We pushed it too far and couldn’t stop the train. NW has edged me dozens and dozens of times, over the past two days. This is on top of the dozens and dozens of times that she has edged me over the other ten days of my denial. This evening, while stealing a few minutes together, NW started edging me again. This time, however, when I started to ooze, it wasn’t completely clear. It was somewhat milky, like normal ejaculate. I tasted it. She tasted it. It tasted like cum. Thing is, I hadn’t even hit a hard edge, yet. I was nowhere close to cumming. Then, as she stroked me, it kept coming out, in small quantities. I can only liken it to be milked. Although, having never been successfully milked, I am guessing at that.
In any case, she edged me several times. We were both somewhat transfixed by the emissions, as it is normally completely clear. On what would be the last edging, I warned her off, at a point that I thought was a tad early. She let go promptly. The pressure did not subside, though. It kept building. After maybe three seconds, I realized that it wasn’t going to stop. I flexed as hard as I could, trying to stave it off. But my body was having none of that.
My first impulse, when I knew that I was going over, was to grasp my cock and stroke out the best orgasm that I could, since I had waited too long, and fought too hard, for a great one. But I didn’t. NW made no effort to help me along. So I sat there, grasping my thighs, fighting it all the way, as the first spurt erupted, then a weaker second, followed by a pathetic third and the remainder dribbled out. My orgasm had ruined…and rightfully so. Neither one of us wanted it. My body, however, had been edged to its limit and had no intention of surrendering another. From the time she stopped stimulating me, until the first spurt, was probably seven or eight seconds. It was a train, roaring down the tracks, and couldn’t be stopped on a dime.
I know that Robert Anthony will be jealous of my ruined orgasm. I, on the other hand, was pissed. Not that it was ruined, as that was the only proper way to let this one play out, but that it occurred at all. We both were sad that it happened.
I cleaned up the mess and ate the fruit of our frustration. Despite what you may think, this was not a form of punishment from NW. As we both feel that me eating my own cum is extremely kinky, it is just something we agreed to, a few weeks back. I get to decide what happens to, or where I put my seed, unless it is from an accidental orgasm, full or ruined. If I don’t warn her off in time, then I have to eat whatever spills from my cock. This is not the case if I warn her, but she doesn’t immediately stop. It is not the case with planned orgasms, ruined or full.
Honestly, it seemed a fitting end. I was mad at myself. I had not tried to cum. To the contrary, I fought it the whole way. As I had failed, though, I fully intended to eat it, to punish myself, even though NW had no expectation of me eating it, in spite of our agreement.
For the record, it did not taste bad at all. The main issue was wholly psychological. My want to punish myself, and to keep my word, though, provided more than enough reason to do it.