The Masturbation

Standard

Don’t think badly of me, if I write a lot less than usual. But these are days in which are happening very subtle things, and it’s hard to write them. Just as it is difficult to write thoughts and fantasies without being boring and/or chattering. I always prefer to wait to have a substantial bundle to ‘give’ to my readers.
But today is a bit different. It may be because something finally starts working, and I don’t want to read this blog in the future and find only stories in which I plodded taking up the cudgels on my behalf. Maybe it’s also good for me telling the little steps, the little ones that are less recognized, but those one that if added together day after day they lead to big changes over time.

As I already told you, yesterday I was able to masturbate thinking of him with another girl. Difficult and not very satisfactory from the physical point of view, from the mental point of view it unlocked a great confidence. I finally felt back the control of my body: no longer subdued to sudden bouts of anger, panic, crying. I was again the very Owner of all I am, and finally I was able to decide what to do. And I decided I had to have an orgasm, out of pure self-satisfaction.
I was scared. Especially of the possible guilt that eventually would have come later. Those widespread seconds of disgust that usually follow an orgasm. I was terrified of not being able to look at myself, once I realized what I had done, facing the fact that I touched myself imagining what hurt me most.
It has something of sublime this embracing ones source of suffering.

I focus a moment on the fantasy that I have tried to have. I’ve never been good at imagining scenes, my dreams have never had a sexual background and in order to masturbate I’ve always depended on the porn video I found on the net. Especially because of this, being able to masturbate out of the blue without even being excited only imagining a given scene was particularly difficult.
In my head I was exactly like in the reality, lying on the couch, while He and X were on the chair-bed in front of me. I name her X because I haven’t even tried to imagine her face, I put her back on me astride him and I freed myself from the trouble of having to imagine her pretty (and I didn’t want to risk giving her a face already known to me) .
Enjoy the fantasy and sharpen the picture were two separate things that I couldn’t do both at the same time. Focusing on physical sensations to guide the orgasm meant losing control over their figures which became two pink boxes stuck on a  Prussian blue chair . When I concentrated only on them I had seconds in which the wave of Pain struck my belly, this allowed me to transfer the burning feeling from the stomach to my v… yeah, that, through the operation Masochism/Blackness (whichever was it I still don’t know). But it only lasted a few seconds, and quickly they clouded again.
A struggle, seriously.

Today he’s finally come home, and as I already imagined, we didn’t lose much time before starting our games. We must say that my enthusiasm was (is) due to the week of ‘chastity’ which for some improvised black hole in my brain I had agreed to. Therefore for a week on my body were only my hands on the clitoris (under strict control of him of course). However, while we were preparing my second orgasm, He blindfolded me quietly, tied my legs so they were bent and spread wide, ordered me to keep on touching myself and as he approached his cock to my mouth he said, “And so you masturbated yesterday, eh? “.
I knew where he was driving at. I wanted to try it too.
I told him what I had imagined the day before, he incited me telling me that in the future I’d have to prepare him for his fuck with someone just like that.
Some other little joke, and within 20 minutes it’s over. I had a bit of disgust, I cannot deny it. But his presence reassured me a lot, I never felt dirty, nor humiliated (in the worst way possible) and the orgasm was as strong as my usual.
Speaking after that I told him that it would be nice if the next time it would be him to speak and to lead my orgasm deciding for me what to imagine.
I do the fool in time of war, I say so just because if they are the words of another person which I have to imagine in my mind, I lose responsibility on them. Just as I can masturbate on things I find being barely legal, in the same way it was perfectly possible for me to masturbate on a scene so painful and humiliating, but not dictated by me. Because it was just like I was not the author.
He likes to think that I am present and do something (which it could be cleaning, lubricating her, keeping her open, touching myself in front of him), but I realize that for me it’s humiliating. To show to a stranger that I’m interested in that makes me feel naked in a high school class. Surely if I wanted to test the psychological submission, this would be a major step, but for now it revolves around the perverse pleasure I feel thinking myself in there but ignored. Invisible. Present, but as behind a double-glazed where I can see them but where they cannot see me.
My imagination can go this far. I know that it has done this in the past. I have perfect memory that I masturbated once thinking about the little girl friend on who I had a crush while she was being kissed by her neighbor (something they actually did before me, dancing on ‘Gift’ of Elisa, a song hopelessly tied to sex for me).
In reality I go into panic if he says “I have to speak with her  on the phone.”

The next month goal?
Gather my bipolar raptures and be able to see myself in one piece at the mirror.

Ps. Gosh, such an evocative title!

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