PM Dare Diary – Day 7

That was a close call! Very close. By a hair's breadth close. I looked into the abyss, and I desperately wanted to jump and fly, if only for a few seconds. But, well … I'm still here. Cowering near the ridge. I like the view. I'm ecstatic to be here. And I hate to be here. It's complicated.

The day started quite nicely. After writing the report about the day before yesterday I prepared my breakfast, topless, handcuffed, gagged with my breathable ball gag and with binder clamps on my nipples. My breakfast? Yes, sure, but what makes it exciting is the fantasy to do it for somebody else. The fantasy gives colour and depth to a mundane task. Despite being handicapped by the cuffs and clamps I tried to be as quiet as possible to not "wake up my dominant" who is still sleeping soundly. I cut the fruit for the oatmeal not as a necessity, but as an act of caring. It would be nice to take the tray with the oatmeal bowl and teapot to the bedroom, kneel down in front of the bed, and watch my dominant sleep, hoping she'd require additional service by her maid's tongue on awakening. But I'd be sent back to my chores on most days … (I'm attracted to men and women alike, but when I fantasize I usually imagine a female dominant. Sorry, guys!) So is it just "make believe"? Obviously. To some extent at least. But I wouldn't discount "make believe" and fantasizing. Furthermore I need the request from somebody else and I have to write about it. The idea that somebody gets aroused by my reports or masturbates while reading them transforms my otherwise reclusive activities into real submissive acts. At least in my mind. I was thinking about this while I was munching my oatmeal, still topless, cuffed, and clamped. And I'll add this to the dare: I will not only prepare the meal fitted out like this, but also eat it like this. I have to remove the gag of course …

I had gotten two NAKED dares, requiring spending two hours naked. I wasn't quite sure how to implement those because I have the feeling they should only count when I wouldn't usually be undressed. I had some chores to do, and I thought that was a good opportunity. So I tidied up, did the dishes, swept the floors, and mopped the bathroom tiles naked. It was a nice continuation of the maid theme. To crawl around on hands and knees naked to clean the nooks actually aroused me quite a lot. I imagined my dominant again, watching my naked ass, giving it an occasional motivational slap …

In the afternoon I had to work, several hours of waitressing, and when I came home I was really exhausted. I stripped as soon as I closed the front door and went to the bathroom to take a shower. But before I could do that there was another dare I had to perform: the PEE dare, requiring me to pour pee over my face before taking the next shower. So I got a glass pitcher, squatted down, and peed quite a lot. Actually I had held back for the last hours. I wanted to make it worthwhile. I sat down in the corner of the shower tub, raised the pitcher, watched my piss approaching the spout, closed my eyes … and poured it slowly over my face, starting close to the hairline. When applied like this, naked and with the prospect of a quick shower afterwards, I don't find urine disgusting. Peeing myself when dressed and staying like this for a prolonged time is a horse of a different colour though. When it gets cold and the thrill fades away I start to feel uneasy. (Usually I'm quite squeamish in matters of hygiene.) And asking me to drink my urine is one of the worst things one can demand. As a well-deserved punishment, yes, I accept, just for fun, no chance. To pour the pee over my face felt quite nice … warm … familiar … intimate. But to do it on demand of an anonymous guy from the internet was an utter humiliation. I opened my eyes, watching my piss drip from my strands of hair. Why do I do this? Because I feel the need to do it. Why do I feel the need to do it? Questions and answers nested like Russian Matryoshka dolls …

I was very (very!) happy that nobody had asked for a naked workout yesterday, and as I was really exhausted I decided to go to bed early, do my only masturbation task – 30 minutes –, and maybe cross off some pain dares afterwards. Seemed like a good plan. I fetched the carton with my toys so I would have handy whatever I needed later without getting up and made myself comfortable. Work had distracted me quite a bit, and I wasn't particularly horny. At first. But as I was lolling my naked body and letting my hands glide over my tits and down between my legs I went from nil to a hundred within a couple of minutes. Masturbating and cumming is my preferred method of relaxation after an exhausting day, and my body and mind were screaming for that familiar release. To make it more interesting I put on my ring gag harness for ten minutes. Only half an hour of pleasure torture, no edging; not too bad, right?

