Relentless Torment: Viagra, Begging, and Endless Edging

Yvonne locked the playroom door and turned, already smiling. At thirty-two she carried herself like the room belonged to her, bare feet silent on the padded floor, dark hair pinned up so nothing would get in her way. Octavia, twenty-nine, waited beside the padded bench in a black slip, calm and bright-eyed, a tray of toys already laid out between them.

Barrett knelt first. Twenty-eight, broad through the shoulders, an experienced masochist who had spent the last month begging them, in writing and out loud, for a longer session than they usually allowed. Quentin, thirty-one, settled beside him, leaner, just as willing, his cock already thickening against his thigh. Both men had negotiated every inch of this. Safewords were live. The plan was theirs as much as the women’s.

“Open,” Yvonne said.

Barrett tipped his head back and took the tablet from her fingers without hesitation, swallowing the water she offered after. He knew what it was. He had asked for it, specifically, so the night would not end when his body tried to quit.

“Good boy,” she murmured. “By the time you think you’re finished, that will be just getting started.”

Octavia stripped them with unhurried hands, folding shirts and pants aside, tugging briefs down and off. Cool air hit skin. She stroked Quentin once, loose and teasing, then Barrett, just enough to wake him. Both cocks lifted under the attention. Neither woman gave them a real rhythm.

“Please,” Barrett said, already hoarse with want. “Please, I need—”

“You need what we decide,” Octavia said, fond and sharp. She dragged a fingertip under his crown and watched his stomach jump. “Beg prettier.”

Quentin’s thighs trembled. “Ma’am, please, just a little more. I’m already—”

“Already desperate,” Yvonne finished, delighted. “We’ve barely touched you. Hands behind your backs. Stay.”

They obeyed. Light strokes continued, stop and start, palms warm, never quite enough. Precum beaded. Begging spilled out of both of them in soft, embarrassed rushes, and the women answered with low laughter and praise, letting the ache build while the pill settled into Barrett’s blood.

The first real round came when Yvonne wrapped her fist around him and worked him in a steady, merciless pull. Barrett lasted less than a minute. He came with a broken shout, spilling over her knuckles, hips jerking, apology and thanks tangled together.

She didn’t let go.

“There,” she said, wiping him just enough to keep stroking. “And look at that. Still thick. Still hungry. The little pill is doing its job.”

He whimpered as she kept going over oversensitive flesh. Octavia slid a snug cock ring down his shaft and seated it at the base, trapping the swell. His cock jumped, darker, helplessly hard.

“Oh God—too much—please, Yvonne, I can’t—”

“You can,” she said gently, mocking the crack in his voice without cruelty. “You begged us for this. Use your words, even if they’re messy.”

Octavia bent and sucked one of his nipples into her mouth, slow and wet, tongue flicking until he gasped. She moved to the other, then caught it lightly between her teeth. The bite was sharp enough to make him yelp and arch. She soothed it with another suck, then fitted a clamp to each peak, the pressure blooming into a hot, constant throb.

“Ah—ah—please, take them—no, don’t—fuck, I don’t know—”

“Incoherent already,” Octavia cooed. “Sweet thing. Breathe. Suffer for us a little longer.”

She bit just beside the clamp, a quick nip that made his cock leap inside the ring. Yvonne pumped him toward the edge and stopped. Again. Again. He babbled, tears bright in his eyes, thanking them and pleading in the same breath. They laughed softly and told him he was doing perfectly.

Octavia turned to Quentin, who had been watching with his mouth open and his cock dripping onto his stomach. She stripped the slip over her head, climbed the low chair they had set for this, and lowered herself onto his face.

“Tongue,” she said. “And when I sit, you take what I give you.”

He nodded under her, eager. She settled, slick and hot, covering his mouth and nose in a smooth, practiced smother. His hands stayed behind him. She rocked, using him, lifting just enough for a gulp of air, then sinking again while his tongue worked frantically. Yvonne knelt between Quentin’s spread thighs and stroked him in long, denying pulls, bringing him to the brink and backing off every time his hips tried to chase her.

“Please—can’t—’m gonna—please let me—” The words muffled into Octavia’s pussy, wet and useless.

“Listen to him,” Octavia said, grinding down, breath play held in careful beats she had practiced with him for years. “All that begging and he still licks like a good boy. Edge him again.”

Yvonne did. Quentin shook. Barrett, ringed and clamped, watched and whimpered his own nonsense, and both women answered with praise that felt like another kind of torment.

