Denial A New Journey

Life is hard. When I come home after a long day at work and I'm tired and grumpy and frustrated with people, all I want is for my woman to bring me some positivity, to cheer me up, to give me some faith in humanity again.

... and there you are, all smiles, as soon as I open the door. You rush into my arms and you press into me. You look so happy to see me, you

are

so happy to see me, and as I hold you tight and gently kiss your lips, my bad mood dissipates already. My baby girl is here for me, and wants to take good care of me. You're so energetic and enthusiastic and cheerful and loving, and that warms my heart. Oh, I know that it is - in a large part - a ploy to goad me into finally letting you cum tonight, and you know that I know, but we both enjoy that little game a lot. I can't get enough of the affection you're giving me, I find it so wonderful, I find

you

so wonderful, even though I'm not saying it too often because you might get greedy or disobedient or think I'm sappy. I

am

, in fact, a sensitive man; but I keep it to myself most of the time.

I think of the strong, powerful, independent woman that you are outside. You navigate life like a boss, you seem so confident and self-assured, you walk with your head high and you don't take any bullshit. And I respect and love that so much, and I smile, because I know where your power comes from, and I love connecting you with that power. Tonight, we're celebrating it again: we're making you feel like a woman, fully in touch with your femininity, with no hangups and no pretense; we're letting your slutty, submissive, desperate side come out and take the spotlight.

I have always wanted the best things for my partners, I have always wanted to make them happy - because if not, what's the point of being together, right? And I'm a nurturer at heart: I love taking care of my baby girl, making her feel good and safe and contented.

Before I met you, I used to think the best way to make my partner happy in bed was to give her lots of orgasms. And that's what I did at first. We would be slowly making out, I would tease you, gently nibbling at your neck, tracing lines over your body with my hands, cupping your wonderful breasts, kissing you, testing the wetness of your pussy with my fingers and softly caressing your clit for a second, then removing my hand, to increase the anticipation. And when you were ready, I would make my way down, starting by kissing your lips, then every inch of your body, your neck, your chest, your belly, your mound, until I reached your other lips. There, I would grab your ass with my hands, bury my head between your thighs, and use my lips and tongue on your clit and labia, feeling your reactions and adjusting my moves, sometimes going faster, sometimes slowing down to drive you wild, then diving in again on the right spot and staying there until you screamed and shook in pleasure and I could feel your contractions under my mouth; then I would slow down, then stop, and lay my head on your belly while you caught your breath.

Sometimes, you indicated that you could cum again, and we would do it again, and again, until you were a shaking, leaking, panting mess.

It was good. It made me rock hard, every single time, and I loved it.

But it wasn't perfect.

After you had cum, you were not as motivated as before. When it was time for

me

to cum, of course you would be with me, of course you wanted to give me pleasure and take my cum, but there wasn't that unbridled lust and hunger. Your hips weren't bucking wildly, uncontrollably, against me; your nails weren't leaving marks on my back; your kisses weren't as frenzied as they were before. Before I finished, you were already, slowly, coming down, and not

entirely

there anymore. And when we were done, you would be uninterested in sex for

at least

a day, often more.

In a way, without even realizing it, you were taking me for granted, baby girl, and subconsciously, you were mistaking my giving nature for weakness. That would not do. That would not do at all.

Over a period of several weeks, I started to tease you a little more, progressively delaying gratification. When you were about to cum, I would stop, and hear you moan in frustration; I would let the tension fall down a little, then resume my caresses. I know exactly where your edge is, baby girl, and I would get you closer and closer every time. You hated it at first, and you were whimpering and whining and protesting and bitching, but I did not relent; and the more you protested, the more I delayed your orgasm. At some point, you were being particularly bratty, and I slapped your ass; that seemed to make you understand. I would always make you cum, but you just had to accept that it was on my terms; eventually, you stopped bitching and started pleading instead, implicitly acknowledging that I was the one in control. That was a serious improvement, and you did not have to wait too long for your orgasm that day.

And then, one time, I was particularly horny, and eating your delicious pussy and hearing your soft moans and whimpers was getting me all worked up; you were able to sustain quite a few edges by then, and we had been at it for a while. I needed to receive attention.

