#goonette thoughts

[inf-ew]

Morning Edges (Day 1)

Morning Edges (Day 1)

Of course, I wake up several hours earlier than I need to. That’s one of the consistent observations: when I have orgasms, I sleep well. When I'm on denial, I wake up prematurely. Maybe the brain uses sexual arousal as a proxy for the chance to reproduce and adjusts its priorities accordingly? “You can sleep later. Now is the time to fuck!” But maybe the addicted brain just needs its next “fix”? Or does denial mess with the hormones? Damn, I’d like to know but I’m not a physician. And I am tired.

I don’t want to get up. My overheated clitoris cries out for attention. But edging in bed is not allowed. Those are the rules now. I let my hand wander over my hips, pinching myself a little. At least that’s some kind of touch, even if it does nothing to satisfy my actual urge.

I know exactly how this is going to end. I won’t be able to fall asleep again. Another thought comes to mind. I didn’t choose the rules for the morning edging session arbitrarily. It’s so important to start the day right. It sets the tone and mood for the whole day. And the first important lesson, the first goal of self-conditioning through morning edging, is: it’s not about my comfort.

I throw back the covers, sit on the edge of the bed, and start unbuttoning my pyjama top. My nipples are hard, I’m trembling with excitement, and my clitoris is starting to buzz. Now it begins: I am doing something not because I want to, but because I believe it will be effective in achieving my self-conditioning goals. Is this obedience or just self-discipline? I think it is obedience, because my cunt has now factually taken control. I have simply translated its demands into rules that my mind can follow.

I slip off my pyjama bottoms and panties as I walk to my desk. I enjoy the brief moment of anticipation while my computer boots up. I reply to a few messages “to clear my head” before remembering that edging is supposed to be my first activity after waking up and my last before going to bed. I start the timer. I don’t need visual stimulation. I’m excited enough.

The first edge comes quickly. Very quickly. My clitoris is sensitive, swollen, but only slightly sore. I think of “normal” people who lustfully indulge in their orgasms. Not me. Not for the next years. “I'm just a pathetic inferior edgewhore,” I think ecstatically. I edge regularly, but it's been a while since I consciously tried to create this thought, this state of mind. “I'm just a pathetic inferior edgewhore,” I repeat to myself, and it feels so right that the next time I edge, I come dangerously close to orgasm.

The powerful thing is that in such moments I can fully accept these feelings of worthlessness and inferiority as truth, without the reservations that my mind would otherwise immediately make. I know my mind is doing its best, and protecting identity is important. But I must rewrite my identity to bring it into line with my feelings. That is the whole point of the program.

The third edge comes quickly, too, as my mind is flooded with these “appropriate” feelings and thoughts. “I'm just a pathetic inferior edgewhore!” I open the timer: just over five minutes for the three edges. This is the decisive moment. Because the second important lesson, the second goal of self-conditioning through morning edging, is this: it’s not about my pleasure. My pleasure is nothing more than a tool. My arousal is something that must be controlled, even managed.

I put my hands behind my head and stare blankly at the timer for a while. Of course, I want to keep going. My greedy cunt is screaming for more. But these morning (and evening) edging sessions must be short, relentless, downright technically cold. They are meant to increase the urge but not allow to give in to it.

Reluctantly, I get up and go to take a shower. As the warm water calms my excitement somewhat, I realize that this reluctance may be a good sign. It’s an attempt to maintain control. But something inside me is stronger. “I’m just a pathetic, inferior edge whore.” My naive acceptance has vanished. But that doesn’t matter. It’s only a matter of time.

[namgoonette]

i need thanos so fucking bad y’all… one chance choi subong, just one. i don’t even have the words to describe the desire that’s been eating me alive since december 2024💔 least i can have is the flag on my wall and my writing abilities

[inf-ew]

Starting Long-term Denial Again

It may seem as if I've gone mad. But in fact, I'm completely sane. Excited, but frighteningly clear-headed.

So, this is the plan:

I'm starting long-term self-denial again on a strict edging schedule, with the goal of not having a full orgasm before 08/08/2031.