When I was about twenty minutes into my session my mobile indicated an incoming email. I wondered if I should ignore it or not. I didn't ignore it. But I should have. It read: "EDGE 10 while PLUG after SPANK PUSSY with wooden spoon 25". Fuck! There is a reason why I separate the masturbation tasks from the pain tasks. While I find it difficult to refrain from cumming when pleasuring myself I have a good grasp on how far I can go without overstepping the mark. With pain, especially to my pussy, that's different. When I'm really horny – and I was – one wrong blow could push me over the edge. A blow a little harder than the other ones. Or a blow directly to my clit. And now I faced the prospect of not only fighting this but having to edge my tortured cunt afterwards and with the additional stimulation from the plug … Fuck! In that moment I almost surrendered. I know I lack self-discipline. I wouldn't be able to hold back, so why even try? One step further, a few seconds of intense rubbing, and it would be over. No, it wouldn't be over. It would be the prelude to a cascade of jumps over the edge. But finally I would hit the ground, every bone in my body smashed to pieces. Because I would have failed. Orgasms were what I wanted, desperately wanted. But they were not what I need. I crave something deeper. I don't know if I make sense …

I decided to do the best I can. If I should fail, so be it. But I wouldn't back off without a fight. When I reached for the wooden spoon my hand was shaking. I spread my legs and tried to brace myself. Single blows … You can do it! Smash! One … Really hard, but not too bad … Breathe! … Smash! Two … Damn!, that missed the mark. … Smash! … I howled. Yeah, this one counts: two … three … four … missed … missed … Focus, Yasna, you can do it! … five … missed … missed … Holy crap! … six … I was a mess. I was convulsing after each stroke. My pussy lips were on fire. But somehow I made it through … through the first part of this ordeal.

I took a couple of minutes to cool down before I reached for the small metal plug. It felt good to push it in; it provided some distraction from my hurting pussy. But I knew this wouldn't last. Ten edges. Ten edges. Ten edges. When I reached down my pussy lips felt huge and heavy. They were swollen up significantly. I concentrated on my clit which was in better shape. The first edge didn't take long. But waiting for it to fade away did. It felt my cunt was waiting for just the final touch … And it (she?) was waiting patiently in the starting block, determined not to miss the go-ahead. It was so frustrating: I was back on the edge so quickly and then I had to wait so long to let it fade … It was getting late. After the sixth edge I was desperate. Broken. The edge wouldn't fade. It felt like a single touch could send my over. Again I was very close to surrender. Just this one touch … I shook my lower body in frustration to make it stop. "Calm down." "Breathe." Very slowly I relaxed a bit. I got up to get a tissue to blow my nose. I caught a look of myself in the mirror and my face was tear-streaked. I hadn't even realized I was crying. Then I had the rescuing idea. I had several pain dares open that were not directly sexual in nature. They would distract me enough to get me through the remaining four edges I hoped. After the next edge I put it to the test by applying binder clamps to my nipples. Yeah, that was enough pain to divert attention. It didn't even take the whole five minutes before I was ready to edge again. After the next edge I put the binder clips on my lips, clamping them shut. That worked as well. And so did caning the soles of my feet after the next edge. The tenth and final edge. Done! I was so exhausted it even overshadowed my horniness. It was past midnight, more than three hours since I started masturbating! I just removed the plug, then immediately fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

As I'm writing this I'm incredibly horny again. My pussy is buzzing non-stop, occasionally cramping in frustration around the nothingness in it, and leaking profusely. I carefully avoid touching it. I will not take the risk to be carried away. I haven't orgasmed for almost two weeks now. I don't think I've ever denied myself (or have been denied) for that long. And I don't think I have been that horny before. It's annoying, distracting, and frustrating. And exhilarating. And felicific. I don't know if this intensity can be surpassed. I don't know how long my self-discipline will last. I have been asked this morning whether I enjoy to be denied. Well, judge for yourself.

It's time for breakfast and I have another KINKY COOK dare pending, so I'll better get to it.

Dares done: SPANK PUSSY WS 25, SPANK SOLES RW 10, BINDER NIPPLES, BINDER LIPS, GAG RGH, PLUG, NAKED (2x), PEE, EDGE 10, MAST 30, DENIED, KINKY COOK

Dares open: RUBBER CLIT 10, GAG PENIS (2x), BOTTOMLESS, PLUG, ANIMAL, KINKY COOK, SLAVE DAY