So I brought you to the edge with my mouth, and kept you there, and this time I made it

last

, longer than ever before. You were panting and moaning and writhing and sweating, you were such a beautiful and sexy mess. My dick twitched, and while you were teetering on the edge, I got up and straddled you, my dick right in front of your face, and I pinned your arms above your head. Like an animal in heat, driven by pure lust and desperation, you instinctively opened your mouth wide and stuck out your tongue, inviting me, so I stuck my dick in your mouth and you started sucking it wantonly, and as I fucked your mouth, that one stimulation was too much for you, and you came.

It was extraordinary. Your empty pussy was desperately twitching and contracting behind me; your hips and legs were out of control, you were kicking the air wildly and bucking your hips for an attempt at stimulation, but you couldn't move since I was straddling your chest and pinning your arms; and you would have been screaming hadn't you had a dick in your mouth, but judging by how fast you were working on it, you clearly didn't want to let it go. The sight, and the feeling of your lips and tongue on my sensitive cock brought me over the edge, and while you were still in the throes of your ruin, I shuddered and sent several streams of cum directly down your throat. How you managed to avoid choking, I have no idea, but you did - you swallowed it all, breathing furiously through your nose. Then I withdrew and laid down next to you, and took you in my arms. You were shaking and panting and crying a little, and put a hand on your poor clit, trying to rub it, but I gently took that hand away and put it on my shoulder, and you didn't resist. Then I held you tight, comforting you, caressing your hair, cupping your face, and planting small kisses on it. It's okay, baby girl, I said. It's okay.

Honestly, I half expected you to be pretty mad at me for ruining your orgasm - but I had severely underestimated you. Instead of being mad, you looked into my eyes, and I will never forget that look you gave me. It was a mixture of love, longing, a hefty dose of sadness and regret for the wasted orgasm, but also acceptance, submissiveness, and a pinch of something like wonder, the shock and surprise of discovering you were reacting that way, of having maybe unlocked something, what is this? do I want to explore this? what does that make me? am I normal? am I broken? am I a slut?

And then you licked your lips and opened your mouth, showing me there was still a good amount of semen remaining on your tongue, then you closed your mouth and swallowed with a loud gulp while looking me straight in the eyes. And you put your head on my chest, and this is what you finally said:

"I'm sorry for cumming without permission."

That's when I knew I was with the right girl.

After that day, things went pretty fast.

I stopped focusing on your orgasms as a goal. The first night, I did not eat you out. After some heavy making out and petting, when you were ready and dripping, I laid you on your back and fucked your pussy, still listening to your reactions, but moving in ways that would maximize

my

pleasure - and soon, lost in your scent, in the touch of your skin, in the sight of your naked body under me, I came in you, grunting, flooding your wet pussy with ropes and ropes of thick semen. Then I slowed down, then stopped, catching my breath, and with a smile of contentment, still in you, I gently kissed your chest, and your neck, and looked at you. "That was wonderful, baby girl", I said - then I withdrew and lay down on my back next to you, holding your hand, letting my heartbeat slow down to a normal rhythm. You were still panting, shaking as if I was still on top of you, and you looked at me with a pleading expression that revealed that despite what you were going to say, you already knew my answer.

"I did not cum", you whispered.

"I know, baby girl. It's okay. You don't have to cum every time, you know. Don't worry, you are wonderful and I adore making love to you."

"But I would like to cum, you insisted. Please make me cum. Please."

"Shhh, babe. Stop letting that distract you, and contemplate the wonder of what we just did. We had sex exactly like nature intended. You were aroused enough for your pussy to be lubricating and able to accommodate my cock. We fucked until I released my semen in you, and you received it like the woman in heat that you are. You did exactly what you were supposed to do, and nature, in its great wisdom, made it enjoyable. Did you not enjoy it?"

"... Yes, I did, but... but..."

"Then it's all that counts, baby girl. It's all that counts. You handled it like a woman, like a queen. Like my queen. Come closer."

