So as not to present one with the idea that this orgasm denial stuff is just one big shiny balloon forever floating heavenward towards sexual nirvana, I will relate the embarrassing (for me) events from a few days this past week.
Belle woke from her afternoon nap (laying out by the pool can really wear a girl down) and I, laying beside her in wait, jumped her. This is in itself a bit out of character since I had no reason to believe she wanted me to, but she was already naked so I made my move. She was apparently amenable to the idea since she let me put my mouth on her nipple uninvited.
Sex comes, of course, in many varieties. Among the best and most indulgent examples of the art is the kind known as “afternoon sex.” A truly decadent derivative of afternoon sex is the “afternoon while on vacation and the kids and rest of the family are downstairs but our bedroom door is locked so it’s OK and, oh, did I mention the warm Trade Winds blowing in through the huge windows and over our naked bodies” kind of sex. That’s what we were having. I licked and suckled her nipples and traced her moistening clit lightly with the fingers of my right hand and the penis was ridiculously hard.
My assertiveness continued when I offered Belle the penis as the vehicle to her pleasure. I wanted her to fuck me. Or, more precisely, I wanted to fuck. Maybe I’d be able to hold it together, maybe I wouldn’t. I really wasn’t thinking that far out. I made the offer out of a selfish desire. She commented that that was usually her decision and, since she didn’t mount me, left it to me to figure out all by myself that I was to continue along the lines of what had already been started. Eventually, though, my fingers and mouth proved not to be enough and, rather than take the still rigid and needy meat for a ride, she had me use Pink. My Belle’s orgasm was still reluctant to show itself, so she took the vibrator from me and took care of herself while I was left to nipple duty and the penis, once filled with such optimism and enthusiasm, was left to drip forlornly all by itself.
It was during this period of my being only somewhat tangentially involved in the activity I initiated that whatever lizard-driven assertive zeal began to falter. By the time she came, the penis had lost its stiffness and I felt somewhat guilty at my previous behavior. Belle, of course, didn’t know what was going on in my head or that I was once so focused on getting the dick wet (damned the torpedoes!). As she was enjoying her post-O glow, I felt as though I shouldn’t get any more. I knew she was about to invite me to fuck her and didn’t think I deserved it. As I was formulating a way to express this, she told me I could go for a ride if I wanted to.
Which is to say, I had a choice. And I had a preference (not to). But when the time came to make the call, the lizard showed that he still had some fight left in him and pulled me, penis first, into Belle. This whole trip, my trigger has been very itchy and I was on the verge of coming almost immediately. I wasn’t just riding the edge, I was tiptoeing over the individual atoms of the razor sharp knife. The kind of edging where a simple shift in position causing the penis to move a half an inch inside her would send the whole thing over the falls. The kind where the lizard with his usual marginal influence over my actions has a disproportionate ability to make things my bunny side would rather not happen. This time, though, the lizard was in the ascendence.
Belle perhaps sensed where I was and told me to get off. Ride was over. And that command, which I’ve accepted is entirely hers to make, planted a seed of anger. I wasn’t mad at her. More likely myself for doing what I didn’t think I deserved and letting myself get so close to the forbidden objective and resenting her authority over making me stop. That little seed, fertilized with my guilt, sprouted and grew as the day went on so that by the time night fell, I was being sullen and standoffish to everyone.
In thinking about it afterward, I think my button got pushed too many times. Too many times at the edge. My hormonal load had to be sky high. Sometimes, denial can be very hard and not for the reasons that seem obvious at first.
My emotional issues came back a few days later and with greater intensity. I was making dinner and it wasn’t going perfectly. Not badly, just not perfectly. But each little imperfect thing was snowballing exponentially with every other little imperfect thing and I found myself swimming in anger.
Honestly, I don’t want to talk about it. We’ll just skip ahead to later that night.
Belle came to bed and was mad at me for being such a child. I was still mad, and she was there, so I attached it to her. But I wasn’t mad at her. By that point, I was mad at myself for being an ass and ruining our evening. Our conversation started out as an argument but devolved quickly into me sobbing inconsolably for being such a pathetically bad partner. All trip, I had been telling Belle how badly I wanted to make her happy and, due I think to the symptoms of the very act of my submission to her, I failed miserably.
I hadn’t cried like that or felt like that about myself in a long time. So much self-doubt. Self-pity. Intense feelings of being weird. Of being a freakish burden to her. I was afraid she’d make me come just to snap me out of it and that sounded so much worse than anything else. I felt convinced that if she had known the real me when we married she wouldn’t have gone through with it. Pathetic, really.
But I’m better now. The tears were cathartic and I’ve apologized to Belle so many times she’s told me to shut up about it. All I can do now is learn from the experience and try to realize when it’s happening again and try to stop it before it goes too far. I’ve redoubled my focus on her and her needs. More than anything, my little tantrum felt like a deep betrayal of my submissive nature and promise to Belle. Thinking about it now leaves me feeling deeply ashamed of my actions. I am profoundly sorry.
We’re leaving for home today and Belle’s said I’ll be going straight back into the Steelheart as soon as we get there. We both feel my attitude would have been better had I been locked up. Being contained changes me for the better. It’s been far too long since I’ve done hard time and I have a deep craving deep in my soul for the comfort and security of the steel. I have a week-long camping trip at the beginning of May and Belle’s said I’ll be locked until then.
God, I need it. And god, I love her for being able to see that I do.