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Posts tagged ‘kink’

Dec 20

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Objects are larger than they appear

Yes, we’re still alive over here.

Belle did let me out. I wanted it but at the same time didn’t. In any event, I took the key and removed the device and was free. That was as we went to bed, so I slept and woke several times due to the weird feeling of having a cock that could feel the sheets rub against it.

The next day, my pants felt empty. You get used to sporting a certain kind of package and when it’s gone, you notice. I was free all that day and again the next night. Even so, I didn’t feel the need to take advantage of the situation. There was no urge to. I was still out of touch with my own sex drive.

The next morning, Belle told me she had her period. She didn’t say it, but I knew that meant I should be locked up again. Back when I wasn’t essentially permanently locked, it was a rule that I had to be protected while she was having her period. That morning, before I put the device back on, I finally felt the desire to play with myself. It wasn’t that big of a deal. No toys or anything, but there was a moderate amount of stroking leading me up very, very close to the edge of orgasm. So close, that I found myself with at least a tablespoon of thick ejaculate in my hand. And how did I know that wasn’t an orgasm? Because I swallowed every bit of it. I ran it around in my mouth, so slick over my tongue, and felt it thick in my throat for an hour afterward. And I wanted more. A lot more. So no, I didn’t come. Then the device went back on and there it’s stayed. Belle has the key again and shows no interest in letting me have it back any time soon.

An interesting observation from my morning self-abuse, though. One of the things you’ll read on the web is that chastity devices make your dick smaller. I’ve always felt it was crap. And I still do, but I may know where the idea comes from. While I was stroking myself and feeling the cock get as long and as hard as it could get, it felt smaller to me than I remember it being. Now, I don’t have a big dick to begin with. It’s perfectly average in length and girth, but I could have sworn it had shrunk. I even got the tape measure out to make sure, but it was still exactly the same size as before (about 5.75″ long).

The thing is, as I said above, you get used to swinging a big steel tube between your legs. So much so that, when it’s gone, the contents feel much less imposing by comparison. It may not get longer when I’m excited, but the tube is always fat and stout. It’s easily twice as big around as the engorged cock and, while shorter, it carries a certain gravitas that mere meat cannot attain. Whatever memory I had of what my former cock felt like had been somewhat displaced by the steel tube.

And here’s the next bit of surprising info. When I was sure the cock had gotten smaller, I wasn’t all that concerned about it. As a guy, you’re conditioned to obsess over the size of your member. But, as the kind of guy I’ve become, it doesn’t really matter. The cock simply isn’t a regular player anymore. The only thing I worried about was that it may not be enough to satisfy Belle. But really, the idea that I was being made smaller and less…I don’t know…prominent seemed perfectly normal. To be expected. The cock isn’t that big of a deal anymore, so why shouldn’t it be minimized in every way? I’ve even started to like the idea that a lot of guys are bigger.

Of course, I’m glad it’s not getting smaller. I’m glad it’s exactly as it was before being encased almost all the time. But I’m clearly kinking on the idea of nullification. The idea that my penis should be made superfluous and of minimal importance, figuratively and literally. It’s an odd little cul-de-sac of my sexuality I didn’t expect to find myself in. And I wonder, all those guys who say they’ve lost size due to being in devices, if it’s not all in their heads. If it’s not a combination of wanting it to be that way and, because they’ve lost touch with themselves, thinking it actually is.

So, anyway, the turbulence I wrote about the other day hasn’t entirely left. I have lost touch with myself. With my independent sexuality. I know it must still be in there, but it’s way in the back somewhere. So, without that, I need Belle’s. I need to feel sexual through her. And when I don’t, it feels like something’s been amputated. Something really important. And its loss leaves me aching and depressed. I’m not entirely sure what will become of me. On the one hand, I’m committed to this existence. I’m quite convinced that I don’t need to ever have another orgasm. On the other hand, while I can live without the orgasms, I can’t live without being sexual. It’s more than the old saying that chastity isn’t abstinence. Of course it’s not. But I really feel that a transference is taking place. I have adopted her sexuality almost entirely in the place of mine. If this turns out to be the case and if it’s permanent, I don’t know what will happen. Right now, I can feel parts of me resisting it. But there are other parts of me that want to keep going.

The other night, I was dry humping her leg and, when I would usually say something like, “God, I want to fuck you,” I said, “God, I want to feel you come.” I guess that’s a perfectly natural thing for a guy with no cock and no ability to achieve independent arousal to say. What else is there now except her pleasure and, ultimately, her orgasm?

Nov 8

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Hotel

I apologize in advance for the extreme length of today’s missive. I didn’t intend for it to go on and on like this, but there was too much to say!

As I mentioned the other day, Belle and I had a kid-free few days this past weekend. We celebrated by spending Friday night at a luxe downtown hotel with an on-premises spa.

We checked in and decided to grab a light dinner downstairs before retiring for the night. I had brought along a number of toys and accoutrement, but wasn’t too sure what would happen. I was locked in the Steelheart and Belle had just come the night before, so if it were any other run of the mill Friday night, nothing would have happened. I braced myself for that eventuality and had an alternate checklist of activities if she happened to fall asleep or something. I didn’t wonder if she was going to let me out because it’s a given that my normal condition is to be exactly as I was.

Back in the room, she wanted to lay on the bed and talk which was great because I like talking to her. She allowed me to go naked since it’s the state I prefer to be in when it’s an option. So there I was, naked with a big shiny thing where the dick usually is, with her snuggled under the covers in her jammies. And we talked.

At some point – and I’ll tell you right now that most of this evening is something of a blur for me so what you’re reading is my best approximation of the events – she mentioned that she planned on letting me out that night. She had already told me I would be out for the massage the next day, but as I said, I didn’t expect to be released before morning. Once she said it I knew I really wanted out. You just don’t say no to these kinds of opportunities. I expect I was not unlike an excited puppy from the time she mentioned it to the moment she let me out.

Back on the bed, now totally naked, she made it clear that I wasn’t to touch the merchandise. It was at this point that I started to get the idea that something was going to happen, though I had no idea what. She had previously said I wouldn’t come until the end of the year, but there’s a ton of stuff you can do besides that with a hard cock if you’re imaginative enough.

“What did you bring?” she asked.

I told her: the flogger, the bondage straps, nipple clamps, my collar, handcuffs (but not the key) and Mr. Darcy with his harness.

“Not Pink?” she asked, meaning her favorite vibrator.

“No, I couldn’t find it. I assumed you brought it.” It hadn’t been in it’s normal positon in my nightstand (handy for when she wants it), nor was it in hers.

