The other night, after we had been playing on our webcams, I offered the brown-eyed girl an orgasm. You may come if you wish, I said. And she declined. This is a girl who needs to come a lot. This is a girl who, when I recently denied her orgasms for a whole week, begged and pleaded to come, whined constantly that if she didn’t come she would go out of her mind. And here she was turning down a free one. Why?
She explained her reasoning. She had some holiday coming up and she knew that meant an opportunity to play with me very intensively. She wanted her desire honed and sharpened for this, not blunted by too much coming. If she doesn’t come for a while, her need reaches a fever-pitch. And so, if there is a prospect of indulging her needs by prolonged play with her dom, then she will nurse her desire in order to increase her pleasure.
This sounds like the sexual equivalent of the protestant work ethic, that characteristic of early western capitalist society whereby the good bourgeois would husband his resources and invest for the future. Instant gratification was deferred in favour of amassing the capital that would lead to greater prosperity in the long run. (Whatever capitalism is now, there doesn’t seem to be much sense of the long run, more like a quick killing, but I guess that’s another story).
Of course, being her dom I could have insisted she come whether she wanted to or not, and I did consider this option. It’s pleasurable to watch her come on-screen, to observe the intense concentration on her face as the orgasm builds, to hear the little noises she makes as it gets closer, and then see her body shake with the spasm of ecstasy. On the other hand, there’s even more pleasure in postponing that, if I know it will make her more horny, more willing to do the things I have in mind for the next time we play.
The more horny she is, the more I can get out of her, the further I can take her. I can ratchet up the level of pain she has to endure, or the amount of humiliation she must suffer. Being a highly sexed girl, she’s never in a state of mind where she definitely doesn’t want to come. Interesting her in some form of sexual activity is the work of a moment. And she’s not like a guy, who, when he has ejaculated, would rather spend the next hour watching football on TV than be enticed into further sex-play. She’s always ready for more, and seemingly always wet. Or is it that the mere order to put her hand between her legs and report on the state of her cunt in itself triggers an instant flow of juices? Either way, she’s ready.
All the same, if she has been kept on the brink, constantly aroused yet never satisfied, then one can get even more remarkable results from, say, the remorseless application of particularly evil nipple clamps. So, I decided I would not force her to come. And the next time she wants to, she’ll have a bigger, harder, longer orgasm. But perhaps she won’t get one at all. Maybe next time I’ll be the one to make her wait. Two can play at that game.
Friday, 24 February 2012
Saturday, 18 February 2012
Subspace
I had a session on the webcam with the brown-eyed girl. It began with some clothes-pegs on the lips of her cunt. She said that didn’t hurt much, not even when I told her to put one on her clit too. We measure pain on a scale of 1-10, where 10 is unbearable. She rated the pegs only a 4. But as any submissive girl knows, what may not start out hurting can hurt quite a lot after a while. The pain builds slowly but inexorably.
I talked to her, intensely, focusing on her sensations and what I wanted from her. I told her how much I valued her pain. I said, the more you are hurting the more you are pleasing me. I want you to offer me more and more of your pain, I want you to push yourself to give me as much as you can. Do not hold back; your pain is my pleasure, and thus your pleasure too.
I told her she needed something stronger now. I ordered her to put the butterfly clamps on her nipples. Pull the chain that connects them, I said. Pull harder. Harder. I watched the grimace on her face and heard her gasps. Now twist the clamps, I said. She was breathing heavily. Her nipples were flushed, and so was her cunt. I told her how beautiful she was, and how dear she is to me. And I told her that my cruelty to her was a way of showing my kindness, because I knew how much she needed this cruelty, needed to offer up her pain, needed to be taken to the depths.
I told her to pull on the clamps until she pulled them right off her nipples. It’s exquisite agony to do that, but she managed it. I told her what a good girl she was, that I was proud of her. I told her to ask me to make her put the clamps on again. Then I told her to take them off, and put them on yet again. She went deep into subspace. I asked her a question and I don’t think she heard it. I asked again, and all I got back was a confused mumble. She had gone to a place where rational thought had been left behind. All she knew was the pain, how exquisite it was and how much she needed it, how much more she needed. She’d never been there before.
Eventually I talked her down and comforted her and gave her a little treat. And we discussed what subspace was like. She said, and I find this remarkable, that it was better than an orgasm. She couldn’t say why exactly. It’s a place beyond words, but you know when you are there. It’s a place like no other, an experience like nothing else. Apparently.
I wasn’t in domspace, if there is such a thing. I was very conscious, watching her carefully, enjoying her suffering, controlling it. That too is a wonderful experience.
I talked to her, intensely, focusing on her sensations and what I wanted from her. I told her how much I valued her pain. I said, the more you are hurting the more you are pleasing me. I want you to offer me more and more of your pain, I want you to push yourself to give me as much as you can. Do not hold back; your pain is my pleasure, and thus your pleasure too.
