Confessions

It’s been a year and a half since my last confession. I’m virtually inactive, my followers are likely inactive or deactivated. Tumblr was ruined years ago and many abandoned ship But it’s time to post again.

Four years. We celebrated four years together. From the outside looking in, it seems impossible. No one expected us to last. In fact, the dominant I was with prior to meeting @halfassedstoic said he’d still be around in another six months and we could try again when things didn’t work out. But we knew. We knew as soon as we found each other that it would be forever. We knew from those first words that it was life changing.

It’s cliche but it’s true. He completes me. With him, I am whole.

All she managed in response was a sound that can only be described as half moan, half whimper.

“How long have you been edging?”

“I don’t know.” She huffed. Her eyes floated and rolled as her fingers continued to rub her swollen red clit.

Amused, he asked, “Well, when did you start?”

“2:00”

He flicked his wrist to check the time. “You’ve been edging for three hours? Straight?” Another gasp as yet another edge rocked her body. “Yeah you do want to cum. Don’t you?”

“Yes Master, please!” The hope of an orgasm brought her from the fog of edging and desperation flooded her eyes. “Please Master! Please can I cum?”

“Yeah, you want to cum.” He crooned. Of course you want cummies. Look at what a mess you are. Three hours of edging! You’ve soaked the bed beneath you. But cunts don’t cum. Do they?”

“No Master.” She pouted. Cunts don’t cum.” Her fingers fell from her dripping cunt.

“Don’t stop” he warned and gave her that look, the one that always earned immediate obedience. When her sticky fingers again returned to pleasure, he continued. “Cunts don’t cum.”

“Yes Master. Cunts don’t cum.” She repeated the mantra.

“Cunts don’t cum.” He said, his voice deep and soothing, hypnotic even.

“Cunts don’t cum.” She repeated, not yet falling into the trance, still too desperate for an orgasm.

“And what are you?”

“I’m a cunt. I’m your cunt, Master.” She whined as she let another orgasm literally slip through her fingers, dancing on the edge.

“Yes. That’s right. You’re a cunt. My cunt. Cunts don’t cum.”

“Cunts don’t cum.” She confirmed. “Cunts don’t cum. Cunts never cum. Edge only.”

“Say it again.” His voice soothing and deep.

She started to fall into his words. Soothing and deep. Deep like the fog. Falling deep into the fog. “Cunts don’t cum. Edge only.”

“Not yet. I want you desperate a little longer. Cunts don’t cum.” He pulled her back from the fog of trance, just a little. Lucid but foggy. Desperate but dropping. “My cunt, why don’t cunts cum?” He asked.

Puzzled, and wanting to fall into the bliss of trance, she didn’t know how to answer. Her fingers continued rubbing her aching clit, sliding gently into her slippery hole, spreading her arousal across her smooth lips and thighs. “Because Master said so.”

“Good cunt. Obedient cunt. But why? Why don’t cunts cum?”

He pinched and twisted her pierced nipple, and bent to flick his tongue across the other. Another edge. His lips vibrated against her nipple as he growled his pleasure while she shook in frustration as the edge consumed her. As she edged, his pleasured moans competing against hers caught her attention.

He stood straight but continued to pinch and twist her nipples. She saw his cock growing hard in his pants, pressed against his zipper, and she knew. “Cunt edges for Master. Cunt edges in devotion to Master.”

“Yesss!” He sighed and freed his cock, taking it in hand and stroking it before her. “Every edge is an offering to me, your Master. Edge for me, my cunt.”

“Cunts don’t cum.” She said again in desperation. Her fingers barely even grazing her sensitive, desperate clit to another edge.

“Cunts don’t cum.” He repeated, his voice soothing and hypnotic again. Taking her down into the fog. “Cunts don’t cum. Edge for Master.” He continued to stroke his cock, pumping his hand rhythmically to his words.

“Cunts don’t cum. Edge for Master. Edge forever.” She embraced the fog. Embraced each edge. Welcomed the waves of escaping pleasure as a sacrifice to her Owner, her Master, the love of her life. The fog of trance swirling with his words, as she fell deeper into her own arousal. Each edge taking her deeper.

