Curious

Curious

BabyTgirl​(sub female){Not lookin} • Dec 24, 2020

How did you first know you were interested in edging? I wanna know if anyone had a similar experience to mine bc im too embarrassed to share 🤣🤣

LaVieEnRose​(sub female){Kintsugi} • Dec 24, 2020

For me it was reading about it; words are far more enticing for me than anything so i found it intriguing when I read about it cause in reading about it I could in theory feel it.

NoOneofConsequence​(dom male){Taken} • Dec 24, 2020

Well, for me, I didn't have the first damn clue what I was doing. And only learned the name for it in retrospect.

So, one fine day, I was walking home from school with a dude that wasn't exactly a friend, but at least wasn't one of the assholes that made my life Hell. Usually. And he glances over at me and asks, "so, how often do you masturbate?"

I blinked at him and said, "what's that?"

He shoved me down and stood over me. "If you don't want to answer, then don't. But, don't pretend you don't."

Not sure which of us was more surprised when I boiled up off the ground and put him on his ass, and stood over him with balled fists. I was a scrawny little runt barely past medical issues that made me so, and about a half a foot shorter and a good fifty or sixty pounds lighter.

"I don't know what that word means," I spat. "If you don't want to tell me, then don't. But, don't be an asshole."

He caught up to me about a half a block later, and to my surprise instead of kicking the shit out of me explained it and patiently answered my questions.

I tried it that night. It didn't go so well. I didn't get the appeal. And told him so the next day. So, he explained a little more. And I tried again. And he explained more. And I tried again. Finally, after about a week or a little more, I got it right.

And, man. I was fuckin' hooked!

Now, I didn't have the first idea where the pussy was, much less what it looked like. I didn't have ready access to porn at that point. At least not porn that contained pictorial images. What I did have access to was written stories.

I was enough of a nerd and bookworm from my medically induced less physical childhood that no one thought twice about seeing me with books. And I was advanced enough in my reading that no one paid much attention to the fact that I was nowhere near the "children's section." Also, in that time and in this place, no one really paid as much attention to what was written as they did to the picture magazines that were safely tucked away from prying adolescent eyes behind the counter.

And I spent what might or might not have been an inordinate amount of time re-reading favorite passages from my growing collection of books with salacious sections (typically three per novel).

Something I read virtually everywhere made me curious. Particularly in light of the fact that I was transitioning from nerdy little bookworm geek to jock and the inherent locker room scenarios where I couldn't help but notice how I measured up... or rather didn't.

So one night, after everyone else in the house was asleep, I snuck into the hall closet, into Mom's sewing kit, and swiped her cloth tape measure. Went back to my room... and measured myself every possible way you might could imagine.

And was inconsolable when I came up an inch and a half short of the length everything said was the minimum acceptable standard and a half an inch less in diameter. I still didn't know exactly where the pussy was, much less what it looked like, but I was dead certain that I was never going to be able to satisfy some ephemeral woman out there in the future somewhere. At least, that's what all the stories I was reading said.

Whether fortunately or unfortunately, I eventually burst out of my first suicidal depressive episode and went on a research binge my bookworm roots told me were the answer to see what, if anything, I could do to make up for my shortcomings. Most of what I found with my bookworm roots and turned into a workout thanks to my burgeoning jockhood, such as tying maraschino cherry stems into triple knots, is irrelevant to the question at hand.

What is relevant is that I discovered that the most common complaint amongst women who contributed to such articles back in those days was that the man couldn't keep going as long as she needed him to. He would do just enough foreplay to get her wet (which I was already investigating and working on), stick his dick in her pussy (which I still wasn't sure just where it was or what it looked like), pump a few times, cum, and then roll over and go to sleep when she was just getting started.

Aha! I thought. I couldn't make my dick bigger. But, this... This, I could do something about.

Now, here's the thing. There wasn't any time period mentioned in the articles. And the only times mentioned in the stories was in terms of "hours." So, being a little chucklehead without a clue, I figured that sex with a woman was supposed to last for hours. 'Cause that's what all the stories I was reading were hinting at anyway.

Stop laughing. I was a snot-nosed, wet behind the ears kid that barely had hair on my schmeckle.

Besides, it gets worse. Oh, so much worse.

So, starting that night after my "big discovery," I settled in for my nightly stroke session with a clock nearby to keep one eye on. I already wasn't what you might consider "a three-pump chump." Oh, up to that point when I'd made my "big discovery," I would have been perfectly happy to have been. One, two, three, cum, done? Who wouldn't have liked that?! But, no. It typically took me around ten or fifteen minutes probably. Which, yeah, I'm very well aware should have been an acceptable time frame for most. Now I'm aware. But, an hour seemed to be what the stories were saying, so an hour was my target. For the first one.

