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Posts tagged ‘orgasm denial’

Jun 12

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Fetishist

Got the following text from Belle yesterday morning:

Put yourself in the Steelheart

And I did, using the lock and key from the recently removed Looker 02, and left the key in the standard place for her to retrieve later in the day. Not a moment too soon, really. I was getting kind of bitchy-whiny about being unlocked. No, not in that dreaded top from the bottom way. I just don’t react well to uncertainty. She had said after letting me out that I’d be back in on Sunday, but she didn’t do it. Then Monday came and went with no word at all. As if she forgot my state. So, by the time she left for work on Tuesday with still no word, I was feeling anxious in that way only an annoying sub can. Pulling the ring around the penis and balls and settling the shaft down inside the tube as the two halves of the lock fitted into place zinged a warm and comforting thrill through my chest. Nice that after more than four years, it still works for me.

I expected to have a hard time (ahem) with the nocturnal hydraulics, but I slept mostly through them. The L02 doesn’t wake me as often (the ring’s a little bigger) and it usually takes me a week or so in the Steelheart to get used to the early morning squeeze. I fell asleep on my stomach with the device pushing firmly up into my pelvis and a not inconsequential horny buzz going. Today in the shower, I was doing my tube cleaning routine and found even the sensation of the water rushing by head of the penis was enough to make my knees weak and tummy tingle.

Cleaner, goddamn you! CLEANER!!

Honestly, I don’t even like seeing the penis anymore. Not without something on or around it. When it’s freely flopping, I feel…less. Somehow. When I approach a urinal and whip it out, there’s a moment of disorientation where I forget it’s free. It’s like peeing with someone else’s dick. Getting out of bed Tuesday morning, I watched it flop over to one side lightly and wiggle around with my balls laying there like a deflated ballon and the whole thing looked altogether wrong as opposed to this morning when instead I watched and felt the steel shift and pull and keep the nuts orderly positioned side by side. As it should be. As I should be.

Harry asked (and answered) why chastity? I know he was speaking in the larger sense (and I don’t disagree with his answer, though in my usual way, I’d have said a lot more), but why do I need this thing on me? Why does the physicality of the steel mean so much? As it is with so many kinks, I just don’t know. How can we know where these things come from? I can tell you when I’m wearing it because she told me to, I feel better. Special. Looked-after. Maintained. Even sexier. I recall near the beginning of this blog’s life a commenter suggested I had a fetish for chastity devices. I took exception with that at the time, but I can’t really deny it anymore. I do have a fetish. I am a fetishist. Either I had it all along or my feelings of emotional and relationship well-being have been fused with the device between my legs and what it does in such a way that I feel incomplete without it.

I feel like I need Belle to keep pushing and shoving me into tighter and tighter spots. More restriction. More constriction. Less access. Less pleasurable sensation. What’s the limit? Where does it end? Are we, those who long to be controlled, all like this? Or do I have a reciprocally recursive feedback system that builds on itself in such a way that eventually all my feelings of submission and denial will be compressed into a diamond-hard lump?

Yeah, I don’t know. As long as she keeps me locked up along the way, I guess it’ll be OK.

Jun 10

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How I know I’m not gay

I love pussy. That’s it, really. How I know I am totally not gay. I’d save my 20-year-old self so much angst if I could only travel back to point out to him (along with a firm smack on the side of the head) that someone who loves pussy as much as me could not ever be gay. Gay guys might have, at one point in their lives, put up with pussy or might still, from time to time, dip their pen in that colored ink for variety, but a truly gay guy, as Dan Savage points out, is just not into pussy. Period.

I say this because while I was gone, I got this text message from Belle:

Want to sit on your face

And I’m like, WOOF. Yes. Sit on my face! Oh, wait. I’m like a thousand miles away. Fuck.

