Explorations into denial, pain, and humiliation
 

Why this blog?

I've been fascinated by different aspects of BDSM – pain, bondage, humiliation – for as long as I can remember. But lately I'm very much interested in denial. Especially the idea of permanent or at least long-term and open-ended denial terrifies me and arouses me extremely at the same time. However, what usually happens is: I read through a denial blog or indulge in a denial fantasy … And I masturbate. And I cum. A lot. I have been able to deny myself orgasms for several weeks. I thoroughly enjoyed how it made me feel: more sensual, my libido in the "red" range most of the time. Nevertheless I fell off the waggon every time. I relished the orgasms, but I felt stale and unsatisfied afterwards. I want to find a way to make denial sustainable for me.

I don't need to have the answer right now. I don't need to say "I'll never cum again" and be disappointed when I fail after a few weeks. I want to give it time and I want to experiment. From a logical standpoint no touching at all in a sexual manner seems to be the most reasonable approach to me. It's not that I think I don't deserve pleasure. I don't want to need it. This might lead to loss of interest though. But the whole point of my experiments is to enhance my sexuality, not to numb it. Nevertheless, no touching in a sexual way is my jumping-off point. I'm on my fifth day of this "no touch"-regimen now and so far I feel a slightly heightened arousal level. But I also had some pretty busy and stressful days so the jury is still out.

This blog is intended as one way of keeping my interest high. I love to write generally and especially about my sexual experiments. Unfortunately I'm not very consistent with it, and I hope this blog helps me to take the time to put my thoughts and feelings down more regularly.

And if it turns out that this is not enough to keep me interested and satisfied there are several strategies I'd like to explore: add pain and humiliation, which always make me horny; work my way up to a pleasurable anal experience (I'm currently almost an anal virgin); try vaginal masturbation only and avoid any stimulation of the clit (I doubt I can cum without any clitoral stimulation); test out edging at different frequencies; maybe incorporate very occasional ruined orgasms. So much to try!

Needless to say, I'm happy about everybody who's interested in my journey too. I hope we have a good time here!

[I have written this a couple of days ago for my new tumblr, but I'm not sure if I'll continue posting about my experiences there. It feels more homely here. :) And I can incorporate reports about dares more easily. Maybe I'll keep both for a while …]

A Week of Strict "No touch"-Denial
 

Here's my first week of "no touch"-denial: five days of smooth sailing, one day of "not too bad", and one day of desperation. Do you want to know more? Maybe I should clarify first what I mean by "strict 'no touch'": no intentional touching of any kind in a sexual manner. None at all. Not the clit, not the pussy, not the ass, not the breasts, no humping, nothing. I think of it as a kind of sexual pleasure elimination diet: I'll start with absolutely nothing, and might slowly add back if I lose interest. (Or maybe not so slowly … :)) I'm looking for my arousal baseline. I'm a nerdy girl.

I have some experience with self-imposed orgasm denial. The longest time I've gone without release was about four weeks. Not very impressive. No? Maybe it's a bit impressive when you know that I really enjoy to cum, I usually orgasm a lot. Even more than that when I have my kinky phase, typically around my period. A nice masturbation session is my favourite method of stress relieve. The funny thing is: I think I really enjoy more not to cum. I guess this is an extension of my submissive nature. I don't completely understand it (yet?). I feel more attuned to myself – and of course more aroused – when I deny myself pleasure. Sure, that's paradoxical, because I receive pleasure from being attuned to myself. And from being aroused. And deliciously desperate. And dripping.

I didn't plan on this new denial adventure. I had a very busy week, got up early, worked or studied all day, came home late and exhausted, got straight into bed, and fell asleep like a stone. After three days I realized I hadn't touch myself at all. Too exhausted to masturbate – that's a good strategy to start denial! And being on a strict "no touch" regimen, but you don't know it yet makes it easy to adapt. :) As I wanted to make another attempt on a longer period without release, I decided to take the bull by the horns. The next two days were easy too: I was enthusiastic and still busy and still tired. Tuckered out actually. In my only spare time I did fifty minutes of cornertime (see my report here).

But then came the long Whit weekend. I had no obligations at all on Sunday. But it was less difficult than I expected. Yes, I was horny, and yes, I would have masturbated under different circumstances, but it was bearable. I spent the morning in bed, reading erotic stories, mostly of women masturbating. When I read an old-fashioned book I find it more natural to hold onto it with both hands, making it easier not to let one hand slip under the cover … I felt my pussy tingling, and I really enjoyed it. Like when you're not particularly hungry, but you have the opportunity to taste a rare delicacy. Hmm! I was almost a bit disappointed that it went so smoothly. But things were about to change.

Pentecost Monday is a public holiday here. I had to wait tables in the afternoon and evening. Another morning to spend in bed: Hooray! Or so I thought. Because I woke up early. Very early. With a hot knot between my legs. As if my pussy had finally realized it was getting serious. It was so tempting to undo the knot … I leaned back, folded my hands behind my head, and breathed deeply. It didn't help. I read another story. Just made it worse. The knot became steamy, loose ends were tingling the inside of my pussy. Breathing deeply again. I needed some distraction or I would cave in. Luckily I had been dared to an ass spanking the day before. So I got my wooden spoon, stripped out of my pyjama, went doggy on my bed, and got cracking. I flinched at the first stroke, because I had not only used all my strength, but the blow seemed so loud on this quiet morning. The spanking felt nice, more arousing and distracting at the same time. I tried to make the most of every single stroke. And I did: when I crawled back into bed I had two hot areas to focus on. My butt was glowing red, but my pussy was really frustrated that the stupid ass has gotten all of the attention. I was happy when I finally had to get up to get ready for work.

It was a nice sunny day and as the commute is not long, I decided to go to work on my bike. I quickly discovered two things: First, it's a peculiar experience to ride a bike with a freshly spanked ass. Second, it's an even more peculiar experience to ride a bike with a needy, neglected, ill-humoured cunt. I was rocking back and forth on the saddle to avoid stimulation. "Oh my," I thought, "you're such a slut! You're getting horny just from riding a bike!" I was wet when I arrived at the restaurant. The whole time I was thinking about the ride back. After a couple of hours of anticipation it felt even better. I'm wondering how long I would have to deny myself before I could cum just from riding a bike. I hope I'll never find out. After I've taken a shower there was that knot again, sending out enticing threads in all directions. But no, I was hell-bent to keep it tight. And finally my pussy gave up.

The next week will be very busy too. I'm almost thankful for that. But there will be a weekend again …

Small Victories
 

It's day 10 of my "no touch at all" denial experiment and I can say I'm definitely beyond the easiness of the first days. Since touching my sexually responsive regions is off limits they seem to expand in an attempt to get at least some attention. My nipples are erect and sensitive most of the time. When fabric brushes against them they send shivers through my body. Even rubbing my feet together excites me "sexually" right now. But that's one of the things I really love about denying myself release: when my sexuality slowly invades every single fibre of my body; when everyday occurrences lose their banality and are immersed in the heated atmosphere of lustfulness. Yesterday and today the pure act of stripping naked to take a shower got me aroused. "Really?," I thought, annoyed and pleased at the same time, "I just want to get ready for my day here." The lines between touching for washing and for sexual pleasure started to blur. I might have to resort to cold showers soon. Brrr! The day before yesterday I was waiting unsuspectingly in line, when suddenly my pussy twitched. A couple of hours later the same happened on the bus and subsequently in the library. Apart from some slight worries that people might apprehend what's going on I find these instances quite enjoyable and easy to deal with. Who would masturbate in public even if the desire felt almost overwhelming, right? Alone at home things are different though.

Yesterday morning I spent quite some time reading through this detailed, entertaining, and inspiring denial journal. I got some really neat ideas of things I'd like to try – numbing cream on the clit, a clit pump. But the wonderful read made me extremely aroused and I felt my panties getting soaked. Some passages resonated deeply with me and made my clit throb. Not letting my hand slip into my jeans became a serious challenge to my self-discipline. "Just a little touch. Please? Just a slight one. Not long. Just a little. I'll stay far away from the edge, I promise. Just a little touch after ten days of negligence? Please?" I had to remind myself stringently, that this was not what I wanted right now. Well, that's not entirely true: of course I wanted to touch. Badly. Really badly. If it had been a democratic decision between my leaking cunt, my endorphin flooded brain and "me" (whatever else of "me" would be left in this scenario) "I" probably would have lost. But somehow "I" held things together. I desperately wanted to touch myself. But there was something else I wanted even more: to preserve exactly this heightened level of arousal and exhilarating frustration. At the moment that's enough to keep control.

But concentrating on my studies was difficult. Even though I expected another struggle I wanted to do something at least remotely sexual. Thus I decided to repack my toys. The old box hadn't been big enough for a while and I had gotten something new in the mail (a muzzle gag with integrated ball; I'm looking forward to try it out!). So I laid out my dildos, my gags, my clamps, my bondage gear, and my plugs. Quite a collection and some fond memories! But when I reached for my rabbit vibrator I gasped for air. How many blissful orgasms I had with this wonderful device! How good would it feel to just lay back, stuff it in, set it on high, and dissolve in waves of pleasure? Again there was a short moment when I nearly surrendered to my horniness. My pussy was buzzing, doing its best to lead me astray, but again of no avail. It feels good to win these small victories over myself.

However, there is one aspect of my denial that's really unpleasant: I don't sleep well at all. I didn't get more than two or three hours of sleep in the last nights. Once or twice I woke up from horniness, maybe from a dream? But most of the time I've just woken up in the middle of the night, even though I was still dead tired. And I couldn't get back to sleep for hours. I've observed the same the last times I denied myself orgasms for a longer time. I'm wondering whether the change in hormones interferes with the ability to sleep. On the other hand the wakefulness gave me extra time to browse the internet and I have found some cool ideas for DIY additions to my enlarged toy box. I'll keep you posted …

I absolutely love your denial adventure. Please do continue

Good to read that I'm not the only one.
I too wake up some nights, dead tired and can't stop my brain from thinking about my denial and how honry it makes me :o

A Visit to SPA
 

Lovely, right? A visit to SPA: relaxation, being pampered. But wait: why the upper-case letters? SPA is short for "Sexual Pleasure Anonymous". Now that I'm typing this I smirk a little. When I thought about it a couple of hours ago I laughed hysterically. It was a difficult and intense night.

