[Yasna]

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 …