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Posts tagged ‘relationship’

Jan 6

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My mantra

Yep, it’s definitely back on. I didn’t fall asleep until about 5:00 AM, so I got about an hour of rest. It gave me lots of time to think.

I really want into Belle’s pants right now. Pants? Fuck that. I want into everything she’s got. She knows it, but she’s not in any hurry. So, as she went to sleep last night, I was feeling a bit of pique. As usual, I wasn’t tired so I ventured out onto the interwebs to console myself and got sufficiently worked up to keep sleep perpetually just out of reach. It would flit by like a firefly only to blink out of existence as I reached for it. Then some scenario or image would intrude into my thoughts and the penis would strain against the tube. Then I’d wait for it to go down.1 Then the little firefly would flutter timidly back. Rinse, repeat.

At some point in this process, I started to feel bad about getting miffed at Belle. I was thinking about my previous post and the spirit in which it was written and couldn’t quite reconcile it with what I had been feeling. Funny thing is, DD accentuated the very thing with a comment she made at about the same time I was thinking it:

I am so glad you appreciate the fact that if she owns it she gets to decide what to do with it, including having it out to play when she sees fit.

Good bunny.

In truth, I really like the feeling of being powerless with regard to sex. I prefer to see it as something she totally controls regardless of how it makes me feel at any given moment (and, in last night’s moment — once I had my head back on straight — the idea that she had left me high and dry was just one more thought that filled the tube and kept me awake). I have always struggled with losing site of this fundamental principle of our dynamic (and makes me question how truly submissive I am).

In my copious free time, I came upon the idea of a mantra. Something I could repeat as a way of centering myself (aka, pulling my head out of my ass). I worked on several versions, but this is the one I settled on:

You own the penis. I gave it to you.
You control our sex. I asked you to.
Your pleasure is my pleasure.
This is how I wished things to be.
Thank you, Belle Fille, for making it possible.
I love you.

The first couple of tries sounded too me-centric. That’s part of the problem, isn’t it? So I worked more of us and her in there. Also, recognition that it’s only through her cooperation and ability to put up with me that this works at all. The critical component is the reminder to myself that I was the one who brought us down this path in the first place. And that even though it was my idea, by embarking on this adventure, I relinquished sole ownership over how it developed. No, I’m not her slave. We’re still partners. But I am clearly the minority stakeholder and need to remember that she has the controlling vote. And, after all, I really don’t want it any other way.

We’ve had mantras before. Simpler ones that she’s ask me to repeat occasionally. But this one seems to tie together all the salient attributes in an unambiguous way that my brain can’t wiggle out of. I hope she likes it and I hope she decides to make me say it to her every single day.

–

1 Funny thing is, whilst locked up, erections are more fleeting. It takes a lot of concerted effort and/or some really intense stimulus to keep a boner boned. They spring into action quickly and deflate just as fast. The physiological equivalent of a fruit fly. ↩

Jan 5

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Forever

I happened upon yesterday’s post by Sarah on the topic of permanent orgasm denial. In it, she said (among other things) the following:

We are def­i­nitely lean­ing towards per­ma­nent orgasm denial, but we do have some con­cerns, none of which are to do with John miss­ing out on them (it’s really more about what I’ll per­haps miss out on, but that’s another story).

I think that neatly summarizes the issue for us, too. A lot of men assume that when they orgasm it is an experience all their own when in reality most women also seem to get a lot of enjoyment from the event. The ones that don’t are typically fictional (though I’m sure there are some real ones out there, too).

Honestly, this is something I didn’t really understand until I stopped having orgasms, but Belle likes it when I’m inside her and also, I’m pretty sure, likes it when I come there. My assumption had always been that women weren’t especially into the mess since it’s practically entirely up to them to clean it up afterward. Personally, back in the days when the occasional man would fuck my ass, I didn’t especially enjoy the aftereffects. I mean, there’s no place for it to go (and it didn’t really have much of a reason to be there) so it had to come out eventually and I just found the entire thing kinda gross. For the record, only three men got to do that without protection and only one of them was iffy, but that was like twenty-some years ago.

But anyway, as undeniably hot as the idea of never being allowed to come again is for me, I’m not sure I’d ever want it unless I was confident it was what Belle really wanted, too. Our recently concluded month of relative freedom was, I think, more about Belle pining for some old fashioned bunny loving more than anything else. I have no reason to expect her appreciation for that kind of sex will ever change, so I have no reason to expect she’ll ever really and truly end my orgasms.

Yesterday evening, as we laid in bed, I was curled up into her and craving her pussy. I pressed my hand to it through her pajamas and, with my face near her breasts, it was all I could do not rip her clothes off. She wasn’t having any of it, though, and told me she quite liked to see me miserably desperate. She also said I should expect the kind of sharp contrasts like I’m going through now in the future. Hard denial followed by relatively lavish releases. Nine times in one month. That probably doubled my entire output for the year.

