Starting the control play
On the fifth day of our vacation, I was done with repeating the same scenario again. Usually, Ella just does what I tell her to do on a mission-by-mission basis, but this time I thought we could do things a bit differently. I started out with a little mission, though. Ella woke up, gazing at me happily, already eager to please.
“Play with yourself,” I instructed.
She immediately began touching herself vigorously. Her breathing got faster, her head started rocking a bit. Her legs stiffened. Suddenly she pulled her hand away, and arched her back, gritting her teeth. She had stopped herself from coming, just at the last instant, since I hadn’t told her to come.
Gradually, she calmed down, refocused her eyes, and looked at me, smiling softly, wondering what her next task might be. That’s when I thought I’d let the shoe drop. I tried to do it with sufficient theatrical effect so as to make the point clearly.
“Do you see that clock over there?”
I pointed to a clock on the wall in the next room, which we could see from the open door at the other end of the bed. It was a few minutes after 9 am. Ella looked at the clock attentively, then looked at me, and somewhat theatrically shook her head affirmatively. She didn’t know why I was mentioning the clock, but she had most definitely looked at it as instructed.
“Until that time tomorrow morning,” I explained, pausing for emphasis, “no orgasms for you.”
There was a sudden intake of breath as Ella realized I was completely serious. She was used to me only telling her to come periodically, like usually after she had stopped herself several times and seemed to be bursting with desire, but she had developed an expectation that release would be there eventually, after not too long, really. This time she knew it was different.
I entered her and fucked her slow and deep for a while. I got on my knees and started fucking her harder. This is generally what makes her come pretty fast. I could see she was trying to remain calm, which she managed to do for several minutes before her breathing sped up all of a sudden and she said “stop” as her body stiffened and she shook a bit as if she were cold. I lay down again and moved slowly in and out, keeping her aroused but not right at the edge.
“Should I make you come now?”, I asked. She knew it was a rhetorical question.
“I don’t want to come until tomorrow,” she replied. She knew the correct answer.
Of course, her little body was already hotly disputing this assertion, but Ella was still maintaining a fairly convincing facade.
Ever since I was a teenager, and first heard young women complaining about guys that apparently were only interested in having an orgasm and then going to sleep, I vowed never to be one of those guys. I read books on the subject and learned how to maintain an erection indefinitely, without coming until I wanted to. It was upon mastering this practice that I began to notice that most women were at least as orgasm-fixated as they accuse men of being.
Let the torture continue
Women like Ella seem to just ride a constant wave, from one orgasm to the next, all day and night. When they describe a good sexual experience with a guy, the description will often include the number of orgasms they had in the course of it. I wondered if Ella could handle living a day the way I often live mine, without coming.
I flipped her over and fucked her hard from behind. She was working on some kind of new technique for not getting to the edge so quickly, by tensing her leg muscles. It didn’t seem to be going well, though, because after a few minutes there was the predictable, “stop,” the increased tension, the holding of breath, the eventual exhale.
“Eat me,” I instructed.
She withdrew her pussy and clambered down the bed to engorge her mouth with my cock. With big, deep arcs she repeatedly shoved my dick into her mouth, as if it might go deeper if she started with more distance, and sped up as she went down.
After a couple of minutes, her pussy was apparently feeling unattended, as it migrated towards my leg and started rubbing against it. I didn’t tell her to, but soon she was touching herself. After a couple minutes, she was eating me with less gusto, getting distracted. Soon she couldn’t eat me and breath at the same time, so she pulled her face off of me. Once again she pulled her hand away from her pussy quickly, looking like she had seen a ghost, her face grown pale temporarily. Soon she was eating me again, and rubbing her clit on my leg.
I fucked her some more until she stopped me again. This time she looked a bit desperate.
“Is it time to get up?”, I asked.
Ella looked at me as if to say, damn, you’re really going to do this to me, aren’t you, and she nodded affirmatively.
“Let’s take a shower,” I suggested.
I caressed her body in the shower, enjoying how responsive it was, needy even. I kissed her long and deep, and bit her in all the fleshy parts I like to bite.
We both got dressed. She put on panties and was going to wear a skirt on top of them, but I told her to put on jeans. The jeans will rub against her clit and keep her in a higher state of arousal, I knew, as did she. She put them on.
“I know you really want to come,” I said, with mock sympathy. “Why don’t you at least pretend to come. Maybe that will make you feel better.”
Edging herself on her jeans
Ella dutifully sat down on the couch, slipped her hand beneath her panties, and started touching herself. After twenty seconds of build-up, she started moving her fingers with more intensity, and shaking, gasping and making a relieved-sounding yelp, then removing her hand and slouching into the couch.
“Do you feel better now?”, I asked.
Ella said nothing but nodded in agreement. She knows she’s supposed to respond to my questions with verbal answers. But if it gets to a certain point, she can no longer talk. She calls it “going nonverbal.”
I suggest we take a walk. Ella stands up, ready to follow me outside. We go out, walking through the long park that starts across the street from where we’re staying. Normally Ella has a fair bit to say. She’s a very thoughtful, intelligent person. But this walk is a quiet one. She seems interested in the occasional observation I make but only manages to grunt or nod in response. Her jeans seem to be increasing her state of agitation, I surmise, noticing how she sometimes stops walking, pulls them away from her skin as if to allow her pussy to breath a little bit, exhales deeply, and then keeps walking, a bit stiffly.
Once we’re back at home, I instruct Ella to lie down.
“Touch yourself anywhere but your clit.” From the bed, she looked at me sitting in a chair nearby, while exploring her gorgeous little body with her hands, touching her breasts, her lips, her stomach, her thighs, her vulva. I enjoy the show. A mellower, less dramatic show, without her clit involved. No sudden stops or jerking about, just caressing.
