I Love To Hate His Denial

We don't really do the BDSM thing. We dabble, more than anything else, domination and submission and denial all being little more than seasoning for us. Not the main event, though.

Not that our tastes are vanilla, but just that we don't really go down for getting tied into one element above all others. We don't dive too deep, and if that sounds a little boring let me assure you that it isn't. Or let me assure you that I, at least, am never bored.

Frustrated? Now that's a different story altogether.

"No," I mewl, begging him as he pulls back and out of me, the sudden absence of him absolutely ruining my chance to tumble over the edge in a climax so hard that poets would write sonnets about it for generations to come, "I was so close."

My body is so weak, trembling and nearly doubling over. And I am so slight and he is so strong that he can easily move me when he wants to which is what he wants to do right now, practically carrying me across the room as he twists me around and my feet leave the ground and I am breathless, entirely at his mercy and entirely trusting that he will not let me down.

More than anything else that's what it is about him. I trust him. I know that we can have our fun and our games and he can deny and even frustrate me but he won't ever do a thing to harm me or hurt me.

So many people I know find themselves in relationships that are antagonistic, measuring and contrasting themselves against their partner and keeping score in an effort to see which of them might win. But all of those relationships are flawed in the same way because they don't seem to understand that love and commitment, they're about not so much losing a sense of your self but gaining a sense of them as well. Understanding that their victories are your victories and their defeats are your chance to offer comfort, not gloat.

I trust my partner, my man, implicitly. I put my life, my body, my heart, and my pleasure in his hands. And even when I'm gasping, my body weak and aching for a satisfaction that he just tore away from me, I know that all I'll have to do is wait and he will make my patience pay back double.

For a moment my toes touch the floor but then they lift entirely and I am buoyed by that, lifted off the ground and then pinned, a moment later, against the wall behind me. My back pressed against it and my front facing him and I take my legs, clad in those thigh high stockings, and I wrap them around him as he slides up into me and fits into my body so well.

And I sigh with relief, my hands clinging to his shoulders. I tighten around him as I feel him pressing against me, the head of him pulsing against my dripping sex for an instant before he presses forward and pushes inside.

With a grunt he pumps into me. I clench tight, squeezing myself around him, and I do it on purpose. You see he decided to punish me through denial and I decided to punish him through too much sensation. And though I know that I'll get what I want in the end just as much as he, that doesn't mean we can't both have a little more fun along the way.

I know every way to touch him. I know that when I nibble on his earlobe, he trembles and quivers. When I dig my fingernails into his right shoulder blade it makes him jump and when I plant my heels into the small of his back he thrums, the head of him throbbing inside of me as his hips pulse a moment as he thrusts forward into me that little bit more.

But he doesn't stop there, and neither do I. With each thrust the tension is ratcheted up, the ****, the torment. The tension, building and building until we're clawing at each other and his hips are burying himself in me to the hilt and I am squeezing him tight, my head smacking back until it bounces off the wall and I square up my eyes with him and press my forehead against his.

And then we're kissing and all of the passion of the moment is building between us. We're pouring our everything into each other and the pleasure rushing through me is rebounding at the edges.

I'm higher than I was before, when I was almost ready to fall over the edge into climax, and it's building even higher with each and every stroke of his hips.

Deny. Deny and pull back and then when you fall back into yourself you can get even higher in the end. Deny and lose the moment when you were going to lose yourself and the next time you reach that point it won't be enough.

You'll need more.

"You," I moan for him, "Oh god baby, I need you. I need everything you can give me."

"You're so tight around me," he grunts through gritted teeth, "I can't believe you're so... so fucking..."

"Perfect?" I tease, finishing his sentence.

"Fucking right," he moans into me.

When he kisses me it's like he wants to devour me. He falls against me and his hand balls up into a fist and pounds into the wall beside my head. I feel him tightening, feel the tension as he reaches so close that even he is nearly losing himself and about to spill over into me but I, like him, know what he needs.

To hold off for one more moment.

My hand smacks his ass and my fingers twist, my nails digging into the meat of him. I pull hard enough that he buries deep within me but the pain ruins his climax as he growls with frustration and buries himself in my neck.

I can hear him groan and I can feel him tremble, feel him pulse and throb and twitch but not explode within me as he tightens against the wall and the **** of his body pins me to it.

I am trapped, no more than before but maybe just as much as I always was and I am pinned between the hard wall behind me and his hard body in front of me and I luxuriate in it, loving the oppressive sensation of being taken.

But I want and I need more than just this. We've built and we've built and he's denied me and I've denied him. We've played our games and they are common and fun, but they're not really why I'm here tonight.

"Baby," I say breathless, once he stills and slows and the tension in him releases, "Take me to bed."