The final zip of the latex catsuit sealing up was the last sound of the world I knew. The black rubber clung to every curve, a second skin that was already beginning to warm with my body heat. I stood in the center of the sterile, white room, my breathing already starting to race in anticipation. The Mistress approached, her heels clicking sharply against the tile. She held the hood in one gloved hand.

“Kneel, Toy,” her voice was low, cold, and absolute.

My knees hit the floor without hesitation. I yearned for her control. The world disappeared as the rubber hood was pulled over my head, plunging me into absolute darkness. The only opening was for my mouth, and even that was soon filled with the thick, rubber ball gag that was strapped tightly behind my head. My jaw was forced wide, my breathing reduced to ragged, noisy pulls through my nose. I was now just a body, a form encased in shiny black latex, waiting to be used.

Her hands were clinical as she began the application. She opened the breast zips in the suit and applied the cold, conductive gel on my nipples; a shock in the silence. I flinched as the circular electrodes were pressed into place, the adhesive pads holding them firmly against my areolas.

Then, she moved lower. A finger, slick with more gel, probed at my pussy lips, parting them. I gasped around the gag as the cold gel was smeared over my clit and labia. The large metal electrode was cold and unyielding as it was inserted, filling me. I felt the distinct, invasive pressure of it being nestled deep inside me. The feeling of being filled, of being prepared for her pleasure, sent a jolt of pure, undiluted arousal through me.

The process was repeated at my anus. The gel, the gentle but firm pressure, the insertion of another metal probe. She increased the pressure as I tensed. “This is for my use. You exist to be filled. You exist to be stimulated. Nothing more.” The sensation of being penetrated there, of being stretched and made ready, was profound. I was completely filled, completely vulnerable. Adding to my potential torment she produced a small electrode clamp and applied it tightly around my clit.

She moved me then to her bondage chair, its metal and leather coldly accepting my warm body. She secured me tightly with thick straps that were locked to my form. Legs spread wide and exposed. My hands she enclosed in rubber mitts, arresting my fingers and rendering my hands useless. On my feet she carefully laced a strict pair of ballet boots taking away any possibility of walking away. I was helpless to escape and that filled me with building arousal.

She connected the wires, the gentle clicks punctuating my fate. I heard her footsteps recede, and then the sound of a heavy door closing. A lock engaged. Silence.

For a long moment, there was nothing. Just the oppressive darkness of the hood, the smell of rubber, the constant, dull pressure of the gag and the objects inside me. My heart hammered against my ribs. Then, it began.

A low, deep hum started, a vibration that seemed to emanate from the very core of my being. It wasn’t a shock, not yet. It was a pulse, a rhythmic thrum that traveled up from the electrode in my pussy, spreading through my abdomen, making my entire lower body tremble. My hips twitched involuntarily. The pulse was slow, almost gentle, a teasing caress from within.

Just as I began to acclimatize to that deep, internal massage, a sharper sensation erupted on my breasts. A series of rapid, tiny flickers, like a hundred insect bites, concentrated on my nipples. They pebbled into painfully hard points, the electricity causing them to ache exquisitely. I moaned into the gag, the sound pathetic and muffled. The two sensations played against each other: the deep, throbbing pulse in my cunt and the sharp, insistent stinging on my nipples.

The machine was intelligent. It learned. The pulses from my pussy began to intensify, growing from a thrum to a distinct, rhythmic thump that resonated in my core. Each thump sent a wave of pleasure-pain radiating outward, coiling the tension in my stomach tighter and tighter. I was getting wetter; I could feel the slickness inside the latex, feel the way the suit clung even tighter. The electrode in my ass suddenly activated, a different pattern entirely. It was a buzzing, a constant, low-level vibration that made my ass clench and flutter around the probe. It was maddening. It was the feeling of being fucked by a ghost, a relentless, invisible presence.