I get dizzy when I just sniff on alcohol. Therefore I very rarely drink. I have no good idea what any addiction feels like and I don't want to diminish other people's problems. But what appears to me as a similarity between addiction and sexual denial is the internal struggle. The feeling of being driven towards doing something that on a different level you don't want to do. Maybe also the impression of being at the mercy of your urges. Don't get me wrong: I don't want to imply that expressing someone's sexuality in any way is bad or even self-destructive like addiction. (It probably could be, though. But that's a different topic.) I've never been to an AA meeting. However, this blog, this forum as a whole is a place where people can share their experiences. So, is everybody in? Then let's get started.

"Good morning! I'm glad you're all here. I see we have a new face among us. Do you want to begin?"

Well, yesterday had been quite a normal day. That is to say "quite a normal day" considering that I refrained from any sexual stimulation for 10 days. Sure, there were a heightened sense of arousal, sexual thoughts and fantasies being on my mind a lot, a noticeable but not too uncomfortable permanent horniness under the surface. Yeah, yeah, the usual, you know? [Approving mumbling.] As I hadn't caught a lot of sleep lately I went to bed around 10pm, read a little, browsed the internet a bit, and fell asleep. Did you ever wake up, but had the feeling that you can't really awake because your consciousness had split? The one half, as usual located in your brain, is trying to figure out what's happening. The other half has dropped to your genital area. This part doesn't want to wake up at all. It feels like a stampeding herd of buffalos. Or like a tribe performing an ancient ritual. But they are not pleading for rain (it's pretty wet there already); they try to summon the demoniac hand that would redeem them. That would grant them release.

I know I'm getting rather highfalutin here. But it's difficult to do that state of mind justice. I maybe never felt such an intense urge to masturbate before. It was different from anything I had experienced up to that point. It was not only that I was horny; my pussy was leaking, my cunt twitching, my body trembling. I was overwhelmed by a feeling of inescapability. I felt at the mercy of a higher power, a ruthless and merciless power to be sure. I doubled up in the fetal position, pressing my hands against my chest. I could feel my heart race. Is this how withdrawal feels like? When you know what you want, but everything inside you screams that you're doing the wrong thing? That was the moment when I invented SPA: "Hello, I'm Yasna, and I can't kick the habit of touching myself." I beg your indulgence; you know in which state I was in. :) [Soothing whispers.] I was thinking about what might be able to distract me, but everything seemed to be too much in that moment. I just could lay there, a bundle of conflicting urges, holding onto a plank in a turbulent ocean close to dangerous vortexes. Half awake, half narcotized by this relentless urge. I started crying at some point. I was sweating. You must think I'm crazy. [Negating outcries.] Finally I drifted off, back to shallow, but consoling sleep. [Pats on the back.]

When I awoke I felt "normal" again. Normal like …, you know. Nothing compared to the turmoil during the night. Now that I'm typing this I'm also surprisingly calm. I'm not even particularly aroused like I usually am when I write about my sexual experiences. It seems like after the exhausting battle the involved parties agreed to a truce. I wonder how long this is going to last. And if they are just restocking their ammunition and awaiting reinforcements. Today I'll be hiding in the trenches and see what's happening. But even though this night has been tremendously difficult I'm happy. I don't know if anybody can understand this. It's this intensity I crave. For this I cheerfully sacrifice my sleep, my run-of-the-mine pleasure, and my fleeting orgasms.

Highs and Lows
 

In my last blog entry I've been very enthusiastic about my "no touch"-denial experiences. I've depicted an intense and impressive incidence. And of course I'm biased toward writing about the preeminent moments. I don't want to create a false impression though. It's not always like that. I don't want to hump everything straightaway. Sure, sometimes I want to. But not always. At times the difference of perception is far more subtle. Let's take the ordinary event of waking up. Normally the alarm clock rings, I switch it off, and – usually a bit reluctantly – I get up and start to get ready for the day ahead. Now, on day 12 of my strict "no touch"-denial the alarm clock rings, but before I've even turned to switch it off I feel the tension in my body. It's not uncomfortable. It's like my body is expecting something, it's alert, it's open for what's in store. I realize I breathe more heavily than usual. I rub my feet against each other, just to move my muscles a little, to feel a slight sensual touch. I push the blanket to the side and loll about a few seconds. I feel an itch on my butt and I scratch it, softly-softly. Oh, I would love to grab it tightly, to pinch it hard. That would feel great! I smile when I jump out of bed. It feels like a permanent natural high. Not a drunken stupor. A very little buzz. A sip of champagne. Delicious.

I've written the preceding paragraph on Saturday morning. Now it's morning again, two days later (day 14) and everything I've said above is still true, but feels very differently today. The champagne has become a bit flat. I'd rather have a soul-warming cup of tea right now. Despite all the perks of my self-denial that I have described so far it's not easy at all. You can believe me that a huge part of me would rather be in bed right now getting myself off than sitting here typing in the early morning. I had a really exhausting and emotionally terrible weekend and I've slept extremely badly again. [Note to self: reading denial blogs and watching videos of girls cumming before bed doesn't calm you down. :)] I feel down and drained. I really miss the relaxation from a nice masturbation session: forgetting about the outside world for an hour or two, dissolving the bottled-up tension in body and mind, pulling myself out of the difficulties of everyday life with orgasmic blazes that stir up a furore and are yet so powerful in restoring calm of body, mind, and soul.

I'm getting lyrical; that's always a bad sign. :) I could state it more directly and straightforward: I'm really! fucking! horny! I know it would feel incredibly good right now to pleasure myself and cum. Ah, what a gruelling predicament: to know that one could have awesome orgasms after withholding them for so long and nevertheless going on withholding them. However, I know I'd be terribly disappointed after having an orgasm now. In my current mood I don't trust myself to stop once I've started. No pleasure at all appears to be the only threshold I'm able to defend right now. Maybe the phase around two weeks into denial is particularly difficult (at least for me, I've had similar experiences before). I start to play mind games: "Two weeks is not that long. If you indulge now it's not a huge loss. You can take up denial again afterwards and you'll be back at two weeks in a heartbeat. [Haha, sure!] It will be so much easier when you have less outside stressors." While the latter might be true it's a cop-out for sure. As I said I want to find ways to make denial sustainable for me. I've given up and started over too often in the past. I'll try to lay low today, not feeding the urge, and see what happens. Maybe there's a new bottle of champagne waiting …

"Touch me, please!" – "No, I won't."
 

So it took exactly two weeks. I've discovered it Tuesday around noon, two days ago. I had an interesting seminar and a captivating lecture in the morning. I had no sexual thoughts at all for a couple of hours. This doesn't happen very often lately. However, when I went to the restroom afterwards I found a broad stain in my panties. I usually get wet quite easily. I also produce a generous amount of vaginal fluid (I have to admit I lack comparative information though). And of course I had been moist over the preceding "no touch" days too. When I was reading erotic stories or when I was fantasizing or when I was writing these reports. But without any stimulation at all? It took exactly two weeks of no touching at all for my pussy to leak constantly.

I have to admit I'm fascinated. Why does the opposite behaviour – either pleasuring or not pleasuring yourself – causes the same effect, and the only difference is the timeframe? Isn't this a violation of nature's principle to use resources as efficiently as possible? Why it is not "Okay, apparently I face a dry spell. Let's lay low until times get better," but rather "Damn, I'm not getting any. Let's produce a deluge in the meantime so she may feel my wrath"? I've been watching a video repeatedly yesterday of a girl edging herself after a week of not touching (at least that's what the description says). Usually I don't care much about close up pics or vids of genitals. But I can't get enough of this one: The already glistening labia. The pussy twitching vigorously before she even starts … just by stretching the skin of the mound of Venus. The swollen and red clit. Her whimpering and moaning when she finally approaches the edge. More vigorous twitching. And above all the grool starting to accumulate and slowly running out … And watching this video induces the exact same reactions in me (except for the edges of course). The taunting thought "This could be me." In fact, my clit has been throbbing while I was writing about it. I'm sitting bottomless on a small towel and I would like to soak it and keep it close to me when I sleep. Isn't it a wonderful prospect to be able to smell me urge while in dreamland? I love the feeling of being wet all the time, even detached from any stimulation. It's a constant reminder of my sexual nature amidst the normalcy of day-to-day life.

Yesterday had been the first day in a while with some spare time. And it probably will be for a while. So I decided to permit myself a little bit of playtime. I've gotten the occasional PM dare over the last two weeks and I still have quite a lot of them queued up … Time to remove at least some of these duties! I started with a simple body writing task. Did I say "simple"? It wasn't simple, neither in execution nor in effects. I don't quite understand how people can write on themselves in good handwriting. I always end up with the embarrassing scribbling of a first-grader. Probably I'm overthinking this, but I also wonder every time whether I should write in the normal direction (so that an imagined viewer could read it) or upside down (so that I can read it when I look down). I decided for the latter and after my morning shower I took a permanent marker. Slanting and scrawly, just I had anticipated. TOUCH ME, PLEASE! Just above the pussy. Or rather tilted across my left lower belly, in caps and two rows, and with the comma close to the elevation of the clit hood. TOUCH ME, PLEASE! Of course that was calculated taunting, but I was surprised how much it affected me. "No, I don't want to touch! This is a mockery of what I want!" I take words seriously. To write an order onto myself (thereby identifying with it at least to some degree) asking me just the opposite of what I wanted created significant cognitive dissonance. Or to say it less formally: I got bitchy. "Who is this guy from the internet telling me … Bla, bla, bla …" I'm kind of used to play both parts of dominant and submissive myself. And I can be quite demanding. But the point is that I (as a dominant) know myself (as a submissive) very well and I can align the "different" expectations quite easily. But I also submit to directions willingly. Well, usually. Unless the directions don't align as nicely with what I want. I prefer to have control over giving up control. (Something I have to work on.) But that's the whole point of involving other people, isn't it? To be confronted with tasks I might not think of myself, to get out of the comfort-zone. So I looked down at my scribble and thought: "Well, dear task giver, you made me think and stretch my limits a bit. Thank you for that. But, hey!, 'Touch me, please!' is what my pussy has been screaming for most parts of more than two weeks. And, no, I won't!" At least part of the idea of body writing is sending a message to yourself, so it's only reasonable that you should be able to see it, right? I just put on a belly top and a skimpy pair of panties, leaving most of the writing visible. And every time my eyes fell on it – getting smudged more and more in the course of the day – I paused for a few seconds with a smirk on my face. "No, Mylady, I won't do that. Be still, my twitching cunt …"

