If I was allowed to wank, I would not be thinking about him right now. Or perhaps I would. He filled my thoughts even when I was pleasuring myself five times per day – inspired by thoughts of him. But my cunt would not be aching; my pelvis would not be pulled taut with unextinguished desire; I would not be pondering what it is that I am aching for, head filled with images of his cock, his kiss, his filth-filled eyes.
When I wank, it seems obvious that what I crave is orgasm: the exchange is simple – feel the urge, use the toy, sate the craving. I have never considered masturbation part of my daily routine before. Now it is removed as an option, I realise how much I rely on it: for reward and pain relief; as a sleep aid and a distraction from my body’s demands.
But I don’t know what it is that my body is demanding. Recently, masturbation only dampens the desire to manageable levels; and though sex satisfies me for longer, lust still gnaws away at my spine in constant reminder that I want more.
As he increasingly engages my brain, the tension builds. Everything becomes sexual. When I am with him, I fight the urge to kiss him near-constantly – and when we do start kissing there are no guarantees as to where or when it might end.
When his cock is inside me, I want his tongue in my mouth. When his fist is inside me, I want his cock in my mouth. When he pulls my hair and looks me directly in the eye, I want his fingers pumping inside me as he forces me to meet his gaze and show him every part of my orgasm.
I am not sure how far the cravings will go. Am I destined to forever want more, no matter how far he pushes my body? Am I lacking a, ‘stop’ button because of my past? I know I have limits – or have had limits – but with him, every step he takes makes me want to run further ahead, calling, ‘Follow me.’ Though I am subservient to his desires, he is equally subservient to mine in giving me what I have wanted for so long.
Perhaps it is just a convenient match.
Being unable to come is becoming the centre of my world, more with every denied orgasm. I could make it easy on myself, distract myself from lewd thoughts and refuse to stoke the fire. But I am enjoying testing myself. He has involved me in a game more complex than I think even he may have imagined. Though he warned me he was using my dirty mind against me, I am not sure he realises quite how large a part of me he is playing with.
I had never appreciated the bite of enforced chastity – or considered that an idea alone could lead you to subspace. The control inherent in being denied orgasm is far more intoxicating to me than I think he realises. The physical ache adds to the denial: mental bondage – always something that has intrigued me at least as much as rope play. Being bound and unable to move makes you relinquish control in one way: being ordered to stay still no matter what happens has its own charms.
Being ordered to remain chaste is similarly overwhelming.
Maybe he has worked it out – there have been clues, though I didn’t realise I was giving them at the time. He does listen carefully. Even this state of unknowingness is erotic. I suspect I am being manipulated but I am not sure how deep that manipulation goes – or how much of it is conscious. No matter how good a friend he is, I am not yet entirely sure of who I am playing. I have an idea but assumptions can be dangerous. Power play can open some interesting doors but you can never guarantee what lurks behind them. People are different as lovers than friends.
Am I playing a dangerous game in blasting open doors with my honest desires and confessed intimacies? I am asking him to do things he has not done before – trying to turn the good boy bad? Or has he been bad all along and just been waiting for the right playmate to come along?
I am not sure – though I do think both of us are enjoying the opportunity to relive our teenage years, with an extra adult edge. Neither of us had the experiences we wished we’d had. Fumbling on the sofa is much under-rated – particularly when there are no parents to come home and catch you in the act. It is even better when you add handcuffs.
My writing only provides a temporary distraction from the urge to touch myself. Even though I cannot come, my nipples are erect and demanding attention. I am curious to see how close to climax I can bring myself. I have no doubt he will make me come through nipple play alone at some point. He has told me he suspects it will happen. Now, with my body sensitised and aching for release, it is a good opportunity to test my sensitivity. – without overstepping the boundaries he has set, of course.
I suspect it is a good idea for me to do so. My lover has already shown his intent in this direction. And the more he exposes, the more I open up. I want my body to come at his command. If I can make his training any easier, it seems logical to do so. And so I stop myself from holding back and let myself drift away from sensation, free from thought.
Perhaps that is what I crave when I masturbate: not the orgasm but the escape from my own thoughts; the freedom to simply be. I shall try mindfulness instead of masturbation tonight to see if it brings me relief.
But first, I am going to edge myself some more as I let my mind indulge in filthy daydreams about my lover and build the heat some more.
I am seeing him tomorrow. I hope he is ready for what he has created.
I hope he enjoys the way I’ve used his order.
I hope I get to taste his cock.
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 of Spring Awakening
Read Part Thirteen of Spring Awakening
Read Part Fourteen of Spring Awakening