The Seven Day Orgasm – Day 06

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This is part six of a seven part ongoing story. You can read it by itself and get off, but there are aspects that you won’t understand. If you really want a good time, start from part one.


She swallowed his eruption of cum with the ferocity of a porn star.

The reality was as shocking to her as it was to him. Deepthroating him on waking up in the morning was never part of their historical repertoire, but over the past five days everything had changed about their sex life. She had moved from carnal indifference to a state of total desperation.

After their dalliance he dressed and made ready to leave for work. She remained naked, lounging in bed and letting the heat dissipate from her soaked pussy.

He returned to the bedroom before leaving and gave her a playful yet stern glare.

“I expect you chaste for this evening,” he warned.

“Scout’s honor,” she replied from their bed. She made a point of spreading her legs in his direction as she spoke, reveling in the thought of his eyes feasting on her shaved pussy.


After he was gone, she spent several minutes talking herself out of masturbating in bed all morning. She decided to take a hike, anything to pass the time until their next nine o’clock appointment.

From her closet she pulled a sports top, ankle socks, and sneakers. She was about to grab panties when she saw something that caught her eye tucked into her underwear drawer.

The pearl thong.

She ran her fingers over the pearls and shuddered at the memory of them grinding against her several nights ago. In that moment, her plan for the hike changed dramatically.


She parked her car at the trail head and got out. She was wearing the top that she had picked out, as well as a tennis skirt. Underneath the skirt, the pearl thong caressed her most intimate spaces. Strategically-placed pearls nestled up against her clit, along the folds of her slit, and atop her anus.

When she began hiking away from the car, she was reminded of the joy she experienced a few days prior. The pearls swiveled just slightly, sidling back and forth over the hood of her clit, rubbing against her vulva, and dipping over the rim of her sphincter with every step she took.

Her breathing was ragged before she even began the incline to the peak. By the time she reached the top her skin was flushed and covered in sweat. Pangs of arousal coursed rampant through her body. She could see her erect nipples outlined against the tight fabric of her shirt.

She leaned against a rock and took several deep breaths to calm down.

And then it happened.

The pearl thong sprung to life, vibrating with intensity between her legs. She gasped and fell into a crouch, however spreading her legs in a crouch only drove the pearls tighter against her clit.

“Ungh,” she groaned, quickly standing again but not finding relief from the sensation. Earlier in the week, when he first surprised her with this little secret about the pearls, the sensation seemed much tamer. Several more days of being teased and denied had changed her perspective, and now the vibration rocked her to her core. She fought to compose herself enough to stop the buzzing, but the shocks of pleasure that raced through her body quickly overrode her sense of control.

As her breath quickened she could sense the edge of an orgasm fill her consciousness, and she closed her eyes in anticipation.

And then the buzzing stopped.

She caught her breath and looked around.

Her phone chimed that she had received a text.

Dread şişli escort began to creep into her awareness. She pulled out her phone and saw the text. It was him.

“I see you took the pearls to Red Eagle Rock,” it read.

Her face dropped. Another text came in.

“The pearls are bluetoothed to your phone.”

And then a final text.

“I’ll meet you at home. Take off the pearls now.”

As she hiked back down the trail, she imagined what was going to happen to her as a result of her misbehavior. The thought aroused her as much as the pearls did on the way up.


Instead of meeting her in the bedroom at nine to begin their session, he called her in at eight thirty. She was naked, as she had been since she arrived home from her hike. He asked her to remain naked that afternoon to stew in her sexual obsession as she idled around the house, and when he called her to their bedroom at earlier than their typical appointment, she was wet with desire and shaking in anticipation.

He blindfolded her and tied her to the bed spread eagle, arms and legs stretched completely taut to the four corners of the mattress. It was much the the same as he had tied her during the second night of their game, only this time he had added another element.

Over her ears he slipped a set of headphones and turned on a recording of a woman subjected to an orgasm-filled session of stimulation by a Hitachi magic wand. Though she couldn’t see anything, the recording was a symphony of cries, moans, and gasps as it’s subject was brought to orgasm over and over again.

Satisfied with himself, he left the room to await their nine o’clock appointment.


When he returned at nine, the situation was as he expected. The room’s air was thick with the musk of her arousal. Her body was coated in a sheen of sweat, nipples pink and erect, labia and clit engorged with blood. She was moaning slightly and grinding her hips into the air.

All of it from hearing another woman receiving the orgasms that she so longed for.

He walked over to her, stopped the recording, and removed the headphones.

“Please,” she croaked, thrusting her hips.

He placed a finger over her lips.

“I’m starting to think that you’re replacing the desire for orgasm with the desire to simply be stimulated,” he said, his tone slow and even.

As he spoke he placed the fan brush from the second night on her chest, between her breasts.

“So,” he continued. “As justice for earlier, tonight’s session is going to be a lesson in frustration.”

He placed the Hitachi, from the fourth night, on her stomach.

“By the time we’re through tonight, you’ll learn that you possess the willpower to control yourself until our sessions.”

She tensed up at the ticklish sensation of the stiff feather that he placed on her left thigh.

“You see, ” he lectured. “This process is not a one-time thing. It requires renewal. So when I give you your much sought-after orgasm tomorrow, we’ll need to go through this process periodically again in the future, say, one week every three months.”

She moaned at the thought, and he placed a downier, puffy feather on her right thigh.

“I need to know that you can hold up your end of the bargain in good faith. So tonight I’m going to teach you that discipline by testing the limits of your ability to handle not getting what you so desperately desire.”

His finger trailed down to the fan brush between her breasts and he took it into his hand. escort aksaray With his free hand he set the thirty minute timer while he dipped the brush in a bowl of melted coconut oil.