So I went to sleep pretty horny. Interestingly, when the morning wood woke me up, it didn’t feel at all like someone had kicked me in the nuts. There was intense pressure from the tube, but I liked it. Instead of trying to get rid of it, I flexed the penis so it would be more intense and even rolled over on my stomach so blood would rush to the area. I didn’t expect to adjust so quickly. Next step will be sleeping through the wood. Once that happens, I’ll know things are back to normal. But I digress.

I guess what I’m getting at is that male chastity and orgasm denial might, on its surface, appear to be mostly about male orgasms. But it’s not. And as badly as I want to hear her say someday that I will never come again (and I do, really), there’s no way I could live with that situation unless something big and drastic changed with Belle and I knew for a fact that she would still be able to get whatever it is she wants from sex (even if that thing happens infrequently). There are many trade-offs in a relationship where the man doesn’t get to come, but in the end, asking her to ultimately sacrifice something so important to her is unacceptable to me.

Nov 5

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The fruit of my frustration

The deal is, I’m really fucking horny. Soooo fucking horny. And Belle’s on the rag. God. Damn. It.

This morning, we were rolling around in bed (read: I was holding on to her while I rolled around in frustration), kissing her face and putting my hand on her ass and generally going mad. I got pretty worked up. So much so, that a little later I had one of those patented long-term chastity precum eruptions that ran out the tube and was all cold, sticky, and wet down my left leg. There was a gooey patch on the inside of my pajamas and the tube’s end got all crusty as the fruit of my frustration cured.

How long has it been? August 25th was the last day I came. So thats…seventy-two days. And at least twenty-six more to go. Will she make me go an even hundred? Conveniently, the first Saturday in December would be exactly that.

In talking about her decision to let me go free once December rolls around (as in, free to do with the penis whatever I want whenever I want to), we agree that we’re both a little nervous. Part of me hates the idea. Not so much the coming a lot part, but the lack of all that coming being connected to her. If she told me she wanted me come every night for a month, I’d be cool with that. If she said I could come whenever I wanted as long as she was present, I’d be cool with that, too. For the past three years, I’ve essentially lashed my sexuality to hers. Pushing off from that will be hard. And somewhat sad, to be honest.

Then again, there’s another part of me (the part that’s so fucking horny) that can’t wait for twenty-five or however many days it will be so I can come again. As soon as I knew the plan, it felt like the penis was pushing against the inside of the tube wanting to get out. Everyone knows what’s coming now. The stasis field has been broken. Come on, already! But no, Belle says I will wait. So here I sit.

The other day, while tending The Portfolio, I found what I think is a picture of the world’s most perfect cock (with this one being a close second). Unsurprisingly, it is not entirely dissimilar to this one yet is totally different than the one currently secured in my pants. It inspired me to reignite a fiction project I had been working on involving my sexual fantasies. I had, in a sense, found my leading man. I’ve mentioned before how hot and bothered stories involving cuckolding get me so, of course, that’s what this is basically about. One of the main issues I have with written porn (besides the numbing redundancy of so much involving chastity and denial) is when it veers into the unbelievable. I get that it’s fantasy and all so a certain suspension of disbelief is required to enjoy it, but when it gets ridiculously silly, I lose my interest. So, in coming up with my story, I decided to try to lace just enough reality into it to ensure the reader can empathize with the happenings. Also, for me, what the characters are feeling is almost as important as what they’re doing. Maybe more important.

And now it’s gotten a little out of hand. I have so many scenarios and ideas in my head and am spending so much time trying to put myself in the shoes of each of the three characters, it’s become less a short story and more a novella. There’s a chance it’ll never get done, of course. The problem I’m facing is when I write a scene down, I get so turned on doing it that I have a hard time focusing my thoughts and making my fingers type the right keys. I may be too horny to write porn. Regardless, I posted a small (yet critical to the story) snippet to The Portfolio last night.

It’s interesting to me that I can post pictures of my junk online but writing down my fantasies like this makes me feel more vulnerable and nervous. I guess that’s because it’s a peek into my head while all the HNT in the world doesn’t give you much more than a surface view. I know that the story is from the part of my fantasies that will remain firmly planeted in Fantasyland, but maybe that makes it even harder to reveal.

Oct 31

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Thirty before sixty

“It’s nearly November, Thumpie.”

“Yeah…?”

“November’s your month.”

“No it’s not. You said December was.”

Pause. “I did?”

“Yes! You said December!”

I pulled up the relevant blog entry on my phone and showed her.

“Oh,” she said, “You’ve still got a ways to go, don’t you?”

Fuck.

–

We were out Saturday night on a date when that exchange took place. We saw a movie and were having a late dinner (by Midwest standards). Apparently, she forgot I was being punished. Had I just gone along with it, I’d be coming in a matter of days. As it is, 30 more days before it’s even an option.