I go over to the bed and push my cock into her. I move slowly, gradually, keeping Ella like a stove on simmer. I turn up the heat a little, moving slightly faster, with a little more certainty. When Ella is about to boil, I slow down again. I repeat this process several times until Ella is about as stiff as a piece of wood.
“You like it?”, I ask. She nods affirmatively.
“Should I let you come now?”, I inquire.
She shakes her head from side to side. I didn’t think so either. Of course, normally, at this point I’d be feeling like I should just let her come, stop torturing her. I wasn’t feeling that way this time. She could deal with one day, somehow.
“That’s good,” I said, “because I don’t want you to come.”
Ella drew in her breath sharply, involuntarily. It turned her on to hear me say this, but at the same time she seemed to be getting more fragile, less like a stove now, and more like a porcelain cup teetering on the edge of the counter.
I fucked her hard, with no warning. She could only endure it for thirty seconds or so before managing to utter the syllable, “stop,” as she drew her breath in to hold it. As soon as she was breathing again I resumed fast, rhythmic, hard fucking until she told me to stop. I was still so satisfied from days of sex before, that I was no longer moved by Ella’s silent pleas.
A tear started drifting down Ella’s face, and then another. The poor girl is crying, I noticed. I lay down beside her and held her while fucking her very gently from behind.
“My clit is burning.”
The words came as a surprise since it was the first full sentence to come out of Ella’s mouth for a couple of hours. I withdrew from her pussy and just enjoyed holding her taut little body. I rolled over on my back, and Ella began to eat me. This time she didn’t rub her clit on my leg. She was giving her burning clit a little rest.
“Move around so I can see your pussy,” I instructed. She did. While she ate me, I looked at her pussy. Her clit didn’t look any different, other than maybe a bit redder than usual. I licked it now and then, as you would an ice cream cone you didn’t want to eat too fast. After a while, each time I licked her, she shuddered a bit, so I started licking her less frequently, so she wouldn’t shudder too much.
One interesting thing about Ella is that even when she’s more or less unable to speak, she can still write. We took a break, made a meal, and sat with our laptops for a couple hours. I caught up on booking-related emails, and Ella wrote in her journal, eloquently, about how much she was enjoying this very difficult day.
The evening came. It was winter, so that happened faster. We went to bed early. I played with her desire in a way that occasionally struck myself as heartless, but I pushed aside those pangs of conscience and kept going, bringing her right to the edge of coming and then stopping. I didn’t need her to tell me to stop anymore, I knew when the orgasms were coming. I wasn’t sure she could be relied on to tell me to stop, anyway, by then.
Once she seemed again in a state of sexual-emotional crisis, I started moving slowly inside her, enjoying her tension immensely.
“Maybe you should pretend to come again,” I instructed.
As I moved slowly inside her, she made some affectionate noises and appeared to explode in waves of an orgasm that went on for a full minute. She lay beneath me, apparently relaxed and relieved. I could tell it wasn’t real, though, because the tension was back within five seconds or so after the act was over.
“That was so hard,” she complained.
“Should I make you come for real now?”, I asked.
“Please let me come,” she whispered.
“You want to come now, so soon?” I was wondering how far she was going to go with this little rebellion.
Her body was so tense. She sure did seem to very authentically want that release, which she only seemed to be able to find in this one way. She wasn’t touching herself without permission, but then it would be tough for her to touch her clit in this position, with me mostly on top of her.
“I thought you didn’t want to come till morning?”, I reminded her.
Ella suddenly realized this wasn’t going anywhere.
“Morning,” she managed to say. “I don’t want to come until the morning.” She enunciated each syllable painfully but methodically.
I sensed that if I moved much more, she’d come without any possibility of stopping. I really wanted to fuck her hard some more at that point, but I was too determined to continue the experiment. I slowly pulled out.
She gracefully and quickly moved down the bed and ate me hungrily. Soon her clit was moving against my leg again, eagerly. It moved faster until I could feel her clit and her vulva pressing hard against my leg, and moving up and down like that. It was warm and wet. I thought about telling her she could come this way if she wanted to, but I said nothing.
With a jolt, she lifted her pussy off my leg, and moved to the side, preventing another orgasm. She made an exasperated noise and continued to eat me. Once again I really wanted to fuck her some more, and I knew the feeling was mutual, but I rolled to my side, held her hair in my hand, and fucked her mouth instead. She moaned with pleasure at this turn of events and whimpered at the same time for her currently unattended pussy.
I came hard in her mouth. Thinking of how full of unfulfilled desire her whole body was made me come much more fully, and Ella swallowed several times.
“That was so good,” she said, lying down beside me, shaking a bit. I quickly fell asleep, holding Ella next to me.
Tik Tok, Tik Tok. The orgasm is coming
By morning, it seemed Ella had managed to get some sleep. Certainly, I had. And it was nice to have had a day that didn’t go quite like the rest of them.
It was just after 9 am and we were still in bed. I noticed Ella had her hand between her legs again and was looking at the clock. She seemed happy to see the clock in that position. She smiled and looked at me. She remembered her decorum, and rather than announcing she could come now, she asked.
“Am I allowed to come now?”
Ella is a very intelligent person and very attentive to details. She knew as well as anyone that “for the next 24 hours no orgasms” doesn’t mean “in 24 hours, you can come.” It means “for the next 24 hours you can’t come.” So she knew that the answer was not an automatic yes.
We gazed into each other’s eyes, while Ella kept on playing with herself. A minute went by, then another, and Ella’s hand was moving with more determination. Her eyes were wide open.
“Can I?”, she asked again, clearly very close to the edge, expectant. Too expectant, I thought. I knew it wasn’t nice, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Not today,” I said firmly and clearly. “Not today.”