I need to date and timestamp my posts. I started this…what, six, seven days ago? It feels like an eternity ago, because all that time I’ve been on punishment, the saga of which I detail below.
I’m sitting here in bed, my tablet on my lap. Twenty minutes ago, I was doing exercises with a buttplug in my ass. Ten minutes ago I was laying on the floor, in the little space between my bed and my easy chair, still with buttplug in my ass, buzzing my Baldy against my clit and fantasizing about tying V to a cross and teasing him to a drippy, frustrated mess. Of course this was all at his behest – it’s continued punishment for that orgasm I stole.
“Don’t you remember last time you stole an orgasm?” he said, when I complained about the situation. “Obviously not,” he says, sighing. “Looks like you need reminding at least once a year…”
My memory is short. I mean, it had been a year or so since I’d disobeyed my orgasm orders. But it tends to be even shorter when I can rationalize some way to make stealing an orgasm seem like it’s not really disobedience. You know, when I can say, “But…I didn’t have that orgasm yesterday that you said I could, so I figured I could bank it and have it later, right?”
<insert innocent look>
Yeah, he didn’t buy it either. So here I am (or was, up until 5 minutes ago) plugged and wishing I could come.
The entirety of this punishment was not revealed to me all at once. I didn’t know how it would proceed, or how long it would last. I had no idea what condition had to be met to complete my punishment. As he reminded me several times throughout the week, the last time this had happened, punishment had lasted three weeks. I did know that I wouldn’t be allowed to have an orgasm before it was done, but what form that would take, I had no clue. Saturday night it had been a whipping. For the last two days it had been using a succession of buttplugs, from small and comfortable to the middle size one that I had just used, and edging, with him dictating what I was to think about while doing so. Let me say, it’s been a long time since I’ve had anything in my butt. It was painful but, when I started to vibe my clit, started to feel good…until I had to stop. Then it was uncomfortable again. Additional parameters: I had to be “hiding” in a place where I would feel like I could get “caught.” In the bathroom, or my closet, or on the floor in my bedroom. Twice my roommate had “caught” me – she’d called up the stairs about something and I’d had to stuff everything out of sight in case she came up. That made my heart race – a fact that only enhanced V’s enjoyment when I told him. The other parameter was that I had to fantasize about teasing him.
My interest in that particular scenario – me teasing him – surprises me. I am vigilant not to exhibit untoward interest in scenarios where I actually top him. Right or wrong, I know I couldn’t respect him as my Owner if I felt his dominance slip that much, even if, in the moment, it was fun. I need to know I’m not the one in charge. But there are times, like the other night, when I teased him and ultimately denied him as as we lay in bed, that it is enjoyable. And I had told him that. So, naturally, he wanted me to use that as wank fodder, because 1) he really gets off on that scenario, and b) he really likes making me fantasize about things I find uncomfortable.
But this thing I had done the other night…teasing his cock with my fingers, with my mouth, with the velvety touch of my pussy lips, bringing him to the edge of desire only to draw away, hearing his breath catch, feeling his body shudder as he fights his body’s responses…
Well. That’s something different. That’s something new.
Okay, not new. I have long known how incredibly sensitive his cock is. How he can come from sensations I’ve never known anyone else to. I discovered early on that edging is a pleasure for him, not a torment – or at least, it’s a sweet torment. One he seeks out on his own. I have touched and stroked and tickled and gripped and pumped his cock, and enjoyed his pleasure in my touch; have enjoyed him filling my mouth or hand or cunt with his come. But I’ve never actively been in control of his pleasure. In all cases, though I may start out being the “doer,” in the end I always cede control back to him, to have him take his pleasure of me. Never have I been the one to grant or deny that pleasure. To be the one leaving him on the edge of that precipice, straining to make that delicious tumbling fall into orgasm, but in the end, pulling him back. Denying him release. That’s a game I haven’t taken to its limits, at least not in person (there was a day when we played remotely that he let me dictate when or if he could come.)
Discovering it happened innocently enough in the shower. Or what passes for innocently. He was in the shower, I was outside of it. I love showering together, or even just being in the bathroom while he showers, something I don’t get to do often. Today I wanted to see his cock grow in his hand, wanted to watch him stroke himself. I leaned against the glass and watched for a moment as he did just that. I told him how much I wanted his cock. In my mouth. In my pussy. He grinned, watching me watch him, his cock stiffening, the soap dripping from his hand and down between his legs.
“I want to suck it,” I said, and knelt down on the rug in front of the shower door. I opened it a crack and leaned in. “Please?”
He laughed and stepped back from me, denying me.
“Please??” I was not above begging. I opened my mouth.
He laughed again, then obliged me. I pulled him into my mouth, let him slide down my throat, palmed his wet, soapy balls, and looked up at him when his body started to jerk. His eyes were closed, his mouth open slightly. I could make him come so easily…
I pulled away abruptly. His eyes flew open and he reached for me. “Nope,” I said, backing quickly away. “You don’t get to come.”
He shook his head, a bemused look on his face, then shrugged and went back to showering. I grinned and sat on the edge of the tub. This was a fun game!