“I didn’t bring it,” she said. Come to think of it, we need to figure out where that went. Anyway…

“Get the clamps and your collar.” A thrill of excitement when through me. She hardly ever collars me. “And the cuffs.”

I brought the collar over to her side of the bed and kneeled and dropped my head so she could buckle it behind my neck. A low subbie thrum started inside me.

Back in bed next to her, I asked if she had ever wanted to try the nipple clamps.

“No, I don’t like pain.”

“How do you know until you try?” I asked, “Maybe you could try it just for a second on one nipple.”

She pulled her top down so her right breast was exposed and she placed the clamp gingerly onto her plump, succulent nipple.

“OWW!!!!” she said. So much for that idea.

She griped about it for another five minutes or so before attaching a clip to my left nipple. Then she strung the other through the ring on my collar and clipped it onto my right nipple. Then she pulled. And pulled and pulled. And the cock rose accordingly.

“You are so weird,” she said.

“I know,” I replied as the cock twitched and surged.

She snapped the handcuffs around my left wrist.

“You have the keys, right?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“You sure? Because this’ll be hard to explain during the massage tomorrow.”

She got up and got the keys to the handcuffs, showed them to me, and then placed them on her nightstand before closing the cuffs around my right wrist. They were tight, digging into me. Every movement caused them to bite harder.

Collared, clamped, and cuffed. I slipped a little deeper into my headspace. She teased me by running her fingers around the throbbing cock, over my balls (slapping them lightly) and back up to the chain connecting the clips. Pulling. I groaned. The cock flexed.

“Please touch it,” I begged.

“No.”

Whimper. Whine. I moved to kiss her, but she pulled her head away.

“Please let me kiss you. I want to kiss you.”

She moved her head back down, just close enough for my lips to graze hers, but not close enough for a real kiss.

“Please…”

She kissed me, full on the mouth, but just once and she didn’t linger, then she got up from the bed and started to rummage through my bag. She brought out the bondage stuff and strapped my ankles to each of the king-sized bed’s feet. I retained some movement, but couldn’t close my legs. Next, she started looking around the room as if she had misplaced something. She grabbed a cloth napkin from the bar and tied it over my eyes like a blindfold. I couldn’t see a thing. Then she made a little happy sound like she had discovered something she had lost. That was followed by a few metallic sounds. CLAMP CLAMP!

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Maybe I should go down to the bar and have a drink. Leave you like this to stew.”

Groan. I think she considered it. Really was thinking about it, but then I felt her get back into bed with me. She continued the teasing from before. My cock was desperate for real touching, preferably stroking, and I moved my hands down as if to oblige but she jerked them back over my head.

“No touching!”

They weren’t tied that way, but it was clear she wanted my hands up over my head or near my face.

“Please,” I begged again, “please touch it.”

“If I do, then what? What’s in it for me?”

“Anything. Anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, please, just touch it!“

“OK…”

I felt something cold and sharp on the hard shaft. It clamped down on either side of the cock and moved up and down, slowly.

“How does that feel?”

“Ungh! It hurts!”

“Hurts bad or hurts good?”

“Both!” I writhed.

I could feel the metal bite the smooth, silky skin of the shaft but also feel the internal stimulation of being stroked. I needed this so bad. Craved it. Two months since I last came, and she was jacking me off with some kind of sharp, painful metal device.

“Do you want me to stop?”

I paused. It hurt. But it also felt good. Really good.

“No.” I said quietly, then moved my hips closed to her, arching my back so she could get a better angle on the meat. What felt like sharp little teeth were biting into the stiff shaft and it hurt, but I couldn’t imagine it stopping. I was getting more than enough jacking off stimulation to hold my attention.

Occasionally, she stop the stroking and I’d feel her use whatever it was on my nuts. She’d clamp the sharp teeth round one of my nuts and squeeze. Then the other. Then back to the shaft. I could actually feel the rumblings of an orgasm, even against the pain of the metal.

“Oh, fuck!”

“Yes? Want me to stop now?”

“Oh FUCK, no. Don’t stop. Please.”

“Does it hurt?”

“YES! But I like it. I want you to jack me off.”

“You. Are. So weird.”

“I know,” I said softly, moving closer to her.

“And I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

More stroking. More biting. More feeling the need to come, though I realized it was never going to get there with the level of stimulation I was getting from whatever it was she was stroking me with.

“What is that thing?”

She pulled the blind from my eyes and held the ice tongs in front of my face, snapping their little teeth together.

“Jesus Christ!”

She moved it back down to the cock and grabbed it with the little teeth.

“I thought you liked it,” she said.

“Ungh,” I replied as she stroked me some more.

She put the tongs aside and pulled off her shirt. I tried to kiss them, get my mouth on her nipples. She pushed me away.

“Not yet.”

Then she started to flog the cock and my balls. Gently, but then with some force. Not enough to damage me, but enough to get my attention. She’d slowly drag the suede lashes over the straining and, now thanks to the ice tongs, stinging meat. Then flick them across the shaft. Then the balls. Then dragging them again, seductively. Lovingly. Again and again.

“Please, will you fuck me?”

“No.”

Whine.

“Not yet, anyway.”

More flogging. More pulling on the clamps which had, by this time been on me for much longer than usual.

“I really should just leave you like this all night long. Tied up, nipples clamped.” I whined again.

“Please. Please fuck me. I don’t need to come. I just want to feel you. It’s been so long. Two months.”

“I know,” she said cooly, “That’s a long time, isn’t it?”

“Please…” was all I could muster. I wanted it so bad. Was so horny. She had played me perfectly all night, leaving me right on the edge of where pain turns to pleasure, but not going too far. I needed to feel something soft and hot and wet on her cock. I wanted her.

She took the cock in her hand. I moaned deeply. This wasn’t her pussy, it was pretty good.

“It stings.”

“Really?” and she stroked me harder.

The cock stiffened. I could feel my balls drawing up. I was getting close…

Then she stopped, leaving me bobbing in the air.

“Oh God!”

She waited, perhaps counting the beat of my heart by the bounce of the cock in midair. Then she grabbed it again and resumed the stroking.

“You want me to fuck you?” she asked.

“Oh, Jesus, yes! Please fuck me!”

“And…what’s in it for me?”

“Anything. Anything you want.” And I meant it.

She made herself completely naked and climbed on top of me. She straddled my hips and moved the abused, desperate cock in position against her pussy’s lips. Then she plunged down onto it. I lost my breath, unable to breath. It felt so good. So amazing. Hot. Everything I needed it to be.

Her breasts were in my face and I tried to get her nipples in my mouth, but her motion as she fucked her cock made them hard targets.

