Tag: relationship

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Panty problems

This whole panty thing got kind of out of control. After reading the post about it, Belle related to me that the idea didn’t do anything for her. That’s fine, if a little disappointing. Totally out of left field and, truth be told, it’s not like wearing something like that is a core part of my sexuality or anything. I’m just experimenting. But then she made a point of saying, “I’m not interested in ever seeing you wearing them.”

That made me feel weird and awkward and sat between us like a dead fish for several days. Suddenly, I was embarrassed and worried she’d even see them in my drawer. I was afraid of being judged and found to be somehow wrong. Then, after a negative comment from a follower to a quickly posted image on Twitter, I spiralled into a very foul mood and impulsively deleted the tweet. It’s one thing to hear something like that from your partner. It’s something quite a bit different to be pantie-shamed by a fellow anonymous perv on the internet.

In any event, Belle’s intention wasn’t to be harsh. I could tell by the tone of how she said what she said. It was an honest comment and I’m glad she made it, even though it pained me. My response was also honest, but I wasn’t mad at her for feeling how she feels and I’d rather she not take it back or try to gloss over it or anything. We’ve discussed it and, after, I’m in a better place if only because the issue is out there. It’s not resolved because I don’t know that it can be.

It was surprising to me how quickly my ego destabilized from this little adventure. I’ve been on pretty good ground for a while and haven’t felt the “freakish freaky freak” thing in a long time.  Then, BOOM, there it was. In any event, like I said, we’re past the worst of it and I’m feeling somewhat better now. I still don’t think I could let myself be seen by her in them, though she said incidental observation (like when I was changing for bed or something) wouldn’t bother her. It’s still a tender spot. At least I can bring myself to put them on without feeling self-loathing.

Practically speaking, I’ve worn two pairs now for a day each. I find I like the boy brief cut better than the thong cut (I also got these but haven’t worn them yet). I don’t have a general problem with thong-style underwear and have several pairs. They’re really good for achieving that commando feel while still providing a bit of support for the steel. I think what I like about the boy brief panties is that I could feel the lace on my ass under my jeans. I was often reminded that I was wearing them and that was satisfying. The other styles look good on, but are just like any other underwear once covered by pants. I also like the incredible lightness of lace. They’re there but just barely. A very appealing material for me. I’m wearing the briefs again today without a device because I’m going to an event tonight where there’ll be metal detectors. I was worried the lace would rub uncomfortably over the penis (which is often very sensitive to that kind of thing right after getting out following a long time locked-up), but there’s been no issues so far. I will be posting HNT this Thursday of what that looked like this morning, so beware all panty-hating types (and Belle).

I’m still trying to figure out the appeal in general of panties. I think it’s that I’ve always had a thing for sexy underwear most men wouldn’t wear (a fetish?) and these are just an extreme example of that. There’s no doubt when you see them that these are for men because they have ample pouches cut into them. I don’t feel like I’m wearing women’s underwear at all and still have no desire to do so. But I do like the lacy stuff and more feminine look of these. Weird.

In any event, I’ve picked up two more pairs. A pair of red (because that’s all they had) shorts and a pair of tanga briefs (a cut I’ve never heard of before). We’ll see how those go.

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Cheatin’ heart

I saw on the Twitter the other day someone post a link to their blog where they talked about whether masturbation could be considered cheating on one’s partner. I didn’t click the link so can’t give them credit or even see what they said because at the time the topic didn’t seem that interesting. But here I am still thinking about it.

First off, for me, yes, masturbation would be considered cheating. I’m not allowed to do it. I consider it something I used to do back when I had control over the penis. That’s gone and along with it went my right to jack it whenever I want and the resulting orgasms. So I do personally consider at least masturbating with the penis to be a form of cheating. But that’s just me.

But that’s not the only kind of masturbation one can do. This morning, I took advantage of the last school day (and concomitant child-free time we’ll see in our house for a while) to scratch an itch only a big fat dildo can get to for me. I had a grand time and would probably still be doing it even now if not for the demands of work, life, etc. Is that cheating? At one point, Belle told me I had to have permission to do even that but I don’t bother asking her anymore. She’s made it clear that she’s not interested in working with me on my need to be someone’s hole so, when the craving gets to be too much, I’m my own. I do not consider that cheating since the activity involves my deeply-seated need to seat something deeply inside my ass. It’s a thing she’s not interested in so I’m not withholding anything from her. And, since I don’t come at the end, I’m not depleting my reserves of sexual energy in the slightest. Quite the opposite.