That's right. I was stroking my cock for an hour before I came the first time. And, more, it was the first. Of several. I can't quite recall just how it was I settled on the number seven, but after that first I would keep going for six more times.

Good Lord, after three days of that treatment, my little peter was abraded and oozing blood. I couldn't stand to even touch it the next night.

And my poor testicles were screaming, "Aye, Captain! I'm given it all she's got, but I'm no' sure how much more o' this we can take! I'm a testicle, no' a miracle worker!"

Yeah... remember the asshole that introduced me to the word "masturbation" and explained what it was? Well, we never discussed any sort of lubrication. So, I'd been just dry-palming without so much as an inkling of even spitting on it. It wasn't until several months into my experimentation that I happened to be in the shower soaping up and thought; "I can't get any traction here... Wait... Hmm. That's kind of interesting."

Any road, I was determined. And as the poster in the athletics weight room said, "No Pain, No Gain." So, I pushed myself to become better. (nah-nuh-nuh-nuh) Stronger. (nuh-nuh-nah-nuh) Faster. (nuh-nuh-nuh-nah) Last longer.

And I did. I trained myself to the point I could go for an hour, cum, then just keep going without going soft. The first couple of times. Never managed to make four without going soft for a minute or two. So, I settled for shortening my refractory period those last four since I was developing other skills to fill in those times with anyway.

And the years rolled by.

My first time actually experiencing sex was kind of a letdown. This gal I'd been seeing drove us to a park in her car "to talk." And caught me off guard when she leaned over and gave me my first blow job.

Now, I'd been reading about blowjobs for years. Although the first books I'd discovered them called them "french kiss." And, man, was that an awkward conversation when a gal I'd progressed to the "kissy face, puppy stage" with offered to teach me how to french kiss. Apparently, the books she'd been reading were a whole lot different than the books I'd been reading.

I'd also managed to get my hands on some pictures and movies, and had actually seen not only where the pussy was and what it looked like, but had seen fucking (and, yeah, I had been right to be worried about my size compared to Long Dong Silver that tied his in a knot for a photo stunt... I didn't know that his twenty-four inches of swinging meat was a prosthetic [or that he was the one who'd done the make-up prosthetics for The Elephant Man] until a couple of decades later), and even a blow-job.

Which, my response to seeing that blow-job was, "uh, no thanks, dude. She's got teeth. And I saw what she did to that carrot. Snapped it right the fuck off, she did. Say, I hope you didn't just drop your dirty drawers on the floor on your way to bed, man! 'Cause women get kinda pissy about the whole dirty drawers on the floor thing. And she's got her teeth on your dick..."

So, yeah. There was a tense moment or two as I tried to remember if I might have somehow done something that might have pissed her off that I should have "just known" without her telling me.

And right about the time I was relaxing enough to realize that blowjobs felt pretty fucking good after all... at least a whole lot better than dry-palming that shit with a callused hand... "Where are you going? Well, I guess that's over. Huh? What are you... Hello!" She'd managed to strip one leg of her jeans off, climbed over the gear shift to straddle me, and sunk down on me.

I had my first pussy wrapped around my cock! I had my first pussy wrapped around my cock! And my callused palm was never going to be the sa-... Wait! Where are you going?! Bring that pussy back!

About five to seven minutes, she got what she'd been after, and was back in behind the wheel, pulling her jeans up.

That was it? That little bit was what all the fuss was about?!

Our second and third MONTH didn't get any better. If I made her cum with my fingers or my tongue, that was it. She was done. And I was back in bed that night with my hand wrapped around my dick, wondering just what was wrong with this picture...

'Cause, all the stories said...

Yeah, the same stories that told me if I didn't have at least nine inches in length, three in diameter, and be able to pound her with it for a minimum of an hour...

The stories said that women came many, many, many times. Not just once. But, a whole lot. Like fifty or sixty, or even a hundred.

"Mine's broke."

Nope. No, she wasn't. 'Cause every other one I was finding was the same damn way. I had to be fuckin' careful or they would cum before I could even get their pants off 'em and that was it, they were done for the night and ready for a nap.

Which was so not fuckin' fair. Even the ones that lasted long enough for me to actually get my dick in their pussy would get to cum, and but I didn't until later that night. After an hour of stroking. And then six more times.

