Terry Pratchett said it: “It’s still magic, even if you know how it’s done.”
But while I think I understand how you do what you do to me, I don’t really know. And even if I did it would still be magic. Because, well… it’s you.
It’s you that has caused me to be sitting here, typing in a puddle of my own arousal. Banned from touching myself until you say otherwise. Without your input and control I can go days, even weeks without thinking about release. However, as soon as you pick up the reins and tell me “no” I want to. I need to.
I won’t, of course.
I wouldn’t give you that control over me if I was going to wilfully disobey you. But the struggle is very real. My downstairs toy bag taunts me as I sit, trying to work, trying to ignore the sensations that spread outwards from my attention seeking cunt. “Go on N, you know you want to” my clit and bag cry in unison. My brain is on high alert this week, controlling the internal dialogue.
It is funny to me, and I am laughing at myself.
As I type out yet another email communicating my discomfort I hope you are not annoyed to hear from me. That you see it for what it is. Me poking fun at myself: whiny, needy and brazen in my desires, yet focused on the task in hand. Or not in hand, as is currently the case.
To NOT touch myself.
Everywhere I look there is suggestive content. Blog posts, my spotify randomly throwing out tunes to torment, random GIFs from kinky friends, even Facebook conspires against me. I have cleaned my home, marched around town under the stars, gone to bed early. And still the aching, burning, slutty craving grows. This morning I woke from a dream where I was kneeling at your feet, arms tied behind my back, you just out of reach of my lips. I rarely recall dreams these days, but this morning I am roused with an approaching orgasm. The images etched inside my eyelids for the rest of the day.
No touching. No release. No, N, just NO!
I wonder how I will be tomorrow.
And the next day.
And the day after that.
Is there an off switch?
Yes. You giving me back control of my orgasms.
Do I want it? No Sir, absolutely not.
You own me, and my pleasure is yours to do with as you wish.
Under your magic spell is precisely where I want to be.