just when you never thought it would happen

I’m sure the only computers still checking this web site for updates are manned by ‘bots; however, that’s OK. This was always more a place for me to think out loud and formulate my desires, dreams and opinions “out loud”, so to speak – so it’s just fine that there are more echoes in this “out loud” place than there used to be. 🙂

One of my most basic, but most fundamental sexual fantasies has always been denial. Not real denial, likely – the kind where you go days and weeks – but the kind where you really really want to come, so much so that you just feel like grabbing whatever’s handy and rubbing it against yourself over and over until you come, and at this point you really don’t even care if it’s a boy or a toy or a blanket or a blender or…

You get the idea.

Anyway, the fantasy has always been to get to this point, to more importantly for my little subbie desires to be brought to this point, and then be held at that edge, to be told “No”, to essentially be tormented and frustrated and aroused long past the point where I would normally have my orgasm, until I’m finally allowed to come.

As an adjunct to this fantasy, there’s a fantastic passage in one of my favorite Aran Ashe books (The Dungeons of Lidir) where the poor pretty slave is tied and spread on a table, and her “torturer” uses a pot of jelly to rub her clit over and over again, stopping to re-apply the jelly every so often, for what seems like hours. She’s not allowed to come with fingers, though, and is stopped every time she gets close. He wants her to learn how to come while being smacked, instead.

Good God I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gotten off to that passage. Yu-um.

Anyways. So this weekend. Out comes the deliciously wonderful soft black rope. He ties me up, so embarassing – wrists to the footboard. and knees to the headboard, spreading me wide open to his eyes. And his fingers. And that naughty soft little brush I bought for him that I never, ever should have bought because DAMN.

And he begins. It’s not long before I lose all track of time and all I want in the whole wide world is for him to touch me, dammit, really touch me not with that damned teasing brush that makes me want to climb out of my skin. His fingers, wonderful naughty talented dammit fingers, start teasing my clit.

I should have known when he got out the lube that he intended for it to last a while, but I’m deeply stupid when aroused and basically just go off into VikkiSlutLand where I’ll agree to anything and say anything as long as the pleasure continues.

On and on the torment went. It didn’t take him long until he found the perfect touch. The one that, given enough lube and patience, can keep me at the edge for so long I’d like to tear at something. Hence, the wonderful soft black rope which prevents me from doing so.

But usually, he takes pity on me and after drawing it out for a short while, he lets me come.

Not today. He gets me absolutely crazy – the point at which he usually relents – and then asks me do I want to come, and you can imagine by now which word I’m screaming, because it’s been forever with his fingers just lightly stroking my clit and slutland is here in all its glory.

To which he then responds with “Well, you’re not allowed to.”

And continues to stroke me with just-that-enough-ness to keep me going but not let me tip over. Taking care to stop periodically and re-apply lube.

Somewhere in all my whimpering and moaning and general nonsense (if you think I retained speech ability at this point you’re SO mistaken) I begin to realize that this is it – my fantasy, the thing I’ve always wanted to have happen but never found a man willing to stand up to my begging or capable of holding me on the edge (to have both skills together in one lover is – well all I can say is oh good god).

At which point I think my arousal, uh, triples.

Finally, at what seemed like two hours later but was probably only ten or fifteen minutes, he let me come, rubbing and squeezing my clit, and oh my oh my oh my wow that was fucking amazing.

I don’t remember much after that. There was some untying, some hard cock inside of me, but honestly, I was pretty much gone with the moaning and sensation that you would have thought I was on drugs, I was that out of it.

One hell of a way to live out a fantasy. Thank you, honey.