So I got home Saturday and, even though she let me out of the Looker 02 (which I kept on the entire time I was gone, BTW), she did, in fact, sit on my motherfucking face. And it was awesome. Because, as I said, I fucking love pussy. Especially Belle’s. And you can’t experience more pussy than when it’s grinding into your face.

Funny thing is, Belle seems kind of tentative about doing it. She asked me if I really liked it. Yes, I really do. Maybe you didn’t notice, Belle, but whilst you were astride my face the penis was boned out like a little flagpole. Plus, you know, I’ve only posted about a hundred face-sitting images on the porn farm (such as). I love the whole dynamic. Feeling her hips gyrating over my mouth, her fluids running down my chin, the sensation that I’ve turned into a masturbatory device. The fact that she’s on top. No need to feel weird about it, sweetie. Sit on my fucking face twice a day if you want.

After the face-sitting (which I loved…have I mentioned?), she let me fuck her and it was glorious. The next day, I got to get her off again and, while warming her up, I said something about how I wanted to jack off since it’s been, like, forever since she let me.

“Why don’t you put that energy into me,” she suggested. And I did. But when she was done (using Pink this time), she didn’t let me go for a ride. No reason. Told me I had already had a good time the day before and, don’t forget, I’m not the one who decides when I fuck her. Not by a long shot. And of course, jacking off was not in the cards, either. Inside, the subbie bunny part of me was totally buzzing but the reptile in me was seething. A real man would just take her, it suggested. Just fuck her. But I’m not that man. So the bobbing boner was left to deflate all on its own. Not sure it completely has yet, come to think of it.

Before I left, Belle said something about sending me to a pro domme. I can’t remember the context in which she said it, but she was suggesting there were things I wanted she wasn’t all that into giving me. I assume she’s talking about bondage and hitty stuff. In fact, I’m not that into the idea of a pro domme if for no other reason than I can’t imagine submitting to a woman who’s not Belle. Trying to split my submission like that with another female just doesn’t seem to compute to me.

But. Not being gay and totally digging pussy aside, it occurred to me while driving for hours on end that I’d really be into seeing a dom. Being tied up and beat by a dude? Used and abused by someone with a cock? Oh, hell yeah. I’d really like that. But there’s no such thing, as far as I can tell, as pro doms. I mean, maybe there’s a few. Here and there. Or in NYC where all kinky shit originates. But in the Midwest? Doubtful. So it’d probably look more like a “play partner” kind of deal. And who’d want one whose penis is permanently padlocked? And that’s not what she said anyway. And she was probably only joking. So I should probably stop thinking about it.

In other news, I’m still unlocked nearly 48 hours after getting home. She didn’t feel like dealing with putting me in last night and must have forgotten this morning. I was in the L02 for three weeks and, for those curious about devices with urethral inserts, I can tell you it only got more comfortable over time. By the third week, I could barely tell it was in there. Only little issue I had was after I took it off and tried getting my 4ga ring back in the PA that had been empty all those weeks. Things had started to close up, but I was able to get them stretched back out easily enough.

I expect she’ll use the Steelheart now since it’s her favorite, but she might toss me a curve and pull out the Jail Bird. Who knows? Not me.

May 30

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Two strikes

I’m off again on Friday for another week in the woods. Belle’s made it clear this time that she fully expects me to stay locked in the Looker 02 the entire time I’m gone. She even went to far as to suggest she might need to take my emergency key away or hide it in my truck somewhere to keep me from using it. In the end, I promised to only use it for actual emergencies and not simply to make my life a bit more convenient. I said this while laying next to her, face burrowed into her, in a small and quiet voice.

“How does that make you feel?” she asked. Trigger tripping, that. The tone of my voice made it clear how it made me feel. Making me say it out loud? Ungh.

After a long pause, “Powerless,” I said, “Small and powerless.” The penis shifted and pressed against its cage and choked down more of the device’s insert. Being forced to say it like that welded the commitment to my psyche. I’ll do whatever I can not to take the device off while I’m away from Belle.

