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Posts tagged ‘humiliation’

Jul 6

5 Comments

Just under the wire

OK, so maybe I will squeeze in one more post before I’m out of here…

Regarding the Jail Bird, it’s not going to happen. Aware that I’ve never been able to stay in that device for more than a few days without developing significant discomfort and suspecting that it’s likely a fit and spacing issue, I decided to try something I read about on Chastity Forums. Not sure who it was that did it, but they were able to create a little extra space between the bottom of the cage and the A-ring by slightly bending the post upward. I tried this yesterday afternoon and the post promptly snapped off. I don’t know much about metal work (whereby “not much” I mean “pretty much nothing”), but I thought welding would create a stronger bond between two pieces of metal. So now, if I ever want to wear the JB again, I’ll need a new A-ring. Which I probably needed anyway.

And, as I’ve been harping on, this now means I’ll be unsecured for the duration of the trip. Belle does not want me in the Steelheart and I guess I understand. Regardless of understanding, it’s her decision. It doesn’t help that I’m in that golden sweet spot where the device and I feel fused and there’s little to no discomfort and I’m even sleeping through the early morning tightness and find it creates a comforting sense of security rather than being something I need to endure. I don’t know if when this happens that anything physical has changed or if it’s all in my head, but I’ve even found myself, when waking with a fantastically full and tight tube, flexing the penis in order to feel more tightness and constriction. As with so many other things, my level of tolerance increases over time.

It’s not like I’ll have ample opportunity to take advantage of my temporary freedom, but I really don’t trust my hand and the penis together unattended even for short periods. There will be little moments (and the chance for several hot, soapy showers in hotels on the way there and back) and, of course, every morning it’ll be all perky and proud and asking for attention. Thing is, when you’re a man in my condition, you end up thinking about what’s in your crotch an awful lot regardless of its state. However, it’s an entirely different flavor of obsession when a healthy ribbon of opportunity is swirled though it. I will try to be strong. Upon return, I will no doubt be anxious for Belle to put me back in.

Belle and I chatted a bit last night about some of the recent blog posts. She’s mad at me (or trying to be) for taking the device off without her knowledge (though I strongly disagree I did it out of spite, as she suggests). While I took it off, I also put it back on, so I feel like I should get some points for that. Also, we talked about my reaction to being belittled, humiliated, made fun of, etc. She says she can’t really see herself humiliating me, but is OK with belittling me. I don’t see much of a difference, but if she can find it in her heart to make fun of me every once in a while, I’ll be happy.

In a related development, I’ve decided to update Thumper’s Rules of Usage and Style regarding how I refer to the sex organ attached my body. It’s clearly established that I never refer to it possessively (it’s not “mine”). I either refer to it as a separate object (i.e., the sex organ) or as hers (though I tend to favor the former style because the latter can be confusing to new readers – “Wait a sec. She had a cock?”). I have typically called it a cock but have just decided to no longer use that word. To me, “cock” implies something unrelated to me or it. A “cock” is an aggressive, action-oriented thing meant for fucking. An in-your-face kind of tool that’s been designed for erect penetration. My little piece of meat doesn’t do any of that. It’s very seldom any longer than the 2.75″ allowed by the Steelheart. From the outside, it never seems to change at all, regardless of how I’m feeling or how much pleasure Belle’s letting me give her. It certainly has practically nothing to do with Belle’s pleasure like a cock would. The only time it gets to be inside her is when she’s giving me one of my infrequent orgasms. Last two times it happened, I’m not even sure she had her top off. It may give her emotional pleasure to let me orgasm, but the act itself doesn’t provide much sexual pleasure for her. The thing’s roll has been demoted to little more than an instrument of prostate maintenance. There’s no aggression down there and certainly little action. It’s not a cock at all. It’s just a penis. And that’s what I’ll be calling it from now on.

I can almost hear eyeballs rolling in some sockets from here, but it’s my blog and I can call it whatever I want. So there. At the end of the day, for me, words have significant value and power. Thinking of it as just a penis strongly resonates with my submissive core. Thinking of it as a little penis just about makes me swoon.

So, finally, this is the last post I’ll make until I’m out of the woods sometime after the 17th or so. As I said yesterday, there’s an HNThumper loaded up for next Thursday, but that’ll be all. I might be able to reply to comments depending on access to cell reception. We’ll see.

Jun 30

4 Comments

Just a theory

Following up on yesterday’s post, I’ve been wondering something.

I said:

Being diminished in that way really worked for me.

And…

I like the feeling of being optional and a beneficiary of her charity.

And…

I felt she knew exactly what she wanted for her and was in total control of how it happened.

And it was good.

And then in a comment:

If I can stay in the right frame of mind and recall the feeling I have right now, then completely severing any right of mine to her pleasure – to really and truly accept my role – could be revelatory and powerful.