During my "PM dare frenzy" in April I probably wanted too much, did too many dares, and ended up burning the candle at both ends. I'll go slowly this time, making sure I enjoy every task to the fullest and not overwhelm myself. (If I haven't done one of your dares yet: Please be patient. I'll get to it.) I went through my open dares: Hm, "collar", always nice: an hour of wearing my leather collar. And it's very effective in increasing the anticipation of what's to come. I hadn't worn it for about two months and it felt amazing to put it back on. For a couple of minutes I couldn't get enough of my reflection in the mirror. I set the timer to 60 minutes, browsed the internet in the meantime, and observed the arousal creeping up. Once I decided what I wanted to do it was so hard to wait for the time to pass. Finally the timer went off. I had chosen to do an "animal" dare, so I stripped naked (Probably very ungraceful, I was in a hurry, damn it! At least there wasn't much to strip out of.), got on hands and knees, and linked a short chain from my collar to an eyelet in the wall, at the appropriate height to prevent from lying down or getting up or even kneeling up. And I like to add my nipple clamps with bells to the "animal" dare because they fit so nicely into the theme. That falls into a grey zone though. I enjoy pain. So do clamps (or does inflicting pain generally) count as touching for sexual pleasure? Ah, I'm overthinking again. Let's find out. My nipples have become quite sensitive during this period of no touching. They protrude and are hard most of the time, and involuntary contact sends shivers through my body. It was exciting to put them on, and yes, it was pleasurable. I adjusted them to the pressure at which they just wouldn't fall off.

The "animal" dare is the one that has been demanded most often. It's also one of my favourites. To me it's a special kind of corner time, an opportunity for my mind to roam freely. Not totally freely though, but rather guided by the animal theme. Sometimes I relax within the fantasy of "being" an animal, of not having to talk or having to think. More often I get aroused from the humiliation of the thought to be kept like this. The bells on the clamps are quite small, but they are made from very thin sheet metal. I think they sound a bit like cow bells. They chime, and my inner cinema starts rolling: I'm chained like this in a miserably small pen, turning around is impossible, it's even difficult to look what’s going on behind me. Correspondingly, every passer-by has an inviting view of my ass and pussy, and most of them don't miss out on the opportunity to at least administer a few smacks. Somebody just stands behind me for a while. Then I hear a dark voice: "Just look at this disgusting animal, dripping from its snatch! [I really am.] I bet it's desperate to touch its filthy cunt. [I really am.]" A female voice replies: "Yes, she's such a horny slut! Look at the puddle between her legs! [There really is one.]" They walk away laughing. And in my mind it's echoing "She's such a horny slut … She's such a horny slut …"

When the timer went off I was incredibly disappointed (and horny of course). Don't get me wrong, it was great as long as it lasted, but it was extremely difficult to except that nothing more would come from it. Taking off the clamps didn't feel as intense as I expected it to be. It had felt nice to wear them, however in the long run they didn't provide enough stimulation by themselves and only increased the urge for more. So maybe wearing clamps shouldn't count as pleasurable. When I put away the collar, chain, and clamps frustration was the prevailing feeling. But it didn't persist for very long. I have chosen this, it's what I want. I'm incredibly happy that I appear to be in the right frame of mind to make it work this time. The difficulties are part of what is making it worthwhile. Overall, I enjoy my self-denial very much. And the soddenness of the towel I'm sitting on is a satisfying reassurance that I'm on the right track.

Tomorrow starts JuNO, a 30-day denial challenge hosted by a female orgasm denial tumblr. "June is coming. I won't be." That's so cute. It's very tempting to join, but it involves obligatory edging and I don't think I have reached the limit of "no touching" yet. Hence I currently plan to have my own JuNO (or, in my case, JuNoT). If I stick to it I would increase my record of self-denial by almost three weeks. And from there the 50 day mark is not far away. And after that, everything's possible. There will also be an advent season challenge …

A Small Slip-Up
 

Day 21 of strict no touching in a sexual manner. This is just going to be a quick status update. I had some really busy days and not too many things noteworthy happened.

I've proceeded to use panty-liners all the time now. My pussy is always wet, leaking most of the time, and I think it's still increasing rather than waning. I like the feeling a lot, except for a small worry about the smell. Despite increased efforts in hygiene (I'm quite squeamish in this regard) I sometimes have the feeling I can smell my pussy juices (maybe I'm just paranoid). Recently in a crowded bus a poor little boy was so wedged in that he ended up with his face very close to my crotch. I felt very awkward, wondering whether he could smell something. Apart from this I'm on denial high far more often than not – I'd say 90 percent denial bliss, 10 percent internal struggle –, but when urge and horniness show up it's like being hit by a sledgehammer. And usually I don't see it coming. Have you ever buckled unexpectedly because you've been stabbed with a warm rod into the lower abdomen? And you feel everything tighten around the rod, almost clenching, twitching? That's how it feels sometimes. And I definitely miss the relaxation that a couple of nice orgasms can bestow upon you after busy days. I sometimes feel quite tense, but of course one can't have both, the relaxation from release and the amazing high spirits from denial.

I've already given it away in the headline – I had my first small slip-up. When I awoke two days ago my clit felt incredibly tight and hot, and I simply had to touch it just to relieve the tension. Or so I thought. I reached into my pyjama shorts, and slightly rubbed my clit. Ohhhh! It was not that was still in a sleepy haze; I was very well aware what I was doing. It took me about half a minute to call myself to order again. Just a small temporary loss of self-control; no reason to panic. I take it as a learning experience. When I reintroduce masturbation I'll have to be very, very careful. Because I went from nil to close to hundred in this short time. Despite it felt really good it was not too difficult to stop and the inevitable frustration lasted only for a few minutes. I'm overjoyed that I found something I really love and could imagine to pursue for the long haul (usually I'm quite erratic). But I'm still just experimenting. No pressure.

Halftime! & "Spanking As Distraction" Fail
 

Day 25! Exactly half the way to what I have envisaged as the finish line of my "no touch" experiment (July, 2nd). I'm only a couple of days away from a new personal denial record. At the first week mark I thought: "Already a week? That's easy!" After two weeks: "Wow! Piece of cake!" Three weeks in I was so confident: "I got this!" However, these last days have been really hard. Frustrating. Wanting to run my head into the wall frustrating. Crying myself to sleep frustrating.

Having my period definitely has a share in this situation. Generally more vulnerable emotionally, I'm also usually hornier during these days. And I often rely on orgasms to relieve some of the cramps and cut it short if possible. During my period I failed the last time I tried for longer self-denial. Furthermore I want to read the reports of the girls participating in JuNO, but I can't stand it for longer than a couple of minutes. Just reading that stuff takes me to the point of arousal where I fear to lose all self-control. I'm so jealous of them being able to edge, at least to touch. When I read "I had six proper edging sessions today" I literally started to cry. My goodness, I'm just at halftime?

Yesterday evening I felt that I needed at least some relieve of the tension that had been bottled-up. I've been dared to an all-round ass-pussy-tits spanking a couple of weeks ago. That seemed like a good idea. I love self-spankings: the self-induced anticipation of every stroke, followed by the sensation of pain, setting body and mind on fire, and finished with relief … and the anticipation of the next stroke. I was also looking forward to try a new implement: a cane I had gotten a few weeks ago. This cane replaces my first sex toy ever: a rigid wire I had bent into shape from a clothes-hanger as a teenager. It has served me well, but it tends to deform after a couple of blows. The new one is quite a simple rattan cane coated with latex, 85cm (about 33 inches) long. Very flexible. Promising. I was shivering with anticipation when I undressed. I decided to proceed in the order from least to most arousing: butt first (25 times on each cheek), then tits (15 times each), finally pussy (20 times).

The first blow was a bit of a disappointment. Nice swishing through the air, but far less of an impact than I had expected. But it turned out my technique just needed some readjustment. After a few attempts I could make it sting like I was used to. And shortly thereafter I could make it sting even more. Nice! Interestingly the new cane created less noise though. On the one hand this made my method of ascertaining to not slack off by measuring the sound level impractical. [I have explained the method here.] On the other hand it decreased my worries about neighbours overhearing. I used the butt spanking to work on my technique and didn't really count, but I surely exceeded the prescribed amount of blows. When I checked in the mirror I saw some nice, sharply demarcated, almost parallel welts. Self spanking is an art form … :)

I took some deep breaths before I moved on to my breasts. My nipples have become very sensitive during the time of self-denial. I hadn't touched them at all other than when taking a shower. I was really curious how they would react to pain. The first blows landed below my tits, but with the third or fourth I hit my left nipple quite hard. I gasped. But not only from the pain. I felt a sting at my clit as well, followed by violent throbbing. My knees gave away a little. Of course there is a neurological connection between the simulation of the nipples and the genitals. But holy crap, what a strange remote effect! Afterwards I aimed as best as I could for my nipples, and when I hit them I experienced the same sensation again, just a bit subdued. Oh, my god, for the first time I really believed that it was possible to achieve an orgasm from stimulation of the nipples alone! And the best was yet to come!

