Uncharted waters

It’s been eleven days since my last orgasm. This is a new high-water mark in my denial and there’s no telling when I’ll next be released. When I last went ten days, I was nearly manic in my need for release, but right now I’m in pretty good shape. There are a number of differences this time. Then, I had also been in the CB6K for eight days (which was my longest stint), so there was more than one thing I was looking forward to. Also, that period of denial led up to our weekend alone at the cabin which had me really excited since it was also going to be the first time Belle tied me up and flogged me.

This time, though, she’s been out of town for a few days, so the edge of my desire seems to be off. Even though she got back yesterday, we spent most of the time preparing our house for a party of 50 people tonight, so quiet time was at a minimum. I assume that since we’ll have 50 people over, the opportunity for sexual contact will be low tonight. My next best chance will be tomorrow night. But, oh yeah. I have a fresh flesh wound in my cock.

I did eventually bleed yesterday, but it was diluted and came out the end of my dick, not the hole. I had assumed the blood would come from the wound, but it doesn’t. Even this morning when I found spots of fresh, pure blood in my dressing, it had all come through the natural opening, not the new one. I can report that my nocturnal erections caused some significant discomfort last night. Hope that doesn’t last long. Right now, I can feel it in there and there’s some minor discomfort, but the bleeding seems to have stopped, at least temporarily. Also, I ordered this piece of jewelry for when the majority of my healing’s done. It’ll give something for Belle to hold on to when she’s leading me around.

Basically, I assume I should be climbing the walls, but I’m not. I chalk that up to the cock not feeling like a source of pleasure, but it could be I’m just acclimating. By the time I get to come next, it will have been two-and-a-half to three weeks of denial. That orgasm might just make my head explode.

OMFG, there’s a metal bar through my dick

It’s been less than an hour since a needle was stuck through my dick.

As I said in the previous post, I went to Saint Sabrina’s in the Uptown area of Minneapolis to get my PA. My piercer’s name was Jesicka and she was amazing. While very professional, she was also able to put me at ease (and, while my outwardly steely demeanor may have suggested otherwise, I needed her to put as much ease on me as possible). She was just awesome. Can’t recommend her more highly.

Before going, I thought the following:

  • It would hurt like hell
  • I would bleed like a stuck pig
  • I’d be naked from the waist down
  • I’d be able to watch the procedure go down
  • My dick would have withdrawn completely into my body

While Mr. Winkie did look terrified, I’m happy to report it wasn’t outrageously small. A small modicum of my male ego was thusly preserved. The moment the needle went through did hurt, but not nearly as much as I thought it would. She inserted the receiving tube into the head of my dick, which was mildly uncomfortable, and then punched the needle through. I thought she was still working with the tube when the actual piercing took place and by the time I realized it was over, she already had the jewelry in. Turns out, I didn’t bleed at all. She said that most people don’t bleed when pierced using the method she developed. I couldn’t see what she did, though, since she had me laying flat on the table. Also, she only had my pants pulled down to my knees, so I wasn’t as naked as I thought I’d be (or as cold). There was a moment after she started touching my dick that I thought I might actually get somewhat aroused, what with being as horny as I am, but nothing untoward transpired.

So now I’m at home and I do feel a small amount of pain down there, but nothing major. I unwrapped the ghetto bandage she put on me (a surgical glove packed with gauze and secured with rubber bands) and found there’s still no blood. I chose to go with an eight gauge curved barbell with a larger ball in front an a smaller one in back. The rod of the barbell is a little long, but Jesicka said we need to see how it fits while erect before adjusting. If it turns out I need a shorter one, I’ll go back in about three weeks and she’ll fit it.

The first peeing event was also pretty uneventful. The ball in front did disrupt the stream, but maybe not enough to keep me from peeing standing up (my obsession). I expected urine to leak through the hole, but it didn’t. Maybe that’ll change after it heals. She told me I’d have to use a condom during intercourse for at least two months. So, if my math’s correct, I’ll only need a three-pack. 😉

All in all, I can report it was much less traumatic than I thought it would be. If the healing period is similarly uneventful, I’ll be very pleased indeed.

Unpainting corners

Eileen commented on “The one where Thumper get put into his place” and her words have me thinking. In part, she said:

I would mention from my own experience that if Belle is prone to guilt or being worried, this kind of interaction could be very tough for her. I often feel I have been painted (or have painted myself) into a corner by creating sexual expectations & buildup I simply can’t deliver on. For me, it took a very long time to get to a place where I could “take control” as you describe it, without some kind of emotional backlash from the part of me that feels obligated to create equity in my relationship with May.

Painted into a corner by expectations that can’t be delivered upon. Ouch.

