Delicious Anticipation
I've mentioned the UK's foremost masturbatrix, Lady Sonia here before. Yet another visit to her site - it is the habit forming sort - set me wondering: what's this orgasm denial business all about? It isn't exactly a new phenomenon - after all, our femdom phone sex and phone sex mistress sites see thousands of visitors every month for that very thing - but, there again, nobody knows everything, least of all when it comes to sex.
Obviously some research was called for, so I prevailed upon that sexual oracle of the South Coast, Letitcia. She replied at some length, but it's worth a read so:
"I don't know how I overlooked the cracking character, who had a tie and tease predilection, for inclusion in my book Body Worship.
He was around 85 years old when we met and, since that was at least 20 years ago, I figure he has already died and gone to hog tied heaven. Horace was his name and he was a widower. This information is significant, since one of the small pieces of frivolity he enjoyed embarking upon was placing his dear departed wife's wedding ring round his flaccid member and then feeling the exquisite pain/pleasure of his tumescence growing.
I met him in a parlous, raggedy, threadbare massage parlour, where for £15 men received a perfunctory massage with perfumed oil, followed by an even more derisory five knuckle shuffle (naturally for an additional fee).
There was no equipment provided to speak of, so one had to improvise with what ever was to hand. So Horace was tied to the massage bed with old tights and the blindfold was an old knitted bobble hat which I pulled firmly over his eyes.
I figured a bit of aural deprivation would ice the cringe cake and whacked an old Sony Walkman in his log hairy lugs. The only tape I had to hand was A/C D/C, so I pressed play, stuck it on maximum volume and went to service another customer in the next room.
I checked on the old duffer from time to time and he was humming away quite happily, with his wifecCNcs wedding ring slowly biting into the flesh of his burgeoning pensioner prick.
He would have been quite content to be there all day, but that would have caused gridlock in the contra-flow of the grimy emporium.
After an hour or so, I finished him off and sent him back to the home for war veterans.
His pleasure was not borne of the 30 second wank, swiftly administered due to a punter tail back half way up the street, nor was it because he had sullied and defiled his band of gold with octogenarian seed: it was because of the delicious build up of expectation.
Another two characters who did make it to my worthy tome, adored the same frisson of tension.
Nick was a dispassionate ex-army officer, who held young ladies in complete thrall with his bondage prowess. They would willingly allow him to bind which ever part of their body he chose in myriad positions and just leave them for hours.
When you are dangling in the countryside from a tree or hanging from a warehouse rafter, IcCNcm sure the eventual relief must be quite overwhelming. The fear, the discomfort, and the control that is relinquished must build up to a veritable tsunami of exquisite release from the danger, culminating in the arms of the bad boy bondage lover. What a high!
Conversely, Mr G would hand over total control to the lady from time to time. This phenomenon is extremely common with people in high powered or high profile jobs. An exchange of power is not only the element of helplessness that is bequeathed to the woman, but again the element of Oh no! (or maybe it's really Oh yes!) What the bloody hell is she going to do me now? Throw in poppers, electrics (I'm not talking Dixons or Currys here, chaps), whips, paddles, choker, sandpaper (that should get you thinking) and a dildo the size of Florida and you have all the ingredients for an almighty explosion of mind blowing proportions.
Mr G had the chance to turn the tables occasionally with a mega willing participant called Pru. She also was a high flyer and he would deliver her to various Madams around the city, whereupon she would assent to a blindfold before entering the Madam's building. Once inside the apartment, her clothes would be taken from her and Mr. G would leave.
She would then be bent over a horse frame, shackled firmly and gangbanged in an orgiastic free for all.
Her thrill was wondering how far they could debase her. Since she couldn't move, the excitement was mounting with each act of defilement until the moment of her bone crushing climax.
These are, it goes without saying, extremes of the temptations of tie and tease. Probably the most popular, however, is one where there is visual encouragement. We are not talking about pain (apart from the gut wrenching throb of the old fella), we are talking how long can you hang on without wanting to murder the bitch who's keeping you waiting.
It's the ultimate prick tease: you are lightly bound with the finest, fully fashioned, seamed stockings, or mink lined leather restraining cuffs which can be clipped to the wall at the top of the bed (works for me); and your voluptuous vixen is undulating and fixing you with a desultory stare while fully dressed in your favourite hard on- making outfit (pick your fantasy).
She strips slowly and seductively (she has taken lap dancing lessons), but she's so far away that you cry Come closer! But she ignores you and enjoys watching you squirm with pleasure and the discomfort of blue balls.
She then starts to pleasure herself with a huge black dildo.
The more you beg her to stop and allow you to join in, the more she enjoys it. This is one sadistic siren.
She makes herself cum and licks her perfumed juices from the dildo. She exaggerates her licking, teasing and deep throat technique (though lamentably still on the dildo) as a precursor to what is on offer for you.
She stops for a fag break and pays no attention to you swearing and practically blubbing like a spoiled sprog.
She wanders off to the other room to teach you a lesson in patience. You comply because, Sunshine, you have no choice!
She returns and slowly moves toward you, motioning that she is finally going to touch you; but after the most fleeting brush of her hand, she pulls away.
You will now gladly make a Faustian pact with the Devil himself if you could just embed your twitching tool into a soft palm or a luscious mouth or a juicy quim; you are straining so hard on your binds that the flying buttresses which support the walls of your bedroom are in danger of collapsing; and when you finally make contact the sensation is magnified tenfold.
