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Posts tagged ‘sex’

Oct 26

7 Comments

The hard part

Friday morning, Belle wanted some. I was still in my funky mood and not entirely interested in giving it up, but damn if my hormones didn’t betray me. All she had to do was put her hands in the right places and show me her tits and I was all over her.

She came with my face planted firmly against her snatch, my tongue pressed hard against her clit. I rolled over next to her, hand grasping the hard steel tube between my legs, seething.

“How do you feel?” she asked, knowing I had not been myself lately.

“I want to fuck you so bad,” was all I could say. It was true. The cock was throbbing in its prison. It had been nearly six weeks with only a brief trip out when I was sick. I wanted to feel her hot pussy envelope her hard cock. Really. Bad.

“Well, you’re still going to have to wait,” she said. I’m only half way to my next orgasm, sometime around the end of December. “Maybe, if you’re good, I’ll let you in for a little bit so you can remember what it felt like, but not right now.”

The thought of being let out and allowed to fuck her, even without coming, has been with me ever since. Countless times each day, hand on my crotch, thinking of being free and balls deep, hot and wet. I really can’t stop thinking about it.

Tonight, as we went to bed, she knew I wanted it and I had a pretty good idea something was going to happen. Once the kids were asleep, she told me to get naked and I plastered myself against her, slowly grinding the steel into her leg, my lips against her chin and throat.

“Do you deserve it?” she asked, knowing clearly what was on my mind.

“What?” I stumbled. “I…I don’t know. I don’t know if I deserve it. But I want it. I want to fuck you so bad.”

“That’s not the same.”

I continued to nuzzle her and kiss her and wait out her judgment. I wanted the steel off. I wanted to be inside her.

“You don’t deserve it,” she finally said. I whimpered and the cock surged. She told me I hadn’t been keeping up with my duties lately, which is true, and that I needed to shape up before she let me fuck her, even without coming. I lobbied back, reminding her of all the things I had done in the previous 48 hours, desperate for credit. Desperate to salvage the opportunity.

“Don’t whine,” she said firmly. “You told me to make it hard. This is the hard part. Do a good job and maybe I’ll let you out. In the mean time, I’ll let you give me an orgasm.”

It’s true, I had told her it had to be hard or it wouldn’t feel real. But fucking hell, all I wanted was a few minutes out. Just a little fuck with nothing to show for it afterward but a hard, wet dick. But no. I could feel the desire within me that had been building and feeding itself for days buckle and snap under the finality of her position. The door had closed. I would have to try harder to make her happy.

A few minutes later, I had Mr. Darcy out, but not in the harness. I was fucking her alright, but with the life-like, Thumper-sized dildo in my right hand. I pushed it home, all the way to the base and flicked my index finger over her clit. She started to writhe and squirm and I could imagine how hard she was clamping on the dildo deep inside her while the real cock, her other cock, pouted in its tube. She came with her ass off the bed, head back, hand clutching mine hard, silent scream contorting her face.

After a little glow time, I pulled Darcy out, sucked him off, and placed him back in the nightstand. She fell asleep, sated. I wrote this, still hot, still horny as all fuck.

Good night.

Oct 11

4 Comments

Monkey bites

Tomorrow is Denying Thumper’s second anniversary. I don’t have a cake or anything, but I thought it was worth mentioning.

At the beginning of this past weekend, I told Belle that I thought she needed a minimum of two orgasms to make up for the two week long menstruation/travel/illness-induced dry spell we’ve had with regard to sex. She seemed receptive to the idea so, as we settled into bed Saturday night, I was highly expectational that something was going to happen.

It all started kinda slowly, but picked up speed rapidly. I was kissing her and licking her nipples and pressing against her sex when she latched onto my neck and started to bite and suck. Shortly thereafter, I was had three big, dark monkey bites on my shoulder/neck and a painfully tight tube. The erection her cock was trying to achieve was not the run of the mill kind that manifests whenever she allows me to pleasure her. It was seriously trying to bust out of the steel. And it hurt.

“I want you to eat me out,” she said breathlessly into my ear. Fuck yes.

