After almost three years of living with a penis locked into some kind of device, it’s often felt like a battle was going on inside me. My inclination to want to be dominated and denied going up against my hormonally-supercharged sex drive. It didn’t help that the very nature of being denied by a device is, in itself, a kind of sex play that kept desire for actual sex play top of mind.
If you’ve read this blog for a while (or from the beginning), you’ll know what I’m talking about. The number of nights I’ve laid in bed frustrated and angry at Belle for ignoring me and my needs have been numerous. I submitted to Belle in body only. My mind and spirit wanted more.
You might be wondering why things have been quiet here and it’s because things have been quiet here, in the real world, as well. Due to travel and nighttime work obligations and whatever else, we haven’t had sex for at least two weeks. Instead of being petulant or grumpy or in some way pressuring Belle, I just sort of cruised. I didn’t feel angsty inside. I didn’t feel much of anything. It was like my sex drive had been taped up in a box and put away somewhere out of reach.
Sure, I wanted her. I wanted all kinds of things, but I didn’t dwell on it or let any of those feelings back up on her. There was a sort of zen-like calm over me. Had I been out of the device, I’m sure I would have been rubbing the penis at every opportunity, but I didn’t have access and it was like it wasn’t even there. Before, not only would this have been hard for me to imagine, but I would have hated the very idea. Not having a great urge for sex and not really missing that urge would have been a state of mind I would have actively resisted.
Be that as it may, here I am. I’m not unhappy about it. I should be. I would have expected myself to be, but I’m not. How is it possible that I’ve gone over six weeks without an orgasm and have been denied access to the penis for nearly all that time and am not pissed off over the lack of sex? I dunno. If you were so inclined, you’d say I’ve been successfully trained. That the spirit of my inner male has been broken and the animal that once resisted control has now taken to its tack and saddle with equanimity. I think that’s about right. I am not, fundamentally, the same man I was three years ago. Not even one year ago. The experience of infrequent orgasm and nearly perpetually locked manhood have deeply affected me. Sometimes, I don’t even feel like a man anymore. I look like one and sound like one, but I’m not one. I’m something other. And, against all expectations, I’m OK with that.
We did eventually have sex, though. Yesterday, she let me feel her and suck her and finger her to orgasm. When it was over, I was quite hard and packed tightly into the tube. I wanted more. She started gently fingering my nuts and I opened myself to her, silently begging for more of her attention. Instead of more gentle caressing, she slapped me. Smacking my nuts instead of what I really wanted. I didn’t say anything. I just took it. She’d stroke and caress then SMACK! Inside, I was begging her to stop that and only be gentle, but whenever the words got close to being said, I felt them get trampled by the heavy boots of my domination. I don’t have the right to tell her what to do with those nuts. If she wants to make me feel good through them, she can. If she wants me to feel pain though them, she can. If she wants both, she can do that, too. And, while it hurt, it also really turned me on. And it made me appreciate all the more those moments of gentle caressing.
“Fuck, I want to be inside you,” I moaned on all fours, her body beneath mine.
Smack, smack! SMACK!! I cringed. It was as if she was reminding me of my place and punishing my impertinence.
Gently caressing the tight nutsack, she said, “Not now, Thumper. Soon. Maybe. It’s better for you to wait.”
Of course. She’s right. I should wait.
Later that morning, as I walked around the house in my baggy pajama bottoms, I could feel cold sticky strands of precum dripping down my inner thigh, getting caught up in my leg hair. Reaching inside, I could feel the end of the tube slick and covered with the gooey byproduct of my position. Bringing it to my face, I inhaled its subtle aroma and sucked it off my fingers. And I moaned.
4 thoughts on “Broken”
I know the feeling. I’ve been there. Done that. And I understand the frustration you have and are going through. I wish I could say “it gets better” but that fact is, it may not get better. You may never again get what you want. What will happen (or is happening) is that you resign yourself to the life she wants you to have. The desire for sexual activity, if you are lucky, will not decrease. But either way, you will learn to accept that you have to give her the attention she wants, desires, deserves, before you will get anything you might want. Sometimes, it’s not fun. But if she is the kind of woman I think she is (judging from what you have said) she will make it all worthwhile… eventually.
The point I was trying to make was that I’m *not* frustrated. Well, not in the bad way.
Thumper, this sounds like a trite question (it isnt meant to be) but are you happier as a person now?
Put another way, did control of your sex make you unhappy?
You state that your OK with it. I think those that say you are trained might offer congratulations, yet I get more a sense of resigned acceptance from this post. It almost has a BCWYWF feel to it. I would echo CQ’s comment. Are you happy? You say you have changed, I would like to ask is it change for the better? Are you a better husband lover friend father? “BROKEN” as a title I would take to mean your will, but could it refer to something that needs to be fixed?