Anticipation: you just can't beat it!"
So there's our answer. Not quite how we saw it while watching Lady Sonia in action, but pretty close; and something to ponder with the weekend approaching.
Obviously some research was called for, so I prevailed upon that sexual oracle of the South Coast, Letitcia. She replied at some length, but it's worth a read so:
"I don't know how I overlooked the cracking character, who had a tie and tease predilection, for inclusion in my book Body Worship.
He was around 85 years old when we met and, since that was at least 20 years ago, I figure he has already died and gone to hog tied heaven. Horace was his name and he was a widower. This information is significant, since one of the small pieces of frivolity he enjoyed embarking upon was placing his dear departed wife's wedding ring round his flaccid member and then feeling the exquisite pain/pleasure of his tumescence growing.
I met him in a parlous, raggedy, threadbare massage parlour, where for £15 men received a perfunctory massage with perfumed oil, followed by an even more derisory five knuckle shuffle (naturally for an additional fee).
There was no equipment provided to speak of, so one had to improvise with what ever was to hand. So Horace was tied to the massage bed with old tights and the blindfold was an old knitted bobble hat which I pulled firmly over his eyes.
I figured a bit of aural deprivation would ice the cringe cake and whacked an old Sony Walkman in his log hairy lugs. The only tape I had to hand was A/C D/C, so I pressed play, stuck it on maximum volume and went to service another customer in the next room.
I checked on the old duffer from time to time and he was humming away quite happily, with his wifecCNcs wedding ring slowly biting into the flesh of his burgeoning pensioner prick.
He would have been quite content to be there all day, but that would have caused gridlock in the contra-flow of the grimy emporium.
After an hour or so, I finished him off and sent him back to the home for war veterans.
His pleasure was not borne of the 30 second wank, swiftly administered due to a punter tail back half way up the street, nor was it because he had sullied and defiled his band of gold with octogenarian seed: it was because of the delicious build up of expectation.
Another two characters who did make it to my worthy tome, adored the same frisson of tension.
Nick was a dispassionate ex-army officer, who held young ladies in complete thrall with his bondage prowess. They would willingly allow him to bind which ever part of their body he chose in myriad positions and just leave them for hours.
When you are dangling in the countryside from a tree or hanging from a warehouse rafter, IcCNcm sure the eventual relief must be quite overwhelming. The fear, the discomfort, and the control that is relinquished must build up to a veritable tsunami of exquisite release from the danger, culminating in the arms of the bad boy bondage lover. What a high!
Conversely, Mr G would hand over total control to the lady from time to time. This phenomenon is extremely common with people in high powered or high profile jobs. An exchange of power is not only the element of helplessness that is bequeathed to the woman, but again the element of Oh no! (or maybe it's really Oh yes!) What the bloody hell is she going to do me now? Throw in poppers, electrics (I'm not talking Dixons or Currys here, chaps), whips, paddles, choker, sandpaper (that should get you thinking) and a dildo the size of Florida and you have all the ingredients for an almighty explosion of mind blowing proportions.
Mr G had the chance to turn the tables occasionally with a mega willing participant called Pru. She also was a high flyer and he would deliver her to various Madams around the city, whereupon she would assent to a blindfold before entering the Madam's building. Once inside the apartment, her clothes would be taken from her and Mr. G would leave.
She would then be bent over a horse frame, shackled firmly and gangbanged in an orgiastic free for all.
Her thrill was wondering how far they could debase her. Since she couldn't move, the excitement was mounting with each act of defilement until the moment of her bone crushing climax.
These are, it goes without saying, extremes of the temptations of tie and tease. Probably the most popular, however, is one where there is visual encouragement. We are not talking about pain (apart from the gut wrenching throb of the old fella), we are talking how long can you hang on without wanting to murder the bitch who's keeping you waiting.
It's the ultimate prick tease: you are lightly bound with the finest, fully fashioned, seamed stockings, or mink lined leather restraining cuffs which can be clipped to the wall at the top of the bed (works for me); and your voluptuous vixen is undulating and fixing you with a desultory stare while fully dressed in your favourite hard on- making outfit (pick your fantasy).
She strips slowly and seductively (she has taken lap dancing lessons), but she's so far away that you cry Come closer! But she ignores you and enjoys watching you squirm with pleasure and the discomfort of blue balls.
She then starts to pleasure herself with a huge black dildo.
The more you beg her to stop and allow you to join in, the more she enjoys it. This is one sadistic siren.
She makes herself cum and licks her perfumed juices from the dildo. She exaggerates her licking, teasing and deep throat technique (though lamentably still on the dildo) as a precursor to what is on offer for you.
She stops for a fag break and pays no attention to you swearing and practically blubbing like a spoiled sprog.
She wanders off to the other room to teach you a lesson in patience. You comply because, Sunshine, you have no choice!
She returns and slowly moves toward you, motioning that she is finally going to touch you; but after the most fleeting brush of her hand, she pulls away.
You will now gladly make a Faustian pact with the Devil himself if you could just embed your twitching tool into a soft palm or a luscious mouth or a juicy quim; you are straining so hard on your binds that the flying buttresses which support the walls of your bedroom are in danger of collapsing; and when you finally make contact the sensation is magnified tenfold.
Anticipation: you just can't beat it!"
So there's our answer. Not quite how we saw it while watching Lady Sonia in action, but pretty close; and something to ponder with the weekend approaching.
Labels: Lady Sonia, phone sex
posted by deejay at
08:00
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