Libéré en étant enfermé
I have (obviously) switched to a new theme. I liked the old one because it was clean and non-distracting, but I’ve never been a big fan of white text on a black background. Also, the comments were very hard to read. This new theme is, IMO, gorgeous.
I’ll be tinkering with it for a little while until it’s exactly how I want it, but in the mean time, I hope you like it as much as I do. And if you don’t…well…c’est la vie.
I woke up Saturday morning at our family compound in the North Woods at 5:28. That’s within 5 minutes of when I woke up every day for the previous week or so. Usually I get up and pee since, as any guy knows, peeing helps alleviate morning wood and some days the wood’s so woody that the ring of the device is biting harder than a snapping turtle chomping on a guy’s tit. Not every day, but most days. I guess you could say that beside all the other reasons chastity is good for us, it’s also convenient having a reliable alarm clock with you wherever you go.
The night before, after rolling in moderately late and getting the kids settled down and asleep, Belle and I were laying in bed sipping Bailey’s, me naked at her direction, talking about the Steelheart again. I had been wearing it for 25 days and, while maybe not a record, it was pushing it. You leave something like that on yourself for so long and you start to lose physical memory of what it was like before it came along. We have both come to think of it as the cock and not just something over it. I told her how happy it made me to be wearing something she liked so much.
“Oh no”, she corrected me, “I don’t just like it. I love it.” Whimper.
The next afternoon, she unlocked it so I could prepare myself for that night. I was happy to see no surprises lurking under the steel. It all seemed perfectly normal (though I imagined it blinking and covering it’s eyes after so long in the dark). I cleaned both it and myself and shaved the spots I can’t normally get to. For the remainder of the day, I was commando in my pajama bottoms.
As the fabric rubbed against the head of the cock, I found the skin more and more sensitive to it. I don’t know if it’s something to do with the material of the device or if the PA fixing holds it such that it doesn’t come in contact with anything when it’s in there, but by the time we went to bed, it was really kind of driving me nuts. There’s nothing apparently wrong with it (maybe a little red), but it remains extraordinarily sensitive, even today.
The evening’s sexual activities were pretty standard fare. She let me give her an pretty great orgasm using my fingers and mouth (while she gently abused my balls) before I entered her. Once it was in the friendly confines of the warm and wet, any discomfort I felt on the head of the cock disappeared. The now thoroughly defeated sex lizard stirred just enough for me to lose myself in the act of fucking her, but not so much that I forgot to do as Ms. Rika suggests and ask to stop just before I came. I knew Belle wanted me to, and I figured I was going to, but Belle also liked Rika’s tactic of always having the man ask to stop before he comes (to ask if he can’t as opposed to asking if he can). In any event, the question surprised Belle and by the time she answered that she did want me to come, it was too late anyway. Nothing in the world was going to stop it.
I felt between four and five fat, healthy squirts followed by a large number of post-orgasmic flexes and throbs. It felt. So. Good. Seriously, top 10% of all orgasms. I even laughed. I once had a boyfriend who laughed when he came and I never really understood it since I’ve always felt orgasms were deadly serious business, but there I was, laughing. It was wonderful. Belle later commented on the prolific nature of the orgasm’s payload and I reminded her that it was 28 days worth with no relief (no milking and very little ancillary leakage).
Sleep reached up and forcibly pulled me down into its grasp. I slept incredibly hard and can remember no dreams. Just deep, deep sleep. And I didn’t wake up until Belle did at 7:30.
In the mean time, here’s a picture I stole from a friend’s Facebook page.
Insert your own caption.
I haven’t had a fitful night due to pent up sexual frustration in a while, but I did last night. Belle got home pretty late due to a work thing and, even though she was tired and went pretty much right to bed, I tried my best to get into her pants.
“Fine,” she said, “Get Pink. Make it snappy, though, because I have a busy day tomorrow.”
I have a proven ability to get her off in less than 10 minutes, and while I’d prefer a longer session, I’m too fucking horny pass up even a quickie. I grabbed the little pink vibe and got to work. By the time she came, I was fucking her with it and fingering her clit all at the same time using the same hand. It’s good to have long fingers and lots of practice getting her off.
It nicely stoked my subbie fire because her entire attitude was “make me come and make it fast” and she didn’t even touch me. It was reward enough to have her nipple in my mouth and a hand wet from her juices, though of course I was five time more frustrated afterward than before. At the very beginning of this adventure, I’d have laid awake for hours with all those hormones surging around, but I’ve developed the ability to actually fall asleep that way now. In fact, her orgasms make me sleepy in a way not unlike mine used to.
So anyway, yeah, I can fall asleep, but it’s a light, fitful sleep. All kinds of graphic mental images flashed though my mind as I drifted off, pleasantly full tube pressed into the bed. I dreamed the same way. Short sexual scenarios, none of which I can remember now, jumbled together like an Xtube montage. Belle, too, was tossing and turning and reaching out to me so that her touches mixed with what was in my head and I couldn’t really tell the difference between the dreams and the reality, wakefulness and sleep. Every little touch drove the tubal pressure up several notches, though it seemed like I had a boner all night long. At one point, she had her bare legs up against my naked ass. That odd, unexpected skin-on-skin contact was like jet fuel on a campfire.
Today, I’m still feeling it. The repressed sexual electricity is everywhere in my body and permeates my every thought and conversation. I feel simultaneously energized and powerful yet hopelessly distracted and nervous. To feel the spark and arc of abject desire with no outlet is almost like the perfect goal state for someone like me. Bathing in the hormonal high. I’m a total junkie.
