Descent into subdom

I am totally the alpha dog in my office. Granted, it is a relatively small office and I am an owner and all, but sometimes I find it dizzying to move from my role as supreme creature in one environment to my wanna-be guysub role in the other. The fact that I read the blogs and write this one often while in the office only makes it weirder. Yes, it’s nice to be the boss when you want to dick around on the web all day.

It makes me wonder about the difference between those subs who are subbie in all they do vs. the ones who are quite the opposite in other aspects of their life. The bloggers I most enjoy, on the male side, are those who appear to only be submissive when it comes to sex. But I really enjoy the dominant female bloggers. That’s one of the reasons I was sorry to read of the demise of A Place to Draw Blood Laughing, though I expect it’s less a demise and more a caterpillar cocoon phase thing. I’ve recently acquired a taste for the omnipresent Bitchy Jones (and really, who hasn’t?). But wait, I’m digressing.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. All-the-time subs vs. sexual subs. I think a big part of why I like being sexually submissive is because I’m so not all the rest of the time. It’s like taking off a heavy coat at the end of the day or something. And I think I’m really starting to get the hang of it. I find myself less and less obsessive over what Belle’s going to do or let me do. I accept that I can’t have my cake and eat it to. Either she’s calling the shots or she’s not. I do feel free to make requests, but I have no expectation that she’ll go along with them.

I also find myself wanting to more and more do things for her around the house. The past three days, I’ve totally handled the end of day stuff (dinner, clean-up, even picking up both the kids a couple of time). It’s not as though I never wanted to do things for her before, but now I find I want her to spend as much time as possible relaxing and less time doing all the things she would be “expected” to do based on her gender. I want to take more and more work from her and am feeling less and less selfish. I’m turning into a total stereotype! All I need now is the fucking maid’s dress and black pumps.

I suspect this new found desire to be her housemaid might be coming from a combination of being terribly horny and her recent ability to make me hurt. Like I said following the silent ice and clothespins episode, I woke up the next morning still feeling the subbie headspace lingering over me. Over the course of the week, as we’ve had sex and she’s hurt me more (like last night – two words: yay clothespins!) it’s remained. In fact, it’s strongest in the morning. The hornier I get and the more she hurts me, the more I want to make her happy in any way I can. It may not be PC to say this, but it feels like the penis-hating feminazi femdoms might be right about the salutary effects prolonged orgasm denial has in controlling the feral manbeast. At least for this feral manbeast.

I have spent a lot of time wondering if I’m thinking about this or feeling it “right”, as if there’s One True Way to sexually submit. That’s one of the big things I’ve learned in that past few months: there is no One True Way. This will feel for me the way it feels. I will not expect myself to be one way or another nor will I deny any feelings that arise along the way. It is the way it is. And the same goes for Belle. She will be what she is and feel what she feels and like what she likes and I will adjust and adapt and get the fuck over whatever doesn’t match my preconceptions. Note, I will continue to obsessively self-analyze, I just won’t get too hung up on what I find along the way. Anyway, that’s the plan.

What I’ve found this week is, when it works, it really works. I get all warm and fuzzy and happy and want to curl around and into her. I don’t expect we won’t still hit our share of bumps along the way, but the past several days have shown that this path is not wrong for us. I adore where we’re heading and she’s starting to unearth what she likes about it, too. What a difference from ten days ago.

An ocean of her

Oh, what a night. And forgive me if this one’s a little all over the place, because the evening was, too.

So it starts out with me telling Belle that the “other woman” contacted me via IM. I have agreed to always tell Belle when this happens since, as should be pretty obvious, my cheating on her has put certain trust issues between us. O.W. IMed me on Tuesday and I forgot to tell Belle until last night. Sometimes I forget, but I always dread it because it’s an opportunity to dredge up the silt from the floor of our relationship.

I can hear you saying to yourself, why the fuck do you have any contact with O.W.? Just cut her off. The issue is, I met her through my involvement with a wildlife non-profit which we are both still associated with. I have chosen not to do anything that could potentially damage her standing within this group (or, of course, mine). It’s made up of a lot of fairly conservative folks and an extramarital affair would be very serious to most of them. Our history is not known to more than just a few of the group and there are occasions when, due to the group’s activities, we need to communicate.

Anyway, Belle knows I’m with her for good and we’ve figured out all the things that led to the affair and have successfully addressed them. I am now more fully committed and closer to her than I have ever been, as evidenced by my ability to draw out my kinky side with her. She knows this. But of course, it’s difficult for Belle to deal with these instances where O.W. appears uninvited in our lives. Last night was no different. She cried, I cried, things I did that make me cringe and feel incredible guilt are dragged back out from under the bed. It was an all-around no-fun time.

