I will never forget one of our first sessions. One where I edged her over and over. First there was the moaning. Then there was the begging. Then the pleading. Then the denial. At the end of it I indulged in the cruelty of telling her that there was no chance at all that she would be allowed to cum that day. This was a decision which she realized there was no coming back from. I do not change my mind after such declarations, and by that point in our relationship she understood this clearly.
Of course at first this was met with immediate and whiny protestations on the matter.
"Why would you tell me that, doesn't it destroy any intrigue?" she asked, trying to make the issue about anything other than her real issue with the decision, which was the now concrete reality that her build up would only languish instead of being relieved.
"Because it pleases me to do so." I stated frankly.
This was a simple exchange at the time, but one that bewildered her. In her past life she had been too used to people tripping over themselves to give her exactly what she wanted. At work, people tried their hardest to earn her favor in an attempt to better their prospects. In public people biased their actions and interests in conversation to try to capture her friendship within their orbit. In love, people were desperate to please her - seeking validation of their own self worth through their ability to bring her pleasure. And there I was, this selfish man who did something that goes against a lifetime of her anecdotal experience and expectations simply because "it pleased" me to do so. Having given her my answer, I tried to read her expression, but it proved somewhat difficult. Her countenance was still being obscured by the myriad of sensations that were running through her now desperate body. The body of the denied, filled to the brim with the passion I had worked so carefully to stoke and bottle up inside of her. Such a beautiful thing.
It was no surprise then that when I later approached her in the kitchen I saw that her mind had not yet completed the transition that would take her months to achieve. The transition of course being transforming from a woman who expects to be emptied of lust at the end of play to one who expects to be bursting with lust at the end instead. I saw her, still fully unclothed. She was standing with her arms braced against the kitchen counter, attempting to collect and steady herself. She used the marble to provide her the stability she needed then, her legs still lightly trembling from her frustrations. Unable to resist, I approached her from behind and pressed myself against her - once again capturing her in my embrace.
"Having a hard time holding yourself together?" I asked, knowing full well that the frustration she was experiencing was not something she had yet mastered.
"I just, I don't know. My body screams that it needs to be finished. Standing like this makes it easier. Every time I sit down I have the overwhelming urge to touch myself and finish what you started." She admitted demurely.
"But?" I asked coyly, hoping to string out as much of her truth as I could.
"But I know that isn't what you want, and that you've been working very patiently to help me reach what I want to be. So I stop, because it isn't my choice to make."
"What exactly isn't your choice dear?"
At this she looked down at her feet. An internal war fiercely occurring within her - as the prideful aspect within her scorned her submissive portion and raged against my condescending insistence that she verbalize the reality. In the end, it was clear who would win.
"It isn't my choice whether or not I cum, Sir." She said declared softly, as if admitting a truth that would be dangerous if it were uttered too loudly.
At this I spun her around gently so that she was facing me. Caressing her face with my hand, I worked my fingers to a place beneath her chin and pushed it up from its downward angle so that our gazes met. I wanted her to look at me when she said it, to see the embarrassment instead of allowing her to hide it. To force her to embrace the vulnerability she had been craving her entire life.
"I'm sorry what was that? I thought I heard something, but it might have been my imagination. Did you say something?" I asked her teasingly.
At this, her shoulders tensed as I maintained my hand on her face. Our gazes locked, a few seconds passed in silence. We played in this silence until it was implicit that the situation would not resolve itself until I heard what I wanted. The focus of the situation combined with the emotional tumult achieved in our last session started to show its effects as she finally broke. Her face was, in that moment, fully flush with red.
"It isn't my choice whether or not I cum, Sir." She repeated again, keeping her eyes on mine as she said it.
