Midnight Snac

I looked at the alarm clock. 12:47. So over 45 minutes that I'd been trying to sleep with no success. My Master hadn't come to bed yet. I had a bedtime but he was allowed to stay up as late as he wanted. I thought this was rather unfair, but I didn't make the rules.

Sleep seemed out of reach for the time being, and I was getting a little hungry. So I got up and headed to the kitchen.

He was sitting at the table reading the

New York Times

(his continued subscription to a print newspaper was one of those charmingly old-fashioned habits of his).

"What are you doing up?" he asked, looking up from the paper.

"Couldn't sleep," I replied, getting some Oreos out of the pantry and sitting across from him at the table.

"Do you know what's good for helping you sleep?" he asked.

"What?"

"Orgasms." He grinned at me.

"Don't tease me," I said, realizing after I'd said it that I sounded pretty damn bitchy. I usually knew better than to talk to him that way, but the insomnia was making me cranky, and orgasms were the last thing I wanted to hear about right now. Yesterday had been exactly three months since my last one. I didn't know when the next one was coming, but I did know it sure as hell wasn't gonna be tonight, not so soon ("soon" being a relative term) after my last one. I'd had to wait just shy of a year for that one and he could very well make me go that long again. I'd done a year of orgasm denial three times now.

"Tease you?" he asked. "You mean like by rubbing your wet cunt until you're right on the very edge of cumming and then stopping, leaving you desperate and aching?" His tone was terribly serious.

I swallowed hard. "That wasn't...that wasn't what your slut meant, Sir," I said quietly. (Hearing him go into Master mode immediately set off my slave programming. I couldn't say "I" anymore now.)

"Yes, I think that sounds like a most excellent idea," he said. Goddammit, he

was

serious. I knew this wasn't really just because of me using the word "tease"-it was to punish me for backtalking.

That probably sounds strange, to call getting my pussy touched for the first time in three long months a punishment. I

love

pleasure, don't get me wrong, but it's just that edging is so fucking

hard

on me. There have been times I've literally cried with frustration when he edged me. And getting pleasure, being reminded how good it feels to have my pussy touched, makes it so much harder to be obedient and continue to not touch it myself. Coping with my denial is

much

easier when my pussy isn't getting touched at all.

He picked up the paper and cookies and carried them over to the counter. Then he walked back to me.

"Stand up," he ordered. I did. "Arms over your head." He pulled my nightgown off of me. Hearing him giving me direct orders in that commanding tone of his made me feel so ready to submit to him in any way he wanted me to, but I knew the edging was still going to be incredibly difficult.

"Lie down on the table and spread your legs nice and wide for me," he said. Oh god, I loved it when he ended his orders with "for me"-it reminded me that I

was

doing everything to please him, which was my entire purpose.

With his left hand he traced down the side of my body agonizingly slowly. When he reached my thigh he just let his hand rest there for a long moment. I found myself wanting to beg him to start fingering me

now now now. Did

I actually want this? Yesnoyesnoyesno.

He still wasn't moving his hand. It was so hard to fight the urge to beg him. He hated it when I begged him. He thought it meant I was trying to say what I wanted mattered instead of letting everything be under his complete control. I'd be in even bigger trouble than I already was if I begged him. But god, it was still so hard.

Finally

he moved his hand over to my pussy and began to slowly rub my clit. When I've been in a long period of total denial I forget what pleasure even feels like (which I'm grateful for, because it makes it easier to go without it). When I'm finally touched again, I cannot

believe

how good it feels.

"So very wet for me," he said. "You may say you don't want this, but your body says otherwise. Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes Sir, it feels very good," I admitted.

"You're far too slutty to not want to have your pussy touched no matter what," he said. "Even when you know in the end you'll be desperately frustrated." I moaned. I always loved hearing him tell me how slutty I was.

"That's why I have to deny you, you know," he said. "Because of how desperate for pleasure you are. Just think of how you used to be. Fingering yourself at the slightest provocation. Desperately in need of control."

"Yes Sir," I said. But god, how could I

not

be desperate to have my pussy touched when it felt so amazing? His fingers on me right now felt

far

too good. Even though he'd had so little practice, he was an

expert

at touching me exactly the right way. I'd never been with anyone else who could make me feel as good as he could.