What I wonder is if this isn’t where the cuckold fantasy comes from. It could be just a natural progression from…

  1. Learning to pleasure a woman without your cock, and
  2. Starting to think of her pleasure as your pleasure, and
  3. Reveling in her becoming more confident in finding a way to her pleasure that’s all her own, and
  4. No longer thinking of your cock as something that’s part of the sex she’ll have with you, and finally
  5. Learning to take pleasure in her pleasure regardless of whether or not you’re involved.

No, I’m not a cuck and Belle has never shown any interested in being with another man and I’m quite sure there’s a whole lot more going on in relationships where this has happened, but for me, I can see the path to the fantasy pretty clearly. I want her to be totally and completely sexually fulfilled. It has, truly, become the primary way I find my own fulfillment. I also have developed a taste for being treated quite unfairly. Even to the point of liking it when she belittles and humiliates me. I really like it. I can’t think of any more potent way to do that than taking another lover. A more satisfying one.

I have a bunch of fantasies that would never work outside my head. This might be one of them. But, the progression makes sense to me. Not that I’ll ever find out, of course, since Belle’s demonstrated zero interest in heading off in that direction.

That being said, if she was interested in plucking these particular heartstrings of mine, she was heading in the right direction the other night. Were she to remind me that, while I may be adept at utilizing the tools that lead to her pleasure, I’m not the actual implement of that pleasure. She used Pink during her night in the hotel spa just fine without me, after all. In fact, I’m not even capable of being the implement of her pleasure. I can barely last a full minute inside her now. There’s little chance I could satisfy her in the condition I most often find myself. She could remind me of that. How this cock I’ve given her isn’t much use for anything anymore.

It seems counterintuitive to treat your lover with such disrespect. It goes against everything you see in popular culture and learn through normal socialization. But, yeah. I get it. I really do.

Mar 6

1 Comment

Penis weaponization

The incomparable Ferns, in reference to the pictures I posted of the Steelheart Short in comparison to our original Steelheart, said:

I find it interesting that there is no ego in this. If it were me (and I actually *had* a cock and was going to wear a device and and… etc), I can imagine looking in the mirror and going ‘Well, *this* one makes my cock look like an awesome shiny weapon!! Huzzah!… whereas *this* one makes it look kind of short and stubby…”

Of course, now that I have given it a little thought, I do *exactly* this with strapons… “Awesome shiny weapon!! Huzzah!” Heh.

To which Tom replied:

Oh, believe me, we cock-having device-wearers do this all the friggin’ time. We just don’t feel the need to write about it because, well, that would be weird.

Which means I just have to write about it. Weird is my raison d’être, after all.

There are at least two sides of this for me. The first is quite practical. A shorter, smaller device is more comfortable to lug around for days on end. Less of an issue under clothes, less of a strain on the meat upon which it’s attached, etc. In addition, though it’s highly non-intuitive for this to be true, a smaller device can be more comfortable during erections than a larger one. It seems as though the sooner one stops the spongy tissues from becoming engorged, the less discomfort one will feel when it inevitably happens. After a few days, I can say the SH-S is at least as comfortable as the SH-1 while fully erect (at night) and very much more comfortable the rest of the time.

The second side to the issue is more woo-woo than pure practicality, though.

Before I start, I feel compelled to say I do not believe that large cocks or cocks in general have anything whatsoever to do with one’s ability to be dominant or assume a dominant role or that large cocked guys can’t be submissive or that mauve isn’t a completely acceptable color for your grandmother’s tablecloth or anything like that. I will remind you, what I write here comes from my head so a big chunk of it can’t be expected to apply out there where you all live, in The Real World.

Ferns touches on it herself when she says, “Of course, now that I have given it a little thought, I do *exactly* this with strapons.” I assume she’s using strap-ons on her submissive male sex partners and I also assume she uses them, among other things, as some sort of symbol of her dominance (if not, I will be happy to hear otherwise). Of course, my real cock is never used in that way. I gave it to Belle and she tops me so I am ill-prepared mentally to think of the cock as anything other than her tool with which she manipulates me. It’s size, therefore, is immaterial except that it needs to be the right length and girth to make her happy when she chooses to use it to pleasure herself.

Additionally, the cock she keeps in the device hardly ever plays a role in our sex except as a captive witness to it all. Recent activities excepted, I can go weeks or months during which Belle will have as many orgasms as she’ll let me share with her while the cock will only see what light gets though the little hole at the end of the tube. Again, its size does not matter since the basis of our sex life now, and the satisfaction she enjoys, in no way revolves around it.