However, it didn’t end that way. Prior to all the drama, it had been a great night. I made dinner, did all the cleaning, and Belle relaxed and sipped wine. I rubbed her neck, she read the blog, we talked a little about it. It was all heading in a good direction. I desperately wanted her to be in a mood that would allow me to go down on her. I’m at about two weeks denied at this point and I find, as I’ve written before, that my reptilian brain starts plotting ways to consume her. Last night, I wanted desperately to bury my face in her pussy. No, I mean REALLY. I wanted to cover myself with her scent.

I totally saw from a mile off that we were definitely not heading in that direction. In the past, I would have gotten mad or overly frustrated by this, but not now. I still tentatively made the offer of orgasm, but she rebuffed as expected. I was over the top horny, but accepted it as part and parcel of the position I want to hold in our sexual relationship.

I was able, though, to talk to her about us, rather than O.W. and us. I wanted to go over the whole “is she enjoying/getting something out of our sex” thing. She says she’s not doing anything she doesn’t like and likes some things better than others, but to ask what she needs more of or differently is a bit premature. I’m totally cool with that and don’t want to rush her in anyway. I built-up my courage and asked her if she enjoyed the other night with the ice. Did she enjoy, in any way, hurting me? In fact, she said she did get some cruel pleasure from ripping the clothespins off my nipples. Seriously! I was over the moon happy to hear that. It was wonderfully cruel and hurt like fuck and she liked doing it! It’s like I won the lottery. After she said that, I started craving more pain. It was almost like craving sex. I wanted to get slapped or whipped across my ass with a belt or something. I offered a couple of times that if she wanted to take her frustration over O.W. out of my hide, she was more than welcome to it. No dice (and probably not a good precedent, anyway).

So on that high note, we turned off the light. I stripped (as she instructed) and spooned into her. I asked if she had thought about when I was going to come next. She paused for a while, as if unsure she should tell me, but eventually said I was going to come on Saturday. The cock jumped. I asked her if she knew when I was going to be locked up again. She paused again. Yes, immediately after coming. The cock did more than jump. I pressed my hardness into her.

Wanting her to understand better my desire (and, perhaps, to try to make her feel better following the emotional thrill-ride of the previous hour), I told her that I was profoundly horny and deeply frustrated, but instead of some free-floating need to fuck, it was entirely focused on her like a magnifying glass over an ant hill. I wasn’t just horny. Porn, for example, would not do it for me. It had to be her, specifically. That’s what I craved. She turned over and faced me in the dark. Hmm, I thought. That was unexpected. I continued to tell her that I thought she was beautiful, fucking hot, and was really turning me on. I let my hand wander over her body, down her pajama bottoms, over her ass…and she said nothing. I continued, thinking it was surely a trap – I would probably end with nothing and I braced myself to accept it properly and without resentment. I kept talking. I said that thoughts of her punctuated my day, that I couldn’t get her out of my mind, how badly I wanted to bite every part of her, how desperately I wanted to take her in my arms and pleasure her in every way.

At this point, I was squirming, crushing my hard cock into the bed, and pawing her like a bear cub. My desire was running high and on display. She wasn’t saying no, but she wasn’t saying yes either. I asked her, can I pleasure you? Yes, I could.

I dove under the covers and pressed my face into her midriff. I lifted her top and suckled her breast while my hand went between her legs and felt her heat. My male animal lust started to rise and I had to fight to keep myself gentle and tender. I wanted to eat her alive. Her pussy was too tempting and I found my face pressed against the fabric of her crotch, inhaling deeply. I actually bit her mound before getting back under control, but it wasn’t very hard and I don’t think she felt it. I pulled down her bottoms and planted my face over her hot, wet snatch.

Oh. My. God.

I was on all fours, parallel to her body, head down in an ocean of her. Her smell, her juices, her soft and tender flesh. I rubbed my face all around getting soaked and feeling her juices run up my inverted nose. My tongue dove deeply into her then flitted over her clit like a hummingbird, back and forth, over and across, again and again. The entire world ceased to exist and all there ever was or would be was HER. I lost myself in it all. It seemed to go on and on, but was over all too quickly. Suddenly, her thighs closed in on my head. She was pressing her pussy against my mouth and clamping onto me. I couldn’t hear anything, but felt her hips buck in rythm with the pulsing of her orgasm on my tongue.

Afterward, I came up for air and she laid there, as if lifeless. My cock was raging, straining but I was feeling her reflected afterglow and all was good.

So now I know I’m coming on Saturday. For a brief moment, I was deflated it was so soon, but that didn’t last long. Now, right now, I want to come badly. I want to come in her, on her – I don’t care. I just want it so bad.

Personal Jesus, the second coming

Wow, how many people have I insulted in how many ways with that title?

There were some really great comments in Personal Jesus that I wanted to address, so I’m moving them out here so I can do so more publicly.

First up was Dev who said:

I think the suffering thing is one of the hardest for the dominant partner to deal with, even if the dominant partner happens to be a sadist (like me). Because to really push the suffering can mean really taking the partner somewhere that they really do not want (in the moment) to go, but are deeply thrilled by. It takes a lot of trust to know that this is really all right. It takes a lot of times of them coming back later and telling you how awesome it was for them.

