Month: November 2008

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Greener grass

The other day, I found a link to a site called Maria’s Diary. I’ve only read about half the content, but on it a woman named Maria tells a tale of domination over her husband Martin and how she eventually cuckold’s him. As I’ve started to explore the online world of feminine domination, I’ve stumbled upon quite a few cuckolding sites, but Maria’s is among the best as she tells the entire narrative of how she began dominating Martin, how that lead to him being cuckolded, and what happened next. She goes into exquisite detail of how she seduced her lover and used it to further demean poor Martin.

The first time I stumbled upon a cuckolding site, I felt an immediate surge of sexual interest. It was sometime towards the beginning my journey through orgasm denial and submissiveness and I was feeling a lot of new sensations and thinking things I’d never thought before. To be honest, I was struggling to understand the scope and scale of what I was discovering about my myself. When the cuckolding sites I found got me hard, I was taken aback. Orgasm denial was a huge turn on for me. So was chastity and submission. So was cuckolding. My god, I thought, where will it end?! Well, things are getting clearer for me.

I get off on unfairness. It seems so simple and obvious, but in fact, I never thought of it that way until recently. D/s to me isn’t about being inferior to Belle. Quite the opposite. In fact, I consider myself her equal. I am entirely worthy to be her partner. However, I am not treated that way sexually. She has the authority to disallow me equality in bed (the more capriciously, the better). She comes, I do not. She receives satisfaction, I do not. She sleeps, I do not. It’s the basic unfairness of the situation, and my inability to address it in any way, that rings my bell. I find some malesubs to be more into superior/inferior dynamics. They are unworthy of their mate’s attention and receive it only through constant service to her and her generosity. Mind you, I’m not taking anything away from anyone here. If that’s what honks their horns (and, in turn, the horns of their partners) then more power to them. However, it’s only been recently that I’ve even recognized the difference between the two approaches. If you believe you are basically inferior to your dominant, then it’s not unfairness that turns you one. If you’re really inferior, then any attention you receive is, in fact, much more than fair. It’s charity. If you believe your semen is “male slime” (as I’ve seen it referred to online) and that your domme is a supreme being to whom you are unworthy to service, then you’re not channeling the same wavelength as I. For me, it’s that I should, by rights, be able to have sex with my wife whenever I want and orgasm every time, but she won’t let me. Why? Because, that’s why.

So anyway, as it relates to cuckolding, it seems to me that those types of relationships are driven by the superior/inferior dynamic. Maria and Martin do not feel he is man enough for her. She deserves more, he deserves nothing. I find that terribly unfair (especially since most of the issue seems to be with the size of Martin’s penis, which really isn’t that small at all) and unfair is fucking sexy. I totally get my rocks off (figuratively, of course) reading about Maria grinding poor Martin into the dirt. So why not try to put myself in that position? If I get off on unfair and cuckolding’s about as unfair as it gets, why not try to hook Belle up with some stud? Well, to be honest, my ego’s too big. I know I’m an exceptional lover to Belle. I know she would be hard pressed finding someone who could satisfy her better than I do. Irregardless of the fact that she would never want someone else, I know that this mystery stud probably wouldn’t make her very happy. So, for me, cuckolding can only stay firmly in the land of fantasy porn. It’s hot and I like reading about it, but it’s never ever going to happen to me, and that’s OK.

Some of you are probably saying, yeah, so what? I don’t blame you. It’s all totally obvious to me now, but as I said, at the beginning of this self-realization period I didn’t know which of the things that turned me on were those I would need to find a place for in my and Belle’s life and which wouldn’t. At that time, anything that popped me a boner was potentially a future lifestyle option. Of course, I only needed to look at my own past – my first sexual self-realization period – to find a parallel.

When I was young, I was attracted to and had sex with both males and females. I assumed at the time that I was eventually going to have to choose one or the other, but I couldn’t stop looking and thinking about both and that was very confusing. I really felt like I wanted to be with the girls, but had at least one significant relationship with a boy who also happened to have a magnificent cock. I liked sex with girls, but I also very much liked cocks and the things you could do with them. At the end, though, I realized I really wanted to be with a girl, to have and to hold forever, and all I wanted from the boys (even the one with the magnificent cock whom I still love to this day) was sex. It was very hard for me to come to grips with wanting to be in a loving relationship with a woman while still getting turned on by naked men and craving the feel of their cocks in my ass. Eventually, I was able to segregate those things that really made sense for me emotionally and those that would need to remain fantasy (or, minimally, take the form of a really big dildo). You may be polyamorous and thinking to yourself that I’m just not seeing the big picture, but really, it’s as big a picture as I’m able to see, and I’m pretty happy with it.