Finally (and this is where I might piss a few people off), there’s a part of me that doesn not want a large cock or even to do anything that makes it look bigger or more impressive. I’ve written about this before. There is definitely a part of me now, which I trace directly to my growing acceptance and connection with my submissive sexuality, that gets off on the idea of having a small dick. Of course, I do not have a small dick. It’s totally average and satisfies Belle very well. But, it works for me to think otherwise. In fact, when I’m out and able to play with it, one of the quickest ways for me to get to the edge of orgasm is to fantasize that I have a little cock that’s not good enough for Belle. This is hardly unique to me (based on my purely scientific survey of the chastity porn out there). I’m sure there are a lot of guys reading this who can associate with my words and who are in the same boat or are actually small-dicked and are able to achieve the same kind of submissive and almost derogatory pleasure from it.

It’s taken me a while to become comfortable with these feelings. I recall the first times I read a story in which a man was too small to satisfy his wife and she either made him use a large strap-on or took a well-hung lover and how hard it made my heart thump. I resisted it at first. Men in our culture are conditioned to think cock size is to be desired above all other things. This is the same thing that perpetuates the myth that women want ever-larger members inside them and that the size of a man’s penis bears a direct relation to how well he can satisfy women. Of course, it’s all bunk and I already knew that, but still. It’s hard to let go. It’s hard to actually get off on the idea of being “inadequate”.

Long way to say, I have no problem at all with the SH-S making the package “short and stubby” looking. In fact, besides the practical considerations, it’s one the main drivers behind my satisfaction with the new device. As weird as that is.

Jan 30

4 Comments

Questions from a reader IV

Parts una, duo, and tres.

We’ve hit the half-way point! It’s all downhill from here.

In respect of your comments as to whether you are submissive or “submissively inclined”, from what I have read, you don’t strike me as what I think of as submissive.  You enjoy sexual submission, but that seems to be as far as it goes.  While you do perform domestic services, you do it as part of sexual conduct and to satisfy sexual needs.  But you retain a significant amount of control and power both outside your relationship and within it, or at least that is how your blog reads to me.

Well, your guess is as good as mine. I’m just starting to figure out this whole submissive thang, to be honest.

It’s true I have a great deal of power and control at my work. That’s because I own the place and pretty much run it. However, this isn’t contradictory to being submissive in my relationship. From what I understand, it’s actually common.

With regard to having power in my relationship, it’s not that simple. I have influence. Just because I’m her sub doesn’t mean I don’t want things. We’ve established a nice system whereby I’m able to communicate my wants without making her feel obligated to give them too me (this’ll come up again in a later question). If I have real power in our dynamic, it’s based on the fact that I know she love me and wants me to be happy. It’s a power I could use, but choose not to since I like her being in control. I’m not saying I don’t struggle with the whole “topping from the bottom” thing from time to time, but I think it’s a lot clearer now than it used to be. I’m much more patient, for one thing. I’m able to let go of my need to steer and let her establish the path we’ll take more or less based on her speed. Yes, I’ll occasionally nudge or suggest, but it’s always with the understanding that it’s all up to her, not me.

You might read all that and think I sound like I have it all figured out, but I don’t. I admit to having some insecurities around my submissiveness (And I really a sub? Like, all the time?). Also, like any other human relationship dynamic, I know that our D/s will have its up, down and sideways moments. I guess the bottom line is I’ve decided to just roll with it and see what happens.

As an adjunct to that, how would you respond if Belle Fille said she wanted you to submit financially to her?  To give her full and complete control over every cent you earn and the family finances?

I’ve already asked her to do this. After reading Steve’s deal, I forwarded it to Belle and suggested we do the same. I’m all for it, but so far she hasn’t established the parameters.

Also, would the ultimate exercise of Belle Fille’s control over you be for her to deny you what you want – to deny you your denial?  What would happen if she insisted that you have full orgasms every day for a week?  Not “ruined” ones, but full on, ear popping, feet scrabbling, locomotives of sperm.  If you were really submissive, you would submit and do as she ordered.  But is that the submissive paradox – being made to do what you don’t want to do is really what you want to do ….?

Mykey had a situation once (described in posts I can’t find at the moment) where his wife Sandy made him come and then consume his own spunk every day for a week. That was fucking hot. Totally. Fucking. Hot. So yeah, if it was in the context of Belle exercising her control over me and my sexual release, I’d be game for whatever.

One aspect of your relationship that I would find very difficult to emulate if it were required of me is that one person does all the heavy lifting in terms of sexual decision making.  I love being in charge of my own sexuality, but I don’t know if I have the energy to also make all the decisions for someone else.  It’s a bit like having to decide what to cook for dinner every night – you might be a fussy eater and a good cook, but every now and then you want someone else to come up with an idea!   Does Belle Fille find it a burden? Do you think it is an unfairness that works in your favour, that you are no longer required make the hard calls?  (God, this message has so many double entendres that I can’t be bothered trying to avoid them anymore!)