After we had that misunderstanding resolved, she surprised me by telling me that once I come in December, she plans on leaving me out for up to two months during which time I’ll be allowed to do whatever I want. She says she recognizes I’ve settled into a nice place living without orgasms and she likes what I’ve become, but she wants to see what I’ll be like if I go back to living like I used to. As if I’m Pinocchio and she’s the Blue Fairy come to turn me into a real boy. Regardless, she says I will be locked up and denied again at some point and she expects me to be whiny and complain about it when it happens but that I will have no choice.

This news has left me with mixed emotions. On the one hand, as soon as she told me her plan I wanted immediate release. Why wait, I asked. Let’s just go now! But no, I have 30 more days, like it or not. Knowing that I will not only come in about a month but likely come a lot has got me so horny I can feel it in my teeth. She’s perfectly happy watching me squirm over it.

Then again, I admit to also feeling a sense of loss at the prospect of regaining this element of my life. When you live as I do with a deep well of desire never far away and a piece of equipment immovably affixed to your body, there’s a certain sense of specialness that goes along with it all. The device and my denial demonstrate that someone cares for me enough to take on the responsibility of tending to my sexual release. I’m not like the other boys. Once it’s off and I can squirt away to my heart’s content, I become like any other guy who can masturbate in the shower and come weakly whenever he wants. After living as I have for the past three years, I don’t ever want to go back.

Which, of course, is not to say I don’t have the raw desire to jack off daily. Of course I do. That’s nature. It’s my lizard brainstem pushing to execute its programming (and right now, it’s pushing pretty hard). But enveloping that is the belief (perhaps enhanced and perpetuated by the very hormones it produces) that being denied my orgasm has made me a better person. Once I come (and I will, a lot), this sense of “enlightenment” will evaporate. That’s the thing about denial. It’s like a perpetual motion machine. Once you start, you want to do it forever but once you stop, you barely want to do it at all.

I think what Belle wants to know is if any of my “better spouse” mojo will stick after three years of building it up or will I revert to what I was. I think I know what will happen. Knowing that she’ll eventually force me back to where I am now is a comforting thought.

Oct 11

4 Comments

Clarification

Celtic Queen, in response to my last post, left the following comment:

Thumper, this sounds like a trite question (it isn’t meant to be) but are you happier as a person now?

Put another way, did control of your sex make you unhappy?

Then Chaz added…

You state that your OK with it. I think those that say you are trained might offer congratulations, yet I get more a sense of resigned acceptance from this post. It almost has a BCWYWF feel to it. I would echo CQ’s comment. Are you happy? You say you have changed, I would like to ask is it change for the better? Are you a better husband lover friend father? “BROKEN” as a title I would take to mean your will, but could it refer to something that needs to be fixed?

As I started to formulate a reply, I realized I might need a little more room, so here we are.

Starting at the end and with the title “Broken,” that was just a play on words. I used the “broken horse” metaphor in the post to describe how I was feeling about my sexual urges and it was a reference to that. Also, as I alluded to in the post, “broken” might have been how I would have described those feelings at an earlier stage in our dynamic. I wasn’t trying to say I was broken or my sex drive was (hell no!) or we were or anything ominous like that.

With regard to resigned acceptance, I guess that’s not an inaccurate description. What other option do I have? I could rail against my confinement and the generally low level of sexual activity we’ve had lately, but to what end? To put extra pressure on her? To make her feel guilty? To suggest I want out of the device and from under the dynamic? I don’t want any of those things. Hell yes I want more sex, but the timing wasn’t right and no matter how horny or frothed up I get, there’s nothing I can do about it. So yes, resigned acceptance. Acceptance that being the object of long-term enforced chastity isn’t always a crazy pornfest type of existence. Sometimes, things don’t work out how you’d like them to. You might be able to characterize resigned acceptance as negative, but you might just as well call it a healthy frame of mind and more productive than moaning and pissing about my grievances.

With regard to the “be careful what you wish for” vibe, yeah, totally, I was going for that. I can remember how incredibly turned-on the idea of chastity made me even when I was actually in that kind of relationship. I can remember how surreally horny I used to get and hopped up on hormones I’d be. This, though, is perhaps what the long tail of chastity looks like. Once your body adjusts and the new device smell goes away, you have to figure out a way to live with it. Be careful because sometimes it’s not all that hot. Sometimes, it’s freaking boring.

Am I a better “husband lover friend father”? I would really have to let Belle answer that, but I think I am a better husband. I think I was already a pretty good lover, though now I’m not able to use the penis on her in the way I know she likes. I was already very attentive in bed. I’d say that’s a push. Better friend? No, we’ve always been good friends. Better father? I’m not sure any of this has impacted that aspect of my life much at all.