But what about you, oh dear amorphous blob of the average sex blog viewing masses? Is masturbation cheating when you do it? That all depends. If you’re the lower-case consonant in a power exchange dynamic like I am, yep, without explicit permission, I’d say it probably is. If you’re the upper-case consonant, nope, you can do whatever you want since the rules are yours. (I generalize and assume, of course.) But if you’re not playing the D/s game, I would say that I’m inclined to think excessive masturbation is a form of cheating.

Back in the Bad Old Days of our relationship, when we never had sex (OK, not never, but like maybe once every couple of months at best), I would jack-off regularly. I’d leave the bed, go into the den and edge myself for as long as possible looking at and reading porn until I spewed all over. Masturbation wasn’t the thing that caused our problems but it exacerbated them. The more I jerked-off the less interested I was in Belle and working on our issues and the greater the gap between us grew. I became angry and resentful and that led to all kinds of nasty stuff which, in turn, led to where we are now which is glorious so I’m not bemoaning that it had to happen. But we were lucky.

So yeah, in the specific case I laid out above, I think masturbation is cheating the relationship. It may be the case that people with extraordinarily high sex drives or the young can pull one out in the morning and still have enough left at the end of the day to make their partner feel special. Obviously, there are no absolutes. But you know what kind of person you are and where your relationship is. So you tell me. Are you cheating yourself and your partner when you take care of yourself? Are you using easy access to your wiggly bits as a way to ignore other issues and/or obligations?

I guess, at the end of it all, I can’t say if it’s cheating for you. Context is everything. Personally, I think people in relationships would be better served by pleasuring themselves absent their partners as infrequently as possible. But I’ve said things like that before and gotten in trouble. Oh well. I still think it…

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Twice on Sunday

Belle and I talked this morning about me going outside our relationship for things she doesn’t want to provide. She reiterated that my permission to do so remains. So, worries of drama or other calamities by some were unfounded.

Her guidelines are a little clearer now. For one, she doesn’t want my dalliances to interfere with our life. They should be on my time. That complicates things a bit, but life is complicated. She doesn’t necessarily want to read about what I do and wants any blog posts on the subject to be behind a jump so she can ignore them. She also wants to retain her privacy and anonymity. Finally, and as she’s already said, the penis will always be locked up. That’s hers. She said it turns her on knowing that even in that kind of situation she controls it.

An unanswered question for both of us is how this might affect our dynamic. Since she’s the most important thing in the world to me, all I can promise is she’ll always have primacy in all things. Whatever relationships I develop alongside ours will be subordinate. Based on my previous experience with extramarital relationships, I think I can say my feelings for her will not diminish (and might even increase), but this is new territory for both of us. A lingering possibility in all this is that some day she might want something outside our marriage. I told her I don’t feel I have any say in that. In my mind, she controls both what I’m allowed to do with my body and what she does with hers. She mentioned that she thought it was funny, after all we’ve been through and after all these years, that we’d both find things we can’t give the other. She can’t/won’t give me a certain flavor of sexual experience I crave and I…here I expected her to say I wasn’t well enough endowed, but it’s that I’m not able to take her (and, maybe a little because of the size of the penis). I can’t fuck her and use her and come in her the way she wants. She craves being topped and I’m not a top. Maybe someday, she’ll let herself have what she craves.

In any event, she said she doesn’t have any problems with me seeking outside activities. She’s surprised in how little the prospect bothers her. At first, she figured it would be a very transactional thing. I’d find someone to fuck me and that would be it. But neither of us are capable of transactional sex, I don’t think. I need to have some kind of connection to the person, even if it’s not romance. Even so, she’s perfectly comfortable with me proceeding.

After that talk, we had lovely, leisurely sex. She told me up front I wasn’t going to come out of the device. She let me out Saturday morning so I could fuck her with Blue (which, she reports, “doesn’t even feel that big anymore”), but I had to put another device back on before I got out of bed. At least she let me in without Blue after she came. However, this morning I was left in the Looker 02 while she writhed under my fingers.