I have seen a change in Belle’s behavior regarding the suffering as we’ve gone along. Before any of my sexual oddities became clearly known, she always knew I liked a little pain in my sex. She’d twist my nipples or scratch my back and it was all good, but it never really hurt. She was holding back because I’m sure she didn’t know how much pain I really wanted or could take. Now, she’s freaking medieval with both her use of nails and when she abuses my nipples. After each event, I have been careful to tell her exactly how much I liked what she had done and, as best I could, describe how much pain she had inflicted. She’s become quite adept at making my nipples scream and knows the tender places into which she should dig her nails. She has, on several occasions, really hurt me which, of course, I adore. A newer thing for us now is CBT. With that, we’re about where we were with the nipples three months ago. Each time, she hurts me a little more, but she hasn’t yet crossed my limit. And don’t even get me started with the biting. I get positively weak in the knees, the way she bites me.

Then Tom Allen said:

[I]f you want to suffer, then how can you really call it suffering? And if Belle doesn’t care one way or the other about it, then you’re going to feel that she’s doing it simply to satisfy you.

I can’t really answer that first question. It’s a conundrum. As I said above, I’ve always enjoyed a little pain in my sex, but to truly suffer – to be taken to the edge and beyond – I think that’s different. I can’t say why exactly, but I want to suffer for her. I want something above a dash of painful spice. And it’s reciprocal. I want to feel it from her and for her. This is altogether different than anything I’ve expressed or desired before.

And as far as figuring out what to do if she never really enjoys it and is only doing it for me, I guess I’d respond that everyone in a relationship does things like that (or should). It’s a give and take and while I need to be prepared to do for her things I know she likes that I don’t particularly care for, I expect she’ll do the same for me. And I need to get over the fact that she’s not enjoying it as much as me. My Belle is the personification of the good, giving, and game partner, as I also try to be for her.

Tom went on to say:

Ms. Rika has an interesting take on this – she writes (her website has been hijacked) that it’s more important for her to find what she wants, and to dominate from that perspective. Later, when she’s more comfortable, she can “reward” you by doing things that make you feel good, simply because one acknowledges that partners should make a point in pleasing each other a little bit, as long as it’s not too far out of their comfort zones.

I think that’s a very sensible approach and one I think we should work on. I want Belle to find the vector into this that rings her bell. I will endeavor to be patient while we find that path.

You need to stop feeling disappointed that she doesn’t “get” what you get; and start supporting what she does get. Remember, you’ve had years and years to develop your twisted, perverted fantasies; she needs time to catch up.

Maybe I sound disappointed on the blog, but I’m really not. I appreciate so much what Belle’s been willing to try and how much she has given me in a relatively short time. I do get impatient but it’s because I’m so damned horny all the time. I’m not a patient person to begin with. Mix in some hormones and it’s even worse. Nevertheless, I know I’m a very lucky man to have such a mate.

Then Dev came back and said:

One thing I’d recommend – and since I don’t know either of you, this could be totally horrible advice, but that’s what you go to the Internet for, right? – is that you be really, really open to hearing from Belle the truth about her own personal experiences. Use your very best encouragement and just handle whatever you hear back. And do this often, like all the time.

I’m doing this. At least, I think I’m doing this. At least, I’m trying to do this. I’ll ask her to make sure I’m doing this.

I remember pretty early in my relationship with Jos, we were lying in bed and he asked me what I wanted to do. I couldn’t figure out the answer, because the question I was actually asking myself was, “What would be [from an outside or ‘objective’ perspective] sexy to do next?” And then suddenly I realized that, no, I can just do what I actually want to, and it will be all right.

That must sound really basic and messed-up not to “get” but it actually took trust for me to promote my own wishes in bed rather than thinking of it from some overview perspective about what is sexy or right or good to do, etc. Having a partner who encouraged honesty was a big deal in that process.

Who am I to criticize someone for not getting something obvious? This whole blog has been an exploration of me figuring out otherwise obvious things.

So did Jos do anything to help you come to that realization or did you get there all on your own? I agree that women are socialized to consider the needs of others before theirs, even in bed, but I really want Belle to do what she wants first and primarily. This is very hard for her. She’s been brought up in an environment that was about putting others first. When it comes to our sex, I want it to be about her first, second, and third.

I read what I just wrote and realize I need to fight the urge within me to want to be treated unfairly and to suffer. I need sexual gratification. I need it to be about me every once in a while. I know that. I’m not saying I want to live some kind of malesub porn fantasy where she brings me out to worship her pussy every night and then kicks me to the floor when she’s done. No, not that or anything like it. I do, though, want our sex to be about her mostly and for most of the time.

It’s one thing to try (for instance) beating someone. It’s another thing to know that you’re going to have to claim that you liked it, or that you insist on it, or that it wasn’t for them at all but for yourself. You (the dom) should be able to actually just do it, and then reflect on how it was for you, and be honest if it didn’t work.