“That’s a good boy,” she said, “Good Thumper. You know what you’re supposed to do…”

But it was too hard. I couldn’t keep hold of them. Eventually, she moved off and I slipped out with a wet smack against my stomach. She removed the clips from my nipples and twin lasers of intense pain seared into me. Unmoved, she pulled them out of my collar and tossed them aside. She picked the keys to the cuffs up off the nightstand but didn’t have a good handle on them and they fell into the hot wax of the candle.

“Fuck!” she said. Then she got the tongs and used them to fish the keys out.

Clamps and cuffs off, she put her hand over the cock again.

“Oh good, you’re still ready,” but she stroked it a few times for good measure before mounting me again.

She fucked me slowly as I sucked her tits. Her eyes closed, she was enjoying it at least as well as I was. After the initial shock, I settled in to as useful a position as possible. She may have given me what I was begging for, but now it was for her.

Best intentions aside, I said, “I’m getting close.” She slowed down. I could see her working it out in her head. Would I come or not? It had “only” been two months. After a smal rest, she’d pick up her rhythm again. I’d focus on a place far, far away, but it was so hard. The two months and the stroking, both with her hand and the ice tongs, conspired against me.

“I’m close,” I said again. What would happen? Would she roll off of me? Make me finish her in the normal way?

“Go ahead,” she said, and started to fuck me faster.

“Really?”

“Yes. Fuck me.”

And I did. I fucked her as hard and as fast as I could. Moments later, I felt it. From somewhere deep, deep inside the orgasm started to build and grow and rush forward before exploding out of me and into her. Three, four, five giant loads of semen surged out of me. I cried out at the intensity. The entire world had gone away and all there was was this feeling. My orgasm.

It finally subsided and I was left a gibbering, gooey mess. She rolled off of me and I felt two months of pent up desire ebb from my pores. Fuck, that was awesome. Even as the cock was laying against me, fat and happy, it continued to ooze its payload. Now, of course, I was repulsed by it. The slippery, foul smelling paste. While she attended to herself, I got some tissues and wiped as much of it as I could from my skin.

She got back into bed and I cleaved onto her.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Awesome. Thank you so much for that. It was so great.”

“I haven’t come yet.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.”

I started in again on her nipples and fingering her pussy. It was super slick with my ejaculate and felt wider than usual. Well-fucked. She seemed to enjoy what I was doing, but it didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

“I want you to eat me out.”

Oh, fuck. I cringed. I whimpered again. “Really?”

“What’s wrong? I thought you liked that.”

“I do, but…” I just came in there!

“Well, you should have brought Pink. Come on, cowboy, get to it,” she said as she spread her legs wide. “You said I could have anything.”

Busted. I was groaning the whole way down. I could smell it. I had already felt it. I knew it was in there still. There had been so much.

I closed my eyes figuring it’d be easier if I couldn’t see anything. Don’t get me wrong, I love pussy, but I’ve never found it to be the most appealing thing immediately after an orgasm. Regardless, I figured the band-aid approach was best. Just get it over with.

My tongue stared to lap at her clit. That would be the area of least contamination, I thought, but she liked how it felt and started to move her pussy around, guiding my licking.

“That’s a good boy,” she purred. I licked. Oh, god. I licked and lapped and reached up to her nipples, hoping she’d come so I could stop.

“Can you taste yourself?” she asked.

I grunted noncommittally. Of course I could. Fucking hell.

When she finally came, she pushed my face into her and my tongue deeper into her pussy. She clamped her legs around my head. There was no getting away. Her orgasm spasmed across my tongue and she squeezed more of my seed into my mouth on onto my face.

When she unclamped, I moved out as quickly as possible, wiping my face with my hands.

“Good job, Thumper.”

Next morning, before we went to get our 80 minute deep tissue massages (can you imagine?), she allowed me to jack off one more time and finish with an orgasm. She was in the bathroom getting ready and would occasionally look in my direction, a look of bemusement on her face.

“What?! You said I could!”

“I know…”

I tried to draw it out as long as possible. To savor the rare moment of self gratification. I came again and, just like before, it was copious. Great globs of it oozed out of me. The orgasm was half as intense as the night before, but even then, was ten times better than I used to have when they were mine.

Later, after the rubbing and the fragrant oil and the fruit juice, as we were leaving the spa, she asked if I was relaxed.

“Oh yes,” I replied, “In more ways than one.”

–

In thinking about this after the fact, I can easily say that night in the nice hotel when Belle Fille abused me and then fucked me and then made me eat my own seed from her was one of the top five sexual experiences of my life. I’m so, so lucky to be married to such a wonderful and caring woman.

Thank you, Belle Fille. Thank you for everything.

Oct 25

9 Comments

Stacks

Maymay has this blog post that’s been sticking with me recently called “How not to fuck up a D/s relationship.” In it, he correctly points out that successful relationships are not a monolithic mass but are actually made up of multiple layers (like onions or, perhaps, parfaits), each building upon the last.

Expounds brother Maymay:

There’s this concept of layers, or more technically a stack, that is fundamental to the construction of many things in our world today. The basic idea is that one layer builds upon the things it receives from the layer beneath it and provides things to build upon to the layer above it. In this way, a robust and reliable system can be developed—and maintained—by segmenting different pieces of the system.

I think that a D/s relationship could benefit from a construction similar to this. It’s the way I think about my relationship with Eileen. I am at once her friend, her lover, her boyfriend, and her slave. Indeed, I am her slave because I am her boyfriend, and I am her boyfriend because I am her lover, and I am her lover because I am her friend.

I was reminded of this because, for the past two weeks or so, there’s been a kind of dissonance between Belle and I that’s taken the wind out of the sail for the sexual part of our relationship. The cause of the issue stems from a commitment Belle made to me a few years ago totally disconnected from anything this blog usually covers so the specifics are not important, but I’ve been noticing that she hasn’t been living up to it. For whatever reason, I find it hard to discuss this particular issue with her so I let it stew until it became a real impediment to everything else.

I finally asked her what the deal was. Why had she not done what she said she would? Her answer was, “I guess I just got lazy,” which is funny because the first thing I said in response was, “I don’t get the option of being lazy in my commitment” meaning, of course, that the device doesn’t allow it.

This is where it gets kind of squishy. I do think of her commitment as being more important (i.e., a lower stack, in Maymay’s parlance) than my commitment to chastity, but I think in Belle’s mind my chastity has stopped being just a game we play. It’s been elevated over time to be a fairly significant commitment I’ve made to her. A sign of my devotion. A permanent part of our relationship. And for some reason, I played right into that by equating my chastity to her commitment. So, I guess, what this boiled down to was a conversation about our commitments to each other and how we need to keep them. And a tacit implication that I will probably be chastised for the rest of my life.