She came nicely and while she was basking I did my best not to grind the locked penis into her. The L02’s insert was choking the stifled erection and I told Belle how badly I wanted out so I could enjoy her. “You’ll have to wait,” she said. I replied that part of me hated that answer but another part of me knew it was best for me.

She didn’t let me fuck but she did allow me to lick. I moved down between her legs and sucked on her clit and inhaled as deeply as possible her essence. It was the first time I’ve ever gone down on her where I wasn’t trying to make her come. I was able to just enjoy the feeling and taste of her on my lips and tongue. I rubbed her wetness all across my face drenching me from my nose to my chin.

The other day when I picked her up from the airport, I experienced something probably only 17-year-olds and perpetually denied guys feel (at least as strongly as I did). She was in the car with me and I was happy to see her but at some point I felt it. Her pussy. It was there, too. I could sense it. Feel it’s gravitational pull. It left me feeling a little light-headed and with a chest full of butterflies. It intensity of it left me digging my fingers into her thigh which, I realized, was itself so close to it’s radiative heat. I so badly crave her pussy now that I’m not allowed to play with the penis and pretty much only come out of a device so I can fuck her. It’s like the other side of the coin from the penis now. She has me very well trained to be in tune with it.

Eventually, she started to warm to what I was doing. Every time I flicked her clit her leg would twitch until I was attacking it like it was my everything (and it is). She told me to get Pink so she could finish herself off while I sucked on her tits.

She came for a second time and I was left squeezing my swollen nuts.

 

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Deceleration

Belle was finally able to read my last post. Now that the prospect of me getting a little on the side is real, she’s told me we need to slow down a bit. Until we can talk face to face about things, I won’t be doing anything.

Of course, she’s the most important thing in the world to me. This simply can’t happen if she’s not comfortable. Right now, she’s not. Maybe in the future she will be. We’ll see what happens next.

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A gentleman caller

Remember how, at the beginning of the year, Belle gave me permission to find a guy who’d fuck me? And how I immediately reached out to an ex-boyfriend in a rather insensitive way? And how that led me to create a CollarMe profile that’s been pretty much totally ignored by the whole world? Yeah, that.

Belle said something to the effect that I might engage in some kind of activity while she was gone on her trip and I was all like, “Yeah right, honey.” I even commented in my last post that since “no real men have raised their hands for the job [of fucking me] I’m left to my own devices.”

Funny thing.

After I wrote that, a guy who reached out to me on Tumblr said…

Saw your post on DT this morning lamenting the fact that no “real men” had stepped up for your ass pounding, I mean prostate milking and I said to myself, well, first you have to meet one who might be willing to help you out. Wink, wink 😉

And even I’m not so dense that the message didn’t finally connect.

So he and I went out on a little date Wednesday afternoon to a local establishment. Well, date, I dunno. Two people met in a bar-like environment so I guess that’s a date. I will admit to being very nervous. I haven’t been in this situation in, oh I don’t know, like twenty years? And the fact that this was such a specific meeting with such a specific assumed objective (eventually — I may be a slut but I’m not easy) was a new experience for me.

I delayed finishing this post because I was waiting to be able to talk to Belle about it before hand. Since this is the first time the possibility of taking advantage of her permission has presented itself, I want to make sure she’s OK and still feeling comfortable with everything before it goes too far too fast. I texted the basic situation to her and waited for the conversation to happen. Turns out, she was waiting to read my post before talking to me, so here we are.

His name, I don’t think will intrude too much on his privacy in saying, is Michael. A little older than me. Also a transplant to this part of the country, though for not nearly as long as I’ve been. He’s originally from the more genteel climes of the Southeastern United States. His relationship status is complicated, but he is married to a woman. He likes to call himself heteroflexible which is as good as anything, I suppose. He hasn’t been with another man in quite some time. In fact, I’ve probably had naked fun time with a guy since the last time he has.

He’s very nice and complimentary and flattering of me. I will admit to liking that. It’s been quite some time since I was pursued like that. Of course, since he’s a guy, I can see right through his routine. He’s is trying to get into my pants, after all. But still. It’s nice.

