Month: October 2009

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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.

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365 rotations

Today’s the one year anniversary of Denying Thumper. It was started shortly after my fateful discovery of this thing called a “male chastity device” which, in turn, led to the discovery of the concept of orgasm denial which, in turn, led to the discovery of the idea of dominance and submission. Wow, such a lot to happen in just a year.

To observe this anniversary, I’ll borrow Steve’s idea and give you some interesting (to me, anyway) statistics:

  • In the past year, this blog as received over 100,000 page views. I have to say, that blows my mind.
  • Daily traffic is slowly, yet consistently rising. On the blog’s best days, nearly 1,000 might visit either directly or via a feed reader. Crazy.
  • The top DT page is, by far, my CB-6000 tips & tricks.
  • The most popular post is the very short “Birdlock user report” followed by “The most effective chastity device”, both thanks to the power of Google.
  • Speaking of which, the most popular search term people use to find this site is anything related to the Birdlock device.
  • The top referrer is, by far, Being Her Knight. That dude must be getting monster traffic since he sends me many times more visits than I send anyone else. The second best referrer is from WordPress where people are looking for – what else – posts tagged “Birdlock”.
  • The top click out of DT is to Male Submission Art followed by Bend Me Over which proves people really like porn. In fact, 7 of the top 10 outbound links are to sites featuring pictures of naked people doing (sometimes) unspeakable things to one another. The other three are blogs, the most popular of which is Tom’s Edge of Vanilla.

 
So, as the planet is suspended in roughly the same spot in space it occupied 365 rotations ago, I am left to consider the future of the blog. I don’t know how much longer I can keep finding things to write about, to be honest. I’m not saying I’m going to stop, but how many times can I describe what is essentially the same sexual encounter over and over again? How many more words can I use to describe the effects of not coming? Of course, our relationship will continue to evolve and I’ll always be able to describe that, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep up the pace of three or so posts a week. Problem is, I’ve become so accustomed to writing that, when I don’t do it, I feel it’s absence acutely. I crave writing in the same way I crave orgasm and physical contact with Belle. In fact, when I crave those things and can’t get them, writing often proves my only outlet. I’m not sure how anyone does this without writing about it.

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Upgrade

The other night at dinner, I offhandedly asked Belle if I could get a steel device. Even though the chrome CB6K was supposed to be the (relatively) inexpensive way to scratch my stainless steel itch, I’ve still been hankering for a real metallic solution. To my surprise, she told me to tell her how much one would be and she’d think about it.

100011_bThis morning, I priced out a Steelworxx Steelheart device from Germany. I spec’d it with a 45 mm A-ring and a tube 35 mm in diameter with a 105 mm total length. This is comparable to the combination of spacer and ring I’m currently sporting, though the tube is a bit shorter to account for some space in the end of the CB6K that never get’s filled. I added an integrated lock to help reduce overall bulk and clankiness, a PA fixing, and a smooth, more rounded edge to the tube in order to make it more comfortable. All in, this ended up being €281.71 (plus €17 for international shipping). In real money, that turns into $424.91. Quite the investment, but if I’m wearing it 75% of the time (as I have been lately), it’ll average out over time.

I told Belle the damage and she told me to buy it. Just like that! Minutes later, I had completed the transaction and ordered my new steel chastity device. Within half an hour, I had received a personal confirmation from the proprietor of Steelworxx, Dietmar Posledni. Since the Steelheart has a round hole in the end of the tube, I requested a slot more like the one found in the CB6K so my PA ring can (occasionally) find a place to go when the meat’s filling the tube and Dietmar needed to know the measurements of what I wanted. This kind of prompt, personal service was something I had read as others had related their stories about Steelworxx devices. It certainly helps one feel as thought they’re getting their money’s worth.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to tolerate the PA security device, but I figured it was worth a shot. The “fixing”, as it’s called on the Steelworxx site, consists of a thin metal rod that it secured through the two pins on the tube which, in turn, lock into place on the A-ring. The rod appears to go down the left side of the tube before dropping down at the end and up the right side a bit. The PA ring goes over the rod and is fixed in place toward the end of the tube. To me, it looks like it’ll hold the ring higher up the tube than the PA cable does on my CB6K. Hopefully, that’ll result in a tolerable fit.

So anyway, that’s the story. I need to measure the slot in the CB6K’s tube and figure out if I want Dietmar to modify the standard design. I may decide to just leave it as is since I really, really like the look of the near-fully enclosed tube.