I know I can cum from pain alone. A precise hit to my clit can send me over the edge. But so far that had happened only after long masturbation sessions with lots of edging when I was really really really horny. But without any preceding direct stimulation? Before yesterday I would have thought that there was no chance. However, as I was lying there on my back, stemming my hips into the air (actually desperately trying to hump the air), dripping my juices onto my bedsheet I wasn't so sure anymore. My clit was so enlarged that it protruded dark red and swollen from its hood. I've never seen that to this extent before! I have no idea from where I was able to summon the strength, but I decided that I couldn't take the risk. Hence I converted the pussy spanking to a spanking of the inner thighs. And believe me: I hit them hard … driven by incredible frustration. "I can't even have that kind of touch?" I didn't want to stop. "Just some more stimulation! Any!!" When I finally called it quits it was more from exhaustion then a conscious choice. My thighs were burning, my breasts were burning, my nipples were burning, and my clit felt as if it was about to burst. For a couple of minutes I laid there motionless, and then I fetched a towel soaked in cold water to press between my legs.

I usually don't like the idea of chastity belts a lot. To wear a chastity belt means accepting a situation in which one can't touch oneself. That's a significant sacrifice for sure. However, to develop the self-control and to offer the commitment to not touch oneself even though one could seems the harder, therefore more meaningful gift to me. But at this moment I craved my pussy to be locked away, to be absolutely inaccessible, to be able to forget about it, to stop the gruelling fight with myself. I even considered cuffing my hands to the headboard, just to stop the internal struggle. I finally fell into a very light sleep, being half awake for longer periods of time, dreaming, waking dreaming, sobbing. And now that I'm typing this (it's just 5am) I'm just too tired to be frustrated. Maybe it's just idiocy from sleep deprivation, but I'm actually proud of myself and … not happy … not happy at all … but relieved I could still write "Day 25!" rather than starting with day one again. But I really hope for better times to come.

This is really a work of art. I am extremly impressed by your willpower and writing skills.
I am sure you can do it!

I'm really jealous about your writing skills and your willpower. This is not just a repoert, this is poetry (stuff deserve to be printed and made to a book).
I would have failed long time ago if I were in your position :o

Reading this makes me feel good because I know that I'm not the only one making the experience how some body parts seem to develope a mind of its own. On the other hand my cunt start to revolt it its steel prison like a wild animal in a small cage.

I can't wait to read more:)

Just an Episode From Last Night
 

I wake up in the middle of the night. I'm pulled out of a surreal dream, reluctantly. I don't remember a lot from what happened, but it was pretty weird and my subconscious mind did it's best to undercoat even the most absurd plot erotically. At one point I was flying above my hometown on a strange mission to rescue it from a threat I don't remember while I was rubbing my clit. Hey, I'm a superheroine, horniness is my superpower and I drown villains in my pussy juices. (I admit, I'm also weird when I'm awake. :)) Later I encountered a woman who wouldn't move out of my way so I smashed the glass she was balancing on her head in an outburst of anger. Apparently she was a costumer at the restaurant I work at because my boss appeared and as a punishment I had to hump the top of the back of a chair while they and my colleagues were watching and laughing. How humiliating! This part of the dream had at least some foundation in reality. The last time I was waiting tables I realized at one point that I was pushing the chairs back under the table not with my hands, but with my crotch! Tiptoeing to ensure the tightest possible contact with my pussy! I swear I did this totally subconsciously and my cunt had taken over in this moment. Had this been the first time or had I being doing this all day long? I looked around the room filled with customers, but luckily people don't care too much about what waitresses are doing. Nevertheless I felt utterly embarrassed.

So I wake up from these dreams in the middle of the night, pretty horny as you can imagine. But I don't wake up from horniness, but because a thunderstorm is closing in. I feel the first drops of rain finding their way through the window over my bed. I get up and close all windows. I live in a small but cosy apartment directly under the roof. The sun had burnt down the whole day, and it's still quite hot in my bedroom. Without a cooling draught it's almost unbearable even though I only wear thin pyjama shorts. I switch on the fan next to my bed, kick the blanket away, and lay back. It starts raining profusely, then hailing, beating the drums on the windows. I won't be able to get back to sleep as long as this continues. I sigh. Another night of interrupted sleep. I try to relax. The fan is moving slowly from side to side, distributing its blow all over my body, wandering from head to feet. Hm, this feels nice, cooling … But, wait!, there's more. The breeze caresses my nipples that are so sensitive at the moment anyway, poking out all the time, hungry for attention. They get even harder, their skin feels like stretched to the maximum. Although it's almost dark I can see them against the dark grey backdrop: little thimbles, small cylindrical castle towers on guard against the invasion of voluptuousness. No, they have abandoned me. They are inviting the enemy in, throwing the gates wide open. I press my arms against my sides and lift my tits a bit to relieve some of the tension. And the draft continues to move up and down my body. One of my legs is bent and upright. When the flow of air passes my inner thigh it feels like the very soft touch of a feather. I shiver. Fuck!, I'm getting aroused by a whiff now!

A couple of weeks ago I've read a story about a girl who was enjoying a lazy sunny day, getting horny by the summer breeze while she was standing in a window opening, and finally cumming just from a cool haze, carried from a sprinkler onto her excited hot body. A very nice story, great atmosphere, and a wonderful fantasy, but a bit over the top. Right? I think about what might be the smallest level of stimulation to achieve an orgasm. The water jet from the shower head is already too much to bear at the moment. I've read that people under hypnosis can cum without any physical stimulation at all. I also read a story of a slave girl who was trained to cum spontaneously on her masters' command. Is that really achievable? And what a great and scary mindfuck would that be, knowing to be able to cum in an instant, but to offer the control over this to somebody else? The breeze from the fan makes me hot (what an irony!), but it wouldn't be enough stimulation to take me to the edge. I spread my legs a bit and the loose cuffs of my shorts allow the airflow to get a bit closer to my pussy. That feels delicious and I enjoy it for a couple of minutes. The fan continues to move from side to side, a built-in mechanism to pull away the pleasure periodically. What a devious device! Nevertheless I feel my juices running down my butt crack. I'm so tempted to rip off my shorts and stick out my leaking cunt towards the titillating draft. But I feel that this – while technically not touching – would cross the threshold of self-pleasuring I'm willing to accept during my "no touch" experiment. After about an hour and a half I drift off to sleep – dreamless now, as far as can remember – until morning.

You can be assured things have gotten intense when you crave to be fucked by a breeze of air. I'm on a huge denial high again, happily humming, happily leaking, happily horny, while I'm writing this. Just wanted to let you know. :)

*blows some air towards her pussy* :p

Great diary entry again! The weather last night was certainly unbearable. While the window was closed it was too warm and while open it was too noisy...

Hi, just wanted to let you know that I've been denied for 10 days now and reading your reports has been by far the biggest torture by now, because they aroused me so much. Still I couldn't really stop reading.

Hope you stay denied and keep writing them ;)

At the End of My Known World & How I Got There
 

Day 30 of no touch denial! I'm past my previous personal record and entering into uncharted denial territory. I feel hopeful like an explorer: I'm sitting in the crow's nest, looking for maelstroms, reefs, shallow banks, approaching heavy weather, and unbelievable sea monsters. I'm pretty sure I will encounter all of these and I'm looking forward to it. Maybe at some point I'll even reach the edge and fall over. Or steer along and just enjoy the look into the abyss. But today the sea is calm, deep and quiet. Even my pussy is in a good mood to mark the occasion, cheerful like a child in expectation of its birthday. It's buzzing again almost constantly. It hasn't done that for a while. It's pulsating very gently, and when I lie quietly I can feel the waves resonating in my lower abdomen. After waking up this morning I spent about a quarter of an hour just enjoying this delightsome feeling.

I've been thinking about why I'm able to stick to my plan this time. (Knock on wood!) As a lot of "success" stories this also is a story of failures. A lot of failures. My interest in denial began with the rather trivial observation that orgasms are more intense after a period of abstinence. I'm talking about cumming every other day instead of every day. :) Sometimes unexpected things happened, I ended up skipping another day and the ensuing orgasm was even stronger. So there was an incentive to delay release, but, let's face the facts, I was still cumming more often than not, usually multiple times. Besides, the aim of delaying release at this point was having more intense orgasms, not having no orgasms.

But I found out that the pleasure from orgasms is governed by the law of diminishing marginal utility. The value of my climax currency was undergoing inflation. I was masturbating and cumming habitually, maybe even compulsively, but first and foremost mindlessly. Then I went to a workshop that took from Monday to Friday and I shared the room with a participant. No masturbation for four nights, probably the first time in years. But I also experienced something that I hadn't experienced in a long time. I felt really sensual. That was an exciting feeling in itself. Of course I made up for the orgasms I had "forgone" over the following weekend and, boy!, they felt good. But the tender shoots of desire, yearning, and sensuality were steamrolled. I just had orgasms, great orgasms, nevertheless I didn't feel satisfied. The rate of inflation had increased significantly. So began a phase of attempts of self-denial for a couple of days at a time just to experience these more subtle feelings again. Sometimes I managed for three days, sometimes for four, but typically I failed on the very first day. Don't get me wrong: I love to cum. But I really started to dislike the subsequent drop in libido.

Then I experienced real denial highs and they blew my mind. One I remember particularly well: It was Saturday morning and I had already denied myself release for two or three days. I was edging for quite some time and it was almost time to get up to take a shower before going to work. I was sweating and panting and everything in me screamed to get myself off. Do it! Do it now!! But there was this tiny little voice saying: "You know better. You'll be disappointed afterwards. How do you feel right now?" "Horny! Incredibly horny! Incredible! Alive!" "See?! If you hold back you can feel the same tonight again." I jumped out of bed and floated through the day. In the evening there was the voice again: "You know better. Don't you wanna feel that intense tomorrow morning?" In the morning the voice whispered: "You know better. You'll …" – "Shut up! I get it! I'll hold back." I was on cloud nine. I felt invincible. Totally unflappable. Attuned to myself. In closest possible touch with my sexuality. Divine. Mother Earth herself. The inflation of my climax currency became rampant.

February went by without an orgasm. However, that was more a consequence of grieving about a breakup than a conscious period of denial. Eventually I started my PM dare experiment which included a "denial for a day" dare as well. Especially one guy was very insistent on keeping me denied permanently and I'm very thankful for that. I've reread my diary about these ten remarkable days. Oh my god!, was my flame burning hot and high! But I was using up all my fuel very quickly. In retrospect I'm not surprised that I had to give up. I wanted too much. I spent four to six hours every day on doing dares and writing about it, next to writing papers, preparing for exams, and working at my part-time job. I planned for more than 120 days! (If I had stuck with it I would be on day 78 now.) It was a wonderful, intense experience though, and I learnt a lot from it. But I haven't told what happened afterwards yet.