Naked males and their cocks would not fit into my relationship any better than cuckolding would. But they can both still turn me on, and that’s OK. Sometimes, the grass is greener when the other side of the fence is something that can be integrated into our relationship (submission, orgasm denial, bondage) but other times the fence is just too high to get over. The grass looks much greener, yes, but it might just end up being astroturf.

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Safewords

Better safe than sorry. Since we’ve now introduced bondage and pain into our sex lives, it seems like the right time to establish safewords. Since my Belle’s not into receiving pain, I think her’s is especially appropriate.

Thumper’s safeword: Belle Fille’s real name.

Belle Fille’s safeword: Ouch.

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Crossing the Rubicon, Part 3

[This is the last part of a three-part post. You might want to read the first and second parts first.]

I chose to call this series of posts “Crossing the Rubicon” because of what happened on the morning of the last day of our weekend. As I’ve written in the past, being tied up is one of my oldest and deepest desires. I’ve never been tied up by anyone before, though it’s been part of my fantasy life and a major player in the porn I enjoy since as long as I can remember. I did bring it up to Belle early in our relationship, but her reaction caused me to put it back in the dark hole in my psyche from whence it came. She wasn’t actively opposed to the idea, but I sensed trepidation and maybe some fear. I let it drop. Now, all these years later, it was back to the surface. I had told Belle everything I wanted done to me and she had shown sympathy and a willingness to try, if not a comprehension of what motivated me.

On her trip to San Francisco, Belle had purchased some light bondage gear. Basically, some simple tethers with clips on the ends and four velcro cuffs with attached rings. Nothing too severe, but inexpensive and packaged in an accessible and non-threatening fashion. It was my understanding that we’d finally put these to use over this weekend, though the opportunity I thought most obvious had come and gone due to too much drink and hot water. Sunday morning, she indicated we’d finally take the plunge.

To me, this was synonymous to the first time I had sex. I had wanted to do this for so long and now the time had finally seemed to come. I asked if she wanted me to prepare the room, and she said I should while she made her coffee, ate her cereal, etc. Back in the bedroom, I tried to figure out the best configuration of the tethers. Our bed was king-sized with no headboard or footboard (like we have at home). I eventually attached the tethers to the legs of the bed frame, but I found by laying them out and trying different poses that I’d be stretched into an extreme spread-eagle position. I bound one ankle and one wrist to make sure it was even physically possible and the sudden reality of the moment finally struck me. I found myself incredibly nervous and self-conscious. Ironically, as I was preparing the bed in a way to maximize my physical vulnerability, I discovered a deep well of emotional vulnerability. Doubt crept into my mind. Was this going to be fun? Did she really want to do it? Maybe this was the wrong time. I tried to put those thoughts aside as I finished the preparations. I went back out to the living room and waited.

It seemed to me, as the minutes ticked by, that Belle was dragging her feet, just as I suspected she had dragged her feet with regard to bondage all along. Finally, after she had exhausted just about every delaying excuse possible, she sat down next to me on the couch by the fire. She said she wanted me to know that she was “sexed out” and not interested in further penetrative activities with me. That’s what she said, but what I heard was a serious lack of interest on her part and felt she was trying to work her way out of the event. It played directly into my doubts and fears and vulnerability. I told her maybe we shouldn’t do it since I was not interested in it if she wasn’t. There was only going to be one first time for this, I said, and if we couldn’t both be into it, I didn’t want it ruined. I was angry, scared, disappointed, and embarrassed to even be in that position. I started to cry. I was a mess.

