Day: November 19, 2008

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WTF was that all about!?

OK, all that “gee, wouldn’t it be swell never to come again” crap from earlier today is out the window.

Belle had a work thing to go to so was home later than usual. As soon as she got home and was in my sight, I wanted her. I wanted her so badly. I managed to contain myself for a few minutes, but as she was standing next to me sorting through the junk mail, I kissed her. Deeply and wetly, sucking on her lips and breathing in her smell mixed with the odor of cheap bar food and wine. In fact, I more than wanted her. I needed her.

After a few moment of kissing, I staggered off to the bathroom and noticed that in that short time, with nothing more than the kissing, I had managed to leak precum into the device. Thick, sticky, and clear. I’m not normally a copious producer of precum, so this was somewhat surprising.

In bed later, she informed me I was to attend to her grooming. She allows me to keep her pubic hair trimmed and tonight I was to go down there and play barber. This was after my basically begging her to let me out of the device. I really really really need to feel my hard cock in my hand. I want so badly to stroke myself, knowing full well I’m not going to come but just desperately needing to feel the sensation of a free and happy erection. She said no and told me to get trimming. I went to work, moaning slightly at the sight of her pussy knowing all I could do was groom it and not touch it or otherwise play. Her aroma was intoxicating.

After, when the trimmer and towel and all the other grooming accoutrement had been put away and she was once more in my arms, I begged again for release. She again said no, that I wasn’t getting out until Saturday. Oh, and I wasn’t going to come once I did get out, even though she had previously told me I would. She said she was going to ride her cock and I was going to get nothing. And then I realized. I really did want to come. Really and truly. All that rubbish about not coming from earlier? Well, it’s fine to go on like that when she’s not around, but once I was in her presence and could feel the small of her back and taste her mouth and inhale the aroma of her womanhood and she said I wasn’t going to get to come…well, something in me went click. I will do whatever it takes to get an orgasm on Saturday.

Whatever. It. Fucking. Well. Takes.

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Hardly ever vs. never ever (ever)

Today, I stumbled upon this on the web and I find myself reflective. It’s a quick read, but allow me to quote the salient point:

I told my boyfriend, David, if we are going to be married, he would haft [sic] to surrender himself to me, which included chastity for life. He would never be allowed to masturbate, or enter me.

So after fifteen years of marriage, the dude has never come. Not once. I have to admit that the idea of never being allowed any kind of sexual release ever again is a little thrilling. I have found myself recently resenting the idea of orgasm since I’m finding myself so satisfied with denial. Once I do come, I know it’ll be two or three days to get back in the same mental and physical state as I was before the orgasm. Maybe more since I’m finding I’m actually building up a resistance to the affects of not releasing. I know I just told Belle I’d be happy with 2-3 releases a month, but could I ever want it even less? Once a month? Every ninety days? Once a year!?! Egad, when will it end?

I know I’m a more attentive mate since I’ve ceded control over my sexual destiny to Belle. But what drives that? If I resent the idea of an orgasm (and, incidentally, finding myself intrigued by the concept of ruined orgasms) then from where am I deriving my motivation? I assumed that I was more attentive and sweeter and all that because I was trying to get her to allow me to come, but what if I find myself never wanting to come again? And why do I find the idea of not being allowed to come actually arousing?

Unsurprisingly, Tom Allen has already tread this ground:

I mean, the orgasm denial was pretty hot, but much of what made it hot was the tantalizing hope of being allowed to come, even if that was “tomorrow.” Like the White Queen’s promise of “Jam tomorrow, jam yesterday but never jam today,” at least there was a hope that today would sneak up on tomorrow. But for the first time I began to be concerned that this might turn into a long-term arrangement with no hope that she would allow me to come.

No hope of coming. Ever.

Goddamn, that’s so freakin’ hot.

No, no, no – it’s scary and frightening and making me very insecure. I want to come, of course. Orgasms are fun. They feel great. Gotta clean those pipes once in a while, blow off some steam, relieve the pressure. Right? Right?

Then why was the idea of it making me hornier than ever?

Unfortunately, I’ve not been able to find the post where Tom explains why he’s so horny (and yes, that passage is where I stole this site’s motto). Here I am on the brink of going away to a no-kid romantic weekend in a secluded cabin in the woods with Belle and I’m actually a little taken aback by the idea that she’ll at some point give me permission to come. And I’ll have to do it. *shudder*

Twenty years ago, my entire reason for being revolved around shooting my wad into or onto anyone who’d let me. Now, I find myself thinking about sex and my partner maybe even more than I did as a hormonally charged youth with the exact opposite desired outcome. How does this make any sense? I honestly have no idea.