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“I can make you do things any day of the week,” Ray continued. He took both my hands, rested the left under his balls at an awkward angle, the right around his shaft. I did what was expected of me. His length twitched and flexed in my fist. “I can cuff you and torment you,” Ray went on. “Force you because you like it. But just think. I’m not forcing you here. I’m asking you. No orgasms. And you agree and you stick with it.” He gave me a sly smile. “Because promises are stronger than leather.”
I didn’t reply. His cock was fully hard now. I kept working him with my hand, gazing down my torso at his flushed tip. Ray closed his eyes and groaned heavily. I wondered how he’d feel if I stopped. I didn’t of course. I speeded up. He came on my stomach and tits, striping my skin with jizz. I was happy for him, as one is at the sight and sound of a lover’s climax. I also felt a fleeting tug of jealousy. When would it be my turn again?
Horny doesn’t even begin to cover it. Within a week I was practically clawing the walls, except the walls were the inside of my body. I ached to get outside of myself, to fly away via a dizzying, transcendent, cunt-clenching crisis.
It might have been bearable if Ray hadn’t been such a goddamn tease. A change to our regular dates to accommodate my abstinence would have been fine; say, a few quiet nights in front of the telly, maybe meeting up with friends, going bowling or whatever. But oh, no. This was a man who got off on making me suffer. I should have seen it coming. Or rather, not.
The worst of it was, the weather held. Day after day, the sun beat down, ostensible proof that our experiment was working. In parks and gardens, flowers lifted their rain-battered heads. In town, people sat outside bars and cafes, gazing at the light, as stunned as newly emerged moles. The habit of glancing nervously at the sky was hard to break but gradually people started to seem happier and more relaxed, less sallow and hunched. Summer’s here! proclaimed the headlines.
By week two, I was praying for rain so we could call the whole thing off. The heat caressed my skin. The sight of people in skimpy clothes was torture. The country stayed dry while my cunt was as wet as a rain cloud. Please tip it down, I thought. But the sky remained flawlessly blue. As an additional cruelty, Ray started to tan. He’d been handsome enough when I’d met him, but the heat baked him golden, turning him into a bronzed, lanky, bewhiskered Adonis. I wanted him so badly. All of him.
He wasn’t withholding himself from me; that was the killer. He would even fuck me and take me to the verge of climax, but he’d never allow me to get off. My feverish lust was never calmed. I became an unadulterated horndog, sexually obsessed and full of pent-up energy.
One evening in week three, we were seated on Ray’s stone balcony, drinking ice-cold bottled beer and looking out over treetops, rooftops and tiny trains moving in and out of the distant station. The early evening sky was sliced with vapor trails, the horizon turning pink in the west. I was gripped with the need to climax. I wanted to jump Ray, strip him naked, ride his cock and come in a lunatic mess of slipperiness and screaming. At the very least, I wanted to maul and kiss him but I knew I had to resist. Molesting him would only culminate in exquisite agony with Ray once again taking me to the edge of orgasm then denying me my release. The obsession was addictive but it was a curious kind of addiction, one in which rather than give in to the thing I craved, I had to fight the longing for gratification, knowing my desire wouldn’t be gratified and the urge would be worsened.
“People are saying the gardens need watering,” I ventured.
“People are never satisfied,” replied Ray. “Too much rain, they moan. Too much sun, they moan.”
Jeez, even his voice made me horny. Well, everything made me horny. I’d listened to my neighbors fucking two nights previously and it had taken an enormous amount of willpower not to go and knock on their door and ask if I could have a ride. But sex-noises would have turned me on regardless. What was new was the hypersensitivity of my cunt. Showering and sitting in certain chairs became an erotic experience. New too was the way my body charged up at a whiff of aftershave in the street; at the sight of a woman uncrossing her legs or two sparrows splashing in a water bath; at the squelchy noise from a bottle of fabric conditioner being emptied by a man in the launderette; at the terrible painting of a conch shell in the dentist’s waiting room resembling the pink frills of labia unfurling.