In the past, that might have been it. I might have been impulsive and we might have fought and the entire event would have collapsed in a heap of resentment. Luckily, though, we kept talking. She told me she just didn’t want me disappointed if she didn’t come at the end of this. That she did want to do this, for me, but that she wasn’t interested in sex being a part of it. I told her who came and when was entirely under her control and, if played correctly, it was practically impossible for me to be truly disappointed. I told her that the erotic torture she had put me through the previous morning, upon being released from the CB6K, was all I was expecting with the only difference being this time I’ve be tied down. I sensed she was making this thing into a bigger deal than it needed to be. That I wanted to be tied down by her and only her and anything she did to me would be wondrous. All I wanted to do was share the experience with her, my love. That’s all.

Finally, I stopped crying. We had gotten past the road hazard and would continue the journey. She told me to go back to the room, get naked, lay on the bed, and wait. I did as she said and, while in the room alone laying nude in the middle of the big bed, felt a level of apprehension and anxious expectation unlike anything before. Involuntary shudders rippled across my body and my teeth were beginning to lightly chatter. She entered the room and I felt very naked, vulnerable, and exposed.

She started with my right wrist, then my left. I tested the restraint and found them to be light, yet quite secure. I knew I could not overcome them and the thought sent an electric wave through me. Next, she secured my right ankle, then my left. I tried to move and found my range of motion severely limited. Goosebumps broke out across my body. Finally, she placed a blindfold over my eyes and kissed me on the mouth. I was going to explode with anticipation.

I heard her move through the room. She seemed to be looking for something, but I didn’t know what. She left the room, then came back in. I heard the light switch go on and her rifling through our toy box. Then the light was switched off. I honestly had no idea what was going on or what she was looking for.

I felt something light and feathery brush against my chest. Was that a feather? Where the hell had that come from? She dragged it across my nipples, down my legs, across the cock and my balls. I instinctively moved my head as though, if I could just find the right angle, I’ve be able to see what was going on, but to no avail. Finally, I figured out that I was feeling the ends of a simple rubber flogger Belle had purchased along with the restraints. I had dismissed it as a novelty, but was happy she brought it out as it was totally unexpected and might be able to give me a mild stinging sensation.

Her first swing of the flogger did nothing to change my perception that it was a toy. It struck my chest with a light, almost tickling sensation. I found some pleasure from not being able to see it before it hit me, so the shock of the feeling was sudden and surprising. Each impact caused me to sharply intake my breath. Then, I was even more surprised to find the sting of the little flogger to be getting stronger. She started flailing on my left hip and upper thigh with rapid succession and then alternate with my right side. In fact, after a while, I felt myself actually approaching the limit to the amount of sensation I was going to be able to withstand. I writhed, moaned, growled, and barred my teeth as the pain’s intensity became almost more than I could bear. It occurred to me we had never established a safeword or any other way for me to tell her she had gone too far when, at the very moment I felt I was going to break, she’d move to another spot on my body or suddenly start gently brushing my skin with the feathery ends of the rubber strands. While all this was going on, I started to self-analyze my reaction. Was I enjoying this? Was it good for me? Oh god, yes. It was everything I had hoped it would be and more.

I felt the areas where she had struck me burn and sting and I felt the cock between my legs flop around. Interestingly, it didn’t get hard as I had expected, but it was flushed with blood and felt fat and heavy. She would occasionally concentrate the light sensation over my groin and I found myself simultaneously fearful she’d strike me there and hoping desperately that she would. She never did, but she did grab and pinch my nipples with a force I’d never felt her apply before. Did my restrained and vulnerable position give her greater strength or did it only feel it that way because I was helpless?

I honestly have no idea how long the flogging went on. She eventually grabbed the cock and started stroking it roughly. I had to ask her to be more gentle as somehow she had unknowingly crossed into bad pain. I felt the flogging portion of our session was over and that now I was expected to come, so I begged to have my hand released so I could bring myself to orgasm. At first, she declined, but I think the effort eventually got to her and she released my right hand. I was immediately stunned to feel how hard the cock in my hand was. It had been so long since I stroked it, but even so, this was bigger and harder than I had remembered it could get. My legs being spread made it harder to come, but she told me I’d have to do it the way I was. No more of me would be released. She started to twist my nipples and I finally felt the stirring of an orgasm start to build between my legs. When the orgasm finally came, I felt its sticky ropes fly across my stomach. I was panting, blind, and euphoric.

