ViolentlyCurly’s The Next Step
The Next Step
It’s been nearly a year since I sat down to write something smutty about my kinks... I have since quit my “day job” to pursue art and sex work, so it’s certainly about time. My last one was six pages long and titled “Ode to Denial”
and since that day, I have not had a single orgasm. Denial has been a part of my sexuality for most of my existence and I’ve come across lots of hot chastity content over the years, but I’ve always told myself that belts weren’t for me. “I like pleasure too much” I’d say, while I scrolled through pages of locked genitalia as I softly stroked my own. “It’s a hot idea, but I could never do it” I’d muttered, as I clenched up, trembling on the edge watching porn of someone be ass-fucked in chastity. “Too complicated and pricey, I’ll just stick to edging, that’s all I need...” as my clit pulsated desperately in the denial aftermath, my thumb finding the follow button. For years, I believed these things I told myself, that my love of edging is too high for me to get into chastity.
However, I’ve been having a little bit of a love hate relationship with my edging lately. I’ve been regularly masturbating for years on end now; I used to just lightly brush my hooded clit to achieve an edge, but these days I expose it completely and circle my nub directly. There are days where this can take a long time to accomplish an edge, or I chase it for many minutes for it to taper off into breathless disappointment because my clit doesn’t feel like cooperating. I’ve told myself over the years that I would try to reprogram my lust, reset it, create a plan where I wean myself off of my beloved and addictive hard edges and venture back into the world of gentle teasing and soft desperation.
I have never accomplished this; I often find myself succumbing to laziness or to desire. In the past, no-touch has resulted in one of two outcomes; Either complete failure to resist the urge to edge.... Or I manage to resist long enough that my libido wanes to nothing and I forget that I was on no-touch in the first place because I hyper focused on some art project. It’s very frustrating, because despite all this I know a resounding
truth about myself. Not touching when I desperately want to and just enduring while something ungodly hot unfolds in front of me, leaves gooey strands of arousal connecting cunt thighs and seat in one sticky mess beneath me.
I often find myself wishing I was so absolutely consumed with need for pleasure that my whole body’s surface becomes one big erogenous zone, that something as simple as a breeze ruffling my skirts would make my knees tremble with touch-starved pleasure. I want to be so blazingly horny that I’d be willing to do all sorts of humiliating things, sacrifice real estate in my mind for the opportunity to simply stroke my clit with a makeup brush. I want to be overjoyed at any stimulation at all, not even expecting an edge because I’ve been fine-tuned into such a tightly wound instrument of denial that any touch is mind bending bliss.
Alas, I’ve always been so reliant on hard edges to keep my libido where I want it. I always imagined that having a constantly plump freshly edged cunt would get this result, but so far I have not found this to be true. Wet and needy I often am, but I feel like perhaps hard edges have become a crutch. It’s almost as though an edge has become for me what an orgasm is for most people. I’ve never considered myself very orgasm motivated, but I do get very pitifully whiny for the relentless consuming pleasure of an edge.
I’ve known this about myself for a very long time, but I’ve always shoved it down. I don’t seem to have enough motivation or will power to keep my hands away, or perhaps I lack the the patience to wait it out long enough to see progress in my plot for heightened body sensitivity. The pleasure of edging is more immediate and less time consuming, so I always found excuses to fall off the no-touch wagon. But now that chastity is so soon to be on my doorstep, I can’t help but think that concepts like patience, motivation and willpower will be become laughably irrelevant... because a chastity belt easily replaces all three.
I think about those fantasy moments now, the ones where I’m a raw nerve exposed to the relentless pleasures of the world, only this time I’m dripping through the perforated metal of a chastity belt. My hypothesis was wrong, regular hard edges don’t keep me trapped in lust as desired; it’s time to change a variable. Perhaps the key is chastity. I hope that this belt will remind me of my place with every shift of my body, every sharp sound of contact when I sit down. I hope this belt will help make me a better more pleasing toy. I hope it will be a useful tool for my fiendish friends to use to shape me into the deliriously denied plaything of my dreams.