Despite the fact that everyone was very friendly and understanding I was terribly disappointed in myself. I hate it when I don't follow plans through. Initially I thought I'd just ease up a bit, but I was so stressed out I soon realized I needed a break, a period to concentrate on my studies, the opportunity to wind down. Masturbating and above all orgasming was my favourite method of relaxation. I was so much looking forward to it.

In the evening I went to bed quite early and started to pleasure myself. It was nice to do so without worrying about not going too far. It didn't take long to the first orgasm. It was decent, but not spectacular. But my first orgasm usually isn't the best so I was prepared for that. It was more like a warm up. I took my time for the second climb-up, slowed down from time to time, and drew out the pleasure. Damn, I had earned it! And the second orgasm was everything I had hoped for after two weeks of holding back: It hit me like a warm wave, swiping me off my feet, engulfing me, eyes rolling to the back of the head, the galaxy exploding before them, making me forget where and who I was for a moment. I even squirted which doesn't happen very often. Phew! That was great! Terrific! That was great. Really great. It was. Wasn't it? What the fuck, I just had a mind blowing orgasm! What's wrong? Relax, you're overexcited. But I am relaxed. That orgasm was great, terrific, mind blowing. But I felt empty and cold. Frozen. Fossilized. All the energy I had stored up over the preceding two weeks had dissipated in the blink of an eye. I hadn't dialed down the tension; I had pulled the plug entirely.

This mood prevailed for a couple of days. My mind was empty, my body a wasteland. After a few days my emotions "normalized". I was even able to enjoy orgasms without falling into a slump afterwards. But in these days something clicked in my brain: I was not necessarily giving up anything at all when I denied myself release. It was like living on a fertile coastal stretch, well-off, comfortable, but a bit monotonous. I enjoyed the bounties of the land, but I was getting lethargic. I knew there was something to explore beyond the horizon. So I made my ship seaworthy, set sail, and here I am: at the end of my known world of denial. It's not always easy, but I enjoy every second of this adventure. My pussy buzzes in approval.

A Day in a Life
 

Words. Stories. Literature. I love them. I think I have a word fetish. I enjoy writing about my experiences as much as having them in the first place. Experiences are fleeting, but what I've put in writing usually sticks in my mind. When I read what I've written a couple of months ago I can relive the situation vividly, much easier than from memory alone. But what is worth telling about my "no touch" self-denial experiment? Of course I write about the highlights, the difficult struggles, the moments of bliss. However, the subtle details are equally important: How the increased libido permeates the whole day. I currently watch the world not with rose tinted, but with arousal tinted spectacles. I thought I'd dedicate a blog entry to these nuances. (I did some dares too. If you're only interested in that skip the next five paragraphs.)

I awoke quite early. My first sensation, my first thought: "You're horny." I'm always horny when I wake up these days. When it's very intense it's agonizing and the day starts with a fight against my weaker self. But usually it's a pleasant way to wake up that puts a smile on my face. I reached for my mobile, scanned quickly through the news (I just don't want to miss the zombie apocalypse) and paid a visit to my favourite denial tumblr. Inspiration for the day ahead. Diary entries from girls doing JuNO, about their days 10 or 12. Ha, I felt like a denial veteran. An "edging is better than cumming" meme. "Not for me", I thought. "Not touching is better than edging." I smiled. Two "no touch" memes. A girl tied to her bed as punishment for breaking the "no touch" rule. Damn!, that was a hot fantasy. My nipples were as hard as the girl's in the picture. My pussy twitched a bit. And another breaking the rule meme, ending with the words: "Maybe I'll never let you cum again." I squirmed a bit, and in my mind it echoed "never cum again, never cum again, never cum again …"

I did my morning toilet and found my panties soaked overnight. Who cares?, I was at home, I didn't need panties here, so off they went. With a cup of tea I sat down to write the first and last paragraph of yesterday's blog entry (the back story I had written the evening before). My pussy buzzed very gently, but permanently. I found a PLUG dare in my inbox (my pussy buzzed a bit stronger). I thought for a second whether I should do it immediately (my pussy did a leap of joy), but decided that I wouldn't really enjoy it because I would run late (mildly frustrated growl). Aww, no reason to pout, Madam. Depending on what pair of pants I wear walking arouses me. The very slight friction between the fabric and the tender skin in the crotch. Yesterday I chose such a pair. I do what I can to get along well with my pussy, because it can be quite a cunt. :)

The morning in the library was uneventful. I was reading and my pussy was buzzing along unobtrusively in the background. When I went to the rest room in the lunchbreak I had to change the panty-liner. I typically use a couple of them every day now. At home I don't care (I rather like it), but outside the house I'm a bit paranoid people can smell my juices. A JuNO girl worried the same and was "reassured" that nobody could smell them consciously, but especially men could pick up the increased level of pheromones subconsciously. Aha, that explained the bunch of men around me. Or maybe it was just the usual crowd at the check-out. :) In the afternoon I attended a seminar. It wasn't particularly interesting; I had problems to remain concentrated. Then somebody used the phrase "the naked truth". Just a word, an innocent word, "naked", and my mind started galloping: "I'd like to be naked now. I wonder how this girl looks naked. Or this guy, he's rather cute. A ladies' man. He looks as if he had sex last night. Did she have an orgasm? I'd given her mine. (The idea of a girl having my orgasm instead of me arouses me in a strange way.) Maybe she's doing JuNo too? No, she looks more like a denial bitch than a denial slut. If she said 'no' to me …" I went around the room, wondering who might be interested in tease and denial, by whom I would like to be teased and denied, who I would like to deny. A very productive seminar!

Do you know that riding a bus can be arousing? In fact, busses are the biggest vibrators I know. The bus line I use most often follows a street with damage to its surface. Maybe my pussy was just starved for attention or particularly sensitive from the low-key stimulation throughout the day. I was sitting right above the central axis of an articulated bus, my whole seat was vibrating intensely, I pushed my crotch against it, and it felt great. Unfortunately the damaged passage is not very long and the fun ride was over way too soon. I'm probably the only one who wishes for more potholes. :) In this bus I also overheard a conversation between two women, talking about parenting. One said: "If you forbid kids something they want it even more. The forbidden fruit is just sweeter." What a banality! But it was the prompt for my agitated pussy: "Yes! Yes! Yes! The forbidden fruits are the sweetest! I want the forbidden fruits! I've waited for so long! And I have been so well-behaved lately. Please? … And … um … fruit? A banana would be nice. Do you know that courgettes are technically fruit? …" Oh my, I get freaky when I think with my cunt.

Before I went home I picked up some groceries. (Just to be sure, the only fruit I bought were blueberries. :)) The shop had a special promotion of tools and hardware. Why would I be interested in that you ask? Because they sometimes have excellent "pervertables": ordinary items that can be used in not so ordinary ways. Sometimes you can get low-priced carabiners, O-rings, or eyelets. A couple of weeks ago I bought two sets of lashing straps, but my plans for them I'll reveal in a future post. Last week ropes were on sale. Yesterday I only saw cable ties, but I already have enough of them.

When I came home I was in the mood to do some PM dares. During my current "no touch" phase I don't do dares often and some of them are totally off-limits (e.g. all masturbation dares of course), hence I accumulate tasks at a higher rate than I'm able to execute them. At the moment I don't fret about that a lot, nevertheless I like to check off some items from my to-do list. I owed two hours of being naked and three hours of wearing my collar. I needed to read a few chapters for a seminar on Friday; I thought that would be a good opportunity to do at least two hours of both. So I stripped naked and put on my leather collar. I would have preferred to read in bed, but since I had decided that the NAKED dare would only be applicable in situations in which I usually wouldn't be naked I sat down on my desk. I wondered if I would like to be naked and collared all the time, at least at home. But I don't think so because I assume it wouldn't feel special any more after becoming accustomed to it. When I was approaching the bottom of the pages my nipples came into my field my vision and I felt a bit lecherous – leering at myself! – but I liked what I saw. Of course my pussy was very aware that something was lying ahead and cranked up its buzzing. At one point I moved away from my desk a bit, took the book in my hands, and put one foot on the desktop. That felt nice, spread open and accessible if I wanted … When the two hours had passed I still hadn't finished the chapters. Detention for the lazy student! I was not in a hurry as I was enjoying the anticipation of what I had planned.

One dare that I never have open for a long time is the ANIMAL dare (staying naked on hands and knees with the collar chained to an eyelet in front of me) simply because I like it so much. It's the invitation to my mind to let loose and drift off to fantasy land. Animals don't think, right? I like to wear my clamps with bells with it because of the connotations: the bell of a cat, the bell of a cow. But this time I had been dared to wear them not on my nipples, but on my tongue. I checked the wording of the dare: "clamps". One clamp would have been better, but as I had stated "clamps" I would wear both. Since I was wearing them anyway I decided to combine the whole setup with the SPIT dare, collecting my saliva while wearing the clamps while on hands and knees while chained to the eyelet. I thought that was a great idea, interesting and efficient. It turned out it was utterly impractical. Firstly, the chain from my collar to the eyelet would have hung exactly in the way. But I'm a domesticated animal. I wouldn't leave my pen even if I could. I could easily spare the chain. Secondly, I had fixed the clamps to the tip of my tongue and this way the saliva was running along the clamps and into the bells. I didn't like that. Hence I moved the clamps to the sides of my tongue and restarted the timer. Ouch!, I hadn't adjusted the pressure. Maybe the sides of the tongue are more sensitive, because it felt like the clamps pressed down harder. Furthermore I had to open my mouth quite wide and stick out my tongue rather far. I was drooling much more than the first time I'd done this dare. The saliva was not only dripping from my lips but also from the tip of my tongue. I had put the timer out of my sight, but it felt like only a few minutes had passed when the situation seemed to become unbearable. The clamps hurt and the back of my throat hurt when I tried to swallow with my tongue stretched forward. I fled into fantasy land. "I have paws. Or I have hooves. Howsoever, I can't take off these clamps. I have to endure this." That was a different kind of fantasy from the ones I usually have when doing this dare, but it felt even more profound, more real. Our imagination is so powerful. In a sense I became this animal that was unable to remove the clamps. That was so humiliating. And … very … arousing. I rolled my hips. My pussy twitched and clenched around the nothingness. I wished I had my suction dildo fixed to the back of my "pen" for a good animalistic fuck. I'll definitely try this after my no touch experiment. When the timer went off I was dripping from both ends.

