Bad sub

So I had a hard day yesterday. Not “Belle and I had a hard day”, I had a hard day.

I came home from work after picking up the boy moments after Belle and the girl had gotten there. Belle had said to me earlier, “I’m going to have you take <our daughter> to swimming class tonight.” Not would you take her, I’m going to have you take her. I got a nice little subbie vibe from that. So anyway, while thinking about that, I also wanted to get the dinner started and under control before Belle got home. She’s had to deal with that for the days I was gone and, as I said yesterday, I’m eager to get back into the swing of things. However, I didn’t beat her home so she was already thinking about what to make when I got there.

No no no, I said, I’ve got it. I went to the freezer and picked out something for all of us, but couldn’t find anything I thought Belle would like and what I wanted to make the kids had expired (like, 18 months ago). By the time I got back upstairs, it became clear that my plan was going to hell so I ended up making what Belle had planned. Thing is, I had never really made that before (for everyone) and couldn’t get all the elements done simultaneously so everyone started eating at a different time. Plus, I made a huge mess and didn’t have time to clean it all up before I took the girl swimming and Belle had to finish for me. In retrospect, not that big a deal, but I was left discombobulated. I had a plan and the plan failed. Bad sub.

I got home and found Belle in bed with the apparent idea that I was putting the kids to bed. I totally would have eaten that up, but my mom called and needed tech support. That, all by itself, is enough to put me in a bad mood for 72 hours. So Belle had to put the kids down. Bad sub (though not my fault, I still felt bad about it).

In bed, I innocently was talking to Belle and said something to which she took offense (hey, twice in one day with the inadvertently pissing off people with careless comments!). I felt bed because she took it in a way I had not intended it to be heard. Also, I had wanted to watch Mad Men from Sunday and massage Belle’s feet at the same time, but all she wanted was the feet massaged and an early bed time. Again, with the plans being foiled. That one, though, I should have let roll off my back since I don’t plan what happens in the bed, sexual or otherwise. It’s her bed and her room. Bad sub.

All through the foot massage, I was talking about something I wanted to talk about when she had some heavy career stuff she wanted to work through. I didn’t know that until later and she didn’t say anything at the time, but I felt like a selfish bore afterward. Bad sub.

Finally, I had forgotten to make her coffee. The one thing I do every day. Bad sub.

So, after she told me to be naked and all the lights were off, etc., I said I felt bad and apologized for my sub-par sub performance. I told her I really wanted to do better, to be of greater service to her. When combined with the unauthorized emission last time we were in bed together, I told her I felt I had a great deal of room for improvement. Basically, I’ve been sucking wind lately. I turned to the topic of punishment.

Now, before I go any further, I want to say I’m interested in actual punishment, not faux scene-type “punishment”. This is not a way for the masochist in me to get a little more action. I want her to make me feel the consequences of failure, even if she doesn’t think it’s that I’ve failed all that much. Which, come to think of it, is part of the issue. She doesn’t think my “failure” is that big a deal. I’m being much harder on me than she is. She agrees, in principle, that I should feel consequences but doesn’t have a lot of passion for it.

We discussed her options regarding the form in which the punishment could take. Obviously, there’s the homemade cane I picked up a while back from the local Home Despot. But she was thinking about psychological punishment.

“What if I made you go sleep in the basement on the laundry room floor?” I looked up at her with cautious eyes. “I can see that would be an effective punishment,” she said.

In a quite voice, I replied, “Please don’t make me sleep in the basement on the laundry room floor. I want to sleep in your bed next to you.” That floor is hard and cold and miles away from her. I was terrified by the vision of me curled up, naked, on the hard linoleum mostly because I could tell she was considering it and that it was a very real possibility. I also felt a quivering form of excitement from the fact that we were at this point. Whodathunk even three months ago that she’d be considering something like this? We’ve come very far.

Anyway, that’s about how it ended. I told her this morning that I felt she had the right to punish me in any way she felt necessary. I can’t say exactly why I want this except that it seems a logical progression of things. Call it a further evolution of my inner sub or something, but I like the idea that I’m being judged and, when deemed to have fallen short, will receive corrective action. I find the idea hot, though I don’t really want to find the actual act of punishment hot when it’s happening. Like I said above, this isn’t a sideways path to masochistic fun. If she chooses physical rather than mental, I want it to hurt in the bad way. If she decides to cane me or whatever, I’d like it to happen totally removed from sex and I’d like it to be unpleasant.

