The Power of Edging #MasturbationMonday

Edging. Both maddening and intoxicating. Distracting and delicious. I hate it and love it.

For those who might not know, edging is being brought to the brink of orgasm without the relief of an orgasm. I’ve edged myself and I’ve been edged. Edging myself is easier. I feel the orgasm build, and I stop. Being edged, especially by a sadistic John Brownstone, is a different matter.

The benefit of prolonged edging is the relief once an orgasm is allowed. For me, the orgasm is bigger, wetter, and much more explosive.

Thursday night:

Wrapped in his arms, my bottom nestled in his groin, I began to drift off. Sleep was curling the edges of my mind. My body melted against his. He hooked his leg over mine, spreading my legs. With rough touches, his fingers attacked my clit, quickly bringing me to the edge and making sleep an impossibility. I begged for release.

“No, babygirl, you may not.”

Friday morning:

On his way to work, before walking out the door, he stopped for one more kiss, winding his fingers through my tangled hair. His grip was painful, tight, and brought tears to my eyes. He pulled my head back and crushed his lips to mine, all while his free hand slid into my shorts and found an already wet pussy. Flick, flick. I squealed against his mouth. Tap, tap, tap. My clit was more sensitive than normal. My body shook with the effort to hold off the climax that was barreling down on me.

He released me roughly.

“No, babygirl, you may not.”

Saturday:

Nothing. Real life intruded. Lack of sleep, too much to do, sexy fun was not on the radar.

Sunday morning:

We slept in – a luxury we’d missed over the past few weeks. I snuggled close every chance I could. His hand on my bare skin kept me warm and calm. The weight of his arm and hand was a comfort. Whenever he rolled away, I curled up behind him, my thighs cradling his ass.

I felt the moment everything changed. Curled together in our typical position, my bottom in his pelvis, he hooked my leg and opened my body. One hand covered my mouth. Oh shit.

His fingers dove in. I woke up soaked and ready. Fingertips slipped and slid, stroking my clit. I writhed as muffled moans escaped. There was no way to beg for permission. Waves of pleasure coursed through my body. Moisture flooded my pussy.

“Oh yes, girl. Cum for me. Permission granted.”

The words I’d waited three days to hear were my undoing. The hand over my mouth clamped down harder as I squealed and bucked through an overwhelming orgasm.

When he removed his hand, I gasped for air, my body trembling. He allowed me a few seconds to recover before the fucking began.

Welcome to Masturbation Monday! I missed last week (for good reason if you’ve seen the changes to the website) but I’m back this week! Make sure to go to the main website and see what everyone else has for you this week, too!