We have another appointment next week, also in the afternoon since that’s most convenient to me as a single parent and all. No idea what’s on the agenda, but I wasn’t born yesterday. I suppose we should be more clear about that of only for logistical reasons. And, of course and most importantly, this has to remain comfortable for Belle. She should know (and now she does since I’m writing this) that she can pull the cord on the entire thing if it’s too much for her. There will be no resentment from me. The last thing in the world I want is for her to be unhappy or in any way put off by what I do on the side.

Assuming I continue to get the green light, there’s also the question of how much I can share here. She originally said she didn’t want to hear about what I do but I have this blog and it’s where I like to tell all my dirty secrets. So could I do that? Or no? Again, I want to be crystal clear so as to avoid hurting her in the slightest.

So, to summarize. Nervous, excited, cautious. Among other things. We’ll see.

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Volly

Schnoff and I are going to continue our game of blogging badminton…

He wrote recently about the conflict of not living up to the expectations of that person with whom one has placed control over one’s orgasm (and I like writing using words like “one” because it does makes one feel as though they’re speaking dialog from an episode of Downton Abby). In my first post in response to his first, I said…

I still touch it and fiddle with it absentmindedly and give it a squeeze if it’s hard and I’m liking that, but I will not “play with it.” Which means I’ll not be able to find myself in that spot Schnoff did. 

And even as I wrote it I thought it sounded a bit too confident. I should have said if I remain true to Belle’s wishes that I not play with the penis when it’s unlocked and I don’t have permission in that way I know from years of experience will bring me into spitting distance of orgasm, I’ll not be able to find myself in that spot Schnoff did. Lately, I have been really good about that. There’s some kind of mental block that’s been trained into me so that the idea of stroking myself, while appealing on one hand since I know how good it will feel, is really unappealing to me since I also know it would be very wrong. That’s not to say if I found myself locked in the bathroom with my ass in the air and the Pure Wand sticking out and punching my prostate that I wouldn’t also find my hand all over the penis if it were free, but that very specifically is one of those things I just mentioned. So I won’t do that unless she says very specifically that I can.

To illustrate. Belle left me unlocked this weekend from Friday night to this morning. She let me out on Friday not because she wanted anything to do with the penis but because she knew she might want it Saturday morning and she didn’t want to have to fiddle with the key or wait for me to attend to my cleanliness or anything like that when it was time. So, in effect, I was loaned the penis until she had a use for it. I was only holding onto it (figuratively) for her. So I didn’t do anything pleasurable with it until Saturday when she stroked it and let me put it in her. Similarly, the next morning we had sex again but this time there was no foreplay on her part. I was attending to her tits and fingering her pussy and the penis was rock hard between us but she totally ignored it. Neither of us touched it at all until she let me slide in because I’m not supposed to and she didn’t want to. There was a time when I might have maneuvered myself into position where her hand was adjacent in hopes that she’d play with it or even so that I could pleasure myself while pleasuring her, but the rule is now that the only pleasure I’m allowed from the penis is when it’s being used to fuck her. And I have been conditioned to obey that. I’m actually pretty proud of how good I’ve been, though I understand that she still doesn’t trust me.

I think there are some specific reasons for this recent success. One is Belle has given me very clear rules. No stroking. No getting yourself off without permission. Absolutely no orgasm. It’s hard to wiggle in that space. If I’m doing something that feels good with the penis, it’s probably against the rules. Two, I have come to realize that to really succeed I need to respect her, her rules, and our dynamic. All those things. Her authority over my body is not an island that is separate from me and my actions. I do not exist outside that construct.

I, of course, have willingly entered into this dynamic with Belle (just as I entered into our marriage which is a similar arrangement, I think). If I am to disrespect her wishes within the dynamic, I am disrespecting the dynamic. The thing I wanted and crave. The thing that provides me so much emotional pleasure. I can’t help wanting to stroke myself and even to come (in fact, I need to want to stroke myself and come) but to do so would mean I am not really invested in making the dynamic work. She has her role (which she is fulfilling quite well) and I have mine. If I can’t live up to her expectations, then why should I hope she’d do the same for me?

