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.