I got up to close the door and the entire package of cock and device stood straight out and bobbed up and down with each step. By the time I turned around, she was totally naked with legs spread wide. I crawled up between with my head lowered, thankful for what I was about to receive, and dove in. I found, though, that the cock was so hard inside its prison that I couldn’t lay on my stomach as I usually do. The shaft refused to bend down and out of the way so I had to go down on Belle with my ass raised off the bed. That changed my angle of attack and made it so that I could only reach up and finger one nipple at a time.

She was quite enjoying the attention I was able to give her pussy and after a short while said, “Fuck me with your fingers.” I inserted first my middle and then my index finger and fucked them in and out, curving them upward to maximize G-spot stimulation, all the while continuing to flick my tongue over and around her clit. Her juices were everywhere.

When her orgasm came, I could feel it everywhere. The energy of it ran out of her pussy, through my fingers, and across my whole body. The encased meat throbbed in sympathy. I kept my tongue planted even though she was pushing it away. By the time the orgasm crested, she was limp and glowing and I was ringing like a struck bell, face still in her pussy, fingers still up her snatch.

Sleep came late for me that night.

Sunday, we were supposed to break out Mr. Darcy, but we had a bunch of family over that night and she was too tired to play. Her decision was somewhat disappointing, I admit, but even though I was really interested in more Belle-time, my disappointment didn’t curdle into anything worse. It’s at times like these, lately, that I’m able to somehow redirect the negative energy in a way that actually makes me feel good. It’s all for her, after all. She holds all the cards and deals them how she wants.

She snuggled up into me and fell asleep while I watched the Phillies dismantle the Reds, hand on my steel tube between my legs. I was and am horny, but two years in, I feel like we’re doing it right. Right for us, anyway.

Sep 16

5 Comments

Two birds, one stone

Responses to two commenters that I, in my fevered brain, think tie together into a unified arch.

First up, palemale said:

I am a little disappointed that you were allowed to orgasm. So many site have men claiming to be in chastity for a year and they just aren’t believable. You on the other hand seem exceedingly truthful and I was hoping that Belle would deny you an orgasm for a full year.

A year.

OK, we’ll come back to that.

Disappointed? Well, not me. Not this time. I think there’s a point up to which I want to be denied longer but after which I’m really OK with being released. This time, when she told me two months in that I was going to orgasm, I was able to shift from indefinite denial mode to really wanting to come mode very quickly. I’ve become so accustomed to being denied and, frankly, enjoy it so much that it has to be a really long time before I get there. A few weeks wouldn’t cut it. A month wouldn’t. Two months – at least this time around – was enough. Yeah, I was prepared to go longer. I would have loved if she had made me go longer. But it didn’t make much difference since I was ready.

With regard to other blogs, I can’t say of course. I think some of them are pure fantasy. I think others are truthful. The thing I’ve come to realize is each guy is unique and each guy is at a different point at the path in their orgasm denial journey so what’s long for me might not be for another guy. And, of course, being in chastity and being denied orgasm are different things. Belle seems to be treating them as one and the same (i.e., I will be locked up and denied for at least three months). Honestly, without the device, I don’t think I could be denied three months. I’d never make it. But I digress…

A year. I’ll admit that a full year is a personal goal. But, until such time Belle decides that’s going to happen, it will remain just a goal. I don’t yet know if there’s a difference between two, three, six, nine, or twelve months. And if you get to a whole year, what’s next? Indefinitely? Forever? The thought makes my heart race, I admit. But again, it’s not my decision.

Palemale went on to say:

I particularly liked your comments about the let down you feel after being allowed to orgasm. I would love to hear more about the specifics how your natural urge to have sex changes with exceeding long periods of denial, even denial of milking your prostate.

Which is related to what the next commenter, NaamPC, said:

Myself, if I had been released after two months of captivity and told I could cum, my first though would have been, “Bend over, please.” After all, you have been doing what and how much with her with so very little for yourself that by denying yourself the very first cum after your incarceration being inside of her, and letting your hand do the work, it seems to me you cheated yourself out of that experience.

