orgasm denial

Being a Brave Girl, Part Three

Sir returned and pulled me up to my feet, bringing me over to the bed. He kissed me and had me lie down while he took out a neatly coiled length of rope. "I thought all the rope was at my place,“ I pouted when he pushed my legs back, essentially folding me up. He pulled my arms around my legs and tied my hands together, forcing me to hold the position.

"Well, I saved some,” he chuckled and kissed me softly.

Taking me by the hair, he turned my head and buried my face in his cock. I accepted it eagerly, sucking him until he was hard enough to fuck me.

It’s kind of crazy how much you can miss someone’s cock. In your mouth, inside of you. But I’d been masturbating for the past month and literally missing the way it felt.

We fucked hungrily. I kept kissing him. I wanted so badly to touch his face and I needed so desperately to get him closer. And, yeah, all the denial had made me pretty needy.

When I had to cum, I started begging.

“Oh yeah?” He teased, “you need to cum?”

“Uh huh,” I exclaimed, “please?”

Without any warning, he pulled out and stepped back from me, smirking. I practically shrieked, squirming in my bonds and kicking my feet. Of course he wasn’t going to make this easy.

I texted him yesterday telling him how badly I needed it. Denial always makes me a little bit desperate.

“I know you do, dear,” he replied. “But no cumming.”

“For how long?”

“Long.”

I pouted down at my phone. I’ve been busy enough that I can keep my mind off of it, but sometimes I cannot help myself. “Why?”

“Because it reminds you that you’re owned.”

The other day, I was feeling naughty and I called him. He said that he was walking home and I told him that all he had to do was listen.

I talked dirty, rubbed my cunt and told him how badly I wanted him. I miss the way he fucks me, I miss how full I feel and how spent I am afterwards. He talked me on, telling me the things he knows make me squirm.

When I was close, I begged him to let me cum. He chuckled in the way that made me realize I wouldn’t, but he drew it out, making me tease myself while he read a list he had found on tumblr of reasons why orgasm denial is a good thing for girls. Girls, he added, just like me.

Still, I begged.

“Even after I read you that list?” he teased, “after I told you all those reasons?”

I huffed, “it was the same six reasons over and over in different phrasing.”

“They’re six good reasons,” he replied.

So, I’ve been on denial ever since, no cumming at all. Hmph.

I’m being denied right now by Sir.

More info soon. In the meanwhile, I’m spending my time squirming and whining.

I’ve got this fantasy where I’m institutionalized. The warden’s just a teensy bit corrupt and has fun teasing my needy cunt while I’m stuck in my straitjacket.

Or, you know, while I’m asleep. Which only leads to me being kept longer.

Now in hiding due to problematic fantasies.

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 may have gotten a little too stressed and broken a rule.

Freaking thesis, getting me into trouble.

Bear with me on this one, guys. It’s a little humiliating.

The other night, using this prompt, Craftsmate put me in a crotchrope with my arms tied to my sides. Before blindfolding me, he asked me for a number between one and twenty.

“I don’t know,” I replied, giving as much of a shrug as the rope would allow. “Sixteen?”

Cue sixteen minutes of Craftsmate going between teasing one of my nipples and rubbing the knot in the crotchrope over my clit. The sensations that produced combined with the fact that he has been teasing me pretty mercilessly for the past few days resulted in me quickly tripping into a pretty delirious state where I completely lost track of whether he was on my nipple or my clit.

The time dragged on until finally the alarm on his phone went off, signaling I’d managed to endure the sixteen minutes. Somewhere between exhausted and immensely frustrated, I managed to doze off only to, according to Craftsmate, literally be woken up by the sound of my own moaning.

Apparently, he had walked in to find me writhing around in my sleep, hands opening and closing, body arching up against the crotchrope. According to Craftsmate, I was muttering things like “please” and “yeah” which, you know, isn’t embarrassing at all. (Spoiler alert: It is.)

He slipped into bed beside me and started gently teasing me, until, yeah, my moans legitimately woke me.

So, ah, that’s what’s up, I guess.

I’m usually pretty awful at routines, confessedly. But, Craftsmate’s developed one lately that’s managed to somehow fix my horrible sleep patterns and drive me completely insane. Essentially, since Sunday, he’s been having me come over to his place at night, strip down to my panties and a t-shirt, and lie on his bed with my face down and my ass in the air.

I have to pull my panties down and wait while Craftsmate takes his sweet time applying lubricant to my asshole and his fingers. First with one finger, then two, he gently starts probing and thrusting into my asshole. Sometimes, he will rub my clit, but he’ll never let me cum. He does this with a rubber glove on, knowing that it only adds to the humiliation of the entire ordeal for me. Because, yes, I find the whole anal inspection thing to be completely humiliating.

When he has finished, he blindfolds me and has me pull my panties back up. Then, he puts me into the crotchrope arrangment he did on Sunday – with my wrists tied at my sides and the tiniest bit of slack to helplessly flutter my hands on either side of my pussy in an attempt to relieve myself. He teases me for a little while before tucking me in and leaving me there to go do work or watch television.

By the time he comes to bed, I’ve fallen asleep that way: bound, blindfolded, teased, always vaguely aware of the push of the knot in the crotchrope against my clit. In the morning, he teases me a bit more, unties me and only removes the blindfold after he has inspected how wet I had gotten during the night.

I don’t know how long this routine is going to last and I kind of like how much I simultaneously despise and enjoy it. Every morning I ask him if that was the last time and try to convince him that I’ve learned my lesson, but part of me is almost relieved when he tells me no and informs me of what time he expects me that night.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go blush for about six years after sharing this.

whyexactly:

Sometimes rope pulls

tighter on your mind

than it does on your skin.

Cats Don’t Do the Dishes, Part Seven

Once he had finished flogging me, Craftsmate reached up and tilted his lamp so the light hit my cunt. Pulling up a chair, he sat down in front of me and calmly pulled my labia apart. He picked up a roll of duct tape and started to tape me open, securing my labia to the inside of my thighs.

“What are you doing?” I mumbled around the gag. He ignored me and started to tease his fingers over my terribly exposed pussy.

Eventually, he picked up a knife and traced the dull end over my labia, slit and clitoris. I practically jumped through the roof, unable to contain myself as he continued to violate my helpless pussy with his fingers and the knife. I shuddered every time he pushed the dull end against me, my eyes wide and my fingers fluttering uselessly in their bonds.

Ivy

Just another Adult Content site