My tease & denial scenario last night has me thinking about amping it up and using the whole toolbox of sexuality vs. the old (and my cherished) philosophy of never using your whole hand when a finger will do. I still think that, deep down, the latter has the most impact – and when the former is withheld, it retains its impact and its power.
A pleasure denied is a pleasure savored, am I right?
Picture this: silk cuffs with a suede lining (LELO – gift from a dear client) wrapped around wrists taut with desire. Body squirming, hips bucking, back arched right off the crisp white sheets. Fingers running over flesh. Flesh becoming eager, becoming impatient, then holding impossibly still waiting for the next touch, and the next before lapsing into a writhing collection of desires for more hair, more kisses, more smooth skin, more touch.
The blindfold: on. The finger: wetted, then drawn over lips hungry for a taste of the possibilities of the Other, that grantor and withholder of pleasure, the gatekeeper of desire. Silken hair draped over his face as I leaned in, tickling his ear with hot breath and whispering impossible dilemmas: I would remove my silkiest, most intimate articles of clothing, now that he couldn’t see…
Even through the blindfold I could see his face cross the threshold between broken desire and joy at having the promise of Tantalus held there for him, just barely out of reach.
The delightfully wicked domme Mistress Chianti has invited me to blog weekly at her new site, Sexy Phone Mistress. Five lifestyle phone dommes explore their thoughts on kink, fetish, domination sessions both physical and virtual… It’s fun to have a new place to explore the submissive mindset and motivations, discuss the triggers behind the kink with other genuinely dominant women that also work the phones.
My first post just went live:
There’s a special thrill to fetish phone calls snuck in when the wife or girlfriend is just out of earshot, knowing she could discover your kinky little submissive desires at any minute – knowing she could catch you, cock in hand, humiliated and deeply aroused all at once.
When my submissive males aren’t alone, I love to tease them and make them ache for me. Last night I did just that.
I’ve got this caller… he’s married and a workaholic, so he’s hit or miss, but very open and responsive. He’s vanilla – mostly.
He’s got a little weakness for tease and denial, which is my preferred tool of subtle feminine dominant manipulation. When a dominant woman slips a collar around your cock and wraps you up in a velvet leash you’ll follow her lead anywhere.
He followed my lead from his mobile phone. In the bathtub. At home. While his wife was home – and very close by. He couldn’t speak, just type and listen, which rendered him effectively helpless to control or resist my teasing.
Sometimes I joke that I get paid to keep my clothes on. There’s a lot of truth to that.
Modern Western culture has gotten so crass that men fantasize about women who keep their clothes on and don’t go all the way. I advertise not that I’ll be naked when you call, but that you’ll be teased — you might not get to see me naked at all. I’ll take my time and make sure you see my lingerie — if I let you see my lingerie — from every angle, half-hidden beneath my clothes at first. Peeking out.
Lifting up my short satin slip...
(This country has completely forgotten slips. My little green satin one is ready to be retired after a good run and I’m thinking a claw-foot tub and the complete decadence of shiny satin, warm lighting, and a slippery female body drenched in a clinging little slip…)
Modern men are hungry for charm, for implication rather than brash and in a hurry. It’s the line of the bra under the dress, not this taking it off so fast he doesn’t have time to see it.
I say he because a femme who knows her arts will take her time and make her butch smolder.
Fishnets. High heels. Sexy looks, flirtatious words, seductive games. Novelty. Adventure. The rush of attraction. Seduction as part of the narrative arc sex describes, building tension (dramatic and otherwise) before the climax and afterglow. An opening — ah! — that draws the audience in, foreshadowing the lip-biting, hip-grinding nights to come…
We’ve traded sexy in for sex. Sex under spotlights, sex in full view, skip straight to the fucking. Forget the foreplay. Worse — forget the seduction. Some modern porn includes the foreplay, and it’s the hottest; it’s much more real when you can see them feeling each other up through the clothes, working around them, the immediacy of it… but who knows how to seduce anymore? I love forthrightness but sometimes I worry the price we paid for directness was suspense. Or enchantment.
Sex is supposed to take us out of the everyday. You must set a mood, set the stage. A magician has tools, they have ritual, they have craft and will. They create a sacred space in which to work. In the act, in practicing their art, they become something more than themselves; they touch immortality.
Sexuality has that power which is why it is sacred. That is why it is feared. Empowered crassness is not disgusting; it is sad. Sex can be rough and primal and free of pretense without losing that energy but it must never, ever be ordinary. As sex-positives we go too far when we remove sex from its mysterious brown wrapper and bring it into the mundane.
