Edging is a paradox : you build your energy for a more intense climax, to realize that your effort was more satisfying than your success.
How to describe the joy and lust the offender bring me. But it’s hollow. Intense orgasms bring nothing but profound sadness and emptiness.
I’ve ordered a new cage. I’ve outgrown cheap substitutes. I’m ready for a serious commitment. To myself. I’m enjoying the offender too much.
Sex for me is like everything else: a learning tool for personal growth. Caging myself is a powerful one at the moment. I will grow into it.
I have no key holder. My sexual interests frown at the concept. They don’t understand. So I’m my own key holder. Requires more discipline
A cage is like a tool. For the weaks. Gandhi himself adhered to severe meditation practices because he was so horny. I’m not so different.
Locking my nub away is freeing my mind and hand to perform better work, friends, at home. Still super horny. But denial is delicious.
Thé reasons for locking myself up are varied. My nub is a distraction. Not only during sex but all the time. I’m horny ALL THE TIME
I was told real cocks aren’t locked up. They serve. All others are nubs and should be forgotten. Rough. I thought my offender not too bad
Flicking my tits. They’re more sensitive now. Direct link to the offender who is prisoner. I get so horny but there is no outlet. Dizzy.
Caging myself is deeply upsetting. I can’t relieve myself with my nub - the offender. So I revert to caressing my whole body.
I’ve permanently shaved all of my body except head and arms. Feels naked. Feels vulnerable. Feels offered.
I’m 48. Started caging myself last year. Mostly for fun. Orgasm denial during sex. I’ve kept it longer afterwards
