2 Minutes

I was given a task. Relatively simply, you might think. I was to masturbate for 2 minutes, and at the 2 minute mark I was to begin my orgasm. I thought to myself, "Yes, I can do this". After all, I have done so in the past, in less than a minute.

I had been aroused on and off all day. It was fascinating, for every time my thoughts wandered to anything remotely sexual, I could feel the stirring between my thighs; twitching sharp pangs of arousal and need. So it was that I found myself later that evening, on the phone to a man whose voice makes me lose whatever shred of self-control I have ever had, and become nothing more than a gibbering, messy little fuckhole who can think of nothing more than screaming out her release.

The fantasy he was speaking into my ear, was easily igniting my already wet cunt. Every word he uttered, was equivalent to the soft but insistent urging of fingers stroking my clit, and teasing the engorged meat that responded far too eagerly. I was writhing on the couch, half naked, my legs spread, and displaying myself wantonly without shame nor care.

The 2 minutes began.

I fingered myself, furiously building on that fevered pitch; each flicker and mashing of my fingers against the already sensitive clit was driving me forward, to seek out the edge. Yes, I knew where to wait. I had been on that shaky, unstable precipice before, and forced to remain just teetering until the command was uttered. I knew it was coming, I knew, it was just out of reach. All I needed was that command..

The command came.

I threw myself into the orgasm that I was so completely sure was about to happen. It did not. I reached out harder, grasping, and caught nothing. The release that I was so desperately wanting, escaped me at the last second.

I screamed... and then the tears flowed; the angry tears of frustration and undeniable, gut-wrenching need that would not be sated. For you see, I was not allowed to begin again, if I failed. No, not this time. I literally sobbed as my fingers ripped and tore at the blanket near me, my knees drawn up almost painfully. Everything within me was crying out for release. That lovely, blissful edge that I had teetered on, was gone. It was as if I had been rudely yanked back by the scruff of my neck, and cast aside, only able to yet glance back and see where my feet had touched briefly.

Yes, I am a responsive and needy slut. I admit, my own vulnerability, is my sexuality. In it, I have become my own enemy. I am raped of any dignity I might have, when I am well and fully aroused, for there is no pride, no modesty, and no ego. I am nothing more, in those moments than a female who is much like an animal. My mind washes away, and what is left, is the raw, primal creature who knows nothing that exists presently is more urgent than the pleasure flowing and rippling through her starved body and mind. I drink it in. I feast. It fills every crack and crevice of emptiness imaginable. There is no possible way to be more full, and there is no overflow area. Something, must give; a release must happen, demands to happen...

2 minutes.

The command came.

My body failed.