I told her she needed something stronger now. I ordered her to put the butterfly clamps on her nipples. Pull the chain that connects them, I said. Pull harder. Harder. I watched the grimace on her face and heard her gasps. Now twist the clamps, I said. She was breathing heavily. Her nipples were flushed, and so was her cunt. I told her how beautiful she was, and how dear she is to me. And I told her that my cruelty to her was a way of showing my kindness, because I knew how much she needed this cruelty, needed to offer up her pain, needed to be taken to the depths.
I told her to pull on the clamps until she pulled them right off her nipples. It’s exquisite agony to do that, but she managed it. I told her what a good girl she was, that I was proud of her. I told her to ask me to make her put the clamps on again. Then I told her to take them off, and put them on yet again. She went deep into subspace. I asked her a question and I don’t think she heard it. I asked again, and all I got back was a confused mumble. She had gone to a place where rational thought had been left behind. All she knew was the pain, how exquisite it was and how much she needed it, how much more she needed. She’d never been there before.
Eventually I talked her down and comforted her and gave her a little treat. And we discussed what subspace was like. She said, and I find this remarkable, that it was better than an orgasm. She couldn’t say why exactly. It’s a place beyond words, but you know when you are there. It’s a place like no other, an experience like nothing else. Apparently.
I wasn’t in domspace, if there is such a thing. I was very conscious, watching her carefully, enjoying her suffering, controlling it. That too is a wonderful experience.
Monday, 13 February 2012
Don't stop
The secret fear of submissive girls is that the dom may not have the mental strength to keep going to the point where she can take no more. She’s afraid he may stop too soon. She’s picked him for her dom because he is a good man. After all, it’s a relationship, like any other. She wants someone who is sympathetic, kind and caring; who doesn’t want that in a partner? But can a nice guy really be the strict, indeed implacable dom she craves, one who is indifferent to her whimpers, her half-suppressed appeals for mercy, who is relentless in subjecting her to pain and humiliation?
What the submissive girl needs is to be overpowered, to be made to yield. She wants to be stripped of every last vestige of resistance. She doesn’t want a dom who takes pity on her just because her bottom is looking a bit pink or because she squeals when the clamps go on. As the pain increases, a tension is set up in her mind. Gradually the pain approaches the point where it becomes unbearable. Soon she wants it to stop. And yet, and this is the true mystery of submission, she doesn’t want it to stop. She wants to see how much more she can take. She wants the sort of dom who might say to her, a minute or two after he has allowed her to take the clamps off, at the point when she thinks she might faint from pain, ‘And now put them on again. Do it.’ For that she needs a dom whose desire to cause her pain will ultimately prove stronger than her desire to suffer it.
Of course if you aren’t strictly a masochist, you can read, instead of pain, humiliation, objectification, and any other kind of control. It doesn’t matter what the dom mobilises to ensure his will is obeyed. The point is just the same; she has to feel certain that he won’t give up, that he won’t let her off lightly.
When, in the cold light of day, she contemplates the full implications of this, she frightens herself. Surely she doesn’t really want this. She needs a safe word, she needs her list of hard limits clearly understood, she needs to feel she can bale out if it gets too tough. But there’s a corner of her brain where this isn’t what she wants at all. The thought that he might really have the power and the desire to push her beyond what she can bear makes her head swim, it makes her cunt clench and drool. Has she finally met her match? Please, she prays, spare me from a kindly dom. After it’s over I want his kisses and caresses and soothing words. But right now I want to plumb the depth of his cruelty. Make him adamantine.
What the submissive girl needs is to be overpowered, to be made to yield. She wants to be stripped of every last vestige of resistance. She doesn’t want a dom who takes pity on her just because her bottom is looking a bit pink or because she squeals when the clamps go on. As the pain increases, a tension is set up in her mind. Gradually the pain approaches the point where it becomes unbearable. Soon she wants it to stop. And yet, and this is the true mystery of submission, she doesn’t want it to stop. She wants to see how much more she can take. She wants the sort of dom who might say to her, a minute or two after he has allowed her to take the clamps off, at the point when she thinks she might faint from pain, ‘And now put them on again. Do it.’ For that she needs a dom whose desire to cause her pain will ultimately prove stronger than her desire to suffer it.
Of course if you aren’t strictly a masochist, you can read, instead of pain, humiliation, objectification, and any other kind of control. It doesn’t matter what the dom mobilises to ensure his will is obeyed. The point is just the same; she has to feel certain that he won’t give up, that he won’t let her off lightly.
When, in the cold light of day, she contemplates the full implications of this, she frightens herself. Surely she doesn’t really want this. She needs a safe word, she needs her list of hard limits clearly understood, she needs to feel she can bale out if it gets too tough. But there’s a corner of her brain where this isn’t what she wants at all. The thought that he might really have the power and the desire to push her beyond what she can bear makes her head swim, it makes her cunt clench and drool. Has she finally met her match? Please, she prays, spare me from a kindly dom. After it’s over I want his kisses and caresses and soothing words. But right now I want to plumb the depth of his cruelty. Make him adamantine.
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