If They Only Knew...
It’s pitch-dark. It must still be early morning. I didn’t wake up well rested. My heart beats quickly. My breathing is ragged. Did I have a dream? Maybe. I don’t remember. 4:38am. In any case, I awoke from being horny.
This happens often when I have denied myself orgasm long enough. I love it. My pussy is my last thought in the evening and my first thought in the morning. “Thought” may be the wrong word though; perhaps “sensation.” My pussy is my first and last sensation every day. Today however, I’m dead tired. But my pussy is like a hungry cat whose feeding time has passed. Everybody who ever owned a cat knows how annoying and relentless they can be. They do anything to get their needs fulfilled, and with every minute that passes the claws come out a bit further. My pussy has a ferocious hunger drive.
But I’m still doing clitfree weekdays. My pussy will stay hungry for a few days. She’s not happy with that. Her saliva dribbles into my already soaked panties. But I’m tired. I turn to my side. I sleep naked except for the panties. My arm brushes over my tits. My nipples are hard. My pussy decides it might be able to eat from a different bowl today. “Touch those hard nipples! You know how good it feels!” she whispers enticingly. Not in those words, of course, in her own language of desire that’s so hard to ignore. I moan at the mere thought of touching my nipples.
I cave in. I cup my tit and circle my areola a few times. I gently brush over the nipples. But it feels like too much self-indulgence already. I’d rather stop now because later it will be so much more difficult. I want to slip back into the wonderful land between waking and dreaming. But without acting on them the sexual desires tend to develop their own life. I “think” about squeezing my nipples. Clamping them. I could enjoy the sensation without doing anything else. I could tie them with the thin string that bites into their tender flesh. Hard. Until they look raspy and red like overripe raspberries. Why not tie up my tits since I’m at it? Tie them really hard until they turn violet and feel so heavy and plump? My mind wanders to a story I’m planning that involves tit torture.
At this point my stream of consciousness gets fully invaded by sexual impulses and becomes incoherent. I could easily reach between my thighs and switch off my mind entirely for a while. But I don’t. I like these silent fights in the early morning hours. I like to feel that strong desire. I like to feel how weak I am against it. I like to think how pathetic that is. I like to imagine how people would disdain me if they knew. I hear them laugh. “You pretend to be a strong woman. Now look at you at the mercy of your leaking cunt!” My pussy chuckles and pumps. If they knew.
5:50am. More than an hour of subtle self-denial torture! It sets the mood for the day. “If people knew” I think. And I start typing. My pussy demands a portion of self-degradation today. Like every day.