If she chooses mental, I guess I’ll be sleeping on a cold, hard floor.

There and back again

Thursday morning, as I was getting ready to leave on my trip, Belle took me into the bathroom to lock the CB6K onto my body. I’ve gone into it before with less than full enthusiasm, but this time I really didn’t want to wear it. I was going to be driving for many hours to get to an event where I’d be socializing with dozens of people and speaking before hundreds. It would have been much more convenient to not have a bunch of plastic down my pants. Regardless, she said she likes it when I’m locked up – likes the extension of her control and knowing what I’m incapable of doing – and it’s entirely her prerogative to determine when I’m wearing it and when I’m not. So wear it I did.

There’s a lot written about that moment in which the sub hears the lock on his cock click shut and the feelings it engenders in him. I have to admit, most of the time I’m happy she’s taking control and locking me up so the actual sound of the lock closing doesn’t usually generate any extra feelings. This time, though, I felt the click. It sent a shiver down my spine. She knew I didn’t want it on but she put it on me anyway. Not only was I willingly submitting to her control, she was actively requiring I do so. It was thrilling. And it was done. As soon as it was over, any feeling of displeasure left me. I was as she wanted me to be and there was no point worrying about it anymore.

To help make the hours of driving bearable, I wore my loosest pants and no underwear. Normally, I don’t like going commando while packing plastic as the inner seams of the pants tend to rub uncomfortably against the skin of my scrotum, but find underwear can limit the freedom of movement of the device and pushes it back into the flesh at the root of the cock while sitting. In my loose pants and with the total freedom of movement, I drove for a very long time and felt very little discomfort from the device.

Perhaps contributing to my reticence towards being imprisoned was the sex we had the night before. Belle told me she wanted me to give her an orgasm before she went to sleep, so I (gratefully) started in using my usual proven method. I was free of the device and I found the contact with her body left the cock rock hard and straining.

After just enough time to get her warmed up and wet, she asked, “Is my cock hard?”

I ground it into her leg to let her know. It was very hard. With that, she pushed me back and started to fuck me. It happened very suddenly and I had to get myself in the right state of mind rather quickly. On the plus side, she was able to fuck me freely and long enough to arrive at a satisfying orgasm. On the minus side, as soon as she was done, I started to ejaculate copiously. I pulled out of her to try to keep it from happening, but the point of no return had already been passed. I spurted into her shallowly and all over her outer lips even as I fought against the contractions.

What I can’t say for certain is whether it was an actual orgasm or not. It was at least ruined, at most only partial. I didn’t really feel like I had come immediately afterward, but in the days since, I seemed to have lost the feeling of being denied for a month. I feel like I’ve gone back to the start of my denial, but it’s also the case that my trip knocked me pretty well out of my headspace anyway, so that might be a coincidence and not a result of Wednesday’s emissions. In any event, I didn’t have permission to do any of it, so I count it as a failure on my part.

On my way home yesterday, I found my hand dropping to my lap and absentmindedly tracing the flare of the CB6K’s head and subtle curve of its hard, short shaft under the fabric of my pants. While doing so, the words “my new cock” drifted through my head, unbidden. I’ve worn it so much over the past month with only a few short periods of freedom that it’s almost become an extension of my body. Combined with the enforced nature of this most recent stint and the way in which the new chrome device hides the thing it protects, I find that I really do feel like my current state is my normal state. It’s like she’s taken advantage of the fact that I’ve given her the cock to have it enhanced, improved, replaced with something of her own design. Something she likes better. Thanks to her, I’m not like other men. I can’t do the things they can. But she likes it this way, so I do, too.

I crawled into bed with her as soon as I got home last night and felt myself slip into a warm bath of sub energy. I tucked my head into her chest and wrapped my arms around her waist, feeling the heat of her body. I was very happy to be back there, in my place, as her Thumper. She gently pushed her knee against the hard cage that had been a constant reminder of my position while I was gone. I was home, I was happy to be with her, and I’m anxious to get back into the swing of things.

