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Goaded beyond wisdom or reason, she begged them to do unimaginable things to her body with a debased explicitness she could scarcely believe came from her own mouth. Nor did she plead only for sexual acts; in her desperation she conceded that she would submit to anything — spanking, clamps, even the dreaded cane — if they’d just allow her an orgasm.Mocking laughter, as constant as their infuriating stimulation-without-release, was all she received in return. On and on they kept her on the precipice of ecstasy while her overstimulated pussy poured forth a river of lubrication that spread across the table as she moaned and wept with frustration. It was, in its own way, a psychological abuse nearly equal to the more physical forms to which she’d already been subjected. I can’t bear it. I have to come. I’ll do anything. I’ll let them do anything at all. Yet they continued to refuse her.After hours of torment and denial she was finally left alone, exhausted but still beset by the craving. For a few moments as he stood there, she was lost in the new sensations, feeling both trapped and yet freedom beyond any she had ever experienced. She watched as he looked at her looking at him, and felt strangely at peace. He began to move. Slowly and deliberately she watched him open his shirt, then pulling his arms out of the sleeves gracefully. With the same deliberate smooth slowness, she watched him take off his shoes and socks. His hands moved to his waist, unbuckled his belt, and snapped the waistband open. She heard the snap, then the sound of the zipper being pulled, and watched as the jeans opened, dropped, and were put with the rest of his clothes. Her eyes were drawn to his body; never before had she seen a man naked before. The flatness of his belly, with the rising fleshy organ where she had none, the muscular thighs shining in the moonlight fascinated her. He was slowly moving, almost dancing to an inner rhythm, and as she watched the movement, she felt his feet move.
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