Month: February 2010

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New approach

The nice thing about having a blog people actually read is all the helpful comments (in addition to the comments with helpful intentions).

In response to The 10/100 plan, Maymay (who uses nice big words like “homeostatic“) suggested that perhaps we should be focusing on stimulation rather than orgasm as a way of fighting off a drop in my libido.

…I’d rather try conditioning towards edging, not orgasming: cut the denial time in, say, fifths, but make those 10 orgasms into 10 almost-orgasms instead, spread evenly throughout the 100 days. So for example, have an orgasm or two on Day 0, then edge (but don’t orgasm) on day 20 two times. Edge twice again on Day 40, again on Day 60, and two last times on Day 80. Then enjoy an orgasm on Day 100.

Actually, that makes a hell of a lot of sense. Several things have changed since Belle first took control of the cock, but one of the most important is that she leaves it locked nearly all the time now. It comes out when she wants to use it for her pleasure, but then puts it back in immediately afterward. This leaves me with few opportunities to be directly stimulated since she orgasms far more often from my hands and mouth than she does from the cock. As I mentioned previously, the cock will often not even rise to the occasion during these events since it’s been trained that its participation will usually not be required.

The point I’m trying to make is, perhaps the issue isn’t that I’m not coming enough, maybe it’s that I’m not getting enough stimulation. Tom summed it up.

Maintaining interest while in chastity depends upon a mix of tease along with the denial. Without the tease, denial is merely frustrating.

Belle and I talked it over and she’s decided to let me out occasionally for the purpose of allowing me to become stimulated, but only when she’s present (even though she doesn’t necessarily need to be the one doing the stimulating). I think this is a smashing idea since now, if I feel the need for stimulation, I’m left to either trying to get her to have sex (i.e., to get what I can from her orgasm) or I’m driven to porn (which can be nice, but just isn’t the same ad direct stimulation and, I’ve found, it can sometimes enhance the bad side of my frustration). By approaching my stimulation as a separate (and, presumably, much less frequent) activity, it allows her pleasure to happen exactly when she wants it to and will, hopefully, allow me to be more focused on giving her the absolute best time possible.

I feel like every time we hit a bit of a bump, we talk it though (sometimes, with help from my readers) and try to figure out what to do about it. Sometimes, we drift aimlessly, move laterally, and even fall backward (though not very often), but we’re both committed to making this work and looking for the way forward. At no point in our 12 year marriage have we been more focused on each other and our relationship. Being with Belle is the best.

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Supreme irony

All this yakking about “feeling blah about the denial, oh woe is me, yadda yadda yadda” and actually laying out the 10/100 plan to Belle last night has, ironically, left me pretty turned on. A lot and all of a sudden. I had the sleeping disorder that’s a signature symptom of excessive horniness and tossed and turned all night. I woke several times with ephemeral erotic visions drifting though my sleepy mind and a tube so full my balls felt like a bouquet of purple pansies grasped too tightly by a desperate, sweaty fist. So, yeah, I guess it’s back. Teh hornies.

Not only that, but the submissiveness is back, too. The desire to serve her. To do hard things. To make her as happy as possible. Frankly, that’s been at a very low ebb lately. I’ve been going though the motions, but not getting any of the fluttering in my stomach that goes with it. This is how I felt when I committed myself to her service in the first place and it feels good.

So now the issue is that today’s supposed to be my date. That is, today’s date was written on a little slip of paper randomly drawn out of a hat several months ago. That means I’m supposed to come. Now that I’ve found my mojo, though, I don’t want to. Like, I really don’t want to. I am, right now, where I want to be (the best place for both of us, I think) and it’s taken two weeks to get here. If I come now, that denial boulder will roll down to the bottom of the hill. Maybe I’ll find myself horny again right away because sometimes it works like that. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe it’ll be back to Funksville. Who knows?

And what of the 10/100 plan? Should we still try it? Am I only turned on because there’s the prospect of 10 orgasms spread over 5 days in front of me? If that were suddenly withdrawn, would my mojo go with it?

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The 10/100 plan

As I mentioned the other day, I’ve been feeling a little blah of late with regard to the denial thing. I think a big part of this is that my body’s adapted to its nearly orgasmless existence. I just don’t get the hormonal charge from it that I used to.

