Denial is a powerful force. He has slid even deeper into my mind and in doing so, made my pelvis tight and skin hyper-sensitive. I am in no doubt that he enjoys my company as well as my body. He made that clear last night with an unplanned visit that left me heated despite being repeatedly satisfied. Satisfied but not sated. No matter how strong the orgasm from hand or tongue or cock or toy – sometimes all four – I feel energised rather than spent from the climaxes he summons from my body.
Though it takes time for me to climax, once he has teased me to sufficient degree, he has the skills and attention to detail to keep me coming for, seemingly, as long as he wants. This is beyond anything I have experienced but despite my lack of control, I crave the sensation. It leaves me hungry for more, masturbating again and again in the hope of quelling the fire but somehow unsated no matter how many times I come.
Cock helps: there is something about being pounded into submission that calms my cunt more than mere stimulation and climax: something about feeling him come inside me, gasping and breathless. I guess that comes back to control too: if I am to relinquish power over my own body – not that I have much choice in the matter, given his expert ministrations – it is good to know I can provoke the same response in him.
The independent mutuality of cock in cunt appeals too: the rising crescendo of increasingly selfish bumps and thrusts, grinds and fuck-fuck-fucks as he hits just the right spot with his cock and sends my pussy into spasm. He teases me with his cock as expertly as he does with his fingers and tongue. It is far from thoughtless pounding, though I’d be lying if I said he was always completely in control. I love the look in his eyes when he has roused me to lose control, has me bucking against him beyond conscious movement, responding on a primal level. I love watching him slide out of control and into sensation. The heat is overwhelming.
And still, he is building it further. He has instructed me not to come until I see him again.
It is strange how I can flip from fears of being controlled to willing acquiescence in relinquishing power over one of my most basic drives. But I know it is, ‘for my own good’ – at the very least, an intriguing experiment to see how my sexual desire builds if I refuse to indulge it.
I have gone without sex willingly before, but never masturbation. It is already making my belly tight and skin tingle, only hours into my challenge. Whether this is because of my imagination or my still-recovering body, teased to distraction this morning, I do not know. I suspect it is a mixture of both. I suspect he is fully aware of the effects his order will have. I know I could easily disobey his order. He has told me as much. But I do not want to.
I am impressed by his self control. He does not always allow himself to come, extending the pleasure, building the orgasm until it is something more intense, for days if required. This shows an appreciation of sex that goes far beyond any lover I have experienced to date. He is not looking for instant gratification – though he is more than able to get it should the mood strike. Remembering his long, deep cock-strokes in my throat does not help me dampen the mood his teasing and control have served to inspire.
I want to have that control for myself – but I am unsure whether denying myself orgasm is going to help. Indeed, I suspect it will make my body all the more likely to slip into hyper-reality and easier for him to manipulate. And I am certain he is fully aware of this. He clearly enjoys my pleasure – and thinks nothing of denying me if it will lead to something more intense.
I am glad that I trusted him enough to let him play with me. I am learning new games; unlearning old expectations. As I fight the urge to bring myself to hard, fast climax again and again and again, I feel desire rising. It would be easy to come but impossible to lie to him. Having been open from the start, I have no desire to ‘blot my copybook’ and introduce deception to the game. I told him I was willing – eager – to play hard. I did not realise how hard he was going to make it on me – but I like him all the more for it.
He appreciates the invisible ties between words and actions, desires and realities. He doesn’t just enter my body but toys with my mind, discovering the secret switches to press and only letting me know he’s worked out where they are when employing them at the perfect moment, with a word or idea that binds my body and mind together in a combination more intoxicating than rope and a magic wand. As his body works to stimulate every nerve ending I have, until my body is convulsing and cunt is desperate for release, he will whisper something that sends me into freefall, unsure where I will end up but knowing I will enjoy the ride no matter how dark it gets.
He know how to play me. I enjoy being played: am complicit in my ‘corruption’. Am complicit in the ache that currently fills my pelvis. I want to come. I do not want to come. I want to please him. I want to experience an orgasm that has been allowed to build for two days – maybe more. I have never had to engage self-control when it comes to sex before. I like that he is making me do it.
I have more power over my body than I have ever had before.
I suspect that he knows exactly what he is giving me.
I find myself ‘edging’ in the bath: truly exploring my body in a way I haven’t since I first discovered it – if at all: fully intent on keeping to the bargain I have struck but willing to cope with the extra pain of frustration for the extra pleasure in the moment. It is only afterwards that I realise, in doing so, I am getting an insight into my lover that I wouldn’t without my self-denial. He has admitted to edging – and that it adds power to his eventual climax. Already, only a few hours into abstinence, I can feel a ball of tension building inside me. I am more aware of my body than I have ever been.
