Month: March 2010

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Random updates

My blogging performance has been substandard of late, so here’s a few random nuggets of information to get my wheels turning again…

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I got the replacement lock to the Steelheart yesterday. This time, I noticed that Dietmar rounded the sharp brass edges before he sent it. Not sure if this is a change he made based on my review (or comments like it) or if the first one I got was an anomaly, but I was pleased to see the change. I’m also pleased now to be wearing a lock with two keys! Belle changed it out last night.

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During the week she let me out of the device, there was a morning where my sexual appetite combined with the free erection caused me to snuggle aggressively into Belle. She, wanting to sleep a bit more, kinda rolled over and placed her hand directly onto the hard cock. And then fell back to sleep. Her breathing was deep and regular while mine was more shallow and quick while, for a relatively long time (like, twenty minutes), her hand just sat there and the cock underneath would soften slightly then harden again, over and over. I’d flex it just a little to get more stimulation, but I was afraid if I did it too much her hand would have rolled off of she would have turned over or something. It was torture. But, you know, I’m not complaining.

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Belle had told me she was going to lock me back up on a Sunday, but the Sunday rolled around and nothing happened. Then, she said it would be Monday, but similarly, Monday night saw no locking. It’s not that I was anxious to be locked back up (after about a week, I like the freedom), but her laissez-faire attitude left me feeling a little anxious. When she doesn’t act decisive in her control – when she appears to not take it seriously – it tends to make me feel more insecure and unhappy. I know this is more my issue than hers, but I can’t control how I feel. I shared with her this observation and she had me in the device the next morning.

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She fucked me just once during my time out and it resulted in an unauthorized emission. I’m not calling it an orgasm because I fought it really hard and clamped down when it started and basically ruined the whole thing (based on the fact that it didn’t feel like an orgasm afterward). I made it right up to the end when she was coming and I thought I was home free. Letting my attention wander for just a split second let it happen.

In any event, I was yet again disappointed in myself for not being able to better control my autonomic functions. The night before, she had said she was going to make me wait a hundred days for my next orgasm and there I was 24 hours later having a barely-controlled squirt that was about as close to an orgasm as a guy can get without actually going over the falls. This led us, more than a week later, to talk about our differing feelings about these events. On the one hand, she just wants to fuck her cock. It’s what she wants and she doesn’t really care what happens as a result of her getting it. I understand that and respect it. On the other hand, I’m not supposed to come and when I do (or get as dangerously close as I did that night), she doesn’t seem to care. There’s next to no consequences and most of the time she doesn’t even say that much about it. Just like not seeming to care when I’m locked up, not seeming to care one way or the other if I come makes me feel like I take this more seriously than she does. This is a difficult place for my inner submissive rabbit to occupy.

I’m not sure we have a solution, but at least we’re talking about it. I feel just as bad suggesting she shouldn’t get her cock when she wants it. I don’t want to deny her anything, let alone the thing I gave her to do with what she wants. Maybe it’s a question of defining consequences so when I fail to control myself, I still feel dominated as opposed to sneaking in a freebee.

I guess the bottom like is I need to feel like she wants to dominate me at least as much as I want to me dominated. This hardly makes me unique. I’m not questioning that she enjoys our dynamic. In fact, she told me the other night she never wants to go back to the way things used to be. Either I need to be in a place where I more consistently accept the way she approaches her end of the deal or she needs to make a few tweaks around the edges (or maybe a little of both).

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Double punishment

It’s late. I should be asleep.

Last night, I forgot to make Belle’s coffee so this morning she had to wait for it. I got up as soon as she told me, but still, she didn’t get her first cup until after her shower. Tonight, she told me I would be punished.

After the kids were down and out, she told me to take my clothes off like she does every night. I got up, stripped, and started to get back in when she stopped me. I hadn’t asked permission. Then, she showed me the tube of Icy Hot. I immediately started to whimper and whine. I told her how sorry I was for forgetting the coffee, that tomorrow’s was already set up, that I wouldn’t forget again. Didn’t matter. She already had a dollop of white paste on her fingertips.

I knelt on the bed and she reached under me. I felt her smear the greasy, cold liniment across my scrotum, stretched firm by the stainless steel chastity device. She laid back and opened her arms, inviting me in. I placed my head against her chest, still waiting for the first blast of heat. Once it hit, setting my balls on fire, I started to pull away but she held me close to her, face smothered in her breasts. I moaned, panted, and writhed the best I could, but she held me tight. One wave of fire would subside to be replaced by another, each time she held me firm and unable to move. Eventually, the waves of pain started to recede more quickly and crest a little lower each time, though the effects of the Icy Hot continued to linger.

