Latest Forum Posts:


In denial

The prelude to 'What's a girl to do.'


Disappointingly there was no 'clunk.' With a click, like a seat-belt, I was locked into chastity. That was a misnomer. There would be sex and there would be orgasms, but they would not be my orgasms, and whilst I could give pleasure to others, I could receive none. That was not quite true. I enjoyed pleasing others; I enjoyed being denied; I was just in denial about it.

My friend did not understand. As she put it, 'slap my ass, better still, whip it, better than that, whip the fuck out of me, but deny me an orgasm? What the fuck kinky shit is that?'

But she was pretty, sexy and could attract most men (and quite a few women) the moment she stepped into a room. I was small. (four foot ten inches), flat-chested (30a) and shy, and while I could make myself pleasant to those I knew, getting to know people was not easy. Yet at work, I could lead from the front and drive teams to achieve a high-level of performance. But there a framework was provided, and a hierarchy, and all one needed was to follow the rules; if only love could be so simple. Now it was.

I would orgasm when she let me. I would fuck those whom she chose. I would fuck them in the way they chose. There was no element of choice for me. In submission lay freedom. In compulsion there was liberation. I was being forced to be free. Except I would not be free, or at least my services would not be. That made me feel valued. A renversement of values seemed to suit me. Dismantling the structures to which I clung, made me more secure. It may have made no sense to my friend, but it did to me.

Love is not love if it changes when it finds alteration, and by that exalted standard, I loved her; my lover.

So, when one of her lovers came that evening, I watched, But I did not and could not play; not even with myself.

As they kissed, their breasts squishing against each other, their hard nipples rubbing together, I wanted to rub; but even had I tried, the belt would have prevented me. As she went down on my lover, taking her black panties off with her teeth, as I had done only last night, I could feel only two things: my stomach twisting in knots; and my cunt aching. I longed to assuage at least one of these; but could not. I could only watch as her tongue lapped where mine wanted to be. As my lover came, hard, faster than with me, I could only wonder; and the knot, and the urgency grew. The inability to mend either increased both exponentially.

Then my lover returned the favour. I was told to take down her panties, so I knelt behind my lover's lover and removed them. Her arse was peach-like and luscious, her cunt lips meaty and glistening. I wanted them. My lover touched them. They both came as I knelt and watched.

'Good night, Pixie.' That was it. I left.

A text.

'She was a good fuck.'

Back in my flat I got another text.

'You can take it off now, but do not touch,'

I took it off. It ached. I showered. I ached. I wanted the shower head to play with me, something I did when I got this horny. She would not know, my conscious mind reasoned. I fell asleep.

Another morning text.

'Plug.' That was all it said.

I lubricated the butt-plug and, squatting, pushed it in. The burn always made me cum when I was this horny. But I could not come; so I did not.

That night there was no girl so I licked her, sucked her delicious clit and brought her to orgasm. She came. I was there. Agency seemed lacking. Subspace beckoned.

Later my lover said that was the hardest part. That reminded me that this was something I willed. It was a convenient fiction to say I was under her orders. But we both knew she did it for me.

‘That is Pixie,’ she said to the blonde, who looked at me the following evening.

’Oh,’ she said, ‘why is she like that?’

She was pointing to the belt, and the fact I was kneeling.

An hour later, when my lover had cum twice, that question seemed more urgent.

The blonde tasted delicious, sweet and salty, and her juices were thick and gooey. Perhaps she thought pissing on my face was necessary to clean it off; that thought headed the orgasm off.

They dismissed me.

The text said:

'Happy now?'

'I am yours,' was all I replied.

Waiting for the twist, I thought:

What if there is none?'

There was no 'unclick' noise - or so it seemed, as, after ten days, the belt came off.

'We are lunching,' she said.

We got to the restaurant and took a table in the far corner.

She smiled as she looked at me.

'Remove your panties.'

What's a girl to do, I thought?


This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Do be a dear and respect the copyright.

To link to this sex story from your site - please use the following code:

<a href="">In denial</a>

Comments (26)

Tell us why

Please tell us why you think this story should be removed.