I didn’t feel cheated at all. Because, and in regard to palemale’s question, I find that the longer I go the more I want come by my own hand. Or, to be more precise, the more I hope she’ll let me come that way. Of course, I want to fuck her, too, but when I dream about it (and claw at the device and writhe and grind into the mattress), more often than not I want to get a hold of it and pull an orgasm out. I also crave to be inside her, but that’s not equitable anymore to having an orgasm (that is, fucking ≠ orgasm). Those are separate urges for me now. Remember, I was denied not just orgasm for two months, I was also denied access to an important part of my body (for all but a day). When locked up, I am physically disconnected from something I’ve had easy access to for over 40 years. The urge to reconnect with myself becomes just as strong as my urge to connect with her. And, of course, I do connect with her, even when I’m locked up, since I get to make her come with my hands or my mouth or whatever. My connection to her sexual pleasure is so strong now that it’s as if it never existed before.

Long way to say, I desire not just orgasm at the end, I also desire jacking off. A lot.

With regard to palemale’s question about prostate milking, I don’t find it offers any kind of relief from the frustration of denial. It only serves to make me even more horny afterward. I enjoy it immensely while it’s happening, but that’s all. It never culminates into anything that blows off steam.

NammPC then said:

With me, arrangements would gave been made before-hand to let her have whatever time she felt she wanted for herself and after that when it’s my turn, I really am going because it’s my turn. Yourself, you think and feel what you’re going to. That’s my thought on it.

You’re assuming there is a “my turn”. Be that as it may, it’s also true that when the first opportunity to come after a really long time presents itself, the old boner’s on a hair trigger. If she wants a nice long fuck by the biocock, that’s not going to be in the cards right out of the gate. That’s what led to the idea of letting me come in the morning. Didn’t turn out this time, but I still think it’s the right strategy. When she finally did get her ride, I didn’t come and wasn’t really all that close when she did. It would have worked…if only I could have gotten it up.

Sep 13

6 Comments

In out up down

Hey, kids! Miss me?

So…what the fuck’s up with you? Sorry for the prolonged radio silence. Started out, there wasn’t much to talk about. For the week or two before Labor Day, things got quiet between Belle and I. No sex to speak of and me locked up tight. It’s the kind of thing that would have made me all introspective and pissy before, but this time there was a more peaceful vibe settled over me. It’s hard to describe, but I was contentedly anxious. I wanted the contact with her very much but also was able to recognize that control over that contact was, as I wanted, totally hers. I would get it when she was ready, not before. We talked a little somewhere in there and I told her not to worry about it. All I wanted was to know that she hadn’t forgotten me.

Then Labor Day rolled around and, as usual, so did my birthday. She let me out after just over two months because the time had come. She wanted to feel her cock inside and she was going to let me come. I had this great idea that she should let me come before she wanted to fuck me so I’d be better able to control myself when the big moment was at hand. She went along with it and allowed me to jack off next to her in bed. That orgasm had been about nine weeks in the making and felt, as usual, amazing. So much better than a normal orgasm. While it was happening – mid-spurt, as it were – I couldn’t breath. I was pumping semen all over my hand and stomach and literally could not take a breath. That’s how amazing it was. Immediately afterward, I was disgusted by all the sticky, creamy stuff all over me. Plus the smell. Ew.

That night was a disaster. She was ready, but I couldn’t get it up. Oh, the irony. She felt like it was her fault and felt bad which, of course, made me feel bad. I don’t know what the deal was, but it sucked. Then she got her period.

I was out for the rest of the week. Belle said she wanted to “air it out” for a while. So I walked around like all the other boys, but was pretty much always aware that things were not “normal” down there. I could feel stuff I wasn’t used to feeling. I slept through every hard-on. It was kinda like being on vacation.

Saturday, we went on a date. She asked me how I was feeling being unlocked and still under the effects of a (relatively) recent orgasm. I kinda shrugged. I felt fine. Truth is, I don’t like the empty post-orgasmic period. Everything feels less interesting and kinda gray and flat. I have grown so accustomed to the heightened sensation of living with all those hormones pumping through me that, while I still really enjoy the actual orgasm when it happens, I dread the time that follows. Which is good, I guess, since Belle told me I was going without for three months this time. She’s thinking Christmas/New Year before I come again.

