Fighting serpents

Sunday night, there was much horniness. Then there was some yelling. Then a little crying. Then good talking, replete with revelations and realizations.

As to the horniness, that was all me (surprise!). It wasn’t just the “gee, I haven’t had an orgasm in 50 days” kind of horny (which is like background radiation now in the way it persistently saturates my brain). It was a more mega-super-ultra kind of horny where every little part of me (including my spit and my toenails) wanted some action. Any action. NOW. Of course, she still had her cock locked in the device, so the only open avenues to “action” went though her and, even though I was doing me best sexy lothario impersonation, she wasn’t having any of it. How she could resist me at my most breathily passionate is beyond me, but after much kissing, grinding, and petting (of those areas I’m allowed to pet without explicit permission), she basically said, “OK, time for bed,” and rolled over.

That was hard. I got up to extinguish the candles and got back into bed to find her back facing me. She expected me to spoon into her as usual, but I was too far gone to do that and still maintain control and find sleep. I laid next to her and placed my hand on her arm as a compromise. Understand that while I was seething inside and struggling to deal with the vast sea of disappointment and psychic pain, I wasn’t mad at her. My issues were my own. As I’ve written here recently, I do worry that she’s less interested in sex with me lately, but my frustration with the moment wasn’t so much centered on her as it was my inability to predict when and for what reasons she’d let me engage with her sexually and my struggle with needing to engage with her.

She asked, “Is something wrong?” even though she already knew the answer. My actions made it pretty clear that things weren’t right.

And this led to the yelling portion of our program, though she did most of it while I contributed only a little at the end. I told her how hard it was for me at that moment. That’s about as far as I got before she started being defensive and saying she didn’t know how to deal with my seemingly unending appetite for sex. Her tone was accusatory and defensive and I was immediately upset because I saw where we were going and I didn’t want to go there. I wasn’t looking for a fight, but she naturally followed the well-worn path left from of all the dozens of times we had had this very same kind of conversation over the fallow years of our marriage.

But, of course, this wasn’t the same. In those days, we hardly ever had sex at all. Our sexual relationship was practically nonexistent. Now, it’s everywhere all the time. I don’t do anything anymore where I don’t feel the tug of our D/s dynamic and, as I said, the levels of sexual desire I carry with me throughout the day is a constant reminder (as is the device nestled in my crotch). And besides that, in the old days, after we fought about sex I’d just wait for her to go to sleep before slinking off somewhere to jack off. Now, that’s entirely out of the question, and not just because she’s locked up the only cock in the house. So I tried to tell her, not only is it hard for me to do what we’re doing, it’s hard to even talk about it because I’m not sure where the boundaries are. What’s acceptable for me to say I want? I want sex. Well, of course I do. What else is new? But is there a line between wanting sex and having it denied and wanting sex and feeling as though it’s being ignored? Turns out yes, but it took us a while to get there.

So, the raised voices and general angstiness continued for 15 minutes or so. I was doing my best to hang on to my headspace, but was losing the battle and eventually was raising my voice right back at her. The urge to claw the CB6K off my body and throw it into the corner was growing. This is the part where I cried. Then, she said the first wonderful thing of the night.

I was saying something about “this thing” we’re doing, meaning the D/s overlay on our marriage, and she said she didn’t really think of it that way anymore. It wasn’t “this thing” separate from our relationship. It was our relationship. She liked the dynamic and had no interest in ending it or ever going back to the way things were. Despite the conflict and emotions in the air, hearing her say that sent up an immediate flare of hope that caused a surge of pressure in the tube.

“Do you want to stop doing it?” she asked me (which was a switch – I’m usually the one to ask that).

“No,” I replied, “Not at all. I gave you my sex and I want you to keep it.”

“Good, because I don’t want to give it back to you.” With that, I was pulled quickly into subspace. Yes, we were having a heated discussion, but everything was still good. It helped me express the issue at hand in a new way.

The revelation is one of those things that, in retrospect, shouldn’t have come as a surprise but was because we had never used the words in the right order until just that moment. It’s truth is obvious and I’ve been writing around it a lot lately, but its application in our relationship hadn’t yet become explicit. I told her that our D/s was built on the foundation of my gift. The gift of my submission. The gift of my sexuality. I had taken from inside me a critical component of who I was and how I saw myself and entrusted it to her care. Not only did she have control over my sexual expression, she also had ownership of the very organ that defined my gender, which, of course, is a huge part of my identity. She accepted all that and wasn’t interested in given it back, which is great, but along with it came responsibility. Perhaps unfair responsibility and certainly responsibility neither of us fully appreciated at the beginning, but it was now primarily her job in our relationship to make sure my sexual identity was being cared for.

It’s like I had removed a vital organ from my body and given it to her to maintain. She could have just left it in a box until she felt like dealing with it, but that would have had negative consequences. When I was as desperately horny as I was that night and she didn’t even acknowledge it in anyway, it was as if she had slid the box containing the vital emotional organ of my sexual identity under the bed for later because now was inconvenient for her. Being denied wasn’t hard. Being horny wasn’t hard. Being ignored in the face of the hormonal surge was hard. Absent sex, I needed confirmation that she knew I was horny and she knew it was hard, but that nothing was going to happen. I needed to feel she appreciated where I was and what I was doing. She could have been cruel about it and teased me or she could have been sweet – either way would have been good for me – but I needed her to validate my condition somehow. Not feel sorry for me and give me what I wanted, but show me she saw where I was and liked it.

This kind of talk has helped us both see this power exchange in a new way, I think. I gave her my power – control over my sex, and in turn, over me and a large part of my mental health. All the struggle I’ve had in dealing with that hasn’t been because I couldn’t deal with my desire. It was because her actions didn’t always communicate to me that she took her responsibility seriously. In fact, I didn’t always trust her with what I had given her.

