Saturday, Belle told me at some point that Sunday morning she was going to beat me. It’s been so long since she beat me. Yeah, she’s done little things here and there to hurt me (mostly nipple twisting and some ball slapping) which were all very nice and appreciated, but I’ve been feeling the need for a good whippin’ for quite a while now.
So, Sunday morning comes around and there’s no beating. We hang out in bed, she’s reading the paper and sipping the coffee I made her, and then…nothing. She gets up. I don’t say anything since Sunday’s a whole 24 hours long, but the little nagging feeling starts to creep into the back of my mind. She’s not into this. She doesn’t want to do it. She’s avoiding it. I stuff that back into the dark place it came from and go about my business.
At dinner, she tells me that tonight’s the night. She’s going to beat me before Mad Men (which she’s very excited about watching) so she can be asleep by 10:00 (her bedtime is very important to her). Swell, I think. That’s two whole hours away. She can leisurely whip me. The last time we tried this (which ended in disaster) she started out too hard too fast and I was not at all aroused. So, I figure, we have all the time in the world tonight. We can go slowly and do it right. It’s going to be awesome.
She gave me the task she wanted me to perform before the beating and I went off to do it. She had a little work to finish up and was apparently shopping for back-to-school clothes, but still, we were over 90 minutes from Mad Men. About 20 minutes later, I had finished my task (laundry folding) and was laying in bed, naked, watching the TV just waiting for her to finish whatever she needed to do. I finally heard her stir from her perch on the couch. Then I herd her cleaning the kitchen. Thoroughly. Then I heard her make her coffee for the morning. That’s my job. Why is she doing that? It’s OK, though, because we have more than hour still before Mad Men (though I’m starting to worry).
Next, I heard her take out the trash. All the way to curb. The garage door went up and she hauled the garbage can and recycling down the driveway. I could have done this had I known she wanted it done at that moment. Then I heard her take the dog outside. Again, something I could have done. Basically, everything she did (besides the work) I could have done if she had told me she wanted it done.
Finally, with just less than a half hour before Mad Men, she comes into the room. The feeling from the morning had come back and, far from being little now, had plopped it’s big ass down in a Lazy-E-Boy in my head. To me, she was obviously avoiding this task. I was deeply disappointed as we no longer had time to take it slowly. We’ve got less than 30 minutes. Now, there was stress. Now, the clock was going to be the third in our scene.
The window was closed.
So, as calmly and with as little accusatory tone as possible, I told her we didn’t have to do it. We could put it off (to god knows when). We don’t have time, I said.
“KNOCK IT OFF, THUMPER!” she yells at me, “DON’T START THIS CRAP! I KNEW YOU WERE GOING TO DO THIS!” I’m frankly taken aback by the sudden ferocity of her position. She’s yelling at me while I’m feeling vulnerable and disappointed and hurt. This is turning into a disaster.
“Look,” I say, trying to stay calm, “It’s not a problem. It doesn’t have to happen right now…”
And it just gets worse. She yells at me, and then I’m yelling back, defending my right to feel how I feel and denying the charge that I’m somehow the problem and that, really, we don’t have to do it right then.
She basically orders me into my collar, but she makes me put it on. Wrong. It feels wrong. I’m starting to crumble inside. She puts me in handcuffs, one side of which is affixed to the D-ring on my collar. The cuffs are biting into my wrists. They feel wrong. I try to say something, but she orders me onto the bed.
“Bend over, face in the pillow,” she barks.
WHACK! Jesusmotherfucking, that hurts. I close my eyes and try to hang onto the wispy feelings of sub energy that I’m feeling, but they’re not enough. Not nearly.
WHACK!! I sit up.
“Can I kiss you?” I need to get this anger out of me, this feeling that she’s angry. She kisses me, but not lovingly. My ass goes back up in the air.
WHACK!!! Fuck this.
