I pulled into the Smith's driveway and took a deep breath as my car came to a complete stop. This had been one of the longest weeks of my life. I've gone much longer than a week without cumming before, but this was a completely new experience. The events of the week before had been playing in my head continuously since the moment I left this house seven days ago. My memories were so vivid it was like watching a movie. I could see Mrs. Smith's jeans darkening as her own hot piss poured out of her bladder. The image of her bright red ass striped with welts from the flogger was burned into my brain. If I closed my eyes and let my memory take over, I could even feel Mr. Smith's cock throbbing between my lips and taste his sweet cum running down my throat.
For the first two days following what I have been referring to as "The Cleaning", I enjoyed replaying these memories in my head. I laid in bed with my hands or a toy between my legs and let the memories wash over me. I brought myself to the brink of orgasm over and over, but always stopped short. I edged at least a dozen times in just two days, but by the third day I realized I was stuck in a vicious cycle. The more I thought about "The Cleaning", the hornier I became, which only made me think about "The Cleaning" more.
By the fifth day, I was a complete mess. If I let my mind drift, even for a second, the memories would take over. I did everything in my power to resist the urge to lay in bed and masturbate all day, knowing it would only make things worse.
Mr. Smith had instructed me to edge at least once a day. I was in no danger of failing that assignment. Despite my efforts to avoid sexual arousal, I found myself masturbating constantly. Every time I walked past a busy bathroom, I wondered if any of the women in line were close to wetting themselves, which provided the seed for my brain needed to spin intricate fantasies. The next thing I knew I was sitting in a bathroom stall or hiding in a fitting room with my hand between my legs.
The worst part was that as I cleaned other people's homes I could not stop imagining myself cleaning in nothing, but a pair of jeans with a full bladder. As you can imagine, it is very hard to clean when your pussy is soaking wet and your mind is a million miles away. More than once a client complained about the quality of my cleaning.
It had been rough, but after seven days of orgasm denial I was closer than ever to getting my release. The only thing standing between me and the most intense orgasm of my life was Mr. Smith, but he would certainly not let me cum without earning it first. He would want to test the limits of my bladder before I was allowed any release. Thankfully, my bladder was already full and I was getting more desperate by the second, so whatever he had in mind would not last long.
Stepping out of my car, I expected to see Mrs. Smith running on her treadmill through the big bay window as usual, but today the blinds were closed. I walked up to the house and as I reached for the doorknob, I realized why. Faint slurping sounds and intermittent moans were coming from just inside the door. I hesitated, normally, I would just enter the house without even knocking, but I was not sure what was appropriate in this case.
I tapped my knuckles on the door twice. "Come in," Mrs. Smith responded.
"You better not be wearing anything but a pair of jeans when you walk through that door," Mr. Smith added breathlessly.
Without hesitation, I slipped my top off and unhooked my bra. It felt strange to bare my breasts in such a public place, but something about Mr. Smith's voice and confidence reassured me that if I followed his instructions everything would be fine and that if I didn't the consequences would be dire. I turned and looked behind me as I opened the door and saw a young boy across the street mesmerized by my half naked body. I waved at him as I stepped through the door and closed it behind me.
Now on the other side of the door, the slurping sounds were much louder. I turned towards the origin of the sound and saw Mr. and Mrs. Smith in a sixty nine position on the couch. Mr. Smith was on the bottom with his face buried in his wife's cunt. He switched back and forth between plunging his tongue into Mrs. Smith wet folds and gently sucking on her clit. Mrs. Smith was twirling her tongue around the head of Mr. Smith's cock paying extremely close attention to his frenulum.
How on earth were they not cumming?! My pussy was so sensitive after the past week that a minute or two of gently rubbing my clit was enough to get me close to orgasm. If Mr. Smith's tongue was swirling around inside me like that I would cum in seconds.
I had only been watching for a few seconds when Mr. Smith screamed, "Edge!" Mrs. Smith hurriedly removed Mr. Smith's cock from her mouth and began counting backwards from ten.
"Ten...Nine...Eight," she counted rhythmically as best she could with her husband eating her pussy. She often paused to moan and catch her breathe.
After what was definitely longer than ten seconds, she counted, "One," and began moving her head back towards Mr. Smith's cock, but just as her tongue was about to make contact with the head of his cock, Mr. Smith pulled her ass cheeks apart and buried his face in her ass. Mrs. Smith gasped as he slid his tongue from her pussy to her ass and plunged it as deep as he could into her tight little hole. Mrs. Smith engulfed Mr. Smith's cock in her mouth, ramming his whole cock into the back of her throat. She started bobbing her head up and down on Mr. Smith's cock with reckless abandon.
After only a few seconds, both of them screamed, "Edge!" and immediately pulled their faces away from the overstimulated genitals of their partner.
After a few seconds of nothing but heavy breathing Mrs. Smith said, "You are going to have the worst case of blue balls you've ever had in your life by the end of the hour if that's the pace you want to set."
An Hour!? I thought to myself. How long had they already been at this?
Mr. Smith respond with a wry smile on his face, "This is already the worst case of blue balls I've ever had so do your worst. I want to show Amanda what sort of torturous denial she's in for if she can't control her bladder."
"In that case, Amanda, why don't you handle the countdowns for us. I don't think either of us is going to have enough air or mental faculties for that in a few minutes," Mrs. Smith said without turning her head away from her husband's cock.
I began counting, "Ten...Nine...Eight..." Both Mr. and Mrs. Smith tensed, preparing for the onslaught of sexual pleasure that was about to overwhelm them.
"Three...Two...One". The race was on. Mr. and Mrs. Smith attacked each other's genitals. Slurping and gagging sounds filled the air. Mr. Smith's cock was disappearing and reappearing before my eyes as Mrs. Smith slammed the enormous cock in and out of her mouth. Thick saliva from the back of her throat was dripping all over her face and his groin. Mr. Smith was putting on an equally impressive display, devouring both of his wife's holes.
I stood completely still and watched in amazement as the couple continued to edge each other with no sign of stopping. I have no idea how much time passed or how many times each of them edged, but I would have been reduced to a dripping mess if I was in their shoes.
I was in the middle of counting down for Mrs. Smith's most recent edge when an alarm went off. Both of them collapsed on top of each other breathing like marathon runners after crossing the finish line. The incredible display Mr. and Mrs. Smith had been putting on in front of me had the delightful effect of distracting me from the building pressure in my groin, but now that the display was over, however, my bladder reminded me of its current state. I crossed me legs and pressed both my hands into my crotch, partially to help support my bladder muscles and partially to put on a show for Mr. Smith.