In a way, this mentality is the root of my assertion that the most secure chastity device lives between one’s own ears. Right now, I’m in the Jail Bird. It’s totally unsecure in that my PA has nothing through it. I could, theoretically, pull out and jack off or even go into my toolbox and use pliers to remove the security screw holding the cage on. She would have no way of knowing. But why in the world would I do that? To what end? And it’s the same willpower at a higher amperage that keeps me from breaking her rules involving free meat. The device is a deterrent but not the authority. That’s embodied in her.

So, the differences between successful device chastity and obedience chastity are non-existent…except for the device.

Like I said the other day, I think penis constriction is a kink all by itself. Some people get off on the feeling and, like in me, it’s buried deep down and has always been there. Another kink is about control (being controlled or doing the controlling). One could do either or both and still be covered under the “chastity” rubric. There is no right way. Layer over that ancillary kinks like bondage, sadomasochism, and even aesthetic preferences and you get some combination of this game we play.

The only advantages I have over anyone else sharing these kinds of experiences is the length of time we’ve been doing it and the fact that I often make an effort to tease out my feelings and thoughts in writing. But I do think that unless one gets to the point that they realize “being good” is really about respecting the holy trinity of their partner, themselves, and their relationship, they will struggle. I know for a fact that Bear and Schnoff are on the right path because it’s the same path Belle and I are one. I can recognize it in his writing. All the familiar mileposts are there.

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Flicker of zen

I had one of those epiphanous moments last night while struggling with my inability to sleep and my insatiable hunger for all things pornographic and sexual and my grumpiness at Belle’s apparent disinterest in having sex with me even after all the very helpful hints I’ve been dropping lately. But let me back up a bit because I have a laborious metaphor I want to walk you through.

Picard lol'dRemember that Star Trek: The Next Generation episode called “Timescape?” The one where Picard, Geordi, Troi, and Data find the Enterprise frozen in space locked in some kind of energy transfer thing with a Romulan bird of prey? Long story short (and, you know, SPOILERS for the eleven-year-old TV show), it turns out there were some little space critters living in the singularity at the core of the Romulan ship and that, somehow, had fractured time around themselves and the Enterprise resulting in a frozen-in-time warp core breach (which, even if you’re not into ST:TNG, you can probably tell is a Bad Thing) that a slightly loopy Picard drew a happy face on and —ANYWAY — everything turns out OK in the end except for the Romulans who lose their ship in spectacular (for 1993 4:3 non-HiDef TV special effects) fashion. 

But really, the bit I want to draw your attention to is the fractured time part. In their shuttle, Picard and Co. encounter little pockets where time is either sped up or slowed down. The phenomenon gets worse the closer they get to the Enterprise. Big chunks of normal space interspersed with big chunks of non-normal space, all created by this one event in the heart of the bird of prey.

Wow, long way to go for this, but, I feel like I’ve been moving through the same kind fractured space kind of deal since Belle let me come six weeks ago. Sometimes, I’m not feeling any of the denial hum that I love so much and other times I’ll find myself in a little pocket of it only to feel it slip away again. In all cases, I’ve been shorter than usual with Belle and less inclined to want to service her. I’ve even had a hard time keeping up with The Portfolio. You know it’s bad when even the porn isn’t appealing. But in the past few days, things felt like they were ratcheting up somehow. And that brings me back to last night.

I wanted and needed to have sex with Belle. I craved that connection. Nothing rambunctious or requiring of trapeze equipment. Just a nice fingering or, best case scenario, she’d let me eat her out. But like every other night this week, she shut me down and went to sleep rather quickly. And I was left feeling very horny, very locked-up, and grumpy. Toward her and my sexual situation in general. I spent time on Tumblr, cruised around the web seeking out erotica, finished reading a fucking fantastic article on bisexuality in the New York Times, and lurked on cuckolding forum. All the while, I was frothing myself up and letting my self-pity build on the crest of the frustration bubble.

But, sometime around 1:30 or so, I found a little flicker of that true denied sub zen magic. It was simple and in the form of three thoughts that all bled together: She controls your sex, that’s the place you asked to be in, this is what you want. And like that, the grumpiness evaporated. I reached out to her sleeping body and touched her warmth and felt a zing of comforting energy travel across my fingers and down my arm and into my soul. Eventually, I was fully embracing her, hanging my arm over her back and wrapping my legs into hers and pressing the hard, tight knot in my crotch into her ass. I was still fucking horny and I was still frothing with the energy pent up in the aftermath of that six-week-old orgasm, but instead of being irritated by it all, I was soothed. In a way. I felt like I was in my place. Eventually, I fell asleep like that.