So anyway, after Belle said she’d change her behavior back to match my expectations, I felt like a valve had been opened inside me. Within hours, I found my entire perspective about the device and our exchange of power had flipped. Before, I had developed a kind of begrudged resignation toward the device and had more or less lost my interest in being sexual with or even touching Belle. Last night, though, I was all over her and fell asleep clutching her body, my hands up under bedclothes. Her hand was down around the device and she stroked my balls as she fell asleep and I just about melted. On the way into work this morning, I sensed the tube on my body and the stirring of the cock inside and a warm, excited fluttering was in my chest. Once the issue with the lower stack was resolved, the issue with the higher one was, too.

All this is a long way of demonstrating that every time Tom says $200 worth if plastic locked on your junk won’t fix your relationship is totally and obviously correct. Also, chastity has stopped being a kink for us. I don’t think of it that way anymore at all. It’s how we are, not what we do.

Aug 13

11 Comments

The one without a title

I asked Belle last night if she only keeps me locked up because she thinks I want it. For instance, if I said I really didn’t care one way or the other about the chastity thing, would she still keep me in the device? Or what if I said I’d really rather not be in the device, but was leaving up to her if we’d still use it, would she leave me in?

Yes, she would leave me in. She likes me in it and has no intention, apparently, of it not being an integral part of our relationship. That made me feel good, not just because I also like it, but because the suggestion here recently that I’m inadvertently (or not) dominating her through my kinks has been bothering me.

To recap, I seem to have three main kinks:

  1. Masochism
  2. Bondage
  3. Sexual submissiveness

Belle, it should be noted, does not have the opposite of any of these. She’s not a sadist and she’s not interested in being anyone’s domme. I’m quite sure none of these things were ever on her radar prior to my bringing them up.

Note that “enforced male chastity” is not on my list of kinks. I left it off because I think it’s an expression, to one degree or another, of the other three. I don’t think of it as a kink in an of itself. When Belle places me in chastity, there’s a moderate amount of both physical and mental suffering which feeds my masochism. I’m denied access to parts of my body which feeds my desire for bondage. Finally, control over my orgasm (or even my ability to self-gratify) fits neatly into my submissive tendencies.

So, you can imagine how happy I am to hear that she’s also really into keeping me locked up because it’s where my kinks intersect with her interests. It’s our unexpected common ground and she’s there because she wants to be. In fact, I probably couldn’t talk her out of being there if I wanted to (short of opting out entirely from the arrangement, something she knows I don’t want to do).

Of course, I still really want to be tied up and bound on occasion, I’m still pretty much a pain slut, and I love to feel like she’s in total control of our sexual relationship. Any desires I have beyond the chastity to indulge these passions fall outside her normal operating zone. Going there for her is sometimes uncomfortable and threatening.

I admit there is within me a conflict when it comes to asking for special attention to my kinks when I’m supposed to be the sub. Subs aren’t supposed to ask for things. They’re only supposed to gratefully accept what their dominant partner gives them. But what about when their partner isn’t dominant? It’s because of this internal struggle that any charge that I’m topping from below causes me to immediately assume a defensive position. I do the very best I can never to do this. In fact, not wanting to be too prescriptive is what caused me to suggest to her to reach out to the readers here for advice.

Asking her to follow me into the darker recesses of my sexuality has caused me a great deal of guilt and embarrassment. If you don’t understand that, then you’re probably one of those people who embraced your kinks from a young age and have never had to reveal them to an otherwise vanilla partner. Good for you. However, that’s not me. I thought I was more or less over those feelings, but I have to admit that I’ve been feeling them again lately. “Topping from below” to me means “asking them to do something they don’t want to do” which, in turn, immediately throws my weirdness into sharp relief. Hence the guilt, shame, etc.

No, I do not think I’m weird. I know now that everyone is weird, to one degree or another. I’m not even sure the word “kink” means anything anymore. But our societal conditioning runs deep. And I know Belle. And I feel bad asking her to indulge me. And I feel worse when she tries and fails. And I feel even worse when it’s suggested I’m being unfair to her.

I have no idea where I’m going with this. I should probably just stop. The fact remains that our relationship is strong and we continue to learn and evolve together. I can’t ask for much more than that.

Jul 8

9 Comments

Push me, please

The other day Belle said she wasn’t sure what I meant when I said I wanted to be pushed. As in:

First and more importantly, I want to be pushed. Pushed in every regard. I want her to hurt me a little more than I can stand. I want to be denied past the point at which I beg for release. I want her to set high expectations with regard to my service. If there is a knob somewhere that turns to ten, she should set it to eleven. I want to do all these things because that’s what this particular submissive wants more than anything: To show his dominant partner that he can go farther than he thinks he can for her. And then, once I achieve that goal, I want to be pushed past it again. In everything. Always. Make me prove how badly I want this. Because while I may not enjoy the moment of any particular act, it will, in retrospect, fill me with warmth and happiness.

I tried to explain that there’s a desire within me to go far beyond my comfort zone if for no other reason than she’s asked me to do so. I pointed her to Maymay’s post related to this (is there anything he’s not written about?) and also sent her a couple of Sarah Jameson’s emails that, I think, touch indirectly on it.

Sarah Jameson, for those who don’t know, writes the Male Chastity Blog. She’s a “normal” woman, not unlike Belle, with a husband who likes abnormal things, not unlike me. She writes with confidence and, while I don’t always agree with her, find that she’s right far more often that not (at least IMO). Besides the blog, she also sends out a multi-part email newsletter on the subject of…wait for it…male chastity. Why an email, I can’t tell. If it were me I’d put it all on my blog and not make people wait for it all, but whatever. I recommend it, especially for those just starting out.

So anyway, in part 11 of her series, she asks, “Just how long can a man wait?” Her initial response sends an electric shiver down my spine:

Well, the truth is… your man doesn’t have to orgasm ever. As in NEVER.

But then she give what I think is the best advice I’ve read on the subject:

Over time I’ve come round to the way of thinking that you should keep your man in orgasm denial for at least 50% longer than he asks for and thinks he can stand.

Why?

Because in the early days, while you’re still working out the ground rules, he’ll be basing his own estimation on insufficient knowledge. To HIM, fresh into male chastity, even a week seems like an eternity.

So if he thinks a month, make it six weeks; if he thinks six months, make it nine months; and if he thinks a year… woe betide him.

This is nothing to do with domination – this is to do with playing the game he’s asked to play and keeping HIM within the rules.