Prepping the cage

I’m going to be away from Belle for four nights starting tomorrow at a conference and she apparently doesn’t trust me to be alone with the cock since she told me last night she was going to lock me up before I left. I had been asking what her intentions were for a few days since I’m not sure I entirely trust myself either, but I have to say hearing that I would definitely be under control came as a bit of a shock (and not one I’m especially looking forward to). It’s going to be a pain in the ass since I’ll be driving a lot and publicly speaking and using men’s rooms, etc. Then again, this is the deal I signed up for.

chrome_pegs_smlIn anticipation of my renewed imprisonment, I did a little work on the chrome CB6K. Since I’m comfortably settled into a ring/spacer combination that works, I chopped the two pins on either side of the device down to size. They’re designed to work with the longest spacer, but I’m using the second smallest at this point with no plans to move up. That little bit of extra plastic makes a difference in the tight confines of one’s crotch.

chrome_inner_smlWhen I got out last time, I mentioned I had developed a small sore on the corona of the glans, but that turned out to be a clogged pore (aka, penis pimple – something I didn’t even know was possible). I assume the excess paint that rubbed off onto my skin is what caused that, but it’s totally cleared up now. To help avoid that in the future, I’ve scrubbed the inside of the tube out with a soapy sponge. However, as you can see, the furthest reaches of the tube still aren’t as smooth as the unpainted version. Time will tell if the color leeches off again.

The last thing I’m waiting to hear about with regard to this trip (and the rest of my life, I suppose) is whether or not I’ll be allowed to access porn. Looking at porn is a well-established hotel room activity for me (along with about 99% of the traveling male public), but thanks to the do-gooders who leave comments here, Belle’s considering putting an end to that. So, you know, thanks everyone for placing that little bug in her ear. I appreciate it.1

1 Not.


It’s been thirty days since my last orgasm. If you’re like me, you probably find the constant number-keeping of a lot of denied male bloggers pedantic, but it’s different when it’s your number-keeping. Then, it’s fascinating.

One solid month is a milestone I feel like we’ve been working toward this entire past year. I guess I always imagined I’d be super horny at this point, but in reality, I was way hornier at two weeks. If anything, I think my frustration is diminishing, not increasing. At least as a general background noise type of thing. I still find myself overcome with vivid moments during the day and can be turned on easier than a table lamp, but I’m not quite as frenetic about it all.

Now that I’m out of the device, I tend to get hard a lot more, especially when I’m with Belle. I went to sleep last night hard, woke up several times hard, and spooned into her this morning after the alarm hard. Hard hard hard, all the time it seems. The device does provide feedback to my body that makes erections less frequent and shorter in duration. Once it gets out, it pops up more frequently than that kid’s hand in the front row who knows the answer to every question.

While laying in bad last night, I observed to Belle that it had been a while since her last orgasm. I’m not sure why I said it and, in retrospect, I guess I shouldn’t have. I wasn’t trying to ask for sex and didn’t think at the time that I was, but it’s so obviously what I was doing. She said she was very stressed at work and that made it hard for her to want sex and that she knew it was hard for me to understand that. For me, stress at work leads to an increase in sexual appetite as a method to take my mind off it, but Belle (and maybe all women for all I know) is wired differently.

In any event, she told me my comment made her feel stressed out and guilty. Then I felt stressed out and guilty. I was wrong for bringing it up and I apologized. She said it made her think she was “doing it” wrong and I assured her I thought she was doing it just fine (I’m not sure there’s a one way to do this kind of thing). I felt like a jerk for bringing it up.

So I said to her that I was willing to ceded the last vestige of influence I had over our sex life. In our Covenant, it says I’m allowed to ask for sex once, but I told her I was willing to never be the one to bring up the subject at all. In effect, removing from the equation any and all verbal instigation on my part. Since my sex belongs to her and is for her anyway, I would become totally captive to her desires and, to the best of my ability, hold mine inside and just wait. She said she wants to think about it, but in the mean time I will endeavor to live what I offered. I won’t be suggesting, directly or through inference, that we should have sex until she says otherwise.

Which leads back the hard cock. Obviously, I can’t control that. I’m next to her, I get hard. I spoon into her, I get hard. It’s very noticeable. The only way to control that is to lock it up. As I said, it tends to get hard less often that way, and beside, nine times out of ten, she can’t even tell what its state is in there. This morning, I told her I didn’t want my erect state to cause her any stress. I can imagine that a hard cock pressing into her might send the same signal as me saying, “Hey, wanna fuck?”, but I really don’t want her to read it that way. I’d rather she interpret the hard cock as a sign of my devotion to her and my commitment to our dynamic. I’m hard because I don’t control my own orgasm. I don’t control my orgasm because I gave it to her. I gave it to her because I love her. Honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Updates of a random nature

I was away from Belle for two nights, so I was very happy to see her yesterday. Also happy that she let me massage her feet for 45 minutes and rub a kink out of her back, all while watching Mad Men. Before that, I made everyone dinner and cleaned up. It felt good being back and doing things for her.

