Tattoo Orgasm Blocker

Peeling off the plastic film from her newest tattoo, Ankita admired the black ink running down her spine through her full length mirror. What little light pierced through her bedroom curtains offered just enough visibility to examine the scales of the thick rattlesnake scales, its curled tail at her coccyx. The body of the snake twisted as it ran up the centre of her back to where the hissing head nested between her shoulders. When wearing a t-shirt, the head and tongue of the serpent would be just about visible, by design.

She smiled a rebellious grin, the same thrill she had gotten years ago when first unveiling the vines that ran up her slim legs, or the mystical crescent moon in the centre of her chest. Looking at it made her wet between the legs, or rather, it intensified her unending pulsing arousal. Of late, Ankita had found herself constantly ravenous. Nothing seemed to abate the constant state of need; somehow the pain of the tattoo only seemed to fuel it.

This was unlike her, and after a hectic few days at work which served as a welcome distraction to her horniness, she finally now had a day off and she intended to spend the entirety of it in her room tending to herself. She opened a drawer and retrieved a vibrating dildo, holding it while she finished admiring her reflection with the full canvas of her designs now in view. Her eyes were still dark and smokey from yesterday's makeup, she had experimented with making them cat-like to distract from her nose, a self-conscious habit. She had an ovular face in perfect proportion, with thin red lips and long dark hair. The supple brown skin of her hips and thighs drew her gaze, where the tightness of her naked body was most apparent. Her modest breasts were perky, her figure slight and slender. Staring at herself amidst the ink, the roaring passion in her loins made her feel youthful, even in her mid-twenties, and she couldn't hold from touching herself a second longer.

Laying down on the bed, careful not to put undue pressure on her back, she switched on the toy and pressed it firmly to her engorged slippery clit. The arching of her spine stung - even after weeks of healing it was still a shock - but Ankita powered on, moaning as the intricate vibrations overtook her.

Something was wrong. Ankita was usually quick to cum, especially with this toy and as horny as she was right now, but it wouldn't give. The electric potential for pleasure felt somehow stuck, her muscles contracting expectantly as her wet pussy tingled with excitement, but where nirvana should have been was instead a wall. The humming toy felt good, but she couldn't reach orgasm. It was infuriating. She changed tact, sliding it inside her, roaring internally but after over an hour of experimentation she couldn't take the incessant teasing anymore. Clicking off the toy, she tossed it to the floor where it clacked noisily against the wood.

"You alright in there?" came a soft voice from outside the door, her flatmate Mei checking in on her as she often did. Ankita found her cloying obtrusive at the best of times, and after days of build-up unrealised she snapped more harshly than usual.

"Fine!" Ankita exclaimed at top volume, "Just leave me alone."

"Alrighty hun," Mei replied, just as warmly as before, "I'm gonna make some tea, let me know if you want any." The girl was always making tea, or otherwise sprawled out in the living room practising yoga or cleaning spots of the house that were already gleaming. An ever-annoying little ball of positivity.

Ankita patted her hand around her bedside table, overcrowded as ever, sending a pair of straighteners and a tower of coins spilling onto the floor before finding her vape and taking a long puff of blueberry. She decided perhaps another approach could work, discarding the vape and sliding her fingers inside herself to massage her g-spot. She was slow at first, but her ferocity increased with her hunger.

That day she didn't leave her room, alternating between using toys, her fingers, vaping sessions and naps but not once reaching orgasm. She was close to tears as dusk rolled around, panting in bed and staring up at the ceiling in disbelief. A loud text tone from her phone stirred her from quiet fury, and another cacophony of falling objects from the bedside table accompanied the sloppy retrieval of her phone. A message read:

'DAILY REPORT // Orgasms blocked: 7 // Criteria not met: Taste juices // Next criteria: 28 hours'

There was no sender number, the contact simply read "Report Status". For a while, she just stared at it, in awe of its impossibility. Simultaneously terrifying and strangely reassuring, the knowledge that something really was blocking her orgasms. If her inability to cum hadn't been so unusual, and if the orgasm count in the text hadn't so closely aligned with her own estimate she might have dismissed the message immediately. Yet the fear and shock of the message was secondary to the key it contained. A criteria she needed to cum. The curiosity was intoxicating, her fingers brought hesitantly to her tongue to taste herself, and though the thought of it was vulgar, something inside her wanted to savour it. An unfamiliar urge. With her other hand she rubbed her clit, back on the brink of orgasm in an instant, but this time tonguing her sticky fingers and plummeting into a deep hard orgasm which dropped her into a chasm of pleasure.