This gets back to my having influence over the course of events, but not outright control over them. Belle’s Rule says I can come on to her all I want in any way I want 72 hours after her orgasm, so it’s not as one-sided as your question sounds. For a while, I wasn’t allowed to make any move on her without permission, but that didn’t really work for either of us. For her, it was pretty much as you describe. Lots of pressure on her. Too much control, not enough spontaneity. Sometimes a girl likes to know how much her boy wants to fuck her senseless, even if she’s going to shut him down. Also, we found that waiting for her to want it so bad that she’d allow me to start working on her led to a lot more infrequent sex. That usually ended up making me feel depressed (and her more stressed as a result). Letting me get physical with her, even if nothing comes of it, gives me an outlet to demonstrate my frustration (which makes me feel better).

Your question also misses out that sometimes she’ll tell me we will have sex, but that I have to drive and get to do whatever I want (absent orgasm, of course, or actual fucking if I’m in the device). Her control over our sex includes having the prerogative to delegate that control to me, if only temporarily.

Having said that, I know that the reason it would not work for me it that I like partners who are sexually confident and sexually persuasive – which I distinguish from being sexually aggressive, which can be damned annoying!  I like a partner who does more than just respond – who can seduce me, who can get me going from a standing start.  I know that you now have limited permission to initiate sexual conduct, but does Belle Fille, and do you, not miss your more significant input (another one…) into getting the fire lit?  Do you not miss those opportunities to seduce your partner, or do you see your submission as seduction?

I think I answered this one with the last one. As far as I know, Belle’s Rule allows me to do whatever I want until either a) she tells me to stop, or b) she comes. I am sexually confident and can be very persuasive. “Submissive” does not equal “passive” (unless that’s what the dominant wants). I am not a passive person.

What you seem to crave from Belle Fille is a lack of compassion – you want her to see your suffering and be unmoved by it.  That seems to get you very hot.  Do you find that you are starting to see compassion as something undesirable, or as a weakness?  Or are you able to keep that dynamic solely within your relationship?

You’re correct that I want her to see my suffering, but not that I want her to be unmoved. Rather the opposite, I want her to be deeply moved. On the denial side, it’s a continuous demonstration of my willingness to be controlled by her. I gave her my cock. That’s a big deal and I “suffer” because of it every day. On the masochism side, it’s a little different. If you’re not a masochist, I’m not sure how to explain it and I don’t know you’ll ever understand, but I want her to hurt me a lot. To the point at which I can no longer take it, and just a little bit more. I want her to push me and I want to show her how willing I am to be pushed. I want to suffer and squirm and writhe and do it all because it is from her hand. But far from being unmoved, I want her to know that I do it for her because she’s my love and to understand that I know she does it to me because I am hers.

Of course, the two things feed on each other. The more I’m denied, the more I crave the pain and the more pain I can take. There are times when I want the hurt more than anything else. Axe just went though a week of beatings (here, here, and here). Just the idea of being beaten every day for a whole week makes me light headed. Imagine Homer Simpson and how his jaw drops and gets all drooly when he’s around donuts. That’s me thinking about what happened to Axe.

All that aside, you’re right that I’d rather not see compassion from her. I don’t want her to ever seem like she’s sorry for me, or if she is, to do it in a way that makes me feel smaller and more inferior. Case in point. She loves her vibrator Pink. Loves. It. I know she does. But she very often makes a point of telling me she likes her cock (that is, the one on me) more than any toy. This might be true, but honestly, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t need to hear it. I’m not threatened. Quite the contrary, I can think of nothing hotter than her finding something other than me to be the most sexually satisfying. Besides, the last thing I want to hear is that she’s not being fully satisfied since her favorite “toy” is locked in the device (and can’t be trusted anyway since I find it so hard to control my orgasm when I’m using it).

And (on a lighter note) do you ever worry about having a car accident and being taken to hospital and having to explain why you have that attached to your cock??  Like the “always wear clean underwear because you might be hit by a bus” argument??

In short, no, I don’t worry about it. Ever. Maybe at the beginning when, ironically, I was wearing a device I could have conceivably removed bare-handed, but not anymore. Maybe that’s just sexually charged bravado or plain old stupidity, but it’s just not a factor.

And there you go. Thirteen questions, 13 answers. It helped that these came in right when Belle started her period since there wasn’t much else to do anyway. ;)

Nov 4

4 Comments

Punished

Apparently, I was being snarky. That’s what Belle said, anyway. I certainly was poking fun at her, but, you know, in the most respectful and loving way possible.

Whatever. She didn’t appreciate it.

“You think that’s funny, do you?” She asked.

“Kinda, yeah.”

“OK. Get the Icy Hot.”

“What!?”

And it went on like that with me begging and squirming and trying to talk her out of it. Eventually, she made me get up and retrieve the tube of devil paste from the bathroom. I got back into bed, placing it on my nightstand, and tried to distract her. I was hoping to be able to wait her out. Soon, she’d be sleepy and maybe I’d get off the hook.