Finally releasing her chin from my gentle manipulation I snaked my hand behind her head while attaching myself to her waist with my other hand and drew her in for a kiss. It was then, at that exact second, that I believe she finally accepted this part of herself for the first time. As she melted into me we shared a fragment of time that was the culmination of all of the training we had completed. Wishing of course that the moment could last a lifetime, it did not. Could not. Such is the way of moments of fiery passion. They are fleeting. But my blood was hot, and the notion of not doing more would have been a crime against all that is good in the world.
So I pulled away and sat down, drinking in her form as she stood before me. Her eyes now following me, instead of looking at the floor in shame.
"Come, sit with me." I said, tapping my thigh softly.
Without a word she walked over, and took her place on my lap. Her form soft and inviting on top of mine, I ran a hand across the top of her exposed thigh. This continued for some time, sitting in silence as her breathing progressively became heavy once again. She was an instrument reacting to the lines I traced upon her with the tips of my fingers. Once it was clear that it was time to move on, I explored her deeper - intending to reach her lower lips once again. But her legs shut themselves off from my further exploration as she held her legs together.
"Now now, don't be a bad girl. Open you legs as you know you should." I chided her softly, ignoring in the moment her poor judgement on the matter.
"Oh please I just...earlier you told me that there was no way I was going to be allowed to cum today. I can't handle any more edgings. I need to cum, and I know you won't let me if you start again." She pleaded, her hands now grasping my legs tightly, as if she were afraid she may fall off me and into the void if she were to let go of her tension and open her legs again. A sight I found similar to how one full of fear clutches the safety bar of a roller coaster, clenching with all they are worth while knowing it is too late to turn back. The ride had already begun.
"Baby please don't misbehave. I know what you really are. An irredeemable little pervert who belongs to a detestable man by choice." I said, using the hand now not on her thighs to grasp her hair firmly at the roots before pulling it back with a slow but firm force so as to emphasize my point.
But still her legs did not yield.
"I-please" she started stammering in a flustered tone.
"No.
No more talking. Open your legs and let me do as I please before I lose my patience and you cross a line that only discipline can rectify." I said, the honey dropping completely from my voice - now replaced with the iron that must be employed at times to maintain the proper order of things.
And it was then with a moan that her reservations and resistance melted away, and my hand found its rightful place between her legs. Indeed she was not wrong, for she did not cum then, nor for many days following. But that was never the goal of the exercise. Despite her lack of climax, our bond grew deeper that day. Deeper than could be imagined or hoped for if we had gone about things in the way that most people do. A fine thing for them, going through the more primal script of gratifying any urges with an immediate and inevitable climax each and every encounter. For some of us this state of affairs just isn't true to our hearts, and it was my sacred duty to help her reach peace with this aberrance of her being.
It was sometime later that we sat together, side by side, on a friend's couch at some party. It was then that we shared a moment. I placed my hand on her thigh. In response to my touch there was no surprise, no objection. Reflexively her body reacted and her tension melted away, and she spread her legs just enough for me to notice before daring a smile at me and stopping the motion. A nod to our past, but not blatant enough to incite thoughts of impropriety from the friends we now found around us. Just an affirmation that her body knew how it should react to my touch.
Sensing the chance for mischief, I leaned close to her and into her ear whispered, "What an adorable little slut you are for me. Thank you." before kissing her briefly and returning to a more natural position. From the outside it was but a moment of pure and inconsequential affection between known lovers, but to us it was an affirmation of who we both are at the core.
The byproduct of that session from long ago, whose result was that she always opens her legs when she feels my touch upon her thighs. A thing I use to degrade her slightly by reminding her occasionally that it is a most whorish reaction. I do so to give her the humiliation she desires in public without the real pain that truly degrading her before her peers would bring.
It is a thing of understanding. That in one body there can be two women, and that it is good and proper to foster and love them both as time and circumstance dictates. The woman beside me now - prim, proper, and without any doubt. But also the woman I know wants no say in her pleasure, who wants only to be denied and frustrated, and who wishes to be called a slut when she opens her legs for me at a glancing touch.
Without a doubt I love them both.
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