Month: August 2009

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Twice on Sunday

Sunday morning I woke up very eager to please Belle and told her as much.

“I want to make love to you,” I said.

“How are you going to do that? I wasn’t going to let you out today.”

“We don’t need that to make love.”

“But what are we going to do?” she asked.

“Have sex. You know, the kind of sex we have now. The kind that doesn’t require the cock. There are so many options…” I trailed off as I planted sweet little kisses along her jaw and neck.

“Hmm. That’s confusing to me,” she said, “We need to call it something else. You can’t make love to me when you’re locked-up.”

“OK, how about saying I just want to make you come?”

“I’m good with that,” she said.

My thinking with regard to calling it “making love” versus just saying “making you come” was to help close the divide between what she likes and what I want from sex. For me, when she lets me pleasure her, it’s every bit as meaningful as when she lets me fuck her (whether or not I come), but I think in her mind, those acts are very different (one perfunctory and one-sided, the other romantic and inclusive). I’d like her to start equating all of our sexual encounters as acts of love making because that’s how they feel to me, even the ones where I’m left throbbing and frustrated. Guess I’ll keep working on that.

“Why do you want this?” she asked. I assume this question stemmed from of our recent bout of communication.

“Because I’m horny,” I admitted. “I’m horny and need to feel you come. You come for both of us now. And, of course, I want you to feel pleasure. And I need to feel you feeling it.”

I suppose a really good submissive would have led with the second part of that, but I just said the first thing that came to mind. I was on her because I was horny and wanted to feel the release of our (her) orgasm. Even if we were having “normal” sex, I’d still be initiating because I was horny and wanted to fuck her, right?

“OK,” she said, “Close the door.”

—

Sunday night, I rubbed her feet while watching the Mad Men premiere. When it was over and the TV was off, I started kissing her again. Not sure what I expected to happen since she had just come that morning, but I like the contact even when it doesn’t end in sex.

“You know,” I said tentatively, “When you leave me locked-up – when you deny me for a long time – I feel more cared for than when you don’t. It makes me feel loved.”

“Really? That’s an odd thing to say.”

“Well, I know it’s harder for you to deal with me with I’m like this, so when you do it you’re demonstrating the willingness to maintain me. I like how that feels. Like I said, it makes me feel loved. Special.”

We then had a brief exchange where she accused me of previously saying it wasn’t harder for her when I’m locked up, but, as I wrote here on Saturday, I totally acknowledge the extra effort it requires. Since we never got a chance to talk about it, I was never able to clarify my position on that. I think that helps explain my negative reaction to what happened later that night…but I’ve already covered that ground.

In any event, I was distracted by some part of her and just enjoying the access (even though it was through her pajamas) until she tapped me on the head with something hard. It was Pink, her favorite vibe.

“Do you want me to use that on you?” I asked hopefully.

“No,” she said, “You’re fine where you are.” She slide the vibe into her pajama bottoms and I heard its low thrum as she clicked it on.

“Do you want me to do…anything?”

“Nope. I’m good.” I could feel the vibrations radiate through her and into the mattress.

When she was done, she reassured me that the solo action wasn’t the result of anything I had done wrong. She wasn’t punishing me. It was just how she wanted it.

“You know if you could, you’d do the same thing yourself. Sometimes, that’s what I want, too,” she explained.

What I find remarkable about this is the old Belle Fille (the one married to the old Thumper – the ones who hardly ever had sex) would have never masturbated in front of me, let alone do so with no expectation that I’d have any role or reciprocal attention. It was what she wanted, pure and simple. I was not necessary and, due to her growing sexual confidence, felt no guilt with regard to my frustration whatsoever.

I think that’s beautiful.

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We talk

“Why do you do that? Why do you always go there? Saying we need to just chuck the whole thing whenever we hit a bump?”

She was referring to this comment from my previous post:

This morning, I find myself once again (yet totally unexpectedly) doubting the path we’re on.

I’d say I don’t always go there, but I have, on occasion, suggested we should end our experiment in D/s. For me, whenever I come to doubt that she’s getting anything out of what we do, a complex series of things spring up.

First, I fear that she’s sacrificing her own sexuality in order to serve mine. Nothing else would be more appalling to me. This is not to say I don’t think she should ever do something just because it pleases me. Hardly. That give and take is the foundation of any relationship, sexual or otherwise. However, the idea that she would wholly subsume her sexual identity under the weight of mine is something I’ve feared multiple times. If that were ever to be the case, that her control was merely a construct formed by her desire to see me happy, the entire thing would come crashing down. Her desire for control must be authentically hers.