After a few minutes, “Get naked and under the covers.”

I did so, still hoping there’d be a reprieve. In theory, I want her to punish me when she sees the need. In practice, Icy Hot hurts like fuck. Plus, I wasn’t really prepared mentally since I wasn’t even aware I was committing a punishable offense.

“Give me the Icy Hot,” she said. I gave it to her while still doing my best to talk her out of it. She seemed to very much enjoy my pathetic protestations.

“Close your eyes.” Whimper. I closed my eyes and opened my legs, exposing the poor, unsuspecting scrotum.

I heard the cap open…I heard the paste squeezed out…I heard the cap snap shut…a few moments of silence…then I felt her fingers smearing the cold lineament across my skin. As usual, for the first several moments it just felt cold. Then even colder as whatever hellish combustion process it utilizes started to take effect. Then hot. Then really hot. Motherfuckinghot.

I tried not to make too much noise, but each wave of burning was greater than the last. I rolled over on my knees and spread my legs so my nutsack would hang freely. She placed her hand on my back in a gentle, loving way as I clenched my eyes shut against the burning. The fumes of the Icy Hot were traveling up my crack and started to provide my ass with a contact burn. That was new.

She must not have put nearly as much on as last time. The burning waves seemed to start to subside after the forth or fifth. Soon, all I felt was a lingering, low-level heat. As I moved about, the burning would intensify for a few moments and then retreat again. I felt well and truly punished.

The next morning, all the burning just a memory, I still felt the difference. I was much more contrite and feeling the subbie vibe. Icy Hot is almost too intense for us to use in a scene now, but as a punishment it was quite effective. I enjoyed the psychological afterglow of being punished even though the actual act was hard to take. From her perspective, its impact far exceeded the effort she needed to put into it. All she’d have to do in the future to make it a more severe punishment would be to increase the amount applied. Since I really don’t like it all that much, I will truly want to avoid it.

I’ll have to do something about the snark.

Jun 7

2 Comments

Belle’s return

Belle’s return on Friday was fantastic. Not that anything really mind-blowing happened, just that she was here. With me. When we’re apart, I’m not unlike a compass that can’t find North. When together, I understand my purpose for being.

While she was still en route, I cut out of work early so I could come home and tidy up. Something like a nesting instinct came over me, except instead of being a 8.5 month pregnant woman, I was a naked 40-something guy with an expensive tube of plastic locked to his unit. Yes, even though we have vast expanses of windows in our house (all with working blinds, I should point out), I felt the need to be as nude as I currently can be while performing the household tasks. More than that, I even went so far as to insert my trusty old Doc Johnson butt plug which, owing to the paucity of backdoor action I’ve experienced in the past several months, left me feeling satisfyingly full in spite of its modest size. You’d think the nakedness, the aloneness, and the hunk of rubber shoved up my ass would conspire to distract me from the tasks at hand, but in fact, I imagined the whole time that Belle was observing me in that condition and that succeeded in keeping me focused (and buzzing). Since we live with two kids, the opportunities to perform these kinds of tasks for her in the buff have numbered exactly zero. Now that I’ve imagined what it would feel like, I’m going to keep thinking about it until it happens for real. I’ve said lots of times that being naked before her with the device clearly visible still leaves me selfconscious. The thought of being forced into that position, while servicing her through household tasks, all in the bright light of day was, clearly, arousing. Basically, being naked before her for no reason other than she wants me that way is enough to set me spinning.

In any event, I folded all the laundry, made all the beds, cleaned the kitchen and bath and generally picked up so that the house looked maybe the best it’s ever looked upon her return from a trip (with the movements of the plug causing the occasional burp of precum to ooze out of me being my modest reward). I know that some people feel eroticizing housework is misogynistic, which it may be, but it’s also a potent turn-on for me when I’m in the right state. Belle’s said it turns her on, too, so my position is, misogynistic or not, we’re gonna keep doing it.

She looked amazing standing on the curb at the airport when I picked her up. She shone among the herd of tired, stressed, and impatient travellers. Once I had her in the car, in our own world, whisked away from the craziness of everyone else, I was in heaven.

Later that night, she allowed me to bring her to orgasm, but not before abusing me un peu: pinching (and pulling, and twisting, and general evilness) to the nipples, some scratching, and fingernails driven into my ass. Bliss. When it was her turn, I found her to be incredibly wet with open, inviting lips. God, I missed her body. It’s sudden naked, aroused, and ready presence made me ache inside. The intensity with which my inner sex lizard demanded I replace my fingers with the cock desperately trying to achieve full erection between my legs was strong enough to leave me feeling slightly dizzy. It took a disappointingly short time to get her off. The lizard was not happy.

