I Hate Orgasm Denial
Unlike the modern world, there was nothing here like a smartphone to kill time with. Just as I was drifting off to recover a bit of fatigue, something slithered up from the chair and prodded at my perineum.
"Wh-what?!"
I jerked and squirmed, but my wrists to elbows, thighs to waist, even my chest were tightly bound with chains. All I felt was tension coiling in my body—no escape.
"Nngh, uungh!"
Already heating up from the thrill of being bound, I'd been deep-breathing to calm myself when the sudden stimulation hit. My heart raced in that lewd direction, and my panties grew damp.
"N-not here... please..."
Despite my pleas, the chair—devoid of any linguistic comprehension or intent to listen—pushed something under my panties without flipping them aside, burrowing into my ass and pussy.
"Aaah, aaaahhh!"
Anything but anal. I'd resigned myself to losing my virginity someday—as long as it wasn't to a guy, I figured it was fine. But the real sensation of something invading from behind was one I'd never want to feel again.
Yet that texture at my entrance didn't delve deeper. The two pillars merely pressed against me, then began vibrating fiercely enough to rattle my spine without penetrating further.
"Huuuuh..."
The electric thrill climbing my back had me gripping the armrests tight. I tried curling up to dull the sensation, but the bindings let only my head droop.
My hypersensitive body was already aflame, primed for climax at any moment. But the chair denied me release, offering no more stimulation.
Instinctively, I twisted for stronger friction, shifting positions. The unyielding chains forbade even that.
"L-let me go..."
The chair ignored my begging. Instead, a response came from elsewhere—something jammed into my mouth.
"Mmph!"
A long, soft tendril pinned my tongue down and wedged deep toward my throat, holding position. Motionless, it felt like a firm shut up, revealing its identity.
"Mmmph, muuuph..."
The tail from FSM's holy relic. Ignoring my saliva, it sealed my mouth. Then something kneaded my breasts.
Too dark to identify it, but identity didn't matter. It teased without mercy, withholding climax—like orgasm control torture. I was going mad.
"Haa, euph, heeeaah."
The tail muffled my moans; drool leaked freely. Twisting my head did nothing—it followed relentlessly. I just wanted this agony to stop. Let me cum. No, stop. Please stop. The relentless breast-groping and off-target clit vibrations were pure torment. Or was this what they called sexual torture? Maintaining sanity while edging was a suffering I'd never imagined—tears streamed down.
Consciousness blurred, breaths ragged, yet the device refused climax to the end. My stifled moans filled the void.
"Sis, you okay?"
"Ah."
Just a bit more, and I'd have gone over—when had the teasing vanished? My hazy mind cleared at Hanbyeol's voice. The darkness lifted with her torchlight; the chains were gone.
"Hallucination?"
Was it? Those vivid sensations felt utterly real. The tail innocently draped over my thigh made me doubt. Its tip wasn't saliva-soaked—jet-black, dry texture confirmed.
"Nngh, no. Just dozed off."
"Nightmare? You're soaked."
Her words made me belatedly cast Purify. The wetness lingered, but the lewd scent faded enough to breathe. My intensified body fragrance remained, though. Purify's mechanics baffled me—if it cleared poisons below its grade and filth, why not lactic acid in sore muscles or hormone side effects? Never erased fatigue pain itself—a pity.
At least sweat would dry while walking. No way I'd confess what happened. I hadn't even told her about last night's dream, fearing contempt. Telling her the chair's vibrating dildos teased my entrances without entry or release? Unthinkable.
"Feels like hours passed. How long were you gone?"
"Barely any time. Not even ten minutes since we split. Sis, you look awful. Same as yesterday—if you're having nightmares again, rest today?"
"Nngh, I'm fine. Better clear the dungeon fast and rest after."
Sorry to worry her, but I passed it off as a nightmare. When would this guilt ease? To shift focus, I asked,
"Anyway, you got it all? What happened?"
"Cleared it. Nothing there—just pick gold bar or party key. Chose key. No lock for it, though—you were already free."
"Maybe it's the next stage key?"
"Makes sense. Gather everyone, I'll explain."
"Sure."
Did this dungeon demand teamwork? Like Starcraft custom maps where Koreans fail 7-player entrance blocks. Impressive Hanbyeol resisted gold.
"Let's head back."
"Yeah."
Her support steadied my shaky legs. Suddenly, I recalled the chairs' similar designs. What if each had built-in features? The men...? God no. Horrid visions soured my face.
Hanbyeol fretted over my pallor; I leaned on her magic, dizziness fading—self-inflicted shock.
No special lights, but retracing was quick. Party members at each door's chair looked drained, sweating.
"Saw something horrific."
Jimmy shook his pale head, recovering fast. I pitied the tough guy freaking out.
"Sob sob... sis... thanks for saving me..."
Jonathan looked hell-scarred. Odd— wasn't it individualized?
"..."
Iris wept silently. Clearly, personal horrors. They muttered facing unwanted visions; I vaguely agreed to "scary stuff."
Jimmy, buying it, said gravely,
"Seems we confronted inner fears. Some trial, maybe."
Guilt stabbed, but I nodded along.
"What is this, not a dungeon—some entity tempering us? No dungeon revives explorers."
"Oh, that. Sis and I discussed earlier."
Jimmy explained our theory: testing cooperation. Hanbyeol choosing key over gold. Iris nodded.
"Plausible. Gold would've starved or maddened us—or punished her."
"Or instant death, exile."
While they debated, I ducked my burning face. If illusions of fears, what was mine? Bondage edging? High mental strength skipping fear for desire replay? Or real? Even hallucination/dream meant I was pent-up. Ask Iris later? But yesterday's help was pre-dungeon... Does this body need daily release?
"Anyway, we've reached here safely—push to the end. If right, next trap needs teamwork. Prepare mentally."
"Got it."
While I stewed in shame, they'd shaken it off, ready to move. Can't linger in embarrassment; I followed.
Instantly, eyes locked on me.
"Wh-what?"
"Something off?"
"Yeah, sis—forget something?"
"Forget...?"
No gear. No veil as priestess; robes intact.
Iris and Hanbyeol's sly gazes made me step back.
"Saintess's ritual ropes are gone."
"No, that's..."
Free at last—don't wanna rebind. But my body, vividly recalling the chair's torment, overrode protests. Be honest: I don't hate bondage. This body craves restraint; immobility's mere inconvenience. Hanbyeol handles needs; tail anticipates. Not uncomfortable.
But begging aloud? Pervert label sucks. Everyone has kinks—I respect non-harmful ones—but bondage screams masochist. Don't want that rep. I shook my head.
"Had to untie for chair. Waste to refetch—let's proceed."
"Delaying saintess's burden-bearing rite risks calamity."
"Huh? Sis's bindings meant that? Whoa..."
News to me; Jonathan and Jimmy gaped, buying Iris's spin. Not cruel enough to admit self-harm or coercion—glared at her pleadingly.
She grinned enigmatically.
"No worries. Prepared blessed spares."
"Where'd you hide that...?"
Endless red cords from her cleavage—absurd. Hanbyeol positioned my arms behind; I surrendered. Iris bound my torso meticulously, knotting spares ribbon-like—decorative flair.
"Iris. Be honest—did this to Ivy too?"
Whispered for her ears; she smirked silently. Hanbyeol beamed at my bonds; Jimmy and Jonathan, touched, useless