The comments and pingbacks I got from my post from last Friday helped a lot. I’ve come to find myself agreeing with All For Her completely. My issue was having expectations of sex. I decided, somehow, that she was likely to want it, so when she didn’t I was upset. I can’t not want sex, of course, but expecting it is a bad idea. If you read the few posts I wrote prior to Friday’s, you’ll see a much more contented bunny and it’s all got to do with what my expectations were at the time. So yeah, All For Her nailed it.

I also think pasterychef touched on a good point. Regardless of whether or not we have sex, it’s very important to my mental well-being that Belle acknowledge my condition and position. As has been pointed out many times before, there’s a difference between denial and neglect. It’s a fine line that anyone doing the denial could find themselves crossing without even know it if they didn’t pay attention to their sub. I’m not saying that’s what Belle did in this case, but it’s worth mentioning.

Last night was an example of the right way to do this. As we watched Mad Men and the end of the Dallas/Giants game1, Belle had me get naked and lay next to her. She rested her head against my chest and gently touched me around the device and along my inner thigh and told me how much she liked the look of its shiny newness and how she enjoyed leaving me locked up in it. She’d also occasionally slap my nuts rapidly which, while not causing very much pain, was uncomfortable while she was doing it. The combination of all this drove me into very deep subspace and left me feeling as though I was entirely hers, to do with whatever she liked. I was kept by her. If she wanted to be gentle, she was gentle. If she wanted to be rough, she was rough. I just writhed in the light of the candles and football, my body very obviously desirous of sex and ready, but totally unneeded since she wasn’t interested. These feelings in me were accentuated by a comment she made earlier that suggested she did want an orgasm, but in the fullness of time and after the foot and back massage and drama and football, was something in which she was no longer interested. I went to sleep feeling very much loved.

This morning, she let me out of the device. I had developed a raw spot under the right side of the ring on my scrotum. I get this, to one degree or another, almost every time I get locked up, but usually at the beginning of the period, not after a couple weeks. Since she was going to let me out in the next few days anyway, she unlocked me so I could recover more quickly. Once out, I found a few more surprises from the new device. Turns out, the inside of the tube is not finished as well as the outside. I don’t know how they apply the silver coating, but it appears to be sprayed on and not very well deep inside the tube. Down there, the coating actually has a rougher texture than the regular, clear tube. Once out of it this morning, I found a black residue on the lower two-thirds of the shaft of the cock. Even in the shower, the color was hard to remove (kinda like permanent marker, but not as dark).

My other surprise was a little sore on the corona of the glans. I could feel it last night, so I just got it, but I suspect it’s there due to the rougher texture within the tube thanks to the unfinished paint job.2 The fact that it’s there means I’m going to have to inspect the meat every two or three days when it’s in that device. Perhaps, as the extra paint wears away, it’ll become smoother, but in the mean time, it’s an issue.

1 A game in which I would have liked seeing both teams lose somehow.

2 This mean, of course, that Tom was right.

Milking madness

I got a couple questions regarding the milking I mentioned in my last post via comments. I glazed over that more than I wanted to, so I’ll answer them here and expand on the event.

From Dev:

What did the milking feel like?

From esirpus:

When you are giving yourself a prostate milking are you wearing your chastity device? And if so is Belle supervising you?

I’ll take the last two first. No, Belle was not supervising me. She’s instructed me to take care of this by myself. Sure, I’d love for her to be involved, but if she doesn’t want to be, at least she’s letting me do it alone. Anything anal squicks her out, so I can’t count on her involvement going forward. And yes, I was in the device. In my handful of attempts at this in the past, I’ve found having access to the cock makes it somewhat easier, but also more dangerous since a few pulls to help things along can be taken too far. Also, the juices seem to run a bit more easily through erect meat than flaccid.