And that makes me approach this weekend with a bit of apprehension. On the one hand, I want to come. It’s all I think about. I dream of having a real, free erection and the kick of ejaculation. On the other, I hate losing this. The energy, the excitement, feeling of being vibrant and alive. Regardless, I’m comfortable with whatever happens. I’ve given myself over her and I’ll either come like crazy or keep riding the wave. Honestly, they both sound great to me.
Second “clean” HNThumper (though decidedly NSFW) after the jump. Continue reading “HNThumper XIII”
According to the dates I pulled out of a hat last fall, I was supposed to get an orgasm back on the 2nd of January. If you remember, Belle decided to postpone my release for a week because she got her period and apparently prefers I come inside her. So this past weekend came along and my son had a sleep-over with friends at our house and there were family outings and such and, before you knew it, it was Monday and I still hadn’t come. Of course, I thought about it all weekend and wondered when she was going to let me do it, but she wanted it to be “good” and put it off again. The plan now is to let me come this weekend.
According to the BunnyTrack 2000 release tracker, Saturday will be my 28th orgasmless day (and my 25th in the Steelheart). I’ve gone longer, but I have to say I am really fucking horny. Like, really, really, significantly, profoundly, quite tragically horny. And Belle knows it. And she doesn’t really care. Well, she cares, but she’s not moved by my predicament. Last night, I was kinda all over her (being outside my 72 hours no-fly zone), but she wasn’t much interested.
She rolled over and I spooned into her, moaning quiet piteous moans, and she said, “I love how smooth it is.”
She had her hand down her side and was fingering the Steelheart. “I can’t even feel when you do that,” I said, “I really wish I could feel that.” Moan.
Tap, tap, tap. “Can you feel that?” Moan.
Every random little thought causes a stirring in the tube. Every little casual caress or throw-away verbal tease from Belle makes me weak in the knees. I reach down and grasp the steel and its sensory-deprived contents and stroke it and touch it and wish it would respond. With the CB6K, I’d get the urge to rip it off, but I don’t feel exactly the same way with the Steelheart. It’s less “on” me and more “part” of me. I don’t necessarily think, “God, I wish this thing was off of me.” It’s more, “God, I wish I could jack this off and spray all over myself.”
Which brings me back to Belle’s thinking that the only good orgasm is one that happens inside her. Of course, it’s entirely her decision when and how I come, but I’m not going to split hairs over the mechanism. What’s really important to me is that I do it at her direction and that she’s with me when it happens. Where the goo flies afterward isn’t all that important to me.
I’ve finally completed my comparison of the CB-6000 an the Steelworxx Steelheart. I’ve written for someone who hasn’t been around to read all the posts related to the stainless saga, so some of it will be repetitive for regular readers. As always, I’d appreciate any constructive feedback.
Before you click the jump, start humming the theme to Jaws. Continue reading “HNThumper XII”
I had this dream last night…
In the middle of the night, Belle and I are in bed, and the doorbell rings. She comes back to the room and sleepily tells me the hooker she got for me has arrived. I get up, as if this is normal, to greet the hooker out in the living room. It was our house, but not our house, in only the way it can/can’t be in a dream. So I start chatting the hooker up, feeling pretty good about Belle letting me have her but wondering what I’m supposed to do with her since I’m locked up. I can’t remember what she looked like, but she was young and had sandy blond hair. I wanted to get her clothes off and, at various times, they were, but then not again. The entire time I’m doing this, the hooker just won’t shut up. She keeps talking and showing me pictures of herself in yearbooks and pornos she made on the internet, etc. Eventually, we find ourselves in the kitchen of my mother-in-law’s house (but, you know, not my mother-in-law’s house). Somehow I’m not real clear on, I find myself behind the hooker and feeling her nipples by reaching around. They’re really small. Like, freakishly small. But very hard. I decide it’s time to get to business since it seems like we’ve been beating around the bush (so to speak) for hours. I go back to the guest bedroom where Belle is and tell her to go to her bed and that I’ll take the hooker in the guest room (seems the only gentlemanly thing to do). She groggily gets up an goes to the other room. I think to ask her to remove the device so I can, you know, do something, but before the words come out, I find the brass lock on the Steelheart in four pieces in my hand. It’s somehow broken (at least the third dream where the device I’m wearing breaks). I take the device off and put it next to Belle in bed, who by this time has fallen back asleep. Like she doesn’t care one way or the other what I do with the hooker. So I go back to find the hooker in the living room and she’s trying to show me another video she made and I suggest we go back to the bed. I start to walk down my mother-in-law’s (but not) hallway and it just goes on and on and on with twists and turns and it’s all dark and crowded with big dressers and bureaus and giant oak coat racks and stuff way too big for a hallway. I get to the room, which has the only lit lamp in the place, and find the fucking hooker’s not with me so I go back and find her somewhere in the hall, still talking about whatever the fuck she’s been talking about the whole time. I get her into bed (wondering, frankly, if Belle’s paying her by the hour or by the fuck) and try to get her to focus on her damned job for just a second. All I need is one second. Somehow, it seems like something’s about to happen, but she’s still not focusing on her task, and I’m starting to get hard. I’m crawling on top or behind or somewhere and I feel the erection and it’s starting to get heavy and hurt. I’m just about to actually, finally, slip it in when…
The pain from maybe the most intense erection I’ve had in the Steelheart wakes me up. I’m laying next to Belle, arm up her shirt against the skin of her back, leg thrown over hers, and hornier than I’ve felt in a really long time.
Fucking dreams.