Sir had me edge myself three times today.
I whined to Flint about it, who then proceeded to make me edge three more times for complaining to him.
If anybody needs me, follow the puddles to where I’ll be pouting for eternity.
edging
I’m being denied right now by Sir.
More info soon. In the meanwhile, I’m spending my time squirming and whining.
So, due to some unforeseen circumstances, Craftsmate and I will not be making it out to the woods this weekend (boo.)
However, he’s already come up with something blushy we can do for part of that day and put it on his tumblr.
And, no, of course I won’t like or reblog it. I’m a brat like that.
(But all of you that do are meanies!)
I have this terrible tendency to bargain and make offers I can’t possibly give when I just really, really want to orgasm.
One of the first times Craftsmate messed around with edging me, he worked me up to such a point that I literally started spewing offers. I’d be so good, I said. I’d suck his cock, I’d be so, so sweet to him.
He started laughing when I actually offered him money. I’d never really give him money to cum, but I get so wrapped up in it sometimes that this stuff just sort of comes out. I have such a one-track mind when I need to cum that it’s ridiculous.
Sometimes, he provokes it. He asks what I’d be willing to do for it, what I would be willing to put myself through. And, often he’ll shake his head or click his tongue and tell me that he knows it’s a promise I can’t keep.
And so he stops, gathers up my wetness on his fingers, and makes me lick it off, all the while smiling down at me.
Craftsmate discovered how much he liked edging me pretty quickly.
And I discovered just how evil Craftsmate is.
He’s really very good at making me suffer. He’s got the whole rhythm down, the teasing, the getting me justrightthere and then changing the pace. And he’ll shake his head when I beg to cum in that little condescending way and coo, when I thrust up from the mattress, that I must really, really want it.
There I am, squirming and begging, and he’s grinning and laughing. He’s never edged anyone before and he appears to be making up for lost time, because he always manages to do it once or five times when we’re messing around.
And then he tells me to be a good girl and leave it alone.
It was this really lazy Sunday morning and Craftsmate had slept over my place after a party. We had fairly tamely shared the bed and besides some cuddling that degraded into groping, nothing had really happened.
We had started to mess around a little in the light that filtered through the slit of window not covered by blinds. I had worn a pair of my gym shorts to bed without any panties and Craftsmate had started to tease me through the material. Eventually, I was rolled over onto my stomach, my ass pushed up into the air, his fingers rubbing through the fabric, my body quaking gently against one of my pillows.
They were the kind of gym shorts that were a sort of mesh material so they could “breathe”. This translates to, eventually, my wetness literally leaking out of the shorts. Craftsmate leaned in and I could hear him chuckling as he looked at the growing wet spot on my shorts. He brought his hand away from my cunt and I whined.
“Look at that,” he said, dangling his fingers in front of my face. They were wet. “You’ve soaked right through.” He pushed them into my mouth and I licked them clean. His fingers returned to my gym shorts once more, but only long enough to coat his fingers again. He sniffed his fingers and commented that they smelled like something he likes to eat (yeah, we’re that far back in the timeline).
Eventually, he had gotten me pretty close to the edge and just flat-out stopped. As I squirmed and whined about him being an asshole, he climbed off the bed and replied, “I’m getting a glass of water. I’d change those shorts if I were you.”
One of the mornings I was there, Penthouse had to go somewhere a few hours before one of my meetings. We had messed around in bed a bit and he took some rope and tied one of my ankles loosely to the bed-frame.
“Now, edge yourself and text Daddy all about it and you can let yourself out,” he said, kissing my forehead before grabbing his backpack.
I pouted as I heard the door click shut and reached down between my legs.
I realized that I never actually mentioned what happened with that guy from my frat beyond a sentence in some post. Mostly because I was a little conflicted about it, but I feel sort of equipped to share now.
Simply put: it was a really hot but really confusing encounter. And most of the people I have told about it agree with the hot stuff and don’t totally understand why I’m all hung up on random details.
Call me a traditional sap, but the asshole don’t kiss me.
To be fair, it didn’t fit in completely with what we were doing. He came home with me and one of my friends had fallen asleep on my carpet. So we were sort of quietly sitting up on my bed and talking.
It’s been a while, so I forget the context, but I remember telling him that I didn’t know how to place him because I didn’t know what he wanted.
“You know what I want,” he said, “but it’s more fun not giving myself that.”
And he held me down, eased my skirt up, and proceeded to edge me like I never have been before. He was firm but still sensual. The whole time I was desperately attempting to stay quiet and, just as I was teetering right at the edge, he stopped. He grinned, pulled the sheets up, and tucked me in.
“See?” I could see his smirk in the darkness. “It’s a lot more fun when I just tease you.”
And he left. I laid there in shock for a while, frustrated and awed.
On a ton of levels, I find that whole interaction incredibly hot. But I guess there’s still part of me that’s stupidly hung up on insecurities that he must not respect me, even when I know that isn’t true.
Oh my God.
the decision I have to make…
do I keep you on edge and deny you the orgasm?
or do I make you keep cumming, relentless, beyond your limits of sensitivity?
either way, I win.
want this <3 hands tied down and him stroking my clit and my face <3 mmm