I really had collected much more saliva than before. I would say about two shot glasses worth. Spit is probably the most benign of the bodily fluids, watery, clear, odourless, and tasteless. I wasn't hesitant at all to pour it over my face. Its only interesting feature is its viscosity. It doesn't drip off like water does, but leaves a thin coating. One drop was hanging from my eyebrow for a while, another one from my nose, and I could see the glistening path where is had run over my left breast. I took a quick shower while I was thinking about the dare. The pouring part was not interesting at all, only slightly humiliating inasmuch as I was doing it at the behest of a guy from the internet. I wanted to try it because I had seen a video: A group of four or five girls was spitting in turns on a girl tied to the wall while debasing her verbally. It seemed to be a staged situation, but the tied girl and one of her "abusers" appeared to really enjoy it. The latter didn't hold back and soon the face of the "victim" was covered all over, her eyes and hair gummed up. I'm ashamed to admit that I was quite turned on. Well, there are some experiences I can't recreate on my own. But collecting the saliva was really amazing!

And I still wasn't done for the day. I wanted to do another dare I had been looking forward to since I got it three days ago: assigned reading! Of course I like to read erotic literature generally. But I think it's particularly thrilling to read something somebody else has specifically picked for me. It reveals what they might get turned on by, or what they think might turn me on. Anyway, it seems like a more intimate interaction than just sending a basic PM dare. Two stories were linked, both featuring a tease and denial theme. How attentive! Even though I visit the particular website quite often I didn't know the stories.

The first story was about a nurse who worked the night shift and walked in on a patient she had a crush on while he was masturbating. Urgh! I have some very bad memories of hospitals and they are one of the least erotic places I can think of. Even my pussy revolted and stopped buzzing. If I had come across this story on my own accord I wouldn't have read beyond the first two paragraphs. But actually the unfolding sex scene was written very well. I was drawn into it and soon forget about the depressing setting. The scene was not narrated from one perspective, but from both the nurses and the patients alternately, in a fluid, unostentatious way, which is quite rare. I liked how the guy took charge, not selfishly, but in a way that was pleasurable for both. At the end I sympathized with the nurse, understanding why she'd come back for more. I would have liked to read more by this author, but unfortunately there wasn't more available. In the second story a girl confessed a "problem" to a new acquaintance and he started to direct her masturbation by email. In the first week he made her masturbate and cum often. In the second week she was ordered to masturbate as often as before, but now she wasn't allowed to orgasm, only to edge and to ruin if necessary. "Good girls don't cum!" As you might imagine the narration of the second week was exactly to my taste. The depiction of the girl's increasing desperation matched so many of my experiences – my cunt was leaking and twitching as was hers – and it was wickedly delicious to read about somebody else going through this wonderful ordeal. "It was at the same time exactly what she wanted and needed, and also intolerable." Yes! Yes! Yes! That's it. You want it to end and never to stop at once. When the guy finally met the girl again he had a really devious twist in store. Imagining me in her place made my pussy convulse heavily.

I put away my mobile, curled up on my side, stared into the darkness for a couple of minutes, and replayed the day's events in my mind. Was I horny? Tremendously. I felt that my panties were already soaked again. My pussy was buzzing like a bumblebee. Was I tempted to touch it? Actually, and much to my surprise, not really. It felt so natural, exactly like it should be, not as something to overcome, not as the trigger for release, but as something to enjoy to the fullest in its own right. What a great day it had been! "Never cum again. The forbidden fruits are the sweetest. Good girls don't cum!" was whizzing around in my mind as I slowly drifted off to sleep.

An Ambush
 

I stand at a red traffic light, out of breath. I ran from my house up to this point. It's not far, but I never run. I hate running. I rather wait ten minutes for the next bus than to run for it. At last the light goes green and I rush further, into the park on the other side of the road. It's a sunny day around noon. It's crowded. Children laugh. All benches are occupied. I need one for myself. I'm hound to death. Finally there's an empty park bench. I slump down. I can feel the warm sunrays on my leg, my arms, and my shoulders, but I shiver. I struggle to hold back the tears. What's the matter with me? What just happened, apparently from nowhere?

It just seemed a normal day. It happened without prior warning. I had posted yesterday's diary about how good I was feeling about my no touch denial experiment a couple of hours earlier. What an irony! My pussy had been buzzing pleasantly just as it had the days before. I was working on a paper, totally unsuspectingly. I got up to put the kettle on. Then I felt a sharp thrust all through my lower abdomen. I immediately sat down again. I gasped. It took me some time to figure out that this wasn't pain. It was horniness, but horniness of a very different kind. Remorseless. Ruthless. Unavoidable. It burst through my seemingly well-developed lines of defence at the first attempt. I was outnumbered and outgunned. This urge needed to be satisfied. I would give in or I would shatter into a thousand pieces. A slight movement of the hand, a few circles, and everything would be over. I sat there, dazed, desperate, for a few minutes. Then I waved the white flag. No need to play the hero. I was defeated. But just in this moment the overwhelming enemy made a careless mistake. All too sure of victory the urge relaxed its grip ever so slightly. And I slipped out of my apartment.

I crouch closer on my lonely park bench. I press my thighs together as hard as I can to mitigate the tension that's burning between my legs. My pussy has swallowed a hot-red ball. What's your point, you guileful malicious dry-gulching cunt? Do you want to prove you're still the Mistress of the house? Sure, you didn't cum for quite a long time. But don't tell me you don't like it too, the permanent leaking, the buzzing? A cloud shifts in front of the sun. The wind freshens up. The hot ball inside me cools down a bit too. I use the deep breathing technique I was taught to deal with anxiety and it really helps me to relax. An ice cream truck drives up not too far. I could need some comfort food. That's a nice distraction. While I'm licking on my ice cream cone I think about what happened. The whole thing felt very much like a panic attack. Don't panic! And don't blame your pussy. You're not only trying to change a habit that's deeply engrained. You're attempting to overwrite a powerful drive, maybe the most powerful drive. What do you expect? Roses and pink fluffy unicorns every day? I smirk and dangle my legs. No, that's not at all what I expect. I was watching out for unbelievable sea monsters two days ago. Do you remember? Well, today I encountered such a monster. It was more terrifying than I expected. But I managed to wrench from its tentacles. And if I'm wrecked tomorrow I still had an amazing journey. I'll try to send a bottle message.

I am not too sure what to say since I suck at finding the right words.
Just wow.
This is a fight which seems impossible to win but you keep fighting even though you may feel the same. And that´s impressive!
If your ship is sinking because of another attacking monster make sure to make it an epic fight such that nobody will ever forget your story. :)

Shopping
 

"You mean … You want those for you?" My cousin looked at me questioningly. "I agree, they are great, but, Yasna, they are not for you. You'll wobble like a drunken duck!" She's probably right. Nevertheless, I want those. At least I want to try them on.

My cousin is my go-to authority in questions of fashion. I'm not a girly girl. Sure, I like to dress up sometimes, but typically jeans (or shorts in summer), rarely a dress, and a top or t-shirt, a sweater in winter, and I'm good. I don't have any fashion sense. At least that's what my cousin says. I like to go shopping with her because she seems to know everything about this stuff. I'm always fascinated when she talks about why this or that is "in" at the moment, a "must have", or an "absolute fashion faux pas". In the end she usually complains that I have chosen the most boring items. I think she just agrees to accompany me to prevent the worst.

I was disappointed when my cousin stifled me. I'd had shown her a brochure with high-heeled sandals on sale. They have funnel-shaped 9cm/3.5inch heels and a small plateau under the forefoot. Really beautiful. And sexy. That's what this is about: a quite unexpected attendant circumstance of my self-denial experiment. To deny yourself release redirects sexual energy. I don't only feel way more sensual, I also want to express that feeling. For the first time I want to look sexy. Or, to be more precise, looking sexy has become a far higher priority. Do you want to come on a short shopping trip with me?

I think it started when I accidentally got into V'sS semi-annual sale. Usually I don't care too much about fashion brands. But products were up to 80 percent off, and well, it couldn't hurt to take a closer look. So I browsed through the pages, "Oh, that's cute!, Oh, that's sexy!", ending up with about 25 items in my cart. But as I'm a student my budget is tight, and when it actually came to really spending money reason and frugality prevailed. Bit by bit, but reluctantly, I got rid of most of items – the floral lace see-through teddy, the skimpy off-the-shoulder-top, sigh! – until I was left with two bras, a shirt, and two tops to wear to bed. In the evening the package arrived I did a private fashion show and (except for a bra that was too big) I really liked what I saw. Especially the two tops – a grey one with white applications and an apricot satin top with buttons – are so comfy and beautiful and sexy. Just wearing a top is my favourite way to dress because I feel that when my too tiny breasts and my too big belly are covered the remainder is well worth seeing, especially my quite long legs … But I'm getting off topic.

As you might imagine your mind rejoices in everything that is remotely sexual when you're in denial and horny. In my case this means I'm spending a lot of time looking at garments I never bothered to look at before (and not only clothes of course, but let's keep to this for now). Garter belts, for example. There not exactly necessary, but they are so beautiful. It's a banality that some pieces of clothes are more revealing than covering, but the right garter belt can work like a suitable frame for a piece of art, accentuating the beauty of a butt and, when worn without panties, of the pussy. Mine gets excited when I imagine it on such a beautiful display. Furthermore I'm absolutely in love with a black lacy teddy and a black lacy basque with cute midnight blue touches on the bust that unfortunately are too expensive for me. But I enjoy the mental image of me wearing those, sculpturing my figure. I have deserved some reward for sticking to my denial plan, don't you think? But it will be so difficult to decide as I want a lot of other things too. There is this beautiful leather breast-upper leg harness. What is it about metal rings and leather straps on naked skin that makes those things so incredibly sexy? And there are those high-heeled sandals. And boots and ankle boots. I've found a shop specialized in boots and they are quite affordable. Again I ended up with twenty items in my cart … If you ever consider trying denial I must warn you that you're in the danger to suffer some expensive collateral damage. :) Actually I think it's encouraging that I'm enticed to overcome some of my inhibitions.