I teased my nipples in the bath: another part of my body he has reawakened. Previous lovers’ clumsy manhandling left me averse to having my breasts touched. Now, my body arches towards his hands at the merest hint he is going to stroke them He is not afraid to manhandle but the sensitivity of his touch ensures that my breasts are desperate to be mauled by the time he grips them firmly, twists my nipples with a hint of laughing cruelty in his eyes. He plays the full octave where most have stuck to a single note, or a power chord at best.
He has told me he thinks I can come from nipple play alone. Whether it is because he has planted the seed in my imagination and I have fertilised it with fantasy, because of his sensual approach or because he has unlocked a previously closed door revealing new nerve connections, I don’t know. But I don’t care. All I know is that I found myself teasing my nipples as he does, alternating soft with hard, testing my limits while letting my hand wander to my pussy, pressing the heel of my hand into my mons to try to urge my clit out of its hood and ready to be touched.
I am curious about how far I can push myself: how far I can prepare myself for the time he is planning, when I am bound and he is free to do as he sees fit. I already trust him enough to let him do it. I already know him enough to know it will not be anything I can predict. He has already shown me that. He has already proved himself to be more pleasure-inducing than my favourite toy – and able to render that weaker in his absence through the skilful way he wields it in pursuit of my pleasure.
He has already asked me if I can take direct stimulation to my clit.
I have already agreed to no specified time limit to being bound.
I am not sure which of us I am pushing more. I know I am willing to relinquish control and allow him to bind me because the moment he touches me, I am already rendered powerless, if he chooses to do so. It is willing in that, maybe, I could close myself off, refuse to let him in enough to touch me so deeply. But I like the way it feels.
My body enjoys surrendering to his, melting at his hand on my back; his other tugging my hair back to kiss me hard or gripping my jaw to hold me exactly where he wants me; thigh between mine, changing pressure according to his lust; lips pressed to mine, tongue leisurely taking ownership of my mouth, desire morphing his kiss from a simple brush of the lips to an insistent declaration of desire in seconds.
I love the way that he teases, one minute making me gasp with hard kisses and wet fingering, the next drawing back, pupils dilated and eyes amused, looking at the state he has roused in me. He likes it when I am lost in desire. Even if he did not, I would be unable to hide it.
The spasms that shake me come from something deeper than muscular contraction alone: or at least they feel that way. Usually, my orgasm requires constant, simple pressure from the right toy at the right speed and delivers a neat, cunt-pulsing orgasm that is over in a few rapid bursts and leaves me satisfied enough to get on with my day. He has introduced something new: orgasms that start with trembling and keep my body convulsing until I buck and squirt, and for long afterwards – seemingly, as long as he chooses to stimulate me for. This is not simple clitoral pulsing but something that shakes my entire body, removes my mind’s focus from anything but sensation and places me somewhere ‘other’ until I am finally allowed to end my orgasm.
And we have barely started to truly get to know each other.
The sex is already better with every new foray. He has clearly paid attention and logged not only the things he has tried with success but also the things I have confessed in the heat of passion, or after a few drinks. This only spurs me to tell him more. I am enjoying playing. I have finally met someone who enjoys the same games: someone who can see the appeal of the head-fuck.
Until now, I have assumed a more submissive role than he has. But even though some would see my acquiescence in orgasm control as passive, to me it is powerful. Sex is one of my strongest urges. Controlling my desire shows I have mastery over myself. And I already know the eventual release will be all the better for it.
The thought of the look on my lover’s face as I come is as appealing as the imagined orgasm. I suspect it will overwhelm me, when he decides the time is right. I suspect it will be loud and wet and uncontrolled – and that the desire that precedes it will open me up even wider to him, ready for whatever he has in mind.
Of course, it may be that he has nothing in mind. But I suspect that will change when he feels my body pressed to his. I suspect he will feel the desire that is filling my belly, sneaking fingers down my labia and plunging into my cunt, keeping my mind away from all but thoughts of cock and clit and coming.
It may dissipate between now and then. I may be able to channel my lust into something more productive than edging. But at the moment, I am enjoying exploring my own boundaries.
It will be fun to find them before I invite him to cross them.
Read Part One of Spring Awakening
Read Part Two of Spring Awakening
Read Part Three of Spring Awakening
Read Part Four of Spring Awakening
Read Part Five of Spring Awakening
Read Part Six of Spring Awakening
Read Part Seven of Spring Awakening
Read Part Eight of Spring Awakening
Read Part Nine of Spring Awakening
Read Part Ten of Spring Awakening
Read Part Eleven of Spring Awakening
Read Part Twelve Spring Awakening
Read Part Thirteen Spring Awakening