Second, I immediately start to feel guilt over the ridiculously complicated nature of my sexuality. Why should it all be so fucking hard? Why can’t I be like the other boys? She doesn’t need any more complexity in her life and I feel that I’m only becoming more complicated as we go along, introducing new “rules” and concepts she needs to keep in mind. Sex should be fundamentally easy, shouldn’t it? Sex with me, at least from her perspective, is anything but.

Third, I feel shame. I am ashamed at the things I want from her. My desire to be controlled, to be bound, to be hurt. She’s a nice Catholic girl and I’m nothing more than a perverted deviant (and a heathen to boot) bringing implements of bondage, floggers, and other apparatus into the bedroom. I want her to do unspeakable things to me. Things that are fundamentally not within her nature. I’m a freak.

Fourth, there’s that fundamental difference between us sexually. She wants sex to be spontaneously conducted upon soft, down-filled bedding on bright, sunny Spring mornings with the sounds of birds outside and the scent of lavender on the cool breeze. I want it to be done in the dark, by candlelight, with black leather and stainless steel. I want pain and domination and inequity. Nothing about what I like is spontaneous. We are from polar-opposite regions. I fear she never gets what she really wants in a sexual encounter (think Jane Austen) because she’s always catering to my fetid desires (think Marilyn Manson).

We discussed all this. We will work on all this, especially trying to find ways in which her idealized sexual experience can be combined with mine. She doesn’t want me to feel shame, though I still do. We both feel guilt. We both worry about disappointing the other.

Specifically regarding last night’s encounter, I found myself saying something unexpected. I accused her of being selfish. She was stressed and our sex life was only adding to that angst, so she pulled the plug on it. Not only had she released me, she ended my denial. Capriciously, I thought, since her orgasm was already attended to and didn’t require me to be released. I said I thought that was selfish because I was in a really good place at the time. I was thrilled. The issues were hers and we should have talked them though instead of her, under the guise of being in control, unilaterally acting. It’s was hard for me to say that to her because I’m generally predisposed to accepting her control and serving her selfishness and generally being submissive, but I thought the way in which she acted last night was above and beyond all that. She was actively trying to kill the dynamic, at least for a little while. I had no desire for it to end. Certainly, there must have been another way that would have preserved what we each needed.

Beyond that, she struggles (continuously) with the need to satisfy. That my satisfaction comes, in part, from being unsatisfied is very difficult for her. She also draws a line to my sexual dissatisfaction and my infidelity. In fact, it was my dissatisfaction with her general apathy towards sex that sent me away, not with the sex we were having. In any event, she says she fears that we’ll end up there again. I can’t imagine that now. Sex before didn’t exist between us. Now, it’s front and center. How we were a year ago and how we are now are totally opposite.

In any event, we need to redefine for her what “satisfaction” means to me and to not confuse it with satiation. I am very satisfied now with being totally unsatiated. We can have that bright and lavender-scented Jane Austen-style sex some Spring morning, but I’ll be happier at the end if I’m left hard and frustrated and grinding into my chastity device as opposed to spewing my seed into her. We can both be happy as long as we accept new, flexible definitions of “happy”. She may I think I secretly want to come all over her. In fact, I want to want to come, but not actually do it.

And seriously, I don’t want to come. If, in the course of her fucking me because that’s what she wants, I happen to come because I can’t control myself, then so be it. I only hope she takes the opportunity to tease me about it (hopefully with punishment). However, and for the foreseeable future, I’d rather be left wanting it rather than having it. If she wants to torture me with forced orgasm – to rip it from me against my will – then fine, I guess. That can be hot. But that’s not what last night was about. That was about the opposite.

I have more that I could say, but the conversation was very emotional. I cried very hard a couple of times, and she cried too. I’m feeling a little wiped by the whole thing and sort of puffy-faced. In the end, of course, we didn’t decide to end our experiment. We talked our way through and will keep trying to find the right path. We hugged and kissed and cared for one another. It was all very Austen-esque, except when we were done, she locked her cock back up in plastic. That never would have happened to Mr. Darcy.

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The unwanted orgasm

“Indefinitely” lasted until about 2:30 this morning. We had had a brief conversation about her comment to my last post where I basically expressed my confusion to her in person, told her I felt as though she had switched her position from the night before and made it sound as though I had put words into her mouth. But we never got to discuss it further – for me to also say I understand the extra effort denying me requires – since the kids needed to be put to bed and she fell asleep in my daughter’s room. I tried waking her a few times, but she wasn’t moving. So the issue was left hanging and I went to bed in a sour mood.