The relief was incredible, so powerful that the horror of what had just happened nearly escaped her as she lay drenched in sweat. She sat up, and after the room felt real again she re-read the message. This was really happening. Something had been done to her that made her unable to orgasm freely. Terror swam over her, yet her hand soon absentmindedly fell between her legs and began to stroke at her needy little wet nub. She couldn't think straight. Just one more orgasm, then she would be able to figure this out. Pumping her fingers deftly in and out of herself, she swapped hands, slurping the renewed juices with one hand while she worked with the other, cumming once and immediately followed by an orgasm so hard she squirted across the floor and began to feel dizzy. Both disgusted and relieved.

At last she began to feel herself again, the amplified arousal of the last few days finally released. With the mist on her mind finally lifted, she suddenly realised the only possible cause of this sudden change in her body.

* * *

Ankita should have known to be suspicious when a long-vacant storefront by her flat had suddenly been reconfigured to display a trendy sign for a new tattoo parlour. Nothing remotely interesting could be found along this high street, so 'Pop of iNk' stood out significantly, plucked from her dreams and drawing her in. Inside she got chatting to the artist as he continued the design of a castle on a lady's shoulder. Right away she could tell he was the kind of artist she liked, pouring with enthusiasm for his craft, though she suspected he didn't take to her at all. He explained the store was a pop-up while he looked for a more affordable permanent location, mentioning other local artists that Ankita had worked with on her other tattoos and piercings. The design he was tattooing now was beautiful, with intricate brickwork which perfectly matched a nearby sketch, though he used a device she had never seen before - much larger than the usual equipment. He also pointed her towards pictures along the walls which showed some of his recent work, most of his favourites being back and shoulder tatts. As she browsed, she described the snake she had always wanted to get along her spine and the artist beamed at the idea, directing her to an image of a similarly complex piece he had worked on before.

"If you'd be willing to pay a deposit I could draw something up?" he offered.

"I actually have some sketches already, I can bring them over." said Ankita, casually dropping her occupation as interior designer into conversation in an attempt at artist-to-artist kinship. As usual, her attempt at subtlety was embarrassingly transparent and as she listed some awards she had won he nodded along politely. Feeling she hadn't earned his respect as an artist, she instead insisted she would permit him some artistic licence but would only pay if the product closely resembled her designs, "I know what I want and you can just say if you're not confident you can deliver."

He seemed unphased by her condescension, and the next morning she came along with the designs and he gave her a quote well below what she had come to expect for multi-day works like this. Still, she haggled him down for the principle of it, and they agreed on a price. During that visit he was working on another client, this wolf tattoo just as striking as the one yesterday, and she made sure not to give away how impressed she was at how quickly he had achieved a steady stream of clients in such a new location. The diary he produced to find her a slot seemed teeming with bookings, but he offered her a few times across the weeks, each multiple hours long and thankfully there were a few that worked with her schedule. During the first session she filled out some forms with contact information and set up payment instalments, then they got started.

Ankita was happy with the results right away, especially as he used an unexpectedly effective numbing agent in the sessions to minimise the pain, and the strange equipment he used with the 'N' insignia on the side seemed to make quick work of the design. A thick hose ran from the top of it to a rack of machines along the wall and despite her repeated queries he offered little information about it, suggesting it was a more precise and less intrusive tool. Yet sometimes after her sessions she felt an ache in her back which felt deeper than any tattoo she had gotten before. She had been warned that the spine was a uniquely painful location to get a tattoo, and felt smug in the knowledge that the pain hadn't beaten her yet.