All day yesterday I was coming on to her with a zeal that would cause a strict interpreter of our Covenant to cry foul. Every kiss, every touch, every long look filled my plastic tube with frustrated desire. Device or not, it was my clear intention to fuck her that night with whatever piece of me I could get into her. I was beyond simple desire. I had crossed over into biological imperative territory. An entire generation of internal passive rabbits was at stake.

However, Belle had a different agenda. After dinner, she had me clean up while she read a book in front of the fire the unseasonably cool day had caused us to light. Lights low, Madeleine Peyroux on the iPod, fire cracking, and several glasses of pinot grigio conspired to leave Belle supremely relaxed. After our daughter was asleep (the boy being at a sleep-over was out of the picture), I sat on the floor near her head while she luxuriated on the couch, our dog laying on her torso. I looked at that dog and felt petty jealousy rise within me. He was getting the attention and body contact I wanted. Damned dog. I was on the floor while he was getting scratched behind his ears, head resting on her breast. Fucking dog. He looked at me with an expression that seemed to ask tauntingly, “Who’s alpha now, sucka?”

She didn’t ignore me, though. I was getting some gentle stroking that clearly wasn’t heading anywhere fruitful which eventually turned into scratching. To be honest, I don’t always enjoy the scratching she inflicts upon me in these unfocused ways, but the fact that she has the right to hurt me in any random way she wants makes up for that. In any event, I was getting impatient. The clock was ticking and with every passing second she was moving further and further away from a state that would result in me getting some action. Finally, she handed me the dog to take outside for his final piddle of the day. He and I exchanged words outside that clearly reasserted his position at the bottom of the social order, and as soon as I got back upstairs to Belle, she handed me the foot lotion and towel.

I’ll stop right here and say my feelings were not acceptable. Natural, understandable, but not acceptable. Or, at least, any hint that I was feeling them was unacceptable. It’s like I can’t figure out what I want. On the one hand, I crave her control. I want her to rule the cock. I crave submission. On the other, I want to fuck. And those two conflicting objectives often clash within me.

I had already lit every candle in the room, so it was fragrant and warmly glowing when she told me to undress. As I did so and the usual quick flush of embarrassment that accompanies the exposure of my condition washed over me, I had the palpable feeling of the device no longer being a separate thing. It was not quite a part of me, but it was, in fact, my normal state. It’s contents securely locked away, impotent, unneeded, and inconsequential, I was as I should be. Especially at that moment when we were clearly not headed toward any kind of sexual contact. The fact that I even had a penis attached to my body and was suffering from the side effects of it was purely my problem and not germane to the situation. Potent, heady stuff. All felt in the flash of a second before I knelt before her feet and started my work. Had it been possible, I would have been sporting a raging boner.

After her feet were well rubbed, I was back laying next to her and her hands wandered over me. I suggested it was time to sleep as a way to signal she didn’t need to continue if it was only on my account. I knew the score (which is to say, I knew there would be no score that night). She agreed, but didn’t quite stop. She didn’t really open her eyes, but her hand found its way to my crotch. Unexpectedly, she smacked at my balls. It was too light a tap and in the wrong spot to hurt, but my reaction suggested otherwise (gasp, jump). I laughed at that and told her it didn’t hurt (which caused her to do it again, this time causing just a twinge).

“Can I show you the right way to do that?” I asked.

“Sure. Later. Time for sleep.”

I got up and blew out all the candles. While on her side of the bed, she said, “You’ve got a cute ass, Thumper.”

Fat lot of good it does me, I thought as the last of the little flames went out.

Feb 24

5 Comments

Montreal, Part II

Here’s what I think about porn (at least, the porn I like): It’s fantasy. An escape. Total unreality. Just enough basis in real life so that it’s not outrageous and unbelievable (it needs to be just believable), but honestly not so far removed from a cartoon. Porn is not about the mundane mechanics of how sex should or does work, it’s about turning people on. Porn is not a guide to sex any more than The Lion King is a guide to wildlife. It should be reasonably well-written with all the words spelled correctly and with acceptable grammar. Basically, it shouldn’t look like it was pecked out with one hand (if you know what I mean). That is the standard I have tried to follow as I’ve continued this story.

Please note that the events I’ve depicted here have no basis in any personal experiences, except that Belle and I did once spend a very nice (very vanilla) weekend in Montreal in a room not unlike the one I describe in the story. I am not representing real life here and I am also very clearly not trying to describe some kind of ideal life through fiction. I would not want what happens to the guy in this story to happen to me (not all of it, anyway). Life is life, porn is porn. They are not the same.