Around 2:15 or so, she was back in bed and on my side, arm over me. I was dead asleep and still conflicted about the strange way the day ended, but my hormones got the better of me and I felt the tube pressurize.

“Are you asleep?” she asked.

“No,” I replied, feeling the thick, hard root of the erection beneath the CB6K’s ring.

“I’m going to unlock you.”

What? “Why?” I asked.

“Because I want to have sex with you.”

Fair enough, but there was a sinking feeling in my chest just the same. She opened and removed the little brass lock and I removed the device. My trepidation had done little to lessen my erection and the sensation of the tube sliding off the hard meat caused me to sharply suck in my breath.

I turned to her, now totally naked, and she said, “And I want you to come.”

The sinking feeling sank faster.

“How do you feel about that?” she asked.

“I don’t want to come,” I replied.

“I’m ordering you to come.”

“It’s only been a week.” Actually, not even a week.

“I know.”

I started to run my hand over her, under her bedclothes, feeling her smooth warmth. But there was a heaviness laying over me. I really, really didn’t want to come.

“You’re in charge,” she continued, “I’m just going to lay here and enjoy it.”

Well, if I’m in charge, then I don’t get to come, is what I was thinking. My hands and mouth went to work. Emotionally, I was feeling very uneasy, but the hormonal sex lizard didn’t really care. The cock was achingly hard and insistently pressing into her leg. But it was not my intention to use it unless she ordered me to.

Her moaning and writhing became more pronounced. “How do you want to come?” I asked, knowing I had her right where I wanted her.

“I don’t know. That feels so good.”

No argument from me. I kept fingering her. Eventually, she came pretty good. No cocks involved.

As she lay there basking, I thought I could get out of the required orgasm I really didn’t want to have. But no. She opened herself to me, silently inviting me to mount her. I lined the head of the cock up to her wet warmth and drove it in. Of course, it felt heavenly.

“Do I have to come?”

“Yes.”

I started to fuck her, but felt myself in a strange in-between space. On the one hand, I was fucking, which was good (really, really good), but on the other, I still really did not want an orgasm. These two parts of me agreed to disagree and her control was the deciding vote. I kept going. Eventually, I came. It felt different. Like it was someone else’s orgasm I was only observing or something. The euphoric wave was missing.

Afterward, she had her arms around me and asked how I felt.

“Like I came.”

“And how does that make you feel?” Her executive coaching skills at work.

I pondered the question but decided 2:30 in the morning was the wrong time to get into it.

“Why did you make me come?”

“Because I wanted to take the edge off.”

“But I like the edge.” It’s kinda the whole point.

And then we drifted off to sleep.

This morning, I find myself once again (yet totally unexpectedly) doubting the path we’re on. I feel she released me and ordered me to come last night because the whole thing had suddenly become to much stress for her. We never really talked about what her comment meant, but she knew there was potential complication there based on my initial reaction. In order to avoid that, she pulled the release cord. All the way.

The cultural paradigm of appropriately satisfying sex says what happened last night was all good since we both came. The thing is, though, I find more satisfaction and a greater feeling of love from her when she doesn’t let me come. Telling me to have an orgasm is easy. Making me wait longer – to control it –  is hard. She took the easy way out. I suppose I could have put my foot down and refused to come, but really, what’s the point of that? It’s only sexy for me when she’s not letting me do it, when she’s asserting control. It’s entirely empty when I do it to myself. If I had done that and not come after she told me to repeatedly, I would have started crying and everything would have gone to hell. No doubt. I guess, at the end, it came down to two unsatisfactory choices for me. Avoid orgasm and be left with a pyrrhic victory or at least submit to her wishes, even though I didn’t want to.

If her reflexive reaction to this kind of thing is to pull the plug when it gets hard, should we even be doing it? It seems obvious to me she doesn’t really get anything out of leaving me frustrated. She doesn’t seem to be getting any kind of rush from controlling me the way Tom’s Mrs. Edge does in their relationship. She’s just doing it, letting it turn into this thing she starts to worry and stress about. I don’t want that for her. This is supposed to be fun.

I’m sure she feels that giving me an orgasm is a good thing, but I don’t want it. That is, I don’t want it as long as she doesn’t want me to have it. If she really doesn’t care either way and is only humoring me, then I’m investing a lot of emotional energy and enduring a lot of frustration for nothing. Maybe we should ditch this particular kink and find another outlet we can both enjoy fully.