I agree. But what’s my role as the sub? Am I allowed to ask for things that she doesn’t like? Or should I just accept what works for her and move on? This is the tricky bit for me because I’ve never been submissive before in anything. I have no idea what the rules are. I said above that I assumed we should continue to do for each other things we know the other likes, even those things we may not be individually thrilled with. Does that continue to apply in a D/s dynamic? Should she do things she’s OK with mostly because I like them?

I don’t know. This is getting to be a ridiculously long comment.

And that’s turned into a rediculously long post in response to your rediculously long comment! Regardless, thank you both so much for your thoughts. I really appreciate them.

Five and five-eighths

Ranat over on Beyond the Hills posted a terrific rant entitled Big Cocks and Why They Are Stupid. Here’s a sample:

Oh, and let us segue into the idiotic myth of the infinitely stretchy continuum of the vagina that can somehow magically accommodate anything. Reality check: it ends. Ultimately, the vagina has a finite length. You hit the cervix, squeeze into the deep spots on the side, and you’re done. Can’t go any farther. I can only speak from personal experience, as I have not put anything up anyone else’s cunt but my own, but to tell you more about my internal proportions than you ever wanted to know, more than five inches? Impossible. Utterly. Five. Inches. Four on a sore day. Five and a quarter on a particularly stretchy day. Do you have any idea how annoying it is that the standard size for dildos is seven inches?!?!?

This tickles me for a number of reasons. First, it makes me recall a question once posited by my boyfriend in high school. I paraphrase, but it went something along the lines of since guys are so hung up on length, do you suppose girls sit around and talk about depth? He also says I at one time said my dick was bigger than his and I suppose I may have said this, but I honestly have no recollection of it, and besides, he’s extraordinarily well proportioned, so I don’t know why I’d make such a demonstrably wrong comment. Usually, when I say things that are wrong, I try to make them difficult if not impossible to prove. It’s kinda stupid to be laying in bed with a guy and say your boner’s longer than his when, well, they’re right there.

The other reason I find Ranat’s rant funny is I was just measuring my erect penis the other day. I know this sounds fishy, but I had a really good reason. As I’ve mentioned a few times, I’m seriously hung up on this idea that Belle will someday make me fuck her with a strap-on while I’m in chastity. To that end, I was dildo shopping and trying to find one that more or less matched my size (like Ranat, Belle is disinterested in a seven-inch wonder schlong). For those keeping score at home, this one’s not too far off.

Whilst measuring, I was surprised to find I was not as long as I thought I was. To the best of my recollection, I am six inches long. The handful of times I had measured before, I was always six inches on the nose (or whatever). This time, I was about five and five-eighths. I have to admit, this bothered me, even though Belle (the only person who really matters) finds it to be a perfect five and five-eighths. In fact, it’s been the perfect length for every women I’ve ever been with. I can even remember tickling a few cervixes, so anything more would have been too much, which is exactly what Ranat was saying to begin with. I’m also comforted by the fact that, according to Wikipedia, I am positioned at the very tip top of the bell curve when it comes to erect length and girth. Yay for normal distribution.

So, the old boyfriend’s question and Ranat’s post got me wondering what the average female depth is. Turns out the average aroused vagina is between five and six inches long. In other words, perfect for my Mr. Winky. But what’s really funny is how differently vaginal depth and penis length are discussed on Wikipedia. There is exactly one paragraph (that I could find) dealing with vaginal depth. And here it is:

The human vagina is an elastic muscular canal that extends from the cervix to the vulva. Although there is wide anatomical variation, the length of the unaroused vagina is approximately 6 to 7.5 cm (2.5 to 3 in) across the anterior wall (front), and 9 cm (3.5 in) long across the posterior wall (rear). During sexual arousal the vagina expands in both length and width. Its elasticity allows it to stretch during sexual intercourse and during birth to offspring. The vagina connects the superficial vulva to the cervix of the deep uterus.

Notice no mention of what the aroused state’s length is, just that it gets longer when wet. Keep in mind that that paragraph is just a small part of the main vagina article. Now, contrast that with the penis. Penis length has been dedicated an entire article all its own. It has ten (count ’em, ten) sections. How to measure the penis, studies on its size, its size at birth, how its size changes with age, differences between flaccid and erect lengths (with pictures), how to enlarge it through surgery, historical, modern, and popular perceptions of its size, etc., etc. I mean, come on guys! Obsess much?

Turns out, there is an approved way to measure one’s penis and I wasn’t using it the other day. It’s entirely possible I am six inches or I’m only five and a half. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Just like Mary Poppins, it’s practically perfect in very way.

Personal Jesus

Following some of my recent posts, a friend emailed me to caution against forgetting that there’s two people in my relationship. He was concerned that I might lose sight of the fact that Belle needs to get something out of all this, too. I have endeavored to always keep that in mind, but I appreciated the reminder and last night shared the email with Belle.