Not sure why this time’s different than last time when she told me I could go free, but this weekend’s performance might have something to do with it. She told me she’d let me out but expected me to “stare at the ceiling or think about baseball or whatever the hell you need to do” because she wanted to fuck me and come.

Saturday night started in the hot tub for us. She brought the key with her and I took the device off and she stowed it in her robe. The penis immediately started to chub out (as it does hopefully and expectantly whenever the device is removed), but even though it was dark and we were alone, nothing too rambunctious could happen as there were Muggles about. Eventually, I was behind her and massaging her shoulders while grinding the stiffy into her gently. I moved one hand from her shoulders and neck down to her pussy and rubbed it through the fabric of her suit for a while before slipping my fingers beneath. The feel of her snatch in that very sexual position (though one we never use) made me very hard and quite light-headed from arousal. We stopped after a bit and went inside to bed.

Though my fucking wasn’t supposed to happen until the next morning, the hot tub must have gotten her going because before I knew it, she was on top of me pounding away and I had her tits in my mouth. I was doing pretty good until she started to make “I’m going to come” kind of noises and all of a sudden I lost it. Not an orgasm, but the closest I’ve come since January. One strong surge of ejaculate right at the moment of withdrawal, but none of the accompanying sensations or afterglow of coming. Even though I was able to get ahold of myself sufficiently to let her have another go, her moment had passed. I failed the one thing I’m supposed to do in bed: get her off.

Next morning, more of the same except the close call on my part was avoided. It was very frustrating for both of us. I told her not to worry about me and just go and whatever happened to me happened. I didn’t really want the orgasm, but I wanted her to have hers more than anything. In the end, she had a calmer head than me and again she was left without. I failed again. I felt (and feel) very bad.

“Keep that up and I’m going to have to find a surrogate,” she said, exasperated.

More trigger tripping.

So here it is, the eve of my departure, and she still hasn’t gotten off. I don’t know if she’s going to want to try again tonight or not, but I do know I’ll be keeping the steel on, in, and around the penis until she tells me I can take it off. Whenever that is.

May 19

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One thousand percent

“I really want to come in you.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

“That’s not going to happen.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…

“Are you sure?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

“One thousand percent.”

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

“OK, you’re done.”

 

May 14

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Only she could

She slid her fingers out from her hot, wet pussy and brought them up to his face, rubbing them over his nose and lips and allowing him to hungrily suck the essence from her digits.

“Do you like that?” she purred.

“Yes,” he croaked. Deeply.

He went back to sucking her tits while she continued to finger herself, hips reciprocally thrusting against her fingers. He moaned. He wanted that pussy. He wanted to eat it and fuck it and be consumed by it. Worship it. Die for it.

She brought the fingers up to his mouth again. He again sucked them clean.

“Can you taste me?”

“Yes.” Desperately.

“Sit back. Watch me.”

He got back up on his knees, one inside her open legs, the other outside, and watched her sink her fingers into her snatch and rub and pinch her own nipples. And he moaned. How he craved her body. How sexy she looked playing with herself. The penis, freed from its containment specifically for this event, bobbed and throbbed and leaked nectar. He couldn’t touch it. Only she should. He couldn’t come. Only she could. He could do nothing unless she said. And what she said was to watch. So he did. And it burned.

How long had is been since he was last inside her? A month? More? How long had it been since he last climaxed? Four months? Still so long to go, if it ever happened. If she ever let it happen again.

Once more, the fingers in his mouth. He wanted her so badly and her scent and taste were powerfully received as every masculine receptor in his body yearned for her like a daisy reaching for the sun. He ached for everything she was. He was near tears because of it. And so grateful that she knew what he needed and gave it to him. The loving torment. The adoring torture. His body sang with cravings she would not sate. She knew, that’s what was best for him. For her. For them both.

Squirm. Suffer. Love.

