#DenialDecember Day 1
The scene: a couple of weeks ago. A frustrated girl. A sadist, enjoying her suffering.
“Honestly! We have Juno, Locktober, NOvember – what’s next, Denial December?”
He smiled. “Yes.”
So here we are. Last night I was so desperate. He’s put me on anal only – this time I can touch my clit, but I can’t fuck my pussy. It’s my own fault. I told him I was a virgin again. “I haven’t had sex in six months, and I was baptised, so technically I am born again. Therefore… I am a virgin again.”
“I love that,” he said, “I guess that means no fucking your pussy. We wouldn’t want to break your born again hymen.”
I wanted to argue – I did argue, but not hard enough to change his mind. I don’t actually fuck my pussy that often, I prefer simple clitoral edges, but being told I’m not allowed anymore obviously made me very desperate. It’s like when someone tells you you can’t have a biscuit, and you didn’t even want a biscuit, but now that you’ve been told you can’t have it, you do want it.
I just compared my vagina to a biscuit. I’m clearly losing my mind already.
I was desperate. I’d had a ruin the night before, with permission, and it had amplified the horniness. I don’t want to cum, I told him. I don’t know what I want. I’m just so desperate. My clit was starting to hurt from edging so much. “Please put me on no touch,” I begged, “I can’t stop and it hurts.”
He’s a sadist. I should learn to remember this. “Don’t stop. I like it hurting.”
I touched and almost cried. It felt so good to edge, but it was really starting to hurt too. I cried and begged, and then he said something that made my world collapse.
“Get the menthol.”
I wanted to argue. This is something we mostly do for punishment, and I wanted to say that I had been a good girl and that I didn’t want to hurt myself like that.
But part of me was craving the pain. I wanted him to be cruel to me. I was scared, but I wanted him to hurt me.
So I said ‘Yes Sir’, and found some menthol.
He told me to rub it on my clit and keep rubbing while counting to 100. At 100, I could either cum or stop, but if I came I wasn’t allowed to stop rubbing just as hard for another count of 50.
The burning became unbearable at 50, but I cried and kept rubbing. At 70 I started to feel myself getting wet despite the excruciating pain. At 80 I was getting close to the edge. By the time I got to 90 I was fighting to hold off my orgasm. I wanted to cum but I needed the pain to stop. At 100 I pulled away.
I meant to just stop. I meant to just pull away and leave myself well-edged and hurting. But as soon as I stopped, I came, and ruined an orgasm.
I should have kept rubbing. I didn’t mean to ruin. I had wanted the pain to stop, but the ruin had increased it, made it worse, and the burning was unbelievable.
I cried as he comforted me.
“Well done. Good girl. I’m very pleased.”
And that made it all worth it. That’s all I wanted to hear.
My poor clit still hurts today. But I’ve edged three times today so far, and it’s only early afternoon.
I’ve been born again. It’s amazing.
Happy Denial December.
That’s the way to do it.
Oh night, divine.
Beautifully told, @in-heart-and-soul
Now I fancy a biscuit.