This very subject has come up in our most recent counseling session (yes, we’re still doing that). What I need and want now requires so much more proactive involvement from Belle and what she wants and needs has remained pretty much the same. So, what’s in it for her? I am prepared to do whatever it takes to satisfy any fantasies she has or wants to explore, even those that would fall outside the nascent D/s framework he have going. So far, she hasn’t asked for anything out of the ordinary. Absent a quid pro quo fantasy exchange, I asked Belle what she likes about what we’ve been doing. What does she get out of it? Here’s what she said:

  • The deeper intimacy we share now that all my kinks have been exposed
  • Our increased amount of communication
  • Reading this blog (sort of relates to the two above)
  • The turn-on she gets from watching me clean the kitchen for her (relatively new)
  • Pink, her little vibe
  • All the extra orgasms she’s been getting

I may have missed something, but it’s mostly right. It’s not a bad list. It is obviously a woman’s list, but that doesn’t make it bad and, since she’s a women, it’s unsurprising. I’m overjoyed that she’s actually getting something out of all this. Whether it’s worth the extra effort she needs to put in is only something she can answer, of course.

After she was done relating these things to me, she said the look on my face suggested I wasn’t satisfied. No, it’s not that I wasn’t satisfied, but there was one thing in particular I was hoping she’d say that she didn’t (though I never, ever want her to say it unless it’s true).

Having this conversation allowed me to frame up something that’s probably second nature to a lot of experienced submissives. Now that the words have formed in my head, it seems so obvious that I can’t believe I’ve never said it before in quite this way. Basically, I want to suffer for her and I want her to recognize and appreciate that suffering.

“Kinda like my own personal Jesus,” she said.

Depeche Mode? That was unexpected. “Yeah,” I sad, “Guess so.” What else should I expect from the Catholic school girl?

Nearly everything I want in our sexual relationship eventually gets back to this. The orgasm denial, the pain, the bondage – all of it. For me, that suffering is a demonstration of my love. The more she asks me to suffer, the more I’m able to show her how much she means to me. The other night with the ice was perfect in that she went beyond where I was comfortable (the “easy” pain) and really and truly pushed me. It hurt. And I was thrilled. Not having orgasms is the same kind of demonstration, though it’s a longer, slower burn. I don’t think until last night she really appreciated how hard not coming is. She said she could go months without orgasm and not really feel a difference, but for me, it’d be rough. Unlike her body, mine continues to produce hormones and fluids and is designed to expel them regularly. There are chemicals my brain will only make after an orgasm that help keep me in balance. Plus, I can feel actual pain from not releasing. I assumed she knew all these things, but I think she thought not coming just made me hornier. Yes, it does, but it’s so much more than that. And I want and am willing to experience these things for her.

She shot back, quite rightly, that I wanted to feel these things, right? They give me a perverse pleasure. I like the whole pain and suffering thing. So surely it’s not all about genuflecting for her. My response is, of course it isn’t. I do need to get something out of the relationship. Being submissive doesn’t mean I don’t want to experience gratification, it just means I get it from different places. This, I think, is the common denominator of all relationships. Mutual gratification.

Which, of course, gets us back to the beginning of this post. I’m not sure we resolved anything specific during the conversation, but we surely moved some heavy boxes around. I’m glad we talked and I’m glad my friend gave us the little shove we needed to get the ball rolling.

Good news for Thumper from the NYTimes?

The NYTimes magazine had a fascinating article this weekend about female sexuality. Turns out, most sex researchers have historically been male so most of them have been focusing on men (shocking). Also, since men’s sex is hanging right there for all to see and seems to be uncomplicatedly and directly connected to his reptilian brain, it’s also fair to call such research “low-hanging fruit” (not to be confused with Jeff Stryker, of course). But now, there’s a new crop of female sex researchers and they’re doing a whole bunch of new stuff in the field of whatgetsherhotology.

To wit: A researcher named Meredith Chivers showed women images of men having sex with men, men having sex with women, women doing other women, a single female working out, a hot guy ambling naked down the beach, and some monkey’s getting it on (just to fuck with their heads, I guess). Then, she had them indicate on a keypad how hot each image made them while at the same time sticking a little thingamajig up their vaginae to measure what was going on down south. Turns out, the women almost always indicated they were not turned on by images that made their pussies flush with blood.

[W]ith the women, especially the straight women, mind and genitals seemed scarcely to belong to the same person.

Tell me about it. Jesus, that explains so much. They could have stopped right there and over 20 years of vainly trying to understand women would have ended with vindication. But wait, it gets better.

Much later in the article, another researcher named Marta Meana used a Cirque du Soleil performance of “Zumanity” (which is apparently nothing more than athletically impressive live-action soft-core porn) to make this assessment:

For women, “being desired is the orgasm,” Meana said somewhat metaphorically — it is, in her vision, at once the thing craved and the spark of craving. About the dynamic at “Zumanity” between the audience and the acrobats, Meana said the women in the crowd gazed at the women onstage, excitedly imagining that their bodies were as desperately wanted as those of the performers.

