocks, teased and tortured with pleasure until her whole body throbbed with need and she craved sensation like a drowning man craved air, it never occurred to her that she would truly wind up so utterly touch-starved that even the degradation of having her mouth fucked by Master’s fingers would send her into a mindless trance of pleasure. It was just a daydream, that was all. She wasn’t going to lose herself like that, not really.

That was two days ago. Two days with Laura’s wrists and neck locked into padded collars, and her legs pushed wide apart by a spreader bar to keep her from squeezing her thighs together. Two days unable to grind or hump or rub or even brush up against even a single object, her only sensations coming when Master touched her quivering, nude body. Even when he released her–unlike her fantasy self, Laura had limits on how long she could stay in the stocks at a stretch–he had other forms of restraint ready to prevent her from mindlessly, instinctively giving in to her need. Her only source of pleasure for the weekend was Master. And slowly, gradually, he began to deprive her of it.

He began with a lengthy session with the vibrating wand. “Tell me when you’re getting close, darling,” he’d murmured, but there was no need; Laura had always been an enthusiastic, demonstrative lover, and he quickly and easily learned when to back off and when to push her stimulation to keep her at a steady simmer of desire. Once her cunt was a slick, dripping mess, he switched to spanking her bare ass with a paddle until every inch of her buttocks incandesced with sensation. Then he left her to sit for a while. To focus on her aching need. To beg, fruitlessly, for more.

The vibrator was replaced by silks and furs, then feathers, then the simple puff of air until Laura felt a mere breath on her clit more intensely than the wand of a few hours ago. Then, when her pussy became too sensitive even for touch, he moved to her breasts, starting with pinching clips and stinging crops and ending at last with the same gentle whisper against flesh that ached for even the briefest, softest touch to give her the release she craved. Until finally he ended with her mouth. Laura had never thought of it as an erogenous zone, but now her whole body trembled with arousal and everything felt like a cunt. Simply inserting his fingers between her lips was making her moan and whimper and whine, and the whole weekend of teasing seemed to crash in on her at once as she shook and shuddered in the most wonderfully degrading orgasm of her life. She’d never imagined that it would work. Now she couldn’t imagine wanting anything else.

Waitresses develop certain habits, good and bad, and for better or for worse, people watching had snuck up on her as a hobby. 

There was a couple – a man and woman – seated at one of the far tables towards the back, in the corner against the wall.

Alison knew the type of customers they were; sometimes people came in who weren’t interested in interacting with their waitress, and that was perfectly fine. Sometimes those people were on a date, and weren’t interested in interacting with the world around them.

Nor even noticing it or acknowledging that they were in public, as though the world was narrowed down to just the two of them.

Alison suspected her distaste for couples like that stemmed from envy; she’d had boyfriends before, of course, but she was always hyper aware of PDA and the eyes of others. Not to mention that none of the men she dated had that sort of connection with her, the kind she saw when other couples just gazed into each other’s eyes, looking like they were having sex in public without even speaking.

Yeah, she was probably jealous, but it still made her uncomfortable.

Luckily they weren’t her table; she was just watching them and a few others for her coworker who needed to eat lunch in the other room. So, no need for any awkward interaction. 

Just watching. 

These two sat across from each other and held hands across the table. The man had his fingers resting on hers possessively, and Alison just watched from the other side of the restaurant.

She wished she had picked up lip reading as a secondary hobby, but that was still coming along. 

The man’s mouth was turned up and he was murmuring to his partner as she gazed on with rapt attention, a dreamy look on her face. 

Alison wasn’t much of a voyeur, and she could feel warmth in her cheeks, but there was something about this interaction that had her fixated as well.

The woman was batting her lashes at him demurely, almost like a ridiculous parody of old harlequin movies. 

Blinking. Blinking. 

…Wait…

Alison felt a pang of something sharp and hot as she saw the woman’s eyelids fluttering, or as close as she might be imagining them to be, watching from over here. 

Fluttering.

Lips parted.

Alison tore her eyes away and squeezed her fist shut, trying to calm herself down.

It looked like that man was hypnotizing his partner. 

She was trying so hard to think critically, that normal people would see that and not think twice, but for her it was as explicit and out of place as though the two of them had gotten on the table and started fucking.