In any event, Saturday night she finally got what she wanted earlier in the week. All the plumbing worked this time and I was able to hold off long enough for her to ride me to a very satisfying orgasm. After, she let me fuck her until I came, making sure to mention along the way that it wasn’t going to happen again for at least 90 days.

Sunday, the day I was supposed to be reincarcerated, I woke up feeling very much not in the mood. I was pretty happy with my free meat and decided not to bring up that she had intended to put me back in that day. I thought I had gotten away with it, too, when she finally came to bed that night, but she tossed the device at me, lock disengaged. I sighed and disassembled the parts. As I started to put it on, the meat shrank back at the cold metal’s touch. It’s back to being a thing, not a part of me. All day today it’s been pinching and shoving and generally being in the way. I feel encased. And, as usual at this point in the game, very much against the will of my body.

I got a text message from Belle just before lunch. She said,

I forgot to tell you this morning, “Welcome to Day 1″ :) I love you. Have a good day.

Three months to go.

Aug 2

1 Comment

Permission

“Just so I’m clear,” I said, embracing Belle with my arms and legs and pressing my face into her right breast, “I’m allowed to fuck my ass and torture my nipples while you’re gone?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“How about my balls? Can I abuse my balls? Can I make them hurt?”

Silence.

“No, you can’t do that. You need something to look forward to for when I get back.”

“You’re right, Belle Fille. Thank you.”

–

Belle’s off to NYC until Thursday leaving me alone with permission to do the things I used to do anyway back when it was up to me. Sera said in a comment to a previous post, regarding Belle’s appropriation of just about every one of my physical outlets, “Glad to hear Belle is rejecting the myth that cock=male sexuality,” and I guess that is the best summary of what she’s done. I think even I had fallen into that trap.

I had been lobbying Belle for another chance to make her come on Sunday night since she’s going to be gone for most of the week and well past the 72 hour no-fly zone that follows her orgasms, but as I laid there and held her, even with a full tube and a quivering desire fluttering around in my chest, I felt very calm. I’ve felt this from time to time before and I should probably bookmark this post for when I stop feeling it in the future, but it was one of those crystal moments when I totally accepted my place and her power to decide what was going to happen. I think this is due to her flexing her control and the acquisition of her new powers. The number of technicalities I was able to carve wiggle room out of have been drastically diminished by her. It’s almost refreshing to know I can’t do anything to or with my body without her permission. In any event, it focuses the mind quite a bit.

Which, in fact, is all I have left: My mind. Of course, it would be very difficult for her to control that to such an extent that I couldn’t use it to at least work myself up (not that I think she wants to or that I want her to or that it would be in any way good for our relationship). I still have blanket permission to consume porn which, at this point, it purely a mental exercise. That’s just about the last thing I can do all on my own that involves sex. I suppose she could require that I ask permission before engaging in it, but I do so at a frequency I’m sure she’d find both alarming and annoying if I asked her each and every time. Maybe if I had to ask each day or something. I dunno. Maybe I shouldn’t even talk about it. Yeah, let’s change the subject…

Saturday night, I almost made her come without ever touching her pussy. In fact, I know I could have. It had been two and half weeks since my last opportunity (due mostly to my trip) and she was ready. I started out playing extra special attention to her nipples, licking and sucking each while rolling the other between my fingers. Her nipples are so wonderfully big when she’s really horny. I camped out. Her hips were digging into the bed forcefully before I pulled her pajama bottoms down.

But then, instead of moving right in and stroking her clit, I ran my fingers lightly over the skin and taut tendons to each side of her pussy. She moaned and purred like a kitten.

“Ohhh, you’re teasing me.”

“Yes. Yes I am.”

It was an unexpected reversal. She was so hot I know that if I had kept at it for 30 more seconds she would have exploded. But, as soon as I realized how close she was, I slipped my fingers onto her dripping clit. Turns out, I wanted to feel her pussy as much as she wanted me to. Seconds later, she was coming. My only regret was she was so worked up and she came so fast that my pussy time was incredibly short. She had a fantastic orgasm, though. I was up for hours, but she slept like a baby.

