Those Two Denial Mistakes
You began it as an idle game. You had read something about denial on the internet and the idea took root in the fertile soil of your lusty little mind. Something about relinquishing control, or being controlled.
So you decided you wanted to try it. You considered sitting me down and explaining it. Direct, honest communication. Perhaps even showing me some of those websites you’d stumbled across and kept going back to, helplessly, to gaze at the expressions on their faces, to re-read those stories of the frustration and what it began to do to their bodies and their minds.
Instead, though, you decided to be sneaky about it. Were you ashamed? Nervous of rejection? Or was it just that you thought our relationship wasn’t like that? Perhaps too vanilla to risk destabilising it with some weird, perverted request. Perhaps you feared driving me away
Whatever it was, it meant you had to sidle up to the issue.
At first you tried dropping hints. “I’m nearly there,” you’d moan, as you got closer. And then: “I’m too close!” Not I’m close but I’m too close, hoping I’d pick up on your inflection. But I just took that to mean I was going a good job. And so I’d tip you over every time.
Then there was that time I was caressing you, stroking you closer and closer. You began to shiver in anticipation, then you caught my eye and whispered: “May I come?” and bit your lip. And I said: “Of course!” Perhaps I even sounded surprised. How frustrating that must have been for you.
In the end it was purely by accident that I realised. I’d been idly playing with you one morning. You basically gave up on your plan for denial, right then, and instead decided to relax into the pleasure and simply explode. Something about my lack of enthusiasm combined with your acceptance meant that you were right there on the edge for much longer that usual. But getting closer, so very much closer. You felt yourself tipping and-
I stopped, took my hand away from you and you had what we now know is a ruin. But then, it was a first for the both of us. The way your eyes snapped open and stared at me with surprise, with agony, with frustration. The mewling wail that escaped your throat, a sound I’d never heard you made before, torn from deep inside. The shivering of your limbs as you felt that single, pathetic pulse of pleasure that trickled away like water through fingers.
I have to say, it make an impression upon me. And as I walked away to answer the door and glanced back to see you there, sheened in perspiration, mouth open, watching me leave, I remembered it…
The trouble was, you made two serious mistakes.
The first was that you really had no idea how deep inside you those roots of denial had penetrated, how fertile the soil of you needy, greedy imagination was. All that time you had spent fantasising about giving someone else control of your pleasure, your arousal and your release, had been time allowing those slow threads of that fantasy to grow. And those urges are deep and primal.
All that time you spent stroking yourself, getting aroused and letting your thoughts idly drift in the direction of denial, you had begun to associate the very physiological responses of arousal with denial.
In many, the promise of a shuddering release is the thing that stiffens their nipples, swells the sensitive skin between their legs, the very idea of racing towards climax. But those who crave denial, the wicked, deliciously kinked idea of having that release denied them, stolen from them by someone else, only to make them weaker and more pliable? Well, that is the itch that makes them want to scratch.
By masturbating to that very thought, you were conditioning yourself to associate arousal with tantalising disappointment. So when you got that first actual, real, physical taste of it – even by accident – of course it was overwhelming.
To have someone else stroking your most sensitive places always feels better. To have someone else stroke you closer to that enticing edge … and then for them to stop. Oh God, it was a fantasy coming true. A fantasy you had been entertaining for so long. No wonder it was so powerful. That first time, after so long anticipating in your imagination, it was if a switch had flipped in your brain. You couldn’t go back. And although you didn’t know it at the time, you were caught in a trap of your own making.
The second mistake you made, the entirely unforeseeable mistake – the mistake that became your downfall – was underestimating how addictive it would be for me.
I’m going to be honest, I had heard about the idea. And the thought of almost giving someone an orgasm but then … not? Well, I thought it was crazy.
That very first time I pulled my hand from you, that expression on your face became etched into my mind. That surprise. That desperation.
So the second time wasn’t an accident. That was entirely my choice. I wanted to see what it would do to you, to get you all the way to the edge and then stop.
If the first time, that accidental time, was the moment you realised how weak and helpless you were against the effects of denial, the second time was when you realised the absolute power you had given me.
That second time, I was looking right into your eyes when I stopped touching you. When I whispered: “No, I don’t think so. Not this time.” The expression on your face was priceless. Surprise, then raw physical desperation, then a hint of arousal … and then something else. A realisation, perhaps tinged with a little fear but also a little excitement, that I got it.
And it was then that you were lost.
Even thereafter, for a time, you were still shy – perhaps yet unsure I would accept this side of you. But something had changed in me, too. I took charge. I began to experiment. And each time I assured you the experiment would end and that that time would be the time we would take a break, that I would allow you release, and then changed my mind at the last moment and left you short, I saw you accept our new roles more. And that aroused me.
Every moan of frustration, every writhingly dissatisfied conclusion to your stimulation dropped you deeper and deeper into my control, helplessly carried further by your own long rooted self-programmed arousal at this process. Oh God, you hated how you loved it. Each day without release making the next more of a challenge but more of a triumph. And I was so good at it, teasing you forward with a finger between your legs, the lightest touch, whispering in your ear how good it would feel to come this time, how much of a reward it would be having gone for so long. And then I would give you a ruin and you would cry out in dissatisfaction, at the unfairness after being so good.
And I would tempt you further, draw you into deals, have you make pacts, obey me more and more deeply for the promise of release that became a ruin, or the promise of a ruin that was just an edge, or even just the promise of a single touch. Weaker and weaker you became, more and more compliant, throbbing, frustrated, grateful.
How far we have come. It’s been longer than you can remember. You have become what you darkly fantasised about for so long. Just a hopeless, eager little thing, so desperate to please, so responsive to even the faintest touch now, a stroke upon your sensitive neck, a breath upon your tingling flesh.
And the real secret? The thing I’m sure you fantasised about, although by now you have probably forgotten, living as you are in the moment, from touch to touch, edge to edge, is that this utterly desperate, mindless, helpless state of denial that sees you curl about my feet like a contented kitten, happy just to feel my fingers stroking your hair, this entire state is just the beginning.
Now you are this obedient and conditioned, your real training begins.
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