So I had this idea. Not a new idea, to be sure. I’ve read of various flavors of this idea in different places and even a few comments from my recent post brought it up. Basically, what would happen if, instead of denying me orgasms, Belle made me orgasm more? Like, more than I would normally. Back in the day when I had my own cock, I seem to remember jacking off about maybe three times a week or so. Maybe a little more. I don’t know, it’s been a while. Anyway, what if she made me come a lot more than that. Like, twice a day for five days. Ten orgasms. I suspect the first several would be great, but how will number five feel? Eight? Ten!? The idea is to shock my body out of any denial-induced torpor.

That’s the first half of the idea. The second, I admit, is inspired by Cricketed who’s offered his keyholder a “summer of chastity”. I liked the sound of that and started thinking about offering something similar to Belle. Turns out there are just about 100 days between Memorial Day and my birthday. A hundred days. That’s a long time. That’s a goal. It sounds hard. I like hard. Problem is, Memorial Day is still a ways off. Why couldn’t we start the 100 day clock sooner?

So anyway, the idea is to basically “flood the zone” with orgasms over the course of a week and then go deep into denial for a period of time about twice the length of my previously longest period. I brought this up to Belle (who’s decision, I acknowledge, is absolutely final with regard to any question involving what happens to the cock) and she’s willing to give it a shot. However, before doing so, she said I needed to post the idea here so she could see what my readers think of it.

So that’s what I’m doing. What do you think?

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Nerdery break

CAUTION: Chastity nerdery ahead!

Regular readers should be aware of my chastity device configuration: A Steelworxx Steelheart fitted with a custom designed PA fixing and a 4ga captive bead ring in my PA piercing (check out my article comparing it to the CB-6000 for pictures, etc.). One of the big upsides of this device is that it’s 100% secure. That security comes at the expense of frequent metal-on-metal noise as the thick PA ring clanks against the inside of the stainless tube.

As I say in the Steelheart vs. CB6K article, the steel PA ring offers zero chance of escape as the ball in the ring requires hand tools to remove or insert – tools that can’t be used with the tube in place. When it’s all locked together, it’s more secure than Fort Knox. The noise, though, can be annoying (especially when it happens around the house whilst wearing pajamas). I’ve just ended a few week stint in the device where I used an acrylic PA ring to see if that helped. I found that the instances of noise dropped dramatically. Occasionally, the PA fixing itself will move inside the tube and make a small sound, but the acrylic made practically no noise (certainly none that could be heard through clothing).

The acrylic is far from perfect, though. The ball snaps in very easily to the plastic ring. I’m fairly certain if I pulled hard enough, the ball would pop out and allow escape (though I have no idea how I’d ever get it back together without taking the whole thing off). Also, I felt a frequent pinching near the head of the cock (sometimes during erections, but more often as a result of the motion used while cleaning). This past weekend, Belle let me out for a thorough cleaning/shaving/inspection and I found the flexible ring was allowing just the tiniest bit of skin to get trapped between it and the ball. This sounds worse than it felt, but there was an obvious spot where the ring exits the urethra that had been pinched more often than was good for it.

In order to give the pinched skin a rest, I put the device back on without any jewelry and absent the PA fixing. Just me in a smooth metal tube. I am never in the Steelheart like this. I found the sensation to be oddly liberating (if one can feel that way in such a thing). The fixing doesn’t bother me when it’s in there, but when it’s gone, I can really feel the difference. It essentially makes the tube’s inner diameter larger so I more often felt the enclosed meat bumping around against its sides. Also, during erection, I could tell I was filling every last bit of open space. When the ring and fixing are in place, there’s always a space near the opening that’s open since the PA ring is actually kinda big and has to go somewhere.

In any event, I checked it out the next morning and saw that the pinched area was good as new so I put the steel ring back in and put the PA fixing through it before locking myself back up. I’m back to wearing my cow bell, but it’s more comfortable than before (along with being more secure).

I’m somewhat proud of the fact that, even though I was alone during all this taking off and putting on of the device, that I never not once took the opportunity to sneak in some strokes. I barely touched it more than I had to. Truth is, I have nearly no self control when it comes to this kind of thing. I’m really good (well, pretty good) at not having the occasional accidental orgasm when messing with the goods, but it’s really hard for me keep my hands to myself (so to speak). There was a moment where I wavered, what with the soap and the grasp of my hand, the lifting the shaft to eradicate the little hairs I can’t get to usually…but I maintained control. I didn’t cheat. As quickly as possible, I did what I was supposed to do and was very grateful to be back in the friendly confines of the device, temptation safely locked away.

