What sleep are you talking about?

Everything went quiet.

Well, not really everything. Two sounds remained, both very close to her.

The first was the slight humming of the vibrator. It got muffled by the flesh aroundit, trembling deep inside her pussy; but with the complete absense of any other sounds, it could be clearly heard. A monotunous buzz, constantly there at the edge of her ear, growing ever more present as time went by.

The second was the sound of her own breathing. And it wasn't constant. What had started as a slight heaving was gradually turning into a mix of gasps and moans, as the tremblings of the vibrator focused in her crotch, and got channeled into waves of quivering which radiated throughout her body from there.

Even though the dull aching in her strained muscles gradually increased as the minutes dragged into hours, it was matched by the rising arousal in her loins. The continous toil of the vibrator translated seamlessly into a flood of snowballing pleasure. What had started small and local, gradually beamed out from her pussy and enveloped her belly, her thighs, her chest, her ankles, her shoulders. And it made her moan and whimper. No matter how much she was aware of the small camera over the door, she saw no way to hide her building excitement to whoever was watching her. Folded into her impossible position, her pussy spread wide open to any casual observer, the embarrassment of her arousal made her blush. Neither the flood of juice gradually cultivating and submerging her pussy, nor the vocal treason of her voice as it gradually built up to the sound track of any porn movie, gave her any credible assertion that she was nothing but the innocent victim of a criminal ****. She realized the view would clearly tell a very different story, and she felt the full weight of the shame and humiliation right underneath the physical ecstacy as her body heated up more and more.

She realized she longed for release. Despite everything, the call of every nerve in her body to receive an orgasm became a demanding crowd of voices in her head. The first hour, it was bearable. The second hour, it became harder. After the third hour, it became ****.

Hannah had never considered herself to be a slit girl. The late evening masturbation in her single bed had usually meant a clit rubbing, and when she had been with the scarce lovers she had enjoyed in her life, she had always revelled in clit-focussed foreplay rather than the inevitable penetration which usually followed after. But that had only ever lasted a few minutes; now that her slit was stuffed with vibrating action for all those hours, she realized it wasn't completely true. Stretched and strained and folded, the vibrator yielded a very clear result of pussy juice, moanings, and electric sparks of ecstacy racing through her body.

But it wasn't enough to cum. She really couldn't go that last mile without the finishing touch - and that final requirement would simply HAVE to be delivered to her clit. In her extremely folded bondage, her clit was SO close - just a few inches away from her warm lips, which could doubtlessly provide that final push. She could examine it with her eyes more closely than she ever had - it was pink and glistening and slightly throbbing. Inviting, thirsty, calling. At the same time it might have been light years away, completely unattainable.

And suddenly she appreciated Arnold. He wanted to teach her to lick her own pussy; and at this very moment, she wished she could. Maybe this ridiculous "training" thing wasn't as ridiculous as it had seemed before? If this was to be a habitual bondage she would spend a lot of time in, wouldn't it be great if she could at least soothe this unbearable craving in her loins by licking herself to release? It didn't look as if she would get out of this place anytime soon; maybe she should really start to take this training thing seriously?

She hadn't mastered this skill yet though. She just hung there, bound into a ball, strained, ashamed, and getting hornier by the second. Sleeping was completely out of the question; the conflicting emotions ran through her body, not allowing any room for rest. If these were to be her sleeping hours, she wasn't getting any of it. She feared the next day; she highly doubted if anyone would care that she hadn't slept at all, and had just spent those long hours in a frustrated and unsatisfied prurient frenzy. But she took a vow right there and then. She wouldn't resist her training anymore; she would work with her trainers to actually manage this weird skill they wanted to see in her, and at least allow her to get some sleep after the release of orgasm.