Anyway, with that outrageously long preamble out of the way, let’s continue. Last we saw our protagonist, he was bound to a chair, a red dildo up his ass, on display in front of the windows of the hotel room he shared with his wife. Night was beginning to fall. Soon, it would be hard for anyone to miss him…

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Jan 7

4 Comments

Milkshake

Over on FetLife, a member called tiger posted this in a thread about milking:

How do you feel different before and after you’ve been milked? How much is enough? What are the objectives exactly? I’m not even clear on that. Is it just to reduce the volume of stored fluid for the sake of prostatic health? It’s also a very dominant, very beautiful act of removing a man’s control over such a quintessentially male thing. I imagine it would make me feel more submissive. What more is it supposed to do?

I think his questions get to the heart of why this is something I want Belle to do to me. I have milked myself a few times now and understand the physiological impact, but it’s allure is more than that.

Physically, I do feel a lessening of pressure when the semen is released. It’s not a pressure I can even say I was cognizant of before it was gone. Maybe it’s more a feeling of the absence of something. In no way does milking make me less aroused. Quite the contrary. The last time I did it, I couldn’t get enough and was much hornier afterward. And that, even though Belle has never said I couldn’t milk myself, is why I feel I need to ask that it be something we share. I felt like I was receiving too much pleasure from it. No, I wasn’t having an orgasm, but the pleasure I received felt like a violation of the spirit of our arrangement.

Tiger absolutely hits on the psychological trigger for me. It’s the “act of removing a man’s control over such a quintessentially male thing”. To be denied even the fleeting satisfaction of a ruined orgasm. To reduce the passage of semen from my body to an almost clinical act that I have no control over after she’s denied me and teased me and stoked within me such a bonfire of desire. So unfair. So unsatisfying. Especially when you layer on how doing it increases my frustration. On the list of things she can do to me that embody the domination I wish for her to embrace, there are few more powerful.

Jan 6

2 Comments

Packing plastic

As I said in my previous post, I’m finally back in the CB6K after what seemed like forever while I waited for the PA to heal. As I was writing that post, I came to realize how heavily I kink over the silly thing. I adore being locked up. I admit it. I suppose if I believed all the hawt chastity p0rn out there I’d have to say I hate it and wish my dominatrix wife would let me out (in between fucking all those black men, of course), but the truth is I’ve grown to appreciate what it brings to my version of sexual satisfaction (read the post if you want to hear me go on and on about it).

So, what’s different this time? The most obvious thing is the PA. At first, I put the device on while wearing my little door knocker jewelry. The hoop stuck out though the slot at the end of the tube, too big to go in, and held my penis extended all the way to the end of the device. I found after about 20 minutes of this that the strain on the piercing hole was way too much to bear. I switched to a small ball on the end which just passes through the slot so my meat can expend and contract at will. MUCH better. It’ll occasionally pinch the skin on the head of my cock in an unbelievably painful way, but I don’t see that there’s anything to be done about that.

I’m not exactly sure how this is going to work with a captive bead or segment hoop, though. The various security devices one can buy are cables that slip through hoop jewelry as it extends through the slot. Maybe it’s that my hole isn’t entirely healed yet, but that sounds really uncomfortable at the moment. Plus, the location of my hole is such that the ball on that end of my barbell catches on the lip on the bottom of the tube’s “head”. It’s not painful, but it’s a mile from the slot. Besides the stretching issue I experience before, I’m not even sure a ring like that could fit in there. Of course, none of these concerns will keep me from finding out.

I’m very happy to say that I’ve graduated to the middle ring size (1.75 inches). Last time I tried this, the pain was unbearable. Now, for some reason, it’s just bearable. Very much like the first time I wore the 2 inch ring. I think I have a fairly small spacer on, too, so the overall security and size of the device has been enhanced. Granted, my balls are killing me, but it’s a good, productive kind of pain. I know they’re stretching and will eventually settle down. It’s surprising how much more intense the grip of the smaller ring is on what passes for my chastised erections. The difference between 1 7/8 inches and 1 3/4 is gigantic. However, that too seems to be gradually getting more bearable. I wonder if my tolerance for pain in increasing of if there’s an actual physiological change taking place?

So all this leads to me being an idiot in public this morning. I was shopping at Target and, after checking out, decided to hit the men’s room. I stupidly, yet with great confidence, walked up to the urinal and whipped out my hard, plastic buddy. There is a very big difference between peeing with a normal, unmolested penis in chastity and one that has a little steel ball blocking its urethra. Evidence of this could be found in the form of a warm, dark wet spot that spread several inches around my zipper and almost down to the knee of my right leg. Seriously, it looked like I totally pissed myself. Not more than 10% of the urine I produced could have possibly hit porcelain. Luckily, it was early yet. There was no one else in the restroom and the store was not crowded. Plus, I had my shopping bag which was just big enough to block the view of my stupity. It’s entirely possible that the piercing (or, at least the jewelry I’m wearing) has made peeing in lock-up while standing up once and for all a thing of the past.