I sit up again and say, “This isn’t right. It’s not working.” And then I break. Fury wells up from within me. My face contorts and I silently cry out and feel such pain and disappointment and the feeling that everything is wrong as my face heats up and the tears flow freely down my face. This is not working. She doesn’t want to do it and I’m a fucking freak for asking her to. And this was it, the only night this was going to work with the kids out of the house. It would be weeks before we could try again. And now, I wasn’t even sure I wanted it. Ever. Nothing that made me feel that bad could be worth doing. It was never going to work. I was angry, but not really at her. I was angry at the world for making me like this and putting me in this situation. All my fear and vulnerabilities reared up like dragons in my mind. I felt embarrassment at being naked, embarrassment at being collared, embarrassment for asking her to hit me.
The conversation that followed was predictable because we’ve had it before. Basically, I accused her of not wanting to hit me and not admitting it to me (or maybe herself). She said she wanted it to be perfect and I said that’s crazy because nothing ever is perfect. We both admitted to having no idea how to do what we’re trying to do. I said I need her to stop treating these sessions like another chore, the thing she does after the dog’s been out and the trash is on the curb. It’s not a fucking chore. It’s an emotional and physical need that I, her husband, has and, if we’re going to do it, it has to feel like an act of making love because, as hard as it is for her to understand, that’s what it is to me. Yet again, I suggested we stop trying to do it. All of it. It’s just too hard. She said nothing in return.
It was horrible. Just horrible. I suppose we said many things we needed to say, but I was left emotionally wrecked. She rolled over and asked me to hold her, but I couldn’t do it. I just felt too raw. Too many things we’re still unresolved. She fell asleep and I got up to read a book.
Out on the couch in the living room, I couldn’t follow the words I was reading. Being a male, soon my hand was in my underwear and I was absentmindedly playing with myself. The cock being a cock, it responded and I found myself holding a stiff hard-on. I started to stroke it. I didn’t want to come, but I wanted the sensation. I wanted to feel something good that night. I kept going and the words we said earlier rang in my head and I became emotional again. I kept stroking. Why even bother anymore? Why keep making her do what she finds so hard? I kept stroking. I don’t know what the solution is, but it’s not worth the pain. It shouldn’t be this hard. It’s supposed to be fun. I kept stroking. Then, I felt the point of no return rushing up. And I kept going. I let go and I came. Huge globs of it. God, it had been so long since I saw or felt or smelt that all by myself. I felt the waves of post-orgasmic pleasure wash up and down me, by myself, shirt pulled up, underwear down. Alone.
I didn’t feel guilty, but I felt very sad. I cleaned myself up, turned off the light, and went to bed.
—
The next day, I wanted to be with her. It was Monday, so that was a problem, but all day I thought about her and the night before and the yelling and the crying and I just wanted to be with her. On the way home, I picked up her favorite flowers (alstroemeria) and had them nicely displayed on the dining room table.
She got home and I was drawn to her. I held her and kissed her and found myself getting really turned on. Our status was ambiguous since the idea of not doing the D/s thing was never really resolved and the thought of just bedding her like in the old days, maybe even right there in the kitchen, really appealed to me. Just fucking. With two orgasms. Like other people do it. I could like that. Hell, I did like that for years and years.
Back in our bedroom, I laid her down with the intention of having some pretty swell make-up sex. She told me she really wasn’t much in the mood (or something to that effect) but that she did want to try slapping me around again.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure. Twice we had tried this and twice it had turned out badly. It felt too soon after the previous evening’s event to try again. But I was in the mood for it. And we were in a good place. I agreed to give it a try, as long as we started slowly.
I stripping my clothes off and, with her under me, she slapped my nuts around a little. Nothing too extreme, but the pain seemed to warm me up inside – clear out the receptors. Then she got up and left me on the bed, ass up and head down, while she got the flogger.
She ran it’s thin rubber tendrils over and around me – starting with my ass, going over my back, ending up on my balls. It felt heavenly. I love this feeling. The sweet stuff before she gets rough. Then she started to hit me. Not too hard. It felt good. I felt myself raising my ass up to meet the flogger sooner. This was good. It felt right.
Even though I was making copious happy noises in the back of my throat, she stopped to make sure I was OK. That made me all warm inside. This time, I felt the love with every blow. As she made them harder and the sting grew more intense, I could feel her love and her desire to make me happy and I loved her back and felt incredibly grateful to her. At some point, I felt myself slip past the point where the pain loses its sharp edge. It still hurts, but becomes something else. Something better. Something I crave.