I’ve been slowly cultivating a group of twisted peers who are very supportive and encouraging of my perverse endeavors of late. Many of them have been poking me with the idea of chastity for years now and a particularly enthusiastic new friend gave
me some very sexy details about the fun she’s had with her belt. Her words stuck in my mind (but well, when you chat with erotic hypnotists about your kinks, that tends to happen haha) and I found myself googling chastity models. Etsy lead me to some options, but they appeared very rigidly inflexible and uncomfortable, which is what I told my hypnotic friend. She told me about FancySteel and their beautiful collection and I’ll admit, I fell in love pretty immediately. The versatility of the belts, the wide variety of attachments and the clear enthusiasm of the creators really appealed to me. After sending a few messages to a twitter mutual who owns a FancySteel Women’s Hybrid Chastity Belt and being assured of its comfort, I couldn’t get the idea out of my brain. I believe I drafted a purchase inquiry email within 24 hours; my friends influences had finally broken my will in such a spectacularly blushy way.
I can see that group of kinky people around me growing with time as my fan base does, until I’m swamped with people who want nothing more than to see my mind crumble under the sexual tension of going through life locked, teased but orgasmless. I think there will be a point where there will literally not be a single place I can turn where I will find pity... every interaction with friends and encounter with strangers may lead to the same place; me, clamping my thighs together, locks clanking, sharply aware of the lust that rages endlessly with no release.
Deep down, the twisted fucked up part of me that wants to suffer sexually hopes that all the average horny stuff I do on a daily basis (like plot denial games for my Discord server, scroll through my sex work mutuals on Twitter or storyboard my nsfw comics) will suddenly turn into a tauntingly cruel reminder... that touch is now impossible. That I wanted the motivation to retrain my lust and I fucking got it. That this new avenue of life I’ve chosen may become acutely alarmingly arousing... that all the smut I had written and fantasied about being a completely conditioned constantly dripping, eager to serve fucktoy will now be my unrelenting reality.
Part of me is whispering that old adage “Be careful what you wish for” but it’s a little hard to hear it over the incessant chant of “EDGE EDGE EDGE EDGE” that seems to pound in my blood stream since I found out my belt got sponsored. I’m honestly completely filled with equal parts of excitement and anxiety. I had originally planned on crowd sourcing the funds for this belt; doing so would have given me time to get used to the idea of being chaste. Then suddenly my belt’s been comped and is already being made and I’m sweating, watching this ball roll so much faster than I could have imagined. And yet, my cunt drips as I type this, knowing the sensation of a clicking lock at my hips is realistically only weeks away. Such a beautifully handcrafted and expensive gift must be worn and that pressure only makes the whole idea even hotter. Incentive to wear it, if I could possibly need more. I had even said to my friend when I started bending to their collective chaste wills, “I honestly cannot think of a better way
to manipulate a sub then to buy her a very artisan sex toy she will feel obligated to wear” and whoooooo BOY did the universe scoop that up and throw it back in my face.
Even more fucked up, my brain won’t stop thinking of ways I can make it better worse more. Even though I’ve never so much as touched a chastity device, I’m over here plotting to incorporate my new belt into my livestream show. I’ve been plagued with fantasies of setting my stream goals to decide length of time locked in chastity, of locking my bluetooth toy inside me beneath the belt so I desperately relish the days I go live, so needy for sensation beneath the steel. I see vivid pictures in my head of running errands with my husband, of his hand sliding up my thigh to pat my needy pussy and fiddle with my locks affectionately... oh god, I’m squirming now at just the thought.
I edge now thinking about how these are my last free edges and how I better make the most of them. My mind keeps wandering to the sensation of being chaste. When I see something that turns me on, will I feel my clit pulse with frustration, rigidly trapped against the steel of the belt? Will the desperation to be penetrated make me look at my long unused anal toys with a new lust? When I walk, will people be able to hear the locks rattle? How will my other kinks be affected by this gift of chastity?
Sometimes my brain is impatient, overrun with cyclical thoughts and ready to just lock up and find out. The other half of my mind is screaming “ARE YOU CRAZY?!? ARE YOU REALLY READY TO SAY GOODBYE TO EDGING?!?” But if my life of denial has taught me anything, it’s that I will never be ready to take that step on my own. My willpower always breaks in the end... so really, this chastity belt is going to help force me to achieve my dreams of finding the depths of my denied desperation. Thank you, FancySteel, for helping me be the best toy I can be. I cannot wait to be locked in your steely clutches.
With lust and anticipation, ViolentlyCurly