Belle released the other restraints and removed the blindfold. As she laid next to me, I felt the warmth of her skin and was surprised to find her naked. In addition, she had a light sheen of sweat over her from the exertion of the session. She snuggled in and I felt the comfortable warm afterglow of the orgasm wash over me…just as she scooped up a great glob of come and spread it across my lips. “Time for breakfast!” she said merrily. We both immediately burst out laughing as I told her through my sticky, gooey lips that the idea of eating my own come was admittedly more enticing before it came out of my body. I licked off my salty treat and felt my love for Belle Fille bursting inside me.

—

Later, we were back in the hot tub. As we climbed in, I showed Belle the welts she had raised on my skin. I was delighted, but she was taken aback. I reassured her that I loved the marks she had left and hoped to see more like them in the future. Venus and Mars, indeed.

As I sat there in the bubbling, steaming water and stared across the frozen lake, I felt a different kind of afterglow from our session. It wasn’t from the orgasm. It felt different. In fact, everything felt different. Belle had taken me across the Rubicon – the point of no return. She had popped my bondage and flogging cherries both on the same day. Thanks to her, I now knew what my fantasies really felt like. And they were better than I had hoped. It was almost half an hour later, and I realized I was still softly moaning to myself. It was as if I was purring like a happy cat laying in a sunbeam. The love of my life, my wife, my keyholder, my Belle Fille had brought me across the threshold to a new world.

And I was happy to be there with her.

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Crossing the Rubicon, Part 2

[Don’t miss what happened last time on a very special episode of Denying Thumper.]

Truth be told, most of the weekend involved laying about in front of the fire with me reading and Belle sleeping/lounging/being lazy. Much of the time I was naked, though I’d occasionally put on pajama bottoms if I got cold or for some reason felt like being partially clothed was more appropriate. I love being naked and I seldom get the opportunity to indulge myself as I did this weekend, but even so, sometimes being the only naked guy in a room can turn from feeling sensual to awkward fairly quickly. Also, going out to get firewood in the nude when it’s 18 degrees outside can be a challenge. In any event, in between naps, Belle and I also took a walk, sat in the hot tub, ate, and otherwise just hung out together. I tell you this so that you understand it wasn’t all debauchery and sex, despite evidence on this blog to the contrary. Then again, I know you’re probably not interested in the non-sexual sitting around stuff so I’ll omit it for brevity’s sake.

Later in the day, Belle and I were in the hot tub looking out over a frozen lake. (If you’ve never sat in a 102 degree hot tub when it’s so cold out the water in your hair freezes, you’ve not yet lived.) She was naked, I was naked, and, even though I had a supernova of an orgasm hours before, I started pawing her like she was a drunk bridesmaid at a Catholic wedding. Belle tells me we once had sex in this very hot tub, but I have no recollection of that event (which is odd since it’s the absolute kind of thing I’d usually remember). I really wasn’t thinking about doing it again, but I guess she was since she positioned herself such that I was able to gain entry. Honestly, it was somewhat akward. I had a hard time positioning myself so that I was able to fully penetrate her and the water wasn’t really helping with the lubrication so it eventually petered out. After we left the hot tub and were back upstairs, I guess the tub fuck was just enough to get her motor humming since we were back in the bedroom again using Pink, the little vibe who could. Orgasm this time took maybe three minutes, but was still intense and I was still more than little worried.

Later, just before dinner, we were sitting by the fire when Belle awoke from her second nap of the day (or was it the third?). I was reading Come Hither: A Common Sense Guide to Kinky Sex (a wonderful book, BTW). After a while, she asked me a question and I read to her the entry in the book related to an answer. That lead us to keep reading the book aloud and thusly we found ourselves snuggled on the couch with me reading long passages to her and occasionally stopping to discuss how it related to us. It was really very nice. I bought a bunch of books for her and I to share and we had not yet had much time to ingest them so this was just about the perfect outcome for me, someone who wanted her to learn as much as she could about me and the way I was trying to direct our relationship.