It’s like our old house. It’s right down the street from our new house. I drive by the old one every day. The people who bought it don’t always take care of the lawn as well as I did and, in general, don’t seem to care for it as much as we did when we lived there. I don’t regret selling it to them because doing so allowed us to move into this new, better house which I love with all my heart, but still, it’s hard to see someone take control over something we cared so much about and not put as much energy into it as we did. In the same way, I don’t always feel as though Belle is putting as much energy into the care and feeding of all that I gave her, willingly and which I do not want back. I’m not saying that each and every time we’re together that she needs to be “on” and showing me how much she adores what I handed over, but I do need to see that she’s actively involved with its maintenance. When I’m particularly struggling, I need her to provide a little extra care. I need a little extra attention.

Really, all this boils down to one of the most important truisms in tease and denial play: Denial does not equal neglect. Belle was not neglecting me, but she also was not calibrating her response to me in the right way and it felt like neglect. In fact, my level of desire was a hang-over from that morning where I was similarly all over her and obviously very desirous of her attention. Right after shutting me down and getting out of bed, she turned to me with a kiss and said, “I know it’s hard.” And I was fine.

Sometimes, what I need more than anything else is just that. In essence, for her to say, “I am not ignoring you, I am controlling you. I know you’re horny and I know it’s difficult, but I need you to deal with it because this is how I want you.” When the serpents escape in my psyche, that kind of input from her allows me to put the lid back on. It gives me strength and I need that.

13 Replies to “Fighting serpents”

  1. This is one of the best posts I’ve read on denial vs. neglect. It’s amazing how something as simple as “I know it’s hard” can make everything better.

  2. Yeah, the denial/neglect thing has caused problems for us a few times. It took a while for Mrs. Edge to understand that I’m not a machine that can be easily turned on and off… well, at least not off. And unfortunately, she picked up some of her ideas about power exchange from tv and bad websites, so she had this unreasonable expectation that all she needed to do was to say “no” and I would immediately understand and back off.

    I find that I’m having a hard time reading you lately because there’s so much drama over this, but I do understand that this is your way of modulating. Good on both of you for putting in the effort to make it all go someplace that you can both enjoy.

  3. It doesn’t feel excessively dramatic on this side, but then again, we’re living it and all you’re doing it reading the highlights. I think the drama to other stuff ratio has probably increased. Just wait until the Steelheart arrives. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of chastity nerdery posts then.

    Maybe I should start tagging posts as DRAMA, SEX, or OTHER just to make it easier for the readers to skip over the one’s they don’t like…

  4. Or you could start a new blog called Ignoring Thumper and put those posts on there.

    (Kidding. That wasn’t meant to sound mean.)

    Those “is anything wrong?” conversations can be a fucking death trap. Michelle used to do this, before we were D/s. I probably did too. It seems to have gotten better since we took it up, actually.

    Sometimes now when I am feeling horny and needy, I will go to my wife and ask to be “kept in place.” This isn’t quite the same as sex but it helps. When her orgasm is not on offer at all, it can better to have this than a tease.

    She will sit on me, squash me, boss me for a while, tell me I need to be chaste and attentive to please her, perhaps give me a hard biting or suffocate me with her breasts or armpits, and then it’s time for bed. It relaxes me.

    I used to have a hard time asking her for this, because it sounded to her like I was asking for sex or something much more involved and demanding. Now she realizes that all she has to do is lightly dominate me for five minutes and then tell me I am on the right track, and everything will be OK. I relax and go into mild sub-space, and she gets to sleep on time and doesn’t feel too pressured.

    Works for us, anyway.

  5. Wow. You have such insight – and you two are able to communicate so well. It’s pretty incredible. If you don’t write for a living – you should.

    Why do people with high sex drives always marry those with low sex drives? I’ve seen it over and over and over. It will be interesting how this plays out over the weeks, months, and years to come. There’s denial – and then there’s denial.

  6. Yes! This is just what needed to happen for your relationship to work-Belle needed to acknowledge and accept what your giving her control really meant. Hope this understanding makes things smoother all around.

  7. Or you could start a new blog called Ignoring Thumper and put those posts on there.

    That’s actually pretty funny!

    …you two are able to communicate so well. It’s pretty incredible.

    When we actually open our mouths and use them at the same time as our brains, yeah, we do.

  8. The possibility of unintended neglect is probably the thing I am most worried about. I think I might get C to read this after I’ve given her the key.

    “I know it’s hard.” would work just fine for me too.

    Excellent post Thumper.

  9. If Belle reads this then its easy to fix. My lady slides down occasionally to talk to “her” encased dick and tells him how proud of him she is. She tells him she knows that he hopes to get allowed out soon and to pump the contents of these big blue balls deep into her pussy. She tells it that it is all going to happen some day, maybe quite soon, but meantime just wait and think about how good its going to be when it happens.
    Then she slides back up, licks away my tear, kisses me gently, and turns out the light.
    Its all about having the effort appreciated. F.

  10. Your statement, “Denial does not equal neglect” is true. I am experiencing a possible overlap of a third component, “ignoring”. My wife is aware, and I think that she is not denying or neglecting.

    It is hard for me to separate the three, but on the long run one will surface as the true method of jer handling of the situation. Once in a while she kicks in and picks up some of our (her) favorite things, but generally it is more like … well, nothing.

    She has been going thorough some serious physiological changes that justify some of this. What worries me is that she will not revert to her prior sensual and sexual being. Approaching her about it would create guilt and make her feel worse. I would get nothing out of the result.

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