And then a little later on:

The generally accepted therapeutic notion that, for women, incubating intimacy leads to better sex is, Meana told me, often misguided. “Really,” she said, “women’s desire is not relational, it’s narcissistic” — it is dominated by the yearnings of “self-love,” by the wish to be the object of erotic admiration and sexual need. Still on the subject of narcissism, she talked about research indicating that, in comparison with men, women’s erotic fantasies center less on giving pleasure and more on getting it. “When it comes to desire,” she added, “women may be far less relational than men.”

Excuse me while I do a little happy dance.

OK, back. Didja happen to notice the parts I bolded, underlined, and italicized? (What, too subtle?)

Obviously, that kind of thinking plays right into my plan for world domination. I am all about Belle Fille’s pleasure. She is the epicenter of my “erotic admiration and sexual need”. In fucking spades.

I’m not saying my Belle is the same as “women” in these studies. Each person is like a snowflake, etc. But it’s awfully encouraging to see a possible physiological connection between the way I am and wish to relate to her and the way she may be wired-up internally.

Oh, and as for the part about why the womens’ responses disagreed with their snatches? Read the article. It’s full of *ahem* juicy tidbits like that one.

A good scene

Last night went a long way towards defrosting the prolonged funk I’ve been in. It started with Belle making a nice little orange roughy dinner (they’re ugly, but they taste good). After the kids ran off in all directions, she told me what was in store for me later if I did a good job cleaning up the kitchen and dishes.

I’ve mentioned previously that the whole domestic side of D/s hasn’t really manifested for us, but as she was sitting on the couch in front of the fire reading the paper and watching me clear the settings and wash the dishes, etc., she told me that she could see how some women get turned on by making their men work for sex. She also said that she was sure I’d rather she get turned on by making me do things in the bedroom, but really, I found that her getting turned on turned me on. She was relating how it got her going watching me work for the privilege of being sexually tortured by her and I’ll be damned if I didn’t feel the cock start to plump in my pants. Needless to say, with that as my encouragement, I took to my labors with greater vigor. Occasionally, I’d look up to see her watching me, a sly smile on her face. I remained plump while the kitchen looked better with every passing moment.

Laying in bed later, she instructed me to check to make sure the kids were out. They were, so she further instructed me to close the bedroom door and take off my clothes. Five milliseconds later, I was beside her, stripped, in our enclosed environment. She started to touch me and I whimpered. It was all very sweet and gentle, but it’s been ten days so a little was going a long way, if you know what I mean.

She then laid out the evening’s activities. First, I was to lay on my back. Then, she was going to affix plastic clothespins to my nipples (where they would remain for the duration or what would follow). Then, she was going to torture me with small baggies filled with ice cubes. After that, I was to give her a back and neck massage before bringing her to orgasm with my fingers. Finally, through it all, after I said my phrase of subservience, I would not be allowed to make any sounds whatsoever (except for those sounds made by breathing). I would not speak again until the next morning. That was the worst. Being quiet is really hard for me.

Now, if you get around the blogosphere, the preceding might sound familiar. In fact, Dev just posted about a similar scene between she and Jos. I recognized the similarities, but wasn’t complaining. This was exactly the kind of thing I wanted her to do, so who gives a shit where the idea came from? As Picasso once said, great artists steal. Yay for stealing! I said my phrase and laid on my back.

Emotionally, I felt myself descending into subspace. I realized I hadn’t been there much since my little freak-out and its warm envelopment was like salve for my psyche. I was placing myself under her control and it felt good.

She started by attaching the plastic clothespins. We’ve got a couple of nipple torture devices and these clothespins have the lowest level of intensity. I was somewhat disappointed that she was using these since, a minute after she put them on me, I stopped feeling them. It was like they weren’t there. After those were on, she started touching the cock and balls and stroking my inner thighs and stomach. It was all very soothing as I laid there, eyes partially closed, hands unsecured but holding onto the headboard above me.

Suddenly, she grabbed, squeezed, and pulled on my scrotum. Not allowed to make noise, all I could do was suck in my breath and hold it while she crushed my balls. She let go and let me lay there for a few moments before placing the first sack of ice on my scrotum. The shock of the feeling was intense. SO COLD. She just let it lay there and I could feel the cold sensation start to turn into a burning one as my balls tried to crawl up into my torso to escape the ice. I started to ache from the cold. Finally, she removed the ice and traced lines up and across my body with it. She let both of them rest on my nipples while she started to stroke the cock. Slowly at first, but with greater speed and intensity. Normally, it’s difficult to make me come this way, but I could feel semen start to boil in me. She backed off and removed the ice.

I laid there slowly writhing as the various sensations faded. My balls were still very cold and I closed my legs to help them warm. I shifted my closed legs away from Belle, but she grabbed the one closest and roughly pulled it back to her, forcing my legs back open. I wanted to moan, but bit my lip and tried to steady my breathing.