He placed the fan of bristles near her solar plexus, where the rise of her breast gave way to the flat terrain of her midsection. With methodical slowness, he dragged it upward, toward the pink flesh of the areola that surrounded her nipple. When he reached it he stopped, lifted the brush from her skin, placed it next to where he started the brush on it’s last pass, and dragged it again toward her areola.

He continued this process until her left breast was coated in oil. With each pass, she groaned in arousal as the brush neared her nipple, and sighed with frustration when he stopped it just shy of touching her areola. By the time he had coated one breast, she was worked into a lather.

She let out a whimper as he brought the brush to her other breast and began the process anew.

“Oh my god,” she gasped in unfulfilled arousal as the paintbrush continued ending it’s progress just short of her breast’s sensitive peak. “Feed me your cock. Use me however. Please!”

“Silence,” he told her. “You’re supposed to be learning a lesson.”

Ten minutes into that night’s session he was finished painting her breasts in oil. Her nipples were wildly erect and flushed dark pink in anticipation.

He placed the brush back on the middle of her chest and picked up the stiff feather. The tip of it he placed on her solar plexus, and began to circle her left breast. He first circled along the outer edge of her breast, and as he finished the circle he brought it slightly inward and circled again. Twenty circles later the brush was getting dangerously close to her areola.

When it reached the circle where the smooth skin of her breast gave way to the rough, erect tissue of her areola, he circled playfully with the feather, never quite crossing over to the more sensitive terrain.

She moaned, her labored breathing a plea for mercy. He indulged her, moving the feather a fraction of an inch inward so the tip dragged over her areola as it continued to circle.

The feather wasn’t even touching her nipple, yet she was pulling at her bonds, every muscle flexed and taut, and speaking in tongues as her brain struggled to process the sensation.

Much to her chagrin, he removed the feather, and placed it at the outer edge of her other breast. She whimpered in frustration.

“Nonono,” she muttered as the feather started it’s slow circling inward.

The alarm was ticking past the fifteen minute mark when the rigid feather was finally dancing over her areola again, and she writhed beneath it’s ministrations in complete ecstasy. As he removed the feather, placing it back on her thigh, he was met with her now familiar whimpers of frustration.

From the nightstand he took a thin cord about a foot long with a small loop at each end.

He brought it to her chest and let one of the loops fall around her right nipple. The other loop be let fall around her left nipple, and the cord he dropped onto her chest. While he did this she held herself perfectly still, unsure of what was happening.

He reached to her right breast and pulled on the cord while holding the loop. It was a slipknot, and the loop tightened around the base of her nipple. She gasped at the sensation, and he repeated the process with her other nipple.

Now trapped in the loops, her nipples further erected themselves, and she arched her back. The drifts of cool air kağıthane escort that floated into the room were electric as they caressed her nipples.

That was when he picked up the downy feather from her other thigh and held it over her chest. She tensed, knowing that some new, agonizing exercise in frustration was about to begin.

He lowered the feather to her nipple and flicked his wrist, causing the pillowy plumes to dance on her sensitive flesh. She cried out at the touch, her muscles tensing up again and pulling at her bonds. Each nipple was given attention in turn, deft flicks of the feather stimulating her with the bare minimum of sensation, until she was once again begging.

“Oh my god will you touch me for real,” she shouted, followed by a whimper. “I’m sorry please touch me. Anywhere. Do anything. Please.”

The sensation vanished as he put the feather back on her thigh and again took up the stiff feather. His he placed against the side of her nipple and dragged the length of it along her flesh while she moaned in desperation. He dragged the feather several times along each nipple, making sure that he stimulated the top of each as well as multiple angles along the sides.

The alarm ticked past five minutes. He replaced the rigid feather on her thigh and picked up the Hitachi. Now she froze, knowing full well what was in his hands.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Please,” she groaned. “Edge me, touch my clit, I’ll do anything.”

He flicked on the Hitachi. She flinched at the sound as the room filled with buzzing.

But when he touched the vibrating Hitachi lightly to her nipple, she cried out as an assault of pleasure stormed through her consciousness. Her engorged pink nub rippled against the side of the vibrator, sending a tsunami of sexual arousal channeling right to her clit.

She was no longer begging for sensation, but instead entering a pre-orgasmic trance of pleasure.

He removed the Hitachi and she mewled in lost arousal. Then he lowered it to her other nipple, and she squealed in delight at the vibration. After only a few seconds, though, he upped the ante. He lowered his face to the nipple not been worked over by the Hitachi and took it between his lips.

It felt as though he opened a tear in space-time and the concentrated energy of the universe was flowing right into her nipples and rocketing down to her clit. While one nipple danced in surrender under the touch of the Hitachi, the other was being suckled by the moist confines of his mouth. His lips ran up and down the walls of the nipple while his tongue flicked the tip.

Her head spun, stars floated behind the blindfold, and cream leaked from her ignored vagina. She could feel the fireworks of orgasm priming and taking aim.

“I’m close, I’m close!” she cried with a squeak in her voice.

All of the sensation stopped and she moaned in complete and utter frustration. Her pussy was rabid with desire, and she thrust it as much as the strict bondage allowed, but to no avail.

“Clearly you need another cooling down period,” he told her. “I’ll come back to untie you in thirty minutes.”

Then he put the headphones over her ears and turned back on the audio of the girl having an endless stream of orgasms at the hands of a Hitachi just like their own.

“Oh nononono,” she wailed as he left the room.


At the end of thirty minutes, he returned and found her a quivering mess on the bed.

“I’m edging…please,” she gasped between pants and thrusts of her hips. “…please press… stop I’m… going to cum…”

As he walked over to the bed and stopped the recording, he marveled that in six nights she had gone from not being able to orgasm, to being capable of doing so without any physical stimulation whatsoever.

She was ready for the final challenge.

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