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An indefinite period

She’s going to leave me locked up indefinitely. I’m not sure how long “indefinitely” is, but this fact came up last night after more talking (since work’s beat her down lately, that’s about all she had energy for). I was telling her how much more comfortable it makes me to think she likes me locked up. I told her, since she’s not really left me in the thing very much lately, that I figured she wasn’t all that into it and was only humoring me. She reiterated that she does like me in it. A lot.

So why have I not been in it that much? Apparently, she lets me out when there’s other stuff happening around us. For instance, we have relatives over this week. There’s no reason at all that should have any bearing on the status of her cock, but she let me out just before they showed up. Yes, it’s true she also wanted to fuck it, but still. I told her I would be happier if she didn’t worry about how I feel about the device at any given moment. If I’m not squealing (aka, safewording), then all I want her to consider is whether or not she wants me in it. Not whether or not I want to be in it. If she’s thinking about my comfort (or whatever) and I know it (which I do) then I can potentially use that to my advantage and manipulate my status. It’s much, much hotter to think she’s only considering what she wants with regard to the device. Besides, for the vast majority of the day, the device might as well not be there. It gets in the way of practically nothing other than peeing, jacking off, and sex.

Which is not to say she can’t let it out to play if that’s what she wants. This kinda gets to the fact that she doesn’t know what to do with it when it’s locked up. If she wants to fuck it, she should fuck it, then put it back in. If she just wants to tease it, then she should. Getting in and out isn’t that hard. Will I want to go back in? Certainly not if I’ve come, but again, who cares? It’s her cock, it’s her CB6K. If she likes the idea of me being in it, then I should be in it.

So anyway, at some point in this conversation, she said she was going to leave me in it indefinitely. I like the sound of that. I asked her to err on the side of leaving it in there more often since, of course, she likes it that way. If she likes it, then I fucking love it. Recently, my appreciation of enforced chastity has been on low ebb. Suddenly, I find myself more enthusiastic about it than I was when we first bought the CB6K.

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She likes it

It’s been 10 days now since she last let me come which is just about when the hormones really start kicking in. Based on previous experience, if she continues to deny me orgasm but still teases me and allows me to pleasure her, my level of frustration will continue to build until about three weeks when it’ll level out and maybe even start to drop off a bit. She’s only made me hold out that long a few times, but each time the pattern’s been roughly the same.

I also notice now that the tremulous vibrato of sexual energy that resonates in my chest (which I’ve described in the past as “carnivorous butterflies”) has become such a normal state of affairs for me that I only really notice it when it’s not there. I don’t know what causes this, but it’s enhanced when she has me in the device. It’s like all my sexual desire – basically, the desire to grab, stroke, and otherwise abuse her cock – feeds back on itself. It drives me to seek out sexually stimulating media (otherwise known as “porn”) which, in turn, only makes it worse since I can’t touch myself. It’s that kind of loop, pumping more and more hormones into my blood, that makes it impossible to sleep sometimes. Anyway, I’m feeling that now. A state of hyper-arousal. The carnivorous butterflies flapping around inside me.

Last night, I really wanted plant my face in Belle’s snatch and eat her up. Something, anything, to get her pheromones on me. To feel her pleasure and eventual orgasm which comes for both of us now. But she brought a bunch of work home with her and, by the time she was done with it, wasn’t in the mood for her bunny’s services. I may have let my disappointment show just a bit, but I’ve gotten pretty good lately at not feeling I’m in any way involved in deciding if I get to experience sexual pleasure and got over it pretty quickly.

She told me to get naked, which I did, and as I was laying above the covers next to her, clothed only in the transparent plastic of the CB6K, something Tom said recently in a comment came to mind. Belle and I hardly ever talk about the device. It’s her method of control, but it’s also the thing that mostly goes unsaid between us. So, with it being very visible and me still adjusting to my unexpected stint in lock-up, I asked her if she had any questions about it.

She thought about this a second and asked, “What’s the hardest part about wearing it?”

“God,” I said, “There are so many hard parts…” I seriously had to ponder that.

“Finding a place for it in my pants is hard sometimes,” I began, “And peeing. It makes peeing rather complicated. That sucks. And, of course, the nocturnal erections can be difficult to deal with. Those two can combine when the cock gets so hard in the tube that it makes peeing impossible. That totally blows…” I trailed off.