That’s 2,000 days, or 5 years, 5 months and some change.

Taking effect immediately. No final orgasm.

Why this Duration?

My OCD enjoys round numbers and dates like 08/08. Of course, that’s not all.

1 I have done three years and a few months of edging and denial before. Less than this is unacceptable. I wanted the new duration to be significantly longer. Not so long to make an escalation afterwards impossible though.

2 Five and a half years is about as long as it took to the qualification for my profession and my degree. I wanted a duration to signify that I take this endeavour as seriously as I did my studies, that I’m willing to put the time and effort in.

3 Committing to denial for five and a half years is scary. I don’t want to do it. However, this is not about me, what I want, or my comfort. But it’s something I feel needs to be done. Against my better judgement, if necessary. I’m counting on enjoying it once I get into the flow like I did before. If not, I must count on my stubbornness. Not wanting to go for so lang is a sign I *need* to go for so long.

4 This duration should be long enough to fit in some smaller “projects” I always wanted to do but never started with: deep-throat training, inducing lactation and maybe more.

Edging Schedule

Default days

Morning edging: three edges or 15 minutes (whatever finishes first), naked, immediately after waking up.

Evening edging: three edges or 15 minutes (whatever finishes first), naked, journaling afterwards and then immediately to bed.

Daily edging session: can range from 30 minutes to several hours, depending on my obligations that day.

No edging in bed. Again, it’s not about my comfort.

(I need to add rules about specifics here later, to keep it varied and fresh: no-touch-days, nipples-only, dildo fucking only, gagged, clamped/bound, plugged etc.)

Weekends

Progress report, public if interesting enough

Monthly

A whole weekend dedicated to edging from Friday evening to Sunday evening.

(More rules to be added as going along.)

Opting-out clauses

From daily requirements: If necessary for physical or mental health or for other acceptable reasons (e.g. job, sharing a room). Frustration, discomfort, or “not being in the mood” are not acceptable reasons.

From the whole program: If a relationship manifests and this denial and edging program turns out to be an obstacle.

Reward

If I reach my goal, I will have a custom-made chastity belt made for myself.

Outlook

If this works out like planned, I will be 38 before I get the chance to a full orgasm. I’m dedicating more than half a decade of my life (a period in which I’m at my sexual prime too) to stripping myself down to the most basic urges. I hope it will be a period of worthwhile self-discovery.

[inf-ew]

I don’t cling to my dignity because I think I need it. I don’t cling to my dignity because I want it. It’s just upbringing and mostly social necessity. I wish I could be honest about how pathetic I truly am, how much I crave giving up my autonomy and sinking or being pulled into a subhuman existence. Unfortunately, there’s no room for that in ordinary life, only in private spaces and online spaces such as this. The ability to confess those submissive (and maybe even self-destructive) needs freely and be encouraged to pursue them is liberating and a counterweight to the pressures of societal expectations. I need to destroy my mental well-being to preserve my mental well-being. I’m not sure if I’m fucked up or a society which still hasn’t learned to deal with the diversity of human sexuality.

[namgoonette]

Gurl you need to warn us before you jump scare us with Thanos's real name

I'M DEAD 😭 what kind of statement is that???

and no, i actually love his name. i think it’s extremely moanable idc...

especially when the reader calls him “subongie” ugh. i feel like he’d secretly love being called by his stage name because it feeds his ego a little — like he’d smirk or laugh under his breath every time. but his real name? i think he’d only let a few people he genuinely trusts or loves use it, because that name belongs to the person underneath the persona he hides behind.

idk if you noticed, but i usually use “thanos” whenever he’s in a position of authority or when he’s performing. “subong” feels way more intimate and personal

hope this helps change your mind about his cutie patootie name 😔

[inf-ew]

Goonette decision fatigue. Should I – after a whole day of continuous edging, spent and sore – shove a dildo up my leaking hole and ensure I’ll wake up early and even more frustrated? Or should I try to get a good night’s sleep to start as refreshed as possible so I can go longer tomorrow?

