Dancing in the dark

My desire to obey is becoming more salient than I have ever experienced.

I think I just wasn’t ready, before. I’m ready now.

You can’t start a fire … you can’t start a fire without a spark
This gun’s for hire, even if we’re just dancing in the dark

More than anything, I want to be good. I want to exceed expectations, I want to be the best I can be and I want to do that, in part, through submission.

I’ve been edging and disallowed release for three days. Edging is not cheating, it is required. I have no sense of when I will be granted permission to orgasm, and to my utter surprise, I am very much at peace with that.

Denial does a number of things to me, all of which serve the dynamic. Once the initial thrill of the imposition has passed, a rabid desire takes hold. I get ornery, and agitated and eager enough that anything and everything arouses me. In short time the agitation wears off and I’m left with a constant hum of horniness. Knowing that I can’t makes it all the more exciting and because I’m a hard-wired people pleaser, his praise and pleasure from my denial becomes the primary motivation to follow his instructions to the letter. This leaves me in a pliant frame of mind, receptive to his suggestion or seduction, physically and mentally attuned to him. It keeps his support and direction top of mind, which in turn helps me work towards goals and results in my life.

What is most exciting to me about this is that the required edging doesn’t feel like torture. It feels like an opportunity to express obedience and devotion, a way to show him that his commitment to my well being is recognized, that our dedication remains strong.

This afternoon I lay in bed, fingers squelching between the lips of my cunt, knowing I had exactly 10 minutes to touch myself, without coming, and then I was to check in with him. His instructions are blindingly specific and often time-based, which further spurns me on and brings out my self competitiveness. Every touch, every brush of my clit, every motion that pushed my lips apart or made my wetness run down and pool at my ass hole, was a loveletter from him. Every sigh and hitch of breath was an utterance of faith in him, the trust and belief that this is what I need and that he will help me navigate that need. Wet fingers smeared my phone’s screen as the clock showed 5:20 pm and my message appeared, quickly followed by his response: validation and praise for being on time and accomplishing the task, a dizzying droplet of adoration and then detailed instructions for the next task.

You can’t start a fire without a spark


Violet Fawkes

Violet Fawkes (she/her) is a freelance writer and sex blogger focusing on pleasure education, erotic fiction, and the intersection of identity, kink and mental health.