Hoping for some profound excitement she had decided to play with no-touch. She had visions in her mind of excitement rising within her from this forbidden act of self-stimulation. But, after a few simple days of no-touch, she had become bored and listless and the colour had bled out of her life. Far from exciting and stimulating, it was miserable and depressing.
So she asked if she could be teased and denied again. She asked if he would take control of her pleasure.
Only a few days into the teasing, she had become supremely wet and squirmy and frustrated. Much faster, much more powerfully than ever before. It was a constant, burning itch in her belly which drove her to edge and edge, which itself only made the itch worse. After one particularly exciting, directed teasing session, he left her aching and throbbing and completely unsatisfied.
Perhaps the no-touch had done something to her. Perhaps, despite the colour leeching of her days, it had primed her to send her deeper into the frustration. Either way, it was excruciating. It was spurring her on to be defiant. To be disobedient.
So she touched again. She edged.
She was honest. She confessed her transgression. Not to him, directly, but in public, perhaps hoping he would notice. Perhaps secretly hoping he would punish her.
Instead he was kind and understanding. He joked that she had āborrowedā those edges and he would have to charge her interest at half an edge. She wasn't sure what he meant but in her yearning, frustrated state she didn't have the mental capacity to concentrate upon the details or the implications.
At half an edge interest per edge per day, that meant that she actually owed him for three edges. The two āprincipleā edges plus one in interest.
On the following day, she would owe him four and a half edges. The next day would be almost seven edges. Compound interest is a powerful force.
She asked him how she would repay an edge. He told her he would think of something.
She complained that surely it's unfair to agree to a repayment without knowing the terms.
He reminded her that she was one who borrowed those edges without permission.
But he was kind. He was understanding. He even ceded to her begging for relief from this eternal itch by granting her an orgasm. It wasn't free, of course. She would have to offer him something in trade. Something that frightened her. He would listen to her offers and, perhaps, grant her release when she offered something that intrigued him.
She did receive relief that night. In exchange for something truly cruel. And she drifted into sleep, a little satisfied, yet aware that her teasing would likely continue the following day. And, yes, fearful of the barter she had made in exchange for this temporary pleasure.
And then, the the following day, in the quiet, neat hotel room in which they were staying, he told her how she might repay her āborrowedā edges.
āI think you can earn back each edge with a day of no-touch.ā
This provoked a chill in her. Her last experience of no-touch was horrible. She had felt wretched during that period. She had even begged him at the start not to put her back on that regime.
She pouted and complained that two days of no-touch might end up being two days of grey misery.
āNo, no. You borrowed two edges. Today, with the interest, you would have to pay back three. Tomorrow you will owe me four and a half. A day of no-touch would repay me only one.ā
āSo tomorrow I'd owe three and a half?ā
āPlus the interest on those three and a half. So five and a quarter.ā
A horrible sinking feeling entered her.
āBut that means I'll never be able to repay them!ā
And then a dark fire entered his eyes. He dug his fingers firmly into her neck and moved his lips very close beside her ear. His voice was gentle, his tone calm but his words fierce.
āThen you shouldn't have stolen edges from me, should you? You begged me to take control of your pleasure. And then you defied that control. You disobeyed me, you concealed it from me and you didn't even ask for forgiveness. Those sound like the actions of a very wicked, very weak and disobedient girl.ā
She felt the start of tears pricking at her eyes.
āWe can negotiate how many days and which days you are on no-touch. On those days the count will be increasing a little more slowly. I might decide you will simply go back to constant no-touch.ā
She shivered and her heart fell. A tear squeezed itself out of her eye and stained her cheek.
āBut no-touch makes me miserable!ā she said.
āYou should have thought of that, shouldn't you? It's one thing to be obedient through a draw towards pleasure and quite another to be obedient through aversion of fear and misery. If you can't help yourself, you will have to learn that actions have consequences.ā
āThe count keeps increasing. How will I ever be able to repay all the edges?ā
āPerhaps you never will,ā he said gently, even as his fingers tightened around her neck and the blood rushed in her ears.
She began, then, to cry, as the idea of that grey, miserable robotic existence flowered in her mind.
āPlease don't do that,ā she whispered. āI'd die.ā
āPerhaps you can barter,ā he said. āPerhaps you can offer me things in exchange for edges.ā
āThings like ā¦ the things I agreed to for the orgasm?ā
āNo,ā he said. āThings that are much worse. Much much worse.ā
And through the tears she felt him guiding her roughly through the room, then pressing her down to the floor.
āNow I suggest you spend the next hour kneeling in this corner and thinking about your actions, thinking about what might be reasonable to offer in exchange for the edges, thinking about which is Ā worse: actions without permission, or transgressions without confession.ā