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Table talk

Belle and I had a lovely time out last night. The kids were at a community group event designed to give parents some off-leash time together. Belle thought a nice dinner would be a good use of our three hours while I voted for rolling around naked back at the house. She gets three more votes than me, though, so off to dinner we went.

We talked about a lot of things, even real life things like work, before turning to our relationship. At first, it was one of those general conversations where we reassured one another that we’re happy and satisfied. Even after a year (yes, it’s nearly been a year!) of larking about like we have, it’s necessary to keep checking in with one another to make sure we’re still on the right track. Once we had that out of the way, we talked about several things I think are worth relating here.

Belle told me I had been slipping lately in the service department, especially with regard to my morning duties (which are really quite simple). I told her I would endeavor to improve and found myself bringing up the idea of punishment again. As I’ve said here before, punishment is not the same as masochism for me. It’s really more about power exchange. That she would have the right to physically punish me based on her subjective opinion as to how I’ve served her, and that I would be required to accept her punishment regardless of my personal feelings as to its justification, makes my ears flush red. It’s not just playing at power exchange, it actually is power exchange. I crave that kind of submission. It speaks to the very base of my submissive nature and works on a lot of levers I’ve carried around since childhood. It was hard for me to even look at her across the candlelit table as I talked about it. It’s a very powerful subject for me.

I also feel that the threat of punishment will help focus me on doing the things for her I know I need to do but don’t always get to fast enough for her. I really want to be better at serving her in whatever way she requires and, like most people, I suppose, I often find myself slipping and doing things I want to do rather than those things I need to do. It’s not as though I have no intention of getting to those things, I just do the stuff I want to do first. Currently, there’s little downside for me reprioritizing things on my own. If she took the step to make me uncomfortable and embarrassed, I think it’d help me be more focused on my responsibilities.

So, with that all in mind, she asked me if I wanted her to kick it up a notch. Did I really want her to pile on some tasks? I told her I did, that I wanted to do whatever I could that would make her life better. That said, she gave me a number of tasks I had to perform this morning (all mundane) that she had planned on doing herself. That relieved her from running around like a headless chicken right after she got up and also gave her time to get her nails done (where she is right now).

We also talked about the idea, recently left by a reader in a comment here, that I should strive to be the “little woman of the house” (at least when Belle’s not around). I admit freely that the concept of the sissified submissive male is an alien one. Submission, for me, does not equal weakness or connote a feminine quality. I think part of the problem submissive men deal with (even in the BDSM world) is the perception that they’re all pink, frilly, or weak. I’m not weak, frilly, pink, or feminine, nor do I wish to be any of those things. I certainly don’t have any issue with those who do, but I ain’t one of them.

That being said, there is an aspect of male submission in the context of the whole “female-led relationship” thing that does suggest the transfer of certain activities or attitudes that our society identifies with specific genders. Traditionally, the female attends to meals and cleaning up, certain child duties, the laundry, etc., while the male initiates sex and, more often than not, is the primary beneficiary of sexual satisfaction and is generally allowed to wallow about the house while she attends to him (which is not to say she necessarily likes that arrangement). These are all stereotypes, of course, but stereotypes aren’t invented. They usually have some basis in fact. In some aspects of our relationship, I am very much “the woman” while Belle assumes what most would think is the man’s role. Mostly in bed, but even in other areas. However, I’m still very much a man and she’s very much a woman. She hasn’t become butch and aggressive while I haven’t become effeminate. But I do acknowledge that some kind of transference has taken place (and continues to evolve). I don’t have a problem with this or deny it, nor can I even describe it very well, but it’s intriguing to me. It’s too bad there are so few (if any) cultural archetypes to look at as our dynamic is developing. Images of men wearing hot pink chastity devices (to keep their hands of their “sissy clitties”, natch) under their fish net stockings and French main uniforms are certainly no help to us.

Another comment from the blog that we discussed was Sera’s thoughtful reply to my post about how Belle and I are slowly but surely having less sex as the weeks and months go on. She said:

It might be informative here to bear in mine that for women as well as men, it seems to be that sexual desire is a kind of “use it or lose it” thing. So that if Belle is not getting enough stimulation of the kind that gets her off . . . well, she’s not going to be in a position to give you the kind that gets you off.

