Month: June 2011

Posted on

Just a theory

Following up on yesterday’s post, I’ve been wondering something.

I said:

Being diminished in that way really worked for me.

And…

I like the feeling of being optional and a beneficiary of her charity.

And…

I felt she knew exactly what she wanted for her and was in total control of how it happened.

And it was good.

And then in a comment:

If I can stay in the right frame of mind and recall the feeling I have right now, then completely severing any right of mine to her pleasure – to really and truly accept my role – could be revelatory and powerful.

What I wonder is if this isn’t where the cuckold fantasy comes from. It could be just a natural progression from…

  1. Learning to pleasure a woman without your cock, and
  2. Starting to think of her pleasure as your pleasure, and
  3. Reveling in her becoming more confident in finding a way to her pleasure that’s all her own, and
  4. No longer thinking of your cock as something that’s part of the sex she’ll have with you, and finally
  5. Learning to take pleasure in her pleasure regardless of whether or not you’re involved.

No, I’m not a cuck and Belle has never shown any interested in being with another man and I’m quite sure there’s a whole lot more going on in relationships where this has happened, but for me, I can see the path to the fantasy pretty clearly. I want her to be totally and completely sexually fulfilled. It has, truly, become the primary way I find my own fulfillment. I also have developed a taste for being treated quite unfairly. Even to the point of liking it when she belittles and humiliates me. I really like it. I can’t think of any more potent way to do that than taking another lover. A more satisfying one.

I have a bunch of fantasies that would never work outside my head. This might be one of them. But, the progression makes sense to me. Not that I’ll ever find out, of course, since Belle’s demonstrated zero interest in heading off in that direction.

That being said, if she was interested in plucking these particular heartstrings of mine, she was heading in the right direction the other night. Were she to remind me that, while I may be adept at utilizing the tools that lead to her pleasure, I’m not the actual implement of that pleasure. She used Pink during her night in the hotel spa just fine without me, after all. In fact, I’m not even capable of being the implement of her pleasure. I can barely last a full minute inside her now. There’s little chance I could satisfy her in the condition I most often find myself. She could remind me of that. How this cock I’ve given her isn’t much use for anything anymore.

It seems counterintuitive to treat your lover with such disrespect. It goes against everything you see in popular culture and learn through normal socialization. But, yeah. I get it. I really do.

Posted on

Bit part

Let’s see, where was I…

As you might have guessed, Belle let me come about a week ago. That’s not entirely why I wasn’t blogging, but it was a big part of it. I was also distracted by some other stuff (nothing related to Belle or anything I write about here), but mainly it was the orgasm.

I can’t even recall exactly when it was now. A week ago? Maybe ten days? We were up at the cabin and she unlocked me unexpectedly, but didn’t really do anything with the cock. Then, back home, she was stroking me in bed and generally working me up when she told me I could go inside her. I fucked her enough to get close once or twice (doesn’t take that long anymore) when she told me I could come but if I did, it’d be the last time before August sometime. I hesitated for maybe 2/10 of a second and plowed forward, coming like a fire hose moments later. Lots of come. Oodles and gobs.

Then she left me unlocked for a while. That didn’t help me get more focused. Truth is, now, I can’t really feel normal without the device on. Even after I come and it feels all clunky and alien, I feel more “put together” when it’s in place. Last Friday, she had a night at a nice hotel and a morning spa treatment (her Christmas present), and before she left she had wanted me locked up but forgot to make me do it. I popped my spare key and locked myself up. It was what she wanted and I was more than a little craving the feeling of captivity. That was just four days ago, but it’s like it was never off. Peeing in it, sleeping in it, sitting with it squashed between my legs are all the normal feelings. And now I’m well and truly horned up again so all those other feelings are punctuated by the occasional throbbing pressure of a stifled erection. That little tremulous quivering of unrealized desire is never far away.

Belle wanted an orgasm the other night (Saturday, I think) and threatened me with not only not having my own, but not sharing hers. Oh, I could be present, she said, but maybe that’s all. What use am I all locked up, anyway? At the time, I was horrified. The idea of not being allowed the touch, taste, and scent of her sounds too terrible to imagine, but in retrospect, I find the threat kinda hot. Being diminished in that way really worked for me. Also, I believed she might actually go through with it.