Now, am I happy? That’s a bit trickier.

CQ asked, “Did control of your sex make you unhappy?” In a way, yes, because control of my sex led me to cheat on Belle. But, larger than that, control over my sex also led me away from her as it was easier and more convenient to pleasure myself than to seek that pleasure from her. I’m not making that “masturbation addiction” argument as I think it’s crap, but had I been able to jack off at will over the past few weeks, I wouldn’t be at all drawn to Belle for my needs. And isn’t that pretty much the entire point of enforced chastity? To bring a couple together so they can enjoy sexual intimacy only with each other and not by themselves? That morning we finally had sex was fantastic even though I was fucking horny as hell and left literally dripping with desire afterward.

No, I won’t say control over my sex left me unhappy, but having her control my sex does make me happier more often than not. Nothing in this world in perfect. There are no silver bullets. Living as I do is the same. There are good days, there are bad days. There are fucking amazing days, there are god awful days. In balance, though, I am where I want to be.

So, as a coda to my previous post, I should say having that one sexual session has changed my attitude remarkably. I’m feeling much hornier and more connected to my desires than I was before. Even to the point that holding the device in my hand as I clean it makes me think so much about what it means to have it on that it fills up with chubby penis meat and I can’t flush water through it. I’ll find myself fingering the hard ring under my waistband and, again, the stupid penis will try its best to plump out.

I am denied. My sex is totally controlled. And I am so fucking turned on by that.

Sep 17

4 Comments

Reaffirmation

The other day, we asked our 12-year-old son to put some meat into the deep freeze in the garage. Well, actually, Belle asked me to do it and I delegated the task to the boy thinking carrying meat and operating a freezer door was within his operational capabilities. Well…about 1:00 AM the next morning, Belle was woken up by some oddly muffled beeping sound. Following it downstairs, we found the freezer door to open just a smidge and the air in the freezer, instead of being its usual -3, was 31. The beeping was the freezer doing its best to tell someone, anyone, of the impeding food disaster.

Back in bed and unable to sleep, I prompted a discussion about the recent series of posts and the revelation that if I was allowed to break the most basic tenant of our dynamic without consequence, then what did it mean to either of our commitments to that dynamic? Long story short, she’ll be deploying a series of punishments for the offense (as she thinks of them, I assume) and I have promised to reaffirm my commitment to never having an orgasm again without her permission. We’re both reaffirming this arrangement.

The first part of my punishment is not being allowed to sleep naked. It’s not that big of a deal, on the face of it, but I really like sleeping naked and have been very good about respecting that rule. Only Belle can permit me to be naked in bed. If she falls asleep before giving me the green light, I sleep in pajamas. Period. Well, kinda period. That’s something else that’s slipped in the past few weeks. I’ve slept naked under the assumption that she’d let me, which is not at all the same thing. So, as of now, I’m not allowed to be naked in bed. Not even when I’m pleasuring her, which I did this morning. I was entirely covered while she was exposed. Part of the punishment.

During our talk, she prompted me to tell her how she might punish me. It’s often been a challenge for her. How do you punish someone who would otherwise like all the normal tactics? It’s hard for me to tell her how to punish me because it seems like cheating somehow. I do tell her things I genuinely dislike, but the act of telling her turns me on. So anyway, a few ideas (only the first two I said at the time) are:

  • IcyHot on the nuts – It’s been a long time since she used that on me. I really do dislike it as anyone who’s ever had IcyHot on his nuts would appreciate.
  • Caning – I bought a nice flexible cane and we’ve yet to use it. If she were to take a couple three whacks at my ass as hard as she could without warm up, you can be sure I would not like it.
  • The nasty nipple clamps – Yes, I usually like them, but they’re pretty cruel. If she put them on me, twisted them around a bit and them ripped them off by force, I would be in a great deal of pain.
  • Extra long denial – Yeah, yeah, I can hear you thinking, a la Admiral Ackbar, “It’s a trap!” but hear me out. I know, based on past experience now, that really long denial gets very hard after 2-3 months and at the moment I really do crave an orgasm, so instead of making me wait until November as she’s doing now, what if I had to wait until January? Or March? And every time I whined about how badly I wanted to come or be inside her, she could tell me that under normal circumstances that would be allowed, but there was that one I stole from her in a hotel room back in August, so…

Leaving me out of her orgasms, as I’ve said before, is maybe the worst punishment but that only works if she’s actually getting off without me. If she never masturbates, then I’m just left to float and that ends up being counter-productive in the end.

In other news, I was forced out of the device for about 36 hours due to a nasty hot spot under the right side of the cuff ring. It was already acting up before I went to the doctor’s the other day, but somehow going back in afterward made it a lot worse. I put it back on yesterday but it was persistently annoying so I’ve swapped out the 40mm cuff with my original 45mm ring. It feels ridiculously large but the irritated spot doesn’t seem to notice it, so it’s better than nothing. It’ll be interesting to see how it feels tonight under “full load” since I’ve never worn this combination of tube and ring before.

