I’m laying here in this fluffy, overly soft spa resort bed, wide awake and waiting for Belle to wake up, horny as fuck and tapping this out on my phone so as not to bother her. It’s been a lovely weekend she surprised me with on Friday. Massages and facials and hot tubs and steam rooms. And also the kind of fruity rum drinks I’m partial to.
This was a birthday present to me. In the beginning of our chastity dynamic, birthdays, anniversaries, and Father’s Day were all excuses for her to let me out and fuck. But I was only out this time for the massage. I was even locked up for the facial, even though it, like the massage, was performed with me naked on a massage table under covers.
Enhancing my elevated state of sexual frustration is how much time I’ve been naked here. Mostly in our room, but not exclusively. Belle has encouraged me to take our meals on the deck even though there’s a path beneath it. It’s wooded but not nearly so that our deck is hidden. Other side of the path is a golf course and the golfers in their foursomes address their lays and drive by in their carts from just after dawn to dusk.
So that was me, naked on the deck protected only by a towel hanging on the railing, but even that Belle eventually said was unnecessary. Anyone walking or carting by would only need to look up a bit to see me, naked as a jaybird (are jays more naked than other birds?). In fact, at least four golfers in carts did see me based on their catcalls. Belle’s investment in pushing the boundaries of my exhibitionism has been deeply stimulating, to put it mildly.
In a place like this there are two types of people. Women in groups of other women enjoying one another’s companionship and couples. I figured there’d be way more groups of women but I’m surprised by how many couples there are. I’m guessing a lot of relaxed, sloppy sex happens here.
Speaking of which, I was allowed to give Belle a fantastic blow job the other morning. I took my time warming her up and was leisurely with my tongue and mouth on her snatch so that by the time she was coming, her ass was scooting away from the intensity of sensation I was causing and I had to crawl after her to keep my tongue pressed against her clit. For just the barest split second moment afterward the contents of the Steelheart yearned to feel itself sink into her soft wetness. But the urge was fleeting. That’s not the purpose of our sex.
And of course it shouldn’t be. Yesterday she let me lay between her legs and rest my face on the mound of her pussy. The lace of her nightie was rough but the heat from what it covered radiated through. It radiated its power over me. Its authority. Her pussy is the center of my universe. Surely, it’s the center of my sexuality. I want it and to be closer to it all the time. And being allowed to just rest next to it. To bask in its essence. What a gift. I am so grateful.
This is what chastity has done to me. It has supplanted the contents of the Steelheart as the center of my sexual focus with something more deserving. It has allowed me to shed the selfishness that stems from having access to my own easy pleasure so that I have to work at achieving hers. I should not say “this is what chastity has done to me.” Rather, this is the gift of chastity. The lock has unlocked and allowed to flower the sub I have always been and wanted to be.
Libéré en étant enfermé, as it were.
I had too much ego attached to the contents. Chasity has destroyed that ego. Shredded it. And good riddance. I probably always had an overly ambitious opinion of my own endowment. But by having it so throughly removed from how I am allowed to express myself sexually, I have come to understand it’s always been nothing but optional. My true skills and value as a lover are and always have been everything but the contents. Attentiveness. Empathy. Patience. Penises have a way of forcing themselves to the center of the stage. And I guess some deserve that. But not mine.
So chastity has shredded my internal, emotional attachment to the contents, but it’s also destroyed its external, practical functionality. I used to be quite proud of my stamina and ability to fuck Belle for as long as she wanted me to. That’s entirely gone now. My staying power is measured in seconds. Our culture says that’s a pathology needing treatment but for me it’s a point of a different kind of pride. It’s a byproduct of my devotion to her and her pussy. A sign that the contents have been so deprioritized in our relationship that their function has atrophied into irrelevance.
For all this, I am incredibly grateful to Belle. That she has made the space for me to be who I really am. To have adjusted her own expectations. I couldn’t be more happy to be in her life.