* * *

The tattoo had changed something in her. She had to go to the shop and see what she could find out while her mind was clear. Timing it carefully, she successfully made her way to the bathroom uninterrupted, avoiding Mei while she stank of sex. The hot shower helped refresh her and she hopped out, wrapping a towel tightly around her body and shuffled her feet into a pair of slippers. One of her least favourite things about living in her flatshare was the walk back to her bedroom, so she did it quickly, hiding as much of herself as possible in the large towel. She especially hated walking around barefoot on the laminate floors. The idea of another person touching her feet - even the accidental graze of Mei's foot against hers on the first week she moved in - was enough to make her shudder.

Dashing through the open-plan living room and kitchen, she nearly knocked right into Lewis, her other flatmate. He was dripping with sweat, just back from a run and toying with his watch to analyse his stats. He inadvertently blocked her way, and his hulking physique was difficult to bypass.

"Hey Kita... listen in like an hour or two I've got someone coming over," he mumbled absentmindedly without looking up from his watch, "can you make yourself scarce? I won't be in the living room long hopefully."

"Sure, sure, whatever." Said Ankita dismissively as she hurried past him. She hated when he called her 'Kita'. Her name was already short enough.

Lewis always seemed to be bringing a girl over, and his success rate was unparalleled, though Ankita would never admit she kept track. Sharing a wall with his bedroom had been too much for her and she had swapped rooms with Mei early on, but sometimes she missed being able to hear his exploits; when it caught her in the right mood she found it a real turn-on. If she hadn't been so disgusted by the bizarre sexual stuff he was into (and seemed to enjoy disclosing freely, usually unprompted), she might have given in to one of the advances he had made on her in the early days. After a few rebukes over the months, he had stopped trying, seemingly unperturbed but making it clear he was game if she ever was. Ankita suspected him and Mei had hooked up a few times, but she had only ever seen them friendly towards one another, never outwardly flirtatious. They had lived together years before Ankita moved in last summer, and they had a comfortable rapport.

Somehow Ankita was still horny, and as she reached her room she had to push the images from her mind of Lewis on top of her. It was cringeworthy to think that if he was fucking her now, she would need to be tasting her own juices to cum around him. Her body wasn't her own.

It was well into the evening, but Ankita reasoned that she'd had late appointments with the tattoo artist before and so they might be open now. On occasion he flexed his schedule to get complex work finished in a single sitting. She tugged on some jeans, found a top from a pile of clean clothes on the floor and was out the door in a flash, narrowly avoiding Lewis's lady friend on the way out. She was a stunning blonde, more cute and peppy than his usual type. He seemed to favour confident leader-types he met through work, but this girl seemed young. Ankita apologised swiftly and kept moving.

The tattoo parlour was a few minutes walk away, and returning for the first time in a while she arrived to see the shop boarded-up, the sign absent from above the window. The letters had been peeled off, but the capital 'N' had left a shiny residue. It at least provided some semblance of evidence that she hadn't imagined it. Peering through the window, she could just about make out the empty interior. Ankita moped back home, passed the pair making out on the couch and went back to bed.

* * *

Sleep was as elusive as orgasm had been, the arousal unbearable and the muffled distant sounds of Lewis and his latest conquest's blissful moans didn't help. It seemed to go on forever, and long after the sound had stopped she could still hear them in her head. She saw flashes of their rough fucking, and she had heard enough graphic unwarranted description of his antics to know that one of them would be tied up, with weird and wonderful toys inside one or both of them, perhaps a kinky outfit involved. Horny as she was, Ankita couldn't bring herself to debase herself again, playing with herself up until a point, but unable to bring her fingers to her mouth once she felt her climax blocked. She slowed to a stop pathetically, the intense need in her belly unabated. The mocking of the alarm needlessly cruel as she lay there awake, unsure how much she had rested.

Sulking in bed for too long, Ankita soon found herself flapping around the apartment as she tried to locate her laptop and get ready for work. Mei serenely padded out of her room in lycra and prepared her yoga mat on the balcony. She was doing the same deep breathing and calm zen-like preparation of her exercise area as she did every morning, and it was infuriating that Mei was so tranquil while Ankita battled to get out of the door on time. Occasionally she'd yell about something she was trying to find and Mei would softly murmur its exact location, usually having put it away somewhere sensible after finding it on the couch or in the middle of the floor. Mei's body stretched beautifully into a poised position, her petite frame sculpted from these obsessive daily practices. Her shorts provided a full display of her slim legs, splayed above her as she balanced on her arms, her feet pointed up to the sky. The skintight outfits Mei wore for this morning ritual always gave so much away, and Ankita often suspected Mei wouldn't wear clothes at home at all if she lived alone.

