alliradaye: He gave me permission to edge. Of course, the permission was conditional. “Next ti
alliradaye: He gave me permission to edge. Of course, the permission was conditional. “Next time you piss, save it all. Then pour it over your head and chest. You may edge as it dries. Once. No showers until the morning.” Ew. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to complete the task that night, so it was pushed back until the next evening. I say unfortunately because the delay gave me an entire day to dwell on and worry about the impending task. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I might have even dreamt about it. It was rather unsettling. He asked me whether I was looking forward to it, and I truthfully responded that I was not. To be honest, I would have preferred not to do the task, regardless of the permission to edge. I’ve fallen into one of those long, boring dips in arousal, and I didn’t particularly care if I could edge or not. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. Should we call it off?”Wait, what? His remark startled the ennui out of me in an instant. I told him his saying that made me anxious. I asked him why he’d said that. “Why? Because free will. I want you to be an active part of your own degradation. If you don’t want to edge, just say so. We can put it back on the shelf.” Damn. Damn damn damn. I definitely didn’t want to do the task, but even more, I didn’t want to not do the task simply because I didn’t want to. I also didn’t want him to think I was doing the task so that I could edge. I would do it because he said to and because I imagined it would amuse him. Besides, I’d already made a little nest on the floor so I wouldn’t have to crawl into my bed covered in pee. “Good girl. You want to amuse me, don’t you.” Always. “Ask me for permission to edge covered in piss.” I wonder if he doubted for even a second that I would end up doing the task and after having actively asked for it at that. Sigh, probably not. I grabbed my cup and headed into the bathroom. I peed. And then… I just sat there and stared at that cup, filled to the brim with my pee. My pee that I would soon pour all over myself. My pee that I would soon pour all over myself in the empty bathroom late at night. My pee that I would soon pour all over myself in the empty bathroom late at night while awkwardly trying to use a stupid selfie stick (that I bought for the express purpose of taking these sort of humiliating photos). And the absurdity of the situation made me laugh. My nature is always to be submissive, but I don’t always feel it. I can’t deny that I’m always, instantly stimulated when he demands something of me, however simple and routine or however elaborate and humiliating. Like a spark of joy and tension and arousal in my being. But that feeling sometimes gets lost in the doldrums of daily life. It happens periodically, almost always gradually. Recently, I’ve been busy with mundane, necessary things and hadn’t realized I had slipped back into forgetting what I am at my core. I stared at my cup of pee and laughed, but I also felt a familiar, tingling tension. For me, feelings of submission are accompanied by an undercurrent of heightened, not-uncomfortable anxiety. I’m always a little on edge, always a little nervous, a little uncertain when I interact with him. Or at least I should be. I hadn’t meant to get complacent or listless, but I’d gotten distracted and forgotten how things should be. How I really do actively want things to be. I slept on the floor that night after soberly finishing my task, uncomfortable without a pillow and sticky with dried pee, and I felt like myself again. Devotional Training. -- source link
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