No Touching Allowed

Lying in bed and gazing up at the ceiling, Lucy willed herself again to fall asleep. She knew she should be exhausted, but every night it seemed to get harder and harder to get to sleep. She could have blamed the increased workload in her final year of college, or the stress of the extra shifts she'd picked up at the student bar to make rent. But in reality, if she was honest with herself, she knew exactly what was keeping her awake.

Every night it seemed to get worse. The growing ache called to her, tempting her to break her own rules. Many a long night she'd spent trying to rationalize it to herself. What harm could it do? Surely it couldn't hurt to give herself just a little bit of relief with her own fingers? But she'd made a vow to be good, and the rules were clear: touching her own pussy for pleasure was strictly forbidden.

Not that she was always perfect, of course. Sometimes when she was washing herself in the shower, she'd linger between her legs just a little longer than was strictly necessary. She'd squirm slightly in her desk chair, rubbing her legs together in a way that gave her clit a little indirect stimulation. In her most desperate moments, she rolled over onto her stomach and allowed herself to hump the bed for a moment or two. But otherwise, her slit went untouched. Sometimes she felt she might go mad with need. Like now.

Her phone pinged. She sighed, already knowing it would be him, and reached for it. Not replying within a certain timeframe meant trouble. Of course, the stranger on the other end of the messages didn't have any power to actually do anything to her. They didn't really know anything about each other. Almost anything he'd told her about himself could be a complete lie. They didn't even know each other's real names.

But it didn't matter, because he knew what he needed to know. He knew her beliefs meant she couldn't have sex before marriage. He knew she had been taught that masturbation was wrong. He knew that she still struggled to reconcile all of this with the reality of having a very horny pussy that was desperate to be touched.

She'd found him a year earlier, just after her twenty-first birthday, on a forum for people who were struggling with the temptation to masturbate. She'd asked for someone to help keep her accountable, and he'd appeared in her inbox moments later.

"I'm good at making sure naughty girls stay pure," he'd written. "Want me to help you out?"

They'd started messaging and one thing had led to another. Soon they were messaging every day, sometimes several times, and even occasionally talking on the phone. She often wondered if he was actually making things harder for her, but found herself craving their messages and calls even so. The idea of displeasing him gave her another incentive to resist the temptation to play with herself.

"Daily check-in: have you been good?" the message read. Lucy bit back a whimper as her pussy throbbed.

"Yes, Sir," she typed back truthfully. She couldn't remember exactly when she had started calling him Sir, but he seemed to like it.

The reply came quickly. "Good girl. How bad is it today?"

"Maybe an 8 out of 10," she replied. She watched as the three little dots to indicate him typing appeared. She spread her legs wider, the inside of her thighs sticky with her need, and grasped a handful of the sheet in her free hand.

I can do this, she told herself sternly. I've got through so many nights like this, I can get through one more.

Her phone pinged again. "I bet your poor little clit is throbbing, isn't it?" he'd written. "I had a really nice orgasm tonight. Thinking about you being desperate and in need made it even better. Too bad girls like you aren't allowed to touch!"

She whimpered out loud and spread her legs a little further. The need was always there, a constant presence in her mind and body, but she couldn't remember the last time it had been quite this bad.

The phone rang and his number appeared on the screen. She hesitated for half a second, then hit the answer button.

"Sounds like you need a little extra encouragement tonight," he said. His voice was smooth and deep, comforting and arousing all at the same time. The ache between her legs intensified.

"Please can I rub it just a little bit?" she begged. She occasionally succumbed to asking him for permission, as though him telling her it was okay would absolve her of the sin somehow. He never gave it. At best, he would very occasionally allow her to give her cunt a few quick, sharp slaps.

"Absolutely not," he replied. "You wanted help controlling that needy little slit between your legs, so that's what you'll get. Now I want those legs spread wide for me." She obeyed, parting her legs as far as they would go. Her poor pussy was screaming at her, begging her to rub it, finger it, stroke it... anything to relieve it of the years of pent-up desire. She'd started wearing panties to bed, or else she'd wake up with the sheets stained by her leaking cunt. She could feel that a wet patch was already growing on the front of them.

"Stroke your inner thighs," he ordered. "Get really close, right up to the edge of your panties. I bet they're damp already, aren't they, dirty girl?" Her fingers did as he commanded almost of their own accord, tracing the edge of her panties while her poor, neglected clit twitched beneath them. She was moaning softly now, thrusting her hips upwards at nothing.

"Please, Sir..." she whimpered. "Please, it hurts..."

"It's supposed to hurt, girl," he growled. "How would you learn to resist temptation if it was easy all the time? You said you wanted to stay pure, and I said I'd help. I never promised I'd make it easy on you."

She squirmed in desperate need, feeling ashamed at the wanton display she was making of herself. Sometimes she wondered if her pussy would eventually spontaneously explode in orgasm without her needing to touch it at all. If only she could get a little friction down there, she was sure it would be enough to tip her over the edge. But if even touching was sinful, then surely an orgasm would be far, far worse.

"It's so hard," she whined.

His tone shifted from mocking to tender concern. "I know, sweetheart, I know. You must feel like you're absolutely going crazy. But you said it yourself -- playing with your pussy for pleasure is wrong. I'll be here to remind you of that whenever the temptation gets too much."

She screwed her eyes tightly shut, trying not to cry with need. She had to be good. She had to stay strong and not give in to the longing to shove her hand into her soaked panties and frig herself to the long-denied climax.

"Is it really so bad if I just don't cum?" she gasped, unsure if she was asking herself or him. "If I could just touch a little bit to take the edge off..."

He laughed. "If you got your hands on that desperate little clit, do you really think you'd be able to resist going too far?" he asked. She whined, humping the air. "No. It's much better we keep you completely untouched. We can't risk you having an accident. You do want to stay good, don't you?"

She knew he was right, of course. She knew there was no two ways around it: she couldn't play with herself if she wanted to keep the purity she'd guarded so carefully. And if that meant throbbing every day and dripping into her panties every night, then that was just her lot.

"Yes, Sir, I want to stay good."

The gently mocking tone was back. "It's not forever, sweetheart. It's only until you get married, then your husband can play with your pussy for you as much as he wants."

She groaned. It might be years yet before she got married. But what choice did she have?

"It must be time for you to get some sleep," he said. "What do you say?"

"Thank you, Sir."

"Thank you for what?"

She rolled over onto her side and pressed her legs together, squirming. "Thank you for helping me control myself and keep my... my aching cunt pure."

"You're welcome, girl. Sleep well."