You curled up against me, still trembling a little, and I held you gently in my arms, letting you come back down slowly. It took some time for your breath to return to a normal rhythm, but when it did, I looked at you, and you were actually

smiling

. You were discovering new feelings, new emotions, and you were still contending with them, but you liked your new role, and were feeling

proud of yourself

. You sighed, and that sigh was an intimate mix of frustration and acceptance, a conflict that you were slowly starting to understand you lowkey enjoyed. I did not move at all, letting you calm down, myself basking in the bliss of the afterglow, and eventually, despite the turmoil in your loins, you fell asleep in my arms.

Soon, it became the norm that you would not cum. We would make love, passionately, I would make sure you were enjoying it, I would give you lots of attention as before, listening to your breathing, feeling your movements and your shivers, I would embrace you with my maleness and make you feel and understand how much pleasure you were giving me, but I would hardly ever touch your clit, or fuck you in a way that would bring you to orgasm. You would feel my dick in you, moving in and out of your pussy, and it would drive you wild, but generally that wouldn't put you on the ramp to orgasm. Sometimes, though, it did, and you let me know.

"Oh... please keep going..."

"What do you mean, baby girl? It isn't time to cum yet."

"Please... I'm going to cum..."

"Shhh, baby girl. Stop distracting me. It's so good to be in you, with you. Don't ruin the moment."

"But I won't... I promise... It won't change a thing for you... just keep doing what you're doing..."

"Of course it will, baby girl. You're going to spasm and move uncontrollably, you know you can't help it. And that's distracting. You do not have permission to cum, so now, be a good girl for me."

"Oh..."

Sometimes you would be able to hold it in, and I would see the desperation and anguish and desire in your eyes, and that would push me over the edge, and you would hold me tight, panting and struggling and trying not to cum while my dick throbbed and pulsed and shot semen deep in your pussy. It was beautiful.

Other times I saw that you would

not

be able to hold it in if I kept going, so I would withdraw, with a disappointed expression, and lie down next to you, without touching you. You would wail in frustration, but your lust and desire to please me would override it and you would immediately finish me off with your hands and mouth, you would see my cum fly out of me in spurts and I would grunt with pleasure and satisfaction, while you would only feel your unquenched arousal, pussy aching and twitching in the pain of being denied what you were seeing me experience, and then you had to come down from this unresolved high, whimpering, mewling, shivering, while I held you tight and stroked your hair, telling you it was okay, and that you were my good girl.

But once in a while, when I would be right on the edge, I would stop for a second, look into your eyes in a mischievous way, letting you build hope and anticipation - and then I would say:

"Cum, baby. Cum with me."

And resume my thrusting, and we would orgasm together, explosively, and you would scream loudly and shake under me uncontrollably and your mind would lose itself entirely in a faraway land of altered consciousness while your body was rocked by waves and waves of incredible pleasure. And right afterwards, you'd be thanking me so profusely, so intensely, so

sincerely

, catching your breath, eyes still unfocused, hair dishevelled, a sweaty, sloppy, leaking, bumbling, incoherent mess covering me with kisses and various bodily fluids, and so, so beautiful.

It wasn't often, but I made these times

count

. And it was a so much better dynamic than what we had before. I had learned the value of quality over quantity, and so had you.

The best part of all this, I think, is the subtle changes that occurred in you out of the bedroom. After a few days of denial, your eyes would always light up when I was around. You would subconsciously stand closer to me. You would walk and act more seductively, even without realizing it. And the irritations of life, the self-doubt, the small anxieties that plague us all at times and make us angry or insecure or close-minded - they would seem to disappear, they would be relegated to the background as you realized how unimportant they all were compared to how in tune with your body you were feeling - and you would hold your head higher, stand with more poise, and act more self-assured and confident.

And now that we've been in this dynamic for some time, it has not stopped, on the contrary - it seeps into all the areas of our life.

