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listencloser: thatgirlmilena: listencloser: thatgirlmilena: listencloser: thatgirlmilena: listencloser: thatgirlmilena: listencloser: thatgirlmilena: listencloser: thatgirlmilena: Dear @listencloser, I’ve been away from the secret land of t&d for a long time, and can not seem to find my way back in. Would you hold my hand and gently guide me back inside? I remember it was a curiously delicious, mysterious world… but I am lost. Sometimes it can be as easy to accidentally stumble out of the beautiful labyrinthine world of tantalism as it is to be helplessly, sublimely lost within it. But it is always better to be wandering inside that maze of eternal pleasure. Let’s go back to the beginning… One forgets how transitory is the pleasure of an orgasm. The anticipation is delightful, the build-up to the explosion is exquisite. Then comes orgasm itself. It’s there, it’s enjoyable for a few moments, and then it’s gone again, nothing but a memory. Where did it go? Why was it so brief? Why does such an ephemeral thing draw us back to it, again and again? Are you teasing yourself now? You should be, as you read this, in order to observe the truth of the words as you read them. Tease and stroke, right to the edge. But stay there. Go no further. An orgasm is an illusion. But what an insidious and sneaky illusion it is; created deep in the body by a fundamental urge. That urge evolved to bring us back, again and again, to sex and reproduction. It has been essential to drive animals to propagate their species for millennia. But we are not animals. We are highly evolved. We are in control of ourselves. So that wicked urge had to evolve too. Now it must trick you. When you stroke yourself, as you are doing so right now, or are stroked, or licked, or sucked, or warmly, deeply fucked, to that peak of momentary pleasure, that which actually drives us is not the pleasure itself but instead all that follows. The absence of pleasure that follows, the longing for that pleasure, the empty feeling that gnaws away at you, that itches, that drives you back into that cycle again, helplessly. Your orgasms are manipulating you. Why do you think the attraction to denial feels so deliciously forbidden? Because it is a taboo. It feels dreadfully enticing because it goes against the very biological drives of the body. And when one begins with denial, one realises that one can feel pleasure not just for an illusory moment but constantly. One can feel it not just in a tiny spot between one’s legs but throughout one’s body, brushing against oneself all the time, like the finest silks in a warm summer breeze. One can cheat that essential urge. Are you on the edge, yet? Do you feel how strong that urge is? How powerfully it has you hooked? That wicked little orgasmic urge has one final trick up its sleeve. The longer one goes without release, the more enticing the pleasure. A few edges over a few hours of unfulfilled stimulation and it will feel delightful. A few days without release and the promise of pleasure has multiplied a hundredfold. And yet we are smart. We know that is just a trick, just the anticipation of pleasure, momentary pleasure, to be replaced by that itch again, thus driving us back to it once more. We are in control, we think. So it must do something else too. Do you notice what it does to your mind, that clever little urge to pleasure? It knows we are smart creatures so it must unpick all those millennia of intelligence and self-control and instead turn us into simple, thoughtless things, just long enough for us to make that greedy little mistake and fall, once more. Just for one, brief moment. Even now, touching yourself as you read this, that tiny little voice is there, isn’t it? Tempting you to keep going. It would feel so good to tip over. So enticing, that devilish voice at the back of your mind, urging you on. It wants you to explode. With your fingers teasing your own flesh, as you are teetering of the brink, just before tipping over into that explosion, it whispers to you at the back of your mind that it would be easy, so easy, to stroke just a little longer, just a little harder, to tip over into that wicked flush of delight. And in that very moment it seems reasonable to a foggy, pleasure-soaked mind. It does sound reasonable, right now, doesn’t it? Just one moment more and you can feel that flush of release. But stop. Stop touching right now. In that moment, it wins. With my fingers stroking at you, there is no danger of your self-control failing. Those fuzzy, pink cotton-candy clouds of delight fogging your mind, that might have weakened your own will, instead merely leave you moaning and helpless, and that tricky little urge finds itself helpless too, unable to sway your actions. All it can do is what it has evolved to do: to weaken your will further, to make the promise of release more enticing, to float you into a sweet, confusing, desperate space. And we can use that state. We know how pliant and agreeable you become in that drifting fog of pleasure. You beg for release. You bargain for it. You would trade anything for it. Agree to all manner to cruel and painful torments to fill the empty space that lack of orgasm tries to create. And best off all, you would promise to deny yourself until the next touch. We know that creatures respond very well to operant conditioning. If I do eventually give you that sweet release as a reward for being good, for obediently denying yourself, then you learn to associate denial with the pleasure your body craves. And then we create a beautiful state. In denial your body brims with pleasure and yearning, upon my reward your body shudders with pleasurable orgasm. Pleasure either way. There’s no down-side. And we know, also, that intermittent rewards work much more strongly than reliable ones. Just like the irregular pay-outs a casino slot machine gifts. If we