So anyway, the njoy Pure showed up today. I got home a little early and had time to myself to give it a spin. Short story so far is the thing is fan-fucking-tastic. I’m counting the minutes until I can play with it again.

And with that, I think I’ll go take advantage of my permission.

Jul 12

11 Comments

The christening of Mr. Darcy

Belle Fille likes penetration. Yes, she also likes my tongue and my fingers and her vibe, but she really likes fucking her cock. Which, of course, presents a problem. The first and most obvious is that she also likes to keep her cock locked in a steel chastity device. That makes fucking it rather inconvenient. The second problem is, when she lets the cock out, it’s usually been a while since it’s come and my stamina is for shit. If I don’t maintain total concentration, I’ll squirt. Easily 3 out of 4 times, I’ll come before she does, nearly always without permission.

Which is what led me, several months ago, to buying a strap-on cock. Belle’s very particular about what’s put inside her and claims the cock on me is the perfect size. As has already been established, I am five and five eighths inches long when erect and about one and a half inches in diameter. Not huge, but nothing to be ashamed of either as it places me at the very top of the penis length bell curve. As luck would have it, Vixen Creations offers a little bit of heaven that measures almost exactly the same size as me. They call him Tex. So I bought him and a vegan harness with straps that go around both my legs so as to leave room for my steel tube in between.

And then it sat. For months. Belle knew I was going to get it, but she wasn’t eager to try it out. I’d bring it up occasionally, but when the opportunities presented themselves, she’d demure and have me do something else. I remained (mostly) patient.

In an attempt to entice her to give it a shot, I gave Tex a new name. Belle’s favorite author is Jane Austen and her favorite book is Pride and Prejudice. In that book, there’s a character named Mr. Darcy who, in the BBC television adaptation, was played by Colin Firth. Colin Firth is, according to my Belle, a fine looking man and is on the list of the three men she’d be willing to have sex with other than me (the other two are Pierce Brosnan and George Clooney, so the chances are pretty slim). So anyway, I naturally named the dildo Mr. Darcy.

Then, after months of gentle prodding and subtle cajoling, last night was to be the night. Belle Fille would finally allow me to pleasure her with Mr. Darcy.

We started out very slowly. I had already lit all the candles to help set the scene and she had already had me remove my clothes. We laid in bed and talked for quite a while. So long, that I was sure she was getting cold feet again. I prepared myself for this so I wouldn’t appear disappointed. It is, after all, entirely her decision if, when, and how she’ll come.

After a bit, she asked, “So, is it best for you to have it on during the whole event or should you make me wait in the middle. I don’t like waiting.”

“Then I’ll have it on the entire time.” I inserted Mr. Darcy through the rubber O-ring and made sure the curve of his erection was centered just like the real thing. Then, I put my feet through the harness and pulled it up over my hips. I had already adjusted it to be snug, but not too tight. The two leg straps nestled in between both sides of my nutsack and my legs, then met up along my ass crack. The base of the dildo sat on my pubic bone and pushed the biocock down and out of the way so that it was very close to a natural positon.

Not wanting to move too quickly, I laid on my back next to her and let everything soak in. It all looked so real. I saw my legs bent at the knees in the background and my hair-covered chest in the foreground and in between was sticking up a very familiar-looking cock. Its color was lighter than my skin, but its shape and proportions were perfect. We both sort of marveled at the sight.

As we laid there, continuing our little chat, I found myseld holding it and squeezing it just as I would Belle’s cock.

“You’re such a guy,” she said.

As we started to kiss, I had to will my hands off the thing. I wanted to keep stroking it even though it wasn’t about to go soft and I couldn’t feel anything anyway. It just felt nice having that familiar shape in my hand.

I started in with the typical pre-game activities and soon found my fingers flitting over her clit and probing her pussy. The natural fluids were doing their thing, but I was worried about there not being enough lube. As I moved up over her body, I put saliva into my hand and rubbed it up and down Mr. Darcy’s shaft. The material from which it’s made feels remarkably lifelike when wet. It’s soft and spongy on the surface and more firm in the middle. Not unlike an actual cock.

