2 Hours of Sexual Torture… that really was.

So, of course, Charmer won the game that was built around that inhumane cards…of game. I will never forgive everyone for simply picking incorrectly – I mean, would it have killed you to pick mine? Not a single person wrote to ask which one…

My penance – 2 hours of torture of her choosing.

Now, let me get this out there; when someone talks about sexy-torture, I say “oh no, please, not that!” and am inside jumping up and down like a high school cheer squad person. I’ve always gotten a kick out of situations like that, where one or the other person is “tortured” but you just know inside they’re like “bring it on!”

That was me, I admit it.

But this is Charmer’s game. She’s the one that’s insisted on the whole “yeah, sure, you can have an O today. No problem. But it’ll be ruined in the worst ways possible, or it’ll be repeated in quick succession with others until you’re begging to stop, or you can have the O, but I’m not stopping for 6 years after you do, so you’ll be thrashing about.

It’s so rarely a thing of mind-blowing and left at that.

This, of course, was no exception.

I thought it was two hours of edging (BRING IT ON!) or … something. Electricity, ouchy things or whatever. But surely, edging. So, awaaaaaay we started. Cage off, standing at attention, looking forward to this torture thing, if I’m honest.

And it did feel amazing. But did you know it’s possible to cross some really weird lines with “that feels amazing, but … a bit more please – pressure, speed, location, whatever… just … more. ” Well, I’m here to tell you, it IS possible.

Over two days, in two separate hour sessions, not. one. edge. Not. one. O. Every time it’d start to feel great, she’d change. Slower, lighter, different grip, different… whatever. And the feeling would bleed off in a bout of frustration and aggravation. Every single time.

Not interested enough in going beyond that? OK, she’ll speed up and clamp down, but only for about 15 seconds to keep things interesting, then back at it, watching, listening. It was all about riding BELOW that line of animalism, below that line of really, really feeling good and right at that line -that aggravating line – of almost ready to kill for more.

My rules were simple. I couldn’t have an O, I couldn’t ask her to stop. Inferred, I couldn’t ask for more either, not really, because she’d just grin and I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

It’s like that with us when she gets in this mode – when *I* get in this mode. We have this back and forth going on – she’s looking for control, I fight to keep it, to hide it away. She takes it from me, she wrings it out over my head like a wet towel and then snaps me in the butt with it. Not literally of course (though she would) but as soon as she knows I’m fighting back, the game is on.

I tried being quiet. She knows how I respond physically.

I tried wiggling. Thrusting. Moving around. She followed me, not giving me any kind of success.

I tried being all casual-like. She knows what to do to break that in about 10 seconds.

I tried to relax – even close to sub space later in the hour because it was so much for so long, and she was really pushing up and down frustration. It didn’t work. She’d do this wild run of super fast, or tight or change angles or whatever.

It was like driving down the road in a sports car that I’ve wanted to drive all my life, open highway. No one around. Clear blue skies, but she’s put a throttle limiter on the car. It can only go 50mph. BUT I WANT TO BE GOING 120 or more. Nope.

It was one of the most frustrating and aggravating things. Yes, torture. Yes, it was fun in hindsight, I admit it, but there were many, many growls to be had and many, many frustrated, exasperate guttural groans.

I’m not saying “Poor me” but damn, that woman is creative.

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