Who would have thought I’d make it this far, it’s been eight weeks of holding myself in strict restraint, eight long weeks of denial.
My cunt still throbs nonstop, swollen and wet, wet for him. Thoughts of his cock fill my head every hour. I stay obedient. No touching. No edging without his permission. Struggles hit hard at first, tears and desperate clenching. Then acceptance settles in deep.
The early days were brutal, shaking, crying, bargaining, anger even, fighting every instinct. Eight weeks in the fight softened into something else, a strange, heavy acceptance. This kind of restraint settles into your bones. It becomes a state of being. And now, I’ve started craving the moment I’m finally allowed to cum, not just for the release itself, but for the relief of earning it. Pleasure isn’t for me, it should never be my pleasure. The frustration builds so strong and I’ll beg, turning into nothing more than a truly denied mess.
With permission, I push myself right to the edge and stop, even when it feels impossible, even when I’m overwhelmed and frustrated. People who live in denial don’t get uncomplicated comfort. Nothing is simple. Nothing is free. The tension builds until I’m a mess of pleading thoughts and frayed nerves.
When I edge, I become a version of myself I barely recognise, my most filthy and depraved self emerges.
Lately I’m afraid of even approaching the edge, because the resistance required not to break is enormous, and I worry I’ll fail.
Many times I slip into a place where it feels like he doesn’t want me, or that he’s pulling away, that he hates me or even punishing me. I know that isn’t true, but it’s part of the denial stage, that shaky moment where doubt gets louder than reality. It’s hard to tell my brain to stop these thoughts, and when I’m in that space I need more reassurance and clearer communication to move through it from him. To be told I’m his, that he misses me and craves me more when I’m denied. It may appear needy even to the point that I’m annoying but I get overwhelmed and fear abandonment.
But then comes the strangest part, a new phase where you realise you want the denial more than to cum. As twisted as it sounds, there’s a kind of peace in it, a quiet place inside the chaos of everything else in my life.
I’ve posted the below before, but it still feels like the perfect way to describe the five stages of denial:
• Denial hits first~ “No. Not yet, edge only ” The moment that starts the denial.
• Anger follows ~ Silent screams fill my head. The meltdown. The disbelief.
• Bargaining starts ~ I negotiate. I plead. I beg to cum.
• Depression kicks in ~ Defeat sinks heavy. That long defeated exhale.
• Acceptance ~ Resigned breath. The “fine” the “you know best”. The waiting for the day l can cum.
This denial owns every inch of me. I crave the day he finally allows release, when I can cum hard and grateful for him.