When I talk, you listen attentively, just as I always listen to you. When I ask you to do something, you comply immediately with a smile on your face. When we are out for dinner, or with friends, you have a spring in your step, you are energetic and joyful, you are shining, exuding the vibe that you are marvelling at being alive, at being here, at being with me, just like in our first days together. You look so happy and

proud

to be with me, and by the gods, I am so proud of you, too, and so happy for you. You have fully embraced your role as a woman, and you revel in it, and it is giving you a strength and an appreciation for life that even you didn't know you had. And I am the only one who knows that all this power, all this balance, comes from a tiny, sensitive nub of flesh under your clothes, constantly wet, constantly aching, constantly hoping for release, but not getting it, and you embracing the sensation, accepting it, enjoying it, and drawing power from it. And that makes me very, very happy in turn.

So tonight, we are celebrating your femininity and submissiveness, and since you haven't cum for more than two weeks now and that every touch feels pleasurable to you, we're taking it to the next level.

"Have you just showered like I asked you, baby girl?"

"My hair is wet and I'm naked under a bathrobe. What do you think I stepped out of, a dumpster?", you answer mischievously.

I turn you around, lift the bathrobe, and slap your ass. You yelp, but it sounds more like a moan of satisfaction than a reaction of surprise or pain. You

expected

that slap. You knew your answer would earn you that, and you did it on purpose.

"Oh, is that so? We're talking back now?" I say with a playful smile, as I lift you in my arms and carry you to the bed while you're stifling a giggle. "No mercy for you, then." I throw you onto the bed, remove your bathrobe, and turn you on your stomach, then slap your ass again. You moan.

"You do know what happens to brats, right?"

"I have no idea, and I couldn't possibly guess! Does that have anything to do with the fact that you specifically asked me to scrub my... unghhh". You cannot finish your sentence because I have grabbed your buttocks, spread them, my face dived between them, and you're feeling a wet tongue poking at your clean, pink, and oh so sensitive asshole.

We've had anal before. I love it. You don't dislike it, but it usually doesn't do particularly much for you. It's just strange sensations, not unpleasant, but back then when I was giving you lots of orgasms, these sensations couldn't really compete with what you were feeling with your clit or pussy. You could cum from being fucked in the ass, but only if you rubbed your clit at the same time, so really, it was more something like anal-enhanced clitoral orgasms, and apart from the forbidden-taboo-slutty factor, there wasn't really more in it for you than in vaginal penetration, so I didn't enjoy your ass as much as I would ideally have wanted to.

But now that you're permanently aroused, permanently wet, and that everything I do to you is interpreted by your brain as so very sexual,

your reaction to being touched and licked

there

is that it feels good. Really, really good. You moan. I explore your crack with my tongue, up and down, left and right, and every move, every touch makes you wiggle and whimper. Oh, I'm absolutely enjoying this, and soon I'm eating your ass like a thirsty dog laps at a bowl of water, and you're squirming under me like you've never done before, and your pussy is constantly leaking with clear, gooey, wonderful wetness.

"Please...", you pant.

"Yes, bratty girl?" I raise my head.

"Please fuck me."

"But you know how bratty girls are treated."

"No shit, Sherlock. Please fuck me."

"Oh, I see. You

really

want me to fuck your ass tonight."

"You think so? Please fuck me. Please fuck my ass."

I get up on my knees and lift your hips, pulling you up, put a towel under us, and put a pillow under your belly, high enough that you can rest on it and push on it to throw your ass back against me, but cannot grind your pussy against the pillow. Then I scoop the oozing wetness sticking to your labia, which makes you inhale sharply, and I spread it liberally on your ass crack and on my hard cock. It's incredible how wet you are, and it's wonderful to have such a conveniently placed lube dispenser. I gently prod at your anus with two wet fingers, and you moan again and open up for me, panting. I make sure your insides are properly lubed up, then place my dick at your entrance and push slowly. It slides inside without effort and your breathing increases. I give you some time to adjust to the sensation, then when you're ready, I push a little deeper in, then pull almost entirely out, then go back in. On my knees behind you, my hands on your hips, I start fucking your ass, slowly at first, then a bit faster and harder. With every thrust of my hips, you moan a little; and you push against the bed with both your arms in front of you, to provide support and allow me to fuck you deeper. When necessary, I stop to collect some more grool from your leaking pussy and use it to lube your ass again.