Let us wonder. Let us dream.
As a tease, I imply much and promise very little, but I will promise you this: you will never see me fully nude. Not in my photo sets, not on cam, not in videos. I fetishize clothing, after all. It’s much sexier to keep the wrapping on, half-torn with just enough exposed to peek at your gift. Eroticism is in the mystery.
On Yahoo between phone & cam calls, and I get an IM from one of yesterday’s orgasm permission line callers:
Sabrina Morgan: Am I right in guessing that this is XX from the other day? The ID is similar
caller n: Yep.
caller n: I may have try your cam line tonight.
Sabrina Morgan: Oh, does that mean I get to hear you beg so sweetly again tonight? Yum.
caller n: It might.
caller n: I’m glad you enjoyed it.
caller n: Actually, right now I think I’d be begging to pee, not cum.
Sabrina Morgan: ha! well, we all have needs… do what you must, I’ve got some emails to sort through
caller n: Wow, okay.
caller n: I didn’t expect to get permission.
(I do orgasm control and denial, I don’t mess with anything involving the bladder, but this made me laugh.)
When was the last time you heard a phone sex operator have a real orgasm?
If you’re caller j, then the answer might be a few minutes ago. Twice over.
He called my Orgasm Ignore Line. It works like this: I put the phone down and do whatever I want. To myself. You listen in and count yourself lucky. It might take five minutes or it might take hours, depends on my mood and how revved up I am.
I was actually about to come when he called. I had a bad case of the morning hornies and was looking at some porn; the phone rang right as I was closing my eyes for the moment of truth. I grabbed the phone reflexively which is probably a good thing… it would have been tempting to let it go and finish but I was operating on instinct.
He let me know he knew the scoop (hooray for a stroker that reads the listing text) so I wasted no time in getting back to it. (No ulterior motives there. Really.) I’ll tease and deny everyone but myself. My denial was in waiting almost two whole weeks to be choked, spanked, and fucked by the man with the shiny black revolver. It was worth the wait (every minute of it!) but I’m an addict and all I crave is more more more.
This was the best I could do:
Phone beside me on my bed, about eight inches away from my face. The faint sound of his breathing. Nothing more. Face half-buried in my blankets, red hair everywhere. Rustling of clothing, of sheets… breathing back to ragged as my hand finds my slick wet lips, parts them, then slides up to my clit. I ride the waves and grind against my palm. The phone flickers in and out of my periphery of vision. It’s there, a blue glowing audience of one. A quiet presence that will not interfere – only witness. A moment later it’s not there to me. He’s not there to me, but somewhere there’s a man with his hand around his cock, listening for that change in my breathing. Soft low moans wriggle out of my body and break into screams.
I’ve been up for so long. And after last night… I’m floating, I honestly am. There’s mist outside and mist in my head. My whole body’s feeling like fog settling into the earth, just soaking in slow. Absorbing and being absorbed.
Now I’m with it and he just heard me come. I’m aware and smiling. If you know me, if you’ve called me, you know I smile when I’m feeling wicked so I don’t stop, oh no. I keep my hand cupped between my legs – and get more descriptive. He hears that I want more, that I’m going to come again. He hears my thumb brush my clit and hears me find it too sensitive. I’m going to try my ass instead.
There’s no way it’s going to take me long to come with my palm pressed against my clit and a finger in my ass still wet from my last orgasm. And he hears it. Every breath, every staccato moan, every word. Every choked-off scream and the bitten, imprinted knuckles it leaves.
“Do you ever come on calls?”
The tooth marks on the back of my hand say yes.
(Did he come? I have no idea. He hasn’t called back to beg permission to come yet.)
Unfortunately Niteflirt disconnected us before I could hit round three. Next time…
Some of you have written to ask just what goes on in a TeaseCam session.
We’ll start by throwing your expectations out the window.
This is not about me stripping down as quickly as possible, shoving the largest available toy into my twat, and oohing and aahing as you masturbate furiously to a grainy, discolored cam feed.
This is not about me fake-baking, squeezing into an itty bitty rhinestone thong and a pair of designer jeans, giggling and calling you the “loser loser loser” to my princess.
Kudos to the camgirls who can pull that off. I’m pale and I can’t stand wearing jeans – but I do love clothes, and taking my time getting into – and out of – them.
Also I am neither an 18 year old coed nor a MILF. I know I look ambiguous, and I have fun roleplaying either older or younger, but I’m 24. That out of the way – of course we can pretend otherwise. Because this is all about leaving something to the imagination.
