Let’s backtrack a little. I want to talk about chastity and orgasm control.
The first BDSM concept my husband introduced, besides your generically kinky light bondage, was chastity. I’m simply a very open-minded person, so I wasn’t automatically put off by the idea, but I certainly didn’t fully understand it at first either. We were in a long-distance relationship at the time, and I suppose I thought it was just a good way to make the lack of sexual contact seem purposeful and fun.
A few years later, denying my slave orgasm is one of my favorite ways to get off.
Sometimes we use a cage and lock up my property. Other times I take it on faith that he’ll only jerk off at my command. (Sometimes that strategy results in punishment.) We haven’t invested in a really good, custom-fitted cock cage yet, so I don’t want to make him wear one all the time. Regardless, it’s the mindset that’s important. It’s the mindset that has helped me recover my sexual desire.
I’m a pretty stressed-out person. I don’t know about you, but when I’m stressed out I have a hard time wanting sex. Even if my body is “arousable” (as my slave calls it), my mind often can’t be turned off enough to enjoy. In the past this led to some feelings of guilt and pressure as I worried about not being able to give my husband sexual release when he wants it—and he is a young man in the prime years of male sexuality, frequently stressed out himself and looking for relief. I would end up unable to let go, stopping him in the middle of foreplay, and feeling like I’d failed. This seemed particularly tragic because we both knew I was a highly sexual person. Unlike many women (or so I’ve been told), I instinctively learned to masturbate before anyone hinted to me that it might be taboo, and throughout my teen years I frequently reached orgasm every day. And they were good orgasms, too. I pleasured myself well and often. Why was that unabashed desire eluding me now?
With orgasm denial, the weight of expectations is lifted.
If my slave doesn’t cum, that’s fine.
If my slave spends half an hour playing with my nipples and licking my pussy, grinding his hard, leaking cock against the sheets, and never even enters me, that’s fine. In fact, he would consider it an unexpected privilege to do so. I don’t have to wonder whether I’m quite wet enough to take him comfortably. I don’t have to worry that pausing to switch positions will kill the momentum and my orgasm won’t be as great after all that build-up. I don’t have to worry that my slave (who is very out of shape and losing weight at my command—but that’s another story) will get a cramp in his abdomen and have to stop thrusting before he can cum, and we’ll both end up frustrated.
In erotic fiction, sex is always fabulous; in the real world, these are all valid concerns. But if my slave expects no orgasm, it doesn’t matter! I can revel in my approaching orgasm, feeling all my muscles tightening, feeling the heat start to concentrate in my clit, feeling the slippery warmth of his hand and tongue against my wet flesh, and I don’t have to wonder anything, worry anything, gauge anything….I just have to enjoy the all-consuming climax that comes from focusing on nothing at all except my own body and its pleasure.
Watching my slave squirm against me, looking up at me with big pleading eyes, whimpering in wordless desperation? That gives me no guilt. I feel no pressure. I am sated.
I’ll worry about him tomorrow.
Maybe.
Until tomorrow, then.
Mistress K