Today, I still have it. When I kissed her goodbye this morning I lingered on her lips, smelling her and tasting her, and felt all kinds of light-headed wooziness at being so close to her and wishing I could drag her back to the bedroom and suck on her clit. And it left me feeling better for the experience, not worse. I actually felt something, which hasn’t always been the case for the past month and a half.

Somehow, last night, the fractures of my denial zen started to pull themselves back together. Finally.

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Secret sauce

Step one...

The other day, I went to my trainer session just as Belle was finishing hers. Our schedule is such that I’m always after her now. I helped scrape her off the floor and was being affectionate and stuff (I sometimes really like how the sweaty, post-workout Belle smells and tastes) and our trainer made some comment about “the secret” to our marriage. I have to tell you, I was seconds away from offhandedly telling him it probably had something to do with me only having one orgasm a year. But I didn’t.

This is a guy who’s juggling a couple of hotties at the same time and milking Tinder for all it’s worth (pun intended). He’s young(ish) and single and fucking all the time so I’m pretty sure the concept of withholding orgasm would make his head combust. And, I guess, rightly so. We backed into orgasm denial and chastity years after we got married, but it seems to me that its a strategy best applied to those in relationships. How would you even do it with random hook-ups? “Oh, that’s OK. I’m good…” Uh, probably not. 

I’m not even sure anymore that limiting and controlling male orgasm outside of chastity should even be considered a kink. I mean, for some people it is (when it’s part of a D/s dynamic or whatever) and clearly this kind of conversation is massively complicated by the tangled up yarn ball that is human sexuality, but even those people in vanilla monogamous (or -ish) male-female relationships would, I think, see benefits from keeping him from orgasming as often as he’d like. I’ve finally stopped reading that Cupid’s Poison Arrow book because I couldn’t take it anymore, but there is a kernel of truth buried in their pile of repetitive anecdote. Hacking brain chemistry by limiting (or even eliminating) orgasm in at least one partner can greatly benefit a marriage (or married-like arrangement). Especially for those people sneaking up on middle-age where refractory periods get longer and longer.

Over on the Twitter, Kitten asked…

https://twitter.com/kitten_68/status/439163450485645313

I said I thought my orgasm was a fair trade for how it benefits our marriage. Even if it meant I’d never have it again. If I could take a pill or pay a genie or something to take away my ability to come (but not my desire to) in exchange for feeling like I do when I’m riding high on the denial magic carpet, I’d do it. In a minute (assuming Belle was OK with it). Kitten suggested that would leave me feeling “bereft” but I think quite the opposite. I’m thrilled we’ve found this and can use it to enhance our relationship.

And I know, a lot of people would read that and think I’m crazy. Orgasm is wired deeply into our brains. We get lots of happy brain treats when we do it. But, as the authors of that dumb Cupid book point out, there’s also a downside to those same treats. On that point, I think they’re entirely right. Post-orgasmic brain chemistry does, over time, seem to work against long-term monogamous relationships. I can’t prove that to any of you. I don’t have a peer-reviewed study to point to (though I’d happily participate in one). All you can do it take my word for it, I guess.

In response to my last post, Mykey suggested my funk wasn’t a result of my last orgasm…

Seems unlikely it’s the orgasm from that long ago to me. I wonder if it’s just a cycle, hormones or emotions. Maybe you are coming down with a cold.

I agree, it does seem unlikely, but I’ve discovered that the actual impact from one orgasm does last for multiple weeks. Most men wouldn’t know because, like I used to, they’re probably having two to half a dozen or so orgasms a week (more if you’re a young man — I can recall jacking off twice a day in my mid- to late-teens). If you’re never outside an orgasm’s overhang, you can’t know the extent of it. If I were in a situation where my orgasms weren’t being controlled, I’d probably have pulled one out specifically to feel the hit of happy brain treats way before getting to the point where I was even a week out from last coming.

