Living Life on the Edge

I have a fantasy about self-denial; call it a recurring nightmare .....

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A woman (let's call her 'Julia', if only because that's a lovely name) has an extremely high libido and is constantly looking for ways to achieve ever more intense feelings of sensual and sexual fulfilment.

Over many years she perfects her technique of orgasm self-denial; masturbating herself over and over again, every time ascending almost to the point of climax, then backing off. Every time going higher, further, closer to the edge, until she can take no more and she allows her climax to wash over her in waves of intense pleasure.

Then one night the stage is set for the ultimate self-denial almost-orgasm.

The atmosphere, her mood, her technique. All perfect. She settles down on her soft bed and begins to caress and tease her whole body, gradually focussing her attention on her nipples until after more than an hour of pinching, rubbing, flicking and pulling they grow too hard and tender to even bear the gentlest of touches.

Now she moves her hands down to her swollen, aching, shaved pussy mound, seeking out her engorged labial lips, first her pale smooth outer lips then, probing deeper, running her fingertips along her wet, deep pink, sensitive inner folds.

All the time she monitors her rising sexual feelings and the state of her throbbing clit waiting, hoping, needing to feel her touch but all the time she controls her slow build-up.

Then when the time is right, carefully she brings her body higher and higher towards the very edge of orgasm, stronger and more intense than ever before, climbing, soaring, shaking, panting, gasping, and screaming out for the release she will not allow herself.

Then she backs off just a fraction, holding herself on the edge for a while before letting the feelings subside a little.

Once again, climbing, controlling, getting closer, sensing the final climax as it approaches, holding the moment, then breathing out and sliding back down just a fraction.

Hypersensitive to her every minute movement and the delectable feelings inside her. Mind totally tuned into the sensations in her very needy clit. She lies back, spreads her legs wide apart, closes her eyes tight and begins the final approach.

Gradually her orgasm builds but she has perfect control over her fingers, slowing down to extend the pleasure as long as possible, inching towards her summit.

Getting much closer, exercising self-control she didn't know she had. Higher and higher, almost at the top, her body shaking and so, so close to the ultimate peak of pleasure, not quite letting go, stretching it out a little longer still, her pre-orgasm sensations growing more and more powerful, her pussy getting wetter than ever before, so swollen, so wide open, so desperate to climax, her clit as hard as a pearl and the most amazing feelings as her heart pumps those amazing sex hormones around her whole body.

Her mind is a blur as her fingers barely touch her clit. It's like sparks flying to her very soul. Again and again, she holds her breath and concentrates; crying out, close, so very close to climax, on the knife-edge of perfect satisfaction, tormenting herself far, far more than she ever thought she could stand.

Time and again she takes herself up to that beautiful almost-point-of-no-return then lets her feelings calm down for a few moments then doing it again, each time not quite pushing herself over the edge but holding back so she almost gets the start of an orgasm but not quite. Each time it gets better; more powerful feelings and a growing sense of need and desperation, but she digs deep into her powers of self-control to stop herself cumming until she absolutely cannot stand it any longer.

Eventually, she masturbates herself right up to the point where her orgasm is about to start, but slows right down and holds herself right there, not quite cumming but not backing down. Holding herself teetering on the brink of almost-but-not-quite-there. For a few seconds, as long as she can stand. Longer, half a minute, in exquisite agony.

Her pussy is soaked and dripping. Her labial lips are hot, red and engorged like never before. A whole minute gone now; her clit throbs and aches more than she can stand, but still she holds back, sobbing quietly to herself as she experiences unimaginable arousal and self-torment.

Minutes pass.

Her inner pussy muscles contract in rhythmic waves of uncontrollable spasms, but still she does not allow herself the final orgasmic relief. In fact, she's already experiencing all the sensations of a shattering orgasm. Gasping, moaning, screaming. Her tummy muscles are so tight they hurt. Her nipples feel like they are on fire, as though an unseen lover is pinching and pulling them, making them longer, harder and more sensitive then she ever can remember.

Her inner thigh muscles quiver, ready to clamp shut at the final moment of climactic release, but she keeps them spread wide, exposing her gaping vagina like the wanton depraved slut she feels she has become.

Finally, when she eventually allows herself to reach the ultimate heights of desperation, exact point of perfect no-return, she stops.

Still.

Not touching, not moving.

Holding her finger slightly away from her clit, feeling the heat but not quite touching. Her orgasm is only a microsecond away from that incredibly satisfying crash into unbelievably intense pleasure. She waits for it to happen. She tunes her mind to the joy that is about to arrive. She needs it to take her over.

But it doesn't.

But neither do the feelings subside.

Not at all. Not a fraction.

Perfection. Nirvana. The utopia of orgasm self-denial.

She's there, balanced on the knife-edge of pleasure, the Mount Everest of orgasms ...

She touches her clit again, just once, ever so lightly. She's ready to scream and explode.

But she doesn't cum.

Her orgasm so close, but not ... quite ... happening. She screams and moans and cries.

Still nothing happens.

Her orgasm does not arrive with the crashing crescendo she expected, but neither does it subside. She can neither tip herself over the edge, nor pull back from the edge.

The feelings are still there. Unbearable. She simply HAS to cum. She MUST climax now, she NEEDS this orgasm more than anything else, more than ever before. She circles her clit once. And again, round and round. Up and down, slowly at first then faster, and faster, and faster. But, she doesn't cum.

She can't. It's impossible.

She's frantic now, breathless, her mouth is dry, her body is shaking uncontrollably and she's totally delirious. But she simply can't make her orgasm happen.

She's stuck. Poised. Trapped. Helpless. And panicking.

Desperately she masturbates herself, but it just won't come.

She's at a permanent point of no return. She can't go back either. She's pushed herself too far.

So she lies still, concentrating, trying to make the feelings go away, but they don't. They won't. She's impaled on the sharp point of her indescribably intense feelings of sexual arousal, at the pinnacle of desire, and desperation, driven by her greed for bigger, better, more, the ultimate tease-and-deny orgasm, but it just ... won't ... happen.

She's a prisoner in her own libido and imagines going though the rest of her life permanently aroused but unable to orgasm. A life of a swollen pussy, erect nipples, oozing juices and tense tummy muscles, trying to live a normal life but her mind always distracted by the desire for the ultimate orgasm that she has denied myself and which she cannot now enjoy.

She's trapped in an eternal point of torment, destined to live the rest of her life in an intense climactic limbo. A permanent state or orgasmic tension, sapping her energy, draining her mind of any thoughts other than her frustration and unfulfilled desire. Unable to cum, no matter how hard she tries. Struggling to sleep at night; even eating is difficult.

She knows her only hope of salvation is to find a woman so desirable, so thrilling, so beautiful, so sexy and so gorgeous that she can excite her and satisfy her like no-one ever has before, and release her from her orgasmic prison.

That could be you ...