Belle is prone to not only guilt, but also worry. The guilt might come from growing up Catholic, but the worrying is purely genetic. She inherited that from her mom’s side of the family. There is nothing my mother in law can’t worry obsessively about, and Belle’s has a bit of that in her. So, does she worry about meeting my expectations? I’m sure she does. The zeal with which I have embraced denial and submission is typical of how I attack new interests and, I admit, it could be off-putting. She may feel that I’ve worked out in my head how everything’s supposed to proceed and exactly what I want her to do to me. Truth is, I haven’t. There are things I want to do and have done to me, and I should be more open to her about them, but I can’t enjoy any of this if it’s proscriptive. Sure, there are things I really get off thinking about, but I don’t assume we will explore all those things together. I’m not trying to put her into a position where she’s responsible for making all my fantasies come true. One, that would be a hell of a lot of work for anyone, and two, I’m not sure I want them all to enter the real world. Basically, this will work best for me (and her) when we arrive at a place where she’s doing what she wants and how, and not just because I want it or enjoy it. This is not a place I’ve ever read about online since it will be unique to the both of us. My only expectation is that she will not do anything she really doesn’t enjoy.

Regarding any guilt she might feel from the inequity of the arrangement, I think that might be the easiest to assuage. I like the inequity! I get off on the unfairness! Being arbitrary and capricious in the doling out of sexual experiences is exactly what I want. She should come ten times more often than me. She should tell me every day for a week when I’m going to get sex and then, on a whim, decide against it. I want her to leave me straining and hard and constantly yearning for release. (God, just writing this sends waves of excitement through me.) Of course, simply saying this can’t stop her from feeling guilt, but I can only continue to say it in hopes that eventually she’ll see that keeping me frustrated and in a state “normal” society would define as terrible and unfair is one of the ways I can find happiness and some sort of satisfaction.

I’d tell her all this in person, but as I said yesterday, she’s out of town until Wednesday. And besides, this blog is partially for me to relate my story to anyone interested in reading it, but also (and, in fact, maybe mostly) it’s a tool with which I can organize my thoughts and relate them better to Belle. I do talk to her – a hell of a lot – but not always in a clear and succinct manner. Hopefully, she’ll read this tonight from her hotel room and see more clearly where I’m coming from. I certainly don’t want her to feel guilt or any kind of pressure. This is supposed to be fun, not all heavy and laden with baggage. I hope we can approach it full of joy and laughter as we discover a new and (hopefully) exciting way to enjoy each other.

Thanks, Eileen.

The piercing cometh

My Belle Fille’s out of town again until Wednesday. Just a quick trip, but in my orgasm-deprived state, her absence is keenly felt. I wish she was here now. *sigh*

Ahem. Sorry. In other news, I made an appointment today at Saint Sabrina’s for my PA piercing. Wednesday at noon. Yikes. I admit to being more than a little nervous. I mean, they’re going to poke a hole in my dick. There will be blood. Perhaps, a lot of blood. Um…anyway, I’m telling you this in an attempt to make it impossible for me to chicken out. If I don’t follow through, I’ll have to come back here and explain.

It’s recommended that one not have sex for a week following a new PA piercing. Wednesday will be ten days (my record so far) so add a week onto that, I guess. Two and a half weeks. I am simultaneously horrified and excited by the prospect. It’ll take four to six weeks to heal, so I’m also guessing that keeps me out of the CB6K until sometime in January. Happy New Year!

OK, I’m going to go now and freak out about my dick and not coming for more than half a month. See you tomorrow.


wall-eAnyone else who’s seen Wall-E think he’s a great little malesub and she’s a kick-ass domme? Am I the only one?

The one where Thumper gets put in his place

Friday night. Belle jacked me off with the intention of edging me. After a while I took over for her and brought myself to within a heartbeat of coming. We (or, mostly I) kept at it for a while longer, but it’s not really the point of this post, so I’ll leave it at that. By the time we were done, I was pretty hot and really wanted to go down on her, but she wasn’t interested. She said she was happy not to come and that she’d let me bring her to orgasm on Saturday.

Saturday morning. As has become customary after about a week without release, I slept fitfully the night before. Belle was up before I was and let me sleep in. That was very sweet – and I really needed it – but I missed not having her next to me when I woke up. I missed not being able to paw at her and deliver the promised pleasure from the night before. But she wasn’t there, so I got up. She said I’d have to wait until that night to do her.

Saturday night. Regardless of my recent posts about service and not getting any charge from it, I did find myself wanting to make the dinner and clean up all the dishes. And, because I want to get full credit, I’ll mention it was a pork roast with mashed potatoes and green beans (though Belle made the green beans). Lots of dirty dishes. Anyway, I just did it because I wanted to do it for her. I wanted to clear the deck as much as possible for that night’s activities. I wanted her to have a special time.