In other news, Belle’s lost one of keys. She hid it away and did such a good job that she has no idea where it is. Now all we have is one. I need to take it to the Home Depot and see if they can copy it. If not, I’ll need to send Dietmar a note seeing if he sells spares. The one taped up on my key card is the only one we have. Best I keep its whereabouts familiar in the mean time.

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The hills are alive

No, I haven’t posted in a long time. Well, I’ve posted twice in the past two weeks, but they weren’t real posts. Of course, I come to you today with several theories to explain my lack of motivation (like, you just knew I would, right?).

At some point along the way here lately, I’ve become somewhat self conscious posting about what I’m feeling. Part of it is the charge that’s been leveled at me (with some justification) that I over-analyze stuff. Guilty! I mean, this is my fucking blog, right? So what’s wrong with me writing what I want or what feels right to me? If I want to gaze longingly into my navel until I fall in, who’s business is that? That’s how I should be thinking, but it’s hard not to think about all of you, my audience, and what you want from me. I suppose that’s a trap a blogger should avoid. In any event, I’m going to try to get over trying to live up to your expectations since, as hundreds of individual people, that would be impossible.

The other thing is, prior to my last orgasm, I have to say I was sort of blah about where I was and what Belle and I were doing. When I write things here, I’m speaking to Belle as much as to myself and I guess I didn’t want to leave her with the impression she was doing anything wrong. I’ve been around the block enough times to know that sometimes, things just don’t click. Constantly elevated levels of hormones are not a cure-all and can’t be expected to leave me in a permanent state of euphoria. It was helpful to see Steve in kinda the same boat at the same time. It’s obvious that a big part of how denial makes one feels in mental and not just hormonal. Even so, for pretty much the past month I’ve not been feeling very submissive at all. Not really all that into the chastity thing.

Since Valentine’s Day, when she last made me come (“made” since I really didn’t want it), things have been looking up. I’m a lot hornier than before. I can feel the latent energy of my desire collecting in my extremities. I find moments passing by where my need to grasp the cock is so palpable it sets my teeth on edge. Following a chat the other morning, it seems clear that Belle’s intention is to leave me in the device all the time and only let me out when she has plans for its contents. So, apparently, we have reached that “be careful what you wish for” point (even though I hate that term) where she likes the chastity device more than I do.

In any event, I also realize that the beneficial emotional effects of denial can’t be expressed as a simple line graph that always goes up the further I get from my last orgasm. Besides the attitudinal factors, it’s clear that my body has been rewired as a result of withholding orgasms. It’s not producing hormones like it once did and, even when I’m in the middle of having sex with Belle, doesn’t always respond as vigorously (which is, I think, where the urban legend of enforced chastity ruining a man’s ability to have an erection comes from). This isn’t bad, it just is. I can’t depend on the hormones alone put me in a happy place. If you think about it, it’s not unlike that period after you fall in love and start to settle into a relationship. After the happy little cherubic Cupids leave, the work is in maintaining a healthy frame of mind during the ups as well as the downs.

And that gets back to not talking about how I’m feeling. This blog, as I said way back at the beginning, is my journal. Being that, and assuming I write what I’m feeling at any given moment, it’s going to give Belle (and, of course, you) much more intimate insight into what I’m thinking moment by moment than if it were the old fashioned diary-type journal, written on nice velum paper and secured with a little lock. The trick is for Belle (and me) to not feel like we need to address every little valley I enter since it’s not realistic to think my emotional state will always and forever be Julie Andrews cresting the hill and throwing her arms open to celebrate the majesty of life in the Austrian Alps though song. Sometimes, it’ll be not so great. Sometimes, it’ll suck. To expect anything else is silly.

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HVD

On the card Belle Fille got me…

On the card I got Belle Fille…

And that’s just what we did.

Happy Valentine’s Day to all the kinky freaks who read my blog!

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Service update

I can hear you asking yourselves, “I wonder how that whole service sub thing’s going over there at Maison de Belle Fille?” You are, right? You’re totally asking yourself that. I can hear you.