Well, I'd just fix this little problem. Yes, sir, I would. I didn't even have to look up anything. I already knew how, too, since I'd done it to myself. I would just back off when I noticed they were getting close. And then start all over again. I'd train their pretty little pussy to go for an hour just like I'd trained my dick to go for an hour.

Hell, that's the way it's supposed to work anyway. Both cumming together. At the same time.

That's the way the stories go...

What's so funny? It made perfect sense to me. At the time.

Yeah, you're right. There was one teensy little tiny flaw in my logic. Oh, you don't see it?

Well, when I'd been training myself to last for an hour, I'd been training myself to last for a whole hour of constant stimulation. When I set to teasing and tantalizing my little sweetmeats, it was interrupting my own stimulation! So, when I got her to last an hour, I was lasting two!

Motherfucker!

Alright, so that plan had to be modified. I had to, somehow, work out how to edge them by teasing and backing off while simultaneously continuing the constant stimulation I would need an hour of in order just to pop off the first of seven salutes.

Frankly, I never did work it out. I would say "before I could," but I'm not sure I ever would have. Any road, my own climaxes became... not immaterial, not really even unimportant. I was still gonna have 'em. Several per day. But, it somehow broke through my befuddlement that it wasn't any kind of competition with a scoreboard. I was with someone that I wanted to have some sexy fun with. So, why not have some sexy fun and let what happened happen when it happened?

My focus shifted. I'd already been studying up (for years!) on what I could do to satisfy my woman. Now, I set to learning how to do it on my schedule. Whether that was a three-minute quicky in the college stacks. Or a leisurely three-hour exploration in her bed (during which I might or might not) turning her into a sopping, needful, begging mess before I relented and took her screaming over that cliff we'd scaled and picnicked on the edge of.

I also shifted my focus to pushing their boundaries in the direction of cumming more than once.

Just like the stories said.

***sigh*** And then I had to learn how to shore up their fragile egos. 'Cause apparently "learn how to take more" WASN'T the correct response when they wanted to talk about why they couldn't make me cum.

My wife, early in our relationship, stated during a cuddle session that I was the only man she'd ever even heard of that she firmly believed could not only satisfy more than one woman but wear three or four flat the fuck out.

I laughed and humorously asked when I would get to cum in all that!

Which didn't go as well as one might think, although I didn't realize it at the time. It wasn't until sometime during our second decade of marriage that she said, "you know, sometimes it might be nice for you to just get off and get off so we can some sleep."

And then back-peddled in a hurry that she most certainly did NOT want to wait for our nights when we had the next day off! That she'd already had one marriage when he never managed to satisfy her, and was perfectly happy with what I could do to her!

"Just... if, you know, you could maybe not hold off so long before you cum? I like when you make me earn it. Most of the time. Just... maybe... if I didn't have to work so hard to be worthy?"

In the following conversation, she brought up that long time, all but forgotten, off-the-cuff, intended to be humorous comment, that more than one woman would cut into my opportunities to cum.

And sparked a flood of memories of erstwhile former lovers who had lamented that all I seemed to ever want was sex, how they felt inadequate, unable to keep up...

Edging, it seemed, was a double-edged sword.

Once I actually thought about it, my own orgasms had gotten... stronger. Better, when I started making them build more before the release. (In my defense, that hadn't been my focus, my goal, during that earlier time.)

And I would have had to have been even less observant than I apparently was if I hadn't noticed that when I edged my lovers before allowing them a release, the release, when it came, was stronger. More than one squirting and passing out.

But, I also noted in my introspective retrospection that the ones that I'd edged more consistently, I tended to... lose the ability to make them cum quickly.

As I had lost that ability for myself?

I had mostly shifted my focus to making my lovers cum early and as often as they could. But, still dabbled in edging and orgasm denial for them as part of our power exchange play dynamicks. Not often since their orgasm was more essential to my enjoyment than my own. But, often enough.

We worked out a compromise. Of sorts. Or at least she seemed to accept that me cumming quickly just wasn't gonna be in the cards for me. And seemed to be satisfied that if I hadn't wanted her, then I wouldn't have spent so much time exercising my passions upon her body, wringing every pleasure from her that she could physiologically stand.

And cumming in her or on her sometimes if not every time.

At least she never mentioned it again until her health made physical intimacy literally impossible altogether... and died not long enough after I held her while she wept that she was unable to and tried to reassure her that there was still nowhere I'd rather be than by her side...

Any road, flash forward a couple of years, and one particular one came to my evil clutches in the offline world (out of I'm ashamed to admit I really can't recall how many cyber "affairs")...