Then, in a particularly cruel blow to my reddened ass, the flogger broke. The head of it flew acorss the room. It was just a cheap little thing she picked up somewhere, so no surprise, but yeah, that’s how hard she was hitting me with it. With the thin rubber tongues gone, it ends in a plastic cup into which they were glued. She tried whacking me with that and the pain was entirely different. It was more a like a crop now. I liked that. Mentally, I was already shopping for new implements of torture.
She picked up a flexible plastic ruler and started to use that on me. Intense pain. I found myself rolling over on my back and she started to (gently) strike my balls with it. My eyes rolled back in my head and I opened my legs to her blows. Heaven. The ruler was more stingy that I like on my balls, so I asked her to use her hands. Rapid slapping blows to my nuts sent me high up into the clouds. I love love love love love how that can feel.
By the end, I felt wonderful bliss. My ass hurt like hell, but it was all the right kind of hurt. I nuzzled into her, so grateful, so happy. Sitting here writing about it I can still feel some stinging, though I’m not sure it it’s really there or if I’m just remembering it. In any event, I love it and want more of it. We need to do something about our batting average (one successful attempt out of three will never do), but I know that it’s possible. I know she can do it and still make me feel loved and cared for. I’m just so incredibly happy that I have her and that she’s willing to try to do the things I need, even when she doesn’t really understand why.
Obviously, we have more to talk about. We’re not there yet. But we both need to remember, as we keep trying, that we can do this. We can make it work, and when it does, it’s amazing.
Thumper,
Your blog reminded me of an acronym that Dan Savage (sex columnist) uses – GGG. Good, Giving, and Game. Good=skilled, Giving=Generous, Game=Willing to try new things.
I think your Belle is being GGG. She is being Giving with things that don’t necessarily rub all her buttons, and Game in trying things that were perhaps outside of her comfort zone.
I think one thing you’re struggling with is accepting her generosity in being GGG. It’s a gift to you. She loves you. Sometimes it’s a loving gesture in return to simply ACCEPT a gift that’s given to you.
There are certainly times that you, as a sub, will be Giving to her, even if it’s not your favorite thing. Should she hate that? I think not.
I also think that, over time, behaviors and patterns become more and more comfortable. I’ve read blogs of many Domme’s who began by doing things because it was a turn-on for the sub, but eventually came to love it themselves. I think you need to give your Belle the benefit of time to build her experience. Sure, maybe one night she flogs you, not because it’s a turn-on tonight, but because she promised. Still, it’s her call as a Domme to make that decision, and by doing so, she is making herself more comfortable in asserting control. As a sub, I presume that her asserting control is something that you crave.
Anyway, as I read your blog, you seemed riddled with guilt that your Belle is doing things she doesn’t want to do. I think you need to let that feeling go. You’ve had the argument a hundred times. Let it be. Let her assume control, her way, not yours. If you need to question it, do it afterward, not during the scene. Otherwise, the scenes may become a source of unwanted stress. That would be my suggestion.
Best of luck to both of you!
mikecb
I think it’s two different things. There’s the D/s aspect of our relationship, which we’ve had much more time to practice and, I think, is humming along pretty well. Then there’s the S/M part, which we’ve not practiced very much and we still obviously have issues with. IMO, we need to work on the S/M separately before we overlay D/s. Until she becomes comfortable hurting me and I become comfortable being hurt by her, adding the extra dimension of D/s might be too much for us to handle. I suppose some people feel that S/M and D/s are linked, and I’m not arguing that because I get that there’s a relationship between them, but for me, being hurt by her fulfills entirely different needs than submitting to her. I like pain *and* I like to submit just like I like peanut butter *and* chocolate. Separately, they’re both good. Together, they’re fabulous. Until we get the right peanut butter recipe, though, it might just be making things too hard to try to wrap it in chocolate.
I do agree that Belle’s remarkably GGG and that I couldn’t ask for a much better partner in that regard. I am eternally grateful to have her.
I probably shouldn’t pick this fight, but, although this statement is true, it’s really not relevant to the situation that happened Sunday, IMO.