As it turned out, she wanted me to go down on her and doing it after the threat and subtle degradation left me feeling very confined in my small steel space. She backed off and said nicer things to me, afraid, perhaps, that she had hurt my feelings, but I have to admit, it wasn’t necessary. There’s something difficult to capture in all this. I like the feeling of being optional and a beneficiary of her charity. Even as I was eating her out, she reached into her drawer and took out Pink. She turned the little vibe up to high and inserted it under my lapping tongue making me hold it there with my chin, fully engaged with her G-spot. I was not the star of her ringing orgasm. I was a co-star. Perhaps only a featured player. It made her powerful and me less so. I felt she knew exactly what she wanted for her and was in total control of how it happened.

And it was good.

Posted on

Unfixing the problem

Apparently, supporters of apocalyptic nightmare scenario Presidential hopeful Rick Santorum are trying to fix his “Google problem“. I would very much like Mr. Santorum‘s problem not to be fixed, so I’m posting this as my admittedly small effort to help ensure the only way that hateful, anti-sex man gets in the White House is as an invited guest of the President.

Just for good measure, Santorum.

Posted on

Needy meat

I am wired.

Can’t sleep. Vibrating with frustration. Earlier, I used the Pure to pummel my prostate senseless. Now, I’m tired. So tired. But humming. And clutching. At the steel and it’s living contents. Feeling the gland inside my body swollen and tender and the device heavy and so perfectly locked.

Belle sent me a text from New York. I didn’t see it until 24 mintes later. In my writhing and tossing and clutching, I missed the thrum of the phone.

Just in an elevator with Jay-Z

Once I saw it, I texted back, “Are you still awake?” I wanted to talk to her so bad. To admit my condition. To admit I abused myself without her permission. To ask – no, to beg that she let me get myself off. To put me out of my misery. I’ll accept any condition. Any punishment. I have a key, secured by a plastic tag. Say the word, Belle. Please. Let me out. Let me come. Fucking hell, I want to come.

But she didn’t answer.

I put the cruel little clamps on my nipples and pulled and twisted and felt the white hot pain and heard my little moans in the quiet dark bedroom and realized I could not hurt myself enough. The pain was not pain. No pain at all. It was all going right to the cock. As the clips chewed and bit the tube filled and was made tight by the meat. The needy meat. I pulled the clips harder. Harder. The nipples stretched and screamed and I twisted and pulled and pulled. Finally, even their mean little teeth couldn’t hold on and first the left, then the right slipped off with a pair of brassy, tight-springed snaps. Now the nipples sting. But I need more. I need so much more.

I need my Belle.

Posted on

Weiner

I work with a lot of women. It’s just how things ended up, but at my company, most of the people are of the fairer sex. So I’m sitting at a conference table with three of them yesterday and the topic of Anthony Weiner comes up (you must know who that is by now, right?).

Now, I’m a guy who knows a thing or two about putting pictures of my junk up in public. Yeah, I do it like all the time. I am obviously without issues in that regard. I get a little thrill from it. Why else do it, right? I can tell myself it’s educational or some shit like that (and a few of them are, to be sure), but at the end of the day, I get something from knowing that thousands of people saw my bits and pieces. That’s not exactly what Mr. Weiner did. He sent photos to individuals who presumably knew who he was while I broadcast mine to everyone under the guise of my secret identity (no, really, my name isn’t actually Thumper). What this means is, obviously, I will find a soft spot in my heart for penis picture perps.

Back to the women. They were unanimous in their condemnation. Not just that he was married (more on that in a bit), but that he did it at all. And how that made him some kind of freak. A pervert. Or whatever. And I defended him, to a point. They asked, “What kind of person does that?” and I replied, “Lots of people. Lots of otherwise normal looking people.” Because it’s true. Not just me, but obviously a metric shit ton of others (there’s even a fucking word for it). It can’t be that everyone who snaps a quick pic of their member and sends it out is a borderline sexual predator (of course, the context of the sending is important). I’m just saying, all things being equal, I see nothing wrong with this behavior.