I lined Mr. Darcy up with Belle’s waiting pussy the best I could. For not the last time, I realized how much of the feedback from the biocock I rely upon when fucking. Of course, with a real cock, you always know if you’re lined up and she’s hot and wet. With Mr. Darcy, I had to use my fingers to make sure everything was in place. I ran Mr. Darcy’s head up and down the soft, wet lips of her pussy and she moaned just a little. Then I slid it into her.

I’ve thought about this moment a lot over the past few years and I always knew, logically, that I wouldn’t feel anything. But still, it was very strange being in this familiar position, making these familiar motions, and feeling absolutely nothing. I could feel her body moving receptively beneath me just like when it was me inside her, but that’s where it ened. It took a few seconds to make sure he was lined up inside her properly and his angle of insertion was correct. It was close to being in the right spot on me, but was off just enough that I had to shift my normal positon slightly. This allowed me to suck on her nipples more easily, though.

As I was fucking her, I had to reach down occasionally to make sure I didn’t pull all the way out. Again, with no sensory feedback, I was sorta flying blindly. Her reactions were good, but after a few minutes she asked, “What if I want to fuck you?”

Which I took to mean me. As in, the cock on me. “You’d have to unlock me,” I replied.

“No, what if I want to fuck you? As in, on top.”

“Oh! Well, tell me to roll over.”

“OK, roll over.”

So I rolled over and made sure Mr. Darcy was lined up as she slid down his already slick shaft. I started to buck my hips in a reciprocal fashion, much more so than I dare to when she’s actually fucking me. I found it difficult to keep up the right rhythm since – again – I couldn’t feel Belle move over the cock she was fucking. I eventually figured out that if I placed my hand on the small of her back, I could maintain the correct pace.

The next way I realized strap on fucking was different than the other kind was that I was getting tired. The actual work that fucking entails seems to be masked by the sensation of doing the fucking. Absent that, it’s all just a lot of moving around and I felt myself starting to tire, though not enough to stop. I just think it’s funny how much work fucking your wife turns into when it’s not actually you getting up inside her.

I sucked and licked her tits as she rode Mr. Darcy freely. Looking up at her, I saw her face contorted in pleasure, her eyes mostly closed and her mouth in a permanent O shape. She was obviously enjoying herself, but not in the way she does when fucking me. I could tell it felt different to her. I could tell she was fucking a different cock.

After a bit, it started to become apparent that something was not quite right, though. She had been going too long. Eventually, she called it and rolled to my side. To finish her off, I brought out Pink. She came so hard that she dug her nails into the side of my throat, clutching my carotid artery. I took it as long as I could before crying out in pain.

As I took the harness off and pulled the wet Mr. Darcy through the O-ring, I couldn’t help myself but suck his length into my mouth. I cleaned Belle’s juices with my tongue before placing him back in the nightstand. Can’t do that with a real cock.

The postgame report is good. While he didn’t make her come, Belle enjoyed Mr. Darcy and says we’ll get to use him again. Next time, she’ll let me stay on top longer to see it that helps her get off. Also, if I find myself beneath her, I’ll probably not fuck back with such vigor. In any event, I hope that with practice Mr. Darcy will be able to give her the kind of pleasure I can’t when I’m locked up and not allowed to come.

Jul 6

3 Comments

Weekend sex

We did have some nice episodes this weekend and since it’s been so long since I wrote about the sex parts, I’ll relate them to you now…

On either Friday or Saturday, I went to bed highly expectational that something was going to happen. I was sporting the free meat so almost anything was possible. She told me to get naked and I snuggled up against her, nuzzling her tits through the fabric of her pajamas and running my hand over the outline of her mound. She lifted her top and I latched on to her nipples, licking and sucking each one in turn. My blood rose pretty quickly and the soft spot just under the high point of her crotch that told me I was on her clit. I pressed down with a circular motion. Just seconds later, she started to come. I could feel her heat and dampness through the fabric and flicked my tongue over erect nipple as her head went back and she whispered in breathy insistance, “I going to come.”

And she did. And it was really fucking hot. She said it made her feel like she was 16 again and we were fooling around in a car. It was all so rushed and determined. I was left feeling like the man of steel and, after allowing her time to bask a bit, I asked if I could enter her. She seemed to hesitate and I thought for a second she’d refuse, but she pulled off her bottoms and opened up for me.

