Clit Torture Stories Novels & Stories

I didn't think it was possible, I was covered in sweat, could barely keep breathing but he was meticulous and determined about it as he closed his lips around my overstimulated clît and started to sûck on it, teased it with his tongue while he slipped his middle finger inside me. And then he twisted his finger, bent it inside me in such a way I shrieked. All my muscles clamped around his finger but he didn't stop his assault even as he kept torturing my clît with his tongue. I didn't know what part of me he touched but white stars burst into my vision as one again I came apart on a scream.

He walked to a table and took a tablet. He placed in in front of me and played a video I was in it Unconscious Then he stripped me and used me to satisfy his lust. I couldn't believe it How could he? My tears covered my whole face as I cried I was weak I couldn't do anything I felt really unfortunate Clint: that video is the first time. They are about ten more from where it came from. And I'm glad you're awake It's not gonna be one-sided anymore He smirked and stood up

I ordered pizza for us and as they gamed, I fired up the laptop in my bedroom, curious to read the stories he'd been stroking to yesterday. As I read story after story, I was shocked both at the content of the stories and by what these stories were doing to me. My pussy was on fire, and my left hand slowly pleasured myself as I read each incestuous story. Some of the stories had dominant sons seducing their mothers, while others had powerful daughters dominating their mothers, while still others were more intimate and egalitarian in the sexual relationships between sons and mothers. I'd never even remotely considered my children in a sexual way, but yesterday's events of my son's masturbatio

He licked, nipped, and teased at my tits, which was his personal meal. I was moaning so loud I forgot about the neighbours. I didn’t care. And when he finally let go of the clamps, blood rushed back, pain turned into bliss, and I almost came just from that, just from my tits being used and tortured. No cock. No fingers. Just clamps and his hands. And I think… I’d beg him to do it again. You know what’s worse than clamps? Being sent home dripping wet and aching for a lovely thick cock, and told to “think about what I had done."

“You want to cum, slut?” “Yes. Please. Please,” I pant. The vibrator touches my clit...just a slightly, and I jolt violently. “Look at her squirm,” a man says. “Fucking slut's on edge.” Then the real torture begins. The toy moves rhythmically. First up and down, then circling, side to side. It’s relentless as every nerve in my clit lights up and I cry out. “Make her cum,” someone growls. “Make her scream.” I arch my back, hips lifting off the bench, offering my cunt to the air, to them, to anyone who’ll touch me again.

Ten of 'em. " You know, Umberto," I said quietly. " In the future, there'd be a show called Game of thrones." Umberto's voice was weak and shaky. " Huh?" I continued. " While Game of Thrones is nothing but a fictional show, one scene I can perfectly remember is straight out of a historical medieval dungeon. Several forms of rat torture have existed throughout history, but they all involve two things: the human body and a rat’s astonishing ability to chew through almost anything. A popular method of rat torture entailed placing a rat-filled bucket or container over a victim’s stomach, chest, or genitals. As the container was heated up, the rat would chew through its only available escape rout

Clara leaned in several times to lightly bite areas of reddened skin, and it drove Shamira wild. Shamira quickly experienced another orgasm, but Clara wasn't done. Somehow, her strokes were keeping the muscular vamp on the edge, inducing multiple climaxes in rapid succession. Shamira could barely stand, but she couldn't sink any closer to the ground. Her legs burned due to the exertion of keeping her standing. This was Clara's torture . . . death by climax. She was testing Shamira's will. It was a test Shamira was determined not to fail. Despite the deep, fiery discomfort in her legs, her ass, her arms, her tits, and her shoulders, Shamira stayed mostly standing.

I wasn’t sure yet, but I wasn’t about to let my guard down. The thought of ‘Cain The Devil’ made my blood boil, memories of the things I’d survived flooding my mind. That name wasn't just a title—it was a legacy of suffering. The stories were true. Cain had been a ruthless monster, even by our kind’s standards. His methods of torture were beyond anything anyone could imagine—he was a sick, twisted man who enjoyed nothing more than seeing others suffer. He had impaled us—our kind—on sharpened stakes, hung us from the rafters like worthless pieces of meat, and let us squirm, watching in delight as we gasped for breath, feeling the life slowly slip away.

He tore his clothes off of his body and I giggled seeing his enthusiasm. He came to me and grabbed both of my wrists in his one hand. He took my fingers inside his mouth that I used for teasing my clitoris. He sucked my fingers and I moaned. He pinned my hands above my head and slapped my pussy a few times. I moaned in pleasure when he pinched my clitoris as a punishment for touching myself. "Did I not warn you not to touch yourself ever? You are mine to touch, mine to fuck and mine to torture." He whispered in my ear and pushed me with the bed. I landed on the bed on my stomach.

Her body is already so battered that the slightest touch is excruciating. "They're all like this. At first, they complain, but then they like it rough," the man's laughter sends shivers down the young woman's spine. She mentally begs her mother to help her escape this torture. "They ask you to put it in every hole. They become real sluts when they have a virile member inside."