I get to cum on Sunday.
Maybe. Probably. Almost definitely.
The problem is I am impatient, and I like complaining, and I like hearing him say “no” as much as I possibly can. And also, I am edging a minimum of ten times a day in anticipation of this orgasm, and it’s making me want it now, not willing to wait.
But he wants me to edge myself crazy until finally, on Sunday, I explode.
“I want to cum, sir”
“Good,” is his cold response, and I pause and then try again.
“Can I, please, sir?”
“Absolutely not, fuck toy.”
I blush. I love him like this, the cruelty, the names he calls me, the unrelenting denial, no matter how far I try to push his patience.
“You’re edging for me, slut, not for you.”
I adore him, and instantly become more submissive. “Yes Sir”, I say.
“Don’t even ask to cum until Sunday, is that clear?”
But what a mindfuck that is. I’ll get to cum soon, very soon, only a few more days, and it hasn’t even been that long, only a few weeks since the last one. But I can’t ask for it. I can’t bother him. All I am allowed to do is edge, and edge more, sink further into edgespace for him, embrace the mindless, doll-like trance this pushes me towards.
All I have to do is be patient and not ask. I almost forgot earlier, and he gave me a warning.
“Are you asking to cum, fuck toy?”
“No Sir. Please don’t let me cum.”
So good. ‘Please don’t let me cum’. I know how much he loves to hear it. I love how much he enjoys denying me.
I don’t mean it though – not entirely. I’ll get to cum on Sunday. The anticipation is killing me, but I love it. I can’t wait. I’m so excited.
Who’s a lucky girl…