So, by the time the kids were down for the night, I got into the bedroom to find her in something like a fetal position with the covers pulled up to her chin. Not a positive start. I had already lit all the candles, so it looked and smelled right in there, but her physical attitude suggested I was there to perform a rectal examination or something. I laid next to her staring up at the ceiling, on top of the covers and fully dressed, and we had a stilted conversation that eventually revealed she did not want to have any sexual activity. All she wanted was to curl up with me and go to sleep.

I didn’t react well. I had been focused on this moment for 24 hours, not expecting or even wanting my own release, but very interested in living vicariously though hers. She felt defensive and I was pissed. She again expressed concern that she wasn’t living up to my expectations and that my need for sexual contact was too much for her. I told her my expectations were that she’d be exactly whatever she wanted to be, but that all I wanted at that moment was to make her feel good. That I had orchestrated the entire latter half of the day to make that easier. I couldn’t understand how she wasn’t in the mood to do something that would give her pleasure and would entail no responsibility on her part whatsoever. I didn’t want reciprocity. All I wanted to do was make her come so I could go to bed frustrated. I suggested that perhaps she did not want to control my orgasms. She assured me that she did.

Finally, as I was thinking about getting out of bed so I could write a post full of bile and spit, she told me she wanted me to take off my clothes and stroke her head. Something unusual happened. Part of me wanted nothing to do with her. I wanted to get away from her. But another part of me – the part that cooked the food and washed the dishes – wanted to do what she said. I really struggled inside my own head. I eventually took off my clothes, reluctantly. I started stroking her head, reluctantly. She started to pet the cock and stroke my balls. I felt the spurned husband, full of pique and annoyance over being denied sex, wresting with the submissive, service-oriented male. Being naked when she wasn’t and performing the task she asked of me, even though it absolutely was not what I wanted to do, stoked the sub. He won. I felt myself slip into a pool of submissiveness.

I had a hard time telling this to Belle. It seemed like the spurned male actively got in the way of the words as they were trying to come out of my mouth, but the more I said the easier it got and the longer and harder my cock grew under her hand. I told her that somehow, this is what I wanted. I wanted her to control the sex completely. I told her she needed to be firmer with me in the future. That I should not be allowed to get away with the kind of petulance I displayed earlier. If I ever acted like that again, she should simply make me tell her who’s in charge of the sex and who owns the cock. The spurned male in me screamed at the sound of the words, but he was receding quickly and was difficult to hear. She said that hearing me say those things, knowing that she had that control, actually turned her on. Then she rolled over. The time for talking was over. I held her in my arms and stroked her forehead as she fell asleep.

Even I slept, if only for a little while.

Submissively paradoxical

Dev left this comment on my last post:

I wouldn’t judge your “submissiveness” by things like that. That way lies madness as you just get into the whole submissive paradox.

Submissive paradox. Huh. What’s that? I coulda said, “What’s that?” but chose instead to say something like, “Gee, thanks for the comment!” What a dork.

This whole “submissive paradox” thing was bumping around in my head. I was working on defining it because that’s what I do. Instead of asking what something I fail to understand means, I try to work it out based on what I think I know. It’s quite the personality flaw. I assume if someone else knows something, then I should also and to appear otherwise looks bad. Please, if we should ever meet in person, pretend like I know everything. Thanks.

So anyway, I had formed the outlines of a missive when, at the very moment of sitting down to write it, I thought to Google “submissive paradox“. Boom. There it was. I’m a genius. In any event, here’s the basic premise I worked out all on my lonesome.

I’m supposed to be submissive, but I’m proactively doing things in my relationship (or angling to have things done in my relationship) because I like them. It’s not entirely about her. Turns out, I, the supposedly submissive one, has free will, is still a human, and still wants to be pleased sexually. Oh, and folding the laundry doesn’t do anything for me. Check.

I, the supposedly submissive one, am coming up with the ideas, buying the sex toys, and pushing to be whipped and otherwise damaged by her, the ostensibly dominate one. Belle, however, never asked to dominate me. That was all my idea. The fact that she does it at all is terrific, but what does she know from being a dominate? She’s not bad, considering it’s all being done for me. She’s coming along nicely. But I think I’m digressing…

The paradox, as far as I can see it, is that as a male with submissive tendencies, I still do what I can to move our relationship in a direction I want. I don’t let her totally run the show, and honestly, she wouldn’t want to anyway. If some day she does, then great. But if not, it’s no big deal. I, the submissive one, am exerting some level of direction on my nascent D/s relationship.

I’ll leave it with this, quoted from Under the Boot. I think it nicely summarizes the paradox and makes me feel better to see others in the same place we are:

Sustainability. That’s what we’re working toward. Maybe someday…I’ll lose the right to request or recommend or comment, but right now, that give and take is probably one reason why this is working well for us. And when I think about how good things are, I stop worrying overly much about not being a real submissive…

D looking for T: An addendum

Interestingly, since I wrote D looking for T last night, there are new posts on two blogs I follow which, to be honest, make me look a little shallow.

