Defining the Order of Things
When I entered into a submissive relationship with my partner, the very first expectation she articulated was very clear, very direct and very explicit:
“I would like to express a want. I would like to control your orgasms.”
To the extent that this needed any qualification whatsoever, this was revealed in the very next message:
“Masturbation, 100% permission required. No touching, no humping or rubbing or stimulation beyond what’s necessary to pee or wash.”
There is very little room for creative reinterpretation of this request. If I want to touch my penis, if I want to stimulate myself to orgasm, then there needs to be explicit permission granted for that to actually occur.
But What Does That Mean, Really?
So here’s the thing.
I have historically speaking had a denial fetish. I have had a chastity fetish. I have purchased and worked my way through as unsatisfactory—in my own humble opinion—a disturbing number of admittedly not bespoke chastity cages, and found most of them wanting.
I liked the idea of my orgasms being controlled. I really liked the idea of my orgasms being denied. The stimulation of not being stimulated seemed like an epically awesome thing.
So when I was asked to surrender control of my orgasms, part of me was of the essential opinion that some form of denial was explicitly on the menu, and that was exciting to me.
So Far, So Good
Denial was, in fact, where we started.
I was instructed clearly and explicitly not to touch my penis at all, outside of what was required for the basic day-to-day maintenance functions. As could possibly be imagined, this was all the hot and all the sexy. From a distance, I was being controlled. Denied. My orgasm—or lack of one—belonged to someone else.
This lasted for precisely seven days.
They were a hot seven days, to be clear. Being squirmy and desperate and controlled and required to not orgasm—while being subjected to all the sexy stimulus of a new dominant/submissive relationship—was all the hotness. Epically so.
There was the desire for fulfillment, for release, for climax. There was also the absolute and explicit expectation that in the here-and-now that was not going to happen. In all of this, there was no reliance on a chastity device. I was simply expected to exercise my willpower, and to deny myself the exquisite pleasure that my body so increasingly wanted.
Why That Seemed Appealing
The fact that I was being denied for that first period was not a bad thing, in my humble opinion. I came (pun intended) to the relationship thinking that denial was something that I wanted. The idea of being prevented from coming—of being required to not come—was all the horny-making.
What’s important to recognize is why I thought this was a desirable state of affairs. As Thumper describes in his very awesome blog about male chastity, there is a chemical process that happens in orgasm. There are powerful hormones and endorphins that get released, that have a powerful emotional and physiological effect. Like Thumper, I had come to believe that these were a very bad thing.
For me, the reason for that was the crash that accompanied any orgasm I had in a kink-related context. While I might have known I was kinky since puberty, any time that I orgasmed while being kinky resulted in feelings of shame, humiliation, disgust and repression. My cravings and wants were bad. I was a bad person for wanting them. My actually realizing sexual release as a consequence was proof positive of my utter depravity and reinforcement of the shameful disgust that went along with that.
Cue a disturbing—and expensive—cycle of binge and purge, as I would indulge in my kink, only to be horrified and shamed by my absolute degeneracy. Until the next time the need built up to unavoidable levels, and once again I would yield to the beast.
Except That’s Not Actually What That Means
My Goddess is a wonder. She also revels in chaos. For her, that means that it’s helpful to keep track of obvious and clear milestones. Seven days into her controlling my orgasms, it was a normal and reasonable impulse for her to require me to come on July 1. It would be a nice, neat checkpoint. Easy to track from. Readily monitored and measured. There was no need to consider and contemplate when I last came; the beginning of the month was a decidedly simple and clear anchor point.
Except that I really didn’t want to orgasm. I was afraid to. I feared the crash, and all that implied. I expressed as much when she asked it of me. Thumper’s experience was absolute reinforcement of what I feared, and why orgasm was undesirable.
Control Means Control
Here’s the thing, though. The want that was expressed at the outset was not, “I want to deny you orgasms.” It was, “I want to control your orgasms.” Control is control. Period. Full stop. End of expectation.
What that means is that when my Goddess doesn’t want me to come, I don’t have an orgasm. It also means that when my Goddess does want me to come, then the express expectation is that I should absolutely have an orgasm. And she really, really wanted me to experience orgasm.
That is not to say that she wasn’t understanding, sympathetic and sharing of my concern. She absolutely was, and I’m very grateful for it. As she frequently asserts, she takes extraordinarily good care of her pets.
It was something that we talked through, explored, and agreed I would try. Which I did. I came in her name, my seed expressly offered to her. And I felt… bliss. Delight. Satisfaction. Wonder at being hers, and fulfilling her express desires. She asked for orgasm, I delivered, and it was all the awesome.
She Wants What She Wants
Meeting her expectation is, in fact, entirely the point.
I came in response to her express desire at the beginning of July. The next day she set a subsequent expectation that each morning, as part of my reflection on my submission, I should bring myself to orgasm. After that occurred, all of the erogenous bits (penis, nipples and otherwise) were off limits. But for one brief, shining moment every morning I wasn’t simply allowed to come, I was expected to.
That has continued to this day. For the last four-and-a-half months, I have had an orgasm every single morning, with notably few exceptions. Those exceptions have largely been a product of logistics, because I have to be somewhere stupidly early for work and I simply don’t have the bandwidth. The reality, though, is that an early stage these expectations were an interpretation of, “I’m allowed to have an orgasm.”
That was not the intention, however. It is not what was asked of me. The reality was that I was expected to have an orgasm every morning. That expectation was as strong as any other rule that I was subject to. While there was latitude in the manner, duration and pace of its occurrence—and exploration in this regard was entirely the point—the expectation that I should come was absolutely not a question. Taking this reality on board, I have managed the timing of my waking and my subsequent commitments to make abundantly sure that this actually happens.
I Don’t Know What Happens From Here
Where this goes, I’m not sure. I’m not entitled to orgasm every morning, it is simply the current expectation. That could change tomorrow. Or the day after. There will come a time where this will shift, if only to explore and indulge in how I adapt to changing requirements.
Bottom line, my orgasms are not my own. They haven’t been for nearly five months. They will not be going forward, in perpetuity. That doesn’t mean I don’t have them. It means I have them when Goddess desires, and I don’t when she chooses otherwise. The fact that I have had an orgasm every day since July doesn’t mean in any respect that this will continue beyond today.
Orgasm control also isn’t a default to denial. It means that she chooses when, if and how I come. In all instances, I’m expected to comply.
Denial—if we get there—will be its own fascinating journey. We don’t indulge in chastity, although we could. It is far more interesting and exciting to my Goddess for me to exercise self control in not indulging, rather than submitting to a device that theoretically prevents me from doing so. Having the ability to touch, but preventing myself from doing so, is far hotter than wearing a cage that makes compliance presumably inevitable.
But denial itself isn’t the expectation. Control means control. I orgasm when she wants. I don’t when she chooses otherwise. As my Goddess requested at the outset, she controls my orgasms. That control encompasses a broad spectrum. Far broader than I anticipated when we started this journey.