She started to run her hands over my legs and across the cock and balls again. It felt nice, but I was wary and knew the pain would be coming again. At one point, she made a motion with her hand that made me flinch and I realized I was scared of what was about to happen. I laughed at the thought. She didn’t really seem to have a plan, but I was nonetheless dangling at the end of her string. It was wonderful.

After a little while of this kind of treatment, she eventually ended up with both bags of ice on either side of the scrotum and the base of the still-hard cock as she treated it to long, insistent stroking. I again felt the orgasm building within me. I also felt the ring in the PA piercing start to hurt with the abuse, but I couldn’t talk. I moved my hand in to try to give her the message that it hurt, but she slapped it away. Now what? It hurt, but not so bad that I couldn’t take it. I felt that saying something would break the magic of the moment, but wasn’t I supposed to make any serious discomfort known? As I debated all this in my head, the growing realization of my impending orgasm loomed large. I was confused. Did she want me to come? She sure was putting her all into it and I was making it quite clear though body language of where we were heading. I started to actively fight the orgasm, bearing down on it and trying, through force of will, to keep it in me. The ice on my aching scrotum seared while the cock was hard and it took everything in me to keep from coming all over both of us.

Suddenly, she stopped. I was left panting, reeling from how close she took me. She took one bag of ice and placed it over the throbbing erection and ran the other all over my body before slapping it against my balls. Eventually, she removed the bags and ran her hands all over me in a soothing way. She was bringing me calmly back to earth. There was the matter of the clothespins to deal with, but they were so gentle I barely knew they were there. She brought her hand up to my right nipple and ripped the fucking pin off. Oh. My. God. Then she did the same to the left nipple. Holy fuck. That hurt. Then, as the blood rushed back in, they started to fucking throb. Maybe she didn’t know what she was doing, but that was bloody brilliant.

After a brief transition period where I cupped my poor, abused nipples it was time for the massage. I straddled her ass and rubbed the oil into her neck and shoulders. The cock was hard again and nestled between her ass cheeks, pointing up her spine. I gyrated my hips and ground my balls into her. I desperately wanted to fuck her at that moment and had to stop and place my head on her back. After regaining my composure, I poured my desire into her neck with my hands. Eventually, I went too far and she used her safeword (“ouch”), so I backed down.

Her orgasm was of the manual variety, but I so badly wanted to bury my face in her pussy. She came as usual and then, after letting me lay my head on her stomach for a minute or two, she rolled over and went to sleep. I was mute through the entire event.

I laid there, hard and horny, yet also drowsy and satisfied. She had taken me very deeply into my subspace. Maybe deeper than ever before. She had really tortured me, made me truly uncomfortable, and pushed me to the edge of composure. It was a terrific experience. Yes, it would have been nice to have been bound and wearing my collar, but I loved all of it. This morning, I awoke and still felt the submissiveness lingering within me.

Yep, all in all, a good scene. A really, really good scene.

Static charge

Dev posted this yesterday:

…I worry that when we don’t have sex, orgasm denial becomes more like orgasm neglect.  Since Jos only comes with me these days, I start to feel like a vanilla girlfriend who agrees to put her boyfriend in chastity and then forgets about it completely.  “You can’t have an orgasm” is sexy.  “I don’t care” is not.

This nicely ties back to what I last posted, so I thought I’d give it a shout-out here. The rest of her entry is great, so check it out.

So after I wrote my previous post, I mentioned to Belle that I needed to do some naked stuff with her and, thankfully, she was thinking the same thing. We stripped and rolled around and eventually she told me to use the cock on her. She was worried about how it’d feel since the issue with the piercing was so recent, but I can report that once in, I felt no pain whatsoever. This is interesting since I can get the occasional twinge from just walking around or sitting down, but actually thrusting it into an enclosed space was fine. Weird.

She’s settled into wanting me to fuck her from above. Earlier in our relationship, she couldn’t come this way, but for some reason she can now and favors it over riding me. That’s great for her, but it’s a whole lot harder controlling my orgasm when I’m doing the fucking. I had warmed her up a bit beforehand, so it didn’t take too long before she was getting close. I was feeling the oncoming storm as well, but felt she was a little ahead of me so wasn’t too worried. I just kept sucking her tits and thinking about baseball (no, seriously – baseball) while trying to read her signals.

It was all going great until she started talking. She was saying how great her cock felt and how good I was at using it on her. That kind of thing. Over and over. My brain, being the biggest and most sensitive erogenous zone on my body, soaked this talk up like a sponge and I quickly found all thoughts of green baseball diamonds leaving my head. Suddenly, I was about to come and had to stop. I froze and tried to bear down to keep myself from doing it . She was still talking, but I was entirely focused on keeping the Rube Goldberg-esque orgasm mechanism from kicking in. Just as I felt myself getting the upper hand, I realized what she was saying was, “FUCK ME” over and over. I had to keep going.