Being submissive doesn’t erase your own needs – not sexual ones, and not emotional ones either. Taking the attitude that you asked for it and thus should just gratefully accept it however it comes can only lead to more anger, tears, and horrible badness. So the attitude is not only wrong, it also does not work.
The only way you can be easier for Belle is to make sure your emotional needs are met rather than stepped on, and do your best to do the same for her. Trying to have a scene in half an hour, or trying to have a scene when you are both stressed, or trying to have a scene when one of you is angry or distressed, is a recipe for disaster. That’s when you stop (as you tried to), try to patch things up, and put the heavy, dangerous sex play off for another time.
I’m sorry about how things went, and glad you put together a good time later.
I couldn’t agree more. Just because she’s the D and I’m the S doesn’t mean my feelings should be nothing but eternal gratitude that she’s willing to beat me and dominate me, even when one (or both) of us is not in the right emotional state to do it.
I am so grateful for her and her willingness to do these things, but they have to be mutually fulfilling. As painful as these events are, at least I feel we’re a little further ahead after them than we were before. We learn something each time.
Hello Thumper.
I’ve been reading your blog for a *loooong* time and have never yet commented. Yes, I’m a lurker – woo!
I’m female, I’m an occasional keyholder for my long-term partner (10+ years).
We only play with chastity occasionally, so I’m by no means an expert. It’s a relatively recent thing for us (less than a year).
Ok firstly, I have to say your blog is *amazing* and has had a huge impact on me and my understanding of male chastity. Thank you for writing. You are a very talented writer. I really mean that. I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels this way.
One of the things that I have admired about your relationship – from reading this blog for a long while anyway – is your ability to talk, communicate and listen to each other.
I love the fact that you – and other bloggers like Tom Allen (um, hi Tom, if you’re reading) – really seem love their wives/partners. I *love*, love, love that. When I was first investigating male chastity issues, to be honest it was yours and Tom’s blogs that I enjoyed reading, and that made me realise that love is/can be a major part of this, and that male chastity isn’t scary or weird but it can be fun and loving. Yay for you both! 🙂
With regard to this post…
Well… it seems that whenever you write about what goes wrong, it’s all about communication between you. There’s a few posts I have read and you’ve basically made it clear that either you felt that something was wrong but you didn’t say clearly enough or that Belle wasn’t hearing you. It’s obvious from the way you write that you know this.
First of all, as others (and you) have pointed out, Belle fucking rocks. I wonder, does she have anyone to talk about with this stuff? You put down all this in your blog and share your thoughts, does she have any outlet for her worries, her fears, her feelings? She sounds AMAZING. As I’m pretty sure you very well know. 🙂
About communication:
I think one of the things we have to accept is that people can change their mind in a second. What seems good in theory can feel wrong in practice. When we’re not feeling it, we need to be able to say it and have it heard by our partner. So we need to constantly check in with them, I think.
Or – y’know, I don’t know if this is a female thing, but what turns me on one time may not do the job the next time. So it’s not that he’s doing anything wrong – not at all – it might be that I feel differently that day. It depends on my hormones, whether I’ve had a good day, whether I’m relaxed or stressed, whether my period is due or not, whatever – basically this is valid and I need to feel validated in expressing this.
I know that I need to communicate this during sex, and I know it’s hard to do, but I know it’s right to do.
In my relationship, I think that we are both switches (is that the right term, well, sorry if that’s not grammatically correct, bdsm experts…).
Anyway, when I’m being submissive, I know that I need to be able to speak what I’m feeling more. It is very hard to do this, so I relate to you, Thumper. But for god’s sake, we must SAY it. SAY it clearly. When you truly love each other, it is better to tell the truth, and your partner will listen to you, and take it on board.
When I’m being dominant and my partner is locked up in chastity – well, it’s very difficult and tricky, so I also relate to Belle. Because it’s very hard to know whether your partner *really* wants the spanking/whipping/neck grabbing or whatever – or he is genuinely scared. So I try to ask from time to time whether everything is ok. “Is this ok?” “Are you alright?” “Do you want me to stop?” and so on.