On that front, I’m starting to feel that old tyme denial religion. Belle wouldn’t let me out for sex this weekend even though we fooled around twice. Saturday morning was a nice and simple fingering while Sunday was a lovely and lively full-on pussy eating. After coming up for air, I was drenched. I rubbed it all down my chest and just let her pheromones linger on me even as I went to the gym for a run. It was quite the run, though I can’t say for certain the two things were related.

In any event, I desperately wanted to fuck her after I ate her out. To slip into that hot wetness. But it wasn’t happening. Later in the day, I asked if I could be let out due to a small spot of testicular irritation that had been lingering for several days. Sometimes it happens in places where the skin on the scrotum is constantly pulled somewhat tight (especially during erection attempts) and they can never heal. She was very suspicious of my motivations, but I swear I’d never lie to be let out. Twelve hours later, I was right as rain again. That’s all it took.

She let me out Sunday afternoon and I went back in this morning. I could have gone back in last night but she gave me one more day of recovery. I went to the gym unlocked and she was gone when I got back so the the notion of not going back in until tonight was crowding around in my imagination (especially while working on the Portfolio this morning), but I was good and obeyed her wishes and locked myself into the Looker 02. And, even when Tumbling, I didn’t play with anything. Not even in the shower. I was that good. 

Which, I think, means things are getting back to normal. I’ll be leaving Friday morning for SXSW. We haven’t discussed whether or not she’ll want me locked up while gone. Last year, she let me use my own judgement and I eventually went back in on my own because the distraction of having a free penis I couldn’t play with was just too great. I assume this year I won’t have the choice, but we’ll see.

Any of you going to be in Austin this weekend? Let me know. Maybe we could meet up.

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Dishwasher domination

Following this weekend’s activities, I’m left wondering if Belle’s warning of impending orgasm has passed. I know, I could just ask her, but let’s not kid ourselves. By writing these words, I am, in a way, asking her. I don’t want to pressure her, though, and she’s not always happy when I’m asking her about her future plans. This is just passive-aggressive enough, thank you very much.

Absent any other ideas of her intentions, I assume Sunday’s after-nap funfest was exactly what she was looking for (she even texted me Monday morning praising it again) and, since she was able to get it even without having me come, I think of it as an overall success. The best part was, I did want to come in her. A lot. Totally would have had she just said the word. But now, after the fact, I’m glad she didn’t.

Over on the Twitter, poor said something that got me thinking.

I wonder, if Belle wasn’t part of my life and I had no partner, would I still be into denial? I don’t think so. I really like jacking off and, believe it or not, I really like coming. I might still like the idea of chastity because I’ve always had a nascent kink involving penis bondage and constriction, but I doubt I’d deny myself for more than an extended edging session.

And that train of thought makes me realize that, for me, denial is all about my relationship. I want to be denied because of how it makes me feel about Belle. Not because I hate orgasms. I don’t. But I do love my wife and I know denial makes me a better mate. But it’s not alchemy. That is, it doesn’t create commitment out of thin air or transmute resentment into adoration. It nurtures a seed. It’s more like an amplifier that way.

For example. This morning, I was getting ready for the gym and noticed as I was putting my breakfast dishes in the sink that the dishwasher was full of clean dishes. I had time, so I started to unload it. This sounds pretty mundane, but there was a time when I wouldn’t have thought to do it. It just wouldn’t have occurred to me. Now, it does. Not only that, but as I was putting the plates in the cupboard, I thought how pleased Belle would be to find the dishes put up and the sink clean and I actually started to pop a boner. I mean, seriously. I chubbed out (as best the L02 would let it) just by thinking about how I was doing something Belle would find satisfaction with. Then I made the bed. Then I went to the gym.

It doesn’t really matter that a good spouse and partner should be doing those things anyway. What matters is, because I’m so much more in tune with what makes her happy and so much more invested in that happiness, we both feel good about it. It’s a way to make mundane tasks a lot more interesting.

When I got back from the gym, Belle told me how pleased she was with me. So much so that tonight I could choose how I’d get to make her come. (Decisions, decisions.) All that because of the dishwasher.

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Coconuts and candlelight

Last night, with only candles illuminating the room, I was kneeling naked at end of the bed except for the Looker 02 and massaging Belle’s feet with coconut foot lotion. I asked Belle what one thing has changed most for her in our dynamic since we started it.