I don’t agree, however, that is doesn’t have anything to do with domination. I think it does, at least for me, because it certainly has something to do with submission. My submission has no value if it entails only that which I am willing to do on my own. It only gains value, to me, when it crosses out of my fantasy bubble and starts to make me squirm. It would become zen-like to be taken far out of my zone – to be made to truly suffer – for the benefit of my top. Often, I feel as though Belle humors me and, as soon as I seem to become uncomfortable or inconvenienced or whatever, she’ll pull back. But that’s just when it’s getting good!

Her next message, conveniently enough, covers “what to do when he claims he can’t take it anymore.” This, I thought, was particularly insightful:

He WANTS to orgasm as a fleeting thing; but he CRAVES denial long-term. It’s how it works with most men. And when they’re begging with their blue-balls, they really do mean it.

But if you don’t give in, he’ll thank you, I promise. Don’t feel sorry for him – he’s getting what he wants, and that’s more than most people in the world ever get.

Belle specifically asked me to explain this bit of ironic drama the other day and I couldn’t. Sarah doesn’t explain it, really, but she perfectly captures it. In the moment, there are times when I want the orgasm badly. Palpably. Like, life and death. But, what I want even more is for Belle to deny it to me, especially if I really, really, REALLY want it. See point number one above.

The next bit is also terrific advice:

I know from John [her husband] that feeling of wanting to come all the time is amazing for [men]. Yes, when you’re making love at that point it can get a bit uncomfortable, but it soon passes. Rather than feeling sorry for him, try empathy: share his feeling without taking responsibility for it or for making it better.

Yes, yes, yes. “Oh, poor baby, I know it’s hard…” Not guilt, not confusion, not sympathy. More like, “Look, fucker, you asked for this so you’re going to get it and, while I can empathize with your situation, there’s not a damn thing I’m going to do about it other than pour honey on your agony.” But, you know, nicer than that.

Or not, because, in fact, that would be a fucking hot way to put it…

Of course, I’m talking about more than just orgasm denial. I’d like her to require me to wear the device past the point I beg for it to be taken off. I want to provide any and all service to her (house, body, whatever she asks) past the point of comfort or convenience. I don’t want her to be a bitch or some über domme, just to set for me very high goals and expectations. To understand that when I’m in a place where most people would be unhappy (and even if, in that moment, I am unhappy), that I’m actually where I need to be.

I know this is hard for Belle to wrap her head around. It’s all very weird and alien and a million miles from how she’s wired to interact with the world (and her husband). I can’t expect her to understand why I am the way I am. I don’t understand that myself. But if she can figure out what all the buttons and levers do – how to leverage my kinks – I think we can use them in a way that will make both of us more satisfied.

Jun 21

20 Comments

A reader’s questions

A reader sent me an email chock full o’ questions and, since I can’t get motivated to write about anything else, I thought I’d reply to them here…

Have followed your postings for some time and really enjoy them.

Thanks. I enjoyed many of them myself.

Does Belle control your appearance and grooming…hair, body hair, nails etc.?  Does she ever groom you or tell you how she wants it done?  How are they kept?

Not any more than any other wife. She likes me to look a certain way, but it’s not always the way I want to look and also not always appropriate for work (don’t get carried away – she like me on the scruffy side, is all). I probably would modify my appearance for her if she asked me to.

Ever get into bondage or cock and ball torture?  How have you been tied or what have you had done to cock and balls?

If you’ve followed me for some time, you’ll know I’m very into CBT and bondage. I’m not always in the mood, but when I am (or when Belle pulls me into it), I like it a lot.

As far as what’s been done, Belle’s punched me in the nuts, applied Icy Hot to them, pinched and squeezed them, affixed clothespins in and around the area, and (while tied up) rested a bag of ice on the entire package. I have a fantasy of her really kicking or kneeing them, but have thus far not pushed it because I’m not sure where the line is. I have grown to really appreciate testicle pain (again, while in the right mood), but am afraid of actually damaging them.

Now that I think of it, I recall that, prior to being with Belle, my masturbatory habits included wrapping a light chain (dog leash) around my cock and balls in order to cause constriction. In what was probably a strong foreshadowing of my future kinks, I liked the sensation of binding and squeezing. At some point, I lost the chain and used other various objects such as boot laces.

Ever get tied, tortured or used by another guy?  Interested in that?

No, I haven’t. Interested? Well, sure, in the same way I’m interested in any guy at this point. I’m not going to be acting on my interests since the rules of my relationship don’t allow it, but I think the dynamic differences in being topped by a guy versus a woman would be fantastic to experience. Guys have the ability to penetrate in a way that’s very obviously dominating.

Do you find yourself more bi as you are in chastity without cuming longer?

I am not any more or less queer when in chastity, but I am metric tonnes more horny. I feel as though I’m a perfect Kinsey 3 in that I’m usually equally attracted to women  and men. My level of frustration doesn’t change the direction of my attractions, though it can make them much more intense.

Ever made to service other guys or women?

I’m up to anything, but Belle’s not interested in sharing, as far as I know.

Sure these seem like random questions…I appreciate your answering them.

No problem.

I’d like to learn more about you.

Obviously!

Chastity is a huge turn on to me.

Me, too.

May 15

4 Comments

2 months, 3 weeks, 5 days

That’s as far as I got. Two months, three weeks, and five days.

The end began with me getting Belle off. She was on her period and I was locked, so it was your regular nipple sucking, clit fingering affair, except when it was over, my motor got stuck revving at about 5,000 RPM. Belle had been slapping my nuts around a bit and, if I remember correctly, had placed little chrome clips on my nipples. I was rubbing and pulling and stroking the hard metal tube, grinding my butt into the sheets, and generally tripping out on my own desperation.

“Oh, god, I want to come,” I moaned, almost against my will.

She reminded me my time wasn’t up yet. I said it again. She repeated herself. I did, too.

Finally, she said, “I wouldn’t be opposed to it, but I don’t want to read your whining on the blog about it later and feeling all sorry for yourself.”

I pondered. On the one hand, I liked begging only to be refused. That’s how I had started, not actually expecting to be allowed out. I enjoy it when she makes me suffer. But, as I laid there, I found I really and truly wanted to come. I needed to.  Two months, three weeks, and five days was a really long time. I wanted to go to 100 days, and I was almost there, but the reptilian maleness had taken notice of the chance it was being presented with and pushed me onward. The rational side of my brain, also desperately horny and wanting very badly to come, said that the 100 day thing was never Belle’s idea in the first place. I had come up with it. If she was OK with me coming now, and I declined, then who, exactly, was denying who? I almost had to come in order to preserve the order of things. Yeah, that’s it.

