Forced masturbation; the torture of pleasure (1)

A slightly edited transcript of an activity still in progress.

I want you to stay in contact with my pussy today. If you read this before you get out of bed, play with it a little, just to awaken it. Make a schedule and send it to me. Just a few minutes every couple of hours. Then, throughout the day touch and stimulate. Use devices if you like. You will not be able to float as I have been instructing you, letting whatever happens happen, because you may not cum, so you must remain a bit vigilant. Today you are my sex slave, preparing for your Master. Behave in that mode.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Good morning, my Lord.

I woke up, sort of, slowly, feeling you near, feeling us in a hotel room, not wanting to wake up, not wanting to leave that feeling of being with you... I crawled into your bed... I snuggled up to you... our bodies were soft and open and melding and wanting... comfortable... happy...

I am pussy, my Lord.
I am yours.
I will do and be as you desire.
All day...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Every 2 hours, my Lord.

12:30
2:30
4:30
6:30
8:30

and 10:30 as we are watching The Borgias, my Lord.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I couldn't help laughing, my Lord, as I made the entries in my Google calendar. Just think! Every 2 hours, with a 5 minute warning:

Touch pussy.

Think of the reaction of anyone who saw it!

"Hi, mom. How has your week been? Anything new?"

"Nothing new. We're OK. And what have you been doing, hon?"

"Touching myself every 2 hours, mom. You know how you caught me touching myself when I was a very, very little girl? And told me not to? Just like that. Every 2 hours. Cause I'm a sex slave, mom. Isn't that nice?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I'm still making little whimpering noises...

I started a few minutes late, my Lord, as I had to go to the bathroom. Then I came into the bedroom and, rather than stripping, pushed back the blanket and top sheet, lay down on the bed and pushed my jeans and panties down to my ankles. I selected the little purple Meany mini-vibe and held it lightly to my clitoris while it buzzed at the lowest setting.

Oh, my Lord...

I felt restrained, because of the jeans and panties around my ankles and because you were watching me and because I knew I wasn't allowed to cum... and oh... and then I called out your name. It just came out like this...

Daddy... *

and then I started whimpering and then I said aloud "ohhh... it's so good..." and the light vibrations were just perfect and I felt you watching me, my Lord, and I whimpered and it felt like torture... sweet pleasurable painful torture... and my womb is contracting and it hurts and feels so good and you are very cruel and I will feel like this all day and now aren't you very aroused and I will torture you today as you are torturing me, my Lord...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I am quite pleased, my pet.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Thank you, my Lord.
That is my job.
To please you.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Such sweet suffering, my Lord.

As I prepared to stop, I wondered which would be worse: to stop or to go on and and on?

I imagined being forced to continue for an hour, for two, for more, with never a hope of release.

I used the little Meany again, my cruel Master, as it was so successful last time. Again I slipped into the bed with my jeans and plain white cotton panties pushed down to my ankles. This time I pulled up the blanket, restraining myself even more. I had a flash image of being inside some perverted MRI machine, surrounded by technology and clean hard surfaces, required to hold perfectly still as I was subjected to assorted sexual stimuli.

The little vibrator removes the personal element. I don't feel my fingers on swelling tissues. Some foreign body is bombarding me with vibrations. I submit, my Lord, and moan, and whimper, and contract, and wrestle with the need to go higher.

I obey, my Lord.
No cumming for your pet.
The pleasure of my pleasure is yours alone.

(Do you watch the clock, my Lord? Is my schedule now on your schedule? Every two hours, does your cock swell with my clit as I suffer for you? Do you hear my whimpers, my Lord? Do you want me?)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I hear you, my pet.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

[she smiles, wriggles, and flows]

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You found a good way to combat my silence**, my Lord.
As well as to provide structure to a floaty day.

Not to mention amusement for yourself, my Lord.
Distraction.
Diversion.
Arousal.

The girl cat is moaning in her sleep. Perhaps she is dreaming of being petted.

Right this moment.
Now.
I feel you touching me...


to be continued...

* since our last series of meltdowns, I am currently not allowed to address him as Daddy.

** my current course of progesterone has made me uncharacteristically quiet, partly as a response to the medication and partly a precaution to avoid saying things while under its influence that my Master would find "crazy making." He appreciates the caution but is unnerved by the silence.