Apr 30

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Transmuted pangs

Belle’s experiment with controlling my moodiness enters its third week. I’ve been out of the Steelheart for about an hour (since the day she let me out overnight earlier in the month) and that was for cleaning purposes only. I didn’t even get a boner. As I mentioned recently, I’ve found myself to be very irritable after being allowed to fuck her since we were on vacation so she’s decided I won’t get to do that as much as before and has stuck to it. I’ve essentially been locked up for month and have only been inside Belle once in that time.

She still gets to come, of course. Of course. Whenever she wants. Last time was at the end of my tongue. That was an especially frustrating one because she tasted so good and was so fucking wet after, but nothing for me. On my way down to her snatch, I rubbed the hard steel tube against her pussy and felt nothing whatsoever. Not even her heat. Laying on my stomach between her legs was physically painful as the erection struggled against the device and the device pressed into the mattress. I had to keep my ass raised up the whole time, lapping and licking and feeling her squirm in delight.

This morning, I was tending the porn farm and found this image among the firehose-like stream of pictures and animated GIFs I peruse on Tumblr. It’s not something suitable for The Portfolio since I never post any images of men having or having just had an orgasm (for obvious reasons), but as soon as I saw it, I felt a sharp and palpable pang from deep down. The situation is one nearly all men are familiar with (I may even have had those shoes) and, for a fleeting second, I felt myself there again. Being in that place where I could feel my hand wrapped around and pumping on a hard shaft, coaxing the seed from myself and being so wrapped up in the act that I didn’t care where it went after and, once out, the wash of release cascading like a cooler full of Gatorade dumped over my head and the realization that maybe I didn’t want a bunch of goo all over my clothes or the floor and now I’d have to clean it up. And the smell of it. The pungent smell of fresh semen. All that in a fraction of a second. And I wanted it. And I mourned not being able to have it. And I felt truly denied.

I presume my moodiness stems from that. From being truly denied now. There is no hope of coming for me. Not for a long time. No part of me needs to be invested in hoping she won’t let me. She will not. Nothing even close. No fucking, no touching. I meekly and pathetically suggested to her last night that she might let me out for some penis play time (not in her as she’s on her period) and, once she figured out what I was suggesting, shot the idea down because she couldn’t see what was in it for her. Why the hell should I be let out only to play with the penis? What’s the point?

So what I’m left with is an awful and glorious gnawing in my crotch for release. For attention. For a fucking hard on. I’m squirming and desperate and needy and right where I want and need to be. She won’t let her thumb off of my soul for a second. So cruel and yet loving.

In a few days, Belle’s leaving for another work trip and, just before she gets back, I’m leaving on a nine day camping trip with friends. She told me I could unlock myself at the last possible moment before I leave, but I’m toying with the idea of staying in. Not because I fear having access to the meat (I won’t have much privacy or opportunity to do anything with it I’m not allowed to do) but because I’ve been in so long now and, my desire to feel the stiff penis inside her aside, it’s just how I am. It’s how I want to feel. I resent having to come out. I resent real life forcing itself between us. Logically, I know I need to come out. It would be nearly impossible to keep things clean and lubed and secret for the whole time I’m away from bathrooms and plumbing and paved roads.

But god, I love living as she wants me to. I love how my submission transmutes what I need into something I don’t want and then back into something I crave, all because she wants it, too. You should feel sorry for me…and very happy for me, both.

Apr 22

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Want

“It’s trying to get hard,” I said to Belle. We were laying next to each other and kissing lightly, my hand ranging under her clothes, from her ass up her back.

“Yeah,” she replied, “So?”

Ungh. 

Earlier, Belle and I had discussed briefly the grumpiness I’ve been feeling when let out and inside her. We agreed that it seemed to be caused by her indulging me. By letting my lizard brain think there was a chance to come. So, she wasn’t indulging me. But fuck, I wanted to be indulged. Badly.