I am basically so paranoid about this that that I suspect my partner wishes I would just shut the fuck up and fucking rough him up a little more and go harder. But I’m going to take things gentle and go step by step and gradually get to a level he’s happy with. Maybe Belle could do that with you, i.e. keep asking? If that would help you, maybe you could ask her to check in with you every so often whether you are ok with what’s happening?
I’m totally rambling now and this is probably partly due to to the fact I am home alone having had some wine and a couple of whiskeys (heh).
But – yeah. Communication is the key. And I’m by no means an expert or perfect in this regard, but *communication* *rocks*.
I presume you tell Belle what you post here, right? I’m curious, do you post here after you talk to her about this, or do you post then talk, or just post? Obv. the former is preferable, but that’s obvious. Or does she read here and then talk to you about it?
Regardless – I admire your honesty.
Sorry this is so rambling and rubbish, and I’ll shut up now. But basically if you talk to Belle the way that you write here, I think you’re doing the right thing.
Thank you so much for your kind words and support. I’m blushing over here…
Yep, she knows all about what I write here. Sometimes, I write something here and then we talk, other times it’s the opposite. It just depends on the timing. With regard to this episode, we talked A LOT beforehand and I doubt anything I write here will be a big surprise to her, though I find my thoughts are usually better collected in writing so things might make more sense to her. The one thing she *doesn’t* know about is that I jacked-off Sunday night. I tried to tell her but couldn’t, partly because I knew I’d write about it so she’s find out sooner or later. I didn’t feel guilty at the time, but I’m kind of embarrassed about it now.
In any event, I totally agree that just about every issue we’ve experienced as we’ve taken this adventure has boiled down to lack of communication. Thanks again for the swell comment!
Has Belle thought of writing her own blog? You guys make an interesting couple. I’ve been dominant and into D/s and S/M since I was in kindergarden tying my playmates to trees. But I’ve also acquired pleasures along the way but they’ve taken more effort, yet nonetheless enjoyed.
Have you thought of seeking out similarly minded folk? Classes wouldn’t hurt – there are safety issues to be considered.
P.S. A simple wooden kitchen spoon is very effective, either end. And a leather belt – Yikes!
We’ve tried the spoons, but they tend to make too much noise (kids, you know). The little flogger was nice and quiet. I’d *LOVE* to be hit with a belt, but she’s so far not been interested in that particular option. Dunno why. Just thinking about that makes me all wobbly.
At the beginning of this blog, I set Belle up with her own account with the idea that she might occasionally write. I’d love to see that happen, but she works a lot more in off hours than I do and may not have the energy. I suppose if enough people keep asking, she might take up the keyboard and write some stuff. In particular, I’m afraid in rereading this post that her POV with regard to the yelling isn’t well represented. I’m afraid she looks bad and I’m not sure it’s a fair characterization.
We have thought about classes, munches, etc. So far, we haven’t pursued that. Writing an anonymous sex blog is one thing while going out and meeting actual humans who live hear us is something else entirely.
Classes sound like a really good idea-they would give Belle a chance to see that kinky isn’t as weird as she thinks and show her that you’re not as odd as she may feel. And give her the chance to meet other folks who can talk about this.
Also-much of this experiment, this adjustment in your lives, was to help focus Belle’s sexual attraction on you, and for you to feel that focus. So when you’re all happily anticipating something and she acts in a way that makes you feel you’ve lost that focus, then you start to feel that the whole thing is a mistake. But you are getting much better at figuring out why there was a problem and fixing it. Perhaps if your default position wasn’t “This will never work, I’m horrible to want it” and so on you would feel less stress when there’s trouble.
It sounds like Belle might have been working her way up to your scene, since it’s all new and strange to her-that getting things done was giving her the time to decide to do this thing you wanted. And the deadline of Mad Men-a good limiter, because I bet you have a DVR and the show could be watched another time.
Nice to hear you had such a good time on Sunday.
Sorry for the drunken rambling last night – I’m a bit embarassed… anyway – as you were!
p.s. Still meant all the compliments though! 🙂
If you don’t feel comfortable going to a class, reading a good SM 101 book might prevent an embarrassing trip to the ER.