Also, I had an interesting dream last night. In it, Belle and I were with an assortment of friends having dinner somewhere (I can’t remember who it was or where we were, of course, but they were friends) and at some point the name of someone we both used to work for came up. We’ll call him “Dennis”.

In the dream, she said, “Dennis? Oh, he kicked the ass of Randy in bed last night!” Randy was another guy she used to work for.

Conversation stopped at the table (in the dream) and I said somewhat nervously, “Sweetie, you were at home last night with me, remember?” But the night before that, in the dream, she had been in New York with Dennis. I had no idea she had been with either Dennis or Randy before she blurted this out.

There was nervous laughter at the table and that’s all I remember.

And yeah, I found that to be pretty f’n hot. Both at the time and in retrospect. I told Belle this morning and we both had a good laugh because Dennis was a pretty good looking guy who may have been good in bed, but Randy wasn’t and didn’t look it. I told Belle how it had turned me on.

“Dew on a blade of grass would turn you on,” she said.

A bit of an exaggeration. But just a bit.

Sep 14

4 Comments

INMIY, part 2

nuts4belle said:

That is interesting how when “forced” lockup goes from being a fantasy to reality it is no longer appealing. That tends to happen a lot in life and it doesn’t look like chastity is immune. Hope you snap out of it and enjoy yourself soon. It is more fun when it is a cock cage and not a ball and chain.

Perhaps I overstated it. It’s not that it’s unappealing. I’m still on board with the practice and am nowhere near withdrawing my consent. Somewhere in my head, the usual feeling that the device and I are one hasn’t been allowed to set in and rather than feeling I am in my normal state, I feel the opposite. It’s not as appealing to me, but it’s not unappealing. I’m not not enjoying myself. The other morning with Belle was fantastically intense and really fucking hot.

That being said, yes, even your life’s sexual fantasy, if practiced long enough, can become mundane.

Mykey said:

The sleep. It’s a killer. If there is one thing that kills me it’s lack of sleep. The one big downer to denial those sleepless periods.

Agreed. Typically, I’ll not sleep for a few days then, due to exhaustion, sort of collapse into sleep for a day or two. That’s what’s happened this time, too. I’ve slept relatively well the past two nights and was only woken once by the stupid penis at 4:45 each morning.

Randy/Rachel said:

Seems like a you want what you want until you have it situation to me. Enjoy it for the rest of us whose wifes didn’t like the idea one iota.

Hmm. Perhaps. However, after living this for three years and writing about it the whole time, I don’t think I’m the kind of person who “likes what I want until I get it.” It’s far more complicated than that. Also, I expend no effort trying to “enjoy it” for all those reading whose wives are uncooperative in making real their husband’s fantasies. I’m not unsympathetic to those guys, but this isn’t a porn soap opera here. It’s my life.

After Belle read the post, she said she didn’t care much for the title. I can see that. It does have a bit of an accusatory tone that I didn’t intend at all. Sometimes, the title of posts are obvious, other times I struggle with them. That happened yesterday. I wasn’t trying to send a message with it.

She mentioned the idea of a break, but we didn’t really discuss it. Even though I wrote about it, I wasn’t prepared to talk about it. Since I’m not miserable or “in a bad place”, I don’t think I need a break. I would like one, sure, but I don’t need it. She will allow me to have it or not.

Going back to the metaphor of the relationshop stack made up of layers dependent on those below them to operate properly, the D/s layer is near the top. All the stuff I’m feeling is happening in there, not lower down. This isn’t a crisis at all, just a different manifestation of my submission. Therefore, the “solution” can come entirely from within the D/s stack. That means it has to can happen on her terms, not mine.

Meanwhile, I have a doctor’s appointment today and, while I don’t expect it’ll involve any groping or xrays or anything, you never know. Belle’s left me with the key so I can take the device off before I go. I’m working from home until my appointment and am painfully aware that I have at my disposal the means to remove my encumberment and am completely unsupervised. I nearly took it off when I showered this morning but left it on knowing that the soapy, slippery shower is a dangerous place. Now, I’m sitting with my computer and thinking about working on The Portfolio which is really dangerous. I’ll leave it on. I’ve decided I’ll only take it off just before I have to go.

How does this jive with the feelings I described yesterday and above? No idea. I think it means I want to be good even when the lesser angels of my nature are whispering in my ear. In that hotel room, I succumbed to their ministrations. Today, I’m just a bit stronger. At least for the time being.