“The hardest part, though, is that I feel like you don’t always know what to do with me when I’m locked up.” Not sure where that came from. It just sort of popped into my head so I said it.

“But I like when you wear it,” she replied.

“Really?” I continue to assume that she only puts me in it to humor me and that she’d rather have me out. In fact, I assume she does everything in an attempt to humor me. My submissive’s insecurity, I guess.

“What do you like about it?” I asked.

“I like that when you’re wearing it I know exactly what you can and cannot do with yourself. You’re a guy and all your wiring and buttons are different than mine, so I like knowing you really can’t do anything when you’re wearing it. I like knowing you can’t touch yourself.” She may have said some other things related to this, but frankly the buzzing sound in my head made it difficult to follow what she was saying. The tube was fully pressurized and my eyes kinda of half-closed as the blanket of subspace fell over me.

“I need to hear that. That you like it,” I said. “If you like having me wear it, then there are no hard parts.”

And that was about it. She was tired and was asleep shortly thereafter. I was awake and decided to read a book rather than surf the web since I really did want to sleep at some point. In retrospect, I’m really pleased she told me she likes when I’m locked up. That’s huge. I can put up with almost anything if I know she wants me to. On the other hand, my point about her not knowing what to do with me when I’m locked up is still out there. We need to talk more about that.

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A couple of quickies

One.

I picked Belle Fille up at her place of employment this evening and told her that I had locked myself into the device because I was having impure thoughts about myself. She congratulated me on my self-control (which, I pointed out, if I had any, would have obviated the need for the device). Then, tonight when I asked if she would take the thing off, she declined. She’s apparently very happy to have me locked up at the moment.

Two.

Also in the car on the way home, Belle said it was a good thing I put it on because otherwise I may have done something requiring punishment. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out something derogatory with respect to her inclination to punish me. You know, since I picked the lock of my chastity device and all and have still not been punished. Understand that I’m not exactly sure I want to be punished because it’s going to hurt like fuck, but I do actually like the idea of her having the right to punish me. It’s complicated. In any event, my derision was not well received. She says she’s been waiting for the right moment. I pointed out that all the books say it’s important to discipline your dog at the time of the incident, not hours later. Otherwise, there’s a disconnection. You know, between the digression and the resulting punishment. OK, well, in any event, she may or may not be punishing me sometime in the future. When it happens, you’ll be the first to know. I mean second. Well, OK, technically third.

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Self imprisonment

Belle let me out of the device on Sunday. It’d been nearly a week since she had some bunny lovin’ (due to her trip and a monster-long menstrual cycle) and she wanted her cock. She said it just like that. “Tonight, I want my cock.” Fucking awesome.

So she let me out and I cleaned it up, shaved, etc. I had that nagging insecurity regarding coming without permission, but it turns out she came so fast from my fingers that the issue never presented itself. After an appropriate amount of basking on her part, she told me I could go inside her. No coming, of course. Just like last time, I was overcome by gratitude. There’s the feeling of thankfulness, of course, but then there’s also this meta feeling that flows from that. The feeling of inequity and unfairness and how I, the husband, the traditional “head of household”, have so little control over my own sexual functions that I am forced into this position of servile gratitude simply over the chance to get the dick wet. Of course, that’s exactly where I want to be. Not emasculated, but harnessed. Restrained. Maintained.

In any event, I got very, very close to coming more than once. I love that feeling when the primal lizard urge to just keep going and come fires up and I have to struggle to reassert her control over me. And when she tells me it’s time to stop and I have to pull the throbbing meat out of her, cold and wet. It just says hard. Twenty, thirty minutes. Not bone hard, but there’s a plumpness to it that doesn’t seem to want to go away. My blind sexual instincts never seem to learn. I know there’s not chance of getting off (especially once she falls asleep), but the motor keeps purring just in case.

In the few days since, we haven’t had a chance to connect. Today, I’m at home alone and find myself extra super horny. So horny, that the urge to stimulate myself was becoming difficult to avoid. As I’ve written recently, I had this problem where I’d jack myself off, but never let me come. Doing so kept the hormonal levels high, but totally broke the link between my sexual gratification and Belle. She’s since expressly forbidden that behavior (again), so these thoughts were problematic. I decided to lock myself up as a preemptive measure. I couldn’t find her new lock or the keys (they’re not in the corner of her dresser drawer!) but I was able to scrounge around and find an open Master lock. Not a big fan of them since they’re kind of big, but at least it locks and I have no clue where the key is (on her keyring, I think). I was much more thoughtful this time around with regard to the device. The KSD-3G is in place, I used appropriately sized ring and my new O-ring and PA cable set-up. Very, very secure. No chance of rubbing one out (or even making the motions). When Belle comes home, she can decide if she wants me in it not, but at least I’ll be able to avoid making any mistakes in the mean time.

