6 months in denial and I’m impossibly aroused.
I was wearing the red silky underwear when Sir got home and after squeezing and mauling my ass some, he lifted up my dress and rubbed himself against the silky material till he had a raging hard-on. I wasn’t complaining, I’m desperate to feel him inside me.
He took me into the bedroom and put me on all fours on the edge of the bed, then pulled my knickers to one side. I groaned as he slid his thick cock into me, not fully, about half way. My cunt throbbed in pain at being opened by his thickness and then he fucked me slowly, teasingly, with long strokes backwards and forwards, till he was nearly all the way out of me and then arcing forwards, cock slipping on my wetness, easing a little further deeper into me with each thrust.
I pressed my belly down to the bed, and arched my hips up, feeling him rock backwards and forwards into his wet, willing pussy, had me moaning and begging, telling him he was going to make me cum, pleading for him to stop, or carry on, or let me cum, or be careful – I don’t know all the things I said, the pleasure was too intense. I wanted him stabbing into me, but knew I was playing with fire; I was so close, so close to that edge, dangerously close – close enough not to care, too close to be careful about holding back.
He used me so slowly and sweetly, enjoying my wetness, holding back, waiting till I was a needy, soaking pile of subbie on the bed, when my incoherent pleas had turned to insensible moans and whimpers, and then he raised his hips and struck deeply inside me, his cock juddering against my cervix while I groaned and squirmed. He fucked me firmly, deeply, enjoying what was his, and then finally he released his orgasm; I squeezed him and relaxed, felt his ejaculate flood into me, the clear, thick spasms bathing his aching pussy with hot sperm.
Even as he withdrew, I was convinced I would orgasm. He gasped and ran his hands through his hair, stood there in his naked beauty. “That was intense…” he sighed. I kneeled and sucked his still hard cock clean, trembling with emotion; licking his head softly, in gratitude, feeling the wetness he had left inside me running out and soaking into my knickers. Afterwards I pulled my dress back on and went back into the kitchen to cook.
I’ve never been so on edge, it’s almost painful. Actually, it is painful. My pussy is squeezing on thin air like an abused stomach, wanting to be sick. But I can’t, I mustn’t. My cervix is sore from where he fucked into me, pushing through my tightness to show what was his. How sweet the pain is, that lingers so much longer than pleasure, and reminds me with every step, each time I sit down, who this belongs to, what he can use it for, how Owned I am.
Sir told me afterwards that he felt fully sated; I laughed and said I couldn’t remember what that felt like, to be satisfied by sex. He said good, and that it would be a long, long time before I found out again. It’s amazing that I can be this aroused and not orgasm. I think I was so close before, it has strained all my muscles not to give in to that pleasure. I’m desperate to edge – and if I’m being honest – to edge, and then orgasm. I would cum so hard, I would be screaming.
Surely it is not possible to give up masturbation forever? I feel it is impossible. The thought of another 6 months seems almost impossible. I want to cum in so many ways, I want to rub my rock hard nipples and play with them, but I’m permanently barred from touching myself for pleasure or playing with myself. I’m a desperate woman, and there’s no relief in sight.
I’m desperately wishing away the months tonight, wishing it was New Year’s Day, feeling him take me, telling me to cum, knowing my frustration is over.
Instead I must be a good girl, and submit to this denial. I don’t have the right to make myself orgasm now or ever again. I must wait for Sir to decide I deserve it, but I know I don’t deserve it. I’m a filthy whore, obsessed with my own pleasure, trembling on the edge of disobedience, ungrateful for his discipline, wishing I could please myself.
At this rate, I may never deserve it.