Jul 27

10 Comments

Smaller boxes

My list of required activities is complete. She has written up those things I am expected to do day in and day out and also a list of one-off projects or activities. I’ve put the reoccurring things on my personal calendar so my phone should help me stay on task. Things like laundry twice a week, dinner twice a week, foot massages, etc., all have been specified in the software to remind me they need to be done. For example, this morning, my phone reminded me I’m supposed to do the laundry but there isn’t any. In exchange for that, she’s having me do the grocery shopping.

As I said, Sunday nights she’ll evaluate my performance and give me some kind of grade. A good job is expected so the only consequences of this review can be negative – rewards will not be given. It appeared to be a tricky question what these punishments should be since I get off on so many things most people would think of as bad. Threat of longer denial of orgasm is unlikely to strike fear in me since I’d be perfectly happy if she denied me forever. Really, there’s only one thing that I want more than anything else and using it as leverage against my service performance seems perfectly obvious once you think of it. I want her. I want to make her come and I want to feel her pussy twitch and spasm in orgasm. I want to taste her and feel her and smell her. Moments after she comes, I start a clock in my head for when I can reasonably approach her for another. So, if my performance is below expectations, she will not just deny my access to her, she will take care of herself without me. I will have to watch as her orgasm flowers into existence and dies away and I won’t be able to leach any pleasure out of it whatsoever. I treat each of her orgasms as a special event to be savored, but if I fail at keeping her happy outside the bedroom, it will be an opportunity totally lost to me. It will truly hurt.

Of course, there are some physical punishments I would fear. Three or four hard and swift strikes from a springy fiberglass cane would probably not be too enjoyable. I ordered one from Stockroom the other day, but for play not punishment. Also, Icy Hot on the nuts is something that is so intense for the time its happening that she’s stopped doing it to me. But, there were a few times when she used it in a corrective capacity and the experience has stuck with me. She even went so far as to make me get the tube out of the drawer in the bathroom and bring it to her for use. Yeah, I’m scared of that shit.

But denial of her orgasm is probably the easiest for her. She’ll decide how many I’ll lose and that will be that.

Some people find this entire course of action silly. Of course, I’m the husband in a modern marriage, so I should do many of the things she’s got on her list anyway. They’re table stakes. How can taking out the trash be made sexy? I’d say several things to that. One, STFU. We can do what we want. Two, you need to know Belle. She’s genetically predisposed to take on too many things. Her mother is worse and I can even see the beginning of these traits in our daughter. She will never ask me to do much of anything and instead stews over the fact that I didn’t take out the trash even if I didn’t because she did it before I got around to it. So, in a real way, this is a strategy to ensure I know what she wants me to do and for her to know I will do it (and, if I don’t, she doesn’t need to stew – she can get even). Finally, as I’ve said before, I’m somewhat selfish. It’s not like I want to take advantage of Belle, but I can get a little lost in my own thoughts and lose track of the things I need to do. She won’t remind me, she’ll just get mad. Again, I now will have real motivation to keep what she wants me to do front and center.

It’s possible, over time, that she’ll make the list a little harder. Right now, it codifies a pretty typical division of labor around the house. Also, in retrospect, she might want to add more subjective items to the list. For example, she picked up on my moodiness and disappointment of the past few days from not being able to have sex with her. I think I’ve done the best possible job I could in keeping that inside, but she could also make it a requirement of my service. No complaints, no bitchiness, no moodiness or any kind of blowback on her for me not getting what I want. She might also decide to ding me for being too pushy or obviously worked up. As a sub, I crave that kind of pushing so I can demonstrate how far I’m willing to go to make her happy. I want to be put in smaller and smaller boxes by her and achieve not only objective tasks that get little check marks next to them when complete, but also to develop mentally and emotionally into a “purer” form of submission. Into a better sub.

I write those last few sentences and I know they could cause someone to object, but it’s what I’m feeling. Maybe there’s a better way to express it. What I’m not trying to do is to have all my resistance to submitting ground out of me. There’s a frisson that’s generated when my submissive side bends to her will despite my more selfish nature’s inclination to do what it wants. That energy is what powers my sexuality now and I convert it to a different kind of pleasure. I want to learn to find that spark of internal conflict in as many places as possible. I’m not sure what I’d be like if I got to a place where my selfish nature wasn’t always bitching about how unfair life is. What I need to do is figure out how to put that in a cage and use its sturm and drang for good and not let it poison me.

Jul 26

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Still hard

The hardest part of living like this, for all you budding chastity/denial aficionados, is not the part where she strokes you, licks you, fucks you and leaves you throbbing hard, dripping, and desperate for more. No, that’s the good part. The hardest part is when she doesn’t let you, for whatever reason, have access to her body.

The situation should be familiar to anyone paying attention. I am locked in the device as often as possible. If it were not for real life getting in the way, it would be essentially permanent. I have no way to stimulate myself and Belle chooses to play the version of this game where she will sometimes touch me everywhere but the penis. She doesn’t see the need to let it out except when life, health, or orgasm require it. What I want more than anything is her. Her tits, her pussy, her everything. I want to ravish her.