This was the first time I fucked her with the new ring in and, more so than any other I have, I could feel its gravity move though the head of the cock and slide against the wet walls of her pussy. My PA piercing has  taught me there are nerve endings inside the cock as well and, that night, as I fucked her slowly and deliberately, trying to feel every centimeter of her sex slide against mine, all the little nerves were firing. I love that new ring sofuckingmuch.

In the hight of the passion, as the urge to speed up and spew reached its zenith, the fact that I was not allowed resonated in me like a struck bell. I felt suddenly and immensely grateful that I was with a partner willing to take on control of my release. I thanked her for accepting my cock and reiterated how right it felt that she decide when I come. As I was fucking her and as I was grappling with the rising, desperate need to ejaculate, I embraced with all my being her right to refuse me the pleasure. It was not going to happen.

I fell asleep pressing as much of me against as much of her as possible, hard, sticky cock between us.

The next night, or maybe the one after that, she abused me. She started off slow and gentle, just how I like, caressing every part of my desperate sex and stroking the cock until an orgasm was just beginning to bubble to life. Then she started slapping, lightly at first and then with more determination, my balls. Eventually, she was striking them with force and I was gasping for breath, drawing my knees up instinctively, and clutching at my aching sack. The pain would radiate for ten, twenty, thirty seconds or more before receding, then I’d slowly open my legs again. That’s the most delicious part. My higher brain, with its weird chemistry and crossed pleasure wires, fighting my lower reptile brainstem’s blind protective instinct. Each millimeter my legs moved apart was a minor internal battle. Then, she’d place her loose fist against my nuts, draw back, and strike them again.

This kind of pain is, for me, the beluga caviar of masochistic pleasure. Certainly an acquired taste, it’s also very intense. I couldn’t do it every night, but sitting here now, encased, reliving the unique radioactive agony…I want it again. A lot. I’m getting all dreamy just thinking about it.

May 23

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Prisoner again

It turns out, she did fuck me. She hadn’t had her cock in such a long time and as she slid down onto it, she moaned and purred in appreciation. It felt hot on the skin of the cock – hotter than I remember. And yeah, I came. I held back as long as I could, but there wasn’t any stopping it. She felt me come and that just made her all the more enthusiastic, but she was still a ways off from her own. The head of the cock felt like it was on fire in its post-orgasmic hypersensitivity, but she fucked it anyway. Fucked it until she came and I was a panting, sweaty pile of meat beneath her.

Beforehand, she had told me she didn’t care if I came. I really hate that. “I don’t care if you come” is, like, the exact opposite position I want her to have. I can think of several things I’d have rather she said. Such as, “you can come, but not until after me,” or “you can’t come and if you do I’m locking you right now,” or “if you come I get to punch you in the nuts three times/burn your nuts with Icy Hot” – just about anything other than I don’t care if you come. That’s the worse.

Before this fucking, we had talked about “taking a break”, but couldn’t really define what exactly we’d be taking a break from. There are things she likes about our arrangement that she just doesn’t want to live without and will not easily agree to giving up, even temporarily. Personally, I wanted to come more. I wanted a period where I was allowed to come pretty much whenever I wanted. I found that, the more I came the more I wanted to come. Not withstanding anything I wrote in my last post, each orgasm seems to push away my desire to be in the device or denied in general. After nearly three months of nothing, I wanted a change of scenery. I still do think that most of the time I should live without and with as much desire for them as possible, but it’s also the case that we only appreciate the things we don’t have when we – you know – have them, at least for a little while.

But she wasn’t having any of it. She didn’t feel I was being sufficiently worshipful what with my two orgasms and being out and all. She wanted me back in. But, just like in London, for some reason she never pulled the trigger. Each day it was going to be tomorrow. I did not want to get locked up again. Even if I couldn’t come, I still liked having the option to jack off. But, even though she couldn’t bring herself to lock me up, it was very important to her. One morning last week, after she had already left for work, I locked myself back into the Steelheart.

