I’ve been at a dog/housesit for the few days, which ends Monday morning. Again, I’m separated from W and Ad for the duration, but we’ve been utilizing a variety of methods and tools to stay in touch and connected, as we have in the past, and it seems to be going as smoothly as possible. I’ll never enjoy a long-distance relationship, but I’m not going crazy (much) when I am apart from them anymore, which is a definite step in the right direction.
Inspired by the Kink of the Week on the same topic, W decided to institute a new game into our long-distance interactions: orgasm control. It’s not something we have done in the past to any great degree – at least the parts that include orgasm denial or asking for permission. He’s played with me with forced orgasm a lot, especially in the beginning of our relationship, making me come so much that I ended up with a tender pussy and sore stomach muscles, begging him to stop. This week, however, he’s been playing with telling me when I can come – and when I can’t. It’s been an interesting experiment so far, and, just as I had anticipated when he first suggested it, I have felt much closer to him this week than I have when we haven’t played some kind of dominance games while we are apart.
Viva la orgasm denial!
Oh wait, I don’t mean that, especially as I am horny as fuck right now and have been told “No O” today. But…yes, there are some things I like about it – even being told “no.”
Before I left for the dogsit I sent W a photo of the sex toys I had handy, in case he wanted me to bring any of them with me. (I had already been told to bring my tit collars and the black buttplug I had (won with this entry to a Sinful Sunday contest):
These were the choices he made:
I got an email the first morning I was at the dogsit:
“Today’s assignment is forced orgasms assisted by the wood probe between 5 – 10 PM. One mandatory – but upper limit not specified. Enjoy – none tomorrow.”
I was a little confused by this instruction and his use of the word “forced.” Did he mean I was to fuck myself for five hours using the dildo, forcing myself to come as many times as possible during that time? (He hadn’t told me I could use Baldy (my Hitachi) or my fingers, so I had no idea if that was permitted, but I knew that I couldn’t come with a dildo alone.) Or were there going to be further, clarifying instructions, such as times during those five hours when he would specify I had to fuck myself with the dildo, or was required to masturbate to an orgasm?
I probably should have asked for clarification at that point, but since this was our first attempt at this kind of play I didn’t want to sound like I was asking for micromanagement, which he dislikes doing – or worse, make him decide it wasn’t any fun. Just the fact that he was giving me instructions at all was a delightful circumstance, and I didn’t want to foul things up by making him feel I was questioning everything he said.
In the end I decided that I was placing too much emphasis on the word “forced.” (I really can overthink things.) I decided that this was simply his directive regarding when and how I was allowed to have an orgasm, with a requirement of having at least one. As it was, I almost managed to screw even that up (or my dogsit charge almost did.) It was my first night with her and she was anxious and difficult to deal with, so I didn’t get a chance to relax and “take care of myself” until it was almost too late.
I did it though – got my orgasm in just under the wire at 9:50 pm, in bed with the dog snoring next to me, with Baldy (which I had made an executive decision to use) and the wooden dildo.
Oddly, though the orgasm itself wasn’t as satisfying as I might have hoped (couldn’t quite get into the right headspace with the dog anxiety) two things during this playtime were very hot for me. One was while I was at the grocers that afternoon getting my food for the week. I was on the phone with W when he suddenly said, “You’re in your window of time for your orgasms.” His words sent a little jolt through me and I felt a moment of panic – and a throbbing between my legs. It wasn’t the thought of an orgasm that excited me – it was hearing him reinforce his earlier dictate, and the knowledge that he was thinking about it and reinforcing it.
It was almost as good as if it had been “forced.”
The other moment came after I had my orgasm. I got out of bed to clean up and put away my toys, and as I stood there in a stranger’s house, holding a dildo in one hand and Hitachi in the other, I had a queer flashback to feeling like a rebellious teenager, after having had sex in my parent’s house. I haven’t felt like that – transgressive in a very particularly “bad girl” way – in a long time. This feeling was reinforced moments later when I reported to W that deed was done. He hadn’t instructed me to, but I knew it would instill a slight feeling of embarrassment in me (a feeling I rather enjoy) to “admit” I’d been masturbating. (I know, topping myself a bit, but I’m not above finding my own pleasure at times.)
So, while it wasn’t a touchdown of a start, it wasn’t a failure, either, and I was looking forward to what the next day would bring.
If you’d like to read the rest of the experiment’s posts, here they are (as I post them):
Day 2: “3 minutes, no ‘O’“