So I’m pretty sure the last time she let me get her off was the day I got back from my camping trip, five days ago. On Sunday, we took the kids to summer camp. The oldest will be there until the end of the week, but the youngest gets back tonight. That means we had two nights of kidless living. I had hoped for some quality Belle ‘n Thumper time.

There was a bit of Thumper-centric activity on Sunday night. She put the wicked clamps on my tits and punched me in the nuts. The clamps, which hurt like a motherfucker, felt really good from the second she clipped the on. I was ready. The pain/pleasure conversion motor was humming in high gear. She yanked on the chain connecting the clips a bit which is fucking crazy intense. These things are so nasty that even shifting my position causes them to chew the soft pink nipple meat as they turn with me. It can be so overwhelming that it feels like I’m in a deep, dark cave and the only thing I see is two brilliant white lights burning in the blackness. They usually leave extraordinarily thin cuts on my skin, though so superficial that bleeding is never a question. Leaving marks is cool.

Anyway, yeah, so I have god’s perfect nipple clamps on and she starts hitting me in the nuts. There’s really no pain here, either. At least, by the time the sensation gets to my brain, it’s been transmuted into something else. I craved more than she was giving me, so I got up off my back (where she had told me to lay) so that I was on all fours over half her prone body (and yes, all this movement made the clamps gnaw and chew). I was hoping this would give her a better angle on my nuts, and I wasn’t disappointed. She balled her hand into a little fist and punched my sack, pulled tight by the straining penis in its cage. I reached down and held the tube in my hand to minimize the risk of getting the thin skin at the base of the tube pinched from her assault and to give her blows a more even base to strike against. In my head, I was begging her to hit me as hard as she could. I wanted something that would take my breath away and make me crumple over her like a doll. I wanted to feel it in my guts. But I couldn’t form the words. I couldn’t ask her. Something held me back. It could have been a combination of self-preservation and residual guilt for wanting this kind of attention. I don’t know. But I never asked.

When she was done (indicated by her pulling the clips off my tits), she kind of shut down and said, “I hope you can fall asleep,” or something very similar.

I admit, I was profoundly disappointed. I wanted in her pussy. I wanted to eat it up. I wanted to feel her writhe and moan and spasm to my touch. All she wanted to do was go to sleep. I got very still and quiet.

“Thumper, are you OK?”

No. But I said, “Yes.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s not important,” I replied because, by rights, it shouldn’t be. I signed up for this. I have this thing on the penis which ensures there is nothing I can do except make her come if I want anything like a release for myself. I didn’t want to ruin an otherwise enjoyable experience by getting all moody, though I was. The best I could do was keep it from affecting her. So I ate it and let her go to sleep.

But I didn’t. I was up until after midnight and then awake at least three times with stifled erections so powerfully contained that I needed to get up and walk them off. It was a crappy night’s sleep. But that’s what I signed up for, too. In the morning, she said she was surprised I hadn’t blogged the night before. Usually, when I can’t sleep and am left feeling funky, that’s what I do, but I specifically held off until now because I wanted better perspective.

Next night, she had a work dinner thing and I had drinks with a friend. I got home about 8:30 and the house was hot but the pool looked inviting so I took a skinny dip. Our backyard is enclosed just enough to leave a bit of risk in this action, so that hit a few of my buttons. Regardless, swimming in the nude is 136% better than swimming with a stupid suit on and the water was glorious. The dusky sky reflected beautifully on the water’s surface.

Belle got home somewhat later and I was hoping that she’d want my attention, but no dice. We watched Niel Patrick Harris (upon whom she has a massive crush) on the Daily Show and she fell asleep with her hand in my crotch – palm on the tube and fingertips on my nuts. It was nice, but ultimately did nothing to give me what I needed. I wanted her fucking snatch but she wasn’t giving it up.

Finally, this morning, I woke up well after she did as usual and, before getting dressed, she sat next to me in bed and again stroked my nuts. It drove me crazy, especially when she got dressed right next to me few minutes later. The kidless window is closed now since our youngest gets home this afternoon.

So anyway, I am trying my hardest not to let this maddening lack of Belle time get me down. I am trying to remind myself that this is part of the deal. That I wanted to be out of the decision making loop regarding sex and to be frustrated and horny and denied and treated arbitrarily and unfairly. I really, really don’t want to put anything back on her because the deal is I have no right to do so. I am not entitled to her and should accept what I get with gratitude.

Yeah, that’s the hardest fucking part. And in case you’re wondering, no, it doesn’t get any easier with time.

Jul 23

6 Comments

Nurturing the nature

No, this isn’t going to be one of those posts where I relate how difficult it is being the woebegone orgasm starved male. But, it could be and that’s the rub.