And so I asked Belle, was she getting what she wanted? Was I providing her what she needed to get off? Turns out, maybe not so much. Belle said she needed to “connect” with me more than she’s been able to recently. I can’t say I entirely understand what that means yet, but it sounds to me like maybe we’re talking too much about ourselves and our relationship lately and not enough about our shared life. Over dinner, we talked quite a bit about our shared life before we moved on to discussions of relationship and sex and she said she needed more of that. I suppose posting almost every day to a blog that deals exclusively with issues related to our sex life and relationship doesn’t really help her feel as though I talk about anything else but those things. It’s another area where I, someone who literally carries a totem of his sexual relationship around 24/7, feels like I’m hardly ever talking about it since every word out of my mouth isn’t about our dynamic or sex or whatever. But she, who probably isn’t thinking about my chastity device or how many days it’s been since I came or how fucking horny I am or whatever for four out of every five minutes in the day, thinks it’s all we ever talk about. I understand and will try to do better.

So, as if to drive the point home through my thick, hormone-addled skull, once we got home and I put the kids down for the night, Belle let me bring her to orgasm. Stimulus…reward. Stimulus…reward. It’s the same way you train dogs. Anyway, it was your typical Belle ‘n Thumper orgasm and I was left very hot and horny and with a fully pressurized chastity tube while she was left relaxed, sleepy, and orgasmically sated.

In other words, exactly as things should be.

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45 and counting

It’s been 45 days since I last had an orgasm. I’m not writing this for any other reason except Belle’s still out of town (back tomorrow night!) and I’m really starting to feel both her absence and my extended orgasmless existence. I’ll admit up front here than I’m kinda all over the place tonight. No actual point to make, just feeling the need to express myself.

I’ll start by giving myself a little credit for mostly avoiding websites that’d make me even hornier than I already am, but it’s getting harder to resist. Especially since I’ve just found two cuckolding blogs (one fiction, one non-fiction). Thing is, this cuckolding stuff really turns my crank, though I know it’ll never happen. Belle’s said she has zero interest in going outside our relationship. Not only is she very much a one-man woman, she’s also very satisfied having sex with me. She loves the cock and loves that I know how to use it (though, admittedly, I was better at it back when I wasn’t always trying to keep myself from coming). So anyway, yeah, the cuckolding thing will remain pure fantasy, albeit a hot, blood-pumping one.

I realized today that the majority of the porn I’m consuming of late is heterosexual. In the years leading up to the introduction of D/s into our relationship, I enjoyed mainly gay porn with only an occasional foray into straight stuff. Nowadays, though, I’d say three-quarters of the stuff I look at or read is straight, kinky, female dominant entertainment. I always figured I liked the gay stuff before because, as an avowed bisexual, guys were what I couldn’t get at home. Now, though, I’m seeking out and enjoying themes that are either exactly what I get at home or variations on that.

A little while back, there as a bit of a debate in the comments about porn and my consumption of it. Belle was considering cutting me off in an extension of her control over my sex but ultimately decided she didn’t much care if I looked at it or not. Jane Docent had a good point when she said:

Are you really denied if you make yourself “hard and bothered”? You’re supplying your own sexual stimulation. Supplied, not denied.

I actually agree with that which is why I would have acceded to Belle’s restriction, had she required it, but I think the opposite point could be made that it isn’t whether or not I get turned on that’s important, but that I can’t so anything about it. That’s her control. If I had to, I could use my imagination to create my own internal porn. In either event, I couldn’t provide my own relief or even touch myself.

The question was also asked as to why I’d even want to look at porn. Tim said, “It almost sounds like additional suffering!” Well, yes. It is. Maybe that’s the point! I’m still wired to seek out the stimulation even if all it’ll do is build and stew inside. It makes my head buzz sometimes, but as I said in my reply comment, a lot of what gets me going sexually is excessive stimulation. Being locked up and letting the porn push my arousal to ever higher levels is part of what I’m in this for. My only regret is that I’m so turned on without Belle. Everything’s better when she’s with me.

So, anyway, she’s out of town and I’m locked up as I always am when we’re apart. She told me before she left that I would be secure until we leave next week on a short trip to Mexico (probably getting out on the 13th). She’s going to be nice and let me out for the entire trip which is very sweet of her, I think. I’m not keeping track officially anymore, but in looking at the blog since September 1, it looks like she’s kept me locked up 28 out of 37 days. If not for the fact that she really likes her cock, I probably would have been in longer than that.

Regardless of whether or not I’ll be secure on the trip, based on the very few hints she’s dropped, I don’t get the feeling I’ll be coming any time soon, even on vacation. Like I said, it’s been 45 days. How much longer? If it’s not until we get back, that’ll be over two months.

Assuming, of course, I don’t fuck up in Mexico.