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Jailbreak!

Picked!Last time she ordered me into the device, I have to admit I was a little off my game. Mostly, this was due to my having just come and not really putting my heart into it. In any event, I screwed a few things up. I used a ring that was too big and neglected to put the KSD-G3 in place. I like to use the KSD-G3 because it helps keep the meat pushed down inside the tube. This make things like peeing a little easier and, I’ve found, helps my PA ring find its way through the slot in the end of the plastic tube during erections (when the ring doesn’t descend, it turns kinda sideways, pulling on the piercing – not painful, really, but uncomfortable).

So, long way to say, I felt my kit was on all wrong. And she was out of town. With the key. Now, if you knew me in real life, you’d know I kinda sorta obsess over things like this. It was driving me nuts. I really wanted the KSD in there and I wanted the smaller ring. My fevered monkey brain kicked into gear.

My lock, seen above and in place on this blog’s about page, was chosen because I thought it was pretty. Truth is, Belle’s never liked it because it’s fussy to open (never sure which way to turn the key), but I’ve always appreciated it’s shiny aesthetics. I like shiny. Plus, it’s key is not so ugly. There was a time when I thought Belle could wear the key on a pretty chain I got her and it looks almost like jewelry, but since she never wears the chain, that doesn’t really matter. The downside of my pretty chrome lock is that its mechanism is exceedingly simple. You can see right into the keyhole and I’m pretty sure all the key does is move a little thingy in there allowing the clasp to spring open. So, with that in mind and the imperfection of my situation gnawing at me every moment of the day, I bent open a thick paper clip, used my needle nose pliers to bend over the end, and started fishing around in the keyhole. After about five seconds, bingo! Lock was open.

Then I realized what I had done. I had picked the lock to the device Belle had placed upon me. I had actually physically defeated the device. This was not good. I thought to close the lock and forget it ever happened, but the monkey brain is nothing if not pragmatic. It told me, as long as I had the lock open, I should at least put the KSD in there.

But surely, I argued back, I can’t take the thing off!?

No, no, my good man, said the monkey in an oddly affected British accent (I think all monkeys speak with British accents), you can leave the tube on, can’t you? There’s a good fellow. Carry on.

And then he threw some poop at me.

In any event, I did manage to get the KSD in place without removing the tube. It was tricky, but I was able to wrap my actions afterward in a shred of decency. While I had picked the fucking lock, I had not removed – even for a second – the part of the device that most represented her control over me.

UnpickableYesterday, I spilled the beans to Belle. I told her we needed a new lock since I knew how to open it. She seemed surprised at my cheekiness. Yes, we certainly did need a new lock. Then I went into the bathroom and, apparently to put a very fine point on my recent admission, picked the lock again and put on the smaller ring (again, without removing the tube). Instead of putting the thoroughly disrespected (yet still very pretty) chrome lock back, I took the ugly, sharp-cornered little lock that originally came with with the CB-6000 on. Its only redeeming quality (other than being totally secure against the monkey brain) is that it’s small. Otherwise, its very utilitarian.

I stepped out of the bathroom and handed Belle the keys to the new lock and the open chrome lock. Security has been reestablished.

Last night, she said opening the lock without permission deserved punishment. Of course, she’s right. It’s a huge transgression. If she carries through with the threat, it’ll be the first time she’s punished me since we established our understanding regarding her right to inflict corporal punishment. We’ll see what happens next…

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Gone but not

Not sure what to say, but I want to say something…

I miss her. She’s not here. But her control still is. All I can do is run my fingers over the hard plastic shell she’s placed over this piece of meat that I gave her. I want to touch it. Badly. I want it out. I want to make it hard and I want to stroke it. And yes, I want to make it come. Oh god, I want to make it come. But I can’t. I feel her control clamp over me and I know it’ll never happen. All I’m left with is an aching desire. An aching, burning desire gnawing away at me. Look inside, though, and it’s all glittery. Like an abalone. Hard, rough, difficult on the outside. Smooth, iridescent, beautiful on the inside. Totally worth it.

I am the outside. My animal lust clawing at the plastic. She is the inside. Smooth, cool. The reward.