She let me go, and I got back on my knees, legs spread, face to the mattress, letting my tender balls hang in the cool air. I cradled them and probed them with my fingers. Poor little things. It wasn’t their fault I forgot to make the coffee.

“Where’s Pink?” she asked.

“In my drawer,” I said, “but I’m afraid to use it on you. I have Icy Hot on my hands…”

“Get her out.”

I reached into my drawer and handled the little pink vibe as lightly as possible. “Give it to me,” she said, holding out her right hand. She had used her left to apply the Icy Hot.

The vibe disappeared with her hand under the covers and I heard the low thrum of the vibe’s motor kick in. I moaned some more. It had been days since Belle allowed me to pleasure her and I felt the need badly, especially after my punishment. I put my mouth on her shirt over her nipple.

“Did you ask?” she said sharply.

I retreated, still on my knees, sore sack suspended, and pressed my ear against her so I could hear the vibe better. The sound of its thrumming rose and fell as it slid it in an out of her. I could see it in my mind, wet with her juices, parting her full, pink labia, pressing against her clit. I wanted to feel it myself so badly, to press my mouth against her, to lick her soft folds.

“Please, can I do something?” I asked. She said nothing. Her head was back, jaw sharply defined in the candlelight, lips parted. She ignored me.

The rise and fall of the vibe’s motor increased its rhythm and Belle’s hips started to gyrate next to me. I closed my eyes and imagined how it would all feel under my hand, vibrations running up my wet fingers, her nipples hard in my mouth. The stainless tube was now filled and the tightness of the meat caused the Icy Hot to flare back to life. My crotch was on fire as she came quietly.

After a few moments of basking, she wordlessly handed me the warm vibrator. I replaced it in my drawer and she turned over, already half asleep.

And that’s why I’m here now, writing it all down for you.

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Belle’s experiment

Tuesday morning, Belle told me she was going the let me out for a little Thumper-centric recreation that night. As I went about my day (driving to work, sitting in meetings, eating lunch, etc.), I’d think about that and what it might mean and feel the tube between my legs tighten up. I was feeling pretty horned-up all day.

Later, in bed, she took out her only remaining key and unlocked the device. I removed it and put it all back together before she took it from my hands and placed it over on her side of the bed. She barely had anything to do with the old CB6K’s after I took them off leaving their care and maintenance entirely up to me, but she’s much more fond of the Steelheart. When it’s off me, she’s possessive of it and tends to want to keep it herself. That makes the act of being chastised by her much more potent. It’s her device she puts on her cock when she feels like it. Woof.

Anyway, we laid there for a few moments watching the end of a TV show, me naked under the covers, the cock and scrotum all splayed out like an octopus out of the water. As I’ve said before, the extreme flexibility of it after the equally extreme inflexibility of the steel makes for a very strange sensation after being locked up for so long. Once the TV was off, she started to move her hand slowly and methodically over the flaccid member. Even though I was hot and bothered over this moment all day, once it actually came, the cock didn’t seem too interested in responding right away. Maybe it was nerves. Stage fright or something.

It didn’t last long. Pressure started to build in the ridiculously flexible and stretchy meat as she ran her hands over it and my balls until I was sporting the first full erection I had had in weeks. No grasping or stroking, just touching. Tender, gentle, absolutely maddening touching. It was wonderfully loving torture.

Eventually, she did grab hold and start to slowly stroke it until my breathing started coming fast and then she’d let go, leaving it bobbing. I found my hands moving towards my crotch all on their own. She said, “You go,” and the gentle stroking turned into something much more impatient. I was beating the fuck out of that meat while her hands continued to move over my body. She started to flick her fingertips over one of my nipples and I found myself instantly on the edge of an orgasm and had to stop stroking. I laughed. That was so quick. My desire to come was riding very high.

After a few moments of rest, I started again and once more found myself quickly at the edge of another orgasm (or would it be the same one?). I lost count, but again and again I went up to the ledge and stopped. Before long, the sounds of my stroking were punctuated by the wet smacking sound of a hard cock whose slit was well-lubricated with precum.