So anyway, I took her up on it. She got the key and I removed the metal and immediately started stroking while she looked on. Right from the start, it didn’t feel at all like the last time she let me beat the meat. This time, I knew, was going to be productive. There would be gobs of sticky white stuff all over me when I was done, not a rapid release so I could retreat from the edge of bliss. I felt the cock swell and the internal gears lock into place. In maybe just a minute, I could feel the point of no return rushing towards me, then fly past me. I started to come.

It was very intense. So intense, I can’t remember how many slugs I shot, but it was many. I felt a prickly wave run from my scalp down the back of neck and into my shoulders. I wanted the surging hot goo to never stop coming out of me. Never. I just. Wanted. To come. And come and come and feel that crescendo of orgasm last forever.

But, of course, it didn’t. In fact, just as suddenly as it started, I felt myself slip off the peak. I was still milking the meat, squeezing every last drop out, but the shores of Climax Island pulled away from me at sonic speeds. And, while not remorseful at all, I was disappointed. I felt almost immediately a sense of loss. Like I had been swindled into a transaction that I realized was a con the second my money left my hands.

This is beyond kink now. I do like the tease, the torture, the bondage of the device, and all that very much. But now that I live without them, I find the actual orgasm to be rather empty. The anticipation, the craving, the heightened sexual existence that comes from their nearly total absence is more rewarding, many times more, than the squirt it all revolves around. I feel so much when I’ve been denied – so much more alive – that the post orgasmic period feels nearly vacant of any feeling. The edge is all gone. The texture of my everyday horned up, locked up life is obliterated by the explosion of ejaculation. There’s no way the actual event of orgasm could ever live up to it.

In fact, I felt very little for several days afterward. Belle would ask how I was doing and I gave her noncommittal kind of grunts because, in fact, I felt very noncommittal. Neither good nor bad, hot nor cold, up nor down. I just was. Again, I wasn’t at all remorseful. Just kinda empty.

My feeling about it now is that infrequent ejaculation is necessary. Like an oil change or something. I need the occasional squirt to reset the levels and the vague emptiness it leaves me with is just a part of the cycle. I do know that, as I am once again starting to regain my sexual desire, I no longer like the feeling of what I once called sexual satisfaction. Living in a state of always wanting more is far better.

–

The other night, I was in bed with Belle, naked as she told me I could be and feeling the first inkling of sexual desire return. In the distant past, this feeling would have sent me into the bathroom to quickly and quietly rub one out over the sink, but that not being an option anymore, I was grabbing Belle. She had left me unlocked since the end of the two months, three weeks, and five days, so anything was possible. I made my move and was typically guy-like in my bluntness.

“I like you better when you’re locked up,” she said in exasperation. Just like that. I like you better when you’re locked up.

Almost immediately, she started to back away from the comment, hemming and hawing as if she had said too much. As if it would bother me to hear it. Finally, she corrected herself and said, “I like us better when you’re locked up.”

That might be true, but my actions would not have caused her to express that particular sentiment. She meant what she said originally: She likes it better when I’m sexually compliant. When the device she locks onto my body leaves me far less aggressive. When my frustration has no where to go and, in desperation, I seek only her climax as a surrogate for my own release.

And, of course, I was immediately very hard and way more turned on than I had been before her true feelings slipped out. I wish she’d own these feelings more and not be worried about my reaction to them. Hell, that’s exactly how I hope she feels. Hearing her say it – that she liked me better when I was under her control and unable to express myself sexually in any way other than in service to her – filled me with excitement, and not all of it sexual. I know that I occasionally push her up to her position of dominance (like so many other men in my situation) and that it hasn’t always come naturally to her or been something she’s comfortable with. But here she was, really feeling it. She hadn’t thought at all about what she was saying before she said it. It was awesomely honest and in no way contrived to elicit a certain response from me.

–

As I’ve been writing this, Belle asked me what I was doing. I told her and then I read to her the first 800 words or so. I’ve never read out loud to her what I write here and doing so was equal parts embarrassing, exhilarating, and revealing. I hope she asks me to do it again sometime.

In any event, I’m hoping to get the dick wet tonight. It’s been a really long time since she fucked me and I’m thinking a lot about how it’ll feel. She’s told me I’m going back into the device tomorrow, though she hasn’t said for how long. Nor has she said how long it’ll be before I come again. Perhaps she’ll let me tonight. I wouldn’t fight her on it. Even though I want to live without them, I feel the need for one. I want to feel it again. Just as much as I want to keep on feeling the need. She could start me on another period of extended denial and I’d like that, too.

Either way, I’m good.

Feb 1

7 Comments

All in one night

Based on a true story. ;)

“Get naked and give me the clamps,” she said. Then, after a moment, “And the floggie croppie thing, too.”

I did as she said, then climbed back into bed.

“Lay on your back.” I did. She attached a butterfly clamp to my right nipple, then the left. She tugged on the chain connecting them to test their grip. Twin lasers of sharp pain lit up in my brain.

“Roll over. Get up on your knees.” I did. She found my balls with the wide end of the crop. I could feel the hard, smooth leather cold against my scrotum. She held it there for a moment in an almost soothing way. Then she started to hit me. Lightly at first, then harder. Then harder. I took as much as I could, my ass rising into the air a little bit with each whack, before pulling my right leg off the bed and away from the blows. She yanked down on the chain attached to my nipples and pulled until my face was against the sheets.

This cycle repeated several times. Between attacks on my testicles, she’d pull and twist the chain, searing the soft pink flesh with the bite of the clamps. The blows to my balls didn’t make the kind of deep internal pain one usually associates with the most vulnerable part of a man’s body. It was more like surface slapping, but uncomfortable just the same. Difficult to take.

Finally, she took the shaft of the crop and shoved it roughly into my mouth, holding it there like the bit on a horse’s bridle. She pushed my head back and away from her while simultaneously pulling the chain closer. My back bent sharply as I tried to lessen the agony on my nipples, but it wasn’t enough. First the right clamp, then the left ripped off. I cried out as she removed the crop from my mouth, collapsing on the bed, whimpering. Nipples throbbing, balls stinging.

–

“Now you’re going to take care of me.”

“How?” I asked quietly. “How do you want me to take care of you?”

“In the usual manner,” meaning with my long fingers and soft lips, “but have Pink ready just in case you’re not enough.”

I took the little pink vibrator from my dresser drawer and placed it under me to get warm, just in case. Then I ran my hand across her body, stopping on the mound of her pubis. I could feel the cleft of her pussy lips, hot beneath the fabric of her bedclothes. I exposed her breast and started to lick her nipple.

She moaned. “Mmmmm, that’s good, Thumper. My tits were hot for you. They missed you so much.”

