I’ve been mulling this over. I don’t know anything about you, so I can put it in terms that would speak uniquely to you. I am speaking from my perspective, maybe you can relate.

You’ve been making yourself orgasm for a long time. You know the best way to do it the quickest and most deliciously. Maybe a cheeky edge or two first, but then you’re cumming hard and your vision’s blurring and you’re feeling high. Maybe you’re feeling great and you’re done…or you go for a second, a third, a seventh. Then when you can barely feel your clit anymore, you clean yourself up and move onto the next thing. You’re calm, satisfied, and the queen of your castle.

Or, you’ve just finished playing with your partner. They’ve made sure to spend time on you, ensuring you can orgasm, before their time with you is done. You know that this is the right way, because your pleasure matters just as much as theirs of course. You deserve to be satisfied just as much as they do. What’s the point otherwise?

What is orgasm to you, then? Satiation, pleasure, plenty, relief, the agency to close the activity and move on with your day. What does your possession of and entitlement to orgasm give you? Equality, power, freedom, dignity, satisfaction, self possession. It means you’re deserving. It means things are fair. It means your pleasure matters and that sex was a give and take experience. If someone thought otherwise, you would say with pride, “No, of course I deserve to orgasm too. Why would it be any different for me?”

I used to be you.

If you’ve been following me for any period of time, you might know that I enjoy power exchange, but that it’s taken me a considerable amount of time to bring it from kinky escapades in bed to a lifestyle commitment. It’s always been hot as hell to me, but it’s difficult to do in practice. Why? Because it’s exceptionally difficult to hand over things you really value - things that you tie to your sense of self possession and dignity - to another person.

When someone asks to take your orgasm from you (or tells you to sacrifice it at their altar, consent pending), they’re taking those intangibles you’ve attached to it, too. That seems exaggerated but you know it’s true when your cheeks flush hot with the indignation. You feel pinpricks of fear, embarrassment, that you’re considering saying yes (or not safewording). How could I possibly agree to this?! It’s not fair!! How dare they even suggest it? I’d feel homicidal if I wasn’t allowed to cum. That unsettled feeling in your gut is right; it isn’t fair, not even one bit. Well, it wouldn’t be fair if you were equal to them, right? Maybe you’re not, come to think of it, or wouldn’t you have said no already? Are you really upset about the prospect or are you worried you wouldn’t be able to do it? Couldn’t bear it? You never considered it before as your orgasm belonged to you. Past tense. You were once the queen of your castle, but someone has moved in and said “I’ll take it from here, don’t you worry your pretty little head. Just do as I say and I will make everything better.” Your stomach flips as you find yourself saying Yes. But then you feel so good! How could you not, seeing them beam with happiness at your gift. God they seem so happy (turned on) that you’re giving this to them. They promise it will make you feel better - “I mean consider how much more explosive your release will feel when you’ve been edged a few times! And it’ll help your stamina for when we want to have sex later in the day.” That doesn’t seem too bad. It even seems reasonable. They are very pleased with you and you’re so very fond of them. You can do this! It might be fun, like a tease.

You feel your dignity being picked apart with each denial, with every single capricious “no.” An orgasm after a few edges becomes none at all by the end of sex. They orgasm, satisfied, while you ache for more. You’re frustrated, fired up. “Well I’ll probably want to fuck you later, so this will keep you nice and tense until then. When we have sex later, it’ll feel amazing.” You think about saying no, but you’ve agreed to hand over this autonomy. You’re trying to show trust in this game…It feels wrong, but for some reason it makes your cunt wet. Yes, you can’t deny it makes your cunt wet. And the reasoning is sound. The next time will feel more intense, it’s true. You are hornier and things feel better if you don’t get to follow through and cum. You assent, pushing through the brain fog you’ve been feeling more and more lately, to get back to your day. When they leave you denied like this, sometimes it’s difficult to think. They’ve said it’s okay for you to edge on your own, just not cum. In fact they encourage it! It’s good practice. Maybe a few edges will help clear the fog. Maybe. Did it help? Not sure. Maybe a few more will help. Yes, later the sex and the orgasm are AMAZING. They were so right. So so right. Silly you for not trusting their guidance on this.

You notice, edged out and frustrated, that it’s been a few days since they’ve let you finish. In fact, they used to let you rub and cum when you gave head, as a give and take, but now they said you could only edge! What is this? You feel like you’re going crazy. (And edging yourself out a few times a day to try to stop the aching is not seeming to help.) You tell them that it’s been nearly a week without relief. They smile and pull you into an embrace, stroking your hair. “Of course there’s been relief, I’ve finished lots of times thanks to your fantastic mouth and cunt. Silly. Fucking you is perfection, especially with your new training. I’m so lucky to have you. You’re so pent up that you do such an amazing job. Your cunt is so wet every time I want to fuck you and your head skills are getting even better. I’m so proud of your progress; the longer you’re denied, the better you get! I’m so satisfied, I’ve never been more satisfied.” You glow with the praise. How could you not? You’re so deeply fond of them, maybe you can manage a little while longer. You won’t give up!

It’s been weeks since you’ve last orgasmed. Maybe a month? You’re edging every day now. You can’t help it. You feel the high of sexual tension throbbing at the back of your mind all the time, sometimes bullying out critical thought. Your mind is foggy but it’s comforting somehow. The only issue is the hunger. You feed it more and more sexual depravity but the hunger doesn’t fade, it gets stronger. The hunger sends you to their side, begging. For what? Anything. You hang onto every word. They’re holding your orgasm for you, they’ve been making you better. Maybe they’ll help you. You can follow their lead, even if they make your status lower and lower. Their smiles reflect onto your face. You’re so glad you could please them like this, as you tell them you’ve been edging again today. This turns them on. They decide to use your body to cum, right then and there. They don’t want to pay attention to you at all, though, they just want to relax and masturbate using you - that’s alright isn’t it? I mean you’re not going to cum anyway. It’s just like them jerking off but you’re helping! You’re so helpful. They’ll just watch some porn and enjoy. You find yourself nodding, swallowing the tiny stash of pride you kept hidden away in case of emergencies. They finish. It feeds your hunger, it makes them happy. But the ache remains between your legs.

It’s been months now. You’re enjoying a gentle moment of intimacy. They’re stroking your hair, giving your body a sweet gentle massage. Every nerve ending is lit up with tension; you feel your cunt start to ache and drip just from their touch in desperate hope for stimulation. Their happiness these last few months has filled you with satisfaction, the satisfaction you’ve been missing from orgasm. That’s such an empty place inside you, willing and waiting to be filled to the brim with their satisfaction in your progress. You’re wishing to do more, to be more for them, to get that dose of their praise and fulfillment. You find yourself wishing they’d use you, just so you could feel something and bring them relief. Relief. Relief. Desperate to create relief, if not for you then for them. That’s enough, that’s the same thing isn’t it? It’s the same thing. Their pleasure is your pleasure. God. Please. You find yourself nuzzling at their crotch, drool starting to pool in your mouth, you look up at them with vacant eyes, brain hopelessly cloaked in fog. They allow you to serve. Their satisfaction pours into you, filling that endless pit they created. But you don’t suffer the lack of dignity anymore, you savor it. You just wonder what more you can do next.