Her answer was that she was more confident in her role and less worried and/or guilty about what I was going through. My periodic whining about being so horny and desperate rarely phases her anymore. At the beginning, our exploration of chastity and denial and female domination were all as a result of a difficult phase in our marriage (not a unique story) and she accepted the dynamic more as a reaction to all that. We were not in an especially healthy place, though I think we’re now in the midst of the best, most intimate years of our relationship. In any event, that was her answer. Confidence. Learning how to make my denial her own, so to speak. That comes with time, of course, and experience.

She asked me the same question. I said I wasn’t as urgent as in the early years. There was an imperative that drove me. Hard to describe, really, but I seemed to be in a terrible hurry to get all that denying denied. Also, while I was ascribing a desire to submit to her authority and control over me and my sex, I ended up being a headwind for her in trying to find her path. I had my own ideas and my life-long conditioning as a male in our culture left me with residual feelings and impulses very much at odds with what I was saying I wanted. Once I accepted that I didn’t deserve anything, that I really didn’t want to deserve anything, that the best sex was the sex she wanted and not the sex I tried to push onto her, I found the turbulence within me subsided. Somehow, somewhere, I left that entitled prerogative behind. Realized it was incompatible with the kind of submissive partner I said I was and wanted to be.

My temperament is more even now, too. There are fewer highs and lows. I’m more often in “the zone” and feeling pretty good. I think that’s due to a few things. One, I don’t have orgasms so the swelling and crashing hormones aren’t a factor. Also, some of that could just be from my body chemistry adjusting to how it is to live without the release of orgasm (nearly seven months now). Two, either Belle’s confidence has left me less inclined to challenge her or I’m better at letting her lead, but regardless, I’m a lot more comfortable in my submissive skin than I was back in the day. I have learned how to gather energy from the act of submission. From being focused on her needs and desires and wants and letting the fuzzy warmth of knowing I am serving her feed me in a way I had a hard time with earlier on. The foot rubbing, for example. The composition of the event had very sexual overtones, but she didn’t want that. That didn’t stop the penis from surging and choking on the Looker’s insert and straining against its bars. For me, it was sexual. For Belle, it was luxuriously relaxing. For both of us, it was what we wanted.

All of this kind of talk sort of backed into Belle’s assertion the other day that she was close to letting me out and making me come. The supreme irony of being her submissive is knowing that she has a need and a desire to be taken by a man. A strong and powerful one who can have his way with her. She’ll be wanting that from me and, because I want her to have whatever she wants, I’ll do my best to give it to her, but the very act of doing so has the potential to screw with the foundation of our dynamic. If I unleash the lizard and we screw like teenagers there will be an impact. It’ll be my job to hold up my commitment to her without the hormonal help.

This is where the idea of being cuckolded comes from, I’m sure. You get to this point where her needs are paramount and there is this one kind of sex you almost by definition can’t provide but you want her to have it anyway. Toss in a pinch of kinking on humiliation and there’s your recipe for wanting her to take a boyfriend. She even joked about it once more as I was rubbing her feet. Said she could make me sleep on the floor at the foot of the bed, naked and uncovered, while she shared it with her lover. “I’ll let you stew on that idea for a while,” she said. Good god, the device was tight right then. I had to stop rubbing to wait for the feeling of what that would be like to pass. It took my strength away.

Of course Belle’s very happy with the husband she has and the benefits of my submission, but she never would have described me if she was asked to write down the perfect mate back when she was 21. I told her that the idea of having a person with the needs I have as a partner sounded exhausting to me. I guess that really means I’m a sub because I don’t think I could stand having to deal with one. That’s one of the things that makes me so thankful she deals with me. That she’s taken the time to really try and figure out how to make all this work. That means, if she tells me to suck it up and have good old fashioned “pure” sex with her, I’ll do it. She’s accommodated me. It’s my job to reciprocate.

But not last night. Once the rubbing and talking was over, it was time to sleep. I wanted to get inside her pussy, but Belle was tired. Once again, my desires melted away in the face of her intentions. And we fell asleep intertwined and smelling of foot lotion. And happy.