At some point, Belle started petting her cock through my pajama bottoms. She laughed and remarked that in the past it was something she’d never do and now she was doing it absentmindedly. I smiled – a lot – and kept reading. After a bit, she slid her hand down the front of my pajamas and lazily pet her pet directly. I dutifully kept reading, though I admit the words were starting to lose their meaning on me. Finally, she untied my pajamas in order to gain more maneuverability within them. At this point, I simply stood up, let them fall to the ground, sat back down, and continued reading. Sometimes, as I said, you feel odd being the only naked guy in the room but other times it seems the only logical course of action. In any event, as I continued to read chapter eleven, A View From the Top: Sexual Dominants, to her, she started slowly and lightly stroking the rapidly lengthening meat between my legs. I started to read more slowly with longish gaps appearing between words, which, as far as I could tell, were written in a different language. “Keep reading,” she’d tenderly command me, and I did. Next, she started to repeatedly rub her thumb from the underside of the cock’s head to the top and back again. My reading comprehension rapidly approached zero and my eyes started to close as I stuttered the last word over and over. “Keep reading,” I was told. I kept reading. After god knows how long of this glorious treatment, she told me to go to the kitchen and start making dinner. She took over the reading.

We read three chapters this way, back and forth while eating. I was drinking beer, she white wine. I had just two beers, while she consumed more than half a bottle. She was supremely relaxed when she finally told me we were going to go sit in the hot tub for a bit before going to our room where I was to massage her feet. Afterward, Pink would work its magic on her and we’d go to sleep. Normally this would be the recipe for a grand evening, but I admit to feeling a certain amount of disappointment. I badly wanted Belle to tie me up and we had gone through nearly the entire day – the only full day or our trip – and the straps and cuffs never came out of the toy box. If she hadn’t drank all that wine, I thought, then maybe I’d have a chance. But I could tell by the drowsy expression on her face my window of opportunity had closed.

Back in the tub, she maneuvered me between her legs and I found myself giving her a watery fuck again. This time, I had found the right position and probably could have brought at least one of us to orgasm, but she stopped me just as I was getting going in earnest and told me she wanted instead to come by the vibe. Oh god, I thought. It begins. In the past, the cock was her number one path to orgasm. Now, it had been bumped in favor of the petite pink dynamo. If the cock was in her, there was a good chance it would be allowed to erupt. If not, then I was out of luck. Luckily for my team, she was far too gone due to the drink and the hot water to be able to come. Pink had failed on only its third outing. My batting average was way, way better than .666, so I was still winning on points. However, she was snoring and I was hard. At least Pink could be turned off.

I know I originally said this would be a two-parter, but I’ve now decided it needs to be three. So…

To be continued.

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Crossing the Rubicon, Part 1

[I’ll be relating the events of our romantic weekend alone over three posts. Even so, I’m afraid this one got kind of long. I apologize in advance for asking to you to read through 1,370 words that don’t even get you past Saturday morning!]

We arrived at our secluded woodland retreat late Friday night. Belle had already informed me that I wasn’t going to get out until Saturday, so her refusal to release me as soon as we arrived was no surprise. What was a surprise (at least to me) was her acquiescence to my suggestion that we try out her new toy. Earlier that day, a discrete box had arrived containing a pretty, pink Onye “discrete massager”. The little vibe, which we’ve named Pink (because we’re creative that way), is surprisingly powerful. After working on her nipples for a few minutes to get the juices flowing, I started to rub the deactivated Pink over her clitoris to help her get used to its feel. My Belle has not been one to partake in sex toys (with the exception of a single use of the latex dildo I got her about a month ago and one very lucky banana in an overseas hotel room), so I wanted to take this new sensation slowly for her. I pushed Pink’s little pink button and she started to purr. Belle released a yelp and a startled little, “Oh!” After a few moments of surface stimulation, I was somewhat taken aback to hear her instruct me, which some insistence, to put Pink in her. I complied and a string of high volume exclamations followed. Then, not even 60 seconds after I turned Pink on, Belle had what I can only describe as a screaming orgasm. I had never seen her carry on in that manner. Truth be told, to a boy enduring a week of chastity, to see the physical manifestation of his sexual desire (and the very gatekeeper of his sexual satisfaction) come in under a minute through the directed use of technology was, to put it lightly, somewhat intimidating. I was very happy for Belle but also somewhat distressed to consider a future of extended lock-up where my unique contribution to her sex life was rendered not just inaccessible, but also redundant and entirely out-classed.