In my world your orgasm is never guaranteed. My fun at your expense always is.
I love fetishes. I have them. A lot of them. This makes it very easy to understand how simple it is to use your fetish against you.
I understand how weak you feel when you see a perfectly wrinkled sole… a thick black satin garter strap snapped tight against a bare thigh… when you feel the faint silken rasp of nylon drawn over your skin. The textures. The smells. The ache of frustration… the sensuality of satin…
I look inward, into what my fetishes do to me, and outward, observing what they do to you. Only in this instance it’s very like a cat watching a mouse. Sometimes you can even imagine the tail twitching.
Fetishes are beautiful irrational turn-ons and that makes them such gratifying buttons to push.
You’d love for me to push your button, wouldn’t you? Over and over…
In a cam session, I tease and frustrate and manipulate you with the tools at my disposal: my face, my voice, my body, my wardrobe, and your weakness for my sweet sensual sadism.
That can mean verbal humiliation. That can mean CFNM, directed masturbation, roleplays. That can mean driving you crazy with my stocking covered legs and feet while I sweet-talk you out of your money (nylon fetish and financial domination). Or we can get into a good old-fashioned slow striptease. Emphasis on the tease. And the begging. (Yours.)
It’s not important how it happens. In the end I am going to make you squirm.
I enjoy hearing your session ideas or working something out on the fly. Don’t expect to see me totally naked. Do expect to see me smiling – and maybe hear me laughing a little at your expense.
I’ve got a cam appointment in a couple of hours… If you’ve been trying to catch me live on my webcam, look for me after midnight EST (aka early Monday morning). I’ll stick around for a while. For some strange reason, teasing and frustrating horny men only leaves me wanting more…
If you’re imagining wicked laughter here you’re dead on.
To a certain faithful blog reader who begged so sweetly for permission to come last night on the phone: I’ll send you a cam cap from tonight’s session to tide you over. Or possibly just tempt you into giving up control, inch by inch. I can be patient.
The TeaseCam is live tonight (Dec. 7th) from 1am-4:30am EST. That means I’ll be as available to you as I’m going to get.
I’ll update this post with a screencap just before I go live.Update: Screencap is now up! I’ll be extending my availability to 4:30am to make up for the late start. You can also watch my webcam availability indicator below, if you’re into that.
If you just can’t possibly make it… well, why not reserve me in advance? It is the holiday season after all… This is the perfect time to treat yourself to some expert cockteasing for those aching blue balls. Think of the intense sexual frustration you’ll receive as my personal heartfelt gift to you. And I’ll wrap it so prettily in sheer stockings and garters…
I was up late last night putting the finishing touches on a custom downblouse/upskirt tease photo set. (Another hard night at work for yours truly.)
Here’s a sneak peek at the results. The rest are for his eyes only. Exclusivity has its benefits…
He requested that I start out in a short skirt and a lowcut or button-front shirt, taking my panties off and leaving the skirt on for a flash of my bare ass and pussy… He loves silky fullback panties as much as I do, and I had a pair of baby pink-and-sheer striped fullback panties that flaunt my round ass nicely.
I wore my black leather high heel mary janes and a soft fuzzy black zip-up sweater (I like to think of it as “easy access”). I let the matching feminine pink bra stay on for a while, unzipping my sweater and leaning forward enough to let the upper edge of my bra peek out beneath my cleavage.
The bra came off before the sweater did. I played it coy, unzipping my sweater nearly to my waist and then covering my bare breasts with my arms before letting him glimpse one hard pink nipple. The soft fabric of the sweater rubbing against my nipples felt delicious and sensual… I had no problem getting in the mood for this shoot.
My tease callers know I like to tease and deny for a long time before I consider granting permission to come—and for those that hold out long enough, that beg desperately enough, that let me hear the ache in their voices that gives me conviction that they’re nearly over the edge with want—I’ll grant that permission, and throw in something else he wasn’t expecting. I always stop short of what they want most of all but sometimes throwing a thoroughly blue-balled guy an extra crumb of what he craves is all it takes to keep him coming back for more cockteasing “abuse.”
For this sweet repeat client, I threw in that crumb, and pushed this set from teasing to “Did I just see—?”
Yes. Yes, he did.
And did it work?
His response contained more all-caps words and exclamation points than I’ve seen since avoiding Myspace. This isn’t his usual way of writing. And he wants to see me on cam—soon.