Pleasure not Peak

The rules the tonight were clear. I was to masturbate, but I was not allowed to orgasm. There was no specific timeframe provided, only that I had to masturbate long enough to feel sexual frustration.

And I did. Five times I got to the very edge and backed off, stopped all activity. On the fifth round, I felt the spasm of an orgasm and knew I had lost sight of the line between almost and there.

Two rather extraordinary things happened during that night’s play:

1. I came to realize that basically all of my masturbatory fantasies involve me begging a nameless, faceless man to penetrate me; and dildos simply are NOT the same
2. There was as much emotional and psychological pleasure in the act of denying myself orgasm as I often experience in denying myself food.

This first, of course, had me thinking that I was right where I wanted to be and this experience was as good as I felt and believed it to be.

The second had me pondering a number of things from the early desert mystics, the ascetics, who experience ecstasy, albeit religious, in their lifestyle of self-denial and self-flagellation. It brought home more powerfully the sacred nature of sex and intimacy for me.

It also had me wondering what is about the denial of physical pleasure that is such a powerful source of emotional satisfaction to me.

Because the focus of our play this night was on pleasure (orgasm-denied), I was able to experience masturbation in a completely different way. There was none of the straining anxiety to reach my peak. As my desire built, knowing that I could not have an orgasm allowed me to shift my focus and touch, to continue enjoying the pleasurable sensations without building to the point that demands release - at least initially. Once I reached that point and backed away, the game of pushing the limit and retreating that ensued was so incredibly gratifying.

This was also the point at which my partner asked, quite politely, for a full body shot of me in the black lace panties I had purchased that day. They were labeled “tanga” but honestly are constructed more like cheeky style panties. And thigh high stockings if I have them. And I do. With a seam up the back and lace tops. All I needed at this point, I thought, was a black garter… But I feared that would interfere with his enjoyment of the panties. He also informed me that the next day I would not be wearing panties.

This made me hot.