Time lost all meaning. There was only the endless cycle of sensation. The patterns would shift without warning. The deep pulses would cease, replaced by a sharp, staccato series of shocks directly to my clit that made my whole body jolt and my toes curl inside the boots. Just as I was on the verge of climax, it would switch back to the deep, insistent throb, coaxing me back from the edge only to build me up again.

My mind began to unravel. Trapped in the darkness, with no other stimuli, my entire universe became the symphony of electricity coursing through my flesh. I was no longer a person; I was Toy. A collection of raw nerves, a canvas upon which my Mistress painted with current. I tried to count the pulses to mark time, but the patterns were too complex, too designed to break my concentration. Thoughts fragmented. Memories surfaced and dissolved like bubbles. All that remained was need. A desperate, primal need for release that the machine perpetually denied, edging me for what felt like an eternity.

My body was dripping, a mess of arousal contained by the impermeable latex. Every muscle was taut with sustained tension. I was so close, so endlessly, tortuously close to orgasm, but the machine would always pull back, changing the pattern, introducing a painful shock to my nipples to distract me, or increasing the buzz in my ass to a fever pitch that demanded all my attention.

A new pattern emerged. All zones activated at once, but in a chaotic, unpredictable storm. Sharp jolts to my clit, deep, rolling pulses inside my pussy, a frantic vibration in my ass, and a continuous, burning sting on my nipples. It was a sensory barrage designed to shatter my last vestiges of control. My body bucked against the restraints I couldn’t even see, my back arching, a silent scream tearing from my throat around the gag. The sensations overloaded my nervous system, blending into a white-hot agony of pleasure. I was on the precipice, my entire being focused on the cataclysmic release that was building deep within my core. It was inevitable. It was coming. I could feel the tidal wave of my orgasm gathering, a pressure that threatened to crack my spine.

And then, it vanished.

The currents didn’t synchronize into a climax. They simply… stopped. The storm ceased, replaced by the original, low, deep hum that had started hours ago. The throbbing pulse in my pussy returned to its gentle, teasing rhythm. The buzz in my ass settled back to a maddening, constant presence. The sting on my nipples became a faint, intermittent flicker.

The denial was more brutal than any shock. The tension that had been coiling tighter and tighter for what felt like an eternity didn’t release; it solidified, a hard, aching knot of unmet need in my gut. A sob hitched in my chest, but I had no air to give it voice. My body trembled violently, every muscle fiber screaming for the relief that had been so cruelly snatched away. I was left hovering on the most excruciating edge, fully aware of every millimeter of sensitivity the electricity had carved into me.

The door opened. Her heels clicked on the tile. I heard her approach. I felt her presence beside me, a shadow in my darkness.

“Not yet, Toy,” her voice was a calm, quiet murmur that cut through the hum of the machine. “You’re doing so well. But you’re not ready for your reward. You need to learn to live in this space. To exist within the need itself.”

A fresh wave of resignation washed over me. Hours more. The thought was a prison sentence. The gentle pulse in my cunt, which moments ago had been a promise of climax, was now a torturous reminder of what I couldn’t have. Every throb was a fresh agony of denial. The buzz in my ass was no longer a sensation; it was a taunt.

Her footsteps receded. The door closed. The lock engaged.

The machine continued its gentle, relentless work. The patterns began to shift again, slowly, methodically, building me back up that impossible peak. I was trapped. Not just in the latex and the hood, but in the cycle itself. The only thing that existed was the aching, desperate need, and the certain knowledge that it would not be sated. Time stretched out into an endless, dark horizon of pleasure and pain, with no release in sight. And in that darkness, I began the long, slow process of breaking all over again, forever just Toy, waiting for my Mistress to decide if I deserved to come.

I welcomed it with all my being.

Did you enjoy my story? It’s not completely imaginary and is the result of many exciting opportunities I have had under wonderful Mistresses in the past. See Continued Torment for a similar real-life story. Check back for more stories soon.