For all of the poor guys that have read thus far I hope to have a special treat. My (window) shopping spree has not been limited to clothing. I've also bought some toys, small stuff mostly, nipple sticks, another set of nipple clamps (four apparently wasn't enough), but also a 33cm/13 inch jelly double penetration dildo. I have seen videos of girls practicing deep-throating with similar dildos. I've told elsewhere what a bad cock-sucker I am. I hope my two real-life victims have overcome their trauma by now. :) Even my very short penis gag and the small suction dildo trigger my gag reflex quite violently. Of course I was curious when I unboxed the thing. Um, that was big, but quite flexible and the material was very soft. I gave it a try … and it immediately went in very far. I was retching a bit, but far less than I had experienced so far. I think that is because it went past the position where the gag reflex is usually triggered. I felt the dildo at the back of my throat. I used a little bit of force, really not much, and it went in about another 7cm/2.5 inches! I was so surprised I took the dildo out immediately. Wow! I tried again, yes, there was the back of the throat, and another small push and further in it went. I felt my oesophagus clenching around the top of the dildo. That was actually a nice feeling (the retching and not being able to breathe not so much though). I tried a third time and measured how far I had taken the dildo in: 20cm/ almost 8 inches. I did my first real deep-throats! Learning to do them consistently seems much more achievable now. Maybe it's not only a matter of training the gag reflex away, but also a matter of the right training material. Another thing I'd like to try after my current denial experiment.

Of course I will go to the shoe shop tomorrow to try on the high-heeled sandals. I don't care too much if I wobble like a duck. I want those for myself, that's good enough.

Not Too Difficult, But Never Easy – And Ultimately Worthwhile
 

Day 36 of no touch denial! When you're caught up in every day's struggles time doesn't seem to pass sometimes. More than five weeks! I have to say I'm quite proud of myself. But maybe I should say more than five weeks of almost not touching myself at all. Because I had my second slip-up. It happened after taking a shower two days ago. Since a couple of weeks I use a facecloth soaked in lukewarm water to wash the area between my shoulders and my knees because even the water jet from the shower head is, aimed at the right spots, quite an unbearable pleasurable feeling at the moment. Usually this works quite well. But on this occasion I definitely spent more time cleaning between my legs than was justified by purely hygienic considerations. The same happened when I was towelling down myself. It was a mixture of "just" scratching an annoying itch and indulging in the urge to just touch my needy pussy for a bit. At the same time I was angry about my lack of self-control. The result was a very unsensual hard disgruntled rubbing of my clit through the rather abrasive fabric. But, damn!, even that harsh touch felt incredible! It seemed longer, but I think it took between half a minute and a minute before I pulled myself together and let go. They say that when you start denial you crave an orgasm, when you're in denial for longer you crave to edge, and when you're really in it you crave the slightest touch. I'm definitely in the latter phase.

The last days haven't been too difficult. After the extreme horniness onslaught on Thursday I reduced even the mental stimulation to a bare minimum: no dares, no erotic reading, and no internet except for the morning visit to the JuNO orgasm denial website (and Pet Ra's great denial dairy here :)). Maybe my general level of arousal has gone down a little bit. My pussy is still always wet and leaking most of the time, I still wake up with my panties soaked, but I think it has calmed down a bit. I believe my juices have not become less, but gooier and less runny. My nipples are still hard and erect and sensitive and their skin feels strained. Maybe I just got used to it to some degree. Feeling horny now is like spending time with an old friend you're very comfortable with. It's cosy and warm and familiar, but not as exciting as getting to know a new interesting person. But both are positive experiences in their own right.

Nevertheless, that doesn't mean that the last days have been easy. Although my permanent heightened level of arousal might not be as much in the forefront of my mind as it used to be it still lingers on. It simply can't be ignored. I'm always aware of it, even if it's just in the back of my mind. Usually going to sleep is one of the worst times of the day: when my mind relaxes and the distractions from the outside fade and my being seems to contract until there's not much left than my pulsating clit. How can such a small piece of flesh can be so powerful and demanding? And it takes so little to become aroused to the point where it is a challenge to not buckle. I feel the urge crouching like a feline predator, always ready to launch its fatal attack. For example, when I woke up yesterday my first glance fell on my tringle shaped pillow sitting by the bedside. I just wanted to grab it and hump my brain out. The whole morning I seemed to encounter items appealing to humping my neglected pussy, the ledge of a desk, the knob at the back of a chair, a low handrail, even a cat tunnel. Oh god!, how do I crave just a little humping, just a little touch of any kind, even clamping my clit or nipples although they are so sensitive that it likely would be pure hell.

I've been thinking about mental and physical stimulation. I guess just mental stimulation in the right dose would be enough to keep my arousal high even long-term. Reading erotic literature while pleasuring myself to orgasms is great. But so is reading erotic literature with my hands over the bedspread and just enjoying the feeling of my pussy getting excited, wet, buzzing, and little by little taking over my body and mind. If I had to choose I'd prefer the latter at the moment. But I start to think that reading erotic literature with a bit of self-pleasuring and maybe some itsy-bitsy careful edging might be the best of both worlds. However, at the moment my major concern is sustainability of my self-denial, not intensity. So I'm thinking about adding back some masturbation very slowly after my "no touch at all" experiment. Very slowly. I will not make the mistake again to overstimulate and frustrate myself. And, yes, this implies that I won't reward myself with an orgasm when I reach my goal. Maybe I have exhausted the learning opportunities from no touching at all, but I have a hunch that there are so much more rewarding experiences beyond the horizon.

My main motivation for this experiment was to enhance my sexual life. But I also want to find out how I react, how I feel under various conditions. I think a good sub needs to know herself very well. I want to figure out what I could promise sincerely and give up without regrets. Arousing fantasy and reality can be very different. My submissive side subscribes to the mantra that a sub is always to give, but never to take. However, I wasn't sure if I wouldn't grow defiant or at least indignant when denied for a longer period of time. If my current state is as "bad" is it gets I can truly say I could surrender all sexual pleasures to the right person. But things have been turned upside down. There have been tears, there has been extreme frustration, there have been desires that were so difficult to control … … … … … but at the end of the day I am very happy. I want this. If somebody somehow could make me orgasm right now it wouldn't feel like a reward, it would feel like a brutal punishment. I've reached an entire new level of sensuality I didn't even know was possible. All difficulties, all frustrations, all temptations are part of this greater achievement. Nothing that's worthwhile comes easily, right?

Close To The Edge
 

Day 38 of my "no touch" denial experiment. My "shouldn't touch" experiment. I've slipped up again. It's been my third slip up. And this time I came dangerously close to the edge.

The last days haven't even been particularly difficult. A visit to the dentist followed by one and a half days of racking toothache: the perfect antidote to arousal; the absolute wrong kind of pain. Yesterday I had to work a double shift because a colleague called in sick. Almost nine hours of running to and fro in muggy and sticky weather. I fell asleep like a stone.

But with the end of my self-imposed "no touch" regimen approaching – less than two weeks! – I'd started to play mind games again. It seemed like my needy pussy was playing the role of the little devilish voice sitting on my shoulder, whispering its tempting ideas straight into my tenderized mind: "You're ten days over your past denial record. You've proved your point. Relax. Enjoy. You've earned some fun." – "Yeah, that would be nice, but we set out to do fifty days of no touching." – "Ah, forty, fifty, sixty. Who cares? You've said it yourself: you've exhausted the learning opportunities from no touching at all." – "Agreed, but we set out to do fifty days." – "Damn! You act like a Prussian civil servant, exerting absolute pointless conscientiousness." – "Maybe. But it's not about conscientiousness; it's about steadfastness and self-discipline. Fifty days it is." – "Fifty? That's totally arbitrary." – "Sure. But it's what I have decided." – "You're irrational!" For crying out loud! My pussy, this spawn of pure blind mindless need, was calling me irrational! It seemed to have the better arguments too. Had it monopolized the blood flow? Was there nothing left for my brain? I felt close to losing my mind.

I'm always horny when I wake up. But this morning I didn't wake up horny, I was roused from sleep by my horniness. My clit was buzzing again, ready to step it up a notch. My panties were soaked and clinging to my crotch. I curled myself up in foetal position and waited. While my brain seemed to be still half asleep my body was wide awake and my pussy was strung up to the max. 3:40 am. Fuck! I tossed and turned for a bit. But there was no chance of going back to sleep. I grabbed my mobile for the usual morning visit to the JuNO denial tumblr. No updates. I moved on to my second favourite tumblr, focussed on tease and denial. "Tease me till I'm in tears." What a suitable title! I was close to burst into tears already. What a stupid decision! Now I was presented not with motivation for denial, but with stories and pictures of girls being edged, licked, rubbed, fucked, vibed. Girls being reduced to screaming, howling, bawling somethings. That was too much to bear. "Just a little touch … I have to …" My hand slipped into my panties. It felt so warm and gooey in there. I pushed my middle finger into my pussy, pressing against its roof, feeling it clenching around it. I gasped. The first thing penetrating my pussy after five weeks except for a couple of tampons. I started to rub my sensitive clit with my thumb. Warm wet circles. My body tensed immediately. Holy shit! If I had gone for it I would have been able to orgasm almost instantaneously. I stopped the circling, just pressing my thumb against the throbbing nub. My middle finger felt already drenched. I moaned at its slightest movement. I slid it in, I slid it out. I wanted more. I resumed circling my clit. Again it didn't take long before I felt the edge approaching, unwanted and craved at the same time. For a while I alternated between rubbing my clit and gently finger fucking myself. Boy, oh boy, this was what I wanted and needed! I stumbled onto a post ending with "Worth the wait." Slowly the thought crept in: "Not today. Not like that. Worth the wait." This kind of cognitive dissonance spoiled the feeling of pleasure quickly. My circling and rubbing and sliding my finger inside my pussy became desperate, something I couldn't stop, but didn't want to go on either. My mind was blocked. The movement of my fingers became less and less powerful. My moans from pleasure turned into moans from frustration. I could still feel my pussy clenching and my clit throbbing at the moment I finally retracted my hand. It smelled like a game enclosure during rutting season. I sobbed a bit, staring into the dark. "Good girl," I thought and almost smiled while I tried to swallow my tears.

