Get Used to It

Surprise! Here's a quickie perma-exclusive, just for patrons, to say thank you for your patience and support, always, but particularly with all that's been going on lately!

It's a sapphic femdom orgasm denial story :)

All characters are consenting and over the age of 18.

Enjoy!

***

My clit is currently grounded. That means no touching, and absolutely no orgasms. I’m only two weeks into a three-week sentence, so when my girlfriend, Shannon, undresses me and directs me to lie on her bed, I know not to get my hopes up.

I’m here to be used, and teased. Which of course makes me instantly as horny as I could possibly be. I manage to avoid grinning like the total weirdo that I am, but Shannon sees the urge on my face anyway. She smiles as she lies down next to me and begins to stroke my chest.

I still can’t believe I’m here. When Shannon came to work at the bar a couple months ago, I never expected her to be interested in me at all, let alone interested in an arrangement like this one.

You’d never guess she’s a dom. She’s far too petite and slender to push anyone around physically, and more than that, she’s such a sweet, gentle, bubbly person, I used to have a hard time imagining her ever saying no to anyone, let alone just for the sake of frustrating them.

Admittedly, the challenge of imagining that is exactly why I started imagining it, and then dreaming of it, and then obsessing over it.

It’s a bad habit of mine, fantasizing about the most contrary secret side a person might have. Really, it’s no one’s fault but my own that, even when I get as far as talking bedroom preferences with a new partner, my hopes almost never end up lining up with the person across from me.

Then again, if my bad habit means getting to be the person who Shannon sweetly, gently torments, even for a little while, it might be worth all the dates-gone-nowhere I’ve ever sat through.

“Give me your hand,” she tells me.

I hold my right hand out, at her service, just the way she likes it, and she presses her pussy right to my palm, with her clit toward my thumb. I begin rubbing it back and forth immediately, no teasing, no tit-for-tat. She gets what she wants from me, when she wants it. I get only what she decides to give me — at least, when I’m playing by our rules.

Fuck, just thinking about it makes me so sensitive, and I can feel a trickle of moisture dripping out of me.

I don’t always play by the rules, of course.

I’m the one who proposed most of them, six weeks ago, shortly after Shannon and I started dating. I’m the one who asked if she’d be willing to take charge of my clit and my orgasms, and then fell to my knees and cheered to the sky when she said yes.

But she started off so laxly, while we were settling in and feeling each other out. She let me cum almost every time we had sex, and then tightened the leash so slowly to about two out of every three times.

I knew I had to give her an excuse to get strict with me, so I accidentally-on-purpose let her catch me masturbating without permission at her desk.

Her eyes sparkled when she walked in on me, just as excited by the excuse and what might come from it as I was.

She gave me the best spanking of my life right then and there, and informed me that my clit might as well not even exist for the next three weeks.

She paused for a fraction of a second before the word “three,” gauging the appropriate length of time, and then gave me the prettiest relieved little smirk when I called her tough but fair.

Since then, our sexual encounters have all been very much the same, but fantastically intense.

Now, I’m sinking deep into the feeling of her pinching my nipples, bringing each one just barely to point of pain, and then dragging her fingers ever so lightly over my sternum to do the same with the other one.

The sensations radiate down through my whole body, and up to my head, leaving no part of me unaffected.

I’m so wet, and my clit is so hard, I want so badly to roll onto my side and press my thighs together, for just a little pressure and comfort, but I stay still, leaving it completely up to Shannon to determine what I get to feel.

I’m getting used to this, kind of, almost. If we keep doing this long enough, I’m going to learn how to lie here, madly aroused, without even thinking about doing anything about it. I’ll start thinking of this as what my clit is for — for pulsing and tingling and holding my attention forcefully in my body. Not for anything else. Not for touching. Not for cumming.

Maybe.

It’s fun to wonder what that would feel like, anyway.

Still teasing my nipples, Shannon runs her other hand lightly down my body, all the way to my left hip. It takes all the attention and discipline I have to keep on rubbing her steadily, faithfully, keeping otherwise still while she strokes the curve of my ass, and works her way around to my inner thigh.

Here it comes, the most blindingly intense part of our usual lovemaking of the past two weeks. She’s about to brush her fingers right over my pussy. She’ll stroke the hair and the outer lips, once, twice, maybe three times, just enough to make me feel like I’m unfolding, not just my pussy but my whole being, stretching and unspooling to create more surface area, in the hope of any scrap of it being touched.

And then she’ll trail those soft, light fingers back up over my abs, and that’ll be all I get, before she orders me under the covers to finish her with my tongue.

I’m ready. I’m ready to tingle and shiver and leak, and fall apart like a cheap old library book, and then get down to the business of serving her.

What I’m not ready for is one of Shannon’s fingers breaking from its accustomed formation.

A single fingertip runs right along my slit, penetrating a millimeter deeper than usual, deep enough to gather moisture on it. It glides all the way forward to make contact with my clit.

A ragged gasp sucks its way down my throat, and I stuff the soft inner side of my forearm into my mouth, completely forgetting to be still.