He stroked himself to the orgasm she wouldn’t have. His own sticky cum spilled from his cock, landing on her sticky fingers at her cunt as they brought on yet another edge. She continued to repeat his words. “Cunts don’t cum. Edge for Master. Edge forever.”

Sated, he slowly brought her out of the fog. Lifting her gently from trance. Counting up to clear the smoke, breathing deeply to think clearly. As the mists of trance disappeared, the ache in her denied cunt intensified. With her mind clouded only by the intense need to orgasm, the trance fully behind her, his fingers joined hers, dancing across her clit, plunging deep inside her, mixing his cum with her sticky arousal. He asked again, “Do you want to cum, my cunt?”

I did my 100 edges. An ultra marathon of arousal paired with the ache of never. I thought I would lose my mind. And I wasn’t wrong.

I was still mostly lucid at sixty edges. But on the seventieth edge, my eyes rolled to the back of my head and in rushed the fog. Master started saying such sweet trancey things to me, calling me all of his lovely pet names. Each new edge ushered in a new wave of mist, blurring unnecessary thoughts into the haze. Each edge an offering to Master, strengthening my submission to him.

When I reached the eightieth edge the fog was thick and sticky and it was difficult to form new thoughts. I knew if I didn’t take a break the edging would break me. I wrote confession cxxviii with one hand while the other lazily traced the swollen, wet lips of my cunt. Master continued with the lovely pet names. “My cunt, my slave, my fucktoy, my property.” I told him I was foggy. He said that was good because property didn’t need a mind. Property didn’t need to think. And with that my mind slowly started to drip out my mouth.

Drip drip. Another edge. More fog. Sticky thoughts. Drip drip. Hard to count. Another edge. No thoughts. Drip drip. Mind empty. Only fog. Another edge. 100. Broken.

I don’t remember much from 80 to 100. My mind was so numb with the thick fog of trance that only comes with 100 edges. But I made it. I did it.

“Kneel” he said. And I clumsily obeyed, my mind still dripping from my mouth onto my tits, making more room for the fog. And then I felt it. Hands resting on my thighs, I was overcome with another edge this one without even touching my overstimulated cunt. I cried out, surprised. Just then the wind came through the window and whispered over my swollen clit and sent me to the edge again. Only a minute later the air conditioning stirred the air around me and again I edged without touching. Confused, I asked Master if it was his trance causing these touchless edges and he said it was my body rewriting itself, each edge sealing my submission to him, my Owner.

One hundred edges. That is my task.

I had 18 hours but I slept 8 of them away.

People define an edge in different ways, but for us and for this task an edge is getting to the very brink of orgasm where just one more touch would give me the pleasure I seek. But instead, in my desire to obey, I pull my hand away and my moans devolve into whimpers as the pleasure I crave literally slips through my fingers.

One hundred.

I’m 35 edges in and only 6 hours remain.

Me: Master, it has a confession. It sees us, you and your cunt, in every love story.

Sigh. I needed a break from tumblr. Sometimes I get too caught up in the blogs that I follow and tumblr becomes unhealthy for me. It sounds crazy, I know.

See, I used to follow this one blog and I loved the D/s dynamic the blog presented. The Dom was the Domliest and the sub the subbiest and I looked up to them and wanted to be them. Then that couple added another woman to their dynamic and I felt this stupid pressure from no one but myself. I spiraled into a depression because I compared our relationship to theirs and thought that if they could make a threesome work then I was failing if I wasn’t willing to do the same. And I wasn’t. So I took a break from Tumblr so Tumblr wouldn’t break me.