I craved that touching severely. So much so that I felt overpowered by my urge initially. But I crave to stick to my plans even more. This adventure in self-denial is driven by a strange synergy of my predominant submissive and my far less pronounced dominant tendencies. I enjoy to challenge myself and to set long-term goals. I rejoice in the feeling that I'm in control of a powerful drive (even if it's my own). But in the end I stick to it is because I enjoy it overall. Part of the joy is the heightened sense of arousal and sensuality that I have told about many times now. However, there is another important part that I might haven't recognized enough so far. I'm happy to surrender my sexual pleasure to an outside authority (even if it's my own). I craved that touching severely. But I want it to happen in exactly the same way I have planned, I have "allowed" myself. I don't want to be driven by my urge; I want my urge to be controlled (even if it's by myself).

Me and my pussy aren't on friendly terms right now. It's mad at me. Raging mad. It has been twitching and caprioling like an untamed horse the whole day and apparently tries to drown me in its juices. I'm exhausted. I'm having a hard time to concentrate on anything else. But I won't let my pussy's urges ruin all my progress. Maybe I am an authoritarian Prussian civil servant. Misbehaviour apparently only makes me determined to postpone stimulation even further. Don't you forget it, little bratty cunt! No cumming for you any time soon; you already know that. No edging either if you keep acting up. Forget about touching as long as you can't behave. You're such a lovely sensitive pussy when I deny you even the slightest touch. You wince in frustration. I wince in frustration too, but something in my brain jubilates. I want to be a good girl.

4:44 am
 

4:44 am? Of course. I've been waking up between 4:40 am and 4:50 am at the latest for the last two or three weeks. Every. single. night. Sometimes I'm able to doze off a bit, but usually I'm not. Today I have to get up at 7 o'clock. I hate these long sleepless hours. I'm still dead tired. And I love these long quite sleepless hours. They are perfect to listen into yourself and let your mind wander. Sometimes it wanders to strange places.

Horny? Of course. I smile puffy eyed into the dawn. Today my pussy is not buzzing though, it "just" feels hot and heavy and tense. Oh, "just" that. I smile again. It might be not as intense as the buzzing, but it's not much easier to bear. With the buzzing there is at least something to focus on, like the pendulum of a hypnotist. Today it's just a continuous urge, steady, but no less demanding. I rub my feet together; even if I would very much prefer to rub somewhere else, I need to rub something.

My panties are soaked again. Does my pussy never get tired of cranking out superfluous grool? Quite the contrary, it has been particularly diligent. I would like to take off my panties, let some fresh air into the humidity between my legs, but I don't want to spoil the bedclothes. I don't only want to take off my panties; I want to stuff them into this affluent fountain, as deep as it gets, to sponge up all my juices. I wonder how long it would take before one could wring out a drop or two. The perfect essence of desire. Having something stuffed up my pussy – how does this feel again? It seems so long ago. The finger two days ago is already a faint memory, and before that … Oh, god! Usually I don't care too much about penetration and prefer stimulation of the clit, but today I crave my pussy to be filled. Not filled, stretched. Overstretched. I want to get my big thick dildo and push it in, inch by inch, and feel my pussy unclench, unbending and tensioning at the same time. I want to enjoy the feeling of being filled out. And afterwards, well, a good fuck would be great, deep and hard. My pussy agrees and finally starts buzzing gently. Not today though, but postponed is not abandoned.

I've been glad too early. Yes, I've done forty days of denial and there are "only" ten days left. But ten days are long. Longer than most of my attempts of self-denial ever lasted. I sigh. I turn on my side and stuff the bedspread between my legs. I usually do this because I find it the most comfortable position. But now one of my ass cheeks remains uncovered. It's bare. This side of the panties got stuck in the crack. I can feel the colder air pass by it. The skin feels tense. I would really like to give it a slap, just to release some of the tension. I can imagine the sound breaking the silence of this early morning. A single hard slap, with all strength. And probably another one. And maybe some more. I'm mulling over the question whether I should buy a spanking machine as a reward for following through with my denial experiment. I would be great if I hadn't to rely on my willpower to deliver powerful strokes. But these machines are quite expensive and there are so many other things I'd like to try too … As I fantasize about a spanking of my back (which I can't reach really well on my own) my eyes fall onto my erect nipples sticking out under my top. They deserve a good spanking too. They are so cocky, peeking out on top of their tiny hills. I want to squeeze them so badly. I breathe in deeply and close my eyes. Ten days.

I turn on my back and tuck up one leg. My heel touches the inside of my upper thigh and a shiver flashes through my body. Oh, my goodness!, a single accidental touch, not even that close to my crotch, and I cringe. The skin on my heel feels a bit rough, compared to the tender skin it touches. I'm tempted to move my foot a little, just to get this little bit of stimulation again. But the disadvantage of self-denial is that I can't sneak anything past myself. I grab my mobile for my morning visit to the JuNO denial tumblr, and I start to read a story. It's a great story about a girl fantasizing about being hypnotized to mindlessly masturbate her life away. But it describes "endless sessions of self-pleasure" and "getting off over and over again". I'll keep this story for later. I've just experienced how easy I'm carried away by stuff like this. Indeed, my pussy turned the buzzing from fly mode to wasp mode.

I'm seriously sleep deprived. I wonder again whether denial interferes with hormones that regulate the sleep pattern. I try to google, but at first glance I find only forums with superficial knowledge. A more sober looking site claims orgasm denial doesn't affect hormone levels at all. How can this be true? Our hunger and our sleep and our sex drive are influenced by hormones and denial doesn't change them? I feel like a different person to some degree. After altering someone's diet gene expression changes within thirty days! After forty days of orgasm denial there must be significant alterations in your body. I start humming "Put your pussy on a diet, then it's gonna start a riot." Um, not enough syllables. "Put your pussy on a diet, then drippy cunt will start a riot." Better. I laugh audibly. Apparently my brain is melting.

Most of the little serious research about the consequences of long-term denial apparently has been done with regard to male chastity and testosterone levels. Another gender gap. I think we need more research on this topic. I would volunteer as a guinea pig for this. Inpatient denial research. And, oops!, my mind is off to another daydream. I picture myself gagged and naked except for a straitjacket. A straitjacket bolero style, leaving the breasts exposed, and with additional straps around the thighs. I sit on the floor, helpless, the pussy exposed, vulnerable, but ultimately untouchable. I might be a bit insane already. But after a couple of days of this I would be certifiable. So they'd have to keep me indefinitely. Of course at that point they would add some teasing to the mix. Who could pass on such an opportunity to collect more valuable data? I get lost in fantasies of being strapped onto a gynaecic chair and teased mercilessly, with unrelenting austerity. My pussy turns from wasp mode to bumblebee hysteria. I smile. It's almost 7 o'clock. What a great morning.

Hi

I love the fantasy with the gynaecic chair. It's evil and genius at the same time.
I mean, sometimes I get tied up spread eagle on the bed or in front of the mirror and then get teased. But at a gyn chair I would feel twice as vulnerable :o

Did you finish your experiment now?
If yes: How did the orgasm felt?
If no: How long do you plan to keep going?

Kind regards

Ra

Wow, I only came across this thread now, but I am intrigued by reading it. As a lurker I have often not understood the hype about 'denial' and wondered the rationale behind long term denial, and its effects. Like others have already mentioned, your writing is really beautiful and captures all the right emotions and reactions in words effectively, Thank you for writing and hope you return to gD and continue to intrigue us!

Flashback
 

It has been quite a while since my last post. I’m sorry I didn’t have enough perseverance to take you with me on the last stages of my journey of self-denial. I know, after almost two years I can’t really make up for it. But I think I should finish the story nevertheless, at least as to how I do remember it now, with quite some distance in time. I left you behind after forty days of strictly no stimulation to my pussy. I was shooting for fifty days of denial.

I would like to tell a heroic story of pushing through, fighting the urge, and exploding in a mind-blowing orgasm afterwards. But this is not what happened. Well, I made the fifty days, even a bit more. I don’t remember exactly how many days of denial I ended up having. I got very busy with work for school, I got side-tracked, and the whole pent up sexual energy just fizzled out. One morning I just reached into my pj bottoms and started to rub my clit. Rather mindlessly. I got to the edge very quickly and pushed over it. It felt good, but a bit disappointing after such a long time of denial. But I was prepared for this as I had experienced the same thing before. Maybe the body needs to adjust to cumming again after not having done so for months. So, I laid back, enjoyed the early morning, and after a few minutes I went for a second climb to the peak. And this time it really was spectacular. I was sweating, my whole body was shaking, stars danced before my open eyes, and I squirted a lot. So much so I had to change the sheets afterwards. I went for a third orgasm too, but by then I already felt the diminishing returns: It was nice, but a bit flat, especially compared to the fireworks a couple of minutes before. In less than thirty minutes I had unceremoniously wiped out almost 1,500 hours of denial. Although I enjoyed having orgasms again, I soon started to crave the sensuality, the relentlessness of the urge that denial had provided me with. Looking back, I regret a bit that the end of my denial journey has been somewhat thoughtless. I had several self-denial periods since then, up to two weeks, I think. But never with the intent to go as long as I did in this magical summer of 2018.

However, now I am thinking about starting again. But I’m not sure if I want another journey of self-denial or something different this time. Or self-denial combined with something different? Anyway, whatever I will choose I’m looking forward to writing about it. So, if you are interested, stay tuned and stay well in these strange times.

Well, that was a highly enjoyable read.