OK, well, even if you’re not, here’s the list of things I said I’d do back when I introduced the idea a little over a month ago along with a note as to how I’m doing:

  • I will make all the beds every day.
    With the exception of the days I was traveling recently and one day where I just ran out of time in the morning, I’ve done this every day. I’ve made my 11-year-old son make his own, but that’s more about turning him into a productive member of society than it is anything else.
  • I will make her coffee every day.
    This I do. I’m supposed to set it up the night before and I’m getting pretty good at that (especially lately), but there have been days when I forget. In those cases, I get up with her alarm and make it then. I think once or twice in the past month (excluding days I wasn’t home), she made it herself, but in general I’m pretty good at making sure she’s got her coffee when she wants it.
  • I will feed the kids breakfast every day.
    This one’s fallen by the wayside, for the most part. Belle gets out of bed before me as does my daughter who, as soon as her foot hits the floor, wants food. Belle makes it for her. Then, she usually makes the boy’s food, too. I don’t know if she’d rather me make it, but at this point it’s almost always her.
  • I will take the dog out every morning.
    Like the coffee and the beds, I’m pretty good with this one. She’s occasionally offered to do it for me, but I don’t recall her doing it for me because I hadn’t done it yet more than once or twice.
  • I will do all of the laundry, including folding and putting away.
    This is my biggest issue. I get around to the laundry, but not as often as she’d like. Also, I’m pretty bad at putting it away once I’m done folding it (like right now – there’s a basket of it staring at me from the corner of her bedroom). Of all my expected service tasks, this is the one in which she’s most often had to involve herself by either starting loads or even folding them for me. I find it really hard to stay focused on it and, with four people in the house, it’s a never-ending task.
  • I will pick up both kids from school at least twice a week.
    Nailed it. I get them Tuesday’s and Thursday’s and usually at least one other day in the week. I think this makes her life easier in that she can finish up things at work and not have to bring them home with her. In any event, I’m lucky I can pretty much set my own hours and leaving right at 5:00 is hardly ever a problem for me.
  • I will prepare a majority of the dinners and be primarily responsible for all the dishes.
    I do this, too. I did notice, though, the day after my last orgasm that I didn’t hop to it quickly enough and she ended up making dinner that night. She still makes dinners on the weekend sometimes when they’re more of a special event and will volunteer to help me clean up during the week, but I feel this is essentially my responsibility. I own it and immediately start thinking about what we’re going to eat as soon as I leave work. In the old days, this was never the case. I hope this opens up a lot of time in the evening for Belle to do whatever she wants.
  • I will take out the trash and recyclables and make sure they get to the curb on time.
    This one’s also kind of fuzzy. Last weekend, she did it herself early Sunday afternoon for Monday’s pick-up. She didn’t need to, but did because the garage door was open and everything was just there. This one’s tricky in that there is no exact time it needs to happen as long as it’s out by Monday morning. If she wants me to do it, she should let me.

I’ve discovered a couple things after this month. One (which I already knew), Belle just isn’t all that good with receiving service. It goes against her natural disposition. Mind you, she’s gotten a lot better and let’s me do most of what I’m supposed to, but she’s just as inclined to do something herself than to remember that it’s my job (or to just tell me to do it). Sometimes, this bothers me because it feels like she’s not accepting my gift of service, but I also know she’s trying and getting better. Truth is, a lot of my service tasks have just become part of the household routine now. Nothing wrong with that.

The other thing I’ve learned is how much I really like having her boss me around. Rika says I should do all these things in anticipation of her needs, but when she tells me to do something it puts me in a warm and fuzzy headspace. This weekend she said she liked ordering me around, so hopefully she’ll use that technique more for anything she wants above and beyond the default list of tasks she wants me to do.

I still find myself recoiling when she asks me to do something (ie, “Would you mind…”, or “Could you…”) and when she thanks me for doing it. I don’t want her to ask. Or course, I will always do whatever she says. I’d rather she just say “I want you to…” or even just “Do it.” And instead of thanking, I’d rather she tell me how good a job I’ve done (or not). We’ve talked about this and she knows my preference. Sometimes, she does it my way, sometimes not. I’m working on accepting it in whatever way says it since, like everything else, it’s entirely up to her. There’s a lot more good going on here than otherwise for me to get all hung up on semantics.

So anyway, we were hanging out in bed the other night and Belle told me, when considering my performance to date, that she wouldn’t give me better than 70%. That’s a C, right? Not so good. And it’s all because of the fucking laundry.

I need to try harder.

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48 hours of freedom

Wednesday morning, I flew out of town on business. Obviously, one cannot simply stroll by the crack staff of TSA agents at the airport, with their specialized training and advanced technology, with about a pound of hard steel swinging between one’s legs. Even though Belle threatened to make we wear the device on my trip, she took it off me Tuesday night (since I had to get up at the ridiculous hour of 4:00 AM).

