the orgasm control, from this side

Joscelin made it clear right away when we switched that I would not be having any orgasms without his permission.  I was not surprised at this – it is such an intrinsic part of what we do in the non-switched direction that I almost can’t imagine it not being a part of any d/s relationship, though I realize that’s nonsense.

It is so hard.

And I don’t understand why it is so hard.  It is really mysterious to me.  Under normal circumstances, I come something like 1-5 times per week.  There are weeks when I have an orgasm almost every day, and weeks when I don’t really even think about it.  (I always think about sex, but that doesn’t automatically lead to my feeling the need to have an orgasm.)

We switched Thursday.  It was hard not coming Thursday night.  It was hard not coming Friday night.  It was hard not coming Saturday night.  Sunday, I was allowed to come – twice!  It was still hard not coming Sunday night (last night, that is).

I am allowed (encouraged, even) to masturbate.  This is a great comfort when it comes to being able to just roughly rub myself, which can never lead to orgasm but lessens the need for one somewhat.  It is not at all a comfort when it comes to actually masturbating with my vibrator, which these days can lead to orgasm extremely (excessively) easily.

Saturday night we had an incredible scene.  It ended with me being fucked with a plug gag in my mouth, and hearing over and over that I would not be allowed to come, that the fucking was for his pleasure, not mine, that this was my life, that I must accept it.  It made me crazy with lust, and the fucking felt so incredible, and I couldn’t bear the idea that he would ever come and thus stop, and I writhed and moaned and pleaded as best I could (though for what I am not sure; I would have felt disappointed to be allowed to come).  That kind of helplessness is the good side of the denial.

The bad side came later, when I went to bed alone.  All I could think about was the scene.  A hundred times I had the simple impulse, which I am used to following, to pick up my vibrator and give myself an orgasm.  And then I would think about why I can’t do that, and my thoughts would inevitably go to how I would be punished if I did, and the thought of that punishment was so hot, and so hard not to seek.  And around and around my thoughts went, like that.

Remembering that I am encouraged to masturbate, and thinking Jos would probably enjoy it if I made it harder for myself, I did pick up the vibrator.  I edged myself twice, each time feeling the temptation to say “fuck it” and just have an orgasm increase exponentially as I got close, and each time stopping.  And I knew I didn’t dare edge myself again because I would never stop.  I would let myself come.  And I wanted so bad to just tempt fate, just continue edging myself, until the inevitable slip over that edge.  And I put the vibrator away and I didn’t do it.

The denial makes my pussy have sensations it doesn’t normally even have.  I can’t describe them but they are maddening.

It is terrible to have so many sexy experiences every day and not be able to use them to have orgasms.

I keep wanting to push myself to let go, give up, stop trying to have orgasms, accept my fate.  But I can’t do it, and I don’t imagine it’s what Jos really wants either.  I imagine he wants this striving madness.  Or I could at least feel it more like he does, perhaps – enjoy feeling owned, enjoy the sensation of a wall of his will keeping me from the orgasms I want.  It doesn’t feel that way to me, though.

I can’t believe one human can do this to another.

It is so hard.

how a slave is like a butler

For a few days, there has been a post office notice on our door, about a package for Joscelin.  Yesterday, I pushed him to handle it, and so, as I drove us to lunch, he called the number on the card to try to figure out how to get the package.  He wanted to see if he could get it re-delivered on a specific day when he’d be home, but apparently that was not possible.

“I guess I’ll have to find out what this post office’s hours are and see if you can drive me there sometime to pick it up,” he said.

“Sir,” I said.  “I think what you need to do is put my name where it says you can authorize someone to pick it up, sign the card, give it to me, and say ‘Slave, pick up this package.’”

“Wow…OK.  But, I don’t know what the hours are.  Wait, I can get that off the automated system.”  And he got out his cell phone again to call.

“Master,” I said, a bit impatiently.  “Just give me the card and tell me to pick it up.  You don’t need to find out the hours.”

“Oh, yeah.  Wow. Fuck.  Um…slave, pick up this package.”

“Yes, Sir.  Thank you, Sir.”