They switched without hurry, the middle of the night stretching the way the men had asked it to.

Yvonne slicked her fingers and pressed two into Barrett while Octavia held his clamped chest and kissed the whimpers off his mouth. The angle found his prostate on the second stroke. His cock, trapped by the ring, jerked and drooled without being touched. A slim vibrator replaced her fingers, buzzing low, then higher, milking that spot in slow pulses while she told him not to cum until she said.

“I can’t hold—Yvonne, please, it’s too—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I need—”

“You’re not sorry,” she said, laughing under her breath. “You’re perfect. Stay right there.”

Octavia swung a leg over his face and sat, smothering him in heat and scent while the vibrator worked. She rode his mouth for her own pleasure, lifting when his hand tapped her thigh, sinking again when he tugged her back down, greedy even while he drowned in her. The vibrator pressed harder. His whole body locked.

He came hands-free, cock pulsing inside the ring, stripes of come striping his stomach while her pussy covered his mouth and his broken sounds vibrated straight into her. She came on his tongue with a sharp, pleased cry, grinding through it, then lifted just enough to hear him sob.

“Good,” she whispered, stroking his hair. “That’s one. We’re not done.”

The Viagra held him. Even spent, he stayed rigid, oversensitive and shining. Yvonne eased the vibrator, then started again before he could soften, fingers crooked, relentless. He begged in fragments. She mocked the fragments kindly and told him to give her another.

Across the bench, Octavia had Quentin on his back, clamps transferred to his nipples now that Barrett’s had been given a moment’s mercy and then put right back on. She sucked each of Quentin’s peaks until they stood, bit them until he yelped, then closed the clamps and twisted just enough to make his voice crack. A second ring—she had brought two, because denial was the point—settled at his base. His cock flushed dark and jumped with every tug on the chain between the clamps.

“Please, Octavia, please, I’ll do anything, just let me cum, I can’t think, I can’t—”

“You don’t need to think,” she said, sweet as anything, stroking him twice and stopping. “You need to beg. You’re so pretty when you fall apart. Again.”

Yvonne’s fingers were in Quentin next, slick and sure, prostate stroked in time with the denial at his cock. Octavia climbed his face and used his mouth until she shook, smothering him in smooth, lifting waves while Yvonne kept him on the edge so long his begging turned into wet, wordless noise. When she finally let the vibrator press and her hand fly, he came with a hoarse shout into Octavia’s cunt, hips stuttering, ring biting at the base, and she laughed through her own orgasm and called him perfect.

They traded again. Barrett’s mouth on Yvonne while Octavia rode Quentin’s fingers and tongue in turns. Prostate milking until Barrett spilled a weaker, aching second load without a hand on his cock, still hard, still begging. Nipples sucked, bitten, clamped, soothed, bitten again. Cock rings snug. Faces sat on until both women had come twice more, thighs trembling, praising the messy devotion under them. Every plea—please, can’t, more, stop, don’t stop—was met with soft dominant laughter and a coaxing, “There you are. Give us that. Keep going. We love how you beg.”

By the time the women’s own hunger had been fed and fed again, both men were shaking, voices shredded, eyes wet, cocks aching and flushed and still, in Barrett’s case, stubbornly full.

Yvonne looked at Octavia. Octavia nodded.

“Now,” Yvonne said.

They took the rings off with careful fingers, one then the other, and wrapped their hands around both cocks at once. No more edges. Full, milking strokes, thumbs working the undersides, mouths dropping to suck the swollen heads in turn while the other hand never stopped. Barrett came with a wrecked, grateful sob, pulsing hard, and they stroked him through every last drop, mocking the way he thanked them in nonsense. Quentin followed seconds later, spilling over Octavia’s fist, hips jerking, voice gone to a rasp of please and thank you and their names.

“Listen to them,” Octavia murmured, fond and wicked, wringing the final weak pulses out of him. “All that torment and the gratitude is still incoherent. Sweet boys.”

Clamps came off. They soothed the sore peaks with warm mouths and softer hands, then gathered both men in against their bodies on the wide mat, skin to skin, heartbeats slowing. Yvonne kissed Barrett’s temple. Octavia petted Quentin’s hair.

“You asked for the long one,” Yvonne said quietly, pride warm in it. “You took every round. We’re so pleased with you.”

Barrett made a small, ruined sound and pressed closer, still trembling in the afterglow, and the women held them there, praise settling over sweat-damp skin as the worst of the shaking began, only just, to ease.