But ten minutes later, I was on my knees in front of him again. He’d come out of the shower, his cock still half-hard, and I couldn’t help myself. It had been awhile since I’d tasted him. I tried to tease him, and succeeded for a few minutes, but when he grabbed the back of my head and began to fuck my throat, I didn’t resist. I wanted him to come as much as he did.
So much for being in control!
The next time we were in bed. It was…maybe after the play party? I was drowsy, endorphins and alcohol having taken their toll; he was too. We snuggled and maybe nothing was going to happen… Except my hand wandered across his chest, down his belly, to this thighs…tickling, scratching, teasing. I cupped his penis in my hand; warm and soft as it was. I felt it twitch in response. Felt it begin to lengthen. This whole time we had said not a word, and I had kept my face down, tucked into his side. I started running my fingers ever so lightly up the length of his shaft, around the head, using the softest of teasing touches, feeling his arousal grow, hearing his breathing quicken just a little.
I risked a glance up at his face. His eyes were closed, his breath coming quicker. I wanted more than anything to slink down between his legs, to take him in my mouth, to feel his hands on the sides of my face. Instead, I drew abruptly away. Turned over and tucked my backside against him in one smooth motion.
“Nope,” I said, echoing my earlier denial. “I want to sleep.” I could feel my own wetness, a sweet ache between my thighs, but I was enjoying denying him more. Surprisingly, he just chuckled and pulled me against him, nestling his penis into the crack of my butt. We slept.
I woke, sometime later, to feel him pushing me down on my belly, his hands between my legs. In moments he had shoved roughly inside of me, and as I came to full awareness, I arched against him, trying to open myself to him. I could feel my own wetness gathering as he began to thrust, in and out, his breath harsh in my ear, his hand, eventually, coming around to cover my mouth. Just a little more, and I knew I would come…
He gave one last, deep thrust, groaning and spilling himself inside me. The thought and feel of his semen coating the insides of my thighs was almost enough…
He pulled out of me suddenly, leaving me empty and aching.
“Nope,” he said against my hair, as he pulled me roughly to him and pinned me to his side. “Go to sleep.”
Of course he wasn’t going to allow me to come.
Another night. We’re in the play room. He tells me to strip, than jerks his chin at the spanking bench. “Crawl under there on your back.”
I do so, hesitantly. I don’t have claustrophobia, but it’s small and tight under there. I have no room to lift my head; I am lying with exactly half of my body outside of it, the rest under the bench, with the wooden crossbar touching my chest. “Spread your legs and put your arms out the sides,” he says.
When I don’t do so fast enough, he starts slapping at the sensitive insides of my thighs with a leather strap. He’s not gentle, and I hasten to obey, spreading my legs wide. He stops for a moment and I can breathe again, but in another moment I feel something cold and hard pushing at my pussy lips. I struggle to look through the little slats of light, but I can’t see much. I’m not aroused yet, and the toy doesn’t slide easily…maybe he used a bit of lube then?…or maybe not. But he keeps at it, and I start to get wet, I can’t help myself. He pauses and begins to slap my thighs with the leather thing again and starts shoving the toy in and out of me to its rhythm. And now I am really getting excited. Being trapped, being exposed, having him fucking me with that toy so brutally, the rhythmic slapping of the toy on my thighs…and the image of him, kneeling there between my legs, with that toy in his hand, shoving it into me. I start to moan and writhe against the bench.
He stops abruptly once more. Of course just as I was getting to the edge. I know he’s not going to let me come, I know I am still in punishment, but hope springs eternal, right? Then all of a sudden he throws a blanket or a shirt over the bench, not over my head, but so that I can’t see anything from the waist down. I hear him unzipping his jeans, feel him positioning himself, and then he is fucking me.
And suddenly I am a body in a wall, cunt exposed, legs and body trapped. There’s this whole fetish of that (one that he introduced me to a long time ago.) W used to fantasize about having a woman with her head only stuck through a wall, and in fact, using the renovation of his house a few times, was able to recreate just such a scenario a couple times, both with me and other lovers. But this is different…it hits on all kinds of yummy triggers for me (and for V) that weren’t necessarily there in the head-only scenario. I close my eyes and am able to – almost – imagine I’m in that fantasy.
I forget, for a moment, that he isn’t going to let me come.
He hadn’t forgotten. Moments before I come, he gives one last thrust and comes explosively inside me, draped over the top of the bench. Then, without a word, he pulls out and leaves me there, cunt dripping, legs shaking, not able to reach my pussy even if he gives me permission. Which he doesn’t. A few minutes later he appears in my field of vision, kneels down, grabs my face and turns my head, so he can lay his cock across my mouth. “Clean it,” he says. And like the obedient little slut that I am, I do so, eagerly. And then he walks away. It is not lost on me that if I really was as obedient as I should be, I would not be in this predicament. But sometimes even the tamest kitty turns feral and needs to be tamed again.
I lay there just like that for what could have been 5 or 20 minutes, before he pulls the covering away, tells me to get up, clean up the toys and bench, and go to bed.
“May I–” I start to say.
He gives me “The Look.” (We all know it, right?) “What do you think?” he says.
I bend to my tasks, my pussy throbbing, beginning to remember what not getting to come for days and days, while he fucks with me and toys with me and makes me fuck with myself, is like.