The kissing intensified and Belle rolled back and pulled on me slightly, indicating I should be up and over her. On all fours, I kissed her face and neck and her hand ran down my naked side, over my ass and thigh, and then back up to find my nuts. She fingered that wondrously sensitive area between my ass crack and balls, including the steel ring anchoring her chastity device to my body. The ring of power, I thought. Where the metal did her business with me. The very spot where her control over me was made real. I felt myself slip lightheadedly into shallow subspace.

Her caressing of the tightening skin felt fantastic. I moaned into her neck and pillow. Her touch was light and playful. Then, SMACK! I hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t really wanted it. But not so much that I wouldn’t accept it. She could do what she wanted and right then she wanted to hurt me. She didn’t have to ask permission. I fell more deeply into subspace.

WHACK! *gentle gentle* THWACK! Repeat.

The penis yearned to become fully erect, but the steel restrained it cruelly. The dull pain of the hard ring clenched around the captured erection mixed with the pain she was causing me. I wanted it gentle but also wanted to submit to her. Each time she made contact, I collapsed a bit but raised myself back up again hoping she’d stroke me lightly from then on. I tried to encourage her in that direction.

“That feels so good,” I whispered.

PUNCH! Immediate. No delay. As if to say, Oh? Really?

That one hurt deeply. I collapsed again and groaned as the wave of hot pain radiated out from my groin. But then I raised my ass back into the air and spread my legs a bit more. She was making me crave her attacks, but Thumper Time was up.

She pulled up her top exposing her fantastic tits and their hard, fat nipples. I greedily sucked them, one then the other. The penis raged and the lizard fell back in abject dispair knowing it was a futile effort. This was about Belle completely now. She would not be getting the key. I would not be indulged.

I pressed my hand against the crotch of her pajama bottoms and felt the moist heat of her pussy glowing beneath. I pulled her pants off and sank my fingers into her hot wetness. So soft, so smooth. I craved it. The craving ate at me from within. So fucking close, but so far away.

I played with her clit and sucked her tits and she slowly arched her head, neck and back as the orgasm creeped up on her. Her hips started to gyrate beneath my fingers and her breathing grew short and ragged and my hips started to rhythmically grind against her thigh. I humped her leg in my impotent fashion, raging hard-on compressed and painful in its trap, in syncopation with her gyrations. She was coming and I was fucking her in my own way. The only way I could. The only way she’d let me.

After she came (hard) I felt like a man about to reach a summit that was suddenly not beneath him anymore. She was glowing while I was left to try to restrain myself from further grinding. I moaned. I whimpered. She ignored me.

She fell asleep. I stayed awake. I do love her so much.

Apr 18

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And then she rubbed her tits in my face

Other interests have keep me from my blogging lately, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t wanted to. Let’s play catch-up…

Last week, I recall with a certain vividness a moment Belle and I shared in our kitchen just after dinner. The kids had scattered and it was just us and apparently she was feeling frisky so she rubbed her tits in my face. Literally. Pushed my face down there and moved them back and forth. I was delirious. Made my head light and toes tingle. I may have just commented on how I had been locked up continuously since we got back from vacation and she may have said something to the effect that a) that’s not that long for me, and b) it would be a lot longer still, and c) here, let me rub my tits in your face you whiny rabbit. After she had me good and woozy, she told me to clean up the kitchen and left me swaying.

She’s off on an international trip now, but before she left she let the penis out for about 24 hours so she could have some fun with it. I was barely able to keep things under control while she rode me for an orgasm. It wasn’t the fucking that nearly sent me over the edge as much as it was the sound of her coming. Her orgasm has become a kind of release for me and I actually feel something like an post-orgasmic euphoria from it. Once she started to come, listening to her ecstatic sounds pulled a trigger inside me and my own orgasm presented itself quickly. I held still, pressed down on the small of her back to keep her from making any motion (she likes to fuck me from above), and it turned out to be nothing more than a copious surge of frustrated goo. Quite copious, it turned out, since she gave me permission to fuck her afterward and I was treated to my own sloppy seconds. I could barely be inside her without getting right back to the edge.

