The Fall and Redemption

The ichthyologist called me the night before his surgery. We hadn't talked on the phone in several days and I took full advantage of having him on the phone. I took the opportunity to masturbate while he listened.

Now, on the two previous occasions he has insisted that I ask his permission before I cum. This time, no such stipulation was made. So, when I came, I came hard and I was a bit upset with myself when he told me I had made a mistake. I had not asked his permission.

I apologized, of course, and we clarified that the expectation is that any time it is possible to seek his permission (i.e. we are on the phone), I must. The ichthyologist expressed his regret that I was not physically present for him to punish me. Frankly, I rather think I'm lucky I didn't have a spontaneous orgasm at this point, as thoughts of him turning me over his knee to spank me before finger fucking me flooded my mind.

I told him if he could come up with a punishment I could manage myself from afar, I would HAPPILY comply. So, he took all of my orgasms away from me until such a time as he chose to release me from my punishment.

"May I still masturbate?" I asked him.

"So long as you don't cum. Though, honestly, I do not know why you'd do that to yourself," he said to me.

"Because the psychological pleasure I derive from needing to orgasm and denying myself because I don't have your permission to do so is even greater than the physical pleasure of release," I replied honestly.

Having established these expectations, I said, "Will you say it to me?" He knew exactly what "it" was, exactly what I wanted, even needed to hear him say.

"You didn't ask permission," he replied. "So, no. Not tonight."

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. This was devastating. I never imagined anything could hurt so much; especially something so small and seemingly insignificant.

"Can we have a timeout?" I asked.

"Yeah," he responded.

"And go to a completely different place?"

"Sure."

"We're playing, right? This is just play?" I asked him.

"Yes, of course," he said. "Did I hurt your feelings?" he asked, concern clearly lacing his voice.

"No," I told him. "I'm feeling something but I can't quite figure it out and I just needed some context. I like playing with you, Ichthy. I just needed to verify that that's what this is."

"I like playing with you, too," he said. "Tonight, I'll say this: most of the time, you are a good girl." We returned to play space. I am not satisfied, but I accept this concession as more than can be reasonably expected in these circumstances.

We say goodnight and though I know it's play and though I enjoy it, somewhere deep inside, I fear I have truly disappointed him and I ache at being denied his words of approval this evening.

I struggle not to cry that night, lying in my bed. I have his words in his voice save as an audio file. I could always just git to myself, but it's not the same and I refuse to use it that way. I refuse to undermine his decision in our play and I refuse to feel even more disappointment in accepting something so much less than what I ache for.

The next morning is his surgery. I send him an extra special greeting. I check in on social media and let him know I'm happy to see he's indicated he's doing well post-surgery. He is resting well and taking it easy.

Saturday dawns early and I take some time to myself. Eventually, I ask him if I may share my morning with him. "Please!" he responds.

I send him a series of pictures of my genitals as I had begun masturbating, when I had begun to finger fuck myself, the final moments when my pussy was so we and so engorged I thought I'd die.

"I'm not sure you can tell in these pics," I wrote to him, "but as I watched myself in the mirror, my pussy got wetter and wetter, and the wetter I got, the dark red my pussy - no, I'm sorry, this pussy is YOUR property - your pussy became wetter and darker red." Because this is what had been decided for our play times on Thursday night in the midst of my blissed out pre-orgasmic state - when I play with him, my pussy belongs to him!

"I absolutely LOVED bringing myself to the brink of orgasm seven times, but never crossing that line because I don't have your permission. And as I stroked my pussy - no - as I stroked YOUR pussy, this beautiful, hot, wet, lovely pussy that belongs to YOU, I ached with the need for release. Still, I stopped, I stopped touching and just looked, just watched, appreciated, and delighted in this pussy that is yours, before stroking it again until my arms and legs began to shake and my ankles itched uncontrollably and I began to cry with need and silently plead with you, "Oh, Ichthy! PLEASE! Please let me cum again!" Finally, I had to stop stroking and simply cup your pussy with my hand to stop myself from cumming."

After I had calmed down sufficiently, I pulled out a dildo, straddled a pillow and fucked that dildo while I fantasized about riding Ichthy cowgirl, super slowly. Eventually, I switched to doggy-style and because this dildo is too large for me to comfortably accommodate in this position, I fucked myself painfully with my face in a pillow, crying from the intensity of it all. By the time I stopped I didn't know if it was because I hurt too much to continue or because I was one again too close to cumming.

By the time Ichthy got back to me, I had settled gain and was once more leisurely stroking *his* pussy.

:"That was really hot," he told me, after telling me I waas a good girl for not cumming without permission. When I told him I was stroking *his* pussy again, he asked, "Do you wish to cum this time?"

"I'm not sure yet," I respondedl. I wasn't close enough to feel a distinct need one way or the other. Three minutes later, I knew what I wanted: to please him no matter what. "Would it please you more to let me cum or to continue to deny me?" I asked.

"I believe you've earned it," he told me.

Three minutes of hard, focused clit massage later and I was on the brink, "In that case, please, Sir. May I cum?"

He granted me permission and still, it took another six minutes to push me all the way over the edge. It was the best orgasm I've ever had.

"Thank you, Sir!" I told him.

"You're welcome!"

This time, I didn't even need a "Good girl."