sometimes allow you orgasm in reward for being such good girl, for your denial, for your obedience, but sometimes simply say “No, not this time”, ironically the anticipation is that much more addictive, the pleasure that much greater, the conditioning that much stronger. Even that thought itself is arousing, isn’t it? Do you see what we are doing? We are training both of you. You and that wicked little orgasmic urge. On the surface we are denying you release but by giving control of your orgasm to me, what we are really doing is denying your sneaky little urge control over you. All it knows is to trick you into orgasm by weakening your will. Its reward, what it craves, is your eventually giving in to it. But that is no longer an option. By making you helpless, we make it helpless. Of course, we have been training it for some time. In a very specific and structured way. Even if you haven’t noticed the intricacies, there is a plan. We had to do it in this way, to avoid alarming that tricky orgasmic urge. We wanted to tempt it closer, like a skittish horse, in order to tame it. But now we have it snared, now we have slipped a collar around its neck, now it is becoming trained, we can move forward. This weekend, we will open The Box again, to read the next chapter, and you will see where our roadmap is taking us. In the meantime, in preparation, a good girl would go back to the beginning and read Chapter One of the The Box again. Remembering how that wicked little urge to orgasm works, how it has been trained so carefully to crave the touch not of her fingers but those of another, how good it feels to give that control and pleasure over to someone else, she would be given permission to tease herself right to the edge, in exactly the way he does in that story. And then she would stop. It would leave her frustrated and desperate, of course. But that is the whole point. To rouse that urge within herself, to test how far we had come in training it. Of course, without someone else’s fingers there to take control, she would have to calm that wicked, seductive voice of her orgasmic urge by satiating it with something. Perhaps clipping pegs to her nipples, to feel that clarifying pain overpower the searing desperation between her legs. That would satiate the urge, for the time being. She would do this because of the promise of what was to come next. And her orgasmic urge would also thrill to the promise of what was to come next. And she would wait until tomorrow. Because then the game would really begin. Very well my dear @listencloser…  Through your words, following your instructions, I have shyly peeked through that door and stepped one foot inside. I started to remember how mysterious a place with colourful flowers and curious creatures that exotic land is. “Let’s go back to the beginning…”   you say. You tell me to read the beginnings of The Box. You tell me to touch and stroke, then stop right at the edge . Like the time when you plan to play with me, condition me, condition it, only to end with an ever frustrating, yet arousing “No, not this time”.  You tell me you will train me, train both of us, and that there is a plan.  I’ve told you, I am terribly frightened that there is a plan. So I have gone to the beginnings. I have read the inceptions. I have touched and stroked and rubbed and edged, again and again, as I read. Slowly. My body would take some time to respond. It would need a while to remember that the urge is only a trick into an ephemeral joy and the denial is the real pleasure. Eventually, it worked. I have stepped onto that fascinating land once again. No turning back now. “Because tomorrow, the game would really begin.” Let’s play. Very good, my dear @ThatGirlMilena. The journey has begun. We spoke about the urge, yesterday, that wicked urge that drives someone to tip over the edge into a brief, unfulfilling, ephemeral orgasm. We aim to tame that urge. To conquor it. To free you from its clutches. We know that good girls don’t come. And now we know why that is so. One thing to remember is that, since the urge is so ancient, driving animals’ reproductive strategies for so long, it is both powerful and primitive. Unlike us, it cannot see into the future, it cannot be instructed or taught. It can only be trained in very simple ways, by offering it a temptation and then associating that temptation with an outcome. It will learn, slowly but surely. We will begin this tomorrow, which gives you this evening to consider our method. Here it is: There are three boxes. Each box comes with a task. Each box contains a surprise. If you choose a box, you must complete its task. And accept its contents. The WHITE BOX’s task is simply a day of not touching yourself. That could end up being the most frustrating choice, to try to go a whole day without touching, when your mind is already focused on the whole idea of teasing. Teasing surely means touching. Touching would be tempting. But perhaps not touching is more tempting. Presumably the box would contain something that helps you in this task. But then again… If you choose this box, you will open it upon choosing it. The RED BOX grants you a edge. This means you can touch yourself but those touches must be long, slow strokes, evenly paced, no pauses, directly upon your sensitive tip. You can take as long as you wish with that edge, make it last for minutes, tens of minutes. But you may not tip over into that sweet, shuddering release. And of course you will be very aroused, since our game has begun, and that wicked little urge will be trying to race you towards orgasm, so you will eventually have to stop stroking to avoid it. And that is when you must stop completely, touch no longer. You should be counting each stroke as you tease yourself. And when you are done, when you have had to stop, that total, that number of strokes, will have something to do with what lies inside the box. If you choose