Another blog I adored was deactivated by the owner of the blog after her Dominant partner was in a bad accident. I spiraled then too. Her relationship was so similar to the one I have with Master. She was living the realization of my own worst fears. It wasn’t my realization, it was hers. But I knew her. Like, you know, Tumblr knew her. But that’s pretty deep. Here we write and share our thoughts, our experiences, our secrets. Here we open up to complete strangers who sometimes become better friends than the friends we have coffee with each Sunday. Friends who don’t know our names but know our bedroom secrets instead. And those are good friends. And even if they don’t know we are friends, we are. That sounds weird and creepy and stalkerish. But if you ever had a post of yours liked or reblogged, then you know it’s true. That person liked you. They knew you. They connected with you. And you do it too when you like a bloggers original writing or reblog their original content to give them exposure. Any way, I’m off track. I knew this blogger because I followed her for many moons and interacted with her blog and with her personally and I was devastated for her and what she was going through and terrified it could happen to me. So I took a break. Master said I needed it.

I write a post and it gets a like (it was Master who liked it). I blog some naughty photos of my ass, my tits, even my cunt, and I get 5 notes (two of them from Master liking and reblogging). The 0.6% blogger interaction rate kills my self esteem. What good are all those damn followers if they don’t actually like my content?! So I take a break. And I want to leave Tumblr. And Master encourages the break but won’t let me abandon ship.

And then there was the time when the blog that started me on my tumblr journey was shadowbanned and I knew it was the beginning of the end and I panicked. I googled a thing and it led me to the blog and I needed an account to interact so I made a tumblr and I started writing and I got some followers and I found Master. Or maybe he found me. But that happened because we found a place to find each other. That’s why Master wouldn’t let me delete my blog. My blog is what made us. And what made us better by sharing our kinks, sharing posts, sharing information. And it all started with that blog. And it was slowly disappearing. And what would happen to us now? What about the other blogs we followed and shared with each other. And after them, would we be next? We with our self made content and our measly 800 followers? So I took a break so Tumblr couldn’t break me.

My most recent Tumblr break was brought on by some real life challenges that required my attention. And I wasn’t ready to come back. But I had to. Because it I don’t come back now for these final days, I’ll never get to see my friends again. You don’t know we are friends. But we are. I laugh with you. I cry with you. I tell you my secrets. You keep them safe. You give me advice. You tell me stories. I share my fantasies. I make myself vulnerable to you, my stranger Internet friends. And I wish we could be BFFs but I don’t know your name. I don’t know where you’ll go. I don’t know where I’ll go. I don’t know how I’ll get your amazing advice. I don’t know who I’ll tell my secrets to. I don’t know how you’ll lift me up when I am down if I can’t find you.

I’m sad and I’m scared.

It’s the little things Master does to remind me of my place that I love the most.

Master allows only one solid meal a day. My breakfast and lunch are liquid meal replacements. Although they are complete, balanced nutrition full of enough calories and nutrients and a good balance of macros, they are flavorless and joyless to eat. I hate them. And yet, I love them because it reminds me of my place and of his control.

Sometimes Master requires that I sleep at the foot of the bed, at his feet. It’s awkward and the blankets don’t cover me properly and I sleep poorly. But I love the act of submission and obedience of sleeping there for no other reason than because he said so.

There’s been times when I’m not allowed to use the toilet at home. I squat in the tub, or head outside in the dark with the dogs. It’s not that I want to be humiliated by having my bathroom privileges controlled, but I feel his love and understand my place most when my cheeks are red with embarrassment.

I have a special burlap blanket I use when Master decides. It’s not a punishment. It’s certainly not a reward. It’s used when Master decides. It’s stiff and itchy and yet I feel cherished and close to Master when I’m wrapped in it.

Tonight I will sleep on the floor. Again, it’s not a punishment, it’s simply because it’s what he’s decided. The floor is uncomfortable and I doubt I’ll sleep a wink, and yet I’m excited because being on the floor reminds me of my place and that I am owned and loved.

It’s difficult to explain how I can dislike and yet be so grateful for something at the same time. Why I enjoy something I hate and why I shudder in disgust and discomfort as I smile and express my gratitude.

I met @halfassedstoic a year and a half ago. We clicked right away and when we made our relationship and our dynamic official, he said it would be forever. He said he wasn’t going anywhere. He said he wasn’t letting go.

And then something happened. I expected Master to drift away. I expected him to realize I no longer had a place in his life. I expected him to push me away. What I didn’t expect is what actually happened. We grew closer, our love deeper, our desire exponentiated.

