Denial & Consequences
The first edge happened around 7:40 that morning, on a hay bale in the barn, opposite our pig sty. As far as it goes, I’ve had my pants off in both better and worse places, and let me be honest - I’d far rather have my blue jeans and panties off in the barn than in a men’s restroom someplace. I’m also the kind of girl who likes to take it off. My boots and socks were about fifteen feet away, my blue jeans were around ten, and my panties were barely within reach. I was completely naked from the waist down as I laid back on the old blanket I’d thrown over the hay. It was a decent bed, which made reaching down between my spread legs that much easier. In my other hand I held my phone, the little teaser story from Master M bright on the screen.
I slowly pulled the double dildo out, feeling the thick rubber probes slide from their twinned holes. I’m not a fan of things in my ass, so it wasn’t like I was feeling this urge to masturbate much. Sure I was horny. Who wouldn’t be? I hadn’t cum in, oh… twelve hours or so? The reality was that I’d been tightly stuffed with the double dildo, front and back, since five that morning, with orders not to cum. That in itself wasn’t so bad, but I’d also been told to edge three times during the day. Edges are all about sexual frustration. You get yourself all worked up, right to the edge of… well… climax. Then you stop. Cold. Don’t step off the edge or the punishment you earn could be more than you can bear. That’s what I was told. The name of the game was denial.
Denial. It’s not just a river in Egypt you know. And if it were just a river in Egypt, my knees would be as wet as my slit. Master M had made it clear that he wanted me driven mad with denial, days of it. And the little story I was supposed to read while edging? Oh that was just a way for him to needle me, to stimulate my imagination, all with the intent of pushing me that much closer to falling off the sexual wagon as it were. Julie, the diabolical and sadistic brunette who I called Mistress was salivating at the thought that I’d mess up, explode in a burst of wetness and moans, leaving her free to inflict some rather serious punishments upon my person. All of that meant that I was toeing a number of fine lines; the edge of a cliff as it were, between denial and release, between Master M’s desire to drive me bonkers with need, and Julie’s want to have me bound open, ready for the whip, or God only knows what other implements of sexual torture she had waiting.
With the double dildo in my right hand I drew it out slowly then pushed it back in. My eyes went to the screen of the phone and began reading, a sentence per thrust. The story was good enough. Not very long though. But good nonetheless. It was about a cute little submissive called “Snowflake” who was stretched tightly, naked and vulnerable, between two palm trees, the rushing sea and morning sky before her. She’d been there all night. Her mistress approaches stripping a palm frond of its green, leaving just the vein.
And the snowflake is whipped.
It’s a razor, leaving long, shallow cuts all over her rump, then breasts, then sex. And while all this was going on, pictured vividly in my fertile imagination, I was slowly, deeply, thoroughly driving that double dildo in and out of my own soaked slit and ass, imagining what it might be like to be there, held taught like that, cut over and over, my own skin treated to the light, ice like marks that whip would leave. One of my friends, another sub with the Society of the Golden Rose, is covered with those kind of marks. Her former mistress, a woman named Danielle, had a flogger with little bits of metal woven into the strands. According to Alissa, it frequently left her bleeding, even after light strokes. Kari and I stole it when we got Alissa out of Danielle’s place and it was locked up tight and I think Kari might have even thrown it away. But I have to admit a certain sick fascination. Just what would that really feel like?
The story ended. It just wasn’t long enough and even though I felt the urge to cum, I wasn’t quite there. I pumped more until I felt the blossom of orgasm, but a single hard thrust, ramming the double dildo in, then going for my panties and jeans to keep the thick rubbed probes buried deep and tight, was enough to stimmy the urge. I put on my socks and boots and stood, feeling the twin phalli move within me.
With a deep breath I tried not to think about what I was doing. There was a pressure now that hadn’t been there before, a sort of simmering beneath the surface. Next edge? Around noon…
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