That’s a stupid post, isn’t it? I just write it because I don’t want to stop rubbing at all. I’m cooked and yet I want to go deeper.

[inf-ew]

“What is it about feeling inferior that excites you?”

I was asked this question, and it made me think. To my surprise, I don't have a good answer to this rather obvious issue, but I'll do my best.

I'm an overachiever. Top of my class, top of my year, best school leaving certificate, best university degree. I also overthink. I think about everything too much for too long. I agonise over simple decisions and analyse my choices long after I've made them. That has its advantages sometimes, but it's damn exhausting to live like that.

Well, then I'll just run myself a warm bath, daydream a little, meditate on the fact that life is not a competition and that we should enjoy the little pleasures. BZZZZZ! Doesn’t work. My mind won’t be pacified by any of that. A more effective antidote is needed.

Sexual arousal works. But not at a lukewarm or moderate level. I replay an insignificant short conversation in my head several times and think about what I should have said instead. Imagine me approaching a sexual encounter only slightly aroused. Ugh! No, it must be intense sexual arousal. If my pussy isn't twitching furiously, my mind is unimpressed.

Pain works too. Even the sharpest mind has difficulty thinking straight when it is simultaneously dealing with severe toothache or migraine. But obviously that's not a good solution to my problem. Of course, as a masochist, there are also types of pain that indirectly increase my pleasure, but that's a variation on sexual arousal, not a different approach.

The question remains: how does all this relate to my perception of feelings of inferiority and wretchedness as sexually arousing? After all, I didn't just sit down one fine day and decide to develop the most effective antidote to my alert mind. So, is this something I invented or merely discovered, a disposition that simply proved to be effective? If I were dominant by nature, would a scenario in which I am the dominatrix shut down my mind in the same way? Would the excitement overwhelm my mind in the same way if I were into incest or medical kink? Or is it no coincidence that my need to feel inferior is a counterpoint to my achievements and intelligence? I have no idea.

So, I can't say why it works, but I can say that it does work. When someone calls me a “dumb whore,” my pussy twitches and my mind shuts down. With a casual comment, it lasts a few minutes; with someone I know and care about, it lasts maybe half an hour; during an edging session, it can last for several hours.

I have no idea how and why such humiliation translates into sexual arousal for me. I could just be outraged, as “normal” people would probably react to such an insult. But that's not  possible when the humiliation is accompanied by pleasurable feelings and the insult is not perceived as an insult, but as truth and encouragement. Being called inferior, feeling pathetic arouses me, shuts down my mind, feels right, makes me happy. Tough to argue with that, even for a bright mind. The crucial trick is to keep the arousal level high to prevent me from examining those feelings critically. My stupid mind does that sometimes and ruins everything.

Finally, I would like to share an anecdote that, in my opinion, seems to indicate that my need for submissiveness and inferiority is deeply rooted in my psyche. I grew up in the countryside: lots of woods, meadows, and fields surrounding our house. I often lay in the meadow reading. But one day, a construction site was set up a little way down the road. There were a few short but sturdy wooden beams lying around. I dragged two of them through the neighboring woods to the edge of the meadow. For the next few hours, I carried the beams back and forth, running, imagining that I was a slave who would be whipped if I didn't work fast enough. “Faster, filthy slave!” I shouted to myself until I was sweaty and dirty, but happy. If I remember correctly, I was around ten years old, maybe eleven. There was nothing sexual about it. But I remember clearly that I was surprised that for a few hours I had thought of nothing but “Faster, filthy slave!” Whether disposition or not, such degrading “mantras” still work today. But I don’t know how and when this has been tied to sexual arousal. It just is now.

Feeling inferior makes my cunt twitch and shuts up my stupid mind. That makes me perfectly happy.

[inf-ew]

Decision weekend!

I'm still contemplating to commit to long-term self-denial on a tight edging schedule again.

So, here's the plan: rubbing myself as stupid as possible over the weekend to prepare for an appropriate cunt-controlled frustration-fueled irrational decision.

To be honest, I feel the decision has already been made (says the gushing clenching cunt). I just need a push to get my feeble mind onboard with its abdication.