When Maxie turned to Step Twenty of The 100 Steps to Sexual Enlightenment, she gasped. Not because of the usual scandalous illustrations (though there was a diagram involving ice cubes and a feather boa), but because of the bold, underlined headline: "Tease Before You Please – The Erotic Power of Delayed Gratification."
"Delayed?" she muttered, frowning. "As in… wait?"
She hated waiting. She was the kind of woman who peeked at birthday presents, skipped foreplay in novels, and once ate a cheesecake while it was still defrosting. But the book was very clear: Anticipation is the foreplay of the mind. Draw it out. Let it simmer. A slow burn ignites the deepest fires.
So, naturally, she booked a two-hour "Erotic Edge Play" seminar run by a dominatrix named Madame Velvet, who wore six-inch stilettos, a latex corset, and the kind of smile that suggested she had a safe word tattooed somewhere.
"Welcome, initiates," Madame Velvet purred, striding into the mirrored studio with a riding crop and a voice that could command tectonic plates. "Today, we learn the sacred art of The Slow Yes. Teasing is not denial—it's worship."
Maxie was partnered with a tall, broad-shouldered man named Felix who looked like he could lift a cow with one hand and read poetry with the other. He wore silk gloves. She wore goosebumps.
"First," Madame Velvet said, "no touching. Only proximity."
They stood facing each other, barely an inch apart. The heat between them could have powered a small bakery. Maxie's breath hitched. Felix's jaw tightened. Time stretched. She felt every heartbeat in her thighs.
"Now," said Madame Velvet, circling, "describe what you want to do. Don't do it. Just say it."
Felix leaned close, his voice a whisper against Maxie's ear. "I want to trace my fingers down your spine, slowly. Not to touch—just to hover. I want to watch your skin react before I even make contact."
Maxie nearly combusted.
"My turn," she rasped. "I want to kiss the space just below your earlobe. The place where your neck pulses. I want to breathe there until you beg."
Madame Velvet clapped once. "Excellent. Now take turns giving pleasure… in ten-second bursts. No more. Reset. Start again."
It was maddening. Ten seconds of a warm palm sliding up her arm—then gone. Ten seconds of his breath on her collarbone—then silence. Ten seconds of her tongue brushing the outline of his lips—then restraint.
She was feral by minute forty.
Madame Velvet smirked. "Now, the pièce de résistance—the countdown. One of you will tease. The other counts backwards from fifty. If the countdown stops… you must start again."
Felix volunteered to count. Maxie exhaled like a dragon in heat.
She ran a single fingernail across his chest.
"Fifty…"
She grazed his inner thigh with the hem of her skirt.
"Forty-nine…"
She blew gently against his lips, barely making contact.
"F-forty-eight…"
At thirty-nine, he whimpered.
At twenty-four, he stammered.
At ten, he growled, "Just—please—"
"Start again," Madame Velvet chirped.
"YOU MONSTER," Maxie cried.
By the time he finally reached zero, they were vibrating with restraint. Madame Velvet nodded in approval. "You've now tasted the exquisite agony of anticipation. You've teased. You've pleased. You've burned."
Maxie didn't remember much after the class.
Only that they somehow made it back to her apartment without combusting.
And that when they finally gave in, it felt like a choir of angels had been given tequila and told to sing Marvin Gaye.
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Journal Entry:
> Step Twenty: I learned how to edge a man into actual religious introspection using only breath and proximity.
I'm 80% sure I achieved orgasm just from someone almost touching me.
P.S. I now flinch at feathers. It's Pavlovian.