Over on Devastating Yet Inconsequential, there’s this short missive on keeping a clean kitchen. I suppose if Belle made such service sexual, I’d find it that way. Hell, she could condition me to get aroused at the sound of Larry King’s voice if she stroked me during his show (*shudder*). It’s not that I don’t want to service her in this way, it’s just that I need some sexual attention now and again to keep my mood up.

Meanwhile, Axe posts about massage as service. This is something I can totally associate with. I love giving her body service and don’t need her to “pay” me with sexual attention afterwards. I love touching her and giving her pleasure, whether it’s to bring her to orgasm or just to make her happy. It can be as small as brushing her hair or just stroking her forehead before she goes to sleep. Problem is I offer massage of her back or feet or her entire body a lot more often than she lets me give it to her. I think she thinks it’s going to lead to me rubbing my boner on her, and, again being honest with myself, it often does.

Maybe I’m not such a good submissive, after all. Maybe it is too much about me and my gratification. Maybe she should be firmer with me. Dominating me is not second nature for her – we both know that. Perhaps being submissive isn’t second nature for me, either. Do I just want to be submissive to her or am I really submissive?

D looking for T

Belle let me fuck her tonight and, even though I was not given permission to come, it was quite the relief. It’s only been four days since my last orgasm, but it was four days locked in the CB6K during a particularly nasty menstrual cycle which left Belle not only disinterested in letting me give her any kind of physical pleasure but her very much disinclined to give me much, either. I do like denial, but I find it has to be balanced with a certain measure of teasing. Denial without teasing is just sad. Kind of like a pony without a saddle.

When I first started learning all I could about all the various ways men get denied by their women, I read a lot of femdom blogs and sites. There are many guys out there who seem to be very happy doing little else than housework for their women (while locked in chastity, of course). I mean, they get off on it. I do understand where that comes from because I’m there with them, to a point. However, for me, the service bit cannot be the only form of submission. I need her loving touch and attention, too. It builds a feedback loop where she arouses me but denies release which makes me more interested in helping with the little things which, in turn (I hope), gives her reason to arouse me again which, conversely, causes me to want to do more and more for her. Eventually, it all spirals into a cosmic orgasm and starts to build all over again.

I admit to not really understanding how all this works in my head. I want to make her happy all the time, even on those days I get to come. But, as the days tick by and I get farther and farther away from coming, the need to please her builds. I want to constantly kiss her and tell her she’s beautiful and pick up both the kids for her and start the laundry and cook the food and whatever the fuck else I think she needs because…because…well, just because. I don’t know. Are men really that simple minded? Are we such simple beasts, so easily conditioned into submission? Um, yeah, maybe. I seem to be, at least.

But only to a point. If I’m not getting attention from her in bed, I start to lose my focus and feel sad and neglected. It happened early on when she and I were apart and the affects of the orgasm denial was particularly acute. I need the semi-regular feedback from her to keep all the hormones surging in the same direction. Without it, they start to meander about and bump into one another like drivers in a Beijing traffic circle. Maybe my neediness is a phase. Maybe, with time, I’ll be like other guys who share my perversion and will be satisfied with folding the laundry and mopping the floors at her command. We’ll see.

But tonight I got to fuck. And it was awesome. Four days with little sexual contact and no opportunity to pleasure her climaxed as it has before with me on top trying like hell not to come while simultaneously giving her as much pleasurable stimulation as possible. Playing the part of the big meat fucking machine, solely focused on her pleasure, is quickly becoming my favorite way to be naked with her. When she really gets into it and seems to stop trying to give me any kind of feedback or pleasure – when it’s all about her and her approaching orgasm – that’s when I’m happiest. I really, really like being her tool. I relish the internal struggle within myself right at the moment of her climax when I feel the reptilian urge to continue fucking her only for my pleasure but knowing I cannot. That I will be left ultimately dissatisfied. Tonight, my internal lizard was left ravenously hungry as I was still sporting a pretty good hard-on long after Belle was asleep. Even now, I’m left typing this – exhausted yet unable to calm the buzzing in my head so I can sleep. The lizard will not rest.

Eternal Idol

Rodin's Eternal Idol

Discovered over on Male Submission Art, this is Rodin’s Eternal Idol. I am completely smitten by this sculpture, for obvious reasons. While the above image is a reproduction, you can still see the beautifully reverential position of the male. Below’s a detail, though I’m not sure if it’s of the original piece.

Unfortunately, all the reproductions I can find for sale on the web don’t do justice to the one above.

UPDATE: Turns out that a Rodin Eternal Idol BBQ apron is available for purchase. The perfect gift for that tasteless D/s couple on your Christmas list?