I suggested she could put me in the CB-6000 since it’s passed through airport security a couple of times now, at least once when she made me wear it on a business trip last year (upon which, this happened). She said she wouldn’t do that, though, since she’s such a big fan of the Steelheart now and thinks the CB-6000 is ugly. So I was released on my own recognizance. And, for the most part, I was good.

In fact, I was really good on the trip since I was dog tired by the time I hit the sack. One of the more boring hotel nights I’ve had. Next day, I was up fairly early getting ready to leave, but still managed a little wanking. When I promised to be good, I said I would never have an orgasm without her being present, but she didn’t say I wasn’t allowed to fiddle with the merchandise. And I didn’t come. Not even close.

So anyway, the thing I found kinda interesting was Tuesday night, before I left but after she unlocked me, I woke up to find myself jacking off under the covers. I think I was doing it in a dream, or maybe I was dreaming it because I was doing it, but whatever the case, there I was jacking away on my totally free and very hard meat. Similarly, I woke up in the middle of the night in the hotel room grasping it, though not jerking it. It’s like my lizard brain wants any opportunity to reunite with the most important thing in its universe, with or without the cooperation of my conscious mind.

When we met up last night, she told me I was going right back in (especially since she already suspected I had my hand in the cookie jar), so I asked her to put it on me (typically, she tells me to put it on and I go do it – she’s only involved when she locks it, and even then not every time). It’s been kind of a thing I’ve been thinking about lately. She agreed, though in practice I had to put the ring on and, once she got involved, the cock swelled up until it was too big to put in the tube. There was a baggie full of ice on hand to deal with that totally predictable event, but it was still a tight squeeze and I needed to align the pins on the device and seat the tube properly for locking. Had she tried it, I would have been bleeding before she got the key anywhere near it. Lots of skin bulging out to get caught.

So now I’m back in. To be truthful, I’ve been in so much lately that being unlocked makes me feel incomplete. I’m not at all surprised to have been so focused on the cock since it’s unencumbered presence is such a rarity nowadays. She told me over the weekend that my next release date is February 27 (almost a month since last time) and I have every reason to believe that I’ll be locked pretty much continually until then.

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All in one night

Based on a true story. 😉

“Get naked and give me the clamps,” she said. Then, after a moment, “And the floggie croppie thing, too.”

I did as she said, then climbed back into bed.

“Lay on your back.” I did. She attached a butterfly clamp to my right nipple, then the left. She tugged on the chain connecting them to test their grip. Twin lasers of sharp pain lit up in my brain.

“Roll over. Get up on your knees.” I did. She found my balls with the wide end of the crop. I could feel the hard, smooth leather cold against my scrotum. She held it there for a moment in an almost soothing way. Then she started to hit me. Lightly at first, then harder. Then harder. I took as much as I could, my ass rising into the air a little bit with each whack, before pulling my right leg off the bed and away from the blows. She yanked down on the chain attached to my nipples and pulled until my face was against the sheets.

This cycle repeated several times. Between attacks on my testicles, she’d pull and twist the chain, searing the soft pink flesh with the bite of the clamps. The blows to my balls didn’t make the kind of deep internal pain one usually associates with the most vulnerable part of a man’s body. It was more like surface slapping, but uncomfortable just the same. Difficult to take.

Finally, she took the shaft of the crop and shoved it roughly into my mouth, holding it there like the bit on a horse’s bridle. She pushed my head back and away from her while simultaneously pulling the chain closer. My back bent sharply as I tried to lessen the agony on my nipples, but it wasn’t enough. First the right clamp, then the left ripped off. I cried out as she removed the crop from my mouth, collapsing on the bed, whimpering. Nipples throbbing, balls stinging.

—

“Now you’re going to take care of me.”

“How?” I asked quietly. “How do you want me to take care of you?”

“In the usual manner,” meaning with my long fingers and soft lips, “but have Pink ready just in case you’re not enough.”

I took the little pink vibrator from my dresser drawer and placed it under me to get warm, just in case. Then I ran my hand across her body, stopping on the mound of her pubis. I could feel the cleft of her pussy lips, hot beneath the fabric of her bedclothes. I exposed her breast and started to lick her nipple.

She moaned. “Mmmmm, that’s good, Thumper. My tits were hot for you. They missed you so much.”