I was again overwhelmed by the need to come. You’re like, well duh, but in the past I would fuck without wanting to come more often than fucking the other way around, but now that I know there’s no possibility she’s going to let me, that internal denial safety is nowhere to be found and I seem to always want to come when she lets me get the penis wet. I tell her how I feel and she tells me it’s just not going to happen and I feel simultaneously a great and overwhelming love towards her (and gratitude) but I also hear the lizard snarl and growl. I fucking want to come. 

And, you know, that’s awesome. It’s way better to feel denied something I really want than something I don’t. But, just like when I was on vacation, I found myself really irritable and grumpy as hell later in the day. I was able to recognize it and kept it from being directed at Belle, but this intense irritability thing is new for me. So yeah, you can be locked up for the better part of four years and still find new things in it.

Like I said, she had me out for one day. Friday night to Saturday night. Then I had to go back in for her trip. I’ve been in the Steelheart for seventeen out of the last eighteen days and will likely remain in it (or the Looker) for nearly three more weeks (with maybe another day out for her pleasure along the way, but that’s not my call obviously). Early in May, I go away for a week’s camping excursion with friends and I’ll be out for that.

After 17 days, I’m more or less back into the groove, device-wise. It’s me and I’m it and I don’t even always wake up from the morning wood (and when I do, I like how it feels rather than being bothered by it). Yesterday, I must have been wearing an uncommon combination of underwear (silly stringy ones with hardly any support) and jeans (third wearing since last wash) because the device had what seemed like a lot of room down there and was taking advantage of it. I could feel it swinging and swaying as I walked around. I was very aware of it. By the end of the day, I was pretty turned on, but there was no Belle to enjoy that with.

This morning, after my workout, I had all those hormones pinging around inside me, so I decided to enjoy a new toy over the course of the day. After getting it all situated, I discovered I needed more and broke out the big guns. Then I put the new toy back (where it is now — more on it in a later post). Needless to say, I was quite late for work.

Mar 30

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Grumpy Thumpie

So as not to present one with the idea that this orgasm denial stuff is just one big shiny balloon forever floating heavenward towards sexual nirvana, I will relate the embarrassing (for me) events from a few days this past week.

Belle woke from her afternoon nap (laying out by the pool can really wear a girl down) and I, laying beside her in wait, jumped her. This is in itself a bit out of character since I had no reason to believe she wanted me to, but she was already naked so I made my move. She was apparently amenable to the idea since she let me put my mouth on her nipple uninvited.

Sex comes, of course, in many varieties. Among the best and most indulgent examples of the art is the kind known as “afternoon sex.” A truly decadent derivative of afternoon sex is the “afternoon while on vacation and the kids and rest of the family are downstairs but our bedroom door is locked so it’s OK and, oh, did I mention the warm Trade Winds blowing in through the huge windows and over our naked bodies” kind of sex. That’s what we were having. I licked and suckled her nipples and traced her moistening clit lightly with the fingers of my right hand and the penis was ridiculously hard.

My assertiveness continued when I offered Belle the penis as the vehicle to her pleasure. I wanted her to fuck me. Or, more precisely, I wanted to fuck. Maybe I’d be able to hold it together, maybe I wouldn’t. I really wasn’t thinking that far out. I made the offer out of a selfish desire. She commented that that was usually her decision and, since she didn’t mount me, left it to me to figure out all by myself that I was to continue along the lines of what had already been started. Eventually, though, my fingers and mouth proved not to be enough and, rather than take the still rigid and needy meat for a ride, she had me use Pink. My Belle’s orgasm was still reluctant to show itself, so she took the vibrator from me and took care of herself while I was left to nipple duty and the penis, once filled with such optimism and enthusiasm, was left to drip forlornly all by itself.