As to how it felt…this is more complicated. The act of stimulating the prostate feels amazing. Sometimes, so intense it’s hard to say it feels good. I imagine it’s not too dissimilar to what it must feel like to have one’s clitoris stimulated. I have a hard time imagining that prostate massage alone would ever lead me to a real orgasm, but the signals it sends my brain when I’ve found the spot are so closely related to orgasmic pleasure that I find it only sends my frustration and desire for one into the stratosphere. It’s kind of like a car engine that won’t start: turning the key makes a lot of noises that kinda sound like it’ll turn over, but it never quite gets there.

I’ve never really been able to get much out of myself this way. A dribble here, a dribble there. The last time, with the G-force, was pretty much the same. However, I did end up get a feeling like I had to pee. Once I tried, I found the fluid that came out to be thick and milky. And plentiful. Turns out, I was successful but didn’t understand the feeling well enough to know.

With regard to doing it in the future, I think the secret is getting into a sufficiently relaxed state. Since I feel like I’m kind of sneaking around when I do it (though Belle’s been aware of the last few attempts) and I’m usually squirreled away in a bathroom or something, I never let myself totally enjoy the moment. As with anything anal, being relaxed is key. Usually, I’m too tense. Also, there’s a fair but of contortion involved in reaching the spot. Not so much with the G-force with its handle and length, but even then it’s impossible to really lay back and enjoy the sensation since I’m the one creating it.

I’ll probably give it another try in about a week. Any tips in the mean time would be appreciated.

Birthday loot review

The birthday presents arrived as scheduled.

hi yo silver, away!

Belle let me put the new CB6K on right away. I think my total time unencumbered was about 30 seconds (just enough time to clear away those hairs that can’t be shaved when packing). Physically, besides the color change, the two devices are very similar. On the new device, the two pieces that form the top of the A-ring snap together with an audible click, while on the old device, they simply slid into place. Also, the spacer I was wearing (second smallest) was slightly longer in the new device. I dropped down the smallest spacer to compensate. The silver finish is beautiful and highly reflective. Both Belle and I find it much more attractive than the old clear option. The parts other than the tube are all made from black plastic, though to me it doesn’t feel like the same material used in the clear device. The tube does not appear to be black. The best I can tell, it’s clear underneath the silver.

Functionally, the devices are identical. Psychologically, they’re different. In the old clear device, my connection with the cock was never really broken. While I couldn’t touch it, I could always see it in there. Kinda like visiting day at the prison, I’d knock on the plastic and wave while he pressed his face against the window of his cell. In the new device, though, I can’t see it anymore. Instead of looking like a cock in a plastic tube, this new device looks like a silver phallus. Before, it felt like the cock was locked away, but now it almost feels as though the cock’s been replaced by Robocock. Losing that visual connection with the flesh has, in a way, lessened my thinking about it. Out of sight, out of mind, as it where.

In short, I’m very happy with the new device. I’ll be curious to see how it wears over the next year. I’ll be sure to keep you posted.

Also in the box with the chrome CB6K was the Tantus G-force. As I said before, my experience with other prostate simulators (mostly the Aneros) has been disappointing. I find it difficult to experience any significant sensation and find them hard to manipulate. As recently as this past weekend, at Belle’s instruction, I tried to relieve myself of accumulated fluids to no avail. However, the G-force is a tool to be reckoned with. The longer shaft, bulbous head, and easy-to-grip handle allowed me to quickly find and assault the magic gland. Eventually, I produced a respectable amount of thick, milky fluid. The G-force gets a thumbs up in my book.

I also bought a heavy steel ball stretcher, but for obvious reasons, have not had a chance to try it out yet (though I am very much looking forward to doing so). The Japanese nipple clamps had been back-ordered, but arrived before the end of the week. These things are wicked. They grab on very firmly thanks to little rubber pads on the clamps and, due to their design, grab on more tightly as the chain that connects them is pulled. Unlike other objects I’ve had clamped onto my nips, the Japanese clamps hurt from the moment they make contact. I look forward to seeing these used on me by Belle.

I haven’t had this much fun with my birthday presents since I was a little kid.

More hard

I have a lot of conflicting thoughts right now.

Last night and tonight, Belle was out after work and not home until late. Yesterday, it was supposed to be just a quick thing, over at six, but she didn’t get home until after 10:00. She was tired and quickly went to sleep. Tonight, she was out again at a work dinner, got home after ten, and was quickly asleep. Both nights, I whiled away the hours between being Mr. Mom and the time she got home perusing blogs, reading porn, etc. Both nights, but especially tonight, I was expectational of some kind of sexual contact. I’ll be out of town tomorrow and Saturday night meaning tonight was the last chance we’ll have to have sex until Sunday night. However, both nights, nothing. At least tonight, she remembered to let me sleep naked.