The sensation is shockingly, wickedly, nakedly sweet, like a lick of pure sugar and butter, stolen at the beginning of making cookies. It’s too sweet, too good, to be allowed without some kind of dilution.

I’m expecting the feeling to be over in the same wild flash that it starts with, but my heartbeats keep ticking onward, and Shannon’s finger is still there, tracing slow, slick circles around that one bud of nerves she’s been keeping so strictly deprived.

I wait for a pause to gather my mind and catch my breath, realize that I’m not getting one, and force myself to drag my arm away and speak anyway.

“But I’m…” I pant up at her, “I’m not allowed… to have this… yet.”

“I get to decide what’s allowed, don’t I?” Shannon asks, so calmly. She’s barely winded at all, even though I’m still rubbing her clit too, the best that I can. She’s just taking it in stride, like it’s an everyday thing, which for her, it is.

“Yeah…” I agree hesitantly. “You decide… of course.”

“Unless you want me to stop?” Shannon asks.

For a second, I almost say yes. Playing Shannon’s neglected fuck toy has been an absolute dream. It’s everything I ever thought it would be. I’ve been so turned on, pretty much constantly, and I’m not sure what I’ll even do with myself when I have to come down from that thrill.

But I don’t want to be the one saying no to myself. The fun is in her saying it.

And I have to admit, there’s still a whole lot of me that just really, really wants to cum. Enough that the masochistic side of me is losing its grip on the reins.

I shake my head. “No. I don’t want you to stop.”

“Good,” Shannon whispers in my ear, still tracing those slow circles. “I like you wanting this. I like watching you wish, and hope, and wonder, without knowing whether you’re going to get it.”

Her voice is as gentle as a lullaby, almost completely clean of the sadistic streak evident in the words themselves. In the midst of everything, I get a quiet kick out of being allowed to know this deeply secret facet of her.

“Are you going to punish me for cumming?” I ask. “Or ruin it? Or leave me on the edge?”

I’m amazed that I have either the breath or the time left to ask.

“You’re going to have to wait and see,” says Shannon, giving each of my nipples another pinch.

I try, and it’s the hardest thing in the world, just waiting and seeing, while her fingertip orbits around, and around.

I’ve been given orgasms at another person’s hand plenty of times, and I’ve spent the past two weeks here being teased and touched without release. But not knowing what I’m getting makes it impossible to fall comfortably into either pattern.

Is what’s coming around the corner something for me to enjoy, or endure? Should I be contenting myself with the pleasure of just being stroked with no conclusion? Holding back to impress her with my restraint? Rushing to finish before she stops at the end of some undisclosed timer?

I dig the fingers of my left hand into the sheets, and keep asking questions, just for the sake of hearing Shannon deny me answers, because at least that’s an interaction I understand.

“Will it hurt?” I ask.

“Wait and see.”

“Will it feel good?”

“Wait and see.”

“Are you going to cut me off soon?”

“I could,” says Shannon. “I could stop right now.”

“But are you going to?”

“Wait and see.”

Every swirl of her finger sends shivers up my spine, too generous and still not enough.

And then, oh god, oh fuck, here it comes. I brace myself for disappointment, or for the fearsome cost of licking the cookie dough spoon.

The first sugar-sweet contraction spasms through my pelvis, and Shannon moves. Away, I think, for a second, but then her palm presses flat over my clit, applying just enough gentle pressure to allow the contractions to continue, and stay sweet.

I try to grind against her, but there’s not enough strength left in my limbs to lift the core of me off the bed. Her palm stays right where it is, right where it needs to be to tease my orgasm out into its fullest, most complete form, while still somehow making it feel like something out of my control, something dangled on a string just beyond my grasp.

I’m making so much noise, I realize, as the pulses of pleasure finally begin to taper off. I wasn’t trying to moan like that, but even now, it’s hard to stop. Every hair on my body is standing on end, and my view of Shannon is broken with stars as I blink up at her.

My thumb isn’t moving on her clit anymore. I quickly return to rubbing her, hoping that I didn’t leave her waiting more than a second or two. I can’t remember stopping.

“That looked like a good one,” Shannon says, with a cheerful smile that curls just slightly into a smirk on one side.

“The best,” I pant. “That was… holy fuck.”

I shift my weight onto one elbow, preparing the crawl under the blanket and attempt the astronomical feat of repaying her.

“I promise not to get used to it,” I say, still gasping for oxygen.

“No,” Shannon stops me, with fingertips under my jaw. “Get used to it. Get addicted. Get spoiled. It’ll make it so much more fun when I say you can’t have it.”

An awed grin overtakes my face.

God, I love these moments, when Shannon slaps away the unworthy, egotistical thought that she’s just some fantasy of mine, willed into being out of whole cloth. Or some innocent vanilla being, corrupted with my ideas and no more.

She’s a dirty, brilliant, wonder of a mistress, with ideas of her own that I would never have thought of, on how to step this up.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say. “I promise to get spoiled.”

She touches my cheek tenderly, and then pushes my head down. I go readily, tongue already out to lick.

I know it’s only been a month and a half, but I don’t think she’ll ever stop amazing me.