So it felt, when she couldn’t contain her curiosity any longer and raised her eyes again, that she was seeing something that she was really not meant to see. 

Alison tried to be very still as she looked on, and saw that the woman’s shoulders had slumped and her head was cocked back, baring her neck… And her eyes were closed.

Closed and fluttering.

In the middle of a public space. 

If she could just be closer, maybe she would see the whites threatening to peek out from beneath those eyelids.

Alison was blushing so hard, and her pussy… Well. 

…Fuck. This was dangerous.

Her heart nearly stopped when the man’s head turned slightly to look at her. 

Fuck.

She quickly flicked her eyes away, pretending to look at other customers.  After a few moments she looked back, and to her shame and horror he was still staring back at her. 

Not angry or upset. 

He was grinning. He fucking grinned, and snapped his fingers while looking straight at her.

Alison thought she might cum on the spot, and her body yearned and begged to see more, to have heard that sound better and closer, to see the way the woman’s body responded as she licked her lips and took in a breath and started to come back up…

…Despite herself, Alison wanted so suddenly and desperately to be the girl in his power, asleep and gone and hypnotized. This was too close to old fantasies, to things she’d tried to bury in her mind. 

…How desperately?

…Desperately enough to go over to him and ask for it?

She didn’t have to think hard through that scenario. 

…No.

No, this would be one of those moments where she would keep it to herself, a secret to her grave, and she would regret it for the rest of her life but really, she had no other choice.

For now, she was trapped watching with this overwhelming, envious desire.

The man had turned his attention back to the woman, still with that same soft smile, and she was still visibly relaxed, fixated on him. He raised a finger in front of her eyes and immediately the woman’s entire body language changed to train herself on it, head craning closer, mouth open slightly as if in awe.

Panicked, Alison looked around in a knee-jerk reaction of seeing who might be watching, but the few other people sitting around just did not notice or care.

They just didn’t see it the same way she did. They didn’t get turned on like this, beyond what she thought the ability of her body was. 

As she feared and hoped, the man started moving his finger back and forth and around, and the woman’s head followed it, her eyes and her whole head and body just completely bound to it.

Like a puppet or a thrall, like someone completely entranced.

Entranced like Alison felt she was now, spellbound into watching by her pussy. She clamped down on that thought as best she could, but it turned her on even more, rooted her to the spot, and she hated how helpless she felt to her own desire.

The man looked at her again from across the room. Alison held her breath.

He kept eye contact as he slowly lowered his finger, and as the woman watched it drop, her eyes slid shut and she practically crumpled in the chair.

There was a long, long moment where Alison stared frightened like a deer in headlights, frozen, breath strangled with arousal, and he just watched her, while the woman breathed heavy breaths across from him, gone to the world.

Fuck.

Alison finally broke the spell and immediately turned tail to run to the restroom, to just escape the situation, even as her body screamed at her for leaving.

She had never been so close to that desire before, and if she never was again, it would be too soon. Cold water on her face, a healthy dose of scolding herself, and a few moments to steady her breath and hope that they were done when she came back up.

–

As it turned out, they had left by the time she returned.

There was disappointment, but she shoved it down and reasoned with herself that this was the best possible outcome: no more embarrassing herself or dangerous fantasies.

Alison went to go pick the cash up off the table, but as she approached, her heart sped up – there was a handwritten note on top of it.

Looking quickly around her to make sure no one was looking – and why would they be looking?! – Alison picked it up with shaky fingers.

It read:

‘I can give you what you want. Contact me any time.’

There was an email and a phone number.

Every instinct told Alison that she should throw this away, maybe even burn it. Stop looking at it so that there’s no chance of remembering the information.

But she couldn’t, and she knew she couldn’t, and it made her feel weak, even like there was something desirable about that weakness.

With a healthy dose of shame, she crumpled the note in her hand, and stuffed it into her pocket.

–

((Based loosely off of a fantasy I had at work the other day. Terrifically self indulgent bullshit hypnofetish smut and a great example of the fact that I am boring as fuck. Sorry to any waitstaff for whom aspects of this story are unrealistic, such as ever getting a break to eat food during working hours. I hope you enjoyed it!))