It was during this period of my being only somewhat tangentially involved in the activity I initiated that whatever lizard-driven assertive zeal began to falter. By the time she came, the penis had lost its stiffness and I felt somewhat guilty at my previous behavior. Belle, of course, didn’t know what was going on in my head or that I was once so focused on getting the dick wet (damned the torpedoes!). As she was enjoying her post-O glow, I felt as though I shouldn’t get any more. I knew she was about to invite me to fuck her and didn’t think I deserved it. As I was formulating a way to express this, she told me I could go for a ride if I wanted to.

Which is to say, I had a choice. And I had a preference (not to). But when the time came to make the call, the lizard showed that he still had some fight left in him and pulled me, penis first, into Belle. This whole trip, my trigger has been very itchy and I was on the verge of coming almost immediately. I wasn’t just riding the edge, I was tiptoeing over the individual atoms of the razor sharp knife. The kind of edging where a simple shift in position causing the penis to move a half an inch inside her would send the whole thing over the falls. The kind where the lizard with his usual marginal influence over my actions has a disproportionate ability to make things my bunny side would rather not happen. This time, though, the lizard was in the ascendence.

Belle perhaps sensed where I was and told me to get off. Ride was over. And that command, which I’ve accepted is entirely hers to make, planted a seed of anger. I wasn’t mad at her. More likely myself for doing what I didn’t think I deserved and letting myself get so close to the forbidden objective and resenting her authority over making me stop. That little seed, fertilized with my guilt, sprouted and grew as the day went on so that by the time night fell, I was being sullen and standoffish to everyone.

In thinking about it afterward, I think my button got pushed too many times. Too many times at the edge. My hormonal load had to be sky high. Sometimes, denial can be very hard and not for the reasons that seem obvious at first.

My emotional issues came back a few days later and with greater intensity. I was making dinner and it wasn’t going perfectly. Not badly, just not perfectly. But each little imperfect thing was snowballing exponentially with every other little imperfect thing and I found myself swimming in anger.

Honestly, I don’t want to talk about it. We’ll just skip ahead to later that night.

Belle came to bed and was mad at me for being such a child. I was still mad, and she was there, so I attached it to her. But I wasn’t mad at her. By that point, I was mad at myself for being an ass and ruining our evening. Our conversation started out as an argument but devolved quickly into me sobbing inconsolably for being such a pathetically bad partner. All trip, I had been telling Belle how badly I wanted to make her happy and, due I think to the symptoms of the very act of my submission to her, I failed miserably.

I hadn’t cried like that or felt like that about myself in a long time. So much self-doubt. Self-pity. Intense feelings of being weird. Of being a freakish burden to her. I was afraid she’d make me come just to snap me out of it and that sounded so much worse than anything else. I felt convinced that if she had known the real me when we married she wouldn’t have gone through with it. Pathetic, really.

But I’m better now. The tears were cathartic and I’ve apologized to Belle so many times she’s told me to shut up about it. All I can do now is learn from the experience and try to realize when it’s happening again and try to stop it before it goes too far. I’ve redoubled my focus on her and her needs. More than anything, my little tantrum felt like a deep betrayal of my submissive nature and promise to Belle. Thinking about it now leaves me feeling deeply ashamed of my actions. I am profoundly sorry.

We’re leaving for home today and Belle’s said I’ll be going straight back into the Steelheart as soon as we get there. We both feel my attitude would have been better had I been locked up. Being contained changes me for the better. It’s been far too long since I’ve done hard time and I have a deep craving deep in my soul for the comfort and security of the steel. I have a week-long camping trip at the beginning of May and Belle’s said I’ll be locked until then.

God, I need it. And god, I love her for being able to see that I do.

Mar 23

4 Comments

Vacation Ketchup

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Oh, yeah, hey! I got this blog thing I do, don’t I?

So…where were we?

