The Sad Ache of Untouched Things

I woke before my alarm and I was already feeling intensely horny. It had only been Saturday when he had established the rule that I couldn’t touch my clit, and it was already becoming increasingly frustrating. After spending time together the night before, I was perhaps already feeling a little neglected and unfulfilled.

He only told me to edge once, and in that moment, I just wasn’t there. I tried to will myself toward it, but despite how desperate and needy I had been feeling, I couldn’t quite get there in that second.

Edging on command is such a mental thing for me. Most of the time, it’s a matter of fake it till I make it. I start grinding and moaning as if I’m already on the edge, and somehow my body and mind fill in the blanks, convincing me that it’s real. But it didn’t happen this time, and then his commands confused me.

I was already in trance when he told me to edge. I shimmed in his lap wanting to feel it but where most times the command provokes an immediate reaction my body didn’t want to respond the way mentally I wanted to. Moments later, he commanded the word “sleep,” and my mind struggled to figure out what I was supposed to do. Should I continue pushing myself toward the edge, or was my new focus simply to sink deeper into trance and forget the previous command or was I to do both.

I’m not sure I would have gotten to a true edge anyway. Sometimes the smallest thing can be off and prevent it from happening in that moment. Maybe if I had gone further into trance, or had just one extra moment to clear my head and focus on that desperate, needy feeling, I would have reached the edge I wanted.maybe if I was straddling one leg so his knee was hitting my clit instead of my legs draped around both of his with no stimulation on my neither region.

Instead, we moved on.

I wasn’t disappointed, exactly. But giving up control of my orgasms is one thing. Giving up the ability to touch myself has pushed me into a whole new level I never expected.

I have such a chastity fetish, but traditionally, that fetish in my mind has involved belts or piercing or bondage —something physical that makes it impossible to touch myself. Being told simply not to touch myself is an entirely different kind of mental battle, and it’s one I wasn’t prepared for.

I woke up with desperation as the main underlying feeling, but beneath that was stress about the day ahead. I knew I had things that needed to get accomplished and that I needed to focus.

I have always used orgasms as a source of release. Stress, pain, frustration, overwhelming emotions—whatever I was feeling, I could turn to my vibrator and find a way to let some of it out.

But that morning, I woke up with all this pent-up energy and no way to release it.

I tried grinding against my pillow, but I quickly found myself crying. Not the kind of crying I’m used to, either. My emotions had completely taken hold of me. Without an orgasm as an outlet, I didn’t know how to vent everything I was feeling.

I spent so long debating whether I should message him. I would write something, stare at it, and then erase it. The past hour had been a constant battle with myself, and I started questioning whether I could do this at all. Maybe I wasn’t cut out to be this kind of submissive.

Eventually, I cried burning my face in my pillow and finally wrote him a message. I tried to explain that I was struggling, that not being able to edge or orgasm was becoming more overwhelming than I had expected.

Then I had to push past it and force myself to get ready for the day. I was already in a terrible mood, and it took a mountain of tasks to finally pull me out of the funk.

Throughout the day, I kept checking my phone. I started regretting saying anything about the state I was in. I felt too needy. Too emotional. Maybe I had said too much.

As the day went on, though, I began to feel lonely and abandoned.

It wasn’t until almost 3 p.m. that I heard anything at all.

He said he had only just seen my message and asked how I was doing.

He asked if I needed a timeout and reminded me that I could call yellow or red at any point.

I wandered around Costco, purchasing items on the company card, while I let that sink in.

I had never considered using a safeword outside of a scene before. I always thought of safewords as something you used when things became physically too much—when the pain of being spanked or beaten crossed a line. I hadn’t considered needing it for an emotional toll.

And I had never considered using one alone before.

Saying a safeword in my bed with no direct external influence because I wasn’t allowed to touch myself seemed almost ridiculous to me. It made me feel mentally weak. To use a safeword in that situation felt like admitting that I couldn’t handle the very thing I had been craving most.

The worst part, though, was feeling so alone in it.

A simple word of reassurance might have turned my entire day around. Instead, I felt isolated, and that initial struggle grew until I felt even worse. Self doubt entered my mind, Maybe I had become too much. Maybe I had expressed something I should have kept to myself.

Maybe I was just a toy, only worth the effort when I was fun, playful, and jubilant.

The next morning, I woke up in a similar state. It wasn’t as bad as the day before, so I knew I couldn’t simply safeword my way out of it. But once again, all of my emotions felt pent up inside me.

Then came a morning message asking how I was.

I wanted to be honest without sounding whiny or negative.

Still sexually frustrated and desperately needy.

He told me to just hold on till Sunday and he would either make it much better or much worse for me.

Sunday feels so far away when I feel am slowly tiptoeing to a breaking point. I don’t want to use a safeword, and I don’t want to disobey and play anyway but I feel uncertain how long I can continue with a release. And thinking about if I get that release how it will be at the Sanctuary and most likely only a mental orgasm that is commanded out of me leaves me feeling even more disappointed. The few mental orgasms I have had simply don’t compare to orgasms cause by physical penetration and the stimulation of my clit.

He then granted me 30 minutes of touching myself and said I can divide that into however it wants.

I felt so relieved to finally be able to touch my throbbing clit. The first touch was almost electric and I was gasping as in seconds I had already edged. Seconds! My body has never been so responsive and suddenly I was reminded why I crave this control. I started crying as I continued rubbing, my emotions just feeling raw. I only rubbed for 5 minutes, it was all I needed, I decided to not waste what had been given to me and save the rest as a way to unwind from the end of my day.

By the end of the day I was so tired that as I played with myself I eventually just feel asleep wasting my precious minutes

Then Sunday came. We had planned on meeting at the Sanctuary that evening. I was already dressed and had just finished my makeup when he messaged me that he was running behind and would not be able to make it to Sanctuary but he should have wrapped up and could jump on a video call around 7 or 8 and we could do some Hypno stuff. I was a little disappointed (more so cause I had gotten ready) but I relieved to not have to drive into Denver and the idea of an actual private trance excited me.

I waited and waited. I tried to distract myself with reading some of his suggested stories and hoping to the point of edging (which he had granted permission for earlier due to cabling our plans for the Sanctuary) By 8pm I messaged him hoping he hadn’t forgot. By 9 he said he lost tract of time. I felt hurt that he couldn’t find a single moment to let me know when he wouldn’t make it for our planned video call. It’s one thing to Cancle plans but another to leave me waiting for plans that never come into fruition. I of course do not know the circumstances of his day and will give him the benefit of the doubt but my head is taking note while my heart hopes it is not a tell of the future.