Day: May 18, 2009

Saturday night, Belle gave me a choice I didn’t want. She told me that she was going to unlock me so she could play with her cock but, as long as she got what she wanted, she really didn’t care if I came. Those are the words she used.

“I really don’t care if you come or not.”

She was trying a new tack – that of “casually indifferent domme”. She was casting me in the role of inconsequential accessory which, normally, I’d totally appreciate, but, since the bedrock of our relationship paradigm is her control over my orgasms, to say she really didn’t care kinda sorta knocked the foundation out from under my motivation. I instantly felt this. If she didn’t care, why hadn’t I come in three weeks? If she didn’t care, what was all the suffering for? In fact, the suffering is for her, but now she’d basically said she didn’t want it. Of course, I knew I had taken it to the nth degree – beyond what she intended – but that’s how my hormone-addled brain processed it. She wasn’t really saying she didn’t care. It was just part of the scene. I should have said something but I was in that weird subby headspace that stops me from telling her when something doesn’t work for me and I remained silent.

As we started, I was having an internal debate. Should I come or not? She had basically given me tacit approval to do so, but she didn’t actually say I could. Also, I didn’t want it to happen this way. Not through her apathy (feigned or not). I come when she says, “you can come,” not before. I needed her to let me. So I decided I would resist and try to keep it inside.

What followed was pretty hot. I started out rather clumsily and distracted since I was having that “should I or shouldn’t I” debate in my head, but before I could get too far along, she took over and told me she wanted to be on top. I rolled over and she took it from there. I lined the cock up with her pussy, but instead of sliding right down and getting on with it, she eased onto it s-l-o-w-l-y and then stayed down, moving subtly with me completely inside. Then, again slowly and purposefully, she’d go up, then back down – like regular fucking but in quarter time. I tried to engage her nipples, but she said not yet, leave them alone. I tried to get into a reciprocal fucking rhythm, but she told me to stop. I looked up and saw her head back, a rapturous look on her face. She was fucking the cock, not me, in her own way and as she wanted. I was just the thing her dildo was mounted on. The thought of that almost made me shoot my load. In fact, seeing her enjoying me in that way brought me very close, but she slowed and paused at exactly the right moment and I avoided falling in. My breathing was coming in short, shallow pants. It was all incredibly sensual. After a bit, the pace quickened, but not as fast as it would normally be. I was allowed to engage her nipples and from that point on, I was all business. I could, of course, still feel her sliding up and down on the stiff meat, but I was in the zone. My near-come had pushed the urge back.

After she climaxed, I felt instant regret at not coming myself. I felt like a dupe for not taking the chance I had. I laid there, confused and more than a little anguished with a steady, insistent erection. By the time I worked up the nerve to ask if I could ruin an orgasm (if, for no other reason, than as a consolation prize), she had already drifted off to sleep.

I’ve grown enough in this role of denied horny guy to not let the resulting disappointment get me too far down. Yes, the whole “I don’t care” thing did leave me an emotional slag heap, but I also knew that my feelings were par for the course. It is expected that I’d feel this way from time to time (if not most of the time). If anything, I could take pleasure from the knowledge that Belle has gotten really good at taking the initiative and doing what she needs to do to get off, regardless of my satisfaction (or if I’m even involved). That’s where I wanted her to be (and it’s a place I wasn’t really sure she could get to). So, annoyed at myself just the same, I was able to turn the disappointment back on itself and feed my submissive little rabbit with it. I was pathetically horny. She was blissfully satisfied. All was right in the world.

The next morning, Belle slept in, so I went and replaced the CB6K. She had said she wanted it back on me “sometime” on Sunday, but I wanted it back on as soon as possible. I wanted to reassert the control she pretended to cast off the night before. Later, once she was awake, I brought her a cup of coffee and the Sunday Times. As soon as seemed appropriate, I told her how the previous evening’s vibe was wrong for me. I told her I was worried she’d feel guilt or that the misstep would feed lingering insecurity. She told me she recognized the issue and wouldn’t take that approach again, but that she felt no guilt whatsoever. You win some, you lose some, seemed to be her point of view. What else matters except that she got what she wanted? Suck it up, rabbit boy.

Damn, why didn’t I just fucking come when I had the chance?!