I was permanently aroused. I was a bitch in heat. I was desperately, tear-prickingly randy.
One muggy afternoon, I’d begged, “Please! Please let me!” as Ray had taken me to the brink with his fingers and some clit gel he’d bought. The gel warmed and tenderized me, its soft, tingling heat radiating into my groin, drawing sensation deeper. Ray held me there. The room darkened as the sun disappeared behind a cloud. My thighs were starting to quiver. I was moments away. I thought he was finally going to let me go, and the heavens would open. I was on the edge of relief, about to bring an end to the oppressive humidity. But Ray pulled back. I could feel his breath still warm on my folds. He pushed a finger inside me, gave me a hard, fast stroke then withdrew. He flicked my clit. Beneath his finger, I was a fat, slippery bead. I bucked, searching for him.
“Please,” I wailed.
“Don’t let me down,” he said. He kissed my swollen clit.
Oh, dear god. Every nerve trembled beneath the touch of his lips. “Please.”
“You know you don’t mean that.” He licked me once, twice, teasing me with his careful tongue. I swear I could feel the bumps of his taste buds on my taut, raw clit.
“Ray, I can’t stand it. Please let me come.”
He laughed softly. For a few moments, he said nothing. He blew a stream of cool air on my flesh. “How’s the gel?” he asked. “It’s made my mouth go a bit weird.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Good. Fading a bit now.”
Soft light filled the room as the clouds dissipated.
“Well, then,” said Ray. “I’d better apply some more, hadn’t I?”
And so it went on with Ray taking me to the threshold of ecstasy before pulling back only to take me there again. I imagined the rain clouds high in the sky, weighted with wetness and not knowing if they were coming or going. I felt sorry for them because, unlike me, they presumably weren’t getting much enjoyment from this.
Because yes, even though our experiment was an ordeal of fleshly frugality, the days of uncertainty and submission to Ray’s control were also infuriatingly wonderful. I was coasting on a sexual high, permeated by a dizzying euphoria and as horny as a teenager.
I hadn’t realized what a sadist my new boyfriend was until I’d granted him control of my orgasms. I hadn’t realized, either, what a thrill I’d get from doing as I was told, from obeying Ray’s orders even when he wasn’t there. Alone at night, I didn’t once touch myself, my hands as good as tied by the promise that I’d made. I felt as if he were always with me, close by my side, guarding and protecting. I was captivated by the game and charmed by Ray’s bossiness. He’d wrapped me in magic, and I’d fallen under his spell.
The Met Office was baffled. An “unprecedented heat wave” it said, as experts admitted long-range forecasts had been wrong. Despite the rainfall earlier in the year, a drought was rumored to be imminent. Ray was totally unfazed by this, so excited by his orgasm-control experiments he seemed prepared to let reservoir levels fall. I was torn between wanting to come, wanting to please and wanting the lunacy of unslaked lust to continue.
We came to our senses one dazzling afternoon when we walked past a construction worker hosing down the hoardings edging a building site. Hosepipe in hand, the guy blasted water at the dusty plastic wall, the jet fierce enough to bounce back a cloud of spray onto the other side of the road where we walked. Ahead of us the air shimmered, a veiled rainbow trapped in its diaphanous haze. As we walked on, the mist draped itself on our skin, so cool and light. We laughed. I tasted the spray. Its sudden chill refreshed my mouth. I felt as if I’d swallowed the rainbow, its myriad of colors dissolving on my tongue like sorbet stripes of raspberry, peach, lemon, lime, blueberry, blackberry and plum.
“Damn, that felt good,” said Ray.
I shivered with pleasure, my skin coated in moisture.
That evening, Ray was as cruel as ever in denying me my release but when he left me in the morning he said, “Tonight’s the night. Tonight you get to come.”
