Blissful Torment

She cannot see a thing. A black sack blocks her vision and muffles her hearing. She is lead by a leash attached to her collar. Her naked feet feel cold on the concrete floor. She knows better than to speak. Punishments for disobedience are severe.

Her hip bumps against a cold metal table. The pull on her collar leads towards it still. She climbs it, knowing better than to pretend she doesn't get it. She has lost count long ago, but she has spent many times on this table. She bends down on all fours, ass up, face down. Metal manacles are attached on ankles and knees, pulling her legs apart. 

She can feel the cold air on her completely exposed cunt and ass. The guards never talk. She hasn't heard a word in months. It's as if there are no other humans in the world besides herself, and she is just an object herself. She can hear a camera taking pictures of her dripping cunt. She is pretty sure she is being filmed and the recordings are sold on the dark web.

Hands touch her pussy, sliding through her wet arousal. She is just guessing, but it seems they enjoy it. It only takes moments before they focus on her clit. Pulling the hood back fully, exposing the tortured nub. She winces, but stays quiet.

Suddenly, a hard smack. One of the guards flicked her clit with his finger. She flinches. "Fuck," comes from her lips. Just a small word. Just a stifled groan, really.

She knows she should not have done that. Punishment is immediate.

She hears them rummage in a drawer. She knows what that means. She braces herself for pain. It's a biting feeling as the clamp is applied just above her clit, clinching the skin away from it.

She knows she would be allowed to moan, but nothing more. It's the one thing they never punish. If they don't want her to, they shove a gag in her mouth. 

Right now they leave her face be, though she feels her own hot and wet breath in the sack. 

She spends a lot of time with her face in these bags. It's not always the same one. They smell of other people, sometimes of sweat, often of pussy or cum. She doubts they get washed much, if ever. By now the smells have coagulated into one, the idea of torture and sex. She can't help but get wet whenever they force it over her head.

The guards focus on her clit now, nearly exclusively. She feels her pussy clench around nothing. They fuck her a lot. She does not want it, but she also has started to enjoy it. She hates that she likes it. She shouldn't. But it helps. Enjoying her treatment makes it bearable.

It's unusual that they do not touch anything but her clit, but then they always change it up. It's never the same thing twice.

The rough fingers tweak and rub her exposed clit. Sometimes they bump into the punishment clamp. It sends pain through her. It's difficult to get much pleasure today.

She hasn't had an orgasm in weeks. Or months. It's hard to tell. She hasn't seen the sun in forever, and her wake/sleep rhythm is in shambles. But she hardly cares for those, if she'd just be allowed an orgasm. They make sure to chain her hands way from her sex, so she cannot finish herself off. Sometimes they put a chastity belt on her. Sometimes they slip a vibrating egg into her first, and make her writhe for hours.

Maybe today? she wonders. It's an empty hope, she knows, but she can't stop believing that at some point she will feel relief again. 

She does not know that her video series is called: "Slut in Hell: Tortured and Denied FOREVER!!"

They keep focusing on her exposed clit. They tease it, they play with it, sometimes they smack or flick it. It rides the edge between pain and pleasure. It's not about her enjoyment, it's about her suffering. She does not even know that she is one of the luckier ones.

However by now she has a good feeling for what a session is about. She can tell from how they do not let her calm down, and how they give her just a tiny bit more pleasure than discomfort, that they want her to edge. She tries to relax, and find the inner peace to get close to an orgasm.

As she gets there, their touches become softer, gentler. More teasing. Where they were pushing her hard to get her to the point where a climax is feasible, they are now holding back. Keeping here close. Not letting her over. She bucks her hips in desperation.  She is panting now. It's been weeks since she was this close to an actual orgasm. Usually they stop much earlier.

Minutes pass, and every time she thinks she could not possibly get any closer to climax without going over, she is proven wrong. She is frantically panting. She fells her own wetness leak down her legs. What she wouldn't give for an orgasm right now.

Suddenly, an hot feeling starts to expand from her crotch. She sharply draws in her breath sharply. The beginning of an orgasm. They really let her have one? Her brain cannot believe it.

But for all her experience, what follows still comes unexpected. A sharp crack in the air as the whip hits her exposed vulva and clit. The clamp flies off. The pain shoots through her. The orgasm dies before it really begins.

A guttural moan escapes her lips. A brutally ruined orgasm. No relief. No escape.

And yet she treasures the moment, breathing heavily. It's the closest she's gotten so far.

It will be many weeks before it will happen again.

When she feels fingers return to her hypersensitive clit, she is not surprised. They would never let her get away this easily. She braces herself for a couple more hours of teasing and denial. But secretly, she keeps remembering that wonderful ruin.

2020-02-02 Blissful Torment