And was stunned when I took her on a forty-eight-hour out-of-body experience that she tells me "was better than any drug" with her first mini-orgasms before she even got her seat-belt unbuckled and her first full one three minutes after the lock snicked home on the door behind her.

However...

However, a few months (and several trips) in, she started noticing what she felt was a rather lopsided orgasm count with about thirty or so for her for every one of mine.

Oh, for fuck's sake! I thought. Can't you women just enjoy the shoe being on the other foot from all those that lament that their fella can't keep up with their needs?!

I thought it.

I didn't say it.

I'd already made that mistake several decades ago. And learned from it.

Well, she felt like she came too easily. And she wanted to try orgasm denial. Edging.

Okay, girlfriend. Let me straighten this one out for you. When it comes to women, there ain't no such thing as cumming too easily.

Maybe, just maybe, if some stranger you don't know walks up to you on the street and pats your pudenda and you fall down in the throes of ecstasy...

But, no. Even for us D-types that enjoy Control and train our s-types to hold off on orgasm until we say... Well, I can't speak for the Dommes. But, I'd bet all the money in my pockets against all the money in your pockets (that's a trick, by the way, since I haven't put any pants on in about a week), that there has never once been a male of the species to say "oh, she cums too easy. All I have to do is look at her the wrong way, and she pops off. Again! Jesus H. Christ on a Harley! There she goes now!"

Hell, even in that early experience of mine, I didn't have a problem that she'd cum (once I realized that was what was happening), I had a problem that she stopped after she did and I didn't get my cookie too!

But, my sweet little spice wanted to try it. And while it's not my preferred methodology, I am pretty fuckin' good at it, if I do say so myself.

So, on her next trip, I tortured her for two and a half hours until I brought what she'd decided to dub "her snarling beastie" out of her, trying to demand... And then another half-hour until she was broken, begging and pleading. She wiped out on the seventh wave as it crested in her, and snapped out of it as the eighth broke.

We haven't done that since.

But, it may just be time to remind her just why. She's going to swing out for New Year's. That might be a good way to celebrate the ball drop. Keep her on the edge the entire day... then countdown to midnight...

Ten...

Nine...

Eight...

Happy fuckin' 2021.

I wonder if we'll both get to cum at midnight, or if mine'll have to wait until sometime in during the bowl games... Hmmm.

Any road, that's been my experiences with Edging/Orgasm Denial (both for me and my lovers). It's given me a definite edge (all puns intended if you hadn't figured that out) with making sure my lovers are satiated. Except for after they decide it's some kind of slap at their sex-appeal and we have to go twelve rounds of "am I hard? Am I fucking you? Do you think I would be if you weren't sexually appealing?"

And, as you can see if you read all that, it would be pretty hard to come up with something that could possibly be more embarrassing. That, after all, was my point in telling the whole thing. So that you (and anyone else) would see that you have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about with your, no doubt much more normal, experience.

Beastly​(dom male){Not Lookin} • Dec 24, 2020

It is one of my passions with my submissive, I absolutely adore it and it makes everything so much better. I suppose I enjoy teasing the submissive more than edging myself even if I do enjoy that too, just not to the same extent. The fire and passion it builds, the hunger and pleading in her eyes when she gets close and her begging moans as she holds it in because she knows she's not allowed to cum. And then it begins again, building that lust inside her and the eagerness to please her dom, maybe this time she will get to cum as she's been so good to him.

I just can't help myself with this stuff, it ties so deeply into my identity as a dom. I first learned I love it when I started my journey in my early 20s. Mostly from reading books and then putting it into practice I was immediately hooked.

Cressida Clytie​(masochist female){Taken} • Dec 25, 2020

First tried it maybe when I was 20 or 21. I enjoy touching myself and I want to prolong the pleasure so I stop whenever I'm about to hit orgasm. I just found out a year ago that there's an actual term for this.

Miki​(masochist female) • Dec 25, 2020

Good grief!!

No offense "Nooneofconsequence" but couldn't you have condensed that wall of text? I lost you in the third paragraph.

But as for edging, very hard for me to do it alone. The need to orgasm is too great, but when I am "in good company" I get tied up and my partner edges me.. over a long period of time. At that point I get a head-exploding orgasm to go along with a good squirt.

BabyTgirl​(sub female){Not lookin} • Dec 25, 2020

Ok!! I'm so glad you said this because this is how I discovered it as well. I would edge myself and not really need to come just that sensation was pleasant to me.

MountaintopMaster • Dec 25, 2020

I was actually going to say, I found their story to be awesome and worth reading! But, then again, I'm a sucker for people's life stories and pivotal moments, especially when it comes to relationships, sex, & BDSM.