She hadn’t yet realized that she couldn’t cum. We always love watching this part, and often we will use it as a way to spice up the day when things are quiet.
She had woken up wet and horny. The drugs in her system were altering her slightly, ramping up the hormones that controlled her arousal. As she sat up in the cot, she realized she was in an empty room with nothing but a cot, a toilet, a mirror, and a soft chair.
The obligatory room search, which every girl seems to do when they awake in these circumstances, was pretty cursory. In the back of he her head, she probably realized she wasn’t in Kansas anymore. We watched as she unconsciously started rubbing her nipples against the walls and furniture as she looked around.
When she finally sat down in the chair, naked and trembling, her hands seemed to automatically rise to fondle her breasts. She looked down, an almost bewildered expression on her pretty face. Unlike some, though, this one didn’t fight it. The feelings were so good, so overwhelming, that she simply lay back, closed her eyes, and started to toy with herself.
Perhaps 25 minutes went by, her arousal rising by the second. Her chair became wet, and when her fingers finally slid slickly into her cunt, she gasped at the embarrassingly loud wet noise. That didn’t stop her from continuing, though.
Another 15 minutes went by as she alternately fingered herself hard, and played with her clit. All the while, her nipples were as hard as bricks, her face contorted into a mask of desperation. She began to make the most pitiful sounds, sort of a cross between a whimper and a low, chesty moan.
About that time, she began to look at herself in the mirror. Her eyes dulled considerably, and she stood, fingers still working her cunt like her life depended on it. Her other hand slapped and pinched at her nipples, rolling her breasts around as she leaned into the beautiful, sweaty, desperate vision of herself in the mirror.
She could feel the build-up, the pressure that she knew to be an orgasm. She could feel it growing, and though she was still making animal sounds of lust, a smile curled on her lips. She slid one finger into her ass, a couple into her sloppy, slurping pussy, and let her thumb graze over her clit as she pumped with all her might. Her taut nipples must have ached terribly as she teased at them, alternating between squeezes, brushes, and slaps.
And nothing happened. The pressure kept building. She tried to pause, but she couldn’t keep her fingers away from her clit. She fingered herself until she started to squirt, but still there was no orgasm. With sweat and her own juices dribbling down her thighs, she began to swear like a fishwife.
We knew from experience that this would continue for at least another three or four hours, before sheer exhaustion made her sleep. Meanwhile, her lovely body would be flooded with hormones, reinforcing her need to touch, her depseration for orgasm… all the while making it impossible for her to reach the pinacle.
At some point we’d send a male in there, and see how she took to being used. We’d use conditioning and hypnosis and brainwashing to help her associate male use of her body with both pleasure and relief, although she would never reach orgasm again…