Of course, not all things were equal. For one, he lied about it. Proves yet again that the lie is always worse than the act. If you’re a person who is in a public job with a recognizable name, it is only a matter of time before you’re…ahem…exposed. I get how the charge of doing it anonymously isn’t as high, but dude, have a back up plan. Get your story straight before you get caught so when (not if) it happens, you’ll just get up and keep going. But no, he lied. And then he tried not to lie within the lie (“can’t say with certitude”) and the whole world comes apart and he’s crying behind a podium and the law’s looking into it and fucking hell man, what were you thinking was going to happen!?  It could be that the only way this worked for him as a sexual outlet was by purposefully willing himself into thinking he’d never be found out. That’s probably true. On one level, he had to know it would happen, but it worked better for him if he pretended otherwise.

There are parallels in this for me. I have lots of pictures of myself here. Lots of pictures that, if they were to “get out”, would clearly have some affect on my life. I actually expect that they will someday. Sooner or later, how I have no idea, someone I know IRL will stumble upon this site and see the cock, locked up and otherwise. They’ll read all about our sex life and how I like to be tied up and beaten and dominated and all the rest. My plan for when (not if) that day comes will be to admit it. It’s who I am. It’s what I do. Can’t help it. In a way, it will be a relief when it happens. I abhor secrets.

The big issue with Weiner, though, is his wife who presumably did not know about his photography hobby. Had he only been single, how much simpler this would be (assuming none of the girls were underage, consensually received the images, etc.). But no. For me, it begs the question; Is what he did “cheating”? As a guy who actually did cheat, I’d say no, dick pics are small potatoes (especially when wearing one’s boxer briefs). As far as we know right now, he never met with or fucked anyone he sent photos to. But I am apparently in a very small minority of people in my opinion. The aforementioned females all thought he was off-leash. I’m not sure if this is a gender thing, but all the people I know who have criticized him for the act of sexting have unanimously been women (keeping in mind I’m surrounded by them daily). I guess my biggest issue with him is that he probably lied to his wife about it when it all blew up. I don’t dig betrayal and dishonestly, though as I said, I probably don’t consider the pictures themselves as an act of full-fledged betrayal.

It also bothers me to be reminded once again that we are a sexually fucked-up people. I spend so much time reading the words of others who, perhaps aided by the anonymity of the web, are so much more connected with their sexuality and exploring it and reveling in it that I forget the nearly everyone else is all bunged up and freaked out by it. That’s too bad. It’s the one way I wish we were more like Europeans in this country (well, that and the socialized medicine).

This was all pretty random, as have been my thoughts on the subject. I’m perfectly prepared to be convinced I’m wrong on a few points. I’m also perfectly prepared to see us move on from these ridiculous titillating voyeuristic side-shows and start focusing our considerable talents on things that really matter.

Posted on

Still alive

Usually, when I’m quite here, then there’s something going on in my head. That hasn’t been the case recently, I just haven’t had anything to talk about. Part of it could also be that she let me come again last weekend. We had been up at the family vacation compound for the holiday and she unlocked me for no apparent reason. Then, on Monday night, she let me fuck her and come in one of those purely functional ways – she waiting patiently with her top still on, me fucking like a naked mad rabbit. It had only been, what? A week? So indulgent of her.

In any event, unlike last time when the two squirts took the wind out of my sails for almost a week, this time I felt the stirrings again after about 48-72 hours. I measure this mostly by my relationship with the device which, typically, was strained immediately after I came but was back to normal by Wednesday-ish. Now I’m in that period of enhanced hornitude that comes about a week after an event and lasts for about a week. Belle’s out of town again starting Monday night, so there may be some sleepless times ahead for me. If she allows me to abuse myself, who knows?

My enhanced state of being was put into sharp relief today as I took care of a few random chores for Belle Fille. I was driving around the city lakes near where we live and, this being the first really nice weekend of the year for us (winter having ended about two weeks ago and not scheduled to return for another six), there were many fine examples of the human form on display for me to ogle lecherously and cause me to squirm uncomfortably in my bucket seat. As a person who admires both genders equally, I had plenty of things to distract me as I drove languorously around the broad circumference of the lake. I am so. FUCKING. Horny.

Aaaand, that’s about it, really. I have little new to report. Just thought I’d drop by and let you know that nobody died or was otherwise preoccupied with excessive navel-gazing. Just us, living our lives like normal people.