What do you mean, no?

The other night on my epic 10 hour drive from Lismore back to Sydney Loki kept me company on the phone. Well. If you call his sick whining and my baiting him a conversation. I do, I was getting much enjoyment out of it.

Although I will admit that the distance thing is a real kicker when he’s actually sick and I can’t nurse him… yes I have the right outfit for this too.

During our laughing, arguing and just generally being shits to each other we touched upon a topic that I think surprised him a bit. At least he sounded surprised.

Orgasm denial.

You know, that fun thing where you torture your partner on the edge for as long as you want or at least, until they start crying? I do find tears endlessly arousing in this kind of context. I think it’s the power play that gets me off. I really do.

So he asked for clarification when I said that if I’m told that I can’t come then I generally don’t. Β He didn’t believe me.

Wow, there’s a wiki on it! Erotic sensual denialΒ it’s called.

But back to my story, what I tried to explain to him was that there’s this thing where you can tease someone to the brink of orgasm and then say no when asked if I could come and stop all stimulation which in turn meant that orgasming is just not possible – after a while of these when asking to be able to come and not being given permission means that you hold off. At least I do.

And then when I finally do get to orgasm, a few hours, a day, a few days, a week, a few weeks or months later… it’s like my head imploded and there’s all kinds of things going on with my body. It’s a sure-fire way to get me talking gibberish in the shortest amount of time.

Well, either that or making me orgasm so much that I forget my name and how to walk. But that’s another entry I think.

You see it all started when I was with the guy that was my first ever real d/s (dominant/submissive) relationship. We had protocol. We had rules. And he wanted to control my orgasms, how often I masturbated and anything else that was in relation to my getting off. He’d tie my hands together before we went to sleep some nights to make sure that I didn’t play with myself whilst he was asleep as I was often tempted to do because I couldn’t sleep. He trained me to be able to hold off, to delay… to endure.

It was and is all kinds of hot. It still turns me on to this day. It’s such a little thing, but also so big that when you hand over control of it to someone else… well. It transforms you somewhat. Especially since I do literally come at the change of winds. Having them withheld, while I’m on the brink means that I feel it even more keenly when I am allowed to let go.

He also wanted me to learn how to come on command. And to a point I can nearly do it, but it’s pretty hard and it’s just not as nice as a full on orgasm where my legs give out and it feels like my hair is standing on end.

So yes, I find handing over control of my vagina to my partner stimulating and exciting.

And Loki will just have something new to look into.


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