The next morning was one of the most amazing of my adult life. The preceding night was fitful, both from the extended build-up of precious fluid but also the knowledge that I might get the chance to release said fluid at daybreak. However, when dawn finally came, Belle was awake before I was. After padding around a bit and letting the dog out to do his business, she came in the bedroom, sat down in front of me on the bed, and, with my head bowed, put me in my collar. The carnivorous butterflies started flapping in earnest at this development. My collar, all by itself, puts me into a heavily submissive headspace. Combined with the ten days of denied sexual release, I suddenly found myself suckling her toes. Now, I do not have a foot fetish of any kind and have never, to the best of my recollection, sucked her toes. Nevertheless, here I was worshiping her feet. She did not instruct me to do so and I’m not even sure she recognized the significance of the act, but it was either an autonomic submissive response or the influence of reading countless malesub blogs and sex stories. In either event, I did not consciously decide to apply my mouth to her foot. I just did it. And it was sublime.

After a few minutes of slobbering on her foot, Belle told me to lay down on the bed. She sat at the head of the bed, with her back to the wall, and I laid with my feet next to her with my head pointing to the foot of the bed. She took the key to my cock and unlocked and removed the CB6K. My hand immediately and reflexively shot down to feel my released member. Belle just as quickly reminded me that I was not to touch her cock until she told me I could. I moaned and writhed, but complied. I begged her to touch the cock. She replied that she was stroking it with her eyes and that would have to be enough for the moment. I moaned and a large glob of precum oozed from the semi-erect flesh. She laughed and marveled at how the cock seemed to have a will of its own as it lolled about and a second string of precum came oozing from its tip.

Finally, she touched me, but not on the cock. She ran her fingernails lightly up and down my legs and across my stomach. Then, without warning, she’d dig her nails deeply into my flesh sending me into tortured flailings. More than once she took hold of my testicles and cruelly twisted and pulled on them sending further waves of ecstatic pain through me. Eventually, I rolled over so she could apply the same loving attention to my backside, but also so I could grind into the bed. She was wise to that and told me I was not allowed to pleasure myself with her cock and to knock it off, which I reluctantly did. At this point, it’s probably safe to say a week and a half of denied orgasm and just over a week of chastity, along with the deliciously sensual torture, was causing me to experiencing one of the most intensely sexual experiences of my life. Luckily for me, it was eclipsed 24 hours later, but we’ll get to that in due time.

Belle rearranged me on the bed so that I could kiss and fondle her breasts. I had my mouth on her right nipple, my left arm under her back and my left hand on her left nipple, while my right hand manually stimulated her clitoris. Meanwhile, I freely ground into her leg like the dog in heat I was. She was extremely wet and seemed to be greatly enjoying the attention her nipples were receiving when I started to pick up those tell-tale signals that her orgasm was approaching. She stopped me, rolled me onto my back, and mounted me. The poor, neglected, aching cock – her cock – slid into soft, warm, wet flesh. I was understandably close to coming immediately upon insertion, but – ten days or not – I was determined to avoid a repeat of my previous failure. To help with this, I didn’t think of baseball or NASCAR or whatever other stupid things men are supposed to think about when trying to avoid orgasm. Instead, I repeatedly told myself that it was not my cock. It was her tool and hers alone to receive pleasure from until such time as she allowed me release. I was only the caretaker of her favorite sex toy and could not – would not – allow myself to fail her and get in the way of her pleasure. It was difficult. Very difficult. But I willed the orgasm back. In fact, I was so successful that, after she came and told me I was free to come myself, I had some work to do to get back to the edge of coming. But come I did in the most explosive, most intense, most abso-fucking-lutely mind blowing orgasm of my entire life. I actually felt the hot, thick slug of ejaculate surge up, out of my prostate and through every inch of her cock in a way I had never felt before. Regardless of all that talk from before of mourning the orgasm – of regretting the passing of the denial – I can say without reservation that I wanted that orgasm and loved every second of its existence.

This moment of pure orgasmic bliss is why I so enthusiastically embrace orgasm denial. When I think back on all the hundreds of meager, lonely orgasms pulled manually from my body over the bathroom sink or in front of the glow of internet porn, they couldn’t – not even in combination – compare to this one, single event. This one perfect orgasm allowed to me by the love of my life, my keyholder.

