Yesterday, my day started in a pattern that I have become comfortably familiar with.
The light of dawn peaking through my bedroom window found me on my knees, nipples clamped, a butt plug vibrating to a surprisingly intense pattern, enthusiastically sucking a large dildo deep down my throat. I was erect, throbbing, aching with need and revelling in being a toy, focused on serving and giving pleasure.
A little while later, I was writhing for slightly different reasons. For exactly fifteen months, the daily expectation is that I should have an orgasm. More appropriately, I should devotedly provide an offering in service to my Goddess. That has been a rule since a week after becoming Her pet and Her plaything.
As I’ve already noted here, orgasm control is orgasm control. It isn’t always about denial, about being locked and caged and above all prevented from having an orgasm. It is about surrendering control of your orgasms. Period. Full stop. My Goddess wanted me to cum every morning. I am nothing if not an obedient bear, and by and large I have honoured that expectation daily for more than a year.
That might not sound like a terrible hardship. The reality is that I was massively averse to that expectation at the outset. Through the complicated processing of my desires around kink—and particularly around pain and submission—I had long developed an association between orgasm and feelings of shame, revulsion and self-loathing.
It was only through the adoring guidance and welcome embrace of my Goddess that I have come to fully embrace how deeply and profoundly submissive and masochistic I am. More particularly, I am proud and confident of these truths. I don’t hide them, resent them or try to lock them away. I celebrate them as who I fundamentally am, very deep in the core of my being.
This is also not to say that I have been free to cum whenever I want. Again, orgasm control is orgasm control. The explicit rule has been that I should reflect on my service and offer my devotions upon waking every day. From that point forward, there is a very clear requirement of no touching, no fondling and no stimulating myself unless expressly directed by my Goddess. Handling is limited to cleaning and necessary dealing with my toilet, and no more.
If that sounds a whole lot like being in chastity without the cage, that would be exactly the point. I have been expected to be obedient and denied for the remainder of the day not because I can’t access my genitals, but because I will not access my genitals. This isn’t about plastic or metal denying what I would otherwise do. It is about willpower and control in not doing what is denied to me.
The cock-sucking part of my morning is a more recent observance, but no less of an expectation. In an intensely erotic exchange a few months ago, I had expressed how much I wanted to suck Her off before She pegged me. In particularly, I indicated that I wanted to learn to deep-throat Her cock. That immediately prompted a new rule: that I should practice cock-sucking once a day for at least five minutes, preferably as a routine ritual performed at the same time every day.
Yesterday was the last day that I would adhere to both of those rules, at least for the next month.
Today is 1 October. The start of a month that in the kinkier end of the twitterverse has come to be known as Locktober. My Goddess expressed a desire to deny me, but in Her own unique way. “I think for Locktober I want you denied but unlocked. Because I know you’re up for the challenge.”
It was a request that I responded to enthusiastically. “I would welcome that challenge.” If that weren’t enough, I very quickly offered further endorsement. “Being your perverted bear. No release. No touching. No pleasure. Squirming and denial and torment.”
I was granted one remaining orgasm last night as I went to sleep. Plugged and ready, I rolled down my panties for one final relaxed, indulgent fondling. So relaxed that I managed to drift off before completion. Surely the most literal translation of “use it or lose it.”
This morning found me on my knees once more. Devotedly sucking cock, enjoying the torment of my clamped nipples, Writhing and squirming and surprisingly desperate. I sank back into bed afterwards, enjoying the throbbing ache and knowing that it would remain unfilfilled. For the next 31 days, I will be honouring the spirit of Locktober. No touching and no release. Denied and frustrated. Tormented and teased. The only thing missing is the lock.
There is no lock, because my Goddess doesn’t want one. She knows that I don’t need one. It is far hotter to Her that no matter how frustrated I get, I will be obedient to Her wishes. That while I could touch myself, I absolutely will not. Not because I’m locked up and prevented, but because I am devotedly Hers and She has expressly said no.