A week of denial

It’s been three days since I had an orgasm and while I’m not yet at the point of desperation; I’m wandering around in a permanent state of low-level arousal with kinky mind-porn playing almost continually in the back of my mind. (More so than usual, that is).

“Are you sure you can go that long?” he asked, grinning in incredulity as I gave the question serious consideration. It’s a fair point; I’m a fuck-hungry slut who regards wanking as a survival skill and frequent orgasms as an inalienable human right – I may give in and beg for release before Friday and he, being a man of naturally kind heart, will probably acquiesce because although he knows how much it turns me on to be under his authority, he also prefers it when I’m enjoying myself as much as life allows – but I’m going to try and hold out for as long as I can because a) it’s a challenge b) it’s serious damn sexy and c) I could really do with relearning the art of wanking for its own sake rather than only a pursuit of climax.

I just about managed not to come yesterday as I watched BDSM porn, my Bijoux Indiscrets Diamond tucked between my legs with the pointed tip teasing the entrance to my cunt. I stayed like that for about twenty minutes, groaning and writhing on my bed, battling with myself not to admit defeat and lurch over the edge into thrashing, twitching abdication – and then I got up, rearranged my clothing, tidied up and cooked dinner.

I didn’t bother with my usual night-time wank either – without the soporific effect of post-orgasmic glow it just didn’t seem worth the effort. But the idea of not being allowed to come gave me a lovely little thrill when I remembered why I didn’t do it as I snuggled down into my pillow-nest.

Oh god, I’m so horny. I’m going to go home, tear off my clothes, insert a buttplug and spend no more than half an hour teasing myself with chunky glass toys, just for the feels. Because when I treat orgasms as a destination, I miss out on the fun of the journey. Sensation becomes focused on what gets me closer to coming instead of what simply feels good. Frustration chases sensation as the gear wheels slip, spin, catch, slip again before meshing firmly enough to grind me towards ignition, and it’s always over much too soon. I could carry on, but why make the effort when satisfaction has been achieved? As a result, I feel massively cheated when after all that effort, I end up with occasional damp squibs – the joylessly mechanical spasm, the oh-fuck-just-missed-it-dammit of accidentally ruinous mistiming, or just the disappointment of being over and done when I was still enjoying the doing.

I’m going to frot and hump and torture myself with the sexiest, filthiest fantasies I can devise.

There’s no punishment/reward to this particular incidence of denial – I don’t want to feel resentment towards him and he doesn’t like that idea either. When he pins me down with the full length of his body and drives his cock into me, looking into my eyes and smirking as he tells me “not yet, wait”, I have only the joyful desire to obey, cherishing the intimacy of command-and-control; when he kneels behind me, holding me still by the hips to prevent me from bucking and squirming, and says “no”, I melt and swoon with the sheer fucking sexiness of his authority. But when we’re apart – both of us living in separate houses with busy jobs occupying our daytime attentions; denial often feels too close to abandonment for a refusal to be anything but wounding. So he won’t punish me if I don’t make it all the way and he doesn’t need to reward me with anything more than eventual release if I do.

But dear god, I am so fucking horny right now, I just want to fuck EVERYTHING

It amuses him to see me squirm, he finds my ridiculously high libido both hilarious and bemusing (while firmly maintaining that having a girlfriend who is almost always ready to welcome his advances is an Absolute Result). He’s just beginning to find and nurture his sexually-dominant side and we’re both on a journey of exploring our dynamic because even though I have been indulging in kink for a long time, it wasn’t with this unique, specific person; and it’s the combination of individuals that makes a dynamic, not the accessories or protocol. I love the mischievous pleasure he takes in teasing me, it wouldn’t be anywhere near as much fun if I thought he were being dominant only because it turns me on. I’m pleased and excited that he suggested trying out denial for a bit longer (as well as being massively fucking turned-on by the suggestion itself).

I’m really looking forward to Friday night though. Will he arrive at mine, drag me to the kitchen and take me roughly over the table? Perhaps he’ll keep me in suspense until late at night, caressing me with a light sensual touch until I’m screaming to be either fucked hard or allowed to come (preferably both)? Maybe he’ll take me upstairs and play with the bamboo cane for a while, enjoying the reddening of my bare flesh, how my sighs of delight turn to squeals for mercy before he pushes me to my knees and fills my mouth while leaving my aching cunt empty for a little longer.

Would he be really sadistic and allow me only one?

Mmmmfff