I licked and sucked one while fingering the other. Her moaning deepened while her hips gyrated beneath the sheets. My free hand wandered down and slipped under her draw string. My finger found her snatch, soft and radiating heat.

She moaned again. “Of, fuck. God, Thumper, my pussy missed you, too. It’s so hot and wet. Hot and wet for you, Thumper. Does that make you hard? Hard in your steel tube? Knowing how badly my pussy wants you? Knowing you can’t have it?”

This time, I moaned. I felt the relentless steel bite into the base of my swelling erection.

“I want you to eat me. Now.”

I moved over her, stopping to lick her opposite nipple. Her hips rose up and she ground her crotch into the steel trap on my manhood. Her trap and her manhood. I dropped down and placed my mouth against her pussy, lapping it like a hungry animal. My hands reached up and played with her nipples.

“Get pink,” she gasped, “Put it in me. All the way in.”

I turned the little vibe on and fumbled trying to get it in her. In the dim candlelight, I couldn’t find the right spot fast enough for her. She grabbed it out of my hand and slid it deep into her pussy right before my eyes.

“Like that,” she admonished, “Now leave it there.”

I went back to licking her clit, my chin bumping up against the end of the humming vibrator nearly disappeared inside her. As her pleasure increased, she started to whisper, “oh, fuck” again and again. Faster and louder as my tongue worked rapidly and my steel-clad erection pressed hard into the bed. She started to say something, but clamped her legs onto my head, shutting off my ability to hear her.

She reached down and grabbed twin handfuls of my hair, pulling my face into her pussy, bucking her hips up to meet me, tension and energy building throughout her body. Then, she stopped…holding it. Holding. At the top of the crest, her orgasm coursing through her, my tongue stationary and pressed against her in the way she’s taught me. Then, release. Her legs relaxed and she let go of my hair. I removed the vibe and pressed its little button, turning it off. Everything was silent as she basked, glowing.

–

“Get on your back,” she told me again. I did. I could still taste and smell her. My nose, mouth, and chin were all wet and redolent. She was moving next to me and then was doing something with the device. I realized she had the key and was looking for the lock.

I’m wasn’t sure what this meant since she told me just that morning that I wasn’t going to come for another 27 days, but there she was, apparently trying to unlock me right after her orgasm. In the 12 years we’ve been married, I can count on one hand the number of times she’s come twice in one evening. I couldn’t imagine why she was doing this.

“Um, what are you doing?” I ask.

“What does it look like I”m doing,” she said, still struggling to get the long key into the brass locking mechanism.

“Don’t break it in there.”

“I have a spare.”

“Yeah, but if you break the key off in the lock, I’ll never get out of it again.” Besides, I think, I have to fly on Wednesday. How will I ever get through the metal detector with this thing forever locked onto me? Then it occurred to me that she may be unlocking me early as some sort of reward. Oh!

“Can I do that for you?”

She handed me the key and I quickly removed the lock, handing it and the key back to her. I pulled off the tube, the metal rod that secures it to my piercing, and the ring. She immediately started playing with the freed cock which, unfortunately, was still flaccidly stunned to be suddenly out in the open air. After a few moments of rhythmic attention, it began to lengthen.

Then, fully hard, she stopped to climb up onto me. She lined the cock up with her swollen, slippery pussy and it slid in easily. She said nothing so I had no idea what was expected of me, but I knew better than to think this was for my benefit. I tried to put my mind as far away as possible from the sensation of her sliding up and down on the stiff shaft.

She was plainly enjoying herself and, except that I was servicing her breasts while she was fucking me, didn’t seem to care much for what I was doing. I tried to hold still and not reciprocate so as to help minimize the sensations I was feeling and was pleasantly surprised at how well I was holding off. As she got closer to her second orgasm of the evening, she started to get vocal and this time I didn’t have her legs to help muffle the sound.

Hearing her so vociferously get her rocks off on me brought my own orgasm into being. Just like that I was grunting and exploded inside her – zero to 60 in one second.

As soon as she felt me start to come, she cried out, “FUCK ME!” and boy did I. A millisecond later, she came all over again.

–

She got back into bed and found me totally unmoved from the position she left me a few minutes before. She propped her head up on her elbow and said, “I don’t want you to feel guilty about that one.”

“I don’t,” I said, and I didn’t. Not remotely. “It’s not like I had any choice.”

She laughed. “I love it when we come like that. At the same time. That was something special. Totally worth it.”

“I agree. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said while handing me the key and lock, “Now go put that thing back on.”

Jan 30

4 Comments

Questions from a reader III

Part one and two.

I have to admit, that last asnwer kinda knocked the wind out of me. There was a lot of stuff in there that I hadn’t dragged out in a while…

Here’s the next one:

Do you think that your infidelity in any way still informs the relationship between you and Belle Fille?  I know it’s simplistic to say it, but it is tempting to note that your cock got you into a heck of a lot of trouble and nearly cost you your marriage.  By handing over control of it to Belle Fille and denying yourself orgasms, you achieve 2 things: (a) you ensure that it can’t happen again, and (b) you could be seen as punishing yourself, or atoning, for your transgression.  I don’t think that’s why you have chosen this dynamic, but it does achieve both those things.  The main reason that I ask if your infidelity might still be present in some form is because of an entry in which Belle Fille came home after a night out and a few drinks and, at your request, repeatedly punched you in the balls.  Now I know you wanted it, but I don’t think I could bring myself to do that to someone I loved, even if they wanted me to.  Or not unless I was really, really ANGRY at them.   It’s the ultimate response to a cheating husband – to really hit him where it hurts.  I know you love her for doing it, and that she is getting in more and more touch with her inner domme,  but is there any anger or resentment present in her enjoyment of your submission?

I understand how on the surface my chastity and denial might be seen as a result of the affair (and, were I in a hawt chastity porn story, not only would that be the case, but the device would be somehow magically and permanently attached to me while she enjoyed a succession of lovers with ever-larger cocks), but in reality, experimenting with chastity was my idea, not hers. I have reflected on the apparent irony of the former cheater being denied access to the weapon used in the crime, but I am totally unaware of any connection in my mind in wanted to be locked up and what I did. They’re two separate things divided by personal revelations and events and aren’t connected.

You’re correct that, by keeping the cock locked up, it is ensured that I’ll never put somewhere it doesn’t belong again, and it’s also true that the last time I saw TOW, Belle had me locked up. Belle will have to answer herself if making me wear it then was a safeguard against her or to keep me from playing with myself in a hotel room (I think the latter). Belle and I have regained trust in our relationship with or without the device. With regard to the idea that I might be punishing myself or atoning, that’s not the case either. I admit that the idea of being punished and forced to atone is super-hot, that’s not what’s happening at all. I am locked up and denied because Belle loves me and knows I want to be controlled by her in that way.