Somehow, I’m in a fantastic place at the moment. I’m horny as hell and so totally into Belle and feeling all subbie and service oriented and all the things that leave me with a filled tube and a warm fuzzy. I am painfully desirous of her, to the point where her hands on my balls last night and her stroking of my ass this morning seemed like it should have been enough to cause me to spontaneously combust. I can’t seem to get close enough to her and want every part of my body to be touching every part of hers simultaneously. I have the distinct desire to anoint all my skin with her juices and rub my entire face in her pussy. I have it bad.

But there were times in the past where I was operating under similar conditions and was miserable. It’s possible that a few random balls fell left instead of right in the pachinko game of my emotional state or it’s possible I’m just better at accepting my position and drawing strength from the things that in the past would drive me nuts. Why won’t she let me make her come? I ask that rhetorically because it doesn’t really matter. It’s still driving me mad, but I’m not resentful nor do I feel somehow entitled. Instead, the maddening denial of access to her has kindled an even greater aching craving that does nothing but emit the good kind of frustration and none of the bad. Instead of feeling like I’m missing out by her stubborn refusal I feel like she’s giving me the very thing I want so bad. To feel the need. To want. To see her being arbitrary with me. Perhaps even to deny me only to see my squirm. I am not trying to talk myself out of being happy. I only mean to set upon a pedestal the satisfaction I’m getting from my extreme dissatisfaction.

I asked Belle last night a question that I need to hear the answer to just because I need to hear it.

“Do you like me being locked up?” Sounds kind of pathetic, and I suppose that’s fair, but I like asking it.

“Oh yes, more than anything,” she answered with enthusiasm. That, of course, was exactly the right answer and, even though the tube was properly stuffed already, hearing her say that made it painfully so. Then I asked another question that popped out of my mouth rather unexpectedly.

“Do you think it makes me a better person?”

She paused a long time. From her perspective, answering this could be a problem.

“It’s OK if you do,” I said.

“Yes,” she said quietly, “I think it does make you a better person.”

“I want to be better,” I replied, almost whispering, as the psychic dagger of all the emotions and urges and cravings that are my fevered condition twisted in my soul, ”A better husband. For you.”

I asked her this morning (not long after she petted my naked ass for a while, so yeah, I was feeling pretty dreamy) why she paused. The reason, she said, was that she didn’t want to imply that I wasn’t a good person already. She’s so sweet. Of course, I know I’m not a bad person. Why would she have married me if I was? But I also know that I’m at heart a selfish one. I am the (perhaps) rare selfish sub. And it bugs me. I honestly do want to be a better, more service-oriented, less needy submissive male. Not only because it makes me feel better, but because it makes her happier, too. I don’t need her to tell me I’m not already good. I do need her to tell me chastity and denial makes me better and to keep me honest when, for whatever reason, I drift off.

I used to think that kink and my sexual perversions were all separate and tidy little chunks sitting next to each other. But that’s not how it works. They’re more like light refracting and reflecting and combining and shifting inside me, sometimes with unexpected results. I feel very keenly now how much I want to be found wanting. I don’t know if I would describe it as a degradation-type kink, but I want to hear that I’m not as good by myself as I am modified in the way being locked up and denied makes me. I want to know that the woman to whom I have given my submission is using it to make me a better creature. I want to feel that by being better in my position that she’s happier and more satisfied both being with me and in her life in general. I have felt this way before and lost it. I don’t want to lose it again.

To that end, I’ve asked Belle if we could institute a new routine for me. I’ve given her a little notebook to write on the first page all the things she expects of me by default. What I need to do all of the time, without being asked or reminded. Then, on subsequent pages, she’d write those things she wants me to do that come up along the way as we live our life. Situational expectations and desires of hers. I’ve also asked that on every Sunday she look at the book and make a note of how I’ve performed over the past week. Whether there are punishments or rewards is entirely up to her. I want to get to a place where my reward will be hearing her tell me I did a good job. I’d love to be punished, for sure, but setting up a system of carrots and sticks is tricky with someone like me. I might end up doing a bad job specifically so I’d get the stick.

The danger in all of this is taking a “set it and forget it” kind of approach. I think the majority of people tend to let their relationships go down that path and find themselves dissatisfied sooner or later. I, being all complicated n’ stuff, need a little more attention with regard to maintaining a proper frame of mind and emotional state. I am so thankful that I’m partnered with a woman who is willing to deal with that. The well-being of our dynamic is constantly moving so our approach to keeping it within a satisfying range of operation is something we both need to be mindful about, not just her.

Anyway, I’m rambling now. Bottom line, I’m happy, she seems happy, I want us to stay that way. After almost three years, we might just be figuring out the care and feeding of the submissive male. At least my particular subspecies, anyway.

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