I licked and sucked one while fingering the other. Her moaning deepened while her hips gyrated beneath the sheets. My free hand wandered down and slipped under her draw string. My finger found her snatch, soft and radiating heat.

She moaned again. “Of, fuck. God, Thumper, my pussy missed you, too. It’s so hot and wet. Hot and wet for you, Thumper. Does that make you hard? Hard in your steel tube? Knowing how badly my pussy wants you? Knowing you can’t have it?”

This time, I moaned. I felt the relentless steel bite into the base of my swelling erection.

“I want you to eat me. Now.”

I moved over her, stopping to lick her opposite nipple. Her hips rose up and she ground her crotch into the steel trap on my manhood. Her trap and her manhood. I dropped down and placed my mouth against her pussy, lapping it like a hungry animal. My hands reached up and played with her nipples.

“Get pink,” she gasped, “Put it in me. All the way in.”

I turned the little vibe on and fumbled trying to get it in her. In the dim candlelight, I couldn’t find the right spot fast enough for her. She grabbed it out of my hand and slid it deep into her pussy right before my eyes.

“Like that,” she admonished, “Now leave it there.”

I went back to licking her clit, my chin bumping up against the end of the humming vibrator nearly disappeared inside her. As her pleasure increased, she started to whisper, “oh, fuck” again and again. Faster and louder as my tongue worked rapidly and my steel-clad erection pressed hard into the bed. She started to say something, but clamped her legs onto my head, shutting off my ability to hear her.

She reached down and grabbed twin handfuls of my hair, pulling my face into her pussy, bucking her hips up to meet me, tension and energy building throughout her body. Then, she stopped…holding it. Holding. At the top of the crest, her orgasm coursing through her, my tongue stationary and pressed against her in the way she’s taught me. Then, release. Her legs relaxed and she let go of my hair. I removed the vibe and pressed its little button, turning it off. Everything was silent as she basked, glowing.

—

“Get on your back,” she told me again. I did. I could still taste and smell her. My nose, mouth, and chin were all wet and redolent. She was moving next to me and then was doing something with the device. I realized she had the key and was looking for the lock.

I’m wasn’t sure what this meant since she told me just that morning that I wasn’t going to come for another 27 days, but there she was, apparently trying to unlock me right after her orgasm. In the 12 years we’ve been married, I can count on one hand the number of times she’s come twice in one evening. I couldn’t imagine why she was doing this.

“Um, what are you doing?” I ask.

“What does it look like I”m doing,” she said, still struggling to get the long key into the brass locking mechanism.

“Don’t break it in there.”

“I have a spare.”

“Yeah, but if you break the key off in the lock, I’ll never get out of it again.” Besides, I think, I have to fly on Wednesday. How will I ever get through the metal detector with this thing forever locked onto me? Then it occurred to me that she may be unlocking me early as some sort of reward. Oh!

“Can I do that for you?”

She handed me the key and I quickly removed the lock, handing it and the key back to her. I pulled off the tube, the metal rod that secures it to my piercing, and the ring. She immediately started playing with the freed cock which, unfortunately, was still flaccidly stunned to be suddenly out in the open air. After a few moments of rhythmic attention, it began to lengthen.

Then, fully hard, she stopped to climb up onto me. She lined the cock up with her swollen, slippery pussy and it slid in easily. She said nothing so I had no idea what was expected of me, but I knew better than to think this was for my benefit. I tried to put my mind as far away as possible from the sensation of her sliding up and down on the stiff shaft.

She was plainly enjoying herself and, except that I was servicing her breasts while she was fucking me, didn’t seem to care much for what I was doing. I tried to hold still and not reciprocate so as to help minimize the sensations I was feeling and was pleasantly surprised at how well I was holding off. As she got closer to her second orgasm of the evening, she started to get vocal and this time I didn’t have her legs to help muffle the sound.

Hearing her so vociferously get her rocks off on me brought my own orgasm into being. Just like that I was grunting and exploded inside her – zero to 60 in one second.

As soon as she felt me start to come, she cried out, “FUCK ME!” and boy did I. A millisecond later, she came all over again.

—

She got back into bed and found me totally unmoved from the position she left me a few minutes before. She propped her head up on her elbow and said, “I don’t want you to feel guilty about that one.”

“I don’t,” I said, and I didn’t. Not remotely. “It’s not like I had any choice.”

She laughed. “I love it when we come like that. At the same time. That was something special. Totally worth it.”

“I agree. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said while handing me the key and lock, “Now go put that thing back on.”