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Sunday funk

Sunday night, as we got into bed and I was prepping for some foot rubbing and Mad Men watching, Belle was in a funk. She wasn’t too enthused about watching TV and she had a lingering resentment towards me and a silly household squabble that had transpired an hour or so earlier. I thought she was being a more than a little over the top with her reaction, so I ended up on the other side of the bed for 45 minutes while the TV show washed over us. The foot rubbing never happened, either.

Earlier in the day and over the course of the entire weekend, I was trying to be the best guysub I could. She had made me a list of items she wanted accomplished and I did nearly all of them. In addition, I made dinner twice (something she made a point of commenting on – she’s very happy that I do this now). After dinner on Sunday night, she said she’d clean up if I got the kids going downstairs with the Wii, but changed her mind and told me I’d clean up while she relaxed and watched them bowl. She continues to have a freer hand when it comes to giving me extra tasks to perform and that makes me happy.

Anyway, once I cleaned up the kitchen and set up her coffee for the morning, we settled in to watch a family movie with the kids. It was during the movie that the ridiculous household squabble took place (the kind only someone who’s lived with someone else for a long time can really appreciate). Long story short, there wasn’t any toilet paper in the downstairs bathroom. She got really pissed (really) and that’s what was hanging over the bed when the lights went out.

After the show was over, she told me to get naked and snuggle into her. I did so, but she was still simmering and pissy, so I eventually moved away from her. I wasn’t mad, but I also wasn’t feeling compelled to be all subbie while she was in that mood and, I thought, berating me for one simple thing while ignoring my effort all weekend to provide the best service I could.

Somehow, this ended up putting Belle in a self-doubting funk. She was worried that I wasn’t happy and that she was doing the domme thing wrong. This, too, kind of pissed me off because, in fact, I am not unhappy and did and said nothing to indicate that I was. I haven’t criticized her, haven’t shown any displeasure with her (that I know of), haven’t become annoyingly insistent with my sexual frustration, and I wasn’t even arguing with her over the toilet paper. I tried to contain my annoyance, though, since she was in a vulnerable place.

I told her she was doing it right because she was doing it the way she wanted it done. I have long since realized that my preconception of how she’d dominate me is useless and I should be (and am) happy simply with her continued commitment to the paradigm. I also reassured her that I am happy. I can’t say there aren’t things I’d like to see change, but that’s to be expected in any relationship of any kind (yes, even the lowercase side of a D/s relationship can wish for some things to be different).

The thing that worries me the most about where we are now is the amount of sex we have. It’s hard for me to express this since, of course, I’m not supposed to be in control of when or how often I get sex, but this issue is the longstanding bugaboo in our relationship. And the fact is, over time recently – and especially since I’ve taken a literal “hands-off” approach to her body – the amount of sex we’ve have has declined. She used to let me pleasure her 3-4 times a week. Then it settled down to about twice a week, supplemented with other kinds of body service like the foot massages. Now, I’d say it’s about once a week with an even greater ratio of non-sexual services. As I said, this has happened at the same time I’ve stopped actively coming on to her but has also coincided with a marked increase in the frequency in which I’ve been locked up.

If you’re currently cooking up a response to this along the lines of, “Just be happy she controls you, locks you up, etc.” or to accuse me of topping from the bottom, or, my personal favorite, “This is why you should be careful what you wish for,” or some other formulaic thing, please keep it to yourself. I think this is more complicated. Even in a D/s relationship, there’s an implicit responsibility on both partners to satisfy the needs of the other. Submissiveness does not equal an abdication of all sexual satisfaction (though I do admit my “satisfaction” has become much more complicated). I’d also like to point out that I’m not saying we have a huge problem here. Only that it’s a potential problem with a significant history in our relationship.

I asked if she wanted to continue with the D/s or take a break. She said she wanted to continue. I then asked if she wanted me to continue with my program of (as much as possible) total non-aggression with regard to initiating sex or if she wants me to go back to being a partner who has some right to try to get something going (while still respecting her right to ultimately decide). There are pitfalls for her in both approaches. If I remain non-aggressive, we will have less sex and she will feel guilty (as she did Sunday) because of it. If I’m allowed to come on to her, she will feel guilty for turning me down (as she will fairly often). The key to happiness here is for her to try not feeling guilty because I’m happy either way. Really. My ability to become non-expectational has improved remarkably. Even though she had intimated earlier in the day on Sunday that she’d allow me a chance to pleasure her, it wasn’t forthcoming and I felt no anger or resentment whatsoever. For me, that’s a huge accomplishment. It didn’t really matter, though, because she was still upset.