I was in SXSW. Then I was home. Then I was off for another trip. Then I came home. Then we went on vacation. That’s where we are now (and that’s our view above). Too much traveling in too short a time. I was mentally and physically tired and too busy to even think about blogging, though it’s not like I didn’t have anything to say.

Belle sent me to SXSW unlocked, as I’ve said, and I stayed that way for most of the time. It’s odd being the “chastity guy” and not wearing a device like that. I’ve always said I didn’t have the self-control to be able to pull it off absent her supervision (or even with her supervision, now that I think about it), but there I was in a hotel room far away from Belle and…nothing. It was like a force field was around the penis or something. It was still there and I would have liked to play with it, but somehow it never happened. Finally, after three days or so, I was laying in bed getting ready for sleep and it started to twitch. I grabbed at my nuts and pulled on them, trying to ignore the penis, but just the feeling of its rapidly swelling weight on my arm was enough to send me scrambling for the Looker.

So, in the end, I did what I was supposed to do. I locked the penis when temptation reared its head. Also, I admit, I missed the feeling of being constrained. But, before then, I was effectively in a chastity device made only from my dedication to her control over me.

After I got home, Belle left me out until I had to travel again, but after that I was locked until we left on our trip. We didn’t bring a device with us, so I’ll remain out for at least the next week. Belle leaves town shortly after we get home, so I doubt it’ll stay free n’ floppy then.

Yesterday as Belle and I were soaking in our vacation house’s hot tub, I mentioned to her that I had more or less stopped counting days. Like, I have no specific idea how long it’s been since I came (and stop myself from thinking about it to keep it that way) and, even though there’s a link over there in the sidebar, I’m not thinking about the year and half or so left. I’m just being. Orgasmless is how I am. It’s not some little town we’re driving through. It’s freeing, in a way, not to focus on the beginning or the end.

But then I’ll find myself inside her (as I was this morning) and fuck it all if I don’t want to come worse than anything in the world. Every little cell and all the energy they contain are focusing all their wills on the penis and the feeling of the heavy PA ring sliding around inside its head and the hot, wet walls of her pussy slipping and sliding along its shaft and HO. LY. SHIT but I want to fill her up. As it was, I leaked enough to have it run down her leg when she got out of bed, but the craving cells were left wanting more, as usual.

This afternoon, she napped and I sat naked out on our balcony enjoying the late afternoon sun. The family is here, but the balcony is strategically positioned so as to be hidden from the rest of the house. There are other houses on the surrounding hills, but few appear to be close enough to be able to make out a small naked figure outside ours and, even if they could, I wouldn’t care. There is one house close by, but it appears to be deserted (not “nobody’s renting it right now” deserted, more like “I would have gotten away with it if it weren’t for you meddling kids” kind of deserted). If anyone was there, they’d see me easy, but there isn’t. In any event, this is the kind of house where I could easily be naked for a full week and nobody but Belle would know. Someday…

So anyway, I let her sleep, but when she woke up I was making moves on her which she easily rebuffed. I was good and didn’t push it, but she let me jack off for ten whole minutes. That’s the first time I’ve done that since I can’t remember when. It felt wonderful. I went right up to the edge pretty quickly and milked a solid slug of goo from the happy shaft. Then again, and again, and again. I licked it all up and let it all sit in my mouth, enjoying the flavor and feel of it running over my tongue. I was a real little cumslut and had a mouth full of the stuff before gulping it down in two swallows. Once it was milked dry, I was able to well and truly pound away at the stiffy for several minutes before getting back up to the edge again, but it felt different this time. Like a dragon rushing up out from a great crack in the earth. It wasn’t going to be denied, so I wrenched my hand away and was left panting. Looking at my iPhone, I saw I still had almost three minutes left, but I dared not tempt it.

We still have a full week in this paradise. If anything good happens, I’ll be sure to let you know. In the mean time, wanna see a picture of me in my new hat?

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