And then something else happened. And I played these scenarios in my mind where his feelings for me changed; his love turned to venom and his desire into blame. And those nightmares melted away as reality played out instead; he claimed me and used me and my soul felt complete.

And then something else happened. And I realized he absolutely meant what he said. We are forever. He isn’t going anywhere. He isn’t letting go.

I remember attending a sex toy party years ago. They talked about the different types of orgasms one could have. There were only three types, namely clitoral, vaginal, and g-spot. I was surprised anal wasn’t on the list. I loved anal sex, but since I was attending the party with my sister, and I was still somewhat sexually repressed, I didn’t dare speak up and ask about anal orgasms as a possibility. I just accepted the truth that, in its omission from the list of orgasm types, anal orgasms weren’t a thing.

Fast forward to now. Before I found @halfassedstoic, as much as I enjoyed being fucked in the ass, I never was able to climax from it. Within a few months of our relationship, with a little help from hypnosis and a lot of help from edging and denial, I was able to reach an anal orgasm.

Master has me on no touch. But I did a dumb thing and scrolled tumblr. I was horny beyond belief and dying to edge. So I did what any desperate, intelligently devious, denied cunt would do. I fucked my ass. I’m not allowed to cum without his permission, obviously, but the edges I got from fucking my ass, leaving my cunt untouched, were pretty fucking amazing.

The anal edges took the edge off of no touch.

Clear minded and more focused are not really any of the symptoms I experience from days of tease and denial. The truth is, Master rarely denies me. There have been two times in our relationship where he decided to deny me for an extended period of time. One time last year I was denied for about 12 days, most of which were “endless edging” days (this is a fun tag to explore on my blog if you haven’t already). I didn’t read, I didn’t play games on my phone, I didn’t watch tv, the only way I had to kill time was to edge. I edged hundreds of times. I edged for hours and hours every day. And I was so far from clear minded by the end of it. Physically, I felt dizzy and it was difficult to see, my muscles were sore, I was physically exhausted, and that doesn’t even touch on the emotional symptoms which left me incredibly needy and easily upset. I cried many of these days.

Another, more recent period of denial, went a bit longer. I can’t remember exactly, but I think it was closer to 16 or 17 days. Endless edging was not required, but daily edging was. I wasn’t as physically exhausted but I was definitely more easily frustrated and I was certainly very sassy and grumpy with Master. During this time, since tease and denial weren’t the main focus of our lives, you could perhaps says it was easier for me to be able to focus on non-kink related things, however I don’t feel being “more focused” was a result of the tease and denial.

Master is busy working today but he knew I was feeling needy and Master always takes care of me. He set up the trance and soon I was fucking my intelligence away with a big fat dildo. Every edge made me dumber and hornier and happier and sillier. I was giggly and simple minded.

I continued to fuck and edge and beg for cummies. Master worked and watched and smiled and said no. So I edged some more and begged some more. And every time he said no I’d pout until the edge passed and then giggle as more intelligence eeked away and more silliness filled the space.

Master said he wanted to see my tits so I awkwardly pulled them out of my top and sucked on a nipple until he was satisfied and he continued to work. Then he let me keep fucking and edging and devolving into a silly bimbo.

Then my simple mind had a bright idea and I shared it with Master. “Like, what if I took off my shirt so you could see my tits?” I was so proud of my ingenuity. Master agreed it was a fantastic idea. Now I could fuck my mind silly AND he could see my tits at the same time!

Master was so proud of my idea that soon after I took my top off and he got to see my tits bounce with each thrust of the dildo, he said i could get my cummies when I reached 1000 edges. But I pouted and told him I couldn’t count that high. He said it was okay because I was only one edge away (dumb bimbos believe anything you say). Just one more edge and I could have cummies.

There have been hundreds of times I have orgasmed and dropped into trance. Dozens more where I orgasmed my intelligence away and dropped into simple minded bliss. But never have I orgasmed and felt my intelligence return as I emerged from trance. That was its own kind of bliss.