To be continued.

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The beacon has been activated

As has been previously mentioned, the affect of orgasm denial on my sleep patterns is of interest to me. Lately, I have been sleeping really poorly. I think I’ve had about 10 hours of sleep over the past three days, and it’s not due to the physical discomfort of being in the CB6K. I seem to be teeming with hormones and they just won’t let me fall asleep or stay asleep. I’ll wake up in the middle of the night perfectly alert, hard-on stuffed into its plastic home, and vivid sexual images passing though my head. Last night, I experienced the sensation of waves running up my body from my waist to my chest and down my arms. They seemed to be waves of pure electric excitement like some kind of emergency beacon activated by my cock to tell the world it’s been abandoned and for someone to please send help. Putting an arm over Belle or her holding me seems to calm these feelings, but does nothing to help me really relax. Yes, I’m calmer, but now I’m touching her.

Last night before she went to sleep, Belle was kind enough to use her nails on my ass, back and my stretched ball sack. We kissed deeply and basically had a heavenly time. It was like pouring gas on a campfire, but I enjoyed every second of it. I told her how happy she was making me and how lucky I considered myself to be since I’ve found many examples on the web of husbands trying to bring OD or chastity into their marriages with little interest from their spouses. I told Belle I am really starting to think of the meat between my legs as belonging to her. I believe that she controls and owns it and, through it, me. She’s exploring what that means to her and on what terms she wants to live with it, and that’s what makes me happy. She’s not just doing it because I want her to. She’s making it her own. And I love her so much for that.

I keep wanting to fuss with the fit of the CB6K. For most of my current stint in the device, I’ve been wearing the second to largest ring (1 7/8″ I think) and the second to smallest spacer. Based on Maymay’s fitting advice, I feel I should be wearing the middle sized ring (1 3/4″) but have a hard time with it. I put it on last night while cleaning the device, along with a larger spacer, but once erect found myself in too much pain. I remember the 1 7/8″ ring also caused pain at first, so I suppose I just need to eventually suck it up, wear the 1 3/4″ ring and make my cock adapt. But I chickened out and reverted to the larger ring just before bed.

So, that’s the state of affairs on this, my ninth day without orgasm and first full week in chastity. Belle and I are leaving town tonight for a weekend in a cabin deep in the woods (without internet). I know she’s not going to let me out until tomorrow, so that will be eight days locked up. I suspect she will allow me to orgasm as well, but if she really wanted to demonstrate her position, she won’t let it happen right away. Or maybe not even until Sunday. That would be delicious. However, I absolutely want to come this weekend. Ten or eleven days without release is enough for this little bunny, thanks.

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Teasing by text

Belle: Hi Thumper I hope you are having a good day and I adore u and it’s only 2 more days

Thumper: I adore you too. And actually, I *don’t* know it’s only two days. Last I heard, only the plastic’s coming off in 2 days.

Belle: Oh u r so right. It’s 2 days for me… 🙂

Thumper: You’re evil. And I love you.

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Carnivorous butterflies

It’s obvious, based on my last two posts, that there’s a certain amount of conflict within me. I guess this is to be expected. I am profoundly horny and deeply frustrated. Perhaps more so than at any time in my life. I have never felt so submissive or more easily manipulated.

For those keeping score at home, it’s now been eight days since my last orgasm and I’ve been in lockup for six. In addition, for various reasons, I have not been able to engage Belle in any significant sexual play in several days. I am left with no outlet. No way for my seed to spill, no pleasurable sensations for my meat, and no emotional release through satisfying my Belle. My chest is filled with quivering, delicate butterflies yearning to get out and consume human flesh. It is torture.

But let’s be real. Don’t for even one second think I’m not the happiest, horniest little bunny in the forest.

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WTF was that all about!?

OK, all that “gee, wouldn’t it be swell never to come again” crap from earlier today is out the window.

Belle had a work thing to go to so was home later than usual. As soon as she got home and was in my sight, I wanted her. I wanted her so badly. I managed to contain myself for a few minutes, but as she was standing next to me sorting through the junk mail, I kissed her. Deeply and wetly, sucking on her lips and breathing in her smell mixed with the odor of cheap bar food and wine. In fact, I more than wanted her. I needed her.

