The Renunciation of O

In service to my dom, I stripped naked the second I got home, straight into my usual uniform of thigh highs and suspenders.

I finished my evening with my usual chores: tidying our home, cleaning and organising our toys and equipment, preparing his dinner. But when he got home, he refused to touch me.

He teased me with his presence. He ate dinner at the table while I kneeled on the floor beside him. Ignored, forgotten. While he relaxed in front of the TV, I was bound on the floor beside him, made to slowly fuck my dildo. My thighs being bound to my ankles made it hard; it was more a rocking motion, but it was enough to remind me of my constant ache. My enforced orgasm denial makes me constantly wet, but I can’t get off without direct simulation on my clit. With arms tied behind my back - elbow to elbow, wrist to wrist - I couldn’t do anything to get the nipple clamps off my aching tits.

He only uses them in punishment. I don’t like them at all.

For hours, we stayed like this. For hours, I silently begged. After a while, I thrust my hips as provocatively as I could, exaggerating my movements. I looked at him with wide, pensive eyes, moaned as sexily as I could with a gag in my mouth.

To no effect. He continued to ignore me.

In time, my sexy moans turned desperate and pathetic, whining for attention, for anything at all.

Still, he continued to ignore me.

When his show had ended, he turned off the TV, and finally turned his gaze to me. I had hoped he would use me. Instead, he clipped my leash around my neck and led me to the wardrobe. He shoved me inside, closed the door, and left me until morning.

Denied orgasm. Denied attention. Denied the dignity of our bed. And my pussy dripped all the more because of it.