Edging has become a distuptive habit. I've outlasted my usual intentional denial record and am hovering somewhere around a bit over a week with the help of a kindly motivator. In some ways my ability to maintain the edge mentally has been strengthened by this exercise but in the physical capacity? I'm a mess. I can't stop thinking about touching when I should be focused on work or hobbies, instead I find myself pressing on my pelvis in moments when I can't tease as if the pressure will do anything else but ignite my arousal all the more.

The first edge takes less time to work up to that before, and those that come have been more intense. I feel like what would normally be the middle of my edging sessions are closer now to risking ruins without taking a break--which I do now, enforced by my body. Anytime I have to pee while pleasuring I adjourn teasing for a little while but get right back to guzzling water after I relieve myself to maintain the full, squirming feeling when I resume. When my bladder is reaching max capacity it sometimes dulls out sensations and takes me a little back from the edge as my abdomen accomodates the fluids which is both helpful and frustrating.

I keep craving something inside. I had a gsqueeze pussy plug which is a delight but my hazy horny brain is considering if I might need a bigger size to sate the urge to grind against or to buy a dildo when I never felt the need to before. I'm so hopelessly horny. I haven't had a chance to do more than lightly caress today and my who slit is drippy and throbbing, when I can finally use a toy I might explode.

I'm still in negotiations of what terms might make an orgasm acceptable. The delayed gratification helps to ground me from making any hasty in the moment decisions concerning climaxing but it has me cursing in moments, wishing I could scream or beg or say anything that would justify tipping over the edge. I've felt tears forming at the corners of my eyes when edging last night and soon when I can touch again it will likely happen again, if I don't cry out of frustration. Wishing I was restrained and helpless while edged relentlessly so that all I could do is thrash and cry for a mercy that never comes. Knowing that is is at least in part my choices feels like a weakness in my facade that I'm desoerately fighting against.

Good girls don't cum. Good girls don't decide. Good girls take deep breaths and edge again and again and again. 🥵