No, not in the way you think. Well maybe. She was a little more non committal about that.
Bigger is Better was something she said last night after our lovemaking. Lovemaking that consisted of her fingering my ass rather aggressively (I’m learning) while I edged myself a few times, followed by slipping a plug in her bum, and her getting off on her own fingers while I watched, twitching, dripping, and rock hard. Lovemaking.
During our post coitus cuddle (which I absolutely need and cherish now), we talked, as we often do, about how much better things are now that I’m denied. How much happier she is. How the pressure is off of her to please me, to acquiesce to my advances. She is free to enjoy what she wants, when she wants, on her terms, without having to think about me. Additionally (though it hasn’t fully sunk in yet), she isn’t thinking that every nice word, touch, embrace, kiss from my end has some ulterior motive behind it. They now are what they are, and she is free to enjoy them for that, without immediately feeling a sense of fight or flight over it (I guess there is some trauma there, but that’s another post…or three).
We talked about how the numbers are getting bigger. The numbers being the days since my last full orgasm, and last ruined orgasm/milking. We are on a steadily increasing schedule for my milkings as she tries to break that need (mentally, not physically of course, neither of us believe I need that, but the mental need is damn near autonomic).
Bigger is Better, she said, with a wry smile, eyes bright and beautiful, our noses almost touching, faces so close together. There was no apprehension, this wasn’t uncomfortable for her at all. Three months in and she is owning this. I didn’t doubt she could, of course. She is incredibly smart, leads complex teams of highly educated people on a daily basis, makes hard decisions, life and death decisions, but this is still new for her. Or was.
Bigger is Better? I asked, looking for a little clarity. She nodded, smile getting larger. God she’s beautiful when she’s in control. I asked which number she was referring to, the full orgasm number or the milking number. Again, without much hesitation, she replied the milking number. The full orgasm number, she said, was irrelevant. Irrelevant. My orgasms, that just mere weeks ago she was worried about limiting in any substantial way, were now irrelevant.
I asked her about that. Calmly she replied that they happen on special occasions, the dates are fixed, so the days between are now irrelevant. She’s not even thinking about them. How long I go between matters not. She’s pushed it from her mind. Though she did admit she likes the torture and suffering that all this denial brings me.
Bigger is Better is mostly referring to the milking, the draining, the fully ruined orgasms from which I get so little, that happen so mechanically, without intimacy, in a bathroom, without so much as eye contact. That is the number she wants to see grow. We are at 8 days now, with the next scheduled release at 10 days, and after that, Bigger is Better.
To put that statement into context, when we were working out a schedule at the end of January, before we started this, she was worried that 3-4 days between might be too much. That we might have to add only 1 day every second round maybe. By that math I should only be at 5-6 days right now. We are at 10, and without any hint of doubt, she’s pushing for more.
I’m frustrated, on edge, madly in love and so deeply proud of her. This is a learning experience, a process, for both of us. This isn’t natural for either of us, and at least as important as what and how I’m doing is how she is doing, and if last night is any indication, she’s doing better than me.