I was lost in the joy of the ancient art of masturbation, but not so much that I didn’t notice Belle getting sleepy. I could have gone for quite a while longer, but felt doing it “without” her was wrong, so I asked, “Please, Belle Fille, can I stop?” Though I really didn’t want to, she told me I should. So I did and the fell asleep curled up into her, the cock almost painfully hard.

She left me out of the device all the next day. I expected to go back in last night, but she told me this morning that she’s conducting an experiment to “see how I do.” Since I have no explicit permission to do anything and she’s “seeing how I do,” I’ll be doing my best to keep my hands to myself until she says I can do otherwise.

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A sub or not a sub?

To paraphrase Bill Shakespeare…

What’s in a name? That which we call a sub
By any other name would submit as sweetly.

Recently, there was a bit of a kerfuffle in the comments to my post The 10/100 plan in which Mykey suggested that coming makes being submissive more difficult while Maymay suggested that was poppycock.

Mykey:

The denial after [lots of orgasms] is much harder and much sweeter for it, and the submission deeper and more fun. Of course during those periods its hard to be as submissive, then hey perhaps you could consider taking a break from that too? Perhaps for all or some of the period. It might also make you both appreciate the submission when you start again that much more.

To which Maymay commented (in part):

Attaching a physical experience such as having an orgasm to a motive such as being submissive or not is oversimplifying the entire issue to a point I find demeaning of my masculinity and sexually submissive expression.

Mykey came back with (in part):

How I (and others like me that are so often derided for it) react to orgasms is part of who we are and what makes us tick, and that is no statement on your submission at all. Perhaps you are lucky enough not to get sub drop. Perhaps you are better at managing it. Perhaps you are wired differently, and perhaps your submission is a deeper one than some. Who knows. But you should accept that others can be different to you, with a different style of submission and different drivers for it.

Then they had a little more back and forth, but that’s the gist of it. Go read the whole thing for yourself as I’d hate to characterize their points of view incorrectly. Anyway, it all ended with Maymay saying he’d blog on the subject himself. I am eager to read it.

That being said, I find myself more in the Mykey camp than Maymay’s. I admit that I’ve struggled with coming to terms with my inner sub and probably should not be considered an expert on the matter, but I can totally relate to losing my sub mojo after orgasm. In fact, I’ve always felt that my interest in being submissive and wanting to be denied rises and drops in directly opposed correlation to my level of sexual arousal. My center of attention moves inward when I come. I’m sure Belle would agree with me on that.

So, am I a real sub? What’s the difference between me and Mykey versus Maymay? The web it littered with examples of both kinds so those of us who feel the ebb and flow of submission do, in fact, exist. Are we just psyching ourselves into believing we’re subs when we’re really not?

I wonder, for at least me, if it isn’t the orgasm itself that makes the difference but the way Belle acts when and after it happens. For instance, in the past, a planned orgasm for me has also meant a break from the device for at least a couple of days (usually at least a week, though not last time). Also, she allows them to happen inside her in a very outwardly-appearing vanilla way (just like the old days). Then, I detect just the slightest drop in her sexual dominance (usually by letting me get away with things she wouldn’t normally). Could it be that I’m less of a sub when she’s “less” of a domme? I’m in no way criticizing how she performs her role or suggesting she change a thing, it’s just a thought.

Also, while I can’t speak for Mykey’s experiences, I can say that one big difference between me and Maymay is where we are in our lives and when we discovered our submissive sides. I had cruised all though my adolescence with no inkling I was what I was (though I can see some signs that were there all along). Maymay, being significantly younger, came to his awareness much earlier than I did. That means I had an entire adult life living a way very different than I am now. Perhaps where we are relative to one another makes our experiences very different (at least, how our submissiveness manifests). Is there an inherent difference between someone who comes of age as a submissive versus someone who finds it later in life?

No matter, I can’t change what I know to be true about myself. Denial + arousal = submission. That’s how I work. That’s not saying I’m in no way submissive when my sexual appetite has been totally sated. I think I would be accepting of domination even then. In fact, that was something I was interested to test with the 10/100 plan: would forcing me to orgasm more than I would otherwise leave me feeling dominated just as a near-total absence of them does? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll find out some day.

In the mean time, I’ll be interested to read what my readers think about this.

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Sex Dice

Not exactly the kind of dice game one usually associates with a blog like mine, but funny just the same.

I love xkcd.