As far as I’m concerned, the only way chastity and denial are somehow involved in the affair is how they make impossible a repeat of the conditions which brought it about in the first place. When we were vanilla, my sexual gratification wasn’t connected to our relationship. For the most part, it happened outside our bedroom. Now, since she’s in control of my orgasms, I will never find relief without her. Before, my cock would lead me away from her while now it leads me closer to her. Sex and our relationship are now intertwined in way they’ve never been before. Had it not been for the affair, we wouldn’t be here today.

Regarding anger or resentment in her domination of me, I don’t believe it’s present. She’ll need to address that herself, but I don’t sense it. Rather, I sense her domination comes from her love for me and an actual enjoyment on her part in playing that role. When she punches me in the nuts, it’s not to express anger or relieve frustration with me, it’s because she cares for me. Yes, kicking a guy in the nuts is a great way to get back at him for something terrible, but for me, it’s also a way to make love and that’s how she approaches it. Truth is, it took her a long time to really let loose and hit me as hard as I wanted to be hit. If she was doing it to make me suffer, I suspect she would have let loose from the beginning.

I note a comment by Belle Fille that your submissiveness makes her feel “desired, appreciated, respected”.  Did she not feel like that before you became submissive?  Or did she feel it less?   I can understand why she did not feel it at all on learning of your infidelity, as that could destroy those feeling.  But I feel desired, appreciated and respected not just because my partner treats me like that, but also because I know, with or without that relationship, that I am desirable, appreciated and respected.  I don’t need someone to fold my laundry or put a ring around their cock to generate my feelings of self worth.  (Reading that back it sounds really harsh and critical, which is not what I intended, but I am not sure how else to say it and make the point).  Or am I making too much of her comment?

Previous to the affair, neither of us felt especially desired, appreciated, or respected. The affair wasn’t the cause of that condition, rather that condition was the cause of the affair. Now, my submission to her allows her to feel those things, but her domination of me makes me feel them, too. It’s not just because of the D/s that we feel that way, but because we have an active, healthy, and engaged sex life. It could take many different forms, but for us right now, it’s D/s. The laundry folding and cock hardware don’t create her feelings of self worth, but what they represent in our relationship do for both of us. They mean we are committed to one another’s needs in a way we may never have been prior to the affair.

Your confusion over this point is, I think, very common for people not engaged in our kind of relationship. Focusing on the trappings of D/s is wrong. All the D/s is is a type of commitment we’ve made to each other’s satisfaction. It may look one-sided or like she needs to force me to behave a certain way, but that’s just wrong. We do it for each other because we love one another and like how it feels and how it feeds our foundational relationship.

Time to start the day. More to come later!

Jan 26

10 Comments

Questions from a reader

I received a email this morning chock full o’ questions from a reader of the blog. I suspect they picked it up in the middle somewhere and then went back and reread the whole thing, though they don’t actually say that in their email. In any event, they’ve taken the time to ask thirteen (!) questions, some of which have been covered previously in one form or another, but many deal with topics I may not have addressed directly or at all. All of them are thoughtfully written. I plan on answering them over several posts since to do them all justice at once would take a great deal of time and many, many words.

And with that, let’s start!

Are you and Belle Fille concerned about your children either finding out about your current dynamic, or of them sensing that you are a submissive?  Do you find it has affected your relationship with them at all?

I don’t think I “present” as submissive at all. This will come up again in other answers, but I doubt anyone who knows me socially would peg me as a sexual submissive (double entendre and all). I say that because I don’t think either of our children, at ages 7 and 11, would pick up on any signs other than I tend to (but not always) defer to Belle’s wishes around the house and have recently started doing a much larger share of the household tasks than I used to. I’m not one of those subs who demure around their domme or otherwise act subservient and servile. In bed, yes. Around the house and socially, not so much. I’m willful and talk back. An uppity sort of sub.

I have no problem with my kids eventually finding this out about me (well, no more problems than anyone has with regard to their sex lives and how it should or should not be shared with close family). Even though I’ve struggled with certain aspects, I am not ashamed of what I am or what we do or what I like her to do to me. I don’t worry about them thinking less of me as a man or that I’m being less of a role model to my son. Quite the contrary, I’d like to present an acceptable alternative to him with regard to how men are “supposed” to be, especially with regard to how they interact with their mates. I don’t intend to somehow try to make him like me. My goal would be demonstrating to him that he can be exactly who he is without regard to cultural norms or expectations.

All that being said, the one thing I try to keep from them at all costs is the chastity device. They’re simply not prepared to understand or deal with that at this point in their lives (nor, I’m sure, would they ever want to know about it). Also, I’m not sure they’d understand the various implements she uses to hurt me. All the accoutrement of our sex life should remain firmly in the privacy of Belle’s bedroom/my pants.

With regard to affecting my relationship with them, I find myself being somewhat more deferential to my daughter (or, at least being more aware of it). I don’t know what to make of this. It could just as well be the well-documented way daddies are easily manipulated by their little girls. I also find that when I’ve been denied for a longish period of time and haven’t had access to Belle that I’m much more abrupt and have less patience with them (and the world in general). I start to resent their presence around us as I want to have Belle all to myself. This is totally unfair and unacceptable, of course, and I try to temper myself with reason when I see myself being that way, but it happens just the same. I feel as though the denial and dependency on her sets up a very primally competitive attitude. Since they’re around us more than anyone else, it attaches to them fairly easily.

Do you feel that you have changed in your other relationships such as with your friends, family and workmates?  You seem to be so focused on your sexuality and on Belle Fille, that I wonder if other relationships have altered?

Yes, I have greatly curtailed my involvement in certain extracurricular activities over the past year. There are many reasons for this, but the primary one is that I’m far more interested in what’s happening in my relationship and sex life than I am in other things that used to take up a lot of my time. In fact, I need that time to properly interact with Belle according to our D/s dynamic. I don’t in any way resent this change. I have enough time to pursue my interests and have maintained those friendships that matter.

My relationships with other family members outside our house have not changed in any appreciable way. Neither have my friendships except that I wish I had more friends I could talk to about my marriage and how it’s changed. When I was having my affair and afterward, there were many people I could have talked to about it, but ironically, now that my marriage is better than ever, I don’t feel comfortable getting into it with anyone because of how it’s been transformed. I guess this blog is an outlet for my need to share and verbally process everything. I guess these questions of yours are, too.

Two down, eleven to go!

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