Visions of her flatmate's supple body was the last thing Ankita needed as she headed for a long day of work. This was her firm's busiest day, an open-house where prospective clients could meet architects, planners and designers such as herself for upcoming projects. Ankita ran through her usual material on autopilot, trying to ignore the burning between her legs. It was difficult given the kind of rich people who were attracted to these events were visually flawless. One of the men listening to her speak had close-fitting white trousers that ended high above the ankle, and suede loafers, with a mostly-unbuttoned designer shirt that all broadcasted he was far too confident to be tame in bed. She couldn't be sure whether she had managed to keep her tongue from her lips when they made eye contact.

Between meetings she managed to slip away to the bathroom and make herself cum. Revolted by the desperation of tasting herself, but by the time she was inside the bathroom stall she craved it nearly as much as the orgasm itself. She had to fight from squirting all over her dress or making any noise, and then hoped the scent wouldn't linger on her. It only took her a few minutes for her to cum a couple of times, but by the end both her hands were slobbery and wet so it took twice the time to wash them until they felt remotely clean.

These work events often ended with a client dinner and this was no exception. She finished late and despite her distracted mind it seemed the day had gone well. The attractive client in the open shirt offered to take her out for a drink, a not all-too-uncommon occurrence that she sometimes accepted, but the idea of him kissing her and tasting her juices on her lips was too much to bear. Excusing herself, she arrived home in a flurry, finding Mei and Lewis sitting on the couch drinking wine and laughing as he recounted last night's bedroom shenanigans - exchanging a wave before Ankita slunk off to her room. That wasn't uncommon either, Ankita tended to confine herself to her room unless she was cooking or using the shower; she lamented not being able to find a place within her budget with an en suite.

When she emptied her bag, she saw another text on her phone from 'Report Status'.

'DAILY REPORT // Orgasms permitted: 5 // Orgasms blocked: 1 // Criteria not met: Taste juices // Next criteria: 4 hours'

She checked the clock, whatever the next criteria meant, the maths dictated it would happen at midnight. This thing was driving her wild, her mind boggled at all the horrible possibilities and yet she was still so fucking horny. When was the last time she had made herself cum five times in 24 hours? She couldn't recall. Yet she sat on her bed considering going again. It seemed only logical, she couldn't stand another night without sleep and right now she could only think of sex. Fighting the urges seemed futile and Ankita retrieved her vibrator, cleaned it and once again slid it into her sopping pussy. She let it bring her to the edge of orgasm, and held herself there a while before wiping her hand along the shaft and then licking her fingers, allowing herself to break the block and cum. It was disgusting but it felt incredible. So much so that she repeated it a second time, her body contorting and tensing as the pleasure wracked her slim body. She couldn't help herself anymore, switching off the vibrating dildo and taking it into her mouth, sucking it as she fingered herself at top speed. Before today she had never directly tasted herself, but now the sweet nectar of her sex was familiar. The climax hit her so hard she squealed uncontrollably. She barely had the energy to roll over before she fell to sleep.

* * *

The next morning Ankita woke up to the sight of the slobbery wet dildo still on her bed and cringed with shame. Despite her self-hatred in that moment, she found herself so horny she couldn't help but go again quickly before work. Repulsive as it was, a habit had formed and she found herself plunging her fingers into her holes with reckless abandon, working herself closer and closer to climax, rubbing the spot just right, her motion perfect but the release proving elusive. After a few minutes she realised it was blocked again. Despite forcing herself to taste her own juices, this time it had been for nothing, the trick didn't work any more. She remembered the mention of the "next criteria" at midnight and reasoned it must have changed, but hadn't revealed what it now was. Ankita wanted to cry. She took a deep breath and looked over at the clock, if she didn't get in the shower now she'd be late.