The Edge of theCliff: A Story of My Longest, Most Exquisite Edging Session

 

 

Hello, my deviants. It’s Jessi.

There are different kinds of pain in this world. There’s the
sharp, shocking pain of a slap, the deep, bruising pain of a grip. But the most
exquisitely cruel pain, the one that can break you down and rebuild you into
something new, is the pain of denial. The agony of being held, for what feels
like an eternity, on the very edge of the cliff.

 

This is the story of my longest, most beautiful fall.

 

He didn’t tell me his plan. He never does. He simply tied me
to the bed, spread-eagled, a blindfold robbing me of sight and amplifying every
other sense. The first touch was his hand, warm and firm, stroking my chest. It
was comforting. A gentle beginning. I had no idea I was already on the path.

 

His touch drifted lower, tracing the line of my hip,
avoiding the one place I desperately wanted it. My body responded instantly, a
familiar heat building. When his fingers finally wrapped around my cock, I
sighed into the darkness, a sound of pure relief. It was a good, solid grip,
and he began to stroke me with a practiced, steady rhythm. I was right there,
climbing that familiar hill toward release, ready to tip over in a matter of
minutes.

 

And then he stopped.

 

Just like that. His hand was gone. The air felt cold against
my now-throbbing skin. A whimper escaped my lips before I could swallow it.

 

“Shhh,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble next
to my ear. “We’re not in a hurry.”

 

What followed was not a scene. It was a symphony of torture,
and he was the conductor. He would bring me to the brink with his hand, my hips
bucking, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my entire world narrowing to the
point of explosion. And then, nothing. He’d stop, leaving me dangling over the
abyss, my body screaming for a release that wasn’t coming.

 

Then he’d switch. He’d use his mouth, the wet heat a
shocking new sensation. The climb would be faster, more desperate. My muscles
would lock, my toes would curl, I could taste the orgasm, it was right *there*…

 

And he’d pull away, leaving me to sob in frustration.

 

Time lost all meaning. It could have been an hour. It could
have been three. My body was no longer my own. It was an instrument he was
playing, and he was a master of dissonance. He would use a feather, light and
teasing, to make me arch my back. He would use the flat of his tongue to bathe
my balls, sending a wave of aching pleasure through me. He would use the tip of
a fingernail to trace a single, maddening line along the underside of my shaft.

 

My mind began to fray. The constant cycle of build-up and
denial eroded my thoughts, my ego, my very sense of self. I was no longer
Jessi. I wasn’t a person. I was just a collection of nerve endings, a vessel
for a pleasure so intense it had become its own form of pain. I wasn’t begging
to come anymore. The words were gone. I was just making sounds—animalistic,
desperate sounds.

 

I was floating. Detached. I could feel the tears leaking
from under the blindfold, but I wasn’t sad. I was transcendent. I had been
broken down so completely that all that was left was pure, raw need. It was a
state of perfect, agonizing grace.

 

I don’t know how long it had been when I felt his weight
shift. He positioned himself between my legs. I felt the head of his cock press
against my entrance. This was new. This was different.

 

He didn’t ask. He didn’t speak. He just pushed inside,
slowly, filling me completely as he wrapped his hand around my cock one last
time.

 

He didn’t stroke. He just squeezed. Hard.

 

And with that single, solid pressure inside me and that
possessive grip outside me, he whispered two words.

 

“Come for me.”

 

It wasn’t an orgasm. It was an implosion. It was an
exorcism. My entire body seized, a violent, shuddering wave that started in my
core and blasted outwards. I screamed, a raw, guttural sound as I came harder
than I ever have in my life, an endless, draining release that seemed to last
for a full minute. It wasn’t pleasure. It was a total system reboot.

 

When it was over, I was limp. A puddle. He untied me, took
off the blindfold, and simply held me. I couldn’t speak. I could do nothing but
tremble in his arms.

 

He hadn’t just denied me an orgasm for a few hours. He had
denied me my *self*. And in giving that up, I had found something purer, more
intense, and more profoundly real than I had ever known.

 

Yours in Service,

 

Jessi