Jan 5

3 Comments

Dominate me

This post is related to the task my Belle Fille gave me prior to leaving on her trip. I am to write on my blog specific things I want her to do to me. I’ve decided, since these posts are specifically to her and for her, that I’ll write them that way. Also, I’m breaking them up into related themes. I’ve covered orgasm denial, pain, and bondage so far. This time, domination.

–

Belle,

Of all the topics I’ve covered so far, this one is the hardest for me to express what I want. Hard because I’m still trying to get my head around exactly how dominated I want to be (or how far you’re willing to go). Hard also because some of the things I’m going to suggest below are embarrassing for me to say out loud, let along in public (even in this anonymous forum). Regardless, you told me I had to write these things down, so here they are.

  • Domestics. I’ve already discussed how domestic domination isn’t really my cup of tea. I’d make a terrible housemaid and, truth be told, being treated like one doesn’t do much for me. That being said, I think tying the prospect of sexual activity – especially activity that’s centered on my pleasure – to household tasks is fair game. Such as, accomplish everything on this list and maybe I’ll get tied up and flogged later. Or, you’ll ruin an orgasm for me later if I just let you sit there and enjoy your wine by the fire while I put the kids to bed. Or, if I fail to put my dirty clothes and shoes away properly just once you will deny me the right to give you an orgasm in any way for a week. That sort of thing.
  • Body service. Anything that lets me pleasure your body, even in non-sexual ways, is terrific. I love it when you let me wash your hair. I love the sensual aspect of massaging your scalp, neck and shoulders. I love how you’re right there, all naked and covered in sweet-smelling bubbles while I’m clothed and only able to grind against the side of the tub (assuming I’m not in chastity). You should make me rub your feet with lotion and give you whole-body massages more often. I know how much you like them. You can leave me clothed if you’re worried about me getting overly aroused (again, assuming I’m not in chastity). Also, we need to set up a regular schedule for maintaining your trim.
  • Subjugation. I often don’t act as though I’ve given you control over my sex. I get too pushy or come on too strong. I think it’s appropriate for me to let you know how horny I am or how badly I want to make you happy, but sometimes I cross the line. I’d like you to remind me more often what I need or want is secondary to what you want. The phrase you make me say is a good start. You could make it more effective by making me say it while you put my collar around my throat. Or, you could make me repeat it over and over while you pleasure or torture me. If I stop, you stop. Maybe I should say it each time you hit my ass with the brush. I also think you should make me bow my head or in some other way show my sexual subservience to you. Make me kneel at the bedside and/or suck your toes for an arbitrary length of time. Make me hold a submissive position for longer than is comfortable, perhaps while you pleasure yourself.
  • Humiliation. I know how much you love me and how much you enjoy what I do to you in bed, but a little humiliation wouldn’t be so bad now and then. Tell me when you feel I’m not giving you an optimal sexual experience. Harshly criticize my performance. Tell me perhaps I’m not up to it or that I don’t take my service to you seriously enough. If I don’t shape up, maybe I’ll lose access to your body for a week or stay locked and without orgasm for another month. Tell me how much bigger than me the dildo is and how much more intense the pleasure you get from Pink is. Feel free to exaggerate anything and use it against me. Or, figure out something I really don’t want to do, then make me do it. I like how it accentuates the imbalance of power and plays on my unfairness trigger.
  • Discomfort. When you want me to fuck you to orgasm, make me do so while also sucking on your nipples. If I can do it too easily, make me do it while my hands are tied behind my back or the chain between my cock ring and collar is a little too short. When I’m laying next to you paying attention to your nipples, stop putting a pillow under my head. Have no fear of telling me to hold positions that will make me uncomfortable. Straddle my mouth and tell me to lick your pussy. Grind into my face if it feels good to you. If I can’t breath, I’ll eventually let you know.
  • Collar me. Whenever we’re going to engage in a dom/sub session, collar me. However, don’t let me wear it otherwise. I should only associate it with being submissive to you.
  • Rat me out. Related to humiliation, I fantasize that you’ll one day tell someone we both know that you dominate me sexually. That you orgasm many, many times more often than me and that I’m not allowed to come without your permission (which is seldom given). That you make me wear a chastity device for weeks at a time and how eventually my frustration becomes so great that semen just leaks out of me due its excessive accumulation in my prostate. That you can make me do anything if I’ve been denied long enough. And that I love it and wouldn’t have it any other way.

As I’ve said to you before, I have hesitated to say these things so frankly to you for fear of being prescriptive. Yes, I fantasize of being dominated by you, but if you do it only because I want you to, then the fantasy falls apart. I’ve seen how the control you’ve demonstrated over my orgasms has turned you on. I know you enjoy seeing me frustrated and horny. I know that you enjoy the elevated level of attention I give you. I only hope you can see the same kind of potential for your pleasure that exists in what I’ve written above and will use it in a way you enjoy. Because if you don’t enjoy it, neither will I.

Yours in very way,
Thumper

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