Nurturing the nature

No, this isn’t going to be one of those posts where I relate how difficult it is being the woebegone orgasm starved male. But, it could be and that’s the rub.

Somehow, I’m in a fantastic place at the moment. I’m horny as hell and so totally into Belle and feeling all subbie and service oriented and all the things that leave me with a filled tube and a warm fuzzy. I am painfully desirous of her, to the point where her hands on my balls last night and her stroking of my ass this morning seemed like it should have been enough to cause me to spontaneously combust. I can’t seem to get close enough to her and want every part of my body to be touching every part of hers simultaneously. I have the distinct desire to anoint all my skin with her juices and rub my entire face in her pussy. I have it bad.

But there were times in the past where I was operating under similar conditions and was miserable. It’s possible that a few random balls fell left instead of right in the pachinko game of my emotional state or it’s possible I’m just better at accepting my position and drawing strength from the things that in the past would drive me nuts. Why won’t she let me make her come? I ask that rhetorically because it doesn’t really matter. It’s still driving me mad, but I’m not resentful nor do I feel somehow entitled. Instead, the maddening denial of access to her has kindled an even greater aching craving that does nothing but emit the good kind of frustration and none of the bad. Instead of feeling like I’m missing out by her stubborn refusal I feel like she’s giving me the very thing I want so bad. To feel the need. To want. To see her being arbitrary with me. Perhaps even to deny me only to see me squirm. I am not trying to talk myself out of being happy. I only mean to set upon a pedestal the satisfaction I’m getting from my extreme dissatisfaction.

I asked Belle last night a question that I need to hear the answer to just because I need to hear it.

“Do you like me being locked up?” Sounds kind of pathetic, and I suppose that’s fair, but I like asking it.

“Oh yes, more than anything,” she answered with enthusiasm. That, of course, was exactly the right answer and, even though the tube was properly stuffed already, hearing her say that made it painfully so. Then I asked another question that popped out of my mouth rather unexpectedly.

“Do you think it makes me a better person?”

She paused a long time. From her perspective, answering this could be a problem.

“It’s OK if you do,” I said.

“Yes,” she said quietly, “I think it does make you a better person.”

“I want to be better,” I replied, almost whispering, as the psychic dagger of all the emotions and urges and cravings that are my fevered condition twisted in my soul, “A better husband. For you.”

I asked her this morning (not long after she petted my naked ass for a while, so yeah, I was feeling pretty dreamy) why she paused. The reason, she said, was that she didn’t want to imply that I wasn’t a good person already. She’s so sweet. Of course, I know I’m not a bad person. Why would she have married me if I was? But I also know that I’m at heart a selfish one. I am the (perhaps) rare selfish sub. And it bugs me. I honestly do want to be a better, more service-oriented, less needy submissive male. Not only because it makes me feel better, but because it makes her happier, too. I don’t need her to tell me I’m not already good. I do need her to tell me chastity and denial makes me better and to keep me honest when, for whatever reason, I drift off.

I used to think that kink and my sexual perversions were all separate and tidy little chunks sitting next to each other. But that’s not how it works. They’re more like light refracting and reflecting and combining and shifting inside me, sometimes with unexpected results. I feel very keenly now how much I want to be found wanting. I don’t know if I would describe it as a degradation-type kink, but I want to hear that I’m not as good by myself as I am modified in the way being locked up and denied makes me. I want to know that the woman to whom I have given my submission is using it to make me a better creature. I want to feel that by being better in my position that she’s happier and more satisfied both being with me and in her life in general. I have felt this way before and lost it. I don’t want to lose it again.

To that end, I’ve asked Belle if we could institute a new routine for me. I’ve given her a little notebook to write on the first page all the things she expects of me by default. What I need to do all of the time, without being asked or reminded. Then, on subsequent pages, she’d write those things she wants me to do that come up along the way as we live our life. Situational expectations and desires of hers. I’ve also asked that on every Sunday she look at the book and make a note of how I’ve performed over the past week. Whether there are punishments or rewards is entirely up to her. I want to get to a place where my reward will be hearing her tell me I did a good job. I’d love to be punished, for sure, but setting up a system of carrots and sticks is tricky with someone like me. I might end up doing a bad job specifically so I’d get the stick.

The danger in all of this is taking a “set it and forget it” kind of approach. I think the majority of people tend to let their relationships go down that path and find themselves dissatisfied sooner or later. I, being all complicated n’ stuff, need a little more attention with regard to maintaining a proper frame of mind and emotional state. I am so thankful that I’m partnered with a woman who is willing to deal with that. The well-being of our dynamic is constantly moving so our approach to keeping it within a satisfying range of operation is something we both need to be mindful about, not just her.

Anyway, I’m rambling now. Bottom line, I’m happy, she seems happy, I want us to stay that way. After almost three years, we might just be figuring out the care and feeding of the submissive male. At least my particular subspecies, anyway.