I know, I know, I know. This is the deal. She gets to be the one to decide. But fuck, it’s hard. It’s hard because all I can think about now is sex. It’s hard because I’m still all locked up and Sunday will be one month without an orgasm. It’s hard, because when the cock’s trying to be erect and stuffing the device full, my nuts feel twice their normal size and I’m left absently stroking the hard plastic tube like it’ll lead to something. I’ve never been here before. On the one hand, I want to be the denied, chastised husband. The one who’s always horny and has no sexual power, but on the other, she just kinda fell asleep here two nights in a row. I know I’m not going to come (or even get out). I’m not asking for that. But I’m so, so desperate for her. I need to feel her or, alternately, at least hear her acknowledge my condition. But to just roll over and say goodnight? That’s fucking hard.

And, like I said, I’m full of confliction. As I write these words, I can see in them the appeal they’d have for a purportedly submissive male such as myself. They’re filled with frustration and inequity and reading them is like pouring lighter fluid on a fire. Outside the envelope of expectation, with my brain operating somewhat more clearly, the disappointment feeds my submission. I can actually feel warm waves of it wash up my spine with each throb of my heart. I’m locked, utterly denied, powerless. Like, really. In the past, I’d be angry. I do admit that for a few seconds, I was a little mad with her tonight, but it didn’t last long and I’m not angry now. Instead, I feel like my masculine prerogative is being popped like a stepped-on cherry. But it’s not going quietly.

My reaction tonight was very different than one I’d have had 3-6 months ago. How will I react in six more months? And how does the denial factor into this? Am I being made more docile through her control of my orgasm? Or am I really this submissive? I don’t have the answers to those questions, but I do know this: submission and denial is hard.

Feeling good

“How are you feeling?” Belle asked.

“Good,” I replied.

“Yeah?” We had just climbed into bed and were waiting for the offspring to go to sleep in their bedrooms.

“Sure,” I said, “What exactly are you asking when you ask how I’m feeling?”

“Well, you know, physically, emotionally. I want to make sure you’re healthy and happy.”

I told her that on a macro level, I was doing very well. I was quite happy with everything relationship-wise. I had few complaints. Yes, I was disappointed that we hadn’t been able to have sex over the weekend, but I was really very happy with the way she had handled me the night before. Maybe not so happy about it at the time, but in retrospect, I thought she had been great. I was quite pleased to see her not apparently bothered with any feelings of guilt with regard to ignoring my sexual desire. She admitted to still being torn around that. Lingering feelings that she was acting in a way she should not – that she was being a bad mate – still hung in the air at those moments when I’m at my most pathetic.

I told her I really didn’t want her to feel in any way guilty. I trust that she will provide me attention that’s all about me at some point. I do not feel ignored by her at all. It’s important, though, that she determine the timing of that. Everything has to be on her schedule. (She hadn’t yet read my post from yesterday when we had this conversation.) By asserting her control in that way and leaving me horny and desperate, she was filling a need within me just as much as when she will eventually tell me I can have an orgasm. Different needs, but needs just the same.

She told me, in reply, that she was really quite enjoying leaving me locked up now. A few times, she thought of letting me out so she could have her way with her cock, but had actually liked the idea of leaving it locked away, completely under her control, even better. The mind fuck, she said, was more appealing to her than the actual fuck. I, of course, melted inside and got all warm when I heard her say those things. I jokingly accused her of telling me that because she knew how much I wanted to hear it, but she said no, it was really what she was feeling. I made the mistake of asking her, in rapid succession, if she had thought about how long she was going to leave me in, would she make me wear it on a trip I’m going to take in a few weeks, and, lastly, when would she let me out? All, more or less, the same question. As soon as it was all done running out of my mouth, I told her not to answer. I shouldn’t have asked. She agreed, I shouldn’t have asked.

