I need to cum, damn it!

I need to cum.
You cannot believe how much I need to cum.
But I need to not cum even more.

It hurts. The arousal hurts. My cunt feels as if it has been flogged for the last 2 days and more.

It's all my own fault, of course. I've been writing these scenarios for the sadist, serialized scenarios to keep him amused throughout his busy days. And I've been turning myself on with them. Not surprising, of course, because they came out of my own perverted brain. But perhaps not the smartest thing to do when there is no hope of relief.

It never occurred to me to say those magic words: "May I cum, my Master?" No way. I know I'm not allowed until he wants to unlock the strongbox and dole out a preci0us orgasm for his pleasure. For his pleasure. Mine does not figure in this story. I did let him know of my suffering, because I knew he would enjoy it, and it is my job to maximize his pleasure. So I let him know of the burning pain, and of how yesterday the wet spot in my panties was renewed throughout the day, and of how today the wet spot stayed wet.

My pussy is panting. It is red and swollen, the female equivalent of a cock stuck at full mast, one of those more-than-4-hour erections the ads warn about. It is red and swollen, my cunt, red and swollen and open and dripping, begging to be entered, begging to be filled, begging to be fucked, begging even to be flogged. Anything. Just so long as it gets some attention.

But there are other forms of satisfaction. Such as knowing that my Master knows that no matter how horny I am I will not touch myself. I will not take the relief I so badly need. No way. I am only thinking of it so that I can tell you that I don't think of it. My pussy is his and off-limits as surely as if he had locked it up with an old fashioned chastity belt. Which he has. But it is in my mind.

And he owns my mind.

So I embrace my suffering. I welcome the chains. I envision lying in bed, on a bed, naked, my hands and feet chained to the 4 corners. My Master stands there. Watching me. Watching me writhe. Watching me wanting him. Watching me aching for him to touch me.

Every so often he does.
Touch me.
With the flogger.
Sometimes he draws the falls gently over my pleading labia.
Sometimes he brings them down harder.
It is enough to hurt in a measured way.
Enough to arouse me even more.
The sheet grows damp beneath me.
He flogs my breasts.
I strain against the chains but they keep me stretched tight.
I weep with frustration.

He does not touch my cunt.

He does not let me cum.

I am a very lucky pet.