Something I was thinking about late last night when, in one of those random moments of wakefulness, I reached over and spooned into Belle and let my hand run under her nightclothes and over her smooth ass and the contents of the Steelheart pulsed and craved. It directly relates to my previous post about finding a Zen-like place to keep all my pent-up desire.
I mean, I wanted her. I needed her. Her pleasure is mine and I am really, really wanting to feel that. Distractingly so because it’s been so long since I had it. In the early years, it was remarkably easy to find anger in that. To want to throw all the internal stress out at her. But I don’t anymore. I know she knows how I feel and I know she’ll take care of me eventually. In due time. Not yet.
The way I was able to get through this period last night was to, as they say, see the glass as half full rather than half empty. Yes, I’m desperately needy, but I’m also exactly as I wanted her to keep me. Exactly. I am locked up, unable to touch my own body or attain a normal erection or in any way pleasure myself. I’m totally under her control in that way as I wished to be. It’s all I wanted for her to control my sex and now she does, completely. The best part is, she wants me this way. It’s impossible to imagine that she would have left me unlocked while she was gone last weekend. That’s just not an option for me anymore. And while I was unlocked while I was gone the weekend before (unavoidably, perhaps), she put me back as soon as I got home. I rarely get to stay out for more than a night at time now unless something external intercedes or it’s a special occasion. So I have the best of all possible situations. I’m locked and controlled because that’s how she wants me. That’s how she prefers me to be. I asked for exactly this.
Back around Labor Day, we talked some about that. How she considers my willingness to be locked by her a romantic gesture. She sees my sacrifice of orgasm and self-pleasure as a token of my dedication to her and our marriage. She finds comfort knowing what I’m not doing when she’s not with me. I allow this to happen to me because I acknowledge it makes me a better and more attentive partner. It makes our relationship stronger.
Yes, of course, that’s all true. But it’s not like I don’t get anything out of it.
And what I get out of it is what I concentrated on last night. The feeling of the hard steel pressing up between me and the mattress, squeezing my wannabe erection. The knowledge that I wasn’t getting what I wanted in that moment but I was getting all I wanted in the bigger picture. How, in only the way possible in this kind of dynamic, even not getting what I want is exactly what I want.
I’m desperately horny for her. That’s the reason we do this. We have sex when she decides. Period. I’m supposed to crave what I have no control over. Her pussy. The penis. Our sex. Everything. I’m not ignored, even though circumstances have conspired to make me feel a little neglected. I’m actually quite loved and cared for.
That’s what I focused on.