All that day, all I could think about was what a pain in the ass it was. Heavy, bulging, pushing my nuts around (sometimes painfully). I’ve said before how it has felt like the device and its contents become one unit. How the shiny steel shell starts to feel like my natural state. Well, on that first day especially, it was very clearly two separate things. A prison and its prisoner. Unnatural and invasive. Even though I had done it willingly, I can’t say I was very happy about it.

That night, when she discovered I was in, she was very pleased. Her pleasure caused the tube to pressurize. And, from that moment on, I became more like she wanted me to be. I am a different person when I’m locked up and, as each day passed, that other person – Thumper – has come to the fore. It’s hasn’t been a complete conversion. Sometimes, I still feel myself rebelling against the steel. And my desire to have access to the cock has an edge to it that it didn’t before I came. But this is what Belle wanted, so this is how I am.

May 15

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2 months, 3 weeks, 5 days

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

Either way, I’m good.

Apr 21

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Changes

So a funny thing’s happened. Well, two things really and I’m not sure they’re all that funny (as in, haha kind of funny) but happened they have.

Faithful readers will know I’ve continued to have a serious thing for porn even though I’m now nearly continuously locked in a device and, even when I’m not, having an orgasm is not an option. Basically, I look at it (and read it and watch it and would roll around naked in it if I could) simply to feel the sensation of ever-escalating levels of arousal. However, as I said in my last post, even though Belle was out of town and that would normally leave me plenty of time to indulge my habit, it never really sparked for me. I did try by visiting the usual haunts, but even when I was sorting images for the Portfolio, I never really found myself getting overly hot and bothered. Whenever I started to move in that direction, I’d find myself not thinking, “Gee, I wish I could stroke myself right now,” and instead thought, “Gee, I wish I could be stroking Belle right now.” My urge to orgasm and masturbate and in any way experience pleasure while consuming the porn was all about her orgasm and masturbation and pleasure. Since I effectively no longer have a cock (at least as a pathway for sexual pleasure), those autonomic impulses have been rewired to focus on her sex organs and orgasm.

I did find myself pausing, slack-jawed, over images of big fat cocks with ejaculate running down their sides or other images of semen puddling on a woman’s stomach or of a woman’s hand wrapped around a cock as its payload was shooting out or of some guy’s face dripping with spunk, but I looked at them the same way I watch a show on the lifestyles of the rich and famous or when some dude in a really sweet classic Corvette drives by. I longed to be in their places, but in a detached “that could never happen to me” kind of way. I will never have that fabulous all-glass house overlooking the ocean and I will never drive the 1976 ‘Vette, but isn’t it fun to think about. Similarly, I will not be shooting my own copious load any time soon, but wow, look at what that guy did!

I told Belle about this shift in attitude the night she got home and, even though I wasn’t really trying for anything that very moment, she let me get her off. In short order, I found myself sucking on her clit, hard meat in the device painfully pressing into the bed, and an almost physical connection to her climax. I felt completely plugged-in to her pleasure. As she arched her back, I tensed and moaned right along with her. She came and I felt the release inside me. We enjoyed a simultaneous orgasm but without the distraction of my own getting in the way. I was still so, so fucking horny afterward and couldn’t take my hands off her or press myself close enough to her, but I was satisfied. In the only way I can be now. And it was fucking great.

The second thing that’s happened is I’ve almost totally lost my whole “service sub” vibe. Ever since we were in London and I was profoundly knocked out of my headspace, I have felt barely a quiver of interest in really serving Belle. I’ve been a bit lazier and more self-centered. The other night, I got home and she was pissed at me for not keeping the house in order while she was gone. It was, I thought, in pretty good shape, but it wasn’t up to her standards. Then last night, I totally spaced on making her coffee. Turns out, she’s not very pleased with me (told me I “wasn’t on her list of favorite people”). I don’t like her to be unhappy, but I’m very glad to see there is an element of our dynamic she really doesn’t want to live without. She’s grown to expect the service from me. You could read this as a failure on my part (and it surely is), but it’s also reassuring in that we have developed a symbiotic feedback loop and integrated it into our lives. This is really kinda cool.

Now if I could only get my vibe back, we’d both be happy. And she might even let me share another orgasm.

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