A week of orgasm denial and a scene that went wrong

A hand is clenched around blue silk sheets in orgasm. Photo.
Image licensed through Adobe.

January was a long month, but the week when I wasn’t allowed to come before I went to see my enboifriend was perhaps the longest. I’m an orgasm hungry slut, but one who is really into orgasm control. Allowing them to deny me in the seven days leading up to see them is the closest I’ve come to playing with a 24/7 D/s dynamic: it was a week long orgasm denial scene and it was incredibly hot.

Content note for power exchange and degradation. This post also contains affiliate links. NBae’s blog post about our experience (which is far better than mine) can be found here.

It was also intense in a way that I hadn’t expected.

Short term orgasm denial is hot. Long term orgasm denial is something else entirely – it seems to get more intense as my need to come grows. NBae, with my full and enthusiastic consent, used the intensity of power exchange against me in the most delicious ways: to degrade me and make me admit all sorts of depraved things that I wanted them to do.

I trust them to take me to the darker places in my mind, and was delighted that they wanted to go there with me. I edged for them, using my new vibrator to bring me to the edge of an orgasm again and again as recorded myself as I begged and writhed and moaned their name. For each audio clip I sent them, they’d shared something filthy they wanted to do with me – it was an amazing way to reconnect after a month when we’d both been busy and distant.

A few days before I got on the train to go visit them they upped the stakes. We agreed that we’d ask my Twitter followers to . If more than 10% of them voted no, I wouldn’t get . The day before I visit them, a further rule was added. If over 50% of my followers voted that I shouldn’t get to come on Tuesday, my enboifriend wouldn’t just deny me, they would try to edge me until I cried.

And –Ā  in a way – they did.

Being able to touch them again after seven weeks apart was wonderful. I could kiss them and hold their hand; they could grope my arse and whisper filthy things in my ear in Dom voice. I squirmed as they teased me with words and I felt so safe as I buried into their shoulder and let them wrap their arms around me. I still felt safe when they started to hurt me with their fingers and deny me the comfort of their kisses: it was hot.

When we got back to their flat, they hit me with the full force of their sadism. I’d been on orgasm denial for a week and I was tense in anticipation of this scene. I wanted them to pick me apart and break me down and I wasn’t scared to show them my desperation, even though I knew they would use it against me. They stripped me and slapped my face. They spat in my mouth and I loved it.

They held me on my lap with my legs spread – and of course I tried to close them because I’m a brat and I like beingĀ forced to obey. I felt exposed and vulnerable, and the filthy words they were saying twisted in my stomach. They held the Doxy against my cunt and I squirmed and begged as they edged me. They took me to the edge again and again until IĀ was on the point of crying because I wanted to come so badly it hurt.

At first they would pull the vibrator away when I told them that I was close to coming and give me a few seconds to recover before the torment began again. It wasn’t teasing, it was an exquisite torture. They started making me hold on for longer and longer, not stopping when I begged them to, but telling me that I wasn’t allowed to come without permission. Being good, with the vibrations even more intense and them telling me that IĀ had to be good for them, was hard. But also so very, very good.

I was shaking by the time they decided to give me a break. Pushing me to my knees, they pulled their dick out of their boxers and rubbed their precum – so fucking much precum – over my face. I felt degraded and so, so aroused, and more so because they were getting off on my humiliation. My clit was throbbing and I took their dick in my mouth, feeling proud when it wasn’t long until they pushed me back so they could jerk off and then come in my mouth.

It was incredibly hot… until it wasn’t.

I don’t know what happened. I don’t know when or how the scene switched from overwhelmingly hot to just overwhelming. All I knew was that I was looking up at them from my knees, and suddenly it didn’t feel right anymore. However, my discomfort was visible and my enboifriend could tell I needed to stop. They took me in their arms and enveloped me in comforting words and gave me soft kisses as we talked. Playing with power was hot, but so was this intimacy we found as I caught my breath and tried not to cry because I felt like I was ruining the scene. (I wasn’t.)

By the time we’d finished talking, it was after midnight. They pointed out that technically I was allowed to come now, and I sat on their lap again with my legs spread. They still held the Doxy and they were still whispering filth in my ear, but this time it was encouragement. It was still ridiculously, but now we were working together to get me off, rather than to deny me. I had an orgasm in the early hours of Wednesday morning and collapsed into their arms.

Our week long orgasm denial scene didn’t end as planned, but that’s ok. These things happen, and it was no less a spectacular scene because it went wrong. I love that I’m in a relationship where they mindfuck me in a way that is both filthy and romantic, and also stop it when we need to talk outside the power dynamics we were playing with. We agreed, as we were falling asleep in each others arms, that when we’d write about it we wouldn’t leave out that it hadn’t been perfect, because talking is important.

But I’m going to remember it, and them coming on my face, for a long, long time.

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If you liked this particular piece of filth, why not buy me a coffee? It means a lot to me if you support me and it helps me keep writing smut.Ā 

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  1. The description of your visit was hot, but what was even hotter was the connection you shared. They read you so well and knew when to stop.

  2. I often find that I can handle the harder stuff because of those soft, encouraging, intimate moments — when I need it and when my partner needs it.

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