She has no answer to my aggressiveness question. She can’t tell me which approach she wants me to take. This is frustrating to me, but I’m trying to be patient. I have unilaterally implemented the non-aggression approach, so I suppose I could always start being more forward, but I feel I need to wait and follow her lead. I do want more sex (and by “sex”, I mean opportunities to share her orgasm and more teasing and denial), but I am conflicted with regard to how much I should expect or how far I should take this need. When you’ve signed up for denial and frustration, where’s the line? How far and in what way can a submissive such as myself try to change the dynamic?

At the end of the day, if what she really wants is one orgasm a week with four foot massages in between (and as long as she occasionally maintains my desire), I can be satisfied. Honestly. And I want her to know that.

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Belle’s dream

Belle woke up Sunday morning to tell me about a dream she just had. In it, I had taken some kind of drug or something that had caused the cock and testicles to detach from my body (separately) and “slink off” onto the bed where they curled up next to each other. Also, I was mad because we were going somewhere and I was getting dressed in a loud plaid shirt with a reversible belt that was a matching plaid on one side and a solid color on the other. I was upset over not knowing which side of the belt to wear with the shirt, but not so much that my reproductive organs were napping on the bed like two little kittens.

Dreams are weird, man.

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Clamps

He kneeled before her, hands behind his back and looked down at his chest as she affixed the black Japanese butterfly clamps to his nipples. They bit into his soft flesh with an insistent ferocity causing him to suck air between his teeth. She lifted the chain connecting them and held it before his face.

“Put this in your mouth and keep it there,” she directed him. He opened his lips and she placed the chain between them. He bit down gently on the thin, hard metal. The chain was too short for him to raise his head without pulling on his nipples and causing the clamps to bite even harder, so he kept his head bowed.

She grabbed as much of his short-cropped hair as she could and pulled his head back. The pain in his nipples flared as the chain in his mouth was pulled tight and his pink flesh stretched against the clamps. He grunted and squeezed his eyes shut against the flood of sensation.

“Open your eyes and look at me,” she said firmly. Whimpering, his eyes opened and looked into hers. Her gaze penetrated him, seeking.

She smiled.

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Wet

I asked for a quick release yesterday morning in order to do short inspection and thorough cleaning. Like last time, I found a little surprise. On the shaft of the cock, in the same location the corners of the KSD-G3 make contact, there were two little raw spots. They hadn’t broken the skin, but there was obvious irritation. I felt something that morning, but it was a mild pinching sensation. I’ve never experienced this type of reaction from the KSD and assume it’s related to the rougher interior surface of the chrome tube. Next time, I may forgo the KSD as see how that works, though I like having it in there because it helps keep the cock positioned well.

In any event, Belle let me stay out for a brief recuperative period. I’ll probably be back in by Sunday night or Monday morning at the latest since she’s going to LA next week and I’m not to be free when she’s not around. I find that the device helps keep my arousal in check and once it’s off my desires flame up like a smoldering fire suddenly given oxygen. I was way horny last night. I more or less was able to control myself and not be annoying, but she could tell.

I offered to rub her feet again and found that the prospect of doing it really turned me on. More and more non-sexual contact and activities provide an outlet for me now. Rubbing her feet has always been nice, but I’ve never felt a charge of energy around just the idea of doing it like I did yesterday. Later, in bed, I rubbed the living fuck out of her feet for a good 45 minutes and added a few new flourishes she really seemed to appreciate. It made her very relaxed and, I hoped, ready for some action.

I got lucky. She wanted an orgasm. Excessive horniness aside, I was able to slow down and savor the experience. I get no incidental contact with her breasts anymore, let alone her pussy, so those times in which she allows me to touch them have become so much more important. I lapped and suckled and simply enjoyed her nipples while I pressed as much of my body against as much of hers as I could. I kept my focus north of the Mason-Dixon line, so much so that by the time I started to touch her between the legs, her wetness had already soaked though her pajama bottoms. Slipping under, I felt that she was wetter than she’s been in a while. All of this left the cock so, so hard with what seemed like the distant memory of being inside her. I actually have been inside her, but it’s been a long, long time since I was in there and doing what I wanted rather than what she wanted. After just a few moments of manual stimulation, she pushed me over and told me she was going to fuck me.

It only lasted for a minute or two before she came. I got close, but was able to hold it in (mostly because she stopped fucking in the nick of time). Regardless, once she pulled off of me, I leaked a healthy squirt. I did not come, though. My arousal was like a ringing in my ears. Once it was time to sleep, I latched onto her and held tight, hard cock between us.