this box, you will open it when just before you begin your edge. The BLACK BOX is a real gamble. And the most tempting to your wicked little urge. It means you can touch yourself in any way you like, for as long as you like. And when you are close, teetering on the brink … well then the contents of the box will be yours. But you don’t know what is offered there. It could be a full, satisfying orgasm. It could be a ruin. It could be something else. All we know is, if you choose that box, you must follow its instructions to the letter. If you choose this box, you will open it when you are right on the edge. Think carefully. Think long and hard. Then tomorrow morning, choose… @listencloser I choose The RED BOX. Ah, interesting @ThatGirlMilena. The middle way. Not quite fully holding that wicked urge at bay, yet not so completely in its clutches as to throw caution to wind and embrace the dangers of the Black Box. So let us open the beautiful, ornate Red Box… Inside the Red Box, you find an envelope. Written on the outside of the envelope is: 100 — Strokes = ? Beside the envelope, there are two clothes pegs and a small piece of fresh,  ginger. Underneath the envelope is a small card. Written upon this is: Choose a pace. You may choose your pace, whether exquisitely slow, sensuous strokes, or deeper, harder ones, but once chosen, you must maintain that pace and pressure exactly. Keep count as you stroke. Do not vary your rhythm. When you feel yourself tipping, and you will, bidden by that wicked, insatiable urge, you must stop. EDGE. No release, no ruin. Start stroking. Directly upon your most yearning, sensitive spot. When you are done, we will open the envelope. @listencloser 83. @thatgirlmilena Carefully tearing open the envelope, you find a second envelope. Upon that one is written: Pleasure — Strokes = ? Underneath that envelope is a second small card. Written upon it is: The number of strokes you managed before you stopped is your PLEASURE. Subtracting your PLEASURE from 100 gives you your PAIN. Now, clip those clothes pegs, one to each nipple. Leave them there and count up to the number of seconds that correspond to your PAIN. Once you reach that number, keeping the pegs on, you will begin edging again, stroking, right on that now sensitive centre. You may not climax. Not for this envelope. Keep count. Keep your rhythm. If you feel yourself tipping you have to stop before you reach your PLEASURE number, you must stop. If you can keep going right up until your PLEASURE, and only that number of strokes, you may ruin. But remember, there is another envelope… Oh how painful those clothes pegs were… I had to take them off after the first time, it was unbearable. Then I placed them again, more carefully, and counted slowly to 17. Then I started the strokes. The same speed as before… well perhaps deeper and longer strokes than before. 60. I am very close… 70. Getting there… 75. Oh it’s almost 83 now and then it will be over I’ll lose the chance to even the ruin 76, 77, come on I want the pleasure of the ruin so badly… 78, 79, 80 A looong 81, a loooongeeeer 82, eigthy threeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrr. Stop. Could not get there… not on the right number. @thatgirlmilena Carefully tearing open the next envelope, you find a third envelope. Upon that one is written: Reward + Agony = ? Underneath that envelope is a third small card. Written upon it is: Did you ruin? Congratulations! You may stop here. But if not… The number of strokes you managed before you stopped is your TRIAL. Subtracting your TRIAL from 100 gives you your AGONY. Subtracting your PLEASURE from your TRIAL gives you your REWARD. This time, you must take your nice, fresh slice of ginger and press it, juices and all, to your yearning clit for the number of seconds corresponding to your AGONY. Always add five seconds to punish the urge. Remove your slice of ginger. Now you may stroke in any way you like for the number corresponding to your REWARD. Feel free to climax. If you cannot quite reach orgasm, there is a final envelope… @listencloser this is a wicked game designed to frustrate in the first place, isn’t it? The ginger feels quite mild at first. It starts to burn slowly and deeply. Becomes quite frustrating. Especially if you consider how SMALL a number my REWARD turned out to be. No, I could not quite reach orgasm, but you already expected that, didn’t you? You and your wicked mind full of tricks… Now, what is in the final envelope? @thatgirlmilena Tearing open the third envelope in frustration reveals a single card. It reads: Couldn’t quite make it? What a pity. Perhaps this will help. Add your Reward number to your Agony number. That is your RACE. Start rubbing yourself hard and fast. Count down that number of seconds. Ruin exactly on zero. No orgasm. Getting too close before zero and you stop. If you can’t make it, no touching for the rest of the night. Start right now. Right now. Good luck. I RACED. I rubbed hard and fast. I wanted to at least reach that ruin tonight.Counting…0. Noo.Despite your words, I listened to the urge, and started the RACE again. Count down to Zero. Hard and fast. Rubbing and stroking. Drifting, deeper, closer, closer…. but Zero.The urge is evil. It is tricky. It tricked me into starting over. So I did. A final third time I said to myself. RACE down.Faster.Harder.Deeper. Closer.Closer.Yess almost there…Zero. I was seconds away, I could tell. Ahh. How frustrated one gets… I told you about what the urge made me do. You said it is clever like that, and must be tamed. I am commenced for confessing, but will be punished later. Well deserved. I shall try to fall asleep now, thinking half-imaginary scenes.No more touching. No more listening to that urge. Get a light, dreamy sleep, perhaps full of tantalising visions. Good night, and thank you @listencloser. -- source link

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