After a few moment of kissing, I staggered off to the bathroom and noticed that in that short time, with nothing more than the kissing, I had managed to leak precum into the device. Thick, sticky, and clear. I’m not normally a copious producer of precum, so this was somewhat surprising.

In bed later, she informed me I was to attend to her grooming. She allows me to keep her pubic hair trimmed and tonight I was to go down there and play barber. This was after my basically begging her to let me out of the device. I really really really need to feel my hard cock in my hand. I want so badly to stroke myself, knowing full well I’m not going to come but just desperately needing to feel the sensation of a free and happy erection. She said no and told me to get trimming. I went to work, moaning slightly at the sight of her pussy knowing all I could do was groom it and not touch it or otherwise play. Her aroma was intoxicating.

After, when the trimmer and towel and all the other grooming accoutrement had been put away and she was once more in my arms, I begged again for release. She again said no, that I wasn’t getting out until Saturday. Oh, and I wasn’t going to come once I did get out, even though she had previously told me I would. She said she was going to ride her cock and I was going to get nothing. And then I realized. I really did want to come. Really and truly. All that rubbish about not coming from earlier? Well, it’s fine to go on like that when she’s not around, but once I was in her presence and could feel the small of her back and taste her mouth and inhale the aroma of her womanhood and she said I wasn’t going to get to come…well, something in me went click. I will do whatever it takes to get an orgasm on Saturday.

Whatever. It. Fucking. Well. Takes.

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Hardly ever vs. never ever (ever)

Today, I stumbled upon this on the web and I find myself reflective. It’s a quick read, but allow me to quote the salient point:

I told my boyfriend, David, if we are going to be married, he would haft [sic] to surrender himself to me, which included chastity for life. He would never be allowed to masturbate, or enter me.

So after fifteen years of marriage, the dude has never come. Not once. I have to admit that the idea of never being allowed any kind of sexual release ever again is a little thrilling. I have found myself recently resenting the idea of orgasm since I’m finding myself so satisfied with denial. Once I do come, I know it’ll be two or three days to get back in the same mental and physical state as I was before the orgasm. Maybe more since I’m finding I’m actually building up a resistance to the affects of not releasing. I know I just told Belle I’d be happy with 2-3 releases a month, but could I ever want it even less? Once a month? Every ninety days? Once a year!?! Egad, when will it end?

I know I’m a more attentive mate since I’ve ceded control over my sexual destiny to Belle. But what drives that? If I resent the idea of an orgasm (and, incidentally, finding myself intrigued by the concept of ruined orgasms) then from where am I deriving my motivation? I assumed that I was more attentive and sweeter and all that because I was trying to get her to allow me to come, but what if I find myself never wanting to come again? And why do I find the idea of not being allowed to come actually arousing?

Unsurprisingly, Tom Allen has already tread this ground:

I mean, the orgasm denial was pretty hot, but much of what made it hot was the tantalizing hope of being allowed to come, even if that was “tomorrow.” Like the White Queen’s promise of “Jam tomorrow, jam yesterday but never jam today,” at least there was a hope that today would sneak up on tomorrow. But for the first time I began to be concerned that this might turn into a long-term arrangement with no hope that she would allow me to come.

No hope of coming. Ever.

Goddamn, that’s so freakin’ hot.

No, no, no – it’s scary and frightening and making me very insecure. I want to come, of course. Orgasms are fun. They feel great. Gotta clean those pipes once in a while, blow off some steam, relieve the pressure. Right? Right?

Then why was the idea of it making me hornier than ever?

Unfortunately, I’ve not been able to find the post where Tom explains why he’s so horny (and yes, that passage is where I stole this site’s motto). Here I am on the brink of going away to a no-kid romantic weekend in a secluded cabin in the woods with Belle and I’m actually a little taken aback by the idea that she’ll at some point give me permission to come. And I’ll have to do it. *shudder*

Twenty years ago, my entire reason for being revolved around shooting my wad into or onto anyone who’d let me. Now, I find myself thinking about sex and my partner maybe even more than I did as a hormonally charged youth with the exact opposite desired outcome. How does this make any sense? I honestly have no idea.