What came next was very strange. I started fucking her again and she quickly started to come. I felt myself squirt into her, but I’m not sure if it was what locked and loaded from skirting the previous orgasmic edge or if I was actually coming. There was some intensity to the leakage that seemed related to orgasm, but it wasn’t the same. A few moments after she came, I knew I hadn’t because of how I felt. I still wanted to fuck, badly. I wasn’t floating in that post-orgasmic lethargy. The urge to bite her was strong. No, I hadn’t had a real orgasm. But what was it? An abandoned orgasm? A ruined orgasm? No idea. But it wasn’t a real orgasm, and that’s all that counts since I did not have permission to have one.

Last night, Belle was out to dinner with a friend and I was left at home. I was in bed absentmindedly fingering the ring going through the cock and felt it start to respond. I wasn’t trying to play with myself, but that’s eventually what happened. I really like the sensation of the loose remainder of my foreskin sliding up and over the metal. It’s fucking great. Personally, that sensation is better for me than how it feels when fucking. In any event, I brought myself to the edge several times. Deliciously close. Not so close that I leaked, but pretty damned close. I tried to stay awake, but I couldn’t and fell asleep before Belle got home. Now, as I’m writing this, I’m feeling hornier than I have in many days. It’s good to have that current running through me again. If Belle’ll have me, I’ll zap her with it tonight.

Too long

I was looking though the little notebook I keep on my nightstand in which I have recorded each time Belle or I have achieved orgasm this year and was struck by something. No, it wasn’t that I’m an obsessive compulsive weirdo for keeping a log of when either of us comes (though you could argue that). It was that it has been a whole week since we’ve had a serious sexual encounter with one another.

I’ve posted about this before, but it bears remembering that prolonged denial of orgasm can be very detrimental to a male’s state of mind. I’ve been grumpy and a little depressed and, I think, a contributing factor is this week of no sex. It’s perfectly normal for couples to occasionally go a week without fooling around, but I don’t think it’s normal for a male in my condition to completely abstain from any sexual release over that time. I find the need to come transforms into a need to have her come. Denial of both makes me kinda nuts. To stay sane, I need to give Belle some bunny lovin’, and soon.

What I find interesting is that I’m now able to go a whole week without feeling the jagged hormonal edge of denial. When we first started doing this, 48 hours would leave me a tangled ball of sexual yarn, but I’m only now starting to feel the frantic little moments in my chest telling me I’m starting to build pressure. I’m curious if the period before I feel this way will continue to lengthen as my body adjusts to its new release rhythm or if I’ll eventually find the outer wall of my capacity to be denied before experiencing side-effects. Lately, a week seems to be about when I first feel the return of the carnivorous butterflies. If she denied me for a month at a time, would that move out to ten days? Two weeks?

I admit that a big part of why I like to be denied orgasms is how it makes me feel. The emotional and phsycological aspects aside, I like the hormonal high I get from a build-up of sexual need. It would be kind of a bummer if I found that I essentially developed a resistance to the hormones and needed a longer and longer denial period each time to get high from them. Because, I really do like to come. Really. I swear.

I think this need for a higher high is part of why I really want to try new things with Belle. As I’ve posted before, the idea of being locked-up while fucking her with a strap-on really lights up my board (as does turning the tables and having her fuck me). I can only imagine the effect being that turned-on would have on my high. I’m like some kind of bizarre sexual cliff diver always looking for the next, bigger rush. This is especially true since Belle had me write down all my interests during her trip. All those ideas churning around in my brain looking for a way out…

This line of thought eventually brings me to wondering what we do if I eventually find orgasm denial no longer flips my switch. What will the next drug be? And is it even as simple as an all-or-nothing state? I suspect the successful strategy would be to weave together my interests in bondage, pain, sexual submission, and denial into something that never relies too much on any one aspect of my perversion. The even bigger trick will be to find a combination that also lights Belle’s fire since her interests are not my own. As I’ve recently been reminded, this isn’t all about me. She’s both the focus and instrument of my pleasure. If, in the end, what makes me happy doesn’t make her happy, then it’s not going to fly.

Piercing problem, part 2

So I had thought, since I was going to be in a room with a piercer and my pants were going to be down and all, that it might be a good time to stretch up to 6g from my original 8g. Um, no. Not only am I not wearing 6g now, I’m actually down a size to 10g.

Turns out in 24 hours my little hole got even littler. The piercer (a dude, not Jesika this time) tried to put a 8g taper in the hole and it hurt. I mean, really hurt. Not, “Ouch, that hurts!” More like a OHMYFUCKINGGODTHATHURTSGETITOUTOFME!! kind of hurt. I laid there, the 8g taper only half in, feeling the most excruciating, burning pain from the underside of my dick for 10 seconds…30 seconds…a minute. It never got any better. I tried to tell myself I like pain, especially attached to the dick, but no go. I couldn’t take it. So he put me in a 10g captive ball hoop which I will need to wear for about a month before trying to get back to 8g. Looks like 6g is a distant goal.

Oh, and my dick still hurts. Fuck.