He was working three of his long fingers in and out of my pussy now. I couldn't stop moaning and I knew I was getting wetter and wetter.

But as good as it felt there was a part of me that wanted to beg him to

please

stop, to

please

not actually make me edge. Having him give me some pleasure but stopping before I actually came would definitely be frustrating, but it wouldn't be the pure hell that edging would. Which was exactly why he wasn't going to do that-he wanted to torture me as much as possible.

"Play with your tits for me," he said. Without his explicit permission my tits were off-limits just like my pussy was, so it was always exciting to have a chance to touch them. I knew what kind of attention he wanted me to be giving them without having to be told. When he touched them he was always

very

rough with them. So I knew that was what he wanted me to do too. I started roughly squeezing them and digging my nails into them

hard

. After a minute of that, I started pinching my nipples. I'm only a mild masochist, but I can enjoy just a little pain from time to time. But even better than the sensation of the pain was knowing that I was pleasing him by hurting myself this way.

He was back to rubbing my clit, much more quickly now. It was feeling better all the time. I was starting to be in denial about the fact that he wasn't going to let me cum. I wanted it so badly and I couldn't admit to myself that it wasn't going to be happening. It was too horrible to be true.

But a moment later he spoke and my hopes were dashed to the ground. "I hope you're not forgetting that you won't be cumming, slave," he said. "But you want to, don't you?"

"Your slut wants to cum so bad, Sir!"

"I want you to think about how it would feel to cum," he said. "I want you to think about the most intense pleasure imaginable crashing over your body for the first time in three months." After this long without an orgasm what they actually felt like was a total mystery to me, but I had some vague idea that they felt very very good, and that was enough to make me crave one right now, especially with what he was saying.

"Then I want you to think about the fact that you're not just not getting an orgasm tonight, you're not going to be getting an orgasm for a

very

long time. It's going to be many months before you feel that level of pleasure again." Hearing him say this made me feel ready to cry, but I was still feeling intense pleasure from his hand on my pussy, a combination that made me feel all mixed up.

Most of the time, he didn't like to talk too much about how long it was going to be before I came again. He wasn't a particularly cruel Master usually, and he knew how hard it was for me to think about that. He wanted me to feel happy about my denial, not distraught. This isn't to say he didn't enjoy torturing me by getting me worked up-actually edging me was rare, but he was constantly making me lose my mind with frustration in other less severe ways. But actually rubbing the fact that I had a long way to go till my next orgasm was unusual. He was apparently feeling particularly sadistic tonight.

The pleasure was getting more and more intense and I knew it wouldn't be too much longer before I edged. I was dreading it so much, and I was certainly regretting my bratty reply earlier plenty when I thought about it.

"I want you to make sure to not tell me to stop until you're just a

second

away, slave," he told me.

"Yes Sir," I said. I knew the closer I got the worse it would be, but of course I had to obey him.

I was starting to rev up towards the orgasm now. In the long-ago days before he started denying me, I'd always loved this part of masturbating-the pleasure building and building, the sweet anticipation of the glorious orgasm. But there was no orgasm in sight this time, and that made it a terrible feeling rather than a wonderful one.

And then all of a sudden I was there. "Your slut's gonna cum!" I cried. He immediately removed his hand. I moaned, but not with pleasure this time. It was a sound of agony.

I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths, trying to recover. I wasn't crying, but I felt as if I could. I had been so

close

, so fucking

close

, and it had been so fucking

long

since I'd cum, and I wanted to so fucking

badly

. I was trying to cope because I had to, but it was so fucking hard.

Suddenly I felt my Master stroking my hair. I opened my eyes. He was smiling at me.

"You're doing well, slave," he said. "There was a time when you would've been yelling at me right now. You've come a long way."

"Thank you Sir," I said, surprised by this unexpected kindness.

"I'm proud of you," he said. Just hearing those words made the torture he'd just put me through worth it. I would do

anything

to hear him tell me he was proud of me. Hearing him say that was the best feeling I could possibly have right now, even better than, yes, an orgasm.