Regardless of hearing how she was enjoying her control over that which made me a male, I told her that I was feeling oddly unmotivated right at that moment. In the few times I’ve been denied this long, I’ve noticed that the constant craving of sexual contact eventually subsides, at least for short periods. It will come back at a moment’s notice, but when combined with the chastity device, I felt an almost eunuch-like vibe descend on me.  I should have been hoping for some kind of sex and getting all frothy, but instead I was very content just holding her and burrowing my face into her, enjoying this period where everything seems to be clicking. If she had told me that she was ready for sleep, right at that moment, I would have been absolutely fine with it. It felt as though a part of me had really come to terms with the arrangement. No orgasms in three weeks, no contact with the cock for the majority of the past two weeks, hardly any sexual contact at all over a week and a half – I felt very non-sexual.

I’ve read about guys who, after having been denied for very long times, will eventually lose their sex drive all together. I think last night I was feeling a taste of that. It didn’t feel like a bad thing, though. I wasn’t upset or angry or anything. I was happy. I can’t say I would have felt that way over the long haul or what those feelings would have meant to my mental health, but right then, I honestly had no motivation to be anything other than her affectionate little rabbit.

Luckily, she wanted some attention from me. By this time, the kids were apparently asleep, so she told me I was going to make her come and then we were going to bed. I used my hand and mouth in the way proven to bring her to orgasm the quickest. Nothing unusual or particularly striking, except she was very sensitive to my touch after her longish orgasm drought. She came right on schedule.

Later, I was feeling decidedly non-eunuch-like. Whatever moment of zen had worked its way into me earlier had been blown away by feeling her pulsing contractions on my fingertips. I was really, really fucking horny and totally unable to sleep. I laid there for at least an hour and a half, visions of sex and fantastic scenarios flashing though my head, edited together like a music video. The cock swelled as much as it could and started to flex automatically in its confinement. But something felt…different.

I realized, after all this time, after maybe a year of complicated feelings regarding the act of orgasm, that right then (and, actually, right now), I wanted to come. I wanted to fuck and come and spew forth. Her recent confidence in dominating me coupled with her admission that she liked leaving me chastised and the aforementioned 20-some days without release all finally built up in me and I wanted to come. This was the feeling of being truly denied. Not humored. Not accommodated. Denied. It was a supremely frustrated feeling. It’s a very difficult feeling. But, I do admit, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The hard part

I can’t even remember the last time Belle let me give her an orgasm. Seriously. Looking back at the blog, it may have been ten days ago. That’s a whole long time for a guy like me. I assumed I’d get to give her some homestyle bunny lovin’ this weekend, but she had a bunch of work to do and was too uptight about it all on Saturday and just wasn’t much in the mood Sunday. So, yeah, ten whole days. And counting.

Last night, laying next to her as she was trying to get to sleep, was maybe the hardest thing I’ve done since ceding complete control over our sex to her. I wanted it so bad. And by “it”, I mean her. I wanted to touch her and smell her and taste her and feel her pleasure radiate from my hands or mouth or her cock or whatever. But, you know, it’s not for me. It’s for her. She decides. She chooses when it happens. And I just wait until she’s ready.

Don’t misunderstand me. We’ve been here before, haven’t we? I know how I’m supposed to act now. I can’t paw all over her, I’m not supposed to bring it up or try to force it on her, and above all, I am not to be moody or pissy or in any way express my dissatisfaction with the arrangement. That’s the deal. I am submissive to her. I know. I need to focus on those things I can do to make her happier, not the other way around. But damn, laying there stewing in my hormone encrusted state, naked except for the device, and not doing anything about it…geeze, they just don’t teach this stuff in school, you know?

On the positive side, while I wasn’t doing too good of a job hiding the state I was in (though the damned plastic did a fine job of concealing the erection), she didn’t seem at all perturbed by my condition. I think she may have acknowledged it in some small way, but she didn’t show any guilt or seem to feel any angst and, above all, made no move to resolve my issue. She was tired, I was horny – so what else is new?

And that was awesome. Just awesome. I really and truly felt my role. While in the past, my frustration led me to act out in ways inconsistent with our arrangement, I was somehow able to turn my frustration around and use it to feed my submission. I craved her attention so much it almost hurt, but, at the same time, I was able to identify that near-hurt as a direct byproduct of how I want us to be. I was not the injured, piqued, ignored husband stewing in resentment. I was the unused tool. The horse left in the stable. The locked-up, denied, sofuckinghorny guysub who knew his place and who bloody well kept his hands to himself and went to sleep like she told him to.

I am, in fact, just where I want to be and I’m glad to finally have the sense to recognize it.