I think I’m slowly losing the ability to consciously decide when to edge. I find myself humping, rolling my hips, flexing my pelvic floor, edging throughout the day unaware I’m even doing it. It’s like an addiction and it gets harder and harder to control. When I’m distracted my hands just wander between my legs or I find myself grinding against furniture, casually “brushing against” something at crotch level.
It takes more and more mental effort to not relapse into edging, it’s like it’s inevitable. My body teaching my mind that losing control feels good.
The weaker my will to resist edging, the more my mind numbs, the more my body rewards me with pleasure and intensity.
It’s a vicious cycle. I hope I don’t wind up completely braindead, mindlessly edging all day. Feeling needy, frustrated, and addicted to the feeling of my own wet pussy. Writing this right now, admitting to reddit the addiction I have to edging myself silly, has me sinfully turned on… I can feel my panties getting wet, my heart pounding. I shift in my seat to innocently relieve some of the wetness spreading but wiggling at my desk is rubbing me the right way.
The one who has encouraged me to achieve such brain dead heights, places his hand in between my legs.
“Squeeze.” I do as he says and bite my lip to keep from moaning.
He starts to move his hand side to side, wedging it in between my wet pussy lips. my leggings are soaked through and the wetness of my clothes provides barely any boundary between my clit growing in sensitivity and his hand, moving back and forth across my cunt.
“Release.” I look at him, disappointed, but I obey. I release my legs from squeezing them together and he moves his hand away. I can still feel the space it once occupied. I’m empty until I’m filled again.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/quqcul/diary_of_a_welltrained_slut_fm